#it's not going to contain information that would be more useful to you than simply asking me directly about my current situation

[mynahx3]

Your Own Prison 7K

Hellooo lovelies!~~~ I bring a Yandere! Illumi x Reader. I hope you enjoy!!! Warning!!!! 18 and up!!!! This DARK story contains DARK subjects of kidnapping/ implied past noncon/ dubcon/ forced relationships/ forced pregnancy Please proceed with caution!! If you don't like, don't read. Not proofread yet.

~~~~~~~~

The day Illumi met you, he was out on a normal mission to gather information for his client.

The rain was merciless and came down hard on your town. It was something he would have to endure. Illumi would normally not care, being used to the harsh weather where he grew up, but today he had a job to do.

It was a simple one that paid surprisingly well.

The wife had discovered her husband having an affair with the secretary, so she launched a hit against the small-town banker. He followed the target until he went into a building, easily keeping track of him in the windows. 

Normally, he would just slip in and finish the job with an easy in-and-out stab of the knife when the target was least expecting it, but the client requested to get the job done in a more discreet manner. One that resembled an accident or natural cause of death. He decided to wait for the perfect opportunity to make it look like the banker's death was simply a tragic accident.

With his years of experience, he was confident he could adapt and complete the job with precision.

For now, Illumi decided he would wait for an opening. He was content with the view he had while also remaining inconspicuous. He just looked like another passenger waiting for the bus in the busy streets.

A few more minutes passed, and a bus arrived at the stop. Illumi almost didn’t notice you standing next to him; the crowd of people walking off the bus didn’t help. It was only when you two were alone did he notice you, looking at you with a calculating gaze. He quickly assessed you, trying to determine if you were a potential threat or just another innocent bystander.

You appeared to be around his age, maybe a little older or younger; it was hard to tell. Dressed in mainly black attire with a worn gray coat. The rain boots you had on were a dark red. Your lips moved; you seemed to be trying to tell him something.

The stoic assassin's face became annoyed as he raised his eyebrow and lifted his hand to his ear, indicating that he couldn't hear you.

The busy city streets drowned out your voice, making conversation difficult. The rain didn't help either, hammering hard against the metal roof above you both. You approached him with a concerned expression on your face. Brows furrowed, and lips parted.

When he got a closer look at you, he realized you weren't horrible looking. It was a thought that vanished as swiftly as it appeared, still irritated by being interrupted.

"That was the last bus for awhile." You said, wincing a little as you pointed to the schedule next to him.

He glanced at the schedule to you, then back to his target, who appeared to be going down the elevator. The stoic expression back on his face.

"I am aware."

The tension between you both was awkward; you shuffled on your feet, looking around sheepishly. He didn't bother looking back at you, thinking the conversation was over.

"If you're cold, my store is over there. You're welcome to wait until the next bus arrives," you offered, trying to diffuse the tension.

Your finger pointed to a corner store not too far from here. The lights flashed in the rain, illuminating the wet pavement as you waited for his response. It looked a bit older than the other establishments in the area. Faded signs were taped on the windows, advertising discounts on various items.

Illumi simply remained silent, unwilling to speak with you any further. His gaze shifted ahead, resuming what he was doing before you interrupted. The rain continued to fall, making the situation more uncomfortable.

You would shortly leave, he assumed.

Proving him wrong, he heard you open one of your bags; the shuffling of wrappers and the sound of you pulling out a small package piqued his ears. Curious, Illumi finally glanced down at what you held; it was a small rectangle, no bigger than the palm of your hand. Looking at him with a tense smile, you held it out towards him, nudging it closer to him when he didn't take it.

"It's a hand warmer!" You informed him with a wider smile. "If you don't want to come in, take this."

Illumi's expression softened slightly as he reached out to accept the hand warmer, a rare gesture of gratitude for him. He titled his head as he picked it up with the tips of his fingers, examining the item with a hint of interest.

"Thank you," he murmured with a questioning tone, holding it in his hand. He wasn't expecting that.

You nod, looking happy that he took it from you, pulling out an umbrella from your bag now.

"I hope it helps keep you warm," you replied before turning to leave him. "If you need more, we sell a few items that could help in this weather, including hand warmers and umbrellas. On sale this week!" you added with a cheeky smile over your shoulder.

With that, you left, stepping into the rain with your umbrella up. Not thinking anything of the interaction with the stranger. His eyes followed you as you walked away; a small feeling stirred inside of him that he had never felt before. The small act of kindness left a lasting impact on him.

It was something you'd live to regret.

~~~~~~~~

Arguing was heard around you as you lay on the floor. You didn't recognize the voices; one was a woman and two other men. You didn't know why this was happening.

You just wanted to go home.

A blindfold was tied tightly over your eyes, now wet from your tears. Wrists tied together behind you as well as your ankles, leaving you no hope for escape. Mouth gagged with your own scarf, not helping the panic rising in your chest. You were roughly dropped onto the floor after being taken from a car, the tile pressing into your cheek as you tried to make sense of the situation. The cries you made were not bothering the people in the room who continued arguing.

"Why on Earth would you pick this girl?" The woman asked angrily; the shrillness of her voice made your ears hurt. "You have so many offers to pick from, why her?"

"It is none of your concern who I pick, Mother. Father said it was fine as long as I didn't forsake my responsibilities." The man's response was cold and dismissive, causing the woman to huff in frustration. Footsteps were heard coming closer to you, making you tense up in fear.

Gentle hands helped you to sit on your knees, making you jolt in surprise. You could feel the weight of their gaze on you, making your skin crawl with unease. You felt goosebumps grow along your arms, and your shaking intensified. It didn't help you had been taken in your sleep, so you only had on an old t shirt and shorts.

Suddenly, there was an overwhelming brightness as someone took off the blindfold. You squinted your eyes in response, adjusting to being able to see for the first time in a few hours.

In front of you was a man with pale skin, dark eyes, and short, black hair. You could only stare at him in shock and confusion. His piercing gaze seemed to burrow into your soul, sending shivers down your spine. The man's expression was inscrutable, heightening your sensation of dread.

"Welcome home, dear wife."

That would be the start of your new life.

~~~~~~~~

“This is something my little brother can withstand; no problem. We need to build your resilience, dear."

Illumi stood over you in the basement. His monotone voice grated your ears as he demeaned you. Empty eyes looking at your weak form crying on the stone floors. His pale hands soaked with your blood as he wiped them clean with a towel.

He acted so casual, as if it were just something as simple as dirt, not human blood. 

Shaking in pain from what he did to you, you lay in a fetal position. For hours on end, he hurt you as you were chained to the ceiling by your wrists. Hard red welts on your wrists were proof of the cuffs digging into your flesh. Your body was covered in bruises and cuts, blood soaked into your clothes. 

Another punishment for trying to escape but it was always futile.

Kukuroo Mountain was vast with unforgiving terrain. Littered with traps to keep anyone out, which also worked perfectly in keeping people in. To your credit, you did manage to evade the highly trained butlers and Illumi for two days. It was the farthest you had ever gotten in your attempts to escape. But now, as you lay broken and defeated, the reality of your situation set in: there was no way out.

These sessions with Illumi only brought you pain and suffering. He was determined to get you to give in. For you to become his sweet wife and meld into his family—like he didn’t kidnap you from your home months prior.

Forcing his way into your life despite only having just met him. Taking anything he wanted from you with no remorse.

With weak arms, you tried to pick yourself off the ground, vision filled with black dots. Stubbornly, you glared up at him. He loved the fire in your eyes; he simply didn't like it when it was aimed at the wrong things. He didn't understand why you were fighting so hard against him. Your determination could have been utilized for more important things, like helping the family, but you had to oppose him.

A blank expression was on his face as he looked at you sit up; a part of him was surprised by that. You had cuts along your arms and legs with a few broken ribs, yet you still had that look of defiance. Seeing you this way only affirmed his feelings.

He knew you were simply meant to be. Yes, your body was weak, but your mind was strong.

Crouching to your level, he looked at you; his cold hand caressed your tangled hair with a gentleness that always shocked you. Illumi was a surprisingly doting man. After your punishments, he made sure to coddle you as you healed.

Kissing your wounds, whispering into your ear, treating you softer than ever before. Over the last few months, you felt your resolve dwindling. You let yourself lean into his touch as it cupped your throbbing cheek, eyes closed as you tried to block out the pain. For just a moment, you felt his touch bring you comfort.

Snapping out of it, you turned away from him, wretching yourself from his hold. You spat in his face, with some of your blood mingled in. He wiped the wetness from his face calmly before saying in a low, frightening tone.

"You will regret that."

His eyes darkened with rage as he looked at the mess on his fingers, and his short, dark hair fell around his face, giving him a more terrifying appearance. Knowing your disobedience would only make matters worse, you prepared yourself for what was about to happen.

"Go to fucking hell."

~~~~~~~~

You awake with a start, jolting up from the plush, silken sheets. Illumi clung to your side like always, his eyes opening immediately at your movement. The nightmare, more like a memory, had made your skin clammy, and sweat dripped down your forehead. As you tried to calm your racing heart, you couldn't shake the feeling of fear that was felt in your bones. Illumi's head tilted at the sight of your distress, prompting him to sit up.

"You're shaking." His voice was soft, a stark contrast to the harshness of your nightmare. "Another dream?"

You nodded, looking at your lap, not replying much to him as he hummed. Moving your gaze to his with a firm grip on your chin, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his gaze devoid of emotion. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment before looking away, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he masked it with his usual stoicism.

"The doctor said you needed to rest. You're not doing that, and it's starting to show." He sighed, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I know, I know." You dismissed him, leaning into his touch as he caressed your cheekbone.

His touch was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder of his dual nature. Despite the concern in his eyes, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his motives than he let on.

"I'm here for you." He leaned in, kissing you gently before it went further. You closed your eyes, trying to calm your heart, but his words only seemed to worsen your anxiety.

"Illumi." You tried to protest, hands going to his chest, but you put no strength in them. You stopped fighting him a long time ago, now trying to barter instead. "It's late."

"I know you're worried," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "But I only want to help you through this."

The kiss continued for a while longer; he didn't seem to mind your slow movements. He pushed you back onto the bed, squeezing your shoulders. His lips sealed with yours, hard and demanding. Pressing his body against yours and wrapping your legs around him, he caged you in with arms on both sides of your head. The intensity of his look conveyed that he was entirely focused on you at that moment.

"I'm here." He repeated. A hand moves to caress your face again. You felt a rush of emotions in your heart as he added, "I'll always be here for you."

It didn't seem to convey the message he wanted; he was never one to be good with words. His hand moved down to clasp around your throat, not putting any pressure on you. It was a hold that conveyed his possession and control over you.

Tears silently went down your face as you looked up at him, feeling overwhelmed. Your heart was conflicted by the mix of fear and comfort that his touch brought. You wanted to fight back, to run, but you were rooted in place. Knowing what would happen if you fought back.

You have been realizing, too, that there was a tiny, tiny part of you that craved his touch.

Regardless of how much you denied it, you could feel yourself starting to care for him. The defeat in your eyes seemed to make him happy, clear from the small smirk on his lips.

"You're never leaving me, and I know you're starting to accept that," he whispered, his grip tightening, making your breath halt.

Leaning down again, he captures your lips, furthering the passion he felt. He wanted to show the extent of his love for you in more than just words. His hands begin to trail along your body in possession. Feeling and gripping at your soft flesh. It was different from the hardened, trained muscles of his. A good difference to him.

The kisses became more frenzied and hungry, his teeth knashing against your bottom lip. You didn't know whose blood you tasted on your tongue. He always seemed to lose control in moments like this, leaving you breathless and spiraling. His touch was both gentle and possessive, sending shivers down your spine.

As he deepened the kiss, you couldn't help but reciprocate with equal fervor, completely surrendering to the moment. He seemed pleased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and his movements slowed. His lips lingered on yours, savoring the sensation of heat between you and the feeling of your tongue move against his.

Everything happened so fast; he was always the eager man when it came to you.

Without further warning, you felt him hike your nightgown up, pulling his boxers down shortly after. His hand spread your thighs more apart with ease, the head of his cock rubbing up against your wet entrance a couple times before he pushed in. As he entered you, you had to arch your back against him. You were pressed chest to chest as he pushed deeper and deeper until he was fully inside you, filling you completely.

Even though it was only a sting, the pain that followed was nonetheless unpleasant.

A whimper escaped your lips as he peppered kisses down your neck in an attempt to distract you. Your nails dug into the skin on his back, legs locking around his slim waist, pulling him closer as you tried to focus on the pleasure mingling in.

The release between your legs from earlier did help, but it wasn't enough to completely mask the pain. No matter how many times he took you, it was always on the edge of discomfort, a fine line between pleasure and pain that you both danced along.

"Breathe." He reminded, his voice low and soothing. His touch was gentle, reassuring, and soon the pain was nothing more than a distant memory.

Opening your eyes, you saw him over you, his inky hair falling in disarray around him. If it wasn't for the slight flush on his cheeks and mused hair, you would never think he felt anything other than calm control. His eyes, however, betrayed a hint of desire that mirrored your own growing need for more of his touch.

He stayed in place as you adjusted to him. Passing the time by tracing circles on your hip, the other moving up and down your spine in a soothing motion. Short gasps emerged from your mouth as your face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. Your breathing began to steady, the initial pain fading as you relaxed into the moment. Your body became more plaint under him, your insides clenched around him in a delicious ache of anticipation.

Illumi began to slowly rock into you, his hips meeting yours with a steady rhythm. His movements were deliberate and controlled, his touch both soothing and intense. As the initial sting began to fade, a wave of pleasure started to build within you, blending with the lingering pain in a bittersweet symphony.

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, surrendering to the conflicting sensations that he expertly knew how to bring. Seeing this, Illumi began to move faster. Eager to push you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond, his movements are becoming more urgent and intense.

Grunts escaped his lips so quietly that you would have missed them if he hadn't been so close. The room filled with the sound of your combined breaths, and the feeling of his body pressed against yours intensified. Each movement brought you closer to the edge, aching for release as you both lost yourselves in the moment.

"Illumi!" You cried into his ear, hand pulling at his soft hair. Hips moving against his in sync. "Illumi, please don't stop."

This only furthered his own desire, and he responded by increasing the pace and pressure of his movements, pushing you both towards the peak of ecstasy. The tension is building up within the both of you with each movement, the sensations overwhelming your senses as you reached the brink of pleasure.

Moaning loudly, you felt yourself close to unraveling but not quite there.

Continuing his thrusts, Illumi moved his hand between you, flicking at your clit roughly with his thumb. The added stimulation sent you over the edge, your body shuddering as you finally reached that peak of pleasure. Gasping for breath, you clung to him. He followed shortly after with a stuttering of his hips, his release painting your insides as he groaned in satisfaction. In the aftermath, the both of you panted for air. Sweat coated both of your bodies as you lay tangled together, basking in the afterglow.

Making sure to keep his seed plugged inside, he leaned back from you. His hand that gripped at your thigh traveled up to your stomach, where it rested. Dark eyes looked at you, filled with a mix of satisfaction and longing.

"You will never be without me," he whispered, his voice husky. "I will always be a part of you, in every way possible."

~~~~~~~~

"Caladen, Illyrio. Explain yourselves."

You sat in your usual chair at the table, with your daughter on your lap and your two boys in front of you. Each looking guilty, never being one to hide from the judgment of their mother. Your daughter, Sylvia, was unconcerned, knawing on the fabric of your dress despite your efforts to persuade her to stop.

At just five years old, the two boys bore a striking resemblance to their father, and as they grew older, they undoubtedly continued to do so. Dark eyes that stared into the soul and pale skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight. The only semblance of you in them was how they acted. One, stubborn as all hell that rebeled all chances he had, and the other, more obedient, an observer with a silver tongue.

Illyrio spoke first, his voice steady and confident, while Caladen remained silent, a slight frown on his face. The broken pot was behind them, proof of their misdeeds, and was being cleaned up by a butler. It was only on the ground for a couple seconds before it was swept away. Looking like nothing had happened at all.

"We were just practicing, mama."

Seeing the looks on their faces, you almost felt yourself give in to their innocent facade, but you knew better than to be fooled by their charm. It was only a matter of time before they were up to no good again. That mischievous streak was all their own.

"What it looks like you were doing," you start, staying stern with a frown. "Was messing around despite being told to stop playing so roughly in the house, especially our dining room. I expect you both to behave, you know better."

The children exchanged guilty glances, realizing they had been caught red-handed once again.

"Yes, mama."

Their heads hung low as they mumbled their response, knowing that their mischievous behavior had consequences. You couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and affection for your children. They were only children, but being a child of the Zoldyck family was no easy feat.

In your thoughts, you don't notice the arrival of your husband until he lays a hand on your shoulder. The action made you look up at him, smiling softly at him.

"Go train with your grandmother today." He said, not bothering to look their way as he leaned over you, a blank expression on his face. Voice is still plain as always. "You will need to be punished, so do tell her what you did."

This made your frown deepen; you didn't want them to be punished so harshly. The boys left the dining room without another word. They had always respected and obeyed their father.

As you watched them go, you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for what they were about to endure. Kikyo's training was notoriously brutal. They were unforgiving and left lasting scars, you knew from experience. For a moment, they looked like normal kids, laughing together as they ran down the hall. Their assigned butlers were following right behind them.

Your focus was drawn back to Illumi, who had taken your daughter from you. The baby giggled in his arms; chubby fingers immediately began pulling at his long hair. Her blue eyes looked at her father with interest, white hair framing her face in short curls.

She was an innocent, pure child, but you knew that Illumi would raise her to be just as ruthless as he was. The thought made your heart ache, but you had no choice but to watch from afar.

All of your children were Zoldycks; it was their birthright and destiny to be trained as assassins.

"How is little Sylvia this morning?" Illumi asked, sitting next to you at the dining table. She bore a striking resemblance to her grandfather, which her family valued. You knew that Sylvia's future was already set in stone from that alone, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness as you replied, "She's doing well, as always."

He nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes, and returned his attention to his food. Sylvia proceeded to play with the pins on his vest as he fed her.

Illumi began to talk about the typical topics. How he had dealt with his most recent target, upcoming missions, the training regiment that the boys would follow, and the time you were permitted to spend with them.

Every week, you were given an entire day to spend with your children. It was a time you were thankful for. Considering the demands of their training and missions, every hour you could spend with them was valuable.

He had noticed you weren't exactly paying attention to him, only humming in response to his words with no real engagement. Saying your name fixed the problem; your shoulders straightened, and you made eye contact.

"Your mind seems to be elsewhere, dear."

"Just thinking about the boys. Their training is getting more intense." You answered honestly, your hand reaching out to wipe your daughter's mouth of drool with your napkin.

You were often concerned about your boys. They carried a lot of responsibility being the oldest of your children and the first grandchildren.

After you cleaned up your daughter, you gave him that same soft smile you have grown accustomed to giving him. Though it seemed forced at times, he thought he'd never see those loving eyes staring at him. Still, Illumi could tell that wasn't the only thing occupying your mind.

His frigid fingers reached out and moved some hair from your face, catching you by surprise. He wasn't one to be affectionate outside of the bedroom.

The fatigue on your face was more visible in the light.

He had kept you on a strict schedule and diet since your arrival years ago, but he couldn't ignore the signs of weariness sneaking in. You hadn't been sleeping well lately, your appetite had diminished, and you weren't as positive. With the recent birth of your daughter only a few months prior, he knew it was time for a change. Something to cheer you up from the mood you were in.

"I plan to take you and the children to the village soon." He said suddenly, not reacting to the shocked look on your face, busy getting his slobber covered pin from the strong hands of his daughter.

It had been years since you left the mountain; it had been your home—prison—for the last few years. As evidenced by how much his hair had grown, now reaching his lower back from the short style he had when you two first met. Illumi had been adamant to keep your contact to only himself, his family, and the help of the mansion.

"Is it for a mission?" You asked, trying to gauge his intentions, an eyebrow raised in suspicion, sipping on the teacup in hand.

"No, it's not for a mission," he replied smoothly, handing Sylvia over to you once your hands were free. "There is a festival happening that I think the twins will enjoy. I will inform the butlers to pack."

Without saying anything else, he leaned down to kiss your daughter's head and gave you a quick peck on the lips before heading towards the door, leaving you to wonder about his sudden change of heart.

Watching him go, you still had the frown on your face. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his decision than he let on. While you watched him disappear down the hallway, a sinking feeling formed in your gut. You couldn't help but wonder what prompted this surprising act.

It was a thought that left quickly as your lovely daughter spit up all over the front of your dress to your dismay.

~~~~~~~~

The festival was a celebration that was known for its lively atmosphere and colorful decorations.

Ahead of you, the boys looked at the passing floats with an awestruck expression. They had run off without a care in the world, eager to explore all the festivities the festival had to offer.

You were tempted to yell after them, your heart thrumming at the sight of them so far. At first, the crowd didn't help your anxiety. But as you saw the smiles on your children's faces, you began to relax and enjoy the festivities. The music, food, and laughter surrounding you made it easy to forget about your worries for a while.

Still, you were not completely at ease.

It was something you weren't hiding well, gripping the stroller so tightly, your knuckles turning white. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to trust that your children were safe and having a great time. Their butlers were sure to stay by them, and they had their parents.

Illumi was walking next to you, idly looking at the different stalls with disinterest. It was admittedly weird to see him in public with civilians. As you continued to navigate through the bustling crowd, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of your mind. Despite the festive atmosphere, a sense of apprehension still gnawed at you. It was a struggle to stay present and enjoy the moment after being kept in the mountain for so long. Seeing your thoughts racing, Illumi's hand reaches out for yours, his eyes communicating his thoughts well enough.

"Just a lot of people." You said, squeezing his hand back as you both walked.

"We can go somewhere for a moment." He suggested, waving a butler over to the both of you.

Without asking your opinion, he took you by the hand to a bench not too far but far enough to offer some privacy from the bustling crowd. The butler had taken Sylvia with no objections, leaving you and Illumi alone to finally have a moment of peace. Sitting down, you immediately felt relieved.

Awkwardly, he kept his eyes on you the entire time, unblinking.

He often likes to just watch, not saying anything. Countless times you woke up to the sight of him standing over you in your shared room. His gaze was intense, almost unsettling, but you found comfort in his presence nonetheless after the years. Illumi's silent companionship was something you had grown accustomed to, even if it still sent shivers down your spine at times.

"You know, it's nice to see them like this." You said, breaking the silence. "So… normal."

The boys were both leaning over the stroller, showing their softer sides as they cooed and made faces at the baby. They both turned to you, smiling, their eyes filled with genuine affection for the little one. Much like the rest of the family, that little girl had them wrapped around her finger. Illumi studied them alongside you, his hand now resting on your thigh as he scooted closer.

"Do not get attached to the sight. It will not last. We will only be in town for a couple nights."

His words served as a reminder of the impermanence of the moment, but you chose to savor it nonetheless. Illumi's gaze flickered to you briefly before returning to the children, his expression unreadable as always.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he replied, standing up as he looked down at you, hand extended.

You simply took his hand, walking with him without another word.

~~~~~~~~

The night went by faster than you wanted. It was nice to see your family together.

A flicker of shock went through you at the thought, your hand faltered as you burped your daughter. The butler beside you wanted to, but you refused. You preferred to take care of them yourself.

You glanced over at Illumi across the park table, who was in conversation with the twins about types of assassinations. The night had been surprisingly pleasant, and you were grateful for the rare moment of peace. In your arms, Sylvia yawned, her tiny hands rubbing her eyes as a grumpy look was on her face. It was about time for bed.

"Lumi, I think we should head out. Sylvia is sleepy."

Instantly, the boys both looked disappointed, but Illumi nodded in agreement, standing up and motioning for the twins to follow.

"Can't we stay a little longer?" One boy asked, leaning forward to you.

"We haven't even ridden the carousel yet," the other twin chimed in, a hopeful look in his eyes. You smiled at their enthusiasm, thinking it over a bit as you gathered everything.

"Gotta see what your dad says."

With a sigh, you glanced at Illumi, who didn't seem too thrilled about the idea of staying longer. A moment of silence went by as he thought it over.

You stood next to him, tilting your head slightly in anticipation of his response. Finally, he nodded in agreement, surprising you and the twins.

"A hotel has been booked in preparation. You can head over with the butlers. I'll take them on a ride or two, but you both have to accompany me to the next mission."

Illumi looked at them as they cheered before at you. Leaning up, you kissed him on the cheek, a rare display of affection from you.

"Have fun!" You smiled at him with such glee, a look of pure happiness that made his heart swell with warmth.

Illumi looked surprised at that, his eyes slightly wider, and he held the cheek you had kissed.

~~~~~~~~

Checking into the hotel was an easy process. The butlers came with you, unpacking everything with ease and swiftness.

The suite was filled with everything you'd need for a weekend retreat. Two separate rooms, one for the kids and the other for you two, a living room connected to the kitchen, and a balcony with the view of the town.

Sylvia slept peacefully in her bassinet after being fed one more time and a bath.

Leaning over the railing, you watched the rise and fall of her chest.

Your children had become your whole world, their innocence and vulnerability a constant reminder of the love and responsibility you held in your heart. The first time you were pregnant, you hated the changes in your body and the loss of control. You had vowed to him you would hate them and that you didn't want them. They would be a daily reminder of what Illumi did to you, after all.

But the day you held them for the first time, all the resentment melted away, replaced with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness.

Feeling sleepy yourself, you rose from the uncomfortable position you were in. It had been time for you to get some much needed rest as well. Going into the master bedroom, you quickly stripped and showered. The butlers that guided you to the hotel had been in the living room, telling you to call for them if needed.

Oddly, they hadn't come to check on you like they usually did.

Sighing in relief, you stepped out of the bathroom. Now you were dressed in a simple nightgown that reached your midthigh. It was made of soft cotton with a delicate lace trim. You would prefer something more casual, but Illumi liked to see you in the finer things.

Idly, you had gone to the dresser, picking up the snack you had brought into the room with you. It was just a fresh abaripe, a blue fruit similar to an apple found in the area, with a small knife nearby for cutting it up. Humming in contentment at the taste of it, you continued to slice it up in your hand, deciding to watch a show before bed.

The sight you walked into made you freeze in shock, the fruit dropping from your hand. A man stood in the middle of the room, the light from the fireworks blazing behind him. You'd never seen him before, hence all the alarms set off in your head. You nearly screamed when you opened your mouth, hand gripping the knife harder, but the man instantly raised his hands, shushing you with urgency.

"I'm here to help." The man urged, taking a step forward as you took one back. "Your family hired me to find you."

You felt a mix of relief and confusion, unsure of whether to trust this stranger. Your eyes are keeping watch of him for any signs of deception or danger. After a few moments of tense silence, you finally lowered the knife and allowed him to speak more.

He explained the situation to you in a fast manner, clearly nervous at the same time. How your family had hired him to find you, how they had spent most of their money in this almost endless pursuit. He had even said he began to help out of the goodness of his heart after seeing them so desparate.

It had taken him years, but he finally found you.

Your heart only beat more, thoughts racing with the realization that your family had been searching for you for so long. You couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions—relief, guilt, and gratitude all at once.

Then, it was all overshadowed by one thing—fear.

Blood rushed into your ears, your chest moving to take panicked breaths. The very room seemed to shrink around you, walls closing in fast.

What would Illumi do to you if he found out?

No, no, no, no, no, you couldn't take more punishments. More bleeding. More torment. More pain.

It had taken years to get this point. The very thought of going back to their basement made you feel queasy, the food you had eaten earlier threatening to come back up. More anxiety filled you as you thought of the worst of things.

What about your children? You can't leave them.

His touch on your arm jolted you, bringing you back to reality. You could see he was sweating, scared in his own right. If he got caught, he was worse than dead.

You weren't much better, looking like a deer in headlights, as he began to pull you towards the balcony. Your feet only planted in place, trying to slow him down if not stop him completely. Your hand is trying to wretch his from around you. His grip is stronger than you would have expected, especially considering the amount of training the Zoldycks have made you endure to be one of them.

"N-no, what about my kids?" You pleaded; you felt your heart beat frantically in your chest. The urgency in his eyes was unmistakable, and you knew he was not going to wait for anyone. Your stomach turned with fear at the thought of leaving your children behind.

"We don't have time. The butlers are knocked out, but we have to move now."

"Let me at least get my girl!" You yelled, desparation in your voice as you panicked more and more. Your vision began to blur from the tears going down your eyes. Nails digging into his hand.

You can't leave them. You can't leave them. You can't leave them. You can't leave them. You can't leave them.

YOU CAN'T LEAVE THEM.

He didn't listen to you, pulling you harder across the room. It was only once his hand touched the doorknob to the balcony did you react.

You put the small but sharp knife into him faster than you could have imagined. You had done it mindlessly and, by chance, got him in the throat; you had almost forgotten it was in your hand.

He let go of you, looking at you in shock as you pulled the blade out. Blood spurted from the wound like a fountain.

It almost seemed as if time slowed down. His hand slowly went to hold his bleeding throat; his other hand weakly reached towards you. The shock and horror in his eyes were quickly replaced by a look of betrayal as he realized the extent of your actions. Without saying a word, you only reacted.

Again and again, and again and again.

You continued to stab him, even as he crumpled against the glass door. The knife may have been small, but it was sharp and deadly, each stab punctuating the air with a sickening sound. Adrenaline coursing through your veins dulled the screams that echoed in the room, leaving only the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

Blood coated everything by the time you were done. The moon shone a red glow into the room from the amount of blood on the window. It was now silent, other than blood dripping from the knife onto the floor, a haunting reminder of the gruesome act that had just taken place.

Soaked into the carpet below you, it began to pool around you both. The body of the man was long still, looking into nothing with dull eyes. His skin now has a gray hue to it, and his lips are a shade of blue.

The only movement in the room was the slow rise and fall of your chest as you sat there, staring at what you had done.

~~~~~~~~

Illumi should have noticed something was off sooner when he didn't see the butlers that were supposed to be with you.

He was a bit distracted as he walked into the suite, holding both of the sleeping boys with ease. The three of them had spent longer out, racking up stuffies they won at the scam games.

One in particular, Illumi had won for you. He had caught you staring at it for a bit earlier. It was an ugly, cheap thing with bug eyes, but something told him to get it for you.

The butler put the bag of goodies on the counter before taking the twins from Illumi to get them into bed.

Illumi silently began to walk towards the master bedroom, the stuffie in hand from the bag.

Normally, you would have greeted him by now. Even if you were tired, you always heard him come home. Sleepily getting out of bed to greet him once he entered was a routine you never broke. But tonight, you remained silent. He figured you must have been in a deep sleep; you have been tired as of late.

Once he was closer to the door, his nose picked up on the scent of rust. It was a thick scent that he knew all too well. For the very first time in his life, Illumi felt scared. The worst scenarios ran through his mind as he stepped faster, pins in hand, stuffie dropped to the floor.

Maybe you had hurt yourself? Had he really missed the signs?

Imagine his surprise and relief when he rushed to open the door to find his wife sitting in front of a body.

You didn't respond when he called out to you, still shaken and shocked by what you had done. The man's body had already become cold. He completely ignored it, cradling your face and looking at him. He was just concerned about you.

"What happened?" He demanded to know, looking over you for any injuries.

He was relieved to find you were unscathed, physically at least. Your eyes didn't look at him until he repeated your name again. Finally, you met his gaze, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the blood dried on your face.

"He tried to take me from you." You whispered, almost falling into his arms. Your hands gripped his shirt as you looked at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He cupped your face, admiring the work of art you were, thumb smearing the bloodstains on your cheeks.

"Oh, dear. I'm so proud of you."

A twisted smile appeared on Illumi's face as he kissed you gently. You had killed someone.

His sweet wife. HIS. To stay with HIM.

With your family.

It was where you belonged. 

[pocket-deer-boy]

i just realized it's been a year and two months since i originally asked for therapy and i'm still not getting therapy. normal country

[theresattrpgforthat]

@martianworder asked me about this on my Forged in the Dark post, so here we go!

Clocks

So Clocks have been a tool that have been used before and outside of Blades in the Dark, but BitD was where I think they were made really popular.

Golem Clocks designed by cmartins on Itch.io

For all intents and purposes, a Clock is just a track that you fill, but in some cases it's preferred over a track because it fills less space, and it's easy to just draw a clock on a piece of paper to help you keep track of something as you play.

A Clock can be more than just a track. It can be a countdown, a timer, or a representation of a person or faction's goals. The larger the Clock, the bigger task it is. Here are some examples of how you could use them.

A Healing project clock from Blades in the Dark.

A player could have a project Clock that they fill over the course of many sessions. Perhaps they want to research a cure for a vampire virus that is threatening a loved one. The GM would ask them to make a research roll every downtime, and how successful they are indicates how many slices they fill - effectively, how much progress they make towards finding a cure.

Rebellion and Sedition Clocks for Brinkwood: Blood of Tyrants.

A play group might use a Clock to track a common goal, such as winning over a number of anarchists to help take down a mega-corporation. If this is a campaign-long goal, you might use a series of linked clocks to represent the jailbreak you need to assist before you can win over a computer hacker, and then the massive hacking project you need to support before you can overwhelm the corpo servers.

Faction Clocks from Scum & Villainy.

A GM might use a Clock to track the work a Faction makes towards their goal. Every downtime section, they GM might roll to see how successful the Faction is, or simply tick one slice of the clock if the Faction has no reason not to be able to do what they want. If the Faction is allowed to work unimpeded by the PC's, they might eventually do something that changes the world around them, for better or worse.

Mission Clock from External Containment Bureau and Doomsday Clock from Apocalypse Keys.

Clocks might also be used as a timer, to indicate when something terrible might happen, or when the group's time is up. This might be the amount of time before a murderer next strikes, before the haunted house claims another victim, or before the world begins to end. In some games, specific points in the clock (such as halfway, or a quarter of the way through) may trigger special events that give the PC's more information, or remind the group that the pressure is really on.

Clocks for Protect the Child.

All in all, Clocks are a great visual tool to help you and your game group keep track of what's going on in the fiction, and it can also help you keep track of a number of narrative threads in a fairly condensed space. Even if they're not built into the game you're currently running or playing, I think they're a fairly easy addition, and can certainly help with bookkeeping!

[herballwitch]

Moon Water: How to Make it and How to Use it

Hello, My name is Alva Tauri! I am an herbalist, spirit worker, tarot and oracle reader, and lunar and herbal witch dedicated to closing the education gap when it comes to herbalism and witch practices!

Today I wanted to talk about how I make moon water, as it is an extremely common component in my spells and magic work and, as I begin sharing more of my spell work with you all here, I believe it will be extremely important for each of you to know how to make and use it.

Lets get into it:

"How do I make moon water?"

making moon water is actually a relatively easy task. all you need to make it is:

a non-plastic container: glass is recommended for this

water: many people source their water for moon water from lakes, oceans, river, etc. natural sources tend to be recommended. however, they are NOT necessary. if you do not have access to naturally sourced water or it does not align with the work you intend to do with that water (I.E. you may intend to drink it, and, in that case, you would likely not want to get naturally sourced water) that is okay! tap water works just as well.

the moon: it is best to do this during a full moon. however, as long as there is moonlight available you can make moon water.

from here you simply pour the water into the jar, place it outside or by a window where moon light will hit the container and let it sit. use this time in the moonlight to visualize the water becoming moon water. ask yourself, "what do I want this water to do?", "how do I want this water to help me?". visualize all that it will do for you and all the ways in which it will bless you. if you are making moon water for a specific spell you can be very specific with this. however, if this is not the case (despite the fact that this is usually not recommended in magic) it is okay to to be a bit vague with these visualizations, so that this moon water can be used for anything in the future.

when you feel that the water has charged, been blessed by the moon, and has taken in your visualizations, you are done and may bring it inside to be used.

PLEASE KEEP IN MIND: if you are not going to use your moon water right away, you must store it somewhere where the sun will not hit it. if it sits in the sunlight it is no longer powered by the moon and is no longer moon water and is now celestial water.

"What can I do with moon water?"

one of my favorite parts about moon water as an ingredient is how versatile it is. there is so much that can be done with it.

moon water is great for any spell or magic work related to cleansing, healing, and charging. it is also great to use as a booster to make spells more powerful.

moon water is also great for both sea magic and lunar magic as it has the power of both the moon and the water residing within it.

That's all for making and using moon water! I hope that you found this helpful in your spiritual journey and I hope that you are able to apply this information to your practice.

if you have any questions regarding anything discussed here or anything you feel that I have missed, please send an ask to my ask box! I appreciate all comments and questions and would be more than happy to go into more detail about spirit work!

For more information on my practice, witchcraft, herbalism, spirit work, and divination please check out the guide on my page (linked here)! Everything I have ever posted can be found there!

I wish you all a blessed day filled with peace, endless wealth, and eternal health! Until the next time we meet!

[copinghex]

Sincerely yours, me | T.S

Summary: Tommy receives anonymous gifts and letters. All the signs point to a single conclusion - he has a secret admirer.

The first gift was misinterpreted, as harmless as it could be, a man like Tommy wouldn't simply eat anything sent to him.

Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, Polly waited for Tommy to get home. On the table, a delicate box from a nearby bakery and a letter caught everyone's attention, not only for the gesture but also the date.

If anyone would search for Thomas Shelby in city registers, all they'd find would be his army register, indicating his date of birth was 19th September, months earlier than the true date, a cold Wednesday morning of November. Whoever sent the gift was close enough to the family to not be fooled by the erroneous papers.

That day, Tommy entered the kitchen in quick steps, unconsciously or not, he always worked more on his birthday, not being particularly fond of celebrating.

“Is anything special about the age of thirty?” Polly asked.

“...no,” noticing the suspicious gifts on the table, Tommy reached for the letter, the envelope contained no information other than his own name, “who bought this?”

“No one, it was left on the door this morning,” she turned the box to show him the bakery’s name, “the place isn't cheap, they wouldn't leave it at the door without someone to collect it,”

“So someone ordered and left it at the door,” Tommy concluded.

“What does the letter say?”

The first thing Tommy noticed was the calligraphy, it wasn't neat nor horrendous. He could see the author tried their best to look nice.

Dear Tommy,

Originally, I was excited to write you this letter. Now that I have your cake and shall deliver it tomorrow, it makes me question if this was a good idea.

I believe birthdays are meant to be celebrated with those we have dearly. You seem to think otherwise, nevertheless, I hope you (and your family) enjoy the flavor I picked.

I wish I had bought you a gift as well, I had an eye on a pocket watch from a pawnshop in London, it'd seat nicely with a brown three piece you have, unfortunately my budget is not endless.

I hope you enjoy your birthday and wish you all the happiness, prosperity and good fortune.

Sincerely yours, me.

P.S I've taken notice I mentioned the cake spent a day in my house, if the thought ever crosses your head, do not worry, it cannot have spoiled, I kept it on the ice box all the time ♡

“So?” Polly questioned.

“Take a look at the calligraphy,” he handed her the letter, “does it look familiar?”

“Not at all, I can check in the books, but it's too neat to belong to any of our men, also there's a heart in the end,”

“Alright,” he sighed, “I want you to go to the bakery and ask who ordered it, then ask all the neighbors about the person who left it at the door, anything is useful,”

“Oh, for Christ's sake! I've things to do but to investigate a birthday cake!”

“Polly,” Tommy opened the box, “whoever sent this is watching from close, what do they plan to do with all this information? It can't be good,”

“Alright,” she sighed, “I'll ask, but I bet is nothing more than some of the neighbors’ daughters wearing her heart out for you,”

“Fucking finally,” John suddenly entered the kitchen, “Polly said we'd only eat when you arrived,”

“No one is going to eat,” he looked at the cake, the white topping could be easily deduced as vanilla while the bottom was chocolate.

“What?! What not?”

“We don't know who fucking sent this, it can be poisoned,”

“Or someone wants to send a message,” Polly added.

“Or it's just fucking cake,” John argued, “ugh, forget it,”

As John left, Tommy threw the box in the trash, the light sweet scent rose up to his nose and looking superficially, it seemed like nothing but an innocently sent birthday gift. He wouldn't risk it though, if he was wrong about it, it'd be shameful to die over a piece of cake.

Weeks went by without further information, all the bakery was able to tell was that the person who made the order was a woman, nothing they hadn't already deduced. The dust settled, with no signs of danger or special dates coming by, nothing disturbed Tommy's routine.

The second gift was delivered by Scudboat, at the end of a shift in the betting shop he sneaked his head into Tommy's tiny office with a bulky envelope.

“Tom? I'm going home,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” Tommy didn't lift his eyes from the papers on the desk.

“Someone left this on my desk today, it's for you,”

His shoulders dropped in a tired move, one more problem was everything he didn't need, “Who did? Did you see?”

“No, we had a full house today, I'm sorry, man,” Scudboat left.

First, a wooden horse fell from the paper. The delicate miniature wasn't bigger than a pocket watch, but the details revealed it was made by talented hands.

Dear Tommy,

Although throwing the whole cake away did offend me, I admit I'm the one at fault for this huge miscalculation, I have no enemies myself and yet, I'd be hesitant to eat something anonymously sent to my door.

Therefore, please accept this horse as a gift instead. It sat dusting up on my shelf for way too long, if you ask me, it resembles Monaghan boy.

Sincerely yours, me.

Tommy placed the miniature in the corner of his desk, it immediately set amongst his other belongings as if it was made to be there.

Slightly crumbling the paper, he fought the urge of ripping it apart, no harm was done and he couldn't find any subtle threats between the lines, but the thought of being observed made him tremble.

The possibility of someone being truly in love with him crossed his mind and was quickly shaken off. Tommy knew he wasn't lovable, at least not anymore, at most it must be infatuation from a stupid woman.

Putting the letter in a drawer, he carried on with his paperwork.

The third gift came three weeks later, when Tommy thought she had given up on him. A worn out bracelet he recognized from an Appleby fair, years ago he bought one for Greta Jurossi and managed to sneak up some more while the seller turned around to get his change. He remembered distributing them amongst her friends.

Those faces were all blurred in Tommy's memory now, shadows from a past that seemed so distant it felt like another life.

The envelope wasn't neat like the previous ones either, delivered by Ada herself, all she offered as explanation was an entertained smile and a “read the letter, Tom”

Relief washed over him learning that Ada was the one collecting information. The worry’s weight left his shoulders and then, the whole scenario felt as laughable as a joke.

Tommy,

It has come to my attention that my letters do you more harm than good. What a shame, I had planned to toy with you a while longer, but seeming it doesn't have the expected effect, I believe there's no option other than revealing myself.

I assure you I never intended harm and Ada was of great help in keeping an eye on you. Please, do not be upset at her, she was manipulated by having me watching Karl whenever needed.

Thomas, you are very dear to me, I've made it clear through the last few months, because of it, I'll be at the Garrison this Friday from 17:00 to 18:00, at the last table in the corner, we've never been complete strangers so you'll recognize me.

All I ask you is to not show up with selfish intentions, to mock me or satisfy your curiosity. I want to be someone close to you, someone you trust and perhaps like. If this possibility exists, come meet me, if your heart is permanently closed, I understand, but please do not come.

Sincerely yours, //////////

Tommy slowly put the letter down, the red scribbles where her name should be evoked sympathy within him. He imagined a simple girl, a silhouette between Greta's friends, switching pen colors and ruining the end of a tidy letter.

Lighting up a cigarette, he rubbed his tense brow, decisions that involved others were always harder and he doubted he'd get used to it someday.

He also couldn't deny curiosity was eating him alive, he needed to know who was sweet enough to look away from the atrocities he committed after France and still love the man he became.

Love, the word sounded so foreign to him he made a decision. He'd go to the encounter, even if he wasn't sure he wanted a relationship, having someone who loved him would be useful.

The week went by fast, around a quarter to five Tommy ordered everyone out of the Garrison, two cups and a whiskey bottle waited with him. He wouldn't define what he felt as excitement, perhaps satisfaction in finally closing that case.

Leaning on the counter, he stared at the doors, a hesitant shadow showed up on the glass panel, the knob moved down and a few seconds passed until she got in.

Her eyes widened seeing the pub empty, a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes met his squinted ones. She gulped, frozen at the entry. Tommy sized her up and his gaze softened, an afternoon tea at the Jurossi’s house years ago, he'd barely noticed her, apparently she had noticed him.

“You came,” she greeted.

“I was curious,”

“Tommy, I asked you to not-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, “it was brave of you to keep me in the dark for so long,”

“It was barely two months,”

“Could've been much more if so you decided,”

“Why would I? You didn't see to enjoy my… admiration at all,”

Pouring them drinks, Tommy called her to the counter. She shyly smiled as he handed her a glass and made a tiny toast.

“It was clever,” he complimented, “I recruit clever people,”

“So this is business focused?” she looked down, disappointed.

“Amongst other things,” with his glass, he lifted her chin, “I think we can achieve great things together,”

[saphronethaleph]

Extra Extra

“It’s like one of those logic puzzles,” Lando said, looking down at a Dejarik table that had been turned off an hour ago. “We know most of the ingredients we need, right?”

“We know most of the ingredients of one way to do it,” Leia amended. “Though I can’t use the Boussh disguise for both of them. I’d have enough trouble using it on one of them, though I think Jabba would be a bit easier to fool.”

“Relatively speaking,” the Socorran replied. “What do you think, Chewie? Jabba’s not kept on top of a crime ridden world like that for decades by being gullible.”

“That may be true, but he’s arrogant,” Chewbacca replied. “And, unlike with Luke, we at least know where Han is.”

“I get the point,” Lando admitted. “Problem is, none of us three are from Tatooine. Luke is, but… like I said, logic puzzle. The easiest way to rescue Han is to already have Luke – and the easiest way to rescue Luke is to already have Han.”

“Rescuing Luke, we could at least call on the resources of the Rebellion,” Leia offered. “Being able to actually kill Darth Vader would be an enormous blow to the Empire.”

Lando chuckled. “Yeah, sure, but – I hate to admit it, but Han’s better with the old girl than I ever was. If we were okay with Luke’s death, then an insane plan like attacking Darth Vader’s Super Star Destroyer would be a bit easier to stomach… if you want to get him out, Han’s touch with the Falcon can only help.”

Leia sighed.

“I have the feeling that doing Han is going to be easier,” she said. “I’ve got a few contacts I can call upon… and if we do manage to get Rebellion resources involved, then Jabba’s palace is a much softer target.”

“We’re going around in circles,” Chewbacca declared. “We need more information. Even knowing where Darth Vader was would help, because that way we’d be able to make better plans.”

He frowned. “Jabba’s strength comes from being a big fish in a small pond. But getting Han out means being inside the defences – and if he realizes what’s going on, he can use Han’s safety as a hostage.”

Lando nodded along.

“I actually wonder if we shouldn’t hope that Luke can rescue himself,” he said. “Or – if we are going to try and rescue Luke, we should abandon the idea of doing it with the Falcon directly. The YT-1300 might be common, but any light freighter of that class is going to stand out.”

Chewbacca looked curious.

“That sounds like you have a plan,” he said. “Care to share?”

“I most certainly do,” Lando answered. “That giant ship has to get supplies, right? Giant standard containers. I wonder how many old style battle droids we could fit in a giant container alongside the Falcon to provide a distraction – then jump out from inside the ship once we’ve retrieved Luke.”

“Now there’s a crazy idea,” Leia said, but she was looking contemplative. “That might work. Audacity can win the day when lesser plans simply don’t have a chance to-”

“Mistress Leia!” C-3P0 interrupted, hurrying down from the cockpit. “Mistress Leia! There’s something very strange on the holonews!”

Lando, Chewbacca and Leia exchanged curious glances, then Lando hit a switch and turned on a holoprojector.

“I didn’t know that was there,” the wookiee admitted, then they all stopped and stared at the news.

“Admiral Piett, this is most irregular!” Grand Admiral Tigellinus declared. “Your authority does not run to the Imperial Center Oversector – explain yourself at once!”

“My authority derives from Vader,” Piett replied, evenly, facing the viewscreen showing Tigellinus’s face.

The Grand Admiral was apparently not on board his capital ship, and the other displays around the Executor bridge were showing that the Empire’s Central Fleet was both out of position and unprepared for combat.

In the second part, at least, Piett fully knew how they felt.

“Vader’s authority also does not run here,” Tigellinus retorted. “Power down your weapons and shields immediately.”

“That request is out of order, Grand Admiral,” Piett replied. “I am under no obligation to stand down.”

Someone began speaking to Tigellinus, their voice a little too quiet for Piett to hear through the connection, and the Grand Admiral turned a rather entertaining shade.

“Admiral, you are violating my direct orders,” the Grand Admiral declared. “One of the ships of your fleet is making a full power burn for the surface of Imperial Center! They must stand down immediately or they will be destroyed!”

Piett’s gaze flicked to the displays, and it took all of a lifetime’s military politicking to avoid reacting visibly.

Tigellinus was very much telling the truth. One of the Star Destroyers of Battle Group Executor was burning for the surface at full power, and scattered fire from the defensive platforms was already striking home on it.

It wasn’t responding, though, and Piett had a sinking feeling that he was starting to understand what was going on.

It wasn’t that he necessarily disagreed with the idea of a coup d’etat, or at least that was what he would certainly say if Vader had asked him about the subject. Partly because denying Darth Vader was a good way of getting choked to death over a video call, but also partly because… something had changed in Vader in the last few months.

Since Bespin.

But he would very much have appreciated being told any of the details more than five minutes before the Executor had left hyperspace.

“The destroyer may have engine problems,” he said, instead. “It was undergoing refit and was mostly evacuated for that very reason.”

“That is not an engine problem!” the Grand Admiral snapped. “You are relieved of command and placed under arrest!”

Piett made a gesture, and the viewscreen deactivated.

“I suspect that conversation was going nowhere productive,” he said. “All batteries ready. I want a full ion cannon salvo on the first capital vessel of the Central Fleet to fire on our wayward destroyer.”

He folded his hands behind his back, and tried to seem like he knew what was going on.

Palpatine was not ready for the situation he had just found himself in.

In principle, assassination was always a risk for someone like him, and he had many means of protection.

He had a ferociously competent security service. He had his guards, armed and trained to a degree of furious perfection that was then hidden under ceremonial outfits. He had the mighty apparatus of Imperial power, grown for twenty-five years. He was the most powerful single individual in the galaxy, with the might of a thousand years of Sith learning and alchemy buttressing his own powerful hatred.

He also had flashbacks to the last time he had been utterly out of control of the situation, which was when he had been on board a crashing Confederacy capital ship.

And now there was a durasteel triangle sixteen hundred metres long, crashing down out of the Coruscant sky. Even as he watched it collided with the Imperial Palace shields, and the shields lost, collapsing with a CRAAACK like the sky splitting open, and the Emperor summoned the Force to himself – ready to do whatever it took to survive.

Whatever it took.

Then he noticed the bright red letters painted on the front of the Star Destroyer. Every single character a hundred and twenty metres high, spelling out a name.

AMIDALA.

Palpatine’s eye twitched, then the nose of the Star Destroyer made contact, and the next ten seconds was an incredible cacophony of rending metal and collapsing supports and energy as several reactors ruptured.

When the debris finally stopped and the smoke began to clear, the entire room was on a fifteen degree slant. The transparisteel windows had exploded inwards, and a horizontal rain of giant shrapnel had killed every one of the guards and functionaries in the room.

There were several fires going on, and it rather looked as though most of the palace complex was in the middle of collapsing.

Then two curved TIE/Advanced wings landed with a crash on the floor to his right, coming in through a hole in the roof, and Palpatine’s gaze snapped in that direction. He drew his lightsaber with a single quick motion, concealing it in his sleeve for now, and he saw two figures step off the pieces of curved metal.

One was entirely familiar. Darth Vader, his apprentice. His slave… but it was immediately clear that Vader was his slave no more.

Just from his posture, if it hadn’t also been apparent from the events of the last few minutes.

Vader was reminding him unpleasantly of Anakin, on the days when Palpatine had touched the wrong nerve.

But the other could only be Luke Skywalker. He looked different, now, to any time Palpatine had seen him before. Older, maybe. More touched by pain and loss, perhaps – but mawkishly certain of his convictions.

Like a teenaged queen he remembered. Or the same woman, as a twenty-something senator who had ruined far too many of his plans without even realizing whose plans they were.

“Ah, young Skywalker,” Palpatine said. “I see your father has brought you here to die.”

Vader ignited his lightsaber, and Luke drew his own as well – activating it with a flash of blue light.

It was Anakin’s old one, from Mustafar, and Palpatine could feel that the Force liked that.

He hated that, and that hate gave him strength.

Strength he was unpleasantly sure he was going to need.

For a moment, the Emperor dismissed Vader. He knew Vader, knew his weaknesses and his strengths.

A moment was all he could spare, but he needed to understand the younger Skywalker. The boy’s lightsaber was held in a form that looked almost like Soresu, or almost like Niman, but there was a touch of Djem So there as well.

Except that the weapon in Luke’s left hand was a blaster, with the flowing chrome lines of one from Palpatine’s own home world.

Luke glanced at Vader for a moment, then settled himself.

“I call for a vote of no confidence in Emperor Palpatine’s leadership,” the boy said, and Palpatine’s eye twitched violently.

Then everything was a blur of blue and red, of crackling lightning and the high pitched whine of a blaster.

“You know,” the Emperor said, most of a week later, as the latest bureaucrats left in a state of some confusion. “I expected that you’d be the one actually in charge, Father.”

Vader shook his head, implacably.

“I will upend the galaxy for you, my son,” he said. “Be your strong right arm. Your enforcer. Your teacher. I will place you on the throne of all eternity. But I will not do datawork.”

Luke smiled slightly.

“It’s not dramatic enough, is it?” he asked. “I looked up that quote, you know.”

Vader was silent for a long moment.

“It felt… appropriate,” he said.

“I’m sure it did, father,” Luke replied. “Now… I need to try writing my next letter to Mon Mothma. Somehow I am going to convince her to help me turn the position of Emperor into one with constitutional limitations.”

Anakin looked across at his son.

“I believe you might just do that,” he said.

“I must say, I didn’t expect this,” Obi-Wan mused, materializing in front of the throne.

“What didn’t you expect?” Luke asked.

“Well, take your pick,” Obi-Wan replied. “But if there’s one thing… it’s how you killed Palpatine. It seems that the Banite legacy of the Sith earths itself into the killer, meaning that the killer becomes the new leader of the Sith… a vessel for Palpatine, in other words.”

Vader gave Luke a concerned look.

“And?” Luke asked. “I don’t think I’m a vessel for Palpatine.”

“The connection requires a Khyber crystal,” Obi-Wan clarified. “And now I need to face that the galaxy was saved because you killed Palpatine with a blaster, of all things.”

Anakin started laughing, then coughing, then laughing again.

“Father?” Luke asked, concerned.

“Who’s uncivilized now, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, holding on to the side of the throne so he wouldn’t collapse.

[changbunnies]

Connected (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight!Bang Chan x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: angst, fluff, royal au, historical au, knight x princess au, arranged marriage (for reader), forbidden love, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining (they are so oblivious)

♡ Word Count: 15.9k (oops lmao)

♡ Summary: Y/N, as princess of the kingdom, is destined to marry for politics and financial gain, but all she wants is to marry for love. Chan, her childhood friend turned royal knight, has to either come to terms with her inevitable marriage, or finally confess the feelings he's been harboring for years.

♡ Warnings: very brief minho x reader, extremely jealous chan, also lowkey possessive chan, (he's not in any toxic way at all but still), reader is implied to be plus size, old timey traditions and expectations of women to suit the setting, i think thats about it ??

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): petnames (princess (mostly as a title), darling, my love) loss of virginity (both reader and chan are virgins), nipple play, fingering (f rec), unprotected piv, creampie, overall very soft sex with some shyness and teasing sprinkled in, breeding kink if you squint

♡ Notes: you can also read the story on my a03 here and if you're interested, you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams ! and thank you so much for all the love my works have gotten so far, i appreciate it sm !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

A sigh passes your lips as you stare out at the sprawling nature before you from up on your balcony. The sight of trees swaying in the wind, flowers blooming towards the sun, and animals skittering about on the earth below always helped to ease your troubled mind.

You always found yourself here when the worries of life and your duty proved too much for you. As the kingdom’s heir to the throne, you weren't often afforded the luxury of leaving your castle, or dirtying your soles by prancing in the nearby forest. 

Instead, you often had to settle for the next best thing– simply observing it. Normally that was enough for you, but on days like today, where you were constantly bombarded with responsibility and expectations, you wished you could flee into the forest and never look back. It would be difficult to flee your life, but surely it would be better than this. You were tired of feeling so stifled all the time. 

"All that sighing isn't going to help, Princess," a familiar voice speaks from the doorway of your bedroom. "I know that," you frown, turning to look at your childhood friend turned royal knight with crossed arms and a glare on your face.

You know Chan doesn’t mean to add to your frustration, and normally you wouldn’t snap at him over a comment made in jest, but you're really in no mood for it right now. You’ll apologize later when you’re less quick to anger; right now, you are currently too stuck in your feelings to respond kindly. 

It'd been a week since you were informed of your inevitable marriage, and you still hadn’t come to terms with it to any degree. Your father, the current King, informed you that the eligible men who desired your hand would be arriving later in the month, and how you were expected to be on your best "womanly" behavior when meeting your suitors for the first time. You knew it would happen someday but you still loathed the idea of it.. It made you feel like an object, like a pawn to be used rather than a person with her own thoughts and feelings. 

"My apologies Princess, but you've been really down these past few days. I thought you might enjoy some company," Chan explains with his perfectly rehearsed politeness that you haven't quite gotten used to hearing yet. "Stop calling me Princess when it's just the two of us, it's unnecessary," you complain while Chan looks at you with a playful smile. 

"Very well, Princess," he teases in response, laughing when you scowl at him for it. Chan has been your knight for a little over a year now, and while you did enjoy having him around more often, the tone shift from friend to knight was jarring. There were times where you missed your old dynamic, when he'd speak to you with no pleasantries or titles (though it did often incur the wrath of your attendants for being 'disrespectful' to the princess.)

You never found him disrespectful however; you actually quite liked that he always spoke to you candidly and without pretenses. Even as a kid you'd noticed the way commoners treated you differently from everyone else, and you liked that Chan didn't. Though he was just a child like yourself at the time, and most likely did not realize the impact it had on you, you enjoyed being able to feel like a normal person. 

He was often on the castle grounds due to his parents, his mother a maidservant and his father a horseman. And while he was never supposed to have met you due to the difference in station, you two often found yourselves in each other's path.

You learned to ride horses together under his father's tutelage, he would accompany his mother around the castle as she cleaned various rooms, and he’d always wave to you with a goofy smile while you were studying (even if it ended in a scolding from the adults around him.)

You had quickly become fond of him, your only friend in an otherwise lonely world. You can remember fondly the days where he would distract you from your lessons by making silly gestures behind your tutors' backs, and how he’d gift you trinkets from outside the castle’s walls, such as cheap dolls and freshly picked flowers. 

They were “plain” by royal standards, but you still loved them dearly, as they were things you had never had in your life until he brought them to you. He would even bring delicious pastries and fresh bread made by his mother, which had become your favorite things to eat simply because it was so different from everything else you were allowed to have. 

Chan steps onto the balcony, taking his place next to you. He leans against the banister, staring out at the scenery that held your attention moments ago. "I don't want you to get married yet either," he admits after a brief moment of silence. You look at him, taking in the sullen expression on his face. You are initially surprised he looks so sad, allowing you to catch a glimpse at his usually hidden vulnerability.

You know very well that he, like anyone, is capable of feeling a depth of complex emotions, but he rarely shows you that side of himself. You spend so much of your days stressed or tired or daydreaming about being anything other than what you are, so he chooses not to burden you with any feelings he has. You've told him many times that he could, even encouraged him to share with you, but he always said he'd rather focus on making you feel better because that would make him feel better too. 

“You don’t..?” you ask, though you wonder what you are even expecting to hear in response. He’s your best friend and he cares about your feelings, so obviously he doesn’t want to see you go through something you hate. It obviously it saddens him to see a friend hurting– but despite yourself, you still hope for his feelings to go beyond that. 

You want to hear him say he cares about your inevitable marriage not as a concerned best friend, but as a man. A man who loves you, a man who wants you, a man who would fight for your hand in marriage against all odds. It's foolish, you know this, but you can’t stop yourself but hoping for it. 

Your heart ignores the logic your brain provides, disregarding that he'll never be allowed to marry you even if he did have romantic feelings for you and was willing to fight against tradition for you. It doesn't matter that he has devoted his life to protecting you, that he's extremely well read or gifted in combat, or that he grew up within the same castle walls that you have. He will always be "beneath you", his merits never good enough, all because he was born to commoners. 

You always hated that. Why do the circumstances of someone's birth have to matter so much? Why does fate have to be decided based on what family you are born into?

And you can still remember vividly the day you realized you cared for him as more than just the best friend you grew up with. When he stood before you, handsome in his weathered training armor and practice sword in hand, smiling proudly as he devoted his life to your care, your heart fluttered.

Chan worked hard to be your knight, practiced with his sword to the point of exhaustion, spent countless hours reading about affairs between nations and studying combat techniques, all to be the one who protects you. He dedicated his life to you, to being by your side through everything, even if it meant putting his personal affairs on hold. 

There were times where you still didn’t understand why he sacrificed so much of his freedom for you. The life you lived was so stuffy and restricting, and he could do anything. He could do whatever he wanted with life, live anywhere in the world, choose from a myriad of careers, yet he chose to be stuck in the castle with you for the rest of his youth. 

The day you turned 14, you confessed to him that you were dreading the day you both became adults because you knew your lives would take you different places. Even if he followed in his father’s footsteps and became the castle's horseman, you'd likely rarely, if ever, see him. It was something you thought about a lot, as you were often reminded by your elders of your responsibilities to the kingdom, but that day it was hitting you particularly hard. 

That day sticks firmly in Chan's head as well; he can still remember the way tears pricked the corners of your eyes, the reality of getting older and the responsibilities that were soon to follow already bearing heavily on you.

That was the day he decided he’d work hard to always be near you, as he never wanted to see you cry over his separation from you. If there was no reason for him to stay, he would make one. If it meant freedom and choice was taken from him, he was willing to let those things go. If it was for you, it would be worth it.

When you asked him why he decided to become a knight despite the sacrifice and responsibility it entailed, why he was willing to give up so much to stay in the castle with you, he simply smiled at you. “It’s where I am meant to be,” he replied, dimples lighting up his face in an expression so sweet it made your stomach flip. 

You fell in love with him that day. Or maybe you always loved him, and that was the day you fully realized it. That intangible feeling that always lingered whenever you looked at him, that you couldn’t hold and understand but knew was there. It was love, all that time. You knew it then, and you still know it now. Chan is the only person you will ever love. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon comforting you, as he always does when you are feeling unhappy and indignant. Giving you kind words or gentle, comforting silence when you need it, transitioning into his goofy side who makes jokes and does his best to make you laugh as soon as you show that you are feeling better. 

And it does help, but in a way it also makes it worse. Because unbeknownst to him, he’s just reaffirming your love for him. For every gesture that endears you to him, it also makes your heart sink even further. And worse of all, you can’t even be upset about it– because he doesn’t know your feelings, he doesn’t know how his kindness feels akin to a knife in your gut. 

And it’s likely he’ll never know. Because when can you tell him? How can you tell him? It’s not meant to be, and it never will be. For as long as you are royalty, he’ll never be allowed to love you, and you’ll never be allowed to love him. The sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be, but you don’t know if you ever can. 

How do you make yourself stop loving someone so perfect? How do you put aside your feelings, how do you pretend that they never existed in the first place? You’re lost, you’re stuck, and you know nothing will change it.

You suppose the best you can do is enjoy the little time you have remaining. Live in the moment with him instead of worrying so much about the future, because once it’s here you won’t be able to get this time back. 

That’s why you smile for him, earnestly. You laugh with him the way you always do, you reminisce about your childhoods, you talk about all your favorite things instead of wallowing in what you hate. You don’t allow yourself to frown or cry until he’s gone for the night, the setting of the sun beckoning him out of your room and to his own. 

You cry as you wash off the day's grime in the bath, you cry as you towel off in front of the mirror, and you cry as you lie in your bed, staring up at the ceiling as you think about all the joy you will never have.

Because you will lose Chan before you ever even had him. Never being allowed to hold his hand, to kiss him, to lie with him.. Because he is your knight, and a princess isn’t supposed to fall in love with one. 

It’d been over a month since your suitors first started arriving at the castle to meet you, settling into their guest rooms and (frustratingly) occupying your days. You were as respectful as you were expected to be, but you really didn’t put in any effort to get to know them more deeply. You just weren’t interested in any romantics with them. 

If the situation were different, and these were men you were meeting with the prospect of friendship or strengthening ties between allied kingdoms platonically, you would be much more susceptible to the pleasantries. As it stands now, you can’t put yourself out there for them the way you are expected to. 

Most of them seem nice enough, and for the ones with gentler personalities you do feel bad for your standoff-ish attitude, but showing your disinterest firmly is the best way to not give anyone false hopes. You know you won’t fall in love with any of them, and wouldn’t it be worse to lead them on by having no backbone? 

Sure, you could be a bit nicer, but why would you be? They are all here with the intention to marry you, they all have a goal in mind– to win you over by any means necessary. Even if they had the purest of intentions, it wouldn’t sway you to change your mind so easily.

At the end of the day, no matter who is here for a chance at genuine love and who is here for political gain, you are being treated like an object, and it’s something you detest with your entire being. And even leaving aside your feelings for Chan (which undeniably also plays a part in your disdain for your situation), you still wouldn’t enjoy this process.

Maybe it was your own fault for idolizing fairytales and spending your free time daydreaming about what your perfect life would look like, but what can you say? You’re a hopeless romantic, even to a fault, it seems. Is it truly so bad for you to want genuine love with someone? A love that happens organically, unforced by any outside factors pushing for it? 

And now here you are, letting your maids prepare your attire and dress for tonight’s ball, where you will be expected to mingle with and accept the advances of your suitors, even if it is performative in nature. You try your best not to scowl in disapproval when your maids talk excitedly about your “romances”, who they think is most handsome out of your suitors, and who they hope you will choose. 

You wish you could scream out, “I choose none! I don’t want to marry any of them!” You’d gladly let these girls take their pick of the men who came for you. It seems that the fan favorite, as it were, is Sir Minho, the handsome son to Duke Lee in the western lands. Apart from being attractive, he’s well-mannered, compassionate with animals, and skilled in battles of wit. 

If you were being truthful, he was an easy pick. He was easily the most desirable of every suitor, not just from a personal standpoint, but also from a political standpoint. Keeping relations with the west positive would lower chances of revolt or separation into their own independent nation.

Yes, if you were smart and not at all stubborn, you would most certainly pick Minho. But stubborn you undeniably were; opinions firm and unbending, resistant to compromise or sacrifice.

And honestly, shouldn’t that be expected? Why wouldn’t the princess, who is capable of having everything material she ever wanted, not be selfish when it comes to love? You like to think yourself a reasonable person, one who makes sound decisions and goes through life with a firm sense of rationality. However, when it comes to Chan, all rational thought and decision making seems to leave you, replaced solely by emotion. 

Your heart overtakes you, arguing fiercely with your rational and intelligent brain, as if making the logical, sensible choice would be foolish despite the reality being the opposite. You let out a sigh, that your maids thankfully mistake as one of exhaustion. While you arguably had the easiest job in the room, just sitting around and letting others doll you up, it was still tiring in its own right. 

Layers upon layers of petticoats, chemises, and skirts, tight garters to hold up your stockings, squeezing into a corset and then adding even more layers on top of that.. If the end result wasn’t so gorgeous, you’d absolutely hate this process. And god forbid you needed to use the bathroom at any point– that endeavor in itself was hellish. 

After the grueling task of fitting you into your finest royal blue ensemble, your hair and makeup came next. You begged for it to be on the simpler side, as you would be occupied for hours tonight and really didn't want to worry about keeping it pristine the entire time, and they thankfully obliged the request. There’s a few moments of downtime when they are finished, which gives you time to breathe and prepare yourself mentally for the night’s festivities. 

There is a knock on the door, which the maids closest to the door don’t hesitate to open. It’s Chan, of course, as it’s his job to come collect you whenever it’s necessary for you to leave your room. That’s another reason this night you’re upset about tonight– you wish you could walk together to the ballroom as a couple, instead of as a knight and princess.

“It is time to go, Princess. The guests have begun arriving in the ballroom,” he says, keeping his gaze professional under the watchful eyes of the maids in the room. 

But God, is that hard for him. You're so unbelievably beautiful it makes his heart feel like it's twisting in his chest. He’s lucky that no one in the room seemed to notice the way it stole his breath away, or the way his eyes lingered on you for far longer than they should have before he directed you to follow him out of the door. 

You thank your maids for their help before you depart, and they all say some variation of “have fun!” as you leave the room. “Fun” is doubtful in this scenario, but you’ll certainly try to not be miserable. Try being the keyword– you make no such promises of how things will actually play out. 

You put on the best smile you can manage when you enter the room, letting various guests greet you, briefly indulging them in small talk before Chan helps you move your way past them. You take a seat next to your parents, with Chan standing just a few feet away– a respectable distance as to not intrude on the royal family, but close enough to reach you quickly if something went wrong.  

As is to be expected, sticking close to your parents and away from the dancing doesn’t spare you from any attention. Those who are permitted to speak with the royal family appear to you in a near constant stream, with monotonous questions about how you’ve been and how you feel about your inevitable marriage in tow.

God, the night has just begun and you’re already tired. Is it too early to retreat back to the safety of your room? You take a quick glance around the ballroom, taking note of all the guests you have an obligation to talk to and who you could feasibly get away with staying away from.

Unfortunately, it seems like your evening will be full of talking to people you don't want to deal with. You said you'd try to have a good time, but that didn't mean you had to right this second, did it? You're definitely staying at the table for as long as possible, even if it causes your guests to think of you disfavorably (and if you're lucky, it will.) 

It's probably about two hours into the gathering when your parents seem to grow tired of you doing nothing but sitting with them at the head table. You can tell even before it happens that your mother and father have something to say about your silent protest.

"Why aren't you out there, dear?" your mother asks, taking a gentler approach despite the obvious frown of displeasure on her face. Truthfully, she understands your sadness and feels for your plight, but she can’t allow you to wallow in it.

You are very clearly sulking, proper manners ignored as you sit with crossed arms and a pout. “Don’t like to dance,” you lie, but everyone near you knows that isn’t true. 

You normally loved dancing. You would attend your dance lessons enthusiastically, and later you would sneak Chan into the ballroom to teach him everything you learned. Although he loved music and followed rhythms easily on his own, his initial steps with you were always awkward. His excuse was that he was nervous to be dancing with the princess, but you would remind him that since being the princess never made him hesitate with you before, it shouldn’t matter now.

In all honesty, a majority of his nerves came from being afraid of making a mistake in front of you. Chan could normally dance very well, often being complimented and told he was a natural at it, but doing it with you made him especially nervous. What if you felt how sweaty his palms were becoming just from having you closer than usual? What if you could hear how loudly his heart was pounding? What if the nerves made him do the steps wrong? 

He really liked you, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in your presence. Chan is often goofy, yes, but it was always willfully. He liked making you laugh and smile, but he didn’t want that side of him to be out in that moment. He found himself wanting you to see a different side of him, he wanted to impress you with how easily he picked up what you taught him, he wanted you to compliment him with your sweet voice.

To his own relief, Chan eventually managed to conquer his nerves, and he was able to pick up the steps and lead the dance without making an embarrassment of himself. Soon enough, the two of you would regularly spend hours in the ballroom together, dancing until late into the evening. With no band to play music for you, the both of you would take turns humming melodies, though you always preferred when Chan was the one doing it as his voice was so melodic and beautiful to you. 

With your memories of each shared, secret dance so clear in your mind, how can you dance with any of these men and not think of Chan? How do you look at any of them and not compare their differences? How can you be with them without thinking about how you’d rather be with Chan instead? Even if they were lovely, even if they were without flaw, they weren’t who you wanted to be with. 

You glance at Chan, who has to remain stone faced in these moments. Your parents are aware that you became friends with him well before he was inaugurated into knighthood, but they don’t realize to what extent.

They don’t know about the countless hours spent together, how you’d disregard rules to be near him, or how you’d sneak him into spaces he normally wouldn’t be allowed in. He can’t make them aware of how close the two of you truly are by reacting, and you know this well, but you still can't help but seek him out in every moment. 

Noticing you looking at him, Chan shoots you a small look of sympathy before your parents can notice, doing his best to ease you despite the restrictions. He knows you don’t want to do this, and that you hate being scolded and reminded of how “important” it is to have a “good” husband.

“Good” meaning having power, or wealth, or a prestigious lineage in this case. You don’t want to care about formalities, traditions, or responsibilities. You don’t want to prioritize superficial qualities or be in a loveless marriage purely for alliance. 

Is it really so terrible for you to just be in love with someone for who they are instead of what they have? You don’t care about what they have to offer or what legacies their families hold. You want to be with the person whose smile lights up your world. You want to be with the person who sacrificed so much just to stay within your realm. You want Chan. 

“Your suitors would love to dance with you,” your father says, “You should at least try to get along with them, don’t be stubborn. You won’t grow to love any of them if you don’t try.” Chan watches your expression change, the mix of anger and sadness bubbling within you becoming increasingly more apparent. He wishes he could rush to your side and help, but he can't. So instead he stands in place, fists clenched in a vain effort to ground himself as he remains frozen to his spot. 

“Of course father,” you say as you stand, biting your tongue so as to not make a scene in the middle of an extravagant ball. Despite your tumultuous feelings, you're not foolish enough to disrespect the king with an audience. “I need a moment, if you’ll allow it,” you say and your father nods, finding it a reasonable enough compromise. 

You bow politely before you go despite how badly you wish you could storm out and give a bitter display of resentment. Chan moves to follow you, (which he would do even if it wasn't his job,) but your mother calls for him to wait a moment. “I’m aware my daughter is unhappy about this, but try to talk some sense into her for me, will you? I doubt she’ll listen to us, upset as she is. She may find it easier to listen to someone unattached to the situation.” 

‘Unattached.’ If only she knew Chan was terribly, terribly attached to the situation– attached to you. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he answers politely, bowing before he steps away to follow your path out of the ballroom. It doesn’t take him long to find you despite his delay leaving; he knows you well enough to know where you prefer to be when upset.

You are outside, sitting on the steps leading to the garden, arms hugging your legs with your head against your knees. You feel trapped, and looking out at nature always helps (even if in this case said nature was still confined within the castle’s walls.) You lift your head when you hear Chan’s footsteps behind you, wiping stray tears from your eyes as he approaches. “Y/N..” he speaks softly, heart tugging at him painfully; he always hated seeing you cry. 

He sits next to you, deciding comforting you was more important than worrying about who would see the two of you being close. If he gets in trouble, so be it; you need your friend right now, not your knight. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you carefully to his side. “I hate this,” you mumble with a trembling voice, burying your face in his shoulder. 

Chan swallows, trying to find the words to say. He hates it too– unbearably so. Every time he pictures you being in love with someone else it makes him physically ill. He doesn’t want to think about how devastated he’ll be hearing you say ‘I love you’ to another man, how excruciating it will be for him to watch from the sidelines while you build a future with someone he can never be. 

He knows his heart will crumble when he sees you make your eternal vows to someone else, so beautiful and demure and forever out of his reach. He made his promise to be your knight for the remainder of his days knowing this is what it would entail, but fuck, it still hurts.

Chan has always considered himself a strong and resilient person, and he felt like he could handle this inevitability, but maybe he was naive to think so; nothing could have prepared him for how painful the reality actually was. His mistake wasn’t falling in love with someone unattainable– his mistake was thinking he could survive the heartbreak.

In all his life, he’ll never regret falling in love with you or becoming the knight you need, but he’s still human. A selfish human, who wants more than he can be granted, who wants to marry his beloved princess more than any treasure or title in the world. 

Chan does his best to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to alert you that he was affected by this way more than a friend or knight should be. He thinks about what your father said to you shortly before you left the ballroom. ‘You won’t grow to love any of them if you don’t try.’  

As much as he hated to admit it, your father had a point. And he could see why your mother wanted him to make you understand, but did he really have it in him to follow her request? Could he encourage you to try to fall in love with someone else knowing how it’d tear him apart?

It’s the last thing he ever wants to do, but devoting his life to you meant he had to put aside selfish desires. He couldn’t let his love for you cloud his judgment, he couldn’t sabotage your chance at happiness to make himself feel better. How can he be a proper knight if he puts his selfish hopes above what is best for you in the long run? 

“Listen.. I know you might not want to hear this but.. Your parents have a point. You should get to know them better,” Chan speaks cautiously, trying to prepare for whatever reaction you might have. It kills him to say it, not just because he doesn’t want to see you with someone else, but also because he knows you won’t want to hear this from him. He watches you freeze, staring at him in something akin to saddened disbelief.

You feel as if your cracked heart has now completely shattered. If there was any doubt before, now you know. Chan doesn’t love you the way you love him. He wouldn’t be okay with this if he loved you, he wouldn’t want to see you marry someone if he wanted you the way you want him. Your feelings have always been one sided. You swallow, trying not to cry any more than you already have or show how hurt that made you feel. 

“So you agree with them then..” your voice is quiet and defeated. What do you even say..? Should you admit that one of the reasons this is so hard for you is because you’re in love with him? Would that even change anything? You always knew being in love with him was a fool’s endeavor, and now that truth was solidified. 

“It’s not that. You know I don't want you to, it’s just– I know you’re miserable right now. And the reality is that you’ll have to marry one of them. If you get to know them and grow to love one of them, it’d be better for you. The way things are now, you’ll never be happy, and that's all I want for you.. Just to be happy,” he says, trying his best to show you how earnest he is.

He’s so fucking in love with you, of course he doesn’t want to see you marry someone else, it’s the last thing he ever wants. He doesn’t want to watch you fall in love with one of them, he doesn’t want to sit on the sidelines while you give your love to someone else, but he can’t keep denying the reality before him. Despite how selfish he is, he can’t put himself and what he wants above you.

And putting those selfish desires aside, he just wants you to have a good, happy life, even if that happiness comes from someone else. No matter how badly he wishes he could be the one you spend your forever with, it’s not the life that is meant for him. He has to come to terms with that, now more than ever. He has to, because it'll break him apart if he doesn't. 

You look at him now, and as much as it hurts, you can see the sincerity. Even though it’s not what you wanted to hear, you know how much he cares about you. Even now, he’s looking out for you and trying his best.

Maybe he doesn't love you the way you love him, but it is a form of love nonetheless. His actions have never shown you anything different, and even if it’s not the sort of romantic love you want it to be, you should be happy with what you already have with him.

You separate yourself from his gentle hold, standing quickly as you do your best to wipe your tears without ruining your makeup any further. “You’re right. I’ll try,” you say, forcing yourself to find the resolve you desperately need to get this night over with. He smiles at you, albeit strained as he suffers with his own tumultuous emotions, and rises to his feet as well. 

Chan gives you one last gesture of comfort, a gentle squeeze to your hand, before he leads you back to the ballroom where everyone waits for you to return. “Are you ready?” He asks when you are both stopped in front of the doors.

You sigh, taking just a small moment before you nod and allow yourself to enter the bustling room. You’re not ready, but it will never get any easier, so you suppose you’ll just have to accept that and get on with it regardless.

You leave Chan standing with your parents, where he can still have you in his line of sight while not intruding upon anything you need to do. You suppose if you’re really going to commit to this, you should go with the obvious choice– Lee Minho. It doesn’t take you long to spot him either; all you had to do was follow the gaze of infatuated maids to see him standing in a bubble with other high society guests your father invited to the event. 

“Sir Minho, are you occupied?” you ask as you step forward to him, the crowd that had gathered around him easily dissipating to allow the princess closer to her suitor. “Of course not, Princess. Would you like to dance?” he smiles politely as he holds out his arm for you, and you accept it, letting him lead you toward the center of the ballroom. 

Another thing you suppose you should do if you’re really going to commit to this is apologize. You doubt anything will genuinely come of it on your part, but it’d be best to not have a marriage start off with bitterness in your heart if it does miraculously develop into something more.

Honestly you’d rather scream and kick than offer an apology you don’t entirely mean but.. What other option is there at this point? "Listen, I'm sorry for how cold I've been towards you. It's not due to any fault of your own, it's just.."You pause briefly, trying to think of how best to continue that line of dialogue, but Minho speaks up before you can.

“It’s just that you are being forced into a marriage you don’t want?" Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as you desperately try to find a way to dismiss his accurate assessment. Were you that transparent? 'Of course you were, idiot,' you curse yourself. Maybe you should've practiced subtlety.

"I get it. You aren’t the only one unhappy about this,” he continues, further surprising you. He chuckles at your shocked expression, amusement in his voice. “What, is that hard to believe?”

"I.. I guess I just assumed everyone is here because they want to be. It didn’t occur to me that you would be in a similar situation to myself,” you answer truthfully. Maybe you would have realized sooner if you hadn't been so stuck in your ways, so quick to ignore and dismiss every suitor that came close to you. 

“I don’t blame you for thinking that. I’m sure most of the men are here because they want to be. I consider myself an outlier,” Minho speaks nonchalantly, but now that you are really looking at him, you can tell he is just as unhappy to be forced into this as you are. You also get the impression that he’s good at keeping a cool exterior, likely due to years of experience at suppressing his actual desires, the same as you.

“Is there someone else? Someone you love, back at home?” you ask, and Minho smiles sadly as he nods. “There is. They mean the world to me. I asked them to wait for me, I told them I wouldn’t leave them but.. I don’t know what will happen, if I'm being honest.” He tries to mask how upset he is to admit that, but you can see it.

Maybe you’d be as oblivious to it as everyone else seemed to be if you weren’t dealing with similar emotions. You feel a strange sort of kinship with him now, realizing how parallel your situations seem to be. “I’ll make sure you can be reunited. I may not have much power as it stands now, but I can do that at least.”

Minho smiles at your reply, but shakes his head, as if your act of kindness would be futile. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it would only be temporary. I’m sure even if I don’t marry you, my father will just send me off to another castle to find a spouse. It’s all he cares about.”

You frown, about to speak reassurances or some other comforting statement, but he stops you before you can. “What about you, Princess? Is there someone you love?” Minho asks, easily shifting the focus off of himself. 

You hesitate a moment, debating on whether it would be wise for you to talk about. But, Minho already shared with you even if it could be a risk for him to admit, so.. You decide to be honest. “There is. He.. is the best person I've ever known.” 

“I thought so. Not to sound overconfident, but most women fall at their feet for a chance to speak with me,” Minho smirks and you laugh, the first genuine laugh you’ve had all evening. “Well, you are handsome. I may love someone else, but I’m not blind.” Your reply makes Minho laugh as well, the conversation turning into something you can actually enjoy.

“It’s good to know the Princess isn’t rejecting me for my looks. I can sleep assured about my handsome features tonight,” he jokes, and if you weren’t in public you’d most certainly slap him on the arm. You didn't expect his personality to be what it is, but you suppose that's one of the charms that draws people to him.

“The person you love– do they know how you feel?” He asks after a beat, and you frown, trying not to let too much emotion out as you speak. “I’ve never told him, nor my parents. I’ve wanted to, but.. I’m scared he won’t return my feelings, and.. He was born a commoner. People won’t approve of that.” Unconsciously, your gaze shifts away from Minho and turns towards Chan. 

Minho notices, of course, and follows your gaze, seeing the way Chan is overtly staring at the pair of you dancing. Oh, he is in love with you, if the way he’s staring daggers into Minho is any indication. He almost wants to laugh at how oblivious you seem to be about it, but he also sympathizes.

He was there once– afraid to confess, afraid of what the reaction would be. And even now he’s still afraid of how his father will react if he ever confesses to his hidden relationship, so he’d be a hypocrite to tell you to not worry about it. 

But at the very least, he can be on your side. He can be a friend, an encouraging presence, a person who understands what you are going through. “I think you should tell him how you feel. Even if things don’t turn out how you hope, at least you tried. I think that’s better than having never tried at all, and living with regrets.” 

Honestly, he hopes you do confess your feelings, because he feels like he might burst into flames any second if your knight keeps staring at him with fire in his eyes. He’s so obvious, Minho isn’t sure how everyone else seems oblivious to it. But maybe he only recognizes that look in his eyes because he was there himself not too long ago, when others made advances on the person he loves most. 

There’s a brief moment of silence as you contemplate Minho’s words. What is better? Accepting your fate as it is now and never telling a soul how you feel about Chan, or confessing your feelings and experiencing what it’s like to openly love Chan, only to have it ripped away from you when your family doesn’t approve? You really don’t know.. 

“Hey, if it doesn’t work out, maybe we do get married and act as each other’s cover,” he says jokingly, hoping it can make you feel comforted to some degree once he notices you being trapped in thought about what to do next. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you say with a small laugh, “Though if there is anyone I’d choose to be in a fake marriage with, it’d have to be you.”

Honestly, despite the unorthodox way it came to pass, it felt good to talk about your feelings for Chan. You didn’t have anyone to talk to about them, always keeping them completely to yourself. And you felt like you had a real friendship with Minho blossoming, one that could be maintained for years to come. “I enjoy your company. Platonically, of course,” you say with a smile. 

“As do I, Princess,” he smiles back, “Want to cheer to a good friendship?” “Let’s!” You say enthusiastically, letting your dance come to a close and allowing him to lead you to toast refreshments. 

If there was ever a time in Chan’s life he wishes he could disregard everything he’d ever been taught about rules and decency, it was now. He’s never felt so bitter in his entire life, the first time he’s ever felt spiteful at the unfairness of his situation. 

“Thank you for talking to her, she looks to be enjoying herself much more now,” the queen says with delight as she leans towards Chan, ensuring that he hears her thanks. All it does is effectively rub salt into his open wound.

“..Yes, she does,” Chan says, having to put effort into sounding anything other than gutted. The jealousy sizzling in his veins, envious desire stuck like bile in his throat.

He knows you well enough to know what a genuine smile looks like on you. He recognizes your body language, can see all the minute and subtle changes. It makes him physically ill, watching you be so happy with a man he knows you are likely to marry. Chan knew he was selfish, but he never realized how jealous he was capable of being. 

It was a luxury he didn’t realize he had– never having to see you in the arms of someone else. Sure, it was bound to happen, and he assumed he would be devastated when it inevitably occurred, but this? This all encompassing jealousy, this unadulterated greed– he doesn’t know how to process it, he doesn’t know how to calm himself down or mask it.

A realization zaps him suddenly, shocking his system as the feeling settles over him. He can’t let you go, he can’t put his feelings aside the way he thought he could. He’s not as strong as he thought he was, not as mature or as reasonable as he always thought himself to be. He can’t watch you be with someone else and be okay. If this is how he reacts to a situation so small, how will he feel when you actually marry?  

He’s fucked. Truly, unequivocally fucked.

His body and mind scream at him to act, to do something, do anything, but what is there for him to try? What can he do that isn’t hopeless? No, even if it is hopeless, even if it doesn't change a single thing, he has to regardless. That’s what every nerve in his body screams at him– if there was ever a time for him to conjure his bravery and win you over, it was now.

You breathe a sigh of relief when the night's festivities finally draw to close, eager to finally relax after hours of dancing and talking. Minho made the night more bearable at least; it was much easier to get through the evening when you had a friend to cling to and keep a good deal of your other suitors at bay. As soon as you finished bidding your goodbyes to the guests that were in attendance, you rushed over to Chan so he could finally lead you back to the privacy of your room.

“Princess.. I’m sure you’re tired, but can you wait for me here for a bit..?” Chan asks, hoping the nerves he feels aren't being conveyed in his voice or facial expression. You tilt your head, slightly confused but agreeing anyways. You really have no reason not to after all, especially if it’s a request from Chan of all people. He smiles and thanks you, running off quickly while promising he wouldn’t take too long.

You stand in the center of the ballroom alone, wondering what on earth Chan is having you wait here for. He could also get in trouble for leaving you alone here without anyone to watch over you, but whatever he has planned must be worth the risk he’s taking.. Is he trying to make sure no one is going to come back so that the two of you can dance together?

The thought makes you excited if you're being honest– you always love dancing with Chan, but you hadn't had many opportunities to after he began training to be a knight. And you’d happily do so if he wanted to, even if your feet were screaming at you from exhaustion.

You also have to admit, you enjoy the idea that after watching you dance all day, Chan wanted to have one with you too, even if it had to be once the event was over and within privacy. You wait as patiently as you possibly can, watching the doors to the ballroom, eagerly waiting for them to open.

And when they do, and your eyes fall on Chan entering dressed in what is possibly the most beautiful suit you've ever seen, your heart feels like it's going to burst. "You stayed," he smiles as he steps closer, his dimples on full display. His unruly hair that normally falls over his face has been tamed enough to show his features more clearly, the full extent of his handsome face on display just for you.

“C-Chan, you– I, wow, you look–” You try to speak but you stumble over your words, his beauty leaving you even more speechless when viewed up close. It really is the most beautiful suit you've ever laid eyes on. Or maybe you only think so because he is the one wearing it? Either way, he looks so incredibly handsome that you feel almost dazed, your brain quickly malfunctioning as you stare at him.

Truthfully, he had to save his salary for months to afford a suit this nice. You lived in a world of extravagant gowns and beautiful jewelry, and he knew that if he ever got the chance to dance with you again, he wanted to look like he belonged with you– even if it was just this one time. You don't care about aesthetics, he knows that, but it's still something he wanted to do. Looking at him the way you are now, he knows it was all worth it.

He always wanted to belong in your world, to look like someone that a princess could be with. Soon enough, you’ll have to decide which of your suitors to marry, and on that day he will lose you. If this is the last opportunity he has to share a dance with you, then he wants to make the most of it. Even if it's just for this short moment, he'd like you to see him as something more than a friend or knight.

He wants to live in a bubble where it’s just you and him, where he can show you the side of himself he always wanted you to see. A bubble where only the two of you exist, where everything but each other is background noise. His every moment, all he sees is you, and he wants to be the only one you see in turn. No one in your eyes but him, his every word hanging in your ears and gesture embedding in your heart.

He will allow himself this final selfish act before he lets you go, before he has to bury his feelings and lock them away for good. He will dance with you not as your best friend, your knight, or your student who is still learning the steps, but as a man in love with his princess. 

“May I have this dance, Princess?” Chan asks, smiling up at you as he bows, holding out his hand to you. You feel like your brain is short circuiting, all dance etiquette and rules leaving your mind as you stare at him. Your face has turned bright pink and your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, but you manage to nod and let your hand reach for his. How will you even survive this dance when he’s smiling at you like that while looking so devastatingly handsome? 

Despite the glaring fact that all your knowledge is lost on you as he holds you closer, he leads you through your daze well. Humming melodies with his beautiful voice while he guides you through the steps– you feel like you’re in a dream. He’s looking at you so intently, smiling so charmingly between melodies, you feel like you’re melting. His eyes are sparkling with an emotion you’ve never seen on him before. 

No, that’s not true. You have seen it. Fleetingly, in quick moments where it would flash on his features, a moment so small you’d miss it if you blinked. Moments like now, where it was just the two of you, free to be yourselves, to talk and laugh and dance with no restriction. Every time you noticed that look in his eyes, his expression would change in an instant, or he’d turn his face away and not let your eyes linger on it. 

Affection? Care? Love? Is that the feeling that shows on his face when he looks at you? Is love the emotion that always makes him smile bashfully before he looks away from you? The one you sometimes catch, but is gone before you can really commit it to your memory? This is the first time you’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing it on his face for more than a few seconds, and it makes goosebumps erupt on your skin. 

All you can do is stare as he leads you through the dance, the entirety of his being capturing your undivided attention. A shyness bubbles underneath the surface, neither of you used to staring at one another so overtly, but you couldn’t possibly turn your gazes away. You decide that if you did somehow fall asleep at some point and this is a dream, that you’ll enjoy it for all its worth. 

You don’t know how he feels about you, really. At best you can guess, you can hope, but there’s no way for you to truly know. But what you do know is how you feel about him, and that’s enough, you think. It’s enough to make this moment the most special you’ve ever shared. It’s enough to lift up the shattered fragments of your heart and reconstruct them into something beautiful and new.

Does he love you as much as you love him? Regardless of the answer, you’ll never forget how you feel right now. A love beyond words, a happiness that transcends everything else. 

Chan, who was feeling confident until now, begins to feel a stutter in his heart. He wanted to impress you, to show you the most ideal side of himself, to make you see him, really see him, in the way he desired to be seen. But now that you are looking at him with such ardor in your eyes, with his hands on your waist and your arms around his neck, he feels like his heart could burst.

Was he once again naive to think he could put his feelings to rest after this? Foolish to believe that this moment would be enough for him to part from you satisfied with what little he had? 

Yes, he definitely was. Because the way you look at him now, he knows he can never go back to how things were before. He will want to see it again and again, paired with your sweet smile and cute mannerisms. Again, he realizes he's selfish. He doesn’t want you to look at anyone else this way, to give anyone else your affection, to smile at them the way you do at him. For better or worse, you’ll be there, in every thing he does and in every thought he has. 

Most selfish of all, he wants to kiss you so badly, to claim you as his. He wants to pull you even closer, to feel your warmth against him, to tell you that you are all he ever has, and ever will see. It’s always been you that lights up his world, always been you that gives fire to his ambitions, always you that makes his heart race and palms clam up. Since he was a child, for as long as he can remember until now, you were his everything. You became his world, everything he does revolving around you, forever drawn to you.

Before he can stop himself, his lips are on yours, connecting with you in the way he’s always dreamed of. There’s no time for him to rationalize his choice or scold himself for giving in to his selfishness. Chan has always been weak when it comes to you, after all. Unconsciously, his hands hold you a bit tighter, though he himself is unsure whether that’s because he’s afraid to let you go or because it just feels right to have you in his grasp while he kisses you.

You blink in surprise, time feeling like it has slowed to a complete stop. You feel like the air has been knocked out of you, your brain desperately trying to catch up with reality and make sense of its own racing thoughts. When Chan pulls back, you can see a panic forming in his eyes, apologies lingering on his lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have, I–” 

You pull him back to you before he can continue to ramble, continuing the kiss he started. He can’t regret this, can’t second guess letting the moment take him over; you won’t let him. You want to be lost with him, enveloped in his embrace and consumed by his touch, damn the consequences. You don’t care who catches you, you don’t care about what punishment either of you could receive; this is all you’ve ever wanted for so, so long. 

And maybe you should care, maybe you should stop him, stop yourself, but you refuse. If pushing him away is right, then you’d rather be wrong. His world may revolve around you, but yours revolves around him just as much. You can’t live without him, can’t bear to be apart from him. You want to stay with him, even if it causes everything else around you to crumble. 

You’re both breathless by the time you separate, his eyes searching over your face desperately for any sign of hesitation, because once he really has you, he’s never letting you go. “Princess, Y/N, I–” He pauses, words lodged in his throat, but his eyes convey everything. You see it, the clearest that you ever have.

“Do you love me?” You ask, watching intently as his face heats up all the way to his ears. “Please tell me. I love you, and I need to hear you say you love me too,” you all but plead, watching him swallow as he tries to conjure the words he wants to say.

He kissed you, so he can’t really deny it, but admitting it could make life even more difficult for you. Chan knows you well enough to know you’ll fight against your parents wishes, that you’d abandon your life here if it called for it, but can he let you do that? 

This is the last chance he has to listen to reason and walk away, his last chance to bury his emotions down deep, his last chance to use even just a modicum of self control.. But no, that's not what he wants to do.

Selfish, selfish, selfish. That’s all he’s ever been with you, and maybe all he ever will be. Because as much as he logically knows he should let you go, he just can’t. Because the thought of anyone other than him kissing you fills him with dread. Because even if it makes your reality harder, it’s still all he wants. 

All along, his answer has been there. He can’t turn away from you, and you won’t let him. Both of you are stubborn in your wants, both of you pulling to each other like magnets, unable to be drawn apart. That’s what makes you perfect for him, he supposes.

You're both a pair of reckless fools, willing to throw everything away for the other person. How can his answer be any different, especially when you’re looking up at him like this? Desperate to hear his answer, desperate to be loved by him and him alone. 

“I love you. I always have, from the very beginning,” Chan confesses, “I know it’s wrong, I know I’m not supposed to love you, and I’ve tried to hold it back but.. I can’t stand watching from the sidelines anymore, I can't stand the thought of you being with someone else. I love you, and I want to be the one who spends his life with you.”

‘I’m not supposed to love you.’ You hate that he had that thought, but you understand why. No matter how close you became, even when he never treated you any differently from anyone else, he wasn’t oblivious to your difference in station. Neither of you ever let your circumstances affect your friendship, but that didn’t mean the difference between you wasn’t still there. 

He recognized long ago that someone of his birth wasn’t meant to be with a princess, and he tried his best not to let his feelings for you show. You understood now too, why he became your knight despite all that it meant. Because he loved you, and that was the only way he could guarantee he would always be beside you. If he couldn't be your husband, that was the next best thing. 

"If there is anyone in this world who deserves to marry me, it's you. It's always been you, I've never wanted anyone else," you say with full sincerity. There’s no one else you would ever pick, no one else you’d ever give your life to. No matter how much time passes, how your life changes and how far apart you may end up, the love you have for your best friend, your knight, will always remain.

He kisses you again, with all his love and affection poured into it. Years worth of repressed feelings bubbling to the surface like a wellspring. His self restraint dissolves, kissing you over and over again as if his life depends on the repetition of the action. He holds you tightly, squeezing you closely to him, in a gesture that is as full of desire as it is love.

You’re both breathless when he finally allows you to separate, lips swollen and red from the continued use. You lost track of time, having no idea how much or how little the minutes have passed. All you know is Chan’s all encompassing presence, and finally knowing the feeling of his lips against yours.

You don’t want the night to end here, you realize. You don’t want to return to your room and carry on tomorrow as if this never happened. You don’t want to pretend that you’re not impossibly in love with him, you don’t want to pretend you don’t know how his body feels pressed against yours, or how it feels to have his lips on you.

“Take me to your room, Channie,” you plead, and he swallows, your request making his heart race impossibly fast. The majority of knights live in barracks, but as a royal knight in charge of the princess’ protection, his room lies close to yours, separated only by a few halls.

But despite the relatively close proximity, you’ve never actually been to Chan’s room before due to the risk. Even with your friendship being apparent, going directly to his quarters and staying for a prolonged time ran the risk of spreading untoward rumors. 

For royalty, their reputation is of the utmost importance, and while you didn’t care what people said behind your back, it was still something you had to be careful of for the sake of Chan himself. Even if you could easily recover from rumors, Chan wouldn’t be afforded that same luxury– it would undoubtedly follow him everywhere.

And this led to him often being in your room, using the pretense of his knighthood to enter your space and have private conversations and talk like friends, the way you did before he became your knight. But that was always during the daytime, and with other knights still standing out in the hall.

If those same knights saw him enter your room with you during the night, and not come back out until morning, it would certainly raise suspicions. Really, no matter what the two of you do tonight, there is risk, the probability of consequences you can’t come back from higher than it’s ever been.

“Are you sure..?” He asks, clearly worried about what could happen as a result. He wants to be with you, of course he does, but if it’s found out you stayed with him in his room for an entire night, the consequences wouldn’t be pretty. He needs to know you understand that, needs to know you want to be with him regardless of what could happen afterwards. You nod, resolve clear as you hold his hand tighter.

You were aware of the risks, but your love for him outweighed the concern. If anyone wanted to question you about being away from your room during the night, you had the confidence you needed now to fight for what you want. Now that you know he returns your feelings, you won’t let anyone get in the way of keeping you together, you’ll fight for it with all you have. And besides that, you're a princess. You were raised with the belief that the world was in the palm of your hands, so shouldn't you be allowed to have the things you want?

“I’ve thought about this a million times, Chan, I’m sure,” you tell him. Nothing will deter you from being with him– not anymore. “A million times, huh?” He teases with a smile as he pulls you along with him to exit the ballroom, his playful side coming back out as he leads you out to the hall and in the direction of his room. “Shut up,” you smile shyly as you slap his arm, a blush creeping across your face.

You have to suppress the giggle that threatens to leave you as you wind the halls together, a nostalgic sort of feeling welling in you despite this being the first time you are sneaking to his room like this. You snuck him into so many spaces, always sharing fond moments with him in secrecy, and really this is just an extension of that. 

The roles may be reversed in this instance, but the way you hold each other's hand and smile at each other is the same. The way you speak in hushed voices, the way you contain your gleeful giggles and the way you look at each other with pure joy, it's all the same.

When you reach his room, he ushers you in the door first, following behind swiftly and locking the door behind himself. “Just a moment,” he speaks softly as he moves carefully past you, lighting the candles he has on his nightstand. You use the dim light to survey your surroundings (as much as is possible, anyways,) taking note of all the things that make his space different from yours. 

Chan watches you with subtle amusement; his room really isn’t anything special, but you’re looking around it as if it’s the most interesting thing you could ever see. (And to be fair, it is a stark contrast from the luxurious space you’re used to living in.) His space, while decently sized, still pales in comparison to the size of your room. His furniture is much less exuberant in style, and bed significantly smaller than your own. But you like it better that way, you think– it feels homey. 

There’s a moment of silence that follows, not necessarily awkward, but rather hesitant as you turn your attention back to Chan. He’s sitting on his bed, looking incredibly handsome even in the dim candle light. Or did that add to it? You aren’t really sure. All you really know is that the way the subtle illumination and shadows frame his face makes your stomach twist. He really is way too handsome for his own good. 

Cautiously, you sit next to him, taking his appearance in more closely (despite the way it makes your heart feel like it’s going to implode.) He looks at you as well, taking you in just as attentively. Now that he can freely gaze at you without restriction, he wants to commit you to his memory. He wants to know your every blemish, every freckle and every line. 

You’re so impossibly beautiful– you could appear to him covered in grime and wearing tattered rags and he’d still think you were the most gorgeous thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Has he ever told you that? No, he doesn’t think he has. Every time he was awed by you, he’d look away before you could notice his blatant stare, never commenting outwardly on how incredible he thought you were. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Chan asks tentatively, eyes full of eager trepidation. It may be beyond his capabilities to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he can show you. You nod, a small "yes" leaving your lips. His hands seek you out first, resting themselves on your waist before he kisses you again.

It’s a slow, sensual kiss, one that leaves you full of butterflies. All the romance novels you read couldn't have prepared you for how it actually feels to be in the moment, for how it feels to have his hands holding you firmly as he kisses you. 

You want to move without restriction, you want to feel him closer, want to feel his touch on your bare skin. You separate, Chan watching you curiously as your face heats up in preparation for what you intend to ask. “Help me take off my dress?”

“W-What?” Chan stutters, bright red blush traveling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Did he hear you correctly? He’s certainly mistaken, right? “I-I mean, unless you think I should keep it on for the rest of the night..?” 

“N-No, right, of course not,” he says, swallowing as he watches you rise from the bed. He follows, hands trembling as watches you turn your back to him, waiting for him to help you untie your corset. He reaches out slowly, untying it as carefully as he can despite his shaking hands. 

The layers of your dress follow rather quickly after that, eager to get all the extra weight off your body and allow yourself to feel Chan's touch directly. It's not until you're at the final layer that you feel shyness creep back on you, Chan's hand stilling on your shoulders as his own nerves pick up as well. 

When he pulls it down, you'll be strictly in your underwear, the most exposed you've ever been to a man in your entire life. But as much as it makes you shy, it excites you almost equally as much. You turn around now, so that your back is no longer facing him. You cross your arms, placing your hands on top of his, looking up at his face as you guide his hands down your arms, pulling your dress down along with it.

He swallows, eyes following the path your hands lead him on, his face easily the hottest it's ever been in his entire life. You lower your arms once you are no longer able to guide his hands, letting the last piece of fabric fall to the floor around your feet. 

Fuck, he really should be looking at you respectfully, but it feels impossible. You are standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear, and you encouraged it, guided him to remove your clothing with your own hands. God, you're going to ruin him.

"Can I?" You ask as you rest your hands on his chest, the buttons of his suit easily within your reach, ready to undo them the moment he gives his approval. He does so easily, even helping you with the buttons and letting it fall to the floor the same way you did with your dress. 

You watch as he pulls the undershirt over his head, tossing it to the floor with everything else. Your eyes scan his torso, face heating up as you take in his toned physique. You assumed he was strong given his status, but you've never actually seen the proof of it until now. You'd be embarrassed for blatantly staring if not for the fact that he'd done the same to you just moments ago. It's only fair to stare at him as much as he stares at you– tit for tat, if you will. 

Chan's hands reach for his pants now, but he stops before he proceeds with removing them, looking at you as if to ask if it's okay with you before he does. Well, if the eager glint in your eye is anything to go by, you certainly want him to. He pulls them down easily after gaining your approval, kicking them off the rest of the way, (perhaps a bit unceremoniously, given the unprecedented circumstances,) not worrying at all about where they land.

You look at each other, an electric tension filling the space between you. The juxtaposition between the bashfulness and the desire leaving you temporarily stuck in place, a silent battle being waged between ‘should I act, or shouldn’t I?’

It’s typical for the man to make the first move in situations like this, isn’t it? But since when have you adhered to the stereotypical things that were expected of you? You hesitated before now out of fear– fear of what could happen to Chan and fear of your feelings being unrequited, but the minute he laid his feelings out for you, you decided there was no more time for fear, no time for hesitation. 

When you want something, you get it, and what you want right now more than anything is Chan, simple as that. You lay back on his bed now as if you own it, looking so relaxed, so assured, as you prop yourself up on your elbows and wait for him to return to your side. Fuck, do you even know what you're doing to him?

He slots himself between your legs, his body weight pressing down on you when he lowers himself to kiss you again. Your torso falls back against the bed when you lift your arms to hold his face in your hands, not letting the kiss break and dragging him back with you. His hands travel up and down your sides, always stopping just under the line of the fabric containing your breasts. 

He pulls away from your lips, looking at you closely as he lets his thumbs under the fabric ever so slightly. He’s silently asking for permission again, you realize, searching your eyes for any semblance of hesitation or regret. There’s none to be found, of course– all you feel is desire, is love. You want this as badly as he does, undeniably so. 

He pulls it up slowly, carefully, and you lift your back off the bed, allowing him to take it off you completely. You watch him swallow as he stares down at you, taking in the unfamiliar sight of your exposed chest. He’ll never admit how many times he envisioned this moment in his mind, but the reality is much better than anything his mind could have conjured up. 

When Chan finally tears his eyes away to look at your face again, you offer him a smile, one that makes his heart stutter. It’s soft, yet completely radiant, and patient. There’s no need for you to rush him along, nor do you judge him for taking his time to look you over. When it’s something special, something you’ve both wanted for so long, with more intensity than you can express, why would you rush? It should be savored, with even the smallest of details committed to memory. 

“I love you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you for what feels like the millionth time. His hands cup your breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms for the first time, squeezing (gently, of course,) every so often. When the calloused pads of his thumbs rub over your nipples for the first time, and you let out the most sinfully sweet noise he’s ever heard, he’s done for. 

He wants– no, needs, to hear it again. Again, and again, and again, all for him, only ever for him. The small, soft gasps, the shuddering breaths, the shiver that runs along the entirety of your body when he touches you– it’s addictive, so terribly addictive. “Channie–” you whine into his mouth, and he has to suppress the groan that threatens to leave his throat in response.

“Again,” he says as he begins to trail kisses beneath your ear and down the expanse of your neck, “Say my name again.” You oblige his request easily, each small whine turning into a soft moan of his name.

Your voice, so dovelike, its sweetness all encompassing, commandeering all his senses. His hands travel lower, rubbing over the plush territory of your thighs, his fingers always coming dangerously close to your center before being taken away.  

He chuckles when you huff, a small pout on your lips that he finds adorable. He doesn’t mean to tease, but he has to admit he likes the reaction it grants him. “What’s wrong, darling? I didn’t think you were so impatient,” Chan says with an amused tilt in his voice, because at the end of the day, beneath all the shyness and desire that was at the forefront, he is still the playful person he’s always been. 

“Don’t be mean, Channie,” you all but grumble, your pout growing larger. It’s not like you’re trying to rush anything, it’s just.. He knows what he's doing, and he’s doing it on purpose! Making you all needy for his touch, being so close to where you want him but not actually granting it to you. 

He smiles, that dazzling one that makes your stomach twist, confirming that he does indeed know he’s tormenting you on purpose. “Apologies, my love. You’re just so cute when you pout.” You would definitely punch him if the statement didn’t make butterflies erupt in your gut. “Chan, please,” you shamelessly whine, and oh, how that instantly turns the tables back in your favor.

He’ll do anything for you, whatever you ask, everything he can offer, it’s yours. You realize that, don’t you? That even if he teases, even if he pretends he’s fine and not completely and utterly enamored by you, he can never actually resist you. “Tell me what you want, Princess. Anything you want, it’s yours. Anything.” 

“I-I–” you start, but quickly stumble over your words. The way he’s looking at you, waiting with bated breath for your answer, eyes eager and so willing to give you his all– it sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow, willing your racing heart to calm so you can speak properly. “I want.. To feel you. Inside me.”

Chan’s breath catches in his throat, cock twitching unceremoniously in response. He wants to, it’d be pointless to pretend he doesn’t, but.. “Are– are you sure?” he asks, the question laced with genuine care despite how eager he is for you to say yes. He wants to care for you, wants to make love to you, to claim you as his in the sweetest of ways, but he doesn’t want you to move faster than you’re ready for. 

Even if your confessions were a long time coming, even though there was years worth of yearning and desire, it’s still a lot to entrust yourself to someone like that. To trust them wholeheartedly, to grant them such pleasure and believe that they’ll take care of you in return.

And he needs to know that you understand the risks and the changes it will bring, and you aren’t saying it out of some spur of the moment obligation to please him. Because he’ll be happy, no matter how long he has to wait.

“Channie,” you place your hands on his face, forcing his eyes to stay locked on your own, “I love you so much. I want to do this with you.” You can feel his face heat up under your fingers, but he smiles– one that is shy, but at the same time full of unfiltered joy. Chan leans down to kiss you once more, showing you all the love and care that he can’t express with his words. 

His hands resume their original path, tracing up and down your thighs for a few moments before he finally hooks his fingers into your underwear. He pulls them down slowly, not with the intent to tease you this time, but because he knows when he finally sees what is waiting for him underneath the fabric his heart is going to beat out of his chest. 

You adjust your legs position to make the removal easier, watching Chan with nervous excitement. It is scary, you admit, being so exposed and vulnerable in front of someone else, but there is no one else in the world you trust more. No one but Chan makes you feel this safe and secure, and he’s shown you over and over how much love he carries for you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he admits for the first time aloud. Would it be cliche to compare you to a goddess? Maybe, but that’s the only thing that comes even remotely close to conveying how alluring he thinks you are. More radiant than even Aphrodite herself, with even the wonders of the world paling in comparison to you. “Gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

You watch him bring his hands to his own underwear, slipping them off with relative ease before settling himself comfortably between your legs. “I need to get you ready, okay darling? And then I promise, I’ll give you everything you want,” Chan speaks softly and you nod, entrusting yourself to him completely. 

He’s never done this before, so he follows his instinct, doing whatever feels right in the moment. His fingers rub carefully between your folds, spreading around the wetness that accumulated there. Your breathing halts when the pads of his fingers press against your hole, body tingling with overwhelming desire. Slowly, carefully, he pushes his middle finger inside.

The sensation is unfamiliar, but not at all unpleasant– in fact, the back and forth motion of his finger as it slides in and out quickly begins to draw soft whimpers from your lips. Soon enough, he’s adding a second finger, watching how they disappear in you with an almost mystified gaze. He can’t believe how snug you feel around his fingers, how wet and warm and fuck, he can’t even begin to imagine how good it’s going to feel around his cock. 

“Ah-!” you gasp loudly when, after some exploration, his fingers find a bundle of nerves that makes every nerve in your body erupt in pleasure. Your head falls back against his pillows, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the slew of loud noises that threaten to leave you everytime he rubs over it again. 

His fingers pump in and out at a steady pace now, not too fast as to overwhelm you, but enough to have stars constantly erupting in your vision. Your hands tightly grip the sheets beneath you, legs trembling and knot tightening in your gut unbelievably fast. Chan’s name leaves your mouth over and over between breaths and whines, like a looped mantra, the salacious melody you create music to his ears.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the loud whimpers and moans that rip through you as you come undone on Chan’s fingers. Would it be sacrilegious to call your noises heavenly when the reason for them is so sinful? He wishes more than anything he could hear them unfiltered, to allow them to flow freely from your lips without a care in the world about the volume and who could hear them. 

He slowly stills his fingers as you come down from your high, taking in the sight of you and memorizing every detail. The rise and fall of your chest as you catch your breath, the rosy tint of your cheeks, the beads of sweat that linger on your brow, all coming together to create an ethereal image. 

Chan plants soft kisses on your face as he gently slides his fingers out of you, complimenting you on how pretty you sound and beautiful you look. "Channie–" you start, and he smiles, knowing exactly what you intend to whine about. "Don't worry, my love. I'll keep my promise."

He takes his fingers, still wet with your release, and rubs them up and down his length, mixing his pre-cum with it along the way. As you watch you realize that his cock is much bigger than his fingers, and you wonder how it'll fit when just two fingers alone already felt like so much. 

“Are you ready?” Chan checks in with you when he’s lined up with your entrance, ready to stop at a moment's notice if you decide this is too much too soon. He can see the subtle worry beneath the anticipation, notices the way you unconsciously hold your breath when he presses against you. It's true, you are nervous, but not enough so to make you change your mind. So you nod, and he moves one of his hands to yours, intertwining your fingers. 

“Squeeze if you need to, okay? I'll go slow,” Chan assures you, placing a soft kiss on your temple before he begins. There’s a sharp intake of breath from you when he slowly begins to push inside, the sting being much more intense than you had anticipated. It goes beyond the discomfort you expected, eyes squeezing shut and your grip on his hand tightening. 

The minute Chan feels you squeeze his hand tighter, he pauses just as promised. You open your eyes after a moment, looking up at Chan to try and push the sting to the back of your mind. He's breathing heavily, brows knit together in a combination of pleasure and concern, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

It takes all his self control to not get lost in the sensation around him, needing to make sure he takes care of you properly. He can't hurt you, can't lose himself before making sure you'll feel good too, needs to put you above all else. 

"Do you need me to stop?" he asks, and you quickly shake your head no, expressing again how much you want to be connected with him in every way possible. Leaning down now, he kisses you until the discomfort subsides, whispering sweet words to you when he resumes the push, praising you over and over again until he's completely within you. 

You're still squeezing his hand, not due to any pain or discomfort this time, but to ground yourself through the overwhelming sensation of Chan being deep inside you. He continues kissing you softly, going above and beyond to ensure that you're relaxed and comfortable. "Love you so much Channie," you tell him, and he smiles sweetly, heart so full of adoration and infatuation for you. 

“Love you more,” he kisses you, ”so much,” another kiss, “never letting you go.” You giggle softly between his kisses, his words making your heart flutter. After graciously accepting a bit more of his doting, you soon notice that no trace of the initial sting or discomfort remains. In fact, being so full of him feels good, your body unconsciously seeking friction. 

“Channie, I’m ready now, want you to move, please,” you beg with such a soft and cute voice, he knows there is no way he can resist. Well, not that he would ever deny you what you want in the first place. With one last kiss, and reassuring squeeze to your hand, he finally allows himself to move. 

Slowly, as gently as he can, he pulls out, pressing back inside in one fluid motion when only the tip remains, repeating the action through shaky breaths and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Even with the languid pace, it's enough to drive him insane. Every detail of you, from the way you look, the way you sound, the way you feel wrapped around him, so snug and warm and inviting– it’s intoxicating. 

Chan’s arms reach beneath you, hooking under your back and hands holding your shoulders, keeping your body closely pressed against his own. His face is buried in your neck, low groans beneath your ear, for you and you alone to hear. You make your own effort to keep him close as well; one hand tangling in his curly hair and the other tightly gripping his bicep.

He’s going slow, not just for your sake, but for his own. Because if he doesn’t he’s going to blow, because he wants to live in this moment for as long as he possibly can, because being close to you like this is everything he’s ever dreamed of. You’re his, finally his, and he wants it to last, wants to indulge in the feeling and the emotion of being your chosen lover. 

It takes him a few tries to find the spot that makes you see stars with just his cock, but he knows he’s found it when you (unwittingly) let out a loud moan, nails digging into his skin and eyes rolling back. He picks up his pace now, chasing the sound of your pleasure-filled voice, wanting to hear you call his name over and over again.

He kisses you again when your combined noises begin to grow in pitch, muffling one another in a desperate attempt to keep the sounds of pleasure confined to the 4 walls of Chan’s room. You want to be quiet, you know you should be, but you truly can’t help it. But if he’s being honest, he likes that you can’t keep your voice down, likes that he’s making you feel so good that you can’t suppress it.

Chan is getting close now, and he pulls himself away from your lips, wanting to look at you once more before his approaching orgasm overtakes him. Even now, when you're breathless, cheeks red and hair sticking to your forehead due to the sweat, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

"Wanna cum in you," he manages to say between his low moans, “will you let me, please? Need to fill you up, need to make you mine forever, just like I'm yours."

Once again, your stomach flips, the words having an immense effect on you. "Y-Yes, yes, cum in me, I'm yours, only yours," you answer easily, wanting nothing more than to feel (and watch) him come apart because of you. His pace stutters following your permission, thrusts growing quick and sloppy as he chases his high, groans turning into drawn out whines. 

The faster pace sends you reeling, toes curling has the knot in your stomach tightens and snaps in quick succession. You pull Chan back down to you, kissing him deeply as you cum around his cock, both to muffle yourself and as a gesture of the all consuming love you feel for him. He lets out soft, desperate whimpers as he releases inside you, ropes of cum painting your walls white.

You both stay like that for a few moments– breathlessly wrapped in one another's embrace, sharing soft kisses as you come down from your highs, soft admissions of love leaving your lips. You wince when Chan’s softening length pulls out of you, feeling extremely sensitive following the loss of your virginity. 

Chan blows out the candles before he lays down next to you, leaving the moonlight coming through his window as the only illumination. He intended to pull you close to him, but he didn't have to– you snuggle up to him the moment you can, laying your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around his torso, legs tangling with his.

His racing heartbeat begins to slow, an extreme relaxation sweeping over his body. He closes his eyes, your soft breathing serving as his own personal lullaby. Carefully, he reaches his free arm out for his blanket, pulling it over to cover your nude bodies.

He’s nearly asleep when he hears you softly call his name, voice quiet but still loud and clear in his ears. “What is it, darling?” he asks as he opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at you. There’s a moment of silence that follows as you consider how best to voice what you want to say, but Chan is patient, looking at you with a soft gaze.

“Do you.. Think we can really get married?” You finally ask, and Chan’s heart squeezes in his chest when you do. He can hear the tremble in your voice so clearly, feels the way you hold him tighter as you wait for him to answer.

If he’s being truthful, he doesn’t know. It’s what he wants, what he hopes for more than words can express, but just doesn’t know. And it breaks his heart to see you like this– clearly vulnerable and unsure. You’ve always sought out Chan for comfort, but it’s different this time. Different because you now know the depths of love you both share, the desire to always be together and the fear that you’ll be driven apart.

You’ll fight for your love, of course you will, because there is no happiness to be had if Chan isn’t by your side. But you don’t want to have to fight for it, you don’t want either of you to suffer, you don’t want Chan to be driven away from you by people who don’t understand and don’t value him for who he is. You want your love to be accepted, to openly profess your love, to marry the only person you’ve ever had eyes for.

Tears are welling in your eyes, and he can see them even in the dim moonlight. “Y/N..” he uses his free arm to reach for your face, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall with his thumb. “I’m going to marry you. No matter what I have to do, I will,” Chan tells you, voice gentle but resolute. He meant it when he said he’s never letting you go, meant it when he said he’ll always be yours and always be beside you.

He doesn’t know what the future holds– if things will come easy for you both, or if you’ll have to fight tooth and nail just to be with each other. But he knows that no matter what the answer is, he will be with you. Whether in your toughest moments or happiest, he’ll be there. Holding your hand, giving you his love, sticking with you until the end of his days.

Whether it’s tomorrow, months, or even years from now, he’ll be your husband. You’ll be the one he shares his life with, the one he starts a family with, the one he sees every morning and every night. He’ll hold you close, starting your days with ‘I love you’s’ and ending them with the same, giving you all he has to give. 

“No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together, okay? I love you so much,” Chan says and you nod, a soft smile on your face as you wipe your eyes and lay your head back down against him. “Love you, Channie.” He kisses your head softly, urging you to relax, to fall asleep, and not worry about what could be, but indulge in what is.

Indulge in the love you share, the feeling of closeness as you lie together in his bed, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear and his gentle reassurances. He’ll still be here when you wake up, will keep you in his arms, holding you close and making sure you know how much he adores you, how much he loves you. Because no matter what the future brings, you still have this moment. You still have each other.

[kurishiri]

alfons v.s. ring . . . alfons sylvatica END 🪞

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: a public display of affection. enjoy this alfons fluff where he gets jelly and sulky 🤭

Alfons: Well, Kate... between me and Ring, who do you choose as your lover?

(Hm... it’s a really hard choice, but I would choose...)

Kate: I choose you then, Alfons.

Ring: I see...

Alfons: I suppose that is simply to be expected [1], seeing that Kate is positively head over heels for me.

Kate: I-I mean, yes, I do like you... but there’s more to this than that too...

K: From what I could see since arriving here at the manor, I felt you were cut out for this.

After all, he possessed an observant eye to catch the pair of bracelets, and he was also able to gather information about room assignments.

His quick judgment and reflexes were exceptional to say the least,

so even putting any favoritism aside, I still would have thought it better to choose Alfons.

Ring: ...I agree, I thought it was incredible how you used your ability.

R: I really do have a lot to learn. Even if I find it frustrating thinking that about someone as unpleasant as you.

R: I’m starting to see what Dari meant when he said this would be a good learning opportunity.

Alfons: If you so wish for it, Ring, I will be more than happy to teach you a great many things.

A: That said, I reckon there is nothing more important than being aware of your strengths and making them a part of yourself.

Ring: If I do that, will I someday be able to... um...

(...?)

While muttering to himself, Ring looked over at me.

——It was at that moment when Alfons, who was standing next to me, grabbed my chin.

Kate: Mn!?

And then my vision was filled to the brim with him as I realized I was being kissed.

Kate: mn...huu...ah...

(We’re... we’re still in front of Ring though...)

It was as though he was making a show out of it, his tongue intertwining with mine, making wet sounds and gently biting my lips.

I felt as though the embarrassment I was feeling would take me away any moment, but the kiss felt so good...

...and it wasn’t long before my mind was filled with nothing else but Alfons.

Kate: ...mn...

A while passed before, satisfied, Alfons let go.

Alfons: So, when you say, ‘If I do that, will I someday be able to...’

A: Would it be safe to say that you meant that you would like Kate here to acknowledge you as well?

Ring: Ah... yeah... I guess, something like that.

R: This time, I wasn’t able to do much.

Seeing the two of us suddenly initiate a kiss without so much as a warning, Ring responded with a somewhat resigned tone.

Kate: Well… I did choose Alfons this time, but that’s not to say you were incompetent in any way, Ring.

K: Your ability to take action today has helped a lot… so really, thank you.

Ring: …Is that so? Then I’m glad.

Alfons: For the record… I have absolutely no intention of handing the role of being Kate’s lover to you.

A: Whether for a mission or in private, not now, and not ever, yes?

After we separated from Ring, we entered the room we were aiming for and completed the mission.

Kate: Looks like we managed to get a hold of the deal’s time and place without issue.

Alfons: That we indeed did. And now that we have completed this mission without so much as a hitch, why don’t we head back?

Kate: …

Alfons: Is there something on your mind?

Kate: I do find it this bit hard to say… but since I don’t want to mull on it, I’ll just say it outright.

K: Alfons, are you angry?

Alfons: …Now whatever makes you think that?

Kate: I mean, this room is meant for doing those kinds of things…

K: So, you know, I thought that you would have pushed me down on the bed by now, under normal circumstances.

K: Or maybe ask if we could do a medical role play, seeing as we have a stethoscope here that we used to eavesdrop on them, something like that…

Alfons: Ahha! I do find myself wondering just what your mind is making of me, coming up with such scenarios?

Kate: ‘A walking offense to public morals.’

Alfons: Well… I suppose there is some truth to that.

Even being told that, Alfons still seemed unclear.

(At first I thought he was angry, but I can’t think of anything that would make him so in the first place.)

(…Unless.)

Kate: You’re not angry, but rather sulking… is that it?

Alfons: Sulking, you say…

Kate: Not that I know why, but I guess… you sort of came off that way a bit, so.

Alfons: …

A: I, for the love of me, could not make any sense of this. It’s the first time I’m feeling something so strange, so what to call this was positively beyond me.

A: But now that you mention it, perhaps it is as you say.

The Alfons in front of me looked like a child who didn’t know what to make of what he was feeling, and seeing that, I couldn’t help but feel slightly worried.

Kate: Do you know why you may be feeling this way?

Alfons: Because of Ring, if I had to say.

A: You were practically spoiling him so much, what could I do other than be by my lonesome and sulk away?

(So, did he kiss me in front of Ring out of spite? But even so…)

Kate: To be clear, I wasn’t spoiling Ring.

Alfons: But you were following him and whatnot, no?

A: I assume you would tire of a lecherous scoundrel like myself and find yourself drawn to someone more pure in disposition, no?

(How to say it… Alfons seems a tad bit… troublesome?)

(…But I also can’t help but think that very side of him is just as endearing as well.)

Kate: The reason I’ve been following Ring, as you say…

K: …is because I wouldn’t like it if he got the wrong idea about you being someone who only relished in other’s reactions.

K: Besides, he did say in the beginning that if anything happened, he would cut them down… and if possible, I would like to avoid a fight that came down to that.

Alfons: …

Kate: And all that aside, weren’t you the one who wanted Ring to come along in the first place?

K: If you didn’t like Ring, you could’ve chosen one of the other two.

Alfons: Darius seems to have a questionable character at best, and Nica looks to be a philanderer. I would want to play with anyone but those two.

Kate: Aside from that, though, were you also thinking I’d get involved with them?

Alfons: Yes, actually, very much so, considering of all people, the one you have fallen in love with was me.

(Urgh, I can’t argue with that…)

Kate: …My feelings won’t ever sway. The only one I’ll ever like is you, Alfons.

K: Besides, you are also the one who made me think of nothing but you, right?

When I tried to clearly make my point so he would believe me, Alfons finally relaxed and gave me a smile.

Alfons: Indeed… then, one last thing.

A: You’re quite drawn to Ring, are you not?

Kate: T-that is…

Alfons: Unfortunately, I am not so easily fooled. I do watch over you closely, after all.

Kate: I won’t deny being a bit drawn to him. But it’s not in any romantic way.

K: What I mean to say is Ring is like a younger brother who is in his rebellious phase… do you not feel that way toward him as well?

K: I see the world with you at its center. And if that’s the case…

K: …then I end up seeing Ring as like a tall younger brother, so I can’t help but want to spoil him, so to speak…

Alfons: ……… [surprised]

Kate: And when he said he had a lot of experience, he was probably lying about that. And so I felt like I couldn’t leave him alone.

Alfons: …Pfft, ahahaha! Now that is something I was not expecting…

A: That said, I do see where you come from. One just cannot help but want to tease someone like him.

Kate: Do go easy on him though, okay?

Alfons: I wiiill.

With that weight off his chest, a refreshing smile played on his lips.

Alfons: Then, how about we do a role play? One where ‘it’s my first time,’ that is.

to be continued…

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

← prev epilogue →

NOTES:

[1] Alfons could be saying this to Ring, as in sort of implying that it’s unfortunate for Kate to have not chosen Ring.

full masterlist 🪞💍

[jesncin]

The Potential of Asian Lois Lane. Pt 1: Girl Taking Over and American Alien, a comparative analysis

Lois Lane has had many iterations over the years. But specifically in the last decade, Lois has been reimagined as an Asian American woman in both the comics and recently in the animated show My Adventures with Superman.

I believe making Lois Asian is a very inspired choice for the Superman mythos! I would like to take a moment to analyze these versions of Lois from an Asian perspective, seeing what works, what doesn't, and what I'd like to see more of. We'll start with the comics first, as MAWS is going to need its own post.

Usual disclaimers: I'm just one Asian perspective, I do not and never will claim to cover every Asian person's opinion on a thing ever. We're not a monolith, we come from a variety of backgrounds and experiences. I'm simply a fan who enjoys media analysis and believes it's valuable to have my perspective in this topic. Secondly, this discussion covers the comic run American Alien, which is written by Max Landis. He's an ultra creep and while I think the comic is worth a read for what it is, I leave it up to you whether you'd like to buy the comic. You can always arg-arg-ahoy otherwise.

I'd like to start with Girl Taking Over: A Lois Lane Story written by Sarah Kuhn with art by Arielle Jovellanos. This is a self contained YA graphic novel about a young Japanese American Lois dealing with the ups and downs of breaking into journalism as a career in National City. When her dream internship at Catco gets a corporate take over, Lois seizes an opportunity to write an exposé on a shady art director. But when her story is turned down, Lois does some out of the box things to get the story of marginalized performers shared with the world.

Girl Taking Over is a fantastic story and I happily recommend it to anyone looking for how an Asian American Lois could be reimagined (with fabulous art by Arielle! The fashion especially is on-point). This story isn't just a diverse coat of paint on a Lois Lane story, being Asian informs Lois' experiences and choices. Both she and her frenemy roommate Miki, are ambitious Asian women yet have hidden insecurities where they still made themselves small to their respective white male bosses. They played into model minority in different ways, and it's only by working together that they're able to foster a community for their stories to be told.

Lois and Miki don't just "have a diverse friend group", that friend group is actively being taken advantage of and suppressed by white gatekeepers. By extension, Lois' friends from work find solidarity in each other. Lois looks up to Cat Grant, a Filipina-American journalist, because seeing Cat succeed made Lois feel like her dream as a journalist is possible. I love how Lois' mom (a character so rarely expanded on in DC canon) acts as a voice of comfort for Lois in the story. All these characters feel holistic and whole, going through their own unique struggles.

It's clear from interviews with both the writer and artist that they care for the history of Lois, and saw an opportunity to reimagine her in a way that aligns with her character but also revitalizes her for new readers of color who aren't used to seeing themselves reflected in media. It's taking Lois' ambition and fearlessness and channeling them into the need to be a model minority, and the insecurities that can come from the desire to succeed constantly. It's taking a character historically frustrated by sexism and disrespected by her male peers- including Clark Kent (who got better treatment than her as a man), and expanding her to be a Lois that has to deal with both sexism and racism in the workplace. It's humanizing Lois' excellence into something painfully specific and relatable for many Asian women.

The only thing I feel I want from this version of Lois is... honestly more of her! I want to see what Japanese Lois does when she moves to Metropolis and works at the Daily Planet. I want to see how her experiences in National City informs her adulthood. Girl Taking Over sets up an incredible groundwork for stories to be told in the Superman mythos. How would Lois react to Superman, a fellow immigrant? Would Superman see himself in Lois? Since she's someone who, in the American context, is perceived as the perpetual foreigner? What would their relationship be like? Out of all the Asian Lois' in media we have so far, this Asian Lois' story has the most rich potential in my opinion.

Up next, we have American Alien written by Max Landis. This 7 issue series swaps artists for each issue, as a means of reflecting different milestones in Clark's life. I will be focusing on issues #4, 5, and 7 since those have the most prominent Lois appearances. With that, I'd like to celebrate the artists for those issues: Jae Lee (issue 4), Francis Manapul (issue 5), and Jock (issue 7). All these artists did a fantastic job, their art styles are energetic and fun to look at. Lee and Manapul are both Asian artists (Korean and Filipino respectively) and I love how they draw Lois- who looks undeniably Asian in their art styles.

American Alien is a modern take on the Superman tale. It expands Clark's story to be connected to Batman, Green Lanterns, Green Arrow, and more. We see Clark grow from his days in Smallville to a city boy in Metropolis, coming into his own as Superman. It's a bold and pretty divisive take with some standout story moments. From what I know, this is likely the first time Lois has been reimagined as Asian- and continues to influence Superman media like MAWS (the producer specifically calls out this comic as inspiration).

In issue #4, Clark moves in to his Metropolis apartment and talks on the phone to his mom about "some bigshot guy named Louis Lane". The reader, likely familiar with the Superman mythos, knows Clark is coming in with biases and a preconceived notion of who he considers a promising student reporter. Once we meet Lois Lane however, the comic turns the reader's expectations on their head:

Lois Lane is an Asian American woman (it's not specified what her exact ethnicity is)! This is a fun moment where the comic metatextually challenged the reader's own biases, showing it's not just Clark who had a different idea of who Lois Lane could be.

Lois' introductory panel is my personal favorite part of her characterization in American Alien. Lois proudly stands as a wall of text behind her recounts how she was considered as a winner for the Daily Planet's Charlton Memorial Laureate Program. When asked why she deserves a place on the program, Lois snaps back that the very question itself is loaded. She's listed her credentials and looks professional- so she's either already been rejected and is just being made to "at least had my say" or she's been accepted and is "meant to garnish my success with eloquent affirmation" to which Lois refuses to do either.

This is a great defiant introduction to Lois, showcasing how jaded she is with the way the world perceives her- but is very confident in her self worth as a journalist. By the end of the issue she reaches out to Clark to combine their exclusive interviews into one story to make a big impression on the news. Her words inspire Clark to seize an opportunity to make a big change in the world as Superman.

Afterwards, the comic plays the classic Superman and Lois dynamic straight. Lois is initially suspicious of Superman, but eventually comes around and is inspired to hope through him. There's a great back and forth between the two where Lois' words initially inspire Clark to be Superman, then Clark assures Lois that Superman is probably just a good guy, and when Clark loses hope from a bad day of heroism, Lois gives him hope again. In the end, Lois realizes her love for Clark Kent over Superman and they share a passionate ending kiss.

Overall American Alien nails the Clark and Lois dynamic and understands their relationship. I consider this Asian Lois "just okay". I like that we get to see an adult jaded Asian Lois meet Clark Kent and Superman, and see them get together. Similarly to Girl Taking Over, I'd like to see how this Lois and Clark would play out. My only issue with American Alien's Lois is a sense of missed opportunities.

The writing overall leaves room for plausible deniability over Lois' Asian identity. The artists (particularly Lee and Manapul) are doing the heavy lifting delivering Asian Lois. If she was drawn as a white woman, none of the writing would need adjustment. Sure her introductory panel implies that people judge her based on her appearance- but that could be just sexism instead of the intersectional experience of Asian Lois going through racism and sexism. Clark did assume she was a man after all- it's never specified if he assumed she was a white man. The only thing you'd lose is the metatextual shock value of Lois Being Asian This Time. That's really what this Lois boils down to, initial shock value with no specific writing to follow through. Her marginalization and identity is written broadly enough that it could be attributed to general sexism and womanhood. It's not specific to being an Asian American woman.

However, because of its broadness, there's room for Lois' Asian identity to be built on in the world of American Alien. The story centers Clark's experiences, but I can easily imagine a continuation of the story expanding on Lois'. The basic groundwork is there. I think it's telling that in a comic called American Alien, we get a more diverse Superman cast system. Jimmy Olsen is Black, Lois Lane is Asian- when Clark moves to the city it feels expansive compared to Smallville. It's a world that feels ready to tackle themes of racism if it was ever to continue (and probably in the hands of a writer with that kind of life experience!). In the end, there's room for this Asian Lois to be something special. Clark isn't the only American Alien in American Alien, if you catch my drift.

You can see how Girl Taking Over has a huge piece of what American Alien is missing. The characters aren't just diverse for shock value, they're not an aesthetic change over historically white characters. They have a story to tell that is inseparable from their identities. Whereas in American Alien, the art is doing the heavy lifting with the reimagined diverse characters- Girl Taking Over has both the writing and art carry the representation. Lois can't be changed into being white in Girl Taking Over.

Both of these stories have potential- but if I had the choice to pick which story should continue, it would easily be Girl Taking Over. This graphic novel works for what it is: it makes sense that this is a younger and idealistic Lois that hasn't met Clark or Superman yet. It's a YA book and Lois can absolutely carry a story on her own. What I want as an Asian fan, is for the potential of Asian Lois Lane to be seen through to the point it's considered the definitive version. As of right now, Girl Taking Over is a fun twist on the Lois Lane story. Not something that is seen as inseparable from the Superman mythos. However! If those themes of marginalization and immigrant identity are tapped into for both Superman and Lois Lane? I feel that has the potential to radically strengthen the overall themes of Superman. It's certainly been touched on before.

(TW/CW: racial slur mention in below image)

Superman Smashes the Klan by Gene Yang with art by Gurihiru is a retelling of the Clan of the Fiery Cross arc in the classic radio show The Adventures of Superman where Superman faces off with the Klan who had been terrorizing a Chinese American family. The graphic novel adapts the story to center the Chinese American characters, and makes it a point to show that Superman relates to them. If that dynamic was applied to Asian Lois, that feels like a definitive love story waiting to happen.

The classic two person love triangle with Clark and Lois is that Lois loves Superman and is indifferent to Clark Kent. She thinks Superman is this ideal macho man and Clark is a cowardly fumbling guy at work who rivals her. What happens when you take that dynamic and made it so Lois identified with Superman- the more othering identity? How complicated would that make Clark Kent feel? How would he navigate that when his marginalization isn't always visible? That's a whole new depth to the love triangle we're not used to seeing. I feel so far, none of these versions of Lois have touched upon this potential dynamic. The perpetual foreigner, Lois Lane and the ultimate alien foreigner that is Superman. The jaded city girl meets the alien farm boy who gives her hope. They inspire each other to be more of themselves in a world not ready to accept either of them.

Up next, we'll be discussing My Adventures with Superman's Korean Lois Lane in pt 2. It's well. You can probably guess how I feel about it from what I wrote here but welp. We'll talk about it.

[lightlyknitted]

Where to find free patterns

Vintage patterns can be a great resource for all sorts of knits and because many are out of copyright they are free to access. 

I have two websites I go to for free vintage patterns. They are freevintageknitting.com and freevintagecrochet.com. These are my first stop for newer vintage patterns because it collects old out of print pamphlets and makes them easy to read. The sites also have information on discontinued yarn, hook and needle conversion and more. They are a great start to historical (or vintage) knitting. 

For older books you can head to archive.org/details/knittingreferencelibrary. Books in this collection are simply photocopies so you would need to translate the patterns yourself. But it does contain Victorian to WW 2 books. 

Blogs and sites like Ravelry are also a good place to start looking for patterns. There are many free versions of vintage patterns and paid for ones can be helpful because the authors will do the work of updating the needles, yarn and pattern wordage. 

When working with vintage or antique patterns there are a few things to keep in mind. One is stitch definitions — always check what the pattern book describes as each stitch you’re making (this is very important for crochet!) Another one is to convert the needle size and find a good yarn substitution. 

Before you start transcribing or picking a new yarn, make sure it can fit you and if you’ll want to try grading. Vintage sizes are different than modern ones and it is best to use a guide to get an estimate. 

Here’s a quick chart with some measurements for vintage sizes https://purplekittyyarns.com/vintage-body-measurements-size-chart.

The next step is to start transcribing and depends on how old the pattern is. The older the pattern the more likely you'll want to read it through and decide if you need to transcribe it.

This can include typing up the pattern in a way which makes sense for you or to map it out on a chart. This can take a few tries and I like to start with smaller and less complicated patterns. Occasionally you might not even need to transcribe it. 

Next you’ll need to find the yarn substitution which will give you needles as well. If the pattern includes a gauge use that as a guideline to find a substitution. For a more in depth read visit https://knitpal.com/blogs/knitpal/how-to-substitute-yarn-for-vintage-knitting-patterns. 

And once you've found the size you'll need, made the pattern readable and found your replacement you're ready to start knitting. Happy cast on!

[antiphilosophia]

Crowley's pre-fall name is BARAQIEL (THEORY)

THIS POST MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS OR RATHER CLUES FOR GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 CONTENTS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION 🤍

Very well. Who doesn't love the Crowley is the Archangel Raphael theory (I am certainly of those people who do). During my first watch of Good Omens S2 I was even somehow almost confident that that was the case.

However, my second, more careful, viewing of this lovely (but equally heartbreaking) season made me change my mind, likely for good. In episode 4, Furfur's book "Demon's Guide To Angelic Beings Who Walk The Earth" shows us a name of a certain angel Baraqiel. (see photo below) Knowing Good Omens that can hardly be a coincidence.

Unfortunately, the very text is quite unreadable. One thing, other than the name, which is pretty clear is the subheading "Angel of the Sky" and since the episode 1 lets us take a look at how Crowley did indeed take part in creation of what is to be seen in the night sky, one can hardly find that entirely non-fitting. One other sentence I was (at least I think) able to read is "Often draped in red."

(On a different note but certainly worth noticing are scribbles that generally just roast Crowley – his suspiciousness, hair and name (though I am not absolutely sure of the latter) "His hair is bad!" Wow, Furfur really does hate Crowley.)

Then there is something written above the name of Baraqiel, unfortunately in none of the picture frames does it get a bit readable. I wonder though, couldn't it be "former"? Since it comes precisely after mention of Crowley to whom should one report on Aziraphale.

Crowley is very powerful. Dominion

A word that is not exactly readable but can be deduced from its placement (it is situated just as Aziraphale's "Principality") is Baraqiel's rank – Dominion Angel. It should be noted here that I very much lack proper knowledge of either Jewish or Christian mythology and I would hate to provide any incorrect claims. I therefore think it is better for me not to overly state things, even more so since everyone can look into it on their own and figure out what that might mean for our beloved demon. What I will say, however, is that they are (as I understand it) very powerful and, placed within the 2nd triad in the angel hierarchy, ranked higher than the Archangels. This would go well along with the emphasis that was in my opinion laid on Crowley's powers quite a lot this season.

For example: "A miracle of enormous power happened last night. The kind of miracle only the mightiest of archangels could've performed," said Shax to Crowley, to which he replied: "How'd you know I didn't do it?" He didn't get an answer.

What I think (and I may be very wrong, obviously) is that a miracle of this vastness wouldn't have happened simply because of a regular angel and a regular demon did together half a miracle each. What is also worth noticing is that the tool with which Crowley created the Nebula is the same as the one he used to temporarily stop time at the end of season 1 right before Satan's arrival. So much to the size of his powers.

Baraqiel, lightning of God. Fallen angel

Finally, to Baraqiel himself. My lack of knowledge concerning this matter still stands and frankly I don't even know where to find valid information about angels and such on the internet. Baraqiel should, however, stand for "lightning of God" and is also regarded as the angel of lightning. In season 2 there are (as far as I remember) two occasions where Crowley is put in correlation with lightning. (1) His poor anger management issues in episode 1 and (2) his not at all better matchmaking in episode 3 ("I haven't done weather in ages"). Furthermore, Baraqiel is considered to be the one who taught astrology to people. Nevertheless, what points to Crowley and Baraqiel being one even more is that Baraqiel is indeed a fallen angel.

•

So... That is probably it. I usually tent to theorize about stuff in quiet, in fact, this is the first time I've used Tumblr for anything other than reading Neil Gaiman's posts. I didn't even think that I would actually post it but then I've searched on Twitter, TikTok and here on Tumblr if anyone else has already come up with this theory. The only post I could find (hopefully I haven't missed anything) was by @valaza_04 on Twitter (click here) where they refer to the same frame shot as I do here.

Now I know, we are still recovering from heartbreaking (but if you ask me, absolutely amazing) finale and the main thing currently on our minds is figuring out why would Aziraphale choose as he did and the many wonderful theories that come with it. However, considering the utterly virulent look that Metatron shot at Crowley before walking out of the bookshop with Aziraphale and also his "Well, [Crowley] always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions, too." makes me think that he absolutely does not care for Crowley and whichever angel he was before the Fall. And I reckon it won't remain unnoticed in season 3 and might even be really important (or that is just me wishing for more pre-fall Crowley scenes). Hence I decided that I will post this. And it doesn't matter if no one will see this in the end, it was quite fun to write. However, if there is someone who will read this all the way through, I hope they will accept my apology for the mistakes I have most possibly made (English is not my first language) and also for the ridiculous length this post has come to gather. It turns out, I am just as chatty of a writer as I am speaker.

Well maybe I will come around to write one more post about this theory, only with a proper research this time. Till then thank you and, please, support this season by streaming as much as you can so we can have season 3 of this masterpiece of a show. And be kind to those bringing it to us in your comments regarding the ending, even though it is very frustrating and heart-shattering, it is also maybe the best ending we could have hoped for with the prospects of season 3.

Thank you for letting me talk my heart out, Tumblr.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Jake, Steven) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst. Angst angst angst! Mentions of childhood trauma, child abuse, self-doubt

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long guys, I've been going through... well, a lot lately and it pained me because I wanted to work on so much but I've been so emotionally-burnt out I've been struggling creatively (Yet again falling into the age-old trap of "My stuff is never as good as ___'s" that many of us struggle with)

But I'm hoping, that with this, I can start to feel a bit better!

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika

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Chapter 10:

On The Wings Of An Icarus

Jake knew Layla still didn’t fully trust him, based on his propensity for violence. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she downright hated him, and only tolerated him and spoke politely to save face, for Marc and Steven’s sake.

But, god help him if he didn’t go all out after that night; the night he noticed your soul mark. He showed no mercy on those that Khonshu dispensed him after. Layla practically had to knock him out to get him off; and if he didn’t reign in his control when he did, Marc and Steven would have known something was up. That calm, cool, and collected Jake had cracked because of something and he knew they would attempt to either front or co-front to find out what had shaken him so.

He fisted the glass in his gloved hand, reigning himself in just enough to avoid cracking it.

Three crescent moons, all connected. Each one waxing or waning depending on who was in control of their body or simply co-fronting. You said so yourself.

God, who else could that be referencing if not he, Marc, and Steven? He doubted it was just a goddamned coincidence.

It killed him that he had to keep it a secret from the two of them, but he had no choice. It hurt worse knowing that he wouldn’t be able to tell you–probably never.

You were so… so close. And so far. Like a mirage of an oasis in the desert, always on the horizon, tangible enough to see but not close enough to touch, to hold in his hands.

But… even if they couldn't approach you as their soulmate... Jake could at least let Marc and Steven have you as their friend. Maybe that would assuage the tugging he already knew that they felt.

He had to think of an excuse for if–when–they noticed your mark… Steven would most likely notice it first; he had a habit of looking anywhere else other than someone’s face when he conversed with them, picking at his oversized sleeves and keeping his eyes moving while over-informative words poured from his mouth. Marc was… less observant to such things.

But he would definitely notice if he spent more time with you (not as significantly as Steven does, but still), Marc would get comfortable, enough to let his eyes wander, to open himself up to you. After all… you were their soulmate, it was only natural to feel safe enough around the other half of your very existence, to let your guard down. It was a dangerous game Jake was betting on, being so close to you. He wanted to keep you away, to keep you safe.

But… was it so wrong they have this? Even just a friend? All the horrors they'd been subjected to, the pain, the abuse, the loss… Would it still be so bad to have you, even in that tiny capacity?

But at the same time… if Khonshu tried to use you as leverage–assuming he didn't already know about you–he wouldn't be able to contain himself if something happened under Khonshu’s supervision, as lax as it could be at times.

If someone hurt you? Fuck, he would snap.

He would fight and keep fighting until whoever it was was a bloody mass of pulp and bone fragments.

He looked into his glass of bourbon, a smoky honey flavor that tasted like it had been aged close to a decade. A bit pricey, given the pub he was at, but he needed something right now, something strong enough to numb his mounting anxiety.

His hand slid beneath his jacket to touch his shirt, his gloved fingers knotting in the crisp white fabric as he remembered the night when that human trafficker stabbed him, and he subsequently ripped the knife out.

He'd apologized to you, then, without realizing it was you he apologized to, for being so reckless.

But now that he knew... the guilt came back. How could he be so reckless? So foolhardy as to not take note of his surroundings to prevent that?

You could feel each other's pain. That realization made the abuse he and Marc–and even Steven to a degree–suffered with as a child even worse. The pain your tiny, frail body probably felt–the burns, the welts, the patches of ripped out curls…

He remembered, when he first came into existence; when it got too bad, he would front momentarily to take the worst of the injuries Wendy would inflict upon their poor young body. Marc didn't even know what was happening in the beginning, nor did Steven.

But Jake always knew.

It was like his burden, his own personal curse as the protector. He was cursed with the knowledge that he knew things he couldn't tell others, to protect everyone around him.

Marc, Steven, Layla…

And now you, it seemed.

How could he…

“Jake?” Layla asked, her hand gripping his thick forearm in her small, soft hand, her dark brows pinched upwards in concern. “You were… spacing. Looked like you were thinking about killing someone.” She added.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, hissing between his teeth. He could feel it, Marc–or perhaps Steven–threatening to swim to the surface of their headspace to investigate the turmoil and inner upset Jake was overthinking on.

“Lo siento.” He muttered, looking at her for a moment before tipping the glass and downing the last mouthful of bourbon before continuing. “I was…”

“Thinking about her. I can tell.” She admitted, turning her barstool so she could face him, her lips pursed in a thin line.

This was difficult. With Marc and Steven, Layla always knew an approach. But with Jake, she never bothered to learn one. She didn't trust him–not fully, yet–so she never felt the need. From how she found out about him, how the other two figured out that they weren’t the only two inhabiting the body… He never really gave Layla an “in”, so to speak; to learn more and break past those emotional barriers that crumbled when she spoke to Marc or Steven. Damn him and his apparent emotional stoicism!

But seeing just how tortured she finally realized he felt… yeah, Jake did bad things on behalf of that old codger, Khonshu, but…

He carried so much weight on his own shoulders, withheld so much pain to protect others that he may as well have been Atlas, doomed to carry the world on his back for all eternity, never being able to shirk the weight like the mythological person.

It dawned on her, that night on the rooftop over your shop and flat, just how little she truly knew about Jake Lockley.

She didn't know anything she didn't want to know, even from Marc or Steven's mouth. It was just her way, after her father died and Marc fell into her life; to not ask too many questions so she could sleep just a wink better than the nights before.

Jake was violent, scary, methodical… but was he really? Or did she just paint him that way to justify her distrust over the fact Khonshu still used him as Moon Knight and used him to rope poor Marc and Steven back into the role as his Fist?

He wasn't some scary boogeyman, he was… a guy. A guy who loved his “brothers”, his friends, who protected–and loved–fiercely and with his whole being. A man now struggling with the weight of flinging himself into the very instincts so many throughout their lives craved to feel when they finally found their soulmate, or simply denying the possible bliss of being cradled in your loving arms, spending the rest of your lives together…

“Sí, it's… I'm trying to think of a way to keep Marc and Steven in the dark. Maybe if… if I just let them think of her as a friend...” He sighed.

Layla frowned. Okay that was another reason that reminded her why she didn't fully trust him, yet. The fact he was willing to hide such important things from Marc and Steven to “protect” them.

Yes, it was important to protect them, but some things are just inevitable, bound to be found out.

It's the difference between ripping off a bandage or pulling a child out of a clean room.

Pulling off the bandage, yeah, it'll hurt for a moment but it will pass.

However, if you put a child inside of a sterile bubble, the moment that bubble bursts, their immune system will be compromised and they won't be able to adjust to the changing environment around them…

“Jake… sometimes you just have to rip off the band-aid.” Layla replied. “You won't be able to hide this–hide her–from them forever.”

He wiped at his face, and made a frustrated groan. The buzz of the alcohol did little to ease his concerns. After all, once he took up the mantle tonight, his buzz would evaporate like dew beneath the summer sun. Not that London saw much of that these days.

“I know, Layla. I'm just… trying to buy time.”

“Jake… when it comes to your soulmate…” Layla said, giving him a sympathetic look.

“You don't have enough money in the world to do that. It will happen. Whether you're all ready for it or not.”

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Jake hadn't slept well that night. Marc and Steven needed a break, so they were still in the back of his mind, in the headspace, not really conscious of what Jake had been doing inside the body. They thankfully agreed to let Jake assume control, to give his headmates a much-needed break.

“Just like old times?” Layla had quipped sardonically, and, of course, Jake had to pretend the comment didn't hurt him at all. It did, but… he still didn't want her to feel bad about saying it.

Sure, he's done questionable and sometimes horrible things, but it was all for them. Marc, Steven, Layla, innocent people, and now… you.

Beautiful, sweet, oblivious you.

He'd started coming to your shop more, under the excuse that you had good coffee (which honestly you begged to differ, it was merely stuff you bought in bulk at the market) and the quiet atmosphere was more relaxing than a regular cafe; which even you agreed was rather dead. Many people didn’t stop in for a cuppa when simply buying old sci-fi novels…

Jake had even gone so far as to bring the stacks of books that Steven had been meaning to bring to you for a trade-in credit, just for another excuse to come in to see you.

It was all to keep you safe, to make sure nobody bothered you, to make sure you were doing okay.

He promised himself there was nothing less.

But even so, you were the candle flame to his moth, and he was drawn to you.

Drawn to you, but knowing if they got too close or touched you, they would burn, and there would be no going back once they did. What was that saying about flying too close to the sun?

He just… he couldn't let any of you know that he knew. As painful as it was to admit, he was already falling for you and he couldn’t bear to face it for fear of throwing caution to the wind and losing it all.

Not until today, not until he went to the market down the block, in search of something to cook for dinner. It was pouring outside, despite the forecasters saying to expect sleet. No, no, of course it wouldn't be sleet. It was just freezing cold rain. Rain that felt like tiny frozen icicles hitting his skin in fat droplets.

He shook his jacket, the droplets falling from the leather and onto the large carpet beneath his feet at the entrance. After that, Jake pulled his cap back up and nodded politely to the greeter and proceeded his way inside. He was craving something, but wasn’t sure what. Something with a little kick, something with meat. So, undecided on what in particular he wanted to eat, he settled for wandering the aisles, randomly picking up items here and there, pretending to read the labels until he made up his fractured mind.

“Jake? Jake Lockley?”

His head whipped up so quickly he almost felt his vertebrae snap when he lifted his eyes to meet yours, innocent and twinkling as you appeared so sure of your guess. You were instinctively right, of course, but the inner jokester within him was tempted to fake Marc’s voice to mess with you.

He shoved his hands into his jeans–mostly to conceal how badly they were shaking–and tossed you what he hoped was a charming, convincing smirk, “Ah. Caught me red-handed, Rosa. How’d you guess?”

“Well, aside from the fact you’re wearing your trademarked hat and jacket…” You playfully tapped your nose and winked at him. “...You look like you just caught a whiff of–and stepped in--horse shit.”

Jake couldn’t suppress himself, chuckling and shaking his head, “That’s a… unique way of putting it.”

“I’m full of surprises!” You beamed proudly, “So, what’re you here for? I don’t think I’ve bumped into you here, before!”

“Ah, I’m here to… well, find something to eat. Or well, more accurately, something to cook to eat.” He sighed and tipped his head. “I might just buy a frozen dinner and call it a night.”

The offended gasp his comment elicited from you made butterflies flitter about in his belly. He felt like a teenager talking to the popular girl he had a crush on in school.

“Oh no you will not! So many of those have awful preservatives and just aren’t healthy for you!” You tut, reminding him so much of Steven. He couldn’t hold back his smile as you ranted and spoke about healthy eating habits, honestly reminding him of Steven in this moment.

His attention began to wonder as he took in every bit of your face–every blemish or thing you may consider yourself to be an imperfection, tracing every dip and contour of your cheeks, nose, and the slope of your jaw…

“You know what–” You huffed, the hand that wasn’t holding your basket firmly planted on your hip. “No. Why don’t you come have dinner with me? The thought of you making something like some yucky frozen meatloaf is just… blegh.”

Jake felt his brain record-scratch, finally being pulled out of his admiring stupor. “I–what? Oh, no, no, I don’t think that…” He floundered.

Him! The Jake Lockley, left without a quip to be uttered!

“Nah.” You say, walking past him. “I'm making you dinner. C’mon, I’ll need help grabbing stuff.”

On sheer instinct, he followed you like an obedient puppy. “Look, uh, I…”

“Not takin’ no for an answer, Lockley. Now, c’mon!”

The man was hopeless. All he could do was admire your figure and personality once again. Sweet, gentle–but also fiery and bull-headed when it suited you.

Jake fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Layla’s number, texting;

“Order something out for dinner, La-La… It looks like I have plans.”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 11: Link

[luctus-flos]

⠀⠀ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ꒰ ⠀luctus flos ⠀˖︵ ⠀150+ follower event ⠀ ♱ ₊‧

⠀⠀. ༉‧₊˚. begins . . . september 9th ୭ 𓂋 ˚.  submissions to be entered under the tag: ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀'#luctus f105' ໒꒱

Simulated Universe: You enter a room and find a person sitting at their desk, glancing over various copies of what seems to be the same paper. There is the distinct smell of wax melting, and you can see variously shaped stamps, seemingly customized per each person corresponding to the letter. Simulated Universe: The person pauses and lifts their head up when you enter, and offers a warm smile. "Good day," they greet, "I apologize for the rather messy interior. I would have properly cleaned had I expected someone today... though, these letters must be distributed soon. I do hope you understand." Simulated Universe: You choose to ask what the letters are for. The person glances at one of the letters, than back at you. "Ah... it's an event I am hosting," The person picks up an envelope, and offers it out to you. "The event is to celebrate the amount of patrons I have received in my short time of opening this shop. A list of challenges, all holding different rewards... I as well shall extend an invitation to you to join." Simulated Universe: The envelope is packaged with care, and the stamp shows a flower in the middle. The wax itself is green, but the flower's outline has been decorated with an ornate gold. At the kind invitation, your hand reaches out.

chapter⠀I ⠀⠀✧⠀about the event

‧₊˚౨ৎ you have been cordially invited to join the 150 follower event of luctus flos. this event shall span for 5 weeks, and shall contain titled prompts per each week, in which editors of all backgrounds are invited to use these titles as inspirations for their creations. all types of edits are allowed, ranging from layouts to moodboards, and all are welcome to partake in the event, so long as they do not involve any relation to subjects on luctus flos' do not interact list, listed in their rentry for more information. the event, of course, will contain prizes for those at the end of the path, varying from placements, which shall be decided based on points. I kindly wish to see you at the event.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ꒰ ⠀with warmest regards and love, ⠀ ♱ ₊‧

chapter⠀II ⠀⠀✧⠀rules for the event

‧₊˚౨ৎ I do hope you understand, patron, that all things in life have their rules. this event will be of no exception; the rules, however, are quite simple; so do not fret.

i.┊if you meet the criteria of the 'do not interact' section listed in my rentry, I will be forced to retract my invite to you. thank you, and have a good day if such a rule applies to you. this rule as well applies to the media used in the event; if the media comes from harmful intent, you shall be disqualified without second thought.

ii.┊all edits are allowed in this event; do not feel as if you cannot participate simply because of what you edit; I shall accept all entries equally. as well as that, flags will be accepted as part of the event's allowed entries.

iii.┊every graphic submitted as an entry to this event should be of new creation; remember, patron, you have the week to create something new and beautiful, so do not fret or rush, as late submissions shall be accepted for up to a week after the week's prompt has passed.

iv.┊though the graphics will be measured based on points, do not fret; these points are not handed out purely on personal decision. these points are distributed based on met requirements, which shall be explained below.

chapter⠀III ⠀⠀✧⠀the points system

‧₊˚౨ৎ participants will be ranked by points earned per each edit; with each prompt offering challenges to go along with the prompt, harder challenges offering more points. each entry into the event shall default to +10 points, and more points can be added for each challenge completed. do not fret; submissions without added challenges will be equally as valued as those with. the amount of points per challenge shall vary, and will be listed next to the prompt of the week, and will be entirely optional, though will offer a way to earn more points, which will of course, push you up the leaderboard towards greater prizes, which I shall list below.

⋆.˚  first place shall receive ⠀˖︵ ⠀⠀a personalized layout for any preferred site + a png divider of choice, along with a fully customized logo  ༘ .˚ ⋆.˚  second place shall receive ⠀˖︵ ⠀⠀a personalized layout for any preferred site + a png divider of choice  ༘ .˚ ⋆.˚  third place shall receive ⠀˖︵ ⠀⠀a personalized layout for any preferred site  ༘ .˚

‧₊˚౨ৎ I do hope the prizes are of high enough quality for you, patron... and ah, I should specify- these prizes shall be personalized, and will not be posted for public use unless published only as a display image, and not as free to use graphics, in which I shall ask you for permission first to post the contents. I do hope you understand. and it seems now, with everything out of the way, I may speak of the prompts. they shall be posted weekly.

chapter⠀IV ⠀⠀✧⠀the prompts

‧₊˚౨ৎ each prompt shall correspond to a different week, and each will have an announcement post, which shall announce the beginning of the week, as well as the prompt's ideas. below, however, is a masterlist of all the prompts to come.

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 1 . . . " a spring without you . " ❜❜ ₊⊹ entry + 10 points 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . .  ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color green .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without the usage of typical shapes [ex; stars, circles, etc.] .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic with who you believe is a commonly mischaracterized character .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 2 . . . " under blaring stage lights . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color brown .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using the color red .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic with an actor character of some sort .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 3 . . . " a taste of nostalgic soda . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color pink .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using any type of lace in the edit .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic with two characters who are no longer friends .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 4 . . . " the sea of our shared dreams . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including two colors of choice .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using any assortment of flowers .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic using two characters who could be described as 'soulmates' .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 5 . . . " the clock, eventually, strikes 12 . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color purple .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using any type of tied bows .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic using a character who has large ambitions and dreams .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

chapter⠀V ⠀⠀✧⠀promotions

‧₊˚౨ৎ now that the rules have been laid out... I do hope you do not mind some tags to properly share this event around to people interested. if you are included in this tag list and wish to be removed, do feel free to inform me of such. may you have a good day, and to those joining my event, I do wish you the best of luck.

@frilliette @s-sanite @vvincian @sealody @ipcventurine @necroangelz @llocket @egoismn @apersonbutmad @ubelaces @saeriji @alanangel @moskalsbluntrotation @softlovr @fyodorhouse @unknown-till @n-arcette @rookmeo @greatgeneral @drblacula @kyubao @nomkiwi @inyuoka @lovesick-level-up @ethereabun @ic-n @fashlace @valenhrt @scr-be @yukiexpress @creepysp4ghetti @matchascent @versatilityyy @c-lumbina @pinkidol @dollrelicz

[thelampisaflashlight]

The ghouls, but I revamped my headcanons about them, because why not? Let's go.

-Aether, Dewdrop, and Mountain were brought into the church around the same time, but Dew arrived first, making him the "eldest" of the three ghouls... while also, coincidentally, being just slightly older than both Aether and Mountain in actual age as well.

Of the three of them, Mountain is the peacekeeper, Aether, much to the shock of many, is the troublemaker (he enjoys picking fights with people who are being jerks), and Dew is the thinker.

-Cumulus and Cirrus were summoned around the same time Swiss was brought into the pack. Having been raised on the surface by his mortal father, Swiss didn't really have much of a connection to his demonic side until he found the church, but even then, he had a lot of trouble adapting to life there.

Thankfully, both of the ghoulettes were more than happy to take him under their wing and teach him all the fun parts of being a ghoul.

He looks up to them in the same way one might look up to an older sibling, and he treats them both with respect as both his mentors and his friends.

-Rain was summoned during a rare thunder snowstorm towards the end of winter, which resulted in him developing an odd ability to control electricity. Usually, lightning is seen as a fire/air based element and can only really be harnessed by multi-elemental ghouls, like Swiss or Aurora, but Rain is, in so far as he knows, pure water.

He mostly uses this ability to hunt fish in the lake, charge his phone or laptop, or as the occasional self defense mechanism, because why would he throw a punch when he can effectively taser someone with his fingers?

-Dew, like Swiss, was born and raised on the surface, and grew up leading a normal, human existence until he fell to his death while lost in the woods surrounding the abbey during a thunderstorm.

His death lead to him landing himself in Limbo, where he was given a second chance at life (at a cost, of course) and learned of his demonic inheritance.

Unlike Swiss, who found comfort in discovering his ghoul side, Dew felt deeply conflicted by it and did not immediately join the church, though he was allowed to stay largely because Terzo saw promise in his abilities (musically and magically) and encouraged him to stay.

-Aeon goes by both Phantom and Aeon, but it depends on who he's talking to/who is addressing him, kind of like how you might go by your middle name with friends, but your parents call you by your first name.

For things like ministry paperwork and meetings with important figures, he's called Aeon, but amongst the pack, he's largely called Phantom or Tom-Tom as a nickname.

However, the name Aeon is also used by ghouls that are considered his "seniors", such as Aether and Omega who held his station before him, and Dew, because he refuses to call him Tom-Tom (and because he's old, but don't let anyone hear you say that).

-Cumulus is one of the only ghouls that maintains a home away from the abbey during the off season, and, as of right now, none of the other ghouls have been invited to stay there. It's nothing against any of them personally, Cumulus just likes having her own space that's truly hers, and she spends so much time around the others normally that she needs a break from them sometimes.

-Similarly, Dew has a habit of "wandering off", though he's usually just off on vacation, and, when in doubt, can typically be found simply by asking where he is.

Usually, he's not far from the abbey, as he tends to keep to his "territory" like a cat left to roam, but on the rare occasion he's broken containment (left the country entirely) he's like a ghost.

And lastly;

-Cirrus has been known to hang out in one of the many cemetery plots on the abbey's grounds, and has befriended an alarming number of spirits, who often tell her secrets and information about people who currently live on the grounds or passed there in some form or another.

Because of this, Cirrus knows things that could be devastating if revealed, so she has to be careful about not letting slip information that wasn't given to her by either the individual themselves and/or is already "common knowledge".

She's on incredibly bad terms with some of the abbey's residents as a result of letting slip personal details about their lives, even if she meant to use it as a means of defending them, and it has made it difficult for her to make friends outside of her packmates, which in turn results in her befriending more inhuman entities and ghosts.

[magiturge]

an analysis of gabriel - ultrakill

there's a lot of things about this guy i just want to talk about. let's start in an almost consecutive order of information we learn about him.

ACT I. - INFINITE HYPERDEATH 1-4 clair de lune - mansion owner's diary and stained glass art

these are the first references / appearances of gabriel in game.

the mansion owner's diary refers to him as a friend, showing that despite being an angel, gabriel had the time and the forgiveness to grant sinners / husks some form of kindness. while it can be interpreted as this particular husks devotion to being faithful to angels in general with how they hold back from plunging deeper into hell, they constantly and mainly refer to gabriel.

the other interpretation could be that when the husk is referring to gabriel, they could be using the stained glass art of him as worship and there is the possibility that gabriel has not actually interacted with them in person, however later bits of information lean more on gabriel having actually met them in person. the lust renaissance and minos

as we come up on lust, the next bit of lore that we are met with is the story of the death of king minos.

from here, we learn that gabriel has killed minos and is the reason why there is a gigantic shambling corpse looking for sinners in the lust layer. we also learn that gabriel is not just any angel but the one that embodies or represents the will of god. in the name of god's will, he is willing to kill what we later learn is a beloved ruler who granted the sinners in lust a more forgiving place to spend eternity. in p-1, we are met with the flesh prison that ensnares minos' soul, created in an effort to prevent it from forming into a prime soul. a segment of his monologue from when he is released from the flesh prison : "O Gabriel... now dawns thy reckoning, and thy gore shall glisten before the temples of man!" it's quite clear from that that minos no longer remains a pacifist when it comes to taking revenge on the angel who pulled everything out from under him. now, to minos prime's terminal entry. it gives more context onto the overall lore of ultrakill itself but does contain information that is important later on. pictures of the terminal entries will come from the wiki page due to the in game terminal entries not fitting into one screen.

we learn that god has disappeared and due to this has thrown heaven into a panicked frenzy. this is important given that gabriel is an angel and how the disappearance of what would be described as his leader or figurehead to follow would do to him.

in the disappearance of god, a council has taken control of heaven and in the event of this, they have seen that minos has freed sinners from the punishment they were meant to serve. gabriel is sent to strike down minos and murdered him without listening to what minos had to say. we see just how deep rooted gabriel's faith in god is and how he answers to the council. he has killed a beloved ruler without mercy and from the text written from the perspective of a lust resident, he believes what he is doing is just.

3-2 in the flesh we now actually meet gabriel in the flesh after everything we have learned so far. as v1 leaves the first room, gabriel speaks. "Machine... turn back, now. The layers of this palace are not for your kind. Turn back, or you will be crossing the will of God." while he sounds as prideful as an angel would be, with a holier than thou tone of voice, the context of what he is saying is important combined with how he actually views v1 at this point. gabriel is warning v1 to go no further and to turn back while it still has the chance which is quite odd in the grand scheme of his actions. "a mere object." "an imperfection to be cleansed." not. even. mortal." "you are less than nothing." these are a portion of taunts that quite clearly display how he feels about v1, a machine. v1 is simply an object to him, plunging deeper into hell. in addition to this, hakita in the developer commentary stream states : "Gabriel is like, as soon as a machine gets too far downwards, he will like interrupt them and kill them. So to him, you are just one of like a hundred or thousand of whatever machines that he's encountered and tried to stop." despite this, gabriel grants the mercy of warning v1, giving them a chance to go back as they shouldn't be down here. it's a curious thing about gabriel, isn't it? up to this point, we know of gabriel striking down a beloved king but here he is merciful enough to warn what he sees as something that is not even mortal, a mere object. and seeing that v1 at this moment is nothing more than another machine to him, would it be odd to assume he had warned other like this as well? while not immediately important to this analysis, the eye in the arena focuses on gabriel. hakita in the developer commentary stream states that : "The eyes normally follow you, like they look at you when you're walking around but in this arena it's actually looking at Gabriel because he's the real point of interest."

this is more something that will be important to the lore regarding hell itself rather than gabriel himself, given it would be reasonable for hell to be more interested in a supreme angel than you, another machine.

moving on, we have gabriel's overall presentation and impression on us. he presents himself as holy, righteous, better than you. he at this point is unlikeable, we only know the sour side of him. when he loses to v1, he is bewildered by his loss, unable to believe he had just lost to what he sees as just an object. he's clearly angry with v1 and possibly, himself. before we go over the end of ACT I's story segment, we will go over what else we have learned from gabriel provided by the first terminal entry we recieve of him.

from here we learn his proper status up in heaven, a respected and feared archangel. he has a reputation of completing tasks quickly and that he is beloved among other angels moreso than the council.

it's also put that he has popular for his "radiant personality and active nature" which depending one what you prefer, could either be how he presents himself to you in 3-2 or different demeanor we have yet to see.

i’m inclined to believe the latter and we will get to that later, so keep that in mind.

we also learn that gabriel is a hardworker, a devoted angel to god that completes what is asked of him. this can be used as reference to how he has slain king minos prior as it seemed to be more of a task to complete rather than a personal attack fueled by his own emotions.

he’s a hard worker that did not question what was asked of himas long as he had it in his mind that his actions were to benefit someone he cared about, be it the people of heaven or god.

the strategy tips that the terminal tells us that gabriel is an angel with a great deal of pride stating that his pride is what “stops him from attacking while taunting his opponent”. on top of this, his pride not only prevented him from attacking during taunts but from also using splendor is justice and justice is splendor in this fight as well. this is, again, important for later since how his behavior in 3-2 differs vastly from his behavior in ACT II. closing in on this segment, we end with gabriel's disbelief at his loss. "What? How can this be? Bested by this.. this thing? You insignificant FUCK! This is not over!" with the use of profanity, gabriel's front as a divine angel falls apart. his composure is lost and he is utterly confused, perfectly portrayed by his voice actor gianni matragano. everything that he has believed has been shattered here, as hakita explains in the developer commentary stream that a machine besting an angel is something that should be impossible. an angel being beaten by a human is absurd but for a child of mankind to best an angel is like that of an ant beating a human in a fight. it just does not make sense to gabriel and unfortunately, his account of his loss does not serve a stable argument to the holy council. ACT I. - INTERMISSION ( the ending cutscene is linked here as it is incredibly long. ) remember that gabriel is on of the brightest angels in heaven if not the brightest angel who works quickly, efficiently and is a beloved angel among the others? that status does not protect him here. we open in on gabriel being looked at with resentment by the council, speaking amongst one another on what to do with him. gabriel is listening to their bitter words, that sting being something that would cause more pain to ones not as strong as him. it continues in describing how gabriel believes that it is also impossible for a mere object to best him, he believes that he knows this as true. and it is not. so he rises to make an argument for himself, stating that he would never stray from the will of the father but a machine has bested him in battle. in this moment, i believe it is gabriel's attempt to warn the council that these "mere objects" are something not to take lightly. but they don't listen to him. now there is a very important line here that is often overlooked and in the video i have linked referring to this line is different which is most likely why it is overlooked or misinterpreted. "your failure will not be tolerated" was changed to "your treachery will not be tolerated." as seen here :

the council cannot grasp that an angel could have lost to a machine. so instead, they have concluded that gabriel has betrayed them and purposefully let it go further down. throughout this interaction between gabriel and the council, he is spoken over, not given a chance to properly explain himself or the situation at hand. his pleas were not heard and he is seen as a traitor, now to die within 24 hours with the time quickly dissolving. what could the severing of his holy light, the title of a traitor hanging over his head and the potential fear that the machines that were supposed to be beneath him do to his mental state at this point of the story? well, that is where this comes in.. ACT II. - IMPERFECT HATRED to recap what i've run through, we know that : • gabriel is one of heaven's brightest angels, a hard worker that is well loved and also feared by many as well as being quite skilled in combat. • he has killed the former judge of hell, a beloved king who believed that eternal torment for loving one another was too cruel a punishment, as ordered by the council. • at the moment, he's on a clock, the holy light having been severed from his body and he is seething with a supposed hatred to rid of you and to prove himself faithful to god.

4-1 slaves to power now this part comes from the terminal entry of the virtue that is first introduced in this level.

we learn about how lesser angels form as well as more information on how heaven itself works with a social hierarchy. we also learn how they relate in terms of being another angelic being in hell, next to gabriel. their role is to put the sinners who are not acting out their punishment in their place "in order to not waste gabriel's time with minor offences and fluctuations." so gabriel's role in hell generally does not include small offences like this, he works on a grander scale which we will see a bit later. 4-2 god damn the sun another terminal entry from a mini-boss introduced in this level, the sisyphean insurrectionist.

another act of pushing against heaven's control is met with death, a contrast to minos's pacifist approach. gabriel has killed another king in hell, king sisyphus as well as a fleet of other angels to aid him in this war. the details of gabriel and the angels actions show the brutality in their force, the response that rebellion is met with. it seems that gabriel was made responsible for these two deaths which implies that prior to being judge of hell, he had some role that was somewhat related to it since he's the one higher angel that is sent down for these tasks. i also have a creeping feeling that gabriel has had a larger presence in hell as well given there are murals of him seen in.. 4-3 a shot in the dark and 4-4 clair de soleil

these murals are a bit of a curious thing to explain since we don't have an exact time frame of when they were created or who created them. the first instance of them is seen in 4-3 a shot in the dark where it is smeared with blood painted in the word "traitor". it implies that at some point in the past, gabriel was much more tolerant or even a friendlier figure that had turned on them, be it during the war or sometime prior.

the next instance would be in 4-4 clair de soleil in which the two other murals are hidden within the tomb of sisyphus's corpse. perhaps they were erected as a show of power by the angels given their placement here next to his body. or it could simply be a curious room for the sawblade update, however i don't believe that that is all it is. some time in hell's history, gabriel was a friend yet he soon became a traitor. 5-2 waves of the starless sea now here is where we see what exactly gabriel values and is often where people's opinions on gabriel change a bit as we see more of his nature outside of bloodshed and arrogant behavior. the ferrymen we find the ferryman's cabin, empty save for the filth that spawns in alongside the idol present on the second floor. the ferryman's diary is found on the desk.

here is an excerpt from the ferryman's diary, the full passage found here as it is too long to be fit into a single picture. the diary details a time in which one of the ferrymen was going to sink deep under the waves of the now ocean styx as mankinds ultimate death led to the river overflowing.

yet instead of falling victim to the waves, this particular ferryman is saved by gabriel, who comforts them as they are ushered to safety. "Be not afraid, sinner. Your devotion to God shows goodness in you; plentiful indeed. The heart is willing but the body must rest, lest you squander one of the Lord's creations."

gabriel tells the ferryman that he recognizes their faith and devotion to god, seeing that despite their forms as husks in hell they are good people. he cares about the ferrymen's efforts to gain passage into heaven and does not let them sink deep into the ocean where that goodness will be wasted. he does not want for them to work themselves to death, to allow the hopelessness of hell to consume them. he doesn't want that. gabriel became a symbol of hope and light to the ferrymen. a statue of him can be found within the level as well. he continues to be their light as evident by the ending words of the ferryman's diary. in addition to this is the ferryman's theme, he is the light in my darkness which is coupled with artwork of gabriel and the ferryman drawn by francisxie.

another bit of information that pertains to gabriel is a segment from the ferryman's terminal data, where it is stated that gabriel is the only one who cares about their efforts.

what gabriel values is seen very clearly : he seeks those who truly care about god and those who are working to improve themselves to be granted passage into heaven. more evidence supports this with the introduction of.. the idols idols are actually demons that were carved into a form that can be mistaken as divine by those who don't know any better. their terminal entry states that having been in close proximity to the ferryman's holy cloth has allowed for the holy power within it to seep into them, allowing the chain of compassion to continue.

an important bit of information introduced here is that the only angel of heaven's higher order that watches over hell is gabriel. if the council were to find out about the existence of idols and what the ferrymen have done to them, they would be ordered to be destroyed. it implies that gabriel can see that the idols are not actually peversions of the divine form but can see that they are actually tributes to him and the angels that the ferrymen are devoted to. there is a stark difference in the way gabriel behaves when ordered by the council and when acting on his own judgement and accord. he really cares about the intentions of those he gives the time of day to pay attention to when it is his choice. in the instances of most of gabriel's crimes, it is an order from the council that he acts on. 5-3 ship of fools there isn't quite a lot of lore pertaining to gabriel here other than showing just how important gabriel is to the ferrymen with a statue of him seen inside of the ship, a hologram of him warm words playing on loop and a portrait of him seen in one of the first rooms of this level.

he is clearly incredibly important to them with these tributes to him found across the ferry.

5-4 leviathan here we find an instance of gabriel striking down the heart of the leviathan as the souls attempt to escape its body.

this is an act he chooses to do or an act ordered by the council where i feel it is one where gabriel is doing what he believes his role as the judge of hell asks of him.

we don't know what would have resulted in the souls being let free but judging based on what we know of him now, i assume that this act was done as a means to prevent the souls from being let free and so that they serve their punishment accordingly.

6-1 cry for the weeper we are met again with gabriel speaking to us.

"Machine, I know you're here. I can smell the insolent stench of your bloodstained hands. I await you down below. . . COME TO ME"

it doesn't take me explaining for it to be apparent that gabriel is furious.

he fully expects for v1 to plunge down deeper and to cross paths with him once again. he is waiting and he is livid. 6-2 aesthetics of hate

i'm pulling out all the stops and you're about to see why. the final level in ACT II in which we finally fight gabriel once again, but before that, we are met with gabriel speaking to both himself and to you. "Limbo. Lust. All gone. . . With Gluttony soon to follow. Your kind know nothing but hunger. Purged all life on the upper layers. And yet they remain unsatiated. . . As do you. You've taken everything from me, machine. And now all that remains is PERFECT, HATRED." we learn of what has been happening to hell itself as both v1 and other machines devastate what of it remains. gabriel tells us that we have taken everything from him, that the only thing he has left is the boiling anger and hate that he holds for us. to watch everything he's worked for crumble at the loss against a machine has left him in such a tense, angry and anguished state.

the presentation for this fight is beautifully done, perfectly encompassing the atmosphere needed to capture the tidal wave of emotions that are about to break through. this is gabriel's only attempt at redeeming himself in the eyes of the council, to prove himself not a traitor and that he has always been faithful to the father's will. "Machine, I will cut you down. Break you apart. Splay the gore of your profane form across the stars. I will grind you down until the very sparks cry for mercy. My hands shall RELISH ending you. HERE. AND. NOW." and so the dam breaks. gabriel has said what he swears to do to you, the venom in his words clear as day. an immediate difference in this fight is the use of his twin swords splendor is justice and justice is splendor as well as an immediate enraged state.

something of note is the use of those swords as it's stated here that pride stopped him from using them in the previous fight but things have become more personal. this is not the only time he has unsheathed his swords as he has used them in the war against sisyphus. an excerpt from sisyphus prime's terminal entry states : "He unsheathed his swords for the first time since time immemorial and beheaded Sisyphus, displaying his head for all to see." keep that in mind for later, it's important.

his movements are quicker and he hits much harder, the track the death of god's will playing as the fight continues.

in the first phase where he's enraged, his anger is palpable in his taunts : • you need. more. power! • is this what i lost to? • you're getting rusty machine! • i'll show you divine justice!

just to name a few. he's egging you on, to fight him. perhaps, in a way he doesn't want you to go easy on him, to purposefully let him win as it would be more than insulting. the arena is like that of the rest of heresy, dark murky and bathed in a red fog with water (or blood) filling the main part of it. that changes upon his phase change along with his behavior as well. "IS THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT!?"

this is something that is sometimes passed over since people are mostly focused on either dealing damage to gabriel, focused on where he is or staying away from him as they're unsure what to do. the lights of the arena are influenced by his phase change and his emotions. no longer is it bathed in red but in the beautiful blue and gold that represent his ecstasy and joy of struggle. his own brilliant light illuminating the arena. it could be said that gabriel's rage is the reason why heresy is a crimson red however i don't believe that's the case. i believe that gabriel's own light in this moment is so bright, so radiant that it's enough to light up the fight and overpower the dense crimson fog of heresy. his wings also change to match the gold and blue, as shown here to be labeled as ecstasy. in phase 2, gabriel is having fun, he's enjoying the struggle of a fight in which victory does not come to him so easily and it can be heard in the taunts that he switches to in this fight : • show me what you were made for! • come on machine, fight me like an animal! • come get some blood! • i'll show you true splendor! again, just to name a few. alongside some of these taunts, gabriel laughs. curiously, there is an unused taunt in which gabriel states "So this is what you see in bloodshed." you'll notice i boldened "i'll show you divine justice!" and "i'll show you true splendor!" call it a stretch but i feel like the specification on justice and splendor with each one being used for the phase 1 and phase 2 respectively is like the duality of his emotions and who he is, much like his twin swords. at first he seeks justice for himself and what he has lost to v1 but further in the fight, he relishes in the struggle of meeting someone that is equal to him if not better. the behavioral differences in his fighting are like that of his fight in 3-2 in the flesh in which he will mix up his attacks with a teleport in between. i interpret gabriel becoming more difficult in phase 2 is due to him truly enjoying himself, with a more clear mind that isn't filled to the brim with anger that has boiled over. he's having fun, he's struggling and he loves it. finally, we come to the end of the fight in which gabriel exclaims to himself ..

"Twice? Beaten by an object.. twice! I've only known the taste of victory, but this taste... Is- Is this my blood? Haha- I've never known such... such... relief? I-I need some time to think.. . We will meet again, machine." it's an interesting bit of dialogue, subverting most people's expectations. instead of gabriel descending into further madness, a spiral of emotions consuming him, this defeat gives him pause.

he's relieved at the sight of his own blood. why is that? there's a multitude of answers to this but i believe the reason why he's relieved at the sight of his own blood is that it's like a weight off of his shoulders, his conscious. angels bleed. the righteous hand of the father bleeds. his status as a supreme angel does not prevent him from being put in harms way and his blood is just about the same as any other being. whatever he is does not make him special. he bleeds just like anyone else and no status could ever protect him from that, only himself. his words here are also curious. while his previous defeat speech is filled with anger and confusion vowing that this battle is not over, in this speech gabriel states that they will meet again. it's less of a threat, a vow for revenge and more like coming back to v1 to speak with them further despite how one-sided this conversation may be. there's also a very apparent difference in the way that gabriel says "May your woes be many and your days few." the first one is threatening much like his defeat speech but this one? it's lighter, lower, less angry. he even chuckles slightly as he says it, possibly finding that the phrase is ridiculous to say when looking at the position that he's in. afterall, he doesn't even have a day left and perhaps even less than that should v1 finish him off before the holy light vanishes. just like that, he vanishes in a pillar of light.

his terminal data that comes with this encounter explains all of this clearly, he found something he wanted to do for himself. free will for an angel. ACT II. - INTERMISSION.

we're almost at the end. the ending cutscene opens to gabriel having teleported away to what we can assume is the first layer of heaven, the moon, as he gazes into a fire alone with his thoughts and revelations. the text that fills the screen describing gabriel's thoughts are filled with confusion, introspection and guilt. he realizes that his actions were not something that was always just, always right, finding that he not only embodied a holy figure to follow but also the cruelty that his actions left in his wake. his two defeats has turned his world view upside down, leaving him to try and piece together everything he believed he knew only to find that it never made sense to begin with.

gabriel realizes that the council he answers to masquerades god's name, intentionally or not, having their supposed fellow angels in a vice grip of fear. the angels still do what they believe is what god wants of them but they have not accepted that he has long since gone. believing is not enough, and he knows this now. this is a choice he makes with his own new found free will and he chose to do something drastic.

slaughtering the council, the group of angels that have brought a facade of stability to heaven. "The last councilor, now backed up to a wall, scrambles for words between panicked breaths as death approaches with measured steps." gabriel is calm, confident in his decision with contrasts with the behavior of the councilor that writhes in fear of his fate. he knows what he is doing as its a decision he made his own.

he speaks clearly, shutting down the argument that the last councilor has to offer. ". ..Our status forbids it! . .. We are the supreme authority, our law commands you!" interesting is it? that the council pleads with their status, their only "protection" of their life when gabriel's place as the will of god did not protect him at all, only his supposed prior betrayal representing who he was. and so he tells it to them, that their words hold no power over him. he has realized that the council dances around the father's name as a means to keep power and control over the other angels, their only defense in the face of danger is their fragile words. and so gabriel states that he will show his fellow angels that there is nothing to be afraid of for the council's reign will no longer hang over them. he says it flatly, that god is dead. the last thing that this councilor has to say to plead for his life is that he is the only way for gabriel to reconnect with the holy light, ultimately preventing him from dying. and all gabriel has to say, is that "i know." it's an interesting choice he's made since he ultimately could have forced the councilor to reconnect him, saving his life and then kill him. he could have taken that chance to rebuild heaven into a more peaceful place for the angels, afterall he is loved more than the council and it seems other angels would find more joy and peace in him as their leader. but he doesn't do that. he accepts his fate. he made that choice. the weight of his sins, his atrocities committed in the name of god and the guilt that comes with it. do you think he could have lived to bare those anymore, knowing that he was the cause for so much suffering? there was no going back from that, he had already done so much harm.

what could he have done to fix that? minos is dead and even if his prime soul lives on, there is nothing left as his failure to stop v1 has led to the disappearances of the upper layers of hell.

sisyphus is dead and just like minos, even if his prime soul lives on, the damage has been done. the sisyphean insurrectionists left with only the essential body parts to carry out their punishment, they will never know the peace that they had worked so hard for. what would gabriel remaining alive do to benefit anyone? to him, perhaps nothing. he failed to see through the wool pulled over his eyes and because of it, so much was lost. there is one thing left that he can do.

and that is to show the angels of heaven that there is nothing to be afraid of. you'll probably notice that his wings are like that of his phase 2 in 6-2 aesthetics of hate. i believe this is gabriel relishing in knowing that the people of heaven will see his last message, the wordless proclamation of their freedom. and even if death approaches him, he has done something that he has wanted for himself and for the rest of heaven. SO WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS MEAN? gabriel is a character whom we see the various sides to, the various faces that he shows to people in this story. you pick up the pieces to who he is, having experienced who he is face to face twice now and seeing him unravel. this story is about him and you, v1, the catalyst. he's someone often watered down an angel too in over his head that has the sense knocked into him, which isn't too far off when there is absolutely so much more to him. he's a kind, patient angel who is capable of committing atrocities and has done so under the belief that his actions benefit something, somebody he values or follows. gabriel believes in righting his wrongs, bringing justice in which things are even, balance, proper and when he finds that he was part of the problem, he willingly gives his life as it is trickling away to fix it. of course, he is still an angel, a prideful one that isn't innocent. he's guilty of so much but he ultimately seeks to make things better for those he believes are worthy of happiness, peace. he himself has numbed to the joys of struggle as reward comes easy to him, realizing that being met with a force that matches his own is exhilirating. that the ability to choose his own fate, make his own decisions instead of blindly following the council just as any other angel has made much more of a positive change than anything he's ever done. he's going to fade soon and he knows it. in other words, i think gabriel is pretty cool guys. EXTRA okay now here comes my little crazy shpeal when it comes to gabriel's motif of beheading. in the war against sisyphus, gabriel beheaded him as a means to break the morale of his army and in the end of ACT II he beheads the council member and presents the head to the crowd of angels to dissuade fear. alongside that is imagery of gabriel himself being beheaded which are found in 5-3 ship of fools.

both of these can be found when the ferry is flipped upside down and filled with water. it's just something interesting i noticed :] next, there's this little thought i had in which gabriel has become more "human" as the story progresses. in the testaments presented at the end of each secret level, we find that what we can assume is god refers to humans as a failure, their free will consuming them and causing things to grow closer to entropy. now what exactly does that mean for gabriel? well : his time is limited. he is mortal. he will die. he has gained his own free will, even in his dying moments, he chose to make a difference. even as the councilor scrambles for words, stating that their law commands him, it mirrors the first testament presented to us in the game in which it states : "mankind is a failure. free will is a flaw. let the evil of their lips consume them. then i shall begin again with my word as law." with each push, each struggle, gabriel grows more human than angel. now, finally. there is his motif of radiance and light and somebody else has written it more perfectly than i ever could and you can find it right here! please give it a read, it is what inspired me to go on this little analysis of gabriel.

anyway, that's all. just a little something. feel free to add your thoughts, i would love to read them and do correct me if there's something wrong.

[machine-saint-art]

Derivative Works

This is a five-part piece of conceptual art titled Derivative Works. Each image here is generated algorithmically using one (or more) pieces of other art as input, but bears no resemblance to its 'progenitors'. The intent is to question what it means for an image to be a 'derivative' of another, both in the legal sense of copyright law and in the moral sense.

For Perceptual, Sorted, Transpose, and Sample, the input image is Wikipedia's high-resolution image of the Mona Lisa. The inputs for Composite are the first 10,000 images in this subset of the Stable Diffusion image set.

All images in Derivative Works are public domain (specifically, CC0). I do request that you give credit if you make use of them. The source code and original-resolution PNGs are available on Codeberg.

Perceptual (Derivative Works 0x0)

Perceptual uses a perceptual hash of its input image and then applies a fairly simple generative algorithm to render the output (which is intended to vaguely recall a night ocean, but that's not the point). The use of a perceptual hash means that the output depends on what the image 'looks like'; changing a pixel here or there will still result in the same output. At the same time, a substantially different input would provide a noticeably different output.

Sorted (Derivative Works 0x1)

Sorted simply sorts the pixels. The output image has all the same pixels as the original, but going back to the input would be impossible since you have no way of knowing which pixels go where. The color scheme is faintly reminiscent of the input, but all detail and structure is destroyed.

Transpose (Derivative Works 0x2)

Transpose interprets the image as a series of RGB values, then repeatedly applies a variation of the horseshoe map to them: take the first byte, then the last byte, then the second, then the second-to-last, and so on. Repeating this process four times produces something that is absolutely unrecognizable, yet still contains the same information as the input image. Furthermore, unlike Sort, the transformation is reversible; it's not hard to write a corresponding "unfold" transform that, when applied four times, would give the input image. So is this a copy (because it can be transformed into the original) or a new work entirely (because it bears no visual resemblance)?

Sample (Derivative Works 0x3)

Sample is a single reddish pixel; it may be difficult to see. The Stable Diffusion model contains roughly 2.3 billion images. The model itself is about 5 gigabytes of storage. This implies that the model contains very little information about any particular image, from an information-theory point of view. A single pixel in an image contains three bytes of information: one each for red, green, blue. Sample, which was generated by computing a 3-byte perceptual hash of its input image, is therefore a visual representation of roughly how much information Stable Diffusion has about any individual work in its input set.

Composite (Derivative Works 0x4)

Finally, Composite takes the principle of Sample to its extreme. I downloaded roughly 10,000 images from the Stable Diffusion data set, computed a 4-byte hash of them, then concatenated the hashes together to produce the output. In the interest of saving time and effort, I interpret each bit as a pixel, either on or off. There are therefore 512 * 512 / 8 / 4 = 8192 images represented. (I downloaded more than 8192 to account for images that would fail to download or that no longer pointed to a valid image.)