#not the worldly young man he had become before his death

[temptingtortilla]

:(

There is something deeply heart wrenching in knowing that only in death will these brothers ever truly reunite. The only way Ace can be with them in the land of the living is through the weight of his memory.

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[wedding at the museum] i

Intro

Summary: Mills is tasked with carrying out an Exhibition – a hit – on the Museum’s behalf before his day is complicated by the arrival of a new prospective recruit. In the midst of blood, gore, corpses, and plane crashes, his attention is firmly set on the young woman giving him the cold shoulder.

A/N: I didn’t want to shoehorn in references to the time period, but the story begins in the early 90s and stretches for about a decade, from the time RC is recruited into the Museum to the time of ruined wedding. Just because that’s my favorite era for camp, technology and action.

CW: murder, death, gallows humor, alcohol, injury, manipulation, general flippancy and shithead behavior, a grown man going positively gaga – all my favorite things :)

WC: ~5k

*

Leaning on his elbow, Mill’s long body rested against the bar as he swirled the remains of his cognac in a glass. The airport was a roiling mass of excited vacationers, grinning as they pulled along their luggage, zipping past stern faced men and women in suits catching short flights and striding towards their gates with determined focus and no excess of cheer. The change in Mills’  plans for the day gave him an opportunity to relax and people watch just for the pleasure of it, something he seldom got to do these days.

Peering over the rim of his sunglasses, he waited for his secondary target to appear. She was placed as equally important on his roster for the day, but he personally prioritized the hits on the men currently milling around the airport, set to converge on his flight, over the babysitting gig he was saddled with.

Since Provenance took such exceedingly great care in selecting both targets and prospective operatives, Mills didn’t see why they shouldn’t take care of their travel arrangements as well, and not dump them on him in the middle of an Exhibition, as if he was some taxi service. Granted, it was the first time he was ever asked to diverge so drastically from the carefully planned Exhibition, but wary as he was, his immediate concern was for occurrences like these to become a trend. Vaguely, he wondered if he should be proud that the Board of Directors at the Museum decided he was capable enough to wrangle in a prospective operative and carry out his Exhibition at the same time.

He recognized her easily from the photos provided. She had a conspicuous irreverence about her that would have caught his eye even without having to look out for her. Blowing a pink bubble with her chewing gum, she stopped to take a look at the large clock hanging from the ceiling. Dressed in sturdy boots and plain jeans, torn at the knees in a way that didn’t make it altogether clear if that was a fashion choice or just a tattered piece of clothing, and an oversized flannel, she hoisted her backpack higher and continued on her way. He didn’t need to have read the short file on her to know that all her worldly possessions were in that small backpack, or at least the ones she considered of import. Mills had sported a not dissimilar look and bag one day, in another life, as he too was walking into the unknown. He had an odd, queasy feeling watching the girl, knowing she was more than likely to step off a precipice before the day was done, the same one that he was currently on the bottom of.

For a brief moment, he considered what type of female operative archetype she was supposed to fit into at the Museum. The bombshell? He couldn’t see enough of her figure to say so, but her attitude was evident and it certainly did not exude coy sex kitten. More likely to serve a purpose as a dominatrix for the discerning arms dealer/pervert than anything else. Perhaps her talents were of the less obvious sort, and she was brought in to train up and become part of Restorations – god knows good medics were always needed at the Museum - or even Provenance, if her mind and instincts about people were keen enough.

Mills pushed off the counter and walked in her direction with long, confident strides. He kept at a safe distance, strategically staying outside her eyeline, ducking behind pillars and corners as needed, riding the escalator she was not on, and looking for an opening.

*

One hand shoved in his jeans pocket, the other holding his brown leather jacket hanging off his finger, tossed rakishly over his back, he stood in her path and waited. In her distracted haste, boots thudding a steady, but swift rhythm, she walked bodily into him and let out a humph, as if she’d just hit a wall. She lost her balance for a moment and he let his jacket fall, catching her by the arm to steady her.

She looked up, confused as to why the wall that had materialized out of nowhere seemed to be reaching out for her. Her eyes traveled up from his chest, slowly climbing up to his eyes, where she just saw her own face reflected back in his sunglasses, eyes wide and lips parted.

He flashed his million dollar grin and took off the glasses, hooking them into the collar of his white T-shirt. “Sorry about that,” he said without much compunction. “I was looking at the floor as I was walking,” he shook his head and felt some loose waves fall over his face, in that way that made romantic young women want to brush them away for him. “I hate when people do that, and here I am – doing it,” he concluded and smoothed his hair back into place.

“Uh, it’s okay,” she extricated herself from his grip without being rude about it. “I do it all the time.” Yes, I know, he thought as he let one corner of his mouth smile again.

“Ladies first,” he said with a light touch of flirty sarcasm and stepped aside for her. He was rewarded with a knowing eyeroll from the girl and a huff of laughter.

“Thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder and, to his slight surprise, did not look back over that same shoulder to give him the usual once over. Mills wondered if he should be offended by that. He had constructed the casual look for her – simple enough not to look like he was trying too hard, while at the same time including small pieces of flair, like the weathered leather jacket and the sunglasses that should appeal to the rebellious young girl he deemed her to be. And nothing. She was walking away as though he had not just tossed not one, but two of the most dazzling smiles in his arsenal at her, touched her, and made a flirty little joke. He picked up the jacket he had tossed on the ground for her, as if to let her cross a puddle untainted, and hurried in the direction she walked off in.

*

She was already in her seat by the time Mills entered the cabin. The final pre-flight arrangements for his Exhibition were made and he paused in the aisle long enough for her to look up at the long shadow he was casting. Her eyes smiled at him in recognition and he reached up for the overhead, peacocking his full height and letting his shirt ride up just enough to flash a stripe of creamy skin as he looked down and grinned. “Small world,” he raised a brow and shifted his weight to one leg, trying to coax her eyes to his body with the flex of his defined muscles when she didn’t take the bait immediately.

“Yeah,” she nodded and adjusted in her seat, reaching out for a dog-eared book in her backpack, leaving him to smooth his clothes back down in growing frustration.

How did women do this? All they needed to do was flutter their lashes and they had men wrapped around their fingers. When he’d seen the directive to keep the girl engaged and predisposed to stick around with him, he read between the lines. Dip into his Museum-approved bag of tricks, give her some of the ol’ razzle-dazzle and have her eating out the palm of his hand. Yet, for all his preening, she was more fascinated by some second or third hand copy of Henry V than his overtures.

When the obvious ploy failed, he stewed in his seat, directly to her right and kept looking out of the corner of his eye at her, checking if she was doing the same. Having assured himself she was not, he gnashed his teeth, deciding to veer off course and try a different approach.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” he cleared his throat subtly and leaned over the aisle, trying not to catch anyone else’s attention. There were only half a dozen other people on the flight, all dotted around the cabin out of earshot, but he still needed to be careful and not provoke their suspicions too early. “I’m a very nervous flier and I’ve been sweating bullets all day,” he chuckled nervously and saw her guarded expression soften. Bingo.

“I’m sure you’re engrossed in your book, and the last thing you wanna do is be a distraction for some stranger…”

“It’s alright,” her forced kindness was convincing enough and that was as much of a foothold he needed to really start working on her. Mills found he was charmed when she stuck the receipt she was using as a bookmarker into the paperback before stuffing the book back inside her backpack.

*

Their conversation started in hushed whispers as they leaned over the armrests of their seats, until Mills pretended to organically and innocently have the idea of sitting next to her – if she didn’t mind, of course – and talking more freely. He played the nervous wreck for a few minutes and made himself cozy in her patient reassurance before relaxing with the help of a few drinks. Mills downed one instantly as he encouraged her to do the same in solidarity, and two more were drunk in quick succession. He had decided eliciting sympathy and getting her boozed up would be the winning combination to keep her pliant, and it seemed to be working.

Mills turned on the charm full force; did all the cheesy things you’re supposed to do to get young girls to spawn butterflies in their bellies. He declared himself somewhat of a chiromancer, reading her palm so he could touch her freely. The hand is full of sensitive parts. The tips of the fingers are five quivering clitorises if you know what you’re doing. And they don’t call that succulent, fleshy part at the base of the thumb the Mount of Venus for nothing. You can see a woman shudder, nipples peaking and pupils blowing wide like a detonation went off inside of them when you run your coarse fingers over it, or knead it with carnal intent.

She chuckled as the combined effects of alcohol and altitude took effect, and he explained that the mount signified sensuality, beauty, enjoyment of melody and art, or their absence. He flexed his hand in the air, still holding hers with the other one, to show how his was thick and overdeveloped, potentially indicating an overindulgence in those things, a weakness for sin, women, wine – where hers was perfectly balanced. That part wasn’t even bullshit, if you take palmistry to be at all reputable. And they had him down pat where sensuality was concerned.

To illustrate those flaws she laughed off, he offered an embellished version of the story of him riding a hog down the Amalfi Coast with nothing but a backpack and a passport that was about to expire. Of course, he left out the part about only being there in the first place to take out a drug trafficker who used, of all things, live pigs to smuggle drugs all over Europe and fund all sorts of criminal activity with his earnings.

He was about to lie and say that nothing happened with the local girl he had given a ride to on his last night there – and he had the distinct feeling she would not believe him - when the whole cabin lurched, sending people pitching forward and several overhead bins yawning open. Her backpack, that he had obligingly stored above her seat so he could sidle in next to her, came hurtling down. She tried uselessly to shield herself from the impact as Mills snatched it out of the air, arms bolting out lightning fast to catch it. Her eyes were lazy with booze and her jaw was slack as she watched him spring into action, so at odds with the unimposing, nervous figure he cut until moments ago. Her drink was spilled down her shirt and she didn’t seem to notice until he put the bag down and took the empty glass from her hands.

“Oh, shit,” she shuddered as she registered the cold lick of spilled drink down her chest and inspected herself.

“I’ll let you go clean up,” Mills offered and maneuvered his long body out of the way, all but pushing her towards the toilet. He had work to do now and she needed to be out of the way for it.

*

Mills took out one man with a syringe full of pentobarbital. The man gasped sharply and clutched at the side of his neck as the poison immediately took effect. A rapid succession of comatose state, respiratory depression, bradycardia and death would ensue as he thrashed uselessly and stared with horror-filled eyes at his surroundings. Another one’s head snapped back to see what caused the odd sound and snapped forward again as Mills pressed the silencer of his gun to his forehead and let off a silent shot. Two more sprung out of their seats and he was grateful they didn’t do the annoying macho thing of screaming as they charged him. The less noise they made now, the less containing he would need to do with the girl.

The airplane dropped down suddenly, sending his guts floating to his throat. The pilot and copilot were conked out by now and Mills didn’t need his piloting license to tell him they were rapidly losing altitude.

The man closest to him wound up an amateurish punch and Mills easily ducked it, grabbing him by the back of the neck and smashing his face into the overhead compartments. Bone and tissue left a pulpy mess on the unyielding compartments and the man groaned painfully through what was left of his face as he slumped to the ground. Mills stepped over him and moved towards his next opponent. He was short and stocky and Mills jerked back to avoid the rather limited reach of his arms, but another pair wrapped themselves around his neck, trapping him in a merciless chokehold before he could blink. The shorter man wasted no time in landing a few gut shots on Mills as he desperately clawed at the arm crushing his windpipe, fighting for the smallest bit of purchase.

The cabin shook again and the four men were caught in a chaotic mêlée, getting tossed up and down, and side to side as they fought for their lives. The one holding Mills tripped over the writhing man with the smashed face and his grip loosened. With a brutal snap back, Mills felt his skull collide with his nose and shatter it. Blinded with pain and tears that accompany this kind of injury, the man let go of him altogether. With a gurgling breath, Mills straightened and both he and the shorter man reached for their guns. Mills was a fraction of a second faster, firing off a bullet at the center of his forehead. The shuddering cabin threw off his aim and the bullet shot right through the man’s throat and exited out the back in a bloody spray. Mills fired two more bullets in quick succession, putting two more holes into his neck and chest.

Mills whipped around, feeling the hurried steps of the one who was choking him moments ago rear up on him, and he stumbled back just in time to miss the man’s blade burying itself in his chest. Instead, it pierced his side, right under the ribs and he felt each of the teeth on its serrated edge tear through him on the way in and out. He bit down on a growl and felt like his teeth would shatter from the force of it. Like a linebacker, he lunged at his attacker and caught him around the middle, slamming him bodily against the toilet door. Twisting his wrist until he groaned and dropped the knife, Mills grabbed the short hair on top of his head, crusty with gel, and slammed it against the door several times until he saw the man’s eyes begin to cross and uncross.

“Occupied, dude. Can you read?” Mills heard the deadpan voice of his girl inside and smiled broadly.

“Yeah, can you read?” he snarled lowly at the man, exposing his teeth, and gave the guy’s head one last decisive slam right under the Occupied sign to punctuate his question before letting him slide limply down.

The last two came back from their inspection of the cockpit to find four dead or dying scumbags littering the cabin. Mills sucked in a deep breath and smoothed his hair back into place, facing the last two targets as they reached for their guns in a panic.

*

When she came out of the bathroom, nothing much seemed to be out of place. The cabin still shook, but to the uninitiated, it could have appeared as regular turbulence.

Mills was leaning against the seat with two drinks in his hands, offering her one glass as she approached. She narrowed her eyes at him curiously and groaned as the cabin tilted and sent her hip first into the corner of an armrest.

“You seem…much more calm. Now that the flight is actually getting hairy,” she looked around nervously. Whether she could subconsciously tell there was something eerie and off about the flight, or if it was just the increasingly rough ride they were having, he could not be sure.

“Well, the magic potion helped,” he swirled the cheap vodka and the ice in the glass clinked. “You should take a seat,” Mills announced calmly.

She took the glass obediently and sat, eyes bright and curious on him. No doubt expecting another dumb, entertaining anecdote, or some of that coy, but undisguised flirting.

“I need to tell you something,” he started slowly, almost apologetically. It was not his job to break it to the prospective operatives what exactly they’d gotten themselves involved in. The Curators were in charge of that and they had all sorts of soft language and persuasion and tailor-made platitudes designed to charm the morals off of anyone they set their sights on. He was never trained for that. Now he had to tell this kid that they’re on a plane full of corpses that’s about to crash-land, and then she would be shipped off to a guild of assassins for processing like a piece of meat in an abattoir. Good luck, Mills, you’re gonna need it, he thought, lips pressed into a line as she looked up at him with rather heartbreaking innocence.

Out of some apparent reverence for the moment, even the plane grew quiet, leveling out for the time being and quieting the racket of the last few minutes. The door of the cockpit yawned gradually open and the movement caught her eye. It swung shut just as quickly, preventing her from getting a good look at the two men slumped over in their seats.

“Are we landing?” she frowned, bringing the glass to her lips.

“No, erm, not yet,” he whispered slowly, starting to really feel the wound in his gut. “The situation I’m about to relay to you is mostly contained, so there’s no need to worry.”

She arched a brow at him and sipped. “Contained? What situation?” her words were slightly slurred.

“We lost the pilots.”

“Lost ‘em? Where’d they go?”

“No, I mean, they’re dead. So are the rest of the passengers. I killed them,” he added for extra clarity, finding her eyes void of understanding.

“It’s all in a day’s work for people like me. Maybe you too one day.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Killing people?”

“Yup,” he popped the P into his glass and sucked his teeth as the drink burnt pleasantly down his throat.

She nodded a few times, keeping her face neutral. Then her chin quivered and her eyes crinkled, and out came the laughter. He smiled back, out of basic human instinct, hoping she would get the shock and denial out of her system quickly. The first wave of laughter subsided when he didn’t join in and reassure her that he was just making a bizarre joke. Her expression faltered, eyes seeking, inviting him to give it up and just admit he was trying to trick her. When he didn’t, holding her gaze with an awkward sort of apology on his face, she laughed harder, doubling over and grabbing his thigh for support. It was drunken, gleeful sort of laugh and part of him wanted her to be right. Wanted them to really be just two people who hit it off on a weird flight to nowhere, had too many drinks and made some fun mistakes in a dingy hotel room somewhere. The jostling sent a fresh sting of pain to his wound and he winced, returning to the moment and to reality.

She straightened up, oblivious, and covered her mouth with her hand, mindful not to disturb the people Mills had propped back up into their seats, still not realizing they were dead or dying. Wheezing now, her eyes started to fill up with tears and the laughter lost all sound. It was just a spasm in her gut and a rictus on her face as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I’m thrilled you’re taking all of this in stride,” Mills said and pushed himself up to his feet with a groan. “Makes my job a lot easier.”

“Where are you going?” she managed to ask when he was halfway to the cockpit.

“I’m just gonna land the plane right quick.”

“Sure, you do that,” she nodded, dissolving into more drunken giggles. The chiming noises of her girlish laugh echoed behind him and Mills grinned all the way to the door.

“Would you mind putting your seatbelt on for me? It might get bumpy for a few seconds.”

As a lark, she did, saluting his back as she settled into her seat. She was still sipping what remained of her drink and stifling residual giggles when she felt the plane tilt to one side. Seeking purchase with her feet, she finally dropped the glass into the empty seat next to her as she pushed off the cabin wall, struggling to stay in her seat.

The six men that sat in the seats around her all gradually tipped and eventually rolled out of their seats. At first, they looked asleep or knocked out. Except that on closer inspection, some of them were bloody. One had something sticking out of his chest. Another was doing the full Exorcist with his broken neck turning his face, hideous in death and agony, 180 degrees.

Warning signs flashed and masks dropped down, and it startled her out of her stunned reverie.

Without knowing how, not feeling her legs or the floor beneath her, she stumbled into the cockpit.

Mills was in the pilot’s seat, speaking into a large headset. “Mayday, mayday,” he was repeating dispassionately, “this is US Midland Air 77 heavy. We’re experiencing—“

“What the – everyone’s dead over there!” She stopped suddenly, and he heard the wet squelch in her throat, heralding impending vomit. He paused and turned, looking at her questioningly. She held it in and pressed her back harder against the cockpit wall, knees shivering as they dropped sharply. Good girl, he thought and nodded at her. Most of them retch the first few times.

“Where are my manners?” he picked up the dead copilot off the seat by the scruff of his starched shirt and dropped him to the side, rolling him out of the way with his long leg. “Have a seat, please.” Someone responded to his distress call and he snapped forward, giving her not a moment’s consideration more. “I’m declaring an emergency…”

She looked stubbornly ahead of her, refusing to look down at the two dead bodies cramped into the small cabin, trying with all she had to keep it together. “Are we going down?”

“Well, yeah, technically, I guess,” he shrugged and then tightened his grip on the levers that were shuddering dangerously under his hands. “Every descent is going down, if you wanna get philosophical about it. This one is a little more rapid than most.”

“Who are you? Are you a pilot?” she accused more than asked as she finally relented and swiftly climbed into the seat next to him.

“Sure,” he shrugged and threw her a reassuring smile. “I’m whatever you need.”

She nearly jumped out of her seat as another blast shook the cabin. Mills knocked the useless headset off, and craned his body closer to her, strapping her in. “Shoulder straps, click in here,” he explained out loud, as if to a child. “And voila.”

She watched with trepidation as he pushed levers all the way away or pulled them all the way towards him, with buttons and lights flashing red to the rhythmic blare of warning sirens. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to assess how dire their situation was and she grew deathly quiet.

The fog in front of them cleared and square fields, in lighter and darker hues, delineated by long straight roads cutting through and across them came into view.  

They landed roughly on a road and Mills barely managed to keep on it as the wheels under them spun out of control and broke off. Seatbelts held them in place, but cut deep into their chests and punched all their air out as they swerved sharply into a field and plowed through it until eventually their momentum petered out.

Flying down the road in the distance was a procession of sleek black cars, converging on the wreckage. “That’ll be the Custodians – they’ll clean up the scene. And hopefully a few people from Restorations too,” he unstrapped himself and pressed his hand against his hastily dressed wound as he got up.

He went to offer the girl a hand, but she was already out of her seatbelt and climbing out, avoiding stepping on the corpse that lodged itself between the two seats during the crash-land. Mills wondered if it would do any good to tell her that the man whose corpse she was trying to show some misguided respect to was a human trafficker. Best to keep that little tidbit to himself for now, he decided.

“You’re hurt,” she stated the fact without too much concern for him.

Well, gee, don’t sound too broken up about it, Mills snapped in his head, feeling the pain rankle away any genial aspect of his character. “Yeah, how about that?” he rolled his eyes. But all his bravado notwithstanding, he groaned from deep in his bones as he pried open the door to the fuselage and jumped down.

She stood on the edge of the wreck, sparking and guttering out in a groan of metal and electricity, looking for a safe way to exit. Julian held out his arms to her limply, expecting her to do the typical female thing and slap him away, in some useless attempt to show she was no damsel in distress and that he had caused her enough trouble already, yadda yadda yadda, all that usual crap. Engrossed in his mental scenario, he only just had enough time to lock up his elbows and support her weight when, to his utter surprise, she accepted his help and leaped into his waiting arms.

He tottered backwards and they stumbled a few awkward steps as the headlights of the approaching cars caught them in their spotlight glare. She was splayed against him, face inches from him and, with a sinking feeling, he realized she didn’t look scared at all. She had to be, he knew – he certainly fucking was and only an idiot wouldn’t be – but she was far too good already at staying stone-faced during a crisis. He understood then her life had been no cake-walk and mourned the fact that it would only get less easy going forward with the Museum.

“Julian, you hanging in there?” a male voice asked as he stepped out of the car.

“High and tight,” Mills shot a finger gun at the man and flipped his hair out of his face, suddenly at a loss as to what to say in parting to this bewildered young woman in his arms.

“Julian?” she asked, surmising he had given a false name earlier.

“Julian Mills,” he introduced himself, seeing realization dawn in her eyes at the similarity between the false name he had given her and his real one. “First thing they’ll teach you – use fake names with your real initials. John Mitchell. Jordan Malcolm.  If you ever get confused or start writing the wrong name on some document by accident, it won’t be such a glaring correction.”

“Miss, if you’ll come with me,” an older operative from Provenance, all social grace and grandfatherly familiarity, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and obligingly showed her to the car that had come to pick her up.

The girl left Mills without a second’s hesitation and, once again, gave him not a single backwards glance as she walked away. She let the operative open the door for her and sat in the back seat of the waiting car. Julian wondered if she jumped in her seat when the plane eventually exploded behind her in the distance, or if she was already inured to such unpleasantries. He was just glad he had managed to salvage her little backpack and her tattered little book. Surreptitiously, when he was sure no one was looking, he flipped it open and found a quote underlined. Act 3, Scene 7. That’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. With a pained smile, his whole side stiffening up like a board from pain, his eyes searched the distance for the firefly headlights of the car driving her away. He hoped she would prove to be that valiant flea that the Bard talked about.

*

@thegrislady @safarigirlsp @lumberjack00fantasies​ @queeniebee​ @mythrielofsolitude​ @vedavan​ @house-of-cadwyn​

[skinnamon39]

I finally have lore

wrote most of it down on one of my Neocities pages but pasting it here too

"As one, now and ever onwards..."

The Kingdom of Lechtera on the continent of Kululja is a prosperous nation known for its thriving merchant networks, scientific centers, and thriving fishing industry. Since its founding 347 years ago, Lechtera has risen to prominence as a country that welcomes people of all origins and walks of life. For such a young kingdom, it is quite powerful.

Of course, the brighter a light, the darker its shadow.

History

After centuries of continual war between the numerous clans native to the region, a dream of peace rose from the battlefield. Through her endless strength and conviction, Eliana-Adrastia of the Lechter clan fought for her vision of a harmonious future, a future in which the clans put aside their differences and united under one banner. Her campaign lasted for five hard years before she succeeded. On the 9th of April, 1490 ME, Eliana was crowned the first queen of the newly unified Kingdom of Lechtera, and her reign lasted for 53 years before her death at the age of 85. All reverence to her name, may Mera weave for her soul.

Since then, the throne has been inherited by the eldest child of each generation of Queen Eliana's descendants. As of 1837, King Alerio Seneca Lechter has ruled for 28 years and is currently aged 44. All reverence to his name.

Geography

As a coastal country, Lechtera's northern and northeastern borders face the Glassian Sea, and it is here where the kingdom's lively maritime industries can be found. To the south, one will find the Republic of Étoivie. Finally, Lechtera shares its western border with Taarulka, with which the kingdom has achieved a newfound alliance.

Lechtera measures at roughly 178 million square miles in size and is divided into eight prefectures. The capital city of Solica sits in the northernmost prefecture, Arderton. For other notable cities, Lumae boasts several research facilities and universities, and the scenic landscapes of Cavuni attract hundreds of thousands of visitors during each year's warm seasons.

The terrain of Lechtera is largely flat and grassy, though hills and mountains become more prominent as one travels further south. Farming occurs all across the country. A few prefectures prefer to specialize in certain crops, but most grow the same blends of beans, fruits, gourds, and grains; one may enjoy similar, familiar flavors at all edges of the kingdom. Of course, fish are a staple of the Lechterian diet in addition to these crops.

Mythology

Thousands of years ago, long before the modern calendar, the world and everything in it was shaped by five gods: Pehr, the Earth; Kai, the Water; Feng, the Air; Kenn, the Fire; and Nur, the Light. They infused the empty space with their essence, each of them giving a piece of themselves to create the world. Once they had perfected it, they rejoined the aether so that they could continue to watch over their creation. As humankind went on living, they kept the memory of the gods alive, constructing altars and temples again and again for their favor and protection. Things carried on like this, unchanging, until Mera appeared.

Mera's origins have never been clear, with none of the multiple conflicting myths on the subject being significantly more widespread or logical in any way. Kenn's fire may have brought a figure of Pehr's clay to life, a child may have met Nur in a dream, or Feng may have had pity on a dying man - for all we know, Mera may as well have sprouted out of the ground fully formed.

Whatever the case, people all over the world began to encounter a man who called himself Mera. He wandered far and wide doing good deeds and never stayed in one place very long, but he was intensely memorable regardless thanks to his seemingly effortless command of the worldly elements, as if the gods themselves dwelled within him. Mera possessed not only a great level of control, but the ability to make the elements work in tandem. Such was the majesty of his power, as though he were crafting grand tapestries, that he came to be called "The Weaver". Merely by watching him work, people deepened their understanding of magic, and the world was changed forever.

As Mera became more well-known, many tired of simply watching and begged him to teach them the ways of magic, that they might make great discoveries or amass wealth and power or lessen the hardships of life. However, for some reason lost to history, Mera always refused. Within seven years of his appearance, Mera was killed by a man named Jonah, another whom he had refused to teach. It is said that he did not retaliate against Jonah in any way.

Once he had killed Mera, Jonah was, presumably, wracked with guilt over what he had done. He spent the rest of his life atoning for killing a man who had not only held such unique power, but who had only ever done good. In Mera's honor, Jonah retroactively established the first year of Magic Era calendar, starting from the first recorded encounter with him.

The true nature of Mera's existence, further muddled by his mysterious early life, is endlessly debated by scholars.

The Study of Magic

Scientists have long pondered and studied the possibility of harnessing magic. Though many breakthroughs have been made in understanding the flow of aether and in using aether stones, direct control of magic in the manner of Mera, the Weaver, has eluded magic researchers.

As such, the manifestation of Lady Savitri Felicia Mishra Langenberg's control over flame has arrested the attention of the entire continent.

Lady Savitri is alleged to have first demonstrated her power as a young child. Duke Lorenz Hilbert Langenberg understandably keeps his daughter's life as private as possible, but the few researchers who have been selected to meet with Lady Savitri have reported that her power is solely over flames, though her prowess continues to increase as she grows. Some believe her to be an envoy of Kenn. Some believe that she heralds a new age of humanity. Others simply hope to discover some long-hidden truths about magic. As of now, no consensus can possibly be reached.

[arcticdementor]

My professional ambition is to be the greatest and most interesting writer Asia has ever produced. Here I am all suited-up, walking out of a helicopter James Bond style. This may be a narcissistic thing to say, but the only way the GIF above can be cooler is if the helicopter explodes in a giant fireball behind me — while I ignore the heat and deadly flying shrapnel like the smooth operator I am, of course. Other cool things I’ve done include: • Starred in The Apprentice • Served in the Air Force • Got fired on national TV for all to see • Trained martial arts for almost a decade • Fought no less than four grown men in the cage for nothing but shits and giggles • Dropped out of University to start my own events business • Got sued for libel • And more

…

Take a look at the great writers of old. Hemingway wrote terse tales about war and adventure because serving as a war journalist was how he cut his teeth. In his later life, “Papa” would also become an avid sportsman and traveller. Bukowski wrote stories about being a drunken degenerate, womaniser and gambler because, well, he was all of the above. He once gave up writing to spend ten years drinking, but chose to return to the typewriter after his decade-long bender not because he felt he was good, but because he thought the other writers were so bad. His words, not mine. And the legendary Chinese poet Li Bai was a fine swordsman in his youth. He killed several men in duels to the death, before getting bored and deciding to travel across ancient China, getting drunk, making friends and writing beautiful poems about the country and his love for it. He even served as an advisor to the Emperor at one point. The writers I mentioned above are some of my favourites because they walked the walk. They didn’t just write about life. They lived it — then tried their best to pen down the highlights. And that’s the way it should be.

…

Contrast these worldly authors to young Christopher Paolini, the man who became a best-selling author at the age of 19. I liked Eragon well enough, and it may not be my place to criticise Paolini, but even he would not deign to refute when I say his world-building skills are not up to par with the likes of Tolkien or Rowling.

…

Reading Paolini reminded me of my teenage years, a time when all I read were stories chock full of swordfights and violence. The fight scenes in these books were expertly written, but after I started doing martial arts, it became blatantly obvious to me that the authors in question had no clue what real-life combat looks like. That was really jarring to me. It took me out of the magical world of the story and into the mundane humdrum of my present existence. This failure to completely suck readers into your story is one of the most deadly failings a writer can commit.

…

What I am saying is the more experience you have, the more realistic your writing will become. We can imagine all we want, but at the end of the day, it’s tough for a virgin to write truthfully of sex, a pacifist of war, and a teetotaler on drunken revelries.

…

First seek to live, then and only then, sit down and pen down the adventure of life. With any luck, what comes out of you will be honest, brash, raw, and above all, interesting. Authentically and organically interesting, the story of a life well-lived. So go out and live an interesting life. Seek to translate your original experiences to the page. Seek to go out and experience instead of stay home and imagine. This is how you avoid dull, inaccurate, unoriginal writing. This is how you become a better writer…while living your best life in the process.

[selflessanatta]

Human Suffering: Understanding Dukkha in the First Noble Truth, https://selflessanatta.com/human-suffering-understanding-dukkha-in-the-first-noble-truth/

New Post has been published on https://selflessanatta.com/human-suffering-understanding-dukkha-in-the-first-noble-truth/

Human Suffering: Understanding Dukkha in the First Noble Truth

The Buddha’s encounters with suffering and his quest to understand and alleviate it, leading to the foundational Buddhist teachings on the universal nature of suffering (dukkha).

The Traditional Story of the Buddha

When a prince named Siddhārtha Gautama was born, the mystic seers of the time told the royal family that Siddhārtha would either become a great king or a great spiritual teacher.

At this age in history, Northern India had witnessed a number of noble princes turning their back on wealth and power and embracing Jainism, a religion focused on non-violence and asceticism, the renunciation of all worldly possessions.

Siddhārtha Gautama’s father was determined not to let his young prince fall under the influence of Jainism, so he sheltered him from all unpleasant experiences and provided him a life of unparalleled luxury in hopes that he would become so accustomed to his princely life that he would never consider becoming a Jainist.

Siddhārtha came of age in the luxury and safety of his father’s palace, and per his father’s wishes, he was sheltered from all the unpleasant realities of life.

When Siddhārtha left the palace for the first time, he encountered the “Four Sights,” an old man, a sick man, a dead man, and an ascetic.

From these four encounters, he learned that youth and health are temporary; everyone gets sick, and everyone dies. His wealth and power couldn’t prevent that. Further, much to his father’s chagrin, he saw an ascetic who appeared serene and peaceful.

The way this story is traditionally told, the “Four Sights” inspired him to embark on a spiritual quest to find the path to liberation from suffering, aging, sickness, and death.

A Speculative Addition to the Buddha Story

In my opinion, the traditional story is incomplete. First, it seems unlikely that Siddhārtha was completely unaware of the realities of life, and he likely knew about the other princes who left palace life behind in pursuit of a life of inner peace.

Second, despite his life of luxury and indulgence, he must have been dissatisfied and unhappy. His father was not foolish to believe a life of luxury and indulgence would form stubbornly strong attachments and essentially trap Siddhārtha in royal life.

What drove the young prince to follow the path of the Jainist princes before him was his unhappiness and dissatisfaction with life. Despite the many pleasures of palace life, he found happiness fleeting and pursuing it a futile waste of time.

He came to see suffering as the central problem of the human condition, and he correctly reasoned that if suffering impacted his life, given all that was provided for him, then suffering must be a pervasive problem that touches everyone.

If he could solve the problem for himself, he would have given his life the meaning and purpose that he felt it lacked, and he would find unshakable happiness and peace of mind independent of his worldly circumstances.

In my opinion, the traditional story fails to capture his real motivation, the desire to relieve his own suffering. While it’s wonderful to think he was completely selfless and altruistic in his desire to solve the world’s problems, the accounts of the Buddha’s life also record that he did nothing to teach this to others for seven weeks after his enlightenment.

The reason given is that he was concerned that the profound insights he had realized under the Bodhi tree might be too difficult for others to understand. It’s also plausible to believe he might have been content with his own enlightenment and only later decided to share his method with the world.

The latter explanation is more human, and more realistic, albeit somewhat less flattering. After he decided to share his insights with others, he went on to give an estimated 84,000 teachings, so he certainly embraced selfless giving after the fact.

The Buddha was a man. He vehemently denied he was a God, though many still deify him. I don’t feel it diminishes him or his accomplishments to admit he was a man, driven by the selfish desire for enlightenment.

The fact is that he achieved it, and he selflessly devoted the rest of his life to teaching others how to achieve it too. It’s certainly an accomplishment worth emulating.

Buddhist Teachings on Suffering

The reason this post opens with an extended story of the Buddha’s life is because the problem of suffering was the main motivation for his enlightenment.

The Buddha explored every avenue for resolving the problem, which means he explored every type of suffering imaginable.

The first noble truth in Buddhism acknowledges the fundamental reality of suffering or unsatisfactoriness (dukkha) in human existence. It’s important to note that the term “suffering” doesn’t fully capture the depth of dukkha, as it encompasses a broader range of human experiences and conditions as described below.

Three Types of Dukkha:

Dukkha-dukkha: This is the most obvious form of suffering, referring to physical pain, illness, aging, and death. It’s the type of suffering that everyone can readily recognize.

Viparinama-dukkha: This refers to the suffering caused by change and impermanence. Even pleasurable experiences eventually change or end, leading to a sense of loss or dissatisfaction.

Sankhara-dukkha: This is a more subtle form of suffering, related to the inherent unsatisfactoriness of conditioned existence. It includes the idea that our attachment to things, ideas, and our sense of self can lead to a sense of discontent and suffering. Even our pursuit of desires and ambitions leads to anxiety and feelings of lack.

Sources of Suffering (Dukkha)

Tibetan Buddhist teachings influence the list below with a few additions most can relate to and a few deletions that most would not.

Birth

People typically don’t remember the trauma of their own birth, but since Buddhism comes from a culture that accepts a cycle of rebirth, they provide detailed descriptions of the pains everyone experiences.

It would be traumatic to be forced out of the comfortable home of a mother’s womb, suddenly experiencing sights, sounds, and new tactile sensations. Even breathing is a new experience.

People have no idea what’s happening, and they are completely helpless. If not for the care of loving parents, people would die as infants.

Teenage Angst

Though not specifically mentioned in Buddhist texts, the difficulties of transitioning from dependence to independence are rife with anxiety and suffering.

Teenagers are particularly concerned with reputation and what they imagine others think about them and are prone to think the worst.

Middle-Age Struggle

In mid-life, most people struggle to provide for children and tend to worldly concerns. The focus on making their mark in the world subjects them to the worldly winds of pleasure and pain, praise and blame, gain and loss, fame and disrepute.

Aging and Decline

With advanced age, assuming people live to see an advanced age, people endure an inevitable decline in their faculties. Memory fades, the brain doesn’t process information as quickly, and the body deteriorates and becomes more susceptible to disease.

The onset is inevitable and irreversible, and this knowledge brings sadness and frustration to everyone.

Sickness and Pain

Physical pain and illness are part of the human condition, resulting from the impermanent and changing nature of the body.

Pain is a red alert that can’t be turned off. Pain makes it difficult to maintain a positive outlook and often hinders people from activities they enjoy.

If a condition is chronic, or the prognosis for continuing deterioration, pain can lead to depression.

Fear of Death

Nobody is certain what happens after death. Most religious traditions provide teachings and beliefs intended to provide comfort as people approach death, but lingering uncertainty remains.

Plus, everyone has a basic survival instinct to stay alive, and as death approaches, it’s rarely greeted with enthusiasm. Fear of death, to some degree, is part of the human condition.

Encountering what is unpleasant

Nobody wants to suffer, yet we all do. Whenever we encounter something we find undesirable, we try to push it away, often becoming angry, which disturbs our minds.

When we focus attention on what’s unpleasant, we expand and extend the negative experience, sometimes ruminating on unpleasant people or circumstances continually in a focused yet uncontrolled meditation.

Separation from what is pleasant

When we encounter something pleasant, the natural instinct is to grasp after it and want more. We easily become attached to pleasant experiences, objects we enjoy, and people who please us.

When we are unable to enjoy experiences, objects, and people, we become angry and experience the sadness of loss. Since everything changes, loss is part of daily life.

Not getting what you want

We all want things. We need food, shelter, and medicines if we’re ill. But whether we want or need things, we don’t always get them. In fact, since our desires are endless, we fail to obtain what we want far more often than we succeed in satiating our desires.

Failing to obtain objects of desire is frustrating and disappointing, disturbing our minds.

Anxiety of change and uncertainty

On exceedingly rare occasions, people obtain everything they want, and in that moment, they are gripped with the desire to preserve what they have forever.

Unfortunately, change is constant, and we are constantly being separated from what is pleasant, and we obtain what we find unpleasant. Our desire to preserve what we have is never satisfied for long.

Change is certain, but what change will bring into our lives is uncertain, and this uncertainty is a source of anxiety. The more we cling to the past or present, the stronger this anxiety grows.

Insatiability of desire

Even if we obtain objects of desire, the satisfaction is fleeting. The mind naturally moves on to the next item on the list, failing to appreciate whatever we’ve already obtained.

Most people spend their time in a state of lack, pursuing what they don’t have rather than feeling gratitude and appreciation for what they possess. This is the primary source of unhappiness for most people.

Repeatedly descending from high to low

Life is not a steady progression where one accumulates beauty, fame, and wealth.

Some people work out and diet to improve their health and appearance only to lose it for lack of discipline, ill health, or a change in their circumstances.

Some people achieve fame only to find themselves “canceled” for some transgression later on.

Some people obtain great wealth only to lose it later due to poor investments, or unwise lifestyle decisions.

There is pleasure and pain, praise and blame, gain and loss, fame and disrepute.

Loneliness and isolation

Most people desire family, friends, and community, but they often fail to obtain them. Alienation, the sense of separation from others, is a defining feature of human life.

Even those who’ve cultivated all these things can outlive their friends and family and end up dying alone, disconnected from all that they knew.

The First Noble Truth

The first noble truth invites us to recognize and accept the inevitability of suffering in life as a starting point for understanding and addressing the causes of suffering, as outlined in the subsequent noble truths.

The Buddha wasn’t concerned with debating philosophy or providing opinions about the existence or non-existence of Gods. Buddhist faith concerns faith in process, not in the existence of imaginary beings.

Many have argued that his teachings aren’t a religion because the Darhma is only concerned with how to end the suffering of dukkha. Everything the Buddha taught is a means to that end.

In essence, the first noble truth teaches that suffering is a universal human experience and the foundation upon which the entire Buddhist path to liberation and enlightenment is built.

Meditation on the First Noble Truth

The purpose of this post is to clearly demonstrate that the sufferings of human life can’t be avoided.

This realization should generate a sense of futility in applying excessive effort to worldly pursuits with the goal of creating lasting happiness in his life.

When you realize lasting happiness can’t be achieved through worldly attainments, you should be motivated to liberate your mind from Samsara and end suffering in this life by preparing for future lives.

Contemplation

Consider what you read in this post and focus on the following first-person narrative:

There is no benefit in denying the sufferings of this life. In order to find happiness in this life, I must prepare for my countless future lives while I have the opportunity.

I must liberate myself from suffering in this life and in all future lives. If I don’t apply effort to this task now, my human life will be empty of meaning, there is no greater deception and no greater foolishness. I must put effort now into liberating myself permanently from this life and my countless future lives.

Object of Meditation

You meditate on this determination continually until you develop the spontaneous wish to liberate yourself permanently from the sufferings of this life and countless future lives.

You should hold this determination in your mind for as long as possible.

When out of the meditation session, pay attention to how the various sufferings manifest in your life. They will serve as a reminder of your determination to eradicate suffering once and for all.

This feeling is the realization of renunciation, the entry to the Buddhist path, and the purpose of the intermediate scope of Lamrim.

~~wink~~

Anatta

[fictionfromafar]

Dead Sweet by Katrín Júlíusdóttir

Dead Sweet

By Katrín Júlíusdóttir

Translated by Quentin Bates

Orenda Books

Publication Date: 7 December 2023

What is it about Iceland that creates so many readers and indeed so many authors? The country boasts one of the highest rates of books per capita (3.5 books for every 1,000 inhabitants!) and studies in the past have shown that at least 50% of Icelanders read at least 8 books per year, while an impressive 93% of them read at least one. Katrín Júlíusdóttir is the latest translated crime fiction author from Iceland, yet she was far from a new name in her home country.

A former politician, she served several roles including Finance Minister for a period. There are definite references both to politics and finance within this story and also a tangible worldliness which is to the novel's enhancement. Dead Sweet is the start of a new series which offers a lot of promise and a intriguing main protagonist in enthusiastic young policewoman SigurdÍs.

Keen to develop her career in the force as a detective, she is fortunate enough to be drawn into the initial investigation when prominent one time business man and now civil servant Óttar Karlsson is found dead on a beach shortly after failing to turn up at a planned party to mark his fiftieth birthday. Once his relatives have been informed and news of his death becomes more widespread, it sends shockwaves through Icelandic political, and indeed, wider society, Not only was Karlsson respected and admired for his business acumen, it was also felt by many that he would be the type of leader that the country needed following the recent troubled financial climate. Yet as SigurdÍs and her colleagues delve into his business affairs, which included selling off government buildings, their perceptions of the man begins to change quite dramatically. It soon becomes clear that Karsson had been siphoning off profits that were due to the state. When evidence of his underhand dealing is leaked to the public a whole reevaluation of his character is almost instantaneous. Júlíusdóttir shows this most vividly in her descriptions of his funeral where the largest church in the country contains only a handful of people appear willing to pay their respects.

As part of the investigative matters, the novel introduces us to those who were closest to Karsson, his partner, his mother and his sister. Yet it soon becomes apparent to the police that maybe they didn't know him that well at all. In parallel to this, we also begin to learn about SigurdÍs and the troubled times within own family background. It doesn't take long for the reader to identify that our lead character carries a few unresolved issues of her own; yet these are drivers for her to establish the truth in her quest for justice. Her work relationship with her boss, Garðar, is supportive yet complex and a notable feature of his novel. Their dynamics are key as SigurdÍs feels she needs him to help her in her personal life while Garðar feels a great deal of responsibility towards her. The difficulty with this is that SigurdÍs' own approach increasingly diverges with his own as far as the investigation is concerned. While Karsson's actions have effectively destroyed the livelihoods of many, SigurdÍs begins to doubt if this could have been the real motivation for murder.

I found Dead Sweet to be a distinctive read with engaging characters. While the novel shines a light on shady financial affairs and features recollections on incidents that occurred in the past, I found it a very accessible book which took me 3 days to read. I think this must be in part due to the translation by Quentin Bates. It makes for a very promising debut with a tantalising indication as to the direction that the second novel in the series will take.

ABOUT KATRÍN JÚLÍUSDÓTTIR

Katrín Júlíusdóttir has a political background and was a member of the Icelandic parliament from 2003 until 2016. Before she was elected to parliament, Katrín was an advisor and project manager at a tech company and a senior buyer and CEO in the retail sector. She worked from a young age in the fishing industry, was a store clerk and also worked the night shift at a pizza restaurant. She studied anthropology and has an MBA from Reykjavík University. Katrín’s debut novel Dead Sweet received the Blackbird Award and was an Icelandic bestseller upon publication. She is married to critically acclaimed author Bjarni M. Bjarnason, who encouraged her to start writing. They have four boys and live in Garðabær.

When Óttar Karlsson, a wealthy and respected government official and businessman, is found murdered, after failing to turn up at his own surprise birthday party, the police are at a loss. It isn’t until young police officer Sigurdís finds a well-hidden safe in his impersonal luxury apartment that clues start emerging. As Óttar’s shady business dealings become clear, a second, unexpected line of enquiry emerges, when Sigurdís finds a US phone number in the safe, along with papers showing regular money transfers to an American account. Following the trail to Minnesota, trauma rooted in Sigurdís’s own childhood threatens to resurface and the investigation strikes chillingly close to home… Atmospheric, deeply unsettling and full of breakneck twists and turns, Dead Sweet is a startling debut thriller that uncovers a terrifying world of financial crime, sinister cults and disturbing secret lives, and kicks off a mind-blowing new series.

Many thanks to Anne Cater at Random Things Tours for inclusion in the blog tour and to Karen Sullivan at Orenda Books for an advance copy of Dead Sweet. Please look out for the other reviews on the blog tour.

[lindajenni]

sep 25

this can't go on forever

"therefore I will number you for the sword, and you shall all bow down to the slaughter; because, when I called, you did not answer; when I spoke, you did not hear, but did evil before My eyes, and chose that in which I do not delight." isa 65:12

these are those who do not delight in His ways; those ones who love the darkness more than the light. a Godly heart cannot understand such a thing, but truth remains truth regardless of one's invented truth. scripture tells us that even the evil doers love their own. but it is a selective love; a worldly love; not the love of God.

reading scripture now is almost like reading the daily newspaper. lawlessness and self-centeredness are overwhelming. just read for yourselves. does this not describe our times to a tee?

"but know this, that in the last days perilous times will come: for men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power… led away by various lusts, always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth." 2 tim 3:1-7

the other day i watched a young person on a plane disputing with an elder that they were a boy and not a girl. the amount of arrogance and lack of respect was overwhelming. their minds have become so darkened i fear their confusion nears being given over. it's like a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. an enlightened mind cannot comprehend it and certainly not approve of the disrespect they show in wildly defending their confusion. "they sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind. the stalk has no bud; it shall never produce meal. if it should produce, aliens would swallow it up." hos 8:7

and don't you find it interesting how the Spirit uses "aliens" in that verse? will aliens contribute to unbeliever's ultimate deception at the rapture? it is no longer a topic shrouded in secrecy and ridiculed. it is openly discussed, none realizing these are really the evil ones, perhaps appearing as an angel of light. much as the anti-christ will appear, bringing solutions (peace and safety) when he is revealed. their admiration will blossom into worship. oh yes, he is just silently awaiting for his time to come - until believer's hosting the Holy Spirit are no longer here to restrain.

i am hearing they expect all humans to be merged with neural implants by 2030; a boom for mankind and a benefit allowing kids to learn faster and better. there are already volunteers for the "musk chip." those of us older may remember the tv show, "the six million dollar man." their opening tag line was, "we can rebuild him. we have the technology. we can make him better than he was. better, stronger, faster." obviously insinuating better than God created man. and isn't it great that the price has finally come down on something. i wonder how often our entertainment has predicted our future. is the "terminator" a precursor to artificial intelligence next?

as i noted before, now they are talking about creating synthetic life. can anybody say, "the days of noah?" "they ate, they drank, they married wives, they were given in marriage, until the day that noah entered the ark, and the flood came and destroyed them all. likewise as it was also in the days of lot: they ate, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they built." luke 17:27-28 this is just further confirmation to me that there will be a pre-trib rapture. these things will not be normal at the end of jacob's trouble. turmoil and death will prevent life and leisure from continuing as normal.

only the blinded fail to see or admit we are at that point now; in the days when the world had become so adulterated and degenerate that all, save eight, had to be destroyed. "do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap." gal 6:7

so i say again, "this can't go on forever." many people think i am just rapture crazy but i honestly can understand why others can't see what i see coming, and coming fast. i know many are not even looking, just blindly going forth as sheep to the slaughter. even many christians believe His coming is yet far off. how can they look at everything combined and say that it will be maybe 30 years or 20 or 10 or even 5 years away?

yes, this next rapture watch may come and go as all the others before have. if that happens we will dutifully look for that next "expected" time. regardless of what others may say, all things "do not" continue as they were from the beginning of creation. as we rapidly run to and fro, our knowledge has increased with the years. as knowledge is increasing exponentially, so is sin. the light is fading rapidly from hearts desiring to wallow in debauchery. sin is being harvested faster than it can be sown.

abraham talked God down to 5 righteous people trying to save sodom, but i don't believe there will be any talking God down this time. not with all the souls slain for their testimony of Christ crying out: "how long, o Lord, holy and true, until You judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?" rev 6:10 not with all those on earth who are bearing witness to His love and free gift, now joining in the sing-along.

scripture tells us His mercy endures forever, but He is also "just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus." rom 3:26. justice and righteousness will prevail.

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT NORBERT OF XANTEN The Patron of Bohemia, the Archdiocese of Magdeburg and Against Birth Complications Feast Day: June 6

"O Priest! You are not of yourself because you are of God. You are not of yourself because you are the servant and minister of Christ. You are not your own because you are the spouse of the Church. You are not yourself because you are the mediator between God and man. You are not from yourself because you are nothing. What then are you? Nothing and everything. O Priest! Take care, lest what was said to Christ on the cross be said to you: 'He saved others, himself he cannot save!'"

On June 6 the Catholic Church honors Saint Norbert of Xanten – who started out as a frivolous and worldly cleric, but was changed by God’s grace into a powerful preacher and an important reformer of the Church during the early 12th century. He is the founder of the Norbertine order.

Born around the year 1075 in the German town of Xanten, Norbert belonged to a high-ranking family with ties to the imperial court. As a young man he showed a high degree of intelligence and sophistication – which marked him out as a contender for offices within the Church, the state, or both. None of this, however, was any guarantee of a holy life. On the contrary, Norbert's gifts and advantages would prove to be a source of temptation even after he joined the ranks of the clergy.

Norbert was ordained as a subdeacon, and enrolled with a group of clerics in his town, before moving on to an appointment with the powerful Archbishop of Cologne. He went on to serve the German Emperor Henry V, in a position which involved the distribution of aid to the poor. In all of this, however, Norbert displayed no particular piety or personal seriousness, living a rather pleasurable and luxurious life.

Change would come from a brush with death, in approximately 1112: while riding on horseback near Xanten, he was caught in a storm and nearly killed by a lightning bolt. The frightened horse threw Norbert off, and he lay unconscious for some time. Sobered by the experience, he left his imperial post and began a period of prayer and discernment in a monastery. At age 35, he heard God calling him to the priesthood.

Radically converted to the ideals of the Gospel, Norbert was now set against the worldly attitude he had once embodied. This made him unpopular with local clerics, who responded with insults and condemnation. But Norbert was not turning back. He gave all of his wealth to the poor, reducing himself to a barefoot and begging pilgrim who possessed nothing except the means to celebrate Mass.

Pope Gelasius II gave Norbert permission to live as an itinerant preacher, and he was asked to found a religious order so that others might live after his example. He settled in the northern French region of Aisne, along with a small group of disciples who were to live according to the Rule of St. Augustine. On December 25, 1121, they were established as the Canons Regular of Premontre, also known as the Premonstratensians or Norbertines.

Their founder also established a women’s branch of the order, before returning to Germany for a successful preaching tour. He founded a lay branch of the Premonstratensians (the Third Order of St. Norbert), and went on to Belgium, where he preached against a sect that denied the power of the sacraments. His order was invited into many Northern European dioceses, and there was talk of making Norbert a bishop.

Though he avoided an earlier attempt to make him the Bishop of Wurzburg, Norbert was eventually chosen to become the Archbishop of Magdeburg in Germany. The archdiocese was in serious moral and financial trouble, and the new archbishop worked hard to reform it. His efforts were partly successful, but not universally accepted: Norbert was the target of three failed assassination attempts, made by opponents of his reforms.  

When a dispute arose over the papal succession in 1130, Norbert traveled to Rome to support the legitimate Pope Innocent II. Afterward he returned to Germany and became a close adviser to its Emperor Lothar. In a sense, his life seems to have come full-circle: the first hints of his conversion had come on a trip to Rome two decades earlier, when he accompanied a previous emperor. This time, however, Norbert was seeking God’s will, not his own advancement.

With his health failing, Norbert was brought back to Magdeburg. He died there on June 6, 1134. Pope Gregory XIII canonized St. Norbert in 1582.

Source: Catholic News Agency

[tiens-letters]

Oohh another request haha. I love this thank you and i hope you like it :>

were the bruises to your heart worth it?

Childe angst

You mulled over your sister's words for the nth time today. Her voice playing on loop inside your head, drifting in and out of a mundane daydream.

"why are you still with him?" you wondered as well as to why you still stuck with Ajax, all these days in 3 years of being wit him. Perhaps it was devotion, it was love to persevere even in the wrath of crumbling times and yet why does your heart ache a little more these days he's been far from you.

The days when he would come home, wounded and tired you were there to nurse him back. Back then it was something you'd do out of care and worry, which was until these recent days where it felt as if it were a job you didnt want to do as he would shrug you off instead and locking himself in another room. You barely remember the time where you both shared a quiet night basking in each other's presence, with limbs in a tangle and your forehead upon his beating chest, it was almost none existent as the home you both had felt so utterly desolate, void of the homey ambience.

Youve endured a month of his uncalled behaviour, breaking you even further as things slipped from your grasp leaving you empty and in agony. There were times you'd silently let tears fall as he slept so soundly beside you, unbothered by your pain. He's become more and more as the harbinger you forgot him to be and not your darling lover Ajax.

He never noticed your puffy eyes, sunken cheeks and dwindling weight yet he noticed all the small mistakes youve made. Where one day, left you with a bruise on the arm due his snake like grip after blowing up on you right after he came home from a long journey to sumeru.

You left. 

Childe came home earlier than expected, once again tired and nursing a few minor wounds on his body. All he wanted was your touch on his skin as you lulled him to sleep only that to his utter surprise that the house was empty. Perhaps you went out for an errand or for another pot of your favourite flower that you kept in the small garden at the back.

Not giving it too much thought, he lounged on the couch awaiting your return, eyelids soon drooping as the soft pillow coaxed him to sleep.

As the grandfather clock swings its pendulum, the sound echoing through the whole room signifying the arrival of midnight, an eerie sound waking Childe back to consciousness. Groggy from rising he scanned the room only to find it darker than before, if it werent for the nearby lamp he switched open, he swore he couldve been swallowed by the darkness.

Were you not home yet?

A dreadful feeling washed over him as your presence was nowhere around the house. He called out for you as he rushed through the halls, a sliver of hope vanishing every corner turned and every door opened led to nothing but misery.

You always leave a note as to where you are going and yet it was another one out of the many abnormalities in his home.

"Darling? Please i hope youre not playing with me!" he calls out to no one in particular, denying the fact of your existence gone with the wind. Your clothes were all intact and so does your other belongings. He thought of every possibility of what couldve befallen his lover, mostly gravitating towards the worst of the worst case scenarious and may the archons forbid, he would never recover from the blow.

"Where are you?!"

Then it dawned on him after much pondering and pulling his falling parts together. The things he did, the words he said it all came flooding through him like a rushing cold river, hitting him fair and square in the chest and came forth an otherworldly pain and regret. He gasps, almost suffocating by the weight of his sins and he wished he had died right then and there in atonement for his crimes.

Soon his vision became bleary as eyes misted over with tears that fell freely from his ocean eyes. He ruined it. Ruined you.

And yet he could not let you go.

Days seemed to pass by so fast that it had already been 5 months of liberation from Ajax's presence. You were slowly building yourself up once again, the temple that was torn down by a single crack, slowly being rebuilt brick by brick.

Your love for Ajax, even if it left quite the bruise to your heart, it was still there, lingering in the air and a part of you missed him so. You wondered how he would be doing, you wondered if he looked for you just as you did when he didnt come home on the date set, you wonder if he wept when he couldnt feel you next to him, just as you did 150 days ago. You wondered if he ever called your name all the while giving a lingering kiss to the painting that hung on the foyer. You wondered if what you both had, had any significance to him at all.

"Stop doing that." you jolted from where you sat, the book falling off your lap as you met your sister's stern glare from across the room.

"Stop doing what?"

"You are thinking about Tartaglia again. Its been over 5 months and that blundering fool never made an effort to find you much less apologize for what he did when you were still there." there was anger in her voice as she recounted the day you came to her door, teary eyed and just utterly torn. Never once did she felt like murdering someone so bad, especially when it had you, her only family involved.

"Im sorry, I-i just--"

"Hush now." she came over in her elegant strides to take you in her arms, the familiar scent of your mother's favorite perfume stayed on her like second skin and you were so grateful that you had her. You let yourself cry in her embrace in quiet comfort.

Childe never stopped.

Secretly searching for atleast a tiny clue of your whereabouts wore him down to the bone and yet he never gave up. How could he? Even if he thought he was so undeserving of you he still pushed on to right what wrong he's made. The details gathered had been insufficient to serve as a lead making Childe more desperate in his attempt to search for you. Nights were spent on scouring places and information seeking and his work, only done in the daytime. He never wasted a wink on sleep as it was an obstacle to getting closer to you and even when his body collapsed due to exhaustion of overworking all he could think was you.

The search has led a certain fatui informant who works for one of the harbingers. With a note slipped in secrecy on a specific time containing an address on the small parchment. It was all Childe needed to fuel his buried hope as he took off towards snezhenaya.

He never imagined he'd arrive right in front of the iron gates that encased the whole estate atop a mountain. The wind bellowed stronger than before as the snow rained harder upon the place. Luckily, he was born in this region and had survived throughout. 

He wondered why you came here, to such a dreadful place but then again, anywhere was better than right by him.

Trying to push open the gates only to be repelled by cryo magic, burning through his gloves and into his skin, leaving fresh burns on his palms as he gasped in pain. Whoever lives here clearly didnt want anyone trespassing much less had a fancy for guests.

He was starting to grow cold as his energy was slowly being siphoned by days of travel, it would only take a matter of time before he passes out.

He calls out, hoping someone inside would hear him.

And you did, only that it seemed like the wind but the time you looked outside the library window, you saw a person outside the gates. The familiar ginger hair tousled with the wind and as you strained your ears to hear and that was when it filled your ears, Ajax's voice. Something you havent heard in quite a long time.

As quick as lightning you stood, half running half gliding through the halways and down the stairs, there was no coherent thought, only him. He was freezing outside the barrier and you pushed yourself more to reach him.

Your figure stepping out through the door was almost like a dream to him. Your name oh so longingly leaving his bluing lips.

"Ajax!" you were in time as you caught his figure which seemed lighter than before. He clung to you, legs desperately tryinf to hold him up. You were here, right in his arms, alive and warm.

"Im sorry. Im so sorry. Please I love you." he rambles on, like a mantra he apologizes over and over again, sobbing and stumbling on his words as he held you so achingly close "Forgive me. Forgive me..."

"Step away from him this instant." your sister, Signora hisses from behind you, just as you were about to coax Ajax she already had a cryo dagger aimed at his head

"Sister please!" you plead, your panic growing as you saw Ajax huffing in labored breaths "Let him come inside or he will freeze to death."

Signora sees the urgency in your eyes and the undying devotion you still hold for the man in your arms. She dematerializes the dagger with a wave of her hand.

"Fine but if I see tears in your eyes then dont you ever dare stop me from what Im going to do to him."

"Thank you sister." you smile at her as she steps backs inside the house and you follow in after her with Ajax leaning on you for support. Once inside, you had him lay on the couch by the fire after helping him out of his winter garments and replacing it for a knitted quilt.

"Im sorry." bloodshot ocean eyes looked at you with so much guilt and a love that you almost forgot "I-i im so so sorry."

"Lets talk about this after youve rested." this time you couldnt look at him, the ache in your heart throbs from the bruises it still nursed. You stood before falling further only for him to catch your shaking hand with his equally shaking one.

"Dont leave." he whimpers, the fear of abandonment increasing as he pleaded for you to stay. instead, you let go of his hand and placed yours instead over his eyes making him uncharacteristically shriek surprising you even more, making you think what other worldly pain he was experiencing as of  the moment. "No! No No.  Please Its dark." 

Ajax cries as he thrashed around because he feared that if he sleeps he would go back to the nightmare of you not by his side and that would leave him all cold and alone just like in the past. he didnt want to go back there, not now when he's seen you. As much as he'd hate to admit, he was truly and utterly terrified but you had to let him rest and with the help of your vision he finally succumbed to a dreamless, peaceful sleep. Only that he calmed down did you notice how much he's lost, where your once sunken cheeks, puffy eyes and weight loss now transferred to him and it made you sick to your stomach. your lips found his forehead as you wished him a good rest, you left the room after bandaging his burned hands to gather yourself for when he finally came to his sensible self.

when you thought it was going to take a full day for him to wake up  only to find him stumbling about in the living room calling your name on his lips like a broken record. you immediately rushed down and burst into the room to find him clutching his head and gasping breathlessly. he looked crazed until he caught sight of you standing by the door, a worried look on your face was when he finally came to. he ran to you, clung to you like it was the last day of the world to live and sighed into your welcoming smell. 

"are you alright now?" you ask him as you part in arms width 

"Hit me." he tells you in all seriousness in his worn out state 

"W-what?" you were certain he was still out of it until he grabbed your hand in an attempt to hit himself to which you stopped immediately 

"Hit me! Scream at me all you want. Call me words Ive called you. Ive broken you! Do you not see that?!" funny how he couldnt see himself, he who's become worse over the course of the months . his tone rose and fell until it was only a whisper above his panting 

"Just dont abandon me." he shuts his eyes, steeling himself for your judgment  until he felt your hands on his face again, making soothing circles on his cheek 

"look at me Ajax." you coax him and he did and he could see assurance and the love for him still remained and he wanted to cry again but tears have long gone abandoned him and left him in such a regretful state, he truly didnt deserve you and you never deserved to be treated that way. "Youve hurt me yes and nothing can change that but I wasnt planning on you leaving you. I couldnt as I love you too much that I wouldnt imagine life without you but Ajax, the things you did to me, to us,  was painful." 

"I know and Im so sorry." he held himself from rambling as the pain in chest grew even more burdensome, something he would willingly carry as he vows to himself to never hurt you and if he did  then he would tear himself down "I love you" 

"and I to you Ajax. Just promise me that when you are having a hard time, let us talk it out and not result to screaming and painful banters." 

"I promise darling. on my life and everything in this world. I vow to never cause you pain like I did and to only give you love and care that someone like you deserve." 

there he was, your Ajax. He was home. 

[docgold13]

365 DC Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…

September 22nd - Cyborg

Victor Stone is the son of the brilliant scientists Silas Stone and Elinore Stone. Blinded by their ambitions to enhance their discoveries, Victor’s parents subject their son to various procedures to augment his intellect and physical attributes. While these experiments are ultimately successful, young Victor grows to resent his parents and the ways in which they had used him as a test subject for their tinkering. As a high school student, Victor excels at sports and is depressed over how little interest his parents have in his more commonplace interests and achievements. Victor’s parents succeed in creating a portal to another universe. A monster emerges from the portal and kills Victor’s mother. Victor tries to save her but is severely injured before his father is able to close the portal and send the creature back. Victor is on the cusp of death and, desperate to save him, his father utilizes an experimental cybernetic exoskeleton to keep his son alive. The result was that young Victor was transformed into a cyborg, equal parts human and machine. The young man is furious and despondent over what has become of his life, the death of his mother, his father’s unscrupulous actions and the loss of his humanity.  He slipped into a deep depression yet was shaken out of it when he became aware of a plot to attack the united Nations. Utilizing the various powers provided by his cyborg form, Victor was able to thwart this scheme and save the delegates who had been attacked. He ended up becoming a member of The New Teen Titans, finding a sense of kinship with fellow outcasts such as Beast Boy and Raven. He took on the code name of ‘Cyborg’ and would go on to serve in multiple iterations of the Titans. Over the years, Cyborg gradually updated the technology of his cybernetic components, offering him an ever-growing arsenal of offensive and defensive capabilities. Cyborg would additionally serve as a member of The Justice League and also shared adventures alongside The Doom Patrol. Updated retcons to Cyborg’s origin story entailed the technology that composes his cybernetics as originating from a Mother Box, a highly advanced super computer created by the New Gods of Apocalypse and New Genesis. Cyborg’s connection to this other-worldly technology has further augmented his power abilities. A version of the character appeared in the television series Smallville portrayed by actor Lee Thompson Young; whereas Ray Fisher has played the character in the movies Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and Justice League; and Joivan Wade has portrayed Cyborg in the series Doom Patrol. The hero first appeared in the pages of DC Comics Presents #26 (1980).

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - Minor’s Memos

🍒This R&S (韩野的备忘录) is part of the Dream Heart Lake event which has not been released in EN🍒

More r&s from the event: 

> minor’s memos ♡

> tilted time

> little bro’s self-cultivatiion

> ashes

[ Chapter 1 ]

The First Memo

I was beaten up.

This morning, I was especially courageous and pasted a "Evil Spirit Begone" challenge letter on the school bully’s lunchbox. But I didn’t stop myself and pasted too many. The other party brought five people and cornered me in a small alley. I straightened my back, but felt a chill. What happened in the end were the four words I started off with... I was beaten up. With a bloody nose and a swollen face, I suddenly felt that there truly weren’t any heroes in this era... Even an ardent youth like me had to face such tribulation...

Suddenly, a pair of white sneakers stood before my eyes. Lifting my red and swollen eyes with difficulty, all I saw was an icy outline. He reached out to grab the neck of one of the school bullies, and had a sharp look in his eyes!

Oh my... It was actually Se! Nior! Ga! Vin!

Today, I finally witnessed what was a true 1 v 5 looked like. Gavin blew the dust off his hands, lowering his eyes and giving me a glance before leaving. Quick-wittedly, I tugged on the bottom of his trouser leg.

Senior turned out to be just as cold and indifferent as the legends said. During the entire process, he only said one word - “Scram”.

He’s such a MAN!

Hence, there’s a small goal in my heart. I want to learn the supreme feat of Senior’s 1 v 5!

-

The Second Memo

I looked for Senior many times, but was mercilessly ignored by him... He was either wholly absorbed in drinking water, or wholly absorbed in sleeping... I decided that I had to take the initiative! So, I came up with a plan to perfectly understand Senior.

Cough cough.

With this, I started embarking on the dull and dry life of “tracking” Senior. At 7.30am, Senior would appear at the school gate punctually, carrying a flat schoolbag. I don’t know if there are any books in it... Forget it, is that the main point? Nope!

After Senior reaches school, the first thing he does is head to the small kiosk in the north to! Buy! Breakfast! Does he actually lead such an ordinary life too? I even thought an existence like Senior’s should be above worldly affairs, and that he wouldn’t eat the food of common mortals! Hey hey hey! It seems that Senior really likes to eat fishballs? He’s been eating them for three consecutive days!!! Isn’t it good to change it to something else?!!!

During class, I deliberately went around the upper levels where the Year 3 seniors were, pretentiously passing by Senior’s window. Of course, Senior typically wouldn’t appear in the classroom at all. But!!! He was here today!!!!

As expected, he was assigned to sit in the last row, and was sleeping without restraint...

Did nobody care?! Wait, why am I feeling envious?

After school, Senior walked around, and I had no idea where he was headed to. Finally, he walked into the library. I couldn’t help but think - Senior really lives life as he pleases...

Huh? Hang on! Why would the Underworld Senior go to the library?!

He not only went to the library, but the thing which startled me even more till my jaw dropped was - I saw Senior helping the prettiest girl in class retrieve a book from the shelf!

He even... s-smiled...

Had my vision gone blurry? This was the Underworld Senior who’s said to be cold, unruly, and scares girls away?!

-

[ Chapter 2 ]

The Third Memo

I was beaten up again...  Writing these words is truly lamentable... Why did I have to rescue that stupid, unsophisticated and immoral four-eyed boy? But isn’t that what a hero does? What this era needs is a hero like me!

...this era might also not need such a weak hero like me...

That’s what I thought when I was pressed against the ground and punched by a school bully. My conviction was about to collapse. All of a sudden, I recalled the sharp look in Senior Gavin’s eyes. It’d have been nice if he were around...

Perhaps God happened to hear my wish, and Senior descended from the sky! With a dashing left uppercut, the other party lay on the ground, and I was moved to tears. 

Senior asked, why do you keep causing trouble for yourself? I very righteously said that it’s because I wanted to be a hero, and couldn’t stand to see school bullies targeting the weak. Senior then said, don’t you know that they call me a school bully?

In my heart, I responded that I knew. But I shook my head very firmly. The look he was giving me suddenly had a hint of bewilderment added to it... like he was looking at a... hm? An idiot? ...

Senior is very difficult to understand. He even told me about what true heroism was, which went beyond the words I recognised from Senior. He actually said two sentences! I’ll note them down, I’ll note them down...

Who cares about him! From what I see, heroism is about rushing to the rescue when one sees injustice!

-

The Fourth Memo

Today, I! Was! A! Hero!

I was following Senior around secretly today, though I don’t know how many days it’s been, and encountered Senior being ambushed! Those guys were the school bullies who beat me up the last time! A total of ten people were there! Terrible! Tyranny of the majority! How could I, Minor, allow such a situation to happen!

Without much thought, I rushed forward to help Senior! Of course, I was beaten up yet again... but I discovered one of Senior’s nuclear abilities-

1 v 10! Too dashing, too dashing. I don’t think Superman, X-Men or Iron Man are as dashing! Senior is a god in my eyes!

But Senior was very cold. He said two words to me which left me utterly heartbroken: courting death.

Feeling wronged, I told him that I wasn’t courting death. This was what heroism meant to me. 

Senior scoffed, then told me not to follow him around sneakily in the future, because it was annoying.

What what what? Was my perfect “Understanding Plan” exposed since a long time ago?!

For some reason, I spoke up at this moment. “Senior, I saw you handing a book to the prettiest girl in class... Are you...”

Senior coughed, then covered his mouth with a hand... W-was he actually blushing!!!!? Oh my goodness - did I discover something disgraceful? Senior actually blushed! If I say it out loud, would I get silenced?!!

-

[ Chapter 3 ]

The Fifth Memo

On the first day of becoming Senior’s, oh wait - Bro Gavin’s little brother, hehe, made me feel like I was suddenly floating. Today, I finally walked beside him in broad daylight, and felt as if a gust of wind was blowing past while walking hahahaha! I saw people looking me with that gaze! That~ Gaze~

But I never expected Bro Gavin to be so strict... All I did was mention casually that someone gave the prettiest girl in class a love letter again, and Bro Gavin suddenly got angry, and asked me to grab those people over.

Catching people is really tiring. I had to run to several classrooms, and it was really annoying to move personnel. In the future, I definitely wouldn’t do such work.

Bro Gavin glanced at them and didn’t say anything. Was I supposed to save the show?? After recalling how teachers typically lecture me, I copied them wholesale and gave them a lecture: At this young age, they should concentrate on their studies instead of fooling around.

[Note] I translated “copied them wholesale” from “原封不动”, which literally translated to “not touching the original envelope”. This is a beautiful choice of idiom because that’s exactly what Minor did later on LOL T^T

Seeing the fear and trepidation in their eyes, I became even more excited.

While I was lecturing them happily, Bro Gavin walked over and only said one thing: Get the love letters back. If you scare her, don’t blame me for being difficult.

Wow, Bro Gavin is so cool! Come to think of it, did I discover a little secret that I shouldn’t be aware of? For example, that Bro Gavin’s feelings towards the prettiest girl in class are actually..

-

The Sixth Memo

I think Bro Gavin is most likely, indeed, and definitely in love. Recently, I became Bro Gavin’s private detective, specialising in focusing on the prettiest girl in class. Maybe next time, I should change the way I address the prettiest girl in class to “Sis-in-law”... Well, since the ancient times, heroes have always loved beauties!

As of now, Bro Gavin isn’t really Bro Gavin anymore -

He hangs out in the library every day. If you want to know where Bro Gavin is, all you have to do is ask where the prettiest girl in class is... He no longer fights, no longer goes to the sports field, and no longer plays ball games anymore. He’s like a salted fish which has lost its dreams. And he actually started reading “5 Years of College Examinations and 3 Years of Sample Questions”... I just want to cry.

[Note] “5 Years of College Examinations and 3 Years of Sample Questions” (”5年高考3年模拟”) is a supplementary book for college entrance examinations used in China!

At noon, we had a PE class together, and I excitedly told Bro Gavin that Sis-in-law had chosen basketball! I initially thought Bro Gavin would snatch up a territory to play basketball. In the end, Bro Gavin hauled me over to the nearby volleyball court...

He said that it was a good place.

Good? What’s good about it? My basketball... I still wanted to display my coolness!

Afterwards, I found out that, tsk tsk, Bro Gavin was truly very sly...

The volleyball court was actually even closer to Sis-in-law’s location as compared to other basketball courts!

When I almost accidentally smashed the ball on Sis-in-law’s head, it was blocked by Bro Gavin, who was far away... How did Bro Gavin do it?!

He actually ran diagonally across the volleyball court so quickly?!!! Does he have some special ability? Will it appear!

But Bro Gavin isn’t attuned to flirtatious expressions at all...

[Note] I translated “flirtatious expressions” from the term “风情”, which literally translates to “information about the wind”

When Sis-in-law thanked him, his face was even colder than when he’s facing me... And when I “accidentally” pushed Sis-in-law onto Bro Gavin! He actually gave me a merciless killer glare. Just thinking about it makes my heart feel pained...

He didn’t recognise my good intentions, sob sob sob sob.

-

[ Chapter 4 ]

The Seventh Memo

Today, I saw another side of Bro Gavin! That is - the Bro Gavin at the sports meet! He’s such a MAN!!!

In the ten-lap long-distance race in the sports field, Bro Gavin won the first place, leaving the second place runner far behind him by three laps. He didn’t even pant!

What kind of supreme feat is this? Before, I used to think that he was only super capable in fighting. Looks like there are many other things I have to learn from Bro Gavin!

It was only today when I realised that although Bro Gavin is so fierce and is always called an Underworld Senior, he seems to be really popular, based on how the female students looked as if they were about to glue their eyes onto Bro Gavin’s body -

Ah, I just want to “tsk tsk”.

Bro Gavin seemed to be in a good mood, but when I asked him to teach me 1 v 10, he assigned me to work as a private detective again...

He was very concerned about Sis-in-law’s sprint. Perhaps he’s a tsundere or something, so he didn’t go himself, and insisted that I went instead. He even tossed his phone to me.

What’s that supposed to mean? His phone? Did he mean that I should sneak pictures? Am I, Minor, such a person?

I called out to Sis-in-law. She turned her head, and I managed to secretly photograph an utterly beautiful side profile. It looked really good. This time, Bro Gavin would definitely teach me 1 v 10, right?

In the end, he! Did! Not!

Bro Gavin is someone who values a lover more than his little bro!

What can I say? I had no choice but to squat at the side and watch Bro Gavin staring at the picture on his phone, occasionally revealing an unusual smile... 

Oh my, Bro Gavin smiled again!!!! It makes me feel frightened!!!!

Love makes people lose their minds!!!

-

[ Chapter 5 ]

The Eighth Memo

Bro Gavin looks very low-spirited recently. If he was a salted fish with no dreams before, then I reckon that right now, he’s not even a salted fish... He seems to have fallen in love with being in a daze lately.

After being in a daze in the piano room, he’d be in a daze in the library, continuously staring at the empty seat where Sis-in-law used to sit, and I have no idea what he’s thinking about. 

But I really didn't expect a person who sleeps in class to be in a daze in the library for an entire afternoon... Did Bro Gavin and Sis-in-law have a fight recently?

Very curious, I asked around, and found out that for some reason, Sis-in-law has been hurrying off after school, and no longer goes to the library nor the piano room. I also heard that she’s been doing her revision for exams at home... Could it be that she’s hiding from Bro Gavin?

Oh my god, why don’t I write an eight o'clock soap opera with such an imagination? It might even become popular!

Returning to the original topic... should I tell Bro Gavin about this? If Bro Gavin also thinks that Sis-in-law is hiding from him, he might be heartbroken.

I’m worried...

-

The Ninth Memo

Bro Gavin disappeared for quite a long time, and finally returned today! But he brought with him a body full of injuries, and it’s very worrying because I didn’t know what happened! He also stuffed a letter to me, saying that it was for Sis-in-law. Even though the envelope was flat and smooth, it had a lot of blood stains.

Did Bro Gavin do something dangerous? He bled so much! I asked him to go to the hospital but he refused... Bro Gavin is truly too wilful!

But he is really different today. Why do I feel like I’m handling funeral arrangements? Touch wood!

He also said that he’d teach me 1 v 10 when he we meet again... Wow! If Bro Gavin wasn’t hurt, I’d have wanted to pounce on him and give him a peck! Bro Gavin is the most dashing! Bro Gavin is the coolest!

Come to think of it, Bro Gavin is about to take the college entrance examinations, and the seniors from the graduating classes have been pretty sad recently. The next meeting Bro Gavin mentioned was probably summer vacation? Hehe, I’m looking forward to it a little!

In that case, while Bro Gavin isn’t around, I’ll be the one to help Sis-in-law block off all the rotten apples!

Other men, don’t even think of approaching my Sis-in-law!

She! Is! Bro! Gavin’s!

-

The Final Memo

During the entire summer vacation... I didn't see Bro Gavin...

More from the Dream Heart Lake event: here

[aitarose]

YELLOW DAISIES (A. MIYA) pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader

synopsis: atsumu miya, japan’s most entitled player, the person that strangers resented for unprecedented boasting and confidence—a facade as there was only one person who knew the real him.

word count: 1.6k

genre: established relationship, fluff, time skip

warnings: slight angst, asshole!atsumu?, hospital, mentions of death

notes: i’m only on episode two of season four so i’ve literally never heard this man speak a word, but i wrote this for some reason asjdfkl

↳ DIRECTORY

He was revolutionary—that was what flashed in bright lights in the media, magazines, and news when the name Miya Atsumu came into the picture. It was an honorable title, one that he’d earned from his years of experience, years of effort to become the best player he could possibly be. 

Fans of the game couldn’t help but admire his ambition, his confidence when it came to setting—when it came to being on the court. There was nowhere else he seemed to fit, no where else that deemed worthy of a man like him.

He was simply made to play volleyball, he was put on the planet to coordinate the team and help lead them to their respective victories. The drive he had was envious, admirable even to professionals that were years ahead of him in experience. 

But there was a catch, just as there always seemed to be a catch when things appear too perfect or other-worldly, as Miya Atsumu was considered the most egocentric man in all of Japan. 

Yes, his talent was astonishing and his looks trumped some of the most handsome men in the world, but he was a complete and utter narcissist to the public eye. A complete asshole in all senses of empathy. 

He was perhaps an enigma. A man that no one person could quite figure out. A total mystery to everyone but those close to him—to everyone but his twin-brother and the few teammates that he considered friends.

And it wasn’t that the public wanted to hate him, they wanted nothing more than to find a redeeming quality, something that would save his reputation—the ignorant reputation that he’d somehow managed to build himself over the course of his professional career.

Tabloids constantly had new headlines to publish, weekly reports on whatever star-born attitude Atsumu had acted on in public, during games, or even in the safety of the team’s after parties—parties that he’d rarely be found at.

The most common hate train would be the look he’d give the camera every time he so much as scored a point mid-match. The cocky, full of himself gaze to the viewers watching at home, as if to say that he was the real King of the Court. 

Holding up his hands in the shape of a heart, Atsumu would smile with a smug grin, teeth flashing white and sticking his tongue out dramatically. He’d hold the position for a few seconds, making sure that the camera got a good take of his face, before returning to the adrenaline rush of the game.

It was as if he became an even better player after his boastful routine, focusing on the game as if it was life or death, as if he would be ruined if they were to lose a single point—frightening the other team with one glance, one look forcing them to crumble underneath their own dead weight.

With his rare intimidating attitude, the Black Jackals had little to nothing to worry about when it came to their setter. He was reliable, always there to pick up the slack when all odds seemed to be against them—when the books refused to read in their favor.

And his teammates absolutely loved him, they knew him better than nearly anyone other than Osamu. When microphones and interviewers shoved misguided questions in their faces, they’d always defend him, as they were more than just players on the same side of the court—they were practically brothers.

So, when it’d be time to stay after the game to greet the fans, give them kisses on the cheek while the camera cemented their meeting in history, his friends paid no mind to how quickly Atsumu would rush out of the building. They’d pay no attention to how he’d refuse to entertain his fans, only stopping for one girl—one girl who’d offered him a bouquet of bright yellow daisies. 

“Thank you.” He’d mutter, nodding his head at the young girl before stalking off, ignoring how she fawned over the beauty of his facial features, obsessing over the way he’d just so much as acknowledged her existence. 

Pulling out of the stadium’s parking lot was always a big hassle, with the media and paparazzi awaiting his exit, video cameras taping his every move and step he took. There was zero privacy for him, every one of his secrets always seeming to be on film.

But Atsumu didn’t care, he didn’t mind running over a few parking cones, forcing the photographers to jump out of his car’s way, back onto the sidewalk where they belonged. He had absolutely no disregard for their safety according to the new’s titles.

As well as no respect to traffic laws. Speeding limits was a thing of the past in his mind, always going about twenty miles over, whether that was on a highway or neighborhood street. His life ran on double time, needing to be in a rush, a rush away from his duties.

His sports car headed north on the daily, never straying from its path, in pursuit of the same destination every day—every time he had the chance to escape the responsibilities of being a world-known athlete.

And though the world liked to act as if they knew everything about him, as if he was an open book whose chapters were updated every week, no one knew why Atsumu would spend so much time at the international hospital. Why he’d enter the building in the evenings and leave at dawn.

Even today, after the loss of a championship match, he wore the brightest smile on his face while holding a massive bouquet of yellow daisies—the flower that’d always accompany him through the blank grey walls of the healing center.

The grin would stay plastered, the expression reading ingenuity as he’d walk through the automatic doors, taking a final glance back to make sure that no one had followed him, before letting the facade crumble—before he let it dissolve into a somber frown. 

“Looking beautiful as always.” Atsumu laughed, waltzing up to the front desk, greeting his favorite worker as she rolled her eyes, passing him the check in sheet with a pointed look. “How’s my girl doing?”

The woman behind the counter took a deep breath, inspecting his signature to ensure that he hadn’t signed in the wrong place, before looking up to respond to his question—the same question that he asked her every day.

“Waiting for you.” She said, gesturing that everything was alright and he could proceed to the dual elevators that carried him to the top floor, the floor in which permanent residents stayed. “She’s up there waiting, just like she always is.”

Blowing the clerk a joking kiss, Atsumu carried on, holding the bouquet with a death grip, picking at the flowers to make sure that they looked their absolute best—that they deserved to be held in his favorite girl’s hands. 

Standing in the elevator, his heart dropped at each ding. It was a sound that he had never gotten used to, one that haunted him as he slept, taunting him as if to say that the minutes were counting down—the minutes losing their value, the minutes he had left with her decreasing. 

Despite how much he loathed the noise, how he wished he could shut it all off, make time stop just so he could have an infinite amount of moments by her side—he knew that life would come to the point in which he’d hear that sound one last time. A point in which he’d leave the building and never have a reason to return. 

As he approached the room he knew all too well, Atsumu brought his hand up to a light knock on the door, giving her a little heads up that he was there, that he didn’t forget about her even though he’d maintained his constant routine for months now. 

“Is that the famous Miya Atsumu I hear?” Y/N’s melodious voice called out, knowing all too well that her beloved boyfriend had arrived to harass her. Her already enlarged heart grew bigger at the sight of his brown eyes and golden hair that she’d always try to spot on the court.

While the world admired him for his physical beauty, she knew him for the beauty inside. The beauty that she was so blessed to see, the real personality that was reserved for her and her alone—not even Osamu had seen him so gentle, so caring. 

“Yer favorites,” he held out the bouquet to her in a regal manner, presenting it as if she were a queen and it was her crown. His dramatics sent her into a fit of giggles, accepting the flowers with a scoff as he rose up to press a soft kiss on her awaiting lips. 

“I saw you.” She whispered, pulling him down to meet her smile once more, relishing in the feeling of their love connecting. It was a feeling that she was addicted to, one that she longed for whenever he was away. “I saw you and the stupid little heart that you flash me on television.”

Atsumu helped her move over on the hospital bed, making enough room for him to lay down beside her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his head resting on top of hers. “Stupid? You sound like the rest of ‘em.”

“No one would be calling it stupid if they knew what it meant.” He pinched her cheeks, puckering her lips to a pout and kissing her over and over again. “If they knew I only do it because I want my girl to be proud of me.”

He sighed, holding her as if she would disappear if he let go, his fear of losing her of greater importance than any public opinion or false story. His fears being valid and reasonable as neither of them knew how much time they had left—how much time they had left to be totally and completely in love. 

© aitarose.tumblr 2021. do not copy or claim my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers as your own

[deejadabbles]

Yu-gi-oh x Avatar:TLA

Been re-watching Avatar the past week and when I searched for it I legit couldn’t find, like, any Yugioh Duel Monster x Avatar The Last Airbender content??? I mean the search feature sucks here so maybe I’m just not seeing it, but, now I have a mighty need for this cross over, so I guess I’ll do it myself! (if anyone knows any other posts about this though please link me to them!)

So first off, Yugi is the Avatar

I don’t care if most think Yami is the main protag it just makes sense to me that Yugi is the Avatar

Much like Aang, Yugi is an airbender, but instead of being raised by a group of monks he was actually raised by his nomadic grandfather, who is also an airbender.

Yugi is basically what everyone thinks of when they think of the stereotypical airbender, he’s intelligent, prefers pacifism, would give a stranger the shirt off his back, fun loving and worldly due to his travels, etc.

On the other hand Grandpa, while kind and not prone to violence, isn’t exactly a “monkly” airbender. He’s way too familiar with gambling halls, tomb raiding, pirating, and pretty much every other seedy side of the different nations you can think of. 

While grandpa definitely toned down those..*ahem* less than virtuous adventures when he started raising Yugi, he did not shield Yugi from these things during their travels. Yugi's safety was always his priority, but he also knew it was important for Yugi to learn to take care of himself if he was going to travel the world.

Plus, I mean, when Yugi beat a pirate captain at pai sho at age 12, and won them an ancient water tribe artifact, grandpa knew his bright young airbender could handle his own.

Oh also, Yugi’s flying bison is a brown fluff-ball named Kuriboh. Kuriboh was the runt of his littler, much smaller than most male bison, but that didn’t stop Yugi from bonding with him almost immediately when they met near the air temple (in fact if probably helped them bond more), and the two are now inseparable <3

Grandpa took Yugi against the wishes of the council in charge of the Avatar. The council wanted to shelter Yugi and deprive him of a normal life (much like the monks wanted to with Aang), but grandpa basically said “F all of you” and took Yugi with him so he could have a fun, free life away from all that...at least for awhile.

When Yugi turned 16 the council tracked the boys down, finally told Yugi he’s the Avatar, and demanded he come with them to finish his airbending training and start learning the other elements.

Yugi was honestly, understandably, pretty devastated, his whole life was being stolen from him in the blink of an eye, but, he’s also heard tales of how important the Avatar is for the world and how people would suffer without the avatar, and he couldn’t handle the idea of letting the world down.

Yugi whet with the council, unknowing of that was about to come.

Okay so for Atem I have two possibilities for his role in this AU that I really like, so I’ll just list them both:

#1 is that Atem was the Avatar before Yugi, born as the son of Fire Lord Aknamkanon. 

He grew up in the lap of luxury, but never took it for granted thanks to his father, the most peaceful Fire Lord the nation had seen in a long time. 

His father dedicated his life to improving relations with the other nations and maintaining peace.

Atem’s uncle, Aknadin on the other hand, was an authoritarian jerk-wad, who thought Fire Lord Aknamkanon weak and unfit to rule the Fire Nation.

You can see where I’m going with this. Aknadin hatched a plan to assassinate both Aknamkanon and Atem, and put himself on the throne, using the death’s of the Fire Lord and Prince as cause for war.

What he did not count on though, was Atem being the Avatar. 

Atem didn’t even know he was the Avatar at this point, they were going to wait until he was 16 to tell him, like most Avatars. Atem had no idea he could bend other elements besides fire, let alone realize he had the power of the Avatar spirit. 

Even still, when Atem was attacked by his uncle’s assassins, and he was on the verge of dying, his Avatar sate kicked in.

Well, not quite. It began to kick in just before Atem was overpowered by the assassins, but not quick enough to save him. You know that whole thing about “if the avatar dies while in the avatar state, the avatar will cease to be”? Well, this was a strange In-Between.

The avatar cycle was not broken, since the avatar spirit wasn’t fully awoken, but now Atem’s soul, that incarnation of the avatar, is in a strange form of limbo.

 It was only 16 years later when the new avatar, Yugi, went into the avatar state for the first time, that his soul was finally brought out of limbo. Only now he and Yugi have a strange bond. Instead of residing somewhere deep inside Yugi’s soul like the other past avatars, Atem seems to be one with Yugi, able to commune with him like a constant companion, and even take over Yugi’s body in times of need.

In this version the new Fire Lord waited years to launch his war, gaining the trust of the other nation while slowly changing and manipulating the ideologies of his own people through propaganda and fear mongering.

Yugi fled the air temple when the firelord finally launched his attack on the air nomads in an effort to kill the new avatar, and during that tramtic ordeal is when Yugi went into the avatar state for the first time and awoke Atem’s soul. 

Now Atem’s main focus is helping train Yugi to save the world from Fire Lord Aknadin, who’s hell-bend on world domination.

 OR!

If the whole “Atem dying in a half avatar state that affected his soul” plot doesn’t work for you, I also think we could just simplify things and say that Atem is a Fire Bender dedicated to helping the avatar defeat the tyrant Fire Lord.

In this version Atem would still be a Fire Nation Prince, whose father was dedicated to peace. Only in this version Atem’s father died unexpectedly, and Atem was deemed too young to take the throne, so they put Uncle Aknadin on the throne in Atem’s place.

Atem watched for years while his uncle slowly, meticulously dismantled all of his father’s hard work for peace and was powerless to stop him. All Atem could do was train, improve his firebending, and hope that he could challenge his tyrant uncle to an agni kai for the throne someday.

During that time Atem also found it hard to hold onto his own morals, as his home was every-changing under it’s new Fire Lord, becoming more and more authoritarian and xenophobic. He became a bit harsher during that time, but deep down still held on to his core belief in peace and mercy that his father taught him.

So, when he found out that Aknadin was making plans to wipe out the Air Nomads, and thus, the new Avatar, Atem had to take action.

He fled the Fire Nation to warn the Air Nomads, and he did manage that, but it wasn’t enough to save everyone. Yugi was still too young to fight an army, or the Fire Lord, he hadn’t even begun to learn waterbending let alone anything else. So, when the Fire Lord’s soldiers attacked the temples, the monks insisted Yugi and Atem flee together, live to fight another day, and become strong enough to fight the Warmongering Fire Lord.

No matter which version of Atem we go with everything else stays virtually the same. In the version where Atem is just the spirit of the previous avatar and Yugi’s guide, the Fire Nation still attacked the Air Temples, hoping to kill the new Avatar, he just waited longer to do this, accumulating support and maybe even some alliances with other nations.  But either way, Yugi escapes (after a LOT of arguing against leaving any one, let alone everyone, behind) so he could start his avatar training and defeat this new threat.

In this AU I believe most of the gang’s time would be spent trying to train Yugi in the next elements, but also avoiding capture by the Fire Nation, who’s put a big bounty on Yugi’s head. They also aren’t sure who to trust, as sides are often picked and alliances formed during wars and they have no real way to know what nation would aid them vs the Fire Nation. Unlike the original ATLA show, this is a new war unfolding before their eyes, not one that’s been known and ongoing for 100 years. 

Now on to the rest of the cast! Honda is a non-bender, but don’t underestimate him, in a world where he constantly has to avoid the Dai Li and thugs who can earthbend, he’s learned to take care of himself. 

Jonouchi is an earthbender, and Yugi actually met both him and Honda while traveling the world with grandpa (before learning he was the avatar). 

Jou and Honda were both street kids who joined the gangs in Ba Sing Se in order to survive. Their fellow thugs tried to mug Yugi, thinking him an helpless monk. Peace-loving Yugi didn’t attack them, of course, but used his airbending to dodge their attacks with ease and grace... and ended up humiliating them all when he blew them into a fountain. 

While Jou was initially against mugging Yugi (even when he was a thug he always went on about facing opponents who at least stand a chance against you, not picking on the weak) after that incident Jou basically made it his life’s mission to make Yugi’s life hell the whole time Yugi and Grandpa were in Ba Sing Se. He’d track Yugi down pretty much every day to harass him, trying to get Yugi to “fight him like a real man” and just generally being a bully. 

Yugi always refused to fight him, even the few times Jonouchi actually landed a hit on him with his earthbending. Grandpa intervened a couple times, but ultimately left it up to Yugi to handle.

Right before Yugi and Gramps made to move on to the next city though, Yugi came across a frantic and injured Honda. 

Turns out Jou spoke out against their gang stealing from a family that was already down on their luck and said thugs decided they had enough of Jou’s mouth and wanted to “teach him a lesson”. Honda tried to stop them and defend Jou, but was overpowered just by sheer numbers.

Yugi couldn’t stand by and let this happen, of course, and together he and Honda found where the thugs had taken Jou. Despite the fact that Yugi still refused to strike a damaging blow on anyone, his and Jou’s opposing bending styles actually worked pretty well together and they were all able to escape.

That was the turning point for both boys, but especially Jou and he finally realized that he mistreated Yugi and that Yugi was someone to be admired, not mocked. They unfortunately did not get a chance to make amends then, however, since Yugi and Grandpa were gone the next day. 

So about a year later, when Yugi returns to the city after escaping the raids on the Air Temples, Jou and Honda are eager to help him and insist on joining Yugi and Atem, “as the avatar’s bodyguards” if nothing else. And despite being against the idea of endangering them, Yugi had to admit he teared up at the mere thought of friends joining him on his journey.

Next, we of course have Anzu, a waterbender, and Mai, a firebender.

Anzi and Mai have a traveling act together. They combined their bending with intricate dances and make a marvel of it, sometimes doing synchronized performances that focus a lot on how their opposing elements can compliment and balance each other, other times they do solo numbers that are just as mesmerizing with Anzu’s captivating grace and Mai’s mesmerizing passion. They also wear full, intricate face paints (or sometimes even masks) while on stage to help keep them from going unnoticed when traveling.

Anzu also knows a bit of healing with her waterbending, and as they travel through towns/cities, Anzu often uses her time between shows helping heal those who can’t afford medicine. Mai sometimes goes on about how ppl will take advantage of Anzu is she isn’t careful, but secretly really admires Anzu’s kind heart.

Don’t ever underestimate these girls though, their bending isn’t just for performance, they can and will kick your ass with their bending and have held their own again a whole crew of highway men. You don’t travel the world without knowing how to defend yourself, especially if you���re women thugs think they can take advantage of.

The boys came across Anzu and Mai soon after leaving Ba Sing Se. The first glance they got at them was one of their shows and were impressed to say the least (Yugi was particularly captivated by the waterbender, like the big-hearted bi-disaster that he is).

What really impressed them though was that night, when Yugi was taking a walk through the town to clear his head. Once again he was seen as an easy target by his “weak” appearance (season 0 anyone?) and some thugs ambushed him. Before he even had the chance to defend himself though, two women came to his rescue, water-whipping and fire-blazing. It didn’t take much for Yugi to put two and two together and realize they were the dancers from the show, and, being thoroughly impressed by their bending skills, he begged Anzu to teach him waterbending.

Anzu was actually interested in the idea from the start, when they heard about the attacks on the Air Temples and the Fire Nation declaring war, she was outraged. Anzu is nothing if not compassionate and all that life being burn away gave her a slowly growing need to take action, and now the avatar himself was asking her to teach him!

Mai on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with Yugi and his “band of do-gooders” and insisted Anzu turn him down. Mai grew up in the Fire Nation during the rise of the tyrant Fire Lord Aknadin, she knows first hand how ruthless his soldiers can be, and sees it as loosing battle to resist them. In her mind, her and Anzu have a good life going for them, why change that to fight a war they aren’t going to win?

The girls argue about this for awhile, to the point that Anzu actually thinks about leaving Mai to go with Yugi without her, despite the idea of leaving Mai behind tearing her up inside.

Then the town they’re staying in is attacked by Fire Nation soldiers. Everyone, including Mai jumps into action to defend the towns people and together they’re able to fight them off. In the aftermath, having the war’s carnage brought right into her lap, Mai sees that the ruler of her homeland has to be stopped and agrees to join the gang too. 

I haven’t thought a ton about the other characters honestly, and I’m especially having trouble placing Ryou in all this, but here are some half developed/misc headcanon:

Seto is a firebender and the son of Fire Lord Aknadin, making him and Atem cousins. 

In the version where Atem is just a regular firebender and not the previous avatar, Seto and Atem grew up together. Atem tried his best to convince Seto to leave with him when he set out to warn the Air Nomads of the attack, but Seto refused, already being drawn in by Aknadin’s power-centric teachings. 

In the version where Atem is the previous avatar and shares a body with Yugi, Seto was only a few years old when his older cousin Atem was “mysteriously killed” and Seto grew up hearing stories from his father about how they could avenge the young prince and the previous fire lord.

In both versions Seto is similar to a Zuko character. He’s sent out by his father to capture the avatar, but eventually he comes to realize what a warmongering monster his father is and turns on the firelord, joining Yugi and the gang. He’s still an egotistical ass though and is basically constantly criticizing the whole gang the entire time he’s with them. The rivalry between him and Yugi/Atem is still there, because of all the times Yugi whipped him with his airbender while Seto was trying to capture him. Also, Seto honestly believes that he’d make a better avatar than Yugi and thanks to @readerinsertfanfiction now I can’t get the thought out of my head that Seto would try to science his way into becoming a second living avatar 😂

I really want to include Mana and Mahad in this AU as well (since they’re my fave side characters) and thought maybe they could also be firebenders who grew up with Atem and were his close friends. Then when the tyrant Fire Lord took over they started plotting behind the scenes and formed a rebellion within the fire nation. (for real could you imagine the version where Atem was killed by his uncle and now an older Mahad and Mana, who’ve been waging a rebellion in the name of their prince and best friend, meet Yugi and can talk to Atem again and how heart wrenching a scene like that would be??)

Another possibility I thought of for Mahad and Mana was that they’re spirits of deceased airbenders who have gained some power in the spirit world. They commune with Yugi and help guide him and even step in to save him a couple times. This idea play more on the whole “Dark Magician/Dark Magician Girl Duel Monsters” side of things. Heck maybe we could do both these ideas since DM and DMG are usually considered separate entities from Mahad and Mana.

Duke/Otogi, I could image being a character similar to Jet (a charmer/flirt, who’s cunning and vengeful, at least at first? Come on I know you can see it) and maybe even having a similar story of tricking the gang into helping him do something horrible in the name of fighting the Fire Nation, then redeeming himself later.

I’m still a little unsure of Ryou’s story in this AU, but, I think I have an idea brewing involving Ryou being a waterbender who’s been processed by an evil spirit. Said spirit is thriving/feeding on the carnage of the war and often takes over Ryou’s body in order to stoke the fires of said war. This could lead to some interesting stuff involving Ryou wanting to join Yugi and the gang, but the evil spirit always stabbing them in the back. The gang, especially Yugi, would see it as a personal responsibility to save Ryou from the evil spirit and Yugi tries to learn more about his spirit powers in order to help Ryou.

I have some more vague ideas floating around my head, but I think that’s it for now. Boy, these are the longest headcanon I’ve had in while lol. I’m really loving the idea of this AU and I’m even really tempted to write an actual series surrounding it. I’d love to hear your guy’s thoughts about any of this or whether all this is even appealing at all. Please feel free to invade my inbox if yall wanna talk about this AU! <3

[randombtsprincessa]

Blackthorn Creek

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 24.1k

Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU! Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Smut!

Rating: NC-17 ranging till 18+ during the last scene, just to be safe.

Warning: Curses, magic, violence, conspiracy for treason, heavy insecurities, imprisonment of sorts, animal attacks, description of blood and injuries, mob mentality, invasion, stabbing, falling from heights, death, marital sex, first time, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex (be careful folksies!) And a whole lotta cheese cause it’s Jimin and I love him.

A/N: The following work is part of the Twisted Fairtytales: Members in Distress for @ksmutclub​ I had the idea for this story sitting in my WIPS and thankfully, the project came at the perfect moment! I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it! 

A major thank you and a glomping hug to @cuziloveyou7​ and my amazing best friend for all their support for the fic!

The night was chill.

Pale, gossamer links of snow knitted across the glass of the castle, the granite of the stairs seeping the cold through to the skin.

A light chatter was interrupted when the front doors thudded – once, twice and then another time.

It was late, after all; much too late for any visitors, too rude for guests to show up…

The King, a benign man, stood from his seat near the fire, guards surrounding their liege. The Queen looked up at her husband, worried but the King patted her shoulder, beckoning for the doors to be opened.

It would be rude to leave the doors barred too, of course. It could be someone in need.

He watched, curious, as his Maitre D’, Seokjin, walked slowly to the doors. His arms flung the heavy oaken doors open, a flourish to his actions.

“Welcome,” Jin spoke in his exaggerated voice, “to the Castle of Blackthorn Creek. To what do we owe the pleasure, and to whom, may I ask?”

There was silence, much too thick, much too tense to be someone in need, to be a friendly visitor.

“I am here, to see your King. Bring me to him.”

Seokjin stuttered in his vigor, an unnerved stance taking him over as he glanced back to the royal couple, a question to his eyes.

The King cast an eye to his right corner, where his trusted advisor sat, his shoulders visibly tight. Namjoon cleared his throat, a warning sound. “I will see him.” The King said instead, knowing it would be better to see what the stranger wanted.

His guards circled him, his wife remaining behind as he approached and stood behind Seokjin.

“You are in the presence of our Lord and King.” The man announced, drawing away with a stiff bow – unlike any he had performed before.

The King stepped forward, and looked at the man who stood at his doorstep. The man, in turn raised his head, allowing for the dark hood atop his head to fall back. His head was cast in shadows, the whites of the eyes visible as he spoke.

“Your Majesty, I have come from far lands for the pleasure of your company.”

“Consider the pleasure ours, please do come in. What can we do for you?” The King waved a hand, dismissing the surrounding guards as the stranger tilted his head, walking in with his head still held high. He stopped right inside the threshold, as the inmates of the house gazed with wonder and some horror at his visage.

His head was shaven, dark marks etched into the near blue-white skin of his face. His arms bore similar marks, sheathed in crimson robes that were certainly not the fashion of those times.

“Well,” The King pressed.

The stranger slowly blinked his unnerving eyes, a flash of green lighting them. “I hear tales of your kingdom, your generous reign in my homelands. I must say I am not disappointed.”

He finally turned his head to where the Queen sat. “I also hear tales of a beautiful daughter. Your little Princess,”

There was a ringing silence. Guards shifted in their positions, Namjoon and Seokjin drew closer to the Queen and the King froze. To all but the mysterious stranger’s eyes unknown, a small figure crouched at her mother’s skirts, face turned curious to the sudden tension in the air.

“What do you want?” It was the Queen who spoke. Her crown glinted in the firelight, her body clenched on her chair. The stranger didn’t look at her when he answered the question.

“I come with a proposal. I offer my hand in marriage with the Princess.”

There was another pause, albeit much less tense as movement started.

“Preposterous; she is but a child.” This came from Namjoon.

“I am willing to wait.” The stranger said coolly.

“Then you will be waiting forever. I will not give my child to any godforsaken man who happens across my door and throws around absurd ideas. You will never have my daughter.”

“I will be a good husband, and a good king.”

“My Liege; do we have permission to draw arms?” The guard closest to the King asked, his hand already drawing closer to his sheathed sword.

“Nay, no bloodshed; just throw this madman out to the snow.” The King spat, his cloak whirling as he turned to go back to his family.

Behind him, his men converged, arms raised to push the stranger out the palace gates.

Time seemed to slow as the men gathered around his form, which had straightened to as tall as he could get.

“You’ll find you’ve made something of a mistake…Your Majesties.”

A cruel smile curled his lips, hands cupping near his stomach. His large sleeves gave way, revealing the etched marks and even as they pulse green, his form erupted in green light, exploding out till it engulfed the entire estate.

The King buckled, his arms wrapping around his wife and child as the men began to shout, and darting away from whatever it was the demon man unleashed.

“Hear me, O great King; for your impudence, I place your most beloved under this curse. You will be reduced to nothing but a fixture; your entire household will be mere pawns to be used by commoners. And your daughter,” The smirk widened, finding the small girl who still hid, now visible to everyone as their horrified gazes found the young princess.

“Your daughter will be left all alone. Her beauty will now be gone, her temperament destroyed. She will be feared, loathed, a monstrosity that will live with your enchantment.”

“She is a child! You are hurting a child!” Finally, an anguished wail escaped the Queen but the wizards over spoke her, drowning her words.

“At the age of twenty and three, she will be rendered thus permanently. Not a thing but the truest of love can rescue her and break my curse. Only the one who will look past her form will win that honor.”

The light faded with the man’s silhouette, the only thing that remained in the blazing glimmer of the settling curse. Movement ceased, the fire died into its embers…

“You will soon find that I am the only man who is merciful and worthy enough.”

These last words echoes in the halls, sealing through the stone and glass until another sound replaced it.

The screams of a terrified little girl…

Time seemed to flow like water after the screams died.

Nobody took courage to go up to the Palace, find their rulers…the town forgot they even had rulers. Administration moved into common hands, spread to the citizens and the legend of the lost royal family became a ghost story.

The path to Blackthorn Creek remained abandoned, silent, and derelict.

In the town of course, the ghost story didn’t matter. Life had moved on, become busy, become full of bustle.

Park Jimin threw the doors of his father’s work room open, sticking his head in to check once on the aging man.

“Father, I’m out to the baker’s. Shall I bring back something?”

There was no answer from his father, just a distant sigh that said there was nothing that could be brought back that would satisfy him.

Jimin drew back, unable to curb his rising disappointment. There was something in the slump of his father’s shoulders, ever since they’d moved into the developing town of Blackthorn Creek that, as much as the exuberant Jimin tried, he simply couldn’t shake.

Perhaps, it was his mother’s death that took their house and worldly belongings. Perhaps it was the sinking of his father’s patent ship, causing such debt that there was no hope to pay it back with nothing to put up for interest.

The Park family had to relocate from their luxury in France to the eastern countryside, to this small place. It had taken all the merry from his father’s life.

Jimin, however, worked hard to keep his spirits up. This was a setback yes, but his father was a genius. He was sure to come up with another pitch that would work out. And even if he didn’t; well, Jimin would always be there to take care of his beloved father.

A basket in hand, Jimin cocked his hat, setting out for the day.

The town, as small as it was, was full of life around midday. The market bustled, the streets running with people and the pub was always open, till as late as it could get.

But even through the color, there were shades of grey. The cheerful Creek had one mighty legend; one of the local royals’ disappearance. There was a long winded street that was barred from the public, leading up to a small hill, behind which there was said to be the palace.

He had taken these myths with a small smile, aimed at the person trying to call for his attention with these stories.

But even he had to admit, such tales of mystique piqued his fancy in the most delightful way. France had been exciting, especially for a young man such as himself. Plucking him out and placing him in a much smaller world where things were…stagnant, did cause something of a blow to his vigor.

Jimin stopped, contemplating the bookshop that lay just at the edge of the forbidden path. He had a few books still remaining back home, left to be read – but perhaps, he could squeeze in another couple?

“My boy,” The shopkeeper chuckled at the frown on the young man’s face. “Are you done with those piles that you took already?”

“Not quite, sir,” Jimin grinned. “I might just pop by again soon enough.”

The shopkeeper gave him a toothy grin, watching the man glance in some wonder at the blocked off road. The mountains had already started to grow slick with frost – sign of another passing winter. “Here,” he said suddenly.

Jimin stuttered in his forward steps, retracing back to where the stooping elder held out a pale bound tome from the front window. “Sir,” he raised his eyes in puzzlement.

“It’s a little something special I had lying about collecting dust. It was surprising that this one hasn’t caught your eye as of yet but I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

Jimin gave the friendly man a smile, letting the soft book fall open upon his palms, sifting through the delicate pages. “What’s it about?”

“The very thing you’re so curious about; lost princesses, brave knights, curses, fairies…” The book keeper burst out laughing at the soft blush that crept along Jimin’s cheeks. “You don’t need to be coy, son. Our little legend is bound to attract someone.”

“I must thank you sir. I will return it as soon as I’m done.”

“Oh by all means, keep it. It’s better suited to your hands than the shelves in this old place.”

Jimin blinked. “That’s a generous gift. I hope I do it justice.”

“I’m sure you will. Now off with you; the market isn’t going to stay open all day.” The man waved Jimin off, returning to his shop.

Jimin found himself quickly immersed in the fantasy, the short stories of courage, chivalry, sacrifice and fire keeping his nose well buried in the musty pages as he found the daily shopping that he was required to do.

All was well, until the book was snatched out of his hands, a giggle soon to follow.

“Hello stranger.”

“Hyebin,” Jimin sighed, looking around to where the young girl had snapped the book shut decisively.

Hyebin had been the girl to whom Jimin owed most of his knowledge of the town. Raven haired, slim and tall, she was the beauty of the town, sister to one of the most renowned hunters in the nearby vicinity – Kai. He and his sister had taken over most of the social scene of the town, near to becoming the law itself.

And Hyebin had her eyes set on Jimin ever since he set foot within the pub; by proxy, leading her brother to pester him with offers of her hand.

“May I have my book back?”

Pale glimmering lips pouted at him, the book still clutched in her hands. “You never pay attention to me, Jimin. Not when you have books about,” she said.

“Of course that’s not the case.” The man said smoothly.

“It is so. What’s so special about books anyway?” Hyebin took a step further back, too quick for Jimin’s reaching fingers. She pried the book open rudely. “They don’t lead to too much around here.”

“There’s more to books than just material gain, Hyebin.” Jimin was becoming impatient – his eyes fixed on the way her nails dug into the delicate binding.

“If you say so, when we’re married; would you still pay more attention to books than me?”

Jimin dearly wanted to say that that would never happen but he settled for resignedly bouncing on his toes. “What if I read to you?”

“I’d fall asleep.”

“I see.” This time Jimin moved fast, hands grabbing the book from Hyebin’s distracted hold long enough to fall back a safe distance. “I need to go back home. Give your brother my best.”

By the time he got home, his father had put away his new working equipment, instead pacing about in the handkerchief living room.

“Father,” Jimin greeted, putting up his hat.

“Son, how…how was the day?” His father stopped marching, coming up to take the basket of shopping from him.

“Normal, had to dodge Hyebin as usual,” he muttered, making his father chuckle.

“One of these days that girl will marry you still.”

“Such a horrifying thought,”

“Then let me put you to ease.” Mr. Park put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, making his son look him in the eyes. “There has been some development. The ship that I lost at sea, a year ago, has been heard from. I have been called to attest to it.”

Jimin took a moment to process the news, watching his father’s eyes light up with something that was fearfully hopeful. “Do you mean that --?”

“Possibly; if it is true, we can go back to our old lives again! Think of it, Jimin! Paris, France, the beautiful sprawling house that we had to give up. Your education…” The man smiled affectionately, “We’ll have to find you a lady to wed who is at par with you.”

“Father,”

“I set off tonight! It will be a day’s journey but I know you can watch over things here.”

Jimin watched as his father hurriedly moved to the door, a coat and hat finding their way on his body and his cane and horse whip clasped to his breast. “Wish well for us, my son, our lives could be soon close to change. Do you wish for me to bring you anything back?”

“No father, just you,” Jimin bid farewell to his father, watching him disappear within the small stable to gallop away.

When Mr. Park had set out for the harbor, his spirits had been up soaring in the clouds, visions of his life returning to him in his previous splendor. Now, stood at the wooden ledge, watching crestfallen as merchants, traders, moneylenders, once his friends but now…now they had gathered around his returned goods and scavenged and distributed everything among themselves.

“Your debts are clear, Park.”

“Jimin won’t have to be in debt to us anymore, sir.”

“Go back home sir,”

Just words…nothing more, no comfort found his heart when he straddled his horse again, starting the long trek home.

The horse wouldn’t gallop, possibly sensing its master’s indolence and Mr. Park was overcome with a sudden wave of gratefulness for the animal. After all, he would have to strengthen his bones; he had to deliver the news to Jimin.

The idea of disappointing his son was probably more harrowing than that of losing his wealth yet again.

At least now they were free from debt.

There was a small whinny, attracting the older man’s attention as he looked up to see which path he was on. It was long, thin, winding up a hill he had never seen before in his life.

“Hey boy, I think we took the wrong way.” He patted the horse’s head, before getting off, grabbing the reins. “Let’s find a way out.”

A few miles in, Mr. Park stopped, short of breath.

“Where in the world are we?” He growled low, ignoring the shuddering animal behind him as he trudged on when a high, pitched sound made them both freeze.

A wolf’s howl…

There were wolves around. Mr. Park was alone with no weapons and no idea of where he was. His horse let out a sound of protest again.

“Damn it all too hell,” Mr. Park quickly climbed the horse, kicking it to speed. “Take off, boy; we don’t have any time to lose.”

His ride raised back its front legs, before racing down the way they had come.

Jimin had been anxious all day, toiling in the small garden that his father had managed to build in the front of their house. Sweat had gathered his dark hair into clumps, matting his eyes so when he hear the familiar whinny of Geureum, the horse, he smiled naturally – relieved that his father was finally back home.

“Ah father, nice to –,” he turned, his smile vanishing slowly when he saw the horse alone, pawing his hooves into the dirt, snorting impatiently.

“Geureum, where is he?” Jimin grabbed for the horse’s reins, pulling it closer to soothe it. “Where is Father?”

All Geureum did was shake his head roughly, stepping back and forth.

“Can you show me where he is, huh, boy? Come on,” He slipped his foot in the stirrup, hauling himself into the saddle. “Take me to him, Geureum.”

Geureum stopped only once when he reached a huge, wrought iron gate, roses and swans intricately welded to the metal, now rusty from disuse.

Something had prickled Jimin’s hairline when Geureum had approached the blockaded hill up to the legendary Blackthorn Creek palace but the horse had circumvented it, riding up a much thinner path up.

Jimin slipped off of the horse, patting Geureum on the side. “Stay here, boy.”

And then…with a creek that echoed through the cold night, he entered the palace, walking through huge oaken double doors to find his father.

He had to admit, for a second, standing in the atrium of the castle, he was struck by how grand it must have been. The ceiling peaked, now broken in with many of the granite slabs gone, the starry night sky clearly visible. Dirt and mud had accumulated on the marble floors, muffling the clicks of his boots just a bit.

“Father,” he called loudly before cursing to himself.

What if someone heard him? He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here.

Jimin shook his head. Who would hear him? It was a deserted castle with its family long gone. There probably had never been a family; the town had probably spun a yarn to make it special to tourists.

He crept up grand staircase, sticking close to the rails.

“Father,” he called again.

“Jimin…?”

He whirled, looking around for the source of the sound. “Yes, father it’s me.” He ventured, noticing a hand slipping out from the bars of a door. “Father!” He dropped to his knees in front of the door.

“Jimin, what are you doing here? You can’t be here, you have to leave!” His father was wailing from within, his hands grasping air in search for Jimin.

“What are you saying? Of course, I had to come! Who did this to you?”

“No! Don’t you see, Jimin? It’s true, the legends, the stories, they’re true!”

“What is true? Father, tell me who did this to you?”

“The monster; there is a monster in this castle!”

Jimin paused in trying to pry the door open, widened eyes swiveling to his father’s outstretched hands. “What?”

“It’s true! Please you have to leave! It’s dangerous!”

“Father, that can’t possibly be true!” Jimin said adamantly only to be proven wrong the next second.

A roar that sent Jimin’s hair rising to its ends erupted, echoing around the cavernous halls. A heavy weight landed on his shoulder, throwing him away from the door.

“What are you doing here?”

If there was a god, Jimin had better start praying to it, he thought, cowering away from the hunkering shadow that loomed over him. All he could discern were bright yellow eyes, slanting dark pupils glaring at him and the appendage his father had left hanging out the bars.

“Jimin!” His father chose to shout at the very moment.

Jimin watched the – the – thing – rise upon its legs, prowling further in but still remaining in the dark corner. “What are you doing here?” It asked again.

Jimin blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Here he was, in an allegedly cursed castle. His father was locked up, raving about monsters and now he was face to face with what appeared to be a huge animal…only, it talked like a human.

“I…I came for my father.” Jimin stuttered, trying to push himself back up.

The yellow eyes flickered, between Jimin and his father, before creeping back into the shadows. “You came in vain. The prisoner will not be released.”

“No wait!” Jimin called, shuffling to his feet as the figure began to draw back. “You can’t keep him here like this! He’s an old man, he’ll die!”

“THEN HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TRESPASSED IN MY HOME!”

Jimin froze at the sudden roar, managing to grab onto his father’s hands finally. This was real. The legend was true. The people living in the castle were monsters, cursed.

“Your…please – I’ll do anything.”

“No! He’ll stay here, locked up because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” The monster began to disappear.

“Take me.” Jimin took a step forward.

The figure paused.

“What, Jimin, no – no, listen, you can’t do this!” His father yelled.

“I mean it. You take me, let him go.” Every word strengthened in his throat, conviction pushing him forward till he was barely a meter away from the monster.

“You – You’d do that? You’d stay here, in exchange for him?”

Jimin met its eye. Bright yellow to Jimin’s deep brown, when it stepped finally into the small lighted part.

Coarse, shaggy fur coated a huge, lumbering form. The bright yellow eyes that seemed so unnerving were set in a canvas of a ferocious face, the fur streaked with grey and black, a huge snout for a nose and huge fangs that protruded from its mouth.

A lesser man would’ve burst a lung screaming at the horrifying sight but Jimin managed to hide his face, backing up till he could feel his father trying to clutch at the back of his shirt.

“I…I would. Let him go and you can take me.” Jimin finally said and he was proud to say that his voice remained steady.

There was a ringing moment of doubt, flickering in the golden orbs of the monster, before with a growl it raised its paw. Jimin flinched, cringing away from the blow but it never fell. Instead, he heard a dull, metallic thunk and the heavy padlock fell to his feet.

Mr. Park fell out; the door giving way under his weight and he clung to Jimin. “No, no, please, don’t take him, keep me – I have nothing to live for anymore but my son has a whole life.” His father begged to the monster but the only reply they got was a ferocious roar. “GET OUT! If you value your life and your son’s, leave; or I will kill you both!”

The monster turned on an enormous heel, stomping back into the darkness.

The tower that Jimin was pushed into had one small window, a little too high for him to reach, but he managed to hike his nimble body up till he swung from the ledge. His fingers reddened from the strain but when he finally peeked through the window, he just barely caught the end of a huge cart, led by a snorting and neighing Geureum.

He dropped from the ledge, landing squarely on his feet upon the uneven flagstone and cursed, running two hands through his ruffled hair.

“Hello sir,”

Jimin jumped, whirling around at the smooth voice that sounded nothing like the awful grate of the monster’s growl.

“Right down here.”

Jimin backed up as far as he could against the wall before casting his eyes downwards. There was nothing on the floor, soft moss growing within the cracks with one slightly buffed up candelabrum left behind.

“Hello,” the voice said again.

“Where are you? Look, I’m not scared of anything anymore so you’re doing nothing,”

“Of course not, sir, it’s me…Kim Seokjin, the…” a sigh, “the candle holder.”

Jimin took a shuddering breath, before very slowly diverting his eyes to the golden instrument on the ground.

It wasn’t very huge, just barely above average but the sweeping extensions made it seem bigger than it needed to be. Dripping wax clung to its arms where the candles stuck, the gold sheen pale yet glinting in the bare light. Just on the handle, there was an etching…just like one of a face. Even as Jimin watched, the candles lit up, making him flinch.

“Please follow me, sir.”

Jimin gulped.

“Follow you where?”

The candelabrum, to Jimin’s astonished eyes, seemed to turn on the base.

“The Mistress is installing you in a room of your own. The household doubts you want to stay in the tower.” There was something caustic about the smooth tone of the thing. It made Jimin almost bristle and refute before he looked around the tower he was put in.

It was one of the spindle shaped ones, too thin and a little rickety. The window that he had tried to peek out was the single one allowing light in and he could feel some vertigo setting in already, if the nausea was anything to go by.

“Fine – lead the way.” He said.

Jimin had already gauged that the palace had been luxuriant in its time but now, walking quietly through the long hallways with…an animate object bouncing along in front of him, he had to admit; that the ruin that now faced him didn’t seem adjacent to what the palace must have been before.

The stone, now greenish grey had gnarled carvings etched into them. The statues that stood at corners had most of their heads broken or missing and the small beam that the candles gave off only made him all the more unsettled.

“We know it’s a little…dull – around here but we hope you’ll like it.” It was as if the thing knew what was going on in Jimin’s head.

“You said ‘we’…and ‘household’ before…but except for you…and…well, the monster,” Jimin stopped talking when the candelabrum winced.

“You…might want to be careful about that. The Mistress is sensitive and none of the people in the castle will appreciate you calling her that.”

Jimin nearly tripped on his feet when he finally processed something. “That…that thing is a she?”

He was ignored. The candelabrum stopped in front of one of the doors, double door, handles of glum silver. “This is going to be your room, sir.” Jimin didn’t answer, quietly reaching for the handle and turning it, letting himself in cautiously.

The room wasn’t lighted, most of the darkness only marred by the light streaming from a glass window. He could spy a bed at best.

Jimin was about to step in further, squinting his eyes when he heard a loud creak, possibly a considerable weight upon a floorboard and then the clink of metal.

“If you don’t like the room, we can move you.” He heard but instead of the smooth, cool voice of the candelabrum, it was gruff, low and sullen.

He whirled to see a huge part of a shadow standing well back into the room. A heavy cloak wrapped up the body, concealing it further within the darkness.

Jimin didn’t speak as the form lumbered to the open door.

“Your needs will be seen to here. My servants will attend to you.” There was a pause before it took hold of the door. “And you will meet me for dinner; every night.”

The slam of the door made Jimin jump; his immediate reaction was to run to the door and look through the keyhole. There were footsteps and a murmur of conversation but aside from that, the entire palace seemed silent.

Jimin huffed, walking over to the window to open it, casting a furtive look outside and letting out a scornful laughter. He was a good way up the ground. Jumping from the window would mean certain death and even if he only escaped, it would be with broken bones and with no horse.

He doubted the ‘Mistress’ would nurse him back to health.

“My sweetest sister,” A finger brushed under the supple cheek of Hyebin, turning her attention to her brother who loomed over her at the counter of the pub. “What has you down?”

Hyebin pouted, throwing Kai’s hand off. “I went by Park Jimin’s house this evening to see if he would take a turn with me. He wasn’t there. The house was empty.”

“Maybe he went off with that father of his.”

“Why would he? There is nothing to do for him.”

Kai cast a glance at his grumpy sister, feeling the brewing of an odd emotion that he had had for her for months now. It was a mixture of pity, annoyance and yet the unyielding need to present whatever she wanted on a golden platter. He knew that Jimin did not return even half of a quarter of affection that his sister had and while he was annoyed at her overzealous devotion, he knew that she would never falter.

She got her stubbornness from him, after all.

Now, there may be better men for Hyebin than Jimin, but she wanted him and Jimin would marry her – Kai would see to it.

“Sister,” he began.

“You promised, Kai! You promised me you would make him marry me. You don’t love me. You can’t even do this much for me!”

“Now, now, dearest,”

Hyebin’s face had reddened; her hair crackling as she swelled like a bullfrog, ready to rail at her brother when the doors on the pub crashed open, with Mr. Park falling, raving against it.

“Help,” he panted, grasping at whatever was close at hand to heave himself up. “Help, my son, my son please.”

Heads turned, eyes falling to the soaked man as snow melted and pooled around his boots, the cloak wet and snug around his head. His eyes shifted from one astonished face to another, growing more restless.

“Please! I need help. My son has been taken by a monster!”

Behind him, Kai heard Hyebin’s squawk of indignation die down, releasing instead a dainty gasp. He watched the loony man walk around, trying to clutch at the sleeves of the patrons who shook him off with scoffs until he neared the siblings, finally tumbling at Kai’s elbow.

“Please, Kai, my last hope – you…have to help. My son, my only son – gone! – taken! – I can’t take this.”

Hyebin shrunk away from the delirious old man, bundling her dress to her knees even as Kai shook his arm free. “What’s the matter, Mr. Park? Be a little clear.”

“The monster of the palace took Jimin! Trapped him in the big castle on the hill…I couldn’t do anything!”

There was a pause as Kai furrowed his brow, before a patron shouted. “Leave him, Kai. He’s probably mad with the cold!”

“I am not!” Mr. Park immediately protested, wringing roughly at the coat before slumping his head and walking out the pub, defeated. They could hear wails of anguish in the cold winds outside but none were met with sympathy.

“He ran away!” Hyebin finally screeched, sinking her nails in her brother’s arms, ire flaming again.

Kai didn’t answer, letting his arm lax while his thoughtful expression slowly merged into that of a smirk. “Hyebin, my sweet; you might just get to marry Park Jimin after all.”

Jimin didn’t know when he’d dozed off. It must have been the exhaustion of the day, the pressure, the sorrow but he had curled up in one of the dusty armchairs, closed his eyes for possibly a second, only to gather his thoughts. Now he woke up to a pitch black room, stars visible from the window and he knew it was very late into the night.

His back had cramped in his position, obliging him to get off when he heard the gentle knock on the door. He took a wary stance, waiting for the doors to be barged into but to no avail. It was probably Seokjin the candle holder, Jimin decided, going to open the door.

“My now, I thought you’d wait for all the milk to go cold before you opened the door.”

Anticipating it, Jimin was already looking to the floor, only to be met by what looked like a tea set. He watched eyes boggling as the tea pot, a tall, sleek work with a rotund belly hobbled into the room, followed by a cup, and a sugar bowl.

“Um, what…who – are you now?” He asked.

“I’m the head cook, boy. Min Yoongi’s the name, also known as the best damn teapot in the kingdom. This right here,” the snout of the teapot tipped down to the cup, “is Taehyung, the assistant cook but not the best cup even in the room because he can’t keep himself on one stupid shelf.”

“Yah Hyung,” the cup opened at its seam, as if they were lips. “Don’t be mean.”

“I wasn’t going to come at all but I can’t leave you alone. Now then to business, boy; the Princess is taking a late supper so you can eat with her. You can have some milk before you go. You look like you’ve been crying and you’re just going to upset her.”

“Upset her?” Jimin glared, as the tea cup, filled with milk jumped into his reluctant hand. “I am the one trapped here.”

“Look on the bright side.” The teapot waved its spout and all the tea materials gathered in one line, heading out the door. “There’s a splendid welcome supper to be had. Come Taehyung.” He called as he exited.

“Oh but,” the tea cup sloshed some of its content onto Jimin’s hands when it jumped down, skidding across the stone before the door shut again. The sounds of the tea cup’s protests reached Jimin even through the heavy door.

Jimin wiped his hands of his trousers, grumbling at the way he made a mess when he backed against something large.

“No need to worry, young sir. Wardrobe is always here to help!”

Golden but dusty doors banged Jimin on the face, nearly tossing him onto the floor as the wardrobe advanced, rows and rows of pristine, shiny outfits ready to be worn. Jimin gasped, clutching his nose in pain as he shook his head.

“Many apologies! It’s been a while since I’ve been opened for any event at all. I am Jung Hoseok, the royal master of robes. Please do look through the selection to pick something out. I daresay you’ll want to change out of your outfit for dinner.”

“No thanks,” Wincing, Jimin managed to get to his feet. “I’m not going to dinner with Princess Monster down there.”

“Oh dear,” he heard the wardrobe as he crossed his arms, turning to the window to glare out of it.

The long dining table had been decked out for the first time in fifteen years. Silk cloths had been draped over the mahogany, candles put up, torches wiped and lit, plates and tableware sparkled in the dancing flame of the fireplace.

Yet, none of the chairs had been pulled back.

Seokjin and Yoongi, watched, anxious as the Mistress of the Castle, their Princess prowled in front of the table, each paw taking further weight from your animal bulk.

“Your highness, perhaps…you should sit and wait.” Seokjin suggested.

“No; I will wait for the man.” You said. Your voice had dipped down to a warning growl but your household items…your staff had never been very afraid of you.

Maybe they had, once, when you had first transformed and not taken to what you had become. A monster, a huge, hunkering loathsome thing which wanted to claw and destroy anything that stood in its wake…

It had taken years, but you had somewhat been ‘tamed’ since then.

“Princess, please, do consider that if we play our cards right, this man could be your salvation.”

“You think I don’t know that? I do…I know that but…how can he be if he won’t even come to dinner?”

“Perhaps also take into consideration that the boy is trapped here. He won’t see his father or his previous life again.” Jin’s statement wasn’t met with any geniality, instead the candelabrum found himself in the vice grip of his Mistress.

“Then what should I do? Do I throw him out? Let him leave so he can bring back a mob? No! I won’t do anything and if he wants to be difficult, I can be too.”

“We know that, your highness.” Yoongi said, his spout quivering. “We just have to remember to keep our tempers in check.”

The last statement was spoken pointedly and the monster blinked its huge yellow eyes, looking down to where you were almost squeezing your Maitre ‘D. You dropped the candle holder, Seokjin bouncing back a few steps when the door to the dinner room opened.

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi’s belly turned, the porcelain splitting into a smile.

You turned, eyes trained in anticipation but what peeked in was an ornate long grandfather clock, its rose gold arms clasping the door in trepidation.

“Namjoon, where is the boy?” Seokjin asked immediately.

The royal advisor hemmed, glancing anxiously at the bunched up bulk of the Princess. “He says, he won’t be coming, your highness.”

There was a ringing silence, torn by the groans of Yoongi and Seokjin before you stood up, your clawed feet digging into the stone floor so hard it hurt.

“Fine, if he wants to be so stubborn then let him have his consequences too. Yoongi, you will bar the kitchens. He will not eat anything unless he first comes to me.”

“Princess, we can’t woo a dead man.” Namjoon said calmly but you were already dropping down from an upright position to what you were used to, on all four feet, crouching.

“I don’t care! Just…just let him starve! I don’t care if we find bones in his room.”

The three items converged, all talking together and you slammed a paw on the table, shredding the cloth. “Enough; let me go!” You roared before taking off, leaping over their heads so you could head and lock yourself in your quarters.

The silence that brushed up and closed around you as soon as the doors shut behind you and automatically locked was bliss. Yet your mind was anything but.

Hateful thoughts swirled in your mind, mostly aimed at yourself, some at the enthusiasm that your staff seemed to show for this new addition to your home and finally, venom spilling out to the man who had now entombed himself in one of your best rooms but couldn’t even show the decency to come down for dinner.

What was so difficult about dinner?

And why was he allowed to shut himself in his room when all your life you had been told to never hide yourself from the rest of the house?

Granted, all your people were now objects, magical but still just objects. Your parents had been turned to statues, forced to weather out in the overrun gardens and you had been raised by Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon mostly. Children your age; Taehyung and Jungkook had hated you in the beginning and you had never sought them out yourself.

Over time, Taehyung had forgiven you but Jungkook turned to a Duster never saw you, working quietly where you would never tread.

The rest of your household never came forward and said it; having never witnessed the event that had transformed you all but the malice was palpable. The rejection hurt, you were a child shunned and you sprouted claws much too early for anybody’s liking but you had tried.

You had tried, before giving up. You gave up because nothing happened. Fifteen years and no prince came; no fairy godmothers pointed their wands at you. The wizard never came back to see if his spell wrecked you.

All the stories that showed that Princesses would be rescued fell short at one crucial juncture.

No one told the story about the cursed princess who was ugly, who was a monster, who wasn’t the pale skinned beauty in a glass case or silk bed.

No, nobody came to save the ugly princess and over time you learned to see yourself just that.

This man – this Jimin, would be no exception.

“After all, what’s to love?” You muttered.

You vowed not to weep. Not for a man, not for the humanity that judged who was worthy of love.

Jimin had dozed off again. When he woke, it was with a start, groggy and fumbling in his movements. This was a bad habit. He needed to collect his wits about himself. Maybe it was the magic of the castle but he had to remember that he wasn’t safe in here, no matter how friendly and polite everyone…everything was being.

Somehow, in his slumber, the torches in the room had been lit, casting the place in a dazzling golden glow. The chair he had fallen asleep in again was pushed right to the edge of the room, near the window. He spied that the bed had been made with brocade bedding, surfaces had been dusted and to his surprise there was a pool at the very centre, filled with clear, almost glittering water.

Jimin’s stomach, having refused dinner with the Monster out of pride was already protesting, tossing him out of the chair in the direction of the pool. Maybe a cool drink would cheer and lift his spirits.

He sat at the engraved stone border, looking down at his haggard expression in the water, running a hand through the pool, cupping the soothing liquid up to his lips.

The minute the water passed his lips, a new sense of relief and rejuvenation passed his body, coursing through him as though adrenaline itself. Jimin got to his feet, looking about if he could ask the Wardrobe – Hoseok – where he could go to find food.

He found the spot empty, instead there stood a mannequin. On it, hung was a brand new outfit; a white spotless shirt, black trousers and blue silk coat. The mannequin stood lifeless even as Jimin stripped it, and then with apprehension brewing at his belly at accepting the gift, himself. However, unease had to wait; he was soaked, cold, and soiled. He would fall sick at that rate and then all his plans of escape would shatter. He also didn’t want to be indebted to the castle in any way.

So with a bite at his pride, he put on the outfit before pressing his ears to the door, listening for any movement. He couldn’t hear the pounds of the Princess’s paws, the clatter of any objects moving, no conversation, nothing at all.

Wary in his gait, he stepped out, keeping a light foot to lead him on when something whimpered from his side.

Jimin jumped, whirling in anticipation of roars, of overwhelming friendliness but instead a small pair of eyes beamed up at him from behind a moth eaten curtain. Running a hand over his panicking heart, Jimin’s lips tugged into a soft smile.

“Hello there,” he cooed at the pup that ventured out the curtain with three more at its tail.

“Oh, wow, puppies.” Jimin wanted to laugh at the simplicity, at the adorableness but the pups only let out soft gurgles, wrapping paws around Jimin’s legs, trying to nudge him along.

“What is it? Where are you taking me?”

Jimin allowed him to be prodded and nudged along by four small dogs, along the hallway, down the stairs and through another until he was pushing open a door, clearly the kitchen.

“Oh my,” his eyes fell first to the teapot on a wooden table, followed by the grandfather clock and candle holder he’d seen already. “What are you doing here? How did you,”

The teapot stopped when he saw the four puppies cuddling around Jimin’s feet, something of a softness melting the intricate seam of it. “Ah, of course,”

“Forgive me, I didn’t know. I was just hungry.” Jimin shyly dipped his head, knowing he was probably trespassing on some late night gossip among the staff.

“No, no, of course you’re hungry, you did show some nerve. It must’ve made you ravenous.” Seokjin bobbed towards him, wrapping a gold arm around his coat tails, dragging him to the table.

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve spoken with the Mistress. She’s going to show some leniency. She won’t come down to dinner the same time as you do…unless you request it.” Namjoon the clock lied smoothly.

Jimin was sat at the table by Seokjin, a napkin pressed at him by the teapot as dishes and plates of food began to dance around the length of the table, piling upon the plate presented to him to eat.

“I…thank you.” Jimin frowned, unable to think of anything more to say.

“You may also wander the castle and grounds as you wish. One of us will always be found around and the Guides,” Yoongi pointed its spout at the four pups that stood lined near the door, “will be your companions mostly.”

Jimin looked down at the hearty meal in front of him before digging in. “That will be very nice. Thank you.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes.

True to their words, the castle and grounds were left wide open for the curious Jimin. He woke up to a wonderful outfit slung on the mannequin; suits, coats, wonderful silks and soft cashmeres to drape over his body. The wardrobe – Hoseok, had returned, helping Jimin dress for the day’s adventures.

Jimin would eat breakfast in his room, sitting at the edge of the pool where – he wondered if it was his imagination – the water seemed to move to entertain him. He would climb over stiles; sniff the glowing flowers, count stars and fireflies if he stayed out too late. The castle, upon inspection was vast. Huge statues imposed upon him, Grecian, roman and baroque architecture worked itself seamlessly in the palace and he had fun listening to Namjoon talking about each was worked in or acquired.

He was very rarely alone.

The Guides, as the staff called the small pups were always with him. He had learned their names from Taehyung, the tea cup. The fluffy brown one was Holly, a pair of small Pomeranians that shaded darker was Mickey and Yeontan and then finally a pure white one named Monnie.

They led him in and out the lands, sometimes through a grotto where the only thing that nestled was a pair of entwined huge statues. He had stopped and stared up at them for quite a while. They were probably the biggest in the entire castle, both wearing a pained, sorrowed expression that bore Jimin’s own heart down. He didn’t venture in that particular grotto again. It felt too…private somehow.

Jimin was given dinner in the main dining room, the long table decked out only for him. He would sometimes cast a look upon the opposite chair, feeling lonely even if he had multiple entities to talk to.

The Princess never came upon in Jimin’s presence for days. He could sometimes hear the paws of her feet on the floor when he was roaming about, but she never once tried to impose herself on him. It was almost as if she watched him watch her home from afar.

Something in Jimin tugged when he thought about home, how he had completely left behind his straggly little town for this palatial world. He missed his father terribly yes, but here in the estate that he was free to roam, with people whose knowledge he was free to peck at, the silence had turned blissful very quickly.

Thoughts of escape never strayed further from his mind but for now, he wanted to stay cocooned in this silence.

It was almost two weeks till he was made aware of the very real presence of the mysterious Princess. He was used to her being a phantom by now so when the Guides playfully nipped at each other, chasing down a corridor, Jimin followed at ease, not feeling the pricks of unease until he reached the darker end of the corridor.

It was a whole quarter, possibly belonging to one of the royal family. He peeked into the empty bath before venturing further into the darkened opening.

The palace that had been warmed by fire for their new guest – or prisoner, however Jimin wanted to look at it had failed here. There was an odd chill running through the walls, as if someone had sucked the temperature and doused the room in ice.

The furniture was all dusty, clearly not attended to, and silver and cream paint peeled from the walls. He could almost spy the moss that collected in the cracks of the walls before he came to stand in front of the wall of paintings.

Each and every face on the walls, Jimin noted had been slashed. It was a brutal mutilation, clearly from the Princess’s claws. There was one painting that remained, of what had to be the royal couple. A tall, regal man stood at the side of an equally prim lady who sat on an armchair. One of his hands clasped her shoulders while hers held on to a young child, poised delicately upon her knee.

The child, a girl wasn’t having it though. He could tell the struggle of her flailing arms and kicking feet yet her face was void of distress. Instead he stared at the laughing, playing child, baby curls fluttering around her ears, thick fingers and chubby cheeks – the full deal. A small golden tiara nestled upon her head, crooked from her movement.

The picture was so happy; it brought a catch to Jimin’s throat, looking back up at the couple, tearing his eyes from the once human Princess. There was something hauntingly familiar about the faces yet Jimin couldn’t put his finger on it.

So engrossed he was, in staring at the pictures, moving on to where he tried to put together shredded pieces of the painting together that he failed to notice the silence. There was no yapping of the puppies to be heard and this silence was anything but comfortable.

When the door squeaked open, Jimin turned, coming face to face with the monster who had been diligently avoiding him. Half her furry face was shadowed, but he could tell from the single wide open yellow eye that he wasn’t an expected sight.

The eyes darted from his face to his hands, placed upon the paintings. Jimin had barely opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain, perhaps to snap but the Princess had already dropped to her haunches, a low growl ripping through the back of her throat.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”

Jimin stumbled back, pressing against the wall as the monstrous Princess leapt, scrambling towards the paintings and covering them up.

“I…I was just,”

“LEAVE! I WANT YOU OUT. GO! NOW,”

Jimin had heard enough and it presented a brilliant opportunity to him. She wanted him to leave. He could leave.

So quick he was, sidestepping the crouching girl that he had no time to see her fall to the floor, the cloak that covered and hid her body wrapped protectively around as a whimper replaced her roars. The Princess’s sobs never reached Jimin’s ears.

He didn’t wait to find any of the household staff. He knew that they would ultimately attempt to stop him, try to make sense of the Princess’s commands. So he hurried down the stairs and out the side to where he’d found the stables.

His own Geureum was gone, with his father but he yanked on the reins of a white stallion; titled Jjangu on his crest. Jimin saddled the panicking horse blindly, patting it only once to soothe it before he was mounting and taking off in the distance of the town.

Your roaring yells had reached the ears of the household, of course. Namjoon was the first to respond, sliding into the royal quarters; his wooden stand skidding as he found you curled up under the one painting that you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy.

It was your family portrait, commissioned just two years before your lives would change forever and while you had torn up every picture of your face that hung up, you couldn’t destroy your parent’s.

Namjoon could tell from the shudders that shook your form that you were just finishing crying. Propriety dictated that he wouldn’t trespass on a royal in distress but you were his charge, he had raised you, taught you, attempted to feed you since he could bring your fear and panic at being transformed into a beast to heel.

“Princess…Y/N,” He coaxed, golden bars running through the shaggy mass where your hair would be. His heart ached at the soft sniffles that sounded too loud because you…you weren’t human after all.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to not be, you won’t be less of a person for your troubles.”

You raised your head with a deep scoffing laugh. “I am not a person, Namjoon. I’m a monster; a loathsome creature.”

The clock ticked angrily but didn’t prod the issue. “The boy -,”

“Left; I scared him off. That’s that then.”

Namjoon shook his head, casting a glance out to where the snow had become wilder, until only white could be seen. “Your highness, he left in a terrible condition. He’ll get lost.”

“I don’t care.”

“Princess, Namjoon,” Two heads turned to where Seokjin rushed in, candles burning on his many wicks. “The boy, Jimin, he has taken off on your horse! He’s taken Jjangu.”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” You screeched loudly enough for both grown men…objects to flinch. “MY HORSE…HOW COULD HE DARE, HE -,”

“Princess, the wolves, if the wolves find them, it will be too late,” Seokjin murmured softly.

There was a heavy pregnant pause in which Namjoon and Seokjin stared at their Mistress, holding her shaggy head aloft as if she was praying for pity. Finally, under the gaze of your caretakers and advisors, you slumped, admitting defeat.

“Alright, alright, I suppose we can’t leave him to die in the blizzard.”

When you had first transformed, a howl had been the first thing that had scared you. Your small hands and feet had turned into paws, huge claws protruding from the nails. Your hair seemed to grow everywhere until you were taught that it was fur, too coarse and too matted to be what had been a well taken care of head of hair.

Your first memories after the transformation had been running away, tripping and falling multiple times because you weren’t used to your new body until Namjoon and Yoongi had found you, cowering under a broken branch. Howls had pushed you into a scared ball and when they’d found you, they’d spoken. You could still remember a clock and a teapot trying to act brave as a single wolf, too big and gleaming in the moonlight curled back its lips, issuing the threat that had locked you in your castle forever.

Of course, with age and your guardian’s patience you had honed your new abilities; speed, agility, strength and keen senses.

It was easy finding your fearful horse and Jimin, running on all fours as if a wolf yourself. Your ears pricked, picking up the yells of the man and whinnying as wolves surrounded your charges on all sides.

It was stupid to charge in head first, but when you saw a wolf snap Jimin’s weapon, a single stick in two between its jaws, it was exactly what you did.

Your first powerful spring, landed you clean behind Jimin’s now buckled body. The wolves immediately halted, intelligent eyes darting from the curling boy at your feet back to you, tongues rolling perversely.

You felt rather than saw Jimin raise his head, wondering why the wolves hadn’t ended him already. When he felt the larger presence behind him, he turned, gaping up at you as you placed one paw to the front, marking a line, marking a territory.

Loud snaps surrounded you, the wolves reorganizing till they circled you now, ready to attack from every direction.

Your eyes, however, sought one wolf out, finding its way back, sitting on its hind legs, tail wrapped around them. You snarled at it, the wolf obviously smirking at you before it rose up, stalking over to the head of the pack. It gave a short yap and the wolves, in once sleek, collective move, pounced.

You only had time to jump over Jimin, drawing the attack away from the human and your precious horse before you felt the first swipe of claws at your back. You whirled around, your own paws frantically hitting and lashing out, trying to bat away as many wolves as you could with as much force as you could muster.

You knew you couldn’t kill them, of course but it wouldn’t be for the lack of trying.

The wolves landed as many blows as they could on you, punishing you, sinking in teeth around your wrist, snapping around your ankles until you could smell the warm, metal in the air, from mostly your wounds.

“Enough,” You finally heard the one wolf, it’s comrades backing away with one word until you were left, swaying, eye to eye with its imperious gaze.

“Back off.” You growled but the only reply you got was a rough snicker, animalistic and feral.

“We would, just to see you fail in this attempt, Princess. We still wait for our master, and the day he becomes King, we shall have the boy for dinner. Another time,” The wolf tipped its tail at you, before turning and trotting off.

Jimin only raised his head when the sounds he could hear was the stamps of the horse’s hoofs, the whistling of the wind through his hair. When he peeked through slatted eyes, he could see you, tall, bulky, standing up to your full height as he caught the wolf farther away, dainty steps carrying it till it melted in the snow.

Jimin’s black robes that he hadn’t changed when he rushed out where wet, dirty again and he picked himself up, trying not to make too much sound lest you turn and put him through the same assault as you had the wolves.

He had heard the heavy thuds of your paws, the throwing around of the wolves as they banged against trees and rocks. He knew you could shatter his skull with one paw but then he’d also heard your screams of pain, each singing through him as you tried to keep the wolves away from him and your horse.

He reached the reins, about to climb on when he saw the horse’s eyes for the first time. They were wide, the neck bobbing as it tried to free itself from Jimin’s holding.

Jimin frowned, turning from the horse to where you stood and for the first time, he saw the damage inflicted upon you. Your heavy cloak had been ripped to tatters, hanging off of you in ribbons that exposed him to you. You wore pants, to contain the large hind legs, a simple men’s shirt. It was now smeared in stark red, the crimson pooling from your feet and arms into the pure snow below.

He watched as you tilted to the side, your weight finally tipping extreme and you collapsed, snow and blood flying from the impact.

Jimin turned to the horse again, reading the pain in the horse’s eyes.

It loved you.

Jimin once again turned to where your body lay, shivering just so slightly.

You were just a child, a cursed little baby girl.

Jimin’s mind flooded with images of a small girl in the painting, phantom giggles in his ears.

You saved him. He couldn’t leave you to die.

Jimin dropped the reins, his feet sinking into the inches deep snow as he ran over to you, kneeling down to turn your face towards him.

Your eyes were long closed, your mouth parted just enough for him to see the fangs within but he looked past that. Your fur was wet, both from the melting snow but also from your blood and as he cupped your huge head, he knew you wouldn’t last in this cold. Already, your breathing was erratic, your chest falling further with each exhale.

He looked to the horse that trotted closer, responding to the man who was helping his owner. It took severe effort, hefting the Princess but Jjangu was unexpectedly strong. The Princess lay across the horse, feet and head dangling and swaying as Jimin took the reins again, deciding to walk as he made his way back to the Castle, your home.

If the household staff was surprised to see Jimin back again, especially with an injured Princess lobbed across her horse, they didn’t express it. Instead they swarmed, concerned around where Jimin heaved and unceremoniously dropped the Princess at the base of the stairs.

While a coat rack took a shivering Jjangu back to the stables to be fed and warmed, Jimin helped the rest of the objects drag their Mistress to the sitting room.

“Great, what’s she gotten into now?” He heard as he unbuttoned his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Not now, Jungkook; she’s injured badly, near death. Either help, or stay out of the way as always.”

Jimin tilted his head towards the sullen reply, straining to hear. “Gladly, if I never see her face, it will be too soon. She’s the reason we’re like this, or have you forgotten?”

“Jungkook, that’s enough!” He heard the low angry rasp of Namjoon’s voice when there was a shuffle in his eyesight.

The Princess seemed to be able to tell that she was safe again, grunting and whining as she sat propped up in a huge winged armchair. Her tattered robes had been shed off, her modesty preserved by the fact that she was entirely covered in fur but Jimin kept his eyes averted respectfully anyway. Her large legs were drawn up as she clutched her wounded, slashed appendage close to her body.

As Yoongi hobbled over, full of hot water, followed by medicine bottles on a spidery tray that clattered, Jimin ripped bandages. He filled up a golden bowl with the steaming water, dipping medicine and cloths in it.

The moment he stood up, intending to nurse the Princess, she flinched, surprising Jimin as she cowered away from him. She turned her back, and he could hear a distinct whimper, as she licked at her injuries.

She’s not used to being vulnerable, Jimin realized, his slack frame pushed to movement with the fear that her licking and prodding would infect and worsen the slashes.

“Now, now, don’t do that.” He moved too fast, grabbing a hold of the Princess’s shoulder and was immediately met with a wide open maw, her ferocious roar shifting his hair back.

Jimin dropped his hand, scowling at the stubborn slump of her arm, drawn back to her tongue. “You’ll make it worse. Just let me help.”

“It hurts.” She snapped when Jimin leaned right over her, attempting to wipe at the mangled arm.

“If you hold still, maybe it won’t.” Jimin tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to snap at the already pained girl. Her screams at the biting and slashing wolves were still too fresh in Jimin’s mind. He wanted to show some kindness but she was just so…pigheaded.

“Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t be hurt.”

Jimin raised his eyebrows at her petulant tone. If he wasn’t already aware, he would’ve believed the Princess to still be a child at the sullen note of her voice. Something tugged at the corners of his lips as she attempted to cross her arms; the clawed up one still dangling in his hold.

“You told me to leave, remember?”

“I didn’t mean the castle.”

Jimin dropped the bloodied cloth in a waste bowl. “I suppose the lesson here is that you should watch your temper, isn’t it?” He made an exaggerated show of dipping another cloth in the medicine bowl, ignoring the Princess as she huffed and dropped her huge head on an equally huge paw, distinctly pouting.

“Please hold still now, this is going to pinch some.” He used the same tone as he would on his father, concentrating at digging out some remaining bits of grime from the claw marks. A few of his swipes made the Princess cringe and try to pull away but not once did her strength win against his sharp glances and sudden tightening of grips as he repeated the process on her feet.

Finally as he did the bandages he spoke again.

“Thank you, for saving my life.”

The Princess was quiet for so long that Jimin had to chance a look up, catching her quickly smoothening her expression into one of nonchalance. “You’re welcome.” She growled lowly.

But Jimin had already seen the bitten lips, the downward slope of her brow and the glassiness of her eyes.

He stayed right there, on the floor at her feet for a while, until the Princess, who had been staring into the fireplace had her eyes drooping. He stood when he was sure she was asleep, snores shuffling the fur near her mouth and nose.

Jimin folded back the sleeves on his muddy shirt. He knew he needed to change his clothes if he wanted to stay well, if he was sick as well, who would take care of the Princess? He hardly thought Seokjin’s candle hands or Namjoon’s golden bars would be able to change soiled bandages and he could already feel a chill coming.

Placing a huge blanket on the sleeping Princess, he went up to his room to change.

“How is she?” Hoseok asked immediately, as he shuffled inside for something to wear.

“She’ll have a few days with that bandage. It’ll probably scar.” Jimin answered tiredly, dropping his clothes and entering the bath where Yoongi was already pouring hot water in the tub.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said as he stood by. Jimin turned his head to look at the gleaming pot in question. “For not leaving her to die,” Yoongi clarified.

“Of course not…I will admit I had the thought but, I couldn’t. Not after she’d risked hers to save mine and Jjangu.”

“Jjangu was a gift foal from her father. She loves the animal more than anything.” Jimin heard before with a click of the bathroom door, he was alone.

He sighed, laying his head back along the porcelain edge. He was desperately exhausted, aching and needed to sleep, but there was a gnawing in his chest. He knew the Princess was in good hands now; he would only be needed when she needed her bandages changed and he knew she could manage that herself but he found it difficult to not be worried for the girl that somehow seemed so small and scared in all her ferocious enormity.

“Maybe…maybe I could try to be her friend.” Jimin mumbled, more to himself than anything as he closed his eyes.

Jimin took his vow seriously.

The first thing he did when his eyes popped open and fell on the customary outfit left for him; a simple powder blue shirt and black trousers – was to jump up and get dressed even before Hoseok had opened the eyes on top of it.

Quietly, he made his way down to where the Princess was still snoozing in the chair, flinging open curtains and inching closer just in case she woke up and panicked.

“Princess,” Jimin called gently, her head moving just so. “Your highness, wake up.”

With a groggy groan, her head fell towards his direction, yellow eyes blinking open in the filtering morning light.

And to the Princess’s dawning wonder and shock, Jimin gave her a beautiful, wide grin; possibly the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed in her life.

From then on, both Jimin and Y/N tried to make an effort.

Y/N still felt her temper flare up quick as a snake’s attack but she quelled it in fear of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin learned that despite her age, the Princess was still just a sheltered child who knew only what had been told to her.

Jimin tried to get you to participate in various activities. He taught you a few card tricks with a very old battered set that Seokjin unearthed, he told you stories of France, his life, what the world had to offer outside of the small town that had forgotten and abandoned her, he even tried to paint with her – although that ended in a disaster that had Yoongi steaming from his spout, Taehyung quickly sent to supervise the cleaning.

You, on the other hand, took Jimin outside.

Even though, Jimin had had the Guides to lead him places, no one knew the Castle and its grounds like you did, having spent fifteen years prowling and growing in it.

You allowed him to ride Jjangu while you walked, sometimes raced him. He had to change your bandages multiple times during these rides, noting with some joy that you healed faster than a human.

With four wild puppies and Jjangu, you took him to the top of a stile where in the falling night; he could count a multitude of stars and constellations. You threw Jimin in fountains; let him sift through flowers in the crumbling greenhouse, taste the fruits from the Grottos.

“My parents,” you pointed with a clawed finger, up at the huge entwined statues that had haunted Jimin before. He looked, focused on their faces more now, recognizing them from the portrait.

“Are they…gone?”

“No, just left frozen, to watch over what happens to me,”

Jimin turned to see you staring down at your palms, the story of the curse now making him enraged for your sake rather than sad. However, he kept mum, afraid of upsetting you rather than providing comfort. Instead, he took your huge gnarled hand, leading you quietly back.

Jimin and you took meals together now, lunches and dinners. He had unintentionally grimaced when he saw you simply lower your face and devour the food directly from the bowls and plates. In time, once he saw you try for him sake, he realized that your hands were simply too big for the dainty silverware and fragile glass goblets that fitted so perfectly in his.

So the next meal, Jimin surprised you by asking Taehyung to simply not provide any at all, raising his own bowl to his lips to eat as you did.

Your smile, huge, fanged, fur creasing in the corners of your mouth yet so happy, golden hue shining in your eyes, made him make it a habit to accommodate you, rather than ask you to change for him.

“Can I open them now?”

Jimin followed the trail of your cloak, sight barred by his hands as you attempted to lead him off for a surprise. You had been excited, the morning you simply strode into his room before he was even dressed. He had rushed behind Hoseok, who laughed at the pink of his cheeks and flustered backing away from you, until you claimed that ‘it was ready’ as he hurriedly put some clothes on.

“Not yet,”

Jimin heard the creak of doors, the clangs of curtain rings and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Okay, open them.”

Jimin dropped his hands with an indulgent smile, first looking at where you stood at the window, paws clasped together, and a nervous grin on your animal face. Your ears stood on point, waiting for his reaction as Jimin’s eyes wandered…and then widened till they were ready to pop right out.

It was a library.

A wonderful, glorious library, better than the dingy bookshop in town, better than any he’d seen in Paris. This was better than anything anyone could create in the whole world. Towering till the eye could see, with ladders and actual staircases leading up, his neck strained trying to fathom just how many books there were there.

“Oh my god,”

“Do you like it?”

Jimin looked down at where you were nearly vibrating with nervous energy.

“I had it cleaned, that’s what took so long. Seokjin told me you loved reading so I thought you should have this. I don’t know if everything is alright, but I checked last night and,” You stopped rambling when Jimin said your name. It was just a soft whisper but it tore a shiver through you at the tenderness, the fondness in it.

You had never heard anyone speak to you like that – not even your caretakers.

Jimin was practically aglow. His eyes shone as if someone lit coals underneath, his teeth blinded with the power of his smile, before his eyes turned to invisible slits.

“I absolutely love it, Y/N. Thank you; no one has ever done something like this for me before. This is perfect.” He strode forwards, his hand reaching for your face where his fingers nestled within the shaggy fur on your cheeks. He kept his smile fixed, nails gently scratching as your breath caught at the affection.

Jimin stared up at you, his own eyes and face sobering at the wide eyed look on your face. His fingers slowed till they just rested there, the both of you staring at one another.

“Ahem,” Jimin finally cleared his throat, removing his hand from your face. Was that disappointment he saw across your face? He turned to the shelves. “What shall we read first?”

Something thudded in Jimin’s chest, racing his blood with adrenaline as you and he sat on the floor in the sitting room, books strewn around you and the fireplace bathing you in heat.

“…and they lived happily ever after.” Jimin finished, closing the fifth book.

He had laughed and placed his head on yours when he discovered that you loved stories as much as he did. You had demanded him to read for you with one, two and the next three books. Jimin had happily obliged, enjoying the way you now sprawled on your front, arms cradling your head, looking at him with such a rapturous expression, he could melt.

“Read…one more…?” Jimin looked down to where you slid another book in his lap. Your eyes were big, hopeful and the rush of emotion that swirled in Jimin’s stomach was nowhere polite. He thought back to Hyebin, wanting to be married to him and yet knowing that she would fall asleep at the one thing Jimin was so passionate about. He cursed himself for the comparison. There was none. Hyebin wouldn’t even occupy the shadow of who you were.

“Y/N…I’m tired. How about you read for me now?” he leaned back on his arms, nudging the book back at you.

You paused, sitting up slowly before taking the book in your huge hands.

“I…I’ll rip it.”

“I’ll fix it back for you.” Jimin said immediately.

Your face fell as you opened the book, taking some time to flip it to the first page. Jimin watched; somewhat concerned as you slowly read the first of the fairytales.

“Once…up – on, a time…”

“Y/N, love,” Jimin had no time to worry about the endearment that slipped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I can’t,”

“Can’t…read…?” He guessed.

You nodded quickly, fearfully.

“Oh, I thought Namjoon taught you.”

“Alphabets, a little book of stories and history…but I…I can’t read big literature. I can’t even hold books.”

Jimin’s heart cracked as you glared fiercely at your hands again.

“No matter, I’ll teach you, here, come now. I’ll hold the book for you.” Jimin grabbed the book, holding it open for you as he slowly, pronounced the words, you following him.

Behind you, unbeknownst to both of you, Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung sighed dreamily.

“Think they’re in love yet?” Jungkook drawled from behind them.

“Not just yet, I suppose, but they’re getting there.” Namjoon said.

“They need one more push.” Yoongi muttered.

“And what better than…a ball,” Seokjin glanced at Taehyung, wearing identical smirks.

Hyebin lay on her front, draped along the chaise in a manner that would have most men in the town be willing to do her bidding. The one she wanted, however, hadn’t even gone past the town in ages. She was bored; dejected from the lack of attention and her brother – she cast a venomous look to where her older sibling paced in front of the fireplace – hadn’t done a thing for her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Hyebin. I’m thinking.” Kai said, catching her eye.

“Well, perhaps you could think later. Isn’t this the time for action?” Hyebin cupped her face.

“Not yet; your impulse is what ruined your chances with the boy in the first place.”

Hyebin scowled.

“But don’t you worry your pretty head, darling sister, for your brother has a wonderful plan in mind.”

“Which is…?”

“Never mind you, you will go about ruining things and Jimin won’t marry you as well. You will only blame me.”

Hyebin slammed a small fist on the chaise. “Kai…tell me!” She whined but Kai only walked to the door, opening it as he tossed her a cloak. “Come on, we’re going to play nice and talk it out with Park Jimin.”

Much to their disappointment, however, and to Hyebin’s rage, when they arrives at the cottage of the Parks, it was completely dark. Not even one candle had been lit on the porch.

Kai knocked; once, twice, thrice even yelled for both Jimin and Mr. Park but the only thing to reply was the keening silence.

“They’re not here.” He mused.

“You don’t think they…left, do you?” Hyebin whispered.

“All their things are still here.” Kai’s eyebrows creased, flickers of annoyance and true anger flaming in his own eyes. “Well, we won’t stop. They have to come back some day. We’ll be ready.” He ignored the smack of his sister’s hand at his back, striding back towards the pub.

He needed a drink.

When you entered your quarters after a day of playing in the gardens with Jimin, watching him weave a crown of roses and dandelions which he placed on your head, you weren’t expecting to see Seokjin standing there with a bunch of standees and mannequins that used to be ladies in waiting for your mother.

“Um…Seokjin,” You queried even as you were swarmed with too many ceramic hands.

“’Tis the day, your highness, it is the day of your birthday! We have to have a ball in the honor!” Seokjin exclaimed.

You were shoved in a tub full of hot water and bubbles, the soap soaking into your fur. The words were enough to shoot a tendril of doubt through your heart, snaking till it looped around and squeezed. Your breath deepened as the mannequins began to scrub at you, rubbing in the water and soap till it reached the skin underneath.

It was your birthday already? No, it couldn’t be. You would remain a monster for all eternity otherwise. You would be condemned to live like this. Loveless, because who would look at you and feel anything but disgust and terror?

“Seokjin, my birthday isn’t till one another day.” You reminded the Maitre D` from behind the screen.

“The actual day isn’t of import, Princess. Besides,” He lowered his voice, “the day of your birthday will be the last day of the curse. It is make or break for us. You have to tell Jimin of your feelings for him and he has to return it. We simply cannot leave these things till the last minute.”

You remained silent, watching the mannequins use huge metal buffers to file and shine your claws.

“You…you do – you do have feelings for him, don’t you Your Highness?” Seokjin asked, misreading your silence.

You sighed, dipping further down into the water. Of course you had feelings for Park Jimin. Only an idiot would have a man like him around and not fall for his kindness, his generosity, and his open mind. Also, the small slants of his eyes, the way his lips split to reveal a gleaming smile that could halt an army, with shiny dark hair that fell into his eyes.

He was an angel.

And you were a hideous beast…

“It’s not my feelings that are a problem, Seokjin. How can someone like him ever feel for me, unless it’s fear? Maybe I haven’t earned his affection still.”

“Ah phish-posh, you forget, dearest Princess; we have all watched you and him very closely. We have seen the way he looks at you. Only a man that loves someone will have such a beam to their face.”

You sunk down further, Seokjin’s words easing the nervous grip in your chest a little. Perhaps…you did stand a chance. You could tell him of how you felt, he would tell you what he felt, and maybe you and your people can become human again.

You held the hope close as you were ushered to your own wardrobe, gowns that you had never once had the occasion of wearing, now shoved against your body and you into them, made to twirl in front of a huge mirror to check for anything to improve.

The time had come.

The gown that both Seokjin and the lady in waiting had chosen was approved by Hoseok finally, him making you swish the skirt and twirl in front of it, while pins and needles were floating around you, just in case things needed to be loosened or tightened anywhere.

You, who for almost all your life had only donned on the left behind clothes of your father of the male staff had almost giggled at the fancy attention, enjoying the feel of silk and gossamer curling around you and pooling out from your waist.

The dress was a pale gold and silver, shimmering with crimson jewels strewn about the skirt. A heavy diamond brooch glittered to where the bodice and neckline fell in a waterfall of fabric and your hair had been lifted from the mass of fur at your neck, rolled up elegantly till it lay in a soft mass on top of your head.

“Your highness,” Seokjin said finally and you were surprised at the sniff he let out discreetly. “You look beautiful. Come, your gentleman waits.”

You followed the candelabrum, exiting the room as Seokjin led you to the ballroom, to where the stairs led up to where royals made their grand entrance. You could hear light conversations down below and if you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that it was really a ball of people come to wish you good fortune on your birthday.

Maybe, if you could put aside your doubts and the harsh truths that crushed hope in your chest, you could have it someday soon.

You heard the Maestro, now transformed into a sprawling Organ, strike up a tune and Seokjin swished a golden bracket, gesturing you to walk down.

You lifted up the enormous skirts, praying to anything divine that your claws, now shortened down and sparkling, wouldn’t rip the dress anywhere and walked down the stairs, seeing everyone gathered at the base of the staircase, smiling up.

Mostly, though, you only noticed Jimin.

It was true, you hadn’t paid much attention to what kind of clothes Hoseok had been putting on Jimin for the duration of his stay here. Before, it used to be rich fabrics and embellishments that glimmered with his movements. The moment of your friendship and he began to step out had caused for simple cloths, sans coats and cloaks unless it was snowing.

Now, Hoseok seemed to have pulled all stops.

The suit that Jimin wore was all black, form fitting with studded rubies along the lapels and buttons the same shade as yours. Gold lace wound around his neck and his hair shone with the same effort, as if he’d undergone the treatment you had as well.

He smiled widely when your eyes met his, stepping forward till he reached you.

“You’re stunning.” He said and you could only muster a shaky smile, fluttering from the sincere compliment. “Happy Birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, bowing as he extended a hand for you to take.

You let your paw rest gently on his, deliberate and careful not to let him feet the real weight of it. “Thank you,” you managed a smile as wide as his, before the rest of your household gathered around you, wishes poured out and rushed words carrying you off to the cake.

Jimin was excited to see the cake, three tiers of it. Y/N’s eyes popped open wide, gaping at the sheer size of it but even as he grabbed her hand, leading her to cut into it; she was looking down, trying to muffle a smile.

He had to commend Yoongi and the entire kitchen staff. The cake was rich, fudgy and even he was rushing after that very last crumble. Finally, he felt the nudge of Taehyung, the cup around his ankle and he moved into action.

“Could I request for the birthday girl to bestow me a dance, your highness?” He stood up from his chair, slyly winking over to where Y/N put down her plate quickly, looking almost as if she was going to laugh.

“Of course, kind sir but I should warn you – I may step on your toes.”

Jimin chuckled, pulling her onto the glittering marble dance floor. “I don’t mind; you can step on my toes anytime.”

Y/N blinked down at him, Jimin could feel her breath catch at the way he would his arm around her waist and clasped her hand and couldn’t help but smile. She tried not to, moving slowly along with the way he led her, her attention focused down mostly to keep from actually crushing his feet when he stopped moving.

“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. Tonight, they’re as much more gorgeous than ever, as if they’re shining solely for you.”

He walked back with Y/N in tow, opening the balcony doors and letting her go out first before he shut them again, turning to see her stand at the rails, looking up where the stars mirrored in her golden eyes, twinkling in the sky and on the earth alike.

“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, gaining her attention again. “Are you enjoying your early birthday festivities?”

Big eyes blinked yet again at him, something shifting beneath as they were lowered. “I am, much more than I would usually, I suppose. I haven’t had a birthday in fifteen years.”

It was Jimin’s turn to blink, only in horror. “Not one in fifteen years?” he asked.

“Well, Taehyung tried, for the first two years, but then…I had no one to share it with. I had no one.”

Jimin closed in to where she stood with her back to him. His hand ached to rest along her cheek, turn her so he could look at her face but he resisted. “You have me now.”

She still didn’t turn. “Jimin…” A breath was drawn, as if steeling her for some deep resolve. He watched as your shoulders, clad in golden shimmers he wasn’t used to seeing her in slumped finally. “Are you happy here, with me?”

Jimin’s first instinct was to blurt out a simple ‘yes’. Was he happy here? Yes, he had everything he could possibly dream of and more here. He had the library, the gardens, the long winding hallways, the grottos…the silence, oh god, the blissful silence where no one bore down on him, no one judged him for not eyeing girls, not being interested in hanging out around the pub, not being Kai’s lackeys.

Was he happy with you? Of course, he, for the first time, felt someone was completely understanding and kind to him. No matter that he was perhaps the first to show her human kindness too but she let him be when he needed, listened to him read, asked him questions and challenged him. She fulfilled him in a way no one had.

No, they were two whole people. They had just found fulfillment in each other, and he was happy to call her home as much as the castle. He was happy. He was content.

Y/N didn’t seem satisfied. Her head turned fractionally, peering at him in such a fashion as to confuse Jimin. “Wouldn’t you ask for anything else, if you could? There must be something more you could ask for.”

Jimin hesitated, once again hand hovering over her but unable to touch. “I…yes,” he sighed, dropping his hand. “I would ask to see my father again but,” he quickly rushed on, lest she be upset. “I know I can’t, so I won’t press for it.”

She turned finally, too fast for him to not be startled. “There is a way. You can see your father.”

Jimin frowned, crossing his arms, more to protect himself against the temptation than defiance. “How?”

The Princess quietly walked by him, opening the doors and carrying on, Jimin taking a moment to follow hurriedly after her, still confused and a little worried before he realized that they were tracking a familiar path to his room.

“You had a way of seeing your father all the time.” Y/N spoke, stopping by the pool in the centre of the room. She bent down over it, gesturing for Jimin to join her. “You can call out for the waters to show you what you wish for. The waters even have healing abilities. The Wizard’s token, left behind to torment me with everything I can’t see but still so that I wouldn’t be able to harm myself in any way.”

Jimin heard it all; unnerved by the way someone could hurt a little child. Yet, the allure of seeing his father was way more than the urge to console the Princess. He sat at the edge as Y/N drew away to give him space.

“Please, show me my father.” Jimin said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.

The water swirled clear, one turn, two turns before deepening into a whirlpool. Images swirled at the very bed of the pool, bubbling up till they hovered over the spin of the water. Jimin watched eyes tearing from horror as his father stumbled from one tree branch, to another, panting, struggling to stay on his feet.

“Oh no, father.” He nearly shouted, before remembering his father couldn’t hear him.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” his father chanted before finally dropping down into the snow, shuddering and curling up in the frigid ground.

“No!” He sprang to his feet, the illusion breaking with his movement, subsiding into the waters again, still and clear. “My father, he’s sick. He’s alone, wandering the woods, looking for me. He could be dying. Y/N, the wolves…what if the wolves find him?”

Jimin turned around to look at you, facing the window, silent as before. He wondered if you had heard him at all.

You had heard him.

Your ears pricked, flattening against the side of your head as you processed the frantic desperation to Jimin’s voice, your mind racing with a million thoughts.

You thought back to your childhood, soft smiles and misty words now fogged with time…and then all you remembered was pain. The pain of changing and growing too many sizes too big, the eruptions of the fur, claws, having to get used to them. The pain of being unable to eat and the consequent process of starvation until Namjoon figured out how to feed you – like a dog.

The fear of being hunted mingled with the uninterrupted loneliness that no matter how much your staff tried to ebb, would never cease.

You remembered back to spending hours upon hours with the statues of your parents, wailing when it got too much, with even your own people afraid to approach you.

Then you thought back to the first day you’d met Jimin; brave and strong and so sacrificing, martyring himself for his father to stay here…with you; showing you kindness, helping you, teaching you, and even saving your life.

He’d sparked companionship for you.

How were you repaying it?

By holding him captive here? You had seen the devastation on his face that first night, the same pain that had been your constant. How could you claim to feel anything for him when you were hurting him?

You had lost everything as a child, and you had grown up used to it. You couldn’t put Jimin through the fresh agony of it. He had a life to get back to, loving people to help him.

He was human. He didn’t deserve to live with a paltry princess living in a curse.

And with that came the final blow…

How could he love someone who had torn him apart from his father? How could Jimin be fond of someone who had basically subjected his father to a pitiful, lonely death?

So you quelled the cry of your heart, steeling bands of iron around it until you could nurse its break alone. You made the decision simply because it was already set in place.

“You should go. Go back to him.” You said quietly.

There was a pause.

“What did you say?” You heard him, too close to you and you flinched away from his proximity.

“I grant you your freedom. You’re no longer my prisoner.” You turned to face him, grateful for the fur that absorbed any stray tears before they were obvious.

Jimin’s eyes were shiny as well, but you knew they were tears of joy. He gaped, his breath catching before he spoke, choked up – “Thank you.”

You watched, leaning against the window as he hurried to take off the heavy coat, instead shrugging on a simple, heavier cloak. He pulled on boots, easier to wade in the snow.

You, on the other hand, went to one of the dressers, unearthing a vial and moving to the pool, dipping and collecting the water in the shimmering glass.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/N. I think I’ll have to bring my father along sometime – convince him that you’re actually a big softie, none of the roaring monster that you were so kind enough to act as.”

His voice was teasing; light, even jovial as he eagerly approached you. You remained silent, handing him the vial.

“Here, take this. It’ll be useful to you. If you need to be healed…or it can help you remember me.”

Jimin’s smile faltered, looking from the proffered container back up to your eyes, now obviously dripping.

“I’m not going to be very long, Y/N. At least, not long enough for me to forget you.” He laughed, still pocketing the vial when you didn’t withdraw it. Sighing, you shook your enormous head.

“No…you can’t come back. You have to stay away. Stay with your father.” You refused to meet his eyes.

“Wait, what…what are you saying? What do you mean I have to stay away?”

“It means that you shouldn’t come back to the castle.” Your voice broke. “You have to stay in the town, maybe even go back to Paris. Live your life, Jimin; you have the rest of it. You deserve much better than living in a dilapidated castle with a monster.”

“No! No, I can’t…Y/N; you’re part of my life. I can’t…I can’t just, let you think that of yourself and your home. Y/N, you’re so important to me.”

He was reaching for you, his hand going to wrap around yours but you backed away quickly, unable to let him touch you lest you break down and beg for him to come back, to stay with you. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject him to that.

You loved him too much for that.

Instead, you fled, turning on your heel and exiting the room on all fours, ignoring his rough calls of your name. You knew he wouldn’t waste time chasing you, not with his father in that state, not with the threat of the wolves hanging about his head.

When you entered your room, your whole staff was already present, with expectant beams on their faces. You even spied Jungkook in the midst, the feather duster nearly reeking of disdain.

“Well, how did it go? Did he say it back?” Seokjin nearly shook from excitement.

You dropped your head, already dreading their reaction. “I…I let him go. His father is sick. He needed to go back.”

There was a silence so deep, so disappointed; you inwardly cringed even when Jungkook broke it with a caustic snicker.

“But…but we were so close. Why would you do that, Princess?” Namjoon asked.

You walked to the window, throwing them open to see the last vestiges of hooves vanishing in the snow. “Because, I love him,”

Y/N had been right. There had been no time for Jimin to process what had just transpired in his room, not when the cries of his father echoed through his head. He mounted Jjangu and sped off in the direction he’d gleaned his father would be. He had to be single-minded for his father for now, he decided. He couldn’t take care of the old man if his thoughts were littered with questions, with confusion, with hurt as to why it was so easy for Y/N to just tell him to leave. Did she not feel the same for him as he did her?

He knew he couldn’t disrespect her by showing up with his sick father at her doorstep after she’d told him to leave. Perhaps, after his father was healthy, he would map the course again, ask for answers, and plead to stay with her. Perhaps, he’d hurt her somehow and this was her way of protecting herself…?

Jimin sighed, laying his father back before warming water, laying thick cloths soaked in hot water along his forehead to fight the cold back. It took him back to when he’d patched Y/N up after the wolf attack and he had to shake off the thought when his father stirred, looking blearily up at him. “Jimin…you’re back!” His father sat up too quickly, holding his son at arm’s rest to check him before pulling him to his breast.

“Ah, son…I never thought I would see you again. But how…how did you escape the monster?”

Something tugged in him at his father’s tone, making him pull away from the man. “She’s not a monster, father. The legend of the Castle is true. She’s the cursed Princess…” Jimin sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes taking on the sheen of reminiscence as he recounted his journey with her till he was told to go back to his father.

He hoped perhaps, that his father would encourage him to go back, but he needed him to be stronger first, so once his tale was over, his father still gaping at how Jimin made the monster who had imprisoned him and his son sound so human, he fell asleep.

Jimin, however, didn’t. He paced back and forth from the fireplace to the bed, interrupted only by a quick, sharp knock on the door.

Scowling at the late hour, Jimin opened the door, not too pleased to see who it was on the threshold.

“Jimin,” Kai beamed, almost too familiarly as Hyebin tipped her hood back, studying Jimin as if she was planning to gut him. Her nails were digging into her brother’s arm and Jimin wondered how strong Kai had to be to not wince.

“Kai,” Jimin modulated his voice coolly. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Entirely too late, my good man,” Kai turned his head to his sister. “Didn’t I tell you it would be rude to show up right now?”

Hyebin didn’t answer.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him further annoyed. He needed time and space to think, to process things. His father was sick, he had been a prisoner in an enchanted castle where he had found more solace and acceptance than he had in freedom, he had fallen for a cursed Princess who might or might not return his feelings but had forbade him to return to her. He needed to make plans for his future.

He couldn’t be discourteous though, not when they’d taken the trouble of coming by.

“Come in please; my father is ill and sleeping so if you could keep your voices down and be quick about this…” He let the door fall open further. Kai and Hyebin walked in as if they weren’t going to take no for an answer anyway, shedding off their cloaks and making themselves at home.

“Well Jimin, I must say it’s a relief to see you. Your father had been by the pub, you know, raving on about you being kidnapped and all by some monster and imprisoned. We dropped by a few times later to see the house empty.” Kai said. “We all thought he’d gone mad, or you’d run away and he was just lying to make us all look for you.”

Jimin didn’t look at the taller man, feeling the pinpricks of anger flare again at the accusation. “I…yes, I’ve been away. I was at the castle. My father wasn’t lying, neither is he mad,” He said coldly.

There was a silence in which unbeknownst to Jimin, Kai and Hyebin exchanged looks.

“Wait, you’re talking about the palace? The royal palace on the hill…that’s where you were and the monster is real?” Hyebin asked, bug eyed.

“Yes, the monster is your Princess and she’s not vicious or anything, Hyebin, unlike how you described her when you told me the story. She doesn’t devour children and she doesn’t make their bones into furniture.” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms before sighing as he glanced into the fireplace, eyes and voice softening. “She’s a little short-tempered, yes but she’s kind hearted and caring and intelligent and curious. She’s my friend.”

Kai watched Jimin calculatingly, while Hyebin clenched her jaw.

“It sounds like you like her.” She said finally.

“I do. Also, it’s really late. I think I should go to bed as well.” He said. His voice left no room for argument.

Kai gave him a tight smile, his too white teeth glinting almost maliciously in the firelight. “You think…it wise to harbor such feelings for a monster, Jimin? Need I remind you this…thing is cursed and is a bad omen in our town?”

“No Kai, she isn’t. Now please, I am tired.”

For a second, he thought that Hyebin would refuse flatly but even as he steeled himself to assert himself yet again, she was standing and with Kai in tow, moved out without another word.

Jimin puffed a breath of relief, moving to douse the fireplace. The swab plunged the living space in darkness and he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back, already looking forward to his bed when he heard the hushed conversation not too far from the house.

The one thing about living so far from the town and right in the middle of a disused farm was that there was nothing to absorb sounds. Each and every noise reverberated and echoed loudly in his house, enough for him to never be startled.

He went to the window, keeping back enough to see Kai, now holding his torch above him and Hyebin, talking. While Hyebin didn’t bother to lower her voice, Kai was trying to shush her, low and hissing but even his voice carried back to Jimin’s focused ears.

“…you didn’t see his eyes, Kai. He doesn’t just like this bitch. He loves her. He won’t even hear any truths about her!” Hyebin screeched.

“You sure know how to pick them, sister. A man who’s into bestiality,” Kai snidely replied, stopping when Hyebin grabbed his collars.

“This isn’t funny. You have to talk sense into him…or…I don’t…I don’t know, we have to kill this Princess of his.” Hyebin said.

“Keep your damn voice down, will you? Is that all you can think of in your pea brain? Jimin, Jimin, Jimin; all the time…it’s annoying.” Kai snatched away his coat from Hyebin. “Think of it like this, little sister. This girl is a Princess. She is our Princess, a royal. We cannot truly establish a government because a monarch is alive.”

“What the hell does that matter?”

“Darling sister, do use sense. Jimin is here, which means this Princess doesn’t have a man around right now.”

“So…?”

Jimin heard Kai snap his jaw. “So, sister, I go and I marry her. Simple, and effective; I become King, all powerful and she is out of your way. I will command Jimin to marry you and since you will be royal; he cannot hope to refuse.”

“You…you cannot be serious, Kai. I mean, are you really going to do that? She’s an animal.” Hyebin’s shock was palpable even to Jimin.

“Well, of course I don’t intend to honor the marriage wholly. I’m a hunter, aren’t I? Think of it like my greatest hunt, one that makes us the most powerful pair here. Plus, who’s to know…? Maybe the Princess meets a little accident a few days after our wedding. At least the kingdom will have a king they know and trust; they will only see it more as a sacrifice on my part.”

“You’re…despicable, brother.” Hyebin’s lips trembled before stretching into a cruel smile that looked odd on her beautiful face. “But a genius,”

“I know that. Now hurry up, we need to go to the pub and collect a mob. I cannot go alone in case the Princess tries to get aggressive. I’m going to need witnesses just in case we need to come back and convince Jimin his lovely Princess was actually a monster after all.”

Jimin was moving even before the fleck of light completely vanished from sight.

All thoughts and feelings of exhaustion melted from his body, arms and legs regaining energy as he burst into his father’s room. The old man started awake from the sound, jolting and clutching the sheets as he looked at the manic light in Jimin’s eyes.

“Son, what – what’s the matter?”

“I have to go father. I have to go back to the castle. Y/N is in danger.” Jimin rushed his words, tossing things from dressers till he found a bag, throwing some matches and a torch into it. He patted his pockets for the vial of pool water Y/N had given him, about to turn for the door when his father clasped his shoulders.

“No! I just got you back; I cannot let you go back there!”

“Father, you don’t understand. Kai…he’s taking a mob to her! They’re going to kill her, all because I opened my mouth.”

Jimin’s father wavered, his grip loosening only slightly.

“Come with me, then. See for yourself.” Jimin moved past the old man, not waiting for him to follow. However, when he reached Jjangu, who raised his head quizzically, his father, was right there, climbing on behind his son.

Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, he leaned over to Jjangu’s ear.

“Come on boy, we’re going home to our Princess.”

Jjangu whinnied, rising up on his front legs and then they were racing from the stable, in the direction of the palace.

Jjangu thankfully took the way that they were most familiar with, through the woods. Even as they surpassed the town, he could see the lit fires, domestic weapons of all sorts raised as cries and shouts filled his ears. They were breaking down the blockade; he realized when he saw the closed bookshop, going only the way they knew.

His fault…his fault…

Jimin shook his head, nudging Jjangu to go faster. He had to reach Y/N before Kai did, or he would never forgive himself.

The fire leapt high and powerful, licks of warmth flaring out against where you sat with your back to the muttering and mourning gossips of your royal staff.

You knew that the moment you’d spilled out the truth about how you’d sent Jimin away, even forbidding him to ever set foot back in the castle, you’d basically condemned your entire household and yourself to a grim fate, but could you condemn him to one as well? No, you couldn’t. Besides, you were used to this now, used to living like an animal. Jimin shouldn’t have to live in company of one for the rest of his life.

Behind you, Jungkook led most of the ranting. “I’m telling you; this was the plan all along. Get the Mistress all soft and mushy so he could get out of here first chance he could get.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighed. “His father was sick.”

“So, all our families are probably dead now. We won’t ever get to see them now, or even to see their gravestones.”

You knew he was right. Maybe it was ok to live with yourself like this, but sacrificing your own people to this curse made guilt creep up your throat tenfold.

“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have gotten as attached to him as we did, even before knowing what his obligations were.” Seokjin said.

You were about to turn to snap at them all to get back to their chores when Namjoon suddenly squeaked, the clogs of his clockwork chiming anxiously.

“Wait, wait, there’s someone coming…OH lords above! Princess, Princess, it’s the townsfolk, invading the castle gates. It’s a mob!”

“Wait, what…?” You nearly fell off the chair, confused when the doors to the sitting room were flung open again, a squad of soldier armor leading a panting Jimin in.

“Y/N…mob, people are coming for you…run!” He managed to puff out before leaning his weight on his knees, drawing heavy breaths.

You blinked quickly. Didn’t you tell him not to come back? But he was here now, come to warn you about the mob…worrying for your safety.

“Jimin…” You breathed, “You came back.”

You drew closer to the wheezing man, a paw running along his smooth cheek.

“Of course, I did. I had to warn you.” Jimin looked up at you, time slowing as your gazes remained suspended. He placed his own hand on yours, squeezing it even as Jungkook broke it in his rasp.

“Well now, that’s sweet. So, are we to assume you led the mob here before promptly losing courage?”

You and Jimin both turned to look at the feather duster now propped up on a dresser, eyeing Jimin with as much disdain as you had seen him do you. Jimin gaped, flabbergasted while you were ready to rip out all his feathers.

“Jungkook, he came to warn us. Don’t be an idiot.” Namjoon said roughly.

“I can’t believe you’d lap that up, sir. He left here, went back home to tend to his ill father, so he said, and now he’s back…with encroachers on his heel. Why would you believe him? Because of the pool; the waters are also subject to imagination, Namjoon, or have you forgotten?”

“Enough, we cannot fight amongst ourselves, we have to protect the castle and our Princess.” Yoongi said. He turned to the soldiers, ordering for them to gather the rest of the household up and prepare for defenses.

“Ask him, Princess. Ask your dearest if he told them or not.”

You rolled your eyes at Jungkook, turning, however, to Jimin. It was better to put this to rest. “Tell him, then, tell him you didn’t.”

Jimin was still looking at Jungkook, a peculiar expression of conflict gathering his eyebrows together.

“Jimin…” You prompted.

“I…” He looked at you then, and just the look in his eyes – wide, pleading, had your hand slipping from him.

“See,” Jungkook said, as Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung gaped at their friend. “I told you, he told them.”

“Jimin, tell me you didn’t.” You whispered.

“I – I did, but I had no idea -,”

“That they were going to take advantage of the fact that a whole castle was left unattended and come to loot it? Or that they were going to come to kill and behead the Princess so they could mount her head upon their walls?”

“Why…how could you?”

Jimin looked at you again, away from the brewing anger and distrust of the staff. “Y/N, try and understand. I only told the truth, I told them you were harmless.”

“You’re lying.” Jungkook hissed.

You watched his hand try to reach for you, pull at you, but you drew away, cringing away from his touch. He stuttered in his steps, looking at you, beseeching.

“Princess,” Namjoon called softly, “what are your orders?”

You looked away from Jimin, reminding yourself you had duties to perform. “Keep safe the castle. My parents…they shouldn’t have to see their home seized in front of their eyes.” Your anger flared as you glared at Jimin finally. “Remind them that there still is a monster in the castle.”

Without another word, you dropped down on all fours and leaped clean over Jimin’s head, bounding for the roof from where you could see everything and lead stray invaders away from your people and home.

Your orders were followed to a tee. Thousands of household goods launched an attack on the people who were mostly comprised of men, having no idea how to operate the basic home wares.

Drawers smacked into jaws, hot water and oil were poured on head, knives and burning torches chased men around until they thought it better to just leave the castle alone and crawl away, defeated.

You stood on top of the parapets, watching your subjects nurse and curse over their bruised and burned extremities, retreating from your home. Perhaps, there would be no reason for the monster to show up after all. No legends would pass around; no one would spread talk to lure hunters and thieves to your home.

You didn’t go down though, instead, curling into yourself on the edge of the roof.

As happy as you were about the prospect of people leaving you alone, you had to contend with the fact that it was Jimin, the man you trusted, the man you loved who had ruthlessly allowed people to come hunt for you. You had mattered nothing to him. It would’ve been better to have someone draw a knife through your heart now, it might’ve hurt less than the betrayal.

“Oh Princess,”

Your ears pricked.

“There you are. You know, when I didn’t see a huge, hunkering monster down below I was worried Jimin might have lied.”

The voice was unfamiliar, nasty and it grated on your nerves so you stayed still, hoping the person would mistake you for a statue and pass by.

“Apparently, the poor boy hadn’t lied. He was so in misery you see, had to come back, leaving his little lady behind. Someone had to convince him that a princess needs a real man around for a husband.”

You frowned, feeling it draw closer.

“So I have a proposition. You marry me and we live happily enough. I’ll even throw in a wedding kiss.”

The footsteps behind you stopped, and you hoped that your silence had fooled him enough until they started again. “Now, Princess, it’s rude to not acknowledge a man talking to you. Turn around; let’s see what got Jimin so dewy eyed. I have to see if you’re worth all the talk.”

You remained still.

“Turn around now.”

You ignored him.

A sharp, plunging pain ripped through your back, making you gasp and seize up. Something pinched at the centre of your back, protruding out and you knew it was an arrow, turning to see the tall man, draw another from his quiver, placing it on his bow.

“Well now, looks like we’ve found our communication link. Are you going to be nice, now?”

You flailed, clawing behind to draw out the agonizing spike from your body.

“No use. I have perfect aim. Now, stop dancing and listen unless you want another to keep it company in your chest.”

He drew back the bow string.

“KAI, STOP!”

You stopped as well, seeing the man – Kai – turn around to look at where Jimin stood on the top most balconies, leaning almost all the way down. You took advantage of the momentary distraction of the hunter, throwing your full weight at him.

Your muscles and joints screamed at your movements, huge as they were, weighing you further down as the man turned quickly to you, trying to aim the arrow towards your body. You gripped his hand, twisting it out of the way.

“This is a nice surprise! Seems like you really are a monster, and here you were hoping for a human companion!” The Hunter laughed maniacally, shaking hair out of his eyes.

You growled, pulling the hunter close enough to snatch his bow, snapping it with a simply pinch of your fingers. “Get out of my house.” You gripped his throat, squeezing just enough for him to be able to tell. “Never come back…or I will kill you.” You flung the man away from him as the disgusting being that he was, backing away.

Adrenaline fading, the fatigue of blood loss raised its ugly head again, faltering your steps and blurring your vision.

“Y/N, here, come here, you’re hurt.”

You turned once again to where Jimin stood, his hand extended for you and stumbled towards him, shaky feet nearly throwing you over the edge more than once. You reached near him, raising your hand to grasp his and began to climb.

“You’re still here.” You choked.

“Of course, I had to clear things up.” Jimin smiled, eyeing you carefully.

You made to return the smile when another scream of pain tore through you, making Jimin jump before he saw the knife embedded deep in your side.

“NO!” He roared, feeling you slip from his fingers when he saw Kai’s added weight clinging to your cloak.

Your back curved backwards; Kai gripping the back of your cloak and hair in a tight fist. His lips split in a wide, sinister smile. “Go on Jimin, pull us up. You save her, you save me.”

Jimin snarled a curse at Kai, eyes darting from your drooping eyes to Kai’s bright ones. He couldn’t save Kai, he knew that. Left alive, he’d keep coming back again and again. You would never truly be safe with Kai alive.

“It’s okay…”

Jimin’s eyes snapped to Y/N, narrowing at the small smile tugging at your lips in puzzlement.

“It’s okay; you have to let me go…”

“What, no, I’m not going to -,”

“It’s better this way.”

“Y/N, no, Kai let her go!”

“I love you, Jimin. I’m…I suppose this is goodbye.”

Jimin opened his mouth to shout for you to hold on when all sound stopped short. You opened your paw, his own hand too weak to hold up all the weight of your body and Kai together. He watched, too slow to move, too stunned to understand as your eyes closed, still smiling while Kai’s eyes widened, almost comically, smile fading and mouth opening in a silent scream as you both fell.

There was no time for Jimin to even scream for you.

Everything was numb. Everything was silent.

Well, in all actuality, a battle had waged around him, promptly won by the small but mighty objects of Y/N’s household. Cheers of victory and joy could be heard from the lower rungs of the Castle. It was just that Jimin’s eyes could only see Y/N’s last smile, hear her last confession and feel her hand slipping from his.

All he knew was that Y/N was down here somewhere – ironically, falling right into her parent’s grotto – and he had to reach her. Nothing else mattered.

The soft grass of the grotto crushed and crumbled under Jimin’s boots, as he walked and broke into aching jogs as he spied the huge mass of fur on its side, reminiscent of when he’d seen Y/N topple over after saving him from the wolves. The memory stung his chest now.

“Y/N,” he gasped seeing Kai’s body almost completely trapped under hers, his fist still closed around her clothes.

He bent over, ripping his hand away and rolling his dead body away till it lay feet away, open eyes dead and unseeing, his laughter finally fading into nothingness.

Falling to his knees, he heaved Y/N’s head onto his arms, propping it against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as well; smile gone and he could spot a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth into the fur. His hand trailed down to the knife in her side, slowly, gently easing it out and tossing far away from her as both arms came to wrap around her, rocking.

“Y/N, hey, it’s okay, come on wake up. He’s gone. Kai’s dead and every one fled. You’re safe now.” He hushed.

She lay still, too still, not even shifting a little in answer to his voice.

“Y/N,” Jimin vowed now to give up so soon. She had to be alive, she was probably just unconscious. He tapped her cheeks, ran his fingers through the mass of her hair and fur.

“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.” He buried his head against her neck, taking in a whiff of the musk that he was so used to now. There was a change now; it smelt too metallic, too…sodden. “Please, wake up.”

She couldn’t be dead…she couldn’t leave him like this; not after saying she loved him and pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.

His body shook, feeling the chill settle in. Somehow, Y/N’s body that radiated so much warmth normally wasn’t enough to keep the cold away now. Jimin shuddered, drawing her closer before closing his eyes finally. A sob choked its way out his lips, followed by a sound that was too close to Y/N’s own agonized ones.

“Please, come back, Y/N, please, I love you too. So much, so much, please,” he rocked faster, more to keep himself moving than to shake her awake. He couldn’t stop moving, it would only mean for him to accept that Y/N wasn’t moving as well and that she was…she was.

His tears soaked through her fur.

“Now, this is quite the unfortunate situation.”

Jimin hiccupped, looking up to where someone new had joined them in the grotto. For a wild second he thought that it was Kai but no. This man was much taller, skinnier, even unhealthy looking.

A snap echoed from behind him and he jumped, looking about to see a very familiar pack of wolves surrounding him, grinning and tongues lolling. He pulled Y/N closer but the wolves didn’t seem to intent on attacking, instead collecting behind the new arrival.

Jimin squinted, wiping off the blurring tears to see the man was known to him.

“You,” He said at the bookseller who peered down at the cursed Princess with something akin to bitterness.

“Me,” The old man hummed, turning to face the wolves and Jimin was astounded to see that a wave of this man’s hand was enough to line them neatly up.

“How…I thought you never left the bookshop. Did you come with Kai?”

“Kai?” The bookseller laughed, caustic casting a cursory glance at the dead man feet away. “That pathetic excuse for a human and you think he’d have any sort of influence over me?”

Jimin watched as the man drew himself to full height before light erupted out from somewhere in his chest, blinding Jimin and making him feel colder than he did before. Once he felt the light fade from his screwed up eyelids, he peeked through, gaping in disbelief.

Long black robes swirled around the now, considerably younger man, almost as if it was sewn directly from the shadows around him. Long sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos in a language Jimin had never seen before, glowing even till the skin of his bald head and face.

“Not quite who you expected, I see.” The man said.

Jimin was still trying to put together the old bookseller who had been so friendly to him transformed into this being when with a clatter and loud clangs they were surrounded with more things – this time on Y/N’s side.

Namjoon’s clock chimed angrily, Seokjin’s fiery wick gleaming in the dark as they caught the man standing over Jimin and Y/N. “The Wizard,” They gasped, followed quickly by Yoongi and the others who skid to a halt.

“Be gone, monster! You have killed our Mistress!” Yoongi clattered.

“You’re the one who cursed Y/N.” Jimin said, realization dawning over him like a pot of cold water. However, there was no fear in his voice. After all what was the use? Y/N was dead, neither she nor he could be hurt any further.

“Now, now, calm please. Is that any way to greet the man about to grant you salvation?” The Wizard raised his palms.

“You cursed us too swine!” Namjoon yelled.

“I did. And I fully intended to come back on her birthday to remind her that she owed herself to me if she wanted to have her life and loved ones back. It seems,” He looked down at Jimin cradling her body and again there was strange bitterness to his gaze, “I have been rendered useless. She has found love…I didn’t think it would’ve been possible.”

He looked up.

“So now, here, my word means something in the world.” Light shone again, only this time it was blue.

Jimin watched the light move out from the Wizard, creeping slowly to where Y/N lay against him. The light cocooned her, moving forward till it had surrounded everyone present in the grotto and on and on till all he could see was blue.

Jimin’s proximity helped in seeing Y/N, and he clasped her protectively, worried the light was going to further cause her harm. Only, it didn’t. Instead, her weight began to ease up off of Jimin. Fur receded and fell off from her body to reveal smooth skin, wet and smeared with visible blood, fangs shrunk back, and ears flattened and became smaller.

The huge mass of a creature began to slowly shrivel, until all that remained in his arms could no longer pass off as an animal. No, this was laughably, astonishingly, human.

Jimin raised a hand inquisitively, running it through the strands of hair that were now free from the matting of fur, his hand coming back red.

“She’s…”

“Back to normal…or rather what she would’ve grown up to be; that’s about as normal as I can make her.” The Wizard snorted at his own joke.

“Is…your highness,” Jimin turned to see that there were people in the grotto, no longer just objects.

A tall tanned man stood foremost, dimples poking out as a wondrous smile lit up his face, hands running over his suit. “I…I’m a man again!”

“Or how much you were before,” Another spoke, taller than the first, golden hair falling into his eyes.

“Gentlemen, calm down!” A shorter man barked.

These were strangers to Jimin, or maybe not. He looked back up at the Wizard, ignoring the joyous reunions behind him. “She’s…still dead.”

“Yes, but then, the way to bring her back to life is with you, isn’t it?”

Jimin was about to ask what he meant when he remembered the vial. The vial full of the pool water, that Y/N had said had healing abilities.

He delved deep, bringing out the mercifully intact vial before upending it completely into Y/N’s open mouth.

He waited, with bated breath as moments passed. And then – skin knitted back together, the grey pallor of her face smoothed till a healthy glow seeped in her cheeks.

With a huge shaky breath, Y/N opened her eyes again, fumbling with her body as if it scratched at her.

“Y/N, hey, Y/N,” Jimin grabbed her hands, much smaller and claw less, fitting into his easily.

Big, wide, fearful eyes met Jimin’s. “J-Jimin?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Jimin placed his head against hers, taking in a deep inhale that wasn’t of musk but of bloodied skin, of sorrow, or uncertainty. Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Jimin turned his head to place his lips swiftly on yours.

There was no reciprocation at first, worrying Jimin that perhaps, he’d pushed you too far too fast. However, he felt your small hand move past his neck into his hair, entwining with the strands to hold him against you.

He moved away from your face, reminding himself that you still needed time and space to learn physical love when your eyes, now bright with unshed tears landed on something behind him.

It took him a bit to register the utter silence, hushed conversation behind him and he turned to see that the huge statues that used to be the only decorations in the grotto were no longer there, instead right behind him stood a couple, too familiar.

“Mama! Daddy!”

Y/N fled Jimin’s arms, instead throwing herself into her parent’s arms. Jimin fell back from the impact; quickly picking himself up to see the pair wrap their tight arms around their daughter, tears streaking through dirty, muddied faces.

The man was tall, his wife regal as they still retained the glow of youth, having spent their lives inanimate. Their daughter may have grown in front of their eyes but there was near to no difference in ages, Jimin noticed. He turned his head, but the Wizard and his pack of wolves were long gone.

Y/N shirt and pants were also now tattered, too huge on her now smaller body. Jimin tugged off his coat, wrapping it delicately around her shoulders when a hand stopped him from moving away. He looked at the queen, small crown still perched into her mussed hair who smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, tugging him closer till he was hugging Y/N from the back as well, and Jimin couldn’t be more grateful at the gesture.

The moments, hell, the days after the…incident, or rather your birthday had been all muddles and stumbling through time. As a cursed monster, time had seemed to stretch, with you craving love and companionship simply because you’d been told that they would break your curse. The very notion of these emotions had become a means to an end.

You had so much to learn, you realized when you stepped back into a castle that had no broken ceilings, no gaping holes, no smears of dirt and growing moss. The stones gleamed, jewels sparkled, sculptures loomed, just as they had in your distant memories.

Everyone stared, even the members of your household who had lived with you forever. You supposed you weren’t the only ones in need of reacclimatizing.

Chamber maids and maids in waiting dragged you and your mother away almost immediately. You were washed, scrubbed, hair oiled and washed and scented, similar to the ball but only this time the gown they put you in felt too big, too airy for you. Your skin, used to being protected by masses of fur and hard muscles shuddered at the gauzes and weightlessness of your new things.

Mirrors and portraits, previously smashed or torn by your claws had been reinstated and you had spent hours just staring at the unfamiliar face in the reflection. You weren’t a child anymore; you weren’t the beast you were used to seeing in cracks of glass and shards of mirrors. You had grown into a young maiden and you had no idea who you were.

The resurgence of a bustling royal palace, with many of the staff setting out to locate their families had created a buzz. Kai, the hunter had been dragged away and Hyebin, his sister as Jimin told you had been tried for conspiracy for murder.

Of course, things hadn’t become hunky dory fast. Things still needed to be sorted out, a monarchy had to be established because the so called government that had put Kai in charge in the first place was found now corrupt, seeing how easy it had been to rile up the public on the word of one man with no proof at all.

You left your father to handle these matters. Your mother had something much more stressful for you to think about.

Whether or not you wanted to marry Park Jimin…

You knew he was in the palace somewhere, along with his father. He’d come seen you but there hadn’t been much conversation. You had been too unsure of your own self, of your new or rather old body and you wondered if Jimin liked you as a human as much as he had when you were a creature.

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin had said, once on a slow walk around the garden. Your steps were much slower now, smaller feet tended to do that but none of you were in a hurry. It seemed Jimin was as eager to know the new you as you were. “I loved you when you were covered in fur and I love you now, even though I must say I was hoping to introduce a few of my friends to my beastly fiancée.” You had smacked his arm, unsettled at the joke even though he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry so much about this. The curse is past. No one and I mean it, will ever hurt you now. They’ll have to go through me.”

The burning sincerity in his eyes and voice left no room for you to argue or doubt.

And so, you shyly visited your parents that very evening, hand looped in your lover’s, asking for their blessing to marry him.

Your engagement to Jimin lasted longer than any a royal was supposed to have, stretching out for months as you relearned human life. You were taught to walk properly on two legs, carrying things with a tiara affixed to your hair. For days you would bat at your hair when the pins keeping it in place pinched or pulled at you.

You learned how to dress yourself, how to put on various forms of jewelry, how to take baths and resumed your studies and royal duties.

Suffice it to say, you were now missing your animalistic life at times, you were so exhausted.

However, Jimin was a constant, learning with you, talking you through the harder aspects, supportive, encouraging, and absolutely perfect. It was also getting hard to keep your hands to yourself when it came to your private moments.

Physical love was one aspect that you absolutely dreaded touching upon. You wondered if you would be good enough, if Jimin would find pleasure in you or if you would find pleasure in him. He did place chaste kisses against your skin and lips when he thought it was okay to do so and you had only found him losing control once. It had been late at night when he visited you and had read to you till you were drowsy. With only a mind to gently kiss you goodnight, he had leant in only to be trapped by your hands, trying to get as close as you could to him.

He’d gripped at you, trying to pry out of your touch but had melted fast, molding and pressing you to your mattress. You had felt him growing aroused against your pelvic bone, rutting against you, gasping when he pulled away, blinking and shaking hair out of his eyes.

“Now now, love, we have time.” He’d pecked your cheek, disentangling himself from you before almost limping out.

Soon enough, it was time for the main event of your life.

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook returned in days time, bringing what was left or added to their families and they stayed on till after your wedding took place.

Jungkook had mellowed in the face of his parents being alive, fifteen years older of course but delighted to have him back. He’d wished you well, but not apologized for his earlier behavior – you didn’t expect him to either.

Your parents had gone above and beyond for the wedding, throwing the lavish event for the entire town and further to come attend. Your gown was created for weeks, Hoseok personally supervising the process so that when you walked down the altar finally, upon your teary eyed father’s arm; you erased all thoughts that you had been a monster for most of your life prior.

You left the palace for your honeymoon, following Jimin’s advice to leave the royal duties to your still young and hearty parents while you took some time with your husband, so you could acquaint yourself both to him and to the world that he wanted to show you.

You knew where to start the journey of course, with your groom’s lips twitching at the very first words that tumbled out during the ceremonial dance.

“Please,” you’d whispered, laying your head close to his heart.

“Anything for you, darling,” Jimin had whispered back, smile obvious in his voice. “Paris it is.”

Jimin might not ever get used to the feeling of you fitting into his arms, you thought to yourself, glancing at your now husband, ever so often.

He’d lifted you up into his arms the moment you’d stepped off the carriage, beaming about something called the threshold ceremony, carrying you through the doors of the French villa carefully.

“Satisfied?” You asked when he stood still, eyeing the windows in contemplation.

“I’m wondering if I’m missing something but I can’t think of anything as of yet. So yes, here you go.” He placed you down, letting you walk through the house while he watched over the servants who carried through your luggage.

A late meal later, you stood at the mirror in the bedroom, painstakingly pulling out the multiple pins from the up-do your hair had been twisted in, your husband peeking in with a mischievous grin.

“Having fun?”

“No,” You grumbled, your arms dropping from the strain. Jimin walked up behind you, beginning to quickly pull out the multitudes of metal from your hair that would make a magnet drool. “Why are there so many?”

“Look on the bright side,” Jimin muttered, delving deeper into your scalp, “For the rest of our honeymoon, you could be completely free from all of this, until of course we have to go back.”

You glanced up at him quickly, seeing the darkening expression brooding on your husband’s face as he dropped the final pins on to the dresser.

“I was thinking.”

“Yes,” you squeaked out embarrassingly.

“Well, we’re all alone now, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone walking in on us.”

You turned around completely, confused. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“Of course,” his smile flickered. “What else would I be worried about?”

Your eyes fell, feeling all sorts of stupid now. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t…you know, feel that way about me now.”

A finger brushed under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Love, I married you.”

“Yes but,”

“Mm, but nothing, come on; let me show you what I feel for you.”

Jimin’s arms, much stronger than you had given him credit for swooped under your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist swiftly. As a monster, you had never given thought to how powerful Jimin really was, but now when you were human, much more fragile than you were used to, he was blatantly flaunting his strength.

You couldn’t fault him for that.

Your husband dropped you onto the centre of the massive bed, arms balancing his weight over you. “Are you okay about this? I don’t want to force you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“No,” you reached for him, winding arms around his neck. “I’m fine, I want to feel you. I want to learn this with you.”

Your eyes closed automatically when he kissed you, sweetly but strongly, tongue laving over your lips, slipping between with less to no battle from you. Your mouth parted easily for him, letting him plunder moans from you.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathed, pulling away before his eyes were widening. “Oh, I’ve never cursed like that before.”

His cheeks were so red, you couldn’t help but laugh. “No worries, I’ve never made someone curse like that before either.”

Jimin’s fingers trailed to the ties of your night shift. “Perhaps, we’re a bad influence upon one another.”

“Perhaps,” your breath caught in agreement, Jimin’s fingers pulling at a peaking nipple while his head lowered to suckle on the other. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, my darling wife,” his lips were curved wickedly when he resurfaced; sitting up to remove the cotton night shirt he wore and tugging off the gown from your body right after.

You lay naked under him, open for his perusal and taking. Your hand shifted up, trying to pull the sheets up to cover some of your modesty until Jimin caught up, taking your hands to place them right there.

“There,” His mouth opened, tongue rubbing over his swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel that? That’s what I feel for you. You don’t need to hide from me love, never ever. I have loved you before, I love you now and I will continue to love you more for all our days to come. Do you understand?”

You meekly nodded.

Jimin’s eyes flashed down your body, knees parting yours before his hand touched your bare core, running over the nub in circles. “Am I understood, love?”

“Yes-yes,” you gasped, neck falling back for him place kisses even as a finger slipped through inside of you, thick but gentle, stretching you just so.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Jimin removed his hand, placing the digit in his mouth, eyes still firm between your legs. Normally the lecherous look on any man would have you burst with rage but Jimin had you nearly quivering in anticipation, especially when he finally pushed down his trousers.

You had never seen a cock before, never having any contact with a human male, but you had to say Jimin’s was an impressive specimen. Thick in girth and flushed a sensuous red, the head throbbed in need before he was guiding himself to your body.

“Ready, love, I need you to breathe with me.”

Jimin dropped low on you, lips tugging and pushing at yours, his spare hand clasping your breast to distract you as he pushed in. your knee bent, curving over his hip as you gasped, eyes watering at the sharp pinching sensation deep within you. Your husband halted, waiting for the expression of discomfort and pain to pass from your face, fingers brushing away any stray moisture from the corner of your eyes.

“I…I’m okay, please move.” You told him, Jimin studying you carefully before he drew back, thrusting in experimentally. The first drags of his hips, followed by the slow plunges still made you bite down your lips, screw up your eyelids before you found your rhythms.

Jimin ended up with his hand at your nub, rubbing it in gentle circles, lighting sparks in your nerves with the motion of his lovemaking, your nails digging into your lover’s back and shoulder, trying to get as close as possible.

The first jolt of climax nearly made you cry out, burying your face in his neck to muffle the sounds when he followed, heavy grunts falling unabashed from his lips, hands twining with the strands of your hair to seal your lips in a clumsy kiss as he spilled deep into you.

Rolling over, with your head safely clasped in the nook of his arm, Jimin sighed contentedly, warm hand against your back.

“Jimin,”

“Yes, love.”

“So…what happens now?”

Your husband turned his head to give you a sleepy grin.

“Now we’ll live happily ever after.”

[ameliarating]

xiao xingchen is such a tragedy 

imagine, you grew up on an isolated mountain full of cultivators that do not, as a rule, actually cultivate in a way that helps people or improves the world, but still produces deeply compassionate people. In other words, a mini-society full of people who have given up on the world, because the world is cruel and the world is unredeemable

a mini society founded by a woman who trusted her best friend and saw her betray her principles in a way that spread death and spiritual corruption

but you decide to leave your home anyways. why? it’s unclear. maybe you know you have something to offer, maybe you can’t stand the idea of cultivating immortality, growing stronger and more powerful while just down the mountain people are crying from suffering. maybe you even have a dream. a conviction that the world doesn’t have to be the way it is.

so you leave your home and you know you can’t come back but you find someone else, a young man (a boy) your age who also has a dream. and he grew up in a temple that preached a philosophy of semi-passivity, of self improvement but of following the way the of the world without imposing yourself on it, a similar, of more text-based and orthodox philosophy that you yourself grew up in

and in some ways you exemplify it together. you travel, following whims and calls and cries for help but don’t make yourselves a fixed presence anywhere. you make names for yourselves but don’t affiliate with any sect. 

but in other ways, here’s the thing, you’re fostering a dream, and that dream will leave an impact and a footprint and in order to achieve it, it means changes in order and planning ahead and twisting the world to follow your values and neither of you are sure you should be doing that. there’s a contradiction there in what you believe and how you act but

but wouldn’t it be worth it? to start a new sect that teaches compassion and righteousness and flexibility and eschews with bloodlines and politics?

it has to be worth it, please let it be worth it

but in the meantime you’ve made a mistake. in the meantime you’ve gotten distracted and you’ve started pursuing a human being with the intent of taking him to down and delivering him to justice, and he is not about that. and he is angry and he is laughing and he shows you what he thinks of you and your fantasy of joining of the world as a force for good by slaughtering the people who loved and raised your best friend

the people who warned him in the first place about stepping too loud

and really, the only reason he didn’t slaughter yours is because they had become masters at what you didn’t learn: withdrawal, hiding, making peace

so now your best friend drives you away and it’s your fault, all that suffering is your fault, and you realize that you were wrong to have those sorts of dreams and fantasies, that they only make you hurt people. so you set aside your jade hair ornaments and put on simple clothes and wrap the ornate hilt of your sword in cloth and even your fuchen you tuck away

because you had failed at whisking away your worldly attachments and you had failed in your impulse to do no harm

and you give all your money away to a girl who wanted to pick-pocket you

because guess what  - it wasn’t worth it

and in some ways you’re recognized still as a daoist master (which was more your best friend than you). maybe you’re performing certain rites, maybe you’re teaching, maybe you’re just living your life in a certain way that makes people want to address you as one, because they do

and you’ve set aside your dream (which wasn’t worth it) and you follow principles of passivity and acting without intention and opening yourself up so you can float on the world and the world gives you friends who need your help, so that’s what you’ll do

you’ll live for three years with two friends and leave no impact, so residue, no hurt

because the last time you made an impact, you destroyed your best friend 

except, except, except, your new friend is using you to slaughter entire villages, over and over, and will also use you to kill your best friend, and that is an impact the size of your earlier dream, but that is a dream turned a nightmare. the worst sort, a complete reversal of your dream to help people, to change the world for better, to make the best sort of impact

so now Xue Yang has twisted your dream into its opposite. you tried to be a hero and you failed and you tried to be a traveling daoshi and you failed and you tried to just live in a tiny corner of a city dedicated to the dead you failed at that too, couldn’t even do that without becoming a slaughterer of innocents

so now you when you kill yourself, you do so in a way that literally shatters your soul, you’re not just done with life, you’re done with the very idea of being a person at all, of being coherent/cohesive someone who has footprints and hopes and can leave anything behind

that’s it. you’re done. there is no more xiao xingchen

but no. never mind. there still, he’s just not you, because xue yang, who can’t let you go who loves you in a way that will destroy you and remake you three separate times can’t let that happen.

you think you can dissipate into nothingness? wrong! he will carry your soul in a bag and steal your sword and steal your face and use it to do things you never would have done. he’s ruined you, now he’ll ruin the way people remember you and you’ll leave your mark after all, you’ll be the one who killed chang ping

why? no one asks. it was you with your shuanghua, why would anyone question that?

you cannot stop leaving your mark and you didn’t mean to and it wasn’t your idea or your plan or your hope or your dream and xue yang was right, you should never have come down from the mountain

and maybe in some years, maybe maybe maybe, your best friend will find you. and he’ll cradle your shattered soul in in his hand wear your sword and go off to help people again

and it will be without a message or a voice because neither of you can so much as whisper, but like before you’ll follow the cries for help and alleviate just a little suffering in the world. and it’ll be the closest you’ll come to achieving your dream

[dwellordream]

“Doubtless many reigns have begun amidst an atmosphere of jubilant expectation; but this beginning had an especial lustre. For the new king, accession to the throne brought deliverance from a long, probably oppressive subjection to a stern father and grandmother, and released him into the bright, cloudless warmth of gaiety, freedom and power. He stood now on the brink of manhood, suddenly clad with the full panoply of kingship. He ascended a throne which his father had made remarkably secure, he inherited a fortune which probably no English king had ever been bequeathed, he came to a kingdom which was the best governed and most obedient in Christendom. Shortly before his death, his father had granted a general pardon to his people. The new king confirmed this - in ampler form. 

His father left him a body of accomplished ministers, most of whom would continue to serve him. But those two men, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, who had served Henry VII's money-gathering and law-enforcement so assiduously, and whose 'unreasonable and extort doing noble men grudged, mean men kicked, poor men lamented, preachers openly at Paul's Cross and other places exclaimed, rebuked and detested' - these would be cast aside. Within a few hours of his accession Henry had been so roused to wrath by tales of their wrong-doing that, even as he came to the Tower amidst the trumpets and rejoicing on that 23 April, the second day of his reign, they were seized and brought thither as prisoners, where they languished until their execution sixteen months later. 

'Heaven and earth rejoices; everything is full of milk and honey and nectar. Avarice has fled the country. Our king is not after gold, or gems, or precious metals, but virtue, glory, immortality.' So wrote Lord Mountjoy to Erasmus in a celebrated, and, as it proved, somewhat inaccurate, outburst of enthusiasm. There had come to the throne the very perfection of Christian kingship - gracious, gifted and enlightened - and with his coming, it seemed, bleak days must give way to bounteous prosperity. The new king quickly married; and, after all, he married Catherine. He himself said that he did so in obedience to his father's dying wish, but it may well be that his story of Henry VII's deathbed change of heart was invented shortly afterwards to placate the Habsburgs whose daughter, Eleanor, had just been jilted. 

Fuensalida believed that it was the young king himself who brought about the change of plan, and this may be the truth. Five days after Henry VII died, the ambassador was still convinced that Catherine's cause was lost and quoted two members of the Council to the effect that the dying king had assured his son that he was free to marry whomsoever he chose. Then the situation changed radically. Fuensalida was suddenly called before the Council and, to his astonishment, not only assured of the king's fervent goodwill towards the princess, but told by the bishop of Durham, Thomas Ruthal, who had at that moment emerged from a meeting with Henry in a nearby room, that such matters as Catherine's dowry were trifles and that the king looked to him to settle quickly all the details concerning the marriage; whereupon he withdrew in some bewilderment and set about recovering the possessions of the princess which he had already begun to transfer to Bruges.' 

Six weeks later, on 11 June, the marriage between Henry and Catherine was solemnized in the Franciscan church at Greenwich. A little while before there had been some talk of a possible scruple about his marrying his dead brother's widow, and many years later Bishop Fox recalled that the archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham, had disapproved of the union, apparently because he doubted the sufficiency or validity of the now six year-old bull of dispensation - though on what ground he did so we are not told. Warham's qualms were to be of consequence nearly two decades hence when the lawfulness of this marriage became a matter of impassioned debate; but for the moment any doubts there may have been were brushed aside as a proud king undid the protest he had made at his father's command three years before and finally (and freely) ratified his union with a princess who, though five years his senior, was probably still beautiful and certainly of a quality of mind and life which few queens have seriously rivalled. 

At least outwardly, her husband was, and had been since childhood, immensely striking. Ten years before, Erasmus had strolled over to Eltham in the company of Thomas More to meet the royal children and been much impressed by the grace and poise of the eight year-old Duke Henry. By the time he came to the throne he had burgeoned into a full-blooded seventeen year-old, upon whom Nature had showered apparently every gift. 'His majesty', wrote a dazzled Venetian shortly after the new reign began, 'is the handsomest potentate I ever set eyes on.' He was tall and splendidly built, with glowing auburn hair 'combed short and straight in the French fashion' and a pink round face so delicately cut 'that it would become a pretty woman'.' 

He was 'extremely handsome. Nature could not have done more for him,' one said a few years later, in 1519. 'He is much handsomer than any sovereign in Christendom; a great deal handsomer than the king of France, very fair and his whole frame admirably proportioned.' His was a superlative body. He was a capital horseman who could stay in the saddle for hour after hour and tire out eight or ten horses; he exulted in hawking, wrestling and dancing; he excelled at tennis, 'at which game it is the prettiest thing in the world to see him play, his fair skin glowing through a shirt of the finest texture'. He could throw a twelve-foot spear many yards, withstand all-comers in mock combat with heavy, two-handed swords, draw the bow with greater strength than any man in England. 

In July 1513, while at Calais on his first campaign, he practised archery with the archers of his guard and 'cleft the mark in the middle and surpassed them all, as he surpasses them in stature and personal graces'. Above all, he delighted in prowess in the ring and at the barrier, the sovereign sport of princes. Through the summer of 1508 the prince of Wales, still only just seventeen, had hurled his keen, tireless body into the fury of the tournament and excelled all his opponents, and his accession to the throne would inaugurate a festival of apparently endless jousting and tilting, at which the king ever carried away the prizes. 

When Erasmus first met him on that day in 1499 - standing with his sisters Margaret and Mary and his infant brother Edmund, soon to die - he 'sent me a little note, while we were at dinner, to challenge something from my pen'; whereupon Erasmus, unable to perform extempore, spent three anxious days composing an ode entitled 'A Description of Britain, King Henry VII and the King's Children' and a eulogy of Skelton (who had doubtless been the true author of the boy's message), to which he added some odds and ends scraped together from the bottom of his trunk to form a literary nosegay worthy of the young duke.' 

Seven years later Erasmus wrote to Henry and received so accomplished a reply that he was convinced that someone else had had a large hand in its composition. But Lord Mountjoy, his patient patron, showed him a number of letters from the prince to various people in which there were so many signs of corrections and additions that Erasmus was forced to abandon his scepticism. Presumably Skelton and Hone pushed Henry's pen to paper, for in later life Henry was never an industrious letter-writer - except during those months twenty years or so later when romantic passion got the better of sluggishness and drew from him some rather heavy sighings for his absent beloved, Anne Boleyn. But Henry was undoubtedly a precocious, nimble-minded pupil. 

He knew Latin and French and some Italian. He is said to have acquired some Spanish, and about 1519 had a sufficient (if passing) interest in Greek to receive instruction in this fashionable language from Richard Croke, a minor English humanist who had hitherto been at Paris, Louvain, Cologne and Leipzig, and was now to teach at Cambridge. His grasp of theology may have been less assured than he supposed, but it was remarkable for a king; he showed himself an apt student of mathematics; and it was his custom to take Thomas More 'into his private room, and there some time in matters of astronomy, geometry, divinity and such other faculties, and some time in his worldly affairs, to sit and confer with him, and other whiles would he in the night have him up into the leads [i.e. the roof] there to consider with him the diversities, courses, motions and operations of the stars and planets'. 

Above all he was a gifted, enthusiastic musician. He had music wherever he went, on progress, on campaign. He scoured England for singing boys and men for the chapels royal, and even stole talent from Wolsey's choir, of which he was evidently jealous. Sacred music in the Renaissance style - the work of Benedict de Opitiis and Richard Sampson, later bishop of Chichester - was introduced into the royal chapel in 1516 and sung by a choir judged by an Italian visitor to be 'more divine than human'; and between 1518 and 1528 the king acquired a collection of French and Netherlandish music. Henry had many foreign musicians at court, like the violist Ambrose Lupo, the lutenist Philip van Wilder from the Netherlands, as well as trumpeters, flautists and two Italian organists, de Opitiis and the famous Dionisio Memo, organist of St Mark's, Venice, who was lured to England in 1516 and would sometimes perform for four hours at a stretch before the king and court. 

There were twenty-six lutes in Henry's collection of instruments, together with trumpets, viols, rebecs, sackbuts, fifes and drums, harpsichords and organs. The king himself played the lute well; he could manage the organ and was skilled on the virginals (which perhaps John Heywood, his virginalist, taught him). He had a strong, sure voice, could sight-read easily, and delighted to sing with a courtier like Sir Peter Carew 'certain songs they called "freeman's songs", as "By the banks as I lay" and "As I walked the wood so wild" '. His court was a generous patron to composers, headed by the great Dr Fairfax, if not Henry himself - for the king wrote at least two five-part Masses, a motet, a large number of instrumental pieces, part songs and rounds. 'Pastime with good company', 'Helas, madam' and perhaps 'Gentle prince' are his work; so too the motet 'O Lord, the maker of all thing' - no mean achievement for a monarch. 

Henry has traditional.ly been seen, alongside James IV of Scotland or the colourful, versatile Emperor Maximilian I, as the archetype of resplendent Renaissance monarchy; and the praise which Erasmus and other humanists heaped upon the zeal for learning and the arts of this king who had been so generously endowed in mind and body seemed to justify this picture of him. But, though Erasmus could speak stern words about monarchy and wealth, he was a shameless flatterer of kings and the wealthy, and we should treat his outpourings with caution. If anything, Henry was the last of the troubadours and the heir of Burgundian chivalry: a youth wholly absorbed in dance and song, courtly love and knight-errantry. 

He was to grow into a rumbustious, noisy, unbuttoned, prodigal man - the 'bluff king Hal' of legend - exulting in his magnificent physique, boisterous animal exercise, orgies of gambling and eating, lavish clothes. 'His fingers were one mass of jewelled rings and around his neck he wore a gold collar from which hung a diamond as big as a walnut', wrote the Venetian ambassador, Giustinian, of him. He loved to dress up and his wardrobe, ablaze with jewels of all description and cloth of gold, rich silks, sarcenets, satins and highly-coloured feathers, constantly astounded beholders. He was a man who lived with huge, extroverted ebullience, at least in the earlier part of his life, revelling in spectacular living, throwing away money amidst his courtiers on cards, tennis and dicing, dazzling his kingdom. 

Many readers will have their chosen picture of him - Henry, cock-sure and truculent, astride one of Holbein's canvases; Henry, dressed in dazzling richness and with a huge gold whistle, crusted with jewels, hanging from a gold chain, dining with his queen aboard Henry Grace a Dieu on the occasion of its launching; Henry walking up and down More's garden at Chelsea for an hour with his arm round More's neck;' Henry showing the Venetian ambassador his fine calf and demanding to know whether it was not a finer one than the French king boasted; Henry, at Hunsdon, over twenty years later, holding his precious son Edward in his arms and bringing him proudly to a window 'to the sight and great comfort of all the people'.

He was a formidable, captivating man who wore regality with splendid conviction. But easily and unpredictably his great charm could turn into anger and shouting. When (as was alleged) he hit Thomas Cromwell round the head and swore at him, or addressed a lord chancellor (Wriothesley) as 'my pig',' his mood may have been amiable enough, but More knew that the master who put his arm lovingly round his neck would have his head if it 'could win him a castle in France'. He was highly-strung and unstable; hypochondriac and possessed of a strong streak of cruelty. Possibly he had an Oedipus complex: and possibly from this derived a desire for, yet horror of, incest, which may have shaped some of his sexual life.”

- J.J. Scarisbrick, “The New King.” in Henry VIII