#it was similar to like a squirrel jump but just way more powerful n before anybody thinkz it was a big squirrel there's no shot

[stopfunkinwmyheart]

[kpopchangedme]

Bang Chan | Royal Affair [M]

Your fiancé had always been audacious but you never thought he'd dare sneak into your royal quarters after nightfall...

Protagonists: Bang Chan & You (ft. a very wise Park Jinyoung)

Word Count: 4.7k

Genre: NSFW | SMUT | Romance | Princess | First Time | **Sexually explicit** - [Drabble 2k]

Prompt: “If you keep looking me like that I won’t be able to handle myself” [for @marklee-johnnyseo​​]

Stray Kids | M.list

You barely had time to register your advisor's toupet before ducking behind a stone bench. Muffling your giggles with your palm, you looked back at Chan who wasn’t doing any better. His eyes had creased, glimmering with amusement, and his cheeks were reddened from your little run. Your heart swelled at the lovely sight. Still beaming, he reached, brushing a strand away from your face. His fingers lingered there, trailing your ear until they were against your nape. The moment stretched into infinity before he claimed them back once your silent laughter died down. Your advisor’s calls echoed, still looking for you in the maze of the French Gardens. He was getting more urgent by the minute but you didn’t mind.

There was not much time left for you two anyway.

Chan leaned in and you removed your hand, tilting your head to receive his furtive kiss. Softly, his lips ghosted over yours, the touch barely a graze before it was gone. Keeping your eyes shut, you savoured the moment as your fiancé’s breath climbed on your cheek until it was in the crook of your neck. His other hand slid on the grass, finding yours to intertwine fingers. 

“Write to me,” he demanded in a whisper. A shiver travelled your spine.

“Every day,” you gladly promised, “I’ll expect you back at the palace soon nonetheless.”

Chan chuckled softly, nose tickling your ear. “I’ll come before the first snowfall.”

“Winter is so far away,” you whined right back.

“You’ll pray for a cold Autumn, I'm sure.”

“There you go, teasing me again...” 

“I will neither rest nor eat before every single enemy of the throne is defeated...” He was only half-joking. “The sooner the rebellion is quashed, the sooner I’ll be called back.” 

“Chan, don’t be foolis–”

“Y/n…” He was more serious when he interrupted your scolding and sat, staring at you intently. “Tonight–”

“Princess!” Chan jerked backwards at Jinyoung’s interruption, startled to have been discovered so soon and you jumped up, panting. “Lord Bang!”

“Sir Park!” The young Lord exclaimed with similar disparagement making you snort.

“The Queen has called you to her chambers,” the advisor quipped back, highly unimpressed, and your stomach sank at the news. “While I believe you – Lord Bang – were expected by the House half an hour ago.” Tugging at your dress that had been goofed by your short escape and run through the gardens, you missed Chan’s magistral eye roll. “The Duke doesn’t like to be kept waiting, my Lord,” Walking the fine line between impoliteness and indisputable truth, Jinyoung smiled haughtily. If you hadn’t just been caught fooling around with your fiancé, perhaps you’d have more ground to call out the royal advisor on his attitude problem, but he was an expert at that game. Jinyoung always won when it came to reason.

“Who would dare make my uncle wait to order me around?” Sarcastic, Chan excused himself before hurrying to the House of Lords, not without one last heavy look your way. He'd probably come to the same conclusion as you; fighting your advisor with words was not worth the wasted effort. 

Later, Chan's wink assured. Sure, your coy smile replied.

You would see him soon enough.

Before the first snowfall, he had promised.

___

The night had come, you were now sitting in front of your tinted glass, trying to loosen the knot in your stomach as well as the ones in your hair. Your discussion with the Queen and Jinyoung had made you wary, painting the Duke in a new much grimmer light. You couldn't shake the dread of their suspicions.

They'd said you were getting old enough so they didn't see any point in shielding you from the matters of the throne anymore. As they’d voiced their concerns over the power-crazed leader of the House of Lords only one thing had been on your mind.

Jinyoung's usually wise judgement was unforgiving, he was certain the Duke was weaponizing the rebellion to ensure instability throughout your future kingdom. There were only a few months left before your wedding, before your older sister's planned abdication. The people loved you but you were still young, having the support of the House was requisite for your coronation to go seamlessly. 

Something only an alliance with one of the most powerful families could ensure. 

Your trust in Chan was unwavering and so was your advisor’s, remarkably so. But said loyalty, as it turned out, was the main cause of your worries tonight.

If Chan married you as intended, his uncle's ambitions would be laid to rest... But if your soon-to-be High King was to never return from his latest military assignment...

Something cold stirred in the pit of your stomach.

If Jinyoung was right, and to your knowledge, he was rarely ever not, this could all be a plot by the horrid Duke to have you marry him instead.

Chan was leaving for the frontlines at dawn tomorrow and now you couldn't help thinking back to his wink, that kiss in the gardens, wondering if this would be your last farewell.

A muffled sound right outside your window pulled you out of your anguish. 

You held your breath, listening keenly for a few seconds. Another thud, louder and unmistakenly closer this time. Standing in fear, you glanced back at your door. Should you hail the guards? The last time you had been frightened, it’d turned out to be a simple rodent in your parapet. Against disturbing them, you grabbed your letter opener and tiptoed to the large window by yourself. Just as you were leaning over, a formless shadow hoisted itself up making you yelped in terror. Startled, the dark silhouette raised its head and your hand around the paper cutter loosened.

"C-Chan!”

“I thought I saw an early snowflake f...” Seeing your poor state, your fearless fiancé shut up and lost the dumb smile, still crouched on your stone window frame. “By God, were you about to gut me?”

“Princess?”

There was a knock on your door and the fortune weapon slipped your fingers, falling on your carpet. You might be promised to one another, but sneaking into the royal quarters was still a crime punishable by beheading. Without thinking, you shoved Chan behind the embroidered folding screen in the corner of your room. Thankfully just in time, since half a second later your guard busted in, sword drawn.

“My apologies...” Jackson hastily faced back the door when he caught a glimpse of your indecent attire and put his weapon away. “I thought I heard you scream, your Royal Highness.”

“Y-Yes...” you admitted, heart in a frenzy. “I, uh, thought I saw… A squirrel at the window!”

“Oh,” you cringed at the smile in his voice, “Want me to get rid of it? Where–”

“NO!” Jackson froze again when you yelled, about to step closer.

From his fortune hiding spot, Chan didn't seem worried about his head at all. He had noticed something far more interesting. Blushing furiously, you kicked his shin when he reached for your lacy bodice, discarded over the folded screen. He hissed through his teeth at the hit, making the royal guard glance over his shoulder once again, curious. 

“Very well then Princess,” lingering suspicion in his eyes, Jackson conceded half-heartedly, “I’ll keep post.” Relieved, you thanked him and he excused himself. As soon as your door safely shut again, you faced the troublemaker, astounded.

Nevermind the Duke's scheming, Chan would end up executed before your wedding and coronation all on his own.

“What are you doing?” He pulled you behind the screen with him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Wondering…” He pressed a tentative peck on your cheek, undoubtedly heated by his antics. “Is this the haven that sees you undress daily?” Chan’s fingers grabbed a silk ribbon, hooked into your abandoned bodice, and you groaned, highly embarrassed. “I feel like I am having the most vivid dream, love.”

“You shouldn’t have come, you need to leave. If we get caught...” Your skin betrayed you, shivering as he pressed a second kiss to your jawline, at the very beginning of your neck. 

“Mmm… Don't want to.” He brought his mouth back to your left ear, breath tickling it. “Are you gonna scream for your guard, Princess?” 

“Chan…” You sighed in defeat when he cupped your face, running a thumb on your cheek.

This was nothing like your usual escapades in the gardens or dark, empty alcoves. You were both well aware of it. With only your nightgown on, you could feel the warmth of his body and you were sure that if he looked down, he’d see through the sheer fabric.

“I’m leaving in a few hours,” he lamented, and you weren't sure if he meant your bedroom or for his mission. Since you didn’t protest, he kissed your mouth, soft but firmer than earlier that afternoon. There was no one to interrupt this time, and his mouth opened yours, tentatively tasting your tongue. Throwing decency out the window, you pressed closer, and Chan had to step back and lean against the wall to remain up. 

“You are mad.” You accused in a whisper, not minding at all. 

“Smitten,” he replied, forehead against yours to stare into your eyes. His arms slid on the fine fabric, stopping where your lower back curved in.

“This is insane,” your own hands travelled on his neck, “we’ll get caught and you’ll get punished.”

“I would’ve died from not seeing you alone before I left.” His lips pressed yours again. “Execution will be far more pleasing knowing I had you unattended.”

“Don’t tease,” you groaned seriously, tilting your head upwards but he only smiled against your mouth.

“I am not, my love… You are killing me.” His tongue grazed your lower lip stealing you an unfamiliar mewl. Suddenly, Chan pushed you to safety, away from him. He seemed almost frightened by the lewd sound, face coloured, lips glistening, breathless. 

It got even worse when he finally looked down at your nightgown, your chest was naked, brushing against the fabric. Even in the candlelight, he could distinguish your shaded nipples, very little was left to his imagination. His gaze darkened as his chin dropped, the faint lighting stretching eerie shadows on his features.

“Do you always sleep in this?” Your modesty screamed to cover yourself, but something about the way he hushed those words, almost like an accusation, kept you from doing so. Your chin bobbed and Chan exhaled heavily, running his fingers through your strands. He hadn’t seen your hair loose since you both were kids. Back then you could spend every day together without any adult thinking much of it. “When are our nuptials again?”

“Chan…” You protested faintly at his humour, but he didn't seem to hear the wariness in your voice. His imminent absence and the dangers ahead weighed you down, but he was still high on the thrill of his illicit stunt.

“If you keep looking at me like that…” He heaved, gaze heavy with more unsaid improper things. This was not the look of a boy, but one of a grown man. “I want you so much I’m contemplating treason right now.”

“Oh, just now contemplating treason?” Tilting your head, you raised a skeptical brow. It was your turn to get caught up in the game “You climbed here knowing very well there would be no chaperone, Chan.”

“I mustn’t have thought that far ahead.” He so obviously lied that you quietly laughed, covering your whole face with your hands. “Y/n…” Chan exhaled, as though reading your mind. “Don't worry, I won’t do anything irrevocable. I’m not that foolish, that's not what I am here for.” Misreading.

“What are you even implying?” Faking offence, you backed away, letting him get the full view of your negligee. “Do I look like a lady of the evening to you, Lord Bang?” It took Chan everything to not follow you, drooling. Oddly bashful, he looked away, unable to see you standing near your large canopy bed like that. It’d be way too easy to lay you right here and then. His ears were scarlet at the simple thought.

“I merely wanted to see you before leaving. I would never suggest anything along those lines, your Royal Highness...” His voice was so ushered this time that you almost misheard. You glanced at the door, knowing full well no one would come back until your morning routine.

“I am aware, Chan.” Playful, you waved him, but he didn’t budge, feet glued to the carpet. “You are not a gentleman to climb into a lady’s room at night. You would never!” 

His mouth quivered before he snorted; “I am a nobleman.”

“Besides...” You extended a hand for him to come closer again, the picture of Authority. “I’m saving myself for my husband.”

At that, Chan couldn’t resist, his perfect pout broke into a wide smile. “Lucky bastard,” he mused before finally obeying. Your hands slid up his vest as soon as he got close enough.

“Watch your tongue,” you chastised with a grin, “you’re talking about my future king.”

“Apologies, Princess...” He hummed, bending to claim your lips once more. Breathing him in, you let your fingers run through his dark curls as his tongue tasted yours. You felt lightweight, about to break at any of his touches now. When you began leaning back, pulling him down with you, Chan tugged your wrists off him, startled.

His stupefaction was priceless.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Lay with me.” You requested, dead serious. His mouth fell open in consternation. Chan looked at the door, then at you, then at the window. 

“You are the one who's gone mad.” He accused, roles reversed. He had only climbed here for a kiss and a farewell, not your ruin.

“Yes,” you admitted, not the least shameful. “My fiancé is leaving for the frontlines and I am mad he is going without questioning his orders.” And I don’t know if I'll ever see you again.

“I am expected to be the frolicsome one, y/n.”

“Love made me crazy.” When you tugged at him again, he didn’t protest any further, falling above you with a sigh. If Chan had sensed your despair he didn't let it show. Your mattress protested loudly at the unusual additional weight. Both of you became stone, waiting with bated breath to be discovered. Thankfully, no guard burst in to save your honour.

Chan watched in a daze as you went and undo the buttons of his vest. It took longer since your fingers were made shaky by nerves. In the end, he sat back and helped, shrugging the garment to the floor. When he laid on top of you, he was in nothing but his own thin shirt. You both stared at the other in marvel. You were used to furtive stolen touches, the heat of his fingers intertwined with yours... This new warmth was outstanding, having him against you so close to your heart felt fantastic, almost skin on skin.

Chan was the first one to get a hold of himself, pressing closer, he kissed you once more. This time, his kiss was feverish and morphed into many. While your hands kept toying with his curls and exploring his large shoulders, Chan showed more restraint, settling for your face and loose hair. Even with just that, you were affected, a mess of pants and laments. None of you seemed to care to stop.

When you felt how hard he was in his pants, you were unsurprised. You had heard of that through the grapevines, eavesdrop on conversations. You had even witnessed two-person being intimate once as a child. Secretly observed one of your guards and a maid fool around. You'd thought about that day more and more often recently. Imagined yourself bent over that chair, Chan buried under your skirt. You'd wonder what kind of sounds he’d made.

“Hey,” Chan shifted his weight to stand on his elbows, frowning, “are you comfortable?” You shook your head, hands sliding clumsily to the buttons of his pants.

“More...” Your order was almost inaudible but his eyebrows raised in awe.

Chan shifted again, raising above just enough to allow you to undo the first button on his crotch. It was involuntary though because he immediately sat back. You followed, kneeling on the bed to kiss his neck as you kept working on your new task. 

“Y/n,” he called, voice shaky, “are you serious?” You only hummed in response, tongue tracing his collarbone. You felt him shudder when you finally managed to access his pants. Your hand wrapped around his manhood but you were unsure what to do from then on. Chan’s mouth opened on nothing, goosebumps visible thanks to the loose collar of his shirt. His tip was leaking on your wrist. Gently, you rubbed his thin skin, making him twitch into your palm in response. You paused again, frightened he was hurt.  

“S-Sorry…” Biting your lips, you were about to pull away when Chan's hand swiftly wrapped around yours. Head low, he gulped, guiding your palm over his hard sex. You watched your intertwined fingers move as one in the glow of the candles, gaze wide. For someone who was reticent to go on, he seemed oddly powerless now.

“What should I do?” The young Lord asked breathlessly, cupping your cheek to pull you into an umpteenth embrace. “I'm at wits’ end, love.”

“We don't know when you'll be back.” If.

“Yet we are not wedded.”

You would be in a matter of days if it weren't from this stupid rebellion. Your families had originally planned for a summer ceremony. Jinyoung had even pointed that out today as part of his suspicions, though if he found out you were twisting his logic to consummate your marriage in advance... Your advisor would probably strangle you with his bare hands himself.

"Does it matter that much?” Chan stared at your question, eyes shimmering in the shadow of his brow bone. “What is one more promise in front of the Queen and House gonna change? I am already yours.”

“Y/n…” He made your name sound dangerous. Exhaling in defeat, Chan slid his hand up your thighs, a gesture that left your skin humming deliciously. “I never belonged to anyone else.”

His hands didn't stop there, they kept climbing and soon they reached where your legs and hips met. Hiking smoothly your body and raising your nightgown, Chan let them roam you until you were exposed and in an instant, he was over you. Done with shilly-shallying and obviously giving in to his most primal urges. You were all too eager to welcome him, buried by his large chest in your mattress like all those fantasies. You didn’t mind the slight awkwardness of his prentice's ways or his now sloppier kisses. You took it all, shaking yourself from a strange fuse of fear and elation.

He was the one who finally made his clothes fully vanish, keeping you busy and distracted with his mouth. Then he was after your nightgown, delicately rolling it up until you were fully bare under him; skin to skin. Chan's breath was hitched, weakened when he pulled away to observe your reaction, a curious look on his face. 

“I love you,” he confessed and you'd have rolled your eyes if he hadn't said it ever so slightly more seriously than all those other times prior.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, so loud it felt like the guards outside might hear it. You cupped his face, thumb running on his cheekbones and on his earlobes while your fingers danced on his nape. Chan shuts his eyes at the caress, shoulders loosening. You wanted to remember him like that forever, swollen, crazy hair, honey skin, feel his weight over yours and his warmth everywhere. He was yours.  

Insanely enough, when his eyes opened again to meet yours, you knew he meant more. “Forever,” your fiancé insisted, lips hooking into his familiar smirk. 

The following kisses were diligent and purposeful, making you both almost forget your predicament. Almost, because your crotch was throbbing, burning and demanding like never before. If you could only guess, he was not doing much better. Chan's sex was pressed against you, long and stiff, slowly smearing wetness on your lower stomach. Mechanically, his hips rolled forward with each kiss, rubbing you both torturously. You were in shambles, sweating and feverish under him. You needed more of him so that’s exactly what you begged for, in a raspy whisper you didn't recognize of yourself. 

Eager to oblige, Chan wandered down, letting his length fall between your legs. His cock brushed over your sex and though you wanted him, your thighs jerked, only being kept apart by his own. He didn't seem to mind, pressing consoling kisses along your jaw and neck as he slowly ghosted over you again.

Chan hitched your legs higher, the tip of him stretching your entrance. It wasn't as absolute as you’d imagined when he made his way inside you. There was no divine uproar, no intense strain, nothing broken or ruined. Ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered, nothing mattered like his ardent breath on your neck and the feel of him as he rocked into you, just a little. Chan moved slowly, soft throbs as though he couldn't bear to pull all the way out.

You wanted him to keep going, could not have borne it either after being this united. He withdrew and pushed into you again, each time a little deeper until finally, he paused. Chan raised above, out of focus, leaning his forehead against yours. There were no words, so he didn't even try. Under your palms, his shoulders were shaky, unstable, and you held on tighter. His hips were pressed into yours, your bodies banded together in a crowning figure.

When Chan moved again it was almost unplanned, a primitive impulse to keep going, feel you, own you. Deadened sounds that could have come from either of you broke the silence of the room, as reserved and furtive as a secret. He pushed into you repeatedly, breathing hollowing with each thrust. His hips became more insistent, hitting yours. Your legs opened of their own accord allowing him deeper, closer. A sense of urgency you had never felt before overpowered you. You tugged him down to claim his mouth, his breath came in pants, hot in your mouth. Your body had started to rock in rhythm as he grinded into you. Chan's own desperation rendered more evident by the way he moved.

His hand slid down on your thigh, pulling you tighter against him, caging himself. You obliged following his lead, both learning together. His head fell back in the crook of your neck, too heavy to be held. 

“I love you,” Chan growled in your ear, so unrecognizable it sent shivers across your skin. 

You clung to his neck, carried by the need to possess him. “I love you,” your words were hoarse, weak compared to his but his hold still tightened impossibly around you. 

He drove into you harder, greedily. Your fingers threaded together, holding on tight as he pressed you to the bed. Overwhelmed by both the need to escape this building throb and wanting to get more of him at the same time, you arched up. Chan's rhythm was stuttering, coming apart as he lost grip on reality. You tilted your hips, spasming around him, unable to keep going and his body shuddered into yours. 

Chan held you tight as he came, roughly crushing you into the mattress. You would've protested at the weight, but nothing had ever felt more right than having him inside you like that. He rolled next to you soon after, length falling out.

Silence shrouded your room as both your breathing lulled, solemn witness to the gravity of your conduct. Trembling, Chan pulled your nightgown down to cover your modesty, burning hand lingering on your thigh. You were still squished, held strongly against him and he showed no desire to depart.

“My Lord,” you murmured into his chest, making it shake in response.

“Yes. I am afraid you are stuck with me now, Princess.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled, hugging even tighter. 

“So, you have no choice but to come back now.”

If he hadn’t noticed your burden earlier, your comment certainly raised alarm.

“Y/n,” Chan exhaled, prudent. He gazed down at you, peering through his lashes. “Why would you even say that?” He had meant to say it lightly, but something in his tone hinted he wasn’t so honest. Which he realized right away; “I will be back.”

“Mmm...” You held your breath nervously, “Because you promised.”

He brought your hand to his mouth, “Promise.” He kissed it lightly before frowning, “Only if you behave with Sir Park while I'm away.”

“Jinyoung,” you repeated in disbelief at his seemingly random request, “I never thought I'd see the day...”

Chan laughed hollowly, a little easier. “He's not all bad.”

“You know, he said something similar about you earlier… Though I am certain his opinion would wave in light of recent affairs.”

“He did not.” You heard the smile in his voice, muffled by your hair.

“No,” he laughed once more, mouth now pressed to your forehead, “but I assure you I am very well behaved whenever you are not involved, Lord Bang. Everyone knows I am the moral one.”

“Are you, Princess?” Chan rolled over, raising on his elbow to eye you suspiciously. He had found his new natural position between your legs and your heartbeat quickened. “You have stolen my virtue. The bed isn’t even cold yet.”

“No reasonable soul would believe that.”

You tugged him down for a deep kiss, swallowing his laughter; “What a regent and ruthless thing to say, you are going to be good at this ruling thing.” Chan grinded forward with the kiss and you arched reflectively. He hummed in appreciation, “my Queen...”

“My King,” you found yourself echoing nauseatingly.

His chest vibrated against yours in a strangled sound, "I should be on my way." 

His impossibly large grin widened when he witnessed your dissatisfied scowl. Chan gathered his clothes and got dressed under your cold scrutiny. Too fast, his bare legs disappeared into his trousers. His vest was next, covering his thin shirt. You pouted, still a wreck on your mattress in your sheer attire. Your room seemed awfully freezing now that you had gotten a taste of what it would be like to share a bed with your husband.

Chan seemed to notice your shiver when you sat up and he cautiously neared the bed. His index raised your chin to force your gazes to meet.

“I do mean it,” he said with a grave voice you rarely knew him, “listen to your advisor and the Queen. You must be particularly careful until I return.”

“Chan,” you hushed, the name barely coming out, “you are the one who needs to be, the Duke–”

Your warning got stiffled by his lips and he delivered, almost making you lose your mind all over. When Chan straightened again, there was a darker glint to his eyes. Barely there before he blinked it to oblivion, but it was enough for you to know your cautioning would've been vain.

He wasn't a child anymore and he certainly was not a pawn to his uncle.

“Do not write anything too scandalous in those letters you promised, love.” Back to his usual poise, Chan was walking back to his exit. “I am positive Sir Park is intercepting our correspondence.”

This managed to make you grin at least, loosening the knot in your stomach. "Of course."

“That must be why the man loathes me,”

“That is just him being wise.”

Chan chuckled lowly, glancing at your bedroom door as he balanced his feet outside your window. “Before the first snowfall, love.” He winked as you shook your head in disbelief, “Thank you for the farewell favour, I am looking forward to our nuptials, Princess.”

And at that, he was gone into the night, your heart and virtue with him.

The separation didn't loom over you like the proverbial sword of Damocles anymore and it wasn't long before you fell asleep that night.

Because you knew this would not be the last you'd see of your playful lover...

Stray Kids | M.list

[atc74]

Pause

Square Filled: Sleepover

Warnings: Angst, death, hellhounds, demons, a touch of fluff

Summary: Y/N has a special, powerful gift. She can pause time. But soon the wrong people find out and now demons are after her. Can the Winchesters save her before the demons find her?

Characters: Y/N, Dean, Sam, Bobby, Crowley, Dagon, misc OC’s

Word Count: 6976

Written for: @spngenrebingo​

Beta’d by: @hannahindie, you deserve a whiskey for all the beta’ing you have done this week! And @wi-deangirl77, thank you so much for the read through! 

A/N: I had this idea almost a year ago and finally got around to writing it. I hope you like it. 

Everyone is born with a mark on their skin. No one knows the real purpose of the mark or why they exist. Is it to make us completely unique from another? Is it to tie us to another? It is to aid us along in life?

Y/N was five years old when she realized the purpose of her mark. She was born with a little tattoo on the outside of her left index finger. She was playing outside on her new jungle gym when she slipped, looking down at six feet of ground rushing to meet her. She squeezed her eyes tightly and balled hands into little fists, bracing for the impact...only it never came.

She opened her eyes to find herself a foot off the ground, suspended in mid air. She reached out her hands and feet, lowering herself to the ground. She looked around and everything was still. The leaves on the tree above her frozen in time. The birds had gone silent and a squirrel stopped on the top of the fence, mid-stride. She looked down at the two simple lines on her hand. With one finger of her right hand, she pressed the two lines.

Suddenly she could see the leaves blowing in the breeze, the squirrel jumped from the fence onto the trunk of the neighbors tree and the birds were again singing their joyous songs. She pressed the button again and once more the world around her stilled. She pressed the button, returning the world to its normal state. She skipped her way into the house and up to her room, a smile on her face.

At the age of sixteen, her father was driving them home from church when a car swerved across the median into their lane. Her parents were arguing about something again and Y/N screamed as the vehicle raced toward them erratically. She looked down at her hand and pressed the two little lines and everything stopped. She was the only one moving but she wasn’t sure how to stop the driver. Could she get her family to safety? Could she avert a disaster before it happened? What was the point of this mark if she couldn’t use it for good.

Y/N climbed in the front seat between her parents. She reached out, placing her hand on her dad’s arm and pressed the lines. He looked from the road where his eyes had been focused, then to her, sitting in the front seat.

“Why are you up here? Get in the back, it’s not safe,” he scolded her like a child.

“It’s not safe, Dad? I’ll tell you what is not safe. See that car? It’s headed right for us. On three, I am going to unfreeze the car and you’re going to get us off this road. Do you understand what I am saying?” she demanded, never having used that tone before with either of her parents.

Her dad stared at her open mouthed as she talked. “What?”

“Dad! Snap out of it! Did you hear what I said?” She yelled.

“Uh, yeah, get off the road,” her dad nodded, looking at the other cars around them.

Y/N placed her left hand on the dash of the car and pressed the lines once more. She looked around with concern, relieved when only their car was moving. Her dad did what she had said and took the next right, getting them out of the line of fire. She crawled over her still paused mother and got out of the car. She unpaused the scene and watched as the car swerved out of control, hitting a tree on the shoulder. Luckily no one was hurt. She turned to her father with a smile on her face, proud that she had saved them.

“How in the hell did you do that?” her father screamed at her, demanding answers. “When did you discover you could just pause the whole fucking world?”

“Dad-” she began.

“No! How could you not tell us about this? This changes everything!” Angrily, her father got back in the car.

She slowly opened the door, getting back in, but kept her head down. Her father drove them home and she ran up to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Y/N finally left her room and went to the kitchen to get a snack and found her mother sitting at the table, a stack of bills in front of her. She was crying, her head in her hands.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” Y/N took a seat next to her mother at the table.

“Nothing you need to worry about baby girl,” her mother lifted her head and wiped her tears. She patted her daughter on the head and left the room.

Y/N was not stupid and knew her mother was lying. She picked up the pile and looked at the first notice. It read ‘Foreclosure - Final Notice’ in big bold letters. She looked further into the stack, they were all similar to the first. Repossession notice, final notice - all of them. She turned and looked out of the room, wondering what was going on.

~*~

“Listen Ed, I understand your predicament. Really I do, but you see, I got a boss, too. And he needs something concrete from you before I can work out a deal. What do you have for me, Ed?” Carl looked at the desperate man in front of him.

“I don’t have the ten grand!” Ed told Carl. “Please, Joe, I just need a few days. My life was just thrown in the toilet today. Found out my kid can pause fucking time! Who can do that?” Ed got up and began pacing the bookie’s office.

“Sounds like a tough break, Eddie, but that doesn’t help me. You have two days and payment comes due. Now get the fuck out of my office!” Carl ordered.

~*~

“Hey there, Carl. Remember me?” A man stood before Carl. He was dressed impeccably in a black three piece suit with a gray striped tie, and a long black wool overcoat. “The name’s Crowley. We met ten years ago. Today.”

“Who sent you?” Carl panicked. He was sweating and looking around the small dingy office. “Where’s that barking coming from? Did you bring a dog in my office?”

“You sent for me Carl. When you asked for a deal ten years ago. Remember? You asked to be a successful bookie. Low expectations, but who am I to judge,” the man spoke with a British accent. “And that? That is Juliet, my precious puppy. Don’t worry. She’ll be with you in-” he checked his watch “-about three minutes.”

“What do you want?” Carl asked again.

“I’m here to collect on our deal. Your business for your soul. I gave you ten glorious years, Carl, but now your time has come. Juliet will do the honors for me; I just hate getting dirty,” Crowley moved to the other side of the room.

Carl’s eyes went wide as he finally spotted the beast. “Wait! I can give you something better!”

“What’s better than your soul on a platter, Carl?” The Brit asked.

“I got a client that owes me big time...comes in here the other day, trying to make payment arrangements. Can you believe that? What do I look like, fucking Wal-Mart layaway? He tells me his kid can stop time! That’s better than my soul, right?” Carl looked up expectantly at the well dressed man.

“Yes, I believe it is. You give me the girl and I will let you live. If I find out you are lying, and I will, I will be back for you,” his eyes flashed red. “Juliet will stay here, just to make sure you don’t try to skip town. Address?”

~*~

A loud crash sounded through the house, waking Y/N from her slumber. She looked around, then crept slowly to her bedroom door. It creaked open, the ancient wood and hinges making her presence known. She quickly retreated from the door, hiding in the deep recesses of her closet, pulling the clothes to conceal her.

She trembled with fear as the footsteps stopped right outside her room. She held a hand over her mouth as the door creaked once more, the unknown assailant entering her space.

“Here, here little girl,” the voice echoed through her room as the voice loomed closer.

A scream bloomed in her throat, threatening to break loose. She blindly pressed her hands into balled fists and the footsteps stopped. She chanced a look through the dresses obscuring her view and there stood a man, a large man in a dark suit, with glowing red eyes. He was frozen in time. She breathed a small sigh of relief, and slipped into a pair of running shoes. She quickly packed a bag with a couple changes of clothes, mindful not to touch the lines of her left hand.

With a backpack, every cent of her babysitting money, and all the will she could muster, Y/N slipped out of her bedroom door and down the stairs of her home. Her mother and father lay still on the living room floor, a large puddle of blood pooling underneath them. She covered her mouth to stifle her cries and crept through to the kitchen where she grabbed the keys to her father’s car.

~*~

An hour later, she was safely out of town. She pulled over into a wooded area not far from the next town. She huddled under a blanket and waited for the sun to rise. Before she fell asleep, she pressed the two black lines, bringing the world back to life.

~*~

“Hey honey, what can I get you?” the waitress asked.

“Coffee with cream and a short stack, please,” Y/N answered, looking up to meet the waitresses gaze. She was an older woman with a kind face. Her name tag read Dorothy. “Thank you, Dorothy.”

“Oh hon, you can call me Dot. I’ll be right back with your coffee,” she smiled and headed for the counter.

Y/N sat gazing out the window, sipping the coffee in her hand. The morning was cool, but not cold. She was wearing simple black leggings and a long sweater. She was trying hard to keep her thoughts in order and try to piece together what happened. She reached in her backpack and pulled out a notebook and pen. She began to jot down everything that had happened, starting with showing her father what she could do with her mark.

~*~

“Are you sure we’re heading the right way, Sammy?” Dean asked, looking out at the cars passing by. “I mean, more demonic omens? Come on!”

“Dean, I am telling you there is something going on in Bentonville,” Sam turned his laptop toward his brother, letting him see for himself.

“Okay, so the same old, same old. So who, or what, are we looking for?” Dean inquired.

“I did some research on this town for the last several years and get this,” Sam explained. “Some very shady successes happened around here about ten years ago.”

“Okay, Crossroads demon. That we can work with,” Dean smiled, satisfied for the moment. “So what are we going to do until dark?”

“Well, here’s another thing,” Sam paused as the waitress approached their table.

“Can I get you fellas anything else?” she smiled shamelessly at both of them, nevermind she was old enough she could be their mother.

“Oh, no, we’re good, Dot. Just a top off of the joe would be appreciated,” Dean winked at her. She topped them off, then dropped the check. She winked back at him before heading over to her next table. She was a little older, experienced, Dean liked to think. He had nothing but time to kill until they could summon the Crossroads demon, so why not.

He watched her as she talked to a young girl, she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She had long dark hair and solemn eyes, rimmed in red. What was she doing in a diner at seven in the morning? She should’ve been in school.

“Dean?” Sam snapped his fingers in front of his brothers face. “The other thing…”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean tore his eyes from the two women on the other side of the diner and tried to focus on what Sam was saying.

“There was a murder last night, well a few of them actually. Carl Bonner, bookie, found dead in his office, shredded. Another one, a few miles away from the bookie, Ed and Regina Y/L/N found dead in their home, throats slashed,” Sam informed his brother.

Dean raised a single brow. “So bookie ends up as hellhound kibble, sounds like a deal come due. But what about the Y/L/N’s? Just a home invasion gone awry?”

“No, there’s more. Crime scene smelled of rotten eggs. They evacuated until they cleared it wasn’t a gas leak and their teenage daughter is missing,” Sam finished. He turned the laptop toward Dean again, Dean’s eyes flicked between the screen and the girl a few tables down.

“Sammy, that’s her. That’s Y/N Y/L/N,” Dean pointed discreetly across the diner at the girl.

Sam turned his head just enough to get a look at the girl and he agreed with Dean. “We need to help this girl, Dean.”

“Sam, what if she killed her parent’s and took off?” Dean theorized.

“Dean, I just ran a quick check on the family. They were so far in debt winning the lottery wouldn’t have helped. Foreclosure, repossessions, they had nothing. Barely even enough life insurance to pay for their funerals. Ed had a major gambling problem and Regina was a stay at home mom. Carl Bonner was Ed’s bookie. These are connected, Dean. I just know it,” Sam closed his laptop and placed it in his bag. He watched as Dean picked up the check and walked to the register to pay Dot for their meal. Once their bill was settled, they headed outside to wait for the girl.

It only took about ten minutes before Y/N stepped out of the diner into the bright morning sun. With the light in her eyes, she never saw Dean approach her and drag her to the side of the building, his hand over her mouth.

“Y/N? I’m not here to hurt you. We can help you. I’m going to let you go, but you gotta promise not to run or scream, okay?” his voice was deep in her ear, his green eyes clear with his intent.

She nodded, terrified of what would happen if she did either. She knew she had a secret weapon and could use it to her advantage if need be. His hand left her mouth and he took a step back.

“Before you ask how we know who you are, it’s kind of what we do,” Dean started explaining. “My name is Dean and this is my brother Sam. We’re investigating a couple of deaths in your hometown. Can you tell us what happened to your parents last night?”

“I don’t even know. How can I trust you?” she asked, her eyes darting from one brother to the other. She crossed her arms over her body, wrapping them around her middle.

“Listen, this is going to sound crazy, but crazy is what we do. We think demons killed your parents, so just tell us what happened and let us help you,” Sam urged her.

“Demons? You people are crazy,” she expressed and turned to go, but stopped as the image of the man in her room came back into focus. She turned back to Sam. “Do demons have red eyes? The man in my room...he had red eyes.”

“Some of them do, yes. Most of them have black eyes,” Dean explained. “I know this isn’t easy and we know what you are going through.”

“How can you possibly know what I am going through? I don’t even know what I am going through! I just know my parents are dead and I have no one!” she cried as she dropped to her knees in the parking lot.

Sam took a chance and knelt next to her. “Because a yellow-eyed demon killed our parents.”

Her tear filled eyes met his and she threw her arms around his neck, crying into his jacket. “Shhhh, it’s okay. We’re going to help, Y/N. Let’s get you somewhere safe first.” Sam helped her up and to the Impala.

The drive was silent, save the sniffling coming from the back seat. Dean pulled into a small motel and killed the engine. He turned to Y/N in the back. “Do you have a hat in that bag?” She nodded. “Put it on and tuck your hair up, please?”

Sam exited the car and came back a few minutes later as he stopped in front of the door Dean was parked in front of. Dean got out, holding the back door open for the girl. Sam flanked her on the other side and they safely got her inside the room.

Sam and Dean took out canisters of salt and lined the doors and windows. Dean painted the necessary warding symbols everywhere. The brothers turned to look at her, appearing tiny on the large sofa in the middle of the room.

“You’ll be safe here. Nothing can get in, Y/N, okay?” Sam knelt before her, holding her hands in comfort.

“How can you be sure?” She looked into his eyes, begging for answers.

“Because these symbols and the salt? They all work to repel demons,” Sam pointed out to her. “We have to go talk to the locals but we’ll be back as soon as possible. Hopefully, we’ll have some answers for you.”

~*~

“So, the coroner says it was a wild animal attack. Sound familiar?” Dean tossed the medical examiners report in Sam’s lap when he picked him up at the girls house. They decided to split up and cut time in half to get back to Y/N.

“Hellhound just like we thought,” Sam concluded. “Same with the parents, it was a demon attack. There was sulfur everywhere, not like the cops know what to look for.”

They headed back to the motel, back to Y/N. They found her huddled on the floor, between the far bed and the wall. She was shaking when they finally coaxed her up and to the sofa.

“I know you’re scared, Y/N, but can you tell us about what happened last night?” Sam prompted her.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her notebook, handing it over. Sam passed it off to Dean while he sat with her a while, helping to calm her down.

Dean read what she had written down. For a frightened girl who had interrupted the people who had killed her parents, her thoughts were clear and recorded. Dean took his own notes, copying down what she had written so he could give it back to her.

She had already told them the man had red eyes, so they knew it was a Crossroads demon. Her additional observations noted that he was well dressed and spoke with a British accent. No demon they had come across yet was a Brit, so they would have to look into that some more. They actually had quite a bit to go on, thanks to the girl.

“Hey, I’m going to go on a food run. Y/N, what would you like?” Dean asked the pair still sitting on the couch.

“Anything with buffalo chicken, fries and an orange soda, please,” she requested. “Oh and some peppermint tea?”

“I can do that,” Dean nodded and was out the door.

Once Dean returned with food, the three were able to piece together all the pieces of the case, except for one thing. Dean placed a call to Bobby after they finished eating to see what knew.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean greeted his surrogate father.

“Some case you guys found, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, it’s definitely not a milk run,” Dean commented. “We got a deal come due, a pair killed by demons, and the girl, she’s the wild card, but wrapped up somehow. We just gotta figure out why.”

“Tell me what you know,” Bobby guided him.

Dean gave him the details they knew, hoping Bobby could help fill in the blanks. He promised to get back to them when he had something. Sam looked to Dean.

“He’s on it. He’ll call when he’s got something,” Dean relayed.

Sam looked across the small table at Y/N as she tried to conceal a yawn. “Hey, why don’t you shower and get some sleep? You must be exhausted.”

“Words don’t exist for what I am right now, Sam,” she sighed. “But a shower and sleep are a good idea.” She headed off to the bathroom with her bag, turning back to look at the brothers.

“We’re not going anywhere. We’ll be here when you get out,” Dean assured her.

And they were there, just like Dean promised, when she emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later.

“Feel better?” Sam asked, a beer on his knee, as he and his brother discussed the case.

“Not even a little bit,” she tried her best to give them a smile, but her heart just wasn’t in it. “But at least I don’t stink.”

She set her bag on floor and grabbed an extra pillow from one of the beds, but Dean stopped her.

“Whoa, hold on. That bed is yours. One of us will take the couch, okay?” He dipped his head to look at her and she slowly nodded, putting the pillow back. She pulled the covers down and crawled into the bed with its scratchy sheets smelling strongly of bleach. Rolling over, she closed her eyes willing the tears back.

Sam and Dean decided it was best if they tried to catch some shut eye as well. Dean offered to take the first shift. He checked all the salt lines and warding to ensure they were intact while Sam showered. Satisfied everything would hold, he opened the fridge and pulled out another beer.

It had been a long ass day already and he didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel for this girl. The case they would figure out just like they always do. But Y/N? He just didn’t know. From their earlier conversations, they knew it was just her and her folks. She didn’t have any other family and now she had no one. He ran a calloused hand down his face, scratching at his chin as he thought about what their next steps were.

Dean’s neck and back were sore from spending hours hunched over the laptop. He checked the time and woke Sam for his shift. They switched spots and Dean immediately fell into the bed face down, soft snores falling from his mouth moments later.

Sam picked up the research where Dean had left off, but they still didn’t have much. All they knew was that they were dealing with a Crossroads demon. Sam was deep into the lore when a knock sounded at the door. It was four in the morning according to his watch. Who the hell was at their door?

Sam shot out of his seat, grabbing the shotgun from the duffle and made his way to the door. He held the gun against the back of the door, looking through the peephole. A shortish, middle aged man stood on the other side of the door, wearing a dark suit. Sam’s heart started racing, but against his better judgement, he opened the door. “Who are you?”

“Pleased to meet you, Samuel. The name’s Crowley, King of the Crossroads,” the man introduced himself, complete with the British accent.

“How do you know who I am?” Sam demanded, pulling the gun from behind the door and aiming directly at the demon.

“Oh, I know all about the Winchester’s, Gigantor,” he smirked. “I’m the one who bartered your brother’s deal, after all.” His eyes flashed red.

Sam didn’t wait for more information, he simply fired a salt round at Crowley.

“Bollocks! This was a new suit!” He brushed off the residue, then snapped his fingers, now dressed in another black suit. “Now hand over the girl and I’ll let you two morons live.”

A scream rang out through the small motel room as Y/N fell to her knees at the foot of her bed.

The scream woke Dean from his own slumber. He leapt from the bed, handgun drawn. “Sam?!”

The world stood still. Dean with his weapon drawn. Sam, still at the door, his mouth open in shock. Crowley, the red-eyed demon, stood just outside the threshold, his face bunched up in anger.

Y/N slowly approached Sam, placing her left hand on his arm and pressed the two little lines.

Sam raised his gun to fire at the demon again, but Y/N stopped him. “What the hell was that?”

“I paused time,” she told him. “I-I can pause time.”

Sam stared at her open mouthed. “Your mark?”

She nodded affirmatively and then walked to Dean, unfreezing him as well. “What the-?”

“We need to leave now!” Sam ordered and they began packing their bags. Within minutes, they were in the Impala and Dean was racing down the road.

“How long does it last?” Sam adjusted his body so he could look at her in the backseat.

“I’ve only tested for a little bits of time, two hours max.” she told them.

“This would have been helpful to know, ya know, before the demon showed up on our doorstep!” Dean yelled from the driver's seat.

“I-I’m sorry, Dean,” she cried. “I’ve only used my powers in front of another person once before. And that was my dad, two days before the demon killed him and my mom.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We both have marks that do things, okay?” Sam pulled his sleeve up, showing her the black mark on his right wrist. “This is the Celtic symbol, Ailm. It is for strength and endurance. I use it when we are getting tired in a fight and need to keep going.”

Dean revealed his own mark, a refresh symbol, on his right wrist as well. “It reloads my guns. Never run out of ammo. But you can freeze frame and that is a whole new ball game, Sweetheart.”

“That’s why the demons want her,” Sam muttered, more to himself, than the others.

“What?! The demons want me?” she shrieked.

“That’s what he said, ‘hand over the girl and I’ll let you live’.” Sam repeated.

“Oh great!” Dean slammed his hand down on the wheel, before taking a hard right.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, still bracing himself from the turn.

“Taking her to the safest place I know, Sammy,” Dean accelerated as he approached the highway.

“Bobby…” Sam breathed out.

~*~

Bobby smiled. “Hi, Y/N. I’m Bobby. So, you’re the girl that can pause time, huh?”

“Hi,” she whispered, peeking out from behind Sam’s large frame.

“Y/N, you don’t have to be afraid of Bobby. He practically raised Dean and me. He’s going to help us take care of you, okay? Help keep you safe,” Sam pulled her out from behind him and looked her in the eye. He needed her to believe him.

“He’s even got a demon proof room down in the basement!” Dean exclaimed, a smile on his face. “It’s awesome!”

“I think I’d like that,” she told them.

“Okay, let’s get you down there, then,” Bobby stood, walking over to Y/N. He took her bag from her and led her down the stairs. “I’ve got plenty of food and water down here and if you need something else, you just gotta holler. We’ll leave the door open.”

“Can I sleep here?” she asked tiredly.

“You sure can. I’ll get some blankets for ya,” Bobby left the room and came back a minute later with fresh blankets from the laundry room.

“You get some shut eye, girl. We’ll be right up those stairs,” Bobby patted her on the arm, then left her alone.

“I’ve seen some marks in my day, but this one takes the cake, boys,” Bobby signed, returning to his research at the desk.

“She can stop time,” Dean pointed out.

“We need to figure out to keep her safe, that is priority numero uno,” Bobby reminded him.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean responded.

“You mind your tone with me, boy! You idjits came to me for help, remember?” Bobby scolded him.

“Bobby, is there anyway to deactivate a mark?” Sam inquired. “Not all marks are active, we know that. But, can we stop hers?”

“I haven’t heard of anything like that before,” Bobby shrugged. He turned and pulled out a couple more books. “Let’s figure it out.”

~*~

Y/N crept up the stairs slowly, the house filled with silence. She spied Dean asleep on the too short loveseat, his still booted feet hanging over the edge, an open book on his chest. Bobby was asleep, face down at his desk, a whiskey glass still in his hand. Sam was sprawled out at the kitchen table, a stack of books under his face. It was like their own twisted version of a sleepover. Something tells her this isn’t the first time they’ve done this, but this time they were doing it for her.

She shuffled to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. She rummaged through the cupboards silently until she found the coffee and turned on the tap to fill the pot.

“Stop!” Sam woke with a start. Y/N almost dropped the glass carafe when he bolted upright.

“Sam! You scared the living daylights out out of me!” She whisper yelled at him, turning the water off.

“Hey, keep it down, will ya?” Dean grumbled from the sofa. “Are you making coffee?”

“Yes, Dean. I am making coffee,” she responded.

“Bless your heart, Y/N,” he groaned as he rose.

Bobby stumbled through the doorway and slumped into a kitchen chair. “Did someone say coffee?”

“What is with you people and your coffee?” she asked, chuckling softly.

“Coffee and whiskey, the two hunters helpers,” Bobby replied. “They make the world go ‘round.”

“Okay, well Bobby? You’re running kinda low on the java, just so you know,” she poured four cups and placed them around the table just as Dean reentered the room.

“So get this,” Sam looks around the table. “Just hear me out before you say no. I was thinking last night, what if we summon the demon here and just ask him what he wants with Y/N?”

“Are you out of your mind, Sammy?” Dean slapped him across the back of his head. “Bring the demon that wants to kill her here?”

“It’s actually not half bad,” Bobby commented, sipping on his coffee.

“What?” Dean gasped. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore…”

“Do I get a say in this?” Y/N piped up from her spot where she was leaning against the counter.

“No!” Dean turned to look at her. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Dean, listen to what she has to say,” Sam jumped in.

“All I’m saying is there’s a demon proof room downstairs right? And I can pause time if it goes south,” she reasoned with the three men.

“It’s a solid plan,” Bobby agreed.

“Fine! But when this is over, you’re baking me a pie!” Dean looked at Y/N.

“Done. Dean, please. I just need to know what happened to my parents and understand why I am wanted by demons,” she pleaded with him before he stomped out of the room.

~*~

Bobby finished drawing the sigil on the floor in the library while Sam mixed the ingredients in a large bowl. Sam placed the bowl in the middle of the symbol. The candles were aligned in the appropriate places inside the sigil and lit.

Sam grabbed the silver knife from Bobby. Dean stood at the ready with a shotgun loaded with salt rounds and gave Sam a barely imperceptible nod. Sam made the cut, bleeding into the bowl, then lit a match, dropping it inside and speaking a few words of Latin.

“...Et ad congregandum... eos coram me.”

The mixture burst into flames, tendrils of red smoke rising upwards.

“You rang Moose?” Crowley appeared directly in the middle of the devils trap they had drawn on the floor. He looked down and sighed. “Trust issues?”

“Listen, dickbag! We’re calling the shots here, now sit down and shut up!” Dean kicked a chair to the center of the circle.

Crowley brushes the seat off with his handkerchief, before reluctantly lowering himself into the chair.

“What do you want with Y/N?” Sam asked.

“She has a powerful gift and I need her,” Crowley stated as if it was a simple request.

“Why?” Dean demanded.

“If you must know-” he started.

“Yes, we must know!” Dean cut him off.

“-there is a demon uprising in Hell. Someone is trying to take over the throne now that Lucifer is topside. Thanks for that by the way,” Crowley remarked.

“And where does Y/N fit into your little plan?” Dean asked.

“Since Lilith's demise at the hands, or mind, of your brother, the demons are jumpy and looking for a new leader. Lucifer is on Earth and this has left the throne vulnerable. I happen to know when they are planning their coup and with her little button, I can stop them,” Crowley, shrugged as though this kind of thing happened every day.

“What happens if there is a new Unholy Ruler?” Bobby asked.

“Nothing good. You think you have a demon problem now? Lucifer created a legion of demons, his generals, if you will. They are the Princes of Hell. Azazel was one of them. Most have retired and live among you humans now. But Dagon, she has remained faithful to Lucifer and wants to rule Hell in his absence,” Crowley informed them.

“Can I really stop her?” Y/N stepped into the room and stood at the edge of the guarded circle.

“Yes, darling, you can.” Crowley softened. “You have a very powerful weapon there.”

“It’s not a weapon!” she spat.

“I’m sorry. It was not my intent to offend you, my dear,” he cooed, trying to smooth this over with her.

“If I can stop her, then I want to do this,” Y/N stated.

“Y/N, let’s think about this,” Sam tried to talk her out of it.

“Sam, I know you’re just looking out for me, but I have lost everything. I have nothing left to lose,” she uttered.

“You have your life, Y/N,” Dean pointed out.

“And with no family, what is that worth, Dean?” she demanded.

“You mean something to us, girl,” Bobby interjected.

“You can’t stop me. Let’s go,” she reached out a hand to Crowley, but Sam pulled her back.

“Fine, we’ll support you, but we’re going with you,” Sam relented.

~*~

“This is going to feel strange, just hold my hand and you’ll be fine,” Crowley told Y/N. With a snap of his fingers, they stood outside a large wooden door. Sam, Dean, Bobby and Y/N all stood on wobbly legs as Crowley laughed.

They walked down the very long brick staircase, descending into the depths of the earth.

“Welcome to Hell,” Crowley spread his arms wide as they hit the final step. “The throne room is just through those doors. We’ll be waiting there for Dagon when she tries to take it.”

“Well, let’s go then,” Bobby said.

The four of them, led by Crowley, walked through the double door. A large ornate purple and gold throne stood in the center of the room. A rather small woman occupied the throne.

“Crowley, so glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to join us. We were just about to begin,” she addressed the five newcomers. “Tell me, who are your friends?” She stood and strode toward them. She stopped just inches from Dean.

“Dagon, I bring you a gift,” Crowley held Y/N tightly by her arms. Meanwhile, they were surrounded and demons grabbed Sam, Dean and Bobby.

“Let them go!” Y/N struggled in Crowley’s hold .

“Now, now. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t get so worked up,” Dagon ran a hand along the side of Y/N’s, petting her like a small child or a pet. “This one I like,” she cooed, circling Y/N, before she came to a stop before Dean. “This one smells like righteousness. They all do and cheap booze.”

“You keep your filthy hands off her, you bitch!” Dean cursed the demon, fighting against his captor.

“Uh, uh, uh,” she tsked. “Such dirty words for a pretty mouth, Dean Winchester.”

“I got a lot more words where those came from,” Dean boasted.

Dagon held her hand up, her eyes flashing yellow. “You will show me some respect, you maggot. I am the new Queen of Hell!” She squeezed her hand, Dean’s face turning red from the invisible pressure.

“Dagon, enough games. I bring you this girl. Let me have the hunters as my reward, please my Queen,” Crowley needled the demon.

Dagon glared at Crowley, but released her hold on the elder Winchester. “What is so special about this gift?”

“The girl can pause time,” he informed the higher level demon. “The entire world stops with the press of a finger.”

“And what purpose would that serve me? Or does it just serve you, Crowley?” Dagon proposed.

“Think of all the minions you could stop; all the chaos. An uprising,” he listed off the top of his head.

“An uprising, huh? Who would dare overthrow the new Queen of Hell so soon? I just got here,” Dagon smirked, looking around the room at her faithful followers. “Who dare go against me? I am a child of Lucifer, created by the Dark Lord himself. You should all kneel before me!”

“Oh enough of this crap! I am done with the unholier than thou schtick!” Dean growled, gaining the upper hand on the demon behind him. He used his size and crouched, bending the demon over his back before throwing him to the floor and stabbing him with the demon killing knife. He face lit up orange before he died. “Now!”

Y/N closed her fists and the room froze. Every demon, the three hunters, even the rats scurrying in the corner. She pulled herself free of Crowley’s grasp and crouched next to Dean, unfreezing him.

“Thanks, kid,” Dean smiled at her. “I had my doubts that this would work, but you did it. You ready for the next part?”

“No, I think I peed myself a little, but let’s get this over with,” she gave him a small smile, then moved to unpause the others.

Within minutes, the three hunters had disposed of every demon in the room, with the exception of Crowley and Dagon. Crowley had provided the information on how to kill her, which for a human would be a monumental feat. With Y/N on their side, they had the upper hand and the element of surprise.

Dean, Sam and Bobby formed a circle around Dagon, her face still frozen in fury, her eyes locked on the spot where Dean had killed one of her followers. They turned to Y/N. “We’re ready, Y/N. On three, okay? Three, two, one…”

Y/N stood before Crowley and he grabbed her, getting her back in his hold. “Gotta make it look good, right?” She smiled up at him, then pressed the two little lines on the outside of her left index finger.

The room came to life. Screams of agony rang out as the demons lit up and died, all of them having been stabbed when Y/N paused the scene. Dagon’s eyes blew wide right before the hunters flipped the switch.

“Hunters, so cocky with their-” she started.

“Fire and brimstone, bitch!” Dean held up his flamethrower, Sam and Bobby following suit. The Prince of Hell burst into flames as she screamed. Within minutes, she was a pile of smoldering ash on the floor of Hell.

~*~

“That was crazy!” Y/N howled as entered Bobby’s house. “I’ve never been so scared in my life!”

“You did good, kid,” Bobby patted her on the back.

“You looked damn convincing there, Crowley. I was afraid you were going to double cross us there for a minute,” Dean looked to the demon.

“I had to play alone, Not Moose,” he explained to the human. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”

“Hold on!” Y/N shouted. “Thank you for saving me.” She stood on her tiptoes, placing a kiss to Crowley’s cheek.

“You’re welcome, darling. You’ll have my protection for the rest of your days,” Crowley smiled at her, then with a snap, he was gone.

“So now what?” Bobby asked, looking around the room.

“I would like to go home and bury my parents,” Y/N sniffed.

“We’ll take you,” Sam offered.

“Since I don’t have any family left, I’d like to come back here, if that’s okay with you, Bobby,” she smiled up at the old man, tears in her eyes.

“You know, I never wanted kids, but then I got these two knuckleheads,” Bobby grinned. “I’d be proud to have a daughter to add to the mix.”

“No hunting!” Dean and Sam yelled together.

“No, no hunting for me,” Y/N agreed. “But I’m good with the research and I make a mean cup of coffee.”

“Yeah, you do,” Dean smiled. “Welcome to the crazy, kid.”

Did you like it? Remember, the nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada tags: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99 @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace  @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27  @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @thejabberwock @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @cherrycokegirls1

The Dean’s List: @supernatural-jackles @dean-winchesters-bacon @cameronbraswell @docharleythegeekqueen @maddiepants @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @adoptdontshoppets  @akshi8278 @kathaswings @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x  @elara98azalea @jerkbitchidjitassbutt

The Sam Sin-dicate: @supernatural-jackles @cameronbraswell @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x  

[wolfieonatypewriter]

Bayonetta Week 4 “Freedom”

Summary: The life of a Witch only truly started with a pact and Jeanne had just seen history happen. Cereza, her Cereza, had crawled out of Inferno with a pact so coveted that the assembled Umbra were stunned to their core. 

And now, at long last, they could be free. 

Word count: 3466 A/N: And my biggest prompt for the week! A huge shoutout to @xall4one for always being so tireless in the Bayonetta fandom and to my so very lovely @maeday-gae for making sure this happened. This is technically a prequel to my AU prompt from the Bayojeanne week but can be read as a standalone 

And there it was.

Cereza emerged victorious from the pocket of Inferno she had clawed her way into in a storm of dark energy and the raw, unstoppable power of Madama Butterfly the Mistress of Atrocity.

Who else to forge a successful pact with one of the most powerful and unpredictable denizens of Hell if not her very own Cereza.

It was the most breathtaking moment of Jeanne's young life and it was all she could do to keep from jumping the veranda, away from her mother's stern gaze and into the arms of her lover.

There was no more taking it back, there was no more denying, no more casting doubt, no more censure or hindering. Cereza, her Cereza, the best friend she had, the only other Umbra she could trust, was now unmistakably, intrinsically Umbra and she had held fast to even the harshest of challenges.

She had a pact, a pact many a witch would have died to have ( many had, in fact) and it meant their society had witnessed such a thing, leaving them no choice but to offer respect.

Served them right.

Cereza was breathing hard, bleeding from a thousand holes, her glasses had since fallen to the wayside but still hadn't summoned the will to pick them back up.

The Elder and the gathered Umbra said nothing for the longest time, looking on with varying looks of apprehension and surprise. Finally, her mother put them all out of their misery. "Dismissed" was her only word and she turned back and disappeared through the dark building of their proving grounds.

She was loathe to leave her beloved when she was wounded and exhausted but despite everything, these were hallowed grounds and no harm would come to pass to her from her fellow Sisters. Jeanne couldn't tip her hand too soon or all of their hard work would be for nothing.

With feet as heavy as lead, she followed after her mother but as she looked back one more time, Cereza was looking at her and Jeanne smiled back so proud and so big her soul swirled with dark energy.

Her mother would retire to ponder on the turn of events she had created when she let her own misgivings lead her to thinking Cereza would perish attempting a contract. Not only had she returned but she came back triumphant like Inferno had accepted her as it's ruler, the Elder had plenty to think about and Jeanne would certainly use that to her advantage and squirrel Cereza back to her room to drench her in healing concoctions.

Cereza dragged herself upright as everyone streamed out of the arena, promptly falling back on her knees and barely keeping herself from collapsing back on the dirt and blood.

The first rays of sunshine hit her back and she sighed, rubbing her dirty face with an equally soiled glove. Madama Butterfly slithered through their link, a sort of phantom in the back of her mind and she wondered if she would ever feel truly alone ever again.

Jeanne and her mother had done their best to prepare her for her proving and yet the task had been both very similar yet nothing at all like what they had mentioned. Inferno wasn’t for the ill prepared and she had almost been a victim of it. The Mistress of Atrocity was brutal and harsh, far more so than many of the other demons whose domains she had briefly touched before being drawn into the Madama’s domains and she was still reeling from her trial.

As if sensing her thoughts, a dissonant chuckled breezed by her soul and Cereza bolted to her feet in fear. Sheba, what had she gotten herself into?

Her legs more or less cooperated with her, the dawning day not doing her any favours in terms of healing faster. Where was a full moon when you needed one?

She managed to stagger to her dwellings and all their ruins in disrepair charms but at least there was a modestly soft surface for her to collapse on and no one to harass her.

Not anymore.

Slumping on her bed, she felt the welling of a smug satisfaction at the way the other witches had looked at her on her way to her room - fear, reluctant respect and a newfound appreciation for her ability to inflict copious amounts of hurt.

A soft knock sounded at her door and she did a quick scan. Jeanne!

Cereza sprang out of bed, leg failing her landing and making her stumble into the piece of junk she called a desk with a pang. Uprighting herself with a wince, she padded to her door and dispelled her wards in one smooth gesture.

Jeanne was there, looking so lovely and Cereza did her best to not kiss her in plain sight. It seemed she didn't care either because the door was slammed open and Jeanne captured her lips in a fierce kiss that left her somewhat dazed and clutching her rickety bedroom door.

“I'm so proud of you, so so proud.” She started, gingerly touching the bleeding claw marks and bites on her Formal with worried gestures. “Come back to my room….I have a bathtub full of salve.”

“Enticing, I won't lie.” She felt Jeanne's body heat radiating in her freezing room and into her battered bones, a salve of it's own as she leaned against her body in a loose hug.

Her injuries caught up with her much faster than she would have liked but Jeanne's arms circled her closer and supported her weight in full. “I can carry you, the halls are clear and mother is...she's assessing and won't come anywhere near for the rest of the week I'm sure.”

Plus, no one dared to enter the heir’s room uninvited. With a contract, she was full Umbra and to trespass into another's vital space was a sin of the highest calibre. Sometimes she wondered if she couldn't convince Cereza to just...move in permanently.

Cereza hummed and blinked against her coat, making a big effort to keep her eyes open. With a feather light touch, she was lifted off her feet into a comfortable carry for her height and she surrendered to the plush comfort of Jeanne's front.

The trek between their rooms had been perfected by a decade of sneaking around and the vast, expansive wealth of abandoned tunnels, secret rooms and panic exits that existed around Luna. Cereza was fast asleep, occasionally mumbling something when Jeanne jostled her on some steps that she promptly soothed with a kiss to her fluffy, black hair.

A final door separated them from the large antechamber that gave way into the door to her bedroom. The floor was all hers and it had more secret entryways and exits than what she knew what to do with.

Paranoia ran deep it seemed, in their ruling class but she couldn't help but wonder - all that exited, also entered but so far she hadn't had any assassination attempts coming in through the old tunnels.

Fragrant herbs and comforting heat from the fireplace greeted them as Jeanne kicked open the door and deposited Cereza on her bed, despite her protests of not wanting to soil the luxurious duvet.

“Don't worry about my bed, just rest up for a while.”

Cereza cast a bleary eye her way and she still got up to take off her gross hood and shoes before slumping back with a happy sigh. “You have that look about you that tells me you're going to head off somewhere.”

Jeanne nodded with a reluctant motion. “ Just for a bit, I need to go do something... I'll join you for the bath when I return?”

She lifted her head and tried to keep her apprehension off her features. Jeanne wasn't exactly an elder Umbra, who knew who still thought they could just barge in there and if they found her sleeping like she belonged in the princess’ room, she would get shackled and thrown in with her mother.

It had happened before and she wasn't keen to repeat the experience. The thought of having annulment shackles slapped on again made her nauseous.

“I’ll put in the usual charms outside, anyone coming over to the floor will make about as much noise as an Umbra construct.” She approached the foot of the bed and leaned into Cereza with a sweet kiss. “Besides which, I'll lock it. Nobody will think it odd and I'll be back in under an hour.”

Cereza looked away briefly before returning the kiss, holding her close and letting her go just as promptly. “If you must.” She sassed and Jeanne smiled, a soft and caring thing that made Cereza's heart somersault in her ribcage. “Go then princess, I need my beauty sleep.” She finished, wincing at her hurt midsection.” Quite literally.”

“ Be safe, I'll be right back.”

Her heels clicked on the ancient stone floor with a methodical and driven cadence, the early hour discouraging any other witches from pottering about in her path.

She arrived at the dungeon and barely nodded at the gatekeeper. Nobody would dare ask her what her business was and she liked it like that.

The cages around her were of no interest to her despite the permanently agitated occupants and she soon reach the cell she had come to see.

“ She did it, better than anyone I have ever seen. Everyone was stunned stupid.” Pride bled into her tone and she didn't bother to hide it.

The witch in front of her was still for a long time, the shackles weighing her down to the floor and in between the her cowl and hood, she was barely distinguishable from the drab grey of the walls.

Jeanne didn't come down here by herself too often, the reality of their system became too hard to stomach in these days but she had to see this through.

“It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, it was historical! She came back, victorious and bloodied like a...a! An avenging avatar and the whole of the Umbra couldn't deal with it”

With a slow, ponderous deliberation, Rosa lifted her head as best as her position allowed her and locked her dark grey eyes straight into Jeanne's silver. “Who, little one?” She voiced, soft, too soft like a night breeze at a haunted cemetery.

“Madama Butterfly.”

Her eyebrows shot up well past her hood and even beneath the cowl, Jeanne could spot her surprise. Had she not been the daughter of a Lumen Sage, the feast in her honor would be grand after such a contract.

As it stood, only the cold comfort of the princess’ bedroom awaited her.

“Is she well? Has she been harmed?” Jeanne was almost taken aback by the vehemence of those words, of the display in strength she had never seen from Rosa before.

“She's…” she hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her top for a second. “ She's exhausted but she's safe, in the best place she can be and has everything she needs to feel better.”

The fight bled from Rosa's frame as soon as it had flashed with a grating noise from her chains. “I'm sure she's missing an important component. Thank you for letting me know.”

A dismissal that was subtle yet final in it's execution, though Jeanne still had something else to say before she went off to fix the missing piece.

“I'm going to present her!” She blurted out and all of a sudden Rosa was on her feet, standing tall with the full, imposing power of the Left Eye of Darkness upon her. “At the Winter solstice.” Jeanne said with a finality she wasn't quite sure of as it seemed. “I seek your blessing.”

Rosa was still for a long while, seemingly fixated on her and Jeanne squirmed under the scrutiny. “Do you understand the implications?” she started, the edge of her tone barbed and harsh. “do you know what this means, what you'll put her through?”

Jeanne took a step back and her embarrassment burned hot. She wasn't a child anymore, she knew what she was doing. “Did you? When you tangled with the sage?” She shot back and in the fraction of a second after she opened her mouth, she wished for Inferno to swallow her whole.

“I'm sorr-”

“You've your mother's argumentative capacities, little one, no doubt about that.” Rosa settled back down again, the strain on the chain relaxing and the tension on her body easing away. “I did, thoroughly and I hope you have as well.”

Jeanne looked hopeful, her heart racing on her chest like one of her prized horses, the wild beat of a deer that had narrowly escaped a wolf.

“You have my blessings, may darkness enrapture your promise to my daughter and may it be taken to fruition.”

She felt like going inside, hugging Rosa, crying, something. Would she have gone ahead without her blessing? Well, yes she would but it was better if her ( future?) mother in law agreed with what she was doing.

“Thank you, thank you!” Jeanne gripped the bars and grinned, catching herself and straightening her back. She was the Heir after all and soon she would fight for her right to rule, she'd better behave like her station demanded.

“I know you'll be handing in your letter of intent a few years down the line, Jeanne. I figure it's better to not stop you.” Rosa said, a smile ghosting her features and she couldn’t figure out if that was a certainty or a threat.

She nodded and Rosa winked at her, causing a blush to cast over her cheeks once more. “Moon's blessing, Matriarch.” She bowed, as was proper. “I will do my best.”

“Shoo now, I know someone who needs you more than I need to peacock my parental rights at you”

With one last bow, Jeanne was off the cell block with a definitive spring to her step. Sheba's eternal glory, it had been a great day!

After she was healed up enough to stand unaided and they had celebrated to Inferno and back several times, Cereza had to return to her life.

Jeanne ranted and raved about how this would make her accepted, a proper Umbra and that nobody would ever dare harm her again.

That this would be freedom...but Jeanne had also taught her that sometimes laws changed but people did not, of the fulcral difference between de jure and de facto. Maybe she could no longer be harassed under their laws but that didn’t mean the other witches would obey it.

Jeanne squinted and her from her luxuriously rumpled bed and whined, extending an arm in her direction. “Must you go?” she mumbled, knowing full well what the answer was.

“I’m afraid so, at least go tell mummy I’m still alive and well.” Cereza replied, gathering her ratty clothes and going to wash her face and hands in the richly decorated basin on the far side of the apartment.

Jeanne blushed a bit and covered up her embarrassment with a cough, covering herself with the sheet. “Might be pleasant that she knows, yes. Can I meet up with you later? I have something I want to give you but I need to fetch it first.” She commented, her breezy tone betraying the seriousness of what she was going to attempt but she didn’t want Cereza to panic.

Cereza looked at her with a slight furrow of her brow, she sounded way too casual but something about the tension in her body made her keen Jeanne-knowing senses ping. What was she up to? “Yes but I need to procure some more supplies from the outside so I’ll be out most of the day.”

Jeanne nodded, plotting her day to accommodate that and still have time to fetch the bracelet she had commissioned from the demon smith himself.

With one final kiss, Cereza went to the door and waved her goodbyes. She was curious on what the day had in store for her but for now she needed to focus on how to best steal some food for herself.

It was Winter and the fields were bare of anything remotely edible, which meant she had to break into storage facilities and snag whatever she could. As she plotted, the wards near her room blared in alarm and she nearly jumped out of skin.

Fuck. It had started.

She tapped into her magic and she realized who it was. A looming blonde Witch, solid like an ancient oak and taller than even her mummy was stock still at her door and she knew she was Cornelia, head Tribunal and the Elder’s personal protection detail as well as Jeanne’s main carer during her formative years.

As with all other witches, Cereza avoided her like the plague and she knew that meeting up with such an important Umbra could only be bad news, especially when it was the highest advocate of law in Luna.

“I am not here to harm you, sister.” Fat fucking chance but Cereza knew she was trapped. Her only thing she could do was see what was requested of her and pray that the kick wouldn’t be too brutal.

She opened the door, her heart racing on her chest as the tall expanse of heavy Formal came into view. The power she exuded was insane and Cereza only wanted to flinch away and slink far from view before it could be turned on her.

“Congratulations are in order.” Cornelia said, hands behind her back and spine perfectly straight. For such a praise, it was delivered with an impeccable lack of emotion. “You may now own property and be protected under our laws.” If she objected to it at all, Cereza couldn’t tell. “You have been assigned new dwellings that reflects your status as an Umbra witch, please direct to the proper wing as outlined in the documents provided.”

With that, she presented her with a simple wooden box bearing the sigil of their Clan and Cereza nearly dropped it after what she had said. Property, protection, a new home?! What…

“Meet with the quartermaster for your work assignment. As of tomorrow, you are to present to the fisheries for management work.” She continued, droning on while Cereza just looked on with her mouth agape. “Your compensation is monetary in accordance with your experience bracket as well as in the form of basic sustenance. For every month of work, you are awarded an extra share of the labour you produce, in this case fishing products. Should you have any doubts, please consult the appropriate documents I have just handed to you or their source that can be found in the library.”

Cereza looked back down at the box and then at Cornelia’s taller form and she was floored at not being able to hint at any form of joke or entrapment.

“Due to your status, you must present in two months time for an aptitude evaluation to see if you'd thrive in more specialized environments. Usually this is done before a work assignment, however it's best you have access to income and food before we can allocate you in a more appropriate position. Meal hall is open from 1 pm to 5 am.”

Apparently that was all she was required to say to Cereza but the whole of the information dump still had not cleared and there was a moment of long silence.

“Do you have any questions?” She tried, mask of distant politeness cracking a bit with her confusion. “Everything you need to know is in that box.”

“Yes! No I mean…” Cereza mumbled, yanking on the frayed end of her cowl in embarrassment. She just wanted this scrutiny to be over with soon. “Everything is fine.” She said but she remembered who she was talking too and hastily added. “Mistress? I uh go where darkness treads.” Jeanne had told her about the proper way to address an Umbra above her station before but she just had scoffed at that.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would ever need to have a neutral discussion with a full fledged Umbra Witch.

Cornelia nodded, if she was offended by her clunky formality she also did the favor of not showing. “I'll take my leave, sister.”

And with that, she was off the ancient and dilapidated section and Cereza was left alone.

Left alone with the key to her freedom among her Clan.

A job, wealth, legal protection... food! Food she didn't have to steal and maybe even a long, hot bath without having to break into the bathhouse or depend Jeanne's admittedly very consistent good will.

She was Umbra and she was finally free.

[jaeminlore]

Noble Gain and Loss // Kim Namjoon

-

the prompt: So, I’ve been thinking about this ever since the Blood Sweat & Tears MV came out… but could I request a BTS Georgian/Regency AU? Where you’re a person of nobility and Namjoon is your tutor (maybe helping prepare you for your debut?), and you two fall for each other, but it’s kind of a forbidden love, since you’re of different social classes? So I guess that would be fluff/romance with some angst?

words: 4578

category: lil bit of fluff + a load of angst

author note: this was so much fun to write! I did a lot of research for this and I found out that the regency period was happening while Korea wasn’t called the Korean Empire yet so that is why Korea is addressed as Joseon here! Also just a disclaimer, I may not be 100% historically accurate so please forgive any slip-ups.

– destinee

-

“Oomph,” a branch grazed your cheek as you climbed up a maple tree in the middle of the forest.

There was no way your adviser would find you here. After outrunning the woman who’s personality was as boring as her stringy hairstyle, you had made your way to the beautiful forest you loved to play in.

Now all you had to do was wait for an hour until she gave up the search.

Mrs. Tibet was a short, plump woman with little patience for the lady-in-waiting she was given the task of taking care of.

She had just announced a new tutor for you when you decided to make your daring escape.

How many tutors have you had, and made quit, because of your inability to never sit still?

The boring men and women who came into your life never quite appreciated your knack for adventure.

How could you learn the teachings of Plato when you could be sneaking into the servant’s quarters and stealing some of their delicious food? How could you think about proper etiquette when your love for running and climbing things gave you purple scars deemed “unladylike”?

There was no way you were going to spend another twelve hours with some boring teacher in a stuffy library. Never again.

You would stay in this tree and become a squirrel if you had to.

You had just been calculating how many acorns you would have to eat to survive, when you heard the unmistakable voice of your adviser.

“Lady Y/n! If you do not get down here this instant I will climb that tree myself and drag you down by your hair!”

You pressed the palm of your hand to your mouth to suppress your giggles. Mrs. Tibet was known for her short fuse, and you, in turn, were known for testing that fuse daily.

“Young lady, your new tutor is hear and you need to greet him.”

You peeked through the leaves. Your adviser stood on the forest floor with her hands on her hips. Beside her was a man who looked only a few years older than you. He was foreign, you could tell by the shape of his eyes. His hair was an unnatural blond color that didn’t match his dark eyebrows. You wondered what he had done to make it that way.

His attire was just like every tutor before him: plain black bottoms with a crisp white shirt. Your own attire was annoying and irritating. The dress you wore was heavy from the multiple layers, and your now-ripped stockings itched your legs. The corset your servant had put you in this morning felt as if it was crushing at least four of your ribs.

Jealousy bubbled in your heart as you wished to wear the clothes he was wearing.

“Y/n Y/l/n!”

You sighed at the serious tone in her voice and began to climb down the tree. Every time Mrs. Tibet used your first name and your surname, it was time to stop playing around.

Still, you didn’t have to surrender happily. You trudged over to the pair, purposely getting mud in the seams of your cloth boots.

The frown on Mrs. Tibet’s face was satisfying. You stood in front of the pair and curtsied clumsily. “Good day.”

“Y/n,” Mrs. Tibet’s voice held a warning in it’s tone. “This is Kim Namjoon. He’s a scholar from the Joseon Kingdom and you have been given a wonderful opportunity to study under his care.”

You looked at the man. Now only a few feet apart, you could see his embellished features. His dark brown eyes met your colored ones and he offered you a soft smile.

Clearing your throat, you remembered to keep up your facade. “I don’t want a tutor,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Y/n, Namjoon is one of the youngest scholars of our age. He studied philosophy and even taught himself English. You won’t get a better tutor anywhere else.”

Your lip curled in distaste. “You studied? For fun?”

Namjoon smiled toothily, “I love learning. I believe that knowledge is a gift and something to be appreciated.”

You snorted.

With a smirk, Namjoon addressed your rude outburst, “You think I’m wrong.”

“I know you’re wrong. Having a tutor is the most boring thing on this earth.”

“I’ll prove to you that it isn’t,” his smile had taken a turn to be labeled as annoying.

You stuck your chin in the air stubbornly and walked past him, back to your house to get cleaned up.

-

You weren’t a princess by any means. You were simply a Lady, because your father was a Lord under the king.

The job you had was to always be prim and proper to represent the fine women of England. You were to walk, talk, eat, sit, cry, laugh, dress, learn, and listen all in ways that were proper enough for a lady.

The ending goal was that you would be proper enough to gain the attention of another noble of wealth, so that both pedigree and greed would be satisfied.

The word proper was never in your vocabulary, however. So you showed up to your first lesson with Namjoon an hour late, hoping to make him angry.

You did this with all of your tutors. They would get tired of your misbehaving and eventually quit to teach a more cooperative student. It was a plan that had yet to fail.

Which is exactly why your smile faltered a bit to see Namjoon sitting quietly behind his desk, reading a book contently.

Your frown worsened, “I didn’t think you would still be here.”

Namjoon jumped at your voice, knocking over a candle and causing the edge of his book to light on fire. Using his hand, he snuffed the flames quickly before muttering, “Not again.”

Unable to contain it, you began laughing. “What do you mean •Not Again•? Does this happen often?”

Your tutor smiled in embarrassment. “I am really good at breaking things and knocking things over.”

“Maybe you could accidentally burn all of my books and then we could go outside.” You suggested.

Namjoon grinned at you, “Nice try, Y/n.” Then he grabbed a pile of books off of the desk. “But what if we go outside to do our lesson?”

“Really?” You rose your eyebrows and smiled widely.

“As long as you listen to my lesson, I don’t see why not.” Namjoon shrugged. You followed him as he walked out of the study and towards the door that led to the backyard.

Behind that door was your freedom. You could barely contain your excitement as you walked beside Namjoon.

“As long as you listen to me,” Namjoon said as he opened the door. The sunlight shone against your face as he continued, “If you get behind on your studies, we have to come back in this extremely stuffy room. We don’t want that, do we?”

“Of course not,” you assured him. “Now let’s go!”

Without thinking, you grabbed his large hand and pulled him into the warm weather.

“Woah!” Namjoon held tighter to his books as you pulled him closer to your favorite willow tree.

“Let’s study here.” You said happily.

Namjoon was coming to realize just how happy-go-lucky you were. It was going to be a chore to turn you into the lady your parents wanted you to be. A lady who would marry a man of wealth and power.

“Okay, today we’ll have to practice arithmetic.” Namjoon gave you an apologetic smile.

You sighed, looking over at the open field.

“If you get this lesson done you can stay out for an hour before our tea lesson.” Namjoon tempted you.

You agreed almost right away, lifting your skirts above your knees and sitting cross-legged onto the grass.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Namjoon scolded you. “A lady must keep her skirt below her ankles. She should also sit daintily with her ankles crossed.”

“Why?” you pulled out a blade of grass and poked a hole through it.

“Because it’s proper.”

“Why is it proper?”

“Because if you show above your knees you might encourage improper thoughts.”

“What if I don’t care?” You sent Namjoon a mischievous smirk.

“You have to care,” he insisted, although you noticed his ears turn a bright shade of red. “Your eighteenth birthday is coming up and you will be wed to a man of noble birth. You will be expected to be proper.”

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever.”

“Let’s just start our lesson.” Namjoon said to avoid any other arguments.

-

“I absolutely hate this,” you looked down at the dress you were wearing.

You were currently getting fitted for a new dress, while Namjoon simultaneously tried to read to you the works of William Wordsworth from behind the dressing screen.

Obviously you weren’t listening to him, as you kept complaining about your dress. “Why can’t I wear trousers like you?”

“Because you’re a lady, Y/n, we’ve been over this.”

The tailor tightened your corset at that moment, and you swore you saw stars. “We’ll have to put you on a lighter diet,” she mumbled to herself, pinching your skin lightly.

Namjoon continued to read some words you didn’t understand, yet you tried to focus on his voice. Maybe it would distract you from the constricted feeling in your abdomen.

Now, listening to his soothing voice, you picked up on the little accent he still had from home. Some of the words were harder for him to pronounce, yet he made no complaint.

It made you take a mental step back and shame yourself. Namjoon was far away from his home, in a new culture and a new language just to teach you.Of course, your parents were paying him the best, but what is money when you have a family back home who love and miss you?

“Namjoon, what is life like where you live?”

You waited for his answer as patiently as you could. “It’s similar to your England, except it’s influenced by Asian culture, obviously.” He said the last word to himself quietly, as if scolding himself, making you smile.

“I want details. What are the ladies like over there?”

“Oh,” Namjoon’s voice slowed from behind the screen, as if he was picking his next words carefully. “They are beautiful, of course. Most of them marry within the court or become a woman belonging to the king.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why can’t we just decide what we want to be like the men?”

“Don’t speak like that!” Your tailor scolded you.

“She is allowed to ask whatever questions she wants in my lessons,” Namjoon said calmly from behind the screen. “It is my job to help her understand why she is doing what she is doing, after all.”

Your tailor scowled as you gave her a satisfied smile. Then you turned to the shadow behind the screen, “Thanks, Joonie.”

“Joonie?” he sounded offended.

“Yes.” You answered with confidence. “That’s you’re new nickname.”

“We’ll discuss your question after the fitting,” was all the Namjoon said.

The next hour was quiet, with you listening to Namjoon read. It was better that way, so that you could take the time to control your breathing. The corset was far too tight, but it was part of your daily clothes, and you had to get used to it.

“Done,” the tailor announced.

You looked down at the dress. It was a peach color, with lace and frills in modest places. Your… um… assets were on full display. The most uncomfortable feeling ran through your body. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t what you liked.

“How do you like it, Mr. Kim?” The tailor folded back the screen and Namjoon looked up from his book.

His eyes traced over you dress slowly before he looked at you.

“I think it’s beautiful,” he said, catching your uncertain gaze, “but it isn’t you.”

He waited for the tailor to exit the room before walking up to you. “You know you can’t choose your future.”

You narrowed your eyes, “I know you don’t really believe that.”

Namjoon diverted his eyes, “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I’m not teaching you my beliefs. I’m teaching you the beliefs of your people. Your society.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” you noticed his eyes soften as you spoke with broken resolve. “I wish you would help me break out of these stupid requirements.”

“I’m sorry I can’t.” Namjoon reached out and touched your shoulder. “I wish I could. With all my heart I wish I could.”

-

“So I have to know how to talk to a man properly?” You rolled your eyes.

You were lying with your back against the grass.

Your tutor of three months only smiled. He was now used to your attitude. Every day you had never failed to try and get him to stop teaching you. To bug him for hours with unanswerable questions, and yet every day he decided to come back. He decided to teach you not only how to do things, but why it had to be done.

Eventually, you grew content with him as you tutor and friend.

Now the only thing you fought with him about was why you had to get married to someone you didn’t love. Ever since the day at the tailer’s, you had never stopped bugging Namjoon to help you find another purpose for your life.

He always patiently tried to explain that marriage wasn’t a privilege. It was a duty of noble men and women to get married to someone who could take them further in life. It was no longer something for people to do when they were in love.

“Your birthday banquet is three months away. If a man isn’t interested in you, you’re parents will choose someone for you. There will be many rich bachelors there and I know you would rather pick one than have your mother do it for you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Can’t I just become a tutor like you?”

Namjoon smiled widely, showing off his dimples. “You would teach other people the subjects you hate?”

“I don’t hate poetry,” you said. He was sitting beside you, watching your face as you spoke to him.

You looked at him, the sun shining behind his head, creating a halo of light. “You look ethereal.”

“Me?” Namjoon’s ears turned red. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” You sat up, not noticing that you and Namjoon were mere inches away.

He did however, and his eyes wandered over your face as you explained his sunny halo.

“Y/n…” he tried to interrupt you, his breath catching as you reached your hand up to touch his hair. You only noticed his discomfort when he grabbed your wrist.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, completely clueless.

Namjoon cleared his throat, “Let’s just get to the lesson.”

“Oh, okay.” You stood up carefully, watching your dress as you had learned.

You waited for him to get up as well. He offered you his arm and the two of you walked back into your large manor. One of the servants, Anna, stood in the kitchen, rolling out dough for some fruit pastries.

Namjoon pulled you away before you could sneak a spoonful of raspberry jam.

“We’re going to go learn our manners.” He said with a pointed look towards you.

You sighed, “Ah, yes, manners.”

Back in Namjoon’s study, he stood behind his desk and you sat in front of it. “Okay, now pretend I’m a boy you’re interested in and talk to me like we’ve practiced.”

You leaned your chin against your arm and droned in a bored tone, “Hello, Mr. Rich Man, has the night treated you well?”

Namjoon assumed his own character as the lord you were interested in. “It has, especially now that I’m talking to you.”

He grabbed your hand gently and kissed your knuckles.

You giggled in an over-exaggerated way, and Namjoon knew it. He tried to hide his smile as you covered your mouth with your hand, “Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Kim.”

The two of you seemed to recognize your mistake instantly. Usually, you called him “Rich Man,” but you had let his real name slip.

He cleared his throat and tried to keep the small talk going. “I only speak the truth.”

You bowed your head and groaned. “Do we have to do this? You speak so eloquently and you teach me so many deep thoughts. I hate seeing you speak shallow words like this.

“We have to, Y/n. It’s preparation.” Namjoon said ever-so-patiently.

“I don’t want to prepare.” You confessed. “Namjoon, I want to travel the world like you and learn about other cultures and other ways of life. You could teach me your language!”

Namjoom smiled sadly, “Y/n, you know you can’t.”

Without warning, you burst into tears. Immediately, Namjoon knelt down in front of you, handing you a handkerchief. You giggled through your tears as you dabbed under your eyes. The handkerchief was white and lacy, like that of a women’s.

“Your face will swell,” he warned.

“I don’t care,” you replied like you always did. Then you threw the handkerchief at him and used your hands to wipe your snot. “I’m not a lady. It’s too hard and I have no passion for it. You read me all of these stories about people who break away from their expected positions. Why can’t I be one of them?”

Namjoon used his thumb to wipe away your tears, “Because they’re just stories, Y/n.”

“I don’t want them to be stories.” You whispered.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry it can’t be that way for you.”

-

One month until your birthday banquet. One month for you to accept your fate.

The past month, Namjoon had been nice enough to make your lessons focus less on romance and more of philosophy. He taught you about current affairs and wars. He taught you about politics and economics. Anything that took your mind off of your unsettling future.

But he still had to teach you your lessons for the banquet. One of these was to teach you traditional ballroom dancing.

Which is why you stood in the middle of the ballroom in an itchy dress while Namjoon explained the basic steps of dancing to you.

“Have you got it?” he asked after he repeated the steps to you.

You looked away from the window, where you were staring at the rain that was falling outside.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” You lied.

He knew you were lying. However, being used to it, he simply ignored it and walked in front of you.

You watched him as he grabbed your small hand in his big one. It was soft and warm and you unconsciously linked your fingers with his.

“Now what do I do?” You asked.

“Now, you rest your other hand on my shoulder.”

“Like this?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. Then he stepped closer to you and placed his hand on the small of your back.

“Now, we dance.” He whispered.

You followed his lead as he spoke the steps out loud. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three–”

He stepped on your foot and winced. “Sorry.”

You laughed, “You’re supposed to be teaching me, Joonie.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, looking down at your feet. “You know I’m clumsy.”

“You’ve got to teach me this by the banquet!”

“I know, don’t worry.” Namjoon smiled down at you. “I’ve got you.”

Your heart stopped at those words, taking them seriously for a second. “Do you mean that?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Namjoon pulled you sideways as the two of you completed the steps. He seemed to be completely distracted, as if he didn’t even hear his answer, “Of course I do.”

You smiled shyly. “Joonie?”

“Yeah?”

You looked at him, studying his face as you answered. “Will we still be friends after I get engaged?”

Namjoon stopped dancing abruptly. The two of you stumbled a bit, so he reached out and grabbed your waist to steady both of you before going back to his original position.

“What is it?” You studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

Namjoon’s eyes met yours, “You know we can’t. Once you have a fiancé, I’ll need go back home.”

Your gaze drifted down to his mouth. His deep voice had always mesmerized you. It could lull you to sleep. Except right now, it was extremely attractive. Perhaps you were staring for too long because all of a sudden Namjoon’s face was too close for comfort.

You looked up into his eyes, only to see him staring at your lips.

“But I want to,” you said quietly. His warm breath fanning your lips was distracting you way too much so all you could do was say what was on your mind. “I don’t want to be apart from you. You teach me so much and your my only friend. You take your time with me and always try to lessen the blow of all my annoying responsibilities. What if I don’t want to get married to some rich bachelor, Namjoon? What if I want to get married to you?”

Suddenly, his lips were on yours. He let go of your hand and grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed his shoulders and lifted yourself onto your toes to try and reach him better.

His lips were soft and velvety, desperate in their effort to convey what he felt for you. Tears threatened to leak from your eyes as you held him closer, tighter. There was no other position you wanted to be in then right here, in Namjoon’s arms, with his lips caressing yours.

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt Namjoon begin to move away.

“Y/n…” he addressed you, his voice raspy and low. “You can’t say things like that. It makes me want to run away with you.”

“Would that be so wrong?” You asked, your lips brushing against his once more.

He sighed sadly, “It would be.”

With your forehead against his, you sighed. “I know, I know. But just for a moment, just a small minute, can we be in love unconditionally? Just for a moment. The rest of the dance, and then we can forget all about our true feelings.”

“For the rest of the dance,” Namjoon permitted. You knew he felt the same emotions as you, maybe even stronger. However, he was also in a trying position, since this was his job and you were only his student. He never should’ve let his heart guide the way he taught you.

Now you two were dancing, swaying left and right to the tune Namjoon hummed in your ear. He was holding you far too close for a simple dance partner, yet you clung to him like an anchor to the ocean floor.

If this was your first and last dance, it was going to be a good one.

-

One day until your birthday banquet. One day until your life would change forever.

You held onto the back of your bed post while three of your servants tightened your corset. You hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks just to fit into the blasted thing.

Still, you obediently let them dress you in your heavy, extravagant gown. Your head felt heavy as well, with curls pinned up this way and that. Your makeup was darker than usual, since more eyes would be on you.

Your future husband would be at the banquet. One of those men would be one you had to live with for the rest of your life. He would father your children, he would be the one you had to depend on.

There was only one problem: he wasn’t Namjoon.

After the dance lesson, the two of you tried to distance yourselves from each other. Nothing ever worked. Namjoon still made you laugh like no one else. You still held his hand when the two of you went for walks outside. He still found a way to kiss you under the light of the moon, when you were the only two awake.

You only fell more and more in love with the man you couldn’t have. In five short months he had taught you many things about responsibility and growing up. In five short months he had taught you how to love someone with all of your heart. It was obvious that you had to obey your parents and marry someone of a higher social status than a scholastic tutor. You understood that concept no matter how much you opposed it.

Once the banquet started, you were ordered to mingle with all of the guests and try to find someone you were compatible with.

In the end, a man named Robert seemed to be the only guy even close to intelligent.

When two of you danced, you couldn’t help but compare the feel of his shoulders, the gaze of his eyes, the smile on his face, to Namjoon.

The rest of the night you wore a frown on your face. When your parents announced your engagement to Lord Robert, silent tears fell from your eyes.

Your fiancé handed you a handkerchief, but he gave you no smart remarks like Namjoon would’ve. He didn’t hold your hand with a comforting squeeze every now and then like Namjoon always did when you were overwhelmed.

Because he wasn’t in love with you, and you weren’t in love with him. This was just a business deal to gain power and money. There was no such thing as love this day in age.

You should’ve known that.

-

“Congratulations on your engagement!” Mrs. Tibet gave you a wide smile the next day, as you walked down the hall to the dining room. “You will start lessons for the wedding soon. How to be a good wife and a good mother. Namjoon will be ready to give you these lessons, of course. Since he is your favorite tutor, your mother arranged for him to stay longer than originally planned.

You looked down. The very sound of his name made you want to run into his arms and escape this unholy world you were forced to live in. “That won’t be necessary,” you choked out. “I believe I should have a woman teach me how to do a woman’s job.”

“But, Miss Y/n, Namjoon has been the best at teaching you how to become a proper lady. Surely his knowledge applies to being a wife and a mother as well. He reads many books on every subject, why wouldn’t he be the best?”

“I can’t. I can’t have Namjoon as my tutor any more. Send him back to Joseon.” You said.

The sad look in your eyes must’ve translated well with Mrs. Tibet, for she only nodded her head. “Of course, Lady Y/n. As you wish.”

-

You didn’t see Namjoon off the day he left. You didn’t speak of him at all after that.

Although no one knew what had happened, many of the servants speculated the truth; that the rich maiden had fallen in love with a lowly tutor.

You had given your all to someone you couldn’t have, and now you were left empty and cold, unable to feel a love as pure as the one you had with Kim Namjoon ever again.

~the end~

[kickstarter-promotion]

Another Amazing Kickstarter (The Adventures of Doc Holiday Hennings) has been published on http://crowdmonsters.com/new-kickstarters/the-adventures-of-doc-holiday-hennings/

A NEW KICKSTARTER IS LAUNCHED:

Early stage rough pencil sketch

The Gist of the Story

The bond between a boy and his dog is one of the strongest things known to man. Especially when separated, attacked by bullies and power hungry henchmen, while trying to find your lot in life.

Follow along with Doc, the energetic pup in a cowboy hat and his new surly squirrel friend, Penelope, on a mission to find Doc’s birth family.  Be entertained as they navigate their way through back alleys, strays, street toughs and just plain strange characters.

Fun for the entire family of all ages. Written to help independent readers aged 7-11 expand their vocabulary, while they envision their favorite characters and entertain adults as they lull their loved ones to sleep.  “The Adventures of Doc Holiday Hennings” instills the importance of family, whether blended, adopted or by blood. With emphasis on friendship and making new friends, bullies and how to deal with them and accepting one’s own identity while just enjoying the ride.

Full color Illustration by Corey Wolfe

About the Book

The digital version of the book will be formatted for readers including Sony Readers, B&N Nook Apple iBook, Google ebookstore, Kindle Kobo and more. Making it readily available on phones, tablets and readers alike.

The cover image on top of the radiant blue color of the 6×9, perfect bound, approximately 100 page, paperback book will draw you into the excitement, thrills and danger of the adventure. While remaining easy to hold and take on the go.

Black and White tight pencil sketch

Using a Mac, working on Photoshop and Illustrator, Corey Wolfe combines traditional and digital techniques to bring visions to life. His work history of DVD covers, ads and books includes clients such as Disney, Mattel, Hasbro, Hanna Barbara, Wizards of the Coast, Penguin Book and DAW books. He has over 1200 projects from Disney alone!

Painted color sketch

Progress so far

This project is completely written and has been mostly independently funded by the author, including copyediting, manufacturing setup expenses, design and layout. Seven of the prominent and vibrant characters have been developed, sketched and colored. There are another six characters waiting in the story hoping to come to life and join them in the electrifying colored page scenes of the book.

Doc Holiday Hennings – the adventurous protagonist. Green around the gills, inexperienced, a bit naive but ambitious and positive. Brown and black Rottweiler and Dachshund mix in a cowboy hat made of straw.

‘Jeffrey noticed a small brown and black ball rolling towards his feet.  It hit and unraveled, but it wasn’t a ball.  It was — “A doggie!” exclaimed Jeffrey jumping up and down.’

Penelope sample sketch

Penelope – Doc’s reluctant mentor. In a way, the Mr. Miyagi to his Daniel. 

‘Doc looked around and saw a little gray squirrel at the top of the tree. Penelope appeared to be an old squirrel, almost grandmother like, for the fact that if you looked into her eyes you could see the wisdom only obtained through experience. Though she can be a bit of a grouch at times, she is caring, with a good heart under her cold exterior.’

Dawg – the conniving Doberman under boss of the dog pack with plans of usurping the throne. 

‘NO WAY!!!” Doc shouted and pushed the Doberman, who was at least twice his size.’

Big B – Pitbull boss of the dog pack. Very intimidating and stern. 

‘The figure emerged from the shadows revealing a snarling light brown pitbull with white patches across his body and face; he had a bandana tied to his head hanging down his face. He spoke with a raspy voice that demanded respect when it sounded. The other dogs responded to it like a theatre audience to a stage performer’s monologue

Image given to illustrator expressing personality of Bullie

Bullie & Chile (aka Chi Chi) – Feeding off each other in an Abbot and Castelo way. Bullie is simple, playful and a bit dim witted. Chi chi is awkwardly postured, stutteringly hyena like.  

‘This fine looking mutt here,” referring to the bulldog with the drooping cheeks, “is Bullie. The little one,” motioning to the Chihuahua “is Chile or Chichi fo’ short’ 

‘The bulldog approached him waddling from side to side with his thick drool swaying and occasionally flying off of his mouth. The Chihuahua took a different strategy, however, he put his small undersized legs to extra work energetically fluttering and alternating his paws into a blur, displaying a wide grin and boasting a hyena like heckle as he neared the huddle in a low crouch. 

Darling – Doc’s crush. Soft spoken and classy. Her curls are similar to Shirley Temple locks.

‘well groomed brown cocker spaniel with an occasional white patch. Her dog collar covered in what looks like diamonds with a silver heart hanging from the front with one letter ‘D’.’

Pencil Sketch in development; before color

Help bring alive:

Spot – White and orange alley cat on the outside. All courageous, loyal dog on the inside.

King – Massive ‘pony’ size Rottweiler with three brown spots on his head similar to a crown formation.

Jeffrey – Small, inquisitive and bright, friend and human brother to Doc.

Richard, Jeffrey’s dad – the lanky, humble and slightly insecure single parent to Jeffrey that will do anything to keep his family together.

Nurse Annie – The kind school nurse, turned friend, turned family. Annie is sweet, soft voiced and excellent with using words to convince people to see the right way of doing things.

The ‘Old man’ – The haggard well intentioned dog breeder, with wispy strands of hair and a toothless manner of speaking.

More characters and color in the illustrations bring life to the adventure

Our goals:

Short term  – $2,000

There are 10 chapters including the epilogue. Ideally, 10 page drawings will accompany each chapter with one being repeated for the cover.

Rewards: All prints and books signed by author.

Intermediate term – $5,000

The 10 chapter scenes and 3 more character developments including Jeffrey, Jeffrey’s Dad and nurse Annie.

Reward: MP3 of the original theme song created for “The Adventures of Doc Holiday Hennings” for ALL backers.

Long term – $10,000

An AMAZING number of exciting scenes (amazing = 24 to fit manufacture’s layout limit). ALL six remaining character developments, (including Jeffrey, Jeffrey’s dad, Nurse Annie, Spot, the Old man and King)  and an original cover image.

Reward: 12 month calendar for all backers receiving physical deliveries.

Risks and challenges

When trying to create greatness, you need the best…and the best has a high demand. Illustrator Corey Wolfe has clients knocking at his door for talent. With this being said, there is a 10-week project in line before the completion of the page scenes of the book and any further potential character development.

This time schedule has already been taken into account, plus the addition of 3 weeks for production of the rough draft, tight pencil sketch and coloring of the page artwork. If for some reason this 10-week project becomes a 12 week project or our turnaround time turns into 4 weeks before completion, then our rewards schedule may be on the very edge of a timely delivery or slightly pushed back.

Corey Wolfe has been very transparent on scheduling thus far and has delivered in a timely manner. Either way, backers will be updated and kept in the loop as the best version of the project and rewards are being created.

Learn about accountability on Kickstarter

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