#number plate change history

[rubyjackson]

Reg Plate Check

A number plate check is one of the most important steps in buying a used car since it generates detailed reports with information on number plate changes, the last five digits of the VIN, the engine number, and more. Visit CarDotCheck UK for more details.

[hurtspideyparker]

If Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together Part 2

Read Part 1 here

Tony: Why is Underoos mopping the ceiling?

Sam: Told him since he's sticky that's his chore

Bucky: It's only fair he helps out around the house

Tony: Hm. Makes sense

-

Vision cooked dinner:

Peter: *pushing around food to make it look eaten*

Natasha: *surreptitiously spitting into napkin*

Steve: *taking small bites with tons of water*

Bucky: *just stares at full plate*

Tony: Well this is disgusting, I'm ordering pizza

-

Sam: C'mon man stop moping around, you gotta get yourself a girl

Bucky: Ok.

Sam: Ok? Okayyyyy! I know-

Bucky: Give me your phone

Sam: Oh you got a number in mind already hotshot? *hands phone over*

Bucky: *ring* Hi Sarah ;)

Sam: BOY-

-

Peter: Ned thought you would seperate your colours from your lights but he also thought you'd be homophobic so I don't pay him much mind cuz clearly I'm more of a superhero expert than him but he does have a 2% better average than me in history so like maybe you do hand wash your clothes and that's why I asked what underwear you wear because-

Steve: *listening intently with apprehension and alarm*

Natasha: I can't believe you found the one person on Earth who talks more nonsense than you

Tony: I know right, it's incredibly unnerving. I'm planning on adopting him

-

Peter: Mr. Stark I have to tell you something. I think Vision is a... *whispers* pervert

Tony: Um, why?

Peter: He keeps floating through my room without knocking! He saw me changing, he saw my nipples !

Tony: Well if anyone's a predator here it would be you. I mean showing your nipples to a 2 year old? Deplorable.

Peter:

Peter: Oh god, I'm the pervert...

-

Bucky: Y'know animosity isn't good between teammates. I think we should spend more time together

Sam: Am I being punked right now? Where's the camera

Bucky: I'm serious. I think it would be healthy for us to bond

Sam: Okay fine I'll bite... what did you have in mind

Bucky: Wanna go for a run?

Sam: *slams door in Bucky's face*

-

*staring at Bucky's sparkly clean metal arm*

Bucky: Dishwasher?

Peter: Dishwasher :)

(later that day)

Bucky: I've decided to let the child live

Peter: YoU wHaT?!

-

Thwip

Tony: Who took my coffee cup, It was right here

Thwip

Bruce: Um, has someone seen my book? I just had it

Thwip

Steve: I could've sworn I was holding a pen a moment ago

*giggling from the ceiling*

Tony: Young man I will take those webshooters away if you use them for shenanigans and rascality

Peter, muffled: Mr. Hawkeye told me to!

Clint: Oh so you're just gonna rat me out like that?

Peter: Sor- OOF

*falls out of ceiling vent*

-

Sam: You're in my spot

Bucky: There are no spots, it's a common area

Sam: Well that's my spot

Bucky: Did you buy the chair??

Sam: No, but everyone knows that's where I sit. Right Steve?

Steve: Oops I forgot something in my car, be right back *leaves*

Sam: Still my spot

Bucky: Still not

Sam: *sits on him*

Bucky: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL THE COUCHES ARE FREE-

Sam: IT'S MY SPOT YOU CAN'T TAKE A MAN'S FAVOURITE CHAIR-

BUCKY: YOU HAVE ISSUES GET OFF ME-

(one hour later)

Steve: Hey so turns out I don't have a car! Isn't that funn...

Sam & Bucky: *Squeezed awkwardly on the chair together*

Steve: I think I left something in my car

-

Steve: Leave the bedroom door open when you have Vision in there

Wanda: UGH you're so protective

Tony: Teenagers, am I right? Caught Pete reassembling my particle accelerator at midnight because he needed to neutralize a miniature nuclear bomb he nabbed off some guy he neglected to tell me was trying to kill him

Steve:

Steve: Wanda y'know what do whatever you want

Wanda: Really?

Steve: Yes just keep being normal. At least I can read about our issues in a parenting book

-

Thor: Ah, new warriors I see! Good to make all your acquaintance. But why are you so grumpy my friend?

Bucky: *glaring*

Peter: He's always like that. It's um, P- P- PMS? Wait -

Natasha: Yes it's PMS

Wanda: He's got it bad

Steve: *genuinely concerned* Bucky you didn't tell me something was wrong. What can I do to help?

Bucky:

Bucky: I like chocolate

-

Wanda: Welcome to the first annual girls night! This place reeks of men, so I thought we needed some women time

Pepper: Why is Vision here?

Wanda: I get sad when he's gone

Natasha: Why is Pietro here?

Pietro: Slay queens

Wanda: Moral support I think

Maria: Why is Peter here?

Wanda: He looked really upset when I said he wasn't included and I felt bad

Wanda: Anyways... yay girls! Who wants me to paint their nails?

Peter: ME ME ME

-

Steve: Pancakes or waffles?

Natasha: Pancakes

Steve: Good because I don't have a waffle maker

Natasha: Then why would you ask-

Steve: It's important for your voice to be heard, as team leader I value your opinion

*2 minutes later*

Steve: Good morning Clint, pancakes or waffles?

Clint: Waffles

Steve: Oh no.

-

Some of these were based on requests (ex. more Sam & Bucky, dad Steve w/ Wanda) so if you have certain dynamics you enjoy let me know !

[sunboki]

— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

“Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes. 

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear. 

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font. 

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears. 

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears. 

You won’t bleed without biting back. 

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer. 

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.  

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger. 

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate. 

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.   

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.  

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.” 

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.  

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight. 

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past. 

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead. 

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest. 

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified. 

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side. 

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar. 

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.” 

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness. 

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent. 

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions. 

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin. 

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes. 

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident. 

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage. 

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation. 

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts. 

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?” 

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to. 

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry. 

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away. 

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable? 

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison. 

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls. 

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan. 

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors. 

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight. 

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly. 

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across. 

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there. 

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway. 

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous. 

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.  

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go. 

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent. 

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve. 

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear. 

Deer caught in headlights. 

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please. 

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face. 

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng. 

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face. 

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience. 

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement. 

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom. 

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something. 

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter. 

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you. 

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon. 

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal. 

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately. 

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed. 

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway? 

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears. 

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are. 

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron. 

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.” 

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow. 

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck. 

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch. 

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest. 

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge. 

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower. 

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting. 

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet. 

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle. 

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.  

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead. 

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances. 

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus. 

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable. 

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils. 

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.  

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it. 

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now. 

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle. 

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open. 

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing. 

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.  

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage. 

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible. 

No weakness, no mercy. 

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief. 

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing. 

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme. 

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held. 

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty? 

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape. 

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer. 

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold. 

Inside lies a gown.  

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well. 

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode. 

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks. 

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.” 

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud. 

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all. 

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.” 

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact. 

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter. 

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.  

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail. 

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.” 

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way. 

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep. 

Yet, you aren’t. 

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours. 

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether. 

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait? 

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you. 

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?” 

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you. 

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended. 

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard. 

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips. 

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking. 

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things. 

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.  

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on. 

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.” 

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist. 

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room. 

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that. 

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you. 

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest. 

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly. 

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance. 

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?” 

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him. 

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?” 

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution. 

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet. 

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone. 

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night. 

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.” 

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space. 

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him. 

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever. 

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him. 

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power. 

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.” 

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back. 

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard. 

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink. 

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[knuppitalism-with-ue]

The coasts of Lemuria have a huge number of pterosaur species, some of them more familiar looking than others.

Many other organisms can be found here as well, above and under water.

On Lemuria

Lemuria is a new spec evo project for and by the #paleostream community. Like the Atlantis project beforehand it deals with a fictional piece of land in 3 phases. Lemuria is an already existent concept that was invented before the recognition of plate tectonics to explain certain distribution patterns of animals and plants. In our case Lemuria is a continent consisting of India and Madagascar. We speculate how animals and plants would evolve if these two would never separate. This has MANY consequences. And the further we progress through time the more natural history will change. Phase one deals with the Cretaceous, when things are still rather "normal".

[morganbritton132]

I feel like Steve's non-Upside Down friends definitely have a group chat for all their Steve-based conspiracy theories that's just filled with really off the wall excuses and tidbits that Steve's said - how panicked is the government agent-babysitter about it?

The first-year teachers definitely do, for sure!

The chat was originally called ‘The Steve Harrington Experience’ because every conversation with the man is something else, but they ended up changing it after Kathy pointed out that it made it seem like they all experienced Steve Harrington, ‘Sexually, u know?’

“Yes, Kathy…” Marissa said in an exasperated voice note. She must be driving. “You didn’t need to spell it out. We’re changing it.”  

‘Not saying I’d be opposed 2 the experience,’ Kathy added helpfully in the group chat. ‘U see those trousers he wore yesterday. Not much left to the imagination there.’

‘Thank you, Kathy.’

The group chat was changed to the ‘Support Group for David’s Obsession’ which is just, haha. Funny. David is not obsessed with Steve Harrington. He just isn’t.

Sure, nothing about the man makes any sense.

And yeah, maybe David talks about that fact a little too much. Maybe he has asked the group chat probing questions about Christmas lights. Maybe he even made a dentist appointment with Edward Harrington, DDS just to make sure he wasn’t the Eddie Harrington they knew.

He wasn’t obsessed. He was just due for a cleaning.

The other day in the parking lot after work, Steve asked if David could see the license plate number on the white 2015 Mazda CX-3 that was circling the block. David read the number off for him and Steve wrote it down. He didn’t explain anything.

David texted the group chat about it, ‘Maybe he’s a spy?’

‘Do you think spy organizations sent out a lot of epileptic agents with service animals?’

‘Maybe the epilepsy is a cover.’

Kathy replied, ‘It’s not.’

David kinda hates how he only tunes in to the staff meeting about Career Day when Steve mentions that Erica can’t come. Something about pissing off her constituents by favoring a community in a state she doesn’t represent. Yada, yada, yada, “Dustin’s still coming though.”

“Dustin,” David repeats, feeling the amused way that Marissa is looking at him. He can’t even be bothered by Jordan hiding a smile in her hand. “Your brother is coming to Career Day?”

Steve beams, “Yeah, man. He comes every year.”

Kathy was a second-year teacher that was definitely here during last year’s Career Day. She could have mentioned it. David can’t even fully digest this information when Steve knocks his knuckles against the table and snaps his fingers, “Oh! My ex works for the paper. I’ll see if they can come.”

David somehow gets roped into finalizing the rest of the list of speakers for Career Day (i.e. they need to confirm if Steve’s people are going to be there and Cindy didn’t want to do it). When he stops by Steve’s classroom at the end of the day, he is surprised to find that Steve is not alone.

There’s low music playing from the corner of the room now that the students have gone home and Steve is at his desk grading papers. Eddie is standing at the board, drawing a dragon-like creature with dry-erase markers.

Eddie is humming along to the song on the radio, occasionally brushing his fingers along Steve’s shoulders when he reaches for a new color. It’s a cozy moment and he almost hates to interrupt, but David has leftovers in his fridge that he wants to get home to.

He knocks against the doorframe, “Steve, you have a minute?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chairs far enough that his head brushes against Eddie’s back. “Babe, you remember David from the cookout?”

“The history teacher,” Eddie hums, distracted by his drawing. He erases a line of red from the fangs with his finger. “Stevie’s saying great things about you, kid.”

“I �� wow, that’s – thanks! It means a lot! I, uh. I’m finishing up some things for Cindy and she just needs a confirmation on your people for Career….” David trails off when Steve makes a sound between his teeth like a hiss and gives him a big wide-eyed look. “…Day?”

Steve’s wide-eyed expression forms quickly into an innocent smile when Eddie turns to look at him, “Babe-“

“Career Day?” Eddie asked scandalized, hand to chest. “Career Day is coming up, Steven? I had no idea.”

Steve’s eyes flicker away from Eddie’s over to David’s and he says, “Yes. Yep, they’ll be here with bells on. Henderson and Wheeler. Just them.”

“Wheeler?” Eddie manages to sound even more scandalized. “Stevie, you – you invited Wheeler to Career Day and not your own husband? I have a career!”

“Yes, you do,” Steve says in a voice that’s a little too ‘second grade teacher’ to not be a little bit insulting. “And you’re amazing, and I love you, but they wanted people with career paths that didn’t start so…infamous?”

David starts inching out of the room because as much as he wants to know more about Steve, he doesn’t want to witness an argument he started. He’s almost to the door when Eddie says, “I worked for my success.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve sighs like he’s remembering something awful. “If only there wasn’t a mob.”

David is out the door when he hears that and he pauses for only a second before pulling out his phone like, ‘what the fuck, guys????’

[bangtanhoneys]

The Grammy's - Part Two

Part 1 l Part 3

The GRAMMY’s.

The Grammy Awards are awards presented by the Recording Academy of the United States to recognise “outstanding” achievements in the music industry…if you believed what you read on Wikipedia and if you didn’t see the artists who had brought exceptional change to the music industry like Lana Del Ray, Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj, Katy Perry and even Diana Ross.

BTS were included in that list of people who had changed the music industry, had made Billboard change their rules every time they brought out a new single or album, had streaming numbers no one else had and yet for all the Grammy nominations, performances and making an appearance, there was no Grammy. 

Until they had received a notification from Bang-PD to their phones, though five of those messages had been delayed in getting to their recipients. 

Grammy Nominations have come through - Grace has got 3. 

7 Rings - Record of the Year

In My Head - Album of the Year

7 Rings - Best Pop Solo Performance. 

Each had a different reaction to the news, which was understandable. At first, there was elation over the fact that at least one of them got a Grammy nod, second was amazement that she had scored three big major categories and then worry mixed in with disappointment. Why hadn’t they had the nomination? Whether solo or as a group, the Grammy’s had left a bitter taste in their mouths. 

Namjoon, Yoongi and Seokjin knew Grace would flat-out refuse to perform or even go to the awards. They knew her back to front - her loyalty stood with the group and if they weren’t getting a nomination, then neither would she. 

However, this was a defining moment in her career, their careers, their history and for the country. 

And for those who knew what kind of start Grace had, this would be the perfect way to celebrate that career. 

She started as an admin assistant, straight out of school and into employment with Big Hit Entertainment who then saw that she could do ballet dancing, and ballroom dancing, who could sing though that skill was untouched, spoke perfect English, could speak German as well and had all the charm of an idol.

Yet there was no place for her. 

Everyone knew Bang PD wanted a hip-hop group and that’s what he started with in Namjoon, then Yoongi and Hobi. Grace was added as a backup for the ability to sing their ad-libs and rap alongside them without any problem. Then along came Seokjin & Jungkook, Taehyung and Jimin and suddenly they were an idol group. 

A woman shouldn’t be doing hip-hop with a boy group and so she had signed a two album contract which had left her on tenterhooks as to whether all the skills she had gained while working with Bangtan Sonyeondan would now be worthless. But along came Skool Luv Affair and Dark & Wild and everything fell into place. 

Now they couldn’t see the group without their eldest member, the only female, their noona. The woman who protected them in every sense of the word and who had always been there for their solo projects and careers. Her own started very late after their military careers had started so she had full reign of being the BTS representative. 

If her upcoming tour was a testament to how well her solo career had taken off, then a Grammy nomination would just solidify that. 

Updates were coming in every day and then it was the date of the Grammy Awards themselves. Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon & Yoongi were given special permission for absence of leave for two days so Seokjin planned a private viewing party just for the boys, their close friends who knew Grace as well and some of their team. 

Seokjin had been up till late preparing snacks and food as the Grammy’s would start at 10am their time. There was plenty of alcohol covering his kitchen counter and there was food everywhere when Hobi had arrived first.

“Hyung, have you been stress cooking again?” 

Seokjin paused where he was putting out plates and cups, chilling the expensive alcohol that had been gifted to him by someone and making sure there was enough kimchi in the container. Multitasking at its finest. 

“Maybe? I can’t help it. I’m nervous, more for Grace than anyone else.”

Hobi sighed, having had the same conversation with every other member of the team and Grace herself. She had massive reservations about attending and performing, believing it all to be a big farce so they could have big viewing numbers. 

“I know, but noona will be fine. She’s a lot stronger than us and a loss at the Grammy’s won’t affect her like it did us. As she said, as long as her performance is killer, who cares.”

Nothing more could be said as the front door opened and the rest of his boys poured through, Jungkook first then the rest following with bags of more food and alcohol. 

“How drunk are you all getting?” Hobi laughed, receiving hugs and pats on the back as he looked at the various sized bags that were being dumped in the kitchen.

“It would have been more but Yoongi-hyung stopped us,” Taehyung shrugged as he dropped his bag and then lifted his arm, flexing it to show off his muscles which caused Jimin to roll his eyes and push at him. “We’ve all got muscles. It hasn’t been that long since Hobi-hyung has seen us.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Yoongi and Namjoon asked Seokjin at the same time, causing the two to pause, look at each other then back at their hyung. 

Jungkook, while looking every inch the military man he had become, had wrapped his arms around Seokjin and pushed his face into his back.

“Nervous,” Seokjin admitted while patting Jungkook’s hands. “I’m more nervous for her than about the whole thing. But I know she can handle it. It’s just a big thing.”

“For everyone,” Namjoon smiled slightly and reached over to give Seokjin’s shoulder a squeeze, causing the man to squawk at how strong that grip had become. “Ah, sorry hyung.”

“Come on, let’s get the TV sorted before everyone else comes. And start cracking the bottles open hyung, let the champagne breathe before we get started,” Yoongi grinned as he took control of the situation, shooing people to start doing jobs.

Even though it was early in the morning and most people had been up all night working, everyone was in bright spirits as the coffee churned. The living room was filled with about 20 people, some on the couch, some on the floor, some on chairs they had brought over. Jungkook had even stolen the spare mattress in the other room and had laid it out on the floor for some.

BTS, however, had taken control of the couch. 

They barely listened to the people talking on the screen as they all settled down with their various glasses of drink though Seokjin, Hobi and Namjoon had stuck to iced coffee for now. They wanted to be sober enough to get to her performance before drinking any type of alcohol.

Their phones went off at the same time.

“Oh my god, look at her!”

Taehyung lifted his phone up and began showing it around to the others. Sejin had sent a picture of Grace between her parents, dressed in her Elie Saab dress and made up to the nines as her father stood in a suit to her left and her mother stood to her right in a gold dress. They all matched perfectly to what Grace was wearing. 

Messages quickly flew out of good luck, hope it all goes well, kill the stage, etc. None were read by Grace but Sejin sent a thumbs up emoji back with a winky face. 

There was silence in the room as they watched the red carpet, pointing out the various celebrities they knew of or had met. They had immediately spotted Liam McEwan, one of the reporters who they actually liked. And then they saw Bang PD step out of the car with Grace’s parents, a member of staff leading them past the red carpet and inside.

“Here we go,” Seokjin muttered as Namjoon’s hand squeezed his shoulder again, a bit more gently this time. 

The noise from the crowd was instantaneous. 

Hands reached forward for the remote control to turn down the volume a bit as screams were heard, many heads turned as the camera switched to Liam McEwan. “Everybody, Grace Chu from BTS has arrived! The queen is here.”

The boys held their breath until the camera caught up with where it was meant to be, showing Grace in front of the Grammy backdrop, cameras flashing in her eyes as she smiled for the photographers. The dress sparkled each time the camera flashed and then she was moved along, straight towards Liam. 

“Seee! Told you she could do it,” Yoongi said as he raised his glass of whiskey, not at all a bit tipsy as Jungkook reached over and filled it up for him. When did he get started on that?

“She hasn’t even gotten inside yet hyung,” Jimin laughed, already opening another bottle of champagne as if Grace had already won her three awards and had been crowned Queen of Korea. 

Seokjin and Namjoon as well as Hobi, the only three who had been determined not to drink until the end, slowly sipped on their iced coffee and laughed as they watched an excited maknae open Taehyung’s bottle of wine for him. 

“But she’s won everyone over! I mean, that dress is amazing on her,” Taehyung said as he stood, pushing over Jimin who spilled himself into Hobi’s lap. Obviously, a career in the military had done nothing to dampen their enthusiasm. 

Taehyung stood next to the large TV screen, pointing at various parts of her dress. “I mean, it’s pretty low. I wonder who signed that off but either way, she looks amazing. And look! Cleavage! No one has seen noona with cleavage yet.”

Yoongi groaned, covering his eyes. “Don’t mention Grace and cleavage in the same sentence. I’m not drunk enough yet.”

Seokjin hid a grin behind his hand and tried not to chuckle, ignoring Hobi who was cackling into his back and Namjoon who stood ready to defend his noona’s honour until he was pulled back down. 

“What?” Taehyung asked, grinning. “Okay, okay. But this is history in the making here. She’s got everyone eating out of her hand already and she’s not even inside yet. Is that Taylor Swift she’s saying hello to? Oh, it's Nicki Minaj. Ah, another collab being set up there.”

“Tae,” Seokjin started and threw a napkin at him. “Sit down before your eyes turn into the same shape as the TV. You’re blocking the view as well.”

There were plenty of voices who agreed with him as Tae pouted and sat back down, ignoring the maknae line’s giggles. 

The next time they saw Grace was sitting with her parents in the main room, taking a glass of water and gulping it down before Sejin and the Grammy team led her away. 

“Oh this is it,” Jungkook whispered as he somehow managed to squeeze in next to Seokjin. If there were two people in the room who were close to Grace and could feel her nerves from here, it would be them. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to 5-time Grammy nominated member of BTS, Grace Chu,” the loud announcement came.

“Okay. This is it,” Namjoon said as he went into leader mode. “Everyone shut up and let’s enjoy it.” Nothing more needed to be said as everyone went into quiet mode, 20 sets of eyes on the TV that showed a black curtain being lifted as the opening to the Sound of Music’s ‘Favourite Things’ was being played by a small orchestra, dressed in black dinner suits and dresses.

Jungkook reached over and held onto Seokjin’s hand tight.

Each light in the middle came on to show her standing there, in her blazer dress that was very short but presentable and caused some uproar from the boys the moment they saw it but a quick look from Namjoon and they settled again. 

Her eyes met the camera as it slowly zoomed in and she gave a small smile as she started to sing, four female dancers walking on stage to meet her dressed in white suits. 

“My wrist, stop watchin’, my neck is flossy,” Grace and Jungkook sang at the same time, though he did it under his breath as he watched the choreography on the TV. By the time the chorus came, the four female dancers spread further apart to allow the seven male dancers to come alongside though they were dressed in matching black suits.

“Wearing a ring, but ain’t gon’ be no Mrs,” Grace sang as she flashed her left hand, wiggling slightly causing Jimin and Taehyung to giggle.

There were more outrage noises when it came to the second pre-chorus, the female dancers were back as the lyrics “my smile is beamin’, my skin is gleamin’” were sung but instead of Grace doing the usual choreography that the boys were used to, it had been changed for American tv.

All five women turned and leaned forward, resting heads on backsides as Grace shifted hands to turn her head towards the camera as she sang the rest of the lyrics, “the way it shine, I know you’ve seen it” as her hand went down the thigh of the dancer who she was resting on. 

“I bought a crib just for the closet,” Grace sang as she rightened herself, not paying attention to the crowd’s delighted noises or what her parents were going to think. Right now, it was a cause of getting through this song to get to the rap part and then done.

All dancers were back for the chorus and Yoongi, Hobi and Namjoon shifted towards the edge of the seat. They had seen the many comments around this song and whether Grace could perform the rap part live, since it was so fat, not realising she covered their rap parts with ease when they needed her to. 

“When you see them racks, they stacked up like my ass yeah,” she sang/rapped, turning her body a little to camera to show her hand grabbing a chunk of her backside to match the lyrics. She then fully turned to the camera, the dancers in formation on either side of her as she continued the verse.

“Shoot, go from the store to the booth. Make it all back in one loop, gimmie the loot,” she continued as she danced her way through the verse without stopping to take a breath.

In complete jubilation, every single person in Seokjin’s living room sang along with her.

“Nevermind I got the juice. Nothing but net when we shoot. Look at my neck, look at my jet!”

“Ain’t got enough money to pay me respect. Ain’t no budget when I’m on the set If I like it, then that’s what I get,” Grace continued from where they left off singing. 

The dancers all left the stage as the orchestra took over the last chorus, letting the song play out once Grace stopped singing. The audience stood, clapping and cheering for her and even though the camera’s didn’t show it, she did a full bow to the crowd.

“Okay, that was amazing!” 

The alcohol was flowing now the worst of the nerves were over with and Seokjin happily accepted the glass of wine, Namjoon a whiskey from Yoongi and Hobi a washed down glass of white wine. All seven boys, their close friends and team lifted their glasses in cheers.

“Namjoon, you do it,” Yoongi said as everyone looked to Seokjin to lead the toast.

“Oh right,” their leader said as he stood, making his way to stand next to the TV where the awards were flowing.

“When I first met noona, I was a shy teenager who had no clue, probably like many of us. She didn’t care that I was into hip hop, that I had big dreams and that I wanted to be something. All she cared about was Namjoon - what did he want? And I never knew the answer to that question until the day she and I were out buying plants,” Namjoon paused then laughed when he realised he was getting teary as was the rest of the boys in front of him. 

“She asked what I wanted? And I picked up this plant pot because it was cute. And I realised there and then, that all noona wanted from me was to be happy and if a plant pot made me happy because it was cute, then that’s what she was going to get for me. Seeing her come from someone who didn’t know their place in the world to now seeing her up there on the Grammy stage, I’m very thankful that I have Grace Chu in my life. So fuck the Grammy’s, who gives a shit. Grace Chu just made history!”

Everyone’s glasses went up with cheers. “To Grace Chu!” they all said then downed their alcohol in one go, only for glasses to be filled again just as quickly.

There was complete and utter silence when she didn’t win Best Pop Solo Performance, though Jungkook could see the storm brewing over his leader’s head. “Noona isn’t bothered,” he muttered as he pointed to her on the screen as she laughed and talked to her parents, completely unbothered by the fact she didn’t win. 

It turned out to be a very long morning as each award came and went. 

“The nominees for Record of the Year are,” that sentence interrupted all the conversations in the room, heads turning on a swivel to stare at the screen. 

BTS turned to look at each other and as if they had the same thought, they each reached over to clasp hands. Namjoon closed his eyes, let out a breath and prayed.

“And the winner is,” there was a giant pause and Grace on the screen turned to her mother to say something before the answer was revealed:  “7 Rings - Grace Chu.”

There was complete and utter pandemonium in Seokjin’s living room. Namjoon had fallen to the floor on his knees, Jungkook on his back. Taehyung and Jimin were hugging each other, Hobi stared at the screen in utter confusion and Yoongi reached over to wrap an arm around Seokjin’s shoulders.

“She did it, hyung. She actually did it.”

They missed most of her speech, only calming down enough to hear the last part of it. 

“Holy shit,” Namjoon muttered as he wiped a hand down his face and stayed where he was. Jungkook grabbed hold of his shoulders and whispered hurriedly at him. “Hyung, hyung, look.”

On screen, Chris Martin from Coldplay was walking across the stage.

“No way,” Seokjin whispered as Yoongi grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing tight. If there was anyone who was important to the couple and to the rest of the band, it would be Chris. The fact he was there to present the biggest award of the night was not missed by anyone.

“The winner for Album of the Year,” Chris paused and turned to look at Grace. “In My Head" by Grace Chu, produced by Bang PD & PDogg from Big Hit Entertainment. Congratulations.”

There was silence for a moment and then a multitude of noise. Cheers, screams, crying, hooting, laughter and some kind of noise Taehyung had produced at the news. Each man had a different reaction as they watched Grace stand and walk up to the stage, greeting Chris the traditional way before hugging him. 

They went silent again as Grace started her speech, each of them holding their breath as they were standing. It wasn’t missed that she had said her boys, ARMY and her man separately and for her to acknowledge Seokjin like that on American TV was another big moment.  

Jimin’s phone rang just as Grace walked off stage and he quickly pulled it out, seeing Sejin’s name on the screen.

“Ah Sejin-hyung,” Jimin said while he put the voice call on speakerphone so they could hear their old manager. 

“Grace is just coming backstage now so I’ve got you on speakerphone, one moment.” They could hear the tears in his voice over the noise in the background. “Grace, the boys are on the phone.”

They were all screaming their congratulations on the line and suddenly they heard Bang-PD on the line.

“Boys,” he started crying again. “I’m so proud of you all. So proud. I’m letting Grace have a moment with her parents but I just wanted to say I’m very proud of you all. Thank you.”

It was hard to even get their words out but there were promises for a celebration dinner when they got back and Grace would speak to them later once she got back to her hotel. 

“She did it,” Namjoon whispered as he saw the notifications on his phone on various media outlets across South Korea and America reporting on Grace winning her two Grammys. CL, IU, TXT and others were posting on their social media, tagging BTS and Grace in their posts. Even Billboard had put up a post.

“She did it,” Namjoon repeated as he rested a hand on Seokjin’s back and an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. Hobi joined them at Jungkook’s side, pulling Jimin and Taehyung in and Yoongi joined them by wrapping an arm around Taehyung and Seokjin. 

Grace would return back to Korea, to them, as a twice Grammy awarded artist. And no one would be able to say that Korea’s Noona hadn’t broken the barrier that they all needed to be broken and no one could say that they as a group and individually weren’t leading the way for other Korean idols and groups. 

[pure-ablution]

City guide: London?

London is the nearest major city to me for much of the year, and I’m there an awful lot for all kinds of meetings and appointments. I’ve made a point of trying to step away from the basic clubs and restaurants popular amongst the usual set in the capital, and instead finding a few different places that I think are genuinely worth their while, even if they’re not the places to see and be seen. This is my own little personal directory of my top 3 (not ranked in any kind of order) for each major category—prices range, but the experiences remain top-notch, in my book.

Restaurants and bars:

German Gymnasium

1 King’s Boulevard, N1C 4BU

This lovely German restaurant is right next door to St Pancras station, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve stepped off the Eurostar and sunk into a seat at the bar here. It’s a big place, so there’s no worrying about getting a table, but it still manages to feel private and not too open despite its being housed in a former gymnasium. The staff are very attentive, and the food is both excellent and plentiful—this isn’t nouvelle cuisine in any description! Be prepared for very hearty German dishes which, although perhaps not as authentic as one might find in Germany itself, are delicious and hearty.

Le Beaujolais

25 Litchfield Street, WC2H 9NJ

This is a gorgeous, cosy little bistro and one of my favourite places in London for late-night catch-ups with old friends. Its wine list is quite extensive (ask politely behind the bar for the hidden gem list!) and the sharing platters on offer are a refreshing change from French haute cuisine in the capital, instead serving much more rustic and traditional dishes. A luxurious experience this is not, but it’s very fun, and I always meet some new and interesting people every time I pay Le Beaujolais a visit.

Gordon’s Wine Bar

47 Villiers Street, WC2N 6NE

Gordon’s is the oldest wine bar in London, and I don’t think the décor has much changed since it first opened! There’s always a queue in the evenings, so I recommend booking ahead, but once you’re inside, it’s a lovely experience. The little plates of cheese and bread to go with the wines are always very fresh and tasty, and, of course, the wines themselves are amazing. This isn’t a place only for wine buffs, I see a lot of people on dates whenever I visit, but the staff and many of the patrons are extremely knowledgeable, and you can always have a great conversation with a fellow aficionado if you look out for one.

Museums and libraries:

Victoria & Albert Museum

Cromwell Road, SW7 2RL

This is my absolute favourite of the big London museums, and probably one of my favourite museums in the whole world. I love the V&A. It’s a gorgeous space, the permanent collections form a fascinating journey through the history of decorative arts and design, and the temporary exhibitions are always incredible. It’s the world’s biggest museum of applied arts, and houses 5,000 years’ worth of textiles, jewellery, furniture, prints, and much, much more. I could spend weeks at any given time in the V&A, I just adore it.

The London Library

14 St James’s Square, SW1Y 4LG

I like to have the name of a pretty, quiet little library for each city in the back of my mind, just in case I have a little work to do or a few hours to kill, and the London Library fills that slot for me in London. It’s not as extensive as the British Library, nor as beautiful as some of the university libraries in the capital, but it’s exactly what I like, in a very convenient location for me. I pay an annual membership fee, and it’s worth it to me for the peace and quiet, the excellent staff, the open access policy, and the surprisingly extensive collection of books housed here. It’s a real hidden gem and one that I’m very grateful for.

The Wallace Collection

Hertford House, Manchester Square, W1U 3BN

I love a house museum, and I think that the Wallace Collection is an incredible example by which others ought to follow. It’s a large collection of fine and decorative arts, originally built by Sir Richard Wallace alongside the Marquesses of Hertford, in whose London townhouse the collection is held. The Wallace Collection houses one of the most important collections of 18th-century French decorative arts in the world, and puts on some extremely interesting temporary exhibitions programmes—even just browsing their exhibit archives is enough to inspire me!

Beauty and wellness:

Pied de Poule

67 Mortimer Street, W1W 7SE

One of the nice things about London is the comparatively vast selection of Slavic beauty salons and providers available, and Pied-de-Poule is my favourite spot to call upon if I’m in dire need of an instantaneous makeover. I trust the beauticians here with my hair, makeup, and nails, and—in true Eastern European fashion—they’re capable of deploying their staff to carry out multiple services simultaneously, which saves me a huge amount of time in a city that moves fast. Pied-de-Poule is a chain franchise with branches in Ukraine and Poland, and although I wouldn’t pick them over other options back home, they provide a very respectable service and I’m very happy to use and recommend them in London.

Jinny Beauty

71 Kingston Road, KT3 3PB

It’s not quite in London proper, but it’s definitely worth the trek out to New Malden to visit Jinny Beauty if you’re in search of a good facial. This Korean salon has been providing locals with glowing glass skin for over 20 years, and I love that I can go straight to Jinny and trust that I’ll receive an incredible massage combined with top-of-the-range equipment, including Hydrafacials, oxygen therapy, and ultrasonic treatments. If you’re looking for a proper, full-spectrum Korean aesthetic spa in England, Jinny is the best place for it, in my opinion, and the girls there are incredibly friendly, skilled, and knowledgeable about what they do.

New Docklands Steam Baths

30a Stephenson Street, E16 4SA

This place has recently had a bit of a makeover, but it’s still far from glamorous, so I’ll let you search up interior photos for yourself and just give you the exterior for now. New Docklands isn’t for people who are looking for a luxurious sauna experience, it’s in a grotty area, and intended for expats and immigrants who are desperate for a good steam, and that’s what it does well. The steam is great, the clientele is a mixed—but always entertaining—bag, and I’d say that this is something similar to the Russian Baths in NYC, only without the cult status. The staff are helpful, the facilities are very clean, and I’d recommend sticking to the women-only sessions on Wednesdays and leaving your fancy things at home.

Shopping:

Liberty

Regent Street, W1B 5AH

I’m not all that bothered about Harrods or Selfridge’s, but I’m a huge, huge fan of Liberty. It’s just a little bit more quirky compared to other department stores, and I always find something unusual wandering around the gorgeous mock-Tudor building. Liberty is the artistic choice, I think, and I love that it supports and champions emerging brands, artists, and designers, instead of sticking to the tried-and-tested. Their own range of fabrics, of course, are stunningly beautiful, and the staff exceptionally helpful without being overly attentive to the point of bothersome—something that often grates on me in other shops.

Sign Of The Times

5 Elystan Street, SW3 3NT

Sign of the Times began as a celebrity consignment store, and it still specialises in vintage designer and luxury brands. It’s generally my first stop if I’m struggling to find a specific piece from an old collection. The shop itself is very curated, and I’ve often found a lovely piece I didn’t even know existed just popping in during a free five minutes. Lorraine, the owner, is incredibly knowledgeable about fashion history, and she’s been able to advise me better than anyone else when it comes to more niche brands, items, and provenance. You pay for the experience and expertise, of course, but if you’re a collector or serious fashion enthusiast, then I recommend Sign of the Times wholeheartedly.

Sunbury Antiques Market

Kempton Park, TW16 5AQ

I’m not a big fan of the independent antiques scene in London, especially the markets, and I’d always recommend looking elsewhere to scratch your flea market itch—but Sunbury is pretty good, and the closest you’re probably going to get within Greater London. It’s a big, big market, and you’ll need to come prepared to scrape your knees kneeling on the floor, sift through piles of dust and rubbish, and haggle like your life depends on it, but I’ve always come away feeling triumphant at the end of it all. I recommend arriving early, before 8am if possible, having a clear idea of what you’re looking for (and what price you’re willing to pay), and wearing tough jeans and sneakers you don’t mind getting a bit filthy.

[extrajigs]

New species/race for worldbuilding proj! Heads up, the tag I'm going to be using for chimera/mirum world as a whole is No True North. Also changing up some origins for the people of the world. Info dump below!

Basically the first three sentients were the dragons(my fav), elves (partners fav), and leviathans(no ones fav). See this handy chart for creation order! The main god who is the closest to actual God, and then he created the lesser 6 gods under him who embody things from time/space, life/death, that jazz. Life was created on the single planet of this existence and then the mortals were created in the image of the youngest 3 gods to chill out there. These base mortal species were all allowed to grant other species the gift of divinity(the ability to use magic) and the sentience that came with it. Though your biology will be changed by which of the three got you hooked up. Chimera got their thinking from Leviathans!

These three all embody one of the three gods of mortals, the leviathans are the people made to worship the Eternity/Magic man. They filled the sea with songs of worship and history and also are a key source of fresh water on the planet. You see a crystal clear lake? Probably one of these guys spouting it out. Think of them like a living endless spring who enjoy carving out rivers and lakes. Their head plating is nigh indestructible, so tunneling through the ground is a common past time.

Or well was. Unfortunately the godfall was most cruel to the leviathans. Not only was their destined god killed, but his fallen corpse has corrupted the oceans far worse than the land. The leviathans that lurk their now are terrible, monstrous things, and the main reason why travel by ship is only possible in the most shallow, guarded of waters. Once they turned, the world was fractured into isolated pockets for a very long time. Up until the invention of the Ferstratum which can just skip the ocean entirely! Any leviathans that exist now do so in pockets of water completely sealed off from the sea, lakes placed at inconspicuously high elevations spots inland. Here they languish, unable to replenish their numbers and unable to return to the sea lest they catch the rot of their former god. Pretty sad what happens to them.

[alienarthouse]

A bit of a change of pace from my typical scifi spec bio, but I’ve been drawing a lot of fantasy art lately and started thinking about my goblins again.

In my D&D homebrew/original high fantasy world, Fulcire, the goblinoids (a family consisting of such species as the goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears) are distinct from the humanoids, having evolved from a different common ancestor. They are the older of the two families, having evolved somewhere between 20,000 and 70,000 years earlier. Goblins were the first of the family to evolve in their modern form, making them the oldest intelligent mortal life on the plane. They alternate between quadrupedal and bipedal stances, are opportunistic omnivores, surviving on a mix of gathering and scavenging, but never actively hunting. Before the modern age of city-building, they kept migratory paths that they traveled across over the span of several years. These days, though, they tend to live more sedentary lives in the isolation of deep wilderness, because where their’s and humanoid’s paths cross, a fight almost always seems to end up breaking out.

More fun facts below:

- As a weird quirk of their evolution, goblinoids are better able to understand large numbers as a concept than humanoids. Where the humanoid mind struggles to imagine numbers into the thousands, tens-of-thousands, and beyond, goblinoids do not. This is theorized to be due to the fact that goblinoids evolved from an animal that had a herd-like social structure, rather than a pack-like one. An individual could need to know hundreds to thousands of other people on a personal level, and those that could work in such large numbers tended to be the most successful members of the herd, eventually selecting towards this particular quirk. As a result, Goblins and goblinoids are fantastic trend-spotters, and have both a fantastic memory and a quick mind for mathematics. It’s no coincidence that their agriculture requires keeping careful track of plant and animal populations across wide tracts of land over many years, and figuring out how to manipulate them season-by-season to the benefit of both themselves, and for the local ecosystem.

- Goblin clothing and fashion is quite unique when compared to humanoid clothing. Goblins do have a taboo against nudity in most cultures, but the structure of their body means that what they must cover differs. All goblinoids are mammalian, though their breast tissue is on their stomach, not their chest. To have an exposed belly, then, is considered appropriate for men, but not women, in Goblin societies (this, of course, can vary depending on societal practices regarding nursing, but that’s a whole different topic). An exposed chest, meanwhile, is commonly considered a sign of bravery in warriors, though more often than not warriors will wear chest-plates in real combat. Everyday styles, such as an exposed chest, are designed to allow for ease of movement in both bipedal and quadrupedal stances. The classic shirt, as humans style it, tend to pull and rub at a Goblin’s shoulders, which are structured more like that of a very flexible cat than a human. A lean towards functionality does not stop Goblins from accessorizing, though, covering clothes in embroidery, beadwork, and decorating with anything that shines or makes a nice jingling sound. Patterns and motifs may stem from Goblin folklore and history, or may be adopted from other species’ cultures. Clothing style is not restricted based on sex in any case other than when it comes to nudity in a particular culture, but it is common for those with magical ability to wear styles that differ from those who do not.

- Goblins have brightly pigmented skin, ranging from green to yellow to red, with the depth of color believed to signal good health. They may very rarely have striped or spotted patterns on their skin, but if not painted-on, this tends to be the result of an individual having some hobgoblin or bugbear ancestry, rather than a naturally occurring pattern. Compared to humanoids, they have an extended hairline, which starts lower on the forehead, extending down the neck and back, and across the shoulders. It often stops at the low-back, but it is not unheard of to have a furred tail. They range between 2.5 to 3.5 feet in height when standing bipedally, though are taller when their ears are taken into account. They are mammalian, and give birth in litters of 1-3 pups per season. Goblins have retractable claws, and their teeth fall out regularly across the seasons, though they only fall out all at once if a Goblin is in truly dire health. Lost teeth are often given as a sign of affection to family, friends, and/or lovers. While Goblins may not be religious, they are often spiritual, and keeping a loved one’s tooth is thought to help keep track of them, in life and in death. In fact, when a particularly beloved Goblin passes, when they are interred below the roots or in the hollow of a tree, they are often buried with great numbers of living Goblin’s teeth, so that they may find and recognize one another again in the world beyond.

[rubyjackson]

Number Plate Check

Whenever you want to buy a used car, it is best to go for a Number plate check history to understand what's in store. This report helps you understand the history of the used car, saving your time and money.

[fruchtfleisch-art]

fic prompt: tomoshino - balance, unfamiliar, or starting over!

Oh wow, some anonymous artist did guest art for this prompt! I wonder who it could be... everyone say thank you to them for donating two tender and beautiful pieces of housewife yaoi, they've done a tremendous service O7

Like usual, Shinobu ruins her evening at Tomoko’s before it begins. She has a new pair of kitten heels, cherry red, and the vague hope that they could be her new work shoes, but they’re not broken in and pinch terribly by the end of the day.

Her lack of sensible footwear makes them almost half an hour late to the Higashikata’s house, Hayato trailing ahead as his mother limps behind, willing herself to ignore the pain of each step. She wishes she had changed into sandals, or sneakers, even if they would have looked ridiculous next to her silky blouse and sensible, knee-length skirt.

Tomoko insists that it’s fine, but the table is already set, the central pot of zosui cold and congealing. Dinner is accompanied by the low hum of the microwave as everyone takes turns trying to revive their meal. Josuke, too impatient to wait, bolts his food cold and is gone, taking Hayato with him and leaving the adults to clean up.

That’s typical for the boys, but tonight Tomoko takes one look at Shinobu hobbling to the sink with a stack of plates and sends her away, too. It feels like taking advantage. It feels terrible.

“You want a cup of tea, baby?” Tomoko calls from the kitchen, interrupting Shinobu’s sulk. The faucet squeaks to a stop.

“Sure, but I can get it-”

“No, you stay there. I’m already up, it’s no trouble.”

Maybe Shinobu is way overthinking things, but she can’t help it. Every invitation for coffee, every phone call or letter in the mail, every time Tomoko hugs her and tells her to come back soon feels like a minor miracle, some fantastic alignment of the stars and planets. If she can’t correct the balance, offer something of herself in return, how is that possibly fair?

And yet… here she is, a steaming cup of green tea in her hands. There Tomoko is, thumping down next to her with a heavy sigh. She looks tired, but that’s all. No anger. No resentment.

“Long day?” Shinobu ventures.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Something nice about Tomoko is that she always has a story ready. It’s usually something mundane- a funny thing one of her students did, an argument she got into with the drugstore clerk- but occasionally something truly bizarre surfaces, usually involving Josuke. The Higashikatas attract weird like magnets and metal filings. Today the subject is her coworker’s hunky new aid, a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man who can’t be older than twenty-five. Normal workplace gossip.

What little Shinobu has learned of Tomoko’s dating history paints a daring, provocative picture: the mysterious older American who impregnated her as a college student, a number of risky flings in hotels or work breakrooms, a man she was seriously considering marrying at one point, except for the fact that Josuke hated his guts. At some unspecified time, she worked for an elderly woman, delivering groceries and tidying her shoebox apartment. The woman offered a huge sum to Tomoko for her to stay and warm the bed one night, saying how lonely she was, how late and dark it had gotten. Tomoko turned her down, trudging home through snow and icy rain, only for the old woman to call the next day asking her to pick up a quart of milk like nothing had happened.

They’re not that far apart in age, but their vast gap in experience makes Shinobu feel awkward and stunted, a child playing at adulthood. She often thinks that she might never close that gap. The men at her office are mostly middle-aged and comfortably settled, with wives and children and mortgages. Even if she wanted to date (and she doesn’t), it would be slim pickings.

It’s not like anyone would go for her, anyways, not the way she is now. She’s too needy, too insecure. It clings to her like a bad smell. Shinobu sets her empty teacup down, feeling atrociously guilty. She couldn’t boil her own water, take her own teabag out of the wrapper?

“You know, I wasn’t saying you couldn’t do it, earlier,” Tomoko says, as if she can read Shinobu’s mind. “I was asking if I could do it for you.”

“I… oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Tomoko shifts a little closer, coming up off the arm of the couch. “Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet today.”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just my stupid work shoes. They’re too tight.”

Another nice thing about Tomoko: she asks for forgiveness before permission. Shinobu is sitting with her legs tucked under her, but Tomoko gradually coaxes them into her lap, casual as you please, and starts to rub hard circles into the balls of her stockinged feet.

The conversation continues, light and insubstantial, but Shinobu can’t seem to focus.

I was asking if I could do it for you. But why does she want to do it in the first place?

“Is that any better?” Tomoko eventually asks. “I’m not much of a masseuse.”

“No, it’s wonderful. Thank you.” When’s the last time anyone touched her like this? A year ago? More? What has she done to be treated with such care?

“Tomoko,” Shinobu says, “are you sure it’s not- I don’t want you to feel like you have to have Hayato and me over all the time. You’ve done so much for us, more than you need to-”

“And what? You think I feel sorry for you?”

How can she not? Tomoko has a beautiful house, a good son, a decent-paying job. She’s confident and grounded; she doesn’t base her self-worth on the opinions of a man who left her behind without so much as a goodbye note.

“I mean, I do,” Tomoko says, and Shinobu feels a little pang in her chest. “But shit, doesn’t everyone have a hard time sometimes? You’re doing your best, all by yourself. Why can’t I make life a little easier?”

“Because- because-” she sputters, and the realization is like turning on a light. Because Kosaku never did. Because Kosaku never would. Because I’m the one who has to do everything myself, always, forever.

“Oh, hey,” Tomoko says, her face softening. “It’s no big deal, really. Don’t cry, alright?”

Shinobu kisses her instead.

She thinks, what the hell am I doing?

Tomoko sets one hand on Shinobu’s waist, the other on her back.

She thinks, I’m so selfish.

Tomoko pulls herself forward, into Shinobu’s lap. She feels the warm heavy weight of Tomoko’s bare thigh, the sharp tug of teeth at her lip. It’s like being set on fire.

She thinks, I want to crawl inside of you and never come back out again.

“Stay over tonight,” Tomoko says, when they stop. There’s a smear of Shinobu’s lipstick at the corner of her mouth.

“Does that mean you want me to buy milk tomorrow?”

“Hm?”

“The story about the old woman?”

“Oh, that. I made it up. I was trying to see if you were…” She shakes her head. “It was stupid.”

“I thought it was sweet. You’re a friend to lonely women everywhere.”

“No way, never. I only care about one lonely woman, right here,” Tomoko says, kissing her again, and Shinobu’s heart soars.

Ask box is still open, send me p4 prompts for minifics!

[strafepanzer]

You feel helpless sometimes. It comes and goes, like the waves crashing against sandy shores of your consciousness before receding back into the deep blue ocean of your subconscious.

Lately it's been more helpless than not. You can't figure out what it is, but since the new semester started a few weeks ago, your focus is faltering, organisation dropping off, grades slipping. Confiding in your friends usually helps, but they've got enough on their plates, and hearing things like "it's normal to feel that way" when you feel like you're drowning inside your own head, only makes it worse.

The professor of your history class is droning on about one thing or another while you worry. Ponder. Stress. You're not quite in the right headspace to be here; your morning was full of misplacing important objects, and you forgot to put your wet clothes un the dryer the night before, and you ended up bringing the wrong notebook with you to class.

You left your waterbottle on the kitchen bench, too.

Then your name is called.

Your heart stops. Panic pumps through your veins, running them both freezing cold and boiling hot. You look up at your professor, feel not only his eyes, but those of your peers, and time starts to drag.

"Says here 'historiography is the changing interpretations of the past, rather than studying history itself.'" Comes a voice next to your ear, projecting back to the professor. The blonde boy who sits behind you is leaning into your space, pointing to scribbles in your notepad that definitely do not say anything about the subject. "Why you always picking on the introverts? Your end of year survey is gonna be full of negative feedback, professor." He huffs, falling back into his chair as people murmur around you in agreement.

The professor sends you an apologetic look, and you feel the panic subside, but it doesn't go away completely. While your pulse slows, you still feel exhausted and deflated, like all hopes and dreams for the day are flowing down the drain.

Then a note lands on your desk, something folded into a messy square, torn from a notebook.

You owe me a coffee. You free after class?

- Bakugo

His number is scrawled under his name, and you resist the urge to turn around and ask him if he's joking, fear of being called out in front of the class again a shadow at the back of your brain.

But now you really can't focus, and it's for another reason completely. Bakugo is cute. Cuter than cute, and smart, and popular, and it takes you another whole minute to process this but... he saved your ass.

You try to steal a sneaky glance back at him, only to make eye contact with dark ruby eyes, and he winks.

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

The Many Illustrators of A Tale of Two Cities 1: Hablot Knight Browne (a.k.a. Phiz)

...& a century-and-a-half-long game of telephone...

For the first post in a series on the book's illustrators, how could we start with any but the very first one?

"Although a number of critics have pilloried Hablot Knight Browne ('Phiz') for his supposed ineptitude in the program of illustration for A Tale of Two Cities, the fact that he so astutely realized and graphically elaborated so many significant elements of Dickens's letterpress is evidence that his pictorial series reflects an extremely careful reading of the printed text...The visual accompaniment [that these illustrations provided to the novel's monthly installments] was not mere ornamentation, but an aide-mémoire intended to facilitate the monthly reader's keeping track of a discontinuous narrative over a period of seven months."

from "Charles Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities" (1859) Illustrated: A Critical Reassessment of Hablot Knight Browne's Accompanying Plates" by Philip V. Allingham from the 2003 volume of the journal Dickens Studies Annual.

Frontispiece Cover to the Monthly Installments Vignette

For some perspective on the significance of this first set of illustrations - published initially within monthly installments of the novel in 1859 (the text of which was collected from the original weekly installments published in All the Year Round, also in 1859) - that single quote comes from an entire article on these illustrations that is itself 49 pages long.

The Mail

As such, suffice it to say that this particular post will not be a thorough examination of the history, context, and impact of these illustrations (though, for those interested, be sure to click on any links you see throughout this post for all sorts of further reading!).

The Shoemaker

Instead, it will simply be a place to observe and appreciate these illustrations for what they are, in their "original" glory.

The Likeness

...I mean, just look at these things! (I'm of course gonna break formality after this one because it's my favorite😌)

Congratulations

In terms of the odyssey of finding the proper edition of these to post, "original" is the operative word.

The Stoppage at the Fountain

These are the oldest (except for some or possibly all of McLenan's...more on that many months from now though) and certainly the most iconic of the illustrations of this novel and thus have also had the most mileage, having been passed from edition to edition to edition countless times over the last 164 years.

Mr. Stryver at Tellson's Bank

That means - as the gif at the top of this post demonstrates - that these illustrations have slowly been "translated" over time into dozens of distinct images - in ways as innocuous as a change in a shadow and as striking as a change in a character's facial expression.

The Spy's Funeral

These translations have happened in all sorts of ways over the development of printing technology - blemishes, xeroxing errors, low-quality or blurry scans, too much ink being used in printing, image compression, sometimes even actual tracing of the original illustrations! - and as interesting as they can be on their own, for someone determined to find the most accurate representation of Phiz's phenomenal work, they can be...phrustrating.

The Wine-shop

In fact, as a sidebar, the illustrations that I used for the Best Character Showdown bracket turned out to themselves be traces and not originals! I am Ashamed and disheartened! You could even say that I am yet another...

The Accomplices

accomplice in the mistranslation of Phiz's work!

The Sea Rises

Rest assured, though - although they are not from the monthly installments themselves (which as far as my research has gone do not seem to be anywhere on the Internet), these particular scans are sourced directly from an online scan at the Open Library project (contained within the Internet Archive) of the first edition of A Tale of Two Cities, itself also published in 1859.

Before the Prison Tribunal

I do wish that they hadn't been cropped the way that they have and that they were available in a (much) higher resolution, but as of now, they're the best representation of Phiz's original work that we netizens have!

The Knock at the Door

A Tale of Two Cities was the final novel that Phiz illustrated for Dickens - and marked the complicated ending to a twenty-three-year (yes) professional partnership between the author and illustrator - but his work here will mark a beautiful beginning to the long archiving project we will experience together here on this blog.

The Double Recognition

Throughout the work of this project, there will be quite a variety of sources being used - from direct scans by me to the two-tone abstractions of PDFs clearly not created for the purpose of storing image information - depending on the needs and availability of each edition.

After the Sentence

All of it goes to show the importance of accuracy and attention to detail in archiving art, which is itself an art form to be appreciated.

Hope you've enjoyed!

& the standard endnote for all posts in this series:

This post is intended to act as the start of a forum on the given illustrator, so if anyone has anything to add - requests to see certain drawings in higher definition (since Tumblr compresses images), corrections to factual errors, sources for better-quality versions of the illustrations, further reading, fun facts, any questions, or just general commentary - simply do so on this post, be it in a comment/tags or the replies!💫

[televisionenjoyer]

i know you made that post like a week ago but the idea of the u.s. having unobstructed democracy is literally just one of the myths used to convince people that its a morally superior country. like black people and immigrants and poor people in general have to jump thru so many hoops to register to vote. and the bipartisan system is so forced that quite literally it does not work to vote third party in federal elections. i really fucking wish it did but it doesnt. the usamericans online who are all fighting over voting for biden or not voting at all are a tiny minority and they couldn't get a third party candidate elected even if they all magically agreed on one. if it was a real democracy than they would be doing what you want them to do, not agonizing over all the other shitty options that they have

AND leftists wouldve actually been successful in voting against imperialism for the past 200 yrs.. like this is not our choice. i know most americans are total pieces of shit about everyone else but the actual allies and sympathizers of the u.s.'s victims really are powerless within the system

Hi! I've left this ask simmer in my head for a whole day because I really wanted to digest it and put it down in a way that made some sense.

Fair warning I'm about to get rlly political about imperialism under the cut

I've received a lot of comments in that post about how democracy in the US is not as straightforward as it appears —I've gathered as much, which is why i referred to it as a perfectly crafted illusion of free will. But what I think most people missed from the post is that I was referencing, in its opposition, countries that literally had to bounce back from nondemocratic, violent governments through popular organizations rebelling against the system, which put their lives at immeasurable risk.

Throughout history all types of seemingly unmovable systems rose and fell. Kingdoms, dynasties, dictatorships, monarchies, caliphates, colonies, republics, you name it, its been made and destroyed. A common denominator within revolutions such as the french revolution, the haitian revolution, the american civil war and countless others was an overpowering sense of necessity within its "rebels". An overwhelming amount of people were poor, starving, and/or getting killed left and right because of their stations, races, ideologies, religions, etcetera.

It is my deeply cemented belief that the American Dream is in fact a device of the empire to keep the average usamerican content and compliant. As long as you have food on your plate, Netflix on your TV and an iPhone in your hand, you're not going to pay that much mind to which happens outside. You have the luxury to see an update on the current situation in Palestine, reblogs it, say to yourself "thank god it isn't happening to me", and move on to another amiable day in the suburbs. I'm not saying the life quality is anywhere near perfect, but it by far surpasses that of the "global south", "the third world" or however you'd like to name us.

It's strategic, calculated, a small sacrifice that the empire has to make to protect its exploitative endeavors: provide for those who have actual civic impact (reminder: puerto rico still can't vote). It's a necessary dent in the empire's funds, one they'd like to keep to a minimum, hence the dubious immigration policy and carefully crafted housing crisis in a country of such an extent — The American Dream can't be for everyone, otherwise there'd be no one else to exploit.

In essence the reason why the current democratic system has not yet been overthrown is quite simply that the usamerican people, those who have actual civil impact on the inner politics of the country, are not motivated enough to make it change. There is a reason why a significant number of the people who are most involved in the political cause of palestine happen to be marginalized sectors: people from the global south, arabs, people of color — understanding this imperialist oppression firsthand makes it harder to ignore. There is a reason aaron bushnell self immolated: his occupation put him in a position that made it outright impossible to ignore the horrors.

Furthermore, there is the knowledge that one win against the empire helps ton for the overall cause of mitigating this regime. A damn good motivation for us, not so much for the people who benefit from the current system.

TLDR you can always overthrow the government and demand a fairer system, but the the average american finds no strong real reason to.

[spahhzy]

"I'm changing the locks Blake"

Blake looked up from her book at Jaune with an eyebrow raised.

"Okay, just make sure you give me a new key," She said before going back down to her reading while trying to snuggle into Jaune, whomst quickly got out of bed.

"No, I'm sorry, but this joke has gone on long enough," Jaune said as he began to get dressed as Blake once again looked up from her book.

"And again, I'm telling you that this isn't a joke, Jaune," Blake said as she set her book aside and got out of bed.

Jaune just sighed, really, not in the mood to fight early in the morning. Instead, he chose to head downstairs to the kitchen, where he would cook breakfast for both of them.

"Get dressed, please... Lord knows what would happen if people got the wrong idea. " Was all he said, which Blake opened her mouth to retort, but the closing of the door stopped her.

It didn't take long for breakfast to be served two plates on each end of the small table.

Blake joined Jaune and let out a hum of approval over smelling the delicious food.

Jaune smiled and served them both.

They ate contently in silence.

"So when are you going back?" Jaune asked as he wiped his mouth of crumbs.

"Back where?" Blake asked, tilting her head as Jaune found it very cute but pressed onward.

"Uh, back home? You know to your wife?" He said to her as he eyed a piece of toast.

"Ugh, not this again, Jaune. I'm not married to Yang what so ever, and whatever joke you think this is? It isn't, " Blake argued, to which Jaune said nothing before pulling out his scroll and dialing a number.

"Who are you calling?" She asked, and Jaune said nothing as the scroll rang for a few seconds before suddenly someone picked up.

"Jaune? How are you? Are you alright?"

"Hi, Miss Belladonna, yeah, I'm alright doing well actually...hey I know you wanted to Blake to come visit you every once and awhile and I think she is feeling pretty homesick" Jaune said much to the shock of Blake.

"Yeah, I'll book her a bull head, and she can spend a few weeks with you? How's that sound? Great! I'm sure you both will be delighted...mhmm, okay I'll tell her bye Mrs. Belladonna!" Jaune put down the scroll, and Blake looked at him a little angry.

"You called my mom!? Why!" She asked him and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I figured you could use the time spent with your family... maybe take Yang with you or something" As soon as Jaune said that Blake threw her hands In the air in frustration.

"I'm not- for fucks sake- married to Yang, Jaune, where ever the hell your getting this picture of me and her together is out of fiction, we had something and then we separated but for God's sake we are NOT married, why do you think I'm joking about this!" Blake said to which Jaune just rubbed his eyes.

This was becoming a headache.

"Blake, I saw you two get married. Hell, I was even there for you two first kiss together. Come on, and yall have been happy ever since, then one day you start plopping into my bedroom every other night and hugging and cuddling all up to me" he stopped and took a drink of his orange juice loving the taste before continuing.

"It's a joke, a long played out no punchline joke, which I'm still shocked you got every one of our friends in on it," He told them before getting up and taking all the dishes on the table and setting them into the sink.

" 'Haha, the prank on Jaune Arc will be one for the history books' Is something i imagine your wife saying, Blake, but I think I have limits and trying to fuck me while your married is that limit" Jaune said and Blake just sputtered not sure what to say, still in disbelief that he would think this is all one big joke.

"So sis-"

"Don't start that, sis shit," Blake gritted angrily to which Jaune shrugged at her still washing the dishes.

"I mean, it's what we are, aren't we?...look before you end up doing something you'll regret, go see your mother for a week or two... take Yang with you and have some fun" He said as he put the last dish away before walking to a coat wrack and grabbed a white coat.

"Where are you going?" Blake asked and Jaune chuckled.

"Out...and when I come back, the locks will be changed," and with that, Jaune closed the door, leaving Blake all alone.

Sniffle.

"Why don't you believe me?"

[edennill]

Comparative Studies, or Twice on the Verge of Falling  

The Rimôn fresco of Elwing is considered to be one of the greatest artworks of the Late Classical Era. Found in the courtyard of the old Helcaril Villa (itself a marvellous example of architectural trends during the reign of Tar-Elendil), it occupies a relatively modestly-sized, but excellently exposed niche across from the entrance. Aside from the considerable fame the artist had later gathered, it remains remarkable both for its vividness of emotional expression, contrasting to the usual art style of the era, and for the number and fame of its copies.  

The best known of these is the one gracing the lesser courtyard of the villa Surë-or-Falmar. Indeed, the glory of the two is so closely interwined that it seems impossible to ascertain which had contributed to the fame of the other more. And yet the effect of the copy wildly differs from that of the original artwork.

The Rimôn Fresco depicts the figure of the young Elwing standing on the cliff with her back to the churning waters below. She is poised halfway toward the drop, as if on the verge of throwing herself in, one hand clasping the Silmaril at her neck. Wind whips at her torn dress and loose hair. A rarity among artworks confronting the subject, it depicts neither the enemy she is facing, nor the the transformation into bird itself. The figure stands alone - and seems strikingly young. Beholders oft remark that it is hard to believe she is meant to depict a wife and a mother.  

The wild and violent atmosphere of the fresco, even though, as with most Classical works, it depicts no blood, and despite the aforementioned lack of actual fighting shown, made its artistic quality fall under scrutiny in its day. From diaries, journals and letters of the period we can, however, see that it proved intriguing enough that people would come visit the Helcaril Villa only to see it in person - and that it won over many of those who were originally critical. Thus it is difficult to ascertain whether the changed nature of the Surë-or-Falmar villa Fresco was intentional on the part of the copyist, or the sign of an inexperienced hand.  

The name of the copy's painter has unfortunately escaped history. The style is typical to the reign of Tar-Meneldur, though an exemplary of its genre rather than a dull attempt at imitating fashion. The colour combinations are soft, slightly more so than in the Rimôn Fresco, the lines clean, and the light hazy. The figure depicted is in the exact same position as that in the original artwork.  

Viewers of both frescoes predominantly agree, however, that despite the technical skill the painter has exhibited, the Surë-or-Falmar Fresco lacks something of Rimôn's Elwing. The posture is just a little less dynamic; the cliff's edge (perhaps unconsciously or accidentally) removed slightly father from Elwing's feet, making her situation seem something less desparate. The wind's effects hardly seem those of a real gale, and more an aesthetic choice. One of the most interesting judgements has been pronounced by Herunimon of Eldalondë in a letter to his cousin, Rilendur, son of Verahil, dated 24th Nárië, 901: "The S.o.F. figure seems less the Lady Elwing fenced in by foes and making a tragic choice, but more the heroine of one of those new romances, unsure whether to flee the scene after a man has confessed his love to her, or to accept his proposal - or, I hardly know, perhaps such heroines lead more exciting lives than I would guess (...) - but anyhow, the fresco seems more like a coloured plate in a rich novel, than a mural depcting a tale of the Elder Days. All in all, there is not one element which does not fit. But taken together, the effect is incongruous." (Collected Letters, volume II, as accessed from the Royal Library in Romenna)  

(from the Romenna Journal of Artistic and Literary Studies)  

***

Editor's note: Remembering the considerable public outcry after the publication of Songs of the Elder Days: Lyrics, History and Analysis, the University of Romenna along with its subsidiary organisations seek to make it understood that the views of authors, as regards the addition or not of Lord and Lady before the names of Lord Eärendil and Lady Elwing, do not necessarily represent its own. Were the University to be flippant, it might also seek to ask why proper respect being accorded to the Lord and Lady seems to be held in greater importance than that it be accorded to the Valar, but the University understands that this would bring on public outcry against it from people on both sides of the moro-political divide, so it shall keep its silence.