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honeycobie · 4 years

Text

Ephemeral

part of the round the world tbz collab held by @ukiyoexo and @juyeonzz

[teaser]

» pairing: sangyeon x reader

» genre: fluff/angst, time travel au, historical au

» word count: 16.2k

» a/n: uh hello...i’m back momentarily to post this fic that i put my blood, sweat and tears into and then i’m gonna disappear again :D i wrote on a google docs first and i wrote 36 pages ;;; yeah, i went overboard. anyways, hope y’all enjoy this! pls don’t flop or else i’ll cry because i spent so much time perfecting it and i’m still doubting my writing skills. goodbye for now (don’t worry, the angst isn’t that sad)!

» disclaimer: the characters may be based on real-life historical figures but they are not real and are portrayed as needed for plot purposes. although i have done some extra research on the joseon dynasty, i do not have much knowledge on this topic so please excuse any mistakes on the history/events.

» now playing: i swear i’ll never leave again by keshi

» round the world masterlist please please please check out all the other fics! they are all *chef’s kith*

You step out into the sunshine, smiling brightly as you inhale deeply. “Doesn’t the air smell different here, too?” you ask, your suitcase trailing behind you.

Your friend gives you a weird look. “Yeah, pollution,” she remarks sarcastically, sliding on a pair of sunglasses.

Ignoring her, you tilt your head to admire the bustling city of Seoul and the cloudless, vast sky. The pleasant weather felt like the city was welcoming you warmly with open arms.

“I’m so excited to visit all the tourist spots in Korea!” you exclaim, already running through the mental checklist of things you wanted to do.

“I can’t believe you made me come with you,” she begins, glancing at you grumpily. “I’m sure you could’ve survived on your own.”

“I know you’re looking forward to it too and besides there might be some cute boys around here,” you laugh, nudging her playfully in the ribs as you squint, looking around for any building that might resemble the hotel you were supposed to be staying at.

Your friend can’t help but smile at how enthusiastic you are, her mood brightening after a long flight. “Which hotel did you book?” she asks, slowing down her pace to peer at your phone.

“Four Seasons Hotel,” you respond, showing her the map. “I don’t see it though? It should be this street.” you furrow your eyebrows, confused as you try to navigate through the busy crowd of Seoul.

Groaning, she snatches your phone out of your hands, giving you a pointed look. “You’ve never been good with directions.” she chides, examining the map carefully.

Pouting, you don’t reply, turning your gaze to the towering skyscrapers and buildings of the city, the sunlight glinting off of glass, rendering it so blinding that you had to avert your eyes. The streets and sidewalk were busy, bustling with people and cars with their own destination. You take in another deep breath before your face screws up, feeling a cough rise in your throat, hacking when exhaust from the nearest car hits you.

She was right, it did smell like pollution but there was something about Seoul, the way the city was teeming with life, swarming with both people and vehicles, making it special, different from any other big city. Time seemed to fly fast here, a blink of an eye and hours had already passed but at the same time, it slowed down when you took your time to take in your surroundings, to take a deep breath to ground yourself.

You jolt back into attention when your friend calls your name. “We should’ve made a turn on a street before. I take back my previous statement. You wouldn’t be able to survive here without me.” she grumbled, exasperation written all over her face.

Grinning, you hook your arm through hers, halting in the middle of the sidewalk. “And this is why I love you.” you coo, batting your eyelashes at her.

Shrugging off your arm, she feigns disgust, speeding up her pace so she was well ahead of you. “You can pay me back by treating me to dinner,” she calls, smiling cheekily.

You dash after her, your suitcase bumping wildly on the concrete of the sidewalk.“Wait a minute-” you start to argue with her, trying to negotiate as you know how much she could eat. That girl could eat a whole buffet if she set her mind on it. She just waves you off dismissively, ignoring your pleas as she hums to herself as if you weren’t next to her.

»»————-　　————-««

Letting out a sigh, you shrug off your bag, flopping on the couch in your hotel room after indulging in delicious Korean cuisine. Staring at the ceiling, you shift into a comfortable position, closing your eyes as you were starting to feel sluggish, your limbs heavy and you had to fight to keep your eyes open.

The moment you gave into the insistent pull of sleep, you were promptly interrupted by a pillow pelting your side with a soft thump. Stretching languorously, you sit up, blinking the drowsiness away.

Sitting on the bed across from you, your friend scowls at you. “Don’t we have somewhere to go this evening? I remember you blabbering in my ear the entire time at the restaurant.”

Eyes widening, you sit up, your sleepiness vanishing in a flash. “Right! We’re visiting Gyeongbokgung Palace! It was the main imperial palace of the Joseon Dynasty.”

“You read up on it, huh?” she teases, giving you a cocky smirk.

Gasping, you place a hand on your chest, offended. “I did not! I’m just smart!” you retort. Okay, maybe you did but for the sake of your pride and dignity, a white lie wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Just admit it, nerd.” she scoffs, jabbing you in the side. She knew you too well, seeing through the lie that only served as a flimsy barrier from the truth.

Swatting her hand away, you stick your tongue out. “On that topic, we’ll be following a tour guide so we’ll be in a group with other tourists.” you utter, reclining back, your arms behind your head.

“What the hell? Why can’t we just explore on our own? What’s the fun in following a tour guide when we can be adventurous and spontaneous? It’s a vacation for god’s sake.” she complains, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Being too adventurous and spontaneous can result in us getting lost. Besides, it’s not like we know our way around Seoul. We’re just tourists too.” you remind her, rolling on your stomach so you could look her in the eye.

"You just had to go in the evening. If we went in broad daylight, I bet we wouldn't get lost. Who would even go for the nighttime viewing?" she whines, burying her face in the duvet.

“It’s only for an hour or so. Just suck it up. Besides, the palace will look even more stunning at night.” you reassure, rolling your eyes at the dramatic display she was putting on.

“Fine. What time is the tour?” she queried, giving up.

“It’s at 8 pm but we can always arrive early,” you state, smiling triumphantly. “It’ll be a good opportunity to take some photos,” you add, knowing that she loves photography,

She perks up the moment you mention photos but she swiftly erases her excitement, replacing it with a facade of indifference. “Whatever.” she huffs, turning her back on you as she scrolls through social media.

You scoff, shaking your head, knowing that you had piqued her interest before standing up, shuffling to the bathroom to start getting ready.

»»————-　　————-««

Passing through the main gate encircling the perimeter of the palace, you slow your pace to admire the architecture. You reach out to cautiously brush your fingertips over the dark crimson doors, marvelling at how gigantic they are.

You refrain from peeking through the arched entrance as you wanted to see the grandeur of the palace when you arrived at the foot of the steps. Brushing your hand against the rough granite of the foundation, you try to picture the king and royal officials passing through the gate.

For some reason, you were holding your breath as you passed through the archway. Your gaze drifting upwards, your jaw drops at the sight of the palace in front of you as you take in the sheer beauty of it. Although you had seen pictures of the palace online, it barely did it justice as it looked even more majestic in real life.

A wide, paved path leads up to the stairs towards the palace and you notice the elegantly sloped roofs and intricate details with lotus flowers and characters carved into the wood. The use of vibrant green and red draws your eyes and although you would expect the colours to clash, they complement each other, creating a strangely soothing effect.

The evening sky adds to the etherealness of it all, the full moon glowing, shining on the path as a crisp breeze lifts your hair, stirring it into motion.

Your friend strolls beside you, equally in awe, her eyes sparkling with amazement as she examines the palace. "Where are we waiting for the tourist group?" she questions, both hands gripping tightly on the straps of her backpack.

You suppress a sigh at the scornful tone of her voice, bitterness dripping as she purposefully put emphasis on the two words, “tourist group”.

“Just at the entrance of the palace,” you reply, leafing through the pamphlet that was handed out amongst the crowd that mingled around the gate.

There was a map on the back of the brochure and your eyes sparkled as you examined it. It could give you the opportunity to slip away and admire the palace as long as you desired without fearing that you'd get lost.

You and your friend look around for the tour guide, scanning the crowd for any sight of someone who might resemble one. Spotting the tour guide carrying a sign with the name of the company, you nudge your friend before dragging her towards the group.

Huffing, she hefts her camera, adjusting the strap. You smile giddily to yourself, skipping like a child and you banished all the negative thoughts, allowing yourself to lower your guard, to forget that you were a mere tourist travelling in a foreign city with unknown dangers. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Of course everything had to go completely wrong.

»»————-　　————-««

First, you had bumped into a fellow tourist, causing you to fall gracelessly, landing on your backside, the pamphlet fluttering into a puddle of murky water as you hastily apologized.

To your utter dismay, the ink started to fade, washed away from the water and rendered the map useless. You could hardly interpret it so you didn't bother to pick it up. You ignored your friend's snickering as you accepted her helping hand.

Well, time to say goodbye to your plans to explore on your own.

As if pushing your luck, you were now lost. You fought down the rising panic and racked your brain, trying to come up with solutions. Even worse, your phone was dead. You swore fate hated you, always wanting to tamper with your plans.

You squeezed through the crowd, aiming for the gaps in between to slip through, squeaking out an apology when you accidentally step on someone's foot. Squinting, you peer for any sight of your friend as you hold your bag nervously, hands squeezing the strap.

You stop at the end of the hallway, eyes shifting from the different corridors that open up from the end of it. You rock back and forth on the balls of your feet as you contemplate, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

Left or right?

As if answering your question, the corridor to your right glowed brighter underneath the moonlight and you gaped, rubbing at your eyes, convinced that you were seeing things. You blinked a couple of times but it only seemed to make the walls of the corridor brighten, washing the walls in shimmering tones of silver and pewter. Despite your instincts screaming at you to walk down the corridor, you were reluctant, feeling foolish to follow your gut instincts and making a decision based on it when you ought to have analyzed thoroughly. Shrugging, you started down the path, eyes drifting on the walls, reaching out to aimlessly drag your fingers against the wall, rough plaster and concrete scraping against skin as you marvel at how it practically shines underneath the moon.

Too busy admiring the architecture, you don’t notice the steps a few steps away until your foot comes in contact with space where the floor should’ve been. Eyes widening, you find yourself tripping, letting out a gasp into the silence as you screw your eyes shut.

Red floods your vision as the pain comes. It was worse than any other injury, sharp aches throbbing in your skull as you hit your head against the concrete. You open your eyes, attempting to sit up but stop as your vision starts to swim, black dots invading your vision as your head sways, only intensifying the pain. You hiss, closing your eyes and slowly counting to ten, trying to tamp down the panic and bile that rose in your throat.

It’s no use, the panic rising and swallowing you whole as you feel your consciousness fading. The last thing you remember is the blurry visage of the corridor brightening, causing you to squint to shield your eyes.

»»————-　　————-««

Regaining consciousness, you sit up quickly, regretting it as your vision swims, blurring everything momentarily. You close your eyes, grimacing when a dull ache throbs in the back of your head.

Right...you had lost footing and missed several steps, slamming your head on the concrete. You sigh as the memory surfaces and you press your hand against your hand gently, screwing your face up when it feels tender and sore to the touch.

Eyes fluttering open, you're met with an unfamiliar room. Your brow furrowing, you observe your surroundings with keen eyes.

The room was fashioned from dark oak, with sliding doors made from white paper, sheer enough to see shadows moving from outside, but still providing enough privacy. Candles flickered jovially on the low tables and judging from the absence of natural light, you guessed that it was currently nighttime. Looking down, your eyes travelled the length of the pallet you were sitting on, noting the intricate embroideries curving through it. You reached out and gingerly ran your fingers against it. Judging from the material and the delicate ornamentations, it was probably very expensive.

“My lady…you’re awake!”

A rejoiced voice grabs your attention and you turn slowly to meet the owner of it. A girl, around your age kneels at your bed and sets down the bucket of water, dousing a clean cloth in it. You blink in confusion, realizing that she was wearing a hanbok, the traditional clothing of historical Korea. You exhaled softly, tense shoulders relaxing as you inferred that you were in one of the residences near the palace, where you were able to rent a hanbok and experience how ancient Korea used to be. The girl gently wipes the wound on the back of your head before undoing the gauzes, replacing it with new ones.

“My lady, you mustn’t be so reckless while riding a horse.” she scolds lightly, shaking her head.

“E-excuse me?”

You didn’t remember anything about a horse. Momentarily, you wondered why the girl was being so formal with you before your thoughts started to wander. Toning out the girl’s rambling, you stared emptily at the nearest candle, flickering and jumping like it had a life of its own.

Catching a section of her sentence, you come back to your senses. “Could you repeat that, please?”

“Arranged marriage with the eldest son of King Sejong?” she repeats, brow creasing in concern. “Are you alright, my lady?”

“King Sejong?” you laughed hysterically, convinced that you had hit your head so hard that you were seeing and hearing things. “What is this? Joseon Dynasty?”

“Precisely, my lady.” she responded, concern creeping onto her features.

“You’re awfully good at acting. Hollywood should recruit you.” you mumble, flopping back on the pallet with a groan, eyes tracing the wooden arches and pattern of the ceiling.

“Hollywood..? I don’t think I understand, my lady.”

Sighing, you sit back up, eyes heavy with fatigue. You were tired of arguing with her so you decided to play along. “Ok then, where am I right now?”

“It is 1437 in Joseon, during the reign of King Sejong.”

You scoffed, disbelief written all over your face. “There’s no way.” Regardless, you stumble to your feet, ignoring the girl’s feeble attempt at stopping you. Stopping in front of the window, you eye the wooden shades before unlatching them.

Expecting the soaring skyscrapers and buildings as well as milling groups of tourists and busy traffic in the streets, your heart almost stops when you see a rustic village, with people leading around horses, resembling nothing of Seoul. Seoul was a city of metal and glass, of advanced technology and modern inventions, yet here, the midnight sky was clear of dust and smoke and you swore you could see every star in the Milky Way.

Stout buildings made up this village, mainly made of wood and brick and the well-trodden dirt path was dimly lit by torches. It was quiet outside, with few people still wandering the streets, you assumed they were all inside, based on the amount of well-lit houses. Gradually, you realized that they were all wearing the traditional garment of historical Korea and although you frantically surveyed the landscape, your eyes scanning every single nook and cranny of the town, everything still remained unfamiliar and foreign.

Leaning forward, you feel the wind whisper its secrets in your ear. “There’s no way.” you whisper to yourself, dragging a hand down your face as you shut your eyes, hoping that this strange world would disappear, replaced by the comforting familiarity of Seoul.

It was not possible to travel back in time...right?

»»————-　　————-««

Numbly, you sit and let Eun-ji, the girl who was apparently your handmaiden, brush your hair. The wooden brush was methodically soothing against your scalp, but did nothing for your frazzled nerves. From listening to Eun-ji, you were Lady (Y/n), supposedly the daughter of a noble family in the Joseon Dynasty, about 6 centuries before your time.

Blankly, you stare at the wall in front of you. As the only daughter of the family, you were supposed to be married off to a rich man to improve your family’s reputation and financial standing, proving how corrupt society was.

However, your husband-to-be was the crown prince, which was a rare occurrence. You supposed that you were lucky, but you suspected that the prince was just another posh and spoiled jerk who was accustomed to the leisurely and luxurious ways of life.

“Say...I can’t avoid the wedding right?” you chirp with false positivity, dislodging the brush from your hair as you turn around to stare at Eun-ji with hopeful eyes.

“A-absolutely not! My lady, this is unavoidable! Your father already agreed and gave out the dowry.” she stuttered, appalled at your question.

“Besides, you’re lucky to marry the crown prince! He’s really handsome, courageous and respectful. I heard a servant girl once fainted after seeing him smile at her.” Eun-ji gossips dreamily, clasping her hands together.

You shook your head. Of course the crown prince would act like that in public. How else would he work his propaganda and trick everyone into supporting him? You drift off, toning out the girl’s wistful fantasizing, anxious over the fact that you had travelled back in time, which shouldn’t be physically possible. With basically no experience or knowledge on the Joseon Dynasty, you doubted you’d be able to survive a second without getting tricked or lured into danger. Tuning back into the one-sided conversation, you manage to catch the last bit of Eun-ji’s sentence.

“...travelling to the imperial palace tomorrow.”

Travelling to where now?

“Everyone is so busy preparing tomorrow’s trip. We’re so excited that you’re getting married! And to royalty at that! Don’t worry, my lady, I’ll be accompanying you!” she declares, grinning sunnily at you, either purposely ignoring your apparent concern or she just didn’t notice.

You reluctantly recline back in your seat, shoulders screaming with how tense your muscles were, allowing Eun-ji to continue to brush and detangle your hair, trying to digest all the information your poor brain was just told. You wouldn’t be surprised if a war started next morning, with how bad your luck currently was.

Closing your eyes, you channel all your strength into resisting the urge to punch a wall and let out a string of curses. Not only was it deemed un-ladylike, possibly earning you the disappointment of your parents, it could potentially draw suspicion and unwanted attention.

All you could do for now was to go along with flow and figure out an escape later, when you had milked all the answers and surprises out of Joseon.

»»————-　　————-««

You throw the windows open, frowning when you are met with the sight of ominous gray clouds gathering. It was as if the heavens themselves knew there was something wrong. You squint, trying to find any hint of the sun hidden behind the clouds, but to your dismay, it was dark and dismal, reflecting your mood.

You wave away the maid hovering nearby, silently commanding her to give you some personal space. The moment you hear her light steps recede, you slouch, pulling a face. Today was the day you would be entering the palace, and a couple of days later, your marriage into the imperial family.

You swallow thickly, gripping the material of your night robes nervously. You eyed the distance down from the window, wondering if you could jump down without breaking an ankle and run away from all your problems. Before you could seriously contemplate it, footsteps alert you of another’s presence and you hurriedly straighten your back, pulling your shoulders back into what you hoped was a confident and elegant poise.

You turn around, meeting the gaze of your supposed mother. Although you felt uneasy addressing her as such, you felt comfort knowing that there was an older figure who could guide you and give advice.

“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, standing close enough for her arm to brush against yours. You stiffen, making sure to give off an air of confidence. “I am feeling fine. After all, it is my job to bring honour to our family.” you replied, flashing a smile that weakens when she doesn’t return it, instead staring back at you with wise eyes.

“(Y/n).”

You tense, before giving a smile so forced, it felt like your lips were stretched too far. “Don’t worry, mother.” The word “mother” felt bitter on your tongue. It felt wrong to address this woman as your mother, even if she had similar qualities to your mom in your time.

The woman hesitated slightly before nodding curtly. “Then, you should start getting prepared.” She turned away, gesturing to the servants who were waiting with countless trays of jewelry and garments as well as combs and cosmetic products.

Your mother’s trusted lady-in-waiting approaches you, an older woman with graying hair at her temples and lines around her eyes, tilting your chin up, frowning at your eye bags and dark circles. You offer a meek smile when she tsks, barking out orders to the waiting servants. They hustle around you, reminding you of bees buzzing busily around a blooming flower. Several girls work silently on coaxing your hair into an intricate updo while the rest observe your face and prepare the clothes and accessories.

You sneeze when the lady-in-waiting pats powder on your face, earning another disapproving look. You slouch, letting them do whatever they want. The moment your hair and features are perfectly done, you’re dragged behind a screen as they strip you, folding your night robes neatly as they work to squeeze you into a lovely garment, shimmering silk of vivid amber and vermillion, plain yet exquisite, seen from the expertly sewn hems and edges and the gorgeous material.

Squeaking, you straighten hurriedly as the lady-in-waiting tugs sharply on the ribbon, tying it into a delicate bow at the back. A mirror is thrust into your face and you hesitate slightly before taking it. Gasping, you peer at your reflection. You hardly recognized yourself, exuding an air of grace and elegance, your hair swept up as your features were flawlessly accentuated and the bold colours of your clothing brought out the life in your eyes and the ruby-red of your lips. You stare at your reflection, not missing the lady-in-waiting’s smug smirk as she dabs rose water on the sides of your neck.

They push you out the doors of your chamber and you stumble unceremoniously before regaining your balance. Outside, your mother awaits you, tears filling her pretty eyes as she takes you in, pride and affection lighting up her face. Stepping forward, she grabs your hands, tears slowly falling down and automatically, you brush them off with feather-light touches.

“Are you ready?” she whispers, squeezing your hands. Your features soften when you notice the genuine concern in her eyes. You nod, smiling tenderly. Your father approaches you, a heavy hand falling on your shoulder. Although he seems indifferent, you can decipher love and satisfaction in his midnight-black eyes. Awkwardly, he pulls you into an embrace and you choke back a laugh, tears filling your own eyes. Even if they weren’t your parents, past (Y/n) was lucky to have them.

“Bring honour to our family, (Y/n).” His thunderous voice rumbles through you and you sense the vulnerability in his tone before he pulls away, the proud smile on his face making your heart soar.

Raising your chin, you match his smile with yours. “I will.”

»»————-　　————-««

You wait in the palanquin, your hands clenching the exquisite silk of your garment anxiously. Hearing giggling, you lift the screen obscuring the small window to your right, peering out into the sunshine.

"Do you think she'll survive in the palace?"

"I know she's not going to. Have you seen her? I bet she can’t even last a few days in the palace without embarrassing herself.” The taller girl sneers, lips curling in contempt.

You watch as the girls titter elegantly behind their fans, your anger simmering as your grasp tightens, knuckles whitening. Lifting your chin proudly, you vow to prove them wrong.

»»————-　　————-««

“Are you not excited to see your bride-to-be, Sangyeon?”

The crown prince turns to see his brother smirking slyly at him, his gaze implying. “Don’t be immature, Sejo,” he replied rigidly, fixing his gaze on the horizon, jaw tense.

“I heard she’s quite a pretty thing. I wouldn’t mind having her by my side.” Sejo continues, inspecting the scenery nonchalantly.

“Stop referring to her like she’s a plaything. Besides, you know there’s still Hwi-bin.” Sangyeon sighs, not even looking at his brother as he adjusts his robes carefully, palms smoothing over the navy silk and the slight scratchiness of the gold embroidered on it.

Sejo rolls his eyes at the mention of Hwi-bin. “There are plenty of gorgeous and noblewomen clamouring to be with you, yet you’re still captivated by her.”

“I am not you. I am interested in having a stable and mutually loving relationship. After all, I am not the one going to pleasure houses in Hanseong.” Sangyeon retorts, and although he sounds aggravated, his eyes twinkle with amusement.

A chuckle escapes from him when he hears Sejo mutter "boring" underneath his breath.

In response, his brother scoffs but a smile plays on his lips. Turning his gaze to observe the scenery, he becomes solemn, the smile disappearing. “You’re going to have to break things off with Hwi-bin, brother.”

At the change of topic, Sangyeon groans, throwing back his head. "It's not as easy as it sounds."

"You're going to have to do it, for the future of our country." Sejo reprimanded, uncharacteristically serious, unsettling the prince.

“Now you’re starting to sound like father,” Sangyeon grumbled, massaging his temples with his fingers. Lately, he hadn’t been able to sleep well, evident by the dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks. The lack of sleep clearly didn’t do wonders for the recurring migraines he had everyday, and all he wanted was to get the marriage over with, if only to stop his parents’ nagging.

Sejo sighed dramatically, already opening his mouth to yap away but Sangyeon turned away, squinting into the horizon, seeing a palanquin in the distance, the tiny tassels dancing as the platform swayed rhythmically, the family crest held up proudly.

Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled sharply before vaulting himself on the horse, who nickered softly in greeting as the male stroked its nose. “They’re here.”

»»————-　　————-««

Hearing the door slide open, you turn around, seeing Sangyeon in the doorway.

You bow deeply, averting your gaze respectfully. Only when he acknowledges your presence do you straighten, the silk of your hanbok rustling softly. The journey here was nothing remarkable, and although you thought the riches of your home was extravagant enough, the furniture of the imperial palace was outrageously lavish, your home paling in comparison. You inch away from the jade vase you were gaping at previously, terrified of shattering it.

"What are you here for, Your Excellency?" you ask politely, your gaze settling on him.

"My father has commanded me to show you around Hanseong. He hopes for you to see the glory and learn the ways of the imperial city." the crown prince states, his voice void of any emotion as he studies you, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Hesitating, you nod, giving him a tiny smile. "I would love to."

"I shall call for a palanquin then," Sangyeon responds and although he turns away, you can see the flash of distaste on his face. When he steps towards the exit to leave, you call out, causing him to stop.

What is it, Lady (Y/n)?" he turns around, raising an eyebrow.

You wince at the way he addresses you so formally. Although it served as a form of respect, it felt foreign and it made him feel even more distant.

"Is it alright if we could go by horse?" you dare to ask, anticipating his answer. After suffering through the whole journey to the imperial palace in such a suffocating space, you were determined to never experience it again.

When you notice the blank look on his face, you shake your head quickly. "Pretend I didn't say anything, Your Excellency." you hastily add, lowering your gaze.

Sangyeon's lips part slightly as he considers. He has to admit; he was pleasantly shocked by your request. Many distinguished ladies such as yourself were quite comfortable inside a palanquin, shielded from the world and its dangers.

He preferred experiencing things first-hand, on the back of a horse, racing through golden fields of wheat and feeling the wind tousle his hair. It provided a sense of freedom before he returned to the restraining imperial palace. Sangyeon hated travelling in a palanquin as it reminded him of his royal status and how it prompted others to treat him differently.

"Of course. We will leave at dusk then," he says stiffly, before proceeding to leave, the dark lacquered floorboards creaking slightly under his footsteps. Raising your head, you watch his figure disappear from your sight, a relieved sigh escaping your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, his lips curl into a small smile.

Perhaps you weren't as dreadful as he thought.

»»————-　　————-««

Just as planned, you found Sangyeon waiting with two horses outside the gate, his sharp jawline accentuated by the coral rays of the setting sun. He didn’t notice you, his eyes trained on something you couldn’t see. Slowing your pace, you drag your feet in the soft mud, wondering if it was a mistake to refuse the offer of a palanquin. After all, you weren’t well accustomed with horses. You envisioned yourself falling off the horse mid-journey and shuddered, not eager to have a repeat of an incident. Clenching your jaw in determination, you told yourself that you were doing this to prove to the prince that you were different. Marching towards him briskly, you greeted him with a bow, with which he acknowledged stiffly.

Sangyeon chuckled softly, seeing you stare doubtfully at the horse, offering his hand which you gratefully accepted. Hoisting you onto your stead, you struggled to regain balance for a few seconds, your heart hammering against your ribs. As if sensing your uncertainty, the horse snorts, tossing its head and you yelp, gripping the reins tightly, only causing the horse to angrily neigh, becoming even more restless.

“Relax, you’re only throwing the horse off.” he utters, seating himself on his stead with an easy air that came with constant practice.

“I know that.” you shoot back, daring a glance at the prince. Sangyeon seems surprised at first, eyebrows arched in question, then laughing heartily, startling you. It was the first time you had seen him expressing mirth, instead of his usual intimidating stoic expression.

Before you can ride off, a shout is heard from behind you. Turning around in the saddle, you notice a guard dashing towards you, sweat matting his hair. “Your Excellency, you can’t just run off like that. Your Majesty has assigned me to assist you and Lady (Y/n).”

Sangyeon waves him off dismissively. “We don’t need a guard. But if it comes to it, I can protect us both.” At that, he pulls back his robe, revealing a lethal-looking dagger sheathed at his hip.

The guard opens his mouth, attempting to protest but Sangyeon gives him a stern look. “That’s an order.” You watch on quietly as the guard sullenly walks back at the prince’s words. Sangyeon turns his horse back around with a slight tug of the reins. “Let’s get going. It’s ideal to be back before nightfall.”

You nod, tugging lightly on your reins. “Try to keep up.” he snickers, displaying an uncharacteristically playful and teasing side. You gasp, offended. Sure, you didn’t have much experience with horses, especially compared to him but you were certain you’d be able to pick it up quickly.

“I am fully capable of keeping up, Your Excellency” you retorted, your pride stinging slightly.

“We’ll see.” Sangyeon gives you a boyish smirk as he nudges at his horse’s flanks, settling into a steady pace.

»»————-　　————-««

It’s quiet in the forest and you are aware of the tense silence that hangs between you and Sangyeon. Clearing your throat, you start to think of conversation starters, desperate to try and befriend the prince. It would be better to make friends and allies instead of foes. Before you can speak, Sangeon beats you to it.

“Just so you know, the marriage is tomorrow.”

You gape, clenching the reins so hard, your stead whinnies in protest. Relaxing your grip in apology, you turn to face Sangyeon. “So soon?”

He nods, clearly dissatisfied. “It’s always best to marry young and my father is convinced it will help establish my power to prevent a coup d'état.”

You don’t respond, your body swaying to the rhythmic trotting of the horse.

“You might not be aware, but I…” Sangyeon hesitates, struggling to find the correct words. You watch him curiously, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I already have a lover.” he continues, “unfortunately, you will not be getting the marriage you dreamed of, Lady (Y/n).”

You secretly celebrate in your mind, glad that the male felt the same way. Being forced into an arranged marriage to establish power and reputation was not something you had thought would happen anytime, yet it had happened anyway. You had miserably hoped that this feeling wasn’t one-sided and it seemed like the gods granted you this wish.

“First of all, please drop the formalities. Just call me (Y/n).” you instruct, and amused, Sangyeon agrees and requests of you to do the same. If you were to be stuck in a marriage with him, you might as well seek out more information and become good friends.

“Second, you don’t need to worry. I’m not exactly pleased to be in an arranged marriage, even if it’s with royalty, so I don’t care if you have another lover.” you laugh, and Sangyeon’s worry melts away, replaced by an easy smile.

“Thank god.” he mutters under his breath, clearly relieved. For some reason, you find it hilarious, bursting into uncontrollable laughter which he eventually joins in. With tears in your eyes, you catch your breath before getting thrown into another bout of laughter by his little dance of victory. Calming down, you turn to Sangyeon who was smiling brightly, admiring the way the dying sunlight reflected on his hair and danced in his eyes. He looked lively and carefree, with his rosy cheeks and tousled hair and you were sure you would’ve fallen in love with him if you had met him in your time. Alas, it was the wrong person and wrong time.

“How about this?” you speak up, and he perks up at your question, eager to please.

“I think we should be friends.” you beam at him, experiencing the most joy and freedom since arriving in Joseon. Screw arranged marriages, no one should get to decide who you marry and who you don’t!

Sangyeon tilts his head, pretending to contemplate your offer before nudging his horse in your direction, pulling closer to you. Reaching out, he extends his hand, eyes twinkling with mischief and mirth.

Grinning, you accept it, shaking hands firmly. “Deal.”

»»————-　　————-««

A day later, you sit on the bed, itching to take off all the silk garments that were bound tightly against your body, suffocating you. The marriage flew by in a blur and all you could remember was watching Sangyeon ascend the steps, his regal face solemn and void of any emotion. When his gaze had connected with yours, his lips had quirked up slightly, as if reassuring you that it would be alright, before masked with seriousness once again.

Shaking your head, laughter bubbles out your throat. Out of all the things you thought would happen in the past, getting married wasn’t anywhere in the list. At least, you could boast that you had gotten married first out of all your friends, although you doubted they would believe you.

Humming softly, you listened to the sound of the night; cicadas and crickets chirping and you could hear the distant sound of a bubbling creek. Nothing like the busy city of present-day Seoul, you mused. While fiddling with your fingers, nature’s melodies lull you into a sense of peace and you sigh softly, too much time on your hands. Then, it struck you. It was the wedding night.

Disgusted, you banished the horrifying thoughts before you looked around for something to defend yourself with, just in case. Silver blades gleam in the candlelight and you catch a glimpse of your scowling face as you reach out to grab the scissors. Although Sangyeon didn’t seem like it, if he tried to take advantage of you, he’d have multiple nasty stab wounds that you hoped to avoid inflicting.

Speak of the devil.

The doors slide open, revealing Sangyeon, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold air, as well as a few drinks, you suspected. You watch him warily, like a lioness stalking its prey. He shrugs off the ceremonial robes, revealing the plain garment underneath. Finishing, he turns towards you, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to sleep like that?” he questions, gesturing to the extravagant wedding hanbok.

Smoothing over the creases in the silk, you trace the embroidered peonies on the crimson material. You shake your head, wincing when you feel the heavy headpiece shift, yanking at your hair. Although it was gorgeous, the material was restricting and weighted, with a ridiculous amount of layers, hindering your movements. Standing, you silently untie the bow, letting the silk pool around your waist as you work to take off the headpiece and release your hair from its torture. Sangyeon takes it and carefully places it on the table as you fold the ceremonial garment neatly, leaving it next to the ornamental headpiece.

Standing in your night robe, you and Sangyeon stare at each other, his gaze flicking down to the scissors in your hand and understanding floods his face. When you don’t move, he sits on the pallet before reclining back. “I’m not going to do anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Sangyeon says softly, eyes trained on your face.

When you relax, he grins, the atmosphere becoming more light-hearted. “Do I really seem like that type of person?” he continues, scrunching his nose as he gave you a look of mock hurt that you ignored.

You place down the scissors before gracelessly flopping on the bed, jostling Sangyeon, causing him to yelp. You close your eyes, fatigue overcoming you. “Goodnight” you mumble, yawning widely as you turn on your side, making sure to keep a safe distance.

When he doesn’t respond, you shift to face him, stifling laughter when you realize that he was already fast asleep, mouth ajar, chest rising and falling steadily. You watch him sleep for a while, his face serene and almost angelic before turning back on your side, closing your eyes.

Mumbling in his sleep, he throws an arm over your waist and you freeze, before gingerly lifting his arm off, uncomfortable with such displays of physical affection. Closing your eyes, you’re overcome with a sudden nostalgia and longing for your present time and you sigh, praying that you would be able to return before your eyelids droop, slowly drifting off to dreamland.

»»————-　　————-««

Over several days, you and Sangyeon have gotten to know each other well, thanks to late night conversations and going on adventures to escape the controlling grip of the imperial palace, where you felt like you couldn’t even breathe without a judging glance thrown your way.

You would be lying if you didn’t find Sangyeon attractive. With his easy smile and the confident aura that he practically radiated, you cursed the gods for not creating such gorgeous men in your time. However, things have changed between you and him. Lately, you had caught him sneaking furtive glances at you and you had to admit that you had been doing the same, although you were sure you were more subtle.

Last night, you and Sangyeon had laid together in the darkness, limbs tangled in the sheets, but no one made an effort to detangle themself from the material. Tentatively, you tested the waters and leaned against his arm. As expected, he slipped the arm out but to your surprise, he repositioned it around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body.

“You awake?”

You had whispered into the quietness of the room and he had hummed in response. In the shadows of the room, you barely saw him shift. “Is something wrong?” He had lowered his voice to match yours, as if sharing a sacred secret.

You shook your head, but quickly realized he probably couldn’t see you. “I can’t sleep, that’s all.” You had felt his laughter, the vibration rumbling through his chest and travelling down to your bones. “What a coincidence, I can’t either.”

You thought for a while before asking him to tell you more about himself. Although you had spent the days getting to know each other, it was one-sided. Him, nodding and listening intently while you had blabbered about yourself and any entertaining story you could think of, leaving out the important detail about coming from the future. Compiling, Sangyeon had then started telling stories about his childhood and his daily life.

Delighted, you had curled up in a ball, feeling drowsy as he continued to speak, his soothing voice lulling you to sleep. Sensing your tiredness from your lack of response, he stops abruptly and when you blearily ask him why he stopped, he doesn’t respond, instead beginning to sing the rich melody of an unfamiliar song and your eyes widen momentarily in amazement, before fluttering close. Sangyeon’s voice was mellifluous, warm and honeyed, reminding you of a pleasant spring day, warm sunshine filtering through a canopy of trees while birds sang their individual melodies, yet still harmonizing to create a beautiful orchestration.

Before you succumb to the enticing pull of sleep, Sangyeon wishes you a good sleep and for a second, your muddled brain ponders if you imagined the feeling of his lips against your forehead.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the door sliding open until footsteps jolt you into attention. Looking up, you lock eyes with Hwi-bin, Sangyeon’s first love.

Your eyes rove over her features and you can’t help but feel envious. You could tell why Sangyeon loved her so intensely. Big, doe eyes, flawless skin, plush rosebud-like lips and long, silky hair. Hwi-bin was so beautiful that she was practically a goddess and you were convinced that if she was in your time, she’d have all the boys clamouring for her attention.

As she greeted you, you panicked, opening your mouth as the gears in your head furiously functioned, trying to patch together words. Hwi-bin giggled at your flustered display before grabbing your hands, passion and urgency burning in the deep pools of her eyes.

“My lady, I am here to talk about the crown prince.”

You gulp involuntarily, your mind still a jumbled mess. “L-listen-”

Before you can piece together your sentence, she interrupts you. “I just want to know if you love him or not. I’ll understand if you say you do, and I promise I won’t interfere with your marriage.”

Frantically, you shake your head. “I don’t love him, I swear.” Jealousy was a poison, dangerous enough to taint the hearts of even the most innocent or kind people. You knew from experience and you hoped Hwi-bin wasn’t like the crazy female characters in kdramas vowing for revenge.

Noticeably relieved, she lets go of your hands, gratitude shining in her eyes. “I’m glad, then.” Hwi-bin turns away and leaves with an apologetic smile, saying that she was busy, although she regretted not being able to gossip with you. You nod, already staring off in a distance, unfocused, gradually losing yourself in the lucid world of your imagination.

If you had cared to look closely, you would’ve seen the malevolent smirk on Hwi-bin’s face and the dark, vindictive glimmer in her eyes.

Oh, what a fool.

»»————-　　————-««

As you’re about to pay your respects to the queen, you cross paths with the king’s favourite concubine. She regards you stonily as you step into a bow, dipping your head respectfully. Although your eyes are fixed on the ground, you can feel her slowly circling you. Uncomfortable, you shift slightly, feeling like prey pinned underneath a predator’s deadly stare.

“I don’t understand how you got chosen amongst the millions of women practically begging to be the prince’s consort.” she muses, halting in front of you. Her voice was husky and deep like she smoked tobacco every day. Although it wasn’t melodious or lovely, you understood the allure and sensuality of it.

You flinch when she grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up roughly, her grip bruising as she examines your features. Eun-Ji gasps, opening her mouth to protest but a sharp glance from the concubine silences her.

“You’re not exceptionally beautiful either, rather average.” she continues, before letting go of your face. “Perhaps it is because your family is rich.”

Your eye twitches before you school your features into a serene expression, allowing her to continue to direct insults and jabs at you. You knew better than to give her what she wanted.

“Sadly, the prince won’t be giving you much attention. You’ll die alone here. Besides, you’re just a willing pawn who will submit to her future king until he doesn’t need you anymore. Then, he’ll throw you away.” she feigns a pitiful expression before laughing mockingly, the sound grating and unpleasant. You recoil slightly when she leans in, her face mere inches from yours.

“However, as long as I live, that scoundrel won’t be the successor to the throne and you won’t be there to help aid his ascent to power.” she spits, her voice venomous, a drastic change compared to her relaxed words a few seconds ago.

“Don’t call him a scoundrel,” you shoot back, resisting the urge to strike her. Yes, you had originally thought he was just a pompous prince who was power-hungry but after spending time with him, you realized that Sangyeon wasn’t truly as bad as you imagined. He was respectful and kind, clearly valuing and putting others before himself.

The moment the words are out your mouth, you know it’s over for you. Although you could get severely disciplined for talking back, you felt no regret, only sick satisfaction.

Her eyes flash with anger and her hand strikes out, slapping you across the face with so much force you lose your balance, falling on the ground. Eun-Ji cries out, kneeling next to you as she examines you for any injuries.

“That’ll teach you a lesson. Telling me to respect him? Learn your place first.” she hisses, crouching down to your level and wiping her hand on the full skirt of your hanbok, as if there was grime on her hand from touching your face. “Aren’t you so pathetic? Apologize to me and I’ll think about forgiving you.” she croons, expecting your grovelling.

You consider for a heartbeat, weighing the two options. “I’d rather die.” you growl, bristling. When her smug expression morphs into something akin to shock, you feel a surge of pride. Although you knew better than to go around provoking other ladies of the court who could bring upon your demise, you did not want to be meek, thrown and played around with, like a toy underneath the lethal claws of a feline.

“You want to get punished, don’t you?” she utters, livid. “That’s fine, kneel until your precious little prince finds you and saves you, just like the hero you’ve dreamed of.” You bite back the urge to tell her that you didn’t need a man to save you. You were fully capable of saving yourself. You detested being treated as a damsel-in-distress, just waiting for someone to take pity on her.

“I guarantee he won’t, he will be too infatuated with Hwi-bin to care about you.” she derides, lips curling in a contemptuous smile.

You open your mouth to refute, but she has already glided away, the silk of her lavish garment rippling underneath the light as her entourage follows her, their heads bowed. You growl in frustration before attempting to get up but Eun-Ji stops you, shaking her head.

“If you don’t heed her order, you could get thrown into the dungeon,” she whispers frantically, her eyes shifting as she holds on to your wrist tightly.

You shake your head in disdain. “Are you seriously scared of her?” you ask, trying to pry her fingers off your sleeve, the material of your garment creasing underneath her grip.

She nods, relaxing her grip. "She has more power than you think she does. She could order your death if she wanted to."

You bite back the colourful string of curses that you wanted to spew. Surely, that wasn't what a lady of the court would do. So you forced yourself to calm down, taking deep breaths before shifting, raising yourself to kneel.

Hours pass, the rays of sunlight growing weaker as more and more clouds collect but you refuse to lower your chin, head held high. You don't bother glancing at the servants and nobles who walk past, whispering behind their hands as they eye you.

Even if humiliation caused the blood to rush to your face and your knees to shake, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of watching you break.

Rain starts to fall, gently at first, nothing but mist before the storm gray clouds roll in and suddenly it pours, pelting against the ground with so much force it causes the small puddles to ripple. You don't brush the raindrops away from your face, allowing them to continue cascading down. You already know your hair and garments are drenched and it sends chills through you. You clench your jaw, gritting your teeth to stop them chattering from the cold.

Where was Sangyeon?

»»————-　　————-««

You wake up, groaning as a panging headache hits you. Struggling, you sit up, eyes widening as you take in your surroundings, recognizing the familiar tapestries hanging on the wall and priceless decor that is placed in the room, lacquered floors shining, not even a hint of dust apparent. You tilted your head to the side, confused. You didn’t remember much from yesterday, except that you had made an enemy with the royal concubine and that she had told you to kneel as punishment for disrespecting her.

You draw in a sharp breath. That could only mean one thing, right? Sangyeon had found you and safely returned you to your chambers. Which meant….

You shook your head, shaking off the smug triumph like a dog shaking off water. Still, you had to know it, had to hear it for yourself.

Propping yourself up, you call for your lady-in-waiting. Eun-ji rushes to your aid, carrying a basin of water and a towel. With the speed of her pace, the water splashes against the sides of the basin, threatening to spill.

She presses a hand against your forehead, concern creasing her brow when she feels the heat that practically radiates off of it. You smile when Eun-ji places the damp cloth on, your heart warming at how caring and considerate she is.

"Why are you smiling, my lady?"

You recline on the propped cushions, eyes closed. "It's nothing. What happened?"

Eun-ji hesitates slightly before speaking up. “The queen came across your unconscious figure and ordered me to bring you home. She promised that she’d lift off the punishment that the concubine gave you.”

You turn, so quickly your head starts to spin and you feel faint. Groaning, you close your eyes for a heartbeat, focusing on your steady breathing and the warmth of her hands pushing your damp hair off your face.

Footsteps hammer against the wooden floors and you twist around to peer at the door. Your heart soars when you see Sangyeon in the doorway, face flushed and breath strained as he pants, attempting to catch his breath. Despite his disordered appearance, he was handsome as always, dark, cocoa brown eyes sparkling in the sunshine, causing him to glow, features perfectly lit in the warm golden light.

He stumbles towards you and Eun-ji quietly leaves as he catches your face with both hands, the heat of them seeping into your skin as he examines your face for any hint of injury or discomfort. Frowning, he speaks as he inspects the faint red on your check.

“I heard what happened and I came as quickly as I could-”

"You were with her, weren't you?" you interrupt, voice quiet but it sounds loud to your ringing ears, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

Sangyeon hesitates, clearly reluctant. "Answer me." you snap and you're in awe of your own boldness. An attitude like this could doom you, as seen with the incident that happened only a couple of hours ago.

You figured you had nothing to lose, anyways.

"...Yes."

You sigh, dropping yourself right back on the futon, hair messily splayed out. You didn’t dare admit that it bothered you more than you’d like. After all, you were the one married to Sangyeon. Not Hwi-bin, not someone else, but you. Not to mention he was awfully handsome and charming, confident, sweet and--

You broke off the train of thoughts, directing your focus somewhere else. You rubbed your temples, feeling an oncoming migraine and you furiously willed it to go away. "Listen Sangyeon," you began, meeting the gaze of the male next to you.

"If you want to convince everyone that we're madly in love, you're going to have to act like it."

At your statement, Sangyeon tilts his head like a lost puppy. “What do you mean?”

For a crown prince who supposedly was a high-class scholar, excelling in both studies and skills, he could be so dim. You suppress the sigh that threatened to escape, instead meeting his gaze squarely to try and prove your point. “They can’t know we’re not in love, you idiot. The queen recently told me she was looking forward to becoming a grandmother, for god’s sake!” you exclaimed, shaking your fists in exasperation, trying to emphasize your point and get it through his thick skull.

Sangyeon looked absolutely horrified, mouth hanging open, and you almost laughed at how comical his face looked before your heart dropped. Was it that terrifying to be in a marriage with you? You conceal your hurt, instead sitting up, the duvet pooling around your waist. You struggle with the silk, frowning at how restraining the material was.

Shaking his head, he lifts his hands to grip your shoulders, ceasing your movements. You stall, heat blossoming in your face at how close he is. Sangyeon’s face is close to yours and you can feel every breath he takes. Turning away, you try to distract yourself from his lips, merely inches from yours and the way his breath tickled your cheek. Your mind was shrieking like a crushing schoolgirl about to have her first kiss and you divert your attention elsewhere, ashamed of your bold thoughts.

“Is it that bad, being in an arranged marriage with me?” you tease weakly, loosening his grip on your shoulders as you clear your throat, bumping your shoulder against his playfully, trying to lighten the serious mood.

Suddenly, Sangyeon avoids your eyes, cheeks reddening. “It really isn’t.” he whispers, puffing his cheeks out. “It’s not what you think.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...I care more than you think.” Sangyeon admits, and immediately buries his face into his hands, already dreading his decision to tell you. You stared at him, stunned. Was this...a confession? When you stay silent, he peeks through his fingers, only to be met with your face, centimeters from his. Eyes widening almost comically, he tries to shy away but you lean in closer to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. Sangyeon’s blush deepens and he instantly interprets your hidden message in the display of affection.

Silence ensues, but it’s not awkward, rather the opposite. Hesitantly, he picks up your hand and plays with your fingers, gaze dropping bashfully to his lap. The room seems to brighten, becoming more colourful and vivid. Pale and washed-out colours of misery and despair are replaced by the spirited and vigorous colours of yellow irises and peach blossoms.

Suddenly, Sangyeon pulls you, mindful of your feverish body, but with enough force so that you land in his lap. Laughing, you prop your chin on his shoulder and run your hands through his hair as his arms snake around your waist, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

“What about Hwi-bin?” you ask timidly and your question seems to partially dissipate the whimsical mood. Pulling away, Sangyeon considers your question as he twirls a lock of your hair around his finger.

“I’ll have to tell her.” he says firmly, “It’s not right to keep this from her. But our relationship is technically public because we are married.” With his last statement, he wiggles his eyebrows at you and you shove him away playfully, pulling a disgusted face.

“You’re making me regret reciprocating your feelings.”

Sangyeon gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest. “How could you say that?”

He lunges forward, capturing you in his arms as he tries to tickle you but you block him with your hands, grappling for control until you finally latch onto his wrists, obstructing his movements. Sangyeon presses his forehead against yours before frowning, pulling back.

“You’re feverish, (Y/n).” he tells you gently, turning to grab the abandoned cloth that had fallen off, submerging it in the cool water before placing it back on your forehead. You’re about to make a snarky remark but Sangyeon shushes you, your smirk disappearing, replaced with a pout.

“I’ve got paperwork to do so I’ll leave you to rest. Get better, (Y/n).”

You nod, closing your eyes, a smile settling on your lips as you listen to his soft footsteps recede into the distance and when you sink into sleep, not even one nightmare plagues it.

»»————-　　————-««

Laughter fills the shadows of the forest as you dart away from Sangyeon’s reach, sticking your tongue out childishly. “Try and catch me!” you call, nothing but adrenaline and joy running through your veins, fueling you to feel foolishly carefree, like you were drunk on the finest alcohol. Running away, you spread your arms out like the wings of an eagle, tilting your head back, enjoying the feeling of the wind caressing your face.

Your eyes widen when you notice something white from a distance. You fall prey to your curiosity as you meander along, picking your way carefully amongst the fallen leaves and large roots of ancient trees that snake through the dirt of the forest floor.

Heart pounding, you reach the mysterious object, inhaling sharply when you realize that it’s a lovely young woman asleep on the floor, gossamer robes covering her frame. Shaking her shoulder, you attempt to rouse her, eyes roving over her face and body to search for telltale signs of injury. Noticing none, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Turning away, you attempt to call out to Sangyeon, but a hand slaps over your mouth, muffling your cry.

Turning around, you realize the woman is awake and fear strikes you when you note the glimmer of menace in her black, pitless eyes. “(Y/n) (L/n),” she begins, and as she speaks, her robes shift, revealing nine tails, pure as snow. Her hand lifts off your mouth but her eyes tell you that if you were to scream she wouldn’t hesitate to resort to violence.

Briefly, you remember the tale of the nine-tailed fox before terror erases it, all reason leaving you in an instant. You couldn’t tell if the woman was trying to give you a friendly greeting or if she’d pull a knife on you in a heartbeat. “H-have we met?” you stammer, laughing nervously to mask your fear. You struggle against her iron grip but your strength is no match for her overpowering one.

“You come from the future, yes? You are looking for a way to return back to your time and I believe I can aid you with that.” she continues calmly, and you go limp, struggling to find the right words.

How did she know?

“How I know is none of your business.” she adds sharply, as if she could read your mind. “However...I can tell you how to get back to your time.”

“In exchange for what?” you question warily, finally finding your voice. Staying in Joseon,, you knew better than to accept someone’s offer without finding out what price you had to pay.

Throwing back her head, the woman lets out a laugh that echoes sharply and you survey your surroundings cautiously to try and detect any lingering eavesdroppers. “Smart girl,” The nine-tailed fox leans back with a smug smile, arms crossed over her chest. “Quite fortunate for you, I demand no price. Whether you accept or not, you must leave as you are interfering with the history of Joseon.”

“Listen closely, for you won’t have another chance.” says the nine-tailed fox, her voice dropping to a whisper, forcing you to lean in closer, straining to hear her.

“Exactly a week later, the planets will align, creating a rare phenomenon and a celestial light will appear, creating an opening where you can escape back to your time. You may have experienced this when you accidentally travelled here.”

You nod, everything slowly connecting and making sense. The corridor in the palace had glowed brighter and you predicted that it was the same celestial light that had allowed you to travel back in time. “How are you sure this will work?” you ask, doubtful.

The woman seems taken aback by your question, then offended. “You have to trust me. It’s your only chance and it is a rare occurrence so it will only happen many centuries later. I doubt a mere mortal like you could live that long.” At that, she barks a laugh before sobering, suddenly grasping your hands with her cold ones.

“You were wrong to fall in love. Joseon does not need you here. You must break ties with your prince and leave before you alter the history, ultimately changing the way your world works as well.” she states, urgency dripping from her voice as she stares into your eyes, any sign of the previous mockery and mirth gone.

You incline your head in understanding. “I understand,” you breathe. “Although...where am I supposed to find this celestial light?”

Suddenly, the sound of fallen leaves crunching alert you of another presence and the woman whips her head in the direction, eyes narrowing. “Look for an open space. The best area would be the bridge that passes over the river.”

“(Y/n)?”

You startle, recognizing Sangyeon’s voice. Discerning the worry in his voice, you try to pull away from the nine-tailed fox but she tugs on your hands. “Good luck. Your fate is in your hands. No one can change it but you.”

She disappears, leaving you dazed, kneeling on the ground amidst the autumn leaves. You pick up the closest leaf, staring numbly at the vibrant scarlet colour as you try to decipher the information. Hearing Sangyeon call your name again, you respond, listening to his footsteps gradually increasing in volume.

Scooping you up into his embrace, Sangyeon buries his face into the crook of your face, inhaling your scent. “Where were you? You scared me.” he whines, uncharacteristically pouty.

You laugh shakily, reaching up to squeeze his face, pulling at his cheeks. “Sorry. I got distracted by a fox.” You felt bad lying to him but at least you were technically telling the truth. You did see a fox...just not the type Sangyeon would expect.

“Let’s get out of the forest. It’s starting to get dark.” he answers, not even noticing your lie, despite how your voice trembled. Sangyeon tore his gaze away from you, eyeing the forest. The sun was almost completely set, mist creeping into the forest as a chill descended, creating an eerie atmosphere. You couldn’t help but jump several times when you noticed a shadow slinking near you, shaken from the encounter with the peculiar woman.

Hiking out of the forest, you huffed, swiping at the sweat that collected on your forehead. It was already evening, the stars and moon already coming out of hiding, shining brightly on you and Sangyeon, your hand clasped tightly in his and you couldn’t help but chuckle amusedly. It was like he was afraid of losing sight of you. Struggling slightly, you shake off his hand, ignoring his protests.

Trudging to the meadow, you plop down on the grass, stretching your legs out as you sighed in relief, tilting your head back to gaze lazily at the sky.

Patting the space next to you, you beamed at Sangyeon, whose eyes crinkled endearingly as he reciprocated it before settling down in the grass next to you. Absentmindedly, you hum, running your fingers through the blades of grass, raindrops collecting on your fingertips.

Your thoughts drift away to the encounter with the nine-tailed fox but you push them away, choosing to instead savour the few moments you had alone with Sangyeon. You lower yourself until you’re lying in the grass, lifting a hand to study the stars, silhouetted against the dark night sky and you marvel at how clear it is compared to the sky in your present time, swirls of midnight and navy blue embellished with bands of gold and silver stars that twinkle mysteriously down at you, nothing shielding its pure beauty.

Fabric rustles as Sangyeon does the same, lying next to you. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body and it lulls you into a sense of safety. Turning your head slightly, you admire him, eyes roving over his sharp features shamelessly, memorizing every slant and curve, tucking it away in your memories. Shifting onto your side, you let your hand reach out, finger gently running along the bridge of his nose before gently tapping it twice. Sangyeon’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile but his eyes flutter close as his hand snaps out to grasp your wrist, lowering it as he brings it to his mouth, softly kissing it before letting go.

It feels bittersweet, knowing that you had fallen in love with Sangyeon. It was the right person, but the wrong time. Although you didn’t believe in destiny, it felt like you and him were destined to meet, to provide a paradise for the both of you, even if it didn’t last for long.

What was the word again?

Ephemeral.

Your relationship with him was ephemeral. Fleeting, short-lived. Something that would last for a short time before you left for good. You closed your eyes as a weight crushed your chest, the reminder that you would leave him behind to a world where things seemed more complicated, especially not with Sangyeon by your side.

“You alright?”

His soft yet deep voice rouses you out of your thoughts and you can’t help but shudder slightly at how sensuous it sounds. You nod, not trusting yourself enough to form words without stuttering or blurting out something embarrassing. He twists to face you and your palm instinctively moves to cup his face, running feather-light fingertips along his jawline, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. Sangyeon’s eyes flutter close at your touch and his lips curve before he turns to press another kiss to your palm, nuzzling his nose into your hand before he allows you to continue to cradle his face. He exhales shakily. Never in his life has Sangyeon ever felt so free and his heart has never felt so full for someone. Time seemed to stop as you lay on the grass, eyes tracing over the constellations, sparkling like they approved.

In this moment, titles and responsibilities were stripped away, leaving only vulnerability and fragility behind. Sangyeon wasn’t a crown prince and you weren’t from the future, five hundred years later. In this moment, he was just a normal boy and you were just a girl, exposing yourselves to a beautiful blooming love and throwing yourself recklessly into its embrace. Everything felt magical and just right.

»»————-　　————-««

You blink at Hwi-bin. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You were flirting with Prince Sejo right in public, without shame! How could you? You are married to Prince Sangyeon, the crown prince!”

You winced at her shrill voice grating on your senses. “I don’t understand what you are trying to say.” you repeat calmly, holding up your hands to try and placate her. You had originally thought Hwi-bin was a sweet girl who wouldn’t swear vengeance but it seemed like your first impression of others was generally incorrect as she was less of a princess, now more like the envious lady in every fairytale who tried to plot the doom of the protagonist.

She huffed, whirling around to face the royal concubine. “My lady, you witnessed it as well!”

The female smirks, leaning forward, her finger tracing over the rim of the porcelain cup in her hand. “How shameful, a noble lady of the court, already married to the crown prince she still flirts and seduces another prince.”

You glare at her, not even trying to mask your hatred for her. “I was simply having a civil conversation with Prince Sejo, my lady. Do I not have the right to speak to other males besides the crown prince?”

“Oh you do.” drawled the concubine, dragging out the words as she stretched out languorously on her seat while you knelt at her feet. “However…”

She leaned forward, a malicious grin surfacing, reminding you of a hungry hyena ready to attack unexpecting prey. “Romancing another man while you are married to another is punishable by death.”

You crossed your arms, defiant. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Oh? We’ll have to see what the crown prince says about this.” she laughed and dread formed in your stomach at the sinister tone in her voice. As if on cue, Sangyeon enters, hands folded behind his back.

Hope rises, like doves that fly when the sun rises. A radiant smile spreads on your face, only to be diminished quickly, like a blown out candle. Sangyeon’s face was unreadable, his dark eyes stormy and calculating as he beheld you. You go rigid as he doesn’t acknowledge you, instead turning to lower his head and say something to the concubine.

He twirls the dagger in his hand, examining it idly, not even bothering to look at you. “Is what she says true?” he asks, finally acknowledging you as he stares at you with pitless, emotionless eyes. You could hardly recognize the man in front of you. Where was the gentle and sweet Sangyeon you had spent all your days with?

You shake your head frantically, trying to calmly reason with him. “Sangyeon, you know I would never do this.”

“Really?” Sangyeon lifts a brow. “There were people witnessing you trying to seduce my brother and convince him to elope with you, though.”

Heart leaping into your throat, dread forms in your stomach. Everything was going terribly wrong. He was supposed to believe you but he seemed to have morphed into an entirely different person overnight. Sangyeon looked down at you in disdain, as if you were something that was merely wasting his precious time. The captivating feelings of love that had blossomed were now wilting before your very eyes, smooth ruby petals falling, falling and falling, till they reached the ground, shriveled and black like the ugly hatred gathering in your heart.

The royal concubine spoke up, leaning forward. “What should we do with her, Your Excellency?”

“You can do whatever you want with her.” Sangyeon turned to look you straight in the eyes. “I never loved her anyway. She was just a toy, a mere plaything to me.”

It was the apathetic tone of his words that finally broke you. Saccharine eyes that once beheld you like you were his entire world, now harsh and bitter as they stared at you piercingly, stripping you of your dignity and strength, leaving you vulnerable. Like a dam barely holding up under the sheer pressure of the river, it broke, and all your emotions came pouring in.

You stare at Sangyeon in shock, betrayal evident on your face. “Please tell me this isn't true. Sangyeon...please!” you beg, tears filling your eyes as your bottom lip quivers. “You love me right? You know I wouldn’t ever do this!”

You felt pathetic and unwanted, kneeling at their feet as they looked on, clearly uninterested. Yet you were still in denial, hoping that Sangyeon would come to his senses miraculously and help you out of this mess.

To your horror, he stares at you challengingly before pressing a kiss against Hwi-bin’s lips, mirrored smirks on both their faces as Sangyeon turns to face you, without breaking eye contact. “Is that enough proof? Did you really think I truly loved you? It was all an act to unite your family with mine. You are such a fool, (Y/n).”

You lowered your head, vision blurring as you stared at the floor, tears cascading down your face and dripping onto the floorboards, creating a small puddle of sorrow and anguish, nothing compared to your fragile heart, shattered and left on display for all to see.

The royal concubine cackles, adding to your humiliation and shame, burning bright on your cheeks. “I told you the crown prince would always choose Hwi-bin over you.” she crows triumphantly. “Guards, take her away to the dungeon. I’m sick of her dramatic display.”

Your eyes widen in alarm and you look up, tears falling freely, shining like crystals as you desperately try to seek out Sangyeon, but he’s already turned away, walking away with Hwi-bin by his side. Sangyeon looks at her lovingly, like she’s the only person that matters and your heart crumbles, knowing that he once looked at you like that too. Slumping, you let the guards roughly pull you to your feet, your head lolling to the side in defeat as they drag you towards your awaited fate.

»»————-　　————-««

You sat in the cell, legs tucked neatly underneath you, the rich material of your hanbok soiled beyond repair but you paid it no heed, eyes fixed on the iron bars that separated you from the rest of the castle. Your legs were aching from being pressed into the firm and coarse floor, the thin layer of filthy hay doing nothing to soften it. A chipped bowl of rice and water sat in front of you but it was untouched.

Hearing footsteps echo on the stone of the floors, you straighten, chin raised in defiance. Did the royal concubine come to taunt you? Hwi-bin? Or was it time for torture?

You blanch when you realize who's standing in front of you. The crown prince himself. For several heartbeats you stare at him, nothing but betrayal and sorrow on your features before they harden into a cold mask, your eyes betraying nothing.

Seconds pass, bleeding into minutes. You grit your teeth, feeling like several agonizing hours had passed while Sangyeon stood there, merely observing you. Feeling the need to break the ice that was thickening between you, you opened your mouth.

“Did you even care about me? Am I just a pawn to be used?” you asked, your voice oddly quiet as you stared at him with a terrifying calmness, like the calm before a great storm. Sangyeon watched you, his expression inscrutable as he clasped his hands behind his back. Your breath hitches as you remember the royal consort’s words.

“Besides, you’re just a willing pawn who will submit to her future king until he doesn’t need you anymore. Then, he’ll throw you away.”

You could almost hear her cackle, echoing in your head as if she already knew the result. “Have you ever seen me… as more than something to take advantage of?” you continue when he doesn’t respond and you finally break, the wall you had constructed finally cracking, nothing but remnants of it left. You dig your fingers into your palm, a familiar prickling sensation in your eyes as tears start to swell, your bottom lip quivering.

His words from yesterday resurface. “Did you really think I truly loved you? It was all an act to unite your family with mine. You are such a fool, (Y/n).”

Sangyeon still doesn’t say anything, his indifferent expression infuriating you. You felt like you were fighting a one-sided battle, as if you were struggling against the strong waves of the ocean that tugged insistently at you, dunking you under over and over again.

"I was so naive...I thought I'd be able to compete with Hwi-bin but we were never on the same level, to begin with. She was your first, first love, first kiss, first everything. You prioritize her over me because she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Every single time, you'll continue to return back to her.” you laugh bitterly, fingers digging into your scalp, tugging roughly at the unbound strands of your hair.

The image of love, of romance, was different now. Your relationship with him had started off shakily and although insecurity and doubt swallowed you, you let yourself look ahead, fix your eyes on the light that had appeared at the seemingly never-ending tunnel. It was hope.

Love...could be compared to a rose in full bloom, lovely with its soft and vermilion petals swaying gently in the wind, carrying over its fragrant and enticing scent, luring you closer until your hands reached out to cup it in your hands, under the charm of its seemingly harmless beauty. The longer you allow yourself to fall underneath its charm, lingering feelings turned into tentative and fleeting kisses, then tangled in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings as the moon continues its steady climb in the sky.

Now that it’s in your possession, you become greedy, wanting more. Your hands slide to its stem, maneuvering it so you can pick it. You’re so captivated that you don’t notice the thorns that gleam menacingly underneath the sunlight until it’s too late, the tender skin of your fingertips breaking as they sink into it, rivulets of scarlet blood cascading down.

The spell crumbling, you regain your senses and you’re aware of the stinging pain of the wound, You snatch your hand away but the damage is already done. There are two choices: attempt to pick the rose again and let yourself succumb to the pain, numbing your senses as blood continues to trickle or discard it and let yourself heal.

You had chosen the latter. Entering the imperial palace, you had firmly told yourself to not fall for love’s traps and tricks but here you were, like some kind of lovestruck fool, vying for Sangyeon’s affection. It was time to shut him out, deny him any entrance to your heart and instead, focus on getting back to your true home, five hundred years later.

Immersed in your brooding thoughts, you don’t notice Sangyeon moving closer to you, the dirty hay shifting underneath his feet. “(Y/n).” he breathes and at the sound of his voice, your heart aches, longing to be in his arms, to be able to feel the smooth skin of his face beneath your palms. You glare at him, backing up to place more distance in between you, pushing the wistful thoughts away. They were like poison, able to muddy your thoughts and cause you to act differently.

Despite your retreat and clear unwillingness, Sangyeon continues to advance until your back hits the rough and grimy wall of the prison cell. Before you can open your mouth to unleash the lengthy counter that you’ve been holding in, his lips are on yours. Involuntarily, you inhale sharply, a gasp that sounded noisy within the hushed cell, the sound swallowed by his mouth as your fingers instantly tangle themselves in his hair. The familiarity of his soft lips on yours causes electricity to tingle through your entire body and you felt euphoric like you were on cloud nine.

Your hands fall to the side as Sangyeon presses you roughly against the wall, one hand supporting himself as he deepens the kiss, causing you to feel dizzy. Your knees weaken, turning into jelly as he nips at your lip, teasing it with a graze of his teeth. His free hand finds yours, clasping yours in his with a gentleness that contrasts with the unrelenting pressure of his mouth on yours.

The kiss is searing, it burns away your worries and problems for the time being, the passion racing through your veins like a fire swallowing a forest. It melts away the ice freezing your heart and you let yourself submit to it and lay yourself bare, becoming vulnerable.

You swear you feel Sangyeon pass something to you, the cool metal biting into the heated palm of your hand but all thoughts are gone as he parts, trailing soft kisses down your neck. Your unoccupied hand curls into a fist and you know you shouldn't let yourself get carried away.

After all, Sangyeon was the rose, he was dangerously charming, drawing you so close that your head spun, lessening your chances of returning back to your rightful home.

Keeping the advice the nine-tailed fox told you in mind, your hand raises to press against his chest, firmly pushing him away and effectively dislodging his lips from yours.

Sangyeon eyes you, your lips no doubt matching the swollen state of his. He leans in closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You brace yourself, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Tomorrow at dawn, at the back gates." he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Your eyes open and they flash with anger as your hand connects with his face and you ignore the stinging of your palm as you withdraw it.

"Don't tell me what to do." you seethe, gaze locking with his. You glimpse the pink blossoming on the side of Sangyeon's face and you almost feel guilty but you remind yourself that this was all his fault. You had your own plans and you were not going to fail.

Sangyeon has the audacity to smirk at you as his hand lifts to touch his cheek, eyes dark with desire but they soften when he notices how your hands clench, knuckles whitening.

You don't look up but you can feel Sangyeon's lingering gaze. He turns on his heel and leaves, bringing the warmth with him, the cell turning back into a bleak gray. Although he's gone, you can still feel his presence.

You move to press the heels of your hands against your brow but the clang of something hitting the ground startles you. Whirling, you peer at the floor and amidst the hay, something gold winking up at you.

Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around it. A key…? Your eyes widen as you remember Sangyeon pressing something into your palm, flushing when you also remember how...preoccupied you were.

You savour the feeling of the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of your skin as you play with it, your mind racing and calculating. The nine-tailed fox had told you that tomorrow at midnight, all eight major planets in the Solar System would align, which was a rare occurrence that would allow you to travel back to your time.

During your short time here, you had already taken note of when the guards would rotate into different shifts. That would give you the time to escape to the bridge but with none to spare. If something went wrong...you shook your head. Now was not the time to dwell on if you would fail or not. Lifting your head, you stared at the crescent moon outside of the narrow gap in the wall that served as a window, watching the clouds drift by, blocking the moonlight momentarily.

You could only bide your time and wait.

You called sweetly out to the guard outside your cell, lifting a hand to beckon him closer to request paper and ink. For now, you’ll write a letter to say goodbye to Sangyeon. You felt hollow, dreading the final goodbye but it was inevitable. He belonged here and you belonged in your own time.

»»————-　　————-««

You didn’t remember much of the next day. After sealing the letter to Sangyeon, you had somehow gotten the guard to cooperate and deliver it to him. All you could do was wait, legs cramping from kneeling on the floor the entire time. You hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and you felt exhausted, but you were determined to not let the golden opportunity slip from your grasp.

You had spent the day watching the rotations of guards and you noted that the rotation was the same, as if you weren’t worth guarding. You scoff, scorn burning in your veins. You’d show them by escaping. They might have expected a meek girl who couldn’t do anything but merely watch with tears in her eyes and wait for her shining knight in armour to save her but you didn’t need a saviour. You would create your chance and leave this wretched place.

The sound of heavy footsteps startling you, you recognize the familiar jangling of the keyring paired with off-key whistling, presumably from the nightguard. Shifting, you grip the brick in your hand. You had pried the loose brick from the wall, in hopes of wielding it as a weapon if you got caught. Drops of sweat slither down the back of your neck as you listen to the sound of footsteps recede as the guard hummed merrily, clearly in a good mood after finishing his shift. Knowing you didn’t have time to spare, you rummaged through the make-shift pouch for the key of the cell. Although you hated to ruin such beautiful silk, the long material hindered your movements and you had no choice but to tear it off, exposing your calves and providing freedom of movement.

Heart pounding, you find the key, almost dropping it due to your clammy hands. Holding it between your clammy fingers, you allow a second to collect yourself before advancing to the door, reaching through the bars. Straining, you miss the keyhole a couple of times before it slips in. Twisting it, your ears perk up when you hear the click and it unlocks, swinging open with a creak. Venturing out, you pause, listening for any footsteps.

Hearing none, you pad quietly out before settling into a sprint, making sure to tread lightly to avoid unwanted noise. Pressing against a wall, you hold your breath as you wait for the guard pass, narrowly escaping. It wouldn’t be long until someone noticed the cell was empty. The moment he’s gone, you peel yourself away, and dart into the woods, hurrying towards the bridge.

You slow your pace the moment the bridge comes into sight, the river serene and calm as it winds through the countryside, moonlight causing the water to sparkle. Taking a moment to survey the surroundings for any unwanted intruders, you exhale heavily. Finally, you were only a step away from achieving your heart’s desire: returning to your rightful time.

Yet…..why did your heart feel so heavy?

Your brain and heart were in turmoil, disagreeing with what each had to say. While your brain argued that it was only correct to return, your heart begged tearfully to stay and you knew exactly what, no who, was still tying you to this wretched place, with its malicious dangers and traps disguised as sunshine and freedom: Sangyeon.

How many times had your heart leapt at the sight of him? At the mere sound of his name, of his voice? Despite his betrayal and change of heart, you still loved him and you held onto the tiny shred of hope, like the light at the end of a pitch-black tunnel, that he still loved you as well. After all, Sangyeon had presented you the opportunity to escape by giving you the key.

You shook your head, clearing the treacherous thoughts that threatened to take over your logic. No, whether your heart agreed or not, whether you would eventually regret it or not, you had to return home. You shuddered, imagining spending another day in Joseon, without your family or any of your friends.

Advancing towards the bridge, you watch your flickering shadow pass on the wooden planks, the wood creaking slightly in protest under your weight. Leaning on the railing, you gazed at the lone fish darting underneath lily pads, its scales silver underneath the moonlight. Raising your head, you squinted at the sky. As if in response, it glowed brighter and you watched, astounded, as the clouds broke apart and light shone through, like an angel was descending to Earth.

It shined down upon you, and you basked in it, your eyes barely open due to the sheer glare of the light, joy flooded your face as you rejoiced, as you awaited your return. Looking down, you gasped when you realized that you were slowly disappearing, your hands shimmering ghostly and when you tried to grip the railing of the bridge, your hands passed through. You guessed it meant that the nine-tailed fox was correct, and that it would effectively bring you back to the future.

Pounding footsteps alert you of another presence and you whirl around, the strands of your hair dancing wildly in the breeze. Your eyes meet Sangyeon’s and your heart plummets, raising your hands shakily to keep him away from the light. You couldn’t risk him altering history and travelling to the future with you, even if it sounded tempting.

“What are you doing here?” you shout, panic rising, shaking your head repeatedly as he tries to take a step closer.

“Your letter.” Sangyeon stated simply, voice trembling, full of emotion, of denial, fear and sorrow, as his eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over. A letter is clenched in his fist, familiar handwriting scrawled hastily on the faded surface.

“You’re joking right? From the future? You can’t be serious…” he whispers, hope ablaze in his eyes as he stops in his tracks, and your heart cries out, singing for him, for his touch, for his warmth to surround you once again.

You don’t respond, gazing at him solemnly and the hope fades, like the final rays of the sun before twilight takes over. Sangyeon’s shoulders sag, defeated. “This is goodbye then?”

“You know, I always thought you were acting weird. The (Y/n) I knew was haughty, snobbish and power-hungry but you were nothing like what the rumours said. At this point, I’m not even surprised you’re from the future.” he laughs bitterly, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands roughly as he starts pacing in tight circles, distraught.

Glancing down at your body, you notice that you’re almost transparent, the light erasing you from this world that you were never supposed to even be in. “Sangyeon.” you call, ceasing his pacing as you beckon for him, longing to hold his face in your hands and take in his breathtaking beauty, shining so brightly that you were positive you would never forget, even when you were wrinkled and gray from age.

“I love you.” you tell him sincerely, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks but they pass through, and Sangyeon’s eyes widen in alarm when you start fading.

“Wait!” he screams, lunging towards you to hold you, to do anything to stop you from leaving, but you’re already disappearing, your face blurring as you smile at him, fighting back tears. Just as suddenly as it appears, the odd light disappears back into the clouds, like it was never there. Sangyeon expects you to still be standing there, to embrace him and grace him with that lovely smile but you’re gone. Sangyeon is left by himself, standing still on the bridge, the wind tousling his hair, each strand dancing individually as he slumps, heartbroken.

Suddenly, it was like the world was drained of its colours. The sky was no longer a hopeful image of promising love and dreams, instead a mocking gray filled with dull stars that didn’t sparkle as brightly like they did when he saw them with you. Collapsing on the bridge, he cries, tears falling freely as he hugs himself, chest heaving as he tries to breathe steadily, his whole body racking with the painful sobs that threaten to rip him apart, broken apologies and pleas falling from his trembling lips.

“I love you too.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again, as if it alone, would bring you back to his side and fill the emptiness in his heart.

This was never supposed to happen.

»»————-　　————-««

“(Y/n). (Y/n!)”

Distantly, you hear a faraway voice, desperate and fearful, calling out to you. Regaining consciousness, your eyes flutter open, taking in the familiar surroundings. Recognizing the corridor, you sigh, relieved. Turning your head, you notice your friend, kneeling at your side.

“Are you alright?” she gasps, lifting your head gently to check for any wounds. When she finds none, she smiles faintly, glad, before her gaze travels down to examine your face. “Have you been crying?” she questions, bewildered.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, cheeks blotchy and she could see the remnants of tears dried on them. You ignore her question, heart aching again as you remember Sangyeon’s panicked and distraught face as he reached out to you, only to grasp empty air. You accept her helping hand, groaning when the world spins and you clutch onto your head, closing your eyes for a moment to stabilize yourself.

You slowly walk out of the corridor, taking wobbly steps to reunite with your group. Your face lights up when you notice the familiar group of tourists, and you quicken your pace, ignoring your friend’s attempts of slowing you down. Gasping, you bump into someone’s back, almost throwing you off balance until you’re steadied by him, large hands supporting you. Looking up, the apology dies in your throat as you’re met with a familiar face.

Sangyeon?

Recognition floods you as your eyes rove over the slopes and angles of the male’s face. He looked eerily similar to Sangyeon and you almost laughed at the coincidence. Life just kept on surprising you when you least expected it.

In front of you, the man apologizes and offers you a smile. “Have we met?” he questions, tilting his head, and your heart soars at the familiarity of it.

You hide your smile, looking down at your feet as memories surfaced, of kisses stolen in corridors and sweet nothings whispered at night, when Sangyeon had thought you were asleep.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m (Y/n).” you state, offering your hand.

“Sangyeon.” he grins, eyes crinkling adorably as he grips your hand, shaking it firmly and your cheeks involuntarily flush at the warmth of his hand enveloping yours.

Even if your love had happened almost 600 years ago, somehow life had bound you together again and you swore you saw a glimpse of the delicate red string that encircled your pinky, connecting yours with his before it disappeared. You listen to him talk, nodding along absentmindedly. Perhaps you were soulmates.

At that, the clouds break apart, revealing the moon, illuminating the area, washing the stone in silvery tones, as if showing its approval.

»»————-　　————-««

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@atbzkingdom @chaoticdeobi @thepixelelf @aniyawoos @2hyunjae @jenocakes @moondustaeil @mae-gi-writes @fairyoftbz @chocolattees @juyeonzz @ukiyoexo

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misiwrites · 3 years

Text

Beyblade Week Day 1

joining @beybladeweek2021 late but i’ll probably be doing these belatedly all may so, whatever! it is what it is.

i’ve never participated in a fandom challenge with writing before, but i was feeling adventurous this time and the seasonal themes were just perfect for the 4kingdoms AU-verse (which is this), i haven’t been writing much anything in so long that i’m mega rusty and thought i could use the bey week to do some warm-up oneshots. these aren’t going to be particularly interesting because i’m really bad at doing oneshots actually, but i like the idea myself and. that’s the only thing that really matters. right. (i’m not even sure if AUs are allowed for the beyblade week?? but the rules didn’t say anything about it so /shrug)

the day 1 oneshot is a little story from takao’s childhood about how he first met kyouju. this was inspired by my own childhood memories as the youngest sibling when i just wanted to hang out around my big sisters because i thought everything they were doing was Cool Big Sister Stuff.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Firsts / Childhood / Spring

”Takao! I’m trying to read this! Leave me alone already, will you?”

A groan of disappointment. Reluctantly, Takao backs away from his older brother by the desk, shooting him a frown of judgment and betrayal. Now, a quick change of tactics: he figures that, just maybe, Hitoshi allows him to stay in the room if he zips his lips to his best ability.

Wrong. Two silent minutes pass in the small study room until Hitoshi bellows at his brother again, swinging an arm in the door’s direction.

“I’m serious, you can’t keep doing this when I’m trying to do my homework!”

“I’ll just watch and keep quiet, I promise,” Takao insists, giving his brother his best puppy eyes.

“I can’t focus if you’re standing there! Now get out!”

Takao’s frown deepens; with heavy feet and a heavy heart, he trudges toward the sliding door. He doesn’t like this recent change in his brother, all this emphasis on what Hitoshi refers to as “important stuff”. Just because he’s now seventeen. Acting all high and mighty, pretending to be so adult and so important, too adult and too important to play with his younger sibling.

“It’s a very important time for your brother,” their grandfather responded to Takao’s fraternal laments once. “In one year, he will officially inherit the crown of the Seiryuu-ou. There’s much for him to do to grow into the role of the king before his coronation.”

Important this, important that. What about having fun, wasn’t fun important at all? And fencing – surely instructing Takao with the basics of fencing has to be important? Hitoshi’s fencing skills are second to only their grandfather’s, and Takao cannot imagine – doesn’t want to imagine – anyone else teaching him the art of the bamboo sword. And now Hitoshi is “too busy” to teach him, all of a sudden.

“But I’m boooored,” Takao whines from the doors, balancing his weight on his heels back and forth.

“How about you go study something too for once? You really should be reading a lot more than you do, you know. I don’t want my little brother to end up being a dumb prince who doesn’t know anything about the way the world works.”

Takao’s nose wrinkles in disapproval. The word “study” smells like old paper and dust and boredom.

“It’s the Sowmoon holiday now! And what the hell would I study?” he barks.

“Don’t cuss. Anything – whatever interests you. How about the history of the city?”

“Bahhhh.”

“The history of fencing, then. I don’t know – go to the library, take a look at the books or whatever, just leave me alone. I don’t have time for this.” Hitoshi lifts the yellowish document in front of his face and disappears behind it. A wall has risen between the two brothers.

* * * * * *

In the country of spring and year-round greenery, it’s difficult to stay sullen under the tranquil blue of the Eastern sky. Moments later Takao is skipping down the road that leads to the town of Tsuno below, his child’s heart already ignited with new-found hope and aspiration, his feelings of frustration shed by the sturdy wooden gates of the Cherrywood Castle and he's moving on, literally.

At first, the idea was dull at best; reading sounds like just about the flattest thing he could be doing on this beautiful Sowmoon day, a warm breeze blowing through his indigo hair as he carefully hops from one cobblestone to the other… but, in the end, it’s the wish to please his brother that has won him over. Now a plan is taking shape in his mind, the idea swelling like a balloon by each step he takes down the road, and soon his head is racing with the ambition of studying as many topics as he can think of; he’s dreaming up scenarios of impressing his brother with all his newly acquired knowledge, his brain buzzing and his proud heart thumping with all the imaginary praise from Hitoshi… and, just maybe, he’ll then agree to do something fun with his cool and smart little brother again.

So caught up in his daydreams, Takao hardly pays attention to all the familiar townspeople greeting him as he passes by their wooden dwellings and shops and stalls, and he prances past several flocks of tourists lingering on the streets of Tsuno, too busy taking pictures of the cherry blossom trees in their rare blue Sowmoon bloom to notice the royal prince walking right past them. Even if they did see him, not many would pay attention to him; people from outside the city would never imagine a member of the royal Seiryuu-ou family strolling around in a simple hakama without making a scene; but in the royal capital of the Country of East, this was a mundane everyday sight, and Takao was a regular guest of the pastry stalls on the main street of Tsuno. The townspeople loved to pamper this bold and friendly little prince, who hadn’t yet been spoiled by the privileges of the royalty.

Takao reaches the tall glass doors of the main library, only to face the reality of the numbers painted on the glass panel. Five minutes to closing time. So caught up in the rollercoaster of his imagination as he left the Cherrywood Castle, checking the opening hours of the library didn’t even pass his mind.

“Oh, hello, Your Highness,” he’s greeted by one of the kimono-clad library workers who spots him. (The surprise is evident; Takao is not a usual guest in the library.) “How wonderful to see you here. Are you looking for something?”

“Well, yeah, for something to read… but it looks like you’re about to close.”

But coincidence is on Takao’s side today, for the clerk tells him that the library is staying open for one extra hour every day this week.

“The reading hall has been reserved by Professor, a local researcher – but I’m positive he won’t be disturbed by Your Highness’s presence.”

“Really? Okay.” Relieved and triumphant, Takao enters the old-fashioned yet admittedly curiosity-inducing depths of the city library.

He quickly comes to the conclusion that he has underestimated the number of books in the world. Expecting there to be one of each subject of his admittedly limited academic imagination, he is instead hit by an entire universe of paper and ink and covers and words. The map of the library layout alone is full of complex characters that Takao hasn’t yet come across in his schooling.

Dammit.

In the end, Takao finds himself pacing back and forth a narrow aisle of local history books, looking for one with a cover that sparks interest. Perhaps he cannot read all the text, but at least he can look at the pictures.

That’s when he notices another person sharing the space with him, at the far end of the hall, where the shelves have been moved to hug the walls to make room for a reading area in the middle and the ceiling seems to climb up impossibly high under the arch of a dome roof. This person is another kid, hardly older than Takao, and he’s not paying the prince any attention in return; the boy is glued to the screen of a laptop computer that sits on a table in front of him along with several books, one of which has been spread open. Every now and then, his fingers dance across the keyboard at a speed that Takao didn’t even know a computer keyboard could be used with; then the boy crouches over to take a quick glance at the open book before turning back to the laptop again.

A curious sight. For a moment, Takao is tempted by the allure of calling out to this strange boy, to ask him why he’s still there after closing hours. He decides against it and swallows his curiosity. If there’s one thing that his older brother has recently taught him, it is to mind his own business and not bother other people hard at work.

* * * * * *

The next day Takao returns to the library, a pile of books in his lap that he leafed through all night last night. Hundreds of pages of buildings so old they probably stayed up in the pictures with willpower alone – so old that Takao half-expected them to crumble and disappear by the turn of a page, leaving empty picture frame squares behind.

He came to the conclusion that Tsuno’s history was perhaps not the subject to start from.

Takao returns the books, decides to try and find something about fencing, a subject he’s already in some way familiar with. (Between the important-looking books, he secretly slips in a story about Southern pirates; this one he’s not going to tell Hitoshi about.)

In the hall with the dome ceiling, the kid with the laptop is by the exact same table again. Only the array of books next to him is a little different… maybe. Takao is nearly seized by his curiosity again, but something about the air around this boy holds the lingering scent of “do not disturb”, so he bites his tongue once more.

* * * * * *

How could even books about fencing slap him in the face with all this wall of text?! The following day Takao once again turns up at the library, to return his previous findings that had only briefly managed to capture his interest with images of old fencing gear that were not only ancient but, as he ultimately decided, very ugly and stupid-looking.

What about archery, the other national sport of the East? Takao finds it boring and repetitive compared to fencing, but since books about fencing turned out to be boring, did it mean that books about the boring sport were, in turn, more interesting? It makes perfect sense, in Takao’s eight-year-old mind.

However, as he makes his way to the library at the cusp of closing hours again, he no longer pays much heed to the books. Instead, his feet take him to the reading hall under the dome right away.

Sure enough, the kid with the big round glasses and a laptop in front of him is there in his usual spot, all alone. And again the boy’s fingers are hammering at the keyboard faster than Takao can form a coherent thought about computers, the strange machinery that originates from the technically advanced Country of West for all he knows.

It’s been three days now, and Takao can no longer hold back his burning curiosity. Eyes on the strange boy, he takes small sideway steps between the bookshelves, inching his way closer and closer, until he reaches the open reading area under the arched skylights above.

“Hey,” Takao says as he enters the boy’s proximity by the table.

The boy doesn’t do as much as raise his eyes from the computer screen.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asks, still typing away. The tone of his high-pitched voice is just slightly aggravated but his choice of words oozes formality, a strange speech pattern for someone his age. It throws Takao off a little.

“Umm, I’ve seen you here every day this week and was wondering what you’re doing, that’s all. You know the library was already closed, right?”

After saying this, the thought then passes Takao’s mind that perhaps this kid never leaves the library. Perhaps he’s not even aware that he’s in a closed library. What if Takao is talking to a ghost, haunting this remote corner of the library all day and night? Or, maybe, he’s nothing but a product of Takao’s imagination?

The boy’s voice is now so blunt in response that these phantasmagoric thoughts immediately vanish from Takao’s mind.

“Yes, of course I know. The library personnel was very kind to allow me this one working hour without other people disturbing me. So really, I should be asking – what are you doing here?” Now the stranger’s hands finally leave the keyboard and he lifts his eyes to Takao.

A moment of confused silence. Then the boy’s face begins to resemble the colour of a strawberry.

“Oh!” he squeaks and jumps up to his feet, only to bow his head toward the floor. “Oh, Your, uh, Your Highness! I am terribly sorry for being so rude! Oh, goodness me, how could I…!”

“Wow, calm down,” Takao interrupts, startled himself by the suddenness of the boy’s reaction. “And raise your head – I don’t like people bowing at me, it makes me feel weird. More importantly, what you said just now – are you saying you booked this extra hour from the library?”

Hesitantly, the boy straightens his back, which doesn’t increase his height significantly; now that they’re standing next to each other, Takao notices how small the person he’s talking to is, his head barely on level with Takao’s shoulders.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he says. “I wasn’t aware I was sharing it with the royal family, though. How thoughtless of me.”

“No, well, I kinda just walked in on my own, to be fair. So… you’re a researcher?”

“You could say so, I am indeed carrying out some research here. My name is Saien Manabu, but everyone calls me Professor.”

“Oh, wow. What exactly are you researching?”

“Right now I am writing a paper on the goddess cult of the Country of North. I know, it’s not exactly a topic that interests most children, but I find it so terribly fascinating…”

The mention of children – a nod to the fact that this boy, too, is a child just like him – makes Takao immediately feel more at ease. This person, albeit strange and overly formal and clearly too smart for his age, really is just a child after all. This notion alone is enough to make the kind-hearted and fairly simple-minded Takao like this boy more.

“Sure, that sounds cool,” he says with a grin. “Hey – you said you’re Saien, right? Like that ramen shop on the main street?”

“Yes, it is owned by my parents.”

“Well, it’d be real interesting to hear more about your research and all, but I’m kinda hungry, to be honest – the Saien noodles sound awesome just about now. How about we go there and then you tell me more?”

“Hmm. Well, I wasn’t making as much progress today as I wanted, in any case.” The boy, visibly at least a little relieved to get a break from staring at the screen, slams his laptop shut and tucks it under his arm. Then he flashes a friendly smile at Takao. “Very well, Your Highness. But my mother may pass out if I bring a member of the royal family to their shop all of a sudden, so please prepare for that.”

“Bah, just call me Takao, I’m not so into that formal stuff.”

“Alright, and you can call me Professor.”

* * * * * *

Once back in the Cherrywood Castle, Takao told both his brother and grandfather how much he��d learned about the Northern goddess Hiromi of time and space already; and from that day onward, Hitoshi never needed to refer to his younger brother as the dumb prince again, as Takao, who became a frequent visitor of the Saien family ramen shop both inside and outside business hours, never ran out of curious stories to share about all the things he learned from his new friend.

And while the royal Seiryuu-ou family wasn’t to stay together for much longer from the moment of this story, Takao and Professor remained best friends for many years to come.

#my writing #4kingdoms stuff #LetItRip2021

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ichor-and-symbiosis · 4 years

Text

Rooftop. (Reader x Aizawa x Shirakumo; NSFW)

Shouta is a creature of habit, and habit dictates that he must head out onto the rooftop of his fledgling agency to clear his head.

It is by no means a scenic view. None of you could afford a nicer location right out of high school. Only by the grace of your fighting prowess throughout the academy days, Oboro’s talent for charming anything that moves, and Shouta’s maturity led to a secured loan and a steady stream of assignments. Yamada and Kayama were delegated to interior design duties on account of being … too much to handle.

Still, this is home for now. A home he is proud of, despite the hand-me-down zebra print furniture and leaky ceilings.

Shouta looks up at the sky and huffs a quiet laugh. So much changes beneath that sky, and so much more is yet to come.

“Wha’cha doing out here by yourself?”

He keeps his hands steady on the railing as he continues to survey the cityscape. Oboro flattens himself right up against Shouta’s back without a hint of modesty and wraps his arms around him.

“Just thinking.”

Oboro peers over his shoulder, brows lifting in curiosity when he spots Shouta’s easygoing smile. “Must be something good to make that perpetual frown disappear.” Shouta throws him a peeved look and glances away, spurring Oboro to reach up and tuck his disheveled black hair behind his ear. “C’mon, let me see that cute smile again!”

The contact makes Shouta stiffen, and the lingering caress of Oboro’s fingertips confirm his suspicions. “I came here to relax, not to get harassed by your wandering hands.”

A rumbling laugh reverberates behind him. Oboro leans in close, his breath tickling Shouta’s ear as he murmurs teasingly, “Don’t you always feel relaxed after I’m done with you?”

“ ... “

He is not blushing. He is not blushing, and he refuses to give Oboro the satisfaction of a response. Not that it does him any good. Oboro’s grip around his waist is resolute, and the instant Shouta feels the subtle graze of teeth on his earlobe, he nearly loses the strength in his legs.

But that does not stop him from digging his fingers into Oboro’s forearm in warning. “We’re on the roof,” he hisses.

“Mhm.”

He opens his mouth to retort, only for his breath to hitch when Oboro presses a soft kiss beneath his ear. “S - someone could - “ Another kiss near his jaw, followed by the warm flick of his tongue. “ - what if someone sees us?”

“Kiss me and I might stop,” Oboro murmurs against his skin, and the sensation alone is enough to give him goosebumps.

“Oh, like I don’t know you - “ Shouta’s words die out as Oboro’s lips discover a sweet spot on his neck. Arms tighten in time with a deliberately wet kiss, and Shouta just barely catches the strangled cry that threatens to escape.

It feels really damn nice. Oboro knows how to make him squirm, sucking softly and soothing the drag of his teeth with his hot tongue. Shouta curses his panting breath, stares out into the invisible audience hidden in the cityscape, and doesn’t know how the hell to react to Oboro’s hand questing down his side. That hand is going somewhere, and Shouta is mortified by his body’s betrayal - frozen in place while Oboro has his way with him, sucking a dark bruise on his neck.

The sound of the rooftop door swinging open makes Shouta tear himself away from Oboro with newfound strength. He leaves his lover hanging - quite literally, arms still in the air as Oboro looks on in confusion - and instantly barrels into you like a lifeline.

Finally, someone relatively sensible. Your hold on him is far more tender and platonic, and your smile is pure innocence. He hugs you close to him and looks over his shoulder to glare at Oboro’s approaching form.

“Oboro, are you teasing this poor man again?” you ask with mock sternness, reaching up to card your fingers through Shouta’s hair and guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder.

“It’s not my fault! He wouldn’t even give me a single kiss,” Oboro grouses with a hint of smile in his voice. Shouta stiffens when he is enveloped in another embrace from behind.

Sandwiched. He lifts his head and glances at you, realization creeping in as your wide doe eyes take on an edge of sultriness.

“Shoutaaa,” you sing his name. “Does that mean I can’t have a kiss either?”

He stammers, unable to resist glancing at your plump lips. A gentle pressure to the nape of his neck, and Shouta is drawn to your questing mouth with ease. To your credit, you have some finesse and class to your kisses. Perhaps that is why he finds you so irresistible, even when you are being a tease.

You lightly graze your teeth along his bottom lip and go in for the kill. He hums against your mouth as you glide your tongue over his, sweetly sucking and nipping wherever you please. It’s so easy to lose himself in your wet kisses, especially when you run your hands through his hair and down his neck to settle on his chest, and repeat your idle wandering as you moan.

He almost forgets himself. He almost forgets the feeling of something hard and hot pressing up against his ass through clothing, and he almost forgets the fact that Oboro has his hands on Shouta’s hips, sneaking them up under his shirt and gripping him tighter.

Oboro kisses his neck while you steal his little gasp, and there is no way he can avoid the hickies now. So he does what any sensible man would do, putting his hands to good use while he succumbs to the incessant ravishing by his lovers. If Oboro can direct Shouta’s hips to subtly grind back against him, then he can squeeze your ass and palm your breast until your stiff peak pokes through your shirt in search of his touch.

The harsh drag of Oboro’s teeth in time with a wet suctioning kiss makes Shouta bite your lip. You smile against his mouth as Oboro palms the tent in his pants, one hand still on his hip to guide his movements. Shouta feels like he’s burning inside out. A purposeful squeeze around his throbbing cock makes him roll his hips, and Oboro groans as he presses himself closer up against Shouta’s ass.

“Feels so good,” Oboro murmurs, lips moving over the shell of Shouta’s ear. “Keep grinding up on me, babe.”

He rubs his thumb over the outline of Shouta’s cockhead, and you end your kiss with a wet pop to watch his flushed, desperate face contorted in pleasure.

“You like that, Shouta?” you coo at him, stroking his hair away from his face so tenderly. Oboro’s fingers creep beneath the waistband of his pants and slip inside. “Too stubborn for a kiss, but so ready to have your cock played with?”

Shouta releases a broken whimper as Oboro finally grasps his cock. You smirk and hook your thumbs into his pants to pull them down enough for Oboro to fist him properly. This firm, calloused grip is so different from yours - Oboro’s palm was large enough to cup the underside of his cock and wrap his long fingers around him with ease. And he knew just how to touch Shouta, all the right ways to spread the precum beading on his cockhead and stroke his painfully hard erection with just enough speed and pressure.

It is embarrassing how quickly Oboro can send him spiralling rapidly into an impending orgasm. He’s already pathetically clawing his blunt nails along your upper arms as his head falls back to rest in the crook of Oboro’s shoulder, panting and writhing into each purposeful pump along his cock. Your lips creep up along his exposed neck, light and simple, past the saliva-slickened lovebites etched into his skin, and ending their journey on Oboro’s eager mouth.

Shouta would be lying if he said he didn’t find the sound of you making out with Oboro to be immensely hot. Warm, desperate breaths brush along the side of his face. The wet dance of your tongues as your lips suck on each other, Oboro’s deep moans as you fist his hair and Shouta feels his balls tighten, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he is fisted quicker and quicker -

“I’m gonna come - “ he gasps, and -

You drop to your knees in an instant, almost like you read his mind, like you knew he would worry about cleanliness even in the middle of having a mindblowing orgasm.

Oboro guides his leaking cockhead onto your tongue, and Shouta has to look down, he needs to see you kneeling obediently in front of him as you stare up at him with that sly little smile. Your tongue undulates beneath him, and as Oboro twists his grip in a circular motion and you wrap your wet, reddened lips around him, Shouta comes with a rumbling low moan as spurts of cum hit the back of your throat.

He is nothing more than a tightly wound coil. You bob your head until your lips come into contact with Oboro’s fingers, sucking his cock deeper down your mouth as Oboro slowly pumps him. Shouta shivers when you swallow his cum and run your tongue over his cock to clean him properly. Oboro chastely kisses Shouta’s shoulder as he releases his cock and pets your head. You nuzzle into the tender touch for a moment before getting back onto your feet, licking your lips as you survey the sorry state of affairs that is Shouta.

Oboro is practically holding him up at this point. Shouta can’t feel his legs. He’s leaning so heavily onto Oboro’s chest, and he can’t deny how nice it feels to have two sets of hands lightly stroking him and tucking him back into his pants.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” he rasps after he catches his breath.

You chuckle with Oboro. “You’re the one who left us hanging,” you murmured, and Oboro pressed his erection against him for emphasis. “Didn’t even wait for us.”

“Shouta’s so greedy, ain’t he, kitten?”

“And he still hasn’t kissed you!”

Shouta sighs in exasperation, yet his smile is undeniably fond as he turns his head and grasps the side of Oboro’s face to press their lips together. The angle is a little awkward, but it pales in comparison to how deep and sound the kiss is. Oboro barely lets him breathe as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist and eagerly allows Shouta’s tongue inside. When Shouta breaks the kiss, Oboro is already leaning in for more.

But Shouta feels sweaty and unbelievably embarrassed, now that his senses have returned to him. A blowjob on the roof of his workplace is … something he needs to compartmentalize, lest he find himself unable to look Yamada and Kayama in the eye ever again.

He worms himself out of the greedy hold you both have on him. “If you’re both so adamant for company, then you can entertain yourselves,” he firmly states on his way towards the door.

“Boo!”

“We’re gonna fuck so loudly that you’ll be coming back,” you call out, and Shouta throws a flushed glare over his shoulder. Oboro already has his hands shoved down the back of your outfit to cup your ass. Of course. “You’ll come running up here to yell at us, and then you’ll be sorry, baby!”

Shouta rushes through the door and slams it shut behind him, his heart beating a million miles a minute as he resists the urge to hunt down his capture weapon and restrain you horny maniacs.

So much more is yet to come indeed, he wryly thinks to himself.

#shirakumo x reader #aizawa x reader #shirakumo oboro #aizawa shouta #erasercloud #shirakumo/reader #aizawa/reader #aizawa x reader x shirakumo #aizawa/reader/shirakumo #thank goodness aizawa has his capture weapon to hide all them leech hickies on his neck askjdhaf #this is an ode to the cloud anon #i owe you my life

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writefinch · 3 years

Text

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

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noocturnalchild · 3 years

Text

SEALED IN MARBLE Chapter II The First Sins

The church bells chimed, announcing Lauds, the dawn prayers. Father Garupe woke up drowning in his sweat .

He reached down his mattress to find the package, still in the same place where he had put it last night.

***

Last morning he was incautious enough to go to the sculptor’s atelier in his clerical robes. What he did was like an act of bravery, as if he wanted to know if his legs could lead him there. And there he went, without any plan in mind, and just stood for minutes, gazing at the surroundings before turning on his heels and hoping that no one saw a black robe prowl in the corner.

Francisco had to think.

If he wanted to present himself to the sculptor, he had to do it under a false name and in secular clothes. He had to invent a past and a family and a profession and maybe speak in another tone that wouldn’t give him away as a man of God. In short, he had to lie.

- “Francisco!”

Father Rodrigues had to rise his tone a bit louder than necessary, and as it earned him disproval stares from his superiors, his friend was all but ready to listen.

Garupe was fumbling with his spoon and staring at his untouched supper when he deigned to answer.

- “What?”

- “Parchment, Garupe, I was asking you for extra parchment!” an irritated Rodrigues hissed.

- “You can have mine for tonight, I think I am feeling sick today…” Garupe muttered and he excused himself. It was his second lie that day.

But instead of returning to his cell, he slipped in the kitchen through a back door, then into the dorms of the manservants. There, he made quick business of “borrowing” the clothes of one that was about his height and size, following which he almost ran to his room and closed the door behind him, like a thief.

***

Garupe proceeded to his ablutions and fell into step behind the other priests for the prayers of dawn. He prayed with the same devotion and sincerity as always, trying to ignore what he did and what he was about to do. It was something he should be ashamed of, but once he had the money in his hands, he would confess all his sins. He had time and he should help a powerless widow and three little angels that had no sins but to be born women. Weren’t the Jesuit ideals all about linking faith with justice and having special concern for the poor and the oppressed? And wasn’t he following these very values by acting like he did? Garupe felt suddenly thrilled and stayed on his knees till Prime prayers, reinvigorated by a hope so big it made him fly to meet his superior just after the last psalms were recited.

- Father Garupe, I see you overjoyed this morning, I might attribute your elation to the prayer, I wish.

Garupe retorted in a tone he wished composed.

- “Always, your excellence.” Garupe smiled before adding “Pardon me, your excellence, I came to you for a request… Yesterday, I went for a walk after prayers… on my way, I saw a poor family …a deplorable sight… I took pity on them, for as your excellence knows, that’s what Christ would do … and I promised to return today, and to visit them regularly with some … food to meet their needs for a few days … after your permission, of course.”

- “Good my son, good…” the brows of the bishop knotted for a second and he flexed his jaw, as if to comment something, but then he relaxed as he continued “You might go now, may the holy spirit accompany you in your endeavour.”

Garupe held his breath for many seconds after his encounter with his superior. He couldn’t believe that he could lie so blatantly and repeatedly in a span of a few hours… But he pushed his guilt away for now, as his legs performed lengthy strides and stilled behind a dilapidated wall. He hopped over a barrier and sank into a small but luxuriant wood. There, he quickly changed into secular clothes, kissed his rosary and hid it in a deep pocket of his priest robe before folding it in a sack.

The sun was high in the sky when the priest knocked on the master sculptor’s door. He waited for seconds that felt like hours, mentally prepared to greet an old man, august and condescending, but instead he saw a boy, running through the yard to swiftly open the door, big crooked smile and wide eyes meeting his.

- “Excellent day milord! please come in”, the boy shouted, bowing and scraping.

Garupe nodded and followed the boy through the yard. The place revealed more of its secrets as he progressed in its depths. The garden, whilst vaster that he thought, wasn’t maintained and looked more like a messy bush, wild flowers and vines that grew past its borders and invaded parts of the yard, climbed the marbles statues, the fountain’s borders, the walls and the roof of an elegant albeit old building, which first floor was framed with tall windows that reflected the sunlight. Garupe was lost in the enchanting beauty of the place as he was pushed inside a fresh gallery that led to a big empty room, solely lit by two windows on the ceiling that scattered liquid squares of light on the floor and illuminated a block of raw marble and a table displaying a variety of sculpting tools, rags and bottles.

The boy extracted him from his bewilderment when he finally spoke.

- “ I’m Miguel, Master De Luna’s apprentice, milord, to whom do I have the honor to speak?”

Garupe gasped as the sense of reality caught him again, he swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke as calmly as he could:

- “Vicente Santos. Servant.“

Garupe couldn’t lie further, as he was indeed in the simple clothes of a low ranked man.

As the boy stayed silent, Garupe added:

- “I heard you are in search of models…” he lied carefully and was relieved when he saw the boy relax, another wide smile appearing on his juvenile face:

- “You come in time milord” - the boy continued to address him using the same epithet even after revealing his low rank - “usually we choose them, but my master is about to start a new …particular work, we have one job available milord, if you…” – the boy gave Garupe a prolonged look, up and down, which made him nervous- “… oh but my master should see you first! please wait for me here? milord?“

And the boy slipped away before Garupe could utter a word.

An eternity seemed to pass before the boy appeared again, an eternity where Father Francisco Garupe regretted a thousand times his acts and decisions, but just as he was thinking about running away and abandoning his impossible adventure, the boy reappeared, followed closely by a small frame in …a cloak. A large dark cloak that hid the shape of the master’s body and face …

Garupe narrowed his eyes but, and as to make the task even harder, the master stood in the shadow, where the squares of light couldn’t reach his face. The master stood still, not speaking, not budging, but Garupe felt him staring at him and taking him in with invisible eyes, covered by veils of darkness. Garupe felt a chill run down his spine, and a spontaneous prayer played on his lips as he tried to focus and say something to alleviate the dread that began to take hold on him.

- “Vicente Santos, master, at your service.” Garupe offered a small bow, "I believe your apprentice informed you of the reasons of my visit."

The Master returned the bow and simply hummed, what Garuped believed was a hum of appreciation.

The boy then spoke again:

- “My master can’t speak, but with him present here, I can explain to you the details of the job.”

The master nodded as to encourage the boy to continue.

- “I hope milord here wouldn’t be bothered to pose without clothes on…” the boy coughed, “as my master is about to make a big work of art, a representation of the original man, no less, biblical Adam, milord.” And the boy opened his arms with emphasis as to demonstrate the importance of the work.

Garupe felt the world spin around him as he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Did he miss something? Clearly not. They were telling him that the only work available was nude modelling!

- “I beg your pardon, Master” Garupe tried to adjust nervously the sleeves of his shirt. “As it is my first time in the business … I … I’m afraid I’m not comfortable enough…with such ideas.”

- “Models posing nude are doble paid, milord” the boy cut him off, yelling with enthusiasm, before the master stretched a cloaked hand and led him violently off the room.

The brisk reaction of the master sculptor made Garupe gasp in shock. But as he pulled himself together, he thought God was giving him a second chance to run away. He should, now, or never. He should say no, no matter how much they offered, no matter how strong the temptation would be.

Yes, leave now.

But just as he was about to turn away and disappear, the sculptor and his apprentice showed up again, like evil spirits from the depths of hell. Miguel ran to him and whispered something in his ear, something that made Garupe’s eyes almost roll out of their orbits. And that’s how he knew that he was really being tested.

- “All… all that, just to strip?”

The master sculptor nodded from his spot in the dusty darkness, and Garupe swallowed thick.

Shall he? Should he? Could he?

Lord, have mercy.

- “My master thinks that you are the man for the job.” Miguel re-entered the fray again, “I assure you milord, you’ll be a perfect Adam. Just think of your body as a tool, and it is, as you will see, as important for the art as the ones you see on that table. Just look at this block of dead marble. Do you think it’s worth a Real if not polished and worked to imitate life? And do you think it can stand in the most prestigious palaces of this town and arouse admiration and wonder in the eyes of kings and prelates if the very life that inspires it is mediocre?”

- “Excuse me”, Garupe replied, confused and a bit taken aback by the boy’s words, that seemed all but his. “How… how do you know that I … I would be what you are looking for if you’ve not seen … me yet.” Garupe couldn’t bring himself to mention his body, as tension grew tighter in his stomach. He had never imagined that a day would come when he would have a conversation about the worth of his body with anyone, ever, not even his confessor.

- “My master here is a connoisseur, and he has seen your face, milord.” The boy smiled, radiant. Garupe couldn’t help but notice the troubling contrast between his words, that were those of a grown adult man, and his facial expressions, that belonged to a no more than twelve year old boy.

- “How is my face…” Garupe stopped in the middle of his sentence. It was ridiculous, the fact alone that he wasn’t already taking leave, was ridiculous. The fact that he was here trying to discuss things that weren’t even in the realm of possibility for him was absurd. He tried to collect his courage and refuse, leave, return to his prayers and routine and forget about the letter, tuck it away, burn it, pretend he never received it… but Miguel, that little devil, was approaching him again with that big smile and the master’s eyes were so persistent on him, a burning stare he could feel but not see .

- “Milord, what had brought you here to model, is, I assume, a scarcity of money, and here my master is bidding you plenty of it just to strip of a few clothes, which, my master believes, is a very generous offer.”

- “It is, a very generous offer indeed”, Garupe found himself muttering. “But…“

- “Just a try, milord, I assure you, you will not regret it, let me help you, think of all the possibilities, do you have a family to feed, maybe a beautiful wife that you want to please? Or maybe parents that are in need?”

Garupe shook his head… Parents in need.

- “Fine! I will! I will.” He didn’t know, maybe another man shouted those words because what Father Francisco Garupe wanted now, was to be buried six feet deep, that was better than the disgrace he managed to become in such a short timeframe.

In the worst case, Garupe thought, chasing away his guilt, he could take the money that the master would give him today and never return again. But deep inside, the stubborn priest refused to accept that all he had done till now, all the risks he had been taking would come to nothing, that all the sins (and they were aggravated in his mind), would have been committed to no end at all. That would make them worse in his eyes, and he was sure, in God’s eyes too.

- “I will.”

His voice was his that time, resolute and determined as he started to work on his vest’s buttons, carefully avoiding the two pairs of eyes that were avidly waiting, like for the doors of Heaven to open.

#father garupe #fan fic #garupe x you #adam driver #adam driver fan fic #francisco garupe #frannie is in deep shit

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toartemis · 5 years

Text

Come on Love, Draw Your Swords - Part 6

Look at me, I’m posting this here the same day I posted on Ao3! You can read this chapter there if you’d like.

Feel free to listen to Maester by Ramin Djawadi while reading this chapter, it sets the mood.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 & 4, Part 5.

Summary:

Sing to me, Moonlight For you, dear, are honey-tongued I dream just for you.

Or: The one where Jude finds out she's pregnant, and Cardan begins collecting a thousand plants.

Word Count: 1,851

Warnings: None

Preview:

And then the sun breaks over the land, warmth overflowing with it, and Jude gasps. It’s one of the most breathtaking things she’s ever seen.

-------

Three weeks until the baby is supposed to arrive, Cardan spends an entire day not-so-subtly suggesting that Jude visit his greenhouse. It surprises her when she realizes that she’s never been, because It’s something that’s become so important to him over the months. Though Jude’s felt incredibly bored as time passes and she gets farther along, able to do less and less of what she used to, she hasn’t given a thought to visiting in her increasing amount of free time.

She supposes she’s placed it into a box, like she does with most things; she filed it away. Cardan’s greenhouse seemed off-limits, like a sacred place she wouldn’t dare step foot into so as not to disturb anything. Also, the plants are annoying and mean and very, very strange, apparently.

“One of my most recent flowers sprouted almonds,” Cardan says out of nowhere, leaning in to her ear as they sit next to each other during a gathering of their Council. Nothing important is being said at the moment, or at all, really. Jude decides to play along.

“The way those horrible things grow, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Cardan leans back, affronted. “They’re not horrible. They’re unique.” The pride in his voice causes Jude to snort, which earns her a few stares. They settle after that, like children in a classroom. Jude suppresses a smile for the rest of the meeting.

-------

“I’m raising a Venus flytrap that developed the ability to laugh,” he says as Jude does her stretches around midnight, sheets of paper strewn before them. The emphasis he puts on the name of the plant makes her lips twitch up.

“Really?” she asks, voice indifferent. Her mind is foggy from hours of negotiations with the Court of Moths. They’re currently looking over written agreements for… something. Jude hasn’t been paying all that much attention. It’s harder to, lately. Her mind is understandably elsewhere.

“Indeed, I think it sounds rather like yours,” he drawls.

Jude glares at him, trying to imagine it. A plant with her laugh? Is he making fun of her? Cardan’s gaze stays on the papers. His tail is out, curling near his leg. It’s like that most days now.

“What do you do to them?”

He ignores her. “I find it amusing when I hear it.”

Jude huffs. He doesn’t seem to want to say anything else, his silence speaking for him. They get back to work.

-------

She’s reading in a newly cushioned nook in the corner of their bedroom, candles placed along shelves near her. It’s near moonset when Cardan whispers, “They’ve grown so beautifully.”

It takes Jude a moment to catch on to what he’s saying. She looks up from her book when she does, taking in his appearance. He’s dressed in a loose, cream-colored, silk shirt. It cuts low enough to expose his sternum. His plain trousers match with a long, thin coat that she sees him wear often when he wanders off to tend to his plants. “Have they? They used to annoy me. They were obnoxious.”

Cardan’s brows furrow, and after a moment he says, “They were, yes.”

He looks as if he will say more, but he stays silent, bare feet gliding silently over the floor to sprawl on a futon made of fine fabrics and plush pillows near the fireplace. Jude takes a few more minutes to read—this book is for her own pleasure, but not one of her usuals that focus on strategy and war. This one's about interpreting the stars—before she gets up.

She puts on a thin slip dress for bed, because soft, loose fabrics are much more comfortable for her to wear in her current state. Cardan’s eyes are on her as she takes her hair from its long, intricately woven braid, combing her fingers through swooping waves. When she walks into the main room of their chambers, he follows closely, stepping around her to make for a wardrobe full of coats and shoes.

Jude assumes he’s going to look after his plants when he pulls on a pair of smudged boots, the telltale sign of once being mud-clad, but are now wiped clean. She’s rifling through papers at a writing desk when he leaves, pulling one of the doors open to the hall. The guards stationed outside straighten to attention, and Cardan lingers before the in-between of the doorway. Jude stills, watching.

“You’ve yet to visit with me,” he says, eyes front at hall, but it’s directed at Jude and she can hear his message loud and clear: Come with me this time.

It’s what she’s been waiting for.

Jude only nods and makes to grab a velvet hooded cape from the wardrobe, slipping on her favorite pair of riding boots and waddling to stand beside him. Cardan hides his happiness in his eyes, his face a neutral mask. Jude can see it all the same.

He laces their hands together and they walk past the guards further into the palace, then outside a Northern exit. They’re silent as they make their way, passing only a few fey and knights. The former all seem startled to see both of them, especially dressed the way they are. Jude couldn’t care less.

Dawn is in the midst of breaking outside, soft orange and lilac spilling over the horizon beyond the hills. The grass is wet beside the stone path they walk on, its pleasant scent soothing to Jude. She’s seen the greenhouse before, so she isn’t fazed when they come upon it. It’s a strange building; small and made of gold and glass, dark wood paneling spread throughout. It has sloping crystal-paned roofs on either side of the main entrance.

They stop before the thin glass doors. Jude can make out the faint outlines of green from within, but not much else. She glances at Cardan in question and finds him looking uncertain. Then, he tilts his head up and pushes the doors open.

Jude notices the air first. It is thick, a strange mixture of soil and attractive aromas hitting her senses, and it’s almost as if she can taste it all. And then the sun breaks over the land, warmth overflowing with it, and Jude gasps. It’s one of the most breathtaking things she’s ever seen.

Greens, blues, whites, and more sit before her. Light refracts through crystalline walls that look like massive gems from her perspective inside. The room hums with a distinct magic.

And all at once, Jude finally understands. Everything she can see, all of the swaying, docile things, they’re all proof. Maybe for her, maybe for himself, she doesn’t know, but they’re a testament nonetheless.

Each one of these plants, once unremarkable from the mortal world, now twisted and strange after being in Cardan’s care, is thriving. The room itself is alive, magic flowing through each root, stem, and leaf of its occupants.

“Do you like it?” Cardan asks, voice hesitant, interrupting her wonder.

“Cardan,” she says, “This is incredible.” Jude pads to the nearest bunch of flowers. They look delicate, all a soft blue color, but a sticky, clear goo coats them, dripping onto jade stones that sit on top of the soil. The substance flickers, like tiny shards of iridescent glass is sprinkled throughout it. The flowers bend towards her, not menacing in any way, but like a cat purring for a scratch on the head.

She moves further down, weaving through vined plants hanging in ceramic bowls from the bright ceiling. The appendages brush against her like fingers. One strokes through strands of her hair, alive and curious, and she laughs in amazement. Cardan follows at a distance.

Jude stops in front of a cactus with so many spines it looks like a porcupine. Oak loves those creatures. The succulent flexes and relaxes as if breathing.

“How?” she asks, an overwhelming ache in her chest. She wanders to a small tree that twists and swirls around itself, berries like teardrop candy hanging from its coiled branches. When she turns to face Cardan, she feels the urge to cry.

He stands some feet away, watching her, hands behind his back. Every living thing in sight reaches towards him, stretching and curling. It would be a disconcerting sight if not for the fact that she knows these plants are alive and it is out of clear affection. He has breathed life into every one of them, coaxed them into friendliness. This is what he’s been doing almost every day at this hour; he’s been out here working, learning, helping them grow. Jude’s throat feels tight at the thought.

“I was… afraid,” he says. “I wanted something to challenge me. I wanted to make something without magic. So, I thought if I could raise a few plants from the mortal world, in a way I might have a chance at being a father.” He smiles bashfully, shaking his head. “It sounds strange, now.”

Cardan reaches for one of the plants sprawling from the ceiling, its tiny leaves wrap around his finger like a child. There’s a fondness to his eyes when he looks at it.

“It ended up not being a few, as you’ve noticed. Though I was certain I was keeping them alive by mortal means, I couldn’t keep my magic from corrupting them. They began to act out. It upset me… I felt like I failed.” He pulls his hand away, grazing a sparkling bush near his waist. The foliage rumbles at him, startling Jude, but Cardan is unperturbed, as if he deals with it frequently.

Oh. He does.

“Then, after I moved them in here, I began to figure them all out. Each was a puzzle of sorts. Every one distinctly its own. I’ve grown to care for them, genuinely.”

He steps in front of her, hands by his sides. “They are for you. None will lash out any longer; in fact, they all have rather gentle personalities.”

Jude’s heart feels close to bursting. She takes Cardan’s hands in hers and brings them to her belly, pressing them lightly.

“You will be the most wonderful father,” she says, and she means it with everything she has. The smile he gives her is blinding, and Jude marvels at how beautiful he is. Truly, it leaves her breathless.

“You like them,” he states, still grinning and looking around at his creations, because, yes, that is what they are.

“I love it all.” She leans up on her toes to kiss him, hands going to his shoulders.

They spend the early morning in the greenhouse, Cardan showing her around, introducing her to so many interesting and pretty things. She can’t keep her eyes off of him for more than a few seconds at a time. Her thoughts stray to what he will be like with their baby, how he will look with a child in his arms. One of her hands stays resting on her stomach during those hours, the other stays clasped in his.

Jude realizes she’s happy. She couldn’t make the content smile leave her face even if she tried.

-------

Big oof. This chapter was my favorite of all of them, even though it was so short. I just love the idea of Cardan freaking out over having a kid and trying to raise plants as practice. It’s so dumb, but :’)

Thank you all so much for reading even with absolutely 0 plot. There’s only one chapter left and it’ll close out the entire series, I’m excited!

#tfota #tfota fanfiction #the cruel prince fanfiction #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #tcp #twk #qon #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #judecardan #jurdan #jurdan fanfiction #i hate tagging can you tell #cardan with plants!!!#pregnant jude waddles!!

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kaijoskopycat · 6 years

Text

I found bnha episode one of season 3 to be very inspiring in the ways of skin tight swimsuits and competition. Accompanied by @drawverylittle‘s art. <3

Rated M for Mature. Heh

~~Kirishima~~ “Bakugou!”

Kirishima slams the heel of his palm against the door after ringing the doorbell for a third time. When he had received the text from Midoriya about spending a day doing some training at Yuuei’s pool he knew Bakugou was going to decline in his usual angry, vehement manner. But Kirishima had promised Bakugou would show. And Kirishima is a man of his word.

“Baku—“ He swings his arm forward and nearly takes himself with it when the door opens.

Bakugou’s mom, quite literally a spitting image, female version of Bakugou himself, stands before him. Her disheveled, pointy blond hair sticks up every which way and she sports a grin that could rival Kirishima’s.

Kirishima likes her. He counts himself lucky that she likes him too when she shouts over her shoulder, “Katsuki, you come down and answer the fucking door when someone calls your name!”

“Fuck off!” Bakugou’s voice is distant, but clear and vicious nonetheless.

“Don’t make me come up there, ya little punk!” His mom turns and beckons Kirishima in, slapping a hand against his shoulder. “How did a nice kid like you end up with a oaf like my son for a friend? He doesn’t deserve you.”

Kirishima chuckles. “I don’t know about that.” He shrugs. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve him.”

The smile on Bakugou’s mom’s face softens. “You’re too good.” She gently pushes him toward the staircase. “His door will be unlocked for you. Go ahead.”

With a smile and a nod of thanks, Kirishima bounds up the steps, hefting his backpack up on his shoulder as he finds Bakugou’s room. Even though he knows Bakugou is aware that he’s inside, he knocks on his bedroom door before opening it. Just in case. Bakugou has ruined one too many desk chairs because of Kirishima.

“Dude, why didn’t you come down?” He crosses the room and throws himself on Bakugou’s bed. The springs squeak in protest and squeak again as he rolls onto his side to watch Bakugou peer at him from across the room. “Your poor mom had to listen to me shout and bang on the door like that.”

Bakugou scoffs and gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “It won’t kill the old hag to get out of her chair every once in a while.”

“Your mom is anything but old,” Kirishima counters. In fact, Bakugou’s mom is younger than his. And she must have a world of patience to put up with Bakugou, despite her tough exterior. “But now… the real reason I’m here—“

“I’m not going to the fucking pool.” Bakugou’s frown is so deep Kirishima wonders if it hurts his face.

“Come on, man,” Kirishima groans as he rolls onto his back, staring at the glow in the dark stars stuck to Bakugou’s ceiling, the aftermath of a brief obsession with astrology that Bakugou is too lazy to remove. “I told everyone you’d come along.”

“Tch,” Bakugou rolls his chair over to the edge of the bed and shoves af Kirishima’s side. “Should’ve thought twice before lying like a jackass.”

With a heavy sigh, Kirishima rolls off the other side of the bed to let Bakugou flop down in his place. He walks around the bed to grab his backpack, tugging out the school supplied swimsuit that he had yet to put on. It’s made of a stretchy, lycra material, likely to look poured on like a second skin. It wouldn’t have been Kirishima’s first pick, but he never complains about free stuff.

He glances at Bakugou as he tugs at the stretchy material. A light bulb flickers on in his mind and a grin spreads across his face.

“Oi, Bakugou?”

“Hah?”

“You mind if I use your bathroom to change?”

Bakugou lifts his head off the bed, eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you—“

“Swimsuit.” Kirishima holds up the swimming gear as proof. “Kinda forgot to change at home.”

“Swimsuit.” Bakugou repeats dumbly. His lips twitch before he falls back against the mattress. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Kirishima snorts and leaves the room.

The swimsuit is even tighter than he expects it to be and does little in the ways of hiding what is beneath, but Kirishima has never been self conscious about his appearance. He gives himself a once over in the mirror before nodding his approval and finding his way back to Bakugou’s room.

Bakugou, who sits at his desk once again, chokes on the water was drinking when Kirishima walks in.

“You’d think they’d give us more comfortable swimming gear,” Kirishima comments, tugging at the waist and letting it slap back against his hip. “Oh well. Guess I shouldn’t complain if it’s free, right?”

“You can’t fucking walk around looking like that,” Bakugou growls. “You’re… you—“

Bakugou actually wheezes when Kirishima bends forward to grab his backpack off the ground. Kirishima smirks before turning to face Bakugou, a small smile playing across his lips.

He still has one more card to play.

“Well, guess I’ll get going.” He shrugs his backpack onto his shoulder and lifts a hand in a wave goodbye. “Sucks you won’t be coming. I was looking forward to swimming with you.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “We can go some other time, asshole.”

Kirishima brightens up, his heart skipping a beat or two. “Shame you won’t get to race against Midoriya and Todoroki. I’ll just let them know you weren’t ready for defeat yet.”

He swings around the corner and swiftly bounces down the steps, pausing at the front door to nod goodbye to Bakugou’s mom. He hesitates only a few more seconds before Bakugou comes storming down the steps, swimsuit on, his eyes ablaze with challenge.

Kirishima grins widely. “So you’re coming then.” It’s not a question. Obviously Bakugou has already caved.

“Fucking Deku!” Bakugou roars, shoving past Kirishima and kicking the front door open. “Fucking half-and-half bastard. I’ll kill them if they think they can beat me in anything!”

Bakugou has already turned onto the street when Kirishima pokes his head back into Bakugou’s house. He waves goodbye at Bakugou’s mom who lifts a hand to wave back, a smile on his face.

“You tell Izuku I said hello.”

Kirishima nods. “Will do.”

“And Kirishima?”

Kirishima glances over his shoulder one last time.

“Don’t let him blow up too much.”

Kirishima snorts and smiles wide. “I won’t.” He bounds out the door and has to run to catch up to Bakugou, but he doesn’t care. It’s all worth it.

“Bakugou, wait up!”

He’s still a man of his word.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~~Bakugou~~

Everyone else leaves before them. Kirishima insists on staying behind with Bakugou. Insists on walking him home once they’re done washing the chlorine off their bodies. Insists on taking advantage of the fact that they’re alone. The shower takes much longer to end than initially anticipated. Bakugou is barely under the spray when Kirishima tugs him around the corner and pins him against the wall. The kiss is bruising and Bakugou snarls against Kirishima’s mouth, glancing his tongue on the tip of one of Kirishima’s sharp teeth. Kirishima’s hands are at his wrists, carefully concealed beneath a strong layer of his quirk. He knows Bakugou too well. Kirishima’s hold gradually loosens, his quirk slowly disappearing when he realizes Bakugou is reciprocating the kiss, isn’t letting sparks fly. In fact, Bakugou is the one controlling it. He isn’t about to let someone take over for him like this. His tongue pushes through Kirishima’s lips, caressing the roof of his mouth to make him shiver. And Kirishima groans for him, ruts against the front of his body. Bakugou smirks and tugs his hand out of Kirishima’s grasp to thread his fingers through Kirishima’s wet hair. It hangs down around his face in a fashion he never allows himself to wear on a daily basis, but it’s a look Bakugou secretly loves. He gives Kirishima’s hair a pull to expose his neck and the sound of encouragement Kirishima makes goes straight to Bakugou’s cock.

He jerks his hips forward and Kirishima glances up. Bakugou glares at him. He knows what Kirishima felt. What he feels pressing against him right now.

“Oi, Bakugou.” Kirishima’s mouth is on his neck now and Bakugou shudders when it moves lower. “I think you might’ve stolen my quirk.” He tilts his hips forward for emphasis.

A flush burns Bakugou’s cheeks. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls, yanking on Kirishima’s hair.

It doesn’t have the intended effect.

Kirishima groans against Bakugou’s skin, his lips pressed over Bakugou’s collarbone, never ceasing in their movement. He’s at Bakugou’s chest now, his tongue flicking at a pert nipple. The feeling is like an electric shock to his groin and Bakugou’s knees tremble against his will.

“Fucking…”

“Mm…” Kirishima hums in acknowledgement, trailing kisses down Bakugou’s abdomen.

Bakugou knows where this is going. “Kirishima, if you fucking dare to—“

Kirishima does dare and he beats Bakugou’s protest by forcing his fingers between the tight, wet fabric of Bakugou’s swimsuit and giving a rough tug downward. Bakugou’s cock springs free, already hard, and wet with more than just the water from the pool and the shower.

“See?” Kirishima, now on his knees, smirks up at him. He releases his hold on the swimsuit, leaving the wet material snug around Bakugou’s upper thighs, limiting his movement. “Quirk thief.” He runs his thumb up the length of Bakugou’s cock.

Bakugou shudders and bares his teeth. “Stop with your fucking commentary, shitty hair. Or I’ll—“

Kirishima flicks his tongue against the tip and Bakugou draws in a sharp breath.

“You’ll what?” Kirishima asks, his eyes glowing from between the wet strands of red hair that dangle across his forehead. He has his lips on Bakugou now, mouthing up the shaft, trailing his tongue against the skin. “Stop me?”

Fuck…. no. He wouldn’t stop Kirishima now even if Kirishima begged him too. “Just…” Bakugou’s fingers are back in Kirishima’s hair, gripping, caressing through the damp strands. “Keep those fucking teeth covered, bastard.” Kirishima chuckles and gives a mock salute with two fingers before his hand caresses down Bakugou’s abdomen and his mouth closes around the tip. And it’s so good.

True to his word, Kirishima keeps his teeth carefully concealed behind his lips. He hollows out his cheeks and drags his lips slowly, torturously, up and down the length. His hand works at what he can’t accommodate and Bakugou feels every thread of his control pulled taut. His body aches in the best of ways and when Kirishima groans in his own contentment, the feeling snaps a few of those cords and rips a deep moan from the back of Bakugou’s throat. “Fuck… Kirishima,” Bakugou’s grip tightens. He can’t possibly be crumbling this easily. There’s no fucking way he’s handing the reigns over to Kirishima like this. His traitorous hips surge forward, deeper into the heat of Kirishima’s mouth, but Kirishima doesn’t choke. He opens up to Bakugou, swallows harder around the tip to relax his throat to allow Bakugou to push further, to give him more. And somehow that’s still a measure of control lost and he hates it. Hates that his hips betray him. Hates how his body trembles and he can barely hold back the moan swelling at the back of his throat.

“Kiri—“ He slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling the sounds that slip through as Kirishima’s lips graze his hips. He’s taking Bakugou so deep…

“Fuck!”

Bakugou’s thread snaps. He yanks on Kirishima’s hair, forcefully pullin his lips off of him. The cool, outside air hits him and he shivers as he pulls Kirishima up to his face. He registers the look of bewilderment before tugging Kirishima around the corner and crushing their lips together.

Kirishima barely hesitates before his arms twine around Bakugou’s neck. The deep groan from the back of Kirishima’s throat vibrates through Bakugou’s body like sound through a tuning fork. He backs up into the wall, his lower back arching against the shower wall and suddenly a warm spray of water cascades over them.

“Ah…” Kirishima gasps as he pulls back to look up into he spray. He laughs. The sight and the sound brings a tightness to more than just Bakugou’s lower body.

How dare that messy haired bastard look so damn good.

With a deep snarl, Bakugou rushes in for another bruising kiss. He lets his hands drop to Kirishima’s waist to tug the soaking wet suit down his thighs, giving him the same restraint he left Bakugou with earlier.

Kirishima is hard, the length of him pressing against Bakugou’s stomach, brushing against Bakugou’s still painfully hard cock. And the feeling, the briefest glance of warm skin on skin brings a full body shudder straight up Bakugou’s spine.

Suddenly he’s arching into Kirishima. He doesn’t know when his hand curled around the both of them, but he knows the friction of his cock against Kirishima’s from the motion of his hand is enough to bring the most wanton, breathy sounds from Kirishima’s lips. And Bakugou swallows everyone, thinking of each as his own private little victory.

He thinks he may be overheating. It may be the water. The proximity. The flush on their bodies and the intimacy of their actions. He doesn’t care. He just wants the boiling warmth in his stomach to overflow and when Kirishima finally gasps, “Fuck me, Katsuki,” Bakugou is done for.

He buries his face in the crook of Kirishima’s neck as he comes. Kirishima cries out when Bakugou sinks his teeth into his neck to muffle the rasp of a groan. But the score of his teeth has Kirishima bucking wildly against him and Kirishima’s bliss is soon to follow.

Bakugou is selfishly glad Kirishima didn’t try to muffle the strained gasp he releases when his pleasure peaks.

They stand like that for a few more minutes. Bakugou’s hand falls limp at his side. The shower water continues to rain down on them and their suits stay tight around their upper thighs, locking them in place.

He doesn’t know what to stay. Is he supposed to speak after this? Is he supposed to offer to pull up Kirishima’s fucking skin tight swimsuit? Is he supposed to kiss him again? To let him know that he hasn’t known that kind of blissful release until then?

But it turns out Bakugou doesn’t have to think that hard. Kirishima finally lifts his head, his red hair hanging in loose, dripping strands over his eyes. He grins and tilts forward to steal a kiss and Bakugou kisses back because he can. Because he won’t lose to Kirishima even in something as trivial as this.

“Well,” Kirishima says, his eyes cut to the nonexistent space between them where their hips are still pressed tightly together. “Here I thought we were supposed to be washing up, not getting ourselves dirty again.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and presses a palm over Kirishima’s face to shove him backward. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kirishima’s laughter and his smile is enough to bring that tightness back, but this time it settles in his chest. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he doesn’t think he needs to dwell. After all, Kirishima has always understood exactly what he needs.

#bakushima #kiribaku #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bnha #boku no hero academia #;drabbles #drawverylittle #i had a need after that episode #kinda sorta dirty kay?

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naveedahmed123 · 3 years

Text

Deep Rock Galactic Honest Review | Rock, Stone And Boom!

For some, this situation is similar to a scene from a horror movie, but for the employees of the space company Deep Rock Galactic, this is just another working day.

A substantial screeching fly drags the machine gunner into the darkness, and the engineer accidentally touches an explosive bush and is now lying on the ground with a singed beard. Squeezed into a corner, the driller made his way back in the rock until he found a giant abyss under his feet. Left without ammunition and teammates, the scout hangs from the ceiling on a hook-cat, but nothing will help him: the cave is rapidly filling with hordes of hungry beetles.

For some, this situation is similar to a scene from a horror movie, but for the employees of the space company Deep Rock Galactic, this is just another working day.

Gimli vs Arachnids

The dwarves in Deep Rock Galactic have mastered interstellar travel and discovered Hawkes 4, a planet rich in valuable resources. But besides gold and rare hops, it also has enough dangerous flora and fauna – countless hordes of monsters desperately defend their home.

But the miners were not embarrassed by such difficulties, and now mostly. Even the most innocent mission inevitably turns into a slaughterhouse with the use of chemical weapons, industrial explosives and large-caliber barrels. There is no plot or lore in the game anymore: you choose a character, a task to your liking and go to the landing capsule – the minerals will not dig themselves out.

With rare exceptions, Deep Rock Galactic’s gameplay is not about combat at all. As a rule, a detachment of miners parachutes into procedurally generated caves in order to extract certain resources, return equipment to a dead expedition, or, say, build an “oil pipeline” from a nearby tower. Alien dungeons are reluctant to part with their treasures: they often have to work in extreme conditions.

Gold deposits may well be waiting under the very ceiling, and a network of pipes may have to be laid right through the magma lake. Therefore, most of the time, you will not have to shoot, but do speleology: overcome abysses, build bridges, drill tunnels.

And it is played much more interesting than it sounds. Although the locations are randomly generated, the artificial level designer does almost better than the real one – the caves here turned out to be beautiful and full of dangers. Sandstorms, lava eruptions, stalactites falling, fields of explosive plants: because of the random generation of levels, you never know what to face on your next dive.

Besides, peacefully working with picks will not work in any case – the caves are teeming with aggressive beetles. When you first see how a torch illuminates the roof of a massive cave for several seconds. Along which dozens of beetles are crawling, the movie Starship Troopers immediately comes to mind. I want to push the trigger all the way until everything that does not have a beard stops moving.

And fortunately, Deep Rock Galactic gameplay is very enjoyable to shoot. Although the feel of the weapon itself is not particularly special. The situation is saved by the destructibility of the environment and the damage mode. Your shots break the chitinous shells of monsters, exposing vulnerable spots. This not only looks and feels great, but also affects the gameplay beetles deprived of armor receive noticeably more damage, and for this, you still need to aim.

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Enemies, as is customary in such cooperative shooters, are not particularly smart, but they take on the number and variety. With the latter, Deep Rock Galactic is doing especially well: there are almost three dozen unique critters on Hawkes 4. Beetles, spiders, flies, leeches and even aggressive plants, all behave in their own way. And different combinations of opponents are capable of breaking through any defense.

Also, you never know what conditions you will have to fight in the next time. Fight with the boss at the bottom of the narrow “well” where the whole team went down like a turtle for the last five minutes? Or an endless swarm of little spiders in the middle of a viscous swamp?

Deep Rock Galactic’s main success lies precisely in the combination of combat mechanics and exploration. At high difficulty levels, you won’t be able to fight off opponents once or twice. You need to quickly improvise, prepare a defence, use the landscape.

A room dug in a narrow tunnel can save your life, but if you do not make a “back door” in advance. It will also become a grave for the whole team. Platforms can close up chasms and block passages. If you accidentally leave a hole in a makeshift crossing, then one of your comrades will surely fall into it.

In the end, each of the four dwarfs not only exterminates beetles in their own way but also explores in their own way. For example, an engineer knows how to build bridges, and a heavily armed shooter stretches cable cars. A driller can dig an entire bunker in a couple of seconds, and a mobile scout can illuminate even the largest cave for a long time. The squad has to not only fight as a whole but also conquer caves, helping each other at every step. In this regard, teamwork feels unexpectedly fresh.

It’s especially cool when Deep Rock Galactic picks up steam and changes its humorous (overall) tone to a serious epic. For example, in the framework of some tasks for the evacuation, the squad needs to break through to the landing capsule through endless hordes of monsters. The capsule falls wherever it pleases.

There are no guarantees that there is a direct path to it at all. And it also flies back on the timer. The music picks up the pace, and tunnels are fill with monsters, gnomes swear at each other on what the world is. The only hope is small, flickering beacons that show the way. After such adrenaline episodes, the whole team pulls into a bar.

Bottomless Depths

But all this does not mean that the game has no problems at all. They just do not become noticeable immediately. One of the biggest disappointments is progression. In Deep Rock Galactic, not only is there no narrative, but the ultimate goal in principle.

Although the basic gameplay itself is capable of captivating for long hours, sooner or later the question arises. Why all this? Why tirelessly pump your character, reset the level and start over?

Of course, pumping opens up new difficulty and access to special events. But if the player has already started to get tired by that time, this is unlikely to pique the interest.

The pumping system itself is also not too happy. A significant part of the unlocked abilities and modules for equipment are either poorly balanced or give absolutely insignificant bonuses, like microscopic plus signs to damage. In addition, the arsenal of weapons here is very modest.

All characters have a main and an additional barrel, and as the level increases, you can open only one alternative for each category.

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In fairness, all the guns are unique and really different from each other, but they won’t last long. Especially if you enjoy playing the same dwarf. The situation aggravates by prices for almost everything in the game. Even for the most difficult tasks, we receive very small rewards. But the prices for any (even cosmetic) improvements are bite no less than beetles.

There are no micro transactions in the game, and grind is in bulk. Want that cool steel mohawk? Get ready to save four or five tasks for him. Also, not everything is smooth with the balance of complexity. It seems like Deep Rock Galactic puts too much emphasis on the constant lack of ammo. But unlike other similar games, the characters do not have serious tools for close combat.

Yes, no self-respecting dwarf goes out without a pickaxe. But fighting her against a swarm of beetles is pure suicide on almost any difficulty. Because of this, situations periodically arise where you do not need to fight. But run from opponents in circles in a desperate attempt to find some resources to call ammunition.

If you delay, then the game may well set another swarm of beetles on you in order to completely finish off the team’s morale. Needless to say, these moments feel ridiculously difficult and dishonest?

But all this, of course, does not make the game bad. Deep Rock Galactic could have simply copied the mechanics of Left 4 Dead. Instead, the authors successfully refreshed the formula with their own ideas. It turned out dark and tense, but still cozy – with gunpowder, beer and hordes of bloodthirsty creatures. What else does a strong company of dwarves need?

Final Words For Deep Rock Galactic

Deep Rock Galactic can get bored on the very first evening, or it can drag on for tens, if not hundreds of hours. Apart from basic gameplay, This has almost nothing to offer. But it does task so well that it is more than enough.

#https://www.smartstrategygames.com/deep-rock-galactic-review/?fbclid=IwAR1APFu14tPUr1hwfAmqmhKoGo-zg4vW5sPXqvqTGbG2FcpQnZUB9xG5Yok

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

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No Home for Dead Birds: What’s in a Name?

Shout-out to Arkaedia and @poison-basil for helping with the naming conventions. Seriously. The struggle was REAL. I don’t want to kill the surprise, but @yangmallow was the one that gave me the last name ;)

**Rachel**

She very easily puts the mug down and lifts a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, her skin cool and smooth, her smile the ghost of fond.

“Muninn?” He asks, muffled where his head is buried on his arms because damn the island is just the perfect height for him to plop down on a stool and maybe take a nap. But, he wants the answer. He wants the answer from them all.

Why that name?

(Maybe so he can finally pick another?)

And turns his head enough for a fresh breath of air and to sleepily regard her as she slides on the stool next to him with her own caffeine and the smallest of smiles he can’t remember ever seeing on her face before.

“Because I am accustomed to being Raven,” she sighs a little sadly without losing that smile, and Tim makes a mental note to do some digging, find out where she was during his time out. “And Odin kept ravens Huguinn and Muninn as his Memory. I like this idea perhaps. To be the keeper of memory.”

She sips at her tea, watching him with calm, cool, and collected.

“I like it for you,” he leans up enough to grip the mug in front of him with both hands. “I like the idea, so we’re def going to go with it.”

She hums a little, “I am glad. This...choice is freeing in a way, Tim. More so than I anticipated when he informed the Justice League of our parting.”

She has his full attention and uses it strategically, “it had been coming for some time, I think. Everyone, all of us, had been growing out of their control for quite some time. Gar and I, well, we have been operating on our own outside the team for years. You are aware of this.”

He nods gently back at her, one foot idly swinging off the rung of the stool, and yes, he knew. All of them had their own baddies, their own pet projects, their own ghosts and demons.

Just like him.

What kept them together? They all knew when it was time to come back.

(And that’s what he’s doing now, isn’t he?)

Raven… Muninn gives him a sharper edge to that smile like she knows exactly what he’s thinking— and couldn’t agree more.

“It’s good,” she sips at her mug, eyes soft while he’s still bleary and unfocused, “that you have decided to join back with us.”

With a yawn, he scrubs the grit out of his eyes, “I know...I wasn’t okay for a while, but I was still moving, you know? I was getting to the part where it was all fine.”

She hums lightly, reading into his bullshit without a hitch, “like all Robins, Tim, you could have continued alone. However, unlike the others, I believe you have a potential for more,” and her graceful hand gestures around the comfortable commons room, her dark gaze coming back to rest on him pointedly.

And if he laughs a little at her blatant humanity showing through, shoving a hand through his hair with eyes only slightly wet, well, that’s just going to be a little secret between them.

**Conner**

“Belenus?”

The clone smiles at him, hands dangling between the knees of his torn jeans. It’s just them in this new reality, and those blue, blue eyes have picked up a new trick, trying to look past the surface to find something…

(The truth)

Once upon a time, his bullshit tech could throw the clone off when needed. Anymore, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be the case.

At the top of their HQ, Conner isn’t floating above the lip of the roof, stays firmly rooted beside Tim, so close their thighs could almost be touching.

“It’s—”

“Yeah. Sun God reference, but—” he shrugs, but the leftovers still Superboy are there in the tightness of his forearms (“Robin, why does Superman seem to...hate me? Have I done something against regulations?” “That’s...that’s not it, Superboy, really.” But at the time, he’d already seen how disappointing and degrading it was to the clone, to know he wasn’t wanted by his biological donor. Some things? He gets.)

“You know Clark is an asshole, Con. Don’t feel like you need to do anything.” Like give Superman the fucking satisfaction.

“When we left the Tower for good, after we found out with the Justice League did, what they’ve been doing for a while, I spent some time out in the world, like I never have before. I…” and Conner sighs, his expression changes, smooths out like the days when he’d first come alive. The blank, expressionless face was a default when he didn't’ understand something or when he felt he needed to hide.

And before his best friend says a word, tries to spit out some acceptable explanation he might have already crafted for the rest of the team rather than the truth, Tim’s hand on his wrist stops it.

(Because he’s known Conner from Day 1, and there’s no need for him to get defensive about his choice. There’s no need for him to explain one of the turning points in his life was the time he’d been badly injured and Superman had snagged his clone up in the blink of an eye and flown them both directly to the sun in hopes it would have the same healing effect. It was the first time Clark showed concern and care, it was the first time Conner had felt like he wasn’t just some abomination. The name Kon-El, the addition in the Book of the House of El came not long after it, but still. By the time they’d met him in Ma’s house on his way out, it was so far too little, too late that all he could do was this, this name.)

And Tim gets it. Really, he does. The second Bruce handed him the tunic with the R, it was the same intense rush. The first time Batman called him Robin. “Believe it or not, I understand, man. I’m completely on board. Belenus it is.”

And those eyes come back to him, absolutely familiar in every way that he has to consciously catch himself from putting a hand to the back of Con’s neck to give a familiar squeeze, from a familiar pull for the clone to let himself list into Tim’s body..

“Heh. Thanks, T. You don’t know how much that means.”

And well, considering Con is holding on to the flash drive with all the files on Project 13 from CADMUS, of which he brought out after Clark snubbed him time and time again, thumb rubbing across the thing like a security blanket, Tim can absolutely guess.

He doesn’t put that hand on the back of Conner’s neck, but he does grip the wrist tighter to just hold on.

**Garfield**

Usually it’s him hanging upside down playing electrician. Nice to see Gar pulling it out like a boss.

“Saturn?”

“Titan of time, man,” the older superhero replies from half-inside the ceiling tiles. “Do you even know how long I’ve been at this game, T?”

He laughs a little and goes back to the motherboard in his lap, getting it ready for Gar to install. “I might have heard once or twice." He doesn’t need to say the only other of them in the game since he was eight was... (Dick) that guy; both of them are already aware of the metaphorical elephant in the room. Still, Tim appreciates the consideration since, well, Gar used to worship the ground Dick walked on. It’s nice to know the shape-shifter still welcomed him back regardless.

"Rach told me it was, um, you that lead the charge against the Justice League.”

There’s a shift, a random surge of energy, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end (because, you know, meta powers), and the low pop is just a random chimpanzee hanging upside down from the ceiling tiles by the tail. He grins because seeing a monkey smirk is never not going to be entertaining.

But Gar can work better and have this little convo, Timbo, because, man, why not just talk about it.

“So, look, T,” and Gar’s deeper baritone coming out of the monkey gets his attention, “I’m in my late twenties no matter how bangin’ I look. Rach is in her, I don’t know, hundreds or something, Cassie is nineteen, Bart is who knows how old, and Con is like six or something. Anyway, the point is— we don’t need someone to task us. Especially with whatevs is their deal. B-man’s little assignments? The League’s second-hitters? Nah, thanks for not lookin’ out. Then, for the JL to tell us who we can fight with? Who we can trust? The days when they could do that are long over. I was pretty sure we had that understanding when Dick had to lay it out that we?” the monkey pauses to wave his hands in emphasis, “are autonomous. Sure, we wanna take on that fight, why not? But that was supposed to be our call, dude. We got to make the team decisions, so the crap they pulled with you? Nah, bro, not happening anymore.”

Tim goes back to the motherboard in his hands, staring down at it, taking in the justifications.

“But the fact they did it to you?” Gar goes on with a sneer as he splices two wires together, using his feet to tape and hands to connect, “that’s total bullshit. Like, straw that broke the camel’s back, ‘kay?”

Tim blinks at the monkey owlishly because, well, he really didn’t think he was Gar’s fave Robin.

“Okay,” he replies softly, looking up at the green-eyed monkey.

“Don’t get it twisted, dude. All the mentors screw up. Ollie and Roy, Clark and Con, Diana and Donna, hell, Bats and Dick. We’re human,” and Gar wags a brow as his hairy arms give a helpless motion, “or some form of it. People fuck up. But ousting you without even talking to us first? Just letting us think it was your call all along? Nope, not schway. Not schway At. All.”

With his throat oddly clogged, he zaps the motherboard one last time with his own brand of tech magic and stands to hand it up.

“I...I could understand why Dick wanted Dami to step up with the Titans,” and even saying that makes his chest go cold. “Robin has always had a place on the team. I mean...it fucking sucked, but I still got it, Gar. The way of things, you know? Robin is part of the team.”

A green brow arches, “oh? You mean all those years of Discowing leading the call was any different than you as Red Robin?”

And that moment in front of the Justice League when he’d made the same damn argument passes by, making him avert his gaze as the monkey slides the motherboard home. The connects are super easy, man. Not even any trouble.

In a swift, smooth move, the monkey jumps and twists, turning into the human as he lands it, and faces the former Robin with brows drawn and a frown marring his features.

“T-man. Dude. You know how close I am with Dick. None of that is a newsflash. He’s always going to be one of my closest bros. Years of being on a team and just being in this life together takes bonding to a whole new level. But, I’m not blind to the fact the guy can be super impulsive and seriously dramatic. All you Bats are, inherit it from the Big Guy,” Gar makes both pointer fingers cowl ears behind his head in reference. “But that time? He was wrong, Tim. I don’t know the down an’ dirty, and you don’t need to lay it out for me, but I know he seriously messed up with you all the way around.”

But it hits Tim in a belated wave, makes him stare at Gar and blink. Of all the people he thought would side with Dick (because he was strong enough to win the cowl, so of course it was his opinion on who should wear the tunic that really fucking mattered, right? Not the goddamned kid that was already in it), he was sure Gar would be right on that side of the equation.

(And he is very, very carefully not going to think about the straight-out end of their relationship—no word and no warning. Because that? Had no place in the here and now.)

The shape shifter is easy when he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders, subtly steering them to the main doors. He ignored the furious wiping of the face and only vaguely acknowledges the husky, watery, “thanks, man. Seriously,” without being offended.

Instead, Gar just gives a little, “de nada. We’re going to do what we do best, and that, my friend, is kick ass and take names.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees with a small grin, “we do have a knack for kicking ass, right?”

“Totes,” and Gar leads him back to the Communal Floor where at least someone would be lounging around after a rigorous morning testing the lower floors. Something tells Gar a board game night will most def be on the roster.

**Cassie**

She’s cozied up in the window seat, watching the rain. The sweatshirt is an old one of Con's, big enough that her hands barely peep through the end of the sleeves, but the healing scabs on her bruised and battered knuckles make him duck his head with a smile. It's an easy thing to put the kettle on by muscle memory and hunt around in cabinets until he finds the right one.

(It's a simple, fat glass jar she'd found in one of the markets in the French Quarter. Terribly perfect for the purpose.)

It smells like spices when he opens it, the teas all neatly arranged.

The jasmine is light at it steeps, and for once he foregoes coffee to have a mug himself.

He's still in the new CEO skin, and the proposal today went far better than he could have imagined. His new line of products were going to start in R&D, then out for testing. The possibilities of growth in the next five years alone could put them higher in the Fortune 500 ratings.

Too bad for Bruce. He might have made a half-way decent CEO for Wayne Enterprises.

Crazy thing that.

But Cassie starts gently from her thoughts when he holds the mug down and fits himself across from her in the window seat, room for them both to look out at the rain and the throngs of people dancing in it.

"Ceres. I like it."

The comment is mild and unassuming, but she lays her forehead against the glass and rolls her eyes at what's becoming his usual, careful intrusions. It’s still just so…strange, seeing him like this, so subdued and grown-up from the Robin she knew, from the Tim she briefly dated when their lives were crumbling under their feet…and there was really nowhere else to go but down.

"I do too," she admits candidly, holding the mug in both palms, "I needed...something different. Wonder Girl was like a noose around my neck sometimes, you know? I'm not like Diana or even Donna."

With a quirk of his mouth, he sips at his own mug because they’ve had this conversation before. Third Robin. You know, the one not chosen, so yeah, Cassie, he gets it.

“Their powers were innate things, Tim. A part of them. When I asked Zeus for his blessing and he gave me these abilities, I thought I would feel different, be different, and… I’m not. I can’t keep doing the same thing over and over without thinking about something better. It’s not enough for me to keep fighting the same engineered plots, to put the bad guys in jail, and wake-up to do the same thing over and over and over again. There...there has to be a better way. There has to be something more than just…this.”

He smiles, reaches out and wraps one hand around his dainty ankle, his thumb moving absently over the bone while he listens.

She sighs, staring out into the mid-day, sinking deeper in the seat, “I always thought I’d be Wonder Girl until I needed to take a break from the life. But, I don’t want to stop. There’s so much more to do. Just not…in their way.”

Ceres is such a fitting name he thinks absently while he sips and rubs.

“You weren’t using all your potential,” he leads gently, laying his head back. “You had to adhere to Amazonian standards. It’s not who you are.”

“Exactly! I mean, I was wearing the uniform for long enough, Tim. I’d taken my ass-chewings, fought the good fight, I put in my time, and where did it get me? No where. And you’re right. I’m not Amazonian, so they were never really going to trust me anyway.”

His fingers sink into her ankle, grounding her from old regrets.

But Cassie sighs and sips on her tea, “it’s hilarious how we’re all like that a little, isn’t it?”

He hums and uses a thumb to rub into the arch of her foot like how he used to when it was weekends and sometimes other bad guy gatherings, making her sigh when the muscles and tendons are worked out under firm circles.

“I was the Robin that wasn’t chosen,” he starts out slowly, setting his tea aside to work with both hands. “Con was the clone in a family of last survivors of Krypton, Bart is the speedster out of line with the rest of the current Flash family, Rach is literally the only good guy in a family full of bad guys, Gar can’t go anwhere because his meta powers were the result of an accident, and you,” he glances up at her, rubbing a tender spot, “are not an Amazon. You don’t want to fight because of war. You want to fight for people.”

She huffs against the window in relief and her other foot wiggles into his lap for similar attention, “that sums it up, I think. But, it’s one of the things that keeps us together.”

“Agreed,” both thumbs work out her instep, strained from a day of wearing heels, “as much as working alone is kind of my thing at times, even considering current circumstances, I...missed you guys. It’s great to come back in a way.”

Cassie turns from the window finally and a grin slides across her face, lighting up her eyes with mirth. “Ah! Did we finally get you, Mister Detective?”

“I said I was going to stay weeks ago!”

“When you stop planning contingencies, then I’ll believe that,” and sticks her tongue out at him.

When he laughs back at her, it’s something genuine. “I’m only planning contingencies to get the team out of the building if it gets compromised, thank-you very much.”

And a few intentional strokes against the bottom of her foot has Cassie howling with laughter and beginning to helplessly flail, but Tim is completely unrepentant.

“Tim, you suck!”

The black eye he’s going to be sporting for the next few days is unequivocally worth it.

**Bart Allen**

“Vakaris. That? Sounds totally bad ass.”

Bart Allen shifts, braces his feet to pull himself out from under the husk of their old Super-Cycle and grin up at the suited CEO with motor oil still on his face.

“God of the Wind, dude. How mode is that shit?”

And even if it’s strange to be standing here, looking down a little at his former lover and still bestie, the old affections are still there, right under his skin in the muscles and sinew.

“I’d say you’ve got it about right,” Tim replies, letting his suit jacket fall down his arms. He’s already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to take a look at the remains of their old bike. The alien AI long gone, they’re left with the usual human tech to work with.

He takes the side across from B and starts pulling out bolts and burnt-out parts, letting the movement be soothing and automatic, something he doesn’t even really have to think about.

“I know what you want to ask, T,” Bart starts softly from around the bike, “you can. Ask, I mean.”

But the question is if he really wants those answers.

“You’ve made sure the future is on a better course, what you set out to do when you came here in the beginning,” and the words get husky, Tim clearing his throat so he can be as neutral as possible. “Are you planning to... go back?”

Where he can’t see around the bike, Bart slowly lowers the wrench, braces it on his prosthetic knee. There was so much there, everything about Max and Jay and Barry and Wally. The twins and the potential disaster if he did go back to the future to stay.

(And one day, when he could talk about it without breaking down, without wanting to gnaw himself into pieces. Eventually...he’d give them the deets. All the whys behind his reasons for staying in the past. Not the Flashpoint, but all the fucking backlash Barry forgot to mention.)

“I’m not going anywhere, dude. Not back to the future anyway. It’s...better if I stay here.”

And, well, it’s Tim. He can venture a guess on the possibilities behind that statements. Really, meeting their former future selves was an eye-opening experience on what kind of bad shit could go down in the next ten years. Maybe choosing a different path was the only way to divert it, but who really knew how much of that changed? And how much had Bart seen on his journey back to the past again?

(Never using a gun again. Never.)

“Call me an asshole here, but I’m glad.” Is what comes out of his mouth instead, something stupidly soft in his old come here and let me hold you kind of way.

The pause across the bike from him, the lack of noise or movement makes his heart beat just a little faster, just a hitch—

And Bart is leaning around the tire on his hands and knees, coming far enough around to put their faces a foot apart, his eyes are dark amber, warm and inviting.

Uh-oh. (That looks makes him a little breathless, makes his heart skip just once)

“Ditto, former Boy Wonder,” and for a moment Tim just blinks and stares because if he didn’t know better (he does), by the way those eyes flicker down to his mouth, he would think Bart might—

But a slow, knowing grin just slides over the mouth he can’t help but stare at before Bart pulls back slowly and disappears back around the other side.

“Hand me the 3/18th while you’re there.”

“...yeah, here.”

“Ah! Don’t throw it! What’s wrong with you?”

“You have super speed. Are you really telling me you couldn’t have caught that?”

“…you’re an asshole, T.”

“I also answer to wise ass, in case you were wondering.”

“Filing it away as we speak, Fearless Leader.”

The light-hearted bickering eases down the pressure in his belly from that almost-could-have-been, and Tim gives the status update on the office he’s established in the Business District and temp back office hideout for just in case. Luckily, they’re in a city with enough random bolt holes for safe houses that he’s pretty much got the city and perspective surrounding area mapped out. And if they head up to the Communal Floor later, covered in grease smears and standing closer while the elevator moves, it’s just another indication how close to normal things are becoming.

How close to ready they are to finally move again.

The Team

“So this is an all-or-nothing kind of session?”

Tim leans back against the console in their newly completed Control Room, crosses his ankles, and regards his waiting team. “I’m saying it would probably be smart to test the system at seventy percent. Make sure it can take what we dish out.”

Bart perks up because statements like that mean playtime and everyone usually gets right on board that train. He and Cassie exchange a grin while she cracks her knuckles with enthusiasm.

"I've put it through the standard paces already," and nope, he can't help the smile cutting across his face, "but a real world battering will help in making adjustments."

Con’s arms are crossed over his chest, blue eyes bright with anticipation, “We’re down. Let’s try to break some stuff.”

“It’s sooo about time,” Gar fills in with a righteous fist pump.

“Well, why not split into two teams. Belenus and Saturn,” and each perk at the (new) names rolling off his tongue like it had been a part of them since the beginning, “team one. Vakaris and Muninn, team two. Ceres plays air support.”

Then he gets a few raised eyebrows, “join us and it can be three and three,” Con points out.

“I need to monitor the system. Besides, I can see what kind of kick-ass new moves everyone is bringing to the table.”

And it’s a good enough argument because the rest of them can’t find a flaw in his logic. “But,” he placates with a hand in the air, “I’m going out every night this week to patrol the city. All of you get to go so we can do some research on the hidey-holes and bust some criminal heads.”

Bart’s mouth doesn’t drop open, but it’s an almost thing. “You are going to let us patrol with you?” Because they’d never gotten that from Robin—any of them. The big fights, the team gatherings, never a step into the realm of the Bat. For Tim, especially; patrolling the streets is his own cathartic need to do the down-and-dirty work (where he’d been for the last year since the original Batman had come back).

Tim nods, his expression amused, “if we’re serious about doing it...differently this time, then it’s a good idea to get different techniques laid out. You know, like stealth. Not every fight is going to be super-powered bad guys, so sometimes we’re going to need to be on the down-low rather than destroying buildings. Sometimes it’s going to be in places where you can’t expose yourself, and nothing is going to teach you stealth like staying in the shadows of one of the busiest cities in the US.”

Now Con is wondering if he should go with a mask this time instead of bare face. Just another thing to figure out before their night on the town.

“All the more reason to set the machine to record the session and join us,” Rachel points out while subtly adjusting her winged cape, a little something old and something new. “So we may begin working with you, and you may observe our...kick-ass new moves up close.”

The grins and guffaws from all around make him laugh out loud and give in, “all right, all right, I’m in.” A few keystrokes and the system is set.

Even if they’re all mostly in workout clothes, pieces of suits that might someday be, it still feels like a triangle of power when he’s standing with them, staring down a hell of a lot of guns and holograms of baddies, bo right behind his left ankle, ready for the right moment to move. It’s like he never really left.

“All right, dude.” Bart is working out his hammies, holding one leg behind him, “before we get this shit started, give up the name.”

Gar’s eyes light up, “so true, V. Fearless Leader has the roster. So what’s it gonna be?”

He grins a little, pulls the bo up to stretch his shoulders out just a bit for this little sitch. The anticipation is right on his bare heels, the power breathing down his neck from the metas at his back.

“For the time being,” he watches the laser cannons minutely adjust, the room powering on, “I’m going by Erebus,” the God of Darkness. “Maybe I’ll try something else for the other side.”

“That? Is pretty kick ass.” Con muses, eyeing the line of guns and probable owfuck around them.

“Glad you’re with it,” is his reply as the bo slides down his shoulders, goes right back behind his ankle, and he straight-arms it, eyes narrowing when the machinery begins to rotate.

That familiar stance echoes, reverberates, and the metas behind him take point, facing out for whatever might come their way.

It’s the new one that replaces the old name still on the back of his tongue; it’s a new call out to gather and defend, the new name that makes them tense with time to fight. When the red of the laser sites blips over the lot of them, he sinks just a little to balance on the balls of his feet, “Varangians. Strike!”

They’re off and moving before the first shot erupts.

And it's better than the first time because back then they hadn't worked with each other, known one another, trusted. So many integral things weren't there yet. So, this?

Is everything rolled up and hand-fucking-delivered.

Because they do break the system.

And it's the best power-down he's ever been in.

The Child

“Ah, there, there, precious one,” the deep voice coos.

The child in the bassinette calms, her eyes a stunning blue-violet just like her other father, picks out the silhouette in the shadows. Her whimpers ease into happy, gurgling sounds.

“My sweet is ready to play,” and he reaches down to lift her with unerring care, to pull her against the green robes she will one day inherit.

His beautiful, perfect heir.

Her noises follow them down the fire-lit corridors, past training rooms, through a busily working command center coordinating efforts around the globe.

“And one day,” he continues to her as they enter the throne room where her caretakers wait and his seconds have updates on their progression, “all of this will be at your disposal. And no one will be able to stop you, yes, my little Robin? One day, you shall rule the world.”

#no home for dead birds #tim drake #cassie sandsmark #conner kent #bart allen #garfield logan #rachel roth #my fic #my writing #taking on the team was really hard >.<#i hope you like it :D

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