#Cross-Border Inheritance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megapteraurelia · 30 days ago

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DUSKWATCH. — scroll #2.

𓐩 SUMMARY; — iwaizumi hajime promised himself he'd stop, lay down the sword and keep his head and feelings down, for after all, he was just a stable boy. but when your hand for courtship gets offered as the prize for this yearly's knight tournament — he can't help but pick up the buried helmet again.

𓐩 WARNINGS; — royalty! fem!reader; stable boy!iwaizumi; mention of injury; yearning!!; death; objectification and sexism; crude language;

𓐩 WORD COUNT; — 8643.

𓐩 AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i had lots of fun writing this chapter. hope you have fun reading it!!

— back to masterlist.

nameless. — messenger.

The road should have been quiet.

It ran along the southern border, an old trade route once packed so tightly with carts and stomping hooves that not even dust had any time to settle. Now, the indents carved by the wheels were half swallowed by weeds, wild and uncut. Even the trees seemed to have crept closer.

The old watchtowers, which used to be manned all year long by the Crown's soldiers, now stood silent, empty, hollow. The closest hold was a three days ride north, too far to send help, too close to ignore.

It should have been quiet. It should have.

Except this time, there was smoke hanging low between the hills. It wasn't thick enough to indicate a strong fire belonging to anything resembling war, but it wasn't idle like a bonfire, either.

There was the sharp scent of rust in the air. A small village not too far from the trade route had gone as silent as the road should have been. Silent in a way that promised bleeding.

Underneath the hill, dark shapes shifted between the trees. They didn't move in tandem the way soldiers did, but didn't move in complete disarray the way frightened farmers would. They moved with the confidence of men who had done this before, like they had hit the road together enough to know to work alongside others, but never equal. Selfish, still.

Bandits.

They had no banners, these men, only patchwork armour and blades worn down from too much use and too little care. From the thicket of the trees, a figure emerged, tall, his hair as dark as the night, cow-licked as the strands refused to sit back. He wore a cloak, his face obscured by the shadow, carrying a rapier on his hips that gleamed cleaner than the rest of him.

He didn't speak, but when he raised a hand, the bandits knew. And stopped moving.

At the edge of the field, a carriage lay smouldering. The wood still hissed where fire had licked at it, a wheel spun loose nearby in the grass. Chests had been broken up and torn apart, the coat of arms of the Royal Mint half broken.

masako. — lady-in-waiting.

The Crown Princess was crying.

Masako's face, lined with age and experience, remained stoic, her eyes watching her mistress with a hard gaze. She sat near the hearth, her hands folded in her lap, her muscles pulled taut with patience. She had seen this despair before.

Masako had served queens. Had watched them rise and fall, had been there when one of them took poison before her wedding day, and had helped sew her into the burial shroud when the court declared it a fever. She had knelt behind your mother as she signed away her inheritance in tears, lips smiling for the court even as her fingers bled from gripping the quill too tightly. Masako had watched women in silk gowns lose everything the moment they blinked too slowly or smiled at the wrong man.

She had seen many things — tragedy, power, and endless manipulation. But nothing stirred her like the quiet suffering of the Crown Princess she had sworn to serve.

Masako stood up with the stiffness of age and discipline, her joints creaking ever so slightly beneath her layered skirts. Crossing the room slowly, she knelt beside you, her worn slippers soft against the stone floor.

"Enough, Your Highness," she said in a voice that was as firm as iron, but tempered with a quiet tenderness, hidden between the folds of her wrinkles. Her tone was not unkind, "Let no one hear you cry like this."

Your sobs quieted, but your face was still hidden in your hands, your shoulders trembling. "Masako. He's choosing for me. Again. Like I'm a thing. Like I'm — like I'm a prize for some man."

Masako's jaw tightened. That was the truth indeed. You were right, you were.

"You are a princess. Not a child," she pressed a steady hand to your back, guiding you to sit up, "You are not the first to be forced into a marriage for the benefit of power, and you will not be the last."

"He has taken control of everything," you spat, face blotched with redness from the tears and the anger, "Not because he cares about me, no, God forbid I am to be brought up in a family that knows the word love. It's so I can please him, because the Lord Regent thinks I'm too soft to choose for myself. What does it matter if I'm the 'most expensive jewel' if I can be bought?"

Masako's eyes drifted beyond the chamber, back to the corridor, to the paintings on the wall, the windows. To all the places that were not to be trusted. Her voice was low, intimate, grave, "Hush, child. You must not say that aloud. Not even to me. Not even here."

"I don't want to fight anymore."

You sounded so young, like a child, like somebody who wasn't ready to take on the world, so exhausted even though you had not yet lived your life to the fullest and Masako understood that, deep in her heart. So her expression softened. But when one thing softened, then another needed to harden, or else they were going to be swept by the tide mercilessly.

"Listen to me," Masako's voice had an edge to it that was sharp, "You will fight, and you will survive this. You will smile when they want you to weep, bow when they demand it and fight when they think you've lost."

She had stood where the Crown Princess was standing now; barely out of girlhood, married to a man three times her age to preserve her family. She had smiled as he lifted her veil, and she had bled alone in the cold bed the same night.

Yet, she had learned how to survive where others were broken.

Her hand caressed your hair, and you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, breathing still uneven but the shakiness had lessened; the hurt remained deeply lodged within your chest.

The fire behind you crackled and shifted, but Masako didn't look. Instead, her eyes remained on the princess; your face that stopped hiding behind your hands.

"I hate him," you whispered.

Good. Let the princess hate them, to hate them all. She didn't say anything because she didn't want to soothe that feeling nor dismiss it. Hatred had its place, for she had learned it a long time ago. And then you sat up, and it was like that was the last bit of weakness you would allow yourself. Spine straightening, a slow turning inward — it was something Masako knew well, too: resolve.

"I will not be a lamb," you said, voice raw, "I will do what is required of me, but I will not be lead to slaughter."

Masako nodded, and she cradled the pride inside her chest like she had cradled you as a newly born.

iwaizumi hajime. — stable boy.

The loft above the stables smelt like straw, old wood and sweat. The air was thick with dust up here that caught the sunlight, and Iwaizumi Hajime was rummaging through the little stash of utensils he kept in secret. One thing Hajime disliked was sharing working tools with people who didn't know how to use them.

It wasn't like he really minded teaching them how to brush a mare properly, but if he did and they left the bristles all bent beyond the natural scope of what it could hold told him two things:

They did not care about the horse or how to groom them properly, and they did not care about the tools belonging to somebody else.

And neither of those were anything Hajime appreciated.

Lost in the routine of grooming the horses, the soft clank of metal snapped him back to reality.

"—damn buckles still not here," came a familiar voice, rough and half-muffled by age and irritation. Peeking around the corner, Hajime watched Irihata drag a worn leather harness across the work bench, grumbling to himself.

"Third shipment this month. And they're light, too," Irihata pursed his lips in disapproval, "What are they doing over there? Used to be clockwork, now it's all horseshit excuses."

Hajime frowned faintly, but the senior groom didn't look up. Instead, he waved his hand in the stable boy's direction, "You finish brushing her down?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Go check the third stall in the east wing. That grey's due for oiling."

Hajime complied without a complaint. He was working the oil into her coat when another set of voices drifted in, sharp with laughter, careless as boys with too much time and too little sense often were.

"—winner gets that old unclaimed sword from back a couple years ago and the princess' hand," one of the squires said, his voice muffled as Hajime heard the crunch of an apple, laughter evident in his tone, "Think on that. Fight a few rounds and you're off with a crown, a lady and a new sword."

"She's prettier than most prizes, I'll grant it," another said, "But word on the street is she sat strange the whole way through. Those fancy-boots said she was stiff as a corpse, no smile, no tear, nuffin'. Might as well've stuck a fancy ribbon on a pike."

"Still," the squire muttered, another crunch, "Wouldn't say no to riding off with that prize, dead eyes or not."

The brush stilled in his hand.

Hajime didn't remember crossing the yard. One moment he was inside, and the next he was out there, standing before them, his fists clenched, heart hammering in his ears like the hooves of a galloping horse.

"Repeat what you said just now."

The squires paused, surprised by the interruption, blinking as they registered the presence of somebody as low in the hierarchy as him. He was a cloth meant for boots, somebody to ignore with his worn-down boots, his hair damp with sweat.

One of them shrugged, "Easy, lad. We didn't mean anything by it."

"She's not some game to laugh about," his voice came out low, tight, but shaking with something more than just anger. Something that travelled from his fingertips through his veins to his chest, culminating, clumping together, pulsating. And it burned, "She's no tool for you to toss around, you don't know her, you—"

He cut himself off.

The squires looked at each for a second, bewildered, because why was a lowly stable boy trying to lecture them on anything?

"She's the Crown Princess," the taller one of them said, frowning, "It's our business, too."

Hajime knew they were right. And he hated it so much. Hated that they spoke your name so freely without knowing the sound of your laughter when you used to run through the meadows, leaving him and his master to trail after you with Juno as a young steed in tow-rope, or the way you wrinkled your nose when the wind carried chimney smoke through the card over during winter.

They didn't deserve to have your name in their mouths.

His fists trembled, but he turned away. He didn't want to feel this way, but everything in him couldn't breathe at the news he had heard, couldn't will his heart to stop pounding so loud.

You weren't a prize.

Not when you had asked his name; not what he was called, but his name, and now you were to be given to somebody who didn't know the way you picked at your dress like you didn't want to be wearing the tulle, the way you nodded and acknowledged Irihata, the way you stepped back to allow him, Iwaizumi Hajime with dust on his face, to go through when it was he, who would wait until the ends of earth for you.

He pressed his forehead to the mare's neck he was grooming, teeth digging into the pillow of his lower lip. Anger swelled in his chest again, but it wasn't even aimed at the Lords, not even at the Regent who offered you up like meat, no, he was furious with himself. For not being more. For being born all wrong and low and worthless. For all the ways he held back speaking to you, even though he knew he had no place doing so.

"I love you, Princess," he whispered into the warm skin of the horse, the words sharp and mocking, "Let me bring you flowers with hands that smell like horse piss."

And you would never know. Could never know. Would be married before the month was even over, somebody lifting your hand to their lips, somebody who wasn't worthy of you.

It was bitter, the shame he felt almost at once. He had no claim, no place, no right.

And yet—

Something inside him twisted when he imagined another man riding for you. Not even because they loved you, but because you were something to win, something to conquest. That thought tasted worse than shame. So no, he didn't have any claim.

But then again, none of them did.

He lifted his head, his master's grumbling faint in the background, the smell of animal evident, the heat on his back from where the sun peeked through the wooden planks stark. Yet, everything in him quieted.

They wouldn't know him if he—

No. He couldn't. This was an official tournament. If he got unmasked, he would fear more than just to be shamed. He would be impersonating noble blood, him, who was a peasant. Imprisoned for years to come at best, executed at worst.

Yet.

And yet.

His fingers tightened on the brush he was holding. How many nights had he ridden beneath the moon, name hidden, besting boys who boasted of their fathers like it was their achievement to talk about?

How many times had he felt the ache in his arms from ramming lances against other knights, from swinging swords that required a higher body class than his, blocking and parrying strikes with the dented metal of his armour because he couldn't afford shields? How many times he shuddered of the surge of victory and thought, if only you could see him now?

You weren't theirs to win. You weren't his to win.

And yet, in that moment, he wanted to ride. Not for a crown he didn't care about, not for gold that never satisfied him, not even for your hand.

He wanted to ride so they'd see you. Not as a prize, not as a fancy ribbon or an ornament. He wanted to ride so you'd be worth protected.

Hajime ignored the thought that sneaked through the grass of his mind like a snake poised to attack that maybe, just once, you might see him, too.

hanamaki takahiro. — court jester.

The clang of steel on steel rang out in the training yard, each blow echoing with more pride than the intention to practise. Hanamaki leaned against the stone archway with a plum in his hand and an amused smirk in the other, cutting the fruit slowly with a short dagger as knights sweated through drills in their gleaming half-armour, trying to coax their opponent to look more fatigued than they were.

To him, their sweat looked the same, but oh well, who was he to judge any of their training?

"Is that Ser Haiba or a butcher swinging blindfolded?"

Hanamaki was the fool of the court, after all.

Lev faltered at the call-out, the arc of his sword stuttering and he missed a block at the right time, taking a blow to the shoulder that cracked across the yard, and he stumbled back, three steps — but it wasn't like Hanamaki counted.

His teeth sank into a slice of the plum, sweet juice spilling out, coating his lips in a smug red.

"I would apologise if I were to be sorry, good knight," he added, enjoying the embarrassed blush spreading on Lev's cheeks, "But then I would be lying, and whilst I may be in the habit of it, I could never hide a truth like yours. Your impersonation of a goose is most amusing."

There were other knights, younger in age and experience, who snorted unceremoniously; their laughter proof of an immaturity only adolescence can carry without shame, not yet burdened by the weight of wisdom. Some others tried not to. The older knights, though, barely flinched, too jaded by discipline, or maybe they were too tired.

Hanamaki eyed those especially long and ate another slice.

His motley was bright in the shadow and even brighter when he stepped out into the sun, and when he passed a passing squire, he held up his hand as if to share a secret, yet his voice carried over the yard, "Everyone's training like their lives depend on it. If I didn't know better, I'd think there was something worth impressing someone for."

A few of the knights exchanged glances, like they had been caught. He saw that one of them stiffened, the metal of their armour glinting in the sunlight with the minuscule movement, flashing him a secret code of guilt.

Good.

From across the yard, a certain man looked up from speaking with a squire. Despite the dangerously charming smile that sat on a mouth that knew to whisper just as many sweet nothings as Hanamaki, he didn't miss the subtle pause, the narrowing of eyes. Oikawa Tooru was always watching, just like him.

Sometimes he liked to perform just a little extra for the Knight Commander. He'd tip toe the edge of propriety with an outrageously flourished bow, a louder insult, a smirk too slow in its widening to be innocent. When a knight dropped his guard, Hanamaki liked to snatch up the fallen blunted sword and salute Oikawa with it like it was a duelling glove before pretending he was just wiping his sweat.

He would speak loudly when Oikawa was near, weaving truth nestled in harmless jokes; truths that Oikawa would hear whether he wanted to or not.

Hanamaki liked to think that the knight didn't just tolerate him, but that he listened. That maybe, beneath the perfect composure he sported, he might have flinched once or twice when the jester spoke of the bitterness of a man who knew he would never be the best.

And when Hanamaki caught Oikawa looking, briefly, no smile, no frown, just an assessing, almost passive stare — then he counted it as a win. Better than applause, better than laughter: acknowledgement.

In a place like this cut-throat court, that was almost as good as power.

"Is there a reason you're bothering trained men at work?" Oikawa called, his tone light and sugary, but with a sharpness that Hanamaki only recognised from how often he had already annoyed the Knight Commander.

Hanamaki grinned, "Trained? God help us all. I thought you were just swinging sticks for the fun of it."

Oikawa ignored the chuckle going around the knights, ignored the bark of another knight from the Crown's Watch that told them to get off their arses and he also ignored the clinking of swords starting up again. Instead, he stepped forward with polished grace, the gold of the kingdom's emblem winking in the sunlight proudly, like he had nothing sharper on his person than his smile.

"Now, Makki — surely, you don't mind if I call you that —" he said, the boyish grin lazy and far too warm; his hand coming up to finger a bell on Hanamaki's cap, his head slightly cocking when no ringing sounded out, "Some of these fine young squires don't know when they're being teased; they might forget you're only playing. Lucky for you, I do."

Hanamaki hummed, tilting his head the same amount of degrees, "How lucky indeed. You've always had a talent for telling jest from threat unless when it's staring you right in your well-groomed face, haven't you?"

"Careful, Jester. Some might take 'well-groomed' as a polite way to say 'horse-faced.'"

The jester stepped back, and even though he bowed as a way to show respect, his eyes never strayed from Oikawa's very own gaze, "Wouldn't you know, Knight Commander?"

He held Hanamaki's stare, his hand sitting on the hilt of his sword comfortably, never faltering, never tightening. Then he turned around as if to leave, adding over his shoulder in a soft voice, "Careful of how deep you bow. Someday, you might forget how to stand up."

Hanamaki thought that he hadn't intended to try and get under Oikawa's skin. He had let himself enjoy it for too long, dipping into the well of exchanging teasing remarks. It certainly wasn't his goal; he wasn't here to play games with the golden boy.

Matsukawa's words came back to him as he stood upright again, cool and quiet, delivered over the rim of a teacup, "Don't look for ambition, Takahiro."

Yeah, he knew.

So he adjusted the tilt of his cap from Oikawa's pull and let his gaze sweep across the yard. The loud ones that boasted, their egos all inflated like those sweet pastries they liked to eat, he ignored. They would trip over their own boots just to catch the princess glance their way; they wanted to win, yes, but they wanted attention more.

Not them.

Then his eyes caught somebody—

Silent. Heavy shoulders, the kind of knight whose presence didn't ask to be noticed. When the others laughed, he didn't so much as blink. He held the blunted sword like it was an extension of his body, like it was only natural for his fingertips to melt together with the leather straps around the hilt.

Hanamaki chewed the inside of his cheek, leaning against a post in the shadows; the sun too hot for his fair skin. He wouldn't approach. Not yet. Better to watch how the others treated him first, if they respected him too easily, if they moved around him without realising that they did.

"Now, you're interesting," he muttered, popping the last slice of plum into his mouth.

you. — crown princess.

The healing room smelt of crushed herbs and death.

Narrow windows opened, there was a soft breeze through the chamber, yet it was not enough to wash away the scent of sick. The king shivered and the window was closed again. Instead, the hearth was lit, even though it was late spring. The crackle of wet logs fought for space to exist against the sound of the king's breathing, ragged and shallow.

You sat beside him, one hand of yours curled in your lap, the other caressing the ashen skin of His Majesty's hand. The hand that once used to ruffle your hair and the hand that gripped the throne's arm until it almost splintered when you refused to listen no longer seemed huge. His veins protruded, pliable under your touch, no strength to even hold his daughter's hand anymore.

His eyes were closed, lips cracked from the amount of mouth breathing he was forced to do. The apothecary hadn't diagnosed anything to be wrong with his nasal airways, yet he still used his mouth, as if the air he could get through his nose alone wasn't enough, like it was dwindling.

He didn't wear his crown. It looked weird seeing him without it. For a time, there was an indent on his forehead from where it was perched atop of his head, sparkling, commanding respect, commanding order, commanding fear. Now his flesh was sweaty, and free of any proof of burden.

The apothecary wove in and out of the room like smoke, muttering to herself, measured; the small glass vials clinking like bones in a pouch. She applied salve to the king's chest in order to ease his chest muscles from working so hard, fed him tinctures drop by drop, rearranged his pillows, adjusted his clothes.

It almost looked like she was preparing him for a death ceremony.

Silently, standing stiffly and upright, was her uncle, the Lord Regent.

He wore no armour, not more than he normally did. At least never in this room. Only his dark velvet, unadorned, simple with a single ring. It was the signet of the realm, the symbol of hope. Or so it said. His heavy eyebrows were drawn together, though the rest of his face was unreadable, no muscles twitching, unmovable — except his eyes. They watched you. They watched the king. They watched the door.

He looked like a man waiting.

Your eyes grazed him, briefly, and when he met your own, he inclined his head in the slightest degree, respectful, practised.

You looked away, jaw tightening.

The apothecary leaned back, wiping her hands and shook her head, "He's sleeping again."

The lord Regent started, voice neutral, flat. "He's fading—"

"He's still there," you replied, interrupting, and this time you looked your uncle straight in the eye without backing down.

iwaizumi hajime. — stable boy.

Hajime wasn't asleep when the old hinges of the stall doors creaked. He had been lying on his cot, one hand supporting his head, his other lazily settled on his stomach. His eyes were fixed through the cracks of the wooden planks on the ceiling, studying the night sky.

The stars blinked back at him, distant and cold and perfectly content with just being watched. He liked counting them, because each one he looked at reminded him of you. High above, always just out of reach, casting light he had no right to claim.

Tonight, he was halfway to twenty-seven when the creak came. Silent, almost an unsure sound, and the tip toes following them even shyer. He didn't move at first. Just blinked slowly, a string of names entering his head and disappearing just as quickly when he dismissed them. The ones he thought might have entered the stalls were all people who knew the secrets of the floor, who knew which boards sang and which ones kept silent. This, here, was an intruder.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his cot, the straw squished beneath him. Boots beside the bed, but he didn't reach for them; he was quieter without.

When he sneaked down, his fingers wrapped around the handle of a hammer.

Just in case.

masako. — lady-in-waiting.

"Where has she gone off to, now? It's night time already," a huff of frustration, "She is going to be my ruin."

"I don't know, Madam."

"Go look for her."

"Yes, Madam."

you. — crown princess.

"What business have you got here?"

Heart lurching, falling right into your stomach with a start, you whirled around, traitorous hood of your cloak slipping, and you met the widened brown eyes of the stable boy.

His hand was slightly raised, the hammer glinting dimly and—

A soft thud echoed in the quiet of the night, your eyes flicking down as the tool slipped from his grasp and landed hard on the ground— no, his foot. A sharp hiss escaped him but he didn't flinch or step back, instead, something stilled within him and his hand, raised to strike, dropped to his side instantly, still as water.

Your breath caught at the sight of him, of this rough man standing rigid despite the pain, breathing out, low and and steady: "…Your Highness."

As if your title was both a damned curse and a whispered prayer.

Your chest tightened and without thinking, you took a step forward, hands lifting as if to kneel beside him, to ask if he was hurt, if he needed help. It gnawed at you how little Hajime seemed to notice the throbbing in his foot, how much he bore quietly.

Before you could even bend, before you could even rustle the your night gown underneath your cloak, he straightened up, sharp and quick, as if the very act of your worry was something he couldn't stand.

"You shouldn't, Your Highness," he said, his voice scratchy and raw.

His foot was bleeding, and the urge to approach him caught beneath the weight of the rules you had known since you could think. Your mouth opened and closed again — yeah. You shouldn't. That was what it always was. You shouldn't. He was a stable boy and you were a princess and princesses bowed before no one but the crown. Because it always came down to that.

Fighting, right?

Yo you slowly backed up again.

It was quiet for a moment, the warmth in the room hugging you tightly, the holsters behind you that you had intended to borrow one from were like a bell signalling your presence that didn't belong here.

"I wanted to— Juno—" you bit your tongue, harsh, took a second to collect yourself, "I couldn't sleep. I wanted to take Juno out for a ride."

"Allow me, Princess," he offered and his eyes lowered, lashes brushing the apple of his cheeks, "I'll ready him for you. You have no need to fuss yourself over it."

You watched him with a composed silence, the one you carried around when you stood amongst Lords that yanked on your skirts. But it felt different here. The silence felt like it weighed more, like it was heavier. Here, in this stable, he felt larger than you, like he belonged and you were the odd one out. There was a tug in your chest, one that wanted to belong, too.

You let him reach for the saddle, the bridle, the saddle pad with an ease that only came from having done so a hundred of times. You were sure you would have woken up everybody on this farm trying to find all you needed for your horse had he not stopped you. The saddle was seemingly weightless in his arms, the linen tunic bulging around his arms when he cradled it close.

"Are you going to tell on me?"

He paused, his knuckles whitening on the leather strap in his hand, his eyes glancing to you for only a moment before looking away, "If…that's what you want, Your Highness, then yes."

"And if it isn't? If it's you, Hajime, and you alone."

The air shifted for a moment, and when he turned to you, his hair longer than a year ago, falling a bit into his eyes, his voice was a tad softer, truer, "Then I won't."

No bow. No title. Just the truth.

"…Your Highness."

Or maybe not.

unknown. — mercenary.

"I'm just sayin', ya can't trust a man who turns down hot stew."

"An' I'm saying, not every meal has to be hot," the mercenary snapped back at his brother, heated, "Sometimes cold's better, builds character better too. Not that you would know."

A third voice, bored, "Didn't you cry over lukewarm porridge once?"

"I didn't cry, I was delirious from blood loss. Naturally, I'd hafta appreciate a good meal like that."

A low whistle, "Delirious and ugly. What a sight ya were."

"At least, I didn't scare that healer half to death with my face."

The black-haired mercenary, eyes slanted and sharp, thought about breaking the brothers up.

Yeah, no, that was it — he only thought about it. It was pretty entertaining, he had to admit.

"We've the same face, ya dick."

"Mine's prettier."

"Pretty enough the tavern girl last week thought ya were a barmaid."

"No way in hell—"

Their brawl started again, and a sigh escaped him, "If this is what I have to listen to before the job, I want hazard pay."

"Shut yer trap." — "If ya wanna eat metal so bad, I've got enough of that shit to shove up yer arse."

you. — crown princess.

You didn't speak.

The warm night cloaked you like a blanket, the canopy of trees swaying above you alongside the wind. The forest wasn't silent at night, not completely. It breathed within the subtle shifting on the grounds from animals coming out to peek who was disturbing their peace, but who scuttled away just as fast when they registered the steady rhythm of hooves on soft, soaked earth.

Hajime rode beside you. Not quite beside you, he was still behind you in deference, but close enough to reach for your reins if you happened to slip. Close enough to catch you. You weren't sure whether to be insulted or grateful that he didn't allow you to venture out on your own.

Well, he also didn't quite forbid you from it, not outright — you didn't think he would ever, but when he had fitted your horse with the saddle, his hand absentmindedly and instinctively drifted up to scratch your stallion's withers like he had done so a thousand times. You had stepped forward toward the stall, fingertips brushing the leather, and he had pulled the reins away.

Not rushed or aggressive, not in a way that told you he refused but with something gentler coating the action. His head had raised slightly, and he had said, voice quiet but not unsure, "I can't let you ride into the woods alone."

You had frowned then.

You didn't come to be chaperoned, you had come here to escape, to take your mind off the thick scent within the healing room, but then he hurried to add, "I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. If you'll have me — I know every misgrown root, every fox hole."

With parted lips, you had wanted to respond, but then your gaze had caught on the way he stood even though his head was bowed. Not with defiance, not even in submission, not with the burden of being in your presence. He stood like devotion had a shape. Evident in the trembling of his muscles, the calm rise of his chest, as though the weight of your safety had settled in his bones and he chose it so. Like he couldn't leave your security up to chance.

So you said, simply, "I'll have you."

He didn't speak either, but so he was always. Hajime was quiet, and you liked the quiet that came with him. Out here, it wasn't heavy and it wasn't expectant. Almost, you even felt seen and left untouched.

You glanced at him once and for a fleeting second, you almost mistook him for one of your usual retinue. The moon liked him, you thought offhandedly, because it lingered on his face like it couldn't get enough of him, like it trusted him, touching his face with gentler hands than the sun ever had.

He looked like—

He really did look like a knight.

It wasn't his clothing nor his station, nor the way he bowed his head when he noticed you looking. It was the way he rode the horse with ease, his hand lightly resting on the horn, his eyes drifting away from you at once when you turned your head, always evading your gaze.

He rode like your safety was more important than his own.

"You always ride like that?"

His eyes kept down on the shifting of his horse's mane, "Like what?"

"Like the woods are yours."

His posture stiffened almost instantly, as though he had done something wrong, as though you had caught him doing something wrong. He straightened in the saddle, not sharp, not alerted, but like the words struck something within him.

"I didn't mean—" he started, the words tumbling out, his ears darker than the rest of his face, "I'd never claim anything that wasn't mine to touch. Least of all whilst you're—" he bit the rest of it back, jaw tightening like he had tasted something bitter, "Forgive me, Your Highness."

You blinked. That hadn't been the tone you'd meant, not truly. It was just how natural he belonged amongst the nature, how breathless it made you to see Hajime lead his horse, muzzle caressing Juno's flank slightly to have your stallion change his own direction.

But now it lingered between you now, this thing that hung in the dark like something fragile and easily misunderstood.

You watched Hajime, the way his brows furrowed like he was beating himself up, the veins at his throat pulled tight with restraint. So careful, this man who knew how to ride in silence and disappear behind bowed heads. He almost reminded you of a memory, a glint on black metal amongst the warm orange flicker of torches.

"What's my name?" you asked, a whim that befell you at the memory.

His eyes lifted, snapping to you with confusion, hesitation, "Your Highness."

You let the silence stretch for just a beat longer than what felt natural, then asked again, more gently this time, "No, Hajime. What's my name?"

Something flickered in his face and his teeth dug deep into his mouth.

"Princess," he said at last, and this time the word sounded like it scraped the inside of his mouth, like it pained him. He cast his gaze away, like he was ashamed he hadn't spoken the truth, or maybe ashamed that he had wanted to in the first place.

You knew he knew it, could see it in the way his fingers clenched around the horn of the saddle. He knew your name and he had known it since you were children, ever since you kept sneezing by the orchard fence and he had brought you water, ever since your guard had slapped the water from his hands because it couldn't be trusted.

He hadn't said it.

And you let it go, instead— "Answer the question like another squire asked you. Like you got dared to."

Hajime hesitated, then gave a short laugh under his breath, and it sounded reluctant, but warm, relieved. Bitterly, you noted the relief and swallowed the thought squirming into your conscience that you could force him if you really wanted to, that you could order him.

"I've been here longer than I'd been in court. I trust the trees more than most men, too."

"Still sounds like a claim."

"Not a claim, Your Highness," and this time, the title felt like a caress, "I'm just familiar with it, is all."

You didn't correct him that you thought it was still a claim. You also didn't tell him that it didn't bother you if it was, that he didn't feel so far beneath you when you both existed together like that, that you wondered what your name might sound like spoken in his voice.

The path narrowed under a low arch of trees, their leaves dripping with the ghost of yesterday's rain. Your horse slowed and his followed. Quiet had stretched between you again, though once more, it was not heavy. Soft, like the hush of the night before morning arrived and the flowers bloomed.

"I used to think the forest was a place to disappear."

He didn't say anything, so you continued on, "But tonight, they kind of feel like a place to exist."

Hajime was quiet for a moment, "They hold things well."

"Secrets? Memories?"

"Amongst other things, Princess."

"People, too?"

The hooves were muffled, a breeze rustling the leaves of the trees above you, a hoot of an owl floating between you, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above the bird's, "If they want to."

You turned your head towards him, searching his profile in the moonlight, horse neighing beneath you, "Do you?"

He didn't answer at first, like he always weighed his words carefully, what to reveal, what to keep secret, then he swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"I think I did, once," his eyes flitted over to you and sank immediately when they found yours. You wished he would stop doing that, "I think I still do."

You knew what he meant, because when the trees curved around you, their shadows falling long and the wind carried the scent of moss and bark, you almost smelt freedom within the notes. Your hands loosened their hold on the reigns, allowing Juno a bit more of that which you so desperately wanted.

It was the first time someone had said something real to you in days. Weeks, maybe.

Out here, riding in the dark, letting Juno lead you, you didn't have to do anything. Not be a heir to a dying kingdom, not be the girl with too many eyes on her and too many hands meddling in. Here, you were just a figure on a horse.

And he—

Hajime lived in this freedom. The dirt, the sweat, the sky above his head. He didn't have to deal with the court, didn't have to deal with expectations. Almost, you envied him for it, for the way he knew his way amongst the roots, how his horse responded to the lightest shift of his body, how he didn't need a dozen guards to grant him permission to breathe.

A soft laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

He looked over again, brows still furrowed slightly, "Have I said anything funny?"

"No," you shook your head, wind brushing your cheeks, the corner of your mouth curving up, "It's just strange. You've got everything I've dreamed of having."

His face was impassive, his jaw tightening imperceptibly.

"Freedom," you added, voice quieter, cheeks burning, "And the right to go wherever you want."

"You say that like it doesn't cost me."

Another heartbeat later, as you expected, as he always did: "Your Highness."

His words stayed quiet, but there was something sharper in his tone that cut through the softness of the night, not aimed at you. At least, it didn't feel like it was. Veiled in the half-light, his face, for a flicker, betrayed bitterness.

A tightening at the corners of his mouth, a pull between his brows like something stirred that he had denied for so long. His jaw clenched with restraint, an onslaught of words he tried to swallow, the type of restraint people learned when no one listened. The one kind you knew well.

His face smoothed out almost as soon as it surfaced, turning his gaze to the trees again like they were safer to look at, like he hadn't meant to say anything, and for a second, inside your chest, something unravelled and you thought you should have known better than to say something so stupid.

iwaizumi hajime. — stable boy.

He regretted saying anything when he recognised the embarrassed look on your face. Hajime's words came out too sharp, too bare, as if he meant to scold you, as if he meant to humiliate you.

He winced inwardly, jaw tight, cursing himself for letting honesty slip past his restraint. You hadn't deserved to hear it as a challenge. What right did he have, really, to sound bitter in front of you?

He wanted to tell you that you didn't have to feel embarrassed, that he had embarrassed himself.

you. — crown princess.

The trees opened up ahead, revealing a small clearing, the moon spilling onto the canvas of the earth freely now. You slowed your horse without thinking, and he did the same.

As soon as Juno stilled, when you made a move to dismount, he was already there with a swift move, one hand gripping the reins to keep your stallion serene. Except when you shifted your weight onto your foot, it slipped.

Because it wasn't your riding boots you wore, but slippers that had been dirtied from your walk.

Your heart lurched alongside his hands as they darted out to catch you, grasping your waist with warmth, fingers brushing your lower rib cage. You breathed heavy from the shock reverberating in your chest, from the way Juno shifted, from the way your weight was upheld by Hajime.

The woods had gone utterly still, as if it coyly decided to retreat, leaving you to your fate. His hands, strong and sure, held you like something precious, like something that he didn't want to break. The space between your bodies was barely a whisper; your heartbeat stuttered, then galloped like a startled doe.

You could feel his pulse through your fingers, the tension in his arms where he gripped you, and your cloak slipped, caught between the two of you, pooling over his shoulder and down his back.

Looking down at him, the sight of how he looked up at you with his brows pulled together in concern, the way his face was flushed and his mouth moved made something strange bloom inside your chest.

Hajime's voice was hoarse when he finally managed to form words, lowering you down, his breath caressing your face, "You— you shouldn't be—"

"I forgot my boots," you said like you weren't breathless, like your heart wasn't stumbling over itself, like your skin didn't vow to remember every place he touched.

He blinked, flustered, and then stepped back, hands still hovering in the air like they hadn't wanted to part, like they also remembered the curve of your waist, unsure if he was allowed to laugh at what you said, unsure if he dared.

Instead, he cleared his throat, his voice a low murmur, "Your footwear isn't made for this ground," his eyes wandered over your form like he was searching, "You could've been hurt, Princess."

"I'm just startled," you let out a small breath, hand coming up to brush along Juno's neck, grounding yourself in his warmth and steadiness. Your smile came belated, a little shaky. "You caught me."

Hajime's throat bobbed, gaze dropping, and for a moment he said nothing, lips parting as if to decide what to say, but then he nodded, a single, short motion. Like, of course he would catch you.

You turned around, adjusting your cloak back over your shoulders, covering the night gown that peeked out from underneath, entirely shameless, entirely inappropriate. His horse huffed, and life returned to your ears.

"I remember you," you said because you did, because touching him reminded you of when he carried you, and you said it so quietly you didn't know if he caught it. "From before."

Hajime stilled. His shoulders didn't move, but you saw the breath leave him, sharp and low. His expression didn't twist either, but his eyes held a wild depth.

"That's dangerous talk, Your Highness," he said roughly, voice hushed.

You wanted to ask him what he would say if you weren't wearing a crown, but you weren't sure he would answer and you weren't sure what it would mean if he did.

iwaizumi hajime. — stable boy.

He loved you, he thought as struggled forcing down the ocean rising within him. God, he loved you.

kaede. — merchant.

A scream pierced the stillness of the night.

Kaede woke up with a start, the alcohol in his veins not yet evaporated, so his right temple pounded, nose stuffy, his senses scrambling at the sudden intrusion. What the hell—?

"Guards! Oh, god, th—blood— guards! Somebody h-help!"

On the way to his window, Kaede fell three times and bumped against the edge of his broken table once. He shoved it open, clumsy fingers, the cool night air hitting his face like a slap.

Lanterns swayed in his vision and he blinked, shutters creaked open from where others peeked out, alarmed when the screaming didn't stop — it came from a harlot, her dress red and barely leaving anything to anybody's imagination, tits almost spilling out, kneeled next to an unmoving figure.

"Won't someone—! Please, oh go-oh," a sob, "Oh, god."

you. — crown princess.

"My Lady, I thought we talked about this. You cannot keep doing it. Must I remind you of what we spoke about? Do you want them to talk?"

Despite her harsh voice, she picked twigs and leaves out of your hair with soft fingers, "I was only riding Juno. I wasn't even gone long."

"You were missing. At night. With no escort. It doesn't matter how long gone you were. Lucky. Dare I say, you were lucky the Commander had a good guess where you'd gone."

"…he guessed?"

"Guessed. And sent a man after you before the Lord Regent could hear of it," her hand trembled against your head, "Your title doesn't come off with your riding boots, child, no matter how much you want to escape."

"…I wasn't wearing riding boots."

"Don't you be clever with me. Do you understand what would have happened if something had gone wrong? If you had fallen? If word got out that you were alone—"

Your voice was tentative, almost shy, "I wasn't alone."

"A stable boy doesn't count, not for company nor as a guard. You best make sure to remember that. Now up, your night gown is filthy."

matsukawa issei. — spymaster.

Curious.

He watched the three men bicker amongst themselves as they moved through the alleys like the space belonged to them. Not like drunks for their voices were hushed enough, for they moved without real purpose in their paths yet every step was conscientious.

Very curious.

Matsukawa slid back into the shadows as easily as he emerged, his shoes silent, breath shallow.

iwaizumi hajime. — stable boy.

The forest was quiet, in the way that only trees could give it. A subtle hum of life carried through the breeze, a sound that spoke of nature and magic, that dismissed all human interference.

Hajime had come here many times before, but tonight felt different.

Tonight, he did not come to see solace in the shadows of the woods; tonight, he came with your perfume still clinging to the fabric of his linen shirt, with the imprint of your skin still on his hand. Tonight, he carried inside his chest a token — the rare, breathless sound you made when you let yourself forget that you were royalty.

He came to reclaim the part of him that he had buried long ago.

His hands trembled as they dug into the earth, urgency pulling at his fingers, asking him to hurry, because if he didn't slice through the cool, wet dirt right now, the night would fade. He paused, breath uneven, sweat beading at his brow even though the air was colder now, crisp as a slight breeze hugged him.

Weight sat on his shoulders, his chest, his knees.

Hajime couldn't help but wonder if you had felt it too, the charge. Whether you had known that he had wished he could kiss you senseless. His heart hurt, the way you had looked at him not with pity, not with curiosity, but like he was there.

His fingers met something cold, hard. With a grunt, he tugged the old helmet free, watching as the soil slid off it, unveiling the familiar, worn texture. The edges were dented from past use, the steel blackened from the lack of coating and caring, dirt wedged in between the crevices from past scratches.

It wasn't like the polished, shiny helmets the other knights wore. But it was his, his and no one else's.

He placed it on the ground, in the patch of dewy moss that was its throne. His hands hovered above it for a moment as if unsure whether he should put it on or leave it buried, and the wind settled down, like it knew it should allow Hajime this moment.

He had buried it here, because he had no right to wear it. He had thought that by hiding it, he could bury the boy who dreamed of proving himself, the boy who was foolish enough to think he could stand beside knights, and would stop pretending he belonged.

He had promised himself that it was the last time. No more fantasies or delusions.

The helmet's eye slit stared at him, intently, the shadow hidden behind the metal a replica of his own desires that asked too much, that threatened to devour him whenever his gaze strayed too far and found yours. That made him remember the way you felt against him, how you looked down at him from where he had held you up, hair brushing his cheek, heart squeezing at how dry his throat became because god, you were gorgeous.

You were gorgeous and you were miles away.

I remember you.

This would be the last time, Hajime told himself, and he didn't know whether his words were tinged with lies or not, whether he was burying his dream or digging it back up.

𓐩 ADDENDUM; — iwaizumi doesn't allow anybody to touch, brush or otherwise groom juno. he says it's because he doesn't trust they do a good enough job, but in reality, he wants this part of you to be his' only. — i was so close to have hanamaki and oikawa have a scene right in front of everybody. the sexual tension was off the charts writing it. — the unclaimed blade mentioned by the squires is a sword made by a famous swordsmith; it's enchanted to never dull and always strike true. it was given to the knight commander who used it as a means to spike the curiosity of other knights and to gather contenders for the first illegal nightly knight tournament. hajime won that year and never claimed it because he didn't think it was his to claim. it's a symbol of power and glory. he told himself it's because he would stray away from the essence of what a knight should do, namely to fight for something personal and pure, but really, he was just scared that people would find out who he was, that you would find out what he was doing.

𓐩 TAGLIST; @sodaneko ; @ottocre ; @mellozhi ; @cr4yolaas ; @inszan1ty ; @sahrberrii ; @pomigranit ; @ghostjoohoney ; @biancaackerman ; @takes1 ; @tsukisangel ;

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #haikyuu x you #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #jelly writes #jelly fic: duskwatch

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kittenfangirl20 · 2 months ago

Note

Imprisoned King Au

Lucifer didn't look very impressed with the guards who came to his home, they had come with a proclamation from the far away kingdom of Eden looking for him to lower his borders.

They wanted Pride to join Eden.

Luicfer: No.

Lute narrowed her eyes: No? Your majesty, I strongly advise you reconsider.

Lucifer stood: I told you no, if Eden wants a peace treaty then Queen Sera will have to find another way.

Lute and all the other guards removed their swords much the Lucifer's shock.

Lute: Trust me, she has one.

Sera: Don't worry darling, Lute will be back soon.

Adam sighed, Lute was his only friend in the castle so it was always boring when she had to leave and actually do her job.

Adam: I know, I'm just bored.

Sera: Well, you could always go through invitations to find a husband.

Adam rolled his eyes and pushed the envelopes away, he didn't want to marry some snooty asshole.

Lute knocked on the door and bowed: Your majesty, I need to speak with you my Queen.

Sera: Of course. Adam dear, seriously look at them please.

She left with the guard to see the short man gagged and in chains glaring at her. Lucifer looked like he had been roughed up real bad.

Lute: What would you like done with him?

Sera thought for a moment and she knew she couldn't kill him, doing what she did to his kingdom was bad enough.

Sera: Take him to be cleaned and dressed, he will be Adam's personal servant. And Lucifer.

She walked over and gripped his face painfully in one hand.

Sera: If you tell Adam who you really are, I'll make you wish you had of burned with the rest of your kingdom.

Lucifer: I understand.

Lucifer glared at Sera as he was dragged away. They bathed him and had him stripped of his tattered clothes so he could wear simpler servant garb. Lute dragged him to a garden and threw him in it. Lucifer suddenly heard singing, it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. He was drawn to the voice and saw the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He had soft short brown hair, a light dusting a freckles, and when he opened his eyes they were honey brown. He wore a deep plum colored gown.

Lucifer: You must be Prince Adam?

Adam: Yes, who are you?

Lucifer: I am your new servant, my name is Lucas Morgenstern.

If he said that his name was Lucifer Morningstar, Adam would know he was the King.

Adam: I didn’t know I was getting a new servant.

Lucifer: Your mother must have felt you needed one since you will need to choose someone to marry and be prepared for your day to inherit the throne.

A look of annoyance crossed Adam’s face at the mere mention of marriage.

Adam: I see, can you help me gather these papers up?

Lucifer helped him pick them up and he saw many men trying to get Adam’s hand in marriage. Lucifer didn’t know why, but he hated these men.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

#hazbin hotel #adam #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #adam/lucifer #adamsapple #guitarduck

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 1 year ago

Text

The Blackwood Knight prt.4

Disclaimer: Back to my usual shenanigans with another installment of Benjicot angst. The stakes are getting higher. Plus the start of the crossovers Victoria and I have planned with the Jump then Fall series.

Description: In which the Blackwood Knight bends the knee before his Queen.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Playlist:

One Thing~ One Direction

Risk~ Gracie Abrams

Only Girl (in the world)~ Rihanna

I think he knows~ Taylor Swift

A silver moon shone through the casement of the turret window of Raventree Castle Benjicot leaned against, staring out across the expanse of Blackwood vale towards the borders of Bracken lands. His arm raised above his head, leaning against the wall, soft candle light cast shadows over his disconsolate expression. Never had he wished to cross such an expanse before, so long had he been the arbiter of the very border which he now wished to dissolve. Raised as he was to inherit the Blackwood estate and lands, he was equally set to inherit the duty to further propagate the ancient enmity between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. A duty he had never railed against until now.

His thoughts turned to the lady whose beauty of mind and form had made him question all that had once seemed to him so certain. The very lady who he who he was determined to make his lady wife. He could not very well ask her to leave her whole life, her family, her House, to be at his side. He would not ask her to. Instead, he resolved, he would dissolve the very borders between them.

An amused voice broke his reverie.

“Oh look, it’s our resident troubadour, musing over his lady love.” Benjicot’s friend, Robb laughed at him, elbowing him in the ribs.

Turning to him with a bemused expression, Benjicot responded “And what if I am?”

Rob laughed again, turning to lean jauntily against the castle walls.

“I thought you were a man of action. Why don’t you just march down there, bend the knee and offer yourself in marriage to her. You bore me enough with your plans to do just that thing? Do you think she will refuse? I would if I were her.”

Benjicot pushed his friend in the shoulder, but his expression betrayed a hint of insecurity behind the action.

“That is definitely a concern. She is very shy and I cannot be sure that my love will be returned. There is also the small matter of our warring Houses. I would not merely be asking her to accept me, but also my House…and to forsake her own. I will not ask her to make such a sacrifice. I must instead find a way for both our Houses to resolve their differences. If my world will not accommodate her, I must tear it down and begin anew.”

Robb met Benjicot’s gaze with his own incredulous one.

“Trying to get the Blackwoods and the Brackens to resolve anything without the use of extreme force is beyond belief. Just the other day I encountered that Bracken fellow you like to refer to as a peacock, attempting to move the boundary stones further into our lands and I had to restrain myself from making him eat the damn rocks.”

Benjicot’s eyes darkened slightly, “that fellow is incorrigible but he is also, I’m afraid, the cousin of my lady, so I can’t very well dispatch him…though I have thought of doing so…many times.” He looked off into the distance with an almost wistful expression.

“I would not direct my proffers of peace terms to such an idiot. The future Lord of Bracken Hall, Aeron Bracken could be more reasonable. He does not wish for further bloodshed and may be amenable to a settlement. A dispute at the border with his own lady has convinced me of this.”

A mist had swept over the Riverlands overnight, coating the grass expanse with dew drops, as Y/N walked towards the Brackentree, struggling to contain her excitement at seeing her knight. Her thoughts continued to turn on the events of the previous day, when he had spun her close to him and had gazed at her with a look that held something behind it that almost convinced her that he harboured the same feelings that she did for him towards herself. Almost, for she had convinced herself in the intervening hours after he had walked her back to the outermost borders of the Brackenwoods that he thought of her as just a silly girl with fantasies of chivalry that he entertained only to be kind. This didn’t seem right either, considering his behaviour towards her. His actions had sometimes made her hope that the opposite might be the case, that he might grow to love her, as she did him.

Each day that they met to walk along the border of Blackwood and Bracken lands, he would bring her a book or a piece of art he believed might interest her, especially as it related to great female Targaryens like Visenya. He would hold her arm over his so gently, as he guided her across rockier terrain, sometimes lifting her across it by the waist, after first asking. If it was colder, he would unclasp his crimson cloak from his own shoulders to wrap it around her own, smiling at her as he did so, before making a comment about how well the colour looked on her. So often did he make comments of a similar ilk that she sometimes pretended that it was because he wanted her to bear the colours of his House, as his lady. But she quickly dismissed such thoughts, embarrassed at even entertaining them.

At Bracken Hall she was a shadow, unnoticed, unimportant, and frequently mocked by her cousin for her interests. Benjicot, in the way that he would meet her gaze directly as she spoke, nodding and smiling attentively as she did so, made her feel as if what she had to say was of value and his frequent offers to ‘dispatch your cousin’, whilst only jests that made her laugh, made her feel that he truly cared. All this aside, Benjicot was a true knight and she knew from his behaviour towards a lady from a house loyal to the Brackens who had encountered some hostile Blackwoods that he acted with chivalry towards all ladies. Perhaps his actions were just that, perfunctory, even if they were kind.

With these confused thoughts turning in her mind, she hardly noticed that she had already arrived at their meeting point, before she bumped into a hard obstacle. Crying out in surprise, and struggling to keep her footing, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, and another around her shoulders, as she looked up into the warm brown eyes of Benjicot, who smiled down at her in a mixture of amusement and something softer she couldn’t quite identify.

“Nice of you to drop in, my lady, although I had thought I’d have to do something truly heroic to get you to fall into my arms.” Lifting her back to her feet, he moved his arms to hold onto her elbows to steady her, holding on for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.

“My apologies,” she said quickly, “I was distracted.”

Noticing the pink on her cheeks and her slightly panicked expression, Benjicot feared he had overstepped the line and embarrassed her, quickly stepping back to give her more space. When her expression didn’t change, he added in a jesting tone what he meant earnestly.

“No need to apologise, my lady. Feel free to fall into my arms anytime you so wish, that’s what they’re there for. And of course, for spearing your cousin on the end of my sword.” He added, with a wink.

Smiling at him indulgently and pushing his chest playfully, Y/N laughed as Benjicot rocked back on his boots, as if her light touch had actually succeeded in moving him.

Pushing him again for this jest, Benji placed his hand above hers on his chest, arresting it in its place. Smiling down at her, he held her hand in place like that for a few seconds before moving it so that he could graze it with his lips. Gently dropping her hand back to her side, he nonetheless retained hold of it, as he turned to direct them to their usual walking route through the borders of the Brackenwoods.

After a few moments of walking in contented silence, Benjicot began, “This knight has a proposition to put before his queen, if she be so pleased to entertain it?”

Turning with a laugh to swat at him, Y’N responded, “you jest!”

Catching her hand in his once again, Benjicot stopped them in their passage, looking into her eyes earnestly, “Do I?”

“You know you do” she scoffed, moving to continued walking, before Benji once again stopped her by taking a gentle hold of her elbow.

“I am sorry to hear you say so. I have begun badly already. I’m afraid you will have trouble listening to the whole of what I will say.”

Seeing that he looked genuinely troubled, she stopped to gaze back up at him.

“I’m sorry, continue.”

“Well,” he hesitated, taking a step towards her, to close the distance between them, “I would like to ask you a question, if you would permit it.”

Seeing her nod in acquiescence, he took a deep breath, more on edge than she had seen him since he had rescued her from his bannermen, before taking her hands in his and bending low, head lowered before her.

“What are you playing at again Benji” she said, half in amusement and half in confusion.

Smirking at her shortened version of his name, hers alone to use, he drew strength from the feeling of her smaller hands in hands.

“I once offered you my service as a knight in your protection. I meant it when I bent the knee before you that day and I mean it now as I offer myself to you as your husband and protector. I would dedicate myself to your happiness and ensure that your days and nights were safe. I would have you be my lady wife and the future Lady of Raventree, if you would have me.”

Fearing to look up at her and gage her reaction, Benjicott kept his head lowered, awaiting her response as the agonising silence continued.

To his surprise, she harshly withdrew her hands and began to walk away from him without a word. Momentarily stunned, Benjicot looked after her retreating figure before rallying himself, hurrying to catch up with her.

“My Lady” he called, to no answer. Repeating his call, she turned with a stricken look that made his heart drop into his stomach, seeing that tears were forming behind her eyes. Berating himself in his mind for upsetting her, he frantically replayed his words in his mind, trying to find the source of his blunder to correct it. Unless, of course, it was him, himself that offended her so. A painful thought, but one he would try to accept if it was the case.

“What is the cause of your distress, are you hurt? Have I said something to offend you?” He hurriedly stumbled out.

“You have hurt me.” Y/N responded with a hitch in her voice.

Feeling a sharp pain in his heart at this, Benjicott stumbled back a pace and lowered his head.

“I am sorry for having done so, please forgive me. How can I make amends” and more desperately he added, “what can I do?”

Y/N lowered her head, avoiding his gaze before responding in a quiet voice he had to lean towards to hear, ��don’t make fun of me.”

Raising her voice slightly, she continued, each word a lance to his heart.

“I have endured enough mockery from cousin and his friends about my interest in knights and queens. I had thought that you, at least, would not do the same thing. I had thought that…that we were friends, that you respected me enough not to do that.”

As she had been speaking, Benjicot’s expression had become increasingly distressed and then finally determined, as he realised his blunder and the source of her pain. She did not believe him.

As she hurriedly turned to leave, Benjicot grabbed her hand.

Turning in frustration, attempting to wrench her hand from his firm hold, Y’N demanded he let her go.

Benjicot stepped towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist, closing the distance between them

“I will, once you listen to me…please.” He added, as she stopped struggling.

He raised his free hand to gently graze her cheekbone with the back of his knuckle, before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I earnestly apologise for having acted in a manner which caused you to disbelieve the truth of what I have said, but please believe me when I say that I have never, and would never, mock you. Especially for something I myself most ardently believe to be true: that I am your loyal knight and protector, whether you will have me or not, and would be your husband, if you would allow it.”

Recognising in Y/N’s direct gaze a desire to search for the truth of his claims in his eyes, he lowered his head towards her, so that she could look into his eyes more easily.

A few more agonising minutes passed for Benjicot, before his lady’s gaze seemed to soften and she said in a soft, questioning voice.

“You are in earnest?”

“I have never been more so about anything in my life.”

“And you want me?”

Chuckling at this, he stroked her cheek again, “No, I mistook you for your peacock of a cousin, obviously.”

Laughing at this, she raised her own hand to wrap it around the back of his neck, causing butterflies to rise in his torso.

“Then I will be your lady.”

Breaking out into a smile, which conveyed love and admiration, Benji lowered his face towards her slowly, stopping intermittently to check for any sign of distress in the expression of his lady.

Hovering his lips above hers in hesitation, gazing into her eyes with a look that asked for her permission, he moved his hand to hold her head as he gently grazed his lips over hers, deepening the kiss when her arm wrapping around his neck made him sure that his lady was in fact his to love and adore, as well as serve and protect.

Breaking the kiss, he continued to hold her head in his hand, gazing down at her with a reverential look that could only be for a knight towards his queen.

Her expression suddenly becoming distressed as she pushed him away, Benjicot briefly panicked that he had, after all, been too forward, until she told him her fears.

“But how will I become your lady if I belong to House Bracken.”

Smiling in relief that he had not been the cause of her distress, he once again took her hand in his, raising it to his lips before he assured her:

“Don’t distress yourself on that account. I will find a way for you to be both Lady Blackwood and Queen of the Bracken lands. I’ll burn the borders down myself if I have to, although I am very fond of my boundary stones. Perhaps I will have to take my good friend Robb up on his idea for them.” He returned, a glint in his eye.

“And what is that?” she asked with a slight tone of disapproval, anticipating an answer very much along the lines of the one Benjicot would give.

“Oh nothing to be concerned about, my sweet, just feeding the stones to a particularly troublesome peacock.”

We love desperate and pathetic men on this blog.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #benjicot blackwood #aeron bracken #davos blackwood #aeron bracken x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #hotd

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lunamonchtuna · 8 days ago

Text

"These are my first words to you... During your first moments, I buried my face in my arms and kept my voice low so that the 70 other men sleeping in this concrete room would not see my cloudy eyes or hear my voice catch... Since that morning, I have come to recognize the look in the eyes of every father in this detention center. How is it that the same politicians who preach 'family values' are the ones tearing families apart? My heart aches that I could not hold you in my arms and hear your first cry...but my absence is not unique... In Palestine, this pain is part of daily life. Babies are born every day without their fathers...not because their fathers chose to leave, but because they are taken by war, by bombs, by prison cells and by the cold machinery of occupation. The grief your mother and I feel is but one drop in a sea of sorrow that Palestinian families have drowned in for generations... It was not a gap in the law that made me a political prisoner in Louisiana. It was my firm belief that our people deserve to be free, that their lives are worth more than the televised massacre we are witnessing... and that the displacement that began in 1948 and culminated in the current genocide must finally end... As a Palestinian refugee, I inherited a kind of exile that followed me to every border, every airport, every form... Each crossing required me to prove my docility, my identity and my very right to exist... You may never feel that weight. You may never have to translate your humanity through paperwork... I hope, with all my heart, that you will not witness the oppression that I have known... Loving you is not separate from the struggle for liberation. It is liberation itself. I fight for you, and for every Palestinian child whose life deserves safety, tenderness and freedom. I hope one day you will stand tall knowing your father was not absent out of apathy, but out of conviction. And I will spend my life making up for the moments we lost...starting with this one, writing to you with all the love in my heart."

— Mahmoud Khalil

#text #text post #mahmoud khalil #free palestine #poetry #dark academia #dark acadamia aesthetic #light academia #quotes #book quotes #lovecore #romantic academia #romanticism #black and white #fathers day

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chasing-faith-and-fate · 9 months ago

Note

Would it be possible to know more about Gentlefruit, Squirrel, and Spring? And what they they of Storm for disappearing, or the Rift itself?

Additionally, do you think Squirrel and/or Spring may inherit Storm's draw towards the Rift? Which could lead them to potentially encounter each other (or Takers in the other's body)?

Squirrel:

He has an endless supply of energy most of the time.

Very headstrong, and simply will not listen to authority, even his dad.

He has a pull similar to what Storm did, however it pulls him as far away from the Rift as possible.

He hates being in the clan, and has thought about running away often.

Squirrel loves his sister but the love only goes so far, he wouldn’t put himself in danger to keep her safe.

He has only gone to one apprentice lesson, since then he’s ditched his mentor every time. He’s convinced he can learn on his own.

Spring:

Spring, like her brother, has a lot of energy. However, it’s mostly channeled into learning or gathering herbs.

She wanted to be a healer for the simple purpose that she is allowed to cross border lines without consequence, giving her more room to scout for Storm.

Given that her passion doesn’t lay in healing she has a very hard time actually retaining anything she learns, leaving her stressed as she uses hours trying to quiz herself.

She’s not close to her dad, Gentlefruit, nor to her brother. She hopes that Stormpelt could be who she takes after, and maybe, if she found him, she wouldn’t feel so lonesome anymore.

She has a massive fear of heights, meaning she keeps away from the Rift as much as possible. Except for healer gatherings, you will never see her go near them.

She/her might not fit as much as she first thought it did…

#chasingask #chasinglore #squirrel and spring #didn't wanna do gentle BECAUSEEE hes not that interesting #hes the deputy and he has two kits hes not close to #thats about it

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crows-are-gathering · 3 days ago

Text

Mahmoud Khalil’s letter to his son, who was born while he was detained :

“Yaba Deen, it has been two weeks since you were born, and these are my first words to you.

In the early hours of 21 April, I waited on the other end of a phone as your mother labored to bring you into this world. I listened to her pained breaths and tried to speak comforting words into her ear over the crackling line. During your first moments, I buried my face in my arms and kept my voice low so that the 70 other men sleeping in this concrete room would not see my cloudy eyes or hear my voice catch. I feel suffocated by my rage and the cruelty of a system that deprived your mother and me of sharing this experience. Why do faceless politicians have the power to strip human beings of their divine moments?

Since that morning, I have come to recognize the look in the eyes of every father in this detention center. I sit here contemplating the immensity of your birth and wonder how many more firsts will be sacrificed to the whims of the US government, which denied me even the chance of furlough to attend your birth. How is it that the same politicians who preach “family values” are the ones tearing families apart?

Deen, my heart aches that I could not hold you in my arms and hear your first cry, that I could not unfurl your clenched fists or change your first diaper. I am sorry that I was not there to hold your mother’s hand or to recite the adhan, or call to prayer, in your ear. But my absence is not unique. Like other Palestinian fathers, I was separated from you by racist regimes and distant prisons. In Palestine, this pain is part of daily life. Babies are born every day without their fathers – not because their fathers chose to leave, but because they are taken by war, by bombs, by prison cells and by the cold machinery of occupation. The grief your mother and I feel is but one drop in a sea of sorrow that Palestinian families have drowned in for generations.

Deen, it was not a gap in the law that made me a political prisoner in Louisiana. It was my firm belief that our people deserve to be free, that their lives are worth more than the televised massacre we are witnessing in Gaza, and that the displacement that began in 1948 and culminated in the current genocide must finally end. This mere belief is what made the state scramble to detain me. No matter where I am when you read this – whether I’m in this country or another – I want to impress upon you one lesson:

The struggle for Palestinian liberation is not a burden; it is a duty and an honor we carry with pride. So at every turning point in my life, you will find me choosing Palestine. Palestine over ease. Palestine over comfort. Palestine over self. This struggle is sweeter than a life without dignity. The tyrants want us to submit, to obey, to be perfect victims. But we are free, and we will remain free. I hope you feel this as deeply as I do.

Deen, as a Palestinian refugee, I inherited a kind of exile that followed me to every border, every airport, every form. Borders mean something to me that they may not mean to you. Each crossing required me to prove my docility, my identity and my very right to exist. You were born an American citizen. You may never feel that weight. You may never have to translate your humanity through paperwork, countless visa applications and interview appointments. I hope you use this not to separate yourself from others, but to uplift those who live under the same circumstances that once constrained me. But I won’t pretend this citizenship protects you. Not completely. Not when you have my name. Not when those in power still see our people as threats.

One day, you might ask why people are punished for standing up for Palestine, why truth and compassion feel dangerous to power. These are hard questions, but I hope our story shows you this: the world needs more courage, not less. It needs people who choose justice over convenience.

It is nothing but the dehumanization and racist disregard for Palestinians that renders their lives forgettable and that dares describe Palestinian fathers who love their sons as “terrorists”. Perhaps that is why the world so quickly forgot the killing of four-month-old Iman Hijjo in Gaza in 2001. Why did Ahmed Abu Artema’s beloved son Abdullah die hungry for bread? Who recalls the children lost in the Flour Massacre? Where is the justice for the fathers in the West Bank who carefully dress their sons for prison? Why does liberty not visit the bodies of Palestinian children whose limbs are missing, whose ribs are exposed under thin skin and who are born lovingly only to die under an Israeli bomb?

On this first Mother’s Day for Noor, I dream of a world where all families are reunited to celebrate the incredible women in their lives. Many years ago, on one of our very first dates, I had asked your mother what she would change in the world if she could. Her simple response was: “I just want people to be nicer to each other.” Deen, you were born to a mother as gentle as she is fierce. I pray that you live in a world shaped by that kindness. I hope, with all my heart, that you will not witness the oppression that I’ve known. I hope that you never need to chant for Palestine, because it has long been free with dignity and prosperity for all. Should that day come, know that it was ushered in through the courage of those who came before you. I am certain that in this new world, you and I will visit Tiberias together, drink from the river and marvel at the sea. There, in a free and just Palestine, you will see the fruits of our struggle.

Deen, my love for you is deeper than anything I have ever known. Loving you is not separate from the struggle for liberation. It is liberation itself. I fight for you, and for every Palestinian child whose life deserves safety, tenderness and freedom. I hope one day you will stand tall knowing your father was not absent out of apathy, but out of conviction. And I will spend my life making up for the moments we lost – starting with this one, writing to you with all the love in my heart.”

#us politics #fight the oligarchy #donald trump #democracy #protest #elon musk #hands off #doge #50501 #indivisible #protests #mahmoud khalil #aclu #ice

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sooslick · 12 days ago

Text

ATEEZ AS MAFIA

The Organization: "The Kraken Syndicate"

PART 1

Kim Hongjoong: "The Strategist" / Boss

Role: The undisputed Boss. Didn't inherit the position; he seized it through sheer intellect, ruthless strategy, and unexpected boldness. Young but commands absolute respect (and fear).

Style: Impeccably tailored, dark suits with subtle, unique flair (an unusual tie pin, a flash of colored lining). Always looks composed, but eyes miss nothing.

Weapon: A sleek, custom-made pistol (efficient), but his true weapons are his mind and his words. Carries a weighted coin he flips when making critical decisions.

Personality: Charismatic, intensely focused, fiercely protective of his crew. Calculatedly ruthless when crossed. Has a strict moral code *within* his criminal world (e.g., no harming innocents unnecessarily). His loyalty to his inner circle (The 8) is ironclad, but betrayal is met with unforgiving finality. Known for elaborate, theatrical takedowns of rivals.

Park Seonghwa: "The Shadow" / Consigliere & Underboss

Role: Hongjoong's right hand, Consigliere, and de facto Underboss. Handles logistics, finances, internal discipline, and intelligence. The calm to Hongjoong's fire. The one who ensures the Boss's vision becomes reality seamlessly.

Style: Elegant, dark, monochrome suits. Moves with silent grace. Often seen with gloves, meticulously cleaning his glasses or a weapon.

Weapon: Prefers precision – a silenced pistol or a razor-sharp stiletto dagger. Master of poisons and undetectable methods.

Personality: Appears serene, almost ethereal, but possesses a terrifying, cold fury beneath the surface. Deeply devoted to Hongjoong and the Syndicate's stability. Handles interrogation and "clean-up" with chilling efficiency and detachment. The ultimate protector and enforcer of order within the ranks. His loyalty to Hongjoong borders on fanatical.

Jung Yunho: "The Wall" / Head Enforcer

Role: Primary Enforcer and head of security. Leads the muscle. Protects the Boss and key members physically. Handles overt intimidation, protection details, and large-scale confrontations.

Style: Practical, high-quality tactical gear or well-fitted suits that allow movement. Often has a visible earpiece.

Weapon: Prefers brute force – heavy pistol, shotgun, or his fists. Surprisingly agile for his size.

Personality: Warm, loyal, and fiercely protective within the inner circle. Has a bright smile that disappears instantly when on duty. Known for his intimidating presence and unwavering calm under fire. Deeply trusted by Hongjoong and Seonghwa to handle the physical threats. Has a strong sense of honor and protects the weaker members fiercely.

Kang Yeosang: "The Ghost" / Intelligence & Infiltration Specialist

Role: Master of intelligence gathering, surveillance, hacking, and infiltration. Gets in and out without a trace. Creates identities, forges documents, hacks systems.

Style: Unobtrusive, blends into any background. Can look like a delivery boy, a tech worker, or high-society depending on the need. Master of disguise.

Weapon: Silenced micro-pistol, garrote wire, sedatives, hacking tools. Avoids direct confrontation.

Personality: Quiet, observant, incredibly intelligent, and analytical. Speaks little but sees everything. Loyal but operates best alone. Has a dry, subtle wit known only to the inner circle. His loyalty is to the Syndicate's success and his found family within it. Often knows secrets before anyone else.

#ateez headcanons #ateez #Hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #ateez mafia au

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

The Lady - 4

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Eddie Horniman x Female Reader

Summary: After fifteen years away, a step-daughter returns for her Duke step-father's funeral, only to inherit a staggering 8 million pound debt and strike a risky deal with a criminal underworld figure.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , Chap 7.

Your ongoing support means the world to me! Reblogs are a fantastic way to help spread the word about my work. I'll do my best to reply to all your comments.

Thank you for your continued encouragement! ❤️❤️❤️

After a half-hearted attempt to watch the tennis tournament, you, Hugo, and Eddie retreated for afternoon tea.

"Me? The criminal organization in this country want me?" you asked incredulously.

Eddie nodded, casually adding sugar to his tea, with Hugo mimicking his actions. "They're still trying to figure out who you are. They won't ask Barnes since they despise him. They've made inquiries, but your identity remains a mystery to them, given your recent arrival."

"What about you, Eddie?" you inquired.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he sipped his tea. "Hmm?"

"Why didn't you expose me to them?" you clarified.

Eddie set down his cup, meeting your gaze directly. "And let them exploit your expertise? You're too valuable for that, my dear."

The endearment caught you off guard, evoking memories of summers spent at Manor with Eddie's parents, particularly his mother, who often referred to you as "My Dear" during afternoon tea. But when Eddie used the term, it carried a different weight.

Eddie continued, "I faced a similar situation last year. This organization is far more dangerous than most people realize, even those at the UN dealing with cross-border issues."

"True," you agreed, contemplating the chaos of the criminal underworld. "The real zoo is here. But what about your organization?"

"My cannabis business remains neutral in conflicts," Eddie explained. "Even in our silence, there are those who seek to undermine us."

He paused, then offered, "If you want to join forces, you could. You could easily settle the debt."

The air hung heavy with the implications of his proposition, the tension palpable as you considered the possibilities.

"No," you interjected firmly.

Hugo finally joined the conversation, shooting Eddie a defiant glare. "My dad paid a high price to cut ties with cannabis."

You were surprised by Hugo's sudden assertiveness, especially considering his awareness of Rupert's dealings.

Eddie chuckled, unfazed by Hugo's challenge. "I could see you as a Duke in the future."

But before the tension could escalate further, another voice cut in, catching you off guard.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Are you cheating on me in broad daylight?"

You tensed at the sound of Bucky's voice, turning to find him standing beside your table, impeccably dressed in Ralph Lauren, his smirk as infuriating as ever.

"Can't I have a day without seeing your face?" you retorted, unable to hide your irritation.

Bucky feigned injury, clutching his chest dramatically. "Ouch."

Eddie intervened, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What are you doing here, Barnes?"

"I wanted to try tea time. Felt like a royal for a change, but the cake tasted like shit," Bucky quipped, oblivious to the disapproving looks from nearby tables and the waitress.

"Well, I just wanted to say hello and meet the Duke of Horniman. Say hi from me to Bobby Glass, will you?" Bucky continued, his smirk never faltering.

Eddie's smile turned sour. "I won't."

"Great," Bucky replied casually, turning his attention to you. "Wait for my call, Your Grace."

You responded with a curt, "Fuck off."

Hugo nearly choked on his drink at your blunt retort, while Eddie struggled to contain his laughter.

Unfazed by your harsh words, Bucky simply bowed and took his leave.

Eddie glanced at you, his expression sympathetic. "I can see what you're dealing with."

As you drove back to the manor with Hugo, his voice interrupted the tense atmosphere inside the car. "Can we switch our ride?"

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with this one?"

Hugo's enthusiasm was palpable as he explained, "My buddies have got green cars, red cars, even yellow ones. And get this - their car doors pop up like wings when they open!"

You couldn't help but chuckle at his excitement. Seeing him like this, he seemed more like a kid dreaming of his favorite toy.

If Rupert weren't neck-deep in debt, you'd have no qualms about splurging on Hugo's dream car. But for now, you couldn't bear to crush his hopes. "Yeah, sure. Once we're done here, we'll get you one."

As you drove back to the manor with Hugo, you delved into a conversation about Rupert's work.

"You know a little about Rupert's work?" you inquired, curious about your stepfather's business.

Hugo nodded thoughtfully. "All I know is, dad wanted to quit the cannabis business because of Charles."

His mention of Charles brought a warning to mind. "Don't ask anything about weed with Bro Charles," he cautioned.

"Why?" you asked, intrigued by the sudden seriousness in Hugo's tone.

Hugo shook his head solemnly. "Ask Mom or Charlotte."

"Fine," you conceded, understanding the need for caution.

Upon your return to Evergreen Manor, you inquired about your mother's whereabouts from the butler. Learning that Susan was out shopping with friends, you sighed in frustration. With no one else to turn to, you realized you would have to seek answers from Charlotte.

Entering the living room, you spotted Charlotte engaged in a live conversation with her followers. It was clear she was preoccupied. "This will take a while," you muttered to yourself, bracing for what lay ahead.

Four hours later, Charlotte's hostility lingered as she addressed your inability to come to a conclusion on your own.

"Can't you figure it out on your own?" she snapped, arms crossed tightly as if she couldn't bear to share the same air as you.

You sighed, bracing yourself for another round of her disdain. "No, I can't. I've been out of touch with everyone for the past 15 years," you admitted, resigned to the reality of your isolation.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Charlotte gestured for you to follow her. You trailed behind her to the barns, where an out-of-place container caught your eye.

As Charlotte swung the door open, a wave of nausea washed over you as the unmistakable scent of weed filled the air.

"Weed," you muttered, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place.

"Dad was making extra money with this, but he wanted out because of Charles," Charlotte explained, her voice tinged with bitterness.

"Why?" you pressed, eager to understand the full extent of the situation.

Charlotte remained silent for a moment, her expression guarded. "This is why you should at least read the emails that Mom sent you, even if you don't want to reply," she scolded.

Her words struck a chord, and you listened intently as she revealed the shocking truth. "Charles overdosed," she continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "We almost lost him. The doctors said he was brain dead. It's truly a miracle that Charles could come back alive. That's the reason why he became a priest."

The revelation left you speechless, your ignorance laid bare before you. "I had no idea," you whispered, grappling with the weight of the revelation.

"But now you know," Charlotte replied, her tone softer. "And you understand why my dad cut off all contact with anything related to drugs."

Charlotte's words hit you like a punch to the gut, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you.

"What did you say?" you demanded, your voice tinged with disbelief.

"If you never came here, none of this would have happened," Charlotte muttered, her gaze heavy with accusation.

You bristled at her insinuation. "None of that is my fault," you retorted, feeling the weight of her words bearing down on you.

Charlotte's voice was laced with bitterness as she continued, "Your existence changed Charles."

You recoiled at the truth of her words, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Charles's feelings for you had always been a taboo topic, one you never dared to confront. It explained so much—the distance, the tension, the unspoken truths that lingered between you and your family.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, even though you knew deep down that you were not to blame. "I didn't even ask to be born," you muttered, a bitter reminder of the unfair hand life had dealt you.

The tension crackled in the air as you and Charlotte locked gazes, each refusing to back down from the confrontation.

"You can't blame me for Charles's choices," you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

Charlotte's eyes flashed with resentment. "I'm not blaming you for his choices, I'm blaming you for existing!" she shot back, her words like daggers aimed at your heart.

Your jaw clenched as you struggled to contain your rising anger. "Well, I'm sorry if my existence inconveniences you so much," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It's not just about inconvenience, it's about ruining lives!" Charlotte spat, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Ruining lives?" you scoffed, incredulous. "I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask to be the reason Charles spiraled out of control."

"Maybe not, but you're still the reason!" Charlotte's voice rose with every word, her frustration reaching its peak.

You took a step closer, your own anger boiling beneath the surface. "And what about me? What about the life I've had to live because of all this?"

Charlotte's expression softened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing her features. "I know it's not fair to you either," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Then stop blaming me for everything!" you pleaded, the weight of years of resentment and guilt bearing down on you.

"Stop it," Susan's voice cut through the tension, her breath heavy as she approached.

Both you and Charlotte halted, the argument stalling at Susan's arrival. She hurried over, concern etched on her face as she reached Charlotte, who appeared flushed.

"Are you alright?" Susan's voice was laced with worry as she checked on her daughter.

You felt a pang of resentment, knowing that despite being her biological child, Susan often treated Charlotte as her own. It stung, a constant reminder of your place in the family hierarchy.

As Susan tended to Charlotte, you clenched your fists, a surge of frustration coursing through you. You turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer.

Walking away, you pulled out your phone, dialing a number with shaky fingers. "Where are you?"

Inside the car, you and Bucky sat side by side, watching the second target intently. The bomb had already been discreetly placed under the car, and now it was just a matter of waiting.

Bucky's voice broke the silence, filled with genuine awe. "Damn, watching you do your thing is like watching Picasso paint."

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to downplay your talent. "Yeah, turns out anger can make me completely focused."

Bucky let out a low whistle, his admiration evident. "Well, color me impressed, sweetheart."

As you both observed the target, a man stumbled out of the club, clearly inebriated. His drunken antics drew attention, and he shamelessly flirted with every girl he encountered, much to your disdain.

"What's the reason for him?" you inquired, unable to hide your distaste for the man's behavior.

Bucky's response was simple yet cryptic. "Someone just really hates him."

Moments later, the target climbed into his car, oblivious to the impending danger. Without hesitation, Bucky pressed the trigger.

'BANG' The explosion echoed through the night as the car erupted in flames, sending shockwaves through the surrounding area.

'KYAA!!'

The chaos erupted as the explosion sent shockwaves through the crowd, eliciting panicked screams from bystanders.

"Too bad the wedding will never happen," Bucky remarked casually, his tone laced with dark amusement.

Your heart sank at his words, a sense of dread settling over you. "Huh?" you muttered, struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Bucky's pointed gesture toward the burning car made everything click into place. "He's your step-sister's fiancé," he explained bluntly.

A wave of guilt washed over you as you realized the ramifications of your actions. You cursed your ignorance and lack of foresight.

In frustration, you turned on Bucky, your voice trembling with anger."Next time, how about a little warning before we go blowing up someone's bloody ride?"

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

#theo james #eddie horniman x you #eddie the gentleman #the gentlemen 2024 #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!au

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sarafangirlart · 4 months ago

Note

Since I want to make you suffer here is some pages of the second chapter

[ Thetis walked on the sand of the seabed. She looked around, distracting time, which for the gods does not pass, and every now and then she hinted at a dance step, or picked a bizarre inflorescence and let it go, to see it whirl in the water and immediately settle on the bottom. The eternal ones like what does not last, the space of a brief flight.

She lived in the abyss, in a golden cave together with the goddess Eurynome. Further away was the palace of her father Nereus, whom everyone calls the Old Man of the Sea because he ruled the sea before Poseidon overthrew him.

Thetis is one of Nereus' fifty daughters. She is the most beautiful of the Nereids, but she does not want to unite with anyone, not even Zeus or Poseidon. Both desire her. They flatter her with words and gifts, and have threatened her many times. But she possesses a powerful art, which she inherited from her father: the art of transforming herself, of making herself uncatchable. When she is in danger, she changes shape. To avoid becoming prey, she leaves her beauty behind. She momentarily becomes a ferocious beast or a frightening monster, and the nightmare of giving in to a lover's violence fades away.

She was walking. And at a certain point she found something in front of her feet, which was not fish or jellyfish or seaweed: it was a naked little body, almost inert, its eyes wide open. She almost stepped on it. A child lying on the bottom of the sea.

She took him with her, without hesitation, carrying him in her arms. Walking quickly toward home, only then, she wondered who it could be, who had brought him there, whose son he was.

But knowing was not necessary, indeed, it would have slowed down the spontaneity of the gesture, which was not a decision but an instinct, an impulse without reason. If that child was on his steps, it meant that he was within his destiny, that was enough. Even the gods have a destiny, a line drawn in the air that they do not see but know - there is no escape - that they must follow.

Eurynome was singing when Thetis crossed the threshold of the cave where they lived together. A veil surrounded her body, variegated with all the possible shades of blue. She is tall, powerful, and her voice spreads through the underwater ravines, travels through tunnels and passages, sinks into the most inaccessible valleys and blows among the algae plants. Hers is the voice of the daughter of the god Oceanus, the music of the sea.

When she saw Thetis with the child in her arms, she stopped singing and, without asking anything, bent down to look at him.

-He is deformed.

-He is alive, - smiled Thetis.

Eurynome smiled too:

-He is a god. You can see that he is a god.

The child tore the silence of the abyss with a desperate cry, Thetis distracted him with a branch of coral. It is true, only a god could have crossed thousands of meters of water and settled on the bottom. No other living being that was not a fish could have, and he was not a fish, he breathed normally. Like an underwater god.

- Yes, he is certainly a god, replied Thetis, - but we cannot know, we can only intuit. And intuitions are not truths: they are secrets. So we will not tell anyone, and this child, god or not god - will simply not exist. -

The two goddesses agreed: that child was a gift. They called him Hephaestus, he who lights up the day. Whether he brought good luck or misfortune with him mattered little, he had been given to them and for them he was the light. He came from the night, because nothing was known of his origins, wrapped in a fog that was impossible to clear. But the night, since the beginning of the world, is only a part of the day: it is only a matter of knowing the border. ]

GIVE IT TO ME NOW!!!

#greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #greek pantheon #greek goddess #Thetis #eurynome #hephaestus #hephaistos

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livmightlive · 3 months ago

Text

My take on Hyrule’s Backstory

I think one of the reasons why I love Hyrule’s character and that very first Zelda game so much is because of how much there is to speculate on and world build from the little provided to you.

My own take on Hyrule is that I think he would’ve been born to a fairy and to a hylian making him half fairy half hylian. The fairy would’ve probably been a budding great fairy. I wrote about my theories about fairy reproduction somewhere on my blog but it basically boils down to that I don’t think fairies actually have sexes, or chromosomes, and their idea of gender mainly comes from what they overhear from Hylians.

This means fairies reproduce asexually, in my own headcanoning. I think they do this by fusing, kinda Steven universe style lol 😔 When they fuse it creates both a stronger fairy, the two that fused, and a new fairy from the leftover energy. When fairies defuse that’s what grows their population.

When Hyrule’s parents met they fell in love. One thing led to another and they created him. Since Hylians and fairies don’t have the same form of reproduction, it caused both of them to basically sacrifice all of their energy and lives to make him. It might’ve been an accident creating him, they didn’t know it would kill them, but even if it was neither of them would regret it if they had known.

Hyrule’s fairy aunts raise him for the first 6 years of his life until they realize that he might be the keeper of the hero’s spirit. He’s also getting really big and they’re starting to lack in resources a growing half-hylian needs. So begrudgingly they relinquish him to a small catholic convent at the border of Calatia.

Hyrule doesn’t really enjoy this. He went from living as a free spirit surrounded by nature and love to a very authoritative and strict setting. The nuns that he lives with also treat him as a girl. I think biologically Hyrule would only have 1 X chromosome to his name with the other one being something made of pure magic. So his sex is technically female? On his mothers side at least. Whatever he inherited from his fairy parent’s side looks feminine by hylian standards so they treat him as such.

I have another headcanon that Hylia prefers for all that carry the hero’s spirit to be male to represent that very first hero. Whenever a person who carries the hero’s spirit is born with anything but XY chromosomes gets gently bestowed with SEVERE GENDER DYSPHORIA from the goddess herself.

When Hyrule is around 9 or 10 he gets fed up and too antsy to stay much longer so he packs a small bag and sets out on his own adventure. I don’t think he would be catholic after staying at the convent. My time in catholic school definitely didn’t make me Catholic. That being said, I don’t think he’d hate the stories so he carries a bible with him and occasionally uses some practices in his adventures. Like in his second game when he uses a cross to deter moas.

And that’s my take on Hyrule’s backstory before his quests.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu hyrule #lu headcanons

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kit-williams · 2 months ago

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So as the resident astartes guru I'm hoping you can help me. They're pants crapingly terrifying really intimidating in a way that most people don't seem to be able parse. On the other hand they've been kicking around for the last century and they haven't taken over the world. Which if they wanted to they could probbably manage with like less than ten of those guys. I guess what I'm trying to say is they're a fact of life. Though if the whole being from the 30-41k Anno Domine rumor I saw on the internet is true? I'm worried about the far future of our species if we need that kinda firepower.

Sorry went on a bit of a squirrel hunt there. I inherited a cabin and a decent parcel in the back country, bordering on park land about 5 years back. I actually helped my uncle with some of the construction when I was in high-school. It's way off grid but I've got a safe well, a working septic tank, and enough solar cells on the roof to live prety comfortably unbothered by humans or space marines unless I make a trek into town in my pickup. Just a woman, her hunting guns, and her pack of four big dogs. (Two newfie cacusian shepard crosses, the black and tan hound my uncle brough home right before he passed, and a 100% mut whos great grandaddy was rumored to be a wolf or a traveling salesman.)

Well my unbotherd days I suspect are going to be coming to an end right quick. I was marking the inner parameter of my property with the dogs to deter predators. I don't disturb water sources or game trails but well... me, my dogs, and a gallon or so of Iced tea to, ah, scentmark territory close to the house to keep wolves and bears from wandering too close. There I am, free balling in a maxi dress and hiking boots, geting ready to squat when the dogs start barking and growling. And some uneartkly howling meets them. I look over to see bout a hundred yards off a space marine, I can only assume was a Space Wolf seeing as how he had a pack of about 3 Space Marines sized wolves. Swear to Christ and little baby Jesus he was doing the same thing I was. I my called dog stay which they did ready to defend and he certainly had control of his pack cause they stayed with him and settled down a bit. Don't know if it was a mistake or not but i just nodded politely squated at my tree and went on down my route with my dogs. He did the same and that was that.

Of course now I'm scouring the internet in the local diner, over thinking, and praying I didn't offend the space viking. Any advice on how to be good neighbors when you're not looking to bond or atract an astartes?

(Side note: thanks for the heads up in the other post about space wolves liking stills. I noticed driving into town that there was steam rising from about where my grandpa and uncles had their still. I was debating checking it out but after reading through your advice, I'll leave it to him. Specially since I never learned to use it. Dandelion wine on the otherhand? That's a specialty of mine.)

Offgrid Anon

SO you might actually be part of a small amount of people who don't feel a warm fuzzy feeling when interacting with Astartes and actually do feel dread and actually notice things about them. You've probably told people about your worries and nearly everyone has looked at you confused... took a hard look at them before its like they get reset before you pointed out something. I'm also not fully affected I don't feel the dread but I can see things that other people dont.

Yeah given where you live I honestly would be surprised how often you probably wont see them around, probably on some trail cams if you set them up. You might catch a chaos warband or two migrating around your property and/or some loyalist warbands. Not all of them like being around people ~Just as long as there's no reports of human killers in your area you should be fine by yourself.~

Uhhhh you should be fine you could always leave out rations packs or some minor supplies at like an edge of your property maybe even liking a lean too to allow them to sit.

#reply #answer #space marine husbandry sentience #tales from the barn #warhammer 40k

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bitchiswild · 2 years ago

Text

The Queen’s Love

Jang Wonyoung x F! Reader

Warnings: none all fluff

Word Count: 7.2k

A/n: This was the sweetest story I’ve written 🥺 it’s sickening 🥹

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

In the heart of the kingdom of Amorella, Jang Wonyoung's presence cast a chilling aura. Her rule was marked by an unwavering demand for obedience and an unforgiving stance toward mistakes. Her icy stare could freeze even the most seasoned courtiers, a stark warning of her expectations.

Workers toiled under the weight of her exacting standards, knowing all too well the consequences of a misstep. For Jang Wonyoung, even the smallest error warranted severe punishment. Locked doors and concealed chambers whispered tales of those who fell afoul of her wrath, their echoing screams a haunting reminder of her unforgiving nature.

Her courtiers and subjects dared not cross her path, fearing the repercussions of inviting her displeasure. The atmosphere within the kingdom grew tense and suffocating, a palpable air of fear and trepidation gripping every corner.

Despite the cruelty she exhibited, there were whispers in the shadows. Whispers of a ruler burdened by the weight of expectations, haunted by the echoes of her own past. Some spoke of fleeting moments when Wonyoung's facade wavered, glimpses of vulnerability that hinted at a soul conflicted by the demands of power and the desire for something more.

Yet, these whispers remained veiled in the darkness, overshadowed by the imposing figure she presented to the kingdom—a figure that inspired fear rather than empathy.

Before Jang Wonyoung ascended the throne, she was not always the chilling figure she became known as. Her upbringing within the confines of the royal palace was fraught with the controlling and oppressive hand of her father, King Hanseok.

As a child, Wonyoung yearned for her father's affection and approval, yet she was met with only harsh criticism and unattainable expectations. King Hanseok's authoritarian rule extended beyond the kingdom's borders and into their familial domain, casting a shadow of fear and submission over his household.

He groomed Wonyoung to inherit his throne, instilling in her the belief that rulership meant wielding power without mercy. Her father's relentless demands and punishments for even the slightest imperfection sculpted her perception of authority and control.

Each reprimand, each harsh word, and each cruel punishment etched deeper into her psyche, shaping her into a reflection of her father's unyielding rule. She was taught that strength meant suppressing emotions, that kindness was a weakness, and that ruling meant ruling with an iron fist.

Her transformation from a hopeful, spirited child to a ruler shrouded in coldness and severity was a result of the toxic environment she grew up in—a reality that she struggled to reconcile as she ascended to the throne herself.

The dichotomy between Jang Wonyoung's inner desires and the imprint of her father's influence weighed heavily upon her. Despite her fervent wish to diverge from her father's oppressive ways, his control over her upbringing left an indelible mark on her personality and ruling style.

As she assumed the throne, Wonyoung grappled with an internal struggle—a battle between the ruler she felt compelled to be and the person she yearned to become. She despised the coldness she wielded, knowing deep within that it wasn't the leader she aspired to be. However, the echoes of her father's voice, the haunting memories of his stern teachings, seemed inescapable.

Her attempts at kindness were often overshadowed by the fear instilled in her from her upbringing. The constant conflict between her innate compassion and the molded ruthlessness tore at the core of her being. She found herself torn between breaking free from her father's influence and adhering to the only ruling style she had ever known.

The weight of her father's expectations, coupled with her fear of repeating his mistakes, further ensnared her within the rigid confines of her rule. It was an internal battle that seemed insurmountable, leaving her isolated in her struggle for self-redemption.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

In the heart of the kingdom, where the legacy of her father's stringent rule lingered, Jang Wonyoung held court with a chilling authority. Her reputation as a relentless and unforgiving ruler preceded her, shrouding her in an aura of intimidation.

Amidst the stifling atmosphere, a commoner known as "Y/n" crossed paths with the formidable queen. Their encounter was a collision of two worlds—one of power and one of humility. Y/n, cautious yet compassionate, possessed an understanding that seemed to pierce through Wonyoung's icy facade.

Their initial interactions were veiled with caution, yet a silent understanding began to weave its way between them. Y/n's gaze, unclouded by the tales of Wonyoung's ruthless nature, saw beyond the queen's daunting exterior, recognizing the burden she carried—a weight shaped by a lifetime of trying to meet her father's insurmountable expectations.

In the moments shared, Wonyoung sensed a glimmer of something she had long suppressed—an acceptance devoid of judgment. Y/n's presence served as an anchor—a beacon of light in the darkness of her existence.

Their connection, initially fragile, burgeoned into a sanctuary for Wonyoung—a place where she felt a sense of liberation from the stifling grip of her past. With Y/n, she dared to dismantle the barriers she had erected, slowly peeling away the layers of control and harshness that defined her rule.

In Y/n's company, Wonyoung glimpsed the possibility of a different narrative—a chance to rewrite the tale of her reign, to redefine herself not as a tyrant, but as a ruler guided by empathy and compassion.

Their relationship blossomed beyond the confines of titles and expectations, evolving into a haven of mutual understanding and respect. Through Y/n's unwavering acceptance, Wonyoung found the courage to challenge her ingrained beliefs and embrace the warmth she had long kept buried.

The union of Y/n and Wonyoung marked a transformative chapter in the kingdom of Amorella. Their love story became the cornerstone of a new era—one defined by compassion, understanding, and unity.

As they professed their love and exchanged vows, Wonyoung's resolve to rule with kindness and benevolence solidified. Her ascent to the throne alongside Y/n transformed her reign from one of intimidation to one of forgiveness and respect. She vowed to Y/n that they would nurture the kingdom together, fostering peace and harmony in their realm.

The shift in Wonyoung's ruling style echoed across Amorella. Her subjects witnessed a queen no longer driven by fear but guided by empathy. Though her sternness still commanded respect, it was now intertwined with a newfound compassion that emanated from her partnership with Y/n.

Despite her efforts to instill kindness, remnants of fear lingered among some of her subjects. There were those who still approached her with trepidation, unwilling to let her down or fall short of her expectations. Yet, gradually, they too began to witness the transformation within their queen—a transformation driven by love and a genuine desire for the well-being of her kingdom.

Y/n's influence as queen by Wonyoung's side became a testament to the unity they sought to foster. Together, they initiated policies and reforms that aimed to heal the scars of the past, striving for equality and prosperity for all within Amorella.

The kingdom, once veiled in apprehension, began to bloom under their joint rule. Acts of kindness and unity flourished, bridging the gaps that once divided the realm. The tales of Wonyoung's formidable reign slowly transformed into stories of a queen who ruled not with an iron fist, but with a compassionate heart.

Their partnership became a beacon of hope, inspiring a new legacy—a legacy of a queen who found love, redemption, and the courage to rewrite the future of her kingdom.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

As the eve of Y/n's birthday approached, an air of anticipation swept through the palace of Amorella. Queen Wonyoung, usually composed and regal, found herself consumed by a flurry of nerves and excitement, her fingers tapping anxiously against her throne.

In a rare display of restlessness, Wonyoung paced the grand halls, her mind consumed by the intricacies of the impending surprise. Her loyal servant, attuned to her every concern, stood before her, reassuring her with unwavering confidence.

"It's all going according to plan, Your Majesty," the servant assured, his demeanor calm and collected, a stark contrast to Wonyoung's jittery demeanor.

Wonyoung's eyes flickered with a mixture of anticipation and concern. "The flowers, the gifts, the decorations... everything has arrived and is being set up precisely as planned?" Her voice, usually firm and commanding, carried a hint of vulnerability, revealing her desire to make Y/n's birthday an extraordinary affair.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The arrangements are underway, and the palace is adorned with elegance fit for the occasion," the servant confirmed, his assurance aimed at calming the queen's restless nerves.

Everything had to be perfect for her queen—the Queen Wonyoung, whose usually stoic facade now reflected an endearing nervousness. Her determination to make Y/n's birthday a flawless and joyous celebration surpassed any sense of royal protocol.

Amidst the meticulous planning and anxious anticipation, Wonyoung's heart beat with the fervor of someone eager to see joy reflected in Y/n's eyes. The preparations, meticulously organized and executed, were all part of a grand gesture—a testament to Wonyoung's love and devotion to the one who had transformed her kingdom and her heart.

As if summoned by fate, Y/n's presence graced the halls of the palace at that very moment. Queen Wonyoung's anxious pacing halted as her gaze fixed upon the approaching figure, a warm smile adorning her features.

"Ah, here comes the angel," Wonyoung murmured softly to herself, her eyes brightening with a mixture of excitement and adoration.

Y/n, unaware of the birthday preparations underway, entered the grand hall, radiating an aura of grace and serenity. The usual composure of the palace seemed to amplify in Y/n's presence, the air tinged with a sense of reverence.

Wonyoung's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Y/n, her beloved's presence instantly calming her nerves. With a regal nod to her loyal servant, Wonyoung dismissed him, signaling that her attention was now solely devoted to the approaching figure.

"Y/n," Wonyoung called out, her voice infused with a tender affection that echoed through the grand hall, drawing the attention of everyone present.

Y/n turned at the sound of Wonyoung's voice, their eyes meeting in an exchange that spoke volumes—a silent language of understanding and love that transcended words.

For Wonyoung, the sight of Y/n felt like a beautiful symphony playing in her heart, a melody of warmth and comfort that washed away any lingering traces of anxiety. As Y/n drew closer, Wonyoung's smile widened, her eyes shimmering with anticipation for the grand celebration that awaited her beloved.

"Y/n, my love, welcome," Wonyoung greeted, extending her hand to Y/n, eager to embark on the enchanting journey of celebrating the person who had become the light of her life.

Wonyoung's nerves had temporarily subsided in Y/n's presence, replaced by a fervent desire to ensure everything was perfect for their beloved's birthday celebration.

"How was your visit to the garden? Everything meeting your expectations?" Wonyoung's words flowed in a rush, a testament to her eagerness to please Y/n. Her tone held a mix of anticipation and concern, her eyes searching Y/n's face for any hint of dissatisfaction.

A faint unease lingered in Wonyoung's expression, a fear that perhaps something might not have aligned with Y/n's desires. Her mind raced with scenarios of potential shortcomings, ready to rectify any flaw, no matter how minor, to ensure Y/n's special day remained flawless.

"If not, I'll call the gardener to change everything," Wonyoung continued, her anxiety manifesting in her words. Her commitment to perfection reflected her unwavering dedication to Y/n, the thought of any disappointment on their special day causing her visible distress.

Despite the meticulous planning and preparations, Wonyoung's sole focus was on Y/n's happiness. Her determination to surpass their expectations was evident, her willingness to go to any lengths to ensure Y/n's joy unmistakable in her fervent ramblings.

Y/n's words washed over Wonyoung like a soothing balm, instantly calming the queen's anxious heart. Her beloved's reassurance brought a serene smile to Wonyoung's lips, a sense of relief flooding her.

"My love, calm down," Y/n's voice, tender and reassuring, carried a touch of amusement, affection dancing in their eyes as they looked upon Wonyoung.

The weight that had burdened Wonyoung's shoulders lifted at Y/n's words. A warmth spread through her, a profound gratitude swelling within her chest. The genuine appreciation reflected in Y/n's eyes filled Wonyoung's heart with an immeasurable joy.

"I love everything the gardener does; it's all beautiful. Thank you for my present," Y/n expressed, their words carrying a depth of gratitude that tugged at Wonyoung's heartstrings.

Wonyoung's eyes shimmered with unspoken emotions—relief, gratitude, and an overwhelming love for Y/n. The acknowledgment of her efforts by the one she cherished most meant more to her than any meticulously planned celebration.

Her nerves finally settled, replaced by an overwhelming sense of contentment. In that moment, Wonyoung felt a profound sense of fulfillment, knowing that the love and thoughtfulness she poured into the preparations had been received with such heartfelt appreciation by Y/n.

With a soft smile, Wonyoung gently grasped Y/n's hand, her eyes conveying a depth of affection that words could never fully capture. In Y/n's gratitude, she found the greatest gift—a validation that her love and efforts were cherished and valued above all else.

Wonyoung's smile widened at Y/n's gracious words, their appreciation washing away any lingering trace of tension. With a soft chuckle, she gently kissed Y/n's hand in response to their heartfelt gratitude.

"That's not your only present, more is to come," Wonyoung revealed, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. Her tone held a playful hint, hinting at the surprises yet to be unveiled for Y/n's special day.

Her words carried a promise, an assurance that the celebration was far from over. Wonyoung's heart swelled with anticipation, eager to witness the joy and delight that awaited Y/n as the day unfolded.

Y/n's eyes widened with pleasant surprise, curiosity sparking in their gaze at Wonyoung's playful hint. The queen's cryptic declaration filled the air with an aura of excitement, heightening the anticipation of what other surprises Wonyoung had orchestrated for their celebration.

In that moment, a sense of joyful anticipation enveloped them both, the promise of more surprises adding an extra layer of magic to Y/n's birthday celebration. With a shared glance filled with love and excitement, they stood on the cusp of a day brimming with surprises, laughter, and boundless love.

Wonyoung's heart fluttered at Y/n's endearing words, a tender affection sweeping through her. She met Y/n's gaze with unwavering adoration, the depth of her feelings shining in her eyes.

"Your presence is more than enough, Wony," Y/n reiterated, their voice filled with heartfelt sincerity that resonated deeply within Wonyoung's being.

A soft chuckle escaped Wonyoung as she gently shook her head, a fond smile gracing her lips. "But let me spoil you," she insisted, her voice carrying a playful insistence.

There was an earnestness in Wonyoung's desire to shower Y/n with affection, to adorn them with tokens of her love and appreciation. The joy she found in making Y/n happy was immeasurable, and she was determined to make this day unforgettable in its simplicity and tenderness.

"As long as you're happy, that's all that truly matters," Wonyoung added, her words infused with a deep sense of devotion.

In that moment, amidst the affectionate exchange, Wonyoung silently pledged to create cherished memories with Y/n, intertwining every heartfelt gesture and shared experience into the tapestry of their love story.

As the night draped the room in a serene stillness, Y/n found solace within the pages of a beloved book, nestled comfortably in the expanse of their bedroom. The gentle whispers of pages turning filled the air, casting a tranquil ambiance.

The clock's hands converged at midnight, marking the arrival of Y/n's birthday, yet Queen Wonyoung was conspicuously absent. A tinge of uncertainty flickered in Y/n's eyes, wondering if perhaps the day would pass without any fanfare.

However, the quietude was soon interrupted by the soft creaking of the door. In stepped Wonyoung, her presence a welcome sight as she entered the room, bearing a birthday cake adorned with flickering candles. The warm glow of the candles illuminated her face, reflecting a tender smile that graced her lips.

"Happy birthday, my love," Wonyoung greeted, her voice laced with genuine affection as she presented the cake to Y/n. Her eyes shimmered with a hint of anticipation, eager to share in this special moment.

Y/n's initial surprise transformed into a radiant smile at the sight of Wonyoung, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. The tender gesture, though simple, held a depth that touched Y/n deeply.

"Thank you," Y/n murmured, their voice carrying a heartfelt warmth, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind Wonyoung's gesture.

In that intimate exchange, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight, Wonyoung's presence filled the room with an atmosphere of love and celebration. The simplicity of the moment held a beauty that surpassed any grand festivities—the queen's heartfelt gesture a testament to the depth of their connection.

"Make a wish, and I promise you it will come true," Wonyoung gently urged, her voice soft yet filled with a heartfelt assurance.

Y/n gazed at Wonyoung with profound affection, a single wish resonating deep within them, something to enrich their lives—a family. "I wish for us to start a family," they whispered, their voice carrying a heartfelt longing.

Y/n, still holding onto the heartfelt wish, leaned forward to blow out the flickering candle atop the birthday cake. As the gentle breeze extinguished the flame, a quiet sense of hope and anticipation lingered in the air—a wish for a future filled with love, unity, and the prospect of starting a family.

Wonyoung gasped in surprise, her eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions—astonishment, joy, and a profound sense of commitment. "I will make sure that comes true, my love," she vowed, her voice resolute with unwavering determination.

With the cake set aside, Wonyoung moved closer, enveloping Y/n in a tender embrace. Cradling Y/n in her arms, she held them close, feeling the warmth and comfort of their closeness.

As Y/n nestled against her, Wonyoung's thoughts swirled with the weight of Y/n's wish. She gazed down at them, her heart swelling with emotions as she envisioned a future with their family. The image of Y/n, radiant and swollen with their children, stirred an indescribable joy within her.

In that intimate moment, nestled together, Wonyoung's heartbeat with a newfound anticipation, envisioning the legacy they would create together—their heirs, the future of their kingdom, and most importantly, the love that would bind their family.

In the serenity of the night, cocooned in each other's embrace, the weight of their shared dreams and promises lingered in the air. As the tranquil stillness of the room enveloped them, Y/n and Wonyoung succumbed to the gentle embrace of slumber, their intertwined dreams painting a canvas of a future filled with love, family, and boundless possibilities. The soft cadence of their breathing, in perfect harmony, echoed the tranquility of their hearts as they drifted into a peaceful sleep, their hopes and desires intertwined in the embrace of their shared journey.

As the morning sun painted the sky with hues of gold, Y/n lay peacefully in bed, serenely lost in slumber. Meanwhile, Queen Wonyoung, adorned with an air of excitement, moved with purpose through the corridors of the castle. Her steps were swift yet purposeful, ensuring every detail was meticulously arranged for the day's celebration.

The palace buzzed with the final preparations, the atmosphere charged with an air of anticipation. Wonyoung's heart swelled with eagerness as she oversaw the last-minute touches, ensuring that the surprise for Y/n's morning celebration would be nothing short of perfect.

"Your Majesty, everything is perfect and complete. When you are ready, you should bring Her Majesty down," one of the castle attendants informed Wonyoung, their voice laced with a hint of excitement and readiness.

A smile tugged at the corners of Wonyoung's lips, a sense of satisfaction washing over her at the news of the completed arrangements. With a regal nod, she acknowledged the attendant, her heart racing with anticipation to share the day's surprises with Y/n.

As the attendant departed, Wonyoung took a moment to collect herself, her excitement bubbling beneath her composed exterior. With a deep breath, she prepared herself to awaken Y/n and unveil the morning's celebrations—a cherished moment meant only for the two of them before the town joined in the evening festivities.

"Yes, I shall wake her up," Wonyoung exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement as she dashed up the stairs, anticipation radiating from her every step. The joyous anticipation of surprising Y/n filled her with an electrifying energy, her heart racing with eagerness to share this special moment.

With each stride, Wonyoung's excitement grew, her thoughts consumed by the happiness she aimed to bring to her beloved. As she ascended the stairs, she imagined the delight on Y/n's face upon discovering the morning's carefully planned surprises—a moment she eagerly anticipated.

The image of Y/n's radiant smile and the shared moments of joy spurred Wonyoung onward, her steps quickening with the fervor of someone eager to bring happiness to the person she cherished most. With a determined resolve, she approached their chambers, ready to awaken Y/n to the delightful surprises awaiting them.

Wonyoung stepped into their shared suite, a gentle smile adorning her features as she beheld Y/n, peacefully asleep before her. With utmost tenderness, she approached the bed, her voice a soft whisper, laden with affection.

"Y/n, my love, wake up. I have a surprise for you," Wonyoung murmured, leaning closer to gently nudge Y/n awake, eager to share the morning's special celebration with her beloved.

Her heart swelled with anticipation, the excitement of revealing the carefully orchestrated surprise palpable in the air. As Y/n stirred from slumber, Wonyoung's eyes shimmered with a mixture of joy and anticipation, waiting eagerly for Y/n's awakening, ready to unveil the morning's surprises crafted solely for them to cherish together.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, greeted by Wonyoung's adoring smile, causing a warm sensation to bloom within. "Good morning, my love," Wonyoung greeted affectionately.

"Morning," Y/n replied, their voice soft and slightly groggy as they stretched, the remnants of sleep still lingering.

With a gentle nudge, Wonyoung encouraged Y/n to freshen up, a glimmer of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Come on, let's freshen up. I want to show you your surprise," she urged, her voice filled with anticipation, eager to share the meticulously planned celebration she had arranged for Y/n's special day.

Y/n, though still waking from their slumber, nodded with a faint smile, energized by Wonyoung's enthusiasm. With a shared glance filled with love and anticipation, they prepared themselves for the surprise that awaited—a morning meant solely for their celebration and togetherness.

With a sense of anticipation and curiosity, Y/n swiftly prepared themselves and stood ready to experience Wonyoung's surprise. Eager to unveil the celebration planned by her beloved, Y/n's eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Okay, Wony, show me your surprise," Y/n expressed, a playful enthusiasm evident in their voice. They couldn't contain their excitement, already tugging Wonyoung toward the door, eager to discover the carefully orchestrated surprises that awaited them.

Wonyoung beamed with delight at Y/n's eagerness, allowing herself to be pulled along, her heart filled with joy at the prospect of sharing the morning's festivities with her beloved. Hand in hand, they embarked on the adventure awaiting them, ready to explore the surprises and celebrate the day meant solely for their shared happiness.

As Y/n and Wonyoung descended the stairs, a breathtaking sight greeted them—the entire castle adorned with exquisite decorations, a celebration in honor of Y/n's birthday. The grandeur of the decorations took Y/n by surprise, prompting a gasp to escape their lips.

Overwhelmed by the sheer thoughtfulness and effort Wonyoung had poured into the surprise, tears welled up in Y/n's eyes, shimmering with a mixture of astonishment and deep gratitude. The sight of the castle transformed into a haven of celebration left Y/n speechless, emotions swelling within them.

Wonyoung stood by, her heart swelling with joy at Y/n's emotional reaction. The glimmer of tears in Y/n's eyes reflected the depth of their appreciation for the efforts made by the queen.

"It's... it's beautiful," Y/n whispered, their voice quivering with emotions as they took in the grandeur of the castle's transformation, a celebration dedicated solely to them.

Wonyoung, beaming with pride and happiness, gently squeezed Y/n's hand, her eyes reflecting her own joy at witnessing Y/n's emotional response to the surprise. In that moment, amidst the enchanting decorations, the shared love and affection between the two illuminated the castle even more than the exquisite adornments.

"I'm glad you love it, my love," Wonyoung murmured, her voice filled with genuine warmth and affection as she gazed at Y/n, her heart swelling with happiness at their response to the surprise.

Y/n turned to Wonyoung, their eyes shimmering with gratitude and love. "It's beyond anything I could have imagined," they replied, their voice trembling with emotion.

In that moment, amidst the grandeur of the celebration and the depth of their shared emotions, Wonyoung and Y/n stood united, their bond strengthened by the overwhelming love and care they held for each other. The beauty of the decorated castle paled in comparison to the depth of their connection and the heartfelt efforts made by Wonyoung to make Y/n's birthday a cherished and unforgettable occasion.

"Don't cry, honey," Wonyoung said softly, reaching out to gently wipe away Y/n's tears, her touch conveying comfort and reassurance.

Y/n managed a soft laugh through their tears, feeling overwhelmed by the heartfelt emotions. "I can't help it, it's just so... beautiful," they expressed, their voice quivering with heartfelt emotions.

Wonyoung pulled Y/n into a warm embrace, holding them tenderly against her, offering solace and reassurance amidst the overwhelming emotions. In that serene moment, enveloped in each other's embrace, the love they shared transcended the grandeur of the celebration, becoming the true essence of the day's beauty and significance.

"I'll do anything to make you happy," Wonyoung whispered, her voice filled with unwavering commitment and adoration as she held Y/n close, offering an unspoken promise within her heartfelt words.

Y/n's heart swelled with warmth at Wonyoung's earnest vow. "You already do," they replied softly, their voice resonating with love and appreciation for the queen who had gone above and beyond to create a momentous celebration, one filled with love, surprises, and cherished memories.

In that intimate exchange, surrounded by the beauty of the decorated castle and the depth of their affectionate bond, Wonyoung and Y/n stood together, united by a love that surpassed any grand gesture or celebration—a love that was the true foundation of their happiness and contentment.

"Come on, let's head to the garden for our morning tea and breakfast," Wonyoung suggested softly, her voice carrying a gentle warmth as she guided Y/n through the adorned halls, allowing them to take in the beauty of the decorations that surrounded them.

Y/n marveled at the intricate decorations, still touched by Wonyoung's thoughtfulness. They nodded in agreement, allowing Wonyoung to lead the way, appreciating every detail of the transformed castle as they walked towards the garden.

Stepping into the lush garden, the serene beauty of nature enhanced by the ornate decorations, Y/n's heart fluttered with gratitude. Wonyoung's efforts had transformed the space into a haven of tranquility and celebration, a perfect setting for a morning meal together.

They found themselves a cozy spot amidst the blossoming flowers and gently flowing fountains, a serene tableau set against the backdrop of the adorned garden. As they settled, Y/n couldn't help but feel a deep sense of contentment, grateful for the love and care Wonyoung had poured into every aspect of the morning's celebration.

Seated amidst the serene beauty of the garden, savoring the morning tea and breakfast, Wonyoung excused herself, expressing a desire to retrieve Y/n's present. As Y/n awaited her return, a soft, tender touch caressed their stomach, an action filled with hidden anticipation and a precious secret.

In the quiet solitude of the garden, Y/n couldn't help but smile, the news they held close to their heart warming them from within. Tonight held its own surprise—a joyous revelation they eagerly anticipated sharing with Wonyoung, a moment that would deepen their bond even more.

The gentle breeze played with the foliage, creating a soothing ambiance that seemed to echo the excitement bubbling within Y/n. They gazed fondly at the surroundings, contemplating the delight that would soon envelop Wonyoung upon hearing the unexpected news, a revelation that would add an extra layer of joy to their shared celebration later in the evening.

Wonyoung returned, slightly out of breath, but her face lit up with excitement as she presented the medium-sized jewelry box. Y/n smiled warmly, assuring her that the wait was no inconvenience at all.

As Y/n carefully held the box in their hands, anticipation filled the air. With trembling fingers, they opened it, revealing a stunning necklace that left them speechless. Tears welled up in their eyes, overwhelmed by the beauty and thoughtfulness of the gift.

"It's... it's beautiful," Y/n whispered, their voice choked with emotion, marveling at the exquisite design and the personalized touch of the queen's initials engraved on the back. They were too moved to articulate the depth of their gratitude.

Wonyoung beamed with pride and affection at Y/n's reaction. "I designed it and had it made to fit a queen like you," she expressed, her voice filled with adoration. "Made with our most expensive diamond because you deserve it all, my love."

Y/n's heart swelled with an overflow of emotions, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming gratitude they felt. Wonyoung's declaration of love and the sentiment behind the gift moved them deeply.

"Wonyoung, it's beautiful," Y/n managed to whisper, their voice filled with heartfelt appreciation.

"I'll get you whatever your heart desires, my love. Remember that," Wonyoung declared, her gaze filled with unwavering affection as she stared at Y/n lovingly.

In that heartfelt exchange, amidst the beauty of the moment and the depth of their shared emotions, Y/n and Wonyoung stood united, their love and commitment shining brighter than any gem, an unbreakable bond that held their hearts together.

The day passed in a tranquil celebration, Y/n and Wonyoung basking in each other's company, cherishing quiet moments and shared smiles. It was a peaceful prelude to the grand festivities awaiting them later that night—a time for the two of them to revel in the calmness before the excitement of the evening's party.

Wonyoung would occasionally jest, calling it "the calm before the storm," hinting at the imminent lively celebrations. Yet, the serene moments spent together were just as cherished, filled with laughter, intimate conversations, and the warmth of their shared love.

As night descended, the castle came alive with preparations for the grand party. The air was charged with anticipation, the energy palpable as guests began arriving, their laughter and chatter filling the halls.

Wonyoung and Y/n, adorned in their finest attire, stood side by side, ready to greet the guests and partake in the joyous festivities. The night promised to be a celebration of love, unity, and the shared journey of the royal couple—a night where the kingdom would come together to honor their queen and celebrate the depth of their bond.

Amidst the lively atmosphere of the party, where laughter and music filled the air, Wonyoung's eyes locked with Y/n's, a silent invitation conveyed in her gaze. She extended her hand gracefully, offering Y/n a dance, her smile warm and inviting.

Y/n's eyes sparkled with delight at Wonyoung's gesture, a grin spreading across their face. Without hesitation, they clasped Wonyoung's hand, their heart brimming with excitement at the prospect of sharing this moment with their beloved.

Together, hand in hand, they made their way to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parting respectfully, forming a circle around them. All eyes were on the royal couple as they prepared to dance, the admiration and respect evident in the gazes of the guests.

As the music enveloped them in its enchanting melody, Wonyoung and Y/n swayed together, moving gracefully in perfect harmony. Their dance was a mesmerizing sight—a reflection of their unity and the depth of their connection, captivating everyone around them.

The guests watched in awe as the royal couple waltzed, their movements synchronized, exuding elegance and grace. It was a dance that transcended the celebration—a beautiful portrayal of love and unity that touched the hearts of everyone present, a moment that would be remembered and cherished throughout the kingdom.

As the night's festivities wound down and the party came to an end, the echoes of laughter and music slowly faded, leaving the royal chambers in a tranquil embrace. The vibrant celebration had drawn to a close, the jovial guests bidding their farewells and departing, leaving the castle cloaked in a serene stillness.

Wonyoung and Y/n found themselves alone in the privacy of their chambers, the remnants of the lively soirée a distant memory. They changed into more comfortable attire, basking in the quietude that followed the night's excitement.

As Wonyoung emerged from changing, she found Y/n waiting with a hidden surprise behind their back. Curiosity sparkled in Wonyoung's eyes as she inquired about the unexpected gesture.

"Wonyoung, I know it's my birthday and all, but I have a present for you too," Y/n revealed, producing a rattle with a white bow wrapped around it. A sheepish yet joyous smile adorned their face as they shared the heartfelt news. "We're going to start a family."

Tears welled in Wonyoung's eyes, shimmering with a mixture of happiness and awe. "Really?" she whimpered, her voice trembling with sheer joy.

"Yes, you're going to be a mommy," Y/n confirmed, tears of joy streaming down their faces.

Overwhelmed with emotions, Wonyoung enveloped Y/n in a tight embrace, tears of happiness cascading down her cheeks. "I'm going to be a mommy," she whispered in disbelief, the enormity of the moment sinking in.

Pulling away slightly, Wonyoung gazed into Y/n's eyes, a surge of love and joy filling her heart. She cupped Y/n's face gently, expressing her affection with a passionate kiss, every touch conveying love and joy.

"I love you so much," Wonyoung expressed, caressing Y/n's face tenderly.

With heartfelt tenderness, Wonyoung knelt down, drawing closer to Y/n's stomach. "I love you too, my baby. I will never let anything harm you or your mama. And I promise you, I will never be like your grandpa," she vowed, her voice filled with determination and love, promising to protect and cherish their family with all her heart.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Nine months passed in a whirlwind of anticipation and excitement, culminating in the arrival of the newest member of their family, Sarang. She was a living testament to the love shared between Wonyoung and Y/n, a perfect blend of their features and an embodiment of their unwavering affection. Thus, they chose to name her Sarang—a name that signified their boundless love and adoration.

From the moment Sarang entered their lives, her presence filled every corner of their home with an indescribable joy. Her laughter, her curious gaze, and the warmth of her tiny hands wrapped around their fingers became the very essence of their existence. She became the epitome of their love, a source of immeasurable happiness that surpassed anything they had ever experienced.

Wonyoung, gazing at her daughter nestled in Y/n's arms, felt her heart swell with an overwhelming sense of completeness. The sheer sight of Sarang filled her with an inexplicable joy that radiated from within. In that moment, as her eyes met Sarang's, she knew that her family was whole, that this tiny, precious soul completed the circle of their love.

Every coo, every smile from Sarang reaffirmed the depth of their bond. Wonyoung and Y/n were overwhelmed by the love their daughter showered upon them. Sarang's presence was a constant reminder of the beauty and warmth that their love had created—a love that had blossomed into the most cherished gift of their lives.

Wonyoung felt vulnerable, but the immense love emanating from both you and your child was undeniable. She gazed at the two people who had become her world, her heart aching with an indescribable joy. ”'I love you both so much,” she whispered, her voice filled with vulnerability and raw emotion.

The weight of her words encapsulated the depth of her feelings—feelings that transcended any vulnerability she may have felt. It was a confession, a declaration of the profound love that bound their little family together. In that tender moment, amidst the warmth of their embrace, Wonyoung's vulnerability became a testament to the immeasurable love she held for her beloved Y/n and their precious daughter, Sarang.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

In a room enveloped by tense silence, Wonyoung's voice pierced the air, cutting through the caregiver's attempts to explain the incident involving Sarang's injury.

"You were trained to watch my daughter while my wife and I performed our royal duties, and she got injured under your care," Wonyoung's voice was cold, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and disappointment.

The caregiver's explanations were swiftly interrupted by the Queen's sharp rebuttals, rendering each sentence futile.

"Silence!" Her command echoed, freezing everyone in the room, the atmosphere growing heavy with the weight of her displeasure. Not a single soul dared to utter a word.

With unwavering authority, Wonyoung's decree rang out. "Guards, escort this woman out of my castle and ensure she never sets foot here again," she ordered firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

The main guard wasted no time, swiftly adhering to the Queen's commands, despite the caregiver's tearful protests. As the woman was escorted out, Wonyoung, feeling the tension grip her, sank back into her seat, rubbing her temples in frustration.

The past version of herself would have taken harsher actions, but she now understood the delicate balance between authority and compassion. She reflected on the person she had become, a ruler who wielded her power with a sense of fairness and restraint. Though her anger simmered, she chose a measured response, a testament to her growth and evolution as a leader.

The heavy tension in the room dissolved into the sweet melody of laughter when Y/n and Sarang's joyful giggles echoed through the chamber. Unaware of the earlier confrontation, Y/n carried Sarang in her arms, gliding toward Wonyoung with an innocent ease.

"Mommy!" Sarang squealed with delight, wriggling free from Y/n's arms and darting towards Wonyoung, leaping into her awaiting embrace.

Wonyoung's stern countenance melted away at the sight of her daughter. "My baby, how's your boo-boo?" she inquired, feigning a pout, a rare sight that surprised her guards, who had never witnessed their queen in such a tender moment.

Sarang, oblivious to the earlier incident, beamed up at Wonyoung. "It's okay! Mama made me all better. She said her kisses are magic," she giggled, her eyes sparkling with innocence.

"Your mama's kisses are magic," Wonyoung affirmed with a smile, her gaze then shifting to Y/n, a playful wink exchanged between them. In that precious moment, surrounded by the love of her family, Wonyoung's walls came down, revealing the softer side of the queen—the side that only emerged in the presence of those she cherished the most.

Wonyoung's heart skipped a beat, her eyes meeting Y/n's with a hint of unease as Sarang played with her hair, absorbed in her own little world.

"It was just a scratch, Wony, nothing too bad. I hope you didn't do anything too harsh to the caregiver," Y/n said, raising an eyebrow, her concern evident.

Wonyoung felt a pang of guilt as she hesitantly confessed, "I... I kicked her out and forbade her from coming back." She winced, apprehensive about Y/n's response.

The sternness in Y/n's voice caught Wonyoung off guard. "Why would you forbid her from coming back? Kicking her out is fine, but everyone is welcomed here," Y/n stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for ambiguity.

Wonyoung swallowed hard, realizing her mistake. She knew Y/n's compassion extended beyond their own family, encompassing everyone within the kingdom. The weight of her decision weighed heavily on her, and she realized she had acted in haste without considering the broader implications.

With a sigh, Wonyoung nodded, acknowledging her misstep. "You're right, love. I'll rectify the situation," she promised, determined to make amends for her actions and uphold Y/n's principle of inclusivity and compassion within their kingdom.

As Sarang eagerly clasped onto Y/n's hand, their little expedition towards the kitchen began. Wonyoung, still seated, couldn't help but express her desire for a treat.

"Bring me something?" Wonyoung called out with a hopeful tone laced in her words.

"No, get it yourself," Y/n retorted in a playful manner, sticking her tongue out teasingly as they rounded the corner, heading toward the kitchen.

Wonyoung let out an exaggerated huff, feigning annoyance, yet a hint of amusement danced in her eyes. She couldn't resist trailing behind them, finally rising from her seat and following after her family. After all, the banter and playful teasing were all part of the affectionate dynamic they shared, and the prospect of joining them in the kitchen was too tempting to resist.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The passage of time had woven a tapestry of love and growth in their lives. Sarang, their beloved daughter, had blossomed into a mature individual. She yearned for a love as enduring as the one shared between her parents, and Y/n assured her that her destined time would arrive.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung, fiercely protective of her daughter, attempted to deter any potential suitors. Yet, fate intervened, and Sarang found her forever—her soulmate, someone who seamlessly fit into the fabric of their family. Their love story became an extension of Y/n and Wonyoung's, a testament to the enduring power of love that transcended generations.

As years passed, Sarang had children of her own—a little boy and a girl. Y/n and Wonyoung embraced their roles as doting grandparents, indulging their grandchildren with affection and fulfilling their every wish.

Yet, time was a relentless force, aging Y/n and Wonyoung gradually. Their love, however, remained unwavering, weathering the trials of time. Eventually, as their twilight years approached, they found solace in each other's presence, their love standing the test of time.

In the twilight of their lives, they held hands, their fingers entwined in an unspoken promise that transcended words. Together, they took their last breath, their love enduring beyond the boundaries of mortality, leaving behind a legacy of profound love and an unwavering bond that would forever linger in the hearts of their family.

The End.💕

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

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