#...but they desire us and want our affection and attention so we can weaponize that to our advantage for our power.'

[canichangemyblogname]

I finally saw the Barbie Movie and it was… really just a movie. Gave me something to do for two hours, but it didn’t feel substantive. Had some good messaging for women who needed to hear the same message the “brainwashed” Barbies needed to hear, even though that concept sounds patronizing now that I’m putting words to it. I have other thoughts, but voicing them feels a little like beating a dead horse. Women far smarter than I have provided incredibly cutting critiques of this movie and its portrayal white feminism, girlboss feminism, and capitalistic feminism.

[celestialarchon]

The Celestial Archon

Chapter Two: The Moonlight Phenomenon

Genshin Impact x F! Reader

Warnings: major Genshin Impact Spoilers! Possible grammar errors.

Tag list: To Be Added. (sorry it needed to be published!)

With the return of a mysterious archon, celebrations began! The night was filled with laughter, food, and memories being made. One person was amiss during the celebration, Mona still found herself unsettled and unable to be as excited as the others. An eerie feeling of unrest and anxiety has settled over our esteemed astrologist as our beloved heroes celebrate.

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“I’ve finally found you,” Mona’s intense astrology session was interrupted by a cheery high pitched voice.

“Hello, Seraphim.” Mona turned to greet the beautiful woman.

She nearly gasped as the woman walked in, her hair now styled and her eyes shining brighter than before, the mysterious tattoos seemed to have faded and though she was still striking she looked far more human than before. The Celestial Archon merely smiled at the woman’s surprise and stepped towards her, hand out.

“We should talk, my child. Fate had brought us together, an astrologist with a water vision instead of a celestial vision is strange enough.” The woman was calm but not cold as Mona took her hand.

Mona was warm as the gentle archon interlocked their fingers and led her to the corner of the room, sinking down into a comfy chair and pointing at the one next to her. Disappointment creeped up in the astrologist as her idol released her hand. It was quickly replaced with embarrassment and a soft flush across her cheeks. Mona was wholeheartedly captured by the mystery goddess.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” The bright eyes goddess sighed, “That my arrival in Teyvat has stirred up some trouble.”

Mona frowned slightly, “There was already trouble, your sudden appearance is not the cause of it.”

“That’s good, but I still feel that my presence is going to stir the pot a bit. I am connected to all the stars and spaces of this world, I can feel and see things so deeply and I am well aware that there are challenges coming. It’s annoying in some ways.” Her eyes were distant again.

Words were lost on Mona for a moment. She couldn’t begin to imagine how stressful it was to feel so deeply, to constantly be overwhelmed by information and one’s connection to the world. Every piece of text written about the Celestial Archon was very vague. Information on the god of stars was hard to find and many details had been lost, yet one thing seemed to stay the same in ever piece of information Mona had consumed.

Even when the world was teeming with elemental energy and gods were far more common, the goddess of the sky, Seraphim, was an oddity. Before the Archon war, Seraphim was a lone wolf being without many ties. The last god of stars kept to herself and had no desire to interfere with the other’s problems, despite knowing so much of them. It was incredibly lonely and sad.

“You said it’s strange that I have a water vision,” Mona finally spoke.

“Yes,” The archon clicked her tongue, “Had I been around, somebody like you would’ve received a vision from me. However, you did not receive one of my visions and ultimately that should’ve impacted your abilities over astrology but it did not. You are quite the gifted character, aren’t you Miss Mona?”

Mona’s face was tomato red at the words of the beloved celestial archon, “I am honored to be complimented by the goddess of stars.”

“You’re very formal,” The starry eyed goddess laughed.

“Excuse me,” the two were interrupted by none other than the acting grandmaster, “I would like a word with the Lady of the Stars.”

Mona was hesitant, not wanting her idol to slip away but nodded and escorted the woman to the door. She was a bit dissatisfied with the conversation they’d had, wanting to know more and more of her long awaited god. The woman turned back to Mona, eyes twinkling, and embraced her. The normally level headed and somewhat haughty astrologist stiffened in shock but returned the warm hug. A sigh escaped Mona’s mouth, but she didn’t mind. The goddess was warm and something about her affection put Mona at peace.

“I am so lucky that somebody as beautiful and gifted as you awaited my return, Mona Megistus. Until we meet again, my darling.” The woman’s grasp around Mona tightened as she whispered in her ear.

The water mage watched as the strange goddess gracefully glided away with Jean. She was ethereal with the moonlight filtering in from tall windows, her skin illuminated as she hung on to every word Jean said. Even the confident and ever busy acting grandmaster found butterflies swarming her abdomen at the sight of the goddess. Jean felt as if she could be swept away by the young woman.

A part of Jean felt guilty for several reasons. As acting grand master, it was her duty to know about the citizens of Mond, it was her duty to work without personal emotions interfering, and her duty to oversee the safety of all the wind borne citizens. The Celestial Archon was challenging all of these duties. It was only natural for an astrologist to be obsessed with a god of stars, and Jean had interrupted the conversation. The Dandelion Knight couldn’t help but feel an innocent sort of crush on the goddess, she was kind and beautiful and she really seemed to want to get to know everyone. Ultimately, Jean was also aware of the danger a new archon posed.

Even so, the beautiful knight couldn’t help but want to push all those thoughts aside and capture the attention of the goddess for hours. She shook off that thought, attempting to focus on her duty as Mondstat’s respected Grand Master. Jean explained the general politics of the city of freedom and the individual jobs of the knights of favonious. She even went as far as to explain the adventurer’s guild and the recent trouble with Storm Terror. The Celestial Archon hung on to every word, nodding and asking occasional questions.

Jean took the time to explain the place they were in, a place between Mondstat and Liyue, and the teleport points that marked both countries. She was diligent and had already prepared some documents for the 8th Archon, maps and other things needed in the world. Jean had even communicated with others to ensure each safe place for the archon was marked. The allied domain was the middle ground, but Mondstat welcomed the new Archon with a living place and much to do. Liyue had also prepared a small home in the city for her.

The archon stared in wonder at the map. The knights of Favonious had prepared a room for her in their own head quarters, even the esteemed Tycoon had set aside a room. Wangshuu Inn welcomed her and Liyue Harbor gave her quarters close to Rex Lapis. Small notes were written for her, both Xiao and Diluc noted the stars were best seen from where they were while the traveler and Paimon had starred their favorite places to eat.

“Ah, Master Jean.” The Goddess spoke slowly, bowing.

“Please, Seraphim, there’s no reason to be so formal!” Jean’s voice rose nervously, “You are an archon after all.”

“Yes, that’s true. You do not serve me though, please refer to me as my chosen name. Formalities aren’t my taste much.” The Archon remarked bashfully.

Jean nodded, rose dusting her cheeks.

“I,” The Archon sighed, “Really need an open space so I can, uh, deal with my weapon situation.”

“Oh, oh!” Realization hit Jean.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Jean babbled nervously, “Here let us go out to the cliffs, it should be okay, right?”

“Mhm,” The goddess followed the knight to the exit.

Aether and Paimon were also by the exit, turning at the sound of approaching foot steps. Aether grinned and waved at the Celestial Archon, she waved back and beamed. Paimon immediately took off, throwing herself into the Archons arms as the woman giggled. Jean’s face was priceless, attempting to process how this small otherworldly creature could just tackle and archon without shame.

Aether and his companion followed the two women, curious about the weapon another archon would wield. The group made their way to the edge of the cliff, the stars seeming extra bright and the moon full. The goddess lowered herself, feet on the lush grass and put her hand forth, palm out. Swiftly, she struck the air in front of her with her pointer finger, an unfamiliar constellation connecting at each point.

“Return to your master, Destroyer of Divinity.” Her words were clear and calm.

The constellation burst into a ray of white light, Aether covered his eyes as Paimon whined. Darkness fell again and he opened his eyes, gasping at the sight in front of him. The goddess held a long weapon close to her body, above her shoulder was a large opalescent curved blade, below the hip on the opposite side, another shimmering curved blade could be seen. No weapon in Teyvat was even similar.

“I-Is is that a scythe?!” Jean sputtered.

“Aha, well yes,” The goddess blushed at their reactions, “Destroyer of Divinity is an unusual weapon, meant to slice through dimensional and spatial barriers. I didn’t mean to shock you.”

Aether stood, mouth agape, “Even its name is terrifying! What the hell?”

“Ahahaha,” the archon continued to laugh nervously, “Well, its existence is basically to bring judgement from the heavens upon those deserving so yeah it’s a bit intimidating.”

Aether nearly screamed. How could she say something so casually?

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The traveler was feeling a bit nervous, as anybody would if an Archon decided to tag along for their daily commissions. Paimon and the Celestial Archon chattered away as Aether spoke to the Katheryne in Liyue. It did not help that the three had left before the others awoke and the Celestial Archon had left a note declaring it as a “friendly date.”

The last thing Aether wanted was to piss off literally any of the adepti, the Geo Archon himself, and even Jean who had taken a very noticeable interest in the goddess. A cloud seemed to look over the blonde but Paimon didn’t notice. The eighth Archon gave the teenager a sympathetic smile and put her hand on his shoulder, attempting to ease his nerves. Only one thing could make the situation worse, and unfortunately that particular thing was heading straight towards Aether.

“Let’s run,” Aether grabbed the startled archon’s wrist and dragged her to the teleport point nearby, ignoring the calls of a certain troublesome individual.

The archon chuckled, “I didn’t know daily commissions would be so exciting!”

Aether smiled sheepishly and let go of her wrist, trying to focus on which commission to start with. He was distracted by a sudden commotion, people yelled out as a hooded figure darted past the trio. Liyue Harbor’s guards thundered after the thief, knocking the poor panicked goddess off her feet.

The eight archon shut her eyes and prepared for the impact of the fall, but was yanked back by a pair of strong arms.

“Hey, girlie. Hold still.” A charming voice said.

The goddess watched as the lanky ginger haired man moved forward and shot an arrow, narrowly missing all the guard and hitting the suspicious character in the back. Aether’s eyes were filled with shock and panic at the sight of the man. Immediately, the goddess side stepped away from her hero, on high alert.

“Now,” He turned to her beaming, “What exactly is such a beautiful young lady doing with this kiddo?”

Her starry eyes met his azure eyes, “I’m just a new adventurer from Mondstat, learning the ropes from the best.”

“Hmm?” His gaze was questioning, “Well then, I’m Childe. Number 11 of the Fatui Harbingers. We should definitely get to know each other.”

The goddess moved to Aether in a quick swift movement. Suddenly, she wanted very much to escape Liyue Harbor. The Fatui were trouble, the goddess was new to the era but even she knew that they were dangerous. It was one of the first matters addressed at her arrival. She no longer knew the Cryo Archon, and this Tsarita sounded troubling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” an annoyed voice chimed in, averting the red head’s attention.

A shorter man with a large hat and ominous aura stood behind the tall harbinger. Aether tensed up and the goddess wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Slowly, the trio made their escape at the expense of Childe. The older harbinger was chewing the younger man out for flirting and wasting time, both harbingers bickered as the traveler and his companions fled.

“You shouldn’t be wasting time on trying to get laid you, fool.” Scaramouche scowled, still ripping into his subordinate. “Especially not that woman, even from a mile away I can tell she’s trouble. You’re a harbinger not a host, get your shit together, Tartaglia.”

Childe smirked, looking down on his superior, “So you noticed her, too. I wonder what someone like that is doing with my favorite traveler.”

“We should alert the Tsarita of that girl,” Scaramouche mumbled, avoiding the earlier comment.

“I actually agree,” Childe’s eyes narrowed, “I was hoping to see for myself what she is, but that kid stopped me of course. There’s something strange about her but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe I can charm it out of her?”

Scaramouche slapped his comrades back, “Let’s go you useless fucking playboy.”

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Wangshuu Inn looked beautiful and the aroma of food was far too enticing. Aether sighed as he watched his small, chubby companion chase after the eighth archon. The woman was supposed to be divine, yet in some ways he reminded her of a puppy or a kitten. She was somewhat moody with her affections and spacey like a kitten may be, and still somehow clingy and energetic like a puppy.

Luckily for the two, Aether had a commission from Verr Goldet. The blonde tried to maintain composure as he saw a familiar dark haired yaksha speaking with the Inn Keeper, not wanting to admit he’d accidentally led the Fatui straight to the Archon. The traveler watched in fascination and amusement as Verr’s face twisted from composed to horrified when Xiao was knocked over by the goddess. The conqueror of demons merely grunted and stood back up, clutching the ethereal woman to his chest.

Xiao’s eyes were cold as they met Aether’s, clearly annoyed with the boy, but his expression softened at the yawning goddess in his arms. Once again, the traveler was overcome with curiosity at her behavior. Only moments ago the woman was bubbly and hyper, now her eyes were fluttering and she was snuggling up to one of the most dangerous beings in Teyvat. Without a word, the tattooed man spun around and carried the goddess upstairs.

“I’m here for your com-“ Aether began.

“Who was that?!” Verr Goldet burst out, “I’ve never seen Adeptus Xiao so damn agreeable. What just happened? Is this a dream?”

Paimon giggled, “He loooooves her! That person is the one we told you about before! Even Xiao can’t be in a bad mood around her, it’s amazing!”

“Oh,” Verr blushed at Paimon’s words, “She’s that person? No wonder he’s been so restless.”

“Wait, restless?” Aether questioned.

Verr Sighed and beckoned the two to a guest free area. The two followed her into a small back room, exchanging glances. The boss lady pulled out an old book and brushed the dust away. Aether and Paimon peered down at the book, puzzled by its appearance. It was a dark leather with carvings of the moon and clouds on the front.

Carefully, Verr flipped the book open and turned it to the two. Paimon shot up, shrieking. The book looked like a book you’d find in a library but was strange. Instead of ongoing text, the pages had scraps and pieces stuck on the pages with various notes scribbled around. Verr turned to the first page, placing her middle finger at the beginning text and giving Aether and expectant look. The traveler leaned down and began to read the text.

“The moonlight phenomenon: Legend of Liyue.

It is said that there was once a ruler of the stars, one who ruled over the sky as the Gods rule over our land. When tides of war overcame Liyue, Rex Lapis sought out the monarch of the sky to form a contract.

Seraphim granted Rex Lapis the moonlight phenomenon. Liyue’s skies were never to dim even on the darkest of nights, the moon and stars would remain as guides for Liyue always. It is said that this contract assisted in bringing the evil gods to their doom, the sky illuminating the way to victory for Liyue and all of Teyvat.”

Verr flipped the page as Aether exhaled trying to wrap his mind around the strange passage.

“The Contract: Seraphim and Rex Lapis.

The circumstances of the moonlight phenomenon still remain unknown. It is an ancient mystery that many still attempt to solve, what exactly did the Geo Archon barter for his people?

Nobody knows, still. However, the most common theories are that the contract has not been fulfilled or that there was no contract to begin with. Many believe that Rex Lapis and Seraphim were secret lovers, and this was Seraphim’s gift to her beloved. Others hypothesize that Seraphim’s wish was never fulfilled, as her death sealed the victory for The Seven Archons.”

Aether shuddered. People in Liyue believe that The Celestial Archon died in the Archon war? Verr flipped to a page in the middle of the book.

“Liyue’s Priestess Seraphim

It is said that a woman with eyes vast like the galaxy beyond and mysterious astrological powers once enchanted all of Liyue.

Seraphim, the last Celestial wielder was Liyue’s last hope. Though she is not honored as an archon, she is known vaguely as a priestess. The woman who captured the attention of the archon’s themselves and was adored by the Adepti. Few remain, but Liyue’s legends claim that the priestess of the stars was the lover of Rex Lapis, the lover of the Vigilant Yaksha, or the lover another adepti.

Even fewer discuss the devastation that occurred when she fell from grace. Her death was the catalyst of the only known battle between Liyue’s very own Archon, The Anemo Archon and his people, and the Adepti. A lesser known battle that almost forced both Mondstat and Liyue into Civil Wars.

When the dust settled, all that stood was the full moon. Many Adepti still honor the priestess under the moonlight by fighting evil spirits and demons.”

Aether’s eyes widened at Verr. She solemnly shook her head as the traveler’s face fell. Xiao, Ganyu, Zhongli, Venti, all of them suffered so terribly. It was confusing to the boy that every text described the Celestial Archon as deceased. His head began to hurt from the information. Verr sighed and led him back out.

“Once you finish commissions, why don’t you two stay here? I’ll prepare a room for you,” The boss was sympathetic.

Aether grimaced but nodded, leading Paimon out to finish their duties.

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Somewhere in the shadows of Wangshuu Inn crept a Fatui agent, slipping away as the traveler set out. The shadowy figure grinned at the piece of paper in their hand.

“Protected by the traveler and the Adepti. Master Childe will be interested in this,” His eyes were dark as he approached his fellow Fatui agents, “She could be very useful to us, this (Y/N).”

The suspicious shadows began to slink away, overcome with desire to inform their boss of the new information. Only a few feet away, a strange creature ducked down to avoid being seen by the agents, fidgeting.

“The angel is here!” The creature shrieked as the cult like group left it’s sight, “(Y/N) will be ours.”

[chattingwiththelightkeeper]

Time And Kisses

Today I have had an earworm and the song that is pulsating through my mind today is from way back in 1986 and it is Kiss by Prince. The oddity of this song for me is that while I enjoy some of Prince’s music, I have never been into his music other than a casual appreciation but the lyric that my mind keeps replaying from this song is “I just want your extra time and your kiss”. I believe this is stuck in my head because it correlates to one of my lifestyle pet peeves which are people who want to receive the benefits of a lifestyle partner but do not want to invest their time or are investing their time only for selfish reasons.

I believe that time is the most precious resource that we have as humans because our time here on the third rock from the sun is so limited and one of my best-loved quotes is by Henry Rollins, “No such thing as spare time, no such thing as free time, no such thing as down time. All you got is life time. Go”. With our time here limited and none of us knows our expiration date in advance, I am continually surprised by the number of people involved in the lifestyle, especially dominants, who want and some even demand the attention of a submissive but refuse to give their time back in return. I am not suggesting that people go out and spend time with or engage in conversations with others just for the sake of spending time but I feel that if someone wants the time and attention of a person, they need to be willing to offer their time and attention too. Sadly, I also know that someone I may want time and attention from may not wish to give those to me since not everyone is a match for friendship or romantic interests but part of me is slightly saddened by the number of people who demand that they be paid attention too but refuse to return those affections, especially here in the D/S lifestyle where it so important that a dominant feed their submissive and vice versa.

The other annoyance that I have and d-types I am looking at you, mostly, with this one.  It seems there is a plague that has ravaged this lifestyle for years and that is dominants who give their time to a submissive not in pursuit of the s-type but in a quest for fantasies that the d-type believes the sexy subbie will procure for them. I have always felt that if a dominant is open about their desires while investing in a submissive because they truly desire them to be their submissive partner then those fantasies (which are not limits) shall become items the s-type will want to bring to life for and with the dominant. Unfortunately, some dominants seem to use their attention as a weapon to get what they want from a submissive. As long as the s-type is laboring to bring a fantasy to life, the d-type is showering the s-type with the investment of time that the submissive craves but the dominant’s attention is always predicated upon fantastic fantasy fulfillment and should the submissive not be working on behalf of the d-types hedonist desires, then they will withhold conversation, support, and the basic things the submissive needs.

While the earworm of Prince’s song Kiss has been replaced in my mind by a combination of work stresses which the voice of Ol’ Blue Eyes is trying to keep at bay, the idea that the investment of time and attention in others should not be done from a selfish place. The giving of attention should never be weaponized on a selfish quest for pleasure nor should it be expected but not given in return. While all of us have limits on what we can give to others, we should never misuse the attention of others and it feels to me that here in the lifestyle attention and time often are used to try to get those kisses Prince speaks of yet the kissing is one-sided and not from mutual craving as I feel it ought to be.

As with all of my writings, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2021

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Eight ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3620

Warnings: Mild language, tw ptsd

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy early Thursday morning! Hope you have a good day <3

Cosima’s right arm grips around me like a vice. Her left arm rests gingerly on her leg. Baranor did what he could, but I imagine it is still painful to move the arm around and irritate the injury. To jostle her as little as possible, I ride as smoothly as I can. Faervel seems to sense that he needs to put extra care into the force with which his hooves hit the ground. When we hit an unavoidable jolt, I hear Cosima’s sharp intake of breath and instantly regret causing her pain. At one point, the hand curled against my stomach begins to shake, and I want to stop the horse. I want to pause and look her in the eye and swear to do better next time. I’ll watch more, fight harder, move faster, keep her safe. I want to explain to her my revitalized resolve—nothing will get to her now. She doesn’t need to worry, because I’ll do better.

But of course, I can’t do any of that.

And I definitely shouldn’t. It’s strange, feeling this strongly about the well-being of one measly human. But in truth, I’ve become quite fond of Cosima in our short time together. Maybe it’s because I don’t spend much time with humans, but I find her humor refreshing, her kindness captivating, and her wide range of emotions infuriatingly confusing. I can’t stop myself from seeking her out.

And I can’t stop myself from hoping she decides to return home with us.

I sigh. I should send her to ride with Orophin. I’m paying too much attention to her, thinking too much, allowing myself to become distracted. But the idea of sending her away, of distancing her from my care, makes me to tense. I have a feeling I would be just as distracted if she weren’t behind me. Inwardly, I remind myself to focus on my surroundings, putting it into the frame of keeping my companions safe. The closer we get to the Imladris border—and thus their border patrols—the lower the likelihood of us running into more orcs. As it is, we are too far away for Elrond’s patrols for comfort and I urge myself to remain vigilant. I can’t take any chances.

There’s a noise to my right—just pebbles dislodged by the quick feet of a rabbit, but Cosima’s human senses can’t find the source of the moment. She jumps, clinging even tighter to me, and looks around wildly, breath racing. Without thinking, I take one hand from the reins and wrap it around the hand she holds in a fist against my stomach.

Elves don’t usually engage in physical contact outside of family and romantic partners. At most, warriors will clasp each other at the elbow briefly to commemorate a job well done or to celebrate a victory. But she is human, I reason, trying to puzzle out my strange response. Humans touch each other all the time—they hug each other, hold each other, press kisses to the cheeks of those they care for. Part of comforting a human is offering them a physical lifeline, something tangible and solid that they can hold on to.

“It’s alright,” I try to soothe, not holding out hope that I’m any good at it. The wardens I’ve dedicated my life to don’t usually require soothing. “It’s just a rabbit—I saw it running off. It climbed over the rocks and caused a few of the smaller ones to fall down the hill.”

I wish I could turn around and face her. I want to look into her eyes, study her face, and see if my words have had any effect. I want to know that the fear has left her, see the relief of security smooth the tension in her brow.

She takes a couple deep breaths, and I encourage myself to take them with her. It never hurts to settle one’s heart. Then, a pressure against my shoulder blade. She’s resting her head there, I realize with a start. I stiffen automatically, not at all used to the contact. I try to relax. If it’s what she needs, I can try it. Once I get over the initial shock, I don’t dislike this feeling at all—in fact, it’s quite nice to be here for her like this.

“Okay,” she breathes. She sounds exhausted.

I weigh my options. Could we chance stopping early tonight? Would the rest result in quicker progress tomorrow? No, I decide, knowing the original plan is the best. Each of us will feel better once we are securely inside Elrond’s borders. If that means some discomfort now, so be it.

With that in mind, I push Faervel to go even faster, wanting to race towards Imladris with all haste.

{***}

I see the tension in everyone’s shoulders when we stop to make camp. Each of them carries the weight of this morning’s attack, the human’s most visibly. Since the moment Cosima left my horse, she’s been at Alexander’s side. I was right about human comforting tactics—his arm hangs around her shoulders and she lays her head against his chest. The sight is strange, and a little disquieting. Elves are so unused to seeing such blatant displays of physical affection.

For his part, Alexander also looks quite shaken. His hair, usually well-kept, sticks in all directions and his eyes dart from side to side constantly, never finding rest. He clings to Cosima as tightly as she holds on to him. While the rest of us are seasoned in the unpleasantries of battle, this is their first encounter with violence—that they can recall, that is.

I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the camp. “I will stand first watch with Baranor. Everyone else, get some sleep.” I address my brothers directly, then. “I will wake you at the halfway point.”

We waste no time. Baranor draws his sword and takes the East side of camp. I mirror his stance on the West. We found a relatively secure spot for the night — a small valley with a clearing of grass backed up to a rocky slope of mountainside. There is only one entrance to where the others sleep, unless someone were to jump from the rocks above. To prevent this from happening, Baranor and I pick points high enough that we could see any attempts to either enter our camp or ambush one of our watch stations. Before I know it, the sun sinks over the horizon and we are plunged into darkness.

{***}

Baranor wakes the others, and once Rumil comes to take my spot, I trek the short distance to the center of our camp. I lay on the now unoccupied mat next to the mountainside — across the small area, Baranor has already passed into sleep. Just as I stretch out, getting comfortable, my eyes meet Cosima’s.

She stares at the rock across the small cleaning from her, expression distant and glazed.

I call her name quietly, getting her attention without waking Alexander or disturbing Baranor. She should have nodded off hours ago. “Can you not sleep?”

She shakes her head and, even from here, I can see the exhaustion in her eyes. “It’s silly,” she whispers. I raise my eyebrows, hoping she’ll explain. “I know we’re relatively safe. I know there are always two people on lookout and I know you all have plenty of weapons. But I’m still so scared.” Her voice wavers. “I can’t remember a time in my life when I was attacked like that. Every time I close my eyes I see those…things.” She bites out the word, shuddering. “What were they?”

I sigh. I should have known she wouldn’t find peaceful rest in her current state. I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to make myself seem as assured as possible. My wardens tend to feel more confident when I seem confident—maybe it will help her, too. “They were orcs, some of the most evil beings in this realm.”

“And they wanted to kill us?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did we do?”

“Nothing,” I shrug, at a loss for the reasoning of those foul beasts. “They are bred for evil, they desire it above all else. If they have the chance to kill, they will take it.”

She shivers again and throws a look over her shoulder towards the entrance of the clearing. “That’s terrifying.”

“They will not get that close to you again,” I swear. I really shouldn’t. I can’t say for sure—they’re no way I can be absolutely positive an orc won’t attack her again. But I do know that as long as it is within my power, I will do everything possible to make what I just said the truth.

She raises an eyebrow dubiously and I know that, even in her fearful and tired state, she sees through the logic in my statement. Even though I was just questioning the validity of my words, I find myself with the overwhelming need to prove them to her—and to myself. I stand, pulling my mat with me, and step around her, dropping the mat between where she lays and the entrance to the clearing.

“There,” I nod, laying back on my mat. “Anything that wants to get to you will have to challenge me first.”

Breath hitches in her throat. Her lip quivers, a shine glints in her eyes. I freeze. Oh Valar, where did I go wrong this time? But when she addresses me—albeit in a shaky voice—she sounds pleased. “You don’t have to do that.”

Relieved that she has one, accepted my offer and two, doesn’t seem to resent me for it, I smile. “It’s my job. Now, please close your eyes and try to fall asleep. I will wake you if there is need.”

She wavers for a moment and I put a hint of my Marchwarden sternness behind the gaze I level back. The edges of her lips quirk into a tentative smile and her eyes slide shut. She pulls her—my— cloak tighter around her shoulders and, in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it, whispers, “thank you.”

I settle on my back, keeping my sword and bow within easy reach, as I do every night. And, though I just told Cosima to go to sleep, I stay awake longer than I intend, watching the stars and listening to the sounds of the mountains. She was right—there is much beauty here. There is no civilization for miles, no hints of light to obscure the vastness of the constellations. As an elfling, I used to love staring at the stars. Even in my early days of the guard and battle, I would pass long nights gazing at the sky. When did I stop? When did the love of beauty for beauty’s sake leave me?

I hear the deep, even breaths indicating a human has fallen asleep and know that Cosima has finally given in to her exhaustion. I follow not long after, the soft light of the stars falling away behind my closed eyes.

{***}

The day is marked by easy travel. By my estimate, we will reach Imladris sometime tomorrow evening. It cannot come quickly enough.

Just as the sun is starting to set, we come across a small cave I have used in the past when traveling with various companies. Orophin sees it too and gives a triumphant call from his spot in the line. A cave means we can chance a fire, which means we can have meat tonight—if we can catch it.

About five hundred feet from the cave, I dismount, signaling for Orophin to do the same. I hand the reins to Cosima, give Faervel a quick pat, and raise my voice loudly enough for the others to hear. “We’ll make sure the cave is clear—the rest of you, wait here.”

The nerves, which seemed dormant in Cosima for the majority of the day, creep back into her features. Her hold on the reins tightens. I attempt to reassure her. “We’ll be back in five minutes. Stay with the others.”

I want to stay longer, to stay by her side until she feels safe, but I know it will be better for everyone once we’re settled in the cave. So I draw my sword and join Orophin at the yawning entrance.

The cave is too small to be used long-term, so it is commonly claimed by travelers who only intend to stay the night. The ceiling is plenty high for humans, but as elves, Orophin and I must take care not to stretch too high. In some places, I can feel the smooth rock graze the top of my head, dragging strands of hair out of place. But aside from that mild annoyance, no threats lie inside and I hurry to return to the others and give them the good news.

Rumil, knowing the expression on my face, grins and hops down from Roch, setting the horse to graze while he excitedly enters the cave to drop his packs. I roll my eyes, though not without fondness, at my brother’s exuberance. I quicken my pace, eager to settle the others for the night and go hunting so we can have a proper meal. As soon as I set Cosima’s feet on the ground and put Faervel to graze, I can go in search of rabbits or squirrels.

I am a few feet from Cosima when Alexander steps into my line of sight. He reaches his arms up to his friend. She smiles warmly at him, places her hands on his shoulders, and lets him ease her down from the horse. It’s a bit jerky, honestly, and I worry that her feet hit the ground with too much force. One has to be careful when helping another down from a higher place—if not, the person could suffer injury. Careless.

“Alexander,” I call. He looks put out but nonetheless inclines his head in my direction. “Leave your supplies in the cave and then meet me out here. I am taking you with me to hunt.”

He sputters. “What? No! I’m tired and I don’t even want to learn how to hunt. Take one of your brothers.”

I feel my eyes narrow. “Regardless if you would like to face the facts or not, you are in this world. And as such, you will need to learn skills to aid your time here, however long that may be. Cosima has learned how to care for the horses and ride and scout her surroundings. You will learn to hunt.” The human tries to protest again, and I raise my chin, none too pleased with having to justify my decision. “As long as you are under my care you will follow my orders. Am I clear?”

Beside him, Cosima’s eyes grow wide. She darts her gaze between myself and Alexander, watching our exchange. I raise an eyebrow at the man. It will not be me who breaks first. I have centuries of practice.

Predictably, Alexander cracks, breaking my gaze and nodding stiffly. He pulls away from Cosima and stalks into the cave, taking a few bags with him.

Baranor passes me on his way up the path—I’d nearly forgotten he was here. He lowers his voice to a volume the humans won’t detect. “He is not one of your wardens, Haldir.”

“As long as he travels in my company, he travels under my command,” I grit back, more frustration in my tone than is necessary. I work to push the emotion aside and stride forward, dealing with Faervel while I wait for Alexander.

Cosima hasn’t left. She stands, dwarfed by Faervel’s tall frame, gently brushing out his coat. There’s tension in her shoulders and I approach her almost hesitantly. I think I angered her.

She quickly confirms my suspicions.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to him.” She doesn’t take her eyes from my horse.

I purse my lips. I just need to make her understand. “He was being insubordinate.”

“Okay, but he’s not your subordinate,” she shoots back, voice rising in irritation.

I don’t quite know what to say. These humans don’t know how my job works, so their reaction is to be expected….But even Baranor commented on my behavior…was I wrong? Even if I did perhaps misuse my tone, I still can’t have someone openly refusing to do what I say. It’s a matter of security. Say he disobeyed me in the heat of battle? Someone could pay for his choice with their life. I can’t allow situations to pass now that would embolden him to disobey me later.

Cosima sighs, shaking her head. When she speaks, her voice is tight with disapproval. “I’ll finish the horses. You get to your hunt.”

I swallow. It seems I’ve angered her to the point where she wishes to cast me from her presence. I must respect that, then. “I will send Rumil to guard you.”

She nods once, still not looking at me.

I spare her one last glance then make towards the cave, feeling very unsure of myself. As Marchwarden, I’ve learned to make difficult, sometimes unpopular, decisions. People’s reaction to them usually doesn’t bother me…but something about the way Cosima wouldn’t even look at me, the frustration in her tone…it doesn’t sit well.

Rumil is already at the mouth of the cave, headed outside with a snack for Roch. I instruct him to stay with Cosima while I am gone, and he agrees easily. The two of them have been friends from the start. I’d wager he has never upset her as I have.

Alexander is waiting, too, looking annoyed. I try to remind myself to be nicer towards him, but can’t quite manage it. Something about his demeanor just irks me. But the hunting excursion will be good, I remind myself. It will allow me to get a better read on this human, to figure out where he stands and what his motivations are. With that in mind, I jerk my head to the rocks, calling him forward. “Let’s go.”

{***}

I don’t take Alexander far, but we do have to leave the noise of camp to find animals suitable for food. The human trudges behind me, probably scaring away every rodent within a mile. Why must the race of man be so loud?

“Roll your foot from heel to toe when you walk rather than stomping down,” I instruct. To my surprise, he actually follows my advice. He’s still not as silent as an elf, but there is definitely an improvement.

A silence settles between us. When he breaks it, there is a vulnerability in his voice I did not expect to hear. “Is Cosima really going to be okay?”

Baranor had assured me of the fact and I know from my years of battle that the wound is not severe, so I am confident in my answer. “Yes. I think more damage was done to her feelings than her arm. She takes things quite deeply to heart. It will take time for those scars to heal.”

I’ve offended him. He scoffs, expression morphing into a glare. “And that’s bad?”

Now, I grit my teeth. He seems always on the prowl for some reason to dislike me, and I don’t appreciate him twisting my words about Cosima to use against me. I throw his accusation right back. “I am not the one questioning her intelligence and calling her naive.”

“That’s taken out of context!”

“And in what context are your words favorable?”

He seethes, and I find a strand of amusement in the differences between our demeanors. I stand calm and cool as ever while he glares up at me, mouth pulled into a grimace, face going hot in anger.

“You know what,” he grits out, hands clenching into fists. “Don’t go on defending her. Don’t get too attached. Because after yesterday, I’ve got no doubt in my mind that I’m getting out of here. And Cosima’s coming with me.”

I scoff. “You cannot force her.”

“I won’t have to.” He exhales, an assured serenity settling on his face. For the first time since our argument began, I feel wary. “That attack broke whatever spell you all have put on her. She’ll leave willingly. I guarantee it.”

Maybe it’s the arrogant twist in his smile, maybe it’s the stress of the day finally hitting me, maybe it’s just because he’s been an ass since the day he arrived and I would like nothing more than to knock him to the ground and teach him to have some respect. Whatever the reason, I feel the cold dread creeping through my bones colliding with a white-hot anger that sears through my chest. It takes everything in me not to let the composed mask slip from my face.

Despite my efforts, Alexander knows he’s hit his mark. He can tell he’s gotten a reaction out of me, and this pleases him to no end. He waves a hand forward, gesturing to the wide expanse of the path before us. “Lead on, Marchwarden. People need to eat.”

I want to challenge him.

But that is not respectable behavior of a leader, nor polite treatment of a human under my protection. So I call on every ounce of maturity and discipline I possess and turn on my heel, continuing the hunt.

And though we have good fortune in our search and I should be pleased, I am too focused on Alex’s promise to share in the enjoyment.

Cosima choosing to leave is a very real possibility.

And that hurts me more than it should.

A/n Thanks for reading! So it looks like we’re having some ~developments~ -- what do you think?! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

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[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from the Baali Clanbook V2 in "Vampire the Masquerade" Part 2 of 2

"Look at the world around you. No, truly look. Do you see it? The entropy slowly eating away at the fabric of existence? The world is dying."

"Existence has always teetered on the brink in some way or another."

"From the coming of prophets and gods to the turn of the millennium. Mankind has always found some way to turn the metamorphosis of life into an “end of days” scenario."

"It's not hyperbole."

"All things must come to an end. Even our universe."

"We can either fear this new existence or we can embrace it. I know which I choose. What will your decision be?"

"I find humanity both fascinating and boring."

"I find humanity both fascinating and boring. They are creatures who have risen above their state as pure beasts in the wild. They have domesticated the world, bringing it to heel under the boot of technology and enterprise. They have tamed the lightning and created weapons of such incredible potency that they could end the entire world with the push of a few buttons. But, at the same time, they cannot even control their own impulses."

"I do love seeing the hope in a victim’s eyes slowly die."

"We need to talk about vampires."

"They are all in their positions due to back-alley deals, dirty deeds, and betrayals that they fear will one day topple them."

"They are afraid. Afraid of losing power."

"Power is a cruel master."

"Do not put yourself out there in a manner that draws unwanted attention."

"Those who are worthy of your knowledge should seek you out, not the other way around."

"Use what you know to twist their desires to your own ends."

"Utilize every secret desire and urging until your “clients” are nothing more than puppets on your strings."

"Above all, however, don’t forget to clean when guests come to call. It’s embarrassing to have a bloody carpet."

"Arrogance will be the gap in their armor that you can exploit."

"They wounded ego and regret."

"That’s a level of fucked up I can’t wrap my head around."

"So easy to guide around by their rage."

"Get over it already."

"They’re not corruptors unless you want to be corrupted."

"It’s bargain basement degradation at best."

"All good rites have some semblance of pageantry to help build up psychic energy for ritual release, sure. But when you perform the rite more for the pageantry than sacrifice or offerings? You’ve missed the point."

"The beautiful ones have this fucked up perception that they are icons of style, grace, and tact."

"The punks think of themselves as whirlwinds of creative destruction."

"After all, I want to see the world break out of this nascent shell of physicality and witness the birth of a new universe."

"So, I can get behind wanting to push past pain and physical limitations."

"These. . .things will not think twice about skinning you alive and making you part of the furniture. And honestly. . .I can respect that."

"These fucking guys."

"There comes a time in everyone’s life when they look at the world around them and wonder; “Is this it? Is this everything that there is?”

"Life, if we are honest, is nothing but a series of disappointments."

"My youth was spent chasing some phantom of purpose. Some reason for us being here, for going on, day after day, living."

"My desperate pleas were met with unyielding silence."

"We all wander through the world, clinging to half-promises of something greater."

"We will find the bliss of enlightenment only after the trials of our world."

"Why was everything we did destined to age and rot?"

"There was no blissful release. There was no epiphany of understanding. No moment of realizing my place in the universe."

"We are, each of us, insignificant."

"We don’t get rich off hard work. Luck and heritage define who rises to the top."

"We don’t find enlightenment as we grow older, we only find bitterness and fear of encroaching death."

"We race to accomplish something. . .anything, that will live on after our deaths."

"I thought sensation would provoke deeper understanding. It does not. It only burns bright, then fades quickly, leaving a person yearning for the next instance of fleeting bliss."

"There is nothing. No great reward awaiting the dying. There is no great paradise for the enlightened. There are fading memories of life and the swirling maelstrom of oblivion."

"Why would anyone want to deny themselves anything knowing that, in the end, they are only fit for utter destruction and darkness?"

"Take every moment of disappointment in your life. Every hardship. Every heartbreak. And then realize that none of it matters in any form in the end."

"Fuck the universe."

"Fuck every lie and every false promise of salvation or of some “great reward” that never comes."

"Enlightenment is a trap."

"Fuck every self-styled guru that peddles street corner bliss and a side of eternal understanding."

"This universe is a fucked -up failure."

"This universe is a fucked -up failure. An experiment with no principal investigator at the helm. Let’s scrap it and start something new. Something where we can make our own purpose."

"It is the only choice we have —to grasp our destinies and forge something new out of the corpse of the old."

"The end is coming and there is no stopping it. But. . .we can accelerate it. We can end this torturous existence and craft something new and meaningful from its remains."

"We are not destroyers, nor are we heralds of destruction. We are idealists seeking to bring purpose to existence. We are scholars burdened with the horrible truth that this universe must burn so that something new and pure can take its place."

"Evil. I hate the word."

"To the point, however, the word “evil” is such a catch-all that is, at its core, quite meaningless."

"We are the midwives of eternity, here to see to the proper birth of what is to come."

"Evil may be a word that can fit us, but to the darkness, isn’t the invasive nature of light evil?"

"I do what I do out of simple necessity."

"“Good” and “evil” are terms for children."

"They are just as “evil” as we. They simply lie to themselves about it."

"I think the truth lies between these tales."

"While the stain of grievous sins can color the auras of most, yours, for some reason, remains pure and innocent."

"You may not realize it, but your very essence sings with dark power."

"You understand the state of the world. You understand how it hangs so precariously between collapse and a great rebirth in darkness."

"In these dark, twisting visions, the future is revealed in flashes of blood-soaked fate."

"They will still be a missing person and be mourned, but they will be, effectively, simply considered another statistic and efforts to seek out justice for them will fade."

"While friends and family still remember the individual and their name, any efforts to seek out justice for them or to search for them cease after the ritual is performed."

"By sharing the affections of your damned patron, you can grant infernal powers to others."

"The allure of evil can draw in the curious like a moth to a flame."

"What is your most shameful secret?"

"What do you desire the most?"

"Whom do you secretly despise?"

"The most valuable advice, then, would be to act subtle. Be calm. Act comfortable."

"Akkadian script is simple, but apparently too difficult for you to count in."

"The quest for the next horizon has always haunted your mind."

"No matter what you were doing, no matter where you were at. . .there was always the allure of the unknown calling out to you."

"The allure of history and understanding what came before was simply too great to ignore."

"You were ravenous for knowledge."

"By the end of the week, you were no longer alive."

"Cultures died out across the world. Why?"

"The great puzzle of the universe lays before you. "

"The ancients knew secrets that would sear the minds of today’s scholars."

"The old gods are my strength. They are my shield."

"Mankind has forgotten where its oldest, bloodiest rites came from."

"Your traditions were handed down to you by your parents, and to them by their parents."

"Old deities that were converted into demons and devils by Abrahamic religions were once sources of inspiration to the world."

"While you have dabbled in mainstream paganism, practitioners these days ring hollow to you."

"Their worship more out of desperation than any true passion."

"It wasn’t for you."

"You caught the attention of something in the dark."

"There is a strength in the old ways that it seems many have forgotten."

"What you are doing is not evil. It is necessary."

"Do stop squirming. It ruins the effect."

"Something was always broken inside of you. "

"Your questions cut through the niceties of social decorum."

"You weren’t ignorant of the suffering you caused. You just didn’t care."

"They love their work and the pain it inflicts."

"You? You honestly adore the look of terror ."

"After all, what is the point of your work if you do not enjoy it from time to time?"

"You know the best ways to draw out the psychic energy for a proper sacrifice."

"They will come. Have no doubt of that."

"You simply didn’t understand the need for religion."

"You were out of place."

"There is a calmness that comes from knowing the end is inevitable."

"You are existing on the precipice of a new universe and you know this."

"Your faith sustains you."

"Aren’t you a beautiful soul?"

"It was an easy lie."

"You have been an apt pupil."

"I am here to do the Devil’s work."

"Life hasn’t always sucked."

"Being homeless creates a new kind of resentment."

"People walk by, either with contempt or pity in their eyes for you. Both are an insult."

"In your anger, you lashed out, you reached for something new that could explain all the inconsistencies in the world."

"Beings from beyond time? The hell does that even mean?"

"You are the devil’s own."

"Satan was a model of freedom from tyranny."

"Your soul is foul and beyond redemption."

"Power belongs to those who are daring enough to wield it."

"You became the popular one, the one in demand, who’s very expression could elevate someone or dash their hopes."

"So, you arranged the death of your beneficiary and inherited their wealth."

"They admired the grace and style with which you brought your targets to heel and slowly destroyed them."

"It only took a week to catch your eye."

"The world may be destined to die a slow, agonizing death, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have your fun wherever you can find it."

"Who are you to judge?"

"You are only as good as your last rumor."

"It’s the thrill of the hunt that drives you and exhilarates you."

"You don’t understand. I know what breathes in the dark. I’m trying to keep it asleep."

"You were always looking for a place to fit in."

"The desire to fit in is always powerful. It can guide our actions and even our thoughts. It can shift our perspective, causing a realignment of our core values."

"Once you found some semblance of purpose you could identify with—and one that made you out to be a hero fighting back darkness, you embraced it wholeheartedly."

"You will keep doing what you know you must do."

"If they only knew that you were working to protect all of them. . .maybe they would be more grateful."

"You have a subtle contempt for modern society."

"You understand the desires that drive people to extremes. . .and you have no qualms about twisting those needs and urges to your ends."

"Everyone you meet is a tool to be used, a potential sacrifice, or a threat to be neutralized."

"You dress to impress—always in the most stylish manners according to what is in fashion."

"Use every environmental factor to your benefit when possible."

"Make good entrances and silent exits."

"You are a cutthroat negotiator when you need to be but know that sometimes the appearance of defeat can serve you better than a clear victory."

[absinthemind3d]

Bend and Snap

Written for @jurdannetrevels​ Jurdan Smut Week Day 3: Orgasm Delay/Begging/Overstimulation. My first fic in at least six years. Also posted on AO3 here. Snippet: I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg. 

Content Warning: E for there is some e x p l i c i t stuff

Word count: 3583

🗡--I’ll show you how a real queen behaves--🗡

“Jude.” Cardan snaps my name like a command—and a caress. Despite my feigned boredom, a shiver runs through me. 

“Cardan.” I answer back, arching an eyebrow as I toy with the knots of wood in my twisting, high-backed chair. 

“My darling queen,” he leans toward me, looking for all the world like a doting husband, “You’re being rude.” 

“And you—” I draw closer to him, hand flying instinctively to the dagger on my thigh. Are being a tease. I hated sitting through the hours of feasting, restrained to sitting by my husband’s side when all I really wanted was to fuck him for hours instead. Leaning back in my chair, I let loose a repressed sigh, smiling for the crowd around us and muttering instead, “—Know how good you look tonight, don’t you?” 

I hated it, this wanting—it came at the most damnedly inconvenient of times. Worse still was that I had to wait to satisfy my desires—not that I would ask. Even though I knew he loved waiting for me to beg. My hands shake imperceptibly, I hope, as I bring one to his cheek and the other to my own lips. They still feel bruised from his ministrations the night prior; what I wouldn’t give to be back in that moment… 

“Sweet Jude,” Cardan chuckles; noting the hand on his cheek had moved from where my knife was hidden, he gives me an infinitesimal eyebrow raise before continuing, turning his head so his lips brush my palm, “When don’t I look like a feast in my own right?” Leaning closer again, forcing myself to press my skull against the back of my chair, he whispers, “You know very well how this night will go if you refuse to play along.” He smirks, and I redden despite myself. I knew he watched me at events such as this, like a snake waiting to strike, waiting for any sign of weakness, that I might give in. That I might ask. 

He hadn’t bothered to factor in that I might not need to ask. 

I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg.

Fairies were, as a rule, less conservative than mortals. I had seen Cardan lose himself in such revels, drunk, lips and skin glittering with sweat and the nectar of various imbibements. Yet, as High King, he has been showing restraint. He touched me as we danced, of course, and there was the odd leg squeeze under the table, but he’d never let go with me the way he had before. Perhaps it was because he was High King now. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to share me. Or—and this was an idea I was very curious to entertain—perhaps he didn’t want anyone to see how absolutely wild I could drive him. I was getting braver, sexually, to put it bluntly, and tonight—Oh, I would have fun tonight. 

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he begins to draw back, threading his hand through mine as it drops from his cheek. I pull him back with that hand, perhaps with more force than necessary. “And you,” I whisper in response, “Have no idea how this night is going to go, whether I play along or not.” 

He raises his eyebrows obviously now and shock flits, briefly, across his face. He knows I am brazen, but this is new. Unexpected. Good. I don’t want him thinking he knows everything I am capable of.

“High King,” I place each of my hands on either arm of my chair and cross my legs casually, refusing to let him know I am already burning, “Let us enjoy the night’s festivities.” He leans back when I do, and as he crosses his ankle over one knee I can imagine we make a formidable looking pair, observing those who have already given over to the drinking and dancing portion of the evening. I can spot Nicasia with her admirers, and it seems a long time ago that she saw me as a threat. I am far away from those petty power struggles; I have something much grander in mind right now, anyway.

I can feel Cardan giving me a sidelong glance, but I do not move my gaze from those dancing. I will not give him the satisfaction of learning what I have planned before I choose to reveal it. Once again, I slip a mask of boredom onto my face and reach forward to take my goblet into my left hand. As I do so, I slide my right over Cardan’s thigh. This is nothing new for us, though it is usually he who instigates such affections beneath the feast table; they are also usually quick, passing, perhaps enough to arouse for a moment. He remains very still beneath my hand, and I resist the urge to laugh. Less than thirty seconds after my initial graze across his thigh, I lean back with the goblet in my hand and allow gravity to pull my hand squarely into his lap. I am silently grateful our chairs are close enough for me to accomplish this, my first task of the evening. 

A sharp intake of breath from beside me. I arrange my skirts, kicking at them with my crossed leg until most of their bulk is on my right side, shielding half of my arm from view so to any passersby it might appear my hand is resting anywhere innocently on my husband’s leg. Again, fairies need not have such actions concealed, but I am not a fairy, and the clandestine element is crucial to my plan. The mix of public and so, so private thrills me in a way I haven’t yet fully allowed myself to contemplate. “Is this not,” I trill, a bit unnaturally, glancing at the High King, “The most delightful of our recent celebrations?” As I speak, I apply the barest amount of pressure, running my thumb up his length. His cock, already hardening under my touch, reacts instantly. Soon, I have him halfway to where I want him, but I am still expecting an answer. My hand stills, waiting, and his bent knee smacks the underside of the table, rattling his own goblet and spilling some of the wine in it. 

Recovering quickly, he snatches up his goblet and runs his finger idly around the rim, then looks directly at me and licks his finger in such a way that has my core threatening to betray me. I clench my thighs together harder. “It is the most… surprising one as of late, my dearest weapon.”

“Well I grow tired of only observing,” I sigh, probably too dramatically, as I resume my strokes. Then I smile brightly and stand, moving my hand to linger on his arm just as he becomes fully erect. “Shall we partake of the dancing?” 

He looks at me as though I’ve struck him, then manages to splutter “Jude” before raising his glass to his lips. I gaze down at his lap and smirk at how little the thin fabric there hides. I chuckle, perhaps a little darkly, but I am deeply enjoying this new thrum of power humming in my veins. I drink deeply and set my glass down, never taking my eyes from his even as I lean forward and place the goblet. My loose hair brushes against his hand, then his arm, and as my body moves I sink my lips to his ear and whisper, “Or is there anything else you require, my king?” The knuckles of his free hand turn stark white as he grips his chair, though his face has recovered and betrays nothing.

I glance around nonchalantly, as if curious. No one is paying us particular attention; everyone knows the king and queen will soon make their way from the dais and join the throng. At this stage in the night, we meld with our subjects—Cardan maintaining more control than he did as prince, but still playing the part of spontaneous host to a tee. Tonight, I am more grateful than most that his demeanour as ruler allows folk to relax at such events. This next phase requires that fine balance. I smile at Cardan once again, and allow the thrill of my previous action to course through my body, still fresh. I turn as if to walk away from my chair, my hand once again moving to the dagger on my thigh. With my back to him, through my dress I flick open the final buckle holding the weapon in place and it clangs to my feet. I kick it behind me, under the table, and turn on my heel. 

“Oh!” I exclaim, simultaneously aware I am a poor actress yet not caring a whit. For a moment I am reminded of the mortal movie Vivi made us watch recently, something about a lawyer. “That’s my favourite dagger,” I mutter as I move swiftly to duck under the table. Cardan’s face is agape and he hasn’t moved a muscle. Good.

Now on my knees, I pick up the knife and sheath it—it is my favourite, and I will not lose it—before turning my attention to the task at hand. Slowly, I take Cardan’s leg, the one crossed over the other, and gently lower his boot to the floor. Idly I wonder if he has any idea what I am about to do. I chance a look up his body, taking a moment to appreciate the view before reaching his face. He’s staring right at me, and when we lock eyes his breath hitches. Realization dawns on his face as I make short work of unlacing his pants, eyes locked with his the entire time. A slow smile makes its way across his lips and he looks away from me, lifting his chin and suddenly finding what is left of the fare on the table extremely interesting. A dare, then. I knew he would take this as a challenge—to maintain control as I pleasure him. I laugh softly despite myself.

Taking his length in my hands, I raise it to my lips and barely kiss it, running my tongue over his head with deliberate slowness. His left ankle jerks beside me and I hear a soft clatter from above, as though he has idly discarded a piece of cutlery on the table. Oh, he was going to put on a good show. I lower one hand to the base of his erection, savouring both the warmth and the size of it. When I take all of him into my mouth, I can feel a similar thrum of pleasure winding through his veins that matches my own. My free hand makes its way to his hip, pressing him back into his chair as I begin a rhythm. I’m savouring this feeling of complete control; his hips are threatening to buck upward off the chair, begging me to increase the pace. But I will not. Instead, I slow as his hands fly to my hair, another desperate attempt to get what he wants. Just as I’ve restrained his hip, he has my head locked squarely in his lap, but that doesn’t mean I am forced to provide complete satisfaction.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I move my mouth up and down his cock and move both of my hands to the base of it, devoting all that is in my power to driving him wild. I let his hips thrust upward and match the increased pace, relishing the way I can feel his body react to my actions. 

Deliciously, I feel pleasure pulse up his length, and I know he’s close. Much as I am enjoying this display of my newfound talents, I’m not done with him yet. I slow my hands and mouth and sit back on my heels; the silver and quartz threaded through the train of my dress now dig into my ass. If any break, it will be a small price to pay. As soon as I sit back, I hear a sharp intake of breath from above, and his hands fall from my head, pulling strands of my hair through his fingers as he moves them to his knees. His knuckles are still standing out, pale as bone. Then, “Jude,” he announces loudly, bending sideways to stare right at me under the table, “Did you find your dagger, my sweet villain?” His voice is like honey, and his finger swirls gently over a strand of my hair that still floats over his knee, but his eyes—were I someone else, in another lifetime, I would have shrank back from that stare. 

But I am High Queen of Elfhame, and I have not finished my quest. Resting one hand idly on my thigh, I stare right back at his black eyes as I reply, “My mortal eyes made the task difficult, but it is right here, my king.” 

“I’m surprised you found it at all,” he mutters, voice dripping venom now, “Since you seem so terrible at finishing what you start.” 

“If you knew me at all, darling Cardan,” I shoot back, voice equally poisonous as I attempt to gracefully rise, dusting off my knees conspicuously, “You would know that once I am committed to a task, I see it through.” 

His face is a delightful mixture of pain, desire, and shock, and I can tell he is trying very, very hard not to take me in his lap and fuck me here. If he wants me, he will have to be on his best behaviour now. I take my seat beside him, thrill and arousal still coursing through me. Weaving my hand through his own, I raise it to my lips and smile over our clasped fingers, being sure he has noted my thoroughly smeared lipstick before I swipe it off my chin with a napkin. “What,” he grinds out, stabbing an errant piece of fruit with his fork, “the fuck,” he spits, running a hand through his hair, knocking his crown further askew, “was that?”

“That,” I spear a grape with my knife and bring it to my lips, running my tongue over my teeth before I take it into my mouth, “was only the appetizer.”

I can feel his knees pressing together and his feet pushing into the floor in his attempts to not carry through with his desires, yet I school my features to appear unmoved. I suddenly become very interested in the candles lining the table, watching the wax drip down their columns… 

I swallow hard; perhaps candles weren’t the most benign of objects to coolly observe. I glance sideways at my husband, and see he is trying hard to stay in his chair. I’m good at action. I’m not so skilled at this: the slow dance between pleasure and release. And, I find as I stand and begin to walk away from the table, sure he will follow, I want to finish him off. My feet threaten to once again turn and take my back under the table, but the finale to this evening relies on Cardan being as riled as possible.

I make sure to swing my hips so that the crystals throughout the fabric in my dress glitter to the movement, drawing attention to my curves. I glance around as I walk: some folk incline their heads toward me as I pass, but most are too lost to their own pleasures to acknowledge even their queen, as I’d expected. As I’d hoped. I cross the dance floor deliberately slowly, refusing to turn and look back at Cardan, though I can feel his eyes boring holes in my exposed back. I arrive at my target: a dark alcove with a single green velvet chair. It is too dark for my human eyes to know it is green, of course; I had it placed there earlier today. Another deep ripple of pleasure runs up my spine, and I lick my bottom lip, envisioning, as I had hours before, my plans for that chair.

I turn as slowly as I dare, stepping back so I am against the wall, which curves inward toward the chair. I have chosen this alcove as it offers the most privacy in the entire room, even away from immortal eyes, yet it amplifies the volume of the crowd. My delicious mix of public and private.

As I suspected, his eyes are piercing through the crowd right to me. He maintains that laser focus as he walks, also slowly, towards me. I am still against the wall when he reaches me; I glance down as he approaches, making sure he knows I am looking him over. His arousal is still evident, at least to me, and he moves to kiss me but I step quickly to the side, gesturing instead at the chair. He looks murderous, but acquiesces and sits in a flurry of black fabric. His tail catches my wrist and begins to snake its way up my arm. I move closer, knowing that is what he wants, and hitch my skirts. 

As I do so, his breath hitches, and I smile fiendishly before turning my back on him. His tail drops from my arm and I move, heart hammering in my chest. Holding my skirts in one hand, I sit back onto his legs and wind my other hand up his thigh. Slowly, I find one end of the tie keeping me from his cock—which I note he has hastily strung together after my last attentions—and tug; soon, his hand is on my hip and he is eagerly helping me as I move to ride him. I gasp as he enters me; from this position, I can feel everything—including his breath, hot on my neck as he pulls my hair away from us, keeping some of it bunched in his fingers. “Jude,” he pants against my back as he runs kisses down my spine, and I move experimentally, pleased when he gasps in reply, “Jude, you have orchestrated my undoing.” I smile smugly at that and gaze at him over my shoulder, rocking a bit, splaying a hand on his knee as I do so.

Through it all, the music plays, the folk dance, and the divine mixture of pleasure and power now pulse at their highest in my veins. There is something in me that loves chaos, that thrives on the inexplicable high I am experiencing from this most private of pleasures and this most public of venues. I feel as though I have never felt power such as this, never had such control during such sensation.

Yet still, I do not move as much as I could. I am still waiting. 

“And how,” I purr, still watching him over my shoulder, “would you like to be undone, Cardan?” 

At his name, I rock faster, and the hand on my hip threatens to rip my gown. I know I am driving him crazy, but I need him to show me just how crazy he can be. I arch my back and begin moving my hips in circles, mimicking my earlier work with my tongue. I know I have him in a position where he can’t control the pace, and I know, after what I have put him through, that this will madden him. I am waiting until he cannot take it any longer, but as I move, I get caught up in my own pleasure.

The heat spreading through my core and down my legs is threatening to be my undoing, and I begin to increase my pace as I find myself teetering on the edge of release. I am lost in what I can feel: Cardan’s hand in my hair, Cardan’s hand on my hip, Cardan’s lips against my neck, Cardan’s length sweetly, deliciously filling me so much so that I can’t think or feel anything that is not this moment.

I am so lost in this that the moment I was waiting for, the moment Cardan begs—”Jude, please, Jude, fuck, Jude”—falls away like all the rest and becomes a background chorus to the main verse as we both gasp our release, as the torrent of pleasure spills over for us both and we both whisper each other’s names as we come.

My eyes slowly flutter open and I lean back into my husband, sounds of the revel around us returning to my ears. No one has noticed their monarchs in this corner, slipping out of reality and into each other, at least as far as I can tell. “Learning new tricks, have we been?” Cardan whispers into my ear, nipping the lobe for emphasis. 

“All the time,” I toss my hair over one shoulder and press my lips to his cheek. 

“You can lose your knife under the table anytime,” he murmurs, voice gravelly. Gently, he lifts me enough so he can string his pants back together. I settle myself onto the edge of his lap. “And Jude,” he catches my wrist with his hand this time as I move to stand, his eyes glittering with conspiratorial delight, “Let’s make this chair a permanent fixture here, shall we?”

[bigskydreaming]

I don’t often muse upon PJO, but when I do, its random as hell. 

Anyway, tonight’s thought (singular, also: derogatory, as in very possibly a mistake) is about exploring aspects of the Greek gods that are extrapolations of like, what they’d be like in the modern world instead of just in terms of their ancient myths.....and how that might widen the scope of their demigod children and their powers.

Like take Hephaestus for instance. God of the forge and fire, of invention and artifice......now widen the scope on those things through the lens of the modern age.....might he also be considered the god of modern science, not just in terms of things like engineering and technology, but also physics, chemistry? Or would those things fall more under Athena’s purview......unless you separated them into finer divisions. Like, you could consider Athena’s overview of knowledge and wisdom to make her the goddess of science and higher learning or whatever in general........OR you could separate it like.....Hephaestus is the god of natural or physical sciences like physics and chemistry, and Athena is the goddess of not just wisdom and tactics but things like psychology, computer sciences, etc.

Or OR get Dionysus up in there too, and make it like Hephaestus is the god of chemistry, of chemical reactions and the like, Athena is the goddess of physics, of the most full and complete understanding of the physical universe via things like the unified field theory and its comprising forces of electromagnetism, strong and weak nuclear force, etc, and then Dionysus the god of biology, hmmmm.....

Cuz imagine then, demigod children of Hephaestus, where instead of pyrokinesis, some get powers like transmuting elements.......oh man, the things you could do with that??? Not just lead into gold but they’d be terrors in battle because they could transmute the very air someone breathes into chlorine gas, blood into acid, flesh into stone. Or using that power defensively, making them able to keep guns from firing by dampening the chemical reaction that comes from igniting gunpowder, or just knocking someone out or putting them to sleep by just tanking their metabolic reactions. Mingling magic with modern know-how and creating their own version of truth serums by turning the water someone drinks into something akin to sodium pentathol when just brushing their fingers against someone’s glass, or rendering all drugs or toxins that might have been slipped into their drink null and void by transmuting them into harmless H20. 

(I know that Luke was mentioned briefly as being good at making potions aka alchemy due to being a son of Hermes, but frankly, transmutation as a mastery of the periodic table makes waaaaay more sense for Hephaestus’ kids, I’m just saying. And plus the Greeks didn’t so much consider Hermes an actual god of alchemy as they more just kinda viewed him as their god of all things miscellaneous and tended to lump anything they didn’t have particularly strong feelings about and/or a grasp of under his umbrella. Hermes was really just the patron god of being random as fuck and oh great gods of Olympus I have no idea what I want to do with my life, give me a sign. Hermes: poofs into existence on their shoulder and says SOUNDS LIKE YOU NEED TO GO BE GAY AND DO CRIME YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST, DIVINE MANDATE, LETS GOOOOOOO).

Give children of Athena more practical applications for being heirs to her wisdom, knowledge and strategic acumen by also giving her dominion in the modern age over humanity’s quest to better understand the universe we live in and all its rules, the ins and outs of the laws that govern reality itself.......thus Annabeth and others’ potential acumen for magic being here not the end result of them stepping on Hecate and her kids’ toes, but rather more a function of making them the embodiment of ‘magic is just sufficiently advanced technology’ as they - via an innate and heightened understanding of the very nature of the physical universe - find holes in the fabric of space and time that let them slip from Point A to Point B as easily as crossing the street, play tricks with gravity and relativity and things that leave others baffled and amazed and them just shrugging and being like its all in the wrist, dude, and also, the fact that our mom just GETS reality in a way that everyone else will still be playing catch-up to a thousand years from now.

Children of Dionysus (yes I know he barely has any shhh we’re not paying attention to the series we’re just musing on demigod powers here) who combine the godhood of grapes and revelry with loud music and laughter......the way music can help with plant growth, because music is essentially just VIBRATIONS and vibrations stimulate activity in plant cells in a variety of ways.....and thus similar to Mr. D’s tricks with controlling vines and rapidly growing plants, AND his ability to affect the psyches of others, which is described as inflicting or curing madness and I’m like ehhhh do we have to describe it thus though.....put all that in a pot, shake it, not stir, and abrakadabra, alakazam, other psychic pokemon random Psyduck shout-out and voila! ALL of that could be afixed to and made the end product of godly and demigodly control and manipulation of vibrations, cuz Dionysus is literally the god of just vibing in all its infinite forms.....and thus its all just about how vibrations affect plant life on a cellular level, how they can affect brain chemistry in a variety of ways, triggering a lot of the more primal centers/functions of the brain, etc. You kids are driving me crazy, he’d yell at his demigod kids, and they’re like umm wow, like ACK CHOO UGHLY, father, welcome to the 21st century, all we’re really doing is directly stimulating the prefrontal cortex of your cerebellum with our banging rock music, and its making you angy, what about it?

And speaking of actually, if we and by we I mean me cuz I am and its wheee, are theorizing about Athena’s brood getting to be all magical wunderkind whizkids with their scientific acumen and divine cheat-sheets for the physical universe, maybe Aphrodite and her kids could snatch up those psychology and psychiatry job titles instead. Love, desire, also things like obsession, hyper-fixation......is Cabin Mighty Aphrodite really just pheromone central or are its campers more like magical dopamine and serotonin factories just pumping out good vibes all around them, being like come hang out, its free brain juice. Like, imagine kids of Aphrodite who just by their mere presence could help the legions of ADHD demigods focus better, concentrate easier, get shit done because the goddess of passion and her children like....have the gift of helping people to more productively pursue their passions in ALL forms, not just the physical desires they hold for others but the passions they hold for arts and crafts and sports and y’know, saving the world on magical coming-of-age quests when their milkshakes bring all the monsters to the yard. 

And then Ares not just as a god of war and conflict, but of entropy....the tendency of the universe to trend towards disorder, randomness, uncertainty....the kind of things that so often incite or enflame conflict......but applied at large not just to interpersonal dynamics but to the world itself. With his children possessing demigod abilities that disrupt or weaken bonds, both in the form of emotional ties between allies and commitments towards various ideals or courses of action, but also the ability to PHYSICALLY weaken bonds, resulting in an enemy’s weapon falling apart at a touch, or increasing the instability or volatility of an object so it blows up akin to how Gambit of the X-Men’s powers work and can turn even playing cards into a weapon, etc, etc.

And don’t even get me started on Hermes! No, seriously, don’t. Mostly because I haven’t thought that one through yet and I got nothing. I mean I got some things but they are nebulous and have yet to spring forth fully formed from my head like Athena from the fuckhead of Zeus, that absolute fuckhead of legend and yore. In my defense though, I haven’t like, eaten any primordial goddesses of thought and memory, so.......like, idk, I’m taking the longer route here I guess.

[plumoh]

[Yuumori] tethering touch

Rating: G

Word count: 1846

Summary: “Sherlock's soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye.” A touch, no words, and trust. / pre-chapter 57.

Note: AO3 link. The fic is set right before chapter 57, during the timeskip, and was written before the release of chapter 62.

The window is open.

A carriage drives at a brisk pace and causes someone to hurl half-shouted insults at it, probably due to its close proximity to the sidewalk. A dog barks, terrified, while its owner murmurs reassurances. The cries of children running around and playing games travel from one street to another, clear and innocent.

The wind blows gently against the thin curtains; the weather is nice, a good day to take a walk and enjoy tea outside to relax.

The second chair at the table scrapes on the wooden floor, and Sherlock winces as he lets himself drop into it without grace. He at least had the forethought to put his mug of coffee on the table beforehand; William wouldn’t have cleaned the stains for the third time in as many days.

“It’s too early for chairs to make that much noise,” Sherlock mutters.

“Perhaps yanking on a chair without lifting it from the floor isn’t the right way to sit,” William says, the corner of his lips curling upwards.

Sherlock shrugs, his face giving no hint of a change in behavior in the foreseeable future. William thinks he can manage watching chairs being poorly treated for a while longer, since a month or two are meaningless compared to three years of cohabitation.

“Did you leave the window open all night?” William asks, glancing at the slightly damp ledge that got rained on during the night.

“I smoked too much last night, I figured it wouldn’t be pleasant to walk into the living room with that stench in the morning.”

It tugs at William’s heart, a gentle grip that can turn forceful any time. No matter how long he spends observing Sherlock, no matter what truths and secrets they’ve told each other, one way or another William finds himself always, always surprised at small gestures and reasonings that make up Sherlock’s strange character. He’s grown over these past three years—they both have, though not everyone would be satisfied with whom they’ve become, most likely. But they are the only judges of themselves, uncaring of the opinion of others.

But it is unlike Sherlock to forget something as basic as opening the window when he smokes. William stares at him, searching for a sign of discomfort or doubt that wasn’t apparent the night before. There is a small crease between Sherlock’s brows, pinching his face into an expression of both focus and concern that hardly belongs on these cocky features allowing nobody to think he’s hesitant.

William brings his cup of tea to his lips, carefully, biding his time.

“I was under the impression your habits have improved, and that you have been smoking less in the last few months,” William says. “Did you get enough sleep this week? We could re-institute our nightly games of chess, if it helps you relax.”

Sherlock, mirroring William in a deliberate and casual gesture, sips his coffee and stays silent. His gaze never leaves William’s, assessing and critical, like he’s expecting to be teared open from the inside out if he lets too many emotions slip through his fake calmness. William smiles at the thought behind his cup.

"Of course, I don't believe that losing to me every night would give you the desired effect. Your brilliant mind needs rest, too."

"You have a way with words that makes me wonder if I should be amazed or frustrated, Liam."

Sherlock puts down his mug and sighs deeply, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. William places his cup on its saucer, and gets up. He pushes back his chair like he's handling something precious, his gaze focused on where his feet are and what his hands are gripping to avoid stumbling, then he makes his way around the table to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock cuts a glance at him, half-sprawled on his chair and half-stiff with unnecessary worry.

"I'm not saying this lightly, when I suggest you should let your mind rest," William says in a low voice. "You are filling your head with cumbersome thoughts that have no reason to exist in the first place."

William doesn’t understand why the air is so heavy with doubt this morning, so stifling when they’ve agreed on the plan a long time ago already. Being overwhelmed with the panicked need to back down at the last second before the act is not an option permitted in the life they’ve chosen to live; they go through with their decisions and succeed. Failure is rarely brought onto the table, because they can’t afford to fail.

Sherlock’s body relaxes ever the slightest upon hearing William’s words.

“You’re right,” Sherlock whispers. “I just have to act like I always do.”

William smiles. “I’m sure three years aren’t long enough for you to forget how to act around your brother and the MI6. You’re still the same.”

Wild, unpredictable and straightforward Sherlock Holmes—a person that slips through people’s fingers when they think they have him in their palms, someone that uses flamboyant methods to get out of unpleasant situations. His words are sharp and awkward in their honesty, grazing at skins without the intention of hurting, but he’s too earnest. William is nothing like Sherlock at all, from their opposite dressing styles to their obvious different way of thinking, and yet.

And yet, William shares half of his mind with Sherlock, and Sherlock listens to him.

William slides a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, feathery-like touch leaving behind trails of phantom strokes. He smoothes a wrinkle here, dusts off a spot there, then pulls lightly on the shirt’s collar, prying it open easily without a tie holding it together. The underlying message doesn't go unnoticed, judging by Sherlock's soft laugh. When he looks at Sherlock’s face, William finds hawk eyes watching him with rapt attention, scrutinizing him like he’s harboring all the unresolved wonders of the world.

“Well, mostly the same,” Sherlock points out with a grin. “My tie’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it later.”

“You will make a lasting impression, I’m sure.”

“Yes, reappearing three years later with a tie strangling me will do that.”

A laugh escapes William’s throat, and Sherlock keeps looking at him like he will never tire of watching the blooming of roses. Sherlock shouldn't make this kind of expression; he should know better than to let such naked feelings dance on his face and in his eyes, hiding none of the bizarre, fiery affection he's nurtured over the years for William. It's a dangerous train of thought that William lets fester in a corner of his mind without doing much about it—maybe when it fully takes root and can't be plucked off anymore, then William will acknowledge it and will no longer run away.

Sherlock wrenches his gaze away and glances at the table. William follows his movements and watches him pick up the abandoned black eyepatch next to the tea pot, pinching it gently by the thin strap.

There are no words exchanged. William withdraws his hand from Sherlock's collar, and Sherlock rises on his feet with a smile. His soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye. The scar is an ugly thing, a mess of tissue and discolored skin surrounding the hole where his eye should be, but they've never been one to flinch at the physical manifestations of the cruel trials of life. There is warmth oozing from this gesture, as quick as it is intense. The two of them are not people who are used to the touch of others, preferring the cold and grounding sensation of a weapon held in their hands. In spite of it, William closes his good eye.

It's permission as much as it is curiosity. How long will they keep doing this, allowing small acts of service and reveling in the peace they bring, without ever addressing the meaning behind them? William isn't one to let anyone stand so close to him, at a distance where any threat is invisible and any counter-attack is ill-timed. Sherlock could grab him by the sides of his head and hurt him, and William wouldn't be able to stop him. In another world, where their shared future is written in stone, it could have happened. They could have been facing each other like this, silent as a tomb, following the script of a justice punishing all criminals equally, one of them delivering it and the other accepting it.

But it isn't that harsh and implacable reality. In the world they live in, William feels the eyepatch placed over his eye, the two ends of the strap traveling behind his head to be tied together. Never once does he stop sensing the warmth of Sherlock and his hands. They are close enough they can hear each other's heartbeat; one second passes, then two, and then three, and Sherlock's fingers are still in William's hair. A careful and tender pressure, a steady touch he savors.

"I could do this with my eyes closed," Sherlock says quietly.

He slowly, slowly extracts his fingers from William's hair and lets one hand linger on his cheek. William opens his eye, already knowing what he'd find staring back at him. Sherlock has always been unable to hide his emotions, even in his touch.

"That's good to know," William replies just as calmly. "You can be my two eyes, as well."

"I'm anything you want me to be, anyway."

Sometimes, Sherlock's words are so honest they are hard to parse. Abrasive, frank and sincere—how did such a man end up with someone like William? He caught him, and he's not letting go.

"You are too trusting," William settles on saying.

Sherlock grins. "I trust you as much as you trust me, Liam. Don't forget that."

"That is assuming you know how far my trust in you extends."

"That's because I do know. You haven't left yet."

William chuckles. Bold words coming from a shameless person.

"I suppose I haven't, no," William agrees.

William lifts a hand, and in turn, he cards his fingers through Sherlock's hair, much longer than it was when they first met. He makes it more presentable, less wild, smoothly. Sherlock's eyes are locked on his, like he has nowhere else to look.

Small acts of service that punctuate their shared life, charged with significance they cherish without uttering a word.

"Finish breakfast and go retrieve your tie, Sherly. It's almost time for you to go," William tells him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. You should get ready too."

They came back to England and are continuing their fight. It leaves no room for hesitation.

William drops his hand. Sherlock does too and smiles at him, and if it were yet another universe, where he isn't a coward, William would have kissed him.

But not yet—this isn't the right time yet. The way they look after each other is enough, for now, and William will protect it, until they are ready.

[avengershumanresources]

blood 5 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 4 - part 6 

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

5 - a gift for the princess

Stephen wove through the rowdy crowds of the pub, just jumping out of the in time to avoid being covered in vomit. Men sang, women laughed, and the ale was flowing. 

He had to give Natalia some credit for choosing such a clever cover for their meeting in the back of the pub. 

Spying the owner, John nodded his head toward a discreet door behind the bar. 

Stephen slipped past the crowds, ducking under the tray of a hurrying barmaid, and slipping into the room. 

Natalia was sitting in a chair, rising when he walked into the room. She started talking but Stephen’s attention was fixed on the dark haired prince across the space. 

“What is he doing here?” he demanded sharply, throwing a finger toward the prince. “You’re supposed to be in Asgard.”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain you sack of stupid man,” she shoved him toward an empty chair. “There was a complication.”

Stephen immediately noted that James wasn’t in the room. Neither was the man he’d sent them after. 

“I’m- so sorry,” he started but Loki burst out laughing. 

“Honestly, you’re the Sorcerer Supreme?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “James isn’t dead.”

“Will you both shut up,” Nat snapped at the pair. “James is with the quarry in a rented room across town. Loki?”

He sighed and grabbed hers and Stephen’s hand, a cloud of green smoke enveloping them. 

When the air cleared, they were in the room of an inn Stephen had visited frequently over the years, the space relatively unchanged for the two figures who glanced up at their entrance.

James was leaned back in a chair, picking out pieces of an apple, while Master Mordo sat on the edge of the bed with a book. 

“Mordo?” Stephen asked, astonished at seeing the man before him. “I thought you were dead.”

“As far as Brock is concerned, I am,” he replied, standing to take the other sorcerers hand in greeting. 

“I don’t understand,” he looked between the group before Loki broke the silence. 

“He’s the one who poisoned the princess,” Loki gestured to Mordo, a smirking tugging on his lips. 

Stephen’s hands lit up with shields in a heartbeat, a glowing dagger at Mordo’s throat. 

“Explain,” he hissed.

“Stephen, calm yourself, it’s a misunderstanding,” he replied. “I’m trying to help.”

Stephen lowered his weapon slightly, signaling for the man to continue. 

“The spell was supposed to put her to sleep,” he explained. “Brock is planning something wicked with Obadiah and the princess is key. I needed a means of moving her without stirring attention.”

Stephen’s hands fell to his sides, spells disappearing as they fell. That explained the black smoke when he’d cleared the spell from your system- an unusual occurrence for a simple poisoning. 

“Obadiah plans to wed the princess to Brock in order to secure his army,” Mordo relaxed a little with the active threat to his life now gone, continuing his explanation. “Obadiah is the one who ordered King Anthony dead. He means to secure the throne and kill the prince, but Brock intends to double cross him and secure everything for himself after the prince is dead.”

“Our men wouldn’t let that happen,” Stephen shook his head. 

“That’s not the concern,” Mordo murmured, exchanging an uneasy look with Loki over Stephen’s shoulder. “Securing a lineage in the princess’ bloodline makes his claims all the more legitimate. 

The trickster snapped his fingers and Natalia and James froze into place. Time had been temporarily stopped for all but the three magic users. 

“Stephen, there’s something you need to know,” Loki explained, looking to Mordo who nodded solemnly. “What do you know of the princess’ lineage?” 

“Her father was the late king, Peter is her brother-,” he started but Loki stopped him with a wave of his hand. 

“Her maternal lineage?” he asked. “Her mother, Queen Alexandra, was born of a powerful family of seidr magic users, she was one of the last of the fallen kingdom of Vanaheim.”

“Seidr is extinct,” Stephen shook his head in disbelief but the older sorcerers sighed. “It’s been extinct for centuries.”

“It was said to have died with the queen,” Mordo picked up. “And we let that rumor circulate to take any interested parties interest off of the royal family, in particular a newborn baby girl.”

“I was a child at the time, but my family was consulted by King Anthony for a remedy for his child. He’d lost his wife to greed and desire for her power. He wanted to prevent losing the baby in the same way,” Loki explained. “My mother’s most promising student, Amora, volunteered to the task. She sealed away the princess’ intrinsic power, effectively removing her from the attention of other magic users.”

“Loki had been the princess’ intended for this reason,”  Mordo added quietly. “It was a means to protect both the princess and the kingdom from the untapped power going astray as she got older.”

“I was raised to ensure this secret went to the grave with those few who knew,” he explained, sending Stephen a knowing smirk. “Since there hadn’t been much concern as she grew, and the princess had obvious affections elsewhere, it was decided the marriage could wait.”

Elsewhere, being himself, Stephen realized sheepishly. To what extent did their unspoken affection further endanger the kingdom’s stability? Had he declared his intentions sooner, could he have prevented Brock’s move in the first place?

“When Amora was exiled of Asgard, she built a ruthless reputation that caught the attention of my former King,” Mordo frowned between the men. “Brock was, needless to say, very interested in a particular piece of information Amora provided about the princess. He banished me and ordered Amora to have me killed, but I managed to escape.”

“Brock intends to marry the princess and have Amora force the princess into his control,” Loki’s voice lowered sharply. “Her seidr would serve as an unlimited pool of power for both Brock and Amora, and the princess would be helpless to do anything about it.”

“Can’t he just have her marry him under the spell as well?” Stephen frowned, knowing a number of appropriate spells off the top of his head. It wouldn’t have been the first time he heard of someone using unethical means to sefure a union. 

“That’s where this gets interesting,” Loki snickered, looking to Mordo in amusement. “I haven’t had an opportunity to strengthen my cloaking spell around her. I’d managed to renew it when I said goodbye the day of the funeral, but it’s weakened significantly in the meantime.” 

“Amora’s magic is too weak to penetrate pure seidr, so the princess would have to be bound in marriage before she could twist her will,” Mordo explained. “The marriage ceremony she intends to perform to Brock’s customs will involve blood magic, and no matter the princess’ true feelings, she’ll be stuck trapped unless he is killed or the marriage is annulled in some other manner.”

“But that’s where this gets fun,” Loki purred in excitement. “The princess is in love with you. If her seidr continues in that direction, she should be able to continue to fight Amora’s influence. Possibly even after a union, if somehow this all falls through.”

The thought sent a little tickle off hope through his chest. At least if he stayed true in his desire, Stephen could protect you a little longer. Still, the marriage needed to be stopped before that even became a concern. 

Not only was your wellbeing at stake, but Brock could not be left in control of the region with Amora at his side.

“Then what can we do?” Stephen asked and Loki waved his wave, breaking the time freezing spell and picking up without missing a beat. 

“I’ll protest the union, as her original intended,” he replied. “Because the princess trusts you, you play the most important part in this all.”

Stephen listened while the group detailed their plan. It was an ambitious scheme, but Stephen had to admit, if they all played their parts to perfection- it could work. 

But would it come at the cost of losing your good faith forever?

(—)

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Stephen cupped his forehead, the headache forming when he saw Peter hunched over with a cloak over his head, speaking discreetly to a group of cloaked figures. 

They’d just finished their plan when he spied the poorly disguised prince and his friends. 

“...cannot stand,” he was saying before his gaze wandered to Stephen’s approaching form and he cringed. 

“What’s going on here?” Stephen asked, crossing his arms. The other figures turned around.  Lord Ned and Lady Michelle. “Don’t tell me... are you planning a coup?”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he gestured for Stephen to sit, grabbing the sorcerer by the sleeve of his robes and pulling him down.

“Don’t speak so casually,” he snapped, ushering the sorcerer into an empty seat. “Surely you’ve heard?”

“I’ve heard a great many things, probably more than you, your highness,” he answered sarcastically. “Do be more specific.”

“About the wedding?” he raised a brow, watching for a reaction. 

“Of your sister? I’ve just learned,” he murmured, leaning in and ignoring the pointed looks his companions by the door gave him. 

“Brock intends to propose tomorrow,” he explained. “But Obadiah isn’t telling my sister until the morning. He’s taken my mother and Morgan under house arrest.”

That was a bigger development than Stephen had expected from the boy. 

“He intends to kill the youngest princess and queen mother if the princess does not marry Brock,” Michelle added, looking forlornly at the table. 

“Where’s the princess now?” Were the next words out of Stephen’s mouth. 

When he’d left you hours before, you’d been sound asleep in your chamber. With the wards and protections he’d thrown around you, there wasn’t any reason you shouldn’t still be there.

“Safe in bed,” Peter assured him. “We need a plan. Brock’s army is twice the size of our without our allies.”

“Allies?” Loki had dropped into the bench, shoving Stephen to the side. “Do continue, your majesty.”

“Can  you can open the border and prepare your troops?” Peter asked the prince hopefully, but Loki frowned. 

“No, but I might be able to stall the marriage,” he replied coolly, a subtle wink toward Stephen. “You know how your sister and I have danced around one another. It’s time I make my claim.”

Peter scoffed, nodding toward Stephen. 

“Is he okay with that?” he asked boldly, earning a laugh from the other prince. 

“Strange knows his place,” Loki answered cockily. “He swore his little oaths and we both know the current king isn’t going to let him out as easily as your father would have. What other option does the princess have?”

Peter’s gaze feel on Stephen having been not entirely convinced, but against Stephen’s better instinct, he nodded mechanically. 

It was your best chance of survival. He had his own role to play down the line, so he let Loki convince the group of his undying love and affection for you. 

By the end, Peter seemed convinced that the Asgardian prince could get the marriage thrown away.

While the men gathered and discussed their plans, no one noticed the young Lady and the redhaired assassin conversing quietly in the shadows. 

Nor did they notice when they slipped out the back to meet with an old friend. 

(—)

Wanda found Stephen scribbling down notes on a piece of floating parchment the next morning. Books were floating through the air, and he meticulously thumbed through pages as they moved around him. 

It was clear her friend had been up all night, the bags under his eyes exposing the unspoken truth. 

On the table was an array of ingredients, a small flame burning under a concoction of bubbling green. 

“What are you up to, Strange?” she asked suspiciously when she saw the chapter of the last book he had consulted. “An elixir?”

“A gift-,” he let out a tired sigh, eyes looking miserably to the paperwork strewn in front of him.

“For whom?” Wanda’s eyes widen and her brows shot to her hairline when she read through the incantation. She knew it well, an old, but reliable mixture.

“For the princess.”

(--) 6 - a promise 

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel  @ladynothing @im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

[loveisneurotic]

Kaguya-sama Blind Reaction/Analysis: S1E1

Hello everyone, this is my blog which I am currently using to react to and analyze Kaguya-sama: Love Is War much more seriously than I should analyze any romcom.

I have only seen the first episode of the anime, which this post shall explore using far too many words. If I'm feeling particularly motivated, I may read the manga as well.

My analysis will contain spoilers. If you're thinking of watching this show and haven't seen it yet, I recommend you at least go check out the first episode yourself before reading any further. I don't know what the rest of the show is like, but what I've seen so far has been both entertaining and thought-provoking.

I'm going in mostly blind, but not entirely blind. There are a few images of the anime and manga that I have been exposed to, although without the attached context. Due to cultural osmosis and the sheer popularity of this work, perhaps that was almost inevitable.

Figure 1.1.1: Why did this guy write an essay about a single episode of an ongoing romcom?

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War

Season 1 Episode 1

I Will Make You Invite Me to a Movie / Kaguya Wants to Be Stopped / Kaguya Wants It

Power dynamics in relationships

Figure 1.1.2: Immediately, the mangaka's tastes become clear.

I heard a saying once that really stuck with me: "The partner who cares the least has all of the power."

In the world of dating, I often sincerely believed this saying. You may yearn for someone's affection, but the other person need not give it to you until they are willing and ready. No matter how much you want it, you can't make someone more interested in you, unless you resort to being roundabout, such as adding some mystery and intrigue to your courtship. But is that excessive?

I once felt a potential lover slipping through my grasp, and before I knew it, I found myself chasing after them. As I was yearning for their attention, I felt as if I'd lost my dignity. It was humiliating. Painful. Was it just that they weren't the right person for me? Or was I not funny enough? Not charismatic enough? Not interesting enough? Too clingy? Too talkative? Should I have been more distant and given them more space? Did I seem too weak? Too eager? How should I have maximized my desirability? Regardless, I had surely lost. Perhaps they wanted the satisfaction and validation of conquering me. Playing me for a fool and asserting their superiority by being so distant. Isn't that right? Or is that just insecurity speaking? At what point is it ideal to cut one's losses and walk away?

If someone desperately wants the object of their affection to desire them, does that make them pathetic? Does it make them a loser? If you show more vulnerability and desire than the other person, does that truly make you the weak one in a relationship?

These questions plague our two protagonists and seem to be a driving force behind the main conflict. Since I have also grappled with how much to reveal my own feelings of desire, I find Kaguya-sama: Love Is War to be a particularly fascinating show.

Desire without action

Figure 1.1.3: Our protagonists are gifted with impressively high academic intelligence paired with impressively low emotional intelligence.

The show wastes no time in introducing us to our two main protagonists. Kaguya was born into a family of high stature (and says "ara ara" frequently enough to power a small country of weebs), whereas Shirogane is a "commoner" (Kaguya's word, not mine) who worked hard to reach the pinnacle of the student body. Like timid schoolchildren, they're crushing on each other, and yet they refuse to admit it due to their pride. Instead, they focus on getting their "opponent" to confess their love first.

What stuck out to me immediately is how they both have different ideas of what their relationship would be like. Shirogane envisions Kaguya as blushing, shy, and conventionally cute, whereas Kaguya (thankfully) envisions herself taking absolute dominance over Shirogane (which plenty of people should see coming as a character trait after the anime's very first scene). The bad news about this is that their two fantasies are at odds. The good news about this is that the mangaka has fantastic taste -- you can learn a lot about a storyteller based on the characterization of a love interest or lead character of the author's preferred gender.

In the event that the two of them become an actual couple, I wonder how on Earth they'll reach a compromise as to how they'll treat each other. Perhaps they will have to figure that out before they can even get that intimate.

I appreciate that we get to see both of their perspectives. It hammers home how everyone has a different truth in regards to what they desire and what they experience, and the show does not hold back when it comes to showing just how different these truths can be -- such as a certain lunch-themed sequence that I will talk about later. This works to great dramatic and comedic effect.

That said, when you spend your time fantasizing about what could happen instead of actually taking action, time is not so friendly to you.

Half a year passes.

Figure 1.1.4: Two geniuses dedicate their pride to wasting their life and energy.

Immediately, I got the impression that whoever wrote this segment of the story knows what they're doing. This is too real. And by "too real", I mean I very much appreciate the realism. How many of us have waited for ages (or for eternity) to confess our feelings to a specific someone?

This is the curse of having a crush and being incapable of acting on it. It's also why I hate having crushes.

Manufacturing affection in others, AKA the extraction of vulnerability

Figure 1.1.5: A plan is devised to weaponize jealousy in the name of affection.

To express your truest feelings means being vulnerable. That implies taking a risk and feeling responsible for any potential consequences of rejection, as well as putting our dignity on the line. It would be so much easier for the object of our affection to make themselves vulnerable instead. So instead of being direct and honest, we act indirect. We drop hints. We act suggestively, but not explicitly. We may even place them in situations where we think they are more likely to confess. If they don't pick up on it, we can pretend we didn't mean anything by it. That way, we don't have to risk our dignity. We can just wait for them to make the move.

It sucks.

Incidentally, it sucks even more when both you and your love interest are thinking that way.

It sucks infinitely more when both you and your love interest are COMMITTED to thinking that way.

Someone has to break the deadlock, whether that's immediately or eventually.

If this show isn't one of those romcoms where the status quo never changes ever (judging by the quality of writing, I have faith that it isn't), then at some point, either Shirogane or Kaguya is going to have to be explicit about how they really feel. And it's going to feel scarier to them than anything else they've ever done.

It's gonna be great.

If we could all grow up and live in environments where it's safe and encouraged for all of us to be honest about how we feel and what we want, surely love would be much less painful for so many people.

Chaos theory

Figure 1.1.6: If your prospective lover won't protect you, then your friend definitely will.

Chika is the ideal wild card and agent of chaos in this arena of love.

From a writing perspective, Chika is immensely useful. The mangaka probably could have gotten by without a third character in the mix, but she serves as a catalyst and an unknown element, able to create unpredictability and subversion of expectations. For a comedy-oriented story, this is invaluable.

Blissfully unaware of the mental turmoil that plagues our two lovesick dorks, she is able to unintentionally invalidate whatever schemes that Kaguya or Shirogane spent so much mental energy on, which adds extra comedy and tension for the audience. She is also an effective vehicle for Kaguya's jealousy and projection, as seen in the lunchbox scene which I have so graciously foreshadowed.

Figure 1.1.7: We have confirmed visual on an unidentified fourth person. Chekhov would love this. From their posture, I wonder if they'll be a gloomy character?

Misunderstandings and assumptions

I've heard that most interpersonal conflicts in life emerge from misunderstandings. In the absence of communication, assumptions are born and give rise to misunderstandings.

You may know where I'm going with this. Let's talk about the lunchbox sequence.

Figure 1.1.8 (not pictured because tumblr wishes to deny me of my image spam): Kaguya is too prideful to admit she thinks that a couple is doing something cute.

Figure 1.1.9: Pride is considered a sin for a reason.

From a writing perspective, I was impressed by the lack of romantic intentions in Shirogane in this whole sequence. Not once did he try to get Kaguya to show vulnerability to him. Instead, Kaguya is the only one spinning the situation in a romantic way, while Shirogane's driving force is the misunderstanding that Kaguya is looking down on him for what he eats. Because of this misunderstanding, Shirogane doubles down and makes his food even better, making the situation even more complicated and more stressful for Kaguya. This was definitely my favorite comedy sequence from the first episode.

I appreciate that the show has demonstrated the ability to create these scenarios where one of the characters doesn't even have love on their mind, but there are still romantic thoughts coming from the other character which drives the drama. It gives me a lot of faith in the variety this show will have to offer, and makes me excited to watch more.

When it comes to comedy rooted in misunderstandings, it is important to have miscommunication or lack of communication. In order to resolve a misunderstanding, you need to talk about it. For a pairing as dysfunctional as Kaguya and Shirogane, expecting healthy communication sounds highly unreasonable, which makes them prime material for a whole world of misunderstandings.

Misunderstandings are rooted in assumptions about what the other person meant when they said something or made a certain gesture or expression. When Kaguya glared at Shirogane and his food, he didn't even think to ask "What's the matter?" He just made an assumption about how she felt. I wonder if trying to understand Kaguya's feelings would be considered a sign of weakness by Shirogane?

A prerequisite to initiating an emotional conversation is the desire to understand or be understood by the other person -- assuming that your assumptions haven't already built a narrative for you. It is far easier to make assumptions than it is to attempt any sort of understanding.

In the end, Shirogane fled, unwilling to confront or attempt to understand the intense and passive-aggressive Kaguya. Kaguya feels that she cannot directly ask to try his lunch, so perhaps this is the closest she can get to initiating such a conversation with him at this time. Despite their mind games where they imagine the reactions of their opponent, they still have a lot of difficulty understanding each other.

I am curious to see if this prospective couple's communication skills and emotional intelligence will improve over the course of the story.

The burden of potential romance

Figure 1.1.10: Even the infallible genius Kaguya succumbs to superficial jealousy. It's "mind over matter" versus "matter over mind". That's how the saying goes, right?

Chika is a free spirit, able to ask Shirogane for whatever she wants without being neurotic. That is the power of not being bounded by a crush. Kaguya, who lacks that degree of freedom, briefly loathes her for experiencing something that Kaguya cannot ask for. It's amazing how much someone's feelings for a friend can change without a single word being spoken between them. All it takes is an action, unintentional or not, combined with the raw strength of insecurity. Just as quickly, the status quo can return back to normal too, with the act of properly making up.

To Chika, asking for food from someone doesn't mean anything at all, whereas with Kaguya, it is an admission of defeat. In that sense, a relationship that will only ever be platonic brings peace of mind, whereas a relationship that can be potentially romantic brings leagues upon leagues of anxiety if the outcome is of great concern.

Love is neurotic.

Is love worth the pain? For some people, it is not. For others, the reward is immense -- but only if you can make sure your relationship with this person doesn't end up being a nightmare for your emotional health.

Love and self-identity

The final scene of the episode surprised me in a good way. It's a brief departure from the comedy, and reveals a more heartfelt side of the show.

Kaguya's servant asks her an insightful question. It is substantially more insightful than I would expect from any romcom: "If you fell in love some day, would you wait for that person to confess their love, like now? Or would you confess your love?" I found myself immediately curious to hear Kaguya's answer, since I knew it would be highly informative about her character.

"If that time comes, I would consider the risk of someone stealing him first and come to the one rational conclusion." Even in the realm of love, Kaguya seems precise and calculating. It's as if she hesitates to give a straight answer, but then she confirms: "Of course I would go."

Figure 1.1.11: "Please understand."

It is not embarrassment or rejection that Kaguya fears; it is the absolute destruction of her identity and sense of self. Kaguya is the daughter of a family that practically runs the country. In her mind, everyone yearns for her and wishes to serve her. Turning that around and reaching out to another person to express her own desire would be a direct contradiction of that. It is probably a similar situation for Shirogane, where the infallible self-image he has built up is being put at risk during his romantic duels against Kaguya.

Kaguya clearly feels trapped. She and Shirogane see each other as threats to be conquered, but in reality, they both share a mutual enemy that is much more imposing and insidious: their own simultaneous disgust at the idea of vulnerability.

Their freedom is dominated by their insecurities, and so, even despite their impressive stature, they are still very human. Their upbringing that has lead them to become so accomplished may be more of a curse than a blessing, due to the resulting pride and self-image they likely feel pressured to uphold.

It is hard to cast aside a lie that you have bought into for your whole life.

If our two protagonists wish to have a chance of establishing a healthy romantic relationship, they have a lot of their own demons to overcome first. If they cannot set aside their pride and reach mutual understanding, they have no hope.

Until then, they will both remain trapped in a hell of their own design, however tragically comedic it may be.

My hopes for this story's future

I can tell that the mangaka, unlike far too many writers all over the world, actually seems to have a solid understanding of romance and the conflict that arises within. I've watched too many anime that place huge focus on the "will they or won't they" crap which never runs any deeper than one or both of the characters being too embarrassed to just say what they're thinking, without any sort of convincing mental blocker. In that case, it's clearly just manufactured drama which is designed to pad out the story and waste your time rather than pose interesting questions and themes. In the case of Kaguya and Shirogane, the two of them have substantial communication issues which are depicted in a comedic yet mature way, which I have found engaging.

I very much hope that the show will more deeply explore the themes and questions surrounding the ideas of vulnerability, emotional intelligence, and superiority within relationships. Kaguya and Shirogane have been set up to be great vehicles for such exploration, and I hope the mangaka can capitalize on that, especially if our protagonists can confront these issues directly.

My impression is that the ending will make or break this story. If the mangaka can pull it off well, I can already believe the payoff will be hugely satisfying.

Of course, in order to get to that point, we'll have to see a certain something. It has to do with the most sacred word amongst romcom enthusiasts: "progress". Indeed, after spending chapters upon chapters watching two characters bumble around amidst the same exact status quo, those little signs of advancements in a relationship are highly rewarding.

Underneath all of their aggression, if we can see Kaguya and Shirogane slowly open up to each other and realize the benefits of vulnerability, I think we could witness something really beautiful and really emotionally cathartic.

I've still only seen one episode, but I believe the mangaka has laid a fantastic groundwork for a series and can do a great job developing upon what I've seen so far. On that note, I will surpass our prideful protagonists by opening my heart to this story and entrusting it with my vulnerability, believing it can deliver satisfying development and resolution. You can do it!

Closing thoughts

I did not expect to write so much about a single episode of an ANIME of all things, but here we are. If only I could conjure this kind of power back when I actually needed it in high school English class!

The first episode alone is already so rich with characterization and themes that I managed to find quite a lot to talk about. Given how much I found myself relating to the characters and some of their situations, it's clear to me how this show became so popular. Not only are the animation, direction, and writing excellent, but also many people can probably relate to love feeling like a battlefield.

I do not want to believe in the idea of winners and losers in relationships. That idea creeps into my head whenever I'm having trouble keeping the interest of a new date, and I find myself wondering where those thoughts even come from. Lately, I have been reflecting on the way I relate to other people. Perhaps I've started experiencing this show at a time in my life when I most needed it, and that's why I felt driven to write such a large analysis.

This show poses some very interesting questions about romance that I do not actually know the answer to at the time of writing. I do not know yet how much the show is actually going to explore these themes. Regardless, I appreciate how this show is helping me reflect, and I am curious to see if and how the mangaka will answer some of the questions brought about by the story's themes.

This is a show that I'll most likely have to pace myself with. There was so much to process in this first episode alone. If I went any faster, I'm not sure if I'd even catch all of the details and character moments. I'm excited to move onto the second episode soon.

A highly subjective footnote about my cultured tastes

I'm glad that Kaguya is a sadistic dom with a gentle and vulnerable side, solely on the basis of that being my favorite personality type in a love interest. It also helps that it makes Kaguya's fantasies that much funnier with Shirogane acting so out of character. I feel like this show was made for me.

What was I writing about again? Oh yeah, writing a gigantic wall of text about an anime romcom. Somehow, I spent an entire day on this essay. Hopefully someone got a kick out of it.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Hypothetical prompt for a teensy weensy tiny fic: Character A is very sleepy/ dealing with a headache/ has trouble falling asleep and Character B takes a solidarity-nap with them someplace quiet, pretty and calm.

(Bonus if you include A talking in their half sleep/ minor nightmares and jumps which B successfully calms down)

Let’s just assume “A” and “B” are... mh, maybe Emhyr and Geralt, how about that? Thank you very much for that cute little idea, and have 1728 words of fluff or whatever. Read under the cut or on AO3.

The door opened all but without a sound, but Emhyr startled, as if he had been deeply engrossed in the papers on his desk – in truth, he had been staring into emptiness, unable to concentrate on any thought. 

"Do you know what time it is?"

Emhyr gave his spouse a frown, revealing that he had lost track of time. A look at the half-burned candle in its copper bowl told him that it was late. Very late.

"Geralt," he returned in a puzzled tone, reaching out to him – a strangely touching, almost forlorn gesture. "I have..."

"Been brooding, what else," Geralt replied with a slight smile. He half sat down on the desk, but Emyhr's face betrayed more weariness than displeasure. Then he took the quill, which his husband still held in his hand; indeed, he clutched it almost convulsively, as if it were a precious tool that he dare not to lose. Geralt placed it on its little bench, which lay on the table next to the inkpot. 

"You've been sitting on this for two nights, heck, two days and nights straight. Take a break and rest."

"I must… "Emhyr began, with that small, unwilling crease across his brows that Geralt occasionally referred to as a defiance crease. 

"Sleep, nothing else."

"It troubles me," Emhyr admitted with unusual honesty, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead. 

Then, as if he had caught himself in a gesture that betrayed weakness – even to his own husband – he put both hands flat on the desk as if to ground himself. But that didn't last long; soon, his fingers began drumming an impatient little cacophony on the tabletop. 

"I know," Geralt replied softly. "I know it's difficult, and I know you're doing everything you can to find a solution. But you're no use to anyone if you exhaust yourself."

Emhyr leaned back and gave the witcher a look in which, despite his fatigue, there was a hint of mockery. 

"I have a whole staff of advisors."

"Most of which will tell you what you want to hear," Geralt returned. He leaned forward, his face very close to Emhyr's, and continued softly, "Or do you want me to command you?"

This time, one of the rare genuine smiles crossed Emhyr's face, even if it didn't make up for the shadows under his eyes. He crossed his arms, regarding Geralt with a sort of challenging gaze. 

"The day I obey one of your orders, I will have a special flag raised, my dear."

"Well," Geralt replied with a mischievous (no, probably slightly filthy) grin, "as much as I love looking at that flag, you should be in bed for other reasons."

There was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone, and it was probably what prompted Emhyr to take Geralt's hand and candidly admit, "I can't sleep. Not because I would not want to. As soon as I close my eyes, I think of these people, this problem, and my thoughts won't turn off."

Geralt nodded, and in his gaze lay not only a genuine understanding but compassion that touched Emhyr in a special way. In one fluid movement, Geralt rose, pulling his spouse along with him by his outstretched hand, and the latter followed as if pulled by a string and stood up, albeit with a slightly confused expression. 

"I'll lie down with you," Geralt promised, "and you and I will just take a short nap. A compromise that should please you, after all, I learned from the best, don't you think? We'll close our eyes, just for a short while, and I guarantee you won't think about anything. It will do you good."

"You will do me good," Emhyr replied softly, and that settled the matter.

The bedroom lay in darkness. Geralt lit only a single candle so that his spouse could find his way in the gloom as surely as he could, and the latter sank unresistingly onto the bed as if it had only needed this prompt. Despite his exhaustion, he still did not believe this was enough to snap him out of his musings. A deep sleep, he felt as much as the pain that announced itself behind his forehead, would not be granted to him until he knew exactly how to solve his problem. Still, the pillow under his head was as tempting as the cool sheets, and even more so the body next to his own, feeling as heavy as anything that weighed him down. 

"Close your eyes."

That was a request that took some effort to follow, but Geralt clearly had more patience than he did, and they could both match each other in stubbornness anyway. 

The witcher just lay there looking at him, affection and a particular concern in his look, which now mixed with slight amusement as if he knew exactly what Emhyr was thinking. So the latter finally closed his eyes. 

"Now breathe with me."

Emhyr's lips curled in a sneer, whether he wanted to or not.

"Are we meditating now?"

"You have no patience for that," Geralt replied calmly. "Ah. Shut your eyes!"

After his stare did not have the desired effect, Emhyr closed his eyes again. Geralt placed one of his hands on his chest, a physical connection that strangely made it easier for Emhyr to pay attention to his words.

"Breathe," Geralt repeated.

"I think..." began Emhyr, but Geralt interrupted him immediately, not unkindly, "Don't think."

This request was almost ridiculous; how could one not think? Thoughts didn't disappear; you couldn't force them aside. There were no weapons against them – how amazing that Geralt, of all people, a unique weapon himself if necessary, claimed he knew the trick to make thoughts simply vanish. 

"Feel my hand," he said, and that again was easy. This hand was so familiar to Emhyr that he would have sworn he could feel it out of a hundred others with his eyes closed. That hand was warm, trusting, and sure; a promise in itself, and yes, he felt it on his chest, a weight that was none and yet carried so much, so heavy. 

"Breathe with me," Geralt repeated, his voice merely a hint, and strangely enough, it seemed pretty easy now. The heaviness behind Emhyr's forehead was no longer just leaden fatigue. It became tantalizing, like the announcement that something worthwhile lay behind it. Next to him was the assurance of a body he knew and trusted, and that assurance gave him the strength to focus on nothing but the other's breath. The blackness around him seemed to turn into colors, and he became all the more aware of the soundlessness of his surroundings when all he could hear was that soft breathing. And then – nothing more.

Until the moment when a loud gasp, a suppressed scream made him start up; a sound he couldn't place for a moment. Darkness enveloped him, and he remembered; he had apparently fallen asleep. How long, Emhyr could not have said. But what had awakened him from this thoroughly restful slumber, he quickly realized after a moment of typical confusion. Geralt, his hair disheveled, was sitting upright in bed, staring blindly into the darkness, muttering something. With both hands, he clutched one leg, and now everything was plain. 

His fingers clawed into his flesh as if he had to cover a horribly bleeding wound, and Emhyr knew he was doing just that at that moment; that it must feel to him as if blood was oozing from between his fingers, he must feel as if there was nothing to stop that bleeding. The truth had been different, and Emhyr shuddered at the thought of what had to be done back then, what he had done. He sat up, and carefully, very gently, he put a hand on Geralt's back as if he tried to calm a savage animal. 

"Wake up," he said softly. "It's a dream. Just a dream."

Geralt's face was contorted with pain, which he was living through more clearly in this nightmare than it had been in reality - shock and adrenaline had masked the pain then, but it always made its way in dreams. And it didn't stop there, which was an inevitable side effect of two ghastly fractures and magical healings. The pain was real, and the dreams could be very long and very unpleasant. Emhyr's hand on Geralt's back strove for the same assurance the latter had given him, the same promise, the same security. 

"I'm here," he said softly, and he knew his voice was finding a way into those dreams, as was his touch.

The return to reality was always the same: a gasp, sounding like someone who had been almost drowning catching their breath. After this, the realization that didn't need the words, but Emhyr repeated them anyway, like a mantra that aided them both, "You were dreaming. It's over."

Geralt turned to him. The one small candle was still burning, albeit dimly, and its light cast a shadow on his face, making his expression difficult for Emhyr to see. In any case, he sounded slightly confused, sleepy, as he replied, "I was asleep? Wait. You were asleep, too."

Emhyr suspected that his spouse could see his smile even in this twilight, and he didn't hide it.

"It looks like it. Your method was successful."

"So was yours," Geralt returned quietly, reaching for Emhyr's hand and squeezing it in mutual understanding. To his surprise, Emhyr's eyes suddenly widened, and he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, albeit marked by suppressed passion. 

"Probably," he replied triumphantly, "but yours had quite another effect."

Unexpectedly, he jumped up, sat on the edge of the bed, and impatiently fumbled for his shoes. 

"I know what I have to do. It's very simple."

"You see," Geralt smiled, "it is possible to detach your thoughts from one thing after all. At least temporarily."

"Oh, you're quite right about that one," Emhyr said, stroking his cheek tenderly. "There is only one thing from which I find it even more difficult to detach my thoughts, and that is the sight of you in this bed."

Despite these words, he now stood up, and with slight disappointment, Geralt replied, "But you do it anyway."

"I do it anyway," Emhyr confirmed. "Just for a while."

There was a promise in those words. 

[mockiery]

Michael, Lucifer, and their Gifts

//Or my attempt at analyzing Michael.

Desire is Lucifer's gift. His power over other people's desires, but also in how his own drive him. Lucifer is largely defined by desire. He fundamentally understands it, the concept is as effortless to him as breathing. He understands the beautiful and the ugly sides of desire. And when cruelties are committed in the pursuit of desires, Lucifer punishes and seeks justice.

Michael's gift is Fear. The way he can sense and draw out people's fears seems just as effortless as Lucifer's. But like Lucifer with Desire, Michael's Fear doesn't stop with power over others. It is a driving force in all that he does. Michael is defined largely by his fears.

He refers to himself as Lucifer's opposite when speaking at one point, and in many ways he can be that.

Desire is something of an honesty with yourself. What you truly want reflects the core of who you truly are. Fears are full of doubts and unsureness. And Michael weaponizes this. It does not matter if what he tells you is true or not, if it preys upon your doubts and fears. He lies and uses painful truths tactfully. The way I figure, Michael doesn't really have to orchestrate much of anything. He can be a simple opportunist. The truth of whether he's done any manipulating or not isn't important. Its not the point. It's the infection. I think he has taken credit credit for and made claims of manipulations he never did, because he could. Building himself up as more powerful and in control than he truly is in the process.

He builds himself up, of course, out of his own fear of inadequacy, especially compared to Lucifer. His voice feels rougher. Nothing like the comforting, smooth charm of Lucifer's. His physicality is stiffer, tighter, asymmetric to Lucifer's effortless gliding. His right shoulder is uneven and his right arm hangs somewhat awkwardly, using his left hand primarily. Looking at his wings, his right wing appears damaged. Most theorizing I see attributes this to an injury caused by Lucifer during the rebellion, which can only add to the hatred. If so, Lucifer will have permanently marked Michael not once, but twice now. The way he carries himself feels closed and rigid. Calculated and careful. Not someone you are drawn to, but someone you should keep your eye on, just in case.

Carefully, he puts on a show for everyone around him, trying to take control of any given interaction. Whether its pretending to be Lucifer, leaning into the angelic goodness during his manipulation of Dan, and even just when he is playing himself up as a mastermind.

In his eyes, Michael has done everything right. At least compared to Lucifer. He hasn't rebelled. He's done what he's supposed to. But Lucifer is the one who gets all this praise when he obeys willingly, after millennia? Lucifer is loved and praised, despite everything, just for who he is, and Michael hates it.

The way he sees it, Lucifer should be undeserving. For all that he's done. And Michael? Michael wants the recognition, praise, and love that Lucifer gets. He truly desires it. It's a desire we all have.

When Michael overtook Lucifer's life and Chloe played him, he enjoyed the attention and the lie of Lucifer 2.0's superiority. He delighted in it enough that he decided to try to steal Lucifer's life.

He really wants to be appreciated, for who he is. But he seems to be stuck thinking he and Lucifer cannot both experience such things, it must be mutually exclusive. Their lives are too linked, and their differences too strong for him to consider otherwise. Lucifer is right in saying Michael thinks too small.

Michael's desire to be appreciated has become far too attached to his fear of inadequacy. Now one cannot be achieved without overcoming the other. Fear and desire are at odds, but are influenced heavily by each other. Fears come from desires. Desires come from fears. The two are inextricably connected, and are sometimes one in the same.

Lucifer and Michael themselves are truly two sides of the same coin.

Fears are the twisted, unwanted reflections of our desires. And Michael's greatest fear is exactly this. That this is all he is. An undesired, distorted reflection of Lucifer. And it consumes him.

So he lashes out. He seeks control. He manipulates and hurts others who he sees as having slighted him. His emotional immaturity rivals Lucifer's at its worst. He has many flaws similar to his twin, particularly in the area of making connections with others.

His difficulties are understandable. If fear reflects back from him like Lucifer with desire and Amenadiel with faith? Just by being who he is, if every interaction has this shadow of fear lingering above? No wonder he sees humans the way he does.

Michael is likely accustomed to the way fear affects us negatively. The desperation, the helplessness. The weakness. He is surely familiar to the way fear does this to his own self.

But, just as desire has it's dark sides, fear can have it's light sides. Just because Michael's gift is Fear doesn't mean he has to be a pure evil, unredeemable villain. If he could tap into the way fear betters people, it truly would be amazing. Fear is full of doubts, but it comes from deeply held emotions. Fear of pain is just one side. Fear of loss of that which you love is another. What people fear speaks to their most human qualities. Many fears are based in love and care, and a desire to be loved and cared for. The process of getting the courage to face fears is also incredibly powerful. He does not have to be predestined to be this manipulative, pathetic weasel.

For a show with a habit of giving its less-than-perfect characters redemption, it's something that I find myself hoping for in some way. It'd be a loooong fucking road, one that the show doesn't necessarily have time for, but it's something I'm interested in at least.

But also, like FUCK Michael, he's a pathetic piece of shit who needs to change literally everything about himself.

[kitkatopinions]

Roman for the character ask? XD

`Plushie, I love you for sending me this because I was excitedly telling you that I hoped someone sent me this.

I’ve been writing non-published fan fics (with plushchrome/why-i-hate-rwby-now) and we usually ‘split’ the writing by dividing who writes for what character. Our first RWBY fan fic featured Survived!Torchwick drifting towards a redemption arc, and I was writing for him. And almost every single RWBY fan fiction I’ve written since has featured Roman because I love writing for him so much. So this one is going to be good because I’ve worked with this character for literally years now. (Some of my headcanoned stuff doesn’t fit with canon, but oh well.)

My top three ships for the character

Roman/Glynda. Their only on-screen almost interaction was their fight in ep 1 in which Roman acted annoyed at the sight of her and got Cinder to fight her instead of him, but boy golly could these two have one tension fueled ‘once in a dream’ sort of romance. Roman/Neo is something I don’t personally ship, but I do like the concept and every time I see concept art of it, my heart melts a little. Funnily enough, I also like the concept of Roman/Oz, but only as ‘Roman always used to tease him by flirting with him.’ (Honorable mention to two OCs who’d take the slots under Glynda if they existed. XD)

My three least favorite ships for the character

Roman/Cinder is a massive no, considering she’s the one who got him into the whole big mess in the first place and then essentially left him for dead. I mean, it’s clear Roman’s into her and they could have divorced couples energy, but boy howdy, this would be toxic in the not fun way. Pass. Roman/Tyrian is something I just don’t vibe with, I feel like Roman has enough street smarts to not instigate or tolerate any romantic vibes with Tyrian. XD Also Junior/Roman. This is apparently called Crimedads? Roman’s the only crimedad I need, I don’t want anything to do with Junior or his disgusting behavior or his stupid looking club.

My biggest criticism for the character

I feel like my biggest criticism is actually the way he’s been used (or rather, not used) after his death. I feel like it was a mistake to wait to bring Neo back until the sixth season, and to not really delve into her backstory and not paying much attention to Neo’s growth. It makes her feel like less of a character and, by extension, makes Roman’s death feel like a weaker motivation for it and makes it matter less to the audience. RWBY’s attempts to be a ‘slow burn’ often leave a lot to be desired, and Roman as a motivation for Neo is no exception to that.

My favorite thing about the character

He was the perfect villain for the first three seasons. He was more of a comic book villain than something we were supposed to take really seriously. He was a real threat, but he was also fun, colorful, he had a great voice actor, some slight sympathetic vibes, but still an obviously selfish, obviously bad guy that - like Watts - it doesn’t feel wrong or complicated to hate or love or love to hate him. His comic book villain vibes still had a little more under the surface, which was perfect for the looser, kids-fighting-monsters fun romp with deeper stuff under the surface. That’s why a part of me doesn’t mind the fact that Roman died, even though I think he could’ve been used after volume 3. They would’ve had to change some of Roman in order to fit in with the new more serious, in-depth storyline, and it might’ve taken some of the charm away from his character.

A headcanon I have about them

Buckle up, because I can’t pick just one. Roman came from a long line of Huntsman and Huntresses and it was a family tradition thing, but he actually really wanted to be a Huntsman for many of the same reasons Ruby had wanted to be one, even past family tradition. Roman’s Hunter parents died when he was young, and he was raised mostly by his aunt and uncle in Mistral, though his family tradition was to attend Beacon, so that’s where he went to school. His aunt and uncle (also Hunters) died while he was attending Beacon in his second year. He had a versatile skillset and was really into weapons construction and strategy, but didn’t apply himself very well in school and never went on to the two vs two rounds in the Vytal Tournament. He started experiencing depression during his time in school, which only started getting worse after he (for messy reasons that I can’t take the time to explain here,) was basically forced to run away with Neo (five years younger than him) during his last year of Beacon, dropping out and living on the streets and starting a life of crime in his increasingly desperate attempts to support her and take care of her. Eventually, he stopped working for criminal masterminds who he always had problems with and thought didn’t do good enough jobs and became one himself. And this one doesn’t line up with canon, but in my fan fictions, I always wrote Roman to have a passive ‘survival’ semblance that triggered when his parents died, that keeps him alive even in really bad circumstances (and even after getting eaten by a Grimm, in the fic. XD) His semblance kept him alive, but it also slowly shifted his moral code to accommodate what he needed to do to survive, and would block out grief sometimes (for instance, he never fully grieved his parents.) Obviously, this doesn’t fit with the canon where he does die in that Grimm, but boy howdy, it made him such a good character to write for in fan fictions.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I know I said that I was glad that the writers killed him, but I might not do that tbh. If I was making a re-write, it’d be more for me than anything else, and I think if Roman had survived, it could be really good and fun. For one thing, he had a connection and some element of personal tension to Ruby and Blake and Neo had some of that with Yang, and that’s something that was lacking later. Roman and Neo could’ve been used to introduce Salem’s castle, faction, etc, and they could’ve been really good as unsure, out of their depth villains that start influencing Mercury and Emerald a bit more as well. But I don’t think I’d go whole hog on any redemption arc and use Roman and Neo as more gray, wild card type characters who are against Salem and have a line of what they think is wrong, but are still dangerous and violent and selfish themselves. 

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Roman’s character allusion to Romeo Candlewick is relatively loose. You can twist Roman into fitting it, as Candlewick wastes his time in idleness until he’s transformed into a jack-ass and then dies of exhaustion. But I definitely think that they mostly leaned into Disney inspired gimmicks like his red hair, hat, and cigar smoking. And more than that, I agree that he’s more based off of the Fox / Honest John Foulfellow, the deceptive conman who tries to trick Pinocchio in the book by pretending to be lame and attempting to kill him, only to wind up really becoming lame and impoverished and hungry. In the Disney version, he’s a more comical conman who expresses some hesitance on tricking kids into going to Pleasure Island and is being threatened into it, but had no problems with other cut throat villainy with no concern over how it affects Pinocchio. He uses a cane (but doesn’t fake a limp,) and his line delivery and body language is kind of close to Roman. Although this is yet another allusion that’s more based on Disney than the original, I think, I tend to not mind this one so much.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Prince of Nothing II

~ Part Two of Five ~

Release Date: May 6,2020 @ 8 pm

Word Count: 7,683

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

 Jeon Jungkook’s study looked like something out of a movie: its Victorian architecture, all black interior, the bar by the side and even the tall glass paned windows behind him made him resemble a villain and not a prince. Jungkook wasn’t too particular about titles however. Currently the prince was supposed to be supervising the kingdom, approving new legislature, and signing a new bill which would only benefit the nobles more though it’d give the appearance of helping the poor. Speaking of the poor. Jungkook couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, as the conversation he’d held the night before replayed in his head. YN was certainly an interesting person, not quite like anyone he’d ever met before. Considering her lineage Jungkook had never actually met anyone like her before. 

Discarding the paperwork, Jungkook reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the necklace that once adorned the village girl’s neck. It shined in the early morning light, Jungkook should return it to her the next time they saw each other but the necklace was a weapon now. Another pawn in Jungkook’s lifelong chess game and he’d be willing to sacrifice an object that meant a lot to her, if it meant bringing them closer. 

Knuckles rasp against the wooden doors, Jungkook mumbles giving the person on the other side permission to enter. Kim Baekhyung was a member of the prince’s personal guard, becoming so when he’d pledged loyalty to Jungkook and no one else. Which allowed him the freedom of strolling into the prince’s private office like a guest rather than a palace employee. Baekhyun briefly glanced at the necklace before bowing slightly, “The king has requested your presence, your highness.” Jungkook cocked a brow at Baekhyun’s mannerisms, it wasn’t until the latter nudged his head slightly towards the door that the prince grasped it.

New guards had been placed outside his door instead of the ones he was accustomed to. It seems his father was getting more paranoid every day. Good, that only worked to Jungkook’s favor. “Let us go then, best not to keep his majesty waiting for long.”

King Jeon the II was a man of stoic nature and few words, at least that is what the public believed. The son of Jeon the I who inherited his father’s throne had aged significantly in the past few years. Wrinkles and harsh lines chiseled into his features as if done by a sculpture, he was not an unattractive man simply one past his prime. Jungkook had been told time and time again he resembled his father when younger, though he knew that was only because the late Queen was not to be spoken of. Were he a decent man Jungkook would try to steer clear of the subject of his mother to avoid adding salt to old wounds, but there was no affection between the two. Jungkook was to be king not because he deserved the title, though the younger might argue he did, but because of nepotism. 

Not to mention after three centuries of Jeon rule, it’d be pointless to stop now. Still there was one thing Jungkook had always desired from his father, something he desired even now as he looked at his father with nothing but pure apathy: his respect. 

Jeon looked down at his son, mouth turned downward into a scowl which only accentuated his frown lines more. “I heard of the spectacle you orchestrated this morning. Conspiring against the crown and attacking a member of the court, is it?” The glare Jeon directed towards his son was likely meant to intimidate his son, but all it caused was a grin to break out on Jungkook’s face. “Did you enjoy it father?” Jeon only sneered in response, “The court and the gallows aren’t your playground, Jungkook. If you’re bored find entertainment elsewhere, but refrain from cutting people’s heads off or I’ll have to cut yours!” The anger had caused the tendon’s on the side of his father’s neck to stick out, indicating how infuriated the king truly was. Well then. 

Being the sly man that he is Jungkook let his lips fall into a pout and batted his eyes; his mother’s eyes. Once Jeon gazed upon them a bit of tension left his shoulders and Jungkook knew he had him in the bag. “But daddy, I was merely getting rid of our enemies. Protecting the land as you taught me to.” His voice was perhaps too whiny, but it reminded Jeon of a time when Jungkook had been younger - less of a threat. Nothing but a small child crying over his mother. It seems his old age was catching up to him, for Jeon took the bait his son had laid out for him.

“Enemies?”

“The last of the Kim’s. A direct descendent too, not like that bastard that lies beyond the borders.” Jungkook saw the doubt creep into his father’s eyes, and knew his words weren’t enough. Jungkook fished the necklace out of his pocket, allowing the ornament to gleam in the light. For a second, and only a second, Jungkook swore he saw fear flash in his father’s eyes but it was gone instantly. Replaced with the mask of the cruel heartless ruler the kingdom knew. Jeon cleared his throat, “The Kim’s haven’t been a threat for over a hundred years. They hold no power, they’re merely has beens that cling onto hope.”

“Hope can be a powerful thing. Our ancestors once hoped they would rule the kingdom and look at us now.”

Jungkook smirked at his father’s silence, but his lips quickly turned downward at the king’s next words. “What of the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Don’t play the fool with me boy! Is she not a Kim too?! Is she not a threat?!”

“She’s adopted.”

“Was the necklace not on her neck?”

A laugh tore through the prince, “If you’re that worried I’ll kill her too. Order the guards to burn down her house, drag her out, and have a little fun with her before she dies. Is that what you want?” Jeon’s coal black eyes pierced into his son’s, as if trying to look into Jungkook’s soul. The king was relieved when he found no such thing. Finally the king relents, “It may draw too much attention to execute them both. Let us not give the people a martyr to rally behind.” The prince nodded before excusing himself, his father’s final words replaying in his head.

“Make sure to keep her close, she may yet be of use to us.”

Jungkook smirked, making his way down the stairs to play with his new toy.

“Have you heard?”

“There’s a lot of things I hear darling, you ought to be more specific.” Namjoon rolled his eyes, stretching over to lightly hit Seokjin’s naked torso. Seokjin ignored his indiscretion and focused on the softness of the bed beneath them. “A young boy was just executed for conspiring against the crown.” Beside him Seokjin sighed, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. He turned to meet Namjoon’s worried gape. Another casualty. Another fighter they’ve lost. Another thing lost to the Jeon’s.

“Did we lose another one?” Seokjin already knew the answer to the question, but every time he’d hope for a different answer. 

“He wasn’t one of us.”

Now that did peak his interest, but from the excitement present on Namjoon’s face it seemed the man was reading too much into it. “Darling, if anyone so much as looks at a Jeon the wrong way they’re accused of conspiring against the crown.” His words had little effect though and even Seokjin couldn’t deny the hope that spread through his body of what this could mean for the movement. Still a leader must always remain neutral in the face of change, so that is what Seokjin did. Even when his lover asked if he should investigate, “Do as you want, but don’t stir the pot. I don’t need crazy old Jeon sending his guards to attack again.” They wouldn’t survive another strike.  

As the conversation died, Seokjin placed a small kiss on Namjoon’s shoulder before winking. “Now what were we doing?”

Soojin hated tea. Despised it’s bitterness and how bland it tasted to her, it dulled her senses. Nonetheless she drank it with a smile on her face, one she could do in her sleep. Princesses always smile and Soojin had always known she’d be a princess so it was part of her duty to behave as one. It didn’t matter that smiling so much felt unnatural and would only lead to premature wrinkles, which she would then be ridiculed for. Though she would be callous if she didn’t smile either. Her mother rambled on and on about gossip she’d heard from her friends and would often take breaks in between to criticize how much Soojin had ‘let herself go.’ Visiting her mother was always a pleasant experience. 

The teacup was now empty and Lady Seo had taken it upon herself to refill it once more without asking her daughter. Soojin knew what this meeting was about, the same thing all their meetings had been about since Soojin had gone to live with the Jeon’s. “Mother.” Lady Seo looked up at her daughter’s face, “Let us not beat around the bush any longer.” At this the woman scoffed, “I see your manners have faltered since living in the palace. Tell me is that any way to talk to your mother?” No, but it is how I talk to a nuisance. Soojin smiled, eyes becoming small crescents. 

“Mother dear, why have you invited me over, so abruptly as well? Is something the matter?”

Lady Seo set down her cup, the small ‘clink’ it made when it touched the saucer let Soojin know the small talk had ended. “Has a date been set for the wedding?” Soojin leaned back against the chair, disbelief on her face. From the second, Soojin had come out of her womb she’d been a means to an end. Something for which to obtain power, what greater power was there than marrying a Jeon. From the sharp look Lady Seo sent her, Soojin straightened right away. Not wanting to upset her mother further than this conversation probably would. 

“The king has been ill as of late. The wedding is postponed until he is in better health.” That is the excuse she had been feeding those around her for the past couple of months, in order to keep the sharks at bay. Truthfully Jungkook was in no rush to get married and one could never force a Jeon’s hand. Her mother, as always, saw through her lies. “You’re losing the prince’s favor.” Soojin hissed, “Jungkook and I have been engaged since we were children.”

“And yet never have the Jeon’s made a move to fulfill their promise.”

At this there was silence, Soojin cast a glance towards the gardens, viewing the vast array of colors that spread through it. The harvest had been good and the incoming summer would only bring more goods with which to feed the kingdom with. Lady Seo reached out and captured Soojin’s hand, “Child,” the tone was affirmative yet still soothing somehow, “Alliances are like crops: one can plant the seed, water it, care for it, do everything right and even then they might not bloom.” Soojin knew exactly where this was headed, she rolled her eyes leaning over the table to make sure her mother paid attention to her words. 

“The Jeons won’t break their promise. They are loyal to us and won’t do anything that’ll threaten the peace of the kingdom.”

“The Jeons are only loyal to themselves! They do not care if this marriage brings peace because they prosper in war. Lest you forget how they rose to power.”

Soojin recoiled pulling her hand out of her mother’s grasp. She knew very well what kind of family she was marrying into, but she couldn’t care less. Their reputation preceded them and Soojin had never once laid witness to the cruelty the Jeon’s supposedly inflicted. Truthfully she’d never done anything to elicit it. Only fools would try a royal’s hand and from what Jungkook had told her, along with what she’d grown up reading, the Kim’s were no better when they were in power. Seeing that her daughter wouldn’t be swayed on her position, Lady Seo switched topics. 

“Have you bed?”

“No, of course not. You ought to know better.”

Lady Seo smirked, “So that means he is seeking pleasure from other women.”

“There are no other women in Jungkook’s life, mother.”

“What about that woman?”

Soojin paused, feeling words die in her mouth; She’d lived her entire life paranoid, but said woman had yet to show. She was beginning to believe it had been nothing but a silly story meant to frighten her. “Jungkook has no interest in other women, none but me.” Her mother once again picked up the tea cup bringing it towards her lips, “Let us hope that is true.”

           “YN!YN!” Her brother looks around panicked, begging for mercy as he is placed on the false bottom and the noose is placed around his neck. It is then that their eyes finally meet, Hyunshik staring straight into YN’s eyes, his mouth moving gently as he stares at her with nothing but affection. ‘I love you.’ He mouths. The lever is pulled. Hyunshik's body drops, the sudden force causing the noose to tighten and his neck to snap under the pressure. 

YN thinks it might’ve been better if he’d been led away that way she wouldn’t have to see her brother’s dead eyes piercing into her soul. As if begging her to save him. To help him. YN could hear the silent pleading wails that left his lips, wrapping around her, bouncing around her. Like a broken record that played in her head - threatening to drive her insane. The screams rang on and on and on, until YN felt her consciousness slipping. 

YN awoke on the bed with Morte wrapped around her leg. The giant mamba’s head resting on the inner part of your ankle, not allowing much movement. YN glanced around the room, gathering that she was back in the same room Jinyoung had escorted her to the previous night. There was dull throbbing from the back of her head, presumably from hitting it. Tentatively she stood up trying not to move too rapidly in an effort not to frighten the serpent lest she want another bite. Thankfully Morte uncoils himself and slithers beneath the bed sheets seeking warmth. YN quickly stands up and races towards the door, fiddling the knob only to find it locked, the only other escape was the balcony which was also locked. She pounded harshly against the glass as if the sheer force would cause it to shatter and allow her an escape.

YN didn’t know how much time had passed, the world outside standing still as the walls began to close around her. All at once it hit her: she was trapped. YN legs gave out and she crumbled to the floor a long wail exiting her as sobs wracked through her body. The last time she had cried this much was when her parents had died, at the time Hyunshik had been there to comfort her. Her brother had held her tight, his own eyes red with unshed tears as he swore to always protect her - to always remain by her side - now he was gone. It was all her fault. All her doing. No...it was all Jungkook’s doing. YN peered up from the floor, all the anguish suddenly replaced with rage. Jeon Jungkook, the crown prince, had killed her brother and all because he was bored. 

YN didn’t understand why she was still alive or even in the castle. One would assume once the tyrant prince was done with his little game, he would simply toss her aside. However, for one reason or another he had kept her around. Be it boredom or simply to torment her even more, it seems Jungkook had found himself a new toy. A brief image of last night flashed before her eyes and YN now remembered his words, how vague he’d been when he promised to save her brother. “From imprisonment?” Jungkook had planned it all along. From the corner of her eye, YN could see the snake move underneath the bedding. It moved inconspicuously, had she not been paying attention she would've missed it and YN was certain that in poorer lighting the creature couldn’t be seen at all. A plan hatched in her head.

It was once the sun began to set that YN heard sounds beyond the door before the doorknob turned. Soon entered a lean girl with sharp symmetrical features who appeared almost doll-like in nature. She held a large gift box in her arms, which she hugged tightly when she bowed. Her orange hair falling like a curtain across her features, “Hello Mistress, my name is Sana. I’ve been assigned to be your personal maid as of today.” YN’s eyes widened with confusion, “I’m sorry I think there has been some mistake. Please stand up.” Sana’s back straightened once she was given permission. “You are YN, right? I’ve been assigned by the prince, it is my duty to serve you as well as help you adjust to life in court.” A million thoughts ran through YN’s head that she couldn’t understand. There was a game being played here, yet she didn’t understand the rules - much less what she ought to do.

Sana quickly moved to set the box down on the bed before YN grasped her arm, “Don’t! Morte is there.” Sana stilled in fear, her pink skin suddenly turning a pale white. “T-the prince’s pet?” YN nodded, the look on Sana’s face led her to believe there was reason to fear the viper - for more than simply a bite. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sana quickly shook her head, adjusting a bright smile back onto her face. “No worries Mistress. I was simply unprepared, usually the animal does not stray far from the Prince’s side. There was a hidden meaning in those words, but YN didn’t understand enough. 

“Please just call me YN.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. It would be seen as disrespectful...I would get in trouble for it.”

“But I am no one of value.”

“Are you not the Prince’s mistress?”

YN felt her heart skip a beat as the words rang in her ears, “What?” Surely, she misheard or Sana was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be true.

“I was informed that I was to be your personal maid, as you are the Prince’s mistress. He has declared you as such.” It appears Jeon Jungkook was much crueler than YN could ever conceive. 

YN didn’t speak much for the rest of the day, only answering Sana when she asked whether she preferred the scent of violets or roses in her bath, she’d responded with ‘whichever you think smells the nicest’ and when Sana had asked if she’d like her long hair to be braided. A small smile had been her response. YN found she was mostly numb to it all, her mind working rapidly to try and understand the chaos occurring around her whilst her body seemed to function in an automatic state. Only reacting when Sana finally opened the gift box and pulled out a lavish gown, “The Prince wishes to see you tonight. I was asked to get you ready.” Those were the words to ground her. 

“Where?”

“In his room of course.” The quick side eye Sana gave her, let YN know that though she’d been polite there was still judgement for the supposed relationship Jungkook had led everyone to believe they had. YN rested against the bed, “Sana I am feeling unwell, is there anyway I could reschedule said meeting.”

“I’m afraid the prince is not someone to be challenged, Mistress.”

“Hm,” YN pretended to ponder for a second. “What if the prince were to see me here?” Sana seemed to think of this, but she also understood what was being asked of her. Their eyes met, silent words were exchanged between the two women.

“I don’t see why I can’t ask.” YN smiled inwardly in victory. 

Another meal had been assembled: servants trickling in and assembling the table, chairs, and tableware. It didn’t go unmissed by YN that all of them were female - of varying ages - but female nonetheless. Slowly they all exited the room, but not before bowing and sending harsh glares her way. Sana lingered enough to keep her company and serve her champagne, but eventually she too excused herself and stated it was too late. Leaving YN alone with her thoughts, wondering whether what she was about to do next was the right thing or whether it would only invoke further peril in her life. It’s worth the risk. YN had nothing left to lose after all, or so she thought.

Goosebumps rose steadily across her arms, the air around her shifting as the temperature dropped. A breath of warm air brushed her ear, “You called?” YN whips around in her seat to see Jeon Jungkook standing behind her. His passing gaze was predatory, lustful, she had been wrong about being a toy - she was prey. The grip YN held on the champagne flute tightened immensely as she willed herself to calm down, lest the plan be ruined. Jungkook quirked an eyebrow awaiting her response. 

“Good evening. I hope it’s not a bother.” from the expression on his face those were not the first words he expected to come out of her mouth. “I’d like to thank you...for saving my brother.” Jungkook’s eyes became hooded with contempt. The Prince had been expecting more theatrics: crying, screaming, sobbing, the promise of vengeance and death upon him. Yet YN looked at him calmly and drank the Clicquot as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if they were old friends meeting for dinner, companions, but he knew better. Behind the facade there was fire raging inside her eyes.

“Were you not present at the trial?”

“I thought it would be imprudent to leave. I am your guest and you did not dismiss me.”

“You trust me so that you would remain in the palace?”

“You gave me your word...you swore on the lives of everyone in the kingdom. Why would you lie?”

For what may have been the first time in his life the Prince was at a loss for words. He stood frozen on the spot, heart racing as several thoughts ran through his head. Tentatively, YN reached forward to touch him. “Are you alright?” Jungkook gripped her hand in midair, it’s hold was iron-clad. Unbreakable. A smile forced himself onto the Prince’s face, YN had to admit to herself it was beautiful. The eighth wonder of the world. Jungkook turned her hand over, bringing it up to his lips and brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Your brother is on his way back home. I’ll allow you to return to him tomorrow.”

A grin broke out over YN’s face, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, well let’s eat then.” She readjusted herself and her free hand gripped a piece of tableware. 

Jungkook hummed in displeasure, “I’m not that hungry.” Though his eyes stated the opposite. YN’s eyes trailed up to meet his, she was surprised by the emptiness that stared back at her. He truly has no soul. Before Jungkook could pierce into hers and figure out her plan YN spoke, “Then I’d like to demonstrate my gratitude.” Taking advantage that Jungkook had yet to release her other hand, YN used that to guide him towards the bed. She leaned in closer and closer, until there were mere centimeters separating them from each other then she grabbed him and pushed him onto the bed - straddling him to ensure he didn’t leave.

Jungkook chuckled, eyes alight with amusement. “How do you plan to repay me?” At the sudden movement, something shifted under the sheets. YN allowed her lips to brush his drawing all his attention as she lightly shoved him again so that he lay on the bed. “Like this.” Suddenly from underneath the sheets Morte darted out, fangs poised but instead of sinking his teeth into Jungkook the viper wrapped himself tightly around his master’s arm. Jungkook laughed maniacally, “That’s it? That was your big plan? To kill me with my own pet?!” In the midst of his mocking, the Prince had left his guard down and YN took the advantage to sheath the tableware she’d grabbed from the table - plunging the knife into his heart.

There was a tense silence before Jungkook finally glanced down at the knife and then his eyes met hers. Dark matter swirled around the chocolate orbs as his pupils dilated until they consumed the entirety of his eye. Jungkook raised his hand and with the flick of a wrist sent YN flying backwards until she crashed against the wall, as if she were nothing but a rag doll. Jungkook looked down at the knife once more, before chuckling. “I must say YN, you’ve exceeded my expectations.” YN dropped to the ground, the force causing the wind to be knocked out of her. “Truly you are one of a kind, I might just have to keep you. You’re as special as they come, darling.” YN barely managed to pick herself off the floor as she heard the sound of footsteps heading towards her.

YN looked up to see Jungkook standing above her, the Prince smiling down at her as if nothing was wrong. Knife still wedged in his torso. Ever so gently Jungkook gripped the handle of the steak knife and pulled on it, the second the last of the bloodied metal exited his body the serpent coiled around his arm dropped dead. Dread spread throughout YN’s body at what she had just witnessed. Growing up she heard stories about the Jeons’ rise to power: some say it was a coup, others say they’d been handed the throne when the previous monarch proved unable to govern, but truth is stranger than fiction. The truth of the matter is that the Jeon’s showed up outside the Palace gates one clear eve and by dawn they’d seized control of the most powerful kingdom on Earth. 

Fear raked through her body as Jungkook crouched down, the only evidence of the stabbing being the torn clothing. The dilated pupil served as a mirror and in it YN saw her horrified expression. The Prince reached out and gently caressed her cheek, “Tell me YN, are you the fool or the fooler?” A sadistic smirk was stretched across his features, as Jungkook drank her figure in. “The fool.” YN whispered shakily.

A small ‘tsk’ left his lips before he shook his head, “No, you are neither.” There was something in the air, both of them could feel it though they would each interpret it differently. However, there was one thing they could both agree on: this was the beginning of the end.

“What am I then?”

“My Queen.”

Upon Soojin’s return to the palace she could immediately tell something was different. She felt as if she was being watched, though that was often the case as she was the prince’s fiance, things felt different now. Whispers and giggles seemed to surround her the second she stepped back in, as if there was some inside joke she was not privy to. Still Soojin had spent her entire life at court and knew that they were no better than a pack of wolves ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Instead of paying mind, Seo Soojin simply held her head up high and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that was bubbling under her skin. It wasn’t until lunch time rolled around, that she found it could be ignored no longer.

Jungkook was nowhere to be found and no members of the court had approached her to have tea or join her for lunch as they usually did. Soojin never accepted, but it was the action that mattered. She never rejected out of a place of malice, truthfully she longed for company, but the people here were not her friends. They sought to benefit themselves and gave no care about who or what they had to sacrifice, the bad thing was they hid said intentions behind sugary smiles and bitter compliments. At least the Jeons were honest about their intentions, no one could ever accuse them of dishonesty for they had no reason to lie. It is what comes with power. 

Soojin longed for that power, if only for the comfort it provided, no one ever went against  a prince or a king. No one ever talked badly about a princess. Of course, the title was still placed on her but it was not hers to claim. Soojin was not a princess by blood, but through marriage and that made all the difference in the world. The throne and the crown would not belong to her, until she bore an heir. Only then would she be a queen. Only then would she be a Jeon.

“What is all the gossiping about?”

Her attention was focused on the maid currently serving her drink, the girl was young and clumsy in appearance. “I’m sorry, princess. What do you mean?” Soojin rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Why is everyone acting so strange? Has something happened while I was gone?” The girl looked to the side sheepishly, “Well you see…” Was it the king? Had he finally gotten better? Maybe the date had been decided? Maybe Jungkook had finally convinced his father or forgoed him all together? All the intense training and torture Soojin had undergone would finally pay off, she’d be a Jeon and no one would ever harm her again. That stupid witch was a liar, she got what she deserved. For the first time in years, hope filled Soojin - only to be crushed shortly afterwards. 

“The Prince has taken a mistress, they intend to wed.”

It should be noted Soojin didn’t even remember hitting the girl, only felt the stinging of her hand later on. She did not recall calling for the guards and demanding she be imprisoned for lying to her. Soojin did not recall much of what happened in the next few moments because she was not truly present, her mind had travelled back to when she was thirteen years old and the engagement was announced. To the time her best friend was killed for daring to touch what belonged to a Jeon.

           It was all in vain.

           “Princess Soojin is here to see you, your highness.” Baekhyung bowed deeply, Jungkook nodded before turning back to the Royal Zookeeper. Jungkook studied the various animals in their enclosures taking his time to weigh the benefits of each. Soojin stepped into the Palace’s greenhouse, her heels clicking on the glass floor. She sent a quick look of acknowledgment to the zookeeper before focusing on Jungkook, who seemed completely enthralled in the animals. “Jungkook if I could please speak with you a moment.” Jungkook gave a quick nod, but besides that kept glancing at the different terrariums. Soojin cleared her throat, causing the zookeeper to excuse himself.

           “No, stay,” Jungkook spoke clearly. He pointed at one of the animals, “I’d like to look at that one.” The zookeeper had no choice, but to remain. He extracted the animal gently and showed it to the Prince whose eyes gleamed with wonder.

           Soojin would never understand Jungkook’s fascination with snakes but figured it had something to do with them being a part of the family's sigil. “I’ve heard discerning rumors being spread by the staff. They would cause quite a commotion if they reached the court so I put a stop to them.” Seeing as the Prince was paying her no mind, and there was a crowd, Soojin went to walk away settling on leaving the matter for when they were in private. Jungkook had other ideas.

           “What is the rumor?” His voice was apathetic as he allowed the serpent to coil around his arm and travel, the zookeeper’s eyes widened at the courage the prince displayed. It was truly a lack of fear that he possessed.

           “What?” Soojin’s voice wavered ever so slightly, but she knew it would not go unnoticed.

           “I assume it must be grave. Why else would you seek me out and waste my time with such nuisances.” Jungkook finally turned to look at Soojin, his eyes were devoid of emotion and his tone hinted at annoyance. For as long as she could remember Jungkook had always been polite, there was never any sincerity in it but he would never be cold towards her. Soojin would’ve preferred if he screamed at her, told her she was a waste of space. That she could deal with. That she was used to. The look in Jungkook’s eyes right now made her want to scream, it was...indifferent. As if she meant absolutely nothing to him.

           “Jungkook -”

           “So what is it?”

           Soojin schooled herself before allowing her sharp tongue to move, “They say you’ve taken a mistress. Can you believe that?” Her words were laced with poison, but Seo Soojin had spent so long wanting to become a Jeon that she forgot she was a lion and not a snake.

           Jungkook smirked, “News travels fast, huh?” His words sunk into her skin like poison, draining the color from her face. “You can’t be serious.”

           The prince rolled his eyes, “Soojin in all the years that you’ve known me, have I ever cracked a joke?” He didn’t wait for her answer. Jungkook focused his attention back on the zookeeper whose shock at what he’d just witnessed had left him paler than the reptile in Jungkook’s hand. “I’ll take him. I’ll take the mamba too, unfortunately, my old one was too weak.” The zookeeper rushed to take out the black mamba and held it out to the prince.

           “This one is as strong as they come, though I must warn you these two types don’t typically mix.”

           “That’s not a problem. They’ll either learn to coexist or kill each other, either is fine with me.”

           YN had been locked inside for three days. Food had been brought to her by staff, all female of course, and Sana was only allowed to visit a few times a day. It was more to ensure she didn’t attempt anything than to actually keep her company. This was her punishment for attempting to murder the crown prince - truthfully she should be on her way to the guillotine if not dead already - but Jungkook had merely sealed her in the unfamiliar room with the promise to return once her punishment was over. YN feared that moment more than death itself. Unfortunately, as fate seemed to enjoy torturing her that moment came all too soon. The bedroom doors opened and in strolled Jungkook with a smile on his face.

           “I’ve brought you a present.”

           YN had never been a cowardly person, but after having witnessed what could only be described as otherworldly she lived in fear of Jungkook. The funny thing about fear is that it can coexist with hate; the two flames feeding with and off each other constantly. YN was curled on one of the couches, her position fetal-like as she watched with trepidation as Jungkook drew nearer. Slowly the Prince dug into his pocket, YN felt her survival instinct kick in as she prepared to fight, until he pulled a small snake out. He held his hand out and placed the white ball python on top of her knees.

           “This is Vito. I got him for you as a gift.” The snake’s small red eyes pierced into YN’s, she held her hand out and the snake slithered into it. Settling on her palm and enjoying its warmth. Jungkook merely observed the interaction, “I got you a constrictor seeing as you’re more of a first-degree murder type than a second or third.” He seemed to find his joke funny, but YN simply glared at him.

           “How long?”

           “How long what?”

           “How long will you trap me in this fucking room?! I played your game. I lost. You won. Aren’t you satisfied? Isn’t it enough?” YN rambled, voice broken and desperate. Jungkook shrugged, “No. The real game has yet to begin.” YN reached out to grab onto Jungkook, but froze when Vito wrapped tightly around her hand squeezing painfully hard. She winced in pain, unable to help herself. “Better be careful.” Jungkook grabbed the snake and uncoiled it, letting it rest on the couch beside her. “Snakes are dangerous creatures. Such a dichotomous being, yet they won’t attack unless provoked.” His eyes met hers, it was a warning.

“You don’t scare me Jeon Jungkook.”

“Oh, I know darling. That’s why I’m intrigued by you.” He sent her a sly wink before, walking away towards the door. At the last second, as if he suddenly remembered something, Jungkook turned around. “Next week.” He muttered simply.

“Next week?”

He gave a knowing smile, “Next week is when you’ll be allowed to leave. It is your twenty-first birthday and you’ll finally be of age.” YN knew exactly what those words meant. Child marriage laws were strictly enforced in the Kingdom and those of lower class were not allowed to wed until they reached maturity. The words tumbled out her mouth before YN could even process what she was saying, “You’re engaged. You have a queen already.” Jungkook simply smiled, “Lady Soojin will be queen, she will sit upon the throne and wear the crown jewels upon her head. But she will not be my queen.” Just like that Jungkook had promised his fiance’s death in little words. YN felt Vito travel up her hand and perch itself on her neck resting comfortably, how YN wished the reptile would tighten around the muscles until nothing remained. That was the only way she would truly escape.

“A Kim?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow as the informant looked around paranoid. They were in a less reputable area of downtown. Far enough away from the shopping district that the tourists, bright lights, and law enforcement wouldn’t patrol. Yet not so far, that Namjoon’s attire would make him stand out. 

“That’s what I said. The boy was a Kim, as is his sister.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, feeling he’d wasted a trip for no reason. “There are plenty of Kim's, it is not an uncommon name.” It was not uncommon for many to marry or change their surnames to befit that of the ruling class and the Kim’s had ruled for several dynasties before their fall. The informant groaned exasperatedly, “I swear to you. They were no ordinary Kim’s - the Prince himself asked they be investigated.” Now there was something for him to work with, barely anything truly, but still. 

“Keep an eye for anything that happens which happens in court.”

“Well you're in luck because a ton is about to happen.”

“Why is that?”

“Prince Jeon has found himself a mistress.”

“Why should I care about this?” Namjoon sighed, desperate to return back to the compound and back into Seokjin’s arms. “She’s the sister of the man that was executed.” Ah, now that’s something.

The night could not come quickly enough for YN, she was certain if she stayed locked within the four walls any longer she’d lose her sanity. The moon shined high in the sky, it being the only source of light in the darkroom. It comforted her in a way she did not understand, she needed that these days. Once Jungkook left she found Vito wasn’t all that bad, he was in a state of heightened tension around Jungkook but had relaxed when danger was no longer present. In fact, he was quite playful in nature. YN would drop dead before ever thanking Jeon Jungkook for anything, but at least she was no longer alone. 

YN lay on her bed simply letting her eyes find patterns in the roof’s texture much like she did when she was a child. It was barely above a whisper, but in the dead silence, YN could hear the fiddling of the locks. Vito who’d been resting on her bosom raised suddenly, fangs pursed as a hiss exited his mouth. The door opened and it was the person YN least expected to see. The person stood at the doorway, looking at YN with what could only be described as pure hatred in her eyes.

“I should’ve known better,” Soojin’s mouth was etched downward into a frown. The hands at her side tightened to fists, “Haven’t they ever taught you not to bite the hand that feeds you?!” 

YN stood up, “You’re misunderstanding. Jungkook -”

Soojin laughed sardonically, “Look how comfortable you’ve gotten, even referring to the Crown Prince by name.” 

It dawned on YN then that no amount of explaining would make Soojin understand. She knew what it looked like: that she’d seduced the prince even when all the signs pointed elsewhere. No one ever wanted the truth - they wanted a story. What’s the better story? The one where a prince becomes fixated on a commoner and kills her brother just to keep her active. Or the one where a commoner, sister to a criminal, seduces the Prince all in a bid for power. She knew which one Soojin believed. 

“If you can convince the prince to allow me to leave you’ll never see me again.”

Soojin finally stepped past the threshold, her steps carefully calculated. “The Prince does whatever he wishes, always been that way, the rest of us simply have to fall in line.” Her tone had become calm, barely above a whisper. YN’s senses heightened and she reached out towards Vito allowing the snake to wrap around her forearm and travel up her body. Soojin’s arms had now gone behind her back as she neared the bed. Her blood-red lips parted, “I heard about you long ago.” Her words caused YN’s eyebrows to raise. What game is she playing? A melancholic smile now graced the princess’s features. “They told you’d come and steal everything from me.”

Soojin was only a few feet away when Vito had settled himself onto YN’s throat, seemingly resting though she could tell the serpent was paying attention. Though Soojin was too distracted by her story to notice him. “Come to steal my life, my heart, my crown. I thought it was the ramblings of an old witch trying to scare me away, but she swore that the lion and mamba could never become intertwined.”

YN knew what she was planning, a voice whispered in her mind that Soojin was far too still. Far too calm. As a lion tended to be right before it pounced. “The witch told me that only a flower can hope to control a viper. For only a flower can bloom again in the face of adversity.” Now she was standing right in front of YN, her body rigid with nerves. Perhaps YN should’ve put up a struggle, called for help, but all the fight had left her. YN knew her fate was sealed the second Soojin asked her the question: “What is your surname?”

“Kim.”

The second the word left her mouth Soojin brandished a dagger, though perhaps she was too slow in digging it into YN’s body. Before it could pierce her skin Vito had jumped from around her neck and curled himself around Soojin’s. The serpent quickly constricted around the muscle until Soojin dropped the knife and fell to the floor. YN moved quickly to get him off her, but Vito refused, choking Soojin more every second that passed. 

“Guards! Guards! Someone help!” Vito was not large, barely matured, but he possessed such strength that YN found it difficult to tug him off the princess. Soojin’s face had long gotten red, purple, and now was beginning to pale. Let her die. Something whispered inside her and YN was shocked that anyone could ever suggest such a thing. “No!” She screamed out, trying to pull Vito off her. A flash of what happened with Jungkook and Morte flashed inside her mind, YN hastily looked around for the dagger finding it had fallen beneath the bed. She lunged for it and turned the metal on herself, leaving a long bleeding scratch on her arm. Vito hissed before unraveling and YN could see the serpent was now bleeding. 

Vito lunged towards YN, but instead of attacking her merely twisted himself on her uninjured arm. YN dropped the dagger and reached toward Soojin trying to carry her, before running out the door with Soojin’s unconscious body resting on her. It wasn’t long until she stumbled upon a maid who YN yelled to for help, the maid rushing to call the guards and have them help the princess. Panicked screams rang out through the hall as a guard finally took Soojin off YN’s arms and carried her towards the infirmary.

YN stood still in the now empty corridor, she felt the temperature drop and goosebumps rise on her body. In an effort to comfort herself, she grasped onto her injured arm prepared for the stinging of the open wound but was surprised when there was none. She cast her eyes downward to see there no longer was any blood nor any indication of an injury. YN peeked at Vito to see that his eyes were closed, though the slight twitch of his body indicated he was still alive. What caught her attention though was the thin white scar that now adored his scales. Before she could begin to assemble the pieces, voices echoed throughout the hall. Realizing that this was her only opportunity YN did what any sensible person would do in that moment - she ran. 

[chorusnihili]

what is wd gasters past

"A rather broad and invasive question, I'd say, but I suppose I can give you the rundown."

"I was born on the surface while tensions were already high, enough that my parents, assuming that I had them, were gone before I had a chance to remember them. I was mostly raised by a mismatch village of monsters; well-cared for, not the only one that didn't have a specific home."

"I didn't miss living on the surface and never wished to return there, quite frankly. The only thing that made it worth living there is that in my final few years there, I did have something close to an adoptive parent. Who, unfortunately, chose death over leaving their home."

"A lot of monsters like to paint the underground as this hellish, soul-sucking fate worth than death. Personally I never found it that bad. I suppose I never was the type to feel wanderlust or anything of the sort. I was happy merely knowing we were safe and humanity likely had no interest in pursuing us."

"So I dedicated most of my life to making the Underground as good a place as possible. Anything that could make life more bearable. Try to cheer up those affected the worst by the change. During this time, a lot of monsters took up psychology; you can find a lot of studies on stress, despair, and trauma written during this time; techniques for coping and helping loved ones, many of which still hold up to this day."

"Unfortunately given the fact that communication has always been a hassle to me, it ultimately wasn't a field of study that suited me well, although I've been told I'm a good listener."

"So my attention broke from such studies to poking around the world about me. Much of the underground was new and needed to be explored and understood, and, what can I say, I was young and ready to believe that magic could do anything. Except, maybe, restore my eyesight. Heh."

"The migration through the underground was relatively linear. The forests of Home, the snowy landscapes of Snowdin, the rainy marsh of Waterfall, the deep caves of Hotland, and finally, the empty caves of New Home. But New Home was the end. The final stop. Assuming a vaguely dome-shaped barrier forming to the shape of the mountain, we had found it on all sides; the entrance at Home, the exit at New Home, the presumably small entries in Waterfall that human trash falls through, the tunnels in Hotland that the lava flows through. We reached the end; there was nowhere else to go."

"Monsters began to fan out, build permanent civilizations. Asgore and Toriel chose to build their castle and kingdom right on the cusp of the barrier; why, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps it was meaningful, to them. A sign of having conquered the humans, something to put them at ease. I never asked, it never seemed appropriate."

"Although many monsters seemed disappointed that there was nowhere else to go, I found a sense of satisfaction from it. We had discovered everything; there was nothing else that might creep out from the shadows. We had an understanding of the world we now lived in, a map from top to bottom, left to right. And now, all we had to do was reshape it into the world we wanted it to be."

"Much of my early life was uneventful. I spent a lot of time in theoretical research, interested in the topics of how and why magic worked, but specifically, the interaction of two magical forces. Why some attacks seemed to be so devastating and others seemed to do no damage at all.  A spent a fair amount of years analyzing magic, categorizing it, writing formulae for the so called Stats, for LOVE, EXP, HP, ATK, DEF, INV, et cetera, et cetera.  Frankly, the field is incomplete; close enough for most situations, I think, but not perfect.  I found it wasteful to continue efforts on it.  I believe that the main goal of science is to improve life; if the science cannot be applied to do so, then I do not see the point in continuing it.”

“My studies were broad and varied.  Sometimes I’d dip into the health sciences, sometimes I’d dip into architecture.  I’d do odd favors for people, look into anything that caught my interest, sometimes even take up tasks for the King himself; ones of minor interest that he didn’t want to bother the Royal Scientist with.”

“But, the focal point of my studies always came back to energy.  What could we do with it?  How can we harness it?  All monsters are made up of energy, of magic, it’s inherent to our souls, the way we express ourselves, even our body is made of magic, turns into magical dust due to a complicated chemical reaction when HP is depleted.”

“This, of course, lead to my most famous accomplishment.  The idea of using magic to power things had been around forever, before recorded history.  But there was always a mage or monster involved, directly or indirectly powering the thing in question.  I sought to cut out the intentional casting of a spell to induce power.  After all, this entire Underground was full of ambient magic; from previous spells, simply from Monsters existing; recycled, reused, breathed in and out, baked into food and released again:  Why couldn’t the world itself power things?” 

“It turned out to be more complicated than expected; failure after failure taught me that it simply wasn’t feasible to use magic without a soul casting it.  But, we found another way--and to be fair, it wasn’t exactly an idea so much as exploratory research, but research with very promising results.  Promising enough to earn me another scar on my face, heh.  Had one of the other scientists not pulled me out of the way, I might have been destroyed by the CORE before the CORE was even a thing.”

“Nonetheless I was far from discouraged.  I was actually very ecstatic.  Enough so that Asgore had a very hard time calming me down and getting me to explain what had happened and why I had a new crack down my face.”

“I started work on the CORE immediately.  Sketching out blueprints and gathering people to start building the skeletal structure of the building while I put together the intricacies of the mechanism that would create and convert pure energy that could be harnessed and used for whatever purposes we desired.  It took a very long time, but it’s no doubt one of my greatest creations.  Asgore asked me to take up the position of Royal Scientist not long after.  I accepted, of course, I wouldn’t think of declining, but it was a very strange thing to me.”

“It wasn’t long after that when the human child arrived.  I remember hearing about it, one of the other scientists telling me that Asriel had chosen to keep the child.  Keep the child, I had thought, like a pet, like a person would choose to keep a dog or a cat.  I thought it frankly ridiculous, but having the human child around brought a new era of hope to the kingdom and, I, ... couldn’t resist being pulled along.  I personally thought that the idea of peace between humans and monsters was ridiculous, but it was such a pleasant idea and the people were so happy...”

“Of course, it didn’t last.  In a single night, both the human child and Asriel had passed away.  The duo had broken through the barrier, only to seal their own deaths.  It was a travesty.  A whirlwind of horrors, one after another.  The devastation, the despair--it was unlike anything I had ever experienced, even when humanity had first sealed us underground.  At least then, we had the relief of peace.  Now, we had nothing.”

“The King declared war on humanity.”

“It was a dark time.”

“The peaceful life I had was replaced by one of fear and anxiety.  I knew what humans were capable of.  I lived through it, I wore the mark of their hostility on my skull--and Asgore wanted to willingly throw us back into that over revenge?  We wouldn’t survive.  There was no way we’d survive.  But if there was any chance of giving us any sort of fighting chance, I was going to find it.” 

“My research turned from finding ways to make the underground better to combat.  Once again, energy proved to be my friend.  I revisited old research about LOVE and EXP and ATK and DEF--and wrote up a hypothesis about another state.  ITK.  Intent to Kill.  Unlike LOVE and EXP, which are slowly, solely increasing values, ITK rapidly fluctuates and acts as a modifier on attack.  Even a soul with a LOVE of 1 can do an extreme amount of damage if they, in a particular moment, are filled with the desire to kill the one they are striking.”

“Monsters aren’t made for war.  In general, monsters aren’t made for hurting each other.   It’s one of the many reasons we were slaughtered so mercilessly.  So I created a ... weapon.  That could circumvent that weakness.  The ITK Blasters, as I called them, could take even the smallest ITK and multiply it to do horrific damage.”

“I did other research on the topic as well.  How to convert HP into a temporary boost of ATK.  With these two advancements...even a monster as relatively weak as I am could be incredibly strong.”

“I wanted to perfect the techniques before I tried teaching them to anyone.  But, such things never came to pass.  Asgore lost his will to continue seeking war.  He knew that he had only declared war in a fit of rage and to give his people hope.  So rather than continue killing, he wanted to find a different way to bring everyone hope.  He wanted to find a way to break the barrier without anymore bloodshed.  He asked me to research the human souls.”

“...”

“I wanted no parts of it.  We got into a ... rather nasty fight.  I said a lot of things I regret.  I called him a coward for bending to the will of his people instead of doing what was right.  I told him that any attempt to breach the barrier would result in the complete extinction of our species.  I told him that it was his job as king to protect us, not lead us to our death.”

“I was angry and afraid, and I took it out on the wrong monster.”

“It’s about at this point that you really cannot understand my history without a basic understanding of how time flows.  I’ll spare you the lecture of multiple timelines and parallel realities, but at the very least, you must understand that the flow of time is... well, it is inherently linear, but, consider it like a... I want to say a Turing Machine.  Or perhaps, a VHS Tape.  The same segments can be replayed again and again, can be overwritten, can change from iteration to iteration.”

“So the fact that Asgore died in this timeline...and is still alive in the current timeline...it may at first seem contradictory, but it is not, I assure you.”

“Asgore’s death hit the Underground hard.  Undyne took over as Queen, but the knowledge that the last remaining member of the Royal Family was gone still loomed over everyone’s heads.  Undyne was more determined than Asgore ever was to free the monsters and I felt like there was nothing I could do.”

“So...There was little I did.  I was overwhelmed with grief and hatred.  I kept at the research.  I honed the abilities, again and again and again.  I drove myself to exhaustion, I isolated myself.  I barely slept and ate.  I neglected my duties and while the others understood I was grieving, it eventually got to the point that Queen Undyne delivered the ultimatum that I had to either get my act together or surrender my position as Royal Scientist.  I resigned without any argument.”

“Much of the time is a blur.  Most of my studies and research done with poor practices and hardly documented.  The research that lead to me creating Sans falls into this. I wished to know if...  

“Of course, two monsters can create another soul.  This much is obvious, monsters reproduce on a regular basis, enough that in the modern day, there’s an ongoing population crisis for monsters that need certain environments.  But I wanted to know if ... a monster, could theoretically, singularly donate a portion of their soul and create another living monster out of it.”

“This is probably a piece of research that very much fits the criteria of not stopping to think whether or not I should try to do so.”

“It required extracting part of my soul.  Which, to do so without killing the monster, requires a massive power source...luckily, or unluckily, I had the entire CORE at my disposal.  So I constructed a machine that could, indeed, extract part of my soul.  What resulted was the most painful experience of my life and left me comatose for six months.  It’s also the cause of the circular scars in my palms.”

“I hadn’t intended to extract two pieces of my soul, but, it happened, whether through oversight or simply as a matter of how the procedure was carried out.  I used the smaller piece to create Sans; intending to keep the larger piece for further study.  I destroyed everything used in the experiment afterwards.  I felt it was something that no monster should have the power to do.”

“That’s not to say I regret creating them.  I don’t, and nothing will ever change that opinion, even knowing some of the terrible things they’ve done in other timelines.  But I do regret the methods that lead to their creation.”

“I don’t know why Sans is so weak.  And I resisted the urge to try to figure it out.  There’s a fine line between a healthy interest in your child’s health and treating them as a science experiment, and I ... wanted to stay as far away as possible from that line.  He’s fine the way he is.  He doesn’t need to be fixed.”

“That didn’t stop me from using the second piece of my soul to create Papyrus to look after him, though.  Or teaching him magic to the best of my ability, even teaching him how to use the Gaster Blasters.”

“Having them...helped.  A lot.  I won’t say whether I was very good at it, but I enjoyed being a father very much.  The grief was still heavy, but I was able to start returning to a somewhat normal life, and even start following what was going on in the Underground again.  I learned of Doctor Alphys’s research on the human souls, and though I personally disagreed with it... decided to look into it in Asgore’s honor.”

“My immediate thought was that her ideas about Determination could mesh well with my previous research about soul extraction, albeit with a few modifications--although I had destroyed the equipment I used for the process, I remembered it well enough.  So I got to work on a theoretical DT Extractor; but the further I got with it, the more horrified I became.”

“I simply couldn’t tolerate the idea of it.  Humans or not, already dead or not--the mere idea of extracting the literal lifeforce out of a soul...  No.  It was not a process I would condone.”

“I had just finalized my decision to destroy the blueprints when I fell.”

“It was... a laughably simple mistake, really.  The CORE is designed to rearrange itself to prevent the wear from the heat from causing too much damage in any one area.  The doors pneumatically seal themselves to prevent egress during this time but...  I was simply too distracted by the blueprints and I opened the door, and walked through anyways.”

“There were no further safeguards.  There was nothing I could do to save myself.  It was over before I had a chance.”

“...”

“I don’t regularly talk about my time in the void.  Not because doing so bothers me, but because it’s simply... indescribable.  When I awoke, I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t speak.  There was no me, but my consciousness existed.  I could see and hear thousands of timelines at once, as if I was standing in an arena, with each and every seat filled with a television playing a different movie.  A jumbling mess of information.”

“I have no idea how long I was there for.  It was like learning to exist all over again.  Step by step.  Learning how to move closer to visions of interest.  Learning how to seep into those visions.  Learning how to block out the immense noise.  Learning how to speak without a body.  Learning how to see the void.  Learning how to construct a body out of it.  Learning how to hunt down my timeline.”

“In many ways, it was a rebirth, and with each and every step, I lost more of myself.  I lost myself to the aching hole of my soul being missing.  I lost my conscience, I lost my heart.  I dedicated everything to the endless goal of stitching myself back together again.”

“I learned so much about the reality I live in.  How malleable it and time is.  I evolved into something grotesque, something that shouldn’t be alive.  I gained power that no monster or human should have.  Things, and even souls, could be changed at my whim.  And yet the one thing I truly wanted seemed to be impossible.”

“I did a lot of terrible things while I was stuck like that.  Some were intentional, some less so.  Many were reset thanks to Flowey, others will never be fixed.”

“I have Sans to thank for finally helping me to achieve the goal, even if not fully.  He built a machine that gathered enough of my soul that... I’m able to manifest my original form and can think clearly once again.”

“Even so...  It didn’t change the fact that my soul is still shattered, somehow held together by the tug-of-war between Determination and Void, and that my fall into the Void reset the timeline into a state where I never existed.”

“And that leads us to now.  The Gaster you currently speak to exists in a timeline that has made it to the surface, though I’m not particularly fond of being up there and generally hide in my lab in the CORE.”

“Well, I certainly hope you didn’t expect even a rundown of over a thousand years to be short.”

“...Or, were you posing the question to someone other than myself...?”

[the-order-of-fools]

The knights' treasured keepsakes? Specter Knight has his locket and Propeller his rose but what about the other knights? Also, I just remembered reading something in the comments section on Treasure Knight's wiki page where it mentioned a dev (I think Sean Velasco??) saying TrK used to have a wife and I thought you'd find that interesting.

This was such a fun idea to work on. We made Treasure’s ex wife a buff, sea dragon corsair. King Knight happens to be quite the materialist. His Majesty proves himself to be superior to others once again as he not only has one personal keepsake, but two; the first being his iconic crown. His loving and supportive mom once bought him a platinum crown (platinum wasn't considered a valuable metal, so it used to be quite cheap) which he painted with a gold layer and decorated himself. He's incredibly proud of his work. During his early days adventuring (in search of kingdom to rightfully conquer, despite the fact that he was quite literally in a kingdom already), he had amassed enough jewels and gold to improve not only his crown, but also afford a hefty gold armor (though - he could only afford a gold finish and not a suit made entirely out of gold - and you do not want to show up to a duel in what is practically a flashy cardboard box). The second keepsake is his cape, as his mom has lovingly sown it for him. Even if he occasionally denies it, he's attached to his mom's gifts. It's as simple as that

Specter Knight has his dear locket. Gifted to him by his late friend Luan, Specter finds himself heartbroken whenever his mind wanders to it. What he now realizes was practically an engagement ring, was a testament of the bond shared between them, a bond forged through years of thievery. If only he could have realized his feelings for Luan were more than platonic... Bitterness fills his heart when he recalls the showdown at the Tower of Fate, how he had forsaken his only chance at humanity in exchange for Reize's freedom. He does no regret it one bit, even if a frighteningly selfish part of him wishes he had just accepted his reward without a fuss. For a moment, the memory of the locket doesn't stab into his dead heart. Perhaps he could take it out of its chest again? Just for a moment, to remember the last gift Luan bestowed upon him

Mole Knight has always been a being of simple tastes. He's happy with what he has, he's happy with who he is. Still, he knows that he could never have the life he has if it wasn't for his beloved armor. Yes, the armor he possessed is his keepsake. It's resistant enough to face the high temperatures of a lava-filled mine, and it allows him to perform all of his tasks easily. He found it one lucky day when he was still a shapeless mass of sentient magic, seeping into the very soil the mine workers always dug through. The armor he found seemed to bear the appearance of a giant mole - maybe the legacy of an ancient civilization of giant moles? Still, he had no problem claiming it as his. He has never thought about changing it, he feels comfortable in it - you could say that it has become his permanent house. Plus, it gives him the appearance from which his name is taken, Mole Knight wouldn't be Mole Knight without his armor

Plague Knight has his reasons to keep a giant grimoire close to his heart. His birth was... complicated, he gained his sentience artificially, and whoever created him left this strange book before he disappeared. It's a little bigger than Plague himself, but he can use it just fine (as long as his Plague minions put enough work into holding the giant thing). The tome contains a variety of alchemical formulas, old legends and spells. They were all written by hand - and Plague has taken the liberty to add his own formulas, the most notable one detailing the process of creating a human-shaped body out of magic. Sadly, certain pages have been ripped out at some point. He has managed to find a few of them hidden throughout the Explodatorium, but most seem to have vanished

Tinker Knight is the most practical out of the entire Order. He must have at least one thing he particularly cares about. Every engineer, no matter how old and skilled, must have started from scraps and faulty attempts - our tiny Knight is no different. Back when he was still an amateur, his head was already buzzing with ideas that he promptly scribbled down as blueprints. Only one of these projects was put into practice in order to create a little basic robot with no function other than moving around and emitting monotone beeping sounds. It wasn't the result Tinker Knight had hoped for, but it was a starting point and he was still proud of it. To this day, he keeps his first blueprints and the -now old and unusable- little robot. He has challenged himself to renew the blueprints and bring them to life thanks to the skills he has acquired. Once the Order will fully establish its power and he’ll find some spare time for himself, he may take up those old scraps once again

Treasure Knight is greedy. A greedy underwater pirate who is obsessed with gold. If one were to guess his most beloved keepsake, they would turn their gaze to his treasure vault. Despite this educated guess, there's something more to him. He may seem shallow on the outside, but he treads deep waters. Inside his vault, away from the most desired riches, lays a small chest. Inside of that chest sits a silver ring with a pearl head. At first glance, it seems awfully suspicious. Why leave a single ring in a chest all to itself? Does it hold great power? Can it lead you to an even greater treasure trove? No. It's a memento. A memento of someone he can only come to describe as his past wife. During their first meeting, she decked him. Hard. How they had gotten along after that is unknown to him, but at some point, they simultaneously accepted the fact that they were a couple, and with it, he gifted her a ring resembling her pearly dragon scales. However, sea captains aren't bound to stay together. His choice of pursuing riches was clear, and forcing her morality onto him wasn't ideal. She gave it back right before she left - the same ring locked in that little chest. He doesn't regret it, or so he tells himself

Polar Knight is awfully difficult to read. The mysterious aura that envelops him might appear as apathy and hardness of heart, which seems to drive away the majority of adventurers. As you may guess, this titanic Knight does not have a keepsake. Or at least, one that he could define as a possession of his. If you pay attention, you'll see how deeply he seems to care for life. The loyal Spinwolves that never leave his side, a poor black tortoise that he took care of when its master was nowhere to be found. The icy wastelands around the Stranded Ship claim many lives, but not as many as it used to, back when Polar Knight didn't preside the lands that were rightfully entrusted to him by the Enchantress. He took care of them, nursing them to health until they were able to leave the Stranded Ship again. His keepsake might not belong to him directly, but it's one that gives him immense satisfaction - and a sense of redemption from the terrible duty he has decided to honor

Propeller Knight is a stud. Some may come to ask themselves: has anyone conquered this gentleman's heart? Yes, you thirsty motherfuckers, but not in the way you may expect. Propeller was a bit of a wild card during his younger years (to be fair, he remains as flighty as ever), and during that period, he had been through many on and off relationships, mostly due to his tendency to court others, single or married. Though, one of them was different. The bouts of love were nothing compared to the flame burning bright within his heart. There was only one problem: his newfound lover was very ill. Propeller wasn't one to quit. For perhaps the first time in his life, he had truly felt love and affection for someone, and he cared for them until their very last breath, holding the very final present he had given them, a brilliant rose. He had arranged for them to be buried quietly, and planted roses at their grave. He took the last rose that they've ever held and found a fellow who enchanted it for him. His lover has faded into the realm of the dead, but the rose will forever remain intact. He placed it in a chest for safekeeping, and left. Members of his crew, as ordered, continue to keep a watchful eye over it

Black Knight might have an infamous reputation, but we all know that he's the romantic type deep inside. His romantic vein might be a little twisted, just like his sense of justice, but this doesn't mean that he's uncaring. He happens to have two keepsakes instead, one of them being his mighty steed. Black Knight raised Terrorpin with all the care and patience he could muster (something you wouldn't expect from him) as the creature mistook him for its mom when its egg hatched unexpectedly, right as the Knight was passing by. How lucky, if it wasn't for the fact that Black Knight wasn’t (and still isn't) quite the perfect parent, that little tortoise would have been no more. He tried his best, though. His second keepsake is his beloved Shovel Blade, which was forged by the same blacksmith who created Shovel Knight and Shield Knight's weapons. He wanted to wield the same weapon as his rival. He must have had his reasons. He, too, is a very practical person, so it's no mystery that he prefers weapons over useless trinkets

-Mod Tinker and ~Mod Propeller