#so if they're trying to go for this theme. i hope it lands

[maybanksprincess]

seven minutes in heaven

warnings: suggestive but no actual smut, mature themes, dry humping, tongue kissing.

summary: a game of seven minutes in heaven leads to reader and jj stuck in a closet together.

pairings: childhood!bsf!jj x childhood!bsf!reader

requested by this ask (thank you anon!) i dont know much about the game, so if i got one of the steps wrong, im sorry in advance.

you and the rest of the pogues gathered together on a saturday night to drink beers, smoke weed, and play spin the bottle. typical pogue shit.

all of you were sat in a circle on the carpet in the living room floor of the chateau. there was a glass beer bottle in the middle of all seven of you.

for a half hour, the game was spin the bottle. everyone's facial expressions quickly grew bored. John B, and Sarah were talking about something totally different, Pope and Cleo gone to grab a new crate of beers.

After a few more moments of all of you staring at the wall blankly, Kiara's the first to break the awkward silence. "hey what's that game we all used to play when we were sophmores?" she asks, twirling a piece of her curly hair around her pointer finger.

after kiara speaks, jjs facial expression changes to one of interest. he thinks for a moment and then speaks, "the one where you get locked in a closet for like ten minutes?" he asks

Pope rounds the corner with a few beers tucked in his arm. Cleo not far behind him "seven minutes." he corrects, pointing a finger at him.

jj rolls his eyes at the correction and mimics a mouth with his hand, mocking his words "seven minutes" he says, trying his best to sound as much like pope as possible.

you flick the back of jjs neck, mumbling a shut up to him. he lets out a high pitched ow and rolls his eyes, but ultimately he stops his mocking.

John b turns back towards the group at the mention of the new game. "are we finally gonna play something other than spin the bottle? im kinda tired of landing on Sarah." he teases

Sarah shoves him playfully, and then turns back to the topic of conversation. "Yeah we should play, it sounds fun. how does it work?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

Pope speaks up this time, "we spin a bottle for two people, whichever two people it lands on, they go in a closet together for seven minutes to do whatever they want." he adds with a hint of suggestion at the end of his sentence.

jj smirks and turns to look at you, memories of the last time you two played this game when you were fifteen, when you shared your first kiss.

it was the first kiss for both of you, so it was sloppy and had a lot of teeth and tongue, it was sickening to think about, but never forgotten.

jj pipes up next, "yup we can play. this games borin' anyways." he says with a shrug.

everyone else agrees and shifts themselves back into a circle on the carpet. Pope places the bottle in the middle, then darting his eyes from one pogue to another.

"so whos first?" pope speaks

jj doesn't waste a second in volunteering to go first. "me! uh- ill spin first." he says, clearing his throat. everyones eyes fly to jj, giving him a questioning look.

"dude you answered that way too fast." john b says with a growing smirk on his face, his eyes now flickering between me and jj sitting beside one another.

"dude shut up!" jj says, before reaching forward and spinning the glass bottle, he crosses his arms and sneakily crosses his fingers hoping, praying, that it lands on you.

everyones eyes are glued intensely to the bottle, the tension in the small room palpable.

eventually the bottle comes to a stop, the tip of it pointing right to your knee. jj has to hold back from jumping up and saying something like hell yeah!

he instantly stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. "cmon m'lady." he teases, and looks at you with his typical shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes and take his hand, standing up and walking to the closed closet with him.

"i bet everyone can guess what they're gonna do in that closet." john b says with a smirk, as he watches jj open the closet door and enter.

"gross! i dont even wanna think about it." kie adds on, then everyone starts to whisper about both of you in the open circle.

as you both get in the cramped closet, jj takes a seat on stacked boxes that clearly say "fragile" but he obviously doesn't seem to mind. he looks up at you still standing there awkwardly in the dimly lit space.

"seems oddly familiar, doesn't it?" he teases. your brain floods with memories of you and jj in the same situation back in sophomore year.

you both had been in this exact crammed closet, deciding you could both share you first kiss together. it was sloppy, uncoordinated, and you both were trying to figure out a comfortable spot to place your hands. it was an awkward and uncomfortable kiss, but it was stuck in your brain nonetheless.

"yeah, really familiar." you chuckle nervously, looking around, and tapping your foot on the ground. you avoid eye contact with the blonde, hoping this seven minutes would pass by quickly.

he notices your shift in mood, and he smirks. he spreads his legs and moves his arms behind his head as he speaks.

"you know, were in here for a whole seven minutes. we should put it to good use, right?" he was enjoying making you nervous, and teasing you.

when he doesn't get a response, he gently pulls you onto his lap so your straddling him. he looks up into your eyes in the dimly lit closet, with something you cant quite describe.

before you know it, your both leaning in slowly, jj is the one to connect his lips with yours. the kiss was gentle and chaste at first, your mouths moving passionately against one another.

jjs hands find their way to your waist, gently caressing the flesh. you take that as a sign to move your hands up his torso, then settling your arms around his neck, all while continuing to kiss him passionately.

the kiss grows more intense over time, your tongues fighting for dominance against one another. eventually you catch yourself grinding your hips against his, as you both makeout.

minutes go by, and he finds himself lost in your kisses and the way your grinding your hips against his. his cock doesn't take long to stir in his cargo shorts.

when you feel his buldge press up against you, your hips move a little faster, the kisses becoming more desperate. before you know it, a light is shining in the closet and the sound of the door creaking fills your ears.

you pull away from jjs lips briefly to look at who opened the door.

"seven minutes are up, lovebirds." john b says with a jerk of his head, motioning for you two to get out the closet with a smirk.

IM SO SORRY TO LEAVE YALL ON A HANGER LOL

[chimcess]

Lady's Honor || ksj

Pairing: Seokjin x ReaderOther Tags: Lord!Seokjin, Lady!Reader, Lord!Jimin, Lord!Jimin, Lord!Yoongi Genre: Regency!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, HEA Word Count: 16.8k+ Summary: What unfolds when a gentleman's noble effort to help a lady in distress inadvertently tarnishes her reputation? He finds himself bound to protect her honor at any cost—even if it means risking his own life. Warnings: Attempted assault on reader, society at this time was very judgement, practically forced marriage, but they like one another so it's fine, everyone has a title that is different from their true names, because they're Earls and own land, Eisen is disgusting, Jin is a gentleman, mentions of sex, illusions to sex, light teasing, need for an heir, Jin has a 'My Lord' kink, kissing (scandalous at this time), pregnancy, child birth, minor character death, dueling, main character injured, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I've been trying to write in new styles and dive into different themes outside of fantasy, and so I really stepped out of my comfort zone to write this one. Rereading some Jane Austen was also helpful. Hope you enjoy.

Perhaps it was the oppressive heat radiating from the hundreds of flickering candles scattered throughout the ballroom that made him uneasy. But more likely, it was the desperate air of the young woman he’d just finished dancing with. The Earl of Rushmore felt a prickling sensation crawl up his spine, a warning he couldn’t quite dismiss.

“That was ever so splendid, my lord,” Miss Rose Tyrell tittered, bouncing on her toes like an eager puppy. Every exaggerated movement seemed calculated to draw his gaze to her décolletage. “You dance exquisitely.” She leaned in, flashing a smile that he could only interpret as desperate. It turned his stomach.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, forcing his lips into a smile that barely masked his irritation. The corners of his eyes tightened as he nodded to Sir Gerald Tyrell, her father, standing awkwardly on the periphery. With that, he made to escape the stifling encounter.

Yet just as he turned to leave, the shrill voice of Lady Tyrell pierced the air, dragging him back into tedious conversation. “My lord, we are organizing an outing to Vauxhall Gardens next week, and one of our gentlemen has had to leave London for urgent family business, leaving us one short.” She fluttered her fan with all the grace of a chicken flapping its wings. “Would you do us the honor of joining our group?”

A familiar panic clawed at him, a suffocating sensation that had haunted him through countless soirées with the daughters of ambitious families. It was as if his sordid reputation—of womanizing, reckless drinking, and gambling—had become a beacon, attracting those looking to snag a title for their daughters. The very thought made him itch with the need to flee.

“I’ll have to check my availability,” he said, the words falling from his lips with the practiced ease of a politician. “I shall send word on the morrow. Good evening, ladies.” He bowed stiffly to Miss Tyrell and her mother before making a purposeful exit, each step a declaration of his freedom.

The musicians began to play the next set, and a wave of relief washed over him as he realized he was free from the obligation of dancing with any particular young lady. The evening had thus far been a parade of vapid chatter and trivial pursuits, save for one notable exception—Miss Y/L/N.

He had heard whispers of her modest debut the previous season but had only caught a glimpse of her tonight. There was something about her, an ethereal beauty that shone through the murk of societal expectations, and a vivacious yet modest personality that intrigued him. She shared his passion for stargazing, a rare treasure amidst the sea of watercolor painting and embroidery that most young ladies feigned expertise in.

He spotted his mother among a gaggle of women and approached, forcing a smile. “Mother, I’m going to take a stroll in the garden.”

“Oh, my dear, I had hoped to present you to Miss Webber,” she said, her tone a blend of disappointment and guilt.

Resigned to the endless parade of introductions and dances, he craved a brief escape. “I shall only be gone for one set,” he promised, his voice laced with indulgence.

“Ah yes, and then you’ll disappear into the card room, and it will be impossible to find you a suitable wife. Really, Rushmore, you are two-and-thirty. It’s time you settled down and set up your nursery.”

Her words pricked at him like thorns, and he fought the urge to unleash the torrent of frustration bubbling inside. He knew she meant well; her intentions were rooted in love, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a gilded cage.

“Yes, Mother, I understand. If you will excuse me?” He nodded to acquaintances as he maneuvered through the ballroom. Stepping out onto the terrace, he finally felt the weight lift, if only slightly. The coolness of the evening enveloped him, a comforting embrace that allowed him to breathe freely.

Only the crunch of his gleaming Hessian boots broke the silence as he wandered along the gravel path that wove between hedgerows and blooms. He was weary, so utterly weary of the relentless pressure of the marriage mart. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the sound mingling with the night air.

After a few minutes, he wandered beyond the glow of the paper lanterns dangling from the trees, halting to let his eyes adjust to the enveloping darkness. He tilted his head back, searching for constellations, but the encroaching clouds obscured his view.

In these precious moments of solitude, he could cast aside the weight of his title, the incessant pleas of his mother for an heir. Here, he could simply be Seokjin, not “Rushmore” or “my lord.” He wasn’t sure how long he’d been absent, but he knew it had been long enough for his mother to send a search party to drag him back to the ballroom for another tedious encounter.

The rebellious spirit that had defined his youth flared within him. He would be damned if he shackled himself to one of these vapid fortune hunters. When he married, it would be on his terms, in his time. In a final act of defiance, he chose a longer route back, hoping to prolong this rare moment of freedom.

As he strolled, he noticed a section of the path where the stones had been disturbed and the flowers trampled. He frowned, planning to speak with Lord Min; the gardener needed a firm reminder of his duties.

He had not taken but two steps past the ruined path when he heard a rustling from the rhododendron bushes to his left. He paused, hesitant to interrupt whatever clandestine meeting might be unfolding there. When silence fell once more, curiosity gnawed at him, urging him closer.

Peering through the foliage, he caught sight of an abandoned dancing slipper, its owner nowhere in sight. He almost dismissed it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wry grin. It had been far too long since he had shared the company of a woman who intrigued him. 

But then the unmistakable sound of sobbing pierced the air, and his heart twisted in an unexpected pang of concern. The battle within him waged on, but as he took another step, he spotted a young woman crawling on the ground, frantically searching for that missing shoe. 

Instinct propelled him forward. He stepped off the path, making his presence known through the rustling bushes, startling her in the process. She scrambled backward, eyes wide with panic, as if he were a specter come to haunt her. Her skirts were stained with dirt, and her hair hung in disarray, obscuring her features.

“Miss? Are you hurt?” His voice broke the tension, filled with concern.

She whimpered softly, the sound twisting his gut. What had happened to her?

Looking around, he saw no one else nearby, no lurking assailants or companions to provide solace. Crouching down, he made no sudden movements toward her.

“Please, miss, I have no wish to harm you. Do you have a companion or chaperone you would like me to summon?” When silence stretched between them, he tried again, softer this time. “Let me help you back to the ball. We’ll find a discreet entrance—somewhere hidden.”

At last, she raised her head, and he sucked in a sharp breath. How had Y/N Y/L/N ended up in such a predicament? By all accounts, she was the embodiment of propriety, not one to engage in scandal.

As he took in her appearance, he noticed the tear in the bodice of her gown, the clutched remnants of a pair of drawers that were also damaged. Rage ignited within him, a hot ember that flared into a blaze. It was one thing for a man to indulge his desires with a mistress, but to force himself on an innocent like Miss Y/L/N? That was an outrage beyond measure.

"Who did this to you, Miss Y/L/N?" he demanded, his voice low, strained, as though the question had been pulled from the very depths of a dark pit within him.

She shook her head, her entire body trembling, a fragile thing caught in a tempest. "No one, my lord," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Her reticence ignited a fury in him, a volcanic rage simmering beneath the surface, but he clamped down on it. He wanted to shake her, to rattle loose the truth from her lips like a confession from a guilty soul. But he held back, aware that rage could consume him whole.

"So you mean to tell me that you've ruined your hair, shredded your dress, and torn your—" He faltered, words dying on his tongue as he caught sight of the cruel red welts marring her cheek, vivid streaks of pain that seemed to shout a silent accusation at the dark night. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of roses mingling with something more sinister—fear. 

"And you did this all to yourself?" he asked through gritted teeth, the effort to contain his fury almost painful. "Forgive me if I find that scenario a little hard to swallow. Tell me who has harmed you, and I will see the blackguard brought to account for his actions."

He stood up, a sudden restlessness seizing him, his hands clenching and unclenching as he flipped the tails of his dark blue superfine coat behind him. The air crackled with the unspoken promise of violence, a storm gathering within him as he paced, thoughts colliding like thunderheads in a darkening sky. Abruptly, he stopped and pointed at her drawers, still clutched tightly against her chest. "Did he manage to...?"

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. He couldn’t voice the horrific possibility that loomed over them, and for a fleeting moment, he marveled at the violent protectiveness rising up from the depths of his heart. It felt foreign, primal.

She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the ground, a broken bird struggling to mend its wings. A small whimper escaped her lips, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. She winced as she shifted her weight to her unshod foot, and his anger flared anew. Who had she been dancing with after him? The names flooded his mind, but one stood out—a dark specter of a man who lurked at the edges of polite society.

Jonathon, Lord Eisen.

In the grand tapestry of reputation, Seokjin would be the saint compared to the notorious Viscount Eisen, a man known for treating young ladies like pawns in his cruel game. Wealthy, yes, but at what cost? 

"Did Lord Eisen do this?" he pressed, the words a growl. "Did he lure you into the gardens?"

Her eyes widened, a silent acknowledgment that echoed like a bell tolling a grim fate. In the distance, a chorus of voices called her name, the urgency cutting through the night like a knife. They were looking for her, and the dread of discovery hung in the air, a heavy mist curling around them.

"Miss Y/L/N, please, let me help you back before we’re found in this position. There’s no reason to ruin your reputation by being seen with someone like me." 

She blushed, ducking her head, and for a moment, he thought he glimpsed a flicker of a smile. But then, she faltered, her fragile façade crumbling. "I cannot walk, my lord. I fear I have... s-sprained my ankle."

Reality crashed over him as he realized that the chill in the air had seeped into her bones, amplifying the shivering that gripped her. With a quick determination, he shrugged off his topcoat and draped it around her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth, an oasis in a desert of despair.

"Put your arm around my neck," he instructed gently, bending down to meet her eyes. When she complied, her drawers still clutched in the other hand, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing, an echo of the strength he didn’t know he possessed. As he carried her toward the house, the softness of her body against his ignited something deep within him, a rush of feelings he was unprepared to face.

"Why did he stop?" he asked, the question an uneasy tremor in the quiet of the night.

She inhaled sharply, her breath hitching, and laid her head against his shoulder. For a heartbeat, he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then, with a voice steeped in trembling fear, she whispered close to his ear, "I fought him. I kicked and scratched... That’s when he slapped me. I think he heard you coming."

The revelation stirred a darkness within him, igniting a fierce desire for vengeance. "He will pay for this," Seokjin vowed, his heart pounding with a dangerous intensity. The very air crackled with his determination to protect her honor. She had a brother, a man more than willing to seek revenge, and yet, here he was, feeling like a moth drawn to the flame of her vulnerability. 

As her head rested against his shoulder, a curious weight settled around his throat, tightening like a noose, a reminder that he had no business becoming entangled in her fate. But how could he turn away when the shadows had crept into her life, and he felt the unmistakable tug of something deeper than duty—something that felt like destiny.

What a coil! thought Y/N, a frenzied swirl of confusion and unease tightening in her chest. She had only intended to stroll with Lord Eisen along the terrace, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the manicured gardens. But when he asked about her interest in the stars, her passion ignited, and she began chattering like an eager canary, the words spilling forth in a rush, a desperate bid for connection. 

Lost in her own celestial musings, she hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in direction until it was too late. The secluded part of the garden loomed before her like a trap waiting to snap shut. In an instant, the air around her thickened with a sense of foreboding, the fragrant blooms suddenly oppressive. 

It was all she could do to keep her wits about her as he forced her against a tree, the bark digging into her back, bruising her lips with punishing kisses that felt like a betrayal of her very soul. She raked her fingernails down his cheek, a desperate act of defiance, but instead of pulling back, it only seemed to stoke the fire in his eyes, a dark hunger awakening within him.

She burrowed her face into Lord Rushmore's shoulder, desperately trying to will the shame of what Lord Eisen had done to her to dissipate like morning mist. Had she behaved wantonly? No, she had acted every bit the lady, hadn’t she? But the tightness in her throat mounted, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Cursing her overactive emotions, she knew she needed a moment to compose herself before returning to the ball, to that cruel world of social masks and whispered judgments.

As they entered the lit portion of the garden, her brother's voice bellowed her name, booming through the night like a thunderclap. Panic surged in her chest, and she cast about for a more private place, somewhere she could gather the scattered pieces of herself.

"Lord Rushmore's, might we sit at that bench for a moment while I attempt to put myself to rights?" she implored, her voice quivering.

When she looked up into his eyes, she felt that same fluttering sensation that had gripped her during their earlier waltz. His eyes, an unsettling shade of green, seemed to pierce through the façade she tried so hard to maintain. She couldn't help but notice the strength of his arms, how effortlessly he carried her, as if she were nothing more than a feather. And if she were being completely honest, the way his coat hugged his broad torso and how those buff-colored breeches molded to his powerful thighs made her heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

Heat flooded her cheeks as that thought twisted inside her like a serpent coiling tighter, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something flicker in Lord Rushmore's gaze—a fleeting spark that vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind only his mask of calm.

He nodded once, a movement fluid and deliberate, and made his way to a weathered stone bench nestled behind a grouping of lilacs. The flowers whispered secrets in the night breeze, and she felt both comforted and exposed in their presence. With utmost care, he deposited her onto the bench before turning to stand guard, his posture protective, a fortress against the horrors she had just endured.

Hastily, she donned the torn drawers, feeling the fabric scratch against her skin, but it was better than being seen carrying her undergarments. As she fussed with the bodice of her cream chiffon and lace gown, the reality of her disheveled state crashed over her, a wave of hopelessness that threatened to drown her. The earlier magic of the evening had been shattered, leaving only fragments of what could have been. 

But perhaps not completely. The thrill of being in the arms of such a handsome man still pulsed through her veins, even if he wasn’t the type a respectable girl should find appealing. The allure of a man with a dangerous reputation was like a moth drawn to flame, intoxicating yet perilous.

It was silly to think such thoughts, she chastised herself. He was merely doing his gentlemanly duty, ensuring her safe return. Any notion that he might entertain feelings for her was absurd. Besides, the gossip among the parlors of the ton painted him as a confirmed bachelor, much to his mother’s dismay.

She twisted one last piece of hair, pinning it into the mass of curls and braids atop her head. "Do I still look as though I’ve been tumbled in the bushes?" She rested her hands in her lap and looked at the Earl, who seemed lost in thought.

He took several deep breaths, and she wondered if he, too, felt the weight of the moment pressing down on them. His nostrils flared, lips pursed, as he studied her appearance, and the intensity of his gaze sent a fresh wave of heat rising in her cheeks. She cast her eyes down, biting her lower lip to keep from trembling under the weight of his scrutiny.

"Well, your color seems to have returned," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, reminiscent of her brother's teasing ways.

"May I examine your ankle?" he asked, shifting to sit next to her on the bench.

Without waiting for her consent, he leaned down and lifted both of her feet, drawing them across his lap. A furious heat shot through her, screaming in indignation, How dare he? But as his warm hands slipped off her dancing shoe and began to probe her foot, any righteous fury fled her like a shadow at dawn.

His touch was gentle, exploring the instep, his fingers moving with a calm assurance that sent shivers racing up her spine. She hissed when he pressed on a particularly tender spot, and he nodded softly, his eyes focused and intent, then replaced her slipper without lowering her feet.

"It has begun to swell slightly, but I don’t believe it to be broken." His words were curt, almost clinical, yet they held a honeyed warmth that seeped into her bones, loosening the tension that had coiled tightly within her.

"And my hair— is it even remotely presentable?" She caught his gaze, feeling ensnared, unable to break free from the magnetic pull between them. The sweet scent of lilacs surrounded them like a fog, and even though she was wrapped snugly in the Earl’s topcoat, a chill raced through her.

For a long moment, the world around them fell away, leaving only the two of them in that secret garden, an electric energy drawing them closer together. 

"Far more than presentable," he murmured, inching closer, his breath warm against her skin.

His hand lifted, tentatively brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. As his fingers lingered against her jaw, she felt the weight of his gaze, a tether pulling her into the depths of something she could neither understand nor resist. 

Her heart thundered in her chest, a wild drumbeat that seemed to echo the chaos of the night. In that fleeting moment, as the lilacs danced in the night breeze, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them standing on the precipice of something undeniably profound.

“Sis-...Kim! Unhand my sister at once!”

Like the fragile sheen of a child’s soap bubble, the magic enveloping them burst the moment Anthony’s voice cut through the night—a jagged shard of ice in a world of warmth. In what felt like a heartbeat, Anthony surged forward, seizing the Earl and slamming him against the rough bark of an ancient elm, his forearm digging into the Earl’s throat with a grim resolve.

Lord Rushmore's retreating form was replaced by her father, who seized her by the shoulders, his gaze sweeping over her with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey. "Her dress is torn," he shouted, as if those words could mend the fraying fabric of her dignity. The sheer horror in her father’s tone twisted the knife in her gut, causing Anthony’s grip on the Earl to tighten, his elbow pressing cruelly into the Earl’s neck.

“Anthony, stop! This isn’t what it seems…” Panic clawed at her throat as she saw the search party gather, shadows converging on their secluded haven. Her heart sank, heavy and leaden, as if it were chained to the ground. 

“What has that scoundrel done to you, my child?” Her father’s voice was a fierce whisper, laden with unspoken fears. 

To his credit, the  Earl of Rushmore merely grasped Anthony's arm, a desperate attempt to stave off asphyxiation, doing nothing to fight back against the encroaching storm.

In moments, the terrace teemed with onlookers, the whole ballroom spilling out into the moonlight, the murmurs and gasps igniting an electric buzz that thrummed in the air, each sound a reminder of their encroaching doom. 

“Anthony, summon the carriage and fetch your mother,” her father commanded, voice clipped and taut.

Anthony nodded, stepping back, the heat of anger still radiating from him. He straightened, eyes ablaze, locking onto the Earl with a fury that promised retribution. “This isn’t over, Kim. We’ll speak tomorrow at Parke’s.” With that, he turned and stormed off, leaving chaos in his wake, people scattering like leaves before a gale.

The music from the ballroom swelled, Lady Min's voice announcing the supper dances, a cruel mockery of their plight. In mere moments, the crowd thinned, but it was clear that The Honorable Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of Lord and Lady Y/L/N, and The  Earl of Rushmore would become the latest gossip—a scandal writ large against the night sky.

By dawn, Parke’s gentleman's club buzzed with wagers, bets slung like daggers as men debated Lord Rushmore's fate: Would he indeed find himself shackled in matrimony? How quickly would he wed Miss Y/L/N? And would her brother, Mr. Y/L/N, take the Earl’s life for this affront?

“Tough lot there, ol’ chap,” Lord Newton said as Seokjin strode past, his voice laced with mockery. “Too much trouble for a bit of muslin, wouldn’t you agree?”

Seokjin turned, ready to unleash fury, but two strong hands—one muscular, the other wiry—restrained him, anchoring him before he could lash out. 

“Save your fists, Kim. There’s nothing to be gained from boors like Newton,” Namjoon, Lord Halston, his cousin, interjected, grounding Seokjin with his steady presence. 

The fight ebbed from Seokjin’s body as Halston’s words sank in. Jimin, Lord Whitmore, gave his shoulder a reassuring pat before releasing him, the trio turning from the cowering Lord Bolton as they slipped into a more private parlor. 

Both Park and Halston had witnessed the disastrous ball, no explanation needed for the morning’s stirrings around the betting book. Seokjin had already divulged the details of the night’s chaos, though in truth, it mattered little. Reputation was a delicate thing, and in the eyes of the ton, he’d become the villain in Miss Y/L/N’s tale.

“Will you go make your addresses to her father?” Park asked, his tone serious.

“I fear I must,” Seokjin replied, frustration twisting in his gut. “Blast it, I never meant to land myself in this mess.”

“Come now, Kim. The chit seems biddable enough. She won’t put up a fuss if you want your freedoms, will she?” Halston suggested, shaking open the daily news with a flourish.

Seokjin groaned, raking his fingers through his hair, the weight of propriety and duty pressing down on him. “That’s not how the Kim men are bred. Blast!” He tapped his fingers against the table, cursing the moral fibers woven into his being.

A light touch on his forearm brought his attention back. Park’s finger pointed to the door, signaling an approaching visitor. Seokjin looked up to see Anthony Y/L/N enter, flanked by two unfamiliar young men. 

“Kim,” Anthony greeted, his tone frosty.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” Seokjin replied, offering a curt nod, the air thickening with tension.

“I’m here to settle the matter of my sister’s honor.” 

“I assumed as much. I assure you, I’ll speak to Lord Y/L/N and Miss Y/L/N tomorrow.”

“Did you compromise her on purpose? What was your design?” Anthony stepped forward, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Seokjin sighed, rising from his chair, emboldened by the silent support of his friends. “I did no such thing. Did she explain what happened?”

“She did, but you should have known better than to be caught in such a position with her—especially with her appearance in such a state. You knew that tongues would wag, and wag they have.”

Seokjin could see Anthony’s fists clenching, breath coming in sharp bursts, his face a mask of barely-contained fury. He’d heard whispers of Anthony’s quick temper but had never imagined standing on the receiving end.

He took a step closer, his finger jabbing into Anthony’s chest. “See here, Y/L/N, I’m prepared to offer the protection of my name and title to your sister. What would you have had me do? Walk away and leave her vulnerable? If I hadn’t intervened, Lord Eisen would have ruined her reputation, violated her very person.”

The words struck a nerve, twisting Anthony’s expression into one of frustration and disbelief. 

“Her reputation will be salvaged,” Seokjin pressed on, “and in a few weeks, another scandal will eclipse this one. What more do you want? Will you have your pound of flesh, too?”

They stood nearly nose to nose now, the air between them electric with tension, fists ready to unleash fury. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I require,” Anthony spat, his voice low and dangerous. 

“And if you kill me, where does that leave your sister?” 

Seokjin should have known better than to expect any form of civility from the brutish Anthony. The man was a wall of muscle, a shadow looming over him like a thunderstorm ready to unleash its fury. Sure, Anthony had height and heft on his side, but Seokjin was no stranger to the dark art of combat, having spent countless hours in the ring at Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon. There, he had learned the subtleties of tactical fighting—the way a well-placed jab could shift the tide of a bout. Confidence flowed through him like the heavy liquor that coated the floor of the dimly lit establishment.

"Well, then, let us do this in grand fashion, shall we?" Seokjin said, a smirk dancing on his lips, concealing the tremor of anxiety curling in his gut like a serpent ready to strike.

"What did you have in mind?" Anthony grunted, his voice deep and gravelly, like rocks grinding underfoot.

"A match at Jackson's. Until one of us is rendered unconscious or yields." Seokjin’s heart raced at the thought, part anticipation, part dread.

Mr. Y/L/N paused, glancing between his companions as if he were deciphering a silent code in their expressions. After a moment’s consideration, he crossed his meaty arms over his chest, the muscles bulging like a tightly wound spring. "Agreed. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I shall call upon your father and sister in the morning." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"Very well," Anthony replied, the growl in his throat barely concealing his eagerness for confrontation.

As the brutish figure turned to leave, Seokjin felt a sudden surge of courage. "Mr. Y/L/N?" 

The response was a low, menacing growl. "What now?"

"I do have one small request." 

"And that is?"

"Try not to do too much damage to my face. I would hate to have two black eyes and a crooked nose on my wedding day." He forced a chuckle, but it echoed hollowly against the walls of the club.

"You'll be lucky if that's all I leave you with," Anthony grumbled, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud. He turned and strode out of the club, his companions trailing like lost souls in his wake.

Once the tension subsided, Seokjin let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. 

"Park?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"Yes, Kim?"

"Do you still have a connection with a certain Bow Street informant?" His voice was a low murmur, as if the walls had ears.

"I do. Shall I put him on the lookout for Lord Eisen?" Park asked, his brow furrowing.

"If you would be so kind, but nothing official, mind." Seokjin felt the weight of impending doom settle over him like a shroud.

Jimin nodded in understanding, murmuring, "Of course." 

"And cousin, will you stand as my second on the morrow?" Seokjin's heart raced at the thought of what was to come.

Namjoon slapped a heavy hand on Seokjin's shoulder, the gesture grounding him. "You needn't ask, my friend. I should be honored to watch you knock some sense into the man." 

Y/N sat at her dressing table, her maid working diligently to pin up her hair. As she gazed at her reflection, the visage staring back was a stranger, a ghost of the girl she once was. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, dry and weary, the dark smudges beneath them growing more pronounced, shadows of a soul haunted by secrets. 

The day after the ball had stretched on in suffocating isolation, each hour dragging like a lead weight. She preferred the company of her book of prayers, each line a refuge from the storm brewing outside her door. It was far better than facing the ire of her father, who would surely unleash a torrent of censure and berating upon her head.

She had attempted to explain the events with Lord Eisen, how Lord Rushmore's was more the hero than the villain in this twisted tale, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Ignoring her mother’s advice to stay on the terrace, she had strolled with Lord Eisen, allowing the specter of scandal to wrap its cold fingers around her throat.

Her mother had nearly succumbed to a fit of vapors upon hearing the details. The tips of her father’s waxed moustache twitched with barely suppressed rage, while Anthony, her brother, remained frighteningly silent. Once home, she had been ushered into her father’s study for a thorough dressing down, sent to her room like a recalcitrant child.

With a final pin, her maid bobbed a curtsy and exited Y/N’s bedchamber, leaving her in a silence thick enough to suffocate. Lady Y/L/N had dispatched her own maid with orders for Y/N to don her most modest day gown and report to the formal parlor. With trepidation, she slipped into a simple, light blue frock that covered her to her collarbones, devoid of any embellishments. Her hair twisted into a knot, soft waves framing her face, a fragile semblance of grace.

She took her time nibbling on toast, each bite a reminder of the world outside her door, where shadows danced with whispers of her impending fate. Checking her appearance once more, she steeled herself and made her way to the parlor. 

There, she found her mother waiting for her, worry etched into every line of her refined features. Lady Y/L/N had once been a beauty, but the years had wrought their toll, drawing tight the skin around her eyes and pursing her lips into a thin line.

"Good morning, Mother," Y/N said, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her mother’s cheek, the contact feeling more like a farewell than a greeting.

"Your father is speaking to the Earl of Rushmore. I suggest you prepare yourself for his offer. You’ll be the luckiest girl of the season if he does what is proper and expected." 

Stunned, Y/N felt her heart drop into the abyss of despair. This was only her second season, and she was barely prepared for the storm brewing on the horizon. Marriage? To a man she hardly knew, with a reputation as murky as the depths of a shadowy lake?

"Mother, I cannot marry him. I do not even know him. I—"

"Do not entertain any notion of rebellion, Y/N. If he offers, you shall accept. It is the only way to salvage your reputation, which is, at this moment, in tatters after your comfortable coze in Lady Min’s garden." Her mother's voice was sharp, laced with urgency.

"But I... I had hoped to have some kind of affection for the man I married." Her voice trailed off, nearly swallowed by the silence, as tears threatened to spill over.

The rustle of her mother’s voluminous skirts approached, and she felt the settee dip as Lady Y/L/N sat beside her, a gentle finger lifting Y/N’s chin. Their eyes met, and in that moment, she saw the weight of her mother’s own sacrifices reflected back at her. 

"My child, I wish it were possible for us all to marry for love. But circumstances dictate otherwise. If you do not accept Lord Rushmore's, your prospects of a good match will vanish. And there are far worse fates than becoming a countess, don't you think?"

As if summoned by fate, the door swung open, and a footman announced Lord Rushmore's and Lord Y/L/N, their arrival heralded like the final note of a dissonant chord.

"My lady, if you will accompany me, there are a few matters we must attend to," her father said, glancing at her mother with a look that brooked no argument. "Y/N, the Earl has a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you." 

The footman closed the door, sealing her in a cage of expectation with Lord Rushmore's.

He was breathtakingly handsome, a figure draped in a dark brown topcoat, gold embroidery catching the dim light like whispers of wealth and power. Beneath it, a tan waistcoat clung to him, a gold watch fob glinting like a promise—or a threat. The crisp, white linen neckcloth, simply knotted, was elegant against his throat, while breeches hugged his thighs sinfully until they disappeared into polished boots, a facade of civility masking the predator within.

It seemed that Seokjin had made a valiant attempt to bring order to his hair, but it had either been ruffled by his own restless hands or simply refused to be tamed, a wild, untamed creature defying all attempts at restraint. If one were to judge solely by his disheveled appearance, one might assume he had just rolled out of bed, a thought that sent Y/N's mind spiraling into a frenzy of embarrassment and shame. What was she doing, allowing herself to entertain such visions of him in her most private moments?

As she cataloged his tousled locks and haphazard attire, she caught him doing the very same, his eyes roving over her like a thief scouting for hidden treasures. Suddenly, she felt exposed, vulnerable before this man whose presence filled the room with an unsettling energy. She ducked her head, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth, unable to find a single word to break the silence.

"Miss Y/L/N, I … How do you fare?" His voice was hesitant, laced with a nervous edge that made her heart race.

She glanced up just in time to see him pinch his eyes shut, as if steeling himself against a tempest of emotions. 

"I am as fine as can be expected," she replied, her words feeling hollow in the charged atmosphere.

"Yes, well. To the matter at hand, then." He cleared his throat, the sound echoing like a distant thunderclap, and positioned himself in front of her, a statue of formal propriety. "Your father and I have discussed the situation, and I am prepared to offer you the protection of my name. I should have exercised more discretion at the ball, and for that, I apologize."

His hands clasped behind his back, his tone dripping with cold formality, the chill of icicles punctuating his every syllable. This was not the vibrant man she had encountered amidst the chaos of the ball. No, this was a figure of duty, an automaton wrapped in layers of ice, and she hated him for it.

"The protection of your name?" she echoed, her voice trembling slightly. "And what exactly would that mean?" She widened her eyes, feigning innocence, though she was no naive girl fresh from the nursery. She understood that marriage in their society came with varying degrees of commitment, some more binding than others.

His forehead wrinkled as he coughed, the sound a harsh rasp, before he paced toward the fireplace. Leaning on the mantle, he turned his gaze toward her, and she stood frozen in place, her spine straightening, shoulders squared, meeting his eyes with an intensity that seemed to draw the very air from the room.

"You would be my wife," he said, words flowing from him like a river, cold and unyielding. "The Countess of Rushmore. You would receive a generous allowance to purchase whatever you desire, and any scandal that may have tongues wagging today would practically disappear once we are wed."

"Do you wish to marry me?" The question escaped her lips before she could cage it, catching him off guard, a momentary flicker of surprise crossing his handsome face.

"Of course I do. I feel immensely… protective of you. I care a great deal for you." His eyes bore into hers, but she sensed a wall between them, one built on duty rather than desire.

"And is there anyone else for whom you care a great deal?" The words trembled on her tongue, and she felt the atmosphere thicken, charged with unspoken truths.

"I beg your pardon, but I don’t follow," he replied, brow furrowing in confusion.

She twisted her fingers together, summoning every ounce of courage as she faced the specter of societal norms that haunted her thoughts. "Do you support a… a mistress?" The word slipped out in a whisper, the weight of it heavy as it filled the space between them. She glanced up and saw his eyes widen, then quickly cast her gaze down, words tumbling out in a rush. "Because I do not believe I could stand such an arrangement. I would rather be a ruined woman and marry a nobody and live in the country for the rest of my life than to share a husband with another woman." Her voice faded into nothing, grounded firmly in the floorboards beneath her.

"I do not have a mistress," he replied, the certainty in his voice like a lifeline. "Once we are wed, I will remain faithful to you and you alone. You have nothing to worry about on that score." 

Relief washed over her for a fleeting moment before the weight of his words sank in. If he had no mistress, then he would expect a marriage that was not just a façade but a binding of souls, in name and in deed. She swallowed thickly and nodded, her heart a tumultuous storm of fear and longing.

"Y/N," he began, then hesitated, as if the weight of her name held more gravity than he anticipated. "May I call you Y/N?"

"Yes, my lord." 

He had moved closer, now standing directly in front of her, the space between them charged with a palpable energy. "Will you call me Seokjin?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soothing tenor that wrapped around her insides like a warm embrace, calming the quivering nerves.

Tentatively, she peeked up from beneath her eyelashes, finding his gaze steady, a promise held within its depths. She nodded, a silent acceptance.

"Very well. Y/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" His words, heavy with intent, settled over her like a shroud.

"Yes, Seokjin. I will marry you." 

In that moment, as the promise hung in the air, she felt the world shift beneath her, a groundless fear mingling with an unexpected thrill. What lay ahead was shrouded in shadows, and yet, she found herself stepping forward into the unknown, hand in hand with a man who, in this moment, could be both her salvation and her doom.

It had been two days since the boxing match with Y/N, a brutal affair that had gone better than Seokjin had dared to hope. Anthony had landed only a single glancing blow to his jaw, leaving a faint bruise that shadowed his skin like a lingering ghost. But the rest of him was a veritable tapestry of pain—blues and purples smeared across his torso, greens and yellows blooming like grotesque flowers. He had given as good as he got, though, and after twelve grueling rounds, Gentleman Jackson had declared the contest a tie. Both men had stood, panting and bloodied, a testament to their resilience and foolishness.

As he climbed into the high-perch phaeton, wincing at the pressure on his bruised ribs, he took the reins from his tiger. Concealing his injuries from Y/N would be no easy feat. The drive to the Y/L/N home was filled with thoughts that gnawed at him like a persistent rat. He couldn’t shake the notion that he had unwittingly fallen into a parson’s mousetrap, the kind of snare that snapped shut when you least expected it.

It wasn’t exactly a shock that Y/N had accepted his proposal. Had she not, London would have turned into a bleak wasteland for her and her family, the whispers of scandal echoing like a funeral dirge. No, the real surprise was the absence of panic that usually clawed at him like a feral animal. He felt no urge to flee, no desire to escape as he had with every other prospective bride. Not even the promise of fidelity had made him balk. Instead, he felt an unsettling calm settle over him, a strange sort of acceptance.

But one thing did trouble him: the absence of Lord Eisen. The man who had wronged Y/N had become a phantom, slipping through the cracks of society’s brittle façade. Seokjin felt a duty to call the villain to account for his behavior, and if an apology was not forthcoming, a duel would have to suffice—a duel to defend her honor, the stakes set high against the backdrop of the London social season.

To his surprise, Y/N was ready only moments after he entered the foyer. His feet seemed to sprout roots, anchoring him to the spot as he watched her descend the staircase. She wore a fashionable lemon-colored dress that clung to her slim waist, the kind of style that screamed sophistication, while her straw bonnet was adorned with a delicate spray of white and yellow flowers. Yet, despite the beauty of the scene, her smile was an unsettling mask—forced, like a stage actor trying desperately to remember their lines.

Perhaps she was not as pleased with her lot as she ought to be. Wasn’t every young woman supposed to dream of snagging a peer for a husband? Seokjin didn’t think himself a hardship to look at, and he had promised her generosity. It left him genuinely perplexed at the cloudiness of her demeanor, like storm clouds brewing overhead. He would have to suss her out during their drive.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N. You are as lovely as a summer day,” he said, taking her gloved hand and pressing his lips to it, a gesture that felt both tender and fraught with unspoken tension.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, that delicious blush creeping into her cheeks, bright as the dawn.

“Have you driven in a phaeton before?” he inquired, trying to gauge her mood, the air thick with an undercurrent of something he couldn't quite name.

“No, I have not. Is it terribly high?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“The highest,” he grinned, tucking her hand through his arm, the warmth of her presence grounding him amidst his swirling thoughts.

They crept along Rotten Row, the most fashionable hour for seeing and being seen. Nods and exchanges flitted between them like whispers in a crowded theater, laughter and gossip hanging heavy in the air. Park and Halston stopped to chat, their words a playful torment that turned Seokjin’s ears to fire. To her credit, Y/N managed to handle his friends with a practiced expertise, her demure laughter a welcome balm.

But as they parted ways, an open barouche approached, filled with the resident dragons of the beau monde—women so high in the instep they would snub even their own kin if it threatened their standing. Seokjin braced himself, prepared for the cut direct that would slice through the pretense of civility. He turned on his most charming smile, tipping the brim of his hat to them, a mask of confidence. To his relief, they nodded at him and Y/N, their plumed hats bobbing like strange birds pecking for seeds, momentarily offering her the protection that came with his name.

He directed the phaeton down a less congested avenue, glancing at his fiancée. “I’ve acquired a special license to marry. I thought this Friday would give you enough time to have your maid pack your things and deliver them to my home. Is that enough time for you to prepare?”

Her gaze drifted, unfocused as she twirled her parasol in lazy circles, caught somewhere between anticipation and anxiety. “Yes. I believe that will be enough time. Mother has a modiste working ‘round the clock, but my gown should be ready by then.” A laugh erupted from her, bright but edged with a hint of disbelief. “The poor woman nearly fell over herself for the privilege of making the new Countess of Kim’s wedding dress.” Her voice trailed off, shyness washing over her as if she had stepped into a cold river. “We’ll be going to Bond Street tomorrow for my other bride clothes, so there is little else for me to assemble.”

He was disarmed by her effortless humility, the sincerity of her words only adding to her appeal, like a faint light in the darkness. 

“Do you have any opinion on the location? Somewhere small and private, perhaps?” 

Had this been a typical courtship, he would have expected them to reserve St. George’s in Hanover Square, the kind of place where fashionable ton weddings occurred. His mother would’ve insisted upon it, a parade of acquaintances, all eager to witness the spectacle. But this was no ordinary wedding; it was a necessity—a desperate plea for normalcy in a world that felt increasingly chaotic. A smaller chapel would better serve their needs, he thought, yet he couldn’t shake the sense that their union was more than just a formality.

“Whatever you think best,” she said, her voice flat, as if she were reading from a script that had long lost its meaning.

Seokjin snapped the reins, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence that enveloped them. He tried to ignore the unease pooling in his gut, still grappling with the enigma of Y/N’s enthusiasm—or lack thereof. Just then, the wheels on his side of the phaeton jolted over a substantial pothole, and Y/N slammed into him, the impact hard enough to make the breath hiss from his lungs. 

The sudden gasp nearly made him curse, but he swallowed it down, letting his hand drift to the bruised ribs that throbbed beneath his shirt. “I’m terribly sorry, my lo—Seokjin. I didn’t think I jarred you so.” 

“No, it’s not your fault. I… I’m just careless with the ribbons,” he replied, teeth clenched like a vice. 

Her brow furrowed in confusion, as if she were trying to decipher a foreign language. He waved away her concern, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Why do you seem so displeased with our arrangement?” 

She sighed, her mouth curving downward, eyes fixated on something far beyond the horizon. “It’s rather silly, really.” 

“Nothing important to you is silly,” he countered, slowing the horses until they came to a stop beneath a canopy of fragrant trees, their leaves whispering secrets to one another. He turned to face her fully, heart hammering like a ticking time bomb. 

“I suppose I just feel… very inexperienced.” 

“Shall we try and remedy that, my darling?” He took her hand, cradling it gently as if it were something fragile, something that might shatter at the slightest misstep. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Her voice dropped to a whisper that danced over him, sparking warmth in the chill air, stirring something deep within his chest. 

“May I try something?” 

She blinked, once, twice, the uncertainty in her gaze unraveling him. “Yes?” 

He leaned closer, slowly, carefully, as if drawing nearer to a wild creature, waiting for it to either flee or surrender. Patience enveloped them, thick and electric, rekindling that tension from the ball, drawing them together like moths to a flickering flame. 

When her eyes fluttered shut, he crossed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. It was a gentle exploration, soft and hesitant, the taste of sweetness enveloping him like a shroud. Her rigid posture melted against him, a warmth spreading through his veins. He relished the sound of her breath hitching, the quiet gasps of surprise that filled the air like a prayer. 

But reality loomed, a footman lurking at the back of the phaeton, the world of Hyde Park still swirling around them. He savored the way her hands clung to his biceps, the way she leaned into him, trusting and vulnerable. 

As their kiss lingered, he pulled back, heart racing, and squeezed her hands gently. “Despite what you may have heard of my reputation, I want you to be happy. It’s my foremost pursuit. You’ve come to mean the world to me, Y/N. Once we are wed, I hope you will let me court you properly.” 

She bit her lip, turning her face just enough to hide a smile beneath the brim of her bonnet. “That sounds lovely.” 

A week passed—an entire week!—since their wedding, and Seokjin had done nothing more than kiss her lightly before she retreated to her separate bedchamber. Days melted into one another in their Mayfair townhouse, filled with light conversation about likes and dislikes, books, and the shifting tides of politics. Each night, he would escort her to her door, kiss her as one might kiss a sibling, and disappear into the silence of his own room. 

Y/N had mentally prepared herself for the duty all wives were expected to perform, and the absence of that first night stung like a phantom limb. With each passing day, her fondness for Seokjin grew—perhaps even love—but every time he sent her to bed alone felt like a deeper wound, a rejection wrapped in tenderness. 

Staring at the heavy brocaded tapestries above her, she fumed, a tempest brewing in her chest. Enough was enough. She threw off the covers, slipped into her dressing gown, and marched through the hushed rooms until she found his. His valet must have retired, for the air was thick with stillness and the promise of secrets. 

Without so much as a knock, she flung open the door to his bedroom and halted. There he stood, just out of reach of the fire’s glow, a vision of raw masculinity with one hand resting on the counterpane of his bed. Her breath caught in her throat, captivated by the lean muscles of his back, the dimples above his shapely behind. But then she saw the shadows—fading bruises that painted his torso like a cruel map of his suffering. 

“Good Lord,” she gasped, horror mingling with concern. “What happened to you?” 

His shoulders slumped as he shrugged into his dressing gown, the fabric whispering secrets against his skin. He approached her, tying the sash, hands sliding into the pockets like a man trying to hide the evidence of his pain. 

“It’s nothing, my sweet. Please don’t concern yourself.” 

“Is this why you have not touched me since our wedding?” 

“I didn’t want you to see me in such a battered state. If I were to do more than kiss you, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.” 

“What happened?” 

“An overly enthusiastic sparring partner at Jackson’s boxing saloon.” 

Timidly, she spread open the top of his gown. Her heart raced as she traced her fingers over his bruised skin, circling the marks of violence like a moth drawn to a flame. “Who was your partner?” 

“I… can’t say as—” 

“Please be honest with me. I cannot abide liars.” 

He paused, gaze shifting from her eyes to the floor. “It was your brother,” he confessed, the weight of his words pressing down like an anvil. 

“And he is the one who gave you the bruise here, I suppose?” Her fingers brushed against the stubble on his jaw, memories of their earlier kiss flooding back, tainted now by the knowledge of violence. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“He felt the need to defend your honor. I was the only target available.” 

Her grip tightened on his lapels, a surge of anger coursing through her veins. “How positively stupid! You had already offered for me, and I had accepted. Why would you let him pummel you so?” 

His soothing voice gripped her, but she wanted no part of it. She stepped away, feeling sick, as if the world had spun off its axis. “And what good would that do? Will you beat him into unconsciousness?” 

He winced, a sheepish smile flickering across his face like the dying light of a sunset. “Will you challenge him to a duel?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. When he said nothing, her breath hitched, and she gasped, “You would leave me a widow less than a month after our wedding? A marriage we haven’t even consummated?”

His eyes flared like flames licking at dry wood, and he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift motion. His hands gripped her arms, pulling her face to his, their noses almost touching. “Don’t for a second think, Y/N, that I don’t want to consummate our marriage. I’ve burned for you since the moment we crossed that threshold as husband and wife.”

Then, in a rush, his lips crashed against hers, an urgent storm of desire. His hands slipped from her arms, gliding over her shoulders, up her neck, cupping her face with a tenderness that belied the tempest brewing within him. He kissed her, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh along her neck, each brush of his mouth a brush against the very core of her being.

Dizzy, she felt their bodies meld together, pressed tightly from knees to chest, sensations swirling like a maelstrom. When his lips reached her ear, he whispered, “It’s a matter of honor,” and with that simple phrase, she snapped back to reality, the haze of desire dissipating like fog in the morning sun.

“Go then,” she said, her voice sharp as a knife, pushing away from him. “Seek your satisfaction, but do not come to me. I could not bear it if I gave you my entire self only to have you killed over something so trivial now. Y/N Y/L/N is no more; only Lady Y/N Kim, Countess of Rushmore, remains, a woman of standing, one of the most sought-after guests in London.”

With that, she turned and fled to her chamber, locking the doors behind her as if sealing away the chaos of her heart. She collapsed onto her bed, sobbing until her tears ran dry, feeling the weight of her world pressing down upon her.

Seokjin waited for over an hour, but she did not join him in the breakfast parlor. He could feel her vexation in the air, thick and heavy, like a summer storm hanging just before the downpour. If only she could understand how her honor intertwined with his own, how he could not simply walk away from the challenge that had been laid before him.

The prospect of a duel with Eisen loomed, but Seokjin preferred other avenues to address the scoundrel's transgressions. He was ready to confront the man, but only if words failed. Until then, he could only wait, his heart heavy with concern and unspoken words. 

He left the door to his study open, hoping to hear the sound of her footsteps. The empty fireplace crackled softly, but the only thing he could focus on was the gnawing worry about her silence. Just then, his butler knocked and announced Lord Whitmore’s arrival.

Seokjin rose to greet his friend, who brushed aside the butler’s offer to take his coat and hat. 

“I don’t believe I shall tarry long, Forbes, but thank you,” Lord Whitmore said, glancing at Seokjin with a look that could only be described as appraising.

“Morning, Park. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You look terrible, Kim. Is the little wife not pleasing you?” 

“Speak another word on that subject, and you may find yourself missing a few teeth,” Seokjin growled, tension flooding his veins.

“Easy, friend. I have other news. Eisen’s been spotted.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Seokjin felt his entire body tense, a primal instinct surging through him, the urge to fight. He flexed his fingers, pacing the length of the room. “Where? Has he returned home?”

“No, he was seen last night at a gaming hell near Covent Garden.”

“Your Bow Street friend is tailing him, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“Then what are we doing standing around woolgathering?”

When they found Jonathon Bartlett, Viscount Eisen, he lay slumped over the gaming table, still dazed from the previous night's indulgences. The weary proprietor explained how he’d tried to send the viscount home, but Eisen had threatened violence if anyone laid a hand on him. It went without saying that the authorities weren’t called in, given the establishment’s questionable legality. But that didn’t deter Seokjin; he was resolute in seeking justice for his wife.

“Lord Eisen, I would like a word with you.”

The viscount lifted his head, eyes bloodshot and watering, about to lay it back down when comprehension finally broke through the fog of drink clouding his mind. “Rushmore? Is that you? Poor sot you are, shackled to a fish like her,” he began to laugh, but before he could rise, he slumped back down, surrendering to the inebriation that held him captive.

“You behaved in a most heinous way toward my wife, Eisen,” Seokjin said, his voice steady as granite, muscles taut like a bowstring. He stood with his arms braced on the table, the weight of his indignation anchoring him against the crude laughter of the man before him.

Eisen leaned back, his arrogance filling the space like stale smoke. “You see, Rushmore,” he continued, as if Seokjin’s words were mere whispers against the roar of his own hubris, “it’s not good form to take the chit astride you in plain view of her papa. One must be smarter about these things. At least I had the decency to carry her off to a nice, dark corner of the garden for some real fun.” 

“Eisen, I warn you—”

“Doesn’t she have the creamiest thighs you’ve ever seen? A right shame she had to ruin everything by carrying on like a hellcat. What I would give to sink into th—”

In the heartbeat it took for the air to thicken with tension, Lord Rushmore's fist connected with Eisen’s nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the room as the viscount crumpled to the floor, blood spilling like a crimson secret onto the polished wood.

Seokjin would have launched himself atop the man, would have rained down blows until his fury found satisfaction, had it not been for Jimin’s firm hands grasping his shoulders, holding him back like a rabid dog on a leash.

Jonathon, now upright but wobbling, wiped the blood from his face, confusion mingling with rage. “What the devil are you playing at, Rushmore?”

“You will apologize to Lady Rushmore.”

“She barely got what she deserved, the tease. Making eyes and overtures all night, then turning into a proper little prudish thing…”

Seokjin slowly removed his leather gloves, peeling them off with a deliberate precision that bespoke his simmering wrath. He straightened each finger, each gesture methodical, before slapping the gloves across Eisen’s face, satisfaction blooming within him as he noted the three pink scars Y/N had left on the viscount’s cheek.

Eisen let out a sick, hysterical bark of laughter. “You’re challenging me, then?”

Seokjin remained a statue, unyielding.

“What’s it to be? Another bout of fisticuffs at Jackson’s? I assure you, I won’t spare your pretty face like the Y/L/N lad did.”

“Pistols, tomorrow at dawn. Who is your second?”

Eisen narrowed his eyes, scanning the growing crowd in the club with a predator’s focus. “Lord Alec Winters,” he replied, a cold gleam dancing in his gaze.

“Lord Halston will be in contact with him to determine the field of honor. Good day.” 

As they mounted their horses, Lord Whitmore turned to Seokjin, his expression grave and weighted with concern. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“What’s done is done,” Seokjin replied, each word heavy with the inevitability of consequence. “I cannot recall the challenge without appearing a coward.”

“Very well, my lord. I shall stand at your side with Halston.”

Seokjin spent the rest of the day cloistered in his study, though hiding would be a more accurate term. Y/N was noticeably absent when he returned home after issuing his challenge. The butler had handed him a note stating that his wife was spending the day with her particular friends, Ladies Jeon and Jung, but it made no mention of when she would return.

He ate his meal alone, the silence in the room amplifying the thrum of his thoughts, before returning once more to the sanctuary of his study. After pouring himself a generous glass of port, he opened the case that held his dueling pistols. He examined the moving parts, ensuring everything was in proper working order, the metallic tang of the weapons grounding him amidst the swirling chaos in his mind.

It was well after dark when he heard her voice echo through the foyer. “Is Lord Rushmore's at home?” she asked, her tone light but edged with something he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yes, my lady. He is in the study,” came the butler’s formal reply.

“Thank you, Forbes. That will be all.”

Before he could consider the implications of the pistols laid out on his desk, she appeared in the doorway, her presence a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room.

“Seokjin, I just wanted to…” Her voice faded as her gaze fell on the dueling pistols, an expressionless veneer sliding over her features like a heavy curtain. “I just wanted to let you know I was home.”

“Y/N…”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, as she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed like a gunshot in the night.

She couldn’t sleep a wink. The moment she’d spotted the gleaming pistols on Seokjin’s desk, nausea twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake. All night, she lay in the dark, listening for any sound from his bedchamber, but there was nothing. The silence stretched, oppressive and thick, until her unease multiplied, leaving her trembling, a leaf caught in an unforgiving wind.

In the pre-dawn darkness, she lit a single candle, its flickering flame casting long shadows as she made her way to the kitchen, seeking a biscuit or something to settle her roiling stomach. But as she crept into the dimly lit space, her heart plummeted when she overheard Forbes speaking to Mrs. Cope, the housekeeper.

“He’s goin’ through with that bloody duel?” Mrs. Cope’s voice dripped with concern, thick as treacle.

“It would seem so,” Forbes replied, his tone grave.

“The poor girl,” Mrs. Cope continued, her voice low, “she was so out of sorts yesterday, and just when I thought they were beginnin’ to warm up to each other…”

Madness. Absolute madness. How could she sit idly by, waiting for news that might shatter her world, wondering if her husband lay dead in a field of honor? Clearing her throat, she startled the two servants. “Forbes, please have a footman saddle my horse.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, but he schooled his features, nodding with a single, curt motion.

“And when you’re done with him, bring him here and I’ll box his ears,” Mrs. Cope added with a wink, a twinkle of mischief in her eye.

Y/N knew the housekeeper had cared for Seokjin since he was a lad of seventeen, just stepping into the world as an Earl after his father’s death. She’d watched Mrs. Cope fuss over him like a second mother, a bond forged in years of loyalty and affection.

“You can count on it, to be sure, Mrs. Cope,” Y/N promised, her resolve hardening.

She rushed back to her chamber, dressing in her riding habit without a moment’s thought for her maid. Tying her hair into a simple queue, she ignored the elaborate hats hanging in her dressing room, knowing they would do little to comfort her.

Forbes held the door open, and as she passed, he murmured, “Hyde Park, just north of the Serpentine.”

“Thank you, Forbes,” she replied, determination coursing through her veins.

The groom helped her into the side-saddle, and she urged her horse into a slow trot until she found her seat. Then she pressed the beast into a gallop, the wind whipping around her face as the world blurred by. The gray mist of foreboding cloaked the park, but she pressed on toward the bridge, morning light peeking over the horizon, the air crisp and biting.

As she crossed the bridge, her heart raced at the sight of a gathering of gentlemen, tension crackling in the air. Two men stood poised to fire, and she could faintly hear Lord Halston calling out, “Ready. Aim. Fire!”

Time slowed as she careened toward the group, her voice piercing the morning hush. “NO!” But it was too late; the shots rang out, echoing in her ears like the toll of a death knell. 

She leapt from her horse, barreling through the crowd of men, her heart pounding like a war drum. “Seokjin!” she called, desperation clawing at her throat as she broke through the front line. Lord Eisen stood to her left, his pistol still raised, confusion painted across his face. To her right, she saw Seokjin, his arm raised to the sky, expression a tempest of fury and concern.

“I am satisfied,” he declared, his voice steady despite the chaos, “Let it be known that Lord Eisen is a debaucher of innocence and a dishonorable blackguard.” He lowered his pistol, striding toward her with purpose.

But before he could reach her, another gunshot shattered the stillness, a sharp crack in the fragile morning. Horror twisted in her gut as Seokjin howled in pain, crumpling to the ground, blood blooming like dark petals through the fabric of his breeches. Disapproving murmurs erupted from the gathered crowd, a cacophony of gasps and curses directed at Lord Eisen.

Her focus narrowed to Seokjin, writhing on the ground as blood seeped from his wound. She fell to her knees, hands trembling as they fluttered over his injured leg.

“Stay back, Y/N, this is no place for you,” he gritted out, his voice strained with pain. “Park, take her back home.”

“No. I’m not leaving. I can help.”

“Dammit, woman, why will you not do as I say?”

“Because I love you!” she shouted, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. “And I won’t leave your side.” She cupped his sweat-dampened cheek, searching his eyes for any sign of hope. “Lord Whitmore, is there a physician present?” she asked, desperation lacing her voice, unwilling to tear her gaze from Seokjin.

“Here, my lady. I’ll just see to binding the wound,” a gray-haired gentleman replied, a black satchel slung over his shoulder.

Seokjin threw his head back on the grass, a roar of agony ripping from his throat. “Be quick about it. I’m not sure how much longer I can remain conscious!”

Once the physician bound his leg, Park and Halston helped Seokjin into the doctor’s carriage, then Park handed Y/N inside, her heart hammering with fear as they made their way home, Seokjin’s head resting on her lap, his warmth a fragile reminder of life.

When they arrived at Kim House, Halston administered copious amounts of brandy until Seokjin was thoroughly foxed, the alcohol dulling the edges of his pain.

The doctor worked efficiently, extracting the bullet with practiced hands, though he was the recipient of a lengthy string of vitriol from the Earl. “Curse you, Eisen!” Seokjin spat, his voice thick with indignation. The doctor promised to return the following day to check the dressing and promptly exited the room.

Y/N remained at Seokjin’s side, mopping his forehead with a cool cloth, his features a pale shadow of their usual vigor. He was insensible from both the liquor and the laudanum, yet he managed to crack his eyes open, a flicker of recognition igniting within.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, voice slurred yet filled with an urgency that made her heart leap.

“Why was your pistol raised when I arrived?” She couldn’t help but question, a mix of fear and frustration welling within her.

“I shot into the air,” he scowled, eyes narrowing. “The cur wasn’t worth even a single bullet.” He paused, searching her gaze with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “Did you mean what you said? That you love me?”

“Yes, you ridiculously honorable man. I love you,” she confessed, her heart swelling with the truth of her words.

“As I love you,” he replied, his voice softer, a gentle lullaby beneath the tumult of the day. “’Tis why I had to confront him the way I did.” His words were heavy with sleep, yet fervent as though each syllable was an anchor in the storm.

“Well, you’re going to have to come up with a different way of expressing it. I don’t think I could bear to see you… For a moment, I thought you were dead.” The weight of those words pressed down on her, a chill creeping through her veins.

“I shall never leave your side again, my love.” His voice softened, eyes fluttering closed, his breathing slowing like the ebb of the tide.

For a heartbeat, she thought he had finally succumbed to sleep, but then she felt the gentle pressure of his hand around hers, a tether that bound them even amidst the shadows, a promise whispered in the dark.

"I fear I shall be a useless husband for the next several weeks until the wound is well on its way to healing." Seokjin's gaze pierced through her, an intensity lurking behind his words that took her a moment to grasp. 

A rush of crimson crept up her neck, and she quickly averted her gaze. “Don’t be vulgar. It is far too early in the morning for such talk.”

"I will require a great deal of nursing and special care, you know." His voice was a teasing whisper, laced with something more primal that made her heart race.

"Yes, the doctor explained what would need to be done. I shall take extra special care of you, my lord," she replied, tracing a delicate finger over the smattering of hair on his chest, the softness of the moment shattered by the storm brewing beneath the surface.

"Vixen," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, a smile playing on his lips. "These next weeks will be torture."

"I do hope so," she shot back, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity. "Perhaps next time you won’t be so quick to engage in something as foolish as this."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his, the kiss igniting a warmth that spread through them both. Seokjin’s hand found the back of her neck, holding her gently in place as he feasted on her mouth, nibbling and sucking, each sigh from him a reminder of the thin line between pleasure and pain.

With a soft thud, his head dropped back onto the pillow, and he looked deeply into her eyes. “When my leg has healed, the first order of business will be to see to the matter of an heir for the Earldom.”

“Agreed,” she whispered, lying down next to him on the bed for the first time, a sense of gravity settling over them.

Meanwhile, Lord Rushmore stood with his hands casually clasped behind his back, watching a stable boy lead a striking pair of chestnut horses around the yard at Tattersalls. He had no real intention of acquiring any new horseflesh; he had simply agreed to meet Lords Park and Halston there, his mind elsewhere, adrift in thoughts of a summer retreat at Willow Hill, his country estate.

It had been an arduous month, the wound inflicted by Lord Eisen a constant reminder of his vulnerability. Kim hated being an invalid, but Y/N’s determined care was a salve to his wounded pride, particularly when she offered to help him bathe. Yet now, as he was finally cleared to bear weight on his injured leg, her shyness returned, casting a pall over the intimacy they had shared.

“Kim!” Namjoon’s voice cut through his reverie, yanking him back to the present.

“How goes it, Halston?” Seokjin asked, forcing a smile.

“Well, very well. And how does the livestock look?” Namjoon’s tone was light, masking the concern lurking just beneath.

Seokjin circled the courtyard, moving smoothly as Namjoon trailed slowly behind. 

“Still walking like you’ve got a dry stick in your boot instead of a leg, I see?” Lord Whitmore called from behind, his friendly jab punctuating the air.

Seokjin turned, a rueful grin tugging at his lips. He had long since stopped limping, yet the familiar teasing felt like a balm, a reminder of their shared camaraderie.

Jimin stepped up beside Seokjin, tilting his head slightly. “They’re preparing the gallows at Newgate,” he said, his voice low, the gravity of his words palpable.

“I see,” Seokjin replied, his brow furrowing. “And has your Bow Street source heard anything that would be of particular interest to me?”

Jimin shook his head, frustration evident. “He wasn’t able to get a look at the list of condemned.”

“After shooting you in the leg and then strangling his new bride to death, it would serve him right to dance upon nothing. I shudder when I think of the reports that were given as to her physical condition before death. The man is a monster.” Namjoon’s voice grew impassioned, his anger simmering just below the surface. He despised violence against women, a sentiment that burned hotter with each word. ��If I had the chance, I’d dispatch Eisen with my bare hands.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Seokjin replied, the heat of righteous indignation flaring in his chest. “Though I must admit, it would take Herculean effort to prevent a towering rage from overcoming me if I were to find Y/N with another man—and in the very act, no less.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, but Seokjin raised a hand. “No, friend, I understand. Her dalliance certainly did not merit her death. If Eisen is to be hanged, he has certainly earned his fate.”

The three stood in a tense silence as the auctioneer began the bidding on a black thoroughbred racehorse, the tension in the air palpable.

“Halston, are you bidding today?” Jimin asked, his voice light, yet curiosity tinged his tone.

Namjoon’s brows pinched together, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t seen anything that strikes my fancy.”

“Shall we be off to Park’s, then?” Jimin’s brow rose expectantly, glancing between Namjoon and Seokjin.

“Not for me, lads. I must see to a few last-minute preparations before we leave for Willow Hill.”

They strolled a short distance away from Tattersalls, where Seokjin’s coach awaited. 

“We shall join you in a week’s time,” Namjoon said, a promise hanging in the air.

“I look forward to a few weeks in the country,” Seokjin replied, a smile creeping onto his lips despite the heavy weight of recent events. “Though I daresay this house party will be quite different from those of past years, with Lady Rushmore now leading you about by the nose.” Jimin chuckled, nudging Namjoon with his elbow, their shared mirth a small reprieve from the shadows of their reality. They exchanged a pitying glance with Seokjin, who merely smiled, shaking his head, caught in the bittersweet nature of love, loss, and the unbearable weight of impending fate.

"I'll have you know that in addition to her Mama and Papa, Lady Rushmore has also invited the Jeons and the Jungs. I would not doubt she has matchmaking on the mind." The words tumbled from Seokjin’s mouth, heavy with implication, each syllable dripping with the kind of mischief that hangs thick in the air before a storm.

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. "The day I fall into a parson's mousetrap, as you did, is the day I shall kick the bucket from under my own feet and take a short drop."

"Ah, my dear Park, there are a great many advantages to having a wife," Seokjin replied, climbing into the carriage, the sound of his voice echoing like a warning bell against the backdrop of laughter and banter.

"Does that mean you're no longer living the life of a monk?" Jimin called after him, his words laced with a teasing edge. As Seokjin gave two swift raps to the roof of the carriage, the laughter of his friends faded, oblivious to the rich tapestry of pleasure that a loving wife waiting at home could weave into a man's life.

The scene that greeted Seokjin upon his arrival home was chaos incarnate. Maids bustled about like frantic bees, arms laden with linens and other household goods, while footmen heaved large trunks and portmanteaus down the stairs, the very air vibrating with urgency. 

He nodded as he passed various servants, each one bobbing curtsies or bowing stiffly before resuming their frenetic tasks. But as he reached the top of the stairs, a familiar voice cut through the cacophony—Y/N, directing her maid with a calm authority that belied the frenzy around her.

"I'm afraid I'll need the basin with me inside the coach. Heaven help me if I should cast up my crumpets during the journey. Lord Rushmore's has yet to witness such a distasteful episode. I fear I shall die of mortification if he were to witness such unpleasantness." 

A flicker of irritation sparked within Seokjin at the thought of her hiding an illness from him, a dark cloud threatening to obscure his sunny disposition. He had every intention of chastising her for keeping silent about her health, but that resolve evaporated like morning mist when he rounded the corner into their bedroom. 

There she was, bent over a valise, sorting through her chemises and nightdresses, a vision of domesticity that stole the breath from his lungs. 

The maid was the first to notice him. He raised a finger to his lips and nodded toward the door, signaling his desire for privacy. She nodded once and slipped out, closing the door without so much as a whisper. 

Seokjin moved across the room, his footsteps muffled by the plush woven rug beneath him, until he stood directly behind his still-leaning wife. 

"Liza, have you already packed my tan kid glo—" He gripped her hips, pulling her backside against him, eliciting a shriek of surprise. When she spun around, he caught her in his arms, her wide eyes a mirror of astonishment. 

"Hello, my love."

"Seokjin! How you startled me." She swatted her hand against his chest, but the smile creeping across her lips melted the tension from her flushed features, leaving only warmth in its wake. 

"I am sorry for that, but I was loath to interrupt my view of your delightful figure." 

He stroked his finger along her cheekbone, which bloomed with a telltale blush. She studied him as he trailed the same finger down her throat and around the back of her neck, delighting in the shivers that coursed through her at his touch. Leaning down, he followed the path with the tip of his nose, stopping momentarily to graze the tender flesh behind her ear with his lips. 

"My lord," she whispered, and he felt the weight of that title hang between them like a breathless promise. 

"Yes, my lady?" 

He continued to kiss and nibble his way across her jaw and up to her lips, savoring the sweet aftertaste of honey that lingered from her tea. She responded with equal enthusiasm, suckling his lower lip and tilting her head for a better angle. After what felt like hours, she finally pulled away, gasping for breath. 

"Seokjin, there is too much to do." She leaned away from him, perhaps expecting him to release her, but he tightened his grip around her waist, kissing her again, lost in the moment. 

"We have a moment, do we not?" he murmured against her lips, the world outside fading into insignificance. 

Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms, and he instinctively relaxed his hold. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened with a dawning horror. He let her go as she rushed to the washstand, emptying the contents of her stomach into the basin. 

With purposeful strides, he crossed the room and laid a gentle hand on her back, offering comfort as she heaved, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room. When she was finished, he extended his handkerchief and waited, heart pounding in his chest. 

She shuffled to the tea tray, returning to the basin with a cup full of lukewarm tea. Swishing mouthfuls and spitting them back into the basin, she did her best to maintain some semblance of delicacy, but her weariness was palpable. 

When she finally turned to face him, the rosy flush had drained from her cheeks, replaced by an ashen pallor that sent a chill through him. How long had she been hiding her illness? 

"Must you look at me with such pity?" she asked, setting the teacup down and twisting her hands together, a nervous habit that made his heart ache. 

"My sweet, how long have you felt ill? We can postpone our departure until you are well. Everyone coming to Willow Hill will understand." He reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned away from his touch, brushing past him like a ghost. 

He watched, concern knitting his brow, as she paced the room, muttering under her breath, a whirlwind of anxiety. Finally, she cast herself onto the bed, curling into a tight ball, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Seokjin was taken aback, concern spiraling into panic at the sudden shift in her demeanor. Every instinct screamed at him to rush to her side, but he remained frozen, captivated by the raw vulnerability laid bare before him. 

As if pulled by an unseen string, she sat up, wiping her eyes before their gazes connected, and he felt propelled into action. 

He hurriedly knelt in front of her, grasping her hands in his. "What is wrong, Y/N?"

"I did not… It was supposed to be… Oh botheration. I must look a fright." She dabbed the handkerchief at the corners of her eyes, a picture of fragility. 

"Should I summon the doctor?" he asked, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of his wife being gravely ill. 

The lines of worry etched on her face began to soften, replaced by a look of adoration that made his heart race. 

"I have already seen the doctor." 

"And what is his diagnosis?" Seokjin’s heart plummeted, a darkness settling over him at the very thought of her suffering.

She wriggled one of her hands free from his grasp—he hadn’t realized he was squeezing her so tightly—and cupped the side of his face with a tenderness that caught him off guard. “I’m afraid you were quite successful in your quest for an heir,” she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.

His brow furrowed as the meaning of her words sunk in, slowly creeping through the fog of his mind like a dark shadow. “Do you mean… I say! Are you—” He sprang to his feet, a surge of exhilaration propelling him to nearly drag Y/N off the bed in his excitement.

“I am increasing, and it is all your fault, you insufferable man! I don’t feel the least bit well, and of course, there’s nothing to be done for it but nibble dry toast when the nausea strikes.” Her voice had a sharp edge to it, yet there was a sparkle in her eyes that ignited something primal within him.

Dropping to his knees, he surrounded her with his arms, resting his head gently against her still-flat abdomen. The thought “I am going to be a father” echoed in his mind, a mantra that swelled until it overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, massaging soothing circles on his scalp, murmuring sweet nothings that drifted like whispers in the night until, finally, she grasped his chin and gently lifted him to his feet. “I wanted to tell you at Willow Hill. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy only this morning.”

“When will it be here?” he asked, his heart pounding like a drum echoing through an empty hall.

“He shall be born in early February.”

He smirked, a wild gleam igniting in his eyes as he led her back to the bed. With a tenderness that seemed to transcend reality, he cradled her in his arms. “You are sure, then, that I have produced an heir for the title of Lord Rushmore’s?” His voice danced with mischief.

“Of course. It is my greatest wish that the lineage for the earldom be secured, but…”

“But what, my darling?”

“What if it is a girl?” 

“It gives us all the more reason to practice the arduous task of producing a male heir.” He kissed her soundly as he laid her on the bed, hovering protectively over her, his body a fortress against the world. 

“There are still so many things to prepare, Seokjin.”

“Hush, my dear. Let the housekeeper do her job. The world will not fall apart if we steal a few moments of quiet together.” 

She pressed herself into his side, and in that fleeting moment, as if they had stolen a slice of eternity, he felt her body relax, her breaths evening into those of a slumbering angel, wrapped in the cocoon of their shared warmth.

The next morning unfolded like a symphony of chaos as the coaches were readied for the departure of the Earl of Rushmore’s household. When Forbes gave the word, Seokjin tucked Y/N’s hand in the crook of his elbow and led her to the carriage. Once she was settled, he followed her in, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His gaze flicked nervously to the basin opposite them, stacked with lavender-scented handkerchiefs and towels. He hoped her sickness wouldn’t turn their journey into a nightmare.

The carriage lurched into motion, rattling off through the streets of London, bound for the quieter Hampshire countryside. The sun barely peeked over the rooftops, and the cool breeze whispered secrets through the open windows. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment of calm until Y/N spoke, shattering the fragile peace.

“Seokjin, why are we going in the wrong direction? This is not the road to Hampshire.”

He opened his eyes and sat up straighter, unease coiling in his stomach like a serpent. “I have a small matter of business I need to see to before we leave town.”

She frowned, her brow knitting together in concern. “I thought you took care of all your business yesterday.”

“Yes, well, one other matter came up.”

“I see.” 

She shifted away from him, her attention drawn outside. His heart sank as he realized where they were headed. The closer they came to Newgate prison, the more agitated he became, as if an unseen force was tightening around his throat.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Do you not have a book or some kind of embroidery with which to occupy yourself?”

“I fear I would grow ill if I tried to read, and heaven forbid I should attempt any kind of needlecraft. I would most likely end up sticking myself and bleed to death.” 

He sighed, defeated by her stubbornness. Minutes ticked by, and the rattling wheels on the cobblestone streets were replaced by the jeers of a growing mob gathering for the hangings.

“Seokjin, why is there such a crowd at this early hour?” Her voice was laced with dread, and he could feel her eyes boring into him, demanding answers he couldn’t provide.

He stood, head bent, shoulders rounded, and leaned over his legs to peer out his window. The prison loomed ahead, and the gallows stood like a grim sentinel against the morning sky.

As they approached, the carriage slowed, stopping some distance from the raised platform, yet they had a perfect view. When the gaoler stood and raised his arms, the crowd fell silent, anticipation crackling in the air like static before a storm.

As he read the names of the condemned and their crimes, a chill crept down Seokjin’s spine. One by one, the hooded figures were brought forth, the nooses cinched around their necks as the crowd hissed and jeered, throwing stones and objects at the prisoners.

“And last we have, Jonathon Bartlett, Viscount Eisen, condemned to hang by the neck until dead for the murder in cold blood of Louis Montford, Marquis of Calais.”

Y/N gasped, scrambling backward into her seat, her breath quickening as panic washed over her like a wave. She waved her hand in front of her face, but that same wide-eyed look of distress he had witnessed the day before seized her. She lunged forward, retching violently into the basin.

Once again, he handed her a clean square of toweling and waited, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. 

“I had heard of the scandal. Lady Min was quite thrilled to share the news with your mother. But… he is not condemned for the death of Lady Eisen?”

Seokjin shook his head, his heart pounding like a war drum. “No. Had he only killed her, he most likely would not be in this position. When he murdered the Marquis in front of his entire household, he sealed his fate.” 

Though he glossed over the details for her benefit, the gruesome images of Lord Montford’s lifeless body, throat slit from ear to ear, lingered in his mind like a dark specter. It was damning, to say the least.

Seokjin peered out of the carriage window, the air thick with a tension that prickled at the nape of his neck. It was nearly time.

“Please, Seokjin,” Y/N’s voice quivered, raw with dread. “I can’t bear this. Let’s go.”

He nodded once, the sound of his heart thumping painfully in his chest. With a sharp rap on the carriage's wooden panel, the horses whinnied in response, and the vehicle lurched forward, rattling down the cobbled streets. 

As they rounded the corner, the roar of the mob reached a crescendo, a grotesque symphony of triumph and bloodlust. It echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of what awaited them. Y/N leaned heavily against him, her body trembling as she covered her face with shaking hands, bent double as if the weight of the world bore down on her fragile frame. For a moment, he feared she might be sick again.

After a silence that stretched like a taut wire, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes glistening. “I don’t understand why I’ve turned into a watering pot.”

“It’s the good and kind nature within you,” he murmured, though he felt the tremor in his own voice.

“It’s never good to revel in the death of one of God’s children, even if he was a very bad man.” She sniffled into her handkerchief, and gradually, the plush upholstery of the carriage seemed to embrace her weary form, pulling her back from the brink of despair.

“True. He was indeed a most depraved individual, but now we shall never have to worry about him again.”

“Do you think he really would have followed through on his threats against me?” She looked at him, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s hard to say for certain. But if his madness regarding his wife’s lover is any indication, I’m relieved to think you need not worry about his intentions any longer.” 

28 February 1816

11:54 pm

“I swear to God himself, if I am not allowed to see my wife this instant, I shall break down the door!” Seokjin's voice reverberated through the upper halls of Willow Hill as he pounded on the door to their shared bedchamber, desperation clawing at him.

Y/N had been laboring for nearly twenty hours. The doctor had even consented to allow the local midwife to assist, though his reluctant agreement came with warnings laced with disapproval. 

Just as Seokjin was about to start kicking the door, he heard the soft click of the lock. A frightened, doe-eyed maid opened the door, stepping aside just in time as he barreled past her into the room.

Y/N sat hunched over on a peculiar chair, sweat beading on her forehead and clinging to her hair. On either side of her stood their mothers, both wearing matching scowls, while Siobhan, the midwife, whispered instructions into Y/N’s ear, her voice thick and accented. 

When Siobhan glanced up, her eyes sparkled with an unsettling gleam. Her hair was a wild halo of gray curls, and her face bore the deep lines of age, looking like an apple left too long in the orchard—wrinkled, desiccated.

“The babby is almost here,” she crooned, “but she be waitin’ fer her own special day. This'un is sure to be full o’ spirit.” Her words slurred together, but the meaning hung in the air, heavy and ripe.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Y/N grunted, a fresh wave of pain coursing through her. “Ooooh, another…”

“Bear down and push, lovey. ’Tis almost done. Are ye ready to catch, doctor?” 

“Hush, witch. I know how to bring a child into the world,” snapped the doctor, irritation coating his every word.

“Kim, come take my place,” Seokjin’s mother urged, but he hardly heard her over the pounding of his heart.

“We’ve only ever talked about names for a boy,” he murmured, glancing at the doctor’s bloodied hand reaching for a towel. 

“Och, there he goes,” Siobhan said, her voice laced with disapproval, and that was the last thing Seokjin remembered before the world around him faded to black.

Everything became muffled, foggy, like he was submerged in deep water. He tried to reach for Y/N’s voice, but his limbs felt like lead, unresponsive. 

Then, a sharp, acrid smell invaded his senses, burning his nostrils. His eyes shot open, heart racing as he scanned the room, confused and disoriented. He was on the floor of his chamber, the strange chair gone, the chaotic mess of moments before replaced by eerie calm. How long had he been unconscious?

A familiar wrinkled face appeared above him. “Ah, there ye be. ’Tis why we don’t let the papas in until after the wee ones are born.”

“Y/N!” he gasped, shaking off the haze. “Where is my wife?”

“I’m right here, my lord.”

He rose unsteadily, dread curling in his stomach, and turned slowly toward her voice. Y/N lay on the bed in a fresh, white nightdress, hair neatly plaited over one shoulder, and cradled in her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets, a serene infant nestled against her.

He stumbled forward, drawn by an unseen force, and perched next to her, awe washing over him. Siobhan’s departing words barely registered as he soaked in the sight of his wife and child. 

“Y/N, my beautiful Y/N. How do you fare?” he whispered, his heart swelling.

A knowing smile danced on her lips. “You fainted, my lord.”

He felt the warmth of laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He remained silent, mesmerized by the tiny rosebud lips of their child. “I hope everyone has sworn an oath to take the events of this room to the grave.”

“Oh dear, I do believe we forgot to summon a magistrate for such proceedings.”

“Then I will assume the entire township, nay the whole of Hampshire, will know of my weak constitution by midday.” He sighed, resting his head on her shoulder, feeling the weight of the world lift just slightly. After a contemplative silence, he asked, “Was she right? Siobhan, I mean.”

“Does it matter?”

“You are alive. The child is alive. Of course it matters.”

He watched as Y/N’s fingers traced the soft strands of reddish-brown hair that crowned their daughter’s head. “She was right. You have a daughter, my love.”

“A girl,” he breathed, the word heavy with meaning. “Was she indeed born on the twenty-ninth?”

“Yes, she waited until it was two minutes past midnight. Siobhan was right on both counts. She wanted to have her own special day.”

The thought struck him like a chill in the night air—he would never survive having a daughter. Anxiety twisted in his chest, coiling around his heart until it clenched painfully with every beat.

Y/N must have sensed his turmoil, her gaze steady and soothing. “Please don’t give yourself an apoplexy thinking of suitors and her coming out. We have many, many years before that becomes an issue.”

“You know me too well, my sweet. But it changes nothing. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect my ladies’ honor.”

He extended his arms, lifting the stirring infant into his embrace. “What shall we call her?”

Y/N tucked the blankets around her legs, her smile illuminating the dim room. “I was thinking perhaps, Lady Caroline Marie Kim, in honor of your late father.”

“Perfect. My mother will be deeply touched.” He marveled at the strength of the little fist that curled around his finger. “She will need a brother to protect her. When shall we start working on that endeavor?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “You may address that subject with me in three or four years’ time. Until then, do I need to cloister myself in a separate bedchamber?”

Seokjin’s grin took on a mischievous edge as he shook his head. “I don’t think I can bear to sleep without you, my love. I promise I will behave.”

But beneath the surface of their laughter, a dark shadow lingered—a reminder that the world outside could be as dangerous as it was beautiful. And it wouldn’t be until the twenty-ninth of February 1820, that a boy, the next Earl of Rushmore, would arrive.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[reareaotaku]

Bloody Home

Summary: You are search of your baby, not knowing the dangers that lie ahead of you Tw/Cw: Blood, Gore, Death, Horror, Y/n is Rose's Mother/Married to Ethan, Yandere Themes, NSFW Themes, Obsession, Dubious Consent Themes? [They talk about fucking reader and it's implied the reader has no say], Forced Cheating Word Count: 2k+

Pt II:___ | Pt III:___ | Pt IV:___ | Pt V:____ [Almost made Mother Miranda into Father Mark, but I changed my mind]

The land was dark and cold, causing shivers to run down your body. The misty skies did nothing to ease you as you made your way through the forest. As you look over the horizon, you see a large Victorian-style mansion. You felt a strange pull towards the mansion and you knew you had to go there.

You traveled through the seemingly abandoned village. The snow-covered ground soaked your shoes. You heard a gunshot and the sound of flapping wings. You quickly find yourself into a house to hide from the creature.

You hear growls and a loud scream before silence. You peak through an opening and see a wolf like man devouring the flesh of a human being. You cover your mouth to stop yourself from the scream that nearly escaped.

You run through the village, before you run into a witch like lady.

"In life and in death, we give glory..."

"Uh, hello? I don't know if you noticed, but there's these- uh- creatures. You shouldn't be out. It's not safe."

She does not respond and you look at her confused.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

"Ah, it's you. The child's mother."

"Child? Do you mean Rose? My daughter is here? Where is she?"

"Rose, Rose, yes! She is in great danger. Since Mother Miranda brought her to the village, we have fallen into darkness."

"What are you talking about?"

Before the woman can respond, there is a chiming bell, causing your eyes to look up into the sky where the castle stood.

"The castle bell heralds danger. They're coming!"

"Who's coming? Whose Mother Miranda?" You try asking, but she shuts the gate on you, leaving you hoping for answers.

As you wonder around, you find this stone wall that led to the castle. It looked like it was missing two pieces and you probably had to find them. Luckily one was stored in a house nearby and you were led to Luiza house. Though, the doors were locked, frustrating you.

Thankfully you saw a little opening in the wall and where able to slip through and open the gate. Though as you opened it, you deemed the gesture pointless, as you were already inside. But, you were bombarded by a girl and her elderly father? who rushed in, thanking you for letting them in.

You knocked on the door, but no answer. The girl, Elena knocked, and a man opened the door with a shotgun to her face. He told her to hush, as she was drawing in the monsters. A woman's voice came from the back telling the man to let them in, but was confused when seeing you.

"You're not from the village?"

"No.. I'm uh, Y/n..."

"Well, if Elena trusts you... then so do I. Come inside, Y/n."

"Wait here, I'll check on the others."

You looked around the room, reading the letters and such, hoping the find the other piece of the stone wall. 'Mother Miranda' kept getting brought up and you were sure she was important. She didn't seem like any mother you had ever known and you sure were nothing like her. Just from what she had gathered, it seemed as if she was letting these creatures attacked the people here as she no longer saw any use for them.

You wondered if this Miranda woman knew how these creatures were made and if she allowed it to happened. They looked like they were once human, so you wondered if they were the humans from this village that had been experimented on- And now Mother Miranda had no use for the experiments and was letting the people die.

You shook your head, feeling the idea was stupid and over complex. Besides, it didn't make to much sense... But surely when did anything ever?

The lady, Luiza, lead you to the back where others where, but they didn't seem pleased to see you. They rebuked your involvement, thinking you would get them killed. Thankfully Luiza stood up for you.

"Please, Y/n, take a seat."

You were hesitant to sit down, but ultimately decided to, as to appease the others. You look around the room, before frowning.

"Are you all that's left? From the entire village?"

"All that's left? All that's left??"

You look towards the angry voice to see a man who looked angry. He stood and ran up on you.

"There is no one left! A worthless invalid! A stupid, wailing bitch- And you," He points to a lady in the corner.

'God,' You thought. 'Maybe those creatures should have taken this guy.'

"You drag a bloody man and an outsider in here like it's nothing... and expect us all to be safe?"

He goes on and on about how there is no safe, but you truly can pay his temper tantrum any mind. You needed that piece to open that wall so you could get your daughter back.

"That's enough! This house has protected my family for generations. And drunk or not, you re all welcome- and safe- in here."

"Whatever."

"What's even going on here?"

"We don't know. One day we were a quiet, devout village and the next the monsters came and attacked us. And they-they kept coming, and-"

"Wait, Luiza, where is your husband? Did they...?"

"No, n-no. He is out there... somewhere. He went to get help. Yes, yes, that's-that's it. He went to fetch help."

"Let us pray."

"For him... For all of us."

"Great one, hear our voice, together as one in reverence. We call on thee within the endless dark to deliver us into fate's hands. As the midnight moon rises on black wings, so we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end. In life and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda."

"Now the tea should be ready."

As kind as some of the people had been, you truly wanted to find your daughter, not be stuck in some house.

"Come help me Elena, please."

That prayer- I've heard it before." You mumble mainly to yourself. There was an old woman near the graveyard."

"You mean the hag? Dumb bitch is crazy as a bag of rats."

His words didn't make much sense, as you had sensed something off about the woman.

"There is wisdom in her devotion, though." Luiza scolds the man. "And I hope it protected er as it shall protect us."

Leonardo laughs, before he falls on the table and the lattern falls, starting the light the carpet of fire.

"What the fuck are you doing?

"Leonardo, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

One of the men try to stop the fire and before you can help, you watch Leonardo stab Luiza with his machete. You run out the door, but the man gets ontop of you. Thankfully, Elena shots him, before the man can hurt you. She shoots him again when he tries to stand and you look at her in awe. You were impressed by this girl's skill.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Father..."

"Hey, hey. That isn't your father anymore. You did the right thing."

She tries to go for her burning father, but the whole place was collapsing and you quickly pulled her back, knowing you'd want the same done for your daughter.

You looked around for a key, before finding it in one of the kitchen drawers. You nearly jump with glee when finding it. There was also a screw driver, though you weren't sure what for. You start the car, hoping to bust out.

You weren't able to get past the second wall and hear Elena call your name. You felt stupid that it hadn't worked. You saw an area where you could climb and grabbed her as you both headed up.

You go up, but fall through. Thankfully you see a window and see your way out. Elena is quick to jump to fear because of the monsters, but you tell her there is nothing to fear and that it's going to be okay. You tell her you'll find her a safe house until you find your daughter that you assume is in that old castle.

"No! That place is full of nothing but blood and death. And I don't want to be alone while you're-" She stops midsentence when seeing her father. "Father?"

"Elena, no! That's not him- not anymore!"

"Elena!"

"He said my name! Father!" She goes down and you try grabbing her, realizing it wasn't safe, but it was to late. They both fall to their death as you watched horrified.

You jump out the window, before jumping to the ground. You go over to the closed area and use the screwdriver to unlock it and grab the other stone piece.

You go to open the gate, only to hear gunshots, confusing you.

"Stop! Mother Miranda!"

You open the door to see a woman holding the man from before.

"Hey!" You yell, to no vain.

She then kills him, causing you to gasp. She laughs, before disappearing.

"Who was- what was that??"

You go through the grassy areas, before seeing the hag, becoming relieved, even if you had felt strange about her before.

"Death. Yes. Death has visited them all!" She then laughs, freaking you out a little. You decide to ignore her and head towards the wall, of which you put the last stone into. The walls open, causing you to cheer in glee.

You go across the bridge and are led up a staircase. It led you to... a winery? You go to pull a lever, before hearing a man's voice.

"Well, well. Didn't think anyone was left! You must be pretty tough, huh?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, you're not local! Even better."

You're then stabbed and you fall unconscious.

--

"The woman is of no use to anyone else. And my daughters do so love... well, pretty women. Furthermore, I can assure if you entrust the mortal to House Dimitrescu-"

You awake to see a creepy doll, taking you aback.

"My daughters and I shall take extra good care of her. She will not bother you in the slightest."

"Out of the way, ugly! I want to see-oh! She's awake!"

"You mean- Y-you mean?"

"Both of you, shut the fuck up!"

"You mean you'll fuck around with her in private, and where's the fun in that? Give her to me and I'll put on a show that everybody can enjoy."

"Oh, so gauche. No one wants to watch you fuck some mortal. Please! What do we care for bread and circuses? Keep it in your pants."

"Yack, yack. And if that woman is fucked to where she can't walk in the castle- blah, blah, blah!"

"I've heard all your arguments. Some of you were less persuasive than others, but... I've made my decision. Heisenberg. The woman's fate is in your hands."

"Mother Miranda. I must protest! Heisenberg is but a child and his devotion to you is questionable. Give the mortal to me and I will ensure she is... pleased."

"Shut your damn hole and don't be a sore loser! Go find your next fuck somewhere else."

"Quiet now, child! Adults are talking."

"I'm the child? You're the one who's arguing with Miranda's decision!"

"You wouldn't know responsibility if it was welded to that hammer."

"Oh, keep growing, one day your head might actually fit your ego!"

"Fight, fight, fight, fight!"

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?"

"Silence!" Miranda's wings open, causing everyone to hush. "My decision is final, there will be no argument. Remember from whence you came!"

"Thank you, mother."

"Lycans and gentle man, we thank you for waiting! And now let the games begin!"

"Let's see what you're really made of Y/n Winters. Get ready!" He slams down your chains and counts down as you are forced to run, not knowing what he'd do if he catches you.

You run down the tunnel, ignoring the voice, hoping they don't get to your head. They spoke of you as if you were some pet- A play thing even.

"Very nice, Y/n!"

You made it to a cave, only for Heisenberg to land infront of you. He swings at you, but then you start falling? You were unsure of what was going on, as you were in so much pain.

"You're still alive? Impressive... I will have so much fun with you."

The walls start to cave in, but you quickly find some boards and bang them open. You rush through the tunnel, before finding a hide out spot and getting your hands unchained. Those freaks- They must have Rose, your baby.

You ran about, before finding the place you had been at before. You pulled the lever and are lead back outside. You head up the hill, and a man comes out of a wagon.

"I've been waiting for you Miss Winters."

"How do you know my name?"

"Anyone who is anyone has heard of the likes of you. A hero searching for her daughter. Though I must say, that castle arouses suspicion."

"No shit. But so do you."

He laughs, waving you off. "I am but a humble merchant."

"Here?"

"Forgive my manners, call me the Duke. Now to business."

"Weapons, ammunition, healing salves- Anything you desire, I can provide."

You have little money, so you go on your way. You open the doors to the castle, before heading in and seeing a portrait of 3 noble ladies. You head around, before hearing a scream- Catching you off guard.

You go to read a sign, but you are stopped by three women.

"Looking for Rose?"

They corner you, before one of them pushes and stabs you. "Oh, you're very pretty. We'll have fun with you."

[al-of-the-stars]

Hii! I came back after some time. I hope you are doing good <3

I've recently had my mind on Stolas and Stolas only soooo I have a request:

Could you maybe do something like the reader is Octavias' new mom? I'd honestly prefer if you put child Via but I'm not picky! :))

Also, relationships (cause I don't wanna sound weird) Octavia+Reader= Platonic 〔〕 Stolas+reader= Romantic

And I am so sorry if I'm working this with your request closed! I first do then think!

~💎

A Happy Family

A/n: AAAA THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA!! This was so fun to write! For plot purposes, in this fic, Stella and Stolas had the divorce already when Via was a kid. Hope you enjoy!! :D

You were nervous to say the least. You were about to meet Octavia, Stolas’ daughter. You knew a lot about her already from how much Stolas talked about her. She seemed to be really sweet and on one hand, you were excited to finally meet the little owlette. On the other hand, you were afraid that she wouldn't like you. Stolas’ encouragement definitely helped you feel a bit better. As you entered the castle, you had only one goal: make a good first impression. Stolas wrapped his arm around your waist and led you to the living room, where an adorable purple-haired owl demon sat on the couch. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and waved enthusiastically. 

“Octavia, this is Y/n!” Stoals gestured toward you calmly. You smile and wave back at her, trying to hide how much you were internally panicking. 

“Woah! They're pretty!” She said. Your goal had been achieved! Now all that's left to do is go to Looloo Land and just have fun with your fiance and future daughter. Via watched in excitement as Stolas opened a portal right in front of the gate to her favorite theme park. The rest of the day was spent going on rides, playing super rigged carnival games (which frustrated Stolas to the point where he asked you to take Via elsewhere for a few minutes while he threatened the annoying man running the game), and eating a ton of sugar. When you returned to the castle, Via immediately hugged you.

“Y/n, can I call you Mom?” You hugged her back and held back tears of joy 

“Of course!” As the cute moment continued, you suddenly heard a camera click. You both turn your heads to see Stolas teary eyed with a smile on his face and a camera in his hand. This was a new page in the story and the start of a happy family .

[erinwantstowrite]

i feel like if you released a 24 hour + video of you talking about your plans for your original book i would sit and watch all of that with no breaks. so: would you be willing to share at least the bare bones of the plot you have now? or even some tropes that would be in it? or maybe random questions like how many main characters? how many povs? if it's sci-fi or fantasy? just stuff like that!

ahhhh!! i'd love to talk about them because they're constantly rotating in my brain!! i hope this doesn't get too long but we all know me, i can never stop yapping 😭

(okay this is present erin editing before posting and yeah this got long guess who called it. anyways there's art and stuff under the cut as well)

(Marked this as mature with violence only because there is an image below where I drew injuries/cuts on a character)

This book has been a thousand different books in all kinds of settings, plots, lessons, etc, and that's because I've had these characters since I was in middle school. At first I was so obsessed with them that I'd write and draw them all the time, to the point that my teachers were concerned I wasn't paying attention. I was seriously into magic and fantasy at the time because Harry Potter books were still the epitome of writing to my middle school brain. Ruby was a wizard with a bird theme that lived in the countryside and one day found out that her town was "alive" in a sense... But after I lost that sketchbook with all of the details (devastated to this day), and started venturing into other books series and shows, etc, I sort of forgot about the og story or what it was like. What remained was a love for the characters I had made over anything else about them, so I'd end up writing stories with a different theme each time, but the ocs being the same, just with their backgrounds shifted. (Around the time I was obsessed with VLD, Ruby was in a sci-fi plot set on a planet in another solar system.)

One of the most recent iterations was Ruby and the other characters essentially struggling to understand death, life, and everything in between. The story is called "Behind the Blue Glass" and I still really like that title lol. All of them had died on the same day, at the same time, just in various different ways, and then all of them came back to life in the same manner. They all developed different powers from the experience: Liam could float/manipulate gravity), August's body was essentially a phantom that could go through objects and disappear, Vin could possess people, Jean had an empathy link with the dead and could talk to and see them clearly, and Maya could figure out someone's cause of death/also tell when people were about to die. As for Ruby, she's the only one who can move freely between the land of the living and the land of the dead. It's different from Jean seeing the dead, as she's still in the land of the living.

The plot of that story was Ruby having dreams/visions of these other people she had never met before and knowing she needed to find them and set "something" right, but she didn't know what. She sets out to find them anyways, and they each join her on her quest to find everyone simply because they never got an answer to how they came back from the dead and find it weird that they all died on the same day and time. They solve deaths of ghosts they come across, meet people who are still grieving lost ones, have to lay some of the ghosts down to rest- all while figuring out why these shady people have started following them and trying to stop them from figuring out what happened to them. I even made some first draft titles (definitely, 10000% inspired by PJO because I was reading it at the time):

to top it all off, it's set in the 2010's I believe? Around that time. Just because I think more books should write about the time era

I have some (recentish) art of the characters:

first image: (Liam on the right, August on the left)

this is what Ruby looked like when I was first designing them for the story:

They're meant to look dead-ish but this art was SO long ago when I wasn't confident in my art so Ruby just looks like a wet rat or smth idk what is going on here

And here's Vin!! I don't hate this drawing of him that much, surprisingly, but this was also drawn a while ago

and this was some art i was planning at the time:

i think that's all of the art that i have for this story (at least on this computer. My old laptop might have more but it's been laid to rest)

to be honest, i'm still thinking about writing this story, but Ruby's name would be changed because at this point, this iteration of her character is VERY different from present day. She's two different characters at this point 💀 that's how you know I've had her for SO long because she looks so different from her original drawings.

The latest version of Ruby ended up in a story with completely different characters in the cast and a completely different setting (even if some of the characters were inspired by their og versions). It's called "The Clocktower's Chime"

It's very much inspired by those reincarnation manhwas. I like those stories but they all have the same plot over and over, and while I was more interested in the versions where the character is sent back in time to live their life again but with all the knowledge they had in the future, I always struggled with the aspect that the characters' mental age is far older than they are. It makes the dynamics a little weird, but they can be excused unless it's a romantic dynamic, I would think? I dunno, it was hard to get into the plots mostly because of that.

So I used Ruby as a placeholder OC and came up with a story where upon their death in the future, someone casts a spell or a god sends them back, and instead of having a mental older age, they get a journal with all of the details of their future. Ruby woke up one day and found a journal written by herself that detailed everything about her future up to the point of her death. It was more like a book, however, rather than a journal. It just looked like a journal because it was in her handwriting.

So Ruby gets this book, doesn't believe it at all, until she notices that there are way too many "coincidences" lining up with the events of the book. She starts believing it could be true, and then decides it must be when she finds out that a prominent family in the country she lives in is going to visit her hometown. In the book, they were there because they learned that Ruby was their daughter that had been kidnapped as a baby and believed dead. However, in the book, Ruby had spent her entire life living as a weapon instead of a daughter, and she died by their hands when she refused to kill a woman that is prophesized to end a war that would devastate both countries.

Ruby is, like, 12 at that point. So her kid brain is like "obviously I run away and go to school in a different country and tell everyone I have a different name and there's no way this could go wrong." Except before she can even do that, she runs into Julias Parlia, a Duke's son from the country that is supposed to be her enemy in the future. Ruby is like "shit this is THE worst adult to run into and I haven't even gotten to the running away part of my plan" and Julias ends up being the reason she doesn't even get to the train station. He's fucking hilarious by the way. He's got a well adjusted family with two loving parents and a bunch of little siblings and he basically picks Ruby up by the scruff of her neck and is like "I want this one she's insane."

This is Julias (kneeling on the ground to talk to Ruby) and Emelie (Julias' knight and childhood friend, she's so silly)

and this is the part where I share art from many months ago... when I posted my most recent art and said Ruby keeps getting buffer every time I draw her, I meant it 💀

Ruby and her love interest, Cecelia

This is Vekenti, a character that was also supposed to be a "villain" in the original timeline. Ruby goes looking for him to prevent his death as well, and Julias obviously is like "Omg another weird kid, how delightful!" Everyone thinks Vikenti and Ruby are related, but they are not. They're just raised as siblings in both timelines and have a lot of the same mannerisms

Julias' love interest (unnamed? I can't find her name anywhere) and him

REALLLY old drawings of what they looked like in the OG timeline (I desperately need to redesign these because I could do better now)

Julias and Ruby again

and that's all the art I have for this one (besides the other post of Ruby I posted today, this is the story that that version of Ruby belongs in. She's looks very different now!).

All of this has been in the back of my mind for a while, and I've been trying to figure out which story I would want to write first. Middle school Erin would love for me to finally write Behind the Blue Glass, but sometimes I find myself wanting to write a fantasy story like Clocktower's Chime a lot more

[connorsnothereeither]

How do you make Virgils boards, is there a system or do you just like go ham? I find them very neat and am curious

(idk if this has been asked before but if it has i couldn't find it so-)

I don’t think it’s been asked but I would LOVE to ramble about it omg for sure-

It’s sort of a mix of both! I have the advantage of like,,, Virgil canonically thinks the way I think, when it comes to connecting dots, so it’s sort of just a visual representation of my brain and how I picture the lore, lol. In terms of a “process” though:

I tend to start with a list of important plot points, bits of information, and character details Virgil does know. And obviously most of the time, it’s a a bunch of questions that he’s asking, which I’ve woven those into

From there, I make a list of assumptions Virgil makes based off those facts. Sometimes those are correct assumptions that I know are right because they’re planned lore. Sometimes they’re things that I’m spitballing because we haven’t landed on an actual answer, and it’s sort of like,,, testing the waters with an idea I think is fun, but that might not be canon. Sometimes, my favourite, they’re just completely bullshit assumptions that make sense but are so wild and silly, either for the comedic effect or as a red herring.

Once I’ve got all of those, I do just sort of go ham sketching them out! I tend to cluster them based on vibe and theme, so it looks like an evolution of thought. Here is this idea, here is this idea that relates to it, kinda thing. I also try to make sure that there’s a drawing or diagram per cluster of information, to add more visual interest! I tend to shuffle things around once they're drawn out, trying to see what fits best where, the sizing of things, and whats like, an appropriate connection/space for things to go! (for example in the upcoming draft of the board, I had to decide if i put the section on Luxtant near Avianism, near the Avicane, near the Sorcerers, or near Vast and Rune!)

Also before I do the line art, I tend to add the strings on a seperate layer to test the placement! actually connecting things with the red string is less important to me then how it looks visually. I want “main things,” whether it’s drawings or notes, to be visible. Like I try my best to not have string lines being directly over the top of people, or important concepts! You can for example in the current board in Virgil’s office that like,,, the note about Kalia isn’t covered, or the pictures of Vast and Pietro, but things like random questions about Viviana are covered by strings, because they’re less important to notice upon first glance. It’s a lot of finding a way to use the strings to draw the eyes in places I want them to go.

Then the last step of the process is line art and colouring and finalising placement :D

That all makes it sound like it’s a properly like, thought out process but honestly it’s a big mess of back and forth editing and scribbling and deciding last minute to add things to fill up space and just hope things turn out looking okay lol! But I have a lot of fun with it, Virgil and his investigations and investigative process (especially upcoming with things like Void Sickness) are very fun to play out 🫶

[buzzybee26]

I've seen people saying that this season marks a transition from serious with silly elements to silly with serious elements (particularly after the 1st 2 eps) but now that we've had a lot more of the season, I think this is wrong. This season isn't silly with serious elements, it's a serious season wearing the mask of a silly season.

Spoilers under cut

Space Babies looks like it's just "lol babies running space station, lol snot monster, lol farting space ship" at face value, but there's a lot more to unpack from how The Doctor relates the Bogeyman and being the only one of his kind to the underlying themes of abortion legislation and honestly a lot more to unpack than I don't have the brain power to write rn.

Devil's Chord keeps the silly tone, but destroys the world and does some important foreshadowing about Ruby and The One Who Waits. This is the one that leans most into the silliness, but it has the stakes to work with this analysis.

The plot of Boom is "The Doctor steps on a glowy land mine" which is a hilarious sentence and the next time preview for it was absolutely left us with a lot of questions pertaining to how that was going to be a full episode, but it ended up being a thesis on how organised religion, capitalism and war are some of greatest threats to humanity and they all make each other worse. Boom is played straight for pretty much the whole episode, but it looks like a pretty silly premise before you watch it.

The 73 Yards next time preview, whilst creepy, made the episode look a lot cheesier than it ended up being and they ran with this until the reveal that the pub goers were just messing with Ruby, after which we don't get any more stuff like uncomfortable close ups or characters expositing about local folk lore. The horror b-movie is a lie.

And now Dot and Bubble. The brightest episode of the season has the darkest ending so far. At first glance it certainly looks a lot sillier than it is with its bug-eyed monsters and "phone bad" aesthetic. This episode is all about deception. Ricky lies about the home world, Lindy lies about Ricky being alive, but there's more. The residents of Fine Time get the lie of Fine Time. The whole thing is about them looking past a vale to see what's really going on around them. The Doctor and Ruby get the lie that they will save these people. They go in, they try to help and the get cooperation for a bit, but the rich kids' pride and prejudice stops them. We as the audience receive the lie that these characters could be saved in the first place. The episode sets itself up to have a hopeful ending where the rich kids start learning to improve themselves as people in a new home that the Doctor brought them to. We get so focused on that narrative structure that we don't step back and look at the bigger picture. These people think they're so amazing because they don't waste resources with their consumerism and they have followers and they're stuck in a n environment that affirms their egos yet they can't even walk without their bubbles and they mostly get annoyed when the disappearances get brought up. Their egos are so overinflated and they're so used to being in an environment where they can only talk to other people who think and act like them, of course they're not going with the Doctor. They'll use him as long as they think they need him but they refuse to accept that they can't do anything by themselves if they're not in absolute immediate danger because they think they're so amazing. This feels like it should have a somber ending where we mourn the losses and look to a brighter future in the moment because of the tone and structure, but take a step back from it and there was no other way it was going to end.

This whole season has been a tonal lie that's been breaking down as we go and I really hope they do something cool with that idea.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 4.3

Oof! Got him!

“She loves you and he loves him and they love each other”. You know when you've got something to say but you don't want it to look like you really wanted to say it specifically so you throw it in between two other things? No? Just me and John?

I'm obsessed with John just heaping praise on Paul in this interview. Every song the interviewer brings up it's “best” “my favorite” “all Paul” “good piece of work” “somewhere I have the tape of him doing it” “damn good” “one of his masterpieces” See also: Paul’s a good lyricist, he just doesn't try because he's insecure. And: one of the most innovative bass players of all time.

John mixing up In My Life and If I Fell “although I don't know why I'm confusing them, they're nothing alike but they have the same–” The same what? Same target? Same muse? Hmm? “It's really about–it's not about Cyn.” He's barely hanging on to not saying it here, like, by a gossamer thread. 

John confessing that the consistent character flaw of Paul's which hurt him ((hurt. Not annoyed. Not angered. Hurt.)) was insensitivity. Not bossiness or lameness or sneakiness. Insensitivity. What John couldn't handle in the end about Paul was that he wasn't aware enough of John's tender feelings. 

He's also so cruel in this interview. And what you've got to pay attention to is the theme connecting the songs he's cruel about: Let It Be (let John go) and The Long and Winding Road (the long and pointless fight). 

The Japanese Monk comparison doesn't quite land for me because it implies that John purposely broke up the Beatles because he knew they were at a peak and he wanted them to stay gold. And I think that's what John would like the story to be. It makes him feel better inside. It makes him look incredibly wise and courageous. But it's clear – John even stated it himself more than once on record – that the breakup was not purposeful or calculated. It was a terrible accident that nobody wanted, least of all John. 

More quotes to live by when examining John's post breakup “ow!”

I find it fascinating that John thought of Paul's and Dylan's lyrics as very similar and says so twice in this documentary. But nobody else ever draws that comparison. In mainstream thought, Bob Dylan is one of the greatest lyricists of all time if not the greatest (it's me. I'm mainstream. Subterranean Homesick Blues my absolute beloved.) and Paul is the worst lyricist to ever get successful. And you know what? I think Paul gets punished for being physically pretty and financially savvy, and I think in the exact same way his music gets punished for being melodically pretty and commercially successful. 

John about Paul's inscrutable messages in his songs: if one knows the person, one knows what's coming down. John in I Know (I Know): and I know. What's coming down. 

I will always love how he says in the same breath . . . “I've compared it to a marriage a million times" and "Paul and I were together.” 

You really do gotta be like “Johns say the darndest things sometimes.” I mean that's what Paul did, right? Because genuinely most of the time he's a fucking sweetheart. After he's sat there defending Paul's insane mourning bus movie, the interviewer asks him to compare himself and Paul. And after saying there's never been a question about commerciality, he says this. 

Nobody think about Paul writing “One of These Days” just before John's death then “This One” a decade later. Don't do it. I do recommend. 

Free as a Bird is such a beautiful song. It's a gorgeous melody, and it's got such complex emotions. He's still mourning something that was lost, but he's hopeful. He's on his way home. 

You all know that long distance interview Paul did right before John died where they bring up some of the awful things John said recently about him (ignoring the millions of loving and admiring things). When Paul's voice cracks and he looks up at the ceiling and struggles for a minute and the lights go out, I have a theory that it's one of their kids being protective. She was messing with the lights before to be silly and then when the bad question comes she turns them off again as a sort of protective sabotage. 

What If though? What If that's true? 

Quote of all time!!! “The person I actually picked as my partner, who I recognized has talent and who I could get on with, was Paul.” He doesn't say ‘as my sidekick’ or ‘running mate’ or ‘captain’s mate’ or ‘second string’ or any of those things that traditional Beatles fans tend to push on them. Partner. 

Serious question, because I swing all over the place as to what I think actually happened between John and Paul physically and emotionally. If we agree that Real Love is about Paul (a baby and another on the way lalalalalala farm . . . Just call him on the phone) Then what about this lyric? “Was I just dreaming (a word of theirs and something they thought they shared) or was it only Yesterday (Paul's biggest song) I used to hold you in my arms? Is that to be taken literally? John used to hold Paul in his arms? i.e. frequent hugging and cuddling?

The heart monitor cuts so harshly into John singing “Grow Old With Me.” As we see beautiful images of John and all the people he's leaving behind. I'm dry heaving. This documentary is so much more painful this time around than the first. 

Anyway I'm glad we got coverage of all the “for Paul” songs. Which. Btw fuck you Sean and Peter. You proved absolutely nothing.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Teaser thoughts

I had to do adulting (leave for a suddenly rescheduled appt) 20 mins after the trailer dropped this morning, so I'm only now starting to get my thoughts settled but omg I have to write this stuff down or how will I know what I think

here we go

Rayllum flying together. Is it cute, romantic, or is it some twist where they're going somewhere for horrible reasons in a hurry and they can't even take the Shadowpaw. Where is the Shadowpaw why are they fl-

Does Ethari have his Shadowpaw back is that why they have to fly

Love the bisexual vibes here ngl

Starscraper is over land. It's not a deep thought shhh

The search for Zubeia. I'm curious why Ezran has let two of his best Crownguard leave his side. Surely this will have no consequences!

Janaya kiss with Amaya on her tippy toes. Janai has her crown on here. I feel that's relevant for uhh later. I hope this is real and not a dream Janai is having - those have not been going well for her.

This one makes me sad. The picture is torn, but then mended, and I love that. But it's set up like you'd see at a funeral.

Is this one super early on in episode 1 maybe? It could be the same night as the end of S5. That feels more likely than Terry catching up to Claudia later on... specifically in her allowing him close after what we got in the other trailer. Aahhh

This one has so much in it, I can't! It's got star bug stuff which I'm extremely here for, let the gods be gooey. It's got the whole quasar diamond crown right there. It's got Rayllum having a close moment. and it's posed like they're at the altar in a chapel getting married. Also the star is upside down in the stained glass window, so whatever theme is going on it's being consistent there.

This is one of my favorites: Ezran out on his own castle bridge defending it. Ye Olde Narrative of Strength got to him! Opeli looking worried has me worried - she's usually so certain and swift. This could be Viren trying to come home like a half drowned rat - will they let him in? Don't make me think of the men of Númenor right now, do not.

Battle couple battle couple! Rayla and Callum teaming up again! (she's the dark blob kicking free in the upper left) I love when a couple fights together. gonna be super normal about that.

This top down view of the Starscraper is a little dizzying, ngl. With Callum and Rayla tiny at the bottom, three floors down, these flying, circling elves give me shark vibes. What if they're not nice. like at all.

Why was Stella falling!? what are the Celestials doing, are they helping or are they trying thievery? Is this just a big mob of seagulls here

Janai is losing control of her emotions, she's furious and sad. She's setting fire to the Sun Seed tree. We know the Seed was stolen, but maybe this is her finding out, early on. It's less angsty if it's early, you know how things always get Worse during the course of a TDP season lmfao. If it's later on, maybe the fact that she isn't wearing her crown is... important.

Rayla in the frozen ship. Why's it burning, what's she there for? why did she go alone? This gives me some Banther Lodge infiltration vibes ngl.

Okay I am all about this altercation. Viren shoving Kpp'Ar to the floor in fury. are they arguing about Soren? dark magic? both? neither? What's the logo stand for, what's the I for in IK? Does he have a show called It's Kpp'Ar and they're just on set? lmfao the real reason there are gears everywhere is to change the rooms around isn't it. Kpp'Ar just got sick of those extra 29 steps to the kitchen.

Few things are scarier than a True Believer getting everything he wants. this shot of Karim being so filled with elation cannot be saying good things for Janai's prospects. He's got all kinds of cool Sunfire stuff on, too, including a crown, and his old tin ring from his mother. Those things were confiscated when he was exiled, which means he must not be exiled anymore. He could be king, having displaced Janai somehow, and he's fulfilling his intentions to his people by bringing back the glory of the Sunfire elves by healing their injured archdragon. Or so he hopes, anyway! We'll see if it works.

Sol Regem has come out of his cave and he's got that Power Dragon Wingspread going on. Looks like he's been convinced to take a swing for uhhh big dragon things! I wonder how far his power will reach... and his bitterness. We might get a new Dragon King that makes Avizandum look soft.

It's so interesting to me what we did not get to see in the teaser, too. There's no Aaravos, no Aanya, no Runaan or Ethari, no Kim'dael. If we get another trailer before July 26, maybe they'll be in there! Or maybe we'll just have to white knuckle it until release day.

Hold on tight! S6 is coming!

[twisted-tales-of-all]

ATEEZ Reacts to their Partner's Death Scene

Plot: You're an actor, and you've landed a role where your character ends up dying - a first in your career. You watch the movie with your boyfriend and gauge their reaction. Pairing: ATEEZ x gender-ambiguous!actor!Reader Total Word Count: 1.3K Tropes: idol!AU, actor!AU, reactions Contains: death of reader's character, cursing, pet names, lots of screaming/anger, some tears, hurt/comfort for some A/N: This is a bit of a rushed post, so there's no visuals to go with it, sorry! There's been a lot more happening in my life than I expected ;;

Hongjoong - Hongjoong was far too excited for you to have a main role in the movie that he forgot you were filming a horror film. The beaming smile fades as the movie nears its climax. As he watches some of the other characters meet their demise, he turns to you.

"They're not killing you off, are they? They better not."

Ignoring his question, you urge him to focus. As the camera switches to you hiding from the killer in the bushes, the music cuts out. Timed perfectly with the killer's approaching footsteps, your boyfriend chants, "No, no, no, no, NO!"

Your blood-curtling scream fades to nothingness as the camera focuses on the puddle of blood forming by your hand. Hongjoong stops the movie immediately, complaining that your character was doing everything right, and how dare you get killed off when you could've easily hid all night. Although you try to get him to continue watching, he refuses, claiming that they sacrificed plot for some of the extra gore.

Seonghwa - He'd been asking for spoilers ever since you got your script, but you cherry-picked spoilers that weren't crucial to the story, all so you could see his reactions at the finished piece. All he knows is that your character isn't who people think, so upon seeing your quiet character on screen, he begins rallying off ideas. The next scene stops him in his tracks with his mouth agape as he sees the police covering your bloodied corpse as the first death of the film shows on screen. He whines about your minimal screen time, but you kiss him and tell him to keep watching. When the villain reveals themselves at the end, he shakes you so hard and begs to rewatch so he can pay more attention to you acting as the murderer and thwarting the others with your fake death. He showers you with praise, jokingly begging you not to kill him as well. Although he's not quite used to seeing you like that, he compliments how well you were able to become your character.

Yunho - You warned him that your character doesn't last the whole movie, but you don't tell him any details. As the movie moves further and further along, you watch his leg twitch and his grip on your thigh tightens. Trying to hide your smile as the scene approaches, you eat more popcorn. As your character approaches the cliff with their trusted best friend, Yunho leans forward in anticipation, but he keeps his hand on your thigh. When the best friend casually pushes your character over the edge, the camera follows your face, showing the fear and betrayal on your face until you fade into the darkness. You expect his grip to tighten, so when it doesn't, you lean over to see him crying. Stopping the movie, you ask him if he's okay. 

"I just watched you get betrayed! By your best friend! He killed you for that stupid crown! Of course, I'm not okay!"

You spend the rest of the movie with his head in your lap until he learns that the best friend doesn't get what he wanted. Jumping back upright, he scolds, "That's what you get, you asshole! I hope my love haunts you forever, too!"

Yeosang - Although it's voice acting, yeosang insists he'd fall in love with your character regardless of how they look. When he sees that your character looks similar to him, he doesn't know how to react. When that character gets sacrificed to the cult's god, his eyes widen bigger than you've seen. He pauses the film to process the scene, as the themes prior to that felt very happy-go-lucky.

"What... was that? Did those cute, happy fairies just... sacrifice me -er, no, you to demons?"

Less concerned with your character's death, he tries to understand the plot. However, when the movie ends, he showers you in compliments, finding it adorable that you chose his character likeness despite the early death. He also urges you to do other roles, even suggesting moving to on-screen acting, as he thinks you can do well.

San - Since he insisted on coming with you for your first day of filming, he already knows that you play a major side character. Due to this, he's so excited to watch the finished product that he has everything ready by the time you arrive to his dorm. You almost feel bad knowing the effects of playing a major side character in a psychological thriller.

When San notices the pattern of those hanging beside the main character being driven violently insane and meeting the grim reaper, he gets antsy when your character is paired with the main character to guard the camp overnight. His leg bounces while his heart races, impatiently waiting as the main character gaslights your character about hearing sounds in the distance. As the camera follows you into the woods with your weapon at the ready, you watch San's reaction closely. When you get attacked by the enemy, you watch as your sweet boyfriend tries to contain his anger. However, he bursts into rage when the main character insults you the next morning. You spend a good ten minutes calming him down.

Mingi - Knowing that your boyfriend gets scared easily, you warn him of your character's death prior to starting the movie. Despite this, he still freaks out from the loud shing of the blade off-camera followed by the plop of your quickly dying character falling to the floor. Hiding his face in the pillow he clings to, he asks whether filming the scene hurt. You pause the film when the gorey scene changes and explain that everything was fake and even the floor was padded. He doesn't let you press play again until you fully convince him that you suffered no injuriees during filming. When the movie ends, he pouts about choosing happier scripts for next time, but claims he'll watch anything you star in at least once - even if it scares him half to death.

Wooyoung - Although he tries to convince you that he's excited to watch the movie because his idol friend is the male lead, you know he's excited to see you. The smile on his face during your first scene proves that to you. Little does he know that your character soon gets fatally shot while protecting that very same friend of his. And oh boy. His reaction to the scene is a movie all in its own right. He rewatches the clip of you taking your final breath in Yeonjun's arms in hopes that it'll change. After the third watch, he throws the remote down and begins pacing as he complains about your character's sacrifice, even suggesting that the writers should've let their main character get shot instead.

"I'm telling Yeonjun you said that."

"Go ahead. How dare he let you die in his arms without so much as attempting to stop the bleeding!"

Jongho - On the outside, you'd swear he's more excited that they made a movie based off of one of his beloved video games than the fact that you star in it, but you know he's excited nonetheless. In fact, he even beams seeing you on the starting screen; this is your first major role, after all. However, his gut feeling kicks in when they hold a funeral for one of the major characters - there's no respawning in this movie, and he's fearful that only the two main characters will survive. He begins holding out hope when your character makes it to the final round, but loses his mind when your near instant death is used to show the main characters how strong their enemies are. His silence is only broken by clearing his throat, which reveals to you that he's holding back tears. When the ending credits roll, you ask him what he thought.

"It felt like you were dead, for a second. You're scarily good at pretending to be dead. I'm sorry they killed you off for a plot point, love."

[jess-the-vampire]

Since Hunter got sent from family to family he probably has some abandonment issues, right? How does he deal with them and how long do you think the process will be until he's not scared anymore that Caleb and Belos would do the same. I can imagine it's a little hard to let those fears go especially if nightmares plague him or if he gets into a fight or disagreement with Caleb and Belos. Of course, both would be fast to reassure him that he won't lose them.

Ooooo, see, this is actually one of the reoccurring themes of this au, something that really makes it specifically distinct from canon's events with their main cast.

Because abandonment issues are not just something hunter has, but philip, and caleb, and then it extends further to luz, king, collector ect ect. A lot of people in this au are strongly affected by feeling left behind, which is a trait that does eventually pull them together, but absolutely has a negative affect on other aspects of their behavior.

So Hunter's never had a real stable home before he ended up on the isles, being tossed as much as he did between places gave him a sense of being unwanted and that there was something wrong with him. He'd just give up on being adopted and would be found going to his special spot in the woods, the place he was told he was "Found" as a baby, and leave letters and messages to his missing parents.

Hoping they would one day read them and come back for him.

When that never happened, he eventually tried to run away, and this time, he made his way into the demon realm and landed in philip's home by pure accident and luck.

Despite Philip's dismissal at the start, his care of hunter and protectiveness of him very quickly hit something for hunter because this is basically what he wanted the whole time. (Though funnily enough this is due strongly to philip's own abandonment issues). So yeah, hunter starts to actually like living there, he's finally getting used to being in some kinda family, people take care of him, he has his own permanent bedroom.

And philip had been planning to return him to the human realm once he got a fixed portal, and this slowly starts to bother him more and more because he can't help but like what he now has. So much so that THAT is his fear on grom, that philip will actually toss him away just like everyone else.

So yeah, you're right about it plaguing hunter's mind, it's pretty bad if it's his worst fear, and even when he's finally adopted by caleb he still needs reassurance from him that things will be different.

Hunter does sometimes need reassurance, and to be reminded he's home, and this won't be another temporary place for him. Sometimes he asks to sleep next to his dad or uncle that night, because knowing they're there helps him feel more secure.

if they fight, hunter is given his space, but no one threatens to throw him out, he's still brought food and toys and anything he needs. He's not punished for being upset, which is what he needs to reassure him this is still his home and people still care about him.

And philip and caleb relate, because they know what it's like to be orphans, to struggle to find a home. It's what makes Caleb want to adopt hunter into the family, it's something philip sees in himself when he looks at hunter.

Philip feels like caleb abandoned him, now another human arrives after so long, and he looks like his brother, in ways he doesn't want to admit.....he doesn't want hunter to leave him either.

And caleb, so many people have left him at this point, and now his current family is separating themselves from him, keeping secrets and lying to him.

(I guess in a way you can say he's now got a better grasp of how philip felt about what he did, and how he hurt him)

And it makes him react for better and worse, trying to not let himself lose anyone again. Even his leaving to eventually live with philip awhile sparks some abandonment issues for luz, who looked up to him for awhile.

i wanted to adapt some of the traits they had from canon, but in the au, rather then just take from canon. While the show never states directly, there is a strong emphasis philip feels abandoned by his brother, and feels like he needs him by his side one way or another, whether he think caleb did that on purpose or not. And hunter in the show wants a sense of belonging, so might as well put that here as well.

The three of them act out due to loss, to people leaving them, they might turns others away as a result, and sometimes are desperate to fix it and keep what they can by doing drastic things based on emotions.

You can imagine after finally fitting as a small little family, how much it hurt for philip to choose to stay with the collector and leave caleb and hunter on earth

They're not a perfect little family, they've all been hurt before, they all still struggle with abandonment, but they're healing, and none of them feel alone anymore.

[signalburst]

Shōgun writers on Blackthorne's journey, A Dream of a Dream's theme of letting go

Emily Yoshida (writer): "Blackthorne's fate is so interesting, and totally unexpected. People are going to see in it what they wanna see, because there's a lot of ways you can read it. It could be somehow worse than death, like a purgatory of some sort. And then there's a way in which you can read it as a life of devotion to something beyond him, which has been something that has been a struggle for him. How do you view Blackthorne's fate?"

Justin Marks (co-creator): "I think Blackthorne's journey in this episode to the place where it lands, in such a beautiful and powerful scene between Blackthorne and Toranaga - on that hill where he offers up his own life. That's the journey that I hope all of us are on, if we're trying to understand how we interact with cultures we don't know. We want to forge relationships with people that go on, but we don't necessarily speak the same cultural or spiritual - or literal - language.

Which is to say, Blackthorne has been a prisoner of his own ambition. Which one might call the disease of colonialism - or capitalism, too. This idea of a man who is so bound by his ambition and where he belongs in this world, and what is owed to him, that he is the worst prisoner of all. So is Yabushige. They're both like this. And Yabushige never comes to that awakening, and finds himself dying here.

But for Blackthorne, it revolves crucially on this idea of what we call the 'false dream'. We wanted to open this episode on what feels like the beginning of a flashback structure, where we jump forward into the future, and we meet Blackthorne as an old man, and we tell the story of an old man looking back. And looking back with regret on the life that he led.

Only to realise that that was not the dream of an old man looking back - it was the dream of a young man looking forward to one possible version of his life. A version of his life that he has to draw to an end by killing that path. What Blackthorne is trying to kill there isn't himself, it's the version of himself that he's always been.

When Toranaga knocks that knife out of his hand and looks down at him, he's looking at a man reborn now, to a completely different life.

What is powerful is the idea of a man finally, spiritually, letting go. And this is something that we talked about from the very beginning, Cosmo and I. This whole story for Blackthorne is really just a story of a man learning to let go."

Shōgun official podcast Episode 10: A Dream of a Dream

[bonefall]

For Riverstar’s Heir, do you have any idea where you want to land themeatically? Because from my reading of the possible themeatic directions, with the whole story being about this crisis of politics and succession, it feels like the character who “should” become the next leader of RiverClan narratively should be the Most ruthless/aggressive/willing to resort to dishonorable methods of dealing with rivals (reinforcing RiverClan’s entry into/building up of the early Clans’ emerging systems of battle society)

The alternative “most interesting” option I can imagine would be one that is least likely/least aggressive/some otherwise sort of underdog candidate (maybe not even technically “legal” depending on what qualifications there are for heirship?), but I’m not sure exactly what themes that would play into, other than maybe how the pursuit of power can change someone?

That said, your themeatic instincts are strong enough that I can see you having a strong idea for a “middle-of-the-pack” candidate winning out over the others just as much, so— I am genuinely curious what your thoughts are for where you Want this crisis of succession to end, narratively, even if you don’t have an exact cat picked yet.

Good ask because I'd not been clear about the theme yet, I think. What Riverstar's Heir is trying to get at, at the heart of the issue, is that this is a bloodbath caused by naiive optimism and greed.

The commandments to establish borders and prevent killing are nice, but not enough. You can't just have a society on good will, not when POWER is up for grabs in the scramble. It's about collapse, and how innocent, well-meaning people get caught up in the devastation. Not JUST the troublemakers.

Riverstar was an EXCELLENT king, beloved and wise, but if you don't prepare a proper successor, everything you worked hard to build might crumble to ruin.

Something unique is lost in this shuffle. It's no longer the River Kingdom, and the Wind Coalition also becomes WindClan at this point. For better, and for worse, they both lose a bit of what made them special. Redscar's choice at the end also solidifies the early political power of Clerics, which is eventually broken many generations later with Larkwing's Strike.

So, fragment time,

At LEAST three "heirs" end up getting killed.

So, because these ones are gonna die, I have Three Heir "Slots" that I'm committed to and just need to fill;

The Eldest, Riverstar's oldest living biological child.

The Chosen, Riverstar's adopted heir, a rather meek prince easily pressured into backing off his rightful claim. This one is likely going to be the BB! version of Mossfire.

The Firstblood, directly descended from Riverstar's FIRSTborn child. This one is likely going to be the BB! version of Jumpfoot.

I also have two tentative slots.

The Accomplished... who is a blood relative of Riverstar, but more of a "puppet" for WindCo. Someone they're intentionally propping up hoping for power.

The Diplomat, from WindClan, who is a lot like WindCo's puppet but this one is more subtle about it. Poetic. Happy to purr and remind the world of the wonderful, deep ties that had existed between King Riverstar and Thunderstar.

And, LASTLY, there's The Deputy. The most qualified choice, who served Riverstar, but was no relative.

It feels right that the Deputy is the one who is chosen in the end... hm.

Anyway

After a smaller conflict near the start of the story, either The Eldest or The Firstblood seems to be the favorite to win... but decides to wait for the morning to set out for the Moonstone and take their lives.

In this time period, without selecting a successor, this heir is assassinated.

In fact it might be VERY fun if this heir, being so much like King Riverstar himself, decided to throw a pre-emptive celebration.

Meat! Merriment! MURDER!!!

Having them go out via poison would be a fun way to send a character off.

This is going to be why the "DEPUTY BEFORE MOONHIGH" rule is established, but it's also what kicks off the bloodier parts of the plot.

Thinking about it... a cleric and/or the deputy should probably tell this heir, "Hey, buddy, you should really get going" and they're ignored.

With Eldest Heir gone, the small conflict from earlier becomes an LARGE conflict.

And, like they did back in DOTC, families start to rally together. Especially Eldest's offspring, who think they're just as entitled to the Throne as The Firstblood/Jumpfoot

King Riverstar used to encourage cats to enter the River Kingdom freely. The borders were essentially open, and everyone was allowed in, as long as they were willing to cross the river.

(maybe I'll even have him pull down the tree from Riverstar's Home intentionally, happy to accept other cats into his Kingdom. Then he defends it from Skystar, specifically, but refuses to destroy what he built.)

This had allowed River Kingdom to grow large and powerful, but it also meant everyone in River Kingdom had connections to the other Clans.

Which meant there were cats supporting OTHER bids to the Throne, like the one from WindCo and the one from ThunderClan.

Smelling a way to grab power, Duststar supports his favorite heir, and Whitestar of ThunderClan also begins to stick his nose in.

Each Heir tries to run the River Kingdom, and things start to get hostile. If there's more than just the three heirs, even more of them start to get openly attacked, chased out, killed, until there's only The Chosen and The Firstblood left.

Somewhere around here, River Kingdom is invaded. Probably by the leader of SkyClan at the time, claiming that they don't even NEED an heir to take what these cats clearly don't deserve.

And that's when the internal conflict becomes a FULL-BLOWN WAR between four Clans.

In those days, the camp was at Sunningrocks, right in the middle of the river.

ThunderClan jumps in to help its "Ally" against SkyClan, just like historical precedent, but they have NO IDEA who they're fighting against, because the whole Kingdom is divided. It's not as simple as it was in DOTC anymore.

WindCo came to support its favorite heir, but its cats don't obey Duststar's orders when it comes down to fighting their own friends and family, meaning they're functionally fighting EVERYONE and losing a TON of cats

SkyClan is getting pummeled because EVERY group is pissed at them as well as each other, getting a painful awakening that they are NOT being run by Skystar the War God anymore and they're no longer the biggest, baddest bananas in the bunch

(shadowclan is watching all of this and eating popcorn. moisturized. in their lane. unbothered.)

The climax here, between The Chosen and The Firstblood, is a battle that matches the chapter from COTC. They launch at each other, in a battle to the death.

The first Sunningrocks Battle.

They both wear "crowns" on their head, one custom made for Mossfire's short-furred head, and traditional, braided into Jumpfoot's long, lush fur.

As they claw, bite, and tumble, they plunge into the river.

Fighting and hissing, they try to pull apart to rise up for air-- and can't.

They're STUCK

The crowns became tangled in their skirmish, and neither one can work with the other to bring them both to shore, against the current.

Both heirs, the last with a proper claim to the throne, drown together in the river.

At the end of the bloodbath, the tone is very somber. The rules were meant to prevent The First Battle from ever happening again... but The Second Battle had just taken place.

The body count wasn't AS high as the First Battle, but it was still a bloody loss. Every Clan lost warriors. Even ShadowClan, who hadn't even been IN the conflict, checked its ranks to find that powerful warriors had run off to go fight with their Kin.

Now they could be buried with them, too.

And now, there was no proper heir. If any descendants were still kicking around, they were refusing to take a throne that so many cats had died for. Jumpfoot and Mossfire never emerged from the River, their bodies, and their legendary crowns, were never found.

At first I'd been considering Redscar being swapped to become a RiverClan Cleric, but now I'm thinking it actually makes sense he's still from ShadowClan. ShadowClan was the ONLY neutral group-- it's reasonable for the clans to turn and request their partiality.

So, Redscar peruses the options, having followed the situation from afar.

His choice, in the end, was The Deputy. The most experienced advisor who knew Riverstar, and probably tried to stay at his adopted daughter's side as well. The closest thing they'd had to a leader all along.

(Thought: Maybe this character will be the POV. Make it like a bit of a fake-out title, you THINK Riverstar's heir is Mossfire. But it's actually been this one all along.)

He creates his famous false sign, and from there, the five groups discussed how they could prevent this from ever happening again.

They create the Law of the Deputy, commanding that ALL Clans have a single Deputy who will inherit the Clan after the leader passes away, ending dynasties in WindCo and River Kingdom and centralizing power in the other 3.

With the massive losses that WindCo and River Kingdom experienced, they also restructure, forced to accept a lot of help from ThunderClan and ShadowClan.

The borders began to close up, leading to the sentiment that would lead to Commandment 4, the Law of Loyalty, in just one more generation.

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 3.4k💠 Released: October 12

Previous | Next | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: I figured I'd bless y'all with a little Saturday night smut, teehee🤭

C.W: Oral Sex (fem receiving)

Tags: @nixalozt @lilthana @wakasaishot (I hope y'all enjoy this chapter as well🌹)

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵). Enjoy guys!!

𝟑 || 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬

(Bliss Theme: Fantasy - Lost Traveler)

"Mmmm." You moan, licking your lips and raising the glass to take a much bigger sip than last time. And another one, then another.

"Easy, Doll. Don't drink it too fast." Wakasa muses with a grin.

You blink, as suddenly, the world around you seems somehow even brighter.  Then when you glance over at him, your heart does an overdramatic flip. His voice had sounded so different. It's like he has some kind of natural reverb affect, with the way it echoed softly in your mind like a faded whisper. It's much more sensual than before. But wait, now that you think about it, everything about him seems at least ten times more attractive than before. And that's saying something since he's already damn fine.

You go to open your mouth, but your words catch right in your throat. And that's when you feel it. This odd sensation in your eyes, a gentle little thrum that makes you blink again.

You blink once more, and one more time, then catch a look of your reflection in a nearby glass bottle on one of the bartender's shelves. Your eyes, they're glowing. But not just glowing like the bartender and other people's eyes, they're pulsing. With little, cute, neon pink hearts.

You do a double take, before turning back towards Wakasa, wondering if he's noticed the change in your eyes too. But as soon as your eyes land on him again, it feels like you've been pulled into some kind of trance. For a moment, the world around you seems to slow like a scene out of a movie. It almost plays a trick on your mind, making you believe for half a second that maybe time really has slowed down.

You stare at him openly, unashamedly, and for the first time in the history of you checking a guy out, you don't even try to hide it. The edges of your lips curl into a lazy, content smile as you tilt your head, fully taking in his appearance as if it were the first time.

Wakasa is striking in a way that seems almost unfair. His lilac colored eyes gleam under the dim lights of the underground club, their half-lidded, relaxed gaze giving the impression of someone who doesn't even need to try to be this devastatingly attractive.

His full lips are so dangerously tempting. Every word he speaks, every grin, it's like a bold dare for you to lean close and steal a kiss. Each little detail about him feels meticulously perfect, yet somehow completely effortless.

"You're feelin' it now, huh?" He says softly. His voice is almost tangible, like a gentle caress against your cheek that sends shivers down your spine. You giggle, the sound light and bubbly as it escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your fingers raise to toy bashfully with a coil of your thick hair, twisting it this way and that as you keep your heart eyed gaze locked onto him, unable to look away.

"Yeaah." You nod dumbly, "I feel so amazing." Another small burst of giggles leaves your lips.

Wakasa notices the shift in your demeanor, of course. His half-lidded eyes flickering down towards you as a faint smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. "You're lookin' at me like you've never seen a guy before." He teases.

You don't bother trying to deny it. Why should you? The drink in your system made it impossible to pretend, and honestly, you don't even want to. You let out another soft giggle, biting your lip as you continue to openly admire him.

"I've never seen one like you. You're beautiful." You sigh, your voice low yet airy. "Like...really beautiful."

Wakasa chuckles, the sound warm and amused, clearly enjoying your new found boldness. "Oh yeah?"

Your eyes lower subconsciously, shamelessly lingering on his tempting lips again before drifting back up to his eyes. "Yeaah." You reply, your voice almost a hum. You're still sitting there twirling your hair, cheeks on fire as the pink hearts relentlessly pulse in your eyes.

You feel so giddy, a little dazed by the effects of the drink, but mostly just completely and utterly captivated by him. It's like some kind of love spell, keeping you locked onto him and nobody or anything else.

"You're staring, Doll." He teases softly, leaning in towards you just a little.

"I know," You admit with a coy smile. "I can't help it."

He takes another long sip, finishing his drink with that smirk still present on his lips. "You're lucky you're cute."

You let out an excited little gasp, your heart catapulting itself against your chest. As soon as his words leave his lips, he blinks, and you notice those neon pink hearts begin to pulse from his eyes.

Excitement bubbles from deep within, and the only thing you wanna do, for some odd reason, is get on that dance floor with him.

"I wanna dance," You say softly, "I wanna dance with you."

Before he can answer, you take his hand and lead him away from the bar, the touch sending a ripple of electricity through you. Without protest he follows behind you onto the dance floor, the crowd parting for you both before closing back in like a tide. The music is much louder here, the bass thrumming deep in your chest, and the synths vibrating all through the walls of the place. It feels like stepping into another world.

You move to the center of the floor, surrounded by bodies swaying and shifting to the beat, each lost in their own euphoric trance. You turn to face him, his lilac eyes and pink hearts glowing under the flashing lights. There's a mischievous glint in them, but something more, too—something that makes you feel like you're the only person in the room.

Wakasa's hands rest low on your hips, pulling you close to him until there's barely any space left between you. His chest presses against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body seeping into your own through your clothes.

You tilt your head up to find his eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. There is only him. His sultry eyes, the way his hair frames his face, dyed strands catching the neon lights, and the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips.

The music swirls around you two, the deep bass thudding in time with your heart. Every movement feels like a silent conversation—a brush of fingers, a sway of your hips, a tilt of your head—and the more you dance, the more you feel yourself getting lost in him. It's like he's drawing you in, pulling you further without any fight into his orbit. Into his world.

You don't even notice how close you both have gotten until your back is pressed tightly against his chest, both hands resting on your waist and holding you in place as you move together. The faint whisper of his scent triggers shivers to race down your spine. Your hands boldly place themselves overtop of his, adding a whole new level of closeness to your beautiful acquaintance.

Wakasa's lips brush faintly by your ear past your hair, and you can just feel the little smirk that tugs at them as he murmurs, "You look good with those little hearts in your eyes."

You blink, startled, realizing that the neon pink hearts are still there, pulsing and thrumming with fervent life in your eyes, all centered on Wakasa.

"How does Bliss even do this to our eyes?" You ask curiously.

"It's hard to explain the how, but I know you get these hearts when you're with someone you're attracted to." He explains with a hint of amusement in his tone.

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don't shy away. Instead, you allow yourself to lean back into him and close your eyes, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours.

"It's just 'cause you're so close to me," You reply playfully, your tone light and airy.

"Mhm." Wakasa agrees, but there's something in his voice, a knowingness, an intensity that makes you think he's fully aware of exactly the kind of effect he has on you.

"And maybe it's 'cause you're so close to me." His fingers trace feather-light patterns on your upper thighs near the hem of your dress, and you feel a deep flutter in your stomach that has absolutely nothing to do with the Bliss and everything to do with the man that's holding you.

The song shifts once more, slowing down, and you both move in sync, swaying gently to the softer beat. The crowd around you fades into the background, their movements becoming a blur of color and light. You bask in the way his hands leave flirtatious trails of electric fuzziness as he continues to slowly stroke your sides up and down. It's as if his hands are hypnotized by your body.

Then, in a low, deliciously sultry tone he asks, "What d'you wanna do now?"

You don't even hesitate with your response as you turn around to face him. "I wanna have smokin' hot sex with you; all night long." You tell him, your voice dripping with want as you look him right in the eyes.

His brows raise, for the first time looking genuinely caught of guard, though the amusement is clear on his face. Without another word, he wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand cupping your cheek as his lips crash onto yours for the most intoxicating, toe curling kiss you've ever received. It's searing like fire, and electric at the same time. His lips move against yours masterfully, caressing your lips and eliciting a soft moan that reverberates against his.

Your arms don't dare delay to wrap around his neck, his tongue coaxing your lips apart, and deepening the kiss. You feel so amazing, so alive. You're more alive than you've ever felt before, ever. And with everything in you, you don't want this to end. You love it here, right in this moment, somewhere far from reality, far from the dull monotony of real life.

It's magic here, and you wanna stay.

You can't help the small whine you let out as he slowly pulls away, the hearts in his eyes pulsing at a much faster pace than before as he gazes down at you.

"Come on." He says, his tone a bit breathless as he guides you through the sea of people by your hand. You nod, biting your lip excitedly.

He leads you down a hallway, painted electric blue with neon pink heart signs all over the walls and in a straight line along the ceiling, resembling the hearts that appear in people's eyes from the effect of Bliss. There's two other signs, one that points to the men's and another to the women's bathrooms.

You aren't completely sure which one he takes you into, as you're way too focused on being amazed at the way his lips move against yours yet he manages to skillfully enter the bathroom with you at the same time.

He picks you up with ease and sets you down on the edge of one of the bathroom sinks, hiking up your dress in the process. Wakasa pulls away, only to lay down a trail of fiery kisses along your exposed neck. Your face explodes with heat as you bite your lip, overwhelmed by the feeling of him hungrily sucking on your neck in between each kiss.

The sound of his lips against your skin and your soft, airy whimpers begin to echo like distant music in the dimly lit bathroom. He gives you hickeys everywhere you're most sensitive, licks your neck, kisses your collarbones.

"Wakasa, I-I-..." You trail off shyly, already losing whatever it was you were trying to say like it's a forgotten memory. He leans up, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

"What?" He murmurs against your lips.

"I don't know." You whisper back, your eyes immediately getting themselves lost in his.

"You gettin' shy on me now?" He teases, then sucks on your bottom lip gently, earning himself a needy, low pitched moan from you. "Mm mm."

"Good, 'cause I'm gonna spread your legs and make you cum on my tongue. How's that sound?" He asks sensually, the hearts in his eyes combined with the seriousness in his voice hypnotizing you. You feel your breath hitch as your heart clumsily skips a beat, and a deep, unmissable flutter between your legs. His words nearly knocked the wind out of you. You can't think of a time a man has ever been so sexually bold with you.

"That sounds fantastic." You sigh wistfully, your cheeks impossibly warm. Had you been fully in your right mind, you would've never agreed to doing something like this in such a risky, public place. But a part of you deep down knows full well how much you've always wanted to try it.

Looking at you with an amused expression, he pulls away, taking his hair down from it's previous style. You're mesmerized for a moment as his dyed hair cascades down to his shoulders, pretty purple mixing together with blonde. Then, he puts his hair back up, this time in a lazy bun. He kneels down in front of you, his hands gently stroking your plush thighs before spreading them open.

You bite your lip, the thrill of possibly getting caught pumping through your veins as he slowly pulls your black lace panties to the side. You whimper as cool air makes contact with your pussy. Wakasa stares hungrily for a while, cussing under his breath as he licks his lips. It's like he's a starved man, and you, his first meal in thirty days.

"I want you to watch me. Don't look away." He instructs lowly as he kisses your inner thighs. Butterflies erupt all throughout your stomach, giving him a lazy nod in response.

"Your pussy's so pretty..." He hums seductively, almost sounding like a moan.

You let out a deep gasp as he abruptly brings his face in, and runs his warm, wet tongue between your folds at a sickeningly delicious pace. He begins with open mouthed kisses, his tongue flicking upwards against your touch-starved clit every time his lips pull away. You jump a little with every abrupt stripe of his tongue, letting out a mixture between a startled whimper and a moan.

Then he sucks on your pearly clit, and his warm hands massage and caress your soft legs. Your own hands fly downwards, gripping onto his luscious hair as you let out a long, drawn out moan of pleasure.

Unconsciously, your legs try to close, clamping down and caging his head in place like a trap. He reacts quickly, grabbing underneath your thighs and holding your legs open.

He picks up the pace, fluttering his tongue and sucking on your clit a little rougher, forcing your moans to rise in volume. "Uuuughh!" You close your eyes, throwing your head back in pure ecstasy. He lets out a deep, low moan, the sound vibrating against your pussy and sending shockwaves up your body. He turns you on so much.

His tongue ventures down to your little, pink hole, pressing and prodding against it teasingly before sliding inside.

"Wakasa!", You cry out with a gasp, "That feels so goooood!" Your legs shake, and your heels slowly slide off of your feet, clacking against the hard ground. The moans you give him spur him on, and his movements become much dirtier, slurping you up messily.

"Ohh, uuugh!" Your small hands tighten their grip on his hair, subconsciously using it to press his face closer. You have officially become a coalescence of pants, and more whinier, sob-like moans. You get the feeling he likes it when you pull on his hair with the way he moans a bit louder against your pussy. You hear him panting, and occasionally taking a deeper breath, completely engulfed in this like it's his only purpose. He's on a mission.

You may not know much at all about this man, but one thing is for certain...

He is, indisputably, the king of oral sex.

It's the way he has your body twitching, toes curling, head thrown back and lips parted wide as mewls escape them like a running faucet. Every movement of his tongue is well thought out, strategically planned to sink you deeper and deeper into ecstasy. He's amazing. He's gotta know what he's doing to you.

Then, your eyes meet, and you swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone. Watching him worship your pussy has you instantly skyrocketing towards an orgasm that you can tell is about to be mind-fuzzing. His eyes are ablaze with lust, the hearts only working to further emphasize it. And his cheeks, you notice, are dusted lightly pink. He looks so damn good like this.

"Wa-Wakasa, mmm...'s so good! Please don't stop! I-I'm gonna cum!" You cry loudly, the slight anxiousness of being caught long forgotten. Your fingers tangle in his hair tighter, holding on like it's your sanity. You become a mess, nothing but loud moans and cries. 

You throw your head back, both hands pressing his head further against your throbbing pussy as your little toes curl. You can feel the pink hearts in your eyes pulsing at a rapid fire, reacting along with the rest of your body to his touch. It's overwhelming, his tongue working you up like this. He's freaking amazing.

"There you go, angel." He murmurs against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your core. "Lemme taste you."

And that was all you needed to finally reach the peak. You cum so satisfyingly hard, crying out loudly as your legs tremble. It's astounding, the way he so easily guided you straight into heaven. No man has ever made you cum so hard, so fast. Even you couldn't make yourself reach this level of pleasure.

He allows you to ride it out, then gives your pussy a gentle little kiss before he pulls away. You pant, your grip loosening as you lean back against the mirror behind you. With a blissful sigh, the corners of your lips shift into a little satisfied smile.

Wakasa gives you an amused look, "Looks like you liked it." He says, placing his hands on your waist. You look at him, heart eyed and dazed, pulling him gently into a lust filled kiss. Your all goes into it, giving him a silent show of gratitude. Then as you finally pull away from his soft lips you mutter, "Loved it."

His grin widens, and something in his eyes glimmers, making your stomach do a small flip. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watching you with that same knowing smirk. Wakasa leans back just a bit, giving you a moment to collect yourself, though his hands on your waist stay firmly in place, grounding you. 

"Good," He says, his tone light but with an underlying edge of satisfaction. "'Cause I’ve been thinkin' about doing that all night."

You feel your breath hitch at his words, your pulse quickening once more. Your mind is still reeling from just a moment ago, and now his words are making you feel even more off balance. You lick your lips, trying to steady yourself, but all you can think about is the way his mouth had felt on your pussy, and how much you want to feel it again.

He must have sensed it, the way you're still stuck on cloud nine, because he chuckles softly, his fingers stroking your sides in a way that sends those familiar shivers up your spine. "So," He starts, his voice smooth, almost too casual. "You wanna get out of here?"

You blink dumbly. "And go where?" 

Wakasa’s grin turns playful, that glint in his eyes never leaving. "My place," He replies, his voice a low murmur. Then, with a slightly teasing raise of his brow, he adds, "If you want."

The suggestion hangs in the air between the two of you, the weight of it making your pulse race even faster. For a moment, you just stare at him, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. The idea of leaving the crowded club, of being alone with him, makes you feel a tidal wave of exhilaration.

And honestly with the way he's looking at you, the astounding sex preview he'd just given you, and the bliss in your system—it makes your decision all too easy. You nod, your lips curling into an excited little smile, and despite the few butterflies swirling in your stomach, you tell him, "I'd love to." 

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

The tenth Doctor in journeys end (i think?) said a TARDIS is made to be piloted by 6 timelords, what roles would each have in the TARDIS?

What roles would six Time Lords have in piloting a TARDIS?

This is more speculative, based on the known features of a TARDIS.

Console Panels and Systems

A TARDIS console is split into six 'panels', with each panel operating a different aspect of the TARDIS' systems. When there are six pilots, each Time Lord would likely specialise in operating a specific panel and system. Although the console layout may change with each TARDIS's 'desktop theme,' the six fundamental panels remain the same.

[Image ID: On the left is a top-down diagram of the 9th and 10th Doctor's coral theme TARDIS, divided into six panel sections. Each section is labelled from 1-6 clockwise starting from the 12 o'clock position. On the right is a text list of the panels and their names: Panel 1: Mechanical and Master Control, Panel 2: Diagnostic and Internal Ship Systems, Panel 3: Fabrication and Information Systems, Panel 4: Navigation, Panel 5: Helm and Dematerialisation Systems, Panel 6: Communications and Exterior Monitor./.End ID]

See this page on the TARDIS Technical Index for more variations on desktop themes.

👨‍✈️ Roles and Responsibilities

Here's a breakdown of each potential role and their responsibilities:

🔧 Panel 1: Mechanical and Master Control

Role: Chief Engineer

Responsibilities: The chief engineer monitors the TARDIS's overall operation. They ensure that all the mechanical systems and master controls are working properly. If anything goes wrong, they step in and fix it.

🛠️ Panel 2: Diagnostic and Internal Ship Systems

Role: Systems Analyst

Responsibilities: This person is all about the internals. They monitor life support, environmental controls, and the internal power grid. Basically, they make sure everything inside the TARDIS is working as it should.

🖥️ Panel 3: Fabrication and Information Systems

Role: Data Specialist

Responsibilities: Managing the TARDIS’s databases and info systems, and handling any fabrication needs. Whether it’s creating new tools, repairing old ones, or just making sure the information systems are up-to-date, they’ve got it covered.

🧭 Panel 4: Navigation

Role: Navigator

Responsibilities: Plotting courses through time and space. The Navigator makes sure the TARDIS lands where it’s supposed to, calculating all those tricky temporal vectors and spatial positions. They work closely with the Pilot to make sure the journey is smooth and safe.

🚀 Panel 5: Helm and Dematerialisation Systems

Role: Pilot

Responsibilities: This is the person at the helm, controlling take-off, landing, and in-flight manoeuvres. They handle the dematerialisation and rematerialisation of the TARDIS, making sure it takes off and lands without a hitch.

📡 Panel 6: Communications and Exterior Monitor

Role: Communications Officer

Responsibilities: They handle all external communications and keep an eye on what’s going on outside, involving sending or receiving messages or watching out for any threats or anomalies.

🏫 So...

Potentially, each Time Lord on the TARDIS would have a specialised role associated with a specific panel. Ideally, they're probably all working together like a well-oiled machine. However, poor old solo pilots have to jump around like madmen trying to cover all the controls at once.

Related:

Do we have any info on TARDIS biology?: Overview of TARDIS biological aspects.

Can a non-Gallifreyan benefit from a symbiotic bond with a TARDIS?: Non-Gallifreyan symbiosis with a TARDIS.

How to locate a TARDIS pilot: Guide for locating a pilot or other crew members using the TARDIS.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 protector: chapter one

synopsis: " you were supposed to stay a crewate, just another back to watch, " he tightened his hold, " i didn't even notice the change until i woke up one day and realized i'd take a bullet for you "

cw: violence, gore, fighting, mature themes, profanity, MAJOR/MINOR ANIME SPOILERS, follows the plot of the anime, slowww burn.

a/n: reposting from another account

"How much sake can this get me?" you asked in a low voice, slamming down a fistful of berries on the bar.

The entire place went silent at the sight of your wings, the white feathers making you look almost angel-like.

You furled them as the bartender cocked an eyebrow, taking the money, quickly counting it.

"Eh, a cup or two," he stated, a clear smirk on his face as he chuckled under his breath.

You sighed, furrowing your brow.

You unsheathed your mace and placed it on the bar, the dried blood from your last encounter speaking your message clearly.

The man was trembling as his hands went straight in the air, his annoyingly loud whimpering calling the attention of the entire bar.

"I'll ask you again... How much sake can this get me?" you asked, darkly, voice low as your eyes cut him where he stood.

"A bottle, alright! It'll get you a bottle! I'm sorry I tried to scam you! Please don't hurt me!" the man grovelled, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You scoffed, taking your weapon off the counter and sheathing it.

"Just get me the damn drink so I can get out of here," you rolled your eyes.

He frantically nodded his head before turning around, searching the wall full of booze.

"While you're at it... I got a question for you," you started, taking a seat.

The man visibly shivered at your tone.

"I heard this used to be a town where a lot of pirates used to stop. That true?"

"Y-Yeah. It's true. But that was before Captain Morgan made base here. Now, no pirate is daring enough to come anywhere near this village," the bartender nodded, his back to you as he searched the wall for some good sake.

You sighed, "Shame. I've been looking for a certain pirate. Was hoping you could point me in the right direction."

"If you don't mind, might I suggest you ask Roronoa Zoro," the man replied with a smile as he found the bottle, grabbing it and turning around.

'Roronoa Zoro?'

"The pirate hunter?" you asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"He's bound to have heard of the pirate you're looking for. They're keeping him in the marines' prison yard. Usually I wouldn't suggest my clients go breaking into marine property, but you seem strong," the man answered, sliding the bottles.

You grinned, grabbing it and biting off the cork, taking a swig, "Thanks, old man."

"No problem. Sorry for trying to pull a fast one on you," he sheepishly chuckled, waving goodbye.

With that, you got up from your seat, walking out the bar and onto the street.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" you asked a woman that was walking past, "Do you know how to get to the marine base?"

"Just keep walking that way and you should reach it," she smiled, pointing west.

"Thanks," you bowed, allowing your wings to sprout before taking off, the entire marketplace gasping at the sight.

You landed on the ledge of a stone wall that surrounded the prison yard, and saw Zoro bound to a wooden pole

"They really gave you the royal treatment," you chuckled, taking another swig of sake.

He ignored you.

Just then, a boy in a straw hat and a boy with pink hair popped up on both your sides.

"WHO ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE?! AND WHY DO YOU HAVE WINGS?!" the pink one shouted.

"You don't have to shout, kid," you grumbled, rolling your eyes as you rubbed the ear he shouted into.

"I'm sorry, but why are you here?" he apologized, scratching his wrist.

"Yeah! You wanna talk to him or something?" Strawhat asked, turning to you.

"Something like that," you replied, looking away from the two.

"Hey, you three," a deep voice growled from inside the yard.

The three of you looked over to the man of the hour, only to see he had his gaze already locked on you.

"You're an eyesore... Get lost."

"You're not exactly a pretty picture either," you scoffed, taking another swig.

Pink Hair started freaking out, but a girl climbing up a ladder shushed him, looking left and right before lowering a rope, climbing down.

She ran up to Zoro and they began to talk, she holding out something in her hands.

Just then, three guys started to walk over, two being marines and one blonde in a purple suit.

They started talking for a little bit, Blondie eating whatever was in the girl's hands and then spitting it out on the floor, stomping on it.

She started crying.

Blondie looked like he was telling one of his men to do something before a man grabbed her and threw her over the wall.

You quickly jumped in the air and caught her, landing back on the wall.

"Are you okay?" you asked, concerned.

She nodded her head and you sighed as you carefully put her down, Strawhat making his way over to Zoro.

When you got over there, he was feeding Zoro a muddy rice ball.

"What are you two doing?" you asked, cocking a brow at the weird sight.

"He was hungry," Strawhat shrugged.

"Shut up," Zoro spat.

"Whatever. I gotta have a word with you," you started, looking straight at Zoro

"Huh? Talk to me?" the man asked, confused, as he narrowed his eyes at you.

"Being out here so long must be making you deaf, too," you rolled your eyes.

"SHUT UP!" 

"Here's the deal. I'll untie you if you promise to join my crew," Strawhat chimed, completely interrupting your conversation.

"What?" Zoro cocked a brow.

'Deaf.'

"I run a pirate crew, and I'm looking for people to join up," the boy explained.

"No way! I'd never stoop to joining up with a criminal. Screw that business," Zoro scoffed.

"Says the man in marine custody," you smirked.

"Will you shut it!"

"And what's wrong with being a pirate?" Strawhat asked.

"They're despicable. Like I'd ever want to join up with one," Zoro answered.

"Oh, come on! Gimme a break. Everyone already knows you as some vicious bounty hunter always out for blood," Strawhat smiled.

"People can say whatever they want about me, but I've never done a single thing in my life that I regret. I will make it through this challenge. And after that, I'll accomplish what I want," Zoro smirked, looking you both in the eye.

"Wait, so you were challenged to stay here?" you asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah. So what?" Zoro glared.

"They're gonna execute you."

"Huh?" 

"You're the Roronoa Zoro, and challenge or no the marines can't let you go. They'd be a laughing stock," you explained.

"That's great. But I've already decided that you're going to be on my crew," Strawhat smiled, crossing his arms and still interrupting your conversation.

"What?! You can't do that!" Zoro barked.

"I hear you're one of the best swordsmen around," the boy started.

"I am one of the best swordsmen around. But that idiot captain's son took mine away," Zoro stated.

"Guess I'll just have to go get it back for you. So if you want your sword, you're just gonna have to join my crew."

"Now you're really pissing me off!"

Strawhat laughed as he ran off.

"Wait... he's actually gonna bust in there alone?" he asked.

"Looks like it," you called to the boy, pointing behind you with your thumb. "Strawhat! Pretty sure the base is the other way."

"Gum Gum Rocket!" he shouted, stretching his arm and shooting past you.

Zoro's eyes went wide.

"What the hell is this guy?" He asked himself.

"Another devil fruit user," you chimed.

"Another?" Zoro asked, cocking a brow.

"I ate the Angel-Angel Fruit. It's what gave me these angel wings," you clarified, unfurling your wings as proof.

He looked like he was thinking for a moment.

"You said you wanted to talk to me earlier. Why?"

"I need to know if you've seen a pirate. Doflamingo," you started, drawing your mace and looking at the spikes longingly.

You would give your right arm to drive them through Doflamingo's skull.

"Why?"

"He killed people very close to me and I need to bring him to justice. I figured since you are a pirate hunter, you would've seen something," you answered, brushing your fingertips against the sleek, wooden handle.

He paused for a moment, looking like he was taking in all of the information.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"(y/n)," you answered, lifting your gaze from your weapon and onto the swordsman.

His eyes were a deep onyx, full of ambition and drive, and easily able to slice your spirit with a single glare.

You felt a stirring awake in your stomach but suppressed it.

You looked left and right, and saw no marines in sight.

'Just do it.'

You sighed and tucked your mace back into your holster before standing up and untying him from the pole.

"What are you doing? That maniac is going to kill you for what you're doin' right now," Zoro stated, slightly surprised by your sudden decision.

"I'd like to see him try," you stated, still fiddling with the knot.

It was tied really tight.

"But you said you wanted to talk?" He asked.

"Can't talk to a dead man. I'll break you out, then we can talk afterwards," you answered, narrowing your eyes at the knot as you continued to fuss with it.

"How do you know I won't just leave you?" he asked again.

"I don't," you said simply, quickly glancing up him before turning your attention back to the ropes.

"End of the line," a raspy voice growled.

You both turned to see a man with an ax for a hand and a metal jaw approach you with a whole squad of men.

"For the crime of treason against me, I sentence you both to die where you stand."

You and Zoro narrowed your eyes him and you quickly stepped away from Zoro, drawing your mace.

They all drew their weapons and aimed for you.

"You've been pulling some interesting moves around here. What is this? Some kind of poorly executed coup you two planned with the straw hat?" Ax Hand asked.

"I've always fought alone like a real man does. Not like a coward who hides behind his wall of expendable cronies," Zoro spat.

"Roronoa Zoro. Don't you dare underestimate me. You may be a strong fighter, but under my authority, you're just the rat we throw out with the trash," Ax Hand spat back.

"That must make you the trash man," you chuckled, getting into a fighting stance.

Ax Hand furrowed his eyebrows and growled.

"Take aim!" he ordered.

They cocked their guns but you kept a stone-cold face.

"(y/n), get out of here," Zoro demanded, his tone unfaltering.

"Not a chance," you shrugged him off, keeping your eyes on the marines.

Just then, you heard glass shatter.

"Fire!" Ax Hand shouted.

The men fired their guns and you quickly outstretched your arms, getting ready to do your bullet-dodging technique when Strawhat landed right in front of you and Zoro.