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dontkickmyshin · 2 years

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Chain of Command Chapter 5

Fuck, where is she?

She’d called him the night before to ask for the designated pick up time, but ten minutes had already passed since the agreed timing and Bambi was still nowhere to be seen.

Admittedly, Forrest felt a little embarrassed for eagerly anticipating Bambi’s arrival like she was some knight in shining armour and he was a damsel in distress, but when you were facing a real life villain that would make any fairytale antagonist piss their pants, you needed all the protection you could get.

He’d felt relieved when she informed him that she would be tagging along to observe the pickup with Ganghak– for what reason, he didn’t know.

He doubted that Wolf would be happy with the decision, but as long as it meant that Forrest and his friends would be free from both psychological and physical damage, he didn’t give a damn about what the boy felt,

But regardless of what she’d said the night before, Bambi was still a no-show. And Forrest Lee was paying for it big time.

“I said I’ll make sure to take care of the money that got stolen. And yet you dare intimidate me with Donald Na?”

Wolf grabbed him by his hair, yanking his head down towards till their eyes were levelled.

“You dare do that to me? Have you forgotten who I am?”

Fuck. It became harder to evade Wolf Keum’s eyes as he leaned in closer to his face. Fuck. He was vaguely aware of Robin cowering behind him, and he was glad he left Grapes waiting downstairs. Where is Bambi? This was the exact scenario Forrest had wanted to avoid.

Where the hell is she?

Just as Forrest was about to resign to his fate, his panicking was cut short by footsteps and a familiar voice.

“What’s going on?”

Relief flooded his body.

Thank fucking goodness.

Bambi had never had a favourable impression of Wolf Keum, not when she first set eyes on him, not when Sam Lee recounted the days where he was bullied by Wolf, not when he and his little gang of assholes nearly ran her over with their motorbikes, and definitely not when she walked in on him about to beat the shit out of Forrest Lee.

She had been nearly ten minutes late to the pick up due to an unexpected holdup, and was not in the best of moods even before she watched as Wolf Keum entangled his fingers in Forrest's hair, pulling down on it so harshly she was worried that Forrest would go bald before he even hit twenty.

After all the time she’d spent alongside Donald Na, she’d learnt how to keep her emotions from being public display. Despite that, she still had to physically stop her jaw from dropping at the sight in front of her. However, even if she did let it hang loose from shock, she doubted that anyone would’ve noticed it anyways. Aside from Wolf and Forrest, the only other people present were Robin Ha, and two other boys from Ganghak.

Robin stood with his back to her, his head lowered to face the ground and his shoulders slumped in what seemed like a pathetic attempt to shrink all six feet of himself to avoid looking at his fallen leader. Wolf’s two lieutenants stood at the other end of the rooftop, facing the elevator. If their eyes weren’t so glued to the scene in front of them, they probably would’ve noticed her arrival. In the centre of it all, was Wolf Keum and Forrest Lee, the former grabbing the latter by the hair as he leaned in closer to Forrest’s face.

Her first reaction was to butt in and stop Wolf (an impulse that EMBARRASSED her)– what overwhelmed her shock at his actions was her worry for Forrest Lee. It was pitiful watching the school head be reduced to a mere ragdoll in front of Wolf Keum, especially since she knew of his assaulter’s formidability. The choice of action she decided to take however, was to stand by and watch silently, crossing her arms over her chest.

Just like how she’d learned to control her facial expressions, she’d learnt how to control the way she acted too. Rushing into a fight to stop it just reeked of desperation, which was the last thing she wanted to show around delinquents, or anyone, really. Observing silently and collecting information was the smart thing to do. An uncaring, cool and collected image had already been built for the higher ups of the Union, and she’d be an idiot to not utilise it.

Not that she wasn’t entirely unaffected by the violence that had become her everyday life– contrary to the opinions of many Union members, she wasn’t totally callous and apathetic (or in their words, a “stuck up bitch”). She wasn’t Kingsley. She had loads of empathy. She just found it easy for her to watch delinquents that weren’t her friends get beat up since she knew better than to waste her empathy on them.

Asides from worry, another emotion that had wormed her way into her heart while she watched the scene in front of her was anger, something she was much more familiar with.

What does he think he’s doing?

Was Wolf really stupid enough to attack another executive? Perhaps stupid had been the wrong word, Wolf had brains after all. Crazy would’ve worked much better.

She knew she should’ve known better than to let Wolf’s actions shock her, but she couldn’t help but feel surprised at the boy’s brazenness. Not that they weren’t perfectly in character for the bastard.

The boy hadn’t been branded as the Union wildcard for no good reason– the big, bad, Wolf with sharp teeth and large claws. A powerful and scary delinquent, no doubt, but still a delinquent, who probably only started smoking because they thought it looked cool, and thought every little insult had to be resolved with violence. At the end of the day, he was just a teenage boy who thought he was hot shit just because he had a couple of wins under his belt.

Wolf was saying something else now, and she turned her attention towards him. She raised an eyebrow. The boy was still unaware of her presence, moving so close to Forrest’s face she might’ve thought that he was going in for a kiss.

“I said I’ll make sure to take care of the money that got stolen, yet you dare intimidate me with Donald Na?”

Stolen money? Her anger on Forrest’s behalf had been forgotten, her body temperature rising significantly before dropping again. An unpleasant chill ran through her body, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice over her head.

Wolf was now saying something about his name, but she tuned it out. Stolen money? That explained why she hadn’t seen any bags on the rooftop.

In the Union, it wasn’t rare to see members fuck up their missions. Sure, maybe it'd get them a slap or two from their assigned executive, or a lecture from Donald Na himself, depending on the importance of the task, but it was rarely that serious. Losing money, however, was practically a death penalty.

She exhaled, marching towards the two boys in front of her. She’d seen enough.

“What’s going on?”

Every head turned at the sound of her voice, all with varying reactions, though shock seemed to be a common factor in all of them.

Robin and Forrest’s faces leaned more towards relief, albeit mixed with humiliation. Hayden and Hwangmo, on the other hand, seemed to physically freeze up as her gaze swept over them and onto Wolf Keum, whose face had hardened at the sight of her with obvious unhappiness. Reluctantly, he let go of Forrest Lee.

If it wasn’t for the sense of foreboding descending unto her, she would’ve rolled her eyes.

She didn’t stop walking forward until she was a short distance away from Wolf. He’d switched most of his scowl out with the blank stare he kept on while around Donald Na, though there was still a hint of petulance in it that Bambi didn’t like.

“What stolen money?” The sharp edge in her voice went unnoticed by none.

“...I didn’t know you were coming.”

An eyebrow shot up.

“Clearly.” She scoffed. “Now answer my question.”

“What stolen money?”

This time, Wolf didn’t bother to hide his anger, letting it seep into his voice as he replied, though he at least had the sense to lower his gaze.

“The expenditure payment got stolen by a bunch of guys from Eunjang. We’re looking for them right now.”

She didn’t know whether to be shocked or infuriated. She settled for a mix of both. “You lost the money?”

Wolf opened his mouth, but she cut in before he could speak. “No wait, you let it get stolen?” Wolf tensed, but she paid no mind to it, thinking about how she would break the news to Donald. He would not be happy.

All the money, and some important files too, were kept in a big locked bag for safekeeping while it was being transported. Though it was an inconvenient method when compared to digital transactions, it made sure the money- and the Union- never left a trace. However, its weakness was that it also opened up the possibility of intervention from outside sources, which meant that it was the responsibility of the members of the Union to keep it safe.

That obviously hadn’t worked.

“Who lost it?” Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at two boys behind Wolf, who flinched in return.

“It wasn’t them.” Wolf said sharply, though Bambi noted that unlike how other leaders in the Union might’ve reacted, he sounded more annoyed than defensive. “It was two other guys. I’ve already punished them, so relax.”

For the second time that day, she had to stop her jaw from hanging open at his stunning display of audacity. Relax. He really was a peculiar bastard, wasn’t he? First, he’d grabbed another executive by the hair. Then he’d lost the expenditure payment. And now he was telling her to relax.

She released a massive frustration filled sigh.

“Wolf.”

A heavy silence rested on the rooftop as she paused. When she finally spoke again, her voice was dangerously low.

“It’s a simple job. Donald Na entrusted you with this himself, and he doesn’t have time for incompetency, so fix this quickly.” She practically spat out the last part, voice full of venom. “Get the money back by tomorrow or I’ll be telling him about your mistake.”

She started to turn, motioning towards Forrest and Robin to follow her as she made her way to the elevator. “We’re done here for now.”

“Oh, right,” She paused suddenly, swivelling her head to look at him again. “I’m sure you know the rules on attacking another Union member well enough, so keep your hands to yourself next time, yeah?” She sent him a scathing look. “Try to get your shit together now.”

As she entered the lift, she had the distinct feeling that Wolf was glaring holes through her back. She frowned. She had a suspicion neither of them particularly liked each other.

#weak hero #weak hero webtoon #wolf keum #donald na #donald na x original character #wolf keum x original character #weak hero fanfiction #chain of command

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lalanboy · 2 years

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mark

when was it? back in november? it was early autumn with a chilling breath of air someone's about to leave and he was in the smoking area, waiting waiting for the arrival of his substitute i also remember smelling something nice when he passed by probably a high quality perfume he bought during his stay and i have no idea, cupid's aiming his arrow at me that very same night

to be honest, i was never a believer of 'love at first sight' not until i experienced it one night that evening i received a simple call never knowing it will be the trigger for my fall falling in love to someone for the very first time a feeling that i will never forget for the rest of my life

i walked upstairs carrying the thing you requested with a blanket on my arms, i knocked on your door seconds later you opened it with a smile on your face funny, 'cause i had a feeling that time froze for a moment i handed it to you casually like i am not freaking out you said "thank you" with such politeness i replied "you're welcome" with such awkwardness then you gently shut your door and i was on my way back but after a few steps, i started screaming quietly in the alleyway

how unbelievably beautiful man you are i wanna know more about who you are i searched for a piece of paper where your name might be listed there might be an updated one for all i know just by knowing your name sends tingling sensation all over my body

one time, during our weekly drill you caught me staring at you i looked away immediately like it was nothing i am so embarrased, i couldn't keep my poker face but you know what? i saw through my peripheral that you hold your stare at me and you are smiling did you notice something? or did it mean nothing and i am just assuming?

i like your quietness, maybe you're still adjusting it feels peaceful, like the aura you are projecting but i also want to be in the world you build for yourself we are not friends yet but i am willing to erase the gap between us i want us to be closer i don't want to keep my distance and i wonder, could you like someone like me? you are not into men so that's probably impossible but it is not wrong to wish for it dreaming to set my very first romantic story in motion with you as my leading man

one afternoon, i dared the fate to play a game saying i will confess my feelings to you if you ever came and if you don't, that's fine too but all the little courage inside me will just go to waste then i was so shocked when you showed up suddenly, my body was filled with panic you looked at me, smiling and this mouth of mine can't stop grinning but fuck you fate, i was just kidding why did you take my words so seriously?

more days has passed and my feelings keep growing and your quietness started fading away hearing you talk was very soothing i love watching you from afar every chance i got to be near you was very special you are the very best definition of the guy of my dreams with those attractive gray eyes, your small teeth fair white skin and your golden blonde hair looking at you always sends me daydreaming you've got a swimmers back, that's the term i came up with your hairless armpit was hot too and i even noticed the mole on your nape which most of the time a trait of a handsome man

our feelings to be mutual, that's all i ever wanted and for you to be the prince, knight or the king of my own fairytale but i will never be a damsel, still i'm in distress your presence makes me forget my sadness and loneliness you could be the hour hand of a clock and i'll be the minute and the second will lead us towards the same direction always towards each other

weeks later, things between us has changed you became playful around me i like it when you make faces i wanted to hug you i love it whenever you try to make me laugh the jokes you tried to pull off might be cringey sometimes but it always worked do you remember when you heard me singing in the gym? my voice was so loud it echoes up to the alleyway you didn't have to walk more steps just to go to the gym yet you still did it just to say hi and see how i'm doing that little shadow boxing you showed me was funny you never failed to fill my days with smiles

you were my only source of happiness during that time that time when it just want to break everything around me everyone except you except the joy you're giving me the reason why i still want to wake up everyday my firefly on a moonless night my hero

i still remember the ashes on your face that lunchtime thinking even a dirt can make you look so cute you charmed me in every single thing you do the only left to do was for you to make a move then the year was ending, 2017's on it's way but there was only one wish i want to have that coming new year and that wish was you

january 8th was the first time i heard you laugh see? i remember because that day i wanted to scream in the room we're in how nice it sounds the mess hall was full so i didn't some people might find it creepy but not for me i treasure every memories i made with people i love i'm a sentimental person and i won't apologize for it i keep what's important and throw away what is not

do you remember what you did to me when we were alone in the galley? you were wearing your usual lime green shirt, working on something was it the stove? yeah, i'm pretty sure it was the stove it was already time for my noontime break but i stayed there waiting, watching, and loving every seconds of it after you finished checking, you told me everything was okay when i was walking towards the exit you started tickling the sides of my torso while saying "good ah, good ah!" i burst out laughing that was so random and i thought to myself, "gouda cheese?" i guess you already know where my weak point is and that says something it means you are watching me too you knew i have a very sensitive external obliques thanks to that one specific man who always poke my sides whenever he wants if i'm being honest, i think that's flirting never been flirted by anyone before so i wouldn't really know the look on your face was priceless you enjoy making me happy, don't you?

14:30 you came down to get some sweets in the pantry you were wearing a plain while tank top you smiled, i smiled perfect timing, i wanted to ask you something but i became so nervous i couldn't utter a word my anxiety level goes up the roof just by the thought of talking to you i thought to myself, "you're going to regret not doing it" "you had a chance and you're going to waste it again" then time was up, you're gone opportunities keep slipping your fingers 'cause you are scared to step forward to make a move hating myself won't solve anything but fate has been a good friend you came back for something you missed but i love the thought you came back for me and that's when i heard you say my name it was so smooth i almost didn't hear it but my attention was all yours ever since that night i am so happy, that gave me a tiny push this time, i gathered all the little courage i have to say the words;

"third, do you have movies?"

"what?"

i was leaning my back on the wall when you approached me then you placed both of your hands onto your waist we've never talked like that, so close i could smell your musky scent so manly and weirdly addicting the scene felt like one of those things they did in movies the act where the couples are having a sweet and nice conversation in my head, we were like those couples somehow, you looked very happy

"movies, do you have movies?"

"movies…hmmm…porn movies?"

[laughing] "no no no third, thank you!"

"i don't have english movies, only russians"

"oh, okay! thank you third"

that's it, then he left looking back, i didn't really do a good job conversation is not exactly my forte i consider myself a listener, not a talker but i'm still proud of what i did baby steps to overcome the noises in my head not much but it still a step and that left me feeling accomplished but to tell you the truth i am not really interested in copying your movie collections i want you to lend me your hard disk drive so i can check every files on it and see for myself if you keep some of your photos or videos on the device hidden agendas, i know right?

there was a time when i did something i've never done before i shouldn't be telling this 'cause it's a bit crazy truthfully, i became obsessed of everything that involves you you know the song (one of those) crazy girls by paramore there is a lyric on the second verse that goes;

"you're not here when i break in i'm gonna go to your closet just so i can smell your skin"

that's pretty much what i did when i sneaked inside your cabin except the getting in your closet part that's very extreme even for me but luckily, the shirt you've been using was laying on your chair i sniffed it to my heart's content i can't believe i'm saying this but the armhole smells addicting i wanted to keep it but that would be stealing i don't want you to hate me for stealing your stuff so i composed myself and leave you are making me crazy

then there's a moment when i stopped for a minute to watch you walk away and before you took a left turn to the stairway you looked back at me for a second my heart skipped a beat and then you're gone you left me wondering what were you thinking at that exact moment? i will never know but i am loving those film like scenes we made we're on a romcom without the 'getting together' part

nine days after valentines day my love for you keeps growing stronger i suddenly heard a kissing sound i looked up and saw you there that was for me x you did it again, my heart just melts all i can do was smile you keep asking me if i'll be going home soon i wonder why? did you want me to stay? even if you want me to, i can't the contract is almost over and i can't do anything about it let's just enjoy our remaining days if you tell me you love me then i will be yours i can feel it but i need to make sure if i am right we can still do so much if only we weren't scared i guess, afraid of each others feelings

i'll be leaving my happiness onboard soon on the last day, i only have one wish i want to say goodbye to you i want to give you a very big hug to thank you if that happens, i'll be okay i would not ask for more just let me have that memorable ending

for the third time, you sent me kisses this time, i replied with the same sound you made x you may not saw it but i know you heard it because i saw you stopped for a split second after hearing it are you going to say something that time? but decided not to? was that the words i really wanted to hear from your lips you should have done it instead of walking away the decisions we made are quite terrible you could've been my very first boyfriend we could've had an amazing love story

one day when everything was okay for a brief moment you came to our usual meeting place i was standing there alone, preparing the machine for black coffee i smiled, you did the same you walked towards me then unexpectedly whispered the words "how are you?" directly to my left ear your breath tickles i was so flustered i backed out a few inch mark, if only i don't have control over my body i would've kissed you without any hesitation a stupid choice between getting a black-eye or a lover but that's not me, i don't take risk with romance "i am fine" was all i could blurt out

but what was that? you keep sending me these signals a confirmation that maybe, somehow you like me too was i just imagining it? was that all in my head? i need a solid proof before i take actions i wanted to hear the words "i like you" "i want you" "i love you" directly from your mouth

every storyline must come to an end ours ended before giving it a bend on the last day, i didn't even get to see you clock was ticking and there is no sign of you i had the urge to call you on the telephone but dared not to you might be sleeping for all i know and i don't want to disturb your rest but, do you remember what you told me? when one of the crews left, a friend of yours did not say goodbye to you i saw the sadness in your face i don't want to give you the same sadness but perhaps i did too i regret leaving without saying goodbye to you

for the past months after disembarking our ship the thought of you won't leave my mind i wanted to see you again and i did but only in my dream there, we were together a couple living on the same house sleeping on the same bed taking care of each other you introduced me to your parents i got along with them and we were absolutely happy it was the only place where you're able to kiss me i woke up and everything was over reality check, me and you never got to that chapter

it took me months to find you in instagram also took me months to decide whether i will follow you or not your page was in private so i cannot see your posts i really wanted to know how you're doing i want photos aside from your display i am longing for your smiles but i keep thinking was this the best thing to do? he might no longer remember me so what's the point? with a shaking thumb i pressed 'follow' 'requested' appeared i just need to wait for days maybe weeks probably months i don't care anymore, i will not back out this time

the notification of approval came in no time that excites me but also scares me at the same time "he still remembers me" i thought to myself the face that i will never forget is now on my screen and those videos that came as a bonus i am glad you're doing just fine and your smiles is as bright as the first time i saw it you never followed me back though so i guess you did not want any connection from me it's fine though just seeing you and keeping up on what you're doing was enough for me but why's your name sometimes appeared on my stories it was listed as one of the viewers were you checking on me too? if so, why did you not send me a message? you know, i would really love that i wanna know if that video of me laughing made you laugh too i wanted to hear anything from you but your silence was deafening have you heard the song 'proof' by paramore? if you listen to it, you will know how much you mean to me and if somehow, someday this thing made it's way to you i hope you add the song on your playlist or even favorites

then one day, you started writing your happily ever after there she goes, the princess you've been waiting for she looks pretty, you both look good together and i had to admit that our chances were gone to zero honestly, it stings a bit but that's how it should be you belong to her and she belongs to you and in my case i had to fully accept that things don't end up the way i wanted them to be that is how the world works and that's when i decided to unfollow you i will not bother you anymore

although from time to time, i keep coming back especially when the flashbacks are popping up whenever i spent my midnights reminiscing about the past i cannot believe you still able to make me smile by the way, congratulations on your marriage and for becoming a father of a beautiful child she's very lucky, she gets to be the queen of your castle may happiness follows you for the rest of your life as for me, i am just glad that the person i adore, got what he truly deserves a happy family

it has been six years since our first meeting and my feelings for you started fading away but the joy you gave me during my hard times will stay an i will be forever grateful to you for pulling me out from despair for making me want to live another day for me to see you in any chance i can and now i am still here still striving stronger than ever i learned to be resilient on whatever life throws at my path so i thank you and i will never forget

i loved you

and these memories will live 'til the end of my story

#lover #journal #writing #memories #feelings #admiration #autumn #artwork #drawing #gay

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sennamybeloved · 2 years

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for the acrostic ask game, how about sour belt! - @dragonfruitcore

thanks so much!!!!

S - Story - if you and them were in a fairytale, which story would you be and who would play which character?

i’m unsure whether or not this question is asking me to cast us as characters in a pre-existing fairytale (ex: romeo and juliet) or to make one of my own, but i’m gonna go with the latter because it’s easier for me.

i have been very attached to the idea of dragon!sour belt for a LONG time, so the first thing this prompt makes me think of is a spin on the “damsel in distress locked in a tower guarded by a dragon and a knight in shining armor comes to save her” trope, except sour belt is cast as both the dragon AND the knight! i’m kinda blanking on the story, but i’ve always imagined that in stories like these, the dragon isn’t guarding the princess but instead the land surrounding the tower; it’s home. the princess is just snuck past the dragon and placed into the tower at one point or another. so, i suppose, upon noticing that i have been imprisoned in her front yard essentially, sour belt sets me free and takes me under her wing (literally), making her my super cool dragon girlfriend!!!

O - Online - what is your f/o’s social media presence like, or what would it be like if they had internet in their world/era?

sour belt uses social media to promote her brand. he posts pictures of clothes, popular models wearing her clothes, pictures of runway events, etc etc. she doesn’t really have any “personal” accounts, maybe just a burner or two to keep up with me lol. but typically, she follows/interacts with her friends using the official acid account, which… causes a lot of confusion.

U - Uplift - how do they help you when you’re stressed or sad and vice versa?

she is the KING of helping me when i get emo about my physical appearance. i mention feeling unattractive once and she’s like “makeover? you want a makeover? you’re super beautiful babe don’t ever forget that but do you want a makeover???” and usually the answer is yes lol. trying on outfits she tailored specifically for me is a HUGE pick me up. she behaves similarly when the stress is more internal, believing wholeheartedly that how you feel on the outside affects how you feel on the inside (which… true!). either that, or she just sits beside me until i feel better, providing comfort and assistance when i need it.

as for vice versa, i usually have to pull her away from her work to keep her from popping a blood vessel. i sometimes take over for her while she rests, which is such an honor tbh—she barely let me do anything when i first became her intern, and now she straight up lets me do commissions for her lmao. she rarely ever gets upset over things that aren’t related to work, but when she does, my go-to is a movie night with lots of snacks and lots of cuddles. works literally every time!

R - Rainbow - what colors do you associate with them and why?

green, blue and red! it’s her main color scheme (minus black) and whenever i see them combo’d anywhere i’m like “:0!! WIFE!!!! WIFFEEEEE”

B - Before - before you decided to make them your F/O, what did you first think of them/their source?

well, i’ve always adored cookie run. it has such a simple but adorable gimmick, with surprisingly good character design and storytelling. what’s not to love? i used to play ovenbreak a LOT back in 2018, and i was just getting into kingdom when super fashion week dropped. i remember seeing her trailer all over tiktok, tumblr and youtube and being like wow……wow. her shear beauty convinced me to play ovenbreak again. powerful as fuck.

E - Emotion - is your f/o open with their feelings or do they keep them close to their chest?

pretty open, i’d say. she’s a huge flirt with lots of charisma—she just too caught up in her own little world to make the first move. but she made the first move with me. cause i’m special /j

L - Language - what’s their love language? what’s yours?

hhgg…hers is probably asks of service?? and i have no idea what mine could be. probably words of affirmation, maybe physical touch???

T - Teach - what skills of theirs would they teach you? what would you teach them?

well, she taught me how to sew. she also taught me outfit/costume design and bits of color theory. i taught her how to draw a little bit better.

also, this wasn’t really the question, but we learned to dance together! well,,”learned” is a bit of a strong word. we both still suck total ass. but it’s fun!!

#lotus answers #【 ✂️ 】 ✦ * · ˚ — dress me / i’m your mannequin │ r: sour belt .#god i love this fugcking cookie #self ship community #selfshipping #self insert #cookie run #sour belt cookie

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unfortunatelysirius · 5 years

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Goodbye, My Love // Jon Snow

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 When it comes to saying goodbye, you’ve always had trouble. But it becomes especially hard when saying it to Jon Snow. 「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」 I am SO bad at updating… all I’ve got as an explanation. *shrug emoji* If you guys want a reunion companion piece [season 6] then hey, just ask. Otherwise, here’s this chunk of trash for you all ;) [It’s honestly rushed, I apologize in advance] 「 ❁ 」WARNINGS 「 ❁ 」 Swearing, Angst 「 ❁ 」WORD COUNT 「 ❁ 」

3027

YOU MET JON SNOW ON YOUR FIFTH NAMEDAY. You had always lived in Winterfell with your mother and father, who were (respectively) the seamstress and blacksmith. You were lowborn, but respectable, with parents whose gifts were renowned throughout Winter Town. You were never put in the finest dresses or presented in front of hand-picked husband prospects, that much was true; however, you never wanted nor needed to be highborn to feel like your life had meaning. Your first meeting with Jon Snow had you smitten, even at such a young age. You’d been running around Winter Town, a crown of flowers in your hair, when you’d stumbled into something warm and fleshy—a human body. You squealed and fell, the stranger following suit with a kidlike grunt. Only when you’d managed to spit out one of the petals that had fallen into your mouth did you look up, eyes snapping into some sort of trance. There was a blue-eyed gaze locked on your own. “Hi!” you’d immediately said, not bashful at all. You grinned at the strange boy, near the same age as you. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” The boy’s face was flushed red, a look of embarrassment on his face. He stood quickly. And he stayed silent, continuing to stare, like someone might would a predator. “Hellllllo?” You tilted your head. “You’re not very nice.” The curly-haired boy shook his own head, defiantly silent. His eyes flickered away from yours and back towards the way he came—the way you were heading towards. When you went sideways to see from around his body, you saw what he was looking at. Eddard and Catelyn Stark, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, as they stood on the railing of their tower. You were incredulous, to say the least, that this was what caught the strange boy’s attention. Was it why he was silent, too? “Why are you looking at them?” you demanded. “D’you wanna be a lord, too?” The boy snapped his head around to stare at you. “What?” he demanded, in a voice much too brusque to be a child’s. You giggled childishly. “Lord Curly,” you teased. “’Cause you’ve got curly hair, and I don’t know your name!” Though he remained alert and angry-looking, the boy finally caved. His mouth twitched into a grimace. “Jon,” he said simply. “Lord Jon,” you said. You smiled toothily up at him. “Bye, Lord Jon.” You pranced around him, sprinting in the direction you were going originally. And as you went, a stray petal untucked from your crown, and it was rushed backwards by the wind. It went and went, all until it fell at Jon’s feet. He picked it up. And he stared at it. What he wouldn’t admit to anyone, much less himself, was that he thought you were really, really pretty. As pretty as someone five name-days old could be. And he hoped he’d see you again. He really hoped he’d see you again.

It was three years and three moons later when you saw the mysterious Jon again. You were eight, hair reaching your waist and eyes ever so wide. You’d become curious and adventure-seeking, still carrying around that same naivety like a sleeve’s patchwork. You were hanging around the kitchens, stealing sweets your mother refused to let you have, just leaving when you caught a glimpse of a curly-haired boy. He was walking briskly. Was he angry? You dropped the biscuits you were carrying and went to pursue him.

“Lord Curly!” you cried, struggling to keep up. The boy was older and taller, his pace like that of a man running from a bear—only he was jogging. Maybe he knew you were following, even before you’d called out his nickname. “Lord Curly, please—stop running!”

He stopped abruptly. A bit too late, perhaps, as you rammed your nose directly into his back.

“Ouch,” you cooed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking. The boy had turned around in the time it took for the pain to disappear, and catching his bleary gaze locked you in place. In a very bad way, given his expression. “Are you alright?”

“I was,” he said coolly. Was that a hint at you being an annoyance? You never could tell with anyone, much less the brooding subject of your childish fantasies. “What do you want?”

“My, my, Lord Curly! I just wanted to speak to you.” You smiled.

“I’m busy.”

Your smile became a frown. “Oh? Doing what?”

Jon didn’t look very pleased that you were still there. He was an inch away from fleeing. He returned your frown and muttered, “I’ll get in trouble if we keep talking.”

You jutted out your lip and made a noise. A very inhuman noise. “Lord Curly, why do ya say that?”

He looked over your head at something in the distance. You knew it was the Lord and Lady of the castle, as that’s all that lay beyond Winter Town.

“You’re not Robb,” you stated. “So who are you?”

“No one,” said Jon in response. Quick—too quick. He didn’t want you to know.

You kept quiet in reply.

Jon pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and face, body twisting around. His back was to you, his curly head of charred hair the framework of his identity.

He was like a shadow and a puzzle, conjoined together to make one very difficult game. You were eager to be his friend, keen to know him better—but he kept disappearing. It’d been over three years since you seen him last. And now he was the one running away.

“Bye, Lord Curly!” you called out to him as his footsteps echoed into silence and his head of curls were no longer seen.

Jon had hoped to see you again.

But Catelyn kept watching.

And she didn’t want him to have any friends.

So many years passed. You got taller and curvier, growing into yourself, until eventually you stopped changing at fifteen. Your fifteenth name-day was a tremendous affair, with the Lord and Lady themselves in attendance. Jon wasn’t there, to your disappointment. You hadn’t seen him since you were eight. It’d been so long, too long, enough to make you forget he ever existed. But he plagued your memories, he haunted your dreams. His name was always on the tip of your tongue. The cusp of a breath.

You’d danced with several boys, wearing a flower crown on your head. Every boy was worse than the last. You always pretended they were Jon, even though you held no picture—hardly even an inkling—of his current appearance. How did he look now, with the two of you older and less naïve? You were sure he’d chiseled out. He probably looked more a man than your own father did, the child that he was.

You wanted to stop being eaten alive by questions. You wanted him to appear on a white mare and take you captive in his orbit. You wanted to fall in love the old-fashioned way, the against-all-odds way, with someone your parents would not approve of. You could not care less. You didn’t give a shite what they thought. All that mattered was finding someone who could give you a happy ending.

That was over a moon ago. You were beginning to feel like you’d never see him again.

You walked out into the snow atop your balcony on a crisp evening, wearing another crown of flowers. You were dressed in an evening gown—feet barren and your hair crowning your face. You’d spent the day dreaming about Jon, and crossed Winter Town over six times, desperate to see the boy again—even if he held no recognition for you. What were the odds that he’d appear? To you, chance was nothing; this was all fate. Whether you’d find him again, you knew not. You knew next to nothing on fate’s plans.

You felt the world was in your hands and odds were in your favor, however. There was a feeling in your gut, a feathery weight, that kept you lifting, refusing to let you land. You were not grounded. You were airborne.

What did this mean?

It meant having hope in naïve fantasies.

Your hair blew around your face, masking your vantage of the navy sky. The moon was a hair away, right above your head, crowning you Luna. It was glowing translucently. It was calling for you to give up your games. But you—really, honestly, truly—refused to leave this for children until you found Jon again. Until you saw his face. Until you knew his coldness for what it was.

Curiosity is a killer. As is love.

You knew it so, but that did not make you any less reckless.

A rustling sounded from below. Could this—be it? You thought maybe. You brushed your windswept hair from your eyes, glancing downward.

From the dark shadows emerged a shape. A lean, muscular shape, clad in black—or maybe that was the darkness. He was threaded with it, wasn’t he? When a glint of moonlight bounced off the shadow’s raven curls, you knew it so.

It was Jon.

“Jon?” you whispered aloud, just to be sure. This fantasy come to life needed cemented.

The shadow moved closer, bringing with him sudden light. It was like a scene from a fairytale, with the ruggedly handsome knight coming to rescue his damsel. Though, this one was much darker and much less renowned than what you’d normally expect; the princes in your books were blond, blue-eyed, and sunlit.

A new perspective, you declared it. Jon was perfect in your eyes.

The boy in question coughed. “Yeah, it’s me, Y/N.” He was silent for a while thereafter, as the two of you stared at one another. Then he said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel.”

“Sick with longing for a man I know nothing about?” You smiled, though wearily, and laughed at him. “I assure you, there is not any remorse.”

Jon sighed. If not for the crisp air, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Lady Stark has no kindness in her heart for me. I am a bastard, you see—”

“I know what you are, Jon Snow,” you said. “And quite the contrary to what you think, I don’t care.”

“Y/N, I’m a bastard—”

You snorted, as unladylike as could be. “And I’m not highborn. So why would I give a rat’s arse?”

Jon looked uncertain, glancing between you and the way from which he came. “I came to apologize, Y/N, not to start anything—”

“Lady Stark is a bitter, middle-aged woman, Jon,” you said. “And I’m quite the opposite. I assume you like that. Why else would you come back here to woo yourself into my good graces?”

There was an intensity in the air. It made you want to scale down the balcony and take Jon for your own.

Jon seemed quite puzzled, like he couldn’t tell what to think of you. At last he said, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then let’s not get caught.”

From this view, Jon seemed like he was considering what you said. You decided not to give him time to take back his visit and his words. You hopped up on the edge of your balcony’s wooden posts and curved your body to face the entrance to your bedroom. You gripped the posts tight, and dropped down a few feet.

Jon hissed, “What are you doing, Y/N? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you grunted, using your limited view to catch what post to drop to next. Eventually you reached the last available post and you realized that you needed to jump down. “Jon, I have to let go.”

“Y/N, stop, no. You’ll get hurt.”

You smiled largely. “That’s why you’ve got to catch me!”

Your hands lost grip on the balcony.

You fell down, the wind gusting in your hair. You were flying, a raven born of air. You didn’t think about the consequences, not the possibility of death or severe injury, brain only centered on the beauty that being airborne was; and the idea you had a prince of darkness to catch your fall.

You roughly hit Jon’s rock-hard body, his arms coming to envelope you, the both of you falling into the snow. He grunted, and you squeaked. You had only dreamt of a proximity this close, and having him as close to you as he was now—

You flipped around to be chest-to-chest with Jon.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you said abruptly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

You pressed a small peck on his lips, without an actual response.

Jon stared up at you, his cheeks a rosy red. His nose, too. He looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually kiss him—but then you did, and he didn’t know how to respond. How to think, even. This beautiful art-piece of a human-being, kissing him and touching him like they couldn’t care less what his namesake was.

Jon surged forwarded and kissed you hard, much more assertively than you did him.

You squeaked again, finding this roughness, this ferocity, such a difference from your own faint touches. He was gripping your body like nothing ever had, holding you close and center, with the snow just a background accessory in the face of his body heat, and his kiss—fuck, his kiss.

It was otherworldly.

Eventually, you found this had to stop.

“Jon, Jon, stop—my parents!” You giggled against his lips.

“Fuck the town. Fuck everything, Y/N,” Jon said, leaning back to stare at you. “We’ll have our own town. Our own world. I’m Lord Curly, right? You can be Lady Flowers.” He placed a delicate hand on one of the flowers in your crown.

This direction was so different from where you’d thought it’d go. You thought Jon would use you then discard you like a used towel, and you’d let him because you liked him that much. You had learned to take what you could get, regardless of how hurt it put you in the process. Jon wanted this as much as you, right? So you thought it’d be foolish of you to say no.

You pushed yourself into him and got lost in the midst of frigid wind and falling snow, giggles and growls muffled under the pale light of the moon.

The two of you, for the better part of a few years, were rather invested in keeping up your connection. You’d hide out together and kiss, talk about your hopes and dreams, curse Catelyn Stark and her bitterness; all the while, you fell more and more hopelessly in love. You were once enraptured by Jon, thinking of him as the most honorable man you’d ever met aside from Eddard Stark, his father. But now, it was love.

Eventually, it caught up to you.

Catelyn Stark discovered your forbidden romance when she’d passed by the two of you kissing once. At once, she put a stop to it. She demanded Jon not to see you anymore, forced you all to put the shenanigans in the past. She knew who your parents were, and she disapproved of their child intermingling with a bastard. So much so, she went to your door a fortnight after you had last kissed Jon—and told your mother as she answered the door that you were in relations with her husband’s bastard.

Things got steadily worse after that. Your mother and father began fighting, as your mother did not like what you’d been doing while your father couldn’t bear telling you that you were wrong to love who you loved. Your mother would sleep alone in bed, your father made to sleep outside.

Jon never appeared again. He went moons without speaking to you. You felt like things were getting progressively worse, that the love of your life had been snatched away—

And then the King visited. And you learned from Robb Stark, who knew of your relation to his half-brother, that Jon was leaving for the watch.

You had to say goodbye.

Like you had two left feet, you clumsily left your mother and father’s abode, hurrying to the stables where Robb claimed Jon would be. You were terrified, thinking he had already left. This was the man of your dreams; if he left without giving you a deserved farewell, you wouldn’t know if you could forgive him.

You knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were flying through crowds of townsfolk, your legs aching and stomach receding into itself the longer you went, the farther you got. Eventually you reached the stables.

You stopped at the very edge of the entrance, peaking through. Your gaze swept past horses as they quietly moved their heads downward and ate from their haystacks. At one point, your sweeping gaze faltered, and you realized what had happened.

Jon had left you. He left without saying goodbye.

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

You knew this day would come. Jon would get tired of running, and he’d get tired of feeling worthless, and so he’d put an end to both. He’d run until he got to a dead end. He’d fight until he was worth more than anything in the world. He’d do all he could to be something more than Eddard Stark’s bastard.

It meant throwing away your memories.

It meant leaving without uttering a single goodbye.

It meant letting your love be just as it was.

Never meant to last.

Jon kept running and running and running. He would run until his legs turned to jelly. He’d pant until his eyes rolled back with exhaustion. He’d scream and fight until he got where he wanted to be—somewhere new, somewhere different, somewhere not Winterfell.

(You couldn’t come with. Why couldn’t you come with?)

The running would stop.

(He never wanted to leave you.)

He only wished it didn’t mean losing the thing he’d loved most.

I love you, Lord Curly.

I love you too, Lady Flowers.

FIN.

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sukkadeservedbetter · 5 years

Text

It’s Different.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: After a dramatic and traumatizing experience at a gas station, things with Tom hit different.

Warnings: Mugging/Robbery

Word Count: 2.6 of fluff

You’ve always been oddly comforted by the smell of gasoline. Anything that smelled like a car garage had always left you with a sense of euphoria: new tires, exhaust pipes, and metals. It wasn't something you could really explain, but as the faint smell of gasoline entered your nose after a horribly long day at work, you welcomed it.

Your mother always told you not to let your mileage gauge get below 50 miles, but you never listened to her. Tonight you got to the gas station with 10 miles left. Tempting the fates was becoming a little hobby of yours—at least when it came to getting gas. Mainly because you hated pumping gas. It wasn't hard, or even a lot of work, but you always realized you needed gas at the worst possible times. Like tonight, for example. You didn't have anywhere to be, but you were tired. You debated whether you wanted to prolong getting into your comfy clothes tonight or wake up earlier tomorrow in order to fill your stupid car with gas. In the end, prolonging rest now seemed a whole lot better than waking up any earlier than you needed to tomorrow.

You begrudgingly dragged your exhausted body out of your car. It wasn't all that late, but the sun had gone down behind the hills and a faint wind nipped at your neck and cheeks. Summer was officially over, but the remanence of long, warm nights hung in the faint pink glow of the horizon. You scrolled through your phone mindlessly as your car's tank filled agonizingly slowly. You heard your mother's voice telling you that you should always wait in your car while pumping gas at night, just in case. You shook off her words. You lived in the sleepiest part of L.A. where nothing even remotely interesting happened. It was all families and Instagram models here—not crackheads and gangs.

The gas pump clicked, letting you know you were finally done with this heinous chore. You placed the pump back in its holster and finished up paying on the pin pad. As you pivoted on your left foot to turn around and hop into your car, you felt cool metal press against the back of your skull. Your throat closed immediately. The pounding in your chest became overwhelmingly loud. Your ears rang and everything began to slow. Whoever was behind you spoke, but you couldn't hear anything.

They teach you about the "fight or flight response," but they never tell you about the third reaction in response to fear: freeze. You wanted to scream, or run, or kick, but you couldn't do anything. Your lip began to quiver as you cursed yourself for never listening to your mom's advice. The person behind you grabbed onto your arm so hard you yelped.

"Shut the fuck up!" The voice yelled. It was deep and gravely. "I said, give me your money and I won't have to use this." You heard the sound of his gun cocking and you let out a silent wail.

"I don't have anything," you plea, putting your hands up to show you were literally empty-handed.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? Where is your purse? In the car? Walk." The man shoved you towards your car. Your mind raced with possibilities of how to get out of the situation. You quickly realized that you were either going to have to give him your money or he would shoot you and there was no in-between. For a moment you let yourself hope that someone would save you in a damsel-in-distress moment, but you knew that real life wasn't a fairytale, and knights in shining armor were far and in between in L.A.

The man turned you around and shoved you against your car door causing you to wince. When you saw his face you let out a sob. He was wearing a Spider-Man mask. Your mind went straight to Tom. You and Tom had been friends for years. You knew he was kind and good, but you couldn't help but associate him with the mask and that made this situation so much worse.

"Now, give me your money so I don't have to blow your fucking head off," The man sneered. You gulped as you turned around to open your car door. The man placed a harsh hand on your hip as you bent over to reach for your purse. Your throat closed up again thinking about what he might do after you give him the money. You grabbed both your debit and credit card out of your wallet. In a stroke of dumb luck, you remembered something from a John Mulaney special you had watched with Tom a while back.

"Here. Fetch!" You yelled as you turned around and chucked your cards as far away from yourself and the car as you could. The man shoved you into your car, causing you to hit your head, as he ran towards your cards which were now scattered about 20 yards away. You slammed your door shut and drove away quickly, hoping he wouldn't shoot towards your speeding car. You felt numb. Your body shook as you drove. You wanted to go home and sob, but you knew you had to go to the police station first.

The police station took forever. You sat in a boring room that was too bright and too cold as you listened to a policewoman talk you through the process of filing a report. You weren't fully there and if she had asked you to repeat what she was saying you wouldn't have been able to. After what seemed like forever, the police let you go. You got in your car and stared forward mindlessly. Where were you supposed to go? Home was the obvious answer, but you didn't want to go back to your dark and lonely apartment after what had happened. Every time you blinked you saw Spider-Man holding a gun towards you.

You realized that you wanted to see Tom. Tom always knew how to make you feel better and after being terrorized by someone who looked like Spider-Man, Tom's happy-go-lucky attitude and soft British voice was something you craved. You checked the time to find that it was nearing 11:30. Tom might not even be home, but you didn't care. You considered calling him first, just to see if he was home, or wanted to see you, but you were already outside of his apartment before you could truly comprehend that you were heading to him.

You stood with shaking hands outside of his building. As you pressed the call button for his apartment, you became instantly anxious. What if Tom didn't want to see you? What if he had someone over? What if—

"Hello?" Tom's voice rang from the speaker. You let out a shaky sigh of relief. At least he was home. "Hello?" Tom asked again.

"Oh, uh. Hi, Tom..."

"(Y/N)? What're you doing here?" He didn't sound upset, just confused.

"I, uh... can I come up?"

"Yeah, of course!" The door buzzed and clicked open. You pushed the ornate gold handle and began bounding up the stairs. You should've taken the elevator in your state, but you didn't want to wait. Your heart was pounding as you climbed to the ninth floor. By the time you got to Tom's apartment, you were out of breath. You took a moment to compose yourself before you knocked. Tom opened the door with a sideways smile. Upon seeing his face you immediately crumpled into his arms and started sobbing. You hadn't processed what had happened yet, but seeing Tom all soft and warm in his hoodie and sweats made you feel safe.

Tom grabbed you just before you hit the floor and wrapped you into a tight hug. You knew he was probably scared and confused, but you couldn't stop crying long enough to explain yourself. You were ugly crying. There were snot and tears coming out of and your jagged breaths made you feel as though you could vomit. Tom didn't say anything he just rubbed your back and pulled you onto his couch.

"I'm-- I'm so... so sorry," You choked out.

"Shhh, it's okay," Tom comforted. "It's alright, Darlin'." Even upset that pet name made your heart swell. "What's going on?" Tom asked. You took a few seconds to gain some composure. You sat up and wiped the tears from your face as best you could. After a few seconds of uneven breathing, you began to tell Tom what happened. His brows furrowed and his grip on your thigh tightened as you told him how this stranger attacked you.

"I didn't mean to bother you so late I just... I didn't know where to go," you said as you concluded your story.

“No, it’s okay! I’m glad you can here. You’re always welcome here. You know that.” Tom pulled you in for another tight hug. You breathed in his cologne. The familiar scent sent your brain back to last spring when the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Tom wasn’t just a friend—or he was, but with benefits. Two years ago after a bad break up and a lot of tequila the two of you first hooked up. After that, it became custom for the two of you to get together whenever you were both single and in the same place. It wasn’t constant and both you had been in and out of relationships since you first hooked up, but when it happened it happened—no questions asked. A part of you often longed for something more, but at the end of the day, you were just happy to have someone like Tom in your life.

You looked up at Tom through glassy eyes. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Tom had always been good at reading you even if you swore you had a great poker face. Tom placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your head so that your lips met his. It was a soft kiss, nothing particularly special, but behind it was all the care in the world and it was mutual. You break apart after only a few seconds.

"I hope that makes up for that asshole using my likeness to mug you." You let out a shaky laugh.

"It did. Thank you."

"I cannot believe the wisdom of John Mulaney came to you in your moment of crisis," Tom laughed.

"Actually, I think it was Detective J.J. Bittenbinder's wisdom," you teased. As you moved to sit completely upright you winced.

"You okay?" Tom asked, suddenly worried.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good. That guy just rattled me around a bit. I'll be fine." You were lying. You would be fine, but your hip and back and arm hurt like hell and you didn't want Tom to worry.

"Okay..." Tom said, obviously still unsure. "Do you want to shower? It'll help you relax."

"Yeah, that would be really nice." Tom helped you up from the couch. You followed him to his bathroom with his hand interlaced in yours. You forgot how attractive an attentive/over-protective Tom was.

"You can get in. I'll go grab you a towel," Tom said. You didn't really respond so much as nod, but you knew he knew that you meant, "sure, thank you." You quickly stripped yourself of your clothing and stepped into the steaming water. You winced and cowered away from the water as it hit your forming bruises. You looked down at the marks on your arm and hip which were already red and swollen. The faint outline of fingers traced over your hip. Looking down at the marks, you wanted to cry again, but you knew that there was no point.

You heard the bathroom door open again and could just see Tom's figure from behind the fogged-up glass door. You closed your eyes and let the water pour over your face. When you opened your eyes again Tom's figure was closer to the door, but this time it was devoid of clothing. The door opened and Tom stepped in silently. You turned around to face him.

"Hi," You whispered.

"Hi. This okay?" Tom asked. You nodded, but you suddenly felt the need to cover yourself. You couldn't figure out why you felt so exposed. Tom had seen you naked plenty of times, but this felt different. This was so much more intimate. Normally when you were naked in front of Tom alcohol was involved and during the times it wasn't your exposed body was veiled by the haze of lust and need. Now there was nothing to conceal your skin or your bruises.

Tom's eyes immediately went towards the mark on your arm. He lifted it up to see the bruise better and felt like you could see his heartbreaking as his face crumpled at the sight. "Baby..." he whined, pulling you in for another hug. Your breath caught in your chest at the pet name. Tom never called you 'baby' except for during sex. You (along with most other girls) were always 'love' or 'darling", but this time he called you baby. It felt different.

Your wet body pressed against his. You had never showered with Tom. It was nice. It wasn't sexual like you assumed it would be. In fact, for once, Tom wasn't trying to make an intimate situation sexual at all. Tom pressed a wet kiss to your forehead. "I'm so sorry," he said against your hair.

"It's fine," you mumbled back. Tom turned you around so that your back was now against his chest. You felt his fingertips skim over what you assumed to be various bruises on your back. Without warning, Tom brought his lips down to your shoulders and peppered open kisses across them. He brought his arms around your waist and you bit back a huge grin. Either subconsciously or out of habit leaned your neck to the side to give Tom better access to your neck. Rather than giving you a hickey like you expected him to, he pressed a soft kiss to the exposed skin and turned your head back to meet his lips.

This kiss was different than the kiss you shared on the couch. This kiss was slow and deliberate. Tom slipped in just enough tongue to give you the chills. You could've stayed in that moment forever, but you knew all too well that all good things must come to an end. After what seemed like hours you and Tom stepped out of the shower into the foggy bathroom. Tom wrapped a towel around you, kissing your forehead again in the process. You internally groaned at the thought of putting your jeans back on and going home. Like always, Tom was one step ahead of you.

"Do you want to stay?" Tom asked, but it wasn't like he normally asked you. Something in his voice was different. "I could stay on the couch if you want the bed to yourself, or you could have the couch. I just..." He was nervous.

"You don't need to sleep on the couch," You said, calming Tom's nerves. "You just have to let me borrow a t-shirt."

"Deal." Tom handed you one of his shirts. You slipped your panties back on and let Tom's shirt engulf your figure. It smelled like him. By the time you were finished drying your hair, Tom was already in bed. He was awake, but barely. You slipped into bed next to him and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Tommy."

"Of course, (Y/N)." You had ended your nights so many times in the same way in Tom's bed, but when he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder, something felt different.

——

A/N: This is loosely based on an experience I had a few months back and while getting gas I got inspired! Lemme know what you think :)

#tom holland #tom tom #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fan fic #tom holland imagine #harrison osterfield #peter parker #peter prker fic #spiderman

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keisuke-akm · 5 years

Note

Do you think Akigure is fairytale like? More than any of the other couples? I've read that that's one of the couples criticisms, that it might be a bit too "un-realistic" compared to the other ships. But honestly I love old fashioned fairytale romances and I wish they weren't so derided by "woke" culture.

Hello anon!

Yes, I think that Akigure is very fairytales alike, i would even say that’s it’s a reverse fairytale, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing actually. All the difference and subtilities of Akigure reside in the fact that it’s fairytales alike and yet, they are everything but a ‘fairytale’. They love is twisted, they hurt each other badly and they were toxic for each other, and yet, they stood in love with the other. Sensei used theme of fairytales with akigure.

First fairytale theme used is Shigure’s love, because he dreamed of Akito when he was really young. It was a love at first sight somehow? It’s something pure, dreamy alike. I think the anime show it well, with the flowers and the light blur.

And talking about flowers, with Akigure, camellia is great deal. I already said that the camellia is Akito’s feminity. Something she have to hide as the cursed have to hide their zodiac form. If flower isn’t really a fairytale theme, it’s often used for fairytales and romantism. And god, all the time Shigure give Akito flowers

So, even if it’s not fairy-tale, it’s romantic.

Also, with this cute and girl-alike kimono, i can’t help but think she is like a little princess you know?

But, at which moment the ‘fairy-tale’ is reversed? Well, believe me or not, but during the the curse, I somehow see Akito as a damsel in distress locked in a tower. The tower being the little world she is living in, since she is a sheltered girl, she don’t know much about life. And Shigure give himself a mission to take her out of the tower, but he is doing it in the worst way. Using people to make her own little world to break appart.

Akito in the whole manga when she is not show as a despicable person is always saw as alone and this is what she is, alone, lonely. Locked in that golden cage and bound with male clothes.

Also, for Shigure, the moment Akito and Kureno relationship is know, he became an anti-hero. His actions are nobles anymore. He slept with Ren, he go away from Akito’s side. And yet, he is still waiting to be by her side again. It remind the dog Hachiko behavior.

For those who don’t know, the story of Hachiko is talking about a dog who was still waiting for its master at the train station everyday even when the said master was already dead. Hachiko have done it everyday until the dog too, died. This story is not a fairy tale, but it’s a story so well-know in Japan that its hold something mythical. In fruits basket, Shigure is like Hachiko, he wait for Akito, even when it look like there are not chance for her to go back to him.

But, lucky for him, waiting and working in breaking her tower worked and at the end, the princess that was locked in the tower is free, wearing a dress for the occasion.

Sorry, it’s maybe a little too confusing, but, that’s a way of reading Akigure that I like. A lonely princess and her knight who have took bad path but who still find each other at the end haha.

#akigure #akito sohma #shigure sohma #ask #saturday ask~#fruits basket #spoiler #fruits basket spoiler #fruba #furuba

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ebaeschnbliah · 5 years

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THE KNIGHT OF BASKERVILLE

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ACDs novel The Hound of the Baskervilles tells the story of Sir Henry Baskerville who returns from Canada to take up the inheritance of his family, the Baskerville estate with the old manor house Baskerville Hall.

The Sherlock BBC adaptation, The Hounds of Baskerville, transforms the centuries old manor house into the modern high-security military base BASKERVILLE, supervised by the britisch government. Because the character ‘Sir Henry Baskerville’ had to be included as well, it’s understandable that a renaming of this important character became necessary.

But why Henry KNIGHT? Names are important in Sherlock BBC. Reason enough to take a closer look at the name and significance of ‘knight’.

TBC below the cut ….

What’s a knight?

- Nowadays, a knight is a person who has been given a rank of honour by the Queen or King of GB because of special achievements

- In the past a knight was a man of high social position, trained to fight as soldier on a horse for his liege lord

- In myths, legends and fairytales knights are often depicted as brave and valiant men who fight against all kinds of evil forces. They defend not only their king or queen, they often become ‘a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted … a final court of appeal for everyone‘. They stand up for justice and fight for those who aren’t able to help themselves.

Knights and pirates

Mycroft mentions in ASIB that his little brother Sherlock initially wanted to be a pirate. In TFP, right after Sherlock jumps through fire and flames onto a ship which will bring him to Sherrinford, he calls himself a pirate. Are there connections between pirates and knights? Of course there are:

One of the most famous pirates of the British Empire was Sir Francis Drake -Elizabeth I awarded Drake a knighthood in 1581 which he received on his ship, the Golden Hind.

William Knight was a 17th-century English buccaneer (pirate). Reading the Wikipedia entry about him, it looks like ‘Captain Knight’ has indeed raided ‘the seven seas’.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes, consulting private detective, the only one in the world and additionally dragon slayer, pirate and knight …. this man really loves to be dramatic.

(For more delicious pirate treats look up this post about Sherlock and the Pirates of the Caribbean, black spots and Treasure Island)

Knights are guardians, defenders, soldiers ... pirates ... who slay the most dangerous dragons and save damsels in distress …

(With every quiver of his beating heart The Black Defender).

Two ‘damsels’ in Sherlock BBC

A damsel - is an old fashioned term, meaning a young woman, often unmarried and of noble birth. Synonyms are: demoiselle, girl, maid, maiden, miss. The word comes from the Middle English damesel, from Anglo-French dameisele, from Vulgar Latin domnicella (young noblewoman), diminutive of Latin ... domina lady (x)

‘Damsel’ appears two times in Sherlock BBC in two different scenes from two different episodes. It is used by two different characters and aimed at two different persons.

Mycroft in ASIB talks about Sherlock and ‘dominatrix’ Irene Adler:

That’s all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special. …. The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle … and watch him dance.

Magnussen in HLV talks about Sherlock and ‘eternal friend’ John Watson:

Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes. The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you? But look how you care about John Watson. Your damsel in distress.

What an interesting combination of characters on both sides of Sherlock. And one more confrontation of the two (so often hinted at) opposites in this story - sex and friendship (Solutions or choices). Irene and Jim represent the female and male incarnation of sex, while John-I’m not gay-Watson represents the ‘eternal’ friend and fixed point in a changing age. Both aspects - sex and friendship - are called Sherlock’s ‘damsels’. And it’s even more interesting to see who makes those statements:

MYCROFT - owner of a laptop on which depends the security of the free world (”with potatoes on it - shelves in exchange for chips - I am glad you liked my potatoe - you’re suicidal, you’re allowed chips”)

MAGNUSSEN - who runs the western world from a library of secrets and scandals that isn’t stored on computers but on hard copy in vaults

A computer versus hard copies in vaults … Well, this reminds me of Sherlock’s explanation in The Great Game, regarding his brain. He compares it to a computer hard drive and adds that ‘it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters?‘ And what might be a ‘hard copy in vaults’? This seems to be a perfect metaphor for informations stored inside the brain. That organ occupies the space in the skull called ... cranial vault.

(Mycroft & Magnussen A shadow of massive proportions)

A computer versus hard copies in vaults … two paraphrases for one and the same thing … a brain. Janus-faced, one could call it. A mind in conflict with itself. Time to choose a side for Sherlock Holmes. Friendship or sex? John or James? Saint or sinner?

What if Sherlock chooses neither? ‘I could just walk out of here’ (and carry on torturing myself in an isolated dungeon, locked up in solitary confinement with my worst enemy, that’s ME by the way, for another couple of centuries … I can’t die anyway, I’m an immortal literal character ... an undead)

What if Sherlock chooses both? A tempting idea …. :)))

A game for the brain

Chess is called the ‘game of kings’ (’Am I the current king of England?’) and chess plays a vital role in Sherlock BBC. Serial killer Jeff Hope compares the game he wants to play with Sherlock to chess … ‘it’s chess not chance’. There’s a chess board in 221b, the pieces are always standing on it, ready to play. It turns up in each episode, placed at different locations in the living room. The third episode of S1 is called The Great Game. A fake chess game in TEH. A game of chess in Tiblisi, Georgia between two massive lion statues. And let’s not forget the three mysterious promo pics for S4 … Sherlock and Mycroft playing chess and John sitting between them. There are no visual connections whatsoever in S4 to those pics. Anyway, chess is important … especially one certain piece type of the figurines, it seems.

Chess is a very old two-player strategy board game, originating from India around the 6th century. The oldest archaeological chess artifacts were excavated in Uzbekistan, central Asia, and date to about 760. Chess is played on a checkered board with 64 squares arranged in an 8×8 grid, with16 pieces for each player:

One king, one queen, two rooks, two knights, two bishops, and eight pawns. Each piece type moves differently and ... these are the moves:

The knight is a specialist ...

The chess piece called ‘knight’ is normally represented by a horse's head and neck. The area a knight is able to cover - to protect or threaten other pieces - forms a circle.

The knight moves unconventionally compared to all the other chess pieces. Whereas other pieces move in straight lines, knights move in an “L-shape”—that is, they can move two squares in any direction vertically followed by one square horizontally, or two squares in any direction horizontally followed by one square vertically …. a bit similar to the strange sitting arrangement of Sherlock and John, chosen for the plane scene in TST.

Presumed both men were knights on a chess board, each move of either man could bring him to the place of the other one. Mary isn’t in the way at all because knights are able to …. jump.

The ‘jumper’

Another characteristic feature of a knight is the fact that it is the only piece in the game of chess that can “jump over” other pieces, regardless of whether those pieces are black or white. Because of this, some languages refer to the knight as ‘the jumper’ (in german ‘der Springer’).

Of jumping and jumpers

Jumping in front of trains, of ‘transport’ and leaving behind strawberry jam, connects the Andrew West case from TGG with the Strawb-Fizz-Explosive-Flavour-Bus from TST, in which John meets E (Eurus/Sherlock). A quite explosive meeting indeed, thinking of Eurus’ passions grenade a little later.

(Bus spotted on and speculated about during setlock, in the night-shot with Faith 12.06.2016 x x)

Jumping from a rooftop, taking a leap of faith from the edge of a waterfall, throwing oneself through fire and flames out of windows onto an island ..... jumping, falling, flying and landing …. those are definitely main topics in Sherlock BBC. (Developement of the fall)

Considering the fact that the creators of Sherlock BBC obviously enjoy playing with names, words, double meanings and innuendos really very much, I seriously wonder wether there is a reason behind the decision to dress John Watson in his, by now, famous oatmeal coloured jumper or let Sherlock tell a room full of wedding guests that he ‘could go on all night about the depth and complexity of (John’s) ... jumpers ...’

PS: Taking the screen caps from the wedding, I noticed for the first time that a female voice says ‘jumpers’ simultaneously with Sherlock in this scene. It’s a bit like Mrs. Hudson suddenly chiming in with ‘softer, Sherlock’ during his conversation with Molly in TFP.

The Christmas jumpers shouldn’t be forgotten either. There are two of them which play a role in Sherlock BBC: John wears one in ASIB, the other one turns up in the fisherman deduction scene in THOB. @sagestreet wrote about the fisherman and his mother here. By the way … that’s most likely a reindeer on the fisherman’s jumper. Reindeer’s are a species of deer and deer, stags and harts are another heavy featured topic in this story.

(Sherlock the stag and the skull Stalking the deerstalker The three Garridebs Study in pink and green)

Change of colour

Also interesting … due to its L-shaped movement, a knight, beginning on a white square, will always end up on a black square, and vice versa. The colour of the square it stands on, changes with each movement. Changing is definitely another main theme - if not THE main theme - of this story.

Short version for the transformation from Rosie to rainbow: Rosamund=rose of the world=rosa mundi=rosa versicolor=changing colours/many colours/iridescence=rainbow

(longer version in these comments The elephant in the room/womb Prism)

Back to the game and the knights

Looking at the chess pieces on the board and the captured ones lying next to it, one can safely say that it had been Mycroft who started this game, because according to the rules of chess, white moves fist.

If Sherlock BBC is meant to be a great, metaphorical game of chess, with the various characters serving as chess pieces, then Mycroft starting that game, would coincide with a PILOT starting point. Before John Watson walks into the lab at Bart’s Hospital and meets Sherlock Holmes for the first time, before DI Lestrade summons Sherlock to the crime scene of the Lady in Pink, it is Mycroft who sends Sherlock an E-Mail, asking for his help in an ‘impossible situation’. Sherlock answers his brother with the famous Holmes quote from canon:

‘When you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains must be the truth. ‘

This interpretation would also coincide with the idea that in this story Mycroft represents the brain, Sherlock’s brain. Logic, reason and intellect. After all, it is this organ which starts every movement and every thought in everyones life. (The reptile in 221b)

It is Mycroft who first kidnaps and investigates the ‘eternal friend’ - Sherlock’s feelings for John. In the wake of the first explosion, it is him who brings the ‘West' case to Baker Street, who later downright forces Sherlock to take the ‘Woman-case’. It is him who releases the ‘Hound’ and also him who brings Sherlock back from the dungeon inside the forest. Jim becomes Eurus’ Chrismas present because ‘big brother’ allowed it. Mycroft is responsible that Sherlock gets involved in the Carmichael case and it is also him who tells Sherlock that ‘We don’t defeat them (emotions). We must certainly lose to them. Because they are right, and we are wrong.’ This case leads Sherlock to his very own Reichenbach Falls - ‘the greatest crisis of my career’ - the point where he throws himself into the waterfall, out of his own free will. No one forces him, there is not the slightest need to do this. Yet Sherlock jumps and flies.

Centre stage for the knights …. the jumpers ….

Henry Knight instead of Henry Baskerville …. it seems there could have been a lot of good reasons for the creators of Sherlock BBC to choose KNIGHT as the new surname for … THE Baskerville … the man haunted by demons.

(Shoes for the hound Investigator of secrets and scandals)

Source of chess info/pics (x x x), source of Sherlock BBC chess promo pics (x)

I leave you to your own deductions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

October, 2019

#the Knight of baskerville #knights #jumpers #chess #connecting dots #sherlock bbc #metaphorical reading

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guksthighs · 6 years

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Cinderella || jhs ( m)

Summary: You hate princes and yet you can’t seem to help yourself around Jung Hoseok, who just isn’t like other princes.

Genre: fairytale!au, smut, fluff, angst

Length: 10k

A/N: this drained my very soul. please send help and show support because i really need it,, also did you know the prince in cinderella ( disney ver. ) doesn’t even have a NaMe??? this is why this series is a mixture of disney and the original or else this fic would be a bunch of mice squeaking the entire 10k

Warning(s): sex, creampie, fingering ( female receiving ), dirty talk, spit kink, unsafe sex, promiscuity

Most girls grew up dreaming about becoming a princess, to be surrounded by riches, marry a prince and live happily ever after. But being only a human, your dreams had always been more realistic with plans to make money to support your single mother by becoming a famous baker.

There was no such thing as Prince Charming is what your mother had told you, repeating it nightly as she stroked your hair having tucked you in. And instead of fairy tales, you were brought up on stories of your father who had run away with another woman when you had been born. It shattered her heart.

In return, on your eighth birthday, your mother disappeared and stole your dreams with her.

You knew ‘happily ever after’ didn’t exist, that there were no shortcuts like wishing stars or fairy godmothers and yet it could be argued it was magic that you were scouted for an apprenticeship in the Royal kitchens.

And you finally found a home in the kitchens, surrounded by loud boys, princesses and the prince voted the most likely to break your heart, Jung Hoseok. Almost everyday girls would rush in gushing about how amazing he was, how prince-like and regal and you would always roll your eyes and remind yourself that he wasn’t as amazing as he seemed.

Hoseok and you had grown up together and although you fostered an innate dislike for Princes; he was different from anything you could ever imagine and that was why you had vowed him to be your enemy.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon when you woke up, the beginnings of a warm glow shone through the thin curtains and for a few seconds, you lay in your bed looking for a reason to leave the warmth for the cold morning. Then you remembered Seokjin had been discussing a feast for tonight and you sat up, thinking about the delicate tarts you intended to make for the visiting royalty.

A loud creak echoed through the room as you sat up; the old bed wasn’t pleased with your sudden movement but you were used to its complaints, stretching your arms above your head as a groan slipped from your lips.

Your blurry vision fixed on the sleeping tabby at the end of your bed, stifling a yawn before moving forward to stroke at its soft ginger fur, your lips curling into a smile as the supposed mouse catcher purred and nuzzled into your hand. It had been a few years since you’d found the kitten and promised Jin that it would keep the small cottage mouse-free, but really you couldn’t bear to see it abandoned.

A cold feeling ran up your spine at the thought that this mindset came from your own childhood and you quickly shook your head at the thoughts, drearily looking at the cat’s pretty face to calm your heart.

“Morning princess,” the low rumble of a voice made you yelp in surprise, almost falling out of bed at the idea you hadn’t noticed someone else was next to you. You jumped back in shock and for a second you were sure going to fall before a hand grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm, golden chest that belonged to the crown prince of the human kingdom of Iliako. He looked down at you with a bright smile, “did I scare you, princess?”

The same prince you had proclaimed to be your enemy as a young child, also kept your bed warm every now and then, but you still frowned at the nickname, “don’t call me princess.”

A frown nestled into your brow as you glared up at Hoseok who watched as your hands gripped his shoulders in an attempt to push him away from you, but he only laughed and stayed sat on your bed, “you always were so friendly in the mornings.”

You pulled your feet up and tried to kick him off the bed, but instead, his hands wrapped around your ankles and he grinned at your frugal attempt to try and make him leave. Some mornings, Hoseok wouldn’t go until everyone else was awake and you’d have to deal with the knowing looks of all of your chefs.

Everyone knew that no matter what you said and grumbled, Hoseok appears dishevelled in the morning every now and then. They also caught the way he would look at you whilst you were baking and the darkening of your eyes whenever a new member of the court snuck into the kitchen to flirt with Hoseok.

Giving up with trying to get him off your bed, you leapt to your feet and began scooping up his articles of clothing, “get dressed and get out!” Hoseok caught the items as you threw them at him with a small smirk that made your knees weak at the memory of last night, “you fake prince!”

Instead of rising to your childish taunts Hoseok hummed in agreement, pulling his trousers back on and glancing at you to find that you were standing staring out of the window, hand pressed against the fogged glass as you traced the peaks of the castle that loomed ahead.

Slowly, you created a silhouette of the majestic castle and watched the windows brighten up as the maids lit the candles and fires in each room. The pastel colour of the spires contrasted the slowly brightening sky and even though you saw the same view every morning, it never failed to bring a smile to your face.

“You want to live in the castle?” Hoseok had appeared next to you, staring out at the view as his fingers worked on fastening his buttons. You turned to him and scoffed but he shook his head and pressed his hands to his heart, “it’s a shame it’ll never happen little apprentice!”

He giggled and ran off before you could pull his silky black hair, winking at you before he ran down the worn down stairs. The sound of his heeled shoes against the bare wood was too loud and instead of chasing him you sat on the top stair and listened to him slam the door loud enough to wake up the rest of the inhabitants.

Prince Charming definitely didn’t exist.

The kitchen was busier than usual that day, the fireplace causing the room to heat to an unbearable temperature as you began to prep for the dessert that evening. The group of breakfast duty was significantly smaller than usual, although it was a simple task to bake the fresh bread and place the cold meat cuts from the previous meal on a plate.

However, Jin, the Head Chef, managed to complain at every stage, “I’m the head chef of a royal kitchen, you’d think I would be above such menial tasks.” You looked up from your bowl and laughed as the broad-shouldered man continued to grumble whilst pulling out a golden brown loaf of bread from the oven.

He was undeniably the most talented chef you had ever met and having been practically raised by Jin, you were used to his antics that now only amused you. The family were said to be going on a hunt so the kitchen could have time to prepare for the dinner service which was meant to be celebrating Hoseok’s engagement to a neighbouring princess.

“Is this the eighth engagement celebration we’ve had to prepare for?” Jimin groaned, before looking to find you smiling happily at the bowl of batter in your arms. It was one of the few times that all thoughts faded from your mind as you added the ingredients into the bowl and began the lengthy process of making Hoseok’s favourite pudding.

The kitchen stayed relatively quiet that day until around lunch when knights and their apprentices filed in to grab their bread, meat and fruit. Although Jeongguk paused, arms full of food as he nodded in your direction and smirked, “shouldn’t a girl take more care in her appearance?”

You rolled your eyes at his usual teasing, returning to serving the knights when someone grabbed your wrist and you looked up to find those bright eyes staring at you, “I think pretty girls don’t need to worry about such thing.” Hoseok grinned at you watching as you struggled out of his grip before releasing your hand causing you to stumble backwards with an undignified grunt.

“Watch boys this is how Hoseok became known as the heart-breaker Prince,” Jeongguk laughed and you rolled your eyes, deciding today it might be better to hold your tongue than getting involved with the boys and their childish squabbles.

Jin placed a hand on your shoulder and lightly pushed you behind him, taking over at the table, before narrowing his eyes at Jeongguk, “you’re acting like you don’t have a mini orgasm whenever you eat her bakes.” The younger boy spluttered, his face sporting a vivid blush before he ran out of the kitchen, clutching his lunch to his chest.

Hoseok caught you laughing and raised an eyebrow to which you rolled your eyes and returned to baking, grumbling, “you’re unbelievable.” The prince sensing that you were occupied, gave you one last hopeful smile before walking away and he was just leaving the door when you called, “good luck with your tenth engagement party!”

He whipped around and grinned, “it’s only my ninth!” With a sigh to try and hide your amusement at how right your mother had been, there were no perfect prince charmings who rescued damsels and married a princess. Hoseok had been set up to marry eight other princesses by his parents, organised with fae and human kingdoms but the young prince always refused after he had attended the luxurious dinner.

Suddenly Jin turned to point at Hoseok, “you’re meant to be at the hunt!” Hoseok’s shoulders raised at the idea he had been caught and as he began to slunk away, the elder boy laughed, “go run back to your horse and get back before they notice!”

With a quick nod, Hoseok winked at you and sprinted off leaving you to smile at the idea that he was still like he was as a child, having disliked hunts and come riding back to the kitchen then as well. Today he had most likely come to the kitchen to check on what food was being made and you wondered if he encouraged the engagements just so he would get to eat Jin’s best cooking and an abundance of sweet cakes, pies and a structure created completely out of small fruit tarts.

Following lunch, the kitchen came to life with movement and noise as all the chefs began to cook the meals they had begun yesterday. It was to be a five-course meal, with your fruit tarts being the main piece for dessert which lead to Jin continually checking that you were going to have the one hundred puddings done in time.

“Next engagement party I would have made a thousand fruit tarts and more because it took me a while to perfect the taste,” you mused as you helped Jimin peel the vegetables. The potatoes and carrots began to pile up and the movements soon became unconscious as you wondered what this princess looked like.

The Princesses you had the opportunity of seeing had been beautiful, huge gowns leaving you to wonder how they managed to fit in their seats with their hair styled in elegant curls, loops and braids. The servers would often laugh about how little these princesses would eat and you knew that when you came out to serve the tarts, they rarely would eat more than a few pieces of glazed fruit.

For a moment you let your mind wander to what it might be like if you were the one picking at your food, sitting stiffly in your seat and doing it all for a prince known for breaking hearts. This was the exact reason you thought Prince’s were elaborate hoaxes to capture the hearts and kingdoms of young maidens, and it worked.

“Y/N?” Jimin’s voice jolted you back to the present and with a start you jumped up, carrot half peeled falling on the floor as the younger boy laughed at your reaction. “Now what were you daydreaming about?”

Picking up the carrot and slamming it on the table, “if you share a dream then it won’t come true!” It was your usual reply and Jimin smiled, shaking his head at your childish reply before shooing you away to return to finish off your tarts.

“I hope the dreams that you’re wishing will come true.”

“Now remember to address Prince Hoseok with the utmost respect,” Jin lectured as you held two plates of tarts, golden leaf glimmering in the candlelight outside the dining room and he watched as you peeked around the door, standing at the front of a long line of servers, causing him to whisper-shout, “Y/N!”

Your eyes flicked back to see Jin’s frown and you quickly nodded, “I’m serving Hoseok and his fiancee and must treat both of them respectfully.” Your elder nodded quickly and opened his mouth as if to say something, but there was the sound of metal tapping against a glass and with a smile, you entered through the doors.

The dining room was beautiful, tapestries hung from the walls in rich colours of greens and reds. Slowly you made your way towards the head of the table where Hoseok was sitting, leaning forward on an elbow and smirking at you, “this is our Head Baker who has prepared one hundred tarts by hand to celebrate the engagement between our prince and your daughter.” The King happily announced.

They were proud of having a female baker in the kitchen, bringing you out to present any time they could to embarrass other humans and impress the fae royalty that came to the palace.

Hoseok watched your every move before a gloved hand landed on his elbow, “why, do you even pay that girl?” The princess held a hand to her mouth as she giggled, watching you place the plate in front of her, “her clothes are so- so plain.”

You placed the plate in front of Hoseok, refusing to meet his eye before you curtised and walked away. Your hands fisted in your dress, it was your best one, a pale shade of pink that reminded you of the blossom that had grown in the garden of the house you had once lived in.

Now you felt the cheap fabric under your fingers, repeating to yourself that you must remember your place and not say anything out of place. But it was the only dress you owned although having heard what the princess had to say now you were left to wonder if all eight of them before this one had thought the same thing.

Your heart stuttered in embarrassment before the King tapped on the table to get your attention, “such a talented young baker.” The visiting royalty agreed as they continued to eat at a rapid pace but as you made eye contact with the Princess, you watched her dainty hands take hold of the plate and push it away.

Hoseok watched this interaction, catching the way your face fell before you bowed to the King. The rest of the servers had already left, and as you followed, placing a hand against the dark oak door to cast one last glance at the gathered royalty, you watched Hoseok slam his hands into the table.

“I don’t say I feel like marrying you,” Hoseok declared, staring right at you and the Princess who had been sipping on a glass of wine dropped it in surprise. The glass shattered across the floor and you felt a hand on your back shove you forward to tidy the mess that had been created.

The Princess was just beginning to stumble together words as you rushed back in, “y-you can’t mean, are you cancelling this engagement?” Quickly you leant down to rest on your knees, taking your time as you picked up the fine pieces of glass away from the Princess’ dainty feet.

Above you a clamout had begun akin to what you were used to in the kitchen as Hoseok’s father hit the table, shouting, “you’re not doing this again!” It was a conversation you had witnessed a few times so you continued to focus on your task.

Just as you picked up the last shard of a glass, a shoe kicked your hand causing you to drop the glittering pieces on the floor and swallow a glare at the princess who had just purposefully kicked you.

A drop of blood welled up from your fingertip and with a frown you scooped up the rest of the glass, biting your lip to not cry out in pain and rising to your feet. This time you accidentally met Hoseok’s gaze, before ducking your head in embarrassment at the notion of him seeing you with watering eyes.

Quickly you gave another curtsy and then ran from the room straight into Jin’s chest, his arms wrapped around your back and gave you a tight hug. Before he pulled away and grabbed your wrists, pouring the glass into a small bowl a waiter held for him before tugging you away from the shouting still coming from the dining room.

“Come on dearest, don’t let her words hurt you,” Jin soothed you, his hands rubbed your shoulders before you sniffed and held your head high, palms red with blood and stinging slightly. And yet, a small smile still made its way across your face at the thought of dodging a stuffy bride within the palace.

So you walked back to the kitchen with Jin, a single tear rolled down your cheek before you heaved a sigh and looked up, “just another day in a royal palace.”

The announcement came as a surprise to everyone; you had been shopping in the local market when the town crier had shouted a message that made your eyes widen in shock and all the young girls whisper in excitement.

“The Prince has declared that there will be three balls to celebrate his birthday and by the third ball he will have chosen a wife! Every maiden is invited to this ball - both maids and fine ladies!”

It was a surreal feeling that washed over you, remembering that Hoseok was a prince and you were merely a cook in his kitchen. Before you shook your head and wondered why the difference between your places in society mattered when Hoseok was merely a bratty Prince.

Around you, the air was filled with laughter and discussions as young girls discussed what dress they would wear and swooned at the idea of being chosen for his wife. Next, to you, Jeongguk was laughing at the evident uncontained jealousy in your face, a small pout rested on your lips until he elbowed you, “what stained trousers and apron shall you wear to the ball?”

You weren’t allowed out of the palace without supervision but with Jeongguk supposedly looking after you, it lead you to question who was really doing the babysitting. He raised an eyebrow as if waiting for you to reply but just as you tried to think of a witty reply, you spotted a new stall full of vegetables, their bright colours making you run over and inspect them.

There were the usual seasonal red cranberries, large cabbages but what had drawn you over to this particular stall, was the bright orange pumpkin. It was an incredibly rare thing to see and you looked up at the vendor who noticed your interest and gave you a dimpled smile, “that is my last pumpkin young miss.”

“How much?” You ventured, waiting for his answer to include diamonds, but all you got was another endearing dimpled smile as he gestured towards the vegetable.

“For you, nothing.” He winked and Jeongguk coughed as you grinned and went to pick up the huge vegetable. The vendor noticed this and laughed, “surely a young Knight should be able to carry such a minor thing for his mistress?”

You turned to look at Jeongguk, smiling up at him and batting your eyelashes expectantly waiting for him to be a gentleman and pick it up. He let out a heavy sigh before crouching and poking at the bulbous vegetable, “as a cook don’t you carry stuff like this all the time?”

But instead of answering, you merely blinked in surprise at what you had just noticed. The sound of young girls giggling had drawn your attention to the small group they had formed in the middle of the courtyard that housed the small market, “why if the Prince personally invites me, how am could I object?” They hid their laughter behind their perfectly looked after hands and you bit your lip as you noticed Hoseok standing amidst them.

He was too busy flirting to notice you, but Jeongguk saw your furrowed brow and small pout and noticed that you were getting more and angrier the longer you stared at the Prince. Jeongguk tugged on your coat sleeve, trying to draw you back to the present but your gaze was fixed on Hoseok.

“Such pretty maidens, I’d love to share a dance with you next week,” he took a girl by the hand and spun her around, “maybe you’ll even become my Queen.” It was watching him flirt that confirmed everything your mother had ever told you about princes.

Without realising, you muttered, “Prince Charming is a fraud.”

The girls gasped and turned to look at you, whispering between them as Hoseok looked up and noticed you standing there. Instantly his face fell but you had been talking to Jeongguk, “wouldn’t you agree, Gukkie? Prince’s are so romanticised and really they’re just like all the other men and focus on one thing, sex.”

Hoseok choked and the girls turned to look at him, their mouths open in shock at the implications of what you had said, as well as your audacity to say it in front of the very Prince you were aiming your judgements at.

After finally taking a moment to breathe and look at the shocked expression on Jeongguk’s face, you shook your head with a fake smile, “he’s right behind me, isn’t he?” The Knight-in-training nodded quickly and bowed to the Prince who placed his hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

“Now why would my lovely young baker say such horrible things?” Hoseok’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, and yet, it sent shivers running up your spine and your hairs to stand up because he was angry. And for all your fighting and teasing, you hated to see Hoseok upset.

Therefore, the idea that it had been you who had been insensitive and said such horrible things brought you close to tears. As the embarrassment rushed through your body, you looked at Hoseok, wide eyes filling with tears before pulling yourself out of his grip and sprinting away.

The cobbles were painful against your thin shoes but you kept running, sweat quickly collecting on your brow as you left the streets and headed towards the meadows you remembered from your childhood. For just a bit of time you wanted to be alone, no Jeongguk and no risk of being caught by any guards or Hoseok.

From a young age your response to being in trouble or being upset was to run away and as you wiped tears from your eyes, you felt like so childish and even more embarrassed. Why was it that in front of Hoseok you always froze up?

Your heart continued to race even after you stopped running and although you continued to tell yourself it was just because you had run. But some part of you knew that the tone of Hoseok’s voice and the dark look in his eyes had awoken a part of you that had previously not been there.

Instead of letting yourself believe something had changed you shook your head, before shouting, “what kind of idiot would fall in love with a Prince?”

Hoseok was not angry. It had all dissipated when he had seen that look in your eyes, wide and watery and it had caused him to freeze. He’d seen that look many times before, like when you accidentally burnt his birthday cake or spilt sauce on his favourite book and like always, Hoseok couldn’t help but forgive you instantly.

“Jeongguk, go back to the palace.” The Knight perked up and Hoseok raised an eyebrow to question the pumpkin before shaking his head to try and maintain focus as he turned to the ladies, “I’ll see you beautiful maidens at my party.”

With that he walked towards where he had tied his horse, the golden coat glimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the clouds and he smiled, pressing his forehead to her silky mane, “let’s go save my Princess.”

In a smooth movement, Hoseok pulled himself onto the saddle of his horse, kicking her sides with his heels and heading in the direction you had run off to. After you had left, he had tried to continue talking like he wasn’t worried about you but soon it became unbearable and now as he raced down the small roads, it dawned on him where you had gone.

The final rays of sunlight faded just as he made it to the entrance of the meadow, finding a figure leaning against the oak tree that stood in the centre of the field. With a pat to his mustang’s mane, Hoseok slipped off and let her roam around as he waded through the waist-high grass.

Long sheaths of brown grass brushed against his legs and waist, it was crisp in the late autumn weather and an overwhelming sense of nostalgia washed over Hoseok. Before he had been aware of what being a Prince meant, he used to run away from the court and would hide in the dense grass as officials tried to find him. It was there had met you, a young girl with a flower crown and an infectious smile that kept him coming back every day until he was caught.

Hoseok had never put these memories together until he saw you sitting under the tree. Its huge branches dwarfed you and reminded him of those days spent with you during the Summer, with the green leaves providing you shade as you exchanged fairytales.

“If you came here for an apology, go away,” your voice made him jump, Hoseok found you staring at him, biting into a bright red apple as you waited for an answer. He wondered what must have happened to change that young innocent girl to the one who called Princes cons, it made him even more passionate to change your mind.

Slowly Hoseok approached you, sitting down so his shoulder brushed against yours and waited for you to pull away, but you didn’t. “I’m not here for an apology,” you huffed and bit into your apple waiting for Hoseok to continue, “I am here to ask one question.”

You nodded having expected a catch because everything came with a price, you knew that well. However, Hoseok’s question caught you off guard, as he placed his hand on your thigh and tapped it, “why do you pretend to hate me?”

“Pretend?” You shook your head in disbelief, “why do you think I’m pretending?” You pushed yourself up from where you were sitting to try and walk away from Hoseok. You felt a droplet of water land against your cheek and as you turned to look at him, wondering why he believed you were pretending when you’d just said such horrible things to him.

It made you feel like maybe you had misjudged Hoseok because even though he was a hopeless womanizer and enjoyed teasing you, he was also continually forgiving and kind. Two traits that you struggled to find when they hadn’t been present in your home before the kitchen.

The rain quickly changed from a light splattering to a downpour but neither of you moved, in a mental and physical deadlock as both waited for the other to yield. Of course, it was Hoseok who spoke next, “you’re forcing yourself to hate me,” he paused and stood up, reaching out his hand to grasp his and pull you towards him, “it’s not me you hate but my title.”

He laughed and you watched with wide eyes as the droplets of rain dripped down his face, his soft eyes looked at you with such care that your heart fluttered. Hoseok’s gaze dropped to your lips before he pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling away and whispering, “you hate the fact that I’m a Prince. You don’t hate me.”

It was as if a flick had switched inside you, staring at Hoseok as you refused to give him an answer. Instead, you pressed your hands to his chest and pushed him away, “don’t be so full of yourself.”

Your clothes stuck to your body, cold rain soaking you to the bone and instead of focusing on Hoseok, you began to shiver. Desperately you tried to hide this fact, looking down at the ground and seeing again the difference between you and him, his sturdy leather boots looking barely scathed compared to your thin linen shoes.

But even though you’d pulled away, Hoseok still tried to look after you as he shrugged the coat from his shoulders and placed it over your shoulders. Even though you were cold, his mere actions made your heart race and if anything you were only more confused than before.

The sky was beginning to darken and in the candlelight of your room, the pink fabric of your mother’s dress glimmered and sparkled, creating the illusion it was more than just an old dress. Your hands skimmed the fabric, looking in the mirror and smiling before sliding your feet into a pair of simple shoes and pulling your hair out of its usual ponytail, you left the safety of your room.

It was as if you were in a trance, walking down the wooden stairs and being greeted by the shouts of young girls as they tried to get help tying corsets and curling hair from the maids who lived in the cottage. A hush fell when Jin ran up to you and wrapped you in a hug, “you look so beautiful, I’m so proud!”

All eyes were on you as Jin continued to make a huge fuss, holding your hand and pulling you through the crowd of girls to seat you on a small stool, and place a coil of white pearls against your neck, before nodding and smiling, pressing a kiss to your forehead and whispering, “perfect.”

But the rest of the girls going to the party seemed less than pleased that you had dressed up with the obvious intention to go to the ball. They sent glares towards you and eventually you the prickling feeling against your skin became so intense that you stood up and walked out of the cottage, hoping the fresh night air would soothe your heart.

Sitting in the garden was your pumpkin and the sight of it made your heart soar, its orange colour was so vibrant and as you crouched down to stroke a hand over the skin. You had pulled up the skirt of your dress to prevent it from getting dirty, remembering times when you had been a young teenager and the staff had teased you relentlessly for always having dirty hems. That was why you only wore trousers now, and just as you went to stand, a hand landed on your shoulder and with a slight shove, you lost your balance.

With a thud you fell into the dirt, your eyes squeezed shut before the sound of laughter made you slowly open them, looking up to see elegant and intricately detailed patterns of full silken skirts. It was the usual group of girls from the courts and slowly, you stood up, brushing off your skirt and grimacing at the dirt that was smeared across the pale pink fabric.

“Why did you push me?” you asked, trying to hide the wobble in your voice as you stared at your dirt covered hands before looking up and straightening your back, hoping you could pretend to be someone not to mess with.

However, the main girl only laughed, before poking a finger into your shoulder, “why are you acting like you’re going to be attending the ball tonight? Do you really think the Prince would want someone like you there?” She laughed and nudged her friends as if to encourage them, causing one to approach you and touch a scuff on your dress.

“You can’t go to a royal ball in such a state, you’re covered and dirt,” her fingers dug into the fabric and she yanked at it, causing you to jump back even though it was too late. “Your dress is coming apart! How embarrassing,” the girls giggled and then they walked past you, purposefully walking into you and you felt them further rip your dress.

A hand landed on your chin, turning you to look into the cerulean blue of the girl’s eyes, before she laughed and pushed you away, “looks like you won’t be going to the ball.”

And it was too late, with your dress destroyed and your emotions a wreck, you took in a deep breath and turned on your heel, deciding that today, just this once, instead of running away, you would at least try and fix the problem.

That was why you were currently sitting on your bed, still wearing the dress, needle in hand as you tried to fix the rips, “why am I doing this?” you whispered, fingers stopping suddenly as tears began to roll down your face and blur your vision, making it hard to properly sew.

With a heavy sigh, you placed the needle into your lap and rubbed at your eyes before a familiar voice behind you made you jump so hard you fell off the bed, “you shall go to the ball Y/N.”

You picked up the sewing scissors laying on the floor, turning to brandish them at the figure, who you instantly recognised to be the man who had sold you the pumpkin. But even then, his being in your room was not explained, “why are you here? Get out or I’ll scream and my Knight will kill you.”

The vendor laughed and rubbed the back of his head, as if he’d expected his appearance to be received in a different way. “I’m the fae carer that comes with the pumpkin I gave you.” His dimples appeared as he smiled again and you continued to point your scissors, waiting for a further explanation, “my name is Kim Namjoon, I’m a fae. The pumpkin you purchased has magical qualities that mean if the owner becomes distressed I am summoned to come and provide help.”

You raised an eyebrow at the weird explanation but slowly lowered your scissors as Namjoon gestured to you to follow him, both of you made your way outside where he signalled to the pumpkin that was no longer the beautiful bright orange. Now, it looked almost sickly, having turned to a white colour.

“It only looks like that because you are upset,” Namjoon sat down and leant against the pumpkin, “why would a beautiful young maiden be crying on her bed wearing an old dirty dress?” You frowned and raised an eyebrow because you’d read in one of your favourite cookbooks about the ‘pumpkin protectors’ and yet the idea seemed far-fetched to you.

And yet, as Namjoon leapt to his feet and his clothes melted from a simple navy jacket and trousers to a sparkling white suit with elegant threaded applique across his chest. He gestured to his new outfit, “Now do you believe me?”

You nodded quickly and watched as he rubbed his hands together, “you have a ball to get to young Pumpkin princess and for that you need a fixed dress,” Namjoon smirked, and you balled your fists in anticipation as with a wave of his fingers, the pale pink of your dress faded to a pale blue, the waist became cinched as the skirt flared out to be even bigger than the girls who had ruined your previous one.

“That looks much better,” he smiled and you twirled around in the new huge dress, fingers grazing the soft fabric of the skirt. Your hair rested against your shoulders and the more you gazed at your dress, it became even more beautiful. He smiled and winked, “You might want to look at your new shoes.”

With that you stuck out your foot, eyes widening in surprise when you saw a glass slipper on your foot, reflecting the blue of your dress and it felt like you were living a dream. They were beautiful, and you clinked them together to find they were both sturdy and also intensely comfortable.

The clocktower rang nine times, echoing through the courtyard you were standing in reminding you that the ball had just started and you needed to hurry to get to the ball before the doors were shut and all the food was eaten. So quickly turning to Namjoon, you bowed, “thank you so much Mr Namjoon for giving me this chance. I’m not very rich but if you come to the kitchen I can make you something?”

The boy laughed and shooed you away before suddenly yelling to get your attention, “The dress and glass shoes are magic and will disappear if you begin to doubt yourself! So believe in yourself young pumpkin princess!”

It was like living a dream as your heels sounded against the marble floor, walking through the maid doors and into a room full of people. All the women were wearing huge gowns, brushing against the knees of their partners who were equally well dressed as they danced in the centre of the ballroom.

“Might I have this dance?” you turned in surprise to find a man offering you his hand, and without thinking you took it, letting him lead you to the centre, until a hand landed on your wrist and pulled you away, it was the Prince.

Quickly you curtsied, before risking a glance up to find Hoseok’s cheeks covered in a deep blush, his eyes wide as he offered you a hand, “I’m sorry Sir but she promised me her first dance.” He smiled easily and pulled you into the centre, placing a hand on your waist and clasping your other, you both began to sway to the gentle waltz of the orchestra.

“How could I promise you a dance when I didn’t intend to come?” you smiled and tilted your head at Hoseok, laughing as he pulled you closer and rolled his eyes at your comment. He knew you well enough to recognise your smile was one trying to tempt him into another squabble, so Hoseok smiled and span you around.

When you were brought back into his chest, you felt your heart finally react to being near him and as it raced, Hoseok smiled down at you, “is it crime to want to dance with the prettiest girl here?” Instantly you broke the intense eye contact with Hoseok, blushing and focusing instead on his chest, watching its quick rise and fall as you both continued to dance.

It was custom to change partners at the end of every dance, but as the pieces changes from a waltz to a more upbeat piece and then another and another, you and Hoseok seemed unable to leave each other alone.

Others watched in amazement, whispering about the young beauty who was Prince Hoseok had been dancing with for almost six dances now. The older women sighed at the memory of love and how it was to have a man gaze at you in the way Hoseok was to you and very quickly you became the fan favourite for the new Queen.

Although it seemed like a dreamy dance, when you broke out of your state and noticed the glares you were receiving from the same girls who had ripped your mother’s dress, you pulled away from Hoseok, curtsying quickly, stammering, “I-I need to- to get some water.”

Quickly you ran off, wading through the crowd to get to the balcony, walking through the glass door and breathing a heavy sigh as the cold air hit your skin. As you walked towards the balcony, you rubbed your face, trying to bring yourself back to reality.

Had you really been thinking about love whilst dancing with Hoseok, the boy you’d known for over fifteen years and always fought with. It felt daunting and surreal and yet, the warmth in your heart reminded you that the feeling was real.

The teachings of your mother came back, as they always did when you felt yourself falling for a trap. And as you straightened your back and stared at the full moon, you knew that you weren’t going to fall for his lies because your mother had and it had broken her heart. You refused to let the same happen to you.

Your thoughts were cut short when a hand landed on your wrist and pulled you backwards, “if it isn’t our favourite lying peasant.” It was the girls from before, faces of thunder as they all looked at your dress as if trying to figure out where you’d been hiding it in that small cottage.

“Just because you’re dressed better doesn’t make our Hoseok’s any less out of your reach,” one of the girls sniggered but her words didn’t hurt as much as before because they didn’t seemed as convinced of themselves anymore.

That was only furthered when you watched their faces turn white in fear, someone clearing their throat behind you, “that’s Prince Hoseok to you girls.” Your eyes widened, turning to see Hoseok standing behind you, his stern face melting away as he winked at you before returning to glare at the other girls.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you and without thinking, you scrunched at the fabric of your dress beginning to wonder if your mother had been right about all princes. Frowning as you tuned out Hoseok lecturing the girls about court etiquette, you began to question if this prince was a fraud because he’d come to save you from those horrible girls.

And when his fingertips brushed against your palm, your eyes widened as all the advice your mother taught you disappeared. He was nice and in no way a fraud, and with that the glove Hoseok had been tracing disappeared.

The spell had been broken.

Your eyes widened as you curtsied quickly, “I must be getting home,” and with that you sprinted away, making your way through the ballroom as you felt the other glove turn to rags and then you were through to the main entrance. It was the stairs you were worried about and the fact that you could hear footsteps behind you so you continued to run, getting to the white marble steps and running down them.

“Wait! Y/N!” Hoseok called and when you hesitated again, your left shoe slipped off. Quickly you bent over and picked it up, worried he would use it for the engagement ceremony of shoe fitting and without thinking you threw it at Hoseok’s head.

Luckily he wasn’t hit by the sharp heel of a glass stiletto but by a muddy radish, Hoseok looked up only to see you were already at the bottom of the stairs. The sight of you dressed in that pale blue dress set off something in Hoseok and without thinking he ran after you, not bothering to stop the party with the hopes no one would notice.

Hoseok refused to let the girl he was in love with disappear.

“Don’t get confused, I’m still angry with you,” Hoseok’s words were faint as he pressed kisses to your neck which you tilted to give him more space to leave marks as you knew he loved to do.

You had only been sitting in your room for a bit when Hoseok had slammed open the door, his chest heaving as he moved forward and flung himself onto the bed, gasping, “you can’t look that stunning and then run away.”

The dress had already turned to your rags and he placed a hand on your thin cotton nightdress, slowly moving his hand up and bringing the fabric with it until you placed a hand atop his, and moved to kiss Hoseok.

His kiss was passionate, Hoseok’s tongue slipping into your mouth and moving against yours until dribbles of salvia where moving down your chin. You pulled away gasping only to find his eyes had darkened and that was why you’d tilted your neck away and allowed Hoseok to suck and bite marks into the tender skin.

Your prince was talented with his tongue, lathing it across your skin before pausing and sucking at your temple, chuckling when you tilted your head back and moaned. Soon enough, Hoseok trailed his fingers down your torso, they paused at the curve of your breasts and thumb at your nipples but their goal was somewhere better.

Sex with Hoseok was always quick and passionate with both of you worried about getting caught or being too loud, but tonight it seemed like Hoseok had other plans as he placed his hand against your thigh and walked his fingers towards your heat.

“Just this once can I-” he started and instantly you nodded desperately, feeling his fingers already working on your clit and causing heat to pool at the base of your stomach. Hoseok slowly traced a line down your folds and brought the finger to his mouth, licking it before placing it into yours. “Get it nice and wet Princess.”

As you tasted the mixture of your juices and Hoseok, you bucked your hips into the air, already desperate for him to plunge his length deep into your depths. “So desperate Princess, but good things come to those who wait.”

He laughed before pulling his finger from your mouth and placing it against your entrance, sliding in the digit and watching your back arch in momentary pleasure. “Can you feel how wet you are princess,” Hoseok whispered next to your ear as he began to thrust his finger inside you, waiting a few seconds before adding another, “did you feel how easily my fingers just slid in. You really are my Princess, so good for me,” he pulled away to watch you bite your lip and you watched his eyebrows shoot up showing he had just thought of something.

As he continued to pump his two fingers into you, his thumb moving circles against your clit, Hoseok raised an eyebrow at you, watching your head tilt back in pleasure as his fingers brushed against your G-spot. “Open your mouth for me.”

“Why?” you managed to gasp, recognising the look on his face as meaning he was up to no good. Hoseok began to place more pressure into his thumb bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm and without thinking you let your jaw drop as you looked up at him.

Hoseok stuck out his tongue and you watched as a droplet of salvia rolled down the pink flesh and then landed into the back of your throat. “Get ready for more,” he smirked and watched as you began to writhe under his fingers.

That was when he moved closer to your face and spat directly into your mouth, watching with a huge grin as your eyes began to roll back as your orgasm began to wash over you. Hoseok placed his mouth against yours, kissing you as your legs began to tremble and hips buck whilst his touch became so good it was painful.

“Please-” you managed to gasp and when he finally pulled his hand away, you slumped into the Prince’s chest, feeling his hand stroke comfortingly up and down your back sent a new wave of tingles down your spine.

You wanted Hoseok, more than ever and now cuddled up against his chest so you could hear his heart beating and his hard length against your thigh, you knew you were going to get him.

“We’re doing it tonight,” you mumbled, smiling when he ran a hand through your hair and nodded. The fact that tonight Hoseok was so kind to give you a breather made your heart race with a new emotion, one that made you blush at the idea of moaning in front of him but also sent waves of tingles to your heat.

Hoseok, unaware of your inner turmoil, cupped your cheek and pressed a delicate kiss to your nose, “my dick is so hard I think it might explode.” he bucked his hips into your thigh and you nodded, laying down and pulling him on top of you.

“Please fuck me Prince Hoseok,” you smiled up at him and as he buried his length inside your heat, you kicked back your head and even though you had slept with Hoseok many times, this one was different.

Maybe it was the way he buried his head into your shoulder, kept asking if you were okay or came much earlier than usual that had you gasping words you never thought would leave your mouth, “fuck- I love you!”

“They say the young Prince has found himself a wife,” Jeongguk nudged Taehyung as they sat in the kitchen, helping themselves to raw cookies as you continued to make them, hair pulled back and wearing your dirty trousers.

Jin glanced over at you and smiled to himself at the duality of your looks, from looking like a princess in that gorgeous pink dress and now, looking like you didn’t have a roof to live under. Maybe that was why no one had recognised you to be the mystery girl from last night.

In your mind that was a welcome nickname, as you had no intention of being the centre of everyone’s conversations. Also you’re back really hurt and you didn’t want to get into lots of chats, especially ones that included the topic of Hoseok, the very Prince you had been avoidinging since you’d accidentally confessed to him, mid-orgasm.

“I heard the Prince has the shoe of his mystery girl already, it’s a glass slipper and it sits atop a pillow in the middle of the ballroom ahead of the celebration and engagement ceremony. It was a weird tradition and although no one was sure where it came from, if a Prince were to wed someone from his Kingdom, he would have to sleep with her to check their compatibility and then steal her shoe when the sun rose.

Then during a large ball, he would allow every maiden to try on the shoe claiming that if it fit anyone else but his love, she was not special enough to be a princess. It was weird and now you thought about it, although your plain cloth shoes had both been present in the morning, you had not bothered to check on your single glass slipper resting on your table.

It was already late in the day, the ball was meant to start soon and yet you felt frozen in fear. How where you to attend the ball when you no longer had a dress to wear, Jin noticed you cracking egg after egg into an empty bowl and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, why don’t you get ready for the ball? I heard there was a young man, by the name of Namjoon looking for you?” Jin smiled in relief when you finally broke out of your trance, dropping the egg into the bowl as you turned and searched his face for any clue the elder was lying to you. Jin merely laughed and pushed you away, calling, “Hurry up before he leaves!”

You sprinted outside, coming to a halt when you saw people already beginning to enter the palace and ducking behind a crate, you peaked out to see if you could find Namjoon. Next to you, someone cleared their throat and you fell in surprise, turning to find Namjoon shaking his head at you, “I saw you lost your last dress.”

Before he could finish you wrapped your arms around Namjoon and squeezed, “thank you Namjoon. That dress was magical and I had the best night, I really did!” The boy smirked and raised an eyebrow causing you to groan and lightly push him away.

“Stand up tall tonight,” he smiled, and when you looked down you were once again clothed in a beautiful blue dress. Your eyes welled with tears as you balled your hands into fists, trying to stop yourself from hugging Namjoon again and instead you looked at him and gave a watery smile.

Before you could say anything the boy pointed at your feet, “not enough magic to help with your shoe problem.” He laughed as you shrugged and ran your hands over the skirt of the dress in amazement.

“Thank you Namjoon, again.” You wiped at the tears and turned to gaze at the castle, wondering if it was too much to wish tonight would go well for you and Hoseok. Instead of your dress turning to rags because you got confused. Having reminded yourself of the previous conditions you turned to Namjoon who was already walking away, “If I doubt myself will the dress disappear?”

The fae shook his head, “no conditions for a girl who is finally honest to herself.”

It was a night to remember.

Young maidens of all ages lined up to try on the glass slipped, some would groan as they wedged it onto their feet and others would sigh when it fell off their small foot. Everyone was determined to stop the Prince from marrying someone that wasn’t them and yet, the whole ceremony, you stood in the corner watching.

Onlookers whispered in interest at the mystery girl’s refusal to join in with tradition and many wagered that it wasn’t your shoe and you were too angry to try to fit into the shoe. However, having allowed every single maiden in the Kingdom to try on your own glass slipped, Hoseok looked up and finally spotted you.

His eyes were kind as he gazed at you, and instead of gesturing for you to try, he stood and walked towards you. When he got there his smile seemed unable to leave, and you watched in a mixture of embarrassment, fear and excitement as Hoseok held out the shoe for you to try on.

“You are the last maiden of this Kingdom to try,” he whispered as you slipped your foot easily into your shoe, and the ballroom erupted into cheer as Hoseok leapt to his feet, his arms encircling your waist so he could dip you and press a kiss to your lips.

Then pulling you back up and intertwining his fingers with yours, he shouted, “this is the woman I love and shall marry!” And the only thing in your mind as you looked over at Hoseok, his bright eyes staring at you with such hope and his lips spread in a huge smile gave you an experience you had never felt before.

And without thinking, you looked down at your dress, the single glass slipper peeking out from under the full skirt and then back at Hoseok as you whispered to yourself,

“So this is love?”

A/N: I have never written anything quite like this before or in such a short amount of time. Please give me some praise and compliments to provide me with the power to write Mulan ( myg )

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raeynbowboi · 5 years

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If I was a Pokemon Gym Leader

Ever since I was a kid, I loved what could be called the “girly” Pokemon. My favorite Starter Pokemon as a child was always Torchic, and I never went through my game without catching Pokemon like Skitty, Ralts, Roselia, and Vulpix. I remember spending hours looking for a Feebas, and crying when my Wurmple evolved into a Cascoon because it meant I had to go catch another one. My first Pokemon game was Ruby Version, so I pretty much came into Pokemon just when they were introducing Pokemon Contests, and yeah I basically grew up wanting to do that despite being a boy. Then Gen VI came around and introduced the Fairy type, and it became my new favorite Pokemon type. So, if I was a Pokemon Gym Leader, I’d want to be a Gym Leader a lot like Wallace who also happens to be a Pokemon Coordinator. (Wallace is also lowkey my favorite Gym Leader of all time, so there’s that too).

Since Gym Leaders tend to be given names that are sort of puns on their type, I would choose the moniker of Gym Leader Oberon after Oberon the King of the Fairies in English Literature. It would be the 8th and final gym before the Elite Four. The gym would be designed like a giant fairytale castle, with the Gym Trainers being made up of Chivalrous Knights and Demure Damsels. There would also be a couple Dragon Tamers to keep challengers on their toes. The Gym puzzle would pull from fairy tales. The first room would be a maze of thorns via Sleeping Beauty, and if the challenger touch the sides, they’ll fall asleep and wake up at the start of the castle. The next puzzle is a Cinderella based puzzle which is a quick-time dance mini-game. The challenger has to copy the movements of everyone in the ballroom, and if they get it right, they have until the clock strikes twelve times to get to the next part of the gym before the floor falls out from under them, and they get sent back to the start. The final stage is a platform puzzle. The challenger swings from platform to platform on braids of Rapunzel’s hair. There are a couple places where the braid leads nowhere, and the challenger will again fall back to the start of the gym. If they manage to get past the braid chasm, they’ll climb one final braid to the highest room in the tallest tower where they’ll find Gym Leader Oberon waiting for them.

The signature move of this Gym would be a new Fairy type Status move called Dream Come True. The user would make a wish, either for Power, Health, or Strength. After two turns, the user would either raise all of their stats by 1 stage, heal by half of their health, or dealt 80 base Fairy-type damage. Clefairy is the first Pokemon to be sent out, and has Magic Guard to protect her from Status moves. She’s armed with Dream Come True, Attract, Moonlight, and Moonblast. Azumarill with Huge Power comes out to play next, and she’s working Dream Come True, Attract, Play Rough, and Aqua Jet. Alolan Ninetales with Snow Cloak is the third to take the stage, and she’s packing Dream Come True, Atrract, Moonblast, and Ice Beam. Cute Charm Sylveon comes fourth, and she’s got Dream Come True, Attract, Draining Kiss, and Moonblast Finally, the ace of the gym is a Gardevoir with Trace, equipped with Dream Come True, Attract, Stored Power, and Moonblast

After defeat, I would hand over the Wishing Star badge, and the TM for Dream Come True.

#pokemon #gym leader #if i was a gym leader #pokemon gym #fanmade

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rottenloves · 5 years

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that’s meghan leos walking down the street, the twenty-four year old, who looks like bae suzy. here in apple peak, they work as an assistant in town hall. some say she acts like meg from hercules, since she can be outspoken, but also a little bit cynical.

tw: infidelity; illness.

when meg was much younger, she adored fairytales -- particularly the romance of it all. the knights in shining armour, the damsels in distress, the beautifully grand weddings. she simply couldn’t get enough of it! a hopeless romantic since a young age, she had always admired the relationship her parents had: two hopelessly in love people who saw the world in each other and meg had sworn she would meet someone like that one day.

until her father cheated on her mother. that’s when the dream was destroyed. it had been going on long enough for the other woman to have gotten pregnant and as soon as her mother had found out, she took the young meg and left to go stay with her parents. her mother was never the same after that, cynical of all men and untrusting of most people besides her daughter. meg, at the time still so naive, couldn’t understand why her father had left but she saw the effect it had on her mother and at that time, began questioning romance (a sprout of doubt in her mind).

her mother wouldn’t let her have a boyfriend, scared that she would get hurt and turn out like her. but meg didn’t listen -- when she was 17, she met a boy just a year older than her and the two hit it off immediately. absolutely head over heels in love, meghan finally let the secret out to her mother about her relationship when she was of age and was just about to move in with her boyfriend (this broke her mother’s heart)

but alas, it seemed the leos women’s luck with men just didn’t last. her boyfriend became terribly ill, bed-ridden in hospital for days that turned into weeks that turned into months. the financial strain it put the couple in was enough for meg to pull out loan after loan in order to pay the hospital bills (her boyfriend had no insurance). she was bled dry of her finances, barely able to feed herself at night, debt weighing heavily on her.

her boyfriend made it out of the hospital alive, much to her relief -- and she thought things would start to look up (her finances, however, were still in a mess and he knew this) until she stumbled in on her boyfriend with one of the nurses at the hospital. needless to say that that was the day meg’s outlook on life took the turn for the worse.

it didn’t take long for her to return back home to her mother, who was heartbroken that her daughter had turned into her: cynical of the world without a single shed of trust for anyone besides herself. but at least the leos women had each other and meg swore that she would never fall in love ever again.

so she turned her back completely on the whole idea of romance, promising to never let her life be led on someone else’s leash. unfortunately, the debt was still heavy on her shoulders and meg couldn’t shake that off easily. so she moved to a different town -- apple peak -- for university, eventually finding a job as a town hall assistant where every pay check went back to her loan shark’s wallet. she’s trying to make a new life for herself now, independent and alone and away from anyone that may possibly hurt her.

#curse:intro #tw infidelity #tw sickness #shes her own woman now gd!

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eulerian-circus · 6 years

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My finger slipped

Cross posted on AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187439)

Fandom: Legend of the Galactic Heroes

Ship: Annerose x Oberstein

There were few pictures of their mother, a camera shy doll who was unlucky enough to grow into beauty rather than be born with it. Their father had loved her long before her looks had matured and arguably, they never had -Caribelle von Musel had been an budding rose destined to never reach full bloom. By the time of her death, she had merely graduated from plain to attractive, a label that was offered only tentatively considering her two pregnancies. Born to rags and buried in rags, she had been an unfulfilled princess, one of those soft-hearts that cried out for a savior who never came. Annerose remembered her with love-laced pity, sorrow for the woman who had never truly managed to live but also frustration that she had been content to merely be the damsel of somebody else’s story.

Reinhard cared little for Caribelle. He, of course, mourned the mother who died when he was young but only the idea of her, not the woman herself and her hopes and dreams -or rather, her lack of them. If he had, then Annerose preferred to believe that he would not adore her the way that he did, setting his dear sister higher up the golden pedestal on which she had lived her life. It was not his fault; he could not possibly know that the gilded cage of the Goldenbaum dynasty had been superfluous, that the addition of a second kind of bondage affected her not at all. She had even almost been happy, all desires muted under an onslaught of undeserved comfort and beautiful baubles.

Their father had often said that Annerose looked like their mother. Looking into the mirror, she was terrified to find it true. With every passing year, it became more obvious that Caribelle was filling the crevices of her life. Annerose had inherited more than her looks; she had inherited her role in the story as well. However, unlike her mother, Annerose had been “rescued” by not one but two knights: her brother and his best friend. She had wanted neither.

Of the two, Kircheis had been the one who teetered on the brink of recognizing that she did not need them. Annerose grieved for the loss of his kind insight, that her brother had dragged him to the frontlines where he died after she had entrusted that beautiful boy to him. He had treated her gently, yes, but it was the gentleness of politeness, not self-imposed duty. If this were a story, she would mourn, too, for the loss of a great love. The truth, however, was that she had made her peace with it long ago. Billions died in war -she could not afford to be optimistic and think either of them would have survived. And, for all his prowess and ambitions, she still doubted whether or not Reinhard would ever be laid to rest in Odin’s rich earth. For the younger brother who had loved her unconditionally, she feared that he would meet the same fate as the countless soldiers who had given up their lives and right to be retrieved and properly interred.

How she envied Magdalena, her strength and her wit! If she had been born a man, the entire empire would have been eating out of the palm of her hand. Where Magdalena went, so did the sun. Annerose herself was merely the moon, a poor, pale reflection of something bright and worthy. She was Caribelle -struck by one great tragedy before becoming the personification of it. That single event superposed itself over the rest of their lives.

Bitterly, Annerose thought that if Reinhard had really loved her at all, he would have come to see her despite her expressed wish that he not. His brotherly duty done, however, he had left her to fade in the shadows, forgotten. When the curtain fell, that was the common ending of a fairytale.

She retreated to the estate that the Kaiser had previously granted her, learning to turn the cage into the garden of her life. With a critical eye, she went through the entourage of servants that were part of the furniture and dismissed them until only a handful remained. The rest, she sent to her brother, pettily letting it become his problem. Then, she she packed away her long, flowing gowns and dug up the more practical knee-high skirts and sleeveless blouses she had once worn in her youth. Thirty years of existence loomed in the distance but more than ever, she felt like the girl who played dress-up with her mother’s scarves and laughed as she helped her baby brother take his first steps.

There was little work to be done on the estate: that was why Annerose took it upon herself to reinvent the entire property. The flowerbeds were to be torn out and replaced with different flora and patterns, the fountains were to be moved. There would be walls knocked down, walls built up, and stairs leading to a yet-to-be-made observation deck on the roof.

In the first week, she dug up the flowers and plotted where the new ones would rest. There would be no roses, the Kaiser’s favorite, in this garden. Roses were beautiful, deceivingly dangerous things that existed to be devoured in little rosewater cakes or decapitated for the sake of a single evening’s accessory. She planted practical greenery instead - sunflowers where the roses were, tomato plants were there had once been azaleas, and carrots to mark the divides between different species. Refusing the help of her servants for anything more than transporting the little plants, the work was hard and lonely. Like the garden sprouting at her hands, she was alive.

When the gardens were finished, Annerose took a day off to bask in the satisfaction of personal achievement.It was then she remembered that Magdalena had moved off planet to assist with the reconstruction of planets which had been damaged during Alliance occupation. With nobody to share her accomplishments with, she idly deliberated whether or not to ring her brother and ultimately decided not to. He was Kaiser now; he needed no permission from anybody to come calling. Instead, she inquired about the number of a certain admiral to whom she felt she owed a belated favor and waited.

At noon the next day, His Excellency the Chief of Staff, Fleet Admiral Oberstein appeared promptly at her doorstep. She showed him in with little fanfare, seating them both in a blue drawing room she intended to paint green. The cost of the tea she served could have fed a peasant family for a year -it was a leftover gift from noble looking to get deeper into the previous Kaiser’s favor. Neither of them touched it. As the liquid cooled, she started to knit at blanket of soft, fluffy wool and they spoke of ordinary things that she could have learned herself from a newspaper. The fleet admiral asked her eventually why she had called for him. Because she, too, could be as obstructive as he, Annerose gave him an open invitation to visit and let him on his way.

A month later, with no sign of Oberstein, the garden was in bloom. Pollen from the newly planted fruit trees weighed down the air stickily. It was a bad time to have decided to repaint the rooms but that was just what Annerose did, opening every window in the estate to let the walls air. Having never done a project of this scale before, the first layers of paint were ugly and filled with bubbles, spilling over the edges of the rooms and onto the ground and ceiling. She learned quickly that, even with an apron on, she had best wear clothes which would not be missed.

Three days into her painting project, Annerose fell off of a ladder and broke her wrist. Under the pain and tears, she was mainly surprised. It was the first time she had ever broken a bone but not the first she had tried to take care of a break. This was what Reinhard’s childhood was like, she realized a little later. Full of bruises and broken bones, most received on her behalf for being the Kaiser’s whore. More and more, she felt as if she were an actual person, the needle of reality violating her stagnant, cushioned life. Thoughtfully, she refused the help of a doctor, wrapped up her wrist, and continued painting. She was halfway done repainting the blue-now-mostly-green drawing room when a frantic servant poured in through the doorway. At his heels, Oberstein gave the entire room an impassive once-over, his gaze settling briefly on her injured wrist.

Annerose offered him vegetables from her garden -which he declined- and, in a fit of rebellion, insisted that he stay for dinner. The affair could have taken place in a graveyard for all the deep silence which permeated the table. She asked nothing of her brother and he did not offer. As before, she took up her knitting in between the last course and dessert. The severity was broken only once she had shown him to the door. He took one step forward and then paused, his back towards her.

When he spoke, his voice was flat. “I killed Admiral Kircheis,” he said, and disappeared into the darkness before she could respond.

That night, she lay in her night dress on a comfortable couch, staring at the freshly painted ceiling and thinking about his words. “I killed Admiral Kircheis”, he had said. Annerose wondered if his veneer of cruelty was just as obvious to the rest of the admiralty. Blanketed by the shadows, she mouthed two responses she could have given him and felt no pang of regret.

A doctor came for her the very next morning. She wondered.

Slowly, the rooms came alive with all the colors of the rainbow. She had abandoned the premise of painting entire rooms the same color and decided to simply paint each wall on its own. The drawing room sported one wall of its original sapphire blue, one of green, and two opposing walls of warm brown-red, the color of familiar eyes. It was only then she wrote the message she had been thinking of for the last few days, scripting it with an elegant, curling hand that looked more like art than writing.

”I do not care,” she wrote, and sent it as it was, unsigned. That she did not immediately receive a reply bothered her not at all. Annerose was a patient woman.

Despite her patience, however, she broke her schedule out of sheer curiosity. “I am going out this afternoon,” she announced to her maid, a mousy girl with quick eyes but a slow tongue. “Alone.” A warmth spread through her at the words, as well as a thrill of excitement. It had been years since she had taken a look around the city in person, longer since she had the freedom to spontaneously decide just to go. When she had prepared herself, however, she found a contingent of soldiers standing at attention in the courtyard.

“I could hardly take all of you with me,” she said to the crowd. “Please tell your commanding officer to come here. I will talk to him about it.” In the meantime, she put a strawberry and rhubarb pie in the oven. Within thirty minutes, Oberstein himself emerged from a car, just as the Annerose was taking out the pie and setting out it to cool.

“Oh good, you’re just on time,” she said, herding him to the kitchen before he could protest. Though she had to force it, there was soon a plate in his hand with a heavy, steaming slice of pie. “After setting spies up in my household, the least you can do for me is try my cooking.”

He stared at her impassively. “Your safety is of the utmost priority,” he drawled. “The Kaiser would be distraught if you were to come to harm and as is, you are a major target for his enemies. It would be unwise for me to ignore such a danger.” But he did take a tiny piece of pie.

“Very well,” she said calmly. “If you are volunteering your services as my guard for the day, then I will have to accept.” The resulting look on his face, the barest flicker of protest running across it gave her great joy.

Two hours later, she was wandering her old grounds, greeting the faces she recognized and introducing herself to the ones that she did not. Oberstein hovered at her elbow like a shadow, dressed in civilian wear for once to avoid attention. It was specifically because he sought to avoid attention that she put her arm through his and physically forced him to her side. In the back of her mind, she thought of her parents, her father constantly trailing her mother out of old-fashioned chivalry, something that had made Caribelle blush prettily with happiness. Annerose remembered being told that one day, she would find a love to fill the same scenario, being simultaneously higher than any virtue a man could aspire to but also lower in status by every measure. Serenely, she smiled at his stoicism, taking note of the brief moment when his eyes widened ever so slightly. At the end of the day, she led him right back to the kitchen and wrapped up half the pie for him to take home.

“You gain nothing from this.” Oberstein told her, the next time she saw him. He stood right at the boundary of the estate, watching as she wrestled with the weeds.

Even with a generously wide-brimmed hat on, she could feel her skin overheated by the sun. “Explain,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief.

“I am useful to the Kaiser,” he said. “I am useless to you.”

She considered him for a moment, eyes running up and down his still form. There was more grey in his dark hair than she last remembered. “I hope my brother does not work you too hard.”

“The Empire must come first,” he said. “It does not matter what happens to me.”

Annerose looked at the weed in her hand. It was a small, white flower, blooming in the wrong place at the wrong time. Feeling daring, she stood to her full height and, swaying forward, kissed him gently on the side of the mouth. Under her lips, she felt him shift uneasily.

“Then we are the same,” she declared after drawing away. His facade had broken; there was a faint expression of alarm splattered across his face. “Because I have already fulfilled my purpose, have I not?” The admiral said nothing more and after a while, she heard the sound of his footsteps slowly recede into the distance.

It came to her shortly after that she had read this story before, both of theirs. She was the princess of the tale and he the villain, the one that the hero merely had to be better than in order to win his prize of a kingdom, a marriage, and power. ”I do not care” she repeated to herself silently. In her bones, Caribelle slumbered.

#logh #lotgh #logh:dnt #legend of the galactic heroes #die neue these

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abumblebeeat221b · 7 years

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Sherlock and the Female Gaze

If anyone asked me to point them to the most revolutionary piece of media ever created I’d probably show them Doctor Who (because guys - nothing beats a show that is basically Sherlock Holmes in space and keeps reinventing itself every other year).

But the second thing would be Sherlock. Not Doyle’s original, not the Rathbone, Granada, Soviet, new Russian adaptations (even though they are dear to me). Just 13 episodes of a TV show that was only ever meant to win some obscure film award in Eastern Europe and became a success over night instead.

The fandom that does its research has spent seven years trying to pinpoint its secret and the only thing we can agree on are three little words: it looks pretty.

On a more serious note: it is probably the first thing which made male eye-candy unashamedly mainstream. It is the millennial version of Pride and Prejudice, of Mr. Darcy, only that this time society doesn’t expect the story to bore our boyfriends to death.

And I’m not even sure that was something Mofftiss and Co were aiming for.

You see. It is a truth universally acknowledged that men have no idea what women like. They confuse it with male power fantasies ALL THE TIME because that’s what the media tells them we are day dreaming about. They are shocked to learn that we think Loki to be the sexually most appealing hero villain in the Avangers, that we consider Rodger from the original 101 Dalmatians to be perfect boyfriend material, that yes, we’d happily choose a dog loving, kind individual (with great hair) over most more manly super heroes out there.

And Sherlock ticks all the right boxes for women to find him attractive, while most guys wouldn’t think that lanky nerd to be much of a competition for them.

The cherry on our metaphorical fandom-cake is that Sherlock is pretty much the first thing produced for a main stream audience I know of* which treats its leading male character as if he was a woman in order to cater to the female gaze (because the lgbqt+ community was not the only reason why the name Cumberbatch has showed up on most versions of the sexiest men alive lists since 2010/11).

Women look at Sherlock and think ‘sexy’ because we’ve been conditioned by the media to recognise this is what ‘sexy’ looks like.

And this my friends is where the magic happens.

You want the list? Here have the list:

A well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men. And let me tell you Sherlock wearing suits doesn’t look like a coincidence from over here.

The coat. It’s like a cape. Only way cooler.

The buttons which deserve their own award™. We all know the story behind the coat™, but I’m not aware of the official one explaining why Sherlock couldn’t buy the purple shirt of sex™ in a bigger size (lucky us he didn’t). On a sidenote: too small dress sizes and strained buttons are exactly what actresses are expected to wear in front of the camera.

The white sheet of possibilities. Sherlock Holmes visits Buckingham palace wearing nothing but a sheet BECAUSE THE SCRIPT SAYS SO and I can’t be the only one feeling reminded of the long standing tradition of women having to take off their clothes for very important plot reasons™. Two series later, Moffat does it again, and while IMHO Sherlock should have kept his hospital gown on in His Last Vow, I’m aware that is a pretty problematic™ thing to say given how it belongs to the most beloved (i.e. gifed and photoshopped) bits of that episode. (While at the same time, apart from Irene Adler, we have no idea what the Sherlock ladies wear underneath).

The cheekbones. Oh. The. Cheekbones. It is shocking exactly no one that Carrie Fisher was asked to lose weight every time she played Princess Leia (yes, also that one). Benedict Cumberbatch lost weight for series 2, then went to play the villain in Star Trek: Into Darkness, came back to series 3 having to lose those muscles and some weight - which goes against the *typical* male beauty standards in the industry, just saying. (NB: I’m pretty sure he did it again for TAB and series 4, but series 2 and series 3 are the only instances I’m aware of him mentioning it).

The weapons of a woman. When was the last time the male hero was allowed to lose? James Bond gets the girl because he is the best agent out there. It’s always the best knight who slays the dragon and saves the princess. I agree today personality matters - but that just means that now he needs to slay the dragon AND be charismatic on the top of it.

Heroes aren’t damsels in distress, they don’t get favours because of their looks and smiles, they don’t rely on other people or need emotional support. They are lone wolves, strong and self-efficient in every possible sense of the word and they have more than just their muscles to show for it.

Not in Sherlock.

Odds (*literally odds*) are Sherlock wouldn’t have survived the first episode without John.

Here we have someone who manipulates Molly (and clients alike) using his charm to get what he wants. Sherlock relies on his social network all the time, his adventures are about showing us how being the Cleverest™, the Best™ does not equal success.

He gets saved, beaten and drugged by Irene Adler, and just in case we’d still have some illusions left, the script for that scene describes the leading male character with the words ‘weak as a kitten’. I leave you to draw your own conclusions.

In the same episode he wins a fight because of pepper spray.

He relies on his brother’s help to beat Moriarty. He shoots Magnussen because even Mycroft’s long arm doesn’t end up being long enough. The only reason he makes it out of that mess alive is his freaking sister he isn’t even aware of.

The point is. Sherlock is right when he points out the obvious: he is no hero, but a mess who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. Yes, he is phenomenally good at what he does. But he also needs an assistant, someone who takes some part of the responsibilities off his not-so-bulky shoulders and helps him to win those victories.

The fairytale of the high-functioning sociopath. For some baffling reason, sometime between now and the dark middle ages humankind decided that European culture only ever allows men to seek companionship when somehow sex (or bragging about sex) is involved.

This is why “being friendzoned” is the worst that can happen to the modern man™. This is why they honestly don’t get the concept of just friends™. To a good deal of them female friends are like unicorns in that they don’t exist. To them the age old “if I’m not getting sex out of it then why should I bother?” argument works on both sides: “if you are not getting sex out of it then why should you care?”.

(Before you spam my inbox yes, I know Scrubs exists, I’m more than just familiar with House MD *laughs uncomfortably for ten years*. But. For every single piece of media that happens to get it right there are 10 AU remakes of Fifty Shades of Grey being published).

Now. What on Earth does this have to do with Sherlock?

NOTHING. We see Sherlock having more healthy relationships in every single episode (yes even that one) than Bond will have in a lifetime. And no matter how much Sherlock insists on being a sociopath, the hero in this story has friends, imperfect friends, and whether he likes it or not they do care about him. And he cares about them too.

Otherwise Mycroft wouldn’t need to tell his little brother that caring is not an advantage and Sherlock wouldn’t meet those words like an old friend.

On top of it, the writers never code Sherlock and John as gay. No, they don’t. To be fair, they also don’t say he’s straight. However, they do make him canonically fall for Irene Adler (FYI: if him going ALL THE WAY to Karachi for her sake wasn’t a big enough clue, then MP!Sherlock keeping a picture of her in his pocket watch should have been).

And while we do see Sherlock invested in plenty of typical male stuff (he fights, he wins, he plays the rude smart arse, the hero, the brilliant detective) at the same time he also accepts it when in TEH John decides he wants to keep his distance, and Sherlock leaves the matter in Mary’s capable hands, John’s love interest, the woman who should be traditionally the mortal enemy of male friendships.

We had a whole episode which was basically Sherlock helping Mary with wedding preparations and not (just) having a bad time.

The next episode has him do his best to save his friends’ marriage. It also has him fake a relationship with a woman (who ends up owning a cottage in Sussex that comes with bees). But he never takes advantage of her even though she wouldn’t mind being taken advantage of. And when she gets her well deserved revenge he admires her for her agency. That boy is so smitten by Janine Hawkins that the original shooting script for His Last Vow had them agreeing to marry each other should they end up without anyone else by the time they are old end grey (page 72, you’re welcome).

Sherlock gets his support system and it doesn’t ask for anything in return. He is allowed to struggle, to become emotional, to not deserve his victories and still be the hero of the show. Those 13 episodes have Sherlock stumble from one failure to the next but every single time we learn it doesn’t matter. He gets to learn from his mistakes, he gets to grow.

Yes, he has his ghosts and demons but he never needs to face them on his own, which is something I’ve only ever seen on this stupid show

_____ * If anyone wants to point out the masterpiece that’s George from the Jungle then yes, I’m aware of it (also, surprise surprise another film that was pretty popular with the LGBTQ+ folks). However, generally speaking it never became mainstream. Which is what I’m talking about here. And while Marvel’s Loki is mainstream, he is not the main character in The Avengers.

#Sherlock #Sherlock BBC #BBC Sherlock #Benedict Cumberbatch #Steven Moffat #Mark Gatiss #long post #now excuse me as I look for the alternative universe where Martin Freeman got to play Sherlock and Benedict Cumberbatch became his Watson

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ars-simia-animus · 5 years

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You’ll Rise Up, Free and Easy

Chapter Five: “The Boy’s Done Wrong Again”

Summary: Tony revealed his suffering to Ana and Jarvis. He wanted them; he longed for their comfort. They decide how to approach their lives together now, knowing the danger imposed on the young boy they love.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: descriptions of child abuse and injuries.

June, 1868

Tony visited the Potts’ estate a couple times during their summer stay in Canada. He met Samuel’s mother and father, as well as his sisters, the first time and saw Samuel’s parents again on the second playdate. It seemed to him that the entire family was always at their home; but, surely his father and mother were away sometimes , Tony reasoned.

Samuel’s father, Virgil Potts, shook his hand and said, “I am very pleased indeed that our Samuel has you for a friend!”

Tony was bewildered by this and couldn’t remember how he’d replied. Mr. Potts shook his hand every time he saw him after, too. He was a very cheerful man for being so professional in appearance.

Mrs. Jennifer Potts, ”Jenny” Mr. Potts called her, was very quiet, but affectionate. When he said goodbye, she would take both his hands and squeeze them. “Thank you for visiting our home,” she said, like the moan of wind in a deep well.

As for Samuel’s sisters, Tony liked them, but they seemed more like ghosts or fairies than real people. They were twins and both invalids. They didn’t venture far from the settee the entire time Tony saw them. Their dresses were entirely ruffles and lace and ribbons. Ginger hair, a little blonder than Samuel’s hot pepper hue, fell in locks onto their shoulders so that, between their curls and their flounces, they were like two pom poms.

Samuel spent long hours playing with his older sisters, who were too sick to leave the house. They were asthmatic and also frail from a disease that Samuel, if he knew it, never named. “I love them, but I dearly love being outside,” he told Tony guiltily. So, he played with them until they drowsed, then changed his clothes and ran out into the sunshine and the wind.

Tony carefully carried the large kite he’d made Samuel in both arms. He’d used the birdlike schematic Mrs. Ana and he had designed the summer he was seven-years-old to construct a swan. The tail of the kite was made of pink silk stockings that his mother had thrown out, since Samuel said white and pink were his favorite colors. Tony made the swan’s eyes blue— a blue like chilled lips, like Mr. Jarvis’s eyes— and its legs were green, even though green legs were not naturally occurring in real swans. But, Samuel liked green.

He met his friend in the pasture near the western extremity of the Stark’s estate. Samuel was sitting by his chokeberry tree, reading. Samuel, like Tony, marveled at tales of knights in armor, but he read more poetry and folklore than Tony.

There was a fairytale on which he was especially keen. Seven brothers became swans and were transformed back as human by wearing shirts knitted from nettles. That is, except for the last brother, who lived forever with one arm still a swan wing because his shirt was unfinished.

Tony was irked by the tale. There was no logic to the curse or the cure and it seemed the rules kept changing arbitrarily throughout the plot, just to cause the characters sorrow. At least in Arthurian legend, the magic followed a system. Samuel said, “But can’t you just imagine how it feels to have a swan’s wing or wear clothes made of nettles?”

Tony could imagine this. It was how he felt all the time around his father: irritated, taunted, suffocated. “I suppose.” He said, “Why would you want to, though?”

Samuel shrugged and almost surrendered, then he said, “Because I feel that way. And it’s nice to see how you feel show up in a book someone else has written. Even if it’s a fairytale, eh.”

Tony disagreed. He didn’t want books to remind him of the way he felt; he didn’t want to be reminded by anything. Books were a stronghold, a protective armor, and a chance to hide. “What do you have to feel nettled about?” Tony sounded much more argumentative than he’d meant to.

Samuel only shrugged politely.

When Tony presented the swan kite to Samuel, his friend examined it with slowly rising awe. He touched the pasted papers of the wings and his mouth began to hang open. Finally, he asked, “You didn’t really make this, did you?”

Tony blushed and kicked the tufted ground. “Well, take it, you silly ass! It’s yours!”

Samuel mindfully held the kite, listening to it crinkle, and lifted it from Tony’s hands. Then he surprised Tony by setting it on the little mound by the chokeberry tree and whirling back to Tony with a grin. Samuel cried, “thanks!” and swiftly pecked Tony on the cheek.

Two very powerful sensations bore into Tony’s body, one in his ribcage and one below his stomach. He chuckled and pushed Samuel. Then, the two raced the swan kite across the field, running all the air from their lungs until their chests were burning. Tony ran faster and faster and didn’t seem to slow until he collapsed in the grass, feeling as wide open as the sky.

Samuel coaxed the kite from the air. Once they had their breath back, he led Tony to a large patch of wild blackberries. They played knights, battling through enchanted brambles to a forgotten kingdom besieged beneath. As they battled the thorns, they filled themselves with the fruit.

Tony giggled. “Your mouth is all purple!”

“The magic of the bramble dragon has taken hold of us!” Samuel exclaimed. He took a blackberry and smeared it thickly over his lips. They became dark like Tony’s hair, with thin splashes of red-violet like cordial wine.

Laughing, Tony grabbed more berries from the gnarled briers. Occasionally he scratched himself or caught the fabric of his play clothes on the thorns, but he didn’t mind. “Haste, pluck his brier bare and he shall surely fall, a trophy to our Chivalry!”

By the time Mrs. Ana hiked out to the very end of the field, calling for him to return for supper, Tony’s fingers, mouth, and clothes were stained. She looked at him and began to laugh. “You look like a grape-treader of Eger who stomped while standing on his head! Come, I believe you’re to have dinner with your parents tonight. Guests are here, so you’ll need to look presentable.”

Tony and Mrs. Ana bid Samuel farewell. Mrs. Ana gave the other boy a particularly warm smile and a wink before turning in the direction of the main house. Tony clomped ahead of Mrs. Ana, bragging about how Samuel had loved the kite and how strong it was. Then, he said, “I am going to build a kite strong enough to carry a person.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Ana said. “Well, I hope you’ve been giving your Mathematics your full attention.” Though, she knew he had; chiding was just a natural way for a governess to talk to her charge and Tony enjoyed verbal sparring.

He smirked. “I will build one that can carry you!” He promised grandly.

“Far be it from me to say you couldn’t.”

When they reached the garden patio, Tony’s mother was there, lingering while the staff cleared the glasses, table service, and bottles with only a little bourbon or sherry left at the bottom. Tony thought that his father’s guests must already have arrived. Maria was sniffing but her face was unmarred; it may have been a nervous tic. She was often edgy when Howard had guests.

Maria saw them, saw the dark stains all over Tony’s mouth, saw the brambles still stuck in his hair, and saw the carefree look on his face. She darkened and cried, “Anthony! — bimbo cattivello ! Do you have no sense?”

Tony was quiet. He had grown to internalize his mother’s rejection, choosing to feign apathy when she became emotional. Usually, it incited Maria to try harder to elicit a remorseful response from him.

“Your father’s business partners are here for the evening and you return twenty minutes until supper looking like a tramp child!”

“Forgive me, fair damsel, for my most impertinent appearance.” Tony began, cheekily, and Mrs. Ana clicked her tongue. “I have forsook thy honor—“

“If all you’re able to act as is a fool, you will not play with that child again. Your father already disapproves of him.”

Tony went cold throughout his torso. “Mother, if I had known guests were coming, I would not have dared to be a child today. I would have woken as an adult—“

Mrs. Ana intervened. “Young sir, you will not speak to your mother in such a fashion. Go to your bath directly .” She tried to move him toward the house, but Tony stubbornly planted his feet. His friendship with Samuel had been threatened and he would not tolerate it.

Maria abandoned trying to scathe him with words. Instead, she looked at Mrs. Ana. “Mrs. Jarvis, I recall telling you that he needed to be dressed for guests by six o’clock.”

“We were just on our way to his bath when you addressed us, madam. It’s already drawn in his room. If there’s nothing else for you to discuss with him, I can have him dressed in time.” Mrs. Ana replied evenly.

With a sniff, Maria adjusted her jaw. Then she stepped closer to her son and lowered her voice. This was not her usual manner. And Tony was struck by her tone. Mrs. Ana noticed as well, apprehensively, how the woman was trying to intimidate him. “If you do not behave respectfully this evening, I cannot guarantee what your father will do.”

With that pronouncement crackling in his spine, Tony allowed Mrs. Ana to shepherd him inside the house.

January, 1903

Tony never showed up at the Parkers’ house to take Peter to the university library. Peter had even sat on the stoop for a while, watching, around eleven, until May discovered him and shooed him inside, out of the cold. “You plan to catch your death today?” She fussed.

“What if I was meant to meet him in Greenwich Village?” Peter asked May anxiously. If that were the case, it was impossible to make it there in time for the lecture.

May bit her lip. “Perhaps, motek .” She said, finally. “It would be more sensible for him than to ride such a distance and then back to Manhattan, with you. However, Mr. Stark seems the type to see to every little detail…”

Peter understood what she meant. Tony was a meticulous planner, despite acting insouciant, and he worried over others. It was unlikely that he wouldn’t send a carriage even if he didn’t come himself.

At 12:30, Peter was convinced that Tony had purposefully not come.

June, 1868

Ana sat in a wing-backed chair in their bedroom at the Toronto estate. She hated this style of chair; there were no such chairs— so pretentious and unyielding and overbearing— in her cottage home. Girdled in her own arms, she leaned uncomfortably on the armrest, watching Tony sleep in their bed, the “wing” of the chair hovering behind her. The nervous jerking of her ankle sent the foot of her one propped leg flopping in the air. She’d chewed her lip until a pinprick of tinny blood could be tasted.

Father whipped me .

Tony had whispered to them last night, almost as though he were not in control of the confession. Immediately it had hit Ana’s stomach like a draught of icy water. Something was unnatural, wrong, about it.

The entire household knew that Howard was severe with his son. It was no secret that the man was punitively minded and the young heir was often disciplined for some infraction or other. Ana disagreed with Howard’s harsh attitude and his method of correction. Yet, she knew she had no right to contest his authority as the boy’s father.

It had been the most difficult for Ana to bear when Tony was younger and still begged not to be punished as his father took him into his study. He was far more resigned to his lot now, not protesting, yet still resisting the hold on his arm.

Ana felt she had abandoned him when the study door closed. So, she would wait in airless suspension, hearing everything, until he slunk from the room, cowed and sullen and marred by teartracks. He always glared at her, embarrassed and desiring to be alone. But, even if he seemingly hated to see her there, she wanted him to know that he would not be forsaken, no matter what.

Often, if she were present for the transgression, she could convince Howard to let her, as his nurse or governess, handle Tony’s discipline. Then, she would take the boy to the nursery or outside and they would speak about expectations as the Stark family heir and what constituted appropriate behavior. Then, if Ana felt Tony needed help remembering the rule, they discussed a consequence that made sense to them both. It was usually something like thinking of three alternate responses to a rude reply he’d given; or, he would take an enforced respite from his tinkering if he’d neglected other duties.

However, if Tony struck the right nerve in Howard with his actions or words, his father couldn’t be dissuaded from taking his son to the study.

Yet this — Ana agonized as she waited for Tony to wake— this was different. Even when he was as young as six, Tony never sought comfort after punishment. He preferred to hide in the attic with his metal soldiers until he could reappear and pretend nothing had happened. This was the first time he came to them; and, Ana nearly cried to think he’d lain on the floor, not daring to approach them when he was so hurt and frightened.

Jarvis was disturbed as well. He had met her gaze in the dark. They hadn’t spoken, too worried that they’d wake the little mister. As soon as the morning light was strong enough, Jarvis opened the curtains and Ana lifted the fabric of Tony’s night shirt, revealing his back.

She forced her eyes closed and felt her husband cover the boy again in warm blankets. The child shuddered but slept on, whining once. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Jarvis sitting next to her, his hand on Tony’s shoulder, as if anchoring the child in sleep. She had no breath; all she could do to communicate her intense, unspeakable feelings, was frantically shake her head, look away, look back at her husband, shaking her chin as though she were an earthquake in human form. Jarvis answered lowly, “I know.”

They moved to the other side of the room, behind a dressing screen to discuss their course.

“Has he ever done this to the child before?” Ana whispered through trembling jaws to her husband. She felt fierce, her fighter’s instinct and maternal instinct roiling together as one tremendous and dark storm in her gut.

Jarvis breathed through his nose. “No.”

“Edwin,” Ana said. “I know the child has been punished beyond what I considered age appropriate before, but,” — she hissed— “this is...”

“I will speak to Mr. Stark.” Jarvis said firmly.

“This is not discipline.” She couldn’t stop. Her spirit was riled and charging against its restraints. “I don’t care what the boy said or did to anger him. It’s wrong!”

Jarvis nodded and brushed a thumb against her eyes, drying tears. Though he was not so verbal with his outrage, she saw him quiver. “If you can trust me to address it with Mr. Stark, I would ask you to keep Tony comforted in the meanwhile.”

Ana chewed her bottom lip. She said, “First, could you retrieve a bottle of salve and some breakfast? I don’t wish any of the staff to find him here. No need to inflame Mrs. Stark as well. You’ll never be heard then.”

Jarvis dressed and did as she asked. He passed a hand over Tony’s hair, hardly touching him, then left for Howard’s office. Ana sat in the wingback chair and kept a vigil. Soon it would be seven o’clock, when the little mister always waked. She would tend to him then, to the prickly hot belt-lashes down his lower back and thighs, tend to the blue bruises of a hand that was clamped on the back of his neck, undoubtedly holding him down, and she would feed him the breakfast waiting on the tray. But, how she could tend to his heart, she did not know. She only could try.

January, 1903

Peter opened the door to Mr. Hogan—Happy— standing on their stoop. His expression was stoic as ever, but Peter noticed a wrinkle under each eye that made him appear even more haggard. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hogan! Did I misunderstand Mr. Stark’s intentions about our outing? Am I still to go meet him?” He asked, all in one breath.

“Peter, bambino , don’t make the man stand in the doorway,” May said from the hallway. She appeared and spoke to Happy. “Come in, sir!”

Happy reluctantly entered, removing his snow-dusted hat. “Pardon the intrusion.” He said to May. Then, he turned his attention to Peter. “Mr. Stark sent me to deliver this message.” Then he added to himself grumpily, “instead of a messenger ” before speaking up again. “He regrettably was unable to meet you today. Nor did he present his lecture at the university, due to unfortunate circumstances.”

Peter’s heart bucked. “Is he okay?”

Mr. Hogan appeared annoyed. Perhaps he felt that it wasn’t Peter’s place to ask about the household’s affairs. Still, he answered. “Mr. Stark is well, but he will be staying in Long Island for an indeterminate time.” With this, his voice seemed to strain.

Anxious curiosity bubbled in Peter. He didn’t want to irritate Happy further, but many awful possibilities were percolating in his imagination. May must have guessed at her nephew’s distress. She pressed Happy in a courteous tone: “I don’t mean to pry, but, could we ask what’s caused Mr. Stark to stay away from his home?”

Happy melted a little. Peter noted the changed expression whenever Happy glanced at his aunt. “I believe Mrs. Stark means to speak with you herself, but,” he said, “Mr. Jarvis has fallen quite ill.”

May covered her collarbone with a hand. Peter felt his brow contract. “ O porvero! ” May whispered. “That dear man...”

“Is there anything I can do?” Peter asked with eager, innocent eyes.

Happy regarded him more compassionately this time. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Will Mr. Jarvis get better?”

The stiffness returned to Happy’s voice. “I don’t believe it’s my place to say more than I was instructed.” He glanced at May, looking for support, and back to Peter.

“Why is Mr. Stark going to Long Island if Mr. Jarvis is sick?” Peter asked, not relenting. May placed a hand on his shoulder; he read her expression and quieted.

Happy drew a breath that seemed to indicate this was the last he would say on the subject. “Mr. Stark is taking Mr. Jarvis home.”

September, 1868

Tony snapped another of his pencils in half. The sound was sorrowful, wasteful, and Ana was beginning to lose her patience. All he’d done the past hour was sulk at the writing desk. Now he drew pencils one by one from the box, and snapped them until the pieces were so small his fingers couldn’t apply enough pressure to a single break point.

When the first one cracked, Ana was so unsettled by the act, she didn’t address it at all. The boy just sat at the desk, staring at the splintered halves in his hands. His mood had turned volatile ever since they had returned to New York. When the next pencil broke, she remarked lowly, “I daresay you have plenty of work on that desk to occupy you without seeking other entertainments, Little Mister.”

Tony’s eyes turned to her. Keeping that languid gaze locked with hers, he split the pencil again. Ana bristled.

After Jarvis had spoken to Howard about the cruel treatment of his son, there had been no other such incidents; Jarvis and Ana had kept close watch. She didn’t know what her husband had said to Howard, but she was often impressed by his skill in telling superiors what they did not wish to hear in a manner that they accepted nonetheless. (This was not her gift.) Plus, Howard truly respected Jarvis because of his diligence and effective service. He was more a confidant and steward of the household than a butler.

Nevertheless, even without further evidence of abuse, there had been many nights when Ana lie sleepless, painstakingly listening for sounds of violence. “Edwin,” she would whisper.

“I’m awake, if you’re inquiring.” He answered. He turned toward her and caressed her cheek.

“He would come here if he needed me, right?” She gasped. “He’s not somewhere… alone…”

Mercifully, her husband understood. “I will go check on him, if you wish, beloved.”

She frowned. “No, I will go and return directly.” Then she slipped from bed, dressed in her robe and slippers, and took a candle into the foreboding hallway of the mansion. Tony would always be in his bed, asleep— or, disassembling some contraption in an insomniac burst of passion, but otherwise unburdened, unharmed.

“Those are your supplies for completing your work.” Ana reprimanded as reservedly as she could. “If you break them into such difficult sizes, you will still need to use them to write.”

Tony rolled his eyes. He hunched over and tossed the pieces onto the desk. “Not as though I can’t buy more.”

“You will use them, as I’ve said.” She reiterated firmly. “Only when they’re gone, will I order more.” To this, he huffed loudly. “What’s bothering you, Little Mister—?“

“Do not call me that!” Tony snapped. After a few harsh breaths, he jumped from his seat and paced the room.

Ana regarded him with surprise before folding her arms. She leaned back and gave him her attention. However her expression made it clear that his behavior was not well-received.

“That’s not a proper way for you to address me.” He continued, his face a shade more pained than angry. His volume steadily increased with each word. “And I’m not a child in need of a nurse.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Not about being a child; I believe that you’ll discover that eleven years is not sufficient experience to be considered an adult— as you’ve proven just now.” She gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her breathing calm. Regret was already forming in her; her last statement had only further provoked him. He stood coiled like a viper. “But I don’t address you properly. Now, tell me, is something bothering you, Mister Anthony?”

The sound of his given name flicked him like a whip. This was how Maria addressed him with disapproval. Not Ana. Never Ana, who spent her time with him, who built with him, who held him. He lurched away from her.

“You don’t do anything properly! You wear sports pants out in the field where all can see you, you box, you build things and get dirty, you don’t teach proper lessons—“ Here he sobbed tearlessly. “With lots of memorization and drills.”

“Boring for the both of us…”

“You’re not preparing me for when I go away to the academy!”

Ana listened to his breath hitch. She wanted to reach out for him, but refrained. He was too skittish and upset; it would be like removing an iron pot from the fire, holding its handle, unprotected. “I take it Madam has discussed your educational career with you recently?”

He turned his glare to the wall when he saw her empathetic eyes.

“Well, Mister Anthony, I think that once you see all that there is beyond the walls of Stark Mansion, you will feel quite freer and happier at the academy.”

For several moments he stared at her, aghast, perhaps betrayed. He ground his jaw and flared his nostrils. She noticed his fists clench, a habit he’d picked up recently, but she decided not to acknowledge it.

Breaking the silence, she instructed: “If you’re finished with our conversation, I would have you complete your calculations, Mr. Anthony.”

Tony stalked to the desk and she retreated to the window. The air was thick, reverberating their stress. Ana unlatched the window frame and pushed it open. No relief poured in, however— only a sickly warm breeze entered as she rubbed her temples.

What mercy is out there? She wondered. That can restore this household?

June, 1868

After discovering Tony‘s injuries, after Jarvis had spoken to Howard, Ana had kept Tony out of the house all day, swimming in the cool pond away from the grounds. She promised no one would bother them, (no one would see him.) The water soothed Tony and he only climbed out when Ana instructed, to avoid sunburn.

That night, when Tony was secured in his own room, Jarvis met Ana there and revealed more information on the events leading up to Howard punishing Tony the way he had. To no surprise, Howard was drunk. Ana shook in her rage.

“There’s more,” Jarvis said. “Sir suspects his business partner, Mr. Vanko, of trying to usurp Stark Industries. That’s why Mr. Stane and Mr. Richards were here. We will return to New York straightaway, within the week.”

Ana had frozen for a heartbeat. She wondered if Tony knew they were leaving Canada so abruptly. Losing his friend had been an inevitability looming in his mind for a while. This would be difficult.

She recovered, then bit out: “What has that to do with the little mister?”

Jarvis explained that Howard’s temper was looking for a release anyway. “Then, it seems that Madam mentioned the young sir arriving to the mansion in an embarrassing state—“

“He was playing!” Ana nearly shouted. “He was playing with the very first friend I’ve known him to have!”

“Another factor in this, I’m afraid...” Jarvis’s tone dipped ever so slightly into heartbreak. “Is Master Potts himself. After dinner, Mr. Stane inquired after the young sir and was regaled with tales of their play. It struck his father wrong in some way. He mocked the boy in front of the young sir and it escalated from there.”

Ana thought she understood and didn’t ask for more.

No, there had not been another incident in the following months; instead, Tony and Howard began to bait each other. Tony was rightfully hurt and furious; he looked at his father now not as an impassable structure he must climb but as an obstruction he must demolish. Howard, still irascible over the threat of his power in Stark Industries, compensated by enforcing stricter control over his son.

The tension in the house spared no one, not even the lowest ranking servant was unaffected.

Tony’s hostility toward his father manifested as challenges to his authority over the slightest rule. Once Howard began to roar, Tony would rise to meet him. Jarvis bore the brunt of the backlash, being present during the times father and son were together.

Jarvis had taken the role of removing Tony from the room when Howard began to ramp up. He told Ana, “The young sir incites his father and refuses mediations from his mother or myself. And Sir becomes increasingly difficult to divert.”

Ana told him that she’d noticed Tony brooding more often and the child had taken to biting himself. When Jarvis inquired, Ana explained: “He sits curled up with his hands or arms tightly hidden against his mouth. When I am able to coax him to unfurl himself, he has mean little bite marks in the skin of his arm or fingers.”

“He needs an outlet,” Jarvis had responded after a pause. “What would you think about increasing his time for sports?”

Ana sighed. She was watching all of Tony’s growth and progress stagnate. Worse— she saw the brilliant, sensitive, and confident boy she loved drying up, deoxygenated, turned to ash. “If I can build his interest in it. He’s become so dispossessed.”

September, 1868

Tony toppled the writing desk and all its contents exploded across the floor. The clamor was like that of a cannon. Ana confronted him in shock, then anger began to leak into her face. He dared her with his gaze to act, jaw quivering violently. When a maid entered the room, drawn by the racket, Ana snapped: “Leave— now!”

Tony didn’t react to the fleeing maid. He twitched with exhilaration and— curiosity. He seemed to both confront and guard against her. This, she realized was a challenge directed only at her.

No longer mastering her indignation, Ana hissed. “What has gotten into you?” The words were quiet but forceful.

Satisfaction replaced curiosity and Ana drew an enormous breath. This was some kind of test— but what he meant to accomplish she could not comprehend. She felt tears press under her eyes but stifled them with righteous rage. Squaring her feet, she raised her eyebrows, prompting an answer.

“You,” Tony sputtered, “you preach at me about expectations”— he gulped— “that I must abide— yet— yet you— openly defy any sense of decorum!”

Ana patiently interrupted. “I am not shouting at you, Mister Anthony, so do not raise your voice at me—“

“Stop calling me that!” Tony screamed.

“What should I call you, Tony?” She asked with genuine respect, although irritated, and her quietness crushed him.

“You have no right.” He was unraveling; Ana watched closely but did not approach. She wondered if his experiment was failing. “You do whatever you wish yet I must perform every way everyone expects me to even when they aren’t around—! Why?”

“Little one,” Ana said in a sigh.

“Do not talk to me that way!” He kicked up the papers where he was calculating the ratio on Ana’s scaled drawing of the Triumphal Arch of Vac. Rearing back, he clenched his fists again. “Why, I asked! Why?”

Then a cough guttered through him; he choked. “Because you don’t matter.” He paused when she flinched. “You’re just the immigrant wife of our butler and it doesn’t matter what you do.”

“Very well,” she replied. Warring to keep the song of weeping from her voice, she said: “Very well if that’s what you believe. Nevertheless, you are my pupil for now and I’d have you right that desk and finish your calculations, as you were told.”

Seizing this moment, Tony flung out the phrase he’d been preparing. “You cannot order me around and you are not big enough to make me.”

Ana saw the apprehensive curiosity flash through him again and her chest loosened. Here was the boundary challenged at last! This was the hypothesis tested by this experiment.

“Oh, hell!” She exclaimed and Tony stumbled back, eyes agog. This silly fool, she thought. All that trouble... She massaged her closed eyelids, exasperated. “Is that what this is about?”

“You cursed!” He muttered stupidly.

“Yes,” she piped and dropped her hand, “I did. Come here.”

Tony stood immobile, his arms crooked like a frightened pup. He collapsed into his shoulders and nearly took a step back. Ana hated to see him in such a submissive and mistrustful stance. Still, she did not soften her voice. Not yet.

“Come here, now.” This she spoke with widened eyes, demanding to be taken seriously.

Blinking, grimacing, he moved forward until he stood before her. He glowered at the floor in a marriage of resignation and defiance. His fists clenched and unclenched. Fear, shame— both rattled in his chest.

“Look at me, please,” she said. “I would want you to have the respect for us both to look me in the eye.” Haltingly, he shifted his glare upwards. Red rims betrayed the threatening emotion in him. She saw hopelessness and it constricted her heart. She took his hands, ignoring how he jolted.

“Look at me.” She repeated, for his face had dropped again when she touched him. When he complied, she asked: “What is my job, Little Mister?”

Tony’s lips parted in a silent cry. He swallowed weakly… Shook his head.

“What is my job?” She pulled gently at his hands. “Do you remember what I said?”

He nodded and the lenses of tears broke; they ran down his face. His face didn’t lift the last time.

“Tell me, then.” Ana commanded. She tapped his chin then gently lifted it when he refused.

“T—to,”— his tortured sobs straggled the words. But, she waited, grasping his hands to hold his attention. She’d never seen him act out this way with her, so she was determined to see this through, despite his distress. “To lo—love m-me.” The effort weakened his control and he sobbed bitterly.

“Yes.” She licked her lips and let him cry a moment, not wishing to unduly overwhelm him. When his breathing no longer shuddered, she said, “Look at me, Tony. One last time. Look at me, now.”

He barely managed but tried to obey.

“I,” — she girded each word with passion and love— “will never strike you. Never!” She let a tremor pass through her and into his hands, still clasped between hers.

Tony bit his lip.

“I will do my job.” She choked on her own emotion now that her declaration had made its impression. “Do you hear me? No matter what anyone, including you,” — she stroked his hair— “might do.”

He hung by some unseeable thread, certainly, there was nothing left in him that could have kept him upright.

She gasped then muttered: “And for heaven’s sake, you little fool…” She drew him into her embrace, taking most of his weight against her. “There are better ways to determine the veracity of that statement!”

Tony covered his face with his hands, pressing into her. They sealed in his cries. Shushing softly, Ana rubbed his back. Tony’s knees sank every so often and, eventually, she led him to a bench nearby. They sat together side by side and she rocked him in her arms.

“I’ll do my job,” he whimpered. “I will!”

Though his mouth was covered and his voice unrecognizable, Ana discerned his statement. “I know.” She closed her eyes, sweeping them clean of dwindling tears. “My Little Mister...”

Time lost grip on them. Tony only looked up when the door’s latch clicked. To his horror, he saw Jarvis standing in the door. He must have been alerted by the frightened maid. After surveying the scene, he closed the door behind him. Then he saw how Tony cowered from him and he sat in a chair on the other side of the room to lessen his the intimidation of his presence.

The three of them took many tense minutes to settle. Then, Tony wordlessly stood and set the desk upright. He picked up the scattered papers and fractured pencils. Ana gestured for Jarvis, who nearly stood to assist him, to allow Tony to clean without comment.

Tony came and stood humbly before her when he was finished. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ana.” She reached out and touched his cheek.

“Don’t think about it anymore, dear.” She said and Tony’s jaw softened at the term of affection. He peeked at Jarvis to judge his reaction but only found a surprise that was somehow also pleased. She continued. “It’s done now, and I’ve already told you the consequence.”

“It’s awfully difficult to write with such short pencils,” Tony remarked with a twist of his lips.

“It’s too late to think about that, Little Mister. I’m sure you’ll remember in the future.”

Smirking, he said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“May I tell you something I’ve been thinking about?” Ana asked. Turning to Jarvis, she called: “Come join us, Edwin; this concerns you, too.”

Jarvis stood and took a seat by her on the bench, leaving a space for Tony to sit between them. Tony hesitated, but sat and willed his muscles to loosen, enveloped by the Jarvises’ calm presence.

“I debated telling you this, but,” she said with a chuckle, “I worry more that you won’t ever realize how much I truly love you if I don’t.”

Tony went rigid. The nondescript sound in his ears seemed to swell until he couldn’t hear. He fought his rushing blood back down. “What is it?”

Ana didn’t answer for a long moment. She spaced her breaths; Tony listened to them, nearly lulled to sleep. He always felt exhausted after an outburst.

Finally, she said, “I think my name should have been Hannah.” She grinned almost reproachfully at herself. “Do you know the story of Hannah? Who prayed for a child and when he was born, he lived away from her, at the temple?”

Tony didn’t know that story, but he felt his stomach burn at its implications.

Jarvis reached over Tony and laid his hand on Ana’s shoulder. Tony inhaled the sense of security created by Jarvis’s strong arm behind him. He caught himself just before leaning into the butler’s side.

“I’ve begun to think that I am like that woman. That the child Heaven gave me… lives just beyond my reach.” Ana bit her lip.

“I thought,” Tony murmured, “you didn’t want children.”

Ana laughed and Tony saw the glistening beneath her soil-like eyes. “Not until you.”

Tony didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t speak. Jarvis didn’t speak. Neither did Ana.

However, they drew closer together. Ana wrapped her arm around Tony’s back. Jarvis kept his hand on Ana’s shoulder. They both took one of Tony’s hands.

When he felt Jarvis hold his hand, Tony risked lying against the man’s side. He’d never been held by his father, never by any older man. He felt the barrellike form of Jarvis’s chest under his cheek. The sensation was similar to yet unique from the way Ana felt when she held him. Both embraces protected him, but each relieved a very different memory of rejection.

Jarvis felt the child against him and looked at his wife. She had just revealed to Tony that she thought of him as her son. She was not his mother, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t given each other by the right of bloodlines or the law. But they found each other; they belonged together, despite everything.

Now Tony had invited Jarvis into this familial pact they shared. Ana smiled and nodded to him like a cue. With his thumb, Jarvis brushed Tony’s hand, with its mauve tooth-prints. “We’re here, young sir.” He said.

#Amphora #You'll Rise Up Free and Easy

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