#but if you think the dark rise fandom is small...get ready XD

[metalandmagi]

I need everyone in the Captive Prince fandom to read the Tithenai Chronicles by Foz Meadows....not because I loved the series as much as Capri or anything, but I need all the good fanfic writers to make some fics for Asrien/Genral Naza ASAP! I'm starving over here!!!😭

[ruiniel]

Thank you so much! Then let me ask for a request! :3

As you might have guessed, I'd like to ask for a small Trevorcard story.

Maybe how they live in the castle during winter/their preparations for winter. Cozy and domestic, Trevor finally having a home, maybe they could warm each other at night (I leave it up to you if Trevor gets horny from cuddling or not xD) They already are in a relationship for a few months and this is their first winter together in the castle.

Take all the time you need and thank you so much for the opportunity to request! ❤️

Whew, this took me longer so it's coming late in the winter. There's plenty of longing and affection, hope you like it. Thank you, I love exploring interactions featuring them, and had so much fun writing it!

Title: Anew

Fandom: Castlevania Series 2017-2021

Rating: M

Relationship: Alucard/Trevor Belmont

Characters: Alucard, Trevor Belmont

Count: 3k

Also on AO3

Additional Tags: Fluff, Tenderness, Banter, Longing, Winter times, Cuddling, New Year's Eve, Frottage because I don't see enough of it in smutfic, Reference to show-canon trauma, POV Trevor Belmont, Oneshot, post-season IV

Trevor flings then catches the small dagger he’d been tossing in the air and capturing repeatedly in an idle game, watching Adrian as he effortlessly stacks the last of the firewood in a tall chamber-turned shed within the castle walls.

He sits on a heavy log, for the first time in a while doing nothing. He’s cold under his coat, but he’s content, and mellow as he hasn’t been in years. Trevor Belmont is not certain whether it’s what Adrian is doing that has him following his every movement—the elegant sway of his lithe body as he carries out a mundane task, or the ease of companionship that flourished between them these past months since Trevor’s unexpected return. He’s had plenty of time to think, time to dwell on his past, and his present, and even, for once, daring to consider the future. Where before was bleak nothingness steeped in bitterness, now he can look ahead, without fear or shame. He’s cleared his name, restored his legacy and for the first time, feels worthy of it. He has his friends and lovers around him. Trevor’s also considered, though not enough, getting accustomed to this new status: from outcast to community leader.

But that’s not at the forefront of his thought now. He dwells on feeling. Specifically, on what sparks and shivers inside him when lately he observes the least likely person in the world Trevor thought he’d catch feelings for; but there it is, and here they are.

Adrian tosses his head back as he straightens, hands on his hips, his chest rising in a deep breath. He regards the wall of stacked timber reaching up to the high ceiling.

It smells of resin, tree bark, and earth in here; a pleasant, raw smell, one Trevor’s most familiar with owing to countless days spent in the wilds, running and fighting. He realizes, with an uncomfortable revelatory twinge of thought, that he no longer wants to run, and no longer could. He looks down at his feet, now spinning the ornate dagger absently in his hand.

“I believe this amount should suffice for a few months,” Adrian speaks, practical contemplation lining his words.

While the castle itself boasts an intelligently devised heating system, the village denizens unwilling to take shelter within its walls for the dark winter months must still keep warm, and it was agreed to stack the firewood inside for everyone’s use, to protect it from humidity and the elements.

Trevor says nothing, lifting his gaze and pausing in his dagger play to regard Adrian in silence: hair done up in a loose bun with those bright, burnished ringlets framing his angular face, softening its pale countenance. He looks not exerted in the least, a trait Trevor’s long stopped to envy, particularly when it comes to certain thoughts he’s mostly kept to himself. One day, he might be able to share them. One day, maybe, when and if Adrian is ready.

“What?” Adrian asks, and if he sees the naked longing on Trevor’s face, he says nothing of it. At the beginning, their beginning, there was teasing, one the hunter welcomed with gruff and eye-rolls and secret enjoyment. Now, Adrian’s gaze slips over him from head to toe as he nears.

Trevor swallows when a long, beringed hand runs through his dark hair, and his forehead rests against a hard abdomen; he breathes in, dropping the dagger to wind his arms around Adrian’s waist. “Nothing,” he mumbles, tilting his face so his cheek rests against the silk of Adrian’s shirt. "Absolutely nothing." Only Adrian would wear fine garments such as this while stacking timber; Trevor, who’s been raggedy most of his adult years until recently, finds it both ridiculous and endearing.

The hand still sleeks through his hair, towards the nape of his neck, grazing the skin there; he shudders.

“I’ve been thinking,” says Adrian.

“Must’ve been hard,” Trevor retorts, but it lacks bite—he’s mostly doing it out of habit, nowadays. Gone so soft, has he?

Adrian ignores him, ruffling his hair back with languid movements of his strong, long fingers.

“All right, what about?”

“Perhaps, you and I could begin sharing a chamber… at one point. If you wish,” Adrian says.

Trevor nearly chokes on his spit. He looks up. His expression only gains him a soft smile, softer than he thought he’d ever see on Adrian’s punch-kissable face.

Ever since he and Sypha learned the details of what passed in their absence, despite the joy of reunion, wrath and guilt rose in his blood whenever Trevor saw the jumpy way Adrian reacted at times at others’ closeness or a mere hand placed on his shoulder, the swift caged look fading from his face but not fast enough. That was months ago, and even after they’d admitted to themselves and each other their buried but very much thriving feelings, the remnants of Adrian’s personal ordeal still lay between them. It was normal, it was expected. They promised him patience, they understood, of course they did. Trevor’s remorse at not having been there had mostly subsided since then, after many nights of frustrated apologies met with reassurance.

Adrian is waiting for his answer, his expression soft and patient.

“... You mean… at night? We do that already, don’t we.”

“I mean, whenever, Trevor,” Adrian says, “...or do you prefer to keep living in separate chambers, then?”

They’ve shown each other they care in many ways, slowly as Adrian allowed, as close as they could get—a brief brush of fingers during a workday, a kiss in a hidden alcove. They’ve come so far in trust, had spent nights with their legs tangled together and sharing each other’s warmth. But, at daybreak, one of them always left.

“Um. It’s not that, I— no, I mean.” He hates it when this happens: master strategist, the last scion of the Belmont clan, reinstated (reluctant) hero of the Wallachian people; and an absolute wreck when Adrian Ţepeş asks him things like this. Things that mean more change. Things Trevor will never admit scare him possibly just as much as Adrian, who is asking, because they leave him utterly vulnerable and he’s gotten more easily used to a regular shave than that state of being. Not only that, but Adrian being ready for more is like a sweet spike to his heart. “I haven’t really been spoiled for choice in terms of living quarters, up until recently, as you know, so I’m not picky. I just…” he bites his lip. “Can I think about it?” Smooth, Trevor, you fucking idiot.

Adrian’s face does not change; Trevor has tried reading him, has even gotten close to succeeding a few times, but now there is nothing.

“Consider it,” he says, releasing Trevor as many voices come nearer, some of children running about the castle corridors, their mothers’ voices hard and watchful behind them.

Consider it. Adrian fucking knows it was never for Trevor or Sypha to say, that they left it all up to him: how close they could get, how much he could give or accept. But now he just sounded like he’d kicked a harmless beast in the teeth, though Adrian still smiles at him as Trevor rises.

“Come,” he says, breaking the spell, “I promised Aida to aid with the New Year’s arrangements and I need your help.” He bends and reaches for his coat.

New Year’s Eve is just around the corner—a welcome distraction, these preparations, Trevor has found, one to keep his wanting thoughts out of the gutter and his ears free of the bursting beats in his chest. But now, he barely hears someone call his name as he walks outside after Adrian, his mind a thousand leagues away.

 

It’s a frosty night. Trevor stands bundled in his coat, watching the gathering communing before the castle gates from afar, the celebratory mood enhanced by flowing mead and wine and beer. The bonfires have been lit and offer warmth to flushed cheeks, illuminating dancing figures and making them appear as shifting fire spirits, holding hands in circles around the flames. Some of the folk walk the grounds in the guise of symbols of nature and myth, and there is something savage and raw about it, a potent magic rising in the air on sweeping wings; Trevor feels it in his bones, watching the people follow their folk donning suits of the Bear, the Stag, the Fair ones and the Devils—all to ward off evil spirits and make way for a prosperous year to come.

Distracted, Trevor barely feels another presence standing at his side. “Tell me you did not just materialize out of mist,” he mutters good-naturedly, and Adrian’s snort is answer enough.

“I was looking for you.”

“Were you, now,” Trevor smiles without looking Adrian’s way.

Adrian glances at the faraway spectacle. “They have begun. So colorful, I’ve witnessed one such ceremony when I was a child, hiding behind Mother. The ancient ceremonial funeral for the first god of humanity: time.”

Trevor sighs, but his heart beats to another rhythm—what is it about tonight? Something wild and needy gnaws at the bones of his ribcage. What is it about Adrian’s closeness that has him feeling so weak and goddamn soft, and hungering? “You’re being a smartass again,” he mutters. But then, maybe some of Adrian’s musing nature rubbed off on him, after all. “But it’s about rebirth too, isn’t?”

Adrian nods. “It’s easy to submit to the illusion that time is linear, flowing to infinity without return.”

“Well, time, is a man-made concept. We need to know how much we have until we croak, you see.” Would an immortal understand?

“Then every new year is, in a way, a renewal,” Adrian adds, looking up at the stars. “Time wound back like a clock; starting anew in a cycle, like a snake endlessly devouring itself.”

“Someone’s had too much wine,” mumbles Trevor, though somewhere along the way, he’d begun enjoying Adrian’s monologues. Usually, the drunker he got, the more verbose he became. Not unwelcome, for someone usually so quiet and withdrawn. “Why were you looking for me?”

Adrian throws him a shifty glance, “Were you planning on crossing the New Year’s threshold all by yourself?”

“...No, I’m actually glad you came.” He would have gone in search of Adrian anyway, but he’d gotten pulled in by the mood of the celebration, and lost himself.

Soft, low laughter, like claws swiping sweetly at his heart. Something thrums wildly within him again, maybe it’s desire and maybe it’s loneliness or both, or maybe it’s coming to terms that he loves the scion of his family’s bitterest foe, in more ways Trevor can count.

“You are?” he feels closer, and Trevor smiles.

Damn him, his head is spinning. He watches the Bear, the Fairies, the Devils in their dance, but his thought is now on pale hair and warm skin, how it would feel against his own.

“... you know,” Adrian breaks the silence after some time, in that same voice, silky with traces of humor. “They say people should leave no unpaid debts on the last day of the year, lest they struggle with debt for the entire year to come.”

Trevor scoffs half-heartedly, eyes on the golden fires. His body warms despite the chill, drifting somewhere between the stars and the movement of the Earth, with Adrian’s closeness binding it all. “...are you trying to say, there is something I owe you?” he asks, half a smile on his face. What’s Adrian playing at now? A trait of habit—Trevor loathes being taken by surprise, since more often than not, throughout his life surprises tended to end with him running for his life, or cleansing his hands of filth and blood.

Adrian shifts slightly, and though Trevor does not turn, he feels the sweep of his stare, burning into his skin. “Is the thought of being indebted to me so upsetting to you?”

His voice is tender, the way Trevor's rarely had the time to hear these past weeks; with a twinge and a heaviness of heart, he realizes how much he's missed it. He leans forward and crosses his arms over the stone edge of the balcony. “...I guess it depends on the manner of debt.”

He feels a slight graze; Adrian has mirrored his movement, and they sit here, elbows touching as they stare ahead at the revelers and the children who should long have been in bed on any other night, now dancing and running like woodland sprites among the fires.

“But perhaps it is not you who is indebted.”

Trevor turns his head then, staring at the barely-contoured profile of his friend and... well, he can't exactly call him his lover, can he? “You do realize I'm no mind reader, not a lick of magic abilities about me,” he says, turning fully towards Adrian, “So you'll have to speak up—”

He’s breathing in, and like a beloved shadow Adrian glides forward. There’s the hard press of a chest against his, the vice-hold of arms around him, the cold nose buried against his neck. “You've been so patient with me,” Adrian speaks, and the breath of his words melts Trevor's knees. His arms find purchase and grasp, blue eyes catching the shimmer of Adrian's stare.

Trevor feels drunk, though he's surprisingly had not much alcohol despite it being nearly midnight already—another bizarre effect and change his lingering infatuation bought him. Where it led him… he supposes it’s not such a bad place, though they are careful around most with themselves and the guarding of their feelings; some might still not understand. What would anyone think when they saw them thus—the Belmont savior, clinging to the son of Dracula like a priest to his altar. “Be... be serious,” his voice is shaking. “How else could I be, after all that shit you went through? Don’t fuss over it, all right? Anyone who cares would do the same.”

Adrian’s nose bumps against Trevor's. “Not anyone,” he whispers, and tilts his head, and next Trevor knows he's deepening a soft, warm kiss; the thirst he's been stifling becomes a tempest, and the crowds and the cold and the music are forgotten and far away, all his thought and spirit turned to Adrian whispering, a bare shiver in his voice:

“Join me.”

And Trevor goes, lets himself be led by the hand as some hapless youth and not a monster hunter come back from the dead. They step inside together, and he’s drawn into a heap of sheets smelling of old wood and lavender. A long hand runs through his hair and he leans into the touch, nosing at a warm palm, licking at a scarred wrist.

When Adrian leads him down to him he once again follows, knowing little of what to expect and even less what to do—he doesn't want to push too far, not with this, and the fading scars are a poignant if angering reminder.

But he's being held to Adrian’s hard body, his own quick to respond. It feels surreal to twine this way, a step farther than any they'd taken before. A tentative shift of his hips brings forth a sigh of pleasure; he feels hardness, and his own blood leads hot in response. “What's this about?” he asks. Better safe than sorry.

“Us, Trevor. This is about us,” Adrian snarks, but it's soft, and shadows dance across his face in the flickering candlelight. “I want... I want…”

Trevor rests his forehead against Adrian's, adding more pressure to each slow tilt and press of hip— “... what ?” he gasps, searching and finding just the right spot where it feels good enough to continue and running a hand through Adrian's soft strands, slow to nibble softly on his lip.

“I want you closer,” Adrian says, breathless as he speaks.

Trevor traces that sharp jaw with battle-scarred fingers, enjoying as it moves slowly with their kiss, enjoying the swirl of tongue and pressing down harder in repeated motions, himself hard and hot, and he’s long shed his coat but now long fingers divest him of his tunic even as he pulls at Adrian’s shirt, rises on his arms to lick along his chest, down his scar and up again.

Adrian grips him and pulls him down again, urging a rhythm. Trevor moves, and even half-dressed as they are, the pressure grows until Adrian sighs wantonly, urging him on with the grip of his hands, gyrating Trevor’s hips against his; taking control—Trevor lets him, helpless enough that he’d do anything, anything, if it brought Adrian the pleasure he deserves. He’s so hard he won’t last long even this way, the intimacy of it flowering delightfully down his abdomen, building, and building, and he sucks at warm lips and grasps at fair hair, rubbing himself wildly against Adrian’s hips, held snug and tight as he alternates pressure and movement until Adrian groans into his mouth, body shuddering beneath him, once, twice, one leg come wrapped around Trevor’s hip, eyes soft and unfocused as Trevor looks down on him and doesn’t stop. Messily he tugs and bites on Adrian’s mouth until he’s plunged into the depths of bliss, and spills himself into his trousers.

“Holy… fuck…” he gasps with one last thrust of hip, forehead pressed to Adrian’s as he eases down, heavily coils himself around the other’s body.

“Something like that,” Adrian smiles. They kiss slowly, lying in silence, in each other’s arms with their hearts beating between them, away from it all.

“That was… unexpected,” Trevor whispers, his voice a husky mess as he nibbles on a pointy ear.

“... and since we’re speaking of cyclical patterns,” Adrian grins, his sharp teeth glimmering. “... now you owe me.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, tongue swiping tenderly over Adrian’s reddened lips. “Yeah, I get it. But here’s this—I’m absolutely fine with it.”

“Somehow, I expected you would be,” Adrian replies, kissing Trevor again as the clock strikes twelve.

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[antihero-writings]

Stolen Sunlight (Ch3)

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Fic Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her.

She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

Character focus: Arianna

Notes: 

Aaand here comes another internal monologue-heavy chapter XD

This was probably the chapter that gave me the most trouble when attempting to edit over the years, so this feels really good to finish! (At least a version of it, I may edit it more as time goes on XD). I would have liked to cut down the internal monologue, but I decided to just keep it in for now. I also kind of wanted to split this chapter into more than one to make it more palatable, but the ideas tie into each other so much I felt like I couldn't really do that? By the time the next chapter came out, the connections between ideas would be lost? I don't know...

The next chapter should have more dialogue XD But be warned it may take longer, as now we're getting to the part I haven't really written. 

All your support for this fic has been such a HUGE help in giving me motivation to continue!! I definitely wouldn't have posted the next chapters so fast without all your support!! So thank you all so so SO much!!!! 

Also! I forgot to mention the songs I like for this story! I've been writing this for so many years I have a list of songs for this fic XD but the two songs I thing fit most for this fic (especially the themes in this chapter) are "Towards the Sun" by Rihanna and "The Sun is Rising" by Britt Nicole.

P.S. I’m thinking of creating a Tangled-specific side blog (mostly as a Tangled-only writing blog, but I’ll likely reblog other Tangled related things there too), do you guys have any ideas for urls? The one I like the most right now is “two-words-where-one-will-do” XD

Chapter 3: Burglarize, Criticize, Sympathize

When she arrives at the dungeon’s door, carrying notebook between her hands, it is almost nightfall. The last of the day is at her back, urging her onwards. Her shoes tick against the tiles as she ventures down the hall.

Everything looks different during the day. At night the navy air was a haze, clouding her thoughts, magnifying all the negative feelings within her. Now her head is clear, and the waning blue day urges her onward, fueling all the positivity and determination in her.

“Your majesty,” the guards hold their halberds higher, puffing out their chests, as if to show they’re strong for this kingdom, “Is there something we do for you this evening?”

“Thank you, Stan, Pete.” She folds her hands and inclines her head in a sort of bow to each of them. “There is, in fact.”

They stand expectantly for her request.

“You can let me into the dungeon.”

They glance at each other.

“Of course, your majesty,” Stan bows, reaching for the door.

“Um…May we ask what this is about?” Pete steps forward, more hesitant.

Perhaps servants ought to do what their masters ask without hesitation. But, in a way, it was only fitting—some might say even more in line with their duties—for him to be apprehensive. He is concerned for his monarch’s well being after all. It wasn’t exactly normal for her to go down to the dungeon, nor is it a place a Queen would be most welcome.

“You know Varian is down there, right?” Pete speaks behind his hand when she doesn’t answer.

“I am aware. In fact, he’s the reason I’m going down there in the first place.”

Their eyes widen, then they give each other a look.

She steps forward before they can say anything more. “He’s just a boy,” she says softly.

“Uhh, yeah, a boy who fed me evil cookies!” Pete exclaims. “And let’s not forget, he kidnapped you!”

“Well…yes, that’s true. But he’s still just a boy.” She looks down at the notebook and runs her fingers along the cover. “He’s hurting, he needs help” she says half to the air, “…Besides, he can’t hurt me from behind bars.”

“But—with all due respect—your majesty—“

“I appreciate your concern,” she says in a conversation-ending way, stepping forward and placing her hand on his shoulder, “but…this is something I must do.”

They glance at each other once more, before lowering their heads and opening the doors, reluctance in their motions.

Her shoes sound against the winding stone staircase, leading her down, down into the realm beneath the castle. The last dregs of day drip from the open door along the staircase a few steps ahead of her, as if saying Hey, come on! Follow us! Don’t be afraid! We’ll be with you each step of the way.

Arianna is not doing this for him. She reminds herself of this. He was not gentle that day, and she knows prison is unlikely to have made him any tamer. He never asked for her forgiveness, whether or not he wants it, and he will not likely be kind in his responses, like the boy she had once met in the castle halls above. He no longer belongs to those halls; he haunts the space beneath them. At least, that’s what everyone thinks…including him.

She’s trying not to.

She must admit, she is doing it for him in some way; in that she, even now, even after everything he did to her, even after—or perhaps because of—the sleepless nights… she cares. Some would say it’s one of her fatal flaws. She wants him to realize there is more to him than this cell, these chains, and a few black—and one amber—rocks sticking up from the floor. He is more than metal and moonlight.

But she also knows if this is for him and him alone, she will fail in her endeavor. If she thinks she is saving a poor, lost boy’s soul, she will lose both their souls in the process, and leave them wandering in the dark.

Forgiveness has never been about the one who did the crime.

“Your majesty!” the guards patrolling the dungeon bow low. “What an honor! What can we do for you on this fine evening?”

“Thank you.” She inclines her head in return, then says without a hint of hesitation or anxiety, “You can take me to see Varian.”

“You’re…here to see… Varian?” They glance at each other. “Your majesty, with all due respect, are you sure you want to do that? Varian he…hasn’t been very cooperative.”

She gives a small, sad smile. “I understand. I’ll be very careful.”

They stand on either side of her, leading her to him.

This was something important, something she had to do. For her state of mind, and of her soul and conscience, even if no one else understood. The bars and chains would be enough to keep him from any attempts at action, and the guards would be ready to act at the moment anything went wrong.

On her walk to his cell, the other prisoners spit in her face and footsteps, laugh her name as she strides by. She had come to accept their attitudes and actions, and ignore them, a long time ago; let them have their threats, a few pitiful insults are all they have left in here, and they are not enough to make a dent in her pride anyways.

Varian is not some beast, like the one he sent after those she loved that day—(then again…neither was that creature truly a beast)—he won’t claw through the bars.

Still, as she draws nearer, her heart speeds up.

Why does stone and metal seem so feeble now, when it was unbreakable, when it was alive, then?

Maybe its the one who was using the metal; he was someone who understood what it was made of, sympathized with its chemistry.

She may know nothing of metal…but she knows what he is made of.

And she sympathizes.

They bring her to the furthest cell from the door.

Her expression softens when she sees him; he’s on the bench in the corner of his cell, hugging his knees, like the world forgot him.

Fractures of light drain across the form of a boy—even smaller and weaker than before, his hair greasy and long—and sizzle on the cold, stone floor. Though the rays dance, urging him to come play with them, as they had with Arianna, they can’t seem to cut through the shadows upon his face. Already it seemed he had told himself the sun couldn’t reach him down here, even when it was draped across his eyes.

They even chained his hands …which is more than he did with her.

She can’t exactly blame them. He is the most dangerous person in the kingdom, after all. Or so he’s called. And, being here in his presence—or, more so the presence of the memories seeing him brings—she isn’t exactly complaining about the extra precaution.

But he is still just a fourteen-year-old boy.

—(Or was it fifteen now? Had he had his birthday in this cell? She hates to think of that, of a young boy spending his birthday without presents, or parties, or a cake, or even so much as a nice wish from his dad. She tells herself that he must be fourteen still to ease the pain.)—

Sitting in the dungeon he hasn’t changed; hasn’t transformed into some sort of monster just by being caged and fed scraps. He is still so young. Just a boy, who deserved better. Fourteen years old, all rage, and pain, and grief.

The queen holds the notebook she brought—the reminder of her intentions in coming here—tighter to her chest, which itself is growing tight.

She is a queen, yes, but also a mother. Not his, but something motherly in her sees his hurt, and wants to comfort it, sing to it, read to it, hold it close, and tell it everything will work out in the end, even if she isn’t sure it will. She knows what it’s like to lose family, to have tragedy in your heartbeat.

Kindness, childhood innocence, is something people take for granted. Everyone has their troubles—more pressing matters—so, there are times when everyone brushes this kindness by, knocks it to the cobblestones, in the presence of the problems we must face and fix, here and now, while we are still young—(though we are no longer innocent ourselves). At some point everyone denounces something so bright and precious as their own conscience, as naiveté and ignorance, so as not to regret their actions. They don’t mean it, actively think it, but it’s there, all one must do is stop looking away. That compassion was all he had, all he was, at one point. A heart full, forgiving and, kind. The mistakes he made were just that; mistakes. Not some purposeful show of capability, and control.

That was before. Before the storm, and the amber, the broken promises, and the flower.

Fourteen years old, yes. But he is not a child. Maybe he wasn’t before either, but it’s different now. He’s different now. Something’s missing. Something important to making you a child. He’s missing something…someone. She knows what that’s like. She once missed someone. Something important to making her a parent.

She knew Rapunzel never meant any harm, never meant to break her promise, and that she had had to make the hardest decision of her life that day, the day she and Frederic were gone—(oh how she wished they had never left). She also knew Rapunzel hadn’t chosen wrong, nor had she chosen right, she had simply chosen, and that’s what being queen is all about. What being human is all about. …And that is everything wrong with being queen. Everything wrong with humanity. Rapunzel had just learned that too early, or perhaps too late. (Everything always felt too late when it came to Rapunzel, and it made Arianna feel sick sometimes).

The fact that the breaking of a promise, and the breaking of a heart, is enough to cause an entire kingdom falter in one night, is not something one can ever really get used to, no matter how long the crown has been sitting on their head.

But maybe—something bright, hopeful…naïve? in her wonders—though it isn’t Rapunzel’s fault… maybe it isn’t completely Varian’s either.

Maybe there isn’t ever only one at fault. Maybe the fault lines run along each of us—much like the black rocks jutting up from their kingdom’s ground—they are everywhere, in all of us alike, creating cracks in solid relationships, there’s no pattern to them, no way of really breaking them. The best we can do is try to understand them instead of ignore them. We can only hope to build bridges, and that we won’t burn them down as we cross them.

There aren’t a lot of people like Varian. In the kingdom, in the world, she supposes; fourteen-year-old boys with heads full of knowledge, and hands that liked to slip, a heart full to the brim with nature of a good kind, but a bit too bittersweet, a little too easy to break. And when his hands didn’t do what he told them, important things, like glass, and trust, shattered upon the floor. There were fourteen-year-old boys who were smart, and ones who were kind, there were clumsy ones, and funny ones, and inappropriate ones, and sly ones, but this one, with all the kindness, and intelligence, in tandem with all the clumsiness, and the grey, was a rarity. It was rare for someone to be so bright, and so dark. Most people are just one or the other.

They didn’t take into account the messes he made, how he could wreck his hometown on accident, simply because he had…what was it? a vision? a dream? an ambition? a simple hypothesis? A plot, a plan, a ploy. All depends on the word you use; words are like spells, sometimes creating the affect you intend simply by repeating them enough. He could destroy a town on accident, all because there was something, something good he wanted to do, a problem he wanted to solve, and he miscalculated a percentage. They didn’t take into account that they really should have been asking themselves, if this was a miscalculation… what kind of damage can he cause when he does the math right? If this was an accident…what kind of damage can he do on purpose?

They all shared blame for the unasked question. But when Rapunzel came home that first day she met him, Arianna never took a second to—instead of smiling at her stories, and the drawings in her journal—ask if maybe that made him dangerous.

And when her daughter came to her after the storm—her hands curled into fists, waging war against the tears in her eyes, and ran to her, burying her face in her chest, her arms around her, saying she didn’t think she wanted to be queen after all—she never once thought to ask if maybe they should send someone to go check on Varian.

Then, on that day he was not the flowery drawings Rapunzel made of him in her journal, not the boy she had met once, on a sunny afternoon, not the desperate child crying for someone to save his dad in the midst of the storm. He was still confident, and stubborn, and his words were still playful… but without the smile. He was still desperate, without a single tear, or plea for help, he was everything he once was, without the light. He was a mask, the color green shimmering in her eyes, her title, and a command to sleep. He was a cause, a curse, misguided conviction, desire, and grief. Not a fourteen-year-old boy, not compassion, not kindness, or naiveté, just that stubbornness, that desperation. Everything else, even those things that he once would never touch with his disobedient hands, became means to his end.

“I’ll make them hear me!”

…Was that all he wanted? If that was all, why couldn’t they listen? Why couldn’t they just go check on him, and see if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t okay? They should have listened to him. One of the saddest things in the world is to watch a child’s words fall on deaf ears; to watch a child standing in a crowd, going after person after person, tugging at their clothes, trying so hard just to be heard. And eventually, if they never are, the scene either inevitably ends with anger or tears. All they had to do was listen. It would have been so simple.

When Arianna was younger, first growing accustomed to the weight of a crown, they told her that villains would topple the woman beneath, spill her blood, to reach the jewels. She would receive threats, some real—backed with blades and armor—and others empty as the hearts who made them, and she would have to learn to tell the difference. Frederic had said in a show of sweet, but somewhat sappy, sentiment, that she was ‘the kingdom’s most precious jewel’, and her protection was his first priority, no matter the cost. She was grateful for the gesture, but being an adventurer, she was perfectly capable of handling herself. Adding a crown to the weight of the life she already knew how to protect didn’t rattle her.

She never imagined that one day, she would be kidnapped, and the one to succeed would be, not bandits on the road, or separatists, or sorcerers, but…a kid.

When she woke up in his lab, chains around her ankles, the blue of his eyes not much better than the pale, emotionless glow of the mask, she still couldn’t believe the sweet kid she had once met was behind that ice. No, not this boy. Not this villain. Maybe she didn’t know him before, but when they did meet, it had struck her how bright his eyes had been. His eyes, his voice, his smile... Without that light he seemed like a different person.

“Any moment now, your highness.” he had hissed, before singing that he had made a pact with the darkness, that they deserved all this, and they he might not be ready, but he was as ready as he’d ever be…

Varian scared her.

There was no other word for it, no other way to describe it. She would have tried to deny it; it seemed silly, after all, to be afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy who had once posed no threat, who she had even joked with. In fact, she would have once laughed at the very thought that he would one day scare her. But there came a point where there was nothing left to think but the truth.

When all it took was a drop of a mistake, a mistake he made that led to the rest, a mistake her daughter made that led to a test, an amber crypt, a few hurt-soaked words…that scared her, he scared her.

Because there came a time when that green chemical he had teased her with fell and burned on the black, turning amber and solid, cracking, crawling—not inanimate crystal, but some creature, alive, after all the things she held dear—towards her…

Watching orange and golden spires crackle closer, her heart couldn’t remain steady. And, yes, it would have been scary for anyone; to sit there while imminent imprisonment, or demise—(they couldn’t know which)—crept ever closer, while they were tied to the floor, with no means of break or escape….but that wasn’t quite enough to cause this sort of reaction.

She’d faced life-threatening situations; her own death or imprisonment before. One could never face it with a steady heart, breath, and sense of reason, but there was an exhilaration to it too; being close to death made life closer too. When the bandits put swords to her throat, or some creature took her back to its lair, yes she was scared, but sometimes she’d smirk at Willow, and, as she cut herself down, as she clashed swords with the villains, she would feel so very alive.

There was nothing exhilarating this time, nothing exciting, nothing that made life feel as close as death. She’d had no one-liners or fun strategies…was she just getting old?

He was very different from the bandits she had once faced in her travels. He wasn’t some sniveling storybook villain, or routine thug just looking for some extra cash. He had much deeper reasons for doing this.

He told them that they deserved this. All this pain. That sweet boy in the sunlight thought they deserved to be torn from each other, and used for their parts. Was that possible? Was any of this possible?

He had much deeper reasons for doing this. He was hurting. He was human. And that makes for a far more terrifying villain; the toughest villains to face are not the strongest, or the most powerful… but the ones we can see ourselves in. Because we have to break the mirrors, and that may just give us seven years’ bad luck. Break our views of ourselves. Break our views of the other. And maybe see them as people like us, worthy of being saved, of forgiveness. How had it had taken her thirty-odd years to learn that?

It wasn’t he himself she was afraid of. What made fear truly latch on to her, was just how easy it all was. How one drop of his solution could create a prison of amber. How one choice could lead to a path of hatred. How easy it was for him to watch his father become entombed in a prison of gold, to lose a parent, then turn to face her daughter, and attempt to take a parent from her. All because she broke a promise; chose to save the kingdom over him. That was enough for him, enough for him to find a place for that pendulum of blame to land. What scared her more than her own peril was how easy it was for him, for this compassionate, sunlit boy, to throw everything else aside, away, shut off the light, and plunge himself into darkness.

—(And, if he was human, didn’t that mean she could do that too?)—

And, as far as the life-threatening went, what scared her most was not her fate; not he amber, nor the chains, not the kidnapping, nor the blame. Her own peril may have unsteadied her heart, but what made her blood run cold as that storm with both fear and anger was her daughter’s life and safety being teased before her. How easy it was for him to hold his friend’s life in the balance. The way she cried out in pain as he hooked her hair up to that machine—(he once did so long ago with no ill intent)—the way she cried out in pain in that lab, that lab that lab—

This fear for her daughter, more than own well-being, had been a part of her for a while now. Ever since Rapunzel was born. Even more since she came back. When she was told of the dangers of wearing a crown, she wasn’t afraid for her own fate. But when Rapunzel was born everything changed.

It was Rapunzel. Always Rapunzel. When their daughter was born, she learned there was a jewel worth more than her life, and the weight of a crown. Suddenly Frederic’s statement about ‘the kingdoms most precious jewel,’ the lengths he went to save her life, made sense.

And all too soon, she learned then what it was like to have someone you love snatched from you, without warning, or threat, or a second glance.

That night, when Rapunzel was stolen from them, just like she was another jewel.

That night, when the wind was quiet, but fast, and cold, and the moon was full, and their little sundrop was stolen away by a woman in a cloak of night.

She knows how hard it is to forgive that person. She could understand that. How hatred and revenge burn in your gut, and can corrode through your heart if left unchecked. The weight of the faultline is a heavy one. She could understand how, especially when you’re young, it would be difficult to accept such a weight upon yourself. That one might do anything and everything in their power to slough it off, to keep from breaking the mirror. And if you are simply looking for someone besides yourself to place the burden of blame on, how everyone could suddenly seem at fault. But she also knows how to move beyond vengeance, into forgiveness—or, perhaps not so far as forgiveness, but at least something that isn’t unforgiveness.

This boy is not Gothel. He is different. She knows that. He is just a boy, a boy who is unbelievably smart, a boy who was kind, but whose kindness they mistook for naiveté, and brushed aside, enough that he forgot himself. He is a boy who lost someone, just like she did. He is grieving, and misled within his own head, just like she is. And she knows how much easier it is to hate someone else, than to admit you were wrong. That they’re gone, and even if you didn’t mean to, even if it was by mistake, some of the fault lies with yourself…

She could have hated him for what he did to her. She could have hated him more for what he did to her daughter. She could have chosen revenge, and unforgiveness. No one would have faulted her for it—she wouldn’t even have to bear the weight of the faultline.

But that wasn’t her. She wasn’t going to turn around and do to him what he did to them. It had taken this long to forgive—(or something close enough)—Mother Gothel, to choose the fact that she had Rapunzel back, the light, over wallowing in the dark. She wasn’t going to throw away what she learned then, now, especially not when she knew that that light hadn’t abandoned him, even if he had tried to abandon it.

She wasn’t going to abandon him.

It was a parent he lost, and it was a parent he needed.

What mattered was not what Gothel took her from her, it was that she has Rapunzel now.

What mattered to him—whether he knew it or not—she was sure, was knowing that there was still hope, still something, someone there for him now. She had to help him realize that it was not about what he had lost, but what he still had—(which was more than they all thought. A mustard seed of kindness is more than most of us have). She wished they had arrived soon enough to teach him that earlier. She hoped she could still show him that now.

He is still fourteen-years-old. Still a kid. A kid, lost, and hurting. Despite her own animosity, she could detect the desperation in his voice, the pain flickering behind his anger when he cried “It’s not my fault! None of it is!” And when those blue eyes blew out their circuits, and swiveled to their daughter, all rage and pain, looking for somewhere, some place, someone, to blame, and his voice became so much like a beast’s growl that the adventurer in her wanted to hunt him down—

“It’s her fault.”

…But he was—he is—not a beast. Even then.

That’s what made it so scary, after all; that he was still human. It would have been easy to call him a monster. That would have made things easier on the rest of them at least, to forget he was human. Easy to lock him up and leave him. But what was scary was that he was human, and she would never be able to forget that. What made it so scary was the pain behind the growls. If she had forgotten, she could have left him here in the dark without guilt or precedent.

The part of her that wants to denounce him as a beast doesn’t want to admit there is something else there, something searching to be redeemed, searching for any last hope, and…And that was something she understood. Despite the fear, how easy it was, she knew what it was to look for anything, any single shred of hope to cling to. And how even a spiderweb of hope can save lives.

And wasn’t the ease the other thing that scared her about him? How he turned to the dark so quickly?

So no, she wasn’t going to go gently into that goodnight.

He wasn’t completely right then, about Rapunzel. But he wasn’t completely wrong either. Some of the blame didn’t find its home with him. It didn’t justify the lengths he went, and how easy it was for him to leap them, but they had left him, after all. Someone should have gone to see him, to make sure he hadn’t lost his way in the storm.

This, and one other small fact led her to believe that he wasn’t completely gone; he never chained her hands. Just her feet. He didn’t do it kindly, and she was sure he didn’t intend it to display mercy. Others may have called it an empty gesture, said So what? You were still chained, what’s the difference?

Thinking about it later, it was the smaller gestures like this that mattered, that betrayed the spiderweb’s difference between hope and despair.

It’s the hands that are dangerous; they’re what slip, and let things break, and catch us all the same. He only chained her method of escape, not her hope to twist his plans—(almost if deep down he wanted her to twist those plans, like he was giving her that thread of hope himself).

He is a fourteen-year-old boy, and they left him there, in the dungeon. And that is not something she can live with. She was the one he kidnapped, so perhaps she is the one with the most right to be angry.

But they left him to rot in here, like the Flower she hadn’t known Frederic had kept.

He stole a flower to save the one he loved…that sounded like another story she knew well, and that story had ended in disaster too.

The more she thought about, Frederic couldn’t see how, when Arianna herself was dying, he would have done anything to save her life, and how Varian, in a way, was doing the same thing. That didn’t excuse his methods, but, still, the similarities gave her pause. They were both angry, both afraid, desperate to save those they love. But Varian wasn’t a king, and his methods were not so pure, so he was left to the dungeons, his father still trapped, and the king walked the halls above, his wife safe and well, without punishment, even though they both stole the sun in the hopes of healing the hurt, making the clock reverse.

She wouldn’t have necessarily wanted things to turn out differently, still, she had to admit there was irony in the situation.

If she had been angry, if she had come down here to spit in his face, they might have called it justice.

But that is not who she is. Who she wants to be. Forgiveness may not be a word she can quite use with Mother Gothel, but she did everything she could to fight the dark then. When Rapunzel came back, she did everything she could to stop herself from locking her up and keeping her safe from everything that dared hurt her.

She let her go out and make friends with him…but letting people in meant giving them the chance to betray you. The only way to keep her completely safe was to lock her away. …But doing so would have made her the villain. And she of all people knew danger was the name of living.

Forgiving him doesn’t mean she approves of what he did. Doesn’t mean she isn’t afraid, or angry, or has fully recovered. It just means that she isn’t going to let the darkness that had taken him so easily have its way with her too. She didn’t want to leave him, she wanted him to be better, she believed that he could be—she had seen what was right in him, she had seen what was left of him. She needed to let him know that someone cared, that she believed he was human, like the rest of us. Not a villain, not a monster, and that she didn’t think he deserved to be left behind in chains. …But he had to see it too.

When she appears before him, a progression of bars and some well-trained guards don’t seem like quite enough—though once upon a time she talked to him without the bars, or the animosity, and he had seemed more than harmless then.

There are no words of respect. He doesn’t bow, or even address her, or look at her at first. She isn’t a queen here, to him, anymore; she is simply the mother of the girl who never broke a promise, except the one she made to him. She is simply a chess piece he once chained to the floor of his lab.

He doesn’t give her any sign of respect, or that he’s even noticed her. But he also doesn’t throw curse at her feet like many of the other prisoners did.

At first, he remains silent. His eyes both have somehow lost their fire, and are as electric as they were that day, glowing in the cold grey of the room.

Everything grey. No black or white here.

“Varian.” Her voice is steady and sober.

“Your highness.” His response pounces, sharp as a claw through the bars.

His words are grey too.

He merely addressed her, but there is a bite behind her words. That sting doesn’t feel so empty in his mouth as it did in those of the other prisoners—(just like how he felt different as a villain, now he feels different as a prisoner)—but the words are worn, ragged, from his voice being kept too long silent. A quiet resolve. A lost, broken conviction, but standing nonetheless. He doesn’t hiss the phrase like he did then—all dauntless, and confident he is right, and they’re all wrong, sure he cannot, will not, lose—but he also doesn’t say it kindly, in any way that asks for forgiveness, or implies respect. Nothing betrays the fact that he is a broken boy, lost and hurting. It is simply stated as a fact, hanging there in the air; she is her highness, she walks the castle high above him, and he is here, in this cell fading in the darkness below.

But she is no angel, and he is no demon, even if everyone else treats him like one.

He is just a boy. She has to remind herself of that. Over, and over, until it finally sticks. That, and that she is not doing this for him.

She is doing this for herself. For her own heart. If she doesn’t forgive him, if she tells herself that the light cannot—or worse, should not—reach him down here, she really is letting darkest parts of herself win.

Forgiveness has never been about the one being forgiven, but about the one doing the forgiving.

[ahiddenpath]

My Favorite Writing Stuff

One of the best things about writing is that all you need is a pen and paper!  But we all have our favorite tools and luxuries, and I thought it might be fun to talk about mine below the cut.  Lotsa pics, long post.

Word Processors

Scrivener

The single writing item I use most is my word processor, Scrivener, by Literature and Latte.  At some point waaaaaay back in 2012, I found myself writing Growing Up with You in Microsoft Word...  And having to wait ten seconds for the screen to adjust and load new text as I scrolled.  It was just too danged long for the program to handle.  Just reading my manuscript was a nightmare, let alone copying and pasting to move text, shuffle paragraphs, etc.  Making a new doc for each chapter quickly became a clunky chore.

THEN I FOUND SCRIVENER, AND IT’S THE BEST.

Scrivener is... not very user friendly; there’s definitely a learning curve.  But it was immediately so much better for writing long fiction than Word that I bought a book on the program and read it from cover to cover, which...  I don’t think I’ve ever done before.  That’s how much of a game changer this was.

The feature I rely on most is the binder.

This is the binder for Four Years, which currently has...  Forty-eight chapters.  I corralled the chapters into two folders, one for the first year of college (1), and one for the second (2).  

If I click folder 1, all of the chapters appear, each snug in their own folder.  Once the Scrivener file loads, there is no further loading time.  Each folder can be moved by clicking and dragging, as can each text file inside each folder.  FREEDOM!

This feature alone was worth the price of the program.  They offer a free trial, so please check it out if you’re interested!

Portable Word Processors

I’ve mentioned these before, but I have two portable gadgets that allow me to write on the go, distraction free.

Alpha Smart Neo 2

This might look like the baby of a toddler’s toy computer and a keyboard, but it’s actually my baby.

Just kidding!  Sort of!  The Alpha Smart Neo 2 is a portable word processor that boots up in a second, is powered by three AA batteries for eons, and weighs about 2 pounds.  They are no longer in production (which is a crime), but there are oodles available on Ebay for about $20-30.  

(I used to own and talk about my Alpha Smart 3000.  The Alpha Smart Neo 2 is the latest model before the company shut down, and the keyboard is nicer; it’s quieter and easier on the fingers).

I honestly can’t say enough about this device.  I rarely draft on a computer anymore; it’s just too easy to find yourself surfing the web, falling down a research vortex, or even reading your manuscript instead of writing.  Alpha Smarts can remember what you wrote until you delete it.  That’s it.  That’s all they do.  It’s beautiful.

I write about 800 words/hr on a computer.  I write about 1,500 words/hr on an Alpha Smart.  Distractions are so, so real.

When you’re ready to port your writing from your Alpha Smart to your word processor, all you have to do is connect a printer cable to your Alpha Smart, then plug the usb end into your computer.  Open your word processor, turn on your Alpha Smart, select the file you want to transfer, and hit send.  If you forget any of this, it’s written on the back of the Alpha Smart.

I know that no one should blame their success or failure on their tools, but...  I wouldn’t be able to write nearly as much without my Alpha Smart.  And if you ever do writing meet ups, you’ll be the only person who isn’t fighting for a power outlet!  It also fits easily into a tote bag or backpack.

Oh, Alpha Smart Neo 2.  My partner and friend!

Freewrite

The Freewrite by Astrohaus is... um.  Well, it’s a lot like the Alpha Smart Neo 2, except that it’s waaaay more expensive, much harder to use, and has terrible firmware.

There are cool things about it, for sure!  For one, it has this weird...  Pseudo typewriter feel.  It’s much larger and heavier than an Alpha Smart, and I’m not sure that I actually consider it portable...  But the thick, angled base practically functions as a lap desk.  It’s comfortable to use and has a nice mechanical keyboard.

It has wifi capability, so you can send drafts directly to your dropbox/cloud/email, no cords or transfers needed.  The screen is an e-ink scree, like a Kindle Paperwhite, easy on the eyes and readable in the sun.  It’s also backlit, which is the one major win over the Alpha Smart.

I bought mine used off ebay for a fraction of the list price (this thing is NOT worth $600 on any planet, goodness gracious mercy dang!  I paid about $180), and, um...  I still don’t know if it was worth it, not when I can buy an Alpha Smart Neo 2 for $30 tops.  I mean, I like the e-ink and the backlit screen, but...  There’s a lag between typing and the words populating on the screen.  There are no arrows to fix a typo.  I had to send 10 emails back and forth to tech support to get it updated and working.  It was not broken, and I understood all the directions...  It’s just god awful firmware.  I also lost a draft because it wipes your device if you open their Sprinter program while using your Freewrite.  

I still use it, though!  The tactile sensation is really nice, the keys make a satisfying clickety clackety, the E-ink screen is lovely, I adore the option to write in a not-that-well-lit room, and the wifi transfer is faster than my Alpha Smart’s wired method.  But I still can’t recommend it as long as Alpha Smart Neo 2s are available, not unless you’re some combination of the following: a writing nut who writes so gosh dang much that these toys are worth it, someone who is big on tactile sensation, someone who likes hipster stuff, or someone who would love an Alpha Smart but can’t read the electronic screen well.  If this is you, make sure you also have a strong grasp on how to talk to and understand tech support, because you will need them.

Just never ever EVER open Sprinter...

Notebooks

Leuchtturm1917, hard cover, A5, dotted

MAY I INTRODUCE YOU TO MY LOVE, THE LEUCHTTURM NOTEBOOK.

WHERE DO I EVEN START.

The Leuchtturm is...  Just the best.  The hard cover takes abuse well, stickers hold onto it nicely, it has two ribbon bookmarks and an elastic closure, there’s a folder attached to the back inside cover...  The dot version is unobtrusive and encourages smaller writing, which helps the notebook last.  And it is available in a rainbow of colors!

The paper is lovely, the pages are numbered, and IT HAS AN INDEX.

I’m a scientist, and working in a Leuchtturm is just like working in a fancy, expensive lab notebook.  The set up is done already, man.  You just gotta jot down what pages contain what.  IT’S SO ORGANIZED, with almost zero effort!  Mi amor.

Sure, I could make an index page and number all of my pages manually...  But I’ve met myself.  I won’t do it.  When you combine all of these lovely features, you have one unbeatable notebook.

Plus, they’re easy to obtain in the states!  I order them off Amazon or buy them at my local Barnes & Nobles.

Midori MD Notebook, A5, grid

The Midori has even nicer quality paper than the Leuchtturm, but the cover can’t take abuse, and it lacks the nice features.  I truly appreciate the paper quality, but the other features bring me back to my Leuchtturms every time.

It’s a Japanese item and is more difficult to import to the states.  You can get them off Amazon, though!

Pens

I use Uni-ball Signo 207 gel pens.  They write comfortably, and using them feels satisfying.  They should be available in most Walmart/Target type stores, at least in the states!  

It should be noted that I’m just not a pen buff.  I tried fountain pens, and it was more trouble than it was worth for me.

Folios/Traveler’s Notebooks

Okay, so you found the perfect notebook!  Wanna make it SUPER DUPER FANCY PANTS?!  Well, you could try a traveler’s notebook.  

I only learned what a traveler’s notebook is about a year ago, so if you’re also in the dark...  It’s a leather cover that holds notebooks inside with elastic.  I own these chic sparrows, one for my Midori notebook (or whatever notebook I’m using at the time), and one for my journal.

My full name is etched into them, so please pardon my censorship XD

The chic sparrow traveler’s notebooks are so elegant and decadent and...  I won’t lie, I literally move one or both around the house with me, just so I can look at them.  

The one on the left is a Mr. Darcy deluxe, size A5, in the Wickham color.  The one on the right is an Enchanted Woods deluxe, size A5, in the Elderwood color.

They have lots of pockets on the inside, a pen loop, and elastics to hold multiple notebooks.  This one is strung with a Midori notebook.  I also have a smaller B6 one that I use as a wallet!  It holds a small notebook, so I can write down those ideas that always happen when I’m out and don’t have paper.  The pockets hold IDs, credit cards, and cash.

It’s just this... magical, opulent item.  While it’s likely the least practical thing on this list, it’s very special to me.

Lap Desks

I HAVE A HARRY POTTER RAVENCLAW STORAGE DESK FROM POTTERY BARN AND I FEEL LIKE A WITCH WHEN I USE IT.

Oh dear, I took a terrible picture, it looks so lovely in person.  

The top can slide in both directions, revealing enough storage for several A5 notebooks, pens, and more.  It’s a great way to cart your stuff into your favorite cozy nook for a writing session.  Plus, you’ll feel like a Hogwarts student!  It’s available in all four house designs, plus a Hogwarts crest version.

Pottery Barn puts these on sale occasionally.  I’d aim for 25% off before buying.

My Writing Bag

I decked out a tote bag in writing pins to carry my Alpha Smart, thesaurus, a notebook, and pens.  You can use any bag, as long as it accommodates what you need!  Here are my fave sources for writing-related pins:

Literary Emporium, who makes my favorite pin, “Still I Rise,” a Maya Angelou quote.  They have the most gorgeous pins.

When life gives you lemons, read them, advice for the ages

And fandom:

Digivice pin

My beloved Sailor Moon pin, the loveliest pin I’ve ever seen (not shown because it lives on my Sailor Moon jacket!).  All of the inner senshi are available!

THAT’S ALL, THAT WAS SO MUCH.  Please let me know if you try any of these out!

[lairofsentinel]

Author Meme

Author Name: AsunderWolf

Fandoms You Write For: Usually I write one multichaptered fic of each fandom I get into in a wild way, and their holes or ending do not satisfy me. I tend to write “fix-it” of “fill-in-the-hidden-scenes” fics. I don’t like AUs. Fandoms: Dreamfall Chapters, World of Darkness [vampires and mages], The Technomancer, Ace Attorney, Divinity Original sin 2, Moebius: Empire Rising [nobody knows this game XD]. I have in my computer a terrible +52 chapter fic of Mass Effect in Spanish [working in science and having Mass Effect to explore the “reality” of exotic matter as the one responsible of biotic powers made me go too out of control. It ended up in a heavy scientific fic that has no real purpose, after all someone will read a fic to enjoy a story, not to learn physics XD].  I also wrote scraps of Skyrim scenes that I was thinking to gather in a big fic, with a main character I hate, as a challenge for me to write something too alien of my style, and... it didn’t go well [the attempt is in my tumblr tag section]. I also have small fics of Dragon Age, but when I was practising English, so they are disastrous [also in the tag section of my tumblr]. I also wrote an original story [a trilogy] of a rock band in Spanish, and a long fic of Sailor Moon, in Spanish too.

Where You Post: Mostly on AO3. I used to publish in Fanfiction.net.

Most Popular One-Shot: The only one I have: Shattered Hope [The Technomancer]. That final scene of the game broke me. 

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: Looming Truths [Ace Attorney], even though I'm not sure how much I should trust in the “hit count”.

Favorite Story You Wrote: Looming Truths. It was just so wild and broad in characters and plot and subplots and all the detective-like content. I love when things are so out of control. It’s a love-hate feeling. Also, this story was my first proper English fic, so... it had a lot of work in terms of language. Even though I don't  like at all how it was written. If I could rewrite it again, it would be better for my taste, I think. By now, I'm loving the serie  About Feathers and Claws [Divinity Original Sin 2].

Story You Were Nervous to Post: About Feathers and Claws [Divinity Original Sin 2]. I'm writing a char with a sensitive background, trying to break the tropes that I usually see in fics when it comes to a char like him. I deeply dislike the concept of “once you meet the right person, all your trauma disappears”. Nothing could be further from the truth.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: In general, at the end of the fic. Once I finished the fic itself [or maybe I still have to work in editing it], so I try to recall the main symbols of the fic, or if there is not such a thing, something that will work like a metaphor of what I've written. Sometimes, it's a symbol related to the main characters.

Do You Outline: Yes. Everything. When I start thinking in a fic, I already know how I want to finish it. With what event it will end. The problem is to write it later, but I know how the main plot works. That’s key to keep you writing and not lost in weird “blocks”. I also do a separated outline of subplots that I interweave with the main plot. Everything has to be clear so I do not repeat scenes, information, and the plot develops with each chapter.

Complete: Everything I start publishing is already finished. I just give them a last revision while publishing [if I have not the luxury of a betareader], that's the reason why I don’t publish all the chapters at once.This is my completion-compulsion working, the reason why I will watch terrible bad shows only for the sake of completing them, or read bad things to the end, or play terrible things. Sometimes it’s a true waste of time.

In-Progress: I could say it's About Feathers and Claws [Divinity Original Sin 2]. I’m writing the last chapters of the last part of the serie.

Coming Soon: About Feathers and Claws [Divinity Original Sin 2]. Polishing the last part of the serie: Divine Doom. I’ve set free many problems in this story, and gathering at the end is... truly a pain in the ass.

Do You Accept Prompts: In general, no. I don't like writing short loosen scenes and publish them. I do write them, but they are all gathered in a big archive of my computer where I go every time I need to write a scene of something I've already thought, so I have the scene in a draft version, ready to edition. This is useful considering I tend to write a lot of draft scenes in my commuting [it takes me 4 hours a day], so my tablet has a lot of these scenes that could be considered prompts, but I won’t publish them unless it’s in a big fic.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: It's always the story I'm writing at that moment, in this case, About Feathers and Claws [Divinity Original Sin 2].

I tag @matsuorka, @naromoreau , @a-tear-in-the-veil , @dark-rose89  , if you want to do it, no obligation, of course.

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 30: Erinn're Dich! Keine Macht trennt uns - außer Zeit und Raum

Title: For The Love Of A Princess

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28; Chapter 29

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Okay... First of all, I need to apologise that there was no new chapter last week. Between the holidays, school holidays, and a general lack of motivation/writer's block, I didn't manage to write anything. This week is a little better, even though I'm still not really happy with this chapter.

Because I hear you. And I feel you. You're ready for things to happen, for action and real drama... Believe me, so am I! But this is what I was talking about at the beginning of the second part. It's about development, on many points, and might become a little boring... BUT! We're almost through. I can't/won't say how many chapters are still to come in this second part, because I never know if a plan of three or four chapters stays that way... But know that we've almost reached the end of this part, and part three will be much more interesting...

But yeah, not entirely happy with this chapter... because I wanted to add so much more here, but simply didn't manage to write it all. I mean, in the end, this chapter reached a decent size, so it's fine. But yeah, things tend to get longer than intended, and I'm sorry.

Either way, this chapter is dedicated to @poppysfanworld . It was your birthday last week, and I'm so sorry that I missed updating on that day of all days. Although, this chapter would have been dedicated to you anyway. For those who don’t know: a couple of weeks back, she drew a fanart for this story, and, without her knowing about it, the scene she drew is in this chapter! So, yeah, Poppy, this chapter is yours. I hope it’s okay ._.

This week's title... is probably nothing but incomprehensible babbling to most of you. It's from the German version of "Think Of Me" from The Phantom Of The Opera, and means something like "Remember! No force can separate us – except time and space". Now, I could have simply used the English lyrics instead... But here's the funny thing: The English lyrics at that point are "Remember me, once in a while, Please, promise me you'll try" – which, as you hopefully agree, is not quite the same... xD

. o O o .

"So... is there anything you want to do?" Hiccup's voice was low, rough even, as he spoke into her ear in-between kisses. Those kisses had started intense from the first he’d given her, only moments after she’d arrived at the stables, and had only grown more heated since then.

Astrid sat across his lap, having landed there after a stormy greeting, and couldn't really think about anything except that she wanted to keep kissing him, wanted to feel his hands and mouth, his hot skin against hers again. This last day spent with her brothers had been great, but spending the night with Hiccup was even better. "I don't know," she gasped after a few more kisses that left her breathless. She hadn't even gotten around to take off her cloak yet, so what gave him the idea that she could think properly? His hands on her waist and around the small of her back felt wonderful, like a promise of happiness, but she'd rather they took off her dress and his tunic again. "Show me more?"

Hiccup chuckled, a deep rumbling that vibrated through them both, but obliged nonetheless. His kisses grew even more intense, his teeth nibbling and tugging at her lips, and his hold on her became rougher as he pulled her closer until her chest was flush to his. There was still too much cloth between them for her taste, but the way he made the fabric rub against her breasts was still enticing enough. For now.

When his left hand moved away from her back, she wanted to protest at first. She wanted more, of him, of those forbidden sensations, more explosions and more softness afterwards. But then she felt his hand on her thigh, beneath her skirt, and forgot any complaints. His touch on that unexpected and ridiculously sensitive bit of skin made her gasp, her wide eyes meeting his as he retreated and looked up at her.

"Is this okay?" he asked, and the husky tone in his voice made a pleasant shiver run down her spine. His hand on her thigh moved a little, slowly wandering higher up her leg to emphasise the meaning of his question.

Astrid felt dizzy, a small flicker of fear rising as his touch brought back the memory of Harold touching her. But that flicker disappeared just as quickly as the other one last night had when Hiccup had cupped her breast with his large and work-rough hand. Those memories had no power over her anymore, and the fact that Hiccup asked was the ultimate difference. Because Hiccup would never force himself on her, would never do anything she didn't want him to. With him, she was safe.

A little overwhelmed by this renewed realisation and the sheer difference of how Hiccup's touch felt, she wasn't quite able to form any words. Instead, she nodded, and choked a little when his fingers suddenly brushed over her sex. He started with slow and light touches, soft strokes over the thin fabric of her underwear, only teasing her sensitive body beneath. But it was enough to make her shiver, made her clutch at his shoulders for an anchor, and with his dark eyes avidly taking in her every reaction, she felt simultaneously exposed and cradled, caught in this wonderful whirlwind of emotions and sensations that made her dizzy.

When his hungry mouth resumed kissing her, it made everything more intense, and it didn't take long before his hand became bolder, too. The press of his finger against those hidden folds or that hot spot at the top let everything else fade into the background until all she cared for was feeling more. More of his tongue gliding along hers, more of his touch. Occasionally, he slowed down, a proud grin pulling at his lips when that made her grind herself against him in search of more sensation, and at some point, Astrid couldn't remember when, he must have slipped his hand beneath her underwear, because suddenly not even that bit of fabric was between her and his hand anymore. It should have made her cautious, but she trusted Hiccup not to tear what had to remain intact, trusted him with everything.

Gods, he looked so beautiful as he gazed up at her in what looked like awe, even with how silly she had to look, pathetically grinding and rocking against his hand as she was, mewling, her face surely flushed and covered in sweat. But he didn't look as if he thought her silly, not even as another one of those explosions tore through her body and left her twisting and screaming. If anything, he looked as if he honestly enjoyed watching her.

"Was that what you wanted?" he murmured into her ear. His hand was soothingly rubbing her back after she'd sacked against his chest and panted against his neck with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Mmmh, yes," she hummed, giggling as another of those small but pleasant waves ran through her body. Gods, how had she ever thought she wouldn't like this?

Hiccup's embrace, which felt like it was all that was keeping her upright at this point, tightened for a moment as he pressed a loving kiss to her temple. Then he guided her soft and so wonderfully pliant body down onto the blanket before he stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked, confused and not really able to think yet.

"I... I'll be right back," he muttered. "Everything's fine, I just..." He swallowed, bit his lip, shrugged, and then left the stall.

Too dazed to give his strange behaviour much thought, Astrid basked in how relaxed she felt, how comfortable here in this simple stall surrounded by Hiccup’s scent. Eventually, she wriggled out of her cloak and tossed it to the side before burrowing into the blanket, giggling. When he returned, however, he still seemed oddly tense.

“Are you okay?” he asked, anxiously. He kneeled down beside her, and looked her over. “Did I… Gods, did I hurt you?”

Astrid blinked up at him, puzzled. “No, you didn’t. I’m fine.” She reached for his hand and wanted to pull him down toward her, to cuddle and kiss. But when she touched him, she noticed that his hand, cool and damp, was shaking. “Hiccup, what happened?”

“I…” he stammered, his gaze darting around, to her eyes, their hands, and around the stall as if those wooden walls held any wisdom. “There was… blood on my hand just now, and– Gods, I thought I was careful enough, but… but…” He broke off, his gaze now pleading, desperate.

Astrid, however, relaxed. “Oh, that,” she murmured as she shuffled to make space for Hiccup beside her. “It’s the time of my moon blood. It’s almost over, but…” she trailed off, shrugging. Then another thought occurred to her, and she grimaced. “Is that… a problem?” She hadn’t thought about that, but with how little – practically nothing, really – she knew about how all this worked, maybe it was?

Her answer visibly appeased Hiccup though. He relaxed, shoulder slumping in relief, and he finally lay down next to her with a heavy sigh. "No, it's not a problem. Not for me,” he clarified, expression relaxing into a soft smile now. “I just… well, I feared that I... had accidentally broken your maidenhead, even though I'd been sure to be careful enough, and..." He gulped, but then shook his head and burrowed deeper into their comfortable embrace. “But no, not a problem. Some women become overly sensitive during that time, sometimes even painfully so, but as long as it felt good for you, everything's fine.”

“Hmm… yeah, I’d say it felt good enough for me,” she hummed, making Hiccup chuckle.

“That’s all what’s important,” he sighed, and brushed his lips against her forehead.

For a timeless while, they lay in silence, lost in their cosy bubble of warmth and comfort, the only sounds coming from occasional light kisses or one of them humming happily.

“How was your day?” Hiccup eventually asked. His fingers traced an invisible line up her bare arm, and it made her giggle.

“It was good,” she replied, stopping his hand by carding her fingers through his. “But I'll miss these days. Once Daniel left, I don’t think I’ll be able to get away with so much free time anymore, and in a few weeks…” She trailed off, biting her lip until it stung. She didn't want to think about the months to come; Daniel would be in Westhill organising their defences, Dagur would return to Southshore to learn how to keep nobility and overambitious merchants in check, and Eret would be back in Eastervale to take care of their horses–and Hiccup would leave with him. And then it would grow even worse when summer would arrive, when they’d all go to Westhill to actually fight, and leave her behind with no other option but to pray for their safe return.

The thought made her heart beat faster for another reason for once, and Hiccup seemed to notice the difference immediately.

“Hey, it'll be okay,” he murmured soothingly. “Everything will be fine. We’ll be careful, and between Daniel’s personal guard and the Gods apparently needing us for their plans…  I’m not really worried anything will happen to us.”

Swallowing thickly, she forced a smile onto her lips, and nodded. “I know,” she breathed, almost inaudible. “But I'll miss you nonetheless.” She pressed closer against his chest. “Gods, I wish we could get married already. I don't want to be apart from you, ever.”

Hiccup sucked in a breath, his fingers at her back twitching. “Believe me, I know what you mean,” he muttered hoarsely. “But even then I'd have to leave to fight eventually.” He retreated, and curled his hand around her jaw, tilting her head upwards so their eyes met. “But it'll be worth it in the end. You'll see. In a few years, we’ll be sitting beside a warm hearth fire, wrapped in a comfortable embrace after the day's work, and laugh about all this.”

“Mmh,” Astrid hummed, closed her eyes and nuzzled against his hand. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” he mumbled, then let his free hand drop to her chest, over her heart “But we'll never be apart, remember? Not really.”

. o O o .

The following day was somehow boring and stressful at the same time.

Even though she’d again had an unbelievably restful sleep in Hiccup’s arms, it still had been barely more than a handful of hours. They’d talked a lot last night, about their future, how their life would be – and had completely forgotten the time.

Some things still made her smile whenever she remembered them, like how they agreed on hopefully having enough space to keep horses, as riding was something neither of them wanted to miss. But at the same time, she hoped their life wouldn’t be too pompous, too formal. She wanted to be able to literally spend nights rolling in the hay with her husband, just like they did now, without it being a scandal due to their high status.

Hiccup hadn’t been quite as forward with what he hoped or planned; instead, he’d agreed with and occasionally elaborated on her suggestions, rather than offering his own, and there had been something like a sad shadow crossing his face every now and then. But those never lingered, and he’d kept asking her questions and listened avidly to every single one of her – occasionally silly – lines of thinking.

“It’s not silly,” he’d said after she’d told him that she hoped for a relatively simple life, far away from politics and intrigues and fighting, that she wanted them to raise their children themselves, peacefully and without the rules of decorum demanding them to engage a governess. He’d cradled her face in his hand, one of her favourite touches by him, and had looked at her with so much warmth and love in his eyes that she’d thought she would melt then and there. “No, not silly at all… Gods, I can’t wait for this future to come true, the vision we had. You, with our son on your arms, our home…” He’d swallowed, and Astrid had been sure that he felt the same longing she felt too, the sheer yearning for the years to hurry by until their life together would start for real.

But all that had been last night, had kept them up far longer than intended, and today, she almost regretted staying up so deep into the night.

No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t regret that they’d talked for hours. It had been wonderful, phenomenal, incredible. But that didn’t change how tired she was, how she was barely able to keep herself from yawning every now and then or her gaze and mind from drifting away from conversations and greeting their guests.

“What’s the matter, little sis?” Dagur nudged her arm with his elbow after she’d missed replying to some duke’s greeting. “You look tired, and not just today if I may say so. Is something bothering you? Keeping you awake?”

They stood in a neat row, the King, the Grand Dukes, Daniel and she, Dagur, and Eret, to greet and welcome all the highborn lords and ladies that had come to the capitol for the grand blot tonight. From experience, Astrid knew that this reception would go on for hours, which was why they’d already started in the morning.

Dagur’s question made her smile though, Hiccup’s warmth in her chest spreading at the memory. “Yeah, somehow I haven’t slept all that much lately,” she admitted, but then quickly changed the subject. “And this reception doesn’t exactly help with keeping me awake either. How much longer is this going to go on?”

Dagur grinned, and Astrid could practically see how he forcefully kept himself from cackling out loud. “I think we’re almost through.” He glanced at the ceiling-high windows to their left. “See? It’s already past noon. We should be through in another hour at the latest.”

Astrid sighed, and nodded. This year wasn’t the first time she’d participated in pre-blot ceremonies, including the grand reception, but the particulars of the rituals all tended to blur together for her, mostly because her part in them was only as a glorified accessory.  Meanwhile, her brothers all had direct parts to play, and had since they’d been boys old enough to understand.  

She remembered years when she’d sneaked into the hall and had hidden behind curtains or underneath tables, drawing faces at her brothers until they burst out laughing and she’d gotten thrown out. She almost wished she could do that now, too. Play some prank, leave the hall, and roam freely over the castle’s grounds. But she was part of the official party now, and no matter how much she wanted to just run and leave everything behind her... she couldn’t.

Sighing, she put back on her mask of a smile and greeted a baron and his wife whose names she’d forgotten already with a curtsey. Only one more hour, then food would be served and the afternoon would be filled with mingling and chatting, before they would all ride in a slow procession to the Temple for the grand winter blot.

Astrid sighed again. The holy ritual to pray for the return of light and warmth and to ask for a good harvest and peaceful times was actually one of her favourites. But all the pompous affectations around it made these days nearly unbearable.

. o O o .

Hiccup let out a groan as he stretched, and let his gaze wander over the small team of horses in front of him. With him having spent the day cleaning and scrubbing saddles and bridles – and working on Astrid’s music box whenever he had a spare moment – the day had flown by in what had felt like a heartbeat to him.

But now, it was all done. Six of his seven charges stood groomed to perfection, tacked in their polished and shiny saddles and bridles, ready to go, and his Midwinter gift for Astrid was wrapped in cloth and safely attached to Cassie’s saddle.

Not that he was actually allowed to give a present to the Princess as, customarily, only family members gave each other gifts. And he knew that, even though the King and Grand Dukes considered each other family, Daniel, Eret, and the rest of them didn’t really exchange any meaningful gifts either.

But this was different. The Crown Prince himself had asked him to do this, and if coincidentally he could give back the repaired music box to the Princess on this of all days… so be it. Nobody ever had to know that it was meant as a Midwinter gift to his future wife – or that there was a second, more personal present hidden in that bundle. Nobody but her.

Smiling, he walked from one horse to the other, patting their necks and humming to keep them all calm, while his thoughts whirled around nothing but her. As always.

Last night, she’d been amazing. He’d expected her to become more active over time when it came to their lovemaking, given her confident nature. Coaxing her into trying to seek her own pleasure last night had been meant as a first step toward the vixen he assumed she’d eventually become, confident in her own sexuality, with the scars of the past having healed and faded. But, Freya, the reality had been so much more overwhelming than he ever could have anticipated. He’d done barely more than teasing her a little before she’d bucked and ground against him, had positively ridden his hand, and watching her fall apart like that had been one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

It meant he would need to be careful though, if he intended to spare his clothes – sneaking out to jerk off instead of spilling into his trousers every time she came over. But that was a small price to pay if it meant he could watch her curiously and confidently explore her own body, could hold and kiss and cuddle her, could dream with her about their future – even though the picture she’d drawn of their dream life had made him melancholic. It had been an almost picture-perfect description of the life they could have had, if only…

Trembling, he chased these unwanted thoughts away, just as a small voice broke the silence. “Milord?” the boy said carefully, eyeing the Grand Duke’s stallion Hunter behind Hiccup with an undeniably scared expression. “We’re done cleaning up and are ready to go.”

Hiccup nodded at the boy, one of the sorry lads Lavo had sent over to help him today. “All right. Have you decided yet who gets to ride which horse?”

The boy gulped, eyes still fixed on the stallion, and nodded. “I lost.”

Hiccup had to suppress a chuckle at the boy’s expression, and instead decided to put his mind at ease as best he could. “You don’t need to be afraid of Hunter. I know you’ve learned how to treat these horses, or Master Lavo wouldn’t have sent you.”

The boy bit his lip, but didn’t seem convinced. “Yes, but… but Wulf warned us about Hunter. He said, since he’s a trained war stallion, it’s very likely that he’ll throw us off because we’re not his usual rider, and–”

The boy broke off as Hiccup couldn’t keep from laughing now after all, even though he fought to keep it quiet to not agitate the horses. He felt at ease between them, as always, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t turn deadly at the right – or wrong – provocation. “And you believed him?” Hiccup asked, shaking his head. Wulf was an older stable boy in Lavo’s retinue, known to play pranks on the younger boys on every occasion he could. “Even I learned not to take everything Wulf says seriously, and I’d only been at the stud farm for a few months.” The boy’s face turned an entertaining shade of red, and, taking pity on him, Hiccup rectified, “Yes, Hunter is a war stallion, but a seasoned one. He’s used to different riders, as long as they know how to keep him calm. And between Crusher, who isn’t trained as a war stallion and by far not as aggressive, and Markor and Cassie, the only horses you’d need to be careful with are Squish and Trample – and I’ll be taking care of those. You don’t need to worry.”

The boy only looked partially convinced, but so long as he didn’t panic, everything would be fine. And Hiccup knew he wouldn’t. He’d been serious, after all; Lavo wouldn’t have sent him these boys to help if they couldn’t handle the horses.

A few minutes later, the three boys sat in their respective saddles, and Hiccup gave them the sign to start their way to the castle. Crusher and Hunter went ahead, probably the easiest to handle, while the third boy rode Cassie and led Markor on a rope behind him. It surely would have been easier to just place a fourth boy on Markor’s back instead, but as used to horses as these boys were, they were not used to ride on a side saddle, especially not one with decorations they could ruin with the tiniest motion.

“Don’t get too close to the stallions,” he warned the boy on Cassie’s back, signalling him to follow the others with a bit of a distance. “Markor gets a bit skittish around them sometimes.” The boy nodded, paling a little as he probably realised at that moment that he hadn’t gotten the easiest task after all.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Hiccup followed, riding Trample while leading Squish on a rope beside them, leaving a small distance as well, but still close enough to keep an eye on the boys and the horses. All in all, he was grateful to Lavo for having sent the boys, as getting all six horses to the castle for the parade all on his own would have been quite a challenge. But taking care of the boys in addition hadn’t been all that easy either. Although, it hadn’t really been Lavo’s idea anyway, and the main reason hadn’t been to help him with the horses either.

The slow ride to the castle was thankfully uneventful, and they arrived just in time, with the sun just beginning to set. By the front gates, Hiccup and several other grooms from the main stables stood ready with the horses for the Royals and their highest guests to lead the slow procession toward the Temple. He shifted a little uncomfortably in the formal outfit he had to wear, as he was to ride at his master’s side, but all in all, he was more filled with eager anticipation than with anything else.

During the last couple of years, he hadn’t really participated in any Midwinter festivities, but at home on Berk the ritual to pray for the sun’s return had been, like everything else, a relatively formless affair. Oh, sure, they observed the rites themselves, but beyond that, there had been lots to eat and drink, and by the time the sun set and everyone headed for the Temple hardly anyone was still sober. But from what he’d heard so far, here at the capitol, things went differently. It was a grand event; the long procession that would grow bigger the longer they rode through the city toward the Temple alone was worth it.

And the grand blot itself would be equally impressive, the beautiful plaza he’d admired the other day entirely filled with people and lights. It would surely be an overwhelming sight and worth being a part of at least once.

And then there was the fact that he would be able to celebrate this day with Astrid. Sure, he couldn’t be at her side, couldn’t hold her hand and show the world that he belonged to her. But as Eret’s squire, he at least could be near her, and that was worth every bit of discomfort he might feel in these excessive clothes.

They didn't need to wait long until the grand gates to the castle opened. King Osmond was the first, of course, with Daniel and the Grand Dukes right behind him, and many more following. It was a bit of a chaos, really. The place had been relatively full with countless horses and grooms before already, but now that the noblemen came in addition, all looking for their steeds, it was madness. Hiccup was just glad that, since he was in charge of the Prince's and Grand Duke Eret’s horses among others, he had one of the more advantageous spots on the plaza, close to both the castle entrance and the gate.

“Thank you, Hiccup,” Daniel said after he’d held Trample for him to mount the horse, and was about to do the same for Dagur. “How was your day? Did everything work as planned?”

A smile tugged at Hiccup's lips, even as he fought to keep a professionally composed expression. It had been on Daniel's suggestion that Lavo had sent him some helping hands – to help with the horses, yes, but Hiccup guessed that, in the end, that had only been a beneficial side effect. As far as he understood, Daniel was intent on returning the music box mended and repaired to Astrid before he left on the day after tomorrow, and, as he wasn’t capable to do it himself, was more than willing to accept every help he could get. “Yes, your Highness,” Hiccup replied, formally bowing his head. “I got everything done. Thank you for the assistance.”

Daniel nodded, beaming, but before he could say more, Eret greeted him with a clap on the shoulder. “You should be thanking me for not insisting on you accompanying me,” he groaned. “Seriously, this day of socialising was the worst. I wish I could have helped you instead of spending all afternoon with the Countess of Whitevale and her daughters.”

“Well, you survived,” Daniel commented dryly. “And let’s be honest, when it comes to ridiculous and unwanted proposals, we all got off easy today.” Both Eret and Dagur snorted, clearly in annoyed agreement, but before Hiccup could place any question as to what had happened, Daniel shook his head. “Let’s just be glad it’s all over,” he sighed. Then his gaze flickered away, past them, and his expression grew tight. When Hiccup followed his eyes, he spotted Astrid standing next to Markor, her posture tense with shoulders drawn up, and clearly unhappy.

Daniel huffed quietly, the leather of the reins creaking as his hands tightened around them. He looked around the plaza, then from Dagur to Eret, and back to Astrid. “Hiccup?” he eventually murmured, an odd tension in his voice. “I normally wouldn’t ask you, but we’re all already mounted, and it wouldn’t be appropriate to…” He trailed off, and slightly shook his head, teeth gritted, before he went on. “Could you go assist the Princess with mounting her steed?”

Hiccup’s eyes widened a little, but he quickly fought not to show his surprise – or his nervousness. “O-of course, Highness,” he replied, bowed again, and retreated. Even with how formal he usually behaved, doing so now was different. It was real – had to be real. But luckily, it came rather naturally, because he wasn’t sure if he could have pulled off the act otherwise.

He was about to publically interact with Astrid, on an open plaza and surrounded and possibly watched by countless noblemen and the King himself, was even to touch her. And even though it happened on the Prince’s request, it still made him nervous.

“Your Highness?” It was weird to use this form of address for her, but the only appropriate one right now. As she turned – her gown of dark blue satin with silvery detailings woven into the fabric looking as if the night sky itself was flowing around her – he was once more struck by just how beautiful she was. And the way her expression softened slightly at his sight only added to that. But no matter how much her sight warmed his heart and her presence gave him reassurance, he was acutely aware of their audience. “Please excuse me approaching you, your Highness. But the Prince asked me to offer you my help?” He let his words end in a question, asking her permission, as he indicated toward Markor behind her.

Astrid directly caught herself again, her usual mask in place as she glanced at her brother and then nodded at Hiccup. “Of course,” she replied, voice calm as if they were talking about the weather. “That is very kind of you.”

She took a step to the side to give him space, but Hiccup hesitated. For a moment, he considered offering her his hands or his knee to step on, or going to get a mounting block – there were a few around for the shorter people in the crowd. But that wasn’t how Daniel or Eret would do it, and it wasn’t what he wanted either. Not that he was too squeamish to get his hands or clothes dirty, or had forgotten that they weren’t alone... But frankly, he didn’t care what whoever was watching them thought. He knew that she wouldn’t mind his touch, and he acted on official request. Screw what anyone might think.

He heard Astrid’s breath hitch as he stepped closer and placed his hands on her waist. It took him barely more than a second to lift her lithe form up onto Markor’s back, their contact ending far too soon for his taste. As he retreated, he let his hand glide along hers, Astrid too surprised to pull back, then the moment was over. He took a further step backwards and bowed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Thank you,” Astrid said formally, having caught herself quickly again. When he lifted his head, she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. She’d already turned away, overlooking the crowd, and gave a pretty convincing show of ‘business as usual’.

But Hiccup knew better. He noticed the slight rosy hint on her cheek, saw beneath her mask of composure. She had enjoyed the small contact just as much as he had. Smiling slightly to himself, he walked to where the last of Lavo’s boys still held Cassie ready for him, and, after climbing into the saddle himself, took his position at Eret’s side.

He’d just drawn up next to his cousin when Eret muttered quietly, “That was a damn bold thing to do.”

Hiccup glanced up at him. Between Eret’s own height and the height of his steed, there was quite the height difference, and Eret was looking straight ahead. It was clear, however, that he was talking to Hiccup, even if it didn’t look like it. “Bold and foolhardy. Odin, Hiccup, you can’t just– You’re lucky that Swanja is tougher than Daniel gives her credit for. Friends or not, he would rip your head off if he thought you made her uncomfortable. You better keep that in mind, I’d rather not stand between my family and my best friend…”

Hiccup didn’t say anything to that. What was there to say anyway? He was ready to do whatever it took…

But did that also include pulling others into the line of fire?

. o O o .

So, here’s another important bit: I'll be honest and say I expected this question to come up sooner. But now, finally one wants to say, the question about their age came up (Over on FFnet). All information is woven into the story, but I also know especially Hiccup's age is not explicitly mentioned, so here are the ages of the characters.

Daniel: 23

Eret: 21

Dagur: 21

Hiccup: 21

Astrid: 17

Now, I expect there to be an outcry, calling me a paedophile and this story a horrible example for children and all that blah blah... And no matter what I write here, those outcries will come. Know that I will read them, laugh about it, and forget them. And for those who care about what I'm going to say about it:

In this world, the legal age for marriage is 16. It's only noblemen who have this custom of marrying their daughters off at 20. An age gap of four years (three actually if you take into consideration that Astrid is close to 18) is not 'problematic'. And this story isn't meant for children anyway ;p

Next chapter

[galileosunshine]

Hand in Hand

For Love Live! Secret Admirers 2018

Rating:  General Audiences Word count: ~3K Fandom: Love Live! / Love Live! Sunshine!! Pairings: ChikaRiko

Summary: Chika and Riko decide to exchange chocolates on Valentine’s Day. As simple a story as that ^^;

Link: read on AO3 

My present for @beemura for the Love Live Secret Admirers gift exchange (@lovelivesecretadmirer2018)! You asked in your prompt to “bwease hit me with that fluff,” and I hope I was able to fulfill your expectations XD I’m sorry it’s so late aah, but please enjoy!!

Hand in Hand

“So…Valentine’s Day is coming up,” Chika said out of the blue, stopping in her tracks.

Riko’s heart skipped a beat. “Um…yeah.” It was in a week, to be precise.

Their walk home from the bus stop had been unusually quiet until Chika spoke up. She must’ve been thinking about asking this entire time.

“So…are we going to celebrate it? Get each other chocolates and stuff?” Chika looked at her expectantly.

It was a strange question, coming from Chika. She was usually the first to rush headlong into things, rarely bothering to ask for permission or to consider the practicalities. And of course, Riko wanted to exchange chocolates, she thought that’d be obvious.

Nevertheless, she was glad Chika was asking, since she’d been hoping herself that Chika would be the one to bring the topic up. There was no way could she do it herself. That’d seem too desperate.

“Yeah, I’d like to,” she responded with a shy smile, and then quickly adding, “if you don’t mind, that is!”

Chika gave a big-toothed grin back. “Of course I don’t mind! I’m asking because…I was worried you might not want to. I know you can get kinda overly embarrassed over this stuff.”

So that was it, Riko thought, looking down and feeling a flush of heat rise to her face.

She walked up to Chika and pressed herself against her, leaning her head into Chika’s shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I want to celebrate Valentine’s with my girlfriend? I’ll just be a little embarrassed….but I’d love to get chocolate from you, Chika-chan.”

She was glad she was so close, since it hid her blushing face from view. But just to be sure, she nuzzled into Chika’s neck even further. Chika was always thinking of her, even for something like this it showed, and each time it made her fall in love all the more.

“Ahaha, yeah I was worrying too much,” Chika said, chuckling nervously and rubbing the back of her head. She then wrapped her arms around Riko in a tight hug. “I’d love to get chocolate from you too, Riko-chan.”

Unbeknownst to Riko, Chika’s face was burning red as well.

Riko wished she could stay in that moment forever, wrapped in each other’s embrace with the afternoon sun warming their backs and the sea breeze cooling their skin. It was like a scene from one of her yuri novels come to life…except it was better, for no other reason than the fact that it was with Chika. With Chika, Riko always felt like she was flying on top of the clouds.

Riko might’ve really stayed like that forever, were it not for the hum of a car engine down the road, forcing her back to reality. Realizing the public display of affection she was putting on, Riko quickly disentangled herself from Chika, blushing even more furiously than before.

“Aww, why’d you pull away,” Chika whined, with a hint of teasing.

“We have to get home eventually.” Riko started walking again, her head held high in feint nonchalance.

Chika giggled, not buying it for a second. She skipped in line with Riko, grabbed her arm, and locked them together.

“Chika-chan!” Riko gasped, startled.

“This much at least is fine, right?”

Riko looked into Chika’s magenta eyes and immediately knew it was a mistake. She could feel her resolve withering the longer she gazed into those bright orbs. “Maybe just…holding hands.”

“Yay!” Chika laughed and quickly switched from linking arms to grabbing Riko’s free hand. How quickly Chika gave in seemed to say that may have been what she wanted all along.

“Geez, I feel like you set me up.”

Chika snickered and swung their arms a few times like a child. “Maybe I did!”

Riko didn’t know it was possible for her to blush so much in the span of a few minutes. But she had to admit it felt nice, Chika’s hand. It was soft and cool and tender. She certainly fantasized about it before, walking home hand in hand…but again, it was the public presentation.

At least it was better than linking arms.

“Hey y’know,” Chika spoke up again. “You have to learn to deal with this much if we’re going to give each other chocolate.”

Riko hummed her grudging acknowledgement. “Wait, you don’t plan on giving them to me in front of everyone, do you?”

Chika gave her a sneaky look. “I want to.”

Riko groaned inwardly.

“I want to get you a big bouquet of flowers too! And a teddy bear! Then I’ll burst into your classroom at lunch time and prop my leg on a chair and flourish the flowers in the air and then announce my undying love– ”

Chika was unable to finish her sentence, because she started bursting out laughing at Riko’s mortified face. In fact, her entire body seemed to have frozen stiff.

“It’s ok, I’m joking!” Chika bumped their shoulders, and Riko visibly softened.

“You’d better be!”

Chika laughed again, until Riko started giggling as well.

When they had finally settled down, they continued walking in silence, save for Chika’s humming and her occasionally swinging their arms.

Riko stole a sidelong glance at Chika. Although she would die of embarrassment if Chika were to do it, the fact that Chika would be willing to profess her “undying love” in front of everyone made her heart ache with adoration.

Next to her, Chika was practically bouncing in anticipation of next week. She radiated energy and cheerfulness, as naturally and inescapably as the sun giving off rays. Riko wished she could be as straightforward with her feelings, but she also knew Chika loved her all the same. It was why she acquiesced to not do all that and cause her so much embarrassment.  

Her heart swelling, Riko realized she was looking forward to next week too. She moved a bit closer to Chika and leaned against her.

Chika gave her hand a squeeze in return, and they walked the rest of the way home, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.

“Hey, Riko-chan,” Chika said sitting from opposite Riko’s desk. “What’s your favorite kind of chocolate?”

Another sudden question from Chika.

Riko’s chopsticks stopped halfway to her mouth. “Is this for Valentine’s Day?”

It was three days before the holiday. Sharing her desk as a table, Chika was eating lunch with Riko in the classroom during the midday break.

“Ehehe yeah, we already said we’re getting each other chocolate,” Chika explained. “So since it’s not a surprise anymore, I want to make sure I get you something you like.”

“Oh…then, I like dark chocolate,” Riko answered.

Chika pushed back on her chair. “Ah, I should’ve expected from a city girl!”

“What’s with that?” Riko giggled. She thought that she didn’t fit the ‘city girl’ image at all. Or rather, she didn’t know what the image of a ‘city-girl’ was that Chika had in her head.

“Dark chocolate is so bitter, though!” Chika said, sticking her tongue out to demonstrate her distaste. “Only grown-up girls from Tokyo could like that stuff.”

Riko sighed, knowing she would never stop hearing things like that from Chika.

“I’m sure some girls here in Numazu must like dark chocolate too,” Riko replied. “Maybe you’re just the childish one, Chika-chan.”

“Whaaat? Me? No way,” Chika said, dragging out her words in exaggerated disbelief. She then spotted a mini tomato in Riko’s bento box. “Oh hey, let me have that! Ahhn…”

Riko stared amusedly at Chika’s wide-open mouth. Not only was her action in complete contradiction to what she just said, but her unquestioning assumption that Riko would go along with it and feed her was just too much.

“This is exactly what I mean,” Riko said, chuckling. She picked up the tomato with her chopsticks and placed it delicately into Chika’s mouth.

“’hank ‘ou,” Chika said, chewing, and her face beaming as she enjoyed the snack. Riko’s heart fluttered in her chest, and she looked to the side to hide the smile creeping up the corners of her mouth.

“You two sure are lovey-dovey today,” a classmate snickered from off to the side.

It took several seconds for Riko to process just what they had said.

“N-no! That was just…!” Riko sputtered in a panic. She mentally slapped herself for forgetting where she was, and that there were other people around.

“It’s ok, Sakurauchi-san, we’re only teasing,” her classmates laughed. “You and Takami-san sure are good friends.”

Riko didn’t know what to say back, and eventually they returned to their own conversation.

As Riko waited for her heart to settle, she pondered whether she should’ve agreed with what they said or not. Lovey-dovey. Good friends.

Part of her reveled in the fact that they seemed so close that they could be lovers. But the fact that they then brushed it off so quickly made Riko’s heart sink. The possibility that they really could be lovers…it was that far-off to them, huh?

And still, another part of her wasn’t sure whether she was ready for people to know about their relationship. In her panic, she had automatically tried to deny it herself. And Riko hated that part of her, as though she were ashamed of being with Chika. The thought darkened Riko’s mood considerably.

Riko suddenly felt something cool brushing against her hand.

It was Chika’s hand, she realized, as Chika snaked her fingers under Riko’s and intertwined them.

Chika gave her a small smile that seemed to say, “It’s alright.”

Chika rubbed her thumb across the top of Riko’s hand. The gentle back and forth motion was comforting, slowly drawing Riko out of her muddled thoughts.

“So, dark chocolate?” she said, her voice gentle.

“Huh? Oh, yeah…” Riko replied.

“You sure? Don’t blame me if it’s too bitter.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The fog in Riko’s mind dissipated, like vapor. Riko exhaled slowly and smiled back, realizing yet again that she was overthinking things. As long as her hand was in Chika’s, as long as they were together, everything would work out, everything in its own time.

It seemed she was always being comforted by Chika. She needed to pay her back somehow.

“What kind of chocolate do you like, Chika-chan?” She asked.

“Mmm, it doesn’t matter to me!” Chika said, after thinking for a second. “As long as its sweet! None of that bitter, dark chocolate for me.”

Riko laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand.

“Hey, what are you laughing for,” Chika whined, but her grin said she was anything but annoyed.

“You’re acting like a kid again,” Riko said.

“Fine, maybe I am one,” Chika turned her head and huffed. “It’s whatever! Just make sure the chocolate’s good.”

“Okay, I’ll get you the sweetest milk chocolate I can find.”

“Yay! Goodie!”

They both dissolved into giggles. Now knowing what to get each other for Valentine’s, they were both looking forward to the day even more.

On Valentine’s day, the first words out of Riko’s mouth weren’t the most romantic words one could say.

“….you have bags under your eyes, Chika-chan,” Riko said, after exchanging their good mornings.

“Do I? Aww…” Chika groaned, but opening her mouth made her yawn.

“Did you stay up late?” Riko’s voice was small. She hoped she didn’t sound too hopeful over what she suspected was the reason for Chika’s late night.

“Um, yeah. I was still…making your chocolate. I wanted it to be perfect!”

Her hope confirmed, Riko felt like her heart could leap out of her chest at that very moment. Chika didn’t just buy her premade chocolate, but tried to make some herself, and stayed up late doing it.

Her chest swelling, and feeling emboldened, Riko walked up to Chika and planted a quick peck on her cheek. “Thank you, Chika-chan, you’re so sweet.”

Chika’s face turned bright as a mikan. “Ahh, it’s not that special.”

“You’re sweeter than chocolate, Chika-chan.”

Chika looked away, playing with the ribbon in her braid. “Your chocolate isn’t even that sweet to begin with, so I don’t know about that.”

“It’s true! I could just eat you up.” Riko laughed at as Chika’s face seemed to flash through six different shades of red in the span of a few seconds.

“But…your chocolate,” was all she could force out, and Riko chuckled at her loss of words.

“Here, I have your chocolate too,” Riko said, to take her mind off the embarrassment. Riko had made the chocolate herself as well, but she started early enough in the afternoon to be able to finish at a reasonable time and get some sleep.

She unzipped her school bag and reached in to pull out the gift, but Chika suddenly waved at her to stop.

“Wait! Let’s not do it here!”

“Eh? Why not?” Riko looked around, it was the perfect opportunity.

They were all alone at the bus stop, and the sun had only just begun to rise. The air was calm and peaceful. Riko couldn’t think of a more scenic, not to mention private, spot to exchange chocolates, before the business of school caught up with them.

Suddenly, before she could even register what was happening, Chika grabbed her hand and started running. “Let’s go down to the beach!”

“Chika-chan, wa–!” Riko shout was cut short as they took off down the sidewalk, Riko being dragged along, just barely managing to hang on to her chocolate.

They came to an opening in the rails separating the sidewalk from the beach and ran down the stone steps, finally setting their feet on the orange sand. Riko let go of Chika’s hand, and bent on her knees to catch her breath.

“Seriously, Chika-chan, you’ve got to give a warning before you do these kinds of things!”

“Sorry! But I really wanted to do it here.”

“We’re going to miss the bus for school!”

Recovering enough to breathe properly, Riko straightened and finally noticed their location. And suddenly, she couldn’t care less about making the bus.

The small parse of shrubbery behind them. The familiar curve of the beach front. Uchiura’s pier to their right. This was the spot where they first met, where Chika quite literally tackled her way into Riko’s life and nearly drowned them both, and where, cold and wet and huddled next to a trash fire, Chika first exposed her to the world of idols.

“See? This is the perfect spot!” Chika said next to her. “Now we can exchange chocolates.”

Riko looked into Chika’s eyes, glistening like the sea in front of them. The corners of her mouth perked up, and Riko let out a sharp breath, and another, and then more and more until she burst out laughing. She laughed at how innocent and oblivious Chika was, as to how irresistible a force she could be, how she was always sweeping Riko up into her own pace.

“You don’t have to make such a big deal out of the location,” Riko said between gasps of air.

“No, everything needs to be perfect!” Chika said emphatically, with a little stomp of her foot. And then, quieter. “Because you deserve the best.”

Riko finally was able to quiet her laughter, dispelling the last of it with a sigh of happiness. “I don’t deserve you, though.”

“And I don’t deserve you, my miracle,” Chika replied. She scooted closer to Riko, only an arm’s length apart, and Riko found herself sucking in a breath from how close they were.

Chika took out her box of chocolates from her bag and held it out, and Riko did the same with hers.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Riko-chan,” Chika said, her voice soft and gentle and full of love.

“Happy Valentine’s day to you too,” Riko returned.

Breathlessly, they passed their boxes into each other’s hands, and it felt as though they passed along something of themselves too, to each other.

“I love you,” Riko whispered.

“I love you, too.” Chika leaned in and kissed her quickly.

Riko flushed, and she felt dizzy with happiness. Her body felt so light that the barest hint of a breeze could set her drifting off in the wind. Again, Riko felt like she could stay in that moment forever, drinking in the sun’s rays, the lull of the ocean, and most of all, Chika’s presence, her love, her affection, and her admiration.

But once again, she was shaken from her stupor from the roar of engines.

“Aw, crap, there’s the bus!” Chika cried out, grabbing Riko’s hands again and starting to break into a run. “C’mon it’s going to leave without us!”

“Ah, Chika-chan! Wait!”

Riko wished she could’ve tried some of the chocolates first, in the privacy and intimacy of the empty beach, before being hauled off to school. But that’s alright. They can eat their chocolates on the bus. And maybe, if there weren’t too many people on the bus that morning, Riko could feed Chika one of her chocolates.

The thought put a small smile on Riko’s lips as she ran, staring at Chika’s back and their connected hands before her. And she realized – she was always being pulled along by Chika. But Chika always, always led her to just where she wanted to be, where she needed to be. To hear the sound of the ocean, to be on stage again facing the piano, and finally to shine with Aqours. And for that, she would be forever grateful.

The chocolates she gave to Chika were a testament to her feelings. And the chocolates Chika gave her were, hopefully, only a taste of what was to come.

Riko squeezed Chika’s hand even tighter, hoping that this, them running together, hand in hand, would never change.

[welovekpopscenarios]

Mine (Jungkook x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Prompt/Ask: Hello! Could I request a Jungkook smut where he gives you a very rough spanking becuase you obliviously made him jealous. Like it wasn't on purpose, it was because you are way too innocent and didn't realize you made him jealous. Please, if you are unconfortable, just let me know and I'll change my request

-AND-

Hai!! Could you do a smut with jungkook where he gets jealous of the other members being around/comfortable with you XD make em super possessive during the nasty, love😩💕

Fandom: BTS

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: spanking, language?, sex (obviously lmao)

Word Count: 3809

Authors Note: Woahh, so this is the first smut I’ve written holy moly (ravioli ravioli give me the formuoli lmao) so I hope this was good enough! I kinda made it CEO!Jungkook, because I drew inspiration from the gif (I could stare at it for days oml halp), and I also combined two asks I got for Jungkook since they were similar. I hope I did my bias justice and wrote a good smut for him lol. Enjoy, as always, and feedback is appreciated! If there are any errors please let me know! Happy reading ^^

“No way, baby girl. I think you need to be punished.”

You watched as he made his way to the edge of the bed, loosening his tie as he went, and gulped. He sat down, zeroed his dark eyes on yours, pointed to his lap, and gave one command.

“Bend over.”

What did you do to deserve such a punishment? Well, let’s go back to the beginning.

-

Jeon Jungkook was one of the most successful businessmen in Korea despite being a tender age of 19, on the cusp of 20. After inheriting his father’s business at 16 when he passed away suddenly, Jungkook was thrust into a world of numbers, markets and shady business deals – a world he was not educated in. But Jungkook had determination. And this determination to become one of the best drove him to completely reinvent his father’s company in a new, modern image, quickly rocketing him to position of wealth and popularity in his home country and internationally.

Now, four years later, the company is still going strong, with new partnerships being forged and deals finalised. A partnership Jungkook did not expect, was his partnership with you. When you first joined the company two years ago, you were just an assistant. Not even an assistant of his, far too inexperienced at the time to keep up with his endless schedule. Just an assistant of some head in a lower department of his company. You should have been unnoticeable. Except for a meeting that resulted in changing your life and his.

It happened on the day Jungkook called a rare emergency meeting. A rival business had created a scandal in an effort to diminish Jeon & Co.’s light, desperate to gain back the fame they once claimed. So, he called in the head of each department in his company, wanting to get a solution to this problem before the flames of deceit could spread and the company could remain on top.

Despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, the meeting was quite relaxed, all head’s joking around with their assistants standing behind them, seated at the large conference table on the top floor, top to floor glass windows covering the area and giving the perfect view of the economical kingdom Jeon Jungkook ruled over.

Jungkook was normally a focused man when it came to his business and his meetings, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to you every so often, strangely drawn to the seemingly indifferent presence you bring to the room. He takes note of how…normal you are. Normal, but endlessly beautiful to his eyes. It almost causes a chuckle to pass his lips, the absurdity of how you don’t fit in with the top dogs of business and finance bringing amusement to him. It’s charming, in a way, your eyes wide and scanning the room, heat rising to your cheeks and ears occasionally, and how you furiously write down notes, eager to learn and do a good job in the presence of the higher ups.

As the meeting progresses, Jungkook makes an interesting discovery. The keenness and purity you display in the meeting is not a once off occurrence: it’s seemingly in your nature. The only words coming to mind when Jungkook takes note of your confused features when one of the members of the meeting makes a particularly crude joke is honest. Good. Innocent. And it only intrigues Jungkook even more.

He’s no stranger to women. He meets with them all the time, in the company, at business parties, through acquaintances; but they’re all the same. They’re all vixens, out to dominate him and control his will, and he hates it. He’s partial to a woman taking the reins from time to time (the pleasure tends to outweigh the trouble), but it’s never satisfying, nothing more than a quick fuck, and then he’s back to work the next day. The women don’t usually contact him again. Out of sight, out of mind.

So, when he lays eyes on you that day at the meeting, he’s captivated, and Jungkook is a man who knows what he wants.

As it turns out, (from his observations), your nervous disposition near your boss is due to his harassment of you and women in general, something that Jungkook does not tolerate in his company. So, he waits. Waits until the end of the meeting, after everyone has stood up, ready to make their exit, when he garners the attention of the people in the room and your boss, a man who’s name Jungkook doesn’t even know, and fires him publicly, on the spot. The man stutters and splutters, begging for his job back, making a show of himself in front of an audience, but Jungkook shrugs off his pleas, explains his reasons for firing him, and allows everyone to make their leave. He is easily replaceable, his personal assistant already making calls to find a backup, and he adds another task to his assistants never-ending list; the task to move you to a higher position (one near him), and to find you suitable work.

By the next week he’s passed you in the halls more times than he can count, so he stops one day, strikes up a conversation, eventually asks for a date after days of amiable chatting and shy smiles from you, and now two years later you’ve become one of the most well-known women in the world; all because you fell in love with Jungkook as hard as he fell for you.

You’ve been by his side through thick and thin, supporting him and being a shoulder to lean on that he never knew he desperately needed in first place. You loved him, more than he probably deserved, and in turn you became his world, his light, the only person he needed. Someone he wanted to have and protect for all his days. He is your shield, of sorts, your innocent nature only furthering his need to have you all to himself. Jungkook was never a jealous man, not one to take interest in the cat and mouse game women tried to play with him (Jungkook was not one to be considered a mouse), but you were a whole different story.

Only you could unleash the envious monster hidden inside him.

-

A man of Jungkook’s notoriety is expected to attend various glamorous events in his life, ranging from red carpets, photoshoots, new openings, and his most frequent one; charity balls. You attended each and every single one of them with him, an arm linked around his or his hand on the small of your back.

This one was no different. Another ball held in order to raise money for hospitals around the country, a noble cause, one that many are more than happy to contribute too. Numerous celebrities and wealthy businessmen make an appearance at the ball, be it as a PR stunt or simply out of the goodness of their hearts, these balls are nothing short of extravagant and honoured.

Among those attending the ball, Jungkook’s closest friends and workers also show face in this grand event, men you have met a handful of times but treated you as close as they would Jungkook (“Anyone who makes Jungkook happy is a friend of ours”). You recognise them instantly as you stand next to Jungkook, the both of you dressed up in the finest brands money can buy. Jimin notices you both first, sending a nod in Jungkook’s direction and an eye-curling smile in yours, one you return bashfully. Alerting the other men to Jungkook’s arrival, the group turns to face the pair of you, greeting both of you with smiles and slaps on the back for Jungkook.

The night continues smoothly, many donations of large numbers being made, friendships strengthened and drinks plentiful to match the boisterous mood of the ball. You’ve enjoyed yourself immensely, chatting with the boys and laughing the night away.

It’s when you’re in conversation with Jimin, Namjoon and Hoseok, who are in varying stages of inebriation ranging from tipsy to absolutely hammered, when the night takes a turn. Not particularly for the worst.

You had been oblivious (as you usually were) to Jimin’s advances or smirks, Namjoon’s not-so-subtle winks and Hoseok’s blatant flirting, playing it off as spirited banter between the four of you. So, when Jimin drops a card he was holding that managed to float somewhere behind you, looking up at you with a (too) innocent, surprised look on his face, ‘wondering’ how the card fell in the first place, you laugh and turn around to pick it up for him. Your good intentions were received in a different light, when this gave the opportunity to get a view of your behind as you bent over to pick up the dropped item. Turning around and handing Jimin the card back to Jimin, the boys give you bright smiles, and once again you were blind to the true nature of those smiles.

And Jungkook had the perfect view of what happened from his spot by the bar, mid conversation with the CEO of another company.

And all Jungkook could see now was red.

Not one to leave your side, on the rare occasion he must, he’s always kept an eye on you, not wanting you to be uncomfortable or lonely while his presence is missing, but he trusted the boys to take care of you while he was gone. Trust, he now felt, was slightly skewed.

He’s not stupid. He knows how the boys can be when a woman as stunning as you is with them. He’s seen the smirks and the narrowed eyes when they think he isn’t looking. And he’s ignored it for the most part. They know his heart belongs to you, and vice versa, but this is something that leaves a burning sensation in his stomach, and the selfish part of him wants to drag you away from them and keep you all to himself. He can’t keep you all to himself, he knows this, you are your own person, but for tonight, all he thinks is mine, and decides to bring his plan to fruition.

So Jungkook says a quick goodbye to the CEO who he’s been, truthfully, ignoring for the better half of ten minutes and stalks over to where you stand with the others, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. Namjoon spots Jungkook first, eye’s widening slightly at his stony face.

“Jungkook, you’re back,” he greets, all three straightening up to the best of their abilities. Jungkook heads straight towards you and wraps his arm around your waist possessively, pulling you to his side. He looks down at you, and instantly you know something was bothering him.

“Jungkook, what’s wrong? Is everything alright?” you whisper to him, concern etched across your face but you can’t read his hardened expression, his body taut with tension.

“I’m ready to go home. Get your things, we’re leaving,” he said, and brushed off any questions you asked afterwards, instead fixing his gaze on his three friends, who wilted underneath his cold glare.

Saying your goodbyes, Jungkook walked ahead of you and walked briskly to the car waiting for you outside. You found his behaviour odd, he usually had a hand on or near you. But now, his posture was stiff and unforgiving, and you couldn’t discern what exactly was wrong.

-

The ride back home was quiet despite your attempts at conversation. Jungkook’s answers were brief and clipped, tone agitated and kept his gaze outside the window, knee bouncing up and down continuously. Eventually you gave up and brought your gaze to your own window, a sick feeling settling deep within your stomach.

Arriving at the gates of his estate, you were eager to go to bed. Hopefully whatever was troubling Jungkook would be forgotten in the morning, and you would wake up to the beautiful man you knew, not whoever he is right now. You’ve seen him angry, you’ve seen him stressed, it happens when someone as young as him has responsibility over one of the richest companies in the world. But right now, Jungkook seems like he’s fuming, absolutely tense with anger, and you don’t know if running your hands through his hair and whispering reassuring words in his ear is going to work this time.

Exiting the car when it pulled up to the front of the house, Jungkook strides towards the door and stops as he reaches it, turning around and waiting for you to enter first. This is something he normally does, but you weren’t expecting this display of chivalry with how irate he seems. You smile gratefully nonetheless, and make your way up the stairs in the foyer to the bedroom you share, impatient to just change and sleep your worries off.

Entering the master bedroom, you slip off your shoes and push them to the side, taking off you’re your jewellery as you went. Facing the vanity in the room and slipping the jewellery into their rightful places, you’re startled when Jungkook closes the door with a bit more force than normal, narrowed eyes positioned on yours reflected in the mirror. He takes off his shoes and shrugs off his suit jacket, gaze never leaving yours as he stops near you. Just staring.

You slowly turn around, meeting his eyes uncertainly. He does nothing, except stare. And stare. And stare. Finally, you speak.

“Are you ok, Jungkook?”

At your question, Jungkook presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

“Who do you belong to?”

The question stuns you, something you did not expect to come out of his mouth. Ever. He knows you’re not property, knows nobody is, so the question leaves you wondering what has gotten into him, and your only answer is a stupefied expression.

Your silence ticks Jungkook off, and he scoffs, a disapproving stare trained on you.

“You really don’t see it, do you? You really can’t see the way other men look at you, wanting to take you away from me. Sweet, really, how pure you are. But it’s not that sweet when you bend over for other men to gawk at your ass.”

Ah, you realise belatedly, he was jealous. Very jealous. And now you know why he was frigid ever since you both came home, why he rushed you home. He was positively seething with jealousy.

You try to justify a crime you didn’t even realise you had committed.

“Wait…what? I-I didn’t know they were staring…Jimin dropped something so I went to pick it up for him…” you trail off, realising he wasn’t going to back down. His eyes, you notice, are impossibly black, and filled to the brim with lust.

“You know I love you, more than I can say. You own every piece of me I can give you. And I hoped that you would be the same,” Jungkook sighs, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, and yours eyes follow the movement, heat shooting straight to your core. Jungkook was a dominant lover with you, and you lived for it, but this enviousness that you can practically feel radiating off him is new – and it’s exciting. You know jealousy is not healthy, but right now you couldn’t care less, too preoccupied with desire clouding your mind and filling the air in the room. Jungkook continues speaking once both sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing his forearms. “You think I liked watching them stare at you like you were meat? That you weren’t with me?”

Some part of you enjoys the envy he’s displaying – it makes you feel wanted, desired. But with Jungkook, that was already a common trait. It’s just…heightened, right now.

“I-I’m sorry…I really didn’t know…”

He furrows his brows and tuts. “You think I can let you get away with this?”

You can’t speak, tongue heavy in your mouth and excitement pulsing through your body.

“No way, baby girl. I think you need to be punished.”

You watched as he made his way to the edge of the bed, loosening his tie as he went, and gulped. He sat down, zeroed his dark eyes on yours, pointed to his lap, and gave one command.

“Bend over.”

With shaky legs, you walked over towards Jungkook, and stopped once you reached him. Unsure how to proceed, Jungkook grabbed your waist and tugged you so you were bending over his lap, upper half supported by the bed and lower half supported by his legs.

Jungkook’s hand trails up and down your back passing over your rear, before going lower to grab them hem of your dress and lift it up, leaving your ass exposed to him.

“There were three of them. Three who stared at this beautiful ass,” he emphasises his words by giving it a squeeze, a breath escaping you. “So, I think that deserves ten slaps each.”

Your eyes widen at that, not expecting that much. He’s spanked you before, but never that many, and not as fired up as he was right now.

“Can you handle that, baby?” he asks, looking towards you. You meet his eyes over your shoulders, and you know if you say anything other than ‘yes’, he’ll get even more irritated and it won’t be an enjoyable night for either of you. So, you nod your head, not trusting your voice and hope he’ll take it. Jungkook seems to accept it and says, “count them out loud for me.”

Nodding once again, you face forward and brace yourself for the slap to come. And quite the slap it was, sending your head upwards and yelp from your lips. But you know that’s only the beginning.

“One,” you count, voice breathless.

A slap appears again, but you prepared yourself this time, reaction not as exaggerated and count “two.”

Slap. “Three.” Slap. “Four.” Slap. “Five.” And it continues until he reaches ten. He stops for a moment, soothing the marks he created with his hand and giving you a moment to collect yourself. You whine, and bask in the comfort. Your legs feel like jelly, and it’s embarrassing how positively dripping you are at only 10 spanks, something you know he’s aware of, if the cocky smirk plastered on his face is any indication.

“You’re doing so well baby, only twenty more,” he coos, and once again you get ready for the onslaught of stings his hand will bring. “Ready?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out, and it begins again. Slap after slap.

He stops once again when he reaches twenty, soothing your raw red behind with his hands once more, whispering about how well you’re doing in your ear. Your breathing is shallow, hunger settling deep in the pit of your core. The pleasure outweighs the pain, and you can’t wait to get to the main event. Neither can Jungkook, enjoying this far too much, his rock-hard member straining against pants.

“Ten more, kitten, you can take more can’t you? And then I’ll reward you for your good behaviour,” he says, and it sends heat through you. With a revived sense of determination, you nod, and brace for the last ten spanks.

Once it’s all over with you deflate and feel Jungkook bend down to kiss your red cheeks, sending words of praise to you as he does so.

“You’ve been a very good girl for me, baby. And good girls get rewarded. Can you sit up for me?”

He helps you upwards and positions you on the bed, in which you sit up for a second before flopping on your back against the silk sheets, no energy left. Jungkook chuckles and helps you out of your dress and underwear, leaving you completely bare before his eyes. He looks up and down at you approvingly before leaning down kiss you, hard and strong, a kiss that leaves you breathless and full of want.

“Please Jungkook, I need you,” you whisper out when you part, and it sets Jungkook into motion, not wanting to waste any more time. He straightens up and rips off his shirt, moving to unbuckle his belt and pull off his pants. You admire his physique as he does so, eyes roving over the muscles that you never get tired of seeing. Jungkook smirks when he catches you ogling him, and you pull him down for a kiss when he finally rids himself of his pants and underwear. You feel his erection press against your soaking pussy and impatience floods your body.

“Jungkook, please,” you whimper against his mouth, and he grabs his cock, sliding it up and down your folds before easing in until your hips meet, a sigh leaving his lips. Giving a few moments for you to adjust, you rock your hips upwards, signalling you were ready and a groan leaves Jungkook’s lips as he starts to move.

You’re breathing picks up as his pace does, leaving you breathless and incoherent, muttering only his name and moans, your fingers laced in his hair and pulling. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your core tighten as he goes harder, when his voice makes your eyes open again.

“Look at me, baby, look only at me. I want to see you when you cum,” he moans out, angling his hips and hitting a spot inside you that sets your body alight. You obey, and keep your eyes on him, even as his hand snakes down past your breasts to rub your clit in fast circles, pleasure spiking through every crevice of your being before it bursts, shooting waves of pleasure throughout your form, mouth open in a silent moan but your eyes never stray from Jungkook’s as he pumps in and out of you faster to reach his high, following you soon after, head bowed as he moans out words like “beautiful”, “baby”, and “mine”. He collapses on top of you, spent and presses light kisses of love against your neck that makes you smile.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he rests his head on your chest, his arms tight around your waist as you both catch your breath. You break the silence that has surrounded you.

“So, you were jealous?”

Jungkook cringes and burrows his face further into your chest, making you laugh at his sudden shyness.

“Yeah. I can’t help it though. I want to be the only one you need, the only one to make you feel good. I love you too much to let you go,” he admits, and it makes your heart warm with affection.

“Idiot, I’m not leaving you. I won’t ever, I love you. Not anyone else. Just you,” you reply, smiling warmly down at him when he peeks up at you and he grins, leaning in for another passionate kiss, wrapping you up in his arms protectively as you both fall asleep together.