#so far it obviously looks better but i like the charm the graphics of the first one has..

[xecat]

oh boy i hope this movie is at least kinda good cos ive heard mixedf stuff about it but ive put it off for this long .

[ginisbetterthanfirewhisky]

Written for @hinnymicrofic 's May prompt #8, Divination.

Word count: 469

This is bloody boring, thought Harry as he absently tapped his quill against his Dream Diary. He had to complete a month's worth of entries for the grading tomorrow, and he had only managed three entries so far. Hermione had gone off to bed hours ago, smugly telling him that he should have used his brains and dropped divination years ago. Ron, who had already completed his homework while Harry was off at yet another detention with Umbridge, had offered to help Harry, but the latter declined, telling Ron to go off to bed too.

This was how he found himself in the empty common room, sitting by the dying fire and desperately thinking of wild, gloomy dreams that Trelawney would love to eat up.

"Hem Hem."

He gave a start and widely looked around, expecting Umbridge to appear any moment, her toad-like face stretched into an ugly smile. To his relief, it was Ginny who plopped on the sofa beside him. She looked like she had arrived in a hurry— her flaming hair looked messy and her face was flushed.

"You almost gave me a heart attack! Don't do that again!"

Ginny merely grinned.

"What were you doing out past curfew anyway?" He asked her, eyes narrowed.

"Never you mind," she said casually as she rummaged around her robes for something. "Chocolate frog?"

"No, thanks," said Harry, getting back to his Dream Diary.

Ginny leaned over to look at his book and Harry caught a waft of a flowery sort of smell. "Divination?"

"Yeah. I have to complete a month's worth of Dream Diary entries."

"Freak Quidditch accident… charm gone horribly wrong… don't you think that's too cheerful for Trelawney?"

"What d'you mean?"

"You need to be more creative."

She took the quill from his hand and rubbed the feathery part on the tip of her nose, as if in deep thought. Then her eyes lit up and she started writing furiously. "Violently strangled by the Giant Squid after being thrown into the lake by a rogue Bludger. Mauled to death. Now that's better than a simple Quidditch accident," she said triumphantly.

Harry found himself grinning. "So I have to make them more graphic?"

"Obviously!"

He took his quill from her hand and poised it in front of his book. "Attempted to transfigure myself into a cactus. Ended up permanently blinding myself."

"Saw Umbridge's face first thing in the morning. Died of a heart attack."

Within fifteen minutes, they had completed the assignment, coming up with increasingly ridiculous dreams that included hexes, falling off cliffs, being eaten by grindylows and drowning in ashwinder venom.

"Thanks," he told her when they competed the 31st and final dream (falling into a nest of crumple horned snorkacks after being kicked by an angry hippogriff).

"Anytime," she said smiling back at him.

--

Note: I had initially planned to steal use the "ridiculous ways to die" from a 2005 post on a H/Hr site titled "1000 Ways to Kill Ginny Weasley". Unfortunately (but predictably), they were incredibly unfunny and bordered on slut-shamey, so I finally came up with my own.

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Chapter 13)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Nasimiyu didn’t know how to feel other than smug. Word of Seokjin’s fight with Namjoon shot through the palace like the smell of fish. Nasimiyu couldn’t believe it at first. Seokjin? Throwing fists?! She saw Namjoon’s black eye on her way to the private dining room for supper –which Namjoon chose to take in his room– and Seokjin’s busted lip but still couldn’t believe it until King Dong-gun himself sank into his chair and laughed,

“Well. Who’d have thought this son would be brawling in the courtyard, eh?”

Beside him, Lady Zselyke turned up her nose and teased, with a trace of a smile, “I suppose he had to inherit something from you.”

“Besides my dashing good looks?”

“He looks more like his mother,” General Dong-suk mumbled around a forkful of food already buried in his mouth. Nasimiyu glanced at the man and quickly away, afraid of making eye contact. General Dong-suk’s reputation preceded him. The King’s younger brother was notorious for winning wars, no matter the cost, and while Nasimiyu didn’t know specifics, she did know her father thought he was both terrifying and genius. We’ll want him on our side, Prince Hamisi had said. Another reason we need to do this the right way. The last thing we need are losses along the border during the transition of power. Dong-suk is undefeatable. 

High praise from her father, who himself bragged a great deal about having the most peaceful principality in Marvono so that they had no need of war to begin with. Yet he clearly admired Dong-suk. She’d expected a scarred, muscular old soldier based on the things she’d heard and instead found herself breaking bread with a razor sharp man, crisp and clean and unemotional. It felt like he sucked the warmth from the air just by his presence. He was far, far more frightening in person than any of the people she’d met in those tavern backrooms could possibly understand. Hatred for this man had streamed from them like blood and sweat, stories of his depraved acts, his prolific use of torture to get answers, his scorched earth tactics for any boarder villages “harboring” soldiers from the other side –whether they knew it or not. Such stories had seemed impossible to pin onto one man’s shoulders, impossible to believe without some bigger outcry than a couple dozen angry youths shouting about it in Marvonese taverns, far from those borders and battles and truth.

And yet, she was glad Seokjin sat in between them. 

Nasimiyu supposed General Dong-suk had meant that as an insult to his brother, though it was a compliment to Seokjin and the beauty of his mother captured in portraits around the palace. Dong-gun laughed like he expected nothing differently from his brother and Seokjin buried his face in his food. 

Lady Zselyke smoothed it over with, “That he does, and there’s no harm in being good in the face and with an uppercut, eh?”

“What do you know about fighting, Aunt?” Seokjin asked her. Apparently this was also a joke that Nasimiyu didn’t get because Zselyke laughed fondly and waved her napkin at him.

“Oh stop. You know, I used to be right there to the side any time your father brawled, ready to clean up the mess afterwards.”

“You weren’t very good at it,” Dong-gun chuckled. “I had to learn my own way out of messes.”

“How can you say that?! I smoothed things over with your father so many times.”

“Ah, yes, with him, I suppose he was fond of you, he’d wait until you were out of sight to whip my backside so you wouldn’t be distressed.”

Nasimiyu couldn’t believe they were laughing about this, but they did. Except for General Dong-suk, who ate tidily but quickly, as if it had been weeks since his last feed but he had somewhere to be. 

“Sometimes it takes a firm hand,” he said, chasing a sip of wine. “Perhaps you needed firmer hands. Your boys did.”

Nasimiyu couldn’t help the stare out of the corner of her eye, curious how the king would take to such a jab at his parenting methods.

King Dong-gun’s voice seemed steelier as he countered, “I raised a fine soldier, didn’t I? And Seokjin will make a… king.”

“Thank you, father, I appreciate your bold, unflagging support,” Seokjin quipped and Nasimiyu wanted to kick him beneath the table but withheld. Did he really not know the right time to make a joke and the right time to abstain? No jokes could exist around that General uncle of his. 

But maybe he didn’t intend it as a joke; he didn’t have his usual bold smile as he lifted his own glass of wine. He kept blinking, like there was something in his eye. As soon as his wine glass was done, he shoveled food into his cheek like he, too, had somewhere to be. He didn’t look like a valiant champion, though earlier he’d strutted into dinner like he’d just been crowned one, and bowed low to Nasimiyu after she placed her hand in his. 

Never in a million years had Nasimiyu expected Seokjin to hear a complaint from her and go right to resolve the problem himself. A fist to Namjoon’s face! Damn, she wished she could have seen it. 

“A fine king such as yourself,” General Dong-suk said in a sharp voice that Nasimiyu saw made King Dong-gun stiffen. “He’ll go around throwing balls and punishing fops for fucking maids? Who cares? Take care of the problem or get over it, it’s a trivial matter and not something you should be brawling like a fresh pup about.”

Seokjin looked startled and rushed to clarify, “I assure you, the cause of the exchange is well in hand–”

“Maybe they’re both fucking the maid,” King Dong-gun suggested with a laugh, then quickly added, “My apologies, Princess. I forgot you were here, you’re so quiet tonight.”

“Just taking it all in,” she mumbled, but it was missed beneath Lady Zselyke insisting, “She has a sense of humor about it too, Dong-gun, don’t worry about her.” Nasimiyu saw the quickest flicker of Zselyke’s eyes in her direction but didn’t understand the meaning of it. And she most certainly would not have a sense of humor about Seokjin fucking any maid, particularly hers.

“I am confident he is not,” she said coolly, and smirked at Seokjin in the hopes people would see it and murmur. Seokjin gave her the smallest smile but it was like something pressed heavily down on him. She wished he would take more pride in his own fight!

“Besides, I think it’s admirable,” Lady Zselyke rushed on to cover Nasimiyu’s response. “When there’s an issue, you go right to solve it. No skulking around waiting for someone else to handle it or hope it will handle itself. It’s the proper way to deal with things, isn’t that right, Dong-suk?”

Honestly Nasimiyu couldn’t believe Zselyke had addressed him at all, much less so casually. She seemed to puff herself up further as Dong-suk looked at her, wine glass steady in his hand. Nasimiyu couldn’t decide whether it was stupid or admirable.

“I don’t believe you wish to hear how I deal with things,” Dong-suk said, looking away from Lady Zselyke like she no longer interested him in the least. He gestured brusquely to a servant to clear his plate away. 

King Dong-gun chuckled, “Here to tell me how you’d run things differently if it was your ass in my seat?”

“I don’t need to tell you,” General Dong-suk said, and didn’t look at his elder brother either. “There’s no point in wasting our breath, I don’t want your chair.”

“Yes, good, it’s molded to my ass.”

“And his will fit?” Dong-suk asked with a gesture towards Seokjin. Flippant. Unimpressed. With one sentence Nasimiyu understood precisely what uncle thought of nephew. Not that she had expected anything different. 

“I’ve already started my special diet to gain the weight,” Seokjin mumbled under his breath. Nasimiyu had never seen him so… wilted. He couldn’t even endorse his own jokes. Everyone else at the table ignored him.

Lady Zselyke sniffed, nose in the air, “King Dong-gun has done a fine job molding Seokjin into a prince who will rule well when the day comes, but that day will not be for a very, very long time.”

“You think so?” General Dong-suk asked evenly. Nasimiyu bit her lip in an effort not to react. She kept her head down, shocked to hear the brother of the king so brazenly suggest, “There are a dozen plots to take his head today alone and you think he will stay king for a very long time?”

“Dong-suk,” Zselyke scolded, her voice soft.

King Dong-gun rolled his eyes and laughed, “You exaggerate, little brother. Maybe four, maximum. I am not nearly terrible enough to warrant that many plots.” Something harder came into his voice as he added, “Not as terrible as you would have me be.”

“‘Terrible’ is a clever choice of word, old brother,” Dong-suk returned. “It can mean many things. To be feared, respected. That would keep you alive.”

“He’s a good king,” Zselyke argued. “The people–”

“The people,” Dong-suk laughed, cold and empty sounding. “The only good king to the people is a dead one. There is no wisdom in trying to be a good king for the people, they will always want something other than what you provide, and should they get it anyway, they will immediately want something else instead.”

“And yet here I sit,” Dong-gun said, and lifted his wine glass for a sip. 

Nasimiyu startled as something brushed her leg –Seokjin’s hand. He gave a look, but she wasn’t sure what he was trying to convey to her.

“Ignoring my warnings.”

“I heed your warnings,” Dong-gun argued. “The legitimate ones. We have the Destin rebellions under control–”

“It’s not Destin you should be worried about, they’re nothing, a ragtag band of nobodies. Embarrassments, every one of them.” 

“The whole principality?” Seokjin mumbled. He glanced over his shoulder, smiling, like he thought at least his footman or bodyguards would laugh, but he’d said it so quietly, probably they couldn’t even hear him. Seokjin was afraid, that seemed obvious, and Nasimiyu –despite feeling the same– found herself disappointed by him. This was his own uncle. Surely you should at least be brave against your own family? If you weren’t, who else could be?

His uncle only spared a disgusted flicker of his gaze and forged ahead, “It’s not Destin you should concern yourself with. Cut them off with one clean slice, it can be done in an hour.”

“And how many dead would it be?” King Dong-gun asked with a shake of his head.

“Numbers do not matter at a time like this. What number is order worth?”

“How many lives is my reign worth, do you mean?” King Dong-gun clarified, a nuance of language that clearly did not amuse Dong-suk. But Nasimiyu found herself briefly fascinated… was Dong-gun saying he would not take extreme measures to curb a rebellion because he did not consider the loss of lives worth it for a threat against his life? Was that really what he was saying? Nasimiyu was sure she must be misunderstanding, filling in blanks since the two of them argued about political things she only knew crumbs about. 

“I’d say at least five,” Seokjin said. And, further baffling to Nasimiyu, King Dong-gun burst into laughter.

“Come, son, at least ten!”

“Let’s call it seven.”

“Idiots,” Dong-suk sighed, letting his eyes close. “Every one of you, idiots.”

“And it’s already been two,” King Dong-gun said, smiling at his brother. But then the chuckle died away as his words caught up to everyone, maybe even himself. The smile remained but it looked more threatening than amused now. “I’ve lost a wife and a son, brother. You would have my other son?”

“I don’t want Seokjin on the lines,” Dong-suk scoffed. “I’ve seen him brawl. I’d take his fucking valet before I’d take him anywhere.”

“That is what it would cost me to give you the war you ask for. How could he face his people if he did not go to fight, as his brother did? And yet…”

Nasimiyu’s eyebrows raised. She glanced at Seokjin, her only near-ally in this, curious if he knew what war was being asked for. This was the first she had heard of war as a current event other than the unrest in Destin and maybe an occasional skirmish along the border in Therepin. 

“I don’t ask for a war but the means to stop one before it begins.”

Nasimiyu felt herself getting twisted up. It certainly sounded better to stop a war before it began. The ‘Therepin Border Skirmishes’ had happened during her lifetime but she had been young and shielded, raised on the far side of Yeonhalbi from the battles. Marvono sent soldiers but not too many, not anyone within reach of her. 

“You grow idle, brother,” King Dong-gun said, his knife scraping noisily against his plate as he cut his steak. “Without war, you have no purpose, is that how you feel? I can put you to other tasks.”

“Destin? You won’t let me do what needs to be done.”

“I’m handling Destin.”

“I am your general, I should handle it all.”

“A rather bothersome one,” King Dong-gun scoffed. “I can’t even eat the steak I requested just for you without you nipping my ear off about war this, death threat that. Your job is to end wars, not monger them. Get a wife or a hobby and stop trying to kindle unrest. If war erupts along the border–”

“I will have warned you!” General Dong-suk shouted and slammed his fist on the table. It was a sudden and explosive outburst after he’d maintained such tight composure. Steady. Menacing by subtlety, not volume. Now Nasimiyu suspected he could do both. “If you continue to ignore the threats along the border… Your people there suffer. Unrest grows. You grow fat and lazy in your capital by the sea and the people will come for you.”

“Find another way. That is my final word.”

“It may very well be, Dong-gun.” Dong-suk rose from the table and gave the king and Lady Zselyke both a withering stare, as if she’d had much to say in it. His gaze slid blindly over Seokjin, who clearly had no merit for Dong-suk. Nasimiyu leaned back, feeling the briefest moment of Dong-suk’s eyes on her –it couldn’t have been but a second. 

Perhaps Dong-gun saw it too, or maybe he had decided to try and drive the dismissal home further; he laughed, “Ah, did you meet Prince Hamisi on your way here, by chance? He’s gone south, I believe. I’ll be curious to hear what he reports about the people there and whether things are really as bad as you say. But I’m afraid you won’t find support for your war from him. He’ll laugh in your face before he sends soldiers from Marvono to die simply because you’re bored.”

“I’ve never met the man in my life and if he sells his daughter to this idiot family, I don’t care to.” 

The private dining room was perfectly silent for a solid minute in the wake of his departure. For that reason, Nasimiyu thought it a ridiculously dramatic exit –but he had totally cleared his plate in remarkable speed, so maybe his only purpose at dinner had been to quickly eat and try one more time to continue this argument he and his brother had clearly broken off earlier. Nasimiyu regretted not knowing more. If the borders were full of unrest again and it posed a threat to the crown, that would be her problem to solve someday, possibly someday soon. 

But it was also confusing because… well, her father hadn’t mentioned there was the risk of war along the border, nor rebellion from Yeonhalbian people. There was that remark her father had made, which Nasimiyu was proud of herself to recollect now, that he felt King Dong-gun’s ways of doing things led to the borders needing protecting, of also that he thought many people wanted King Dong-gun dead. Was that what General Dong-suk had meant…? It was annoying, feeling like she was short a few cards to understand what they were talking about. It further annoyed her that Lord Namjoon probably could have filled her in on everything and given her a reliable account of whether General Dong-suk really was as out of hand as rumor had it. 

She could ask Seokjin, of course. Of course. She wanted to laugh at the idea. Seokjin had his face down in his bowl of soup and couldn’t have looked less interested in discussing politics. She never got the sense he knew much about anything, despite getting to sit in council. He just took it for granted to know what they were talking about, even though the outcome of a dinner argument like this could change the future of Yeonhalbi. Even his own future! If war did happen, Seokjin would either have to go fight or rule as his father went to die instead. Dong-gun didn’t seem like the self-sacrificing type…

For a moment, war loomed up as a real thing, more than it had ever felt before. She’d thought of war as undesirable but sometimes a necessity, but never stopped to consider who made the call about whether it was necessary or not. Probably you decided which way –war or no war– would lead to fewer deaths and better long-term outcomes… but for whom? For the monarch wanting to maintain their crown? Or the people who lived in the warzone? 

War hadn’t touched Marvono since the uniting of Yeonhalbi. The nation to the north was quiet, peaceful, their relationship good with Marvono and the borders never contested –partially because they were a relation. Prince Hamisi had no sons to send to the Therepin Border Wars, even if he’d wanted to, and daughters were never expected to be soldiers. War didn’t hurt people like them. 

But Nasimiyu would have her own children someday, likely sons and daughters both. It would be honorable for her sons to serve in a necessary war, but how necessary would a war have to be for her to be willing to send them? 

Seokjin leaned close to her and said in what seemed to have been intended as a whisper, “Sorry about that. Family… you know how it is. I almost wish we’d go back to talking about my fight…”

“My family doesn’t have quite the… characters yours does,” Nasimiyu whispered back, aware that at least Lady Zselyke was listening closely to her. King Dong-gun had called his footman over and was telling him about some meeting he wanted to have the next day now, and also to let him know if Dong-suk left the palace at any point.

“No? No heated debates at dinner about who wants to kill you or what wars to wage?”

“No, never,” Nasimiyu said, and didn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice, though she knew she’d sounded critical a moment ago. She wanted to sound critical, because this had all seemed so inappropriate, but truthfully, she wanted in. She wanted to know. She wanted to be one of the ones having to make even those difficult decisions about what was right and how to help people best. She would have loved if her father included her in those debates around the dinner table –war, ethics, philosophy, danger, whatever! If he had, maybe she wouldn’t have felt compelled to seek it out herself –and she never would have met Dulce. 

“Ah, your father loves you more than mine,” Seokjin said loudly. “He wanted to protect you from it all.”

King Dong-gun shook his head and argued, “Why do you think we ate privately in here tonight? Sometimes you have to let the stink air out for a few days. I would have done you a disservice to hide the shit of ruling from you. Someday you’ll be the one fanning the stench out.”

“Not for a long time!” Lady Zselyke bubbled over, and downed the remnants of her wine. “Honestly, all this talk of death and war and–”

“There there, Zelly, don’t you worry about it. Suk and I will make up in a few hours. He knows I’ll never give my permission and I know that he manages to get it done another way and everything will be fine.”

“But if the borders really are unquiet–”

“They’re not. Ask Namjoon, wherever he’s sulked off to hide. Why don’t you ask him, Seokjin? While the two of you fix whatever this was?”

Seokjin’s brow lowered as he said, “That… isn’t likely to happen.”

“You don’t have to like him, but you do have to find a way to work with the people in position to best help you.”

“I don’t need his help. Not someone like him.”

“You’ll have to let go of this idea of liking people,” King Dong-gun continued. “It leaves you worried about whether people like you, and once you care about that, you’re damned.”

Seokjin gave his father a wide grin and promised, “Well I’m safe there, I’ve never worried about that.”

“Good. Because the rest of your life is going to be spent working with people you hate, and arguing with people you care for. You think you’re always going to see eye to eye with me? Or your advisors? Even your wife… her father… it’s harder to hold your ground with people like that but you have to.”

Seokjin looked stunned. Nasimiyu wasn’t sure why. At first Seokjin struggled to find the words, before he pressed, “You think I should stand my ground? You believe I’ll have the right way of things–”

“Well you’d better figure it out eventually,” King Dong-gun laughed and Seokjin visibly deflated. “Otherwise the people around you will figure it out for you, but no one except the king can ever see all there is to see. It’s your uncle’s job to ask for what he wants to get the job done in the easiest way, and it’s my job to tell him no, to get it done in the best way. Get good at telling people no, Seokjin. Zselyke, let’s go for a walk, I need to get some unkind words about my brother out of my mind.”

In only a moment, Nasimiyu and Seokjin were alone in the dining room, silent and still though neither touched another bite. 

Eventually Seokjin snorted, “Won’t it be a sight to see if my uncle has to answer to me someday? I know you’re thinking it. How in the world am I going to hold someone like that in line?” He shook his head and for a moment looked so sincere and open and casual –except this time instead of putting Nasimiyu off, she felt like he’d reached a hand out to her. Vulnerable, but in a good way. Like he’d gestured to his uncle and said this is a problem we’ll have to address as king and queen someday, how do you think we should do it?

“He’ll have to listen to us, or he’ll lose his head,” she suggested.

“Us,” Seokjin insisted and his grin grew. Nasimiyu’s eyes narrowed. But instead of saying exactly the wrong thing, which is what she expected, he nodded, “Yes, all right. You’ve managed your father, haven’t you? Is he anything like that? You’ll be an asset on the throne.”

Nasimiyu was not sure she had managed her father but insisted, “Of course I have. It’s wise of you to… to recognize that. That I would be an asset, I mean.” She paused. “Do you mean that?”

“That you would be an asset?”

“That you would have me by your side. In council or ruling or dealing with… problems,” she clarified. 

“The king always takes his queen into confidence–”

“I mean openly. Not a listening ear as you dress for bed but a partner in–”

Seokjin laughed and Nasimiyu bristled, but once again his words surprised her as he insisted, “I get the feeling I couldn’t keep you out if I tried, but I wouldn’t pick that fight. If you show a head for politics, at least that would make one of us.”

“Even though it would be breaking with tradition,” she said, standing because he did, trying to sound calm as a surge of energy bubbled in her chest. “If I did more than just plan balls and suppers and–”

“I hope life with me can be good for you, Nasimiyu. If you’d rather do this or that, it’s yours. I don’t care if you don’t want to plan balls. Zselyke can keep doing that since she likes it so much. If you want to be involved with council and hold court, we do that together, or you take it over, I sure don’t mind. Maybe we’ll actually be good at it all together. Yes, Jimin, I’m going in for the night, can you tell Drin I’m not sparring after all? I think I got my workout in today.”

“What are you going to do about Namjoon?” Nasimiyu asked before he could disappear.

Seokjin hesitated, then asked, “Well what do you think I should do? Did I do enough? My father thinks I need to just learn to work with him, but…” He sighed deeply and looked away. “A guy like that…”

“May be of use to us,” Nasimiyu decided. “I think you’ve done enough for now. Hopefully he will behave himself, and if not, we’ll send him away. Besides, he’d probably take Mindeulle with him but I’d like to keep her here.”

“I’m glad you’ve made friends with her.”

“I’m glad you took my complaint about Namjoon seriously,” she said, feeling benevolent. “Thank you, Seokjin.” He gave her an indecipherable look, chased away quickly by his typical smile.

“Always, my princess.”

Nasimiyu’s spirits lifted as she returned to her room, yanked back and forth between the fight for her sake and the appearance of this frightening possibly-war-criminal uncle, but then Seokjin’s easy acceptance of her value in ruling this country. It had never occurred to her that Seokjin might just… let her. Sure, it was possible he’d still be in the way. But… maybe not. There might be value in having the “true King” in the wings as she ruled, to keep the loyalty of those who actually did support the Kim line. Namjoon certainly wasn’t going to have that honor now. And while Nasimiyu wasn’t sure exactly how many children she planned on having –because honestly the whole ordeal sounded rather unpleasant and also frustrating because why couldn’t a queen rule on their own rather than worrying about heirs to take it from her– maybe she would enjoy having daughters. She’d never have to send them to war, and no one would expect her to turn the crown over to them simply because a male ruler took priority over a female one. And Seokjin was handsome; probably he would lend himself well to beautiful daughters. He might be a loving father and could see after their care while Nasimiyu ruled. And he had fought his cousin at the drop of a word from her, and he had been very good in bed.

For a moment she thought to invite him back into it. Why not? He’d done well and deserved a reward and so did she. But he had already gone, and she didn’t feel like chasing him down. She would just send for Dulce instead and let her earn her affection back.

Besides, she shouldn’t totally lose her head about Seokjin. She wasn’t sure she wanted to change their plans and keep him around… but maybe they ought to think more about this before they did anything so final as kill him. At least not yet… 

Although Nasimiyu recognized –and perhaps this made the potential change of plans both more and less appealing– her father would not abide by it. Could she tell her father no any more than Seokjin could his uncle?

Dulce had volunteered for the laundry that afternoon and stayed hidden when Nasimiyu sent for her after dinner –easy enough when Taehyung invited her along to the nearest tavern the staff liked to frequent. Probably the head maid and Nasimiyu would give her hell later but she wouldn’t regret the evening drinking and playing cards with Taehyung, Jimin, and several other staff who seemed to warm to her since Taehyung had her under wing. He seemed to charm people on first meeting. It was wild to Dulce that no one suspected he was royal –not that she believed royals were actually born better than anyone else, but if such a thing existed, he sure had it. Seokjin had the looks for it but he was too…

“Involved,” Jimin had sighed as they walked back to the palace together late in the night. Dulce had thought soft or foolish but involved seemed right as well. With quite a bit of alcohol now warming her blood, Dulce nodded at Jimin’s rant, his tongue loosened by a few shots too many. “What’s he doing throwing punches with Namjoon in the middle of the courtyard? He’s got other things to be worried about right now, like his wedding!” 

Jimin had not been there for the fight. He’d arrived late, too late to hear Seokjin shout at his cousin: Keep your fucking hands off Dulce!

She shuddered. Her name didn’t belong in the prince’s mouth. It always sounded wrong. His concern for her was misplaced. Her business was none of his. And while she didn’t know how the fuck he’d found out, she did not need some knight in velvet and jewels rallying to her defense. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, realizing Jimin was waiting for her to say something. 

“He’s so eager to impress your mistress though,” Jimin continued. “I worry he’d do anything for her at this point. At dinner it sounded like it all had something to do with Nasimiyu… she had a problem with Namjoon?”

So Jimin didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” Dulce admitted. “I wasn’t with her. I only showed up at the end of the fight.”

“With Taehyung.”

“Yeah.” 

“You two are getting… close.”

Dulce arched her eyebrow and asked, “Are we? Says… Taehyung?”

Jimin laughed and admitted, “I know him too well to trust anything he says. But last time he invited you along, you didn’t join and this time you did.”

“Last time was for a fuck, this was for a game of cards.”

“Yeah, beginner’s luck,” Jimin grumbled because he’d lost and badly. Dulce had won just enough to not seem suspicious, but the men had made a big fuss out of it, like she’d never played cards before, like she needed to be coddled. Because she was a woman. And apparently that made you less good at cards or something? They were all terrible; it was a challenge to lose.

“Everyone in this palace worries too much about who’s fucking who,” she told him, assuming he was trying to clumsily ask if she and Taehyung were fucking, or maybe if she wanted to fuck, or if fucking was off the table.

“Be nice, it’s all they have to do,” Jimin laughed. “It’s Priva! The capital of the world! Live in Priva –live in the palace of Priva– and enjoy infinite wealth, splendors out your ass, nonstop fun!” he shouted, his voice echoing around the empty yard as they crossed it.

Dulce tried not to smile at his drunk antics and gave him a friendly shove, scolding, “Be quiet, you’re a public nuisance.”

“Even the staff here live the life of dreams!”

“If you’re so miserable, leave.”

“I’m not miserable, I love my job. Taehyung’s the one shoveling horse shit, I just fluff collars and make sure the pets get fed and tell people the prince isn’t in his room when he’s got a comic he wants to read,” Jimin corrected. 

“Yes, sounds awful.”

“I know what awful is. I know I have it good,” Jimin corrected. “You have it good.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“Sure,” Dulce said.

“Is the princess good to you? They say you can tell a lot about someone by how they treat their staff. What does it tell us about the princess, hm? Will she be a good queen, Dulce? What will the world look like when we’re shining the shoes of the people in charge?”

He was drunk and rambling and thinking big thoughts but Dulce wasn’t in the mood to follow. And certainly she would never get so drunk as to start spilling secrets, even Nasimiyu’s. Not only could she hold her liquor better than that, she’d never let herself drink that much. He laughed when she said nothing.

“Enigmatic Dulce.”

“Big word for a Destin.”

“Ha! Classist!”

“Paloman. I believe we’re beneath you in education so I’m punching up.”

“We’re trash people from trash principalities, it’s true,” Jimin sighed. “I don’t have much lost love for my homeland but Prince Seokjin will do right by them. He promised.”

“Hm.”

“He seems to like you, maybe he’ll be a good benefactor to Paloma too.”

“I’m not sure he could find it on a map.”

She hadn’t meant to say that part, but it set Jimin off in a peal of laughter that had him stumbling on the stairs. She felt obligated to see him to his room, which he made a big show of thanking her for, bowing low and kissing her hand, then giving her a gentle tug to see if she’d follow him into his private room. Because of course he got a private room, lucky ass. Why didn’t she get a private room?

But Dulce didn’t feel like fucking anyone right now. Sex would be a chore, despite Jimin’s good looks. The alcohol made her numb and there was too much drama and she was annoyed and not in the mood to be exposed in any way with anyone. 

So she declined, pinching Jimin’s ear when he pouted about it. She’d walked away before realizing at least she could have slept in his room, away from so many people. Maybe she ought to have taken him up on it but then “fallen asleep drunkenly” before they could get their clothes off.

This regret mixed with the others from the day, from the past few days, and she felt her spirits sink the further she walked from Jimin and his bright presence. Even his complaints seemed more like bragging and gratitude; he was dedicated to the Prince thoroughly, even when smashed. He belonged here.

Dulce got that bubbling feeling under her skin again, the same one that had made her freeze earlier when Seokjin had said that, making it clear she’d stupidly stepped into a trap without noticing. A feeling that, to be honest, she had been trying to ignore for a while now:

Get out of here.

The strains of that warning threaded through just about every encounter she’d had since she arrived here. She didn’t belong in this palace, with these people, with Nasimiyu, anywhere in sight of this Prince with the walking target on his forehead that he’d practically painted there himself. And what was she doing this all for, to protect a family who hadn’t even tried to find her when she left? No, why would they? All anyone cared about in her family was themself and their own interests. Everything she’d learned about her family as a child was just a lie. It was all a lie, all the good things in the world…

Realizing she was too tired and more than a little drunk and probably going to get in a fight with the other maids when she crept into the sleeping quarters, she took a detour to the kitchen instead. Might as well get some food and water to clear her mind.

It was so late the kitchens were actually quiet, which only happened for a couple hours in the middle of the night, and even then, there was no guarantee that no one would ring the bell with some midnight demand to rouse the overnight staff.

Perhaps that had happened because she heard voices deep in the kitchen, too muffled to make out until she drew close. The door to the outside swung shut as Yoongi turned to her, a bleary look to his eyes.

“Are you cooking?” she asked with confusion because there was no food out. 

“Just finished,” he said, gesturing to the dishes piled in the sinks, ready for the washers in the morning. “Did you come for food or company?”

“Food.”

“Had enough company already?” he pressed. “You smell like a tavern.”

“That is probably because I was in one.”

“Really? Didn’t take you for the going out type,” Yoongi mused, beginning to rummage. 

“I can find something, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want you digging around, just sit.”

“I go out,” she belatedly answered. “Sometimes.” She watched his back as he found bread and butter and a bowl of small berries she wasn’t familiar with.

“Me too, when I’m avoiding someone.”

“Who said I was avoiding someone?”

“Were you?”

“What is that berry?”

“They’re called cloudberries,” he explained as she picked from the bowl to inspect. She’d never seen anything like the misshapen orange sphere before. “They’re imported.”

“Too expensive to feed a maid,” she pointed out before popping it into her mouth. She felt very comfortable with Yoongi right now. She didn’t want to but it couldn’t be helped. Sometimes it was lonely, never getting close to anyone. She couldn’t get close to him either but she could settle into a corner with him in a different way than she could with Nasimiyu or with Jimin or Taehyung and somehow all these little pieces of herself she showed in flashes to different because it was human nature to crave connection had to be enough.

No, it was enough!

She didn’t need more than that.

“The king won’t know and the prince won’t mind,” Yoongi assured her. 

“You might be surprised…” she mumbled. 

“Who are you avoiding?”

“No one,” she answered again, glare brief in Yoongi’s direction because he had fed her, after all. 

A thud against the outside wall made them both look over and Yoongi sighed.

“Does someone need you?”

“Are you avoiding… Namjoon?” Yoongi asked. Even before she could roll her eyes he pressed on in an almost deadpan voice, “Did he cause you harm or take advantage of you in any way that makes you feel unsafe?”

For a moment she just looked at him, not sure why the look or voice. He looked like someone had a dagger to his throat, forcing him to ask the question.

Then an idea came to her. She set the bread down before she’d even had a bite, and pushed away from the counter, marching over to the door that led to the outside and threw it open.

Prince Seokjin stood just outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed although he straightened immediately at the rush of the door.

She looked back at Yoongi and demanded, “Really? You’re voiceboxing for him? If you have a question, Prince Seokjin, you can ask it to my face.”

“I…” He looked startled and she belatedly recognized her own inappropriate intensity and familiarity. The alcohol might not make her divulge secrets, but there had been a lot of it, and it did make her a little…loose. Informal. Irritable. 

Just as quickly, he cleared his throat and asked with all the propriety of a lord asking a lady for a dance, “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” she scoffed and strode back into the kitchen to get her food. He followed, as she suspected he would.

“I don’t mean to offend you by asking the question–”

“You do offend me. Who I fuck is none of your business.”

He blinked rapidly, maybe at her language, and assured her, “Yes, I– yes, of course it’s not, but– except that I wanted to make sure–”

“You wanted to make sure,” she repeated, grabbing the hunk of bread. “So instead of asking me, you brawled in the courtyard and then shouted my name, associating me– spreading my private business–”

“I suspected he had– Nasimiyu told me– I only wanted to protect you,” he said, and recoiled as if he had tossed her a hot potato and suspected she would throw it back in his face.

“To protect me,” she repeated in utter disbelief.

“He’s a lord and you’re a… a maid.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult,” he hurried to say. “But it wouldn’t be the first time someone used their title to take advantage of a woman who– who might feel as if no one cares or that there is no justice to be had.”

“Noble of you. Do you run around fighting everyone who does such a thing? Before there is even a complaint from the woman?”

“I… well…” He clearly floundered for words and Dulce bit into the bread because she felt too loud herself and didn’t like it. She was furious, she realized about herself. She didn’t even fully understand why, except that this man had done something stupid and she was furious about it. “I don’t often have it brought to my attention,” he stammered out. “If I did, yes, of course I would defend any woman who needed it.”

“This one didn’t.”

“Well…”

“Not every woman is a damsel in distress.”

“Yes, certainly, of course not. And I’m no knight,” he offered, smiling with that supplicating grin like he hoped he could soothe her anger with a joke. 

“I don’t think a knight would shout a woman’s private affairs right in the middle of the courtyard–”

“What did you shout?” Yoongi asked, eyes going wide. “You didn’t mention that part.”

“I– well, you see, it was just– ah, you know how it goes when you have a fight and your blood is pumping and the nerves, maybe you don’t think through everything… I don’t know what I said, I don’t think it was important…”

“It was private,” she said, lowering her voice, lowering her eyes, playing into the very image of demure lady she realized he expected of her. Soft little sweet maid. Quiet. Unassuming. Violated.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just– I know him, and I don’t want him taking advantage of you– or anyone! But especially–” 

Yoongi coughed and pounded on his chest so Dulce didn’t hear what Seokjin said. 

“I mean that I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sorry I got involved in your affairs, it just never occurred to me that you would… I mean that you…”

“That I have sex?” she blurted out. “I do. I have sex. I’m not this blushing virgin maid you seem to think I am! You don’t have to come swooping in to fight off men for me.”

“Well I just– in the city that day, those men were bothering–”

“I could have taken care of them too! I don’t need your help!”

“Yes of course not,” he said, and pinched his cheek and turned away. “Of course you don’t. You um… you have feelings for him and it’s not my right to interfere–”

“Your idea of women is so…”

Yoongi held his hand up to her, an interruption that gave her just the pause she needed to realize she was saying too much. Expressing too much. She was just so mad that he of all people could so greatly misunderstand her. Underestimate her! And the infuriating thing was that she couldn’t actually even tell him the truth! That she’d been thinking of–

NO, not that truth! That she had murdered–

No, not that one either! That she could kill if she needed to, that she could defend herself–

“Sometimes women have sex for fun,” Yoongi informed Seokjin. “It doesn’t have to be profound.”

Seokjin’s face had turned a deep shade of scarlet, his ears practically emitting flames in the low light of the kitchen lamps, as he stammered, “Yes, of course, I know that. I just meant– I didn’t realize it was your way of passing the time– but that’s fine! I’m not here to judge. I just misunderstood but it was– it was a good faith mistake! I just want to make sure you feel safe and happy here. Namjoon is known to have– well there was this business before where he inserted himself into the wrong woman– I mean situation!” he cried. “Honestly the fight wasn’t even about you, we go way back, I’ve had problems with him and how he treats women for a long time.”

Yoongi swept crumbs from the counter where her abandoned bread sat hardening, and mumbled, “I don’t know, maybe he treats them well…”

“You aren’t helping here,” Seokjin said, the only thing he’d managed to say that didn’t sound like a stuttering, stumbling mess.

“I fed her, helpful,” Yoongi countered. “You overstepped, so just say you’re sorry and move on.”

“I’m sorry, move on,” Seokjin said, then covered his face and cried, “Fuck, I meant–” 

Dulce genuinely couldn’t believe this guy, so worked up about her anger that he clearly couldn’t think straight. She hated herself for wanting to laugh at what he’d said. It was funny, if he’d meant it as a joke. She hated how much she liked that he told jokes at the worst times. But she was furious with him! Mortified! Ashamed! How dare he say something funny right now!

“I would love to move on but now I might lose my job because of my private… happenings,” she said. Not entirely true, but not totally a lie, and she couldn’t let go of her anger so easily. 

“You won’t,” Seokjin said, as if he had any control of it. “There’s no way Nasimiyu would lose you over this. Just because you have terrible taste in men doesn’t mean–”

“Jin…” Yoongi mumbled.

“Well she deserves to know– you deserve to know he’s not a good man. Maybe it’s just sex, I don’t know, that’s your– that’s your own private affair, but you should know he’s not a good man so don’t expect anything good from him.”

“Stop worrying about me!”

“Yes, right, fine, I’ll just turn it off!” he said, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry I tried to be a decent man.”

“You have bigger things to worry about than the sex life of a maid,” she huffed. “I didn’t ask for your help or your worry or your– your saving or whatever you thought you were doing!”

“Yes, I see that now. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’ll just mind my own business. Pretend I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t know me!” she pointed out. 

He didn’t say anything. Just threw his hands up and walked out the door of the kitchen into the yard. It enraged Dulce. She felt a nearly-impossible-to-ignore urge to chase after him and grab his arm because how dare he just walk off during an argument? Nearly, but not quite; she stopped herself because Yoongi was there, and the sight of him was enough to sober her the pinch she needed to realize she was behaving like a drunk lunatic. She never lost control like this. She never bickered like this! There was no point! Bickering gave someone else power over you. Needing to have the last word or prove a point or correct someone’s thinking meant you cared, and she didn’t have space to care –certainly not about what some stupid prince who was going to die anyway thought about her. Who gave a shit if he thought she was fucking around? Who gave a shit if he thought she was inexperienced and shy and helpless? Who gave a shit what he thought at all?

She’d shouted at him. She’d shown too much, cared too much, let her feelings take over in a way that made everything a thousand times more embarrassing. She’d shouted at the crown prince. And Yoongi had witnessed the whole thing.

Cover cover cover!

“I’m drunk,” she told Yoongi, not a lie. She let her eyes get really wide and asked, “Do you think he’ll have me thrown in prison for talking to him like–”

“If you want him to stop infantilizing you, you should stop it with the eyes,” Yoongi dismissed her with a gesture. 

“What?” She was genuinely surprised. No one had ever cut so sharply through that sort of thing with her before.

“Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?”

“Interfering.”

“Interfering with what?” she asked, her confusion genuine because what could he possibly mean by that?! Interfering with… “With the Prince and Lord Namjoon? It’s not a secret they hate each other but why would anything I do with Lord Namjoon have anything to do with the other? It was just alcohol-induced sex after the ball! Fucking isn’t always that deep!”

“Ah, he’d have a quip for that,” Yoongi snickered. Dulce didn’t know if that meant she’d managed to clear his suspicions that she was up to something. But honestly, to think she’d fucked Namjoon as a way to… to what? To piss off Nasimiyu, if anything!

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of doing.”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t either. Why don’t you head off though? Take your bread. Damn, what a mess.”

“The crumbs?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t the crumbs, knowing that apparently he didn’t buy the innocent act. And Seokjin had bought it too much. And she was angry about him buying the very act she had fed him and for why? Because he’d believed it so much he was willing to fight a man about it? That couldn’t really truly actually be the reason he’d fought Namjoon and yet… 

She took her bread and the cloudberries and left, but the berries tasted too sweet right now, like they’d make her sick. 

The first person to ever fight for Dulce and it had to be him?

What a mess.

“He was on duty when he disappeared?” Dong-gun asked, looking down his nose at Jungkook as Seokjin stood by. Jungkook nodded, glancing at Seokjin for confirmation. The remaining three men of Seokjin’s bodyguard rotation stood by, with a space in between where Edmung ought to be. Five, five men who followed Seokjin around the clock, even stood outside to do nothing but wait when he slept or pissed or attended council. Even checked the washroom before he entered if it was outside his own chamber. And fuck him if he had bubble-guts or something and needed to spend some extra time in there, because they just stood there on the outside, waiting, knowing.

The guards had been assigned to him since that time he’d been just about assassinate years ago, but Seokjin didn’t complain about it anymore because the truth was he dodged them all the fucking time so it wasn’t too much of a burden. Jungkook wound up with an unfair balance of shifts because Jungkook was the one he was least inclined to dodge. But Alonzo, Muhtar, and Marks were old, annoying, judgmental, and never laughed at any of Seokjin’s jokes. He also  suspected they reported everything he said and did to his father –or would have if he did anything worthy of mention, good or bad. He didn’t trust them much, though he supposed they were good at their job. There hadn’t been any close calls since that hunting trip. It could also be that no one cared enough to try anymore. 

“Seokjin?”

“He was just gone,” Seokjin confirmed with a shrug. “I didn’t lose him on purpose. I don’t remember the last time I saw him.”

“It’s a window of two hours between when his rotation began and when Jungkook noticed he was missing,” Muhtar explained. That was a long time in which Seokjin couldn’t recall a single interaction with the man. Not that they usually interacted. He was sort of… annoying. A few years older than Jungkook, and he did laugh at Seokjin’s jokes sometimes, but he just took himself and his job so seriously. The older guards did too, but they were calmer about it. Sometimes Seokjin wanted to take Edmund by the shoulders and shake him and insist This isn’t an impressive assignment! The only person who ever tried to kill me was a crazy guy who thought I looked too much like my dead mother to live! He insisted he could talk to animals and that he controlled the boar he sent after me with his mind! He was nuts!

Damn, he hated to remember it. The immediate formation of his guard might make it appear as though his father was deeply concerned about the attempt, rather than embarrassed at his son’s incompetence. Seokho was off winning a war and Seokjin was nearly killed by a wild boar in the caves while holding a gun. He’d shot ducks before, he’d caught and cleaned his own fish, he wasn’t –as his father laughed and lectured for years to come– incapable of getting his hands dirty with the matters of life and death. Incapable of defending himself while his older brother was off fighting and killing people. 

The boar had nearly killed him. Gouged him in the side, knocked him off a cliff, and he’d hung there bleeding to death as Jungkook shot the boar in the head, shot the assassin in the leg from his perch in the trees, and pulled Seokjin up from the branch. At nineteen. Home on a brief leave from the military and allowed to hunt with them as a favor to his late father who’d died defending Dong-gun. A hero at nineteen while Seokjin couldn’t even shoot a boar that was about to kill him. 

He’d never said it, but sometimes Seokjin wondered if his father wished the boar had finished the job. Or that his sons had traded places, and it was Seokjin who’d died in the Therepin border skirmish two months later. He himself felt like that sometimes too. Not that he wanted to die –because actually there were many things he enjoyed in life– but that it wouldn’t be so bad to die because he didn’t really get to live much anyway. That’s how he felt sometimes. If he died, eh, maybe it was meant to be, and he’d done his best to wring enjoyment from his short life while he could. 

So he snuck into the city to enjoy himself. He broke away from his bodyguards so they wouldn’t watch him with those dull, judgmental, disappointed gazes, pretending not to but observing everything. Even Edmund, who acted like it was a great honor to be hired to guard the crown prince. It led him to wish the bodyguards weren’t there, to act like it, so that a man who dedicated his life to Seokjin’s safety disappeared and Seokjin couldn’t even say the last time he’d seen him.

“There’s been no body found?” King Dong-gun asked the head of palace security.

“No, sir.”

“Which means he could still be alive and talking,” Uncle Dong-suk pointed out, standing by the window. Seokjin was surprised his father had allowed his uncle into this meeting on palace security affairs after they’d fought nonstop since his uncle’s arrival, but maybe Uncle Dong-suk had just invited himself and his father simply hadn’t wanted to argue any more.

Seokjin shrugged, “He won’t have anything to talk about. He doesn’t go into council with me. I don’t have anything confidential in my rooms and he doesn’t go into them anyway.”

“Guards don’t have free access to all places in the palace,” the head of palace security insisted. “If Edmund was attempting to access anything important, the guards posted at those rooms would deny him entry.”

Marks –who, notably, had hired Edmund– insisted, “We have no reason to believe he was a traitor. It’s more likely he was captured and is loyal and innocent of wrong-doing.”

“Except for getting captured, leaving my son open to danger.”

“But how would he actually be captured in the middle of the palace while on duty?” Alonzo pointed out. “He wouldn’t go without a fight.”

“Unless he’s guilty is my point.”

“In which case he would probably leave while off duty,” Jungkook pointed out. “I don’t know how he was taken but I think he was, ser. Quickly and quietly.”

“Could this be related to the body found in the Princess’s bureau?” Muhtar suggested. 

“Should we double up bodyguards? Two at a time?”

“No,” Seokjin said quickly. “I’ll just be more aware of what’s around me.” No one had a comment on that, which he took poorly; they clearly didn’t think him capable of being aware of his surroundings, a low fucking bar. “We don’t even know what happened, I don’t see any reason to double up my guards, especially when I don’t even leave the palace. For all we know he went to help a cat and slipped over the sea wall or something…”

The debate went on. Ultimately Seokjin won about not increasing his bodyguard, but lost about increasing palace guards. Two attacks within the walls was two too many. The search for Edmund would continue, though without a single lead, it seemed as likely to be solved as the dead body in Nasimiyu’s bedroom.

Seokjin felt a headache coming on. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. Everything had been so quiet and dull before Nasimiyu arrived and now he couldn’t keep up with it all. His father wanted to spend the afternoon holding court as a way to show there was nothing wrong, but intelligence had come in about another demonstration in Destin and Uncle Dong-suk wanted to “talk about it.” Which probably meant arguing with Dong-gun about whether he could take several hundred soldiers and just raze the principality to the ground. The more Seokjin learned about his uncle’s policies –both on and off the books– the more he feared his father had an absolute sadist running the military.

They won wars. Their borders were safe. But if the things he heard said about his uncle’s campaigns were true, how could his father possibly let the man be the top general of all Yeonhalbi’s military? Yet at the same time, he saw his father constantly checking his uncle, telling him no about this, no about that. Did they genuinely disagree? Did his uncle do those things anyway? Did his father feel like it just gave him plausible deniability?

Seokjin didn’t know what the truth was. He was scared to know more. All he knew for a fact was that his uncle was cruel, had frightened him since he was a child, beaten him plenty of times to instill that fear, and seemed incapable of joy or mercy. When Seokjin was king someday, Dong-suk would have to go. Surely there was a man who could run the armies for Yeonhalbi and not give off the impression, true or not, that he was committing war atrocities –or, what seemed to be his father’s latest accusation, lying about unrest simply to get permission for a war. If nothing else, Seokjin would need a general he could say no to, who would listen to that no. In this fictional world where suddenly Seokjin knew the right thing to do and just needed people to execute his grand plans.

But how were you supposed to know? As he sat through the debate about Destin –which had his father and uncle arguing so loudly he thought they’d come to blows– all Seokjin could think was, how are you supposed to know? How did you know which wars were worth fighting? How did you know which sacrifices were worth making? Which risks worth taking? It was one thing to refuse a doubled guard because it was his own life at risk; it was another entirely to debate whether the time had come to handle Destin with overwhelming violence or if they could afford to ignore the new alleged raids happening along the Therepin border. Those were Yeonhalbin lives being lost either path you took.

All Seokjin could think was that it was good there were adults handling these decisions. Adult who knew what to do. But did they? They had all differing opinions. And he was an adult! At twenty-nine, shouldn’t he have a clear idea of the right things to do, the proper choices to make? Seok-ho had died at thirty-one, but by twenty-nine he’d already been so sure of himself.

Seokjin couldn’t even manage to be friends with a maid. He’d been so sure he was finally doing the right thing for her, for women in general. Finally taking a stand against Namjoon and his greed. Nasimiyu seemed happy about it but Dulce… damn. Dulce had really put him in his place about it, in a way he’d never expected. He felt like shit about the whole thing –that he’d gotten it so wrong, that he’d insulted her without meaning to, and maybe worst of all, that she’d chosen Namjoon.

She’d chosen him.

It didn’t matter whether it was just sex or something more. Dulce tolerated Seokjin’s jokes and drank hot chocolate with him and tried his culinary masterpieces in the kitchen, but when it came to actual attraction, her eyes went right to Namjoon. Not that Seokjin expected Dulce would choose him or anything, but couldn’t it have been anyone but Namjoon? If she wanted “just sex” so badly? Yoongi was right there! Hell, Jimin and Taehyung had made it annoyingly obvious she was welcome to their dick, and Jungkook had slid right in at the ball–

Who was he kidding? Seokjin knew he’d sulk at least a little no matter who she chose. For reasons he was not particularly interested in analyzing, thank you very much. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t personal. Maybe he just respected her opinions, and would have liked for her to think highly of him. Maybe he’d like to be chosen by someone for once. No one ever chose him. Nasimiyu wasn’t even choosing him, she was just stuck with him.

For some reason, girls always chose Namjoon. 

He failed to wipe the scowl from his face as he crossed paths with Namjoon and Mindeulle in the hall. It was pure coincidence; he would have simply avoided making eye contact and hurried away. Instead his gaze just happened to narrow as he came face to face with both of them.

“You can’t be like this forever, please, Seokjin,” Mindeulle leapt into the middle. 

For once, Seokjin said nothing, because he wasn’t sure what to say. On one hand, he might owe Namjoon an apology. On the other hand, he meant what he’d said. In fact, he meant it even more now that Dulce had confirmed it was consensual. Looking at Namjoon’s dumb face and broad muscular body and incessant talking about intelligent and profound things and understanding now that this was what Dulce had been drawn to made feelings begin to boil again. So he kept his mouth shut. Because he could be intelligent and profound too and he thought Dulce knew that but apparently she didn’t like his kind of intelligent and profound, or at least not his face. And it didn’t matter because she was just the maid of his future wife but all the same. 

“It’s fine,” Namjoon mumbled and grabbed Mindeulle’s arm to drag her away.

“But–”

“I said it’s fine.”

Seokjin didn’t feel fine about any bit of it, and he didn’t appreciate Namjoon taking some kind of high road either. But all he could do was stride down the hall away from them, trying to look like he had not a single care in the world. He wanted to be that man again, the one who didn’t care, who didn’t worry, who just let himself be carried along by the inevitable and did his best because nothing more could be asked for. But ever since Nasimiyu had arrived, he’d been confronted again and again by all the ways his best was wrong or ridiculous or not good enough.

And now one of his bodyguards was either dead or betraying him. Personally, his money was on dead, but did he really know anyone? Anyone? Maybe Edmund had been tracking his movements or eavesdropping on things around the palace for months and just split because the time was right! That was better though. Otherwise a man had quietly died for him. It made him feel sick.

Seokjin needed out of here. He needed to get away from this place and people for a few days and decompress. Not Prince Seokjin, not Dong-gun’s leftover son, most certainly not the future king. He wanted to sit on a dinky little fishing boat and catch his own dinner and invent a new spice rub. He never got to go fishing these days. The most he managed was hiding away in his room and even that seemed impossible lately. His poor pets were suffering without him! Everything just felt too big and heavy.

Hands on his back made him jump and spin with a shout that Marks pretended not to see as Nasimiyu looked up at him with surprise. 

“Ah, you. Hey you,” he grinned at her, stumbling to match the energy that flowed just from her hands pressed against his chest and the curve of her lips.

“Nasimiyu. Your fiance. Remember me?”

“Yes, I think so,” he joked. “Um…” Her hand slid down his chest to tap his belt loop before she pulled her hands away. His mind tripped, confused by the openly fond way she looked at him now. Yes they’d had sex, but she seemed so different towards him than she had even before yesterday. 

“Are you rushing off to something important?” she asked him.

“No, leaving. Hoping to avoid anything else important today. Mundane activities only.”

“Oh. Hm. I had an idea, but it’s not very mundane.”

“Oh? Uh…” He looked up and down the hall but they were alone (except for Marks. Fucking Marks.) “What did you have in mind?” He figured he must be reading unintended flirtiness into her behavior and wasn’t disappointed by that fact. His mind was a million places at once right now and he did not feel up to the task of being a very good lover.

“I wanted to thank you. For taking me seriously yesterday.” She dropped her voice and clarified, “About Lord Namjoon and my maid.”

“Ah. Right. You don’t have to thank me. You’re to be my wife, of course I’ll take you seriously.” He gave her a serious nod to drive the point home.

“I know you’ve had to endure teasing about it. From your father and uncle.” Teasing wasn’t the word he’d use but it didn’t matter; he shrugged. “So let’s spend some time together.”

“Ah, I’m sorry Nasimiyu, I’m a little distracted this afternoon. I don’t have the energy to go out–”

“Not to go out, to stay in. Come on,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him along. He knew he must be misunderstanding, and truthfully he wanted to just go back to his room and be alone, but he also knew that Nasimiyu was being openly affectionate with him for the first time ever and he’d be an idiot not to encourage it. Wasn’t this what he had longed for –for years? His future bride tossing a coy smile over her shoulder and leading him by the hand to her bedroom? Shutting the door and the world outside and guiding his hands to the laces of her dress?

“Right now?” he asked with surprise.

“Something wrong? Do you have a schedule?”

“No. No, I just– I’m surprised. That’s all.” He wasn’t prepared for this, mentally. He willed himself to prepare as her clothing fell away –even though it felt all wrong. The sun was out. That had never occurred to him as something wrong for sex, but it’s what he blamed the wrongness on now. Or the stress of the day.

“Seokjin?”

“Sorry, I…” He almost told her that Edmund was missing but decided it was better not to frighten her. Not until he knew there was actually a reason to be frightened. “Just distracted. A lot on my mind today.”

“I don’t suppose your uncle had anything good to say today either, did he?” she asked. To his surprise, she didn’t seem angry about his confession or the delay. Her body was all feline grace as she walked, totally nude, to her vanity and removed her jewelry. “Just war war war, I supposed?”

“Yes. War war war.”

“I don’t like him,” she admitted, meeting his gaze through the mirror. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful. Why wasn’t his body responding to this beautiful woman standing so comfortably naked in front of him? 

“Me either.”

“I want him gone. As soon as possible,” Nasimiyu said.

Seokjin cracked a crooked grin and admitted, “I don’t make decisions like that.”

“Yet. Someday you will, when you’re king.”

“Yes, someday.”

“And we’ll get someone else to be our general then,” she said. “Right? Even my father would be better. Or maybe not my father, I don’t know, but someone we can trust not to– do you think the rumors about what he’s done are true?”

“I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard. I hope not. It’s making me cold; let’s not talk about him more while you’re naked. I don’t want those things to get crossed in my mind.”

“Yes, of course. But I just mean, you agree? That we’ll replace him?”

“It can be the very first thing we do someday.”

Nasimiyu turned back to him and took hold of the lapel of his jacket, all grins as she cooed, “Our first agreement for our future rule.”

“I hope we’ll agree on a lot more than that.”

“I’m sure we will. You’re far more reasonable than I initially thought. But right now, you seem overly burdened with your work today and taking care of that nonsense with Namjoon and my maid yesterday so let me take a load off your mind.”

“Uh… yes?” She nudged him backwards to the bed, unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, undoing his belt and pants.

“You just lay back and do exactly as I say and I think we can both be very happy.”

Seokjin would have been a fool not to go along with this, and so he lay back, and tried to will his mind clear. He was a lucky man. With a beautiful bride. The way she rode him felt good, so good, what more could he possibly ask for?

***

“Hang these in the closet,” Mirte told her, draping the gowns across Dulce’s arms. “No need to linger, you’re going on a cleaning shift after that.”

Dulce’s arms itched beneath the heavy silks and velvets and beadwork –totally the wrong clothing for a salty city like Priva– as she complained, “Can’t I take them in the morning?” She suspected Nasimiyu was in the room and wasn’t in the mood to see her. She’d managed to avoid her since their argument, and was even more convinced now that she ought to keep herself scarce, in case somehow Seokjin’s shout had reached Nasimiyu’s ears: Keep your fucking hands off Dulce! Dulce was a failure at her mission. The target shouldn’t know your name like that.

Her getting assigned to laundry and cleaning had Nasimiyu’s other maids delighted, since it was obvious Dulce had fallen out of favor. She didn’t care; she was glad for the distance. 

“She’s wearing the orange tomorrow, it must be hung in there tonight, do not question your orders,” Mirte scolded. Older, gray-haired, a total bitch ever since Princess Simisola had insisted Dulce be brought along as part of Nasimiyu’s household despite her obvious bumbling skills as a maid. If Mirte had half a brain she knew there was something suspicious about it, but apparently she had the other half that wanted to keep her job and life and so she had accepted this inconvenience without further question. But plenty of barbs towards Dulce. 

Fine, Dulce would hang the gowns and leave quickly, no matter what Nasimiyu might say or do. How like her to demand a specific dress for the next day. Who cared? Grab something from your dozens of gowns already hanging and don’t force a maid to run around the palace with your ridiculously expensive clothing when she’d rather do the laundry and get some rest. 

Dulce knocked at the door and paused a moment to make sure Nasimiyu didn’t shout at her to go away. It was normal for servants to slip in and out otherwise unnoticed. They weren’t important, after all, not people, just tools, pieces of furniture there to serve the house without question or notice. 

The guard had to pull the door for her to slip inside, which she couldn’t do quietly with so much fabric draped over her. She could barely see around herself, a veritable moving mountain, as she shuffled sideways so as not to bash her shins on any wayward furniture or drag the hems and have to wash them all over again.

Which meant her mind lagged without a visual and with her senses focused on safety. The moans didn’t register at first, the dull thud of a mattress. The masculine shout coincided with the moment her mind registered the sounds, wait a moment. Instinct made her twist quickly to see the source of the cry just as Prince Seokjin leapt from the bed, dragging a sheet around his waist and turning his back to her.

Nasimiyu looked lazily over her shoulder, the long curve of her body stretched across the bed. She looked neither bothered nor surprised to see Dulce, as if she looked right through her. Dulce couldn’t decide if this was cruelty on display, if Nasimiyu had engineered her to walk in on her and the Prince fucking, or if Nasimiyu only meant her cold indifference at this happenstance to be the barb.

“Ah, hi… Dulce…” Seokjin stammered, body curled away from her as if he could disappear, as if she might not notice he was nude except for the sheet. Mid-fuck. Flushed and sweaty. Dulce’s insides grated against each other, shredding. “Uh…”

Nasimiyu rolled her eyes and insisted, “Come back to bed, Seokjin, she’s just hanging my gowns.”

Cruel cruel cruel. It was one thing to have listened to Nasimiyu wax poetic about Seokjin’s cock, it was another to interrupt their lovemaking. Dulce turned her back to them, desperate to look as unbothered. She didn’t want to give Nasimiyu the satisfaction. It didn’t matter if this had been intentional. It seemed like a game Nasimiyu might play to get revenge about Namjoon, to prove to Dulce how replaceable she was, the make sure she understood that Nasimiyu was fucking someone else too. Her future husband. She had no way of knowing Dulce would feel more bothered by Seokjin’s naked, muscular back than the soft curves covering the sharp edges of Nasimiyu’s anger. Dulce snipped quickly, easily, at the cords connecting her to Nasimiyu, but tangled herself up confronted by the prince. Naked. Interrupted mid-fuck. An image that would never leave her mind now. He looked even taller out of his clothes. There was definition to his leanness she had not anticipated, lines of muscle along his arms and across his stomach. Knowing how he ate, how was his waist so thin? 

And he’d just had his cock in Nasimiyu, that one she raved about so eloquently.

Dulce said nothing and moved as quietly as she could, as if she could undo her presence. She shuffled into the closet and drew deep, trembling breaths to control herself. She was good at control. There was nothing remarkable here. Just a servant going about their business while their mistress lived her life. She hung the gowns quickly, nauseated by every brush of her hand against the fabric. How stupid, how ridiculous that people were born into such different lives like that. Because of the circumstances of her birth, here was Nasimiyu, a princess spending her evening stretched out beneath a prince. And Dulce hung her gowns, each one probably worth more than her family’s entire property, gowns which must be delivered tonight so that Nasimiyu could wear the one of her choosing tomorrow, even while the princess was busy being fucked by a prince. The prince. 

It took an eternity to hang the damn gowns. Probably the hems were wrinkling and she’d done a bad job but fuck everyone, Dulce didn’t care. She wasn’t a laundress. She wasn’t even a fucking maid. She was sick of this whole fucking place and the people in it and her reason for being here was irrevocably broken. Nasimiyu’s cruelty had turned towards her now and she wasn’t going to sit around and be her punching bag, a plaything. She’d leave tonight and never look back and Prince Hamisi could throw his tantrum. Maybe she’d even go back to her family and move them. Maybe Prince Hamisi was full of bluff and shit anyway. Maybe she’d kill Prince Hamisi, just for fun. 

She tried not to look at either of them as she left the room. Nasimiyu lay on her back, chest clearly pushed up, probably hoping Dulce would notice her tits, ever vain. Prince Seokjin sat on the edge of the bed, blanket still wrapped around his waist, back to both women and face cast down and away. His shoulders slumped miserably. Poor baby, had he lost his erection? Not an exhibitionist? Good luck keeping up with Nasimiyu if one maid walking through was enough to interrupt him. Most men wouldn’t stop. Some men would make eye contact and enjoy the audience. Half the noblemen were probably fucking their maids anyway. King Dong-gun had been after all. Had it started when the Queen’s handmaid walked through the room, just like this? Had it been a secret at first, or had the Queen extended her hand and asked Taehyung’s mother to join? Nasimiyu extended her hand and Dulce saw her smile out of the periphery, almost like she was going to suggest it.

But Prince Seokjin wasn’t his father. Dulce couldn’t imagine he’d agree to that, not if he couldn’t even keep fucking his wife while a piece of furniture brought in the laundry. 

Dulce was only too glad to close the door behind herself. The guards laughed and she realized they had known what they were letting her in to. They thought it was funny, a maid passing into a room where people were fucking. Everyone was a sick voyeur, was that it?

No, in another situation Dulce might have seen the humor. She might have rolled her eyes about the whole thing. Maybe in a different situation, she would have invited herself. That was the dark thought she wouldn’t let her mind entertain –a world in which she didn’t hate Nasimiyu, in which Nasimiyu wasn’t angry with her, in which she would be invited into that bed and–

No, she wouldn’t let that fantasy linger for even a moment! She wouldn’t think about what she would do, what Nasimiyu would do, what the prince might do in that situation. Never. Some thoughts were too destructive to think, and right now she was frazzled and shocked and…

…and distressed. She recognized the pounding of her heart but at least it was invisible to anyone who saw her as she charged through the hallways of the palace and headed for the gate down to the street. Her mind turned to the idea of sex as a defense, to strip away the emotion. Because there was emotion. There shouldn’t be emotion. But Dulce felt stabbed in a place harder to reach, harder to heal. Maybe impossible to heal. Nasimiyu and the prince were only doing what was normal and their right to do and yet she felt…

It was time to go. Right this moment. There was no one and nothing to stop her. All this time her chains had only been made of loyalty and blackmail, far too weak to hold her. She broke free of them and focused only on the soft taps of her shoes against the stone steps as she took to the staircase leading to the sea wall and away from this cursed place. 

The sea wall would be the most direct path through Priva. She’d calm down by the time she reached the far side of the city and think of what to do and where to go next. Obviously she couldn’t stay here, not even in a city this large, because she’d see them. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them. No Marvono. No Therepin. Sartia? Destin? Maybe Rinsk. Nothing ever fucking happened in Rinsk, but then it would be hard to find work. Maybe she really should go south, find mercenary work instead of assassin work. Drink her way through a lot of money and hack things to death until a blade caught up to her and silenced it all. It wasn’t like there was anything else holding her anywhere for any reason.

Dulce sat heavily on one of the benches looking over the dark sea and let the wave of emotions crest over her head and roll further along without her. It was too much. Living life several steps ahead of emotion left her unprepared for the way feelings tore at her now. She couldn’t name them, couldn’t understand them, just knew that they were there and they were drowning her and she couldn’t endure this. She didn’t want to feel like this. She gripped the edge of the bench and breathed the humid, warm air in deep and tried to sink into the dark waves below, tried to let the loud crash of them breaking against the rocks drown out everything. Tried to match her heartbeat to their steady cadence. It was slow. A large wave broke and then several smaller ones failed to match it until the next large one came along. The noise of it felt like ringing in her ears. 

For a long time she sat there, letting herself be rocked by the sound of the waves. How unfair that Priva had to be on the sea. She liked the sea, she had learned that while living here. There was a sea on the far side of Paloma but she’d never been there. Maybe she ought to. She could go to Sartia to stay by the sea but it would mean dealing with more nobles and frankly she felt on the verge of a murderous rage from which no noble was safe. 

No nobles lived in Paloma. The Paloma sea was colder though, she was pretty sure. Further north. There was something about the sticky heat of this sea that would linger with her. She’d never come here again but she was glad to take this moment and let this feeling drown out everything else. This was what she would try to remember of her time in Priva –not evenings in the kitchen, not an afternoon drinking hot chocolate in an expensive cafe in the city, not ballrooms and ballgowns or longing to join the sparring in the yard or any of it. Fuck this place and all the people here.

She felt the eyes on her later than she ought to have. In a moment she knew someone was watching her and had been for a while. For a brief moment she wondered if it was Nasimiyu or the Prince –more likely to be him because Nasimiyu wouldn’t patiently await acknowledgement, but less likely to be him because why would he come after her? 

Slowly she turned her head to identify who it was. Her hand slid into her skirt for her blade –not the one Nasimiyu had given her, the one she actually preferred– as a hooded figure stepped along the seawall towards her. The person seemed to shy away from the others walking past, leaving a wide berth between themself and the evening strollers. Dulce realized how effectively she had blocked everyone out. The seawall was a popular destination at this time of evening, with the sun only just set. An unlikely place for anyone to threaten her but not impossible.

The woman sat on the bench beside Dulce and shifted the hood of her cloak just enough for Dulce to see her face, soft and nervous and not the least bit threatening. It took a moment longer for her to place where she had seen this person before: in court weeks ago. King Dong-gun had thrown her child and he’d been hurt.

Dulce felt her stomach cramp with the certainty that she was about to learn something she did not want to know.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said by way of introduction. “I’ve been looking for a way to cross paths with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes. You see, I need to get a letter to the prince, and I can’t trust anyone to deliver it for me. You were kind before, when my child was injured, and you are in proximity to him. You serve his fiance, the Princess.”

“Anyone might deliver a letter,” Dulce pointed out. 

“I’ve been trying to catch you for a week,” the woman continued. “I need to be sure the letter gets to him, it’s very important. And… and I have to ask that you don’t read it. It’s for the prince’s eyes only. It’s very important.”

“What makes you think I won’t read the letter the way anyone might? Why me?”

The woman laughed, a sad laugh, and admitted, “I don’t know that. I have to take the risk. I’m desperate.” She held the letter out with a trembling hand. 

“What’s in the letter?”

“I can’t tell you.” The woman hesitated, then added, “I’m trying to keep my children safe. That’s all. I don’t know you and I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m just a mother trying to keep her children safe.”

Dulce took the letter. She felt the woman’s close study as she tucked it into her pocket.

“I don’t know why you’d trust me,” Dulce admitted, “but I’ll deliver your letter.”

“When my child was hurt, you were the first to move to help.”

“My mistress helped. And the prince.”

“You were the first to move, I saw it. You were the only one to see us out afterwards and ask if my son was all right. You gave my children candy…” Dulce had. She’d swiped it from the kitchen on her way to find the women and her sons before they left the palace that day, hoping the gesture would loosen the woman’s lips and she could understand why King Dong-gun had reacted so strangely at the sight of her. The answer to her questions might very well be in that letter.

“That doesn’t make me a good person. Anyone could read your letter and sell your secrets.”

The woman nodded and closed her eyes. Everything about her seemed a breath away from shattering.

“I know that. I’m begging you not to.”

“I won’t,” Dulce found herself agreeing. “I’ll deliver your letter, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“When?”

“I can leave it in his room tonight,” Dulce suggested. He’s not in there anyway.

“No, no, please hand it to him. I can’t risk that he misses it.”

“All right, I’ll hand it to him tomorrow morning,” Dulce said. Maybe it was a lie. She hadn’t planned on going back to the palace. She’d see what was in the letter and then decide.

“Thank you.” The woman looked like she wanted to say more, her eyes watering and catching the silvery moonlight. She had a beautiful face. Sad, but beautiful. Instead she simply said, “Thank you,” again and then quickly departed.

Dulce didn’t love finding out the woman had been specifically trying to catch her, though in a way she could understand why. Small gestures could have big impacts. She didn’t think anyone had noticed Nasimiyu didn’t move when the child was hurt until Dulce did. Maybe everyone had.

The letter was burning a hole in her pocket now. She wanted to open it but not where the woman would see her, just in case she still watched. Sympathy for the woman cut through her own noisy emotions; curiosity managed the rest. At least it was only herself she had to manage. She couldn’t imagine trying to make it in this world with children. What a curse to have children whom you loved but born into a life in which you couldn’t protect them.

Dulce rose and returned to the palace, where she could be sure of finding a place to read the letter where the woman couldn’t see. The laundry was quiet at night, since the noise would wake the nobles in the nearby wing, so she went there and leaned against the wall to carefully pry up the seal with a candle and the blade of her knife. The fact that the woman had a seal already struck her as odd and she wished she knew anything about the symbol on it.

Inside, the message was simple: Please meet with me on the first day of the sunflower festival by the clock tower. It concerns your brother and the danger you are now in too. Hoya told me to say this if I needed your help: Hoya broke the blue vase.

Dulce read the message again and again and searched the paper but couldn’t make sense of it. This didn’t seem to be about her sons at all. Who was Hoya? Someone they both must have known, someone who had a secret message with Seokjin. It was curious. It made her curious. She liked to be on the knowing side of secrets. But more importantly, this woman seemed to know something about his dead brother and an implication of danger towards the Prince.

Was it about Nasimiyu’s plot? Probably not; Nasimiyu’s family had nothing to do with Seok-ho’s death. Probably there were other plots. Maybe it had to do with the missing bodyguard? Dulce was unsettled about the disappearance, even though it wasn’t any concern of hers. It wasn’t her fault if the prince got himself killed with weak security. Yes, it would lead to a failure of Nasimiyu’s plan but quite frankly, Dulce didn’t care about Nasimiyu’s plan anymore. She hated Nasimiyu. She hated the prince.

She didn’t hate the prince, she was just angry with him. For fucking Nasimiyu? No, no, yes, but no. For fighting Namjoon on her behalf. For making assumptions about her. For not seeing her through the disguise. It was all stupid. She wasn’t drunk but she didn’t want to look closer at it.

What if the brother mentioned was Taehyung, not Seok-ho?

She resealed the letter and shoved it back into her pocket, not sure whether to deliver it. Maybe if she didn’t, the prince would get killed and Nasimiyu’s plan would be ruined. 

But the prince would be killed.

But he was going to get killed anyway, no matter what.

But she didn’t want to be around to see it.

She went to her room. She’d grab her things and leave and decide at the last minute whether to deliver the letter. The servants’ dorms were mostly quiet at this time of night; she had only the faintest light to work by. She dragged out her bag and packed as quietly as she could. The last thing she needed was someone waking up and asking where she was going and why. Abandoning her post would bring some of them joy but they wouldn’t want her to get away without trouble.

She needed to lift her mattress to get a few things from beneath it –nothing valuable, because that was the most obvious place to look, but things that looked sentimental, so she’d look like a normal maid if anyone did snoop. A little hedgehog, for example. 

When she crouched to lift it though, she noticed a book sitting on the foot of her bed. Book four of the Kalamouche series. She knew who it was from the instant her fingers brushed the title. Who else would send her a copy of this book? She’d already read this one, but he didn’t know that because the last time it had briefly come up in the kitchen, she’d only admitted to reading two and three.

The note fell out as she opened the front cover: 

I’m sorry. 

Dulce felt an uncomfortable throb in her chest. I’m sorry.

For what?

When had he sent this here? It was him, she would have recognized his handwriting from the papers on his desk, he was the only one this made sense for. Even if it didn’t make sense. Was he sorry about fighting Namjoon? Or sorry for thinking she was some young, unsexed, innocent child? Or sorry for airing her affair in the middle of a courtyard for all to hear? 

Or sorry to be caught in bed with her mistress, his fiance?

It couldn’t be the last one. Really it couldn’t be any of them. What did he mean, sending her this stupid book with this stupid little unsigned note? A prince had no business apologizing to a maid. A prince had no business giving a gift to a maid. How dare he? How dare he act like this and be so stupid and make her so confused and make it so difficult for her to leave?

She couldn’t leave.

She slumped against her bed and closed her eyes, the book clutched in her lap alongside the hedgehog from that day in the city. Usually it was in her pocket but she had shoved it under the mattress after they’d argued in the kitchen, as a show of her anger that no one would see but herself. 

I’m sorry too, she allowed the words to form in her mind, the letter she would write if things were different. I’m sorry that I let myself get too close to you. I’m sorry that you were born into this life you don’t seem to want and that you will always be in danger for the rest of it. I’m sorry that you don’t get to wander the city and enjoy the mundane things in life the way you want to. I’m sorry that you are going to marry Nasimiyu and she will never be the woman you deserve. I’m sorry that you’re so stupid you’d fight your cousin for my honor or dignity or safety or whatever noble idea you had. I’m sorry that I am not who you think I am, I have lied to you every day I’ve been here, but I’m sorry that some truth snuck through too and you were tricked into believing that was all of me. I’m sorry that I came here to help you along to your death. I’m sorry that even though it won’t be me, someone else will do it instead, because you weren’t born with the venom and claws you need to survive.

But it won’t be me that does it.

She wished she could write a letter to Nasimiyu, too, but then it would give everything away. I’m sorry, Simi, but you are never going to be queen.

Dulce tucked the hedgehog back into her pocket, alongside the letter, alongside the other letters she had sewn into the foot of the mattress and now tugged free –the ones Seokjin had written to his betrothed. She wouldn’t read them. She didn’t want to. Instead she would sneak them back into his room tomorrow, and then she would give him the letter from the woman with the sons, and then she would find whatever it took to unequivocally expose Prince Hamisi and the Marvonese family’s treason to King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin.

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[hyperesthesias]

Permanently Together

Summary: Patients together in Dr. Caligari's psychiatric facility, Cesare and Jane escaped and attempted to make a new life for themselves. But unable to cope with what happened to them, Cesare leaves in the middle of the night, not knowing he has a son with Jane.

Rating: T

Warnings: Modern AU; PTSD; narcolepsy; hospitals, unplanned pregnancy; muteness; love triangle; references to sexual abuse; psychosis; sleepwalking (...obviously); angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 11,849.

Reading Music: Shake the Disease by Depeche Mode; Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind; Everything Changes by Staind; Flightless Bird, American Mouth by Iron&Wine.

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Cesare was always his favorite. Cesare never cried or complained, he never talked back or said anything against the Doctor – he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Cesare was mute, except for on occasion, and even then, the words never really came out right. He stopped speaking when he was a kid, he told me once. He didn’t tell me exactly why, but he said it was the night his parents died, and ever since, the words just won’t come out. It’s never been a problem; we find other ways to talk, he writes, we sign together, we gesture vaguely. It all makes sense in the end. I told him once that I’ve never thought less of him because of the way he struggles. He told me that not everyone is so kind. We both knew that to be true.

Doctor Caligari was a mean son-of-a-bitch, but he was an expert at hiding it. Not that anyone really cared about an orphan like Cesare, or a psychotic like I was. It’s easy to get lost between the cracks when people aren’t looking out for you to begin with. But we got each other through the harder years – through the abuse, and the lies and manipulation, through the trial and sentencing. It didn’t matter how bad things got, Cesare and I believed each other, we were real. 

I was sent to Doctor Caligari by my father for a bad case of general anxiety, and left with acute psychosis and more trauma than when I first went in. There are a lot of things I won’t talk about, but however bad I had it, Cesare had it worse. He was his favorite. There were mornings at the hospital when Cesare would tell me, in his own way, that he felt different – that there were patches from the night before that he remembered, and some he didn’t. He eventually decided, after some bits and pieces started coming together, that it was better he didn’t remember everything completely. I told him he was lucky – I remembered everything.

After the trial, the Doctor’s patients – who were still alive – were awarded monetary compensation for their misery. Nothing, no amount of money, could ever make what happened any better. It was almost an insult. But when I asked Cesare what he wanted to do with his newfound riches, he told me he wanted to do everything in his power to put the past behind him. That meant going to school. We were both in our early twenties at the time, most of our peers were already graduating. Everyone felt so far ahead of us, but then again, not everyone was locked in a hospital with a murdering-rapist-doctor, so I guess we deserved a little slack.

I went with him to university, I didn’t know what else to do. Cesare had dreams, he had goals – he knew exactly what degree he wanted and what he was going to do with it: he was going to get a Bachelor’s of Fine Arts and become a graphic designer. He was always drawing, every minute he was awake, which sometimes, wasn’t that often. The stress of school flared his narcolepsy, and at times he missed classes or slept right through them. But he kept going, he kept fighting. He wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way – ‘Not anymore’, he said. 

But me? I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t want anything to do with my father; he and Caligari were friends, and my father trusted him to do the right thing. But after everything, after telling him that I was getting worse, after him telling me that it always gets worse before it gets better…He didn’t understand. And Caligari made sure I couldn’t communicate the way I needed to – that I couldn’t get help. It wasn’t my father’s fault. But at the time, I was still just raw and angry. 

I opted for a business degree. It seemed the easiest degree to get besides psychology – and there was no way either me or Cesare were going anywhere near that department, even within a ten foot radius. I went through the motions, did my work, got an internship at a consolidation firm, joined a golfing club, every day hoping that things would feel better, that one day I’d wake up and feel like Elle Woods instead of, well, me.

We got an apartment together. We slept in separate rooms. Cesare didn’t like being touched after…everything. I couldn’t say I felt much different. 

When you look back on things, everything feels so much clearer – you can see the upward progression of change. But when you’re in it, it feels so linear, so stagnant. But I was happy then, we both were. Living with my best friend, finally focusing on something other than everything that had been done to me. He made life make sense again, he was a constant and a joy. Everything felt new again, everything felt brighter – even the mundane. Even the sooty city air felt fresher. It was good. I just wish I’d been able to feel how good it was in the moment. But that’s the curse of healing: you can’t tell it’s happening as it happens. You just have to wait. Wait for things to scab over while you’re going through the motions. But you can’t ever stop doing the motions. Or you’ll stop altogether. 

Cesare started to burn out by the third or fourth year. He denied it, but I knew him. I knew him well enough to know the look in his eye when he wasn’t feeling himself. 

‘I can’t ever stop,’ he told me – half in sign, half in oddly formed words. ‘If I stop, then everything will catch up to me. I have to keep running. I can’t stop running.’

“Running is just going to make you tired,” I said.

“Jane –” he always says my name. It’s the one word he can get out with clarity. ‘What else am I supposed to do?’

“Take care of yourself.” We were sitting on the couch, my legs were resting over his, his tablet on my knees. As the years went on, we became more intimate with our physical barriers. “I’m not telling you to stop, Cheese. I’m just saying you need rest.”

‘I’ve had enough of rest. I can’t stay awake.’

“I don’t mean sleep. I just mean don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He sighed and looked away from me. “Jane…” he shook his head.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m not trying to argue.” I ran my hand through his hair, and he turned back to me. “I love you. I don’t want to see you suffer.”

He took another breath and nodded as he held my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I love you, too,” he said, as best as he could. The effort makes it all the more sincere.

He slept next to me that night. It was cold, neither one of us like being cold – it feels sterile and oppressive. It feels better waking up next to someone you feel safe with, and I was happy he felt safe.

The next morning was better, I could see he felt a little lighter. He told me he was playing hooky that day and was going to skip classes. He’d run out of eyeliner and asked to borrow mine; we went shopping together. Menial tasks are more healing than people give them credit for, especially when they’re with someone you love. The opportunity to do something normal when you’ve felt and been so abnormal for so long is one of the more reaffirming things for a broken person. He smiled a lot that day. 

There has always been something so beautiful about Cesare. His effortless laugh when swatching eyeshadow palettes, as I tease him and tell him how pale he is — like white cheddar Cheese. The way his eyes take in everything around him, like a bird observing the world from far away. I stood and watched him choose peaches from the produce aisle, and I can’t recall seeing anyone so beautiful; so gentle with something so tender in his hands, he brushed it against his face and smelled it, almost like he was kissing it. He leaves a softness wherever he goes. 

A lot of people don’t know what to do with softness. They’re told softness doesn’t survive – that it’s anathema to endurance. But they’re wrong. Softness is the only way to survive. It’s the only way you don’t break under the pressure and the torment. Only the soft survive. Everyone else just lingers.

This was especially clear to me. Once I was good enough at golf, I was invited into a golfing group from my consolidation internship. It was a business opportunity, I told myself. And it was. It was also a chance to reassimilate into the real world. They were nothing like me, and it felt like learning an entirely new language, new mannerisms, as if I were morphing into a different species. But it just felt like I was straying away from what I loved – who I loved. I continued this uphill trend of opportunities, and meanwhile, Cesare seemed to get worse by the week. He started falling behind in his studies, and the more he fell behind, the less motivated he was to keep going.

He started self-destructing. Especially with smoking — ‘It’s the painless way to die’, he told me. We argued a lot. We never argued before that. He told me once that he was worried he’d never be good enough for me – I told him that there wasn’t anything anyone could do, anyone, that could make that true. I remember his face as I said it; like I’d reached into his heart and pulled it out, like I’d placed a kiss on its raw flesh. Everything Caligari had done to him, everything that he’d been made to do, was finally catching up to him and he couldn’t run fast enough to escape it. I couldn’t hold that against him.

Suddenly all of our plans together seemed more distant than they were when we’d first conceived them: that somehow we’d go into business together, I’d manage a company and he’d design for it; that we’d move somewhere else altogether and finally start even fresher; that maybe we’d get married, that maybe the way we loved each other now would only grow. 

I wanted to stay, I wanted to sit with him through however long this agony would stay weighted on him like a blanket. I told him that.

“I’m not going to leave you.”

‘I know you won’t,’ he said, ‘But I want you to. I’m not getting better. I won’t be the one to bring you down with me. You deserve better than that.’

We were in bed together. Completely in bed together – vulnerable and coming down from the high. It wasn’t the first time we’d been together, but it was the last.

He was gone the next morning. His essentials were gone, his tablet was gone…The photograph of us at the fair, the first time we’d done anything outside the hospital in years, was gone. I tried filing a police report, but there was nothing they could do, he left on his own, and he’d all but told me that he would. I tried looking for him, I went to all the spots he loved: the cafe on the park corner, the library on the other side of town, the mall with the really big fountain he loved. But no matter where I looked, he wasn’t there. A part of me – however small it may have been – started to wonder if I’d made him up. That Cesare didn’t actually exist, and that he was actually some fantasy that helped me cope with everything that’d happened. That his leaving meant my mind didn’t need him anymore – after all, I was two months away from graduating, I had a full-time job at the firm waiting for me, I had friends, everything in my life seemed on the up and up. Maybe this was the final part of healing.

But Cesare was real. I knew he was. That doubt was quickly squashed. His soft curls, the feeling of his fingers between mine, the way he’d look at me whenever something stupid happened and it wasn’t appropriate to laugh, the stains of his lips on the rim of his favorite coffee mug. All of it was real. And all of it was gone. 

I graduated, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to stand next to him, I wanted to celebrate together. I focused what little energy I had on setting up my career, and looking for him however and whenever I could. Especially since I found out I was pregnant.

It was hard. It was really hard. Especially when the postpartum depression hit. But I did it. The money from my consulting job helped, but it couldn’t replace Cesare. His son looks just like him. Black baby curls, and electric blue eyes. It’s like my genes didn’t even try. He’s beautiful, and the most precious gift Cesare has ever given me. I named him Aaron.

I never stopped looking for him. But at some point, I think I realized I wasn’t going to find him. I’d hired a private investigator, and kept her on retainer, but whenever I checked in, it was always the same thing: she couldn’t find him, it was like he’d vanished without a trace. He didn’t want to be found. My only hope was that he was still alive, and that he was happy. That all that running led him to somewhere he could feel…better. Maybe not at peace, but at least better.

Some friends from the firm set me up on a date with a guy in a different department. He was sweet, conventionally handsome, he liked kids. His name was Francis. We started seeing each other more regularly, but I didn’t love him. Not the way I loved Cesare. But I figured I would never, ever love like that again. And this was what people were supposed to do…It was part of going through the motions: find a good guy, settle down. Or just settle.

Aaron was two at the time. I didn’t introduce him to Francis for a while, not until clear boundaries between us were established. Not until I really knew who he was. I asked the private investigator I’d been using to look into his background, and everything came up clean. As long as he knew that sex was off the table, and that I wasn’t going to be sharing any details about what happened to me those years ago. That Aaron wasn’t going to call him any variation of ‘Dad’. I expected him to run the other way, I’m sure a lot of men would have. But he stayed. I don’t really know why. 

We had fun. He was good for Aaron, he took him to the park on the weekends, we went to the zoo and aquarium together. He liked to cook dinner at my house, and after I put Aaron to bed, sometimes we’d stay up with some wine and watch old movies until he went home. It was everything any woman could want. Like I was living the perfect life.

Again, those thoughts crept in the back of my mind: that maybe I hadn’t left the hospital at all, that all of this was some sort of delusion created by some drug-induced stupor by Caligari. That I was lying on a gurney somewhere, being violated in who knows how many ways. 

I’d stare off into space sometimes, those doubts and worries arresting my conscious thought.

“You okay?” Francis would ask, trying to look for my eyes.

I’d snap back into reality, and nod like I always did. “Yeah – just…thoughts. Memories.”

He looked so casual, sitting there on my couch. His wine glass dangling in his hand, his other arm wrapped around the backrest, legs crossed. Like he’d never had a care in the world. I know that’s unfair. We all carry burdens, we all have demons. Some of us just have more than others. Comparison is the thief of joy, and there was a part of me that was jealous of Francis – of how carefree he seemed. How all of them seemed: my friends, my coworkers. Appearances are deceiving, but all of us strive to feel the smile we’re putting on. No matter how many, or how few, our demons are.

I called my father for the first time in over six years years. He burst into tears on the phone. In that moment, I realized there wasn’t anything he needed forgiveness for, it was just that I’d needed space. I told him I loved him, and in that, I think I forgave myself. 

He wanted to meet his three year old grandson as soon as possible, and we set up a date. I told Francis that it was something I needed to do alone. 

“If you change your mind, if you want someone to be there with you, you know you can always ask me.”

“I know,” I told him. But I had no intention of asking him.

My father was so overwhelmed with emotion when he met Aaron, he couldn’t keep his eyes off him; all he wanted to do was hold him. Aaron didn’t seem to mind. They got along like a house on fire. In them, I saw the way my father was with me when I was a child. I hoped that I could pass on the gentleness he showed me, and refrain from his mistakes – that I could always protect him, even when I couldn’t. 

“He looks just like him,” father said, and touched Aaron’s soft cheek.

“He really does. He’s got his smile, too.”

“I can see that,” he laughed, and tickled him. “Does he sleep well?” He nodded, and watched as Aaron fussed and squirmed, wanting to play on the floor; he set him down, and stroked his hair as he wandered off to another part of the room play with the books I’d brought.

“He’s a perfect sleeper – I’d expected the opposite. But so far no signs of sleep attacks.”

“Very good,” he said as he watched him. “You’ve heard nothing from him, then?”

I shook my head. “He’s gone. I think…maybe gone for good.”

“It’s not your fault, you know. There was nothing you could have done to stop him.”

“I know…I think. Even if I know it, I’m not sure I believe it. He was…really depressed, Dad. I don’t know if he’s even alive. I don’t know if he…”

“What have you told him of his father?”

“That his father is a good man. That we love each other very much. We were best friends. That he works in another country. I know it’s a lie…But I can’t bring myself to say anything else. Francis is a good man but…he’s not Cesare. He’s not his father.”

“If you’re not in love with him, you need to let him go.”

I shrugged. “He makes me laugh. He’s…stable. He’s…”

“What you should be aspiring for?”

I nodded. I didn’t realize how much I missed being understood by my father. 

He leaned back and sighed. “There are many ‘shoulds’ in life, Jane. Not all of them are worth pursuing.”

“Here I thought you were going to tell me I should just move on.”

“No. I would never tell you that. I know how much Cesare meant to you. I know how much he still does – I can see it. Have you told this ‘Francis’ about him at all?”

“No. I…haven’t spoken about him. To anyone, really. Up until now.” I felt a pain growing in my throat and I swallowed it hard. “It’s like if I don’t talk about him, then I don’t have to face the fact that he’s not here.”

He nodded again. “How you grieve his absence – I’m not saying that he’s gone…permanently – but his absence has left a wake; how you grieve that is entirely up to you. I know it’s not my place, we’ve only just begun to speak again, but I think that talking about him might help you feel more grounded.”

As much as I didn’t like the psych-speak, he was right. Stuffing it all down wasn’t helping. I decided to take up journaling. There was no way in hell I was seeing a therapist, and I still didn’t want to tell Francis about everything, even about Cesare. But I had to get it out somehow. Journaling helped with that. I had somewhere to redirect everything, somewhere I could talk about our relationship without being overanalysed.

The great thing about getting promoted is that you can dress however you want. I was made head of the consulting department and I started wearing my kimono cardigans again, rather than grey pantsuits and pencil skirts. I started feeling like myself again. 

Aaron was perfect – he loved painting, he loved reading; I taught him sign in tandem with speaking, and it was one of the best things I’d ever done in my life. He rarely fussed because he had a way to communicate what he needed, and by his fourth birthday he was a conversationalist. So curious, so gentle. Also very funny. My kid is funnier than I am. 

Francis proposed a few weeks after Aaron turned four. I hadn’t been expecting it. I know a lot of women see signs, they anticipate it, they wait for it. I didn’t know it was a step he wanted to take. I thought what we had was good – it was enough. I don’t know why I said yes. I think I kept waiting for the rush of love and excitement, I kept thinking the rose colored glasses were something that would evolve, that one day I’d wake up and be a fairytale princess. That that would be the mark of how far I’d come. 

But it never came. And I was realizing that I just had to be okay with being numb. That that was how my life was. That the part of me capable of feeling giddy and excitable was left in the halls of that hospital somewhere. That I wouldn’t feel anything different than what I did now, and that it was as good as it was going to get. 

So I said yes. And I planned a wedding. I took my father dress shopping, I chose the first one I tried on, because it looked decent on me, and the price tag didn’t make me gag. 

“Are you happy?” my father asked me.

I didn’t answer right away. I had to assess it first. But I nodded. 

“Are you…not upset?”

It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders when he said it, and I nodded again.

“Being ‘not upset’ isn’t the same thing as being happy, Jane. Happiness and contentment are emotions in and of themselves, they aren’t only the absence of conflict.”

I was still in that stupid dress. It squeezed me in all the wrong places and it looked like a fabric store puked all over it. He held me and I put my head on his shoulder. “What else am I supposed to do?”

He put his hand on my head and kissed me. “Do what will make you happiest – do what will keep you from regret.”

“Aaron – he’s so good with Aaron.”

“And so are you,” he said. “If you’re going to part ways, do it now before Aaron is older.”

He had a point, I thought. Do it now before he really understood what was happening. But I needed time to think about it. I asked the shop to put the dress on hold, and I took time to think about the ways in which I cared about Francis, and why. I told him I needed a break from planning, that I needed to close the deal I was working on first, and then I’d get back into it. He told me it wasn’t a problem. Nothing was ever a problem for him. 

It wasn’t completely a lie, I was in the process of restructuring a clothing company. There were a lot of moving parts, and I was responsible for many of them, including hiring and firing a few people; a wedding wasn’t something I wanted to think about on top of all that. 

I had a meeting with the head of the company, along with several of their department leads, and I was invited to their headquarters abroad. With their restructure they wanted to downsize their graphic design department, and it may have been my loyalty and bias, but it was one section I wanted to leave intact. The head of public relations didn’t like me because of it, I’m guessing they wanted to personally absorb the funds that would have been ‘reallocated’. But I didn’t budge. 

I visited a few times, feeling like an outsider every time. It’s one thing when your work is acknowledged as much-needed help, it’s another to be seen as an invader. I was on the verge of another anxiety episode, I could feel it. Everytime I went into that office, it felt as if eyes were watching me, like I was entering a dark, haunted forest, looking for a way out. But I was newly promoted, I couldn’t show any sign of weakness – I’d worked so hard for the job I had, that to balk and say I wasn’t up to the task wasn’t an option. I had to find a way to be okay with the stress. I had to keep going, just until the deal was done – and I could put it all behind me. 

Every day was about surviving the next. Aaron and Francis had come with me abroad, and together they went sightseeing. I told him to go without me, I didn’t want Aaron to miss out on adventures because of me. At the end of every day, the two would meet me in the lobby of the headquarters, waiting for me with the driver to take us back to the hotel we were staying at. 

I bated my impatience, the pain in my feet, and the raging headache that wanted to crack through my skull everyday, just to make sure I didn’t take it all out on Aaron. He didn’t deserve that, he didn’t know what was going on. As far as he was concerned, his mom worked in a castle, and bossed people around like a queen. He’d run up to me everyday and throw his arms out yelling ‘Mommy!’ like it was the first time he’d ever seen me. How could I be annoyed with that. I’d wrap him up in a hug, and rock him back and forth until the headache settled, and we’d all go back to the hotel. Francis was staying in a suite next to ours, and was up every morning to make sure we were ready for the day. 

“I’d like to take you to dinner tonight,” Francis said and helped me put on my cardigan.

“What’s the occasion?” 

“A celebration of your success,” he said.

I scoffed, almost unsure of myself. “I haven’t closed the deal yet. I wouldn’t celebrate too early.”

“I have every confidence in you.” 

I turned and looked at him. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you have confidence in me?”

He put his hands in his pockets, taken aback, and gathered how to answer: “You’re a strong woman, Jane. You’ve gotten through some of the worst that life has to offer, and you’ve managed to make a life for yourself. And for your son. That’s worthy of every confidence a man can muster.”

I believed him, despite myself. “Thank you,” I said, and suddenly wanted to be done with the conversation I’d started. I kissed Aaron goodbye, as he told me all about how he and Francis were going to see a tiny museum on cheeses. I only laughed, but it was almost as if I could hear Cesare laughing with me.

I used to call him Cheese. When we first met, I was doped out of my mind, barely able to hold onto what he was telling me as he introduced himself. Between the suppressants and his difficulty speaking, all I could gather about his name was that it sounded something like ‘Cheese’, and it stuck ever since. 

I carried that memory of him with me for the rest of the day. It gave me the strength to enter the building, with the knowing that I belonged there. Looking back on that time, on where we’d been – the common room of the hospital, where he finally had to spell his name out for me with a crayon – it all felt so far away, and yet it still clung to me like a sheath. 

I was still seen as enemy number one, but I had the courage to lay down the terms, and insist on what I knew was best. I was exhausted by the time the day was done, and was ready to head back to the hotel and collapse.

But as I walked through the halls, my eye was caught by someone in the distance. Their head was down, they were preoccupied with a tablet in their hands; it was a man, dressed all in black, with soft, messy hair. My mind, playing tricks on me, conjured the image of Cesare in place of this man. Until I realized – as he looked up, as I saw the sharpness of his features, the dark circles under his eyes – it was him. 

A cold chill went through me at the thought that the psychosis was back – it was always my fear, that whatever Caligari had done to me, that it’d caused a permanent change, and that remission from it would only ever be temporary. I was stressed, I was tired, it was only a figment of my imagination, a comfort to keep me sane despite the circumstances. That’s what Caligari used to tell me, as he drugged me and kept me under a haze. 

But I didn’t feel like I was under a spell. He looked real. He walked to the elevator, still looking at his tablet, only glancing up to press the down button. I found myself gravitating towards him, as if I was being pulled to him, and I thought I might wake up at any moment – that all of this would vanish –

“Cesare –” I called out to him. 

His eyesight snapped up, searching for the source of the voice that called him. A panic seemed to grip his face, what little color was in his face drained, and his bright blue eyes darted this way and that – until he saw me –

“Jane!” he dropped his tablet, and pushed through the people alarmed at his sudden speech. Water was already lining his eyes as he stood in front of me, and he took my arms and held me, touching me, my face, my hair, my hands – the same as I was doing to him, both of us trying to make sense of what we were seeing. He picked me up and swung me around, his face buried in my shoulder. “Jane…” he said again, the breath taken from him, he was shaking, suddenly overwhelmed. ‘I’m sorry…’ he attempted to say over and over again. 

I shook my head, holding his face in my hands. “You’re alive – you’re alive.” No one else existed at that moment except for us. We could have been standing in an empty room, without eyes that watched us, that puzzled and wondered, or that judged. It was just us. All we saw was each other. 

‘I’m alive – I’m alive now,’ he said through shaking hands and tearful sounds. ‘I’m alive now that you’re here. I never should have left. Forgive me.’ He brought my hands to his lips and kissed them. “I love you,” he said.

My fingers fanned out to caress his features, and he took my face in his and kissed me. Damn who saw, or what they thought. It was a moment that felt more real than life, and sweeter than any dream. He took my hand afterwards, and guided me to the elevator where he retrieved his tablet, and pressed the down button again – rapidly.

‘What are you doing here? Tell me everything,’ he said, still shaking. ‘Come home with me, I promise I’ll explain everything.’

“Hans!” his boss called from behind us. “Where are you going? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

‘I’m going home,’ he signed, and quickly got into the elevator the second it rang, with me in tow.

“I’ve looked for you – for so long, everywhere,” I told him.

‘I changed my name. I moved to a different country. I was running. From myself. From everything.’ 

My hands went to his face again, brushing the hair from his eyes, seeing what new little lines made their impressions in his rough skin. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

He sighed and made a diffident shrug and half nod. ‘I found something different. But the same. I needed to get my head right. I looked you up –’

“Oh, you did. Cesare – there’s something you need to know –”

‘I think I just got myself fired for kissing and kidnapping the consulting guru,’ he laughed. ‘I saw how successful you were. I debated whether to reach out to you, but I didn’t want to take away from all that you’d worked for.’

“You could never take anything away from me. You’ve given me everything.”

‘I hate myself for leaving. For being a coward. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness – and try to make up for the time I’ve wasted.’

“Cesare – “ I took him by the arms, trying desperately to get out the truth before the bell rung and the doors opened, but it was too late. 

He looked at me, curious at my forcefulness, and furrowed as we shuffled out of the elevator to allow another patron to take our place. His hands were about to ask me what was wrong, when the sound of running footsteps caught his attention.

“Mommy!” Aaron sprinted towards me, arms outstretched waiting for me to pull him into an embrace, just like I always did.

I did it instinctually, but my voice shook as I spoke. “Hi, baby.”

Cesare was as pale as a ghost. It looked like the wind could’ve blown right through him. He froze, motionless, unable to take his eyes off of Aaron. He finally looked at me, and he knew. I didn’t have to say a word. It was as clear as day. I was holding his son.

Francis wasn’t far behind, but his pace lightly quickened when he saw the tension that began to grow and move between me and the man standing next to me as we exited the elevator – as my hands released their grip on him, and held my son instead. The picture Francis was seeing was vastly different from the truth, but I couldn’t say I blamed him for his desire to protect me and Aaron from a potential conflict.

“We need to talk,” I told Cesare.

He was still frozen there, watching the face of his son stare back at him.

“Hey, babe,” Francis came on the other side of me and put his hand on my back. “You ready to get going?” he looked at the man beside me and started to put together pieces of his own.

It took me a while to find my voice, but I nodded. “Yes – why don’t you and Aaron get a head start to the car.” I set him down and ushered them onward.

“I can wait here for you,” Francis said, still watching Cesare with a sharp eye.

“No –” I looked up at him. “I need you to wait for me at the car.”

Out of all the times I needed him to trust me, I needed it to be then. And he did, for the most part. “Alright, we’ll be outside. C’mon, buddy,” he picked Aaron up and walked out of the building; but I could see him waiting just outside the door, not in the car. Waiting in case he needed to intervene. 

I can’t imagine what it must’ve looked like to him. Watching the two of us sign back and forth frantically, arguing and despairing behind the soundless glass.

Dinner was cancelled. Francis brought over take out and a bottle of wine after I put Aaron to sleep in the bedroom of the hotel suite. I couldn’t sleep, something told me Cesare couldn’t either. It’s like I could feel both of us awake in different parts of the city, sitting motionless, ruminating and contemplating. I was afraid he would leave again.

“Do you want me to call the police?” Francis asked after we’d finished dinner, after half the bottle was gone. He was careful with how he said it, real quiet, as if he didn’t want to startle me.

I was surprised nonetheless. “What? No, why?”

“It must have been hard to see him again.”

“It was. Really hard. But…why would you call the police?”

“He’s Aaron’s father, isn’t he? The man…who hurt you?”

I took a breath and poured another drink. “No. Cesare would never hurt me. He’s never hurt me. Cesare was also…a patient,” I said and poured a little extra.

“But he is his father.”

“Yes.”

He nodded and poured another drink for himself, too. He hesitated a moment as he leaned back, but he decided to speak anyway: “What happened, Jane? I know I promised I’d never ask – and I haven’t. But today was…different. Today changes a few things.”

“It does,” I said. “It changes a lot.” He waited for me to answer. It took me a long time. There was so much to say, so many things I deliberated on whether or not I should share, in the end I just told the truth:

“He protected me,” I said. “He’d been there, at the hospital, longer than I had, since he was a child. Since the car accident that killed his parents. He was there, in the car when they were killed. That’s when he lost his voice. He was transferred to a psychiatric facility after he was given a clean bill of health by the hospital. Mutism wasn’t well understood, it still isn’t. I always thought there was a physical component as to why he couldn’t speak, on top of the emotional; that maybe the accident damaged his ability to speak, and that maybe that’s where his narcolepsy came from, too — that, and the post traumatic stress. But he never told me. I’m not sure he really knew, either. The pediatricians thought he would heal better in a safer environment, I guess – and he didn’t have any other remaining family. Doctor Caligari came highly recommended, he was supposedly a pioneer in his field. It seemed like a good fit. 

“We were in our teens when we met. We were the same age. I started seeing…the Doctor in one-on-one sessions because of my anxiety. I was going off to college in a few years and my father wanted me to have additional support. He knew Caligari. They’d worked together in the past. What neither of us knew was that he was drugging me, little by little, with the medications he prescribed. He gave them to me with the intention of causing side effects. To make me crazier than I was already. No – I…I wasn’t crazy. Not at first. I was a teenager. Scared. Normal. I wasn’t crazy.

“But that didn’t last, I guess. The side effects induced psychosis. I was unstable. And at Caligari’s recommendation, my father agreed to send me to his psychiatric facility. I begged him not to. But he trusted him to do the right thing. It wasn’t his fault.

“I spent years there. So had everyone else. Some survived, some didn’t. Caligari liked us both – but Cesare was his favorite. He had…a particular interest in the science of sleep, and the power of suggestion. Cesare was a narcoleptic and a sleepwalker. He liked seeing how much he could get Cesare to do when he was asleep. What, exactly, he could get him to do. Anything from violence to sex. He’d use him as a research subject on sleepwalking and narcolepsy, and then publish the research under the pretense of using lab animals.

“I think he kept me because he liked the power of having his friend’s daughter held captive, without him knowing. It made him feel powerful. He…did things. But Cesare did what he could to protect me, to keep Caligari’s eye off of me and onto him, instead. Cesare wanted to protect me because he respected me – he liked that I didn’t want him to change, he liked that I understood him. A lot of people get frustrated with his inability to speak, or they don’t try as hard as they could to understand what he’s trying to communicate. It was never an issue for me. I didn’t mind taking the time to listen and learn what he was saying. He taught me how to sign. We spent a lot of time together, a lot of time. We loved each other. There wasn’t any doubt of it.

“Caligari kept me as drugged and docile as possible so that I couldn’t call for help. I tried – more than once. Sometimes he would let my father see me, the two of us partitioned between glass. He wanted to taunt my father without him knowing. It was all just a power play. I tried to tell my father what was happening, but he didn’t believe me at first. Caligari had ruined my credibility so thoroughly that my father tried to calm me down by saying ‘it would be a difficult adjustment, but that everything would be okay in the end.’

“But years passed and I was only getting worse, and Caligari wouldn’t let my father see me anymore, until he insisted. I begged him for help one more time. I knew it would be my last. I don’t know if he believed me completely, but he knew something was wrong. He told Caligari he was going to start motions to get me released. But he couldn’t let that happen.

“He sent Cesare after me. In his sleep. Instructed him to kill me in the night while he had me drugged and restrained. Had I been anyone else, I know he would’ve done it. But he loved me. 

“I watched him – there, but not present – as he came over me with a knife in his hand, ready to kill me. He had no idea what he was doing. But something inside his eyes – still dead asleep –, it clicked when he saw me. And he dropped the knife. He became frantic, and I tried to calm him down, so that Caligari wouldn’t hear him. We had a very small window, I thought, where maybe we could escape. 

“He obeyed me instantly. And I realized I had immense power over him. Because he loved me. I instructed him to undo my restraints, and that we would run together – but it had to be quick. He again obeyed me, and as I started to stand, I realized I wasn’t going to make it. Caligari had pumped me with enough tranquilizers that I wouldn’t be able to move while Cesare killed me, but that I’d be awake enough to feel it. I wasn’t able to run. I shook Cesare until he woke, I begged him to run without me.

“By the time he realized what was happening, that we had an opportunity to disappear, he told me he’d rather die with me than leave without me. He wasn’t leaving me behind, he said. He carried me, dragged me, pulled me until we were on the outside grounds of the facility. 

“Caligari quickly realized his plan had failed. He set dogs on us, but Cesare never stopped running, he never stopped carrying me and pulling me with him. It caused a terrible commotion. The alarms went off, the security was sent out to find us. Other patients started revolting. A fire broke out in the riot – it was the middle of the night, but I still remember the flames were as bright as the sun. We ran until we couldn’t anymore. I still have the scars on my leg from where I was bitten by one of the dogs. 

“The fire department came, we heard the sirens coming up the road. When they saw the state we were in, they took us to the hospital. When they put out the fire, all of Caligari’s research was exposed. He’d attempted to flee, but when an investigation was opened, it didn’t take long to find him. They caught him trying to leave the country. 

“Cesare and I recuperated at the hospital together. One of the last things I remember from that night is reaching out to him on the gurney next to mine – trying to see his face past both of our oxygen masks. The next thing I remember after that is him sitting next to me in the hospital courtyard a week later. I remember the way the flowers looked – more vibrant than I’d ever seen them, the sky more blue than I ever noticed; I remember seeing his face, as if there was a film that’d been removed from my eyes. He looked cleaner, crisper, his skin more porcelain than grey, his hair brighter and looser, rather than dull and flat. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I knew I’d love him in every lifetime, no matter when, no matter where.

“There was a trial. Cesare and I both had to testify. I didn’t think it was fair. We’d already been through so much, and we were asked to give even more. Cesare had to fight for an interpreter, and I offered to do it, but they needed an official neutral interpreter, which we had to wait for.

“My father wanted me to stay with him, but I told him no. I was too angry at the time. He paid for an apartment of my choosing instead. He just wanted me to be safe. I think he was trying to make up for everything. Cesare had nowhere to go, and I invited him to stay with me at that apartment, I’d gotten a two bedroom for us. He didn’t want to impose at first – he didn’t want his presence to bring up anything I wanted to forget. I told him I never wanted to forget him, and he agreed. It was awkward at first, we kept to ourselves, not really sure what to do, how to be. But we just needed time to unravel all the wrapped steel that’d been sheathed around us. Until we were left exposed: just ourselves. Things became more natural after that. We fell in love all over again. It was like getting a second chance. But we all heal differently.

“After the trial, we were awarded a settlement. We used it to go to school together. And in the fourth year, two months before we graduated, Cesare left. He had become extremely depressed. He didn’t want to ruin my opportunity for a better life, he said. He didn’t want to weigh me down. But I would’ve carried him, the way he carried me.

“Aaron is so much like his father,” I sniffed and tried to keep my tears at bay. “Not just the way he looks, but his heart. He’s gentle, kind, smart, like all the best parts of us both. I looked for him for so long. But…I guess he didn’t want to be found. I guess he wasn’t ready.”

“Did he know you were pregnant when he left?” Francis asked.

“No. I didn’t know either. But I know that if he’d known he never would have left.” I swallowed, my breath hot and wet. “Today was the first time we’d seen each other since then. We spent more time together than apart, and it felt like no time had gone by at all. He looked happy.” I tried to hide the shaking in my voice.

I could see him referring to the events earlier in the day: the look of shock on Cesare’s face, the desperation in the way we communicated, my doubt of Francis’ confidence and love. He knew I didn’t belong to him, that I never had – that even though we’d been parted, I’d always belonged to Cesare.

He thought carefully, and finished his glass. “You two set up a time to talk?”

“Not exactly. I’m afraid he’ll run. Again.” I finished my own and stared at the droplets of red that gathered at the bottom. 

“He won’t,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“He sounds like a smart man. He knows what he’s lost. He won’t risk losing it again.”

“You have a lot of faith in people,” I said.

“I have faith in good people,” he answered and looked at me. He set his glass down and stood, he held out his hand and helped me to my feet, where he held my arms. “You are a good woman, Jane. You always have been. No matter what’s happened to you. It doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change who you are.” He kissed my temple, and when I looked at him as he pulled away I saw a sadness in him that I’d never seen before. “I would have loved you,” he said.

“I know.”

Francis left my hotel suite, and I heard him shut himself into his own. I still couldn’t sleep. I lay on the couch, watching the morning sun come through the edges of the curtains. I could feel Cesare doing the same somewhere far away. 

I was woken by two little hands on my face. 

“Hi, Mama,” Aaron’s sweet voice called me. 

“Hi, baby,” I brushed his hair out of his face. “Mama’s staying home today,” my voice was still muffled with stuffed and swollen sinuses from the crying I’d done in the night. “Want to do something fun?”

‘Yes, fun,’ he signed with his little smile.

“You wanna watch movies and eat popcorn?”

“Movies and candy,” he giggled.

Oh, what the hell, I thought. “Alright, but good food first for breakfast.”

We stayed home and watched adventures, and ordered room service for snacks. Francis came by for lunch and brought us something healthier to eat than chocolate. He stayed to play with Aaron; that sadness was still there on his face, and it looked as though he would miss my son. He was better to me than I deserved, especially since he knew my heart had never been invested in the relationship he wanted so badly with me. It hadn’t been fair to him, and I realized my father was right. I should have let him go sooner.

He didn’t stay long, but told me he would bring by dinner as well. Despite the fact that I wasn’t in love with him, I appreciated that he didn’t bolt, that he planned to stay at the hotel for the duration of my visit, and that we’d figure everything else out when we returned home. I didn’t know what I was going to do. But it was nice to not think about the past or the future that day, and instead just be present with my son while we enjoyed ourselves. I was luckier than most. And I was luckier, still, than most patients who escaped Caligari, and all of them who couldn’t. I try to be ever cognizant of that. 

The day was winding into evening, and dinnertime was approaching. I was sitting on the couch with Aaron, while we joked and told stories, while he showed me the souvenir he got from the cheese museum. There was a knock at the door, and I told him to wash up for dinner.

I opened the door. 

Cesare was on the other side of it.

He was trying not to shake visibly, but he was failing; I could see the trembling in his clothes, in his hair, the water along the lashes of his eyes. I could see it, because I instantly felt the same. 

“Cesare…” I gravitated towards him, and quickly stepped aside. “Come in.”

He did as asked. He was holding with him a flower stalk and a plain blue gift bag. But when he stepped inside my suite, he suddenly seemed unsure of what to do with himself and his offerings. He stood in the center of the living room, noting the children’s toys on the coffee table, the mess from the afternoon’s snacks and litter. His eyes, wide and pale, finally turned and found mine. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he signed, and found himself having walked in a stiff circle. 

“You didn’t,” I said. “We were…” I trailed off, not sure what to say. “Dinner should be here soon.”

He nodded. Then looked around again, noting the absence of his son. ‘Where is he?’

“He’s washing up. He’s in the bathroom.”

He nodded again. ‘I wanted to apologise for making a scene yesterday,’ he started, and approached me; he handed me the flowers: a stalk of baby’s breath. ‘I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.’

“You reacted the way anyone would.” I took the flowers and held them to my heart. “I should have been quicker to say something.”

He shook his head. ‘That fault isn’t on you. That fault is mine.’ He handed me the gift bag; a plain, soft teddy bear was inside of it. ‘I should leave…I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he said again.

“Please don’t –” I stopped him. 

‘I don’t want to interrupt dinner with your fiance.’

“He’s not my fiance. Not anymore. He…never really was.”

Cesare didn’t move. 

Neither did I.

He couldn’t stop the tears anymore, and they were flowing freely down his face. ‘I want to be here – I want to be with you. I want…to be with him. I didn’t know – I didn’t know –’

I set the flowers and bag down and held his face and brushed away the tears, helpless to my own. “I know.”

‘But I know now – But you’re getting married –’

“I’m not getting married,” I told him again. “I told Francis. I told him everything.”

‘Everything?’

I nodded. “Everything.”

He relaxed into my touch, and placed his hands on mine as he sighed, looking into my eyes. I felt the rush of all the time we’d spent apart in his eyes; I felt him reach his soul into mine, reaching out to me, hoping I’d reach back. ‘Take me wherever you go. Take me. I don’t want to let go this time. I won’t let go.’ He brushed away my tears.

‘I won’t let go,’ I signed back. 

Cesare choked back a sob and smiled. I hadn’t seen him smile since before he left. It had been so long. He gathered himself, and tempered his tears as he motioned to the other room. ‘What is his name? ’

“His name is Aaron,” I told him, and showed him the sign I made for his name. “He’s perfect,” the rush of adrenaline and quiet sobbing came out as shuddering laughter. 

‘Of course he is,’ he said, ‘he’s yours.’

“He’s ours.” I spoke and I signed, needing him to know its weight and tenderness.

He cupped my face and kissed my head, trying desperately to contain his emotion. 

“Mama!” Aaron called as he ran out of the suite bedroom and showed me his clean hands. 

I fixed my face quickly, and Cesare turned to do the same, wanting to make a good first impression for his son. 

“Aaron,” I called him over and kissed his fingers. “Do you remember me telling you that Dad works in another country?” He nodded, sceptical, looking from me to the tall figure behind me who was still turned away from us. “Well, Dad doesn’t need to live in that country anymore. Dad can come home now. Dad is home now.”

“Is he Dad?” he asked, trying to see what he looked like, to compare him to photographs I’d shown him.

“Yes he is, that’s Dad.”

Cesare turned around, gathering his courage, and knelt to Aaron’s level. He looked at me, hoping I would translate, but was surprised when Aaron signed to him first. 

Aaron tapped him on the arm and called his attention. “Where did you go?” he spoke and signed.

The relief on Cesare’s face was palpable when he realized that he’d be able to communicate with his son. But a perplexity took it over quickly when he also realized he didn’t have an answer. He glanced to me again, unsure of what to tell him. ‘I had a lot of work I needed to do,’ he signed, unconfident. ‘But I’m done now. I can be with you and Mom forever now. I don’t ever need to leave again.’

Aaron looked at him, taking in his face, looking him over. When he seemed satisfied enough — that the man in front of him looked just like the man from the framed photographs at home, and the photo albums on my bookshelves — he accepted what he saw as truth. “You look like Dad in the pictures,” he smiled and touched his face.

He nodded happily. ‘Yes! I’m Dad – I’m your Dad.’ I’d never seen him smile so big, I’d never seen him so happy. 

Aaron threw his arms around him, and squeezed so tight I thought they’d both explode.

Cesare wrapped his arms around his son and kissed his head. He rocked him back and forth, nestling his face on his soft baby hair. 

There was another knock at the door, and I went to answer it. I dried my face as best as I could, knowing it was useless anyway. 

It was Francis this time, with the dinner he’d promised. He greeted me with a gentleness, but quickly saw past me and into the suite. He saw Cesare and Aaron in an embrace, how happy they were.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said and handed me the bag, with that sadness still on his face. 

“Francis –” I stopped him. “Thank you.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Be good to yourself, Jane. You’re too hard on yourself. You deserve better than that.” He began to walk away. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. 

Cesare heard Francis at the door, and reluctantly released his son and stood. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he told me, and followed him out into the hallway.

“Where’s Dad going?”

“He’s going to tell Francis thank you,” I said.

“Francis brought dinner now?”

“Yes he did. He’s very kind, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah, Francis is nice. Is he going to have dinner, too?”

“No. Dinner will just be you, me, and Dad tonight.”

“I’m happy Dad is back now.”

“Me, too, baby.”

I set the table and watched them through a mirror hung in the hallway as Cesare ran after Francis. He caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He began to sign, but was interrupted –

“I’m sorry, I don’t know any sign language.”

Cesare pulled out his phone instead and typed: ‘Thank you. For taking care of my son. And the woman I love. Thank you isn’t enough.’

“It’s plenty. She’s a good woman. And you’ve got yourself a good kid.” I wondered if that was Francis’ subtle way of admonishing him for his supposed abandonment. 

But Cesare didn’t seem to take it that way. They exchanged pleasantries, and he came back into the suite to share dinner. Aaron clung to him the entire time and asked a million questions, each of which his father answered patiently and as best as he could. I tried to keep his routine as best as possible, but he was wired with excitement and emotion; so after bathtime the three of us went to the bedroom and continued to talk until Aaron was too tired to stay awake. I tucked him in as he fell asleep, and Cesare and I moved to the living room; we talked all night, the pair of us were emotionally spent. But happy.

We talked about all the plans we used to have – how they changed, how they stayed the same. We still wanted to work together. He loved what he did, and I loved having a position that gave me more flexibility. We still wanted to get married.

‘Do you want more kids?’ he asked me; we were sitting on the couch, his arm around me, his long legs propped on the coffee table.

“No – definitely not,” I laughed. “One is enough.”

He chuckled. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s perfect. It’s just…hard.”

‘I’m here now. You’re not alone.’

I curled closer into him, as if I could crawl into the space between his ribs and lie there. 

‘I hope you didn’t have any difficulties with the pregnancy. I hope you had help.’

“No. I was okay. After he was born was a different story, though. I was lucky to have some friends from the company, older women who knew what I was going through, they helped me. They got me through a lot. Once was enough for that, too.” But I stopped, overcome with a feeling and a memory.

He felt me squirm, and he looked at me. ‘What’s wrong?’

“It’s just…I guess it hasn’t only been once.”

‘What do you mean?’

“At the hospital…There was a time I thought I might’ve been pregnant. But I wasn’t sure. I was so nauseous all the time. I thought it might’ve been the drugs he was giving me at the time. He’d just switched them to something else. But I just wasn’t sure.”

‘Did you have your period?’

“It was really late. That’s why I thought I’ve might’ve…”

He stopped and thought for a while, and I suddenly regretted saying anything at all. I felt like an idiot to overwhelm him. But we’d always been able to talk about everything together, especially memories – things that we’d forgotten, and suddenly remembered. By habit, I went back into that dynamic almost immediately. But he didn’t stop me.

‘By him, or by me?’ he asked.

I shook my head. “I wasn’t sure.”

He nodded, and held me closer. I felt a tension in his chest, and he looked away; I could see the strain in the muscles of his jaw – he was angry. But his hand was still gentle around me as he stroked my shoulder. 

I knew he wasn’t angry at me, but at the past – all of it. I still felt bad for saying anything.

He turned back to me, with a scoff and a brow raised with disgust. ‘It was probably the medication. If you’d been pregnant, he would’ve kept the baby and done something to it.’

I scoffed with him and looked up at him. “I hate that you’re right.” 

He kissed the top of my head. ‘We are going to be okay now,’ he said. ‘I know it. We have control of our lives. More than we ever have before.’ He paused and sighed. ‘I never should have left –’

“Cesare –”

He stopped me. ‘I never should have left. But I’m more capable now than I was. No matter what happens – all of the good, and all of the…not so good – you won’t be alone anymore. You never were. I’ve always been here. And I always will be.’ He brushed a tear from my face.

I nodded, feeling that pain in my throat again.

‘I’ve faced hell with you. I’ve done my time in purgatory. I’m ready to face heaven with you, too.’

I held onto him, my legs over his now, my hands gripped into his shirt. I didn’t want to let him go. And I didn’t have to.

He held me the whole night. 

He stayed there with us at the hotel for the remainder of our stay. They tried to fire him for kissing and kidnapping the consulting guru, but I didn’t let that happen. He quit anyway – he wanted a different job, he said, something not so corporate and soulless. Something where he could really stretch his creative legs, without so many bosses and rules hanging over his head. 

After I finished closing the restructuring deal, we worked out the logistics of him moving back with me. I had a large house back home, and there would be enough space for all three of us to have separate rooms. With my connections, he could have any graphic design job he wanted. He said he wanted to work from home. It was better for his mental health, and better for my schedule. He could bond with Aaron, and I didn’t have to worry about picking him up after preschool or kindergarten. It was like we fit together seamlessly – like we were better for each other than we had been before. 

I told Aaron that Francis and I weren’t going to be going to be seeing each other anymore, but that he was still a good and kind person. The last time I saw Francis was at the airport when we got home, when we all parted ways. He asked to be transferred to a different location of the company, I think it was for the best, really. My life was turned right side up, but his was turned upside down. I never meant to hurt him. 

My life started over, better than it had been – better than it had ever been. The way it was supposed to be. Cesare and Aaron became closer than I could have hoped. Aaron brought out a side in him that granted him permission to play and enjoy life. It allowed him to give himself, in a way, all of the things that he was denied as a child.

Cesare still has the occasional cigarette, but not for the same reasons, and only when he gets really stressed, like with a deadline at work. Or when Aaron started sleepwalking. That scared him. It scared me, too, but not as bad as it did him. Aaron had just started kindergarten and had stressors of his own, which I guess triggered the genetic component of sleepwalking. 

“Most kids grow out of it,” I reassured him. 

‘I didn’t,’ he half signed with a cigarette in one hand.

“Who knows what he did to keep you that way. Besides you haven’t had an episode in a long time, right?”

He nodded, and took another drag. He kept the cigarette between his lips as he signed: ‘I’m always afraid of what’s going to happen when I go to sleep. I don’t want him to feel the same way.’

“He won’t,” I said. “Even if he doesn’t grow out of it, he doesn’t have the same history we do. Your fear will not be his.” I touched his arms, and brushed his hair from his face. “He has two parents who love him very much, who would do anything for him, and who can provide for his every need. That’s half the battle. He will be okay. Because we’ll make sure of it.”

I felt him start to relax, and he removed the cigarette from his lips before he took a deep breath of cleaner air. He looked at me, into my eyes, and he knew I was right. He nodded.

“We will be okay. Because we can make sure of it now.”

He nodded again, and this time pulled me to his chest. 

“We’ll be okay.” This time, I finally believed it. 

So did he.

I got to go wedding dress shopping again. This time with both my father and Aaron. I chose the sixth dress I tried on, something that felt loose and that I could move in; it had a beautiful gauze train. I felt like a bride – like a queen. I felt like myself. Aaron and my father’s excitement solidified my choice, and the price wasn’t too bad, either.

We got married in a park, just the three of us, and my father. We didn’t need anything else. Just the people who loved us. Just each other.

He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen: elegant and bright, in his black tuxedo and with his beaming smile when I came down the aisle. He dipped me when we kissed. It’s my favorite photograph of us. 

We have movie nights, and we cook together. We bicker about which pasta sauce to get at the store, and which is the right way to fold a fitted sheet. He helps Aaron with his homework, and picks him up from school. I bring them to company parties, and introduce them as my husband and my son. And every time I do it, I have to try not to cry. 

My house became a home, and the three of us created a routine that worked well for all of our needs: we have separate rooms, we have a no screens after eleven policy; we limit alcohol, and we give each other space when we’re overwhelmed. Because we still have our struggles – God knows we’ll have post-traumatic stress for the rest of our lives. The trick is working with it, not trying to get rid of it. And not taking it out on our son.

We discussed – at length – getting Aaron therapy for all of the change in his life, and eventually we found someone we trusted. We read so many reviews. 

‘If only online reviews had been a thing back then,’ Cesare joked.

I laughed. “I think you just dated yourself.” But it felt good to hear him say ‘back then’, to rub the salve of humor on something that we could acknowledge as being in the past.

Everyone heals at different rates. But it doesn’t mean healing doesn’t happen at all. Sometimes it just takes time. And patience. And a lot of change. 

Aaron is eleven now. He’s starting junior high school soon. He’s going to be as tall as his father, I can tell already. He likes going with us to buy new eyeshadow palettes, and he doesn’t care that his father and I share clothes. He likes wearing kimonos, too. And he wears eyeliner like his father. He’s bright, and compassionate; he’s creative, and he’s never known pain. That’s all I could possibly ask for.

We’re an odd little family. We look different, we sound different – our roles are different. But it doesn’t matter. Because we’re happy. And we’re together. 

And that’s what counts.

[lennies-blog]

Hello!

I saw that on Sky Germany website there is a video of Sebastian at the SailGP. Do you still translate things related to Sebastian Vettel?

Here https://sport.sky.de/artikel/segeln-ex-formel-1-fahrer-sebastian-vettel-feiert-premiere/12925984/34240

Translation coming up!

Okay it's really weird, because most parts of the video don't have sound 🤔

My phone cannot play the video at all, saying it's not available and then I thought my laptop has difficulties with playing sound overall, but the video has got sound, but only the parts where Seb is talking and it sounds like he is answering some kind of questions so there is definitely something missing!

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To sum it up:

Seb is now co-owner of the German SailGP team and was able to take part in a drive around on the German F50-catamaran this weekend at the coast of Los Angeles. The video shows Seb interacting with people, getting on the boat and a little segment of him taking part in the drive. (*all without sound*🥲)

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But here are the parts that I could hear (some of which were already in English which I only transcribed. I also did little paragraphs where I suspect new questionshave been asked):

"It was by coincidence obviously. I often heard that there are a lot of similarities between sailing really high class and racing on the track, which I know (*laughs*) probably a lot better (*laughs*), but yeah, then though Thomas, who yeah, was the initiator of the German team, I got into it, I heard about it, learned about it, and yeah, I got more and more hooked. I'm not a sailor myself, yet, so maybe to be, but yeah, that's how it all started. (I) tried windsurfing, that's as close as I got.

Now it's fascinating to see there's a whole nother world that which I said has a lot ofthings in common and yeah, to understand the element of wind is very difficult because you can't grab it.

I think watching now on TV is a lot easier then back in the day, because you've got all the graphics, so you understand actually who is leading, what's going on, you see where the wind is coming and what's most likely to happen. In the end it's all about details and that's what every team seems to be looking for.

Well I think for sure by nature. It's more sustainable, I mean it's powered by nature, so obviously that's very exciting. Once it gets the lift and foils, it's pretty incredible. Also to stand on land and see it is pretty cool.

Well it's still early days. If you look at it, as far as I understand where the team comes from I think it's a big shot. I think we are happy with how the first event went and looking forward to the second one.

Yeah I think for one, the speed. When the boat was up once, everything is suddenly quiet and you can only hear the wind, but then the wind gets stronger and then the maneuvers in the corners, the interaction of the crew, the coordination just beforehand and the start, cause there us not much time left then to speed around the corners. I think you kind of understand more of how everything works together, so that it will work well, if you've driven yourself.

Yeah, I would say I still have the view if an athlete and I think it's incredibly interesting. I think every kind of sport has its charm and if you get into it like today it helps you a lot more to assess it. That the level is very high I think you can see from the outside, how big the boats are and then the speeds added to that, but if you then have the chance to participate/drive in it once, I really enjoyed it, then I think you can get more into the rhythm and understand what exactly is demanded. Its very very physical, you are on edge the whole time, especially with the G forces in the corners and yeah, it's oftentimes hard to explain, even if back then when I talked about racing it was very hard to convey that it's actually really exhausting, and yeah, it's a great sport, really.

Yeah well, my role isn't really that active that I sit in the boat every weekend, steer it and make decisions with them, but rather try to incorporate my experience from theoutside. Especially the teamwork and the all data is something that I worked with extensively within the last years, or was allowed to work with, and be able to bring something to the table there, I think just this inside view, because I think not dependable on the kind of sport you can contribute a lot of experiences and if it helps, all the better.

Ah well, it was great. I didn't know what to expect to be honest. It was really impressive in many ways, first of all the speed on water is you know, a different perception of speed. But then the G forces, the cornering, but also to see the crew, you know communicating to each other, preparing sort of the next move, why you're trying to optimise the current course, yeah. Also you know there's sometimes not much time before you make a decision orbefore you got to make a turn, so that was very impressive to feel it from the inside.

Yeah for sure, it's very different to racing. I mean I did miss my seat belts and my seat, so it was a bit adventurous at the beginning, the changing sides, gotta aim for the little hole to jump into, but yeah, I did get used to that part, but the first couple of times was, I wouldn't say scary, just very very unusual. But yeah, then you get in the groove and obviously I had whole trust in the team surrounding and it was fun to then feel the boat also accelerating, picking up speed, so that was very nice."

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Interview, after Seb was just taking a ride on the catamaran:

Person A: "Allright, you're ready? Is everything working?"

B: "Yeah"

A: "Cool! (To Seb:) Okay, if you can look at me: So, what is your first reaction? You actually got to drive and fly the boat! What was it like?"

Seb: "Well it was amazing! I think (it's) very different when you're on the boat than when you are on land, but everything is moving, changing sides is eh, quite a challenge the first time, then you sort of get used to it. Very very impressed by the G force, you were able to pull the boat round the corners, I did not expect that! Yeah, I was wishing for a setabelt to be honest (*laughs*) when cornering, but yeah it was incredible to see how the team interacts with each other, always trying to keep the boat in control and obviously try to make it go as fast as possible, yeah, was impressive."

A: "How was the crossing-the-boat?"

*Switches to German and basically repeats it all*

Seb: "Yeah, I mean I didn't look down, so I just focused on where I needed to end up and also, you know, when you see the corner, the turn coming, I was sometimes a little bit, not panicking, cause I trust them, but thinking 'okay, it's about time! Should J really? Switch? To the other side?' And then obviously they're used to it, doing it in the last second so literally a second before the last turn, the last guy hops in the hole and we got the corner coming, so yeah, good fun, definitely!

Yeah, it was mega! Very different from what I expected, especially the G forces in the corners, you can really let it fly around the corners. But also the speed in general! Just with the wind, when the boat is going up it all gets a little quieter and you only hear the wind that is getting louder and louder. Yeah it was a lot of fun and also seeing how the team works together and always has everything under control, yeah a lot to take in, but it was really good!"

[xwonderfuldeath]

.o| It's a small world : XV |o.

Warnings : Violence, injury, graphic depictions, sex

Please, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ! ♥

Taehyung looks at his phone for the third time, visibly disappointed, before looking back at his lover. Jungkook looked at him curiously, even though he'd just kissed him to calm his anxiety. For three days now, Jimin hadn't responded to any messages. No one had heard from him, and he'd obviously decided to finish his course at home, without asking him or Elyzabeth. It was strange, Jimin would never do something like that. 

« - Is something wrong, Taehyung? 

- No, nothing's wrong. Jimin just won't answer me. I'm starting to worry. What if something had happened to him? 

- Yoongi would have told me. I'm sure he's fine, he's probably just anxious about his final exams. »  

He smiled, and the doctor nodded gently, coming to kiss him again before finally getting into the car, leaving his phone in his pocket, looking at the big house of Jungkook, before staring at his man, pursing his lower lip. He knew they were going away for the whole weekend and would be staying there. But that was the last he'd heard from Jungkook. Since then, he'd said nothing more about the trip.

« - I hope you like the snow. Kiyeon and I often go skiing. 

- With my job, I must admit I haven't had a break like this since my school vacations at the end of the year. 

- Did you go skiing? 

- To the sea, with my now ex. A charming but boring guy. 

- I hope I'm not that type. »  

Taehyung smiles, looking at Jungkook, surprised to see jealousy painted on his face, and reassures him by stroking his thigh gently with his hand, not wanting him to feel bad about an ex he's lost touch with for years now. The drive to the Gangwon's cottages goes by quickly, and even though it's not far from the capital, Taehyung's eyes light up at the sight of so much beauty. A luminous smile passes over his lips, even more so when he pulls up in front of a large individual chalet, with glass windows surrounding the living rooms. 

« - A chalet just for us? 

- Every guest is given this honor. We won't be sharing this place with anyone but ourselves. 

- Incredible. »  

Kiyeon is the first to jump out of the car, before running cheerfully to the much warmer interior of the place, where the well-established spring seemed to have no desire to make room for itself in the snowy heights, much to the delight of tourists and transients like themselves. Taehyung was more shy when he entered the mansion. It was luxurious, with a fireplace in the center of the living room, while the fully-equipped kitchen seemed to cost more than his apartment and the clinic combined. He remained speechless in the face of such delicacy, and let himself wander into the immense master bedroom, with its unobstructed view of the snowy heights. 

« - It's not the one with the best view, but it's not bad, I admit. 

- Is there one with a better view than this? 

- Um-hum, if you like, we could go for longer than a weekend. 

- Sounds like a wonderful idea. I'll give you that. »  

The two of them look at each other, each time time time seems to stop, and Taehyung can't help coming to kiss his lover, moving his lips against Jungkook's, before the door slams against the wall, Kiyeon already excited at the idea of going out to play in the snow. 

« -We don't have time for that! We can only see the marmots this time of day! Come on !! Hurry up! 

- The marmots? »  

Under Taehyung's curious gaze, Jungkook gives a slight laugh before taking Taehyung's hand and telling him to follow. Once prepared and sure of not getting hypothermia, the three of them join a hiking trail to discover the mountainside, the climb is a little difficult for beginners like Taehyung, but he soon picks up the pace, happily watching the child rave about every creature he can spot, pointing them out with his feverish little fingers, before chasing after them. The view and the walk are really worth it, and Taehyung plays along all day long, happy to spend some time away from the city and its daily hassles. His fingers never let go of Jungkook's hand, while his lover doesn't seem to want to let go of him anyway, and when it's time to go back, he feels a bit like the child: completely disappointed that he can't stay in the snow any longer. 

« - I hope we can come back later. 

- Why can't we? 

- We don't know what life has in store for us, you know? »  

Warm in front of the fireplace, Jungkook looks at him, a little perturbed by what Taehyung has just said, but the man says nothing more, simply gazing at the falling snow. The euphoria of the first moments doesn't seem to let go, and he slowly turns to look at Jungkook. He couldn't help it, all the information he had so far proved that Jungkook was potentially not a good man. No information about him could be found anywhere, he'd forged Kiyeon's birth certificate, and he'd made strange phone calls late at night. But he couldn't bring himself to say that all this was a bad idea, because every time he was with Jungkook, he felt like he was where he belonged, everything seemed like home. And he'd never had feels that before. 

« - Hey, you know I'll always be there for you? No matter what? We're a close couple now. 

- I know we are. Excuse me, I don't know why I said that.

- You don't have to apologize. You can tell me anything. Is something bothering you? » 

His heart misses a beat, then two, as Taehyung looks at him and Jungkook moves closer. He seemed reassuring, his eyes trying to understand what Taehyung was going through at the moment, and he felt his shell crack. Maybe Elyzabeth was right, maybe he'd just started the conversation, at worst they'd laugh about it together. But doubts began to creep in: what if it were true, what if Jungkook was a dangerous man who wouldn't hesitate to eliminate him without the slightest scruple?

 Even worse, what if he was playing with him, what if he'd never had any real feelings? His heart ached at the thought. It was one thing for him to kill him; he'd never really asked himself how he'd react to death. But he'd shatter into a thousand pieces of himself, scattered on the ground in fragments of pain, if he learned that Jungkook had played him. There was nothing worse than doubt; it was a terrifying weed that never stopped growing, no matter how hard you tried to pull it out. The silence seemed heavy, and when Taehyung finally found the courage to open his mouth, a little being in duck pyjamas arrived with a book in his hands. 

« - Can we read the story of Little Red Riding Hood in front of the fire? 

- Well, if Taehyung wishes... 

- Yes, of course. Let's read Little Red Riding Hood. »   

 He almost rushes off to read the book, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from turning around and spilling the beans to Jungkook. He wasn't ready to face up to a reality that terrified him, wasn't ready to tell himself that Jungkook might not love him as much as he did, so he did what he always did, hiding behind false pretenses that crumbled him a little, but didn't hurt as much as the reality he'd painted for himself. And he's glad that Jungkook doesn't continue the conversation even after the story has been read. He remains silent while he showers. When the warm, muscular body returns to the sheets, Taehyung looks at him, impassive. 

« -I love you, Jungkook. 

- I love you too, Taehyung. I love you. »  

A smile blossoms on his lips, as he turns completely around to enjoy an embrace, a loving kiss, and a reassuring grip. Closing his eyes to enjoy the moment, the caregiver forgot all his problems and doubts, for a moment. 

[folkloreguk]

💌🧸 Brother's Best Friend

A/N: Got this request a while ago and now I'm wondering why I've never written this trope before bc this was so fun??? Lmk how you liked it! x

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, size/strength kink??, choking, dom!bias (it’s kinda playful tho), brother's best friend!au, sneaking around, play fighting, lowkey getting caught but not directly?

words: ~ 4.1 k

disclaimer: I don’t mean for the age gap to be gigantic…I’m talking about anything from 1-2 years maximum tbh!!! Anything else would be weird and I’m not about that! They’re also both obviously consenting adults!

[H/N means 'his (bias) name']

In youreyes, your first meeting had been a disaster. The new spider man movie had been released only days ago, and you were adamant on seeing it. And to your luck, your older brother and his best friend had already made plans to watch it together. As a little sister, you were treated like the baby of the family, and it didn’t matter that you were far from being an infant anymore. So naturally, your brother had been condemned by your parents to bring you along. He declared his distaste in your presence by attempting to ignore you, but you were used to that. Just like you were aware of his bad moods, you knew he could change within minutes and magically turn into the sweetest, most caring big brother you could wish for.

Whatever. You didn’t need his approval to enjoy the trip to the movie theater, you told yourself. Had it not been for his best friend, who you hadn’t seen in ages. H/N and you had never properly spoken before, and the last time you saw him he had been an awkward, prepubescent boy who had appeared at your door to pick up your brother for a playdate. There was no trace of immaturity now. Instead, it was you who had morphed into an awkward, shy mess at the sight of him.

His ‘hello’ had a warm and deep melody to it which swooped you up in his aura so suddenly, you had no time to prepare. Had his smile always been this stupidly charming? Hell, it was so bright, you had to meticulously inspect the ground every time he sent a grin your way. When before you hadn’t felt guilty for being a bother, you now sure did. What impression would you leave, trailing behind the older boys like a lost puppy? What would he take you for? The annoying little sister who didn’t have friends of her own? The mood-killer, who wouldn’t understand any of the boys’ inside jokes? The anti-social, weird girl who was obsessed with fictional men, like people loved to belittle teenage girls with normal interests?

As things turned out, his initial opinion of you was quite the opposite. If only you could have spied into his brain, it would have saved you a landslide of worry. Although your brother took up all of H/N’s attention before the movie started, he noticed you a good amount. To be precise, you blew him away at first sight. Your cute laugh won him over in a matter of seconds and he liked that your merch sweater could have been stolen straight out of his own closet. He didn’t want to feel too smug, but the way you diverted your eyes away from him whenever he looked in your direction only boosted his confidence further.

Your brother might have warned him. Stay away from her. She’s off limits for you. But not a thousand vicious, older brothers could have kept him from trying to get to you. It was up to you, after all, whether you wanted him around or not, and not to your brother. From that day on, H/N didn’t skip out on a chance to see you, even if it meant merely an exchange of a few words, or a simple greeting. And to his luck, you turned out to be equally as enraptured by him.

There was something about the untouchable, the forbidden, that attracted him to you even more. Plus, you were simply too precious to forget about. One morning, you dropped off a beanie at his place, which he had left at your house after meeting with your big brother the previous day. When he had asked if he could drive you to school as a thank you, you happily accepted. You had marked that day as the first day of your new life. First, it was harmless flirting. To be honest, you were under the impression he was merely messing with you. Because you were the cute little sister of his best friend. Because you would turn into an awkward shell of a person who had lost all ability to articulate, and your cheeks would burn as if they were on fire, whenever he charmed you.

But the flirting slowly reached newer levels, and before you knew it you were discussing your sexual fantasies over text messages and giving him bedroom eyes as you opened the front door for him. “H/N’s here!” you would then shout to your big brother. Then you would watch the two boys walk off to your brother’s room, pondering why life had to be this way for you. It wasn’t fair. Siblings were supposed to share, right? Why did you have to wait your turn until after midnight, when no one would notice, to spend time with H/N?

But to H/N, the sneaking around in the middle of the night and the secret messages you sent to each other, it all added to the excitement. Surely, there were days on which he wished he could just break the truth to your brother. The impact it could have on their friendship was enough intimidation for him to refrain, though. Things were better off this way, for now.

Today was no exception to your usual lies. When your brother asked if you would go out with him to do some shopping, you had played the victim and feigned a stomachache. Your parents wouldn’t be home all weekend. You’d have been stupid to waste a perfect opportunity like that. Who knew when you could have H/N in your bed the next time? Normally, you were restricted to his car, or to his bed in the dark of night. Yes, those places had something enticing at first glance. But the backseat of a car was only enjoyable for so many clandestine meetings. So today you notified him of your golden opportunity before your brother had even walked out the door.

The moment H/N texted you that he was outside your home, you opened the front door and dragged him to your room.

“Are you in control today, little one?” he asked, closing the bedroom door after you.

“Why are you asking that?” you replied, not wanting to talk at all but rather do so much more productive things.

“I don’t know…perhaps because you haven’t let me say a word since I came through the door,” he said.

“Right. Maybe I’m planning on tying you up, blindfolding you, and torturing you with ice and wax,” you joked in a casual tone, despite not usually requesting such graphic ideas.

“I don’t know if I’d let you do that,” he grinned with raised eyebrows. “Besides, I know you’d rather be at the receiving end of that. It’s a sweet idea, though. If we had some more time…”

“Think you could get away from me if I tied you up?” you said, but he was towering over you with the calmness of a king who knew he reigned over the situation.

“We both know I’m stronger than you, doll,” he said. You didn’t like it when boys called you weak. But you’d let it slide, knowing he was only joking and would never underestimate you outside of the bedroom. He put his lips right up to yours, so you felt his breath on them. His fingers came up to cup your face, but then slowly inched to your neck. When they closed around your neck, putting the slightest amount of pressure on your skin, you whimpered quietly.

“Need reminding?” he asked. As much pent-up frustration you had, and as much as your stomach was flipping upside down from how badly you needed him, you just had to play with him. You knew it would make for more fun.

“I think- “ you started, with a grin. Then you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him backwards, until he was stumbling. Although caught off guard, he was quick to pull you along with him as he fell onto your bed. You landed on top of him with a small squeal.

“Go on, let’s see who can throw the other off the bed first,” he teased with a superiority that only spurred you on. Then again, you would always be in the mood for the oldest childhood game you had ever known. Only now it wasn’t your brother, but his best friend you were playing against. It added a layer of excitement, and after only seconds, giggles had overtaken you as you struggled in his grip.

“No tickling is allowed,” you said. He nodded obediently with a smirk that told you he might not abide by your rules.

At first, you had attempted to hold him down by his arms. But your legs tangled, and he pushed his chest up against yours, like he was about to flip you over. Your plan seemed to be working only momentarily. You groaned a little as he grabbed your wrists swiftly and held his stance against your attempt to pull his upper body to the side.

“Cute,” he said. That’s when you realized, he was barely struggling, barely trying, even. While you were giving your most, he smirked like he was watching a kitten trying to fight a lion. It was child’s play to him, keeping you in check. Literally. With an annoying expression of amusement on his face, he let you have the upper hand for a while. Then, as if you had never had an ounce of advantage, he turned it around and pulled you into him. His eyes suggested he might just send you tumbling down onto the floor any moment now. Nonetheless, you weren’t going to give up so easily. Taking your chances, you let go of his arms and moved sideways, so you could have your go at pushing him towards the edge of the mattress.

“I don’t think so,” he said. Suddenly, he bear-hugged your body and rolled you both over. Before you could protest or defend yourself, your arm was dangling off the side of your bed and if you had moved a tiny bit further, you would have slid off the bedsheets and right onto your carpet. It was his turn to straddle you now. As if his actions hadn’t been enough declarations of his strength, he pinned your wrists to the bed above your head and gave you a challenging smirk.

“I was going to let you win, doll. But you weren’t trying hard enough,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”

What were you going to do? He had you completely immobilized. “Just let it go, then. We get it, you’re super strong and super big and the coolest,” you said.

He seemed to take an instant liking to your declaration. “Say it again. This time minus the eye-rolling, sugar.”

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, trying to avoid the laughter that was threatening to come out. Could he read in your gaze how badly you wanted him to kiss you already? If he could, he wasn’t acting on it. Instead, he bent to the crook of your neck and spoke.

“Does it turn you on that I can overpower you?” his breath fanned your ear and you had to close your eyes to control yourself.

“Yes. Because I trust you,” you answered truthfully. The corner of his lips curled into a cocky grin.

“You know what? I think I’d rather you stay in bed with me instead of throwing you on the floor. There’s so many things we can do up here, isn’t that right, little one?” His lips brushed over your cheek and then over your lips as he spoke. The nickname had always made you weak in the knees and he knew it. When he finally enveloped your lips in a kiss, you swore you could feel an electric spark jump between the two of you. The mellowness of it turned into hunger rapidly, and as soon as his tongue flicked over your bottom lip, you whimpered like you hadn’t seen him in a year.

“Needy, are we?” he asked, running his hand up your sides and underneath your shirt. He could say that again. “Let’s get these off, then.”

The seconds in which you pulled off your clothes and couldn’t hang on his lips and feel his skin on your body should have been considered a form of torture in itself. Then, time always went by so much slower than usually.

When you had both shed off your clothes, he climbed back on top of you. Instead of straddling your hips he was now resting between your legs. There was nothing separating you from him, and it was apparent not only through the body heat that radiated off him. He reached down and whilst peppering kisses on your chest, slid his fingers through your slick arousal that was pooling in your core.

“You’re so wet,” he said in surprise, but couldn’t hide his approval and self-confidence in his voice.

“I know,” you said, rolling your eyes but simultaneously fighting the urge to moan at the smallest of touches he was teasing your with. “I’m so horny. Can’t we skip foreplay?”

“Poor doll,” he said. “I should’ve come over earlier, huh?”

“You know that wasn’t possible,” you said. With a desperate look, you pleaded him silently.

“I wanna taste you,” he said, but your put your hand on his cheek softly.

“Maybe later?” you said. “Please, I need to have you inside of me. Now.”

“You’re extra cute when you’re this needy,” he smiled. “Are there still condoms in your nightstand?”

You nodded and had never moved so fast to open a drawer in your life. Pretending to have any patience left, you waited for him to roll on the rubber.

“I love the way you look at me,” he said. “When you’re waiting for me. Could watch you for hours.”

“God, I hope you won’t. Come here, please?” you replied, making him chuckle. He lined himself up with your core, but then made no inclination to move ahead. His dark eyes and little head tilt told you everything.

“Don’t mess with me anymore,” you whined, reaching for the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Do it. H/N.”

“Beg for it.” His words twisted something in the pit of your stomach. Although you were burning with hunger, you could never say no to him. Then again, you were curious to see what would happen if you did.

“What if I don’t? Don’t you want to fuck me as much as I want it?” you challenged him. Something glinted in his eyes, and you knew you shouldn’t have even brought it up.

“I can always do this,” he said, and you followed his eyes down his body and to where he had wrapped his hand around his cock. Slowly, he jerked himself off, and you weren’t sure he was biting his lip because of the feeling or to discompose you. His small sigh should’ve been caused by you. This wasn’t what you had wanted. His tip was right by your slit. He could’ve pushed his length in so easily, and yet he wasn’t. Debating what to say, you kept your eyes trained on his hard member that looked so delicious in his hands. His deep groans rang in your ears. It didn’t take long for you to cave.

“Fuck. That should be me around you,” you said. “That should be my pussy you’re fucking and not your hands. Please.”

“Isn’t that right?” he said.

“Yes. Please, fuck me. I would feel so much better than your hands, and you know it. Please,” you whined. “I need you right now H/N. Please.”

You added another ‘please’ – for good measure – because the way his tongue darted out and licked his smirking lips could make you say anything if it would get him to fuck you.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you,” he said. “Think you can take me?”

“Yes, yes-, I can! Please, fuck me,” you said in a waterfall of words, and he chuckled handsomely.

“Good girl,” he said, running a gentle hand over your head. “If it’s too much you let me know.”

“As always.”

The tip of his cock gently pushed into your core, making you hold your breath as he entered you slowly. It caused you to feel every inch with every second. Your brain felt fuzzy, and you sighed gratefully at the relief.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he moaned. The carefulness in his thrusts paired with his moon eyes at you only remained that way for a few seconds. Then, he straightened up and grabbed your hips to drag you in closer. You moaned helplessly when he almost pulled out completely, so slowly it almost made you crazy, only to slam his length into you until his tip brushed against the deepest spot inside of you. It was an action he repeated over and over, until you were reduced to a puddle of desperate whimpers, and you clasped the bedsheets in your hands tightly.

“You like it this way, little one?” he asked. He was apparently finding enjoyment in your reaction. How you could barely keep your eyes open, and when you did, your eyeballs threatened to roll to the back of your head. How your fingers clenched around the closest plushie, and you cradled it against your chest in bliss.

“Yes- fuck,” you said. “Feels so good.”

Of course, right as you said this, he had to change things up. His thrusts turned lazy and messy as he leaned backwards slightly. With an equally lazy demeanor, his thumb flicked over your clit, rubbing circles on it.

“Let me hear you. Say my name,” he said, and you quietly moaned his name. You adored the way it sounded, voiced like this, with barely more than a breath underneath your soft tone. Now and then, his cock slipped out of you, making you clench around nothing and furthermore had you going completely out of your mind. When he would push himself into your opening again, it felt as if it was the first time he was entering you today. Except you felt it repeatedly, each time as incredible as the previous. Your mouth hung open, rendered speechless except for the little moans and whimpers sounding from your throat. There was a familiar knot beginning to form in your stomach, tying firmer with each passing minute.

As if he could read your mind, he decided then he was done with his sweet torture of teasing you to an orgasm. You couldn’t be mad at him, though, because what he had planned was just as perfect, if not better. His hands wandered to their original place on your sides, and he began to snap his hips into yours at a faster pace. A small cry of surprise left your lips, while he only smirked at you through heavy-lidded eyes. Impulsively, you lifted your legs a little, intensifying the feeling of his member roughly dragging through your velvet walls.

“H/N, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“Me too,” he replied, not slowing down for a second.

His broad frame towering over your body was a sight you would never get enough of and his gazes at you were hot enough that they could have stopped your heart in its tracks. A few strands of hair stuck to his forehead and there was a thin sheet of sweat on his neck. It all just made him more breathtaking to you. The slight pain from his nails digging into the skin on your waist was staggering, and you could barely wait to see the masterpiece of marks he would leave tonight.

You were a moaning mess, flying on cloud nine and simultaneously overwhelmed by his treatment of you. It clouded your mind at took over your whole body like you were made for him to fuck you. His length filled up your tight hole and he did it with such force that your whole body rocked into your mattress in a steady, fast-paced rhythm. He let go of your waist then and supported himself on his arm by the side of your head. When his other hand went to your neck you shuddered in anticipation.

“You should see yourself with my hand around your throat,” he said. “So pretty, little one.”

“We can do it in front of a mirror sometime- ,” you suggested, but were cut off at the end of the sentence as his fingers tightened on your neck. Instantly, the effect of it hit you. The lack of oxygen made your head swim in a sea of pleasure and the unrelenting desire to come. Through fluttering eyelids, you peeked up at him. The way he licked his lips and then clenched his jaw, the gorgeous shape of his collarbones and shoulders – you sometimes wondered if he was even real. Every so often he loosened his grip on you. When he did, you took gulps of air and then instantly whined for him to choke you again.

“Let go for me,” he said. “Show me your pretty face when I make you come. I’m fucking you well, aren’t I?”

You nodded as well as you could when he was gripping your throat and you couldn’t breathe properly at the moment. It didn’t matter you couldn’t talk. He was probably not expecting you to answer, either way. In a pleasure-induced trance, you closed your eyes and let it happen, like he had asked it from you. Your hazy consciousness barely registered that he was reaching his high with you. Too overcome were you, with your thighs trembling uncontrollably and your back arching off the mattress. He had let go of your neck and was riding out his own orgasm with sloppy thrusts that only sent you into another frenzy and had you whimpering his name softly. When he had finished too, he slowed down and pulled you into a gentle kiss, rubbing his nose against yours sweetly.

“That was amazing,” he said, and with a blissful hum you nodded. Your lips changed into a pout when he rolled off you and got up. You were tired of sending him back home so quickly. As he discarded the condom in the bin, you put on your most enchanting eyes, so he would have no other choice.

“Stay a little longer, please,” you asked. You knew he wanted to, as well. So although he was aware that your brother could return at any moment, he tumbled back into bed with you.

“Just for a little while,” he said. “Mhm…you’re so perfect to cuddle, baby.” His embrace was warm and his scent comforting, as he hummed a lovely melody. The soft touch of his fingers running through your hair lulled you right into a light sleep. You were awoken rather abruptly, and with half a heart attack.

“Hey Y/N, have you seen my charger- “ your brother’s voice suddenly broke through the silence and you wondered if you would have to pack up and leave the country after this sort of embarrassment.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you said, knowing well enough it was the dumbest thing you could have said. But who could blame you? You had only woken up two seconds ago.

“Really?” your brother asked. “Because I hear H/N sneak into our house so often lately, I’m starting to wonder if his parents threw him out.”

His tone was surprisingly calm.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you,” H/N said to your brother. “I thought you’d hate me and that we’d be over as friends.”

“I know I told you once to leave Y/N alone. But now…I guess it’s cool. She’s been in a great mood lately, and if that’s thanks to you, I think I can approve of you two. Although I’m not looking forward to being a third wheel, I think I can get used to it if I try hard enough,” your brother said. You couldn’t believe your ears, and involuntarily smiled like a fool. No more hiding. No more secrets.

“I stole your charger. I’m sorry,” you said then, making your brother roll his eyes. “It’s by the sofa in the living room.”

“Great. I needed a reason to leave anyway,” your brother said. “I might approve of you, but this situation is still too awkward. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, H/N?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the boy in your bed said.

“You’ll see me too!” you added as a joke, as your brother already walked away from the door.

“Unfortunately I will!” your brother shouted, with the unnerving tone only a big brother could possibly muster.

[fruitoftheweek]

Little Cherry Book:

Chapter 1: Who is She?

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 Here

I guess this is a Switch!Spencer (mainly Sub! Spencer)X reader fan fiction this is my first fan fiction I’ve written since middle school so bare with me and feel free to message me constructive criticism. This will probs be multiple chapters but I just couldn’t get this idea off of my mind so here we go! And yes this season 1/2 Spencer because he is just the cutest!

Pairing: Spencer Reid X reader

Plot: Doctor Spencer Reid has heard of little black books, but that pales in comparison to what he has just found in the BAU’s elevator. A sweetly scented notebook filled with salacious journal entries illustrating the writer's sexual fantasies. He doesn’t know what it is about this book but all he can think of is finding its owner.

TLDR: Spencer finds your kinky notebook and uses super sleuth skills to find you.

Series TW: 18+, smut, degradation, piercing, choking, knife play, mommy/daddy kinks, spanking, exhibitionism, Will update as time goes on

Chapter TW: Cumming in pants, Hinting at sex, exhibitionism, no panties, Language, General 18+, Hinting at future kinks

Word Count: 2,439 (gah damn)

𝒯𝒪 𝒲𝐻𝒪𝑀 𝐼𝒯 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒞𝐸𝑅𝒩𝒮:

𝒟𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈. 𝐼𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹, 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹.

As Spencer read these sentences, he paused. Not for the warning of so-called curses, there was no scientific evidence for such things and Spencer knew magic was just science with a trick of the eye, but for the vehement warning making him feel intruding on whoever had left their journal in the elevator.

It had caught his eye as he stepped into the elevator on his way out of the office. As someone who had lost plenty of books in his days roaming the halls of the BAU, he knew how frustrating it was to not know what happened at the end. As he picked it up, he noticed the cover. It was old, bound in aged cherry red leather, yet too small to be more than a pocketbook. He had found your message while searching for a name to return the book to, and simply reading the first page already felt prying.

Alas, one sentence enticed him “If it comes into the right hands, You can find me.” Where his hands the right ones to come into? The probability of that could be found easily by calculating how many people got on and off of this specific elevator that day, no, in the past hour, with the hustle and bustle of people leaving for the day. Spencer could and he would calculate it he wasn’t so distracted by the message and his voracity to solve this mystery.

Tentatively, he flipped the page, finding a handwritten table of contents. This book had obviously been very important to the reader if they had taken the time to write in page numbers, detailed headings, and chapters. The table was nearly full of chapter titles in scrawled cursive lettering. His eyes stopped on the first chapter title. “Male Needs” with shakey lettering. He could tell by your handwriting that you grew more confident in your journaling as the chapters progressed, the hesitations in your strokes growing few and far between.

As he flipped the page once more he had reached the next floor and a large group of people bustled into the elevator. Spencer shied away from them, not just because he had an aversion to contact with strangers and their germs, but because of the sentences, he had read underneath that first chapter “I do not need a man, a man needs me. Yet, when I am with a man, I have needs. Needs that most men can’t fulfill. I need a man that eats pussy like it’s the only way to quench his thirst-“ and with that Spencer slammed the book shut, earning some confused looks from the others on the elevator. He should have heeded the warning because now all he could think about was the fact that this was your nervous entry and as your confidence grew, it was bound to escalate from there. He wasn’t sure if it was his flustered mind or the heat growing deep from inside him that made him feel dirty; not because it scandalized him, but because these were someone’s fantasies and he had intruded in their secrets and soiled them with his mind.

Ding! He had reached the ground floor and that was when he decided to leave it alone. He couldn’t bring it to the lost and found as it would be more likely to end up in the wrong hands there and your secrets would be for someone else to find, not that he even knew who you were.

On his drive home, he tried to think of anything else besides the book. His lunch, Garcia’s new item she added to her collection, how to get back at Derek for putting salt in the sugar container, but his mind kept wandering. It didn’t help that the notebook sat tauntingly on top of his satchel as if saying “Open me, you know you want to. You want to know who I am. You can find me.” There was no way that it had been there for that long as the janitor was on duty today and he had been on the elevator two hours ago on his way to clean the top floor. Since Spencer had left a little later than most people that meant there were multiple elevators full of people who would have noticed. He knew it wasn’t so but part of him felt as if you had left it there specifically for him to find. Like it was made for him. He quickly shook off the thought and went back to who it could be. He wanted to return it without reading any more. You clearly would miss it but he couldn’t imagine you wanted others to know about what lay in those folded corners of your book and your mind.

As he walked up the steps of his complex, he clutched onto the notebook with all of his strength, he feared that he would look down and it would have disappeared, he wanted to keep your deepest secrets safe as if they were his own. He was only able to relinquish his grip when he shut and locked the door to his apartment. He set it on the table as he got prepared for the night. By now he had limited his pool to 54 women who were regularly in and out of the elevator at that time of day which was a cut down in comparison to the 860 roughly women in that building on any given day. But that number still wasn’t small enough. He had to minimize the sample size even further. That was the only reason he reopened to the table of contents, right? Not because of his own morbid curiosity and definitely not because of the heat burning in his stomach.

He looked down at the page numbers, still too nervous to look at the titles, and saw that each entry was a page long consisting of 23 entries and one with a title but no page numbers. Not chapters as he previously thought but entries giving lascivious details into what he had not yet mustered up the courage to read. He was still unable to look at the titles in fear of what he might find. If graphic depictions of female oral sex were displayed under “Male Needs”, what possibly could lie ahead.

For now, he studied the handwriting. Cursive, not often used by many younger women, was often associated with antiquities and traditional values but he noticed something off. There was a very specific curl to certain numbers. Every even number had a specific extra curl or flourish to it and the zeros had a line through it like a “do not enter” sign. This went directly against the hypothesis that you were an older woman that the cursive provided; as many older women who wrote in cursive stuck to the rules even when it came to numbers. She wasn’t old enough to even be Hotch’s age but she appreciated the charm of the past. 'Who is this girl?' Spencer wondered. He was able to narrow it down to about half of his previous lot, excluding the women on his team. He had seen them write enough to know their handwriting inside and out. And while Garcia’s had similar flourishes to yours, she never crossed her zeros.

Spencer knew that he would have to read at least the chapter titles to grasp a better understanding of your handwriting and who you could possibly and as his eyes scanned the page, for the first time in a while he was actually reading slowly; putting all of his focus into each word and what order they were in. Unfortunately, his focus was his downfall. His face became so hot that he felt as if you could see steam coming off of it.

Table of contents:

Male Needs

Praise

Degradation

Mommy

Daddy

Work

Exhibition

Choking

Collars

Breeding

And that was all he could take. Ha couldn’t look at the thirteen and a half more entries, even this much knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t have much experience with women and certainly not enough to understand what all of those words necessarily entailed but he knew that whatever it was keeping his internal fire roaring with heat.

While he hated snooping, he knew he would need more information. He chose the chapter that sounded the most mundane out of all of them, "Work." ‘What was more normal than work.’ he thought, but he was so sorely mistaken.

"Work:

"Before I move on to exhibitionism, I have to talk about work. Yes, I would love to have sex at work where I and my partner are one step away from getting caught, I haven’t done that yet. I want to tell you what I have done. Almost every day I go to work wondering if the others can tell that I’m not wearing underwear.”

His heat spread from his face down until it pooled in his loins and his cock became hard imagining this mystery girl walking the halls of the BAU with a breeze in her skirt, nearly exposing the secret that lied beneath. Had he sat next to you when you were partaking in this activity? What would he have done if your skirt bunched up your thigh as you sat, exposing the tan lines where your underwear should be. Would he be able to see you in your tight work pants with no pantie lines and be the only one who truly knows your secret?

“I kinda want to be caught someday by Him. I wonder what he would do. Would he tell me off for being unprofessional? Would he take me to that storage closet 3 doors past Garcia’s office, just far enough away that he could teach me a lesson for being naughty at work?”

He felt so dirty, inserting himself into the fantasies of a girl which he did not even know that he almost glanced across the use of Him, capital H.i.m. He wanted to indulge in his imagination that in some way or another that the “Him” in question was in fact the man reading this with trembling hands and an impossibly hard cock. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining situations in the storage closet that he regularly used as a reading nook when he needed time away from the others.

He rested his head on the pages of the book, hoping somehow that his dirty thoughts would be transplanted from his head and back into the pages so that he could stop thinking about you. His efforts were thwarted as this action meant that he could spoil himself in your scent that enveloped the book. As if you had wrapped it in the deepest most vulnerable part of you to hide it away from others. You smelled of bergamot, patchouli, and musk but deeper than that, you smelled like sweet, tart berries and honeysuckle in summer. There was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on at first but it was intoxicating all of his senses. It was saccharine, heat, and sex all combined in one. When it clicked, it no longer felt as if his head was pressed against a book but as if his he sat kneeling on the ground with his cheek resting in your inner thigh, your hot sex waiting for his indulgence, “like it's the only way to quench his thirst” echoed in his brain. The scent was your natural pheromones beckoning him closer with the promise of a treat.

And that was it. That was what sent him over the edge. The purest embodiment of your scent had him cumming, hot in his pants.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat down at the edge of your bed after a long day at work; shucking off your work clothes to get as comfy as you could in your PJs as a way to unwind from the day. You went to grab your lip balm from your bag and noticed that the front pocket of your bag had been left open. You instantly panicked, searching everywhere for your little red book. The one that kept the key to your deepest secrets and darkest fantasies. You tore your bag apart, knowing that you had it at the end of your workday because you took it out of your desk drawer and tucked it back into its home in your bag. You cursed your carelessness for not double-checking that you zipped your bag before leaving. With your forgetfulness, you knew it would happen one day but you didn't realize it would be this soon.

There was an odd mix in your heart and your stomach. Part of you felt your heart drop through your ass thinking that it had ended up in the wrong hands, part of you had butterflies thinking about someone knowing the deepest parts of you, intimately in your own words. You had the assurance that your name was nowhere to be seen in the book but you also knew that you worked with people who analyzed people's dark desires for a living. While none of your fantasies involved murder, they were like precious gems that you kept locked away in your heart. You couldn't dare imagine what would happen if it came into His hands. While you were the youngest at the BAU, only by a few months and you weren't even part of the group because you were still tentative, you couldn't put your dirty thoughts into the innocent head of the pretty boy genius. It was almost more worrisome than if SSA Hotchner or Gideon found it and you were fired. The idea of tainting someone so pure...

You had to literally shake your head to clear your thoughts. Imagining His face tinged red in innocence reading through your lewd writing had your head in a tizzy. Imagining Doctor Spencer Reid sifting through the pages with lightning-fast fingers, stroking down the pages of smut as you had imagined him stroking down your thighs so many times before. You decided to bury your head in your pillow, hoping that would calm your mind enough to slip into slumber.

Unfortunately for you both, your efforts would be fruitless and you would both go to sleep unknowingly thinking of each other.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 here

And that's Chapter one. Hope y'all like it. LMK in my messages and all that <3 have a great week!

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[remakethestars]

CABIN 10 — APHRODITE

Headcanons.

❝I want to apologize to all the women I have called pretty before I’ve called them intelligent or brave. I am sorry I made it sound as though something as simple as what you’re born with is the most you have to be proud of when your spirit has crushed mountains. From now on, I will say things like, ‘You are resilient,’ or, ‘You are extraordinary.’ Not because I don’t think you’re pretty. But because you are so much more than that.❞ 

— Rupi Kaur

Headcanon masterlist.

They’re the camp hairdressers. You need a trim? You want it cut? You want it died? You want to shave it all off? Hit ‘em up.

The type of people that will straight-up chop their hair if it doesn't match their outfit. Somehow, it always works out? I'm looking at Micarah Tewers.

They also run a secret ear piercing — or anything else you need to pierce — parlor.

Okay, but consider: children of Aphrodite that grow up to be models.

They can charm speak the photographers into letting them pick their own poses & not make them do seductive ones if they’re not comfortable with them.

Some create clothing lines that represent sustainable fashion & have big names but small carbon footprints.

Some are spies.

Think about it! They know how to switch subtle bits of their personality to fit in with everyone they come across, when & when not to use their charm.

The hide outfits under other outfits & can slip one off in public to reveal the other & lose a tail.

And they'd probably be great at disguise makeup. Add a prosthetic chin, contour their nose differently, pull off their wig, & they're a completely different person.

Plus, their combat training at C.H.B. makes them the perfect agent.

The floor next to their bunk is scattered with fabric cuttings, pins, needles, their sewing machine, serger, & measuring tape.

The number of times someone's gotten a needle or pin in their foot's a tad concerning.

Will absolutely not wear a top with an overstitched collar. Fast fashion is so tacky! Understitch is the way to go, the staple of a quality garment.

Vintage is better. Not because it's in style (that's a plus, though), but because the seams are big enough for you to let out, & it's made to last.

Experts at thrifting. Not just 'cause it's trendy or whatever, but because they're excellent at upcycling & far too many perfectly good clothes go into the land fill each year.

Make stunning dresses out of Good Will table cloths & curtains.

Or stitch two items together into one better whole.

They iron their clothes; they're not animals.

Really good at getting stains out?

Totally in on the corset bustier top trend, but they're using spiral steel boning in place of zip-ties. Because, again, they want things to last & they're not tacky.

Pass each other tips. Like to tuck your top into your tights to avoid the bulge under your skirt.

Some found big-name, organic makeup companies that don't test on animals. They use packaging that can be recycled or that's biodegradable.

Borrow their clothes, sure, whatever, but double-dip in their makeup & die. The bacteria will give them acne. (Or is it the oils? Either way, you'll perish.)

Happy to drop their skincare routine, though.

You need to cover up that tattoo you got from C7? They got you.

Flawless makeup on a budget. Expensive doesn't always mean better.

They're taking you to the pool for a first date? Take a seat, C10 knows just the stuff. They use what Disney Princesses use.

Can guess the right shade of foundation/lipstick for you on the first couple tries.

A lot of them invest in magnetic lashes because glue's a b¡tch.

Reusable makeup wipes.

Rick says C10 kids just sit around the lake & check their reflection, but consider: working out gets them their dream bod. So, yes, they do, in fact, train.

They just do it with intricate braids/hair gel & stylish sportwear.

And if a potential partner finds it unattractive that they’re “too muscly,” they’re no longer a potential partner.

Weapons disguised as jewelry or chapstick/lipstick.

Thalia had a mace canister that turned into a spear, & I gotta say, I.D.K. how she planned to get that through security. Imagine, alternatively, a tube that appears to be full of bright red lipstick when the T.S.A. agent opens it, but actually turns into a spear when opened by a half-blood.

(I have a headcanon that Riptide would just be a pen in the hands of a mortal. Bounced around for years as random objects until Poseidon nabbed it & took it to Chiron — recall that pen you lost?)

A pink, velvet choker that turns into a kopis with a dove embossed in the handle.

Many choose to train in heels. Might as well wear in training what they’ll be wearing when attacked in the street.

They’ve got no time for internalized misogyny. 

“C10′s weak ‘cause they like being pretty!” Good way to lose a kneecap, Annabeth. You’ve grown up in this camp, you knew Selina, & you should know better.

They confront Piper’s misogyny pretty early on after The Lost Hero, but Piper still takes some time to get over her bias toward pink.

Are we not gonna talk about Rick’s fashion choices for Piper throughout the series? “She looks so fashionable.” To whom, Rick? To whom?

You couldn’t’ve done a little internet surfing just to see what was in style? I never leave the house in anything but jeans, Converse, & a graphic t-shirt from Walmart, & even I know she’s dressed like a middle-schooler! Probably because that’s how I dressed in middle-school… That’s not the point.

The point is just because a character likes makeup or fashion or the color pink, doesn’t mean they can’t/won’t fight for their lives & the lives of their friends if/when the time comes. And it doesn’t mean that they’re stupid or judgmental.

I don’t know a lot about makeup. Hades, I don’t even wear makeup — you can’t rub your eyes or scratch your face; it would drive me crazy. I don’t know a lot about fashion either. I don’t understand it, but I can respect it.

❝‘Jesus,’ Sara says as Branley walks past us. ‘Too cold to show off cleavage, so instead she goes for jeans so tight I can see her thong.’ ‘She looks nice,’ I say, and she does. Branley always looks put together in a way that tells me she spends hours in front of a mirror before going outside. And while I don’t understand that, I can respect it.❞

— Alex Craft, Mindy McGinnis’s The Female of the Species

According to The Lost Hero, all children of Aphrodite intuitively speak French. Cool, cool, cool — but consider, all of them also intuitively speak the language of flowers. 

They see a red rose, and they just know it symbolizes love & passion. They see an orange lily, to contrast, & they know it symbolizes hatred. 

There’s a copy of The Language of Flowers in their cabin, and it’s full of annotations, like, So-and-so gave these to so-and-so for Valentines Day! And, So-and-so gave these to so-and-so after their kiss on the Fourth of July; they obviously didn’t do their research! 

They work together with C4 (Demeter) to provide flowers for funerals & the like.

C10 bookshelves also contain a lot of romance novels. 

Beaten up copies of Pride & Prejudice & The Fault in Our Stars with faded highlighter over the beautiful lines & annotations in the margins.

The outside walls are a dusty pink, & the wood’s stained a dark brown that goes surprisingly well with the pink.

Inside, the walls are covered in faded wallpaper.

The southwest wall has a bay window with extra storage in the seat. (There’s not a body in there; they swear.)

(That’s an Arsenic & Old Lace reference, for you youngsters.)

The curtains have one chiffon layer closer to the window & a thicker floral fabric for inside. The thick curtains are replaced based on the season & whether or not someone’s decided to make a romper out of them.

They have a real bell jar with a real rose in front of the window. Legend has it it’s from Aphrodite herself.

Said window is a stained glass image of a dove.

The chaise lounge was probably beautiful when it was brought it, but it’s got fingernail polish & makeup stains on it now. Honestly, someone should really have that thing cleaned.

As you might have noticed, I placed a gif of swans at the top instead of a fancast for Aphrodite. This is because I think, as I believe most Percy Jackson fans do, multiple people should play her. I'd cast Arden Cho, Camila Mendes, Candice Patton, Diane Kruger, & Gal Gadot to start with.

Visit my Aphrodite cabin Pinterest board or my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I know I got a tad political with this one, but I didn’t & don’t intend to offend anyone. ━━━ These headcanons are what I consider to be canon in my fanfictions. They may be others’s headcanons I’ve subconsciously filed away in my noggin. If one’s yours and you want it removed or credited, please send me your post and let me know.

[carriagelamp]

Weirdly enough, I often find myself reading less in the summer, since I have more time than I do during the rest of the year to do other things. Also artfight has been eating up more than a bit of my free time! But here’s a collection a graphic novels I sat around on the hammock reading, and some novels I finished up...

(Everyone go read All Systems Red, holy crow guys)

A Whale of the Wild

The “sequel” to A Wolf Called Wander, though it doesn’t actually connect to the previous novel except in the stylistic/thematic sense. A Whale of the Wild is very much a standalone novel. And a pretty decent one! Personally, I think I liked Wolf more, but this one was a pleasant, informative read, with just the right amount of crushing dread sprinkled in. It’s about a young orca called Vega who is learning to become a new wayfinder for her pod but who still has a lot to learn, especially in an ocean that is becoming increasingly hostile to orcas and the other sealife that live alongside humans. When a devastating earthquake hits, Vega and her little brother find themselves separated from their family, lost in a now horrifyingly unfamiliar environment, and fighting starvation as the salmon that sustain them become more and more unreliable. It’s a desperate fight for survival as they search for food and their missing family. This book is written for a middle grade level, and does a really good job of putting the current environmental crisis into an animal’s perspective while giving the readers something to hope for.

The Adventure Zone: The Crystal Kingdom

Every July I eagerly anticipate the next Adventure Zone graphic novel. This one is for their fourth arc, The Crystal Kingdom, in which Magnus, Taako, and Merle respond to a SOS from a floating laboratory that is gradually being consumed by crystals and which threatens the entire world should it fall into the ocean. Carey Pietsch’s art continues to be absolutely fantastic, so beautifully and hilariously expressive, and this one delivers some great Merle moments, lots of Carey Fangbattle, and, of course, Kravtiz. Kravitz, my beloved…

Anyway, I obviously always recommend these. If you’ve never gotten into The Adventure Zone, I totally recommend either trying these graphic novels — or even better, just go listen to the podcast because it really is both hilarious and creates a shockingly good and heart-wrenching story by the end.

All Systems Red

I’ve seen The Murderbot Diaries on my dash occasionally, and it always looked interesting, but a friend’s recommendation finally compelled me to read the first novella of the series. And holy shit y’all. Absolutely the best book I’ve read this month, it’s amazing. Mind-blowingly good. Also, if you’re like me and want a good audiobook, it’s a nice three-hour listen, very chill!

Anyway, All Systems Red is about a Security Unit, an artificially created being that’s part-organic part-mechanical and all-company-owned-and-controlled. However, self-named “Murderbot” has managed to hack into the system that suppresses its own will, and is now coasting along, doing the least amount of work its job requires not to be noticed, while preferring to spend all its time watching the hours and hours of soap operas it has downloaded into its brain. And it’s a tolerable if somewhat dull life, until the science team that it's currently rented to is attacked and the whole mission goes pear-shaped. Suddenly Murderbot has to scramble to keep its humans alive… while its humans scramble with the realization that their “SecUnit” isn’t actually a mindless robot like they had all believed...

This story is both gripping and hilariously funny. Murderbot has such a unique voice and perspective and it’s an absolute pleasure to follow its story. I reallly need to read the next book...

Asterix and the Banquet

A classic. I was startled when I realized I hadn’t actually read this Asterix story… but hell I’m not gonna complain, it lets me read one of the originals for the first time again! In this Asterix volume, the Indomitable Gauls and the Romans end up arranging a bet — the Romans intend to keep them under siege, trapped in their village, while Asterix is confident that he can easily evade them… and will prove it by going on a tour around all of Gaul, collecting iconic foods from each region in order to return and put on a fine banquet. So we get a fantastic adventure in which Asterix and Obelix run all over the country, pursued the whole way, while making cheerful stops at the various eateries along the way. Also the first book Dogmatix shows up in! All around, a wonderful read, fun like all the best Asterix comics are.

Beauty Pop v4

A less impressive graphic novel. The first Beauty Pop is one of my guilty pleasure manga because… it really is pretty stupid but in the best possible ways. I mean, the whole thing is framed around hairstyling battles, like a shojo sports manga without the sports. It’s bonkers. Unfortunately, the series does not really manage to hold up, and it really begins to feel repetitive and dragging as it continues… as a lot of series like this do. *shrug* Unsurprising but still kinda disappointing I suppose. The building three-way romantic tension is mildly interesting if for no other reason than the main character Does Not Notice and Does Not Care about any of it, which is amusing and refreshing.

FRNCK v5

Now this series only gets better and better as it goes. This is the first book of the second arc, and somehow the danger just seems to be ramping up and up and up. The cavefamily have lost their home… as well as Léonard and Gargouille. Heartbroken, shocked, and angry, Franck is the one who ends up shouldering the blame for their presumed deaths as the others mourn. Things only get worse when Franck finds himself separated from the family, and in the territory of another tribe, this one hostile and cannibalistic...

Haikyuu v5

I continue to read this series because it continues to be charming… though it is beginning to feel, maybe, just a little repetitive. Kind of an inevitability with sports manga. But so far it continues to be good enough to overcome that. I’m not sure what I can say about this series that I haven’t already, so I’ll simply say it continues to be one of the most impressive sports manga I’ve read, and the author does a fantastic job of creating engaging characters, fleshed out teams, and really compelling relationships. I do genuinely adore all the main members of Crows, along with a number of characters from the rival teams as well. And of course it has some kickass volleyball scenes that are just drawn so dramatically they can’t help but take your breath away a little.

M*A*S*H Goes To Maine

Meh. The original book of the series was actually quite good in my opinion. This one… considerably less so. The first part I enjoyed more, since it was about Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, and Oliver Jones trying to set up the FinestKind Clinic and Fishmarket in Crabapple Cove (which… is just the best premise I could have ever asked for). However, the book spends most of its time describing the quirky lives and times of other people living in the area and I… just… don’t care. It was funny at times but… I just don’t care. I wanted to hear more about the main cast. Also I found this book felt more racist and misogynistic than the first which also put me off :/ Wouldn’t bother if I were you. Go read the first book instead, or better yet just watch the TV show which is an obvious banger.

My Heart’s in the Highlands

I have had this on my “currently reading” list for so long but I’m officially giving up. It’s a really good book in theory but my god I can’t get over the pacing.

It’s about Lady Jane, a woman studying medicine in Edinburgh in 1888, and who suddenly finds herself back in the Highlands in the 13th century. Lost and confused, Jane is now at the mercy Clan Donald’s hospitality while she tries to adjust to this new world and hunts for her broken time machine. Fortunately, this hospitality include a burgeoning friendship with a red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, who opens Jane’s eyes to the way the world could be.

Listen. It drives me nuts. This book should be completely up my alley, it has everything I like — IT HAS ALL OF ITS HISTORICAL FOOTNOTES CITED AT THE BACK, LITTLE EXTRA DETAILS ABOUT EVERY CHAPTER. THAT’S MY SHIT RIGHT THERE. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LIKE BEING ABLE TO GO OVER HISTORICAL DETAILS?? AND WELL RESEARCHED FOOTNOTES?? And yet it doesn’t. Fucking. Work for me. It has a kickass Scottish warrior lady as a love interest! It has a badass lady doctor! It has fish-out-of-water culture shock! But it also has a completely meandering plot, no sense of building tension, and a romance that just happens out of nowhere and feels completely unearned and uninteresting.

I would genuinely just rather read Outlander again, which I know has its own host of problems, but at least Outlander felt exciting and interesting and tense and funny. The romance built in fits and starts, it was complicated, and kept me interested. That book had me hooked (and has me hooked every time I reread it) whereas this book I’ve been sadly picking at for months like its a plate of overcooked spinach. This felt like an attempt at a queer, historically accurate knockoff which I would normally be super into but which just could not stick the landing.

Moomin on the Riviera

My first time actually reading anything from the Moomin canon. I have zero idea how to feel about it! It certainly is as feral as I’ve heard described! Overall, I think I enjoyed it but it sure made me feel strange emotions I didn’t know existed. I’m not even going to try to describe it. Read it if you want a batshit insane anti-capitalist comic.

Surviving the City

This was good in some areas, less good in others. It had a very interesting indigenous perspective on life in the modern city, the foster system, and The Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women issue, which I’ve never seen handled in a book before. Something about the pacing did not completely click with me and I found myself getting easily distracted, but it’s definitely worth the read just to experience it and look at the issues it deals with through the characters’ (and author’s) eyes. It did give me a lot to think about and wrestle with, which is sometimes the best thing a book can give you.

Torchwood: Pack Animals

A really fun read, more so than I had ever expected! If you like Torchwood and want more stories about the team before everything goes to shit, this is perfect for that. It includes the entire cast, an interest mystery to be unravelled, lots of slavering monsters, Rhys being really wonderful and sweet (which I didn’t know I wanted until I read this book), and all the humour I expect from Torchwood. I had to send a lot of quotes to my long-suffering girlfriend who a) does not watch this show but b) needs to tolerate it because I find it too funny to keep to myself. It was good enough to make me go out another book of the series since this was the only one my library carried.

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Ch. Six)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+

Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f receiving), I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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Seokjin had taken Nasimiyu on a horseback ride. He knew she was eager to ride –she lamented it frequently– but also that sadly there was not good riding to be had. He knew too his own desperation to get her out of the palace for a while because Namjoon had recommended a book to her and she agreed she wanted to read it and he was just not going to stand by as Namjoon ruined another engagement for him.

Was it fair to blame Namjoon for the time before?

Yes, well, he thought so. 

So he took Nasimiyu on a ride through the most appealing part of the city. He knew before he even looked at her face that it wasn’t the galloping she wanted to do, but it was all he had and he hoped she could recognize it was better than nothing. Things were clean here, there was a beautiful view of the sea from atop the wall in parts of the ride, and they even could stay mounted through the central park where usually horses weren’t allowed.

How frustrating to know it wasn’t enough. He could read it between the words when Nasimiyu thanked him on the ride back, noting what a pleasant city Priva was. He could see it on her face, hear it in her tone, she was disappointed.

“There’s good riding outside of the city,” he told her as they neared the stableyard on their return. “After the wedding, maybe we can take a trip there –you can get there in about a day of riding, two if you really want to see the valleys. I can show you.”

“Yes, it’s a good idea,” she agreed. Her easy agreement nearly shocked him off his horse. “I’d like to see it.” She would? And she’d be willing for him to take her there? After what he considered a boring failure of a morning, he couldn’t believe she’d sound so amenable.

Was Nasimiyu coming around on him?

But the joy of that possibility was cut short as they neared the stableyard and Seokjin heard the shouts. His father’s raised voice had an impressive quality to it, far reaching while still articulate. It meant everyone halfway near could hear exactly what he was saying.

“You ignore the rules! You overstep your position! Who do you think you are?”

Each barked sentence was punctuated with the thud of a strike.

“Out of the way!” Seokjin shouted at the staff annoyingly in his way as he tried to nudge his horse more quickly through the yard. It wouldn’t do any good to trample anyone, but the scene taking place on the other side of the grain storage building was clearly distracting everyone from the importance of getting out of the way of six royal riders entering the yard. Some looked shifty, some dazed, but all were slow to even notice his shout.

“What’s happening?” Nasimiyu asked.

“Stay here,” Seokjin ordered, not pausing long enough to see if she would obey. He slid from his horse, tossing the reins over Sorrel’s neck, and strode forward at a faster clip, arms out to part anyone in his way. He didn’t even touch anyone as servants dove out of his path so as not to interfere. He wanted to believe he cut an intimidating figure but likely everyone was just jumpy when one of their own was being so egregiously disciplined.

Seokjin didn’t even stop to judge the swings of his father or the words he shouted, just slid himself directly into Taehyung’s hunched body, twisting him away with an arm firm around his shoulders. 

He hadn’t counted on it, but King Dong-gun’s studded riding crop shifted to the side at the last second so that the next blow didn’t fall on Seokjin’s shoulder the way it might have. 

“Leave, Seokjin.”

“I think you’ve made your point, Father.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“Does it concern the entire yard?” he countered. Probably Seokjin looked more confident right now than he felt. Putting himself in between the two came easy, instinctual, but facing off against his own father did not. King Dong-gun was never brutal with Seokjin, but even a paternal strike in front of others was mortifying and would leave Seokjin fidgety for days. Not to mention the threats, the taunts, the shutting him out of things for disobeying. Confronting just how weak he was when it came to his father was a punishment in itself any time he pushed back on him, so he saved it for very important moments. Like this one.

King Dong-gun’s rage at being interrupted and scolded like that by his own son boiled over anyway. Seokjin was shocked. The riding crop whipped through the air and a second later Seokjin felt a thud on his arm, but his jacket was too thick and protected him from any actual pain. 

“You think you are King already! You and him both! He struts around here like he’s the prince, is that what you want?” King Dong-gun’s crop lashed out again but Taehyung was the one to catch it in his hand before it hit its mark –which would have been Seokjin’s face. 

Shocked by such words thrown so carelessly out in the open, Seokjin leaned close and warned in a low, serious voice, “Father, find yourself.”

King Dong-gun froze. Seokjin’s words were like a spell as the king went completely rigid, his hand dropping from the riding crop. His eyes closed and when they opened again, there was a completely different look behind them. Softer. Present. He looked between the two of them with confusion and Seokjin’s heart ached for him in that moment in spite of what he’d just interrupted.

“Go rest,” Seokjin suggested. “I’ll manage things here.”

“I…” King Dong-gun looked around the yard, at the servants who were intentionally not looking their way; at Nasimiyu who very intentionally was; at Jimin with his hand on Jungkook’s chest to hold him back from interfering with a scene Seokjin had specifically ordered him never to interfere with. And finally at Taehyung, mostly hidden behind Seokjin, King Dong-gun’s riding crop dangling from his bleeding hand.

Without another word, King Dong-gun left the yard, his stride conveying ‘get the fuck out of my way’ even more than his title. His two guards ran after him; Seokjin could feel the tension rolling off them, probably as they’d tried to figure out how to get their King out of a problematic situation without overstepping their position. 

Seokjin turned to Taehyung but his gaze traveled first to Nasimiyu. She had an eyebrow raised, like she was both surprised and not surprised by what she had just seen: King Dong-gun beating a servant. 

And what was Seokjin supposed to say to that? ‘He doesn’t usually do this,’ which she probably wouldn’t believe. ‘This is a special circumstance,’ which she probably wouldn’t believe. 

“Uh…” Seokjin looked between the two of them.

Taehyung was still holding his stomach and sort of hunched over, but he patted Seokjin on the shoulder with his bloody, crop-holding hand, “Go on, I’m fine.”

“I’ll get the physician–”

“No–”

“Just wait a moment,” Seokjin said, and left him to go to Nasimiyu.

She didn’t say anything when he reached her, leaving him to scramble for words as he tried to explain, “That’s an unusual and specific occurrence–”

“Do you mean your father doesn’t often beat the servants?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Seokjin assured her. “It’s not the house we run here, this was a particular–”

“What did you say to him that made him freeze up like that? Perhaps I should know in case he ever tries to harm me or one of my–”

“He never will,” Seokjin said, interrupting her this time to keep her from thinking a moment longer on that. “I swear it. There were special circumstances here…” What could he say, that made it all right? It didn’t. He couldn’t say more. “I’m sorry you saw this but you don’t need to worry about it. Sometimes my father’s grief overwhelms him but I assure you an outburst like this is unusual.”

“His… grief.”

Nasimiyu glanced at her maid, as she often did, as if the maid would supply her the next thing to say. The maid who’d helped find the rabbit… curses, Seokjin felt like an ass not to remember her name. Pretty braid maid, that’s what she was in his head. Jimin, Jungkook, Hoesok and himself referred to her usually as ‘Nasimiyu’s favorite,’ since that much was obvious. That and that Nasimiyu’s other maids absolutely hated her. He knew her name, he just couldn’t remember it right now when he was flustered!

But he knew he sounded calm as he said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make sure the boy is tended to, but he is not badly injured, just shocked by such an unusual occurrence.”

“Yes, it must be frightening to be on the receiving end. He saved you from meeting the same fate, it looked like to me.”

He didn’t know what to say. He honestly didn’t even know what he was so afraid of in this moment because obviously Nasimiyu was probably going to see more of these moments when his father was so overcome with grief and regret and heartbreak that it bubbled over into violence. Probably she was even going to notice that it most often focused on specific individuals. 

“In time you will understand more about the burdens and grief my father carries. I can promise you it will never be directed at you or any of your staff. Now if you’ll excuse me, please rest, and um, thank you for joining me on the ride.” His hands floundered a moment as he shuffled, briefly overwhelmed with his own next steps. He was feeding her bullshit; what he’d just said meant absolutely nothing. She would come away from this confused. 

He would tell her more in time. Once he felt like they understood each other and were committed and connected –at least by their legal marriage but hopefully before that or at least he prayed not long after– he dreamed of unburdening his heart to her. All the stress, all the secrets, all the grief, he could pour it out into her lap and she’d just stroke his hair and embrace him and navigate it all with him. His insides were all jumbled right now from the adrenaline of this moment but she could soothe him–

The desperation of his own brief moment of want froze him, not too differently than his father had shown a moment before. He looked at Nasimiyu’s face and tried to fit her into that image of comfort. He tried. She would be so beautiful looking down at his head in her lap. She had long, delicate fingers that would card beautifully through his hair. Her strength was obvious, he was learning that more each week; if anyone could bear the weight of the crown, and help him endure his, he was believing more by the day that could be her.

The image with Nasimiyu was a still frame though. A painting, beautiful, staged. He couldn’t see the connection yet, the soft cushion between them that would let him feel like he could unburden. He might never, he understood. Nothing about her so far seemed as if she wanted a husband like that, someone with the emotions and struggles and weaknesses Seokjin saw in himself. She seemed to want someone strong, brave, masculine, firm. Men like that didn’t cry about dead mothers and lost brothers and difficult fathers and the weight of a privileged birth with their heads in their wife’s lap. 

He dashed the worries about it right now. Just because he couldn’t see it yet didn’t mean he and Nasimiyu couldn’t become that in time. Maybe his impression of her so far was as wrong as he hoped hers was about him. For now, he left her to whatever thoughts this episode conjured, and hoped he’d be better prepared to explain it away later. Somehow. But surely she must understand that a royal king would sometimes have to use a heavy hand to manage… whatever Taehyung had done… a strict ruler was to be expected!

Seokjin strode away, knowing before he turned that Taehyung would disobey his command to wait. The man did whatever he pleased, rarely what was expected of him. Which was probably exactly what had set this off. How many times did Seokjin have to remind him not to make a target of himself, not to stand out, not to do anything that put him in the path of the king?!

“Where is he?” Seokjin asked the nearest servants, trusting they would unfortunately know exactly who he meant. It wasn’t any better for Seokjin to always be chasing after him when this happened, but what could he do about it?

“I’ll go,” Jungkook offered, stepping into Seokjin’s path. It was probably Jimin’s suggestion before he set out to find an appropriate physician since Seokjin calling the royal one for a servant would raise the eyebrows it was supposed to avoid.

Seokjin dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand and continued in the direction the other stable staff had pointed, because he had things he needed to say to Taehyung anyway. The frustration about his relationship with Nasimiyu blended together with the adrenaline of the moment he’d interrupted and nearly being struck in the face by his own father. His perfect features would have been ruined by that riding crop! But Taehyung had saved him from that at the expense of his hand and it was Seokjin’s duty to recognize that act of kindness –as well as whatever act of stupidity had caused this whole thing to happen.

Taehyung sat by the well in the far back corner of the stableyard, shirt and vest already off as he struggled to wind up the bucket. No one was helping him. Before Seokjin could take over, Jungkook nudged Taehyung out of the way.

The lecture Seokjin was prepared for died on his lips at the half-hearted smile Taehyung gave him. Split lip, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone, and red around a nostril made the smile pitiful. A hand or a boot must have preceded the use of the riding crop. Seokjin’s gaze dipped to Taehyung’s hand, a neat slice across the palm still bleeding where he’d taken the impact voluntarily. A regular riding crop wouldn’t have cut like that, but the decorative spikes on the king’s could apparently turn it into a rather brutal weapon. There were a few dotted lines on Taehyung’s arms as well, bleeding in spots. Seokjin nudged his arm to make him spin.

“Nah, I was wearing a vest,” Taehyung said, knowing what he was looking for. The faint scars of a particularly bad previous encounter were faded and shiny on his sweaty back, but otherwise his skin was just flushed. Probably that’s why King Dong-gun had moved onto other measures, supported by Taehyung admitted, “Pissed him off. Nicer material than what a stablehand should be wearing, you know? But my shirt is ruined,” he lamented, as if the cheap torn fabric in his un-injured hand was more to mourn than his own torn skin.

“What happened?” Seokjin sighed. He tried to find the energy to scold but failed again. Jungkook set the bucket of water on the edge of the well and Taehyung dipped his discarded shirt to use as a rag. 

Again with the cocky grin as Taehyung admitted, “I went inside again… I shouldn’t have been there and he caught me–”

“In my mother’s room?”

Taehyung’s mouth twisted and then pursed, puffing his upper lip up like he’d done since he was a little boy to evade punishment with a cute face. He’d forgotten to stop doing it once he grew up, probably because it still seemed to work for him. 

“You can’t go in there,” Seokjin said, doing his best to keep his voice calm. 

“I didn’t think he’d catch me–”

“Even if he doesn’t catch you, you can’t go in there,” Seokjin said again. “You can’t be skulking about the palace at all. You’re a stablehand. Your place is in the stables.”

The dismissive huff from Taehyung gave Seokjin shivers. It recalled a time when Taehyung was younger during which he absolutely refused to follow the rules. Seokjin could understand why he’d be bitter and angry and acting out, but it had been to his own detriment! He’d been sent off to work somewhere else and Seokjin had thought he’d never see the boy again –only to himself make the case to bring him back years later when the horrible working conditions Taehyung was in reached his ears. He convinced his father the servant boy would remember his place but–

“Every time you do that, you’re risking everything.”

“Everything I have? Or everything you have?” Taehyung asked.

Seokjin paused. It wouldn’t do him any good to respond emotionally, especially when his blood was still running hot from the encounter. 

Jungkook’s hand landed heavily on Taehyung’s shoulder. He simply let it sit there, a wordless warning. Taehyung looked up at him and a silent conversation clearly took place. Jungkook’s lids lowered slightly and he shook his head. Taehyung’s smug grin slid into one with a little more humility. 

“I appreciate the things you do to keep me here, hyung,” Taehyung conceded, going back to wiping his arms. “I’m not trying to cause problems.”

“Would you still rather be here than somewhere else?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s a question, not a threat, don’t look at me like I’m threatening you,” Seokjin insisted. “I understand how frustrating it is to be here–”

“You have no idea,” Taehyung mumbled.

“Aish, don’t interrupt me,” Seokjin scolded. “It’s a risk to both of us to have you here. I’m doing my best to keep you safe here. You chose to work with the horses.”

Taehyung’s hair flopped as he nodded, “I like working with horses. I just wish the riding didn’t suck.”

“I can transfer you to the stable at the country house.”

“The maids there are all old and unfuckable,” Taehyung scowled. “I don’t want to ride horses more than I want to ride women.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. Even in the face of pain, Taehyung was so… Taehyung.

“If you want to stay here, you have to follow the rules. The same rules that apply to every servant in this house.”

“I know I know…”

“It’s a total coincidence I returned in time. What if I hadn’t? You’d be in worse shape than you are! It draws attention to you. We don’t keep disobedient servants around, so why will we tolerate it for you? And to go into the Queen’s rooms–”

“He only saw me because he was going in. Usually I don’t get caught–”

“You can’t go in there!” Seokjin shouted, finally losing patience. 

“You can.”

“Yes, I can because I’m the prince, but I don’t!”  

“Not ever?”

“No,” Seokjin said. “And any other servant would be flogged out of the palace for it.”

“I did get flogged.”

“But you kept your position. And you keep doing it! Stop going in there or I’ll have to move you. I do my best to make life as good as I can for you but you can’t throw it in my face. You have to follow the rules. Yes, you risk a great deal for me but you risk more for yourself!”

“A country house with no one to fuck,” Taehyung tried to joke.

“Death!” Seokjin cried. “You will be dead. I cannot save you from dead. Do you understand that? You are lucky to be alive at all, and lucky to be here where I can keep an eye on you and know that you are well fed and absurdly well clothed for your position, in a city full of beautiful women eager to fuck.”

“Jimin bought that for me,” Taehyung frowned.

“But I paid for it,” Seokjin countered. “Do you understand what I’m saying? You can’t keep doing this. You have the most to lose here. What am I going to tell my father when he’s slept this off and wants to know what the fuck you were doing–”

“You don’t have to curse at me,” Taehyung grumbled.

“Apparently I do to get it through your head! If you listened the first dozen times I told you the rules, I wouldn’t even have to yell! I was calm back then! You aren’t here as a favor to me! I thought this was the right thing to do!”

“It is.” Taehyung’s voice was getting lower and softer with each response. He glanced at Jungkook again, who was clearly intentionally pretending not to listen to this conversation more than he had to. He always got awkward when people got yelled at, particularly Taehyung. What did Taehyung expect? Jungkook and Jimin and Hoseok and Yoongi were all going to tell him the same thing: you are lucky to be alive, stop pushing your luck.

“I can’t obviously play favorites with servants,” Seokjin continued more quietly. “So answer me: what do I tell my father about this?”

Taehyung wadded up the bloody wet rag in his fist and looked to the side like he wasn’t paying attention at all. Seokjin waited. 

“Tell him I’m an idiot. I went for a walk and got confused and opened the wrong door,” Taehyung said. “Tell him you beat me senseless to make sure I don’t fuck up like that again and I remembered my place and how grateful I am to you both for allowing me to work in the stables despite my background.”

Seokjin hated the monologue. Hated every word of it. It wasn’t his fault! He was doing the best he could given all the forces at play. So why did he carry so much guilt about it all? There were people to blame for all of this but he wasn’t one of them!

“Thank you,” Seokjin said, because it was the proper thing to say, and he just wanted the conversation to be over and the problem to be solved and for Taehyung to stop putting him in this position. “And… thank you for catching the crop.”

Some of that smugness returned to Taehyung’s grin as he said, “Had to do it. Your pretty face is your best asset and you need all the help you can get right now in love, huh?” The irony of Taehyung saying that to him –Taehyung who was so objectively pretty that noble ladies flustered and tripped when he took their horses, Taehyung who had inherited all the best features from his beautiful ladies’ maid mother and only the best from his father, Taehyung who kept his nails short and clean, his hair brushed, and his clothes nice so that he was constantly mistaken for a noble instead of common staff. 

Mistaken for a noble. 

“This isn’t working,” Seokjin sighed, shaking his head. 

“What isn’t?”

“You can’t be here right now,” he continued. “The risk right now is too high. Nasimiyu saw my father doing that and was clearly horrified –now what do I say that doesn’t make it sound like he just runs around beating servants– I can’t let you mess this up for me, Taehyung. Not when you aren’t even happy here.”

Taehyung’s brow knit as he stood, meeting Seokjin eye to eye as he insisted, “I am happy here! It was just a joke, you don’t need help–”

“It’s not your fault the part doesn’t fit you. Working with horses…”

“I like working with horses,” he argued. “Any other position I’d suck at. I’m sorry I caused a problem, ok? I’ll behave while things are um… delicate with your bride…”

Seokjin leveled a look at him.

Taehyung just widened his eyes, sliding fluidly into the sweet, soft, pleading role as he begged, “Please don’t send me away, hyung. I like it here.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin corrected. Because he didn’t, that was true. The stress was constant but Taehyung was a likable man, they’d even been secret playmates when they were small children. Only three years separated them. And they had painfully much in common, a shared loss of their mothers, a shared love of animals, maybe some other shared things it would be better of that they didn’t share but– 

“What if I find a place for you to go in Paloma?” he suggested.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, he hesitated before pointing out, “That’s a long way away.”

“But you said your dream was to raise horses there.”

“That was before I got to know the… delights Priva has to offer,” Taehyung joked. At Seokjin’s sigh he added, “The horses are world famous and supposedly the riding is the best in the world too but I don’t think the cities have much to them.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of fuckable women in Paloma.”

“Do you know any?”

“I don’t know anyone from Paloma,” Seokjin scoffed, which Taehyung also obviously knew. “But if I can find you a position as an apprentice with a horse breeder… it might be a happier life for you.”

“Away from you and all of my friends,” Taehyung pointed out skeptically. “It’s exile..”

“It’s security.”

“From your father? You manage him–”

“Or from Prince Hamisi,” Seokjin pointed out. 

That shut Taehyung right up. At least the stablehand had behaved while Prince Hamisi and Princess Simisola were in the palace but he seemed to not understand that their daughter still was, and she did not seem like a stupid, ignorant player. Her parents stakes were her stakes.

“It’s a big, ugly, dangerous game, Taehyung. You don’t know the rules of it. You don’t know the players. It’s important that no one thinks you’re in the game. I don’t want to be in it but I don’t have a choice, and neither will you.”

Taehyung nodded silently, staring at the ground, effectively curbed. 

“We both have everything to lose–”

“I just wanted to see her picture,” Taehyung mumbled. 

Seokjin’s heart twisted for the young man.

“I know.”

“I get it when you’re pissed at me for spying on balls or stealing wine or whatever, I know I’m not supposed to be in the palace, I get it. But I just wanted to see her picture. I was too young when she died. I don’t remember her face and when I go too long without seeing it, I forget what she looks like.”

“I know…” It wasn’t the first time Taehyung had told him this, though usually when they were drunk on wine. Seokjin had once tried to “borrow” the painting of his mom and her handmaid to get a copy made, but his father had caught him and it had been one of the only times Seokjin had truly felt his wrath. That room was not to be entered, nothing was to be touched, and even Seokjin wasn’t safe from the consequences.

“I’ll see if I can figure out a way to get a copy made,” he offered, not sure he could but desperate to offer something hopeful. “Just promise me you’ll stay out.”

Taehyung’s face lit up, “Yes, all right, I promise! And you promise not to send me to Paloma yet.”

“That’s two promises from me and one from you.”

“No, stay out of that bedroom and obey the rules,” Taehyung pointed out, counting on his fingers.

“And you have to stop calling me hyung.”

“The others call you hyung. Jimin does. Jungkook does.”

“Yeah but…”

“So it’ll be weirder if I’m your friend and I don’t,” Taehyung insisted.

“All right, fine. Just behave. Please? Here comes the physician. Behave. And make sure he cleans it well so you don’t get infected or anything.”

“I always behave,” Taehyung complained. Even Jungkook rolled his eyes that time, and smacked his lips, and followed Seokjin as Jimin handed the physician over. At least Seokjin’s initial assessment turned out to be true: Taehyung wasn’t badly hurt, though he was definitely going to be bruised and sore for a while. 

Seokjin wished he could hide under the care of a physician right now but instead he needed to check on his father and figure out what else he might need to say to Nasimiyu about it. Maybe it was better to let her think King Dong-gun just beat servants sometimes. Maybe that’s what she’d tell her father and they could just think he was a typical brutal ruler. It was better to keep attention focused on his father, right? Instead of letting scrutiny turn to Taheyung. Taehyung needed to follow the rules, but it wasn’t like the whole situation was his fault. He hadn’t asked to be born into his life any more than Seokjin. 

Honestly the idea of escaping it all to live with horses and a nice girl in Paloma didn’t sound like such a bad thing. Maybe Taehyung could stay here and Seokjin could go?

Ha. It was a joke. 

The king beat his servants. It wasn’t shocking to learn this but it was good because it was one more strike in the column of why he had to go. Only an asshole beat his servants. Only a shitbag needed to. The only time a servant needed physical discipline is if they were actually a criminal and then fine, handle it appropriately, but from what Nasimiyu and Dulce could gather, the stablehand was beaten simply for being in the palace. Not an offense worthy of beating.

This mattered to Nasimiyu because she saw another level of her path to victory paved. Servants who were well fed and properly paid and didn’t live in fear of being beaten over trivial things were happier; she could offer them that. She would. It would be easy to win the support of a household to her own ways when she provided them a much better way of life. Once the river started flowing that way, his own servants might help row the boat!

Her smug feelings about this left her unprepared for the next time she actually saw King Dong-gun. She did not often run into him; he seemed to keep to himself by and large, even taking many of his meals separately now that Prince Hamisi was gone. Not seeing him made it easier to hold onto that feeling of superiority detached to a real person, but when she happened to cross his path in one of the gardens several days later, her heart leapt into her throat in a way she would not admit to. 

King Dong-gun was no threat to her. He wouldn’t hurt her. She was the princess, destined to marry his own son in only a few short months–

Had he ever beaten Seokjin like that? She paused, directly in the path of the king, as this thought came to mind. Her parents would never have laid a hand to her like that; one nanny who had slapped her as a child had promptly disappeared. A man who beat his servants might also beat his son, especially one who was probably as infuriating a child as she suspected Seokjin had been –based on very little, she would admit but–

But obviously the King wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her. She’d be his daughter-in-law!

Ah, but that didn’t stop other fathers-in-law, and he was the King of Yeonhalbi! Who would stop him? 

Her father, obviously. Except he was far away, and would be further away once she was married, and if it came down to “stopping the king from beating my daughter” and “biding our time no matter what until time to execute the plan,” she already knew where her father would settle.

Seokjin? To Seokjin’s credit, she couldn’t imagine him being all right with his father raising a hand against her, but before she’d seen him intervene with the stable boy, she wouldn’t have expected he would actually do anything about it. What, make some jokes? But he had actually put himself right in the way of the next blow to shield a servant. Wouldn’t he do as much for her, his wife? And it had worked, at least in the moment. 

The idea of relying on her husband for protection left a bad taste in her mouth. So she strode forward to meet the King head on; he’d turned down a side path and was blocked from view by hedges. She spun around it, impulsively deciding to have a seat with the king and talk about whatever came to mind. 

But King Dong-gun wasn’t sitting alone. He sat in the middle of a cushioned iron bench, arms spread along the back with empty space on either side. 

Caddy-corner was Seokjin’s not-friend Namjoon, leaning forward in a small, uncushioned seat with his elbows on his knees as he monologued. He gestured a lot when he spoke, Nasimiyu had noticed, and his whole face got drawn into it when he was saying something. It made it really obvious when he didn’t agree with someone else, because his face would suddenly stonewall and he’d lean away, shaking his head even if he was smiling, like he couldn’t believe what you’d said. She’d seen him have several conversations like that with Seokjin, though they’d changed the conversation when she approached. She didn’t get the sense they liked each other very much and yet then they’d pretend to get along in front of her. 

To be honest, it reminded her of her relationship with her sisters…

Right now she seemed to have interrupted Namjoon explained an economics policy. King Dong-gun was listening, face a slight scowl and gaze on the ground, but he glanced up at her arrival.

And then to her absolute shock, the King’s face lit up.

“Ah!” he cried, throwing his hands out, “Princess, how nice to see you.”

Namjoon stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked at her and he looked annoyed at her interruption. Him! Annoyed! When he was in her (soon to be) palace! She now felt torn between the instinct to run away from the King looking so pleased to see her and stay exactly where she was to thwart this barely-noble’s rudeness at her appearance. He hadn’t been so rude before!

Next thing though Namjoon shook his head and laughed, “Your Majesty, you can’t hide behind the princess to avoid discussing these issues.”

It was wild that a little lordling would speak so plainly to the king. Nasimiyu half-expected that to be the next thing that set the King off and she was going to witness another beating, but this time with no Seokjin in sight to interrupt it. If he even would for Namjoon.

But the King laughed loudly, “Ah, you see through me so easily, Namjoon? I’ve heard all you have to say, you don’t need to repeat yourself, it bores me. I’ll tell you that plainly.”

“But the policies–”

“Not the policies, they’re worth considering, some of them. It’s the way you go on about them. You have no charm about it. Your presentation skills are lacking.”

Well, Nasimiyu wasn’t going anywhere now. To be perfectly honest, this was amusing. Namjoon’s expression was amusing to her as he clearly struggled between deference to his king and a strong disagreement at such characterization. Nasimiyu lifted her hand to her mouth to barely hide her laugh.

King Dong-gun noticed it too though and moved on in such a jovial fashion that he seemed like a different person, “You would understand if you sat through it, Princess! Some men are born to write and some to speak and some to rule. Namjoon here, brilliant mind, but best used in thinking thoughts to hand to others to sell.”

Namjoon let out a deep sigh and shook his head, “I took that suggestion to heart.” It clearly and obviously pained him to say this. “I had Mindeulle write that letter on–”

“Oh yes! I read that one. Rather liked it. She has a good hand, too.” 

Namjoon let his face fall into his hand. The King laughed. Nasimiyu couldn’t help it, she laughed too.

“I’d be interested in hearing what the pitch is,” she offered with a poorly restrained smile. She barely knew him, but his frustration felt both performative and sincere in just an amusing way, like they’d suddenly decided to put on a play just to amuse her. “Let me judge whether you are charming or a bore.”

“I’m the King, I’ve made my judgment,” King Dong-gun bellowed with obvious humor. What was going on?! Nasimiyu felt like she’d walked into a bizarre alternate world. Was this king really the same man who’d whipped a servant with a riding crop just days ago? She knew one man could be both but still, the difference was remarkable.

“Then let me learn from you both –what is a noble from Therepin writing boring missives on?” she teased. Namjoon’s crooked grin and head tilt seemed far more charming than boring. “And how does a King prefers such matters be proposed?”

“Short and to the point and after I’ve eaten well,” answered King Dong-gun. “But not too well or I’ll sleep. There’s no room for poetry in politics.”

Namjoon’s smile widened as he pressed, “So you do like my writing?”

“It’s not for politics! Your sister’s was better but she’s got enough brains to stay out of it, and here you go diving right in.”

“You’re the king of an entire country with diverse and far-reaching principalities. You can’t be expected to know about every on-the-ground thing that could improve our lives. It’s my duty to tell you about the ones we see in Therepin–”

“Yes, every single one?” the King demanded. “Pick your battles, Namjoon. You may have all the hours of the day to write those novels you send me but I’m only one man to read them.”

“Isn’t Seokjin helping? I thought he’d be involved–”

“Watch yourself.” The King’s warning was low and steady and sharp. Nasimiyu wasn’t surprised that Namjoon’s posture instantly stiffened. It was all jokes and laughs until then; obviously the King was comfortable with a great deal of familiarity with this distant distant relative, but there was still a line. And apparently that line was Seokjin.

This was fascinating to Nasimiyu. She found herself eager to learn more about this unlikely relationship between the two, and how Seokjin fit into it, and also how Miss Mindeulle’s and Namjoon’s letters differed. Someone who wrote well could be an asset to her someday. Something who thought well could, too. 

And someone who wrote poetry and looked like that…

Nasimiyu cleared her throat and sat up higher in the seat she’d taken opposite the table from Namjoon and the King as servants suddenly appeared with tea and small cakes. 

“I believe the Princess wished to hear about one of my proposals–”

“Yes, which? There are so many, we’ll be here all day. Well, I won’t. You have until I’ve finished my tea and then I have other things to do.” He waved his hand, unwilling to elaborate.

Nasimiyu smiled politely at Namjoon and said, “I don’t know what the extent of your proposals are. I’m coming into everything so fresh. Perhaps you can share about the thing you are most passionate about?”

“The list is too damn long!” King Dong-gun laughed. “He’ll be reading you union treaties for royal carriage horses and proposals for protected rights for the crabs under your feet in the docks before you know it!”

“It’s… I…” Namjoon looked oddly flattered by this teasing, and insisted, “I have written some proposals on conservation efforts, that’s true– protections for important habitats and the animals within them. Do you know that the Melestrom Crab has two claws, and one can be removed without harming the animal in any way and ground up to use as medication that treats infection– the trials are better than anything we’ve seen to date! And the claws grow back! But the lands are being irrigated for farming just on the Privan side of the border, and the crabs are being cooked in food. In stews! And way overfished, we’re going to drive them to extinction before we even fully understand the medicinal properties of their unique chitin.”

This was the closest Nasimiyu had ever come to orgasm just listening to someone speak before. That was the truth. The fact that Namjoon was so passionate about protecting wetlands and medicinal crabs was a riot and yet so educated, and the way he articulated the rationale and his suggestions for how to balance the needs of the fishermen with the protection of the lands was so refined –and it was just one topic! King Dong-gun wasn’t exaggerating, because while he did in fact leave after many more jokes about the crabs, teasing her that she would need to be firm when she was done or Namjoon would keep talking to her sleeping form, Namjoon just transitioned without her even noticing it to the plight of unprotected trade routes, and the unfair taxes on the middle class that were only increasing the wealth disparity, and then onto the importance of universal education in the other principalities.

“We have it in Marvono,” she immediately protested. “Don’t act like Therepin is the only aspirational principality, sir.”

“No no, I’m not saying that. But what about Rinsk? Destin? Paloma?”

“I notice you don’t mention Sartia. Is it because you don’t sound very Therepin, sir? You sound Sartian.”

“Do I?” He sat up straight, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket. It made him look nervous. They were a little too short, she noticed. Poor tailoring. 

“Your propositions so far are missing the conservative religious overtones I’d expect from Therepin.”

Namjoon sighed and rolled his eyes, “We aren’t all like that.”

“No?”

“I was educated in Sartia,” Namjoon admitted. “I have family there too, just not the noble ones, but I could still make it into the best schools. You’ve caught me there. But Sartian education combined with Therepin’s ideas of fairness and practical law and morality, the critical component of humanity in rule–”

“So long as that morality aligns with your religion,” she scoffed. “Should we all bow to a god only you can speak with?”

Namjoon waved his hand at her, “I don’t speak to any god. The foundation of the legislation is good –a group, not a single ruler, can’t you see that it’s actually a step away from monotheistic religious rule?”

“Oligarchy is no different if your leaders are all looking at rules that benefit them and theirs and their own beliefs.”

Namjoon’s mouth was open, he was smiling, but his eyes looked a little pissed.

“Next you’ll propose democracy, hm?” she taunted. “No, because you know that won’t work either, you still wind up with money making the rules.  Your oligarchy doesn’t replace the king, it just puts a fictitious god in place of a real man who thinks–” Fuck. She broke off, realizing the very almost treasonous thing she had almost said. “In theory,” she quickly added. “Obviously I’m not speaking of King Dong-gun or a replacement to his rule, which I assume you are also not sincerely proposing to the future Queen of Yeonhalbi.”

Namjoon’s face was looking very sweaty as he quickly assured her, “No. No, I’m not– I’m protecting the crabs, aren’t I? Oligarchy, you’re right, it’s not different than having a king, that’s not what I’m trying to replace. A fair and just ruler, that’s… I just want to promote the systems that work for Therepin and those that work in Sartia. Universal education, minimum wages, a basic cost of living to all souls–”

“You don’t have that in Therepin,” she countered. “Marvono has a minimum wage, though arguably not as well enforced as it ought to be, but Therepin does not. Sartia has universal education.”

“Therepin does too.”

“Through religious schools. The secular ones are private and costly.”

His eyes narrowed. His mouth opened and she could trace the pressure of his tongue sliding along his cheek.

“How do you know so much about Therepin?”

Ah. Ah ha ha. Nasimiyu wanted to crow with joy. He was impressed. That’s what that face was, she was sure of it. 

“Because I am a well-educated princess who is betrothed to the future king of Yeonhalbi,” she answered with all the grandeur she could muster. “It is my duty to know these things. I will read your missives but don’t think you will sneak theocracy into our rule. The king is above and does not answer to whatever gods you worship, even if you are free to do so privately.”

“I’m not even religious,” he insisted. Then laughed, “Uh, don’t tell my mother that, though, she’s still holding out hope I’ll come around. Anyway, it’s your husband's job to worry about most of these things. Isn’t the queen in charge of… balls? Charities?”

If he was trying to piss her off, it would almost work, except she thought he might actually be teasing.

“The queen's duty is between me and my husband, not for you to dictate. In the meantime, I’ll read those missives you and your sister sent. Have someone bring them to me.”

“You don’t even have any power yet,” he pointed out.

“More than you do, don’t be impertinent. Besides, my husband and I will be working together towards the kind of rule we want to have once King Dong-gun is ready to retire. I intend to be as involved as I can be until then.” He didn’t look impressed anymore. “Do you want my attention or not?” she snapped.

“Yes. I want your attention.”

It was not only her imagination, was it? That pause in the wake of his sentence? 

No, he must realize it too, because he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably and rushed on, “I will have the papers sent–”

“Your sister’s too.” I want to know what a woman related to you is capable of as well. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And Lord Namjoon. Don’t roll your eyes at me again. It’s rude.” She stood and turned her back so he wouldn’t see the expression on her face, even though it meant she missed his.

“Yes, Madam.”

Nasimiyu waved over her shoulder and strode off, mouth pursed into a tight line. Damn, listening to his mind work was really something! And looking like that! A girl could learn to love poetry where a king might not, if it was written by a mind like that. She couldn’t wait to see what his writing would actually be like and hoped she would not be disappointed by what might be the first of many, many things she was going to read by this uppity barely-nobleman. He better not try to get familiar with her like he did the king though, or she’d put him right back in his place. And probably enjoy doing it.

Nasimiyu’s good mood at learning that the King might be the sort of noble who beat servants –a common type, and not likely one to be well loved by his staff– had lasted a few days, but a week later she was sour again for reasons beyond Dulce’s comprehension. Maybe it didn’t help that Dulce wasn’t the type to ask what was wrong anyway, but usually Nasimiyu was quick to volunteer whatever was on her mind without prompting.

Except this evening that meant just snapping at Dulce to go get her something “edible” from the kitchen because the oranges the other maid brought were full of seeds that were too tiny to pluck out and got stuck in her teeth. Dulce figured the tantrum was related to her barely touching her food early. She hadn’t liked it.

What a luxury to be able to throw a tantrum just because you were hungry because you didn’t like the food. Dulce found herself once again having to ignore a privileged part of Nasimiyu that she couldn’t help but honestly! Dulce found herself wondering how many wars had been fought because the nobles pulling the strings didn’t know how to be a little bit hungry or just eat what they were given and instead got all temperamental just because their tummy was grumbly. Once you had to live with real hunger, you learned to deal with it. She couldn’t imagine what her parents would have done if she’d consistently turned her nose up at the food they put on the table.

 Even though she had an assignment right now –”get me something actually edible”-- Dulce found her mind wandering all over the place. If she tried to pinpoint the origin of her foggy mental state, it had probably begun that morning when she finally had some time and decided to read those letters she had stolen, the ones from the prince’s previous fiance whose existence she had still not mentioned to Nasimiyu. Not for any reason, just like she didn’t actually have a reason not to have read the letters yet, she just… hadn’t. 

But she’d read just the opening of one 

‘My dearest Seokjinnie’

And immediately felt kind of nauseated. Women really wrote like that to men? Weird. Awkward. Embarrassing. 

So she’d put it away and she hadn’t exactly been thinking about it all day but her focus had just seemed kind of loose the rest of the day. And despite how urgent Nasimiyu had ordered her off, fetching a snack for a hangry princess was not a consuming, fulfilling task.

Dulce’s mother had written letters to her father when they were courting. She remembered finding one when she was a little girl and reading it with a mixture of enrapture and horror. How odd to think of her parents as young and not yet in love. Later those words haunted her–

Oh. Maybe that was why she hadn’t read the letters yet. 

That made sense, even if the situations weren’t quite the same. Still, Dulce liked clear, obvious explanations. She liked her behavior to be practical because she was practical. For instance she didn’t tell Nasimiyu about the prior engagement because it would probably piss Nasimiyu off but there was no reason Nasimiyu should know about it without spies, so she’d just passive aggressively take this secret out on Seokjin without being able to directly ask him about it, and they’d slide backwards after the horse ride through the city the other day had seemed like a real step forward. 

For Nasimiyu. Which meant kind of a baby step. But a step! A mouse step. One little hop from a rabbit.

Dulce frowned at the jumpiness of her own thoughts as she reached the kitchens, largely quiet this late at night. Yes, the upsetting connection to the letter with her parents must be the cause of that. Maybe she was hungry too? Oh no, was Nasimiyu’s privilege rubbing off on her? Because she was well fed now, would she get all bitchy and sensitive too if she didn’t eat her fill at a meal? 

Just to make sure, she would avoid getting a snack for herself and refuse if Nasimiyu tried to get her to eat with her. She didn’t need to become dependent on food other than in a don’t-literally-starve-to-death way.

Unsurprisingly the kitchen was not quite empty. The occupants weren’t even that surprising to her as she moved towards the source of light to find the night staff: not only was it the cook Yoongi, not only was he not alone, but the prince himself was at the counter with an apron and a knife while his bodyguard and his valet and his tutor and that obviously troublesome stablehand lounged about. 

“Watch out for Tuga,” the stablehand called, pointing down. He must mean it for her, because no one else was walking, but Tuga the Tortoise was nowhere near Dulce’s feet. It was in the corner of the room, bashing his open mouth against a head of lettuce. The stablehand still looked a bit rough in the face after that beating from the king, but he didn’t seem to have suffered greatly from the ordeal as he lounged with his ass on the kitchen counter.

“Ah!” the prince greeted as if he had been waiting for her. “You’re here!”

Dulce pulled back a step, confused by that as she fumbled a curtsy the way an overwhelmed servant ought to, “Um… Your majesty.”

“‘Your royal highness,’” the tutor corrected.

“I don’t think royal address matters when he’s chopping onions in the kitchen like a scrub,” the bodyguard snickers seconds before opening his mouth so wide and shoving a fistful of food into it like a toddler. Dulce was stunned by the way the food bulged in his cheek. If she’d never met him before in her life, she would know by that simple act that he was a commoner and had known hunger. What was more surprising was that now he worked for the royal prince and hadn’t been forced to eat with better etiquette. Nasimiyu had taught her better manners and it had been boring as fuck. 

“I came to fetch food for the princess,” she said with another awkward curtsy. Maybe they were thinking the same thing about her and her curtsy. She could actually curtsy very well, thank you. But she’d heard people noticed her manners were a little too sharp and intimidating so she was trying to appear less confident. Although truth be told the wrong address for the prince was just a personal thrill.

“She didn’t like the dinner,” the cook sighed, shaking his head. “Her plate came back barely touched.”

Dulce admitted, “She didn’t. Or the oranges. Too many seeds.”

“They’re terrible,” he agreed. “Therepin is trying to make the seeds smaller but it’s worse, you can’t spit them out like good Marvono oranges.”

“Do you think she’ll like this?” the prince asked, motioning to a plate settled on the counter between the bodyguard and the stableboy. 

Dulce looked at it, not bothering to hide the uncertainty from her face.

“What …. Is it?”

“Well it’s–”

“Your royal highness,” the tutor mumbled. But he seemed the only one bothered by her casual tone and address. She wanted to sound casual. A little dumb. Non-threatened.

But when he leaned close and beckoned her with two fingers while licking red sauce off his lower lip, it was a little intimidating. She leaned instinctively away. 

He didn’t seem to notice and smiled as he explained, “I’m calling it–”

“No, let her name it,” the bodyguard suggested.

“Shut up, Jungkook,” the stablehand snickered. 

“Pizza,” the prince announced over them, with a flourish of his left hand. “It’s a baked simple crust with a tomato and oregano sauce on top, a layer of two kinds of melted cheeses, and then sliced sausage.”

Dulce looked at the concoction, if only not to look at the prince’s smiling face because he seemed so casual and happy and friendly about this weird thing he had just made. She looked at it.

“She doesn’t like it,” the bodyguard started to laugh.

The cook waved his hand, “It’s actually better than it looks.”

“It doesn’t look bad!” the prince protested. “Try it– hey!” The bodyguard had scooped up another piece of it to shove in his mouth, melted cheese leaving strings connecting his mouth and fingers.

“She doesn’t want it!”

“There’s another one almost ready,” Yoongi suggested, grabbing a mitt and a wooden tray. Dulce watched with non-zero interest as he slid the baking circle of food out of the oven grill and onto the wooden plate, then handed it to the prince who started to set it beside the other, then changed his mind, lifted it over Dulce’s head, and set it instead on the other side of her and the valet.

“Careful,” the valet laughed, “What if you dropped it on her?”

“I would never! You think I’m so clumsy?!”

“When you’re showing off,” the tutor grumbled.

Dulce watched with alarm as the Prince seemed to get very offended about this, his ears and neck quickly turning a bright red as he demanded, “Who am I showing off for? Hm? We’re all friends here!”

“I meant in the kitchen…?” the tutor suggested. “You get a strange energy in here. I’ve said it before.”

Dulce felt like she had walked into the middle of some stupid comedy show at a tavern. The way they all sat around speaking casually, the way they were letting the prince of Yeonhalbi play at inventing food that didn’t really look that interesting or remarkable, the way they let her walk right into the middle and changed the show to include her as if she’d hit her cue. This was not how a prince should act. He was an idiot, and these people were enabling, and this man didn’t stand a chance against the fate Nasimiyu had for him, the fate his own birth had bestowed upon him, whether to rule or be overthrown and killed. He was just some idiot who seemed happiest, from what she’d seen, when he was hanging out with the staff in the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can take for her?” she asked the cook, deciding to ignore everything else. 

“Not my pizza?” the prince asked, like a performer telling a joke, like he wanted a laugh.

Dulce didn’t give it to him, just admitted, “I don’t think she will be pleased with me bringing her an experiment. My apologies, um, your highness. Royal. Your royal highness.” 

“Ah, no respect,” he murmured. At her sharp inhale, his own face lit up, “No, not you! I meant– I don’t care about– I meant no respect for an artist and his craft.”

“You’re not an artist yet,” the cook said.

“I’m a work in progress. I’m learning.”

“We’re supposed to be learning Marvonesian food, not inventing that,” the cook gestured as he turned away. “Yes, I’ll make something else. She liked the quail risotto the other day, I already had some steeping for tomorrow but I can change the dinner menu… Dulce.”

She was confused by the way he said her name.

“Um, yes?”

“We have a few chefs who claim to be from Marvono here to make food tomorrow, a trial run. We can’t have another dinner like that one,” he said, clearly assuming she would know what he was talking about. Obviously she did. “But no one in the kitchen really knows Marvonesian food.”

“Oh.”

The valet laughed, “You have to actually ask your question, hyung. He wants to know if you can come try the food and tell us if it’s right.”

“Um…” This was suspicious. This was strange, wasn’t it?

“It was your idea to have trials,” Yoongi reminded her. 

“I’m not from Marvono,” she admitted. And then inexplicably added, “I’m from Paloma.”

Why? Why did she just volunteer that? A personal detail that might not matter but she still shouldn’t be giving those out! She wasn’t even thrilled they remembered her name, though she had learned by now it was considered incredibly rude to not learn the name of other staff. She liked to pretend not to remember anyone’s names sometimes. She wasn’t here to make friends and she certainly didn’t want to share intimate details, like where she was born.

It didn’t help that the prince and the stablehand looked immediately interested, the latter asking, “Is it true about the horses there?” while the former merely commented, “Oh, is that so? Paloma?”

“The horses are lovely and the riding is good,” she answered vaguely. 

“But you’ve lived in Marvono for a while, haven’t you? Long enough to become the Princess’ handmaid.”

“Well yes but… besides that I am not very good at um, tasting food.”

“Something wrong with your tongue?” the bodyguard asked, head tilting. He had such a baby face, it was easy to read his question at face value if you didn’t notice the glint of mischief in his eye. 

Well, Nasimiyu had told her to seduce someone.

“My tongue works just fine,” she assured him, lifting her nose the way Nasimiyu did, and therefore the way her lady’s maid should. “No complaints. I just don’t have discerning taste about food.”

“Discerning,” the tutor mumbled again. He reached forward to take the last slice of the pizza from the plate between the two and then shuffled backwards to lean against the wall. She eyed him, not liking the way he kept mumbling comments. But his whole face looked focused on his food as he groaned and said to the prince, “This is actually really good. I think it would be better if the part on the edge was bigger though so the cheese doesn’t slide off when you hold it up to bite.”

“Ah, more bread,” the stablehand agreed.

The valet too nodded, “Who doesn’t like more bread?”

“Yes, maybe the whole thing can be more bread, like more bread under it?” the bodyguard suggested. 

Just like that Dulce was briefly forgotten because apparently they were all very passionate about bread.

The prince waved his finger in the air as he nodded, and even though he had a mouthful of food, said, “Yes, ok, let’s try that. Do you like bread?” He looked at her when he asked it, hands poised on a bowl and a pile of flour, his chopped onions forgotten. 

“In Marvono they eat flatbread,” she answered.

His smile was absolutely disarming, “Ah, but you aren’t from Marvono! Do they eat bread in Paloma?”

“...Yes… but not with those things on it.”

“I don’t know anything about Paloman food,” Yoongi mused. He’d been busy in the background but now began to pile food on the cart again –several things Nasimiyu had liked so far including the quail risotto as mentioned. He was doing a good job positioning himself as the only cook Nasimiyu would want running the kitchen if he kept this up. 

“Me neither.”

“You don’t cook?” the valet asked. Dulce frowned, noting the way they all looked to her for an answer. Like they wanted to get to know her. She had no interest in that.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m sorry I can’t wait for your experimental food, I need to perform my duty efficiently.” 

Oof, it sounded cold even to her. How odd to apologize for that to a prince! Shouldn’t he be angry about all these staff sitting around wasting time? But he just didn’t look or act like a prince in here, with his flour-streaked face and hands up to the elbows in dough and a splash of crushed tomato on the back of his neck somehow. 

“Will you take that one to the Princess?” Seokjin asked, only to hiss and shake his head, “No, it’s not quite good enough yet.”

“Does she like to experiment?” the bodyguard asked. “With food I mean–” He added, arching his eyebrow.

The string of language Seokjin let out was incoherent to Dulce. It was a different language, she was sure of it, but didn’t recognize it. The bodyguard looked pleased, but then complained when the prince shouted at him to go home already, and that it wasn’t his fault if his bed was cold and lonely and he wanted to stay here and make crude jokes but if he was going to be like that he could walk home right now.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Not to me, to her!”

“I’m sorry for my um, joke,” the bodyguard grumbled, bobbing his head more like a curtsy than a bow. 

Dulce wasn’t surprised the bodyguard had made a joke a little too far for decency, but she did find it comforting that the prince had shut it down so instantly. No jokes about the princess, that was clear –at least not in front of her. How very… chivalrous male. Possessive, perhaps.

Dulce pretended not to get it and answered, “She only likes good food and she doesn’t really try new things often. It takes her time to get used to new things, even if they’re really good.”

She’d just meant to sound stupid about food and his dumb joke, but the speed with which the prince whipped around to her made her play back her own words.

“She just is slow for new things,” the prince repeated. “Yes, that’s just how some people are! Especially when there’s a lot of change at once. That’s why it’s so important we get the Marvonesian cook just right. It’s important for the princess to feel relaxed and safe and at home here. Food can be a real source of comfort.” Was he speaking to himself or Yoongi? Dulce wasn’t sure, but it just seemed genuine. It couldn’t be, right? He was the fucking royal prince of Yeonhalbi and yet he just seemed so completely out of his league trying to wow Nasimiyu, and the harder he tried, the worse he was going to do because that just wasn’t how it worked for her. 

But what could Dulce say? It wasn’t like she could give the prince advice on how to woo Nasimiyu. That wasn’t her place and it would be weird. It would be like playing with her food in a sort of fucked up way, right? She didn’t even want to think names for the prince and those closest to him, she definitely shouldn’t feel any sympathy for his struggles seducing the woman Dulce was fucking every few days. His struggles only mattered in that Nasimiyu needed to sell this romance so she wouldn’t look complicit when someone knocked him off.

Damn it was grim to think that while he was holding a plate of food out to her though, eyebrows tilted up as he asked,

“Will you try it before you go? Tell me what you think. The truth.”

“Um…”

If she kept saying “um” to play stupid and demure, it was going to become an actual vocal habit. How annoying.

“Come on, I care about your opinion,” he smiled at her. “I think you have good taste.”

Based on what? Based on nothing. He was trying to charm her. How stupid. What was he hoping to get out of talking to her like this? It wasn’t like the prince would earn affection from Nasimiyu for spending his late evening in the kitchen experimenting with food…

Would he? Dulce’s head tilted as she considered this. Actually, a noble doing normal shit sometimes did impress Nasimiyu because she was like that. But sometimes it didn’t! And Dulce realized she honestly couldn’t predict it. It was possible Nasimiyu wouldn’t give anything the prince did a chance, even if she’d be charmed by that same behavior in anyone else. Maybe Nasimiyu hated him simply because he stood between her and her goal. Or maybe Nasimiyu was trying to be like Dulce and harden her heart against what had to happen. Dulce couldn’t imagine having to pretend to fall in love with someone so you could kill them later and take everything they had. That was way more fucked up than anything she’d ever done. 

Was her hard heart towards the prince actually a sign Nasimiyu was just too soft for this whole scheme? 

Her parents would see it through no matter what. Either way, the man was fucked. At least if Nasimiyu genuinely fell in love with him, he could have some months or even years of happiness before he met his demise. Even though that happiness would be built on a lie and a ticking clock, that was better than a cold hard truth–

No! What was Dulce thinking? Of course it wasn’t. The cold hard truth was better, always better. 

And yet she took a slice of the “pizza” because she felt cruel to say no, like saying no was equivalent to stomping on the head of an innocent rabbit. He might be lying, or he might just be stupid, but Dulce had no reason to be cruel to him. Yet.

She took a bite, wincing as hot cheese burned the roof of her mouth.

“Ah, it’s too hot!” he gasped, pulling it out of her hand and away. The cheese stayed connected between her teeth and the pizza, trailing comically far so she looked like a fish on a line–

And Dulce laughed. She clapped her hand to her mouth, abruptly ripping off the cheese and then opened her mouth to blow around the piece of food, inelegant but critical to survival. The men in the kitchen had sprung into action as if she were some damsel truly in distress, not just a fucking handmaid who ate a hot bite of food. The valet held his hand out demanding she spit the bite, the tutor thrust water at her, it was absolute, unnecessary chaos, and Dulce’s eyes watered with the effort not to laugh again. No one had ever made such a fuss about her and for such a stupid reason!

“Is she choking?” Yoongi asked, as Jungkook slipped around her. Suddenly his hands wrapped around her body and then she really did nearly choke as she spun out of his grasp and held her hands towards them, keeping all these overly concerned men at bay.

“I’m fine! It was just hot! Don’t grab me!”

“You’re fast, are you a dancer?” the tutor asked.

“Huh? No.” She frowned at him and wiped at her mouth where it felt like stringy cheese still coated her lips.

The prince cut through the concern, asking, “Did you taste it at all?”

A memory crept up her back, standing in the kitchen with her grandparents, her grandmother tutting at her for being too impatient and burning her tongue.

“It’s too hot.” She sipped the water, cringing when her tongue touched the sore spot behind her teeth. “It’s um, good though.” Shockingly, she meant it. It was very cheesy, but that balanced nicely with the tomato and bread, which was a little chewy. She hadn’t gotten sausage in her bite but could already envision how that would add some body and further spice. 

“She’s just being nice,” Yoongi shook his head.

“No, I mean it. I don’t say things just to say them.”

“Yeah, you know, the other maids are all scared of her, they think she’s too quiet,” the bodyguard said with a laugh. Dulce frowned. She knew the other maids talked shit about her but if the prince’s servants knew that too, she wasn’t doing much better than Nasimiyu at this farce.

The tutor was the one to argue, “It’s a mark of competency in a servant. So many of those maids are too chatty, it reflects badly on their employers.”

“The gossip is out of control,” Jimin agreed.

“About me?” Dulce asked, both to play stupid (because obviously she didn’t care) but also to find out if there was anything worth knowing.

“Don’t worry about it, nothing important. The prettiest maid always gets gossiped about so I thought you would be used to it.”

Jimin’s answer led to a heavy, awkward pause, like he had just said something terrible.  In fact Jungkook looked at the prince like he expected the valet to now get scolded, as if complimenting her was the same level of offense as a dirty joke.

But in fact the prince did scold him, frowning, “She’s here for food, not flirting and flattery! Leave her alone!”

“Ah, I didn’t mean anything bad, she knows that,” Jimin said, quickly turning to her. In fact of everyone in this room, Jimin was the one whom she’d talked to the most, though not in any personal capacity. Just because they were often side by side walking behind their lieges. She’d gathered that Jimin was the sort used to casually charming anyone to get things done, smoothing over any blunders the prince made. He was always happy to offer guidance, eager to assist if Dulce had a question about where to get something or who so and so was. She would not have actually thought the comment was anything remarkable, just further practical advice from him. Dulce knew she was prettier than some of the maids, less pretty than others, depending on the things you liked in a woman. She also knew she appeared to be Nasimiyu’s favorite and that earned her shit from the other maids more than her looks. Another maid had once explained to her it was a serious thing to accuse anyone of being a favorite though, because it might imply something indecent, so maybe that was why Jimin mentioned she was pretty? 

It was the reaction to it that made her uncomfortable. Was it comforting if the prince ordered everyone to leave her alone because she was the princess’ maid? Yes, although it would make her task of seducing them for information harder. Not that she wanted to succeed at that in the first place. But the bodyguard was handsome and so was the valet. Well, all of them were really, but those were the two that could be most useful to her, she thought. And both seemed like they had success with the ladies, so it might not be repulsive to them. There were worse things than sex with an attractive man for information, though she’d feel bad if something went wrong and she had to kill them to cover her tracks… it stuck with you, killing someone you had fucked.

It wasn’t a good thought right now but the fact it made her stomach twist uncomfortably was valuable to notice. It was a good reminder that she was not here to get fond of any of these people. Greater good and all that, or at least, survival of her family. That was more important than any of these idiots who played in the kitchen inventing new foods late at night.

“The food for the Princess is ready,” Yoongi announced, nudging the card forward to interrupt the air of discomfort. 

“My apologies that we get a little… boisterous in the evenings in here,” the prince said. He wasn’t looking at her though, too focused on sprinkling a heavy helping of grated cheese on top of the tomato sauce he’d smeared around the bread.

“I’d hardly call this a den of debauchery,” she argued.

The stablehand slumped back against the wall and sighed, “Tell me about it…”

“Is there debauchery in Paloma? He wants to know–” the bodyguard began but the prince interrupted, “No, don’t answer that.” He shook his head and said with a modest smile, “My apologies for the burned mouth…”

It was like the damned rabbit all over again.

“Try more pepper or garlic in the sauce I think?”

“Ah, you do know cooking!” Yoongi cried.

She quickly corrected, “I don’t, not really, but that’s what my abuela– my grandmother always said. The bread and cheese are dense and bland on their own so the sauce needs to be good, right? I don’t know about food.” 

“Would the princess like it?” the prince asked. Dulce hesitated and he took that as her answer, continuing, “I understand. Not the woman to try an experiment. Thank you for humoring me.”

“Um, I can suggest two of the people who came to us to help with your taste test –a maid and a guard,” she offered. “I think they know a little more about food than I do.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”Dulce gave an awkward little curtsy, grabbed the cart despite Jimin offering, and whirled it away. By the time she reached Nasimiyu’s room, she’d settled into a calm walk again, shaking off the terribly inappropriate feeling of the kitchen. The ease, the casual camaraderie, the warmth. That was not her place, those were not her people, and she should not be letting her guard down like that around them. It was ok to laugh around people you knew had to die, but not if the laugh was genuine.

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[bts-storys]

Bathing a bomb (m)

Author: bts-storys

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Rating: mature content, 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers/ Lush Store AU/ Smut

Word Count: 5,901

Summary: Your job at the Lush store isn’t what you would call extremely exciting. That is until one customer just won’t stay out of the shop. And for that matter he won’t stay out of your head either.

Warnings: oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, graphic description of sex, penetration, lots of stuff with hands, because I feel like that's what lush is essentially about, Seokjin being handsome as ever, some daydreaming about a shower

A/N: I changed my narrative perspective a bit, I hope everything sounds better now. I won't lie, this piece gave me a real hard time, so happy so present to you what I worked on the last weeks.

„Damn it! “

You flinch when you hear an angry voice right on the other side of the wall, sitting upright again in the process. The door bursts open and someone marches right into the break room.

“Are you okay, June?”, you carefully ask your co-worker. When you catch a glimpse at her hands you cock an eyebrow. “Did you touch the lilac soap again?”

“Yes, for god’s sake!”, she grumbles while digging in her bag. “I hate this damn allergy!”

“I told you to wear some gloves or at least call me to take care of it instead”, you say in a judging tone.

“I know, I forgot them. And you’re on break Y/N!” She looks at you with an apologetic expression while opening a jar of cream from her bag.

You laugh. “Well I was until now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the customers and you do something about your hands, you look like an angry lobster.”

You put your coffee aside and your customer smile back on your face. Walking through the door, the overwhelming smell of hundreds of different scents washes right over you. When you first started working at the Lush store a few months prior, you found yourself with a headache at the end of every day from smelling so much all the time. When you had told June about it, she gave you a painkiller and assured you it would get better soon. She was right at the end and you grew into loving all the different scents. Nothing relaxes you more than the familiar fragrances in the store after a hard day of studying. You shake your head to get rid of the memory.

Even though June had been working here far longer, she just can’t deal with her lilac allergy due to her extreme stubbornness. Nara, your other co-worker is talking to a customer so you get back to one of the shelves and finish putting in the soap. Right at the last piece, someone behind you makes a coughing noise.

“Ehrm- Excuse me?”

You turn around. The speaker is a tall guy at least one head-length taller than you. He has broad shoulders and the most handsome face you have ever seen. His skin has a perfect shine as if he uses the exact right amount of moisturizer every day and his head looks perfectly shaped. His black hair matches his dark coat and the pair of boots he wears. His body-position gives off a high level of self-confidence, much contrary to his worried expression. His complete appearance is quite overwhelming and it takes you a second or two to get over yourself.

“Hi, what can I do for you?”, you smile at him.

He smiles back at you and you feel your heartbeat increase. “I was wondering… how many different bath bombs do you sell at the moment?”

Inwardly, you let out a sigh. Chances are pretty small, a handsome man like him would ask about bath bombs without the intention of giving them to a boyfriend or girlfriend. On the outside you maintain your customer smile.

“Right now, we have 20 different types of bath bombs here at the store. Do you have a specific fragrance you’re looking for?”

“N-No, not exactly. I want all of them…please.”

You look at him with confusion. “You want to buy every bath bomb in this store?!!”

“No!”, he quickly corrects. “I want to buy one of every type, if that’s possible.”

You start to laugh.

“I’m so sorry”, you tell him after getting a hold of yourself. “Of course, that’s possible, let’s grab a basket for you.”

He sends you a smile that gets right to your core. “Don’t worry, I know that it's a weird request. You have a cute laugh though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, quickly turning around, reminding yourself that he is still a customer.

“Thank you, Sir. Let’s get to those bath bombs.”

“It’s Seokjin, actually. Please don’t call me ‘Sir’.”

You hide your surprise behind a straight face. “Okay Seokjin, follow me, please.”

You get to the counter where the bath bombs are stored, aware that he is right behind you. While filling the little basket with colorful shapes, you just can’t resist the curiosity.

“Soo, is there a reason to your special request?”, you ask him while scanning the stacks for more bombs.

“Um, I guess I just want to know what color they would produce. You know, all together.”

You turn around again, seeing him gulp.

“You want to use them all at once?” You try not to sound like you are laughing at him again, maintaining a neutral expression. “I’m finished by the way, so follow me to the checkout, please.”

You get behind the cash register, scanning the items before dropping them into a bag.

“Should I pack them as a gift?”, you try asking without raising his suspicion. Maybe he is still getting them for his SO or whatsoever even though it seemed like he was flirting with you for a brief moment.

“No, thank you”, he says, looking right into your eyes. The dark brown of his iris seems to pull you in, until you snap out of it after a few seconds. He pays and takes the bag from your hand. His gaze lingers on your form behind the apron you are wearing and you feel your breath hitch for a second.

Then the moment is over.

“Thank you for your kind consultation, Y/N.”, he says with a look at the tag on your shirt. At the mention of your name, you feel heat shooting through your body like he just set you on fire. Suddenly, you find it difficult to concentrate when he gives you one last look and leaves the store.

“DID GOD SEND US AN ANGEL TO GET 20 BATH BOMBS?!”, you hear June yell behind you.

“Who the hell was that, Y/N?”

“That was Seokjin and he wants to know what color they would produce all at once”, you answer like you’re in a trance.

“He WHAT- now?!”

For the next few days you try not to think about Seokjin too much. To tell the truth, you fail miserably. The main reason to that is certainly June who just won’t let go of the story, but if you are honest, you think about him as well. Even without her help. Seokjin piqued your interest and you want to know more about him.

You even start looking him up on social media in your work breaks but either he doesn’t have any public appearance or your fbi skills just aren’t good enough to find him.

The next week starts without any major events if you don’t count the old man who tries to eat a whole bar of shower soap and the middle-aged woman who just won’t understand the usage of a massage bar. After the third attempt of explaining she doesn’t need a lighter for the process, she just leaves and you try to stay calm. Suddenly, you hear someone call your name from behind.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You turn around and immediately feel like you’re not ready for the sight you’re greeted with. Seokjin is wearing a white, half-transparent shirt with long sleeves combined with skinny black pants.

They look too tight.

Your lungs feel tight too.

He even remembered your name. And how the hell are you fangirling over someone you only met once before?! A quick look around shows that both Nara and June are busy with customers so you pull yourself together and return his smile.

“Seokjin. How can I help you today?”

For a moment he looks a bit lost but quickly recovers.

“I loved how everything smelled the last time I was here, so I thought I’d get something else. You do sell shower gel, right?”

“Yeah, of course”, you say, turning around to get to the other side of the shop. While walking in front of him you try to relax your shoulders a bit.

Arriving at the shower themed area you try to get back to being professional again.

“Do you have anything special in mind? Maybe some ingredient you like?”, you ask him while scanning the stacks.

Your gaze comes to a halt when you spot a sign right next to his handsome face saying “prince charming”. Normally, you love the shower gel that is advertised, but right now you curse whoever chose its name. The real prince charming in front of you has the audacity to smirk at your irritation.

“I like products that smooth my skin when I’m in the shower”, he says looking you dead in the eye. “Maybe something that feels good when you apply it.”

You can’t do anything about it, the picture just appears in front of your inner eye. Seokjin standing in the shower, water floating over his shaped body. He rubs his damped skin with nourishing oils, his lips sinfully parted. His body looks perfect surrounded by the steam from the hot water. You visibly shudder.

“Are you cold?”, Seokjin asks, bringing you back to reality.

“N-No!”, you hastily say. Quickly, you grab a bar with a minty color from the shelf, showing it to him.

“What about this one? It’s really good for your skin, it’s based on natural ingredients.”

He leaves you completely stunned when he takes your hand into his, bringing the bar to his nose. His palm is soft and warm, embracing your small fingers with his. You feel like you float and the feeling tingles. Every inch of your body is on edge, not missing a single second of the moment. His touch is light and gentle, giving you the opportunity to pull away. Obviously, you don’t. Further, you don’t even breathe until he lets go of you again.

“Yeah, it smells nice", he says. "I’ll take it."

Your wobbly legs take the two of you to the checkout, where you wrap the soap bar.

“Do you work here every day?”, Seokjin asks you casually. “If you don’t mind answering”, he adds.

“I don’t”, you smile. “I work from Monday ‘til Thursday after my college courses.”

He looks impressed. “You study and work at the same time?”

You laugh at his expression. “Something has to pay the rent, right? Also working here is more fun than it looks like.”

“I mean, if you like working in a giant flower meadow, then yeah”, he jokes. “What’s your major though?”

“International Management”, you say sheepishly. “Probably not the most interesting- “

“Awesome!”, he exclaims. “I work in the management area myself, you know.”

“You do?” Secretly, you had put him into modeling or maybe he really was an angel like June had noted multiple times.

“I work at a small music label with some of my friends”, he explains further. “Maybe we could- “

You don’t get to hear what he wants to say.

“Y/N? Can you please go and help June? I swear to god if she touches that damn soap one more time, I’ll tie her hands behind her back!!”, Nara shouts at you from the other side of the store.

“I’m sorry.”

You and Seokjin both apologize at the same time.

“Here’s your recipe”, you smile and hand him the package with his purchase.

“It was nice talking to you Y/N”, Seokjin says, giving you one last look before leaving the store.

You look at his broad back longingly before rushing to get to June before Nara can live up to her promise.

On Friday, you start your day off with working on an essay for your finance course. After finishing a couple of pages, you get ready to meet June at the fairground. Apparently, her roommate works there, selling crêpes which are “not from this world, maybe even from another galaxy”, as June claims.

At the end of the day you wonder if you may have lost some of your sanity, because on the weekend you can’t stop thinking about Seokjin at all. The picture of him touching your hands and looking at you in such a deep way seems to be burned into your brain. You also start to ask yourself if he feels the same about you. He must have felt something the second time he went to buy the shower bar. At least you hope he did. Maybe you’re completely out of place and he was just being himself? It’s not only the girls who get mistaken when they’re just being super nice, you remind yourself.

You could ask him out the next time he buys something. If there is a next time. Or would that be unprofessional at your workplace?

Without finding a solution to your problem, you nervously wait for the next workday to arrive. Who doesn’t arrive though is the person in question. June comments on your stiffness a few times but other than that nothing happens the entire week. You’re exhausted from studying and working afterwards but most of all from wondering if you will meet Seokjin again.

The next Monday comes and goes while your hope slowly dies. On Tuesday, you’re stacking up some massage bars catching yourself daydreaming. You can see Seokjin right in front of you. He’s wearing a dark blue sweater that makes a great contrast to his skin tone and reminds you of a deep ocean.

Only then you realize that he is indeed standing right in front of you. You’re not dreaming, you’re staring and it’s getting damn awkward.

“Seokjin!”, you screech, quickly trying to change to professionalism again.

“Hi, Y/N”, he says, completely oblivious to your thoughts. He’s really here, you think, getting more and more excited. It’s as if someone just lifted a grey filter and every color gets brighter again.

He points at the bar in you hand. “What’s that?”

“That’s a massage bar”, you say, happy he picked a topic other than you ogling him. “It can be used for a massage or as a body lotion after showering. It contains cocoa butter and mineral oils.”

The shower image comes to your mind again but you quickly shove it back.

“Sounds lovely”, he says and for a split second his gaze falls to your lips. At least you think it does. Internally you take a deep breath, working up some courage. “Do you want to try it?”, you ask in a rush.

He looks surprised but quickly recovers, nodding and pulling up one sleeve. You’re greeted with the sight of his slender hand and the visible veins running down his arm. Holding back a shiver while taking his hand you softly rub some of the product onto his skin. Then you start massaging the back of his hand with gentle strokes. Your gaze lingers for a moment and your heart most definitely skips a beat when you look up again. All the angelic features of Seokjins face have vanished. His eyes are half closed and he looks almost sinful. A small noise escapes his parted lips and you think you might faint.

It feels exciting and intimidating to touch him like this.

In the middle of the store you’re working at.

For each and every one to see.

When the realization hits you, you drop his hand in embarrassment. His eyes snap open and he looks equally as shocked as you are. He takes a step back in the same moment you find your voice again.

“I’m sorry, do you- eh do you like the product? Should I pack it for you?”, you ask, trying to deescalate the situation.

“Huh?” Seokjin looks at you like he sees you for the first time today. “Ah no, thank you! I-I think I need to leave, actually.”

Before you can even do so much as blink, he rushes out of the door. You’re left with the massage bar in your hand and your heart at your feet. How come you didn’t notice it was involved until now? Why did he leave, did you do something wrong?

You feel like you’re about to cry but fight it successfully. Okay, maybe you did develop a crush on a customer. And maybe some part of you was convinced that it was mutual and Seokjin had a thing for you as well. Obviously, he had not.

The last time someone ran from you as fast as he did was at a fetching game in elementary school. Either way, now is definitely not the time to dive further into your feelings. While leading another customer through the store, June brushes your shoulder.

“What the hell did just happen?”, she whispers, keeping up her façade smile at the same time. You just shake your head, unable to answer because honestly you don’t know. Maybe you did cross a line but at the same time you felt like Seokjin had actually liked it.

The rest of the shift you work on auto-pilot. Your customer smile never fades but inside you feel empty. Even if you had interpreted every sign Seokjin gave you wrong, you felt as if there was a connection between the two of you. How could you be so false about that?

By the end of the day you feel exhausted, looking forward to crying in some of your pillows. Maybe there’s still ice cream left in your refrigerator. A miserable scene starts playing in your head and you quickly shake it off, as you finish cleaning the last counter.

“I’m heading home, okay?”, you exclaim, earning a thumbs up from Nara and a worried look from June. Luckily, she stays silent giving you the space you need right now. With your jacket and bag draped over one arm you leave the store. It’s dark outside but still pretty warm. Only a few people are out, most of them heading home as well now.

Maybe the rejection will hurt less in a few days, you think to yourself. Just as you turn around the corner, someone tall bumps into you. You squeak and jolt backwards when you realize who you just ran into. Seokjin. It had to be him out of all people. A thousand different thoughts cross your mind.

How do you react? What is he doing here? Did he come back to talk to you? Should you be angry at him?

Your stupid heart betrays you by skipping a beat and then starting a race in your chest. Still, it starts to hurt just as much when you hear his voice again.

“Y/N!” He seems to be just as surprised as you are. “Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Even with a shocked look on his face he’s still gorgeous and you feel like crying again. Avoiding his gaze, you look down and realize that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine don’t worry.”

Even a total stranger would notice the shakiness of your voice. You really need to escape this situation. Now.

“Look, I’m okay. I’ll just head home now, so… have a great evening.”

You awkwardly try to shuffle past him but he catches your arm holding you back.

“No, please wait!”

He’s so close now that you can smell his cologne. Something really sweet mixed with soap that makes you want to get closer to him. Instead, you try to free yourself from his grip. You still don’t know why he left earlier and it hurts being near him.

“Let me go please, I need to- “

“Just listen to me, I swear I’ll make it quick!”, he interrupts you.

His voice sounds really desperate which is why you feel yourself slowly nod.

“I owe you an apology for what happened today.” After his first words the scene starts to play in your head again and you slightly stiffen at the memory.

“I’m really sorry that I just left like that. It wasn’t your fault at all, I was just- you know I- shit this is embarrassing.” He sighs, stumbling over his own words.

By now you’re even more confused than before.

“I don’t understand”, you say. “Why did you leave?”

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair. You can see that he’s frustrated but you don’t know why.

“Ah, fuck it”, he mutters under his breath and then looks right into your eyes.

“The first time I came to the store, it was because I lost a bet with my friends”, he admits in a rush. “I felt stupid and embarrassed, but you were so nice and extremely cute so the next time I came, it was because I wanted to see you again.”

The world stops spinning. At least you feel like it does, because you’re suddenly out of air after his confession. He came to see you?

Not noticing any of this, Seokjin continues.

“I know, it may sound really creepy, I realize that, but you seemed to be having a good time as well, so I figured you felt the same?” At this he pushed his fingers through his hair again. It’s an irritating gesture because you know you shouldn’t stare at them like you do right now.

A tiny part of you wishes he would touch you instead.

“One time I almost asked you out, but we got interrupted and I lost my courage, I guess. And when I saw how shocked you were today after what happened, I just thought that I completely misinterpreted everything. I didn’t want you to feel pressured if you really don’t feel the same, that’s why I left. So- yeah, I realize now that I probably acted like an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“You were an idiot, that’s true.”

Seokjin looks startled.

Gaining courage, you openly smile at him.

“I feel the same about you”, you softly say. “Talking to you is so easy, I feel like I could do it all day. I’m sorry I reacted like this back in the store, I just remembered where we were and you’re a customer…I panicked.”

You take a deep breath.

“And when you left, I felt devastated. One moment you’re there and it’s going great and we're touching and the next second you run off. It just hurt…” Your last words are only a whisper escaping your lips.

At some point during your confession, Seokjin decided to take a step closer, now standing only inches away from you and his scent is all around you again.

“So, you liked touching me?”, he asks with a small smirk on his lips. Those beautiful pink lips you want to feel so badly. You quickly nod, heat rushing through your cheeks.

“And Y/N”, he says while moving the last bit closer. “Do you feel like panicking right now?”

“I don’t think so. “

His lips are on yours in an instant. Everything becomes less important to the feeling of Seokjin kissing you. It’s as if the whole world went silent at once just so you won’t get interrupted.

When his thumb starts caressing your cheek, you part your lips, giving him access to your mouth. His tongue plays with your lower lip before licking into you softly. He tastes amazing and you feel yourself getting lost, when he suddenly pulls away.

“This is okay, right?” he asks, panting heavily.

Instead of answering, you pull him in again. This time it’s different though. The first kiss was sweet and new. This one is pure hunger. You feel your skin burn where he touches you on top of your shirt. In return, you let your hands wander beneath his blue sweater, tracing his skin with your fingers. Seokjin growls against your mouth.

He then starts to tilt your head so he can bring his lips to your neck. And boy, he knows what he’s doing. His lips place wet kisses on your sensible skin and when he starts sucking right below your ear, a tiny moan escapes your lips. At this you push lightly against his chest. Again, this is sadly not the right place. You’re still out on a street.

He takes the hint and stops kissing you. His lips look swollen and wet and you have to force yourself not to kiss him again. He opens his mouth, possibly to say anything including some stupid apology, but you quickly take his hand.

“Let’s continue this some place else. Maybe somewhere without an audience?”, you suggest.

Seokjin laughs, visibly relieved and starts pulling you into the direction he originally came from.

His voice seems darker than before. “I live right around the corner, we can go there.”

You hum in approval, not missing the fact that he doesn’t let go of your hand.

On the way to his apartment you keep up a small chat about some of your courses and the work Seokjin does. Still, you can feel the tension in the air between you. On the outside you maintain interested, when all you can think about is his skin against yours.

Finally, you arrive in front of a small building with a blue painted wooden door. Seokjin fumbles with his keys while you can only look at his beautiful hands. You crave his touch and the feeling of being in his arms. The door opens and he pulls you inside. A staircase later you’re in front of the apartment door.

“I do have a roommate, but he’s out of town at the moment”, he explains while unlocking the door. Inside the hall you don’t even get time to look at the furniture before Seokjin pushes you against the wall.

“God, you’re so beautiful”, he whispers right before he kisses you again.

His lips are rough, and you meet them with the same amount of hunger. After all, you missed them since the last touch. You can feel his hands on the back of your thighs when he suddenly lifts you up without missing a beat. His mouth is still working against yours but now you’re just too aware of a certain hardness between your legs that shoots heat through your spine.

You feel yourself getting wet and pray that he won’t notice.

When Seokjin flips his thumb over your hard nipple you can hardly hold back a moan. He searches for permission in your face and upon finding it, pulls your shirt over your head. He’s met with the sight of a mint green bralette hugging your breasts. When he’s teasing you again over the fabric, you’re forced to close your eyes, moaning his name in pleasure.

The next thing you feel is his mouth engulfing your nipple. It’s hot and wet and you automatically arch your back to get closer to the feeling. He swirls his tongue around you, drawing soft noises from your throat.

“Please don’t stop”, you beg while pulling at some soft strands of his hair.

“You’re driving me crazy, Y/N”, he admits. “I can’t wait to feel you.”

“Then don’t”, you simply say, tugging at the hem of his sweater. He complies, pulling it off and you gasp lightly at the sight of his naked torso. Your fingers trail down the lines of his shoulders and your lips connect again, this time it’s sweet and full of anticipation.

You can feel the wall behind you vanish as Seokjin starts walking towards his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. He lays you down on his bed as if you were made of glass and starts taking off your jeans in the same movement.

“Come and sit here, will you?”, he says.

You do as you’re told and when you meet his eyes again, you forget how to breathe. Seokjin is on his knees right in front of you, his black pants hanging loosely on his hips, his dark hair messy from your hands. You don’t even think he looks human anymore.

“Open your legs for me, princess.”

The new nickname makes you shiver, as well as the cold air meeting your wet panties as you comply. The man in front of you uses a long, slender finger to tug your underwear to the side and is rewarded with the sight of your glistening folds.

“You’re so wet princess, is this all for me?”

You moan as a response, unable to form a proper word in your head. No one has ever made you feel like this before.

Seokjin lowers his head and you lose every train of thoughts when you feel his tongue on you.

He licks up a stripe and your legs tremble out of pleasure. He starts sucking on your clit, leaving you a moaning mess, your hands grasping the sheets so you won’t lose balance.

Your breath hitches as Seokjin introduces a single digit to your entrance. His other hand is still holding you in place, while he works you up simultaneously with his tongue and finger. He starts pumping in and out faster, hitting your soft walls with every push. You’re on the edge, all you can think of is more, more.

“P-Please”, you say, breathing heavily. “I want to feel your cock inside of me. I need you. Now.”

He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“You think you can take me, princess?”, he asks while getting up.

You nod a bit nervous at the sight of Seokjin taking off his pants and boxers at once. He’s way bigger than you had imagined. Like the rest of his body even his cock looks perfectly shaped, his tip already wet with a few drops of precum. You bite your bottom lip, can’t help but stare at him in awe. It’s the first time you see him completely naked and you try to take everything in at the same time.

Seokjin starts to crawl above you, keeping eye contact while you shuffle back until you hit the bedside. He pulls you down again by your legs, bringing his lips to your ear.

“I keet imagining this moment since the first time we met. Your hands all over me, while I pound you into the mattress until you scream my name”, he whispers.

Your answer is a kiss. On his lips you can taste yourself, mixed with the same impatience you feel building up inside of you. You reach down, slipping a finger over the head of his cock, bringing it back up to your mouth. Seokjin looks like he’s about to choke. Next thing you know, your panties are abandoned and he’s rolling a condom on himself that just appeared out of nowhere.

“Look at me while I fill you up so good”, he demands as he positions himself at your entrance. You both sigh at the feeling of him entering you inch by inch. He pauses when he’s completely inside of you.

“How can you be so tight? Your little pussy was made for me, right princess?”

You feel your cheeks get red, but there is no time to be ashamed of anything.

When he starts moving, you can feel how big he really is with every push. Seokjin flips at your nipple again before his mouth is on yours again and your soft moans get mixed with needy whines. His left hand is stroking your curves, coming to a halt at your hip, to keep you in place while he starts to go deeper.

His lips find your neck and you mewl loudly when he bites down on it. The next second the short pain is gone as he licks over the hickey he just created.

All of the sudden, he lowers his pace and you feel him even more, stretching you out deliciously. With a small movement, he starts to hit you at a specific angle, still going slow and making you feel him all the way.

He presses light kisses behind your ear, whispering “You’re fucking gorgeous Y/N”.

And then you feel his hand between your legs.

Seokjin stops kissing you to look at your face as he starts stimulating your clit with his fingers while moving faster again. You moan uncontrollably at the pleasure that takes over you.

“P-Please!”, you choke out.

“What is it princess? You need to use your words. Tell me what you need.”

His hot breath is on your face. Never in your life has anyone made you feel so precious and vulnerable at the same time.

“Please, S-Seokjin! Make me cum, I need you!”, you whine, while he proceeds to push you to the edge with every hard plunge of his cock.

“Say my name again, princess, I’ll make you feel so good!” His clenched teeth tell you that he’s not far from coming himself. His fingers and the feeling of him bouncing in and out of you almost make you faint.

“Seokjin!”, you cry out and your world shatters as the orgasm rips through you. A few pushes after, you feel Seokjin spill himself into the condom.

You’re both painting heavily when he rolls off of you and you feel his gaze from the side.

You turn your head, giving him a soft smile and the look, he rewards you with, makes your face heat up again.

“I think that was the best sex I ever had”, you admit sheepishly, holding your breath for a few seconds before releasing it again.

Seokjin smiles his angelic smile and brushes a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

“Me too.”

For a moment you both remain silent. Then he clears his throat.

“I hope this isn’t too late, but I really meant what I said before. Will you go out with me Y/N?”

“Yes”, you say wholeheartedly. “I would love to. There’s only one last question I have.”

“And that is?”, he asks with a confused look.

“What color did that bathtub have at the end? You know, the one where you put all the bath bombs together?”

“Y/N, I swear to god…”, he says and the rest of the sentence is drowned out by your laughter.

© Bts-Storys, 2021. Do not copy or repost without permission.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading all of it! I'm still working on my smut writing skills, I hope you can see some improvement.

[criquette-was-here]

Long Due Replies

Hi everyone! It’s been some crazy few months for me. Real life has taken over completely so I didn’t have a chance to pay attention to my inbox. There are lot of asks on troubleshooting and I apologise for not being able to help on time. I hope everyone who needed help has got it somehow >.< There’s a crazy amount of messages, so I’m going to hide it under the cut.

@shutupshirley said:

Hi Criquette, I’m sorry because this is dumb, but I don’t understand how to install your neighbourhood lighting mod on an installation of Ultimate Collection... do I change out every lighting.txt file I can find across all the expansion and stuff packs? :/

Thank you!!!!

Hi @shutupshirley! I’m not a big specialist on windows version of TS2 and UC but I believe there are two folders you have to look at and they are ‘Fun with Pets’ and ‘Open for Business’

Anonymous said:

What do you imagine residents of Feverfew are called? I keep doing Peruvian but like Ferfewian or some

Oh, yes, I was thinking about this matter at some point! Feverfewian is what I came up with. I even found a wiki article about different names for different town inhabitants to sort of made it up a bit, but I haven’t write down the result I had and now I’ve lost it. I think feverfewians sounds best, it can even have some silly derivatives like ‘fewies’

@3sushiroll said:

Hi Criquette, I'm getting into SC4 and have been getting the hang of it while using the sims 2 hood planner. I've been starting to use bridges and have been using yours. When I put in the tile measurement into the hood planner (ex: 15 tile = 8 in SC4), it doesn't exactly line up in game. Does this usually happen for you and you put in a piece of fake road in the middle or am I just doing it wrong and it should line up super nicely? Thank you for all your wonderful creations!

Hi @3sushiroll! Yes, TS2 parses SC4 roads this way. I always put some decorative road in the gap or I make the shores narrower so that the bride would overlap the road. But to make slopes where the road ends equal, you have to use TS2 terraforming tool to make this flat empty piece of terrain right after the road end into slope so that it would look like the opposite.

Anonymous said:

Hi there, hope you're doing well! I downloaded your simple walkways set and noticed that they float. They don't sit on the ground properly. Is there anything I can do on my end to make them sit closer to the ground? Any help would be appreciated, thank you!

Hey anon! Thank you! Yes, this old set of walkways was made this way. Maxis made neighborhood mode roads float, so I had to do the same with road related decorations. But now you can use these Cobblestone paths or side walks from the Rural Charm, they’re as close to the ground as possible.

Anonymous said:

hey! would it ever be possible for you to create recolors of the cobblestone sidewalks in red brick/cobblestone?

Hi anon! I don’t think so :| I can’t even find the time to fix some Ferverfew related issues >.<

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette. I liked Feverfew very much. I would like to make some of the houses multi-unit, keeping your doors in place. Is it possible to add the function of apartments to these doors? :)

Hi nonne! As far as I’m aware, you can only default replace those apartment doors which is quite useless. What you can do, is to put an apartment door right behind the front door. This, obviously, would eat up the space but could work as a solution.

Anonymous said:

Hello! I just downloaded Feverview and it's gorgeous! I can't believe all the little details you added, the effort and love you put into this project is incredible. I just had a small question: a few residential lots are fake apartments, I was wondering if you know how to turn them into functional apartments 

Hi anon! I’m glad you liked Feverfew! ^__^ In theory, you can use SimPE or Lot Editor to change lot type from residential to apartment and then implement apartment doors somehow, but since I don’t have AL in my Super Collection, I have zero experience in that.

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette! :) I just realized recently that if I delete objects in game, I have to delete first the recolors of it. I've already deleted a bunch of objects without knowing about this, so now my downloads folders has houndreds of recolors without meshes. Do you know about anything I can do to find and delete these orphans? (Delphys download organizer just can't make difference)

Hi anon! I’m definitely not a helper on the matter of keeping Downloads folder organised, sorry ^^’‘ I would thing about finding sets of files with similar names keeping eye on the absence of the word ‘mesh’ in the names, and looking at the file size at the same time. And that would take ages, obviously. 

@ardyyy4 said:

Hello Criquette. I love Feverfew so much. But I have a problem. The grass and NHood objects are flickering together and it looks bad. How can i fix it? Thanks.

Hello Arda! That’s because of the neighborhood camera you’re using. I’d recommend you to install this particular camera just to get rid of flickering.

Anonymous said:

Hello! First of great content! Always been a fan! I was wondering if you could give a bit of advice with hood deco, I have downloaded an Ocean floor from Gwenke, and in lot view it only shows up at the very far edges, around my lot it is missing (it does show when render is set to small though). And it shows on beach lots too, I was wondering if you know of way to make it so that it is seen no matter what the view distance is etc? (I have the relevant cheats on btw) Thank you in advance!

Hey nonnie! Thanks :) Have you ticked off object hiding in the settings? Other than that, it could be camera issues.

Anonymous said:

is there a way to stop neighborhood decor from fading? I know there is the „boolprop dontmergenhflora“ cheat, but I still get some fading. for excample when I look at the lot from the street the NH decor by the street fades

That’s definitely sounds like object hiding option from the game settings :}

Anonymous said:

Hey how are you ? I hope all is well. I was wondering how is it that ts2 has no ski deco but in ts1 we had ski slope and skate lake !?? I was wondering can you and the sim community make deco or interactive items such as a ski slope or even snow shoes or just something that goes with seasons n BV pack ?

Hello anon! I hope you’re well too! Ski slope and winter sports related decos is something I wanted to make since 2016, but never had enough time to do so. Sometimes I even think about available TS2 technologies to make an animated ski lift and umm.. may be in the next ten years? ^^’‘

Anonymous said:

hello!! i'm sorry if u already answered something like this (i searched but found nothing) but the better nightlife isn't working for me :(( i put the better nightlife+voielle water on download fold and the decorations still flashing in pink light, i did something wrong? (i use win10) sorry for the inconveniente

Hey anon! Sometimes you have to do these weird steps in order to make it work:

remove Better Nightlife + water mod from your downloads folder,

load the game, load the neighborhood, make some changes, exit game

put Better Nightlife with water back. Toggle day/night with ‘L’ key to see if it works. If it’s not, than the problem is somewhere else. Pink flashing also could be unrelated to Better Nightlife, so I’d recommend to check TS2 graphics setting for Win10 manuals available.

Anonymous said:

Hello there, I'm having a problem with the rural charm, on lot view the roads have yellowish boards (idk how to explain exactly). I saw that was because of CuriousB terrain, but I don't have it downloaded anymore so I'm kinda confused. What should it be? Sorry for bothering,,,

Hello, anon! What’s current season you’re having in your game? It can be the season lighting differences that make roadside and terrain grass colors different. If it’s not, I’d check the Downloads folder to see if there’s still some terrain DRs I’ve forgot about.

@pinkflamingosims said:

Hi criquette! I was wondering if you have any idea why some hood deco cc crashes on mac, like palm 1 to 4 from the tropical 4t2 set by leoz94. Leoz94 says the only difference is the high polycount, but I don't think that's it, it looks a bit high to me but not insanely so, I have  other stuff in that range with no problem... Have a nice - evening?

Hey @pinkflamingosims! I hope you’re doing well! Yes, some hood decos are really make the game crash and frankly speaking, I think that’s jsut package related issues like broken references in the resource tree. The best way to fix this type of hood decos is to make a clean and stable new clone and replace mesh/textures again.

Anonymous said:

Hello and thank you for amazing Feverfew map! I have a problem... ground is flashing red and I cannot fix it, do you have solution for this problem? It's been soooo long when I last played Sims 2 so apparently I did something wrong when installed CC. :(

Hello anon! Thank you! Oh, red flashing could be the result of lighting mod not being installed correctly. I’d start with getting rid of any lighting mods to see if it helps.

@marv61​ said:

Hi Criquette. I just downloaded your terrain of Forkshire, it looks great! I know it has been since 2009 that you uploaded the terrain but I was wondering if you have a completed Neighborhood with houses, trees and all for download? I would love to play your version. Thanks.

Hi Patchman! Oh, goodness no! :D That was 12 years ago, those TS2 files are long gone since then.

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette, first things first, I love your work thank you so much, you inspire me! Now the question: I have been using the dirt roads from your Rural Lanes set and found that sometimes it is difficult if not impossible to fit them to the slopes of steep terrain. Would it be possible to instead create road pieces as a texture like your Neighborhood Decals? That way they would "stick" onto the terrain regardless of shape. Wondering what you think? Love!

Hello and thank you, anon! The problem with the decals – we can’t see it in lot mode yet. And it must be a DR only so we’d have to ditch one of the Maxis’ decals for dirt road, which isn’t great too.

Anonymous said:

Hi Criquette! Will Betternightlife mod ever be updated to work with lighting mods with dawn and dusk? Is there any that already works with it? I really want to use the light up hood decos!

Hey anon! You can use it with lighting mods that add dusk and dawn to the game. For instance, there’s one here by @dreadpirate​.

Anonymous said:

Hey Criquette! I recently used your template to make lit-up hood deco buildings using the Better Nightlife mod. The day text was great! However, the night texture was being clipped by the day texture. That is, some parts of the day texture was showing through the night texture. Is there a fix for this?

Hello nonnie! I’d recommend to check the meshes to see if day/night parts clip through each other and if they aren’t I’d check if all the day/night TXMT data is correct.

@criquette​ said:

I've installed Fewerfew following all your istructions. Apparently it works but the night lamps are flashing pink even ig I've installed the mod better night light. It seems that this mod does not work properly. Any recommendation?

Being Criquette, you should know the solution to that issue yourself :P Just kidding, sorry, couldn’t resist! If it flashes pink only by night than you have to check your ‘Downloads’ folder for conflicts. If it’s flashing constantly day and night, than I’d better check graphics setting using some windows related guides available across the Internet.

Anonymous said:

Hello, I love Feverfew and it's amazing. I have a problem where Linden Tree 1A isn't showing up in my game even though it's in my downloads folder. Also the railroad tracks are flashing blue, and those are in my folder too. Thanks in advance!  :)

Hello anon! What type of the trees you’re using? Stand alone or default ones? If you’re using defaults, you can find the trees under Maxi’s oaks accordingly. As for the flashing blue railway tracks, check if you have this set in your ‘Downloads’ folder :)

Anonymous said:

Hello Criquette, before asking for help, I came to say that the Brazilian community loves your creations. But, to get to the point, anyway, I have been thinking about creating a Hood (inspired by Rio de Janeiro), so I would like to know how to create Deco Hoods for my game (the statue of Christ), I can't find that anywhere, Would you help me?

Hi there! Ah, most kind, thank you ^^ Well, there’s no big deal in creating hood decos. You have to switch your SimPE to advanced mode and after that neighborhood decoration will be visible in the catalogue to be cloned. I assume you already know how to make lot mode objects and know how to create, edit or convert meshes/textures though.

@hideshio​ said:

Hello! I found your train set (and it's AMAZING) on mts and was wondering if you had a railroad crossing sign? With the lights, X, and the red/white hand that goes down. Or the lights that go across a pole above the railroads. Thank you!  =D

Hello @hideshio​! Well, there is a railway crossing sign with lights and red/white hand included in this set :D it’s not animated though. But still!

Anonymous said:

Hi criquette, I’m a huge admirer of you work and I was wondering if you had any advice regarding road placement. Specifically the difficulty of road pieces that are deco only being able to be placed underneath the actually roads leaving it looking a little off.. if there a way to raise them higher before placing them or some kind of work around? 

Hey anon, thank you! Unfortunately, there’s no way to make decorative road pieces work for lot mode and neighborhood mode at the same time. If you lift them so they look okay in hood mode, they will float in the air in lot mode. Since my latest creations are lot mode oriented, I’ve decided to save my efforts on making road pieces even with neigborhood mode roads.

Anonymous said:

Hey Criquette. I noticed that in my Feverfew none of the buildings across the street of Feverfew Sports Hall show up. I know those are supposed to be hood deco and look like duplex buildings, but I can't figure out what I'm missing. I deleted and redownloaded everything and couldn't fix it. Also the river ends at the first bridge in front of the cathedral, so the boats next to it appear to be flying. What is going on?

Hey anon! There’s definitely some files missing. If you’ve checked and redownloaded all the files, try to replace the Feverfew neighborhood folder with initial one. The game never restores disappeared hood decos by itself. Even if they were placed in the folder after their absence is discovered.

@simping-simmer​ said:

Hi Criquette, am I remembering correctly that there is a trick you can do with SimPE to change the height of individual pieces of hood deco? I’m struggling with putting ships in my dock because if I change a CC ship’s placeability to be able to be on both land and sea, it just sinks, but if I only keep it on sea, it can’t get close enough to the shore to place it in my docks. Does this make sense at all? Lol

Hello @simping-simmer​, you’re absolutely right. You can change the height of placed hood decos via SimPE. Things you need to do are described here and here

Anonymous said:

Hello! I love all your work.  I was wondering if you had ever thought of making some desert roads along the lines of the Terrain Mod: Dusty Roads for Desert Neighbourhoods by Stev84? I love the way this looks in my desert, but unfortunately, this mod makes the road in live mode a floor, which then makes you unable to place driveways.

Hey anon! Thanks ^^ Frankly, I don’t have any plans on creating any desert related CC at all :|

Anonymous said:

Hello Criquette. I would like to thank you for all the amazing work you have done creating content for sims 2. Thanks to you all my projects are possible. My question is: Chainlink fences for neighborhood deco... Do they exist? Searching the web these past day only found for build mode. Do you know of someone who already make some for deco hood? Or kindly will you be able to make some if its not much work? My sports fields and Industrial zones will be pleased for sure! Once again, thank you! :)

Hey anon and thank you! I don’t think hood deco chainlink fences were created by someone yet, but they definitely would be a great addition to the game. I was going to create some while working on Feverfew, but never had enough time to do that. May be i’ll make one at some point in the future!

Anonymous said:

Hello, Criquette. Do you know of any way to place lots without the area around it moving? I downloaded Ousmeo's remake of your Dullsfielde and read his og post using the waytime machine. When viewing that post, Tumblr recommended similar posts, one of which seemed to be a tip to prevent good deco from moving when placing lots nearby, but that post wasn't archived, so I can't visualise it. My guess is that if anyone else knows about this, it must be the best hood decorator that ever was ;-)

Hello anon! Ugh, this TS2 ‘feature’ is driving me mad quite often too! Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to get rid of it. The only way to fix the consequences is to backup initial hood folder and when you finish placing lots, replace spoiled terrain with the initial one with SimPE or HoodReplace.

[duns-writes]

This is very sad, Major Character Death, I repeat, Very Sad.

CW: MCD, burns, non-graphic discussion of injuries, palliative care.

Not canon-compliant; the boat has already left by the time Jaskier is captured.

-----------

She's on the dock when she hears it.

A whisper, and then another, hastily stowed under a new arrival's cloak like a hidden jewel.

They say they caught the Sandpiper last night-

...on his way home from the docks-

...Nilfgaardians, a mage-

...poor fellow

Godsdammit.

She's going to have to go back for him, isn't she? All the way back to Oxenfurt, and for what?

For a popinjay in a stupid swishy coat and a ridiculous bonnet and a...smile...after the worst day of her life by quite some fucking margin-

She narrowly avoids screaming a curse in the middle of a Xin'trean street.

...fucking Jaskier.

The mage-Rience?-is long gone by the time she breaks back in to the Silver Bell. There's a hedgewitch in the arse end of nowhere that she owes, but she'll owe her later. Right now there's just the must of infection, and the faintest wisp of smoke. And Jaskier, slumped in a chair, blood tried in a rusting trail down his cheek.

She feels the heat before she sees it, forcing down a gag at the burns across his arm and chest. Grimaces as she hauls him free, slumping and insensible. It's as she stumbles toward the stairs with him that she sees a flash of twin swords and stupid hair...and against her better judgement, calls its name.

They've barely made it to Kaer Morhen (thanks to a handily available portalling charm from Triss, Melitele bless her) when Voleth Meir happens. The next time she's well enough to see the bard, Triss has her 'this is not good and now I'm sad' face on, which, fuck.

Vesemir is sitting next to the narrow cot, gently laying a cold compress across his forehead, and Geralt is brooding. In the corner. Obviously.

"Triss?"

"The infection from his burns is in his blood and he's failing. I've tried everything-", she looks up as Yennefer raises her hand "-and it's gone too far. A few days ago, maybe I could have brought him back, but..."

Fuck

"Fuck!"

She wants to kick something, throw fireballs, anything to stop feeling that yawning gap, but stops short when Triss fixes her with a look.

"You were always better at mind magic than me. Why don't you conjure a dream for him while I keep him comfortable?"

Yen swallows, and glances at him, twitching fretfully.

It's then that Geralt speaks up. Halting, cracked.

"There...hmm. There was a meadow, once. In Temeria. Midsummer. He made a flower crown for himself. Tried to make one for me but I told him to fuck off. Made one for Roach instead. She ate it." He smiles, looking somewhere past them.

"He was affronted. Did...hmm...that...spluttering thing. But he petted her nose, so gently, and then he sat down and leant against me and...napped. Was...hmm...safe. Looked happy in his sleep."

Both the mages smile at him fondly.

"Could you imagine it? If I watch for it?"

He says it very quietly. Very gently, as if he's afraid to break it:

"Perfectly."

He's in a meadow in...Temeria? He remembers this, he does. Gods, the heat of midsummer! Sweltering, boiling, the road ahead shimmering-then the coolness of the earth beneath him. Loam under his fingertips and wildflowers in his hand as he tips his tongue to the heavy air. He's already watched Roach eat her offering, little menace. Big menace, he thinks fondly. His own is lopsided, drooping under the fierce sun, and Geralt is stretched out in the shade of the tree, waterskin full beside him. He takes a long swallow, somehow feeling even more quenched than usual, and flops down beside his Witcher. Big, Big Menace, he thinks, as he feels himself dropping off. His faculties have left him, he thinks muzzily. Burned off the top of his head by the...hmmm...sun...

He wakes to stone walls, a woman he's never seen curled on the floor beside him and Yennefer beckoning somebody over. He feels kitten-weak, and blinks confusedly as Geralt's face swims into view.

"What...happened?" He finds himself winded by speaking, looking up in wonderment as one big hand curls around the back of his neck and the other spoons some chilled tea down his throat.

"Am I ill? Last I remember...Cairngorn? Shovelling...shit..." He feels his mouth turn down in an unhappy frown.

"You've been ill for a while, Jaskier. You got sick on the road, and...you're very weak, now."

"Am I? Dying?"

Geralt hums gently, and mops his brow.

"I'm sorry, Jas. You were too strong to stay asleep, but you're too unwell to get better. Triss," and he nods at the woman there, "tried everything she could but...hmm."

"Dreamt about...flowers...Temeria...'s nice."

Geralt smiles. A gentle thing.

"Hmm. Yennefer wanted to give you something nice to dream about."

"Didn't want you waking to bleat out some histrionic bullshit about leering forests, bard."

He cranes his head, with all his strength. Peering out of the window to see the leaves blazing in the early sun.

"Mmh. Poetry...writes..." He stops, wrinkles his brow. "Are we...Morhen?"

"Yes. Wanted...wanted you where it's safe."

He settles back onto his pillows faintly awestruck, as Geralt slowly opens his mouth-

"You're...sorry...'bout...moun-mountain."

Geralt has the gall to look surprised.

"I am. I'm sorry, Jaskier. My...hmm. My friend."

Yennefer watches as Jaskier smiles, and cuddles back down into the mattress. (What no-one says is that it's Vesemir's own. Stuffed with extra feathers for old bones, he said, when he brought it down to the infirmary.)

Jaskier dies on an autumn morning. Free from pain, with friends beside him, and a flower crown shedding petals in his dreams.

[hopecountyisforlovers]

breakfast;

rating: general. implied sexual content but nothing graphic. lets call it pg-13

pairing: summerseed ( john x tobias )

words: 1430

summary: happy pride month ! i actually started this last week but im just finishing and editing it now. tobias makes john breakfast in this one and theres lots of gay shit

----------x----------

It's still early when the idea strikes Tobias- at least, early for him. It surprises him that he can still feel John in bed next to him, can still hear him mumbling in his sleep in the midst of a dream. Hadn't he mentioned taking a day off? That made his idea even more perfect, didn't it?

Fortunately ( or unfortunately, depending on how he thought about it ), John was currently sleeping with his back to him, which made it much easier to slip gently out of bed than if he had to pry himself out of his grip.

At a hint of motion, John turns over, still obviously asleep, grasping for where Tobias had just lain and seeming distressed when he finds nothing in the space. Thinking fast, the blonde slips his pillow from it's place at the head of the bed, pushing it gently towards his husbands reaching arms. It works like a charm- he wraps around it as easily as he would if it actually were him, sleep becoming peaceful once more.

Tobias could watch him sleep for hours, and on previous occasions he had, but this morning he's on a mission. He pads out of their shared bedroom lightly, closing the door behind him with a feather-light touch. John slept in so rarely- it simply wouldn't do for anything to wake him up. Especially when there was still so much work to be done.

Through the living room, into the kitchen- the hardwood floor is cool under his feet, except where late morning light pours in through the windows to warm it. Seed Ranch is serene at this time of day, something straight out of a cottagecore fantasy. If you could call their sprawling estate home a "cottage", that is. The thought makes him laugh.

This was second nature to him, a routine that even before this place he had done most every morning. It was more special, here- something he chose to do and not something he was forced to do. The fridge was usually well stocked, and today was no exception- it gives him a chill when he peeks into it. The blueberries he had picked fresh from their backyard garden sit, enticingly brightly colored, in a Tupperware on the second shelf.

Perfect.

It doesn't take him long- combining ingredients, frying bacon, slicing bread he had baked just the other night for thick, golden toast- or at least, it doesn't feel like it's taken him that long. Truthfully, Tobias finds it impossibly easy to lose himself in domestic activities. He's flipping a pancake dotted with plump blueberries when a set of arms wraps firm around his waist, the soft contrast of lips against his neck followed in a shiver-inducing way by the scratch of John's beard against sensitive skin.

"You didn't think that pillow would fool me forever, did you, my dear?" he still sounds half asleep- there's a husky tone to his usually smooth voice that summons butterflies to Tobias' stomach.

"I sure hoped it wouldn't. You'd miss breakfast."

"Breakfast?" he seems to notice what Tobias is doing for the first time- the smaller man can feel his lips curve up into a smile against the curve of his jawline. "Mmnn, you know your blueberry pancakes are my favorite. Whats the occasion?"

"The occasion?" Tobias giggles under his breath. "Well, I woke up in bed next to the most handsome man I'd ever seen. And then I saw the ring on his finger matched mine, so...."

This time John laughs, a sound like rich, dripping honey that he's sure must be the undiscovered secret cure for something. It makes what he is sure must be the dopiest grin alive stretch at the corners of his mouth. "You really are an angel, you know that?"

Tobias laughs with him in turn and he is finishing another pancake for the stack, starting a fresh ladle of thick batter against the gently popping oil despite being restrained by John's arms as he is. It was a necessity, really, developing that skill- John never let him go when he didn't have to, and that was how he preferred it. "Takes one to know one."

John's laughter brushes just lightly against the shell of his ear this time, and the flame of hot sensation it sends right down his spine to pool in his stomach is enough to almost make him drop the spatula he's holding. He can tell John saw it, too- he can practically hear the satisfaction in his voice when it comes to the power he holds over his little husband. "Careful, wildflower. Don't burn yourself."

He's already burning in a much different way. Tobias is sure he already knows. He flips the last finished pancake off into the pre-prepared plate, turning his head a bit to face him and leaning up to place a gentle kiss against his lips that sparks with sweet electricity. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me, Mr. Seed."

"Oh really? Did I wake up and make you a breakfast fit for a king?"

"Mmmn, you caught me. I almost decided to do it in nothing but my apron." It sounds awkward, coming from him, like he feels it always does when he attempts to be charming in the same effortless way John is, but the tightening of John's arms around his waist and the little shuddering breath he muffles against the skin of his throat are a fine indication that he thought otherwise. He would have to explore that idea more later- today, they have all the time in the world. "Why don't you go sit, get comfortable, and I'll make you a plate?"

"If you keep spoiling me like this, Joseph will make a law against it."

"God himself couldn't stop me from spoiling you, much less Joseph. Now go," Another kiss, this time in parting. It would only be for a few minutes, but it still feels necessary. "Sit."

"Sir yes sir." John's warmth pulls away from him, leaving him to his labor of love. He can hear the shift of chair legs against the hardwood floor, can hear him barely suppress a yawn and a soft moan as he stretches. He can picture it in his head clear as day, as he arranges food on of John's fancy plates- a little dab of butter here, some syrup there, bacon and toast arranged just so. It doesn't have to look perfect, but he takes it as a personal bit of pride that it does- or at least, as close to perfect as he can recreate.

Tobias slides it across the table towards him, finishing off the picture with a fork and a tall glass of fresh, cold milk from the fridge. The seat next to him is absent, of course, and he takes it, unwilling to be too far from him for too long. There- now it's perfect.

"Aren't you going to have some?"

"I...Uh.." Tobias just stares at him, suddenly flushed hot in embarrassment as he realizes his mistake, and the look that slides over John's face is endearingly exasperated.

"Did you only make enough for me again?"

"....Ahaha, old habits die hard, I guess." He had always been the one to make breakfast, but never for himself.

"That just means we get to share, doesn't it?"

"You don't have to d-" Tobias starts to protest, but is quickly silenced as John shoves a fork loaded with blueberry pancake into his open mouth. He has to admit, he's really outdone himself with this batch. He hums low in approval, eyes fluttering for a moment, and from this close John's answering laugh practically brushes against his skin.

"That's what I thought."

"Okay, okay..." He can't help but smile, watching his husband fork a bite for himself. His hair is messy and unkempt, the usual tension in his shoulders dissolved into a pleasant slope. It occurs to him, like it often does, how few people have gotten to see him this way- his heart swells in his chest, warm and saccharine. How could he possibly deny him the chance to share his breakfast, if that was what he wanted? How could he possibly deny him anything? "A few bites can't hurt. But I'm making you a snack later, okay?"

"Hmmmmm." He considers for a moment, twirling his fork in a circular motion, before a downright illegal sort of expression slides over his handsome features. "How about I have you for a snack later?"

Tobias' stomach fills with the beat of wings.

"Deal."