#heir of a major industrial company

[talos-to-listens]

There is something inherently funny in Juna deciding to do a subject review, and also discuss hypothetical independence situation for Crossbell with Rean, and then it somehow ends with all of Old Class VII (and Musse) joining in.

[sukirichi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 | 𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

In a world filled with too much cash and flashing lights, will a solemn and ironically private relationship of a celebrity chef and wealthy socialite branded as star crossed lovers remain full of adoration and sincerity?

cw. fem! reader. celebrity chef! reader. gojo is insanely rich. angst. unedited. suggestive (they make out and is implied to sleep together, but no explicit scenes are shown.) hurt with a little bit of comfort.

notes. i can’t explain it but there’s just something about this fic i’m not completely satisfied with... i feel like i could’ve written it better LOL but also i just wanted to write something casual

wc. 17k

divider from saradika-graphics <3

Contrary to what people may say, Satoru knows he’s worked hard to get where he is.

The silent yet sharp-tongued man whose mere sound of his shoes stepping in the hallway sent his employees rushing inside their cubicles with fear. Belonging to the top tier of society as a result of being born wealthy and powerful, his name was enough to have people’s knees quivering of what the young heir was capable of.

He had the world at the mercy of his hands.

His icy blue eyes were empty, cold, and relentless – a stark contrast to his angelic features that fooled people. With his face pasted on almost every magazine, and companies vying for his attention left and right, journalists begging for a five minute interview, it was no brainer the importance of Gojo Satoru. And with his looks that had every man and woman stumbling before his very feet, the line between angel and devil blurred thinner.

You see, being born a God in front of everyone’s eyes was not as easy as it seemed. Tabloids always spread fake rumors claiming the young heir did not deserve to handle his family’s group of companies due to the fact he didn’t even graduate college. Or that was too scandalous for his own good to keep up a good reputation. As someone who holds major stockholders in the mercy of his will, everyone expected better.

Satoru scoffed at it all. To him, those were nothing but measly words.

He was the Gojo Satoru. He could do whatever he wanted, however he pleased, and all the world could do about it was complain. Such rumors (albeit ringing with truth) did not affect his life whatsoever.

Still, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him how uncultured people preferred other companies to be on top of the food chain – like Zen’in Corp, or Kamo Inc. They had far better reputations (ha, Satoru thought sarcastically), and were more well-liked by Japan. Satoru knows better though. No one is truly kind when they had enough wealth to claim the world as their own. Naoya Zen’in’s smile was as natural as his blonde streaks, and Noritoshi Kamo wasn’t even the company’s real heir. The latter was a bastard, and the former an attention seeker.

At least Satoru was honest and did not put on any facades of being a good man. He knew he was not.

The other men were greedy, always ready to pounce at every opportunity to have another digit added to their bank account, their expensive colognes successfully hiding the stench of their evil nature and their perfectly chiseled features resembling those of a seductive demon’s. Satoru was not surprised that he was born in a castle that resembled hell. Though it does not bother him anymore, he used to be saddened by the fact that he had been close with them in his youth. They spent their days spent chasing each other in the garden and pulling the trigger of water guns mercilessly, but all that was forgotten when each of them were groomed into perfection, just waiting to see who would take over the throne and who would end up as subordinates.

A battle which Satoru won without breaking a sweat.

And just like that, friendships dissolved. Men who he once called his comrades became his rivals in the industry.

Being the eldest of the three, their blood boiled when the official announcement came: Gojo Satoru had officially been stated as the new president of the Gojo Group of Companies.

It was not an easy competition. The bond between friends were soon replaced with greed and hatred for each other. Both Naoya and Noritoshi were ready to rip him apart at every mistake he made, but they did not know how fortunate they were. While they spent weekends overseas in cruise ships with flutes of champagne delicately nestled between their fingers, fucking every pair of tits with walking legs, Satoru locked himself in an office at the young age of eighteen. Whilst everyone savored the flavor of youth, he was forced to make the wisest decisions when it came to business. And little by little piece, his humanity had shattered until it was destroyed completely.

Gone was the cheerful boy who always spent too much time playing with his dogs and not minding that his latest Gucci pyjamas had been stained with grass. In fact, he did not even remember that side of him existed at all.

That at one point in his life, he’d been a normal boy with a normal childhood – before the weight of the world wore him down.

Glancing sideways at his security team, the head guard, Toji, nodded and commanded something through his radio. All the guards dispersed and made way for him. In a matter of a minute, the employees who were walking aimlessly in his hallway had scrambled in their offices. Sighing tiredly, Satoru rolled his eyes. Toji opened the doors for him as he stepped out, the dull, gray exterior of the spacious room feeling like home more than anything else.

His secretary, Mei-Mei, bowed politely at him and handed him his caffė macchiato. His fingers reached for the cup before facing the glass walls. Beneath him, the entirety of Tokyo lay pulsing at his feet. With one scoop of his hands and a simple word uttered through his lips, he knew he could take everything. And he could if he wanted to, but such was the dilemma of having everything.

Satoru Gojo desired for nothing at all.

“This,” his father once said at the twelve year old him, his hand sweeping from the exact same place he stood in. “will all be yours soon, my son. You have the world in the mercy of your hands.”

The hot beverage burned his tongue. He reeled back, biting at his tongue in the process of soothing it as he listened to Mei-Mei list his agenda for today. He had just gotten home from Beijing less than an hour ago, and he couldn’t even sleep on the flight because he was swarmed with paperwork and a hundred more proposals to accept. Yet the exhaustion does not show on his face. In fact, there was a not a trace of it. His face remained blemish free and healthy thanks to the dermatologists who always gave him free treatments in exchange of endorsing them – which he never did.

Raising his chin high, he peeked past his shoulder to look at Mei-Mei, who had her tablet tucked in her armpit, silently awaiting his response. “Alert the Board of an emergency meeting within ten minutes, and I want Mr. Ijichi to bring me the real sales report regarding the Wangguo Resort for the past five months.”

Mei-Mei’s gasp is barely audible. Satoru knew his request was absurd, but it was her job to do everything he told her to. If she didn’t, well, the answer was clear as day. She could say goodbye to her lovely job.

Turning his back to her, Satoru scanned his nails lazily. He needn’t worry about anything. He knew Mei-Mei would always do what was needed at the price. But – his eyes narrowed – he was in desperate need of another manicure. Hours spent typing and calculating sales had chipped them, and he had to keep his appearance of a perfect man who had his life together. After all, he was Satoru Gojo – the flawless one. The god walking amongst humans. He could never quite tell when there were cameras ready to catch him off-guard, but he’d never risk that chance.

He had to be without fault.

“An emergency meeting?” Mei-Mei stumbled over her words, chuckling nervously as she swiped at her tablet, looking for a reason as to why he would ask her to do such a thing. Satoru nodded, fully aware that most of the members on the Board were in different provinces out to do their job, but he was the most powerful person in that building.

Nothing was impossible for him. His wishes were the law.

“What for, Sir?”

He slapped a red envelope with a golden seal down his desk, eyes forming into slits. Mei-Mei cowered under his gaze. “When I went to Beijing to check the status of our hotel, I found out that there had been issues regarding maintenance and plumbing reported for five months now, and no one told me about it? I run a five star hotel that exceeds the expectations of even royals, and I won’t forgive this treachery. According to the hotel staff, their supervisor had told them to keep the complaints confidential because they didn’t want me to know there’d been issues in the first place.”

Though he spoke smoothly and did not even stutter or waver the least bit, Mei-Mei had known him long enough to know that even the slightest twitch from his eyes meant he was furious.

This wasn’t the first time your brothers had tried to take whatever was yours in their possession, but the sales report of that hotel had been forged and the Board was aware, yet they did not inform you in fear of what your brother could have done to them.

This wasn’t the first time his staff had kept secrets from him. They all piled up until it became too big to ignore, and then Satoru had to step in. Seriously. Was he a joke to them?

“No, I take it back,” he said suddenly, plastering on a fake smile at his oblivious assistant who tried her best to conceal her relief. After all, Mei-Mei too had been tired with the amount of workload he gave her, but if she wanted remain as a woman with deep pockets, she just had to turn his wishes into reality. “Fire all members of the Board, and blacklist them. Make sure no local or foreign company will ever hire them, but because I am a man of mercy, they can still be hired as waiters or janitors.”

Mei-Mei’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and it looked so comical Satoru would’ve laughed if he knew how to.

Instead, he smoothened out invisible creases from his three piece suit before sitting down, the harsh yet familiar blue light of his Mac desktop greeting him. His fingers skirted along the keyboard in the speed of light, and from his calm state, you would have guessed nothing happened, but this could be his downfall.

He’d always been warned to keep his temper in check, to think things through before coming to a final decision, but why would he?

If his own people would not respect him, then he wasn’t required to return the gesture. After all, he didn’t need them as much as they needed him. He could easily replace the figures making up the Board. But he was the president, the man who made those lazy, fat fucks rich. They had gotten too comfortable with their positions, and he needed to show them that he still held their lives on the line.

That ought to teach them a lesson.

“Sir, please reconsider this and don’t make decisions compulsively. The Board plays a big role in our company–”

“Tell me, Mei-Mei, is a King only considered a king when he has people to serve him?”

She falters for a bit, her eyes watching him cautiously. Satoru leant forward the slightest bit, the black glasses framing his face in a way he looked almost innocent. But the coldness of his eyes were enough of a telltale that he was not someone to be messed with. Aggravation and mirth danced in them almost mockingly. He could read her perfectly – this secretary of his. He’s not stupid; he knows she hates him. And why wouldn’t she? No one liked Gojo Satoru. He was mean, ruthless, and invalidated everyone who he deemed ‘lower’ than him. And yet, he hadn’t met a single person to prove him wrong.

The truth is that no one was as capable of doing things the way Satoru did.

He was the smartest person she’d ever met to the point it was frightening. Satoru always had a solution to whatever situation, with countless of secrets and tricks hidden under his sleeve. And he wasn’t as awful as everyone said he was. Yes, he was ruthless, that much Mei-Mei could admit, but only to everyone who deserved it.

Anyone who didn’t do their job right, or abused their power wouldn’t escape Gojo Satoru’s wrath. Call him a demon, or the devil’s son, but Mei-Mei saw him more of a judge who brought justice and punishment to those who did wrong.

Satoru leant back against his chair, satisfied with her answer before dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “A king remains powerful when his kingdom is omnipotent. I’m glad you understand that now,” he said, head snapping up as he remembered something. “Oh, and don’t forget to schedule a dinner with the others tonight at that new restaurant everyone has been crazing about.”

Mei-Mei nods, pressing ‘cancel’ to the rest of his agenda for the night. She made a mental note to call the restaurant ahead of time to tell them to reserve the place all for Mr. Gojo. Taking one last look at him, Mei-Mei realizes that if she wants to keep working with the devil, she had to stay on their good side.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Boss,” Yuuji whines, pouting as he holds your hands and shakes them in an attempt to make you reconsider. You merely scoff, freeing yourself from the younger one’s grip with a glare. “They said they’ll pay us handsomely if we reserve the whole restaurant for just the night, and I’m afraid we’ll close down if we don’t do what they tell us to. It’s not just anyone, you know. It’s the Gojo Satoru.”

You looked at him disapprovingly before resuming your task of cutting vegetables. “Our shop won’t close,” you reply confidently, “We only take reservations per table, not for the whole restaurant. They should eat somewhere else, I don’t care about the money.”

Of course you knew who Gojo Satoru was – everyone did. It was kind of hard not to know the guy when the entirety of Japan had been in love with him from the moment he was born. That wasn’t an exaggeration, either, because people actually had photos of the heir from when he was still a baby. ‘Such a beautiful boy,’ they cooed upon the sight of his stark-white hair. And when he finally opened his eyes, it was done for – the young Gojo Satoru had everyone wrapped around his finger before he even babbled his first words. So yes, you knew perfectly well who he was, and that was exactly why you didn’t like him.

For such a popular man, his reputation was anything but good.

You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or the restaurant you shed blood, sweat, and tears to build.

You were the newest celebrity chef the world crazed over. Not only were your dishes to die for, but your looks caught the crowd’s attention, too. Pair your introverted, awkward personality with your endless charm shown in your dishes, you quickly rose to fame. Tabloids and magazines alike starved to get a taste of your dishes – a glimpse of you, even. With the latest opening of your new restaurant in the city, people have been coming in endlessly, wanting to see the infamous chef for themselves behind the kitchen.

Yeah, you wouldn’t let that happen.

Unfortunately for the media, you would rather hide behind the kitchen doors than have to go through another dreadful interview. Apart from a few pictures taken by the paparazzi and endless praises from your customers in your skills in cooking, you remained a mystery – something you’d prefer to keep.

Having Gojo Satoru and his ‘peers’ over would completely ruin that.

As much as you loved your career, knowing you made money doing what you loved, you detested the attention it came with being associated with the rich. One day, you were elbow-deep in your dishes, and then you were suddenly being invited to the most pretentious social events. Wealthy people roamed around, content with making the price tags of their clothes their personalities. You didn’t mind at first. It was exhilarating, even, to be thrown into a world so different from the one you were born into. But after one gathering where three wealthy men offered to hire you as their personal chef, and promised extra pay for ‘special services’, you left that world behind.

You swore not to be involved with the socialites anymore, even if it meant more success for your future. You cared less about the money anyway – you were confident in your skills enough to know you could pave your way with your own hands. You would never accept money from their deep, dirty pockets.

 “Boss, you need to see this!” Yuuji whispered harshly, tugging you by the apron. You grumbled upon being separated from your chopping board, but his words fell on deaf ears as you both watched the customers clamor in excitement, phones being pulled out of their pockets. Soon enough, your restaurant drowned with flashing lights, and an equally blinding smile from the tall man who entered, his cheeks flushed from all the attention. “Holy shit. He looks even hotter in person.”

Thankful that you had your contacts on, you could see the scene before you clearly.

The people rose from their seats, eager to have a picture taken with Japan’s most beloved. His security team immediately formed a protective circle around him when the people clamored, the Gojo heir apologizing because he didn’t allow pictures. He claimed tonight was a special night, and he merely wanted to have a private dinner with his childhood friends.

Oh, fucking great. He’s bringing others here, too?

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, two, black and sleek cars pulled up into the driveway. Naoya Zen’in stepped out of the car, shades propped on his tall nose as he smirked at the cameras already being flashed his way. From the other car appeared Noritoshi Kamo, his lips pressed into thin lines while blatantly ignoring the chaos ensued from their mere presence.

Your eye twitched. You could feel a migraine coming already.

To say you feel enraged would be an understatement. You pushed past your crew with a stormy expression, prepared to tell these stuck-up elites to go visit another restaurant. Was it really that hard to give you peace? You never accepted their reservation to begin with. However, you didn’t make it very far when you felt a strong hand grasp your arm.

“Boss, please hold yourself back, it’s just a dinner they’re asking for. If you intervene now, this could cause a public commotion,” Yuuji glances at the three men from the corner of his eye before warning you, “They’re not people you can mess with.”

Soon enough, his former customers had dispersed out peacefully with the assistance of the family’s security team, and he grits his teeth in an attempt to contain his anger for pretentious people like them, watching as they occupied an empty table. One of the waiters approached them nervously, three menus in her hands and she’s about to hand them out when the eldest looking one spoke irritatingly.

You huffed. You hated how he was right. Successful, you may be, but you could never come close to their level of power and wealth.

With an apologetic smile from Satoru – who made four women faint from the sight – your previous customers dispersed with the assistance of Satoru’s security team. You gritted your teeth in an attempt to contain your anger. They were so pretentious! Naoya, especially, flicking two of his fingers at your waiter as a signal to clean up the table he wanted. Scurrying on his heels, your staff nervously approached them while the others cleaned up in the speed of light, and handing them the menu’s with shaky hands.

Noritoshi nodded once at the waiter who approached him, while Satoru paid them no mind as he flicked through the pages. Meanwhile, Naoya clutched the wrist of the waitress who’d handed him his menu, brushing his lips against her knuckles.

You watched as your waitress froze. You were about to push his hand away from her when Satoru beat you to it, his voice icy and his words cutting like a knife. “Can never keep your hands to yourself, huh, Zen’in? With the amount of women visiting your estate, I’d have figured you would know enough to never touch a woman without her permission.”

Naoya scowled, immediately dropping your waitress’ hands before plastering another smirk. “No need to be a killjoy, Satoru. But anyways, what’s the reason for calling us out of the blue? You know well enough I had matters to take care of in Kobe.”

Satoru doesn’t lift his gaze from the menu. “Actually, I don’t know that. I could care less about your schedule. But I figured I haven’t seen my dear old friends in a while and thought a meal would be nice.”

Noritoshi spoke up, and Yuuji whispers to your ear on how he was one of the most popular models in the industry, and third to to them in the top bachelors of the decade. “Cut to the chase, we don’t have enough time.”

“Calm down, why are you in such a hurry? Let’s order first shall we?” You plaster on a disgustingly forced smile, taking the tablet Yuuji hands you as you gravitated towards Satoru. Stupid bastard – he doesn’t even look your way. “We’ll take the Spicy Uni-Lardo Sushi in Lettuce Cups and Foei Gras-Steamed Clams.”

He listed a few more – the most expensive meals on the menu, too – and you jotted them all down with steady hands. Although the restaurant was eerily silent, you could feel the crew’s eyes watching over you from the kitchen like a hawk.

“Will that be all, Sir?”

Satoru hums, waving his hand in the air. “You’re dismissed. Now leave us.”

Your jaw dropped. This little – Yuuji snatched you back into the kitchen, but you’ll be damned if you didn’t defend your honor. Handing their orders to the other chefs so they could get started, you leant against the kitchen doors and peered out from the cracks to eavesdrop.

“Because I treasure my dear friends so much, I won’t waste your time any longer and get to the matters at hand. Naoya, let’s talk about the chain resort in the Wannguo branch, and Noritoshi, here is your lawsuit for fabricating my sales report that’ll land you a free six year vacation in jail.” A white haired woman appeared out of nowhere, pulling out a black envelope with bold letters reading ‘LAWSUIT.’ Satoru swiftly picked it and slid it towards the raven haired man’s way.

Noritoshi gaped at Satoru, “What’s the meaning of this, Satoru?”

“I should be asking you that. Isn’t it not enough for you I collaborated on this project with you? Are you that intent on kicking me out of my own company you’re sabotaging your responsibilities and lounging around in London?”

Deep down, you knew you shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But this was the type of drama you saw only in dramas, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away from them even if you tried.

Upon looking behind you, you saw your crew had paused in their work, too, intent on watching the drama unfold before your eyes. The Gojo Clan were practically royals in the country, always portrayed as indomitable and powerful beyond belief. It seemed hard to believe there were things that got under Gojo Satoru’s nerve, with his friends, no less. Sure, you’d heard Naoya scamming people here and there, along with rumors of Noritoshi abandoning his work in pursuit of pleasure.

And, regrettably, you assumed Satoru wouldn’t be any different than them. Now, you were getting a front seat view of what truly transpired beyond the surface.

Gesturing for your crew to go back to work, they all grumbled but obediently followed anyway. You took your attention off them and glanced back at Satoru, taken aback at the sight of pure irritation for his company – and if you looked a little closer, hurt pooled around those captivating eyes of his.

Perhaps he was human like you after all, and while he didn’t exactly give you a good first impression, you were decent enough to respect this was not something you could keep on wathcing. Resuming your work, you began to heat up the pans, their voices distant yet clear.

“Jail? Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t belong in a place like that!” Noritoshi, the younger one, shouted with an appalled expression, his hands slamming against the table as he sent an almost pleading look at Satoru.

“Then you shouldn’t have fabricated my documents to begin with.”

“Be careful, Satoru,” Naoya warned with a harsh whisper, “We were born with the eyes of the world around us, one wrong move and I’ll have the media ruin your tarnished reputation even more. You may be the richest amongst us three, but don’t think you’re invincible.”

“You asshole,” Noritoshi retorted, thin lips forming into a sneer. “If you were going to file a lawsuit against me, you couldn’t have done it privately? Don’t belittle us, one bad review of this restaurant and this place will burn down to pieces, and I’ll make sure you go along with it.”

Satoru’s melodious laughter made you all pause. “A death threat, how funny! You both truly are so sweet, but let me warn you that I have the press eagerly waiting for my signal, so act on your best behavior and pretend we’re having a hearty meal together,” In a matter of minutes, you interrupted by showing up with their food. Satoru’s eyes lit up as he clapped his hands in faux enthusiasm. “Oh, the food’s here, eat up! My treat tonight since you’ll all be losing your money anyway.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Noritoshi glaring at his plate. Satoru had ordered you to serve him the seafood, and judging by Noritishi paling at the sight of it, he must’ve been allergic. Jesus. If he faints, or worse, dies at your restaurant tonight, it’d be completely pinned on you. You didn’t even do anything to be involved, and yet it seemed as if Satoru was dragging you down with him. Nevertheless, Noritoshi picked up his utensils. The scratching of silver knives against the plate filled the room, accompanied by the soft, jazz music that gave off a false, comfortable atmosphere.

Oh, but it was anything but that.

The tension was so thick in the air you found it hard to breathe. Satoru was like a ticking time bomb, Noritoshi was a few mouthfuls away from turning completely red in the face, and Naoya hadn’t stopped ordering refills of his wine.

Satoru dabbed at his mouth carefully with a napkin. What a shame, he thought. You had such a lovely restaurant, and your food was to die for. He would’ve enjoyed it if it hadn’t been for his so-called friends sabotaging his career.

“Here’s the deal – no, I do not need to make deals with my subordinates – here is what’s going to happen and listen carefully because I won’t repeat it again. Naoya, as from this hour, you are relieved of your duties as supervisor of our resort, but you’re free to have my vacation home there as compensation. As for you, Noritoshi, I’ll burn this lawsuit and forget your crime if you promise not to let even your name be spoken for the whole year. In other words: get out of my sight. Am I making myself clear?”

“How dare you do this to me?!”

“Sit down, Naoya, you wouldn’t want your pretty face to be ruined with that frown. Are we done here, boys?” Satoru enjoyed it, he really did.

To see two powerful crumble before him made him feel things he couldn’t quite put into his words. Entertaining, he called it, to know he was capable of cracking their tough personas. It made him wonder how many more buttons of theirs he could push before he destroyed them completely.

“Yes.” Noritoshi nodded with an almost pained choke, and Satoru leant back triumphantly. Because he was a model and sometimes an actor if he wished, he was more exposed to the media and cared more about his image more than Naoya did, thus making the former easier to manipulate and kneel down to his whim.

Satoru smiled, pleased. “Then you may go. Noritoshi, I’m keeping your car keys under my possession for the meantime, but my chauffeur will gladly chaperone you everywhere as long as I deem it necessary. And Naoya, I already sent my apologies to your escort, she’s as good as a stranger so you don’t have to worry about the press exposing your disgusting behavior.”

The latter looks up from his empty plate with wide, questioning eyes as if to ask how he knew about that, but he had never been a good liar. Satoru knew him well enough that he never took care of business matters and instead spent his days wasting the precious money his family had worked for just to pay the most ‘prestigious’ of escorts. He had a disgusting personality to ever make a woman land willingly in his bed, which is why he resorted to throwing his money just to have someone beautiful in his arms to flaunt off in social events, or warm his bed.

Though not in his line of sight, Satoru knew his bodyguard was watching. He stood up with grace, slapping a wad of cash down the table as a signal of his business finally dealt with. You expected him to leave the restaurant when he surprised you by heading your way. Eyes wide, your hands reached out to feel the doors when Yuuji subtly pushed you towards Satoru.

Oh, dear heavens. Yuuji was right.

The magazines and pictures of him didn’t do him any justice. He was absolutely breathtaking now that he was before you, his cold eyes now holding the tiniest bit of warmth as he regarded you. Back facing the other men, Satoru lowered his head. You stood there with baited breath, your heart pounding in your chest as his lips brushed over your ear. He was close enough that his expensive perfume wafted over you, and you could touch the ripples of his muscles bunching up against his baby blue shirt if you were brave enough to reach out.

“Thank you for the wonderful meal. I haven’t had a proper one since I was a teenager, and please don’t worry about what happened today, you won’t be involved in our personal matters. In exchange for your service, I will pay you generously.”

Satoru took a step back, and you stood there, muted and dumbfounded. You hadn’t expected he’d speak so softly to you when his words were harsh towards his ‘friends.’ And as if realizing the effect he had on you, a smirk ghosted at the edges of his lips. “Mei-Mei.”

Flashing you the best smile he could muster, he extended his hand to the side as his assistant pulled out a cheque. Satoru signed it without taking his eyes off you. He slid it your way, your eyes bulging out when you saw the ridiculous amount of zeroes he’d written on it. Instead of feeling pleased, irritation sparked in your veins.

You pushed his cheque back to his chest. And yes – your theory was proven correct – his muscles were hard and firm underneath that silk shirt. “I don’t need your money.”

You liked to think you had the upper hand when Satoru’s eyes widened by a mere fraction. It must’ve felt like a slap to his face, having someone refuse his money for the first time. But just as it came, the surprise vanished from his handsome face, slowly replaced by a teasing smile. Satoru leaned forward once more, bullying his way into your personal space until you were left with no choice but to share the same breaths of air.

He smelled like leather, wine, and something intoxicating that dared you to have a taste. Just one small taste, even if it meant possibly becoming addicted.

“Uptight and feisty, just how I like it,” chuckling to himself, Satoru draped his discarded suit jacket over his shoulders and sauntered out the door. “Expect me again, Chef. This won’t be the last time we’ll see each other.”

You prided yourself for being someone in control of their emotions.

Yet, you’re overwhelmed by the sight of hundreds of customers waiting in line as they all snap pictures and chatter excitedly among themselves. You frown when Yuuji barges into your office without knocking (a habit that you’ve told him to change, but he never seems to listen) and almost shoves a tablet in your face as he struggled to keep himself on his own toes.

“Boss, you should read this, it’s insane!”

“Gojo approved restaurant of celebrity chef, now a five star restaurant in Tokyo!” You read the headline monotonously, Satoru’s handsome face from that night pasted on the article and waving at the camera. You could almost hear his light, breathy voice telling him that one way or another, he would find a way to pay you. You can’t help but scowl, because out of all things, he decides to pay you with publicity and unnecessary attention.

“‘Members of royal families and prominent leaders from all around the world have been rumored to pay a visit to either one of the five branches of the new rising celebrity chef’s restaurant. Another hit for the Chef!’”

“Isn’t it great, boss?” the overly jovial noy giggled, and you try not to wallow in embarrassment. “That’s not all, watch this video, it was released last week.”

Yuuji clicked on a video clip, and you lean forward, ears intently focused on the footage. You’re not surprised to see Satoru walking down a familiar road inside one of the most well-protected villages. Adorned in a white fur coat with black slacks that hugged his legs perfectly, he approaches the horde of reporters waiting outside the gates with a polite smile. He waves at the flashing lights, careful to show off his Patek Philippe 5004T wristwatch.

Tch. Showy bastard.

“We saw you at The Green Garden last month enjoying a dinner with Naoya Zen’in and Noritoshi Kamo. Tell us, how was the food there?” A report asked, about to shove her microphone in his face that was blocked by his ridiculously muscled bodyguard.

Jeez, you thought, did that guy take steroids for breakfast or something?

“Oh, I don’t have enough words for it,” he purred, and you hold your breath for his next words. You’re a little surprised at how his breathy voice managed to sound commanding and husky at the same time. “When I walked in, the aroma was just mouthwatering, and don’t get me started on the meal itself. It was absolutely delectable, all the flavors practically melt in my mouth, and I don’t think I’ve ever spoiled my taste buds this much.”

Your brows shoot up. Did he mean what he said? People like him rarely spoke the truth – everything was a show for them. He would say whatever appeased the public, and you weren’t sure if he even had the time to enjoy your food considering he was stuck in… quite the predicament. Still, you don’t pause the video, barely hanging at the edge of your seat as you listen.

“I did hear the food there was good, especially since the Chef is quite gaining some popularity over the last few months,” another reporter stated, and soon they were all nodding their heads approvingly. “Still, you’re someone who has probably tasted something better. Would you recommend the Chef’s dishes?”

Satoru smiles, letting his bangs frame his handsome face as he stares right at the camera. You feel your breath get caught in your throat, solely because it felt like he was looking at you. Once again, you’re more captivated by the shine in his eyes, rather than the blinding light of his mischievous smile.

“Of course,” he smirked, “It would be a sin not to have a taste of her.”

Yuuji chokes on his own laughter beside you. He starts shaking you by the shoulders, completely unaware that you’re a goner by now. Everything the younger man says falls on deaf ears. You find yourself too immersed in the video clip, that teasing smirk on his face disappearing as th crowd pushed further and further. His guard steps forward just as Satoru flicks his hair to the side – an action that would’ve been condescending on most, but somehow looked elegant on him – and retreats back to his Audi. Not just any Audi either, but an e-Tron 2010 Spyder Concept.

Meanwhile, you can’t pick what could be hotter – that a man like him had the ability to make your usual indifferent self flustered, or that he drove a classic car instead of a brand-new one.

You shoot up from your seat, eyes narrowed and chest puffed with determination. “I need to go grocery shopping!”

It’s not rare that you went shopping by yourself. Yuuji usually accompanies you to complete the task faster, but you preferred to be alone today to take your time picking only the best ingredients. Not because you wanted to impress a certain millionaire, of course. Or was he a billionaire? You forgot, but he was definitely Japan’s darling, and one word of praise from him now had several bookings sent your way. He’d placed a standard, one you had to live up to.

You had three branches in the entirety of Tokyo, one more in Paris, and another in the Netherlands – the last branch you opened after you fell in love there during your last visit. The country enthralled you with its mesmerizing simplicity and beauty. It felt like a dreamland there, with everything from farm to table, and everyone adored the dishes you came up with. Once you’ve saved up enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life, you planned to live there – to spend the rest of your life in serendipity and contentment – hopefully next to your future husband.

Ever since you received the news (albeit without, the amount of people lining up at your restaurant was a clear tell-tale your sales had been skyrocketing), you admitted you felt pressured. You needed a variety of  ingredients to experiment with, and hopefully add to your menu – something that both common folk and socialites could enjoy. After all, your main goal was to provide a wondrous magic in the form of a plate that was both simple yet luxurious enough to enjoyed as a treat to oneself.

Crossing off the carrot from your grocery list, you keeps pushing your cart through the spacious area. Your attention is divided between reading your to-buy list to surfing through each aisle. There was always a hidden gem if you looked hard enough, and that’s what you needed. A wild card of sorts, a completely never-seen before ingredient used in a new dish.

You’re so immersed with the task at hand you fail to hear the sound of footsteps nearing. Reaching for a bottle of wine (you cringed at the price), another arm shoots forward to reach for it at the same time. You pull back, the skin contact almost scalding to you. You open your mouth to apologize, only to have the words die in your throat when you come face-to-face with him.

Satoru was no less than tall and mighty, his cerulean eyes hidden behind black-tinted glasses. You can’t help but run your gaze over his figure – he’s now dressed in a white button-up shirt tucked in his dark blue jeans. Simple enough, yet you knew the price tags of his clothes would be enough to have you faint.

“Hello.”

“Hello to you too,” he grinned, firmly clasping the wine in his hands. He twists it around, analyzing its content before he hums to himself, pleased. “Great choice of liquor. I highly recommend this.”

The words stumble out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“I had no idea you went grocery shopping– I mean, why would you? You probably have others doing it for you and this is just another pointless, boring task–”

Satoru’s laughter is enough to make you shut up. Yep, okay, you totally screwed it up now. You scold yourself for a split second for being so awkward and not greeting him properly. But then irritation creeps in because you know Satoru isn’t different from the others. You should feel thankful for the publicity, yes, because Satoru’s singlehandedly made you skyrocket into popularity, but your pride told you that you don’t owe him anything. However, all rational thoughts fly out the window when you find yourself joining in his laughter – actually smiling – that you have to physically stop yourself from doing so again.

What the fuck?

You don’t smile. You don’t laugh. Everyone’s called you unpleasant and you take that with your chin held high. Yet somehow… you can’t help it when you’re in his presence.

Satoru tips his head to the side, and you forcibly look away with a clear of your throat. “I’m not shopping,” he says, “I was going to ask you what you’re doing here, but then again, no one goes to the grocery but to shop, right? And you’re a chef, so it’d be a rhetorical question.”

You nod slowly, unsure of what he’s getting at. He still keeps a firm grip on the bottle before he hands it over, making sure to brush his skin over yours in the process. You fight back the urge to shiver. “1949 Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru, a vintage wine whose price was boosted for a post-world war appeal. Only a few hundred bottles are produced annually, and while not exactly scarce, it’s a rare piece.”

You scans the bottle in astonishment, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as you debate whether to buy it or not. A second glance at the price tag and you place it back without hesitation, not caring even if you could afford it, because there was no way on earth you were buying a five thousand dollar drink no matter how good it tasted.

“I take it that it’s not to your liking?”

“I don’t. I’m not much of a drinker anyway,” you reply honestly, mustering all your courage to face him. “If not to shop, then may I ask what you’re doing here?” You look behind him to see if his secretary or guard was around, but he seemed to be alone. As observant as ever, Satoru answers your unspoken questions without missing a beat.

“I’m here for business. This place is mine, and I came here to assess its monthly status.”

You look down at your cart, suddenly feeling small and shy as you mutter, “Of course you own this place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks innocently, and you stumble over your words, your thumb circling your pointer finger nervously.

“I mean,” you start, pointing to the entirety of the brightly lit store that was almost the size of a concert arena. “This is a private membership grocery shop, and only people who are willing to pay a lot can go here. You’ve got many products here that aren’t available anywhere else, and it only makes sense it would be owned by the Gojo Family.”

“Owned by me, actually. This place was built when I took over, the idea entirely mine,” he corrects you and moves past, looking back with a confused expression when you don’t follow. “Well, aren’t you going shopping? Let me help you with it.”

You don’t know why you agree at his offer to help, but you don’t regret a single moment of talking to him. Satoru is stiff and rigid to his core, unlike his ‘friends’, but he was surprisingly a great conversationalist, and silences with him weren’t painfully awkward. He was also a lot smarter than he made himself out to be, but then again, you supposed one had to be intelligent to take over a group of companies at such a young age. And when he tells you deeply regrets not being able to fully appreciate your meals because he had ‘matters to deal with’, you can’t help the light fluttering of your chest that comes with it.

It starts out as slow burn, with a warmth barely felt if you didn’t focus enough. You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started to see him in a different light. In that moment, Satoru suddenly seemed small and almost vulnerable in your sight. Almost human. You can’t help but notice that he has his eyes glued to his feet – not because he’s uncomfortable with eye contact – making sure to not step over the dark lines from the white tiles. He was like a child going through an obstacle race, skipping at one point to another as he talks, and you stood there, wondering – just how much did this young man lose when he had to gain the world?

Through the eyes of the world, he was someone who had it all.

Born in a wealthy family with ancestors who never knew what the word ‘rent’ meant, and simultaneously blessed with good looks, you even remember a few articles written about him. How everyone was in awe and praising him for being a genius, but you believed everything came with a price – even the grandest of blessings.

You could only imagine what he must’ve been through. To be deprived of a normal childhood in exchange of a life of luxury, instead of being able to play under the rain. You could see him locked inside his father’s office, going through financial statements and attending board meetings at the age of sixteen. Meanwhile, you played at the cornfields with kids your age during that time, enjoying your youth and chasing after your passion.

But Satoru? He was constantly judged by the public for a single mistake, thus turning him into a make believe version of perfection.

Due to his lack of knowledge with cooking, he wasn’t of much help when it came to shopping. He was splendid company, however, and you felt soothed by his presence and his expensive perfume. It’s a scent you welcomed wholeheartedly, and so you find yourself asking him if he’d like to have dinner with you – at your restaurant – on a Friday night. When he doesn’t respond right away, you make up a lame excuse that you’re only giving him opportunities to look at the place much better than last time.

It makes Satoru stop in his tracks. You start to take back your invitation at his lack of a response when Satoru suddenly takes your hand in his, his eyes widening at how perfectly they seemed to fit (no matter how cliché that sounded.) He takes in the way your hands were rough and calloused from your labor, how it was a sign of all your hard work. Growing shy, you begin to pull back, but he keeps you in place – unconsciously squeezing your hand tighter.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” he smiles – and this time, it isn’t meant for the cameras. He’s not flamboyantly flashing his pearly whites, or trying to look perfect. It’s just him, with a small, shy smile meant only for your eyes to see. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling shyly before finally – finally – squeezing his hand back.

You tug at your champagne dress uncomfortably. It might’ve been a little too tight for your liking, but Yuuji insisted it was the dress, and no dress would be better for tonight’s dinner. The strapless dress hugged your figure elegantly, the material flowing smoothly as it extends past your knees. Pairing it with some kitten hells, you were confident you cleaned up well – aside from the problem at hand that you couldn’t breathe. You weren’t sure if the dress was too tight, or you were simply too nervous.

You’d closed up the restaurant early in hopes of having some privacy, even going as far to close the velvety black curtains to hide yourselves from prying eyes. But with every minute that passed by, the special dish you’d prepared with your mother’s secret recipe grew cold. Not a single notification beeped from your phone. Not a text, or a call – not even from his secretary. Nothing but pure silence on his side.

Standing up with a grim expression, you pinch the candle to kill the flame.

What were you even thinking? Did you really think someone as untouchable like Gojo Satoru actually wanted to go on a date with you?

You looked around the restaurant that held a special spot in your heart. It might not be up to his standards, but it meant the world you. It was a product of your hard work and passion. This career enabled you to design it yourself, to build it from the ground up. You’ve decorated it solely to impress Satoru for tonight – with golden chandeliers hanging in a waterfall and teardrop patterns, the tables equipped with satin napkins and silverware polished to perfection. All that effort just went down the drain.

Your eyes fall to your wristwatch. Your father leant it to you before you moved to the city to follow his dreams, saying “Keep this, my sweet daughter. Time passes by so fast in the city and I don’t want you to lose a single second of your life. People will always pass by in a hurried blur, or not come at all.”

Isn’t that what you were doing right now, waiting for someone that might never come at all? He was right. You didn’t need to wait around. Satoru had his own life, he belonged to the city and its fast-paced rambunctiousness. You weren’t like him, you reminded yourself. You and him lived in completely opposite worlds.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you sigh and start to pick up the untouched dishes.

Gojo Satoru was a man who lived and breathed along with the city, the erratic pulse of the city lights resembling the skip in his steps whenever the paparazzi caught up to him. Even if you were somehow on par with him with your own successful career, tonight was still a harsh reminder of the fact that there would always be a massive difference between the both of you.

Your purpose was to serve people and give them memories of a hearty meal. Satoru bent people with his own hands, and obviously wouldn’t even give you the time of day. Perhaps you’d read the signs wrong – if there were even signs at all. One praise from him didn’t mean he liked you, after all, and why would he? He’d admitted out loud he couldn’t even remember what your food tasted like. Hours and years perfecting your craft, and he’d forgotten it all because ‘he had matters to deal with.’ God. Did he see you like that, too? Just another issue to be dealt with, another box in his list to be ticked off?

You’re about to throw away the wasted food when the glass doors of your restaurant opened. You stood back, Satoru all but running and heaving so heavily with beads of sweat running down his face.

“Wait,” he gasped out, raising a finger to give him a moment. “Don’t – don’t close yet. Just let me breathe.”

Did he run here?

Frowning, you scan his outfit. He’s dressed up more than usual today, yet his coat jacket is wrinkled and his hair is all messed up, possibly from running all the way here. His baby blue shirt is also damp with sweat. You immediately reach for some towels and make your way to him – reaching up to pat his face dry when the two of you freeze. Your eyes are blown wide, and so are his. His chest staggers with each breath he takes, and delicately, he holds your hand. His brows furrow and he exhales, his breath minty and his scent intoxicating. You’re captivated with every inch of him – from his white lashes, to the slope of his nose, the fullness of his glossy lips.

You never realized how much you’d missed him until you thought he would never come.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice willowy soft. Closing his eyes, he reaches for your hands, burying his cheek into it and pressing a kiss to the insides of your wrist. The action is unbelievably tender, surprisingly intimate, but could anything feel more right? “My latest shipbuilding company just launched, and we had the opening ceremony at my newest cruise. I would have gotten here on time, but the formalities took longer than expected when a Duke came to send his congratulations.”

You open your mouth to say it’s okay, but you know it’s not. He knows it’s not. It’s already midnight and he made you wait for six hours – no calls, no texts, nothing to inform you he’d run a bit late. It makes you feel stupid for taking the time and effort to dress up, enduring the pain of having Yuuji force you to try on different dresses that would suit you best. It’s embarrassing enough that you don’t have friends to share this moment with. The poor boy had been so excited, too, texting you every hour to ask how it’s going. You just didn’t have the heart to tell him Satoru wasn’t coming.

A pregnant pause settles between you. You see Satoru swallow and fidget with his hands, almost as if he knows you’re disappointed in him. You’re really not, though. At least it wouldn’t be disappointment that you’re feeling. You’re just… hurt.

You look at him one last time. You’re about to call it a night, because you’re a person of punctuality, and you don’t take rejection very well – all of which Satoru has made you feel sensitive over. Right now, you feel humiliated and belittled. Like your time wasn’t worth as much as is. But then you see Satoru, the way he folds in on himself, looking down at his feet and gnawing at his feet that you can’t help that maybe he, too, mustn’t have wanted to miss this.

Sometimes it is so easy to forget Satoru was human too. That he struggled as well, that with his power came with the undeniable fact that this friendship – or whatever this budding relationship is – would not be easy.

You sigh, flicking his nose to call his attention in hopes of lightening the mood.

“I understand your work is more important than a dinner with a friend,” you declare slowly, gauging for his reaction. “But out of courtesy, I would have appreciated an early notice if you couldn’t make it on time.”

Satoru’s face lights up. Pleased with your answer, and undeniably taken aback – he was a master in his craft of sales; he knew the right things to say to get whatever he wanted, but social interactions were not his forte. He realizes though, right in that moment, that it’s something he’d like to work on more. He doesn’t want to see that look on your face again when he ran inside – your crestfallen face, a momentary lapse of relief and worry, and now with hurtful eyes.

“I’ll take note of that,” he promises, already moving to pull out your chair for you. “Shall we have dinner, then?”

“Actually,” you start, with a glint forming in your eye. “I think I’d want to have dinner on this cruise of yours, and maybe I’ll forgive you.”

Smirking at your answer, Satoru tilts his head sideways. “It’s not an everyday occurrence that I have to ask for someone’s forgiveness, so I don’t see why not.”

You liked to think you’re a simple person.

You love nature, and hold the firm belief that whatever is done upon you would always return back to the person. You remember crying in your mother’s arms when you were a little girl, frustrated that humans had tortured their own planet and how you wanted to reverse climate change. Growing up in the countryside surrounded by endless fields of crops and an abundance of greenery, the city and its chaos shook you to your core.

The flashing lights felt blinding and overwhelming. You hated the smell of smoke and pollution, feeling suffocated by the change in atmosphere. You found yourself often glaring at the tall buildings that always stood dominatingly over everyone, as if to say that its towering height could only be reached by those select few.

Its owners stood over you like gods watching from the sky, and they had the power to create their own temples that soared all the way to the sky – a galaxy and universe entirely of their own.

Now, you’re not so sure you still hold that same predicament as you take in the blueness of the sea, the salty breeze nipping at your skin. You welcome it with a shrug of Satoru’s coat around your shoulders, so enamored with the sound of waves lapping against each other. You don’t notice the man standing next to you, or the way he studies your reactions with an amused smile. He realizes you look so innocent like this – your mouth curling into small smiles as you point to the dolphins. The realization comes to him like a sudden splash to his face – that he’s never felt this light before, and it’s always only with you.

After taking you to his cruise, you practically pushed him out of the kitchen as you prepared another meal of two. The meal was nothing short of ravishing, making Satoru momentarily forget about table manners as he inhaled it. The expensive champagne and hors d’oeuvres sloshes around his stomach with each sway of the cruise. Dinner had been pleasant; you were a great listener who gave him his undivided attention – the type that made him squeamish because he felt exposed from the core within. He’d grown up used to people eager to please him, but this was the first time someone had listened to him intently with the intention of knowing him. And when you asked what made him sincerely happy, Satoru realizes that he does not have the answer to everything.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, twirling the fork aimlessly as he tries to avoid your prying gaze. “Happiness is fleeting in my world and… I’ve just never found it. My whole life, all I’ve ever done is work and make my business grow, and I guess I’m happy enough with that.”

You hum in response. He looks up to see you gazing at him, deep in thought. You almost looked sad in that moment – sad for him. It isn’t any later that he realizes you sympathize with him, an emotion he’d been alien to. It goes without saying that you felt the emptiness, the hollowness carved out from Satoru’s heart, and how lonely he’d been all this time. And you found it funny, how someone could have so much, and so very little at the same time.

“Come with me.”

He stares at your outstretched hand. It’s difficult to silence all the voices in his head before he places his hands in yours, trying not to melt when you smile up at him. Gently, you lead him to the balcony – the freshness of the air waking him up from his sense. Due to the fact that Satoru was a perfectionist and had zero tolerance, he designed the cruise himself to its glorious beauty. Yet he remained oblivious to the wonders of it all, the beauty of the moment from where he stood. The sea is calm and soothing, the whole expanse of Tokyo – his empire – visible from he stood. He tells himself the night isn’t beautiful because of the romantic lights, or the jazz music playing from the speakers, but rather it’s the celebrity chef who was starting to grow on him.

From the corner of his eye, he watches your smile grow bigger, your cheeks puffing out from the cold. It’s undeniably adorable. Ever since that night he met you, he’d read a few articles about you, and even had Mei-Mei call publishing companies to give him new copies of whoever featured you. You only had a few pictures taken – his shy, sweet chef – always wearing an apron and never a smile.

To see you with your guard down, looking so happy and free, he might’ve gotten his answer that night.

You were his happiness.

“Doesn’t it look beautiful?” you ask him, smile still so wide, and it is evident you adore nature. He makes a mental note to open an orchidarium soon, or perhaps a tea shop with only the rarest of leaves for brewing, silently hoping he’d get to see more of that smile.

“Yes, it does.”

Indeed, you looked beautiful like this. The bright lights of the city painted your skin in a warm glow. You looked like an ethereal combination between sunset and sunrise, and he swore in that moment you embodied the sea itself. You were calm, quiet, reserved – much like him – but you held this aura from your presence alone that made him feel safe; there was something about you that assured him he could just be… him.

You were like a breath of fresh air, and it would be a waste not to breathe you in.

Satoru calls out your name. When you look up at him, the breeze whips your hair to the side, exposing a set of hesitant eyes that makes him take a tentative step forward. It isn’t the wine, or the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He thinks it’s just you that makes him feel this way – undoubtedly whole and alive. He is not a man fond of making mistakes, and he is not about to make one now and not kiss you.

“Can I kiss you?”

He waits for it – waits for you to tease him, that he doesn’t have to ask. But there’s none of that. There is only the sharp intake of your breath, the minute way you grasp your pearl necklace to yourself. “I-I don’t know how to.”

Satoru steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away. You turn rigid despite yourself, feeling his hand cup the back of your neck. You tilt your head sideways to let him have more access, his warm breath that smelled faintly of wine fanning over your skin.

“May I teach you then?”

You whimper in response, and he holds back a groan at the sound, silently wishing to hear more of it from the future. When his pillowy lips press against yours in the first contact, your eyes remain blown wide as you stare back at his closed ones. Fear settles in you that this is your first kiss, and you have absolutely no idea how to do it. But then he pushes back with a little more force this time, and you close your eyes and moan, your lips moving in rhythm with his. Your hand reaches up to fist the silky fabric of his suit that hugged his muscular figure sinfully. He’s firm and solid under your touch, like an anchor holding you down. And his taste – he tastes like everything you’ve ever wished for, everything you’ve ever wanted. He is the wine you get drunk on, the sugar you lick off your lips, and the taste of heaven on this earth.

Satoru swallows the moans you make, his large hands engulfing your face. With each sound you make, his tongue playfully pokes at your lips, begging for entrance. And you let him, melting at his touch and held up only by his firm grip sliding down to your waist.

The first contact of his tongue coaxing out yours to play has you almost quivering under him. Those large hands come up to the bare skin of your back, his cold skin sending a harsh bite to your warm, flustered one as he holds you steadily. Your other hand reaches out to tug at his hair and he groans, a sound so masculine yet so wanton that a flame burns within you. You find yourself battling your tongue with his – a sensual dance where there are no winners. A minute passes before you two break apart, foreheads pressed against each other as you both try to catch your breath.

“Can I keep going?” He asks, his deep voice faltering due to the lack of breath. You feel triumphant knowing you did that to him. Nodding, he places his hands under your ass and squeezes it in a silent command to jump, and you do so with your hands interlocked at the back of his head. Satoru dips down to kiss you again and turns you into a moaning mess. He rocks his body against you, grinds his muscles to the softness of your body, groaning when his erection presses up to your heat. How he managed to pull away in between kisses is beyond you. “Are you sure about this?” He mumbles against your lips.

“Yes,” you plead, crashing your lips back down to his. And somehow, Satoru stumbles to a room where he finally gets a taste of you.

Satoru is woken up by the harsh lights glaring at him.

Groaning, he places an arm above his eyes before deciding to sit up and start his day. The freshly washed linen of the blanket pools at his waist, and he squints his eyes to take in his surroundings. For a moment, the bedroom is unrecognizable, and when last night’s events become clear to him, he chuckles drily to himself.

Had he gone so far that he no longer recognized his own bedroom? But then again, he rarely went home. His properties all looked differently that he wasn’t surprised anymore.

Your neatly folded dress sits at the bedside table. His shirt – nowhere to be seen. He finds his pants at the pile of clothes left on the floor, though, and he quickly puts them on before the amazing aroma of waffles welcomes his senses. Walking out the room, Satoru is pleased by the sight before him – you in his shirt, bottomless, humming to yourself as you expertly maneuver around his kitchen.

Smiling, Satoru walks to the marbled countertops and wraps an arm around your waist. You stiffen under his hold before you realize it’s him.

“Good morning,” he greets, deep voice still a little croaky and you greet him back, resting your chin on his shoulder as he watches you crack some eggs. “Did you get a good sleep?”

You shrug teasingly and brush your lip against his ear, “Kind of hard not to, after last night’s events.” As you expected, his cheeks soon become dusted in light pink and you chuckle, leaning back to his solid chest with warmth blanketing you.

“Sit down, let’s have breakfast.”

Satoru is more than happy to obey. Munching gratefully, the comfortable silence is almost too good to be true.

It’s been months since you and Satoru started going out. You’ve both done a good job at keeping it from the media so far – a mutual decision because you liked your privacy, and Satoru didn’t want anyone tainting what he held close. He’s grown so accustomed to your presence that half of his closet is filled with your things. You basically lived at his house in Tokyo now, and your body just naturally angles itself in a way that allows him to always have him touching you.

Although you still scrunch your nose in distaste at the thousand dollar monotonous paintings that decorate his walls, you like being with him. You soon learn of his weird habit of not closing doors simply because he’s always surrounded by automatic ones, successfully eradicating his attempts at being a gentleman and having him open doors for you, but you don’t mind. Not really.

The past few months have been nothing but eye-opening for him, as he learns to love for the first time, and he could only hope this feeling in his chest isn’t something fleeting.

You were affectionate, never lacking or selfish when it comes to showing him how much like him, and he’ll admit he likes your kisses more than he’d like to accept, and that’s how he knows this relationship isn’t one sided. Still, the small fear that settles at the back of his head remains, that maybe you don’t love him, or at least, you’re not there yet. Watching you prepare his breakfast every morning, however, Satoru’s worries are silenced. He’ll worry about that another time.

He finishes first and moves to do the dishes, the loud running of water muting your hurried footsteps behind his. He can’t help but smile when you eagerly take the sponge from his gloved hands and look at him determinedly.

“What are you doing?” He asks teasingly, and you stick your tongue at him.

“Move, Gojo. We both know you don’t know how to wash dishes.”

Even after months of being with you, he’s still not used to the fact that he – a man everyone admired and – could experience a love like this someday.

You scrunch your nose up cutely that it takes all of his willpower not to bend down and kiss it. “I said move! Scoot your cute butt out of here.”

“Baby, it’s okay, I know you don’t know how to do it and I don’t mind. Besides, I have to learn to do this. What if we get married and have children, I obviously can’t let you do everything by yourself.”

You freeze at his words, your thick-rimmed glasses sliding off your nose awkwardly. Your whole life, you’ve dreamt of love, and imagined settling down and having your own family. Despite your rising fame and success, turning you into one of the wealthiest women in your country, you never planned to live as a celebrity chef for the rest of your life. You wanted to live simply, much like your parents, and to spend the rest of your days in a farm.

You’ve thought it about before, of course, the possibly of marrying Satoru.

But the thought had been too ridiculous at the moment. Satoru was always somewhere far away, rising from his seat with practiced elegance as he received yet another presitigious award for his endless accomplishments. The cameras would be pointed his way, and he basked under the spotlight. He thrived in it.

Your silence doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He watches as you revert back to your expressionless face, eyes looking directly forward at the white tiled backsplash of his sink that you know cost thousands. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

And it is true, you aren’t bothered by the least bit. Surprised, definitely, but you’re beyond elation at this point. You realize it doesn’t matter that you probably won’t get to live the life you want if you marry him – because he’s all you want. If giving it all up meant being with him, you would do so in a heartbeat.

Which is why you grit your teeth silently as you attend your first ball overseas, latched onto Satoru’s arm. You don’t miss the way everyone scrutinizes the seemingly average looking woman next to Japan’s darling.

Satoru doesn’t notice that you’re a bundle of nerves. He smiles brightly at the multitude of cameras pointed your way, making sure to show off the Gojo heirloom he decorated you with. It’s a gold ring with a hundred mini diamonds encrusted in it, the characters ‘Gojo’ engraved underneath. A horde of reports soon come into view, and instinctively, you duck your head when the lights become overwhelming. They all spew out questions asking since when the two of you have been dating – and this is the part you hated the most.

The part where your life becomes a piece for the people to feast on, instead of something you made for yourself.

You opt to stay silent and let Satoru answer everything. He isn’t fazed by the least bit, answering them confidently, although not giving away too much personal information. He tells them you’ve been dating for a year now, and it’s evident in his eyes that he feels strongly for you. Not a moment later, the cameras pan your way, the people eager to hear your side of the story.

“Chef, how have you managed to steal his heart?”

“As the old saying goes, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” you tell them, your heart beating a mile a minute from the discomfort of too much attention. You turn to your fiancé in hopes of consolation. He smiles at you encouragingly, the warmth and adoration pooling behind it immediately dissipates your nervousness. “As long as it’s for him, I don’t mind going to the moon and back.”

They seem satisfied with that answer, and you find yourselves in the front cover of both local and foreign magazines, the world crazed about the latest couple.

Satoru is lying on his tiger fur rug with crossed legs, leafing through every page of your photo album. His free hand absentmindedly rubs circles where it’s settled at your hip, the sound of his breathing steady and almost lulling. Yet, you’re bothered by everything lately – how you’re being reminded of everything you don’t like about this world – his world.

They don’t even know the real you. How could the world go from praising you for your skills in cooking, to being both shamed and admired for being engaged to Satoru? Your heart clenched at the multiple headlines that called you a gold-digger.

As if you didn’t have your own money.

“Hey,” Satoru mumbles, twisting a little from his position. You’re looking at everywhere but him, your heart heavy and mind a mess. It’s too late when Satoru notices the dark circles rimmed under your eyes, and he cups your face worriedly, tilting your chin to make you look into his eyes. Your own face has fallen, your eyes sad. He immediately feels guilt, unaware of what he made you endure at his expense.

Perhaps he wasn’t as observant as he claimed to be. Ever since he’s announced your relationship, you’ve received countless criticism from the public. Satoru never said a word about it, thinking these strangers’ words wouldn’t affect you, or that it didn’t matter because who were they, anyway? And you never spoke about it either, not wanting to put a heavier weight on his already burdened shoulders.

“I’ll take care of it, alright? I promise.”

You know what he means.

It means he’ll end up spending a lot of money – although to him it’s probably just a penny – as he has Mei-Mei get rid of those negative articles. You know he has enough power to shut down even an entire publishing company who attempted to say anything bad about you. You don’t want him doing any of that, abusing his power and throwing around his money just because he can.

Shaking your head, you reach forward and press your face against his chest. “You don’t have to do that. I just have to prove to everyone I am worthy of you.”

It is way past four in the morning, and you wake up with a stir, only to find the light of Satoru’s laptop illuminating his worn-out face. In front of him are a plethora of reports, glasses perched on top of his face. You sit up with a stretch, and he jumps a little at the movement.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No,” you answer, rubbing your eyes tiredly and looking at his work. You don’t understand half of it, but you knows it’s something about a new hotel he’s planning on developing somewhere in the country. “It’s late. Why are you still working?”

“Business is business,” he shrugs, focusing his attention back to his work. The development plan has just finished, and the cost of construction is nothing but another penny less to his account.

The silence in the room stills. You strain your ears to listen to the sound of a faint clock ticking, Satoru’s steady breathing calming your nerves. His eyes are droopy and tired, and he lets out an exhausted sigh. Reaching over to pull the laptop away from him, you gently place your head above his beating heart. His shirt smells faintly of floral detergent, and you fist the fabric underneath your fingers.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to.

He places a soft kiss at the crown of your head, once, then twice, and a small smile fights through your face. The rhythmic thumping of his heart is just underneath your open palm, and you realize that Satoru is like the man-made river outside your house. He is calm, steady, always lulling you into a state of relaxation, and the music that is his love hums softly through your nerves until he places himself inside your heart.

The darkness of your room is a huge contrast to the flashing lights always directed his way, but it fits perfectly. Satoru is silent, even if he always brought attention to himself, and his muscles are firm underneath your touch.

His bicep curls around you to wrap you in a one arm embrace while his other hand rubs your back soothingly, and your bare thigh brushes against his groin. An innocent and accidental gesture, but it has your nerves firing up, and it just occurred to you how small you seem inside his arms. You found it funny, since Satoru could threaten to take away everything from you, yet you don’t feel like that around him. Here, you feel safe, warm, accepted.

You nuzzle closer to him with a frown.

“Take me somewhere.”

His chest vibrates with a hum, “Where do you want to go?”

“Take me to where your heart desires. Show me where you want to spend the rest of your life.”

Satoru can’t contain the smile that graces his face, and he holds your hand as you stare at Leiden in awe. He’s decided to take a one week break, and soon the two of you were nestled against each other in his private jet, and he’s not sure if he’s ever felt this happy before.

He learns that you love art and fancy medieval paintings the most, and you bounce happily when he takes you to one of the art museums.

Leiden is rich in history and culture, that much is evident with how the people still keep their traditions alive, and while it is still quite a popular city, the toned down bustling of people will always be a much preferred scene for him than Tokyo. The two of you have rented a bike to Noordwijk Beach, and you make him promise to swim with you there the next day. Wordlessly, he nods, basking in the way the warm light emitted from lampposts turns you into an ethereal being.

After returning the bikes into the rental shop, you swing your intertwined hands back and forth, pointing excitedly and exclaiming your delight at the lakes that surrounded the city.

A windmill sits in the middle of the city, and Satoru falls in love with the place even more. A smile is permanently etched into your face, and his heart manages to stutter even after being with you for so long, but he can’t help it. Lifting your interlocked hands to his lips, he kisses your palm, a fine pink dusting his cheeks as you stare at him incredulously. A moment passes before you giggle, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.

Satoru didn’t know it was possible to blush even harder.

His stomach growls in hunger and you chuckle, leading him to one of your restaurants. Your waiters and chefs greet you excitedly, surprised that the owner dropped by unannounced. You lift a hand to tell them not to worry – you’re not here to evaluate anything. You’re simply on vacation, and you had full trust in your people. The pleased look decorating the customer’s face said enough that you didn’t have much to worry about.

Shrugging off your coat and placing it on the back of your chair, Satoru watches as you place your head in your palms, eyes directed outside the window. Outside lay the lake and a bunch of canoes housing the body of water, old couples walking around with wines hidden in paper bags, and the soft chatter and melodious laughter ringing from every corner of the place has him believing that perhaps this is paradise.

“Have you ever been before?”

“Once,” he replies with a small smile. “I came here for business. That hotel is mine.”

He points to a building that resembles a medieval castle, and you adjust the glasses perched on your nose to see it better. “Why am I not surprised?”

Letting out an amused laugh at your question, the both of you soon dig into the dish, bellies rumbling in satisfaction. You are half drunk on the way back to the small villa you rented, and he doesn’t question why you didn’t choose to stay at his hotel instead. There’s a little tumble to your steps as you stagger forward, mumbling incoherent words. Satoru presses you closer to his warm body to prevent you from falling forwards, his eyes crinkling when you tell him how much you love him. His heart whines at your words, because you’ve never told him that, and even though you’re drunk, he thinks he will be as equally euphoric if you tell him sober. He actually feels a little ashamed you said it before him because he’s planning to tell you sooner than later, and he clears his throat before pulling away from you.

You frown at his action.

Licking his lips nervously, Satoru pulled out a velvet box and went down on one knee.

“I know you’re drunk and this ring is a little too expensive than you’d like, but I don’t think there’s a better time for this, and we’ve been dating for so long that I just wanted to let you know–”

Grumbling in annoyance under your breath as an attempt to conceal your shaking knees, you lean down and pull him harshly by his collar to press your lips against his.

Satoru stiffens underneath your touch. He stops breathing, eyes wide from surprise. You only pull away when he doesn’t respond, your glasses sliding off your nose and bumping into yours. He lifts a hand to his wet lips, looking at you like you’ve just assaulted him, and judging by how plump lips looked red and swollen, you probably did. Not that he’d complain, of course.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

Satoru lets out a nervous laugh that is laced with elation, his breath coming out in cold fogs due to the cold weather. His hands are shaking as he struggles to wear the ring around your hand, to which you roll your eyes and wear it yourself. He looks sheepish for a moment, scratching the back of his head, but you can’t find yourself to care.

This is where you belong, with him, in Leiden, and little did you know that you were fulfilling his dreams one by one.

The both of you walk back home with bashful grins coated in glee.

Satoru feels stupid that he suddenly feels shy. It would be a lie to say he’s dreamt of this ever since he was a child because he grew up knowing very little of it. He’s never dated nor felt any attraction for someone, always focusing on his work and further expanding the business to the best of his abilities. He never dreamt marrying for love could be a possibility. That this was now his reality. And when you steal a peck to his cheek that makes his face heat up further, he realizes nothing has ever felt more right.

You’re the only one he would ever need.

To say that you’re ecstatic to plan the wedding would be an understatement. Ever since you came back to Tokyo with hearts overflowing with joy, you could no longer contain the love you had for your fiance. You’d been looking at endless articles of what makes a wedding perfect, and you already had your wedding dress in mind.

The food tasting appointment you had this weekend was on hold since Satoru still had a tight schedule, something about the launch of a new resort in Bali, but he comes back to you with tired eyes and a satisfied smile.

“Hey,” you greet, rising from the couch to help him with his bags. Not that you needed to, Mei-Mei and Toji were already taking care of them, but you still wanted to be of help. Shrugging off his coat, Satoru plops down the couch with a groan. “Long day?”

He pops one eye open to offer a languid smile, “Long week, babe. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you mumble, going behind him and massaging his stiff shoulders. Satoru lets out a moan at the sensation. And you? You can’t help but smile when you see that your engagement ring is still wound around his finger, and you wonder if the press had already noticed and started making a fuss about what you knew would be the wedding of the century.

Truth be told, you preferred the wedding to be small – with just your family and close friends. Satoru didn’t have any, but you respected his decision of hiring a wedding planner whose service cost a million. You protested at first, thinking it was unnecessary, but Satoru had already given you the check. The wedding planner seemed genuinely pleased to be working with you as well, leaving you with no other choice but to press your mouth into a thin line.

Ah, now that you think about it… “Are you free this Thursday? I wanted to introduce you to my parents.”

He stands up from the couch and walks to your shared bedroom, gently dragging you along with him. “Introduce me? Shouldn’t your parents already know me?”

You force a small smile as you bury yourself underneath the covers. “I meant formally, they’re going to be your parents soon, too.”

“Okay… talk to Mei-Mei to schedule that.”

You fight the urge to raise a brow. You couldn’t see the need to talk to his secretary to have time with your fiancé, but like you have been doing for the past few months, you only nod. Satoru wraps his arms around your waist after that, and it doesn’t take long before sleep blankets you both.

Somehow, you’d always known.

A relationship with Satoru wouldn’t be easy. There was too much unwanted attention and too little time to be with him. But he was worth the wait.

+

The food tasting went well. He ended up being more than pleased at your food choices, and you even bump your hips against his. Satoru wanted a cake that was two feet tall, with golden drapes hanging from the rods, silently demanding for caviar to be included. You shrugged it off, not minding his preferences as you continued speaking to the chef. The poor man had been trembling ever since Satoru walked in the kitchen, his phone pulled out and constantly interrupting the tasting as he speaks to his clients.

You felt bad for the old man, you really did. He was far more skilled than you, and you shook his hand politely before walking back to Satoru’s limousine.

It was finally time to meet your parents.

Reaching out for your fiancé, Satoru flicks your hand away. He shoots you an irritated look as he gestures to his phone, as if to say not to interrupt him during an important phone call. Reluctantly you retract your hand, biting the inside of your cheek as you let him go back to his business. Hurt and undeniably upset, you distract yourself with the small iPad on the seat in front of you, watching a lame show about fashion runways and whatnot.

“Yes, I know,” Satoru says through the phone, exasperated as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean he can’t make it on time? He needs to be there to check the labels – you know what? Whatever, fire him, I’ll go there myself.”

Sensing his distress, you turn to him. He’s huffing and crossing his arms against his chest, a livid expression on his face. You don’t ask what happened because you know you won’t understand. You’re only happy Satoru finally lets you hold his hand. Pressing his head against the seat, Satoru squeezes your palm, watching as the familiar buildings of the city soon blur into a scenery of corn fields and flowery land.

To be truthful, you think he’s a little too overdressed for this occasion. He’s wearing the latest Burberry collection, the shades he’d pulled to shield his sensitive eyes from the sunset a little too… flashy. But, you thought to yourself, Satoru could do whatever he wanted.

Finally, after a long and grueling car ride that seemed to last forever, you reached your destination.

You immediately run to the farmhouse, leaving behind Satoru in your excitement. You’d been away from your parents too long that you missed them dearly. Behind you, Satoru tries to keep up his face – gladly welcoming the fresh air. From afar, the door to your house opens as you tackle a small, older woman into your arms.

Satoru’s gait is slow, precise, and elegant. He walked with purpose, standing behind you silently as he witnessed the sweet exchange between you and your mother. It’s then he notices, when your mother looks up from your shoulders, that her eyes twinkled the same you did whenever you saw him. She’s sweet, and a little too bubbly, as she welcomes him to your humble home.

And as if you’ve sensed his uneasiness, you look back to Satoru and offer an encouraging smile.

The entirety of your house is as large as his bathroom. And your couch squeaks uncomfortably when he sits on it. The leather is tattered and foam springs out from the little cracks and you almost look embarrassed, but he kisses your cheek to reassure you he doesn’t mind. Your father soon emerges from the kitchen holding a fresh pot of tea that he offers, and Satoru takes a hesitant sip – your family anxiously gauging his reaction.

The tea… It was actually sweet and better than anything he’s ever had, and when his cheeks start to warm from the attention, you all start laughing for no reason.

Satoru joins in the laughter. He doesn’t know why he did when he found nothing funny, but felt that it was the most appropriate reaction.

It was no wonder then that you were such an amazing chef. You must’ve inherited it from your father’s impeccable cooking skills. The stew he prepared was amazing, and Satoru had to control himself from slurping the beef stew – it tasted that good. Dinner was absolutely amazing, and you kept laughing and smiling from your seat as you conversed with your parents. Satoru doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this happy.

The baby pink turtleneck sweater you wore highlighted the softness of your heart, and even a blind man could see you really missed your parents. He felt like a stranger then; someone who watched from the outside as your mother reaches over the table to wipe a rice grain from the corner of your mouth. You whine at her gesture, obviously not wanting to be treated like a little kid.

“Mum, that’s embarrassing. I’m with the love of my life, you know,”

He almost chokes at his spoon when you say that, and your mother grins at him. “I wouldn’t worry about that, my dear, it looks like he really loves you no matter what.”

“Yes, Mother,” he agrees, squeezing your thighs from under the table, “I really do.”

There was a warmth in your home that he’d never known, and laughter was always present. Much like you, your father was a man of few words and passed out on the couch after three bottles of soju, leaving you and your mom to clean up after dinner.

Satoru offered to help, only to receive amused glances as if you knew he couldn’t do it. Embarrassed, he excused himself as you cleaned up, and sat on the curb outside your house.

From his peripheral vision, he could see Toji beside the car, standing tall and straight. The cold breeze from the countryside made his dark hair blow across the wind. As if feeling there were eyes on him, Toji peered at Satoru, nodding politely before looking straight ahead. His suit was Giorgo Armani, the one he’d gifted him on his birthday last year. He’s well-aware that Toji ended up making more money driving for him than you ever could with your restaurant.

And this was his reality. This was his world.

Someone like Satoru shouldn’t be sitting on the molded curb of a farmhouse with nothing but mountain and hills surrounding him. The moon and the stars were the only things that gave light to the field, and it was too humble for his liking. He didn’t belong here – that much was clear – and even the scarecrow standing a few feet away from him seemed to agree with its mocking glare.

Much too soon for his liking, Satoru feels a wool sweater being wrapped around his shoulders. He turns to you, a smile already on your face as you plopped down beside him. Playing with your fingers, you keep your gaze down at your feet, hesitant and nervous.

“Satoru… I know you won’t like it, but I’d like to wear my Mom’s wedding dress. It’s fine if you say no, I know you had Vera Wang make an entire collection for me already, but I thought I had to let you know…”

Satoru starts to play with the straw in front of him. He sighs, fiddling his smooth fingers around it before he clutches your hand in his lap. He’d held you a thousand times before, and yet he couldn’t remember if your skin was rough or smooth – only that it felt warm and he liked holding it. And as if he couldn’t help himself, his gaze studied you – how your boots are a little too big on your feet, and you smelled faintly of hay unlike the Maison Francis Kurkdjian perfume he’d gotten you. It was limited edition, too, and he’d had to pull strings just to get you one.

And you couldn’t even wear it for tonight.

An almost choked sob leaves his throat, his heart clenching uncomfortably. He did want you to wear your mother’s wedding dress. Being here, away from the press and businessmen who always tried to mess up his deals when he worked honestly, made him feel like for once – he was a normal human being. That he wasn’t some god whose footsteps were worshipped.

Your mother had welcomed him warmly, and she didn’t even gush about the expensive fabrics of his clothes. She saw him as if he was her own son, and he supposed soon enough he would be, but would he be good enough? She’d raised her daughter as a warm, loving, and humble person. You were down to earth and loved to stay solid and grounded – Satoru was a man who always reached for the stars.

What did that make you then? His fall from the heavens?

Satoru wonders how much of his thoughts were written on his face. You watched him, brows dipped downwards with a clenched jaw. He knows you’re fighting back something to say.  He was too familiar with that look – since Mei-Mei always looked like that. The type of expression etched into his employees’ faces when he shouted at them for their incompetence, and they felt the need to defend themselves. They never did, out of fear Satoru would fire them.

Although you never said it, your face said it all.

He remembers the longing gazes you had to the farmhouses in Leiden with its windmill barns, or how your smile got bigger when a cute kid walked by and waved at you both. You don’t need to say anything because he knows what you’re thinking – that you’re blinded by your love for him.

He still remembers that damned event when your grip on his cat got a little tighter, how your hairline beaded with sweat as you kept fidgeting. You’d been uncomfortable that night, as you always did when you were in his world. You weren’t like this – placid, unreserved, happy.

And now he’s in your world. The words bubble up in your throat, wanting to wipe that disappointed look in his handsome face. You knew even if you say it now, Satoru wouldn’t listen or understand. And it’s funny – how he asked you to marry him, and how willing you were to give up on your dreams if it meant being with him. Even if it meant throwing yourself into unwanted attention, only to be criticized mercilessly – because that’s what it took to be with him.

He was a man with an empire, but with it came the price of being someone who destroyed others.

Somehow, it never crossed your mind it might include you, too.

“You’re right,” he says after a moment, “I would rather you wear Vera Wang’s gown. I hope you don’t find any offense in it, but our wedding will be the wedding of the century. I can’t have you wearing a nameless gown when the whole world will be looking.”

Your grip on his hand tightens for a second before it loosens. Satoru watches, with a heavy heart and an aching soul, as you nod slowly. Forcing a smile on your face, you stood up and walked away from him. You bid your farewells soon after that, with Satoru cringing the moment your parents began to refer to him as their ‘son.’

The whole ride back home is silent.

You’re passed out on his side, your soft snores filling the silence. Satoru reaches over to caress your cheek before leaning back in his seat, clenching his teeth hard to stop the tears from falling. He couldn’t put it into words – the air of finality settling over you once you reach his penthouse.

You’re exhausted from the day, stripping your clothes off before burying yourself under the covers. Your arm seeks out the familiar feeling of having him close next to you, and he indulges you, burying his face against the crook of your neck one more time – one last time. When you mumble his name in your sleep, Satoru swallows the lump forming on his throat, biting down on his lip before gazing at you – knowing you’d been his, knowing he’d miss this. Miss you.

And perhaps that’s what hurts the most – that he’s already missing you when you’re pressed up next to him, that he’s already mourning the presence of someone who he hasn’t lost yet.

But he knew, the end was inevitably near.

So he kisses you, long and hard enough that it hopes it leaves an imprint. You’re unaware of it all, still deep in your slumber even when his eyes betray him and a tear falls. The teardrop lands on your cheek before it slides down your jaw.

Above you, Satoru’s shoulders are shaking and he wants to laugh – because he’s never cried before. He’s never cried when his own friends tried to sabotage him. He’s never cried when the whole world called him a heartless demon walking in the body a wannabe man. He never cried when the world misunderstood him, yet here he was, perfectly content being in your arms, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

For once in his life, Satoru wanted to do what was right. If he couldn’t stop himself from ruining things and hurting those around him, then perhaps this time around he could prevent the only good thing to ever happen to him from shattering.

No amount of money would be able to give you what you truly wanted, and that’s all he had. Satoru had nothing but money, had nothing but it to offer aside from giving you back your freedom. He may be the one that you loved, and for that he would always be grateful, but he was also old enough to know that sometimes, love simply wasn’t enough. You had your own world, and Satoru had the entire universe.

The only world where the two of you could live happily was the one you spent apart from each other.

Unwrapping his arm around yours, Satoru silently trudges to the bedside table to wear his coat and shoes. Giving you one last glance, he takes off his engagement ring, and places it beside the framed photo of you and him in Leiden – this time with no flashing lights.

[muxshwriting]

money, money, money

modern!au Aleksander Morozova x reader

summary: marrying the heir to the morozova fortune was for so much more than the money || warnings: Baghra is a bitch || words: 1072 || masterlist

Aleksander Morozova was the prolific heir to the Morozova fortune, despite a very public argument with his mother. His grandfather, Ilya Morozova first gained fame through his inventions aimed at helping the ‘average man’. Of course, his inventions weren’t the beginning. His true wealth was stolen from the collapsing Soviet Union after Ilya took his family to America to live the dream. Nonetheless, his American dream was realised in the founding of Morozova Industries.

There was no doubting that Ilya Morozova was a very influential person in the technological industry, often being the forbearer to the most successful methods and practices. When Baghra took over the majority of Morozova Industries, she changed several things, aiming the inventions at the upper classes of society and neglecting the working class man that Ilya had once helped. These changes brought in the millions that made the Morozova’s a family name. Even Ilya couldn’t argue against his daughter’s methods, they were very rewarding.

But Baghra had fallen for a man who didn’t care about success and longevity, just the money it brought in. He married Baghra for her money but she was too in love to care. That was until he left her with a five year old Aleksander and took half of everything she worked so hard to earn.

But when Aleksander came of age and was being trained to take over the company, he held a very different view than his mother. He was much more similar to his grandfather, wanting to help everyone, not just the highest bidders. Aleksander did not keep his opinions private. He often spoke to the press about what he would like to change when he was head of the company.

Baghra hated Aleksander. He was trying to destroy everything she had created, spend all the money she had made. Ilya, on the other hand, loved his grandson and professed his wishes until his dying breath, leaving everything to Aleksander. See, despite running the company, Baghra did not own Morozova Industries. So when Ilya sadly passed away, the company and its control was immediately passed to Aleksander.

His retribution was swift and imminent. A month later, Baghra had nothing left and Aleksander had everything he wanted. Then he met you…

You, an owner to another tech company. It wasn’t anything big, but you had built that company from the ground up and perfected your craft. It was your wish to collaborate with Morozova to create and distribute your products to a wider audience than you could do alone.

You had captured his attention immediately. It wasn’t just your proposal, which encapsulated the values Aleksander valued most, but it was simply you. He asked you out for drinks after the meeting, wishing to know you better. As your collaboration continued, the drinks turned into dinners, dinners turned into evenings at your apartments (Aleksander’s penthouse and your meagre two-bed). Those evenings became something you looked forward to and they only seemed to increase in frequency. You now had a spare change of clothes at Aleksander’s in case you spent the night there.

It was all so natural that nothing changed after you stopped working together. You still stopped by with his coffee every morning and his thank you’s eventually changed to small pecks on the cheek to a small kiss on your lips. There was no need to rush into things, no need to panic. Love was easy when you let it be.

It’s one night in bed with Aleks that he rolls over and whispers into your hair. "Let’s get married."

You don’t even have to think. Love was easy, after all. "Yes."

Aleksander initially thinks it should be a grand affair, a day to celebrate you and him. However, the more he thinks, the more he despises that idea. He just wants to celebrate you. There doesn’t need to be anything huge beyond a few select friends and a perfect time. That perfect time occurs when you find yourselves in Las Vegas for a tech conference. All your friends, as owners and stakeholders of other companies, are there with you.

"Let’s get married now. Fuck waiting."

You glance around, nodding. "Everyone’s here that you want?" You’re silently asking him if he wants Baghra here but he’s made up his mind.

"I’ll text Ivan and David, if you can call the girls?"

You nod, barely holding back a smile before taking off down the hotel corridors back to your room. The girls all answer the group call and you share the exciting news.

"Aleks and I are getting married here in Vegas, we’d love you all to come?"

The screams down the phone are coming from Alina and Genya as Zoya simply laughs at their antics. "We’ll all be there, don’t you worry."

You pull a simple white dress from your luggage, meant for a party night but perfect for your impromptu wedding. You know Aleksander will do something more formal back home where you can wear your dream dress, so you’re not too worried. The girls are waiting for you in the foyer and Genya has somehow sprouted a bouquet for you.

The chapel is quaint but it’s the man at the end of the aisle that you’re focused on. You can barely hear the officiant pronounce you husband and wife before he’s pulling you close and smashing your lips to his. That night is the craziest thing you’ve ever seen, you visited every bar along the strip, dancing until your feet ached and spending the whole time immeasurably happy.

Two weeks later, Aleksander comes home later than usual. "Darling?"

"Yes?"

His expression is grave. "The Vegas pictures got leaked."

Then the headlines arrived:

MILLIONAIRE MOROZOVA MARRIES COMPETITOR Y/L/N IN SECRET VEGAS WEDDING

SHOCK: MOROZOVA HEIR OFF THE MARRIAGE MARKET TO RIVAL BUSINESS OWNER

MOROZOVA MARRIED: WHO IS THE NEW MONEY-HUNGRY MRS?

You’re scrolling through the news stories that have popped up in a matter of hours. "I guess the world knows."

"My mother has already called." He says, grimacing. "She lectured me about how you’re using me for money like my father did with her before I could put the phone down."

"Did she realise that I owned my own successful business for years before I even met you?"

He hums. "She never was the smartest woman alive."

You nod with him, kissing him sweetly. "It’ll never be about the money with you Sasha. You’re more than that."

AHHH, finally something that's not based on hozier. I am however revealing my deep-rooted love for ABBA now

taglist: @aoi-targaryen

[weatheredfailnot]

Please take these sections from EE3 on the Shadowkeeper (Cylva) because I love her so dearly

Transcript below:

A NAME SPOKEN IN WHISPERS

Around the time Ardbert and his comrades left Tomra, they stumbled upon evidence of the larger design. Threads linking together the disparate troubles of the realm. A name spoken only in whispers— the Shadowkeeper.

A singular force sowing chaos and discord throughout Norvrandt to an unknown end.

During Nyelbert's search for an energy source to replace the crystal he shattered, he began to suspect that the now-lost stone was not, in fact, a naturally occurring mineral, but rather had been deliberately placed under the mountain. Pursuing the truth of that theory led them to discover a connection to Lamunth, the gem counterfeiter whom Ardbert and Lamitt apprehended so long ago in Nabaath Areng. When they visited Lamunth's gaol cell to interrogate him, however, they found the man convulsing on the floor and frothing at the mouth. Ere the poison took his life, he managed to sputter the name of the Shadowkeeper. Further investigation revealed that this sinister figure had ordered Lamunth to secret the crystal in the mine shafts, and in return rewarded him with the illusory magicks he would employ in his forgeries.

They also came to learn that Tadric, the mastermind behind Voeburt's monstrous plague, had not worked alone. Research documents recovered from the court mage's laboratory mentioned the Shadowkeeper by name, the meticulous entries describing how the arcane lore shared by his co-conspirator had contributed to the completion of his transformation magicks.

The mining industry of Nabaath Areng threatened with demolition.

A scheme culminating in the death of Voeburt's royal heirs. The Shadowkeeper had plotted the downfall of two mighty nations, and Ardbert's band feared that Lakeland, the third of Norvrandt's major powers, would be next.

Lo and behold, a rebellion erupted in the home of the elves. The reigning king was deposed, and the Shadowkeeper, their heretofore faceless nemesis, took the throne.

The elven king, Lelfrey, was a passionate proponent of the arts- music and dance in particular- with his focus on such refined pursuits earning him equal praise and scorn. His was a peaceful rule, free of war and strife, but this passivity cost his kingdom dearly in matters of foreign diplomacy. A poor negotiator, he ceded border territories to Voeburt to avoid conflict, and signed an economic agreement with Nabaath Areng that put Lakeland at a clear disadvantage.

As these political blunders chipped away at the nation's authority, a sentiment of discontent among Lakeland's high-ranking nobility began to fester and grow. Traditionalists dreamed of a return to the golden age when all of Norvrandt lay under their control, and it was the Shadowkeeper who granted them the power to act. Rumors that this new player was the king's bastard child ran wild, and, true or not, served to unify the disgruntled nobles under a single banner. They indulged in treachery to undermine rival nations, while at home, their assassins targeted influential royalists. The scene was set for revolution.

The Shadowkeeper was attended by two dark-robed mages, by whose malevolent arts the traditionalists were empowered. One of their gifts was lupine transformation, a change which granted the recipient preternatural strength and agility. Thus bolstered by a company of these wolfman soldiers, the Shadowkeeper's faction stormed Laxan Loft and captured the royal seat for their leader. No sooner had the winning side declared a new age of glory for the elves than did they muster their forces and launch an invasion into Voeburtite lands.

Caption reads: The Shadowkeeper emerged amid blood and chaos, a formidable and enigmatic figure perpetually encased in stygian plate armor. Similarly clad in midnight raiment, the Shadowkeeper's forces inspired terror in all who witnessed their advance.

THE BATTLE OF LAXAN LOFT

The heroes were poised to continue their search for Nyelbert's replacement stone in Nabaath Areng when the silver-haired Cylva abruptly left the party. The swordswoman excused herself on the premise that she wished to reconnoiter the troubling situation in Lakeland, but in truth, she was hurrying back to don her black armor, unsheathe her blade, and lead the elven traditionalists in their rebellion. Cylva, the great deceiver, had been the Shadowkeeper all along.

She was, in truth, no bastard child of King Lelfrey-that was merely a fiction concocted by Mitron and Loghrif, her Ascian accomplices. Her true origin lay in the Thirteenth, where she had died young and powerless, an unrealized champion of the reflection-turned-void. The Ascians had found her in the moment of her demise, and it was they who brought her soul to the First to serve as a pawn in dark machinations.

Cylva was to insinuate herself into Ardbert's band, and guide them along the path to becoming Warriors of Light. That which they cast aside in their journey towards heroism, she would take into herself, growing ever stronger as a disciple of Darkness. And when all was in readiness, she would reveal herself as the villainous Shadowkeeper. By her hand would the Warriors of Light be slain, and despair sown in the hearts of the populace.

What the Ascians did not plan for was the Shadowkeeper's defeat at the hands of Ardbert's party. Cylva had steadily amassed her power, feeding on her erstwhile comrades' respective sacrifices of personal ambition, innocence, independence, and tradition. Yet despite her best efforts, Ardbert would not forsake what she sought to purloin- his caring heart.

Even in the midst of their deadly confrontation, he regarded her as a comrade in need of saving.

Thus denied her full ascension, the Shadowkeeper wavered and fell.

Swallowing their grief at the loss of a friend, the heroes turned their wrath towards the villains who had orchestrated this tragedy. The Warriors of Light now shone so brightly that even high-ranking Ascians could not stand against their incandescent fury. Even as Ardbert struck his final blow, fulgent power swelled in a cataclysmic wave, and the Flood of Light was unleashed upon the lands of the First.

Caption reads: In her bid to slay the Warriors of Light, Cylva turned her transformation magicks upon herself. Though Ardbert and his comrades did indeed struggle against this formidable lupine abomination, it was the necessity of striking down their former friend that presented the greatest challenge.

[drunk-on-dk]

Track 1: Hotel | Choi Seungcheol (m)

Track 1 - Hotel // Montell Fish - playlist linked here

Pairing: Heir!Choi Seungcheol x fem!reader Genre: SMUT (minors DNI), angst? w/c: ~3.1k (some change, barely proofread tbh) Summary: Old Money/Heir!Seungcheol can't help but invite you to his hotel room no matter how dangerous you are for him and his reputation.

Explicit Content - Minors DNI, Listeners 18+, NSFW Warnings Below

content warning: unprotected sex (stay protected pls); oral (male receiving); no specific pronouns used, but reader has female anatomy & wears a dress; degrading name (brat); bratty reader; dom!cheol; big dick!cheol; rough?cheol (pussy slapping, choking, makes the reader crawl); a bit of commentary on shitty businesses for the sake of minimal plot; secret hooking up lmao

a/n: lol this is the beginning of my playlist series and I just got so excited I couldn't wait to post! I hope you all enjoy it! As always, all feedback is appreciated <3

“When I met you in that hotel room

I could tell that you were so bad news

But I keep messing with ya, messing with ya

And now you messing with me, messing with me”

Seungcheol knew you were bad news when he first met you in ECON 101 his first year of university. You had plucked his pen right out of his fingertips with a devilish smirk on your lips and continued to scribble your number down on his hand without a second thought after he had been assigned as your study partner for the semester.

Admittedly, you were very attractive to Seungcheol the moment he laid eyes on you in the lecture hall. However, he soon would find out you both lived very different lifestyles. Seungcheol was the son of a successful tech business tycoon; following in his father’s footsteps and only committing to majoring in business to please the demands of said father. You, on the other hand, were a stubborn, moral driven business major who scoffed upon finding out Seungcheol was next in line for a company that didn’t seem to care about their own employees. You sure gave Seungcheol an earful about his father’s company, in which Seungcheol was already aware of the scandals and fully agreed with all that you said, but he couldn’t admit that to anyone but himself.

Unfortunately for Seungcheol, you were painstakingly intelligent, and he swore he wouldn’t have made it through economics without your consistent help. Honestly, Seungcheol claimed he wouldn’t have made it to graduation without you being by his side for the next years to come.

Both of you resented each other in a way; Seungcheol wished to live a normal life and wished that he had half the wit you did, whilst you were envious Seungcheol blissfully lived his life with ease, not needing to lift a finger to get what he wanted. You turned a blind eye to it though, admitting that Seungcheol was smart and too kind in comparison to his hard exterior, and you believed he’d make a better CEO than his father one day. Maybe you could even keep his head on straight if you stayed by his side long enough.

Even though you were tons of help to Seungcheol in university, you had caused him plenty of problems outside of classes. You became an activist of sorts, using a platform that you had built online to speak out against companies that engaged in immoral acts. One of those companies being Seungcheol’s father’s company, quickly becoming a thorn in his father’s side upon your rapidly gaining popularity.

After university, Seungcheol found you at large business events, usually catching you conversing with important people in the industry, a pretty, stray hair framing your face as you’d scribble notes down in your journal. Later he’d spot you seated in the far corner of whatever gala it was you both were attending, a glass of champagne in hand as your sharp eyes observed the crowd, only softening when you’d spot Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s father demanded he kept a low profile at these events, and you were a controversial figure. However, it was hard to stay away from you, even when he knew his father hated the impact your words had on his business and would curse him out for ever knowing you. Seungcheol somehow always found a way to chat with you, basking in your snarky comments and rants that you’d sneak in by the bar. You were such a pain in the ass for Seungcheol in many aspects, but he was inevitably drawn to you from the beginning.

Seungcheol knew he was screwed when he started routinely fucking you after these events, typically inviting you up to whatever expensive hotel he was staying in for the night. You’d chuckle condescendingly at the ridiculous penthouse, but Seungcheol knew you didn’t care all that much when your dress would suddenly pool around your feet, stripping for him after just a blink of his eye.

To Seungcheol’s dismay, the first time you two snuck away had been caught by the paparazzi, and it had ended up in a business journal, calling Seungcheol out for flirting practically with the enemy.

Not even the scolding Seungcheol received that day could keep him away from you though; he just had to be smarter from now on. He couldn’t deny you when only you knew exactly how to ease his tension after these events.

Maybe the forbidden aspect is what drew him to you as well, but Seungcheol knew damn well that he loved how much of a brat you were for him. He couldn’t lie that you turned him on every time you tore his father’s business apart, shivers running down his spine as you’d run your mouth to him all the way home, and smirking at the fact you’d even dare to say such a thing in a limo funded by his father’s business. How ironic.

You’d keep going back to him as well, knowing that your relationship with Seungcheol was not practical in the slightest, even if part of you fantasized about a life with him outside of all this business bullshit, but damn, did he give you good dick. It sure did a good job at lessening whatever stress you felt at the end of the night.

It became routine, Seungcheol would invite you to his hotel, you’d scoff at the ritzy interior, and he’d stare you down expectantly from the opposite side of the ridiculously big room.

“Are you going to be a fucking brat tonight, Y/N?” Seungcheol asks, his husky voice sending chills down your spine as you try to keep your cool. “Or will you strip and crawl to me like how I asked?”

“Bite me, Seungcheol,” you spit out, but you can’t stop your fingers from playing with the straps and zipper of your dress.

“You better watch what you ask for.” God, you love the way his voice deepened in tone, coercing you to follow his orders as he watches you with a bushy eyebrow raised expectantly, and throwing his suit jacket on the floor like it was trash.

You refuse to break eye contact with him as you strip down, loving the way his gaze would falter when your dress finally drops to the ground and soaking in the groan that escapes his lips once he notices you have no undergarments on.

Dropping teasingly to the ground, you fall to your hands and knees, continuing to keep your eyes locked on his as you slowly crawl across the room to him. Seungcheol begins to strip himself, pulling his belt off once you’ve made it halfway to him, and finally unbuttoning his pristine white shirt, revealing the fiery skin you’ve touched so many times underneath it.

Ultimately making it to Seungcheol’s feet, his thumb grabs your chin, forcing your gaze back up to his after making eye contact with the obvious bulge in his trousers. Sitting on your knees, you pull his thumb into your mouth, running your tongue around the digit and gliding your hands up his solid thighs.

“Oh,” you coo condescendingly, “did your in-staff pleat these pants for you? I’d hate to ruin the perfect ironing job, Cheol.”

This is what Seungcheol adored about you; loved that you found a way to dig into his lifestyle and had enough courage to call out how he was fed with a silver spoon every day. It’s also what enraged him, unbelieving that you still thought so lowly of him after all these years.

“God,” Seungcheol ran his free hand through his hair, flustered by your boldness and the way you continued to suck at his thumb between your words. “I think this brat needs their mouth stuffed.”

“I didn’t crawl all the way here for nothing,” you pout, pulling away from Seungcheol with a ‘pop,’ and starting to work at his pants button. Finally pulling down both his trousers and underwear, you couldn’t hold back your chuckle after coming face to face with his brooding, leaky tip. “Looks like you need help, Cheol.”

The groan that bubbled from his chest was feral as he grabs at your hair, a large hand pulling it into his grip before he lines his length up to your mouth. “Open.”

You didn’t mess with Seungcheol when he got this demanding, your lack of words being enough to egg him on as your jaw drops slack for him, wet tongue falling out eagerly as you wait for him to stuff your mouth full.

“Don’t tease me, Y/N,” he pouts, cherry-red lips matching your puffy ones while awaiting your final consent before inserting the tip of his head into your expecting mouth.

“Fill me, Cheol, ‘m hungry for your cock,” you mewl, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes as you grant him your final blessing. As much as Seungcheol was a little shit, he sure was respectful as hell, and you couldn’t deny the flutter in your heart every time.

Finally giving in upon your permission, Seungcheol shoves his length past your lips, groaning out in pleasure when his head hits the back of your throat, only gagging around him as it still took you some time to get used to his size and how rough he likes to be.

“Such a fucking pro, Y/N, such a good little brat for me.” It becomes messy so fast, immediately acclimating to Seungcheol as he uses your mouth for his own pleasure. Seungcheol becomes entranced with the way drool pools outside of your lips, his pleasure intensifying as you moan around him, tongue working at the underside of his head.

The grip he has on you drives you wild, the heat at your core becoming more prominent as he bucks into your mouth and guides your head as you thoroughly suck him off. When he pulls you off, the only thing that connects you to him was the string of saliva hanging from your swollen lips and his hardened cock.

“Going to finish so soon, Cheol? Did it feel that good?” You pout up at him, a patronizing tone enraging him as he pulls you up to eye level, a strong hand wrapped around your throat before he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

“You need to learn when to shut up, Y/N,” he moans into the kiss, feeling even dizzier when you roll your body against his, the warmth of your skin on his reminding him of how real you are.

“Never,” you refute, smiling against his lips before he begins to nibble down the side of your neck. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I know it all too well,” he chuckles into your neck, sucking tenderly and pulling the delicate skin between his teeth, being sure to leave a mark on you. “Seems like you still need to learn a thing or two.”

You don’t even have a chance to mutter another word before Seungcheol is diving down to your chest, drawing a gasp from you when he pulls your nipple between his teeth, sucking and nibbling harshly at the peak. You almost collapse, but his hold on you is strong enough to keep you flush against his body, a reminder of the hard erection pressed against your lower abdomen.

Finally gaining enough sense to play into Seungcheol’s game, you egg him on even more, “how will you ever teach me anything?”

This is enough to rile Seungcheol up, turning you around and bending you over the armrest of the couch next to you. Falling face first into the plush cushions, you barely have time to process the harsh slap against your pussy, legs nearly giving out as the cool air and remnants of string burn at your core.

“Will this bratty pussy take me well?” It’s Seungcheol’s turn to be arrogant, knowing he has the upper hand as he runs his pointer and middle fingers between your folds, gathering up your slick on his fingers. You know he gets a taste of you, hearing his lips smacking as he hums in approval. “As much as I’d love to get another taste, I think you need to be stuffed full elsewhere to learn a lesson. You don’t deserve my tongue tonight, Y/N.”

“Please,” you’re giving in and begging for him at this point. “Please teach me a lesson, Cheol. I’ve been a bad all night.”

“My brat,” he’s teasing from behind you, your body and inner walls instantly reacting as you feel his tip prod at your core, collecting enough of your wetness before pushing between your folds. The guttural groan he lets out has you pushing back, allowing for him to fill you until his hips encounter your ass and you’re both crooning in satisfaction, “Always know how to take me so well, like the good little thing you are. Not sure there is much of a lesson other than shutting that mouth of yours, which I can do by filling you to the brim.”

Unfortunately, he is absolutely correct, the only words escaping you are incoherent pleas as he begins to drag his cock out of you before shallowly thrusting inside of you again.

Seungcheol’s nails are digging into your hips as he slowly tries to regain his senses, the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is already making him feel delirious. The only vice you have is the velvety fabric of the couch, your nails leaving trail lines in the luxurious fabric as you try to come to and adjust around him.

The pace he sets is immediately brutal, his hips crashing against yours as he begins to thrust in and out of you. The sound of your skin slapping against his is lewd, and a honeyed gasp is pulled from you with each snap of his hips.

You’re clenching so tightly around him he swears he could lose himself in you, a hand slapping against once your ass cheeks in frustration as your walls continue to suck him in so perfectly.

“Feel s’good, Y/N. This bratty pussy always proves to take me so well, how are you so damn tight all the time?”

You’re so breathless with your response that he barely even hears you, but he can’t hide the smirk that graces his features when you admit exactly what he wants to hear, “no one fucks me like you do, Cheol. Only you fill me so well, s’big and s’good.”  

“You always know exactly what to say, huh?” He’s pulling you back up by the neck now, fingers wrapping around you like a necklace as he props one of your legs up on the armrest, allowing for better leverage to fuck up into you.

You’re moaning pathetically at this point as he bullies his cock up into you, the friction of his head dragging between your walls so delightful, just like he’s made for you, and his actions arousing you even more. Seungcheol’s lips are all over your skin, leaving trails of saliva down the back of your neck and shoulder, his hot lips sending blissful shivers through your body and coercing your head to fall back into him. His fingers run across your chest, rolling your nipples between the digits as he whispers dirty, sweet nothings into your ear.

Eventually, his fingers make their way down your torso, thick pads meeting your swollen clit and drawing an embarrassingly loud cry from you. Seungcheol continues to thrust up into you, his head contacting your cervix in the most pleasurable way and winding up the hot coil inside of you even more.

It’s devastating how familiar he is with your body at this point, knowing you’re way too fucked out to even refute any of his words, and recognizing the tell-tale sign that you’re close to finishing as your walls pulse uncontrollably around him, legs weakening but he holds your entire body weight up with ease.

“Does my brat deserve to finish?” It’s so annoying the way he bites at your ear when he edges you closer and closer to your release, thumb circling your clit in a tantalizing motion and intensifying the heat burning in your core.

“I don’t know,” you bite back a moan, sick of the games he’s playing at this point and rolling your hips back to meet each of his thrusts. Seungcheol can’t help but chuckle as you try your best to talk back, “you tell me, Cheol? Did I do well?”

“You did so well until now,” he lets out a breathy sigh, pulling his fingers away from your throbbing clit, but it becomes a strained groan as you clamp down even tighter around his length.

Pathetically, you fall back down onto the couch, your own hips chasing his motions, grinding back into him all before you’re just about slamming your ass against him with each buck of his hips.

“Fuck,” he’s moaning out, calloused hands palming your ass and meeting you with each thrust, watching where he connects with you as his cock disappears into your pussy with each desperate plunge back into you. “I take it back, you did so well. So, so, so well.”

With that final praise, you’re falling apart on his cock, walls clamping down on him like a vice and trembling and crying from beneath him, muscles shaking as you feel your arousal shatter within you. Seungcheol is following suit, unable to hold himself back when you feel this good around him, letting rope after rope of his cum fill you just how you like it.

Seungcheol falls against your body, pounding chest meeting your back while he shallowly thrusts his hips into yours, milking the rest of both your orgasms and memorizing the whimpers that come from you as you begin to feel overstimulated.

Seungcheol’s a gentleman of course, treating you to a nice, hot bath in the jacuzzi sized large enough to fit an entire group, and tucking you into the silk sheets of the pretentious hotel. Even after this luxury treatment, Seungcheol can’t avoid the snarky comments you mumble before you drift off to sleep, which is so damn endearing that he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Admittedly, it’s always disappointing when he wakes up the next morning and you aren’t there, even if Seungcheol knows it’s for the best. The note you leave with a water bottle and medication for his hangover is always enough to keep him hooked, your pretty handwriting reminding him to leave a good tip for the staff, a kiss mark of your lipstick as a signature and reminder of you.

God, you were bad news for him, but he’ll keep you around as long as he can. Even if that means just inviting you up to these damn hotel rooms for now.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey weird question but, with the context that while conspiracy thought in and of itself is just a sort of dangerous logical fallacy, most conspiracy theories have some kind of tie to antisemetism, are there any antisemetic aspects to gaylor theory? i can't think of how but somehow it almost always weasels in there, no matter how innocently silly something seems on the surface.

DEEP SIGH okay it's time to talk about Scooter Braun and his place in the Gaylor conspiracy

I'm not going to recap everything but will instead link you to this US Weekly article (I know, sorry) which is basically a fine summation of events despite being a bit sensationalist in calling a business disagreement between two adults a "feud"

tl;dr for anyone who doesn't want to read all of that (it's not actually that long, I prommy): in 2019 talent manager Scooter Braun acquired Taylor Swift's former record label Big Machine, giving ownership of the masters of her first six albums. Swift objected to this very publicly on the grounds that she wanted ownership over her own work and had repeatedly been denied the opportunity to buy it outright, while also alleging that Braun has been harassing and bullying her for years. ultimately, Swift has remained unable to buy back her work, leading to her steadily re-releasing expanded versions of her first six albums under the "Taylor's Version" headline.

obviously, given my stance against speculating on the personal lives of famous rich people, I'm not particularly interested in debating whether or not there's merit to Swift's accusations against Braun, although given the exploitative nature of the music industry I hardly think her claims are implausible.

regardless of whether or not Braun sucks as a person, it's important to note that he was only very briefly in ownership of Swift's discography: as the linked article above notes, he only owned them for about a year and a half before selling them off in 2020.

despite this, Braun holds what I would consider a rather outsize role in a lot of Gaylor conspiracy theorizing, with many apparently believing that Swift fully intended to come out in 2019 with the release of her seventh album, Lover, but was prevented from coming out by Braun purchasing her discography. I've seen some claim that he actively subjected her to homophobic bullying and others saying that she didn't him to financially benefit from any career boon she might have after coming out (although no one ever seems to have an answer for why she still hasn't come out three years after he sold her discography).

I can't say whether or not the majority of Gaylors, like, know or care that Braun is Jewish, but it feels tragically predictable and yucky that a Jewish man is given such a disproportional share of blame for why Taylor "can't" come out and is made a scapegoat in the ongoing effort to evade reality with "arguments" like this

(source)

... hang on, what's that?

oh man I love when a Jewish family gets put n SCARY ALL CAPS

okay so let's talk about Karlie Kloss and Josh Kushner!

as many of you probably know by this point, Karlie Kloss is the pinnacle of Taylor Swift's platonic gal pals that she gets relentlessly shipped with; I think it's fair to say that "proving" a romantic relationship existed between the two of them is the primary focus of a lot of Gaylorism.

since 2018 Kloss has been married to Josh Kushner, heir of THAT Kushner family. his infamous brother Jared is in fact Donald Trump's son-in-law and probably guilty of, like, a lot of federal crimes. that doesn't inherently make Josh a shithead or anything and he and Kloss both claim more liberal politics, although it should be noted that like a lot of rich liberals Josh does also suck pretty hard. he and Jared own a real estate management company together and were suing their tenants and evicting them during the COVID-19 rent moratorium, so that's kind of everything you need to know about him and Karlie Kloss IMO!!!

having said that, Josh being a bastard landlord doesn't make it appropriate to frame a Jewish family as having some kind of sinister interest in suppressing a queer woman's sexuality or imply that Kloss and Josh Kushner are in some kind of sham marriage. for YEARS Kloss' marriage to Kushner, including her conversion to Judaism and their two living human children, have been dismissed as elaborate turbo-bearding, with some Gaylors going so far as to allege that Kloss and Swift have actually been married for years and Kloss is just having Kushner's children for... reasons unknown... which feels like, you know. a pretty gross dismissal of a Jewish family in favor of pretending two WASPiest WASPs to ever WASP are secretly scissoring.

anyway I certainly don't think it's the most egregious or deliberate anti-semitism that's out there in the conspiracy world but are there some Gaylors blaming The Jews(TM) for forcing poor innocent Taylor to stay in the closet? resounding yes.

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Three Broken Threads

Hat tip to @myemuisemo for another excellent post that covers much of what I was planning together:

Data protection was not really a thing back in 1889. However, paper hotel registers would be something filled in by the front desk staff, not the guest. They would contain details of extra charges incurred as well, all stuff generally done by computer, but you can still buy paper copies today. Particularly for the Indian market, where less than half the population have Internet access. These registers are generally mandatory and in some countries, the data will still be passed to the police when it concerns newly arrived foreigners. That's why they ask for your passport.

Newcastle upon Tyne, the one people generally talk about as opposed to Newcastle-under-Lyme in Staffordshire, was at the centre of a major coal mining area in North-East England, the Durham and Northumberland coalfields being in close proximity. The industry was still employing children - boys as young as 12 could work in mines - and was still a pretty dangerous, not to mention unhealthy industry.

The British economy was heavily reliant on coal, especially the newly built electric power stations. While the railways had a big coal trade for internal transport for domestic purposes, boats also played a big role, either going via canal or down the East Coast of Great Britain to the London Docks. This route would become vulnerable to German attack in the World Wars, particularly in the second war from fast torpedo boats known to the British as "E-boats"; the East Coast convoys are a lesser-known part of the naval war, with Patrick Troughton having served with Coastal Force Command.

The Mayor of Gloucester, like most civic mayors in England, is the chair of the council, elected to a one-year term by their fellow councillors. The current holder is Conservative councillor Lorraine Campbell. It's a mostly ceremonial role involving going to various events while wearing a red cloak and a big hat:

Gloucester's Deputy Mayor is called the Sheriff of Gloucester. There is still a Sheriff of Nottingham, by the way.

The Anglophone Canadian accent was historically noticeably different to an American one and of course had its own varieties. They've gotten closer over the decades, especially due to television.

Sir Henry would have limited luggage space on the ship over, so three pairs of boots would be reasonable. He'd have to ship over anything else at further cost, so it could be cheaper to buy new in London.

Deliveries of telegrams that weren't in the immediate area of the office cost extra. Bradshaw's Guide for Tourists in Great Britain and Ireland would state the nearest telegraph office for a town, as the 1866 edition demonstrates:

Sir Charles' estate was worth around £80m in today's money, but that would not even get him onto The Sunday Times Rich List, which starts at £350m (Sir Lewis Hamilton, i.e. the F1 driver). It tops out with Gopichand Hinduja and his family at an estimated £37.2 billion, whose conglomerate is many focussed on India, but also are the biggest shareholders in US chemical company Quaker Houghton.

Westmoreland was a historical county in Northern England; it was absorbed into Cumbria in 1974, but its area became part of the Westmoreland and Furness unitary authority in 2023.

"Entailed" means that Sir Charles has stipulated in a legal document that the Baskerville estate would have to pass to Sir Henry's heir intact. This was a feudal era practice that has now been abolished in most jurisdictions, with limited remaining use in England and Wales. Simply put Sir Henry is not allowed to sell the house or the land, even part of it. He can do what he likes with the cash and probably the chattels, the movable property like the candlesticks and the toasting forks.

This page covers it in relation to the works of Jane Austen with relevant spoilers:

Borough is another name for the area of Southwark. It got a Tube station in 1890, when the City and South London Railway opened, now the Bank branch of the Northern line. It also is famous for Borough Market, then a wholesale food market under cover of buildings from the 1850s. Today it is a retail market for specialty food; kind of like a farmers' market.

In 1888, the 10:30 from Paddington would get to Exeter at 15:35, a journey of five hours. @myemuisemo provides route maps. I would add at this point, GWR services to SW England went via Bristol, adding a lot of time to the journey, while the LSWR route from Waterloo was a lot more direct. Wags dubbed the former "the Great Way Round". The construction of two cut-off lines allowed the GWR to go via Westbury and Castle Cary.

I will cover the modern day condition of the route in my Chapter 6 post.

The GWR still had some broad-gauge track at 2,140 mm(7 ft 1⁄4 in) left that Brunel had favoured, but this would be finally eliminated in 1892.

Finally, Holmes is referencing the sport of fencing when he learns the cabbie has been given his name. The foil is the lightest of the three swords used in competitive fencing, such as the Olympics.

In an age before electronic fencing equipment, point scoring relied on the eyesight of the umpire... and the honesty of the competitions.

I was in my fencing club at university. I can't say I was that great. I preferred the epee, which doesn't have the priority rules...

[edutainer2022]

It's a pensive, quiet little Scott and Penelope thing that sort of ambushed me. I like their fond, comfortable rapport and working relationship, and I like to wonder sometimes how they deal with being heirs in the spotlight. I also subscribe to a headcanon they might have been an on-again, but mostly off-again (some)thing some time early on. Sometimes adulthood is about letting go of what you think you should want to focus on what you need. But it's mostly about Scott's tumultuous sense of self, of course.

SECOND STAR TO THE RIGHT

To be honest, they were both drunk. Quite leisurely so, nothing over the board. It's been a long day of Tracy Industries negotiations in London, then a longer reception at Creighton-Ward manor, featuring most of the same people. Scott was honestly ready to not see them any time soon and call it a night.

But they were currently huddled comfortably in one of Penelope's smaller drawing rooms, or sitting rooms, or whatever the appropriate name rooms, once the guests took their leave. Penny had her killer heels off and stockinged feet tucked beneath her in the nook of a satin Regency sofa. He probably had the timestamp and the term wrong. He didn't care - the scotch in his hand was definitely the appropriate name and age, sending soothing warmth all the way down to the legs he managed to blissfully stretch across a fancy floral carpet... thing by the sofa. He was half of a mind to kick off the shiny dress shoes, but thought better of it, opting to just loosen the black bow-tie.

Penny was nursing a flute of champaign. Silences and chatter stretched comfortably at even intervals. This was nice. The camaraderie. The company. His eyes were drooping - a really grueling acquisition deal settled (hence the big guns - a reception at "the palace" to celebrate). He clutched the tumbler tighter, keeping alert, marginally aware falling asleep on a lady mid-sentence was probably rude even by his Kansas hick standards.

Penelope hid a smile behind a crystal rim and took a sip. He bit his lip in time to not offer a penny for her thoughts. That would be corny even by Gordon's baseline. Penelope tilted her head, watching his profile.

"It wasn't ever going to work."

That wasn't a question, which didn't register right away. He wasn't quite following, when she elaborated.

"Us. It was never going to work. We're too alike."

Huh? Now he really wasn't following. Maybe too much scotch and too little sleep wasn't a good idea. What was she talking about? There was never a "them". There was a Kansas flyboy once upon a time, a Hero's son and a wannabe dashing hero, and an Actual Princess. He had eyes - she was picture perfect beautiful, of course. And twice as smart. But so much was happening all at once, and then even more was happening in close succession, followed by yet more things that were never to happen then on. His tenure as a flyboy had ended almost before it ever began, his tenure as a Hero's son was called into question for lack of the Hero father all of a sudden, and his tenure as a dashing hero himself... He would be the first one to have major reservations about that. She was best friends with his little brother. They were practically the same person, so similar in demeanor and reactions, and dry wit. His other kid brother was so unapologetically smitten by her - it spilled from an endearing childhood crush into the full force tsunami of first love. So no, there was never a "them". There never could be. Besides, how similar could they be? John... Well, John could pull off class, sophisticated small talk (just barely, in a safe, vetted environment, but still), even the cut glass accent, if he wanted to. Scott still sometimes felt like a backwater flyboy in the society that looked to him to step up and be Jeff Tracy, Leader of Men and Hero Extraordinaire. He gulped a sip of diluted scotch and opted for a quip:

"You don't happen to know how to fly a supersonic rocket plane, do you?"

He was only half joking. Whatever Penelope had been trained for - she was good and getting better still. She kept studying his profile over the brim of her flute.

"No, I don't, darling. But I do know legacy and expectations, and weight of responsibility attached to a name."

He didn't have much to object to that. The silence stretched - not uncomfortable, but loaded. A whisper of ghosts in the space between them. Now seemed a good time to reach out to her, clasp a slender hand - to acknowledge and thank her for that understanding. But his shoulders and arms were leaden - the weight of the mantle pinning him down. Even his feet felt heavy and stiff - his father's shoes a deadweight, dragging him steadily under. He was both too drunk and not drunk enough for this conversation. Maybe she was too.

Penelope smoothed the silk of her evening gown over her tucked knees and trained her eyes at the wall of portraits, past his sitting form. It occurred to him that she was talking out loud to herself as much as to him.

"You need a Queen. To rule by your side. To rule in your name and await you from battle."

He let a rueful chuckle escape.

"Do I?"

No, that was Dad and Mom. Dad was King Arthur. Mom kept the lights on for him to find the way back from the stars and reigned supreme in their little world. Scott was but an interim impostor in an oversized crown.

"And you need a valliant faithful knight, m'lady. Or a devoted pirate."

He summoned the energy to twist a bit and look straight at her. This time she hid both the smile and a flash of blue gaze in the almost empty crystal flute.

"Maybe I do, good sir."

So maybe once upon a time there were a Kansas flyboy and an Actual Princess. Maybe there never were. A gentleman would never kiss and tell. And neither would a lady.

[antidrumpfs]

Opinion-Joe Biden: We must keep marching toward Dr. King’s dream

From the Joe Biden Washington Post opinion piece August 27, 2023

Sixty years ago, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and hundreds of thousands of fellow Americans marched on Washington for jobs and freedom. In describing his dream for us all, Dr. King spoke of redeeming the “promissory note to which every American was to fall heir” derived from the very idea of America — we are all created equal and deserve to be treated equally throughout our lives. While we’ve never fully lived up to that promise as a nation, we have never fully walked away from it, either. Each day of the Biden-Harris administration, we continue the march forward.

That includes a fundamental break with trickle-down economics that promised prosperity but failed America, especially Black Americans, over the past several decades. Trickle-down economics holds that taxes should be cut for the wealthiest Americans and biggest corporations, that public investments in priorities such as education, infrastructure and health care should be shrunk, and good jobs shipped overseas. It has exacerbated inequality and systemic barriers that make it harder for Black Americans to start a business, own a home, send their children to school and retire with dignity.

Vice President Harris and I came into office determined to change the economic direction of the country and grow the economy from the middle out and bottom up, not the top down. Our plan — Bidenomics — is working. Because of the major laws and executive orders I’ve signed — from the American Rescue Plan, the bipartisan infrastructure law, the Chips and Science Act, the Inflation Reduction Act, my executive orders on racial equity and more — we’re advancing equity in everything we do making unprecedented investments in all of America, including for Black Americans.

Black unemployment fell to a historic low this spring and remains near that level.More Black small businesses are starting up than we’ve seen in over 25 years. More Black families have health insurance. We cut Black child poverty in half in my first year in office. We aredelivering clean water and high-speed internet to homes across America. We’re taking on Big Pharma to reduce prescription drug costs, such as making the cost of insulin for seniors $35 a month. We’re taking the most significant action on climate ever, which is reducing pollution and creating jobs for Black Americans in the clean energy future.

This administration will continue to prioritize increasing access to government contracting and lending. We awarded a record $69.9 billion in federal contracts to small, disadvantaged businesses in fiscal 2022. We’re taking on housing discrimination and increasing Black homeownership. To date, we’ve invested more than $7 billion in historically Black colleges and universities to prepare students for high-growth industries. We’ve approved more than $116 billion in student loan debt cancellation for 3.4 million Americans so that borrowers receive the relief they deserve. And a new student debt repayment plan is helping Black students and families cut in half their total lifetime payments per dollar borrowed. We’re doing all of this by making sure the biggest corporations begin to pay their fair share, keeping my commitment that Americans earning less than $400,000 a year not pay a single penny more in federal taxes.

And to help guide these policies, I made it a priority to appoint Black leaders to my Cabinet, my staff, in the judiciary and to key positions in agencies such as the Federal Reserve to ensure policymakers represent the experiences of all Americans in the economy.

But we know government can’t do it alone. Private-sector leaders have rightly acted to ensure their companies are more reflective of America, often in response to their employees, their customers and their own consciences. Right now, the same guardians of trickle-down economics who attack our administration’s economic policies are also attacking the private sector and the views of the American people. A recent poll from the nonpartisan Black Economic Alliance Foundation shows overwhelming bipartisan support for promoting diversity as central to a company being more innovative and more profitable, and central to fulfilling the promise of our country for all Americans. Despite the attacks, we all must keep pushing to create a workforce that reflects America.

For generations, Black Americans haven’t always been fully included in our democracy or our economy, but by pure courage and heart, they have never given up pursuing the American Dream. We saw in Jacksonville, Fla., yet another community wounded by an act of gun violence, reportedly fueled by hate-filled animus. We must refuse to live in a country where Black families going to the store or Black students going to school live in fear of being gunned down because of the color of their skin. On this day of remembrance, let us keep showing that racial equity isn’t just an aspiration. Let us reject the cramped view that America is a zero-sum game that holds that for one to succeed, another must fail. Let us remember America is big enough for everyone to do well and reach their God-given potential.

That’s how we redeem the promissory note of our nation.

[estateresearch]

Founded in 2001, Estate Research now has over 50 full time staff spread across two offices in Wigan and London. With national expertise and international reach we are able to locate families all over the world. Over the years our services have continued to grow and evolve so that today, Estate Research can assist with almost every aspect of estate administration. Our aim is to deliver comprehensive research on time and through our commitment to quality and accountability, we hope to provide a service that practitioners will use, and crucially, use again. Estate Research is a firm of International Probate Genealogists who specialise in tracing next of kin, as well as locating missing beneficiaries and assets to estates. Our reputation has been built on our professionalism and our policy of transparency of informing beneficiaries of all the known details as a standard practice. This underpins all our workings with beneficiaries and our clients. Probate genealogy or ‘heir hunting’ is an unregulated industry and it is up to each individual company to implement their own standards and procedures. At Estate Research we take quality of service very seriously, but we only invest our time in getting the correct accreditations including our ISO 27001 and ISO 9001. Where applicable we have also recognised the need for staff to be professionally qualified, so the majority of our case managers are qualified paralegals and subject to regulation from PPR. Our Public Sector team assists local authorities, NHS trusts & hospitals by locating next of kin. This often enables public health funerals to take place and also gives families the opportunity to attend the funeral or take over arrangements if they wish.

Website: https://www.estateresearch.co.uk

Address: 102 Chapel Lane, Wigan, WN3 4HG

Phone Number: 01942 826 500

Contact Email: PS@estateresearch.co.uk

Business Hours: Mon - Fri : 09:15 am – 05:15 pm Sat - Sun : Closed

[theofficersacademy]

With peace comes prosperity. Fódlan appears to have reached a calm not experienced in many moons... Sike! With the recent discovery of their leading house's heir and the space to breathe, the Leicester Alliance finds itself hungry for the chance to show just how well it's doing in these conditions, pulling themselves up to such a degree of good tidings and growth that it just might be able to usurp both the Empire and Kingdom as a major power on this continent.

Where those two countries have been focused on finding ways to recuperate from their recent conflicts, the Alliance's various nobles have found exciting new discoveries and developed themselves to truly stand out over the last couple months and are far from calm! In collaboration with Garreg Mach to help introduce its many exchange students to Fódlan's radiance and might, Leicester invites the Golden Deer house to visit and see this splendor for themselves, each territory ready to accommodate the students and their plus ones.

Come and travel east, and experience firsthand just what the Alliance is all about!

Golden Deer Mission: Discover what Leicester has to offer!

GD Mission Task Board

House Riegan has long benefitted from holding lands and seas alike blessed with plenty and its manufacturers and traders are the cream of the crop when it comes to the Alliance. Its only weakness lies in its lack of mineral resources but no more! Recent sightings unearth a mine never before excavated. Quickly, the duchy moves to investigate it for if there might be anything of worth to fully cement it as unbeatable compared to all the other Alliance territories. However, it proves to be in a dangerous spot, leaving all curious onlookers to be unable to even get close as the company in charge of searching it blocks off all parties not hired for the mission. Perhaps the promise of something new and exciting tantalizes you to try and sneak past them anyhow, or could it be that you are concerned for the miners' sakes? Could this sudden mine be too good to be true? Only one way to find out... [Grants Axe +1]

The industrious House Gloucester prides itself on what it can do with its resources, touting itself as the leading commercial force in all of the Alliance. Come to Edgaria and see its blend of financial success as well as its great swaths of artistic talent all in one place! Merchants and artists of all sorts set up shop in the county's capitol, eager to show off its many one-of-a-kind pieces. For any undiscovered talents, you just might be able to catch the eye of a master here if you play your cards right...

The margraviate of House Edmund emphasizes fair use of its personal harbors, allowing for trade to flourish and build its margrave into one of the Alliance's leading men. However, such success inevitably catches the eye of the pirates swirling around its many islands. With such scoundrels, Sreng, and even the Almyran Navy all close by, Margrave Edmund has used his fortunes to build what he boasts to be the most fortified and intimidating sea vessels that have ever graced this earth all in the name of protecting his mercantile utopia. He is so confident in their glory that he invites those staying on his lands to take a joy ride out to the nearby waters and take out a few pirates themselves, if they so please! [Grants Heavy Armor +1]

Ailell, the Valley of Torment, is said to have once been used as a training grounds for monks as well as a place for the Goddess to burn corrupt maidens with her heavenly light, but few nowadays can attest to the veracity of such claims seeing as how almost nobody who treasures their own life dares to step foot anywhere near Ailell. However, new magical developments from House Daphnel have created a spell that allows a person to withstand even the hottest of flames so long as it's casted regularly! Brave souls are encouraged to see the miraculous effects of such magic themselves and trek into these once terrifying lands. With any luck, you might even run into one of these fabled, hardened monks yourself! Or perhaps you might be able to save a beautiful, wayward maiden from being burned from the Goddess' judgment? [Grants Faith +1]

Every fashionable noble worth their own salt on Fódlan wears jewelry made with rare gemstones sourced directly from House Goneril's duchy. Even outside of the Alliance, the subject of every party this past moon has been about the discovery of a new gemstone dubbed, 'The Goddess' Tears,' found recently in Fódlan's Throat. Appraisers, jewelers, and mages alike experiment with the new mineral, eager to all find out as much as they can about it and what applications it might be used in. For just the right idea, House Goneril is willing to offer a handsome sum of money to any particularly inventive minds with the brightest concept of what to do with it...

NEW! Though House Gloucester has outmatched House Ordelia the past few years, suddenly, the latter has taken back its crown as the Alliance's leading agricultural haven, boasting production numbers never before seen by any territory in the entire continent! You arrive just in time to see such a grand harvest with every street in the region offering up the finest produce and culinary delights this season. It's a heaven for any foodie, truly, but the new farming techniques used to encourage this growth are nothing to sneeze at either! Take a step through these fertile farmlands and see the return of House Ordelia's finest, and, hey, why not take a sip of their famous luxury spirits while you're here too? [Grants Lance +1]

NEW! While traveling through Edmund territory, your party discovers a funeral is being held for a local said to have been granted two lives. Well-liked by his neighbors, he was originally a man fighting underneath House Goneril before he was mortally wounded. Washed up along the sea in Edmund, he was saved by a mysterious woman after being given a vial of red liquid, but before he could thank her, his savior had disappeared. He supposedly spent his second life trying to track her down, but he never revealed whether or not he did. By pure coincidence, you overhear plans to ransack his home to try and find a hint to the woman and her life-giving vial. Shall you follow them to try and gain a chance to extend a person's life beyond what's natural? Or do you seek to protect a dead man's secrets? Or shall you leave behind this sorry tale, allowing fate to do what it shall, opposite of what that woman had done for the man with two lives?

NEW! The thing that sets the Leicester Alliance apart from the other two big powers of Fódlan is its system as a confederacy. Whenever an issue arises, the five most prominent house heads, otherwise known as the Five Great Lords, come to meet in a roundtable conference. For this month, they are opening their discussion to be spectated and assisted by the visiting students of the Golden Deer house to prove the strength of their wits and their political system in comparison to that of others. Here is the real battleground of the Alliance where the strength of many perspectives come together to clash and concede until the best possible solution to any problem arises! Do you have what it takes to keep up?

Non-Mission Task Board

An alumna of The Officers Academy, nostalgic for her final Ethereal Ball two years ago, returns to the monastery with an attempt to recreate the miracle invention that had captured her heart those many seasons ago: the photo-artifex! She has toiled away with her light magic and has at last made a replica of the machine, allowing for her to take "photos," magical images that capture a scene forever in physical form. She also has brought along her own version of the "artifex-box," a booth that fits only two people but creates a string of multiple photos. Eager to test it out to see if she might have her devices ready in time for the next Ethereal Ball, she puts out a notice in the monastery's dining hall for any willing volunteers… She promises those who do will get to keep the photos of their likenesses for free, of course!

With the hunting season coming in full swing, local vendors set up shop throughout many backroad towns and villages, chanting about their prices and deals on equipment and the lot of it. One vendor even declares that she carries with her a bow of a legendary Leicester hunter who felled a golden stag. She’s offering this bow at half price…if you can bring her an equally legendary creature of game as the legendary hunter once did. [Grants Bow +1]

The rat orchestra from last year's Ethereal ball is apparently back and looking for work again. That's the only explanation you can think of, anyway, when you start hearing rumors about rodents gathering in some out-of-the-way alley in town to play music on instruments stolen from the monastery. At the same time, a second rumor has started up: students have reported hearing a long C-sharp before going to bed at night, only to discover the next morning that one of their classmates has gone missing! That's three in the span of a week so far. Are these things related? The Knights won't get involved and the monastery staff appears unbothered, so you decide to take these matters into your own hands. [Grants Sword +1]

It's Club Rush at the Officers Academy! Some new clubs have popped up at the monastery and are looking to drum up new members -- cooking, equestrian, languages, to name a few. If you're looking to make some new friends, these are a great place to start! (Don't mind the hazing rituals!)

Partly as a way to recruit new members, and partly as a way to showcase their newest inventions, the Bewitching Oblivion of Magitransience Society (BOOMS, for short) has been holding impromptu magic shows that begin and end seemingly at random. The club specializes in lighting up the night sky with displays of multi-colored fire magic, and they wish to put on an unforgettable display for the whole monastery. Are you willing to help out with the launchers, rockets, and other displays? Or report them to the Knights for causing a disturbance? Whatever you choose to do, be careful that it doesn't explode in your face.

NEW! Nobody can seem to agree behind the why - is it pest control? a social experiment? renovations? - but the reality of the matter is: you've got a new roommate for the month, and you've little choice in the matter. Will you get along with your new pal, or are you going to be at odds the whole time?

NEW! A new pastime has cropped up within Garreg Mach as the days turn more peaceful: expeditions! Every day, more and more people invite an ally to a private outing, first taking a journey via horseback to a more scenic location like the plains, forest, mountains, or a waterfront. From there they dismount and have a little teatime for two. With the Ethereal Ball just around the corner, plenty use these expeditions to get in another person's good graces before the big night, but regardless of your motivation, it just might be a great way to increase your bond with someone you've had your eye on lately! [Grants Riding +1]

Frequently Asked Questions

How does the divided task board work?

This season’s mission is assigned to the Golden Deer muses. Therefore, tasks from the ‘Golden Deer Mission Task Board’ must be undertaken by someone that is affiliated with the Golden Deer house. However, they may choose to perform the task with someone who is not from their group as well. In logistical terms, this means that if you play a non-GD muse and want to do a mission task, you must ask someone who plays a Golden Deer muse to thread with you. All thread participants will still receive any skill point rewards. Tasks from the ‘Non-Mission Task Board’ have no house restriction and can be undertaken by anyone.

These aren’t the only threads I can do, right?

Of course not! These are just prompts to help give some ideas of possibilities. You’re always free and encouraged to make up your own threads.

If my muse is not a Golden Deer muse, can I still write an open starter for the mission tasks?

Yes, but only the non-mission tasks. Your character must be affiliated with the Golden Deer to write an open starter for this season’s mission.

How do I claim the skill points?

In order to qualify for the skill point, the thread must clearly allude to the listed task and preferably feature the task being completed. You do not need to message the masterlist to claim your skill point.

Can I only do one task?

Nope, you can do as many as you’d like with as many different partners as you’d like! You can do the same task with more than one person! However, you can only claim any skill points once.

What if my partner leaves or drops a skill point thread?

If the dropped thread has at least 2 reblogs and you have hit at least 400 words on your end, you may still claim the skill point. Remember to use (and track!) the #toa open tag for any open threads, and you can also post a link to your open thread on the appropriate Discord channel! If you have any other questions or concerns, shoot us a message through the masterlist or on Discord!

[universestreasures]

Mokuba & Suzuha: The Miracle Friendship.

Note: This imporant post regarding Mokuba & YGO Suzuha's lore is written in the context of the manga, but this pretty much applies for the anime as well, bare minding timeframes and how Seto and Mokuba's relationship isn't nearly as strained growing up in the anime compared to the manga.

The world-famous Amanosuzu Group (also known as the Amanosuzu Konzern) is one of the largest conglomartes in the world. They are major players in multiple industries, including gaming, construction, mining, and more, meaning that having their seal of approval or collaboration on something is very sought after. One of the most sought-after resources the company has is its exclusive access to the Fuji Photon Metal Mine, a mine that exclusively harvests a rare type of metal called 'Photon Metal' that isn't found anywhere else on earth. This resource is very unique, powerful, and versatile, an ideal material for making all kinds of advanced technology such as the Amanosuzu Group's gaming divisions 'Core Deck Cases', personalized technology that allows anyone to play the game of Buddyfight anywhere in the world.

However, distributing this resource is one the group is very selective about, as they are with any sort of collaborations. One such example of this selectiveness is that they refused any notions of collaboration with the Kaiba Corporation under Gozaburo Kaiba. No matter how much they were offered or how much they persisted, they always refused, despite having a resource that would enhance the military technology Kaiba Corp was already developing if allowed to be sold to them.

However, an indirect connection between the two companies was formed at one evening event when two young children met: Mokuba Kaiba and Suzuha Amanosuzu.

Mokuba rarely was taken to any sort of event in high society when living under his stepfather's rule. The reason? Simple. He wasn't important enough to go. He wasn't the heir to Kaiba Corporation. He wasn't the person who had gone through intense training to navigate the world of business. To Gozaburo, he was seen as a distraction for Seto, meaning his presence was not wanted and a hindrance. However, there were a few times he was brought along, perhaps to diswade any rumors that something happened to the other of his two children.

It was at one of these rare party occurrences (he was 9 at the time) that he managed to sneak away from his stepfather's sides to go explore (and escape the boring business talk), and that led him outside to a balcony where a blonde girl with an intricate hairstyle and a princess gown was sitting accompanied by her butler, seemingly wanting a break from the activity inside. Following a formal introduction, she invited him to sit with her, much to his surprise. The two got to talking, sharing their hobbies, and they both hit it off rather quickly, mainly over their shared interest in gaming and arts and crafts.

Their small talk is eventualy noticed by Lord Amanosuzu, Suzuha's father, who hasn't seen his daughter so happy at a social event before. She invites Mokuba to come and visit her anytime at her castle estate or sky home, much to her father's delight since she hasn't shown interest in making many friends previously. This interaction is noticed by Gozaburo as well, who then crafted a little idea in his head. Lord Amonosuzu was well known to be a man who spoiled his daughter rotten and could rarely if ever refuse her, and she was known to start doing business ventures herself despite being only 11. He planned to use that to his advantage, using his own stepson as a pawn: seemingly finally having found a 'use' for him after all other than just as a motivator for Seto.

Much to Mokuba's surprise, his step father allowed him to go and visit the heiress and 'socialize' with her. At the time, he couldn't understand why he'd do such a thing. His stepfather rarely let him out of the house and never to socialize. However, considering Mokuba's desperation to escape this house and do something fun for once, he went along with it, not knowing doing so played into his stepfather's little plan.

And so Mokuba visited Suzuha often (more often than not on a weekly basis), the two forming a genuine bond of friendship. They did arts and crafts together (many of which Mokuba made and tried to give to his brother as gifts but either was not able to give them to him or were rejected by him all together, leaving them all in a locked-up chest in his bedroom), played chess together, and their two favorite games: Capsule Monsters Chess and Buddyfight. She also taught him about business strategy and terminology, things he did not get in his education unlike his brother. Mokuba enjoyed his times with Suzuha very much, always looking forward to their playdates, the one bright spot in his days of solitude and depression. They even exchanged phone numbers, with her being Mokuba's only form of contact outside the estate. He also during this time mentioned his brother's dream and his solid vision project to the heriess, things Suzuha was very interested in.

Truly, during the period under his stepfather, Suzuha became Mokuba's lifeline, a miracle that once seemed impossible. She helped keep him sane through his vast amounts of depression and suffering. However, one day his step father came to him and told him to bring up something during his next visit, something that revealed to him the full reasoning why he allowed such a thing to begin with. Gozaburo asked him to propose a business collaboration between the two companies to Suzuha, thinking that through her, she could finally convince her father to take Kaiba Corp's offers regarding Photon Metal. This meant two things: that he intended on using Suzuha to further his fortune and that he had been using Mokuba to try and do that this whole time, intending on making their 'friendship' into nothing but a bunch of lies.

Of course, Mokuba outright refused the notion, standing up to his step father for the first notable time in his life. He refused to do that to his friend, his only friend. Gozaboru expected such a response and decided to throw in an incentive, something that would definitely make Mokuba comply. He said if he did this and managed to get the collaboration, he not only would allow him to see his brother whenever he wanted (a privilege Mokuba had not been able to have since they moved into that prison called a house), that he would even allow Seto and him to take a vacation together, another thing Mokuba had wanted for years. He would finally be able to do something useful, hitting the boy's insecurities directly after years of the man reinforcing his negative notion he was worthless. These were all targeted moves meant to sway the boy to do as he wanted, and they left Mokuba lost for words, unable to give his stepfather an answer right then and there.

After going back to his room to contemplate his choices, he eventually came to the realization that there was no way his stepfather was going to honor his end of the deal. Seto was too important to him to let him go, or to have Mokuba in his life again. He had kept them apart for a reason, after all. More than that, he couldn't betray Suzuha. Suzuha was the only good thing in his life since coming to this place, and he wasn't about to let her become messed up with the twisted web of his stepfather's greed. And so, on their next meeting, Mokuba doesn't say anything to her, continuing to meet with her as if nothing was wrong.

Eventually, the lack of progress on a deal did cause Gozaburo to confront the boy (I imagine this is not too long before Seto's Kaiba Corp takeover), who admitted that he didn't do what he asked and that he would never become a pawn on his chessboard and neither would his brother. He was then subjected to not only his wrath and verbal abuse, but further isolation than before, only saying that the only reason he isn't thrown out of the house is because he's of 'value' to Seto, that he will never be worth anything on his own.

Despite the many nights of agony after his total lockdown and other forms of punishment, he felt it was worth it. He managed to do at least something, a bit of rebellion against the monster who broke his family apart. And for that, he was proud of himself.

After Gozaburo's death weeks later, Mokuba was free to contact Suzuha again, but after seeing what his brother had genuinely turned into, he decided to refuse to contact her. He needed to do what he could now to try and 'repair' his relationship with his brother, to gain his approval and love again. He knew such a road wouldn't be easy, one paved with darkness and despicable acts, so he didn't want to get her involved. He cared too much.

Following Death-T, he did reach back out to Suzuha, who was present for his creation of him and Seto's lockets along with Tasuku. They rekindeled their connection, and made it stronger than ever before. This led to true business relations between the two companies, now that Seto was in charge and the focus shifted to gaming, such as on the 'Core Deck Cases' combing the Solid Vision tech of Duel Monsters with the transforming personalized technology of the Amanousuzu Group and on promotional events for both Duel Monsters and Buddyfight. Suzuha also helped Mokuba often with his fashion sense, including his visual transformation in DSOD and his complete style change when he's older. He is also a member of her craft club and is mentored by her in business philosophy and a bunch of other areas once switching to Aibou Academy.

In the end, while their friendship may have initially planned as apart of a madman's plot, Suzuha and Mokuba have a very important bond that's lasted for years and years. And out of all of Mokuba's close friends (Gao, Tasuku, Akatsuki, Yugi and co.) Suzuha is arguably his most important one. For not only was she his first true friend since being adopted, she was his lifeline during one of the worst times in his life and continues to be there for him through it all.

Their friendship indeed was a miracle, a miracle desperately needed, that he is forever grateful to have been given.

[marnifein]

In the opulent boardroom overlooking the city skyline, MALACHAI found himself seated across from his father, the patriarch of the family and the founder of their flourishing black-owned media empire, CARMICHAEL. The air was thick with anticipation as the discussion revolved around the succession of the company, a topic that had pitted MALACHAI against his sister, brother, and uncle in a fierce familial competition. Despite the familial dynamics at play, MALACHAI's father couldn't help but be impressed by his son's unwavering work ethic and dedication to the company. The room echoed with the list of MAL’s achievements, from innovative digital media strategies to successful diversification into new markets. 

“I think you’ve been working hard to be next-up and I’m extremely proud of you. I want to hear more from you about plans that’ll continue our legacy. Impress me.” The older Carmichael male, MICHAEL, spoke as he gave his son the floor to speak. 

At his father’s request, MALACHAI eloquently articulated his vision for the company with a blend of passion and strategic acumen, illustrating a deep understanding of the media industry's nuances. He believed he was better suited for the top spot because he created BLADE, a music magazine that boosted so many careers and simultaneously ended a few. Outside of the traditional news stations in the company’s portfolio, BLADE was the most successful one and despite being backed by his father, MAL built it from scratch. 

“We’re the leading media company for our consumers and we prioritize Black stories, so it only makes sense that we continue to expand on that. With that being said, we should acquire Essence.” 

As soon as the words left his lips, a few laughs erupted in the boardroom, namely from his brother, CAINE. The two of them were fiercely competitive and he knew that his brother’s success in the sports media industry made him a strong contender for successor. “Essence is out the question. They’ve never been interested in something like this and their audience doesn’t align with ours.” 

“Is it because they’re women? If so, that’s a new low even for you, Caine.” Their sister, GENESIS, shot back with furrowed brows. She was in charge of overseeing one of their fashion magazines and she often found herself being overlooked by her father when it came to her business prowess. 

“Okay, that’s enough. Have the proposal on my desk by the end of the day and we’ll see. I’m not too sure though, Mal.” His father, caught between the desire to pass on the legacy to a deserving heir and the challenge of choosing among capable contenders, weighed the options. “You think this’ll strengthen your chance of earning this seat? It sounds like a major play and it’s risky.”

“I’m not worried.” He replied, confidently. While each family member brought a unique set of skills to the table, MALACHAI believed he stood out not only for his accomplishments but for his genuine commitment to amplifying black voices and perspectives through the media they controlled. 

“Wait… you already told me that I was taking over, so why you makin’ it seem like it’s up for debate.” Caine spoke up with a look of confusion displayed on his face. Everyone in the room turned towards the Carmichael patriarch expecting an answer, each family member chiming in with their dissatisfaction with the revelation. 

“You fuckin’ married me off to Ivy and said that settling down would be best for the family and for me being a leader. Yo ass don’t want me to lead no more or something?” The frustrated 29-year-old asked as he stood up from his seat. 

“I don’t have to explain a Goddamn thing to any of you! Nothing was finalized, Caine, and quite frankly it don’t seem like any of you fit to run a motherfuckin’ lemonade stand, let alone my company. Get the fuck out my face.” MICHAEL berated the trio in front of the other board members, adding, “NOW!”

Chuckling bitterly, MALACHAI walked out of the office along with everyone else. The meeting became a pivotal moment in the family's history, a crossroads where legacy, ambition, and familial bonds converged, leaving an indelible mark on the future of their media empire. All he felt was betrayal, yet it was a feeling he was all too familiar with.

[silentseers]

 🦢        𝓖𝒘𝒚𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝓔𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒂 𝓙𝒆𝒐𝒏     ・       22   .  cis-female   ( she / her ) –— ・ ( yu jimin )      .     sophomore  , contemporary and classical dance  major ( 𝖇𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖙 )  / 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧 — swansea , wales  ⍪ seoul , south korea  🀐  mentor ( francisco avila . 2023 ) — the dionysia's ' 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒂 '

now playing…  SWAN LAKE, ACT II, NO. 10 by TCHAIKOVSKY. 

 a music-box ballerina , dressed in swan feathers and starlight: both master and muse as she whirls to the rhythms of applause / dance as the language of expression, as the dichotomy between power and delicacy — a battle of grace between the black and white swan / insomnia, paranoia and the fine line between nightmares and dreams where humans are as much monsters as their inner demons / a tortured artist’s thirst for perfection — to defy mortal limits until there is none, to seek purity and resplendence in the might of heaven-born glory / wings as metaphorical chains

if the walls could talk, they’d tell you of her mercurial fall from grace, being removed from her role as a budding prima ballerina following a substance abuse incident.

╭               ・            𓍯              (    𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋    )                     ・

𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹     𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲     :     gwyneira eunha jeon (   pronounced ⍪ gwen - eye - rah ) 𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲     :     eira 𝗮𝗴𝗲      &      𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲     :     22        /       december  24  ,   2000 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿     :     cis     female        ,        she     /     her 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆     :     heteroromantic         &         demisexual 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻     :     sophomore at daskalos university ( majoring in dance ) , former     principal     dancer     ( korean national ballet  ) 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀     𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻     :     english     &     korean     ( fluent )   ,  french     &     japanese   ( conversational ) + passionate, meticulous, ambitious, tenacious, enchanting, creative, charismatic, competitive, idealistic, whimsical - dramatic, insecure, obsessive, compulsive, volatile, scathing, paranoid, impatient, naive, proud, perfectionistic 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝘂𝘀 alcohol : sociably. drugs : rehabilitated from an addiction to sedatives and anxiety medication. smoking : never. diagnoses : insomnia, anxiety, mild obsessive compulsive disorder, treated for former drug-induced psychosis

───             ・            🀐              (    𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘     )          

trigger warning ! substance abuse (drugs), overdose, addiction, death

FULL VERSION 𓂃 𓄼 ･ﾟ ✧ ( 🦢 ) . . . [ 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 ]

ABRIDGED VERSION 𓂃 ، ˖ ꜝ ⍛ ( 🦢 ) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 ⍪ 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐎

gwyneira eunha jeon is born on christmas eve in swansea, wales. her father is the ceo of jeon industries, a renowned south korean biomedical and pharmaceutical company whilst her mother, jeon ceri, is a former prima ballerina and the artistic director for the national ballet in wales.

eira is born with underlying heart issues as a result of being premature, her birth leaving both her and her mother in a critical state. just as eira is scheduled to undergo invasive heart surgery, she seems to be miraculously cured in the early mornings of christmas day. such joy and relief are short lived as not long after, eira's mother passes away due to complications from the birth.

as a result of the circumstances of her birth her family, as she grows up, is incredibly protective of her. she is handed the world on a silver platter, never needing nor wanting for anything a day in her life. whilst her father's business is involved in some shady and rather unethical practices within the medical world, hidden well by their mass fortunes, eira is kept strictly out of it and sheltered from such harsh realities. her two older brothers assume the helm of her father's heirs, leaving eira to fall into the one place left for her — her mother's element.

she had a natural talent for ballet that was evident from youth, having been placed into ballet lessons at a young age. at four years old, when the family of three relocated to south korea, eira begins to find her place in the world of dance. what starts off as a hobby evidently reveals that eira could never escape her mother's legacy, not that she wants to. the stage is predestined for her, as her prodigious talent seems to speak for itself. as soon as she had been able to walk she had only wanted to dance and before she'd ever even spoken a word, her language had been that of ballet.

she advances quickly in her studies of the ballet world with the ease of someone both massively talented but also well connected. it is in highschool when she her love for dance becomes more deeply ingrained into her soul and her obsession with ballet takes root. in a world she can't control, it is the precision and demanded perfection of her art that she seems to be the ruler of on her own. thus, dance becomes the very essence of her life and she begins to lose sleep over it. her relationships and friendship crumble under the weight of addiction to her soaring career.

until she loses control. not even eighteen and she'd already lost that sense of power over dance that she once adored. she had allowed this dedication to her craft to consume her. but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t really know how to and so she continues to spiral deeper into the void. having been granted admission into the korean national ballet in her highschool days, rising from the ranks of the corps de ballet to grand soloist within her first few years, she is pushed to her limit in order to be perfect for the stage yet she begins to struggle with her own mental and physical health. ballet being her sole driving force was sucking the life out of her and the compulsive need to dance consumes her days and then her nights until it culminates in stifling paranoia, insomnia and hallucinations from her lack of sleep. she became detached from both reality and the people around her entirely. 

in an attempt to regain control, she turns to the one thing her family warded her away from. her connections to biomedical field meant obtaining the necessary prescriptions for her anxiety medication and tranquilisers were simple. the allowed her to forget her struggles if only for a small amount of time and allow her to continue shining on the stage as she had always done. she traded all that was left of her self-control and sanity for slivers of happiness but it soon becomes more of an addiction than a mere escape.

during the last act of her swan lake performance with the korean national ballet, as she in on the verge of a promotion to the companies most elite title, her substance abuse almost causes a crippling scandal. she completes her show brilliantly, one that would go down in history as possibly her greatest performance but when the curtain draws, eira loses consciousness and is rushed to the hospital. after three days comotose, she awakens to an ultimatum from the company; six months of rehabilitation and psychotherapy and then she is to be sent to her mother's alma mater to complete an accelerated dance degree, allowing herself to recuperate. upon completely the degree in the minimum of two and half a years, she will be allowed to rejoin the company and take her place as a prima ballerina and principal dancer. all knowledge of her scandal is discretely brushed under the rug with the help of her family's money and connections.

after completely her required rehab, she begins at daskalos university in the 2023-2024 school year, majoring in dance. she is inducted soon after she settles in under the tutelage of professor avila, welcomed into the dionysia as their cassandra.

( 🦢 )  ╱ 𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐄𝐍𝐃 &. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 …

[percentstardust]

modern career paths for my asoiaf muses:

i play the targaryens as a family that originated in norway but ended up in the usa. the lannisters are from england. default city setting is los angeles, california. syrax, drogon, tessarion, anoghul, viserion, vhagar, rhaegal, and vhagar are all animals owned in this verse.

rhaenyra: fashion designer of both women and men’s clothing. literally has dabbled in suits, gowns, wedding dresses, lingerie, and she has her own makeup line. heir to targaryen industries but honestly would rather not abandon her fashion empire. PLOT TWIST. she ends up marrying harwin. uses she / they pronouns.

aemond: he’s a first year pre med student studying to be a doctor. he is also double majoring in psychology. his eye injury will NOT stop him from pursuing his career. he just really wants to be a doctor cause medical science fascinates him. he has too many skills for one person to have. he’s also an athlete on the lacrosse and soccer teams. he’s heavily into student politics too. lost his eye in an accident when he was ten. aemond does it all to make up for being disabled.

aemma: future vet tech major. still in high school. volunteers at a family owned no kill shelter. she really loves animals and she wants to eventually work as a zoo animal vet. she is on the swim team like jace. last name is strong in this au.

jace: he’s really into computers and technology and he can hack things. so he’s going to want to work with computers. he can build one and take it apart before putting it back together again. so he will be able to work in the family tech company as well. also still in high school. he’s student athlete on the swim and track teams despite his scoliosis. last name is strong because nyra marries harwin.

dany: ballet dancer. she the third born daughter and she usually is allowed to do what she wants within limits. dancing is her passion and has been since she was a child. right now she works for and dances for a ballet company. she gets the lead roles in all of the performances. ballet isn’t the only dance she specializes in. she knows others as well but ballet is what she’s most passionate about. she’s also an ice skater but she doesn’t do that competitively anymore due to her thriving ballet career.

jaime: army veteran who was honorably discharged after losing his hand in combat. has all kinds of awards. he was an army ranger to be specific. went back to school to get a degree in law later in life than one should get a law degree but he got one easily due to his intellect . works at his family law firm as an associate.

daeron: aspiring concert violinist. plays multiple instruments including the guitar and piano. music is his life. art is also his life but he’s more set on being a musician than being a painter. still in high school like aemma and jace. will pursue a bachelor in music.

anari: freshman in college. getting a bachelor in music. is a rising pop star who has her first album out along with some unaffiliated covers and singles. has won three grammys and several other awards for her first album. is best friends with helaena targaryen like she is in her hotd era. youngest of four and has three older brothers. given how successful she already is as a musician, she is making a name for herself and her parents are quite proud of her. writing her second album while attending university classes. small but fighty still.

all of them, even jaime and anari, are rich. though the targaryens have more influence, net worth, power, and their money is older. hope this helps.

[spann-stann]

Setting Blurb: Imperial Governments and Subcultures (Rework)

The League is not conterminous. Vast stretches of territory are isolated from each other by even more vast stretches of space, with communication travelling between two Imperial territories taking years. This has allowed for some level of diversity to emerge among the many communities that are part of the League. So long as they adhere to the Imperial Ontology, the peoples that make up the League can conduct and govern themselves as they see fit.

Governments:

Consortium Imperii: The Consortium Imperii refers to the Imperial Family as a whole, 300 years of growth have created a sizable amount of manpower for the League’s head of state to call upon. Every member of the Imperial Family is expected to perform some role in the service of advancing the League and mankind’s interests. The most dutiful and promising have the chance to appointed heir.

Great Houses: The term “Great House” is used to define the ruling governments of most communities within the League. A Great House may refer to a single ruling family, or a clique of families combining their resources. Some communities may have more than one Great House competing for power.

Corporate Republic: Referred to by non-Imperials as “Caste Republics” and “Organic Republics” by Imperial citizens, citizens living in Corporate Republics are organized into several corporate groups, vocational organizations that and collectively govern the Republic. Corporate Republics vary in size, ranging from simple settlements to grand industrial powerhouses. Corporate Republics are the most common form of government in the Imperial League.

Great Syndicate: Great Syndicates are semi-autonomous, hyper-specialized Corporate Republics that focus on one or a family of industries. Some Syndicates have the resources and manpower to rival the Terran Viceroyalties in strength and influence. Some of the most powerful Syndicates include the Agricultural Combined Concerns (AgriCombine), Habitat and Starcraft Construction Guild, and the Imperial Trading Company.

Tribal Zone: Tribal Zones are a specialized variant of the Corporate Republic that focus on agriculture. Tribal Zones may focus on one or more agricultural sectors (farming, livestock, etc.).

Theocracy: Theocracies are communities that are governed by an Ecclesiastical body as opposed to a Corporate or Martial one. The majority of Theocracies across the League are small, monastic enclaves. The largest Theocracy in the Solar System is the Shi’a Islamic Caliphate on Phobos.

Military Demesne: Military Demesnes are territories governed by the Imperial Armed Forces, and range is size from minor outposts across the Extrasolar Territories, to installations covering Deimos, Pluto, and Charon. Military Demesnes also serve to house Armed Forces personnel and dependents, and the many industries and services needed to support them.

Martial Band: Martial Bands are small communities in the League that focus solely on providing manpower for the Imperial Armed Forces, specializing in roles for the Land, Space, or Support Service Forces. Martial Bands are primarily agrarian, with armies of Serfbots doing most of the farm work to allow the human residents more time to focus on military pursuits. To prove their worth, Martial Bands are allowed to compete in live fire competitions against each other.

Knightly Corporation: Knightly Corporations are even smaller, and more specialized Martial Bands that are awarded to prominent members of the Armed Forces’ Officer Corps (in the hopes of passing their skills down to their children).

Subcultures:

Coman Society: Shortened version of the term “Common Ancestor Societies”, Comans are created by a single married pair purchasing a sizable land grant or habitat to settle and develop. Coman Societies don’t receive new settlers, instead relying on their own genetic stock to populate their home. Comans are quite popular in the Extrasolar Territories.

Diocletia: A small scale variant of a Coman Society, a Diocletia is created when a rewarded individual receives a land grant to enjoy retirement in peace. Many Diocletia are housed in the orbital habitats around Sol.

Cleruchy: Cleruchies are communities designated for settlement by veterans in recently incorporated territories (to aid in assuring the local population’s loyalty and a speedier Imperialization). As time progresses, Cleruchies may either evolve into Corporate Republics or Martial Bands.

Itinerant Populace: Itinerants are nomads, utilizing specially made orbital habitats that can travel from planet to planet.

Errantries: Errantries are Martial Bands that “answer the call to adventure”, and travel across Imperial-controlled space in the pursuit of earning glory (and the attention of the Imperial Armed Forces). The mercenary bands in Sirius and the “conquistador tourists” of Alpha Centauri are the most (in)famous examples of Errantry cultures.

Mobile Missions: Missionary Orders, religious charities, and relief services that travel to parts of human space that have suffered (or will suffer) from some form of calamity. The craft that Mobile Missions use to provide aid with are built to comfortably house millions of those in need of aid. Mobile Missions began to emerge following the Human-Crystalline War.

Corvee Guilds: Corvee Guilds serve as mobile “temp workers”, traveling from place to place to provide manpower in locales where there is a shortage.

Restorationists: Restorationists are adherents of a religious or cultural group who believe that something about the present day is “off”, and that Imperial society need only return to a “better” period from Earth’s past. Usually this involves some form of technological regression, in order to better attain material conditions for the aspired “golden age”.

Revivalists: Less radical than the restorationists, Revivalists only advocate for certain aspects of modern Imperial society to be either scaled back, altered, or removed entirely.

Lifestylists: Rather than looking into the past for solutions to modern problems like Restorationists, Lifestylist subcultures look elsewhere. Lifestylists have a large supply of sources to serve as tools for creating their ideal societies, from popular works of fiction, to alternate historical simulations, and even from scratch. The Order of Social Anachronists of Jupiter, the Collegium of Alternate Histories on Saturn, and the aptly named From Scratch Society on Uranus are Great Syndicates that exist to represent the Lifestylist movement.

Abdicates: Common among the Fay-Touched colonies, Abdicates are those communities that, due to their being stranded in Fay-space, had to abandon certain technologies. While some argue that it was necessary to maintain resources, others knowledgeable of their history will state, begrudgingly, that they simply lost the means to preserve and recreate the lost technology.