#The Sea Inside - Act Five Part 4 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a-solitary-sea-rover-backup · 8 months ago

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Interview with Dawn Riley, 1 April 2024

KaiYves (KY): Hey, everyone, my name is KaiYves from A Solitary Sea Rover, and I’m here with Dawn Riley at Oakcliff Sailing Center, an incredibly famous veteran of offshore sailing. You were in the Whitbread twice, I think?

Dawn Riley (DR): Uh-huh.

KY: Which is now The Ocean Race, in 1989 and then 1993, and then the America’s Cup in 1992, 1995, 2000, 2003, 2007…

DR: 2003, I did the easy part, I was media. (laughs)

KY: And you were in management for–

DR: For 2007, yup.

KY: And today you’re the head of Oakcliff Sailing Center, since 2010, I think?

DR: Yup, absolutely.

KY: And you’re also, as of last year, in the America’s Cup Hall of Fame.

DR: Yes, I’m a triple-famer. America’s Cup Hall of Fame, National Sailing Hall of Fame, and then the Michigan Sports Hall of Fame. So three different organizations, all honoring sailing.

KY: And it only took 30 years.

DR: (laughs) Yeah.

KY: And now there’s four women in the America’s Cup Hall of Fame!

DR: Yup.

KY: …and forty men, right? (laughs)

DR: I have not done the math, but yeah, there’s more men than women across the board. [It's actually more like 100 men and 4 women.]

KY: It’s reflective of the event. So we met at the 12-Metre World Championships last summer in August, that was an incredible weekend, you know, just the level of access there was, being able to walk in and see everyone, being able to see the boats, and photograph them. I was able to help out a little bit.

DR: Yup.

KY: Because you guys needed a phone charger. You let me come on the chase boat, that was incredible, I got to see [the racing] up close… I got kind of seasick, but I still had a wonderful time.

DR: (laughs) Good to know.

KY: And then I helped hose down a little bit afterwards. So I was joking with my friends that I can tell everyone that I was a 12-Metre crewmember for five minutes.

DR: There you go. (laughs) And Courageous is a pretty special yacht.

KY: I said to my friend, “You know, this summer I was a crew member on Ted Turner’s yacht. There’s a lot of clarifiers to that, but…”

DR: (laughs)

At the 12-Metre Worlds.

KY: In a very loose sense I was, yes. You agreed to do this interview with me and let me come visit and I’m super excited for that. I got my Master’s at NYU and a few weeks ago, I was in Greenwich Village. So I went into the Strand Bookstore, the famous bookstore there, for old time’s sake. I was looking around, I was in the basement stacks, looking at the travel, exploration, transportation sections, and while I was there, this is what I found– (pulls out a book wrapped in cloth from her backpack and unwraps it to show it’s Riley’s book Taking the Helm)

DR: Ah. Taking the Helm. (takes book to examine it) Is this one signed?

KY: Oh, yeah, it is.

DR: I think I signed almost all of them.

KY: So I don’t have to bother you for that.

DR: There you go. (laughs)

This is the softcover cover, mine looked slightly different.

KY: I thought, “This is great”, because I’d already made the arrangement to talk to you, “This is a good omen, I think”. It also has this flier from back in the day. (unfolds a paper flier tucked into the dust jacket and hands it to Riley)

DR: Oh my goodness, this is funny. Yup, this was the promo that I sent out. I put together this flier myself and it was to try and do speaking. That’s crazy, I haven’t seen that in for-ever.

KY: Do you want to keep it?

DR: Um, sure. I don’t think 1-800-511-DAWN works anymore, but I’ll check.

KY: You find some really great things at Strand, you know. I found, um, Bertrand Piccard, who went around the world in the balloon, I actually found a signed copy of his book about that at Strand.

DR: Mmm-hmm, OK.

KY: I found a book about the ‘77 America’s Cup that had a newsletter from the ‘83 one inside of it and I said, you know, “I think the flier might be worth more than the book, but…”

DR: (laughs)

KY: So used bookstores are amazing.

DR: Hmm-hmm.

KY: But I was really excited [to read your book] because it was actually the third book I had read about that era of the Round-The-World Race in the past year. I’m working on a fictional story that’s about a fictional team in the 80s in the Whitbread, so I’d read a few different books. I’d read Peter Blake’s book about Ceramco in 1981, I’d read Skip Novak’s about Drum in ‘85– I think you have most of those out there [on the bookshelf in the main room]. And so, I wanted to see and contrast the different people’s voices and so forth. I know I contrasted those [two] as I was reading. I thought, you know, Blake had this very fun, optimistic sort of voice where it’s all this very jolly adventure.

DR: Peter Blake was a good friend of mine. He was an amazing seaman. He and his wife were adventurers. And unfortunately, tragically, he was killed on an adventure in the Amazon. But he was probably one of the most solid and most revered New Zealanders out there.

KY: It was a great book, you know, just this good humor throughout. Whereas Skip Novak’s, it’s a lot more gritty and cynical. He’s talking about people fighting each other, talking about people doing unsanitary things and stuff like that. And I actually thought, just, the way the book opens, where they come into Cape Town really early in the morning and nobody’s there to greet them because they’re sixth, it’s just the officials. And they spray them with champagne and he’s like, you know that’s always the cheap champagne and it makes you sticky and it’s nasty. And he’s like, and now we’re in Cape Town, it’s 1985, and there’s all of these signs that say, ‘No Black People [Allowed] Here’. And so, he’s just very much showing the grittier side of his experience.

DR: Or, more, just the pessimistic side. Knowing Skip, that’s his personality.

KY: Yes.

DR: So both of those people’s personalities come through.

KY: But he also in the end enjoyed this adventure and he still thought it was worth it. So I liked having those two different perspectives. And so I was curious to see, when I read your book, how your perspective compared. And I think you have more of an optimistic voice.

DR: I am eternally optimistic. If I wasn’t, I would not have made anything of my life, because everyone told me I couldn’t. I said, “Oh yeah? Screw you, watch me.” So I’ve been forced to be, but luckily eternally optimistic. Which doesn’t mean I am a Pollyanna. So I’m realistic and prepared as well.

KY: I mean there were some, you know, gritty details, but I thought that it was, overall, more of a “Blake” sort of voice. But what I thought that was in your book that was not really in the other ones was a lot more about emotions and familial connections. And just talking about the people back home and everything. Which is something that made it kind of different. And some really beautiful language.

DR: So I have to have joint credit for that with Cyndy. I kept a running [log], I wrote it during the race and then she cleaned it up. And went back and forth and back and forth on the editing. So it was absolutely a joint editing process. And sometimes my language was way too flowery and she’d bring it back down, and sometimes hers was a little too professional and I’d be like, “That doesn’t sound like me!”, so I’d bring it back.

KY: I love when you’re talking about how you left South America and you were under a sky full of diamonds, going out into a sky full of diamonds.

DR: Yeah, there’s… It was just a couple of years ago, now, so it’s 2024… before COVID, so say 2018, I was down in Florida on a beach… (a phone in the office rings and Riley stops to press a button to silence it) I walked down to the beach at a party and there was nobody else around. I looked up at the sky, I was like, “This is what I miss. I miss being out there.”

KY: I mean, it must be, it’s some of the darkest skies on Earth when you’re in the middle of the ocean.

DR: Yes, of course, you’re out– there’s some points, and I think this was described in the book, some points where you can’t really tell where the sky ends and the water starts. ‘Cause it’s just a circle.

KY: And I loved that. Because I feel like a lot of the time, when you read books from people who did something really interesting, their skills are not in writing so they describe it very simply.

DR: Uh-huh.

KY: And I’m like, okay, so you flew around the world or you climbed Mount Everest, but I don’t really get a sense of what it was like for you. But with you, I did.

DR: Okay, good.

KY: And what I also liked about that book was that I was able to see connections because I’ve read a lot of other books from the same time period. Because I go to used bookstores and people give away their books about twenty-five years afterwards. So, I was like “Oh!” At the same time [you were racing the Whitbread], there was the ENZA trimaran going for the Jules Verne Trophy, which I had read— actually, just the year before— read Cam Lewis’s book about Commodore Explorer.

DR: Uh-huh.

The Jules Verne Trophy, not quite like the book. [x]

KY: And then, at the same time you were planning for the America’s Cup 1995. And during lockdown, I actually read Anna Huntington’s book Making Waves.

DR: Yup.

KY: That’s always, to me, a very particular experience reading that book, because I got it from Breakwater Yacht Club, I borrowed it just before lockdown and then I had it. There was nothing else to do so I just was biking around in the spring. And I went to this little beach in North Sea and I just sat down on the beach and I was just reading this book and trying to think about something– just something else because it seemed like the world was going crazy. And there was an osprey family up in a nest. And it was just me, and the osprey, and this book about the America’s Cup.

DR: Uh-huh.

KY: So you’ve made a home here [on Long Island] in our area, but you’re from Detroit, originally.

DR: Yup.

KY: And you learned to sail there?

DR: I learned to sail with my family. No formal training, no junior sailing type of training, but my dad was a sailor and a racer and he would basically, I think… My mom would say, “Take one of the kids, get out of the house!” So I got to go, because I was the oldest, which was pretty cool. So I think the first sailboat race that I did, for sure, the first one that I can remember, I was about four years old. And they did a crash gybe, and I got rope burn under my arm, and I thought it was amazing. My mom wasn’t so happy. But they also did not put limits on it. So I started racing on bigger boats in the– in the 70s, Jesus.

KY: So did you have, at that point, heroes as a kid that you looked up to in the world of sailing?

DR: When you’re that young, the only peers you have, the only people you know about, are your family. When we came back from sailing for a year, on the year’s cruise, I obviously had my eyes opened by seeing all the different places and all the different jobs in the industry. From, you know, powerboat captains to workers, to engine repair, to riggers in the Caribbean. You know, all of that just exposure, Antigua Race Week… hippie yacht captains, Jimmy Buffett, Ted Turner, who we met on the dock, a sailboat racer with TV cameras following him… so that was a whole exposure. And then when I got back, and started racing, the people in the industry, the professionals in the industry, were my role models. Sailmakers and boat workers, boat captains.

KY: And this was the year that your family went to the Caribbean, you said?

DR: Yup, we did that when I was 13, so I started working and being paid to work on boats when I was 15, and put myself through college doing that.

KY: That must have been incredible, just being with your family in the Caribbean like that and going from place to place.

DR: Uh-huh. Yup, it was very organized and scheduled. Lots of sailing events. We went as far as you could, I think as far as you possibly could on a 56-foot wooden boat in one year and seven days. Because we had an extra week. My dad had two leaves of absence, but he worked for a week in Puerto Rico to make it up. So one year and seven days from the time we departed to the time we got back. We were on a schedule, we rarely stayed in the same place more than one night at a time. So it was pretty cool.

KY: When you were growing up, as a teenager and so forth, what was your awareness of the America’s Cup and then the offshore sailing?

DR: My awareness of the America’s Cup was discovered during that year’s cruise. When we were in Newport, in ‘77, the trials were going on. And then, I didn’t really know about the Round-The-World-Race because there had been no stopover in America until the race we did. But when I came back, at North Star Sailing Club, on Lake St. Claire, there was a film on the Whitbread, and I’m like, “Oh! I want to do that!”

KY: You were a teenager when you decided you were going to do that.

DR: 15, yeah. Maybe 16. Probably in winter. 15 or 16, it doesn’t matter.

KY: But that was your moment. And you followed on that course to become a professional from that point on?

DR: Well, professional back then wasn’t really a word. You were a boat captain. The professional/amateur only came into it in the 2000s when there was a marketing push from the Farr office that was building boats and started saying, you’re professional, you’re amateur. And I kind of got a little bit screwed over in that. Thank God I had enough time before people discriminated against professionals. Because we were poor and we needed to work to be able to sail. And I was able to get my skillset up. But basically, as I wanted to go sailing, I needed to eat and I needed to pay for college. So I had a job working on boats and sail lofts and cleaning boat bottoms and making sandwiches and anything I could do to keep those two things. I wanted to sail, I needed to eat, oh yeah, and I needed to pay for college.

KY: And you had the aspiration to go as far as you could?

DR: No, I wanted to do the America’s Cup and I wanted to do the Round-The-World, but I also thought maybe I wanted to go to the Olympics. And I also thought I wanted to be an advertising executive on Madison Avenue. So I kept a lot of different goals and I didn’t really know that it was a possibility to continue in the sailing until I didn’t get a job in advertising. And then I was ready. So what I tell people here at Oakcliff is that you absolutely have to have a plan. And whether it’s going to be school, family, real job, business, boatbuilder starting a business– but you always have to have your seabag packed and ready to go when an opportunity presents itself. And that’s kind of what I did.

KY: I’ve actually (laughs) I’ve actually had the worst luck trying to watch the Maiden documentary. There’s been places that I’ve been where it was showing and I kept missing it. And I got the DVD now and I was trying to watch it last night and my computer is new and I hadn’t set up the DVD program, and so I only got to watch, like, the first half-hour.

DR: Oh, bummer.

KY: So I’m sorry I can’t ask you too many questions based on that.

DR: It’s okay. I will tell you that the movie is quite realistic. And they were talking about trying to make a Hollywood remake of it, and I don’t know how that would be possible. Because the footage was so good, the story was so well-done, and the only thing you could add to make it more Hollywood, honestly, would be romance. (laughs)

[x]

KY: That was the ‘89 race, and y’know, it really was just, I feel like there has to be some kind of movie about the ‘89 race, not necessarily about Maiden in particular. But just because there were so many different events going on, it almost doesn’t seem real that it was at this point in the world– that the Berlin Wall came down and…

DR: We weren’t even aware that that was happening because we were out at sea. There was satellite navigation really around the middle of the Earth, around Antarctica you were still using celestial. The electronic communications for weather– we would get a weather fax that was on that fax paper, where you get it too hot or wet and you can’t read it. There was a positioning once a day, but our only communication was SSB ham radio, single-sideband. So we weren’t picking up on the news.

KY: I have the “Maxi” book that I saw on the shelf, I got that one at Strand also, and I was looking through that and looking at the computer technology that they had onboard as research for my story. But just this… you came back to port and you would get all of this news that the world was changing so rapidly in this period. Did you have a sense that, y’know, something’s in the atmosphere?

DR: No, no, no, no. We were just isolated. I was literally talking about this last night with a friend’s nephew who just came back from Germany. He hasn’t been in America for three years. And I said, at least you have the Internet, because when I used to come back to do an event or a speech or something, I would at the airport, get People Magazine. Because there was no social media, there was no TV that we were watching. And I came back and there was a social event and people were talking about “Britney”. And I’m like “Who the heck is Britney and what’s her last name?”

KY: Britney Spears.

DR: Because if you’re gone and you’re not hearing it, you have no idea and the whole social world has passed you by. So you have to do some homework to catch up.

KY: In some of the books, they say, you know, the world could end and we wouldn’t know until we got to port.

DR: Uh-huh.

KY: I think in Skip Novak’s book, he said that they were at sea when the Chernobyl accident happened and they had heard that on the radio, and they were like, “What if we come back to the northern hemisphere and everyone’s dead of radiation poisoning?”

DR: Right, right. You are isolated, out there. Or you were isolated out there. Nowadays it’s much different. Nowadays, I think it’s lost a lot of the romance. There’s more people following– you see Cole Brauer and half a million people following, but is that entertainment or adventure? I’m not sure which.

KY: That was the first time you had been to the Southern Ocean, right?

DR: Yes.

KY: What was that experience like, being there for the first time?

DR: (deep exhale) Everybody says they want to be helicoptered in just for a day, which would be a disaster. Because the way that you acclimate to the Southern Ocean is that it’s a little windier, it’s a little windier, it’s a little windier, and each step up, you’re like “Oh my god! Oh, oh, oh!” And then on the way back down, as you’re coming out, you’re walking around in 50 knots of wind with a cup of coffee and you’re not spilling it. So it’s an acclimation, it’s not like you’re helicoptered in, “This is the Southern Ocean!” It’s a gradual in and a gradual out. There are moments you absolutely remember, just the amount of energy and extremeness and the adrenaline of sailing is pretty cool.

KY: From what they say, it sounds like it’s almost a world apart. Otherworldly.

DR: It is, I mean, everybody talks now about Point Nemo, we didn’t even really talk about that then, which is when you’re closer to the space shuttle than you are to land.

KY: Francis Chichester, he said, “I felt like I was planetary distances away from the rest of mankind.”

DR: OK, I wasn’t that eloquent.

KY: But was it like you were on another planet?

DR: We were racing as fast as we could to get to the next piece of land. And that is the thing people always ask, “Are you bored?” No. Because you’re in a competition, it might be a very long competition, but you’re in a competition. And yes there’s some fun times and there’s some relaxing, there’s laughs. But you’re focused. When you’re steering the boat, you’re trying to steer the boat as best as absolutely possible. When you’re trimming, you’re trying to do it as best as absolutely possible. You’re just doing it for a really long time.

It sounds pretty intense. [x]

KY: And there were several different nationalities onboard Maiden. It was organized in England and it was majority Brits, so how did you feel as an American being among Brits?

DR: Well, it wasn’t majority British, if you count Welsh, and Irish and Scottish, which they absolutely would. There were three proper English onboard. And then, it was weird being the only American only in that it was the first time I had ever been in an experience where I was the only American. I wasn’t even aware of a lot of the stereotypes until they started teasing me about it. “Seppo? What’s Seppo?” It’s like, septic tank. (laughs) But I didn’t know.

KY: It’s the Australian word for Americans, yeah. You know, when I’ve been doing the research for my writing, I type in “Whitbread Race” [in a search engine] and one of the suggestions is “Did Maiden win the Whitbread Race?” Because it’s become so famous now because of the documentary. So how do you feel knowing that you guys are now the most famous team that was there in 1989?

DR: Well, that’s fine. There was also the photo of my cleavage that was the most published photo of all of 1989. Or actually, 1990, because of the finish in Fort Lauderdale. In 1990, the absolutely top-published photo in sports was of my cleavage.

KY: …I’m sorry.

DR: (laughs) Back then, I wasn’t embarrassed, I didn’t even really care about it or know about it, but I was not a fan of coming into Fort Lauderdale as sailboat racers, in our bathing suits, because I thought it cheapened what we were doing. And I was quite against it. Ironically, then that photo came out and now I look at the photos and I’m like “Oh, if only I looked like that now!” (laughs)

KY: Did you have that, you know, almost stereotypical expression after you came back, thinking “I won’t do that again!” or did you immediately say, “I want to do that again next time.”

DR: Neither. I figured, I’ve checked the box, now what am I going to do? I was literally trying to decide between the Olympics and the America’s Cup when we finished. I did not intend to do the next race, I only did it because there had been a mutiny and I had to save the reputation of ‘89-90, because if the women had failed, then it would have been a step backwards further than before Maiden. Because Maiden was about “Can they do it?” “Yes, they can? Oh, that was a one-off.” That would have been the story.

KY: So you did the America’s Cup in 1992, and you were the first woman in a physically-active role [on an America's Cup crew in 140 years].

DR: Mmm-hmm.

KY: How did you end up joining that team?

DR: Open try-outs. There was a handful of women that tried out. I was just the only one that made the team.

KY: This is also, significantly, this is also the year in which there is the movie made about the America’s Cup, Wind, that’s the fictionalization of the events of 1983.

DR: That’s right, that’s right.

KY: And that’s kind of an alternate universe sort of story, but it struck me that this film that was set ten years before did have female crew, something that only became a reality that same year.

DR: I didn’t even think about that. I was so busy just training to go racing.

Left: Fiction, Right: Reality

KY: Were you aware of the movie when it came out?

DR: Oh, of course. We were aware of the movie. And I think I remember thinking it was okay. Everybody teased, everybody was joking about it. But I think it was pretty successful, pretty well-done. I had actually been asked to be in the film as a stunt-double at one point, and I thought they were joking. It turns out that they were, but it doesn’t matter– I was busy.

KY: Yeah, it’s one of those love-it-or-hate-it movies, y’know? I love it, I know people who hate it, but I love it.

DR: I don’t hate it at all. I’ve watched it a few times. There was a movie called Masquerade that I liked better, and it didn’t get nearly as much press.

KY: I like to joke with my friends that I’m one of the 600 people on Earth who have actually seen Wind.

DR: Oh no, I think there’s a lot of people that have seen Wind. Every junior sailing kid who has been at a program when there’s no wind out, gets to see Wind.

KY: You were part of America^3–

DR: America Cubed.

KY: Yes, America Cubed. Did you have the sense that you were the first?

DR: Oh yes. They maximized it in terms of publicity. We had three of us, there were two black guys on the team. So Art, myself, and Billy Ruh would go. It was the girl, the cute white guy, and the star black guy, we’d call ourselves the Mod Squad.

KY: Oh, like the show, yes.

DR: Which was a TV show from the 60s.

The America^3 crew were nicknamed "The Cubens" (pronounced like "Cubans") [x]

KY: So then you were in the Whitbread in 1993 again, like in the book. You joined the team after Leg 1 because there had been the mutiny and so forth… I almost don’t even want to ask anything because you said it all so well in the book!

DR: (laughs) So then just tell everyone to read the book. You can buy it now [online], it’s in paperback because we sold the 50,000 copies in hardback.

KY: In the book, there’s the contrast between the management side of the team and so forth and dealing with the lawsuits and the money troubles, whereas you said when you’re out at sea, you’re focused on very specific tasks. So did you actually prefer the simplicity of focusing on what was going on aboard ship.

DR: It’s ironic. Because when you’re out there, all you really… it’s actually pure. It’s wonderful. It’s amazing, because you’re just focus, focus, focus. And you’re just trying quickly to get to shore. And with the second attempted mutiny on the boat while we were racing kind of took that purity away, so it wasn’t as good as with Maiden. The second time around the world or the second time you’re in the America’s Cup is never as pure and fun with that sense of discovery as the first time. The ironic part is that you’re racing and all you want to do is get to shore and see people and have a glass of wine and have actual vegetables that aren’t freeze-dried. And then you get there and somebody hands you a beer and then you forget about all of that. The first couple of days onshore are really annoying because there’s so much distraction and then you get into a routine and then before you go back, you are like “Ohhhhhh, I don’t want to go to sea, I want to stay in bed.”

[x]

KY: You captured that so well, talking about being in South America and hearing the winds keeping you up at night. And in the book you wrote a lot about Gloria Borrego, who recently passed.

DR: (quietly) I know.

KY: She sounded incredible. Could you talk about her?

DR: She was incredible. She worked in the pits in NASCAR, she was a brilliant engineer, a problem-solver, always laughing. Amazing. Diana Klybert wrote her obituary, which summed up more than any of us knew in terms of one aspect of her, and it was tragic that she got cancer and died within two weeks. One of my other friends, mutual friends, was upset and said that she had so much left to do. But I pointed out, she had done so much.

KY: Just the good humor that came through in the book, where you were joking among yourselves, she was talking about her dreams, and she talked about how she dreamed she was a superhero. That was incredible, just so fun to read.

DR: Yup.

KY: And you also talked about how you were getting letters from students and that you were impressed that people were following you.

DR: Yes, because you wouldn’t remember, you weren’t alive. [Actually, I was seven months old when the 1993 Whitbread started, but close enough.] But the Internet was just starting to happen and CompuServe was the e-mail. So we would sent a fax to a supporter in… Annapolis, I think? And then he would e-mail it out, because you couldn’t take a picture then, you couldn’t send attachments, he would re-type it into an e-mail and send it out to people via fax or e-mail. It was basically an early version of a listserv.

KY: Yeah. I think that really the Whitbread and the America’s Cup were kind of pioneers in using the Internet for education [and outreach] and that way of letting people follow. The Whitbread website from 1997 had almost all of the modern features and everything! I know that in the 1995 America’s Cup, there was the PACT organization that was doing newspaper things for students every week. Really impressive stuff.

DR: Sailors are early adopters. Because we are so remote.

America^3 in 1995. [x]

KY: 1995, you were with the other America^3. Where it was specifically a women’s team. So that was, I suppose, the next step, now that there had been female crew, that there had been–

DR: 1995, yeah. It was basically because Bill Koch and his financial advisors didn’t want him to spend all of this time and money and effort to do it again and underwrite it.

KY: He had to do something different.

DR: And so they came up with the idea of, should we do an all-women’s team. They asked me, and I said, “Noooo, let’s just sail mixed, it’s more fun.” And then I sat down and helped write the business plan for that, we called it the Manifesto, but it was a business plan.

KY: I just thought when I read Huntington’s book and it was talking about the team dynamics and so forth and who’s in charge and interesting like that, talking with the trainers and so on. And here’s now we do certain things. I thought it was very funny, the story about forcing one of the chase boat guys to listen to you [all] talking about menstrual problems because he had been annoying or something.

DR: I don’t remember, there was a lot of funny stuff like that. Now, Anna was a rower, she came in kind of late on the team, but her background was journalism, so she wrote a journalistic story, which I fully support. It was slightly sensationalized to be able to sell books, a lot of the other women were very upset because it told too much. My belief is, whatever you do, you should be proud of it. So if everybody knows, it’s on the front page of The New York Times, then tough. You did it, you said it, it’s there, it’s true, share it.

KY: I thought especially talking about the resistance that she faced, I was very impressed by that, it was very scathing in certain places. Talking about specifically the things that people said when they doubted you. I was joking with my friend, I said “She called this book Making Waves because the publisher probably said ‘You can’t call it Screw You, Dennis Conner!’” (laughs)

DR: Okay, yeah. We don’t like Dennis, but he’s now old, he’s older. He’s, yeah…

KY: He disappeared.

DR: Yeah.

KY: And obviously that’s another incredible year in the history, with so many things going on, you literally saw a boat sink in the racing–

DR: Yeah.

KY: –and the different nationalities involved, of course it’s the year that Team New Zealand are just sweeping through. So, again, did you have this sense of being impressed that so many crazy things are going on and you’re in the midst of it?

DR: You’re in the midst of it and you’re trying to just get stuff done. It was a different campaign. It was extremely unfortunate that we had no women in the leadership onshore, obviously we were on the boat, but you need to have that crossover and it was just math, to a point. Because if there had been more women that had had experience in the past, then we would have had more women on the coaching staff, more women on the design team, more women in the marketing team. So you would have had more of a cohesive team, as opposed to the guys do this half, all the business, and the women just hurry up and go sailing. Which hurt us a little bit in some of the decision making.

KY: Yes, I got that sense from the book. And then you did have a mixed team in 2000, with America True.

DR: And we hired the designer of the boat that sank. (laughs) Because he was definitely not going to build a boat that was going to sink.

KY: (laughs) I’ve actually read the official program for that edition, I got it online, and I have a question I’ve gotta ask…

DR: Hopefully I know the answer.

KY: Why was Godzilla on America True’s hull?!?

Reproduced from Challenge 2000: The Race to Win the America's Cup, by Russell Coutts and Paul Larsen.

DR: That’s because… it’s hilarious. So, in the America’s Cup, there’s extreme security, you’re not allowed to go into another team’s base, you’re not allowed to take photos because of certain parameters and all sorts of stuff. And we did have some espionage, but that was, I’m pretty sure I know who– I’m pretty sure it was a Kiwi– and when we came in in the morning, it was so hilarious. So they’d snuck in and they’d put Godzilla on the Golden Gate Bridge that was on the side of the hull. So it was just a prank. We could have protested them and had “damages” because they were in the base.

KY: They touched the hull.

DR: Some of the people were upset about that, and myself and Chris Coffin just thought it was so f—-ing funny. We were like, “Leave it!” So we left it on forever.

KY: In the photos in the program, it’s there and I thought that you guys did that.

DR: Nope.

KY: But I thought, I’ve gotta ask why. In this case, you were in Auckland and y’know, this is not necessarily the period where it became– because it already was– that it was so integrated into the culture there. Did you have a sense of that, that this is a place where so much of the country is watching this?

DR: Oh yeah. Because I’d lived in New Zealand off and on since 1992. It was my home. I was actually in London a week ago and staying with Jenni and Spike– Jenni was on both Maiden and Heineken and Spike was on New Zealand Challenge– and I said, I think there’s more friends per square mile of mine in New Zealand than anywhere else in the world. Just because I know so many of them and they’re good friends. And I was lucky to be sailing internationally when it was the decades of the Kiwis, and they’ve all gone home to roost.

KY: And you said in Taking the Helm, when you guys got into Fort Lauderdale, you told the people who were not Americans, you said, this is the United States, there’s not going to be as many people as there were in New Zealand because we don’t turn out as much, so…

DR: Well, no, it’s because they didn’t know that the race was happening as much.

KY: Did you have a sense that this was so much a part of the culture, that people are going to recognize you on the street?

DR: They do. They still do.

KY: It’s a very different sort of experience, the way it’s integrated into their culture?

DR: Yeah.

KY: Like you said, Peter Blake was a national hero.

There are even children's books about him! [x]

DR: Well, there’s a big difference. New Zealand has a huge coastline, somewhere around 90% of people go boating regularly, it’s something insane like 86% own a boat, whether it’s a rowboat, or a launch, which is their word for a powerboat, or a yacht, which is their word for a sailboat. So of course you’re going to have more following. As opposed to, how many people in Kansas, Oklahoma, Idaho, North Dakota, South Dakota, y’know, Texas… there’s coastlines somewhere in there, but there’s so much vast, non-coastline.

KY: So would you say that our cultural disadvantage is our geography, in that way?

DR: It’s just different. Just different, yeah.

KY: So then, you were in management and media in the next two editions. Flip those around, media and then management…

DR: I was doing media coverage in 2003 and then I did sail on the boat up until the last 8 months, and I was general manager of the French team for 2007 where we raced in Valencia.

KY: That was K-Challenge. And this is, talking about, three different countries within a decade, that the America’s Cup was in. And with the people who are part of that, involved with that, they talk about their kids going to school in different countries and so forth. So what’s it like, just that nomadic life? Where you know that now we’re here, but we don’t know where we’re going to be in five years because we don’t know who’s going to win? And just going somewhere else, do I have to learn a language, learn basic phrases and so forth?

DR: Well, I mean, that’s a privilege, to be able to go and live in all different countries. Until Oakcliff, I had not lived in any place more than three years after I was 11.

KY: That’s amazing.

DR: It’s cool. And you keep light, you don’t collect a lot of c-—, and you don’t need a lot of stuff. You collect experiences and friends, as opposed to material things.

KY: And I know that in your book and also in Making Waves, you talked about, or people talked about you, reading home and garden magazines because it was something that was different from your own life.

DR: Well, yeah, also if you’re moving to a new place you want to– nowadays we call it nesting– but you want to take the time and that’s you’re creative outlet, to make things pretty. To do gardens. I think somewhere it’s probably written that if I garden, I want something out of it. So I specifically garden with vegetables and some fruits. Flowers are there… marigolds to keep the pests away, but it’s not to make it pretty. It’s to make it productive.

KY: Practical gardening.

DR: Yup.

14 years ago, the beginning of the AC multihull era. [x]

KY: Since that point, y’know, we’ve seen the America’s Cup change so much with technology and so forth. And that was sort of the point you moved out of that, you were working at Oakcliff, but how has it been watching all of these changes in the past fifteen years?

DR: (clicks tongue) Yeah, it has been fifteen years. I’m obviously out of the inside scoop on technology, I think the challenge is that there has been a concerted effort to make it marketable to the masses. And when I did the television in 2003, I learned, believed, and reinforced my belief that the way to make it entertaining and relevant to the masses is to educate the masses. Because sports fans, even if they don’t do the sport, want to be seen as the experts, so they can talk about it at the pub with their friends and have an opinion. You need to give them the information so that they can form an opinion in the end. That may or may not be right, because it’s all judgemental, but at least they have the tools. Just making something go fast and not educating people is not the answer. So the catamarans and the foiling gecko boats right now are a challenge on top of the fact that you don’t see the humans. People associate with humans. So I think there’s a lot of people that are in agreement with that, the question is, whoever wins, will they have the cojones to make that correct change.

KY: I’ve seen discussions of this, how much jargon do you use and for what audiences?

DR: Jargon is not a big deal. You say port, left side of the boat, starboard right side of the boat. It’s super frickin’ simple and it doesn’t have to be… it’s not the language that’s the problem. It’s the strategy, the tactics, the humans, why are they doing that? Oh, the wife just had a baby or that person’s mother just ended up visiting in town, the paint is a new coating that they think is faster, is it going to be faster or is more of a psychological advantage? Those kinds of conversations pull people in. And in all of that, I didn’t use a single sailing term.

KY: Right. The thing I was thinking, when I was reading the book on the beach, and it was 2020, I was in lockdown, and I was waiting for the next edition coming up in 2021. And it was at that point that DutchSail had pulled out. And I was thinking, you know, this is 25 years ago, and there was this cohort of women who were crewing, and now they’re not. I felt that this is the light that failed. How did you feel that there has been a technological revolution in the America’s Cup but not necessarily a social one?

DR: Well, there has been. Not in the America’s Cup, but SailGP, the Round-The-World, they’ve gone back and forth between incentives and requirements, and it’s making a difference. The America’s Cup is not going to put those rules in because almost all the rules are some sort of mutual consent, so you have to have at least two parties that are wanting to win to the death. So the only way that you’re going to be able to have women in the America’s Cup, I predict, by regulatory, by rules, is by having a sponsor who says we will give you corporate dollars as long as you have x number of women on the boat. Or you have the challenger and the defender who both believe it’s a competitive advantage for them to have their female on the boat. And then if they both believe that, then you’ll end up with women on the boat. But it’s really hard.

KY: Do you think that if you had been in the match in ‘95, that it would have been different?

DR: No.

KY: That people would have said, see, clearly women can be at least in the match, so…

DR: No. I don’t think anyone makes that distinction. That has nothing to do with it. And also, frankly, the Kiwis were so much faster, that we would have been seen as the women that lost the America’s Cup. So, no.

KY: And then with the set-up they have now, where they made a separate event.

DR: That’s… silly.

KY: Yes! That’s what I was saying, that I feel like previously it was by rule, open, but de facto all-male, now it seems like it’s de jure all-male, because you’re separating.

DR: Where it does help, and where it may help the overall event in the future, is because they’re focusing on women and youth, countries like Holland, Australia, I don’t know the other…

KY: Canada?

DR: Canada, those countries have an entree for young people with a longer runway, launchpad, to get into whatever the next America’s Cup is. So from a marketing perspective, it’s extremely good. Do I wish that we just had women on the real boats? Absolutely. And in particular, in the US, there’s at least two women that are relegated to the women’s team that absolutely should be on the real team.

KY: I feel like when you say “The Women’s America’s Cup”, that’s different from saying “Women IN the America’s Cup”.

DR: Correct.

KY: And with what you were saying, having a women’s team vs a mixed team. That when it’s a women’s team, there’s focus on that, whereas if it’s a co-ed team then it’s just people.

DR: Just people, exactly. We need to sail with people.

Liv Mackay, Gemma Jones, and Veerle ten Have of the New Zealand Women's America's Cup Team. [x]

KY: Now you work at Oakcliff and you have for 15 years now…

DR: 14.

KY: 14.

DR: It’s only 14. (laughs)

KY: What are some of your duties and responsibilities here?

DR: I’m the executive director and that means doing everything that needs to get done, from making sure that Matt’s buying the right washing machine ‘cause the kids don’t all take c--– out of their pockets and it ends up in the pumps and breaks them– that’s an eight-hundred-dollar mistake– to getting the art show set up, to the fundraising, to coaching the development person about marketing, to cleaning out the shop, to supervising the composites– although Luke’s doing an amazing job there– to sailing, to coaching.

KY: What is this art exhibit?

DR: It’s a fundraiser. So, we have an art show April 6th. We have one every spring. Hunt Lawrence is our main benefactor, and his wife is an artist and she has an art school in New York– New York School of the Arts– so we do a joint fundraiser every spring. And then she does a fundraiser in the fall with art shows. So it’s an art exhibit, there’s a champagne brunch, and all the art’s for sale and a portion, minimum 20% up to 100%, goes to Oakcliff. Hunt doesn’t care as much about all of that, he just thinks it’s really cool that we have a deadline to clean up the place from the winter mess to the summer.

KY: (laughs) Oh my god.

DR: (laughs)

KY: So what is life like for the students here?

DR: You can and should ask them. It depends on the season and the day. I’ve seen more people come through here, we’re at nearly 600 graduates, or over 600 graduates. And some years, it’s kind of the wild west in the beginning, where they’re living offsite and nobody under 18 was allowed. Sometimes we have super-young groups, just because we’re 15 and above. We had one camp where it was 8 boys and girls between 15 and 17, and then 3 women that were in their 60s. And it all worked, but it was awkward in the beginning and it became a great team-building event. At the very end of that particular camp, we had a competition where they divided up into teams and they would do a cooking competition where they could only use stuff that was upstairs, kind of like on Top Chef. They all brought it to my house for lunch and we awarded, I think it was a watermelon soup with a basil-olive oil puree drizzle and a sprinkle of feta that won.

KY: That sounds great.

DR: It was great. It was a 15-year-old boy that made that.

KY: Are you satisfied with what you’ve achieved at Oakcliff?

DR: We’ve achieved amazing things. Our goal right now is to make it sustainable without me onsite and without our main benefactor. So that’s our next frontier. At the same time, we’re under pressure to expand into Florida and to California, which is totally doable but I need to clone myself a couple times.

KY: Now that you’ve had so many people come through, what are some of the things you’ve seen your students achieve?

DR: I go back to Seth Cooley, is one of the top engineers at Future Fibers. Ervin Grove was running the North Sails loft in Charleston. Madeline Baldridge now is married to a coach who was here– and he is a son of our navigator from ‘92, so it’s a small world– she is one of the designers for North Sails. Chris Kennedy works for Melges and he and his wife have a flower farm in Wisconsin. Mark [Towill] and Charlie [Enright] obviously won The Ocean Race. Five of our graduates are working with American Magic. Robyn Lush is working with them a little bit, she’s also become an ultra-marathoner. Koko [Komar] is working in commercial real estate. Mike Nicoletti has a hedge fund. And that’s just off the top of my head.

X-Men comics and Percy Jackson novels taught me that all good specialized schools for young people with extraordinary talents must be tucked away in small towns just a train ride away from New York City…

KY: Do you feel like you’re almost, I guess, Professor X, finding the young talent and helping them…

DR: Of course. Of course. We’re giving them the opportunity to come in and try things out. It’s not always an easy thing. And it’s a little bit like I suspect parenthood would be. You’re just like, this kid is driving me frickin’ crazy and they hate me right now, and then 5 years later I’ll get an e-mail from them saying, “I was a jerk, and you were mean to me, but I needed it, thank you.” I just wish I didn’t have to do that over and over and over again. But we try to just keep it at a professional level, acknowledge that we’re asking for ultimate effort, and that not everybody’s going to succeed, but you know where the bar is.

KY: You talked about having the other locations. What are some other things you’re hoping for, for the future of Oakcliff?

DR: Again, the sustainability so that I don’t have to be here. Because it is a model where we have tuition for the Saplings, we have sponsorships, we have art shows. We have income lines, retail, and yet we need to fund-raise for the overhead, essentially. So about 50% of the budget comes from charitable donations. One thing that would make it more sustainable is to be able to get the landlords to agree to sell us the property, because then we would end up net positive on the bottom line. We do a capital campaign so we don’t have to pay rent. We’ve worked on getting the insurance down. So there’s a lot on the business side of it. It’s really boring to people, but we use our dollars. Around 90, I think the lowest we’ve been is 87% of every dollar goes to programming, and we’ve been as high as 96%. So we’re the golden children of utilizing every dollar for programming.

KY: Would you say that your reputation and star power are important to–

DR: My reputation, I’m not going to say star power, but my reputation and credibility is what built Oakcliff. The good news is that 5 years ago, 8 years ago, everything that happened at Oakcliff would reflect on me. Now Oakcliff’s grown to the point that if I just slowly took a backseat, it’s its own entity, which is a sign of success. Because it can’t be attached. If I get run over by a bus, 8 years ago, everybody would say, well, Oakcliff’s done. Same thing with our main benefactor. Now we’re trying to get it to the point that it’s not surrounding just one person. It’s more of the reputation of quality and a community.

KY: And I think we can see that it has to be larger than just the person.

DR: Absolutely.

KY: That the leader is not the whole organization, and if the organization is seen as too closely tied to the leader, then anything the leader does reflects on the organization and that can be a weakness.

DR: Exactly.

Oakcliff trainees Sweta Shervegar and Noelle Scheer in the boatyard.

KY: We spoke about the role of the sport of sailing in American culture. There has been, I would say, especially with offshore, sort of a decline in visibility in the past 25 years and so forth. And everyone’s got their own reason for that, y’know–

DR: Well, part of it is that it’s become more accessible. Before, there used to be one race, and only a handful of crazy people dared to do it. Now it’s become safer, more communication, more safety equipment, more rescue opportunities, more people. Again, Cole Brauer, in Class 40, livestreaming dinner parties… I mean, I didn’t take a shower for 5 weeks, and I barely had time to write in my diary and drink Ovaltine. Y’know, so, it’s a different… it’s more accessible, so it seems to be easy, but it’s also become more fractured.

KY: There’s many different races attracting attention, but also attention in general is more split because of the Internet and more TV channels. But it seems like, also, I feel like now “sports” means “ball sports” more than it used to.

DR: Say that again?

KY: I feel like now, when I look at ESPN and so forth, “sports” is ball sports more than it necessarily was when you guys were getting your specials on ESPN and so on.

DR: No. When we were back in the day, to have anything on other than football, basketball and baseball in America… even hockey struggled. It’s changed. There’s so much more inventory again, technology allows you to produce high quality broadcast-ready programming, so women’s sports has benefited hugely from that.

KY: Yes.

DR: Sailing is on TV more than you would think, but there’s also more clutter.

KY: I remember when the documentary came out, people said, if Mike Plant had lived, then we would have had an American visibly in the Vendée [Globe] and that would have brought more visibility for offshore [racing] in the United States. And now we do have some American offshore figures with 11th Hour Racing and now with Cole Brauer who are getting all of this attention. Do you think that’s a positive development that we have these people who are…

DR: Yeah. Of course it’s positive. The thing is, how do you channel it for a purpose and what is that purpose? Is it more eyeballs for your sponsors? That’s one thing. Is it more people in sailing? That’s a different thing. Is it a more robust industry? That’s another thing. Is it more environmental and ecology awareness? That’s another thing. Just taking this power, which seems to be scattershot, and putting it into a clear mission and achieving that mission. And all missions are achievable, you just have to know what it is that you’re trying to do. I think Cole is a perfect example. She didn’t expect it. So now it’s going to be really interesting, I think she might be going over to MerConcept. She has power right now, I know she has advisors, and her advisors and she have to make a decision. She could do like Ellen MacArthur. Ellen doesn’t sail at all, but she has her Ellen MacArthur Trust and she uses that to do specific charitable work. I think Cole’s probably too energetic, dynamic to stop there. But what does she want to do?

KY: What do you think that she did well, particularly with the presentation?

DR: The amount of followers she has is crazy. And she has brought in a huge non-sailing audience. And there is a legitimate discussion, like I talked about way back, amongst technical sailors, about the merits and how this happened. And again, she needs to decide what her purpose is and how she’s going to capitalize on something that she’s built that’s amazing.

[x]

KY: You were talking about also, the 11th Hour people who came through here. What would you say that they have perhaps done well in presentation?

DR: 11th Hour changed the conversation around the environment hugely and now they’re moving on to women with the MerConcept, which is François Gabart. And that’s Wendy Schmidt, that’s from the top, that’s a female decision-maker and leader.

KY: I wanted to say this before, but talking about the management side as well, you said that there has been a social revolution in the past few decades. I actually saw the interview for the 25th anniversary of America^3, where they had Melanie Roberts who’s the race coordinator for America’s Cup and for SailGP. And that she had been, I think, ten years old watching you guys? [Roberts was actually 9 at the time of the 1995 Cup.]

DR: Oh yes. Yes.

KY: The people on the boats get the most attention, but there are people at all levels who are sort of this generation that has been inspired by the people before them.

DR: Uh-huh. This sport is… it’s complicated. It’s an industry, and a sport, and a lifestyle, and a pastime. It’s all in one. We’re not going to talk about, we don’t need to talk about the Olympics, but that’s part of the national governing body of US Sailing, they also need to figure out what they can do and once they figure that out, they need to do it well. And they’re doing none of it well at this point. Because it’s so complicated. Unlike skiing, perfect example, there’s the Olympic ski team and then there’s the recreational part of it, so all the ski hills have a business association that then spins off some funding for the Olympic team.

KY: Are there any other people you think who are impressive competing nowadays, who came through Oakcliff or otherwise, who you think I should be following?

DR: I started going through names there, Lena Kurbiel is rowing with Liz Wardley [across the Pacific], so there’s one. Sydney Monahan has finished school, she’s going to do a Women’s Match Racing campaign. Sweta, our high-performance coach, is going to go over to MerConcept, Michaela [Robinson] is going to be over there trying out. If I started looking down the 600 people, I would have 600 names for you to follow.

#dawn riley #oakcliff sailing center #interview #female sailors #Whitbread Round the World Race #Whitbread 1989 #Whitbread 1993 #America’s Cup #AC 28 #AC 29 #AC 30

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oliverreedmasterass · 2 years ago

Text

Part 3!

Credits to @starcatcherkiszka for the fic idea!

In case you want something to listen to while you read: ✨Summer of 69 Playlist✨

Words: 4k

Warnings: drug use, language, mentions of drinking and nudity

Synopsis: Greta Van Fleet somehow manages to travel back in time to the Summer of 69, during the Woodstock Art and Music festival. You can only imagine what hijinks they’re going to get up to.

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Considering Jake and Danny were acting like a set of toddlers, the rest of their trek to the festival could have gone a lot worse. Things only got bad for a little bit when Jake veered off the road and started stumbling through someone’s backyard, only to be chased back to the street by a man wielding a shovel. By the time the venue was within sight, Jake and Danny were coming down from their highs and finally starting to make more sense.

“I could go for a drink of something,” Jake spoke the first coherent sentence Sam or Josh had heard from him in over an hour.

“Me too,” Danny agreed. At some point in their walk he had acquired a beaded headband, which he was using to push his long hair out of his face. He had no recollection of where it had come from.

“We’ll find something when we get inside,” Josh promised them. “We’re so close.”

“Where did my shoe go?” Jake asked.

“You lost it when that guy was chasing you,” Sam caught him up to speed.

“That wasn’t very Hare Krishna of him,” Jake frowned.

At long last they finally reached the fenced entrance, which was jam-packed with all kinds of different people, all eager to get inside. Josh noted that, if they really wanted to, they could have all collectively pushed on the fence and made it topple over to gain access to the festival. But, instead, they had to wait for another painful half hour as everyone slowly filed through the small opening in the fence.

They stepped inside and were immediately spellbound. Word had definitely gotten around that something exciting was happening, because the farm field in front of them was filled to the brim. Greta Van Fleet had played some pretty large shows in their time, but it really didn’t compare to what was in front of them. The sea of people extended as far as the eye could see.

“Something tells me we aren’t gonna get barricade, guys,” Sam joked. Jake genuinely looked upset. Danny scanned around the area and his eyes brightened when he saw a group of people with flowers in their hair, handing out paper cups of water. All that walking and tripping balls had really made him dehydrated. Since he knew Jake was in the same boat, he grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Sam and Josh to the people.

“Oof,” Jake grunted, though he perked up when he realized where they were headed.

“Welcome to Woodstock!” a girl in a pair of flare jeans and a striped yellow shirt greeted them, handing out two cups of water. Jake and Danny both smiled at her to be polite, and then proceeded to slam the water down, emptying their cups in under 2 seconds. With wide eyes, the girl reached behind her and grabbed two more cups for them. “You been walking for a while?”

she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe the journey we’ve been on,” Jake started to reply, but Danny stepped on his foot to get him to stop. With the drugs fully worn off, his tolerance for stupidity was a lot lower, especially when it came to openly admitting they had time traveled. Jake scowled at Danny since he had accidentally stomped down on his bare foot, and then went out of his way to clear his throat and turn to the girl.

“Yeah, the traffic out there is bad, we had to walk about five miles to get here.”

“Did you lose your shoe along the way or do you just prefer to keep that foot out?”

“It’s a personal style choice,” Jake joked with her. “But in all seriousness, is there a place where I can find some shoes around here?”

As the girl started to point towards a line of vans on the opposite side of the field, Josh handed Jake his sneakers.

“I want to go barefoot,” Josh explained. “Give me your shoe.”

Looking mildly confused by how Josh had managed to kick off his shoes so quickly, Jake tucked the sneakers under his arm and held onto Josh’s shoulder to keep himself balanced while he slipped out of his single white van. He silently handed it to Josh, and Josh grabbed it, wound up his arm, and chucked the shoe into oblivion. A car alarm sounded in the distance.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Josh explained himself.

Jake stared at him. “You’ve been wanting to throw my shoe?”

“You guys are outta sight,” the girl laughed as she continued handing other people water.

“Thank you,” Jake started to tell her as Danny dragged him and Josh away.

“Let’s keep the interactions to a minimum,” he whispered between them.

“Nice to have you back, Danny,” Jake sighed. It had been fun screaming about the mushroom people and hitting Josh with a stick because he looked like a pinata with Danny on their trek to Woodstock. They didn’t have a worry in the world between the two of them, which was something Danny needed to experience more often.

“Someone needs to be responsible,” Danny protested.

“Oh, so I’m off the hook now?” Sam joined them, wrapping an arm around Josh’s shoulder. “If that’s the case,” he trailed off, heading for the vans that the girl had directed them towards. “I’m gonna look at the vintage clothes,” he called over his shoulder. It seemed like they were between sets because no music was playing, so they decided to trail behind Sam.

The vans were a sight to see: they were parked one behind another, forming a seemingly never-ending chain that ran parallel to the stream that cut through the far end of the property. While some of the vans were entirely locked up with their blinds drawn, most of them had their side doors wide open, plumes of smoke pouring out.

Sam approached an especially large van that had a collection of shirtless men sitting in front of it, passing around a bong and chugging down some beers. It was basically Sam’s scene. The greatest part of the allure for him, though, was the collection of clothes they had laid out in front of them in the grass. Fur vests, paisley pants, anti-war shirts, and white tunics were sitting there, as if waiting for them. Sam, Josh, Jake, and Danny all spotted something that they were itching to wear.

“How’s it going?” Sam greeted the group, making Danny grit his teeth in concern from behind him.

“Hey man,” one of the guys, sporting an impressive, dark mustache, raised his beer to Sam. “Having a gas over here.”

“Nice clothes,” Sam motioned down to the pieces.

“If you like anything, we can make a trade,” the guy manning the bong piped in.

“Like cash?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Nah, we accept other currency,” the guy nodded down at his bong.

“Oh,” Sam breathed out in understanding. “Shit, I don’t have any on me.”

He turned back around to Jake, Danny, and Josh for support. Eyeing a Sgt. Pepper-looking purple jacket, Jake leaned over and snagged the LSD from Danny’s pocket.

“This work?” he asked, holding the packet up and shaking it.

“I heard that shit is the good kind,” a guy with hair curlier than Josh’s spoke up. He hopped down from the van, which he had been sitting inside, and approached Jake to take a closer look. “Have you had any?” he asked Jake.

“Best high of my life.” Jake wasn’t entirely lying.

The guy tugged the packet out from Jake’s fingers and brought it back to his buddies to observe. Finally, one of them turned around for a brief moment to motion to the clothes.

“Have at it.”

Immediately the four rushed to claim what they had been eyeballing. Without a care in the world, Jake tossed his black button up off and slipped on the jacket. Danny snatched a white tunic with flowers stitched on the collar before Sam could grab it, causing Sam to give a massive pout. To the surprise of no one, Josh slipped into an oversized parka-type outfit made out of a stunning, hypnotizing orange, yellow, and red fabric so he looked like he was wearing a parachute. Sam, disgruntled that Danny had stolen his first pick, opted for a long sleeve jean top with a matching pair of pants that had been painted over with peace signs, flowers, and other psychedelic etchings. He put the top on, ignoring the buttons to reveal his bare chest, and noted with a smile that it fit perfectly. He was about to ask where he could change into the pants, but stopped when he saw that Jake was nonchalantly pulling down his jeans in the middle of the field to trade them for a pair of velvet flare pants. After a quick scan around, Sam noted that no one was batting an eye at Jake’s public nudity. So, with a shrug, he put on his new pants out in the open and was about to offer his clothes to the guys at the van when Danny took them from him.

“We’re gonna have to burn these,” Danny laid down the law. “What would these people do if they saw a tag from Uniqlo?”

“I don’t know, but we would somehow cease to exist because of it,” Jake rolled his eyes from behind Danny.

“Butterfly effect,” Danny turned on his heel to coach Jake. “You can’t underestimate the butterfly effect.”

“Obviously not,” Jake murmured. Danny plucked Jake’s jeans and shirt from his hands and did the same to Josh, who looked surprised. He scanned around and then his face brightened when he spotted a pack of matches sitting unattended on a folding chair by the van. Jake, Josh, and Sam watched as he retrieved the matches and then hustled into the wooded area without another word. Sam was about to follow him, since it’s hard to turn down the opportunity to watch a bonfire, when he stopped in his tracks.

“Holy shit,” his voice shook.

“What?” Jake turned in a full circle to try and figure out what was going on.

“Please don’t tell me you left your wallet in your old pants,” Josh’s tone was tired.

“No, look,” Sam’s hand wobbled as he pointed two vans down. Jake and Josh tried to follow what was setting Sam off but they were coming up short. “That’s Joan fucking Baez,” Sam gasped. “Like, standing right there.”

“Danny’s not here,” Josh noted. “You should talk to her before he runs back to stop you.”

Sam’s face started to redden. “I don’t know what I would say.”

“Just be cool,” Josh pushed Sam along. “You’re good at that.”

“No I’m not,” Sam’s voice cracked, but he found that he was moving towards the legendary Joan Baez anyways.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of her, babbling like an idiot.

“I love your work with Bob Dylan, your lyrics are unlike anything I’ve ever heard, it’s just so profound and thoughtful and nuanced and your voice is exceptional, you’re such an incredible artist, I can’t believe I’m standing in front of you right now, I mean I’m so starstruck right now I can feel my heart pounding against my rib cage sorry that’s totally oversharing but wow it’s just such an honor to even be in your presence, I feel like the luckiest person alive.”

“You’re too kind,” Joan Baez gave Sam a smile, though it seemed clear that she was a bit unsettled by him.

“Wildwood Flower really shaped who I am as a person,” Sam continued to talk her ear off. “Everytime I hear it, it’s like a visceral feeling. I can escape from reality for as long as that song is playing.”

“Thank you,” Joan Baez nodded again. “That’s an older one, I’m impressed.” Sam opened his mouth to continue talking, but she cut in. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but I need to get back to the stage. I just wanted to walk the perimeter to clear my head a bit before I go on.”

“You haven’t performed yet?” Sam looked so excited, he could lay an egg.

“Later tonight,” Joan Baez promised him. “I have a feeling you won’t miss it.”

She moved away, back towards the large stage, leaving Sam dumbfounded.

“Joan Baez just talked to me,” he whispered. “Joan Baez knows I exist.”

Josh and Jake approached him and Josh slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You were so calm and composed, Sammy.”

“Do you think?” Sam sounded hopeful.

“No,” Jake snorted.

Suddenly the stunning sound of a sitar started to thunder across the fields, which was met by cheers and applause from the crowd.

“Ravi Shankar,” Josh’s eyes darted around in excitement. “I need to get closer to the stage to see this.”

Jake and Sam watched as Josh tried to run as fast as he could in his oversized outfit, the fabric fluttering behind him like a butterfly’s wings. Jake let out a small chuckle at his twin and then focused his attention on Sam.

“Having a good time?”

“I’m still not entirely sure any of this is real,” Sam admitted. “But I just met Joan Baez, so I’m gonna try to convince myself that it is.”

“I hope it is,” Jake agreed.

The two brothers stood side by side, watching Josh as he quickly made his way closer to the stage, brushing past the other concert goers and even going out of his way to jump over those on the ground like they were hurdles. By Ravi Shankar’s second song, Josh was directly next to the stage, front and center, screaming and cheering at the top of his lungs. By that point, Jake and Sam had meandered into the crowd to find a good spot to rest, and they could see clearer that Josh was attempting to dance to the music, though it proved to be hard in his outfit. It didn't matter though since other people around him started to follow suit, twisting back and forth and waving their arms around like the inflatable men in front of car dealerships.

Jake had to do a double take when he noticed that someone was talking to Josh at the front of the stage, and then leading him to the backstage area. He elbowed Sam in the ribs and motioned towards Josh.

“They’re taking him backstage.”

“What did he do?” Sam frowned. “Bribe them with drugs?”

Jake shrugged.

“Danny’s been gone for a while,” Sam took a moment to think. “Do you think he’s okay? I don’t smell any smoke. Or, not any wildfire smoke. He should be okay, right?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jake said, sounding entirely unconcerned.

Danny was in fact not okay. He had succeeded in retrieving a decent collection of logs that looked especially flammable by the stream and dug a hole to stack the wood in. With a strike of the stolen matchbox, he had a hearty light aflame and was quick to grab his University of Michigan shirt from his pocket and send it into the crackling flames. While that burned, he started to sort through his friends’ clothes, dropping them one by one into the fire, which was growing higher.

“Almost there,” Danny whispered to himself.

“Oy!” a gruff voice called behind him. Danny contemplated running for a split second, but wasn’t confident he’d be able to get away, so he instead slowly turned around to face the voice. Behind him, a stout, farmer-looking man stood with his hands on his hips, staring Danny down. “Who told you you could start a fire?”

“Uh,” Danny started to panic. What would someone from the sixties say? What makes sense?

“Deborah?” he guessed, wincing at his decision. The man studied Danny closer.

“Deborah?” he asked back.

“Yeah,” Danny attempted to regain his composure. “Deborah told me I could.”

“Where is Deborah now?”

Danny wanted to tell the guy to stop asking so many questions because it was making his head hurt. Instead, he pointed in a random direction back where the crowd was gathered.

“Over there,” he gave a bullshit answer. “With the blonde hair and blue top.”

There were about thirty people in the direction Danny had pointed who matched that description.

“That’s not gonna do it for me, pal,” the man shook his head. “Now I’m all for fire, but it’s gotta be controlled. You let that thing grow anymore and you’re gonna catch the trees on fire.”

Danny hung his head and nodded. He had been in a rush to get rid of their clothes, so he really didn’t take the time to follow the steps he had learned in cub scouts to build the safest fire possible. He deserved a slap on the wrist for being so reckless, even if he was only doing it to save the future of humanity. What he didn’t expect, though, was for the guy to place his meaty hand on his shoulder and start steering him away from the creek.

“Where are we going?” Danny squeaked out.

“I gotta take you back to my boss to see what we’re gonna do with you.”

Danny’s face fell.

“What happened to peace and love?”

“No peace or love when you’re setting shit on fire, man. We gotta draw the line somewhere.”

A few other guys who looked similar to the farmer guy approached Danny’s fire and started to stir it and douse it with water so the flames retreated back down to a glowing ember. Danny wanted to protest and argue his case, but he knew it was no use in the grand scheme of things. He had to keep his interactions to a minimum and, if that meant he was going to get kicked out of the festival, he’d have to suck it up and roll with the punches.

Back in the crowd, Jake and Sam tried to find where Josh had gone. It was hard to miss him since you could spot him from a mile away with the fabric he was wearing, but after he had ducked around the perimeter of the stage, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Should we try to go after him?” Sam asked.

“I mean,” Jake thought aloud, “Yeah. If he’s going backstage, I want to go back there too.”

Sam couldn’t argue with that, so they commenced on a stressful voyage, squeezing through the lines and lines of people who had settled in the field.

“Sorry!” Sam called out as he accidentally took a step in someone’s potato salad.

“Not groovy, man,” the couple shook their heads at him.

“This is stressful,” Sam complained as they made their way closer to the stage. “I think I’m starting to get claustrophobic or something, my head is spinning.”

“Deep breaths, Sammy,” Jake reminded him. “You need to look where you’re going.”

As soon as he said that, he accidentally walked into a young guy who was wearing a Red Wings tee. They both grunted and hopped away from each other.

“My bad!” Jake called out. The guy flashed him a smile and shook his head.

“All good, all good.”

Jake was about to turn and keep walking when he made a choking noise.

“What?” Sam rejoined his side.

“I think that’s Dad’s cousin,” Jake whispered, pointing at the guy who was now looking at Jake strangely. That was warranted, considering they basically had the same face.

“Do I know you?” he asked Jake.

“Not yet,” Jake couldn’t help but say, even though he knew Danny would murder him for his time travel joke. He also couldn’t hold back from giving a small wave and saying, “I’ll see you in about 30 years!”

“You’re an idiot,” Sam had to state the obvious as they kept walking.

“He’ll just assume we’re on drugs, it’s all good,” Jake nonchalantly replied. “I can have my fun without the butterfly effect happening.”

“I know for a fact that Danny would disagree with you on that one.”

They finally made it to the side of the stage, and Sam and Jake stood on their toes to try and catch a glimpse of their brother. Ravi Shankar’s music made it hard to hear one another and, on top of that, focus, since it was so spellbinding. Jake’s hopes rose when he spotted a guy with a walkie talkie standing a few feet away from them, crossing his arms like he had some level of authority.

“Hey!” Jake raised his voice and waved his arms around to try and catch his attention. The guy lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, so Jake motioned for him to come to them. It was frankly a surprise that the guy did just that, since it seemed like his job was to keep an eye on the spot he had just left. “Can we get to the back?” Jake asked. He had grown so accustomed to being granted backstage access in the present, it didn’t occur to him how delusional his request sounded.

“Musicians only,” the guy shook his head. “Sorry folks.”

“We are musicians,” Jake stated with a blank expression.

“We have a friend who got back there,” Sam cut in. “We just want to find him, that's all.”

“What does he look like?”

“Curly hair, stupid face, big old cloak of fabric,” Jake listed off on his fingers.

“Oh, that guy!” the guy nodded his head with a smile. “He’s a cool head. I can grab him for you.”

Jake and Sam both nodded, and were left to stand and focus on Ravi Shankar’s set. Jake looked back out over the crowd and whistled in disbelief. Everything was unbelievable. He tried his hardest to take in the view and sounds so they would remain with him forever. It really did feel like some higher power had handed them the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Howdy,” Josh’s voice caused Jake to snap around. He was still wearing his goofy outfit but had managed to acquire more beads and a pair of rounded sunglasses that were too big for his face. “I got us a spot in the lineup.”

Jake suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe and Sam’s eyes bugged.

“Josh,” Jake’s voice quivered. “Why would you do that?”

“I was talking with this guy, I mentioned on the fly that we were in a band, and he said that we could play a couple of songs if we wanted. How could I pass up on that?”

“Danny’s not gonna go out there.”

“Where is Danny, by the way?”

It was convenient that, in that moment, the Hog Farm hippie dragged Danny past them.

“Danny!” They all called out. He gave them a frown and a sad wave. Before he could be taken away, Josh managed to step in front of the hippie and hold a hand up.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Kid was starting a fire by the creek,” the hippie replied. “No fires allowed.”

“Are you booking him?” Sam asked.

“Just checking in with the big man about what we should do,” the hippie answered.

“Say you won’t do it again, Danny,” Josh said.

“I mean, yeah, I definitely won’t,” Danny said, sounding sincere.

“We’re all about forgiveness and love here, right?” Josh turned to the hippie. “How about letting him off with a warning. The fire didn’t get out of control, so now we can move on and forget about it. Dig it?”

The hippie seemed to contemplate Josh’s words, and then he finally gave a shrug.

“I do need to do another round to check in on people,” he admitted.

“We’ll keep an eye on the kid, don’t worry,” Josh promised.

That was enough for the hippie, since he dropped Danny’s arm and gave it a quick pat.

“No more fires,” he shook his finger at Danny. Danny couldn’t help but give him a salute. With that, the hippie took off, bobbing his head to Ravi Shankar’s music. Danny rubbed at his arm since the guy had been holding onto him pretty tightly, and gave an embarrassed smile at his bandmates.

“What did I miss?” he softly asked. Jake and Sam exchanged a nervous glance.

“Get warmed up, Danny,” Josh beamed. “We’re going on after Melanie.”

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #gvf fanfic #woodstock

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scotianostra · 2 years ago

Photo

Tragedy struck on 8th December 1959 the lifeboat RNLB Mona, based at Broughty Ferry, capsize in a storm in St Andrews Bay with the loss of all eight crew.

The lifeboat had been called to assist the North Carr lightship which had broken from its mooring and was believed adrift in St Andrews Bay. The conditions when the lifeboat was launched at 3.13 a.m. were atrocious. The last radio message was received from the Mona at 4.48 a.m. As the boat rounded the headland she capsized. No matter how long ago this tragedy occurred the sacrifice of the men involved is not forgotten far and wide but especially in Broughty Ferry.

The lost crew were coxswain Ronald Grant, 28, acting second coxswain George Smith, 53, bowman George Watson, 38, motor mechanic John Grieve, 56, second mechanic James Ferrier, 43, John J Grieve, 22, Alexander Gall, 56, and David Anderson, 42.

The Mona was washed up on Carnousite beach, a body, that of John J Grieve was found nearby, later five more bodies were found on the lifeboat, Bowman George Watson’s body was never found.

All the crew of the North Carr were rescued.

In 11 years of operating the Mona and her crew had saved 118 lives.

According to a letter to the Dundee Evening Telegraph, in January 2006, “Among some seamen, it was believed the vessel was tainted with evil, and they resolved to exorcise the boat in a ‘viking ritual’”. The Mona was taken to Cockenzie harbour on the river Forth in the dead of night, stripped of anything of value, chained to the sea wall, and burnt. The burning was done with the knowledge and permission of Lord Saltoun, the chairman of the Scottish Lifeboat Council. Questions were however raised in the House of Commons about the destruction of a lifeboat built with public subscription, sailors are a very superstitious lot though.

Before the Mona was burnt extensive tests were carried out and no faults could be found with the engine or indeed sea worthiness of the lightboat, it was established it had merely capsized.

A service was later held at St James’ Church, the Fisherman’s Kirk at Broughty Ferry. They joined the many hundreds of people from all walks of life who went to the memorial service. The Church only seats 450 and the service was relayed to another 300 in the church Hall and to hundreds who stood in Fort Street on a cold windy, wet forenoon. People started to queue outside the church doors an hour before the service began, but few of them were able to get in.

Soon after the service ended the first of the funerals of the seven men whose bodies have been recovered took place. Small crowds gathered outside the homes of the six Broughty Ferry men who perished. Hundreds attended the funerals of all the men.

The report of the burning of the Mona reads:

“Mona, the Broughty Ferry disaster lifeboat in which eight men died, was burned secretly on a dark beach at 4.30 a.m. Only a handful of men saw the Lifeboat – “perfectly sound and seaworthy”, destroyed on confidential orders phoned direct from London by a senior R.N.L.I. official. Few people in the Port Seaton holiday resort on the Forth Estuary near Edinburgh knew about it. Flames crackled as families slept in a tenement only 50 yards away – unaware of the funeral pyre

They only learned about it when they saw the smoking ruin on the rocks at daybreak. After dark on Thursday night the Mona was taken across the harbour basin and moored just inside the protection wall. Then about 4 am she was moved round the sea wall secured by two chains and left to settle on the rock-strewn foreshore as the tide ebbed.

She was set alight and by daybreak all that was left was part of the stern and superstructure – twisted charred metal, still smoking. Four men stripped the last of her metal fittings in the afternoon. And inquisitive youngsters were curtly told to leave the shore. In his office overlooking the harbour. Mr Bruce Jones of the ship repair-firm, said he could not discuss the matter.

The R.N.L.I. officials in London did not want it publicised. I got all my instructions verbally. I must honour the request. Was it really a funeral pyre “well it is not uncommon for this to happen after a disaster” said the senior Lifeboat official in London, “It would be rather unpleasant to put a new crew in a disaster”

#Scotland #scottish #lifeboat sinking #maritime disaters #history

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jimilter · 3 years ago

Text

riptide (m) | k.sj. | (1/2)

one | two

pairing: kim seokjin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | smut | established relationship!au

summary: It takes a foolishly trivial incident to unravel how astonishingly little you and Seokjin actually understand each other. It has you questioning your relationship, and him? Well, he’s questioning his whole life.

warnings: swearing + implied alcohol consumption + realistic relationship problems + mentions of insecurities, jealousy, complicated mental dispositions + emotional distress + sexual situations (unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talking, a bit of manhandling, fingering) + mentions of masturbation + a ton of miscommunication (refer to the summary smh)

word count: 12.3 k

note: it’s FINALLY done, y’all! came up to be a monster of 25k words, so i decided to split it into two. i’ll drop the other part next week. this took a lot more time, energy and re-writing than i’d thought it would. i began writing this in january - it’s been five excruciating months! 😩 i really hope y'all will like this one~ 🥺💜

💟 YOUTH – 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

riptide (n) – a dangerous area of strongly moving water in the sea, where two or more currents meet.

Lady, running down to the riptide - Taken away to the dark side - I wanna be your left hand man.

The turn of events has been so fucking hilariously impossible that Seokjin has literally been rendered speechless. Which doesn't happen often, mind you. What can he do, he is just extremely witty—he always has something to say about everything, usually and preferably with impeccable comic timing. Especially when it comes to you.

This, though. This completely baffling scenario, right in front of him, has him gaping like a goldfish with no words to say.

"Final call, Jin. Gawk at me for five more seconds and I walk out of here," you threaten, an elegant arm poised at your waist and gorgeously plump lips pressed into a thin line. "Say something?"

And Seokjin still cannot formulate a single word, because what the actual fuck? How can you even think that he could ever—

"Alright." You catwalk out of his bedroom, leaving him blinking into space.

He jumps the next second, leaping after you. "Honey! How would—what—I can never—why do I even have to say—will you wait? You’re being so ridiculous, right now, I hope you know that!"

If he wasn't in such a fix, Seokjin would physically cringe at his speech. It was better when he was just gaping.

“Honey! Stop being so overdramatic, you’ve known me and you’ve known Jimin! For years! Stop acting like you seriously don’t know what happened, here!”

You don't stop, though, gliding down the stairs and hopping over the haphazardly tossed items in the living room as you exit out of the house.

And then you're gone. You're really gone, over something so fucking ridiculous, that Seokjin still has no words to say.

All he knows is that his girlfriend of five years has finally gone crazy enough to jump to conclusions of such high magnitude of stupidity.

And, that Park Jimin is a dead man.

It all begins on an unsuspecting Sunday morning, when the entire house is smelling of weed, stale booze and some worse fluids.

Last night, Seokjin vacated his own bedroom for the boys to smoke up in at Jimin's request, because that is the only well ventilated room of the house. He spent the night in Yoongi's room with earplugs in, dead to all the chaos in the house—as he often does on party nights—to catch up on his beauty sleep. He cannot afford any unbecoming dark circles or, God forbid, breakouts.

And no, that's not a comedic moment, he really does need his face looking perfect this week for reasons outside of personal gratification too, because he has a shoot on Tuesday. He especially took a leave from his part-time job at the Mexican restaurant downtown where his girlfriend, you, work full-time, on a Tuesday—saying goodbye to all the amazing tips always forwarded to the cooks on Taco Tuesday—for this. Nothing would mess up his face.

Not to mention that one very important audition for a very gigantic project he's been looking forward to. They're yet to announce the date, but it would be this very month. He hasn't really told you much about it, planning a huge surprise for later when—if, actually, but he prefers to be unrealistically optimistic in every situation possible—he bags the coveted position, at the end. He hasn't really decided upon much, other than a long drive and a picnic date to one of those grasslands on the city's outskirts that you love so much. Oh, and bringing up the prospect of moving in together in an apartment with just the two of you.

He's pretty certain you must not remember him raving about the opportunity, because it has been months since he did that. He then proceeded to be covert about all the mini auditions and trainings he underwent to prepare for the final audition, and he is confident you have not connected the dots.

But that is all a discussion for later — he doesn't even know when he would be auditioning.

The crux of the whole matter is that he needs to keep looking as flawless as he can until that audition happens.

So he has slept like a baby, last night, while the rest of his friends have partied, including two out of three of his housemates—Hoseok and Jimin—along with Taehyung and Taehyung's girl. Namjoon had foregone attendance in lieu of the Halloween party, next weekend, that he knows he would definitely be forced to attend because Hoseok is hosting. Yoongi, his third and final housemate, escaped the house altogether to spend a night of music-making with Jungkook in his dorm.

So, in the morning, when Seokjin is moving around his kitchen that seems to have been hit by a tornado, checking the fridge and mentally praying that his baggie of smoothie ingredients is still in good shape—a scream echoes around the house.

Seokjin freezes. That sounded a lot like…you.

Immediately alert, he runs out of the kitchen and into the drawing room. Hoseok is hanging upside down on one of the couches, something that looks a lot like undigested white sauce pasta puddles on the ground, inches from his new, fiery red hair. Seokjin grimaces.

"Kim Seokjin!" your screech tears the silence.

Seokjin twists on his heels, looking up in the direction of his bedroom. It really is you. And you're in his bedroom—the room he did not occupy last night.

God only knows what kind of a scene you have walked in on. He hopes these idiots didn’t have an orgy up there, although he really can’t put it past them.

Not waiting another second, Seokjin rushes up the stairs and pushes through the doors to his bedroom. His mouth falls open on an audible gasp.

You stand next to his bed, dressed up elegantly in a navy dress that ends above your knees—which makes him wonder if you are here for an impromptu breakfast date—with one hand clutching his duvet that has uncovered what looks like…

…a head of long, dirty blonde hair.

Who the fuck?

In his bed?

"Hey, Honey!" Seokjin's voice is a squeak. "You… you here for a date?" he manages out of a suddenly parched throat.

You roll your eyes. "Uh huh. A fact you would've known if you looked at the texts I sent you last night." Your eyes are narrow at him. "This explains why you didn't, though. Busy night, Jin?"

He balks at your words, at a loss. How could you even think it was him, when you know all about Park Jimin and his escapades?!

Seokjin's blood boils. Fucking Jimin. There is going to be blood on Seokjin’s hands.

In the midst of it, the blonde head shifts.

Soon after, as you two watch, a pair of brown eyes with smudged makeup emerge from inside Seokjin's bed—and the audacity?! There’s makeup all over his covers! Jimin will pay for the dry cleaning. The face is followed by a whole, tiny woman of five-something feet who is, thankfully, covered in a shirt.

Seokjin is almost not breathing when the blonde starts to give him a dreamy smile, his gaze switching between her and you. And it’s extremely stupid, because he hasn’t seen this woman before, ever, in his entire life. But he catches the way your arms fall to your sides and those elegant, dainty fingers of yours ball up into fists as you look at the blondie’s face.

Fortunately, the girl recognises him at last before her grin could turn fully dopey, and with a squeak, jumps out of the bed. “You’re not—um. Hi. Sorry, I, uh. I’ll get going.”

And surprisingly, she does exactly that in less than a minute, leaving you to stare down at Seokjin.

“You know, it’s really unbecoming for a girlfriend to keep finding girls in her boyfriend’s bed every other week and not be given an explanation, ever.” Your tone is teasing, but your eyes are taunting. “You shouldn’t always be so dismissive, you know? What if I start getting ideas? I don’t think you even remember how to make up with your girlfriend, at this point, because I never fight.”

That is when Seokjin starts gawking. And literally doesn’t stop until you’ve left the house.

“I don’t get it,” Jackson says, stuffing cold noodles into his mouth and chewing on them without closing it. “Do you think he cheated on you, or do you not think he cheated on you?”

You look at your best friend with your face twisted up in disgust. You swear to God you would never have agreed to make friends with this guy on your mother’s insistence when the Wang family moved in next doors to you, had you known he’d turn out to be such a barbarian a decade later. Twelve-year-old Jackson had been such a decent kid—studious, elegant, well-mannered. What went wrong, along the way?

You exhale, shifting on your chair, very wary of any dried up fluids that you might come in contact with. “I know he did not cheat on me, Jax, the very notion is completely ridiculous.”

Jackson stops chewing and looks away from the WWE match playing on the TV to squint at you. “I’m…confused? Wait. What is the problem, then? What are you mad at him for?”

To be completely honest, you aren’t quite certain yourself.

But you do know that you don’t feel good. And that this feeling has been building up over a couple months, but you have only really acknowledged it head-on, today, in all five-something years of your relationship. Five years, seven months and eight days, to be exact, but that’s kinda besides the point.

You’ve had at least a few months’ worth of buildup that has gotten you to this point, you would admit. Especially after Seokjin had to cancel that visit to your hometown at the end of June, for your parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary celebration because he had an important audition for a big-brand ad film. The cancellation was acceptable, but his offhand comment that, “thirty-five isn’t even that special, we’ll get them a huge gift for their fiftieth,” stayed with you longer than it should’ve. Things got okay-ish when you reminded yourself how Seokjin never really thought too hard about things he said, always being a humorous, unattached clown in every situation. But this morning's dismissal has pushed you over that edge. You straightaway goaded him, claiming he doesn’t remember how to make it up to you, and all you got in response was his shock and being called “ridiculous” and “overdramatic.” Fun.

You were most certainly joking, if a bit caustically, when you said what you did. He could have taken it as a joke and laughed it off. He could have taken it as a threat and comforted you, said it was Jimin that used his room, and maybe kissed you. You already knew what had happened when you saw the girl, anyway. But this was probably the third time this situation had happened, this month.

Sure, you are understanding and really do know Jimin and what all he gets up to, but is that really supposed to be such a given? Asking your boyfriend to hug you close and kiss your forehead when you discover a girl in his bed just as you were about to cuddle the lump of sheets thinking it was him, is not too much to expect, is it?

Granted, Seokjin has never been extremely expressive, but still. It feels like he’s consciously trying to keep you at a distance, these past few months.

You don’t have the complete grasp of the storm of thoughts in your head yet, but you want to try and explain it to Jackson the best you can.

“It was about respect, in a way, I guess,” you quietly mumble, and Jackson turns the TV off, now sitting cross legged on the couch to face your chair. He puts away his takeout container to frown at you, probably gleaning how serious this is for you. “He stood there, without saying a single word, expecting me to stop being mad. Almost willing me to stop being mad by making these big, incredulous eyes at me. Like it was that horrible of his girlfriend to demand for an explanation when she found a girl in his bedroom. It was just the two of us, I wasn’t making a scene in front of anybody. He just—ugh! He could’ve simply asked me to not be mad, said it was Jimin who spent the night in the room and maybe even laughed about it, or plotted Jimin’s murder—I would’ve joined in—but no. He acted like I was being stupid, told me not be ridiculous and dramatic. And that made me feel really stupid.”

Jackson winces. “And why do you think you were not being stupid?”

You exhale. “I wasn’t. Because I wasn’t actually accusing him of anything, and five years down the lane, he should know that now. I just wanted him to say it and not scold me when I tease-taunted him. He always expects me to know everything. And even though I always do, it gets tiring sometimes. These weird thoughts get to you — that maybe you’re being too understanding and he’s using that to his advantage, you know?” You look down at your lap, playing with your nails. “It’s just…um. I wanted him to coddle me, I guess. To treat this as something big because I was throwing a tantrum about it and, just, I don’t know—try to cajole me? Assuage me with his words, maybe? But he didn’t. Because he hasn’t done that in forever. Because I never need him to, because I always freaking understand everything!” A sob leaves you.

Jackson pats the place next to him. “C’mere, you dumdum, and stop hyperventilating,” he mumbles, hugging you to his side when you move to sit on the couch. “I don’t exactly understand how the relationship dynamics work, but from what you told me, I get that you wanted attention? Some loving? And instead you got disappointed looks because Jin expected you to be mature and rational about it — the way you always are — and that too with his fucking eyes and some low-key insult words? Is it something like that?”

Wow, Jackson really paraphrased all that amazingly. “Yes, actually. It’s exactly that.”

Jackson sighs. “Y’all have been together a long time, babe, so I guess it’s kind of a given that you’d get to a no-bullshit point. Which is why he hasn’t done that in forever, because y’all probably don’t need that kinda stuff between you anymore.”

“I get that, it’s how a relationship matures. But I’m pretty certain that it’s not supposed to make me feel like this,” you sound slightly muffled, having stuffed your face into Jackson’s hoodie-covered chest. “I feel—I feel like we got too comfortable and now he’s just started to take me for granted. And I also feel like I’m being too needy. Am I being needy and annoying? He’d hate me if I told him all this, won’t he? Half of the reason we’ve worked out so well is because we’re both career oriented and don’t waste time overthinking stupid shit.” You gasp. “Oh, no—would he leave me? He’s used to his girlfriend being mature, not needy—”

You are cut off when Jackson pulls you away by your shoulders, giving you a serious look. “Wait, wait, stop. What did you say? Not the needy part, you’re allowed to be needy once in all the damn three-sixty-five days y’all stay busy for. The…taking you for granted part. Pretty big of a thing to say, babe.”

You sigh. “We haven’t been on an actual date in months. Seokjin thinks there’s no need for that extra effort when we spend lunch breaks at work together, everyday. Outside of the restaurant, our meetings involve our entire flock of friends by default. It’s been three months since we slept together.” You sniff, hating having to impart such a private detail of your life. “So no, I don’t think it’s that big of a thing to say, at all.”

“Wow.” Jackson gives a slow whistle. “You’ve really been bottling up a lot in there, huh?”

You shrug. “I guess. It never made me feel underappreciated, though. Sure, I was irritated at some occasions and disappointed at others, but… Today I feel horrible, Jax.”

“Did you share anything with Byulyi?” he asks, referring to your flatmate and good friend since college.

You shake your head. “She already has a lot on her plate, right now. She got rejected by the photographer she wanted to intern with, so it’s back to freelancing for her.”

“Yeah, that must suck.” Jackson grimaces. Then he looks at you. “You need to take a break, hun. Sit back, today, and have tacos and beer with me. Reset your inner thoughts. Talk to Jin tomorrow. Although, I must say, it’s kinda depressing that you have to actually tell your boyfriend that he’s being a bad boyfriend. Isn’t that kind of shit supposed to be realized on your own?”

You purse your lips. “I guess, yeah. But…don’t say that he’s being a bad boyfriend, Jax. I don’t think he even realizes something is wrong.”

“And that…doesn’t make it worse?” At your raised eyebrows, he concedes with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, fine, in any case — maybe try to hint at it before you dive straight in with the kill? See if he reacts?”

“I don’t know, Jax. What if he doesn’t? He’s really not the best at taking hints and reading signs, or that kind of subtle stuff.”

“Then you can just say your shit. All I’m saying is, give him a chance to figure it out on his own. He’s probably really clueless why you reacted so big on something so small, this morning. If you drop hints, maybe he’ll feel it out.”

You nod, somewhat amazed at how sound Jackson’s advice seems. “How are you doing this, Jax? Being a love guru all of a sudden?”

Jackson scoffs. “I’m just tryna put myself in Seokjin’s shoes. If I was in the situation he’s in, this is what I’d like to happen — be given a window to figure out what’s wrong. You’ve been together a long time, hun. It really shouldn’t be that difficult for him.”

You shrug a shoulder. “I won’t be too sure about that. Why does it even matter if he can or cannot, though?”

Jackson seems to be mulling over something before he drops his chin to his chest. “Because you’re supposed to be partners, hun. If you can tell what’s up with him with a single glance, why can't he? Not being good at taking signs is not a good enough excuse. My gut says that he’d be able to, though. And that knowledge will make you feel infinitely better, trust me. It’ll be reassuring to learn that he really knows and understands you well, won’t it?”

You nod, slowly, but you still have your suspicions. Seokjin has just been the kind of guy whose emotional depth goes to a certain extent and then just — well, stops. There are things that he feels and realizes and sees, and there are things that he doesn’t. It isn’t even something he does, you believe. It’s just how he is. Certain feelings just don’t fall in his orbit. And you’ve never found there to be anything wrong with it when he’s been an immaculately amazing boyfriend and tended to every single one of your needs, always. Well, you have never actually needed emotional consoling, too, so you haven’t had the chance to audition him for that. You keep yourself too busy for all that unnecessary mental pressure. It comes as a surprise, but you have never cried on Seokjin’s shoulder in all these years of your togetherness. You’ve kept your head straight and chin up, even during your college exams. And so has Seokjin, because you’ve never seen him cry, either.

Lately, though, things have been kind of weird. The gradual transformation into your professional lives that began after college, has been drastic in the past few months. Seokjin has been constantly prioritizing his career over you, and you have been understanding about it because you agree with it — to an extent. Seokjin believes it all the way through, though, and you have known for a while that you would hit your limit at some point, and would try to bring him back to yourself. Today morning, it seems, you hit that limit.

You felt dispensable.

You hate this feeling.

To be very honest, you know you can get over this. You can give it some time, remind yourself of how much your Jin loves you, believe that he is eventually going to come back to you once he settles, and be understanding about the entire thing.

You can — but you really don’t want to.

Something tells you that this feeling of getting too comfortable will only fester and take a worse form as time goes by. You can wait it out, sure, and hope you aren’t being a pushover as he works on building his career. You are building your career, too, after all, and at least some of it has been for each other.

The thing is, your plans with Seokjin are long-term—marriage, kids, white-picket fence, and all that. And you believe that if you are sensing a problem now, you better deal with it now before it has the chance to change its form and affect you both when you are at a more responsible point in your life.

Mind made up, you look up at Jackson, immediately grimacing when he forwards a greasy hand to pick up a taco for you. “I don’t…I don’t like tacos. And may I exchange the beer for scotch?”

“You work at a Mexican restaurant, and you don’t like tacos,” Jackson deadpans.

“They mess up my skincare.”

“Oh, fuck off! Have a spinach smoothie with a drink, why don’t you?”

You purse your lips to hold back your laughter at his ire, your own worries forgotten in the moment as Jackson gets up to get you a glass of scotch and some healthier snacking alternative.

“You're a dead man.”

Jimin stops dead in his tracks, arms frozen in the act of putting a t-shirt on. He blinks at Seokjin with big round eyes. “Hyung?” he mumbles, a picture of unblemished innocence, especially when he covers his toned torso with the oversized t-shirt he was in the process of getting into. “What—what’d I do?”

Someone who doesn’t know better would never believe that this young, innocent, frazzled haired fairy-boy could ever do any wrong. But Seokjin knows better. “You chaotic womanizer,” Seokjin nearly hisses, "you've gotta learn to clean after yourself. Honey found a girl in my bed. A girl—in my bed.”

Jimin had the decency to drop the innocent act. “Oh. Oh.”

Seokjin raises a brow. “Oh? That’s it?”

"Yeah, well, I clarified to her that it was a one time thing when we got to it. She was obviously expecting something more if she didn't leave when I told her to. Disappointed but not surprised." Jimin is frowning when he comes to sit down on the couch next to Seokjin. “Sorry you two had to see that. You clarified to Honey noona that I’d been the occupant of the room, though, right?”

“I—what?” Seokjin scoffs. “Why would I even need to do that? She knows that already, obviously. She’s been seeing you for over five years, or have you forgotten?”

Jimin squints. “I mean…okay, fair point, I guess. Why’re you so worked up, then? Did something else happen, too? Where’s she, now?” Jimin looks around the living room as if looking for you.

Seokjin sighs. “Well, I couldn't really get much out before she was storming out of the damn house, altogether.”

Jimin blinks. “Storming out? Why? She… um, was she mad?"

Seokjin opens his mouth – and then shuts it. Was she mad, indeed. "I don't know. She looked kinda mad, yes. But maybe she was in a hurry?"

"Why would she be mad? Did you try to call her? Text her? It's unlike her to react so big on something so small." Jimin bites down on his lip, looking lost in thought.

Seokjin shakes his head. "She didn't pick up or text back."

“There’s definitely got to be an underlying reason for her being like this. Are you sure you guys haven’t been fighting, hyung?”

Seokjin sighs. “Yes, Jimin, I’m absolutely certain that there hasn’t been any fighting of any sorts between the two of us before today.” He pauses. “Well, she was slightly irritated that I didn’t check her texts last night, but she knows I go to bed at eleven on days leading up to a shoot, so that one’s on her.”

Jimin looks genuinely concerned, which, in turn, makes Seokjin concerned. Jimin isn't the type to stress over stuff if he can help it. Sure, he cares about the boys and would always be down to do whatever he can for them, but his throwing-caution-to-the-wind way of life causes him to not take most of the things in life seriously.

You’ve been like an older sister to the boys ever since Seokjin started dating you and introduced you to them. They all have their ways of showing their respect and affection to you. Well, maybe not Jungkook because he can’t get over getting unnecessarily intimidated by Seokjin enough to relax around you.

Jimin, especially, always seems to be affected by any tension in Seokjin’s relationship. Everyone can see how it upsets his entire life when you two are fighting, although he’d never admit to it. He doesn’t need to, because it’s pretty obvious when he becomes a cranky six-year-old who hates the world.

Right now, he has a guilty frown on his face. "I should've seen to it that Suzette left before I went to shower," he mumbles as if talking to himself. “Shouldn’t have trusted her to leave just because I told her to.” He looks up at Seokjin with troubled eyes. "I'm sorry, hyung."

Seokjin can not believe himself when he shakes his head at Jimin's apology—this little demon causes so much chaos in all their lives that any apology coming from him should be justified and welcome. But this one isn't really on him. "It's not entirely your fault."

Jimin's demeanor changes a bit and the attitude Seokjin is used to witnessing makes an appearance. "Right? That's what I was thinking, too!" Jimin exclaims, some of the concern on his face lifting. "You have to talk to Honey noona and make things right, though, hyung. She’s the only womanly touch in our man cave. We’d all be barbarians without her.” Jimin looks very wary and kind of nervous.

“It’s funny you would crave her ‘womanly’ presence when she’s rushed off because of a woman that you brought home.” Seokjin scrunches his nose. "And I said it isn't entirely on you, because it is partially on you, Park Jimin. You borrowed my room to smoke up in. Why couldn't you take your Suzy back to your own room?"

"Suzette," Jimin corrects under his breath while shaking his head. "Yeah, I should've, but… your room just felt like a better choice during the high," he finishes in a mumble, dragging a hand down his face. “Hyung,” Jimin says with a pout on his lips, “the last time you two fought was two years ago, remember? On your birthday? When Hobi hyung dumped cake in noona’s hair and she had her first shoot for that bigshot magazine, the next day?”

Seokjin nods with a sigh. “She yelled at me for having stupid friends, and I yelled at her for caring more about the shoot that having a good time on my birthday. Yes, I remember.”

“And then she didn’t visit us for a whole week. Please don’t let that happen, again.” Jimin looks up at Seokjin with big, round eyes. “I can’t take that kind of unrest in my life."

Seokjin briefly wonders, if Jimin’s nightly conquests were to see this side of him, would they run in the opposite direction or be more attracted to him? Jimin definitely needs someone in his life that would bring out this side in him and stay to provide him the emotional comfort he requires when he gets like this.

“I will try not to, Jiminie, but…” Seokjin shuts his eyes. “I seriously do not understand her actions from the morning,” he finishes in a mumble.

“Maybe she’s—maybe she’s worried about something else? Some other aspect of her life?” Jimin suggests with wide eyes. “And she’s just projecting onto you.”

“As sound as the explanation is, I am literally involved in ninety percent of the aspects in her life,” Seokjin says with a twist to his lips. “I would know if something was wrong anywhere.”

“That’s cocky of you to say,” Jimin snarkily comments with narrowed eyes. At Seokjin’s raised eyebrows, he amends, “That’s cocky of you to say, hyung-nim.”

Seokjin scoffs, but then he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s true. We work at the same restaurant, we’re scouted by the same agency. Even her agent is best friends with mine—she gossips a ton about how Honey passes up so many opportunities and pisses her agent off. Her friends are, well—” Seokjin stops short when it hits him. “Wang. Wang could know something!”

Jimin is looking at him skeptically when Seokjin meets the younger’s eyes. “I just think you should have a simple talk with noona first before digging around.”

That is sensible advice. Seokjin nods as he pulls his phone out.

“Just find out what’s been troubling her, hyung. You two are rational people, I’m sure you’ll work it out.” Jimin pauses to scratch the back of his head. “Just please don’t let this be another fight like that one?”

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin finally says with a pat on Jimin’s shoulder as he finishes sending off another text to you, “this one is nothing like that fight.”

Turns out, this fight really is not like that one. Or any other fights Seokjin has ever had with you, in fact, because you’re giving him the silent treatment.

You’ve never given him the silent treatment.

Not even when you were students and didn’t have a load of time on your hands and used to waste precious sleep hours arguing over stupid shit that would probably resolve itself if you just slept on it and looked back at it with a fresh state of mind. Not even then did you forego talking.

Needless to say, Seokjin is distressed.

You drive to the house to pick him up at your usual time, the next morning, after not having responded to any of his calls or texts for the entire day. Seokjin is aghast as he gets into the car.

“Honey! What is going on? Why didn’t you—where have you been?”

You simply start the engine and take off. “Busy,” you murmur after a while.

Soekjin’s head is close to exploding. “Busy? Doing what?”

Your face remains stoic as you weave through the morning traffic. Seokjin looks at you. You’re dressed up in your waitressing outfit that consists of a shirt, skirt and tights, and being who you are, Seokjin can proudly say that you would stand out to be the most well dressed server in the field. You’re always pristine and tidy — no accidents happen to you at the job ever. No spillage of drinks or ketchups, no soiled hands being wiped down on your skirt. Nothing even ruins your manicure.

It is something that Seokjin has always tried to keep up with, this cleanliness streak of yours. Because he has always assumed you would expect it out of him, too. You were attracted to the cover model version of him, after all. It is quite natural that you would have those kinds of expectations. And Seokjin has always been more than happy to deliver. It has become a part of him, in fact. He doesn't even chew with his mouth open even when he's among the boys, anymore.

It has, somewhat, made him practical and less emotional in life, too, but he doesn't really think of it as a bad thing. You have always been practical in life – the most ambitious girl he has ever met, someone that has always prioritized her career and goals over everything else. Seokjin has admired that since college, and has tried to show you that he has similar priorities even if he has had to work on thinking from his mind more than his heart.

But when you are already by his side, what does he even need his heart for, anymore, when it's already yours?

Now, looking at you sitting with a morose expression on your face as you give him the cold shoulder, Seokjin is just as much in love with you as he was when he first met you.

“Stuff,” you say with a shrug, after some extended silence. “You should know about that, right? Your schedule’s always busier than mine and I never complain.”

Your sharp words have him reeling. Whatever do you even mean by that? “Uhm, okay. Fair enough. But… did you really not have the time to respond to a single text?”

“It gets impossible sometimes, Jin, you know how it is.”

Seokjin frowns. He does know that, but he doesn’t feel okay. Something is very off with you. It is as if you’re saying something else and expecting him to discern a different meaning out of it.

He doesn’t understand why, though. You, of all people, should know how terrible he is at decoding signs.

He sighs.

Seokjin, after his conversation with Jimin yesterday, had decided to ask you about the morning’s incident, head on, whenever you called him back. But you didn’t, and this is the first opportunity he’s had to talk to you, so he decides to bring it up, now. “What—what happened yesterday morning, babe? You got really mad and stormed off, and… I mean, you’ve got to know the girl had been Jimin’s companion for the night, right? You know him, how he is!”

You say nothing, hands tightening a bit on the steering wheel. Seokjin looks down at his own hands.

“You know I was only surprised at your words because we really do not have the time to be discussing silly things." He shuts his heart down when it tries to tell him to go soft. He knows it isn't something you would appreciate. "After five years, you know what I’m capable of right? You can never start getting ideas, because that would be insane and stupid. I’m already so supremely occupied as it is between two jobs, when would I even have the time to cheat, right?” he jokes, snorting to himself.

You’re still quiet, but your tongue comes out to moisten your lips. It is a nervous tick of yours which Seokjin recognizes very well, because with your skincare and scheduled regular application of lip balms, your lips never need the extra moisture.

He frowns. Was he too straightforward? But this is exactly how you communicate with him! “Hey, is everything okay, babe?”

You exhale, noisily. “Everything’s fine, Jin,” you finally say with a roll of your eyes. “And you’re right. I know you wouldn’t cheat. You don’t have the time to chat me up, how are you gonna pick someone new to impress, huh?”

Your snort sounds lacking in humor, but Seokjin still gives a couple of stilted chuckles. Even so, he's still somewhat relieved. “Right. Just so we’re certain, that was a joke, right? I mean, it would be really ridiculous of you to think that I would—”

“Yes, Jin!” you cut him off with a deep frown. “If I wanted to talk to you about something, or accuse you, or confront you — I’d do that without you having to prompt me. Stop obsessing over yesterday and stop trying to explain yourself. I know it was Jimin’s doing.”

Seokjin feels immensely relaxed at the conviction with which you say the last sentence, certainly, but something is still off. “Why were you ignoring me, then?”

“I just didn’t have anything to say to you.” You stop at a red light, the last one before you reach the restaurant, and turn to look at Seokjin with really vacant eyes. He doesn’t like your stare one bit. “We’ve been together five years, babe. If neither of us have got anything of significance to say, I’d rather not text too much, if that’s okay with you? I’ve got a busy schedule to work around, too, you know?”

Seokjin wants to remind you that both of you had something of significance to say after you left his place in anger, but chooses to just roll with whatever you’re playing at. Maybe he's thinking too much. He nods. “Sounds alright to me.”

“Great,” you breathe out, somehow looking disappointed along with the preexisting sorrowful expression you had on your face.

You really do not have a concrete explanation for why you acted the way you did with Seokjin, this morning.

You were supposed to hint at being mad, not blatantly try to give him a taste of his own medicine. It could turn out to be a good thing if he eventually starts to miss you and reaches out, sure, but playing mind games never feels right to you. But when he started to joke about not having time to cheat, and something just turned off in you. He really could’ve seriously reassured you of his love. That would’ve been actually comforting. But no. He chose to joke about that, too. You didn’t feel like putting in all that energy anymore, after that.

Now, you sit down in the break room to check your phone during your ten minutes’ rest break. A text message floats at the top of your notifications.

Jax 🚽 Hey How’d it go?

With an exhale, you decide to call him back. Your fingers are too tired to type, and Jackson is sure to launch off into a rampage of texts the moment you tell him you’ve tried to turn the tables on Seokjin.

Seokjin is in the kitchen, his usual rest break not being for another hour, so you don’t have to worry about him walking in.

“Hey!” Jackson jovially greets you as soon as he picks the phone. “Did you get my text?”

“I did, yes,” you respond in a calm voice. “I’ve been looping milkshake mugs through my fingers since eight am, they needed some rest, so I decided to call.”

“Yeah, no, it’s cool. I was in a really boring class, anyway. So. How'd it go?"

You pull in your lip between your teeth. "I… I kinda ended up telling him I am a busy person too and that we shouldn’t text that much."

You hear silence instead of the outburst you'd expected.

"Jax?"

"Are you actually gonna try to play a mind game with the dumbest human being you know on earth?" Jackson so very eloquently asks, his interpretation making you pinch the bridge of your nose. “He’s never even gonna figure it out!”

“I know how it sounds, okay?” You exhale. “I honestly don’t know what came over me.”

“Okay, alright, one thing at a time. So, no coddling?"

"Not a single soft word. Just more expectations of me understanding, and claiming that anything but that would be stupid of me. He acts like I'm supposed to know everything about him and everyone in his group of friends," you mutter in irritation. “As if those dumbasses know the first thing about themselves.”

You realize you're being a bit harsh, because his friends – basically your younger brothers, at this point – are a bunch of clueless idiots that love, adore and respect you. You shouldn't be badmouthing them, Seokjin’s growing callousness towards you isn't their doing. It's his own.

You sigh. You really miss how things used to be when you were in college.

“Uh, I think we need to rewind a bit. What happened? What triggered this?”

It makes you smile a little when Jackson asks that. At least your best knows you’re not wholly clinically insane. “Well… I drove him to work. He…" your brows lower at the recollection, "he was the first to bring up yesterday morning. And yet again, he gave me the same you've got to know this and that crap, and then he tried to assure me in the dumbest possible way. Do you know what he said, Jax, do you?”

“Um, do I wanna know?”

“He said, and I quote, he doesn’t have the time to cheat. Jackson Wang, are you hearing this? He really straight up said he was too busy to cheat on me and so I should rest assured! Who says that?!”

“He must’ve meant it as a joke—”

“Yeah, he said that, too, and then very immaculately added that it’d be ridiculous of me to think otherwise. I have lost count of how many times the words ridiculous and stupid came up.”

“Goddammit.”

“Goddammit is right,” you mumble, morosely resting your head on your palm.

“What did he say, by the way? When you told him to text less?”

You give a wry chuckle. "Well, he said it sounded alright to him."

"Son of a bitch. You – you two are messed up, man. Messed up bad. Why the hell can you not just say shit you really mean and actually want to instead of saying shit you don't? You don't wanna text less because you're busy, you want him to dote on you because you miss him!" Jackson sounds beyond frustrated. "And it doesn't fucking sound alright to him! It sounds scary, it sounds confusing, it sounds like something you would never say to him!" He groans. "But none of you would say that shit to each other! You’re choosing to be evasive and fucking plastic instead of honest, and falling deeper into your mess."

You reel from the onslaught of his harsh words, eyes widened and breath stuttering. Jackson isn't usually the type to pay so much attention to your relationship problems. But this time, you guess, he has garnered the depth of your unhappiness and thus has gotten so involved.

You realize he is right. Nothing good can come out of any turned tables, because Seokjin is, anyways, not even going to be able to work out the problem by himself. He may even go around talking to his friends about how you were being cold with him and not giving him any time, and still not realize he has been doing the same to you. He is thick like that.

When his friends tell you tales of his compassion, you're unable to relate. You've never seen that side of him. He has probably grown up from that emotionally overwhelmed high school graduate who had made friends on a whim, the night of his graduation.

You certainly don't appreciate the emotional abstinence, though, and would very much rather prefer if he would open up a bit more. It would help you be more open with him, without fearing him calling you "stupid" in response.

But it’s still alright, you accept him with that thick brain of his, because he’s still only ever going to be the only one for you.

"How are you two gonna get around to having a proper chat if you just keep building more walls between you both?" Jackson asks after the long pause from your end, this time softer. “I’m sorry, babe, I was wrong. Giving him signs and making him realize shit won’t work. It was stupid of me to suggest that. It’s probably why you ended up being so caustic with him.

“No, no, it was all me, Jax. I could’ve chosen to not listen to you, but my ego got in the way, I guess. It’s not exactly easy, telling your boyfriend you’re feeling neglected. I mean, what if he laughs in my face and tells me I’m being paranoid? What if he thinks I have no regard for his career — or mine — because my priorities don’t align with his?” You bite your lip, shutting your eyes as your insecurities attack you.

“Hey, no. None of that is gonna happen if you really share with him what you’ve been feeling. No hints, no sarcasm, you’re gonna have to tell him point blank. Allow yourself to be raw. He’s the love of your life. You don’t have to protect yourself from him, right?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I know. You’re absolutely right, Jax. But I really have no idea how to even approach him, at this point. He’s either too busy with shoots, or with the guys, or some meeting. I cannot do this on call, because that always leads to misunderstandings.” You bite down on your lower lip, contemplating. “But I’ll figure something out.”

"Yes, you will. You always do. So, that’s good then. In the meanwhile, can you at least clean up this latest pile of poop? The talking less thingy is gonna make you two more distant, hun."

You scrunch your nose at his metaphor, but then your shoulders slump. "I don't know, Jackson. The way he so impassively agreed to it would make me sound really stupid if I take it back. And given what he keeps saying, he really doesn’t want me to sound stupid."

Jackson gives a snort at that. “Hah, funny. But listen. At the end of the day, he’s your boyfriend. You're gonna have to really decide if you're trying to get your boyfriend to give you more love, or if you're fighting a battle of egos and would like to bend him to you."

You bite your lip. “You make me sound manipulative.”

“You yourself confessed you let your ego come into this, one time. Don’t let that happen again. I’m trying to make you realize that complicated problems can have simple solutions, too. If only you’d communicate. Just talk to him soon, please, and make him understand why you’re hurt. Don’t carry on with this stupid cold war, okay? You gotta figure out exactly what you want, first.”

“You know what I want, Jax. You’re literally the only person that does, actually,” you remind him with a sigh.

“Oh, he is, isn’t he?”

You freeze, eyes bulging at the familiar voice. “I’ll… I’ll call you back,” you mumble before you disconnect the call and turn to look over your shoulder at Seokjin’s unreadable face. He stands with his arms crossed, still in his uniform but without the apron. “Jin… what—uh…”

“What am I doing here?” he scoffs, lips curling in distaste as he stares you down. “Well, I was going to the loo when I saw you sitting here. You looked upset, so I thought I’d check in on you on my way back.” He clicks his tongue, a dry chuckle tumbling out. “But apparently, you’ve got other people doing it for you, already.”

You wince, shutting your eyes. The one time he was finally going to give you some much needed attention — you sent a bad message his way.

“So. Good to know there actually is someone who knows what you want. Would’ve been easier if it were me, though, given how I stand to be the one that is to deliver.” Seokjin sounds pissed off, and despite your irritation, you really want to make him understand.

You rub at your forehead. “Stop talking like that, Jin, it was just Jackson.”

“Wang?” He seems to seethe more, for some reason. “Of course, it’s fucking Wang!”

You frown, standing up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Seokjin looks at you incredulously. “You—do you not see how this looks? You have problems with me, Honey, but you choose to discuss them with him? Who’s he, your therapist?”

“He’s my best friend, Jin, someone I trust,” you grit out.

Seokjin seems to take it the wrong way, his agitated expressions slowly fading into a blank stare. “Oh. You trust him, as opposed to…” He trails off with a shrug, but the implication is as obvious as it can be.

“Jin—”

He raises a hand up, palm facing you as he looks away. “If you need some time apart, you should tell me in plain words. You know I’m not good at reading signs.”

Seokjin gives you a blank stare before turning around to leave the area. You stand rooted to your place, jaw dropped and eyes wide.

Some time apart? Has he lost his mind?

He really is a huge freaking idiot who cannot pause to think what implications his words have. He seriously doesn’t recognize what all his “don’t be ridiculous/overdramatic/stupid” speeches do to you. You realize you should really make him understand. This has gone on for way too long.

But maybe you should take some time to yourself to cool off before that. You don’t want to say the wrong thing in your rage and complicate things further.

You sigh to yourself as you slump back into the bench you were sat on before.

You’d set out to tell your boyfriend you were feeling neglected, but you ended up making him think you want to be apart. How the heck did you get here?

You belatedly recall Jackson's words.

Why the hell can you not just say shit you really mean and actually want to instead of saying shit you don't?

You’re choosing to be evasive and fucking plastic instead of honest, and falling deeper into your mess.

Your usually dumbheaded best friend was right on this one, you realize. You should’ve just talked like a normal human being instead of letting Seokjin’s words get to you and get pissy in retaliation.

You give a weary sigh.

Seokjin is grateful for the sudden busyness he’s got on his schedule, or he would explode from all the pent up frustration you have been causing him.

He realized he wasn’t as upset with you as he was irritated, right after he walked away from you on Monday. He dropped you a text with some excuse of needing to stay back so that he wasn’t forced to ride with you in the car again, and later took the bus home.

You had told Jackson Wang about what was troubling you, but not him. It made Seokjin feel upset, incompetent and more than a little insecure. Seokjin absolutely hates feeling insecure. Especially about you. You’re the singular most precious entity in his life — not that you are an entity, per se — and anything that seeks to threaten your position in his life or his position in yours, makes him lose his shit.

So it was understandable that he jumped to unfairly disproportionate magnitudes of conclusions that day. When he thought about it, later, he could easily tell that you are just mad at him and not actually contemplating leaving him, not even for a little while. Not that he’d just sit back and have you do that so easily.

Seokjin also hates overthinking, but that is all he did for the entirety of his Monday.

Monday, though, was the last time he had time to overthink. Life got exponentially busier after that.

Immediately after his shoot on Tuesday, he received his agent’s call and was informed of his jam packed schedule for the remainder of the week. He was pulled into two separate magazine ad shoots on Wednesday, a perfume ad film drank up all of his Thursday, and today, a hair product ad film needed him to report to a sunrise point in the city at the ass-crack of dawn. The sky was still dark when he rode across the city with his agent at nearly four in the morning.

And now, the afternoon sun beats down on his car as he drives back alone, his agent staying back to tend to some business. Stopping at a red light, he reaches for his spinach smoothie with one hand and his phone with the other. Ugh, he feels beyond tired.

Blearily, he looks down at the device around a yawn, fingers habitually reaching for your chat.

He took a week off from the restaurant and dropped you a text, late Tuesday evening, informing you of the same.

Honey✨❤👸 Hm, kay. Good luck x

Unsurprisingly, that stands to be your last message in his inbox. It’s been four days.

Sighing, he swipes a hand down his tired face and exits out of the message app. He went to bed at nine o’clock, last night, and owing to the way he has trained his body to sleep on command, he did manage to get a sleep of nearly six hours, too. But it was fitful and plagued with nightmares featuring you.

Knowing he doesn't have to be at the restaurant until Monday and that his next gig isn’t until Wednesday, he cannot wait to get back home and drink his weight in alcohol before he sleeps his way through the weekend.

Just as he has moved past the intersection, his phone rings.

Honey✨❤👸 calling...

He nearly spits the smoothie he just sipped at.

Coughing, he roughly jostles the plastic cup back in the holder and pulls up to a side of the road to pick up the call. “Hey,” he breathes into the phone, embarrassed at his desperation.

“Jin. Um, hi.” You sound awkward, as if you…have been compelled to call him due to some reason.

He is immediately worried. “Honey? Is everything okay, do you need something?”

He hates himself for being so concerned when you have been neglecting him for so many days – yet again, despite your spat at the restaurant – instead of finally talking to him about what’s bothering you, but he can’t help it. At the end of the day, you are the love of his life.

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. It’s just, um. Can you pick me up from the restaurant?” you sound nervous.

But, Seokjin realizes, I was right. You do need something. He clears his throat. “Uh, okay, I guess,” he agrees before stopping short when he realizes the time. “Wait, it’s barely even two. Why are you leaving?” he asks, confused and a little concerned. You work your shift till five every day and till eight on weekends.

“Tomorrow is Halloween, Jin. We’re closing for the weekend, remember?”

Seokjin’s mouth falls open on a gasp. He really had forgotten. “Oh. Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll be there in five, wait up.”

He swerves the car into the lane and takes off in the direction of the restaurant.

He laughs at himself. He has been so caught up in work that he literally forgot Halloween. He wonders if this is what actual adulting is.

He is stopping before the restaurant within three minutes of your phone call, eyes immediately spotting your delicate figure standing on the sidewalk with your hands crossed against your chest.

You step down from the curb when you spot his car, and walk towards him. He watches your elegant legs as they beautifully fall in a straight line. Even when exiting your job as a waitress, you’re every bit the elegant model he met in college. Your hips sway tantalizingly, and something akin to longing swirls in his chest.

He composes himself quickly when you cross the car to get into the passenger’s seat. You awkwardly clear your throat as Seokjin busies himself with starting the vehicle, unsure if he should initiate conversation.

“Um, sorry about this. You were probably getting ready for shoot,” you finally say. “Byulyi dropped me off today. She wasn’t picking her phone up. I was trying to get a cab for half an hour. And the bus stop’s really far—”

“Hey, stop. It’s okay. You should’ve called me sooner.” Seokjin catches your apprehensive gaze on his oversized hoodie when he chances a glance at you. He sighs. “I was returning home from shoot, actually.”

He feels you stiffen, and he feels even more mentally drained at this. You used to be updated with his schedule to the tee — just short of having an actual copy of the calendar his agent carries on him. And the same goes for him with your schedule. This feels so wrong.

You are quiet for a while, your hands fidgeting in his peripheral vision.

“How—how was it?” you finally say, voice coming out like a croak.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “The usual. Blinding, tiring, exhaustive. I did okay, I guess.”

He feels your gaze snap up to drill holes into his skull. Your eyes are wide when he checks. “Okay? Since when do you do anything less than amazing at shoots, babe?”

He feels endeared at your casual use of a pet name. “I had to get up at three in the morning and go through a skincare routine. Then drive across the entire city to get to the location, because they wanted to capture actual sunrise. I was more tired than excited by the time they rolled cameras, so.” He shrugs. “Can’t really say I gave my best today.”

You nod at his admission.

Seokjin almost jumps when his phone rings, again.

Jiminie calling...

He feels you shift in your seat. His mouth sours at the reminder of that Sue girl that started off this entire tussle between you and him. Fucking Jimin and his conquests. What happened to the shy and more than a little glum looking freshman he let into his living space, three years ago?

Your hand suddenly reaches forth to accept the call, putting it on loudspeaker, immediately. Seokjin gapes at you, momentarily looking away from the road.

“Uh…hyung?” Jimin’s confused voice echoes in the car.

Seokjin snaps out of his daze when you gesture towards the device. “Wh—Jimin, hi, what’s — what’s up?” he stumbles his way through a haphazard greeting.

“Hyung, I needed a favor. Are you on your way back from the shoot, right now?” Jimin asks, and Seokjin sees you freeze in your seat.

He feels a perverse sense of satisfaction. Yes, take that! Park Jmin knows of my schedule better than you do! This is what you get for ghosting me! “I was, yeah. What is it?”

“Oh, great! I kinda need your help, hyung. My tire gave out. Could you pick me up from the Kappa hall?”

Seokjin scowls. “Yah! Who am I, your butler? Hop on a damn bus!”

He notices you pursing your lips, no doubt finding his agitation humorous — you always do.

“Hyu~ng,” Jimin whines. “I would take the bus, but the next one leaves in forty-five minutes and I need to be back within an hour!”

“What? Why?”

“I started on my sem project really late, hyung, and now I gotta spend any time I can spare at the rehearsal hall. I’m meeting a choreographer here in an hour. Please help me out!” Jimin is still whining, and maybe his reasoning is kind of alright, but—

Seokjin is tired to his bones. He literally cannot drive all the way down to your apartment and then drive back to the university campus to pick Jimin up.

He sighs, wearily. “Jimin… I’m really tired.”

“And I’m really desperate, hyung! Dancing is tough! And the subject I've chosen, tougher. I haven't done ballet since first semester, Freshman year! I have to work my butt off and be done in under two months."

Seokjin exhales, feeling beyond exhausted. But then your finger is tapping on the screen and the call has been muted. Seokjin’s surprised eyes fly up to meet yours. You look conflicted, biting down on your lower lip as you shake your head with a frown.

“You should go home and rest, Jin. Leave the car with me, I’ll pick him up.”

“Hyung? Say something?”

Seokjin blinks. “You…”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll pick him up, yeah. He’ll drop me off and drive back to your place.”

“Hyung?! Did you put me on mute, or what? I can't hear a thing!”

“Tell him you’ll be there in ten!” you say, unmuting the call.

“I’m in the car, the network must have glitched. I’ll, uh… be there in ten?” Seokjin nervously finishes off, looking at you in question. You give him a nod, blinking slowly. “Wait up, okay?”

“Oh my God, thank you so much, hyung!” Jimin practically squeals through the phone. “I’ll be in the ice cream shop across the building. I love you, hyung-nim!”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and disconnects the call. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes as he takes a right, now moving in the direction of his apartment instead of yours. “You sure about this? Jimin, um, knows. About our…” Seokjin doesn’t want to call it the f-word, because he would like to believe that you two aren’t actually fighting. “You being upset, I mean,” he settles for the easier alternative. “He might ask questions.”

You give a small huff of wry laugh. “I can handle it, Seokjin. I’ve known Jimin for almost three years now.”

Seokjin doesn’t like it when you address him by his full name. And so, his lips remain pursed for the remainder of the ride, only parting to tell you to “drive safe and text me when you finally get home,” and then he walks inside his apartment without looking back.

He hears his car come to life and then speed away. He shuts his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter. Gathering his emotional as well as physical bearings, he opens the refrigerator to rummage through some leftovers to munch on while he breaks out a six pack of Budweiser.

Before his fried rice has even reheated, Seokjin groans at the sight of an all too jovial Hoseok entering the kitchen with a glint in his eyes. “No, Hobi. Not now.”

“What? I didn’t say a word, hyung!”

Seokjin winces, shutting his eyes just as the microwave beeps. “I don’t have enough energy to deal with your general aura, right now,” he mumbles, extracting the piping hot glass bowl. He leans down to open one of the compartments beneath the kitchen table to get to the beer that he’s been dreaming of for nearly an hour, now. “I’m dead on my feet and—woah!” Seokjin gasps, cutting himself off.

Hoseok hops into the kitchen, coming around to stand behind Seokjin. “So you found ’em,” he says around a chuckle.

“Found ’em? This is you?” Seokjin whips his head around to glare at Hoseok up from his crouch. “Why is my liquor closet resembling a liquor shop, Hobi? Why do we have all this—” he turns around to read the labels, cursing under his breath. “Why do we have,” he pauses to count, “five bottles of Tequila and eight bottles of Vodka?”

Hoseok frowns in concern. “Eight? There should be ten, hyung, check again.”

Seokjin actually gasps, this time. “What the hell, Jung Hoseok? Explain yourself before I start throwing hands!”

Hoseok smacks a palm against his forehead, taking Seokjin by surprise, yet again. “Tonight’s the Halloween party, hyung! Did you actually forget?”

Seokjin screws his eyes shut, letting his head roll back with a frustrated whine. “No~o, don’t tell me it's tonight. Halloween’s tomorrow, right? Why is the party tonight?”

“Yes, hyung, Halloween in tomorrow, which is why it would be stupid to hold the party when Halloween is ending.”

Seokjin finds the logic to be very severely flawed, but his energy is draining out fast and he cannot keep up with this quarrel. There’s no point, anyway. He’s known about this party for nearly a month. And Hoseok isn’t going to postpone a whole party just because Seokjin is tired.

“You look tired, hyung. You should rest. Recharge yourself before the party, okay? There’s plenty of time.” Hoseok pats Seokjin on the shoulder with a kind smile.

“I’m not even in the mood to party, Hobi,” Seokjin mutters, reaching behind all the glass bottles to extract his pack of cans.

Hoseok scowls at Seokjin. “Because you’re upset about your fight, I realize that. All the more reason to party, hyung! Take your mind off it for some time, why don’t you? You don’t even have to dress up, come as yourself.”

“I’d rather just drink myself to sleep and not wake up for the next twenty four hours.”

Hoseok blocks his path as Seokjin moves to exit the kitchen. “Is Honey coming?”

Seokjin sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, Hobi. Did you invite her?”

“No, hyung, because you said you would.”

Seokjin clicks his tongue. He completely forgot. “Then she isn’t coming.”

Without listening to his protests, Seokjin trudges upstairs with his food and beer. He will be forced to come down for at least a couple shots, he is certain, so he better make as much of the time he has on his hands as he can.

These days, it seems to be becoming a pattern for you to do things without really understanding why you do them.

You nibble at your bottom lip as you recall how gaunt and pale Seokjin had looked when you sat in the car. You had been really self-centered as it is, not really keeping in touch with him for four days, and then reaching out when you needed help. You couldn’t bear to think, on top of everything, that he had driven you home despite his extreme exhaustion while you sat back selfishly and let him drive around the city to pick Jimin up when he looked like a ghost.

You shake your head at yourself as Jimin jogs down the road to enter the car, ten seconds after you texted him.

His gaze is slightly hesitant when he meets your eyes, even though his smile is nothing but genuine. “Hello, noona. How come you are…” he trails off, gesturing around the two of you.

You start the car, shrugging one shoulder. “Seokjin came to pick me up. Now you’re gonna drop me off.”

Jimin gives you a huge smile, before his eyebrows suddenly lower. You look away, veering onto the road. “Wait. Were you in the car with him when I called?”

You chuckle. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Jimin mumbles around a small laugh.

You hum to yourself as you drive, distracting yourself from the thoughts that keep encircling your head. Seokjin is your boyfriend, no matter how mad you might be at him — you love him and care about him. Which is why you have tried to help him out. Not to mention, you felt slightly guilty, as it is, about calling him to pick you up. Why is your gesture of goodwill bothering you, then?

This is what you do for people you care about. Seokjin would do the same.

Your train of thoughts suddenly comes to a screeching halt.

Would he? Would he, really?

“You okay, noona?”

You jolt back from your thoughts, wide eyes turning to look at Jimin. “Wha—yes, yeah, I'm fine.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You’re gripping the wheel really hard.”

You look at your tightly clenched fists, and immediately ease them. “Oh, uh. Sorry. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Understandably,” Jimin mutters, looking out of the side window when you turn to look at him.

You purse your lips and press down on the accelerator.

A few beats of silence pass between you two before Jimin clears his throat. “Can I say something?” he asks you in a soft voice, looking nothing like the seductive persona he puts forth to get ladies falling in his bed.

You exhale. “Sure.”

“You, um. You are not just hyung’s girlfriend, you know?” he says slowly.

You scoff. “Of course, I do. I am also the very best server my restaurant has ever seen and the best struggling model you’ll ever meet, on the side.”

Jimin snorts, before giggling with his eyes closed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You do. But you do not want to face it. You want to be selfish, for once. You do absolutely know that you have been ignoring all the boys in your anger at Seokjin, but you absolutely do not wish to do anything about it. Not until you’ve resolved this tense air between you and Seokjin.

“You are also a part of our little family,” Jimin quietly finishes.

You suck your lips in at that. The word “family'' really gets to you.

He’s right, isn’t he?

All eight of you — well, nine, now, with the addition of Taehyung’s girlfriend — have been a family since the day you met these guys.

You smile as the memories start to filter in.

You had had a giant crush on Seokjin since the very first time you saw him in your Freshman year. Well, having a crush on the guy wasn’t that unheard of given how handsome he was. It also helped matters that he modelled for the cover page of your university’s journal within his first month in college. What surprised you was his reciprocated interest when you both finally got to know each other, thanks to Byulyi. Your current roommate was majoring in photography back then, and somehow roped the two of you into modelling for her portfolio. Seokjin asked you out during the sixth month of your Freshman year.

You recall being introduced to Yoongi in your Sophomore year, when he entered your college as a Music major. You found him laid back, calm but really sassy, and fun to be around. The three of you often hung out together, and you took immense pleasure in singling Seokjin out with the two of your sarcastic back and forths.

In your senior year, Hoseok transferred to your college as a Sophomore, and Taehyung and Jimin entered as Freshmen.

Hoseok was literally the most lively person you’d ever met in your life. There wasn’t a single moment of boredom next to him. He was easily given the responsibility of planning all your outings and parties, henceforth — a position he still holds with full competence.

Taehyung was usually found to be lost in his head more often than not in his initial college days. He was confused about his major for two entire semesters. With inputs from the group, when he eventually picked Art, he eased into college life. After that, he came out to be one of the weirdest and unwittingly funny guys in the group. You still don’t get how he was the first amongst all the boys to find him a girl.

Jimin was a really quiet and reserved individual, at first. He very rarely interacted with you all, choosing to stay holed up in his dorm room, instead, that Taehyung had forced him to share with him. You suspected he was recovering from a recent heartbreak. It became evident when he started dating someone within a week of getting into college, only to confess it was a rebound when he got dumped. The whoring around that began after the whole debacle is yet to cease, though. Obviously.

Hoseok comes from a really well-off family, and had brought along with him the four-bedroom apartment he currently resides in with Yoongi, Jimin and your boyfriend. His uncle gave it away to him, rent-free of course, and he proposed to share it with the rest of the guys. Seokjin and Yoongi were immediately on board, more than eager to leave the chaotic dorm life behind. Taehyung, contrarily, decided he wanted to get the whole college experience and refused to quit the dorms. Jimin, then, left the dorm he shared with Taehyung to move in with the elders.

You met Jungkook immediately after your graduation on the boy’s eighteenth birthday. He instantly struck you as a smart kid, really good at singing as well as art. Yoongi disclosed he wanted to be a music major in your college, and you tried to encourage Jungkook about it, but the guy could hardly even look at you. It was cute but also hilarious how much he was scared of Seokjin, and by principle, you.

You believe that is still true. Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you haven’t seen Jungkook ever actually relax around the two of you.

“Noona?”

You blink, coming back to the present as Jimin calls out to you. You take a deep breath, the memories hitting you with tender emotions. All these people are really precious to you, aren’t they? The bunch of you really are a family, aren’t you?

A sad smile swims up to your face. You miss the boys.

When he calls again, you turn to look at Jimin, questioningly.

“Please don’t be mad at hyung,” he slowly says, looking down at his lap. In this moment, he looks quite unlike the Jimin you are used to and reminds you of, instead, the one you’d first met. “He might lack tact, sometimes, but he really loves you a lot. You’re his whole world. Whatever it is that you are angry about, you should tell him about it. I don’t think he would be able to figure it out by himself.”

This, you agree with. “I’ll try, Jiminie.”

“We all miss you. Especially Hobi hyung and I,” he says with a lopsided excuse of a smile.

You resist the urge to fluff his hair. Jimin and Hoseok have been like the younger brothers you never had. You miss them, too.

He suddenly chuckles. "And Yoongi hyung hides it well, but I think he's the one that misses you the most. No one helps him roast Jin hyung quite like you do."

You roll your eyes. "Of course not. It's a waste for Yoongi to even try to find a better partner at roasting Jin."

You spot your apartment building and pull up to it.

“I’ll try to talk to Jin as soon as I can, Jimin, I promise. Don't worry so much about it,” you say as you step out, patting the boy once on his head. "I miss you all, too."

You give a small wave and faint smile to him as he drives away.

tagging: @shrimpmsg

note: so! a lil bit of backstory and the infamous halloween party - how we feelin’ so far? the next part is ~12k words, too, and i’ll post it next wednesday, wait around~ 😘💕

SECOND PART OUT NOW: read here!

448 notes · View notes

blouisparadise · 3 years ago

Photo

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Jealousy, Jealousy | Not Rated | 1163 words

Harry gets jealous when James Corden hold his Louis in his lap and pets him on the Late Late Show. He shows Louis who he belongs to and takes care of him.

2) The X-Factor Judge | Explicit | 1635 words

Harry watches the X-Factor and gets jealous about Brendan jumping on Louis. When Louis gets home Harry reminds him whom he belongs to.

3) Didn’t Know You Had It In You | Explicit | 1807 words

Harry sleeptalks and reveals his kinks which Louis is more than happy to try out.

4) Mine | Explicit | 1979 words

"So you been single for a while now?" Louis gulped as the vibrator slowed down sending a thankful look to Harry before glancing back at the interview who was looking at him with great interest,

"Uhhh yeah," he replied keeping his answer short and brief. He straightened his back shuffling slightly on his chair as the vibrator shifted inside of him hitting his prostate causing him to let out a small gasp as grimaced at the interviewer who just grinned back. She must be an excellent actress or just stupidly oblivious.

5) In The Moment | Explicit | 2611 words

Note: This is part 2 of this series.

Where it's their first time and Harry is being all fluffy and encouraging Louis to say his name and other dirty stuff?

6) Salvation Under My Breath | Not Rated | 2858 words

Louis is pregnant...

...and Horny

7) The Sight of You Brings Forth a Peace In Me | Mature | 3254 words

Louis loses inspiration and goes on a nature walk to find some. The inspiration takes shape in the form of Harry.

8) Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips | Explicit | 3435 words

Note: Part one of this fic is #23 on this list.

Adjusting to one another’s life came as naturally as the sun rising in the morning and brightening the sky, chasing away the darkness that had dared to lurk in its absence. They did not side step each other, did not second guess their instincts once they were finally together. It was the crash of roaring waves - reckless in their paths - but upon meeting had unified into calm waters in the vast sea.

Living with Harry was like a breath of fresh air. In all his years, Louis had never felt alive. He supposed there was some credit to be given to how devoted Harry was to him. The man would rather step in a raging fire than let him suffer even a trace amount of agony.

9) Fuck U (Even) Betta | Explicit | 3568 words

Note: This is the sequel to this fic.

Harry had sensed Louis was getting antsy all day, prodding and poking at Harry’s psyche like a game of mental whack-a-mole, trying to find that one thing that would flip the switch and push Harry over the edge. Even after all these years Louis still thinks he can get a rise, that he can in any way control the scenario. He couldn’t be more wrong.

10) We Act Like Nothing Is Wrong To Avoid What’s In Front of Us | Mature | 4179 words

Louis sends nudes meant for Harry to the wrong person on accident. Harry finds out. Rough sex ensues.

11) Love's First Bite | Explicit | 6135 words

Note: The pairing in this fic is Louis/Zayn.

For Zayn, love was never a part of life’s equation, not when you’re considered a lowly vampire while working in the Vampire’s royalty club, Love’s First Bite. He’s bitter and resentful and sees no point in looking into his past or future. But when Zayn saves a human named Louis, it all changes. He finds something special in him and, more importantly, someone worth giving up everything he holds dear.

12) Your Blueberry Eyes | Mature | 6154 words

Louis tattoos and Harry falls for blues.

13) Blow Me Away | Explicit | 6471 words

Louis likes giving blow jobs.

He doesn't exactly get off on it – he's been with people who properly loved it, and he's not quite that into it – but he doesn't mind the feel or the taste and he really, really likes watching his partner lose it, so getting down on his knees regularly is a no brainer.

Which is why it's a bit frustrating that every time he does, Liam hauls him back up again.

14) Thank You For This Prom Night | Not Rated | 6554 words

Note: This is part 3 of this series.

It's Prom Night. Stuff happens.

15) Can We Make It Anymore Obvious? | Explicit | 6628 words

Five times the boys accidentally walked in on Harry & Louis plus one time they did it on purpose.

16) It's The Way You Love (I Gotta Give It Back To You) | Explicit | 8153 words

Stretching, Louis finally pulled the duvet aside and let his feet fall onto the plush rug at his feet. Louis lived for soft, comfortable, plush things. From the fairy lights and fake plants to his plush robe and thick socks, everything in Louis’ little one bedroom apartment was carefully catered to his whimsical and soft aesthetic.

17) My Eyes Want You More Than A Melody | Explicit | 8315 words

Harry’s brain is short-circuiting at an absolutely awful time, the more expressive side of him is falling to pieces for some reason. The only responses he can give are venerated vibrations and nods, the feeling of Louis’ sweaty skin sliping him further into nothingness. Lightly dewy thighs, so muscular and plush— his lips feel just the same, so dangerously soft, a devious intention lying behind it all. “You’d do anything for me,” Louis mumbles, teeth tugging on Harry’s bottom lip, eyes dragging from his sinfully pink mouth when he lets it go to his hooded green eyes. “Isn't that right, daddy?” Harry whimpers— something that’s so foreign to him— but nods, trailing his hands up his shaved thighs, fingertips passing the hem of the dress.

18) Running Is Different Than Going | Explicit | 9018 words

Note: The pairing is Louis/OMC.

On the run, the last thing Michael expects from a stranger is help. Louis offers him everything he needs so he can keep running, but makes it harder than ever to continue doing so.

19) Quarantine, Baby! | Teen & Up | 9615 words

Note: There is no smut, but it contains mpreg Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

When Harry and Louis get a little too bored in quarantine, they turn to each other for some x-rated entertainment. Then, what starts as a COVID-scare, turns out to be something completely different.

20) Effervescent Horizons | Not Rated | 10676 words

Note: This is part 6 of this series. There is also no smut, but it contains mentions of bottom Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

They go to college together!

21) Moments | Explicit | 10726 words

Looking back, Louis should’ve known that the universe likes to fuck with idiots like him who think they’ve got it all sorted.

Looking back, he should’ve known that the minute he relaxed and let his guard down, when he thought things were going smoothly, that’s when it would hit him.

Looking back, he should’ve known to be on the lookout for a curveball.

He just hadn’t accounted for that curveball to have long legs, green eyes, and dimples; a curveball named Harry Styles.

22) The Blood Is Rare (And Sweet As Cherry Wine) | Explicit | 14270 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #8 on this list.

"Officer, I see you're giving away my secrets already," Harry said as he entered the room.

"It's hardly a secret," Louis accepted the delicate glass, cutting a glance at the man when the underlying scent hit him, "A little early to indulge in such things, isn't it?"

"You've had a long morning, I'm sure. Merely looking after your health, Officer," Harry smiled.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that."

"Someone has to."

23) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76174 words

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

24) Truth Behind Golden Eyes | Explicit | 228727 words

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years ago

Text

Prisoner's Game Pt. 4 (Rowaelin)

THANK YALL FOR BEING PATIENT I AM SO SORRY

Parts 1 \ 2 \ 3

________________________________

Journal Entry #2000

Sometimes I think it wouldn't be so bad to die.

To leave this island forever and not have to worry about being discovered anymore.

I wasn't always this macabre, but two thousand days of checking over my shoulder and wishing for a man's murder has dulled the wishful excitement I felt when I first got here.

Five years ago, I was grateful to even be alive.

I couldn't believe a stranger give up everything for me and the others--couldn't believe she'd agree to fight this battle because of my decision.

I have to actually remind myself to still be grateful to her, if I'm being honest.

Because sometimes I think about that night all those years ago, when she showed up in the darkest part of the night to kill me. When she'd held the knife with a trembling hand and told me that the price for betraying Arobynn Hamel was my life. When we discovered together that she couldn't bring herself to kill me.

Sometimes I think it would be better if she would've just done it.

At least it would've been over.

At least I wouldn't have to spend years on an island, living the same day over and over again. I think that's what's driving me mad, beyond anything else.

The predictability of my time.

Every day, I follow the same routine. The routine she laid out for me in a hushed whisper.

I wake up and go to the small café a mile down the road to watch the news. And every day, I pray to see Arobynn Hamel's face next to to the words, "Breaking news: billionaire crime boss found dead."

Because that was her only stipulation.

That the ten of us would stay on the island, hidden from sight, until news of his death was announced. In exchange, we got to live.

She'd warned me it would take a long time.

She'd told me to not get complacent.

And then she'd whispered what she planned to do.

Even now, over five years later, the words she'd whispered while shoving a plane ticket and a new passport into my hands were crystal clear.

"The devil isn't going to go down easy."

~Aelin~

The shaft of her recently-fashioned shiv was cold in her hand as she silently grabbed it from under her pillow.

The soft clink of the bars shutting again told her whoever had just snuck in her cell was now locked in with her.

Unfortunate for them.

She wasn't afforded the luxury of a clock, but she knew it was the middle of the night. Normal visiting hours were far over. There was no one here but the bored night guards, four janitorial staff, and rows and rows of sleeping inmates.

And the idiot trying to sneak up behind her bed.

She kept her eyes closed as she listened to the quiet steps walk closer and closer. Right when she was about to turn around and attack, they stopped.

Then the weirdest thing happened. It sounded like whoever it was slid down the wall directly across from her bed.

A killer wouldn't do that.

Curiosity piqued, Aelin turned her head to see who and what was going on.

It was dark in the cell, but she'd recognize that shock of silver hair anywhere.

"Rowan?" she whispered, so quietly she almost didn't even hear herself. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't respond, but the way his muscles tensed told her he'd heard her.

Slowly, she sat up so she could see him better and maybe figure out what was going on.

For the first time in a long time, he looked less than perfect. Far less than it, actually.

His hair was going every possible direction, like he'd been running hands through it and pulling on it. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, rumpled dress slacks, and tennishoes that weren't even tied.

But that wasn't what worried her most. It was the way he was sitting completely still and silent.

He didn't even look like he was breathing.

"Hey," she tried again. "What's going on? Look at me."

Another few heartbeats passed, and then he slowly shook his head.

"Please, Rowan. Just look at me."

He winced, like hearing her say his name physically hurt him.

And then his head came up.

Deep green eyes met hers, and even though it was what she'd wanted, what she'd needed, Aelin instantly wished he'd look away.

Because with one look, she knew he'd figured it out.

He knew, and the pain and turmoil in his eyes... she'd put that there.

She'd seen him angry and sad and happy and everything in between, but she'd never seen him, or anyone else, look so broken.

He looked completely and utterly broken as he sat before her.

"Rowan," she whispered, shaking her head even though she didn't know why.

He bowed his head again, seemingly unable to even look at her.

"Ro," she whispered, dropping to her knees in front of him.

Almost like the old nickname broke something inside him, Rowan's shoulders started to shake.

And then he sobbed.

It was the kind of sob that couldn't possibly be held in. The kind that made her heart clench and tears brew in her own eyes, the kind that told her how much pain he was in.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she put a hand on his arm. He shook off the touch like it burned him and looked up at her again.

"I ruined your life," he croaked, the tears on his face reeking of self-hatred. "I ruined your life."

She shook her head. "No, you didn't."

Anger bled into his tone. "I put you in prison for eight years for murdering people who aren't even fucking dead, Aelin. I didn't listen to you, didn't look hard enough. I've had the clues you left me for eight years. We were in love, and I didn't even try hard enough to... I... please explain to me how I didn't ruin your life."

"You did not ruin my life, Rowan," she told him again, meaning every word.

"Eight years of your life, gone because of me. I don't even understand how you can look at me." He huffed a laugh, but he was far from amused. "No wonder you hate me."

His chest was heaving, his hands were in fists, and his stubble-crested jaw was damp with tears.

And she'd thought he hadn't cared.

Aelin felt like a fool--a horrible, stupid fool--for ever doubting him. For thinking him indignant.

Because this was technically what she'd wanted. What she'd planned to happen.

She'd wanted it to hurt, had wanted him to feel an ounce of what she'd felt when he'd led the case against her.

But it wasn't what she wanted anymore.

Moving slowly, Aelin crawled onto his lap, put her hands on the side of his face, and lifted his gaze to hers while she said, "Arobynn Hamel ruined my life, not you."

He shook his head, breathing heavily. "No-"

She cut him off by wrapping herself around him.

Like she was trying to heal physical wounds, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head to her chest. She sank into him until there wasn't an inch of space between them. Her hands wandered over his back as she held him tight to her.

He was stiffer than a board at first, but eventually he sagged against her, wrapping his arms around her in return.

It was like he was drowning in the sea, and she was the only thing preventing him from being swept away. He shook, his entire body trembling, and his arms became a vice around her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered after a moment.

She shook her head, but it didn't matter. He said it again, and again, and again, until his voice was hoarse and broken.

Aelin ran her hands over his back slowly, and just held him as pain he'd felt for eight years seemed to reach a crest.

Eventually he stopped crying and just laid against her, warm breath fanning across her collarbone.

"I'm so sorry, Aelin," he whispered yet again.

"Please stop saying that. None of this is your fault. You aren't the reason I'm in prison."

"Yes, I am," he insisted, shifting beneath her. "But I'm getting you out right now."

He looked up, eyes bright with new-found purpose, and wiped the tears off his cheeks like they were distracting him.

"What?"

He nodded quickly. "We can bring those people back, and you can get your life back. I know it's not the same, and I know I can't get you these years back, but-"

"No."

He paused. "No?"

She shook her head. "I can't leave yet."

"Leave? What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I still have shit to do here. I'm not leaving before it's done."

His eyes narrowed. "You're acting like this is a hotel, not a high-security prison. And what do you even mean?"

Aelin had the good sense to feel a little guilty as she slowly got to her feet and walked to the wall at the back of the cell. A few well-placed taps later, it swung open.

Rowan's mouth dropped open, then closed, then repeated the whole routine like he couldn't decide what to say first.

He apparently figured it out, because it opened again so he accuse, "I knew you were robbing me! Where the fuck is my bed?"

She sighed and rubbed her temples. "That's what you care about right now? Seriously?"

He grumbled something as he got to his feet and leaned into the makeshift doorway in the wall.

It took him a few moments to examine the ladder leading down to the tunnel, and then he straightened and looked at her again with a mixture of confusion, awe, and understanding on his face.

"You've been sneaking out this whole time."

She nodded.

Most of her escapes had been in the past six months, but she'd occasionally left in the years before to check on something or track down a lead.

"You beat up your roommate so they'd put you back in solitary."

Aelin nodded again.

"But how did you know they'd bring you to this cell?"

A small smile pulled on her lips. "Look again," she told him, gesturing towards the open brick door.

He stuck his head in the hole again and couldn't stifle his surprised intake of breath as he saw the other ladders.

He came back in the cell, and the expression on his face made her bite her lip to hold back a smile. "You... you tunneled into prison?"

"Into every solitary cell," she confirmed.

"When? Why?"

"One of my old jobs for Arobynn was to break a client of his out of solitary. I knew which cell he was in, but... getting locked up is kind of a right of passage for my former career, so I figured I'd plan ahead and give myself a way out, should I ever need it." She smiled. "Hamel never could figure out how I did it, so it's safe for me to use now."

Rowan spent a long moment looking at her. "That's... genius."

"I tend to be," she agreed.

They were both silent for a minute, then he said, "You need to tell me everything. Enough of both of us wasting time assuming what the other is thinking. We need to get everything out in the open, and we need to do it now."

Aelin nodded, knowing it was true.

It was time to either finally trust him or kill him, and just the thought of the latter made something inside of her twist so hard she felt nauseous.

She nodded to the tunnel, not wanting to have the following conversation overheard by any prying ears. He nodded and followed her down, closing the door behind him.

When she knew they were alone, she started to explain.

"Maddison Kliff, my first so-called victim, funded her campaign for senator with money from Arobynn Hamel."

Rowan's eyebrows went up in surprise, but he nodded for her continue.

"He gave it to her, with the caveat that when she won, she'd vote against renewable energy for Rifthold. He has millions in oil, so when she did the exact opposite and voted for the green plan that switched the city to 70% electric, he took a pretty hard hit." She took a deep breath. "The day after the vote, I got my orders to kill her."

His jaw clenched.

"I went that night, thinking I could do it. Thinking I'd get it over with and never think about it again. I snuck in her townhouse and had everything set up." She let out a laugh. "But then I realized my deal with Arobynn covered ten of Sam's jobs. If I killed Maddison, and did a good enough job of it to get away with it, I knew he'd put nine more names on the list."

"So you didn't do it," Rowan said, like he already knew but needed to hear her say it.

"So I didn't do it."

Aelin ran a hand through her hair, starting to pace. "I ran. And then I went back the next night with a suitcase, a new ID for her, and a plan."

"Why Aruba?" he asked.

"I'd done all that research for our trip," she said, a pang of sadness shooting through her at the memory of planning their first vacation together. "I didn't have time to research another place. And I never told you, but the house I wanted us to rent? You kind of... own it."

"I own a house in Aruba," he repeated slowly, his tone making it clear he didn't understand.

She rolled her eyes at his tone. "Arobynn might be a bastard I'd love to put in a grave, but he paid me well. I was eighteen and didn't know what else to do with the money. So I bought a house."

"In Aruba. In my name."

She nodded. "No one can trace it back to you. It's hidden in an off-shore corporation, owed by another off-shore corporation, but technically, yes, you're the owner. It was going to be your Christmas present."

"You bought me a house," his lips twitched. "For a Christmas present."

"I was in love with you," she muttered. Then pointed out, "My lack of shopping impulse control really isn't the point of the story."

He rolled his eyes, still fighting a grin at her antics. "Please continue."

"Right. So I sent her to the house in Aruba and told her to stay at the house with anyone else he wanted me to kill. I told her to not say a word to anyone besides those people, and that I'd be forced to actually kill her if she did. If Arobynn finds out they're alive, he'll send someone for me."

She explained the list next. "He requires proof of all completed jobs, so I kept the "murder weapons" and made sure the crime scenes had enough blood to indicate the person couldn't still be alive. It was mostly fake, but I took just enough blood from each of the victims and mixed it in to make it realistic enough to fool DNA scanners. Then I put the weapons in storage lockers he owns and wrote the numbers down so I wouldn't forget them."

Rowan nodded, most certainly remembering that part.

He was doing a good job of hiding his emotions, but she still saw how heavily this all weighed on him.

Everything he'd been feeling for eight years was hitting him at once, and while explanation made sense, it probably didn't make him feel any better about the role he'd played in all of this.

He confirmed it by asking, "Why didn't you tell me?"

He asked it almost casually, but she didn't miss the pain he couldn't keep from seeping into his voice.

"I wanted to," she breathed. "Gods, I wanted to. I know now you investigated before giving the list to the cops, but to me, it looked like you found it and just turned me in. You never asked me. And you looked at me... you looked at me like you thought I was guilty. I knew you wouldn't believe me."

Rowan went quiet, regret and shame coming off of him in waves so thick she almost choked on it.

"How is all of this going to play out?" he asked, seemingly trying to force himself to think about something else. "And what do you have to do that you need to be in prison for?"

She hesitated, suddenly not wanting to tell him.

Not out of a lack of trust, but because if she told him... he'd realize she's guilty of the crime she's in prison for. He might go back to hating her, back to thinking her a horrible person.

And she just got him back.

She's pulled from her thoughts when he reaches a hand out, slowly gripping her jaw to tilt her face to his.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, the words final.

Of course he knew what she was thinking just from looking at her face. He always was a little too astute.

A part of Aelin wanted to put on a brave face and act like that wasn't exactly what she'd been worrying about, but a bigger part wanted him. Wanted him to see that even after all this time, she needed him.

So she forced down the witty jokes and sultry smiles she usually used as ways to hide her vulnerability and looked up at him.

"Promise?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "I promise, Aelin."

His hand was still on her face, and he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. "I'm never going to leave you again. I'm so... I'm so fucking sorry I did in the first place. I should've come to you, or at least listened when you told me you were innocent."

"I'm sorry I thought you didn't fight for me," she said back. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

They'd both done things they regretted, but Aelin knew that now, no matter what, he was telling the truth. He wasn't going to leave her.

The knowledge felt like a weight lifting off her shoulders, and just to lighten the mood, she whispered, "And I'm sorry I stole your bed."

He pulled back to glare at her. "You're going to explain one day how you even pulled that off. But I'd like the answer to my other question first."

Aelin took a step back and ran a hand through her hair.

"Arobynn Hamel dying is the endgame, Rowan. I have to stay in prison so I can kill him and have an alibi no one will question."

He paused, and for a moment, her fears skyrocketed, so she rushed to explain, "As long as he's alive, those people have to be in hiding and I have to look like I killed them. Once he's dead, I can bring them back without worrying Arobynn will kill them. Or me."

He gave her a strange look, but she spoke before he could, explaining, "It's why I've been in prison for so long. I would've killed him and ended it years ago, but I only found him a couple months ago. He's been in hiding ever since I was locked up, because the FBI knew I was one of his and started looking for him."

"Okay, but Aelin-"

She cut him off. "I know it's insane and not at all ideal, but I need you to leave me in here. Just until he's dead, and then it's over."

He stepped forward and grabs her shoulders, shaking her slightly.

And then he did the weirdest thing.

He smiled.

"What the hell do you look happy about?" she demanded. "I'm being serious-"

It was his turn to interrupt her. "Aelin, if that's the stipulation, you're already free."

Unease drifted through her stomach. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's already dead."

Shock rushed through her so fast and thoroughly, her vision swam and she swayed in his grip. "What... what did you just say?"

"That's why I came today, now. I actually figured out you were innocent two days ago, but I wasn't going to come until I could tell you with certainty I was getting you out, and I knew you couldn't bring everyone back without risking your life. I've spent the past 48 hours planning a jailbreak and a way to sneak you to somewhere the US doesn't have extradition."

He grinned again. "But then it was announced on the 11 o'clock news tonight that he died last week of pneumonia complications. His family kept it private because they wanted a small funeral, but he's dead, Aelin."

Still feeling the weight of shock, she argued, "He's not dead."

"But he is."

"No," she insisted, pushing away from him and starting to pace again. "He can't be dead."

His face softened at the panic in her voice. "Aelin, I know you wanted it to be you, but-"

"No, Rowan, you don't understand. I mean he cannot physically be dead, because I haven't finished killing him!"

It was his turn to be shocked.

"What do you mean you haven't finished killing him?"

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I've been poisoning him since the day I figured out where he holes up. Turns out he has kidney problems and goes in once a week for dialysis. I show up and add a little... extra to his medication. The last time I went was less than a week ago, and while he might have been sick, he most definitely was still alive."

Besides that, what were the odds that Rowan figured out her "victims" were still alive, and just two days later Arobynn croaks?

It would be one hell of a coincidence, and Aelin learned long ago to not believe in those.

His eyes went wide. "What? You mean he faked his death? Why the hell would he do that?"

"Because," she said slowly, dread forming like a lead ball in her stomach as she realized what this meant for her, for the ten people whose lives she'd traded her freedom for. "I told Maddison and the others to wait for news of his death before coming back. I told them that until he was dead, they weren't safe."

She shook her head, whispering, "I told them to watch the news."

Rowan realized what she was saying and cursed.

"He knows."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lemme know in the comments if you want to be tagged!

Part 5 will (realistically) be out in the next three weeks. Sorry for the slow updates; school is consuming all my time and energy.

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @thenerdandfandoms @emily-gsh @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #rowan whitehorn #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin galythinius

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

---------------------------

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #avaskian caldwell #cliffhanger #sorry folks #not beta read

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mymothershumility · 3 years ago

Text

neverflownwithme asked: “Perhaps the world is in need of change.”

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ Part 6 } & { Part 7 } & { Part 8 } & { Part 9 } & { Part 10 }

{ Part 11 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

“This is the last of it.”

Gaze lifts from her desk, quill coming to pause above the parchment she has been recording the contents of the hidden room upon. The process has been a lengthy one, stretching a week and a half after the room’s discovery. Many of the scrolls and tomes from within the space have been accounted for, recorded upon Laira’s parchment as she looked over each and every one.

There are a number of journals among the tomes that she has skimmed, personal ones penned by the hands of Lady Shiera Seastar, Princess Rhaena of Pentos, and Queen Visenya Targaryen. There are others of an unknown origin, as well, penned in an unfamiliar --yet strikingly familiar-- hand.

Thus far, her work has centered around sorting and identifying the tomes, journals, and scrolls that had been scattered upon the desks and shelves within the room. She and Hal have yet to tackle the various trunks that have been pulled from the space. They remain stacked on the opposite side of her solar, shrouded in mystery. It is what Hal now carries easily in his hold, crossing the room to set the last trunk among the others.

When Laira looks back across her solar, she finds the space of the room void of everything but the desks and shelves that are set against the walls as well as the Myrish carpet lining the floor. The look of it seems entirely foreign for a moment. Yet, despite all of their work, there are still a number of questions looming above them. Laira has yet to finish one of the tomes pulled from among the stacks in full. It will take her and Hal both months to do so if they attempt such a task. Of that, she is certain.

And, in the end, it is possible that such a task will be the only way to discover the answers they so desperately wish for.

Setting her quill back upon her parchment, Laira pens the last of her entries upon the surface. There are well over a hundred journals, tomes, and scrolls upon her list. With her recording finished, Laira sets her quill back into its inkwell. She is glad to have the task done, though her back and her eyes now ache because of it.

“Visenya Targaryen and Shiera Seastar penned many of these,” Laira comments, fingers brushing upon the Lyseni crafted journal that had once belonged to the Star of the Sea. She traces the silver three headed dragon that is emblazoned across the amethyst leather, letting a soft sigh escape her. “Princess Rhaena of Pentos has penned several of them as well,” she goes on. “There are others as well, though I cannot discern to whom they once belonged.”

The journals and scrolls that she mentions are scrawled in the language of the Old Empire. Of that, Laira is certain of. She recognizes the language as easily among the ancient pages just as she does among Shiera Seastar’s recounts. What strikes her odd above all else are the mentions of the Freehold, of the descriptions of the dragonlords and the never ceasing ebb and flow as power slipped from one to another and back around again.

There is more, though... recounts of the Five Forts and the Great Empire of the Dawn… of the Blood Betrayal that had ushered in the first Long Night.

Such recounts only spawn additional questions. They only serve in deepening a tale that is already wrapped in far too much mystery.

“Perhaps a change of scenery would do us both good,” Hal recommends, leaving the trunks for then. He leans against the sturdy form of Laira’s desk when he is near enough, casting a look down at the work that she has done. “It seems as if we’ve scarcely left these walls of late.” They have had good reason to. Hal is aware of such a thing. Still, he believes setting their task aside for a time could be of benefit to them. It is possible their answers may be easier to find if they look for them with fresh eyes.

Laira listens as he speaks, gaze drifting over him as he settles his form against the edge of her desk. She cannot disagree with his words. She finds herself smiling, in fact, at his suggestion. It is a welcomed one. “I am surprised that you would object to spending your time secluded away with me, my Lord,” she teases him, watching the way the lines of his body seem to soften with her words. Such a reaction has become more frequent as of late. Laira enjoys witnessing it. “Pray tell,” she begins, chuckling as he moves and bends to set his hands upon the armrests of her chair, “have you grown bored of me already?”

“I feel you already know the answer to such a question, Your Grace,” he says, moving closer to her when she reaches to press her hand beneath his chin. “I believe you merely enjoy teasing me,” he accuses, leaning to steal a kiss from her.

She laughs against his mouth, fingers shifting until her palm is pressed to the line of his jaw. “No more than you enjoy teasing me,” Laira reminds, speaking when he pulls from her. Her thumb briefly strokes against his cheek, the pad of her finger tracing the line of a faint scar hidden beneath the light stubble of his beard. “Did you have something particular in mind for us to partake in?”

Their week has already been one of great change and challenge. In the midst of their exploration and discovery within the walls of her solar, Sansa and Helen had arrived on Dragonstone from King’s Landing in the midst of a torrential storm. Having sailed upon one of the Velaryon ships that often ferried supplies from the capital to the islands of Claw Isle, Driftmark, and Dragonstone, the girls had arrived in the dead of night, utterly terrified after additional events that had transpired within the capital.

Such events still set her husband upon edge when they speak of them. They do much the same to her. There had been little favor for the Tyrells in her husband’s heart when he arrived on Dragonstone, having already forbidden a marriage alliance that Olenna had attempted to put into place between Sansa and Willas Tyrell while he was occupied in the Stormlands. There had been little favor left in her with her husband’s revelations.

When the girls had arrived --cold and hungry and fearful-- only to reveal that Olenna had not only attempted to see Sansa married away, but had also attempted to betroth Helen to Oliver Redwyne’s son, any favor that had lingered within her and her husband for the Tyrell matriarch had burned away to ash.

“The day seems as though it may remain favorable,” Hal says. Those days upon Dragonstone are few and far between, the weather ever changing and often giving way to storms. “Perhaps we could journey down to the village with the girls,” he proposes. “Or take them down to the shore.”

“I believe they would enjoy time on the shore.” Laira has made her fair share of journies down to the village since arriving upon the island. And while the markets are filled with trade from across the sea, she believes that the girls would enjoy their day all the more if granted the time to play. Laira is uncertain when another fair day such as this one will occur on the small island.

It will be best to take advantage of it while possible.

Hal takes hold of her hand as she speaks, turning so his mouth can catch along the inside of her wrist. The kiss that he plants against her skin is whisper soft. “My thoughts as well,” he agrees. He is straightening in the next moment, drawing Laira carefully up from her seat as he goes.

She laughs again, both at his affection and his enthusiasm. Laira is happy to see it after the events of the week. There have been too many times as of late that she has seen the weight of Olenna’s betrayal pressing down upon him.

Such a matter, Laira will be certain is addressed. She will see justice given where it is due. Daenerys would have no need for a Hand who acted in such a traitorous manner. She was confident in that.

“I will ask the cooks to prepare something light for us to carry with us,” Laira said. They had broken their fast with the girls when they had woken. Midday would be upon them shortly, though, and hunger would soon set in upon them once again.

It takes little to convince her niece and her good-cousin to accompany her and Hal down onto the shore. Helen is quick to agree to such a journey, entirely enthralled with the sea and all the mysteries that it holds. And, wherever it was that Helen journeyed, Sansa was always quick to follow after her. It has become far more uncommon, in fact, to find Sansa away from Helen’s side. Both she and Hal find some comfort in such knowledge.

For, wherever the girls travel, their direwolves are there to go with them. Only a fool would attempt to harm the girls with such staunch protection at their sides.

No more than an hour later, Helen is skipping along the smooth flagstones of the courtyard with Sansa’s fingers wrapped securely in her hand. Rose and Dawn trot along in front of them, heads and ears high as they observe everything around them. Several steps behind the girls and their direwolves, Laira walks arm-in-arm with Hal. Her husband’s direwolf companion has positioned herself at Laira’s opposite side, having shown herself to be increasingly protective as of late. She suspects Hal’s own mood to be a contributing factor. His bond with Moone has already shown itself to be similar in nature to her own bond with Viserion.

And, as Viserion often feeds off Laira’s own emotions, she believes that her husband’s direwolf companion does quite the same where his own are concerned.

“They both seem excited,” Laira murmurs to Hal, smiling at Helen’s chattering and Sansa’s answering giggles. Her young niece has been engaged in excited conversation with her eldest cousin since learning of their excursion down to the shore.

“Neither of them have been afforded a great amount of time upon the shore or in the waters of the sea,” Hal tells her. Despite having lived for a time in White Harbor, Helen has never been able to wander about on the beach or play in the water as she has been able to during her time upon the island stronghold. The beaches at White Harbor differ vastly from Dragonstone’s own. The shoreline of much of the North, in fact, is rocky and unforgiving. Its waters are much the same, too frigid even in the heat of summer to swim about in. “However, Helen has been exposed to the water far more than Sansa,” he goes on.

His cousin had confided not so long ago, in fact, that her first time spying the sea had been when she had come to King’s Landing as a bride for Joffrey Baratheon.

Laira hums in understanding, tucking herself closer to her husband’s side as they begin their trek down the winding pathways that will take them to the shore beyond the castle. “I believe they would enjoy Lys,” she says, thinking of the last time that she had visited the Free City. “It is still warm there,” she continues. “They could swim in the water if they wished to. Or, play about on the sands and look for shells at their leisure.” The beach beyond her mother’s manse within Lys had been well guarded at one time. It would be again should Laira ever return to it.

“Perhaps we will be able to make the journey there in the near future,” Hal tells her, bringing her closer when she slips more into the length of his side. He knows that Helen would enjoy the coast of the Free City, having already shown a particular love for searching out tide pools there upon Dragonstone and observing the sea life found within them. And Sansa, he knows, would love the markets.

She smiles at such a notion, leaning until she is able to brace her head against the line of his shoulder. Another quiet hum leaves her, opposite arm reaching across her so her fingers are softly pressing against the palm of his hand. She cannot stop the whispering flutter of her heart inside her chest when his own fingers --warm and strong-- curl carefully about her hand in response. “You spoil me,” she murmurs up to him.

A smile twitches up at the corners of his mouth when he feels the press of her head against the expanse of his shoulder, grows all the larger when Laira’s fingers seek out the expanse of his own hand. “You’ve spoken fondly of Lys on more than one occasion,” Hal reminds, thumb stroking along the bumps of her knuckles. “I don’t believe it’s spoiling you to return you to a place that holds such fond memories for you.”

“No?” she questions, the word marred with a gentle laugh. “A fortunate thing for myself, then.” She pauses, watching as Helen goes dashing out onto the sand ahead of them. The young girl is giggling as she runs, her direwolf giving chase after her down the beach. Sansa follows after her, though she walks instead of runs. Laira can hear her laughing all the same. “There are other places that I am fond of as well,” Laira goes on, still watching the girls as they make their way towards the edge of the water.

The sea around Dragonstone is often colored deep azure, though the water closer to shore is often clouded with sand that is stirred up from the storms that plague the island. Today, at least, Laira can see that the shallows are clear. The water looks incredibly inviting even from where she and Hal are walking.

“What places are those?” Hal has his own thoughts about what they may be.

“White Harbor was of particular interest to me in the short time we lingered there,” she offers. It had been a mere stop in their return to King’s Landing from the War for the Dawn. Yet, the Manderlys had shown them every courtesy possible during their stay. Laira had become especially fond of Lady Wylla and Lady Wynafryd during her time in their hall. “However, WinterfelI, I believe, is the dearest of them all to me,” she carries on.

Laira imagines that he knows the reason, can see the quick flickers of realization as they slowly settle upon him.

“The war that awaited us aside,” she continues, “I was quite happy there.”

“So was I.” Even though Hal had never grown up at Winterfell, it remained familiar. He’d spent more than enough time among its walls, visiting his family with his father. Most of his childhood had been spent among the walls of Karhold. “It was likely the company that made the stay so easy, though,” he went on, smiling at the way she was looking over at him. “I left Harrion Karstark as steward before we departed back south,” Hal reminds. He and Harrion had grown up side by side at Karhold. He was practically a brother to him. There had been no one else that Hal would have trusted to guard Winterfell for Sansa. “He would welcome us back if we decided to make the journey there.”

“We could journey there first,” she offers, her voice sincere. Laira is not opposed to such travels. The more distance, in fact, their family can put between themselves and Olenna Tyrell’s plots, the better. She will not have Sansa or Helen near enough to the woman for them to be used as potential pawns.

“We’ll look to somewhere warmer first,” Hal says, looking up in time to see Dawn bounding into the shallows. Rose is at her heels, chasing after her with high pitched yips. Mere steps from where the direwolves are playing, Sansa and Helen are crouched near a cluster of rocks. Hal doesn’t need to be closer to know they’ve discovered a tide pool. “Winterfell can wait for a time.”

“If my Lord insists.” She smiles at the quick laugh that he gives, the sound partially covered by a snort.

“Will this always be a game between the two of us?” he asks her, returning her smile.

“It is a fitting one, I believe,” Laira answers. “To accompany all other manner of teasing that we engage in.”

“If memory serves, you’re the one who began our little game.” There’s a great deal of fondness in his tone, eyes glancing back to check on the girls. They’re still enthralled with their discovery at the edge of the water. Dawn and Rose are nearby as well, at play in the shallows.

Laira laughs at his accusation, her own gaze turning skyward. Though Viserion is beyond her line of sight, Laira can feel her flying high in the cloud cover. The dragoness will descend soon enough and she will find Laira when she does. No matter where she lingered, Viserion always seemed to come to her. “I regret to say that your memory is mistaken, husband,” she says, laughter still present in her tone. “You showed yourself to be quite proficient in your teasing during our time in Oldtown,” she points out. “You began our game, in fact, the very night that followed your arrival.”

By then, they have stepped farther from the edge of the water. The cliffs now loom high above them, casting dark columns of shadow out along the sand. They are still near enough to the waves, though, that Sansa and Helen are easily seen. Laira reaches to take the canvas bag that her husband has been carrying upon his opposite shoulder, having seized the bag from her as they had departed the Great Hall. He had refused to relinquish back to her as they had walked, insisting that he be the one to carry it down for them. That she had healed from her ordeal within the capital had been reminded and acknowledged, though Hal had continued to insist he carry it in her place despite such a reminder. It is endearing, in truth, how he continues even then to worry over her in such little ways.

The cooks and the maids had done as she had requested, preparing a meal for the four of them that could be easily packed away and carried down to the shore. Mira had even been kind enough to fold the pale gray blanket from Laira’s apartments and slip it into the bag with their meal. Laira had used the blanket during one of her last visits to the beach. It is the blanket that Laira withdraws from the bag, unfolding it and spreading it out over the white sand.

Moone is quick to take up a spot along the edge of the fabric, lying so that her belly is half on the fabric and half in the sand. Her head rests against the top of her large paws, mismatched eyes watching as Rose and Dawn continue their games within the water. Laira comes to sit beside the direwolf on the blanket, feet slipping out of her sandals and legs stretching until she can rest the soles of her feet atop the cool sand. Hal pauses before he moves to sit beside her, looking out to where Helen is calling excitedly for him. She is gesturing to one of the pools that she and Sansa have located, clearly overjoyed at having discovered something of interest.

“You are being beckoned,” Laira says, smiling at the way Helen now runs for them. Dawn is at the young girl’s heels, yipping after her.

“Uncle Hal!” Helen exclaims. “Sansa and I found sea stars! Come look at them! They’re so pretty!” Helen quickly turns her attention to her aunt, smiling at her. “Will you come look too, Aunt Laira?” she asks, her tone hopeful.

“Perhaps in a few moments,” Laira says. “Take your uncle with you, though. Make him entertain you.” She motions Helen closer when Hal pretends to be distracted by something. “See if you can trick him into the water,” she whispers.

The recommendation makes Helen giggle, hand pressing against her mouth to keep her uncle from hearing. Then, she makes a grab for her uncle’s hand, pulling him along with her. “Come see, Uncle Hal!”

Hal pauses long enough to look back at Laira, his expression shifting to something more serious for a split second. “Will you be alright?” he asks. Even though they are far from King’s Landing and among trusted individuals on the island, he still worries about straying too far away from her.

“I believe that I am well guarded,” she assures, hand rising to rest itself against Moone’s head. The she-wolf had made no move to follow after Hal, remaining at Laira’s side instead. “Should I need you, I will call out for you. I have faith that you will come to my aid if I require it.”

Even if Hal had been too far from her, and Moone along with him, Laira would not have worried. Not there. Though she is still hidden from view, the Queen can now feel Viserion lower among the clouds. She is near, likely flying about the Dragonmont or about the far ends of the island. The dragoness could be to her just as quickly if she found herself in need. Still, Laira has no fear of lingering on her own there upon Dragonstone’s shore. The island is safe. Of that, Laira is certain.

Laira watches as her niece leads her husband away, only the faintest hints of reluctance entering the line of his shoulders. It fades easily enough as Helen draws him away, chattering about all that she has found with Sansa. At her side, Moone settles more into her spot, body scooting itself until she is pressed along the stretch of Laira’s own legs. The direwolf’s tail beats gently against the sand when Laira reaches to press a hand to her head, happy with the attention that she’s given.

For a time, she observes her husband and their family along the sands. Hal has always shown himself to be wonderful with children. From the first moment that Missandei had met him, she’d been drawn to him. The young scribe had remained practically attached to Hal’s side in the days that had followed Daenerys’ attack within the Holdfast, seeking safety where she had known it could be found. And, even though they were both older than Missandei, Irri and Jhiqui had shown a similar draw to him as well. Laira expected girlish infatuation in place of anything else, however. Even the stableboys there upon the island and Mira’s own daughters flocked to her husband when he was near to them.

Laira quite enjoys watching such displays. Hal is always attentive, always listening and conversing with the children that seek him out. Should the gods allow it, he will make a wonderful father. She feels her heart give a brief flutter at such a thought, grief momentarily snapping within her chest. Had poison not been slipped into her cup within the Holdfast, how close would their children have been to birth by then? Three moon turns? Possibly four? It would not have been so far away. By then, Laira would have been able to feel their movements.

It has been a time since Laira has allowed her thoughts to linger upon what was stolen from her and from Hal in the capital. She does not like the pain that swells in her heart when she does… does not like the sorrow she sees reflected in Hal’s own features when she mentions it. Still, Laira cannot help but dwell upon what might have been if someone had not struck against them.

There is nothing that can be done to right the wrongs that have been done in the past, yet there is a hopeful part of her --one that is far more idyllic-- that wishes there was something that could be done. The thought is pushed away just as quickly as it comes. She knows better than to allow foolish naivety a place within her.

The shift of Moone at her side brings her thoughts back to where they should remain. Laira reaches to press her palm to the she-wolf’s head. She feels a vibration beneath the wolf’s surface when she does, a growl emanating from her throat. Moone’s head rises a moment later, emerald and sapphire gaze settling upon something down the shore. Laira’s own gaze follows the wolf’s. There is a brief flicker of crimson and darting shadow, movement that disappears behind an outcropping of rock a split second later.

For a moment, the Queen is thrown back to the night she and Hal had discovered the room within her solar. A brief flash of memory springs forward, recollection of the being that had lingered beyond the windows of her apartment. She sees the flash of shadow and then the three glowing points of crimson light glowing in the dark.

A hand against her shoulder makes her flinch, heart fluttering wildly in her chest as fear sweeps down the column of her spine. Her head snaps to her side. Sansa is standing beside her, having drawn her hand back from her. The young girl is staring down at her, her eyes wide and hand clasped to her chest.

“Sansa,” the Queen breathes, attempting to calm herself. Her heart is still thundering wildly in her chest.

“I am sorry,” Sansa speaks, her voice small. “I thought you heard me. Please forgive me.”

Reaching, Laira sets her hand upon Sansa’s arm, her touch gentle. “You startled me, sweetling,” Laira says. “Nothing more. I was merely lost in thought,” she admits. She does not turn her gaze back down the shore, though Moone continues to watch the area. “There is nothing for you to ask forgiveness for. You have done me no harm.”

Sansa nods, mouth turning up into a little smile. “May I sit with you?” she asks. “Hal and Helen are still looking in the pools.” Her cousins have wandered a little farther down the beach, Helen perched atop Hal’s shoulders as they search out the various pools and the life that resides within them.

“I would love the company,” Laira admits. She pats the spot beside her, watching as Sansa moves and sinks down onto the blanket with her. The girl’s own sandals have been cast aside, left somewhere out upon the sands closer to the water. “Are you hungry?” she asks, gesturing to the bag at her side. “Mira and the cooks were kind enough to pack a meal for us. You are welcome to anything that you wish to have.”

“Thank you.” Sansa smiles over at the Queen --her good-cousin-- and reaches into the mentioned bag.

In the top of the bag, there are sweetened biscuits with dried cranberries and orange zest as well as savory rolls with garlic, herbs, and sharp cheese wrapped in linen napkins. Below the biscuits and rolls, the cooks had packed wooden bowls wrapped in cheesecloth. In one bowl, there are pieces of thinly sliced cured ham, the very kind that the Queen enjoyed wrapped about figs with sweetened goat cheese. In the same bowl, there are slices of firm white cheese. In the second bowl, Sansa finds carrots, radishes, and sweet peppers. The last of the bowls is filled with sweet black cherries, tart green grapes, and fresh strawberries. There are glass bottles within the bag as well, each of them filled with water.

Taking a sweet biscuit for herself, Sansa breaks a bite of it off from one of the corners. It’s heavenly tasting. The pastry is flaky and sweetened perfectly. “The biscuits are delicious,” she tells her good-cousin with a smile.

“I am glad that you like them.” Laira reaches for one of the savory rolls, breaking it in half before offering part of it to Moone. A flicker of concern slips through Laira when the direwolf does not immediately take the offering from her. Moone frequently begged her for food whenever she and Hal ate, never once refusing anything that Laira offered to her. Only a moment later, Moone stretches her head forward and gingerly takes the roll from Laira’s fingers. Her attention is turning back down the coast only a second later, focus back on the outcropping of rock along the cliffs.

Laira looks back at the area, though she cannot see anything that concerns her. The dart of crimson and shadow had likely been nothing more than her eyes playing tricks upon her. All the same, Moone’s continued focus makes her uneasy.

“Hal says that we may travel to Lys for a time,” Sansa says, taking another bite of her biscuit. “He says that it is warm there… that you have a manse within the Free City where we could stay.”

“The manse belonged to my mother,” Laira explains. “It has been held by members of our family since the dragonlords of the Old Empire reigned.”

Sansa hesitates, nibbling another bite from her biscuit. “Would we be safe there?” she asks, glancing down the beach where Hal and Helen are still walking. She does not believe that Hal will venture anywhere with them that will not be safe.

“We would ensure that you and Helen remained well protected, sweetling,” Laira murmurs, her own gaze following Sansa’s.

“I hadn’t felt safe in a long time… not until I was reunited with Hal,” Sansa admits. For so long, she’d been a caged bird… a little dove in a gilded cage. “But then…” she trails off, her eyes beginning to tear up at their edges. “Lady Olenna cannot force me to marry Lord Tyrell, can she?” Sansa questions, her voice breaking.

When Sansa had first been offered the opportunity to marry Willas, she’d thought the chance to be her only way to freedom. That had been before Queen Daenerys had helped orchestrate the plan that had stolen her away from the Lannisters. That had been before she had been reunited with Hal. All Sansa wanted now was to be with her family. She did not want to be Lady of Highgarden. She did not want to marry a man twice her age who knew nothing about her.

“What Lady Olenna attempted was treason, sweetling,” Laira murmurs. The roll in her hand is largely forgotten. She extends it out to Moone, watching the direwolf take the second half with no hesitation. She seems more at ease now, her head resting heavily against Laira’s knees. “She had no right to attempt to force you into a marriage with Lord Tyrell. She had no right to attempt to force Helen into a marriage with Lord Redwyne’s son.”

To do so while Hal had been occupied in the Stormlands and Laira had been away upon Dragonstone had been all the more underhanded.

“You needn’t worry over such a thing any longer,” Laira continues, her voice gentle. “You will not marry anyone that you do not wish to. Neither will Helen. Do you understand?”

Sansa nods as the Queen speaks, reaching to dab away the tears in her eyes. “Promise?” Sansa whispers, her voice breaking again.

“I swear to you, sweetling,” Laira murmurs, reaching to press her hand down atop Sansa’s. “If anyone attempts to force you or Helen into another marriage, they shall answer to me and they shall answer to your cousin.”

Let Lady Olenna or any other attempt such a thing with her family once again. They would have her wrath in answer to it.

Dabbing at her eyes again, Sansa sniffles and picks a dried cranberry from her biscuit. “I have always wanted to marry someone for love.” Sansa has always wished for a life and a love like those within a song. “Mother always said that love could come after… that love did not necessarily come before a marriage.” Her mother had been fortunate in her marriage, had been fortunate to have loved her father and that he had loved her in return. Sansa knew such things did not always occur. “I wish…” she trails off, considering her next words carefully.

Hal is Winterfell’s heir by Westerosi inheritance law. He has no intention to keep the Northern seat, though. He has already told Sansa as much. He will act as her regent until she is of age. Then, Winterfell will pass into her governance. It was such power that others would always see. They would see a hold on the North through her. They would see her as nothing more than a puppet to be flitted about on strings. “I wish the world would allow for someone to love me for me and not for my family’s seat,” Sansa finally admits. “I do not think that such a thing will ever be possible, though.”

The Lords of Westeros would forever look to their daughters and see tools to gain power.

“Perhaps the world is in need of change.”

Both Laira and Sansa glance up, finding Hal now standing beside their blanket. Helen is still atop his shoulders, looking down at them with a quiet little smile.

“I think that’s what Queen Daenerys intends to do,” Hal goes on, lifting Helen off his shoulders. He sets her back on her own feet, giving her a moment to become steady before he lets her go. She immediately goes to Sansa’s side, squeezing herself between her cousin and her aunt. When Sansa offers her a biscuit from the canvas bag, she eagerly takes it.

“Your cousin is right,” Laira says, smiling when Hal leans to press a kiss against the top of her head. “Daenerys wishes to build a world where little girls are no longer used as collateral to secure power.”

Laira can only hope that she succeeds in such an endeavor. The Lords of Westeros would not be so easily swayed.

The rest of their day upon the shore is without incident. Sansa and Helen linger with Laira and Hal long enough to eat a few treats from their lunch before dashing back out to play along the sand and in the shallows. The trek back up to the castle is as light as their trek down to the beach had been earlier in the day. The girls giggle back and forth between themselves, trading stories and showing one another shells that they have gathered throughout the day.

With sunset still some time away, Hal asks the stableboys to fill one of the large water basins within the gardens with fresh water. All three direwolves are damp from the sea and matted with sand from their playing. Even Moone, who had spent most of her time lingering at Laira’s side, had taken a run into the shallows not long before they departed. They will all need to be bathed and rinsed before entering the castle again.

The girls stay behind to help, Helen already starting to pour clean water over Dawn’s back as Laira walks the steps up into the Great Hall. The direwolf sits without a fuss, letting Helen do as she wishes.

It is cool inside the castle. The torches along the walls have been lit in preparation for night. As Laira walks, she can hear the chattering of the maids and the cooks within the kitchens, all of them going about their tasks. It’s a comforting sound, she realizes. Everyone within the castle seems utterly content. It’s a stark change from the Red Keep… from the attendants that had been present within the palace when Daenerys had taken the city. She lingers for a moment, poking her head into the busy space to check on all those within.

Mira gives her a smile when she sees her, seated at a small table with her daughters and her mother. Ser Aeron is seated across from Mira and her family, talking and laughing with her maid’s little girls. Celesse is pouring a splash of cream into a bowl across the kitchen. She brings it back to Ser Aeron, setting it down in front of the man with a kind hand against his shoulder. The master-at-arms smiles at her, thanking her before taking a bite of what Laira believes to be peach cake. The cooks had received fresh peaches just a few days ago and had been using them frequently in sweets and salads.

“Did you and your family enjoy your day, Your Grace?” Mira calls, standing from the table. She carries a tray in her hands as she does, moving so she can deposit them in the sinks across the kitchen.

“We did,” Laira assures. “Perhaps your little ones could accompany us the next time that we venture to the shore.” She smiles when she notices the way Mira’s daughters brighten. She doubts they have ever been extended such an invitation before. “Sansa and Helen would no doubt love to have playmates closer to their own ages.”

“That is very kind of you, Your Grace,” Mira answers, smiling over at her daughters. “I am sure they would enjoy such a thing very much.”

Laira looks to Ser Aeron then. “Be sure that the stableboys eat as well, Ser Aeron,” she tells him. “They were kind enough to help my husband with an endeavor with the wolves,” she says. “Be sure that they both take food home for their families. And you as well.”

“I’ll fetch them myself, Your Grace,” Ser Aeron answers, spearing another piece of peach cake with his fork. “Thank you.”

Laira leaves them only a few moments later, pausing to be certain that Celesse and the cooks have enough to eat and enough to carry food back to their families. When Laira enters the hallway that houses her and Hal’s apartments, she pauses at its end. The doors to her rooms are ajar and there is a shadow moving within the space. Her husband and her family are still down within the gardens, tending the wolves, she knows. And her attendants are within the Great Hall, milling about in the kitchens.

She hesitates only a moment before she is moving, feet quiet against the dark stone. Glancing around the doors into her apartments, Laira finds the space empty. Across the living space, the doors to her solar are thrown open. There is a fire burning within the hearth. Another shadow flickers along the wall within the small space.

Dark Sister is still propped at the end of her bed, resting against the onyx colored chaise. She moves without a second thought, hand wrapping about the grip. The Valyrian blade is pulled from its scabbard as she crosses the room, the steel gleaming in the faint firelight. There is a feminine figure standing before the hearth when she steps into the solar. Clad in all crimson, dark hair spills down the other’s back. The design upon the woman’s crimson robes identifies her before anything else can.

A Red Priestess. A servant of the Red God, R’hllor.

The priestess’ head tilts slightly. Laira can see the quirk of the woman’s mouth from where she stands. “Daughter of Death,” the woman speaks, the words flowing off her tongue in the language of the Old Empire. “We have much to discuss.”

{ @truetargaryen & @fullrangeofemotions & @thequeenmaker & @xcoatlicuex & @hisvipereyes & @viperparamour & @nolongerhispawn & @shewhoisironborn & @adornishviper & @anunfailingkindness & @ialwayswasthebest & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @aladyofwinterfell & @therosesofhighgarden & @arisiarrxb & @alionessroars & @zaldrizo & @fairytalesandstars & @queeniolande & @yrracynrxl & @scaleddoe & @scraniknatu }

#neverflownwithme #;transmissions #v; fire cannot kill a dragon #otp; you are the light in the dark #gv ;; the dragon must have three heads #[[ new friend at the end ;D ]]

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b0rista · 4 years ago

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— 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄, 𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀, 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍, & 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐃. ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: language, because i can't form sentences without using "fuck" every other word JDJD.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: i only made this modern because i desperately wanted to include marco to the fullest leave me aloneEffsg. gn! reader, and i went pretty lengthy on this one so beneath the cut is where the headcanons start :)

𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓: bearbrickjia on instagram!

by far, the best friend group to have. everyone balances one another out, and it's a perfectly imperfect mesh of teenagers.

there's jean, the group's centerpiece. he's the alpha of the posse, usually working as their own personal line leader whenever they're caught doing something as a group. he'll never admit it, but he's also the dad friend. of course, he's more of a "i wish i never gave birth to you oh my god please leave me alone also i love you" type than the stereotypical dad friend.

there's marco, the glue holding the group together. unsurprisingly, he's the calm, kindhearted support system that balances out the cokeheads, keeping them all sturdy. without a doubt, the group would fall apart without him. they need him, okay!! and by "them," i mean jean and yourself. marco, never change.

following up, there's connie & sasha, the wonder twins. their roles are pretty self explanatory, given their natural rambunctiousness. they're the two that hang out outside of the group the most, for obvious reasons. they're the crackhead siblings that bring life to the group, despite the hot water they typically land the others in. through their antics and their comic relief, they're irreplaceable. still, it's easy to want to strangle them sometimes.

next, there's you! because you're the reader, i won't name any specifics, but you're greatly cherished. you mark your place in the crew through various ways, having a unique relationship with each and every member. when he's in need of a breather outside of his typical nest (AKA marco), jean hits your line. if you're needing any kind of assistance with literally anything ever, marco's there to help. craving some chaos? bitch, connie & sasha have GOT YOU.

the main hangout spot is jean's house, 100%. not only has his mom practically adopted the whole squad, but there's only two people living there, so it isn't crowded. connie banned literally all four of you from his place, lmao. there was too many people there, and his family lives to humiliate him.

the group has this one policy, set down by yourself and jean: four piece maximum. this is directed solely towards sasha, of course, considering her tendency to raid her friends' fridges entirely of any food. if she's ever caught rummaging through a fridge for longer than necessary, it's the home owner's duty to shout, "four piece minimum!"

^ it never fails to startle her 😭. one time, she hit her head so hard on the fridge ceiling at jean's house she had to use a bag of frozen peas to soothe the swelling.

then, she proceeded to eat the thawed out peas. jean gagged.

the inside jokes? endless. all it takes is one word from a single event, and the five of you are losing your shit. it's cute, to be honest, how overzealous you all get from a single instance from months ago.

"ha. heh. hee."

"what is it?"

"ngGhh,, chEDDAR TIDDIES-"

"AHHHHHAGAGSHHDJF-"

if there are any inside jokes formed between two group members that isn't shared with the rest of them, there will be immediate bitterness. one time, you and sasha were giggling to yourselves over some druggie named jerry who'd tried selling baskets of rotten cherries to the two of you during a gas station haul— the boys were not having it. what the fuck were you doing without them, "friends"?

right before starting your guys' senior year of highschool, the five of you were on a group facetime when you all sent your schedules into group chat. due to the scarceness of your soon-to-be-majors, absolutely none of you had any classes together. you had a single lunch period with connie while marco had one with jean, but that was about it. it was,, a dramatic discovery. sasha fucking screamed.

"i have nothing with nobody!"

"calm down, sash-"

"you have lunch with y/n! LUNCH! that's my place, lunch. this is despicable, this is evil, this is a braus hate crime-"

yeah, she didn't take it that well. it's okay, doe. the four of you made a special effort during your passing periods, giving sasha enough of a fix for her to make it through each and every day.

it isn't like the five of you don't hang out outside of the classroom, either!! if you hadn't already made plans during that week, the weekend is where you absolutely thrive as a group. study sessions that always shift into exclusive house parties, lunches spent at your favorite places, the occasional visit to the movie theater, and so on. with a mini crowd like that, it's hard for any of you to get bored.

jean's hopeless crush on mikasa is a big factor in your friendship. when everyone minus marco (because he's an angel) isn't mercilessly teasing him, you're all trying to actually help the fucker score the girl. from talking him up obnoxiously enough whereas she'll hear, or flat out telling her to give him a chance, it's an actual effort. though, it's unfortunately all to no avail. shawty's too smitten with eren to even consider her options.

^ with that being said, the four of you have to give jean the "there are other fish in the sea" scoop more often than you'd like to admit.

group cuddles. that's that.

because he's the tallest and therfore the longest (probably, depending on your height), everybody has a chosen body part of jean's to latch onto during naps. connie has one leg while you have the other, and sasha keeps her head rested on his shoulder. marco's at the very bottom, entangling his legs in your own. somehow, this is heaven for jean. he'll never admit to it, though. as far as any of you are concerned, he HATES IT.

ranking from #1 as the best and #5 as the worst, these are the rated group therapists: ⇩︎

#1: marco. self explanatory, he's an amazing listener and provides supremely good advice. that, and he'd literally rather die than let any of his friends internalize anything they're dying to let loose.

#2: you. really, you're just a lot better than jean or connie. sasha's okay at it, but she's not the best at rationalizing, leaving you at second best. basically, when marco isn't available, you're where the freak shows go. marco goes to you about things, too.

#3: sasha. again, she's just a loT better than the final two. sasha's a sweetheart! she's empathetic, and nonjudgmental. we love her in this house.

#4: connie. also somewhat of a sweetheart, although not as much as sasha. he'll drop a shit ton of humor into serious conversations, making them just a tad bit more tolerable.

#5: jean. look, he's a great friend! however, he isn't all that empathetic, and he'll have some trouble understanding. still, he would try his hardest to make you or the other three feel better :,)).

in a modern universe, i know damn well connie's a half-assed stoner 30% of the time. he doesn't light up all that often, and he doesn't tell anybody about it, even you guys. mainly because marco will grill him for it DJFK. however, you stumbled upon his mini marijuana stash and he was like ahh, shit. you didn't really care doe, his secret is safe with you. you, however, now have DIRT on him.

matching bracelets that you all made for eachother yEars ago but never wear 🥺🥺.

many, many, many poly relationship jokes. only jokes, though. some people take it too literally, which y'all just laugh at.

there's a miniature rivalry going on between you and another nearby friend group: reiner, bertholdt, annie, ymir, and christa. of course, all of you are friends, it's all fun in games— most of the time, anyway. it's a funny rivalry, and you guys go at it quite a bit.

one of your guys' most intense debates is whether or not marco has freckles on his dick.

he,, refuses to show any of you, or even anSweR you.

"you act like we can't just check whenever we use the urinals, man."

"CONNIE-"

now, marco refuses to go to the bathroom at the same time as any of the boys <\33.

the group band? black eyed peas.

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #attack on titan headcanons #aot scenario #aot headcanons #jean kirschtien #marco bodt #connie springer #sasha braus #snk #shingeki no kyojin #snk headcanons #snk x reader #jean kirstein #sasha blouse

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suchalonelysunflower · 4 years ago

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A Dance Of Thorns (c.h)

Where The Roses Bloom - Chapter 4

Pairing: Stable Lad! Calum Hood x Princess! Reader

Summary: Welcome to the masquerade to celebrate Your Royal Highness engagement. How many surprises can one night hold?

Warnings: Angst, Drama and Smut. Language, mentions of alcohol and abuse. Some grammatical mistakes (English is not my first language, I’m sorry!)

Word Count: 12.3 k

Author’s note: by far the longest chapter I’ve written but anything for the drama ✨ I would love to hear your thoughts on this 🥰 Remember that Reblogs, Feedback, Comments and Likes are very important! You have no idea how much they help me 💕 Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋🌻✨

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

Series Materialist || prologue || chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter five || chapter six || chapter seven || epilogue

A month has gone by since the first time you saw King Luke Hemmings and you found out that you are supposed to marry him in less than a few weeks. And ever since that moment, you have invested every little free time you have into trying to stop that from happening.

You spent your afternoons sitting down at the library, reading book after book that might contain some kind of information to let you escape that awful deal. But every book you read said the same thing “A King’s promise may never be broken by law”

Still, that didn’t stop you.

Calum was also helping in every way he could. In the afternoons on his free days, he would go to the public library in town, searching for anything that could help your situation. He would spend hours reading about foreign laws that could give you at least some kind of leverage. He would ask around, hoping some kind of gossip might help you win something against your father, but until now all your tries gave little to no satisfaction.

At night, Calum would climb the castle’s walls to your window. It was the only way you could spend some time together and share hushed conversations since your father forbade you to go out without a proper companion.

He would lay with you in your bed, curled up together as he told you stories about faraway lands his father once told him, all in attempts to distract your mind from the reality you were facing every time the sun came out. He would kiss you goodnight as you fell asleep in his arms, letting the beat of his heart work as the symphony of your dreams. You would whisper “I love you’s” in the darkest of the room, letting them get lost in the stars as they shined down on you.

Every night you would go to sleep with Calum around your arms, but when the sun came up all traces of him disappeared with the moon. Well, everything but the white rose he left on your dresser along with the promise of keep fighting for you, no matter how long it took.

And with the sun it came the charade. You acted as the most obedient daughter you could ever think of. You attended your lessons, you didn’t speak out of place and obliged to every activity that surrounded the wedding, whether it was about flowers, food, decorations… things you couldn’t care less about since you were determined no to marry the King.

King Luke was not a bad person, on the contrary, he was one of the few people you could have a conversation with besides Sir Michael. Many afternoons they would accompany you in the library, never commenting about the books you chose to read as they sat in silence one in front of the other, immersed in their reading or their hushed conversations.

You learned to find a friend in Luke, someone that could have at least the same amount of trust you once had with your brother. He would make you laugh and he’d tell you everything you wanted to know about him, it was so easy and somewhat comforting to know that you were not as alone as you felt. But that did not mean that he had your full trust.

After Ashton took your father’s side in this dilemma, leaving you alone in a marriage you wanted no part of, you lost every ounce of trust you once held in your heart. And even though Ashton did try to make it better, to apologize for the way he treated you; you did not let him go near you. Every time you found yourself alone with him, you ignored his every move, and if you were in the company of others you didn’t even dignify him with a glance. You knew you might be a little harsh on him, and all of this hurt you as well, more than you would care to admit. But if your father learned about you and Calum… who else could’ve told him if not your brother?

Out of all the people who could betray you, you never expected Ashton to be one of them and you let him know that, no matter how much you needed your brother with you. If he declared your death with this marriage before you were sent away, then he’d be dead to you as well.

You were not going to give up, not even with the ceremony breathing on the back of your neck. There must be a way where you could break this engagement, something that could give you your freedom again.

The ceremony was scheduled one day before your twenty-first birthday, one day before you gained your independence as a royal as the law said it, one day before you could refuse the King’s requests with total liberty. Your father had planned this well, you must admit at least that. But if there was a way where you could delay the wedding… somehow make it past your birthday without getting married, then you would be able to get away.

But that task was more difficult than you have anticipated since your father was in charge of your schedule, everything was going smoothly and at perfect timing. There was nothing that you could do to delay the event.

“I need you to hold your breath for me, Your Highness”

For example right now, as the seamstresses adjusted the corset of your white dress to your body, your mind was reciting the laws again, trying to find some plothole that could be beneficial for you.

The grip you had in the chair tightened as they tied the corset on your back, helping you get into the skirt afterward. You didn’t say a word as the seamstresses chattered among them. You ignored the comments regarding your future marriage, or how beautiful your children will look if they look just like the King, or how lucky you were to be marrying into a rich kingdom.

“You will look beautiful on your wedding day, Your Highness,” The oldest lady said with a dreamy sigh “Your lover will not know what hit him”

“But my love will not be the one waiting at the end of the altar” You wanted to say, to scream at them for keeping up with the lie. You didn’t love Luke, you could never love him the way you love Calum. But Calum was not your fiance, he was just a secret.

You kept the tears at bay as you let them work over your dress, not daring to breathe too loud so you wouldn’t call their attention. They didn’t know that you were dying in the middle of a sea of white fabric and soft silk.

“There,” The young lady exclaimed as she finished the last touch of your veil, placing it carefully on your head “Oh, Your Highness. You look like a dream”

A dream trapped in a nightmare indeed.

You observed your reflection in the nearest window. You didn’t look like a child anymore; no, in front of you was the reflection of a woman, of a bride about to be sent to the slaughter of her liberty. A clockwork tragedy waiting to happen.

The white contrasted with your skin and hair, making you glow with the candlelight. It made you look more mature, more like a royal than you ever felt before. It was a beautiful work, but none of this ever felt right.

“You look just like your mother” The words of the older lady took your breath away. The memory of your mother’s face was already fading in your mind, you remember she was beautiful, but you couldn’t make the color of her eyes or the sound of her voice anymore.

“She would be so proud of you, Your Highness”

Would she? Would she have wanted this for you? If she were here, would she care or would she take your father’s side? Oh, what would you give to listen to one last piece of advice from her. To feel her embrace one more time, for her to tell you that everything would be okay.

You haven’t really felt the absence of your mother hit you as hard as of now because maybe with your mother here you wouldn’t feel so scared.

“Oh, don’t cry, princess” You didn’t even notice the tears running down your face until the lady pointed out “This is a happy occasion! There needn’t be any tears”

Only if she knew…

You accepted the silk handkerchief and dried your tears without saying anything, letting them help you out of your wedding gown as you tried on another one.

This was a black dress with roses embroidered along with the skirt and neckline. It was lighter than the wedding dress but the fabric was more delicate. The somber aspect of the dress, along with its sophistication, made you think of it as a better choice for your wedding day.

“Your father was very kind to host a party to celebrate your engagement, Your Highness. This is a perfect dress for the occasion”

You knew by now that none of your father’s actions could be considered kind. He organized this masquerade ball for his own benefit.

The King of RoseWood invited representatives of all the neighboring kingdoms and alliances that Ashton helped build, to the castle for a magical night of dancing and fun. But you knew he just wanted to parade the match you and Luke made in front of the world.

He wanted to show power, the kind of which someone would look at him and say “This is a man that demands respect” When in reality all he did was abuse his power and intimidate the ones closest to him.

The masquerade served as a punishment rather than a delight. He would put you under the spotlight and expect you to smile while he knows you’re dying on the inside. He will parade you around the room with the story of a good and lovable daughter, the little Princess that’s living the dream of a magical life in the arms of the man you love all thanks to the father whom she loved with all her heart.

He knew that this was all bullshit, and he rejoiced in the fact that you hated every single minute of it.

“The dress is absolutely stunning, Your Highness” Continued the older lady “What a lovely idea you had when deciding to use one of your mother’s old gowns and make it new again”

You gave her a small smile. It was a lovely idea, but not for the reasons they might think. This dress represented much more than just your mother and your wish of having her close in a moment like this. It represented going against your father in ways that only he could understand; it represented your heritage, how you didn’t forget who truly loved you and taught you how to be strong; it represented the image of the rebellion you set upon yourself, a sign that screamed “I will not stop even if you try”

It represented you.

“There is only one detail missing…” The young lady walked over to the dresser only to grab something delicate in her hands before presenting it to you: The mask.

Soft and made out of silk and with golden broderies across the eyes, the mask hid half of your face perfectly. If not for the tiara you must wear on your head, nobody would’ve been able to recognize who you were.

How ironic was it that in the night where you should be the center of attention, you wanted nothing more than to disappear.

The night was clear, all the stars and constellations were visible from where you were standing in front of your window. Your hands were touching the soft stones of the window frame as you tried to count your breaths.

You couldn’t help but look for him in the gardens, hoping you could see him waiting for you under your window, asking you to come to the tree where your meetings were held before everything went wrong. It’s only been a couple of days but you missed him, and with the way, he consumes all your thoughts it was almost impossible not to.

But he was not coming tonight, your father made sure that the help was not invited to the party since it was such an important event to make it “common”, so your meeting will have to wait until tomorrow.

Still, you imagined how it would be like if he were to attend the ball. You dreamt about his smile, how his eyes would shine once he spotted you standing there at the top of the stairs as he waited for you at the end of it. You wondered if he would like the dress and you wished you could show it to him.

You sighed as you imagined his hand taking yours, guiding you to the middle of the ballroom, and starting dancing with you as if nobody were watching. It’s been so long since your last dance with him and you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of his clumsy feet stepping over yours in an attempt to teach you how to dance for your first ball.

Calum was always like that, caring and selfless until he couldn’t give anymore. That is one of the many things why you loved him, why you would never stop loving him.

But now you were forced to pretend to love someone else in front of strangers and people who didn’t care about you enough to notice how much you were hurting. The glamour of the night might hide it, but you know that there was only one person who you would much rather spend the night with; the only person who would not be there tonight.

“Y/N?” A voice called from outside your room, waking up from your dreams as you heard them knocking softly on the door “Are you ready to go?”

You pushed yourself from the window with a deep sigh, grabbing the mask that was laying on top of the bed before walking towards the door and opening it with an emotionless expression.

There, Ashton was waiting for you, pacing the hall until he heard the wooden door open. His whole body froze as his lips parted for a second when he took your appearance.

“You-” He said, choking up a little bit as he shook his head for a moment, thinking he might’ve seen a ghost “You look just like her…”

You were not expecting that comment. You knew the dress would affect your father, but you didn’t imagine it would have that kind of effect on Ashton.

But now, as he stood in front of you with wide, watering eyes and the faintest hint of a smile, you realized that you might not be the only one who misses your mother.

Ashton knew her longer, he used to spend every single moment with her along with you when you were nothing more than a child. When she died, you didn’t quite grasp the concept of death, but Ashton was the one who took it way harder. But, as a prince, he was not allowed to break down as any other normal kid would do when they lose a parent who was dear to them. No, he had to maintain his image and at the same time took it upon himself to raise you as your mother would.

He was the only loving family you’ve ever known. But he was also the only person who had ever broken your heart.

You looked at him with a sense of pity and understanding.

“I wanted to feel her with me tonight” You told him, these being the first words you exchanged with Ashton in a long time.

You noticed this also affected him. His eyebrows raised slightly and he took one step towards you, still bargaining with your feelings towards him.

Ashton took your hand in his, covering it completely as he softly spoke.

“You are her spitting image, Y/N/N. She has always been with you and lived through you. Everything you do reminds me of her and I promise you she would be proud of the beautiful, brave woman you’ve become”

His words struck you more than they probably should have. Ashton was never the one who spoke freely about your mother, not since you stopped needing him as much. He always kept that part to himself unless you asked.

He thought so highly of your mother and now he was comparing her to you. For some reason, this served as no comfort, but rather it angered you. Not because you didn’t think your mother was a horrible person, but because you thought that maybe if they - your father and Ashton - loved you as much as they loved her, you wouldn’t have to be in this position.

“The only difference is that mother’s family did not sell her for marriage,” You said bitterly, pulling your hand from Ashton’s grip as you saw hurt flash through his eyes.

“Y/N-“

“She loved our father, Ashton” You cried “For some reason she loved him and she married for love. Why can’t you let me do the same? Why can’t you help me and let me be happy? Am I to be trapped forever in a loveless marriage just because of the greed of this kingdom's leaders? I don’t even know what alliances we are keeping! In what world is it fair that I have to sacrifice my spirit just to please your egos?”

“You know it’s not like that-“

“For you, maybe! But you know exactly what father is doing and why he is doing it and you are taking his side! Ashton, you are just as guilty as he is” Your truth was spilling out of your mouth with nothing but desperation.

You wanted your brother to know how you were feeling, how much you were willing to fight for your freedom. For weeks you’ve been holding these words out of pride and pettiness, but you cannot go a day longer without letting him know just how much this is affecting you.

“I can’t trust you, Ash, and I can’t pretend that we are going to be okay after all of this no matter what happens in the end. You broke my heart, and I don’t think you understand to what extent”

Ashton stood in front of you with his head low “You hate me”

“I’m disappointed” You admitted, knowing you will have a hard time trying to hate your brother.

“Y/N, I’m just trying to do what’s best for the kingdom. What’s best for you!” He excused “You will be safe in the Vail, you’ll be a Queen and I know King Luke will treat you right. You have to understand that this is hard for me, too. But I can’t be here to protect you-“

“Protect me?” You interrupted him “Protect me from what?” He stayed quiet “Ashton?”

“Your Highnesses?” A guard called from the end of the hall “The King awaits”

“Announcing Prince Ashton Irwin, Heir to the Throne of RoseWood, and Princess Y/N Irwin, Future Queen of the Vail”

Wilsburg’s voice ran across the ballroom accompanied with two stumps of his scepter, calling everyone’s attention as you and Ashton descended the staircase together, claiming your rightful titles as everyone’s heads turned around to see you.

You kept your head high with every step you gave. All eyes were on you but you were not able to recognize anyone as their faces were covered with masks of every form, color, texture, and shape.

When you reached the end of the staircase, you and Ashton walked together to the center of the room where your father was standing with a winning smile plastered on his face. You were never prone to violence, but the feeling of wanting to punch your father in the face and erase that smile grew every minute.

You stood in front of your father and his court and gave him a courtesy in sign of respect. Your father’s eyes met yours once you stood straight again, and you couldn’t deny the feeling of pride that overwhelmed you when you saw the pure disgust in them as he took a glance at what you were wearing, knowing that this time he couldn’t do anything about it.

“My children,” He said with fake tenderness as he opened his arms in welcome.

It was so easy for him to fool the people who surrounded him, making everyone believe he was a good, caring, and loving father. But you could see clearly through his mask, no matter how much he tried to hide it - this time literally as his masks covered most of his face - he will never look at you with an ounce of love.

“King Luke Hemmings from the Vail and his loyal advisor, Sir Michael Clifford from Chesthire” Wilsburg announced, saving you from your father’s stare as the attention shifted back to the staircase where Luke and Michael were.

They walked next to each other, his movements identical as they elegantly descended into the party. They were both wearing the shades of blue that represented their Kingdom, each of them with matching masks that made them look regal, undoubtedly showcasing their royal status and importance.

Luke spotted your little broken family in the middle of the room, smiling a little bit and nodding towards you as he and Michael approached you with ease while the guests made way for them.

“Your Majesty” Luke bowed to your father, but his attention did not linger on him as much because soon his eyes were on you.

You noticed how blue his eyes looked under the mask, his blond curls falling perfectly to his shoulders and making him look like an actual angel.

“Princess,” He said, bowing just enough to capture your hand in his and bringing it to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles.

“Your Majesty,” You greeted him with courtesy, thankful that at least you’ll have some friendly faces in the crowd. “Sir Clifford. I must say you look very elegant today,”

You caught a glimpse of blush under the young guard’s mask, his green eyes sparkled at the compliment. His outfit was not as elegant as Luke’s, but his hair was pushed back in a short ponytail at the ends of his neck making him look like a prince.

“One can only try, Your Highness” He answered with a dashing smile “But, surely, no beauty compares to you, Princess. People should envy your exterior as well as your kind heart. My King is a lucky man” He said, looking back at Luke who was already smiling at him.

King Richard cleared his throat loudly, making the three of you turn your attention to him. His jaw was tight as he showed a smile to the other monarch.

“Now that the guest of honor has arrived,” Your father said with a loud, authority tone “Let the festivity begin!”

The small orchestra that worked under your father’s orders started to play lovely symphonies the minute those words came out of their King’s mouth. The other guests soon resumed their previous chatter and quickly got lost in the celebratory atmosphere, some grabbing drinks while others started dancing along with the soft melodies.

You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, fidgeting with your fingers as you watched how your father called Ashton’s attention and took him aside for a talk. Your eyes roamed across the room, feeling out of place as you caught glimpses of people passing by, not knowing anyone as they proceeded to ignore you.

You thought about how this will be your life from now on. How you will end up alone in some party you don’t feel comfortable in just to please the aesthetics of how a royal should be. People will not be interested in you, only your title, and they will judge you, envy you, hate you, and take advantage of you for it. You will not be Y/N anymore, you won’t have the chance to. You will be a Queen and that’s all people will want to know as you will be pushed away into someone’s shadow.

“Not much of a social butterfly, I see” You heard Luke comment next to you, leaning over to your side so he could whisper in your ear.

You gave him a small smile, “I was never really fond of parties,” You admitted quietly “Which is ironic, given that I always wanted to attend these kinds of gathering when I was a child”

Luke laughed softly, “I believe that is because you don’t know how to properly have fun at a party” He chuckled once he saw your confused gaze “Michael, have you seen Lady Thompson today?”

Michael, who was standing in front of you, smiled as his gaze followed Luke’s “I cannot believe she came here after the scandal”

“The scandal?” You asked, trying to see whom they were talking about.

“Oh, yes. Haven’t you heard?” Luke asked casually “Her poodle caught a case of hair eating fleas, and once they left the poor dog bald, they went for the main of hair Lady Thompson used to brag about”

Yours parted your lips in shock, but Michael continued “Not only that, but I heard she’s telling everyone how her hair grew back in just a few hours by putting some kind of magical mud she found near the river end”

Finally, your gaze fell into the person they were discussing and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“That’s not Lady Thompson, her name is Lady Judith from the Mountains of Chaversty” Your eyes fell back on Luke and Michael, who were trying to suppress a laugh “You are mocking me…”

“Not at all, Princess,” Luke said with a chuckle “We are just teaching you how to have fun”

“When we were kids, we used to sneak into the palace’s parties and hide under tables watching people pass and creating narratives about their lives” Michael explained “We started with a simple sentence, and then we created the most outrageous stories from them. The one who could come up with the craziest storyline would win”

“And somehow, I always ended up losing,” Luke smiled as Michael shrugged.

“It’s not my fault that you lack creativity,”

You smiled fondly at their teasing banter. You were amazed at how titles were forgotten when they were just talking to one another, it seemed so simple to them to call each other by their name as if they were normal people. And seeing that, somehow, made you feel less alone.

They taught you how to play in between their anecdotes and inside jokes, but you didn’t feel left out as you remember Luke’s words about Michael and how much he means to him. It was their little thing, their little moment in time that they could share with none other than each other, and still were kind enough to share some of that with you.

You spend a few hours playing the game and laughing along with them as they found you a worthy opponent with how many crazy stories you could pull out of your mind in an instant. One of the rules was that you couldn’t tell real names nor real gossips about those people to keep their integrity and the innocence of the game, so all your thoughts and outraged comments were taken lightly with fun. You even won a couple of times.

From time to time, people came to congratulate you and Luke on your engagement. You were glad to know that they could never notice how uncomfortable you looked thanks to the mask, but you were one hundred percent sure that he and Michael noticed how your posture changed and how you tensed at the mention of the wedding. Luckily, they brushed it off and carried on like it was nothing.

Sometime later, Luke went to grab some drinks for you and him, leaving you alone with Michael who quickly started a conversation with you about sword fighting and training.

You were too immersed in the conversation that you didn’t notice a person standing behind you until they cleared their throat.

“Pardon me, Your Highness,” You heard someone say. The familiarity of that voice sent shivers down your body and made your throat dry the second you heard it.

You turned around in a fast movement that made the skirt of your dress appear like it was floating above the floor. Your breath got caught up in your chest as you were suddenly hyper-aware of every inhale and exhale your body made the moment your eyes met his.

There he was, hiding under a white mask that matched his white and gold suit that once belonged to his father. There he was, standing in front of you and hiding in plain sight as his brown eyes were set on yours, taking you in as he let out a sigh in amazement.

“Calum…” You wanted to call him by his name out loud, to jump into his arms as you let the tears that were gathering in your eyes fall free from the happiness you were feeling at that moment. The kind of happiness only he could bring with such ease; the kind of happiness that you longed to experience all your life as long as he was next to you.

But you couldn't say that, you couldn’t blow his cover like that. If they found out he sneaked into the party, they would surely put him in the dungeon for god knows how long. He took a lot of risks coming here, and one word from you might throw that all away.

Instead, Calum noticed your hesitant shock, so he smiled softly as he said.

“Will you give me the greatest honor and pleasure of sharing one dance with me, Your Highness?”

You wanted to answer immediately, but according to the protocols a woman always needs their partner's permission to dance with a stranger. But Luke was not your real partner and Calum was not a stranger. You could feel your heart wanting to jump out of your chest from how strongly it was beating, but you couldn't identify if it was beating out of excitement or fear.

You looked over to Michael who was already staring at you with a curious gaze. He could easily see the unsaid pleading inside your eyes as you fought with the need to take this stranger’s hands in yours. The green-eyed man looked over between the two of you and was able to connect the dots in an instant.

Then, he simply smiled understandingly as he said “Just another secret between us, Princess” Looking at you like the way he did the morning you eavesdropped on your father’s conversation with Luke.

You let out a breath of relief as you nodded, silently thanking him as you watched him walk away just a little bit to give you and Calum enough privacy.

When you turned back to Calum, he looked as relieved as you felt, kindly offering his hand to you.

“May I take this dance, my rose?”

“You may”

Calum took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as he softly guided you to the middle of the dance floor where several other couples were waiting for the next piece to start.

He placed a hand to your waist, stocking his fingers slowly over the fabric and bringing you closer to him as he held your hand with his other one. You blushed as you placed your free hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly to encourage him.

You both understood how recklessly dangerous this was; to be dancing in front of everyone as your fiance stood somewhere in the room, probably wondering where you were, and with your father and brother at such a close distance. But neither of you cared when your eyes met again through the masks.

You didn’t care about the risks as long as you were holding each other like this; when you finally felt free inside the cage.

A sweet melody filled the air, but you were too focused on Calum to even listen. You only realized the dance has started when you felt his fingers grace your waist tightly as he spun you around with delicacy, taking the lead as you followed his steps with care.

Memories of your first dance together flooded your mind and you couldn’t help but smile. You were only children back then, now it seems like another life.

“You learned how to dance…” You said fondly in a hushed tone, a blush covering your cheeks as you heard him softly chuckle at your comment.

“I had to. I didn’t want to embarrass myself the next time we’d dance”

“You knew there would’ve been the next time back then?”

“I always hoped I’d get to dance with you again after that night” He admitted, his eyes never leaving yours “You are the only one who I’d like to dance with all my life”

His feet moved carefully around your dress, following the other couples as they spun and changed places with their partners placing their hands together between their two bodies. A classical dance made for lovers, for one must never leave their partner’s eyes as they spin and turn just to fall back into their arms again.

It was slow at first, building its tempo as more instruments were added to the melody, making it enchanting, haunting as they took over the room with an admirable strength that only a feeling of utter power could describe as beautiful. It was supposed to represent passion and how it can dominate you, slowly and then all at once before you even realize it was there.

“You look absolutely beautiful, my rose,” He said once his hand was placed to your lower back, pulling you closer to him as you let your hand wander just inches from the back of his neck. “You always knew how to put flowers to shame, but tonight you look just as radiant as the moon itself”

“Calum…”

“Shh,” He whispered, “Let me tell you my truth while I still can, my love. For if this is one of the last times I shall see you, let me relish on how beautiful you are. Let me tell you all the compliments in the world and see me fall short since no compliment could ever be enough to capture just how enchanting you are”

You tugged on the hand that was holding yours.

“Why do I feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

“I’m not” Calum answered quickly “That’s the last thing I’ll ever do. But seeing you tonight just reminded me that I don’t tell you how much you mean to me. And I promise you that when we get out of this situation, I promise that I’ll tell you every day of my life”

“When,” You thought “Not if, but when. It’s just a matter of time”

To know that Calum hasn’t given up on you, on your love, meant the world to you. Most of the time you felt like you were battling alone as if no one was listening. But he was right there with you, even if you couldn’t see him or be with him all the time. He still hasn’t given up on you.

You felt it right there; the love. He was risking everything for you, to see you and be with you in the night where you’re supposed to celebrate your engagement. He broke every rule for a moment with you, knowing that you would do the same for him.

The music kept going, the crescendo was at its peak. Calum grabbed you with both his hands on your waist and picked you up as he turned around, placing you back on the ground to your initial position of one of your hands intertwined while the other rested on his shoulder and your lower back.

You giggled like children as he put you down, pretending the world didn’t exist as you swayed to the music. Tonight, you were a young couple enjoying their first dance together and loving every minute of it. Nothing else mattered.

You didn’t feel the stares of the guests or Ashton’s careful gaze as he tried to decipher who you were dancing with. You didn’t hear the whispers or notice how Luke hid his smile in his drink as he handed the other to Michael who looked at you in complicity. You didn’t see where your father has run off to, but you didn’t care.

You were in love. You were dancing with the love of your life; letting him guide your steps carefully as the crescendo started to go down and his grip on you tightened, not wanting to let go of this moment.

“I love you” Calum whispered just loud enough for you to hear.

You smiled like the sun “You are risking a lot by saying that here”

He shook his head “And I’ll risk even more if I have to. I cannot go a day without telling you I love you, my rose. Even if they throw me in the dungeon, I’ll find my way to you”

“Don’t say things like that,” You warned him as the melody started to fade “I’ll be damned if I lose you, Calum. This was reckless enough from both of our parts”

“And yet, you’re still dancing with me” He smiled as his movements started to slow down “My love for you is as reckless as it is endless, Y/N, and if I have to risk myself a thousand times; if I have to die a thousand times to love you freely then so be it. All of that will be worth it as long as you say it back”

You stare at him with tears in your eyes as the song reaches its end.

“I love you”

Calum stopped completely, letting go of his grip on your back but still holding your hand on his.

“And just like that, everything is worth it,” He said, placing a kiss on the back of your hand.

You smiled at him, chuckling through the unshed tears as you pondered in disbelief at just how lucky you are to love him and be loved by him.

“I’ll see you soon,” He said with a bow of his head.

“Aren’t you going to stay?” You knew you sounded a little desperate, but he just got here and, even though it was a little selfish on your part, you wanted him here just a little bit longer if possible.

Calum smiled “Only with the promise of another dance, my rose”

You nodded gracefully as Calum bowed once again before you watched him disappear into the crowd.

Your smile was still evident in your face as you gathered yourself and started to back up into the crowd, maybe try to find Luke to keep appearances until Calum asks for another dance.

“What a promising young man. Isn’t he, Y/N?”

The blood in your veins froze when you heard your father’s voice from behind you. You stood still, hoping you misheard him or mistaken him for another person that was passing by.

“Say, do we know him by any chance?” King Richard said with a mocking interest that made you want to run away right in that instant to find Calum and ask him to hide somewhere.

Instead, you turned around, and as calmly as you could, you answered:

“I’m afraid not, father. He didn’t tell me his name before nor after our dance”

“Didn’t I tell you never to talk to strangers, little Princess?”

He stood in front of you with a wicked smirk, not really waiting for an answer as he puffed his chest, showcasing the Kingdom’s shiny emblem on his fancy attire.

Your father lived for the adoration and fear of his subjects; he relished in your fear towards him for many years now, watching with delight as you submit to him out of fear or hope for any kind of attention he could show you. He adored the power he had over you, on how easy it was just to mess with your life as you’d allowed him to. And now, as you looked into his eyes you could see the fun he was having watching you tremble under his gaze, fearing that he might’ve discovered you.

The King looked you up and down and smirked as he announced “I believe it’s time for a father and daughter dance!”

The people who were gathering around the two of you started clapping and cheering as your father looked at you with a pleased gaze. You watched as the couples who were getting ready for the next dance suddenly left and were now standing to the side, anxiously waiting for the Princess and the King to have a sentimental moment.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Ashton who was making his way to the center of the room, pushing people as he tried to get to you; on the opposite end of the room, Luke drifted his gaze between you and Michael with a hint of worry in his eyes. Calum was nowhere to be found as your eyes searched for him in the crowd and you couldn’t help but feel scared for him.

King Richard ran out of patience. He grabbed your hand in what seemed a delicate touch, but only you could feel how his nails dug in the skin of your hand, forcefully pulling you to the dancefloor.

You felt disgusted as his hand gripped your waist, snapping his fingers to the musicians with his other hand before gripping your wrist and holding it high.

When the music started, he moved you around the dancefloor in stiff circles; there was no delicacy, no softness in his touch as he dragged you at the rhythm of one of the sweetest melodies you’ve heard.

“That dress does not belong to you” Your father whispered in between a smile. A tone of warning lacing his every word.

You felt the buckle of your knees weakened your step, but you didn’t dare move your eyes from his.

Too long you’ve been under his domain, living in fear of his next move whenever you were left alone with him. The bruises healed but the scars remain as your memory recalled the moments where he would get so mad at you just for being there, how he hated you just for looking like her.

All the pain, self-doubt, hatred, and fear he put you through… all the times you let him win because you didn’t think it could ever become worse… it all came crashing down into a feeling of anger and resentment that only served to give you strength for your next words.

“I don��t know what you are talking about, father” You defied him with fake ignorance “This is my dress. My mother left it for me. Don’t you like it?”

King Richard locked his jaw, his eyes spitting fire as you held his stare without moving an inch as you danced through the room.

“I know what you’re doing, Y/N,” He said with a wicked smile “And you won’t win. You can’t”

He laughed maliciously as he saw the shocked look in your eyes.

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to find out what you were doing in the library this past few weeks?”

Your heart stopped at the statement, feeling weak as he got you figured it out. But how? How could he know unless someone told him? Someone who knew what you were looking for…

The color drained from your face as you stuttered “I-I don’t know what-”

“Don’t play stupid, you insolent child” His grip on your wrist tightened, hurting you in front of everyone without raising any suspicion “I have eyes everywhere, ears in every wall of this goddamned castle and you think you can outsmart me by hiding in the library and looking through the books of laws? But you still haven’t found what you’re looking for, correct?” He asked, smiling as he saw how you frowned at the truth “And I’ll make sure you never will. My plans will not be ruined by a weak little girl”

“Plans?” You asked suddenly, realizing that he overshared something he might’ve not supposed to say “What are you-?” You started, before everything became clear, remembering Ashton’s words from a few hours prior “The wedding, the alliance… That’s all just a trick, isn’t it? You need something from them, from Luke…”

You smiled to yourself as you saw your father speechless for the first time.

“You need me,” You stated as a matter of factly “And you know that I won’t ever help you voluntarily, that’s why you are forcing everyone to do this. You know I can stop you, you know there is a way to stop all of this and you’re afraid…”

His fingers dug into your skin with force, leaving red marks that will become bruises, but you didn’t even flinch.

“You don’t want to play games with me, child” King Richard said, all niceties dropped from his face “I am the King!”

“And I’m not scared of you!” You smiled with sufficiency “Look around, father. You want to play? Let's do it. Hurt me in front of all these people, let them see how their monarch loves his daughter. You cannot hurt me here”

A sense of pride came over you as you finally stood up for yourself to your father. You finally saw a flash of fear pass by his eyes as he scanned the room and saw all the eyes on him.

“I will stop you”

But then, the King smiled like the devil.

“I’d like to see you try. Stop the music!” He suddenly yelled, making all the guests flinch at the sound of his voice.

Your movements came to a stop, but the grip he had on your hand just became tighter and tighter, crushing your bones as you tried to get rid of his touch.

“My daughter, Princess Y/N, just had the most wonderful idea!” He announced to the crowd as you looked at him in shock while he smiled “She told me she cannot wait to be married, just like any other lady” He joked, making the guest laugh at you.

Your father cupped your face by the chin, applying pressure on it so you wouldn’t be able to say a word as he exclaimed:

“And who am I to deny anything to my beautiful, beautiful little princess? The wedding ceremony will take place in two days! And you are all more than invited!”

The crowd cheered and clapped as you felt sick to your stomach. Two days?! How are you going to stop everything in only two days?

You released yourself from your father’s grip, tears clouding your eyes as you saw the winning smirk on his face.

“I warned you not to play games, little rose”

You stood in horror as you watched your father disappear into the crowd, accepting congratulations on your behalf and laughing with the other guest at your “eagerness” of getting married already.

“Y/N?” You heard Ashton said and he placed a hand on your shoulder “Are you-?”

You felt your breathing start to pick up, short and fast exhales came with almost no intake of air to your lungs. You were getting dizzy, disoriented as you analyzed the situation.

It was so fast… too fast. It all happened too fast.

“Y/N-” Ashton tried again, but you shook yourself from his touch.

“For fuck’s sake leave me alone!” You half-whispered, half yelled as you picked up your skirt and ran away from the ballroom.

The sound of your heels clicking on the floor was drowned by the sound of your breathless sobbing as you desperately looked for a way out of the castle.

You couldn’t stay here anymore. You needed to find Calum, see if he’s okay, and just leave. But with every step you took your worry grew stronger as thoughts of Calum hurt flashed through your head.

“Rose,” He said. Your father called you rose. He knew. He knew! And you couldn’t find Calum.

“Y/N!” A voice called from behind you, the sound of their heels coming closer as you tried to get away from there “Y/N, wait!”

You were almost at the door leading to the gardens, just a few steps from freedom when you felt a hand grip your arm, making you stop.

Luke stood there in front of you, almost breathless as his eyes filled with worry when he saw your tear-filled eyes and your trembling lip trying its hardest to suppress a cry.

Without thinking it twice, the young King pulled you into a hug. You were shocked at first but eventually, you relaxed in his arms as he let you cry onto his chest, hearing muffled apologies in between sobs.

“It’s okay,” He said softly, looking to his side to find Michael catching up with them at a distance “It’s okay”

“No!” You cried “No, it’s not! Luke I-” You stopped as the words of your father filled your brain “I have eyes everywhere, ears in every wall…”

You grabbed onto Luke’s hand and guided him outside the palace, looking over your shoulder in case someone tried to approach you.

“Tell Michael to stay at the entrance,” You told him.

Luke nodded as he signaled Michael to stay where he was, letting you take him away to the entrance of the woods where you were somewhat hidden from the palace while still being able to see it from where you were standing.

“What is going on?” Luke asked calmly “Why are we hiding? Why did you tell your father you wanted to marry this soon? I-”

“I didn’t do it! You have to believe me in this, Luke. Please” You begged “He is trying to hurt me, to hurt you! I didn’t want any of this to happen, please believe me that I had no idea that would happen”

Luke sighed, placing both his hands on your shoulders to try and calm you down “I believe you”

“You do?”

He nodded with a soft smile.

“Yeah, this is the first time I heard you say my name so I know this is serious,” Luke said “Why is he trying to hurt you?”

You didn’t answer, how could you? You trusted Luke, but did you trust him enough? How in the world would you tell your fiance that you are in love with someone else and that your father wants to punish you for it, that this whole charade of lies was created for dangerous means, and that he might also be in danger?

After a while, Luke asked softly:

“Is it because you love another, don’t you?” You froze, eyes filled with fear as you looked at him “It’s hard to pretend not to love someone when you’re close to them. I could see it while you were dancing with him, because it was him, wasn’t it? The man who owns your heart?”

You lowered your head, eyes filling with tears as you whispered “Luke-”

“It’s okay, love” He reassured, caressing your face and cupping your cheeks so you would look at him “I knew from the start that you belonged to another, and tonight I recognized that look, that complicit smile you only find in those whose life complete yours in a way where you didn’t think it was possible. I have never seen you as happy as you were dancing with him. You truly love him, do you?”

“More than anything” You answered without a doubt.

“And he surely loves you. It was more than obvious from the way he couldn’t stop looking at you throughout the dance. He’s a lucky man, and he knows how to give himself entirely to you. I don’t think I have ever seen a man so in love before”

“You sure know a lot about love, Luke,” You said surprising him “You know just as much as a man who is or has been in love before”

He chuckled lightly “That’s because you’re not the only one with a heart owned by another, Princess”

Luke averted his gaze back to the castle, a nostalgic cloud covering his baby blue eyes.

“Is your love waiting for you at home?” You asked softly, not wanting to intrude.

He chuckled softly before his expression changed from dreamy, to worry, to sad, you pretended you didn’t notice how his eyes became glossy from the tears.

“He’s the only home I’ve ever known…”

Then, you understood. Luke was not looking at the castle; he was looking at the person guarding the entrance, commanded by his King.

Your heart filled with an indescribable joy as you took your hand and placed it on Luke’s cheek, softly wiping a tear that started to roll down.

“I guess we are both stuck in this, huh?” He laughed, looking at you in the way only a strong bond could describe.

“But you don’t have to be,” He said, “Your love, do you know where he is?”

You started to shake your head, but then you remembered something.

“I think I might have an idea”

“Go to him.” Luke encouraged, kissing your knuckles before letting go of your hand “Michael and I will cover this entrance, I’ll tell everyone who asks that we were together talking and walking through the gardens the whole night so no one gets suspicious”

You could almost cry of relief at his words. You jumped into his arms and placed a kiss on his cheek while muttering a small “Thank you” before you started running through the woods, knowing exactly where to go and hoping that he’ll be there.

“Calum!” You sighed with relief, finally feeling like you could breathe when you saw him in front of your tree.

You took your chances coming here, not knowing if he was going to be waiting here or if he was somehow captured by your father's orders.

On your way to your secret place, your heart could not stop racing, the countless tragic possibilities flooded your mind as you ran through the woods, not caring if some parts of your dress got ripped because of your careless moving.

But there he was, sitting in one of the roots that were visible from the surface. He was not wearing his mask as he fiddled with it between his fingers until the moment he saw you.

“Y/N!” He breathed, getting up from his improvised seat and running towards you, involving you in a tight embrace. Only then, wrapped in your arms you understood Luke’s words.

Only there you felt truly at home.

“I thought something happened to you” You cried into his chest as you felt his hand soothe you while caressing your back “My father…”

“I know,” He said, placing a small kiss on the top of your head “When he announced the ceremony I could see a couple of guards coming my way, I had no choice but run”

Your whole body shook in terror when he said that. Now you knew your father was planning on hurting Calum now that he knew who he was. Unless he’d always known…

“Hey, hey, hey,” He said when he felt you cry again “It’s okay, my love. I got away, didn’t I?”

“Now, but you know what he’s capable of doing, Cal. You saw what he did at the party! He moved the wedding closer because he knew we’ve been searching for ways to stop it. He knows who you are and if anything- if anything happens to you, I-”

“Nothing is going to happen to me, okay?” Calum stated, pulling you away from him just enough so he could see your face and cup your cheeks with his hands “I will not let anything happen to me or you, I promise. I will be there for you, Y/N, always”

You nodded but still felt a cloud of darkness surrounding you. You trusted Calum more than anyone, but this might be the first promise that he might not fulfill. Your father is a powerful man that reigned by inflicting fear into his people and respect by his equals basing himself with lies.

If he could turn your world upside down with just a couple of words… what would he do to Calum?

“How did you know I was here?” Calum asked, trying to lighten the mood when he noticed you spacing out in sorrow.

You chuckled, lowering your gaze to the floor “I had a hunch”

“Were you followed?”

“No, Luke and Michael stayed to watch the entrance and the surroundings” Calum looked at you puzzled “We can trust them, it’s okay. Luke doesn’t want to marry me either”

“What a fool-”

“He doesn’t want to marry me because, like me, he is in love with someone else,” You said with a smile that quickly disappeared with your next thought “And now we’ll both be trapped in a marriage where we’ll be forced to be away from the ones we truly love”

“Then don’t marry him,” Calum said in a breath.

You rolled your eyes “Is not that easy, Calum. You know that-”

“That a King’s promise may never be broken. But what if the King promised something that can’t be possible?”

His tone was questioning, almost as if he wasn’t sure of what he was saying either and he was just thinking at the top of his head.

“Love, what are you-?”

“What if you couldn’t marry the King because you’re already married?” He asked, more certain this time.

You were about to answer him with another question, trying to understand what he was trying to say. But he continued, trying to explain himself better.

“You know the law commands that no one should remarry while still being married to another partner. What if- what if we get married first? That way-”

“That way the King’s promise will be null” You finished for him “Because the bride he promised is a married woman who cannot go over the law… Calum, that’s genius but how-?”

“I thought about it for a while when I came over the statement that ruled that no law should cancel another”

You looked at him confused, but with a smile showing on your face “And you’re telling me this now?”

He looked nervous.

“I-I didn’t want to put that pressure on you. It is a huge risk, not to mention a lot of responsibility as well, and I didn’t want to pressure you into marrying me if you weren’t sure you wanted that. I thought we could find another way out before the ceremony, so I kept it a secret for some time. I admit I was afraid of how you might react”

You answered him with a tearful chuckle as you jumped into his arms and crashed your lips to his as you caught him by surprise.

It was impossible to deny the happiness you felt as he responded to the kiss as eagerly as you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“If you thought for a second that I would ever say no to that, then you might not know who you’re asking for her hand in marriage,” You said, smiling against his lips, chasing them into another kiss as a complete feeling of euphoria came over you.

Calum smiled, wrapping his arms around the back of your thighs and picking you up as he spun you around, laughing along with you as your giggles could be heard from all around the woods, for you just made him the happiest man on earth.

“If we are going to do this,” He said as he put you down “Let me do this properly”

You felt your eyes filled with happy tears as you watched Calum get down on one knee in front of you. Smiling at you with bright brown eyes that shined like the stars from Orion above.

“Y/N,” He started “My love, my rose. God knows this is not the way I planned this; in my dreams we are sailing away to a new land, traveling the world as we share our dreams and make them come true before our eyes. In my dreams I had a ring to give you, a pretty speech prepared, and a thousand lights to illuminate the way you looked, bringing the start to shame.

But I have no ring, and the words that are coming out of my mouth come straight from my heart. But the moon does shine on you, my love and you’ve never looked so beautiful as you do.

I cannot offer much. I’m no royal nor do I own stacks of land that could be ever worthy of you, my love. I cannot offer you a house, I cannot offer you fancy dresses or expensive jewelry, I cannot give you the kind of life royalty deserves. But I can give you all my love as we made the world our home. Because all I need, Y/N, to live a happy life is for you to be by my side if you let me.

I knew I wanted to marry you since the moment I saw you standing in that pile of dirt when we were nothing more than children venturing in a world filled with adult problems. I knew I loved you then, even before I knew what love is. And, if you let me, it would be my honor to love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me, my rose?”

You tearfully nodded, covering your mouth with your hands as you tried to prevent a sob from getting out.

“Yes,” You said softly before repeating it loudly “Yes!”

In an instant, you threw yourself into Calum’s arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you by your waist, helping you straddle his lap, one leg at each side of his hips, as he pushed your skirt to the sides so you’d be closer and more comfortable.

You wasted no time in pressing your lips against his, letting your hands play with his hair as he rocked your bodies together, deepening the kiss as far as you’d let him.

A little moan escaped your mouth when you felt his tongue press against your bottom lip. Calum took this opportunity to capture every sound you made as you granted him more access, parting your lips slightly and letting him explore more of you as you got drunk with his touch.

“Say it again” He begged, his lips now leaving kisses along your jaw as your fingers tangled and tugged on his hair, making him groan against your skin.

“Yes,” You whispered breathlessly.

You felt your skin on fire every time his lips trailed along your jaw and neck, kissing it gently as you melted against him. It wasn’t something new, you’ve kissed like this before and stopped before it turned into something else, but there was something about tonight.

You didn’t know if it was the proposal, the adrenaline, or the simple need of being together now more than ever since your future is still uncertain. But every single kiss, every sound, every move… it just made you crave it even more.

“Calum…” You breathed, tugging his hair to bring him even closer to you.

He muffled a groan into your neck, letting the smell of your perfume intoxicate him as you moved your hips closer to him, “Love, don’t do that” He whispered, almost begging you to stop as he knocked his forehead with yours “You know that if this goes any further, I might not be able to stop”

You’ve been intimate before, only not like this. It wasn’t uncommon for you to lay next to each other, whether it was on our bed or in the clear spot next to the tree. You would explore your bodies with soft touches and lingering kisses that always felt like the start of something but that never lead to anything other than whispered confessions and soft makeout sessions.

The need was always there, you both felt it before, but this time you had no intention of stopping.

“Then don’t,” You said softly, looking into Calum’s eyes as he raised his eyebrows in shock.

“Y/N…”

“Don’t stop, Calum, please” You whined, moving your hips again to gain some kind of friction between the layers of fabric as you felt how his cock hardened in his pants “I want it. I want you”

Calum stopped your movements altogether, holding your hips with one hand as the other one cupped one side of your face, making you look at him when he asked.

“Y/N, are you sure about this?” His breath was heavy, but his eyes were determined as he gazed into yours “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not one hundred percent-”

You placed your fingers on the top of his lips to silence him.

“I was yours since the day we met.” You whispered, a soft smile illuminating your face “I was yours the day I told you I love you. I was yours when we danced tonight and I’ll be yours forever for the rest of my life. Make me your wife, Calum. Be mine and make me yours again”

Something shifted in Calum’s eyes at the sound of your words as lust settled all over them. He wasted no time in pulling you closer to him, capturing your lips in a much more heated kiss.

It was entirely different from whatever you’ve experienced before with him. This kiss was sloppy, a mixture of tongues and teeth as he bit your bottom lip. The sounds that came from both of you died in your throats as you desperately acted upon your desires.

You pulled apart for one minute as you took the top part of your dress, throwing it god knows where as you tried to untie the knots of your corset. Calum took it upon himself to start kissing your neck again, this time with more freedom to roam across your collarbone. “Let me,” He said softly after a while, letting his hands take over yours as they started to undo the knots one by one.

Once you were free, you felt Calum’s hands cup your breasts, massaging them as you moaned softly, still moving your hips with a more steady and fast rhythm against his groin looking for some sort of release.

“Y/N,” Calum moaned, taking his hands off your breast down to your hips, halting your movements once again “Lay down for me, my love” He whispered, kissing your earlobe as you felt goosebumps all over your body.

Calum took off his suit jacket, laying it on the floor so you’d be more comfortable. You sat back on your elbows as you watched him take off his shirt, leaving him with his chest exposed to you.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him shirtless on top of you. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but the context is different now that you can admire his well-defined abs under the moonlight. You couldn’t resist letting your fingers caress his chest with barely-there touches over his muscles and nipples, making him let out a breathy moan as soon as you did.

But before you could go any further, he grabbed you softly by the wrist.

“Not yet, Princess,” He said, lust laced in every word as he let your hand go to start working on getting you out of that skirt and underwear.

He worked quickly, leaving you completely bare in front of him. You felt his eyes on you and your first instinct was to cover yourself even though shame was the last thing in your mind right now. Despite that initial response, you felt safe with him, the safest you felt in years.

Calum smirked playfully, shaking his head as he grabbed both your hands in his and pinning them over your head “Don’t hide from me, my love” He said, lips hovering over yours but never touching them as he started kissing the spot under your ear, leaving you breathless in a second.

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift in pleasure as you felt Calum’s lips trail down to your breasts, kissing each one of them softly around the pebbled nipples, sucking and biting them as you felt your arousal grow with every new sensation.

Once he felt satisfied with the way you were moaning, he started kissing along your chest and down to your stomach, leaving a trail of fiery kisses until he stopped before reaching your core.

Calum let go of your hands which immediately flew to his hair when he started kissing the inside of your thighs, getting closer but not close enough to where you needed him most.

“Calum,” You moaned, feeling his breath over your entrance.

“Say it again,” He asked, kissing your right leg as his hands wandered over to your ass, lifting you up slightly and bringing you closer to him “Say yes, again”

“Yes.” You said in one breath.

“Again” He demanded softly, kissing you over your mound.

“Yes.”

“Again”

“Yes, oh...”

No sounds came out of your mouth as he placed his lips over your clit, kissing it softly at first before starting to lightly suck on it. You then felt him lick a long stripe up your center, making you shiver each time as he always ended up at your clit, gathering your arousal in his tongue and moaning at the taste, sending glorious vibrations up to your core. He smiles when he feels you tug on his hair with every breathy moaned you let out, letting him know that you were enjoying this as much as he was.

Soon, you felt his fingers trace along your folds up and down, stopping at your entrance a couple of times before he pushed the first finger inside, making you both moan at the feeling.

Then, a finger became two as Calum started to move them inside and out of your tight hole at a fast pace while his lips remained attached to your clit, licking and sucking over it until you reached your first climax of the night.

Calum licked you through your orgasm, lapping on your arousal until he heard you whine thanks to the oversensitivity. Then, he pulled himself up, kissing a trail from your stomach to your lips.

You were seeing stars behind your eyelids as you tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning as you felt his hard, clothed cock brush over your sensitive core.

“Calum,” You whimpered as he pulled away from his lips to let his head fall to your side, kissing your neck with zeal.

“Tell me what you want, my love” He whispered in your ear, making your whole body shiver under him as he kissed your cheeks tenderly “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you the world”

“You, only you”

He smiled, prompting himself onto his elbows to kiss your lips again.

“I’m yours”

It took no time for Calum to get rid of his pants and thrust into you, letting you adjust to the new feeling as he kissed the pain away while he started to thrust slowly into you. His hand cupped your face as he kissed you over and over again until you begged him to speed up the pace, letting the sting of pain become one of pleasure every time Calum moved his hips into you, hitting every spot with ease.

You became one big pile of tangled limbs and shared pleasure, moaning and groaning your feelings of ecstasy as you held each other as close as you could. One hand caressing your sides while you alternated between playing with his hair and dragging your fingers down his back, feeling every muscle work as you wrapped your legs around him, letting him deeper and deeper each time.

You got drunk with the sound of each other’s moans as you reached your climax. Calum swears he’s never heard a more beautiful sound than his name falling from your lips in total bliss as you clenched around his cock, making his thrusts slow down as he came with the taste of your name still on his lips.

"I love you," He said with a smile as wide as the sky, pulling you closer against his naked body "God, how I love you, my rose"

You kissed his lips softly, humming an "I love you" in between a content smile before saying:

"Calum?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Thank you for loving me"

You woke up sometime later, still wrapped around his arms as his jacket covered you both from the cold night. You let out a breath of relief as you realized that the moon was still high up in the sky, meaning that you still had a few hours before having to go back to the castle.

Calum slept peacefully next to you, holding you close as he let his chin rest above your head. You kissed his Adam's apple and softly giggled when he pulled you closer to his chest, you knew that you would always be safely wrapped around his arms and there was no other place you’d rather stay than with him.

It was almost incredible to believe that by tomorrow night you’d finally become husband and wife and that this will be your life forevermore.

No more castles, no more parties, no more dangers nor royalty duties. You will be together, finally be free.

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @notinthesameguey @bubblegum18 @irwin-fletcher-ash @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @1980holland @wiiildflowerrr @hoplessromantic727 @fivesecondsofonedirection @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @major5sosstan @myloverboyash @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore @the-ghost-of-ashley @alltimesos @girlwhosimps @wontlastimokwiththat @yeah-and69 @fckingpernico @multistann @averageantichrist @a-darneddarling @tpwkcth @f-mu @kindahumanbutalsoinsane @lemonswizzle

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girlmeetsliv3 · 4 years ago

Text

Prince of Nothing IV

~ Part Four of Five ~

Release Date: December 19,2020 @ 12 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 18K

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“No.”

YN’s eyes widen in shock before she tries to cover it up. “No?” What do you mean no? YN was so certain that Jungkook wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance - proving her point.

Jungkook’s hands trailed up the side of her body, fingers gently dancing across her torso until they reached her neck where they settled on either side of her neck. The tense skin was massaged with such efficacy that YN couldn’t help the way her eyes rolled back. He observed this reaction with a smile on his face, then tentatively his lips brushed hers. From where his hands were placed, he could feel the racing of her heart. He could feel how the blood rushed through the veins - his blood, what little of it she had swallowed making its way home. Their kiss, if it could count as that, lasted only a few moments. Yet it was enough for Jungkook.

“No, I won’t sleep with you.”

In a second all hope leaves YN, if she couldn’t distract Jungkook with sex if it wasn’t truly all he wanted then what? Seeing her downtrodden expression Jungkook chuckled then he pulled YN in closer, hands sliding down towards the back of her dress. “I won’t sleep with you darling, but I will make love to you and fuck you if that’s what you want.” Before his words could even sink in, Jungkook used his strength to rip her dress open. Exposing all but her chest which lay pressed against the prince’s.

“Your wager?” YN asked again, unwilling to let him have the upper hand. Not when so much was on the line.

Jungkook chuckled, “Oh darling, how you never fail to amaze me.” Seeing her stone cold expression he acquiesced. “If I win you’ll be the mother of my child.” Aware of what would follow, Jungkook crashed his lips onto YN’s soft plump ones, not giving her a chance to change her opinion. What followed suit would cement their unspoken future and cause great suffering to many.

“The prince?” Soojin’s lips were puckered, chin wrinkling in the way a child’s might when tasting something sour. The maids around her stood perfectly still barely breathing, they were too familiar with the expression on the princess’ face. Having been by her side for longer than she could remember they could recognize the pouty lips, furrowed brows, hooded eyes, and the pulsing vein in her temple. It signified a tantrum was incoming - surely to be the worst they had suffered as of yet. “Well?!” Soojin’s voice raised almost into a shrill. The typically refined Soojin had lost all of her demeanor in the past couple of days. Though the bruising around her neck had faded, the one around her heart had not and the ugly scarring it would leave was sure to affect not only her but everyone around her.

Finally one of the maids stepped forward, bowing deeply demonstrating her submissiveness to the lioness in front of her. As if that ever spared prey from being eaten. “My apologies, my lady. The prince is still not out.”

The scream that tore out of Soojin was guttural in nature, More like a growl than anything else. Though the tantrum lasted quite a while very few of the staff were harmed, and at that very minimally, the same could not be said for the princess’ chambers which were left in such shambles the entirety of the furniture had to be discarded. Yet it was not the thousands of dollars lost, nor the raging Seo striding down the hall that was to be a concern but rather her destination: the prince’s chambers - YN YLN inside them.

Nothing spreads quicker than gossip in the palace and no one moves faster than the help, so Soojin wasn’t surprised to arrive at Jungkook’s door and see the usually present guards absent. They too would’ve been informed she was heading there and likely wanted to avoid facing the lionesses wrath. The heavy african blackwood doors had the Jeon sigils engrained in it - making it obvious who resided inside. Normally it would’ve taken a lot of effort to even open the door, it took two extremely muscular men to open it. Though in her rage, it only took a slight push from Soojin for them to slam open.

Soojin expected a lot upon entering: to find her lover and his mistress entangled in the sheets putting on a show for anyone. Clothes scattered all around, champagne bottles, and wicked smiles placed on both their faces to taunt her. Instead the room was pristinely clean, bed made, and Jungkook was buttoning his shirt. “Can I help you with anything?” He asked, voice with a hint of roughness to it. They way it typically did after he had sex. The only thing that gave away his infidelity was the unkemptness of his hair and the slightest hint of a bruise around his neck. Soojin scoffs, incredulously that he would do this to her after everything - after all his promises.

“Four days...I haven’t seen you in four fucking days!” Soojin no longer cared for maintaining appearances in front of Jungkook. Clearly he held no care for them.

Jungkook sighed, leaning on the bed to put on his boots and tie them. “Frankly I don’t see what you’re so upset about. What I do with my lover has nothing to do with you.”

“Your lover,” Soojin couldn’t help the sardonic smile that broke out on her face. “Have you no shame?! Parading your whore around in front of everyone while I look like a fool.”

“You looking like a fool has nothing to do with me.” He chuckled, the vase Soojin threw his way was easily caught by Jungkook. The prince gently placed it beside him on the soft bed.

Soojin’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, she could feel the rage growing inside her. If Jungkook was ice then she was fire. It was just like when she was younger - the fire would grow and spread consuming everything that stood in its path. In this instance, an insolent little girl who sought herself better than a princess queen. “I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall YN due to your reckless actions.” At that the prince stilled, the air in the room suddenly becoming frigid as goosebumps rose on Soojin’s skin.

“And I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall you if anything were to happen to YN.”

“So you see your majesty, it would be reckless to allow this liaison to continue. Though I understand the prince has needs and would never dare interfere in his private affairs, this isn’t just about him. It’s about the needs of the crown.” Soojin despised king Jeon the II, she found the old man unnerving. Everytime his coal black eyes met hers, she felt the king saw through every facade and deep inside her soul. She assumed that is what had allowed him to maintain power even when his commanders, alliances, and sanity slipped his hands. Jeon exuded power, but his was strong and sturdy like a stone. His son’s power though was like water: constant, changing, tranquil, and tempestuous. Even hard stone was no match for the power of the sea. Everyone was aware of it, even the king in his fleeting reason, knew the time for a shift was rapidly approaching. Soojin couldn’t wait to get rid of the old haggard. To get rid of his lingering glances. Still she knew when to play her cards right, the only person to force Jungkook to submit would be his dear old dad.

“You are right my child. Jungkook is far too reckless to take a Kim for a whore. It's enough that I allow one Kim to remain in my court - but two and the people may believe I am beginning to slip.” His voice was harsh, the laugh sounding more like a croak. The kind an old toad might make.

Soojin had to resist the urge to grimace, “Nonsense your majesty. No one would ever believe that. Everyone is aware that your reign is far from its end.” Which is exactly why once YN was out of her way, Soojin would make sure to get rid of him. She could hardly be queen if her husband wasn’t on the throne. The king may be the head, but everyone knows the queen is the neck.

“Oh my darling, I am well aware that you have always been on the side of the crown unlike many others that would use it for their own interests. Not to worry, I will make my son see reason. If he doesn’t well -”

“I am sure he will sire. Jungkook cares for you very much and he would never disobey his father.” Soojin wondered how much venom she could spill into the world before she eventually poisoned herself. She consoled herself by remembering that she was surrounded by vipers ready to strike. No mamba can compare to the jaw of a lion. Unbeknownst to Seo Soojin, the Jeon’s were no ordinary snakes and unlike lions who massacred their preys before eating them snakes consumed their prey alive.

“Very well.” King Jeon turned around waving over a guard, “Call my son, it is time we have a talk.” Before turning back to Soojin before him, “You are excused my child, take care of yourself.”

“Of course your majesty, take care of yourself.”

“Have you heard?”

“It is the talk of the whole castle.”

“Well do you think he’ll actually do it?”

“He would be a fool not to, plus it isn’t like he has a choice.”

“He’s the prince of the nation. Of course he has a choice.”

“Not against the king he doesn’t.”

Sana turned around, wet rag in her hand as she whipped it towards the two gossiping maids who screeched at the possibility of their garments being ruined by the dirty water. “What are the two of you yapping about?!” Sana had simply been trying to salvage what was left of YN’s garments that had been ripped to shreds by the prince. Not that it mattered, Jungkook would probably buy her even nicer dresses and it wasn’t like YN had asked her to. She had seemed so disgusted when she walked back into her rooms. Heading straight for the shower and barely even sparing Sana a glance. Not that she cared, the less she had to interact with the mistress, the better in Sana’s head. Still, appearances must be kept up for the sake of the prince. So she gritted her teeth and cheerfully declared that she would wash her clothes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Sana? Probably run back to your lady and tell her everything.” Irene sneered, smoothing down the front of her dress and fixing her strawberry blonde hair.

“Please what good would that do me?” The bitch deserves everything that’s coming to her. YN had explained her side of the story to Sana long ago, but she saw through the innocent facade she played. Why would the prince ever be interested in a stupid commoner like her when he had every woman at his fingertips? No. She had seduced him, even if YN may never admit it. Sana knew she was a wolf in sheep's clothing - just like her.

“Because without someone to report on, you’ll lose the prince’s favoritism. Or do you actually believe he cares for you?!” Irene laughed and the other maids around her began to laugh too. Sana rolled her eyes, returning to the soapy water in front of her.

“I’m no fool. I use him just as he uses me.” But her tone wavered towards the end, which only caused others to chuckle beside her. It wasn’t until one of the girls beside her took pity and told her what was happening.

“The prince and princess Soojin are to be wed in seven days' time.”

YN had been pretty much left to her own devices after spending several days and nights locked up in Jungkook’s bedroom. YN wished she could say the whole experience had been unpleasant, but the disgust she felt was more towards herself than the prince. She had enjoyed it deeply - every single part of it - though she would never admit it to anyone. Not even herself. So YN bathed herself multiple times that day, scrubbing her skin until parts of it bled, then she nearly tore off her hair for every time she saw it all she could imagine was Jungkook’s hands tangled in it. Every time she viewed her hands, all she could remember was how they would entangle together. Her lips were dry and swollen from all the kissing and sucking the prince had imparted on them. YN had never felt more like a whore - never felt more like a toy. In a move that was meant to give her power over the prince, all she had done during their trysts was find herself thinking what if? What if we had met in another time? Different circumstances? Could I love him? Could he be different? What if he changed? Is he capable of change? Would I love him if he did?

It was those thoughts that plagued YN deeply hours after she returned and she sat still in her bed. Vito curled resting on her decolletage as she envisioned a different world where Jungkook was kinder, where he hadn’t caused her so much pain. Where they had met the way one should. He would have met her brother, introduced himself and promised to care for her, Jungkook could have been perfect. YN found herself getting lost in that what if, until reality came tumbling through her door.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” The door to the bedroom had been slammed open so harshly, the entire room had shaken slightly. It had frightened Vito so much he raised defensively and even YN had been ripped away from her daydreams. Jungkook was livid pacing back and forth as Morte was coiled around his arm, perfectly still despite her master shaking violently. YN had only ever seen him like this once and even then, there hadn’t been a murderous gleam in his eyes. YN cautiously slipped down the bed, her bare feet landing on the carpet. The second she was on the ground, Jungkook swept her into his arms leaving barely any space among them. YN had no choice, but to push her palms against his chest trying to leave some space between them.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her torso, as YN resisted, eventually Morte unwrapped herself from his arms and formed a link with Vito around both their necks. Tying them together in more ways then one. “Who are you going to kill?” YN knew, Sana had mentioned it when she had brought her clothes back up. YN hadn’t paid much attention, even in her dally she was aware the Jungkook of her dreams and the one in front of her were two distinct beings. Though a part of her longed for the other Jungkook - she wanted this one gone from her life. Jungkook leaned his head close to hers, their lips brushing and it took all of YN’s willpower not to grimace.

“My wife.”

“You can’t. You promised me you would marry her, you promised the king there’s no going back on your word.”

Jungkook chuckled, “I can’t very well marry a corpse can I? Plus, I already have a queen.”

YN shook her head, “You can’t get out of this. I only promised I’d carry your child, not that I would be your queen.”

“You don’t have a choice in this, my darling.” Jungkook smiled, his teeth snagging and softly pulling YN’s bottom one. In his eyes, YN could see the lust pooling and she found herself amazed at how quick his mood could shift.

“I would rather join my brother than wear the crown on my head.” YN whispered harshly, as her palms kept pushing against Jungkook’s torso.

“That’s funny considering your brother doesn’t have a head.” The prince’s cruel words cut straight through YN’s soul. Instantly she was brought back to the rain, her brother’s beaten body, the lifeless eyes that peered at her as his body hung from the gallows. “Oh didn’t you know. I had his head removed and stored in a box, it is my most prized possession. If it wasn’t for him, you and I would’ve never met.” All the fight left YN’s body instantly, if not for Jungkook’s arms around her, she would’ve crumbled to the ground. “I really should give him a proper burial as a thanks. Oh well, there isn’t really much left to bury anyway.” The king Jungkook faded from her memory, until all that remained was the cruel beast in front of her. He seemed to take glee in her soulless eyes for he kissed her with such frenzy that could only be imparted by the happiest of people. Meanwhile YN could feel herself fading, her last remnant of hope being extinguished.

After a while of no response the prince finally seemed to notice that state of his beloved. “YN?” His hands grabbed a hold of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, only she didn’t. Though their eyes met Jungkook knew that she wasn’t viewing him, her mind in a far away place. “YN.” His grip tightened on her, as he hoped the pain would cause any sort of reaction from her. Even if it meant she would recoil, scream, hit him, it was better than having her empty gaze pierce into him. “Answer me YN!” His fingers were digging deeply into her cheekbones, his nails leaving indents into her face. Jungkook knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. React damn it! Do something! Finally someone did. Vito uncoiled himself and struck Jungkook’s hand, digging his fangs deeply into the prince’s palm. It shocked him so much, he jumped away letting go of YN completely. YN fell to her feet and fell back onto the bed, she had yet to react but Vito had placed himself on his owner’s neck, hissing and ready to strike once more.

Jungkook was in such shock, he didn’t even consider the fact that the snake had attacked him. Didn’t even think about commanding Morte to reproach. Instead he cradled his hand and looked at YN in a mixture of shock and fear. The way a child would when they had just broken their favorite toy. “I-I’m -” but he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. He wouldn’t mean them because he truly wasn’t sorry. Jungkook only regretted having gone too far and hurting YN in a way which might be irreparable. Instead of attempting to make amends, Jungkook took a deep breath and turned around leaving YN truly alone for the first time since they’d crossed paths. As he closed the bedroom doors, he waved the guards away stating the “lady needed some time alone to herself.” Certain that when he returned in the morning, YN would be back to her usual self. She had to be.

The sun would set and rise three times before YN spoke again.

On the dawn of Wednesday morning, Sana knocked on the bedroom door bringing with her a plate of food which would be left uneaten like the others before. She didn’t know what exactly had caused her mistress to regress to such a state, but figured the news of the wedding must have done so. Her heart filled with bitter jealousy at the thought, but she coaxed another perfect smile on her face. “My lady, pardon the intrusion but I have brought you food and news from the crown.” YN didn’t really acknowledge Sana’s presence, only Vito seemed to be aware of her. His red beady eyes glaring at her as his tongue sniffed the air, as if entirely sentient the snake moved its head towards the bedside table. Tentatively Sana placed the platter there before, smoothing over the front of her dress.

“The King has requested an audience in private with you, my lady.” Sana glanced over, YN had been bathed and dressed every day at the prince’s insistence much to the maid’s annoyance. Particularly because YN didn’t seem to react no matter what she was subjected to: on various occasions Sana had ‘accidentally’ placed the water too hot only to make it too cold in an attempt to find warmth. She had tugged her hair too harshly, pinched her skin whilst dressing her, and even stepped on her. Yet YN had not so much as flinched, the woman finding herself in a deep dissociative state. The only indication of reasoning Sana could see was Vito that in the past couple of days had become far more active. Hissing and bearing his fangs everytime Sana imposed any type of miniscule harm on his owner.

She must be a witch. Probably enchanted the prince as well. Sana casts a glance towards the book laying upon the vanity: the black and red book taunting her. Perhaps the book offered some insight into her, Sana had never seen such a book in her life but it looked too opulent to begin to someone as poor as YN. It could be a gift from the prince. That only infuriated her more, all Sana ever received was pats on the back and harsh love making only to be tossed aside the second he had satisfied himself.

“We must get you ready, my lady. The king must not be kept waiting.”

YN had only entered the throne room on two other instances, both signifying further entrapment, but they had been at the hands of Jungkook and Soojin. Perhaps this would go differently, though something deep inside warned her that this meeting with King Jeon wasn’t a cause for celebration. Not when he had been plotting on murdering his son and accusing her. Not when she was technically his son’s mistress and the cause of all the turmoil in court. When she entered, the King laid sitting on his throne. It stood out harshly compared to the rest of the room, being made from a rare gemstone that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The crown perched upon his head was dark in nature too, making it all too obvious that he was the dominant one in this conversation.

“Welcome, I’ve heard a lot about you Kim YN.” King Jeon stared down at the girl before him, trying to assess who she was, what she wanted, and how he could best use her to his needs.

Bowing deeply YN spoke, her voice soft yet clear. “You summoned me, your majesty?” There was a slight tremble in her hands she tried to hide by gripping her skirt tightly.

“Ah I did. There is something I wished to speak to you about.” The King waved his hand, indicating she could rise and YN did, slowly, as to demonstrate she was no threat.

“Yes sire?” If speaking to the prince was like walking on eggshells, then speaking to Jeon was walking on the edge of an active volcano. One which could go off at any second.

“I want you to murder my son.” The King’s voice was clear, no stutter whatsoever as if he were commenting on the weather and not the assassination of his own kin.

YN struggled to speak, unsure of how to react. She was a cornered prey, with no possible way of escape. “I-I’m sorry your majesty. I d-don’t understand.” YN couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, all the stories she’d heard as a child coming back to her. How the King was cold and callous but his eyes were even colder. Dark black pools that would make the devil shiver, yet so clear they reflected whoever he was staring at - reflected their true intentions.

“Look at me Kim.”

YN obeyed, but he was too far away for her to make out the exact color of his eyes. Even then, it was quite difficult to see with the tears threatening to spill.

“You know what you must do, yes? Or what the consequences will be…”

As YN stared at him, all she could see was a cruel man that would do anything to remain in power, even spill the blood of his own son. The apple never falls far from the tree. The King’s hand tightened around the seat and YN was certain that in the next few moments he would force her to agree to something she could never envision herself doing. Even if he was the object of her loathing and tormentor - YN could never kill Jungkook. She had to cling to the last bit of her soul that still remained.

Please someone save me.

A harsh knock was heard and the doors opened to Kim Namjoon. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness. You asked me to inform you if anything happened in the outer lands.” YN almost cried tears of joy upon being interrupted, it could have even been Jungkook and she would’ve thanked him. “Ah yes, you’re dismissed.” The King waved her away as of nothing and YN couldn’t be more glad to have his eyes off her. She bowed deeply once more before hurrying out the door, managing not to break down until the doors behind her were entirely closed.

YN didn’t know how long she spent there sat on the floor as tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t until the door creaked open once more that she wiped her face and stood up rapidly. In her haste, she stumbled somewhat but was steadied by a hand grabbing hers. “Pardon my lady.” Namjoon’s smile was soft, reassuring and YN couldn’t help reciprocating it. “Nonsense, my lord.”

Namjoon’s other hand came to lay upon hers, encapsulating hers in a warmth YN hadn’t felt in a long time. “Have you had time to read the novel?” His brow raised inquisitively.

“I must admit I haven’t. Things have been busy as of late.”

His chestnut eyes were warm, “I can relate. The castle has been in such a hectic state the gardens have been left unattended.”

Now YN was left to be confused, “Pardon?”

Namjoon looked around as if to ensure no one was listening in, he looked so childlike at that moment YN couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, they’ve not taken care of their blossoming flower.”

YN rolled her eyes though the smile, and the rosey dust that spread across her cheeks revealed her true feelings, “Do you have a tendency to be so brazen, my lord?”

“Hm,” his fingers tapped gently on her hand. “Only when with an intriguing companion, my lady. Only then.”

“I don’t see anyone like that around here.” YN stated as she casted a glance around, in the corner of her eye she caught sight of a figure lingering behind a column but they quickly vanished.

“You must give yourself more credit my lady. Though you are right, you aren’t intriguing as of yet only queer.” It was the shift in his tone that brought YN’s attention back towards him.

“Oh? When shall I be intriguing then?” She tilted her head coyly.

“After you blossom of course.” Namjoon seemed so serious, all humour vanishing from his tone. “Though whether you will be a lily or an ivy has yet to be determined.”

“It is entirely possible I will be both.”

“Ah, that is true.”

The two of them simply stared at each other, before distant voices could be heard echoing through the halls. Namjoon raised her palm towards his lips, placing a tender kiss. “Excuse me, my lady. I must be going.” YN nodded before allowing Lord Kim to walk away as his words and warmth lingered with her far into the night.

“What’s this?” Jungkook looked at the large book in Sana’s chipped hands, he never understood why she manicured them considering they would only get ruined. Still it was better than the old weathered hands most maids had, hers were soft yet bony. They lacked the thinness yet sharpness of Soojin’s but didn’t possess the roundness and frailty of YN’s. “It is lady YN’s.” Sana hated attaching the prefix. It put YN above her, yet the last time she hadn’t the prince had severely punished her. It was as Jungkook’s hands traced the letters in the front cover that he identified what was written: The Golden Ones. A sinister smile spread across his lips, perhaps I should give YN more credit. “And how exactly did lady YN come to possess such a book?” His mouth twisted, full of mirth. It was the exact same as Jungkook’s copy. Ironic that he had spent his entire life searching for it only to have been right under his nose the whole time. Perhaps assigning Sana to be a double-agent hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.

“Lord Kim Namjoon gave it to her as a present.”

“Did he?!” Jungkook tried to hide his disdain, though the imprint of his fingerprints was left on the wood of his desk from gripping it too harshly. Placating his growing vexation, the prince smiled. “Very well Sana. You’ve done well.” The pat he placed on her head was patronizing - it was meant to be. People like Sana only obeyed if they thought it would prove how useful they were. So long as Jungkook fed her scraps of affection and not a full course meal, she would keep coming back. “Is that all?” She asked, before quickly following it up with. “Have I not satisfied you, your highness?”

Jungkook nodded, “Oh yes. But a story book is hardly evidence.” He let his fingers tap against the wood rhythmically as if in deep thought. “I need something concrete that proves your theory.”

Sana’s smile was forced, but she nodded and bowed nonetheless head touching the ground. “Of course, I shall deliver you concrete evidence of lady YN’s betrayal.”

“You’re being reckless Namjoon. There is no point in pursuing the girl.” Seokjin rested his head against the cherry desk. It was old yet prominent standing as the centerpiece in their strategy room. Namjoon casted a glance at the people beyond the manor walls, those rallying in clear protest against the Jeon’s and their rule. They remained both aware and unaware of his existence. Even if they were to peer at him directly, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure they could recognize Seokjin, and he was the entire face of their operation. “It would be reckless not to pursue the girl.” He refuted as he let the curtain fall back into its rightful place, walking towards Seokjin and massaging the back of his neck. Seokjin groaned, swatting Namjoon’s attempts to distract him away. This was not a matter Seokjin would simply be dissuaded on.

“There must be a reason why Jeon is so willing to risk everything for her.”

Seokjin laughed incredulously, “When has madness ever made sense?” Seokjin simply couldn’t see what the big deal was. “She is nothing but a poor child that got caught up with the Jeon’s. She’ll probably be made to bear an heir and be tossed aside like all the Jeon women are.”

Namjoon shook his head, “No, Jin. It isn’t like that. She isn’t a pawn, Jungkook is planning on making her his queen. A king is nothing without a powerful queen.” Everyone knew it. It was the reason why the Jeon empire was failing. It was the reason why Seokjin’s claim to the throne didn’t stand a chance. As Namjoon’s father had always said: men are trees but women are seeds. If Namjoon was correct about YN, then she was the final piece needed to guarantee them a checkmate. If not, win the whole game.

Namjoon had to be smart though, for if the prince caught wind of his plan it would all be over.

On the evening of Thursday, just three days until the wedding between Prince Jeon Jungkook and Princess Seo Soojin, YN laid sleeping peacefully in her bed. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze could be felt in the night sky. It was also unnaturally warm, so much so Sana had suggested to her mistress, cracking the balcony doors and windows open. But YN politely refused, afraid something would crawl in or she would grow cold. Her sleep was pleasant, it was the first time in a long time YN was not plagued by nightmares filled with her brother’s lifeless body or Jungkook’s mental games created just to torture her. She was resting comfortably, until a slight creak caused Vito beside her to rise from his slumber and hiss suddenly. When YN’s eyes shot open, she saw two masked figures staring at her.

Her screams were quickly muffled as a cloth was forced into her throat and her body was grabbed by the two men. YN struggled against them, limbs flailing in an attempt to land any sort of blow on them. Vito too sprang to her aid, but was grabbed and thrown against the head board. Unwillingly YN was lifted and dragged off the bed. She managed to wretch an arm free and attempted to grab onto the sheets - onto Vito - but the snake was too far away and the men were far too strong. Capturing her in their grip once again, they managed to pull her into the bathroom where YN saw that bathtub full of water, finally understanding what was happening. YN fought like never before: kicking, scratching, she even managed to get the gag out of her mouth and began biting them. If the grunts of the men were anything to go by - and the harsh way one of them yanked her hair - she had inflicted some pain on them.

“Please! Help! Someone! He -” As if she weighed nothing, YN was grabbed and dumped into the ceramic tub. Her head knocked harshly against the back and YN felt something warm trailing down her head, as she gazed up dizzily. “Please, y-you d-don’t have t-to d-do t-this.” YN begged and pleaded, tried to reason with them but they wouldn’t listen. After everything she had endured, it couldn’t end like this. After all her suffering as a child, the loss of her parents, her brother, everything she ever held true. It couldn’t possibly end like this. I don’t want to die.

Strong arms grabbed a hold on her head, pushing it under the water. YN tried to hold her breath for as long as she could, trying to get her body to calm down so as to not consume more oxygen than necessary. Even then the seconds ticked on, YN could feel her chest begin to tighten the pressure beginning to mount the second she was about to breathe in water. YN was wretched out of the water, allowed to breathe only to be shoved in once again. With little air now, YN began to panic. Eyes anxiously looking around for anything to grasp onto. Anything that would serve as a life jacket - there was nothing. Her captors moved the moonlight now reflecting their golden armor.

YN was retched upwards one final time before being plunged back in, held down there longer. YN’s vision began to become blurry, chest tightening and lungs burning as her body forced her to breathe, only instead of air water rushed in. She was burning. She could feel herself burning from the inside out. Her mouth opened as she choked on the pain, only for more water to rush in. YN felt the last pounds of her heart as her senses faded, all her memories flashed before her eyes. The last was unfamiliar to her: a lily entangled by a snake its color changing from black to white. Vito? Eventually that faded too, as YN felt herself slipping into nothingness...slipping into death.

Baekhyung’s hands disentangled from YN’s head as he lifted her hand from the water and checked her pulse. “She’s dead.” He stated, looking at the Seo guardsman. The man raised an eyebrow before checking for himself, seemingly content. “Thank you for your help. I’m sure your aunt will compensate you greatly.” Baekhyung rolled his eyes, “Didn’t do it for her. She’s simply an eyesore.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but with YN out of the way it would certainly facilitate things. The men walked out of the bathroom and then the door, not sparing a glance towards their surroundings. For if they had, they would have found the most peculiar sight, a bloated ball python struggling for its life, water droplets escaping its mouth. It took several minutes for the ball python to give up the fight. The second Vito took his last breath, YN took her first heaving, herself out of the water and breathing in air for the first time in twenty minutes.

YN cast a glance toward the bed where her pet snake now laid dead, before pulling herself out of the bathtub and running straight for Jeon Jungkook’s room.

YN’s knuckles rasped harshly on the blackwood of the prince’s bedroom door. When the prince didn’t answer the first time, her knocks became more incessant until YN was pounding so harshly the wood was beginning to bend under her force. She should have cared more about drawing attention to herself, but YN had just survived an assassination attempt and knew murderers didn’t linger long enough to be caught. Finally, the door creaked open, barely a sliver but enough that YN knew Jungkook was acknowledging her, inviting her in. A part of her hesitated, unsure whether this was all another elaborate scheme done by the sadistic prince in order to have her bend to him. No, this doesn’t seem like him. The Jeon’s weren’t fond of hiding in the shadows and hiring assassins. All of their ploys were done recklessly and with an audience. Since YN hadn’t stepped in, it seems Jungkook had decided to come out. He was still in his evening wear - his eyes took in YN’s disheveled appearance and a tear streamed face. He crossed his ankles together, leaning against the door frame.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come banging on my door at this late hour?” His dark eyes met hers, “Have you finally decided to speak to me or are you going to continue this ridiculous charade?” It isn’t until he noticed the blood on her head that worry crosses over his features, raising his hand to caress her.

YN ignored him, instead choosing to answer a different question. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Seo Soojin’s room, when cleaned up, was actually quite beautiful. The reds and velvets mixed nicely with the fine gold accents. Normally guests would be a cause for celebration, as very few visited Soojin these days. Soojin would have been elated to have the prince himself in her chambers any night - but not tonight. Tonight Soojin sat seated on her bed, hair laid over her shoulders in nice neat waves. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, voice hesitant as she looked around the room for anything that could serve as a weapon for Jungkook or herself. Jungkook stood in the center of the room, though he had never been in her room he held no interest in all the trinkets she had decided to adorn it with. That wasn’t why Jungkook had suddenly decided to visit, not after YN had barged into his own bedroom and clung onto him. Not after Jungkook had to persuade his beloved that she would be safe in his bed with Morte guarding her.

“Can’t a husband visit his wife in the middle of the night?”

“We are not yet wed.” Soojin was unsure of what game Jungkook was playing, her eyes sneakily stared at her door. She couldn’t see the shadow of her guard's feet.

“I would hardly think that matters when the ceremony is in a few days' time.”

Jungkook approached Soojin’s bed slowly, his footsteps careful and calculated each one of them measured to ensure the tamed lioness would see exactly where he was at any given time. As he reached the edge of her bed, Soojin leaned back to rest on the headboard allowing Jungkook to crawl onto the bed until the prince was mere inches from her. Soojin swallowed thickly, nerves eating her alive. “Plus you’ll get everything you have ever wanted…” His hand caressed Soojin’s cheek tenderly. “To be queen and bear my heir.” His soft touch turned harsh as he pulled her towards his lips. “I thought we’d get a head start.” With little hesitation their lips crashed against each other, full of hatred and passion.

In those moments of pure unadulterated lust, Soojin swore Jungkook had never looked more beautiful. His sweat caused his hair to curl towards the ends, framing his face perfectly. Despite how badly she clinged to him, his arms, his back, chest, legs, his every breath - Jungkook barely touches her. He kisses her, but it feels empty. Even when he finally does enter her, it lacked intimacy and felt robotic. The prince was harsh, demanding, and entirely selfish in his needs. Though Soojin did enjoy it thoroughly, it was clear to her that Jungkook was only searching for his own high rather than hers. Eventually the two reach their peaks, climaxing together as Jungkook fills Soojin to the brim.

Then as quickly and quietly as he arrived the prince untangled himself from Soojin. Redressing himself before leaving her room, not sparing the young princess a glance. Seo Soojin cried that night for the first time in years, memories of her youth plaguing her as she recalled the fateful day that set in motion the rest of her life.

Thirteen year old Soojin was already a beauty to behold, even at such a young age. Despite being born a woman, she was exceptionally bright and cunning. Under different circumstances, she would’ve surely become a great inventor or even a great ruler. Sadly she was born a woman to a noble family who had long ago set their eyes on the prize of the land - a prize their only daughter could help them get. While Soojin had never met prince Jungkook, they had been engaged since she could remember. Having been raised with tales of the great Jeons and how Jungkook was the kindest and fairest prince in the land. Soojin could hardly contain her excitement at what her future might hold. The following week, she would embark to court and finally meet her beloved. Still, even at such a young age Soojin possessed little patience and great ambition. Seven days was far too long a wait.

“Come on Soojin, it is this way.” Kim Yoona yelled from far ahead, Soojin jumped over the rocks that were littered across the ravine, careful to watch her steps so as to not slip. They were deep in the forest, far from the watchful eyes of maids and guards, Soojin wasn’t afraid though. She knew the fate that would befall anyone who attempted to cause harm to a Seo. Much less the soon to be princess. Yoona had told her of a fortune teller that had apparently predicted the Jeons rise to power and the birth of the prince. She was notable throughout all the land and since hearing her tenacity for telling the future of those destined to be great, Soojin wanted hers read.

After crossing the water they trudged through more forest ground before finding a small clearing. The two girls abruptly stopped as they came face to face with an old cottage resembling something out of the fairy tales they'd read. “This must be it.” Soojin stated, marching forward once the shock wore off. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was certain of what her future would entail, she just needed the confirmation. Before Soojin could knock on the door, it was opened by a middle aged woman dressed in rags.

“Are you the witch?” Was the first thing out of Soojin’s mouth. She lay unimpressed as Yoona soon joined her side, stunned into silence.

“Are you the Seo girl?” The fortune-teller reproached, causing both young girls' eyes to widen, before the fortune-teller allowed them in. “It’s two hundred to have your fortunes read - each.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Yoona protested, but Soojin fisted the money out of her wallet before throwing it on the nearest table she found. “There, now tell me my future.”

“How about I tell you a story instead?”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically, “I don’t want a story. I want my future, tell it now.”

The fortune teller smiled, taking long steps before reaching a chair. She took her time sitting and making herself comfortable before finally turning towards Soojin. “Tell me child, have you ever seen a lion and snake play together?”

Soojin frowned, “What?”

“They are opposite beings in nature. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded. A union between them would never work.” The witch grabbed the pile of money and began to count it, “A lion takes several mates but always stays within his pride. A snake lives a solitary life, its only companions the flowers it lives alongside.”

“You’re making no sense!” Soojin’s hands balled into fists, as she began to raise her voice in frustration. “You’re speaking in riddles, talk clearly.”

“She means that the match won’t last.” Yoona, who had remained quiet until then, finally spoke up.

“That isn’t true!” Soojin screamed, head whipping back and forth between her friend and the witch. “Who will marry the prince if not me?! I am to be a queen. I will bear a son and become a Jeon. Our marriage will unite the kingdom and ensure prosperity for the kingdom.” The words were not her own, but those she had been raised hearing.

“Ah, a queen you will be and a son you will bear. A Jeon though is not a name that is given but granted. Read up on your history child, this union will only breed destruction.”

Soojin didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. The witch was lying to her. She simply wanted to embarrass Soojin, that's why she was making up all those lies.

Yoona excitedly pounced on the opportunity, now that Soojin was out of the picture perhaps she had a shot. “If not her then who? Who will marry the prince?”

Soojin turns to glare at her supposed friend, furious at the hope that had filled the young Yoona now that she believed Soojin to be out of the picture.

The fortune-teller looked out the window at the trees that surrounded them, “This winter has been long, but spring will come again. When it does, the flowers are always the first to bloom.”

“Flowers?” Soojin asked, at the same time that her friend drew her conclusions.

“A Kim?! I’m a Kim. Does that mean I will marry the prince?” Yoona asked excitedly, unaware of the glare now being cast her way by Soojin. Poor Kim Yoona misunderstood, her family though they held the last name, held very little power and had only managed to amass their fortune through their loyalty to the Seo’s. Something the young child, unbeknownst to her, ruined that very afternoon. Still much like young Yoona, Soojin too did not know the difference between Kims - they were those who simply possessed the name while others who were blessed with it. When they were walking back towards their homes and Yoona accidentally slipped on the rocks and dove head first into the ravine, Soojin couldn’t bring herself to care much. If fate wants her to be with the prince, then she will surely not drown. The princess thought as she walked away and headed home preparing for her upcoming trip.

“This winter has been long but spring will come again. When it does, meet me where the flower’s bloom.” YN had awoken alone in her bed in the morning, surprised that neither Sana nor Jungkook were around. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise for the note left on her pillow would have surely been the subject of questioning. It had taken her a while to decipher what exactly Namjoon had meant by the note, but figured that overthinking would be exactly what would be expected of her to do. So, YN headed towards her vanity but stopped cold when she realized the book was not there. I could’ve sworn… YN searched high and low through her bedroom in a manner that was discrete yet thorough. She felt eyes on her and didn’t know if they were guarding or threatening.

Sana must’ve placed it elsewhere. It would be strange considering the maid never moved any of her stuff without explicit permission, but it certainly was a possibility. YN sighed, looking at the note once again tracing it with her finger as she pondered on what the lord’s intentions might have been in sending her that message. If it had been something unimportant, he surely would have communicated through his staff. It was the way of the palace. If it was urgent, Kim Namjoon would have come himself. No, this was something different. YN’s eyes danced once more on the small piece of paper, observing carefully as if the paper would suddenly reveal a secret to her, that was for her eyes only.

“Where the flowers bloom…” What flowers? YN’s eyes widened as she recalled something her late mother had taught her. YN had been too young to remember much of her parents, even the few memories she did have were obscured. She did remember her mother always plotting lilies though, it was the only thing that she had been able to cultivate while they lived in the harsh areas of the city. Their garden, if it could be called that, had been barely a meter long. Though their father insisted that she try to grow vegetables, because they were always so expensive at the market, she only grew lilies. Even if they always died. Lilies were delicate beings and required extreme care and stable environments - something YN hadn’t known much of growing up. There was another thing about YN’s mother’s garden: she always complained about the ivy weed that threatened to consume it.

Where flower’s bloom? Lilies required care, attention, and warmth. It needed round the clock observation. An ivy, on the contrary, could potentially grow in any type of environment even the most inhospitable ones. The passage ways!

It seems Jungkook had kept his promise of locking up the passageway, but YN had figured it couldn’t be the only one. Certainly a castle this old and large must have various entries and exits privy only to those who reside in them. So YN looked in the most obvious place she could think of. It wasn’t difficult to gain access to Jungkook’s bedroom, and the palace had been fairly empty as of late so there weren’t many lingering around. It was rather difficult though to escape the eyes she felt. Jungkook had promised her a brand new security detail, though she had assumed he meant guards. Now she was uncertain. Everywhere YN went she felt eyes and as she peered around the prince’s room, it was no different. Morte was nowhere to be seen but YN couldn’t be sure the snake was hiding or if she was accompanying her master.

“Psst.”

It came from behind her. YN spun around only to face the wall behind the bed. Then she heard it again, “Psst.” This time louder, as she drew nearer her eyes focused on the pattern of the dark brick wall. It was perfectly layered and symmetrical, likely thousands of years old, as the stone had long faded yet somehow kept its state. One last time the “psst” rang out and YN finally noticed that one of the bricks was slightly more pushed in than the others. It was something only noticeable since she was barely a breath away from the wall. Hesitantly, YN reached out and pressed at a large section of the wall sliding back by a few feet. Then she walked forward into the corridors making sure to close it behind, her unaware of the viper observing.

“I was afraid you might not join me.” Kim Namjoon was not dressed in his usual attire of extravagant clothes. In fact, the old wash of his bottoms and creases on his shirt made it seem like another person when YN had first laid eyes on him, after discovering him deep in the corridors. “I have walked long and have yet to see any Ivies growing. Your clue wasn’t easy to decipher. Had I misinterpreted it, I would have headed to the gardens.” YN answered, there was something off about the lord today but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He seemed desperate to YN. “Ah, but we are at the gardens.” Namjoon replied, finger taping the wall to his left. The passageway they found themselves did in fact run alongside the palace gardens. To his left grew lilies, once planted by the great Kim when the palace was first constructed. To his right, inside the castle, ivies: tall, wild, and lethal. All planted by Jeon the I without intent.

“What is it you want my lord?” Though YN normally enjoyed conversing with Namjoon, something inside her stomach warned her that being hidden away with him would have consequences.

“Have you read the book, my lady?”

“Ah,” YN didn’t exactly know how to break it to him without possibly upsetting him. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Someone took it you mean.”

“Why would someone steal a book?” It was a genuine question, as Namjoon had come to that conclusion far too quickly.

“Why would someone steal you?”

So that is what he was trying to get at. YN had long grown tired of having to explain her situation and felt a bit disappointed that Namjoon would even ask. He seemed different. She should have known better. “That is the question I’ve been asking myself since I arrived.” Her tone was apathetic, as she glanced around trying to figure out how to end the conversation.

“Surely you are not that oblivious my lady. You hold value - a true value that is rare to come by these days.”

Now she was confused, “You make no sense.”

Namjoon stepped closer. Even though it was just two steps, YN felt he was trying to bridge the space between them. Either to get her attention or establish dominance, she wasn’t too sure. YN held her ground. “I’m afraid I never do.” Namjoon caresses her cheek, leaning in to whisper. “You smell divine, like flowers...a Sharon rose, perhaps?” YN eyes widened. Her mind traveled to Soojin’s confrontation. “It is simply a name my lord.” Namjoon chuckled, “Yes, I suppose so. That is why there are only two true Kim’s in court.” He turned sharply on his feet and walked away, but not before spinning back just as quickly. “The help is sorted into two fields - Seo’s and Jeon’s - Sana is a Jeon, not by name but it is where her alliances lie - besides the crown.”

The phone rang inside Min Yoongi’s study and he ignored it. Fully aware of who it was and the consequences it may bring, but the Duke couldn’t bring himself to care. Jimin was in a good mood today, splendid even, and Yoongi didn’t want to do anything that would risk that. So the phone rang for hours upon hours, jiggling harshly upon his desk much to his annoyance. He had instructed the staff to ignore it - let the man think he was out of town. Though it was a dangerous game, now far from the castle Min Yoongi found the courage he so often lacked. He was prepared to play the long game and ignore the brat, demonstrating that Yoongi was not a puppet or a butler he could have at his beck and call. When the phone finally stopped, Yoongi assumed he had won. Until the phone started ringing elsewhere: the master bedroom - Jimin’s room. Yoongi bolted out the door leaving his chair turned over and a few papers scattered. The duke ran through the hallway and burst past the doors just as Jimin put the phone to his ear. Yoongi ripped it out of his hand as gently as he could, not missing the questioning gaze of his beloved. “Hello,” his gruff voice sounding slightly out of breath from the run.

“Hello Yoongi, I’ve been trying to reach you but it seems you’ve been too busy to pick up the phone. So I figured I would ask your darling for a favor, it’s been so long since I’ve heard from him.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and his hands balled into a fist. “There’s been some problems with the phone lines lately, it looks like there’s a storm coming.”

“Oh a storm is coming all right, but that is not why I contacted you Yoongi. I’m sure you’ve received the invitation by now.” He meant the wedding invitation. Yoongi had in fact received the invitation earlier that morning, to say he was surprised when he saw ‘Jeon Jungkook and Seo Soojin’ on the piece of paper would be an understatement. What of the girl? “You see there is the matter of my bachelor party.” Oh no. “While my soon to be wife is busy readying herself, I see no point in not enjoying my last night of an unwed life. So my beloved and I are headed towards your estate as we speak. I hope it isn’t too late for a party.”

Jungkook had yet to tell her where they were headed, but he seemed in a pleasant mood something which caused YN quite a lot of concern. She was aware that the wedding was tomorrow and hadn’t found it to be a good sign that the groom was effectively leaving a day before. Though Jungkook had sworn he would marry Soojin, there had to be something else at play. A hidden pawn or move that he hadn’t yet exposed - it wouldn’t be out of character for him to somehow weasel his way out of a promise. Then again… The King was involved in this affair and Jungkook had yet to disobey his father. At least in front of her.

“What has you so entertained?” Jungkook reached over and delicately massaged the frown between her brows. His other hand entwined in hers, fingers gently tracing over her knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts.”

YN forced a polite smile on her face, “Simply wondering where we are going.” There was nothing to gain from speaking the truth. If her time in the castle had taught her anything it was that.

“Hm,” the prince nodded, clearly not entirely believing her but choosing not to press the matter. “We are headed to an old friend’s place. Duke Min has agreed to host us for the evening as a farewell gift to my bachelor status.”

The name rang a bell and the longer she dwelled on it, the clearer the person he was speaking about became. “Duke Min? As in Lady Eun’s lover?” As in the man she had begged to spare her brother’s life? To be fair, all the charges against her brother had been dropped. It wasn't the Duke’s fault that Jungkook had manipulated everything to kill her brother regardless. You killed his lover.

Sensing the clear discomfort in her tone, Jungkook smiled. “Don’t worry my love.” He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning her ear. “Yoongi engages in various liaisons, but only one truly holds his heart. He and I are a lot alike in that sense.”

The Min estate was a sight to behold, though it did not compare to the grandiose nature of the palace, YN found herself enjoying it more. It was brighter, a light sky color that matched the lush greenery that surrounded it. It was much smaller than a duke’s home should be, but that was to be expected of a secondary residence - even if it was where Min mainly stayed. In front stood Min Yoongi, as well as multiple staff, all different levels of anxiousness. Most thoughts revolved around the prince and what a pleasure it would be to serve his royal highness when they were so used to serving the duke and his lover. All of Yoongi’s thoughts, though, were on the girl. He longed to see her, only if to ease his curiosity. It had been so long since they had last met and Yoongi wanted to know if she had changed, what she had become. if she remained the same desperate child begging to be saved - or had transformed herself into a vicious snake.

As the carrier arrived, the driver quickly exited to open the door. Jungkook exited first with a sly smile on his face that caused most of the staff to swoon, and right behind him, wearing a simple satin high collared blue dress with a grey coat, exited YN. Her eyes cast around before they immediately dropped down. It wasn’t until Jungkook took her hand in his that she looked up, sending a blank look to the prince - which upon further inspection by the duke was filled with a mixture of contempt yet reluctance. Jungkook whispered something to her that caused her eyes to widen and she quickly looked up at Yoongi with fear in her eyes. The look mirroring one Jimin had given him the first time they had met.

It was gone rather quickly, replaced with a gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Yoongi wondered if that sort of training had been cemented by Jungkook or if much like his songbird YN had learned that adapting meant surviving.

After a brief tour of the home, the three of them had lunch though YN did not miss the fourth table set that went unused, much to the Duke’s apartments annoyance, the three then spoke in the patio for hours about politics, music, art, philosophy. Though it was more like YN was an observer than an active participant, Jungkook seemed fine about her lack of enthusiasm so long as she was draped on his lap or holding his hand. It was like she was a prize to be admired, but not engaged with. Any time she did wish to join the conversation, she would look up and meet Min Yoongi’s dark feline eyes and immediately sink back into silence. There was something about the duke that holy unnerved her, he seemed fine enough at first glance but the prince’s words kept bouncing around her head. Dinner then came and went, followed by drinks and finally it was time to retire.

“We have prepared two rooms like you asked.” Yoongi states, after waving away an approaching maid. “We hope they are to your enjoyment.” YN can’t help but feel a sense of relief at not having to share a room with Jungkook. They both excuse themselves and are guided up the stairs. Once the maid leaves, YN goes to enter the room but a hold on her wrist stops her. She turns back to look at Jungkook quizzically.

“Oh come on now darling, the rooms are for show.” He says amused. “It’s best not to cause an uproar the night before the wedding.” Jungkook doesn’t even give her time to respond, before he pulls her into his room and shuts the door. It is when he goes in for the kiss that YN rushes out a question that has been plaguing her all day. “Are you actually going to marry Soojin?” Jungkook stops, tilting his head to the side as if thinking over what she says. “Why? Are you jealous?” His tone is teasing, as he goes in for another kiss only to be stopped by YN once more. “You promised her you would. Promised me as well. Do you intend to keep it?”

Jungkook sighed, walking towards the bed and stripping off his clothes layer by layer. “Soojin has been my fiancé since we were children. I was always meant to wed her.” This causes YN’s chest to swell with excitement, only for it to be shattered seconds afterwards. “Still it is you who will be my queen. You did promise to wed me too recall? In exchange for protection from any more assassination attempts. Everyone always knows that first marriages are for gains and the second is for love.” He beckoned her closer, for some reason YN obeyed. Standing nearly nude in the moonlight YN once again was blinded by his beauty. He looked so much like an angel, but she knew devils could shapeshift to enticing forms.

Once again she wondered if things had been different would Jungkook have wooed her too. In another life, would she have come to love him? Would he even be interested in her? No use in thinking of what ifs. Nothing would change who Jungkook was now, just like it appeared nothing would save YN. Not as long as the prince was alive.

When YN awoke the next morning the prince was gone, the spot beside her in bed now cold. Though she couldn’t be certain it had ever been warm. She dressed and headed down stairs, surprised to find barely any staff and the duke gone as well. It’s a royal wedding of course they would all be gone. YN eyed the door and approached it, seeking an opportunity for escape. The place couldn’t possibly be as heavily guarded as the castle. YN hadn’t seen any guards or anything of the sort the day before. Just as her hand was about to grip the handle, a butler appeared startling her.

“Pardon the interruption my lady, but breakfast has been served outside in the garden.” YN smiles politely nodding before heading out towards the gardens. The gardens aren’t likely to be guarded. She could always escape into the forestry surrounding the house. As she exited the house, she caught sight of a man sitting at the table where breakfast was served. He was stunning, that was the first thing she noticed. With soft yet angled features, large lips, and delicate eyes. She must’ve been staring a long time because the man finally turned to look at her and in his eyes, YN could see a deep melancholy not dissimilar to her own.

“So you’re the prince’s whore?”

YN was taken aback by his bluntness, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be disrespected by someone who seemed to be in the same boat as her. So that’s what Jungkook meant. “Are you the Duke’s?”

He smiled, she could tell it wasn’t fake as humor filled his eyes. Only to quickly be replaced with sadness yet again. “I am his lover, his songbird, his whore.” The man looked forward towards the violets, “It all depends on his mood.” Then filled with mirth, “It all depends on the sex.” It was once he turned back towards her, his smile a mix of innocence and seduction that he finally stated his name. “You can call me Jimin though.” YN couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across her face, for even though she did not know what Jimin had gone through he was still surviving and that inspired her a bit.

The two of them ate in silence and merely observed the garden, breathing in the fresh air and taking in nature. YN thought this might be the first time she has ever been at peace after meeting Jungkook. It isn’t until the sun is higher in the sky, past midday or a bit before, that Jimin speaks again.

“They’re both gone. Off to the wedding it seems.” He says it with such resentment, YN can’t help but wonder if it's because he isn’t with them or Jimin dislikes weddings in general. When YN questions him, he chuckles. “No, I’m not mad. A whore isn’t welcome in a church after all.” The sly wink he sends her lets her know that she too is included in the joke. Even then, she wonders if Jimin even gets to leave at all. Suddenly Jungkook’s words when they were approaching the house pop into her head, “The Duke is fond of keeping treasures too so be sure not to catch his attention.”

“Perhaps we should have our own fun.” She says suddenly, little thought given to the consequences said action may hold for both of them.

Jimin turns to YN, eyes widened before his lips pucker into a pout. “I’m not allowed to leave and no one can go against the Duke’s wishes.”

“I outrank the Duke.” A bit of silence followed before the two of them broke out into wicked grins.

YN had never really been in the city, the area she used to reside in where the slums were, and even then she went out so little that her memories of it were vague. Jimin seemed to have a better idea of where they were going, dragging her from fashion boutique to cafes to bars and anywhere else he could think of. He seemed so jovial as if he were a bird able to fly after so long, when he looked it at YN it was with a mixture of glee and gratitude. Even if she didn’t enjoy all the attention garnered every time Jimin pulled out Yoongi’s money, she didn’t want to break what little happiness had returned to Jimin. Especially when he had seemed so starved of it.

“Here this is for you. If you’re forced and resigned to being the prince’s whore might as well dress the part.” Jimin often called her that instead of her name, but given the lack of malice in his voice whenever he did YN couldn’t bring herself to care. He handed her a velvet box, which upon opening it possessed a silver necklace with a black gemstone and matching ring. “Jimin I can’t take this.” It was certainly expensive judging by the look of it and she felt this was his way of saying thanks. “I appreciate it but -”

Jimin rolled his eyes and took the ring out of the box and forced it onto her finger. “Don’t make this a big deal. If you look like a victim people will treat you like one, but if you look like a queen...well no one goes against a queen.” He had maneuvered his way around her and placed the necklace on her neck tying it delicately on the back. “There now you look like a queen.” His fingers brushed comfortingly on the side of her neck. YN smiled and thanked him silently. They were towards the back of a store, it was a smaller boutique, likely only being able to contain no more than twenty people inside yet it was relatively empty. The stylist had stepped into the back after offering them beverages and hadn’t returned since.

As the two new friends continued their conversation, a car pulled up to the front of the store. It was a large suburban with thick windows that were blacked out. Since Jimin had his back to the front it was YN who first noticed it, finding it peculiar. It wasn’t until the car doors opened and she saw the sigil on the driver’s side that she recognized who it belonged to. Resistance. It didn’t take her too long to grasp at why they were there. Rather quickly she gripped Jimin’s arms, “Go to the back of the store and don’t come back out until it's safe.” Rather forcefully she shoved him towards the back and Jimin spared her a glance before running to the back of the store.

Please please please. YN didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but it was the only thing that occurred to her. Five burly men entered the store all setting their sights on her immediately. “Hello, Kim YN. Our leader would like to speak with you.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words couldn’t be any more of a farce, but Seokjin was nothing if not civil and polite. The smile forced onto his face was entirely charismatic and swayed anyone that looked it at. While being a good leader was important, good looks also aided Seokjin in staking his claim on the throne. Though people swore loyalty to the Kim’s and claimed to despise the Jeon’s, no one would rally behind an ugly person not when their prince looked like a fallen angel. “I’ve been told quite a lot about you. I am sorry that we have had to meet under these circumstances, but it isn’t very often the prince lets his most prized possession out of his sights.”

Truth was he could have waited, but Seokjin wanted to see her. Wanted to know what had captured not just the prince’s attention, but Namjoon’s as well. Now that YN was in front of him he saw nothing that could explain it. She’s rather plain looking. Not only that but she sat perfectly straight in her chair refusing to engage in any conversation at all. Her lips were pursed, face stoic, and eyes observed everything at a clinical distance. She acts like a Jeon that’s for sure. Well if she wasn’t going to reply might as well continue, “I am sure you have first hand experience of how cruel the Jeon’s can be. They are cold, cunning, and utilize dark arts to keep their power. They took what was once a great country, with wealth and happiness to go around and have hogged it all to the point were most of the population lives in extreme hunger and despair.”

“Have you ever gone hungry?” YN’s soft voice spoke out, barely above a whisper yet it captured all of Seokjin’s attention. “It seems strange to me to hear about hunger and despair from a man who has never experienced it in his life.”

Seokjin was taken aback, but kept his calm. “I have faced much despair in my life, but it would take too long to go into detail about it. Plus I am not fond of comparing traumas.”

“What dark arts do you speak of? I’ve never heard of the Jeon’s performing dark arts.” That was a lie, but YN was baiting him. Plus if Seokjin had useful information that could help her escape Jungkook then she was willing to do anything.

Seokjin smiled, “A group of less than a hundred men stormed a castle full of guards, nobility, and the royal family and within an hour had slaughtered them all and taken control. Of course, it was magic.”

So he knows nothing. YN remained quiet, she observed Kim Seokjin the way one might a potential threat. Even if he had yet to attack or make his intentions clear, the only person YN had met that hadn’t attempted to coerce her or hurt her had been Jimin. The odds weren’t in her favor. Even Namjoon whom she had thought of as a friend had acted strange the last time they met. “Unless there is something you know. Which may help us restore the imbalance of power and return things back to their harmonious state.”

It was clear neither were buying what the other was selling and it was only a matter of time before that truth became obvious to the two of them.

“What I am trying to get at my lady is, it would not only benefit the kingdom but you as well if you -” Before Seokjin could finish his pitch, the doors of his office slammed open and in strolled Kim Namjoon decked in a royal blue blazer with matching top and cream pants, he looked like a leader and with the way he regarded Seokjin it was clear which one of them truly called the shots. “I learned you kidnapped Lady Kim when I specifically asked you not to. Now we have both an angry prince and Duke on our hands.”

“The prince is getting married, he is far too concerned with his future bride to care where his mistress is.”

“Ah, well since you clearly know Jeon Jungkook so well explain to me then why fourteen of our allies had their families raided and imprisoned not ten minutes after you took her.”

Both Seokjin and YN froze in shock, unable to believe what they had just heard. Ten minutes? It took ten minutes for Jungkook to find out she was missing and exact his revenge when he was more than a hundred miles away. “Don’t play with me Namjoon.” Seokjin’s voice had lost all its charm and was not monotone, “This isn’t funny.” Namjoon scoffed, “They’re awaiting their sentencing and everyone knows it's the gallows for traitors.” An image of her brother’s dead body flashed before YN and she struggled to not heave. “Now go fix it.” Namjoon demanded, pointing his finger out the door. Seokjin marched out not sparing YN a look, but she could tell by the look on his face he would surely blame her for this. It’s always my fault.

YN sat stunned in silence as Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends with frustration. She glanced towards her lap trying not to make eye contact, her hands were shaking and YN gripped her skirt in order to steady them. “I can talk him out of it.” YN wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Namjoon or herself. “He wouldn’t -”

“Yes, he would YN. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re dead already.” He muttered, before sighing and gazing at her sympathetically. “Don’t blame yourself my lady. This isn’t your fault.”

YN chuckled humorlessly, “All of this is my fault. Every death that has occurred since the prince and I crossed paths has been my fault.” Or by my hand. Lady Eun and Vito flashed before her eyes.

“Well then I shall have to start referring to you as Lady Death or Lady D for short.”

YN smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, “Very funny my lord.” The two stared into each other's eyes for a while before YN finally broke the calm silence that had settled between them. “Is Kim Seokjin an ivy or a lily?” The smile on the lord’s face melts away before he quickly replaces it with one that doesn’t reach his eyes. There is a mask on his face that YN has only seen him wear around others before and she smurmises what it must mean - Namjoon finally sees her as a threat.

“He is a Kim with a stake to the throne, one of the last remaining ones.” He walks towards a leather seat right across from where she is. Namjoon sits the way a gentleman would, reclining yet keeping his back straight and shoulders square. Head held high as his height caused him to look down at her ever so slightly. YN found herself imagining what he would look like with a crown on his head. “So what is your plan? To use Seokjin and let him die in his quest for the throne?” Her eyebrow raises as she questions whether Namjoon would be as cruel to use someone for their own personal gains, then again that seems to be the norm among the nobility.

“Seokjin won’t die.” Namjoon spoke as if this were a fact and not an optimistic delusion.

“Please don’t be foolish, my lord. The Jeons and Seo’s will wipe out any possible threat that exists to them.” YN had experienced it first hand.

“The Seo’s believe where all lunatics clinging to the past and the Jeons would never attack without solid reasoning.”

YN laughed, “The prince just executed four families without solid reasoning.”

“No,” Namjoon shook his head as disappointed she didn’t understand. “The prince executed conspirators that may have played a role in the kidnapping of a court lady and his lover.”

YN fixed him with a pointed stare, “You know the truth.”

Namjoon leans forward in his seat, “The truth doesn’t matter, tell a lie enough times it becomes the truth. People don’t want to believe the reality, they want to hear what is most convenient to them.”

“What is this truth that you are trying to tell? That Seokjin is the true heir when the Kim line has been so mixed that’s nearly impossible. Or is that little speech all you have?” YN was frustrated. Tired of being treated like a pawn in a larger game of thrones. “You seem to be under the illusion that I am completely unaware of what having a Kim king was like. I don’t like the Jeons nor the Kims, both patriarchy’s have set about ruining the kingdom each in their own way.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to have a patriarch on the throne.” He smirked.

YN’s words died on her tongue as the statement caused her to pause. It unsettled, then it all began to click. Jungkook’s intense desire to make her queen, Soojin questioning her family name, Namjoon’s insistence, even her brother’s untimely death. At that moment YN longed to be anywhere else but there to be far away: back in the store with her brother, back in their childhood home with her parents, even locked back inside the palace bedrooms. At least there she knew what to expect, what future awaited her. There her status as a sister, daughter, prisoner were clear. Inside the rebel grounds they were not, she was about as certain of her fate as she had been that night in the dungeon. “What do you mean?” The look Namjoon gave her spoke for itself. You know what he means, don’t deny it any longer. “YN,” he rose from his chair cautiously, his eyes hesitant as if unsure how she would react. For a split second, YN could see what looked like trepidation in his eyes but what would the great Lord Kim have to be afraid of? “You were never merely a pawn and it was never nearly a name.”

Soojin sat restlessly on the marriage bed, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. She was certain there were ears glued to the chamber doors and could feel eyes on her figure, yet she couldn’t tell where they came from. The wedding had been a spectacle if a little small, but she supposed it would help cement her image as a humble princess. It wasn’t a good look to waste millions on a wedding when the country’s poor were starving. Her knees were tucked into her chamise as the cold air in the room nipped at her skin, the lit fire was too far away to offer anything besides light. Though she longed to go near it, she had been told it was bad luck for the bride to step foot off the bed before the marriage had been consummated. Even if it already had been days before.

She isn’t exactly sure how long passes, but knows that it must have been a while since the cold nipping at her had long seeped into her bones and was now causing her to shiver. The silk bedding offered little protection. More time passed and Soojin found herself dozing off, the new moon high in the sky before she was awoken by the ringing of a bell. It announced that someone wished to enter the room and Soojin gave her permission. A young maid entered, hair tucked tightly into a bun as she bowed deeply. She looked familiar to the princess and she racked her brain trying to find her name before finally recalling, Ah yes, Sana. The whore’s maid. Soojin didn’t think much of it, since YN was no longer in the castle and posed no threat to her. She regarded the maid civilly.

“What is it?”

“I apologize, your highness, the prince has left the castle for the city and it seems he will not be returning before tomorrow.”

Soojin laughed, to her it must have been a joke. Surely Jungkook would not leave on their wedding night to be with his mistress when his wife was right there. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and realized she was not only laughing, but crying as well. Finally Sana looked up at her, eyes filled with pity and any sadness in Soojin turned to rage. I see. YN had sent her maid to taunt her, to show that even though Soojin was queen Jungkook still belonged to her. Soojin raised her hand to strike the maid, when a sudden sharp pain from her abdomen caused her to fall over.

“Princess?!” Sana rushed to her help, only to be pushed away by Soojin. “Leave! Lock the doors! I don’t want anyone to see me!” She roared like a lioness and Sana backed away, bowed in submission. It was once she heard the small ‘click’ of the locked door that Soojin allowed the sobs to wreck through her body as the pain in her stomach worsened. What is happening to me? She raises her hand and sees small drops of water that have stuck. Soojin could not remember the last time she had cried. Perhaps it had been her sixth birthday when her father had died or perhaps it had been when her mother scolded her for crying after his death.

Nonetheless she did not have time to dwell on it for the pain she felt forced her up and had her heaving. She could feel something crawling up her throat and she tried desperately not to choke on it. I won’t give up this fight. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. The pain was harsher than ever and it burned so much that Soojin swore it would tear itself from the inside out. She had no choice but to open her mouth and let it out. Soojin expected a lot of things to exit her: bile, the wedding cake, even flowers if she were to be honest. What she did not expect was the small baby snake in the pool of blood; which upon closer inspection by the princess was dead.

When YN arrived at the Min house it looked deserted as if not a soul resided in it, but she knew Jungkook was waiting inside. Even far away, YN could sense the danger radiating from inside - Jungkook was sure to be infuriated and she hoped it wasn’t too late to talk him down from his anger before more innocent people lost their lives. She pushed through the front doors, not surprised to find them open, and saw Jungkook waiting for her sat upon the stairs. What did come as a shock to her was that he was still wearing his wedding clothes. Did he really come straight after? His long hair is styled back to show off his undercut, the tight fit of his suit - a grey and white jacket with matching pants and the Jeon symbol embroidered on the left breast - show off his figure nicely. When the prince catches her staring he smirks, but it does little to subdue the fire present in his eyes.

“Oh and did the rebellion help you find your way back darling? How nice of them. Not to worry, I’ve already sent them my thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but it stoked YN’s own fury how casually he spoke about killing people. How little he cared.

“Haven’t you killed enough?! Those poor people have nothing to do with it and you know it. Stop murdering people as a show of power.” She was seething, not being able to bear the guilt of anymore blood on her hands.

“A display of power?” Jungkook raised his eyebrow, “If I wanted to display my power, I would have murdered every single person in that little so called rebellion. No what I did was a display of my love for you.” Even through his insanity, she could see he was being honest and that terrified her even more.

“How do you think it looks to your people that on your wedding day, you’re more concerned with your mistress's disappearance than your own wife?” Though Jungkook didn’t care about appearances, the crown still had an image to uphold.

Jungkook opened his mouth, letting it form a small ‘o.’ “I see you’ve been under the impression this whole time that the public knows who you are.” He smiled at her confused expression, “You see while the public is aware that I have taken a mistress, all they know is that she is a lady of the court. But the murders that occurred tonight were due to the aiding of a wanted criminal.”

“A what?” It was not the first time that day that YN had found herself as the centerpiece in a chessboard. Except that while she had just been told she was the strongest piece - this conversation would serve as a reminder of who truly controlled the game. “Your brother was an enemy of the state, one that conspired to overthrow the throne. While normally I allow Kim Seokjin to play diliances since everyone is aware his claim is less than weak, him reaching out to you demonstrates that he is a far more threatening player than I had originally anticipated.” He shrugs, “If you ever do manage to escape you will be persecuted for your crimes against the crown.” He would throw me in a cell and let me rot to prove a point. No, it’s more than that. Jungkook is not only cornering her, but the Kims in general. A criminal can’t be a ruler.

YN walks toward Jungkook, her stride strong and determined as she crossed the space between them to come kneel in front of him. Once they were at eye level, she tenderly cupped his cheek. Whispering softly, “Are you afraid he sought me out to get to you? Is that what this is?” Jungkook leans into her embrace, trying to steal a kiss. YN avoids him by instead brushing her lips over the shell of his ear, “After everything you have done to me I do not need outside forces to compel me to hate you.” When she pulled back, she saw something unexpected. There were tears in Jungkook’s eyes, not dissimilar to the ones that had been there when she had told him of his father’s plan. For a split second, YN found herself wondering once again what might have happened if the two of them had met in a different time. If Jungkook were not the cruel prince that he is and had not hurt her, could she love him? Or were they doomed to repeat the same brutal love story for all of eternity.

Jungkook’s hand snapped up to grab a hold of YN’s neck and he flipped them around, caging her between the marble stairs and his own body. “It is not his interest in me or my crown that fills me with bloodlust, but rather his interest in you.” The prince’s grip was so tight, she could feel the indents of his fingers being left behind.

Perhaps she should have waited for a better time. Perhaps YN should not have taken the bait so clearly laid out by the prince, but it had been a long day and the only person who could truly give her answers stood right in front of her. “How long?” She questions in a broken whisper. “When did you know?” Had he known this whole time and that’s why he had been stringing her along? People in the kingdom longed to go back to a time before the Jeons, but their hatred did not extend towards the prince. In their eyes he was nothing like his cruel bloodline. Jungkook drew her closer, his lips trailing up her nose bridge until he planted a kiss on her forehead. “If you're afraid my interest in you is solely due to your bloodline, don’t be afraid. Something as measly as a name wouldn’t sway my affection.” He lowered his head, to make sure they were at eye level, “besides you’ll be a Jeon soon. Whether or not you are of royal bloodline will not matter once you are queen. If anything it will legitimize your place beside me.” The smile he gave her was saccharine, full of nothing but love and adoration. As if his words were meant to comfort her, when they were only a display of how carefully he had orchestrated everything.

“When?” YN repeated, glaring at him with so much fury Jungkook swore he should be beneath the ground.

“After our conversation in your cell. I had Yoongi and Jimin find information about you and deliver it to me.” He drew away, leaving space between them in case his words evoked a physical reaction. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled. Then I read about your parents, what a strange accident that seemed to be.” His finger tapped his chin mockingly. “Especially so soon after your adoption had been finalized. Then I traced your lineage only to find it didn’t exist. Since my grandfather took the throne every single person born with the surname Kim has been documented, yet you don’t exist.” His pitch raised, dramatizing his words. “Seems like someone went a long way to make a little girl from nowhere completely disappear.” The prince shrugged, as if his words had not completely shattered everything YN once knew to be true.

“That is how I knew.”

YN lunged at him, she didn’t exactly know what had compelled her to, but she did. The strength behind said attack seemed to surprise even Jungkook. Still he looked entirely serene when she straddled and wrapped her hands around his throat, deciding to repay him for what he had done seconds before. YN squeezed with all her might. Instead of being afraid Jungkook began to laugh, maniacally so, “Honestly darling, first stabbing and now choking. What’s next, are you going to try to poison me?”

“Morte isn’t here.” YN spat out, “There’s nothing to ensure you survive.” The prince was beginning to turn red, face swelling at the constriction of air flow, yet he kept laughing. She had begun to understand the type of power Jungkook wielded, if Morte was his lifeline like Vito was hers. Then not having the snake around made him vulnerable.

“I don’t need a snake to keep me alive because you won’t kill me.”

“Who says I won’t?!”

By now hints of purple had started to seep through, he was gasping for air. “B-because i-if you d-do I’ll k-kill i-it. I’ll k-kill s-Soojin’s unborn child.”

YN stilled, but did not relinquish her grip. “You’ll be dead. You won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

“I’m the only thing keeping her alive,” he smiled sadistically. “The second I die, Seokjin will take power and he won’t hesitate to slaughter. Or maybe it’ll be your precious Namjoon. Perhaps even Sana, she’ll be so filled with envy and rage that I didn’t impregnate her that she will poison Soojin.” He leaned forward, licking his lips. “Then it will not only be my blood on your hands, but that of an innocent child.” As his words set in, YN’s fingers slacked and Jungkook took advantage, wrapping his arms around her torso. YN stared up at him, “How could you be so cruel?” It wasn’t until she tasted the salt on her lips that she even realized she was crying.

“I will do anything to keep us together. Whether alive or dead, you cannot escape me.”

_6 Months Later_

“Princess, are you ready? The prince and King are waiting for you.”

Soojin sighed, standing up from the chair she had decided to rest on and allowed the maid to guide her towards the front of the palace. There was to be a tour today, charity work where the royal family went out and pretended to care about their people. The last tour, before Soojin had known about her pregnancy had been a success, even if it had been cut short by the King’s health suddenly declining once more. Still today’s trip towards the city’s slums was sure to not be too troublesome. Just smile and nod. Her hand brushed tenderly over her large bump, it was quite big for the stage she was at and had been the cause of much speculation and rumors. Still Jungkook played the role of doting husband and soon-to-be father so well, no one would ever suspect Soojin had only seen him a handful of times since the wedding. Even less since the engagements.

Whom Soojin had not seen at all was YN. Though it caused her nothing but glee to think the wedding and pregnancy had hurt her in some way. The princess also knew that enemies should be kept closest of all, even more than her own son. “Did YN receive my gift?” She whispered lowly, so as not to be heard. The maid nodded, “Yes, princess. It was delivered at dawn by a neutral party.” Good, then she’ll be out of our hands soon. If YN was smart she would take the chance offered by Soojin, even if it was a trap that was sure to leave her permanently out of the picture. When she arrived at the main entrance, she noted all the guards and nobility lined up to bid them farewell yet - “My son will not be joining us. He has received word of the rebellion planning an attack and I have ordered him to stay.” King Jeon barely spared her a glance before adjusting his crown and entering the car.

Soojin grimaced, but put on a smile when entering. It’ll be fine. Just smile, nod, and make them love their future queen. The King’s days were numbered, anyone could see, that is why the rebellion was getting bolder. Staging public protests, spreading propaganda, and small planned attacks. They were building to something. Rumor had it they had infiltrated the castle and though Kim Seokjin had always been the face, Soojin had heard through the grapevine someone else truly pulled the strings. It's ridiculous. Just a little boy playing dress up. So the princess pushed it from her mind, cradling her stomach as the car drove away into the road to embark on the journey, unaware it would be the one that would lead her straight to death.

YN didn’t know exactly how long she had been walking, but considering the sun had just risen when she had sneaked out of the castle and was now about to set she must’ve walked a significant distance. She hadn’t brought much with her, wanting to leave before Sana brought her breakfast or Jungkook stopped by. Only a jacket, a change of shoes, some money, a map, and Jimin’s gift tucked away in case the worst happened. The blisters on her feet were surely bleeding by now, but stopping to rest was a risk YN wasn’t willing to take. Cliche as it might be, YN heard the snapping of a branch before she realized she had company. “Lady YN.” When she turned around she was greeted with Park Jinyoung and Lee Baekhyung. “The King has requested you return to the palace as soon as possible.” The guard’s faces were as stoic as YN remembered considering she had not seen them in a long time.

He sent his lap dogs after me...wait, the king? “I believe you’re mistaken, surely the King has greater concerns than me.”

Baekhyung smiled, “Nonsense, nothing is more important to the King than you right now. And we’ve been sent to escort you back.”

“Or retrieve you by force if necessary.” Jinyoung added.

YN didn’t need to look to know she was surrounded by guards, still the trip had not been useless. She had gotten what she was after and the men were none the wiser.

“The vehicle transporting the King and princess was attacked by the rebellion. Not all made it out alive.”

YN gasped, No. That can’t be. Before YN could dwell on it any longer, the guards grabbed her and dragged her to the car. She didn’t put up a fight, too many thoughts running through her head, but one stood out above all. Soojin can’t be dead.

“Get it out of me!” Soojin screamed, pain wrecking her body as she contorted every which way. Several maids held her down as they tried to save her son. “Get him out of me! He’s dying! He’s killing me!” Truth is with every contraction felt, Soojin found herself becoming weaker. Her muscles ached yet felt tender, bones brittle as if made of stone, every time she breathed it felt like she was inhaling smoke. What is this?! What is going on?! “Please princess. Just push. Breathe and push.” Soojin tried to do what she said, but instead of easing the pain it only made it worse. The knife had long been discarded and the maids were now attempting to help take the baby out, but it didn’t explain the pain. “Stop it hurts! It hurts!” She cried out, feeling like she was being torn from the inside out.

The second she realized that, Soojin swore she felt claws trace the lining of her stomach from the inside. “Get that fucking thing out of me!” He isn’t human. It isn’t human. She had long been warned of the dangers of a Jeon pregnancy, but Soojin hadn’t listened. She never listened and it would finally cause her death. I should have killed it. By now the blood spilled all over the sheets, floors, and clothes was turning a dark red. I should have killed the girl before he met her. Soojin felt her heart begin to beat slower. I should have killed the witch. Her senses weakening as spots filled her vision. I should have killed him when I had the chance. A flash of memory came to mind: the night she had told Jungkook of her pregnancy, how delighted he seemed to have been, yet when he spoke of ‘we’ she had somehow known it wasn’t about her. He knew, he knew all this time...and all to be with her.

“Just one final push princess and that’s it.” Soojin's smile was filled with melancholy as she gave one final push, bringing the new prince into this earth. When the child took his first breath, she took her last.

YN stood in front of the giant throne room, she hadn’t bothered changing knowing the King would look at her with disgust no matter what she wore. Tentatively she knocked, before the doors were slammed open and YN entered her eyes to the ground displaying submission. “You requested me, your highness.” Instead of a response, she heard a babble. When her eyes snapped up YN saw what to others might be the stuff of dreams, but to her, it was her worst nightmare come true. Jungkook sat upon the throne, a heavily jeweled crown resting on his head - the Kings crown. His entire focus was on the newborn in his arm. He gazed lovingly at the small boy and even cooed at it. Jungkook was so entranced a goofy grin adorned his face as he coddled his son.

Eventually the prince King did look up and what you saw in his eyes was an amalgamation of pure love, obsession, and insanity. “Look Mommy’s here.”

#yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #prince jeon jungkook #royalty au #yandere au #yandere bangtan #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere kpop #prince of nothing #prince of nothing iv #pon #pon iv #girlmeetsliv3

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braiawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Lost & Found - Chapter 4

Summary: A glimpse into Pellia's story. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya

Words: 2046

Rating: sfw

Warnings: Minor mention of blood.

Links:

Fic Masterlist

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FIVE

Prompt by newblood-freya

Read it on AO3

Writing Masterlist

Send me an ask!

***

“Alright, fine. I’ll figure it out myself,” the mortal said, her eyes dark under a scowl.

Pellia watched as she turned, Cardan perched on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. She hadn’t necessarily meant to harm him when she’d changed him into a cat, but from the way the girl clearly coddled him, she thought perhaps she’d done him a favour.

Cardan twisted to look back at her in the cramped confines of the cell. He gave her a slow, haughty blink—probably because he couldn’t smirk—before settling himself like a scarf over the human’s shoulders.

Pellia did the only thing one could be expected to do in response to such an insult: she flipped him off, and then, for good measure, stuck her tongue out at him too.

He flicked his tail before turning away, and Pellia threw her arms up with an exclamation of defeat.

“That was so unnecessary,” she called after the retreating form of the cat prince and his human. Neither of them turned back.

With a sigh, Pellia retreated to the palette at the back of her cell and sank onto the bed. She felt the prickle of tears at the corners of her eyes, but she tried to push them down, blink them away, something. She couldn't cry, not here, not now.

If any tears were to be shed, they wouldn’t be hers. She’d vowed that to herself six months ago, when she’d crossed the sea from Delaware to Faerieland. She’d come with steel in her hands and poisons at her belt. With fury in her eyes and vengeance on her heart. She had come with one purpose and one purpose alone: to take back what was hers, what he’d stolen.

And until she recovered what she’d come for, she had vowed that she would not weep.

You will not cry, she reminded herself. You will not cry, you will not cry—

“You will not cry.” The words were carried from her mouth on a trembling breath, a mantra and a promise and a plea, torn from so deep in her heart that Pellia was certain her next breath would be crimson with blood.

Her thoughts fell again to Cardan and the girl, her skin burning bright with shame as she realized she had never actually seen them leave. She hoped they hadn’t heard her.

Oh, yes, she thought bitterly, because that would be all she needed: the cruel prince and his nosy human girlfriend, seeing her at her weakest. The cherry on top of her melting sundae.

She laughed at the thought, and then laughed some more, because there was something churning in her gut and clutching at her heart, and if she didn’t laugh at the pain then she’d cry and she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how bitter she felt or how hot her rage burned, she could not cry until she was free and back home in Delaware, until she was safe and her family was whole again.

~ ~ ~

She’d known a storm was brewing from the first time she'd met him. It had been a Wednesday evening and the wind blowing off the coast was warm with the promise of summer. Pellia had been walking home from school, her slender fingers skillfully weaving a crown of wildflowers. Beside her, her younger sister talked animatedly about her day: the presentation she’d given in science class, the book her English class was starting, who she’d talked with at lunch.

Neither of them noticed the figure following twenty or so paces behind them.

Pellia tucked the last stem into the crown and turned it in her hands, admiring her handiwork as Amber changed topics.

“So, in drama we’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and I’m going to audition for Titania. I think I’d make a good Faerie queen, anyway, but I was thinking maybe you could help me act all magical and Fae-like.”

Pellia looked up from where she was fixing a rip in a flower petal. It was a small magic, but Amber’s eyes sparked as she watched the petal knit itself together.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing you do that,” she sighed. “I wish I had magic.”

Pellia’s brow lifted. “Faerie isn’t as innocent as you think it is, love.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I didn’t say anything about Faerie,” Amber pouted, “just that I wish I had magic. I dunno, I think it would be cool.”

“You have your own kind of magic—the power of being the bane of my existence and also somehow my favourite human.” Pellia’s shoulder bumped Amber’s in a playful jostle.

“You flatter me, oh great pain in my a—”

“Hey! Watch your profanity.”

“My profanity!”

“Mhm.”

“You have the dirtiest mouth I’ve ever heard from anyone. And you’re telling me to watch my language?!”

Pellia let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Nevermind.” She paused, lifting the flower crown in her hands. “For my Queen Titania. I spelled it so it wouldn’t die.”

Amber took the circlet almost reverently holding it up to see each vibrant petal in the sun’s light.

“It’s shiny,” she pointed out. “Is there a glamour on it?”

Pellia gave her sister a lopsided grin. “A little. I tried to tone it down a bit, but—I couldn’t resist. It’ll glamour you, too, when you wear it.”

Her younger sister said nothing for a moment, just staring at the crown—and then a huge grin broke across her face, brighter than a thousand suns.

“I love it, Pell, thank you.”

She lifted the crown to nestle among chestnut locks, letting the leaves weave into her hair. As soon as they touched her head, she seemed to glow more vividly, her eyes sparkling and her skin smoothing and her cheeks blushing a warm pink. She beamed at her older sister, then shoved her off the sidewalk.

Pellia squeaked as she flailed to catch her balance. Her eyes, glamoured brown, met Amber’s mischievous hazel gaze.

“I just made you a flower crown, bro,” Pellia said, her shock mingling with amusement.

“Yeah, and I love it!”

“Well, you’re a little brat, you know that?”

“Love you, too, Pell!” Amber sang, spinning gracefully to continue the last stretch of their walk home.

Pellia shook her head—and that was when she saw him, out of the corner of her eye.

Wearing a long, dark shirt, tied at the waist with a golden sash, woolen leggings despite the tepid weather, and leather slip shoes that clearly had not come from the human world, he was impossible to mistake.

How long had he been following them? Pellia wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

She turned, casually, and started after Amber’s retreating form at a stroll, before breaking into a jog with a call of, “You’re going to pay for that! And for making me run!”

Ahead, Amber cackled. As Pellia caught up to her, she elbowed her sister in the side, grinning.

“Hey, so guess what?”

“What?”

“Well, act natural, and don’t look, but there’s someone trailing us.”

Before Amber could follow the natural inclination to glance over her shoulder, Pellia slung her arm around her little sister’s neck and leaned in.

“I said don’t look. Now pretend I said something funny.”

Amber laughed. It was actually very convincing—she was a good actress.

“You’re kidding,” the younger girl chuckled, bumping her older sister with her elbow.

“I wish I was. But something about him makes me uneasy. And he’s fey, too, which pretty much automatically means bad news.”

“How would you even know that?”

“I saw it!” Pellia said, pulling out her phone. “Like, I turned around and he was just—right there. I swear!”

Opening her camera, Pellia angled her phone to better see their stalker. She made a show of checking her hair, her makeup, eyes glued to the figure in the background. She zoomed in. The hilt of a sword peeked over his shoulder.

Definitely not peaceable, then, she thought. Pellia made her decision:

“We're not going home.” She pulled her sister by the arm, turning a corner away from their house.

“I think you're being a tiny bit paranoid, Pell,” Amber said, attempting to pull away.

“No,” the pixie shook her head. The buildings on this street were tighter, packed together with cramped alleyways between every couple.

They approached an intersection and Pellia pointed to the building across the way. “Go, inside the gas station. I'll come get you in a sec.”

“Fiiine.” The younger girl pouted, but turned away.

“Hurry!” Pellia hissed, and Amber jogged across the empty street.

Rushed footsteps came from around the corner, and Pellia ducked down one of the alleys, dropping her bag and pressing herself against the brick wall.

She listened, trying to quiet her breathing.

The steps ceased abruptly. Pellia reached for the cord around her neck, pulling it from beneath her shirt.

The dagger she unsheathed was small, but definitely better than nothing. She tucked the sheath on its cord back beneath her shirt and adjusted her grip on the hilt. The leather was smooth beneath her fingers, the blade glinting sharply.

The footsteps resumed, cautiously.

Their owner came into view, looking the wrong direction. Pellia slipped from the alley and slid behind him, the edge of her knife held to his neck as pulled him back into the shade between houses. At his struggle, she pressed the blade against his skin.

“I don't know which part of Faerie you're from,” she purred into his ear, “but in the court where I grew up, it was generally considered rude to follow people like that.”

She shoved him face first into the wall, her hand between his shoulder blades. “So? Who are you and what do you want?”

“I was just sent to gather intel, I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. His voice was higher than she’d expected and his throat bobbed under her blade as he spoke.

“I’m so reassured.” The sarcasm dripping from Pellia’s voice was fatal. “Who sent you?”

“I—I can’t say,” he said.

“You might wanna try.” Her blade pressed in.

“Oath!” he squeaked, flinching away from her. “I took an oath, I cannot speak his name!”

Pellia’s brows went up at this. To hold that kind of power over someone…

“Why does he want to know about me?”

“I don’t know,” the fae whimpered. “He doesn’t tell me these things. I only know what I am to do, never the reason.”

She rocked back on her heels, allowing her grip to loosen on his collar. Her mind was racing, trying to fit together the insubstantial pieces of this puzzle. She hadn’t dealt with anyone from Faerie since they’d fled to the mortal world. She didn’t know how she’d been found, let alone why someone would be tracking her in the first place.

“Please don’t kill me.” The words came out as little more than a breath, but they sent a little thrill through Pellia’s stomach all the same.

She laughed. “Kill you? This is a new shirt, I don’t want your blood all over it. Besides, I need you to take a message back for me.”

Her captive nodded, his cheek scraping against the brick.

She leaned in. “Tell your boss that if he wants to know something, he can come talk to me himself. And in the meantime, he can stay out of my business. Oh, and you might also let him know that I hold grudges; the next person he sends to ‘gather intel’ won’t be coming back.”

At the faerie’s promise to leave immediately, Pellia released him. She watched as he headed back toward the coast, flinching at a passing car. What had been the point in sending someone to trail her, especially someone so obviously out of his depth in the human world?

Pellia shook her head. She hoped this would be the end of it, but something deep down told her that it wouldn’t be over so simply.

Two weeks later, she returned home to a dark haired, silver-eyed prince in her living room. Her family was out.

“My greetings, Pellia Nerium,” Balekin Greenbriar said. “Have a seat. I have a proposition to discuss with you.”

***

A/N: This chapter was so much fun to write and I developed Pellia's backstory so much, which I was kind of not expecting. I feel like I'm discovering what happens next along with all of you haha! I do hope you've been enjoying so far! I promise cat!Cardan and Jude will be back next chapter.

Thank you for sticking around every week to read, it honestly makes me so happy to know that there are people who are enjoying my writing. And if you have the time, I would love if you left a comment to let me know what you think! Also, please let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Until next week, lovelies!

Tagging: @stardustsroses @nahthanks @jurdanhell @my-one-true-l @thefolkofthefic @greenbriarxrose @bookavert @queen-of-demons-and-hell @theviolettulip @lysandra-ghost-leopard @playlistmusings @localgoof @garnet-babe @iamaprincessallgirlsare

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forever-rogue · 5 years ago

Text

Of Princes & Berries - Part 1

A/N: Yeah, so I have like zero self control, and I’m so deep in my Pedro feels and Oberyn is one of my og loves. In this family we throw canon out the window. Canon? I don’t know her. Anyways, this will probably be like 2-3 parts, y’all will get some sexy times, so hold tight. As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: slight language

MASTERLIST

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Popping a few of the fresh, succulent berries into your mouth, you received a tut and playful glare from the chef that was busy preparing various foods for feasts throughout the day. You gave him an innocent smile before putting a finger to your lips.

"Those are for the prince," he reminded you playfully, passing a jug of wine towards you, "those were imported just for him, best not eat them all."

"Oh relax," you gently bumped him with your hip as you loaded everything onto your serving tray, "our esteemed guest won't be missing a few of them. Besides, these are so much mode delicious than the ones we have here. Ours are so lackluster and have no flavor. These are practically bursting with juice and flavor. Maybe the best I’ve ever had!”

"Why do you think he specifically asked for them?" he turned back to the pot he was stirring, giving you a little sigh.

"Because he's the fucking prince of Dorne?" you started to lift the tray up to carry it to the gardens where he was no doubt waiting, "and he's got impeccable taste. Looks, taste, people throwing themselves at him left and right? What a life he leads.”

"Just make sure this gets out to him," he insisted and you gave him a small salute as you headed out of the dim kitchens, “and no detours to eat more berries!”

A small sigh escaped your lips as you stepped into the daylight and felt the sun's rays hit you and instantly warm you up. Everything felt lighter already. Most days in King's Landing were overcast and not this beautiful, at least not during this time of year, and you planned on taking full advantage of it. Perhaps later, when you were done with morning duties, you’d go and set by the sea for a while. It always relaxed something deep within you.

As soon as you spied the prince, staring out into sea, a smile grew on your face. You'd spoken to him a few times here and there, mostly in passing, since his arrival at King's Landing. He was a bright spot, a welcome interruption in our normally monotonous and drool days.

He always spoke to you in a kind manner, taking the time to ask your name, how you were doing, small things. But unlike most people in the court, he seemed genuine in his actions, kind even. He truly listened when you spoke, rather than just blowing you off.

As you approached him, a smile stretched across his handsome features when he realized it was you, causing a small flutter in your heart.

"Good morning, Y/N," he stood and offered you a small bow as you set the tray down on the table in front of him. It was a sign of respect; reverence. Proprietary would have you bowing to him, but he never was one for rules, "how are you on this fair day?"

"Your highness," you beamed at him, pushing a plate of berries at him, "I dare say my day has been much improved. What good luck it was that they sent me to serve you."

"Good fortune, even a wonderful twist of fate," he sat back and watched you intently, "or perhaps I made a simple request."

"A request," you raised an eyebrow as you sneaked a berry, which just made him chuckle at you. Normally, with almost anyone else, you'd never be so bold. But with Oberyn...it felt normal, right even, "you asked for me?"

"You sound surprised," he mused as you leaned against the table, trying to soak up as much sun as possible, "why does it surprise you so?"

"I don't know," you said quietly, "I just never thought I'd make that much of an impression on anyone. I prefer to pass by quietly, generally."

"You've made quite the impression on me, sweet girl," he said softly. You caught your bottom lip in between your teeth as his words fell over you, "I'll take every opportunity I can to look at that lovely face."

"You flatter me," but a content sigh escaped your lips nonetheless, "it is I who am in awe of your beauty, your highness. Surely."

“Now you’re just flattering me, fanning my ego like everyone else,” he waved his hand at you laughed at him, “I didn’t specifically ask for you just because you fall in line like everyone else.”

“I’m sorry then,” you playfully stuck your tongue out at him, “I shall never flatter you again. Nothing but complete honesty.”

“A simple request, no?” he teased, letting his fingers linger near yours. You studied his hands, the few scars that had marred the warm, tan skin. He was really was beautiful, such a sight to behold in your otherwise dreary life, “can I ask you something...perhaps too forward?”

“Yes,” permission was given without hesitation, and worry. Nothing about him worried in you in that sense. Sure, he was the Red Viper, deadly, feared, and brutal in his own way, but you saw past that...he was also kind, gentle, surprisingly soft spot and quick as a whip, “anything.”

“Have you been with a prince before?”

“I’ve been with many men who call themselves all sort of things,” you shrugged your shoulders as you poured more wine into his goblet, “kings, princes, knights, lords. You name it and I’ve been with one.”

“And have they lived up to your expectations?”

“Hardly,” you grabbed a berry and popped into your mouth, and raising an eyebrow at him, “the only time I’ve experienced true pleasure, it has certainly not been at the hands of a man.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” you sat down across from him, far overstepping any boundaries that remained. But Oberyn was different; he wasn’t like all the other princes and lords who spoke down to you like you were some sort of mere peasant. He treated you like an actual person. That in itself was enough to keep you intrigued; his delicious, warm accent didn’t hurt either. It was like music to your ears, sweet like the wine that flowed freely throughout the court, and much more pleasant than the harsh accents of the King’s Landing that you’d have grown accustomed to.

“You prefer the company of women?”

“I do enjoy the company of women,” you gave him a lazy half smile, “very much so. They’re beautiful creatures, soft, and warm, kind. Unlike men, they know how to touch other women, how to make love and make it a pleasurable experience, not just spend five minutes pounding into you until they’ve found release like a common barnyard animal. And then again, if all else fails, there is also the undeniable pleasure you can give yourself.”

“Very valid points,” he eat a few of the fresh berries, his dark eyes never leaving yours. A smile played on his features as relaxed in his seat, letting the sun warm him, “clearly you haven’t been with the right men.”

“Do you think you’re different?”

“I know I’m different.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “you’re very sure of yourself, my prince. Is your reputation well deserved? Are you as good of a lover as they all say?”

“I am,” a small smirk played on his lips as he crossed his legs, gauging your every reaction closely. He was curious, almost deathly curious to see what you hid under your cool exterior. You acted like you belonged in the court, under the direction of the Lannisters, but he could see through right through you. He knew you weren’t fully invested in your job or life here; hells, anyone that spared you more than a passing glance could see that much, “do you care to find out?”

“I appreciate the forwardness,” you gave him a wicked little smile of your own, “but surely you’ve got better things, and individuals, to shower in your worship. I am a simple servant, not worthy of anyone’s time, something I am made sure never to forget.”

You didn’t wait for a response before standing up and brushing your skirts off as you turned to head back inside. You’d been gone for some time now, surely you’d be attracting some unwanted attention any minute. You’d only been meant to serve the prince, not converse as though you were fast friends, shamelessly flirting in the open where anyone could stumble upon the two of you.

Oberyn was a welcome change to the cold atmosphere of the court you were used to. He brought a certain liveliness, warmth, and you swore more sunlight, with him. You could only imagine how wonderful it must be back in Dorne, where he got to spread that same radiance day in and day out.

“Where are you from?” he asked as you turned to leave. You paused and tensed up, surprised by the sudden question. He didn’t move as he waited for answer; part of you was tempted to pretend that you hadn’t heard him, but you knew better than to defy the prince.

“I’m just a servant, your highness,” you gave him a saccharine smile as you watched his expression falter slightly. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, “I am from wherever I am situated. My job isn’t to have a personality, it’s to serve others.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he grabbed a particularly plump looking strawberry, took a bite before standing up and striding over to you. His caramel gaze was focused on yours as he gently grabbed your jaw with one hand raised the berry to your lips. It was a question of sorts, to see if you trusted him. Without hesitation, you parted your lips slightly, letting him pop the berry into your mouth. You let the juices coat your mouth before swallowing, your eyes never leaving his. Oberyn traced his thumb delicately along your bottom lip, wiping away the small bit of lingering juice, “where are you from, my sweet girl?”

“Your highness-”

“It’s a simple question,” he let go of your jaw, his face moving into a softer expression as his eyes slowly raked over you. If it had been almost any other man, you would have been disgusted, but there was some gentle about when it was Oberyn.

“Honeyholt,” the name of your birthplace fell off your lips almost like a whisper, and your eyes darted around to make sure no one had heard. When you worked for the Lannisters, personal matters as such were best left unsaid; they paid you, albeit barely, for your service, not to moan about your previous life.

“That’s rather far from here,” he mused and you shrugged lightly. You were a a child, a mere young thing the last time you had visited your place of origin. You didn’t remember enough of it to truly miss. King’s Landing had been your home since, “what brings you here, to the harsh life of the court?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you bit your lip, unsure of how far he wanted you to go into detail, “I...was brought here by parents. They needed the money, and I was their only source of commodity. For them it was an easy decision. I haven’t seen them since.”

“I could tell you were not from this forsaken place,” you wondered what he meant, how easily he could tell you were different. You’d spent most of your life trying to blend and not stick out, you’d thought you’d been doing a fairly decent job. Most people didn’t spare you a passing glance, unless they desired something from you.

“And just how is that, if you don’t my asking?”

“You’re much too beautiful to be from here,” he answered and your entire body suddenly felt like it was on fire. You turned your head, gaze intently trained on the cracked ground of the aging palace as you avoided his inquisitive looks. He reached over and with a few gentle fingers tilted your chin up to face him, “do not shy away from your beauty.”

“I do not,” your voice was but a whisper, “people do not usually show me such...reverence.”

“You have kind eyes,” he carried on, “the sweetest smile, hair fair more beautiful than the Lannister gold they love so much here. Your accent gives you away, it is very slight, but anyone with a keen ear will be able to pick up on it. These barbarians here no doubt have come to ignore it.”

“You...” no one had pointed out that fact that you have a slight lilt to your voice in years. You’d lost the majority of any accent as a child, having come to court as such a young one, and being surrounded by nothing but the gruff voices of the crownlands.

“And if you don’t mind my saying so,” he took a step closer and ran a gentle hand down your body, fingers grazing down your side and sending a shiver down your spine, “a figure that any man or woman would be blessed by the gods to know. Beautiful breasts, a round bottom, lovely thighs, I can only imagine how exquisite everything I’m not seeing is.”

His large hand gave your ass a firm squeeze, and a small sound escaped your lips; a mixture of surprise and pleasure. He was forward, there was no doubt about that, but nothing about it felt...wrong, or unwelcome. You could tell he was making sure every touch and word off of his lips that he was making sure you were okay with it. And you were. Everywhere he went, women, and men, fawned over him, dying for even a bit of affection and attention from the prince. Here you were, having down nothing and you were the object of his desire.

“You flatter me far more than I deserve, your highness,” your cheeks were on fire as he smiled at you, trying to reassure you that his affection was well deserved.

“Please,” he insisted, bringing a hand back up to your face, “enough with the formalities. Oberyn.”

“Oberyn,” you repeated, enjoying how it felt on your tongue, so sweet and foreign, much more interesting than anyone you encountered through your daily duties.

“What was your name?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insisted, but he was not fooled by your attempts at deflection. Instead, he leaned against the carved marble pillar, arms crossing his chest as he analyzed you, “you know my name.”

“My dear, sweet little one,” you sighed lightly at the sound of his voice, so rich and warm, hitting each last nerve within you, “everyone has a name. It means something, even if that of a bastard.”

“What if I don’t want to have a name? What if I want to be no one?” you shrugged as you leaned against the column facing him, “what if I want to hide in the shadows?”

“Y/N,” your name had never sounded more lovely or magical than when it came off of his lips. It sounded pretty, beautiful almost, “it matters. You should be proud of who you are...unless you are some sort of monster, which I already know you are not.”

“You already know my name.”

“And you know exactly what I’m referring to you. I am a prince, sweet one, not a fool.”

“Flowers,” you gave him a soft smile, “just like all bastards of the Reach.”

“But you’re not a bastard,” he pointed out as you nodded, “so why do you claim the name?”

“So I can be no one.”

“You, my sweet girl,” he was by your side again in no time, leaning only mere inches between the two of you. He smelled warm and sweet, likes spices and exotic fruit. Enchanting. Lovely, “are destined to be so much more than no one.”

“I assure you, it doesn’t matter,” you said after a few beats of silence, “my family was once one of the many great houses, just like so many others. But they fell and were broken apart over the years. The remainder of them are common merchants now. It’s easier to claim the name of a bastard than to receive pity for your family’s misfortunes from the likes of Lannisters and Starks and whomever else.”

“I am sure you far outshine them in every way,” he pushed a few locks of your hair out of your face, “your kindness is fair greater.”

“I...I know why you’re here, your hi- Oberyn,” you were scared that you had overstepped your boundaries, but weren’t able to hold back your tongue. He was so forward and open with you, surely he wouldn’t mind if you did the same.

“And why is that?” his curiosity was piqued as he tried to read your expression.

“Your sister,” you answered softly and he shifted on his feet, shoulders tensing slightly, “I used to work for her...when I was just a child...before. She was the kindest woman I had ever met, gentle and sweet to everyone she ever encountered. Beautiful to no ends and her smile could light up the entire kingdom. Her babes were just as sweet, they would grown up to be the kindest people.”

“You knew Elia?” he was quieter now, and had a soft pang to his voice. He still missed and longed for his sister. Even though she had been gone for some time now, he still mourned for her and her children every day.

“She’s probably the reason I’m still alive,” you admitted, “she took me under her wing when I was brought here. I miss her too. I cannot imagine the sadness and burden it must have placed upon you and I would not dare to imagine. But I know how hard it was on someone like me, just a servant.”

“I think of her every day,” he admitted, “I know I cannot get her back, but it doesn’t dull the pain; Dorne has mourned her loss every day. Instead we must honor the memory of those we’ve lost, instead of letting grief consume us, no?”

“Yes,” you agreed, placing a small smile back on your face. You hadn’t meant to bring the mood down, but you wanted to let him know where you stood, that you were on his side, “I...I blame myself some days. When they attacked...I just ran and hide. I ran and ran and ran until it felt like I couldn’t breathe and then I hid and waited, waited till the smoke had cleared and it was safe to come out. I didn’t even try to help her or her babies. I just wonder if...I had stayed if I could have done something.”

“You were a child,” he could imagine the horrors you had seen, all the thoughts and emotions that had stayed with you throughout the years, “it was not your place to do anything. You protected yourself; it is our instinct to flee and hide, especially as children.”

“I was a coward.”

“You were a child,” he repeated firmly, “you were not a coward and it was not your duty to protect anyone. They should have protected you.”

You weren’t even aware of the fact that a few tears had rolled down your cheeks, but Oberyn was quick to wipe them away. He brushed a thumb over your cheeks, in such a soft and intimate gesture, offering you a small, reassuring smile in return. You put your hand on his wrist and gave it a firm squeeze, “thank you.”

“Y/N,” you almost jumped out of skin at the sound of Cersei’s grating voice. Swiftly wiping the rest of your tears away with the back of your hand, you took a step back from the prince, who seemed completely nonplussed, “surely you’ve got other duties to attend to. I’m sure the prince’s wine and berry need has been satiated for now. We know where to find you if we want more. Go on and apologize to his highness for your folly and distraction.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you let out a shaky breath and gave her a nod. She had her trademark smirk on her face and you wished you could slap it off of her pinched features. She really was cruel down to her core, and you often wondered when the last bits of humanity had left her. You wondered how much she had seen or heard. Hopefully not enough to warrant any sort of punishment.

Instead, you gave her a nod and small bow before turning back to Oberyn, “I apologize for my indiscretions, your highness. Please let me know if I can be of service at any time.”

“What did I tell you, my sweet girl, call me Oberyn,” he was not bothered by Cersei in the slightest and her jaw dropped in surprise. You couldn’t hide the small smile that crept onto your face, “and do not apologize for a conversation I have initiated. Surely even the lovely Cersei can understand that people enjoy conversation.”

“I...yes,” you returned his warm smile, unable to contain yourself and enjoying the little thrill that defying Cersei had placed in your bones. He reached for your hand and placed a kiss, chaste kiss to the back of it. You knew Cersei must have been dying on the inside at the exchange, frankly, so were you, “thank you, Oberyn.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, making it a point to look directly at Cersei, who was fuming silently. If she had been a kettle, steam would have been exploding out of her ears, “I’ll find you.”

Just before you could turn to return to the kitchen and go about the rest of your daily duties, Oberyn trailed his fingers over your face, letting his gaze linger on your lips, “until later, dear Y/N.”

You turned to go back inside without another word, a bounce in your step at what had just happened. But just before you got inside, you heard him call after you, “I’m glad you enjoyed my berries, sweet girl!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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