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eraenaa · 1 year ago

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Please, Please, Please (Rafe's Edition)

Inspired by the song Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Being with Rafe, a notorious hotheaded drug dealer, you knew others would question your relationship— especially your parents, who had never been fond of him. But when his habits had been too much to handle, you knew that you would prefer heartbreak to a broken ego.

Warnings: ¿Slight Angst?,Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Semi-Public Relations, Not Proofread

Word Count: 4,480

You took a risk—a big one at that. Rafe had always been a boy your parents, friends, and almost everyone warned you about, but you ignored their qualms, for there was this persistent pull to him that you could not deny.

Growing up, it was plain that he was a bully. He was always one to torment other children in the playground or at school, but you were saved from his hostility, him only as going as far as teasing you because you were easily baited. Later, he did admit that it was his only way to gain your attention. You had hoped he would grow out of his tormenting ways when the two of you reached maturity, but it only severed. He always got into pointless and petty fights and was scolded by his teachers and father as he was often suspended from school, but their warnings did nothing to deter him. When you reached high school, you once again hoped he would clean up his act, wanting to fall fully for him, but his rash decision, raging temper, and ill vices had only multiplied— hindering you from admitting the attraction you had to him since childhood.

It was plain that any pull you had towards him should be ignored and buried deep inside, for he only came with trouble. It also did not help that he had doubled his efforts to show his interest in you. Giving you little gifts and trinkets he knew you were entirely fond of. Scaring away any romantic prospects, labeling you as ‘his’ though nothing between you two was truly set in stone. So, you could not help yourself to succumb to him�� to finally be his, just like your heart in childhood longed for. As years passed, you would silently beg him not to prove you right— that he could overcome the judgments passed on him, but your pleas were moot, for Rafe could never fully shed the true yet cruel perceptions of him.

You tried to keep him at arm’s length for as long as you could, but even the mightiest and most stubborn of soldiers falter and lose their sensibilities. The two of you started with hookups, not entirely romantic, yes, but it was enough for you to fall further for him. You would often sneak around at parties, making out in the bathroom or an empty closet or even a dark corner somewhere. You thought the both of you could live happily even though no one knew you were with him, so no one could pass their judgments. Things were quick to escalate with you giving him your first kiss to him taking your first time.

“Rafe,” You cried out in pain, him drawing circles upon your sensitive bud as his well-endowed length pushed its way in you, him hushing and kissing your tears away as he fully sheathed himself in your cunt— finally taking all of you after years of patience and restraint. “Just a little more, pretty girl… you’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?” He hissed as he felt you clench around him, your cunt tighter than he had hoped, and Rafe felt lightheaded. You nodded weakly and looked at him through teared-filled eyes. “Fucking hell, baby… you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned as he cautiously thrust into you, waiting for your pained expression to turn to pleasure.

“Rafe… oh god, I— just like that,” you said, almost incoherently. “Such a good girl taking all of my cock… you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this… how long I’ve wanted you.” Rafe gritted through pleasure. That night, you knew there was no turning back; every part of you was Rafe’s that even your mind could not even find caution.

However, just like in any other relationship, there were trials. Your trial was to keep Rafe at bay, not to let him sink into his addiction and violence. Your earnest effort was poured into his rehabilitation and to calm his forever violent being. Rafe’s trial was you keeping your relationship a secret. He wanted to shout it and make it known throughout the Outer Banks that you were his. That the only girl he had ever wanted— loved was finally his, but you were persistent in keeping the both of you a secret, having to sneak around. The touches, longing, pleasure, and love need to be hidden in the dark. Sometimes, he wondered if you were ashamed of him, but he did not like dwelling on the thought, for it only brought devastation in him. There was a painful throb in his chest and a pit in his stomach when he would think of the matter.

“Rafe, do you really have to… do this?” You asked as your eyes flew towards the packet of white substance he was planning to sell at a party you two would attend later that day. “You know I have to, baby… it’ll be quick, I swear. Those kids always sell out my stock,” He sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You licked your lips and stared at his chest, unable to meet his eyes. Rafe had stopped using the moment the two of you went official, but no matter what half-hearted ultimatum you threw at him, you could not hinder him from engaging in illegal dealings.

“But what if you get caught… your father h—“ Rafe sighed and kissed your lips shut. He appreciated your concern greatly; you were the only one who genuinely cared and loved him, but he could not listen to your concern, for he had no actual choice but to sell. He had great financial needs, especially because you were with him; he needed to support both of you. To show you that he can provide you with the well-off life you already lived. Yes, his family did have money, a great deal of it, but he didn’t have the want to be indebted and be under his father’s thumb.

“I won’t. Stop worrying, baby; you know it makes your stomach upset,” It was half concern and half tease; you could only roll your eyes at his words. “Just… just be safe— be cautious and—“ Rafe kissed your lips shut once more, smirking against your lips as he could not help but be flattered by your concern. “I know what I’m doing.” He said confidently. You were unconvinced but still gave a nod, not wanting to push and anger him.

True enough to his word, nothing of note happened at the party, much to your relief. The following day, you did not expect to see Rafe, for you had told him you were busy with engagements with your parents. “What are you doing here?” You asked with a frantic smile as you felt arms wrap around you. You were in the country club’s restaurant waiting for your parents to arrive.

Rafe did not answer your question; he simply just connected your lips, and your eyes grew wide. From where you sat, you gently pushed him away, and you felt guilt course your system as you saw hurt in his ocean eyes. “My parents are here,” You say warily, further putting distance between you. Rafe stood straight and frowned, “So?” He asked, and you smoothened the fabric of your dress in nervousness. “You know why,” You say softly, and you hear him scoff and shake his head. “Baby, it’s been two years… how long are you gonna hide us?” He asked, and you felt further guilt take over you. You parted your lips to speak but you hear your parents call for your name, making you stand in surprise and hesitantly greet them.

“So sorry we’re late, darling; your father and I could not escape our meeting!” Your mother sighed and patted your cheek affectionately. “Oh, you have company,” Your mother said in surprise as she noticed Rafe standing behind you. You feel your stomach drop as your father’s eyes fly to Rafe. “You’re Ward’s son, aren’t you?” He asked, uncertain as he and your mother only spent scarce time on the island. “Rafael, was it?” Your father asked, and you chewed on your cheek as you watched their interaction. “Rafe,” he gritted, and you gave him a look, “… sir. It’s Rafe,” He corrected, and your father nodded in acknowledgment.

You took in a deep breath as your father assisted your mother to sit and motioned for you to do the same, but you were hesitant as Rafe still stood by the side of your table. You look to your mother, and she purses her lips, “Bye, Rafe, tell Sarah I’ll see her later,” You suddenly say as his cue to leave; you clench your hands around the fabric of your dress as you see anger and hurt in his eyes as the words left your lips, expecting you to invite him to your family’s meal and hopefully reveal your relationship to your parents. “Yeah, see you around,” He gritted out and stomped out of the restaurant, anger exuding from him.

You took a menu into your hands and finally let out a breath of relief. “I don’t want you to associate yourself with that type of company,” Your father suddenly said. You lowered the menu in your hands, “What?” You asked quietly. “I do not want you to associate yourself with that boy,” You blinked at your father’s words. “He’s Sarah’s brother,” You say meekly. “Even so. He only comes with trouble, darling. We are here only a handful of months every year, but the rumors and talk about him and his… habits are deafening,” Your mother chimed in, and you lowered your gaze. “We are not hindering you from being friends with Sarah, but it would be best if you keep your distance from her brother— we don’t need you being influenced by that, Rafe,” You bit your lip as you slowly nodded, your parents expecting a response of agreement from you.

After the day spent with your parents, you rushed towards Tannyhill as you feel Rafe was not too happy with you. He would usually message and call you throughout the day to see how you were, but not even one notification came from him, rendering you further in guilt. “I’m so sorry,” You say in a plea as you knelt on Rafe’s bed, him sitting idly by the headboard, avoiding your gaze, a prominent furrow in his brows. You placed your hand on his leg, and you sighed as he moved his limb away from your touch. You watched as he crossed his arms across his chest and turned further away from you. It shouldn’t amuse you, but he looked like a little kid who was on the verge of a tantrum.

“I really am sorry. I just wasn’t ready to tell them yet,” You say and move closer to Rafe, taking hold of his hand. “It’s been two years. If you still aren’t ready now, when will you be?” He grumbled, and you bit your lip.

“Rafe, you know it’s complicated, my parents are…” You trailed, unable to find the word. “Just fucking say you’re ashamed of me!” Rafe seethed and stood from his bed. Your lips parted in shock at his words, “That’s not true! I love you; I will never be ashamed of you!” You defended and stood as well, following close to him. “Yeah? Then why the fuck are we a secret?” You lowered your gaze in shame as he screamed at you. “Because my parents won’t approve,” You said truthfully. “Rafe, they still see you as a hothead junkie… and I know you’ve changed— I’ve seen you change, but they haven’t. And they're just… they don’t want me near you,” You said, and Rafe shook his head, a gnawing feeling in his gut. He didn’t care for the other’s opinion of him, but now he could not help but too because your parent’s opinion of him was what was hindering you from being fully his.

“I just fear that if we tell them now, they’ll take drastic measures to— to separate us,” You say in fear. “What?” He asked and made you lift your gaze and look at him. “They’ve been wanting to move to New York for a while now— for the business, but I keep insisting on staying here,” You admitted, having hidden that information from Rafe for a year because you didn’t want it to go in between your relationship. You hear Rafe’s ragged breathing, “How much longer?” He asked in aggravation. “I don’t know,” You say truthfully. “That’s not a fucking answer,” You hear how hard he tried hard to control his rage, to not point his anger at you.

“Rafe,” you sighed. “I know how you’ve changed— I’ve watched you change, and I am so proud of you… but,” You bit your lip as you tried to decide if you should continue speaking. “But what?” He seethed. “You still deal drugs… you haven’t cut the final tie to that life,” You say lowly. “Baby, you know why I do it,” You furrowed your brow; do you truly know why? You began to wonder. Rafe saw your confusion and spoke once more.

“I’m doing it for us— for you, so I can support you. So we can be free in the future. Just you and me.” He said and cupped your cheeks, but his explanation did not aid your bewilderment. “Rafe, you know I am not with you for money… I don’t need you to provide for me, and I most certainly don’t need tainted currency.”

“I know you don’t need me to provide for you— I want to provide for you,” You sighed as your heart doubled at his words. “I appreciate that… but, my love, there are other ways… when we build our life together, we don’t need this type of money. We could find jobs in the meantime, and in a few years, I’ll have hold of my trust fund; we could use that to build the life we want.” Rafe shook his head at the solution you presented, it was simply not good enough for him. He would not subject you to finding a job and dipping into your trust fund just because he could not provide for you properly.

“Don’t be stubborn,” you sighed, “Rafe… I— This can’t go on, ‘cause—“ you quickly halted your words before you uttered something you might regret. “Cause what?” Rafe questioned, and his frown deepened as you took off his hold on your face. “Rafe, I love you.. but I can’t be with you if you still do this,” You said, solemnly. Rafe felt his stomach twist at your words.

“You accused me of being ashamed of you… I am not, I could never be.” You spoke, voice already heavy with emotion. “I am, however, ashamed of what you do— I’m sorry— I know you are doing it with the purest of intentions, but there are other ways to earn money; you know there are.” Rafe felt his body turn rigged with rage. “And think of the scandal of it all… I love you, but please, please, please, you must understand that I cannot tarnish my and my family’s reputation with this,” You feel a tear fall from your eyes, and you cannot even stomach to look at Rafe in the eyes.

“Get out,” You hear him say through gritted teeth after a moment of steely silence passed. You finally placed your gaze upon his and all you could see was anger and hurt, “Get the fuck out!” He screamed, and you backed away, not challenging him anymore, and just did as he told. As you sat at his bedroom door, you bit your tongue to stifle a sob as you heard him let out his rage, thrashing and ruining his room, throwing and breaking anything and everything.

Three weeks passed, and you did nothing but mourn your secret relationship with Rafe. You barely left the house, actively avoiding the places you knew you would see him in. Only going out on the days you had memorized he had ‘business’ to attend to and won’t be out of town. A part of you felt entirely guilty, ending it and crushing your heart and his, but the more rational part of you saw that it was needed. Heartbreak is one thing, but your ego is certainly another. And you thought you could handle a broken heart better than a tarnished reputation.

“Hey!” You hear banging at your front door, and you frown from where you sit in the living room. You made cautious steps as the door pounded. You would lie if the violent banging of the wooden door did not make you hope it was Rafe, but as you looked through the peephole, you saw his sister. “Sarah?” You asked as you opened the door, and she smiled at you. “Where have you been? You’ve been MIA the past few weeks! Are you sick?” She asked as you ushered her inside your house.

“Uhm… just haven’t been feeling well,” You fibbed as you took her to the kitchen and handed her some refreshments. “Are you better now?” You gave her a forced smile and nodded your head. “Great! Because you’re coming with me to a party!” You frowned at her words, “I don’t know… I’m not really up for a party,” You say softly, and Sarah shakes her head. “Come on! It’s Top’s birthday— he even sent me here to convince you we miss you!” Sarah pleaded, and your broken heart grew warm at her words. You took a moment before answering, “Fine,” You sighed and you saw clear excitement in her eyes as she had convinced you.

“When is it?” You asked as Sarah took hold of your wrist. “Now! Come one, let’s get you ready!” You laughed as she hurriedly led you to your room and ready you for the party. “There are a lot of cute guys there… might wanna get to know them,” You could only blink at her words. Sarah sighed as you stood before your closet, “I… I know about you and Rafe,” She suddenly confessed, and you could not find it in yourself to be surprised. “And I’m not trying to bum you out, but maybe you should try to move on, find someone else… he certainly has,” You feel your heart pit at the last words she mumbled. “What?” You asked meekly. Sarah fidgeted with her fingers, “He’s been fucking his way through the island,” She said lowly. You sucked on your lip; you did expect it. He was a notorious playboy before you two went official, so it was only fitting he waltzes back into old patterns after your relationship’s demise.

As you entered the party with Sarah, you squared your shoulders and avoided the dark corners of the house, knowing that is where Rafe would be. You barely entered the threshold when someone already came up to you, “Can I get you a drink?” A tall guy with brown hair and hazel eyes asked you; you flashed him a quick smile and a nod, and he led you to a drinks table, Sarah whispering ‘good luck’ in your ear as you departed from her side.

Rafe felt his eye twitch as he saw you by the drink table chatting with a guy wearing one of your dresses that was his favorite. His hold on the wad of cash grew tighter as you had a smile on your face and the guy leaning closer to you. “Yo, dude, can I get my change?” Someone yelled at him through the blaring music. Rafe clenched his jaw and begrudgingly moved his eyes from you to hand the person their change. How could you just walk in this and flirt with guys as if you had not broken his heart? How could you bait him, lead in him with false promises and security— love and care for him like nobody else had, then just fucking leave!

You left the party proper, letting the guy you just met lead you to the backyard to where a swing set was, the both of you needing quiet to hold and actually conversation. He was not Rafe, did not come close, but maybe that was a good thing. You were grateful for the distraction, and if your heart were not so stubborn, you would be more interested in him. You did not know how long the both of you stayed chatting in the swing set, but when the both of you heard the distinct sound of a cop’s car and kids running out of the house, you two quickly stood and saw what was happening.

You took a deep breath as you saw the scene before you: Rafe being handcuffed by the sheriff and his little packets being confiscated. You locked eyes with ocean-blue ones for the first time in three weeks, and you saw nothing but rage and hate in them. You chewed on your cheeks as they escorted Rafe out, and you left the guy you were with to find Sarah.

Rafe sat in the holding cell, staring blankly at the floor. He did not know how to process anything. He did not know if he should focus more on the fact that he was arrested or the scene he saw in the backyard with you chatting and laughing with some guy but the swing set. Rafe made himself more comfortable in his seat, certain he would stay the night there, but he was surprised as the cell doors were being unlocked. “Get up, Cameron; someone posted your bail.” Rafe blinked. Did his father truly come to get him? Who else would post his bail so quickly?

When Rafe walked out of holding, he saw you speaking with the sheriff, and he felt his knees grow weak. You turned to him, no word uttered before you stepped outside, and he simply followed. Rafe saw his truck parked outside, guessing one of his friends dropped you off before leaving because you never learned how to drive. Rafe sighed, took hold of the passenger side door handle, and opened the door for you, like always, hearing you mumble a quick ‘thanks’ before the two of you were enveloped in silence once more.

You sat stiffly in your seat as Rafe drove you home, but halfway through the drive, Rafe stopped by the side of the road. “Why?” He suddenly asked as his truck came to an abrupt halt. “I know you didn’t want to bring your dad into this,” You answered quietly. Rafe huffed and shook his head. “No— why the fuck did you end it?” Rafe confronted. “Rafe, I told you, we can’t be together with all this… shit! I— I can’t be with you if you keep doing this. Do you know how scary it is for me? Besides being labeled as the girlfriend of a drug dealer… I have to wait for you to go home, hoping you’re unscathed—that you didn’t get into any danger. I don’t want to live with that kind of anxiety, Rafe!” You paused your lips as you saw his tight grip on the steering wheel. You feel your eyes welling with tears, and you curse yourself as your tears will surely ruin your makeup.

“Fine, I’ll… I’ll quit,” Rafe said after a moment, and you shook your head and crossed your arms. “Don’t make empty promises, Rafe.” You sighed as he tried to take hold of your hand. “Baby, you know I always keep my promises… remember when I said I’d quit doing drugs? I did it, didn’t I? I did it for you, and I’ll do this for you again,” You swallowed thickly at Rafe’s words. “Rafe…” you trailed, not knowing what to say. “I swear— I can put all of this behind, just… I can’t lose you, not you.” Rafe pleaded and you could only reach forward and kiss him.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want it to come to this— I never wanted to give you an ultimatum bu—“ Rafe cut you off by kissing your lips once more, starved by the taste and feel of you. “I know, baby, I know.” He sighed as he pulled you towards his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed yours. “Sa… Sarah said you’ve been sleeping around,” You say quietly as he leaves marks on your skin. “Bullshit. You know I can’t get it up for anyone else… I only want you,” Rafe breathed out and cupped your cheek. Between his past business and his wallowing for your relationship, where would he even find time or the want for other girls? You slowly nodded and decided to believe his words.

‘I’ve missed you,” You confessed and saw him smirk. “Good.” He answered and smashed your lips. He quickly undid the zipper of his jeans and hiked up your dress to your waist. You did not even notice it, but you were already so wet for him, your wanting aiding you to sink down on his cock. Rafe watched in amazement as your eyes rolled back and your lips parted as you let out a quiet moan. “Oh god… Rafe,” you called out breathlessly, already feeling him brush over the sensitive spot in your cunt. This position was his favorite because he was able to take you deeply, have your body flushed against his, and, most importantly, he got to kiss your plush, sweet lips.

Rafe yanked down the top of your dress and took your tit into the cavern of his mouth as you bounced on his cock. “God, you’re so pretty,” Rafe breathed out as you clenched further along his length. “And you’re all mine,” he added and gripped your behind. “Yes… all yours,” You agreed as you moaned, the windowing of his truck fogging up. You grew careless at the passing cars, unable to find caution that the both of you might get caught, for you have missed Rafe and his cock terribly. “Are you gonna come, baby? Is my pretty girl gonna come?” Rafe hissed as he felt you rest your head on his broad shoulder; you often did that as you concentrated on reaching your peak.

He felt you nod, and he reached towards your breast to cup and pinch the bud, earning a loud moan from your lips. Rafe was quick to follow you, spilling his seed deep inside your cunt, as three weeks without you had made him desperate. “Fuck…” Rafe hissed, and you cupped his cheeks to kiss his lips.

You breathed heavily as you stared at his hazy eyes. “Rafe?” You called and hummed. “Please, don’t prove ‘em right? Please?” You asked, and Rafe smiled, nodding his head. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

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pascaloverx · 8 months ago

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STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

preview two

ONE

A starry night, as though the gods themselves had blessed the heavens. You stand in the place where you often meet General Acacius to maintain appearances. He will spend the day attending to Emperors Geta and Caracalla alongside his wife, Lucilla. Meanwhile, your day will revolve around the gladiators—or, more precisely, their wounds. You have been summoned to tend to the gladiators who will participate in that day's opening of the games—battles they will wage against one another or against beasts. Your thoughts are divided between Marcus Acacius and Hanno, the gladiator you strongly suspect harbors intentions of avenging his wife’s death at Acacius's hands.

"Mea domina, you are here," General Acacius murmurs as he approaches, though his complexion appears unusually pale. He is dressed in a tunic that conceals most of his body, with a laurel crown adorning his head. The lateness of the hour and the absence of natural light obscure your view, but as he draws nearer, you notice a wound bleeding on his arm. You rush toward him, your concern overcoming any formality. Without hesitation, you expose the area of his injury, removing the fabric to inspect it. His skin is feverishly warm beneath your touch.

"Who did this to you, Acacius?" you ask, a wave of anger surging through your body, mingling with an overwhelming sense of concern. "By the Gods, you should have come to me sooner," you say, your voice laced with frustration as your fingers graze his fevered skin, causing him to shiver under your touch. You guide him to a nearby bench, urging him to rest. Knowing him well, you suspect he has concealed his injury from everyone, unwilling to reveal any vulnerability. Fortunately, all are accustomed to you tending to him—it is, after all, one of your roles as his lover.

"I did not wish to trouble anyone, least of all you, Y/N," Acacius replies, his tone steady as he attempts to mask his discomfort. "A gladiator loosed an arrow at me—it must have struck me somehow. Macrinus certainly knows how to select skilled men for his arena." His voice retains its commanding timbre, though his actions betray his weariness. He pulls you closer by the waist, resting his head against your abdomen, as though seeking solace in your presence.

"General, we must go to the place where Ravi keeps his instruments. I must tend to your wounds and return you, whole and well, to your wife," you say, holding Acacius' face in your hands, as if willing him to remain conscious. His deep brown eyes meet yours, their gaze uncharacteristically tender.

"But this is my time with you," he whispers, taking your hands in his and pressing a kiss to each. "And I have told you, you need not address me as General. Our relationship has long surpassed formalities," he says, his voice softer now as he finishes kissing your hands. A fleeting thought tempts you to lean down and kiss him, but before you can act, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts. Guards arrive, accompanied by Lucilla and Ravi. You instinctively want to withdraw from Acacius, but his unconscious state forces you to hold him upright.

"Take my husband to his quarters. Ravi is here to see to his treatment," Lucilla commands, her tone dismissive, her gaze avoiding yours entirely. The guards comply, carrying the now-limp Acacius away.

"Y/N," Lucilla addresses you, her voice sharp and deliberate, "from this moment forward, Ravi will be responsible for Acacius' care. I trust the gladiators will suffice to occupy your attention." Her words, though polite in form, carry an unmistakable message: your role as Acacius' lover is nearing its end. Vulnerability washes over you, but you lower your head in acknowledgment, as if understanding her decree. Without another glance, she follows the guards to accompany her husband.

Ravi approaches, carrying his instruments and tools. "I need you to go to Macrinus' gladiator and tend to his wounds. Macrinus has already informed the guards of his gladiator's need for treatment, so you need not fear," Ravi instructs, already preparing to attend to Acacius himself. Fear is far from your mind. The only sentiment stirring within you is anger, directed at the one who dared harm Acacius. You nod in silent agreement and gather the necessary supplies to treat the gladiator, your resolve firm as you set out to fulfill your task.

The guards grant you entry without hesitation, their expressions indifferent. Inside the dimly lit cell, you find Hanno—his body marred by fresh wounds, his face pale but defiant. He appears battered, as though every ounce of strength has been drained from him. Anticipating the state you might find him in, you came prepared with tools to clean his wounds, at least superficially.

"The lovely healer graces me with her presence once more," Hanno mutters, his tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and faint amusement. A strained smile flickers across his lips as he clutches his abdomen, evidently in pain. "I suppose you're here to finish what the guards so generously began." His voice is hoarse and weakened, yet it retains a biting edge.

A chill runs through you as you step closer to him, fully entering his cell. The air feels heavier here, and his piercing gaze follows your every move. "They must have hurt you for what you did to General Acacius," you state, your voice measured as you kneel, setting down your tools. The mention of Acacius draws no sign of remorse from Hanno; instead, he seems emboldened, inching himself nearer to you with deliberate subtlety. As you settle beside him, his proximity becomes undeniable, his rugged presence filling the confined space. Though weakened, there’s an unsettling calm in his demeanor, as though he is testing you, seeking something unspoken within your resolve.

As you begin to cleanse his wounds, the facade of the formidable gladiator crumbles beneath the weight of his pain. Low, anguished groans escape his lips despite his efforts to suppress them. It becomes clear that he is suffering deeply, though he clings to the last vestiges of his pride.

"Ah, here we are again," Hanno murmurs between strained breaths, his voice laced with an uneven mixture of sarcasm and torment. "You, seizing the opportunity to inflict more pain under the guise of tending my wounds, and I, striving to focus on your beauty to mask just how much it hurts."

A flicker of anger rises within you, mingled with a reluctant pity for the state of his battered body. "Flattery will not grant you any special treatment," you reply sharply, leaning in closer to examine his injuries more thoroughly. "I warned you not to harm Acacius dishonorably. I thought you might exercise restraint, but I was mistaken."

With deft movements, you remove the upper portion of his tattered garment to gain better access to the worst of his injuries. He offers no resistance, watching you with an unsettling mix of amusement and interest, as if savoring the attention. "I do recall saying I would take your request under consideration," Hanno says nonchalantly, as though the matter were trivial.

Frustrated by his flippant attitude, you press a tender wound more firmly than necessary. He lets out a guttural cry of pain, his composure faltering for a moment. "Forgive me," you say with a mocking smile, your tone cold. "I must have forgotten to take your suffering under consideration."

He meets your gaze, a faint, knowing grin curling his lips as if he derives some twisted pleasure from your defiance. "If you wish to exact vengeance, then take the dagger you’ve hidden and drive it into my heart," he says, his voice low and steady, despite the evident strain. "It is the only way to shield your precious General Acacius from my wrath." Hanno leans closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, the proximity of his battered form unsettling. His observation of the concealed blade leaves you momentarily stunned, your grip tightening as the tension between you hangs heavy in the air.

"Is that what you believe I should do—kill you?" you ask, a faint trace of amusement in your tone as you marvel at Hanno's audacity. He leans closer to your face, his gaze sharp and provocative.

"If protecting him is your goal, then yes," Hanno replies, his voice steady, his eyes fixed upon yours with an intensity that borders on insolence.

You smile, intrigued by how easily he speaks of his own demise. "General Acacius is a wise and seasoned warrior. He will know how to deal with you," you say, leaning in as if accepting the challenge his very presence seems to demand.

"If you think I seek an honorable battle with Acacius solely to shield him," you continue, your voice steady and measured, "then you are gravely mistaken. Look at yourself, gladiator. To achieve vengeance, it is not merely strength or skill you require. A true fighter knows which battles are worth fighting." Your hand moves deftly to clean a wound near his neck, blood still seeping from it. He winces slightly but does not pull away, his sharp blue eyes never leaving your face.

"The way you speak, it seems as though you've developed an affection for me, healer," Hanno remarks, his tone soft but probing. "If that is the case, why carry a dagger?" He gently grasps your arm, his grip firm yet careful, as if urging you to give him your full attention.

"Because the wife of General Acacius made it clear before the guards that I will no longer tend to his care. For many of the men here, that declaration is as good as an invitation to see me as their sport," you reply, your gaze unwavering as you meet his eyes.

For a moment, something shifts in his expression—a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "I see," he murmurs, his voice lower now. "Then show me. Show me how you would wield it to defend yourself." Though puzzled by his request, you reach for the dagger and position it as you would in a moment of self-defense, your stance steady and deliberate. His eyes follow your movements with a keen focus, his lips curving into a faint, almost approving smile as he observes your resolve.

"You’re holding it incorrectly," he says, taking your hands, still clutching the dagger, and guiding them to a precise spot on the left side of his chest. "Here. Strike here on any opponent—more than once, if need be—and you’ll increase your chances of survival," he instructs, his voice steady, his grip firm but not overbearing.

You had never considered the necessity of knowing how to fight; before Acacius, your late husband had always been there to shield you. But now, an unsettling vulnerability lingers, heavy and unshakable.

"You place too much trust in me," you murmur, your gaze locked with his. "I could hurt you with this dagger right now."

His lips curl into a faint, genuine smile, weak but without hesitation. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if you did," Hanno replies, the tension between you thickening.

You drop the dagger back to its place, snapping yourself out of the moment. "Turn around. I need to apply an herbal salve to the wound on your back so I can retire to my quarters. It has been a long day," you instruct, watching as he complies without protest. His physique, sculpted as one would expect of a gladiator, does not escape your notice. But before your thoughts can wander too far, you refocus, applying the salve with care. He grunts softly at the touch, his pain audible but restrained.

"I could teach you how to defend yourself," Hanno murmurs as you finish tending to his wounds. Once done, he turns to face you, his expression expectant.

"Are you certain you wish to help me, knowing my loyalty lies with General Acacius?" you ask, genuine curiosity laced in your tone.

He lifts a hand to your face, his touch gentle as he caresses your cheek. "Something tells me you need help, and I want to offer it. General Acacius or not, this is about you," he emphasizes, pointing at you, "and me," he finishes, gesturing to himself.

You hesitate, uncertainty flickering in your eyes, but the sincerity in his gaze stirs something within you. Perhaps it would be wise to accept his offer. "Very well, gladiator," you reply, taking the hand that had touched your face and grazing it softly with your fingertips. "Teach me what you know, and I promise to mend you each time you require it."

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pemprika · 1 year ago

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a lifetime of happiness

**hnk ch 108 spoilers**

Can't believe it's already been a month since Houseki no Kuni ended... It's been a ride leading up to the finale but I finished the series with tears welling up in my eyes, and a sense of peace. 😭

The ending was hopeful and meaningful— an unexpectedly lovely conclusion for Phos! 🤧 I love the visual metaphor of Phos and the gems being reborn into "The Pure Land", or known as, The Land of the Lustrous, a purified paradise free of materialism and earthly temptations. These delicate gem flowers holding tiny, unique universes, will be eternally brightened by Phos' radiant existence. With the possibility of other universes, I hope that Phos and the others will meet again and lead more fulfilling lives together!! 🛌💭

The way my jaw dropped realizing Ichikawa ended the last chapter on number 108, the Buddhist symbol of overcoming worldly desires and embracing new beginnings to attain nirvana. SO good...😦 The parallel between big brother and Phos, both on self-destructive, morally ambiguous paths for their loved ones/ideals, was a compelling twist. I love them both... 😢 As Aechmea and Adamant hoped, big brother passed on knowing he helped Phos find happiness. 😭 Wailing...

This series has profoundly impacted me more than I imagined, shaping my perspectives on my own values and the world. Despite it coming to an end, we will always stay connected across time and space, just like Phos!!! 🥺🤍

Thank you, Haruko Ichikawa, for creating such a memorable piece of work, and to everyone who has liked my hnk art and commentaries throughout the years! I'll continue loving and drawing the series for as long as I can. 🙇

#housekinokuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #it was the best possible ending for phos and i love how beautifully depicted the closing chapter was T_T #treasuring it in my heart forever!!!#hnk 108 #hnk spoilers #thanks to anyone who follows my other platforms and rereads the same caption lol!#i'd like to eventually compile an more complex analysis now that the series is finished!! maybe after i reread everything <:)#pemprika

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xechu · 14 days ago

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[Honor & Vengeance] S. Geto - 夏油傑

Pairing: general!suguru x fem!reader Word Count: 9.6k Series Warnings: please read my blog rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, depiction of gore and violence, mature themes Chapter Warnings: mature themes, description of violence, blood Tags: historical au, non-curse au, marriage of convenience, slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, fictional politics Summary: stakes continue to run high with unresolved tension between you and Suguru. But before there was any chance for proper reconciliation, Sato makes his first move - his decree catching everyone off guard and thrusting you into a future you never could have imagined. a/n: I have decided this will be the final chapter for Arc 1. And I will be taking a brief break as I go back to the drawing board to map out the trajectory of Arc 2. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading! Also, a small thank you note at the end. x

Master List: << chapter 6 || chapter 8 (tbc) >>

[Chapter 7]: A King's Decree

Suguru.

Your voice called to him, but it was softer than usual—timid, even. His eyes shift to you and you return him a gaze that he has never seen before: hope. His breath hitched, and he found himself at a loss for words, utterly stunned, as though a man who was seeing his beautiful bride for the very first time.

Under the dreamy glow of night, you were the most ethereal woman he had ever seen.

The two of you stood in front of the estate. Only the tender whispers of the midnight breeze and cadenced buzzing of cicadas could be heard. In this moment, the moon and stars bore silent witness to your exchange.

That’s right. He remembers now.

It was the night of your wedding.

An auspicious day for marriage, one that Haibara had helped him pick out with a famed fortune teller—not that Suguru believed in such things. If one hadn’t known any better, it would have been safe to assume that Haibara was the groom. After all, he was the one who oversaw everything down to the seamstress, music, entertainment, and food.

You were dressed in your ceremonial gown, adorned with his mother’s borrowed heirlooms, because Suguru had spared no effort in purchasing anything precious for you. The only thing he provided you with was that gilded cage, which at the time he arrogantly thought was something you should be grateful for.

Looking back, it was indeed a picturesque day, but the hellstorm in his heart had cast a darkness over the skies.

Regrettably, he didn’t remember much on your special day. Didn’t remember what you looked like. Didn’t remember anything you said. He was too consumed by his thoughts of revenge. Too distracted by the person who always seemed to loom behind you like a haunted ghost of the past: Ayaka.

He hadn’t realized how much he had forgotten. Or rather, how much he refused to see.

But now that he was afforded a second chance, he must confess…

You were very beautiful.

Was the woman standing before him truly his wife?

You were so different—not just in looks, but in the way you felt.

He wanted to tell you he was sorry. Embrace you carefully. Understand you with a new lens.

Start all over again.

“Suguru—”

“Do not address me so casually.” The harsh words spilled from his lips like muscle memory. “Let me make myself clear: you and I are only husband and wife in the public eye. Behind closed doors, do not expect us to be anything more than strangers.”

No. That wasn’t what he wanted to say.

Sure, he remembered those harsh words, but if he was given a second chance this was not at all what he would have said.

What would he have said?

But before he could rectify any of it, the features on your face wilted. Hope faded from your eyes, and shoulders slumped from the whiplash of his brutal rejection.

Suddenly, the surrounding shadows began to grow until it consumed everything in its path; all except you who continued to stand amidst the darkness. Alone.

As he looked at you, he was overcome with a sense of grief and loneliness.

The memory of his unjust cruelty pulled him under, drowning him in a sea of regret that he could not swim out of, its unforgiving tides engulfing him whole.

This was the universe forcing him to confront his failures, his hubris, and stare them in the eye. Yet, gazing upon his failures could hardly be considered a punishment, because what use was the act of simply looking when he suffered no consequences?

What use was it when you were the one who bore the weight of his sins?

…

Sleep evaded Suguru once again. Ever since the incident at the Eastern Campsite, he hadn’t been able to sleep properly. You plagued his every waking thought, and visited his every dream.

He shifted to his side and stared at the empty spot beside him. Back then, he appreciated the space, the way it was crisp and cool when he turned over in his sleep. Now, it felt strangely empty without your presence.

It had only been a month and a half of sharing a bed with you, but he had grown more accustomed to it than he wanted to admit.

With you, things fell into place surprisingly naturally.

Perhaps it was because you were so competent. Or maybe it was your grace and determination that had enthralled him. Whatever it was, the two of you had taken two unexpected steps forward, only to take a hundred steps back.

Since returning from the campsite, you stowed yourself away in the guest house, never once making an appearance on the estate grounds. The Geto Estate had always been quiet, but this time, the quiet was accompanied by a heavy emptiness.

A persistent nag lingered in the back of his mind to speak to you, but as days passed, it only amplified the unworthiness he felt. That relentless cycle continued until he found it impossible to approach you.

Yet, wasn’t this the outcome that he wished for all along?

A silent and obedient wife who was hidden from the world—and appeared only when summoned?

Now that his wish had come true, why did it feel so hollow?

Deep down, he had already known the answer.

It was because he had witnessed a sight that he could no longer forget: a magnificent bird that had spread her wings and taken flight—only the infinite sky could complement her splendor. But he had seized the bird from the sky and clipped her wings without understanding the consequences. And now, she was reduced to sitting in a cage. Even if its bars were made of solid gold and precious gems, it would not do her justice.

He may have won the battle, but completely lost the war.

Realization always came too late.

Suguru sighed and propped himself up at the edge of the bed. The sky outside had already turned an ocean blue, painting the chamber in a cool, dim hue—mirroring the bleakness he felt inside. He might as well start the day early. Soon, he and Haibara were expected at the palace to relay the details of the Eastern Campsite to King Sato.

If there was one peculiar habit that Suguru had, it was that he was always the first to wake in the estate and the last to go to bed, it was a tendency he had adopted after losing his family.

The cusp of dawn was always his favorite part of the day, alone in the eerie stillness, when the world had yet to wake. It offered a brief respite, because it was the only time when the voices calling for vengeance were asleep.

As he made his way through the estate in ghostly silence, an unexpected figure caught his eye, emerging from the storage room.

He froze, blinking a few times to make sure it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

But it was no dream. It really was you.

You stopped in your tracks as well, eyes wide with surprise.

“I…” you stammered, clutching the small basket of medical supplies.

His brow furrowed, a faint frown forming, but the dimness of the corridors masked the pain behind his expression. As he approached closer towards you, he saw with much more clarity: tiny splotches of blood dotted the worn linen on your hand.

At the realization, the heavy ache in his chest slithered up to his throat and coiled him like a garrote.

“Why didn’t you call for Yumi or one of the servants—?”

He immediately bit his tongue.

His words were always a reflexive shield—harsh and condescending. A cursed habit he had to rid himself of promptly if he ever wished to make amends with you. There were many things he could have—shoud have—said.

Yet, when it came to you, he always faltered.

“I didn’t want to wake them so early for something so small.” You replied softly.

Small.

He was certain you were downplaying your pain, which only added to his guilt and remorse. Why couldn’t you scream, shout, cry, or even hit him?

At least that way, he knew how you felt… but he supposed that he wasn’t privy to such knowledge, especially not now.

He let out a sigh and briefly hesitated before reaching for the basket.

You pulled back slightly, hand tightening around the handle. “I’ll be fine—”

“Let me.” He insisted quietly.

His hand gripped the basket, showing no signs of relenting. For a moment, the two of you stood there in a quiet standoff. His eyes flickered between you and the basket, while you clung to it firmly, unwilling to entertain the gesture.

Truth be told, both of you were stubborn, but you were confident between you and Suguru, he was far more bullheaded.

So of course... you eventually relented and let go—too tired to keep fighting.

…

Soft wood creaked under your footsteps as you quietly trailed behind him to the west wing—an unfamiliar section of the estate. It was your first time seeing this part, but you supposed Haibara had foregone the tour of this section, as they all appeared to be personal quarters or empty guestrooms.

You understood that this was Suguru’s way of trying to make amends, but that only made the resentment inside you deepen. Because it was all too little, and too late.

In truth, if he had been kinder sooner you might have liked him. You would have even considered yourself a most fortunate woman, to be cherished by someone like Suguru Geto—after all, who wouldn’t?

But you couldn’t forgive him now.

Still, you continued to follow him to the end of the hall, which was isolated from the rest of the rooms. The latticed patterns and gilded peonies adorning the lacquered door hinted that this was likely his personal quarters. A room that was far removed from everyone else, which suited Suguru's solitary nature.

As you stepped past the threshold of his chamber, your eyes swept over the room. It was spacious, furnished with expensive but minimal pieces—similar to the guest house. A few paintings ornamented the bare walls, a large bed rested at the far end, a small rounded dining table sat in the center, a large desk took up another corner, and near the window, a modest tea area with two zaisu chairs.

There seemed to be a pattern with Suguru. By no means was he frugal, but he didn’t appreciate excessive indulgence either.

If things had been different, would this be where you stayed as well? But you quickly expelled the foolish thought from your head. Now was no time to be sentimental.

You watched as he carefully laid out the medical supplies at the dining table, organizing them in a neat row on the table.

“Come,” he said quietly, pulling up a seat beside him.

Hesitantly, you sat down, waiting as he fidgeted with the container of the salve, and opened up the small vial of alcohol. Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, he took your hand in his without hesitation. The way his fingers caressed your skin so naturally was a bitter irony, considering he used to flinch from the idea of even having to share space with you.

His hold was gentle and warm, while his gaze stayed focused on your wound. The way he skillfully worked the disinfection, and inspected the injury showed that he was used to treating them—most likely his own.

“It’s not healing well,” he murmured, still averting your gaze. “Have you been trying to use this hand?”

“Not on purpose,” you replied, biting down on your bottom lip. There were a few times you had been careless, but it was difficult when it was your dominant hand that was injured. Sometimes you’d use it on reflex, like the other day when you tried to catch a falling cup from the table. Much to your discouragement, it still ended up shattering on the floor.

He let out a quiet hum and gently rewrapped your hand with clean linen, each movement careful and practiced.

Looking up close, you noticed how his hands were much larger than yours. Calloused. Firm. Those were the very same hands that once cupped your cheek when he kissed you for the first time. But they were also the same hands that had touched someone else—someone he truly loved. The same hands that had been used to protect her, but not you. The same hands that recoiled in disgust on your wedding night.

Though you loathed wallowing in self-pity, it was still unfair, how you were never afforded a chance. How it took permanent wounds and bone-deep scars to finally get him to even just look your way.

Even in this otherwise tender moment, it felt like a mockery. A constant reminder that he had always been capable of such warmth, but he simply deemed you unworthy of it.

You continued to quietly observe him as his eyes remain fixed on your hand, never once distracted from the task. In such close proximity, your heart began to ache. You had never looked at him this carefully before. But now, you could see… how thick his lashes were, how silky and lustrous his raven hair was, how his brows slightly creased when he focused, and how soft his gaze had become.

Was this man before you the real Suguru Geto?

Yet, it was futile to engage in such thoughts, because trying to know him was utterly meaningless. And you feared if you allowed yourself to understand him now, you would only be betraying yourself.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly murmured as he finished dressing your wound, his thumb softly brushed over your bandaged palm.

Why…

If he was truly sorry, why hadn’t he come sooner?

Why did it take this divine intervention for him to apologize to you?

“Don’t…” your voice cracked, quickly pulling your hand away from his. “Don’t say that.”

His fingers curled in the space where your hand had just been, as if grasping onto something that could have been. His expression was indecipherable.

“There’s nothing else I can say,” he quietly said. “I have no excuse.”

“You’re right, you don’t.”

His eyes shifted slightly, searching yours as he struggled to find the right words. “Tell me… how can I fix this?”

“You can’t.” You replied, barely containing the bitterness in your voice.

Suguru always had this bizarre effect on you. He had this way of making you feel as though you were about to crumble before him. He had this way of getting under your skin, and thrusting you into situations that made you feel helpless and vulnerable.

You hated it.

“I don’t want your apology,” you continued, trying to reel in the hurt clawing at your chest. “I can’t forgive you, because this is all built upon your own shame and guilt. Not because you genuinely want to afford me kindness and respect…

“If you did, you would have done so long ago… when you chose me to be your wife.”

Suguru’s jaw tightened. There was no explanation he could offer, words alone could not console you, because what you said was all true. He had asked himself countless times since your injury: had things panned out the way he wanted—would he still feel so remorseful? Would he still have looked your way? Would he still have been so captivated by you?

“You’ve made it abundantly clear… what you want.” You smiled wryly. “I’m abiding by your wishes. Don’t you dare change your mind.”

Immediate silence followed, and you found yourself wishing you hadn’t come here at all. Once again, you’ve followed his lead at the expense of yourself. How many more times do you intend to sacrifice yourself? How many more times until you lose yourself entirely?

You stood up and made your way to the doorway, eager to escape him. Without affording him another chance to speak, you said: “So let it continue to be: behind closed doors, we will be nothing more than strangers.”

And then you left.

His mind told him to give you the space and that he’s already caused enough pain, but his heart screamed for him to chase after you, hold onto you tightly, and mutter endless apologies until you grew tired and relented. Yet, there had already been too many instances where he had acted selfishly, including bringing you into his room and dressing your wound. The more desperately he wanted to make things right, the further it pushed you away.

For the first time, he felt… despair.

Suguru sat in the weight of your absence, gazing at the bloodstained linen left on the table, haunting in its stillness—a painful reminder of how you bled for his indifference.

—

You quietly made your way back to the guest house, morning had broken through the sky by this time. Servants were awake and readied themselves to start the day, as you passed them, they politely bowed and greeted you good morning. Some even showed concern for your hand and wished you a speedy recovery.

Four months.

It felt like a lifetime ago but it had only been four months since you were wedded to Suguru. The last time you walked the estate grounds (not that you had much opportunity to) it was still warm, but now, a subtle coolness had begun to blanket the air. Since your marriage time seemed to warp strangely, some days felt long, other days felt as though it didn’t move at all—suspended in time. Only the waning of summer to autumn marked its passage.

The crisp morning air stirred a memory of the clinging summer heat, the first time you stepped foot onto the Geto Estate. Before you even had a chance to settle, you were immediately whisked into a small room where the seamstress worked on the finishing touches of your ceremonial gown. As soon as she was done, a veil was tossed over your head and you were ushered hastily to the ceremonial proceedings. At that point, you still weren’t sure who your husband was, the only person you knew was a kind man named Haibara, who tended to you. Yet a naive thought had crossed your mind then, if Haibara was so kind then surely the lord of this house—your soon-to-be husband—must be a decent man as well.

But you were wrong.

Perhaps, this was the price you had to pay for postponing your calling.

Had you answered it sooner, then you could have avoided this farcical marriage altogether.

For as long as you could remember, your father had always been a private man. There was no doubt he loved you, but a quiet distance always lingered. There were facets of him that remained inaccessible, even to his own daughter, and one of those inaccessible facets was your mother.

By all accounts, your father and mother should have never met, but fate always worked in mysterious ways, weaving two people from vastly different worlds together. You had never known much about her, except for a few things: she was a spirited woman, she spoke her mind, she was an excellent swordswoman, she died giving birth to you, and above all, she loved you and your father deeply.

Other than that, she remained a faceless enigma.

It wasn’t until a few years later—when you were about six years old—that an older man showed up at your home, and your father’s usually gentle face immediately darkened.

He was your mother’s father.

You remembered it as if it were yesterday, because that fateful reunion altered the trajectory of your life forever…

“You didn’t even come to her funeral, and you dare show your face now?!” Your father seethed.

That was the first time you'd ever seen him lash out—he had always been a mild-tempered man.

“I had business to take care of overseas. I came back as soon as I could,” your grandfather said. But he didn’t appear sad. He didn’t even sound shaken. At the time, you couldn’t comprehend how his heart seemed to be made of stone. His daughter was gone, taken too soon, and yet his expression remained composed.

It was the first time you'd met your grandfather, and even then, he had a commanding charisma. Had it not been for his silvery hair—you would not have been able to guess his age.

Your father had once told you that you had a grandfather who was a fisherman, but seeing him before you—even at a young age—you could tell he was not. His posture remained disciplined and poised. And his clothes were clean and immaculate, too tailored for a simple fisherman. If anything, he looked more like a captain or marine general.

“I see she left behind a beautiful little girl,” he said, kneeling down to meet you at eye-level. A small smile played on his lips, as he whispered a quiet ‘hello’.

You stared at him, something about the familiarity in his eyes captivated you. It was as though you felt your own mother in him, despite never knowing her. A part of you felt elated that there was family outside of just your father. Truth be told, it felt rather isolating over time when it was always just you and him.

“You don’t just get to show up here unannounced—not when you were never there for her,” your father snapped, yanking you protectively behind him. “Do you know how much she missed you?!”

“Son.” His voice lowered, laced with warning. “It would be in your favor to temper your emotions in front of your child.”

Your father gritted his teeth, but he quickly fell quiet as though your grandfather’s words had struck his senses like a thunderbolt.

“What do you want?”

“I have come here to offer help.”

“Help?” Your father’s tone was incredulous. “I don’t need your help.”

“Don’t be foolish. I could care less about you—you’re a grown man, but I cannot allow my granddaughter to be subjected to such an environment.”

“I will not allow you to take her away from me.”

“You’ve truly gone mad,” the silver haired man scoffed, and shook his head. “Who said anything about taking her away from you? I will stay here, of course!”

“What?”

“You think she’ll grow up well given your current state? Don’t be stubborn and just accept the help.”

“I will figure it out.”

“Look at yourself—you’re a complete disaster. You think you're worthy of being her father right now?”

“That is not up to you to decide—”

“If you do not fix yourself, then I will pluck her from your cold hands if I must.”

Your grandfather sized up your father, who stood taller, even despite his senior age. But unlike most silver-haired men you’d seen—frail, and shriveled with time—your grandfather was like a stallion: proud, unyielding, and vivacious.

“She would not be pleased to see you and her own daughter in this state,” he continued lowly. “So I suggest you take me up on my offer.”

The air grew tense, but even at your young age, you did not feel distressed from such heavy emotions. You had always been perceptive—quiet, and wise beyond your years—something your father had attributed to his shortcomings as a parent, because no child should have ever been forced to grow up so quickly.

Was your perceptiveness a blessing or a curse?

Even now, you weren’t so sure.

Yet, the perpetual sadness behind your father's eyes was unmistakable, even when he smiled at you. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel as though he forced himself to love you. Though you recognized now that sadness and yearning often went hand in hand—for the tenderest love was also the most painful.

His love for your mother revealed itself in his anguish.

It did not escape you: the quiet sobs from his office when he thought you were asleep. The way he would murmur your mother’s name—a name you would have never known if you hadn’t been eavesdropping. And the way he would quietly wish to be with her, when he turned to cheap plum wine to numb his grief in solitude.

Even from a tender age of six, you always feared that one day you would lose your father to the dark abyss of grief and sorrow.

And so…

“Papa,” you timidly said, tugging on his hand. “Let grandfather stay.”

Little did you know, that one request would open an entirely new destiny for you.

Over the next twelve years, you grew up with your grandfather by your side. Very early he revealed to you a world that had always existed in parallel, hidden in the shadows—one that you would have most likely lived on to never know had it not been for him. Eventually, that was also how you met Yumi, an orphan girl that was taken in by your grandfather.

Your initial impression of your grandfather had been correct: he was no fisherman. Rather, he was the ringmaster of an elusive organization that existed to serve the people.

What initially started as humble trades and ledgers, soon expanded into sustaining the ecosystem of the lower class. And that elusive organization was none other than the Merchant Guild.

Legacy. Duty. Birthright.

It wasn’t just some lofty mythos bestowed exclusively upon nobles and royalty. Everyone bears them in some form, no matter their walk of life.

And you were no exception.

It had never been your grandfather’s sole intention for you to succeed him. He had only shown you this life to give you another choice. Even as he drew his last breath, he had never pressured you. “For birthright without merit only breeds incompetence and entitlement,” he would always say.

But you had long proven yourself to be worthy of taking the mantle of Guild Leader, perhaps even more so than your own mother. The path of the Merchant Guild was not for the faint of heart. As noble and righteous as it may be, it was a path laden with burden and sacrifice.

A legacy to carry in secrecy.

A duty to fulfill in the shadows.

A birthright to claim in silence.

Now, more than ever, you felt the compulsion to assume your destiny—to reclaim a part of your identity that had been stolen.

For the throne had been left empty for far too long. And now, it whispered your name, beckoning you to step into your power.

Amid the throne room, Suguru stood face to face with the serpent he had longed to kill. In his mind, he’d slain the serpent a million times. Some days it was a quick beheading, and other days, it was slow and agonizing. He imagined the way he would plunge his dagger into his heart, and watch as the serpent’s face contorts in horror, agony, and then to desperation. He would beg for mercy in between pained gasps, and when he realizes that there will be no salvation—his face would warp to despair, as the light dims from his eyes. To this day, he wasn’t sure how he managed to look Sato in the eyes while holding fast onto his restraint. Perhaps it was proof that he’d already sunk too far into the deep.

This private audience with King Sato, however, filled Suguru with an unusual dread. There was no doubt you had intrigued the king. As a matter of fact, you had intrigued everyone, even the palace advisors could not stop whispering about you. The way everyone had eyed him today when he had walked through the palace corridors did not go unnoticed, though he pretended not to care. But this newfound attention ignited an inexplicable urge within him to shield you from everyone’s line of sight, because nothing good could possibly come from gaining Sato’s interest—only ruin.

“You’ve done well, General Geto. As always, you never fail to meet expectations.” Sato looked down on him from his throne. In this angle, he truly looked like a snake. His eyes were naturally vicious-looking. His features are sharp and pointed. But after nearly four months apart, the change was unmistakable—Sato had aged quite drastically. Perhaps his paranoia had been slowly wearing him down. Suguru had heard whispers among the high court that Sato’s mental descent had been progressively getting worse, though it was a heavily guarded secret.

“You honor me with your praise, Your Majesty.”

“It is no praise if it is the truth. Though if we are being frank, it is mostly thanks to Lady Geto that our two nations have avoided war.”

“Indeed. You honor her, Your Majesty.”

“An intriguing woman indeed… strategic and wise just like her father.”

Suguru paused at the mention of your father.

He hadn’t expected Sato to speak of him so knowingly, for all he recalled of your father was a well-to-do judge who often kept to himself and played by the rules—one among the many faces, who quite frankly, stood out more than him. But something about the familiarity unnerved him, because Sato didn’t just acknowledge someone without reason.

And so it begins, the exchange of deadly words dressed in noble courtesy.

“Tell me, Suguru—have you been taking care of your wife after her injury?”

“Yes, she’s recovering steadily. Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty.”

“I do regret summoning your entire family,” the King said, voice lined with feigned sympathy. “Had it not been for my call, she wouldn’t have been wounded. Alas, I will ensure to set matters straight with the Eastern Region.”

“Please, Your Majesty. There is nothing to regret. House Geto’s pride lies within our ability to serve our great nation.”

“Yes… what loyal subjects I have. Truly, I am blessed.” Sato rubbed his chin, his gaze piercing—as if assessing Suguru’s every movement, twitches, even down to the way he breathed. “But I must admit, I found myself curious… how exactly did your wife come across such peculiar information about the Eastern Region?”

The question, though seemingly harmless, set a fiery blaze through Suguru’s body. It was as he feared, the serpent had set his sights on you and was ready to bear his venomous fangs.

“I’m afraid I haven't had the chance to ask, Your Majesty. Given her current injury, as her husband, my sole focus is to ensure her speedy recovery first.” Suguru tried to give a diplomatic response, while flawlessly masking the dread that was clawing his insides.

Sato hummed, obviously disappointed in his general’s response. “I suppose my curiosity is a rather trivial matter. What was most important was that we won this round.”

Suguru remained silent, only deepening his bow, hoping that Sato would drop the subject and move onto the crux of his private summons.

“Though it makes me wonder… how much do you truly know about your wife?”

He shoots a darkened expression at Sato, a warning glare that he couldn’t quite conceal. The impulse to kill him on the spot was nearly impossible to repress, restraint dangerously unravelling by the second. It would have been easy, there was no one around except for servants, whom he could easily take down even if they all converged on him.

In four strides, he could reach the throne. He would draw his sword and aim for the throat before Sato could even scream—cutting clean through the windpipe, flesh, sinew. A single breath, and the blade would split him open. His blood would dye the wooden floors. His body would crumple at the foot of the throne, crimson staining the seat he ruled from—

“I jest,” the King chuckled hollowly, as if he could see the violent bloodbath in his general’s mind. “Though if I may impart some wisdom to my cherished general: it is always important to know who your allies are. You’d be wise to understand who exactly shares your bed before you wake up next to an enemy.”

“Let’s hope that the apple falls far from the tree. After all, betrayal is a difficult thing to recover from, don’t you agree, General Geto?”

Suguru nearly let out a dry laugh at the irony.

“Ever wise, Your Majesty. Though I have full confidence that my wife will never be the one to put me in such a position.”

“A fortunate man you are,” the king remarked in a subdued voice. “Anyway, enough small talk as I know you are probably worried sick for your wife and eager to return home.”

“The main reason I summoned you today isn’t a secret assignment, but rather, gifts for Lady Geto—which I hope you’ll deliver on my behalf.”

Suguru maintained a calm exterior, despite the thrumming in his chest.

Something felt amiss.

Sato had worn a smile this entire time, and Suguru knew better than anyone that the tyrant only ever smiled when he was confident that victory was ascertained.

The King snapped his fingers, and a few royal servants spilled into the room.

His first gift was rare purple silk from the west. It was a unique purple reserved only for the members of royalty, no other nobles were allowed to wear it—not even if they were able to afford it. Wearing it would be a treasonous declaration that you had viewed yourself on par with royalty, and could even be a punishable offense.

The second was a priceless necklace, dubbed the Phoenix’ Talon. An exquisite gold necklace inlaid with rare rubies from the south. This particular necklace had belonged to the late queen, and was even known to be a national treasure, displayed in various high society events. Many nobles had inquired about this necklace throughout the years, but it seemed no amount of fortune they offered was enough to purchase this necklace. Now, Sato was giving it to you freely. Surely, this would cause unsolicited rumors and even worse: social isolation. The nobles of high society would perceive this as the king’s blatant favoritism. And there would be no one to aim their jealousy at but you.

Most would have been seduced by these gifts—distracted by their luxury and splendor—failing to realize that they were laced with venom.

But then, came the final gift.

A scroll, embellished in golden silk and stored in a lacquered mahogany case.

At first glance, it paled in comparison to the purple silks and Phoenix’ Talon, but Suguru knew without a doubt that those two gifts were merely diversions.

This was what Sato truly wanted to give you.

“As King, I hereby recognize Lady Geto’s heroic contributions to the empire. Individuals like her are the pride and backbone of our great nation.”

Suguru held his breath in anticipation. As Sato grew more eager, so did the general’s dread. He helplessly watched as the king—now grinning ear to ear—plucked the scroll from the case and slowly unfurled it.

He began to read…

“By the power vested in me, I bestow upon her the land of Izuma. Henceforth, she shall bear the title of Her Grace, Lady of Izuma. May her wisdom, leadership, and compassion bring about hope, and usher in a new era of prosperity.”

Izuma.

This appointment struck Suguru like thunder. Because as soon as he heard the name, he knew...

This was no gift.

It was a punishment—an exile.

The barren, harsh lands of the North: Izuma. Notorious for its unforgiving winters and infertile soils. All lifeforms struggled to thrive in such unrelenting conditions, whether it were crops… or people. Nobody went to Izuma by choice, either you were born into the cradle of despair, or you were exiled there.

Early in his reign, King Sato had made several attempts to revitalize the northern frontier. But Izuma was too brutal, too isolated, and logistically impracticable. The efforts quickly turned from valorant ambition to a pesky obligation, and eventually, he abandoned the revitalization plan altogether. In order to still appear as a gracious king, Sato would send aid once a year, but it was almost immediately apparent to the civilians of Izuma that it was a complete farce. An insult, even. What use were seeds, when their soil was cracked and dry? What use was livestock, when it couldn’t even survive until spring?

Every noble appointed to Izuma shared one commonality: they had somehow offended the king. Sometimes the offense was obvious, other times not so much. Worse yet, all of them eventually descended into madness and took their own lives, no less than a year after their appointment. Suguru strongly believed that their deaths were premeditated by the king and had nothing to do with mental decay.

However, this time, something was different.

You were the first woman to ever be bestowed a noble title in her own right. Not through marriage. Not through joint inheritance. And to Suguru’s knowledge, no woman in the nation’s history had ever held such a title alone. With such social revolutions meant that all eyes were inevitably on you. Not only that, but you were still Suguru’s wife (at least in the eyes of the public), so even if Sato had planned for your demise, it wouldn’t be so easy for him to exact it. Yet, there was no room for complacency. Just because Sato could not carry out his sinister plans now, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it later—the motion has been set.

“The decree has been written.” Sato’s smile only seemed to have grown bigger, more menacing. “You need only to deliver it to Her Grace. I trust you will deliver it wisely, General Geto.”

Suguru accepted the decree in his hands, but could not hide the way it trembled under the crushing weight of your death sentence. Rage surged through him at the injustice, but even so, this rage felt undeserving. What right did he have to feel this anger when he was the cause of it?

Sato had already sunk his fangs in you before you even realized you’d been bitten. And now, your husband was supposed to be the bringer of your sentence.

Once again, he had failed you.

He had sworn after the incident at the Eastern Campsite, that he would not commit the same mistake twice. He had resolved himself to set things right, but before he ever had the chance to begin, here he was—reduced to a mere messenger.

The bitter irony wasn’t lost on him.

Perhaps this role was always meant for a coward like him.

What came of this private summons wasn’t anything Suguru could have imagined—not even in his worst-case scenarios. Sato’s paranoia is becoming more and more deranged.

Whatever the reasons were, one thing was now abundantly clear:

Sato sees you as a threat.

And with this decree, he had declared war on House Geto.

…

As Suguru stepped out of the throne room, the look on his face was enough to tell Haibara that something had gone horribly awry. Normally, Haibara would already be at his side, asking a barrage of questions. But this time, he simply fell a few cautious steps behind, mutely observing as a palpable darkness loomed over the general.

Suguru continued to walk mindlessly, a flurry of thoughts spiraling and only a moment away from snapping. He had exiled you in your own home, and now, the king planned to banish you even further, sending you to Izuma to fail and die in disgrace.

For the first time since his family’s death, Suguru was met at a crossroad—a choice he had to make which would inherently alter the course of his ambitions.

Two paths lay ahead of him: allow you to go alone, or follow you to Izuma.

The easier and more convenient route would have been for him to let you go alone. As a renowned general and a noble lord, Suguru would suffer virtually no backlash with this arrangement. In fact, remaining here—near the capital, would have been the more sensible thing to do. It would be Suguru’s way of declaring loyalty to the king, allowing him to keep his position and power, while exacting his vengeance in the shadows.

Leaving the capital would only put Suguru in a more precarious situation. Not only would his departure send a dangerous message—that he had aligned himself with you against the king—but his absence from the imperial court would also diminish his power and sway, pulling him further from his own path of vengeance.

But if he left you to go alone, it would completely destroy your reputation, even if you now had a title of nobility. No one would respect you. No one would heed your commands. They would all see you as a woman who had been repudiated by her husband, even if on paper you were not officially divorced. You would be branded a pariah in society. Scandal would follow your every move, and you’d become a laughing stock, a living example of what a disgraced woman looked like.

The more Suguru thought about it, the more it had awoken something primal within him. That same inferno that once fueled his vow to bring about Sato’s death was reignited, untamed and all-consuming. He had nearly forgotten what it felt like, after years of sitting in the flames himself.

He had already betrayed you once.

He will not betray you again.

Though deep down, he had full confidence, if it was you—even without him—you could somehow turn the tides around again, even in a place as desolate and hopeless as Izuma.

Still, he could no longer wallow in guilt and remorse. Words were cheap, and silent thoughts were even cheaper. If he truly meant to atone then it must begin now, with action. By no means was he giving up his plans on vengeance. But if he had to veer off course just to prove himself to you—to prove that he was sorry… then so be it.

For now, he shall immediately make haste back home to you.

—

“Geto-sama.” There was a clear surprise on her face.

“Yumi.”

“Are you here to see my Lady?”

Suguru gave a curt nod, only then realizing how pathetic he must look with two rolls of purple silk in one arm, and two ornate boxes stacked in the other. Though these were not his gifts, it was certainly easy to misunderstand that he was trying to appeal to you with superficial offerings. Knowing you, bombarding you with material gifts should be the last form of apology. In fact, he was certain it would only sour things further.

“She’s not here at the moment. I can let her know you stopped by—”

“Where could she have possibly gone?” His scowl deepened. “Why are you not with her—”

“And why are you being so crass to my lady-in-waiting?” your voice cut in from behind.

Suguru fell silent and turned to find you standing a few steps away, holding a small porcelain vase with a single stem of pink carnation. It caught him off guard—he hadn’t taken you for someone who liked flowers, it was rather… unexpected. But he digressed.

This was already off to a terrible start, and the unimpressed stare you gave him only made everything worse by tenfold.

“What are you doing here?” Your gaze flicking down to the ridiculous pile of gifts in his arms.

“Let’s talk inside.”

A small disgruntled frown played on your lips. Without another glance, you brushed past him, making your way inside the guest house.

“Yumi, please help Geto-sama with those.”

He took your instructions to Yumi as an invitation to enter.

Admittedly, this was only the second time Suguru had seen the guest house. He’d forgotten… how quiet and isolated it was from the main grounds. And yet, it was so much more vibrant here. So much more like home.

The first (and only other time) was when he inspected the finished structure. Haibara had offered to handle the finishing touches, but Suguru figured the least he could do was see the gilded cage for himself—not that it redeemed him as a husband. He supposed it was just a selfish way to ease his conscience.

As he stepped inside, Suguru noticed how little had changed. He hadn’t realized how few belongings you had—just a few garments folded neatly on the shelf, some books stacked at the corner of your desk, half-written parchment that looked like you’d been practicing your writing.

His father’s dagger also rested on your desk. However, the most peculiar was a sword, propped up in the corner.

He hadn’t realized how much it truly meant to you, until now. Swordplay wasn’t some casual hobby, as you’d once brushed it off to be. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had such a masterfully crafted weapon, tailored specifically for you. Unassuming to the untrained eyes, but it could not escape Suguru.

You didn’t simply train to pass time. You devoted your life to the blade.

But before he could delve deeper into his remorse, he noticed something else: two headrests and blankets on the same bed. His eye twitched. An irrational displeasure bloomed in his chest.

“You share a bed with your lady-in-waiting,” he remarked.

“Well, she’s certainly not sleeping on the floor.”

“Haibara could have seen to it—”

“I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss the personal quarters that you’ve arranged.” You cut him off. “So get to the point—why have you come here with those ridiculous gifts?”

Suguru let out an inaudible sigh.

“They’re from the king himself,” he replied, with a seriousness in his voice.

You lightly scoffed. “So the king’s great general is now running his errands as well?”

Suguru returned a sharp glare at you, but he couldn’t bring himself to direct his bitterness at you. After all, you were only in this predicament because of him.

He presented the gifts to you one by one, reliving the same dread as he did in the throne room. But once again, you had proved yourself to be well-informed—almost suspiciously so.

Indeed, you were the daughter of a judge; it wasn’t uncommon for you to know how to read and write. That alone would already set you apart from the majority of women in society. But you weren’t just well-read, you were experienced—shaped by realities no amount of education alone could give.

Just how much have you endured?

What else have you sacrificed?

Suguru watched as your fingers delicately brushed the silk, and then the necklace. Your gaze was more scrutiny than admiration, which he had fully anticipated now that he’s come to understand you a little more.

It was true: you were not easily swayed by material and superficial things like jewels, fortune, prestige, status... something he had callously assumed in the beginning.

The both of you may have shared the same sentiment about the absurdity of Sato’s gifts, but as you sat before him, posture poised, eyes defiant, with the sunlight trickling onto your figure—a divine premonition roused the depths of his core: you, dressed in purple silk, ornamented with the Phoenix’ Talon around your neck.

You were made to rule.

To overcome.

To conquer.

“Is that all?”

Your voice abruptly pulled him back to reality.

He blinked a few times.

“No,” he let out a small resigned sigh, and slowly slid the box across the table. “The king had bestowed upon you… a title.”

His hesitation did not go unnoticed.

You studied Suguru’s face for a moment, he had never worn this expression before—at least not in front of you: burdened and unsure. Quietly, you braced yourself before reaching for the box, flipping open its lid, and taking out the golden scroll.

Your eyes trailed the words on the scroll…

Royal Decree of Appointment By the Grace and Authority of His Majesty, King Sato To all lords, nobles, and citizens of the Empire, Let it be known that Lady Geto, through her demonstrated valor, strategic insight, and unwavering dedication to the Empire, has thereby, distinguished herself in matters of great national importance. As such, by the power vested in me as Sovereign of the Realm, I hereby bestow upon her the title of Her Grace, Lady of Izuma, and entrust to her the governance of the Northern Province and all lands therein. It is my wish as Sovereign, that this unprecedented appointment will usher a new era of prosperity for the North. Henceforth, Her Grace will be a beacon of hope and glory. So decreed and sealed in the 35th year of King Sato’s reign.

Izuma. You were not oblivious of the mare’s nest.

This was a denunciation disguised as benevolence.

Your actions had somehow incurred the king’s wrath, though you could not fully comprehend why. The only reason you could think of was the information you procured for the negotiations had raised suspicion, but even then, any fair-minded ruler would have been pleased with this outcome. Which could only mean that your previous observations from the campsite lined up... Sato wanted war all along, and you had foiled his agenda.

At this revelation, you, too, had arrived at your own conclusion: there was no longer a need to dance around an odious king who sought senseless bloodshed.

Many would have perceived this as a curse, but to you it was a newfound blessing. In a land where Sato had turned his back on, you will take it as an opportunity to exert the Merchant Guild’s influence. It would be an arduous ambition, but you had no doubt in the guild’s collective abilities. No matter how unexpected this development was, the circumstances only strengthened your resolve.

And the fact that he had bestowed the title solely upon you, meant that Suguru had the option to remain here.

Perhaps, this was the silver lining among it all.

Kings always believed they were the most important piece on the chess board, and though it may be true, they often forget that the Queen was the most powerful piece.

This is where you shall reclaim your power and autonomy.

This is where you will part ways with Suguru Geto.

—

Suguru watched intently as you read the letter. Anxiety prickled him, as he found himself unable to read your thoughts nor feelings. You were right in front of him, but you had never felt more distant—the small dining table between the two of you felt like a chasm that had cracked wide open.

“I see.” You finally broke the silence, fingers slowly rolling up the decree. “If it’s the king’s will, then who am I to refuse?”

For some reason, your lack of resentment and protest only deepened the ache in his chest. He had expected you to remain composed but seeing it all come true before him, it felt as though a dagger had twisted in his chest.

“I will send word to King Sato immediately. I shall depart tomorrow morning.”

Suguru shot an incredulous look at you. So soon? Why were you saying it as if you’ve made up your mind to go without him?

“I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need.”

“I did not ask.”

You shot him a dangerous glare. “Then I command it,” you snapped.

A strained silence fell between the two of you.

The tension so palpable it felt as though it was about to snap at any given moment. This time, it wasn’t just the usual defiance in your eyes; there was an unmistakable contempt.

“As the Lady of Izuma.” You firmly enunciate. “I forbid you to cross my borders, General Geto.”

You moved to call for Yumi, but he intercepted your steps—standing right up against you, the sudden closeness took you by surprise, making your breath stutter.

His eyes held an urgent plea.

“I implore you to think about it. You will be publicly ruined if I do not go with you—”

“And why does that matter to you?” You retorted, anger finally breaking through. “You don’t get to decide that you want to be a caring husband now.”

“I will set things right, I swear it.” He paused, his voice steady, but the storm behind his eyes betrayed him.

“You think too highly of yourself, General Geto.”

You couldn't help but let out a hollow laugh. “Bold of you to continue demanding trust from me when you have not done anything to deserve it. Let me make myself clear: I will no longer follow your lead.”

“I know you resent me, and rightfully so,” his voice low, but the tremble in it was unmistakable. “I will not demand any more from you, except for you to allow me to follow you.”

Pathetic.

His acknowledgment was something you wished for long ago, but now it meant little. Even so, you couldn’t resist the way your heart throbbed at his words.

“Shouldn’t you celebrate?” You spat, bitterness curling your every word. “This is a chance for you to publicly disavow me—you will bear no consequences. And then you are free to marry the one you love.”

Your words were like a blade, sharpened by truth.

Until recently, Suguru had always believed divorce between you was inevitable. He had never allowed himself to imagine a future with you, blinded by duty, vengeance, and the past. But hearing you speak so plainly of being disavowed, as if you had long expected it of him, hit him like a tidal wave.

“Don’t pretend like you care about my ruin…” your voice shook, and for the first time, you struggled to hold back your tears. “Because I was already ruined... the moment I married you.”

The confession knocked the air out of his lungs, and nearly brought him to his knees.

He thought Sato was cruel for murdering his family, but he supposed he was no different, arguably worse. Because he had subjugated you to his indifference, killing your spirit, slowly but surely—while keeping you physically alive.

Over and over again.

“I beg of you… just let me go, Suguru.”

At the sound of his name, something within him snapped.

Somewhere, in the depths of his heart, he craved your vulnerability. He had a twisted desire to see you flustered, instead of always donning an aloof facade. But now, as you begged him for the first—and what seemed also like the last time—he wished he didn’t have to see it.

Because your words held finality.

And that was something he never thought he would be so unprepared to hear.

In that moment, he selfishly wished you’d cling to your pride. Even if only to maintain appearances. Even if just to soothe your father’s worries.

You didn’t have to love him. You just had to stay.

He bargained with himself, despite knowing that he would eventually want more. But for now, he must pretend that this was enough.

At this point, Suguru realized Ayaka had only ever been a beautiful illusion—a symbol of a past that no longer existed. He had refused to admit it at first, but looking back, he was forced to confront what had long been true: he’d already stopped loving her.

What he had clung to was the comfort of memory, of a version of himself unburdened by duty, vengeance, or consequence. To continue loving Ayaka would mean rejecting the man he had become.

You were his gravity, the only one who could tether him to the man he wanted to be.

Now, more than ever, a singular truth resonated loud and clear:

He could no longer pull himself away from you.

“Please… allow me to follow you, Your Grace,” he whispered, stepping closer until he was barely a breath away. As if letting you drift even a step away might mean losing you for good.

You dropped your head, unable to meet his gaze—afraid that if you stared too long, you would once again, lose yourself to him.

“No,” you quietly replied, shaking your head. “I can’t continue to sacrifice myself for you—you are not worth it.” Though you weren’t sure if the words were intended for him or for you.

“You have sacrificed enough,” Suguru quietly admitted. “So allow me to return it.”

You looked up at him, unable to hide how much it hurt. You wanted to stay strong, you didn’t want to give him any more parts of you, but the emotions behind your eyes betrayed you.

Your mind reasoned that you could use him—just as he had used you. But your heart had screamed at you to reject him, that it was better he remained here.

To protect yourself from any more pain.

To remove yourself from a place that had no space for you.

Why couldn’t he have just seen you for who you were from the very beginning?

Why was it only now, that he looked at you with so much ardor in his eyes—

“As long as you allow it, Your Grace.” He reaffirmed once again, more determined this time. “I vow to be...

Your general when you need a blade.

Your husband when you need a shield.

Your ally when the world is against you.”

His words were like an enchanting spell. You had never known Suguru Geto could say such sweet things.

Even at this moment, he was bewitching. And you hated yourself for it—for being enticed by mere words. For continuing to ache because of this man.

Before you could utter another word, he took the dagger from the desk behind you—his father’s dagger. He unsheathed it and to your horror he sliced his palm clean, vibrant crimson trickling down his arm, and saturating the sleeve of his garment.

Your eyes widened in panic. “What are you—?!”

Suguru takes the decree from the box and unfurls it across the small table, smearing his blood across the scroll. Parchment and golden silk now dyed in his crimson.

“My fealty shall be bound by blood,” his voice low, as he looked at you with an intense gaze. “So long as you command it, I will follow.”

For Suguru, there was no turning back now.

He had shackled himself to you.

And yet, he had never felt more liberated.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Tag list: @katsukiseyebrows @uzuimirika @saoirses-things @what-just-happened-to-me @exitingmusic @vellichor01 @miacakess @webyueve @anujah9

a/n #2: thank you for the support and love for this series. To be honest, I had never expected there to be so much thoughtful discussion about this series and it's very inspiring. I try to respond back to each message just as thoughtfully because I know you took the time and effort to send me such sweet and encouraging notes. Thank you to the consistent likers/rebloggers as well - you may think I don't see it, but I do, and I've come to even memorize your user by heart. It is thanks to you all that I'm able to really gain more confidence in writing something that resonates with me (fun fact: I used to write poetry before delving into long form writing). You've all been so kind, funny, sweet, and incredibly smart in the way you present your thoughts and ideas. Although H&V is going on a short break, I hope I won't keep you all waiting for too long and can cook up some good storytelling for Arc 2. Until then - much love. ❤️

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merbear25 · 1 year ago

Text

With a s/o who doesn’t celebrate their birthday (Luffy, Law, Corazon, Caesar)

a/n: My birthday is later this month, and I haven’t celebrated it in many years. The day isn’t particularly joyous for me for many reasons, so I decided to write something for myself. Idk if anyone else feels the same about their birthday but hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, some angst, an ounce of modern au with Cora’s

Luffy

With your birthday drawing near, you were merely hoping that the day would pass without a hitch. However, it just so happened that Luffy got the idea to ask you when your birthday was.

You didn’t want to lie to him, so you gave him the correct date. He looked at you, as if processing how close the day was. When it dawned on him that it was practically just around the corner, he gasped and got excited.

“We gotta celebrate then! We can have a big cake and lots of food!”

“No, that’s okay.” Your refusal was kind, which meant it wasn’t interpreted how you intended.

“It’s fine! We’ll get Sanji to do it!”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” you protested.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” He tilted his head to the side in interest.

“Well, I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

Complete and utter shock washed over him. How could someone as amazing as you not take full advantage of one of the best days for anyone. “What! Why not?” He shouted.

You put your hands up to hush him, so as not to alert the others that Luffy was getting excitable. “It’s just a normal day for me. Not anything worth celebrating in that sense.”

“Not anything worth…” He hopped down from the counter he was sitting on and clamped his hands on your shoulders. “You more than anyone should be able to celebrate yourself!”

The sudden intensity in his eyes put you a bit on edge, although the passion he had in his words struck you to your core. “Thank you but really. It’s no big deal”

Unconvinced by that, his eyes kept their hold on you. With not much else being said, he left the kitchen to join the others.

Unsure how well that actually went, you chose to brush it off.

As your birthday was coming to an end, you realized that the others were nowhere to be found. When you opened the kitchen door, you were met with a table filled with all of your favorite foods and everyone chatting and having a grand time.

“What’s all this?” You asked Sanji

“Hm? Just thought we could indulge a little.”

Taking your seat, you soaked up the atmosphere—your friends enjoying themselves, filling the room with laughter as you shared a meal together. You leaned over to Luffy to express your gratitude.

Even with his mouth full of food, he managed to smile just as affectionately as any other time.

Law

He was observant, which was one of the things you both loved and hated about him depending on whether you were trying to be sneaky. This time was no different; with his eyes focusing on you one too many times, you got the feeling that he’d noticed something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” you broke the silence.

“I didn’t say anything.” His gaze remained fixed on you.

“But you were thinking it.”

He inched closer trying to get a better read on you, his eyes seemingly burrowing into your soul.

“Okay, okay,” you huffed, “It’s my birthday. It’s coming up soon and I just…I just don’t want anyone making a big deal about it.”

As your eyes hesitantly met his, the cold stare he had had shifted into one with compassion.

“I can relate to that,” his words alluded to more pain than he’d probably anticipated. “Sometimes it’s easier to treat it just like any other day.”

You nodded, feeling the tears build up in your eyes. Of course, you were well aware of the hardships he had to overcome. The adversities either of you faced were your own. The experiences that weighed on you in different ways and yet were still parts of each other you could easily connect with.

“We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t up for it.” Even with the cool tone, the support he was giving you was unmistakable.

Having spent your birthday the way you had intended, Law approached you. Looking up at him, you gave him a meek smile—-the conflict of not celebrating your birthday this year didn’t quite sit well with you.

“I want to show you something.” Offering you his hand, his touch was tender as guided you to the deck.

Stepping outside, you were met with the Aurora Borealis. “We were passing by at the perfect time. Thought you might like to appreciate them with me.”

With the inner-strife you’d been dealing with subsiding, you happily took a seat next to him. Gazing up at the beauty swirling in the sky, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

He rested his head against yours, adding a sincere, “Happy birthday.”

Corazon

He was one of the most attentive individuals who could pick up on how you were feeling before you yourself had even realized. As the days came and went, it became more and more obvious that something was weighing on you.

Coming over to where you were, he sat beside you. With the softness never leaving his demeanor, you couldn’t help but melt from the warmth he radiated.

When you gave him a smile, he placed his hand on top of yours. “How are you?” Such a simple question yet one that held vague concern.

“I’m alright,” you chuckled. “Don’t I look like it?” Even your playfulness seemed to be a front you were putting up.

He hesitated, taking a moment to notice the subtleties in your voice and expression. “No,” he spoke with sincerity.

Breaking eye contact, you looked down at your fingers laced with his. “My birthday is coming up, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it.”

He watched your fingers trace his hand before bringing them to his lips. “I can sympathize with that.” With his eyes meeting yours again, he led the conversation with his heart. “But you of all people deserve to feel special on their birthday.”

“You always know how to pull at my heartstrings.” The smile you wore trembled as your chest swelled with a heaviness.

“Aw, I didn’t mean to upset you!” He pulled you in for a hug.

Holding you closely, he made a suggestion, “We don’t have to have a formal celebration, but what about getting something to eat? Just the two of us?”

“I’d like that.”

When the day came, Rosinante drove the both of you to a secluded spot on top of a hill. Turning to smile at you, you wondered if this was the spot.

“Oh, yeah, this is it!” While he took the glasses and packed food from the back seat, he pointed to the treetops. “When the sun sets, the light peeks through those trees just perfectly enough to shine on the water, making it look like it’s sparkling.”

When he handed you some of the food, you smiled as you pressed it against your lips.

As the sun set and the water resembled crystals, you allowed yourself to appreciate how special this day could be.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Caesar

Humble and wanting to remain out of the spotlight: ways one could never use to describe him. He took full advantage of his special day, wanting to be the main character. After being his other half for a few months and celebrating his birthday, it got him wondering.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever told me when your birthday is.” The careful phrasing was intentional—purposefully pushing off any blame for not asking sooner.

“I haven’t,” your tone was just slightly indifferent towards the topic but was light-hearted enough not to be mistaken as taking offense. “It’s in two weeks.”

He blinked at you, not fully understanding why you hadn’t brought it up sooner, why he had to be the one to ask. “Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

You shrugged, delivering the answer in a cool tone, “It doesn’t hold many fond memories. It’s just another day for me.”

It was absolutely ludicrous to hear you say that. The one most suited to stand by his side not allowing themselves the proper celebration they clearly deserved had him stumped.

He chose not to pry, instead thinking of little ways he could help you feel special on your day. He easily gathered tidbits of information to make this coming birthday one you could look back on with fondness.

While that day began like any other, Caesar was finishing the small preparations to surprise you. When you finished your work, he went to collect you, guiding you to the kitchen.

“Ah!” He feigned irritation. “Those idiots made such a mess. Wait here.” He turned the corner, shuffling about the kitchen.

When the lights turned off, you called out to him. Peering behind the corner, you stood there for a moment before you saw a faint glow coming from behind the counter.

“What’s this?” Your heartbeat quickened from the hope that he’d planned something for you.

“I know that you don’t quite like your birthday, but there’s no harm in having cake now, is there?”

There was a faint tightness in your chest from the sweet sentiment. As you came closer, you noticed that it was your favorite flavor. With the soft glow of the candles flickering on top of his unusually kind gesture, you looked up to see him smiling—nervously awaiting your reaction.

“No harm at all.” Although your smile was weak, the emotion held in your voice and the affection in your eyes spoke volumes. “Thank you, Caesar.”

The heartfelt appreciation made him giddy with joy as you happily blew out the candles.

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jnxjoop · 3 months ago

Text

Monolith

copia x witch!reader

No matter what life you’d lived, you were always sentenced to a young death, dying at exactly twenty-five each time- no matter how you struggled to coax the curse, avoid what fate destined, death proved imminent, giving not a care to your sensitivity, leaving you to grapple with the predetermined destiny over and over again. Memories of past lives would surge in your brain, often around your teen years, inciting a wave of paranoia that would stretch to the last decade or so of your life- grasping at straws, skimming through every page of every book to find a solution, something to end this cruel cycle. Or maybe you yearned to find a justification to it, and you believed you did, in one life- perhaps beings of the earth just weren’t meant to wield the abilities you did, so the gods, or whomever was in charge, had to force their hand, leveling the grounds you treaded among mortals, whose mortalities outlasted you.

But you weren’t evil. Not a single bit. Every life you spent relentlessly in attempt to figure out something to help the next you to succumb to this looming curse, the promise of brutal demise weighing heavy on your shoulders. The pain of living each life thoroughly and having it torn from your grasp saddled your heart, all the people you’d grown fondness for never to be seen again and lost to the jaws of time, struck with heartache by your loss, but they were human enough to forget and recover from it, while you were stuck with memory upon memory of it all. Thus, a life of solitude crept upon you, isolating from everyone and anyone, though you craved nothing more than affection and love. It was a foolish and unrealistic yearning.

In your last life, you recalled a church-like building, and you emphasize like, because its aura completely differed from the holiness of a church, the only likeness between them the structure and grandiosity of it. The interior you’d never reached during your last life, a festering sickness overcoming your body in the last days of life, bones brittle and stomach shrunken. It was as if you were confined to that rotten bed as punishment for the discovery, the remainder of your days spent in utter agony- the hopefulness you had with each death diminishing there, but you’d returned like always, reviving that shred of light that still beamed, drawing you closer and closer.

So you stood feet away from the church, five years of your meager life to go, and you were keenly aware of how fast those years would pass by. It seemed a plentiful amount, but in reality, it couldn’t be further from it, and with those little years you had, you strived to finish your last life’s work. Feeling the same allure your past self burdened toward this place.

Shedding a sigh, you encroached on the land, surprisingly you felt welcomed rather than intrusive as you did on most properties. Witches weren’t often celebrated within society- being burned and stoned in old days, so the openness of this area must mean something. You hoped, at least, you didn’t want yourself to become stray and disappoint the you’s who rose before, all dying in various ways that only elicited a tremble as you pondered what awaited you.

Fingers curled around the door knocker, you gently hit the door a few times, briefly pausing, unsure if you should wait for an invitation or mosey on in, settling on the latter after no response. Guilt almost stemmed from your impoliteness, almost, you were years from dying and lacked another choice. Desperation clawed at your insides, the impending doom you’d felt for years now- and beyond that, millennia- never something you’d become accustomed to. It was normal, even for mortals, to fear death, so that supplied a sense of humanity.

The hallways were bare, yet you sensed the presence of many- filtering in the multitude of differing individuals. On the surface, it bore the guise of a church, but there was something more, carrying a supernatural element to it, although you were yet to witness any of it, sparing little time to admire the insides and seeking someone to speak with, striding further along the chamber that echoed your footsteps.

“Do you require assistance, my child?” Hinged with an accent, a voice garnered your attention, your body moving to direct your focus to the male. You weren’t certain if you should divulge everything, so you only responded in approval, conflicting thoughts consuming your mind- to do this, or to do that- analyzing the crimson drapes he donned, an ornate, inverted cross catching your eyes.

“And what is it that troubles you?” He pressed gently, gaze analytical as he studied your features- as if he could predict the torment you’re fated to suffer, you almost snorted, the predicament you were in far above comprehension to even you. That hopelessness swirled you, thousands of years without resolution, and you really believed this would help…? But if you sat and did nothing that would result in a wasted life as well.

“A library,” You blurted out, meeting his eyes unflinching, his striking and whitened eye hammering no cowardice into you as it might other humans. “Do you have any books or knowledge of witchcraft?”

The answer appeared to invoke surprise and intrigue simultaneously, a question he’d perhaps never been asked in his lifetime. “I’m certain we do, I’d simply have to fish it from the library for you. May I ask why you’re interested in this?”

You glanced to the floor, mustering a response. If they had books of it, surely they weren’t to scrutinize- additionally, past you located this place, there had to be something truly special about it for them to be harshly punished by the gods, a punishment to ensure you could make no escape from the bounds of fate. “I’m a witch,” You finally answered, eyes fluttering closed briefly as you awaited a response.

“Ah, uh, I see, I see, my child, I will fetch those books for you then,” You couldn’t decipher whether his tone held disbelief or interest- maybe both?- but nonetheless, he scampered away to retrieve the books you requested, and you were satisfied with that.

You began frequenting that church more, learning more about its inner workings and inhabitants, the days whisking away into months, and you felt the crushing weight of fate, if only you had more time, if only it didn’t slip through your fingers. And you still found yourself finding nothing to aid your cause, stress accumulating fast.

After months of nothing, you settled in the confessional at the church, thinking it may help to relieve yourself of the ever looming deadline, the anxiety of it, Cardinal on the other side, ever so curious as to what’s troubled you to the point of needing a confessional. You’d grown closer these months, but there remained a distance between you, the reasoning for which unbeknownst to him, and you grappled having to eventually leave it all behind. Despite the many you’s before you, you’d grown fond of this man, letting yourself feel again after centuries. The emotion was pleasant, budding sensations rising within you, but you despised the vision of dying and having to restart, leeching off of him for your own selfish wants, that you knew would only have one ending.

“What’s been troubling you, mia cara?” His soothing voice traveled through the wood separating you, his voice, albeit prompt, laced with concern. It made your heart ache, a painful throb that shallowed your breaths, and you swallowed the thickness in your throat, forcing the words from your throat.

“I’m.. gonna die. I don’t know how to stop it,” You exhaled, the silence in that box suffocating.

And perhaps it was coping, or he didn’t understand, but he responded a beat of silence later, “We all die, cara. It’s.. a frightening subject, but it helps you to appreciate the things in your life more.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you left the conversation at that, not clarifying what you’d meant, for fear of ruining the closeness you shared- or maybe to pretend everything was normal, for once in your many lifetimes. It felt strangely joyful graced by his presence, demonstrating your abilities and basking in the moment, taking breaks from your strenuous search to do leisurely things- you’d tell yourself you would catch up on it later, but really, would you?- in the end, it didn’t matter as long as you were with him. You couldn’t surrender that, not yet.

His touch was warm, so differing to the coldness you’d grown used to, the warmth he radiated addicting, not only in his touch but his personality- so kind and caring, gentle even if his background made it appear otherwise, handling you like prized porcelain, looking to you in admiration, and caressing you as if you’d break at the slightest pressure. You hadn’t experienced such longing before, the yearning brimming your being, sinking its teeth into you- and that was dangerous.

One day, a year since your first meeting, you two sat in the shadow of a tree, a book splayed in your palms, the pages yellowed and corners nibbled away at by the mice nesting in the labyrinth of the walls. Aged, a book hardly picked from the many, but you’d discovered it when you ambled into the library, and now you sat beside the Cardinal, rather close, elbows grazing one another. If you weren’t absorbed by flipping the pages, you might’ve held his hand- or at least wanted to.

“You’re always reading, always studying,” He spoke, accent tinged voice cutting through the calm breeze, you analyzed the words on each page, scanning for any mention of curses- he watched you, examining the intricate sketches on the pages, things he could hardly understand, but he was enamored by how concentrated your stare was. “I admire that. Your, uh, strong will, and capacity to learn. You are truly magnifica. Un'opera d'arte, addirittura.”

“I think highly of you as well, Cardinal,” You admitted, eyes still trained on the page, half-focused on feebly translating the latin inscribed page. “You’re truly… une bouffée d'air frais.”

“French? Smart girl,” He complimented, the smile he flashed melting your insides, your focus crumbling ever so slowly- blindsided by emotions, rather than your goal. “When did you learn?”

You hummed absentmindedly, recalling the memories of your past, tracing all the way back to the conception of the American Revolution. Being a medic, experiencing the war’s brutality firsthand, you’d learned French from the allies- as well, being alive amidst so many eras of time, you were bound to pick up a few languages.

“I had some friends who spoke it,” You responded, narrowed eyes facing the page, but you spared him a glance and a wistful smile. “I can teach you sometime. Would you be open to that, Cardinal?”

“Of course, mia cara. Tutto per sentire la tua voce,” You couldn’t understand his words, but you could sense the meaning behind them, heart thumping in your ears. You felt it and were aware he could too.

The next year your bones could predict the sickness filtering into them, just a tad bit weaker than they’d been the year prior, subtle but you realized it, and if you were to receive cruel punishment for basking in the company of your adored, then you would accept it. You still looked for an answer, but the chances of that dwindled by the day, your goal being nearly sidetracked entirely. But you couldn’t ignore it, or hide it, forever. By the third year, your symptoms worsened, little by little, and were delving into bodily signs- blood spilling from your mouth, climbing up your throat, heeding a deadly warning. And so you finally decided to repent, for your selfish desires, settling inside that confessional once again with your Cardinal just inches away, across the panel of wood. Long before this, he’d noticed something was wrong- you just swayed him otherwise, dismissing his concern, but you couldn’t be greedy any longer. You couldn’t brush off his feelings in place of your own. So here you were, prepared to truly confess.

“Copia,” Typically, you’d use his proper title in these circumstances, but you were serious. Very serious. And that frightened him, mind spinning with outlandish ideas, pointing toward the worst outcome possible, and your tone confirmed that. But he didn’t want to believe that. “I’m gonna die… and I really don’t know how to stop it.”

His heart cracked hearing that, your tone accepting and not necessarily sad- but very disappointed, regretful. “Tell me more, cara, what do you mean?” He nearly pleaded, heart thudding, a pit forming in his stomach.

“I’ve died so many times. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of times. It’s a cruel cycle, I guess a curse. I’ve tried finding everything I can in all of the lives I’ve lived, and it’s never enough,” You confided, toying with your fingers to distract your mind. “I have two years left. Always bound to die young, at twenty-five. And I should have told you, that day we met. It was selfish of me to put you through such pain.”

“Don’t say that, amore mio,” Copia rejected, his legs trembling, running a frenzied hand through his hair, nerves frayed and running wild, this admission worse than what even he imagined. “We still have time to figure this out, we can talk to my brothers, surely they have wisdom to share. There has to be something we can do.”

“Copia, please don’t be sad over me,” You murmur, head leaned against the wood, listening to the little movements he made. “I’m already dying, I’m sick, I’m being punished for my time spent here. But I want you to know I don’t regret any of it, truly you have been a breath of fresh air, so kind and loving, and I haven’t felt that way in so, so long. I still have two years left, but I can’t imagine my body will be in the best shape.”

You heard the door on the other side creak open, and his footsteps, your stomach twisting, at the thought of his abandonment. You couldn’t blame him if that’s what he’d chose to do, you’d lied from the start and subjected him to the same amount of pain you were experiencing.

But then your door opened abruptly, arms embracing you and a head falling into your lap, the sniffles evident, and your heart shattered at the sight, cradling his head in your hands, a few tears streaking your own face. Your hands traced under his jaw, tilting his chin up, so he could face you. Thumbs glided across his cheeks, wiping the tears from his face, the paint around his eyes smearing from the movement. You admired his features briefly, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“I’ll find you in my next life, Copia. I promise. We still have time it’s just, not the best conditions. It’s too late for my body this time, but it won’t be for the next,” You vowed, nose brushing with his. “My only question; are you… willing to wait? I’d.. understand if not, it’s a painful slew of emotion.”

“Amore mio, I would wait the rest of my life if it meant seeing you for just a second,” He held your face, thumb tracing your cheek fondly. His eyes were reddened, and it brought you pain to think about how he’d fare with you gone- and how you’d done this to him. Dragged him down into the pits to accompany you. He lifted his pinky, lightening the mood using the childish gesture, but his face remained somber, a smile he showed to make you feel at ease. “Pinky swear?”

Intertwining your pinkies, you mustered a small smile. “Pinky swear.”

When the fifth year arrived, and your twenty-fifth birthday subsequently, your body was eager in finally succumbing to death, and Copia tugged you close to his heart, shattering as the warmth dwindled from your body, skin greying, but you were free of the suffering that kept you captive- and that helped a little in breaking the shackles of grief. His heart mourned, and he delved into studies, flipping through every page of every book, talking to anyone who withheld necessary knowledge- all in preparation for your inevitable return. He just wasn’t certain how long it would take to see you again, but he lived by his declaration, dedicating all of his time to you, your memory.

He’d taken the roles of his predecessors before you’d returned, and it worried him, a part of him unsure if you would even want to crawl back into his arms, after all, age was catching up to him- a decade or two passing in his wait. But he remained as loyal as he’d been, yearning to see your face just one last time, he even found himself praying to Satan more frequently, pleading him to lead you back, back into this church, back into his grasp; where he would hold you and never let go, not again. It was excruciating being without you, the memories of you so long ago now, yet fresh in his mind, at the forefront of it.

He’d strayed to his room, stress riddling his bones and drowning them in fatigue, the touring and loss of partnership taking its toll as it would anyone. He sat at a table, forcing himself to peel his eyes through another old book, eyes lidded from the tiredness threatening to consume his being. Working until his shoulders were stiff, back was throbbing in pain, his head eventually colliding against the plush of his arm, sleep winning this battle.

The next morning the sound of his game console stirred him awake, grumbling Italian curses under his breath at the interruption. His blankets were draped across his body, the plush feel of his bed beneath him, a contrast to the hard desk he’d fallen asleep on- rubbing his eyes using the back of his hands, to wake himself up. Another day, more work to be completed, but firstly, he’d have to figure out who was in his room, who’d moved him so carefully it didn’t jolt him awake.

And when his eyes finally focused, the morning bleariness ebbing, he witnessed locks of h/c hair, so similar to yours. He gave his eyes another rub, scared this vision was just a symptom of overexertion. But no, they were still there, the pressing of buttons loudly evident, their head lulling side to side as they maneuvered whatever game they were playing. Only to see if it really was you- or just some lookalike. The bed echoed a soft creak as he stood to his feet, slowly approaching the figure. And at the noise, their head turned back, a game over screen flashing vibrantly on the box tv.

“Mia cara,” Left his lips, expression blank, yet brimming with so much unspoken emotion simultaneously. You ditched the controller on the sofa, practically running into his arms to embrace him, face nuzzled into the fabric of his shirt, memorizing the scent you’d missed oh so much. “It’s really you,” Copia’s hands were firm, clinging to you as if you’d vanish and never return.

“It is me, I’m finally back like I promised I would be,” You murmured, voice a bit muffled from your face buried into his chest. The moment you’d waited and longed for. You stared up at him, cupping his face in your palms, a small frown on your features. His hands traveled to your forearms, thumb gliding across the skin, a gentle caress. “My love, you look so tired and stressed. I was worried how you’d be when I’d gone, I’ve never wanted you to treat yourself so strictly and harshly. You, too, deserve to live a life of fulfillment and happiness.”

“Is there a.. such thing as fulfillment and happiness without you by my side? I waited for the day I could see you again, I did all of my research, just to make sure when you’d return, you would be back for good,” His eyes pierced yours, hand gliding to yours and pulling them from his face, leading you to the rustled bed. “Tell me; how are you? Did anything I’ve done help?”

“Copia,” You exhaled, prepared to tell him all that’d occurred in your time apart. “When I died, it was black for a while. Nothingness. I wasn’t even truly aware of my own existence. But a voice called to me,” Your hands were enveloped by his, scooting closer, knees brushing together. “And he had sympathy on my pitied life- lives. He didn’t agree with the gods above casting me into this decided fate, my punishment for being… simply different. So he allowed me to return to life under his guidance, and lead me right back to you. He told me about you, how you’d pleaded so much for my sake, and I’m eternally grateful for all you’ve done for me. All you’ve surrendered just to be with me.”

“And I would do it again in a heartbeat, mia cara,” His arms encased you, smothering you in the warmth you’ve craved for a millennia. “I’ve longed to have you back in my arms, to feel the warmth of your body as it left me so cold. Satan has heard my prayers, seen my yearning, and returned you to me.”

“I’ve missed you so dearly. You made me feel warm even when I went cold,�� You confessed, soaking in the affection you were receiving so boisterously, not been able to feel truly at ease until Satan’s voice coaxed you from the abyss that heavens damned you to. Your fingers trailed down his spine, up and down, a repetitive, comforting motion. “Tell me, what has happened here while I’ve been gone? What have you been up to?”

He smiled, a lopsided one, your stomach doing somersaults. You were happy, for once, reclaiming all the pain you’d experienced, and letting yourself bask in the afterglow of this un-realness. “Well, I’m Papa, now,” He mentioned, fingers coiling around yours. “I’ve been touring with the ghouls, you know? I’m pretty popular these days actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that, seems you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve,” You planted a soft kiss on his nose, content to be in his presence again, sending a glance toward the tv screen flashing red lettering. “I couldn’t really figure the game out… The controls are… confusing.”

“Let me teach you then.”

just a lil one shot pooks

sorry it cuts off abruptly i wasn’t sure how to end it 🧐

#the band ghost #ghost bc #frater copia #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x reader #papa copia #copia emeritus #copia my beloved #writing practice

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 10 months ago

Text

if gods exist, they made you perfect

cw. fem!reader, childhood friend au, ace novel spoilers (1st novel), pre-relationship, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, light mentions of child abuse (garp), brief loss in ace's ability to control his powers, reader receives a minor burn

pairing. portgas d. ace x black!fem!reader

synopsis. not everyone is going to reach for ace's hand but you always will.

notes. a very indulgent idea that has been living rent free in my head since i've had it and now it is your problem. cover comes from frederic edwin church's twilight in the wilderness (1860). blazing red skies and ace simply go hand in hand.

"The Five Elders are gonna have the biggest bitch fit to ever fit," with how Ace blinks up at you in surprise, he must have been really lost in his thoughts. You broaden your smile as you plop down right next to him. "I don't think anyone's ever turned down a Warlord position before. Can't wait to see how your bounty goes up this time."

Ace snorts lightly at your words, lips stretching into half a grin, "yeah, they are not going to like that."

"It definitely doesn't help you kicked that vice admiral's ass, either," you recall the events of your final moments in Sabaody. A definitive mixed bag of.

It was a beautiful country, that much is easy to say. Still it came with more than you were prepared to witness. It's only luck there hadn't happened to be any visiting Celestial Dragons coinciding with your temporary residency. Somehow you have the feeling that things would have surely been messier if their had been.

The stint with Vice Admiral Draw will be messy enough on its own.

"Garp's gonna be so mad when he finds out," Ace shudders at even your mention of his grandfather and you snicker. "What if he comes to Fishman Island for one of his grand lectures?"

"Don't even joke like that," the back of his orange hat thumps against the side of the Spadille with his groan of horror. "I can feel his Fists of Love right now."

You feel the phantom pain yourself. If you're both lucky, the semi-retired marine is busy visiting Luffy on Dawn Island. Maybe it's not that lucky though. It isn't the first time the thought the man is even harsher on Luffy now that Ace has gone ahead and sworn his life to piracy surfaces. It's a thought you push away as quickly as you have it.

Luffy's a strong kid, he's fine.

He has a spirit that is unbreakable.

"That Draw guy deserved to get his ass beat anyway." There is no disagreement to be had with your statement, Ace murmuring something similar. He's a million miles away from where you are, however, miraculously sat on a ship sailing beneath the waves. "Isuka'll be fine," you say suddenly, cursing your inability to ease into the topic gently. "She's strong and she was on our ass since immediately after we got to the Grand Line. She'll be back to chasing us soon enough."

Hopefully.

It isn't something you can say with resolute faith.

The ensign's sense of reality itself had been shattered in its entirety. Being betrayed by the one you believed to be your savior is nothing easy to overcome. You choose to believe a woman as impassioned as the naval officer will. You won't pretend to know where she'll head next.

Perhaps she'll embark on a path that leads her back to the marines. Or maybe she'll become a bounty hunter.

Wherever her journey takes her, you can only hope it is a path with no regrets.

"It would have been weird having a bounty hunter on the ship, anyway," you clumsily attempt to soothe your friend. There is irony in how Ace became your better in terms of comforting those around you when he had been the most argumentative and unfriendly between you. "That sounds like something Luffy would do."

At the sound of Luffy's name, Ace's lips do quirk into something more real. "Yeah, that kid would invite just about anyone on his crew, bounty hunters included."

You chuckle trying to visualize what the young boy's recruitment process will be. Somehow, you doubt his prospective crewmates will have much say in the matter. "Knowing Luffy, they'll probably want to join anyway though. He's convincing like that."

"Yeah," Ace only falls deeper into his thoughts. The silence that follows is even more glum than the depths. Damn it, you curse yourself.

You've never been like Makino, you recall the kind-hearted woman from your youth. She's always been gentle, dove-like in her approach when it came to matters of the heart. Knew exactly the words someone needed to hear and knew exactly how to say it in a way that didn't feel intrusive to the recipient.

That has certainly never been you. If anything, you're more akin to Dadan and her rough expressions of affection.

You hold back a sigh, closing your eyes.

"Alright, I guess this is how we're doing this," you open your eyes at last. Shuffling, you face your friend who makes a sound of surprise at your movement. You aren't a delicate person nor are you someone with the ability to handle matters of the heart with the delicacy it deserves. It's best to handle it clumsily, the only way you know how. "Ace, the stuff with Isuka; that wasn't your fault. And it isn't on you that she didn't want to come with us."

Isuka liked Ace.

It's impossible not to like him.

Even when he was a brat with more anger at the world than he knew what to do with, you liked him. Thought he was the coolest person you'd ever met in your short 10 years of living and wanted him to like you back. You like him even now.

Everyone in the crew joined because they liked Ace the moment they met him. He's darling in how effortless he makes it.

Even a marine as firm in her beliefs as Isuka couldn't let prejudice cloud her judgement when it came to Portgas D. Ace. Begrudging as it may have been, there has always been a mutual admiration for each other in spite of the opposing occupations.

You're like the sun. Equal parts the harsh rays of summer and the gentle beams of early spring. He's whichever the moment calls for. A warmth everyone wants to experience if they're lucky enough to come across it. The gravitational pull of the universe that keeps the planets in the sun's orbit. You're amazing!

"I don't know what the hell that girl needs," rough as the sentence is, your voice is soft. "But whatever it is, she wasn't going to find it with us. That's why she didn't come."

Ace opens his mouth but you don't give him the chance to argue or sweep your concerns away.

"I'm not gonna sit here and lie to your face and say that this won't happen again," it's an ugly truth. One Ace became aware of long before you met him. Regardless, as much as you hate it, you know it'd be unfair to lie to him. "Because it probably will. There's always going to be people who, no matter how hard you reach for them, they aren't going to reach back. And you can't do jack about it.

Hell, sometimes you can't even do jill. But," Ace's brow furrows in time with your words and your heart wrenches. "But," you start once more, the back of your fingers brushing against his wrist. "for every person that won't, there's going to be someone that does." You cup one of Ace's hands in both of yours with all the care one would give glass.

When did these hands get so much bigger than your own?

Still, you lips curl upwards in your nostalgia, the warmth that radiates from him remains the same. You squeeze gently, almost afraid that if you touch him too hard, he'll break.

"And I know for a fact there are a lot of people who are always going to want to hold your hands. Even if the shit does turn into fire," you chuckle at your quick addendum and despite himself, Ace does too. You've always loved hearing him laugh, it's even better when you're the cause. "The crew. Dadan. Magra. Dogra. Luffy," you squeeze again, your thumb carressing the back of his hand. "Me. We love these hands, they're yours."

There's a spark of something in Ace's eyes you can't quite place and it's unexpectedly hard to look him in the eye for some reason. "Heh," you laugh breathlessly. Without meaning to, your grip tightens around his hand. It's warm.

Really warm.

Shit, it's actually getting kinda hot ain't it?

You see the flicker of orange and your and Ace's expressions are well-matched in panic as you realize the source. Sure enough, your hands were engulfed flames.

"Shit-" Ace swears but despite instinct dictating you back away from the flames, you find yourself holding on to staunchly.

"Shit-" you fight against Ace's attempt to pull away from you as the flames die down. "[First]! Let go!"

"No way, what did I just say?!" Oh god this hurts like hell! "I don't care if it's fire, I'm not letting go!"

You hiss through your teeth, reeling yourself in with a breath but the flames are extinguished as quickly as they erupted. "Wasn't exactly expecting to prove my point so fast but," there's another attempt on Ace's part to pull away from you again but you only hold his hand tighter. You can ignore the sting of your hands but you can't ignore the way Ace's eyebrows knit together. You can't ignore how he looks like he wants to cry either. "See," you laugh breathlessly. "I love these hands, there's no way I'm never gonna hold them.

Dark eyes, wide, look between you and your face and you squeeze his hand again. The sting of your palms is prevalent but this pain is fine. Pain is merely proof that you are alive in this moment; and in this moment there is nowhere else you want to be.

There's nothing more that needs to be said between you, you believe. Facing him, you lean against the wood as you hold Ace's hand firmly between your own. With the hand he has available, Ace slides his hat down to hide whatever expression he's making.

You close your eyes with a sigh and pretend you don't hear the sound of hiccuping. You don't feel the way his hand trembles either.

You squeeze Ace's hand and he squeezes back.

Your hands sting something sweet.

#look she's writing #one piece x reader #op x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #look it's self shipping hours #flaming pearls #sea otters #flaming pearls (sea otters)#x black!reader #ace x black!reader

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lumitytakes · 2 months ago

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Lumity and the light magic.

1. Covention.

From the beginning, Luz and Amity are in conflict and misunderstanding. The first light glyph that Luz shows Amity sparks something new between them. Amity gets to understand more about Luz, how she takes learning magic seriously despite being a human. The light also relieves Amity's whirlwind of emotion, and illuminates the dark corner.

2. Thanks to Them.

This scene is forever special to me. Back before, Luz casts the light glyph to connect with Amity, and this goes full circle when Amity lightens Luz up with the light spell. It's a symbol of hope that they will overcome any difficulties ahead. I've mentioned in a post that when both Luz and Amity lift the magic orb in the sky, it's as if Luz could also do magic. Since Luz hasn't been able to do magic for months in the Human Realm, it's a small comforting moment for her.

3. Watching and Dreaming.

Amity helps Luz escape the nightmare by giving her the light glyph, the sign of her love, her support and her reassurance that everything is going to be fine. Moreover, both Luz and Amity are the first ones to activate the light glyph and save others.

Specifically, despite being puppetized, Amity still uses all her energy to draw the light glyph, saving herself and everyone.

That Luz touches the light glyph first which is pinned on her and Amity's photo makes me emotional. Clearly, Luz and Amity are each other's light. They save each other, protect each other, and lighten up each other.

Their ship name "Lumity" sounds perfect to me. It's almost like "Luminous", which is beautiful and bright.

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #amity blight #lumity

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overlyattachedto70s-sitcoms · 1 year ago

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hi everyone,

i know i don’t exactly have much of a presence on here but i’m begging anyone who sees this to please read the whole thing.

mahmoud al-sharif reached out to me, asking me to share his story in hopes people will help. he has three children and his wife is expecting a fourth. he’s already lived through 5 wars (!!!) and has lost fingers on his hand and vision in his eye. when the war broke out, he had been working on a project for 12 years, only for all the equipment to be destroyed along with his home and livelihood. he may never be able to finish that project, essentially his life’s work.

he’s asking for donations to help get him and his family to egypt, and if you don’t know how much that costs, it’s $5000 per adult and $2500 per child. they will also need funds to support themselves when they’re in egypt, and mahmoud also needs money for medical expenses, due to his fingers and eye.

if you want more information, you can find it in his gofundme:

it’s been vetted by @/90-ghost, @/northgazaupdates and @/vetted-gaza-funds. i’ve reblogged a post with proof of this, it’s the one with the drawings of olives.

please, please donate if you can. even if it’s not much, anything will help. if you can’t donate, then reblog, both this post and others talking about mahmoud’s situation. you can find these posts and any others that get made by going to his account, @mahmoud-sharif2 .

please do what you can to help mahmoud. even if it’s just a reblog.

#free gaza #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #gofundme #🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸#signal boost

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eemamminy-art · 5 months ago

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Things took a turn for the worse today during her treatments and we had to put our kitty to sleep. Please don't ask me for details. We did all we could, but satisfying your curiosity isn't worth me recounting the details over and over to everyone who wants to know. Just know we had no other choice and it was frankly devastating.

I'm going to take the rest of the week off and get back to my comms on monday. It's been a long couple of weeks as it is and this week especially the days have been long. Tomorrow will be another long day to bury her.

some further personal stuff below the cut about death and loss

I feel like every time I lose someone else in my life I'm retraumatized and shattered into more pieces than I was before. My whole world broke completely when my mom died. Then 8 months later my dad died too, and I just remember getting the call to come to the hospital immediately because there wasn't much time left and thinking, "This can't be happening again." Getting the call today about our cat, it's all I could think of too. "This can't be happening again."

Since losing my mom in 2013 and my dad in 2014, I've lost all four grandparents, two uncles, and now my cat. I hate that it's such a familiar routine now. I feel so thoroughly soaked through by death that I will never truly get through it. Like I'm rotting away too, little by little.

I try to take solace in how my dad had this outlook of like, to not linger in the past or linger on the things we can't change. I try to do that. I try to just look forward. When I look forward though, sometimes all I can see is my own death waiting for me. I treat my body so badly when I'm in the thickest muck of sorrow and I know it just burns the candle of my life quicker, but what else am I going to do?

I hate having to tell everyone about it. Yeah hi me again. You'll never guess, someone else died. I know, you're sorry, thanks, it's okay. In the uber ride home I was writing to all my friends who have been checking in on me to tell them what's happened, trying not to throw up, and I'm instantly 22 again, calling my aunts and uncles and cousins at 6 am after being up all night to let everyone know my dad was gone.

I draw and write about these topics often because I'm trying so hard to heal from them and make sense of them. If I can write about fictional characters overcoming their trauma and grief and finding light and happiness again, it gives me some hope that I'll find that one day too. Still waiting, but maybe I'll find it. Though it seems I can't even have peace in my creative outlets when time and again I have people making it about stupid ship wars and antagonizing me and belittling me for what I'm making when I'm just trying to work through all the tragedies of my life through my art and writing. Life isn't fair and then stuff like that happens and I remember people don't care how much you've lost or suffered sometimes, they only care about themselves.

I'm sure this is all very worrying to read but ultimately I'm just venting after experiencing something terrible after a lifetime of other terrible experiences. I'll be okay. I always come through. I'm not a quitter. If you read all of this, then thank you. Please be gentle with me. My light will probably dimmer for the foreseeable future but I'll be okay. You probably noticed I didn't mention many details about my cat. That was on purpose. It's hard enough feeling her absence, trying to articulate all the things that made her so special and that I will miss in her is going to make me even sicker than I already am. So please don't ask. If I want to talk about her I will, but right now it's so difficult, and more than anything my body is just reacting to having the trauma of death coursing through it yet again.

#personal #text #death mention #cw pet death #cw grief

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ghostymarni · 4 months ago

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Hi I had no caf today.

But uhh… OC lore pls?

no caf???? How??? 😂✨ do you prefer tea or perhaps you can run on juice?

I need it to function in the mornings. I either need that first brew or an ice cold energy drink to get the gears turning ♥️✨

I hope you mean how Aev started cause that’s what imma share haha!

Aeviririn is my main, self expressed, self insert. I wanted a way to express my presence on the holonet in a way I both saw myself, adding my hair + design style of expression, as well as overall expression of interests + communication. Her design has lots of symbolism in how I designed her.

with the loss of my late husband (it’s been 10 months already) I turned back to art knowing it’s the truest way of communication for me.

I know I started her as a self presence on “this is the artist” drawing myself with my designed mandalorian bucket. But it evolved to who she is now. I’m learning as I go, I’ve never had a public oc before in an active fandom. And it’s all new to me being so involved <3

I’ve learned + continue to learn, the difference between fun lingo usage + fandom RP, which I feel is a very thin line. But just balancing responses between me and using Aev confused myself sometimes because Aev is literally me hahaha. I don’t see myself starting an RP only account because my ADHD is too inconsistent.

my late husband + I called ourselves a mandalorian family, he was a long time boba fett fan even before I met him, and unknowingly we always initiated the keldabe kiss with our son and personal moments. He was into the bad batch before I was and he’d quote things to me not knowing their origin. Making TBB so much more personal. so the grief I felt, felt like I was exposing me to my true feelings and evolving aeviririn to who she is now, feels just as much healing as it is expression. Almost like I was recreating myself as I fell apart.

arm wraps - symbolize how I feel like I’m always fighting through life. Losing my partner I put the wraps on knowing i have no one to help protect me. To keep fighting forward.

long mohawk - it’s my actual hairstyle. I haven’t cut it in almost 8 years, and I shave the sides every other week.

left leg blaster - my late husband taught me how to shoot, helping me overcome my fear of weapons. I like the rifles/snipers not just in games but I lock in when I shoot them. As well as having a blaster for a sniper is essential for close range, but also I keep it as a reminder that my left handed partner always reminded me to be prepared for anything.

Aev is so much of everything I’ve grown to be, and who I strive to keep being. Her attitude is so much of my own as well as my inner confidence. Tomboy + femme, so much of my own desires and interests, and life experiences.

my obsession with the marshal commander actually started a long time ago. Denial cause I had a convo with my late husband talking about what clones I’d connect with before I was deeply immersed into clones as he was. Refusing the 501st because it felt basic hahahaha (he had a captain Rex tattoo) and I was like, I kinda like the red guys, it’s kinda cool.. referring to the coruscant guard. And he was like “oh they’re like the cops of the city” which made me cringe at the time because i wanted to find my reason for it on my own terms. Ironically after he passed I stumbled back onto fox and I hyper fixated on him. Which the fandom at the time was very minimal (from what I saw), about fox being mean grumpy and often disliked. But I couldn’t help it. I liked that hahaha thanks to @eobe for her forwarding me commander caf escalated post which sparked a whole cup of chaos that im so glad I jumped on. And connecting with @lonewolflupe finding out we had so much in common which sparked the chaos twins, initiating a whole new chapter of Aev and creativity <3

I truly appreciate everyone that’s drawn Aev, includes her, and supports my innuendo to myself. I can’t wait to see how she (and I) grow.

#holonet ask #aeviririn #aev the mandalorian #aev’s story #the artist talks #chaos twins #chaos squad #star wars oc #commander fox #help I’ve fallen for the marshal commander #my emotional support clone commander #the bad batch #the clone wars

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thorough-witness-enjoyer · 1 year ago

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The Witness and Why It (and its demise) Means Everything to Me (A POC Perspective)

Hey everyone!! The Final Shape has ruined me and has brought me to levels of not only grief, but hope, that I did not think possible, so I decided to give my thoughts on the different aspects of it that moved me to a place where I can be at peace with many things in my life and look forward to paving a better future!!! I think I’ll be making many posts pertaining to the Final Shape as a way to help me express my thoughts on how important this DLC was to me, but we will see!

Please note that these are just my loose, not fully structured thoughts and I’m yapping. My opinions are subject to change and I’d love to hear the input of others! We will be talking about subjects such as slavery, religion, black experiences, and personal experiences of mine!!! It’s very long too, so I’m sorry about that and any writing errors!!

Though I do not believe what I speak of was fully Bungie’s intentions when making the character, the implications and views you can take on the Witness do relate to what I will discuss.

I wanted to start off my return to tumblr with one of the many, many reasons why I have such a deep attachment to the Witness (Precursors and Dissenters will get a different post bc they mean the world to me too!!) , because truly, this entity owns my whole life. I think of it all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, my art, my writing, all of it. It has been so deeply intertwined with my enjoyment of Destiny since it appeared and has offered so much to my perception of the world. I do not think I will truly get over it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t draw it every chance I get. It appears in every single thought of mine, it’s bad you guys.

I love the Witness so deeply because I have never harbored such a personal level of DISGUST for a character before. As much as I joke about it being silly and the love of my life, the very existence of the Witness revolts me to the core and the tragedies it has directly or indirectly caused squeeze my heart empty. This festering rot of an egregore SICKENS me as it is the beliefs that has robbed me and many others of family, culture, and livelihoods given form. My love for the Witness comes from how it instills in me such HATRED, and truly, we were far too kind to it in game.

For context, I am Caribbean American and have a tumultuous relationship with my heritage for many reasons, but it wasn’t until the Witness and its many victims that I felt like the religious imperialism that has affected my heritage was represented in a way that crept into my spirit.

My Caribbean mother always said to me that we are of this world, not in it. That the hearts of men are wicked and sin (cruelty) was embedded in existence itself. It is only when we give ourselves to a higher purpose that we will be free in the end from all suffering. To her, this life and everything in it did not truly matter for it was a temporary challenge to overcome in order to earn an eternity of salvation. A perfect paradise was awaiting us all if we just gave into the way and left everything else behind.

These were all convictions she held to her very core as she tried to shed away all other aspects of herself to give into this “truth”, especially her Caribbean culture.

She did not always believe this way, but to her, the island she came from did not truly matter at all. Those “wayward people” she grew up with were not worth anything and would die as nobodies on that nowhere island for their lives were not saved, even if they knew of the “truth”. In her adopted views, those people believed in false gods and practices (such as Vodou and beliefs that belonged to those taken from Africa and indigenous populations), they invited in frivolous wants of the flesh such as lust (with „improper“ attire and certain dances), and committed crimes that proved to her that they could never be anything more than what they already were (though she would be blinded to the fact that these behaviors are a result of hostile environments created by the systems established for slavery and racial subjugation). If she wanted to be fit for “walking the right path”, those people had to be left behind for they were lost causes who could not be saved unless they were delivered by the “respectable” ways of life. She had to discard her black mannerisms, hair, speech, and more to have a place amongst the truly chosen.

Religious imperialism has a long history of being heavily tied to discussions of race and colonialism as those who participated in subjugation believed themselves to be more enlightened than the people they brought devastation to, giving them an entitlement that drove them to force their way of viewing religion onto populations. After all, in their minds, they were doing the greatest good for they were setting the people they subjugated on a path for eternal paradise. There was no cost too high in this finite life for infinite salvation to colonizers and all efforts to convert populations who did not see this truth would be “necessary”. People would die or be forced into servitude in mass to support the ambitions of the “enlightened” ones, whole cultures and populations being scrubbed from the face of this Earth in an attempt to “heal what is sick”, to “break broken bones again to heal them right”. I think of all the generations lost to war, slavery, colonialism, and every other act done to deliver “purpose” onto others, all the people whose names will never be known because others used the breath needed to utter it on preaching of their own virtue, and I am left in ruin.

I think of how my mother speaks of those lost to destitute lives because of the social pillaging of the island as an unfortunate side effect of guiding them to the truth and I look at how her world view has been ruined.

My mother thought she was saving me by keeping me from my culture, my people, my family. I did not get to know the language, the customs, the land, but I did get to know how much my mother thought those were distractions. She spent my whole life trying to cement the truths given to her by the same people who left her island in such as state that she felt like she had to run from it, to ensure I would not grow into a person, but a vessel of the righteous message. After all, to be a person is to be complex, nuanced, and flawed and there was no room for that in the visions given to her. The complexities and human flaws that came with our culture would only distract us from giving our whole lives to freeing ourselves from the curse of existence.

The cruelty the Witness delivers with such gentleness as it razes civilizations, its unwavering belief that it is the objective truth and other perspectives are blind to this truth, the means it will use to get that “justified” end, its gut wrenching to me and all that has been lost throughout human history to ideologies that bear the same qualities. Its zealous, static nature that relies on circular reasoning keeps me up at night and makes me mourn what could have been if the unfamiliar and hard to understand parts of human expression were allowed to flourish instead of being eradicated for diverging from someone’s vision of what makes a life worth living. I see this big eyed vessel, incapable of growth and convinced of its own righteousness and my chest feels like it is going to cave in. I see its disciples and pawns in the faces of too many people I know and recall their stories in moments that remind me how poisonous what the Witness represents is.

The Witness is an evil that has hollowed out lives, homes, land, and futures, especially for those who come from heritages that have persevered against attempts to “rectify” them. I still grieve the empty life my mother lives and the people left to suffer the consequences of daring to create their own meaning. I look at the face of the Witness and think of the “burdens lifted off my mother’s shoulders” by those who thought themselves as witnesses of a truth that could not be contested with interpretations that could not be questioned. She prides herself on being a weapon wielded to correct the sinful hearts of men, but I just wish she prided herself on being a person because those who “delivered” her robbed people of color of personhood entirely.

The Witness is not a person, but the embodiment of these deeply rooted ideologies and concepts that affect so many. It’s horror, both in game and the parallels it has in reality, is far too grand and unfathomable for me to bear its weight on my soul and not agonize. Its very existence is monstrous, despite the understandable intentions that went into its making, and my stomach churns at the mere thought of it.

How many species in the Destiny universe will we never know about because their whole galaxy was used to get closer to the Final Shape? How many star systems were left barren because of the Witness’ ambitions? How many children, spouses, artists, philosophers, siblings, neighbors, and more, people who were something, became nothing because of eons of the Witness‘ justifications? Bile boils just thinking of it.

What the Witness represents has hung over my head my whole life and its perverse touch lingers on the whole Destiny universe, tracing many of the depraved atrocities in the game back to itself. It’s death in the Final Shape, at the hands of those it had turned into victims and left to deal with the repercussions of its influence united together, moved me in ways I do not think I could ever properly articulate. To see beloved characters I had given a decade of my life to come together from different backgrounds with different reasons to defeat such a heinous entity, I felt like I could do my part to bring others together, despite our struggles and differences, to rebuild what had been taken from us.

As a person of color from a group of people many still think are undeserving of life, seeing so many characters I have related to over the years say “I matter because I decided to and you can’t take that away from me” to an entity who thought itself so refined that it got to determine everyone’s worth strengthened my entire being. Existing as a person of color is bold in and of itself, but the defeat of the Witness at the hands of people who wanted to exist so bad they risked everything for it ignited in me a flame to be audacious. My existence and culture as a poc is unsightly and heretical, but TFS encouraged me to take on the prejudices of others by saying “Here, despite generations being molded into a “perfect” image and so many lives lost in the struggle to live personal truths, ergo sum. Ergo sum and there is nothing wrong with that”.

To me, the Witness’ death showed me that the stains left behind by social structures such as religious imperialism and colonialism can be overcome by people banding together to make the future different from the past. When we embrace the subjectivity of existence, we can create spaces for different views on life to flourish and reconnect with the nuances of this world. We can better the lives of our people, no matter who they are, not by abandoning all cultural practices and ways of life that were deemed meaningless, but by rebuilding our societies to allow for fulfilling lives and self efficacy for all.

My people no longer have to let imperial powers decide our fate for us or decide that we can be nothing other than the „nature of our race“ that they believe is inferior. Instead of looking up at others who asserted themselves as more enlightened for salvation, we can look at each other and realize there is no one truth to life, especially one worth all the devastation and cruelty placed against those who lived differently. The intricacies of life often lead people to belief systems that allow for comfort and understanding, alleviating the anxiety of possibly living an improper life that will forfeit a desirable afterlife. It is up to individuals to decide what makes their life fulfilling and what beliefs will guide their actions, for no one can make your fate but you.

My mother still likes to wear the patterns of the island and keeps paintings of island scenery in her room. She talks on the phone in patois when she doesn’t feel the pressure to be “proper”. She misses her mother because she used to make dishes from home. To relate it to Destiny, she still has the coordinates to her Lubrae in her pyramid despite convincing herself abandoning it all was for the best and there was nothing there worth keeping. I once thought reconnecting with our heritage alongside her would be a frivolous endeavor, but I hope that with time and understanding, the Witness may not have power over her anymore and she won’t look back on her disassociation with relief. Time and understanding will make our island grow and flourish, free to decide what it wants to be, not held back by preconceived notions of the worth of its existence.

Despite all the Witnesses in the world, I will persist on and try to acquaint myself with my culture without shame. The Witness is everything to me because I hope one day it desecrates nothing ever again. I hope the Witness becomes nothing at all and the cultures it has corrupted make themselves something audacious.

Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you guys don’t mind the vague language, I chose to spare some details for my own sake and to make the message more applicable!! I’d love to hear the takes of other people about this bc I love hearing people’s perspectives!! And always remember, no one makes your fate but you!!! Go be audacious!!!!

#destiny 2 #destiny #destiny the game #the witness #destiny witness #d2 #the final shape #everyone get a brick it’s beat the witness o clock #my witness I HATE you like no other #I love you like no other my witness #i need some one to talk about the grander implications and ideas behind the witness or I fear I may pass away #i feel for the victims of the witness so hard that I have cried whole rivers over them #do not hug the witness pls bc I’m already doing that and then I will be punching it #i should make posts agonizing over all the disciples and pawns as well if you guys are interested #destiny the final shape

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 6 months ago

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Checkmate: a jhea fanfic. (Book 3 of 3: BTR Series)

Chapter 13: Orange Soda

Special shoutout to @cheappop @xxjheaxx @maineventabbey @love4brutality @xxwhatcouldhavebeenxx

Flashback - June 26th, 2025

LaKota Oaks, Hall A. 6:24 PM.

Jon stood confidently at the podium, his smile wide as he addressed the audience. The room, filled with donors, philanthropists, and well-wishers, buzzed with a quiet sense of anticipation. The sparkling chandeliers overhead cast a soft glow on the elegant décor of the venue. Jon was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, his usual confident demeanor amplified by the significance of the evening.

He cleared his throat, his voice commanding yet warm. “I usually don’t do stuff like this,” Jon began, his eyes sweeping over the crowd of distinguished guests. “But on behalf of the Demi Fatu Foundation, I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight.”

A ripple of applause echoed through the hall, and Jon smiled, nodding in appreciation. He paused, allowing the moment to settle before continuing.

“Tonight, with your incredible contributions, we have raised $6.8 million dollars.” The applause grew louder, with many of the attendees rising to their feet in support of the foundation’s mission. Jon looked toward the back of the stage, his gaze shifting toward the figure who had inspired it all.

“Now, if I could, I’d like to invite the heart and soul of this foundation, Demi Fatu, to join me up here,” Jon said, his voice filled with reverence.

The spotlight flickered, drawing attention to Rhea, who was sitting at a table near the back. She smiled gently as she rose from her seat, her presence commanding as she waved graciously to the room. She moved toward the stage with the help of Joe, who supported her as she made her way to the podium. Her movements were graceful, but her eyes carried the weight of all she had overcome. She reached the stage, her figure bathed in the soft light.

Rhea took the stand with quiet strength, her eyes scanning the crowd of faces eager to hear her speak. She stood at the microphone, pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts as the applause slowly faded. Her hands rested lightly on the podium. It was evident that she had fought hard to be here tonight.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said, her voice smooth and steady, though there was a hint of emotion just beneath the surface. “And thank you to everyone who has made this evening possible. Your support means the world to me.”

The room was silent, hanging on her every word. Rhea continued, her tone more serious as she shared the foundation’s mission.

“The Demi Fatu Foundation is dedicated to helping troubled youth, those who have suffered at the hands of violence, neglect, and abuse. Our work is focused on those who have been victims of sexual trafficking, offering them a chance at a new life—one where they can heal, find hope, and build their future. Every dollar you’ve contributed tonight will go directly into providing those victims with the support they need to start over.”

A wave of emotion swept over the room, the audience visibly moved by the heartfelt message. Rhea’s eyes shone with determination, but there was also vulnerability in her expression as she spoke of the cause so close to her heart.

“We all have the power to make a difference,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. “The more we give, the more lives we can change. And together, we can create a world where the victims of these horrors no longer have to suffer in silence.”

The crowd, touched by her words, erupted in applause. It was a standing ovation—one filled with admiration, respect, and gratitude for the woman who had fought through her own darkness to emerge as a beacon of hope for others.

As the applause began to die down, Rhea stepped back slightly from the podium, taking a deep breath as she glanced out into the sea of faces, feeling a profound connection to each person in the room. She knew the road ahead would still be full of challenges, but tonight, she felt as though she had finally found her purpose—one that would carry her through whatever obstacles life still had in store.

Joe and Jon carefully guided Rhea off the stage, their movements protective yet unspoken, as if shielding her from the weight of the world. The energy in the room still crackled with admiration for her speech, murmurs of praise floating through the crowd.

As they reached their table, Rhea settled into her seat with a quiet sigh, smoothing her dress over her lap. She turned to Joe, offering him a small but sincere smile.

“Thank you for making the trip out here,” she said softly.

Joe waved a dismissive hand, shaking his head. “Come on now, you know I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” His tone was gruff, but there was warmth in his eyes.

Jon leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he glanced around the opulent hall. “It’s a shame Jey couldn’t be here,” he commented, his voice carrying a note of something between understanding and disappointment.

Rhea didn’t miss the subtle weight behind his words. She tilted her head slightly before responding. “He’s off being a bona fide superstar,” she said with a small smirk, though the flicker of something unreadable crossed her expression for just a second.

Jon hummed, nodding. “Yeah. That boy’s been on a roll lately.”

Before the conversation could go any further, a waitress approached their table, her presence poised and professional. The name tag pinned to her crisp black uniform read Ashanti. She held a small notepad, pen poised between her fingers.

“Good evening, would you like anything to drink?” she asked politely, her eyes scanning between the three of them.

Joe glanced up first, offering a charming smile. “A glass of wine,” he requested smoothly.

Jon lifted a hand slightly. “Beer for me.”

Ashanti turned her attention to Rhea, who instinctively rested a hand over her midsection, a small protective gesture.

“A Sprite will do,” Rhea said with a gentle smile.

The waitress nodded, scribbling down their orders. “Of course. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared seamlessly into the crowd, leaving the trio in a moment of quiet.

Joe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his sharp gaze flickered between Jon and Rhea. “So,” he began, his tone carrying the weight of something more serious beneath the casual exterior, “how you holding up, sis?”

Rhea met his eyes, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of the tablecloth. “I’m good,” she answered, though it came a little too quick. She cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat. “Tonight’s been… important.”

Jon studied her, his expression unreadable. “You sure?”

Rhea exhaled through her nose, offering a small but genuine nod. “Yeah.” Then, her lips curled up just slightly. “Besides, if I wasn’t, I’m pretty sure you two would be the first to call me out on it.”

Joe smirked. “Damn right.”

The drinks arrived moments later, Ashanti setting them down with a graceful efficiency. As the three lifted their glasses—Joe and Jon in toast, Rhea in quiet amusement—there was an unspoken understanding between them. The night wasn’t just about the money raised or the cause being championed.

It was about Rhea reclaiming something—her voice, her purpose.

And despite the miles that separated them tonight, Jey was still a part of it. Whether he knew it or not.

Rhea adjusted the fabric of her dress as she rose with Joe and Jon’s help, her movements slow but steady. At this stage in her pregnancy, every step carried a heaviness, but she still held herself with quiet strength.

Dom, one of her most trusted assistants within the Demi Fatu Foundation, had just informed her that the winners of the highly anticipated meet-and-greet had arrived. Rhea gave him a nod of appreciation before glancing between Joe and Jon.

“Guess we better not keep them waiting,” she said lightly, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Joe smirked, adjusting the cuff of his blazer. “Let’s make someone’s night, then.”

Jon nodded, his expression relaxed as he walked beside them, keeping a watchful eye on Rhea as they maneuvered through the grand dining hall.

As they approached the designated area, two women stood eagerly near the reception table, their faces lighting up at the sight of the trio. The excitement in their eyes was unmistakable, the kind that only came from meeting idols they had long admired.

The taller of the two stepped forward first, her hands clasped together. “Oh my God, this is unreal,” she breathed, eyes darting between them. “I’m Maki.”

The other woman, just as overwhelmed but radiating excitement, quickly introduced herself. “And I’m Abbey! It’s so amazing to meet you all.”

Rhea smiled warmly, taking in their enthusiasm. “It’s great to meet you both,” she said, reaching out carefully to shake their hands despite her limited mobility. “You guys excited for tonight?”

Maki nodded quickly. “More than you know! This foundation means so much to us. What you’re doing—giving a voice to victims, helping those in need—it’s incredible.”

Abbey chimed in, her voice filled with sincerity. “We’ve been following everything since you started the foundation, and it’s been so inspiring.”

Rhea’s heart swelled at their words, a deep appreciation settling in her chest. Despite the chaos that often surrounded her life, moments like this reminded her why she fought so hard for this cause.

Joe, ever the charmer, grinned at them. “Well, I gotta say, you picked a hell of a night to be here. Six-point-eight million raised? That’s history right there.”

Jon clapped a hand on Rhea’s shoulder, nodding toward Maki and Abbey. “And that’s all because of her.”

Rhea shook her head modestly. “Because of all of us. This is bigger than just me.”

Maki and Abbey exchanged a glance, their admiration evident. Abbey hesitated for a second before speaking again. “Can we—uh, would it be okay if we got a picture with you guys?”

Rhea chuckled. “Of course.”

Joe gestured toward Dom, who immediately stepped forward to take the photo. As the five of them gathered together, Maki and Abbey stood between their idols, their joy unmistakable.

As the camera flashed, capturing the moment forever, Rhea felt something shift inside her—a reminder of how far she had come, of the impact she was making.

And despite everything, despite the past and the battles she still had to fight, she felt whole.

—

June 27th, 2025 2:42 PM

Rhea stood in the kitchen, carefully assembling her sandwich. Her movements were slower now, the weight of her pregnancy making even the simplest tasks feel like a workout. Still, there was an undeniable warmth in her heart as she thought about how soon she would finally be holding baby Jeyson in her arms.

Taking a slow bite, she leaned against the kitchen counter, her eyes drifting toward the large glass doors leading to the backyard. Outside, a team from Shep’s Pool Perfections was putting the paint on the custom-built pool and waterfall feature.

Once Jeyson was here, she planned to start gentle water exercises with him. Nothing too intense—just small bonding moments in the water, a way to ease back into movement while also introducing her son to something she loved.

She placed her half-eaten sandwich down and rubbed her belly absentmindedly. “Not long now, little one,” she murmured, feeling a small but firm kick in response.

A deep chuckle came from behind her. “That boy is already active as hell,” Joe’s voice rang out as he stepped into the kitchen, eyeing her with amusement.

Rhea smirked, turning slightly to face him. “Takes after his dad.”

Joe leaned against the fridge, arms crossed. “Or his mom. You were out here lifting weights until damn near five months.”

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully. “Had to make sure I stayed strong.”

Joe studied her for a moment, his usual playful demeanor softening. “You doing okay?”

She exhaled, nodding as she ran her fingers over the edge of the counter. “Yeah… just ready. Ready for him to be here. Ready to hold him.” Her voice dropped slightly. “Ready for Jey to be here, too.”

Joe’s gaze darkened just a fraction, but he didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he reached for a banana from the fruit bowl and peeled it slowly. “You know he’ll be here, right?”

Rhea looked away, focusing on the pool outside. “Yeah,” she said, though the uncertainty still clung to her words.

Joe chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. “That man loves you, Demi. No matter what’s happened, no matter what’s still gonna happen, he’ll always come back to you.”

Rhea swallowed hard, her fingers instinctively tightening against the counter.

She hoped he was right. Because as the days inched closer to her due date, the only thing she wanted more than Jeyson in her arms… was Jey by her side.

Galina appeared at the top of the stairs, her soft footsteps echoing as she descended to the main level. Her eyes sparkled with the same energy Rhea had come to admire, even in moments of exhaustion. She and Joe had decided to stay with Rhea for the next couple of days until Jey got back, and then all four of them would fly out to Texas for their Fourth of July trip. It was the light at the end of a long tunnel for Rhea—getting away with the people she trusted most.

Galina smiled warmly as she reached the kitchen. “Are you okay today, mamas?” she asked gently, noticing the slightly exhausted look on Rhea’s face.

Rhea, her hand resting on her swollen belly, gave a half-smile in response. “He keeps kicking me so much,” she sighed, her voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and amusement.

Galina let out a laugh, her tone light. “Imagine, giving birth to twins. Double the kicks, mamas.”

Rhea’s eyes widened at the thought, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t know how you and Trinity did it. This little one is already giving me a run for my money.”

Joe, who had been leaning casually against the counter, smirked at the conversation. “I did all the work,” he quipped, a playful twinkle in his eye as he glanced over at Rhea.

Galina shot him a glare, her expression amused but also a bit incredulous. “You did all the work, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s funny, because last time I checked, you didn’t carry the weight, literally.”

Joe shrugged, his grin widening. “Hey, I provided the right environment,” he teased.

Rhea couldn’t help but laugh, the sound filling the kitchen. “You two are something else,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Galina, still giving Joe a mock side-eye, turned back to Rhea, her face softening. “But seriously, how are you holding up? I know it’s been tough with everything going on.”

Rhea paused, her hand resting on her belly once more. “I’m managing. The pain’s there, but it’s nothing compared to the excitement. I just want him here… and Jey. I miss him so much.”

Galina’s expression softened. She stepped forward, gently rubbing Rhea’s shoulder. “He’ll be back soon, mamas. You know Jey’s got this.”

Rhea nodded, her eyes glistening for a moment before she blinked away the emotion. “I hope so.”

Galina squeezed her shoulder and glanced at Joe, who had been silently watching the exchange. “We’ll be here for you. Whatever you need. You’re not alone in this.”

Rhea smiled faintly, appreciating the support but still feeling that aching void Jey’s absence had created.

—

June 28th, 2025 01:21 AM

A loud, urgent banging on the front door jolted Rhea awake. Her heart pounded in her chest as she groggily pushed herself up, blinking against the darkness. Barry and Bella, her protective dogs, stirred beside her, their ears perked up at the sudden disturbance. Storm, her cat, remained curled up at the foot of the bed, unfazed.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 1:21 AM.

“Who the hell—” she mumbled, rubbing her belly before swinging her legs off the bed. At nearly eight months pregnant, every movement was slow and calculated. She grabbed her robe, pulling it over her body before waddling downstairs.

Approaching the door, she peeked through the peephole and frowned when she saw an officer standing outside. Her stomach tightened with unease. Taking a steadying breath, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

The moment she did, a familiar figure lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her.

“Mommy!”

Rhea instinctively held onto Jaciyah, her stepson, as he buried his face into her neck. Confused, she looked up at the officer.

“Ma’am, is this your son?” he asked, though the answer was clear from the way Jaciyah clung to her.

Rhea exhaled. “He practically is, but technically, he’s my stepson. What’s going on?”

Jaciyah grinned, looking up at her with dilated eyes. “Uno, dos, tres, cuatro!”

Rhea blinked, realization dawning on how the officer got into the property. Jaciyah’s assigned gate code.

She shot him a glare but turned back to the officer. “What happened?”

The officer sighed, adjusting his stance. “We found him and his girlfriend trespassing inside one of the model homes up the street. Seems they took some ecstasy before breaking in and, well… let’s just say they did quite a bit of damage.”

Rhea’s jaw clenched. “Are you charging him?”

The officer shook his head. “No, the homeowner isn’t pressing charges since the house was scheduled for demolition anyway. But ma’am, I need you to understand—taking ecstasy at his age is like taking ice cream scoops out of his developing brain.”

Rhea pursed her lips as she glanced at Jaciyah, who was now absentmindedly playing with the tie of her robe. His fingers tugged at the soft fabric, his expression dreamy.

“Mommy, it’s so soft,” he murmured.

Rhea resisted the urge to groan. She turned back to the officer with a tight nod. “Yeah, ice cream scoops. Got it. Believe me, my husband is going to handle this.”

The officer gave her a sympathetic look before tipping his hat. “Good luck with that. Have a good night, ma’am.”

Rhea shut the door and locked it before turning to Jaciyah, who was still swaying slightly.

“Alright, kid. You need to sit your ass down before you fall over.”

Jaciyah gasped dramatically. “Wait! The orange soda! Mommy, please!” His voice was desperate, as if the world would end if he didn’t get it.

Rhea pinched the bridge of her nose. She was too pregnant for this shit.

Joe and Galina came down the stairs, both looking groggy but alert. Joe was already pulling a T-shirt over his head while Galina rubbed her eyes, still in her satin robe.

“What the hell is going on?” Joe grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Rhea exhaled, gesturing toward Jaciyah, who was now sitting cross-legged on the couch, mumbling to himself about how good orange soda was for the soul.

“This one right here,” Rhea began, arms crossed over her chest, “decided to take ecstasy, break into a model home with his little girlfriend, and get himself escorted home by the damn police.”

Galina’s mouth fell open. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Joe slowly turned his head toward his nephew, his expression unreadable. He studied Jaciyah for a long moment before exhaling through his nose.

“Alright,” Joe muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I got this.”

Rhea arched a brow. “You sure?”

Joe gave her a look. “This is a Fatu boy. I know how to handle this.”

Without another word, he strode over to the couch and grabbed Jaciyah by the back of his hoodie, yanking him up to his feet.

Jaciyah barely reacted, still grinning. “Uncle Joe! I love you, man. You’re like, so big. Have you ever looked at your hands? Like, really looked at them? I saw on twitter that everyone is obsessed with your hands. Why is that? Is it a sex thing?”

Joe deadpanned. “Boy, if you don’t shut your high ass up—”

Rhea bit her lip to keep from laughing. Galina shook her head and muttered, “He is definitely Jey’s son.”

Joe dragged Jaciyah toward the staircase. “We’re gonna have a little talk, kid.”

Jaciyah gasped. “Is it about orange soda?”

Joe didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

“IT HAS TO BE ABOUT ORANGE SODA?!”

Rhea and Galina stood in silence for a beat before Galina turned to her.

“You sure you don’t want twins?” she teased.

Rhea groaned. “I think three Fatu boys is more than enough.”

—

8:42 AM

Joe and Galina stood outside near the driveway as Takecia pulled up, her expression already tight with frustration. Jaciyah, still groggy from the night before, let out an exhausted sigh as he stepped toward his mother.

The moment he was within reach, Takecia smacked the back of his head—not too hard, but just enough to make her point. “What the hell were you thinking, Jaciyah?” she scolded, her voice sharp. “Breaking into a damn house? Taking drugs? Are you out of your damn mind?”

Jaciyah winced, rubbing the back of his head. “Ma, chill—”

“Chill?!” Takecia’s eyes blazed. “Boy, do you know what could’ve happened to you? Do you even care? You could’ve ended up dead, Jaciyah! Or arrested! And here I am, getting a damn call in the middle of the night because my son wants to act like he ain’t got no damn sense?”

Joe crossed his arms, staying out of it for now. This was her moment to handle her son, and judging by the way she was going in on him, he wasn’t about to interrupt.

Jaciyah sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “I wasn’t tryna do all that—”

“Oh, so you just accidentally broke into a house?” Takecia snapped. “You just accidentally popped ecstasy? Explain that to me, genius!”

Jaciyah looked away, his jaw tight. He was in deep shit, and he knew it.

Takecia shook her head, her anger simmering into something else—disappointment. “I swear, Jaciyah… you ain’t got no idea how much we fight for you. How much your dad fights for you.” She glanced toward the house, knowing damn well Rhea was too drained to deal with this right now. “You got a whole family that loves you, and this is what you do?”

Silence. Jaciyah wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Takecia exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Get in the car,” she muttered.

Jaciyah hesitated for a moment before finally sliding into the passenger seat.

Takecia turned to Joe and Galina. “Tell Rhea I said thanks… and I’m sorry she had to deal with this.”

Joe nodded. “She understands. She’s just tired.”

Takecia’s face softened slightly. “I know. She doesn’t need this stress right now.” She glanced at the house once more before sighing. “I got it from here.”

Without another word, she got into the driver’s seat, and the car pulled away.

Galina let out a deep breath, shaking her head. “Damn. That kid’s lucky his mom got him and not his dad.”

Joe smirked slightly. “Yeah… Jey would’ve torn his ass up.”

Rhea sat comfortably on the couch, her hand gently stroking Bartholomew, the guinea pig, who rested on her large, swollen belly. The guinea pig’s mews echoed through the room, his little body shifting with each sound, almost as if in sync with the gentle movements of baby Jeyson inside her. Despite the peacefulness of the moment, Rhea couldn’t shake the overwhelming exhaustion that had become her constant companion. The pregnancy, though a blessing, had drained her physically and emotionally.

Joe and Galina stepped into the room, their footsteps light as they approached Rhea. Joe’s face was etched with a quiet sadness, the weight of the last few weeks heavy on his shoulders. He looked at Rhea with concern, but also with a glimmer of determination in his eyes.

“How about I do something for all of us?” Joe suggested, his voice soft, almost as if he wasn’t sure if she’d accept.

Galina raised an eyebrow, her arms crossing in a skeptical but affectionate manner. “What could you possibly do that would make this day turn around?” she asked, her tone playful yet tinged with curiosity.

Joe smirked, clearly undeterred by her skepticism. “Just trust me.”

TWO HOURS LATER

The atmosphere had completely shifted. Rhea now found herself in a serene, private spa room, the soft glow of candles casting gentle shadows against the walls. The sounds of calm, flowing water mixed with soothing music, creating an atmosphere of complete tranquility. The air was riddled with peace, the worries of the outside world momentarily forgotten.

Rhea lay on a special table designed for pregnant women, her body sinking into the plush surface. The soft, heated warmth of the table began to relax her tense muscles almost immediately, allowing her to sink further into the comfort it provided. Her belly, round and heavy with the impending birth of baby Jeyson, rested comfortably on the pillow designed to support expectant mothers.

Joe and Galina had been ushered onto their own tables, their therapists already working on their tired muscles. Rhea closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift, the sensation of skilled hands massaging her feet and back a welcomed release. Each stroke, each press of pressure, seemed to ease the years of stress and strain that had built up in her body over the course of her pregnancy. It was a feeling she hadn’t realized how desperately she needed.

“I love you so much, Joseph Leati Anoa’i,” Galina whispered, her voice full of affection as she let herself relax into the massage. The words were simple, but the sincerity behind them was clear.

Rhea, still lost in the moment of pure relaxation, smiled softly. “I second that,” she murmured, her voice carrying the last remnants as the exhaustion and tension in her body melted away.

Joe, his body relaxed under the expert hands of the therapist, raised a hand in a quiet gesture. “No talking,” he said playfully, though his voice carried a hint of authority. It was clear that he was thoroughly enjoying the luxury of peace and relaxation.

Rhea and Galina shared a quiet laugh, the tension of their lives momentarily forgotten in the soothing atmosphere of the room. The therapists continued their work on all three of them, effortlessly gliding their hands over tired muscles, ensuring that each moment was filled with pure comfort.

—

After their relaxing afternoon, the trio made their way back to the house, their spirits lifted by the soothing massage and the calm of the day. As Joe approached the gate, he leaned in to input the familiar code. The large iron gate creaked open, and Joe slowly drove up the long driveway, the tires crunching over the gravel. Galina helped a very pregnant Rhea out of the car, her movements slow but steady as they made their way up to the house. Rhea’s growing belly seemed to be taking all her energy, but her smile never faltered as she leaned on Galina for support.

When they reached the door, Rhea’s eyes lit up as she caught sight of someone sitting at the breakfast bar. The warm glow of the kitchen light illuminated the figure, and the familiar sound of Jey’s voice reached her ears.

“Hey, button nose,” Jey greeted, his voice filled with affection.

Rhea’s heart fluttered at the sight of him. She hadn’t expected him to be there. Her exhaustion and pregnancy aches seemed to melt away in an instant as she smiled brightly. Jey, sitting casually at the breakfast bar, had a bouquet of sunflowers resting beside him, the vibrant yellow petals a beautiful contrast to the soft colors of the room.

He quickly stood up and crossed the room, his strong arms pulling Rhea into a tender kiss. The kiss was filled with relief and longing, the kind that only came from being apart for too long. Rhea sighed against him, her heart feeling lighter with every passing second.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back till next week,” Rhea said, a note of surprise and relief in her voice. Her exhaustion from the past few days faded as she sank into his embrace.

Jey grinned, his usual teasing nature coming through. “Rewrites in storyline,” he said with a wink. “Took a massive ‘chair assault’ from Dominik, and now I’m here with you, babe!” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, a mischievous glint in his gaze.

Galina, who had been quietly watching from the sidelines, chimed in with a grin. “Good, she was missing you!” She crossed her arms, an affectionate smirk on her face as she looked at the two of them.

Rhea laughed softly, her hands resting on her belly as she looked up at Jey. “It’s been too long,” she admitted. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Jey smiled warmly at her, his hand resting gently on her rounded belly. “I couldn’t stay away, babe. Not with you and baby Jeyson here.” His tone softened, and he kissed her forehead lightly.

Galina rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. “Always the drama,” she teased, but it was clear that her words were filled with affection.

“Thanks for being here, Jey,” Rhea said, her voice softening. “It means everything to me.”

Jey nodded, his expression serious now. “Always, Rhea. I’m not going anywhere.”

With the sunflowers still resting on the counter beside them, the trio stood there for a moment, enjoying the calm, the comfort of being together again. Jey’s presence in the house filled the space with warmth, and Rhea felt a deep sense of peace she hadn’t realized she was missing until now.

Authors note: I realize that some of you don’t understand the trajection or my reasoning for writing the chapters that I write. What I am doing right now is establishing the life before everything stopped. I’m building up to the moment where everything comes into fruition and plays out. I always encourage questions if you can’t understand anything. I also encourage comments because they are essentially what drives me to write. But I hope you all are loving the story so far.!

Also here is a small character analysis I wrote for Rhea and why she lies: Rhea’s consistent lies about her past to Jey stem from a combination of fear, shame, and a need for control. She fears rejection or judgment if her true history is revealed, believing that it could shatter their relationship and the fresh start she desires with him. By concealing her past, she attempts to protect both herself and Jey from the pain that could arise, maintaining a sense of emotional safety and control. Her lies also reflect a deeper self-sabotaging fear of loss, where she believes that if Jey knew everything, he would leave. Ultimately, her lies are a coping mechanism to safeguard her relationship and shield herself from vulnerability.

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