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soundofseventeen · 5 years ago

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Worldwide (Joshua Hong)

Hello! This is one that was requested by our lovely haley!! Mild throwback to our rusher days!! Have a lovely day everyone!! 💛💚

You sat on your couch, knees pulled up to your chest, staring at the package. You shouldn’t have this. You knew you should just put it back and then forget about it until Joshua got back again. But, your eyes kept staring at it, expecting it to burst into flames or open itself or do something.

Things with Joshua lately had been… rough. You knew you loved him, and you knew he loved you, but it had been a rough patch for you two. You both knew this relationship wouldn’t be easy. When was dating an idol an easy thing to do? You got to watch him flirt with fans and say sweet things to them, but you always reminded yourself that at the end of the day, he was looking at you. He came back to you.

But you also knew that he was tired, trying to juggle a growing career and a getting serious relationship. You knew the guilt he felt at not always being able to be there for you, no matter how much you reassured him that you understood he couldn’t always physically be there.

While you understood, you still couldn’t help the hurt that you felt. You always saw your friends out with their partners, giggling and swinging their hands, smiles on both of their faces. You couldn’t really do that either, even when Joshua was around. He kept the skinship to an extreme minimum when you two were out, not wanting to expose anything about you two.

You really loved Joshua, and he really loved you, but you knew you were both tired. You had this rock in the pit of your stomach, wrapped in fear that the end may be soon.

He had just gotten back from tour, one that had been really long for both of you. You two had a weird air, Joshua giving you a tight hug before leaving and promising to be back soon. Once he got home, he basically dropped off his stuff, and then immediately had to go back to Pledis for some work emergency. He gave you a quick kiss, saying he needed to talk to you when he got back.

You made it through most of the tour okay, but Joshua saying he needed to talk to you now? Terrified you. Considering he barely contacted you during the tour? You kept telling yourself he was busy, he had a lot to focus on while on tour. But now you were wondering if that was intentional? Did Joshua not need you? Was this tour a test to see if your relationship was something worth fighting for? Did he determine that he had to make your worst fear come true?

So you distracted yourself until he came home. You cleaned your kitchen. You vacuumed. You read a couple webtoons online. You then decided to start unpacking his stuff, something you debated for a while. Because if he was going to break up with you, he would want to take his stuff with him, right? But why would he bring his stuff here if he was planning that?

You had just started unpacking when you found the package. It was a simple brown package, with twine holding it together. As you picked it up, you saw your initials on the tag, causing you to furrow your eyebrows at it.

And now you were in your living room. Staring at the package. Wondering what it was.

If Joshua wanted to give it to you, he probably wanted to be here to give it to you. But man, your curiosity was killing you. Was it a good thing? Or was it a goodbye thing?

You jumped as your phone rang, seeing Joshua was calling you.

“Hey.” You answered, hearing Joshua sigh.

“Listen, I’m so sorry. I might be a little later than I planned…”

“Really?” You asked, pouting.

“I’m so sorry. Please go to sleep, we can talk in the morning, okay? Just get some good rest.”

“Joshua…”

“Hey, I am coming home tonight. I promise.” He said, you letting out a sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You muttered, Joshua sighing himself again.

“Get some rest.” You both hung up the phone, your eyes going back to the package. You shook your head, reasoning that you would have to wait until the morning to find out. You got up, changed into pajamas and got ready for bed. You sat in bed for about 10 minutes, before you got back up, walking towards the living room. You sat on the couch, pulling the package onto your lap. You took a deep breath, opening the side of the package and pulling the contents out.

It was… letters. A bunch of letters. A small stack of letters. Each one with your name on it. There was nothing else on any of the envelopes, just your name.

You made a quick decision, making yourself some tea and grabbing a blanket, settling into the couch, picking up the top letter, slowly opening the envelope.

Dear Y/N,

Hey uh. How’s it going? How was your day? I’m not really sure why I’m doing this. I could just call you right now, but I thought I would try this? I don’t know, this is probably silly. But I guess it’s romantic, huh? Anyway, we just took off this morning. I always hate the look on your face when we have to leave for tour, but today it seemed so much worse. I guess that’s part of the reason I’m doing this. I really hope you have so much fun until we get back. So much fun that you have more stories to tell than I do.

God, this was a dumb idea. xJoshua

Hey Y/N,

It’s been a few days since we left now, and I just found the first letter in my bag. I still feel silly doing this, but oh well. Maybe you’ll think it’s cute or something. I’ve been thinking about you a lot the last few days. We found this dog while going to get coffee yesterday morning and I took a picture with him to show you later. I almost sent it to you, but then I remembered the time difference and didn’t want to chance waking you up. I did get the picture of you at our favorite restaurant. It made me smile from ear to ear that you ordered my favorite dish there instead of yours although your friend ratted you out and told me you also ordered your favorite to take home haha. At least you’re eating well while I’m gone! We have our first concert tonight, don’t worry, I’ll take your necklace on stage with me. It is my lucky charm, after all.

This is still dumb. xJoshua. I’m not writing another one.

Y/N my own true love who I love more than Jeonghan Hello Y/N,

So Jeonghan found my other letters. He is now making me write more of these because HE thought it was adorable. Also, excuse the crossed out part. I only have so much paper and I refuse to let Jeonghan win like this. We’re in another new town this morning, some of the guys want to go to a carnival later. I’m still debating on going or not. We don’t have the concert until tomorrow night, but traveling is tiring and I kind of want to sit by the pool for a while (yes, I’m at a pool, are you jealous? ;) ) I know if you were here, you would tell me to go with them. Just to get your voice out of my head for a bit I might go. Remember when we went to that fair? You were so cute trying to win me that stuffed tiger. I kept telling you that I was supposed to win you something since I took you on the date, but you just stuck your tongue out at me and told me to shut up. I’m pretty sure that was the day I knew I loved you.

Ugh, I can’t show you these ever. xJoshua

PS. I went to the fair. I won you a tiger. Suck it. <3 (It’s pink)

Dear Y/N,

I’m sorry I called so late last night. I guess my timezone math was still a little off. I just needed to hear the sound of your voice for a bit. At least I got to kind of tuck you in, right? Even if it was on the phone. I’m starting to get into a habit of doing this. I still feel silly, but it’s getting easier, I think? Hosh hasn’t come back from DK and Jeonghan’s room yet, so I’m just in our room by myself right now. The moon is huge tonight. You would probably spend an hour trying to get a picture of it. I just tried, it’s not great but it’s a decent picture? No it’s bad never mind I even cracked the window open in your honor. It’s so weird. Remember how I always complained about you wanting to have the window open at night? I never understood how you slept with the cold air and the traffic noise, but it’s actually helping now. It’s not great since you’re not here to cuddle with, but it makes me think of you. Hosh usually shuts the window at some point in the night though. I promise when I come back, I’ll let you keep the window open every night if you want.

Of course, I’m never actually showing you this, so we shall see. xJoshua

Hey Y/N,

You are not going to believe this! You remember that old hand lotion you used to have? The one that smelled like honey? The one that when you ran out and we went to the store to get more and they told you it was seasonal and you cried? I FOUND IT. We were in a shop and I smelled it, so I asked the girl working about it and she showed it to me. It was a different little tube than the one you had, but I swear it’s the exact same scent. I can already picture how excited you’ll be when I give it to you. I’m half tempted to just mail that to you, but I also want to keep it with me until I get back. Then I can see your face when you smell it. I miss you a lot. More than you think.

Only a couple more weeks. Then I’ll be home. xJoshua

Y/N,

A carat asked about you today. I was not prepared at all for that. I mean, yeah, they know about you and everything, but I was not prepared to be asked about you. They didn’t ask anything bad, just that they wanted to know how you were and if I missed you while on tour. Kind of a weird question to ask at a fanmeet but whatever I guess? I told them you were doing well and that I was looking forward to being able to see you in 2 weeks. I at least hope you’re doing well. I’m sorry we keep missing each other this week. Between my schedule and yours… We just can’t line up at all, huh? God, this almost feels worse now that I’m almost home, you know? Like, we’re so, so close but still so far away. I can’t believe I didn’t notice how distanced we’ve been. I don’t know how. You were always there for me when I needed you and now that I can’t come see you after a long day… I don’t know. You know I’m yours, right? No matter where I go or who I meet even the fans you constantly point out as pretty, which I don’t know why you keep doing that to yourself because I still stop breathing when I see you or what happens, you’re my one and only. If anything this tour just made me realize that whether it’s Paris or London or Tokyo all places I want to take you, by the way, I’m going to think about you worldwide.

I can’t wait to see you. I can’t wait to catch you and never let go. xJoshua

P.S. That carat earlier also told me about this candy store and I may have bought you different flavors of that one candy bar you like. I hope they taste good.

Y/N!

I’m home now well, at Pledis but I felt like these needed a conclusion. Not sure why, because I’m still not sure you’re ever going to get them. But it felt weird to just… end? So I gotta write this I guess. I managed to get the next few days off because some guys are going home for family and such, and I intend to annoy the living hell out of you. I gotta make up for lost time, right? Hopefully we can pick up right where we left off. I plan to get those spicy noodles you love on the way home. That will be a good start to our days together. I can’t wait to remind you just how much I love you. I’ll even listen to you read those gross cheesy books you like to read I don’t know if you know this but you make the cutest face when you find something cute you read and it makes my heart just U W U We’re getting called into a meeting now, but I’ll be home in a few hours. I love you.

Maybe these letters weren’t a terrible idea. You still might not get them. xJoshua

Joshua smiled to himself, picking up the envelopes with folded paper inside. He glanced at you, sound asleep on the couch, the last letter barely hanging from your hand. He looked over your face, examining softly. You looked tired. He wished you had just gone to bed, but he also knew that he probably gave you reason to be afraid of him wanting to have a discussion with you.

He carefully took the letter out of your hand, chuckling a bit as you kept a hold on it. He got it eventually, shaking his head and he put it back in its envelope and tossing it on the table with the others. Joshua then stood up, stretching his arms over his head a bit before reaching down to pick you up. He was going to let you keep sleeping, but he might as well move you to your bed so you wouldn’t hurt in the morning.

As he was part way down the hall, he heard you start to mumble. He stopped walking, looking at you with your eyes still closed.

“..Shua?” You mumbled, Joshua chuckling again.

“I’m here.” He whispered, not sure if you had actually woken up or if you were talking in your sleep.

“Is it morning?” You mumbled, Joshua smiling at you.

“Not quite, but almost.” He said, finally getting to your room. He carefully opened the door, leaving it open as he walked in.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, eyes starting to blink open a bit.

“I’m done with work for the day.” He said, pulling back the covers and laying you down, pulling the covers back and tucking you in. He sighed, thinking about how he had waited to do that for so long.

“Mhm.” You said, your eyes falling again. Joshua just smirked, brushing some of the hair from your face before getting up to get ready for bed himself. Once he was ready, he walked to the other side of the bed, crawling in himself and letting himself relax. He felt you poke his arm, causing him to turn his head. You were looking at him, eyebrows slightly together.

“How was the tour?” You asked, Joshua just smiling at you.

“It was great, but we can talk about it in the morning, okay?” He said, turning to face you. “Get some sleep.”

“What time do you go in tomorrow?” You mumbled.

“Didn’t you read the last letter?” He asked, you shrugging.

“I fell asleep at the start of it.” You said, snuggling a bit into your pillow.

“I have off the next couple days.” He grinned as your eyes widened, head picking up a bit. “Yeah, you’re stuck with me now.” He laughed, you letting your head rest again.

“Oh my.” You said, a slight smile on your face. You snuggled into Joshua a bit, which he happily accepted. “So, did you miss me?” Joshua placed a kiss on your head, holding onto you.

“You know I thought about you worldwide.”

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volcanofireflame150 · 5 years ago

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Life will find a way

Intro; Ch2

Chapter 1

Just another miserable day in this boring country, I can't wait to graduate and work my way up to get a passport and move out of the United States and into another country, I chose to live in South Korea because it looks beautiful over there. I live on my own so it's gonna be hard because no one is going to watch over my home but I don't care I just want to be closer to my school because my own parents kicked me out and disowned me from me saying that I want to move to another country, mainly South Korea, after that happened they kicked me out but thankfully someone was kind enough to let me move in, you guys might know him as Chuggaconroy, I only asked to stay with him just until I can find a decent job to earn enough for my College funds. Emile, which is his real name, came into his living room where I was and he asked, "How are you doing?" "I'm not excited on going to school right now," I said, "Since I'm now on my own but I need that diploma so I can go into a great college." "You know you can take online school courses," said Emile. I went to the front office of my school and told them that I am transferring to online courses and they were fine with that so I went back to Emile's house so I can start doing my own thing then my school courses started, main reason on why I did that is to avoid on what I'm dealing with.

Now, my previous school is on my bullies side saying doing other people's makeup will not get me anywhere well it's my life that I am going for. At least I'm going to be doing something that I enjoy doing, I started studying for a test that I'm going to be given, then I saw this ad of being an intern for 6 months, I clicked on it and it showed various groups but I typed in South Korean groups and it showed a lot of groups, but I only chose 3 for each 2 month, I chose BTS, Seventeen, and EXO for this internship, then I typed in on what my goal job to be and it said that I will get a letter saying that I'm getting my flight paid but everything else I am going to pay for myself which I'm alright with. Emile came in and asked, "Are you studying right now?" "I just got back into studying because of this ad that distracted me," I said, "Apparently for 6 months I'm going to be an intern makeup artist in South Korea." "Great, I mean at least you can finally enjoy on you want to do," said Masea. Masea and Emile are sharing this house, I'm still surprised that Emile allowed me to move in when I asked him. Masea asked, "So, Y/N, when are you going to South Korea?" "I'm getting a letter saying on what I'm going to be doing over there," I said to her. Masea has always been nice to me but she always changes her tone and mood when Emile always says a very bad pun. "I'm very excited on doing this finally," I said to them. Masea said, "At least you are finally smiling, Y/N, you've always been so depressed but now you seem very happy." "Well, this is my last year of high school so I can have plenty of time enjoying on what I am going to do over there," I said to her. After all my school courses were done including that test I finished, I decided to go to the mall with Emile and Masea because I kindly asked them so I can enjoy some fresh air plus I needed to get use to the South Korean culture and thankfully Masea got me a box of various chopsticks and she made sure that they are a color that I like. During our time of being there, I saw a very familiar group of girls who always pick on me but I selectively ignored them because they were very far but I can detect them a mile away. I told Masea, "Those group of girls are here." "How can you tell, Y/N?" asked Masea. I pointed to where that group was at and she instantly knew then said to Emile, "Emile, c'mon, we can come back here later." "I'm almost done," said Emile, then looked at me who was very uncomfortable thinking that those girls would instantly notice me. After our shopping spree, thankfully I didn't get spotted, we went back to Emile's house and I went to the mailbox and there were 3 letters addressed to me. Once we got everything in the house, since Emile purchased a house instead of an apartment, I went and got those 3 letters, I instantly knew on who sent me these letters, BigHit, SM, and Pledis Entertainment sent me these letters stating that I have been accepted to be an intern for only 3 groups that they are going to show me, but I guess they already picked, the 3 groups were I was hoping for was what I chose BTS, Seventeen, and EXO. BTS is going to be the first group for 2 months, Seventeen is going to be the 2nd group for another 2 months, and EXO has the last 2 months of my internship, I love challenges but not personal challenges. I exclaimed, "I got accepted!!!" "That was quick considering that they are in a different timezone not to mention South Korea is located on the other side of the planet," said Emile, "But congrats!" "I want to celebrate but you guys have your YouTube career to do," I said. Masea said, "That can wait, I'm so proud that you are actually living your dream!" "Yeah I'm so excited I really do hope I get to see new faces and not mean, old faces, you guys know on who I'm talking about mainly you Masea," I said to her. She nodded, knowing exactly on who I am talking, then she said, "Who knows maybe you get to meet some really badass girls over there." "I hope so," I said to her, "Masea and Emile, you guys are my only official friends who wouldn't turn away from someone like me." "Just know that you can always come back here when things get rough," said Emile, "I'm trying my best on knowing on what you have been through." "I understand, Emile," I said, "Now I'm going to pack up on what I need." "You'll need these," shouted Masea, gave me my box of various chopsticks. My online courses were teaching me on how to learn Korean, Chinese, and Japanese so of course I am taking my laptop basically I'm bringing all the stuff that I might need when there is nothing to do. So, I finished packing, slept early so I can get enough energy to make it through the flight. Assuming so did Emile and Masea because they've helped me with my stuff, Masea asked, "Are you going to bring a pillow and blanket with you on the flight over there?" "Oh right," I said and went back in to grab those. Once I did, I noticed that I don't have a phone like Masea and Emile do, somehow I don't know how she noticed this but she gave me my own phone well it's one of her old phones, she said, "I'm letting you borrow this." "No, I can't," I said, "I want to get my own phone all I need is your numbers so I can tell you that I made it safely." After that, I convinced her to keep her old phone with her because it didn't seem right for me to take something from her, I'd be asking for it and it's gonna put a guilt feeling on me and I don't want that. So, I got my tickets, I got 4 for Dallas, Los Angeles, Tokyo, and finally Seoul which I don't mind just as long as I don't talk to anyone. I managed to get all my little bags in my big suitcase that Masea gave me, I went through security, got my stuff and went to my gate for my plane. I decided to give BTS, Seventeen, and EXO a listen because since I'm going to be doing their makeup so I need to know on what I'm getting myself into. First song I listened was Growl from EXO, then Boy in Luv, then went to listen to Seventeen, basically I put the songs on my iPod shuffle so I can have a better understanding on what groups I had chosen. Basically that's what I end up doing for all the flights, was listening to these 3 groups were my ticket of not talking to anyone. Once I got into Seoul, I put my iPod shuffle away and went out of the plane then hopefully wait for an escort. What I was expecting was a random person but who was actually waiting for me was one of the 3 groups I had chosen, one of the 7 members sees me, I'm guessing he's the leader because he introduced himself in perfect English, "I'm Kim Namjoon, Leader of BTS, Welcome to South Korea." "Thanks, um, can you show me where the baggage claim is at?" I asked. He led me to the Baggage Claim, so I can get the rest of my belongings once I did, Namjoon asked, "Have you chosen a place to stay?" "Um, I haven't seen on what the outside is like I just got here," I said, trying to hide on what I am actually feeling right now. When I was in the Los Angeles flight, I ran into one of the girls that loves to pick on me but she didn't even notice me but I was hearing her on what she likes to do to me, I did not have a seat next to her thank goodness, Namjoon sees through my shield and asked, "Are you hiding something? If so, I don't want to rush things, I just want to make you feel welcomed here." Then one of the members got another bag of mine, I couldn't believe on what just happened, Namjoon said, "Oh before I forget, this is Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook." "Wonderful names," I said, "I'm Y/N." "Y/N, Such a beautiful name for a beautiful lady like you," Namjoon said kindly. That actually made me blush because I was not used to that at all! I'm guessing these guys are very different on what I was going through. So, they led me to their agency, Namjoon said, "This is the place that you are going to be in for 2 months, now we understand that you are very shy when it comes to other people but it comes with the job you are going to work with other people like us." "I understand that part, I'm fine with that just as long as no one makes fun of me," I said. He looked at me and asked, "Why would we, BTS and BigHit, would do something like that?" "I'm just rambling, sorry," I said, sheepishly. I had a slight panic attack when I saw that I was alone in one of the rooms, I couldn't breath, basically I have a huge fear of being alone, thanks to those group of girls from America. Namjoon sees this and came to my rescue, I instantly calmed down, I really want to conquer this fear that one of the girls put me under, Namjoon asked, "What happened there?" "I have a phobia of being alone," I said, breathing heavily. Then without any other question, everywhere I went by myself, Namjoon was always with me. But I do like to be alone because I need to focus on my schoolwork, then Namjoon asked, "Are you currently learning a language?" "Yeah, I'm taking 3 online courses, I'm currently learning Korean," I said, "So I can easily talk to you guys without having to talk in English." "I can teach you," said Namjoon, "I mean, it doesn't bother me much because you told me that you don't want to be alone." "When I'm doing my schoolwork, it doesn't bother me much," I said to him, "My phobia is not that extreme." After that issue was taken care of, I just noticed that I was fluently saying all that in Korean, Namjoon was just noticing this as well, he asked, "Were you talking in fluent Korean without even trying?" "I'm guessing those courses helped," I said, "Because I've been learning this language for almost a year now." "Wow," said Namjoon, "So, what other language are you learning?" "Chinese and Japanese," I said, "Since I've learned that I'm partially American, Korean, Chinese, and Japanese, so I'm trying to do my best and learn the languages that I'm partially born in." "Wow," he said, "Well, good luck with your studying." "Yeah," I said. Then he led me to a room filled with hairstylists and makeup artists everywhere, Namjoon said, "Since you are new here, I'm going to let you chose on who you should do their makeup." I looked around and saw 2 very promising faces, I pointed towards Jin and Jimin, Namjoon noticed this and said, "Alright, you go to them while I have a talk to one of the ladies that works on them." "Alright," I said. I went to Jin and Jimin, Jin looked at me, "Ah, well, if it isn't the new intern of BigHit, welcome!" "Thanks," I said, a little uneasy when he said those first few words. "Are you alright?" asked Jimin. I nodded, still hiding on what I'm facing, Jimin got up and kindly said, "Sit, I don't want you to stay standing there." So I sat down, Jin said, "He's always this nice." "No, I'm trying to be flirty," said Jimin. I've had someone like that trying to be flirty towards me but then it turned into a prank of one of the girls so I instantly went back to being closed off on them, Jimin asked, "What's wrong?" "It's nothing," I said. Jin asked, "Are you sure?" "Stop with the questions already!" I snapped, realized on what I just did. I went out of the room so I could breath and then I listened to Breaking Benjamin to sooth out my nerves, apparently choosing Jimin was a bad choice. The only promised face was Jin, speaking of which, Jin came out and said, "Hey, don't mind Jimin, sometimes he can be like that but other than that he's a total Angel once you get to know him." I looked at him, he saw that I was middle of letting my stress out, when I get stressed out I tend to turn everything with anger and sadness, then out of nowhere he gave me a great big hug. I really needed that because it feels like I have a family again, Jin asked, "Do your parents know that you are over here?" "They disowned me," I said, "I have no family to turn to." Then I felt someone else's presence, I looked, there was Jimin who was in complete distraught. Those 2 never left my side, basically every single member minus Suga, I don't know where he is, making their goal of making me feel wanted in this world.

#kpop #youtuber #chuggaaconroy #masea anela #female reader #bts #bts seokjin #namjoon #jimin #jungkook #taehyung #jhope #suga #exo #Seventeen

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diveronarpg · 6 years ago

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Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of CASSIUS. Admin Jen: Cassius is multifaceted in every sense of the term, and it was the main reason why we couldn’t wait to receive an app for him -- there are so many aspects of his character that could be explored, so many layers to peel back and expand upon. And you achieved that so brilliantly, Julie. From the intriguing plots to the wonderful writing sample, everything came together so well to project the vision that you have for Cassius and it’s certainly left us thirsting for more! I’m so so glad that you’ll be bringing him to us and I can’t wait to see him on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Julie (hi, it’s me again!)

Age | 19

Preferred Pronouns | She/her or they/them works fine!

Activity Level | So this semester isn’t going to be as disastrous as I thought it’d be, but I’m still gonna give myself a 5.5 out of 10, with more activity on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays than any other days of the week.

Timezone | MST!

Current/Past RP Accounts | Orion’s blog is here! I think there’s some halfway decent stuff on there.

In Character

Character | Cassius / Cassian Bhatt. I’m fine with keeping Ranveer!

What drew you to this character? | “But when you dare to look a monster in the eye, when you issue that kind of challenge, when you provoke a man who takes pride in evisceration, one gets exactly what they bargain for: destruction.” This line in particular is really what did it for me - I can draw parallels and lines between Orion and Cassian as much as I want, but Cassian really does have something Orion lacks, and that’s ambition on the large and small scale. He’s conniving, clever, and most importantly, rooted in reality. Cassian is a realist; I think he knows what he lacks and what he has and even then where things can go wrong. He does his best to be a few steps ahead, and when all else fails, at least has some sort of back-up plan in mind. He holds the scales of justice - how could he ever want to be anything besides justified? He’s the interesting sort of aloof that has men and women alike flocking to him, which is key to how he measures his success. If they want him, let them come. If not, then let them keep their distance. He knows by now that people are fickle, but he always keeps them close in spite of their grievances and changing plans - they’re important, and he can use them, and that’s what’s truly important.

And what Cassian uses, he eventually destroys. Individual things can only serve their purpose for so long before they don’t have any purpose at all, and being the pragmatic man he is, Cassian’s quick to discard of them before they get any ideas about ascending beyond where they need to be. Cassian knows he needs to rise, that others need to fall, and some need to stay exactly where they are, and that’s something I think he’s been taught to maintain all his life - not by his father, whom he detests, but by his mother, who taught him everything he knew and more that he has yet to discover. What I’d really like to explore is how Cassian got from point A to point B. How do you go from a boy who loses himself in historical nonfiction to a man who is so bitterly cruel it leaves people breathless? Does it make him sad to know he doesn’t quite feel in the capacity others might? I find him really intriguing, and that’s what drew me to him.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

He’s being used in the same way he uses others, at least by Mona, something that has Cassian on edge; he’s unfamiliar with the position that comes with being compromised. He’s not worried, though, and that’s dangerous - he should be worried if he knows any better, but instead of pulling, Cassian pushes. I want to see how this extortion thread unfolds - mostly with how it impacts his relationship with his Captain, with himself, and how the Capulets will see him if they see these photos. Cassian’s technically on a leash, and it might be a long one, but he’s not sure how much give he has left to run ahead, think he’s the one in charge, before it yanks back from the collar.

Marriage is nothing but another tool in his set, and frankly, Cassian doesn’t view Lillian as anything more than that. Sure, she’s a good woman, a respectable woman, had dose her part in acquiescing to the proposal, taking on his name as hers at some point in the future. Her sorrow in being married to a man who, frankly, neither loves nor cares for her isn’t much more than a footnote at the bottom of the page to Cassian. Lillian provides opportunity to make him look all the more golden than he already is. He’ll give her anything she asks for, present it to her wrapped in precious metals and distracting paper, but only because he needs her, and not because he necessarily wants her. A union of necessity is still a union, and I’d love to see the fracturing between Lillian and Cassian, and how that damages Cassian, how long it takes. Not necessarily emotionally, but in terms of his reputation, which is all that matters to him.

Matters of the heart are uncomfortable for Cassian, that’s clear enough. He’s alone, has been alone, and in his mind, will always be alone. He has no issues in isolation, so long as it’s something brought on by his own choices. When love cannot bring happiness, monetary gain and skill will bring pride. Cassian’s a proud man with a black hole for a heart that eats everything it touches without abandon - I’d love to see someone knock him down a peg, either through his work or through emotional investment that he hasn’t really prepared himself for.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yep!

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:

The first fifteen minutes of dinner are quiet. There’s not much noise beyond shifting in their seats, chewing, the clattering - as little of it as possible - of silverware against intricate-looking plates. Cassian notes that his mother looks exhausted, something not entirely unremarkable, but it’s not something he plans on asking about. He’d learned early on in life that asking Vahina Bhatt about anything she deemed unnecessary was futile. She’d answer with some notion of work, the governance of Verona, how much it grates on her temper and her time, fundraising - that sort of thing. Some off-the-cuff scandal that he might want to look into.

His father, halfway down the table, appears to be chewing not just on food but his words as well. “That Wen girl,” Naadir begins, because of course he would ask about the one topic Cassian has no interest in, “what do you think?”

Cassian gulps down a mouthful of wine in an attempt to both steel himself and delay an answer. He’s not sure what he thinks of her. She’d been relatively meek upon their first meeting, he’d thought, nothing like the diamond in the rough her mothers had made her out to be. But she’d been beautiful. More than beautiful. An effigy of grace, style, composition. She had followed the plans laid out for their first interaction to a T: introduction, dinner, discussion of the future, and a soft goodnight at the door. All in all, it had played out smoothly.

But their personalities don’t mix, and she seems flat. Static. Where Cassian finds himself confrontational, up front, willing to start a conversation on the intricacies and justification of law, social standards, she is reserved, an even line to the set of her mouth. She had smiled, yes, but it hadn’t been genuine. Maybe that’s for the best, Cassian thinks. None of this will be genuine. He has no love for her, she has no love for him, he doesn’t intend on saying anything of the sort. Not even in their vows, for the wedding to come. There will be no declarations of adoration. She’ll look nice with his Versace loafers, he thinks, for dinner parties and galas.

“She’ll be a good wife,” he replies, tone flat. His father hums, unsurprised by the lack of poetry frothing from his son’s mouth. Cassian has never been a romantic, after all, and that’s where their divide has always rested: a crack in the earth, widening from his younger years to where they are now. Vahina watches from the head of the table, glass of cabernet sauvignon in hand, a soft curve to her lips. But she’s looking at Cassian, not her husband, and if he were still a boy, he might as well gleamed with pride.

The ring he’s chosen for her, to announce to the world that she’ll be his, isn’t particularly extravagant. A golden band, with a green diamond atop, surrounded by smaller white cut jewels. It’s flashy - but not too flashy, so as not to imply vanity. He doesn’t say much else on the matter of his newfound fiancee, and his father knows better than to press, so he listens to his mother ask about his new courses at the university, given that it’s a new year. He ponders other things until the meal is done and he’s being nudged towards the door.

The ring is still on his mind as he’s driven home, as he closes the front door behind him, settles in his study for the night to look into the case Cosimo had called him about the other evening: the Bhatts are not a vain bloodline - they are seekers of knowledge, growth. The viridescent tint won’t be for envy, or a mark of ownership, but for nature. An indication of development, he thinks, that she will grow into the person he needs her to be. Isn’t that poetry enough?

Extras: An instrumental playlist, and because it’s a bit corny, but here’s the wedding ring I was looking at for Lillian!

#accepted #accepted: cassius

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dreamin-of-somewhere-else · 8 years ago

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To Become A Hunter [2]

Part 1

Characters: Sister!Winchester reader, John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Words: 3600+

Warnings: Anxiousness, some violence, verbal abuse, a bit of a language, bad mental health, John’s A+ parenting, implied abuse. I know it looks like a lot, I’m just making sure. This is dark though.

A/N: Boom, part 2/3 (as it looks like right now). As I said, this fic has some darker themes, but there’s nothing too graphic I would say. Hope you like it.

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Heart pounding. Head throbbing. Legs wobbly. Sight blurry. Body tired. And a fire burning inside your lungs, or at least that’s what it feels like.

The sun is about to reach it’s peak, in the middle of the sky, like the star on top of the christmas tree. It’s starting to get really warm as well, at least that’s what you think as you try to push forward, try to complete the task.

You have no idea where you are. You’re completely encircled by trees, that look exactly the same to you, except for ’the road’ that just never seemed to end. You briefly wondered if you even took the right direction, but you quickly concluded that it was unlikely that you didn’t, and that the thought was too scary to think of right now.

It smells like pine and somewhere above you, you can somewhat hear the treetops being swept by the wind, through the sound of your blood flow whizzing in your ears.

You’re losing you determination quickly, like it’s running out like sand in between your fingers. In fact, you’re almost numb, and you can’t believe how you keep moving forward, one exhausted step after the other.

Well, that is until you trip because of your exhaustion. You barely notice that you’re falling until your head grimly collides against the ground. You’re thankful it’s gravel and not an actual road, and even though it’s not enough to knock you out cold, it hurts like a bitch as it keeps you on the ground, so dizzy that you’re unable to stand up.

With a groan, you slowly roll over to your back, tiredly closing your eyes. Behind your eyelids swirls of colors emits until a picture forms, and you see Dean, and his green eyes breaking contact with yours before he turns to the door. Suddenly, there’s a pang of sadness in your heart. You force your eyes to shut even more tightly, as you subconsciously frown.

The images of Dean are replaced by new ones — of your dad. He’s wearing a stern expression and stares at you with angry eyes.

Your eyes shoot open within a split second, and a breath gets stuck in your throat. In your ears, a voice rings.

’You are a disappointment.’

’You deserve this.’

’Not a real hunter.’

’Sam and Dean could both do better than you.’

’You are hopeless.’

’Worthless.’

You feel how you eyes start to sting, and you furiously shake your head. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. DON’T CRY (Y/N)!

And, soon, the tears sort of disappear. You swallow the lump that’s in your throat and you try to take a deep breath. Although, your chest is heaving up and down, your lungs still burn, your head still throbs, you’re still so tired that you kind of just want to give up.

You continue to stare up at the oh-so-blue sky above peeping through the clearing between the dark treetops. A bird slowly and elegantly glides it, and somehow, it makes you feel calmer.

You devote a thought to Sam. Wondering what he does right now. You don’t bother counting the hours, with timezone differences and all, though. But you’re curious; what is he up to nowadays? It really feels like it’s been an eternity since you saw each other, lifetimes ago.

You miss him as well.

At least you’re under the same sky.

You lie there, on the ground, completely alone in the quiet forest, as you contemplate your options. In the end, you decide that you don’t have much of a choice but to try and return to the cabin — if you even find your way back. Although, you are honestly scared of meeting your dad. You haven’t done well enough, and you know he’s going to be mad about it.

But then, you slowly stand up, only to start moving again.

You don’t know how much the clock is and how long you’ve been gone when you see the cabin again — and frankly, you want to keep it like that. That way, you can pretend that you’re not as big of a failure as your dad thinks. Although make that John and yourself, at least soon enough, as you’re finding it harder and harder believing that you actually do a decent job at life.

As you jog closer — it feels like you’re going to fall to the ground again any second — you see your dad standing on the porch, waiting with crossed arms. You feel dread wash over you, and you almost turn around, and run in the other direction as far us you can until you ultimately collapse.

But you don’t. Instead, against all odds and everything you want to do, you decide to be brave.

Although you feel like you’re starting to fall apart on the inside, it’s not anything you plan on showing John. You still got a little bit of fight left in you. It’s not only fear that fills you up when you see your father — it’s anger too.

”You’re late. Really freakin’ late.”

Those are the first words your dad speaks to you, while watching you crumble down to the grass in front of the stairs of the porch. You’re half sitting down, half lying down, as black dots starts to overtake your vision, and you feel like the world is slowly getting darker, and darker.

Your dad shows you little to none sympathy, because within seconds, he’s shouting at you.

”Get up, lazy!” His tone is annoyed.

You sluggishly lift your head, and look up at him through your bangs hanging down in your face. You blink, trying to combine the two Johns you’re currently seeing into one. He wears a resolute, cold expression, and you feel your heart sink.

You don’t follow his command. For your own safety, you want to, but you simply can’t. You’re too tired.

Before you know it, you see your father’s boots coming closer, and two rough hands wrap around your upper arms, forcedly pulling you out. It hurts.

”Come on, how bad can you be?” John scoffs.

Your stomach twist, you’re embarrassed. But still, you feel the need to say something.

”I’m s-sorry—”

He interrupts you. ”Did I say you could speak?”

Your eyes widen, and you slowly shake your head.

Your father has always been hard on you, and sometimes he can be kind of an asshole, you know that. But this, this is new. This is a new low for you too, in fact. Though, maybe he has just really stepped into the role as your trainer. Or maybe he’s enjoying this a little too much.

”Now, since you were late, you get to clean the guns.” He says with a definitive voice. ”Understand?”

”The… guns i-inside?” You ask, wondering which ones. You’re still so out of breath, you’re struggling to speak.

”The ones in the trunk as well. All of them.”

You feel like lying down on the grass again.

”It’s orders.” He reminds you.

”Yes.” You nod wearily.

He’s quick to correct you. ”Yes, sir.”

And you have no option but to repeat; ”yes, sir.”

John begins walking inside the cabin again, but stops and turns around. ”Clean the knives as well.”

”Yes, sir.”

It took even longer than anticipated, cleaning the weapons. Especially since your dad wanted them spotless.

During the time you’re working on them, John goes off to buy some dinner. For himself. You get to eat canned beans.

’It’s not always possible to get fresh food’ he says, as he makes you hungrily watch him eat his burger.

Dean strolls into the bar, happily taking in the atmosphere. People talking and laughing, music playing, glasses clinking against each other. General, comforting shuffling. Dean feels great just being there. He sure loves a good bar.

He makes his way through the tables and then men and women sitting around them, and takes place on a high stool by the bar.

While he sits there, he briefly wonders what you and Dad are doing right now. Is he teaching you how to aim, by getting you to shoot at empty glass bottles he has propped up in a row? Was he making you clean his guns? He used to do that to Dean. Boring, that’s what it was, but honestly a nice break in the training. Because the training was hard. Military precision. That’s what his dad used to tell him. But, although the training was hard, Dean always felt proud of himself whenever Dad gave him a pat on the shoulder and a ’good job, son’. And Dean thinks he owns the man, because if his father hadn’t taught him to defend himself so well, Dean’s sure he wouldn’t be alive today.

Once his eyes meet with the bright, blue ones of the bartender that’s approaching him, he’s distracted from his thoughts. She smiles, and he does too.

When Dean returns to his single motel room — that only has one single bed, which still feels weird to Dean — he’s only a little drunk. Can’t be too out of it; he has a hunt to continue tomorrow.

Military precision.

That’s the mantra your father uses when he teaches you — whatever the day’s training might offer. That, and the rain of insults and constant reminders that you’re not good enough.

It’s been a week and a half now. Training only gets harder and harder.

You’ve realized now that the hardest part about the training isn’t the physical part. It’s not the endless runs. It’s not the pushups, sit-ups, pull-ups. It’s not the shooting training. Or when you have to combat John, hand to hand. (You always lost those, and he did not go easy on you.) It’s not the constant feeling of exhaustion. It’s not the crap food, that you didn’t even get to eat often enough. It’s not the constant muscle pain either.

It’s the emotional, mental, part. Your dad’s words are what hurt the most. They feel like hypothetical knives, stabbing you. Jabbing at you confidence. Almost like they are dulling your essence… your soul. It’s like they slowly take away everything that is you. Piece by piece.

He uses a wide array of hurtful words, sentences. Stuff like stupid, incapable, useless, disappointing, not like your brothers, not good enough.

But the worst one is ’you’re no Winchester.’

Because with those five syllables, he has taken away everything. Your family — and that meant your brothers, only, which is something you’re becoming more and more sure of — is everything you have. That’s it. You don’t have any friends. You don’t have a significant other. You don’t have any other family. No home. No community. No security and stability, whatsoever. Everything you have is Sam and Dean.

And when John says that you’re not the same as them, you’re not a part of their family, that you’re not one of them, not even a unit with them — it hurts like nothing else.

What hurt the most isn’t when he basically fed you to the shape-shifters and left you to fend for yourself during the hunt he forced you to take part in this weekend. What hurt the most aren’t the miles you have to run, the blows he gets in on you when you practice combat, nor the punishments.

What hurt the most is the awful things he spits at you, like it’s nothing.

You stand with the barrel of the gun pointed at the werewolf’s head. He’s your age, and he’s begging for his life. Across the room, your dad is yelling orders at you.

”Kill him!”

You feel nauseous. All you can hear are John’s words, along with the ’please, please don’t!’ and your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

The gun start to tremble as you do. It gets harder and harder to focus.

”Pull the damn trigger, (Y/N)!”

You bite the insides of your cheeks. Take a deep breath. Breath out.

”Please don’t do it!”

”Orders, (Y/N)!”

You close your eyes. And then you pull the trigger. The noise is deafening and it’s followed by a thump. And then it’s quiet like the night.

You feel sick, and sink down to your knees. You realize that this is your first, all-alone kill. It’s definite, set in stone. You’re a killer, a murderer. It feels far from a victory.

And although you did what your father told you — pulled the trigger — you still aren’t good enough, you still didn’t do well enough. Because, you weren’t fast enough. Which has consequences.

And that’s the story how you received the purple bruising around your right eye.

One thing that Dean Winchester has learned during these past three weeks (and two days — although, it’s not like he’s counting down or anything) is that he does not like to be alone.

He misses his dad and you, his little sister.

It’s boring being alone. He misses having someone to banter with. Someone to joke around with, someone to prank and someone to be pranked by, even. Someone to laugh with, someone to share thoughts with.

He misses having you near. He misses ruffling your hair so that it becomes a mess. He misses hearing you curse as you put it back in place. He misses falling asleep to your calm, even breaths at night, coming from the bed next to his. As girly and chick-flicky that sounds, he knows it’s true. Although, he’s not admitting that to anyone.

He finished up the hunt a couple of days ago. It was a quite simple salt and burn, what really took time was finding what the spirit was tied to. Although, he finally did, and then he sent that son of a bitch away, forever. Adiós.

Now, he’s sitting on a park bench, looking out over the landscape of trees, grass and flowers. Seeing people strolling through it. How he ended up here, he doesn’t really know. What he’s doing here, he doesn’t know either. He supposes he’s subconsciously trying to find a way to make time pass faster. No place fun opens until later. He’s already had lunch, so he can’t do that, although he seriously contemplated having another one, just because he’s bored, and eating’s fun.

Although, now he’s sitting here. He doesn’t even notice his own hand reaching into his pocket, bringing out his phone. But then it’s there in his hand, and he decides to call Dad. He’s curious what’s happening over there. He wants to check up on him, and especially you. Maybe Dad can tell him how many out of six glass bottles you now can hit.

He presses the phone to his ear. Within two signals his dad picks up.

”Dean?”

”Hey, Dad. How’s it going?” Dean asks, as he looks up at the gazing sun, squinting his eyes.

”Hi, son. Everything’s running smoothly, here.”

”How’s (Y/N) holding up?” Dean narrows his question, because to be honest, that’s what he wants to know.

”She’s fine. Now, how’s the hunt? Finished?”

Dean lightly furrows his eyebrows at the short answer, but shrugs it off.

”Yes, sir.” He answers out of old habit. ”All done, since a few days ago.”

”Good work.”

”Thanks.”

”Now, I have to go. See you in a week.”

”Oh, okay—” Dean never has time to say goodbye, nor adding ’minus two days’ — instead he’s cut off by his father hanging up on him.

Dean stares confused at his phone, wondering why Dad was in such a rush. Maybe he’ll never know.

At least he found out you’re doing okay. Because, he could trust his dad. Right?

You don’t know exactly when it happened, but in the end you just broke. The old (Y/N) is long dead and gone now. Forgotten.

John won. Although you don’t care too much, you can’t find the energy to. Your fire is gone as well. And now you can see how inconvenient it always has been. You should be lucky it’s put out now. Emotions are an obstacle, they’re going to hold you back. And you don’t want that.

Now, you are as close to a Winchester you’re ever going to be, you’re sure about that. You can feel John’s not completely content — actually, he’s almost weary, tentative, around you — but this is as not-disappointed John’s ever going to be with you.

You are a hunter now. You’re here to clean the world of monsters. You’re here to save people. That’s your purpose. And you’re going to live up to that, just follow John’s orders and everything’s going to always go according to plan.

You are a killing machine. And if you could bring yourself to care, maybe you would be happy with that. Nothing can stop you now. You can see clearly now. How weak you were before. How much stronger you are now.

Now, you can see the world in it’s true colors. And, it’s black and white. It has always been black and white.

You think you have everything figured out, you really do. But then, you come to question that.

That morning, you wake up late. Sunlight is shining in through the window, bathing your face in golden. Birds are happily chirping outside, as if it’s the most beautiful day and the forest is full of life. Like some Disney movie or something.

You immediately get out of bed. You switch clothes, and tie your hair away from your face. You brush your teeth, do some last touches, and then you’re ready — ready to face John and see what the punishment is.

But you come to a stop once passing through the doorway to the joint living room and kitchen. There, on the table lays something. It’s small, black, compact. It’s a phone.

John’s phone.

For weeks you’ve put in so much work to suppress your feelings, to push them away, lock them up. For weeks you’ve put up with John’s inhuman training and his degrading comments to become harder, tougher, stronger.

But now, you can’t stop the small spark emitting far deep in your chest when you see the little devise.

Because, this phone is it. The way out you were looking for that first week. The way out you’ve dreamt of since then, although more and more rarely. With this phone, you can reach anyone. It’s an open door to the world — endless opportunities.

You freeze, your senses on high alert, and you don’t even dare to breath. Survival instincts — that John sharpened with his military training — switched on, highest setting.

You listen. Because, after everything John’s put you through, you can’t help but to think this might be a test. You know better now. Don’t trust anyone.

Maybe he’s lurking around the corner. Maybe he’s going to step forward as soon as you make a move towards the innocent, lonely, phone. Maybe he’s going to be there with his consequences, which you do deserve if you try and take the phone.

But it remains quiet. You’re almost completely sure you’re alone inside the small building.

You know very well you shouldn’t. If you just walk outside right now, it would be like nothing ever happened. Your mind is screaming at you. ’Leave the phone! Don’t anger John!’

But you don’t listen to yourself. You want to, but it’s like your body does what it wants to. Because, you stalk closer to the phone. Eyes watching it intently, as if it’s your prey. Soon, you’re there, by the table. And just like that, you snatch the phone from it, like a reptilian, only to whip around — quickly returning back to your room, your den, your depot.

Now, you’re sitting on your bed, legs crossed, door closed. And your hands are trembling as they hold the phone, like it’s a precious treasure. In a way, it is.

You feel so torn. This goes against everything he’s taught you. Everything you should be, everything you’ve become.

The thing is that you don’t necessarily want to. No, you want to continue being a hunter, continue as the new you. You want to hunt, to kill. You wish that the phone never was there, unmonitored, like it was a dangling piece of meat on a stick and you were a starved lion.

No, you are only doing it because you can’t stop yourself. It’s like a need. And frankly, you don’t even know what you’re doing. It’s like your hyperaware of everything, but mentally not there at the same time. And it’s strange.

Your hands flip the phone open, getting even closer to doing what’s wrong, and you can already hear John’s angry voice inside your head, you can already feel his hard shove.

But your thumb press the call button, and suddenly the phone is pressed to your ear. Your body is tense as you wait. Breathing is light. You almost feel nauseous.

When you hear the croaky sleep-laced voice coming from the other end, a breath gets stuck in your throat. Your heart clenches painfully.

”Sam here. Who is this?”

And you’re internally asking yourself; what the hell are you doing?

Tags: @daughters-and-winsisters @evyiione @samanddeanshotsis @darkestgrungeuniverse @fabulouslycassie @delessapeace-blog @mariairwin666 @1amluke @saveprettydays @cookee50 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @infamati--et--obliterati @stillcooli0 @sammysbeanie @jamric @deepbreathssammy @extreme-supernatural-lover @lemonadegazeelle @mogaruke @winchestersmut

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hushedhands · 8 years ago

Text

Challenge 59

@disnarutard @clarafarleybarrow

*Maxerica pregnancy scare

(I’ve had these prompts forEVER and I’ve been wanting to write the story of how we got Lief, because it’s different from the other Laws of Inheritance Schreave babies, but it’s... sort of... long? And comes with its own world building history lesson? So I haven’t had time. But then I hit writer’s block with The Thing with Feathers (don’t worry! I have everything outlined, it’s just a matter of telling the story in a nice, readable way), so I decided to give myself a break and write something different and fun AKA this) (PS, it worked, my writer’s block is BUSTED in a way it hasn’t been in months. I’m only kicking myself for not trying this sooner!)

The day before Maxon and America were scheduled to leave for a diplomatic tour of the Australian Islands, Jamesy came down with a vicious cold. Though her motherly instincts were screaming that she should cancel her participation in the tour, America’s duties to her country as their queen won out over those to her children as their mother. That night, America rocked Jamesy in Amberly’s rocking chair until he fell into a fitful, cough-filled slumber. The next morning, she was exhausted as she bid her family goodbye and boarded the royal plane with Maxon, but it was just as well. They had a long, long flight ahead of them and there would be plenty of time to sleep on the way.

Her first day of tour, though tiring, went fairly smoothly. Silvia had made the trip with them, along with Gavril and a small pool of reporters. Silvia and her counterpart in the Australian queen’s entourage, a man named Nigel, kept the entire group on schedule, and consequently, America and Maxon were able to enjoy a private meal in their suite at the palace before falling asleep, fast and hard.

Maxon awoke the next morning feeling nauseated, the lingering jet lag toying with his body. America woke up with a light case of the sniffles, but convinced herself that it was just allergies, her body overreacting to her unfamiliar surroundings. She made it through the day thanks to Silvia keeping a supply of soft tissues close at hand, and survived the state dinner that night by sipping chilled wine to soothe her achy throat.

On her second morning on the Australian islands, sadly, it was no longer deniable. She had Jamesy’s cold. There was a rush of activity throughout the palace as the Australian royal family’s personal doctor contacted Dr. Ashlar all the way back in Illéa (despite a brutal time difference), and proposed a course of decongestants, cough suppressants, antibiotics to prevent infection, and vitamins to supplement her immune system. The Australian Doctor received Dr. Ashlar’s full approval for the proposed treatment, and America was dosed with a cocktail of medications to keep herself well enough to tour. As someone who was naturally suspicious of fancy medicines, it was a little bit of a nightmare for America, but she was forced to concede that they helped.

It truly wasn’t fair how quickly Maxon adjusted to the new timezone and was back to his normal self. More than that, he was glowing and gorgeous from his time out of the office and into the Australian sun, touring nature reserves and watching soccer matches, while America sat beside him, hot, dizzy, and splotchy.

She woke up on their fourth morning abroad with a terrible migraine. There was yet another international consultation before she was dosed with even more medication, then sent on her way with the Queen to tour some nearby public schools.

She began to feel drastically better by day five as her immune system finally began to put up a decent fight, and by their final day of tour, she had all of her stamina back and was down to only taking the decongestant and antibiotic to keep herself on the path to recovery.

Maxon and America flew back to Illéa, desperate to see Addy, Jamesy, and Maisy. This time the time change meant that they were awake for much of the flight, and they enjoyed stargazing from the bed in the back of the plane. With the window shades open and the lights off, if they were laying flat on their backs, they could peer out the windows and up at the sky. At this altitude, out over the black ocean, the view was breathtaking (and breathtakingly romantic).

The jet lag was hell again, when they got home, but they were arriving in the early, early hours of Sunday and would have most of the day to sleep and readjust.

By noon, Maxon had dragged himself to the office for a quick briefing to catch up on anything the advisers felt needed his immediate attention. America didn’t even eat breakfast and take the final dose of her decongestant cocktail, along with the rest of her usual medicines, including the one that kept her heart healthy, until the middle of the afternoon.

But after that rough adjustment, Maxon and America settled back into their usual routine with relative ease. Over the next month, 8 year old Addy wrote a play about pirate unicorns, which was performed by the Palace kid gang for all of their parents, 6 year old Jamesy lost a tooth, and 4 year old Maisy began early education lessons with Ms. Alvaraz.

The latter was perhaps the most traumatic for Maxon and America. For the first time since Addy was born, there were no kids to toddle back and forth between Maxon’s and America’s offices all day. Kenna and Paige still nannied in the evenings, alternate weekends, or if America and Maxon were going to be traveling, but their regular hours were much shorter now that all of the Schreave kids, plus Kile and Astra, were in tutoring lessons for so much of the day. Paige was even beginning to help out as one of America’s lady’s maids again, just to fill out her work schedule.

The actual nursery adjacent to the family room, where each of the Schreave babies had slept until they outgrew the crib, was now a play room filled with a cluttered mess of toys, and the crib had long ago been taken apart and placed into storage. Maxon and America couldn’t wrap their heads around the thought that it might not emerge again until little Addy grew up and had a baby of her own. It was such a desolate thought that, most of the time, they just tried not to think about it.

Later that month, America cancelled her usual quarterly checkup with Dr. Ashlar. Having blood drawn for the panel to check her vitamin and hormone levels always left her exhausted for the ensuing several days. It was a terrible excuse, she knew, but she was already feeling sluggish and she had important legislative negotiations to take care of (They were still a few months away from the early December formal session, where Maxon would make official amendments and enact new laws, but that just meant that they were in the thick of figuring out what those repeals, amendments, and new legislation needed to be. America couldn’t just nap her way through these important meetings).

So, she figured she’d just get her blood drawn in a couple of weeks, once the legislative details were more settled and she could afford to spend an afternoon or two sleeping off some blood loss.

Dr. Ashlar, however, was having none of that. He (politely) pestered her and pestered her until, finally, it was easier for America to give in and give up some blood than to continue to make polite excuses to blow him off. By the time Dr. Ashlar wore her down and she submitted to her checkup, America was already eleven weeks pregnant.

Dr. Ashlar was so grim-faced and sullen when he insisted on the emergency meeting in her office that same afternoon that, at first, America thought she might be dying. She’d had very low energy for a while now and she’d vomited a few times in the last few weeks, perhaps her body was shutting down, rejecting nourishment, slowly deteriorating until it wouldn’t be strong enough to go on? By the time Dr. Ashlar started explaining what her blood test had revealed, she was already convinced that she’d be dead by the end of the week.

But what Dr. Ashlar said, instead, was that she was pregnant, and that he needed to perform an ultrasound to figure out how far along she was before he’d be able to answer her questions about how this was even possible.

She was stunned, and she was convinced there had been a mistake. The machines had glitched or something. She didn’t know what ‘glitch’ was, but she knew it could happen, and she was sure that it had. Still, just to be sure, she canceled her next meeting and joined Dr. Ashlar in the same room where she’d gotten all of her ultrasounds done with her various pregnancies. She hadn’t set foot inside since before Maisy was born. As soon as she laid eyes on the bed where she’d been laying the very first time she and Maxon ever set eyes on their very first baby, during their very first ultrasound appointment, America was overwhelmed with nostalgia so strong, it made her chest hurt.

This had to be a mistake, she firmly reminded herself. She’d been taking birth control tablets nonstop, without fail, for years. There could be no baby. And anyway, she and Maxon had three perfect children. It was enough.

… Or at least, that was their mantra. They repeated it and repeated it every time they started to doubt it. Three was enough. Three was more than enough! Three was plenty, given how hectic their jobs were. More than three would be too many, after all. Three was the perfect amount. Any more than three would be excessive, in fact. They had their three, what more could they ask for? Certainly not four, which would be too much. Three was enough.

But Dr. Ashlar turned on the machine and jellied her stomach, and sure enough, there was a baby in there. A baby that had been forming just fine without prenatal vitamins, and with its mother taking birth control tablets every day (which, as Dr. Ashlar explained, were useless at stopping a pregnancy once it started). If America had gone if for her blood panel earlier, her lowered iron levels (which had led to her sluggish anemia) would have been a dead giveaway. She’d been anemic with all of her other pregnancies, too.

When the machine was off, and America’s stomach was dry, Dr. Ashlar rubbed his forehead, slumped on his stool across from the exam bed, and sighed a heavy, forlorn sigh. As far as he was concerned, this was an unqualified disaster. The King and Queen did not want a fourth child, and he’d made a mistake somewhere along the way, and now the Queen was pregnant and in a very difficult situation. He wasn’t just afraid for his job, he actually wanted to be fired for this. He craved punishment and absolution for his horrendous mistake, and otherwise would never forgive himself for it.

“How could this have happened?” America asked. She wasn’t angry or frightened or anything. She was in shock, completely numb, not fully wrapping her head around what she’d just seen on the ultrasound monitor. Maybe she was afraid that she’d wake up in a minute, realize this was all a dream, and be devastated. It had happened before.

“It’s hard to say precisely, your Majesty.” Dr. Ashlar looked vaguely nauseous. “The tablets you take alter your hormone levels, and are very exact. If anything interferes with their absorption, and you end up with too little hormone, this… type of thing… could happen.”

“That’s why I take them at the same time every day.” America reminded him, as if she needed to. “I’ve never missed a day, though.”

“No, but timing isn’t the only factor.” Dr. Ashlar pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking back. “It’s been eleven weeks since your last menstrual cycle, so we date the fetus there, but it’s been... what... ten weeks since your royal tour of the Australian islands?”

“More or less.” America shrugged, unable to remember exactly. More than two months was all she knew for sure.

“Well...” Dr. Ashlar shook his head, gulped, and frowned, “The time change could have thrown things off. In other words, you took your tablets at the same time of morning as usual, it’s just that morning arrived 17 hours early.”

“The time change? That was it?” America couldn’t believe it. How could they have missed that crucial detail?

“Maybe,” Dr. Ashlar shrugged miserably, “But maybe it was the antibiotic you were taking whilst you were gone.”

“What? Antibiotics can do that?”

“Not most of them.” Dr. Ashlar said, forlorn, “And I haven’t seen any studies to suggest that the kind that you took had any effect on birth control absorption whatsoever. That being said…” he winced, “The antibiotic you took was a variation on what I’d have given you here, but it wasn’t the exact same thing. The specifics of the medication are proprietary, and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that the Australian antibiotic interfered with your Illéan birth control tablets.”

“Each country manufactures its own versions of medicines?” America shook her head. It sounded absurd to her, untenable.

Dr. Ashlar seemed to disconnect peacefully from the present as he offered her a history lesson: “Hundreds of years ago, there were a small handful of large corporations which owned the patents to the vast, vast majority of individual drugs. Back then, these corporations could sell the same formula all over the world, so long as they were following local laws. They made unimaginable fortunes in this way, more wealth for one company than has been left in all the world, after the wars. However, when resources grew scarce, these giants chose to make outrageous profits by charging high sums of money for basic, life saving medicines. After the dust had settled on the fourth world war, several of the highest level executives of these corporations were charged with crimes against humanity in an international court of law. After all, several million people were dead, having been unable to afford the necessary medication that they’d needed. From the corporations’ perspective, there really had been no financial incentive to lower the drug prices, in other words cut profits, just to save a few poor people in countries that were destined to collapse anyway. And it was their intellectual property, anyway. They could do whatever they wanted. It was a shameful moment in human history, to say the least.”

America had known that those dark, brutal years immediately before Illéa’s founding had been bad for a whole variety of reasons, but she’d never heard about this gruesome aspect of that history before.

“When the trials were done and the former executives charged with acts of genocide, both the surviving and the newly formed governments of nations around the world released the medical patents into the public domain, and from then on, each government insisted on the ability to control the supply and price of medications directly for its own people. It was the only way that they could each be certain that, if resources grew scarce again, their people wouldn’t be cut out of an international chain of supply for medicines. It made perfect sense at the time.”

America wasn’t sure what she’d have done if she’d been Queen, and faced with such a decision. Probably exactly the same as Gregory Illéa had done. It was one of the few times she’d ever tentatively agreed with the man, and the thought made her shudder involuntarily.

“So you see, your Majesty, though these older medications come from the same basic recipe that was used by the international corporations that once patented them; in the intervening centuries, each country has experimented and altered the medicine as they’ve seen fit. And those alterations are, with a few notable exceptions, proprietary. Even after everything our species has survived, we’re still so suspicious of one another that we won’t share our intellectual discoveries freely.” he lamented.

“So you don’t know exactly what was in those antibiotics?” America scrunched her brow, trying to understand how he could possibly have allowed her to take them, if that had been the case.

“I have a good idea,” he said in his own defense, “It isn’t as though they could have laced in some poison or something. We’re talking about a basic antibiotic, so there wouldn’t even be different ingredients. There couldn’t be. There just wouldn’t be the need.” he explained. “What we’re most likely dealing with is a different level of potency. Sustained over the days that you took the medication, it’s not beyond all possibility that it interfered with your tablets.” he concluded, shoulders slumping again. He was back from his history lesson, into the present reality of their situation.

“So, it was either that my medication schedule was messed up because of the time change, or the antibiotic I took was too strong?”

“Not to mention, they medicated you for migraines. I thought nothing of it at the time, but there’s a chance that could have altered your absorption, too.” he looked like he needed a stiff drink. He was back to mourning as if someone had died. He counted off on his fingers, “The tablets are only 99% effective in the first place,” he ticked a finger, “And between all the time changes you underwent, you may have missed as much as an entire dose, not to mention your sleep schedule and breakfast schedule were off for the week you were in Australia, and the week after you returned. That’s two weeks of abnormal doses.” he ticked another finger, “On top of that, it’s possible that the particular antibiotic and migraine medication you were given, though safe, may have altered the amount of hormone you were able to absorb when you took your tablets. Any one of those individual mistakes might explain it, but added all together…” he paused, shook his head, then dropped his chin to his chest in shame, “We should have put you on a longer term birth control method, one that was less fragile. I knew you were done having children, but there’s a high risk of discomfort with intrauterine devices, and you were doing so well on the tablets, not to mention it’s illegal to surgically sterilize the King or Queen—“

“Wait.” America stopped him, the shock slowly beginning to wear away. Her mind was less fuzzy, she became aware of her whole body, and all of her senses were functioning properly again. This wasn’t a dream. It had gone on too long to be a dream, not to mention the vivid details of reality were returning to her. “I’m having a baby?”

“Yes, your Majesty, didn’t you--“ Dr. Ashlar gestured to the screen of the ultrasound machine, confused. She’d just seen the occupant of her womb, firsthand. Then he stopped himself, shook away his confusion and said, “What I mean to say is, this is entirely your choice, your Majesty--“

America held up a hand to stop him, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Is my heart healthy enough to go through with this pregnancy?” she asked, slowly and seriously. “Will I survive the labor and delivery?”

Immediately after Maisy was born, America’s blood pressure had plummeted to unsafe levels. She’d gone unconscious, and to this day she mourned the loss of those first precious few minutes with their baby girl. Afterwards, she and Maxon had reluctantly determined that the safest thing to do would be to stop having children. They couldn’t risk America’s health, she needed to be alive for Addy, Jamesy, and Maisy. There could be no negotiation about that.

“Well… my best medical opinion is that, yes, your Majesty, you are healthy enough to support this pregnancy.” Dr. Ashlar said. “We would monitor you closely, of course, and examine our best options for labor. It’s possible we could opt for a cesarean delivery, if a prolonged labor were to become too stressful. But major surgery like that is also very stressful on the heart, not to mention the extended recovery it would require.”

“But would a cesarean be too stressful?” America demanded. She needed him to be absolutely positive. “Kenna had one with the twins, and it went perfectly. Kenna and I have the same heart condition. If she could do it, so could I, right?”

“I don’t... you don’t... I don’t see any indication, based on your recent cardiac tests, that such an operation would be medically unsafe.” he advised.

She nodded, finally allowing herself to believe what was happening. “Then, Dr. Ashlar, I’m having a baby…”

“Your Majesty?”

America laughed at an inappropriate volume, pressed a hand to her mouth, and nodded. “This… this is… this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time, Dr. Ashlar. Thank you.”

He was thoroughly taken aback. “You’re thanking me for the greatest professional mistake I’ve ever made?”

America felt tears swim in her eyes as she bit her smile to keep it in check and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, “It’s not a mistake. This isn’t a mistake. This is the best surprise of my entire life, this is not a mistake.”

***

She dragged Maxon out to the gardens after dinner that night. The kids were at the indoor swimming pool with May and Ryland, splashing around and having a great time. Therefore, Maxon and America had a couple of hours alone with one another.

America sat down on their bench and Maxon followed along, assuming that they were just having an impromptu mini-date. With three children and a country to run, most of their dates were impromptu and miniature.

“I’m so happy that you’re feeling better, Love. You’ve been a little rundown lately, and I’ve been so worried about you.” Maxon gently tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Maxon, this is the best I’ve felt in years.” America smiled.

“Is it?” he was baffled. “You… you haven’t been unwell for so long, have you?” The very idea that she might have been secretly ill seemed to panic him.

“No!” She hurried to reassure him. “No, it’s not that. I’m just... I’m happy. I’m so happy, Maxon.”

Maxon smiled indulgently, “I see. Well it’s not hard to believe, my darling, you’ve been humming all day, and you’re certainly aglow.”

“Am I?”

“What’s got you so overjoyed? Is it something with your family? Marlee?” he seemed to sense a positive life change on the horizon, he just didn’t know it was a baby, and he didn’t know it was theirs.

“No, it’s me. It’s us. It’s our whole family.” America’s breath hitched with excitement.

“We’ve done something to please you?”

America laughed, “Of course you have! I love you silly Schreaves around the moon and back again.”

Maxon laughed too, “You know you’re one of us ‘silly Schreaves', don’t you?”

“Maxon, I’m pregnant.” America blurted, still giggling.

Maxon’s face froze as he slowly replayed what she’d just said, “...You’re... did you just say--“

“Pregnant. Yes, that’s what I said. Maxon, we’re having a baby!”

Maxon narrowed his eyes, a look on his face as if he was doing advanced calculus. “You’re pregnant... with a baby?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Um--“ she lifted her eyebrows, fairly sure he knew how.

“No, I mean... No, I do mean ‘how’! How?” he exclaimed.

“Something to do with our tour through the Australian Islands, though it’s hard to say exactly what.” America wasn’t concerned. “Probably the time change, maybe some other stuff. Something about the fourth world war, but it doesn’t matter. The point is, we made a baby over there.”

“Well… No, because you’ve been taking birth control tablets ever since. Surely mistiming a dose or two--“

“It turns out, I was probably not quite on schedule for two weeks,” America was chipper as she explained, practically giddy.

“Two weeks?!” Maxon was aghast.

“Maxon--“ America took his hand, knowing his head was swimming at this news. She guided it to her stomach and placed it there as firmly as she could. “I’m pregnant. This is a baby we’re talking about.” If there was one thing she knew about her husband, it was that he adored babies. Once the idea sunk in, he’d be smiling and laughing just like she was. Maybe he’d pick her up and twirl her around and—

He stared down at the hand touching her stomach, furrowing his brow hard, “Love... your heart--“

“Dr. Ashlar says I’m healthy enough for the pregnancy--“

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Maxon exclaimed loudly, meeting her gaze urgently. His brown eyes swam with terror, “I hardly had time to cut Maisy’s cord and kiss her forehead before your blood pressure was plummeting. You have no idea... the sounds those machines were making to indicate that you were dying! You were dying, America!”

“Maxon--“

“I will not lose you. I am King and I refuse.” he commanded, as if this settled the matter because even death was subject to his decrees.

“Listen to me: Dr. Ashlar will explore different delivery options with me when the time comes. They’ll know this is a risk, and they can monitor it, and--“

“America, I don’t want any risks. I’m not willing to risk you at all! Our children need their mother, I need my wife, and Illéa needs its queen.” he seemed to believe the matter was settled again.

America’s shoulders fell as she dropped her gaze to her lap. Maxon hadn’t removed his hand yet, and she took that to be one small sign that he wasn’t as against this as he sounded. “Maxon, the blood pressure thing was a fluke, and they fixed me right up. If it happens again, I’ll be fine just like last time.”

“You can’t promise me that.” he muttered mutinously.

“I… I can’t promise you... that the roof won’t cave in on my office tomorrow. I can’t promise that I won’t fall down the stairs and break my neck. That I won’t choke on a strawberry tart and suffocate. I can’t promise you anything, Maxon.” she glared at her knee.

“We don’t ride motorcycles because it’s a risk.” Maxon said randomly.

“What?” America peeked up at him. As far as she knew, they’d never even thought of riding a motorcycle.

“We don’t go skydiving and we don’t go bungee jumping. There are so many things we avoid because they’re dangerous and we want to be alive for our children.”

“If I let you go skydiving, can you be happy that we’re having this baby?” America sassed.

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious.”

Maxon looked like he was going to come back with a withering reply, but just as the words reached the tip of his tongue and he opened his mouth to speak them, a gut-wrenching sob escaped instead.

And with that, Maxon was crying as fully and as without restraint as the children did when they fell and scraped their knees. And just like with the children, America wrapped her arms around Maxon and held him close as he buried his face in his hands.

The time it took Maxon to breathe through the sobs and regain control of his crying gave America a precious minute to regroup and make a new plan. Maxon was pale as a ghost and shaking, and maybe he had reason to be. She’d been unconscious after Maisy’s birth, she’d missed the whole thing, but he’d been awake and living the nightmare as Dr. Ashlar had sent the nurse for help and begun the work of saving America’s life. For her, it had been a blank of nothing, but Maxon relived it in nightmares all the time.

“Come on.” America stood, as soon as Maxon’s breathing was steady and his sniffles subsided. “Come with me.”

“Where--“

“You’ll see.” she laced fingers with him and swiftly led him to Dr. Ashlar’s private suite. She knocked loudly on the door, interrupting the doctor and his wife at dinner, and apologized but begged for a few minutes in the hospital wing. Dr. Ashlar didn’t even hesitate, leading the way.

She sat herself on the bed in the ultrasound room and lifted her dress, waiting as Dr. Ashlar jellied her stomach and prepared the machine. All the while, Maxon had a look on his face like he might vomit.

Dr. Ashlar placed the wand on her abdomen and the screen attached to the machine lit up with the outline of their baby.

“Listen,” America said, squeezing Maxon’s hand, “I know it’s frightening, and I know it’s risky. Pregnancy is always risky. The best advice from Dr. Ashlar, our medical professional, the greatest doctor in the whole country, Maxon, is that my heart can handle this.”

“...But Ames...”

“Sweetheart, I am pregnant.” she said firmly.

“But--“

“Maxon, there’s no ‘but’. If I were perfectly healthy and nothing frightening had happened last time, wouldn’t you want this baby?”

Maxon gulped, knowing she was about to corner him into this. Still, he had to be honest with her, “Of course. God, Ames, nothing would make me happier than to have a baby in our nursery again. Nothing. But it’s not worth losing you, potentially losing you both. Addy, Jamesy, and Maisy…”

“I know. Believe me, I know. If I thought this would kill me, I’d never put myself at that kind of risk.”

“Ames, you have no idea what happened last time, what it was like--“

“Dr. Ashlar, do you think my blood pressure will fall off again?” America asked their doctor, point blank.

“...Well, no, your Majesty. Frankly, that type of blood pressure drop is not uncommon after labor, and not necessarily tied to your heart condition. During your recovery, the anesthesiologist and I consulted and we believe the most likely culprit was actually your epidural.”

“My epidural?” America said, eyebrows raised. She supposed it made sense; it must be risky to inject anything into a person’s spine. “So, if I didn’t take an epidural for this labor, there wouldn’t be as high a risk of my blood pressure dropping off?”

“Substantially less, your Majesty.”

“Even with my heart defect?”

“As far as your heart is concerned, you’ve been managing your condition responsibly, eating well, exercising, and taking your medication. Frankly, your Majesty, you’re the picture of health.”

“Okay.” America turned back to Maxon, “Did you hear him?”

Maxon looked as if he wished he hadn’t. “Yes.”

“So if we decided to... to end this pregnancy now, it wouldn’t be because of actual medical necessity. It would be because of fear.”

Maxon leaned his head back as he took this in, then lowered his gaze to Dr. Ashlar, a menacing look in his eyes, “Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

“This poses no threat to America’s life?” his eyes flashed dangerously.

Dr. Ashlar recognized the look on Maxon’s face and squirmed; it was undiluted Clarkson. The doctor straightened his shoulders and said, “Every pregnancy comes with risk of complication. Princess Adrienne, Prince Jameson, and Princess Carolynn were all risks. But the risk is less with a healthy mother, and frankly, the Queen is certainly that. If a complication did arise from her pregnancy or labor, it wouldn’t be because of her heart.”

Dr. Ashlar knew, in that moment, that he’d just staked his life on his medical advice. If he was wrong and the Queen died in childbirth, Maxon would have his head for regicide.

“Maxon, our doctor says that I’m healthy and I can do this.” America said, smiling. “And we both want a baby in that nursery.”

Maxon looked down at America’s face, then he looked down at her exposed stomach. He lifted his gaze to the screen of the ultrasound machine and rubbed his chin, “I want three more medical opinions.”

Dr. Ashlar nodded, “Of course, sir.”

“Immediately. Now. Tonight.” Maxon ordered.

“Maxon.” America narrowed her eyes at him. She had a very low tolerance for the times when he resembled his father, given her own history with the man.

Maxon rolled his eyes and relented, “Please.”

America smiled and gratefully patted his hand.

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Ashlar said again.

“And if the medical consensus, the best scientific information we can get, says that this is safe enough...” Maxon paused. His gaze flickered back to the screen and he softened for just a moment, “Another baby...”

Dr. Ashlar turned off the machine, handed America a cloth to clean her stomach, and then bowed his way out the door. Even though it was evening, it only took half an hour for the chief of obstetrics at Angeles hospital, as well as two highly respected cardiologists, to arrive in the hospital wing.

America and Maxon waited right there, holding hands, comforting one another with brushes of thumbs across knuckles, until they were joined by the impromptu medical panel.

After a thorough examination, including an ultrasound of America’s heart and uterus, the doctors were in perfect agreement. America was as fine as could be. Maxon was just scared.

Thinking back to her other pregnancies, this was always the hardest part for him, America remembered. This was the part he couldn’t control or command. He just had to hold her hand when she needed it, and hope for the best.

Maxon thanked the doctors for their help on such short notice, then he even apologized to Dr. Ashlar for being so short with him earlier. He told the doctors that word of this pregnancy was not to be spread to anyone, not even their own families, until America and Maxon had announced it to the nation.

It wasn’t until he said those words that America realized that he was done resisting. That he was with her.

As soon as the doctors, having been dismissed, closed the door behind them on their way out, Maxon turned to America.

“You’re pregnant.” he said, testing out the words in his mouth.

“I noticed.” America laughed. “It’s sort of monopolized my day.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, but this time when he exhaled, a smile bloomed across his cheeks. “There’s a baby in there.” he brushed his pointer finger across her stomach.

“Yep.”

“Ames!” he laughed out loud, “A baby!”

“I know.” America grinned. This was the reaction she’d been expecting out in the gardens. This was the man she’d seen every other time she’d told him that she was pregnant.

“Do you think it’s a boy? A girl?” he wondered eagerly.

“I have no idea.”

“I think I still have our baby name list in my desk drawer...” he pretended, poorly, to be uncertain.

“You think so?” America grinned at how transparent he was. He was the spitting image of Jamesy trying to lie to them about how much dessert he’d eaten.

“Well... yes. I couldn’t throw it away.” Maxon confessed.

“I know what you mean.” America said, swinging her legs off of the exam bed. “I kept my copy, too.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Maxon... we’re going to have a baby again.” America’s eyes flooded with tears, “I didn’t think we’d have four... I thought we were done with three... but Maxon, we get four!”

“We get four.” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her head. “But Ames, we have a long way to go before we get our fourth. We’ve got to keep you healthy, because...” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, hard, “Because you need to meet this baby, once it’s born. You need to feed it and carry it out to meet our country on the front steps of the Palace. You can’t miss this because you’re… you’re…

“I know. I’ll be there.” America promised. Then a wicked smile spread across her face, “And if this goes well, who knows? Maybe we’ll have another.”

Maxon scowled and looked to the ceiling, as if asking the heavens for patience, “You’re going to be the death of me, woman.” he offered her a hand up from the bed.

She took it and pulled him straight in for a kiss, “Only if I’m doing my job right.”

***

In the end, Lief’s birth was the smoothest of all of America’s labors, possibly because America stubbornly willed it to be so. Without the use of an epidural, her closely monitored blood pressure remained stable and strong.

In fact, it all went so well that, a couple of years later, Maxon was easily agreeable to having one more baby, so that Lief would have a brother or sister companion closer to his own age than Addy, Jamesy, or Maisy. It was actually Rosie’s birth (too early, which added enormously to the stress America experienced all throughout her contractions) that convinced Maxon and America that they were truly done having children. Besides, with the addition of baby Rosie to their family, they now had five children. And whenever Maxon or America said the words ‘five is enough’, they actually rang true.

#laws of inheritance #challenge #The Thing with Feathers

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netherwar-rpg-blog · 8 years ago

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Welcome to the Wardens, Lash! Your application for a ROGUE OC has been accepted with a Katherine Winnick FC.

The application can be found under the cut. You have 48 hours to create a roleplay account (cannot be a sideblog) for your character and we will be updating our opening date soon!

O O C - I N F O

Name: Lash

Age: 24

Timezone: Eastern

Activity Level: I am free for the summer!

Extra: (Specific triggers or any important information here)

C H A R A C T E R - I N F O

T H E - B A S I C S

THE RISEN

Name: Thalia Yadira

Gender: Female

Age: 30

Class: Rogue

I have a come up with some lore on the Dark Union training that states there are certain parts of the process in which members can be rejected. Thalia was marked twice before failing her trial. This does not banish or exile her from the Dark Union but she left in shame to follow her savior to the Wardens.

Faceclaim: Katherine Winnick

Nationality: Norvik mother, Carnish Father

Appearance:

Thalia is riddled with scars across her knuckles and hands form brawling with any man who thought they could touch her. She is very beautiful by Norvik standards and her Carnish roots can only be detected internally. She is cold and unfeeling, having never been afforded the loving embrace of any single soul around her. She doesn’t want to be loved or touched or held, at least that is the façade she assumes.

Thalia loves the color blue and the feel of brand new leather boots. When she was very young she was found to possess a strange affinity for the shadow elements. Being from Norvik and Carnish decent, and an orphan; she decided to pursue the affinity in the Underworld. The environment proved to be as harsh as the name entailed.

Before she could pass the appropriate trials she was injured severely. The wound took many days to heal and if not for the Priest in the city she would have died. The scar is grizzly to behold and few ever have the pleasure of seeing it. The rough puckered flesh, a tale-tale sign of fatal wounds, sprawls across her chest just below her breasts. The sword gashed her open so critically that she did, for a moment, pass on to the next life. The nightmares she has as a result of that experience has been difficult to bear. It has separated her from all manner of interaction and relationships. Thalia keeps to herself as if she lacks the confidence to be anything more than

Thalia lacks confidence after her near death experience. She does still hold true to her Norvik attitude but it can sometimes come across as trying to hard or false bravado. When she stares at someone with a look of pure hatred it is simply her own views of her self-worth projected onto the world around her. She doesn’t feel like she can be loved or have the capacity to love another person.

Personality:

Negative: angry, critical, and ashamed

Anger from failure

Critical from pressure

And ashamed of herself

Positive: Determined, Careful, Adaptive

Determined to rise above

Careful to stay alive

Adaptive of her surroundings

History:

Thalia has always been the odd one out. Her mother, a Norvik and her father the Carnish assassin. It was certainly interesting to watch her mother and father’s wills collide. He left them in the Norvik countryside after it became too dangerous to be a part of their lives. Her mother found another, a good-hearted Norvik who treated Thalia like his own. It was now something she recalled with bitter longing, her mother and step-father were both taken from her, murderered with her baby sister. She was the only survivor in the household, or at least she assumed. Now that she is older she understands what sacrifices her father made to keep the family safe and together. He disbanded from the Dark Union and lived in Norvik with her and her mother, even formally pledged themselves as husband and wife. Her father was a good man but he was also a rivalry for the Dark Union’s strict code. He had been inside their ranks, knew their secrets, and he let it all go. He wanted to live peacefully with his family but the Dark Union could never allow the threat to exist. He left to keep them safe and yet her mother and step father were killed and fourteen year old Thalia was taken to live with her father’s relatives in the depths of Carn. Perhaps it was the darkness of the underworld that kindled the shadow affinity inside of her, or simply her father’s genetics rising to the surface at the perfect time. Thalia was now one of the few children to be selected to vie for the title of the Prodigy. She was branded with the hot iron symbol. It hurt badly but she said nothing to protest in front of the crowd who gathered. Norvik stubbornness was what it really amounted to. Thalia took it like a grown man. Many boys found her to be attractive for it too, however she found herself disinterested in relationships. She never felt pretty or lovable. She was then Shadow Bonded to a great mentor. This mentor was the rival to the Poisoner. Thalia loved to hear the stories about their killing competitions. She found it funny that one could argue over such trivial matters as killing reputation. Her mentor taught her all the skill she could ever want to be a successful assassin but her failure was fated.Thalia was injured just before the final marking. This resulted in a failed trial, a shame to her family and to herself. She was nearly killed and all could see was the disappointment on her aunt and uncles faces. The wound had actually killed her briefly. She was revived with lasting side effects. This is a secret she keeps to herself. She can hear voices and sense the dead around her. It frightens her terribly. The only redemption she can hope for is to please her mentor. Perhaps they might take her back if she brought them the head of the poisoner on a platter. Thalia doubts she could even bring herself to take the life needlessly. She is not nearly as ruthlessly blunt as she pretends to be. Deep down she is a fragile little girl longing for love and affection.

Reason for joining the Wardens:

Thalia has been down a dark depressing road. She isn’t even sure if she is skilled enough to be Rogue, however, she is determined to lift herself from the ashes and continue her training with or without the help of the Dark Union. She has joined the Wardens to redeem herself and become the powerful woman that she knows she can be. This will ultimately lead to confrontation with the poisoner but when push comes to shove, how far will Thalia go?

Desired Connections:

VALTYRA VAANHANEN (The Poisoner)

Thalia’s shadow bonded mentor was the rival of the poisoner. Thalia knows what she looks like but they have never met. She plans to try and win back her reputation by gifting her old mentor the assassins head on a plate.

PRIEST – (Whoever wants this or an NPC)

A priest saw her dying in the underworld after winning a sword duel. The priest was moved to act despite the repercussions it might have and they saved her life. Most likely a younger female given the sympathy they must have felt for the dying girl.

Most of these connections would be old acquaintances your character met on a passing trip (which you can determine with the other player, a comrade in the same faction and so on.)

R O L E P L A Y - S A M P L E

The blades were hot, glowing a sickening orange with each revolution. The swings were powerful but she blocked them all in straining defiance. Her own blades, ice cold steel, were no match for the opponent before her. She was an orphan and she could not afford better weaponry like this older child before her. Thalia had forgotten why they had come to blows, probably her smart mouth. The boy swung around again with his heated steel. Thalia jumped back just as the point sliced a sliver of her armor loose. She cursed as it fell to the floor with a thump. It was her leather breast plate, not that it could stop the Hell Blade. Sher wanted this to end. She couldn’t outrun him or stand up to the strength of his weapon. She tried to counter move but he smacked her blade aside and it shattered to pieces; weaponless and fearless she faced him with the hilt and remaining pieces of her steel. His sickening smile was likening unto a cat that had a mouse cornered against the wall, waiting for the gratification of her desperate trembling.

Thalia was not going to give him an inch because he would take a mile. She stood straight mouthed, broken blade leveled at his eyes. He muttered something in an ancient tongue as he looked to his mentor for approval. Thalia’s mentor had slipped into the cloak of shadows as the fight became too much to watch. He did adore his apprentice but her skill against this advanced pupil had shamed him. Thalia looked back at the boy who had begun a more careless advance toward her. His footing was more forceful and confident given her lack of weaponry. Thalia calculated the distance in her head. He was too close but she needed him closer. She thrust her blade just as he swung his and everything went black.

The boy lay mere inches from her own body with her crippled blade lodged deep into his chest, dead. Thalia could feel herself growing lighter and her vision blurring. No one would win this fight. She brought her hand to her chest. The blood was too thick, the wound too deep. She gasped and coughed while a crowd formed around her. The last one to die was the winner but their eyes shed no tears and their mouths echoed not with praise for her desperate kill. Thalia laid alone and cold in a mingled mess of blood. Her skin was charred form the burnt blades blow.

She looked up just before her vision blurred too much to see. A radiant aura seemed to push through the crowd. Thalia lost her consciousness soon after but she did not lose the visions of darkness. Demons grabbing her, the dead whispering inside her head from everywhere and nowhere; Thalia was dead for an eternity before she shot up from a fur lined mattress. “What the hell!” She gasped and felt her bare chest for blood but there was nothing aside from a grizzly scar. “What did you do?” She closed the distance between herself and the figure standing at the brightly lit window. Her voice was full of the exclamation of fear, the unknown. “I saved your life. Try to show more respect.”

#accepted #rogue oc #admin notice #follow!!!

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flashinglights-rp · 8 years ago

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Thank you for your audition, JEANNE. We are thrilled to welcome you into the group as the First Wilde who you have chosen to name IRENE CHEN GRACE, with the faceclaim of Victoria Song, and we truly cannot wait to meet them. Please send in your account in the next 24 hours, and read over the new members checklist before sending in your link.

ABOUT YOU ➝

NAME/PRONOUNS: Jeanne. She/Her AGE (18+): 23 TIMEZONE: EST ACTIVITY LEVEL: 7/10. I work part time and it’s been a little wonky lately because my schedule’s been weird, but it’s returning to normal this coming up week and I try to be on as much as I can! TRIGGERS: Removed. ANYTHING ELSE?: Removed.

CHARACTER BASICS ➝

CHARACTER NAME: Irene Chen Grace Wilde FACE CLAIM: Victoria Song GENDER/PRONOUNS: She/Her AGE/BIRTHDAY: 27. April 21st BIRTH ORDER: First. Adopted. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic JOB ROLE: Vocal coach

FAMILY STATS ➝

HOMETOWN: Indianapolis, IN. PARENT NAMES/STATUS: Catherine and Ivan Wilde. Married. NUMBER OF PLAYABLE CHILDREN: 3. NUMBER OF NON-PLAYABLE CHILDREN: 1 ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

The family’s youngest child is a daughter named Mackenzie, aged 19.

The children were raised Roman Catholic.

REQUIREMENTS: At least one Becca Tobin faceclaim. ADOPTED SIBLINGS ALLOWED?: Yes. HALF-SIBLINGS ALLOWED?: No.

BIOGRAPHY ➝

One need only take one look at a family picture to know that Irene is… well, different seems too obvious a word. Really, it’s hard for many people to look at her very much White, purebred American parents and understand why Irene – with her dark hair and Taiwanese features – is so quick to call them Mom and Dad. She was the Catherine and Ivan’s first, adopted at a time when they thought they would be unable to have a biological child, and even once this fact was proven wrong, they never made Irene feel like she didn’t belong, giving her a childhood full of love and everything she could ever ask for. Despite the first year and a half of her life being spent in a Kaohsiung orphanage, Irene’s earliest memories and recollections are all in America, navigating the hustle and bustle of Indianapolis. Every night she enjoyed home cooked family dinners fueled by laughter, and every Sunday was spent in the same pew of the church her parents had been married in. It may have been a simple childhood, but Irene can’t imagine her having been given any other chance for something so perfect. Of course as she got older, she started to notice the strange looks whenever her family went out somewhere. It may have weighed on her mind, but even now when people spot a photo of her family and question Irene about it, she goes back to the simple explanation her parents offered her as a child — “you were meant to be our daughter, God just wanted us to take a different route to make that happen.”

As a child, Irene had an insatiable curiosity about her that manifested itself in the form of as many after-school lessons that her parents could find to enroll her in. From tennis to ballet to gymnastics, Irene had a desire to want to try out a little of everything, but a rather bad habit of losing her excitement for things almost as quickly as she gained it. There was one exception however: it was obvious to anyone who knew her that Irene was destined to be a musician. She had originally wanted to take up violin, but her parents had already noticed her lack of follow through (a trait that thankfully lessened as she aged) and decided against buying something that would potentially end up existing only to gather dust. Instead, they compromised. They wouldn’t give her a violin, but they would be more than happy to let her use the upright piano in the living room that had mostly been used as a mean of design over function thus far. And the rest, as they say, was history. From her very first piano lesson at seven years old, she fell in love with the pretty sounds she was able to make with just her fingers and wrists. She would spend hours after her lessons practicing, sat at the piano, playing the likes of Bach and Mozart to whatever degree her growing hands would allow. Her passion only grew as she did, and Irene soon joined her elementary school’s choir, discovering that her voice was a diamond in the rough, full of potential that simply needed to be harnessed. And that is exactly what she did, from elementary school through graduation, taking as many voice lessons as she would. Auditioning for honors choirs and musicals every opportunity she had, attending local open mic nights… Irene’s voice was a gift, and she made no hesitation when it came to embracing that gift.

College came and went, and in four years, Irene found herself graduating laude with a degree in music education with a minor in piano performance— an obvious career choice, and one Irene knew she had wanted as far back as she could remember. It didn’t take long at all for her to get a teaching position, directing a freshmen women’s chorus at a school only a few miles north of where she’d grown up. It wasn’t that Irene didn’t enjoy her job — on the contrary, during her two years there, she found a special joy each and every time she got to watch a student fall in love with music the way she had. The only problem was that those moments were few and far between. Most of the students had simply been placed into the course as means of filling a credit spot, and when less than 10% of the group looked like they actually wanted to be there, Irene couldn’t help but be disheartened. It was this that compelled her to start offering private voice lessons on the side. She began advertising online and on community corkboards until she had a respectable number of students, ranging in ages from 6 to 16, and her love for her professions was quickly reignited.

It was at one such lesson that Phoebe, a fifteen year old student of hers, came running into Irene’s small, shoebox apartment in downtown Indianapolis, speaking so fast in her excitement that it took about three times for Irene to understand her: American Idol was holding auditions in the city, and the girl wanted Irene to help her prepare. Of course Irene jumped at the opportunity, and for the month leading up to the audition, their evenings were spent practicing until the only thing keeping them awake was sheer force of will. Irene will never forget the call when Phoebe informed her she would be moving on to Hollywood. Although never having been a fan of the show before, Irene suddenly found herself tuning in every week once she’d gotten home from work and finished with lessons for the day. Of course, her nights were filled with texts and phone calls from Phoebe, claiming that Irene knew her voice better than anyone, and even from over 2,000 miles away, Irene did what she could to help the young girl out. Phoebe Cusatelli was eventually eliminated, having placed in the number five spot for that season. And Irene could not have possibly been prouder.

After Phoebe returned home, Irene suddenly found herself overwhelmed with people wanting to take lessons with her, and found that she now had to actually turn down people because she simply did not have enough hours in the day. Looking back on it, the move from Indianapolis to LA was inevitable. Even after being eliminated, Phoebe still had a very strong desire to make this her career, and Irene was and still is one of her biggest supporters. So when Phoebe – at 16 years old – made the decision with her family to move to LA in an attempt at a professional career, it sparked something in Irene that she never would have considered when she was in college, taking classes in conducting and learning how to make a lesson plan. Simply put, Irene didn’t want to be a teacher anymore. Her only satisfaction came in the form of her lessons, in not only helping her students to improve their voices but to also keep them healthy and to take care of them. And while she certainly adored the small group of people she was giving lessons to in Indiana, she wanted to give a go at something much, much bigger. Irene was never exactly the kind to take huge risks, but almost without a second thought, at age 25, she was selling her apartment and packing up everything she had for the long, long drive to move to California.

Now, two years later, Irene feels as though she is still trying to get her feet off the ground but she has very rarely regretted moving out here. She continued to work alongside Phoebe, who could not have been more thrilled to have her vocal coach still with her, and within a year, Phoebe had found herself a label to be signed to and had released her first EP, happily giving credit to Irene for the time and work she has put in to helping the young girl’s career take off. Thanks to these open declarations, Irene has gained a small yet respectable list of clientele during her time here though she is most definitely prepared to take on more should the opportunity present itself. For now though, she’s content. Indianapolis is considerably different to Los Angeles in terms of costs, and although she makes decent money, for the current time, her studio apartment will have to make do. The one sure thing Irene knows is that she finally feels as though she’s doing what she was meant to do, and that she is exactly where she belongs.

AESTHETIC ➝

Although she’s not afraid to dye it the occasional caramel brown or bright blonde, Irene prefers her hair its natural black color, leaving it long and straight most of the time. She is a fan of simple outfits, though a sense of style is certainly not lost on her. Skirts and dresses are her go to but she is a lover of dark skinny jeans. Her nails are always painted and her makeup always looking at least somewhat put together. Her ears are pierced, but other than that, she has no piercings or tattoos. Never one to keep her faith hidden, she wears a silver cross necklace at all times.

#accepted #flrpirene

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