#and what left is golden within second sons: if not for the rose and the groves (cedric&mathis)

[visxionaries]

who: @ofgoldengrove​ where: the council chamber, following mathis rowan’s first introduction back to the council of the reach. the room was empty now, and the two men remained sat within the great council chamber.

the reactions had been incredibly mixed; and yet if there was one thing that seemed to sear into the mind of the king, it was the incredible silence. so rare was it for silence to fall upon the personalities who sat on the reach council table, and yet, it felt as though they could hear their own hearts beating. he had not realised that he was holding the breath in his chest until he felt as though he were going to burst, and those in the room would not deny the fact that ocean hues glazed over in a sense of shock. that this was reality. 

though the matter had been quietly discussed with tirius, the possibility of it being true, he had been sure - so sure, it was false. so sure it would be another test some cruel figure in the sky had decided to throw in his path. and the king of the reach had hugged mathis rowan as though it was the last time he could - only, it now felt like the first time. it had been months since most had seen such a break in his demeanour, had seen a lively spirit that wore no crown; they saw it then. as emotional and volatile as it was.

was this not cruel? they now sat in somewhat comfortable silence as the last individual left the room, closing the door behind them; and all cedric could help wondering was why whatever gods the others seemed to have so much faith and love for would ever do such a thing. what sort of a test was this? for mathis rowan, for the rowans themselves, for all of those who had loved and mourned him. it was not a king who had stood before them those months ago to report his death, his eyes stricken and red with grief; he had made no attempts to hide the tears he had shed.

“do you want a drink?”

the death of mathis rowan had made him so utterly human. it had made him feel so incredibly human, and vulernable, and cut open. he thought it would hurt less if he was cut open a hundred times over, for he did not only think of what he had done, but he thought of what he could have had done. he thought of what should have been. made him feel as though his very side had been ripped open, as though someone, some presence, had been ripped from his side. 

and now, the life behind the eyes of mathis rowan made him feel something he was not entirely sure what to call. made him feel as though his heart would burst out of his chest, and stop, all at once. as though he had everybody and had nobody, all at once. for his death, the news of the corpse, was enough to set fire to whatever was left within him; whatever sense of morality wished for him to not carry the name of kinslayer. for regardless of it all, cedric tyrell had loved his brother. he wondered why it was their family needed to rip itself apart, just as the targaryens had done. was it their punishment for not following in their oath? 

“...didn’t think i’d ever ask you that again.” and there was a laugh that came from him. it was shaky. he rested his hand on his cheek, looking upon his best friend. he truly was sat there. he was there. seven fucking hells.

what was it that mathis was even looking upon now? who was it? it was mathis who knew best how much cedric had not wanted to kill his only brother. it was mathis rowan who knew why cedric had resisted, time and time again. it was mathis rowan who lost the love his life because of it. it was cedric who lost his true brother because of it. so why did it still feel as though his chest was ready to cave in? 

[nataliawrites]

Sweeter Than Revenge // Toto Wolff

Toto Wolff x Verstappen!Reader

Toto Wolff was a perfectionist. He demanded nothing but the best. He refused to settle for second or third. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get what he wanted.

That’s where you come in. Some would call you a jack of all trades. Despite your relatively young age, you had graduated at the top of your Oxford class with a Doctorate in Engineering Science — specializing in automotive and mechanical engineering — and a Masters in Strategy and Innovation. Your thesis on exploiting friction and wind resistance instead of battling against it caught the eye of numerous car manufacturers, all wanting to snatch up the mind behind the innovate approach that could revolutionize the industry.

But when Formula 1 teams joined the fray for your employment, your mind was made up the second you saw the email from the Mercedes-AMG Petronas team principal himself. The exorbitant salary, company car, and executive position Toto was offering you were benefits but they paled in comparison to the opportunity to do the one thing you had been waiting for since you permanently left home at 18 years old — prove the people that you had once called family wrong.

Growing up as the eldest child of Jos Verstappen and half-sister to Max Verstappen was anything but sunshine and rainbows. Constantly in the shadow of your younger brother. Always ignored in favor of your father’s golden son. Never receiving approval or the affection you desired after the loss of your mother. Always an afterthought to racing.

When you moved to an entirely different country, merely a teenager yourself, the only communication you received from your family was a text message from Jos reminding you “not to embarrass the family name” a few months after you started university. So you powered forward, completely alone in a foreign country and forced to work two jobs on top of school, but finding solace in your studies.

Now, as you hit send on your response to Toto Wolff, all of your struggles were going to pay off.

Not long after, you were invited to formally meet the team and sign all the necessary paperwork in the beginning of the offseason. You made the drive to Brackley and smoothed your power suit before entering the team’s technology center. A composed receptionist took your name before guiding you down the halls lined with moments and memorabilia from team history and leaving you in front of a door with a steel “Toto Wolff” nameplate on it.

You took a moment to collect yourself and rapped your knuckles against the solid wooden door, turning the handle when a deep accented voice from within the office told you to enter. The Austrian, who painted an imposing picture behind his desk, rose to greet you with a firm handshake. You quickly realized that he was tall and fit and, despite how hard you tried to keep your mind professional, extremely handsome.

“Dr. Verstappen, it’s great to finally meet you,” Toto motioned for you to sit down across the desk from him.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Wolff. I am so grateful for this opportunity.”

“The pleasure is ours. We are very excited to have you onboard this coming season. And, please, call me Toto.”

“Then you must call me Y/N. And while we’re on the topic of names, I’m sure you’ve noticed mine.”

Toto leaned back in his leather chair, “a funny coincidence to be sure. I hope that doesn’t mean you cheer for Red Bull.”

You hid a wince at his joking tone, “about that … it’s not exactly a coincidence. Max Verstappen is my brother. Half-brother if you want to get technical.”

You continue as you see him about to speak, “let me assure you that this will have no negative impact on my work with you. If anything, it will make me work harder towards the team’s success. I don’t exactly go around making this public knowledge, but my childhood was not the best and I haven’t spoken to my brother or my father since I first moved out at 18. They never supported me or showed that they cared about me. I’m doing this for myself. I’m going to help Mercedes win to prove them wrong.”

Your heart pounded out of your chest as Toto impassively stared into your soul. “I believe you.” A breath you didn’t even realize you were holding rushed out in relief. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jos Verstappen and what you’ve told me does not exactly come as a surprise.”

“Thank you, Toto. I promise you won’t regret it. We’ll get Mercedes back on top.”

“I am counting on it. Welcome to the team.”

You spent the rest of the off-season working more often than not, applying the research your Doctorate was built on to the car and optimizing it as much as possible. You spent your days working closely with the engineering team and both Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, gathering as much data as possible before you flew out to pre-season testing. Your evenings were usually taken up by Toto, the both of you workaholics who stayed far past the time that everyone else had left, typically discussing strategy and your mutual loathing of Red Bull over dinner that was ordered into the office.

The attraction that you felt upon first meeting your boss grew more and more as you got to know him better. While his handsomeness certainly didn’t hurt, his intelligence and passion truly did it for you. His age didn’t bother you — boys your age certainly left something to be desired — but you refused to be known as the woman who slept her way to the top (despite how unfair and inaccurate that would be) in a heavily male dominated field. So you used all your willpower to stay professional and prayed that Toto didn’t notice when you would gaze at his lips or his forearms or his chest in that famous button up shirt for a bit longer than strictly appropriate.

There was no way that Toto Wolff could possibly reciprocate your feelings so your resolved to keep them tightly bottled up.

He had a different idea.

You were in Toto’s office to mark your last dinner before flying to Bahrain for pre-season testing, lightly talking over a bottle of wine, when he abruptly set down his glass and looked resolutely down at you. “Tell me if I’ve misread the situation,” he pushed your plates to the side, uncaring, as he reached out to pull you across the desk and towards him.

You seized up in shock but melted as he crashed his lips to yours.

You gathered what little common sense you had remaining to detach yourself from him, “Toto, we can’t.”

His eyes went guarded, “Do you not feel the same way?”

“No but-“

“Then why?”

“Because you’re my boss! Because even the thought of this is unprofessional! Because it can ruin both of us!”

“But you want this.” He said it as a statement.

“Of course I do,” you deflate. “But we can’t-“

“And I want this too. I want you. You are strikingly intelligent and incredibly beautiful. We are both consenting adults and the team does not have a fraternization policy. There is no reason we must suffer in restraint.”

He takes both of your hands, engulfing then with his large ones before continuing, “you have been taking care of yourself for so long. Now, let me take care of you.”

You were extremely thankful the next morning that you accepted Toto’s offer to join him on his private jet instead of flying commercial charter with the rest of the team. At least this way he had time to drop you off at your apartment so you could pick up your luggage on the way to the airport without having to rush.

The other perks were pretty nice too. If you had told your younger self that you would be joining the Mile High Club with Toto Wolff on a private jet heading to Bahrain for the start of the Formula 1 season, you would have laughed in your own face (and then tried to work out the physics of how you time traveled to see your younger self in the first place).

Once in Bahrain, you jumped into the beautiful chaos that is the F1 season head first. Mercedes started off on a much higher note than last year and the mood around the garage remained light as the team kept the momentum going. It quickly became common to see 1-2 Mercedes finishes or at the very least both Mercedes drivers on the podium as the optimized car and your unorthodox strategies gave them the extra edge.

You and Toto tried to steal as many moments together as you could away from the hurricane of work that sometimes swallowed you up. Soon, neither of you particularly trying to keep your progressing relationship a secret, the rest of the team became aware that you were together. Despite your initial fears of backlash, you were met with support and the worst you got from the team was gentle teasing about managing to tame the infamous Toto Wolff.

As the season unfurled, neither your father nor brother had noticed you working for their rival. While photos of you with Toto, your drivers, and generally around the team did circulate, neither of them made the connection between the woman in Mercedes gear and the daughter and sister they cut off years ago. You ignored the traitorous pang in your heart every time Max or Jos’ eyes glossed over you, not realizing who they were looking at.

Or at least they didn’t until the FIA Prize Giving ceremony.

Toto was attending to receive the Constructors’ Championship trophy while your drivers collected their respective Drivers’ Championship and second-place trophies and you had come along as his date. While making the rounds on Toto’s arm at the gala after the ceremony, Max happened to overhear Toto introducing you to an acquaintance and your brother’s head snapped up at the sound of your name.

Max stared at the woman with Toto. It couldn’t be … but she had the same face shape and nose shape and hair color he remembered. His feet moved towards you before he could help himself, “Y/N?”

You heard the familiar voice interject from behind you and steeled yourself before turning around, “Max.”

“Is it really you?”

“Last time I checked.”

Toto had managed to excuse himself from his conversation and joined the awkward reunion between the estranged Verstappen siblings.

“Verstappen,” he nodded a curt greeting.

Your brother paused, looking between you and Toto, “wait-wait. You and him? You’re together?”

“For a while now,” you gained some satisfaction from the mix of emotions, none of them pleasant, that crossed Max’s face. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier. I mean, Toto and I did only meet because I work for Mercedes. I’ve been around the paddock every race.”

You didn’t notice the approach of your father until you looked at Max’s wide eyes frozen on someone behind you.

“How dare you! To go against your own family? To actively work against your brother?”

“Hello, father. How are you? I’ve been great! It’s only been a little under a decade since I’ve heard from you.”

“Why you little who-”

Toto stepped in front of you before your father could finish what was sure to be a very complementary sentence, “Verstappen, I would stop it right there if I was you.”

“I always knew Y/N was an embarrassment but even I didn’t expect for her to become a gold digger going after men her father’s age.”

Toto came to your rescue once again, “she’s far from a gold digger. Y/N is Mercedes’ Executive Engineer and Strategist. She’s a large reason why we beat your son all season long.”

“What she is,” Jos spit out, “is a shame to the Verstappen name.”

Toto resolutely held you close, “then it’s a good thing she won’t be a Verstappen for much longer.”

Taking the opportunity, you raised your entwined hands to show off the diamond ring that graced your ring finger since Toto took you on vacation to the Seychelles and surprised you with a beautiful proposal a week ago.

“Max, Jos … we’ll be sure not to invite you to the wedding.”

[diogenescynic2288]

Sunday Sermon 2: On Laws

Happy Sunday to all again. I am once again writing to you as Pope Orion Orangutan Omnibenevolence Kosmos Yes or POOKY.

So, the last sermon I delivered might have seemed to offer instruction, advice, or command in regards to chilling and maybe being nice. That was not my intent. It was at most, a suggestion. I am not an Enlightened One. I'm not more in touch with the Divine than anyone else.

While I'm writing these, I do invoke my Discordian Pope title. That does not make me an authority. I took the expensive route to Discordian Papacy: I bought a ten dollar used copy of the Steve Jackson Games printing of the Principia Discordia and then made a fifteen cent photocopy at FedEx Kinkos of the page with the Be Your Own Pope card. That does not elevate me above anyone else. All who decide to join the Golden Apple Corps of Eris are equally in the Discordian Papacy.

I'll own up to a thing: back when I was in late high school or my year of college, I came to identify with the label of anarchism or libertarianism coming to it from left-leaning reasons. For instance, at that time, gay marriage was a controversial issue and not yet legal across the United States of America, and I had a simple stupid solution: marriage is no longer a legal status for anyone straight or gay, the government just doesn't do marriage anymore. Marriage equality achieved.

Anyway, as a budding anarchist, attempting to have a consistent moral philosophy of life, I started thinking about Christianity, particularly the church my parents had been raising me in. If top down authority and distinctions of station are evils when talking about the world of human politics, are they any less so when applied to religion? Long story short, maybe God exists, but he's a tyrant and All Clergy Are Bastards.

Today's reading is from The Gospel of Mary Magdalene I'm drawing my wording from The Essential Gnostic Gospels translated by Alan Jacobs published by Watkins 2009:

Then Jesus greeted them saying, “Peace be with you all.

Take my peace into your Selves; be watchful so nobody leads

you astray claiming “Look there, look here for the son of man.”

I tell you that the son of man is within you all!

Seek him inside; those who search diligently

and earnestly shall surely find him.

Then leave and preach the truth of the Kingdom

to those with ears to hear;

don't invent rules beyond those I've given.

Don't make laws like law-makers do

or else you'll be held back.”

After he had said this he left.

[I'm skipping a bit to get to the next part I want to quote]

Mary answered, “What's concealed from you I'll tell;

I saw him in a vision and I told him.

He said, “Blessed are you that your strength

wasn't shaken by my appearance,

for where the heart is lies buried treasure.”

[another skip still Mary talking]

When my soul had conquered ignorance it rose up

and saw the fourth power, which assumes seven forms.

The first is darkness, the second desire, then ignorance,

fear of death, power of the flesh, foolish reason,

and self-righteous pedantry.

These are the powers of anger and doubt; they ask,

“From where did you come, killer of men;

where are you heading, slayer of space?”

My soul replied, “What bound me is dead,

what enveloped me has been vanquished;

my desires are over and ignorance is no more.

In this life I was freed from the world

and the chains of forgetfulness.

From now on I will rest in the eternal now;

for this age, this aeon, and in stillness.”

So today's lesson from POOKY is: Yeshua and Miriam also say no laws, free yourself from ignorance and pedantry.

Good Day of the Sun unto you all.

[caro-amante]

Careless Endeavors

James Potter x M!Reader

warnings: not proof read, mention(s) of James having dark skin, descriptions of heated makeout, slight groping(?), please let me know if i missed any.

a/n: i finally got some motivation to write, so here we have a Jamsie boy piece<3 Before writing, I find it helpful to browse Tumblr and ao3 for non-female reader fics to see which characters are lacking. James Potter is one of them, so this is for the Potter lovers to enjoy:)

reblogs are very much appreciated !!

» No descriptions of the reader’s physical appearance. Reader is also not specifically male, just non-female identifying !

——————

The usual wandering faunas were sound asleep in their burrows as the dormant birds lay still in their nests. It became peacefully quiet the further the moon rose and the sunset. The luminescent moon beamed upon the grassy fields and reflected off the river's dark waters. Crickets chirping and water flowing filled the silence in the gardens of the Potter residence.

The grand manor stood in the twilight of the night, golden light shining from the tall windows. Two dark figures emerged in one of those panes, particularly of James Potter's bedroom. They stayed still, and one could assume someone painted them on the glass.

The two frames stood beside each other, peering out to the prize-worthy greenery. One had rumpled hair, the color of obsidian rock. His arms hung from his shoulders, fingers twitching from anticipation. Dark brown eyes anxiously snapped from one tree to another, tongue repeatedly swiping across his swollen lips.

You stood still as you gazed out to the night, at least in comparison to the trembling boy beside you. Though your calm appearance, your heart pounded against your ribcage. One might think it's trying to pull you out of your shock.

James' parents, supposedly, were headed to a restaurant located in Diagonal Alley, leaving the manor in the care of two horny teenagers. Euphemia and Fleamont didn't know how very gay his son was, so inappropriate behavior was never quite on the table of possible outcomes.

The second the sage-green fire burnt out within the fireplace, your hands were already clawing at his body. Your lips smashed against his, the pads of your fingers firmly against his jawline and torso. His, on the other hand, lay softly against the nape of your neck and shoulder.

The absence of these heated moments was eating both of you up, tearing your patience slowly and painfully. Consequently, Euphemia and Fleamont's announcement of their date night left you both even more desperate for each other's touch.

A cocky smirk skidded onto his golden-brown face as you pulled him as close as possible. He fervently kissed back, fingers gripped harder every second that passed.

James was about to pull away as the viridescent flames lit up from the ashes once again, startling both your under-stimulated bodies.

Both your heads simultaneously snapped towards the fireplace, your palms pressed against his firm stomach as he mirrored your actions on your shoulders. Your feet padded on the floor, heels keeping you from dropping yourself onto the hardwood. Although your irises never left Euphemia’s frame, slowly getting revealed by the bright blaze.

“James, my love-!” The woman’s soft voice bounced from the silent room’s walls, replacing you and her son’s heavy breathing. She quickly drank in both of your appearances, confusion taking over her mind.

“Oh,” Her honey brown eyes widened; newly plucked brows lifting, soon working into a confused frown. Her gaze alternated from locking with yours and James’, “what happened to the both of you?”

She then proceeded to saunter over to her disconcerted son, who was still breathing pretty heavily. Her hand grazed on his cheek, James’ hand softly lay on her wrist.

“James, you’re burning!” Her concerned voice made a chuckle elicit from your throat, pulling her attention towards you.

“It’s nothing, Mum,” the boy quickly stole her notice from you, “we were laughing at a joke of mine.” A tight-lipped smile and his infamous puppy-dog eyes made a sudden appearance, hoping for his mother to drop her concerns.

“Alright…” Euphemia’s suspicious face studied both of you, eyes squinting as her one brow raised. “Well, I just came to retrieve my wallet.”

After gaining what she came for, she dropped the grainy sand and enunciated her destination. Euphemia was finally consumed by the vibrant fire, disappearing once again.

“We need to be more careful.”

“Mhm…”

————

masterlist

[joannasteez]

Hey!! So, I have an idea. Could you write a fic about EZ and the reader’s wedding night? With smut of course 😏. I feel like he’d be so sweet and he’d be giving so much praise. You’re a wizard at combining fluff and smut, so I know you’d do amazing with this! Sending you lots of love 😁🥰

Short Summary: You and EZ turn in earlier than planned from your wedding reception.

Gif Credits @losaslut

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @withmyteeth @rae-gar-targaryen @cruzwalters @rose-bliss @youlovetkay

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒

It was a quake in his belly, ravenous, spreading wild and untamed, free, like fire, just a hairs breadth away from desperation. Starvation. It was hunger, jolting tingles prickling, crackling the tips of his fingers, an electric feeling of desire, need. He knew then, knows now, in his soul he’s got to have it, reach out to it, grab at it. Hunger, it’s a shift in his breath, his whole life stuck on the upturn of an inhale but now, finally, feeling free enough to fall, to breathe. And then without wait, breathe again. The body, his body, aches for it --always has-- needs it, this little thing called love. Craves it, so much so that it trembles, forlorn in the way that it lays, stands, sits, exist, till it has it. Till he has it. Has love. Till he can touch it, hear it, smell it, feel it, taste it, hold it gentle in the palm of his hand because... 

“Remember Ezekiel, love is a vulnerable thing, don’t waste it”. Felipe’s voice always so mellow and coarse. Reminiscent. “Don’t waste it son, don’t waste it”. 

“Can you go three weeks without me Reyes?” You were such a damn tease, even if he could hate you he wouldn’t. 

He felt like a madman for saying yes. Just a heel - toe away from insanity. 

Three weeks of sweet faint kisses, the taste of your lips ghosting, melting no where else but the very tip of his tongue, and barely felt touches, like a breeze born at dawn too busy moving, flowing, to cascade along the leaves that live for its graceful feel, all because you wanted him needy for you. Hungry. 

He couldn’t say “I do” fast enough. “Lets get out of here”. His whisper breathy and warm at your ear. Feet shifting with his, fingers in each others embrace, dancing beneath a chandelier sky. 

You’d said “I do” so perfectly. The phrase rich off your lips, dripping like honey, so bright, warm and embracing, a promise. Like some sweet summer melody. It was heavenly. 

“You still with me?” The question just above a whisper, your fingers ruffling aimlessly through the hair at his chin. 

“Of course”. 

“What were you thinking about?” His lip becoming the object of your thumbs affection. The rosy pink flesh so demanding to the eyes, tantalizing. 

“How much I need you”. 

But it’s a painful longing Ezekiel has, burdening him more than he’d ever be able to tell, one that aches well and deep at the heart of him, melting away bone and wearing the strength of his nerve, leaving him open to the air of you, raw and helpless, but it’s good all the same. He’s weak in love. It’s exhilarating nonetheless, the type of yearning he works tirelessly to sate but begs also never to leave him for fear that he would never feel so wholly, so deeply for another this way again. Finding such pleasure in this love stricken pain, he realizes as he stares into your eyes, only you could do something like this, possess him to feel such an adoration for the way you weaken him. And the silk dress helps him none, the soft white fabric draped along your body drawing him in, persuading his fingers to ruffle beneath, the dig of them measured as they stretch over your thighs, inching towards the sweetest place he knows. 

His gaze never leaves you, the straps of your dress slim and dainty as you slip them away over your shoulders. 

The shake of his head is a mixture of wonder and disbelief. How were you so beautiful, and he so lucky? “Goddam”, he whispers, the white lace accessorizing your skin calling him, pleading for his strong, gentle touch. 

You slip easy into his lap, the end of the plush bed dipping. 

Your lips feather over his, breath as soft as your caressing hold along the sharp edge of his jaw. So close you could taste him. “I know how much you love me in lace”. 

He groans, placing a hand at your back before he turns to lay you at the heart of the bed. Present himself properly your beauty. “You’re incredible. So perfect”.

Drowning, after three weeks of nothing you’re neck deep in a passion far too great just to be your own, the faint taste of champagne running fresh, swirling on your tongue from his. Three weeks, and finally, he gives you a breathless kiss. Deep, demanding, and addictively unbearable in a way that makes you want to fall into it, wander into the heart of it till you’re lost forever. But what does it all mean?, to be so unearthed in this moment, to fall and fly at the same time? Delve face first into heaven and earth, what else does it mean if not becoming weak in love too.

“I missed you”, his lips lazy at the lace dressing your breast, tongue drawing slow till they’re twisted hard and aching, but he doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t, because when has Ezekiel ever given up the opportunity to tease you? Cause your body such an alluring grief. “I missed this”. Wet kisses swirling and melting into your skin till he’s suckling hard at your lace covered slit, wetness pooling in an instant. “She missed me too”, he chuckles, before it slips into a moan at the roll of your hips. Rosy lips traveling, mapping the underside of your thighs. His eyes blown, glazed over with want as they peer into yours. “You’re so pretty baby”, a small kiss to the peak of your right knee. “So beautiful”. Another just above your navel. “All mine”. 

“You can stare and admire me later. I need you now”, you fight the whine threatening to wrap smooth over your words. Fingers reaching for him, wanting him close. 

He’s at your ear in seconds, the weight of him pressed well into you, hand strong as he takes one of your legs to wrap secure around him. “How do you want me hermosa?. Tell me”. 

“Slow. Make love to me”

He’s moving like the earth has stopped so generously for this moment, calloused fingers relieving you of all the beautiful lace like you’re some precious gift, and then his bottoms are gone, clothes forgotten like everything else that isn’t you. If nothing else in the moment, it’s his sudden affinity for patience that’s most agonizing, but deep down you know you deserve it, leaving him touch starved for three weeks was a bit low. But even patience, with the right touch, wears thin quick, the heel of your left foot settling at the base of his back, both legs now warm at his waist. It’s the creeping roll up his spine that gets him, like a call to action, a firm hand that makes him fall to you with a fluidity, such grace in motion you haven’t seen in weeks. ‘Again... three weeks... why’d you make him wait?’, the small pieces of you wonder, till he’s sinking in hard, hot and thick inside you. 

“That’s it”, he encourages. Reveling in your tight fit, utterly dazed in the way it satiates the heat reddening his skin. “Let me in baby”. Another groan escaping all drawn out into the hot skin of your neck when he bottoms out. 

“Oh fuck”. Your moan slurred in that delirious way. Eyes daring to roll, your jaw clenched, hiss smooth sailing out and into the air. 

He’s moving slow like you asked him, but his hips are digging deep, really giving you the type of passion that glazes your eyes, ears heating, whimpers broken as your fingers press into him. He’s as close as can be but you need him closer, but you’re not really sure what you’re looking for with your fingers, what you’re digging for. Maybe some grounding? Yeah, that’s what it feels like. That’s what shuddered breaths and parted lips tell you anyways. ‘You need grounding’, because he’s determined to imprint himself inside you, mold you to him, make your tight heat recommit him to memory till it’s unrecognizable where you end and he begins. 

He’s heavy, within and without, a strong, uncompromising force rocking into you so perfect every time. Your wetness pooling with every filling push of his hips, sounding sweet. “You make me feel so full baby”. 

He’s fluid still, the delicious grind he works into you at a steady pace. Thats it, that’s it, that’s it, a mumbling chant parting off his lips, close to yours. They meet and fall off your own, tongues slipping lazy, coming together with every push of his length, walls slick and warm as they hug him in, pulling and sucking so fucking good before his waist rears back, lips breaking for just a moment, before he’s home again. Your foreheads are a resting place for the other, right hand of yours meeting his chest, the other nailing gentle at the nape of his neck. “You’re always so good to me”. He’s at your ear again, whispers soft, but still ringing so loud, your thigh gripped in his left hand, his body anchored on the weight of his arm at the right, the digging turned into a brute snap. “So good for me”. His hearts pounding hard, matching the beat of yours, you feel it, like thunder under your touch. “Fuck”, the slim ring of golden brown in his eye meeting yours. “I’m never letting you go”. 

A tear slips slim off to the side of your cheek, pressure in your belly building strong. “I love you EZ”. 

He thinks it’s enough, hearing it the one time. It rises, saturates his skin, breaks him down, builds him back up, makes him whole, and then it dissipates. He needs it again. “Say it again. Tell me you love me”. 

You hold him close, lips brushing. It’s sweeter this way, always has been, always will be. “I love you baby, I love you so much”. 

A tear and a whimper, but it isn’t yours. Another kiss brushing your lips, thigh tight in his hold. “I love you so fucking much”, trembling between the gentle intensity of another whimper and the soft sincerity of a whisper. Either way, it’s truth all the same. 

His hips rear back again, hitting once, twice, and then a third final time. The coils winding in your bellies unraveling sharp. Bodies burning in white hot bliss. 

Falling and flying face first into heaven and earth. It’s amazing. 

[cloudywriter]

promposals

rowaelin month - september 1st

prompt: i just realized i’m desperately in love with you 

hey guys!! it’s finally rowaelin month and i’m literally so excited you have no idea. sadly, i don’t have time to do every day but i’ll do as many as i can. i can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with. happy writing/reading! (this is just some straight fluff) 

masterlist, AO3

~~~

The school was abuzz, anticipation hung thick in the hallways during each passing period. It had been that way for a week or so now with prom on the horizon. Everyone was constantly on high alert for the next promposal, most desperately hoping it would be their own. Girls hung around their lockers inconspicuously for far longer than necessary and boys tried to play it cool while secretly fretting over who to ask and how to do it.

Rowan was over it pretty quickly, but he’d likely have to suffer through the next month of promposal after promposal. Today was no different, there was an asking in the parking lot before school, one in his first-period English class, another in the hallway after. He couldn’t escape it. 

Thankfully, Rowan wasn’t quite as grumpy as he used to be due to a certain blonde worming into his life a few years ago but he was still Rowan. Sullen and reserved as ever. That fateful blonde being the only one to draw him from his shell. 

Rowan sighed, aimlessly scrolling around on his phone. It was the passing period before his 3rd-period class, AP Biology, and Rowan was leaning against Aelin’s locker.

Aelin always stopped by her locker after her photography class to put her camera away and then they’d head to class together. It was their routine, the same every day. Not yet broken during their entire senior year which was quickly coming to a close. That was a subject Rowan didn’t want to broach though.

He cleared his head of those unsavory thoughts. Rowan could tell yet another proposal was gearing up, Ilias came around the corner holding a poster board in one hand and a bouquet of assorted flowers in the other. At that moment too, Aelin turned the corner, giving Rowan a small smile as she hurried towards him. 

Rowan’s cold resting face tugged into a smirk as she approached her already open locker. Rowan always took it upon himself to open it for her in advance, Aelin tended to fumble with the locks that required a specific number combination and artful twisting. 

As Aelin stored away her camera and shut her locker door with a thud, a gasp down the hallway had them both turning around. 

Ansel was there, her hand cupping her mouth, clearly unsuspecting of Ilias and his proposal. They both watched as Ansel excitedly agreed to prom with Ilias and took the flowers from his outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug. 

Aelin turned her attention away from the happy couple and began to walk towards their next class, Rowan following suit. They progressed for a bit in silence until Aelin spoke up. 

“I hope Chaol asks me to prom soon,” she confessed. 

Rowan almost choked, that single sentence baffling him. “Chaol?” He asked incredulously. 

“Or Dorian,” Aelin shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her. Rowan was suddenly feeling very panicked, like a fish that had accidentally discovered land, flopping around in search of water in a frenzy. To say he felt confused was an understatement. Rowan hadn’t given prom much of his brainpower. He hadn’t even considered asking anyone. He’d just assumed he’d go with Aelin. Why would he have thought otherwise? They did everything together; he’d expected prom would be no different.

When they sat down at their blacktop table in biology Rowan silently floundered as he tried to think over this revelation. Why would Aelin want to go with someone else? Usually, before class started, he and Aelin would joke around until the teacher told them it was time to reel it in but today Rowan stared ahead, picking at the skin of his thumb. A nervous tick he’d developed throughout high school. 

Should he ask someone else then? He couldn’t even think of anyone else he tolerated enough to spend the night with. Maybe Lyria? She was nice enough, always sharing her notes with him in English when he was too busy with lacrosse to do the reading. She was quiet, soft-spoken. Absolutely nothing like the girl sat next to him. That thought made him frown. Remelle? No, he could barely stand Remelle, but he knew she liked him so at least she’d definitely say yes. 

Rowan was pretty much out of luck. Aelin and his friend group were to whom his time was devoted to, he didn’t branch out much beyond them. 

He thought of Aelin all dressed up, maybe in a golden gown that catered to her love of theatrics. Possibly in a deep green that complemented her bright eyes and skin tone. He imagined her with her hair loosely curled and flowing down her back. The delicate, golden Kingsflame silhouette necklace he’d gotten her for her 18th birthday clasped around her neck. It was easy for Rowan to conjure up that image but he couldn’t picture her looking like that and holding onto Chaol’s arm. It felt so intensely wrong to even consider it. 

It was always him. He always imagined her with him. They were a package deal in Rowan’s mind, but apparently not in Aelin’s. 

Aelin seemed to be catching onto Rowan’s internal dilemma. Throughout the duration of the class, he could feel her watching him out of the corner of her peripheral, trying to gauge what could be wrong. She stayed quiet though and dutifully continued her notes that mostly consisted of a collection of small doodles. Rowan couldn’t help but watch and wonder how she truly felt about him.

For the rest of the school day, Rowan pretty much blew Aelin off. He sat between Lorcan and Fenrys at lunch instead of the 2 seats on the right side of the circular table that always housed Aelin and himself. He told her not to wait up in the stands during his lacrosse practice and to head home on her own instead. He could tell she was confused maybe even a little hurt but Rowan couldn’t bring himself to push aside his mass of feelings that had him acting strange. 

He wasn’t even completely sure what was wrong with himself. The thought of Aelin accompanying another guy to prom shouldn’t affect him like it was; they were only best friends nothing more. She had free reign to go with whoever she wanted and she could get whoever, Aelin was a beautiful girl he wasn’t blind to that. He’d just thought it’d be him. 

All throughout lacrosse practice, Rowan was distracted, missing the ball or the goal when he had it, a stark difference from his usual skill. His coach had already pulled him aside once and asked if he was feeling okay only to be given a grunted yeah before putting him back in. He only grew more upset with Aelin as he pondered the day’s events instead of keeping his head in the game. Some part of him knew it was irrational but he couldn’t help it. Why wouldn’t she want to share one of their last big moments of high school together?  

And that’s how he continued to feel as he made the short drive home with his hefty lacrosse bag weighing down his shoulder and his school bag heavy on his back. When he finally entered the home he sighed, the scent of his mother’s cooking filling his nostrils. Honestly, he’d rather stay up in his room and stew than sit through family dinner right now but he knew it’d only prompt more questions from his parents. So he dropped his things by the door much to his mother’s chagrin and collapsed into one of the dining table’s chairs. 

“Feeling alright, son?” His father’s silver brow rose, already catching on to his foul mood. 

“Yeah, just tired,” Rowan confirmed, taking a sip of water. 

His mother entered then, a dish of pasta cupped between her oven mitts that she placed in the center of the table. “How was practice?” She asked sweetly, stripping her hands of their cover and sitting down. 

“It was fine.”

Rowan’s mother and father exchanged a look between themselves. He was normally much more talkative, always giving them updates on school, on plays they’d done during practice, on Aelin. Rowan chose to ignore their concerned expressions and instead served himself a helping of dinner silently. 

His phone buzzed then from inside the pocket of his shorts. Rowan pulled it out to check the message and frowned at the screen. 

fire-breathing b queen👑 : r u okay? 

He stuck his phone back into his pocket instead of typing a reply and forced himself to eat the rest of his dinner. He only half-listened to his parents’ conversation about their days and what was going on in his dad’s office. Rowan knew he was stewing again, falling into a spiral of uncertainty. 

“Rowan, honey, are you sure you’re okay?” His mother pressed, worry lining her brow. 

Rowan’s lips formed a thin line. No, he wasn’t okay. 

In a split-second decision, Rowan decided he was done dancing around whatever was going on between him and Aelin. “I need to go,” Rowan said suddenly, standing up from his chair that loudly scraped across the floor. His parents looked surprised by his outburst but didn’t stop him as he grabbed his keys from the little table by the front entrance and left. 

Rowan didn’t even need to look at the road to know the way to Aelin’s house. The route was in his bones now and within a few minutes he was pulling up in front of her large white house. He hopped out of his truck, not even bothering to lock the doors before he pounded on her green-painted front door. 

The door opened with a squeak and he saw Aelin standing there in one of her nightgowns that drove Rowan absolutely mad. 

“You’re not going to prom with Chaol,” he rasped, pushing the hair falling on his forehead back with his hand. 

“Huh?” Aelin was clearly confused as to why Rowan had come knocking at her door without preamble. 

“You’re not going with him,” Rowan once again declared, standing his ground, ready to get everything off his chest before he lost the courage. 

“Ro, I don’t get what you’re going on about. He hasn’t even asked me and if he doesn’t ask me I don’t know who’d I go with,” she admitted, her hand still holding the door open and her mouth in a serious line. 

Rowan surges forward at that, gripping both of Aelin’s hands in his own. “You’d go with me, Aelin. I want you to go with me,” he pleaded with her, lifting her hands up to his chest. “Aelin,” he continued, “I don’t want to go with anyone else but you. I want to do everything with you, go everywhere with you. Gods, Aelin, you’re like my reason to breathe, to get up in the morning.”

“Row-” Aelin tried to interrupt, her blue eyes going wide. 

“No, just let me finish, I- I know that sounds crazy and I know it’s so out of the blue and you didn’t expect me to show up outside your door like this and start professing my feelings,” Rowan was rambling now he knew. Everything he wanted to say to her was running through his mind like a freight train so much so he struggled to express it. The words were jumbled in his mind as if they were a bowl of alphabet soup in a blender. He just needed her to know how he felt. 

“I- I just, I thought about you going to prom with Chaol or some other guy all damn day and I hated it. Gods, I couldn’t figure out why I hated it so much, it just it- it felt so wrong. Fireheart, I want you to be with me. Gods, I think I’m so desperately in love with you I’m going to combust or something.” Rowan was getting flustered now, he knew his face was burning and he was sweating, maybe from the humidity or maybe from the sheer weight of what he was confessing to his best friend.  “Rowan,” Aelin started once again, her face contorted in pure shock. 

“I know you might not feel the same Aelin, I knew I came here risking that, and if you don’t feel the same-”

“Rowan!” Aelin said with more force, bringing her hands to cup his face. “Listen to me,” she pleaded. 

Rowan stopped trying to fight her and looked at her. He felt as though his stomach might fall out. His nerves were so intense as he stared into Aelin’s golden-ringed eyes. 

“You’re just so fucking stupid,” Aelin breathed. 

Rowan’s brow furrowed, he certainly hadn’t expected her to say that. “Wha-” he began. 

He couldn’t even finish his thought before Aelin’s lips descended upon his own. She cradled his face in her hands as her soft lips moved against his in a slow rhythm. Rowan’s brain stalled and struggled to catch up with what the hell was happening. 

He just knew this felt right, this felt so gods-damn right. 

His hands were loosely wrapped around her wrists and they traveled lightly over her arms and moved to rest on her back and pull her into him. 

Her body molded against his own. It felt like the final bit of a 50,000 piece puzzle had finally fallen into place after years of pouring over it. Rowan kissed Aelin back with just as much fever, desperate to keep her lips on his own. He brushed his tongue along the seam of her lips and she pulled back. 

They both stood there, gulping down air as they stared at each other trying to navigate this unimaginable revelation. 

“You’re- you’re not going to prom with Chaol, right?” Rowan finally managed to ask. 

“No,” Aelin breathed. “I’ll go with you, I’ll always go with you.” 

Their lips met once again.

~~~

day one down. stay tuned and have a wonderful day, xoxo

[moonbaby26]

Title: The Village

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki returns again, this time manipulating you into becoming involved with infighting between mortals. Yet with some goals of his own fulfilled in the end results. Guest appearance in this chapter by the god Eros.

Warnings: *Smut near the end of the chapter* Beginning and end of smut is marked in red within the chapter for those who wish to skip it.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

It was a little over three weeks later before anything else had happened. But you’d tried very hard to remain reasonable with your daydreaming in the time between. Because Loki owed you nothing after all.

It would have been far easier to write off your experience with him as just brief acts of lust that any two beings could experience. Yet, you’d found yourself thinking just as much about those quiet hours sitting beside him with a book in your hand as you did that very physical night in the cave together. The parts were equal in your mind. You desired to have both again, because all of it was him.

The real surprise was still there though when word finally reached you that he’d again returned to the ocean’s edge. You could not take a moment for granted. And you wouldn’t, even as each time he came you found your excitement only grew. That warmth that rose through you at just the sound of his name only came quicker and lasted longer every time.

Yet today had also been the first where he hadn’t called from that southern beach where you’d met all the times previous. This fourth meeting actually came in the north. From the lands you would have more associated with the legends of his family to begin with.

Even though the bifrost could open wherever he asked it to you supposed, your curiosity still swelled predictably as you stepped out of the icy waters onto these more foreign black sands. It was rocky, and the sky only grey above as you first saw him standing there near the water’s edge.

And you did stare, seeing his normal black and green leather now replaced with golden armor and a flowing emerald cape. He was in full adornment this time, including that horned helmet you’d only seen in artists’ renderings from the books you’d studied before.

It suited him well, though making a stark contrast between the two of you you were sure as you only stood before him barefoot and dripping wet in one of your usual dresses.

“Are you off to battle?” You asked in genuine question, still taking that view in.

He just smirked though, seeming to be staring at you as well. “Don’t you ever get cold running around so uncovered like that?”

“I feel the cold, yes. But it doesn’t harm me.” You answered simply, though still looking at him expectantly as he’d ignored your own question.

He just turned after another moment though, beginning to walk back up the bank. “I’m only here on an errand for Father. Normally this foolishness would be something I’d decline. But with Odin and brother both off battling in Alfheim, it left Father no choice but to send his second option of course.”

You were already walking as well then, following him without even being asked. He made it all sound so uninteresting though. And if he didn’t even want to be here, then why would he have called you as well then?

A path cut between the cliff face that edged the shoreline, and before you could ask anything further, you were surprised to see a large mortal village coming into view further up the path. You stopped immediately, hesitating at the sight.

But he noticed as you did so, only looking back at you tauntingly as he paused as well. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now?”

What was he planning to do? You tried to keep your contact with mortals limited save for whatever your own father asked you to do, as directly interfering in the wrong ways could sometimes lead to serious consequences. You honestly shirked the attention, often not even letting them lay eyes on you unless you were under the guise of something else.

“Are you planning to make yourself known to them?” You asked a bit incredulously.

“Well of course. How else should they know who to thank when we’re done here?” He answered as if it was only the most obvious thing in the world before he just continued ahead without you.

His stride was so confident. Not a trace of feeling out of place at all even as you couldn’t bear it any longer, transforming yourself into an osprey just to fly nervously along up above him before you could be seen.

Yet he didn’t seem surprised, only a slight smugness in his expression as he glanced up at you briefly in your new form.

That was before the mortal soldiers erupted out at the edge of the settlement anyway. Their yelling brought Loki’s attention back to the path, and you circled in the sky, trying to interpret the words.

Their tone was so much gruffer and faster, harder for you to translate in realtime.

But Loki’s elegant, almost indifferent tone of response you understood far better as he only answered back in that same Nordic tongue.

“Unleash those arrows upon me, beasts, and you’ll find them quite wasted. Are you really so inept as to not recognize your own savior now standing before you?”

With that, he extended out his arms in a grandiose gesture of self importance. Yet the movement proved to be more than just empty posing as you then saw all their arrows fall to the ground as writhing snakes.

The illusion was extremely convincing, even these burly men startling in surprise at the sight.

“Sorcery!” One of them called, though rightly looking no more trusting at the revelation.

“What clan do ye hail from? State your purpose here, sorcerer!” Another said.

Even from this distance, you could see the brief look of exasperation as Loki rolled his eyes. “Has my brother really been away from Midgard so long that you now fail to recognize the house of Odin at all? Such disrespect.”

It was only the mention of Odin’s name that brought an all new nervousness to the men’s body language.

And that edge of newfound fear clearly pleased Loki. “Oh, now things are finally coming together! But seeing is believing, isn’t it boys?”

In an instant then, there was not just one of him, but multiple as replicant images of Loki suddenly surrounded the men. His voice echoing as it came from each, “Odin the Allfather has answered your prayers, I, Loki, god of Asgard shall spare your clan and this village from your enemy’s approach.” His cold smirk returned. “But I require your full allegiance in return of course.”

The fear was really evident in their faces then, but in your own mind you doubted the duplicate images were anything tangible. They likely couldn’t harm the men, only the real Loki could. But the trickery was sufficient as in your surprise, you saw the men fall to their knees one after the other.

And the most genuine grin you’d ever seen on Loki’s face spread instantly at that. He actually chuckled, an honest, happy sound as the men’s heads also bowed.

“Forgive us, Loki, god of mischief.” The oldest looking of the men spoke humbly then. “No one here has laid eyes on a god of Asgard in our lifetimes. We only know the legends our ancestors have taught us, of your victories at Odin’s side across the nine realms. Our loyalty does still lay with you, son of Odin.”

“Finally, a wise man speaks.” Loki answered, still pleased before continuing. “You must be the clan chief. Listen to your elders, boys. And remember it was only Loki who came here today. Not Odin, not Thor. Me. That should be noted in your carvings from now on. Those little hammers embellished on your shields gave you no help today. Mjolnir hears not your pleas.”

And still circling above in your bird of prey form, it was only then that you did notice those emblems on their shields as well. It was clear no details escaped Loki.

“Thor forgets you, too occupied in the happenings of the other realms, but I, merciful as I am do not.”

You may have sighed at that, if you’d been physically capable anyway. He was clearly enjoying this now. But out the corner of your vision, something else caught your eyes as you turned sharply back into the wind.

Sails. Large white sails approaching over the ocean’s horizon. You suddenly remembered Loki’s comment then about sparing this place from their enemy’s approach. But now your nervousness only returned full force as you swooped back down towards him.

Did he really plan to interfere in a coming battle here? Maybe he had permission to do so, but you absolutely did not!

You chirped sharply, but realized quickly he could not understand you in this form. Not like the nymphs could. He seemed amused though at your evident agitation as he offered his forearm. You landed awkwardly on his arm, talons closing around the armor there as you spread your wings to maintain your balance.

He leaned his face in slightly though, speaking only to you in your native Greek. “Was it that many boats then? They’re only marauders. I’m sure your father won’t mind if you kill a few. All you’d need say is that these Norse folk had shown you hospitality, and then these other fools attacked. What else were you to do? And regardless, I’ve already promised our protection to them.”

Our? Your eyes stared holes into him at that. You had promised nothing. This was beyond ridiculous. Yet even in your annoyance, you knew deep down that there were still rules of etiquette that had been bred into you. Ones that couldn’t be ignored when it came to dealings with other gods. If he told them he would do something, while expecting your help to make it happen, and then you let him fail...it could only make them lose further faith in all your kind.

Which even Zeus himself would have admitted that lack of respect as a worsening problem with every successive mortal generation. They believed less and less.

“If you let their boats reach the shore, they’ll happily kill every last man and child on this soil. Only the younger women would live, albeit would they really wish to once they’re sold off like livestock?” Loki added, almost chipper even in those dark words.

You gave the side of his helmet a good, harsh peck, making him turn his face away in reflex before you finally took flight again.

God of mischief indeed. What were you really getting yourself into if you only kept showing him that you were here for whatever use he saw fit?

Though you had somewhat told him that hadn’t you? Back on the beach that day. That whatever kind of relationship he desired with you, you would address the needs as you came to them. You’d more meant in the sense of possibly becoming closer than friends of course. More like that night in the cave. But this...what in Gaia’s name was this?

You pumped your wings hard, then flying back over the sea as you neared the boats and quickly counted them. How many would you have to destroy in order to break their morale?

The quicker you could get this done though, the better. Any kind of prolonged battle may only attract more onlookers, increasing the chances of you having to explain these uncomfortable motivations with your father soon.

Tucking your wings in, you dove suddenly, the only difference between you and a real osprey being that as soon you hit the water, you didn’t surface again. You regained the form of a woman once more, sinking beneath the boats even as you raised your arms towards them.

It took real concentration, especially when your emotions were still all over the place. But the previously calm seas did eventually start to churn. As you clenched your fists, the whirlpools began to tighten around first one, then two, then three of the longships

That should be well enough you thought to yourself. Even from below you could hear the wood snapping as the hulls began to give. Once the boats listed past the point of no return, the masts began to snap as well, the large canvas that was the sails crashing down to the water below and billowing out.

The sunlight cut through the fabric, making the strangest shadows as you swam back from under it. You noted that these men were fairly capable swimmers as well as the fallen began to make their own ways back to the surface.

You left their survival to chance, not trying to pull them any further down, but not helping them either as they swam for rescue towards the remaining boats.

The nymphs that had followed you to this shore also kept things hands off, merely watching in a mix of awe and confusion from beneath the water. But you didn’t have time to explain, only nodding your acknowledgement towards them. They would have to wait.

But you weren’t sure what you were really going to tell them either as you only changed back into the osprey then, breaking the surface before you flapped hard enough to leave the water entirely. You simply glided back towards shore once you caught the wind again.

Loki now stood expectantly on the beach, far more men than you had seen earlier gathered behind him. Dumbstruck expressions graced all the mortals faces as that prince of Asgard only offered you his arm once more.

You landed on his forearm again, making sure to fluff your wet feathers hard enough to throw some seawater on him. Just because you’d done what he’d wanted didn’t mean your frustration was at all over. Conversations would definitely be had.

But he only smiled even as that bit of cold water ran back down his neck and beneath his armor, further annoying you before he whispered then. “Quite a performance. But don’t act as if I won’t be rewarding you later. The day is still young.”

Yet you could only ponder the meaning behind such words, as you were then the one who had to endure several more hours of the village’s praises for Loki instead.

When the marauders had indeed retreated, fading back from sight, all the mortals had come out to rejoice. The ones who had witnessed it all firsthand, recounted the events with excitement again and again to all those others who came to listen.

You’d ended up in their mead hall, candles burning in the dim structure as it filled with the smell of cooked meat and the raucous noise of the townspeople. Men, women, and even the children all filled the hall in celebration.

Loki of course sat at the head of the long feast table as the guest of honor, quite comfortable you thought in their most ornate chair as you only perched on one of its armrest beside him. In the candlelight, the shadows danced around the edges of his face and helmet.

Even in this bird form, you thought he caught you staring at him a few times though. But what else did you have to do? You couldn’t speak, and you still didn’t want to reveal your true self to these strangers. You kept hoping he’d have his fill of the attention at some point, where you’d finally be able to leave again.

But that was wishful thinking surely. Though you did put your attention back to the mortals as the clan chief had made his way to the both of you.

He bowed respectfully, “Prince Loki, I wished to inform you that I have spoken to our carpenters and they believe the building you requested could be finished within two months time.”

Your confusion may have even translated through your body language then as your head tilted and your feathers ruffled. The what?

But Loki didn’t add any elaboration to the subject, only seeming pleased. “Good.” He said simply.

And before you could show any further displeasure at being left in the dark, you saw that mortal leader then looking at you specifically with curiosity.

“If it is not too much a question, prince...” He started, yet treading carefully. “I have heard the stories of the Allfather and his ravens Huginn and Muninn. But I did not know you too possessed a bird, and of such ability. What is its name? It’s quite beautiful.”

His words were unexpected, but the greater surprise was the feel of Loki’s fingers then down your neck and back, physically petting you as if you really were just some adored companion.

You startled, chirping as you turned your head to nip his hand in reflex.

Loki only grinned once more though, moving his fingers out of your reach just as quickly. “Oh, she’s quite proud. Which she should be. Father’s birds are only spies. This bird you see here is...” Loki gave you a sly look, as if teasing that he would reveal you in that very moment. But he didn’t, just glancing back to the man instead. “I call her Kærr.”

Who? You stared. So he was just making up names for you now? And you didn’t even recognize the word as you racked your brain to try and remember a meaning for it in the Norse words you’d read.

But you couldn’t. It could mean fool for all you knew. Little fool who just followed Loki, letting themselves be used in all the dumbest ways.

——————————

At last, the festivities had finally begun to wane and Loki had stood. The mortals all praising him once more as he’d made some speech about needing to return to Asgard, but now being a protector of this town as long as they kept their loyalty to him.

You were truthfully tired by now. Not so much physically, but mentally from the run of emotions you’d had to deal with in silence over the last several hours.

It was fully nighttime when he’d finally walked out of view from the village, now deep in some dark forest, probably heading towards wherever he planned to reopen the bifrost.

When you were confident that no mortals had followed though, you at last landed on the forest floor in front of him, changing back into your true form of a woman.

“Start talking. Now.” You breathed. The anger you’d wanted to express earlier though just sounded like exasperation. But you had so many questions.

He paused, the bits of moonlight that broke through the tree canopy, now glinting white off his armor as he grinned.

“You do have patience, goddess. But I didn’t ask you to trap yourself in the form of a bird all day, let’s remember that firstly.” And he only walked closer to you at that, seemingly all too confident that you wouldn’t attack him just in spite now. “Secondly, I did this for the both of us.”

“For us?” You asked incredulously.

“Well you were too shy to take proper credit of course, which again, not my fault. But I told them this town was under our protection-”

“And you’ll just go back to Asgard and leave me to deal with it! If a god goes back on their word, you know how that makes us all look. I didn’t ask to adopt a village today!”

Yet he was unbothered even as your voice rose. “You’ll do wonderfully. Don’t pretend you don’t have a weakness for these creatures. I’ve seen how you pity them. Consider them your new pets, my gift to you.”

But you scoffed, still so disbelieving. “You’re mad. And really, did Odin even send you here? Or was that more fantasy as well?”

Yet the more flustered you got, the more amused he started to look. “Well, the village leader’s great, great, great something or other ancestor actually was a friend of my Father’s. They fought side by side once. But no, Father doesn’t know I’m here. He’s in Alfheim, as I said.”

But Loki knew it’d give you more inclination to go along with things surely if Odin’s name was attached. Didn’t he? “And the marauders?” You asked as your questions only continued.

He just smirked. “That probably would have happened on its own eventually. There’s a lot of bad blood there apparently. But I’m not as patient as you. That did need a little goading.”

You sighed. “Which you provided I’m sure. Did you pass word to them that this village was preparing to attack them?”

“Oh, something like that.”

“Okay, but why? They say you like chaos, but I haven’t seen you do anything yet that wasn’t for a reason.”

“I already told you. This is for us.” He only reiterated.

“And I still don’t believe it. What building was that man talking about making? A shrine to you? A temple?”

“A house.” He corrected.

“A...what?” You stared.

“Well, not what I’d consider a real one. It had to be quite small unfortunately, or else it’d take them a year or more to build. But nearby, up on this hill actually is where it will be. I told them we’d need a place to stay when in the mortal realm. And if they kept it well maintained, our protection would continue.”

You were finally silent for a few moments then, thoughts spinning furiously. Madness was right. Did he really...did he really plan all this for just this reason? “So, is that why you did all this?” You asked at last.

“I’d prefer not to just meet in wet, muddy caves for the foreseeable future if it’s all the same to you.” He answered with a little air of haughtiness returning.

But you weren’t ready to trust yet. Not where it really counted. “And should I be flattered? Or is there a ‘house’ like this in every realm for you?”

For those words though, even in the moonlight you could see a greedier look come into his eyes as he tilted his head, examining you once more. “Hmm. That’s new. But as fetching as jealousy is on you...you’re wrong. My only other bed would be in Asgard. And I don’t waste my time trying to fill it.”

Jealous? Is that what he thought? You opened your mouth as if to retort, but realized anything you could think to say in defense would only make him sound more correct.

“This is ridiculous.” Was all you finally said. Not knowing how to really express anything further.

“And what else would you really have done so important today if I hadn’t come?” He smirked, reaching a hand out.

He held your chin lightly then, making you realize how close he’d really moved to you in the time you’d been talking.

“You already forgot what I promised didn’t you?” He asked more quietly then.

Your look in return said that you clearly had before he just continued.

“Your reward.” He spoke, before leaning in to kiss you.

You tensed, but didn’t pull away. Such arrogance you still managed to think though, him acting as if his touch alone would erase every negative feeling and upset of the day.

But life was now more complicated than you’d ever known before. Even if this didn’t make everything alright and forgiven...you didn’t want him to stop either as you eventually returned the kiss, leaning further into him. After his hand let go of your face, you felt his arms slide around your waist next, pulling you to him tightly.

It wasn’t as fully desperate, as hungry as that night in the cave. But there was still a clear need there, tasting him all over again as he kissed you again and again.

“I have to return to Asgard.” He breathed eventually though, yet looking at you with body language that didn’t at all match his words as he hadn’t loosened his grip at all. “But speak up, goddess. Would it be more insult just to leave, or to only be quick this time in taking something we both want?”

“Are you, are you asking me...” You were trying to catch up with his thought process. It was late in the night, and he’d already been gone from his kingdom all day. He may be lying still, but it was very possible he had already overstayed whatever time he’d intended to be here. Especially if Odin and Thor really were in another realm right now. Loki’s absence would only be that more evident to his people. So he was about to leave, but he wanted to know if you wanted him to...jump to the finish before he left you?

“Why is it so hard for you to say?” He pushed, moving his hips against you slightly to further his intention.

“I will not be your whore, Loki. That much must be understood.” You replied. Not angrily, but still serious enough to show your sincerity in that statement as you found your voice again.

Yet he just laughed, a genuine one at that. “Just when I think you can’t surprise me any further...you go and say something so foolish.”

But he’d already grabbed your wrist before you could slap him, then continuing. “Calm your temper. I only laugh because you keep assuming so much. If there’s a whore here tonight, it would only be me of course.”

The resulting confusion in your eyes only seemed to encourage him too as he smiled again. “I know it’s not just fucking you want. And there will be more time later to explore that. But gods, woman, I left an empty throne sitting there in Asgard today just for a chance at this. How else could that not make me a whore tonight?”

You really didn’t know at this point, if all his words were only meant to manipulate you further, or if he was actually being truthful right now.

“You make my head hurt.” You grumbled at last, just running your hand down the armor on his chest until it reached his waist.

“You make my...well, I think you can assume what part of me hurts right now.” He just smirked at your resulting expression, his hands starting to bunch up your dress a little. “What? Too crude? I could change into a woman just as easily you know, if you rather something a little different.”

“I thought you said you wanted to make this quick.” You retorted. As in your mind, working up a woman to full arousal would be far more time consuming if your own body was any indication. While men were up and ready at a moment’s notice weren’t they?

“You imply that I can’t have you trembling just as fast then?” He said, seeming to accept the challenge when you didn’t stop him from further raising your dress.

* SMUT STARTS HERE

*

*

You’d only expected to feel one of his hands back between your legs next. So when he abruptly dropped to his knees in front of you instead, you were truly shocked.

You felt his hands on your bare waist, keeping your dress bunched up and out of the way as he glanced back up at you briefly, a wicked look in those blue eyes. How someone could look so predatory, even while on their own knees, you did not know.

All you could do was gasp as you felt his mouth meet your opening roughly, sucking you before his tongue quickly flicked out, so much like a snake against the sensitive flesh.

It was so surreal really, the cool metal of the horned helmet also brushing and scraping against your skin as its master moved obscenely in his attempts to unravel you.

Reflexively, your hips also tried to squirm away from his pressing mouth, so sensitive to the roughness as he went back to sucking what was already becoming swollen. But he’d allow none of it. He only gripped you harder, fingers digging into your soft bottom to keep you against him.

He was going to win. How this had even become a contest, you were not sure. But pride or not, your legs were already feeling like jelly. He would win.

“Loki,” You pleaded, nothing to really brace yourself against as your own knees started to bend.

But he didn’t stop, no. He only pressed even faster at your desperation, tongue flicking and probing over and over, mouth sucking for what felt like ages. But you knew it really couldn’t have been that long at all. Embarrassingly short even before you shuddered harshly, the orgasm cutting through you.

Even in those little aftershocks though, you could feel his teeth as he smiled against you. But he didn’t let go of you, helping you stay upright even as he stood back up himself. “Was that fast enough for you?” He taunted lowly, lips still clearly wet in the moonlight from you before he moved you almost gently backward.

Your back found a large tree trunk behind you, the bark gladly smooth as it helped further support you while he pushed your dress back upward again.

Your eyes met again as you felt him abruptly slide into you at that. He was still fully dressed, but at some point as he’d stood, he’d opened just his pants, that hard flesh now fully sheathing back inside of you before he began to thrust.

It was steady this time, slower, but still forceful as he watched your expression every time he reached that deepest point.

“Do you think you could get used to this?” He asked, breath still a bit labored, likely just from his own arousal.

You knew your own heartbeat was still pounding in your ears, so you could only imagine that his was now doing much the same as you kissed him again.

The taste was strange, still the remnants from you of course, but you didn’t mind it.

“I could.” You did answer though when you pulled back slightly again.

But you didn’t know how this would really work. Would you just keep meeting here now whenever he wanted to see you? The mortals would make some sort of cabin? Room? What have you, for you to stay in? Is this really what he wanted? Wouldn’t he only grow bored of the novelty eventually?

Either that, or one of your families may end up intervening. This couldn’t be kept just to the two of you indefinitely. Heimdall already knew of you of course.

There were still so many questions.

Yet he only seemed focused on the here and now as he finally shuddered against you as well and you felt that tell tale wetness of his cum overflowing slightly down your thigh.

His hands ran up under your dress still, not seeming to want to let go even as he continued to watch you as his own orgasm dissipated.

“...It may be a while before I can return. The mess in Alfheim I don’t see as being resolved soon.” He spoke after a few more moments, breaking the silence.

And he did slide back out of you then, covering himself back within his pants once more after his hands finally let go of you to let your dress also fall back down around your legs.

*

*

*SMUT OVER

He continued though, not leaving your side just yet. “Father’s already been gone over a week now, brother too. Technically putting the kingdom in my care for now. I used the excuse of those marauders attacking this village with old connections to Father as a reason to come check on Midgard today. I don’t quite think Mother believed my motives either. The two of you would likely get along well in your odd combination of suspicion yet fondness for me you know.”

Fondness he said. That was some kind of word for it. But you weren’t sure it was the right one. “If you’ve never had much interest in my world before, then yes, I’m sure anyone would be doubtful.” Of course he’d never spoken of his mother to you. Maybe eventually you could learn more. But not tonight as you realized time was finally up.

As he pulled away, his hand only brushed yours gently, that green cape moving behind him as he walked away. “Goodnight, goddess.”

There was a clearing in the distance, evidently carved earlier from the bifrost as he stepped into the opening and called up to Heimdall.

It was only at that moment though that you remembered one more thing. You yelled out to him suddenly, so he would still hear you at this distance. “Wait, what does Kærr mean!?”

But even from this far you could still see his smug smile spreading before the light of the bifrost overtook him and he was gone.

“Dammit.” You said to no one. This would cause you a whole new trip to the library on Olympus you were sure. All for one simple word.

——————————

It wasn’t until days later that you did make it back to Olympus though. You’d had to apologize to a couple of the nymphs, asking them to keep an eye on that town for you. Your apparent new charity project that Loki had left you with.

Now in the library you’d been pouring over the few more detailed Norse language texts you could find. It’d been much easier the last time you’d been here, when you’d just been trying to learn the gist of Asgard’s history and the very basics of their language. Trying to find the definition of one specific word however proved far more tedious.

But you did finally come across it.

Kærr: Dear, of great value or excellence, precious, beloved-

And you couldn’t read any further, a strange emotion flaring as you’d exclaimed, “Oh, bullshit!” instantly closing the book back shut, then sitting there a moment as this new information settled over you.

He had to be kidding. Just a flippant joke to him surely. And yet, why did it bother you so much? You really had expected the name to have some sort of negative definition, some kind of taunt or insult that he’d be able to laugh about later whenever it’d finally dawned on you.

But this was far worse. It was cruel if he didn’t mean it. Yet...somehow maybe even crueler if he did. Because what were you supposed to do with this knowledge? What could you do?

“Hello, stranger.” A soft voice called as you heard footsteps approaching though.

You looked up in time to see a bit too beautiful god pull out a chair across from you, just sitting at your library table as well then with a friendly smile.

“Hi, Eros,” you said reflexively, still sounding a bit not yourself. He was just your cousin after all, well cousin once removed anyway.

But when he didn’t say anything immediately back, just giving you a sort of sympathetic look instead, the real threat of his presence hit you at once like a lead weight as your eyes widened a little.

“No...no, no, no.” You said quickly, lowering your voice as you leaned in towards the god, not knowing what other ears may be listening. “Eros, I literally just met him. Four times total!” You counted out four fingers from your hand, waving them in front of him for emphasis.

He tilted his head. Yet only answering gently, “Cousin, I sensed you as soon as you arrived here. Are you okay?”

You sighed, but knew you could trust him to keep this revelation to himself. It was part of his job frankly. “It wouldn’t matter would it? I mean, I know you haven’t met him. But he’s not going to feel the same. I’d think at most it would be some kind of possessive thing. He is...well, he’s very self important. Honesty is also not a preference of his.”

But to this Eros just smiled. “No one is perfect, especially among our kind. I can tell you with full certainty though that the biggest lie ever told is when someone claims to not desire love. I’ve seen the hearts of the cruelest dictators all the way to the homeless peasant in the street. They all beg me for it deep down. Even if they can’t always admit it to themselves.”

You rested your elbows on the table, just looking down again. “But that doesn’t mean he’d want it from me necessarily.”

“Love is never a given. It wouldn’t be so valuable otherwise. But you can’t lose hope too soon just because you’re new at something. You need to see it through. That’s the only way to ever find out.”

You looked back up at him wryly, knowing it would be foolish not to accept a little relationship advice from the god of love himself. But as he’d said there was no guarantee this would end up working either. “So if everything goes horribly wrong, I can just blame you, right?”

He shrugged, a bit of a wise ass himself to be true. “Might as well. Everyone else does.”

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[skellebonez]

Happy Birthday Diety!

It’s your birthday, @dietyprophet and I just could not resist writing something somft in the Toy AU! I absolutely love it and have been waiting for the chance to write something for you in this for ages! I hope you love it!

“Are you sure you can’t tell me where we’re going, Ragdoll?”

“For the last time it’s a surprise, Red, and no peeking under your blindfold!”

Red Son sighed, finally accepting defeat as he allowed the rag doll toy to lead the nutcracker to... wherever it was that he deemed it so important to go to so early in the morning.

It was very odd, though. MK was never much of a morning person in his memory, always taking extra time (or assistance, sometimes in the form of Mei or Pigsy physically lifting the doll out of whatever pretzel form his usually limp body had become when slumped on the shelf or ground in sleep) to get up compared to the others when no one else was around and the sun had barely risen. But here he was, waking Red and dragging him to who knows where before the sun was even up.

Perhaps he had just never gone to sleep? It would not have been the first time the other toy had done that, especially if he could get his hands on some of the art supplies left out or lost within his reach. Or perhaps someone else had woken him for something else and he was taking an opportunity for... something.

“Ok!” MK finally said, moving Red to stand and readjusting his position until he was completely satisfied with the direction he was facing. Red couldn’t help but try to force down a smile, just a little bit, as he imagined the pondering face that he could be sporting. It was the same kind of expression he’d caught him with multiple times and each time it just made whatever counted as his nutcracker heart do... something. “Alright, I’m taking the blindfold off... now.”

While he wasn’t sure what to expect... nearly nothing was not it. There was just ambient morning light for him to see his surroundings, including his companion, but there wasn’t really anything spectacular about where they were.

Then he noticed, hidden away in a little alcove almost invisible to them but not really hidden in the sense they were trying to hide, the tell tale pink and red of Pigsy and Tang together. The porcelain doll was sitting in the mascot toy’s lap, no doubt regaling him with some kind of story by the way his hands moved and how Pigsy’s face didn’t seem to look away from his own.

Were they... waiting for something? They had no need to come this far for storytelling after all.

“Ragdoll, what are we doing here?” He asked, taking another look around the room they were in.

“1 more minute,” MK answered instead of telling him, gesturing to the aforementioned couple across from them. “Tang told me about this and I... I wanted you to see it with me like he and Pigsy do every year. We don’t know why they put this up for a couple days out of the year but it’s just so... you’ll see.”

“This?” Red repeated, turning back in the direction MK had set him up in.

Well... if that’s the case it must be something special if MK was awake at this hour a-

He didn’t get to finish that thought. Instead the sun rose just enough, just ever so slightly enough to catch what he had missed in his cursory glance through the darkened room.

The glass decorations on the window, that had certainly not been there the day before, lit up the second the bright light of the golden sun hit them and bathed the room in a sea of colors. Red and greens and blues and purples and yellows and every other color he had ever seen. They mixed together almost like water, and when the light hit a cloud or something else outside it was almost like the glass was trying to do a little puppet show of it’s own.

In some portions, and whether it was intended or not he could never know, the colors merged or had gaps that formed into shapes. Little half stars or crescent moons... a few hearts.

“Beautiful...” was all Red could muster up in response as he saw one of the most beautiful sights his painted on eyes had ever seen.

“Yeah...” MK said almost dreamily, and when Red turned to look at him he felt the air in his non-existent lungs escape him. The other toy wasn’t looking at the sight before them but Red himself, and was bathed in the same colors from the side. The red made his headband and cheeks almost shine despite his matte material, purples and greens accenting him in a way that just made him look so...

“You’re beautiful,” Red said without even thinking about it, and like that it was as if the spell that had been cast between the two of them had snapped like a twig.

Toys don’t blush but he could swear his own face was heating up and the other toy’s face was red all over in embarrassment. Before he could apologize, however, the other covered his face and let out a breathless laugh.

“So are you,” he heard the other mutter into his mitten hands and once again whatever counted as he toy heart did something. Leap maybe?

Whatever it was... he liked it. And he wanted it to happen again. So he reached out, gently, and pulled MK’s hands from his face to see the goofy smile on his face.

“We should stop beating around the bush, Ragdoll,” he said with a soft nervous chuckle, more nervous than he had been when he was first brought into everyone’s lives here. He gently tilted the other’s head up to look at him. “I realize you didn’t bring me here as a friend.”

“Kinda obvious?” MK said, clearly enjoying the physical contact as he leaned into it. “I just. You know I’m not a romantic person, my idea of a date could be us watching horror movies for 12 hours. But this just sounded nice and I wanted to start of with something special... if you want to start.”

“I absolutely do,” Red answered, cupping the other’s face as best he could. “And for what it’s worth, that date sounds perfect too.”

He barely got to see MK’s exuberant expression before he smashed their faces together to finally kiss him.

[persephoneyss]

The Monster.

Pairing: park jimin x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish.

Summary: ❝You can be reborn like spring, but your nightmares will follow your footsteps at night.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, voyeurism, Jimin is a little delusional, implicit murder, death threats, a little violence, stalking, death of secondary characters, reader idolizes his mother, humiliation.

Number of words: 6000+

︙ Author's note: this is my first fic here, sorry if there are errors. My first language is not English and I don't speak it fluently either, so I used the translator. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, I am open to criticism. Thanks!

(Puedes leer este y más fics aquí en español.)

To block.

Your mind felt strangely familiar, like it was processing the same situation all over again. And then the same thing happened again.

Blocking.

You never noticed those little details, invisible to the eyes of others. Or maybe you took too seriously the message and advice that your mother always told you when you were afraid of being left alone in your room because of the obvious and silly repetitive story of the monster under the bed, you were crying looking for your mother's room in the middle of the night. You were looking for refuge in her arms. However, the only loving words she had for you were: "Ignore him and he will go away, darling."

It seemed very clever to you, you began to close your eyes ignoring your worst fears and in a short time you could do what most children could not at your age, sleep alone in the dark.

Your mother was wise, maybe that's why you never understood why your father left her overnight. She never commented on the subject and little by little it was forgotten in her daily lives. Your father never existed, you never saw him again.

In his small town no one was exceptionally well known, unless he had done something good or bad enough to be called a hero or, in the same way, a villain. You were barely seven years old when it happened, a family with a lot of money had chosen your town as a decent land, enough to build their luxurious house where their children who came from golden cradles would grow up. According to the gossip, they were foreigners coming to invade their town and rule it, when in reality the Parks never got more involved in politics than necessary.

They were just rich, spending money.

Young women from all over the world and even from other distant towns came every day to try to conquer the privileged children of the great mansion built finely and strategically in the middle of the main square. The young women were beautiful, many times you stood at the door of your house admiring their distinguished perfect faces and you wondered if the children of the Park family were really worth it so that young and beautiful women who had previously been rejected would come back again. in search of new opportunities.

Your mother sometimes stood next to you with a smile and released another phrase that ended up marking your style of thinking, her voice sounded so ethereal: "Money compensates for external beauty, plus the dignity that you lose to those who possess it, it will never have a price."

Your lost look made her smile beautifully badly, then that same sweet voice that taught you things that other women would see as irrelevant, she too moments later she orders you to come home to eat. You thought about it so much, your mother was beautiful, she could remarry if she wanted to. However, she never did, or at least until that day.

You were poor, you were never afraid to accept it. You noticed it almost immediately, when you saw other children playing with toys that seemed impossible that you will ever possess, your mother was friends with the one who was best friends with your father, a carpenter who seemed to be very kind. He always gave you toys that came out with small defects and he couldn't sell, he was a good man until he seemed to misinterpret the situations and her relationship with your mother, unexpectedly asking her to marry him. Obviously you had to stop seeing him after the rejection. However, you were stubborn like the woman who gave you life, almost every day after finishing school you walk two streets to her local.

"How is your mother? Any suitors who weren't rejected the first time?" You laughed, helping him finish his last job. You shook your head, Peter was always very nice and honestly funny, you still didn't understand how your mother could reject them, but you never got into adult affairs. You were just an eight-year-old girl.

"She still misses dad." You whisper trying to drive a nail into loose wood, before being interrupted by Peter.

You look curiously at his downcast face of hers, as if she was keeping something deep within himself. But he quickly changes his expression as well as the subject. "Very good girl, no more help for today" he says, removing the dangerous tools out of your reach, you let out a exhausted sigh wanting to help him. Deep down you felt guilty. "How are you doing in school? I heard that the Parks will start a new campaign to help more in the education of the children, maybe you can see someone from the family up close."

You move your head in distracting affirmation playing with a piece of wood, Peter watches you for a moment and then sighs. You really were special, and if I could tell what happened to your father, you would let go of that glow for sure.

The following days passed in the same way, there was only a radical change in your routine. Now they forced you to stay longer in school so that you could take art classes with the children of the Park family. You had heard many mothers talking to yours about how handsome they were, and since their daughters would undoubtedly have a chance with Jimin, who was the eldest son and of course the first-born heir, you thought for a long time about a tall man with more years than all those young women who hallucinated with the perfect millionaire husband. However, it was all an illusion. Jimin was not a man, he was a seventeen year old teenager.

Perhaps the young woman who did win him over would be very lucky to marry someone her own age and not a bitter old man who only had money. Jimin was everything, young, handsome and a millionaire, the best bet of any woman.

His first class was alongside his current teacher, introducing each child in the Park family. They were all very handsome, but Jimin seemed to shine brighter than the stars in the dark night. You wondered if his younger siblings would become jealous of him, it would be an interesting concept considering you had no siblings.

Your hands moved the clay very patiently, your classmates seemed to enjoy these classes and they were undoubtedly fun.

"What a beautiful flower ..." You smiled nodding, no one would ever think that someone like Jimin would be delighted with the common drawing of any girl. Her gaze traveled around your pure and innocent face, as if she couldn't get enough of you. She sat next to you, admiring how your hands continued to play with the dough creating new shapes and I certainly enjoyed every second.

She had never met someone who would attract so much attention from her, you were ethereal. Jimin was immediately drawn to you, your gaze clear as daylight and your soft features, maybe you were just a girl but you seemed to tempt his attention incredibly badly from him. He felt the strange sensation of making sure you were okay, safe, probably in his arms.

He followed you closely, always arriving at the same time. Her mother used to say that Jimin was very irresponsible, she never complied with the basic principles of being a Park: Discipline, order and punctuality. Jimin was different, his siblings may have fulfilled those three bases just to give what they wanted to their parents and receive more affection from him, but not him.

Jimin was obsessive. Impulsive, and he had self-control issues.

The biggest dangerous trait that his parents noticed since he was little, is that he suffered attacks of anger against anyone without caring about the consequences of this. More than three of his babysitters claimed that little Jimin had hit them, slapping and shoving them. But all of this was radically ignored by the Parks, who turned a deaf ear claiming that their son was simply too controlling, and in a way, he was. Jimin liked to have everything under control, at his disposal.

Jimin found himself fascinated with your little eyes looking at him without fear and, even though it was painful for him, without love. For you, he was nothing more than a stranger. He tried to change that, sitting next to you every day and talking to you a few times when he could get more than two sentences out of you. He liked art, I could tell by the way you focus too much on a small painting of an insignificant tree.

If you liked trees, Jimin could buy a forest for yourself.

You loved roses, he could plant thousands in every corner of town.

Or maybe, your obsession with the smell of vanilla. Jimin went wildly for the most expensive vanilla scented lotion, hoping for some praise from you and he really didn't fail.

No, when the next day he sat next to you and your gaze turned to him with a kind smile. "It smells great, Mr. Jimin." Your soft tone and your minimal compliment was enough to make his entire body shake, his hands began to sweat and his voice seemed to falter. It was amazing how you managed to make him so nervous, while he was still a child.

"Y-do you like it?" She asked even knowing the answer, your head bobbing in a quick nod and an even bigger smile adorns your features.

You put your painting aside for a moment to continue responding, Jimin feels elated to see that his plan worked. Now you're just looking at him, as it always should be. "It smells like vanilla, I like vanilla." You say honestly.

"I see, I also like vanilla." You seem shocked, Jimin increases the tension of him fearing that he said something wrong. He really wasn't lying, maybe vanilla wasn't something he used constantly but he didn't dislike it either, he was just disguising and embellishing a crude truth.

And before long, Jimin feels his life take an unexpected turn, people had started to notice his closeness to you. They called him an angel when in reality he was a devil, rumors and silly praise that he would be a good father were not lacking and the young women who came to his door every day to look for a date with him increased in an exorbitant way. You were oblivious to all that, clearly. However, you could not ignore all the looks that fell on you when you accompanied your mother to the market, as from one day to the next you became someone important just because you were the focus of attention of him Mr. Jimin, as you used to call him with respect. Peter also suffered the consequences of this, you had not stopped going to his store and the young women looking to conquer Jimin or at least get his attention began to follow you wanting to win your affection so that you will speak well of them with their desired man, no you were interested in what they could offer you but the biggest problem was that they did not like to receive a clear 'No.' as a reply.

They were insistent and often annoying. They followed you closely, even when you went to school or to visit Peter who now only went twice a week, you did not want to go out and have to face the pity that it gave you to see many beautiful young women begging for a vague love and that I was looking for more money arrangements than anything else. Also, not all of them had good intentions with you. Your mother made sure of your safety in the face of any incident, and with that came her last word, her strict order not to approach Park Jimin again until he found a wife.

The rest would be history.

He would surely forget you and start forming his own family, having his own children and likewise, looking for his own problems. Instead, that never happened. Jimin had discovered your plan, he was angry, he couldn't believe that you were ignoring his attempts to approach you in such a way. Your attitude was so pure but you were hurting her so much.

He was delusional, she knew he was. But he didn't want to stop. So, he did the only thing that would make you stay by his side.

You felt strangely calm, you had been to and from school with no one following closely in your footsteps. Until you noticed that the whole town seemed to look at you with superiority, with caution. Peter never stopped taking care of his store, however, that day it was closed. You gave little thought to that coincidence, walking home with slow steps. Deep down you were scared.

Maybe you thought you could feel it, in front of your house a crowd of people lay watching the most unexpected marriage request. Your mother was uncomfortable, you could tell by how her face was distorted, and how her hands seemed to shake for reasons not yet known to you. You watched in horror as Jimin knelt before her with a smile pulling a ring out of a small red box.

For a moment, you thought about your father. You felt strange, you always wanted to have a warm fatherly hug but it made you uncomfortable to imagine Jimin occupying that place, you did not want him, you did not love him as a daughter to his firstborn or as another similar relationship. He was a stranger.

Your body fell into the seat reserved especially for you, your eyes observed any place in the church trying to disperse your mind. Your little shoes brushed against each other, your hands rested on the wooden seat waiting for the wedding to end as soon as possible. You never wanted to oppose your thoughts to the idea of ​​your mother falling in love or getting married again, you really didn't care much as long as that person was good for her.

However, he was Park Jimin. You felt disgusted when her mother looked at you from afar with despicable eyes, just as anger consumed you when Mrs. Park tried to embarrass your mother in front of everyone. You didn't ask for this, nobody asked for it.

Maybe you spent too much time thinking around you to notice that Jimin was unhappy. A little upset. He had done what he had to do, chained you to him in some twisted way, marrying your mother and he felt happy, at first. I could see you walking through the church, you were wearing a little white dress to match your mother's and for a sinister moment I imagine that you were the one walking towards him to be named his wife. But he quickly came back to reality, you weren't his fiancée. You wouldn't be his wife.

Deep inside him, he knew how gross it was to feel like this.

Your mother's eyes reflected how unhappy she was, her gaze was uncertain. Jimin smiled seeing how you kicked the decorations that fell to the ground, you were completely oblivious to everything and more to the look of her that she followed you closely. Many called him a good father. Seeing nothing but his protective attitudes, but under the circumstances there were only hints of what might come next. You weren't allowed to leave Jimin's house, his father had left the mansion where his whole family used to live.

Mrs. Park could find no better excuse to leave than the sudden tantrum of her first-born son for marrying an older woman, a widow, and a daughter. This is a mockery and disgrace to her family's last name. Jimin just let her go, he wasn't even there the day her mother boarded the first train to her grandmother's house.

Your mother flatly refused to leave her house at first, she did not want to leave the little cabin that your father had built with his own effort so that both of them would live there and in the future raise their children, you always lived there and you did not want to leave either. But you never had a solid vote, your mother ended up agreeing from one day to the next, you did not know how Jimin managed to change his word so suddenly. Maybe there was never one reason, but you became all of them.

You were painfully present at all times. You observed how little by little, the wispy and wise glow that your mother possessed was getting lost between her empty eyes and her bent body, her head was never raised as she taught you it should be. She was a stranger, you felt scared in her presence. You remembered very well how her face seemed to light up when she saw you coming home from school and how she taught you something new every day.

"Mommy..." You spoke, your hands were still busy with the picture that you hadn't finished painting. But curiosity began to attack your mind.

Your mother came out of the kitchen with a little gray apron, she smiled when she saw you sitting on the floor. "Yes, honey?"

"Why do people get married?" Your gaze lifted from the sheet of paper, wincing at her glowing eyes.

"It depends, it's not necessarily for love. Maybe for money, comfort or ..." her voice trailed off, she still staring at you she leaned down to take your face in her hands. "Because they found someone, as cute as you!"

"Mommy ... I want to marry you!" Your mother began to laugh, your gaze traveled all over her face, joyful of hers and for a moment, you swore that you would hate anyone who dared to take away the great happiness of a genuine smile.

You finished your drawing, just in time because the front door echoed through the entire cabin. Your father appeared with a small drawer in his hands, your mother seemed to be illuminated with an angel when she saw him enter with a kind smile. Both were such for which. They were, more than lovers and husbands, lifelong best friends. Your life seemed to have something that many do not get even after death.

An outer and inner peace. It was perfect.

Almost so perfect, it wasn't true. White roses were always your favorites. However, you began to detest its soft light petals when it seemed that all the townspeople bought the same bouquet of white roses for the funeral of your, now, deceased mother. You took a seat next to her grave, ignoring everyone's greetings and goodbyes, who apparently forgot how her criticism of her increased even as the days, months and years of her wedding with Jimin passed.

You couldn't blame anyone. Or you just didn't want to.

Because the rope around his neck was not placed by them. And the multiple scars on his wrists weren't his marks. A small part of you felt helpless, angry and respectively, disgusted with yourself. Could you help her? Yes. No. Maybe if you had ... And he had stayed in the past.

The little white rose in your hand fell to the floor, everyone had left the room to go to the large buffet served at the reception. You froze, then with the same rage you began to step on the already dead flower at your feet, the petals of it were no more than a pure color, now they were disgusting and dirty. Jimin appeared minutes later, your gaze fell on his hand that was holding a black and a red rose.

"We should go, honey." He whispered as if afraid to scare you even though you were already looking directly at him. Your immobile figure instinctively ran into his arms, which greeted you with an incredibly loving warmth. The roses were placed on top of the coffin, a smile spread across your face when you saw the color red stand out against so much white, and for a second you came to compare the beauty of an outstanding color with your mother.

She stood out in a world where everyone wanted to paint themselves pure white.

Jimin was even more welcoming to you now. He pretended to sleep waiting for 11:30 to arrive so that he could hear your footsteps on the way to his room, you had developed a great amount of fear of loneliness. Jimin knew you always did that, but before it was with her instead of him. You would walk for several seconds looking in the dark for his room, which was next to hers, then I would always hear her voice singing for you, making you rest in his arms. For a long time, I want to be her. But now he was gone and I knew it was a matter of time before your steps stopped at his door.

She loved the closeness of your body to hers, how your hands clung to her nightshirt when you were cold or a horrible nightmare was projected into your dreams. Jimin horribly wishes he could see beyond your dreams, although that would be disrespectful to your privacy, he wouldn't mind breaking your trust too much if he could be sure that you would never walk away from him, even in your dreams.

He managed to chain your life to his, your scared look was the most beautiful thing I have seen before. I want to touch your little face and kiss your soft lips that tempted him every time the word "dad" came out of it.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Your presentation was no better, your hands were trembling again while your feet moved from here to there restlessly. Jimin just watched silently, but the distance between you and him was gigantic, he just wished that the damn bitch that was presented before him would shut up and leave his house. It was remarkable how you seemed angry, maybe it's jealousy, she has feelings for me. He thought sickly, a smile spreading across his face discreetly at his incoherent thoughts of him. The young woman sitting on the sofa in front of him smiled thinking that her talk had caused some pleasure in the young and widowed man.

Jimin admired her face, she was very cute, also she seemed to have good manipulation technique in people. She noticed it quickly when she walked through the door, her smile that seemed uncontrollable and genuine lit up his childlike face. He took a few seconds, he knew he shouldn't do it but he couldn't help comparing the woman to you. You were shorter, you were obviously younger and your gaze was more pure. Jimin was proud of your firm stance, knowing that in the two years since your mother's death you had developed a closer connection with him, and likewise, you were a beautifully perfect copy of him. Your hard gaze and your legs crossed with each other showed your firmness, and your silent opinion.

You wanted the fucking bitch sitting across from your stepdad outside your house.

You laughed at the very idea of ​​one day finding a really good replacement for your mother. You couldn't replace a rose with bad herbs. For you, as selfish as he was, Jimin was your father, and he was your mother's love from the day he married her. No one would replace his position.

It was all three of them, and a part of your mind conned that Jimin still wasn't over the love he had for her. Or he would have remarried long ago, when the young women stood in front of the door of his house asking for a date with him. In those moments you didn't care, Jimin was a stranger, but now he was your father and you were his only daughter. No one had the right to ruin their harmonious relationship, they were both alone and someday serious like him.

You will be successful, you will make a lot of money and you will be able to marry someone you love.

But for now, your gaze fell on the little worn and dirty shoes of the woman in front of you. A smile crossed your face, your gaze lifted surprising the woman. While Jimin waited with his arms crossed for your following action.

"Woman." Your voice seemed to cut her tranquility, her face lost total color of life and a small grimace of fear passed over her fragile face. "I can't allow shoes like that to step on the carpet in my house ..."

The woman looked at Jimin who seemed indifferent, distracted by the painting on the wall.

"I'm sorry miss" she whispered trying to remove her shoes, his hands seemed more clumsy than usual. Her face burned when your hand moved closer to hers to prevent any further movement.

"Go away." A tiny part of you felt sorry for his embarrassed face and flushed cheeks. But it quickly came to your mind that she thought she was good enough to believe she was your mother. When she couldn't even challenge a stupid girl who acted like a spoiled brat. "Get out of my house, or I'll have to ask you not to just take off your shoes."

"I-sorry, I'll go now-..." A sob interrupted her dialogue, her hands searched for the notebook she was carrying but she gave up making a quick bow to Jimin and running outside.

The garden was your favorite part of the big house, the walls constantly made you believe that you were going to be eaten by them. Every day you came out of your lair admiring the many roses of many different colors growing beautiful and healthy. Your school stage was about to begin and you did not want to neglect your garden, which was also a tribute to your late mother.

So you hired a gardener. You were seventeen years old and soon to be eighteen. To say that you managed to experience the best of all those years was ridiculous, and deep down inside you, you thought that all of that was possible because of all the things Jimin did for you.

You had a debt, which you planned to pay in the future. You thought about leaving and letting him have a quiet life from now on without having to run to solve your problems, even if you never asked him to.

Jimin had eyes watching your every move, he clearly remembers how he put security cameras throughout the house, observing how you slept, what you did in the comfort of your room and privacy. Even when you walked into the shower and your hands ran over your body covered in water. Sometimes he felt guilty, for how he seemed to enjoy those moments that seemed so short.

However, it was repeated that as long as you were safe.

Breaking your trust wasn't that important.

Your eighteenth birthday was moderately quiet, Jimin was not used to throwing parties, and honestly, you never asked for one. So you just stood at the door of your house receiving expensive and cheap gifts from people who when they gave you the gift had a forced smile that told you many things. Most were familiar faces, of women who had previously sought a date with your father, obviously being rejected.

The little birthday cake looked so monotonous, the candles were the only thing you could stand out for. You were never aware that you had started to be privileged and extremely ambitious since Jimin proposed to your mother and forced her to marry him, pointing a gun at her pathetic silly little head. You had it all, and in your previous years maybe you managed to get excited about the new toys and accessories that were brought to you from other countries, you had everything that others did not, and a strange epiphany collapsed over you.

It was you, it was déjà vu. You were them, and those who were before, were now you.

You had all of them, and they didn't. Now, by your side, they were all poor. Jimin showered you with gifts, causing you to gradually lose interest in money. You remember your thoughts when it all started and likewise, you still remember the woman with the dirty shoes. You will be successful, you will make a lot of money. It was what you thought in the future for yourself, but now that was it, in a nutshell. Completely boring. You stayed for a moment thinking about them under the watchful eye of your stepfather who tried not to smile when you saw you, you were an adult now and he could finally take you as his own. They would be husband and wife, as it should have been from the beginning of its history.

And you will be able to marry someone you love. You still had only one option left, you blew out the candles with a single sigh causing Jimin to clap his hands and approach you to hug you fondly. The maids behind you only blushed when his boss started showing all of his affection. They weren't used to seeing him so often, Jimin had a firm and tough stance with everyone but he seemed to become as soft as clay in your presence. You came to mold Jimin in your favor, making him a cold person in front of his own demons and then, you left yours.

"I want marriage proposals, father." A gasp came from the mouths of the maids who just immediately fell silent. Lowering their head as they were taught. "I am ready to get married."

Jimin hummed still keeping his arms around you, your body was trapped in theirs. Your skin burned when his fingers squeezed your skin, leaving permanent marks. There was no reaction from you, you were used to this kind of unexpected treatment and it just didn't hurt.

"Get married?" His arms pulled away from you in disgust, there was no other reaction either. Jimin taught you not to object unless you knew you should. Stay calm and you will win. "And can you tell who would want to marry you? Useless little girl."

"Useless?" Your low voice seemed to make him happy for a moment.

Quickly his hands took the utensils to cut the cake, with a soft and sweet voice he continued: "Honey, men do not look for a girl with a lot of money like you. They look for someone to tame, and you, you could easily crush everyone with a wave of your hands."

A piece of the cake perfectly positioned on the plate was placed in front of you, a sob escaping your lips. You were really pathetic, eh? You clearly wanted to live something that has been claimed many times. You weren't going to get married, not without having it all like Jimin said. Then, you would lose everything and go back up to crush the others with greater pleasure.

"Aren't you going to eat? It's your cum-..."

"I will go to a neighboring town, I will finish my studies there."

Jimin looked down at his plate, ignoring how you got up from the table and put your cake aside. Then, your sweet voice finished destroying his self control that he thought he mastered long ago.

"I never liked that cake taste."

And it was the end.

You went back to the start again. You were planning to leave tonight, your bags were ready. Everything you needed was never in that house, it was never him. They were those that never existed in your present continued.

Your shoes did not seem to contrast with the dirt on the town's floor, you were also aware that those would end up in the trash. You didn't care, they were just shoes Jimin bought for your birthday, insignificant.

People were observant, and often foul-mouthed. It was no different than they spoke far from you or close to you, yet their mouths moved in a fussy way exaggerating reactions and creating new lies.

"_____...?" Your posture was decreasing, you no longer had to pretend. A smile covered your face, framing many emotions in one. "Come in please, it's your house."

Peter stepped aside, leaving room for you to enter. Your hands trembled but this time from cold, you still did not get over the harsh winter that suddenly passed. You took your shoes off quickly, briefly forgetting that this was no longer your home. You had sold the little cabin at a minimal price, and you were even happier when it was Peter who chose that place as his future home to live with his wife and his future child. Now he had two more. The little children ran in the tiny room playing with each other, a feeling of nostalgia invaded you when you saw them. You used to do the same before, together with your parents.

Those moments.

"Glad to see you around here, daughter." Peter hadn't changed, he was still the same kind and understanding person as ever. The opposite of you, of course. "Do you want to have tea? I heard on the streets that you would go to study far from here."

"Coffee, please." You responded still reluctant to talk about your departure.

Peter just laughed at your exaggerated denial, nodding and leading into the kitchen. You took a seat at the small table looking around. "You didn't change the decoration."

"Uh? ...." He seemed surprised by your observation, but he quickly smiled. "No. Actually, I think I liked it from the beginning how your ... er ... your mother decorated it. Besides, my wife loved it too. For her, it's beautiful as spring."

"Spring?" You ask, avoiding looking at it. You look down looking for some reason not to feel sad, in a way, you had compared your mother to spring as well. However, Jimin said that you were his. You never liked being called a light, because you always tried to be in your mother's shadow. And you liked it. "She believed that she is very wise, my mother was like spring."

"Thanks." A voice whispered from behind, your gaze fell on her and her face very much like your mother's. But they were obviously completely different. "I never doubted that you were just as wise. Spring represents the new beginning, a new beginning. Did you manage to find yours?"

Peter tried to intervene, clearly noticing the way his wife was trying to make you talk about your life after your mother died.

"I did. That's why I'm leaving here tonight."

"I'm glad we all need to be born again at some point."

You affirm with a small movement of the head, concentrating your gaze on the coffee cup in your hands. The smoke fell directly on your face hiding your grimace of disgust. Nobody deserves to talk about her like that yet.

"Ok, honey." Peter began by sitting across from you, with a cup of green tea and a serene expression. "Are you planning to go alone or with someone? I heard that travel today is very dangerous."

"Actually, I am accompanied by an acquaintance. His name is Jungkook, he also planned to leave and started working for me as a gardener to get the necessary money. We became good friends." You spoke remembering the adorable smile of the young man, he used to accompany you everywhere you went as if his job was to protect you. At first it was cute, but then it was annoying. Even after all that, you preferred to travel with him rather than alone.

"Oh that's very nice. I'm glad you managed to meet your goals. Good luck."

Your goals?

"Thanks, Peter."

His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, then he seemed to remember something very important. She gave you a smile before getting up to leave the kitchen.

"I have something for you, you are old enough to know this."

It was an envelope. Common and ordinary, but its envelope was beginning to deteriorate, showing that it was an old and very reserved letter.

You questioned your decision but took it, not wanting to read it in front of anyone even more when you read who wrote the letter.

You sat on the small wall, the trees and the cool breeze boosted your adrenaline. Small pieces of paper fell to the ground. So, you weren't thinking correctly at those times.

"I only married a man that I loved in all my life, I was happy. I had a daughter. I lived years of solitude and then, I was chained to an empty love."

"I know what you're reading this now. You're weak, darling. Maybe that's what made us mother and daughter. Because from the beginning I never had the courage to tell you that Jimin put a ring on my finger and a gun to my head. Or maybe, I was weak when I didn't get in the way of his errand, I should have told him that I hated him and that he could put a bullet in my head before giving it to my daughter. And maybe, I should have told everyone who passed by me that He was the same one who murdered my husband, he never left. I made you believe that. You never asked. "

"I saw you so happy today, you were running between the garden and the wedding. I could see his gaze following your hurried steps, I was almost completely sure that he was trying to get closer to you at all times. I told the woman next to me, But she shut me up saying that I can't be jealous of a father and daughter relationship. You weren't her daughter. She also ordered me to let them create a closer relationship, because I already had Park Jimin's heart in my hands. Liars."

"I always loved your curious voice. You used to ask me everything, and why everything was like that. But lately, I don't know what to answer. Why am I crying? Why is there a dark stain under my eyes? Why is there blood in the bathroom? Why did I never ask for help? I see you worry and you don't let me give you affection, because you prefer to give it to me. I also see how I start to bother him, I am a hindrance. Now I understand, I knew it but I never wanted to accept that it happened. He was everywhere, and likewise, I was never part of the plan."

"There were only two things I didn't tell you. I love you and my last piece of advice. Honey, lock it up and fly to the start, whenever you feel lost. A fresh start and never forget spring."

You stifled a sob. Covering up your pain. You had not noticed that the night had covered the sky, a dark blue blanket arrived. It took you a long time to assimilate that all the fragments were torn papers, and it was not a letter. It was an envelope filled with, apparently, incomplete sheets torn from a notebook. There was a fragment that was not part of the leaves, but rather was written later.

"Lost parts of a sad widow's diary.

Peter."

They were from your mother's diary. So where was the rest? What actually happened? A message came to your phone, you read it quickly still drying your tears.

JUNGKOOK:

Our trip is in an hour, I hope you said goodbye to everyone.

Received at 7:05 p.m.

I still do not:(

Received at 7:06 p.m.

Along with both messages was an attached picture, a photo of him and his grandmother. Jungkook talked a lot about her, and hers, her brothers. You smile, still wiping the tears from your face.

Your feet moved, the leaves in your hands seemed too heavy. And yet it was something you needed to do.

"Are you at home." His monotonous voice invaded you, he was busy reading a book that rested in his hand. The maid came over leaving a cup of coffee beside him, greeting your presence politely. "I have some things to discuss with you, darling."

"Me too, Jimin." It was the first time you had said his name without due respect, he seemed surprised for a moment. But his expression changed to one of happiness, as if he had been waiting for it. "I couldn't say goodbye, I'm leaving today. I think you already know that, though."

"Actually, no. But it's nice to hear it from you."

"I ..." Your voice dried in your throat, a giant doubt fell over you. You didn't want to leave without telling him how much you hated everything about him. His attention, his affection, his smile, his gaze, his voice. Everything about him was disgustingly charming. "I think I'll go get my bags."

Jimin nodded, ignoring your presence. Still distracted with reading him.

"Before you go, can you give me that back, darling?" Your gaze followed where he pointed his finger. Your hand. The leaves were still there.

"It's something of mine-..."

"Oh I don't think so. It really is very easy to threaten someone, just suffice to say that you can put a bullet in their head to make them your obedient little puppets."

"I do not understand your..."

"Me? It was obviously me. I'm surprised you thought your mother would be smart enough to leave a confession letter to her ex-lovers, days before her death. You really had a lot of credit for her." His chatter was accompanied by a laugh. You were paralyzed, shaking in your useless state of shock. "But I will not say that I did not plan, I hoped that you would never have the courage to try to leave my side. And even if that were the case, I knew that you would say goodbye to the only person who reminded you of her. Peter, she has a family. lovely."

Nor did he expect you to have the courage to cheat on him with another man. Oh, the gardener. Poor Jungkook, his body now rested leaving behind your favorite flowers. Jimin bit his lip, another mocking smile peeking out with intensity remembering the cutthroat figure of the innocent but guilty young man.

You were his...

"How can you be so cruel?" The doubt in you seemed to want to keep growing, passing second by second through your head. You weren't sure you could understand that everything that happened in front of you was actually planned by the same person who swore never to leave you alone. The same man who disguised himself as a sheep so he could eat you like a wolf. "Did you kill my mother ?!" Jimin seemed surprised by your desperate tone, he did not expect to be able to unbalance your state so easily.

It was lovely. Certainly.

"No sweetie." He murmured closing the book in his hands, setting it on the table next to the steaming cup of American coffee. "But it would have been exquisite to be the reason for his pain. Unfortunately, it was your father who won that title."

"Where did you get this from? I know she wrote it, and I also know that she would never give it to you knowing what a monster you are." Tears were running down your cheeks like water, you knew you were a mess but Jimin seemed to look at you like you were a perfect work of art.

"I found it." He spoke casually, getting up from his seat. Walking slowly towards your trembling figure. "It was a coincidence, I like casual things. It was a coincidence that you studied at that school, that your mother was a widow, that your father died. That he will make me fall in love with you."

What is your goal now?

"I love you darling."

Escape from the monster.

[abyssal-memories-and-dreams]

Hello darling💖 May I request hcs for Azul, Rook, Leona and Malleus where their female s/o proposes to them - romantic setting with a fancy ring and all? What would their reactions be?

Hi, Luv! Sorry about the wait, but I hope you enjoy these headcanons! Just to clarify, all these headcanons will take place after their time in NRC so that all the characters are of legal age.

~The Boys’ Fem!S/O Proposes to Them (ft. Azul, Rook, Leona, and Malleus)~

~Azul Ashengrotto!~

Azul may not say this out loud, but he is very much grateful to have you in his life. Ever since you two met at Night Raven College, his whole world has brightened. And given his past, you’re one of the only people he’s opened up to aside from Jade and Floyd.

After you both graduate, you open up your own restaurant alongside the coast. It wasn’t difficult considering the revenue Azul obtained at the Monstro Loung, and the two of you successfully run it together. The restaurant is Mediterranean-themed with a hint of Athenian architecture, and the large windows can perfectly capture the sun setting on the ocean’s blue waves when the time comes.

You two just so happen to be walking down the beach as the sun began to set, your feet crunching upon the pale sand as your fingers interlocked with his. The moon was rising out of the other side of the world as the skies turned a variety of pinks, oranges, and reds. Truly a wonderful way to spend the day after long hours of work...

You suddenly stop in your track, removing your hand from Azul’s. He looks back, wondering why you stopped. With your hands behind your back and your eyes averting his gaze, Azul grows increasingly worried by this situation. Why were you not talking to him? Did he do anything wrong?

It wasn’t until you got down on one knee and pulled out a small, black, velvet box that you finally spoke to him, telling him how important he was to you, and how he’s made your life so much better. You reiterate your love to him, and with a simple question, you ask if he would like to spend the rest of his life with you.

With that question, you pulled the box open to reveal a ring lying in the cushions. The band is stainless silver with a sapphire gemstone in the center, surrounded by small, silver seashell engravings.

At first, Azul stood there, dead silent. It takes him a while before he responds to your answer, and even then he doesn’t utter a word until he already has his arms wrapped around you in a hug. He whispers in your ear how much he feels the same, and how he would love to be your husband till the end of your days as you slipped the ring onto his finger, ending the evening with a kiss as the moon rose above you to the night sky.

Were Floyd and Jade watching this entire scene unfold? Maybe. Don’t worry, though, Jade made sure Floyd didn’t ruin the moment for you two...

~Rook Hunt!~

Your relationship with Rook has been an interesting one, to say the least. Rook isn’t known to be quiet about his love for anything beautiful, and he is not afraid to openly express his love for you, even in the middle of the school hallway. Even if he gets a few weird stares from his actions, his words and actions of affection and love will always remain true for you.

When it’s time to actually propose to him, you’re actually not sure if you can pull it off as a surprise. As much as his antics may seem random, Rook is far from idiotic and is a very cunning man, so despite your attempts to be the proposer, just know there is a slight chance that he’ll do it first.

So let’s paint the setting for this proposal: It’s years after your time in Night Raven, and you and Rook have moved into a cottage within the Land of Pyroxene, right next to a small forest for him to hunt from time to time. One day, you ask him to close his eyes as he followed you into the woods. When you told him to reopen it, Rook is greeted with a small picnic setup, the checkered blanket illuminated by the bright sun.

As you two have your picnic, you get very wary of having Rook do anything during your lunch date. Specifically, you’d always get something from the picnic basket, and wouldn’t let him touch it for some reason. He’s curious about your behavior but doesn’t question it, even when you tell him to turn around to look at a nearby tree for another moment.

Before you ask him to turn back to face you, you mention how your love has never faltered for him years after you two started your relationship back in high school. You thank him for all the love he’s given you, and subtly mention how you don’t want your relationship to end.

As you grab Rook’s hand, you ask him to turn back to face you. When he does, he’s greeted by an immaculate ring that you brought in the picnic basket. The ring is a golden, nature-styled ring with vines and small diamonds cut into leaves. At the center of the ring lays a shining emerald.

Rook, filled to the brim with joy, does not hesitate to take you in his arms and brings his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, making you nearly lose the ring in the grass below. He’s in utter bliss with the thought that he can be your husband - and to have you be his love, his amour - as he picks up the ring and places it on his ring finger. As he finishes the kiss, he vows to be an amazing husband as you lay together on the blanket underneath the sun. As much as he wants to go to all his friends and spread the word, he’ll be glad to do that later just to savor this moment.

~Leona Kingscholar!~

Leona does have doubts regarding any marital aspect of your relationship. Due to his upbringing as the second child, he doesn’t see his marriage as valuable to his family. Specifically, he doesn’t think his family is gonna make a big deal out of it compared to when his brother got married and had Cheka. He’s not opposed to marriage overall, but he absolutely loathes the idea that he might get compared to his brother again.

However, you’re determined to break through that troublesome mindset and show how much your love for him means to you. So one day, you arrange a date outside his home in the Afterglow Savannah. You don’t tell him where, exactly, but assure him that he’d love it.

When you arrive at your destination, he’s the first to walk into the amazing scenery in front of him. In the time spent looking at vast grasslands of the Savannah, Leona’s jaw nearly drops at an oasis in front of him, watching as numerous birds fly across the body of water as it's surrounded by endless, vibrant greenery.

You lead him into an area along the waters filled to the brim with small fish that swam without a thought in the world, shaded underneath a large tree in which you rested upon. Seeing this setting kind of reminded you of the times he’d sneak off to sleep in Night Raven’s gardens during classtime all those years ago.

And now that you had this oasis to yourself, you plan to bring out the best of this situation. Your carefully bring in Leona closer to you, making him rest on the tree beside you. Your enclose you hands around his own, embracing the warmth of them before giving a small kiss on his cheek. You express how grateful you are to have him in his life, and how you haven’t stopped loving him since your high school years. Most of all, despite all his doubts and his self-loathing for not being the firstborn son, you’ll proudly call him your king if it means that you can stay by his side.

With that, you let go of his hands before pulling a luminous ring from your pocket and placing it on his finger. The ring looks simple enough, but upon closer inspection is textured with braid-like engravings of gold, silver, and bronze.

Leona sits there shocked as he gazes down at the ring, not sure what to say next. After a while though, you finally get an answer. He smirks down at you, joking about how this should’ve been the one time he shouldn’t have slacked off on his duties. Albeit, he is a bit begrudged by how you got to propose to him first, but doesn’t let it get to him as he pulls you in for a kiss. He intertwines his ringed hand with yours as he comes to accept that you will become his wife one day.

~Malleus Draconia!~

In comparison to the rest of the bachelors, Malleus is definitely the most complicated man to propose to. Not because he’s opposed to the idea of you two being together - far from it, seeing as though you were one of the only people to even so much as approach him without fear.

The problem stems from the roles you pose after you graduate from NRC. Being the next King of the Valley of Thorns, Malleus is swamped with responsibilities as soon as you both graduate. He brings you back to his homeland to live with him in his castle, but you tend to stick out like a sore thumb among the fae crowd.

So for this plan to work, you figured that the best option to propose to him would be at around nighttime. One day, you woke up extra early so Malleus wouldn’t come to fetch you to accompany him for his duties. When he enters your room, he reads a note you left behind on your bed explaining you went to the market and wouldn’t be back until night. You ask that he would make time to meet you on the castle’s rooftop by then, but don’t mention why. 

He’s confused on why you left so abruptly, but doesn’t really put that much concern over your well-being - he knows that he can easily find  and protect you if things go wrong. So the day passes by, and you’re nowhere to be found, leaving him to his lonesome. Finally nighttime arrives, and he makes way to the rooftop like you ask.

Malleus immediately notices you standing next to a gargoyle - a reminder of him and his adoration for the architecture - as you gazed at the rest of the kingdom. You turn around to face him, apologizing to him for such a lonesome day, and that you wanted to talk to him just by himself. You explain how you’ve been considering major changes in your life, and how you’ve been wanting to be by his side more and more, reminiscing on the time at NRC that you’d never forget.

As you say this, you pull out a ring for him. The band is dark, almost coal-colored, yet shines just as luminously as the amethyst and diamonds that decor the top like a flower with its petals scattered. You look at him with an anxious look on your face, asking him that important question - to let you be his wife, and for him to be your husband.

Malleus is confused by this sudden proposal, since this custom isn’t necessarily normal for fae. However, once again charmed by your actions, he sees no reason to say no. He walks over to you and leans down for a kiss, taking your ring and placing it on your own finger. When he finished the kiss, he holds your hand gently in his, affirming that you would make a great queen for his kingdom. Will this end up causing a ruckus from some of his subjects? Maybe. Does he care? Not in the slightest.

[ladyofasoiaf]

Jon ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark

In this meta I will try to point out the clues of Jon’s death- warging into his direwolf- coming back to life process. 

Our main hint is going to be : ONE EYE motifs... 

And interestingly this hint is always close to Sansa... 

[Most of these clues etc have been already examined by many people but I will try to put them all in order to show the pattern..]

A GAME OF THRONES:

Waymar Royce

Waymar Royce appearence and story are very similar with Jon’s. 

They look similar:

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.

[AGOT; Prologue]

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.  

[AGOT; Bran I]

They are both young men of Night’s Watch but they were not very welcomed by their other black brothers:

His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed them all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh. It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat shivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.

[AGOT; Prologue]

“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow. The road you’re walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.” “They’re not my brothers,” Jon snapped. “They hate me because I’m better than they are.” “No. They hate you because you act like you’re better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks he’s a lordling.” The armorer leaned close. “You’re no lordling. Remember that. You’re a Snow, not a Stark. You’re a bastard and a bully.”

[AGOT; Jon III]

Others are a very important part of Jon’s arc and story and Waymar meets with them in Prologue:

Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.

[AGOT; Prologue]

This phrase also reminds us Jon:

It is more than impatience, Jon realized. They are afraid. Warriors, spearwives, raiders, they are frightened of those woods, of shadows moving through the trees. They want to put the Wall between them before the night descends. 

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You’ll dance with me anon.

[ADWD; Jon XII]

In Prologue, Waymar gets killed by Others:

Royce’s body lay facedown in the snow, one arm out-flung. The thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.

[AGOT; Prologue]

And Jon dies in ADWD:

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

But Waymar comes back to life as a wight with ‘ONE EYE’:

Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him. His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw.

[AGOT; Prologue]

So: A young man of Night’s Watch who looks like Jon dies and comes back to life with ONE EYE. 

Let’s continue with the second book...

A CLASH OF KINGS:

Orell

Orell is Wildling who is also a skinchanger. His animal is an EAGLE. 

Jon kills Orell in ACOK; Jon VI:

Jon nodded toward the one by the fire. It felt queer, picking a man to kill. 

[...]

Jon’s man leapt to his feet, thrusting at his face with a burning brand. He could feel the heat of the flames as he flinched back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon’s grasp. 

[...]

“You ought to burn them you killed,” said Ygritte.

[ACOK; Jon VI]

But due to the magic of skinchanging, a portion of Orell’s consciousness remained in the eagle, which developed a fierce hatred for Jon.

And in ACOK; Jon VII he dreams of an eagle attacking him and people talk about vargs and skinchangers:

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun… “Ghost!” Jon shouted, sitting up. He could still feel the talons, the pain. “Ghost, to me!” Ebben appeared, grabbed him, shook him. “Quiet! You mean to bring the wildlings down on us? What’s wrong with you, boy?” “A dream,” said Jon feebly. “I was Ghost, I was on the edge of the mountain looking down on a frozen river, and something attacked me. A bird… an eagle, I think…”

[...]

“Skinchanger?” said Ebben grimly, looking at the Halfhand. Does he mean the eagle? Jon wondered. Or me? Skinchangers and wargs belonged in Old Nan’s stories, not in the world he had lived in all his life. Yet here, in this strange bleak wilderness of rock and ice, it was not hard to believe.

[ACOK; Jon VII]

So: There is a skinchanger who dies because of Jon but a part of him keeps living in his animal: eagle. 

The interesting thing is that between these two Jon chapters (Orell and eagle dream) comes a very important Sansa chapter which has many parallels with Jon VI chapter...

An example of parallels:

[…] ‘All I ask is a flower,’ Bael answered, ‘the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o’ Winterfell.”

“Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious…  

[ACOK; Jon VI]

Sansa lowered her head. “The blood frightened me.”

“The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You’ve had your first flowering, no more.”

Sansa had never felt less flowery. “My lady mother told me, but I… I thought it would be different.”  

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: B5 

In this chapter Sansa says she wants to be loved and Cersei warns her that “love kills too...” Next chapter is Jon with his eagle dreams and warging abilities:

A half smile flickered across the queen’s face. “[…]Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?”

“Everyone wants to be loved.”

“I see flowering hasn’t made you any brighter,” said Cersei. “Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.”  

[ACOK; Sansa IV]

Let’s move on to third book...

A STORM OF SWORDS:

Orell and Wargs

In ASOS; Jon I, we learn the name of the Wildling that Jon has killed in ACOK; Jon VI:

“He slew Qhorin Halfhand,” said Longspear Ryk. “Him and that wolf o’ his.”

“And did for Orell too,” said Rattleshirt.

“The lad’s a warg, or close enough,” put in Ragwyle, the big spearwife. “His wolf took a piece o’ Halfhand’s leg.”

[...]

“What’s this?” he said. “A crow?”

“The black bastard what gutted Orell,” said Rattleshirt, “and a bloody warg as well.”

“You were to kill them all.”

“This one come over,” explained Ygritte. “He slew Qhorin Halfhand with his own hand.”

[ASOS; Jon I]

This Jon chapter comes after ASOS; Sansa I. 

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.” “Won’t you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?”  

[ASOS; Sansa I]  

“I would be pleased to eat, Your Grace. And thank you.”

“Your Grace?” The king smiled. “That’s not a style one often hears from the lips of the free folk. I’m Mance to most, The Mance to some. Will you take a horn of mead?”  

[ASOS; Jon I]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C1

We also learn about Sansa’s new betrothed: Willas Tyrell.. 

Willas has a bad leg and so does Jon, in ASOS:

“Willas has a bad leg but a good heart,” said Margaery. “He used to read to me when I was a little girl, and draw me pictures of the stars. You will love him as much as we do, Sansa.”

[ASOS; Sansa I]

If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. “A lucky thing my leg got in the way,” he muttered.

He rested for a while to let the horse graze. She did not wander far. That was good. Hobbled with a bad leg, he could never have caught her.

[ASOS; Jon V]

Let’s keep reading...

In ASOS; Jon II chapter Jon’s eagle dream from ACOK comes true and Orell’s eagle attacks Jon’s eye:

He could still hear wings, though the eagle was not in sight. Half his world was black. “My eye,” he said in sudden panic, raising a hand to his face.

“It’s only blood, Jon Snow. He missed the eye, just ripped your skin up some.”

[…]

Can a bird hate? Jon had slain the wilding Orell, but some part of the man remained within the eagle. The golden eyes looked out on him with cold malevolence.

[…]

I will need to get this tended, he thought, but not just now. Let the King-beyond-the-Wall see what his eagle did to me.

[…]

The look Mance gave Jon was grim and cold. “What happened to your face?”

Ygritte said, “Orell tried to take his eye out.”

“It was him I asked. Has he lost his tongue? Perhaps he should, to spare us further lies.”

Styr the Magnar drew a long knife. “The boy might see more clear with one eye, instead of two.”

“Would you like to keep your eye, Jon?” asked the King-beyond-the-Wall. “If so, tell me how many they were. And try and speak the truth this time, Bastard of Winterfell.”

Jon’s throat was dry. “My lord… what…”

[ASOS; Jon II]

Jon almosts loses his ‘one eye’ and becomes Jon ‘One Eye’ Snow because of this attack..

After this eagle attack Jon chapter comes ASOS; Sansa II 

And these chapters have many parallels such as:

Jon wheeled and followed Tormund back toward the head of the column, his new cloak hanging heavy from his shoulders. It was made of unwashed sheepskins, worn fleece side in, as the wildlings suggested.

[…]  

“I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace.”  

[ASOS; Jon II]

A new gown?” she said, as wary as she was astonished.

“More lovely than any you have worn, my lady,” the old woman promised. She measured Sansa’s hips with a length of knotted string. “All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it.”

“Which queen?” Margaery was not yet Joff’s queen, but she had been Renly’s. Or did she mean the Queen of Thorns? Or…“The Queen Regent, to be sure.”  

[ASOS; Sansa II]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: C2

And after the chapter of an eagle attacks Jon’s eye we learn in next chapter that Sansa’s betrothed Willas Tyrell flies EAGLES:

“Willas has the best birds in the Seven Kingdoms,” Margaery said when the two of them were briefly alone. “He flies an eagle sometimes. You will see, Sansa.” 

[ASOS; Sansa II]

Why is Almost One Eye Jon and Sansa Stark being near to each other important?

Because the first Sansa Stark in Stark family tree was married with her half-uncle Jonnel ‘One Eye’ Stark:

So another Sansa being close to another Stark family member who almost had lost his one eye sounds interesting. 

Well, Jon didn’t lose his eye but his face got scarred:

He had almost forgotten about his face. “A skinchanger tried to rip out my eye.”

Noye frowned. “Scarred or smooth, it’s a face I thought I’d seen the last of. We heard you’d gone over to Mance Rayder.”

[ASOS; Jon VI]

Who else has a scarred face? Sansa’s husband- Tyrion Lannister:

“I like your scar.” She traced it with her finger. “It makes you look very fierce and strong.”

He laughed. “Very ugly, you mean.”

“M’lord will never be ugly in my eyes.” She kissed the scab that covered the ragged stub of his nose.

[ASOS; Tyrion II]

Varamyr 

What happens to this eagle later?

Skinchanger, Varamyr Sixskins, takes control of Orell’s eagle. Varamyr uses the eagle to scout Castle Black and spots Stannis Baratheon’s arrival at the Wall.

The eagle bursts into flames during the attack on Castle Black with Melisandre claiming she was responsible. 

The skinchanger was grey-faced, round-shouldered, and bald, a mouse of a man with a wolfling’s eyes. “Once a horse is broken to the saddle, any man can mount him,” he said in a soft voice. “Once a beast’s been joined to a man, any skinchanger can slip inside and ride him. Orell was withering inside his feathers, so I took the eagle for my own. But the joining works both ways, warg. Orell lives inside me now, whispering how much he hates you. And I can soar above the Wall, and see with eagle eyes.”

[...]

“Banners,” he heard Varamyr murmur, “I see golden banners, oh . . .” A mammoth lumbered by, trumpeting, a half-dozen bowmen in the wooden tower on its back. “The king . . . no . . .”

Then the skinchanger threw back his head and screamed.The sound was shocking, ear-piercing, thick with agony. Varamyr fell, writhing, and the ’cat was screaming too.... and high, high in the eastern sky, against the wall of cloud, Jon saw the eagle burning. For a heartbeat it flamed brighter than a star, wreathed in red and gold and orange, its wings beating wildly at the air as if it could fly from the pain. Higher it flew, and higher, and higher still.

[ASOS; Jon X]

Melisandre burns the eagle. Who else got burned in the books? 

Jon Snow in AGOT:

He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he’d felt nothing; the agony had come after.

[AGOT; Jon VIII]

And Jon burns himself in AGOT; Jon VII:

Jon tried to shout, but his voice was gone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the arm away and snatched the lamp from the Old Bear’s fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. “Burn!” the raven cawed. “Burn, burn, burn!”

Spinning, Jon saw the drapes he’d ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

The direwolf wrenched free and came to him as the wight struggled to rise, dark snakes spilling from the great wound in its belly. Jon plunged his hand into the flames, grabbed a fistful of the burning drapes, and whipped them at the dead man. Let it burn, he prayed as the cloth smothered the corpse, gods, please, please, let it burn.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

This Jon chapter comes after AGOT; Sansa IV:

And these two chapters have many parallels such as:

So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor’s Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

They took his knife and his sword and told him he was not to leave his cell until the high officers met to decide what was to be done with him. And then they placed a guard outside his door to make certain he obeyed. His friends were not allowed to see him, but the Old Bear did relent and permit him Ghost, so he was not utterly alone.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

*

Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she’d built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen.

[AGOT; Sansa IV]

Yet he was trembling, violently. When had it gotten so cold?

[…]


Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flame. The heat of it on his face was sweeter than any kiss Jon had ever known. “Ghost!” he shouted.

[AGOT; Jon VII]

For more, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A10

What happens to skinchanger Orell and warg Varamyr after the eagle burst into flames?

The incident greatly affects Varamyr and supposedly kills the remnants of Orell inside the eagle. 

After the defeat of the wildlings at the battle beneath the Wall, Varamyr has lost all his possessions in his madness from experiencing the eagle’s death; he has also lost control of his snow bear and shadowcat, but his wolves remain.

[Orell dying completely and Varamyr gets mad also reminds me another resurrected character Beric Dondarrion who also has ONE EYE and him dying for good to bring Catelyn Stark back to life... And like Varamyr, Lady Stoneheart loses her mind too... ]

Let’s move on to fourth book...

A FEAST FOR CROWS:

Jon is not even in this book? 

But Sansa is and we learn few things about her crushes:

Waymar Royce:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl.

[AFFC; Alayne I]

Grrm reminds us Waymar Royce aka the biggest foreshadowing for Jon in AFFC book via Sansa’s chapter... 

Loras Tyrell:

Loras was another crush of Sansa and we learn that he got burned really bad in AFFC. 

Like the eagle and Jon. 

“Tell me,” said Margaery. “I command it.” Command it? Cersei paused a moment, then decided she would let that pass. “The defenders fell back to an inner keep once the curtain wall was taken. Loras led the attack there as well. He was doused with boiling oil.” Lady Alla turned white as chalk, and ran from the room. “The maesters are doing all they can, Lord Waters assures me, but I fear your brother is too badly burned.”

[AFFC; Cersei VIII]

More about Loras // Jon, please check: Jonsa Book Hints: A8

Let’s keep reading the fifth book...

A DANCE WITH DRAGONS:

In ADWD; Prologue Varamyr encounters with Others (just like AGOT; Prologue) and Varamyr’s body dies, but his mind lives on in his wolf One Eye. 

And Varamyr also thinks about Jon and his direwolf.. 

So we have dead warg who kept living in his animal: A WOLF whose name is ONE EYE. 

Varamyr could feel the snowflakes melting on his brow. This is not so bad as burning. Let me sleep and never wake, let me begin my second life. His wolves were close now. He could feel them. He would leave this feeble flesh behind, become one with them, hunting the night and howling at the moon. The warg would become a true wolf. Which, though?

[...]

“They say you forget,” Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death. “When the man’s flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains.”

Varamyr knew the truth of that. When he claimed the eagle that had been Orell’s, he could feel the other skinchanger raging at his presence. Orell had been slain by the turncloak crow Jon Snow, and his hate for his killer had been so strong that Varamyr found himself hating the beastling boy as well. He had known what Snow was the moment he saw that great white direwolf stalking silent at his side. One skinchanger can always sense another. Mance should have let me take the direwolf. There would be a second life worthy of a king. He could have done it, he did not doubt. The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it.

[...]

A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air. Before their hearts could beat again he had passed on, searching for his own, for One Eye, Sly, and Stalker, for his pack. His wolves would save him, he told himself. That was his last thought as a man. True death came suddenly; he felt a shock of cold, as if he had been plunged into the icy waters of a frozen lake. Then he found himself rushing over moonlit snows with his packmates close behind him. Half the world was dark. One Eye, he knew. He bayed, and Sly and Stalker gave echo. When they reached the crest the wolves paused. 

[...]

The things below moved, but did not live. One by one, they raised their heads toward the three wolves on the hill. The last to look was the thing that had been Thistle. She wore wool and fur and leather, and over that she wore a coat of hoarfrost that crackled when she moved and glistened in the moonlight. Pale pink icicles hung from her fingertips, ten long knives of frozen blood. And in the pits where her eyes had been, a pale blue light was flickering, lending her coarse features an eerie beauty they had never known in life. She sees me.

[ADWD; Prologue]

Jon dies in his last ADWD chapter and his last word was his direwolf’s name: GHOST... 

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

[ADWD; Jon XIII]

So we have a full circle: 

It started with Agot; Prologue 

and ended with ADWD; Jon XIII

Let’s not forget that Jon’s death was foreshadowed in ASOS; Sansa VI chapter. 

Lord Petyr dismissed him with a wave, and returned to the pomegranate again as Oswell shuffled down the steps. “Tell me, Alayne—which is more dangerous, the dagger brandished by an enemy, or the hidden one pressed to your back by someone you never even see?”  

“The hidden dagger.”  

“There’s a clever girl.” He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds.  

[ASOS; Sansa VI]

Next chapter was Jon:

Fore more about Jon’s death and Sansa; please check: 

Jonsa Book Hints: C12 & E7 

“Do not be so certain.” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat gleamed red. “It is not the foes who curse you to your face that you must fear, but those who smile when you are looking and sharpen their knives when you turn your back. You would do well to keep your wolf close beside you. Ice, I see, and daggers in the dark. Blood frozen red and hard, and naked steel. It was very cold.”

“It is always cold on the Wall.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, my lady.”

“Then you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she whispered.  

[ADWD; Jon I]

In conclusion:

Jon’s death, him warging into his direwolf during his death and him coming back to life arc has been foreshadowed since AGOT; Prologue and its most obvious hints were given in ADWD; Prologue by echoing AGOT; Prologue. 

The ‘ONE EYE’ motif seems like a key hint for his resurrection. 

And Sansa is always close to this motif or she has some connections with this motif via other characters or her chapters. 

A Sansa Stark being close to another ‘ONE EYE’ Stark is interesting because of the historical couple: Jonnel ‘One Eye’ & Sansa Stark in Stark family tree.. 

Even the hints of Jon’s death can be found in Sansa chapters. 

All of these tell us that Sansa will be important in Jon’s past resurrection story. 

Thanks for reading. 

Some sources:

Waymar // Jon 

Disfigurements 

Jonnel / Sansa

Jon’s fate and losing an eye

[myelocin]

the most beautiful thing | hanamaki t.

synopsis: beautiful, hanamaki takahiro thinks, sees, and feels. in this home, within four walls, with you as his forever and his two children as the sun that shines soft on the vanilla skies he’s loved all his life.

characters: hanamaki takahiro, you (HMMMMMM), your two kids

genre: fluff, domestic!au, parenting!au

wc: 1600+

a/n: hei yes i am ok. i did not just type this in 20 minutes flat because i dreamt of this. i am ok. i swear. plz help. i love him so much. by hanamaki takahiro x reader,, i rlly mean hanamaki takahiro x nicole thank u. 

beautiful, is the word that first flashes in hanamaki takahiro’s mind. 

bare foot against the dark stained wooden kitchen floors, your hair down and a little tangled against the white of his old shirt that fit you just comfortably. he thinks there’s hints of a vanilla sky outside. 

cotton candy pink, lilac, and just the right amounts of blue. he met you under a sky like today’s, he notes to himself with a smile. it’s a little past eight am, where on a normal day you’d be up two hours earlier; you, with a train to catch, and him with customers waiting in front of the shop. 

but the calendar says that today’s sunday. and sunday mornings, takahiro recalls you say, are days for family. 

and back then he remembers that he laughed at your little explanation, thinking that it was just a ploy to get him to stay in bed for a little while longer. back when it was just the two of you in the house above his flower shop. where sunday mornings meant the extra time in the mornings were reserved for morning sex and for talks about love and life alike as you settled in the afterglow. 

but sunday mornings now, he realizes, is this. 

it’s waking up with your side of the bed empty and coming into the kitchen with the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the air and the low sizzle of eggs frying in a pan. a little boy, with a head of strawberry brown hair peeking at him from his spot in the table, and his sweet, sweet ten month old baby girl sitting in her high chair with smeared baby food all over her mouth. 

takahiro’s heart swells, because he feels love—before he realizes that more than that, he feels a sense of home too. and even if the feeling had always settled in his chest years ago, it’s in the smallest most unexpected moments where he feels the world’s kindness remind him of its existence.

he knows he’s been in love and been at home when you said yes six years ago; a ring offered by his hands, trembling like the knee he’s leaned down on. then when you kissed him with tears in your eyes after telling him your “i do,” in a voice that assures him your love for him is as real and as raw as the kind he feels for you.

that same year too, when he held the keys to the flower shop he risked his—and frankly a little bit of your—life savings over. your hand, warm and steady against his that trembled with the same intensity from before as he pushed the key in the lock and opened the new chapter of your life together.

where a home, from that time, became the second floor of that same flower shop. photographs lined on the stairwell and a windowsill with the herbs he’s grown in memory of someone he knows you love dearly. where the polaroids you took with him over the years were first hung around the room with little pieces of string and handwritten notes beneath them, before later kept in glass frames and left by the fireplace for those who came to your little world and see.

then five years ago when he he saw the two little lines on a test you planned to keep a surprise for him but ultimately crying with him anyway, because if there was one thing your husband was never good at: it was knocking at the bathroom door before entering. but then again—if there was one thing you were also never good at, it was locking the door when you’re supposed to.

he laughs at the memory everytime because just like that he knows that you two just fit like that. he feels love and home again, as he thinks of your teary smile and the happy crack in your voice as you cried and told him you were going to be a family.

(he held you that night with tears in his own eyes, a few crumbs of fear settling in his heart, but anticipation for the universe’s blessings serving as the adrenaline rush he knew would last him for this lifetime and the next.)

and the rest, takahiro thinks to himself, comes to him in flashes.

the blessing of being able to feel love within home when he first held his son in his hands. the tell tale strawberry brown hair looking like a carbon copy of his own. the freckles across his cheeks that awfully look a lot like the ones he stares at in front of the mirror everyday. but the quirk of his lips looking like yours, because takahiro memorizes the contours of your smile like he knows his loved ones by name.

much like the smile he sees on your youngest daughter’s. where even at ten months old, he can already tell that she’s taking after you a lot more than him. it’s the smile, he recalls his mother tell him, when she first came into the world.

though really, takahiro thinks, it was the hue of her eyes when she first opened them. bright and sparkling as it told him the same sort of stories that you told him all those years ago.

stories about how in life, heartbreak is unavoidable.

how in life, there is as much pain that will be felt as there comes the happiness that lays either before or after it.

but also, as cruel as life is—it can also be so, so kind. the kind of kindness that has you forgetting all the bad that you’ve trudged through, because when you ride that sort of high that life gives you—it truly feels like you’ll soar for eternities that are here and the ones that have still yet to come.

takahiro feels that; every day.

“papa,” he hears. “breakfast!” his son calls.

and so he pushes himself off of the doorframe as he first walks towards you, a kiss pressed to your cheek as the smell of day old roses and rosemary lingers—making you smile.

and as the word beautiful, flashes in his mind for the second time that morning—he knows it isn’t meant for the vanilla skies that swirl slowly outside the kitchen windows. it’s the way you look when you take a seat across him and smile, sipping your cold tea and sighing as if all the world’s problems are rolling right off your shoulders.

the ring, on your left hand’s fourth finger catches the light when you raise the spoon by your daughter’s mouth; golden like the picture frame hanging above fireplace in the living room, with four smiling faces instead of just the two from the polaroids before.

beautiful, life really can be even without the vanilla skies because he knows he has the best that life could ever offer right here. in this little room, the world in his hands, and the promise of heaven’s grace clear as day right in front of his eyes.

“papa,” he hears his eldest call again. takahiro takes a slow sip of his coffee before he turns to his son and smiles. “yep?”

“how do you spell your name?”

your husband doesn’t catch it when you smile, already knowing what he’s about to ask. letting your husband bask in the moment, you turn to face your ten month old daughter who stares back at you with eyes and face identical to your own. she was a messy eater, you observe with a chuckle. she took after her father in the little ways, you suppose.

and she always, always looked the most beautiful around flowers too. the polaroid of her sitting in the counter, next to a handful of roses was the photo she smiled at the widest. under the vanilla skies in that morning you think about how takahiro looks like a different sort of radiant around the flowers too.

“what’s it for?” you hear your husband ask, voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

“it’s for this!” your five year old beams.

takahiro stares at the paper he could only guess is his homework. his last name written next to your son’s giving name, erased pencil marks over his mistake still a little evident on the paper. he smiles as he reads through the little questionnaire, but pauses as he gets to the last part.

“who do you want to be like when you grow up?” it reads, a blank line next to it.

a familiar, welcome feeling thrums in takahiro’s chest again, so he thinks of the word beautiful once more. because life, he thinks, has never been more beautiful than how it looks in this morning.

“papa your naaaaaame.”

he swears that ever since he met you, he falls in love with life more and more every day.  

(he cries to you later that night as he closes the flower shop downstairs for the day. red eyes, and a happy smile in place. you kiss his cheeks and tell him he deserves happiness every day.)

(your son’s homework and doodle of your family next to another one of flowers and rosemarys with a little cross above it is pinned on the fridge later that night.)

you fall asleep with his arms around yours, your kids asleep in the room next to yours.

this, you smile. this is the beautiful part of life.

a/n: rosemary is the herb my mom had on her windowsill. she died before she could plant her herb garden. i always think that makki likes to keep a herb garden so he could feel close to my mom in a way : - )  

[church-history]

Our Lady’s Message At La Salette - Sep 19th 1846

Near this little fountain the two children layed down on the grass and fell asleep. How long their slumber lasted is not certain – half an hour perhaps, or three quarters of an hour or possibly more. In any case Melanie suddenly awoke and called Maximin: “Memin, Memin, let us go and find our cows, I cannot see them anywhere.” Of course, being at the bottom of the little ravine, they could not see the meadow where they had left them. Quickly they climbed the slope opposite Mount Gargas (hence they were standing on what is now the esplanade in front of the basilica). Turning around they could view the entire alpine pasture land and were greatly relieved to see that their cows had remained where they had been left, peaceably chewing the cud. Reassured, Melanie began to redescend towards the dried-up fountain to recover her little sack of provisions before once again watering the cows. Half-way down the grassy slope she paused immobilized, frozen with fear. “Memin”, she called out, “look at that great light over there”. “Where is it?”, the boy replied, as he ran and stood at her side. (At the place of the Apparition two statues represent the children on the slope of the ravine, in the first stage of the Event.) At the very spot where they had slept was a globe of fire, as if, in the children's words, “the sun had fallen there”. 

The light swirled, then grew in size and, opening, disclosed within it a woman, seated, her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees, in the attitude of one oppressed with grief. Melanie, in her fright, raised her hands and dropped her shepherd's staff. Maximin thought only of defending himself. “Keep your stick”, he said to her, “I will keep mine and will give it a good whack if it does anything to us” ...Even after she conversed with them, the children could not identify their heavenly Visitor. They would simply call her “the Beautiful Lady”. 

The Beautiful Lady:

The beautiful Lady now stood up while the children remained transfixed where they were. She said to them in French: “Come near, my children, be not afraid. I am here to tell you great news”.  Fully reassured by these words the children hurried to meet her. Her voice, they said, was like music. They approached so near her that, as they later expressed it, another person could not have passed between them and her. The Lady also took a few steps towards them. They looked at her and noticed that she did not cease weeping all the time she spoke to them. As Maximin put it, “She was like a mama whom her own children had beaten and who had escaped to the mountain to weep.” The beautiful Lady was tall and seemed to be made of light. She was dressed like women of the region with a long dress, an apron nearly as long as the dress, a shawl that crossed over her breast and was knotted in the back, and a cap or bonnet similar to the ones worn by peasant women. Roses crowned her head while another wreath of roses adorned the edges of her white shawl and a third garland surrounded her shoes. Over her brow shone a light in the form of a diadem. On her shoulders shone a heavy chain and from a smaller golden chain hung a resplendent crucifix with a hammer and pincers placed on each side of the Cross, a little beyond the nailed hands. 

The Message: 

The unknown Lady now spoke to the children. “We were drinking her words”, they would say later, adding, “she wept all the time she spoke to us”. “Come near, my children, be not afraid; I am here to tell you great news. “If my people will not submit, I shall be forced to let fall the arm of my Son. It is so strong, so heavy, that I can no longer withhold it. “For how long a time do I suffer for you! If I would not have my Son abandon you, I am compelled to pray to him without ceasing; and as to you, you take not heed of it. “However much you pray, however much you do, you will never recompense the pains I have taken for you. “Six days I have given you to labor, the seventh I have kept for myself; and they will not give it to me. It is this which makes the arm of my Son so heavy. “Those who drive the carts cannot swear without introducing the name of my Son. These are the two things which make the arm of my Son so heavy. “If the harvest is spoilt, it is all on your account. I gave you warning last year with the potatoes (‘pommes de terre’) but you did not heed it. On the contrary, when you found the potatoes spoilt, you swore, you took the name of my Son in vain. They will continue to decay, so that by Christmas there will be none left.” The French expression “pommes de terre” intrigued Melanie. In the local dialect the word for potatoes was “las truffas”, whereas “pommes” for Melanie meant the fruit of the apple tree. Hence she instinctively turned towards Maximin to ask for an explanation, but the Beautiful Lady forestalled her. “Ah, my children, you do not understand? Well, wait, I shall say it otherwise”.

 And she continued her discourse in the local dialect of their region. “If you have wheat, it is no good to sow it; all you sow the insects will eat, and what comes up will fall into dust when you thresh it.” “There will come a great famine. Before the famine comes, the children under seven years of age will be seized with trembling and will die in the hands of those who hold them; the others will do penance by the famine. The walnuts will become bad, and the grapes will rot.” Here the Beautiful Lady addressed the children separately, confiding to each a secret. She spoke first to Maximin, and though the little shepherd did not perceive that her tone of voice had changed, Melanie at his side could not hear a word, though she still saw the Beautiful Lady's lips moving. Then came Melanie's turn to receive her secret under like conditions. Both secrets were given in French. Again addressing the two children in the idiom familiar to them, the Lady continued: “If they are converted, the stones and rocks will change into mounds of wheat, and the potatoes will be self-sown in the land. “Do you say your prayers well, my children?”, she asked the shepherds. Both answered with complete frankness: “Not very well, Madam”. “Ah, my children”, she exhorted them, “you must be sure to say them well morning and evening. When you cannot do better, say at least an Our Father and a Hail Mary; but when you have time, say more.” “There are none who go to Mass except a few aged women. The rest work on Sunday all summer; then in the winter, when they know not what to do, they go to Mass only to mock at religion. During Lent, they go to the meat-market like dogs.” “Have you never seen wheat that is spoilt, my children?”, the Beautiful Lady then asked them. “No, Madam”, they replied. “But you, my child”, she insisted, addressing the little boy in particular, “you must surely have seen some once when you were at the farm of Coin with your father. (Coin was a hamlet near the town of Corps). The owner of the field told your father to go and see his ruined wheat. You went together. You took two or three ears of wheat into your hands and rubbed them, and they fell into dust. Then you continued home. When you were still half an hour's distance from Corps, your father gave you a piece of bread and said to you: ‘Here, my child, eat some bread this year at least; I don't know who will eat any next year, if the wheat goes on like that’”. Confronted with such precise details, Maximin eagerly replied: “Oh yes, Madam, I remember now; just at this moment I did not remember”.

Then the Lady, again speaking French as at the beginning of her discourse and when giving the secrets, said to them: “Well, my children, you will make this known to all my people.” Now she turned slightly to her left, passed in front of the children, crossed the brook Sezia, stepping on stones emerging from it, and when she was about ten feet from the opposite bank repeated her final request, without turning around or stopping: “Well, my children, you will make this well known to all my people.” These were her last words. Meanwhile the two witnesses were still standing motionless at the spot where the conversation had taken place, when suddenly they realized that the heavenly Visitor was already some steps away from them. In their eagerness to join her again, they ran across the brook and were with her in a moment. Thus, in the company of Maximin and Melanie, the Lady moved along, gliding over the tips of the grass without touching it, until she reached the top of the hillock where the children, after their sleep, had gone to look after their cows. Melanie preceded her by a few steps, and Maximin was at her right. On reaching the summit the Lady paused for a few seconds, then slowly rose up to a height of a meter and a half. She remained suspended in the air for a moment, raised her eyes to Heaven, then glanced in the direction of the southeast. At that moment, Melanie, who had been standing at the left of the Lady, came in front in order to see her better. Only then did she notice that the celestial Visitor had ceased weeping, although her features remained very sad. The radiant vision now began to disappear. “We saw her head no more, then the rest of the body no more; she seemed to melt away. There remained a great light”, related Maximin, “as well as the roses at her feet which I tried to catch with my hands; but there was nothing more”. “We looked for a long time”, added Melanie, “to see if we could not have another glimpse of her”, but the Beautiful Lady had disappeared forever. The little shepherdess then remarked to her companion: “Perhaps it was a great Saint”. “If we had known it was a great Saint”, said Maximin, “we would have asked her to take us with her”. 

The Great News Spreads:

At dusk, a little earlier than usual, the children brought back their herds to the hamlet of Ablandins nestling on the mountainside below. Pierre Selme had been impatiently awaiting Maximin's return to the farm house. “Well, Memin”, he asked him, “why did you not come back to me in my field, as I told you?” “Oh”, Maximin replied, “You do not know what happened? We found by the spring a beautiful lady who entertained us a long time and talked with Melanie and myself. At first I was afraid and did not dare to go and fetch my bread which was near her, but she said to us: ‘Come near, my children, do not be afraid, I am here to tell you great news’”. The boy then related the story of the Apparition, hardly pausing for breath. He was very surprised that the people of the valley had not noticed the bright light in the ravine. He then scampered lightheartedly over to the home of Melanie's master, Baptiste Pra. The girl, busy in the stable, had as yet said nothing.  Maximin, more communicative, spoke at once to the assembled Pra family about the Beautiful Lady. He was immediately surrounded and questioned. On hearing the story, the old mother of Baptiste Pra began to cry, and with the intuition her simple faith gave her exclaimed: “This beautiful Lady can be none other than the Blessed Virgin”. The others were not so sure and waited for Melanie. As she did not hurry, her mistress, old Mother Pra, ran to the cow barn to fetch her. “Come quickly and tell us what you saw with Maximin”.  “I saw as he did,” the girl replied, “and since he has told you, you must know it by now.” But all insisted, so back in the kitchen of the humble cottage she stood before them and related, for the first time, the wonderful event. All were amazed to hear both children, while reciting the Lady's discourse, speaking French fluently, for that same morning neither of them knew anything or very little of that language. The pious old grandmother, more and more moved, repeated her conviction: “She is certainly the Blessed Virgin, for there is no other person in Heaven whose Son governs”. Then she turned reproachfully to her young son James: “You have heard what the Blessed Virgin said - go now and work again on Sunday!” “Bah”, came the retort, “you will make me believe that this little one has seen the Blessed Virgin, she who does not even say her prayers!” “But that night”, declared Melanie later, “I remained a long time on my knees although I hardly knew any prayers by heart”. It was eventually decided that this affair was something to be submitted to the Church. Hence, first thing in the morning, the two children descended to the village of La Salette to tell their story to the pastor, Father Jacques Perrin. A knock at the rectory door brought the priest’s housekeeper, a kind but inquisitive spinster. They said they must see the priest. Must they, indeed? And why? They had something of great importance to tell him. They could tell it to her, Francoise insisted; it was the same thing. Seeing that she was immovable, the children began their recital. Father Perrin, in the next room, heard them and as they continued, he lay down his pen (he was writing his sermon). For a while he sat motionless, then moved noiselessly toward the kitchen. When the account was complete, he stepped into the kitchen and with tears in his eyes said to the children: “How fortunate you are, my children, for it must have been the Blessed Virgin whom you saw!” It was time for Mass and when Father Perrin mounted the pulpit he began telling the people of the children’s strange experience on the mountain. But his voice was choked with emotion and his words were unintelligible save by someone who already knew the story. The people looked at each other, mystified. But there was one who understood him - Monsieur Peytard, the mayor of La Salette. In the afternoon Peytard was on his way to the hamlet of Ablandins. He did not advertise his real purpose but would casually drop in at the Pra’s house for a friendly visit. He spoke to Melanie and asked to hear again the story she had been telling (by this time Maximin was already back in Corps). When she was through, he said: “Be careful, my child, to add or suppress nothing.” “I have said everything the beautiful lady told me to say”, was her reply. Then he began to cross-examine her mercilessly, passing back and forth from threats to bribes. It was fruitless. He could not shake Melanie or get her to vary her account by a word or persuade her to say no more about it. The lengthy interview, however, did induce Pra to abandon his attitude of disbelief. There must be something to this affair. He must put the story down on paper, with the help of his friends Selme and Moussier. So, that evening Melanie was made to tell the story one more time, but now very slowly, so that Pra could get every word down on paper. How right was his instinct in giving documentary form, as quickly as possible, to what the unforgettable voice had said on the mountain just the day before! Monday morning M. Peytard descended to Corps to question Maximin. He returned to La Salette, won over by the amazing self-assurance, candor and tenacity of the boy. His account accorded perfectly, down to the last detail, with that of Melanie. Now the news spread rapidly. Pilgrims, unbelievers, skeptics, took turn in questioning the two young witnesses, trying in every way to cause them to contradict each other. Among them were journalists, delegates from the civil authorities, but most importantly ecclesiastics commissioned by Monseigneur de Bruillard, the bishop of Grenoble. For, according to Canon Law, the ultimate decision rested with the bishop in whose diocese a reported miracle or apparition had taken place. 

The Judgment:

After five long years of diligent inquiries, Bishop Philibert de Bruillard of Grenoble, published his longawaited decision, on September 19, 1851: “We judge that the Apparition of the Blessed Virgin to the two cowherds on the 19th of September, 1846, on a mountain of the chain of Alps, situated in the parish of La Salette, in the archpresbytery of Corps, bears within itself all the characteristics of truth, and that the faithful have grounds for believing it indubitable and certain.” The mission assigned by Our Lady to Maximin and Melanie was now ended. On September 19, 1855, Monseigneur Ginoulhiac, the new bishop of Grenoble, thus assessed the situation: “The mission of the children is now ended, that of the Church begins.” Innumerable today are the men and women of all races and countries who have found in the message of La Salette the road to conversion, a deepening of their faith, the needed dynamism for their everyday lives, and the motives for their commitment with and in Christ to the service of all peoples.

Read more at: https://www.lasalette.org/about-la-salette/apparition/the-story/705-the-message-of-la-salette.html

[aarcanechaoss]

Runaway

Okay so I wrote something anyway love you guys :)

Meet Amaya Harlow noble and full time badass

“What do you think you are doing ungrateful child!” A slap echoed in the study. The man in question was Cristano Harlow, noble of the Clover Kingdom. “I keep you fed, I keep you clothed and you can’t do a simple thing for me? Your father!”

The man was in a rage, his fiery hair seemingly matching the flush on his cheeks as a second slap echoed.

“I’m sorry.” Amaya whispered through quiet anger.

“No you aren’t.” He spat before gripping at her hair. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, you will marry anyone I choose, better yet you’ll do anything I say. For example- if my business partner wants to see the merchandise you’ll let him see it…. Understood.”

“Yes sir.”

Grey eyes locked onto the wide fearful eyes of her younger brother- wondering if it would happen to him too. It wouldn’t. Cristano would never lay a hand on his son. His daughter however he slapped for simply answering a question in a way he didn’t like.

That was it. Amaya couldn’t handle it anymore she had to leave.

Once Cristano left Eren stepped towards his sister.

“Amaya?”

“I have to leave Eren.” She said softly. His stormy grey eyes locked with her silvery ones in confusion. “He won’t hurt you. He never has. I can’t live like this anymore.”

It hurt to hear his older sister sound so broken, weak, fragile. She was always boisterous and rowdy with him teaching him magic and sword play she even taught him archery considering that was the only thing their father would boast about her, his eldest child- her incredible archery skills. It was pathetic really that he didn’t see anything else worthy of being a Harlow.

“Where will you go?” He asked. He was only 13 while he understood her leaving he still wanted to know she’d be safe. Thirteen was when he had to start becoming a man his father told him. Amaya gently ruffled his auburn locks, the shade so much lighter than her bright scarlet ones.

“The magic knight entrance exams are soon. Maybe I can join a squad and keep out of fathers radar.” Eren’s eyes sparkled. The idea of his sister being a knight filled him with so much joy.

“Promise to write to me?”

“Always.”

It was only weeks later when she’d escaped and made her way to the capital. A silver locket pressed to her chest with her hand as she navigates through the busy streets towards the arena for the exam. The locket held a picture of Amaya and Eren, a good luck charm from the little wizard.

Next thing she knew she had a number and was waiting for the exam to begin. She pulled her cloak tighter against her for comfort. This might have been insane why did she think she could hide from the Harlow watchers like this? Becoming a magic knight… wouldn’t that put more eyes on her? No. She promised Eren.

The first test was basic, fly on a broom, she felt like a child standing so perfectly upon the old cleaning utensil high above the rest. She sniggered quietly watching people stagger and wobble beneath her.

Next was magic blasting? She had to blast magic at a wall. She wasn’t too sure about that considering blasts weren’t something she ever worked on. With a steady breath she allowed her grimoire to flutter, a new page being written, the royal blue covers seemed to glow happily at the new page making her smile. A small ball barely bigger than her palm appeared, a black spiral formed with what seemed like white sparkles. Her hand buzzed urging her to throw it. Without any beautiful movement she threw the orb hard at the wall tearing a hole clean through. She jumped a little in excitement before straightening herself out and walking towards the next test.

Moving targets. She held back her excitement. Technically there wasn’t anything against her using weapons as far as she was aware but she didn’t bring her bow but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make one out of magic…. Actually no she had something more fun up her sleeve. With a puff of her chest her grimoire came to life once more.

“Rain fall target lock.” With a tilt of her head a grey cloud seemed to form around her grimoire and with a crack rain water seemed to strike its mark with ease. She smiled again, pulling down her hood to hide the glee, that was always her favourite spell.

Time to create something with magic. Amaya’s nose scrunched she has no idea what to do that that task. She could bring over a small Thunder cloud, darken the arena, make it rain or make a shield or mist… that might be a good idea. With a quiet hum Amaya stepped forward hands seemingly just swaying through the air. The squad captains watched closely confused at the simple movement as the air began to still.

“Is she crazy or are we just not seeing what she is?” Jack asked, the captain of the green mantises. Amaya’s head snapped towards the captain making him furrow his brows- had she heard him?

“Excuse me?” Her voice carried towards one of the other examinees.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you could you do me a favour and blast some magic at me. I can create mist shields and well it’s a bit hard to see as you can… well see.” Amaya shrugged. The other mage squinted at the slightly hazy orb just barely visible. They nod. Magic water swirling in their palms.

“Is she actually crazy what’s happening?” Jack asked again.

“She’s got balls is what.” Yami, the Black Bulls captain, laughed.

The mage’s magic swelled before blasting towards Amaya who stood perfectly still. The captains and those watching nearby held their breath only to see a spray of mist swell around her the water magic disappearing at a touch.

“It was a shield.” Amaya yelled out in conformation. Held breaths dissipated- okay she wasn’t crazy that’s good.

Next she needed to help a seed grow. She won’t lie that was very easy especially with magic that involves the rain. It bloomed into a beautiful blue rose, Amaya hummed happily as she held the rose up to be seen- Charlotte was more than impressed by this.

Finally. Amaya had been waiting for this a fight. A mage stood across from her, his magic seemingly water of some kind. Maybe snow she wasn’t sure. With a grin she took a step forward.

“Little missy thinks she’s tough just because she’s been doing so well so far.” He taunted. From the shade of her hood all he could see was the grin that split across her face. Taunting back she laughed lowly.

“Little man thinks he’s special with his pretty purple robes.” He flushed.

“Don’t mock me little girl.”

“Ouch that one hurt.” She snickered. Her tongue swiped across her teeth. “Are you going to fire first or just keep walking backwards?”

“You insolent child.” Within an instant her smile dropped and so did she beneath the shade of her grimoire which was left floating above her cloak. “Where did she go-“

“I’m right here.” She whispered into his ear. His eyes widened and head turned, she was behind him. But how? He wanted to yell. She had only seemed to have rain magic of some kind. “What did I scare you?” She laughed.

“No you lowly peasant. A mere slave like you could do no such thing. You vile rodent of a being.” He barked, trailing into insults many people chose to cover their ears for.

“People like you piss me off.” She spat before blasting him with her new found spell- though more subdued so as to not put a hole in him. He fell to the ground skidding away from his Grimoire. He looked up at her, long scarlet hair shadowing her face, silver grey eyes staring him down as he slowly lost consciousness. “Oops.”

With a yawn she waited her turn cloak now resting comfortably back on her shoulders. Her number should be soon she thinks. She’d heard before the exams began that two new squads had formed over the last few months, Black Bulls and Golden Dawn. Grey eyes scanned the Captains, she really hadn’t thought about who she’d like to join. Definitely not the Silver Eagle or the Grey Deer she wasn’t a fan of the Silva family and while she knows the Grey deer have a good reputation her father spoke of the captain highly so that’s a no. The Coral Peacock didn’t peak her interest and within the lack of feminine traits she has the one thing she got from her mum was at least a sense of fashion- so she wasn’t a fan of the colours sue her. Purple Orca’s also was a no her father was friends with their old captain. Blue Rose didn’t peak her interest, Charlotte was nice they’d met before but all girls meant she’d not be allowed to have fun- Uh yes because Char is a stickler for following rules. Yep. The Green Mantis just wasn’t up her ally she’d definitely butt heads with Jack knowing her personality when pissed off. Crimson Lions… the captain isn’t ugly… but again a stickler for rules and orders she might not get much freedom. The Black Bulls had Yami Sukehiro as its captain, many people in the nobles know of him as the foreigner that pisses off the Royals and such. She might get along with him if memory serves her right from the few times they met when she was sneaking out- doubtfully he’d remember that. Golden Dawn she new nothing about. She didn’t know the captain except that he was a noble and that he wore a mask at all times according to the crowds knowledge. She stared at him, drinking in his posture and movement. He was a kind man probably lenient if this is the first time he’s a captain.

She didn’t expect to see all hands but the fact that Nozel was the only ones who didn’t raise his hand made her smirk- so maybe he’d recognised her she couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“Golden Dawn.” She said before anyone else could.

“You’ll be the first person to-“

“”I said the squad I want to be in referee is that not what I was meant to say?” She asked. Her grey eyes stared up to look at her Captain who gave a genuinely kind smile.

“Well uh-“

“Welcome to The Golden Dawn you’ll be shown to your designated area by a guard.” William interjected. She nodded before walking off.

Yami whistled lowly to his friend.

“Can’t tell if you bagged an insane woman, an attractive woman or one that’ll fuck you over.” Yami joked.

“Now Yami don’t be crass.”

“Don’t deny her beauty I saw you watching her.”

“We all where.” William responded quickly.

“Sure sure.” Yami laughed.

William rolled his eyes, he could tell she’d make a great asset.

[ally-127]

Since it's a "kiss day" in Korea could you please write a fluff of jeonghan asking a kiss from you

june 14th

pairing: dad!jeonghan x mum!reader word count: 1.7k warnings: swearing, a little bit of marking, suggestive material music: ‘stay gold’ by bts a/n: THERE’S A MINI JEONGHAN IN THIS i’m sobbing i don’t know how how i came up with it but meet yoon jooyoung, jeonghan’s kid.

“mum! i’m going to be late!”

you groaned at your son’s voice. you loved him to bits but sometimes things could get a little rough on your end.

“yes i know, i’m sorry,” you told your seven-year-old son, jooyoung, who wobbled out of his bedroom with his bright yellow backpack already slung around his little shoulders.

“my friends are going to be mad at me,” his pink lips formed a pout, closely resembling that of his father. “i’m gonna go now,” he vanished past your front door.

“wait for me!” you quickly threw on a coat and grabbed your phone before the little man could dash out of the apartment alone.

you bumped into your neighbour in the hallway—you believed his name was hoseok—a kind man about your age and found that your son had his tiny fingers clasped onto his hand. it seemed hoseok didn’t seem to mind, a lively smile stretched across his face from the boy’s sudden gesture.

“ah, i’m so sorry,” you murmured to the man and quickly tried to pry your son away, but he grumbled and almost threw a fit. you staggered backwards, taken aback.

“this guy told me he’s going for a sleepover at his buddy‘s house nearby,” your neighbour looked down at your son, an endearing look on his face. “i can take him there, if you don’t mind. i’m about to head to the grocery store anyways.”

“mum’s always busy,” the pout remained on his face, sulky personality inherited right from his father like a copy-and-pasted text except it was his array of genes.

you sighed. “i’m not busy today, i can take you. no need to trouble ahjusshi.”

“but mum,” jooyoung whined, throwing his hands up and bottom lip trembling.

“what is it?” you crouched downwards so you were in level with him. you took his free hand in yours, wrapping your fingers around his small ones.

to your huge surprise, he leaned in and pressed the biggest, sloppiest kiss on your cheek.

“happy kiss day, mum.”

at this point he was a direct clone of his father. the fact that even his cheeky grin looked like your husband made you melt into a puddle on the concrete floor.

he giggled. “hang out with dad when he comes back, mum. you’re always at the work and you never hang out with him when he’s here anymore,” he then pulled you in closer so he could whisper, “give dad a kiss today.”

at that you turned bright red, heat crawling up your neck. your son had just indirectly told you that you did not show enough affection to his dad—your husband—and it left you a lot of questions.

mind you, he was only seven.

in addition to that, your neighbour had just witnessed this entire notion.

“did i just hear the word ‘kiss day’?” a familiar voice questioned from behind you.

it was all too familiar to the point that you felt relieved, sometimes longing, upon hearing it.

“dad!”

you rose up from your crouching position, watching jooyoung unwrap his hand from hoseok’s to run into his father’s arms.

jeonghan let out a laugh, only filled with warmth and joy from seeing his son after a month of being away, as he lifted jooyoung off the ground and cradled his son in his arms.

“hey, son,” jeonghan’s dark hair swept across his brow as he looked at his son, eyes sparkling as he did.

“i missed you,” the boy gave his father a tight hug.

“i know, i did too. more than you know.”

for once, you were third-wheeling jeonghan and jooyoung. hoseok was too. but he remained unbothered, face like a blooming sunflower as he witnessed a father and son reunion.

“where are you going, buddy?” jeonghan eyed the boy’s backpack as he finally let him down

“sleepover,” he grinned. “at my friend’s house.”

“which friend?”

“i’m not telling you,” like a typical seven-year-old, jooyoung snickered.

finally, your husband looked at you. however, it was not in the form of greeting. it was rather in the form of confirmation that your son would be okay in this arrangement of a sort.

you nodded, jerking your chin at hoseok, silently telling jeonghan he’s going to be the one taking him there.

“why aren’t you the one taking him?”

“because—“

“it’s a secret!” your son yelled and tugged on his dad’s sleeve.

getting the signal jeonghan bent sideways so jooyoung could whisper in his ear just like he did with you.

it was almost comical, the way a grown man’s expression could change because of a few words a little boy had whispered into his ear. jeonghan was now smiling ear-to-ear, the signature scrunch of his nose prominent, pretty eyes now fixated on you instead.

“okay.”

“yay!” jooyoung scuffled back to hoseok, but before that he gave you a hug, as big as a seven-year-old could give. “see you later, mum.”

“ready to go?” the kind man asked him.

“yup,” he took hoseok’s hand and they disappeared into the corner where the elevators were.

that left you alone with jeonghan. you two remained standing six feet apart from each other, suddenly feeling nervous as if it was your first date.

he smiled at you, at your flustered state.

“hi.”

it was all jeonghan needed to say to have you falling into his arms the way your son did earlier.

“fuck, i missed you,” he buried his nose in your hair as you threw your arms around his neck.

“i can say the same,” you murmured, drowning in the musky scent of his cologne, a deeply personal scent you’ve gotten used to and a part of jeonghan you missed dearly whenever he was away.

”let’s head inside, shall we?” jeonghan said, minty breath brushing against your ear.

you hummed in agreement, heading over to unlock your front door and hold it open so jeonghan could drag his suitcase in.

“thanks,” he pushed it to the side and let the door fall shut behind him.

his eyes were still designated on you, the expression behind them expecting as he watched you take off your coat and hang it beside the door.

golden sunlight, warm and buttery, slipped through the blinds of your apartment. it highlighted the refreshed glow from within his skin. whether it was from happiness or an updated skin care routine, you didn’t know but he looked better than ever.

“are you hungry?” you swerved his gaze, wanting to know how long you could draw this out. there was a game you wanted to play, and jeonghan knew it extremely well.

your feet padded into the kitchen before you could stop them, increasing the distance between you and your husband.

jeonghan shook his head in response, leaning his hip against the kitchen island to watch you grab both him and yourself a glass of water. he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, exposing the stretch of muscles on his forearms.

tension was very well present in the air and you both were aware of it. regardless of that you two chose to ignore it.

“how was tour?” you asked, setting the glass down in front of him.

“it was fine,” vague. like the answers he would give you whenever you didn’t give him something he desperately wanted.

you chuckled. “jooyoung is exactly like you.”

“what do you mean?” the smirk that quirked by his lips showed that he knew exactly what you meant.

“you give me unsatisfactory answers when i don’t give you what you want.”

you round the kitchen island, toward him. you circled your arms around his neck once again, clasping your hands together. his invigorating smile mirrored yours, his hands reflexively shifting to support the small of your back. you tipped your head up to meet his eyes.

“so tell me, yoon jeonghan, what is it can i do for you?”

“kiss me,” he mumbled after a moment. “you heard our son, it’s the national kiss day today and—”

you cut him off with your lips, his words muffled by them. a grunt left his lips from the impact, jolts of electricity running up his spine. he spun you around without breaking the kiss pressing your lower back against the hard edge of the island. jeonghan braced his hands on the hard surface of it and trapped you with his body.

“do you know what jooyoung told me?” you told him once he pulled away for air.

“what?” he grinned at the sound of your son’s name from your lips.

“he said i should hang out with you today,” you recalled the words your little boy whispered into your ear. “and told me to give you a kiss.”

“you don’t do that enough,” jeonghan teased and kissed the tip of your nose.

“which?”

“both,” gently, he moved down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“i don’t kiss you enough?” you raised a sceptical eyebrow along with the corner of your lip.

“twelve years and i’ll still never have enough of it,” his mouth tackled yours once again.

it didn’t take him a second for the curvature of his lips to mould into yours. the shape of yours was imprinted onto it, a muscle memory claimed by you and you only.

the air around you grew warmer, his breath now becoming yours with each kiss. one arm around your waist and the other under your jaw, he held you close to him.

his tongue, like the tease that he was, swiped across your bottom lip. with one arm he hoisted you up onto the kitchen island so he could stand in between your legs. his hand reached behind to cup your ass and you gasped into his mouth.

“hannie, what are you doing?” you held him back with hands on his shoulders.

“kissing you,” he shrugged like it was nothing. “what else?”

“liar.”

“i can’t kiss with tongue now?” he’s pouting and god did he look like jooyoung.

“you can,” you pecked him once, twice. “i just forgot that we’ve got no one watching us now.”

“it’s daddy’s day off,” he tilted his head to your neck, beginning to suck marks of purple and red on your skin. his fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. “it’s time to make you feel good.”

you arched into him, digits tugging on his hair to lure out a low, desperate growl from his lips. wetness pooled in your panties from the sound alone, and you wondered how you were going to be able to handle the rest of him.

“shall we make jooyoung another sibling?”

[crystalirises]

Prank Pact (Takes Place within A Bouquet of Red Roses and Snapdragons Verse)

Out of all the AUs I've made, I didn't think the "A Bouquet of Red Roses and Snapdragons Verse" would be the one where everything is okay and nothing hurts. Like the whole beginning was pain, but eventually, everything turns out happy in this world. (AKA everything is happy including the whole Election because I say so and yes Pogtopia is never made and everyone is okay.)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/80806489

Of the cruelest fate to befall the Essempy, it would be the friendship of one fox hybrid and one blaze hybrid. With the union of L’Manburg’s first son and the Essempy’s leader, prosperity reigned between the two kingdoms. While the fighting ceased with the signing of a peace treaty, it did not mean that chaos itself was vanquished, for Dream had made the grievous mistake of introducing Sapnap and Fundy to one another. While they had met in the past, the duo were mostly unacquainted with one another due to Fundy choosing to spend more time near Dream and with Sapnap choosing to spend most of his time in the Nether with his demon father and fellow blaze brethren. They did not get along. Sapnap found Fundy to be a weak pushover, while Fundy found Sapnap to be a horrible bully. However, there was one thing that they bonded over.

The first unfortunate soul to befall the beginning of their “Prank Pact” was Dream. He did beg Sapnap and Fundy to become friends for his sake. The prank had been a simple one. They had found Dream taking a nap in one of the many alcoves within the castle, and they both couldn’t help themselves. They scrounged the castle for any glue and glitter they could find. Needless to say, Dream had to get another porcelain mask made since the rainbow glitter wouldn’t come off.

Yes. If there was one thing that they both agreed on, it would be pranks.

The second unfortunate soul was Eret. The newly crowned king had been in the garden when a servant called for their attention about a certain… issue. When Eret stepped into the throneroom, they took in the chandelier that was on the floor. Furthermore, instead of a chandelier hanging overhead, someone had tied chains around the throne so that it was hanging from where the chandelier should be. Other than that, someone had changed the red carpet to a mismatch of rainbow colors, which Eret didn’t mind. While they thought of how to get the throne back down, they heard the amused chuckling of a familiar fox and blaze hybrid fading into the distance.

The third unfortunate soul was George. The man had been sleeping in a field when Sapnap and Fundy found him. Fundy had been hesitant, knowing the consequences he’d face if they tried to pull a prank on George, but then Sapnap called him a coward which made Fundy angry enough to agree with Sapnap’s prank idea. In between the two of them, they managed to carry him all the way towards a nearby ocean. Sapnap made a boat for George to lie in, and after a few moments of making sure the boat didn’t accidentally collapse into itself, they pushed the boat right out into the open sea. George had come home that night, soaking wet, his goggles hanging by his neck while he glared daggers at both Sapnap and Fundy. Fundy was grounded for a month after that.

Sapnap was also grounded by his own father after George had complained about it to Bad.

The fourth unfortunate soul was Wilbur. Fundy hadn’t visited L’Manburg in almost a year when Sapnap had gotten the bright idea to go over to Wilbur’s office and fill the place with buttons. It took days to gather enough wood for their prank. They headed over to the office, pockets and inventories bursting with buttons. When Wilbur had come back to his office, he looked at the button-covered walls and laughed. Fundy had visited at some point, and that was enough for him.

The fifth unfortunate (fortunate???) soul was Tommy. The prank, if one could call it that, consisted of Sapnap sneaking into Tommy’s house and grabbing the teen’s favorite disc among his disc collection. Fundy was somewhere else at the time, building a very complicated device underneath the stone building that Sapnap and he had built the previous day. When Tommy entered the building, glancing down at the letter that Sapnap had left at his house, he was surprised to find that the whole building was covered in glass on the inside. The moment he stepped in, Fundy flicked up a lever outside of the building, the room was suddenly flooded with light. It was not, in fact, a prank. Sapnap and Fundy had made Tommy his own disco building.

The sixth unfortunate (fortunate???) soul was Tubbo. Fundy and Sapnap had gathered a lot of bees and flowers. They built the bee sanctuary near the disco building, close but far enough that the bees wouldn’t be aggravated by the noises. Tubbo was very happy to see the bee sanctuary.

The seventh unfortunate soul was Jack. They had stumbled across Manifold Land, a plan forming in their heads on what prank they could do. They decided to dig a few lava pits around the area, placing down tripwires and pressure plates in the most inconspicuous places. It took two days before Jack finally fell into one of the pits. Jack had been floundering through the lava by the time Sapnap and Fundy found him. Luckily, Jack was also a blaze hybrid. He was fine.

That didn’t stop him from pulling Sapnap in with him though.

The eight unfortunate soul was Bad. While Sapnap distracted his dad, Fundy snuck inside the demon’s home and rigged the place with a redstone device that would continuously play a loop of someone cursing each time a person walked through the front door. Skeppy had caught Fundy in the act, but the diamond golem let him be. He really wanted to see how Bad would react to the prank. The prank only lasted for a day before Bad found the device and threw it into the river.

The ninth unfortunate soul was Schlatt who had been invited back to the Essempy after two years of exile. Schlatt had come back to help endorse Wilbur within the upcoming elections, surprisingly sober even though Wilbur had sworn up and down that if Schlatt were to ever come back, he would definitely be drunk. They snuck into the ram hybrid’s house during the night before the endorsement, a can of gold paint between the two of them. During the afternoon, when Schlatt was called up to the podium, he was in a very bitter mood. Someone had painted his horns with a golden sheen of paint, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of it. Fundy and Sapnap’s laughter gave them away. After Schlatt finished endorsing Wilbur, he went down the podium and stared blankly at Fundy and Sapnap. They took that as their cue to run.

After the first nine pranks, the duo decided to at least prank someone every week. The people live in dread at the thought of being the next person to be pranked. They tried to appease the two by giving them gifts in the hope of establishing an alliance. Unfortunately, there are no true allies when it comes to Prank War. Not even Sapnap could trust Fundy when it came to mischief, recalling the time that Fundy had “accidentally” sealed him inside a lava pit after he’d turned the lava’s surface into obsidian. Even Fundy couldn’t trust Sapnap, recalling the time he’d dragged a sleeping Fundy and stuffed him into a random fox den. The family of foxes that lived there refused to let Fundy out for weeks. Even if they agreed in pranking the others, they both couldn’t help but prank the other too. There was no escape from the pranks. One could only hope to avoid them, but it is only a matter of time before they successfully prank everyone within the Essempy.

But everyone could at least agree that the threat of pranks was better than the threat of war.