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ihavethedreamies · 2 months ago

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Only You | Bang Chan

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.6k

Pairing: King! Bang Chan x Noble! AFAB! Reader

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Married

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, First Times (Readers), Breeding Kink (a bit), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Big Dick! Chan (duh)

Summary: You are a nobleman's daughter and your father is struggling to find you a husband. The king refuses to marry all of the women brought to him and will not take any concubines. You end up meeting each other.

Author's Note: Oh boy! Here is the first part my dudes. I wanted to have this out sooner but I'm living with my uncle with my parents right now and so I don't have the same freedom to hole away in my room all day like I would prefer. Also can't really write smut in the living room with your dad like two seats away from you.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, most of which are to do with the clothing they wear.

P.S. I only need to write the smut part for Lee Know's and Changbin's parts right now and then I can do the others after. Hopefully I will have one if not both of those up tomorrow. Hopefully.

Also, if any of my historical information/words are inaccurate, I apologize, I did the best with what research I could and what I know from watching too many historical K-Dramas.

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-> Lee Know's <-

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I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

Sighing deeply for a third time, you lazily turned the page of your book, head tilting to rest on your shoulder. Your braid fell over your shoulder, the purple daenggi draping down and covering the characters in the book. Didn't matter, you weren't really reading it anyway. Already had several times. It was nearly impossible to get books you hadn't already read several times, or things that were actually interesting to you, because your father wouldn't let you get them. Most of the books not directed toward women that you had, you more or less smuggled into your house. Because of that, it was hard to get more, and so you were once again bored with your choices. A delicate breeze wafted in through the open window, a small bird flittering down to rest on the sill. You looked over its various shades of brown feathers and you wondered if you could ever get a book for studying birds. Probably possible, but not probable. Men don't want women that know more than them, that's why you can't keep a suitor. Your father's voice echoed in your head, and you rolled your eyes. Unfortunately, though, it seemed he was right. You had many suitors out of the sons of noblemen, but none of them stayed around too long when your conversations turned from dainty and feminine matters to things that actually made them think. Looking out to the sky, you wondered if there was anyone out there at all that wouldn't mind your learned state.

~~~

On a day you were actually able to go out, you were grateful it was your brother who could go with you. You both were wandering the various seller's stands and storefronts, only just glancing at most things. If you had a guard escorting you, you wouldn't be able to smuggle another book home, but your brother would help you. As you pretended to look over various different earrings, you cast a glance from under your sseugaechima to where your brother was at the book seller. Rummaging through what they had, he held a few up to look closer at the contents before putting them back down. Must all be fiction… Looking back at the wares before you, you nodded to the shopkeeper and moved on, instead looking at some shoes. You were closer then to your brother, enough that you could see when he held a book up toward you, pretending to rest it on his shoulder as he continued looking, like he was reserving it. When you caught his side glance, you shook your head no. Already had it. He sniffed, putting it back, and kept looking. As you moved on yourself, across the way, you watched a young nobleman sidle up next to your brother. He was a great deal shorter; it almost made you giggle, but you tried to remain inconspicuous.

"Oh, my lord, the book you were looking for arrived!" The book seller slipped inside his shop, coming back with a book you had never seen anything like before.

"I managed to get in contact with the Arab trader and he got it here all the way from the far west!" The book seller smiled wide, and you had fully turned around at that point, your brother looking over his shoulder at you.

"Thank you." The man smiled, handing over a significant string of mun before turning to leave. You weren't able to react fast enough, and he caught you looking at him. Well, not him, but the book he was holding. It was bound in what looked like leather and you had never seen writing like it.

"Wait, my lord, this as well!" The shopkeeper reached under his stall and the man went back, taking the locally bound book from him.

"Might be hard to read without the translation." The young lord smiled and then went to leave again, pointedly looking right at you as he did, a small smirk on his face.

"Let's follow him." You whispered to your brother, yanking him down to your level.

"Are you sure? He paid a lot for that, he's not just going to give it to you, and we don't have that kind of money on us."

"I just want to look at it, come on." You hissed out, following after the man before he got too far out of view. You heard your brother sigh dramatically, but he hurried after you anyway, making sure he didn't lose sight of you.

You finally managed to catch up with the man in a small courtyard behind a restaurant not yet open. He was standing at the edge of the stream, watching it, the two books held in his grasp as he rested his arms behind his back. Right as your brother caught up with you, the man turned around, a playful smile on his face. It was then you realized how gorgeous he was.

"Interested in this?" He turned toward you, holding the book up, and in your excitement, you dropped your sseugaechima, the garment fluttering to the ground.

"(Y/N)!" Your brother scolded, grabbing the head covering. You had moved so fast, you were already standing in front of the man, ogling the book. Even though he was probably four or even five chon shorter than your brother, he was still nearly a head taller than you.

"Aigo, put this back on." Your brother draped the garment back over your head, dragging you back by the shoulders a few steps.

"Wait!" You reached for the book, not having gotten to touch it, but your brother stepped in front of you. Stupid societal chauvinism.

"Apologies, my lord, but she's…intense about her hobby." You rolled your eyes behind your sibling.

"This isn't a normal book." The other man said, and you rolled your eyes harder. Obviously, that's why you wanted it!

"It's all the way from Dogil." Huh? Where?

"If she wants to look at it, she can." You shoved your brother out of the way, so hard he not just stumbled, but fell on his butt. The man held the book out to you and with shaky hands you took it. The text was so incredibly foreign, and when you flipped the book open, it didn't even look handwritten. Then again, you couldn't be sure since it was such a foreign script. Little symbols sat in the top corner of each page, and the words were horizontal rather than vertical. Each little letter was so small, the book cramped with lines. It was heavy too.

"This goes with it." The other man held the translation book up and snatched it from his hands without thinking.

"(Y/N)!" Your brother scolded, hurrying to get off the ground.

"She's fine." You moved toward a bench and sat down, opening the translation on top of the foreign text. Though, it wasn't a direct translation, just a catalog of what each word meant. It would take time to fully translate it.

"C-could I translate it fully?" You looked up at the man, your sseugaechima falling off your head again. He smiled and your heart skipped a beat, but you weren't sure if it was because he smiled, or what the smile meant.

"I would rather not just give it to you. What if you don't give it back?" His tone was slightly teasing. You deflated then and he held back a chuckle.

"You know, I have a lot of far western texts that I don't have the time to translate myself. You could come to my home and do it for me?"

"Wait-" Your brother's tone grew stern and you looked between them, the other man holding his hand up to stop the other's words.

"Rather improper I know. Though, the King can get away with quite a bit." The man was smirking, and your eyes widened. What?

"Y-You're-" You met your brother's gaze and you both fell to your knees before him, bowing so your foreheads touched your hands. Immediately, you realized how brazen your actions were. You were doomed.

"Don't worry about it." He waved you both off and you stood, head still bowed, avoiding looking at his face. Instead, you glanced back at the books. You wondered if the book seller even realized who he was. Your brother sat up, but remained on one knee, if he stood, he would be higher than the king. That was not allowed.

"What is your name? Who is your father?" He asked and you swallowed hard, trying to get words out. You spoke your name and family clan, as well as your father's name and rank. If he told your father about what happened, you would never be allowed to touch another book.

"Your age?

"Twenty-two."

"You're unmarried?" He raised a brow, and you nodded sheepishly. Reaching around your back to tug on the end of your braid, hanging down to signify your marital status.

"Your name?" He nodded to your brother, and he told him.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind showing me to your home. I would like to converse with your father." Oh, no.

~~~

Nervously pacing around your room, even down the halls through the building of the estate you inhabited, you wondered what was happening. You had scurried away like a scared mouse once you all returned to your home, looking behind you to the books held by the King. The King! Geez, you felt like you just escaped with your life. You heard your mother being summoned to go to your father and it had been nearly an hour of them talking.

"(Y/N)." You heard a whisper from outside your bedroom window as you wandered around it. You opened the shutters and your brother's head barely could look over the sill from where he stood on the narrow edge of the building's platform base.

"What's happening?" You whispered back.

"A servant just brought them our family registry."

"What?" Why the heck would they need that?! Unless…

"You think he's going to court me?" Your legs felt week, you weren't sure what to make of it. Your father had desperately wanted you married, but not enough to submit you to the palace. A life of luxury and prestige wasn't actually very safe. Most adversaries tended to target the women closest to the king since they were easier targets. You knew the King was unwed, and that the palace officials were just as fed up with him as your father was with you. Sure, you would rather marry someone for love, but that was hard to do as a noble. But if you did…that meant you could have access to the King's library. Was that his plan to let you translate his foreign books without it being improper? Honestly, you were fine with it. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If marrying the king gave you access to even more knowledge and learning, than you would happily do it.

~~~

After the long meeting, the King left, and your mother came to inform you of the results. You were right, he wanted you to be his wife. But marrying a king to be the queen was much more intense than just being a concubine. Sure, the king had a lot of say, but so did his ministers and the Queen Dowager, his mother. Normally there was a long selection process, but instead you were brought to the palace and thoroughly analyzed by palace officials. They interviewed you rather extensively, then finally, his mother entered. After more questions, she left with the officials and you were left to sit in the pavilion, looking at the water, uncomfortable in your nicest hanbok ensemble. All of your fanciest accessories were in your hair, on your goreum was a heavy norigae, and heavy jade earrings sat in your ears. You twisted the jade ring on your finger in nervousness, feeling like you were waiting for hours. Soon though, the Queen Dowager reentered along with a few handmaidens and a eunuch. You had been approved of.

~~~

A grand dowry was sent to your family's estate, and in return your belongings were sent in as well. You were moved into a palace set aside for the future queen, and you were beyond grateful that your chest of books made it to your new home. Waiting for the actual ceremony and coronation, you were put through hours of etiquette training and lessons. Over the short time it took for you to learn everything, and have the ceremony and coronation performed, the King had spent a considerable amount of time with you. Every minute he could spare. He didn't want you, nor himself, to marry a stranger. Never having been in love, you were sure your feelings were either quite similar if not the predecessor for love. In a fleeting whisper he told you his name was Chan, of course it was part of his birth name rather than what he was crowned king with. He preferred you call him that though, even if you only could in private. When he could, he would bring a few of his foreign books for you to look at, but he said there wasn't time for you start the translations before all of the ceremonies. Chan seemed just as passionate about knowledge as you were, and that made you fall harder. And it appeared to work that way for him as well.

The day before the wedding, as he left before the time was improper, he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth with his soft lips. Your face blossomed red you were sure, and he chuckled gently to himself as he left.

The wedding itself was…a mess. Well, figuratively and only to you. You felt like you were being directed as a puppet going through so many specific rites and rituals. The most nerve-wracking part of the whole thing was being before so many people. Your tutor was proud you had learned all of your etiquette so well and you were ninety percent sure you did everything just right. By the time night fell, you were beyond exhausted. You weren't sure if you were more excited about your marriage, which felt more real thanks to your blooming feelings, or the future translation work. It was nice though that your love of scholarly pursuits didn't turn him away like all of your other potential suitors.

Finally, though, everything was more or less complete. You were wandering through the large room of the king's quarters, everything even fancier than where you had been. You picked at the white fabric of your sokchima, feeling naked despite being completely covered. Your hair was still in a chignon, the golden decorative binyeo holding it up made your head feel heavy. It was strange to have your hair up like that, but you were going to have to get used to it. For some reason, it felt nice to have that weight, signifying you were married, you honestly didn't want to take it out as much as you did. So, it stayed. You had bathed, rather, been washed by maids before going to the king's quarters. You presumed he too was washing up, and the longer he took, the more nervous you got. Finally, the side door that led further into the palace where the bath hall was, opened. Your heart thudded against your rib cage as you saw the King enter, also in white garments. He no longer had his headdress on, only the manggeon he wore under his crown was there. You wondered how long his hair was when down.

"My Queen." He smiled and you bit your lip, looking around almost like you were checking to see if anyone was around.

"What are you looking for, (Y/N)?" He stepped closer, hand going to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. All the lessons that had been drilled into you made you want to look away, but if he was okay with it…

"We're really alone?" Not even his Eunuch was there, he followed him everywhere as per his job description.

"Yes, my love." Your breath hitched, the term of affection hitting your heart, and you stepped just a bit closer.

"W-we-" He stepped once more, his lips placing a delicate peck on your forehead. Still not able to get any words out, his kisses moved to your cheekbone, the side of your mouth, then his hand cupped your jaw, tipping your head up. Your eyes met his and you couldn't keep yours from flitting to his lips. Chan smirked, and you gasped as he kissed you, hard. Your teeth clacked against each other at the force and your head swam, trying desperately to match his pace. You hadn't been kissed before, not like that. Chan himself had given you a few small pecks, but this was different. He was claiming you.

His strong hands gripped your waist, one sneaking down your back to pull you closer, the other sneaking up the ties of your sokchima. The hand on your back went even lower, gripping the flesh of your butt and you huffed, Chan's tongue sneaking its way in your mouth. When he withdrew, you heaved in breaths, heart racing and with a final tug, your sokchima fell to the floor, leaving you bare. You shivered, goosebumps rising on your skin, but his next actions distracted you from the embarrassment of being bare. He undid the ties of his own garments and as the white fabric pooled at his feet, your eyes rapidly danced over him. You were convinced he was molded directly by the deity of sex, because he was gorgeous.

"Oh." You sighed and he huffed a laugh, moving closer, taking your hands in his, and bringing them to the ties of his sokbaji. Your hands brushed over him through the cloth, and you froze.

"A-are you…?"

"No, love. But," his hands ran over the bare skin of your back, pulling you to him, your naked breasts pressing to him.

"I'll get there." Chan whispered in your ear, then he ran his tongue around the ridge, sucking on your earlobe. You whimpered, turning your head to allow him access, fingers clenching the hem on his pants. His lips then moved to your neck, laying searing kisses on the flesh, strong fingers digging into your skin, and when you were pulled even closer, you felt his cock hardening in his pants.

"Come with me, my love." He pulled away and you pouted in disappointment, making him laugh. The room spun as he yanked you to him, lightly shoving you on the raised bed. You huffed, then squeaked when he grabbed your ankles, yanking to the edge of the platform, kneeling on the floor below.

"W-Wait, Chan-!" You tried to close your legs, hide yourself from him, but he was too strong, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread.

"So cute." He hummed and your entire body jerked, back arching as you felt his tongue swipe through your folds, the sensation almost overwhelming. It was hard to get words out since you could barely take in air, your body immediately catching on fire, blood boiling. You heard him hum as he tasted you, and you flinched when his nose brushed your clit.

"C-Chan, it's too much!" You shuddered, not sure how to handle the sensation.

"I need to get you ready, love, I don't want to hurt you." He finished his statement by wiggling his tongue inside you. The foreign sensation made you clench, and he rubbed your tense thighs with his thumbs.

"Relax, pretty girl." You tried to do as he asked, taking measured breaths, whimpering when his tongue left you, flicking your button again. Heat pooled in your belly, rising fast and you logically knew what was coming, but had never felt it before.

"I-I…fuck!" Your head tossed back, and he groaned at the crass word leaving you. Chan kissed your clit and that sent you over the edge, wind roaring in your ears with your pulse, and you barely registered him filling you with a finger.

"You're so fucking tight sweetheart." The curse word riled you up more than it even did when you said it for him. He helped your ride out the orgasm with that finger, each press against your back wall seeming to draw out your climax. Finally, the waves dulled, then stopped, and you finally recognized his finger inside you. Because he did it when he did, it didn't hurt, but it felt weird.

"Oh, you're so good." He smiled wide, his normal warn grin was hot with lust. You mewled when he started to pump his finger, the wet squelch of your slick and release seemed to be louder than anything else.

"That got you nice and wet for me, but you're too tight." His thumb barely brushed your clit and your pussy clenched, body jerking again, it almost hurt.

"Sorry, love." He continued with the single digit and at some point, he decided to continue and you let out a shuddering breath when he added a second. That…didn't hurt per se, the slight burn of the stretch was somehow more pleasurable than painful, and you wondered how much his dick would make you sting.

"Oh, oh my." You tried to hold back a whiny moan when his fingers wiggled and spread, getting you further prepared, the same pleasurable feeling starting to build back.

"Ah!" Chan added a third finger, and you lifted your head to look at him, one knee resting on the bed so he could kneel over you. Eyes flitting down, you noticed the tent in his white pants, and you swallowed hard. You didn't have any metric to go by since you had never been with or even seen a man naked, but-

"That won't fit." You whimpered, not even seeing him bare yet. Chan huffed a surprised laugh, looking at himself.

"I promise it will." His fingers crooked up again, hitting some intense spot inside you and you shivered at the sudden intensity.

"N-no, no, no!" You whined when he removed his fingers, the pleasure had begun to crest and even if it was overwhelming, it did feel good.

"Hold on, love, I'll fill you back up." You propped on your elbows to watch him, the tie of his sokbaji coming undone by his fingers, then the garment fell. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen.

"Won't fit." You gasped out and he had a hard time controlling his smug grin.

"Let's see about that." He scooped you up in his arms, moving you up the bed so your head could rest on the pillow. The cool silk of the bedding did nothing to quell the fire Chan had set on your skin, especially not when he propped himself over you.

"I love you." He leaned down, nose rubbing over yours and you giggled at the innocent gesture.

"I love you too." Your hands cupped his face, and he kissed you again, gentler than the first. Distracting you with the kiss, he hitched one of your knees over his elbow, his free arm bringing his hands back to your slick cunt. His fingers ran through your arousal, then he pumped his fist over his hard cock, bringing the fat head to your entrance. Chan pulled back from the kiss, bringing your hands up to his shoulders.

"Dig your nails in if you have to." You should have taken it as a warning, not really sure what he meant. When his cock breached your core, the heated burn seared through not just your cunt, but all the way through you. Your back arched, and your mouth hung open in a quiet scream. You couldn't tell whether it hurt or was such an intense pleasure your body malfunctioned. His cock pressed deeper, and you could feel his pulse inside you.

"So tight, fuck, hmm, love your just perfect." He groaned, relishing the sting of your nails digging into his skin. After what felt like an eternity, he bottomed out, the head of his dick kissing your womb.

"Y-you're in my throat." You gasped, trying not to clench around him too much, cunt stinging but weeping, a drop of your slick hitting the bedding.

"Does it hurt?" His hand brushed some sweat-dampened strands of hair from your brow, and you shuddered through some breaths.

"I-I don't know." You had never felt anything like it before, obviously, and your brain seemed to be stopping and starting again over and over. He was being so patient, letting you adjust, but he shifted his weight differently, changing the angle slightly and the sting faded, pleasure rising, and you couldn't get words out again. He must have noticed the change in your gummy walls' pulsing, because he grinded into you slightly and, stronger than before, you came.

"Woah." Chan forced himself to breathe through your orgasm, the tight vice of your pussy nearly sending him over the edge and gushes of your slick shined on your skin as well as his. Your vision dotted with stars and your head swam, you finally were able to gasp for air, panting as you returned to reality.

"Are you okay, love?" He stroked your cheek with his thumb, and you held his hand to your face with your own. You nodded, swallowing a buildup of saliva.

"Y-yes, you…you can move."

"Are you sure?"

"Please~!" Your like whimper heightened into a moan as he pulled back just a bit, going slowly back in to make sure it didn't hurt. It didn't. Sure, it felt like he was carving his cock through you, but it was more than good.

"Tell me, sweet, if I hurt you." The next thrust, he pulled back a bit further, and back in harder.

"Please, Chan, you- fuck!" He had picked up the pace just a bit, still going fairly slow, but the stretch of his fat cock was more than enough stimulation.

"D-don't-"

"Don't what, love?"

"Don't…oh, fuck, please, don't stop. Just-!" Your toes curled, throwing your head back, nails digging into the bedding as he pulled out about halfway, then buried inside you hard. He sat up more, slinging your other leg over his elbow as well, rolling his hips against yours. Chan's eyes skated all over you, beautiful and bare below him, and when he got to your face he groaned. Your eyes were hazy, mouth open, drool pooling from the corners of your lips. You had never felt anything even close to the pleasure he was wreaking on you. You couldn't think, and you seemed to lose strength in your body, the crest of another orgasm building.

"Shit- can't hold back anymore love." He grunted and you didn't have enough available thought process to react. He moved his hands to your thighs, pinning your knees up by your shoulders, then he pulled his fat cock out nearly all the way, and started to pound into you. Tears rose in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling, little squeals of delight forced out of you with each thrust and your cunt spasmed. Chan just thundered through your orgasm, not stopping or slowing and your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck, you're just perfect love." He huffed a laugh, "oh, I can't wait to fuck you full!" All you could focus on was the heat of his dick and how much hotter your womb would feel full of his cum.

"Pl-please! Chan, please, fuck!" You gasped, his pace growing unsteady, and he finally fucked as deep as he could, hot ropes of cum filling you and painting your cunt white. Your belly was on fire and a combined glob of both of your releases dripped out from where your bodies met. As Chan panted, looking down at your fucked out state, he smiled.

"You're my wife now, only you."

Daenggi - the ribbon that was tied around a unmarried girl's braid. Sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over their heads. Mun - Joseon Era Korean currency Chon - historical unit of measurement, close to an inch. Dogil - Korean word for Germany, might not be completely accurate for the time. Hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. Goreum - the ties that fastened the top of a hanbok. Norigae - accessories that were tied to the goreum of women's handboks Sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. Binyeo - the long pin that would hold a woman's bun up, mostly used for married women. Manggeon - the mesh-like headband men wore to hold their hair in place. Sokbaji - pants-like under-garment, mostly worn by women actually…

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Taglist: @huldrelokken, @estella-novella, @astrobebba, @kayleefriedchicken, @rhonnie23, @cassandramrn, @qwonyoung23, @minghaosimp

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yanderecrazysie · 8 months ago

Text

Twisted Zoo: Chapter Nine

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

Also @twistedcece @cenatour @xiaopleasecomehome @bearshideout @koebishrimpuwu @vash-yuu @twstsandturns @help-whatdoimakemyusername @secret-potion @magmdnv @sunshine-for-serotonin @mel-star636 @silkkorchid @the-ace-reader @pamv11 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @hrhqueenfox @goseew @luxthestrange @juno-of-wonderland @who-mst @despairingy-obsessed @lanxianschoenheit @ceramic-raven @m0063576 @kimdourden @rammylog @sushiperson @starshiningsirius @im-here-for-the-fun-of-it @the-monochrome-jester @owodi @girl-nahh-two @obeythehuman @berry-efoy @ivorette @the-broken-truth @losingmybrain @charmaine-everhart and @rocketstyx wanted to be tagged! Let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged for future chapters. If you no longer want to be tagged, please tell me! (I have removed the tags that weren’t working for me, apologies if yours was removed!)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you.

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Note: All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

—-------------------------------------------------------

You walked into the aquarium with a box of donuts, humming softly to yourself. As soon as you opened the door, Floyd shot up through the surface, grinning at you excitedly. He let out a series of clicks when you opened the donut box and showed off its contents to him.

You moved closer with a giggle and let him reach one of his webbed hands into the box and retrieve a donut. He stuffed nearly the entire thing into his mouth at once, his cheeks puffed out from the sheer amount of chocolate.

“Did you say thank you?” a voice asked. From behind Floyd, Jade swam over to the side, mismatched eyes narrowed.

“Thank you!” Floyd said through the mouthful of donut, a large grin spreading across his lips.

“Would you like a donut, Jade?” you asked.

“Yes, please,” Jade said smoothly, taking a donut from the box and taking a small bite, “Thank you.”

“Where’s Azul?” you asked, “He should have a donut too.”

“You are very kind,” Jade said, a simple smile gracing his lips, “If you aren’t careful, you’ll get taken advantage of.”

You blinked in surprise, “That’s… I’ll have to be careful then.” Jade was truly an intelligent halfling, to the point it scared you a little. “But I’d still like Azul to have a donut.”

“Azul?” Floyd asked, perking up. Before you could say anything, Floyd dove down and came back dragging a black tentacle to the surface.

You tried not to laugh at his eagerness to make you happy and instead scolded him, “You shouldn’t drag him.”

Floyd gave you a grin that was all teeth and you sighed, waving sheepishly at Azul as his head broke the surface, surly expression on his face.

“Sorry to bother you, Azul, I just wanted to see if you wanted a donut,” you admitted, holding out the donut box.

The white-haired male looked surprised, his eyebrows raising as you opened the box and displayed all of the donuts to him. He took a glazed donut and began to slip back into the water. Disappointed by such a short encounter, you found yourself saying, “Wait, Azul!”

Azul paused and gave you a curious look. Without thinking, you blurted out, “Can I hold your tentacle?”

His eyes bugged out and his mouth parted in shock, “P-pardon?”

“I just want to see what it feels like,” you admitted.

Hesitantly, one of Azul’s inky black tentacles lifted from the water and stretched out to you. You walked over to the edge and sat down, boots dangling over the water as you took his tentacle into your hands. A blue blush spread up Azul’s face as you inspected his appendage.

The tentacle was black on top and smooth, but the underside was light purple with suction cups. You trailed your fingers around one of the suction cups and smiled at the blushing octopus halfling.

“Alright,” you said, taking a look at the clock, “I really have to be moving on.”

Floyd let out a disappointed wail and you reached out and ruffled his teal hair. He let out a pleased clicking sound and leaned into your touch.

Jade watched on with a pleasant smile, but something about the look in his eyes as he watched you sent a chill down your spine.

You stood up and waved goodbye to them all. As you walked out the door, you could hear Floyd clicking to Jade, as though he were arguing with him.

For some reason, it made you uncomfortable, as though you knew you were the one being talked about.

Shrugging off the sensation, you headed toward the reptile house. The sun was already going down as you walked down the pathway. A little girl waved at you and you waved back cheerfully before climbing through the employee door and into the snake exhibit.

“Hey, Jamil, hey Kalim!” you said cheerfully as the two snakes lifted their heads. Jamil rested on his stomach, lazily studying you, while Kalim slithered forward and wrapped his arms around you, saying “Yay! You’re back!”

Kalim released you with reluctance, telling you, “Jamil and I missed you. Jamil kept talking about you.”

You looked over at Jamil and found that he was purposefully avoiding eye contact. A smile spread across your face, “Well, I missed you both too. I brought donuts!”

“Yaaay!” Kalim yelled, flinging the box lid open and grabbing a chocolate donut. Jamil finally looked back over and you held out the box to him. He looked away again, refusing to acknowledge the treat.

“You don’t like donuts, Jamil?” you asked.

Jamil said something softly, but you couldn’t catch it.

“Is there something I could bring you that you would like?” you asked.

Jamil looked back at you, surprised. Then, his eyes turned downwards and he said, “Curry.”

“Curry?!” Kalim said in disgust, “Yuck, why do you want that?”

Jamil turned his sharp gray glare on Kalim and said in a dangerous tone, “Because that’s my favorite food.”

Kalim looked at you with a pout. You patted him on the head and he began to eat his donut.

“I’ll try to bring you curry next time, Jamil,” you promised.

He nodded, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he looked back at you with an unusually soft expression. As though he couldn’t stand the attention Jamil was getting, Kalim grabbed your hand in his own and pulled you closer, pout intensified.

“What is it, Kalim?” you asked, but he didn’t seem to have a reason for pulling you closer. Jamil’s smile had faded into a frown at the display of affection.

“Well, I have two more places to stop by today,” you said, “So I should get going.”

Kalim’s fingers tightened around your hand. You pulled free and he let out a wail, “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll be back!”

“In a few days! It’s not fair! You barely spend any time with me!”

“I’m running behind,” you admitted, “I’m really sorry, Ka-”

“If you’re sorry, then stay!” he yelled, tears leaping to his eyes.

“I can’t!” you said sternly, prying his hand from yours, “I’ll be back soon.”

Kalim finally let go, tearfully shrinking back down into the snake part of his body. You felt a twinge of guilt, but you gave him a pat on the head before leaving the enclosure. Jamil watched with a smirk as Kalim burst into tears.

Your next stop was Idia, who you planned to try to really talk to today. You slipped inside his enclosure and walked to the far corner where the electric blue lizard was known to hide.

Idia lifted his head as you approached, eyes widening when he saw the donut box.

“Are those donuts?” he asked.

You smiled and opened the box, watching as the blue-haired halfling took a donut, eyes alight with giddiness.

“I love junk food,” he admitted, “but they never give us any.”

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth too,” you said with a knowing smile. You took a donut for yourself and the two of you ate in silence.

“Do you play video games?” Idia asked.

“Yes, a few,” you replied, “Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to play video games,” Idia said, “They look fun.”

“Maybe I can sneak a nintendo DS down here or something,” you suggested.

“A what?” he asked.

“A handheld gaming system.”

“Oh,” his eyes widened, “You would do that for me?”

“Of course, Idia!” you said with a grin. He matched your smile with one of his own, his lips parting to reveal surprisingly sharp teeth. “What kind of games do you like?”

“I’ve never played before, so I wouldn’t know,” he said, gloominess returning.

“I’ll bring a little bit of everything I have,” you said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Idia looked after you, eyes lidded as you began to leave.

“You’re always so quick to leave,” he said monotonously.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “It’s just that I have so many halflings to visit and only two hours.”

“I understand,” he said, turning away, “You should hurry.”

“Thanks,” you said, walking back to the exhibit door and leaving. The walkways were empty and you knew that you were cutting it very close.

Sure enough, it was pitch black outside, and you still had the panther and albino tiger exhibit to go.

You hurried to the faux forest and walked through the door, met once more with Silver and Sebek guarding it.

“Hey, you two, want donuts?”

Silver startled awake and, after a moment of confusion, gently took a donut from the box. Sebek, on the other hand, swelled with anger.

“A BRIBE?” he yelled, “You’re offering us a bribe?”

“A bribe?” you echoed in confusion, “No, I’m just offering you a donut. No strings attached.”

“Oh,” Sebek looked down into the box and, like an excited puppy, looked up at you with big eyes, silently asking for permission.

“Go ahead, take whichever one you like,” you said.

Sebek did so and shoved half of it in his mouth at once. Then, his eyes widened and he let out a soft noise of pleasure as he tasted it.

“Were you going to give one to Malleus and Lilia?” Silver asked.

“Yes,” you said.

Sebek looked horrified, “If I had known, I would have had Young Master choose first!”

“That’s okay,” you giggled, “I’m just glad you got your favorite.”

Sebek looked surprised by your comment and a soft blush spread across his cheeks as he cleared his throat and looked away. Silver offered you a rare smile, which you returned brightly.

“Malleus is on his way,” a voice said from above you. You looked up, almost unsurprised to find Lilia hanging upside down above you.

Sure enough, Malleus slid out from behind some trees not long after, horns glinting in the artificial lights. You held out the donut box to both Lilia and Malleus.

Malleus took a donut and studied it curiously, “What is this thing? A treat, perhaps?”

“Yes, a treat,” you smiled.

He looked down at you with a mysterious smile and took a bite, “Delicious. You humans are very talented with food.”

“I didn’t make them,” you admitted, “I just bought them.”

“Still, my point stands,” Malleus replied. His hand reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Lilia giggled from up in his tree, still holding the donut as he watched you and Malleus closely.

Embarrassed, you closed the donut box, “I’m sorry I can’t spend too much time with you today, but I’m running really late.”

“That’s okay,” Lilia said smoothly, “Thank you for visiting.”

The others piped up with their own ‘thank you’s. You gave a playful bow and then waved goodbye. Lilia waited until you had disappeared to turn to the others.

“I don’t care which one of us does it, but I would love to hear the pitter patter of little feet again.” Then, with a devious smile, he turned around and disappeared into the woods, Malleus following close behind.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland

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0039pf-third-blog-hooray · 1 month ago

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explaining! my main goal was to make them different and colorful. everything else is secondary. i didn't really try to make them realistic, i didn't really try to make them historical. this is character design, right? so, the main thing is that everyone is readable and unique among others in their environment. if you don't confuse anyone, then i've made it, hehe!

i made them colorful because, firstly, i just like it that way, and secondly, it's customary to exaggerate book characters for illustrations so that the image is brighter and more recognizable. if i were drawing as if for a movie/series, i would have done it differently. but this is a book. and, as i like to say, am i studying to be a theater artist for nothing... 🤫

also i was laughing so hard at the song from bratz that i used for speedpaint because it was too funny to finish the work with. enjoy JHSJSHSHDH

a few words about each one, not in the order in the picture:

i had an idea to draw aramis a popular type of lovelock at that time - with a ribbon of his beloved's favorite color. this hairstyle was also worn together with pearl in the left ear. i learned about it from another artist, and then i read about it on the internet in more detail. and when i sketched him for the first time, i drew it exactly like that, but this time i already came to the idea that, unfortunately, he would hardly wear such a hairstyle in reality. in the first book he hides the woman's identity until the end, when everything has long been obvious to everyone 😭 so there would hardly be any hint in his appearance about his lady. fanfact, his heel is slightly higher than the others. aramis, the man you are 💅 and i also really ask you to take a closer look at aramis's hairstyle, i left a tiny detail there. it's right there in plain sight and it's hidden in the styling!!

porthos is associated with warm colors for me, because he's such a silly, but together with aramis and d'artagnan it turned into one spot. so i went with the second option - blue, because i really liked that he appeared in sky blue before d'artagnan when they galloped after the duke, even though it was already in the second book. he turned out so charming, wahaha.

i think olive is the perfect choice for athos in the first book. depressive, long-term drunkard, but a nobleman undercover. matching? also, i have a headcanon that athos is this much 🤏 shorter than d'artagnan and aramis. just because it's funny. and those two are about the same, because it was specified in the book that they have the same size

d'artagnan is simple, yellow-brown - a young provincial, even the collar does not really match the shirt. where will he get the money for a collar for each shirt... but he's the only one with a bright feather, the mc after all! if you look closely, the feathers of all the others do not stand out so much. that's how it was intended. btw, his shirt is a little yellowing, if you look closely, you can see it

i really like it when all the characters has their own little things. their own collars, their own way of wearing jackboots, their own little details of the sleeves. i drew simply, but put my soul into it. i tried to put a lot into the form, both in general and in the details, and although i could explain absolutely everything, i would like you to look closely at it yourself 💝

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captain-joongz · 2 months ago

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The moon hangs heavy; Dragonheart ch.2

Pairing: OT7 dragon!BTS x knightess!reader

Genre: dragon rider AU, high fantasy, soulmate adjacent, slight enemies to lovers (if you squint), angst, fluff and humour, eventual smut

Chapter summary: The depth of mistrust between dragons and humans is tried when Jungkook attempts to welcome a new addition to his life. Meanwhile his rider fights her own demons in her own home.

Word count: cca 13.8k

Warnings: there's pov switches beware!! first person is reader pov, third person is bangtan pov!!, a bit of toxic family, slight angst, otherwise not much

Series masterlist | Previous Part | Next part

Lore | Dictionary | Character studies

A/N: alrighty folks! here we go, the next chapter of dragonheart is here! things are picking up and now we'll spend a lot more time with all of the dragons! i always love to hear what you think, so don't hesitate to let me know! i hope you enjoy yourselves <3

I couldn’t even remember when I first started putting together the plan to dismantle this empire brick by fucking brick, but I’ve carried hatred against it for as long as I knew what an empire was. Maybe it was my father’s fault, maybe I saw his ways and I wanted to go against that, maybe it was because ever since I was small he dragged me with him between all these dinners and balls and banquets, and I saw all that depravity, all that mold, the rotten heart of the beast.

Wars, suffering, endless toil and loss, and for what? For spoiled nobility and cruel kings? For an empire that saw its people as endless supplies of weapons in battles that they didn’t want and that brought back nothing? The Li Dynasty in its thousand years of reign only brought terror onto the land, into the hearts of its people, and onto anyone who ever dared to go against it.

Once upon a time, this was nothing more than a small struggling kingdom, Wuyun nothing more than a little town with barely a fortress, and now it spanned across half the continent. It devoured everything around it and squeezed it dry, pulled it into its machine of death. War after a war, battle after a battle, until there was nothing left to conquer, but still wanting for more.

Around us kingdoms rose and fell, and the only reason Gong-li didn’t also hit its expiration date was the endless exploitation of the dragonkind. If the emperor didn’t have them to fall back onto, if dragons weren’t too dangerous to fight against and other still surviving lands weren’t too afraid to invite war with such beasts against them, this dynasty would have died a long time ago.

But with such powerful dangerous weapons (it does pain me to say that, but unfortunately that is what dragons have become) in the hands of children (because that’s what we were in their eyes), we still sat at the top of the food chain and became practically impossible to dismount.

Hubris was a terrible thing. And it would always lead to a downfall. I vowed myself to be that downfall.

Tightening my training attire one more time and giving myself last look in the silver mirror, I gave myself a firm nod and left to join the family at breakfast.

As soon as I entered the dining area, my father gave me a curt smile and gestured to the seat to his left side. My brother was sitting to his right, silently eating and reading through a stack of documents. Unlike the older male, he barely even acknowledged my presence and continued on expressionlessly in his task.

I tensely returned the smile and folded myself to the dark comfortable pillow, immediately hungrily digging in. The General lightly patted me on my shoulder, his good mood reflected in the way he happily ate his food and interacted with us calmly, which made me fight the scowl off my face to not accidentally aggravate him.

Ever since I returned from the banquet, I’d been in my father’s good graces. Somehow word has already travelled to him that I had been around the Bangtan thunder and I returned to a suspiciously pleased father sitting in the drawing room area waiting for me with praises. He’s been more open to me since, now that he had a chance to peacock about my accomplishments again, and it was putting me on edge. I was more used to being on his wrong side, and through the years I learnt that it was safer to skirt the grey area, as he tended to be more infuriated when we disappointed him after we’d “been so good”.

“You’ll come to the castle with me tomorrow,” the man simply stated, in a manner that revealed he was used to being obeyed. It took me a moment of silence to realise he was speaking to me and not my brother, and I looked up surprised, meeting his dark eyes.

“Yes, father,” slipped the automatic answer through my lips, “Why am I needed?” I needed to ride this good wave for as long as it was possible, so I’d also been playing it safe with him and was being more agreeable than usual. If he thought it suspicious, he said nothing about it.

“You will meet the emperor. He’s curious about Bangtan’s new rider.” The older man satisfiedly licked his lips, like a lazy spoiled cat getting cream, while I froze in my seat with a spoon halfway to my lips. Dread like no other gripped me, spreading through my body in cold currents and turning my stomach to lead. I almost felt a little dizzy with the impact of the statement.

“Yes, father,” this time it came out only a shaky whisper, but the man didn’t care, didn’t look my way again, only nodded and left us siblings sitting there.

When I finally managed to tear my gaze away from the spot our father occupied just a moment ago, I looked straight into my brother’s blank eyes. He regarded me wordlessly for a few long seconds and then stood up as well, food left unfinished on his plate.

“Don’t do anything stupid, please,” he muttered and walked away.

I looked after him almost mournfully, but in the end forced myself to get back to my own breakfast. A lump in my throat made it somewhat harder to swallow, but I did my best to push those feelings away and not dwell on how my brother’s dismissal was always a bigger gut punch than our father’s.

I didn’t remember the older man as ever being gentle, but the memories from my childhood, before we were both ruined by the General, plagued me every time I was faced with this new cold version of the once happy boy. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. How far into our hearts did our ruin reach?

When finished, I quickly moved through the house to collect all needed belongings and got on my way to the training grounds. The nervous shake in my hands started up again, and in panic I tried to go over some strategies in my head over how I wanted the noon to go. Chances were it wasn’t going to go according to any of them, but it didn’t hurt to try.

Jungkook was already waiting by the training area, leaning into the wooden pole fencing off the sandy duel ring where one on one sword training usually took place. Coming closer, I had to temp down some evident excitement suddenly coursing through my veins, and I internally scolded myself. Now wasn’t the time to lose it, I had to keep it together.

Just as I was about to shout my greeting, I realised there was actually another person with him. His dark blue hair shined under the sun, and the silvery scales on his beautiful face made the light reflect in a way that almost seemed to be too stunning to be real. By the blush that immediately arrived on my face and made me stutter in the light jog, I knew I was once again in the company of the one and only Jimin.

But out of the corner of my eye I saw another presence.

Jungkook already spotted me and waved me over. There were some awkward greetings and smiles before uncomfortable silence stretched around us. Jimin was watching me with a spark of amused curiosity, but I saw a shadow of something darker in his gaze. Something mistrustful and wary. Which, dragons had every right to be apprehensive at first, but something about him put me on edge, like it was about more than just the usual gap between our kinds.

The third person finally joined us, jogging happily to us with a wide smile stretching across his face. I saw both of the dragons’ faces immediately relax and soften, and I realised it must be another member of their thunder.

With a wildly beating heart and clammy palms I fully took him in, still feeling a little star-struck in the presence of such a powerful pack. His hair was wavy, falling into his eyes and around his ears in artful arches, the sun reflecting powerfully off of the copper reddish colour of the locks. I noticed some beads weaved into them as they bounced with his movement. But the most prominent feature were the beautiful horns sprouting from his hairline – they were curved back slightly, following the shape of his head, and antler-like. They were as long as the top of his head, cutting off above the crown of it. I tried not to gawk at them too obviously, but they were beautiful, so I probably failed miserably. Not that he seemed to mind.

His lithe form was brimming with energy and the man seemed to have a joyous personality, face shining with a smile and eyes full of mirth. I understood immediately why just looking at him set the boys more at ease, even I felt myself getting more comfortable and loose under the rays of his happiness.

“Hobi-hyung!” Jungkook shouted out, nearly vibrating and full of toothy grins. Based on his reaction (to which I didn’t secretly smile at all, I was cold as stone definitely) it was probable that the older dragon decided to drop in unannounced.

“Hello younglins,” the man greeted us with, extending the expression to me as well, which… fair. His smiley face turned to me, eyes scanning me head to toe with a calculating gaze, a sliver of seriousness surfacing through.

“My name is Hoseok. Nice to meet you, potential rider,” he introduced himself in the end. Whatever he saw when looking at me, I nervously hoped it wouldn’t make him get Jungkook to reject the bond.

With anxious eyes flitting around, I bowed to him which he reciprocated and then shook his offered hand, both of ours gloves firmly on. Jungkook and Jimin were both watching us with sharp eyes and bated breath, Jungkook hopeful and Jimin with that strange darkness I couldn’t fully place.

“Nice to meet you too, Sir Hoseok,” my voice wavered slightly, but I hoped they’d disregard it as usual nervousness when people met them, and wouldn’t read too much into it. That they wouldn’t find out just how desperate I was for this to work out.

“No sir here, young mistress, dragons don’t get titles,” he said it teasingly, but a little bitterness still wormed its way into his voice. I swallowed, finally taking my hand back after realising I’d been shaking it for a suspiciously long time and gave him my own wonky smile.

“I will call you Hoseok-ssi then,” I insisted, carefully toeing the line between polite and smarmy, “My name is Kang Y/N, of the northern clan.” I saw clearly how Hoseok tried and failed to keep his face neutral, how his smile froze and his eyebrows pulled together in a frown the moment he realised what family I belonged to. I tried not to let it hurt me. Tried not to panic that this was the end for me, and he’d never allow me near his thunder again.

“Neither of you rascals mentioned she is General Kang’s daughter,” he gritted through his teeth and stiff grin, eyes shooting daggers towards the two younger dragons. Both of them watched him with wide eyes, guilty and innocent all at once, trying to buy themselves some leeway.

I had no idea whether they didn’t mention on purpose or whether they forgot, but I had to quickly get on top of this.

“You know my father, huh?” I chuckled awkwardly, jumping in panicked before anything else could be said, “He does have quite the reputation.”

When Hoseok turned his gaze back to me, it was a lot less warm even though he was still grinning at me. I felt the shiver run through me at the change, my instincts suddenly kicking in now that he looked significantly less friendly.

“I fear there isn’t a single person in this city, maybe even in this empire, who doesn’t know your father,” came his stilted reply. And it made sense really, all of the dragons must have known my father for all his life. They’ve probably had to deal with him ever since he himself entered the Academy some 30 years ago. Yikes.

What does one say in a situation like this? Sorry about that? I would have killed him years ago if I didn’t need him alive still?

Another bout of extremely awkward silence blanketed over us, and with every second stretching I felt the dread pull me deeper and deeper into the mud, mind racing and trying to come up with a way to save this. My chest hurt from how fast my heart beat and I felt the panic licking at the seams of my mind, but in the end the atmosphere was saved by Jungkook himself.

“Don’t be too scared, hyung just has a personal vendetta against him,” the young dragon suddenly blurted out, immediately flushing as Jimin barely covered how he burst out laughing. Hoseok also froze and in wonder I saw some of the coldness melt away into embarrassment, the man rubbing at his neck awkwardly.

“You shouldn’t be saying things like that in front of her,” he whined lightly, and it was both a tease and a warning, but finally I shook myself out of my stupor and laughed as well.

“Don’t worry about it, as his daughter I’m more than used to people having grudges against him,” I said amicably, playing it as cool as I could with my hands shaking and tongue stuttering me up, “as I said – he has quite the reputation.”

Hoseok laughed politely, but his gaze was stuck on Jungkook, promising some kind of a dressing down later when they’re alone, which the young dragon steadily ignored with an easy smile, but in a way that made me queasy. It was foolish of me to forget the weight of tossing my surname around like that.

And I knew that tomorrow I’d meet the emperor and he’d give me his blessing, and then the thunder would have to accept me as Jungkook’s rider whether they wanted to or not. And I wouldn’t blame them for hating me.

“Hyung’s just stopping by,” Jungkook stated to me, turning from the red-head’s burning stare, “He had some of his own errands to run. He works with the infirmary.” It felt both like a weak attempt to ease my nerves and a careful nudge in the direction of the dragon’s abilities, as it was considered rude to ask.

He was a healer then, a nature magick gifted dragon. I took him in once more, ignoring the way he was now more wary of me and concluded that it fit him very well. In those brief few moments he didn’t yet know me he seemed to be the kind of person to heal you just by their presence, and stupidly I felt a pang of sadness at having lost that, no matter how fake of an attempt to be friendly it was.

Instead I turned to the tattooed dragon and smiled, falling down the polite small-talk rabbit hole for a few more sentences before Jimin took a seat at the top of the wooden fence and Hoseok eventually jogged a few steps away to lean against a stone archway of the building nearby to feel the relief of the shadow.

I was stuck in the blaring sun with Jungkook, already feeling the uncomfortable heat and sweat gathering under my black training clothes. It was hard to gauge what was Jungkook’s tolerance, but he seemed fine with a pep in his step and an easy grin on his face. I would almost call him excited.

He led us inside the ring, but no swords were in sight, leaving me to wonder what he had in mind. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Jungkook looked increasingly more and more amused, watching me struggle in the silence and unsure of what was in store for me, and admittedly I did want to smack him a little for it, but I swallowed the urge down with a little crooked grin.

Then suddenly the dragon flew into action. My first instinct was to bring my arms up in defence, expecting him to try and land a blow. Meetings like these usually consisted of some more fighting and duels to allow the dragons to check the strength and abilities of their potential bondeds, but Jungkook didn’t do any of that sort. He started warming up with jumping jacks.

A little confused, I caught onto the agenda and started imitating him, casting unsure glances towards the two packmates that were watching us jump in the middle of a sandy ring, but their expressions gave me nothing. The pack probably must have gone through this specific thing millions of times and have since settled into a routine.

“Do you know what my magick is?” he asked suddenly, mischief dripping off of him like this was a cheeky first date and not a military affair. I shook my head, but as the silence stretched and his eyes watched me expectantly, he was clearly waiting for some sort of verbal explanation.

“I only knew of Jimin-ssi’s powers,” even through clearing my throat my voice still came out scratchy and unsure, gaze nervously flitting to the mentioned dragon to catch whether he was upset or not. Jimin still gave me nothing, silvery blue eyes just as stormy and closed off as before.

I reasoned with myself that he was less flirty and playful because this was a serious matter, but he still unnerved me, and I faced similar looking rejection way too many times to not immediately recognise the beginning stages of it. He displayed mistrust beyond the usual reasons, and I had no idea why.

“I-I know you have a fire dragon in your thunder. And an atmokinetic,” the stutter came from me scrambling to keep up with Jungkook when he dropped to the ground and seamlessly transitioned into a squatting without any warning, but it was no less embarrassing. He hummed. Jimin and Hoseok looked on. I sweated. It was a mess.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly public knowledge what most of their powers were. Since the curse was first laid, dragons have learnt to be quite secretive when it came to the full extent of their special abilities and tended to choke the information so that only what they wanted was known. As such, I was only sure of three of their abilities – Namjoon’s fiery magick that often came into the public eye during battles, Jimin’s water magick that he was known for due to the worrying line of admirals who liked to bond him temporarily to gain upper hand in naval skirmishes and Yoongi’s darker and scarier powers that allowed him to bring rains and storms and pull black clouds and strong winds to us that made all our days just the more wearier.

There were rumours of course – whispers about a dangerous dragon capable of mind control and manipulation, or tales about one who shone as bright as a dying star, as the sun itself, who commanded light in a way that both warmed and hurt. But those were just that, rumours. I had no names to those, and the thunder certainly wasn’t forthcoming with anything, just as the emperor liked to control what we knew about them.

Bangtan was powerful and mysterious and that was it. That’s where it started and ended.

Jimin’s sudden chuckle brought me back to a pouting Jungkook doing squats like his life depended on it while I did my best to keep up.

“Nobody knows what our baby does yet,” he teased him, “Don’t worry Kook, you’ll put the seed of terror into all their hearts by the end of this year.” It was the kind of mocking that wasn’t meant to hurt and flew between people who actually liked each other and knew the limits of other’s senses of humour, and I curiously watched as Jungkook played up the pout even more before bursting into a toothy grin.

Then it caught up to me what the blue-haired dragon said and I stopped dead in my tracks, shocking Jungkook into freezing too. There was a suspicion at my heart that would explain everything that was happening right now, and I didn’t hesitate to speak it into the universe.

“Wait… is this your first year participating in the unit?” I blurted out and saw Hoseok tense up out of the corner of my eye. Jungkook spiritedly nodded and I felt both relief and horror.

“Kookie’s never had a rider,” Jimin supplied, really speaking to me for the first time since I arrived, “He’s only reached adulthood sixty years ago.”

A myriad of questions suddenly had answers in my mind – Jungkook fumbling the polite traditions at the banquet, the overprotective hovering that Jimin and Hoseok were exhibiting right now, the combative energy both of them lowkey exuded while Jungkook himself was a ball of excitement. Stepping into the unknown, for the first time.

At the bottom of it all was a huge boulder falling off of my chest at the thought that I wasn’t completely alone in this frightening and exhilarating new experience we had in front of us. Now, looking at us both be clueless and anxious and eager, I found myself relaxing considerably. We could be stupid about this together, and that was a relieving thought.

Jungkook was staring daggers into his hyung and whining that he was more adult than he made it sound, but his ears were red. Hoseok in the background fondly watched on, and suddenly I felt like too much of an intruder.

Clearing my throat, I called for his attention again and asked: “So what is your power?”

Jungkook’s big dark innocent eyes were back at me and he straightened up, only to start doing lunges. I scrambled to follow his lead, warming up with him with no idea what he was planning to do today.

I wondered whether he had any other potentials, but thinking back I haven’t seen him interact with any other of the first years. I hoped that whatever trials he prepared for me, I’d be able to successfully get through them.

“My magick is elemental,” the tatted dragon started explaining, “much like Jimin-hyung’s. But mine is earth.” I itched to ask more questions and get more details out of him, but I didn’t want to overstep. Jungkook may have looked like he’d gladly answer everything, but generally dragons didn’t like it and didn’t think it proper to probe, and I didn’t want to aggravate the two high strung hyungs stepping around the training grounds and watching their younger packmate with hawk eyes.

I watched them out of the corner of my eyes, and their warning gazes were already glued to me, but Jungkook looked at me with expectant eyes just begging to be asked for more details. Sweating bullets, I swallowed my silent tears and opened my dumb mouth. This is going to be more challenging than I thought, but in a way I could have never anticipated.

“How does that work?” I gritted through my teeth, trying to ignore Hoseok’s narrowed eyes or Jimin’s outright stare. Jungkook, though, brightened and changed back to jumping jacks for ease of talking.

“Much like hyung manipulates water, I can manipulate earth,” he begun cheerily, “tear it apart, tear chunks out and throw them, cause a chasm to open or small-scale earthquakes. I can also work with and manipulate stones and ore, not just dirt.” I gave him a wide-eyed stare, surprised to learn the extent of his powers, though some things were still a little vague. But I didn’t dare to ask more questions, I’ve already tried their patience too much.

“It also means he has tough skin. Impenetrable. And it makes him very strong, like a boulder,” to my surprise it was Jimin who volunteered this information, his curious eyes flittering cautiously between me, Jungkook and Hoseok still standing a few steps away.

“There’s a downside though,” Jungkook continued, “every power has its downside. Like a weakness. It’s tied into the nature of our magick. Like fire magick’s weakness would be water and ice.” The horror that seeped into Hoseok’s face quickly clued me into the fact that Jungkook just shared something he wasn’t supposed to say.

“Yes, but that isn’t something we need to talk about right now,” Jimin jumped in, shaken and panicked, throwing the youngest dragon a stare that could only be interpreted as a warning. Unsure, I stopped and glanced between the three dragons locked into some sort of a silent battle. After a few beats I realised they must have been talking telepathically, as that was something mated dragons could do.

“She’ll have to know anyway, as my bonded,” Jungkook said finally, firmly looking from his hyungs and offering me a smile. Shakily, I attempted to returned it, but it was hard with the burning I felt from the other’s stares. I couldn’t even fully process the fact that Jungkook basically announced that we would bond, the statement barely registering in my anxious mind.

What in the hell was going on?

Then Jungkook took off, only looking behind to beckon me as he started on a lap around the training grounds. Giving one last nervous glance to the two tense dragons, I took a deep breath and ran off after him.

Jungkook was fast and it took me a moment to catch up to him, but after a lap or two we settled into a comfortable pace side by side, and I slowly came to realise what this was. Endurance test. He wanted to know how strong and trained I was. With one less unknown to worry about, I fell into step with him and steeled myself to keep up for as long as I was capable of.

The silence was comfortable between us, a nice change from the charged atmosphere around the older dragons, but I couldn’t blame them for being so cautious, especially since it seemed Jungkook’s enthusiasm was sometimes faster than the well-earned distrust towards humans that every dragon harboured deep inside their heart. I dreaded to think of someone else in my position, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of his true earnest nature.

But even I was a risk – even I could misstep, hurt him. Even I could end up being a danger to him and his thunder. I had to make sure I wouldn’t.

“Have you ever met a dragon before?” Jungkook’s quiet voice pulled me out of my troubling thoughts. It was an unusual question, one that I had no idea how to interpret the intentions behind. What was he really asking?

“Well, yes... I’ve been coming to the capital with father for quite some time,” I drawled out, weighing in my mind on how much to share, “but I really just saw them around. Didn’t really speak to anyone, I wasn’t allowed to.” Painful memories of a smiling brown-haired man resurfaced in my mind, just how they so often did ever since he left. I chanced a look at the tatted dragon, and he watched me like he knew there was more. He waited whether I would continue. A wave of strange unfamiliar emotion rose inside of me, and I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand. I was so confused. But then I spoke anyway because it felt right to do so.

“When I was little,” the words slowly trickled out of me, like I had to use force to push them out, “maybe eight or nine, a dragon-knight and his bonded came to our fief. They stayed with us for a little over a year. The knight was a merry man, full of laughs and jokes, and his dragon was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” The young dragon smiled gently and gestured for me to keep talking as we ran laps. I started becoming a little breathless now that I had a story to tell, but I pushed through.

“I spent a lot of time with him, to me he was the manifestation of all things magical and fantastical,” the soft laugh that tumbled out of me surprised me, but I carried on, “He took to teaching me. Brought me out to forests and meadows, taught me about magick and nature, about dragons, about kindness to living things and cooperating with the natural world. He always called it ‘the old philosophy’. That this is how dragons used to teach their young.”

Looking back at it now with the knowledge I have, it wasn’t that hard to understand why he was such a thorn in the emperor’s eye. Why he was running away from the palace, trying his luck away from the capital. It was rotten fate that he ended up on a land that belonged to my father out of all people.

Next to me Jungkook hummed, reminding me of his presence, and suddenly the exercise caught up with me and I realised I would need a break soon to catch my breath. The young dragon seemed fine though, as he jogged on by my side with a soft smile.

“What was his name?” he asked, with reverence I haven’t heard from him yet, the quiet wonder at this mythical teacher from my childhood visible in his eyes, and it warmed me to see it. With a smile of my own I answered: “Hwan.” As simple as that.

I didn’t tell him his real name. I couldn’t yet. My teacher was a controversial character, a forbidden topic, and these dragons were most definitely aware of him, as his sudden disappearance happened only something over a decade ago. He was the first dragon in centuries to openly go against the throne, and the first person I’ve ever met that was part of a resistance against the empire. Hwan was the name he went by while he stayed with us, when he pretended to be human while going to the town’s market with me.

I’ve already learned from my mistake once. I wouldn’t reveal his name until I was sure it was safe.

“I don’t remember a dragon with that name,” Jungkook thought out loud, contemplative expression taking over his youthful face, “do you know what his magick is?”

“I’m not sure where he is currently,” was all I answered with, shutting down the conversation with firm gentleness. Thankfully the man understood. He gave me one long curious silent look, eyes taking me in from head down to my toes, something a little unreadable settling into them. But an air of softness remained, one that made me comfortable in his presence against all facts and reason.

“Let’s go try horse riding now,” was all he finally said, a little more mischief bleeding into his features, “last time you barely even rode. I need to know you can keep yourself in the saddle.”

With a nod I followed after him, silently musing on whether the bond manifested in things deeper than just compatibility for magick. Things that would explain why the pull towards the younger dragon exceeded reason and strayed into the territory of complicated feelings of comfort and safety.

Jimin shuffled nervously right next to his hyung, shuddering under the barrage of negative emotions flowing into him from Hoseok’s side of the bond.

“You shouldn’t encourage him so much, you know,” Hoseok chided him softly, even though the water dragon felt the weight of his hyungs fears and anxieties. But he didn’t think he was deserving of a scolding nevertheless.

“What do you mean? I barely even did anything,” Jimin grumbled under his breath, eyes trained on the duo running side by side by the fence, one ear listening into the conversation and heart enquiringly checking on Jungkook’s emotions. Hope, curiousness, tender joy. All that shined through, and he knew that his hyung felt it too. And didn’t like it one bit. “He spilled everything all on his own,” Jimin added for good measure.

He subconsciously rubbed at the tender skin of his wrist, mind going back to the night of the banquet, as it so often did these days. He couldn’t shake off the buzz of the bond as it shocked through him with such intensity for a moment he thought she touched him and not Kookie. Sometimes, it would still run through his nervous system like a phantom pain, even days later.

“Kookie’s excited about his first bond,” Hoseok said, but his voice carried no happiness that would be normally present during such occasions, that was all taken away by the circumstance of the situation, “but this whole thing is rubbing me the wrong way. I just don’t want him to get hurt through this. Bonds have a way of influencing you, and especially the first ones can feel quite intense. I don’t want him to be blinded by it to what might be happening here.”

Jimin looked to his hyung with alarm, heart painfully contracting under the wave of freezing cold dread seeping through his bones.

“You think there’s an ulterior motive to the bond,” the younger dragon meant it as a question, but at that point it was useless to ask. Hoseok obviously thought something else was going on under all this, and the possibility of it lit some sort of primal fear in Jimin. Bonds used to be a sacred thing, thinking that they could be stripped from all their beauty and used so villainously, it never failed to tear him apart. Never failed to remind him of all that was taken from them.

“Think about it,” Hoseok stated seriously, eyes similarly glued to Jungkook and watching his smiling face with a hint of despair, “We’ve never felt a bond similar to this one. Neither the hyungs nor Joonie have ever heard of something similar. She’s a daughter of a man as close to the throne as one can be. Is it really such a stretch to believe that he may have tampered with the bond?”

“But would that even be possible?” Jimin asked, voice quiet as the horrifying feasibility sunk into his mind, “It can’t, right?” That would change everything. It would take away more than they’ve already lost – it would warp the very nature of their souls. Haven’t they already destroyed enough? Would they go as far as to mess with natural magical bonds?

“He’s already done so much and he continues to want even more,” Hoseok argued firmly, no traces of the smiling man left in his demeanour, “I have no idea what Kangdae’s end goal is, but if there’s someone capable of this, it’s him. And she’s in his closest circle, her father serves him more than he serves his own family.” No matter how many times Jimin heard the emperor’s name flow out so effortlessly in conversation, he still got an uncomfortable feeling. His hyungs using it like that didn’t feel right – it made him too scared for them, like they were committing a grave sin. Yet they never budged.

Looking back to the young duo, a chilling sensation gripped Jimin’s insides. Could this be a trap? What would even be the purpose of manipulating a bond like that? Was she originally not meant for them?

“I worry for him too,” Jimin muttered finally, “We’ll have to keep an eye on him.” The things they needed to keep close eyes on just kept stacking up and Jimin was about to lose his mind if this continued. The threat hanging over all their heads somehow felt more present than ever. Not even the thought of his all-knowing hyungs made him feel better. Quite the opposite – feeling their quiet dismay, their wide eyes and hushed whispers when they thought they wouldn’t notice, it drove Jimin even more wild with panic.

“I wish we could consult the ancients on this,” the blue-haired dragon whispered quiet enough that had his companion not paid attention, he’d miss it, “the closest we got to that is Jin-hyung and he’s as lost as we are.” Hoseok’s tiny fond chuckle lifted some weight off of Jimin’s shoulders, the younger dragon turning to his hyung with a smile.

“Don’t let him hear that or we’ll never hear the end of it,” the healer teased softly, reaching out to mess with Jimin’s hair. Silence settled around them, but it was oppressive in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time, not around his mates. He shivered with it, tried to withstand it, but couldn’t without the warmth his lovers offered.

Reaching out for his hyung’s hand, they shuffled around until Hoseok was protectively holding him curled into his side as they both watched on, hearts heavy and minds racing a mile in a minute.

Jimin noted to himself all that she shared, vowing to ask Jin-hyung later about that dragon she spoke so highly of. He hoped, and Jungkook might never believe him this, but he really hoped she wasn’t deceiving them. Not because of her, but for Jungkook’s sake. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if this ended up hurting their youngest packmate.

Bonds cut deep, especially when they ended badly. Yoongi-hyung still carried those scars in him to prove that. He himself knew the pain of bonds that were forced on him – how oppressive they were to his own mind and heart, how every time he was used for a battle and then discarded, his soul wept for the loss of a bond that never really existed in the first place.

For all their might and power, dragons were tender beings. Easily swayed by shiny trinkets and a little kindness, they got attached so readily, and felt grief deeply when everything died in the end and they carried on.

Whether she betrayed him or died, that wound would stay with Jungkook for the rest of his nigh eternal life, and he so desperately wished he could protect him from that.

Jimin, in that moment of all-consuming terrifying despair and helplessness, knew he would give everything, even his own life, to ensure the crash and fall of the empire just to tear Jungkook out of the way of a sure tragedy in the form of his new potential rider.

“Has Taehyungie had any vision about this?” Hoseok’s voice suddenly cut through his spiralling thoughts, pulling Jimin from his little circle of doom, “Last I asked him he said he can’t see anything.” The blue-haired man thought back to the day before, to his younger mate with his dark red, heavy curls falling into his eyes, the worried frustrated expression on his face translating into the wobbling lip when he came to Jimin absolutely shattered that he can’t help his hyungs in any way, the fear dripping so thick off of him the water dragon almost tasted it in the air. Tae was devastated at his own inability to induce a vision on the young knightess, even though he privately shared with Jimin that it didn’t feel completely wrong, only that he wasn’t supposed to know yet (which according to him happened sometimes, but it still felt awful). Nonetheless it only added to the unsureness that hung about them when it came to this bond.

“No, he’s trying really hard but can’t see anything,” Jimin whispered towards his hyung, even though he was pretty sure Jungkook wasn’t listening he’d still rather he didn’t hear this on accident, “Please don’t ask him about it, hyung. He’s feeling terrible.”

Hoseok gave him a sad smile and nodded, his hands tightening on the younger worried man as he himself sunk into the troubling thoughts. Jimin hated the sudden air of uncertainty hanging over their heads that irritatingly everyone except for their youngest seemed to feel.

Jungkook kept his oblivious care-free aura while everyone around him panicked about the future of the pack, even future of dragons at all. His hyungs were running themselves thin trying to find out what this meant while he sat around the town house and talked about how he couldn’t wait for the bonding ritual.

Jimin was as angry with him as he was worried for him. But only time would tell which way this would go. And deep in his heart he knew that even if the world was falling apart, his hyungs would never let them get hurt.

Squeezing Hobi’s hand back, he finally allowed himself to relax into the warm man’s embrace.

Maybe somewhere in this country still were children who felt comforted and encouraged by their father’s presence by their side, but I certainly wasn’t one of them. The stifling aura of him hovering behind me put me on edge, the threat of ‘impress him or else’ hanging in the air over us. Father would never say it outright, no, that wasn’t his style. But it was always written into him, into his features, into the firm grip of his hand on my arm when he wanted me to check myself.

Brother stood next to him looking bored, doing his best to miss all of my pointed stares, so I redirected my attention back to the gold-plated doors in front of me, waiting for them to open and invite us in.

The emperor sometimes liked to keep people waiting. If it was just my father, he’d be let in immediately, but since it was our entire family he felt the need to show power and let us stand outside for a while. I felt the mounting wave of frustration and annoyance, pursing my lips together to keep myself in line. None of us spoke and it made the time tick by even slower. Two stripes guards flanked the door on each side and nervously evaded our eyes, no doubt wishing they were anywhere else than in front of the increasingly more displeased old general.

Then finally, after what felt like a whole hour, the door slowly creaked open and I suddenly found myself on the forefront of our little group, first to be seen, first to move and first to speak. It was unnerving.

It took a little shove to my lower back (I wasn’t sure which one of the men it was, but it was effective) to make me move into the room, and I did so sluggishly – focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and not on the man sitting leisurely on a sofa at the centre of the room. Subconsciously I straightened and adjusted my black and silver uniform, even though he didn’t look up. He actually looked like he couldn’t care less and for a moment I pondered over how my father managed decades of sucking up to a person like that. My patience would have run out so fast I’d be executed before my pillow even had the chance to permanently dent into the shape of my head.

Even though I knew the emperor was a few years older than my brother, he looked young, maybe even younger than me. He didn’t stand, and he didn’t have to, but we still kneeled on the little carpet and bowed to his uninterested form. It was humiliating and rage inducing, my hands curling into tight fists as if I was contemplating lunging at him and punching him. I wasn’t, I just wanted to go home mainly.

The emperor asked us to meet us in one of his salons that he sometimes used for official visits, so instead of the throne room we found ourselves in a pompously decorated room with a theme that I could only describe as “rubies”. The man himself sat on a sofa that was on a little platform, step above everyone else, and he stood out as a sore thumb with his golden aura in the sea of reds and crimsons.

I twitched towards one of the sofas, but a hand on my wrist immediately pulled me back into place, and so we just silently stood there some more, waiting for some command or a simple acknowledgement, but the golden man kept wordlessly scribbling something onto a stack of documents. After the fourth line I felt the frustration return with full force (and then some more), gritting my teeth as we humiliatingly waited with heads hung low in respect.

Then the sound stopped. The man clapped twice and everything set into motion. I was pulled by my father to a sofa, and I confusedly let myself be manhandled into place while I watched the flurry of servants run in with tea and sweets and carry the stack of documents out. A second later the emperor’s eyes were on me, for what felt like first time in my life.

For some reason I was surprised by his beauty. I didn’t know why, I’ve seen him before but always from much further away. I had a better idea of what his father looked like, and at the end of his life he turned into a bitter mean old man, therefore the youthful charm took the wind out of my sails lightly.

He was bathed in gold, from head to toe – from his attire and jewels to his skin, to his burning bright hair. Even his eyes had specks of gold swimming in the brown. But the longer I looked at him, the more I saw the signs of his cruelty, things that no amount of grace and allure could hide – his stare had no warmth in it despite his polite smile, instead it froze me down with its poorly hidden brutality; his sharp features didn’t as much add to his handsomeness as they brought out the shadows on his face, underlining the haunting savagery of his faux kind smile. When his lips stretched to reveal his white perfect teeth, I was almost expecting to see them pointy and sharp enough to tear flesh to shreds.

“Yeong-su, Man-young,” he greeted with a nod first my father, then my brother, before his eyes redirected to me, “and you must be Y/N then.” His voice was strong and firm, with a tone of courteousness so false it felt sleazy. I shuddered, barely managed to hide it from his inquisitive eyes and then shakily smiled back with my own nod.

“Your majesty,” father greeted, just as slimy and with a similar looking smile. I supressed the disgust crawling up the sides of my stomach and kept to myself. This might have been the first and only time I was happy about the general insisting I don’t speak so I don’t embarrass him.

“I hope your morning has gone well, our empire,” he continued, head bowed so deep his chin was digging into his breastbone, “we, your people, are joyous for the opportunity to meet with you.” Seeing Man-young going into a slight bow again, I scrambled to follow, not giving myself the space to inspect that pile of insincere grovelling bullshit.

“Thank you, general,” came a simple answer, “I hear you are here for the purpose of your daughter’s bonding. Your eyes are on Bangtan, general?” It felt both inquisitive and threatening, like a thinly-veiled warning. I curiously watched my father, the proud man that he was who would rather die than let anyone disrespect him, as he ducked his head in pretend humility. I’d never realised that he was such a damned good actor.

“Of course not, our empire, we wouldn’t dare to demand your dragons, we can simply hope and beg for your blessing.” That seemed to have satisfied the young sovereign, and I had to wonder whether he was genuinely stupid enough to believe it or whether he didn’t care because he knew his place of power and trusted in his invincibility. Surely, everyone could tell these were all fake sentiments, even the man that’s been listening to them since his birth?

A nudge broke me out of my reverie and I realised my father wanted me to grovel alongside with him, but before I could think of anything to say, a knock to the door interrupted us.

“Oh, perfect timing,” emperor exclaimed, for the first time with a real sense of excitement which put me off slightly, and then he was gesturing for the door to open. And the most curious group of people stood behind it.

The first to stroll leisurely into the room was Duke Lee, and I barely suppressed the obvious disgust on my face. He only shot me a single unfriendly glare before his expression melted into a similar smarminess of all the council members in the presence of the emperor. I tuned out his dick-sucking-esque monologue that the ruler seemed to eat up to take in the other three newcomers. Well, except that they weren’t truly new to me.

The silver-haired dragon I’ve seen a mere week ago when my father dragged me to the council meeting still had his signature cold expressionless mask on and he silently made his way through the room without acknowledging anyone to sit on a chair by the emperor’s sofa.

The other two were a surprise to me.

Jungkook wearing a uniform I’d never seen before (and that he seemed exceedingly uncomfortable in) and constantly squirming in place tried to greet me, but was promptly stopped by his companion. A dragon I knew very well despite the fact that I haven’t officially met him before. He was only slightly taller than Jungkook, but his muscular and wide form made him seem towering, alongside the power and authority that was pouring off of him in waves that attempted to drown me. His golden fiery eyes were fond yet firm on Jungkook’s squirming form, before they turned into the room and became as cold and hard as stone. I had to fight back the urge to kneel and bow to him just like we did to the emperor.

I was face to face with Namjoon, the head of Bangtan thunder, a fire dragon and one of the most easily recognisable faces of the dragonkind staying in or around the castle.

The second our eyes met I shot to my feet and bowed full 90 degrees to him, shocking the room into silence as everyone’s attention was suddenly drawn to me. When I straightened back up, Namjoon was giving me a strange look, but said nothing. He only pulled Jungkook with him to a sofa opposite of us and they made themselves comfortable.

“You’ve served me well since my coronation, general,” the emperor started again, “and my father for long years before that. You know it would be a pleasure to have my dragons in your family’s care.” Now it was my father who stood up and bowed fully, dragging me with him to extend the same courtesy, which I did with significantly more difficulty than when I bowed to Namjoon.

Duke Lee found his place on the same sofa as the two dragons, watching the exchange with fiery eyes, lips turned to a thin line. I didn’t even know what he was doing here, and his salty aura was really ruining the morning for me even further, so I did my best to ignore his very existence.

“Jungkook is your bonded, then?” this question was aimed at me, but the king was already eyeing the two Bangtan dragons sitting uncomfortably next to the slimy duke. They knew better than to speak and only inclined their heads, though I could see Namjoon fighting off words.

“Not yet, your majesty, though I hope for his acceptance,” I chose my words carefully, once again trying to dangerously toe the line of politeness and smarminess, desperately trying to please both sides and escape suspicion, but by the unhappy twitch of emperor’s lips and the cold expression on Namjoon’s face, I was failing at both.

“You have my approval, that’s more than law,” the gold-clad man stated firmly, voice void of the falseness it held before, “Do you want him to be yours?” This was the real man on the throne. Only now we truly had the pleasure of meeting him.

Now, that was the question, wasn’t it? Everything and more on the line with a single word – yes, of course I wanted to bond Jungkook. Did his thunder wish for the same? Would they ever forgive me for not giving them a choice? Those both had the same answer, one whose outcome I had to risk either way, and I hated it. Not more than them, though.

“Yes, your majesty,” I settled for, not wanting to drag it out. It was safer to stick to short answers and the man himself wasn’t interested in anything more. Namjoon sat in his place, frozen – not with shock, I don’t think at that point he had it in him to be surprised at this anymore. It felt more like resignation. Jungkook still looked the same, looked at me the same, but the heaviness in his shoulders spoke of his mate’s emotional turmoil.

“Very well,” were the next emperor’s words and with that it was decided. I sat back down and kept my head hung low. I was too guilt-ridden to look at the dragons anymore, the humiliation swirled in my stomach and made me sick, and all I wanted was to just have this all behind me. Once bonded, it would get easier – and then a whole lot more difficult.

“Duke, how is the rest of the unit?”

Well, that had my attention, but I pretended not to watch the exchange, keeping my gaze at the table and the variety of colourful chocolate sweets that still sat untouched on the beautiful decorative plate. I just saw Namjoon’s tense form and Jungkook’s squirming legs while he found it hard to settle down into the furnishing. The straight posture of my brother to my side told me he was also diligently keeping up, though I couldn’t understand why this would fall under the umbrella of his interests. My brother was a shadow, he had nothing to do with the horns.

But the most curious was that Lee seemed to be involved to this extent.

“Excellent, our empire, from what I’ve heard three others have already found their dragons as well,” the duke’s irksome voice replied, and I was minutely reminded of baron Kim and his overt friendliness, “Only two remain undecided.”

When did he become the spokesperson of Qinglong? As far as I was aware, he had nothing to do with the unit. I haven’t even really seen him around the dragon-knights, so how come he was suddenly being summoned like this to speak of the unit and the new arrivals? How has he managed to weasel his way in here, when just a few months back he was mostly whining about mining and gems?

“Splendid. I want the bonding ceremony to happen in three days,” the sovereign demanded, in the manner that he was used to – speaking it into existence, “It will be the full moon. Make sure the others are ready as well.” There was some more small-talk, mostly the duke bending over backwards to agree and promise he will make it happen, while the rest of us watched him with varying stages of appalment.

“Oh, that’s right duke, I’ve heard your son showed a brilliant performance with a sword,” it was a statement uttered thoughtlessly as part of the polite conversation, but just as the information sunk into my brain and I froze, I saw Jungkook do the same. Almost on instinct we looked to each other, similar sense of horror looming over us both, and I saw Namjoon’s eyes flit between us in alarm out of the corner of my eye.

The bad premonition got confirmed when the duke suddenly straightened in joy, and if he had a tail, it would be wagging wildly behind him at that moment, and he started prattling off about his son championing the banquet.

Peacock. His son was Peacock.

Well, that didn’t complicate anything at all! I should have fucking known the moment I looked at that bastard, this particular brand of being an awful person truly did run in the family. And it explained the duke being all salty and mad about me interacting with Bangtan. With him weaselling into the emperor’s graces and into the higher layers of the dragon unit, he most probably aimed for his son to be the one to snatch Jungkook or Jimin. I wondered whether his son was one of the two who still didn’t find their dragons or whether they managed to find someone pleasing enough. I thought back to the poor dragon with fire red hair and hoped that he wasn’t a potential connection to that ass.

It also explained the sudden change of the banquet activities and the fact that Peacock knew of the details before anyone else did. It wasn’t because Lord Kim was sucking up to his father, it was because Duke Lee somehow found a way to involve himself with the unit.

Oh, father would not be happy about that…

“Your majesty,” Namjoon’s deep rumbling voice cut through the duke’s uninteresting chatter, and immediately commanded the attention of the whole room, “If you don’t mind the suggestion, I had hoped that young mistress Kang would be first introduced to the thunder before we make the decision to bond with her. Three days is quite fast.” Clearly the date bothered him quite a lot, and I felt a pang in my heart at the closed off unhappy expression on his face when he spoke of me.

But before the emperor could answer him, and by the look on his face he wasn’t very happy with the dragon, Jungkook hurriedly interjected. “I have already made the decision to bond with Y/N-ssi,” tumbled out of his mouth in a rush and surprised both me and Namjoon. I felt a light blush rise to my cheeks and this time my heart hurt from the timid joy at such an earnest confession, while Namjoon watched his youngest mate with hard warning eyes.

To everybody else in the room though it felt like a hasty attempt to smooth out the fire dragon’s uncompromising words, including the visibly displeased sovereign sitting above us like a ruler of the universe.

“The decision has been made, dragon,” the golden man spit out, a beastly sneer sneaking onto his face when he looked over the hundreds of years old magical being that he thought was beneath him, “You have two days to introduce her to the thunder.”

I was getting ready to intercept and try to save the situation a little, syphon away a little bit of that anger the man clearly felt at not being listened to unconditionally, and as much as that made me dislike him even more, I did have to suck up to him in situations like these. But then he scoffed and continued.

“Or better yet, do it today. That’s an order.” All the peace-making words died in my throat, and I nervously glanced towards the fire dragon, who was discreetly trying to hide the daggers in his eyes. He said nothing and nodded, holding Jungkook’s wrist. The younger dragon looked towards me with troubled eyes, and that was that. Stellar.

My irritation towards the emperor steadily rose, as he seemed to be adamant on making this as hard for me as possible, so I just quietly gulped everything down and sat patiently and politely by my father’s side.

The rest of the meeting flew by and I barely even paid attention, too busy trying to think through the buzz of nerves how to ease the tension, but ultimately deciding that I had to ride this one out, see and think quick on my feet based on their reactions. Namjoon, similar to Hoseok yesterday, had that air of gentleness when he looked to Jungkook, and while that all disappeared the moment his eyes weren’t on his mate, I still hoped he wouldn’t be unmovable. I’d learn what I’d have to do to earn his trust, all in good time.

In the meantime I let myself be comforted by the fact that Jungkook seemed to be fully in acceptance of this bond. I wondered whether he was able to feel anything from me. Maybe my genuinity shined through the connection, maybe deep down he felt he could trust me. I desperately didn’t want to let him down.

When the emperor finally sent us on our way, my family didn’t even waste time talking to me. With a curt nod both the men stepped through the door and set out towards the Academy, only my father pausing shortly to send me a distinctive warning look that screamed ‘don’t fuck this for us’ before he walked off.

Jungkook was cautiously smiling my way, but Namjoon next to him stood tensely, unreadable gaze glued to my father’s back. I hoped that there wasn’t much bad blood between them, but given my father’s personality you simply couldn’t spend the last 35 years in the same circles without inevitably ending up hating him, so that was probably a foolish wish.

When the golden gaze shifted to me it felt like a whole mountain was suddenly sitting on my shoulders, the weight and depth of his eyes pressing me into the ground. He was a respectable man, taking his place of standing between his thunder and the emperor very seriously, and it reflected all in his straight back and dark eyes. To me it was the first time I found myself firmly in the centre of his attention, and I wasn’t prepared for the intensity of that stare that felt like it was burning through me straight to the deepest most hidden and vulnerable places in my soul.

He wasn’t happy with me. He didn’t like me accepting on behalf of Jungkook. I could read it all there, and I felt deeply ashamed.

The silence stretching was weighing down heavily on me, I couldn’t help myself but shake in the tense atmosphere. Even Jungkook only quietly watched his thunder leader, not daring to speak out while Namjoon’s calculating gaze took me in.

Finally buckling under that stare I hesitantly bent at the waist, bowing to the man in the same manner I did to all the other dragons from this thunder I met, but inside I was second-guessing everything.

“Authority, it is an honour to meet you,” it was a miracle I didn’t stumble all over my words and stutter, that was the effect the dragon had on people around him. I saw the surprise written over his face at the title used, Jungkook smiling proudly next to him and trying to catch his eye in a ‘look at me, I was right!!’ way.

The term ‘authority’ was an old title (well, now it was an old title, just a few hundred years back it was completely normal) used for leaders of thunders. It was the correct way of addressing the dragons in positions of power among their peers, and while it was a little heavy-handed in the human language, it was a direct translation from draconic. It didn’t need to make perfect sense in the context of our speak. And it wasn’t really used here anymore.

I would bet that most didn’t even know a term like this existed – and I wouldn’t have known either if it wasn’t for Hwan who taught me a little about dragon history and hierarchy.

“No need to address me as such, I hardly am an authority anymore,” the man grumbled, but his energy was a lot less hostile. Now he just seemed resigned, which also wasn’t good. I didn’t want to argue with him, so I just decided to let it go.

“Namjoon-ssi, if today isn’t suitable for you, I can come a different day,” I offered him, head still humbly lowered, “Or I can come for dinner.” The man just waved his hand around like dismissing an annoying fly and set out, Jungkook scrambling to follow after him.

“There’s no reason to. Just come,” he said simply over his shoulder, not really looking back to see whether I went after or not. With a deep sigh I willed my feet to run after them, resigning myself to a cluster-fuck of an afternoon.

Their town house was on the other side of the castle, hidden in the shadow of the big black rock the structure sat on – maybe somewhat poetically. All in all it looked very similar to ours, which was slightly worrying given the fact that our household hosted only three people, while this thunder had seven. Though mated dragons would most probably have less need for individual bedrooms, but also there was absolutely no space for them to turn forms.

Which, unfortunately, was a thing that dragons rarely got to do unless humans commanded them to. Even though they needed to regularly spend time in both forms, people often got antsy around the massive beasts and didn’t like to see it. So dragons mostly turned only if they needed to fly or they left the city and spent a few hours out in the woods.

I took the dwelling in – it seemed quite ordinary and it was obvious on first glance that it wasn’t a place they considered home. The most beautiful and cared for part of the house was the little garden in the inner courtyard, which I supposed was Hoseok’s work.

The house was quiet as we stepped through the main gate, it seemed completely empty and for a moment I wondered whether I’d have to spent hours sitting here only with Jungkook and Namjoon, because I wasn’t so sure I was quite ready for that.

But it was an unnecessary fear as I came to realise when we stepped inside, heading towards the dining room – the thunder was already sitting ready around a traditional table with pillows strewn around and a warm feast waiting for us to dig in. Three pillows were empty – two at the opposite ends of the table and one to the right side of the closer empty one.

Both dragons left me standing unsure in the doorway into the room, heading straight for the table – Namjoon sat down at the head of the table, next to a broad-shouldered pink-haired man with massive wings spanning from his back and a very unfriendly looking man with long black hair and black horns curling around the crown of his head. That one I recognised – it was very hard to forget Yoongi once you’d seen him once. Especially when you’ve found yourself at the receiving end of that stare. Which I had before. It was not pleasant.

For the second time that day I found myself bowing respectfully, though now to considerably bigger number of dragons.

“Thank you for having me,” it was hard to say in a volume louder than a whisper – it felt like it should be whispered. It was useless politeness, given the fact that they were ordered to have me for lunch, but it was better than not saying anything.

Jungkook, who took the empty seat by the end of the table patted the pillow next to him and I slowly walked over to take it, folding myself down. No one spoke. When I chanced looking up, I found that their gazes seemed quite neutral and they were just taking me in. Well, except for Yoongi, who never gave much thought to pointless politeness – and strangely enough Hoseok, whose eyes had something unreadable but definitely not good in them.

This seat put me directly opposite of Namjoon, and much like before in the hall he left the silence stretch until I had time to spiral all the way down thinking I had already managed to fuck up a first meeting given the fact the cheerful nature dragon was looking at me like he’d need to protect his den from my murderous rage by the end of this meal.

“Let me properly introduce myself,” I started in the end, though at that point it already felt a little too late, but the quiet had a way of messing with my head. I had spent too many hours under my father’s wordless disappointment to keep my cool under such heavy gazes. “I am Kang Y/N of the northern clan.” Nothing more was needed to say.

Everybody already seemed to know though, so at least we saved ourselves that awkward realisation.

“Welcome to our house, Kang Y/N of the northern clan,” the pink-haired dragon spoke, and I was so relieved I could cry of happiness. The man had an aura of unnatural beauty about him and in my head I went through the packmates I still haven’t met trying to guess who he was. Taking in the air of maturity and a sense of duty that exuded from him, the firm yet gentle voice he spoke with and the wings that looked very uncomfortably folded over his back and bent over the ground, I was betting on the eldest.

“That’s Jin-hyung,” Jungkook whispered to me, though his voice was still loud enough to be heard through the whole room, drawing some smiles from the rest of the men. It broke the ice a little, draining away a bit of that tenseness from their shoulders, which I was infinitely grateful for.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Seokjin-ssi,” I greeted the dragon properly, bowing once more with a small smile – which he accepted graciously.

Turning to the two other dragons I’ve met before I gave each a small bow as well. “And nice to see you again, Jimin-ssi, Hoseok-ssi.” Their smiles were significantly less enthusiastic, but I’d take it. Better than nothing.

Now there were two dragons left – one that I recognised as Yoongi and one that had to be Taehyung, but neither of them seemed eager to introduce themselves. While Yoongi still kept his air of careful hostility, Taehyung looked at me curiously but with very obvious apprehension. I saw his hand tightly gripping onto Hoseok sitting next to him and given the fact that he sat at the end of the table, opposite of Jungkook, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. I tried not to take it personally.

Choosing to stop dancing around it, I took the moment to look into his eyes, hoping to convey as much genuineness as possible in that single glance and said: “It is an honour to meet you as well, Taehyung-ssi.”

The man didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, only turned his head slightly as if thinking. His eyes took me in, as if looking at me for the first time, before he finally straightened and leaned away from his older mate, instead choosing to watch me with intensity rivalling that of Namjoon. But while under the Authority’s eyes I felt like he was searching my soul for any wrongdoing, Taehyung’s eyes were like those of a curious child faced with an exciting experiment.

I had no idea whether that was a good thing, but it seemed better than before.

The last dragon didn’t even really give me a chance to speak, just nodded at me recognising that I knew him and to move on. So I did. Out of everyone here, the atmokinetic was the one I wanted to antagonise the least, so I just let it go and settled more into my seat.

“Well, let’s dig in,” Seokjin announced, still a little wooden, but the prospect of food worked like a charm to loosen up the atmosphere. Now we didn’t need to speak and the silence could be filled with sounds of eating, saving us from the inevitable awkward ‘what are your intentions with my son’ conversation.

“So, Y/N.” Or not.

I looked up to Namjoon, who sat tensely in his seat, something little pulled onto his plate just so he wouldn’t stand out, but both his hands were clasped together in front of his face and he peered at me over them.

“Yes, Authority,” I answered, hoping he wouldn’t take offence to me bringing back the title now that we were in the privacy of his home and thunder, and while he didn’t react much, at least he didn’t tell me to stop. Everyone else at the table though turned to look at me shocked, and I burned under those six gazes, rather choosing not to dissect the meanings behind their eyes for the sake of my own psyche.

Seokjin at least seemed somewhat appeased, though Yoongi started frowning even more if that was even possible. I felt the examining probing gaze of Taehyung, but I didn’t turn.

I wondered whether I was trying a little too hard a little too soon. I hoped that I was laying down the foundation of future partnerships. If nothing else, I knew that Jungkook strangely remained firmly on my side.

“Why Qinglong?” Namjoon asked, neutrally watching me over the rim of a glass he picked up. If possible, my heart sped up even more when all the dragons paused and looked towards me, eyes reflecting various stages of curiosity and mistrust.

“I…” I felt my throat go dry, thoughts racing in my head, all trying to come up with the best way to put this without antagonising anyone even more.

“I’ve honestly always wanted to work with dragons,” I settled on, giving them a shaky smile. No one reacted, their faces stayed passive and gazes inquisitive, waiting for me to continue. “I had a teacher, when I was younger-” I was prepared to launch into the whole explanation again, but Seokjin’s quick response stopped me.

“Oh, that’s right!” the pink-haired man exclaimed, “Jimin and Jungkook mentioned the dragon you knew. Hwan, am I right?” I nodded, a little shocked, hesitantly looking over to Jimin. Jungkook telling his thunder was expected, but Jimin wasn’t even a part of that conversation. What could he possibly had to say about it?

The water dragon in question stubbornly avoided my gaze though, watching his plate as he chased unruly vegetables around with his spoon. He had nothing more to add now. The anxiety of his sudden change in demeanour was haunting me – of course it was something different to joke around when we barely knew each other, but I would have lied if I pretended his new attitude didn’t sting.

“Yes, that was- is his name,” I stumbled through the sentence, dragging my eyes back to the eldest who was giving me a stunted polite smile. He tried really hard to maintain some sense of normalcy, and for that I was grateful, now that Jimin and Hoseok barely looked at me, Yoongi and Namjoon outright didn’t like me, Taehyung unsettled me and Jungkook awkwardly sat through it all with a smile on his face.

“Was? Is?” the dragon repeated with an uncomfortable confused smile, “I only met a single dragon named Hwan, and I doubt you met the same one. I don’t recall any other dragons of that name.”

“I am not sure where he is now,” I repeated the words I said to Jungkook yesterday noon, “He spent only a year at our fief. He and his knight-“

“Were travelling knights,” Seokjin jumped in, the smile a little more wooden, “Yes, Jimin mentioned you said that.” The atmosphere in the room was plunged into something more tense and uncomfortable, I could feel it charged between us.

“Therefore,” I forced out a little firmer than I wanted to, “I cannot say whether you knew him or not. I don’t know when and for how long they were in Wuyun, if even." Seokjin looked at me for few long moments, the table silent. No one was saying anything, all the dragons watching the interaction with bated breaths – especially Jungkook who for once actually squirmed with nerves, unsure of how the situation would spin.

But then Seokjin smiled again, digging back into his food with a polite expression. The others followed his example and the table rang with cutlery clinking against porcelain. I nervously followed suit. The stress took a toll on me, and I felt almost resignation settling into me. I was tired, and I was fighting a losing battle.

I knew I had to try harder, longer, and I was prepared for that. I’d earn it.

The dinner carried on, awkward small-talk springing up here or there between bouts of tense silence. None of the dragons tried to stray towards any conflicting topics again, choosing to talk about benign things, mostly with each other letting me tag along.

Yoongi didn’t say a single word the entire evening, and neither did Taehyung, though both of their energies varied strongly.

I desperately tried to hold on, letting the dragons speak and only occasionally adding something, eyes ever so often searching Jungkook’s, begging for the reassurance that I knew I’d find there. And he always delivered, smiling at me in a way that said ‘don’t worry, it’ll be okay’, and I so desperately wanted to believe that. Guess I’d have to give it time.

The first dinner could have gone better, could have been less charged, less infused with unsureness and fear, but that evening I still left filled with hope quivering in my heart, buzzing with resolve I hadn’t known for a long while.

“Duke Lee weaseled his way to the Emperor like the rat he is,” the general hissed, and I sighed into my cup knowing exactly what was coming next. “I made a mistake not paying attention to Qinglong. He thinks he can fuck me over, sneaking through the back like this. He’s always had it in for me.”

I stabbed my fork around my plate, chasing the food around and playing with it, trying not to catch the man’s attention. Whenever he got like this it was rough, and sometimes no matter what you did you still ended up at the receiving end of his fury.

He didn’t take well to any perceived competition, and Duke Lee sleazing his way into father’s personal meeting with the emperor definitely displeased him.

Even with the slight pride I was able to win him in these past few days, during the duration of this very uncomfortable lunch I felt his eyes stray to me more than once, an unreadable look on his face. I knew it quite well – he was planning something, and I didn’t like that somehow I seemed to be involved in that.

My brother sat opposite of me as usual, gaze curious and impassive all at once trained on the quietly raging man. He also seemed to be aware that he was in the clear for this one, given the relaxed nature of his usually tense form.

I was waiting for the shoe to drop, attempting to at least somewhat enjoy the food presented – after all, it wasn’t the cook’s fault the general chose this time to throw a temper tantrum and spin his evil plans.

“Y/N.”

I froze mid-bite, heart contracting painfully for an agonising moment before I untensed and turned to face the older man.

“Yes, father?” I hoped that bundle of nerves choking me wasn’t audible in my voice, that I didn’t sound as strained as I felt. I was hoping to escape this for now, though I knew I couldn’t keep the man off my back for long with just a few promises to fly Bangtan.

“There is a general leading the Qinglong unit, right?” he asked, far-away contemplative look in his eyes as he barely regarded me.

“Yes, father, Qinglong is led by General Yun and her dragoness Ha-rin,” I answered dutifully, a bad feeling settling into my stomach and weighing it down. The man only hummed, swirling the glass in hand. He minutely looked towards my brother, the two men holding eye contact for few gut-wrenching seconds before he turned back to me.

“I will look into the affiliations, but considering the size of the unit I cannot imagine there’s many ranked,” the general scoffed, something vile creeping into his eyes, “There’s at most two captain generals, which would mean around four corporals and four captains. Horns have always banked more on infamy then numbers.” The cruelty in his mocking sneer never failed to shock me, not when he always found a new way to remind me of all of his worst qualities. Just like today.

“Man-young is working hard to climb the shadows’ ranks,” father said and gestured towards my brother who still leisurely ate dinner, “I will not have you pull him down by not trying for the same. Bangtan is only the beginning.” I’ve already heard these demands before, but he’s never said them with so much undebatable conviction. There was no arguing – and I would not attempt to.

“Yes father,” I recited obediently, bowing my head in show of submission and satisfying his ego. What was it they said? Revenge tastes sweeter when the lamb trusts you with their very life? The betrayal never feels better than when they never thought you’d be the one to stab the knife in?

My father thought he knew me the best. He thought he knew how to control me the best. I fought to stifle my smile. I still had a surprise or two down my sleeves, general.

“I will pull some strings, they will not embarrass me by not having you promoted by the end of the year,” the man continued, lost to his own thoughts swirling around in that machine for destruction he called brain, hand carding through his greying black short hair and silver stubble, stormy grey eyes glazed as he already planned his next steps. “Once you become captain, you need to pull your own weight. I want you a corporal within the next year, Y/N. I hope you chose the right dragon for battle.”

I ignored the remark about Jungkook and nodded again, head still bowed politely as I agreed once more, the false promises falling out of my lips easily. My brother watched me, eyes inquisitive but none-the-wiser, and I smirked his way. I saw the exact moment disappointment ran through him, thinking I’m still nothing more than that rebellious kid hell-bent on making his life harder, and though it stung, it was the better option. He was not my friend and he would not be my ally, no matter what.

“You’ll be my tool to claiming Qinglong back to my favour. I will not stand for that vermin trying to run things on my turf.”

This was between me and the goddess of creation, the mother of nature.

But one thing I did have to give to my father – there was one thing he was most definitely right about. Bangtan was only the beginning.

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beenbaanbuun · 2 months ago

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warm w/ choi jongho

“sometimes i don’t feel real,” you whisper, voice only just loud enough to hear over the dialogue of the film. perhaps it isn’t a coincidence that you mention it now, as the two main characters argue about something that is no doubt incredibly important to the plot; perhaps you’re hoping that jongho will be far too invested in the false argument to hear your admission. maybe it’s easier to let the help pass you by all while claiming that you tried than to actually let yourself be helped. being helped takes energy and unfortunately you’re using all of that up trying desperately to stay afloat.

“in what way,” jongho hums, not once taking his eyes away from the screen. if you didn’t know him so well you’d be offended that your problems don’t seem to be worth his time. having spent years by his side, however, you can’t help but be grateful as he seemingly ignores you in favour of the film. it makes it so much easier to say what’s wrong when he seems like he isn’t laying attention. no judgement, or pressure—it’s like yelling into the void except this time there’s someone there to listen.

“nothing feels real,” you say, a little louder this time now that you know you can’t hide behind the film. “i’m a person with a life and a boyfriend and that just… i don’t get it.”

jongho leans forward to grab the glass of water he’d placed on the coffee table earlier. your eyes hone on on the ring of condensation left on the coaster, studying the clear water droplets as if they hold all the secrets to the universe. it gives you something to focus on instead of the contemplative silence of your boyfriend. it’s daunting to think about the fact that you don’t know what’s running through his mind; you don’t know whether what’s coming next is good or bad, and while you have a strong inclining that it’s the former, you just can’t be sure.

its then that something cold hits your leg, smearing icy water across the skin exposed by the shorts you wear. it pulls a squeak out of your mouth and your body moves quick to escape whatever if it that’s touching you. your eyes flick down just in time to see jongho retracting his hand back into his lap, fingers wrapping around the glass that he’d shoved between his thighs for safe keeping. he picks it up like nothing has happened, taking a sip of the ice cold water before letting out a grunt of satisfaction as how smooth it trickles down his throat. it’s like nothing happened; like he didn’t just touch you with his icy fingers.

“did you feel that?” his eyes finally meet yours as he asks his question. you nod with furrowed brows, confused and baffled as to why he paused your discussion just to mess with you. “good,” he smiles, “if you felt it then it’s real, right? it’s like when you punch yourself in a dream”

you can’t help but scoff, “i’m not sure that’s how it works, jongho,” a strange new liveliness makes its way into you as you shuffle across the sofa to get closer to him. you work quickly to take the cup of water from him and set it back on the table, not quite expecting to be met with two large hands on your waist the second it taps against the small mat. they tug at you until your spine is pressed against your boyfriend’s chest, his arms moving quick to wrap around your waist and trap you there. you wriggle experimentally, only for his grip to get tighter.

“no escape baby,” he pressed his lips into your neck and kisses your soft skin, “i’m busy proving to you that i’m real.” his voice vibrates through you in a way that has you squirming ticklishly in his lap.

“get off, you big baby,” he doesn’t. he just snickers against your throat, his bared teeth rubbing softly against your sensitive skin. “it tickles, jongho!” you squeal as he presses a series of kisses against your soft skin. they make your way up your neck, the final one landing just beneath your earlobe. the rhythmic pace of his breathing rings through your ear as he brings his lips up past your ear and kisses your temple.

“that’s the point,” he whispers so quiet that it almost isn’t there. but it is, and you lean into it, letting his voice wash over you like the ocean over the shore. right now, it doesn’t really matter whether this is real or not—though you’re pretty sure your brain wouldn’t be able to come up with a scene so perfect—what matters is that it feels good. sitting in the warm embrace of the man you love feels heavenly, and until the next time he so effortlessly tugs you into his lap, you’re sure that nothing will ever beat this feeling.

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #jongho x reader #jongho fluff

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theresattrpgforthat · 8 months ago

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Hello!! Do you know any TTRPGs surrounding translation or languages? 😊 (thanks for all your work btw!!!)

THEME: Language / Translation Games

Hello friend! As someone who studied linguistics in university, I absolutely love talking about all of the funky things languages do! I hope these recommendations tickle your fancy!

Dialect, by Thorny Games.

Dialect is a game about an isolated community, their language, and what it means for that language to be lost. In this game, you’ll tell the story of the Isolation by building their language. New words will come from the fundamental aspects of the community: who they are, what they believe in, and how they respond to a changing world.

Dialect uses a deck of cards to help minimize the amount of choices you have to make in character creation, by dealing three cards to each player and having the players choose one from just those three. You track the change of your language over a series of turns, using prompts to help you navigate the conversations that arise in your community as the world around them changes.

Dialect has been very highly regarded as a game that really delivers on the experience that it promises. The grief that accompanies language death really shines through this game, so if you want to combine the wonder of creation with the pain of losing something so integral to your sense of being, this is the game for you.

Tiny Frog Wizards, by @prokopetz

You have mastered the secret arts of sorcery

The very primordial energies of creation and destruction are yours to wield as you will.

You are two inches tall.

Tiny Frog Wizards is a game about tiny frogs, wielding magic using the power of words. When you want to do something magical, you will roll somewhere between 1-3 dice, and use the values of your rolled dice to determine how the range, magnitude, and control of your magic.

What’s important in terms of this game recommendation is the Control aspect, because how well you are able to wield your magic depends on how many words you are able to use to make things happen! It’s a lot easier to use a spell with precision if you have enough words to detail where you want a magical pen to write, or what you want to throw a tiny magic missile at. Not enough words? Then the GM has license to cause some humorous side effects, or, if you roll poorly enough, cause your spells to really go off the rails.

If you like games where you need to choose your words carefully, Tiny Frog Wizards is worth checking out - especially since it’s in free playtest!

Xenolanguage, by Thorny Games.

Xenolanguage is a tabletop role-playing game about first contact with alien life, messy human relationships and what happens when they mix together. At its core, you explore your pivotal relationships with others on the mission as you uncover meaning in an alien language. The game gives a nod to soulful sci-fi media like Arrival, Story of Your Life and Contact, but tells its own story. It’s a game for 2-4 players in 3-4 hours.

In Xenolangauge, you play as a group of people bound together through a shared past with unsettled questions. Your task is to understand why the aliens have come and what they are trying to tell us. You will soon discover the key to understanding lies in your memories together.

This is definitely an in-person game, as it is meant to come with a modular channeling board that will provide you with alien symbols that you will use to help you interpret messages. This is more than a game about language, it’s about relationship, shared memories, and connection.

Xenolanguage was kickstarted at the beginning of this year, but you can check out the above link to pre-order the game if this sounds interesting to you!

Star-Spawned, by Penguin King Games.

One unearthly night, a ray of colourless light descended from the stars, and under its warping radiance, creatures unlike any the world has ever seen were born. They do not know the world, and they do not know themselves. Unfortunately for the world, they're quick learners!

Star-Spawned is a GMless, oneshot-oriented tabletop RPG in which you don't know what your own traits do when play begins. The names of each group's stats are randomly generated using morpheme chaining, and characters are created while having absolutely no idea what they mean; figuring that out forms the greater part of play.

Star-Spawned is more about self discovery than it is about language, but the use of morpheme-chaining in character creation is intriguing to me. You will randomly roll three pieces of a word, and then chain them together to create a unique Facet, available to the players as stats. These Facets don’t have a meaning when the game begins - you need to play to find out what they mean. If you like playing around with semantics - the meaning of words - this might be a game for you.

Degenerate Semantics, by Mikael Andersson.

Degenerate Semantics is a role-playing game for 1-5 players and one Game Master (GM). The players will each portray a character who live in Emmaloopen's poverty-stricken lower city. They are young, wild, ambitious, and independent. This way of life is threatened by other factions, and the players will need to have their characters work together to survive and thrive.

In the process of playing the game, the players and GM will define and flesh out a language called Bandethal. A collection of street terms and slang, Bandethal is used both as a way to talk openly about illicit activities without alerting authorities and to establish street cred. The terms are liberally mixed in with plain English, or when the language is mature enough, can be used entirely on its own. The characters' success is in large part based on how proficiently the players wield the language.

A friend of mine ran this game for me three or four years ago, and it’s been sitting in the back of my head ever since. Degenerate Semantics was created for a Game Chef competition in 2014, and has remained in the same state since then. I don’t think there’s any more work being done on it, but the game is there for anyone who wants to give it a go - and while there’s a setting that comes with the game, that setting is highly flexible, depending on what your group is interested in. Our group decided to use a lot of gardening metaphors, and undertook a plant-based heist as our act of rebellion! If you want a game about the power that language can give a tightly-knit group, this is the game for you.

I've Also Recommended...

DROWWORD, by Ursidice.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #languages

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disabled-dragoon · 1 year ago

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The Disability Library

I love books, I love literature, and I love this blog, but it's only been recently that I've really been given the option to explore disabled literature, and I hate that. When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be able to read about characters like me, and now as an adult, all I want is to be able to read a book that takes us seriously.

And so, friends, Romans, countrymen, I present, a special disability and chronic illness booklist, compiled by myself and through the contributions of wonderful members from this site!

As always, if there are any at all that you want me to add, please just say. I'm always looking for more!

Edit 20/10/2023: You can now suggest books using the google form at the bottom!

Updated: 31/08/2023

Articles and Chapters

The Drifting Language of Architectural Accessibility in Victor Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris, Essaka Joshua, 2012

Early Modern Literature and Disability Studies, Allison P. Hobgood, David Houston Wood, 2017

How Do You Develop Whole Object Relations as an Adult?, Elinor Greenburg, 2019

Making Do with What You Don't Have: Disabled Black Motherhood in Octavia E. Butler's Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents, Anna Hinton, 2018

Necropolitics, Achille Mbeme, 2003 OR Necropolitics, Achille Mbeme, 2019

Wasted Lives: Modernity and Its Outcasts, Zygmunt Bauman, 2004

Witchcraft and deformity in early modern English Literature, Scott Eaton, 2020

Books

Fiction:

Misc:

10 Things I Can See From Here, Carrie Mac

A-F:

A Curse So Dark and Lonely, (Series), Brigid Kemmerer

Akata Witch, (Series), Nnedi Okorafor

A Mango-Shaped Space, Wendy Mass

Ancillary Justice, (Series), Ann Leckie

An Unkindness of Ghosts, Rivers Solomon

An Unseen Attraction, (Series), K. J. Charles

A Shot in the Dark, Victoria Lee

A Snicker of Magic, Natalie Lloyd

A Song of Ice and Fire, (series), George R. R. Martin

A Spindle Splintered, (Series), Alix E. Harrow

A Time to Dance, Padma Venkatraman

Bath Haus, P. J. Vernon

Beasts of Prey, (Series), Ayana Gray

The Bedlam Stacks, (Series), Natasha Pulley

Black Bird, Blue Road, Sofiya Pasternack

Black Sun, (Series), Rebecca Roanhorse

Blood Price, (Series), Tanya Huff

Borderline, (Series), Mishell Baker

Breath, Donna Jo Napoli

The Broken Kingdoms, (Series), N.K. Jemisin

Brute, Kim Fielding

Cafe con Lychee, Emery Lee

Carry the Ocean, (Series), Heidi Cullinan

Challenger Deep, Neal Shusterman

Cinder, (Series), Marissa Meyer

Clean, Amy Reed

Connection Error, (Series), Annabeth Albert

Cosima Unfortunate Steals A Star, Laura Noakes

Crazy, Benjamin Lebert

Crooked Kingdom, (Series), Leigh Bardugo

Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots, (Series), Cat Sebastian

Daniel, Deconstructed, James Ramos

Dead in the Garden, (Series), Dahlia Donovan

Dear Fang, With Love, Rufi Thorpe

Deathless Divide, (Series), Justina Ireland

The Degenerates, J. Albert Mann

The Doctor's Discretion, E.E. Ottoman

Earth Girl, (Series), Janet Edwards

Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead, Emily R. Austin

The Extraordinaries, (Series), T. J. Klune

The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict, (Series), Trenton Lee Stewart

Fight + Flight, Jules Machias

The Final Girl Support Group, Grady Hendrix

Finding My Voice, (Series), Aoife Dooley

The First Thing About You, Chaz Hayden

Follow My Leader, James B. Garfield

Forever Is Now, Mariama J. Lockington

Fortune Favours the Dead, (Series), Stephen Spotswood

Fresh, Margot Wood

H-0:

Harmony, London Price

Harrow the Ninth, (series), Tamsyn Muir

Hench, (Series), Natalia Zina Walschots

Highly Illogical Behaviour, John Corey Whaley

Honey Girl, Morgan Rogers

How to Become a Planet, Nicole Melleby

How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager, (Series), D. N. Bryn

How to Sell Your Blood & Fall in Love, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites, Joy Demorra

I Am Not Alone, Francisco X. Stork

The Immeasurable Depth of You, Maria Ingrande Mora

In the Ring, Sierra Isley

Into The Drowning Deep, (Series), Mira Grant

Iron Widow, (Series), Xiran Jay Zhao

Izzy at the End of the World, K. A. Reynolds

Jodie's Journey, Colin Thiele

Just by Looking at Him, Ryan O'Connell

Kissing Doorknobs, Terry Spencer Hesser

Lakelore, Anna-Marie McLemore

Learning Curves, (Series), Ceillie Simkiss

Let's Call It a Doomsday, Katie Henry

The Library of the Dead, (Series), TL Huchu

The Lion Hunter, (Series), Elizabeth Wein

Lirael, (Series), Garth Nix

Long Macchiatos and Monsters, Alison Evans

Love from A to Z, (Series), S.K. Ali

Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses, Kristen O'Neal

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro

The Never Tilting World, (Series), Rin Chupeco

The No-Girlfriend Rule, Christen Randall

Nona the Ninth, (series), Tamsyn Muir

Noor, Nnedi Okorafor

Odder Still, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Once Stolen, (Series), D. N. Bryn

One For All, Lillie Lainoff

On the Edge of Gone, Corinne Duyvis

Origami Striptease, Peggy Munson

Our Bloody Pearl, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Out of My Mind, Sharon M. Draper

P-T:

Parable of the Sower, (Series), Octavia E. Butler

Parable of the Talents, (Series), Octavia E. Butler

Percy Jackson & the Olympians, (series), Rick Riordan

Pomegranate, Helen Elaine Lee

The Prey of Gods, Nicky Drayden

The Pursuit Of..., (Series), Courtney Milan

The Queen's Thief, (Series), Megan Whalen Turner

The Quiet and the Loud, Helena Fox

The Raging Quiet, Sheryl Jordan

The Reanimator's Heart, (Series), Kara Jorgensen

The Remaking of Corbin Wale, Joan Parrish

Roll with It, (Series), Jamie Sumner

Russian Doll, (Series), Cristelle Comby

The Second Mango, (Series), Shira Glassman

Scar of the Bamboo Leaf, Sieni A.M

Shaman, (Series), Noah Gordon

Sick Kids in Love, Hannah Moskowitz

The Silent Boy, Lois Lowry

Six of Crows, (Series) Leigh Bardugo

Sizzle Reel, Carlyn Greenwald

The Spare Man, Mary Robinette Kowal

The Stagsblood Prince, (Series), Gideon E. Wood

Stake Sauce, Arc 1: The Secret Ingredient is Love. No, Really, (Series), RoAnna Sylver

Stars in Your Eyes, Kacen Callender [Expected release: Oct 2023]

The Storm Runner, (Series), J. C. Cervantes

Stronger Still, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Sweetblood, Pete Hautman

Tarnished Are the Stars, Rosiee Thor

The Theft of Sunlight, (Series), Intisar Khanani

Throwaway Girls, Andrea Contos

Top Ten, Katie Cotugno

Torch, Lyn Miller-Lachmann

Treasure, Rebekah Weatherspoon

Turtles All the Way Down, John Green

U-Z:

Unlicensed Delivery, Will Soulsby-McCreath Expected release October 2023

Verona Comics, Jennifer Dugan

Vorkosigan Saga, (Series), Lois McMaster Bujold

We Are the Ants, (Series), Shaun David Hutchinson

The Weight of Our Sky, Hanna Alkaf

Whip, Stir and Serve, Caitlyn Frost and Henry Drake

The Whispering Dark, Kelly Andrew

Wicked Sweet, Chelsea M. Cameron

Wonder, (Series), R. J. Palacio

Wrong to Need You, (Series), Alisha Rai

Ziggy, Stardust and Me, James Brandon

Graphic Novels:

A Quick & Easy Guide to Sex & Disability, (Non-Fiction), A. Andrews

Constellations, Kate Glasheen

Dancing After TEN: a graphic memoir, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Vivian Chong, Georgia Webber

Everything Is an Emergency: An OCD Story in Words Pictures, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Jason Adam Katzenstein

Frankie's World: A Graphic Novel, (Series), Aoife Dooley

The Golden Hour, Niki Smith

Nimona, N. D. Stevenson

The Third Person, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Emma Grove

Magazines and Anthologies:

Artificial Divide, (Anthology), Robert Kingett, Randy Lacey

Beneath Ceaseless Skies #175: Grandmother-nai-Leylit's Cloth of Winds, (Article), R. B. Lemburg

Defying Doomsday, (Anthology), edited by Tsana Dolichva and Holly Kench

Josee, the Tiger and the Fish, (short story) (anthology), Seiko Tanabe

Nothing Without Us, edited by Cait Gordon and Talia C. Johnson

Nothing Without Us Too, edited by Cait Gordon and Talia C. Johnson

Unbroken: 13 Stories Starring Disabled Teens, (Anthology), edited by Marieke Nijkamp

Uncanny #24: Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction, (Anthology), edited by: Elsa Sjunneson-Henry, Dominik Parisien et al.

Uncanny #30: Disabled People Destroy Fantasy, (Anthology), edited by: Nicolette Barischoff, Lisa M. Bradley, Katharine Duckett

We Shall Be Monsters, edited by Derek Newman-Stille

Manga:

Perfect World, (Series), Rie Aruga

The Sky is Blue with a Single Cloud, (Short Stories), Kuniko Tsurita

Non-Fiction:

Academic Ableism: Disability and Higher Education, Jay Timothy Dolmage

A Disability History of the United States, Kim E, Nielsen

The Architecture of Disability: Buildings, Cities, and Landscapes beyond Access, David Gissen

Being Seen: One Deafblind Woman's Fight to End Ableism, Elsa Sjunneson

Black Disability Politics, Sami Schalk

Borderline, Narcissistic, and Schizoid Adaptations: The Pursuit of Love, Admiration, and Safety, Dr. Elinor Greenburg

Brilliant Imperfection: Grappling with Cure, Eli Clare

The Cambridge Companion to Literature and Disability, Barker, Clare and Stuart Murray, editors.

The Capacity Contract: Intellectual Disability and the Question of Citizenship, Stacy Clifford Simplican

Capitalism and Disability, Martha Russel

Care work: Dreaming Disability Justice, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Catatonia, Shutdown and Breakdown in Autism: A Psycho-Ecological Approach, Dr Amitta Shah

The Collected Schizophrenias: Essays, Esme Weijun Wang

Crip Kinship, Shayda Kafai

Crip Up the Kitchen: Tools, Tips and Recipes for the Disabled Cook, Jules Sherred

Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies, Anne Waldschmidt, Hanjo Berressem, Moritz Ingwersen

Decarcerating Disability: Deinstitutionalization and Prison Abolition, Liat Ben-Moshe

Demystifying Disability: What to Know, What to Say, and How to Be an Ally, Emily Ladau

Dirty River: A Queer Femme of Color Dreaming Her Way Home, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Disability Pride: Dispatches from a Post-ADA World, Ben Mattlin

Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories From the Twenty-First Century, Alice Wong

Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability and Making Space, Amanda Leduc

Every Cripple a Superhero, Christoph Keller

Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness and Liberation, Eli Clare

Feminist Queer Crip, Alison Kafer

The Future Is Disabled: Prophecies, Love Notes, and Mourning Songs, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Growing Up Disabled in Australia, Carly Findlay

It's Just Nerves: Notes on a Disability, Kelly Davio

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot

Language Deprivation & Deaf Mental Health, Neil S. Glickman, Wyatte C. Hall

The Minority Body: A Theory of Disability, Elizabeth Barnes

My Body and Other Crumbling Empires: Lessons for Healing in a World That Is Sick, Lyndsey Medford

No Right to Be Idle: The Invention of Disability, 1840s-1930s, Sarah F. Rose

Nothing About Us Without Us: Disability Oppression and Empowerment, James I. Charlton

The Pedagogy of Pathologization Dis/abled Girls of Color in the School-prison Nexus, Subini Ancy Annamma

Physical Disability in British Romantic Literature, Essaka Joshua

QDA: A Queer Disability Anthology, Raymond Luczak, Editor.

The Right to Maim: Debility, Capacity, Disability, Jasbir K. Puar

Sitting Pretty, (memoir), Rebecca Taussig

Sounds Like Home: Growing Up Black & Deaf in the South, Mary Herring Wright

Surviving and Thriving with an Invisible Chronic Illness: How to Stay Sane and Live One Step Ahead of Your Symptoms, Ilana Jacqueline

The Things We Don't Say: An Anthology of Chronic Illness Truths, Julie Morgenlender

Uncanny Bodies: Superhero Comics and Disability, Scott T. Smith, José Alaniz

Uncomfortable Labels: My Life as a Gay Autistic Trans Woman, (memoir), Laura Kate Dale

Unmasking Autism, Devon Price

The War on Disabled People: Capitalism, Welfare and the Making of a Human Catastrophe, Ellen Clifford

We've Got This: Essays by Disabled Parents, Eliza Hull

Year of the Tiger: An Activist's Life, (memoir) (essays) Alice Wong

Picture Books:

A Day With No Words, Tiffany Hammond, Kate Cosgrove-

A Friend for Henry, Jenn Bailey, Mika Song

Ali and the Sea Stars, Ali Stroker, Gillian Reid

All Are Welcome, Alexandra Penfold, Suzanne Kaufman

All the Way to the Top, Annette Bay Pimentel, Jennifer Keelan-Chaffins, Nabi Ali

Can Bears Ski?, Raymond Antrobus, Polly Dunbar

Different -- A Great Thing to Be!, Heather Alvis, Sarah Mensinga

Everyone Belongs, Heather Alvis, Sarah Mensinga

I Talk Like a River, Jordan Scott, Sydney Smith

Jubilee: The First Therapy Horse and an Olympic Dream, K. T. Johnson, Anabella Ortiz

Just Ask!, Sonia Sotomayor, Rafael López

Kami and the Yaks, Andrea Stenn Stryer, Bert Dodson

My Three Best Friends and Me, Zulay, Cari Best, Vanessa Brantley-Newton

Rescue & Jessica: A Life-Changing Friendship, Jessica Kensky, Patrick Downes, Scott Magoon

Sam's Super Seats, Keah Brown, Sharee Miller

Small Knight and the Anxiety Monster, Manka Kasha

We Move Together, Kelly Fritsch, Anne McGuire, Eduardo Trejos

We're Different, We're the Same, and We're All Wonderful!, Bobbi Jane Kates, Joe Mathieu

What Happened to You?, James Catchpole, Karen George

The World Needs More Purple People, Kristen Bell, Benjamin Hart, Daniel Wiseman

You Are Enough: A Book About Inclusion, Margaret O'Hair, Sofia Sanchez, Sofia Cardoso

You Are Loved: A Book About Families, Margaret O'Hair, Sofia Sanchez, Sofia Cardoso

The You Kind of Kind, Nina West, Hayden Evans

Zoom!, Robert Munsch, Michael Martchenko

Plays:

Peeling, Kate O'Reilly

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With an extra special thank you to @parafoxicalk @craftybookworms @lunod @galaxyaroace @shub-s @trans-axolotl @suspicious-whumping-egg @ya-world-challenge @fictionalgirlsworld @rubyjewelqueen @some-weird-queer-writer @jacensolodjo @cherry-sys @dralthon @thebibliosphere @brynwrites @aj-grimoire @shade-and-sun @ceanothusspinosus @edhelwen1 @waltzofthewifi @spiderleggedhorse @sleepneverheardofher @highladyluck @oftheides @thecouragetobekind @nopoodles @lupadracolis @elusivemellifluence @creativiteaa @moonflowero1 @the-bi-library @chronically-chaotic-cryptid for your absolutely fantastic contributions!

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Submit a Book:

#disability resources #disability #chronic illness #disability books #books #resources #book list #disability literature #literature #disability representation #disabled characters #information #informative #disability education #disability history #disability rights #please add to this #to be updated #long post

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handsbloodiedmoved · 2 years ago

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WHERE DOES YOUR ANGER LURK ?

IN YOUR EYES.

rage in silence, in wordless defiance. cheeks dampened, clenched fists tremble, yet cannot move, cannot rise. wronged, your heart demands justice and aches at its absence. you can do nothing but weep, tears flooding the space fury hollows out.

TAGGED BY: @thesoulofasurvivor TAGGING: @citizensxldier, @antihcroisms and whoever else wants to do it!

#x. this one will have grit and fire and steel in her blood (character study)#x. a series of unfortunate events (dash games)

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conflictofthemind · 3 months ago

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Montauk, The Project Rainbow, and Experiments in Time

It’s fairly common knowledge that Stranger Things is based on Montauk. The unfortunate part is that Montauk has been attributed to another ‘vaguely MK-ULTRA mind control related side project’ and not the big narrative that it is, with details incredibly close to plot points in Stranger Things that resulted in an attempted lawsuit years back. Montauk does not just set the general ‘spooky scientific experiments on kids’ tone for ST - it is the backbone of the whole lore.

‘The Montauk Project’ Book / Conspiracy explained simply is that the US government unofficially experimented on humans with ‘great psychic ability’ to allow their psychic brain waves to interact with the normal electromagnetic waves of our world. The end goal being manifesting thoughts into reality, and opening up wormholes in time. This would give the military great advantage and potentially control over the outcomes of war. It then turns out the whole narrative of Montauk occurs within a time loop from 1943-1983, when the disappearance of a ship called the USS Eldridge opened up a wormhole which was connected with by a research subject in 1983. The time loop is self-causing - the entire reason the Montauk experiments take place are to further study the events that occurred on this ship, but part of the reason the ship disappears is because of the Montauk Project. Due to all of the other time travel references within the series - trust, we will get into those - this leads me to believe it’s very unlikely there isn’t time travel / a time loop involved. Here I hope to posit the basic information about Montauk/The Philadelphia Project, how the powers work within ST, Will’s clear involvement in all of it, and the time travel element.

Ahahaha why does that look like a bowl-cut…

Let’s put this out of the way first: the idea that Montauk/Philadelphia is the direct inspiration for the show is not based on flimsy grounds. The original series the Duffers planned to make was going to be an actual retelling of Duncan Cameron’s (think El and Henry - main research subject of Montauk) story. This was later changed to become the story we know today with the characters we know today, although with different names and the title remaining Montauk. Some of the characters had names from Montauk too… like Mr. Clarke being Mr. Nichols. I’ll save that for a later post. The entire design of HNL is based off of the ‘Camp Hero’ / Montauk lab with the iconic banana-shaped radar disk. El’s Void ability comes from the ‘Seeing Eye’ power Duncan has in Montauk, where focusing on a personal item belonging to a person lets him see into their mind. The research subjects’ power is amplified by white noise and a sensory deprivation chamber - again, seen with El.

The Rainbow Ship and the Electromagnetic Connection:

The Electromagnetic Spectrum is usually mentioned at least a little in every season. Joyce’s magnets falling off, El needing the radio, etc. Lights are another focus, with the kids in the Rainbow Room being tested on how they can manipulate lightbulbs, and the emphasis on lights flickering whenever powerful forces are being used or the Upside Down is interfering with Hawkins. I expect them to really start pushing it in Season 5, and we can already see evidence of this (below: the WSQK Squawk Van). They’re at a radio station, the Middle School kids are learning about light from Scott Clarke most likely, and you can see the abundance of rainbows everywhere. It’s my opinion that rainbows and light are the mechanism in which these gates open, and also when at high enough power, how time can become warped. ‘Project Rainbow’ is another title basically interchangeable with the USS Eldridge and Philadelphia Project. This was because “the mechanism involved was the generation of an incredibly intense magnetic field around the ship, which would cause refraction or bending of light or radar waves around the ship”. However as we remember, this had the unintended effect of teleporting the ship across space-time. In the ST Universe, this results in the Eldridge being teleported to Dimension X temporarily (without a gate being opened).

The eagle shoots out beams of a rainbow which are meant to represent the radio waves being broadcast.

It’s a commonly asked question as to how Will ‘blinked’ out of that shed without a gate, considering only El was able to open them at that time. The close-up on the lightbulb is the last shot we see before he just vanishes. It’s not just powers interfering with the surrounding electricity; this bending of light is what took him to the UD. But when this happens, it doesn’t result in a gate. I also believe this will end up being the mechanism for the eventual time-travel plot we’ll be seeing. Again in Montauk, there is a ‘time-tunnel’ made between the Eldridge and 1983 Montauk that was caused by the disappearance. My original post investigating this was me hypothesizing that being able to bend light to travel faster than it could result in temporary anomalies that allow one to time travel.

Anyway, back to the rainbows. Rainbows are one of the most common recurring symbols in Stranger Things. The Rainbow Room exists of course, and there’s a deliberate costuming choice, especially in later seasons with the brighter atmosphere, to have characters wearing rainbow patterned items. Holly’s room is full of rainbows, and there are multiple rainbow props scattered around other locations (Mike’s basement, Erica’s room, etc). Scott Clarke (seriously what is up with him) is introduced in Season 1 doing a lesson on ROYGBIV. The BTS pictures of S5 Hawkins Middle School have him teaching yet another lesson on the visible light spectrum. And space for some reason. This brings us back to the Rainbow Ship. Now we know the USS Eldridge is a marine ship, not a spaceship. But for the characters who seem to have some connection to it, it is represented as one regardless.

Will drew something representing the USS Eldridge (which it is mentioned was not from a movie i.e. he came up with it using his own memory and mind). The main fixture of Henry’s playground, where a ‘significant’ memory took place also features this representation of the Eldridge. I suspect there might also be a larger reason it took the form of a spaceship, but for now, consider that the ST Universe’s version of aliens are the Demogorgons. And outer space is Dimension X. The ship ‘flew’ to ‘outer space’ (D-X) and encountered ‘aliens’. In Montauk, that is kind of what happens. It’s more metaphorical in Stranger Things. The comic book Henry is obsessed with in TFS is seemingly changed from the real life Captain Midnight who was an airplane pilot, to be an astronaut. I think there is some kind of “alien abduction” theme with both Henry and Will being suddenly transported to another dimension that is alien in itself. Even when the lab scientists enter the UD in the first few seasons, they use hazmat suits that are deliberately similar looking to spacesuits. Stranger Things is a story about UFOs and aliens that also isn’t exactly about UFOs and aliens.

And then, I’ll mention the weirdest part of this all - Will knows about the Eldridge somehow. And he knew about it before he was ever kidnapped and attached to the hive-mind.

This is either possible because 1) he was in fact involved in research projects at HNL, and maybe the Project Indigo before the age of 8 like the original “rainbowshipgate” suggests. Or 2), there is an element messing with time in this situation, just like in the original Montauk book series. Montauk is literally named ‘Experiments in Time’. They’ve nabbed Linda Hamilton from Terminator (a movie about time travel) for this final season. They’re referencing a Wrinkle in Time with the Episode 6 title and Holly plot. Then we have everything else involving Henry’s clock theming that hasn’t exactly explained itself yet. Thinking time travel is a far-fetched idea at this point is a bit ridiculous.

It really depends on how crazy they go with the whole concept. One of the other main characters from Montauk I haven’t mentioned yet is Al Bielek. Al Bielek was the original “whistleblower” who came forward with his story after supposedly recovering his repressed memories of the events. He claims to have been on the crew of the USS Eldridge in a previous life as Edward Cameron, Duncan Cameron’s brother. When he was sent forward in time he ended up staying in 1983 whereas Duncan Cameron was effectively sent back to where he came. Very confusing. But the story is, the man’s a time traveler.

I do wonder if Al Bielek is loosely the inspiration for Will’s part in the story. Will who has seemingly repressed memories of many points in his life and has been suggested to be a time traveler many times. His name appears on the grandfather clock. He wears Marty McFly’s outfit in the first season. He has knowledge of an event that happened in 1943. He has lines about “seeing into the future” and Mike calls him a time-traveler in the VR Game where the writing staff had access to scripts and a writer from the show. The Upside Down is stuck on “the day of Will’s disappearance” (in the Duffers’ words), though that one probably has a slightly simpler explanation.

The exact mechanics of how that would work are unclear. Right now, as young as an eight year old Will needs to have the knowledge of the Eldridge - so this isn’t something he will only end up connecting with this season. My theory is that there is a time loop involved, and Will’s actions in the future of Season 5 have him interfere in some way with the 1943 Philadelphia Project / Project Rainbow. The time loop is cyclical and self-causing. Our Will Byers already has a past iteration in yet another timeline where he already went back and tried to interfere with the past (and likely died trying in 1943). Then he is reborn again in 1971, and awakes a very small portion of his past memories of the previous loops. If that doesn’t make sense, I created this handy-but-ugly flowchart to help you out:

Basically there is no beginning, since the future causes the past and vice versa (a bootstrap paradox). Every Will would then have memories of a past self(selves). The time loop also gets more complicated than this. Did Henry create the mindflayer? It’s presented like that within the show, but let me remind you that shows with heavy mystery elements can and will purposely deceive you. In the First Shadow, Mr. Newby is attacked by the Mindflayer and produces a drawing of the entity - it’s purposely not shown to the audience, but considering the Mindflayer was supposedly just a black mass then why is that? And regardless, in order to have Henry become possessed by it, the Mindflayer was definitely not created by him in 1979. A few have written up theories about this already, I’ll link to my friend's two posts on this element of the time loop.

I don't have anything else super definitive yet. But I believe wholeheartedly that this is the right direction to search in and I hope we can put more attention on the subject. All of this makes sense, from the military connections they keep pushing in the show, the time travel hints we have been getting, the origin story of Brenner (whose dad died aboard the ship) and the Rainbow Room, everything ties back to the Eldridge events being incredibly incredibly important going forward.

Here's a link where you can read through Montauk Experiments in Time for free.

#stranger things #will byers #henry creel #st5 theory #time travel #st5 speculation #and yeah im suggesting mr clarke knows more than we think #montauk and ST #the uss eldridge

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sehaedazokla · 1 month ago

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he that dares

part seven

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems.

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

word count: 10.0k

a/n: this chapter got a little longer than intended so grab some popcorn for this one and thank you to everyone who has sent asks / left comments on this work! i am having so much fun writing this and it is lovely that it is being enjoyed.

previous part | next part | series masterlist

Highgarden is recalled as a soft spring day upon Lady Tyrell’s mind. A clear afternoon spent tucked into a shaded passage underneath an archway of flowers, a thick book with aging pages raptly capturing her attention as a lute player’s song drifts over the hedges in melodical swirls. The evening winds upon her and her sister, barefoot and dressed in slips of light silks, running through fields of golden roses that stretch out endlessly until the sun sets into pinks and oranges and yellows against the horizon. Crystalline laughs, blithe and innocent, when she and the other young ladies would convince their parents to allow them to take gracefully carved boats out upon the Mander, weeping willows dipping over the river full of emerald grasses and brilliantly colored flowers that grow beneath the water’s surface. She can picture her mother, under the shade of a large and lacy parasol of pastel fabrics, who would occasionally lift one gloved hand to wave elegantly at her daughters from the banks.

As a child, her mother had been the very pinnacle of desired sophistication and grace. With easy charm and poise, the Lady of Highgarden can command any room simply by entering it. From the moment Lady Tyrell was born, it has been expected of her to carry herself with similar elegance. To shine, to play darling and enchant those she meets, to excel at all typical ladylike pursuits. Unfortunately for her, it had not all come naturally. But what she had not been blessed with upon her birth – an easygoing nature, a soft-spoken tongue, a quiet countenance – she found could be learned.

And as time passed, as she gained the perspective upon her parents that only time could provide, Lady Tyrell came to realize that she is certainly, undoubtedly, her mother’s daughter. What she had perceived as perfection as a child was actually patience. The ability to bide one’s time productively, to study oneself and to learn one’s flaws and weaknesses and those of their allies and enemies. When weaponized, patience and a sharp eye blossom into a spider’s web that ensnares unsuspecting prey lured in by the beauty of a blooming rose. How astutely the lady has watched this dance unfold beneath the glittering stars since her mother rose to power in Highgarden. The enemies of House Tyrell did not survive the succession war, although one could hardly say it solely happened by fate’s generous hands. Tongues that rose up against them soon found themselves choking and spitting over their words, poison sweet and lethal upon them.

If the Lady Tyrell is considered clever and fierce, these traits passed to her through her mother’s blood. When the hour draws late, the bells chiming and tolling out the highest point of the moon in the sky, she often wonders if she possesses as ruthless a spirit. She does not long for the day when that might be tested. To secure the safety of their family, of her children, Elinor Tyrell has tightened her grip upon her web, drawing in the flies and scorpions and snakes. Yet in her recent years, the Lady of Highgarden has grown more and more ambitious, eyes often cast to the winds of fortune and their ever-changing flow. With two eligible daughters, now would be the ideal time to firmly grasp power through advantageous betrothals.

Betrothals without consideration for the character of the men in question.

A letter of rolled parchment is gripped tightly within Lady Tyrell’s closed fist, her fingers crumpling the tan paper with a constricting hold. Peaking out from beneath her fingers is a wax seal of a single rose, the color of the darkest blue. As her shoes echo sharply within the decadent halls of the Red Keep, a spiked anxiety jumps rapidly underneath her skin. Her brows are drawn above her eyes, which dart from stone wall to marble pillar as her mind composes and discards a multiplicity of strategies that might convince her mother to abandon her quest for greater power. The more she considers the issue at hand, the more abrupt her steps grow. Once upon a time, when the notion of fairy tales was still harbored with childish hope in the cavity beneath her breastbone, she had spun similar designs for a far more romantic purpose. Childhood love, falsely and treacherously placed as it was, drove her nearly mad.

As she approaches the Queen’s Chambers, the guards immediately draw back from her path, nodding at her after growing quite accustomed to her presence in Maegor’s Holdfast. There is no need to question her being there after their liege lord has brought her past them on many a night. The early hour of the day does not seem to give them pause, nor does her agitated expression and pace. With the arrival of more nobles to the castle that very afternoon, notable allies of the Northern forces whom had recently finished with the remaining issues in the Riverlands, neither Cregan nor Lady Tyrell could surmise how much time the meetings might take as the upcoming trials were further discussed. Unwilling to allow a day to pass without seeing Jaehaera, she had inquired if Cregan might accompany her for a visit in the earlier hours of the day as opposed to their usual meetings which occurred after supper. The Lord of Winterfell had been swift in his granting of her request. She purposefully declined to dwell on how frequent and genuine his accommodations of her desires have become as of late.

So distraught by the contents of the letter in her hand, Lady Tyrell cannot even muster a saccharine smile to wax demurely across her face. The skirts of her morning gown swish in an angry rhythm across the cold floor, the noise prominent in the otherwise silent passageway. Once, this section of the castle had brimmed with busy servants and giggling ladies maids, clinging upon each other’s arms as their eyes shone with laughter and mischief. Now, it served only as place for ghosts and fragmented memories to linger in hazy and liminal echoes.

A frown creases upon her face at the sight of the arched oak door, already partially ajar. A warm ray of golden sunlight has snuck past the marble pillars upon the walkway overlooking the enclosed courtyard below, relaxing languorously before the doorway. Her steps draw to a halt before the wood, her unoccupied hand outstretched to press the pads of her fingertips against the smooth wood, the centers of her brows drawn together as she peers into the room. Before her eyes might inform her of anything, a voice that has grown all too familiar reaches her ears.

“Good, princess. Now attempt it once more.” The Lord of Winterfell’s low timbre, stern still albeit it considerably more gentle in that moment, fills her agitated mind as she pushes the door the remainder of the way open. Inside the extensive chambers of the room stand Cregan and Jaehaera, the latter of whom clutches a small wooden sword in her hands. The girl has an expression of utmost concentration upon her face as she swings the toy weapon through the air in front of her, her wide eyes immediately gazing up to the lord to inquire as to how she had performed. Her hair has been pulled back into a single braid, similar to the style the Lady Tyrell has often woven in the princess’ silvery locks. Cregan parts his lips to speak, the telltale raise of the corners of his lips signaling his approval, when both become alerted to the lady’s presence within the room. Jaehaera lights up immediately, a sweet smile upon her face as she lowers the sword. Cregan, in turn, finds his immediate softening at her arrival rapidly morph into hesitation when he sees the look upon her visage.

So familiar with her expressions has he become, that as Jaehaera hurries across the room to take Lady Tyrell by the hand and begin to explain what she has been learning, Cregan experiences a slight drop in his stomach at the tightness of her closed fists and the creases at the corners of her mouth. As the princess extends the pretend weapon for the lady to view, he wonders if she is angry with him for providing the young girl with lessons, no matter how rudimentary. Perhaps he has overstepped in his decision, in acting prior to consulting her first. With some effort, the lady gives Jaehaera a smile and nods as the girl continues to speak, but Cregan can surely perceive it to be forced. He shifts his weight to his alternate foot as he finds himself with the rare and uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty. A cool morning breeze blows the sheer curtains into the room further, billowing as if the sails of a boat.

Jaehaera reaches out a small hand to bequeath the wooden sword to Lady Tyrell as the princess wanders into the next room to retrieve a book in High Valyrian she has been reading, the lady’s eyes following the girl out of the main chamber. Only when Jaehaera has slipped through the connecting door does Cregan speak, his voice lowered to a deep hush so that the girl might not overhear. With a single step towards her, a squaring of his broad shoulders as his stern eyes search her face thoroughly, he attempts to phrase his intention clearly. “If I have overstepped, Lady Tyrell, I do apologize. I had only thought upon your own anxieties and wished to perhaps provide the princess with basic knowledge to defend herself.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes widen as the words fall from his lips, her own parting in soft denial as she realizes how Cregan has interpreted her distressed stance and expression. Her shoulders lift and then sag as a portion of the weight from her turbulent thoughts escapes through a concentrated sigh and she intentionally loosens her hold upon the parchment clutched in her anxious hands. The movement causes light to catch the delicate gold jewelry atop her prominent collarbone, drawing attention when juxtaposed by the depth of the neckline of her gown. She can feel the parchment retaining its crushed shape from the strength with which she had been squeezing it.

“No,” It comes out as a weary breath, followed by a soft swallow and the brief closing of her eyes as she collects her thoughts that have been scattered about her brain like blushing petals from a spring tree. A hand reaches up to her forehead, lingering tiredly atop her skin as if the motion might vanquish the headache that has formed from her incessant worrying. Should she fret any longer, her skin will surely erupt into reddish hives that bloom across her arms like the remnants of a wayward flame. It is impossible to not be softened by the gentle look she had glimpsed in Cregan’s eyes as he had instructed the princess, by the way the girl has seemed to grow accustomed to Cregan’s presence slowly. For that brief moment she had witnessed them, uninterrupted by the world, she could tell at once how kind and attentive of a father Cregan must be to his own young son. It had seemed as natural as drawing breath, to spend time instructing and guiding the girl. “No, you are right to teach her. You have my gratitude for it, Lord Stark, please do not mistake me.”

In truth, she might rest easier at night with the knowledge that Jaehaera can at least make a valiant attempt at defending herself if something were to happen. She desperately wishes to keep weapons from the girl’s hand, considering her young age and the violent tragedies that have befallen her family, but there shall be no safety for the princess so long as she remains within the castle. The last of her direct lineage, the sole survivor amongst her immediate family upon that side of the war. Many watch with drool dripping from their fangs, twisting hands reaching out to ensnare the child within their grasp and attach puppet strings to her back. If they cannot control her, it is likely at least one attempt on her life shall be made. At present, she remains safe within her chambers, a constant system of guards posted outside her door. But such measures of security shall not last forever, and Lady Tyrell would much rather give the girl a fighting chance rather than end up like her, unable to truly physically protect herself. “You do me a great favor by instructing her, if you truly do not mind doing so. I do wish for her to have some knowledge, given the precarity of her position.”

As Cregan approaches her, seemingly placated by her gentle correction of his misunderstanding, worry of his own flickers tenderly across his face as he seeks out the cause of her agitation. As his imposing figure shadows her own, strands of reddish hair fall about his face and to the tops of his shoulders when he brings his voice impossibly lower, impossibly deeper. Merely a breath away from him, her chin lifts with gentle hesitation to reveal the depth of her concern to his prodding eyes, the distinct color of storm clouds. “Then what troubles you so, my lady? Allow me to rectify it, if it might be within my power.”

How certain his quiet words are, nearly comforting in their strength and assurance. If only it were so simple, to surrender her worries to the Lord of Winterfell and wait patiently for him to straighten each one out. But far too much rests upon his plate at present, and this matter might be out of even his control. Another soft sigh from her lips and she clasps her hands together, unable to resist the childish habit of pressing her fingers into her palms. Cregan’s eyes flick down at this, finding himself only barely able to resist the urge to draw her smaller hands into his own, the way he had when he had bandaged her wrists within the quiet warmth of her chambers. Instead, he involuntarily tightens his jaw while waiting with the steady patience he has come to extend to her whenever she might need it.

“You need not send Lord Blackwood to treat with Highgarden,” The airy and exasperated quality of her words is far from lost upon Cregan, as her tone adapts the rushed cadence she speaks with when her mind becomes embroiled with worry. The letter in her hands seems to hold a weight akin to a stone pulled from a garden’s soft dirt. “Highgarden shall come to you, my lord. My mother and sister will arrive with a small traveling party within the week. She has long since been underway.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow at this, his gaze continuing to search her face while the implication of the news takes firm root within his mind. With a quiet inhale through his nose, he gives her a slow nod. “I had imagined the upcoming trials might draw in more of the prominent families of the South. I did not know your lady mother would wish to attend.”

“The scales of power are in constant motion at this time, and the turbulence of the war has only increased the amount of opportunities for those who have long since minded themselves and heeded the Targaryen rule,” Lady Tyrell might do well to mind herself and her own words, tending to her personal interests before she foolhardily presents her honest opinion to another, but finds it difficult to not tell Cregan the entirety of the truth. She need not wonder upon how long it has been since she has had a true confidant in whom she can confess the extent of her thoughts – the lady can count the exact number of days that have passed. Perhaps that is why conversing honestly with the Lord of Winterfell has proven so undeniably tantalizing. His stature and countenance might play a considerable role, but following their first truthful encounter it would seem neither of them is eager to raise the issue of the tension up in conversation. Jaehaera’s quiet voice can be heard briefly from the connecting room, in soft conversation with her Septa. “With two eligible daughters, she ought to be here, where she might confirm what I suspect are her desired matches.”

The lady gives a sharp breath at this, managing only barely to keep the words from dripping with sardonic bitterness and exhausted dread. Her eyes drift to the window, as they so often do when unpleasant emotions coil up in her stomach, and she misses entirely the seriousness with which Cregan Stark is taken aback by her words. His eyes narrow further, his shoulders drawing back so that he might appraise her with tight lips and an even tighter jaw that twitches slightly as he is met with an unexpected brush of an emotion adjacent to irritation twisting within his chest. His gaze moves about her face, before he looks down and makes a stoic attempt to reason with himself over how improper it might be to speak brashly upon the matter. Given her beauty, it will prove exceedingly difficult to find a man who would not fall to his knees for but a taste of her, to claim her as his own. The idea of such an atrocity only serves to bring his hand into a tight fist, knuckles nearly white at the thought. She, who has fought so valiantly with the skills she possesses in the face of brutal masculine strength and wanton violence, should not be subjected to such a fate after surviving the war while living amongst vipers and dragons.

“Are you not of an age where you might seek out a match yourself, my lady?” The words are offered as a low interjection into the silence that has fallen between them, yet perhaps Cregan is unable to fully banish the sharpness from his tone as he presents his inquiry. She is barely younger than Cregan himself, and having been in such a prolonged betrothal with the late prince Daeron she has avoided the fate of marriage in her teenage years. While she has spoken upon a number of occasions about the upcoming engagement of her sister, she has not mentioned an imminent marriage for herself. One edge of her mouth twists up resentfully at his words and she tilts her chin slowly, eyes still cast away as the curtains sway gently in the breeze seeping in through the open window.

“Such an age seems like a lovely dream, one I have not the luxury of possessing.” The bitter lamentation disfigures itself into forlorn and disconsolate acceptance. She desires to cease discussion upon the matter, holding no wish to appear as one who complains futilely of their fate. Yet thickly veiled sorrow flickers behind the curtain of indifference she sweeps over her glassy eyes. “It matters little. Of greater importance, you shall not be seeing a host from Oldtown within the coming days nor months. They have agreed to stand down.”

This brings the turbulent discourse within Cregan’s mind to a temporary stillness, the leader within him long since used to prioritizing matters of duty over matters of a more personal consequence. There is a quiet mix of relief and lassitude at the realization that the fighting truly has ended, combined with worry over his people, who will have to march north to return to their struggling families as winter bares its fangs and prepares to descend upon the lands. His eyes drift downwards, her expression growing sterner and then weary as he sighs heavily. “Good then, that the trials shall commence sooner rather than late. Too long has this crisis endured, and now it shall end.”

Her hands remain drawn together atop the light fabrics of her gown, her shoulders lowered and her eyes big as she watches him with a reserved look upon her features. The subtle manner in which she recalls all hints of emotion, as if reigning in every outer expression of her own thoughts upon the matter, does not go undetected by Cregan. So much has she lost in the war and so little she gained, save for a broken heart and a tiredness unbecoming of her age. The concept of such a catastrophe within her life having finality to it must weigh disconcertingly upon her heart. He does not envy her for experiencing it now, as he has experienced it before. “I shall not forget your assistance with the Hightowers, nor with the princess or managing the nobles at court. You have been of great help to me, Lady Tyrell.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes narrow with ambiguous deflection, her brows raising as she draws her arms across her chest slowly. The concept of being thanked with such solemn genuineness has become foreign to her as of late and sets her lashes aflutter as she searches internally for a way to change the topic of discussion once again. But any thoughts upon the matter – or any thoughts at all, in truth – are vanquished from her mind into wispy clouds of white smoke as Cregan draws impossibly closer to her, broad shoulders leaning forth. Her eyes instantly meet his own, delicate confusion and wariness upon her face even after their growing familiarity. The memory of his hands upon her lower back and the curve of her hip as he taught her to fight burn hot against her skin, and perhaps this is why her eyes traitorously flicker to his lips, parted softly as he considers his next words.

At the nearly imperceptible drop of her eyes, Cregan too is robbed of words and coherent thought. His face seems to melt with slow wanting, heavy and thick as golden honey. The hesitation within her eyes is not lost upon him, nor the very gradual manner in which he has been seemingly gaining some amount of trust from her. He knows it is not an easy thing for her to give. There is a flutter of breath that catches within her chest, the effect of steeling herself to stand before him rather than draw away at such weighted proximity. Cregan’s brows draw together with an aching softness at the sweetness of her acceptance, of her belief in his character and intention. Never will he allow a hand to harm her again, never does he wish to see fear upon her lovely countenance. Her heart is well-guarded, separated from the everyday happenings of the capital by barbarous briar hedging, but he swears he can catch a glimpse of the pure tenderness through the twisted maze. The Queen’s Chambers have faded to a soft and distant background behind her, she who shines in perfect focus within his gaze. Any wish to verbally affirm the appreciation he has for her has been lost, replaced by a burning yet tempered desire to provide physical proof of it. Words such as decency and propriety dance briefly upon his mind but are hesitantly pushed aside with the slow raise of his arm. Unlike when teaching her the sword, Cregan has no excuse for his closeness nor the want within his eyes. “You said once that I might endeavor to act upon my gratitude, rather than speak of it.”

His large hand casts a warm shadow upon the skin of her cheek, as she parts her lips unconsciously, mirroring Cregan’s own. Her refusal to draw away from him only solidifies the timid trust she has placed in him, and if it were not wholly unbecoming, the Lord of Winterfell might find himself upon his knees to ask her for something he should not. The concept of her marrying a stranger only fuels the fire within his chest, a petulant selfishness whispering in his ears to forbid someone who does not know her from attempting to come near. To whisk her back to Winterfell, with her approval, if only to keep her out of the reach of unworthy hands. But in this moment, his desire is simple.

“May I, my lady?” A tantalizingly low echo of his previous words, just as reverent yet more needing than when he had last spoken them. At her silent consideration, that hint of a smile she has come to long for finds its way to his lips. “I am not above petitioning at length, should it please you.”

Lady Tyrell cannot claim that she understands exactly what Cregan Stark is seeking permission for. In an even more dire realization, she finds it does not matter to her. Her answer remains the same, so long as it is he who is asking. A soft breath of disbelieving protest at her own foolishness escapes her lips, the near whine sending heat directly between Cregan’s thighs. Ally or not, she might kill him yet.

“You need not do such a thing.” The phrase does not take as certain of a shape as she might wish, but the lady manages to whisper the words into the small space between them without her voice breaking. Curse her own idiocy, her own desires. It would seem she has not become wise regarding matters of this nature, despite previous lessons hardly and cruelly learned. A long time coming has this intimacy been, from the very moment their eyes locked within the throne room. Before there had been respect and wary alliance, there had been want.

The pads of his fingers brush against the plush skin of her cheek, the roughness of them a stark contrast to her softness. Cregan inhales quietly at the touch, the callouses of his battle worn hands tender upon her face as he slowly envelopes her cheek within his grasp, cupping it with a gentleness she imagines few would expect from such an intimidating and large leader of men. His towering over her matters little when his caress is so fond, as if she is some sacrosanct being he wonders over the rightness of touching. Her head leans almost instinctively into his palm, her chin raised so that she might look him in the eye. His eyes are low-lidded, his warm breath dancing gently atop her own.

Her given name is breathed into the space between them, reverent and weighty upon his lips as if from sacred scripture.

No sooner do light footsteps pad through the door of connecting chamber, and Lady Tyrell jolts back from Cregan as if lightning has descended upon her. In her absorption in their intimate moment, she has nearly forgotten they stand in Jaehaera’s chambers, with the intention of spending time with her. The guilt at this lapse of memory has her quickly turning her back to Cregan, forcing an easy smile upon her face as the princess begins to explain the book she has retrieved. The lady’s heartbeat is so rapid, she wonders if Cregan can hear it as he stands behind her.

“Would you read it with me?” Jaehaera inquires softly, unaware of the tension that hangs thickly between the adults in the room. With such precious little time that the lady has to spend with the princess, she can hardly refuse her. She reaches her hand to gently brush a strand of silver hair that has fallen loose from Jaehaera’s braid and gives an earnest nod.

“Of course, darling. Come, let us begin now.” Lady Tyrell’s voice is soft and full of the tender love she only presents when around the child. As the two of them cross the room to the cabriole leg sofa by the fire, discussing the book in gentle voices, Cregan can hardly find himself displeased. Conversely, a rather clear image has settled into his mind of tender moments interrupted by the soft voices of children, the halls of Winterfell once more filled with laughter and light. How long it has been since he has acknowledged this dream, let alone believed it might yet happen within his lifetime? When the lady pulls Jaehaera into her lap, opening the book with a sweet smile of pure and devotional love upon her face, there is no doubt in Cregan’s mind upon what he feels within his chest. It is love.

To his surprise, the princess then looks across the room at Cregan expectantly. She does not request anything, but she does not need to. Cregan gives a small nod to indicate his understanding, and makes his way to the sofa, sinking down next to Lady Tyrell as the woman’s face conveys how softly impressed she is by his winning the princess over. As Jaehaera begins to read the words of the story aloud, a gallant tale of the adventures of a knight and his squire, a warm peace has filled the room.

For the first time since the Northerners arrived at the Red Keep, new forces are allowed past the castle’s imposing gates and into the expansive front courtyard. Allies of the Lord of Winterfell, those who had fought beside him during the arduous descent from the North to the capital city, that had been straightening out the remnants of those who had supported Aegon II and the Green faction during the war. The open iron-barred gates let in a long line of weary soldiers, shoulders raising as they dismount their armored horses within the walls of the ruling seat of the Seven Kingdoms. Banners decrying the identity of the gathering Houses are taken careful note of by Lady Tyrell, who remains atop a balcony overlooking the bustling activity below. At her side is the Lady Jeyne Arryn, whom had suggested that the lady join her to observe the happenings prior to the meeting that is to be held. Lady Tyrell has developed a true fondness for Lady Arryn, her admiration for the Lady of the Vale having been in great supply since their first meeting. Learning more of her past has only served to increase her desire to learn from the other woman.

Many wagons roll through the gates, carrying what little supplies are still possessed by the troops, their wooden wheels bumping atop the tiny rocks dotting the courtyard’s ground. Loud and deep voices boom out into the air, laughter heard as friends reunite and begin to speak of their great victories during the campaign. Men clap each other upon the back, talk of drinking and whoring within the capital city that night already heard in plethora throughout the busy space. There are sounds of metal clanking together as armor is stripped and swords are sheathed, of neighing of the horses, of interspersed shouting from guards as the gates are manned. It is such a lively scene that the lady is swept into the unwilling remembrance of a bitter nostalgia, her mind recalling days where such vivacity occurred at the gates each time the sun rose. A cool breeze upon her cheek and the smell of seawater drifting in from the Blackwater stirs her from her thoughts, a quiet acceptance upon her countenance.

“Lord Stark has told me of the resolution of our problem regarding House Hightower,” Lady Arryn muses in an even tone, her eyes as sharp as steel as they scan the incoming men. Yet there is no harshness to her words, simply the direct Northern practicality that Lady Tyrell has come to find unfortunately endearing. “And so this shall be the remaining arrival of troops to your doorstep. I imagine you shall be relieved to see us depart, Lady Tyrell.”

“I cannot lie and pretend I do not wish for the ending of being trapped within these walls, nor the ending of such a tragedy,” Lady Tyrell finds that the resigned smile upon her lips is rather genuine, and she tilts her chin, eyes wandering across the commotion beneath them calmly. The matter is far too complicated for her to voice her true opinions on, should she herself even manage to ever put her thoughts upon the war into words. The strangeness of its ending has not yet settled fully within her chest. “Yet neither can I truthfully say I wish you all to be gone from my sight permanently.”

Cregan Stark’s Northern council is filled with those the lady truly does not mind the company of. Lady Arryn is perhaps her favorite, but the young Tully lords are bold and entertaining, and she still retains the hope of introducing her sister to Lord Blackwood. Even the lords Corbray have grown upon her, despite her initial uncertainty. It speaks to the quality of Cregan’s character, to surround himself and fill the chairs of his table with those who uphold honor and integrity. As she meets the other woman’s eyes, her smile softens. “Perhaps I shall pay a visit to the Vale once matters have settled further. Your bannermen speak often of the beauty of the Eyrie.”

Lady Arryn beholds her with an unreadable expression for a moment before her eyes crease slightly at the corners, a dip of her head indicating her approval. “We would be honored to host you, my lady.”

“And I honored to be received into your halls.” Another gust of wind graces Lady Tyrell’s face, blowing sections of hair behind her in a gentle wave. Remembering the rumors that had stirred in the castle prior to the arrival of the men from the North, she is quite glad to have discovered for herself their true nature. Rather than bloodlust and violent savagery, the Northern nobles carry a stern upholding of duty and a blunt pragmatism that has served the capital well since their rise to power. Not far in the past are days when she could never have imagined herself with allies from the North, and yet here she stands.

Her attention wanders down to the courtyard as she steps forward with reserved curiosity to gaze upon the lord who has caused her such upheaval since the day he arrived. Cregan Stark appears every inch the fearsome warlord when amongst the other men, and it is clear from the manner in which they acknowledge him that he commands great respect. But when she catches sight of him, her eyes narrow and her expression grows more serious as she watches.

Before the Lord of Winterfell stands a lady, dressed in attire far more suited to hunting and fighting than a gown might be. Hair as dark as a starless sky, cascading in small curls down to the tops of her hips as the edges catch loose droplets of warm afternoon sun. A quiver of black arrows rests upon her back, and the ease with which she holds a bow within one leather-gloved hand signals to many years spent familiarizing herself with its use. Her height leaves her upon even footing with many of the men within the courtyard, and her wiry frame still reveals the strength of her arms and of her lithe legs. Boots are laced up to her knees, meant for riding far distances. There have been no alterations to emphasize any one quality about her; it would seem she simply adorns herself with what might be beneficial in battle. She might not be considered a great beauty amongst the nigh impossible standards at Court, but that matters little to Lady Tyrell at present. It is the way Cregan looks at her. Dark eyes shimmer as she laughs, hearty and genuine, at words the lord speaks to her with a stoic fondness. There is an effortlessness to the exchange, a familiarity with each other that sends a worrying gnaw into the pit of Lady Tyrell’s stomach.

This, she finds unacceptable. To be driven to worry over a conversation – it is entirely possible, the Lady Tyrell decides silently, that she has lost her mind altogether. The recollection of the sensation of Cregan’s fingers upon her face flutters delicately atop her skin and disappears at the sight of the corners of the Lord of Winterfell’s lips upturning to indicate true liking for the woman before him. Never has she seen him look at another in such a way. Her mind races to identify the emotion in his reserved eyes, her own darting across his face as her posture draws up tightly, strung and sharp.

“The lady whom Lord Stark converses with,” She begins, intentionally manipulating her voice to be pleasant and soft to avoid giving any external indication of the nonsensical concern tugging insistently at the strings of her heart. Especially in front of Lady Arryn, who seems to take great pride in being exceptionally practical. “Who might she be?”

Lady Arryn’s eyes scan the courtyard, her head tilting as she searches for the origin of the lady’s line of questioning. When the other woman notices the exchange below, she observes for a brief moment before leaning towards Lady Tyrell, her eyes remaining fixed upon the two within the courtyard. “That would be the Lady Alysanne Blackwood. She lead her men upon the battlefields as they marched south.”

The name sparks a quiet grasping for any information that Lady Tyrell has ever heard regarding the other woman. With some difficulty, she remembers that Lord Benjicot Blackwood has an aunt upon his father’s side, a lady of true Blackwood blood who has been assisting the young lord since the death of the previous Lord of Raventree Hall. It had been a passing fact she had learned and paid little mind to, but as she watches the conversation continue with smiles from both parties, she curses herself for not seeking out more information on Lady Blackwood. Nothing makes her more anxious than to be uninformed or unprepared, and she seems to have become both of those over a rather unexpected matter. It is not unimaginable that Lord Stark has admirers, nor women he is fond of. She cannot say she has not thought upon the matter briefly, but her time at court has left her rather confident in her ability to outmaneuver another to seek out what she wants. She is familiar with the games the other ladies play at court to win the attention of men. Alysanne Blackwood does not seem to be playing a game at all. It is the raw and brash manner in which she carries herself and speaks that stands out to the Lady Tyrell and with another sickening drop of her stomach, she realizes that this is likely what Cregan finds appealing.

“She fought in the battles herself, then?” It is with practiced expertise that she keeps her voice light and airy, as sweet and nonchalant as if she were asking about the state of the weather. Truthfully, the concept of a woman fighting upon the battlefield is quite fascinating to her. If only the Lady Blackwood had not captured Cregan’s attention so, Lady Tyrell might have found herself eager to converse with the woman herself.

“Aye. And a rarity it is, even with her talent. I myself cannot claim to have done so.” Lady Arryn’s casual remarks upon the matter do little to soothe the lady’s troubled mind. She wonders briefly if a lady need not have beauty if she is instead utterly fascinating, and then if perhaps the Lord of Winterfell prefers to be fascinated himself. The conversation within the courtyard carries on quite amiably amidst the bustle of the incoming troops.

“A rarity indeed.” It is a saccharine breath of agreement, accompanied by the brief narrowing of her eyes and upturning of her chin. Over the tip of her nose, she watches the easy way that Cregan angles his broad shoulders towards Alysanne Blackwood, nodding his head as he explains some happening that has occurred since their last meeting. As the Lord of Winterfell leans forward to brush off a dry leaf that has fallen upon Alysanne’s hair, the pit in her stomach hollows in cavernously and the Lady Tyrell is left all but reeling once more, her mind scrambling for logic or sense or a reference of information that might prove a useful balm to her tumultuous state of being at the simple touch. All she manages to do is press her lips together tightly, her smile slipping from sweet to sickeningly so. “He appears rather fond of her.”

Lady Arryn’s expression is tinged at the edges with something akin to amusement at this, and the other woman gives the lady a look out of the corner of her eye. Lady Tyrell is far too occupied with staring quite pointedly down at Cregan – the Lady Arryn finds it a wonder that her liege lord does not simply burst into flames from the severity of the gaze. After a moment, she dips her head in acknowledgement. “I believe they enjoyed each other’s company when their armies met.”

A crinkling of the corner of her eyes is the only indication of Lady Tyrell’s agitation. The phrase is quite vague, and while she desires fiercely to delve further into the meaning of it, she restrains herself. The lady is far too ruffled by this, more so than she cares to be, and she need not allow Lady Arryn to perceive any more of that frustration than the other woman already has. Little can be kept from the discerning gaze of the Lady of the Vale, but she shall try nonetheless.

The nobles gather in the former Small Council chamber soon after the troops have all entered the walls, talking amongst themselves whilst standing around the long rectangular wooden table. It is not as crowded as she might have expected, most of the men eager to engage in more pleasurable pursuits despite the night not yet having fallen, but Lady Tyrell is not as vigilant as she ought to be. The new faces in the room would normally draw her observant gaze, as she might attempt to study their character and decide who might prove useful in the remaining days the Northerners will reside at the Red Keep. She knows well she captures their attention, her effect on men is severely understood by her and she remains the only Southern presence within the room aside from the twin princesses Baela and Rhaena, whom Cregan has invited to the meeting as an offering of peace. But wandering eyes and wistful looks are spared no thought, not when Alysanne Blackwood has seemingly settled comfortably at Cregan’s side, walking next to him as they discuss something in a low tone.

The Lord of Winterfell is met with a pair of icy eyes when he scans the room for the Lady Tyrel’s presence. It gives him pause.

She does not seem interested in elaborating her thoughts upon the matter, busying herself with a soft smile and pleasant conversation with the lord standing next to her who is all too eager to speak to the lady. Soft light streams in through the small circular windowpanes upon the far wall of the room, the rather dull space only slightly more revitalized by the welcoming of more lords and ladies within its stone columns. Lady Tyrell’s hands remain folded atop her gown the color of the clearest sky as she asks politely after the battles seen by the lord at her side – Lord Hugo Vance, who appears to be around her age and is not an abhorrent partner to converse with. On the contrary, she finds his manner of speaking rather interesting, and he seems to be both grounded and reasonable. Not traits in high supply at King’s Landing. Despite the general geniality of the conversation, the matter with Lady Blackwood has another masculine voice echoing in the darker parts of her mind.

A flash of violet eyes, the curl of a scornful lip, whisperings of her worst traits and shortcomings. How brutally foolish she had been once, manipulated by the sweet fruit of childhood love that had led to a garden of poisoned apples and dying trees. For all her shrewdness, nothing can save her from the way she can twist the cruelest truths to better reflect upon a person she adores until a knife is pressed to her throat and only her own spilled blood can wake her from the dream. As Lord Vance recounts a particular sword fight from the war, Lady Tyrell cannot shake the numbness accompanying her wondering upon whether or not she has been led astray once again. Wrapped in weary cynicism, she cannot help but consider that she has made the same disastrous mistake twice. She will not be made a fool of by a man again.

Nodding sweetly, she gives a smile that does not quite reflect in her dulling eyes. As Cregan calls for the attention of the nobles, never needing to work too hard to command a room, Lady Tyrell does not bother to gaze in his direction. His speech thanking the lords and ladies for all their hard work, for all the sacrifices made to achieve the peace that is only just upon the horizon, is nothing but a faint hum in her mind. With Lady Blackwood at his side, a woman who is more familiar with the world of battle and typically masculine pursuits than Lady Tyrell can ever hope to be, she can see a vision of the true North. A glimpse of something she wants – power and strength, a respect that is given only to those whom men consider strong.Callouses upon hands that come from wielding weapons, from being able to defend oneself in a way that she cannot. To live without such fear, to be seen as someone who might be an equal. There is a lady who can stand by the Lord of Winterfell.

Exhaustion has seeped far into her bones by the time Cregan finishes speaking, earning a rousing cheer and applause from the other men. Her eyes briefly catch sight of Rhaena and Baela, their faces still rather grim. Lady Arryn is observing with calm seriousness, a matter clearly weighing upon her mind. The few women within the room do not seem nearly as enthused as the lords. Lady Tyrell cannot bring herself to look to Lady Blackwood again, but it would not seem she needs to gaze far. As Lord Vance attempts kindly to rekindle their conversation, she hears her name and title upon Cregan’s lips behind her. She pauses, her figure drawing up tighter, a thin swallow making its way down her drying throat. Wondering briefly upon how rude it might be considered to pretend she simply has not heard, she continues to nod and smile. The warmth of a gentle hand upon her lower back signifies she shall not be escaping so soon.

Sucking in a soft breath, she turns as the Lord of Winterfell offers a small dip of his head to her and then Lord Vance for interrupting their conversation. At the sight of his liege lord’s hand upon the lady, Lord Vance is quick to nod in understanding and give her a bow before departing to speak with one of the Tully lords. Cregan’s large hand has settled into the small of her back as he guides her closer, the action bringing all of her pessimistic thoughts to an abrupt halt. Never has he touched her so casually, and certainly not in the presence of others. She blinks up at him, soft eyes that only partially reveal her confusion and desire for clarification upon this change. A few of the other lords seem to have taken note of this familiarity, raised eyebrows and meaningful looks exchanged with knowing smiles between the men. Lady Tyrell might have been angry if any other man had reached for her in such a familiar manner, but she allows him this closeness as Lady Blackwood approaches.

“Lady Tyrell, I wish for you to meet Lady Alysanne Blackwood. Our forces fought together on our journey south.” The introduction is simple and straightforward, and Lady Tyrell merely smiles pleasantly as Lady Blackwood gives a firm nod, offering her a neutral look. Lady Tyrell offers a small curtsy in response, her fingers curling into the embroidered fabrics of her skirts tighter than necessary.

“It is my pleasure, Lady Blackwood. The realm is grateful for your service.” Lady Tyrell’s voice retains a sugary quality, her posture demure and her hands returning to clasping each other delicately in front of her dress. Her lashes flutter slightly as she speaks, her chin tilting down. Lady Blackwood does not seem to harbor any of the pressures expected of a lady during introductions, something the Lady Tyrell finds envious. Instead, the other woman simply presents a look of general affability and regards her thoughtfully.

“It is good to meet you, my lady. Cregan has written of you in his letters, it is excellent to put a face to your name.” Her tone is light yet has a weight to it that wraps around her words and bestows upon them a quality of certainty. Lady Tyrell does her utmost not to let her smile twitch at the casual use of the lord’s given name, nor the revelation that they have been exchanging letters. Her stomach continues to twist itself into a nauseating knot. The information regarding her being mentioned in such letters seems of little consequence compared to the anxiety filling her chest. She scoffs internally at her own thoughts, wishing that this sort of worry would be beneath her. Rather than attempting to formulate a proper answers, she merely widens her smile slightly, her eyes narrowing a moment as she does. Cregan looks down at her, hand still pressed firmly to her back, and tilts his head slightly.

“A dinner shall be held tonight, to welcome those who have just arrived. Shall you join us, my lady?” The Lord of Winterfell extends the invitation with the utmost sincerity and courtesy but Lady Tyrell has worked herself up into such a state, one that will surely worsen if she is forced to endure a whole meal in this situation.

“I must unfortunately decline, my lord. I am quite weary and shall leave the festivities to all of you.” As she speaks, she gently maneuvers herself out of Cregan’s grasp, sliding her waist out from his warm hand. She does not look up to register the slight frown, nor the drawing of his brows at her obvious desire to escape him. Offering a small smile to Lady Blackwood, she slips out with the rest of the nobles before she can be questioned further.

Late is the hour when a heavy knock falls upon her chamber door. It rouses her from her aimless staring into the depths of her fireplace, eyes empty as they gaze into the golden flames and crackling logs of thick wood. Her intentions for the remainder of the night had been to soak in a hot bath, allowing time for her nerves to settle and her mind to still. The warm water had only served to send her thoughts into a further spiral, the scents of various florals reminding her poignantly of her own fragility. Adelin had been given the night off, casting a long look at the lady before she had left. Sinking into her plush armchair, barely having the energy to adorn her body with a thin nightgown the color of sea pearls, Lady Tyrell had only wished to sit for a moment.

One part of her wishes to pretend she has gone to sleep, but she knows the firelight casts a soft glow underneath the crack of the door. And her heart, exhausted as it is, gives a weak flutter at the weight of the knuckles rapping against the wood. Inhaling through her nose, she wraps a sheer robe atop her evening slip and softly makes her way across her chambers. Hands upon the cool metal of the latch, she barely pulls the door open wide enough for her figure to be seen before she pauses, hovering about the edge of the wood. The Lord of Winterfell stands before her, stoic and steady as always, his eyebrows lifting slightly upon seeing her. Within his hands he holds a bowl of soup, steam curling upwards in silvery helices.

The door is left to drift ajar lazily, leaving her fully visible as she stands beneath the door frame. Cregan is given momentary pause at the casualness of her dress, the slip clinging precariously to each soft curve of her body as if fresh powdered snow atop gentle hills. Despite the heat in his lower stomach, he forces his attention upward. Her eyes reflect the slight surprise that bubbles within her chest at the sight of him, hopeful yet hesitant at the unexpected visit. The warm scent of the hearty soup drifts softly to her nose, greeting her with hints of potatoes, tomatoes, onions and carrots. As her gaze devours the bowl with thinly veiled interest, Cregan gives her a softer look.

“I had not known if you had eaten, my lady,” His low tone is a welcome wave that washes over her body with a comforting and slow rhythm. Her gaze stutters slightly at the simplicity of the words, yet the thoughtfulness they imply. From the heat of the soup, which she can feel as she steps closer to Cregan, it would not seem that he has merely grabbed her leftovers either. “I asked the kitchen which soup you might prefer. I hope it is to your liking, if you are still in need of supper.”

As she turns her gaze upward to meet Cregan’s, she can scarcely keep the affection from flickering warmly in her eyes as if candlelight dancing behind stained glass. Lips press together as her brows draw closer, gratitude light upon her tongue.

“I am, it would seem.” She breathes it between them, a feather of a phrase that floats in the silence of the hall. Torchlight burns low across the stone corridor, illuminating Cregan’s commanding figure at the edges. There is that golden glow at the tips of his reddish hair that always calls her attention so captivatingly. Her weariness still aches deep within her tired body, but the small gesture has rekindled the dying embers in her chest. So quick is she to dismiss the possibility of affection and attachment, but she has not done so completely. As he reaches out to hand her the soup, his lips part slowly.

“Careful, it is quite warm.” The Lord of Winterfell cautions softly, ensuring she cups the bowl from the sides before he allows it to pass to her hands. His own calloused fingers brush tenderly against hers as he releases his hold, filling his senses with her smooth skin. Her lashes flutter gently at the innocent touch, a soft swallow upon her throat as she draws the warm soup closer to her chest. After a moment of easy silence, Cregan dips his head low. “I ought not to keep you from your rest, Lady Tyrell.”

As she lingers uncertainly in her doorway, her mind recalls earlier that day when Cregan had spoken her given name as a sacred devotion into the centimeters between their lips. How anxious she has been since then, how fretful over a man who is not her betrothed nor beloved. It is not in her character to be so easily swayed, not after her previous dealings in matters of the heart. And she finds, much to her own concern, that Cregan Stark has unexpectedly become a matter of the heart indeed. Taking a small breath, she resolves not to be so quick to resort to judgement. “I shall not retire until I have finished my soup, my lord. Perhaps you might join me until then?”

The invitation catches Cregan’s attention at once, his eyes widening slightly as his shoulders lower. Given the agitated state she had been existing in for most of the day, he had not believed she would wish to speak with him further. The opportunity for a quiet moment to sit beside her is not one he desires to ignore. “Aye, I would gladly do so.”

Lady Tyrell turns without further comment, not wishing to be caught standing before a man in her nightgown by any who might be passing by at the late hour. As she pads across the floor, her slippers soft upon the rich oak, she returns to her armchair and settles into it with a swish of her sheer robe. Cregan is left to watch for a moment, eyes tracking every move and step as the lady makes herself comfortable in front of the golden fire glowing within the hearth. Despite the stress from the day, she looks comfortable and soft within the firelit room. He then endeavors to join her, sinking into the chair across from hers as she begins to sip the hot soup with a neutral expression of content upon her face. As the liquid brushes her tongue, she winces at the heat and her brows knit together in a small frown. Cregan can do nothing but smile gently at the endearing expression.

“I did warn you it is hot.” Cregan offers quietly, amusement flickering across his face alongside light from the fire. Lady Tyrell lets out a huff in return, frustration upon her visage as she blows harshly overtop of the creamy soup.

“So you did.” It is the closest thing to a growl that he has heard escape her pretty lips. Shaking his head, the rumblings of a low laugh echo into the warm air between them, accompanied by the crackling of logs within the fireplace. Lady Tyrell wholly forgets the soup in her grasp and the stress of the day and every other thought that has ever entered her mind. Her mouth drops open slightly, her eyes wide as saucers as she stares blankly at him. Here sits the Lord of Winterfell, the feared Wolf of the North, laughing so easily within her chambers. The warmth in her chest is hotter than the bowl in her hands.

“I have missed the soups of the North,” Cregan sighs nearly wistfully as he gazes into the flames. The smell from the earthy potatoes had brought him back to days of wild youth, running breathlessly through fallen snow and underneath ancient pines. The puff of his own breath before him, his fingertips turning red from the biting cold. “Too long has it been since I have tasted home.”

The lady is completely placated by his presence, by the taste of the rich soup within her mouth. She sighs, pleased and warm, curling her legs beneath her in a most unladylike manner. “You have been away for some time. It must be difficult.”

It is a soft murmur, spoken around breaths used to blow gently into her food to spare her tongue the burning sensation each time the creamy liquid sits atop it. Cregan watches with a gentle approval, pleased to see her eating. He had worried over her, when she had declined to join the nobles for dinner and is glad he decided to ensure she had gotten something for supper. “And you, my lady? Do you miss home as well?”

“I do not know, in truth,” Lady Tyrell muses, her shoulders dropping elegantly as she shifts within her seat. Her eyes wander slightly, as if her mind is drifting to a place far from here. After a second with her thoughts, she shakes her head, the edges of her hair glowing in the warm firelight. “I had always known I would leave Highgarden one day. It was only that I believed King’s Landing would be my home, and it is…not. Not any longer.”

A small, weak smile is offered with the explanation. Her attention returns to her soup, the silver spoon held tenderly within her delicate grasp. As she brings it to her lips, she tries not to dwell upon the idea of home too seriously.

Cregan frowns at this, his brows low as he casts his gaze down to the plush rug that rests upon the wood in front of the hearth. Winterfell has been his home for the entirety of his life, and while he had been forced to fight for that home, it has always been his. His birthright, the lands that have raised him and all of his ancestors before him. How strange it would be, to have such uncertainty surrounding where one belongs. The North is in his blood and in his bones – he would not know his own identity if he were forced away from it permanently. The idea of her not having a place to belong to does not sit right within his chest. “You ought to have a home you can be certain of.”

A light raise of her eyebrows is given at this, while she keeps her eyes upon her soup. Her hands shift the ivory bowl back and forth absentmindedly, yet the seriousness of his voice is not lost on her. Still, there is not much she can do to rectify her own situation. Instead, she merely gives a small dip of her chin. “I would very much like that, my lord.”

“I hope that after the trials conclude, the Realm might have a better chance at peace.” Cregan sighs, a weight to the phrase from all the pressure that he has been carrying since his arrival. Being the Warden of the North has prepared him well for the power he currently holds within the capital, but it does exhaust him so. He cares little for Southern politics and the tumultuous remnants of the succession war. Although he cannot truthfully say he wishes he had never come – not when she sits across from him, gently lit by warm firelight, her visage a heavenly blessing upon his tired eyes.

“You have worked tirelessly for the bettering of the Seven Kingdoms,” The lady acknowledges, her voice quiet as she stirs her soup while keeping her gaze downwards. There is a certain comfort in sitting here with Cregan at the late hour, in simply being around him within the familiarity of her chambers, with no chance of being caught or interrupted. “I had strong doubt at first, but I do now believe you genuinely mean to carry out justice and return to the North.”

Cregan rubs a hand across his face, trailing it up through his hair as his eyes close. There has been far more ruling involved than he had anticipated when he had agreed to fight for Rhaenyra Targaryen. But fate has its own plans for the Lord of Winterfell, and he cannot turn away from a situation that mirrors his past so closely. “The young prince Aegon reminds me much of myself, when I was a lad. Mine own family had a similar issue with succession. My seat was hard won, against kin.”

Lady Tyrell has heard tale of how Cregan had imprisoned his own uncle and cousins after they had attempted to retain power once the lord came of age. Hearing him speak of it now, the way his jaw tenses as he does, she can tell it is something that was quite difficult for him. Her eyes flicker across his face, the way his reddish lashes fall atop the curves of his cheeks. The softness of her voice, barely above a whisper, betrays hints of the true affection she has come to hold in her heart for him. “It is kind of you then, to extend to Aegon the assistance you did not receive as a child.”

His eyes open at this, his chin lowering as he fixes his heavy gaze upon her. The lady holds his stare for a moment, before taking a small sip of her soup once more. “it is in my nature, I suppose. The need to rectify a present situation to ease the pain of a past one, even if it only is for the next generation. And in yours as well, I would say.”

It is an accurate assessment of her character; one she suspects few would know. But there is no hiding the truth from Cregan, who has seen her with Jaehaera every night. While she loves Jaehaera deeply, as she has since the girl was born, her guilt and pain over Helaena does additionally drive her need to ensure that the princess has a brighter future than her mother did. It cannot fix anything, but the thought of creating a peaceful life for Jaehaera does bring the lady some semblance of hope.

“It is all I can think, somedays. If only to give myself something to do, lest I go mad from my own helplessness.” It is a soft musing, spoken from someone who has sat for many hours within the cold grasp of grief’s unyielding hands. Cregan recognizes it well, as he so often does. It is peculiar to him at times, how he sees himself mirrored in this woman whose upbringing was vastly different than his own. Yet there she is, reflecting pieces of himself he needs to examine more closely, forcing him to think harder about why he is the way he is.

“We cannot change our past, but we have it in our power to make an attempt towards a better future. It might be in vain. We might never see it, or we might fail before we create it. It is our mortal duty to try nonetheless.” The heaviness in his tone forces her to look up at him, her eyes meeting his as she inhales softly. A better future – might it yet be possible for her, for Jaehaera? As she gazes into Cregan Stark’s eyes, searching for any sign of doubt and finding only stern certainty, it does not seem like a distant dream.

a/n: slowburn is definitely slow but stay tuned for the next chapter, i imagine it's what a few of you have been waiting for ;)

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