#Even if he is not personally contemptuous towards them

[mademoiselle-cookie]

She didn't say "children".

She said "common children".

English is not my first language so I didn't know if I was overinterpreting and that it was something that was actually said in English. But apparently no, it’s a deliberate choice. So let's overinterpret.

Let's leave aside the fact that she criticizes Tood and Ambrosius at the same level while the latter only defends himself against idiotic attacks and arguments (you can argue he should have been calmer but everyone was against him, not just Todd, and he has a few problems with his boyfriend).

First of all, it’s not the first time she hears something like that, like when Tood mocked Ballister (in a really classy way) at the beginning of a very important ceremony or when he complained about Ambrosius and his "lavender smell". She clearly heard that, but she didn’t say anything. She could have : bullying someone or imitating and insulting another of being a "dork" and having a good smell (?) are way more childish behaviors. At least for the second case, she could have at least frowned (Todd said this literally in front of her from a distance of a meter).

(Yes she looks like she ate a lemon but she looks like that throughout the whole scene, not just for Todd)

So the problem has never been how they act but how they don't act. They are currently not acting in ways that she deems useful but are instead wasting time. (And she is definitely only complaining about Ambrosius and Todd, not the other knights who joined the latter in accusing the former of nonsense. Alone against everyone, Ambrosius is not the problem, much less the one who started it)

I put it there, but when did the nobles (apart from Ambrosius who is not only an exception but is also obliged to appear impeccable) show themselves to be more distinguished than the commoners? Without wanting to defend them, when we see commoners acting in a despicable way, it is largely because they are being lied to and manipulated. The knights have no reason to harass Ballister - Ambrosius doesn't - and seeing as the squire is a fan, he's probably not the only one. It doesn't take a genius to know that you shouldn't harass people, no matter the situation.

Do we have a scene with a knight like with this woman in the subway who gives a coin to a musician? Todd when he's on the wall in honor of Nimona? OK, but that's after the ENTIRE kingdom has learned their lesson (meaning it's not just him and that's exceptional) and having been a huge asshole for the entire movie.

Also, the knights and the Director, when have they really been around a commoner? Who is the only commoner they know? Ballister. Ballister who most represents the values that the Institute and the knights are supposed to embody. He's the best of them (1st in his class), he's courageous, kind, intelligent (he built his arm on his own), competent (he infiltrated the Institute several times without being detected), strong (the fight of 2 against all) and he sincerely wants to protect the Kingdom. He is also much more polite (he is the only one to have thanked the squire).

Are you trying to seduce me gay boy?

As far as I know, he was always very courteous to everyone, especially to the Director. Her only real reference to commoners is a hard-working, competent and polite man. (The only time he was "wild" was when he attacked a wooden mannequin before entering the Institute. But he was a child, and it didn't exceed the level of violence of Todd, an adult.)

The Director uses commoners as an insult, when overall, commoners act much more distinguished than nobles.

[janumun]

A Bond Everlasting (LaDS Rafayel - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Pairing: Rafayel/Reader Words: ~17k

Tags: soulmate AU (the red string of fate, with a twist), college setting (and they were roommates), angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, minor violence and action, scent kink, blow job, oral and vaginal sex, facial, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, merman knotting, sexual rut/Lemurian sexual cycle

Summary: Rafayel tries — and miserably fails —  to forget the one his red thread weaved against once upon a time, even a decade after its break. Finding her, once more, years later, and residing within the same place as her doesn’t help his cause. 

A/N: A happy very belated birthday gift to you, @chibamari. With all of my love and all of our favorite heartbreak, I hope you enjoy this, darling friend.

I. EBB 

The red string of fate. Rafayel found he truly loathed the concept.  

What was it, truly, if not just the Fates contemptuous scorn upon them?  

Forcing kinship and eternity in between a pair that did not mould against the other. That would, if time given, drift apart as mere bottled wishes left traversing, lonely, across the seas.  

And yet, the manacles remain celebrated, since time immemorial. As legends of the rare, and lucky few, destined to be bonded in harmony.  

Rafayel used to be — once upon a time — part of the same foolery brigade as the rest of them, the day his red thread spun and found itself interweaved against his first, and last, love. To her, he promised a Lemurian’s vow of faithful eternity. 

Until the day that blood-red thread quivered and ruptured apart, weakened by her absence.  

Leaving to Rafayel only the hollow remains of a heart rejected. The brand of its mockery left behind as indelible remains of the severed — useless — string wound against his finger.  

II. FLOW 

Deft, practiced digits streak a brush across canvas; the truculent quality to his paint lines reflecting the agitated knot of Rafayel’s brow and the hand he scrubs through his hair in chagrin at constant-wheeling thoughts. Bold strokes; an amalgamation of bright colors — gentle turquoise and oceanic azure — setting into paper to shape unconscious form to his muse, for his current class.  

It is only when he hears the ripple of applauding gasps behind — “You’re amazing, Senior Rafayel!” — is he knocked back into his senses, angling a stupefied gaze up at what he’s made of his project: originally an interpretation of the depths of the sea, the topic he’d presented his class for the day.  

He notes, in no small proportion of growing aversion, the strokes of his brush having shaped form of a delicate back — hers — against the backdrop of a vast sea, reminiscent of home. His thoughts — he muses in self-derision — having lent unconscious connection in between his place of most comfort to the person who stood as his entire comfort. 

Rafayel’s head throbs with heat, as if knelling the oncoming of a particularly harsh fever. Perhaps his less than perfect health was to blame for his momentary lapse of concentration.  

“Is the lady underwater inspired by anyone in particular, Senior? Your brushwork for her seems particularly passionate.” 

Rafayel’s mouth twitches into an insouciant, cool smile, he directs at his students. “Hmm I’m not sure. Perhaps, she’s inspired by that one mermaid movie they’re currently playing in theatres.”  

“Oh, ‘Aquatic’? I’ve seen it!” 

“Me too! It's really good.”  

“The part where she turns to sea foam—” 

A seamless lie; he lets it steer the focus of conversation away from him and his lapse in concentration. Turning back towards the board to proceed with his lecture.  

Opting to teach a fine arts course to a bunch of junior year students, for extra annual credit, was clearly shaping to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made.  

Especially so, when the subject in question, he’d offered to teach for, in the first place, remained starkly absent throughout the duration of the lecture.  

III. EBB 

Shouldering open the door to their shared apartment, Rafayel steps inside, staggering under the weight of his stack of the newest arrival of deliveries. The apartment is silent, devoid of the sound of her characteristic pattering footsteps.  

Depositing his packages down against the side of the sofa in the living room, he collapses back into the cushions, tuning a distasteful frown towards the empty kitchen counter. Recounting to mind, the events of this morning, having shepherded him into an entire day of distraction at the University.  

“Ouch.” She hissed, a sound of surprise, wrenching her arm back from the sizzling frying pain at the spits of oil it spewed.  

Rafayel released an exaggerated sigh at the sight, ambling over towards the kitchen. “Let me help.”  

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of fixing breakfast on my own.” She attempted heroic reassurance, even as she easily treaded backwards to let Rafayel replace her at the stove.  

“Yes, yes, I believe you. I'd still like to ensure you don’t burn our apartment to the ground while I’m away at work. My paintings are priceless treasures, you know.” He deftly takes the eggs off the stove and plates them before shoving her share at her. “There you go, Miss All-Capable.” 

“Stop making fun of me.” She smiles in relieved gratitude, moving to set cutlery across the table. “And thank you.” 

Rafayel swivels a puffed smile her way. “Whatever would you do without me?”  

She shakes her head at him, attempting no effort to refute him. “Indeed.” Her fingers brush against his as she moves to pass him his share.  

“Rafayel.” She sweeps a sudden grab at his hand, digits entwining in between his. “You’re a bit warmer than usual. Are you feeling sick?” She smooths a gentle hand across his forehead.  

He feels his face burn darker at the sudden intimacy of their contact. “No, I don’t.” Instinctively jostling away from her touch. “I’m just tired, is all. I was up the entire night, after all.”  

“You really need to fix that terrible habit of yours. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind!” Rafayel can’t tamp back the grin from his face at her chiding. 

“Take better care of yourself. I can’t be here to keep you in check round the clock, you know.” She sighs in resignation.  

“Yes, yes, my noisy Mistress.”  

“Speaking of which,” She begins, just as Rafayel seats himself at the table. "I'll be out late tonight.” 

Rafayel feels his smile frost over; a dreaded, sour feeling immediately spurning at the base of his belly.  

“I have a study date with Caleb.” She does not meet his gaze, forking at her egg.  

Rafayel hears himself speak before he can tuck back his impulsive thoughts. “You sure you should be trusting the man this much? I don’t—” 

“’Like him.’ I know. I don’t know why you’re so biased against him, he’s a good person.”  

The praise dredges bitterness across his tongue; ashy and tepid. His fork nearly stabs at his own food, a disapproving moue he knows is dark upon his face. “Sure,” he intones at last, grappling against his desire to ask her not to go, to spend her day with him instead. “Have fun.” An unfair burden he knows he throws onto her shoulders; he does not possess the right to dictate who she chooses to associate with.  

And yet— 

Rafayel’s gaze deliberately treks the line of red thread adorning his ring finger — treacherously cut off a few centimetres in and dissipating into nothingness. Following the absent line of it; her own finger sits vacant against the wooden table-top. An immeasurable dejection he isn’t able to shuck off, no matter how many times his eyes have witnessed its emptiness.  

Perhaps she is right and he is sick, an inscrutable tremor setting into his fingers as they continue on with the rest of their meal in silence.  

IV. FLOW 

The oncoming dawn encroaches a gradual shell-pink spill of color across the velvet skies as Rafayel’s feverish gaze drags, listless, to the view past the patio windows, the bone-deep ache from the day past yet to recede.  

The angry scrapes of charcoal rushed across paper, forgotten as the unfinished sketch drifts purposeless down onto the floor to join the rest of its discarded predecessors.   

She has yet to return home — Rafayel had stayed up the entire night and remained planted, firm, within their lounge, to make sure he would be there to greet her on her return. She'd never been away from their apartment overnight.  

Rafayel knows because he had — on more occasions than he could count and didn’t wish to acknowledge — found himself crumpled within cool sheets, self-confined to the privacy of his room, listening in to the comforting sounds of her padded, soft movements around their apartment.  

She'd often slip back through their door, close to midnight — she made it a point, always, to return home, no matter the hour — after slaving away hours at the library for her Hunter exam. She'd try for quietude; he knew, so she wouldn’t disturb his absent sleep.  

A gentle clink of mugs at the kitchen counter as she’d make herself a cup of a coffee in preparation of burning the midnight oil.  

Despite having the physical structure of their apartment — a shelter and comfort in name — his room’s four-walled sanctity, it didn’t truly feel warm as a home until the moment she stepped past the threshold and into their shared space.  

And only when he’d hear the soft crinkle of pages turning steadily as she’d settle herself onto the living room sofa to study, would he find himself beckoned into slumber. As if she too, knew on instinct, how her presence aimed to soothe, choosing to make space for her studies right where he could hear her, in the lounge, instead of the confines of her own room. 

Yet now.  

Midnight had come and gone, dawn scraping indigo for approaching light, and no signs of her return.  

A long day behind him endured in feverish unrest and the toll of another sleepless night, doesn’t help disentangle burgeoning thoughts of her within the embrace of another man at that very moment, one not him. He can’t help but sorely curse himself for his ill-thought decision of staying the night up, waiting for her like some sorry love-struck fool.  

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep, either way; a part of him mocked in muted whispers.  

His thread throbs; a nipping bite of rejection and along with it, his body. Languid gaze absently trekking the severed thread, flickering incandescent against his ring finger. The constricting heat of it, as if traversing up his veins along with the fever within his body. Colluding against his heart, as if it wishes to eventually wither him up instead. A slow, bittersweet poison.  

Rafayel feels nauseous.  

He’s beginning to contemplate on retiring for the meagre, precious hours before his upcoming classes for the day — perhaps that bitterly strong liquor she’d stowed into the fridge earlier would help do the trick — just as the door lock clicks open.  

The sound violently startles Rafayel out of winding, unheeded thoughts enough, he springs off the sofa just as she steps foot over the threshold.  

Opening his mouth to put words to turbulent emotions — a million queries — before his questions wither off the tip of his tongue when he fixates a good, long look at her.   

She appears downright exhausted and an instinctual, foreboding spurts forth in him. The look on her careworn face, light-snuffed gaze meeting his — Rafayel thinks, mirrors the state of his own affairs — before it dissipates into stifled surprise. “Rafayel, what’re you doing up—”  

And before he can tamp himself back into composure, Rafayel’s striding the few paces it takes for him to reach her, dragging her into his embrace.  

She stiffens at the contact on instinctual reflex, it chips away at another piece of his heart. Tightens the strangulating hold of his severed thread against his soul.  

He hedges her tighter into his embrace, regardless. Head pitching down onto her shoulder; a hand he smooths down the line of her quivering back before she relaxes into him, at last.  

“Rafayel—” Arms twitching by her side and up as she circles him within her own comfort, returning his warmth in the cling of desperate digits against the back of his shirt.  

“You’re late. You're so late.” he gripes, half-hearted.  

A beat. Two passes. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”  

A peculiar relationship; she calls them friends — close — inappropriately so and he’d agreed to be one, to her, if it were the sole thing that allowed him to be by her side. For her to not abandon him once more. A relationship edging something far gnarled than friendship.  

He doesn’t believe even she has a name for what they share, in moments as these, where Rafayel forgets himself and the boundaries he holds himself to. Turns blind to pretenses and masks he fixates, so delicately crafted, for her benefit and the safety of his own heart. 

He is not, however, a man strong enough to ignore the strain of his beloved’s gaze, tiredness rimming her entire being, she feels so brittle in his arms, and it ruins him to not know the cause of it.  

“...Got something on your mind?” He murmurs into her hair. 

“Perhaps.” Her response is slow, halting.  

“Want to tell me what it is?” He breaks away from her, enough to let his eyes scour her face in stern scrutiny.  

A whispered laugh escapes her at his inspection.  

“...Rafayel, how do you feel about an early morning stroll with me?”  

V. EBB 

The shores of Whitesand Bay stretch empty within the wee hours of dawn, quiet, save for the twittering song of birds cutting across the sky and the gentle wash of waves at their bare feet as they amble along the sandy belt. She hasn’t uttered a word since, absent gaze trekking the gradual rise of the sun above the horizon, light flittering its diamonds across the lap of waves.  

The easy access to the sea — and by extension, the remarkable view — was one of the reasons they’d jointly agreed upon renting an apartment this close to Whitesand Bay, two years prior. On any other usual occasion, Rafayel’s fingers would’ve been upon pen and paper, soaking inspiration up and through rough strokes, sketching across paper.  

Now, however, his focus is all but entirely removed from his environment, vision honed in on her by his side.  

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” She murmurs, gaze still fixated upon the horizon. “I’m not an early riser like you are so I’ve never seen the sunrise here up this close.”  

She's skirting the issue, Rafayel has no mind to force her to spill her heart when she does not wish to. 

For her, he is willing to remain patient.  

Regardless of the consequences to his person.  

He joins in on her flimsy facade.  

“If only I wasn’t a little too aware of the fact.” Tapping a light fist against her temple, he angles a skewed smile down at her. “Despite my very arduous efforts to get you out of bed on multiple occasions, you’ve persisted in your terrible ways, Miss Hunter.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, I fear.” 

That gets her breaking a smile, the tensed knitted worry within her gaze easing just that tiny bit; Rafayel plucks it up for the small reward it is. “A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like you’re any less bull-headed.” She defends. “Don’t make me recount all the times you nearly gave poor Thomas a heart attack because your paintings weren’t ready even mere hours before the exhibitions they were supposed to be featured in.”  

His mouth pulls into a distasteful moue at that. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side. He refuses to understand the world of difference it causes in between using cherry red or wine on a canvas. If it were up to that simpleton, he’d have me besmirch all my works, just for the sake of those trivial exhibitions.”  

She chuckles. “Now, no need to get so worked-up. You know Thomas cares for you and wishes to have your talent recognized like it deserves to be.” She moves to seat herself by the shore, close to where the waves lick up at the sand. Rafayel follows suit.  

“I know how much passion you pour into your paintings.” Crinkling a gentle smile up at him. “That’s exactly why I love your art so much.” 

Rafayel’s heart catches at his throat at the easy slip of her compliment.  

She's never been sparing with her appreciation of his artworks. 

Ever since she’d chanced upon them a few years back when they’d only shortly been re-united at the time.  

She’d always been generous and open with her admiration.  

His heart, however, wasn’t immune to its traitorous stuttering, every single time at her attentions and praise.  

Perhaps she discerns the look on his face, tapping into his emotions, or realizes the curious intimacy of her statement, she wrenches her gaze away from his. Rafayel swiftly feels the keen loss of it.  

Silence sweeps once more between them, her gaze having drifted back into the seas and with it, the steady droop of her shoulders as she curves in tighter against her huddled knees. “It was a place, similar to this one, where we first met. A lost little human meeting a young Lemurian washed ashore.” Her voice barely hikes above an octave. “I didn’t think Lemurians existed for real before that, and to know I shared a red fate with one...”  

His throat closes against a sharp inhale at her whisper, the first time she’s chosen to address their past severed bond, ever since their reunion.  

Why now. He means to ask. A question that dissipates off the tip of his tongue, un-uttered.  

“We were so young back then and I inadvertently hurt you. Ever since I moved away, and time just passed, regardless...” She pauses. “You must’ve really hated me for that, huh.” She angles a cautious smile at him. 

I did not. Rafayel means to refute and yet his tongue refuses to cooperate.  

She continues on, as if she had long perceived his answer and made peace with his supposed resentment of her, unperturbed by his lack of response. Her reaction vexes him.   

“I’ve hurt someone dear to me again. Caleb—” 

The familiar name spurns bitter within his chest. “Did he do something to you?” His fingers jam against coarse sand, snagging his thread tight against his ring finger. 

“No! No. Caleb’s a good man, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”  

Deep within the recesses of his heart, Rafayel knows it, he knows it only too well; he only wishes he could truly bring himself to hate him.  

“He...” Her fingers tense harsher against her arms. “Last night, he asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

His ring finger throbs; the missing line of its thread seeming to constrict against Rafayel’s neck.  

“I turned him down.” 

A quick, involuntary bite of wicked relief thrums at the back of his breastbone. And yet— 

Why do you look as if your heart is shattering into a million pieces? 

Rafayel’s mouth seems to form words on its own as if he wishes for his own demise. “Do you regret it?” 

Her silence is a dagger that digs pointed, deep in between his ribs, the longer she lets it steep.  

She meets his gaze, a turbulent question within hers, beseeching. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I should.” She looks as if she has more to speak, restive teeth biting into her lip to hold back unsaid thoughts.

Rafayel dares not parse the emotions he sees flittering within her eyes, dares not hope for what he cannot have. Not again, for his heart to fracture once more by setting up false narratives. He has loved and will love still for eternity — he doesn’t, however, have the tenacity to bear being abandoned again. 

And so, he shutters himself, gaze wrenching away from hers, a frown knitting tight against his brow. “Whatever it is that you want, if it makes you happy, I want you to grab onto it for yourself.” Fingers brushing against hers from where they rest within the sand, index and middle lingering longer against the base of her ring finger. Before he moves, carding hesitant digits through the fall of her hair.  

For it is the only way he knows how to love — regardless of broken vows — in her happiness, even if it would never be found by his side. 

VI. FLOW

The dream stirs vivid beneath restless lids — Rafayel hasn’t dreamt of that time of theirs together in so long, a welcome awareness of his mind’s conjuring, he embraces in that moment.   

Perhaps by-products of an exhausted, sick mind. 

Or yearning for an unfulfilled wish.  

A sweet sting of desire, just as the first time he remembers it. He lets himself drown deeper into the abyss of its calling. 

He’d cut a boring class during first semester at college — he could no longer remember the subject — in lieu of chasing the path of an ambitious sparrow within a secluded spot. Located far back along the grounds of the college and protected further underneath the dense foliage of the overgrown greenery as he’d sat perched upon a bench, motionless and silent.  

Save for the smooth rush of his pencil across his journal. Detailing the quest of the bird as it leapt across the grass towards a lazing cat, blissfully dodging the feline’s half-hearted attempt at pawing it away.  

Tranquility rippled only at a surprising intrusion; she’d walked into his private space — she always seemed to find him — and he’d startled at her presence.  

“Oh! Sorry. Rafayel, I thought I—” 

Their relationship on strained ice at the time — neither of them choosing to dig up unfulfilled childhood vows or the break of their fated thread. 

 A hastened apology she’d tripped over, for disturbing him before her eyes had flickered to the open journal in his lap and she’d breathed an awed sound. Called it beautiful — a slip of the tongue, he could tell, from her demeanor.  

They'd gotten back into conversation — albeit halting — after that.  

The moment, a pivotal one, in Rafayel allowing himself to accept her back into his life, both emotionally and physically. 

He recalls the citrus notes to her perfume as she’d tentatively seated herself by his side. The way her hair curled delicate against the curve of her cheek, beckoning Rafayel to dare a hand out and slip it back against her ear. 

The unconscious brush of soft digits against his as she’d moved to accept the proffered journal from him, when she’d asked for permission to view more of his artworks.  

The relief that had sunk into his marrow, body strung far too tight for so long — he felt each ache settle and ease, when she returned to his side. As if their bond still remained.  

As if it had never fractured in the first place. 

She moves to tug the curtains close, clipping back the last shafts of light from Rafayel’s room; his damp brow now decidedly relaxed in restless slumber, after being exposed to the heat of the sun for so long.  

He’s made a habit of drawing his windows open at night, perhaps to relieve the fevered pitch of his body off the cool breeze wafting of the sea. Restive sleeplessness; keeping him tossing until near close to dawn, when she often catches him falling, thankfully, into exhaustive sleep at the end of his long, disturbed nights.  

Rafayel had been out of sorts for nearly two weeks now; a distracted gaze and a listless stride his constant companions. Adamant and mulish in his response, at inquiring of his health, every time, that he was perfectly alright and merely plagued by the weariness of sleepless nights spent on his paintings.  

Barely a day or two into that ridiculous spectacle of his before her patience with him had expired and she’d hauled him off to his room and strong-armed him into bed.  

A rueful smile tugs at her mouth at the recollection of their silly argument then.  

“Hey, ow. Easy, you’ll break me! Aaah... too late. I think I’ve already dislocated my wrist. My life as a painter is done for. Ow.”   

“Rafayel. Shut up unless you want me to gag you as well.”  Forcing the covers over his body; she glowered at him for obedience while she hastened to take his temperature.  

Rafayel’s mouth soured deeper in distaste the longer she fretted over him. Opening his mouth, surely to protest, before she cut him off. “You’re running a low-grade fever.” 

Pressing a gentle hand over his forehead, “Please, rest now.” 

A knot twisted in between Rafayel’s brow at her plea. Threading his fingers against hers. “Alright, alright I will,” he murmured, a gentle thumb he smoothed against her furrowed brow. “So, stop making that face now.”  

His agitation at his prolonged ill-health, however, had manifested in numerous half-finished drafts and rough sketches, he’d filled sheets upon sheets of paper with, littered upon his bed.  

The subject matter of most, inexplicably similar in features; a fact that surprised her, for Rafayel had always been one for continual exploration of a wide variety of subjects in his artworks, rather than one stationary objective.  

She reaches for one such sketch now, discarded by his bedside. Predictably, it is the same subject her eyes have grown accustomed to: the graceful arch of a person’s — a woman’s — back, the cascade of her hair shrouding her gaze from view. It is ethereal, haunting. Lonely.  

And. 

She exhales an unsteady breath. Although a mere unpolished sketch, she feels Rafayel’s longing in the hastened strokes of charcoal across her visage.  An inscrutable sprout of emotion twinges at her chest each time she looks upon this faceless woman, a desire to tear her gaze away from the care put into the strokes and never look at them again and yet, it’s as if her hands are not her own, each time they sift through his sketches to reveal a new one made. She despises it, and the feeling of her selfish loathing itself. Not when she bears reason nor right to feel the way she does.  

The ring finger of her right hand throbs, an echo of her turbulent emotions manifesting in the faint red restraint flickering against the base of her digit before it winks once more out of existence. 

No.  

Her gaze instinctually jumps to Rafayel, his prone form still deep in sleep.  

She'd nearly forgotten the other reason for her undue distress these past couple of days; worry for Rafayel occupying each of her thoughts, leaving little space for much else.

She sinks, weak-kneed, onto the bed, right next to Rafayel. Carding her fingers through the soft brush of his hair, gently thumbing a line down his temple.  

She’d thought her mind was conjuring illusive tricks the first few times she’d caught that fleeting flicker of red across her finger. 

Impossible, for it had been nearly twelve years since she’d lost her bond after being forced away from Rafayel. And then, her eyes had insistently tried tracing the line of it, every time it shimmered against her finger, hoping that it would perhaps.... 

Just maybe, if a miracle were to occur— 

That it would re-connect. Back to the only person she’d ever loved. Back to him, her beautiful Lemurian. That perhaps, he’d grant her another chance. That perhaps there was a sliver of hope that Rafayel would love her back once more.  

Once more. 

 Her yearning dashed in the brutality of a truth, far too incomprehensible to her mind. 

On the day her grandmother caught sight of her glimmering thread before she’d informed her with much joy; a red thread of fate, if once severed, made an appearance once more, within the lifetime of rare, chosen… fortunate individuals. If Fate ever ordained for the individuals to find new love once more. Another love so great, it changed Fate’s threads and course itself.  

“You’re blessed, my darling girl. Most people are happy enough if they get to enjoy even one fated love throughout their lives. But you've found two in your lifetime. It is a joyous thing, my love, do not be sad. Do not weep.” 

“...Perhaps, it is time you let him — let your past go.”  

Like ice curdling within her veins. As if Fate itself were playing upon her a cruel jest. She could never. How could she ever? 

And then, her denials had crumbled entirely, shortly after that dreaded truth.  

Her oldest friend, her sole pillar when she’d lost Rafayel. The person who’d held her close and kept her heart safe—  

When she’d lie in bed all day during her earliest days, screaming from the deluging fever of her bond withering. 

—It was the day her childhood friend, her Caleb confessed.  

Even without the evidence of a corporeal bond connecting them, that had been her last straw.  

She presses her lips against Rafayel’s cheek, overwhelming emotions threatening to surge, unable to resist or hold herself in control. “I could never.” she vows under her breath, fingers stroking down the line of his cheek. “Even if you have let go of me, Rafayel, I’m—” 

She feels the roughened pads of his digits against where she touches his face, perturbed at the sudden movement. His eyes flitter, restless, beneath his lids, grasp tightening upon her wrist. “My beloved bride.”

She tries and yanks herself away from his touch, startled at his unconscious murmuring. Rafayel does not let go, nudging his cheek against the crook of her captured palm.  

“Rafayel.” She urges, her heart stuttering over its beats. “Rafayel, please wake up.”  

At long last, he listens; that beautiful, florid gaze misted with the callings of sleep still, as it focuses on her. He makes an indiscrete sound. “Is it morning already? Agh, my head hurts.” He continues to nuzzle his face against her palm.  

“R-Rafayel! Hey!” She winces, hand unbearably hot within his hold. “Let go of me now. If you’re up, have some breakfast instead. You need the energy, dummy.” 

“Don’t want to let you go. Pamper me more.” And yet, he refuses to heed her lukewarm pleas, extremely wilful in his post-sleep, feverish daze.  

She huffs out a breathless laugh, her apprehension ebbing, gentle, into silence the longer she feels his warmth against her.  

Maybe she is allowed to indulge just a bit longer.  

 VII. EBB 

An errant thread and an inexplicable long spell of heat, as if trudging up a steep path, burgeoning fast towards an inevitable destination he could not quite clutch at. Unsolicited suspicions, as to the true nature of his predicament, incessantly rapping at his thoughts.  

Rafayel feels that dour twist to his brow; darkening his features at the wheeling course of his mind. 

 She’s caught him in similar moods since his “illness” commenced, more times than he can count. The endless time afforded his way, involuntarily threading his thoughts to places he doesn’t wish to visit. He doesn’t wish, ever, to alarm or upset her, setting to ease her thoughts the moment worry mars her features, testing index and middle against the sharp knot at her forehead before his attentions — and hers — are compelled entirely her way.  

That is also something that has shifted in between them, into something entirely different. He’s been unusually attuned to her for the duration of his peculiar period of ill-health.  

She has always been his primary muse, the focal point where all of Rafayel’s tangled thoughts find eventual and inevitable convergence. However, somehow, all of those sensibilities have turned sharper, impossibly aware of... her.  

Unconsciously turning to placations the moment he comprehends her distress. Choosing to bury, in turn; soothe the heat of his body within the scent of hers. Her hands on him when she fusses to take his temperature, her clothes, he takes a surreptitious, lungful breath of, when she moves close to towel the fevered sweat off his body. Truly, he does not understand what is wrong with him.  

Two weeks in now and his need for answers has driven him to near madness. He’s loathe to admit he must consult one, perhaps, more knowledgeable on the subject than he.  

He paces into the lounge, heavy in thought, fingers worrying at the phone in hand. 

“Oh, you’re up. Are you feeling any better?”  Just as she calls over to him from the kitchen counter.  

“Of course,” he fibs, tucking the phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He ambles over to her, dressed neat in her trainee uniform as she works a paring knife around an apple. “What’re you doing?”  

“You should have something healthy to eat while I’m away.”  

“Ah.” He plucks a piece of fruit off the plate next to her, eyeing the peculiar shape. “So, you decided to cut me some apple bunnies.”  The corners of his mouth drag into a skewed grin. “I am not a child, cutie.”  

She makes an inflated motion of surprise, pressing a hand against her chest. “Really?”  

And when he rolls his eyes at her, “Of course you aren’t,” she grins. “I’ve never met any children as stubborn as you.”  

“Cheeky.” He flicks a gentle hand against her forehead.  

His eyes skim towards the wall clock and back towards her neatly pressed outfit. “You have an on-field Hunter’s exam this afternoon, don’t you? You’ll be late if you dawdle any longer. Besides, I can feed myself just fine.”  

She startles a bit as her eyes, too, take note of the hour. Hastily shoving the plate of her fresh cut fruit into his hands. “Alright, I’ll leave. You better eat, then rest up. Don’t exert yourself, alright?”  

She steps past the counter. “Come, Kiki.” A white dutiful ball of fur capers up to her as soon as she calls. Rafayel hedges further against the counter just as the white ball tumbles into her waiting arms.  

“There, what a good girl you are!” She croons over the cat, petting at that little fiend pet of her friend’s. She rises to her feet. 

“I’ll drop her off at Tara’s before heading to the centre.”  

“Good riddance,” Rafayel mutters, blenching just as she moves closer with the cat still in her arms.  

“Rude, I’m sad to see her go so soon.” She pulls a glum face at him.  “Do you want to pet her goodbye before she leaves and you start missing her?”  

“I won’t,” He dissents, even as he braves the tips of his fingers against Kiki’s head in a cautious scritch before snapping his hand right back. “Bye, white menace.”  

Rafayel’s moue of specious disapproval turns deeper with her knowing grin. “Let’s go now that you’ve said your farewells to Uncle Rafayel.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head as it purrs in elated satisfaction at her attentions. 

He quirks a flippant brow at her. “All affections for the furry feline, I see.” 

She laughs, the sound an aching balm against long-wrought nerves. “Why, is my fish jealous of a little kitten? Come here, then.”  

“I am not—!” He sputters, just as her hand curves about the back of his neck and pulls downward, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.  

The previously simmering, barely tamped warmth of his body bursts forth with a brilliant vengeance, his skin set ablaze at just the graze of her touch. Rafayel has to actively constrain himself from keeling over entirely on the floor from his sudden deluge of emotions. Has to curb the quiver of his arms from wanting to steal that heat back against his body.  

She draws back, just as swift, on her feet. The pink of her cheeks is infectious, enticing. Rafayel stares at her, mute and slack-jawed, even as she backs out of the kitchen and through the front door. “I’ll see you tonight, my little fish!” And then he’s left to his own spiraling thoughts.  

Ah. Rafayel scrubs agitated palms down the length of his face in the ensuing silence of their home. His scarlet thread burns incandescent in his hind-vision, flittering in its sporadic expansion. If only she knew how entirely ruined he was at her feet, alone.  

VIII. FLOW  

“You rejected Caleb’s confession?”  

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t anticipated Tara’s baffled outburst.  

It was part of the reason why she chose to reveal the ‘news’ to her this unceremoniously, as she gently eased Kiki over into Tara’s arms while they stood at her open front door. She adored Tara but was of no mind to be sat down at length while her best friend grilled the details out of her.  

Not ready for the difficult conversations that would ensue; of her past grievances, the break of her fated thread and how she dreaded, within a dark crevice of her heart, that Caleb might turn out to be the one her Fate was once more, trying to bind her to. How could she even begin to delineate it wasn’t what she wanted?  

No, she wasn’t ready for that conversation with Tara, at all.  

“I’m going to be late for my exam, Tara.” She gives her a contrite smile.  

“Yes, I know, sorry, darling, but… why? I really thought things were well between you too. And I was sure there was something going on—! I— can’t you say?” Her friend’s gaze is weighty, imploring. “Is there... someone else?” Her eyes widen. “Is it—” 

And the longer she’s met with terse silence, the heat of her gaze wanes in gradual realization before, at last, she retreats her onslaught, a troubled groan leaving her lips. “At least tell me you’re alright. I’ve been worried about you.”  

“I know, Tara, I’m sorry. I’m perfectly fine.” She gives her free hand a squeeze before withdrawing back a few steps. “I should really go now.”  

Tara loses another sigh. “You really should. Promise we’ll catch up later?”  

“I promise.” She raises her hand in farewell, jogging down the few steps to her house.  

Tara calls out to her just as she reaches the foot of her stairs. “Good luck, girl! I’m cheering for you.”  

She flashes her friend an appreciative smile.  

With Tara, she really can’t be sure if she meant her encouragement for her qualifying physical exam. Or something else entirely.  

Knowing her friend, it was probably both.  

She reaches the examination centre just under the wire, right as the towering gates to the grounds swing shut behind her and two other late-comers.  

Toggling open her Hunter’s Watch, she hastens to join the formation up ahead of several other students, already lined in neat rows for their on-field Wanderers exam. Sidling in place, into her empty spot, just as the instructor in front drones on the list of rules for the exam, from upon his podium. “You are to form pairs of two, as per your roll numbers and enter your designated Protofields, to commence your exam. Before you begin, make sure...” 

He goes over the structures of the regulations one by one, detailing what actions would mete them points and what would deduct them in case of improper conduct.  

“These Protofields have been simulated under intensively controlled environments and contain a plethora of C and B-grade Wanderers you are to deal with, within the desired time limit. Coordinate with your partner, watch each other’s backs and follow all routine safety regulations. Violators will be disqualified on the spot.” He continues. “Keep within bounds of all marked fields, maintain your senses and you should do well. Lastly, trust your education and the skills you have acquired over the course of these years via means of your perseverance and hard work. May you reign victorious, young Hunters!” With his final words, the crowd disperses, heading towards their designated spots for their exams. 

She taps her fingers against her Hunter’s Watch, pulling up the specifications of the Protofield she is to clear, before setting out. 

 

“Gabriel? Hi.” She calls to her team-mate as she moves to join him, recognizing the man from the same class division as hers.  

He returns her greeting, the two setting to sync their data via their watches within the final minute countdown before their exam commences. The flux nexus, in front, pulses to life upon confirmation of both their identities, filtering its pre-programmed wavelength to project upon the barren field. A kaleidoscopic flitter of energy wheeling across the space once is their only indication of a protofield activated, before the two step forwards, cautious, weapons at the ready.  

“No.” Rafayel’s jaw steels in chagrin, hearing the resigned, gentle finality of the words on the other end of the line.  

“Rafayel...” Talia coaxes.  

“I said no. You’re wrong.” He gnashes out, even as the heat simmers, muggy and suffocating, within his body. Even as he continues to deny the indubitable truth of her words.  

For if he did, he would have to face the looming fate of another horrifying possibility.  

The regret of asking for Talia’s help sits heavy within his throat. Facts she utters in such certitude, it leaves Rafayel irrationally agitated. He knows it is not her fault.  

 He hears her soft sigh on the other end of the line. “You told me you’ve been suffering these bouts of ‘fever’ since the past two weeks, an ‘illness’ that refuses to abate and that your...” She pauses, as if seeking words best to voice her next. “incomplete thread has been showing sporadic signs as of late.” 

“Yes.” His voice is quiet, stiff. 

“Rafayel, you’re experiencing early symptoms of an oncoming rut and you know it. You feel it. You didn’t need to call me, when you’re well-informed on the matter yourself, even if you’ve never experienced it before.” She pauses.  “The only reason you reached out to me is that you wanted me to validate your suspicions, isn’t that right?” 

He does not respond to her astute observation.

“An unmated Lemurian cannot experience sexual cycles the same way as a bonded Lemurian. And as you are well-aware, my thread was long severed.” He refutes, contemptuous. “You know what, forget I asked. You clearly don’t understand what’s wrong with me any better than I do. Sorry for crashing your honeymoon. Goodbye, Talia.”  

“Is your thread truly severed, Rafayel?” Her voice rings, solemn, from the other end of the line, just as Rafayel moves to disconnect the call. He pauses, gaze involuntarily skewing towards his lengthening line of red thread. The frown in between his brow turns severe, as if being coerced to witness a sight against his will.  

“You’re experiencing a re-connection and you’re not allowing yourself the happiness that comes with new love. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for your red fate to find itself weaved against a new person you would cherish.”  

Rafayel does not have the resolve to discredit her words despite his vehement disagreement; having known her experience the loss of her first love, the agony of her days after. And only years later, had she allowed herself to love once more, a happiness Rafayel was content to stand in observance to, glad at her well-deserved peace.   

He, however, was different from Talia. He’d rather his Fate dissipate entirely than for it to wind itself against a stranger. He was different, for Rafayel knew he would never love again, never cherish another, no matter the decades in between.  

For him, there would never be anyone else. 

A transitory pressure curdles heavy about her shoulders as they pace past the barrier and into the protofield. The familiarity of their training grounds dwindles away, large looming falls of thick trees rising, ominous, to blot the skies. Blanketing twilight, instantaneous, overhead. A slow, sweeping curl of gray, mists about their feet, soaking into the dank ground beneath. 

Beside her, she hears Gabriel’s apprehensive breaths. “I can never get used to this.”  

Weapons at the ready, they trudge a slow, cautious path through the simulated wilderness. Gnarled branches seize and snick at their clothes, the craggy mire beneath, a strenuous trudge to keep upright through; as if the forest itself were alive with wicked intent.  

Gabriel’s firearm is the first to go off in a thunderous shot, breaking a flock of obsidian birds to startle into the skies. She follows suit, breaking into a dash along with him; the dark, hunched figure of a fleet-footed Wanderer she aims her gun at and fires, the shot catching it right against its head. The creature lurches forwards onto its body in a seething screech of sound, following its crackling demise into a spoor of pungent smoke.  

The two maintain their steady pace of weeding the area of Wanderers, most they’re able to dispatch with ease. Reflexes and hard ingrained years of training coming into play, the more battles they win through, setting into an easy rhythm of partnership.  

The Wanderer Gabriel skews his sword through in a final thrust, disintegrates into smoke with a rattling gurgle.  She pauses to survey their surroundings, the deep, metallic skies yet to dissipate entirely: indication of a cleared exam. Up ahead, she spies a peculiar forking at the path, the protofield seeming to disperse into dense, murky mist past the intersection. Gabriel flicks the blood off his sword, moving to join her. “Strange.” 

“Yeah. I don’t think low grade Wanderers can distort protofields to this extent.” She agrees. 

“Likely an A grade, at least. Shouldn’t be harder than what we’ve handled so far.” He pauses. “Besides the fact that this one seems like it can replicate itself into weaker copies, judging from the splice it’s created in the field.” 

She frowns at his conclusion, likely accurate. There shouldn’t be an A grade on the loose within a junior hunter’s exam, to begin with; a Wanderer class reserved only for the final year senior field exam. Signals are, as expected sparse, this deep within the protofield, and with an A grade, at hand, tampering the protofield, the possibility of communications being established sits non-existent, at present. She drops a distress signal onto the Hunter’s site, regardless, moving to join him at the fork.  

“We’ll have to clear out the Wanderer, either way, if we want to leave this protofield.” She swipes her empty magazine for a new one, securing it fast back into her gun.  

“Right.” Gabriel’s own fist tightens against the hilt of his sword. “You take the right, I’ll take the left? The distortion should be obliterated on its own once we eliminate all of its copies. I’ll see you soon, partner.”  

“Right back at you. Good luck.”  

Gabriel flashes a flimsy grin at her before treading onto the left path. A swift heavy oppression belts massive across the field, the compression settling a deafening din to her ears. “Hah, Gabriel, wait—” 

But it’s too late. Her partner’s form, long digested by the roiling clouds of black before she can call him back.  

Something’s not right. An A-grade Wanderer shouldn’t be able to exert that kind of pressure. 

An electromagnetic resonance tremors across the space, as if something rattles at the confines of the protofield from beyond. Wanting in.  

Sweat gathers clammy and unpleasant across the back of her neck, her eyes skittering back towards where Gabriel vanished into the murk.  

She firms a hand around her gun, steeling her spine for courage. Whatever anomaly has occurred within the premises of their exam can be dealt with later. Her first priority; to help Gabriel out in eliminating all of the A-grade's clones and dissipating the distortion in front before they planned their next move. And help would arrive soon, once transmission allowed her distress signal to go through, they just had to hold on until then; she reassures herself.  

Moving forward to stride past the muted obsidian barrier at her right.  

The dark cloak of the Wanderer’s protofield washes across her skin like skidding, frigid fingers of emptiness, it spills an involuntary shiver down her spine.  

The cold, metallic spires of the protofield taper off into the void overhead as she steps onto the main field. A skittering figure, one, two, three; lunge, whip-swift, towards her as soon as they spot her, gaping maws and needle teeth poised to tear into her before her fight or flight reflexes jam in. She empties a volley of bullets into their bodies, sieving clean through the approaching Wanderers. Lobs of inhumane flesh, dissipating as soon as they hit the ground.  

Several far smaller figures melt out of the darkness to aim their attacks at her; one after the other she takes down in swift shots. Breaths trembling harsh and hot, her heart hammering over its frantic beats the longer the fight persists.  

A fatigued mistake; being mere seconds slow to switch her empty gun for another, costs her a hard, long gash sliced through the sleeve of her shoulder by the remaining Wanderer. Fire licks up across her arm in a sudden shock of pain, muted instantaneously underneath the roiling pump of adrenaline. She wrenches a dagger off her leg strap. Twisting her torso about to bring her uninjured arm up in a sharp arc, furiously tearing a split through the last Wanderer with a fierce yell and the remnants of her fraying stamina.  

The Wanderer’s remains snivel into a fire just as it hits the ground, the cool, metallic gloom giving way to the unraveling edges of the original forest once more. 

And just as her eyes adjust to the shadows of the protofield once more, she catches sight of a figure slumped upon the grass, unmoving. “Gabriel!” She yells, forcing her limbs underneath her through the pained grit of bared teeth. Clutching hard at her arm to stopper the slow rivulets of blood flow seeping from the gash before she stumbles across the grass towards the man.  

Her Hunter’s Watch blinks, in indication of a transmission successful — her distress signal. Collapsing to her knees at Gabriel’s side just as her watch flares to life in blaring red, an ominous warning running across the screen.  

S-Grade: Deluge Wyrmlord.   Protofield type: Memory Distortion Solo Hunters, do not engage.  

Her mouth runs dry at the far calls of her name—  

“Special Grade—!” Gabriel’s voice resounds just from across the field. “—Run!” 

The collapsed figure at her feet assimilating into thin air, a trick blanketed over her weary mind, by the workings of a high-class Wanderer.  

She feels that intense bone-crushing pressure creep across her back once more, her breath coming through in fits of raspy air. Fixing the barrel of her gun back across her shoulder, she fires, just as a great, dark talon comes across her face, drowning her in darkness.

The call has barely disconnected when Rafayel tosses the phone aside, staggering onto his feet under the heated weight of his body. His eyes drift — an involuntary reflex — towards that squeamish glow of red, his thread flickering in and out of sight, the extended length of it, an alarming sight. Vexation ticks harsh at his jaw.  

Before he’s able to reign control, the spits of a brilliant vermillion fire spurt forth from tapered digits, rushing across the incorporeal red string, in an effort to blaze the blasted thing off of him entirely.  

The fire dissipates, harmless, as expected, with the absence of a pure solid medium to burn. His thread glimmers to life once more, as if deriding Rafayel with its presence.  

Beyond agitated, fervent digits pluck upwards, summoning his Evol to life for a stronger burst of energy —   

A sudden inundating contraction pierces in vengeance across his heart, sending a bolt of excruciating pain lancing through his chest. Rafayel flounders; violently pitching to his knees from the intensity of its sensations. His breaths are hard to smother past lungs that burn for oxygen and yet refuse to inhale. 

Red throbs, vivid and urgent, across his ring finger, as if the call of a terrible siren, knelling of ill-fate and destruction.  

His own fire, begs to consume, hurtling across his skin, a throat that chokes from the fervid heat of his bond, threatening to annihilate him entirely. He feels his humane features molding against the translucent glimmer of cerulean scales, his human form scattering in response to the irrefragable call of his bond, his mate.  

She’s in danger. 

Alarming apprehension dawns upon his mind, the sole thought of her throttling his mind, his oath promised, urging to call upon the one person her thread connects to, a Fate irrefutable, a bond everlasting.  

No. 

A savage inferno tears across Rafayel’s body — scarlet and florid licks of fire — until it engulfs him entirely, leaving nothing in its wake.  

Silence is all that remains behind. 

IX. EBB  [TW for this chapter: passing mentions of domestic abuse]

White peels back from her field of vision; slowly revealing to her the dreary, stifling atmosphere of an incredibly familiar room. A young girl stands amidst a crowd of mourning adults, some in loud tears. Others who secrete their faces into handkerchiefs and shake their heads in dismay at the “poor orphan”. Nausea wrestles pungent within her belly at the sight.  

Her gaze, involuntarily shepherded, past the throng of mourners and towards the picture of the deceased — she knows that face before she sees it — her absent father who had often left her to her own devices, save for the times he was not actively trying to assault her with stray bottles of alcohol, laying in plain sight or the utensils and plates she used to serve his meals, on days he wore down all of their expenses for another swig of tepid, cheap alcohol.  

She knows the child in front of her now feels neither sadness nor remorse as people who call themselves her relatives step over, one after the other, offering words of specious pity and solace she has no use of.  

It was also the day she’d met her Grandma for the first time.  

The scene in front falls out from beneath her feet, traded for the sounds of defeated shrieks and futile violence in the tiny fists that try and shove off the social workers, from bodily dragging her away from the familiarity of her old house. The young girl screams and screams for Rafayel, begs them not to take her away, that she doesn’t want to live with her Grandma several cities across the seas; a gap so wide, how would she ever find the only person who had meant the entire world to her, once more? She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. They wouldn’t let her leave the house, for fear she might run away.  

Her head throbs in vicious pain, ominous tendrils of rooted fire curling through the recesses of her brain as she watches the girl’s — her — futile resistance. 

A gibbering shadow skates past the edges of her vision. She feels like she’s forgetting something direly important, skirting just past the edge of memory. 

The young girl never told the adults around her of the young Lemurian boy — bonded though they were. She knew of the dark whispers that coiled through the cesspool she lived within, how the Lemurians were a species, well-coveted for how steeply priced their bodies sold for, within the black market. 

Her fierce possession and numbing worry for her vulnerable Lemurian had kept her from ever revealing her thread in another’s presence. For how had any of the adults stepped up to be her protectors, ever, in the young girl’s life? She trusted no one, save for herself and her sole mer-friend. She'd promised him they’d stay together forever; she’d vowed upon the sole pair of glimmering seashells, they’d found sanded within their beach, that she’d marry him when they grew up. She had— 

Obsidian smoke curls about her limbs, seeps into her lungs; a slow, poisonous ingestion. The deep, dark dreary roar of a beast sounds from afar, within the recesses of her memories.  

“You abandoned me.” She whips on her heel, coming face to face with her young Lemurian, eyes listless, lightless.  

“No.” She totters away from the horror of her nightmares manifested.  

An ice-cold hand wraps about her torn sleeve, digits digging deep into her wound. She cries out in instinctive pain, wrenching at her arm in an effort to free it. Her wild gaze meets Rafayel’s. Older, far frigid; the present Rafayel looks at her with an insouciant emptiness, it tears at the heart bruising within her chest. “You abandoned me,” he repeats.  

His hand jams about her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. She throttles violently within his grasp, breaths coming in rapid, tapering hisses. “And then, like the rest of those shameless humans, you thought it wise to appear before my eyes once more.” The pressure upon her wind-pipe increases, bit by bit, forcing tears into wide, panicked eyes. “You wanted to capture me too, didn’t you? You're just like the rest of them.” Rafayel’s just ire, cleaves like knives shoved right beneath her breastbone, bleeding out her heart. 

It’s an illusion, Rafayel would never. A stray whisper catches at her ears.  

“Would I really never? Well, aren't your thoughts so convenient. Admit it, you’ve always known.” Rafayel’s gaze is dark in barely tamped wrath and disgust. “I despise you, you and all your kind.” 

“R-Rafayel...” The dull, grey curl of smoke — previously shifting in wait at the edges of her vision — approaches nearer, her defences swiftly waning underneath his assault. Fingers, she scraps bloody against his grip upon her throat, and yet he refuses to relent.  

“It would be better for you to perish here, no? You'll leave me free to live my own life then. I would no longer be shackled to you like some pet.”  

“Y-You were never—” 

A furious scarlet fire splinters a path through Rafayel — his body distorts out of existence for a moment before he gathers form once more. A surprised brow he raises in question at the interference.  

“Snap out of it!”  

Rafayel?  

Her swimming gaze hones in on her beloved, from across the indifferent Rafayel’s shoulder, surely another wraith of her mind; wide blown panic, turbulent within his gaze.  

“What do you think you’re doing believing that sham?” Another burst of Evol sparks across his fingers, aimed at the other Rafayel.  

“You must trust me, believe in me alone.” Another volley of enraged fire skewers through the Rafayel holding her captive — cleaving past him harmless — the latter views him as if he were an offending impediment. “That thing is not me. It’s trying to devour you!” 

“Shut up,” the colder Rafayel speaks, hand jamming tighter against her throat, causing precious breaths to come through stuttered wheezes.  

The other Rafayel steps forward, a desperate hand he holds outstretched for her; an electromagnetic interference rippling about his body, stalling his further motions. “You have to believe the truth in front of your eyes — believe me — to be free of its prison. I have never, not for a moment, held our past against you.”  

“An imposter,” the cruel one says.  

Rafayel drives another step forwards, through the whipping waves of the scape’s resistance, snicking wounds across his jaw, tearing at his clothes. “I don’t regret meeting you.” The gentle azure of his gaze sparks vivid in a deluge of emotions; misery, panic and hopeful sincerity commingling. You were — you have always been my greatest joy, my only muse.” 

The Rafayel that holds her captive bites out an inhumane bark, eyes fading swiftly into obsidian. “I hate you, I’ve always hated you.”  

“Do you remember,” Rafayel urges, heaving another step closer. “the seashells you used to weave into necklaces and put on me when we first met? You told me they made me seem as brilliant as a Sea God, your Sea God, when you did.”A splintered laugh escapes his mouth at the recollection. “Even when I told you the ocean’s gods didn’t wear necklaces made of shells.” 

His voice breaks, emotions raw and desperate within the throaty catch of it, dragging her down the spiral of fond memories. “And the songs you used to hum for us in that odd, off-note voice when you were happy, you’ve retained that silly habit long even into your adult years now.”  

Emotions spurt and tumble free-fall from the inky desolation of her heart, tearing open at the seams of doubts and guilt.  

“And when you are mad, the reckless storm that gathers at your face is endearing. When you forgive me just as easily, the smile that lights your face...” 

A distant rumble sounds through the scape of your illusions, world crumbling apart at the seams.  

“I remember it all, like irreplaceable ornaments, treasures. Without you, I—” He bites back, harsh, at his words. The curious blue sheen across his face, glimmers. 

Eyes that glisten in moisture that threatens to seep past damp lashes; Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in a scraped plea.  

Emotions fueled by the catch of a distraught mind though he were, his words snag, painful, at her throat, springing tears to flow free-fall, at the comfort of his tender confessions. She, too, remembered all there was to know about him, her Rafayel, because of how she adored him. His words and steadfast affection seeping gentle into her mind now, in swift recollection. 

The great, dark beast in front has long shed its false skins, rattling useless in the face of her realization; it wrenches away from her body as if burned. “Pestilent humans.” As it flees entirely from the scape of illusions, great, dark fractures spilling up the space with its departure. 

She drops towards the disintegrating floor, once released, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Rafayel — the wraith of her mind — lunges forward, snatching her body mid-air against his as they fall, with the demolition of the Wanderer’s illusions shattered from her mind.  

A deluging rush of remembrance; the exam, the Wanderer, of being dragged into darkness by the Deluge Wyrmlord tumbles back into a now clear mind. 

And this Rafayel, having stood witness to all her memories.  

He lands on nimble feet, upon the now revealed protofield of the Wanderer; the weight of his Evol, she feels, scatter into the air.  

“You’re injured.” He mourns softly, fingers glancing gentle against the abrasion of her throat from where the Wanderer choked her, down her bruised arm, the blood long staunched in dark red across the cut. 

“I’ll be fine.” She cradles his face within a careful palm, face softening in overwhelming gratitude. If only she, too, could tell him how much she truly loved him. 

Rafayel makes a skeptical sound of disapproval. A hand, he sifts up into her hair and curls about the back of her head. “Hold still.” And before she can finally think to question why a figment of her mind still persists outside the cast illusion, Rafayel is pressing his lips against hers, mouth moving to part hers until she feels warmth flow into her, the shock of his actions making her throat swallow around him on instinct. 

The dull throb at her arm, the cuts and bruises across her aching legs — breaths that seep in easier, with the patched abrasions of her throat — give way to strength as she witnesses her wounds stitch up, in disbelieving surprise. 

“A Lemurian’s essence holds healing properties,” He breathes, heated against her lips. “our tears, saliva—” He pauses. “You’ll feel better soon.” The fever of his skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his shallow breaths come in quick; the flush across his cheekbones feels much too corporeal to be mere figment of her imagination. 

Her eyes widen in disbelief, mind refusing to comprehend his presence. Restless hands tracing the shape of his firm body underneath hers; his neck, the strength of his shoulders, down the unyielding expanse of a solid chest. 

It just couldn’t be. 

“Are you... real?” She slips a palm about the curve of his cheek, index and finger pinching at the flesh. “You can’t be real, you can’t be here.” 

Rafayel chokes on an incredulous laugh. “What an inane question, can’t you tell, silly girl?” He sounds offended. 

A plethora of questions tumble within her mind as Rafayel bumps his forehead up against hers, moisture glistening like pearls upon his cheeks. “I can sense you. And I felt it, when I nearly lost you.” He grits out the words, chagrined; breath hitching in pain as if reliving a nightmare. 

Her heart shrivels at his admission, aching gaze tracing the outline of his Lemurian features. “But, I... I don’t understand. You look so different, Rafayel, what—” 

A great ominous roar sounds from the center of the protofield, the Wanderer now having recovered from its short rebuttal of having been torn away from its prey.  

Rafayel lets her down onto her feet cautiously. Taking her hand in his, his skin sits unbearably warm against hers, “Questions later. We have to get rid of that Wanderer right now. Come on.” 

She nods at him, the two turning to face the Wanderer before they fixate their stance. Hurtling forth in tandem towards the approaching monster; weapons materializing within firm fists. 

They rush, as one, at the large winged creature, aiming right against the base of its great talons. A shield thrown upon the Wanderer, comes half-way down with their first assault.  

Back against his, she feels him tackle down the monster’s onslaught of weaker Wanderers, unearthly fire blazing away at its minions. A shimmering, amethyst line of fetters gathers form with his Evol, to grasp about the Wanderer’s body as it rages. She feels his breaths coming in harsher, feels the way he tightens his body through each motion of offense against their enemy — in no condition to be fighting off a high-class Wanderer with the weight of his sickness slowing him down.  

She captures Rafayel’s wrist in hers, jolting him backwards. Lunging in front of him to take the Wanderer’s next full-bodied assault. “Rely on me, I’ll fight for us both!” She calls to him over her shoulder. 

She catches his mute moment of surprise, out the corner of her eye before he bursts into quiet laughter. “What a reliable bodyguard.” Curving a palm about her shoulder, his Evol, she feels resonating against hers in harmony. “But if you insist.” Weaving their Evols together to strengthen; the dark fetters that plunge forwards this time, chain about the Wanderer’s girth, firmer, breaking clean through another of its shields.  

The Wyrmlord screeches in crazed agony, ramming a heavy appendage straight for them. The two lunge in opposing directions to avoid the assault; Rafayel, a split second too slow to dodge as its claws catch at the side of his abdomen, tearing at his shirt.  

He hurtles heavily onto the ground, body rolling across the Protofield before he swiftly catches himself, teetering back on to unsteady legs. His pants come in harsher, the scales across his face glimmering in fevered sweat; his body’s condition holding him back.

“Rafayel!” She calls for him on an urgent shout, rushing the Wanderer from its side, to cleave clean through its shield of defense. “Don’t push yourself anymore and stay back! You aren’t well!” 

He shakes his head at her, holding his body high once more. His shallow wound, she sees, stitch up soon after, the incandescent cerulean glow of his scales striking against his features. “It’s not what you think it is.” Rafayel streaks forward just as the Wanderer attempts to take flight for a sweeping offensive. 

He springs for the monster, using the momentum of his run, punting hard off its body; vicious chains of static purple zipping through it, to bring it crashing down onto the ground. The Wanderer’s remaining shield shattered in one critical hit, bringing it down in a violent collision of great, dark wings and a massive scaled body, vulnerable to damage.  

“Now! Rafayel instructs. Coalescing the bulk of his powers into the clench of a fist, he lunges for the Wanderer; her own movements, complimenting against his. Raising their weapons up high, their Evols converge against the other’s in a final, galvanic purple blast of energy. 

The Wanderer screeches one final sound of agony before it skitters lifeless at the ground, its disintegration setting into tattered fragments of energy.

The protofield around them begins to wane, jagged shards of breakage appearing across the domed surface of it, as soon as the Wanderer falls. 

“It’s over.” She exhales, relief plucking sharp across the back of her breastbone.

“Let me take… a moment to catch my breath.” And with the sheer adrenaline of the fight holding him up now, gone, so too does Rafayel’s strength ebb from him entirely, as he pitches onto his feet. “Rafayel!”  Just as she dives forward to catch him within her arms before his body hits the ground. “Hey!”  

Rafayel’s breathing harder, the sweat that dampens his brow far more pronounced with the appearance of his Lemurian features, glimmering scales gradually fanning wider across his skin. “Stay with me, it’s over.”

And then she sees it, the flittering of vivid red, burning against his ring finger. Pulsing harsher with each labored sound of breath he endures through and her breath frosts within her lungs.

She feels the distant pattering of approaching footsteps just as Rafayel’s hot palm curves about her wrist in a possessive hold. “We have to get out of here. I need to get home.”  

The frantic calls of her name echo across the field; she lifts her head to catch sight of a pale-faced Gabriel, waving his hands at her from just across the area. She shouts at him to stay where he is, cradling Rafayel closer to her torso for fear of his scales being seen. 

In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care for anything except providing what Rafayel needs; the frenetic urgency to his words enough to have her obeying without questions asked.  

Calling for her teammate, once more, to let the others know they were both alright and that she’d be back at a later time before Rafayel urges her thoughts back to himself.

“That’s... enough. Come now.” He moans within her embrace, just as Gabriel utters an unintelligible question of confusion. Her Lemurian’s fingers spasming against hers, “Hold tight.” he grinds out, before they’re both engulfed in a florid sea of fire.  

X. FLOOD 

The two of them come crashing onto a hard, polished surface; Rafayel’s arms tightening about her body in protection, just as his shoulder connects with the floor, with their fall. Deposited into the empty safety of his room — she notes in shock — by his Evol already shriveling out of existence.  

He shudders in visible pain beneath her, just as she scrabbles to get off his body. “I’m sorry—” The ferocity of his strength, however, hauls her back, bodies crushed against each in a firm, searing line. 

Rafayel’s pants rattle hot against the skin of her neck; the harsh rise and fall of his chest, she feels burn against her own, even through their clothes. He keeps them enclosed within that sweltering space of silence for several, long moments. 

Reaching her fingers out to comb through his unruly hair, in comfort, the adrenaline of their fight having fast shifted into worry for his health.  

Why had he decided to come after her in the fevered state he was in? How had he even known to come for her? The questions, unanswered, careened about in an endless cycle within her mind. 

Her Rafayel shifts, face sinking deeper against her breasts. Nosing, delicate, at the space exposed by her open collar as he inhales, long. His previous labored breaths seemingly soothed in her proximity, as he continues to breathe her in.

Her next gasp soughs past her lips on a catch of barely tamped sound, Rafayel’s gaze rolls up to meet hers — hot and piercing.  

“Rafayel,” She cups a hand about his warm cheek. “Let’s get you off the floor now, you’ll worsen your fever.”  

He knocks his cheek further into the space of her palm, lashes quivering shut, in comfort. “I told you... it’s not a fever ruining my body.” He repeats the words he’d uttered to her back in the Protofield.  

“It’s you.” Her mind jostles to a screeching halt.  

“What?” 

Rafayel’s body tightens beneath hers, the lean strength of his arms coming about to lift, with an ease entirely unexpected of a sick man. He moves them both onto the expanse of his bed, seating himself down, with her firm on his lap. “I’ve been going through these feverish bouts because you’ve been calling for me.” He heaves. “I’d never experienced them before because we’d never—” his words break. Rafayel’s fingers slip a slow, cautious path along the base of her spine, it makes her shiver above him. “I could’ve lost you,” he murmurs, “back there.” Hauling her close once more to sink his face into the crook of a tense shoulder as he breathes her in deep.

“I’m here now, I’m fine.” She soothes a gentle palm down the line of his back, the mild quivers that take it, muted into rest with her strokes. “Thank you for coming for me earlier.”

“Of course I did.” His grip upon her body tightens. “You called for me.” 

She rakes her fingers through his hair. “I... did not call for you, Rafayel. Even if I did, it’s impossible for you to have heard—”  

“Silly girl.” He captures her hand within his hair, entwining his fingers in between hers. “Do you not see?” Bringing their palms up close together for her to witness—

Red flitters about her ring finger, vivid — her heart jostles over its beats — the line of it longer and far corporeal, glimmering within the dark of his room, spiraling an undulating path up, up.  

Finding its other half, caught against the base of Rafayel’s finger. Her breath seizes within her throat at the sight, wary gaze tracing the line of the previously absent thread against their fingers. Not daring to believe the implications of the sight and what Rafayel too was saying. “How could this— I thought we were—”

“A Lemurian’s very being is set to perceive their beloved, in their entire capacity. Without exception.” He brings their entwined fists up to his mouth, feathering a kiss onto her knuckles apiece. “And I have not changed since the first moment I met you.”  

The heat of his words is within her head, the frenzied hammering of her heart within her throat. She dares not breathe too loud, dares not speak for fear of this precious moment shattering. The inference of his words could not be clearer and yet. A fleeting recollection of the Wanderer’s cast illusion comes to mind, the cold Rafayel’s unforgiving gaze flashing against hers.  

“Has your heart then... changed?” He asks, the wavering azure of his gaze fixated firm upon hers.

She caresses the back of her fingers against his cheek, down the line of his jaw. “It has not, not for a single moment in all these years but—” She whispers. But could you ever forgive me for leaving you on your own? 

“I’m not asking you for anything beyond that. I don’t care for it.” He shifts a thumb against the line of her lips dampened with a nervous swipe of her tongue. “I’m asking to know if the woman I love is willing to accept me again.”  

Her breath hitches within her throat. Turbulent emotions burst forth within her chest at his words, a sweet ache quivering at the back of her breastbone, the magnitude of his words she isn’t able to comprehend. Unable to believe the words she’s been wanting to hear him say, all this time, leaving that beautiful mouth. 

She surges forward onto his lap, desperate to answer the man who’s entrusted his heart so keenly into her hands. “I never stopped in the first place.” She speaks, adamant. Her fingers brush at his face, down the length of his neck to hold. The pads of them grazing the beauty of his scales, glimmering within the moonlight that shafts into the quiet dark of his room through the gauzy curtains. “I’ve loved only you all these years and by god, Rafayel, I don’t think I could ever love anyone but you.” She’s out of breath and dizzy in love, it’s a feeling she never wants to clamber out of, if it means he’d continue to look at her, just the way he is now.

She hears the audible throttle of his breath; a low, anguished sound, as if she’d told him something he’d considered entirely impossible. Rafayel had seemed so sure of her feelings, and yet, he looks at her now, with a relieved sort of devotion and desire. “Which god?” His whisper is sultry, his gaze along with the heat of his skin beneath have her feeling faint within his embrace, the flex of his arm tightening its hold about her waist.  

She tips her head closer, her lips shaping her answer a mere breadth from his. “My Rafayel, my own Sea God.” She braves a kiss against his mouth. “I love you.” She confesses, “I love you so—” 

Rafayel heaves forwards, filching the rest of her words right against the desperate tongue he sweeps into her mouth. Lips moving against each other in a mesh of reckless teeth and tongue, refusing to release from each other. Her fingers catch at the fabric of his collar, in a bid to drag him closer. Rafayel’s palms, a stable hold about the flare of her hips as she bucks against him in instinctual desire at the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her core grazes against the distinct line of his stiff arousal, straining beneath the placket of his trousers.  

Rafayel moans a low, throaty sound against her damp lips. “This is your fault,” he whispers, feverish. “You’re the one who has left me so vulnerable.” 

The turbulent seas within his gaze burn luminous, the gentle florid pinks of his irises swallowed within the blue that takes them. The scarcity of his scales now fleshing a path from his face. Down the graceful arc of his neck and across the expanse of his clavicle. Disappearing just under the line of collar of his shirt. She treks a reverential path about his beautiful Lemurian features; a shuddered exhale leaving Rafayel, in his inexplicable state of heightened sensitivity. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He seizes her exploring wrist within his gentle hold, halting her movements. His chest heaves once more in vehement, anguished pants, his skin impossibly hot beneath hers.

“No, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you—” 

“—so sexually aroused?” He supplies, mouth skewing into a smile with the hot flush of her cheeks.  

“...I was going to ask about your humane features unraveling but that too. You're... burning up.”  

He sighs against her glancing touch, at the scales of his neck. “Each year, when the moon shifts phases and the tides ebb from the shores, bonded Lemurians go through an inevitable period of increased sexual activity. We are,” he pulses a delicate kiss to the inside of her captured wrist. “extremely vulnerable during this time, our base appetites, near insatiable, unless we bear it through with our bonded mates.” 

A streak of desire spurts within her chest, seeping down into her abdomen to pool in between her legs. “So then, all this time, you were...” 

“‘Sick’”, he continues, “because I wasn’t funneling my desires with my mate.” He tugs her close by her imprisoned hand, murmuring, hot, within her ear. “within my mate.” 

A low moan of desire breaks from her lips at his licentious provocation.  

“I’ve never experienced one before.” He confesses heavily. “I wasn’t sure what it was, when it started; the time of the year seemed to coincide with my symptoms but we weren’t bonded... not to my knowledge.” Rafayel’s gaze treks against the shimmering line of their thread, re-connected. “It’s a rarer miracle for it to find itself weaved against the ones it broke in between, more so than it is for the thread to re-emerge in between new lovers.” He laughs; a low self-deprecating sound. “Fate really played me for its fool.”

She murmurs his name, gathering his hand closer to press a reverent kiss against his ring of red at his finger. “I love you, Rafayel.” she reiterates, dragging his wide, wavering gaze back towards herself, letting the irrefutable truth of her words sink in. That it’s not Fate that tugs at the cogs of their bond now, but her feelings, unchanged as they’ve remained.  

“Promise me,” he implores. “Promise you’ll continue to see me the same, no matter how many years pass us by. Promise you’ll stay by my side this time?”  

Her answer rushed, eager, yearning to soothe. “Yes. Yes, I will. I want to stay by your side.” Stealing her arms about the broad strength of his shoulders, to pull closer.  

“Don’t let me go.” Rafayel breathes. Their mouths crush against each other in a consuming kiss; an urgent prayer he makes of her name. 

Each time she squirms atop his lap with the force of his kisses, her increasingly damp core shifts in glancing strokes above his clothed length. Her fingers jolt about Rafayel’s shoulders, sinking harsh into the skin through cloth, with a particularly ruinous lap of his tongue into her mouth.  

Her fingers fly for the clasps of his shirt, rushing down the length of buttons, generously revealing the unyielding expanse of his chest, the line of his toned abdomen. Briefly trekking the warmth of his skin with the pads of inquisitive digits before her mouth follows suit, drifting from Rafayel’s to kiss a path across the firm expanse of his chest. Slicking a gentle tongue right above his heart in devoted gratitude for the one who loves her so wholly. 

She glides a slow palm down his abdomen, appreciating the tremulous clench of muscles, underneath her touch. Her coveting digits pause at the metal clasp of his belt, gaze canting up to meet Rafayel’s in silent request.  

“Yes,” he grinds out, through arduous pants of her name. “It’s yours, I’m yours, do as you please.” She pushes off his lap, dropping onto her knees in between his legs at his affirmation. Rafayel’s breaths hitch higher within his throat, at the snag of her fingers reaching to swiftly undo the fastenings of his belt, pulling it clean from its confines to discard it onto the floor of his room. Her palm slips down the line of his zipper, stimulating him impossibly harder as she works to release him from the confines of his trousers.  

Until Rafayel sits there; her devastatingly alluring Lemurian, near-naked, save for the shirt that sags against broad shoulders, and the remaining modesty of his underwear. She takes a moment to control her shaky breaths before her thumbs slip under the waistband of his final barrier, keeping him from her gaze. Sliding the garment in one careful stroke, down the strength of his legs until she tosses it off to the side. His cock springs to full length, freed from its confines, hard; it curves, slight, towards his abdomen, the gentle slick of minute bluish scales running along the underside of his shaft. A thing of beauty, just as its owner.

The twitch of his length within her grasp is palpable as she moves to work an admiring fist about it. A lone bead of pre-cum sits upon the flared head of his cock; her tongue darts out in instinctual rapacious desire to sweep it into her mouth. The sweet-salt tang of him she hums against, in a soft moan, “I love how you taste.” 

Long, tapered digits thread through the fall of her locks, curving a loose fist at the back of her head. Her eyes traveling up his torso to meet his, bright in aroused impatience. It makes her want to flip that expression over into something entirely different. She tips forwards, lips falling apart to take the head of him into her eager mouth, just as Rafayel rewards her with his first approving groan. Tongue slicking about the head of him to lick, down, at a vein just underneath the flare of his head. His hips judder up into her face with the action, slipping more of him into her welcoming throat. “What’re you doing to me?” He moans, in gravelly rapture. “Your mouth feels divine.”  

She feels the clench of her own abdomen at his praise, wetness seeping further into the cloth of already damp panties. Her mouth slips further down the thick length of him, working him deeper into her throat as she tries and relaxes against the instinctive gagging intrusion of him. A shuddering string of words, he makes of her name, in overwhelming arousal, help her along on his cock. Until she is sliding about the length of him, back and forth, tongue drooling its spit down the expanse of his cock she cannot fit into herself.  

His fingers have tightened into a near-spasm within her hair, not nearly enough it hurts, holding her fixated in place; the pads of his digits tracing soothing, encouraging circles about her scalp as she sucks at his cock. “You’re doing so — agh — so well.” The fingers of his free hand, Rafayel brings to curve, delicate, about her jaw, tipping up; her eyes finding his, on silent instruction.  

He looks entirely gone, the rugged flush of his cheeks enticing as it dashes across his ears. Springs down the crescent of his neck and across the firm expanse of his chest. Rafayel’s cock hits the back of her throat on her next intake; she swallows against the heady swell of him, deliberate, measured, refusing to relent her gaze as she does. It immediately has the effect she desired; Rafayel’s next breath rattling out of his chest on a wrenched groan of pleasure, the blue of those inhuman eyes glistening brilliant as he propels his hips into her, in a reflexive bid for more.

His fingers skid along the underside of her jaw, where mouth meets throat, grazing for the place he knows she has him settled inside. A long, tapered index, he flicks down the line of her neck — she swallows on instinct, dragging another choked moan out of him as reward — before it comes to rest at the buttoned collar of her shirt. “Off.” He murmurs, hazily. Deftly unfastening open the first few buttons before he curves his index beneath her collar to tug. “Take it off. I want to see all of you when I come.” Pooling a blush into her cheeks at his sweetly sensual appeal. 

She pulls her shirt over her head, lured along by the nimble hands that drag her close, reaching around her, to undo the clasp of her bra before he coaxes that too, off her body. Mouth falling slack, cerulean flashing vivid, in flared arousal and want; to witness the heaving tremble of her breasts as she descends on him once more. 

Rafayel eases stray locks of her hair back against her ear to better afford himself the view of pink, moist lips parting to swallow around him once more in renewed enthusiasm. 

Her hands flitter about the length of him, slick slide aided by spit and pre-cum as she moves to work her tongue around the tip; the broad of it she teases at the slit, making Rafayel shudder above her. Slipping, slow and sure, down the generous length of him, insatiable desires flooding in the clench of empty walls, for the brimming taste of him within her throat.

Rafayel’s pants have turned far harsher, sporadic in impending release. She continues to ease her tongue about his length, her palms soothing down the tense muscle of his thighs before she moves to cup her fingers about his balls. “I’m—” Rafayel snaps.  

The skin beneath her fingers tightening, as she sucks about his shaft, to help him along the final stretch of his incoming release, swallowing up to the base of him in one forceful go. Her throat constricting in protest at the rough intrusion. Rafayel groans out loud — frenzied palms pressing at either sides of her head to force her off of his cock, just as he comes in thick, spurting strokes, across her cheeks, her nose; down the curve of her chest.  

“I can’t take it any longer,” he rasps. Hauling her onto her feet by her arm, he tumbles her back onto the cool, crumpled sheets of his bed. 

She barely has but a single moment to catch her breath — more from the surprise of his vehemence — before the shorts of her uniform, are being wrested off her body in the fervent catch of desperate fingers. Rafayel gets the material half-way down her thighs before his long-frayed patience snicks off entirely; a cool rubescent fire licks up clean across the material, blazing the offending cloth away entirely.  

She’s left dumbstruck, pleasure-addled mind wrung in between faint amazement at his precise Evol manipulation and mild offense at his ruination of her uniform. “We’ll get you a new one.” He heaves — as if he’s read her mind — in between kisses laid onto the instep of her bare leg, working up across her calf. “As long as you let me have you right now, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Her breath seizes within her throat at his sultry request. Rafayel’s palms trace about the shell of her hips, curving about the sides of her abdomen before he caresses them up her stomach, pressing, light, into the yielding flesh. Her body shudders beneath his testing caresses. One of his hands steals down the cusp of her clothed mound, index and middle stroking at her labia above panties, before he skates them in between her folds. The two moan in unison; to feel how drenched she is for him.  

Her body squirms against his, begging for more of that sweet friction. Hips bucking up into his hand to force more of him against her aching slit. Rafayel towers above her, the delectable flush across that slack, sensual expression has her fluttering in on emptiness, her hole aching to be filled completely — as if she too has taken on the fever of his desires, writhing in phantom heat. Her drifting mind wonders for a fleeting moment, if a human bonded to a Lemurian could experience the mind-numbing lust of their cycles, along with their partners. That stray thought, she believes, with each passing second he riles her up in delirious rapture.  

Holding himself above her upon the crook of a folded arm, Rafayel descends for her mouth, covetous tongue savoring a moan against hers. She feels the hot, wet strength of his cock — already firmed to stone once more — rolling against the inside of her thigh. Just as he slips a long, tapered digit past her underwear, to curve it directly against her soaked opening. Her hips jump violently at the contact, her squeal of arousal Rafayel pilfers against a throaty chuckle. “You’re so wet.” Pressing up into her to make his point, the audible squelch of her slick, loud within the quiet night. “Are you enjoying this, my love?” 

“Isn’t,” she gasps, heat gathering, strong, into her face. “isn’t the answer obvious?” 

Rafayel hums, the skew of his smile tugging higher; a slow, relishing tongue he runs across his upper lip, end to end. And before she can think to parse the intention behind that wicked gaze, Rafayel’s palms are cupping about the soft of her ass —  digits pulsing into pliant flesh — to shear her underwear off, lifting her hips up to shove his tongue in between her legs. 

Her next sound leaves her on a shriek of pleasure, blaring stars wheeling across her field of vision. Fervid digits she convulses into the yank of his hair, in a manner that has to hurt and yet Rafayel makes no move to budge back, mouth sinking deeper against the wet flood of her heat. He curves his tongue up against her fluttering walls, sweeping at the slick. Nosing a stifled hum against her clit and that is all it takes for her over-sensitised body to break, spasming into a prompt, violent orgasm that siphons the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat.  

Dazed in her floating awareness of the scrupulous mouth that continues to suck at her folds, laving away all of her released desire for himself. And when she sinks a quivering hand into tousled locks in whimpered protests of being too sensitive, all Rafayel offers her is an impish chuckle pressed into the soft of her thigh, right beside her mound. “You had your fun, didn’t you? It’s my turn now.” 

With that sensuous warning uttered, his mouth returns its attentions to her weeping slit once more, lips closing about the nub at her apex, sucking gentle at the bead. The jump of her hips Rafayel conquers, in the indolent arm he shackles about her waist, fingers reaching to hold hers across the quivering pliance of her stomach.  

The broad of his tongue laps a path above her entrance, catching at any stray slick that leaks from her before he eases the tip of it back into her slit, relishing the clench of her walls in a throaty groan. He continues to prolong that titillating torture of his, edging his tongue at just the entrance of her pussy, till her body burns once more within the kindled flames of a cresting orgasm.  

“Rafayel, there — hah — right there. Rafayel.”  Sliding that tormenting tongue into her walls once more, to her relief, to the mewls of his name flooding like rain from a parched tongue, the spasm of her fingers she smothers against their entwined digits at her abdomen.  

“Sing higher,” his stuttered groans smothered enthusiastic, into the drench of her slit. Tongue curling up against her frontal walls, in a drag that has her fracturing under his mouth once more. Tears sprung to lust-hazed eyes from the overwhelming arousal wrought upon her body under Rafayel’s dexterous tongue.  

He exhales a pleased sigh against her mound, each heated breath causing shivers to jump across tender skin. A kiss, Rafayel lays right against her swollen clit. 

“Once more.” Her walls clench in wrecked protest, a whimper leaving her throat at his whispered words. “Give me just one more.” He entreats. “I need your taste in my mouth again.” A flitter of kisses he strokes against the line of her pelvis, her mound; dark gaze rolling up to meets hers from in between her legs. She flushes at the intensity of their contact held, without mercy. Her wordless squeeze about her hand given, is all the permission her hungering Lemurian requires to sink back towards her wet heat.  

Tapered digits reach to shape a path about the sensitive bead of her pleasure, pinching in between steady, pleasurable strokes. Before they descend lower, coveting towards her fluttering entrance. Rafayel presses up, gentle, into her walls to coax wetness onto his digits with each drenched thrust of his fingers into her.  

His hand releases from hers, palm drifting up across the plane of her body to cup about a pliant breast. Fingers caressing a circular path about her areola in soft, stimulating strokes and she quivers at the sensation, breaths coming in short, stifled bursts of air.  

Rafayel’s mouth closes about her clit, just as the arch of his fingers hit at a particularly hot, sensitive spot within her pussy; walls spasming about his fingers, swallowing him in. His name soughs past her lips on whimpered gasps with each steady thrust of him up into her walls.  

The pads of his digits tweak about the puckered bead of her breast, thumb denting gentle at the bud, sending a jolt of arousal straight in between her legs.  

Rafayel continues to lap her up, dutiful; his lashes descending in pleased satisfaction just as her third, mind-numbing release crests through her body, leaving her skin a drenched, ruined mess Rafayel sucks at, in throaty moans of delight.  

“Rafayel,” she urges, unable to stand the searing desire he’s put inside her, body hungering for the heat of his cock in desolate emptiness. The overwhelming desire to feel his heat flooding into her, with how long he’s strung her dry for himself. She catches his face in between tremulous digits, pulling him from in between her legs to meet his gaze, dark in fervent desire. “I need you inside me now.”  

Heated obscurity scatters momentarily from his eyes at her fevered request, hips rolling against hers so she feels the hot strength of his arousal brush against her inner thigh; her gasps breaking into the air, at that brief second of contact. Burying her next moan in the vicious bite of teeth at his clavicle, when his cock ghosts across her mound, so close to where she wants him. “If you’re sure you want this...” He groans in ardent murmurs against her mouth.  

Her clambering response is swift and eager. “I want this, I want you.”  

“I’ll let you have me,” he relents in between their wet kisses. “this time, all of me. So drown with me, my beloved bride. Love me.” 

Just as he snaps his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressing her open for himself. The delectable stretch of him, so easy within the drenched warmth of her body as it ravenously sucks at him, all the way in. Rafayel’s searing groan of pleasure, he breaks against her jaw; mouthing, mindless, at the taut skin.  

The union of their bodies, have left them both winded, without breath to draw into aching lungs; several moments they take in between heated gazes and consuming kisses, unmoving. Growing accustomed to this new, exquisite feeling of being so deeply intertwined into each other, she feels she could live like this against him for the rest of her life.  

Until Rafayel begins to move and her world explodes into turbulent sparks of blinding pleasure, unlike anything she’s quite experienced before. His hands are upon her body, covetous digits flittering in between them to touch at dewy skin. Testing his touch against the trembling give of her breasts. Mouth capturing a pert nipple into his mouth, to suck until she keens underneath him.  

Her ankles hook about the base of his spine, dragging Rafayel’s propulsions deeper into her. A stuttered moan, she throttles out of him, at the stimulation before his hand steals about her ass to lift her lower body entirely off the bed. Angling his hips, Rafayel’s thrusts turn impossibly deeper, with the assistance offered in their new position; his pelvis grinding flush against hers on each fevered plunge. “You’re perfect around me, so very — hah — warm,” he grinds out in heedless praise, hips snapping against her harder, in rising intensity, in chase of a hovering orgasm.  

She moans in appreciation around the tongue he slips into her slack mouth in yearning want. “Rafayel,” she chokes out. “I’m so close.”  

“Me too,” he groans, shifting his weight forwards to lean against the crook of his arm at her side. His fingers trek up a path against her slack arm, digits entwining through hers, the line of their red thread flickering in between them both as they approach the crest of their combined pleasures.  

“I love you,” she sobs in between quivering gasps; his gaze crinkling in warmed affection and desire so acute, it drags another whimper out of her.  

“I love you.” Rafayel declares, into the catch of his kisses against her mouth, her cheeks, down the crescent of her jaw. Laving a kiss into the curve of her neck in a worrying bite of teeth, marking her for his own. He switches his pace once more, cock spearing up against her frontal walls in frenzied thrusts. “Come for me,” he beseeches. 

Jaw falling slack in a daze of undulating desire when she obliges at the heated scrap of his words, tumbling over the edge in an orgasm so vehement, her spine arcs clean off the bed. “You’re so good for me.” He worships.

Cresting waves of pleasure, she rides in the hard clench of her walls against Rafayel’s throbbing cock, pulsating hot within her until he too follows soon after. An incomprehensible swell of his cock inside, rising with its pulsations, has her gasping out a low, keening sound at the aching stretch of her pussy, it prolongs her high onto wondrous, searing moments of dizzy elation. Her toes curling into the sheets as the steady bulge of him catches at her walls and snags inside, hot spurts of cum surging into her, so much of it, she feels light-headed from how stuffed he has her. Just as Rafayel’s head falls low, on a loud, long groan of release.

Their damp breaths break against each other’s mouth for several moments that follow after, as they try and muster their senses back to themselves. Her fingers tracing absent, soothing circles along the curve of Rafayel’s spine until his trembling body stills to a gentle lull above her, quieted in the wake of their vehement orgasms.

A strange, fascinating imprint, throbs scarlet right above his heart — in the fleeting likeness of a fish — just as Rafayel’s rattling breaths abate. Captivated fingers she ventures, to trace against the edges of the mark. “...What is this, Rafayel?”  

“A sign of Lemurian loyalty.” A quiet smile tips across his face at the question.

The swell of breathless surprise, she knows is upon her face. “My devotion, here on, it’s yours to do with, as you please.” A kiss he buries into her palm in overwhelming affection. “I’m allowing myself to be trapped by you.” 

A low sob of adoration breaks from her throat at the words, just as the proof of his vow fades fast into his skin. A hand, she brings about his neck, to haul him down against her, to treasure a kiss right above where his heart thrums its beats, elated desire burning warm within her chest.  

Rafayel moves above her, maneuvering their positions until she rests at her side, within the circle of her arms, bodies still conjoined. His cock — she realizes with dazed shock — is still hard within her body. “Are you afraid?” He asks, gentle fingers carding through the mussed tresses of her hair. “I’ll need you much more times before I’m sated, you know.”  

She shakes her head at him, palm moving to cradle against his cheek. “I want all of what you have to give me, Rafayel. I’ll take it all.” 

He drags her closer by the hips at her affirmations; his touch along the back of her ass tending a slow fire back up within her weary body, as he moves to hoist her leg up against the cut of his hip.  

And she lets him show her just how profound a Lemurian’s devotion to his beloved truly runs, throughout the entirety of the night and into the greeting of dawn — a depth as unbounded as that of the Oceans.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to scream with me about hot characters.

[hedgehog-moss]

On the eve of planned nationwide demonstrations, I want to offer an overview of the ways the protests in France are being handled by the government so far (and if what you’ve heard is that this is over a 2 year increase in retirement age, please do take a minute to read this post to get a better idea of the context)

1. In Paris on March 21, a CRS (cop) threw a tear gas grenade in the air towards protesters (they’re supposed to throw them near the ground); the grenade landed and exploded on a protester’s head. (x)

2. Massive use of tear gas at every protest, on this vid from March 17 you can see the Place de la Concorde (largest public square in Paris) drowned in tear gas. (x)

3. In Paris on March 20, video of a CRS with a baton hitting protesters who are cowering against a wall (x)

4. CRS grabbing demonstrators in (illegal) chokeholds and dragging them by the neck (x)

5. In Strasbourg on March 21, police trapped about a hundred protesters in a narrow alleyway and tear gassed them from both ends of the alley so they couldn’t escape; an asthmatic person lost consciousness; people who lived there opened their doors and let the protesters enter their houses to get to safety. (x)

6. In Paris on March 20, a CRS shot a protester with an LBD riot gun (rubber bullets) and shouted at him “Pick up your balls now, fucker” (x) (an allusion to the several instances in recent years of protesters having testicle injuries from LBD guns - and non-protesters too, in 2015 a Muslim teenage boy lost a testicle after being shot by a cop with rubber bullets when he was shooting firecrackers in a park on July 14th / Bastille day). A few seconds later in the video another CRS tells the one who said that “careful there’s a camera”

7. In Paris on March 21, a group of 4 or 5 CRS who were dispersing demonstrators, threw a homeless man to the ground who had been shouting at them (hard to hear what he said, the first sentence is “How can you do this job?”), kicking him in the head while he was down and mocking him when he couldn’t get up, calling him a ‘fatso’ and ‘sack of shit’ (the woman you can hear at the end of the video is yelling at the CRS to help the guy get up and telling them “do you lack humanity to this point?”) (x)

8. That same day Macron gave a speech on TV in which he said “the crowd [= the protesters] has no legitimacy against the people, who express themselves through their elected representatives” even though he passed his reform without a vote from the elected representatives—and considering polls show the vast majority (>70%) of the country is against the reform, the “people” and the “crowd” are one and the same. Today (March 22) he gave another TV speech in which he compared what’s happening in France right now to the January 6 US capitol attack.

9. During today’s speech Macron also said “minimum-wage workers have never seen such an increase in purchasing power” which is a mad thing to say in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and he used the term ‘smicard’ in this sentence— the minimum wage in France is called the SMIC and smicard is a derogatory word for minimum-wage workers. He decried the “extreme, unregulated violence” of protesters but had nothing to say about the unregulated violence of his police forces, and instead stoked the fire with contemptuous language that angers people the day before a planned mass protest.

10. Hundreds of protesters (and even people who weren’t protesting but just nearby) have been arrested and taken into custody in “preventative arrests”; the vast majority were then released due to “absence of an offence.” Here’s a thread by a woman who was arrested in Paris along with 11 other women (one was a 17 year-old girl) for taking part in a peaceful protest. They spent 20 hours all in one cell, were only allowed to go to the toilet if they left the door open, were frisked and had their fingerprints and DNA samples taken. Also, in Nantes on March 14, four young women age 18-20 reported having been sexually assaulted by police during body searches while participating in a student protest.

And a thread by a 19-year-old Black student who spent 48 hours in custody last week along with 4 other people who were arrested in Paris as they were walking down the street. Lots of racist shit in this thread. He had already spent 14 hours in custody after a protest a couple of days before, and ended up being charged for refusing to have his DNA samples taken.

This article in Le Monde from yesterday (it’s in French and unfortunately paywalled) talks about people who took part in last week’s protests having been handcuffed and searched in their underwear then released free of charges the next day; a lawyer comments how this is clearly meant to discourage people from demonstrating. The article also mentions two 15 year old Austrian boys who were on a class trip to Paris and were rounded up with a group of demonstrators, so the Austrian embassy had to intervene. (Journalist mentions sarcastically “We don’t know if these high schoolers’ DNA samples were taken.”)

11. There are videos from various protests of journalists wearing the press armband being threatened, hit, or shoved to the ground by police. In Montpellier yesterday, a journalist took this photo as a CRS was pointing his rubber bullet gun at his head and another was running at him with his baton telling him “I don’t give a fuck about your press card” —the photographer managed to run away. (x)

This is all from the past ten days (and mostly from the past two days) and far from an exhaustive list, there's so much outrageous stuff happening (like the Minister of the Interior lying and saying participating in an undeclared demonstration is illegal, when it’s not) but it gives a good idea of what French democracy looks like under Macron. The above photo says it all really. And thank you to all the people who continue taking part in the protests and strikes.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt.8

Disclaimer: I wrote this because Victoria is a Shakespeare girlie and loves Romeo and Juliet. She also loves Crimson Peak, which inspired the last two parts.

Description: Benjicot resorts to drastic measures to win back his lady's trust and love, having accidentally placed doubt in her mind as to his true intentions.

Part 7

Playlist:

Gold Rush~ Taylor Swift

The Way I Loved You~ Taylor Swift

How You Get The Girl~ Taylor Swift

Adore You ~ Harry Styles

Warnings: female reader. Nothing else I don't think. Robb being an iconic twink with access to the blueprints for Bracken Hall and too much sass for Westeros to handle.

"Let me get this absolutely crystal clear in my mind. You described your union as 'mutually beneficial'!" Robb cried incredulously, striking Benjicot on the shoulder from behind, as he sat slumped onto a desk in the library of his ancestral seat. 

The glow cast by the lit lanterns, attached to the ancient stone walls, cast shadows over his face which bore signs of the deepest distress. 

"It sounds beyond reprehensible when you repeat those words, words which I most bitterly regret. I did not mean them in the way that both yourself and my lady have interpreted them, but it makes them no less acrid when you repeat them." He responded dejectedly, slumping his head once again upon the desk. 

Mumbling almost incomprehensibly so that Robb had to tilt his head down towards his friend to hear him. 

"What can I do to make amends? She hates me. I fear she will never speak to me again." 

Robb cast a contemptuous look at his friend before retorting. 

"You bloody fool. Not only did you make her sound to even my indulgent ears like a prize to be bartered between Houses, but you also did so with the very fiend from whose taunts you once defended her. Can you not see that you have made a shy, sweet girl who loved and trusted you feel as if the one person who she believed cared for her and would protect her above all others was nothing more than a cipher of the bullies she has sought to shield herself from?!" 

Seeing Benjicot's increasingly pained expression, as he roughly gripped his hair in both hands, Robb relented a little. 

"The damage you have done in your carelessness will be very difficult to remedy. You must show her that you love her and value her above all else. Words are not enough." 

Lifting his head, Benjicot's expression became resolved as he turned it to meet his friend. 

"I will, even if she will never again allow me to be in her presence," He struggled to continue, the thought causing him physical pain, "I must at the very least convince her that my love for her was never a lie. I cannot bear the thought that I have only cemented her insecurities. That I have born my own part in making her feel as if I mocked her...just like her contemptuous cousin." 

At this, he began to rise.

"I must see her." 

Perking up at this and slapping his friend approvingly on the back, Robb moved to lift his sword from the table and responded. 

"Glad to hear it. I'll get the Lads together and we can defend your flank whilst you hop over the border and get on your knees to beg your lady for forgiveness, you're favourite past time I know." 

Looking at him with mild irritation, Benjicot rose, placing a firm hold on Rob's shoulder. 

"Whilst I greatly appreciate the support, I must go myself. She's shy and frightened enough of me, after my misdemeanor, and I don't want you and your cronies scaring her off before I can even apologise." 

Laughing at this, Robb retorted smugly. 

"More likely you're afraid of her falling in love with me. Fear not, my interests lie in another direction entirely, but I'll hold off if you are determined. Of course Kermit will be devastated not to have a free shot at a Bracken, but I will assuage him." 

With this, Benjicot nodded at his friend before rising quickly and striding from the room, through the halls of Raventree as he continued to ruminate with anguish on the distressed face of his lovely lady and the part he had played in causing her distress. He would explain that he loved her and valued her above all else. That he meant every word he had said to her. That he would protect, serve and adore her if she would only let him, only forgive him. He would beg for her forgiveness, even if she could never herself love him again. It would be enough if she would only permit him to continue in her presence as a loyal knight.

It had been a day since Y/N had fled from the man she had come to trust and love, the only one she believed had ever cared for her and seen her as more than a shadow in the background of life....mistakenly. After Aeron had carried her back to her quarters in Bracken Hall she had locked her doors and allowed no visitors, barring her handmaiden. 

She spent the intervening hours between that of the previous days events and the advent of night on her balcony, her still pained ankle raised on a cushion on her chaise, as she read of Visenya. She was mentally and physically retreating to the shelter of her room and her books, determined never to open her heart to another person, as she had so foolishly done this time. She was silly to believe that Benjicot could love her for herself, rather than the political promise she could represent for him. She had trusted him where she had never invested anyone else with such trust. She had begun to gain in confidence in her dreams, her beliefs, and in his love, all for it to be shattered in a moment. Her embarrassment at having opened her heart to another person, to revealing herself so freely, where she was always so careful to be a shadowy presence in others' lives, was overwhelming, as she sunk further into her seat and further into herself. 

Wrapped in these painful thoughts, it was a few seconds before she heard a muffled voice calling her name from the direction of the dark expanse underneath her window. Rising carefully from her seat, using the pillars lining the portico of the balcony to balance herself as she moved towards the edge of it, she looked down to see the hopeful and desperate expression of the man she both hated and loved. Seeing her come into view, his face lit up with irrepressible delight, before quickly falling when she began to quickly turn away, book pressed protectively to her chest as she made to retreat to her room. She did not want to speak with him. 

Seeing her retreat, he quickly called out. 

"Please my love, please, I entreat you to let me explain what you overheard in the woods." 

Stopping where she was, she turned and moved once again back to the edge of the balcony. 

Speaking quietly and timidly, but not so much so that he could not hear her, accustomed as he was to listening for her quiet voice, she responded. 

"Please leave, I do not wish to speak with you now or henceforth. I can't understand why you are here now when you have made it abundantly clear that I myself am not what you seek. I would like you to leave."

Taking a deep, pained breath, Benjicot's expression underwent several changes before it became resolute and he stepped determinedly towards the pillar bolstering the balcony from the ground. 

Confused at his movements, Y/N became panicked when she realised he was climbing the pillar, frozen in position. It wasn't until he had swung his leg over the top of the balcony and had landed gracefully that she turned to flee, forgetting her injured ankle in the attempt, causing herself to stumble and hold onto a nearby pillar for support. Feeling gentle hands enclose around her elbows, she heard Benjicot speak quietly near her cheek. 

"Please don't run from me, my love. Your ankle is still injured. Please just allow me to help you." 

Looking down with concern at the ankle in question, he slowly, with great caution lest his lady should be offended, raised her arm around his neck and held her waist, fully supporting her weight so that he could place her on her chaise.  

Distressed to see his lady look away from him, her expression betraying embarrassment as well as displeasure, he knelt before her, bending his head low, before gently, reverently holding her hands in both of his own. 

"I will not disturb you further if you do not wish it, but I must convince you of the truth of my feelings for you and beg for your forgiveness for making you believe otherwise." 

Stopping him abruptly, Benjicot immediately desisted in deference to her speech, so important was anything she had to say to him, even if she meant only to order him away from her forever. 

Speaking quietly, she interrupted him. 

"I already heard what both you and my cousin said of me when you believed me not to be listening. I know that your protestations of love for me were all a ruse and that you were both in league together." 

Benjicot's expression betrayed the deep pain he felt at her response, drooping his head to rest it on her knees. 

"I can never apologise enough, nor beg for your forgiveness enough, for making you believe such a horrific notion. I had never spoken to your cousin of you before that dreadful moment, except when I first had the honour of meeting you. You were never just a bartering tool between us. I would break his legs if even tried to make such a suggestion. I had only meant to convey to him that I would repair the conflict between our houses so that in choosing me as your husband you would not also be choosing to abandon all that you knew. It is my mistake that I so brazenly worded my intent, my love." He added, casting his face down in desperation. 

"I have loved you since I first saw you sitting with your nose tucked into your histories under the Brackentree and have persued your love ever since. I have meant every word I have said to you since, and will continue to prove it to you in any way thay you will allow me."

His lady slightly turning towards him, Benjicot grew at once desperate and hopeful that she would listen to his entreaties, gripping her hands tighter in his as he raised his face to hers, hoping to convey the truth of his feelings in his eyes. 

"You speak very elegantly but I now know that you are so to all ladies and that this charade is not reserved for me alone." 

Reaching out to touch her face before quickly retracting his hand once he saw Y/N move away from him in discomfort, he instead responded. 

"Whilst I would consider myself to be a gentleman, there is only one lady I would traverse miles of enemy land and scale walls to get to." Saying this with a gentle smile, he continued to gaze upon her reverently. 

When she did not respond, he removed a brown leather volume from its place, stashed underneath his cloak. 

"I found this in my library and I thought it might be of interest to you." 

Hesitantly reaching to take the volume from his hand, she examined it before opening it. 

As she did so, he interposed "May I?" Pointing at the book. 

He turned the pages to an earmarked section, coloured with a rich illustration of a knight kneeling in homage before a queen. 

"This tells the story of a knight loyal to his queen above all else, swearing to protect, serve and..." He hesitated "love her for all of his life".

She gazed curiously down at the illustration in her hands as he spoke. 

"I thought you would like to have it, even should you order me away from your presence now. But I should like it to serve as an illustration of the devotion I feel towards you and as a reminder that I will always protect and adore you, even if only as your knight. Without any conditions. Without any expectation for you to love me in return. Just....let me adore you." He faltered staring up at her penitently, anxiously awaiting her response. 

It was a few agonising moments for Benjicot before Y/N raised her hand towards his shoulder, causing him to hold his breath lest he frighten her in his shock. Delicately placing her hand on his shoulder, she placed the other one on his other shoulder, causing him to subconsciously lean into her touch. 

Looking timidly away from him, she began to speak. 

"So you really did not mean that I was a...political tool." 

Leaning further towards her face, he quickly refuted such a notion. 

"I would thrash any man who suggested it. You are my lady, my love." 

Gazing into his eyes searchingly, she seemed to find what she sought in them, and leant her head gently upon his shoulder. 

Shocked, yet rejoicing at her affectionate gesture and in the comfort she seemed to look to from him, he lost no time in wrapping a protective arm around her waist, pulling her into his torso as he held her head gently in his other hand. Closing his eyes in relief, he held her like that for a few peaceful moments, scarcely believing that his love had forgiven him and that she had initiated their embrace. Taking it as a sign of the trust she had reinvested in him to protect her heart as well as her person, he solemnly swore in his own mind to guard it with more sucess than he had yet done as of late.

She pulled away too quickly for his liking, wishing as he did that she could always be so close to him.

"How did you even find your way here with impunity, let alone my balcony?"

Smirking at this, Benjicot threw his cloak dramatically over his shoulder to amuse her with his antics.

"I of course practiced great stealth, opting for a cloak and daggers approach."

Raising a disapproving eyebrow at him but with her mouth turned up at the corner, Benjicot rejoiced to have made her smile and to have amused her.

"In truth i just walked past the Red Ford and straight until i found Bracken Hall, i wasn't too worried about encountering any Bracken men. I'd just run them through if they tried to prevent me from reaching my Love. As far as finding your balcony goes, i was just blessed to see your pretty person upon it....and my good friend Robb also has an encyclopedic knowledge of Bracken Hall, having planned to storm it so many times." He added, slightly sheepishly.

Rolling her eyes at him, lightly swatting his chest.

"You're crazy."

Smirking again he rose to put his arm against the wall by her face, leaning his face towards hers.

"Crazy about you."

"And ridiculous," she added, laughing.

Reaching out to hold her chin gently in his other hand he leaned in further, before whispering in response "ridiculously in love with you", as his lips crashed onto hers, his arm moving to encircle her waist and support her weight as he did so.

Breaking the kiss, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, gazing up at her as if she were the sun. 

"Can i come and see you tomorrow?" He asked tentatively, unable to fully conceal his fear that she would still order him hence.

"I'd rather you didn't risk your life in such a dangerous attempt. I can always come to meet you."

Frowning at this, he stroked the back of her cheekbone with his nuckle. 

"You think i would allow my darling to cross that distance with an injured leg when i can cross it myself?"

Seeing her blush at his appellation, he smiled and reached forward to increase her blush by kissing the corner of her mouth.

"I think not. I have no fear of your Bracken bannermen. Although I do fear having to inform my disapproving lady love that i've despatched all of them because they tried to stop me from seeing her."

Benjicot walked away from his lady love's balcony that evening, not before blowing her a kiss, and silently rejoicing that she had forgiven him and permited him to remain in her presence and in her heart.

@lovebabe18-blog @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @drwho-ess @dancingbaek @aemondslove @cheendrella

[delululand]

txt & what makes them jealous? how will they act on it?

yeonjun

he still gives me the vibe of a person who is unconsciously flirts with other people and if you behaved the same way he would rather take it as some kind of game and turn the topic into a joke and most likely into flirtatious dirty talks with you (and we all know that this will lead to screaming his name in a bedroom)

but if it was something really serious and he was worried about it, I think he’ll be upset and would try to talk and find out what was going on, however if his partner denied it or tried to get away from the topic it would be a complete scandal

soobin

i think he's not very jealous. usually when they talk about things related to jealousy, he speaks quite neutrally, for example, at the moment when everyone in korea was discussing perilla leaves, he said that it would be normal for him if his partner did this. the only time he said something about this was i don’t remember where exactly it was, but they discussed skinship and he said that he likes it more when he himself shows skinship (rather than someone starting to touch him) and he doesn’t like it when someone starts touching people close to him. and in fact there are quite a lot of videos of him removing the hand of one of members from another member or preventing them from holding hands by placing his hand and all that (especially protects huening kai)

so I think he would really be jealous mainly in moments of physical contact, even if it is something quite insignificant and most likely he would not say it directly, but try to separate his s/o and this person

I'll leave the video below with the dialogue between soobin and beomgyu and it shows their difference in this matter very well

beomgyu

okay if you watched the video you already know this. this guy is the winner in terms of jealousy among all members. he wouldn't let the members and other men in general touch you, flirt with you (even if they were just trying to be polite), spend too much time alone with you and everything else, he's the type of guy who starts whining "do you really love him more than me?????” if you pet your dog/cat for too long

I think he would be more open in expressing his feelings? like if another guy was flirting with you in front of him, he wouldn’t remain silent and, looking at him contemptuously, made some sarcastic comment, pulling you by the waist towards him and will definitely tell you what an arrogant loser this guy is as soon as you step aside

taehyun

actually i think he's almost not jealous at all? he looks the calmest and most emotionally mature so he would not pay attention to many things like just a long conversation or sitting next to, and if something did make him jealous, he would just talk to you about it when you were alone.

i really don’t see him at all as a jealous person or a person who would make a scandal about this, only dialogue or perhaps i can see how he behaves coldly. for example, if it's something really weird and his partner doesn't want to talk to him/denies everything and something like that, then after a few tries he would most likely get tired of it and cool off

huening kai

oooohhh don't make him jealous🥺 i can't stop saying how soft this boy is. if you look carefully at the moments when soobin pays more attention to the other members and starts being cute with them, his face changes. so i think that even just paying attention to another person while ignoring him would already make him jealous. and i'm not talking about flirting or anything like that, but just something like you’re together with other members and actively discussing with someone a new movie that you both watched but kai didn’t and he would just 🫥

knowing his character, he most likely would not have said anything? he'd probably just be upset for the rest of the day and act a little distant, answering your questions that everything is fine and he’s just little tired

[haziwritesstuff]

My little rose

"You are meant to be the love of my next life."

Pairing | Aemond and Aegon x reader Wordcount | 2.8k Warnings | Medieval misogyny

Your whole life you have been sheltered by your father, Daemon. You might have been a bastard but he cared for you. In his own ways. Daemon being Daemon… Your life wasn’t easy. Comfortable but isolated. He didn’t want the world to know about you. It was better that way. And who are you defy him? If it wasn’t for the grand feast you probably would have never left your little castle. Your personal cage.

As you stepped out of the castle, the grandeur of the surroundings outside captivated your eyes. The palace was filled with rich tapestries hanging on the walls and lush carpets covering the floors. The chandeliers made of gold and silver cast a warm glow over the banquet hall, and the smell of delicious foods filled the air. As you walked into the banquet hall, your eyes locked with Prince Aemond’s. His blue eyes bored into yours, and you felt a rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You heard tales about him and most of them... Weren't that good. Despite the stories you've heard about Aemond, his charismatic looks, his powerful presence and undeniable charm draw you into his orbit. As you look at his handsome exterior, you can't help but wonder what lies behind those icy blue eyes. You feel your heart racing faster as you stare at him and the air in the room feels thicker, as if you've suddenly been plunged into some kind of magical spell. It's as if he's drawing you in, like a moth to a flame and you just can't look away. You notice that Aemond is staring at you as well, his expression unreadable. It's almost like he's sizing you up and trying to figure you out, even though the two of you have never met before.

You both remain silent for a few moments, just staring at each other, with the tension rising with each passing second. Something about this exchange feels different. There's an intensity to it that makes you uneasy, but at the same time, you can't tear your eyes away.

As the staring contest continues, you begin to feel a strange sense of recognition toward Aemond. It's like you've seen him before, or perhaps in a dream. As you continue to stare into his pale blue eyes, you begin to feel that you have some kind of connection with him, a deep and primal connection that transcends words or reason. Suddenly,  Aemond frowns slightly and breaks eye contact. You notice his expression has changed slightly. Before you can register what's going on, his gaze shifts past you and he nods his head at someone. You turn your head to see who he's looking at, and you spot Prince Aegon staring at you with an amused look on his face. Aemond walks over to Aegon and they begin to whisper to each other, occasionally looking in your direction. You feel like the two of them are talking about you and you can't help but wonder what they could be saying. As the conversation continues, their whispers begin to sound more heated.

After some time  Aemond turns to you again, his gaze now more serious than before. He walks over to you as if he's about to say something. but before he can utter a word, Aegon suddenly steps in between you and him, blocking his way. Aegon smirks lazily and makes a snide comment saying something along the lines of "Looks like someone's taken a fancy to our little princess here." Aemond scoffs and snaps back at his brother, "Like I would be interested in her." He laughs contemptuously and then looks at you with a teasing smirk. "Are you sure about that? I think she's quite pretty... don't you think? She's certainly caught my eye."

Aemond glares at Aegon and then looks at you with a hint of annoyance. "She means nothing to me - she is of no consequence." Aegon snorts and laughs again, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, brother... Whatever you say." He turns back to you and flashes you a cocky grin. "But I can't help but notice that he seemed pretty interested in you just then. I wonder why." You feel a rush of excitement mixed with nervousness as Prince Aegon continues to stare at you with that mischievous grin on his face. It's like he's playing a game with you. He continues to taunt Aemond, saying something like "I think you have a little competition for the princess' affection. What do you say we make it a competition, brother? Whoever can woo the princess will be the winner."

That’s enough. “Watch your tongue. I am not a prize.”

The two men look at you with shock on their faces. Aemond's eyes are wide open in surprise, while Aegon is giving you a condescending grin. "We're just two princes toying with a sweet little princess like you. That's all. What's the issue?" Aegon says in a mocking tone. You feel your cheeks burning with rage at the way Aegon is talking to you. You're used to being treated like a commodity by your father, but there's something about the way Aegon is speaking to you that triggers something primal within you. You find yourself suddenly stepping forward and getting into Aegon's face. You can feel your anger rising with each passing second. "I am not a 'little princess' or a 'sweet thing'. I'm a grown woman, not a prize to be won."

"Temper... Temper... We weren't trying to offend you sweetheart," Aegon says sarcastically. "We were just having some fun. Don't tell me a strong-willed women like yourself can't handle a little harmless teasing?" "Harmless teasing...? You're treating me like an object!" you shout loudly. "You're talking down on me as if I were a prize to be won. As if you could just walk up to me and expect me to do whatever you want. Can you not see how disrespectful that is?!” "Oh I see I’ve hit a nerve there." Aegon says, smirking at you. "You’re quite feisty, sweetheart. I like that." He laughs, a lazy kind of laugh. You feel your anger boiling over as you hear Aegon's smirks and condescending remarks. You can't help but wonder why he acts like this. Like, what does he get out of it? You don't know, but one thing's for sure... you're not going to let him get away with this behavior.

"I don't know why you're acting like this," you say, your voice brimming with anger. "Maybe you're insecure, maybe you're overcompensating for something. Or maybe you're just a dick." A deafening silence fills the room as everyone stares at you and the two princes, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. The tension is palpable, and it seems like no one knows what to say or do next. Aegon is the first to respond, his face contorting into an expression of anger. "What did you just call me?" he snarls. You stare right back at him and don't back down one bit. "I think you heard me loud and clear. I called you a dick." A sharp gasp fills the room, as a few onlookers are shocked at your boldness. You cannot help but feel a sense of satisfaction as you stare right back at Aegon, who seems incredibly agitated and his face is flushed with anger. His face darkens and he looks ready to explode with fury. He takes a few steps towards you, his fists clenched and his eyes narrowed. "I think you need a lesson in proper etiquette, little princess," he says in a menacing tone.

You don't flinch at Aegon's threat. In fact, you stand your ground and look him straight in the eye. You know that you're provoking him and that you might be going too far but you can't help but feel a rush of adrenaline as you stare him down. Aegon's face darkens even more as he stares at you and you can feel your heart beating faster with each passing second. The tension is growing thick in the air and you can't help feeling like something bad is about to happen. As the two of you stare at each other, the atmosphere in the room feels like it's about to explode. He suddenly reaches out and grabs you by the arm, pulling you towards him with a sharp jerk. You are startled, but your adrenaline is already pumping, so you don't feel scared. Instead, you feel an uncontrollable rush of tension and anger as you look into his eyes.

You’re pulled against Aegon's body, your eyes locked on his. His breath is hot on your face and you can feel the heat rising off his body. He isn't letting go of you and neither are you, so you end up getting closer and closer until your bodies are pressed against each other. In that moment, all words escape you, all you can feel is the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the hot breath from his mouth against your skin. In that moment, the spell between you and Aegon is broken as you suddenly feel a forceful pull on your other arm, breaking the embrace and the tension of the moment. You turn to see your father, Daemon, pulling you away forcefully, clearly enraged.

"That's enough," he says sternly, holding you by the arm and pulling you away from Aegon. "You need to learn how to control yourself. It's not befitting of a woman to behave like that in front of men." "But Father, he was-" you begin to say, but Daemon cuts you off with a sharp look. "I don't care what he was doing," he says, not letting you finish your sentence. "You need to behave like a proper lady, not like some harlot." You feel a spike of anger shooting through your body as your father compares you to a harlot. You cannot help but feel offended and demeaned by his words, but you know it's useless to argue with him. He has made his position clear. You grit your teeth as you hear your father's words, you know that it's futile to protest. You just swallow down your pride and nod stiffly, not knowing what else to say in response. As Daemon lets go of your arm and turns away, you glance over at Aegon and catch a glimpse of his expression. There is a look of anger on his face and for a split second, you could've sworn you saw a flash of desire in his eyes. However, as soon as he notices you staring, he quickly composes himself and his face becomes stoic once again. There is a brief moment of silence between the two of you, but then he gives you a faint smile and steps back, walking away without another word. As you stand there, trying to process what just happened with Aegon, you notice that Aemond has also vanished from the scene. Both princes are gone, leaving you with the strange memory of the brief moment that you shared with Aegon.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As the next day begins, you try your best to avoid everyone. You're still feeling the strange mixture of emotions and thoughts that surfaced from your encounter with Aegon last night, and you don't want to deal with the gossiping and the drama. You want to keep to yourself and process these events in private. You spend most of the day in your room, reading or doing something to distract yourself. You avoid interacting with other people as much as possible, trying to avoid talking about last night. But the more you avoid it, the more it haunts you. Later that day you decided to escape the castle and the gossiping by going to the Dragonpit, where you know you can get some peace and quiet with your dragon, Silverwing. It's a place where you can relax and meditate, and clear your mind after what happened last night. You head towards the Dragonpit, trying to avoid any run-ins with other people along the way.

When you arrive at the Dragonpit, you're relieved to find the area empty and peaceful. You walk slowly towards Silverwing's dwelling, taking deep breaths and letting the air fill your lungs. You feel better as you step inside the cave and approach your dragon. As you see her massive figure before you, you feel an immediate sense of calmness come over you. You feel safe and protected by Silverwing, and your spirits lift as you wrap your arms around her neck.

“That was quite the show last night.” You're startled when you hear Aemond's voice behind you. You turn around and see him leaning against the wall, a amused smirk on his face. You feel an immediate sense of embarrassment as you realize that he had witnessed your encounter with Aegon last night. "I must admit, I didn't have you pinned as the combative type." Aemond says, still smiling. His manner is light-hearted and teasing, but you can't help but feel self-conscious and embarrassed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask Aemond, your face flush with shame and your eyes avoiding his. You feel like you've been caught doing something bad and you don't know how to respond to his playful comments. "Nothing, it was just amusing to see you take down Aegon like that." Aemond replies with a light chuckle. "He looked like he was ready to burst a vein in his head with rage." "Well, he was being rude." you say defensively. "He deserved it." "Did he though?" Aemond says, his gaze steady as he stares at you. "I mean, he was just doing what men do. That’s just how he shows affection. Was that the first time someone has ever flirted with you?" You raised an eyebrow, wondering if he’s stupid as well.

"I'm only joking," Aemond chuckles. "But seriously, were you not expecting him to hit on you like that? He's a prince, and you're a beautiful princess. Of course, he's going to try to charm you or court you. It's just the way he shows interest. I think it's rather cute." "Well, I didn't find it very cute." you reply harshly, still feeling irritated at how he's trying to brush off the encounter as harmless flirting. "What exactly didn't you find cute?" Aemond asks, his tone slightly smug as he stares at you, his face expressionless. "The way he leaned in close to you? The way he made a few lewd comments? Or was it the look he gave you when you called him a dick?" "Look, just drop it alright?" you say sharply, feeling even more embarrassed and flustered as Aemond continues to tease you. You can't help but feel that his smirk only makes the situation worse. "If you say so." Aemond says, still grinning. "But you gotta admit, you two had quite the little moment. I'm sure Aegon is still thinking about it." “Good.”

"Oh, you're not denying it?" Aemond chuckles. "So you actually did enjoy your little rendezvous with him, after all. I knew it." "No. I hope he is still thinking about me calling him a dick." "Why's that?" Aemond asks, his smirk lingering. "Don't you like having a man obsess over you? Come on, admit it." Aemond says, his smirk becoming a grin. "You must've liked him having a reaction to you. Did you not like his anger and his desire?"

As you got ready to mount Silverwing, Aemond has a mischievous look on his face, a smirk playing at his lips. He leans against the wall and waits for you to mount your dragon, curious to see what will happen next. You mount Silverwing and feel the dragon's body shudder under you as it steps forward. You can't help but feel powerful and confident as you sit astride the beast. Aemond is watching you carefully, a look of amusement on his face. "You know," Aemond says, his voice still teasing and light-hearted, "I could try to charm you myself, instead of letting Aegon hog all the attention." "Shut up." you reply harshly, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious in front of Aemond. You're not ready to admit that you'd like to have Aemond charm you, so for now, you just want him to stop his teasing.

"Sōvēs." And with that you flew off, leaving Aemond alone in the Dragonpit. As you soar into the air atop Silverwing, you feel the wind filling your hair and the sun's rays warming your back. The feeling of freedom and power is exhilarating and you feel like you could fly forever. Aemond's teasing voice is no longer heard below you, as you leave him behind in the Dragonpit.

Next chapter!

[azu1as]

—a tangcheong reincarnation ficlet set during the shaolin tournament arc 👍

»—————————–✄

Part 1 2 3

baek cheon didn't think much of the loud commotion being made in the audience stands as a large family entered the arena.

"huh? what's all that noise over there?" yoon jong voiced out.

the rest of the mount hua disciples turned their heads in the direction yoon jong was pointing at and they watched as people unabashedly stared at the person in the center of the group.

"you missing a cousin or something, samae?" one of the disciples joked.

the man in question looked closer to a tang than he did his own family members who walked beside him. whereas their hair were varying shades of light brown, his was dark and closer to tang soso's own color.

tang soso frowned, narrowing her eyes as she tried to peer at his features which were slightly too far to distinguish properly.

"I don't recall having any cousins in shaolin..." she mutters as yu iseol also tilted her head in question.

the man's gaze sweeped lazily across the arena. even from afar, baek cheon could tell that the man's gaze was contemptuous.

he didn't need to use his qi to enhance his eyesight to know that the gaze that was thrown towards the sect leaders' stand was absolutely scathing.

jo gul scratched his cheek. "he must be the rumored son of the zheng merchant family. see the crest on his robes?"

"what do you know of him?" baek cheon asked. he doesn't really understand why but a part of him felt like he had to be on-guard towards the strange man.

"not much," jo gul winced, "just that he's a bit older than us and that he...mildly poisoned one of the daughters of another family in sichuan."

"..."

they all turned towards tang soso.

"are you sure he's not part-tang or something?" yoon jong asked.

their conversation is abruptly interrupted by loud shouts cheering for shaolin.

the disciples of mount hua shared resolute nods as they began marching forward, letting the praises pouring out from the audience straighten their spines and walk more resolutely.

chung myung seamlessly slipped back into their fold, the money pouches he brought with him noticably emptier than when he had arrived.

it felt as if the cheers for them rang louder than those for shaolin. it was a very ovewhelming feeling and all of them could feel the pressure on their shoulders.

once again, they watch the reliable back of their sajil as chung myung finally sets foot on the stage, gazing up.

the current head of the zheng family was not influenced by the excitement that seemed to radiate from his fellow tournament-goers. rather, his eyes were locked on the face of his elder brother who he had never seen look as emotional as he did now.

there was disbelief on his face. he wore a strange expression which wavered between hope and doubt. unfathomable emotions swam in his eyes.

"ge, is everything alright?" he worriedly asked. "if you wish to leave, we don't have to—"

"no." zheng bo cut him off. "we're staying."

he shared concerned looks with his other siblings, but they silently agreed to let it be.

their eldest brother had always been distant, but he was never unkind to them.

they could never understand where the weight zheng bo seemed to always carry on his shoulders came from, but he never lashed at them.

they had never known zheng bo to be anything other than melancholic, so seeing the way the beginnings of a lively spark enter his eyes...

it was as if they were watching him transform into someone else for a moment.

"hyung...?" zheng bo murmured as he practically threw himself over the railing to get a closer look.

luckily, their youngest sibling, about the same age as the youngest second class disciple of mount hua, managed to pull their eldest brother back by the robe.

"zheng bo, what's gotten into you?" their mother worriedly clutched at him.

a string of incomprehensible muttering escaped zheng bo's lips. "...a descendant? no, he—a wife? no, as if..."

questioning stares were thrown their way from other audience members, but they were quickly distracted by the start of the deciding battle between the two finalists.

it was a battle that no one could have ever expected.

it felt too one-sided and the zheng family, as with the rest of the spectators, found themselves at a complete loss over the practically one-sided battle between shaolin's hye yeon and mount hua's chung myung.

there was heavy and glooming feeling charging the atmosphere. the previous racuous and excited cheers turned into silent feelings of apprehension and confusion.

“this is nothing compared to what mount hua has been through.”

zheng bo let out a pained, heartaching noise.

"ge," the second zheng son started, still lost. "do you know what he's talking about?"

it seemed to him that chung myung was talking about something beyond the prior slow decline of their sect.

zheng bo seemed to be too overcome with his own emotions to answer.

they all turned back their heads to the stage and were graced with the sight of a soft curve of a blade that arched beautifully, tearing apart all the golden winds thrown towards its weilder's way by hye yeon.

"beautiful..." someone in the audience behind them mumbled.

and it truly was a mesmerizing sight to see.

and it became all the more so when plum blossoms pink, an unstoppable multitude, bloomed from chung myung's sword.

tang bo crumpled where he had was standing.

happiness, guilt, and, most of all, /relief/ wrapped themselves around his heart—his heart which, for the longest time, for over three decades, had been hollowed and emptied out of any possible feelings.

"you're here too."

tang bo didn't have to be alone anymore.

[jintaka-hane]

Run, baby (don't) run

(x gn!reader) NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Your former crew lost in the Davy Back Fight and you are the tribute to pay. As you step aboard Captain Buggy's ship, your mind begins to conjure ideas for escape, but there's someone who will make your stay not so unpleasant. You might consider yourself clever, presuming to completely know him because you have explored every inch of his body, yet you remain unaware of the deeper emotions he conceals within. Notes: I tried to stick to my initial plan (short smut) and I couldn't... Sorry, I am a hopeless romantic! 💕 Simply wanted to delve into a relationship where intimacy precedes love, rather than the other way around. Warnings: +18, NSFW, MDNI, smut (but there is plot I swear), Sub!Cabaji x Dom!reader (Cabaji is shy, reader is bold), Sub!reader x Dom!Cabaji, oral, teasing, wall sex, wall pinning, idiots in love, some angst with happy ending. Words: 6800 Songs that inspired me: Run, baby run - Garbage

Thank you, my beautiful @fanaticsnail for your help with some parts 🙏🏻 💜 🐌

.

Thud, thud, thud, thud. 

The captain walked with lengthy, intentional strides atop the wooden deck, his footfalls resonating across the damp planks of the ship as he solemnly advanced along the line of awaiting pirates. 

Thud, thud

"... too serious".

Each time he took an aggressive step, he would pause to scrutinize the pirate directly in front of him, a contemptuous critique reserved for each of them.

Thud, thud

"... too tall".

Thud, thud

"... too dull".

Thud, thud, thud… 

...thud

His strides came to a halt mere inches from where you stood, and you averted your gaze, fixating instead on the weathered floorboards. Time appeared to freeze as you sought to go unnoticed, your gaze focused on his worn pointed brown boots.

“YOU,” he said.

You dared to raise your eyes, hoping he might be addressing the next in line, only to find his azure eyes, heavily lined with kohl and blue eyeshadow, fixed squarely upon you.

"Though you'll be needing some makeup…”, he added with a mischievous grin, gazing you up and down, “... and a more colorful attire”.

Satisfied with himself, he spun on his heel and headed back towards his circus-like ship, making a gesture for you to follow him.

You cast one last glance at your companions, giving yourself a few seconds to compose.

“Come on, buttercup!” He barked out at you without turning around, "Where's the enthusiasm?!”

**************

Turning down a challenge was a display of cowardice and shame in the pirate world. And this shame was even greater if the challenge in question was the Davy Back Fight, which stipulated that if two captains accepted, their crews would endure three trials, the losers facing the penalty of crew members theft and the destruction of their pirate flag.

Captain Buggy and his followers had encountered your ship, and in an act of whimsy and boredom, had challenged your former captain, who felt compelled to accept in defense of his honor. Against all odds, your old crew ended up losing to the picturesque and colorful crew led by the sea's most renowned clown, resulting in you being chosen by their captain as a reward for their victory.

You had to quickly adapt to life in the Big Top, vastly different from the customs you had known so far. Made up and dressed in tight circus attire that revealed your midriff, you tried as best you could to fit in with the crew and carry out your tasks amidst the chaos that reigned in that disorganized and eccentric group.

You didn't yet know much about your crewmates, though you could glean some idea of each one's personality: the captain, ambitious, whiny, and extravagant; the first mate, fiercely protective of his captain and always accompanied by an immense circus lion; the unicyclist swordsman, solemn and mysterious, constantly honing new juggling tricks that he later deployed as precise attacks.

It was the latter who particularly had caught your eye, mainly due to the vibrant colors of his attire and the uniqueness of his hair, straight and streaked, pulled to one side. The fact that he always was bare-chested, showcasing his sturdy pectorals, also added to his allure. But you never entertained the thought of getting close to him; after all, you were eager to leave that ragtag crew of pirates behind and join a more formidable crew as soon as possible …

You had sworn allegiance to the captain, but that didn't bind you to servitude for eternity. Perhaps in a few months, slipping away from the ship wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. 

Life aboard wasn't entirely unpleasant. The parties were frequent, which helped time pass more swiftly, and you found amusement in watching the crew's constant juggling and tricks. Yet, you couldn't envision yourself aboard the Big Top for the long haul. Sometimes, unable to bear another note of the incessant circus music, you would retreat to your cabin, bury your head in the pillow, and scream.

One night, an excess of alcohol coursed through the veins of the crew — including you — celebrating that your captain, the great Buggy, had acquired a treasure that would significantly increase everyone's wealth and allow you to afford even more luxuries and extravagances.

You still didn't quite feel like you belonged with them, so you spent the evening watching and analyzing the group of pirates, noting the wildest, the toughest, the most loquacious, and the most reserved among them.

In your analysis, you caught Cabaji looking at you several times, his elongated lined eyes trailing over your abdomen, lingering a bit too long on your navel. The first two times, when your eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze, feigning interest in something else. The third time, he held your gaze and gave you a somewhat hesitant smile. The fourth time, he grabbed his unicycle and some juggling balls, tossed them in the air, and headed towards you, boasting about his sharp reflexes and impressive balance. 

As the acrobatic act concluded, he deftly caught the dancing balls in mid-air one by one with a single hand and, skidding lightly, brought his unicycle to a halt right in front of you, one foot on a pedal while placing the other on the ground to maintain balance. 

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or simply a desperate need for distraction that night, but you summoned a boldness from somewhere unknown.

“Hey handsome, think you can ride anything besides bicycles?” 

He stood there, his eyes locked onto you, lost for words.

You thought he was an idiot.

And yet, within seconds, you were ravenously making out with that idiot, stumbling through the hallways of the ship as your bodies clumsily bumped with the walls and other unnoticed obstacles making your way to his cabin.

As you reached his room, you paused the kisses momentarily so he could open the door. With a gallant gesture, he ushered you in first, and you entered, casting a swift glance around the space.

It resembled a quaint juggling studio, albeit with the added quirk of a bed positioned at its heart. Disheveled shelves lined the walls, adorned with an array of juggling paraphernalia - diabolos, balls, ribbons, and hoops - alongside an assortment of edged weapons, including swords, knives, and daggers. Atop the floor lay a pair of weathered unicycles, seemingly forgotten.

You took a few steps forward, allowing your eyes to adjust to the dim light within, then turned toward him, watching as he closed the door behind him. With determination in your stride, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his neck before pressing your lips to his again, this time slow, lingering, and deep, while he embraced your bare waist. Tilting your chin slightly, you sought a better angle to kiss him, a low moan rumbling in his throat, barely restrained. 

Still emboldened by the courage perhaps instilled by alcohol, you brought a hand to the center of his chest and with your fingers, you traced the outline of his pecs.

“You’re so tough, aren't you?”

With a caress, your hand descended down his muscularly defined abdomen until reaching the edge of his pants, where a fine line of hair disappeared. Loosening the waistband slightly with your fingers, you created enough space for your hand to venture further, slipping beneath the elastic of his underwear. Cabaji froze in place, his muscles tensing around his stomach. With just one finger, you traced the length of his cock gently, from the base to the tip, while locking eyes with him. He was painfully hard.

“My, my… I think you need a bit of help with this, don’t you big guy?”

His cheeks tinted with a slight blush, but he didn't avert his gaze from yours. You noticed the goosebumps prickling his neck and shoulders, and every muscle in his body seemed to be rigid. Seeing he wasn't taking the lead, you decided to tease him further, this time more cruelly.

Removing your hand from his pants, you brought it to your mouth and provocatively licked the palm, coating it with saliva. Then, you slid it back into his pants and grasped his hard cock, your fingers wrapping around it completely. With a soft motion, you pumped it slowly, a moan escaping his lips as he closed his eyes.

“You’re so tense… you need to relax”.

You lifted your other hand and softly brushed his cheek, prompting him to open his eyes, his dark and dilated pupils locked onto yours, filled with a mixture of admiration and lust.

“Tell me… do you wanna fuck me, big guy?” You picked up the pace, pumping him faster.

He nodded slightly in silence, trying to maintain his composure and stay on his feet, while desire consumed him. You smiled, seeing him so vulnerable under your hands.

“Cat got your tongue, huh? Use your words, pretty boy” you teased him. 

“Yes…”

“Oh, he speaks,” you smirked. You found it amusing how shy he was. Accustomed as you were to dominant, proud, and selfish types, he was turning out to be a rare gem you were eager to enjoy. 

Devouring him eagerly, your lips swollen from the fierceness of your kisses, you gradually guided him to the bed, stepping forward while he took slight steps back, just to maintain balance. When the backs of his legs collided with the edge of the bed, you pushed him, his body falling onto the mattress and pulling you with him into a tight embrace, with no intention of separating from you.

You bent your legs, placing your knees on the mattress to straddle him, seeking his neck with your desirous lips, alternating between biting and licking. His hands began to roam your back, desperately searching for the edge of your shirt to help you discard it. You pressed your hips against his, feeling the massive bulge beneath his pants pulsating against you. His hands slid down to your ass, grasping both cheeks and pressing you down against him harder as he moaned, his hips rising in sync with yours.

At that moment, you sat up to look at him, his eyes ablaze with desire as his tongue darted between his lips to catch your saliva, his cheeks flushed, the vein in his neck pulsing frantically and the muscles in his arms tense as he gripped your ass firmly. You smiled to yourself, wanting to etch such a spectacular sight into your memory forever.

"Grab onto the headboard and don't take your hands off unless I tell you to," you ordered.

He obeyed instantly, holding his breath, eager to see what your next move would be.

"Good boy," you praised.

You lifted yourself slightly and crawled down his body until your head was level with his abdomen. Lowering your mouth to nibble on the soft skin around his navel, you made him whimper while your fingers slowly pulled down his pants.

“Relax…”

Directing your mouth to the lower part of his belly button, you continued kissing his tan and sea-salt coated skin, proceeding down to his pubic area as your fingers lowered his pants further and further.

You focused your attention on his groin, this time positioning your head right above his cock, the fabric of his pants the only barrier between you. With the tip of your nose, you briefly caressed the throbbing bulge hidden by his pants, then pressed your lips against it and began to kiss him through the fabric. You felt him gasp, his hips involuntarily rising to meet you, his cock twitching against your mouth. You smiled at his reaction and decided to tease him further, sticking out your tongue and tracing it softly against him while staring into his eyes.

“Please…”

Already begging?

If teasing him was the only way you had to get him to express himself, so be it... 

“Tell me big boy, what do you need?” 

“... my pants… too tight, I’m so hard I can't stand them anymore”.

You smiled to yourself and decided to indulge him. If he spoke, you would obey. With a gentle motion, your fingers lowered the edge of his pants, freeing his dick, which sprang from its captivity making him sigh with relief.

He was large, but you were sure you could handle it. You ran one finger gently over him, caressing the crevice of its tip, and collected some of his pearly fluid. As you pulled your finger away, a silver thread followed connecting you to him, and you looked at it, fascinated.

"I’m going to suck away and swallow that shyness from you… " your resolved words made him moan. 

You paused to look at him, his eyes locked desperately on you, consumed by excitement. Without taking your eyes off his, you proceeded to lick him, your tongue stroking his head, gathering all the precum. 

Opening your mouth wide, you surrounded his cock with your lips, capturing it in a sweet embrace, and began swallowing it slowly all the way down to the base, giving yourself time to adjust to its size as you noticed him holding his breath, the muscles of his abdomen stiff, his gaze attentive to each one of your movements. You kept advancing until you felt the tip in your throat, where you paused for a moment to concentrate and relax your gorge so that it could enter all the way. With one final push, you managed to take him all in. He exhaled all the air from his lungs.

With upward and downward movements, you began to suck him with a light pressure, seeking the perfect angle to take him into your mouth whole, your senses attuned to his reactions, his breathing, and whimpers, to match the right pace. His eyelids fluttered closed and his head tilted slightly backward, savoring every moment, while his obedient hands remained on the headboard, his knuckles white from the pressure his fingers exerted. He opened his eyes to look at you again, fascinated by the sight before him.

“Damn… you’re perfect”, Cabaji sighed out.

Encouraged by his praises, you lightened the pace and pressure, sucking hard as you rose back up to his thick tip, repeating the process over and over again, coaxing songs from his throat. His body stretched, further exposing his bare chest while his hands gripped the headboard of the bed more tightly, causing the wood to groan.

“W-wait, slower... I won't be able to hold it back.”

Knowing that you were making him lose control led you to want to torture him more. You extended your arms, and your hands traveled to his chest, where you began to caress the curves of his muscles, as you worked at the same time with your mouth at a frenetic pace.  Cabaji groaned in frustration as his head lulled to the side, his dark eyes meeting yours with a desperate look. He bit his lip and gently bucked his hips so his cock went further down your throat, causing a small gasp to escape from you.

"S-slower, I don't know how much lon... aaah…”

Your refusal to slow down appeared to prompt him to ignore orders as well, and unable to contain himself any longer, his hands disobeyed your command. With a swift movement he released the headboard and firmly grasped your nape, exerting pressure to thrust deeply into your mouth several times as you sucked him down. It didn’t take long for him to reach his end.

“F-fuck!”.

With one final, deep thrust, he came hard, his hips stuttering as his cock throbbed and released its thick load into your throat while his fingers threaded tight against your scalp. As he filled you up letting out a low groan, you did your utmost to swallow everything he gave you, just as you had promised.

Panting, Cabaji ran a hand through his dark hair, gathering his composure as he looked down at you, admiring how beautiful you remained with your tousled hair and flushed cheeks. You released him gently, freeing your mouth to speak.

“You didn't keep your hands on the headboard," you smiled. Getting up and crawling up his body, you pressed your lips in a fierce kiss against his.

"You didn't slow down," he kissed you back, his hands encircling your back to pull you closer into an embrace. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, he turned your bodies, positioning you beneath him. Looking down at you, he bestowed another passionate kiss.

**************

It couldn't happen again.

In your bed, as your cabin mates snored around you, you gazed up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, reconstructing in your mind all that had occurred during the night.

His head nestled between your thighs, coaxing waves of pleasure with his mouth while he firmly gripped your quivering abdomen against the mattress…

The sound of the headboard banging against the wall, your face buried in the hollow of his neck…. 

You hastily grabbing your clothes to leave…

You shook those thoughts from your mind. 

As enjoyable as it had been, it couldn't happen again.

Having sex with a crewmate wasn't usually a good idea, as it sometimes led to misunderstandings, grudges, jealousy, and troubles entirely to be avoided in life on board. And you couldn't afford that luxury, you needed to keep as low a profile as possible, so that when you vanished, nobody would notice your absence. You couldn't let it happen again.

But of course, it happened again. 

After that initial encounter, many more followed, each one spontaneous and unplanned, sometimes occurring in the most clandestine of places like the pantry, the cellar, or even the armory. With each subsequent meeting, his initial shyness seemed to vanish, replaced by a more possessive and dominant Cabaji.

When the intimate encounters were spurred by the revelry brought on by alcohol during a celebration, Cabaji was accommodating, willing to let you take the lead and set the pace you needed. Those moments were for experimentation and delving more deeply into different ways to pleasure each other, and you quickly learned what things truly drove him wild and made him lose control.

Other times, your sexual liaison served to relieve stress following a violent encounter with an enemy crew, discharging onto each other the adrenaline surged after a victory or the accumulated frustration following a defeat. In these latter cases, you both usually got carried away by fury, and endured energetic sessions of possessive and rough sex, each fighting to dominate the other, focused on pursuing your own pleasure, using the other's body in the process with a frenzied and furious pace. 

**************

"No," he reprimanded, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, pressing your back firmly against his chest. You struggled against his embrace, striving to break free and reclaim control, attempting to twist around to meet his gaze.

That day, he had fought with Mohji. As often before, it had begun with a petty dispute that had escalated into the first mate challenging Cabaji to a duel to establish his dominance within Buggy's crew. They had fought for quite some time, and in the end, despite their evenly matched skills, Cabaji had lost, albeit narrowly. It only took you one look at him to realize that he would need you that night, and one way or another, you two would end up having vigorous sex.

Seizing you firmly, he steered you towards the wall until your entire front was pressed against its surface. Before you could plant your hands against it to attempt to pivot around, he captured them and pinned them securely against your back.

"NO," he growled as you fought harder, prompting him to tighten his grip even more aggressively, nearly cutting off circulation in your wrists.

"Against the wall," he pushed your head, forcing your cheek to press against the wooden panel.

In moments such as these, your attempts to assert dominance were in vain, for though your speed could sometimes surpass his, his agility and strength were greater. Nevertheless, you persistently resisted and sought to challenge him, driven by primal instincts and an unspoken understanding of the effect it had on both him and yourself.

You attempted a backward kick, swiftly dodged by his agile maneuver, his smirk amused by your futile efforts. He seized the opportunity to slide his leg between yours, forcefully nudging one aside to spread them apart. Drawing near, his heartbeat thundered against your back, while his hips roughly met yours, allowing you to feel his arousal. He gradually lost his grip on your wrists as he sensed your progressive relaxation and surrender.

"Give up, I know you want this too," you heard his voice, a mere whisper against the curve of your jawbone, “don't make me tie you up like last time”.

As his grip momentarily loosened around your wrists, you futilely struggled to break free once more, only to find yourself pinned even tighter against the unyielding wall. Seeking retaliation, you snapped at the air, growling, attempting to capture his lips between your teeth, but he withdrew just in the nick of time.

“Tsk,” he tutted, “I'm going to have to tame you like the wild animal you are…”

“I thought Mohji was the tamer,” you let out, sharply.

You reveled in provoking him repeatedly, testing the limits to see how far you could push. However, as you concluded the sentence, you bit your lip. Perhaps, given the circumstances, you had pushed too far this time.

You had angered him. 

With a ferocity that bordered on the primal, he clasped you tightly around the waist, lifting you with unrestrained force. Spinning you around to face him, he hurled you towards the wall, the unexpected impact causing you to gasp as your shoulder blades collided with the wooden panel, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed. He seized a handful of your hair and yanked sharply, tilting your head back, so your neck was fully bared to him.

In this position, seeing you completely at his mercy, with your breath catching and your heart pounding, he seemed to calm down. With the tip of his nose, he traced a path along your throat, detecting the pulse of your artery, lingering where adrenaline surged through your bloodstream.

“I’d slit his throat before he could lay a finger on you”, he kissed you right at that spot.

Without shifting his attention from your neck, his hands explored your body, seeking the elastic of your underwear. He slipped his hand inside, gauging your arousal before assisting you in discarding it with a determined tug.

Grasping one of your legs by the back of the thigh, he raised it as high as possible, locking it around his waist. Feeling your calf pressing against him for balance, he repeated the action with your other leg, pressing your body firmly against the wall, making it your support point. Secured in that position, he undid his pants, freeing his swollen and pulsating cock which quivered in search of your warmth. 

“Tell me you want this”, he whispered in the shell of your ear.

“I want you, baby”, you uttered the words that drove him mad.

Without further delay, he bent his knees, causing you to descend, your back sliding down the wall slightly. Gripping his cock, he eagerly directed its tip to your sweet entrance, then thrust into you forcefully, impaling you and causing your hips to collide sharply upward against the wall as he held you securely by the thighs. You panted at the impact, both arms draped around his neck.

Cabaji remained completely still in this position, giving your body time to adjust to his and relax. He closed his eyes, focusing intently, and pressed his cheek against yours, awaiting a subtle signal from you to indicate that he could proceed. After a few moments of concentrating on the rhythm of your heartbeats, he felt your cheek press back against his, signaling your readiness. Firmly securing his grip on your thighs to prevent any slippage, he began thrusting into you with increasing intensity.

"Tell me you're mine," he pleaded, his voice barely audible over the moans escaping your lips as his hips relentlessly collided with yours.

You didn’t answer. 

He always asked you once, and you never responded, leaving him to content himself solely with your kisses and whimpers, something he always tried to counteract with a firmer grip on you, as if the fact that you didn't respond implied that you might escape at any moment.

**************

Beyond your intimate encounters, there were never interactions between you: you neither spoke nor sought each other out. Your meetings were never premeditated, but rather fortuitous and accidental, and the absence of contact outside of these moments left you questioning whether the rest of the crew suspected anything about what was happening between you two.

One night, you returned to your cabin after having a horrible day. You had been particularly clumsy, and while organizing the juggling room, hundreds of balls, diabolos, and hoops had fallen on you. You had to endure some crewmates' shouts and spent hours putting everything back in place just as it was. All you wanted was to lie down in your bed, rest, and hope that the next day would be better. 

Upon reaching your cabin, you noticed something small resting atop your pillow. Intrigued, you approached, picked it up, and examined it closely: it was a delicate handmade paper flower, its exquisite petals meticulously folded to resemble a real blossom, alternating between shades of blue and white, reminiscent of Cabaji's scarf.

With a bitter chuckle, you cast it aside.

"What a fool..."

**************

The following night, you found yourself in his bed once more. Throughout the day, the crew had been reveling and drinking, and a chance encounter in the evening had led you to end up as you always did, enjoying each other's bodies. 

On this occasion, you were lying face down, bearing the weight of his body, your legs spread to welcome him inside you as his hips delivered his final thrusts against you. Moaning deeply against your neck, he chased his release for the second time that night. With one hand pressing firmly your lower abdomen, he lifted your pelvis, seeking the perfect angle to discharge himself as profoundly into you as possible.

With one last, deep thrust, you noticed his body shaking against yours, his cock twitching as he poured all his tension into you, relishing the moment and taking his time, deep growls escaping from his throat.

Panting heavily from the exertion, he collapsed on top of you, his forearms bracing against the mattress on either side of your body to avoid bearing down his full weight on you. Once he had emptied himself completely, he withdrew, pressing his lips briefly against one of your shoulders in a sort of farewell kiss before falling exhausted by your side.

Typically, after finishing, you didn't waste time and returned to your normal routine, either heading to your cabin to rest or, if it was during the day, continuing with your everyday tasks on board. But this time, particularly, you were exhausted, and for the first time, you lingered a bit with him between the sheets.

“I’m drained,” you murmured.

“Hmm”.

You remained lying face down, arms folded beneath your head, forehead resting upon them, taking deep breaths as you tuned out the world around you.

Suddenly, you felt fingertips caressing your body, gently trailing down your spine, tracing an imaginary line over your small back and descending to follow the curve of your ass, the contact making your skin goosebump.

You lifted your head immediately, surprised by the sudden display of tenderness, and found Cabaji lying on his side, beside you, his arm bent and his head resting on his hand. His gaze fixed on your body with an intensity that bordered on... devotion.

His fingers traced the same curve again, drawing delicate patterns on your back and causing you to shudder again under his touch. Your body tensed up as the air seemed to freeze in your lungs.

What was that? 

Was that an expression of… 

… affection?

Your heart began to skip beats as anxiety invaded your chest.

NO. 

Immediately, the memory of the beautiful flower resting on your pillow the previous night flooded your mind, triggering an internal alarm. 

No, no, no, no.

No feelings.

NO.

You sprang from the bed in a swift motion, your naked body fully exposed to him. He looked at you, surprised by your sudden movement, yet a smile played across his lips, seizing the opportunity to admire your figure once more.

“You’re so pretty…”

“Cabaji,” your expression darkened.

“… yes?”

“... you know this is just sex, right? Nothing more.”

His smile faltered momentarily, yet his gaze remained inscrutable, making it difficult for you to discern his thoughts. Those stupidly beautiful, lined eyes fixed on you.

“Yes, of course I know,” he responded promptly.

“Good.” 

You stepped away from the bed to gather your clothes, an awkward silence filling the room. You dressed as swiftly as you could, the oppressive tension in the air making it hard to breathe normally. As soon as you were fully clothed, you opened the door, eager to make your exit.

“See you,” you bid him farewell, casting a final glance at the bed where he sat, still unclothed, with his gaze fixed on some distant point in the room.

“Bye”.

**************

Following that last conversation, two long weeks went by without any form of contact between the two of you.

At first, you didn't understand. You were used to not having any kind of relationship with him outside of your sexual encounters, but even though you didn't talk during the day, no more than two or three nights would pass before you found yourselves in each other's arms again. However, there was no trace of Cabaji wherever you went. The only news you had of him were snippets of conversations drifting from afar.

"Hey, did you hear? Cabaji threw a knife in target practice and he missed. He stabbed a man right in his hand."

"No way! He's never missed!"

"Yes, yes, he did. He's been a bit lost lately…"

Occasionally, you would catch sight of him from a distance, whether in the galley, the juggling practice area, or on deck, where he was often engaged in conversation with the captain or involved in heated exchanges with Mohji.

As days went by, you began to believe that his interest in you had waned, signaling the end of your clandestine affair, perhaps for the best. 

You carried on with your life without giving it a second thought. Your days were a whirlwind of tasks, leaving little room for contemplation or reflection, and if you had any time left, you spent it plotting the best way to leave the ship and find another crew.

A few days later, you were walking down a narrow hallway that connected one cabin to another below deck. You walked calmly, lost in your thoughts, when suddenly you felt a strong grip seize your arm, pulling you sharply towards them and causing you to collide against their chest, momentarily throwing you off balance. 

Startled by the abruptness of the action, you glanced up to identify the assailant, only to find yourself met by the sight of a blue and white scarf—Cabaji. 

"What are you doing?!" you asked furiously, attempting to wrench your arm free.

"We need to talk".

"Let me go!" you used your free hand to shove him off.

At that moment, as if the capricious universe were mocking you, a crew member attempted to pass through the hallway, causing you to pause momentarily your movements. The space was so narrow that, to make room for him, you had to move closer to Cabaji, causing your bodies to touch completely. You felt a strange sensation at the contact, like a familiar warmth that your body had unconsciously longed for.

"Hey," the shipmate greeted as he advanced down the hallway. 

Time seemed to stretch infinitely in that position, standing so close to each other that you could feel Cabaji's agitated heartbeat, your chests pressed against each other. As the shipmate passed by your side, he appeared startled by the sight of Cabaji towering over you, firmly gripping your arm.

“You two okay?”

“We’re fine”, Cabaji snapped curtly, his eyes still fixed on yours.

The crewate, sensing the odd situation and not wishing to get embroiled in any trouble, hurriedly made himself scarce. As soon as he disappeared and you were alone again, you pulled your body away from Cabaji, and gave another strong tug to release yourself from his grip. 

This time he let go. 

With your arm now free, you turned around to continue advancing down the hallway. 

"I have things to attend to."

"Wait..." he said frustrated, stepping in front of you to block your path. You attempted to go around him, but he stopped you. Letting out an impatient huff, you tried to shove past him once more, your hands trying to brace against his chest.

"Hold on…" he grabbed your wrists mid-air to hinder you from pushing him, and you sharply twisted your hands, freeing yourself again. With an angry snort, he swiftly seized you by the waist before you could escape again, lifting you off the ground and pinning you against the wall. As you tried to push yourself away from the wall to break free, he grabbed your shoulders firmly, thwarting your attempts to flee.

"Damn it, you're so stubborn," he muttered in frustration.

Cornered and feeling the firm pressure of his fingers grasping your shoulders, you surrendered. You shut your eyes and drew in a deep breath, attempting to rein in the anger bubbling within you. As you exhaled, you steeled yourself to confront him, reopening your eyes to meet his gaze. 

Upon closer inspection, you were taken aback to see the fatigue etched on his face and the deep circles beneath his eyes, clear signs that he had been suffering. 

"Are you going to listen to me?" he begged you.

“Fine.”

"Good.”

His eyes darted between yours, seeming to take a moment to arrange the words in his head before speaking them. You waited quietly, somewhat concerned because you had never seen him so distressed. His eyes then moved to your lips, lingering on them for a few seconds.

"And?" You asked haughtily, titling your chin up. Your question seemed to bring him back to reality and his dark, lined eyes refocused on yours.

"Okay... ,“ he inhaled deeply, struggling to find the right words and not mess things up. “Well, I… I knew the rules... but …," he paused again.

"What rules?” you asked, urging him to continue.

“Listen, I know we… No, I… I  was not supposed to fall…,” he halted abruptly. He seemed to be delivering the most complicated discourse of his life, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You could almost hear the neurons in his brain, racing to find the right words.. “I’ve tried, I've tried hard but I…”.

Without understanding anything of that nonsense, you lost your patience.

“Cabaji, what the hell are you talking ab...?” 

“I miss you,” he cut you off.

You arched an eyebrow, taken aback. 

"What?"

“I miss you,” he repeated, more confident this time, finally finding the courage to deliver a somewhat coherent speech. “I … can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even hit a target. I can’t live like this''.

Your eyes widened as your brain processed his words gradually, incredulous at what you were hearing.

“... I'm craving you”.

You were speechless, bewildered by his desperate words, which caught you completely off guard. Time seemed to stand still, the creak of the wood and the gentle sway of the boat the only signs that the world hadn't stopped.

Your eyes briefly darted to his hands, your shoulders flushed from the pressure of his grip. Following the direction of your gaze, he suddenly seemed to realize that he was still holding onto you and immediately released you.

"Forgive me," he apologized in such a low tone that it was only audible to you.

You stood there, staring at him intently, your back pressed firmly against the wall as your head spun.

“Y/N, please… please, come to me tonight.  Please, let me have you again tonight, I … I rather jump overboard than deal with another night without you”. 

He was pleading with such desperation that you felt a tightness on your throat, overwhelmed by everything you were having to process in that moment. A sense of infinite sadness engulfed your chest, releasing all the suffering you had been denying yourself from feeling these past few weeks. 

"And…,” he continued, “I can't stand you leaving afterwards. I’d like to spend more time with you… I want to be able to caress you without you fleeing from me in fear."

You remained silent, unsure of what to say. It was too much, too many thoughts, too many feelings, and you didn't know which path was the wisest to take. 

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” he smiled sadly.

You turned your face to the side and averted your eyes from him to give yourself a few seconds to think without feeling the pressure of his hungry eyes staring into yours, desperate for a response.

“I am not scared of you,” you managed to say with a thread of voice.

He lifted one of his hands and brought it to your chin, gently holding it between his fingers to guide your face back to his and meet his gaze head-on.

“No…" he sighed, "you're scared of us. Of what we could become… if you let me”.

His fingers moved from your jawbone to your cheek, his thumb softly caressing it, causing you to shiver. How was it possible that after all the physical contact you had shared for weeks, after all the scratches, licks, bites, grips and thrusts, what you found most challenging to endure was a simple caress?

“... would you? Would you let me?”

Your mind scrambled, attempting to swiftly piece together a response. The plans to abandon the boat flashed through your mind, as until that moment, leaving within a few months had been a firm decision. But now, as you stood there, your thoughts became a tangled mess, forming a lump in your throat that silenced any reply.

Sensing your distress and hesitation, Cabaji gently eased the pressure his fingers exerted on your cheek, and seeking to grant you some breathing room, his body appeared to drift imperceptibly away from yours. You perceived the shift, and in that instant, realization dawned. You understood then, deep in your core, that you truly were afraid.

It was the fear that Cabaji might let you go and turn away. The fear of him never touching you again, the fear of never feeling his lips against yours, the fear of him never looking at you with the intensity he did in those moments. The fear of him disappearing from your life forevermore.

You lifted your hand, letting it hover momentarily before cupping his own, cradling it against your cheek. Meeting his weary gaze, you smiled softly at him and offered a silent affirmation with a nod.

“My love…” he smiled back at you, exhaling the relief that anticipation had built up in his lungs. His hand left your cheek and moved slowly to your nape, his fingers tangling in your hair. With gentleness, he drew your head towards his until your noses brushed lightly. Sensing your breath quickening nervously, he paused, unsure if this was really what you wanted.

As he came to a halt, you let out a frustrated exhale and, gripping his scarf tightly, you forcefully pulled him towards you to close the short distance separating your lips, causing them to collide and seal in a loving kiss.

Encouraged by your determined attitude, he kissed you back, long and deep, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him as if every inch of distance between you was too much to bear. After spending so much time apart, the kiss felt so good that you began to search for more and more hungrily, hardly letting him breathe, chaining one kiss to another, eliciting soft moans from his throat. 

Each time the kisses felt like they were nearing their end, your lips ravenously sought his once more, while he, caught up in the fervor of your embrace, allowed himself to be carried away. When the lack of air forced you to lower the intensity and part, he looked into your eyes.

“Tell me, are those things you have to attend to now so urgent?”

“No,” you said quickly, leaning in eagerly to kiss him again.

“Well… ,“ he stopped you for a moment, placing his index finger on your lips, “why don’t we go to bed and see if this time you're ready to answer if you're mine?” And before you could reply, he captured your mouth with his again, smiling into your lips.

You know this is just sex, right? Nothing more.

Your own words echoed in your mind as you hooked your arms around his neck and pressed him against you, angling your chin to deepen the kiss further.

Fuck it.

.

[gatitties]

HEY HEY HOW R U DOING. ITS FINALLY CHRISTMAS TIME SO MERRY CHRIMUH (2023 passed too fast…) im the one who asked for the strawhats x anxiety! Teen! Reader!!!! And im an angsty person so I just wanna ask…

Can you write Strawhats x struggling! Teen! Reader?? It’s the exact same reader btw, they’re strong and kind and helpful and so sweet, has a tough exterior even if they’re just a kid and the youngest on the ship. And when I mean struggling I mean that they deal with self h*te, their anxiety got worse and so on. They didn’t plan to tell the crew but the crew has noticed their behavior. How they go to their room instead of playing with them like they used to, how they just sit down and zone out, a habit of their’s being to put their hand up to their face and rub in annoyance and stress just like they do with the hand on the chest when they’re anxious. The crew sees them being gloomy when they’re alone or whenever the adults look away (putting on the facade) and the reader doesn’t look like they’re taking care of themselves and they’re looking tired and unmotivated.

(kinda describing me a lil bit I just wanna see my comfort characters react to this sorta thing-)

And they finally confront her about it and after some convincing they finally spill all thats inside and get the love that they don’t think they deserve!!! I love angst sorry…

(Before I wrote this I checked through your rules to see if this kinda thing wasn’t allowed. I didn’t see anything opposing my idea but just know that if you feel uncomfy with this sorta thing then thats ok and you can just ignore this ask.❤️ Or maybe you could reply with a little “no” just so me and others know that ur not ok with it. I wanna be respectful!)

ANYWAY I HOPE U HAVE A GOOD CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR. PLEASE AND TY.

─Strawhats x teen!reader (platonic)

─Summary: You thought everything would be fine after your anxiety attacks subsided, but it was just the calm before your mind played with you.

─Warnings: none

(Related post)

ayy sorry I'm a little late with this one but here it is 😭, I hope you had a good Christmas, that you started the year on the right foot and may everything go well for now!! 😌

─ You thought your anxiety attacks would end once you confessed how you felt to the crew, partially accepting their help, and while it worked for a while, you went back into your shell.

─ The mind of adolescents is incredibly moldable, and yours decided to take the most contemptuous path towards yourself, the attacks were controlled, but the self-hatred that you began to feel towards yourself made them return.

─ You felt guilty and your pride did not allow you to seek help a second time, feeling that you would be more of a nuisance to the rest.

─ Your appearance underwent changes as well as your behaviors, your energy was drained, you began to lock yourself in your room more, not be present at group celebrations…

─ Eventually they noticed your sudden change again, everything was fine and from one day to the next you become like a stranger with them again, Robin could notice it instantly.

─ All your actions gave you away, but Chopper recognized the signs of anxiety, your rapid breathing, your eyes moving uncontrollably, although he did not understand why you touched your face so much, he thought it was one of the causes of your anxiety.

─ They accepted that you were a stubborn teenager, but this had to be nipped in the bud just as Nami said once she found out that your anxiety attacks had gotten worse lately, since the indirect way of helping wasn't working now.

─ It was much more stressful for you that they decided to confront you directly, since you used to run away from conversations related to your well-being, being something that you feel insecure talking about, you preferred to avoid it.

─ You tried to escape from that talk with bad excuses, but Sanji's kindness made you sit in the chair like a scolded child.

─ Jinbe silenced Luffy because he knew that he was going to be too direct with you, and although they wanted to be, they needed a little tact to talk to you, Usopp took care of that.

─ You avoided eye contact for most of the talk, not wanting to confront them while you spoke.

─ Again, you ended up crying as you let your feelings come to light, you felt trapped enough to let it all out, much more sincerely than the previous time, feeling a little embarrassed by your cruel thoughts towards you.

─ Luffy scolded you again, but he gave you the best hug you could have received in years, everyone joined in afterwards, except Zoro, who watched from afar with a small smile.

─ You felt calmer after the talk, but it will still be difficult for you to express yourself about how you feel, they assured you that it was okay, that it was okay to want to have some time alone when you feel bad, but that they will always be there to help you with all your problems whatever they are.

[sgiandubh]

Why are you so angry toward Tony? Why do you call him names? If you honestly believe Sam and Cait are together, Tony is a non-issue. The only reason to be offended is if you want Sam and Cait to together, but you know she is with Tony, abd you feel he is between them. Your anger and rudeness the man shows you know the truth of their marriage, family and your bitterness she didn't choose Sam as a mate.

Dear Calling Names Anon,

I am not the one being angry, here: you are. You are so angry, in fact, that in your haste to hopefully bash me, you typed 'abd' instead of 'and' (also because you are on your phone) and you ate both a verb (if you want Sam and Cait to be together) and a preposition ( 'anger and rudeness towards the man'). Both lapsus calami (that's 'slip of the pen', for you) are very telling - mais, passons (that's French, for you: I know it pisses you off and I am so glad it does, every single time!).

I have read so many times the glorious POS you dutifully copied and pasted in that Anon box, that this time I knew I had to answer you, once and for all. You and the one who wrote this down first and then you all dutifully followed - no critical skills and never did have any.

I am not angry toward McIdiot. I am derisive and dismissive of the very lucrative part he agreed to play in that 🎪. As is, he is still a social zero and nowhere to be seen, unless she brings him along, but only at events where she knows virtually no one. No matter how hard you try to present him in an extravagant light, his real situation is well known, based on public records. Conversely, you are angry and contemptuous towards S, who has his own businesses and takes risks and makes a thousand mistakes. But who, unlike your hero here, is alive. McIdiot, that character paraded in front of us, comes across as a profiteer. Maybe McGill is a nice person. Maybe he is friends with C. McIdiot, the part he's been given in this shitshow, is anything but nice, interesting or attractive.

I call him McIdiot, that is true. You lie all day long about S, spreading lies and calumnies and innuendoes that cost him a LOT in the past. What you did had consequences IRL. Yes, you and your little harmless coterie, including its 455 Twitter and Tumblr sock accounts. You knowingly hurt someone who did absolutely nothing to you and 'rude' doesn't even start to describe your reckless attitude. What moral right have you to come here and give me lessons? That's rich, coming from people who repeatedly called me a liar, an idiot, assured their flock I was several other persons. Same people who, overall, take a sick, cheap pleasure of calling shippers either 'worms' or 'the mental ward'. So what the hell did you expect, coming here? A fucking welcoming committee? A potluck of revelations?

I do not want S&C to be together. I know S&C are together. You know it, too: otherwise you wouldn't be here screeching like a maniac in front of a closed door. You then proceed to assume knowing what I think and lecture me about what I should be thinking, instead: a very poor rhetorical strategy, indeed and a sure sign of confusion. For your information, McIdiot's absurdity will always be an issue, irrespective of their real status. And you are correct: I know a fairly consistent part of the truth about her 'family' and 'marriage'. What irks you is that I chose not to discuss many things I know in here and certainly not with you. You see, I have a personal policy, Anon: I don't share secrets with cowards. Ever.

You make me think of these harmless fools standing in the rain in Hyde Park's Speakers' Corner, who preach the imminent end of the world in front of an empty alley, Anon. Better go home: maybe Moo will make you a cuppa, once you get there.

http://www.cgpgrey.com, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

[meaningofaeons]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ majesty: prologue

⊹ word count - 2.1k ⊹ warnings/notes - mentions of blood, violence, etc. ⊹ taglist - @xphantasmagoriax @thatweirdcheshirecat @sparkleasteroid @fluffy-koalala @chopid

⊹ majesty masterpost ⊹ next part ⇾ chapter I.

it's finally here... the prologue to majesty! this is just a brief look into what happened to you, dear reader, before you reincarnate... look forward to the rest! and as always, be sure to check the masterpost for any updates! ty for reading!! /ᐠ .ᆺ. ᐟ\ﾉ

A shriek filled the once-peaceful courtyard, all eyes turned to the sight of a maid falling to her knees. Before her lay a body clothed in pure white, wine hair draped across the soft grass as its owner lay unmoving.

Blood. Crimson red and cruel, it spattered the serene gardens’ flowering buds, painting their once-soft colors into violent vibrance.

Next, the nobles’ eyes turned to the shattered glass. And then… onto you.

“P-Poison!”

Saintess Kafka’s personal maid was quick to screech in alarm, holding the noble woman to her chest as blood trickled from her mouth. “S-Saintess Kafka has been poisoned!”

“Call the physician!”

“Move, the Imperial Physician is on her way! Make way!”

You felt your throat go dry, your own blood running cold.

Who would dare poison the Saintess? And on a day like today no less?

It seems the nobles already had their answer, their gazes pointed on your wilting form.

“Was that glass not the one belonging to Lady ▉▉▉▉▉▉? Does Lady Y/N not… resent her? Especially after Lord Gepard...”

“It seems you’re right… And she was standing quite close, no less.”

“Look over there. Poor Lady ▉▉▉▉▉▉, she’s trembling… She must be so frightened.”

Me…? No, but I would never poison the Saintess! What reason would I have?!

Their words were like venom, their eyes full of malice as the guards arrived at the scene. It only took one of them speaking up for your heart to drop to your feet.

“No, I swear—!”

“Lady Y/N did it! I saw her!” a young noblewoman cried out, pointing her fan in your direction. You froze, mouth dry as you tried to defend yourself. “I saw her pour something strange, almost like a powder, right into Lady ▉▉▉▉▉▉’s drink! Then, Saintess Kafka drank it by mistake! It was all her!”

“No!” you cried in response, whipping your head around to find someone, anyone who would defend you. “I swear, it wasn’t me! I would never!”

Finally, your gaze landed on one. A familiar head of raven hair stood in the crowd, aquamarine eyes staring at you in shock. You smiled wobbly, trying to reach out. He was the only noble who had treated you with kindness left.

“Lord Dan Heng! Oh, thank goodness! Please, please tell them…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, turning away with a look of scorn. You felt a pang through your chest. Somehow, his silence felt worse than any disdainful words he could’ve imparted upon you. You once again scan the area, and finally, you fell upon your last resort.

“F-Father!”

You walked over, clinging to your father’s coat. 

The cold Duke stared back.

“Father, t-tell them… I’m your daughter, aren’t I? Tell them it’s all a misunderstanding! I didn’t—”

Duke Louis Fleming slapped your hand away. His brow furrowed, and he turned to the guards.

“Tell the Emperor we must expedit this trial. I’ll not have my honor tarnished any further than it already has been by this child. I’ll have nothing to do with her.”

You dropped to your knees.

“O-Of course!”

“Right away, Your Grace!”

There was no fight left to be had in you. You had to be forcibly dragged to your feet by the Imperial Guards, taken away against your will as you gazed up at your father one last time.

He hardly spared you one last contemptuous look, almost as though it was difficult for him to even face you, before turning away, walking with the other guards towards the Imperial Palace.

The nobles continued to whisper and gossip.

Saintess Kafka was taken away, and you didn’t even have it in you to wish she was okay.

Eventually, you forgot what happened next.

—

The trial was mostly blocked from memory.

All you could remember was the cold, desolate prison cell you had been tossed into, the harsh meals you had to endure. As a noblewoman growing up in luxury, it was almost akin to torture.

Then, you remembered more guards, and the sudden brightness and commotion of the courtroom.

Even expedited, it had taken three days for your trial to occur.

In that time, Saintess Kafka had recovered, and was indifferently present when the charges were brought against you.

You recall being able to say nothing in your own defense. Not after the only man who spoke kindly to you and the only family you ever had had forsaken you.

It was traumatic, hearing the nobles clamoring for your execution, for your head to be displayed on the walls of the Stellaron Capital’s walls, a warning to those who would dare harm the purest woman in the entire Empire.

However…

“Considering her noble lineage and the weight of her family’s name, Lady Y/N of the Stella Duchy is hereby banished from the Stellaron Empire forever in lieu of an execution.”

You didn’t even have it in you to feel anything. The news was numbing, yet insignificant now that you’d fallen this far.

“Should she return to this noble Empire, she shall be executed upon sight.”

You only stared down at your feet, a single tear rolling down your cheek.

“This sentence will be carried out at once. Guards, summon the carriage.”

And now, you were here. Staring out the window of the dreary horse-drawn carriage, gazing up into the night sky.

Where had things gone so wrong for you? 

Was it when you first realized that your own father had no fatherly love to give his own daughter?

Was it when Lord Gepard denied your proposal? Was it when he perished on the front lines, the very battle he escaped to to avoid marrying you after you forced his hand with your family’s influence?

Was it the moment you decided to take out your anger on that noble lady of the Astral County, who seemed to hold the militant Lord Gepard’s affections far more than you ever could?

Or maybe it was when Lord Dan Heng, the only one to show you kindness after Lord Gepard’s departure from this life, turned away from you in your moment of need.

Maybe it was also when your father finally left you behind once and for all.

The one and only stain on his perfect legacy.

Was there… ever any love to be had for me in this life?

If I could just go back… start over, and do everything again… Could I find people who would care for me?

The rickety journey came to a sudden halt, shaking you from your thoughts. Outside, you heard commotion in an instant, clamoring and yelling following suit as metal clashed.

“...figure in the distance! Ready your swords!”

“Wait, it’s—!”

“...A-Archduke?! You cannot—! AAGH!”

“Someone, send for help!”

“Run! Run!”

Screams and shouts of anguish resounded, and you squeezed your eyes shut, covering your ears at the sounds. A splatter of blood splashed onto the window opposite you, and you screamed despite yourself.

Your despondency was replaced by fear as all went quiet outside mere moments after the havoc had risen. And then, the carriage door flew open.

Your eyes fell upon the glimmering sword that stabbed into the wooden floor. It was already soaked in blood—very likely the blood of your accompanying guards and coachman.

“W-Who are you?!” you trembled violently, the tall figure stalking towards you as you pressed yourself into the furthest corner of the carriage. “I-I’ve already been tried!”

“As if a mere banishment could appease me for the crime you’ve committed against Saintess Kafka.”

That rough voice was accompanied by a pair of blood-red eyes, and you froze once more.

The Duke of the North. A monster of a man—if he could even be called a man at all—known for both his exploits in war and his horrifyingly violent disposition.

Archduke Blade.

Surely, the Aeons must despise you, have some vendetta against you. Why else would they send this monster of a man as your executioner?

Was it because you failed to live virtuously in any capacity? Was it because, in their all-seeing eyes, the harm that befell their pious daughter was in some way indirectly your fault?

You clasped your hands together, tears springing to your eyes. He was blocking the only exit. You had no way of escape. Your heart raced, and you began to sob.

“Please, Your Grace! You have to listen! I-It wasn’t me! Please, p-please spare my life!”

His expression was cruel. There was no sympathy to be had anywhere.

“I can’t believe you have the gall to beg. You deserve this. All of this.”

Sharp, white-hot pain stabbed through you. You blinked away your tears, realizing in the final moment you had left that the legendary sword of the Duke of the North had pierced your heart.

Those crimson eyes were the last thing you ever saw in this life.

I just… want to go back…

And then, everything went black.

—

“...dy Y/N?”

You groaned, raising a hand to your forehead. The sun was too bright…

“Lady Y/N, you must wake up...”

Wait, sun?!

You shot up in bed, shocking your maid greatly. “Lady Y/N!”

A hand flew to your chest, right over your heart, feeling for a wound, a hole of some sort where the Archduke’s sword had cut you down. To your complete shock, you found nothing.

“Lady Y/N…? Are you all right?” Your maid looked upon you kindly, placing a hand to your forehead. “You’re quite pale!”

You ignored her, continuing to press. There wasn’t even a hint of pain at the site of your stabbing.

“What happened… to the Archduke? Where is he…?” you mumbled aloud, wincing as a thick haze covered your thoughts. How were you alive?

“The Archduke, my lady?” your maid was baffled, wetting a cloth in a basin as she gently pressed it to your cheeks. The warm water felt good on your clammy skin. “What in the world would you have to do with a man such as him? Last I heard, he’s been taking care of bandits in the North.”

“Bandits…” You recalled that, several years ago, troupes of bandits were rampant along the northern border. The Archduke was sent to subdue them, and ever since then, bandits hadn’t been reported—or at least, they weren’t prevalent enough for high society’s gossip to take an interest…

You nearly fell out of bed, if it weren’t for your maid catching you.

“My lady!”

“Cecilia…” your mouth went dry, staring into her eyes. You recalled at last those same eyes full of tears, begging for mercy on your behalf, only to be carted away as an accomplice… The only one who had done such a thing for you.

“What year is it?”

“It’s Stellar Year X90, my lady… Your debutante is in just three months.”

That was—that was ten whole years ago!

Your debutante?!

“It’s breakfast time, and you had a meeting with the dressmaker regarding your debutante dress, as well as your dress for the Imperial Banquet…” Cecilia explained warily. The strained expression on your face worried her, assuming the worst, that you might start throwing your belongings again. “And you need to find a partner…”

Your mind was racing.

You’d gone back. Back into the past.

“Cecilia, can you leave me alone for a moment?” you murmured, resting your head in your hand. “I… need to wake up.”

The raven-haired woman seemed taken aback at your calm demeanor, stepping back with a slightly shocked nod.

“I’ll… leave you be to wake up, Lady Y/N. Please ring the bell if you need anything.”

“Yes… Thank you.”

Your maid left, but not without one final glance at you in the large, lavish space you called your bedroom.

You sat on your bed, dumbfounded. Briefly, you raised a hand to your arm, pinching lightly.

“Ouch.”

It wasn’t a dream. Somehow, in some way, you have returned to the past.

At this point in time, your reputation in the eyes of high society was already quite low. However, that was only because of rumors that spread from within your house—you hadn’t yet made a fool of yourself publicly.

“Three months until my debutante, huh…”

Your mind raced, but one thing was certain.

With this chance granted by the Aeons, you would fix everything that befell you.

You would stop treating those around you with such unfounded vitriol and cruelty. You would gather people to your side, find your place in society, and ensure your standing was secure.

You would find out who really did plot to poison Saintess Kafka, hopefully before they could even get the chance. And you would ensure that your image in the eyes of the nobles was no longer that of a foolish, childish, selfish silver-spooned lady.

You would alter the future, for yourself and for all those who suffered from your actions.

This time… you’d make it right.

[fangandbow]

Always thinking about Inuyasha's boundless capacity for love.

This boy who was alone for so long, who had only known love from his mother, and then from a young age was made to struggle to survive in a world that hated him.

Who met a girl who was as sad as he was, and fell in love with her strongly enough to be willing to change what he was in order to let her be free. And then after she (to his knowledge) betrayed him - the one person he let in - he didn't take his pain out on anyone else. He didn't hurt any of the villagers. He could have. It would have been easy. He didn't.

Even after he awakened, he didn't. He attacks trees instead of the villagers trying to stop him. He talks a big game, but never follows through. Again, he could have. It's what they expected him to do. It would have been easy. He doesn't.

He never does -- this rough living, harsh talking, impatient boy is also, in his way, incredibly gentle. Time and time again he helps and protects even those who are cruel to him, those who proclaim hatred and distrust of him, and even though he loudly declares every time that he won't help, he doesn't care... he does, he does.

The girl who betrayed him was betrayed herself. He takes on the guilt of this, even when she doesn't take on any of the guilt of his own betrayal. He swears to help her, to protect her. To give her the love that wasn't given him.

He falls in love again, with another girl with the same face, but who is so, so different. He falls fast. Despite his hurt, his scars, his betrayal, he falls so, so easily. He can't help it. He has so much love to give.

He tries to love and protect both of them. Often making mistakes, and handling it badly in the way someone so young and so traumatized can't help but do. But he always gives more of himself than he asks of them (when he asks anything at all), is always the first to take on the pain, even when all it would mean is a future of more suffering for himself. He does it anyway, because as selfish as he proclaims to be, he is anything but. He doesn't matter. They do.

Kikyo was a tragic figure, one who deserved a chance at a life that wasn't a constant battle at the cost of her own desires.

Kagome is a force of nature, a girl whose kindness and determination is a match for Inuyasha's own. It's she who stands by him, who heals him, who allows him the space to figure out what he needs while never threatening to abandon him if he doesn't make the right choice. She encourages him to grow, into who he is, without fear, instead of becoming something or someone else. Time and time again, she trusts him, even at the start when she has little reason. Time and time again, she guides him towards the right choices, but lets him make them himself, because she knows that he will.

Kagome, amazing as she may be, didn't make Inuyasha the person he is. She just made it so he could be.

Because as beaten down as he may have been, as disdainful and contemptuous as everyone around him was of him, as disparaging and dismissive as he may have been towards himself, as skeptical of his own capacity for goodness, and for love-- she knows.

He is. He does.

[justatalkingface]

Everything Changed When The War Arc Attacked:

Or, why do I hate the War Arc so fucking much?

At this point, eh, why not? Writing every day is supposed to be good for improving as a writer.

ECWTWAA is a simple, quippy line that holds all of my festering loathing for watching MHA gleefully hurl itself off a cliff once the War Arc happened, and, much like someone jumping off a cliff like an utter moron (or the Air Nomads after the Fire Nation attacked), it has never truly recovered.

*sigh*

In retrospect, MHA had been going downhill for a long time before that point, and a lot of it was something I noticed unconsciously, but didn't quite rise to me really paying conscious attention to it, beyond a few notable points (*cough*, Bakugou, *cough* FuCkiNg NIGHTEYE), but as my brain was somewhat in the off position as I read, I was still enjoying the ride, even as it bumped; the enjoyment was as much, if not more, that I used to enjoy it more than the actual content, but there was enjoyment.

If MHA before The War Arc was a somewhat imperfect roller coaster ride, the only way I can describe the War Arc is if the roller coaster ride abruptly ended in the side of a cliff, only somehow dragged out for months of slow paced agony. I watched, in vaguely real time, as Hori systematically trashed the last foundations of his story, the swan song of one of the best, most interesting characters in the series, toss aside the sudden yet exciting development of it's main villain, and escalate to a higher gear than ever before the constant work to protect some of the most vile characters, including said mass murdering villain, from even the slightest criticism by sacrificing everyone around them, as well as the very integrity of the story, to the alter of, 'They're not that bad, honest! Don't hurt their little feelings, you bully!'

And, I watched him finally finish the lobotomy on his main character, permanently ripping away what remained of his original personality and intelligence, leaving an empty puppet, a Deku, with the singular purpose of driving the story faster, and faster, and faster towards that thing that Hori seems to crave above everything else now: The End.

Freedom, freedom from the strangling chains of a merciless Jump schedule, of a plot long grown too complex for him to manage, or for him to even want to try, and from the burden of writing characters and stories he so clearly seems to despise, for some reason. And if they only way he feels he can get it is by burning everything he's done down to the ground, well, Hori's clearly more than willing.

In all honesty it became obvious that, in all of MHA, he only actually liked six things: Endeavour, Bakugou, body horror, dramatic, flashy fight scenes with flashy super powers, attractive women in minimal clothing and vaguely fetish-y torture scenes on attractive women in minimal clothing.

These things, from that point on, are the only things he has spent real, actual time on, developing, giving focus to. Everything else, everything else, is rushed, pushed constantly forward by Deku, the puppet, as he runs from plot point to plot point as fast as he can, never allowed a moment to rest, to reflect, to really think at all, all in the name of progression as empty as he has become.

In all honesty, it was a needed, if unwanted, shock to help me realize the truth, but at what cost? At what cost is this clarity? The joy is gone now; once I dropped my unconscious acceptance of the narrative, everything I had been ignoring came to me a rush of horrified realization, even the most mild of flaws became glaring, and now reading the early chapters that got me into this story in the first place is just... hollow now, like I'm watching my old self enjoy them, rather than enjoying them myself, and I can't help but be both jealous and vaguely contemptuous at the innocent pleasure that person had.

I'll admit, I'm being more dramatic than I'd like to be, but... I've said this before, I'd been reading MHA for years before this point. Years of enjoyment, interest, and focus, and it's all ash to me now. I'm somewhat bitter about it.

[butchgrayson]

15 16 18 for Jason Todd

omg jason time... i am about to reveal how much i love and miss countdown and all its potential and the fact that i cannot shut up abt it...

15. What's your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn't matter if it's canon or not.)

JAYKYLE i think that theres something so interesting about their dynamic during countdown (kyle in one of his worst mental spaces post-ion, jason adrift as he tries to figure out what he's doing in a post under the hood world) and the antagonism/friendliness that so clearly could have morphed into a truly interesting relationship that could have been so thematically relevant to both their storylines and i wishhhhh dc had actually committed to more stories with them post countdown but well. as with all jason things we must grasp onto its potential with all our might <3

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

The clear answer is anything batcest but outside of that i have to say jay/roy. i have read all of rhato unfortunately and so i can understand logically why people end up shipping them if rhato is their intro to comics/they haven't read any roy comics before (or jason ones for that matter lmao) but like. n52 roy is simply not roy harper, and lobdell's writing is truly so contemptuous towards him (and kory) that i really really dislike it. as with everything that came out of that series it relies on butchering every single character and selling their parts off in order to contrive a dynamic that does not make sense given their histories. blegh.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

JASON AND DONNA TROY YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS <3333 its like catnip to me i wont lie. like even starting in jay's robin era him and donna have such a fun dynamic (see: ntt v2 #20 esp), where outside of dick she is the titan who takes the most time to talk to him/get to know him, and then after his ressurection in countdown she is like. the only person who really gives him any chance/benefit of the doubt re:duela or his capacity to change. i think the fact that they had suchhhhh clear parallels to each other with their deaths/ressurections and the fact that they cause such huge shifts in their internal self-conceptions, and the process of them dealing with that on their little cross-dimensional road trip is such a treat. sometimes you see someone you used to know two lifetimes ago and it is a comfort and a knife because who they are and who you are have so radically changed but all you can do is keep moving forward etc etc. i wish they had done more with these two after 2007, but unfortunately jason got tossed back into batman-land and genuinely some of the worst writing he has had post-res and donna had like .5 good comics afterwards (i hate u titans 2008). once again: potential potential potential

tysm for sending this in 🥰

character ask game

[hottpinkpenguin]

The Way of Winter - Chapter 6

Joel Miller series Female reader insert

A/n: takes place at the end of episode 6 (spoilers if you haven't seen!). I took a few liberties with the location. Took a (suuuuper) long hiatus - but I'm back!

Taglist (Since it's been so long, if anyone doesn't want to be tagged anymore pls let me know!): @missdragon-1 @this--is--music @caravelofthesun @ishouldclean @mezmerwrites @babypeapoddd @ay0nha @tpwkstiles @one-sweet-gubler @coolninjavoid @ameliabs-world @superflymaterial @p-muffin @s1xthirty @flightlexsbird @nataliemdixon @krisviciousx @notsosecretspy @freerangesweets @partyofone3413 @angelfxll @bojana-aa04

Word count: 1,662 | Tags: slow burn | Warnings: graphic descriptions of gore, reader getting shot, cursing

Joel watched y/n as she methodically cut away the scales and took out the innards of the six fresh trout she’d caught for dinner. Her hands were red and raw from the ice cold water, but she moved with a confidence and dexterity that impressed Joel, against himself.

It had been three days since Joel had begrudgingly agreed to trust Ellie and let this stranger lead them deeper into the woods. She hadn’t spoken to either of them since. Joel vacillated between irritation, mistrust, and antipathy towards her. Ellie seemed more inclined towards pity. She’d attempted to speak to y/n on several occasions, but was never met with anything more than a contemptuous stare. The silent treatment was grating on his already haggard nerves. Between her self-indulgent petulance and the near-constant throbbing of his stitches, Joel was ready to snap. And tonight was as good as any for a fight, he thought darkly. 

“How long do you mean not to talk to us?” he demanded. Although she didn’t look up from her task, Joel didn’t miss the way her movements got sharper when he spoke. He was under her skin. Good, he thought. If I can bother her, I can break her.

“You’re not the only person who’s lost someone, you know.” Joel pressed forward. Ellie had stopped tending to the fire in favor of shooting him warning glances. Joel knew that Ellie saw y/n as their only shot at surviving in this wintry wasteland. She wasn’t wrong, of course. But Joel Miller was too proud to let anyone - especially y/n - lord that over him. 

“It’s pretty fucking pathetic, actually,” he went on, adding a little extra acid to his words. “Sounds like you didn’t even try and save your family that you apparently gave such a big shit about.”

Joel didn’t even see the knife leave her hand, didn’t see it streak through the air or bury itself in his foot. In fact, Joel found himself regarding the knife curiously for a heartbeat before his brain even registered pain. In that heartbeat, y/n had risen from her crouched position on the side of the icy mountain stream and was striding over towards him, murder in her eyes. 

“Jesus Christ, y/n, no!” Ellie was small compared to y/n - scrappy and tenacious, but too small. She flung herself impotently into y/n’s path, but y/n shoved her aside easily. 

“What the fuck did you say to me, you motherfucker!” Y/n’s scream was hoarse, like she’d been yelling for hours on end. In spite of himself, Joel laughed. At least she’s talking, he thought with glum satisfaction as he felt hot blood pooling in his boot from where her knife had sunk into his arch. The fire in her eyes blazed all the harder, and she threw herself down on top of Joel. Her hands closed around his throat like a vice, ice cold and deathly strong. Joel struck out with his fists, aiming for the sides of her head. He landed three heavy blows, and with each one her grip strength waned a bit. With the fourth slam, Joel felt her hands completely slack off his throat as she pitched sideways. Ellie had regained her footing and had climbed on y/n’s back, shrieking like a banshee as she tore at y/n’s hair, neck and shoulders. As if in slow motion, Joel watched as y/n turned 180 degrees and threw herself backwards against the ground, slamming Ellie’s back on the frozen earth. Ellie let out an ugly, strangled grunt, her eyes widening in pain and shock. Her arms went slack around y/n’s shoulders as she gasped silently, trying to force air back into her lungs.

Everything froze in suspended motion. Joel saw y/n’s expression soften as she surfaced from her rage-fueled outburst. She stared down at Ellie with a look of disbelief and horror as the girl writhed in the snow, her hands clawing futilely at her throat. Her face was turning a deep shade of crimson as she continued to fight for breath. 

“Fuck, no no no no no.” Y/n was kneeling next to Ellie, hands visibly shaking as they covered her mouth in horror. Joel’s mind felt like it ground to a halt, the satisfaction he’d felt moments before at successfully breaking y/n out of her reverie vanishing into smoke. Without thinking, Joel reached for the gun in his waistband, leveling it at y/n’s chest and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot ripped open the woods. It was still echoing off the trees when y/n collapsed on the ground and Ellie sucked in a greedy, gasping breath…

******

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, you killed her.” Your mind was fraying at the seams. The moments around you weren’t making sense. You couldn’t find the thread that tied them all together. 

You felt a blazing, fiery pain in your chest. It spread up one side of your neck, down one of your arms, and radiated throughout your torso. Each inhale and exhale made it worse, agony searing through your veins like wildfire.

Hands on you. Small hands on your cheeks. Warm hands. Your cheeks felt cold, your face felt cold. Clammy. 

Then, there were bigger hands. Meaty hands, pressing down on that fire-blasted hole in your chest. You shrieked at the pain, but you were surprised to find your voice choked and drowning. You gurgled in pain, begging. “Please please please please.”

“It’s alright, y/n, we’re here.” A young voice. Girl. Your eyes slipped in and out of focus.

Treetops, high above you. Dark, bare branches against a slate-gray sky. Snowflakes.

“She’s losing too much blood, Ellie. It’s no good.”

“We’ll fucking die out here, Joel!”

More pain, more pressure on your chest. The pain was white hot, but somehow fading at the edges. Like you were pulling away from it. 

“I can’t unfuck this, Ellie!”

“You fucking KILLED her!”

Your veins weren’t burning anymore. They were freezing. Ice in your body. Running through your arms, your neck, your eyes, your legs. Tiny, shallow breaths. In and out of your nose. The sky above you beginning to darken. 

“She almost killed you-”

“Joel, if she fucking dies out here so do we!”

Quiet. Three sets of breathing. Two ragged and deep with rage. One - yours - panting. 

“Christ…”

A face above you. Dark eyes, salt and pepper hair. You recognized it.

“Y/n?! Can you hear me?” 

Your vision began to drift. You couldn’t keep your eyes focused on the face. 

Footsteps. Moving away from you. 

“What are you doing?”

Silence.

“Ellie, goddamnit, wha-”

“She’s bleeding out. We need to cauterize the wound.”

“The bullet’s still in there.”

More quiet. Darkness pulling in over you like a curtain. Your lips felt cold.

“If you cauterize the wound with the bu-”

“You got any fucking better ideas?!”

Inhale. Quiet. 

******

Joel’s heart made a sickening twist in his chest as he watched y/n’s eyes loll back in her head. The dark stains of blood on face and neck contrasted garishly with the whitish-blue tint of her skin. Joel had seen plenty of people die, and more than a few of those had died by his hands. But y/n was going down hard. Stubborn bitch, he thought to himself with nauseous guilt. Can’t even die easy. 

Behind him, Ellie rose from the campfire, striding over with a frying pan. For a moment, Joel didn’t comprehend what she was doing. He just stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Pull her jacket back for fuck’s sake!” 

“A frying pan, Ellie, are you serious?” 

“It’s the only thing that’s hot enough, just fucking do it!” Joel’s hands shook as he lifted his hands off y/n’s bullet wound, a fresh torrent of blood seeping out without the pressure of his body weight to staunch the opening. That’s a good sign, he thought idly as his hands ripped back the layers of dirty clothing to reveal y/n’s bare, bloody chest. Heart hasn’t stopped pumping yet.

Ellie hesitated only momentarily, her face turning green before she laid the sidewall of the frying pan against y/n’s wound with a gut-wrenching sizzle. Joel swallowed down a wave of vomit as the horrid smell of burning flesh ripped through his nostrils. Y/n stirred only slightly at first, but after a moment her eyes popped open and she convulsed, letting out a weak wail of confused pain. Joel was quick enough to grab her hands before they reflexively batted away the hot frying pan. She mewled in protest, eyes rolling aimlessly, not seeing anything. 

“That’s enough, Ellie.” Ellie pulled the frying pan off, tossing it aside and bending over to empty the contents of her stomach on the snow. Y/n went slack under him, and Joel felt himself come down from the adrenaline high with a vicious crash. His breathing was heavy, chest heaving with each inhale. He hung his head, weak with dying fury and bone-crushing guilt. Ellie crumpled into a seat on the snow beside him. 

Joel didn’t know how long the three of them stayed there in that clearing. Y/n was unconscious, but alive. The barely-there rise and fall of her blood-coated chest confirmed that much. How she’d survived, Joel had no idea. He could only guess that the bullet had missed the lungs and the heart by mere millimeters. Maybe, with all the tussling she’d been doing with Ellie, she’d moved just enough to throw off his aim. Try as he might to deny it, Joel had been aiming to kill. Acting on reflex. Protecting Ellie.

Or maybe he’d flinched at the last moment. Maybe, even though his reflexes said kill, some part of him said save. Because one thing became clear as day to Joel Miller as he sat in that bloody snowbank, twilight sinking over the frozen forest:

If y/n died, Joel Miller would never get over it.

**more chapters coming soon! let me know if you'd like to be tagged (or untagged) if you like this series, check out my Last of Us masterlist for other works

[butmakeitgayblog]

Since Groundhog Day was yesterday, it made me think of Clexa in a similar situation to the movie. Except it’s Valentine’s Day and Clarke is a jaded news producer, who really just wants to work on her documentaries and create something “real” unlike all the puff pieces her news station forces her to produce. And Lexa is the on camera journalist who actually enjoys any opportunity to talk to people and have insight into other peoples lives, although she does wish for more hard hitting investigative stories, the puff pieces are kinda fun. So the two find themselves working together on a new piece for Valentine’s Day in the nearby city known for their extravagant Valentines celebrations. Lexa is enjoying herself in the festivities and getting some great interviews but Clarke can’t wait for the day to be over, as soon as they’re done she’s packing up her stuff and heading back home. But nature has a different idea and an unexpected storm has them trapped this lovey dovey town for another day. Of course another day never happens because Clarke keeps waking up to another reliving of Valentine’s Day. Over and over. She doesn’t know what to do or how to make it stop, so she actually starts to get to know Lexa and starts to find how much they have in common but any progress she makes is cut off at the end of the day. What does she have to do to make this day end?

Dude ok so I have thought about this

Because if you look it up it says that in the movie overall he spent OVER 33 years trapped in that cycle

33 years.

Can you imagine Clarke, the biggest anti-Cupid's Day Grinch (as Lexa says, excuse her mixed monikers), trapped not only in the same day in this same town in this same gd hotel, but it's on the one day a year she initially said she hated and held great disdain for???

33 years spent feeling her very one-sighted heart shift and soften and evolve. Not to mention, 33 years slowly falling in love with Lexa, the very woman she had initially felt so bland - if not contemptuous - toward. 33 years spent just learning everything there is about her. Learning all of her little quirks. Memorizing her favorite foods, her favorite books, her favorite words and knowing which ones make her grin in unexpected delight. Learning how to make her smile. Or frown. Or scrunch up her little red nose in the dying cold of Spring. Memorizing what makes this woman blush, or get angry. Sometimes beg, when she's lucky and it's a particularly good version of the day.

It doesn't actually take 33 years, obviously. She fell in love with Lexa way before that, because honestly, how could she not. But fuck, there Clarke is. Stuck in this hell place, hopelessly in love with this women who she knows everything about, who if they could just get the fuck out of this day she would marry in a minute, who has held her and made love to her more times than she can count, who she has fought with and been humiliated byand chastised and made laugh, who is the first person to really make Clarke feel alive... and yet most days Lexa can barely even remember Clarke's last name. She's just Clarke again. The Grinch who doesn't believe in love and hates everything about Valentine's Day.

So many nights they fall asleep together Lexa's bed because Clarke insists. Clarke sighing into the feel of holding her just like an old wife, Lexa squirming with the excitement of a new and unexpected adventure in her love life.

And every morning they wake up across the hall from each other as nothing more than casual workmates.