#purely notional fiction

[nonasuch]

here is a concept: time travel cop, fish & wildlife division

most of their job is dealing with the kinds of assholes who think black market tiger cubs are a great idea right up until someone gets mauled, except these are even bigger assholes with black market Smilodon cubs that they are even less equipped to care for

this is the most straightforward and therefore relatively headache-free part of their job, because it’s the same “put that thing back where it came from or so help me” song and dance every time

it’s also significantly less depressing than the trophy hunters who don’t even want an alive extinct animal. those are extra annoying because you have to undo the time travel that let them kill that poor Megatherium or thylacine or anklyosaur or whatever, and it’s always so much extra paperwork.

and those people suck, definitely, and have fully earned a stint in Time Jail. no question. but they still do not create anywhere near as much work as the obsessive hobbyists with their exhaustively careful best practices and worryingly good track-covering. also, weirdly, it’s almost always birds with them?

like. the guys who will flagrantly abuse Time Law to bird-nap breeding pairs just long enough to raise one clutch of eggs apiece, and return them seamlessly to their spots on the timeline. who are so determined to keep their pet (ha) projects going that no one even realizes what they’re doing until they have an entire stable breeding population of passenger pigeons up and running. who are now the reason that reps from six different zoos are about to start throwing hands right in front of you over who gets dibs.

those guys cause the most paperwork. and half the time they’re snapped up by the same zoo or wildlife preserve that gets their colony of ivory-billed woodpeckers or Carolina parakeets or — once, very memorably — giant fucking South Island moa, and they never even spend a day in Time Jail.

[glyphcxre]

[bl00dw1tch]

Sorry im going to complain abt avatar haters again lol

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Crafting Compelling Morally Gray Characters: A Guide for Fiction Writers

In literature, there is often a clear distinction between good and evil. Heroes are portrayed as virtuous and villains as wicked. However, in recent years, there has been a rise in the popularity of morally gray characters - those who do not fit neatly into the categories of good or evil. These characters are complex, flawed, and often make decisions that challenge the reader's moral compass. In this guide, I'll help you explore the art of crafting compelling morally gray characters and how to make them stand out in your fiction writing.

What Are Morally Gray Characters?

Morally gray characters, also known as morally ambiguous characters, are those who do not conform to traditional notions of good or evil. They may have both positive and negative traits, and their actions may be motivated by a mix of good and bad intentions. These characters often blur the lines between right and wrong, making them more relatable and intriguing to readers.

Examples of Morally Gray Characters

Some well-known examples of morally gray characters include:

Severus Snape from the Harry Potter series: Initially portrayed as a villain, Snape's true motivations and actions are revealed to be more complex and morally ambiguous.

Jaime Lannister from A Song of Ice and Fire series: Known for his arrogance and incestuous relationship with his sister, Jaime's character evolves throughout the series, showcasing his internal struggle between his duty and his personal desires.

Walter White from Breaking Bad: A high school chemistry teacher turned methamphetamine producer, Walter's character is constantly torn between his desire for power and his moral compass.

Why Are Morally Gray Characters Compelling?

Morally gray characters are compelling because they challenge the reader's perceptions of right and wrong. They are not easily categorized as heroes or villains, making them more relatable and human. These characters also add depth and complexity to a story, making it more interesting and thought-provoking.

The Power of Relatability

One of the main reasons morally gray characters are so compelling is because they are relatable. They are not perfect, and they make mistakes, just like real people. This makes them more human and allows readers to connect with them on a deeper level. When readers can see themselves in a character, it creates a stronger emotional connection to the story.

The Element of Surprise

Morally gray characters also add an element of surprise to a story. Their actions and decisions may not always align with what the reader expects, keeping them on the edge of their seat. This unpredictability makes the story more engaging and can lead to unexpected plot twists.

The Exploration of Morality

Morally gray characters also allow for a deeper exploration of morality in a story. By challenging traditional notions of good and evil, these characters force readers to question their own moral compass and consider the gray areas of morality. This can lead to thought-provoking discussions and a deeper understanding of complex moral issues.

How to Craft Morally Gray Characters

Crafting morally gray characters requires a delicate balance of positive and negative traits, as well as a deep understanding of their motivations and internal struggles. Here are some tips for creating compelling morally gray characters in your writing.

Give Them a Strong Motivation

Every character, regardless of their moral alignment, should have a strong motivation for their actions. For morally gray characters, this motivation should be complex and not easily defined as purely good or evil. It could be a desire for power, revenge, or even a sense of duty. This motivation will drive their decisions and actions throughout the story.

Show Their Flaws and Vulnerabilities

Morally gray characters are not perfect, and they should not be portrayed as such. They should have flaws and vulnerabilities that make them more relatable and human. These flaws could be physical, emotional, or moral, and they should play a role in the character's development and decisions.

Create Internal Conflict

One of the defining characteristics of morally gray characters is their internal conflict. They are torn between their good and bad tendencies, and this struggle should be evident in their thoughts and actions. This internal conflict adds depth to the character and makes them more relatable to readers.

Avoid Stereotypes

When crafting morally gray characters, it's important to avoid falling into stereotypes. These characters should not be one-dimensional or defined solely by their moral ambiguity. They should have unique personalities, backgrounds, and motivations that make them stand out as individuals.

Show Their Growth and Development

As with any well-written character, morally gray characters should experience growth and development throughout the story. They should learn from their mistakes and make decisions that challenge their moral compass. This growth and development will make them more dynamic and interesting to readers.

How to Make Morally Gray Characters Stand Out

With the rise in popularity of morally gray characters, it's important to make yours stand out in a sea of similar characters. Here are some tips for making your morally gray characters unique and memorable.

Give Them a Distinctive Voice

A character's voice is an essential part of their identity. It should be unique and reflective of their personality and motivations. For morally gray characters, their voice should reflect their internal conflict and the complexity of their moral alignment.

Create a Strong Backstory

A character's backstory can provide valuable insight into their motivations and actions. For morally gray characters, a strong backstory can help explain their moral ambiguity and add depth to their character. It can also create empathy and understanding for their decisions.

Use Foils to Highlight Their Morality

Foils are characters who contrast with the main character, highlighting their strengths and weaknesses. For morally gray characters, foils can be used to showcase their moral ambiguity and challenge their beliefs. This can add depth to the character and create interesting dynamics between them and other characters.

Morally gray characters add depth, complexity, and relatability to a story. By challenging traditional notions of good and evil, these characters force readers to question their own moral compass and consider the gray areas of morality.

[antimony-medusa]

One of the things that I think sometimes gets lost when we talk about what's appropriate in fandom spaces is the notion that things can be appropriate in one space, but not for another. And that doesn't mean that the thing that's inappropriate in that setting is wrong, it just means that it's rude in that space. I think people want a single set of rules that's appropriate everywhere, but the thing is, you have to be able to assess the situation, and adjust your behaviour accordingly.

So an example. I have a fairly popular text post that was me asking about c!phil and religion in all innocence, and someone said "the only thing I have to say about c!phil is that he worships on his knees, thank you and goodnight". And I reblogged it like "I can't believe I forgot about how this fandom does phil analysis", cause it was at the height of the dilfza memes.

Anyways that's obviously a phil-is-happily-married/oral sex joke, in an oblique innuendo way, and on this site, where Phil is not here, and his friends are not here, with it being clear I was talking about the block man character, and we make jokes about sex and profanity (a very popular url scheme for a long time was "[name]shugecock" (or smalldick, depending on the joke)— that's a fine joke to make. I'm an adult, I can make sex jokes about fictional characters on the sex joke fictional character social media site.

If I was to make that joke in Philza's twitch chat, a) in his face, b) with his wife modding, c) in an enviroment where people aren't prepped for sex jokes, d) with it being not clear if I was talking about the cubito or about the real guy, that would be wildly inappopriate. I would be banned in every chat Philza mods in and I would deserve it.

That doesn't mean that it's inappropriate to make the joke in the first place though, just because I wouldn't do it at a Phil meet and greet. It means you gotta learn to read the room. (And like, sometimes it's hard to learn to read the room, but you can do it by pure brute-force memorization. I did.)

This is the same theory that underlies the fact that you can call your friends a bitch in a friendly way, because you are friends and you know each other's boundaries, but if you call your boss a bitch, you will be fired. There are rules about workplace appropriateness, and there are rules about what's appropriate in front of kids (I teach teens, I do not swear in front of them, I swear a LOT in front of my roommate), and there are rules about what's appropriate in different fandom spaces. Participating in an exchange about pregnancy and babies with your favourite blorbo of the moment? Great. Showing the actor gift art you got of him pregnant? No. Bad. Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

The thing that concerns me is that I think there are slight signs that as we get more comfortable with sexy jokes and offcolour remarks as a MCYT fandom (QSMP is the big banner example but it happens with other smps), we're taking what's appropriate in one space (tumblr, home of the brain worms, where I have seen the blog "philzaswetpussy" on my dash), and we're bringing it into places that it's not appropriate (sure, slimeariana is clearly canon, but maybe don't put the actual dicks-out fan art in the art tag on twitter that slime checks). Cause we can obviously tell that the rules twitter is going with are silly for here, so it's full speed ahead for roier/spreen etc, but the trick here is that it's full speed ahead HERE, or in fandom servers, and not necessarily in the streamer's faces.

We have a bunch of situations where creators have said that it's not their place to weigh in on shipping or nsfw etc, and people have taken that as a go ahead and that's fine, but thats still something where I'd like, caution people that just because they said "not gonna look at it not my deal", that doesn't mean that like, you should make it difficult for them to avoid looking at it. Talking about scitties is an honourable tradition, but telling scar that he makes you question your sexuality in his TTS— I made a horrified noise in real life and the cats came to look at me.

And I'm talking about the shipping, but this is also a thing with like— sometimes I see a streamer and I go "my friend you just vividly described neurodivergent symptoms" but it is ABSOLUTELY not my place to say that in their chat. It might not even be appropriate to make comments about it on my blog, with the amount of followers I have. I have to keep the "streamer just described the ADHD experience again :pensive:" comments for the group chat. And we all nod and go "yeah sounds like streamer", and we do not put it in his face, cause that's inappropriate.

We get to have fun with the fictional characters, including off-colour fun, but we still have to remember that there are real people who don't know us who are steering those fictional characters around, and it can be profoundly weird to see some of the (stuff that is appropriate in fandom spaces!) just up in your face in the regular fan art tag.

Just think about the space you're in, and who you're in front of, and if a CC notice is actually likely, and if a CC notice would be Very Bad actually with what you're doing, and keep the "world's sluttiest absent father" bracket (with associated slutty fan art) for here, not with the streamer tagged on twitter.

[prokopetz]

Concept: detransformative fiction. Take a piece of original fiction, construe the protagonist as a fanfic self-insert, extrapolate the notional author’s creative priorities, and work backwards from there to “reconstruct” the purely hypothetical original work that the actual, published work might have been based on.

[theoutcastrogue]

Cold Iron in folklore, fiction, and RPGs

'Gold is for the mistress—silver for the maid! Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.' 'Good!' said the Baron, sitting in his hall, 'But Iron—Cold Iron—is master of them all!' — Rudyard Kipling, “Cold Iron”

Folklore

Drudenmesser, or "witch-knife", an apotropaic folding knife from Germany

The notion that iron (or steel) can ward against evil spirits, witches, fairies, etc is very widespread in folklore. You hang a horseshoe over your threshold to deny entry to evil spirits, you carry an iron tool with you to make sure devils won't assault you, you place a small knife under the baby's crib to ward it from witches, and so on. Iron is apotropaic in many many cultures.

In English, we often come across passages that refer to apotropaic cold iron (or cold steel). "All uncouth, unknown Wights are terrifyed by nothing earthly so much as by cold Iron", says Robert Kirk in 1691, which I believe is the earliest example. "Evil spirits cannot bear the touch of cold steel. Iron, or preferably steel, in any form is a protection", says John Gregorson Campbell in 1901.

Words

So what is cold iron? In this context, it’s just iron. The “cold” part is poetic, especially – but not only – if we’re talking about either blades (or swords, weapons, the force of arms) or manacles and the like. It just sounds more ominous. There are “cold yron chaines” in The Fairie Queene (1596), and a 1638 book of travels tells us that a Georgian general (in the Caucasus) vowed “to make the Turk to eat cold iron”.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang defines “cold iron” as a sword, and dates the term to 1698. From 1725 it appears in Cant dictionaries (could this sense be thieves’ cant, originally? why not, plenty of words and expressions started as underworld slang and then entered the mainstream), and from ~1750 its use becomes much more common.

NGram Viewer diagram for 1600-2019.

In other contexts, cold iron is (surprise!) iron that’s not hot. So let’s talk a bit about metallurgy.

Metals

In nature, we can find only one kind of iron that’s pure enough to work with: meteoritic iron. It has to literally fall from the sky. Barring that very rare occurrence, people have to mine the earth for iron ore, which is not workable as is. To separate the iron from the ore we have to smelt it, and for that we need heat, in the form of hot charcoals. Throwing the ore on the coals won’t do much of anything, it’s not hot enough. But if we enclose the coals in a little tower built of clay, leaving holes for air flow, the temperature rises enough to smelt the ore. That’s called a bloomery.

clay bloomery / medieval bloomery / beating the bloom to get rid of the slag

What comes out of the bloomery is a bloom: a porous, malleable mass of iron (that we need) and slag (byproducts that we don’t need). But now we can get rid of the slag and turn the porous mass to something solid, by hammering the hot bloom over and over. And once the slag is off, by the same process we can give it a desired shape in the forge, reheating it as needed. This is called “working” the iron, hence “wrought iron” objects, i.e. forged.

a blacksmith in his forge, with bellows, fire, and anvil (English woodcut, 1603)

This is the lowest-tech version, possibly going back to ~2000 BCE in Nigeria. If we add bellows, the improved air flow will raise the temperature. So smelting happens faster and more efficiently in the bloomery, and so does heating the iron in the forge, making it easier to work with. And that’s the standard process from the Iron Age all through the middle ages and beyond (although in China they may have skipped this stage and gone straight to the next one).

If we make the bloomery bigger and bigger, with stronger and stronger bellows, we end up with a blast furnace, a construction so efficient that the temperature outright melts the iron, and it’s liquified enough to be poured into a mould and acquire the desired shape when it cools off. This is “cast iron”.

a blast furnace

So in all of this, what’s cold iron? Well, it’s iron that went though the heat and cooled off. (No heat = no iron, all you got is ore.) If it came out of a bloomery, or if it wasn’t cast, it’s by definition worked, hammered, beaten, wrought, and that happened while it was still hot.

Is there such a thing as “cold-wrought” iron? No. In fact, “working cold iron” was a simile for something foolish or pointless. A smith who beats cold iron instead of putting it in the fire shows folly, says a 1694 book on religion, so you too should choose your best tools, piety and good decorum, to educate your children and servants, instead of beating them. When Don Quixote (1605) declares he’ll go knight-erranting again, Sancho Panza tries to dissuade him, but it’s like “preaching in the desert and hammering on cold iron” (a direct translation of martillar en hierro frío).

Minor work can be done on cold iron. A 1710 dictionary of technical terms tells us that a rivetting-hammer is “chiefly used for rivetting or setting straight cold iron, or for crooking of small work; but ’tis seldom used at the forge”. Fully fashioning an object out of cold iron is not a real process – though a 1659 History of the World would claim that in Arabia it’s so hot that “smiths work nails and horseshoes out of cold iron, softened only by the vigorous heat of the sun, and the hard hammering of hands on the anvil”. [I declare myself unqualified to judge the veracity of this statement, let's just say I have doubts.] And there is of course such a thing as “cold wrought-iron”, as in wrought iron after it’s cooled off.

Either way, in the context of pre-20th century English texts which refer to apotropaic “cold iron”, it’s definitely not “cold-wrought”, or meteoritic, or a special alloy of any kind. It’s just iron.

Fiction

The old superstition kept coming up in fantasy fiction. In 1910 Rudyard Kipling wrote the very influential short story “Cold Iron” (in the collection Rewards and Fairies), where he explains invents the details of the fairies’ aversion to iron. They can’t bewitch a child wearing boots, because the boots have nails in the soles. They can’t pass under a doorway guarded by a horseshoe, but they can slip through the backdoor that people neglected to guard. Mortals live “on the near side of Cold Iron”, because there’s iron in every house, while fairies live “on the far side of Cold Iron”, and want nothing to do with it. And changelings brought up by fairies will go back to the world of mortals as soon they touch cold iron for the first time.

In Poul Anderson’s The Broken Sword (1954), we read:

“Let me tell you, boy, that you humans, weak and short-lived and unwitting, are nonetheless more strong than elves and trolls, aye, than giants and gods. And that you can touch cold iron is only one reason.”

In Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn (1968) the unicorn is imprisoned in an iron cage:

“She turned and turned in her prison, her body shrinking from the touch of the iron bars all around her. No creature of man’s night loves cold iron, and while the unicorn could endure its presence, the murderous smell of it seemed to turn her bones to sand and her blood to rain.”

Poul Anderson would come back to that idea in Operation Chaos (1971), where the worldbuilding’s premise is that magic and magical creatures have been reintroduced into the modern world, because a scientist “discovered he could degauss the effects of cold iron and release the goetic forces”. And that until then, they had been steadily declining, ever since the Iron Age came along.

There are a million examples, I’m just focusing on those that would have had a more direct influence on roleplaying games. However, I should note that all these say “cold iron” but mean “iron”. Yes, the fey call it cold, but they are a poetic bunch. You can’t expect Robin Goodfellow’s words to be pedestrian, now can you?

RPGs

And from there, fantasy roleplaying systems got the idea that Cold Iron is a special material that fey are vulnerable to. The term had been floating around since the early D&D days, but inconsistently, scattered in random sourcebooks, and not necessarily meaning anything else than iron. In 1st Edition’s Monster Manual (1977) it’s ghasts and quasits who are vulnerable to it, not any fey creature. Devils and/or fiends might dislike iron, powdered cold iron is a component in Magic Circle Against Evil, and “cold-wrought iron” makes a couple of appearances. For example, in AD&D it can strike Fool’s Gold and turn it back to its natural state, revealing the illusion.

Then Changeling: The Dreaming came along and made it a big deal, a fundamental rule, and an anathema to all fae:

Cold iron is the ultimate sign of Banality to changelings. ... Its presence makes changelings ill at ease, and cold iron weapons cause horrible, smoking wounds that rob changelings of Glamour and threaten their very existence.... The best way to think about cold iron is not as a thing, but as a process, a very low-tech process. It must be produced from iron ore over a charcoal fire. The resulting lump of black-gray material can then be forged (hammered) into useful shapes. — Changeling: The Dreaming (2nd Edition, 1997)

So now that we know how iron works, does that description make sense? Well, if we assume that the iron ore is unceremoniously dumped on coals, it does not. You can’t smelt iron like that. If we assume that a bloomery is involved even though it’s not mentioned, then yes, this is broadly speaking how iron’s been made since the Iron Age, and until blast furnaces came into the picture. But the World of Darkness isn’t a pseudo-medieval setting, it’s modern urban fantasy. So the implication here is that “cold iron” is iron made the old way: you can’t buy it in the store, someone has to replicate ye olde process and do the whole thing by hand. Now, this is NOT how the term “cold iron” has been used in real life or fiction thus far, but hey, fantasy games are allowed to invent things.

Regardless, 3.5 borrowed the idea, and for the first time D&D made this a core rule. Now most fey creatures had damage reduction and took less damage from weapons and natural attacks, unless the weapon was made of Cold Iron:

“This iron, mined deep underground, known for its effectiveness against fey creatures, is forged at a lower temperature to preserve its delicate properties.” — Player’s Handbook (3.5 Edition, 2003)

Pathfinder kept the rule, though 5e did not. And unlike Changeling, this definition left it somewhat ambiguous if we’re talking about a material with special composition (i.e. not iron) or made with a special process (i.e. iron but). The community was divided, threads were locked over this!

So until someone points me to new evidence, I’ll assume that the invention of cold iron as a special material, distinct from plain iron, should be attributed to TTRPGs.

[staridust]

★ DO NOT USE/REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. NO MINORS.

Jack in my Pouring Rain AU vs Jack in my Sunnyverse AU

Gonna ramble a bit here about the two portrayals, there’s a lot more typing space here so I will also be using my posts as a bit of infodump sometimes! ↓

For starters, I really adore Jack as a design and character, there’s not much I wanted to alter about him in the design department, so all changes are subtle!

✦ Starting with Pouring Rain!Jack!

This guy’s probably the closest to how he’s presented in game honestly— still manipulative, still colorful, probably a bit more deranged because his sunshine keeps forgetting shit.

Art wise, I wanted to really keep the colors on him vibrant, but also give him sort of a dim vibe as well. His hair is a bit more reflective of turquoise highlights with a gradient of a muted darker blue at the tips.

I like to imagine Jack uses colorful knives (if he most certainly has to use one). I have colorful knives in my house, it just seemed right as I was doing the dishes one day. He also changed his paints ever so slightly, because stars are very important to him.

He’s also rather glitchy when upset, but not that of a computer glitch when it happens.. more of like… something that’s being rewinded and re-written over numerous times, no?

Or, maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about!

And finally, the colorful paint on him!

Rain!Jack’s original sunshine way back nowhere was actually a graffiti artist, so does Jack know how to paint? It’s not like he would say, but it is a bit easier to play off a mysterious red stain if you’re covered in all the other colors.

——

✦ Ending with Sunnyverse!Jack!

Sunnyverse, is quite frankly a bit of a community like idea. The premise being quite similar to the same notion of Spiderverse, where multiple of the characters can exist and vibe but may look different, while still following a canon of sorts. It’s basically like showing off your characters and AUs in your style!

(Honestly, with a name like that, maybe I should draw Spider-Jack… *Sunrise Spider?*)

This Jack is a divergent of the idea where the fictional world of CloudyTown is real. ← This information also is a slight spin-off of an unofficial AU called “Sunny Time Town” by artist Sauce! I will also be using “Sunnyverse” for the official name of my AU that includes my ocs that switch up the story in a non-yandere manner!

SV!Jack here rocks a bowtie and suspenders with the design paying a full tribute to a sketch I did in March! I’ve seen a few comments relating it to his teaching profession… and now I can’t I see it, haha!

To contrast Rain!Jack, SV!Jack’s hair is a nice pure blue gradient that dips into indigo/purple at the tips!

I added his belt as a tie in both of them (don’t ask why the belt is doing a :3), but now I hear the belt is sentient… that’s a cool idea I seen around, I gotta learn about that!

That’s about all the information I had on this piece though, til next time!

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Runaway Princess (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: RoyalKnight!Chan x Princess!Reader Themes: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers, AU - Mediaeval Setting Warnings: mentions and depictions of domestic abuse (unrelated to Chan), graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut). hope i didn’t miss anything Word Count: ~16k | AO3 Summary: Your best friend has sent her most trusted knight to help you escape your abusive home, an intriguing man with many facets you can’t wait to uncover.

Author’s Note: this piece started as just the mountain scene… but before i knew i wanted to expand more on it, blacked out, and suddenly it was twice as long. anyway, if you’re reading this, hope you enjoy! know that feedback is always appreciated.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: dirty talk? i guess, fingering (F.Rec), handjob, oral (M.Rec, F.Rec only implied), dry humping, nipple play (F.Rec), cumshot, unprotected penetration (there’s an unspoken notion that pulling out prevents pregnancy, this is all purely fictional, please protect yourselves irl!).

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“Who are you?!”

Finding yourself being pulled into a stable at dawn was not something you expected to happen today when you decided to go on a walk, much less finding the person that had pulled you into said stable to be a man you didn’t know.

“I’m sorry for the… Well, the unconventional method to get you to meet me”, the man gave you an apologetic smile, and a short bow of his head. “My name’s Chan, Your Highness. I am a knight of Queen Naeel’s guard. Her Majesty sent me here”.

Your eyes widened at the mention of Naeel’s name, your guard lowering just slightly. Now that the initial fight or flight feeling wore off, you took your time to analyse the man in front of you. Chan was… A handsome young man. He was certainly built like a knight as far as you could tell, very broad, his stance ready for any sudden movement you could make.

You scanned his face for a moment, trying to find any semblance of a lie in his expression. A mess of brown curls on his head, warm brown eyes, a big nose, plump lips, and a scar going from his right eyebrow to the middle of his cheek were all the details you could focus on, his attire that of someone who had indeed prepared for a handful of months travelling from one realm to the other. Interesting… Definitely a handsome young man, but no semblance of lies just yet.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” 

“I have this as proof”, Chan reached for his pocket, taking out what looked to be a piece of cord and handing it over to you. “Her Majesty said that would be enough…” He sounded sceptical, and you couldn’t blame him. The thing was composed of several different colours of ribbons tied together, the fabric worn down and the colours washed out from years and years of use, a single star charm tied to the middle. You knew he was telling the truth as soon as you saw it, since you kept an exact copy but with a sun charm around your ankle.

Queen Naeel and you had been friends for years. When you met, you were both tiny little princesses, your parents had taken you both to a grand ball in the realm that separated yours, a friendship that bloomed through correspondence and even more meet-ups as you grew up. You had not known platonic love until you got close to her, and to this day she was probably one of the few reasons why you were still breathing in the first place.

“Why… Why are you here?” You eyed Chan carefully, your fist closing over the friendship anklet, shaking slightly in your tight hold.

“Her Majesty said–and please forgive me, Your Highness, these were her exact words–that she couldn’t let you continue living with your bitch-ass father”, Chan grimaced slightly, and you couldn’t help but chuckle–yeah, that definitely sounded like her. “She read your last letter and got worried, so she sent me to help you escape”.

You father… He was the king of your realm, a powerful man who had only ever known greed and lust. He resented your existence, it was something he never let you forget, he would remind you at any chance he got how your birth brought the death of ‘the only woman he had ever loved’–something you doubted was true, as that man had proven time and time again that he was incapable of feeling any form of love.

As you grew up, your father kept showing more and more distaste towards you. You were just like any other girl, rowdy, adventurous, with a thirst for knowledge that could hardly be quenched by the numerous volumes in the royal library. ‘You should be focusing on embroidery and all those things princesses do, not on riding those damn horses and getting all dirty in the royal gardens’ the worst part was that you did like those things, too. You loved embroidery and needlework, and you doubted other princesses didn’t enjoy riding horses or climbing trees, there was no way you were any different from any other girl out there.

Your suspicions were confirmed the first time you finally met other princesses, the exposure to other girls your age finally cementing in you the fact that your father simply hated you. It didn’t matter what you said or did, he would hate you regardless, so you stopped fighting him altogether, opting to keep your mouth shut when he spit his hateful words at you–it was a lost fight before it even started, after all.

By the time you were fifteen he had already remarried, his new wife birthing a son shortly after, finally displacing you from the picture completely. ‘Who wants a rude, daft princess when I finally have a prince of my own?’ you heard him tell one of his advisors once, you wouldn’t lie, the words stung, they hurt, and you spent days holed up in your room crying–not like anyone cared much about it anyway, if anything, only your maids showed concern when you eventually had stopped eating. Your father, his council members, your step-mother, none of them really cared about you.

A sigh passed your lips as you looked at the anklet in your hand. “Do you even have a plan, or did my dear friend send you here on a whim?” Your friend could be very… Spontaneous, to put it simply. Some would even say she was a bit eccentric, but regardless of her odd ways, she had a strong sense of morality. If she believed something was wrong she would act immediately, ‘let’s just do it! We can always figure out the details later!’ She would often say, which, judging by the sheepish smile on Chan’s lips, was probably exactly what she had told him before sending him here.

“I’ve been trying to come up with something, but… It’s my first time in your kingdom, to be honest, so I don’t know my way around that well”, Chan simply shrugged. “Based on what Her Majesty has told me about you, though, I was hoping we could figure something out together, Your Highness”.

You figured it wouldn’t be hard to leave, considering your presence was hardly ever noticed in the castle anyway. So, after informing Chan of an inn he could stay at for the next few days, you two began to plot your escape. You would have to travel for months, so your baggage had to be kept at a minimum, clothes only as necessary, money, a few toiletries you refused to let go of, and the odd knick-knack with sentimental value were the only things you thought you might need. Chan seemed to agree with you, but he stressed the importance of the right clothes to take with you, no dresses or gowns, only garments that wouldn’t obstruct your mobility, and thick coats were a must since you were going to cross snowy mountains.

Throughout the next handful of days you set on the task to gather your supplies as inconspicuously as you could, getting them out of the castle in small batches to not attract suspicions. The thick coats were the first ones to go since they were the heaviest, you brought them to the inn Chan was staying at for safe keeping, and the rest soon followed, until five days later you were able to bundle everything neatly so you could strategically place it on your horse after–a suggestion Chan gave you alleging that ‘it’ll be easier for her if you distribute the weight’, which made sense to you.

On your last day in your father’s castle, you gathered as many jewels as you could, as well as any gold and silver coins you had stashed away for safe-keeping throughout the years. Deep down, you had always had the idea of escaping, so you had saved up, even if you hardly ever entertained the idea. You never had the guts to go through with it because you knew you wouldn’t have been able to make it on your own. Now, though, your best friend and her trusted knight had given you the support you needed, so you took it, finally releasing yourself from your father’s abusive grasp.

You wouldn’t lie, your first week was hard. You hadn’t realised how privileged you were. Sure, you had been emotionally and physically abused for years, but you’d always had food and shelter and comfort… The first night you had to camp out you could hardly get any sleep, the floor was uneven, and the noises of the night scared you. ‘Don’t worry, princess… I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you’ Chan had gently offered when he saw your panicked expression after a particularly loud noise. And, in a way, that did comfort you a bit.

Chan… Chan was gentle, he was proper, and so well mannered… At least, he was when he talked to you. As the days went by, you’d catch glimpses of his other facets, particularly when he thought you weren’t close enough to hear, and it intrigued you. When you two went to any tavern to get some sustenance, and you’d separate from him for one reason or another, you could hear him talk with the attendant, or with another customer, and it was as if he was a completely different person–or rather, a different version of himself. Looser, cheekier, and with a mouth that would put any sailor to shame–all that gone and replaced with his stoic, responsible, and sensible side as soon as you came close and he noticed your presence. It was fascinating, really. And you would lie if you said your curiosity hadn’t been piqued.

You started to notice Chan loosen up around two weeks into your journey. His stance around you relaxed, he’d joke more, tease more, and it gave you a very diluted taste of that Chan you had secretly seen–and heard–talking with anyone other than you. You tried your best to make him feel comfortable around you, but you also tried your best to press his buttons, to get him to react to you, to annoy him a bit. 

You quickly found out that Chan liked to lead, to be in control, and oftentimes–in situations that weren’t that serious–you enjoyed defying him, you enjoyed seeing the way his jaw clenched and his gaze shifted, almost, almost as if he wanted to put you in your place, but as soon as you saw that shift in him, you relented, hearing the shaky intake of breath and seeing the whiplash of his own emotions reflected in his eyes.

“How far are we?” You asked out of curiosity as you absentmindedly pushed the bright embers with a stick.

“I’d say… We probably have a bit more than a month and a half to go, Your Highness”, Chan simply looked at the bonfire, at how you pushed the burning pieces around. “Why? Are you not enjoying the super comfortable soil at night, princess?” There was a glint of a teasing tone in his voice, that bit of sarcasm that intrigued you, that piqued your interest, and it made you snort, such an un-princess-like reaction that you knew your father would’ve punished you for as soon as he heard it.

“I’ll take the forest’s soil every night if it means being away from that goddamned castle”, you commented, taking the stick out of the fire and waving it in the air to put out the small flame that had clung to it. “Oddly enough, sleeping on the ground feels more comfortable than being trapped within those walls”.

You could feel Chan’s eyes burning on your side profile, almost as if he was pondering while he scrutinised your face. There was usually distance between you and Chan, both physically and metaphorically, but tonight, as you sat thigh against thigh by the bonfire trying to keep yourselves warm, you could almost, almost feel how those reservations of his were diminishing slowly, but steadily.

“Your Highness, if I may… Why did Her Majesty send me to get you? What was happening in there with your father?” Chan surprised you when he asked such a personal question, and it was almost as if he could infer what happened, but he wanted to be certain of it, why he wanted to know, though, you weren’t sure. “You know how Queen Naeel can be, she didn’t give me any details other than what I told you when we met…”

Your eyes were fixed on the dancing flames in front of you as you took in a deep breath. “My father… My father is a man that doesn’t know love. He claims he does, but he doesn’t. He blames me for my mother’s death, says that, had I not been growing in her, she wouldn’t have died trying to bring me into this world. Stupid, isn’t it? Blame me, who didn’t ask to be brought here in the first place, while he himself put me in there. He’s just mad she died not giving him a son”.

It was as if a dam broke, words falling out of your mouth endlessly with no way to stop them. You told him everything that had happened to you–maybe in too much detail, you’d admit. You told him how your father treated you–or rather, mistreated you–how you were ignored, treated as a lesser being in your own home, how you couldn’t simply be you, you couldn’t exist. Food was kept from you when you spoke out of line, you were confined to your chambers when you didn’t behave as you were expected to, those workers that came too close to you would be discharged as soon as your father found out, and whenever you did anything your father deemed unworthy, not princess-like, not to his standards, he’d hit you. With a stick, with an iron rod, with his hands, with whatever he could reach at the time.

Chan listened intently to every single word that left your mouth, and you hadn’t even realised you were crying until you felt his hand holding yours, the soft caress of his thumb on your knuckles easing the trembles you didn’t even know were coursing through you.

“I’m… I’m sorry, princess”, was all he said as he held your hand.

“There’s no need for that”, you hiccuped as you used your sleeve to wipe some of the tears on your face. “The only one that should be sorry is him… And even then, I’m not sure I would ever be able to forgive him”.

“You don’t really have to, princess”, Chan offered, his tone gentle. “There are things in this world that can’t be forgiven. The notion that we must forgive to heal our wounds is… Is not for everyone. Not in my opinion, at least”.

“I think that’s a fair opinion to have”, you moved your gaze from where it was fixed on your joined hands so you could look him in the eyes. Chan was already looking at you, the light of the bonfire had his brown eyes almost sparkling, and you couldn’t help but feel your breath catching in your throat under his heavy gaze. Using every bit of royal tricks you had, you put up your walls, trying to appear more collected than you were when you finally spoke again. “Have you done it before?”

Chan blinked slightly, almost as if your question had startled him. “Done what, Your Highness?”

“Heal without forgiving”, your eyes jumped around his face, taking in his features, his lips, his nose, his eyes, his scar… Had he been sitting this close the entire time? You could practically count every individual eyelash, and if you were completely honest with yourself, it was quickening your heartbeat more than you would like to admit.

“I have”, Chan replied simply, his eyes seemed to be also taking in your features for a moment, until he finally let go of your hand, bringing it instead to his face, pointing to his scar. “Both physically and emotionally”.

You wanted to inquire more, to learn the story behind the scar on his face, but before you could, Chan stood up from the ground, huffing an ‘anyway, you should sleep, Your Highness’, effectively ending the conversation.

Something shifted between you two that night. You had expected Chan to treat you differently, perhaps trying to act sympathetic around you, or trying to act as if he were walking on eggshells when he talked to you after you told him what had happened to you, what had been done to you. Instead, he just opened up more, showing you more of that other side of him–not fully, but just… More. And it dawned on you then that at that moment, Chan started to see you, to really see you. As a person, as a woman, not some entity, some mindless princess living the perfect royal life. He’d joke even more, tease you even more, and he’d play along when you defied him, and it was fun. 

‘Be careful, princess’, he’d tell you when you got a bit too close to the edge, when you had pressed his buttons a bit too much. ‘Or what? What are you going to do about it?’ you’d taunt him, and sometimes, you’d catch his eyes moving around your face, resting on your lips for a fraction of a second, before they snapped back up and simply diverted the conversation. ‘I might have to leave you right here on your own, Your Highness’, he’d tell you with a teasing smile on his lips. You knew it was all talk, so you would always scoff at the comment.

It was odd, really, considering you hadn’t known each other for long. But Chan truly made you feel safe, made you feel comfortable, and in a way, you hoped he felt that way around you, too, all things considered. Somehow, it was as if there was something lingering between you two, when you talked, when you stood close, you felt almost as if there were sparks flying around, a tension that would build the longer you spent time together, a tension that was not uncomfortable by any means, it was just… There, as if you both were just holding your breath, expectant, and it truly, truly intrigued you. 

“We’re going further up the mountains tomorrow, princess”, Chan commented as you two sat on the stools of the inn’s tavern, watching as the attendant took the empty plates in front of you. “I heard from a lad just a while ago that it’s snowing heavily…”

Your eyes lit up, your whole body perking up as you snapped your head in his direction, looking at him. “Really?”

Chan blinked slightly, confused. “Yes? That’s not… It’s not something good for us, Your Highness”, he finished off with a laugh, taking another sip of his drink.

“Oh, it isn’t?” Your shoulders slumped slightly, feeling bummed out now. “I’ve just never seen snow before”.

Chan looked slightly surprised. “Never ever?”

“Never. It doesn’t snow where I’m from”.

Chan just hummed, thoughtful. “Guess we might need to get a few more supplies, princess”.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, not because of the comment itself but because Chan kept on calling you ‘princess’ or ‘Your Highness’, and now, it was really starting to annoy you. “It’s been over a month already, Chan. Stop referring to me by title…”

Chan simply chuckled, taking a long sip of his ale and licking his lips clean right after. “You are a princess, Your Highness. I must address you as such. I’m only a Knight, after all”.

You hated the way he said that, as if he thought of himself as being below you–although you did want him below you sometimes, just in a more improper way. “I’m asking you not to, though. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Chan looked at you for a moment, then back to his drink. “This feels like a trap question…”

“Come on, if our roles were reversed, would you want me to continue calling you prince? Your Highness? Or would you want me to be comfortable around you? To be myself?” The question was pointed, and when Chan stared into your eyes right as you asked it, you could see something in them, an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Princess…” It was his warning tone, the tone that he started to use when you were almost pressing his buttons too much. “I am myself around you”.

You scoffed. “Please, not even you believe that”, you couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh at that, taking a sip of your drink.

“I am! At least, a more… Proper version of myself, I guess”, he admitted. “The me who’s a knight. A knight of Queen Naeel’s Guard, and as such, I must address royalty appropriately. Come on, let’s go buy a few blankets, princess”, Chan added as he stood up from his seat, gulping the rest of his drink in one go.

You hated that he continuously put that space between you two, because you didn’t want it there, because, by the time you had finally made it to the snowy mountains, you were burning up from the inside out, and you wanted nothing more than for him to let go of those inhibitions.

“It’s cold”, you dumbly commented as you both seeked shelter in the mountains, the snow under your horses’ hooves crunching with every step they took.

You weren’t that used to such low temperatures. not because you had any particular heating system in your father’s castle, but because your realm was of a much warmer climate all year round, so much so it was considered as if there were only two seasons there, rainy and drought, with constant warm temperatures.

“You don’t say, princess” Chan snorted, pulling on the bridle gently to stop his horse. “I think this place will do. The horses need to rest and it’s getting dark”.

It was an almost cave on the side of the mountain, big enough to fit you two and your two horses with some room to spare. It wasn’t completely closed off so it wouldn’t provide as much insulation as you would’ve liked, but you had to make do.

Chan looked for a place to tie the equines securely so they wouldn’t run away during the night, all while you set camp. You’d learn how to actually do these things on this journey, a skill that you were now grateful to have. Had you made your escape without Chan, you would’ve surely died the first night out there, unable to set a safe space for yourself. You could still remember the first time you tried to start a fire with the two pieces of flint, you had given up after the twentieth time, and Chan had offered you an encouraging ‘it’s all about practice, princess. You’ll get there eventually’. And you got there, the fire in front of you starting with a single flick of the two stones together proof of that.

“We’re only two weeks away from Queen Naeel’s realm”, Chan commented once you had had supper, extending his hands towards the bonfire. “It’ll be much easier to move once we’re there, probably three weeks in total for us to reach the castle”.

You simply hummed in response, scooting closer to the fire. “I can’t wait to see her, I really, really miss her”.

“You two are really good friends, aren’t you? For Her Majesty to do something like this…”

“We are”, you could feel your teeth starting to chatter slightly, so you tried to wrap the blanket you had brought with you tighter around your body. “I love her deeply. And after this, I don’t think I’d ever be able to repay her”.

Chan chuckled softly. “Her Majesty wouldn’t expect you to repay her, Your Highness. But if you’re close, I’m sure you know”.

“Oh, I know”, you tried to get as close to the fire as you could, taking special care to not get your blanket on fire. “But still. I won’t be able to repay her, nor you. I’m really grateful”.

“I mean, it was a royal order, so it’s not like I’m making art for art’s sake, princess”, Chan snorted. “But I must say, it isn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be”.

“Oh? Why? Did you expect a bratty little princess high on her horse? Or did you expect for the journey to be riddled with traps and schemes like in the classic novels they teach at school?”

You heard Chan mumble something, it was hard to hear but you could’ve sworn he had said something along the lines of ‘…a bit of a brat’ but before you could question it he was shaking his head slightly and speaking again. “Honestly, I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this, Your Highness. You’ve made it really easy. You’re fun to talk with, even though you’re a princess and I’m a simple knight, you treat me with real respect when we’re not joking around. I’ve had fun all throughout and, in a way, I’m grateful”.

Oh? So he did enjoy when you pressed his buttons, interesting… You blinked slightly, at his words, a little shocked. After a few seconds, you scoffed, a smile settling on your lips. “How silly. I am the one who’s grateful here”.

“It’s not a competition, princess”, Chan chuckled, standing up from where he was sitting by the bonfire to lay on the blanket you had laid for him on the floor. “You should get some sleep”.

You simply hummed in acknowledgement, but you didn’t move. Truth was, you were freezing. You had also laid a blanket on the floor for you to lay on, but you figured that if you were freezing sitting right here by the fire, you’d die if you laid down on the blanket. So you sat there, as close as you could to the fire, wrapping the blanket over your body as tight as you could.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed–fifteen, twenty minutes?– but you figured Chan was fast asleep already, since he was completely silent. You sat there, debating whether you should go to your other blanket on the floor, maybe pick it up and throw it over your body as well and sit here to try and get some heat from the bonfire. But you couldn’t move, you were just too cold and moving from this spot sounded like the worst idea ever.

Suddenly, you felt hands on your body, holding your upper arms over the blanket you had around your form. You tensed slightly at the unexpected contact, turning your face to find a concerned looking Chan staring at you. “You’re shivering, princess”.

“I’m–I’m really cold”, your whole face felt as if it was about to fall off, and it was truly not pleasant at all.

Chan moved away from you, picking up the blanket on the floor and wrapping it around you. It helped a bit… Emphasis on a bit, as you could still feel your teeth chattering slightly. He noticed, so he moved away again, grabbing his own blanket.

“Don’t you–Don’t you dare”, was all you could muster, seeing as Chan stopped in his tracks with his blanket still in his hand. “You’ll freeze”.

“You clearly need it more than I do, Your Highness. I’m used to this climate, you’re clearly not”, he attempted to wrap his blanket around your form, but you stopped him, a rush of coldness reaching you as your arms left the safety of your cocoon. “Your Highness–”

“Let’s just… Let’s just share, then”, you weren’t thinking much when you said it, you just desperately wanted some warmth, you didn’t think you could withstand this for much longer.

Chan looked apprehensive for a moment, until he finally nodded, guiding you from where you sat by the fire to the blanket he had been laying on previously. As soon as you laid down, he threw all remaining three blankets over your body, finally tucking himself in as well after you gave him a disapproving look when he looked like he was thinking of not doing it.

Soon enough, with the amount of blankets on top of you, and another human body next to you, you started to warm up. Chan wasn’t really that close to you, there was a fair distance, but the blankets provided enough insulation for his body heat to spread over to you, which you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief about.

“Better?” Chan asked after a while as he was laying on his left side, turned to you.

“Much”, you were still cold, but not freezing cold, so it was a start. You would surely warm up completely eventually. “Thank you”.

“You’re welcome. Now, sleep”.

You laid there for a while, waiting to warm up further so you could comfortably fall asleep, hearing how Chan’s breathing evened out. Every time you had to sleep in a new setting, it took you a long time to get to sleep, be it for the hard terrain, the changes in temperature, or the noises around you, it always took you a long time, which translated into you tossing and turning more than you probably should with another person sleeping next to you.

At first you laid on your back, then you moved towards Chan, but you couldn’t help your eyes from staying open and focusing on his handsome face, so you laid on your back again, only to turn away from him and lay on your left side. You repeated the motions a few times, your coat coming undone in the process, opening and leaving your front exposed-save for the shirt below it, of course. Thankfully the heap of blankets provided enough warmth that you didn’t really need to close it again. 

As you continued to sporadically toss and turn, you couldn’t help but come to the realisation that you were literally sharing your sleeping space with Chan. Somehow, that realisation made you warm up quicker, made you even more restless, which honestly was not what you needed right now. What if you inadvertently pressed yourself to him while you slept? Sure, you were attracted to him but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, much less if you didn’t know how he felt about the entire thing. He was still, after all, putting that space between you two.

You continued your almost struggle with yourself, with finding a comfortable position to sleep, until Chan suddenly moved, his arm wrapping around you and his hand holding onto your ribs, effectively stopping your movement. An annoyed huff passed his lips, the heat of his palm just shy away from your breast kick-starting your heartbeat. “Stop moving so much, princess. I’m trying to sleep”, the low tone of his voice so close to your ear sent a shiver down your spine, you just couldn’t help it, and you had to shut your eyes tightly, swearing at yourself for getting yourself in this situation.

Your senses were on high alert, suddenly aware of the lack of space between your bodies, Chan was not fully pressed to you, but one push and he could be… He could very well be flush to your back, the thought now worming into your brain, playing on a maddening loop and why wouldn’t he just move his hand a bit further up…?

“I’m trying to get comfortable”, could he feel your racing heart against his palm as he held you? There was no way he couldn’t, but you were still proud of the evenness in your voice, as if you were not burning from the inside out from your sinful thoughts and the mere feel of his hand on you.

“We’re laying on the ground under a dent on the side of a mountain, Your Highness. Sorry to say, but I don’t think you’ll find any comfort tonight”, Chan let out an amused chuckle, his words coming out as barely a whisper.

“I’m missing the inn we stayed at last night…” You commented absentmindedly. Your mind was too focused on Chan’s hand on your ribs, his hold firm, but gentle, succeeding at keeping you from shuffling too much and Gods why wouldn’t he just move it up?

“Almost two months of travelling and you’ve already let your standards dip this low, huh princess?” Chan shuffled a bit, getting more comfortable, you presume. Was he closer now? You couldn’t tell. There was still a fair bit of space between your bodies, space that the more you felt his warm palm on you the more you wished it didn’t exist.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, isn’t that what they say?” What if you pushed yourself to him? Would he like that? Or would you overstep some boundary if you did? Chan was unmarried, you knew that much, and sometimes you saw the way his eyes looked at you, the way they settled on your lips longer than what was conventionally appropriate, the way he leaned forward just a bit only to step back and smile at you, the way his hands would linger on your skin whenever he had to touch you… Or had you imagined it? “That’s what’s brought us here, cuddled up under these blankets, barely even sheltered by the mountainside”.

“This can hardly be considered cuddling, Your Highness”, there was a glint of amusement in Chan’s words, you could almost hear the smile on his lips as he said it.

Chan’s hand started to move, painfully slow, retreating carefully from your frame so it could go back to lay wherever he had been keeping it before placing it on your body. You couldn’t let that happen, not now that you knew how having the weight of his hold on you felt like. Maybe the cold had effectively killed every single one of your brain cells, all reason slipping from you as your hand shot to his quickly before he got to remove it from you completely, tugging on it–the sudden movement catching Chan off guard, making his chest press against your upper back with the motions.

You heard it. 

You heard the way his breath caught in his throat at the contact, and the sound fuelled your impulsive actions, so you placed his hand right back where it was on your ribs, if only a bit further up, almost, almost touching the underside of your breast. “We need to fix that then”, cuddling wasn’t exactly what you had in mind right now, but it was a start.

Chan didn’t move away, he didn’t talk, you doubt he was barely even breathing, at least for a moment. There was silence for a bit, until you heard the shaky inhale, feeling the exhale against your nape right after. “Princess… What are you doing?” His tone was tentative, checking the waters for what might be appropriate to say or not, just like he often did.

“I’m not doing anything”, you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips as you lied through your teeth.

“Bullshit”, you’d truly only ever heard Chan swear when he thought you weren’t close by to hear, and even then he was usually so far away it barely even felt like it was him talking. Now, you had finally heard it clear as day against your ear, and it shouldn’t have affected you, but it did–your thighs pressing a bit closer together to ease a bit of that ache that was steadily building between your legs.

Chan didn’t make any attempts to move, not closer nor away from you. You could feel his chest rise and fall against your back in short spurts, and you knew you had caught his attention with your stunt. Maybe the cold had truly killed your reason. “What if I am doing something, though?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear a pin drop in the silence that surrounded you, so you knew he was listening.

You heard–and felt–his deep intake of breath, the thumb of the hand you kept pressed to your ribs moving ever so slightly, back and forth, back and forth, slowly, each stroke almost touching the underside of your breast. “I shouldn’t…”

“You don’t sound too convinced”.

“I’m not”, he admitted immediately, almost as if the words had escaped from a place deep within him where they had been contained. “You… You’re a princess, Your Highness”.

“And? I told you my story, my title has brought nothing but despair and desolation to my life. Besides, I’m running away from my land, I wouldn’t be surprised if the King has revoked it already”.

Silence fell between you two, but your positions didn’t change, nor did the movement of Chan’s thumb on you stop. The more the silence stretched out, the more unsure you started to feel, insecurity creeping into every secluded area of your mind.

“Unless you… Unless I’m making you uncomfortable. You can say that, too, if that’s what this is, and I’ll stop”.

Chan chuckled softly behind you, the sound almost incredulous. “I must be a better actor than I thought if you think you are making me uncomfortable”, he went silent for a bit, until his upper body shuffled a bit closer to you, fully pressing his chest to your back as his lips came close to your ear. “The only uncomfortable thing right now, princess, is my traitorous cock straining my pants”.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your thighs further pressing together, an involuntary reaction upon Chan’s confession. Encouraged by his words, you held his hand tighter, dragging it further up so he could finally cup your breast, a shaky exhale passing your lips as his hand groped you as soon as you had placed it there.

“Fuck…” Chan’s lips attached to your neck, leaving kisses and licks wherever he could while his hands grew bolder, dragging to your other breast to provide it with as much attention as the other, gently teasing your nipples over your shirt. “Is this why you were tossing and turning so much? Because you were thinking of me touching you like this?”

“I was–Was truly trying to get comfortable…” Any time his lips pressed on your skin, you felt a jolt of excitement spark from the spot and shoot straight down to your core, your clenching thighs doing absolutely nothing to ease the ache that continued to build between your legs. You needed him. You needed Chan to touch you without barriers, you needed to feel as much of his skin on you as you could. “Chan…”

“Fuck”, his hand shot down from your breast to cup you over your trousers, pulling you to him so your rear was flush to his crotch. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as you felt him, hard and warm, grinding slowly against you, with his hand still on your mound. “If you keep making those sounds, if you keep saying my name like that… I’ll do something you might regret in the morning”.

You pushed further into him, your bum dragging over his crotch, making him swear under his breath. “Do it”.

His hand moved, slipping past the waistband of your trousers, under your underwear for his fingers to find your slit. “Shit, so wet and I’ve barely even touched you, princess”, coating his fingers in your essence he brought them up to your clit, rubbing teasing circles on your skin, moans catching in your throat as you bit your lower lip to dampen the sounds.

“Chan… A bit–bit softer”.

Chan’s fingers complied, adjusting the pressure of his slow movements on you. “Mmm, like this?”

“Go up a bi–Oh, shit…”

A soft chuckle passed Chan’s lips, raising goosebumps on your nape as he mumbled against your skin. “Swearing, princess? Such a dirty mouth… I wonder what else it can do”.

“You…” Swallowing thickly, you gathered your thoughts, the slow, almost teasing movement of his fingers on your clit making your head spin. “You’d be surprised”

“I’m sure”, his pace picked up, your legs parting enough to give him more space to manoeuvre, holding onto his forearm for dear life as your breathing became more and more laboured. “I’ve been… Been thinking of doing this, princess. Of touching you, kissing you… I know I shouldn’t have, but I was”. 

“Been… Been thinking about you, too…” You could feel heat spread on your face the more he worked you up, his lips on your skin aiding the movement of his fingers on building and building and building your impending orgasm. The slow grind of his hips against your rear was maddening, the feel of his hard length on your bum suddenly making you feel empty, the need to have him in you growing exponentially with each swipe of his fingers on your clit.

“Spread your legs further, lay it over my thigh”.

You did as asked, right as Chan pushed his knee between your legs for you to move them further apart and give him more space for his fingers to dip from your clit to your entrance, his ring and middle finger entering you with ease, a shameless moan escaping your mouth at the sudden feeling of fullness. You were sure it wouldn’t be as fulfilling as his cock, but it would do for now.

 “Guide me, princess”, Chan whispered against your ear, his tone confident, but slightly urgent, his lips brushing your skin with every syllable. “Tell me how you like to be touched here”.

“Bit more towards the entrance… More… Harder…”

Chan adjusted his fingers to follow your direction, prodding your walls until he finally found the spot you were guiding him to. Your sigh of relief did not go unnoticed, an amused chuckle falling from Chan’s lips as the movement of his fingers inside of you picked up, his palm lightly stimulating your clit. “You’re fucking dripping all over my fingers… You have really been wanting this, haven’t you? Shit, I bet if it weren’t for these many layers of fabric we could hear the wet sounds as my fingers go in and out of you…”

“Shit…” The faster he moved, the more you cursed, your moans and whines becoming more and more frequent. Desperation started to cling to you, your hips rolling to chase his fingers as well as to rub yourself against his crotch, your walls clenching around him the further that familiar knot in your stomach tightened. You needed your release, and you needed it now. “Chan… I need–Want to…”

“Come on, princess. Give it to me. I got you, remember? I got you. Let me hear you come for me…”

Your vision blurred, the knot in your lower belly unravelling as your climax hit you after a few more flicks of his fingers against your walls, letting warmth spread within your body in its wake. You might have moaned out his name as you did, you couldn’t tell, your senses momentarily shut off, completely overcome by the entire feeling.

Chan removed his fingers from your core, his hand dragging out of your underwear spreading the remnants of your release on your skin as it went, sneaking under your shirt and settling on your lower belly, softly kneading your flesh. “I’m fucking ruined, princess”, his lips pressed kisses on your skin between words, making you flush further. “How can I go back to acting normal around you now that I know you can moan so prettily for me?”

You were still panting, your nerve endings still on fire, but that didn’t stop you from turning around, finally coming face to face with Chan. The full moon and the barely lit bonfire provided enough light for you to make out the features of his face, to see his eyes scanning your face intently. “I’m sure we can figure something out”, taking a hold of the collar of his coat you pulled him to you, crashing your lips with his, a surprised yelp escaping Chan’s throat with the action, surprised as if he had not just had his fingers in your cunt, as if he had not just coaxed a mind-numbing orgasm out of you.

As soon as the initial shock passed, he sprung into action, his tongue making its way into your mouth to hungrily push against yours. His hands found purchase on your bum, eagerly groping you as you palmed his crotch, firmly pressing against his length, the action making Chan bite your lower lip with a grunt and his hips buck forward.

You wasted no time undoing his coat, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his trousers, and pulling his zipper down, finally slipping your hand in his underwear to get a feel of him all while you continued to devour his mouth. Chan was warm and heavy in your hand, the sensation making you feel dizzy with all the chaotic thoughts that suddenly started to roam freely in your mind–how he would feel in your mouth, how heavy he would feel on your tongue, how he would stretch your cunt open, how he would fill you up…

“Show me how you like it”, you mumbled against his lips as your fingers wrapped around him, your thumb spreading the fluids spilling from his tip around his head, aiding you to give a couple tentative pumps to his cock.

“Shit… Spit on your hand, princess. Make it feel as if it were your warm, wet cunt on me”.

Chan truly was swearing a lot, you had heard him before, but you weren’t prepared. The contrast of his usual way of addressing you and this had your head spinning. Seeing him and hearing him lose himself enough to let his mouth run freely was immensely gratifying, and you wanted nothing more than to continue to hear him let himself go like this. 

So you did as asked, ungracefully spitting on your hand so you could wrap it around him once again. Somewhere in the back of your mind you could remember your father reprimanding you when you were little for spitting– ‘proper ladies do not spit, much less princesses. That’s something only peasants do’. To his standards, proper ladies surely didn’t let knights from other lands finger them on the mountains, yet here you were.

“Tighter”, Chan whispered against your lips, bringing his hand to join yours around his length, helping you tighten your grip around him to his liking. “Fuck, yeah… Just like that”, his hand moved from yours so he could grope your breast instead, while the other pulled the hem of his shirt further up his torso to not get soiled by his fluids. You took advantage of that, placing your free hand on his abdomen to feel his soft skin under your palm, feeling his muscles clenching ever so slightly the more you worked his cock, the more you touched his bare skin.

Removing your hand from his length briefly, you spit on it again to further lubricate him as soon as your hand resumed its motions. His hips bucked, fervently chasing your hand, the movement producing obscene squelching sounds that had Chan grunting against your mouth.

You both had gotten under these blankets however long ago cold as a seal’s bum, it was still snowing out of your makeshift shelter, but the second Chan’s hands had touched your bare body the temperature started to rise. Now, as his hips continued to thrust into your grip and your lips eagerly moved against one another, sweat collected on the back of your neck, the warmth and heat produced by your bodies completely all-consuming.

It was getting harder to breathe, your lips moving from his to attach to his neck instead, pressing kisses there as you tried to get some air into your lungs. “Fuck, you could–you could make me blow like this”, Chan was breathless, his chest heaving the faster you moved your hand around his length, focusing now all your attention on his tip.

“That’s the plan”, Chan had wanted to hear you come earlier, and now you wanted to hear him come for you, too.

Groans and grunts fell from his mouth, albeit slightly muffled as Chan bit his lower lip to dampen the sound. As you continued to lick and kiss his neck you could hear him mumble, something akin to ‘fucking ruined…’ while his hips started to move faster, fucking your hand to chase his own release.

Chan tilted his body slightly, a warning passing his lips as he held his shirt higher and as he tried to create some space between you two and the blankets over you. With a few more pumps of your hand he finally came undone, his release spilling from his tip and landing all over his abs as a drawn out groan fell from his mouth.

“Shit, what a mess…”

“I got you”, you reached your free hand out of the mess of fabric on top of you towards the bag resting above your heads, blindly rummaging its contents until you found the handkerchief you kept in there.

You did your best to clean him up, using the last bit of dry fabric after to wipe your hand while Chan buttoned up his trousers again. It was really warm under the blanket, but you knew that if you removed yourself any further from here you’d freeze in record time, so you stayed put–Chan clearly having a similar thought.

Silence fell for a while between you two, you could see Chan looking at the ceiling of the cave, a hand in his hair softly massaging his scalp and lightly tugging on the strands between his fingers as he seemed to mull something over. The fact that he seemed to be making a conscious effort to not look at you made you feel anxious all of a sudden. Was he regretting what just happened? You didn’t regret it one bit, if anything, this felt like just an appetiser, something to mildly ease your hunger until you could finally stuff yourself full.

“Princess…” His voice startled you, but you turned to look at him regardless, finding him already eyeing you, almost tentatively. “I’m gonna… Gonna kiss you now, yeah?”

He sounded… Nervous? Almost as if he thought you wouldn’t let him. You couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Kiss me”.

His lips were on yours before you could even finish saying ‘me’, soft, tired pecks against your lips, his arms pulling you further into him for your head to lay on his arm while one of his legs slotted between yours, keeping you close. “I’m truly, truly ruined”, he mumbled against your lips, his hand coming to hold your hip. “Royally fucked…”

“That’d be two of us, then”, you pressed kisses back on his lips as you spoke, your hand coming to play with the hair on the back of his head as his thumb drew patterns on your hip. “Is this now cuddling enough for your standards?”

A soft chuckle fell from Chan’s lips, giving you another kiss as his hold on you tightened. “Now it is. Before it was just me trying not to rub myself on you the second we got under these blankets”.

Chan pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. Sneaking his hand from your hip to your bum, he squeezed your buttcheek, the motion making you hike your leg up his torso, pulling him even closer to you. “Still cold?”

You shook your head, and Chan simply leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips briefly, accentuating his next words with a tight squeeze to your bum. “You’re not gonna get rid of me now, princess. As soon as we make it to the next inn and I get you on a bed I’m gonna make you all mine”.

You chuckled softly, leaning in to press a loud kiss to his lips. “I’ll hold you to that”.

As Chan held you, softly caressing your back, your bum, your thigh, and with the aftereffects of your orgasm still pumping through your veins, you finally fell asleep. 

The next morning you woke up as soon as the first rays of sunlight touched your closed lids. Once you regained your senses enough you could feel warmth all over you, and you realised then that Chan was clinging to your frame, holding you so tightly in his arms you could hardly breathe. You tried to wake him up, gently caressing his back and softly murmuring his name. Your attempts only made him whine, musing a sleepy ‘five more minutes…’ before he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

All you did was chuckle softly, threading your fingers in his hair to massage his scalp, eliciting a satisfied hum against your neck. Just as you had not been prepared for Chan’s unfiltered swearing, you had also not been prepared for this facet of Chan, the clingy, touchy Chan. Even as you broke camp, he remained as close to you as he could, with his hands on you as much as he could, touching you, hugging you, even kissing you. A completely different demeanour from the one he sported when you had gotten into that almost-cave the night before.

And you retaliated, of course. With your own touches, with your own words, with your own mouth, finally able to physically display your feelings. When Chan bent over to pick up the last bundle of blankets so he could strap it up to his horse, you were presented with an opportunity, something you had wanted to do for so long but you hadn’t dared. Now, though, you could. You could indulge, so you did, reaching to him and pinching one of his buttcheeks. Chan stilled for a moment, but he resumed his movements almost immediately after, regarding you with a smirk as he finished his task.

Just as you were about to hop on your horse, you felt his hand on your rear, gripping the flesh tightly as his free hand cupped your cheek, bringing your mouth to his, stealing the air out of your lungs with his heated kiss. All you could do was whine as you brought your hand to his nape to attempt to pull him impossibly closer to you. It was truly exhilarating, feeling Chan’s warmth all over you as he kissed you, his tongue feeding the fire in the pit of your stomach, and his, too, if the hardness you felt against your belly was anything to go by.

Finally, letting go of your buttock, Chan landed a harsh smack on your rear, making you simultaneously gasp and laugh, completely in disbelief. Chan simply shrugged, alleging ‘you get your fun, so it’s only fair I get mine, too’ before he helped you get on your horse, moving to mount his as soon as you were seated.

Once you both left your former campsite behind, and got back on the trail, you couldn’t help but ask, “so, how long until we reach some civilization?”

“Probably a day, or half a day if there are no eventualities”, Chan offered. “Why, princess? Wanna get fucked that badly?” You could practically hear the smirk on his face as he talked, and you couldn’t help but scoff, incredulous. Oh, how you liked this side of Chan, too…

“Oh, I do want to get fucked”, you heard Chan laugh next to you, seemingly also in disbelief at your honesty. “But, I’m asking because I’m truly curious, besides, I figured since you already had your fingers in my cunt, might as well stop being all mysterious and tell me more about yourself on our way there”.

Chan chuckled, but he humoured you regardless. It wasn’t as if Chan hadn’t told you things about himself before, he had told you enough to intrigue you, to want to inquire more on his life, and you had managed to gather a few things here and there just by looking at him, just by the way he did things, said things, or the way he carried himself. So, as you continued your journey, hearing him tell you about his humble up-bringing, about his family, about his knighthood, steadily satisfied some of that curiosity you had towards him.

You learnt that Chan had two younger siblings, and his parents were still alive. His mother worked as a seamstress, while his dad was also a knight in the Queen’s Guard, ‘it was almost a given that I would take the oath as well and follow my father’s steps. And honestly, so far I haven’t regretted it’, he commented as soon as he mentioned his father’s profession. 

You learnt that he lived on his own, and that on his ‘hardly existent time off’ as he put it, he enjoyed hanging out with his small group of friends, playing bocce, or going out to eat, or going out for drinks. “I’d say I’m a very simple man, princess. Boring, even”, he added with a chuckle. “But what about you, though? Other than, you know, the thing with your father… What do you do to keep yourself entertained? You’re adept in embroidery, right?”

You had told Chan in passing once when you were camping in the woods that you liked to embroider to keep your mind off of things, you were honestly surprised he remembered such a mundane detail. “I mean, I’m not sure if adept is the word to use, but yes. I’m fairly into needlework in general…”

You told Chan you enjoyed playing draughts, how you used to play it a lot with the maids that got close enough to you, or even with Queen Naeel when you two would meet. “I’d like to try new things though, things that I wasn’t allowed to do. See if I can find anything that brings me joy, I want to have fun…”

Your conversation flowed like this, smoothly, seamlessly. Slowly but surely peeling layers and layers of yourself and showing them to Chan, just as he did the same. It honestly felt almost the same as before, you had never truly been uncomfortable speaking with Chan, on the contrary, he was quite enjoyable to talk to, but now, with no barriers between you both, it all just felt… Easy, soothing.

By the time night fell you had found yourselves in a small town close to the base of the mountain. An excited ‘holy shit, hot springs!’ leaving Chan’s lips as soon as he spotted the many signs, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief as he said it, the cold was truly not something you could withstand for much longer, so hot springs sounded like heaven at that moment.

As soon as your horses were secured and sheltered, you made your way to the attached inn, finding the attendant with ease for Chan to confidently ask for one room. Taking both of your belongings, he urged you to go to the hot springs, “you must be freezing. I’ll take these up, and we can meet later for supper once we’ve warmed up, yeah?” An offer you gladly took.

The warm water eased the tremors that had started to course through you when the sun was no longer providing any heat as you travelled. A couple of old ladies engaged in conversation with you while you bathed, their presence was comforting in a way, they were nice and provided you with some company as you scrubbed your body clean. But even if they were nice, you did try your best to keep your body underwater, or to always face in their direction, not wanting to attract too much attention to your back.

When you warmed up enough and felt clean enough, you made your way to the tavern area of the inn, ordering some drinks and securing a table by the corner. Chan joined you shortly after, with a towel still draped over his head and a bright smile on his face making his dimples pop and his eyes almost disappear into crescents, and you simply couldn’t help the flutter in your heart at the sight.

The food was surprisingly decent, better than the last few inns you had stayed at throughout your journey. You heard from the attendant that the place was quite popular among travellers, mostly due to the hot springs, and you could understand that completely. You and Chan took your time eating, and even after your food was finished, you stayed there for a while, a relaxed aura settling between you two as you simply enjoyed each other’s company, drinking, talking, flirting… 

However, as soon as you made it to your room, as soon as the door closed behind you two, it was almost comical how fast Chan made his move, pinning you to the closest wall he could find as his lips connected with yours, kissing you with force, with want. Gripping your thigh, he hiked it on his hip as one of his legs slotted between yours, his thigh adding just the tiniest bit of pressure against your heat, making you moan and whine against his mouth.

You liked kissing Chan, you truly did, but right now, as your hips rolled to get some stimulation from his thigh between your legs and both your hands and his held and groped anywhere they could on the other’s body, you just couldn’t wait anymore. So you untangled your legs from his and pushed him towards the bed as you continued to kiss.

With one final push on his shoulders, Chan sank, sitting on the edge of the bed for you to climb on his lap and straddle him, cupping his cheeks to pull his mouth to yours once again almost immediately after. He grunted as soon as you lowered yourself fully on his lap, his hands roaming your body, fondling your hips, your thighs, your back… All as you quickly worked the buttons of his shirt, swiftly unbuttoning each one so you could finally get a full feel of him.

“Don’t be alarmed…” Chan mumbled against your lips as soon as you unbuttoned the last button of his shirt.

You pulled back from his lips and looked him in the eyes. Chan looked almost… Apprehensive as you looked back at him. Slowly, you brought your hands into his open shirt, feeling his abs, his pecks, reaching his shoulders. You could feel his heated skin under your fingertips, every dip, every curve, but most importantly, you could feel every raised bump that seemingly didn’t belong there, and as soon as you slid the shirt off of his shoulders and moved your eyes from his to take in the sight of his bare skin, you understood why he had given you a warning, why he asked you to not be alarmed.

Chan was well built, broad, fair skinned, all defined muscles that flexed and relaxed under your touch, but by far the most distinctive feature of his physique, were the numerous scars littering his body. They were everywhere, on his chest, on his arms, his abs, you wouldn’t be surprised if they covered his back and his legs, too. Chan simply looked back at you, expectant as you took in his form. You’d lie if you say you weren’t surprised by the sight; sure, he had a scar on his face, but that paled in comparison now to the amount of scars on his torso. Deep, superficial, keloids, faint marks, it was all an assortment of different textures and shades of his skin tone and there was no way you could just… Not notice them.

Your hands moved, tentatively, slowly, tracing the many different shapes, feeling each of his intakes of breath with your touch. You didn’t know how long you sat there just touching him, but finally, you settled your palms on his pecks, shamelessly feeling him up as your eyes fixed on your hands and you tilted your head slightly to the side. “Chan, you… You’re really handsome”, you emphasised your words with a squeeze on his pecks, which made him huff an incredulous laugh. “I’m not alarmed”, you turned your gaze back up to meet his, looking him right in the eyes. “I’m just… Curious”.

Chan just hummed, his hands moving from your thighs to hold your hips. “I’ve been in a lot of… Altercations. Some related to my knighthood, some… Not so much”.

“Will you ever tell me the stories?” Removing your hands from his chest, you proceeded to unbutton your own shirt, slowly, leisurely flicking every single button open until you could finally shrug it off of you, leaving your torso completely exposed. 

“Only if you have a few hours to spare to listen to them”, Chan took in the sight of your bare chest, you could literally see the moment his eyes zeroed in on your breasts, growing impossibly darker. You’d let him have his fun, but there was something more important you wanted to do, or at least, to show him. So you took his hands from where they were fondling your hips, his hold relenting immediately as you brought them to your lower back, pressing his palms against your skin.

“Feel them”, was all you told him, a look of confusion crossed his face briefly, but his hands moved regardless, slowly moving up the expanse of your back, that look of confusion quickly replaced with that of shock, his eyes going wide and his eyebrows rising high in surprise, only to scrunch with concern right after. 

How could you be alarmed about something you yourself carried with you every day of your life, too? Chan’s fingertips traced every single dip, every single bump, every single scar on your back, all as he looked deeply into your eyes, all as you got lost in his eyes as well. “My father was a monster, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d only leave his mark where he knew no one else could see, not unless I let them see them, at least”, you offered, shuddering slightly under Chan’s featherlight touch.

You would usually hide your marks pretty well, always told your lovers you liked the thrill of getting intimate with clothes on, that it added a sense of obscenity to the entire thing. Truth was, you simply didn’t want to deal with the looks they could give you, or to explain anything to anyone, mostly out of fear of what would happen if you spoke up against your father. Chan already knew, though. He knew what you’d been through and he had shown you his own scars, so there was no point in hiding them, no point when you could see in his eyes no semblance of judgement or disgust towards you, if anything, all you could see was fire, burning brighter the longer he looked at you, the longer he explored and touched you.

In his exploration, his hand found the back of your head, pulling down to crash your lips with his. Chan’s kiss was urgent, loaded, all passion and fire overflowing into you with each grunt, each groan. His hands brought you closer, bare chest against bare chest sharing your warmth as your fingers threaded in that mess of brown curls of his, tugging him impossibly closer to you while your tongues pushed against one another. It was both suffocating and freeing, stealing the air out of your lungs while simultaneously filling you with life.

The second your hips started to move, grinding against his hardened length his grip on your body tightened, his hands roughly palming your thighs, your hips, your rear, anywhere he could reach without breaking the contact of your chest against his, almost as if he wished to continue enjoying that feeling of warmth of your bare skin against one another. 

You felt yourself moving, Chan’s hands keeping you firmly in place as he stood up and manoeuvred your bodies so you could lay on the bed with him on top of you, right between your legs. Pulling away from your lips, he rested his weight on his hands, looking down at you just as you looked up at him. He took his time, just scanning the features of your face for a while until his eyes moved, taking in the sight of your bare upper torso, his eyes moving almost frantically as if he didn’t know where to look first. And you let him, mostly because you were also doing the same, taking in his breathtaking features, taking in every bump on his skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while”.

Chan surprised you by saying that. He didn’t look particularly ashamed or bashful or anything, he just looked… Serious. And somehow, it made you chuckle. “Could’ve fooled me”.

“Don’t wanna fool you, though”, a smirk crept onto his lips as he lowered himself on his elbows. His lips found yours, one of his arms sneaking under your neck for you to rest on it as his opposite hand found your thigh, pulling you to him so you could hold onto him. Chan rolled his hips, letting you feel him, hard and warm right at the apex of your thighs, making you moan into his mouth. 

Suddenly, Chan moved, rolling to the side and moving your body along for you to now straddle his hips, the motion earning a surprised yelp from your lips. His mouth trailed open mouthed kisses from your lips, to your chin, your neck, your collarbones while his hands roamed your back, all as you shuddered under his touch.

“Good…” you gulped the saliva that had collected in your mouth, feeling as Chan’s lips finally found their way to your breasts, kissing everywhere but where you wanted him most. “Chan…” You didn’t mean to sound that needy, that urging, but that was how your call of his name came out, and honestly, you didn’t care if you sounded desperate, because you were.

“Shh, don’t be so impatient, princess. Let me enjoy you for a bit, there’s no need to hurry”, Chan mumbled against your skin as his hands came to cup your breasts, squishing them together to create the perfect space for him to dive his face into with an appreciative hum, his thumbs coming to graze your nipples, his touch so featherlight it was almost as if he was teasing you, giving you a small taste of what you could feel and it was steadily filling you with anticipation. 

A shaky gasp escaped your lips as you felt Chan’s lips suck on the tender skin of one of your breasts, leaving a purple mark right as he gently pinched both of your nipples between his fingers. “Is this okay?” his mouth barely even moved away from your skin as he talked, and you nodded, only for Chan to lightly tweak your nipples, the barely there stimulation sending a shiver down your spine. “Words, darling”.

“Yes…” You gulped, looking down at him right in the eyes as you spoke. “It’s–It’s okay”.

Chan simply hummed, satisfied with your answer. So his lips returned to your breasts, sucking purple roses on the delicate skin all as both of his hands worked in unison to tweak and twist and pinch your sensitive buds, the combined stimulation eliciting quiet moans to spill from your lips. You felt yourself heating up further the longer he spent working your chest, touching you, marking you, and it was right as you were close to begging that you finally felt his tongue, landing tentative swipes against one of your nipples for him to finally suck it into his mouth.

“Oh, that’s good…” your finger’s tangled in Chan’s hair, tugging the strands gently. Chan hummed, sneaking his free hand to your rear, holding one of your buttocks tightly as his mouth and his hand continued to work you up. You hadn’t realised you had started to move until you felt him buck up into you, your hips slowly grinding against his, feeling his hardened length against your core, providing you with that relief you’d been desperate for even with the fabric that still separated your flesh.

Chan’s hand on your rear tightened, almost urging you to move faster, to move harder against the outline of his cock, and the moment you felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your nipple you couldn’t help but do just that, moaning from all the different sensations that completely clouded your senses. His mouth on you, his hands on you, his hardness under you, all combined sent sparks of pleasure everywhere within you, kindling that fire in the pit of your stomach, burning brighter with each roll of your hips against him.

Once Chan was satisfied with his work on your nipple, his mouth moved to the other, his hands switching positions to continue with the same treatment as before, one holding your other breast, stimulating your nipple and the other gripping your rear as tight as he could. You knew you were too far gone the moment you looked him in the eyes again, seeing his lustful, almost greedy stare looking back at you with his lips attached to your breast, so your hips sped up, chasing that feeling that was building between your legs the more you ground yourself against his hardness, and before you knew it, you were coming, trembling as heat spread within every crevice of your body, as your mind clouded with only bliss and pleasure and Chan.

“Fuck, fuck, wait…” You mumbled, breathless, firmly tugging on Chan’s hair to get him to detach his mouth from your nipple. “Too much, sensitive…”

Chan chuckled softly, moving his mouth to press kisses on your neck as he removed his hand from your breast, too, moving it to join the other to fully cup your rear. “Enjoyed yourself?” His mouth found the skin behind your ear, pressing a kiss there, only to move along and take your earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently, making you swear under your breath with the action. “Couldn’t even wait, huh? Had to use me as your mount to get off?”

You simply shook your head, taking in deep breaths. “Couldn’t wait”, was all you said, completely shameless. “Not when you looked so good with my tits in your mouth”, your lips were on his in an instant, muffling Chan’s groan as you kissed him, relishing the taste of his tongue on yours and the tightening of his hold on your rear, whether the action was due to the motions of your kiss or the impact of your words, you didn’t know.

Resting your weight on your knees and separating your hips from Chan, your hands trailed down his torso until they found the waistband of his trousers. “Off”, you mumbled against Chan’s mouth, giving him enough space to manoeuvre and remove the offending piece of clothing, his underwear coming off with it, leaving him completely bare for your curious eyes to admire.

Just as you imagined, Chan’s legs were also covered in scars, of many different depths and shades, on his thighs, his shins, his calves, they were everywhere. You shuffled lower on Chan’s body, getting comfortable enough for your fingers to delicately trace each bump of raised skin they could, until finally, you moved your attention to his length, hard, pink, and pretty–especially so as precum pooled around the tip where it laid on his abdomen.

Chan was unmoving, propped on his elbows simply looking at you, the expression on his face somehow both lustful and relaxed as he let you explore him as much as you wanted, however you wanted.

“You’re staring”, there was a glint of amusement in Chan’s tone, highlighted by the smirk on his face and it made you look away from his cock to his face again.

Licking your lips, you regarded him with a smirk of your own. “What? Feeling shy?”

“With that look in your eyes? No, just feeling desired”, he said it so naturally, so unabashedly sure of it, you couldn’t help but chuckle.

The moment your fingers wrapped around his length, you could see his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “Remember what you told me back at the campsite?” Your hand moved, slowly dragging up and down his length, focusing on his tip.

“I told you many things at the campsite, princess”, Chan licked his lips, his eyes jumping back and forth from looking at your hand working his cock and your face as you talked to him.

“You told me something… Something that made my mind wander…” Tightening your grip around him, you moved closer to his length, and you could’ve sworn Chan was holding his breath in anticipation. “Wanted to do this so bad, you have no idea”, with that, you replaced your hand with your mouth, finally, finally getting a taste of him.

A shaky breath and a loud ‘fuck!’ fell from Chan’s lips as soon as you took him into your mouth, as soon as he felt your tongue landing firm swipes against his frenulum and your lips dragging over his tip. You took your time, savouring him, building his pleasure as you kept a rhythm, aiding your movements with a hand on what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

His jaw went slack, quiet groans and curses spilled freely from his mouth as Chan took in the sight of you working him up. One of his hands reached for you, moving your hair out of your face to keep it from obstructing his view, settling to caress your cheek after, his touch almost tender, a complete contrast to your lewd ministrations.

“Fuck, you do have a dirty mouth…”

You simply hummed around his length in response as you continued to move. With a deep breath, you took him further into your mouth, right to the back of your throat, making Chan close his eyes and throw his head back, biting on his bottom lip to muffle his groans. 

Wet, gagging sounds filled the room, joining Chan’s constant swearing and groaning and grunting, and the combination of that along with the feel of him in your mouth had your head spinning, had you all worked up and burning up as your inner walls clenched around nothing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so good at this”, you felt Chan’s hands on your head, pulling you off of him as he quickly scrambled to get close to your mouth. “You’re too good at this, don’t wanna blow yet”, was all he said as he crashed his mouth on yours, savouring you, devouring you, all while tugging the waistband of your trousers and your underwear for you to finally take them off. Heat spread all over your face, blushing at his words, at his hands on your back, at his hands on your rear, at his tongue in your mouth.

“I want you…” Your back hit the mattress as Chan mumbled his words between kisses. His middle and ring finger found your dripping core, entering you with ease to rub against that exact spot within your walls that drove you up the wall, that exact spot that you yourself had shown him how to find, making you moan against his lips as he continued to ravish your mouth.

“I need you…” His fingers diligently worked you up, loosened you up, preparing you for him, all as your palm found his length, stroking him leisurely and your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging him even closer to you. It wasn’t enough, though. Not enough closeness, not enough fullness.

“Can I have you, princess? Hmm?” Chan pulled away from your lips, enough to look you in the eyes, to take in every single one of your features, your heavy lids, your slightly agape mouth, the way your brows furrowed as his fingers continued to pleasure you, to stretch you open.

“You have me, Chan…”

You missed his fingers within your walls and the weight of his cock in your hand immediately, the feeling soon replaced with anticipation as Chan took a hold of length and dragged his tip along your folds, coating himself in your essence. Chan looked into your eyes, looking for any signs of you wanting to back out, to stop this now. He clearly found none, if anything, all he got was you rolling your hips, enticing him, tempting him. So he moved, finally stuffing you full of him in one swift motion, eliciting a shared sigh of relief as soon as he was buried snugly within your walls.

You pulled him to you, wrapping your limbs around him and connecting your mouths almost desperately. Chan kept himself propped up on one of his forearms, with his hand holding your head in place and the other hand moving below you to find one of your buttocks, holding you tightly as he started to move. Gone was the Chan that wanted to take his time, to take it slow, the Chan that claimed there was no hurry. 

His hips collided with yours repeatedly, his pace steady, relentlessly pounding you to the mattress, his cock hitting just the right spot within your walls to get you moaning for him as soon as he started moving. You felt lightheaded, between his thrusts and his mouth on yours you could barely breathe, but it was hard to register it when all you could think about was how good this felt, how right it felt.

Chan’s lips moved away from your mouth, your moans now filling the room as he left wet, open mouthed kisses from your cheek all the way to your neck, whispering against your skin. “So good, fuck… You feel even better around my cock, shit…”

“Chan, please… Need to… Want to…” You could barely talk, but you tried anyway. You wanted your relief, you wanted to feel it while he was inside of you, you wanted him to feel it while he was inside of you.

The hold of your limbs around him relented, letting Chan pull himself away from your space to rest his weight on his heels. His thumb found your clit, the contact immediately sending that jolt of excitement up and down your spine. With one of your legs over his shoulder and you holding onto the other one to keep you spread open for him, he kept ramming into you, stealing the air out of your lungs with each thrust as his thumb rubbed your clit diligently, building your release and getting so, so, so close…

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to see you like this”, Chan’s thumb sped up, looking you in the eyes as he spoke, panting slightly. “So pretty, just taking my cock so well, aren’t you? Is this what you wanted too, hm?” All you could do in response was frantically nod and continue to roll your hips to meet his thrusts. “Look at you, can’t even talk, fuck…”

You simply shook your head, reaching for his hand on your thigh. “Close…”

“Close?” Chan snapped his hips harder, faster, the movement of his thumb on your clit not stopping. “C’mon, princess. I got you…”

When you came, you came hard, a sob of his name falling from your lips as you held onto Chan’s hand on your thigh for dear life, his groan of appreciation almost going unnoticed as your mind went blank. “Fuck, fuck, princess… Such a good cunt… Feel so good around me, tight, warm, shit…”

Throwing your other leg over his shoulder as well, Chan moved impossibly faster, holding onto your hips tightly, chasing his own high. “So close…” His voice was barely a whisper, completely lost in the feeling of it all as he continued to indulge in your body, in the feel of your walls clenching around him, in the way your tits looked when they bounced with every single one of his movements against you.

Pulling out, Chan held his cock in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it and pumping himself to completion right on top of your lower belly with a groan. You couldn’t help but shiver at the feel of his warm seed on your body, a sensation that you immediately knew would plague your wettest dreams, along with the sounds that ran freely from his mouth.

Chan plopped down next to you, panting, breathless. Much like yourself, just trying to catch your breaths. Closing your eyes you set to enjoy the feelings coursing through your body, the ringing in your ears, the aches and the burns and the warmth, all pure bliss and satisfaction.

When you opened your eyes again and turned your head to the side you found Chan already looking at you, and, as if there had been some pulling force between you two, you found each other once again, your mouths sealed in a slow, passionate kiss.

“So much for taking your time…” You teased him as soon as he pulled away from the kiss, making him laugh.

“Couldn’t resist when you looked so good with my cock in your mouth”, Chan reached for his discarded shirt, using it to wipe the remnants of his climax from your body, dumping it on the floor right after.

Once he laid back down, he pulled you to him, holding you close to enjoy the post-coital bliss as one of his legs slotted between yours.

“We have a problem, princess”, Chan mumbled against your hair. 

Your hands traced patterns on his back as you cuddled, feeling the scars there, too. Humming in acknowledgement, you urged him to continue, trying your best to act as if those words hadn’t brought the tiniest drop of concern in your mind.

Chan’s arms held you tighter, humming as well until he finally spoke. “Against my better judgement, against all that is proper, I’m utterly smitten by you. How are you gonna take responsibility for that, huh princess?”

Pulling back from Chan’s chest you looked at him, at the teasing smile on his face coupled with the serious glint in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but chuckle, with a genuine smile on your lips. “I guess you’ll have to court me and find out”.

“You’d like that?” There was a tone of hopefulness in his voice, and it made you giddy. “I told you, I’m a boring man, darling. You’d get tired of me”. 

“I’d like that very much”, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “Besides, you’ve already marked me, you’ve got to take responsibility for these, too”, you gestured to your chest, to the numerous purple splotches Chan left behind, a sheepish smile appearing on his face as he looked at them.

Cupping your cheek, Chan looked you in the eyes for a bit, taking you in until finally he leaned in and kissed you again.

That night, even though you were both tired from the long journey, you both spent as much of your energy as you could just exploring each other, enjoying each other, until your bodies couldn’t keep up anymore. By the time the moon was at her highest in the sky you and Chan were already spent, so you simply held onto each other as sleep finally claimed you both.

When you woke up the next day, the light coming from the window was enough for you to infer it was close to midday, and slightly alarmed, you tapped on Chan’s arm that rested around your waist. “Chan… Chan… It’s morning already, we overslept”.

Chan simply grumbled, moving his hand to your ribs, right below your breast, tightening his hold on you as he buried his face in your hair and pressed his chest flush to your back. “And? It’s not like we’re camping, doesn’t matter if we sleep in…” He mumbled, clearly only half awake.

You immediately relaxed in his hold, you’d gotten so used to getting moving as soon as your eyes opened that it almost became a part of your routine, but Chan had a point, there was no hurry to move when you were staying at an inn like this. Taking a hold of the hand he had placed on your ribs, you moved it so you could place a kiss on his calloused palm. The action made Chan let out a satisfied sigh, moving as close as he could to you as you clutched his hand to your chest.

“Maybe…” Chan spoke again after a while, mumbling against your shoulder as he started to press kisses on your skin, making goosebumps raise under his touch. “Maybe we could even stay for another day… So we can, you know, recover from the long journey…”

Chan’s hand moved away from where you were holding it against your chest, softly caressing the skin of your abdomen, your belly, your thighs, reaching your bum only for him to squeeze one of your buttocks, making you chuckle. “What do you think, hmm?”

You pressed yourself further into him, feeling him already hard against your rear. “What’s one more day to a two month trip, right?”

“Exactly”.

You moved, and as soon as you were on your back Chan was already on top of you, kissing your neck, your chest, your nipples, your belly… Slowly, leisurely, he left kisses everywhere on your torso as his hands massaged your body, mumbling words of praise against your skin as he went ‘so beautiful, driving me fucking crazy…’ Until he finally found himself between your legs, making you shudder and tremble with his tongue, with his mouth, with his fingers… Certainly one of the best ‘lazy mornings’ you had spent in a long, long time.

You did rest that extra day in the inn, going into the hot springs, eating at the tavern… But admittedly, most of the time you were just in your shared room, all tangled limbs, sharing moans and groans and grunts, sharing your warmth, sharing your stories. And by the time you left the inn, hopped onto your horses, and continued with your journey, you realised that this is what real peace felt like. 

After a few weeks, after you saw the first of many banners signalling Queen Naeel’s territory, after many more stays in inns throughout her realm, after many days and nights spent just enjoying Chan’s company, you finally made it to your friend’s home. The second you stepped into her castle you were almost winded by the collision of her body against yours, holding you so tightly against her that you couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes. 

“You’re here…” Naeel sobbed against your shoulder, only to quickly pull herself away from you to hold you by the shoulders, her eyes frantically scanning the features of your face.

You couldn’t help but giggle, bringing her into a hug again, quiet tears spilling from your eyes as you held her in your arms. “I’m here… All thanks to you, and Chan, of course”.

“Oh, Channie!” Naeel removed herself from your embrace, jumping instead towards Chan who had been standing behind you, looking fondly at the reunion, his expression quickly changing to that of shock as Naeel hugged him tightly, too. “You did well, thank you, thank you”.

“Your… Your Majesty, please”, Chan cleared his throat, awkwardly patting Naeel on the back.

“Ah, right, physical contact, big no, no”, she regarded him with another smile, reaching for your hand to pull you closer to her. “I trust you two had a safe journey?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Your Majesty”, you had spent the last few weeks with the unfiltered, carefree Chan, it almost made you laugh to see him back into his Proper Knight mode. “Besides, Her Highness was an excellent companion all throughout”.

“Oh? Was she?” Naeel looked back at you, with a glint of something in her eyes, something insufferable you were surely going to have to deal with as soon as you two were on your own.

Chan just hummed in response, adding a “if that’s all for now, I’ll be taking my leave, Your Majesty. I’m sure you two would like to catch up”.

“Yes, yes. You’re dismissed, Channie. Take a week off, or two, or three, as you see fit, you deserve it”, with a couple of pats on Chan’s shoulders, Naeel pulled herself away from his space, coming instead to your side and slinging an arm over your shoulder, pulling you tight against her side, making you smile.

“Your Majesty”, Chan bowed his head towards Naeel, then turned to you, offering his hand. “Your Highness”, you placed your hand in his, and felt heat creep on your face as he brought it to his face, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, regarding you with a warm smile and an even warmer look in his eyes. “I’ll see you soon”.

With that, he left, leaving you a blushing mess. A blushing mess as if you had not let him fuck you for days on end.

Naeel quickly took you to the courtyard, her attendants bringing you cakes and biscuits and tea for you to spend the afternoon in a resting area that was clearly just set there for her to relax in. “So, how was the trip?” Bending at the waist, she expertly tied the anklet you had given back to her around her ankle, once again matching with you as you still wore yours religiously.

“Not that bad…” You commented as you chewed the sugary treats. Speaking with your mouth full would’ve surely earned you an angry slap from your father, but he wasn’t here, he was hopefully no longer in your life, so you could be as free as you wanted, knowing that Naeel wouldn’t judge you, if anything, she was just like you. “Compared to, you know, living with my father, it was rather enjoyable I’d say”.

Humming softly, Naeel took a sip of her tea. “And Chan?”

“Chan… Chan’s nice. Really… Really nice”, you took a sip of your tea as well, trying to hide from your friend’s inquiring eyes as she looked at you.

“He is! Just a bit too stoic sometimes”, she chuckled, reaching for a biscuit. “I was hoping he would loosen up a bit with this trip. He’s one of my best knights, but he needs to relax, to detach from work a bit. I hope he managed to distract himself”.

Your mind quickly filled with memories of the nights you and Chan shared, in the mountains, in the inns, in your campsites… You could almost feel the phantom of his touch on your skin, and it was heating you up way too quickly. “I think he… He did loosen up a bit. Or that’s how it seems to me”.

“Mmm”, Naeel gave you an inquisitive look. “You’re quite feisty, and he likes that sort of thing, so I sure hope you gave him a hard time and got him a bit out of his element…”

You stared at your friend, blinking. It dawned on you then, why your friend chose him for the task, why she sent Chan to get you, and your jaw would’ve hit the floor if it hadn’t been attached to your face. She was playing matchmaker. She had not only rescued you, but she was trying to get you laid. “You sent Chan with intent! You sent him specifically on purpose!”

“Of course I did!” Naeel laughed, loudly. “I knew you’d like him, and judging by the way you were looking at him I was right! And I was sure he’d like you, too. Haven’t seen him smile as bright as he did when you guys parted earlier!”

“Naeel, dear…” You couldn’t help but scoff a laugh, utterly baffled. “I love you so, so much. You’re nuts”.

“You know me well, my dear. And I love you, too”, Naeel’s smile couldn’t have been any brighter, and it warmed you up. You truly, truly loved your friend deeply, even if she was a bit nuts. “So, does that mean that you guys got acquainted with one another as I hoped?”

You looked at her for a moment, completely silent, your face going dead serious, which made a look of worry flash on her face. Until you couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your lips. Slowly, you unbuttoned the first few buttons of your shirt, showing Naeel the purple marks on your chest, the marks that Chan had not let fade since the moment he first pressed his mouth on your chest, the marks he left time and time again, making Naeel gasp and bring her hands to her mouth.

“Oh, wow!” Throwing her head back she laughed again, lightly kicking her feet. “I’m a fucking genius! I should be crowned again, Queen of Matchmaking!”

You couldn’t help but laugh with her, reaching for your cup of tea. “I can’t believe you, Naeel…”

Figuring out the logistics of you staying with Naeel was easy. You didn’t want to live at the castle, it reminded you too much of your old life, and you also didn’t want to be pampered anymore. You wanted a new beginning, a different life to that you had known, so your friend helped you settle, giving you a humble house in the castle town and offering you a job as a royal seamstress within her already established team ‘I’ve seen your work, and I’d love to have you design things for me!’. It was a privilege not many could have, and you were aware of it, so you took the offer. If your friend believed in you and your abilities, why wouldn’t you believe in yourself for the task?

Your new home was cosy, just big enough for one person, with enough space for your few belongings. You thought you’d have a hard time your first night there, but it was surprisingly easy for you to fall asleep there. Almost as if your body knew there was no danger, as if it knew you could finally rest.

For your first few days there you didn’t see Chan. You didn’t know where he lived, and you hadn’t had the time to ask Naeel about it, so you settled for waiting until you could run into him, and although there was a part of you that knew he would come looking for you, there was still a part of you that worried he might’ve decided you were not worth his time anymore. That was, until you heard a knock on your door and you opened it to find the man standing right there at your doorstep, with a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Her Majesty told me where you were staying”, he had a sheepish smile on his face, shyly handing you the bouquet, and you couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your face as you took it. “I was hoping to… To maybe show you around?”

“I’d like that”, stepping into his space, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on his lips as your front door closed behind you.

One of Chan’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him with an appreciative hum as the other held the back of your head, angling you a bit so he could deepen the kiss. You didn’t care if anyone saw you, just like he also didn’t seem to care, if anything, he held you in his arms confidently, and it made you chuckle against his lips. “I take it you’re no longer conflicted about your feelings for me?”

Chan simply shook his head, removing his hands from your frame so he could link your arm with his and pull you along to walk down the street. “It’s too late for that, princess”.

“Ah, but you’re still calling me princess?” There was no ill intent in your voice, if anything, only a bit of a teasing tone.

“Of course! You are my princess, after all. Are you not, darling?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, tightening your hold on his arm as you continued to walk with him, following him anywhere he pulled you to. “Then I’ll be your princess, and yours only”.

Chan simply smiled at you, one of those smiles that made his face light up, his dimples pop and his eyes disappear, and as usual, you couldn’t help the flutter of your heart at the sight. You didn’t feel like a princess anymore, not like a real one at least, but the switch from it being a title, a title that had only meant pain in your life, to it being a term of endearment, a term used by Chan and only Chan, helped you cope, and you hoped that, in due time, you could finally fully heal.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2022-2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

Constructive feedback is always welcome :)

[spiderispunk]

Sorry for the long analysis but I gotta get this out:

Snow’s disgust about the mockingjays is so interesting. First that they’re muttations, and secondly that they’re a symbol that the Capitol is not permanent. He thinks the jabberjays are “impressive pieces of engineering” (Collins 445) but “refers to the mockingjays as “genes gone bad” (Collins 504). Jabberjays represent Capitol ingenuity, a lab experiment that was perfect in theory, and perfectly controlled until they went into the wild. Then the rebels found a way to outsmart and snub the Capitol. A slap in the face,m. And then a second one when then the jabberjays mated with wild, district birds. Mockingjays represent corruption. An unforeseen consequence of putting the two species together. Not completely district, but not quite Capitol either. The idea of which is not something that Snow can comprehend because he sees the world in black and white. Order and Chaos. District and Capitol. There is no conceivable middle ground.

The jabberjays were also never meant to be permanent. They’re all male. They would have died out eventually after they served their purpose. But they survived, only by mating with birds outside of the Capitol. Then they’ve mutated into something wholly different and unnatural to Snow. No longer purely Capitol, but not completely district either. In a way they represent what should have been the natural progression of Panem. There’s no way the Capitol could survive forever segregated from the districts— genetically, physically, whatsoever. But Snow and his Capitol counterparts are afraid of that, because what happens to their pure genes, their fictional superiority, if they begin to mix with the districts. The way they treat Sejanus is evidence of that fear, because he challenges their preconceived notions of how district-born people should be. They compare district-born people to beasts and animals, claiming they’d drink blood, or spiral into anarchy without the guiding hand of the Capitol. But Sejanus isn’t like that. Lucy Gray isn’t either. But sympathy for them equals sympathy for everyone in the districts, and that’s a no go. That’s why Snow goes to such lengths to convince himself that Lucy Gray isn’t district— not really, not in the ways that count (literally not having a permanent residence in the districts). But they can’t admit that they need the districts. They can’t survive without the districts, not for long. But they can’t accept that, and their inability to see the districts as people— not second class citizens— and treat them as such, causes the Capitol’s eventual demise.

TLDR: TBOSBAS, and the entire Hunger Game series at large is an allegory for relationships between the colonizer and the colonized, as well as power, control and white supremacy.

[nonasuch]

Can I, in fact, get you started on Yesterday? That's the movie premised on everyone just forgetting everything about the Beatles one day right?

Yes, and it drove me nuts because that’s a great premise! But it was totally wasted in a way that I found extra frustrating, because they only needed to slightly reshuffle the existing pieces and give the love interest some kind of coherent characterization, and they just. did not do that.

So like. The premise of the movie is that Jack, the main character, is a struggling musician who gets hit by a car and knocked unconscious at the exact moment of a mysterious global blackout. When he wakes up in the hospital, he discovers that he is the only person on Earth who remembers the existence of the Beatles.

It takes him a bit to realize this: he quotes When I’m Sixty-Four to his best friend Ellie at the hospital and she just gives him a weird look. When he plays a bit of Yesterday while hanging out with friends, they all freak out about how good his new song is, and he realizes that something is Weird.

There’s a fun scene where he frantically googles Beatles-related terms and comes up empty. “Beatles” turns up bugs and cars. Ringo Starr? Never heard of him. We find out that the band Oasis never existed either, and over the course of the movie there are a few more disappearances thrown in as jokes: Coca-Cola, cigarettes, and Harry Potter have also ceased to exist, or never were.

So Jack, who knows most of the Beatles catalogue by heart, and is a decent musician, decides to re-record them. And they’re instant hits, and he starts getting money and fame and record deals thrown at him, and hanging out with Ed Sheeran (played by Ed Sheeran), and going on talk shows and so on. The movie rapidly turns into a parable about the cost of fame, not letting success change you, remembering what’s more important than money and power, etc etc.

It’s just like. kind of lazy about it? and the romance plot feels both incoherent and slapdash, because Ellie has no personality and no comprehensible motivations.

Like, she’s been Jack’s music manager since they were teenagers, and she’s been convinced he was destined for greatness since she saw him play Wonderwall at a school talent show, but she also is weirdly convinced that she’s not good enough for him even before he becomes super famous. But Jack never actually stops being into her, even at the Peak Hubris part of the plot, and he eventually gives it all up and tells the world he didn’t write any of the songs as part of a big dramatic love confession. Except it’s never really clear what was holding either of them back in the first place, or why a dramatic love confession was even necessary.

So, here is how I would fix the movie.

First, the romance plot feels super tacked on anyway so let’s just resolve it earlier and give the poor girl an actual job in the plot. I’d have Jack sit Ellie down fairly early, after he’s released the first few songs and they’ve blown up but before the Fame Spiral starts, and say:

okay. look. I know this sounds nuts but either that accident caused the most specific brain damage in the history of the world, or I remember a different version of reality than everyone else, because I did not write these songs. I just remember them, and no one else does.

And the movie did actually set up a way for him to prove this, but they never used it! for some fucking reason! Because Wonderwall is the song that convinced Ellie that Jack was destined for musical greatness, and Wonderwall has also been erased. Which creates an opportunity, which the movie did not take, for a really effective scene where Jack asks Ellie what song he sang at the talent show. And she can’t answer him, which freaks her out because that’s a core memory! Thats the reason she’s so devoted to Jack in the first place!

So he starts playing her the song. And she knows she’s never heard it before, but she also knows that on some level, she recognizes it.

So from that point onwards, Ellie and Jack can be in cahoots, sharing the secret, which allows the romance to develop a lot more effectively and convincingly, and puts Ellie in a better position to talk Jack down from Fame Hubris, and allows Jack to remind Ellie that he’s not actually too good or too famous for her, because she knows he’s actually just the beneficiary of a deeply weird cosmic accident.

Also, there’s a better way to resolve the romance plot. Ellie has bafflingly low self-esteem, for reasons that are never explained, so like. please explain that, movie. But since half the romance plot is just Ellie going “I’m not good enough for you!” I do have a better resolution than what the movie did.

The only Big Dramatic Gesture Jack does comes at the very end of the movie, and it’s boring and doesn’t actually have anything much to do with Ellie — he already hates being famous by then, he wants out regardless. He needs a gesture that’s actually about Ellie, and allows them to be together and in cahoots again for the rest of the Price of Fame plot.

Which, again, the movie laid the groundwork for at the beginning, and never used.

I’d have Jack tell Ellie that he knows — is baffled by? but knows — that she thinks she ought to leave him for his own good, and that she thinks his music career is more important than her. To prove it’s not, he’s going to give her a song. A Beatles song he’s never going to record, never going to play, for anyone but her. A song that used to be one of the most famous songs in the world, but is only ever going to be theirs, hers and his, from now on.

He plays her When I’m Sixty-Four.

That does the trick: they’re together through the rest of the movie, and decide how to get Jack out of the Fame Trap together, and retire into happy obscurity together.

There is one other optional change, but it would require buy-in from Paul McCartney.

There’s already a scene in the movie — one of the best bits of the whole thing, honestly — where Jack meets an elderly John Lennon, who has never been famous and is perfectly content with his life. I think a nice epilogue would have Jack track down Paul, and find him in his back garden, planting flowers and beatifically happy.

After a short conversation in which Paul appears to have no memory of ever ever having been a Beatle, Jack leaves Paul to enjoy his retirement.

After he’s gone, as the camera pulls away and the movie ends, Paul starts to whistle When I’m Sixty-Four to himself.

[ao3cassandraic]

I’m wondering about your thoughts on something I’ve been musing on after S2. How good is Aziraphale’s reading comprehension? How much does he understand subtext and metaphor? Because his behavior this season struck me with the impression that he didn’t really understand the books he collects. He’s clever at puzzle solving, and contains vast knowledge; but he always seems to take things at face value (when he’s not willfully misunderstanding), and refuses to give up black-and-white thinking, which would make it very difficult to analyze texts.

Angels, demons, language, and culture: part 1

You sure ask the difficult ones. (Which is great, I'm totally jazzed about it!)

I delayed answering this ask because it sent me off in a lot of directions:

What is an angel's starting knowledge base?

In contrast, how and what do we humans learn about our world and one another?

Which of these learning methods is not really available to an angel?

What do humans learn from books, fiction especially?

What kinds of information get left implicit in books because authors are humans writing for other humans?

How would an angel fill in those blanks? How would those blanks distort an angel's notion of How Humans and Human Things Work?

What would angels generally and either Aziraphale or Muriel (because yeah, it's hard to have this discussion without thinking about Muriel too) specifically read human-authored fiction for?

I don't have all the answers to the above questions. Not even CLOSE. I happily invite my fellow meta-ists to weigh in on any or all of them!

But let's see what I can tease out. We'll start with factory settings, so to speak.

Angelic vs. human factory settings

(questions 1 through 3)

Angels have (one) language. They have music -- or, at least, they can sing Her praises (likely by rote). At least some, like our Starmaker, have the knowledge to do specific jobs. Note that Aziraphale not only doesn't know how to make stars and nebulas, he's not even clear on what a nebula is. We can safely assume from that that angels don't all possess the same set of knowledge and skills purely by virtue (heh) of being angels.

We don't see, however, how much of what they know is simply an angel's birthright versus how much of it is somehow educated into them. We also don't know how She divvies up necessary knowledge, though I'd think it safe (given most takes on angelology) to guess that angelic rank and intended function are part of Her calculus, perhaps even the whole of it.

What strikes me hardest is that angels seem to be created either as adults or children (which is what I believe the scareable "cherubs" are), and they may well never change that state. The Starmaker is childlike in some ways, but not a child. Likely never was a child! Aziraphale, Before the Beginning, isn't childlike at all; his personality seems pretty close to fully-formed.

And children learn so very, very much. Babies learn so much as babies, while their neuroplasticity is super super plastic! Especially they learn about relating to other beings! (Which the Starmaker is conspicuously Not Real Great at, honestly -- absorbed in the work of creation, the Starmaker does not pick up the feelings Aziraphale is laying down at all.)

Children also learn one OR MORE languages, and that "more" is rather important, because language shapes how we think to some extent (the extent of that extent, and its nature, are objects of fierce debate among linguists and neuroscientists), and different languages shape us differently. Just as Crowley (as plenty of theologians argue) did humanity a favor with the whole knowledge-of-good-and-evil thing, the Tower of Babel (assuming that was a thing that happened in the GOverse; no reason it wouldn't have, I suppose) added a whole lot of nuance and complexity and competing understandings to humanity's sense of itself and its universe.

Exactly how angels and demons manage to speak all human languages (which Crowley indicates they can) isn't clear. If we accept that the Tower of Babel happened, both Heaven and Hell must have had to figure out a way to deal with it.

We do see, however, that angels and demons can be fluent in human languages without being fluent in human thought or human cultures. Gabriel and Sandalphon speak perfect English yet barely know which end of a book is up. Hastur and Ligur can't disentangle ciao/chow. And, I mean, actual food? Fuhgeddaboudit. So I see their linguistic facility as a sort of Douglas Adams Babel fish: it can translate an angel's or demon's thought into the target language, but it can't help an angel or demon think like an actual speaker of that language.

As an example, Gabriel can tell Job and Sitis about their new children, perfectly fluently. His purely-linguistic fluency does not help him understand that they loved their old children, much less why.

This may explain why Aziraphale studied French under M. Rossignol. He perhaps didn't feel he understood how French speakers think, and was interested enough in that to learn the language (as other meta-ists have noted, the language of love!) the human way.

So yeah, if I have a conclusion here it's that angels and demons can seem as off-center as they often do from a human perspective because they wholly missed out on a key period of human brain development.

What they have in its place appears to be... rules. Which is, I think, where I'll take this next.

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | two

🐴Chapter summary: Life on the ranch is hard and you keep fucking everything up with stupid mistakes.  🐴Chapter title: It's a Long Road 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of past character death (parents) 🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!) 🐴Word count: 9.1k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog @kiki-zb @babejinnie @ownthesunshine @allie-is-a-panda @glllhjh @bergandysam @13-manggaetteok

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Common Ground” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note (1): I really enjoy writing this so far. But this idea has been stuck in my head for months, so it feels wonderful to finally get it out! I’m still not sure if anyone would read this– but it’s already a gem to me. Thank you for reading!

There’s a scene in here that my lovely and wonderful friend @letjungcoook7 give me the idea to (it has something to do with clothes 🤭). Thank you so much for that Lua, I think it added some more fun to it ✨

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“Common ground, find common ground It is out there, it can be found Many chances, many ways Common ground, the road is laid”  - Common Ground by Rebecca Lavelle

Your original plan was to leave… But reality has a way of unraveling even the best-laid plans. Now, here you are, a week after that steamy romp with Jungkook, still in need of Jessi's elusive signature.

Surviving on the ranch proves challenging, and while your farming skills leave much to be desired, strangely, they seem to bring a spark to Jessi's mood. Amidst the hardships, you're learning to cut yourself some slack.

Calling in a favor from a city friend, a bundle of your wardrobe arrives at the ranch, despite the fact that most of your outfits are far from farm-friendly. However, you find solace in the timeless pairing of jeans and shirts—pieces that work in any setting.

However, when it comes to footwear, you find yourself lacking the rugged, durable boots that the others sport. Your feet continue to be clad in sneakers, a clear misfit in this sea of robust workwear. Despite the glaring contrast, the idea of venturing to a store to purchase a pair is pushed aside; after all, you'll be returning home soon, won't you?

As you strive to lend a hand around the ranch, the sense of being more of a hindrance than assistance creeps in, casting a shadow on your enthusiasm. It's disheartening, but you persevere, masking your frustration with a determined smile. 

The blueprint to win Jessi's favor unfolds gradually. Tempted by the notion of pestering her into signing the paper, a more rebellious approach, you ponder the likely outcome – perhaps just another swift dismissal. 

Thus, opting for a strategic route, you resolve to stay, contribute, and gradually earn your place in her good graces.

Yet, reality proves to be more intricate than anticipated. Earning Jessi's trust unfolds as a formidable challenge. Fortunately, the camaraderie with the girls injects a daily dose of humor, infusing a much-needed levity into the demanding rigors of ranch life. Their presence becomes a driving force, propelling you through the grueling tasks with shared laughter and a sense of solidarity.

But that thing with Jungkook and Jimin? 

It’s a perplexing puzzle that haunts your thoughts. Grateful for the absence of both men since that eventful barn party, you find yourself at a loss. Jimin's wounded expression lingers in your mind; his unexpected hurt leaves you questioning the depth of his emotions. 

Why does it matter to him so much, and what, if anything, should you do about it?

Jungkook's reputation as a flirtatious charmer precedes him—undeniably a heartbreaker and a fuckboy. The logical part of you suggests steering clear of him altogether, yet you can't deny the undeniable truth—he delivered an unforgettable night that still lingers in your memory.

Jimin's piercing gaze remains etched in the recesses of your thoughts, tempting you to unravel the mystery behind his somber expression. A nagging curiosity creeps in—was it solely witnessing you with his brother, or does it delve into uncharted territories? 

Frustration mounts as you find yourself pondering over these unresolved questions, all while diligently shoveling manure in the dim-lit barn.

The relentless echo of Jimin's haunting gaze has dominated your thoughts throughout the week, a relentless presence that might easily dissipate with a simple conversation. Yet, the prospect of confronting those melancholic, deep brown eyes sends shivers down your spine, and your stomach churns with trepidation each time the memory of his gaze resurfaces.

You know you shouldn't dwell on thoughts of the Park brothers, especially after learning the intricacies of their familial ties. The revelation that they are half-brothers, sharing the same father, doesn't diminish the complexity of their relationship. They are still bound by blood, and the complications of their connection linger in your mind, tempting you into a web of contemplation you desperately try to escape.

You're drawn from your thoughts by the gentle whinny of a horse, and as you glance up, you're captivated by the majestic creature in its stall. 

While your knowledge of horses is limited, the rugged breed before you exudes a unique beauty, its pristine white coat and matching mane captivates you.

Memories of your childhood flood back when you used to ride horses on this very ranch. The nostalgic recollections evoke a sense of longing. However, the prospect of mounting a horse now appears somewhat daunting; these majestic creatures seem even more substantial and imposing as an adult.

Soo-ah's words echo in your mind, urging you to reclaim the reins and saddle up if you truly wish to contribute on the ranch. 

Contemplating the idea, you sense a growing determination within, a readiness to embrace the challenge and reconnect with the equestrian world you left behind.

Jessi's voice cuts through the rhythmic clatter of your stall-cleaning routine, a sudden burst of urgency that startles you. She barrels into the barn with a sense of urgency, proclaiming, “Hey! We've got to head to Park's ranch!” 

The abrupt interruption leaves you momentarily shaken from your chores.

Your shoulders slump as you mope and question, “Now?” 

The unfinished tasks nag at you, a testament to the never-ending workload on the ranch. The sense of wanting to complete your current chore before diving into the next one hangs heavy in your voice, and the realization dawns on you that the work on a ranch is an ever-flowing river, each completed task replaced by another in an endless stream.

“Yes, come on!” Her enthusiastic insistence echoes through the barn, and with a determined grunt, she secures a saddle and snatches up a bridle, cradling them with purpose under her arm. 

As you set the shovel aside, your eyes widen in disbelief. “Aren't we taking the car?” you inquire, puzzled by the sudden need for saddles and bridles, questioning the unconventional choice of transportation for this mysterious journey to Park's ranch.

Her response is resolute, accompanied by a hint of laughter underlying her words. “No. The horses are just as fast,” she asserts, the firmness in her voice accompanied by a playful chuckle, revealing her persistent agenda to get you back in the saddle since the day you committed to assisting on the ranch. You can almost visualize the sly curve of her smile.

Shivers of both excitement and nervousness run down your spine. It's happening – you're about to mount a horse for the first time since childhood. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Yes, you're ready. Absolutely ready!

Jessi swings open the stall door, revealing the majestic white horse inside. 

She affectionately pats its head, and it responds with a gentle whinny, as if appreciating the attention. With practiced ease, she adorns the horse with a saddle and bridle. 

Stepping out with the horse in tow, she introduces, “Meet Marshmallow. Not only is he a serene and calm companion, but he's also perfect for beginners like you – friendly and patient.”

She hands you the bridle, a tangible connection to the upcoming adventure. As you cradle it in your hands, your gaze fixes on the magnificent white horse before you. A closer look reveals delicate gray spots adorning its coat, like nature's artistic brushstrokes enhancing its beauty.

Jessi tends to another horse, a rich brown beauty, securing a saddle and bridle. With graceful strides, she leads the horse towards you, introducing him with pride, “This is my horse, goes by the name Cinnamon.”

“I’ll help you up on your horse if you need that?” She chuckles, a teasing glint in her eyes, as if you've never mounted a horse before. 

“No, I'm perfectly capable. Thanks.” You retort, a tinge of frustration in your voice. You take a moment to gather the reins and locate the stirrup. The choice of a western saddle suddenly becomes a blessing, its size and comfort bringing a sense of familiarity and reassurance.

You stretch your left leg up, slotting your foot into the stirrup, and then firmly grasp the horn atop the saddle. Marshmallow remains remarkably still, a paragon of patience as you haul yourself up, swinging your right leg over his substantial white frame. A surge of triumph floods through you as you mount successfully, a proud smile illuminating your face as you glance over at your sister.

Her laughter rings out in congratulation as she mirrors your movements, executing them with a finesse that far surpasses your own. With a gentle push of her legs and the subtle click of her tongue, she effortlessly guides Cinnamon forward, setting a fluid and harmonious rhythm into motion.

Emulating your sister's skilled maneuver, you replicate the actions with Marshmallow, coaxing him to step leisurely out of the expansive brown barn.

Eyeing Jessi's brown hat, you playfully remark, “Hey, I need a hat like yours.” Her laughter rings out, and she quips, “I don't think it will suit you.”

Pouting slightly, you reluctantly admit she might be right. Hats have never been your forte. Meanwhile, Jessi rocks the rancher's look effortlessly with her boots, jeans, shirt, and the hat, completing the ensemble perfectly.

Her laughter echoes through the air as she nudges Cinnamon into a trot. Catching her infectious joy, you mimic the motion, urging Marshmallow to pick up the pace. The rhythmic sound of hooves on the ground makes your heart flutter.

As you navigate the trot, the uncertainty of your riding technique leaves you in an amusing predicament. Unsure whether to sit or stand in the saddle, you find a comical middle ground, hoping Marshmallow isn't too bothered. 

Jessi, catching sight of your improvised riding style, bursts into laughter.

“Are you sure this is as fast as the car?” Expressing your skepticism, you grumble while attempting to sync with Marshmallow's trot. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoes around you, and you can't help but question if this equine journey rivals the speed of a car. Jessi glances at you with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying your equine adventure.

In the midst of Marshmallow's trot, Jessi reassures you, “In trot, it's not. But if we gallop, it's just as fast.” 

As you ponder her words, it occurs to you that despite her initial urgency to reach the Park's farm, she's taking a leisurely pace, perhaps out of consideration for your riding abilities. Despite the dread of facing the Park brothers, a part of you yearns to arrive sooner, to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Let’s gallop then,” you declare, urging Marshmallow to quicken the pace by pressing your legs against his sides. However, to your surprise, nothing happens, leaving you in a momentary standstill of awkward anticipation.

“You have to sit down in the saddle, all your weight in your ass, and then press a little more with your legs,” Jessi advises, demonstrating the technique on Cinnamon. She adds a few clicking sounds with her tongue, coaxing him into a slow gallop that brings a newfound sense of excitement to the ride.

Following your sister's instructions, you concentrate your weight in your seat, anchored firmly in the saddle. As you press your legs gently, finally, Marshmallow responds, bursting into a slow gallop. The increased speed causes your hair to whip around your face, prompting you to make a mental note to braid it next time for a more practical riding experience.

Together, you and Jessi gallop through the paddocks, surrounded by the mesmerizing landscape of trees and bushes. The natural beauty here is breathtaking, a stark contrast to the towering buildings of the city. Vast open spaces stretch for miles, inviting you to lose yourself in the expansive, untamed wilderness.

As you ride, the motions become second nature, and memories flood back as if the years haven't passed. In just ten minutes, you reconnect with the familiarity of being in the saddle, as though the skill never left you.

Choosing to unleash a faster gallop, you and your sister give your horses the freedom to surge ahead across the lush green expanse. 

The wind caresses your face, setting your hair adrift like a carefree banner. In that exhilarating moment, a surge of childlike joy courses through you, reminiscent of carefree days filled with love. Memories of running in fields, playing hide and seek, and riding ponies with your sister flood your mind. The sheer nostalgia brings tears to your eyes, but you're grateful for the wind whisking them away before your sister can catch a glimpse.

As you approach what initially seemed like a quaint ranch in the distance, the truth unfolds—a vast expanse unfolds before you. The grandeur of the estate becomes apparent, with a towering two-story main house, a dedicated stable for horses, a barn housing machinery, and a sprawling structure that you suspect might be living quarters for the stable hands. The scale of the property dwarfs your own, leaving you in awe of its sheer size and splendor.

As you approach the ranch, an undeniable sense of dread takes residence in your body. 

The looming encounter with Jungkook and Jimin fills you with apprehension. Questions swirl in your mind, pondering how they perceive you – perhaps as the ‘once and done’ kind of girl. It's a misconception, not reflective of who you truly are, yet the complexities of forming a connection with someone like Jungkook, an apparent playboy living miles away, make you hesitant to dive into a relationship.

As you reach the fence, Jessi graciously swings open the gate, and you guide your horse, trotting the final stretch towards the big main house.

Dismounting gracefully, you secure the reins to a sturdy tree post, glancing at the trio of Ford Rangers nearby – a vivid blue one, a sleek black model, and a pristine white vehicle adorned with the distinctive ‘Bell Ranch’ logo. What a weird ranch name.

You stride towards the main house, ready to knock on the front door in a show of politeness. However, Jessi displays the familiarity of a long-time resident, confidently navigating the premises as if it were her own. Faced with an unanswered door, Jessi takes matters into her own hands, her voice echoing through the surroundings, “Kook! Where are you at?”

You roll your eyes, your tolerance for waiting a few moments longer evident, but you surmise this is the country way—or maybe your sister is just exceptionally impatient. Either way, you decide to go along with the local rhythm.

Your gaze locks onto a mop of blonde hair, and an instant wave of regret and uneasiness sweeps through your stomach. A dry lump forms in your throat as your eyes meet Jimin's. His smile, initially bright for your sister, fades into a closed-off expression the moment his gaze lands on you.

Impatience radiates from your sister as she taps her feet against the dirt, demanding answers. “Where's Kook?” she questions Jimin once more, her tone laced with urgency.

“In the barn fixing his bike, I’ll get him.” Jimin responds with a smile, swiftly moving past both of you. As he walks away, you can't help but admire the dirt clinging to him—oddly, he looks enticing covered in the grime. Despite his disheveled appearance, with every speck of dirt, there's an inexplicable allure. You ponder on his hands, dirty and rough, a stark contrast to how you saw him last at the party. He limps as he walks away, and you turn to ask your sister about it, but before you haven’t even spoken the words before, Jimin emerges from the barn with Jungkook at his side.

Jungkook strides purposefully, a confident spring in his step. “Back for round two?”

Your eyes widen, feeling like they might bulge out of their sockets, and a dry lump forms in your throat, making it hard to breathe. Desperately gasping for air, you fumble for words, all while witnessing Jessi and Jimin exchanging eye rolls, and Jungkook indulging in a hearty laugh that echoes from the depths of his chest.

“No, thank you,” you sputter, attempting to regain composure while a storm of emotions swirls within.

“You're welcome anytime, babe,” he teases, winking playfully. Jessi swiftly cuts in with a dismissive wave, “Enough of that,” she declares, clearly accustomed to Jungkook's flirtatious antics.

“We're here to discuss the cattle grazing in the north-east paddock. With the grass running thin, it's time to consider relocating them. How about we join forces and move them to one of your paddocks?” She crosses her arms, her business demeanor impressing you; there's an air of determination that makes you wonder if you could learn a thing or two from her.

“Oh, already? They must be hungry,” Jungkook chuckles, his hands smeared with grease and oil as he absentmindedly wipes them on his jeans.

“We're ready to lend a hand whenever you say the word,” Jimin interjects, his straightforward demeanor becoming more apparent with each word.

“I'm aiming for next Friday, sounds good to you?” She directs her question with a warm smile at Jimin, playfully scolding Jungkook with a friendly slap on the shoulder for his playful banter as he keeps making eyes at you.

“Yes, that works for us.” Jimin responds with a smile, though it isn't directed at you, and a sense of unease settles in. Is it regret, perhaps? You entertain the idea of saying something, but the setting doesn't feel right, so you choose to stay silent.

As the true purpose of this trip dawns on you, you can't help but question Jessi's impatience, especially when she's making plans for something scheduled next week. You initially thought it was an urgent matter, leaving you wondering if impatience is a constant trait in her character.

Jessi claps her hands with genuine excitement. “Great, thank you!” With goodbyes exchanged, you both stride back to your horses, mounting up and steering them towards home.

Ara sighs in exasperation, pointing at the feed packages. “You used the wrong one again!” 

One is adorned in green with crisp white text, while the other flaunts a snowy white exterior with vibrant green letters. It shouldn't be this hard, but somehow, it manages to confuse you every time. It’s a white bag with green text! Why do you keep mixing them up?

“I’m so sorry!” Apologies spill from your lips in frustration. This marks the second time, and you scold yourself silently. How could you make the same mistake again? The weight of responsibility hangs heavy; after all, it's not just about feed but the well-being of the cattle. Grateful relief washes over you, realizing that, so far, your blunders haven't harmed the animals.

As she gathers her brown hair into a playful ponytail, she throws a suggestion your way, “How about a trip into town? We're running low on feed, and I could do with some company.”

“Sure!” Your response carries a cheerful tone as you eagerly agree, taking charge of the kitchen cleanup after Ha-rin has whipped up breakfast for the whole crew.

“Perfect, we'll head out once you’re done here.” Her words float in the air as she exits the kitchen, leaving you with the remnants of breakfast to tidy up.

As you complete the cleanup, you step into the crisp outdoors to join Ara. Soo-ah has also gathered with her, forming a trio headed towards the ranch's pick-up truck—a simple white vehicle adorned with the ranch logo. “Bora Ranch?” you muse aloud, the words escaping your lips and drawing the curious gazes of the two girls.

“Yeah, you didn’t know the name of the ranch?” Ara asks you curious.

“Honestly, I've been so immersed in learning the ropes and surviving the ranch life that I overlooked the name. But hey, now I do!” With a decisive shake of your head, you grasp the door handle, swiftly pulling it open to slide into the car. 

“Wasn’t the ranch called Bora when you were a kid?” Soo-ah inquires, turning around in the front seat to catch your response.

“Nope, can't recall what it was called back then, if anything at all,” you chuckle, settling into the car seat.

The engine purrs to life under Soo-ah's control as she expertly maneuvers the car, guiding it through the ranch's vast expanse along the winding dirt road.

The two-hour drive into town becomes a delightful journey of shared stories and laughter, weaving a stronger bond between you, Soo-ah, and Ara. In those moments, you discover the genuine sweetness that resides within both of these girls, making the passage of time feel like a fleeting friendship blossoming on the open road.

As you pull into town, the anticipation builds, and the car finds its spot next to the feedstore. Ara eagerly guides you through the intricacies of the new feed brand, making a vivid presentation to ensure there's no room for confusion between it and the previous one.

As you load the pick-up truck with feed, your gaze wanders across the quaint town. It's remarkably small, dominated by a main road adorned with a handful of establishments — the feedstore, a chic salon, a boutique showcasing fashionable attire, and a charming corner cafe. Amidst these, the bar captures your attention. Its size is impressive, boasting a spacious parking lot, and despite the midday hour, a growing lineup of cars hints at its popularity. However, what truly stands out is a black Ford Ranger, its exterior, though smeared with mud, commanding attention amidst the other vehicles.

Soo-ah and Ara catch your gaze and follow your line of sight, their eyes locking onto his car. A shared look of sympathy reflects in their eyes as they turn to you. Confusion reigns for a brief moment until your eyes lock onto Jungkook, seated outside the bar, his lips murmuring something into the ear of an eager woman. In that instant, reality crashes down on you like a ton of bricks. Their pitiful expressions make sense now—he is, without a doubt, a notorious fuckboy.

A furrow forms on your brow, a moment of fleeting confusion, but then the realization hits—you and Jungkook aren't a thing. A single night together doesn't forge a relationship. You're not staking any claim, nor do you desire to. Yet, buried in the depths, a twinge of discomfort surfaces as you witness him flirt so effortlessly.

Soo-ah's comforting words echo in your ears as her gentle pat on your back serves as a reassurance. 

“Just forget him,” she advises, and you try to let those words act as a soothing balm for the unexpected sting in your chest.

A chuckle escapes your lips, a spontaneous reaction to the absurdity of the situation. The notion of dating him had never crossed your mind, making the surge of unexpected emotions puzzling. “I will,” you affirm, determined to sweep away any lingering thoughts of Jungkook with the winds of laughter.

Ara's voice carries a weight of revelation as she completes her circle around the car, dropping a bombshell about Jungkook's romantic history. “He's never been in a relationship. It's always a quick pickup, a couple of encounters, and that's the end of it,” she discloses, leaving you to digest the surprising insight into Jungkook's love life.

Her revelation lingers in your thoughts, and as you mull it over, a resolution forms in your mind: Jungkook, with his transient affairs, aligns with the rumors. You decide to tread cautiously, steering clear of any emotional entanglements that might lead to a broken heart once more.

“Let's get out of here.” Soo-ah's words cut through the tension, and she pounds on the car to redirect your attention away from the spectacle of Jungkook's seduction. You avert your gaze, feeling a mix of relief and discomfort, and climb back into the car. 

As Soo-ah drives you away from the scene, your mind races at a million miles per hour.

You draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the impending conversation. The rhythmic thud of your heart echoes in your ears, and your fingers tremble with nervous anticipation as you traverse the hallway towards Jessi's office. The closed door looms ahead, and you muster the courage to knock, the sound echoing your internal turmoil as you await her response.

“Yes?” 

Her voice resonates with stern irritation, and the meager courage you had gathered begins to wane. Nevertheless, you persist, pushing the door open and stepping into her office. The room is dimly lit, the yellow light flickering ominously. A sense of impending darkness hovers, and you suspect the light bulb may surrender to its fate soon. Papers and clutter cover the desk and floor, creating a chaotic tapestry. Amidst the disorder, a few paintings of landscapes with gazing horses hang on the walls—childlike in their execution. 

You can't help but wonder if Jessi crafted these artistic expressions all those years ago and if, deep down, she still finds solace in the strokes of a paintbrush, much like you do.

Jessi is laser-focused on her laptop, her gaze oscillating between the glowing screen and a stack of papers nearby. It occurs to you that she might be immersed in the daunting task of managing bills, and it strikes you that this might not be the ideal moment to disturb her. Despite this realization, you've already crossed the threshold, determined to make another attempt at securing her signature.

“I was wondering if I could get your signature…” Your sentence hangs in the air, unfinished, as she abruptly turns her head to gaze at you. The movement is so swift, you half expect her to suffer whiplash. An air of anger envelops her expression, and though you can practically predict her response, you stand there, waiting for her to articulate the inevitable refusal.

“No.” The word is a sharp, decisive blade cutting through the air. She meets your gaze with a frustrated expression, sighing as if weary from the mere thought. “Look, I know you want to sell your share. But that’s just not gonna work for me.”

You exhale a frustrated breath, irritation evident in your voice. “Can't we find some middle ground or work out a solution?”

You attempt to plead your case, but she remains steadfast, refusing to entertain your appeals. It doesn't catch you off guard, but the refusal still grates on your nerves. Why can't she just sign the damn paper?

“I've already made it clear. I don't want strangers to buy my ranch,” she declares bluntly, her voice laced with venom. Your anger intensifies as you sense the injustice of the situation. You're not interested in a share of the ranch; you just want the damn money and to move on. Why can't she simply grant you that?

“Can't Soo-ah, Ha-rin, Ara, or you just buy me out?” you vent in frustration, the anger escalating within you. This isn't unfolding as you planned—yet again.

Jessi's laughter cuts through the air, a menacing tone clinging to it. “They don't have the money. And I don't have the money for that either. Don't you think I thought of that already?” she retorts, words spat out like venom, her breath quickening from the tension in the room.

“Can’t you just loan some money from the bank and buy me out?” you plead with her in frustration. She rolls her eyes at your seemingly childish behavior, “This is a ranch. The bank is not going to loan me more money. I'm already in debt there,” she retorts, a hint of exhaustion in her voice.

Your mouth falls open in shock. The intricacies of running a ranch, especially the financial aspects, had never crossed your mind before, but now it hits you that it isn't a cheap endeavor. Exhaling in frustration, you start pacing around in front of her imposing wooden desk.

“It's clear we've reached an impasse,” she declares with venom in her voice, slamming the laptop shut. As she rises from her chair, the veins in her arms become visible, pulsating with the tension in the room.

“You might as well go, because I'm not changing my mind.” She points sternly at the door, and you can feel the anger bubbling inside you, your blood reaching a boiling point.

“Why can’t you be a good sister and let me have this?”” you ask, your anger surfacing as you clench your hands at your sides, teeth biting into your lips, desperately trying to contain words that might lead to regret.

“A good sister?” She spits back in your face, her voice dripping with venom, eyes as cold as ice. “Who the fuck are you to speak about being a good sister!” Her volume rises, accusing finger pointing at you. “I haven’t heard from you in twenty fucking years! And when I invited you to mom’s funeral, you didn’t even reply or get back to me! Some ‘good sister’ you are.” She’s almost panting as she spits rapid fire from her mouth.

You feel the urge to lash out, anger filling you to the brim, but with nowhere for it to go, it erupts as tears streaming down your face. Control slips away the longer you stand here. “I know I didn’t call you or anything. And I’m really sorry about that.” Clenching your hands, you let the tears fall freely.

It doesn’t seem to faze Jessi; she just huffs in annoyance, as if your apology holds no significance for her.

“I had my own stuff to focus on…” You begin to sniffle as you reflect on the events of just a few months ago. The pain still lingers within you, causing a visible tremor to shake through your frame.

“What could be more important than the death of your mother?” She spits back at you, her eyes piercing into the depths of your soul.

“My dad died of cancer!” You yell in her face, tears streaming down, heartbeat thumping with anger. Despite your efforts to dry your tears, it's futile. You retreat from the desk, overwhelmed by memories of your ailing father—frail, immobilized, his eyes devoid of life. It's too much, and you storm out, oblivious to the sadness etched on Jessi's face as you leave.

You dash out of the house, ending up in front of a gate leading to one of the paddocks. The need to clear your head drives you to open the gate, and you start walking, still overcome with sobs. Climbing over the hill, you notice a cluster of trees in the distance. Despite the darkness enveloping the surroundings, their presence is unmistakable.

As you tread the path, the weight of your father's recent death and the distant memories of your mother resurface. The choice between their funerals wasn't made lightly. Yet, in the end, it was clear – your dad, a constant presence throughout the years, deserved your presence more than the woman who had been a stranger for two decades.

Your tears persist, an endless stream down your face. The length of your walk is uncertain, but when you glance back, the ranch appears as a mere speck on the vast horizon, a distant point in a landscape now overshadowed by the weight of your emotions.

You discover a substantial tree log and settle down, planting yourself on it. Alone amidst the expansive embrace of nature, you surrender to the waves of sorrow, allowing the vastness around you to become a silent witness to your emotional unraveling.

For what felt like an eternity, it was only you and your father. The day he took you away from the ranch, from your sister's embrace, it left your heart in shards. Despite numerous inquiries, he kept the reason veiled until the very day he drew his last breath. With a fragile whisper, he beckoned you closer, he shared in hushed tones the painful revelation behind your abrupt departure years ago. He had unearthed the heartbreaking truth that your mother had been unfaithful, a betrayal repeated countless times despite his pleas for fidelity. It was the final, unbearable straw that fractured the fragile bonds holding your family together.

Lost in the vast expanse of time, you eventually lift your gaze, captivated by the celestial display overhead. The stars twinkle in a cosmic dance, their brilliance far removed from the city's suffocating glow. The beauty of the night sky resonates with you, prompting a twinge of sorrow. This rural haven has grown on you, its tranquility a stark departure from the chaos of the city. A sense of foreboding creeps in as the prospect of returning to the city looms, leaving you conflicted and uneasy.

Torn between the serene allure of the countryside and the harsh reality of unresolved issues, you grapple with conflicting emotions. The idyllic surroundings clash with the palpable tension between you and Jessi. Her apparent disdain and refusal to facilitate the sale of your share leave you caught in a tumultuous predicament, akin to being trapped between a rock and a hard place.

The symphony of crickets reverberates in the bushes, and as the chilly air seeps into your bones, a decision crystallizes within you – it's time to reluctantly return to the ranch.

“Get up you fool!” Jessi's voice pierces through your dreams as she yanks the covers off your still-drowsy form. Startled, you jolt upright, rubbing the remnants of sleep from your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You mumble through a yawn, not quite fully awakened to handle your sister's early morning energy. Your eyes, still puffy from the tears shed yesterday, bear witness to the emotional turmoil that led you to cry yourself to sleep. You had purposely avoided any conversation with Jessi upon your return, convinced that the words exchanged would only add more weight to the heavy air lingering between you two.

“The cattle are loose!” 

Her urgent cry jolts you awake, prompting a hasty scramble to throw clothes over your drowsy form. “Get up and help!” The command echoes through the house, accompanied by the chaotic symphony of hurried footsteps. The urgency compels you to leap out of bed, hastily pulling on the jeans Jessi tossed your way, followed by a shirt and your sneakers in rapid succession. The echo of multiple footsteps thundering through the house only intensifies the sense of impending chaos.

You dash outside to find a bustling scene in the yard—cattle meandering at a leisurely pace, a few grazing on the lawn, and mischief-makers having ventured into the vegetable garden, creating a lively and chaotic spectacle.

Under Jessi's brisk command, you, along with Soo-ah, Ha-rin, and Ara, embark on the mission to corral the wayward cows and guide them back to the paddock. The endeavor unfolds as a symphony of teamwork, with shouts and laughter echoing through the air. It's an hour of spirited effort before the last stray bovine is safely enclosed within the fence, the collective achievement ringing with a sense of accomplishment.

Jessi forcefully shuts the gate, her exasperated exhale slicing through the tension in the air. “Who left the damn gate open?” 

Her gaze sweeps across the group, sharp and accusatory. The realization hits you like a bolt – yesterday's walk. Anxiety gnaws at you as her eyes narrow, pinpointing your guilt. 

“Fucking useless,” she mutters, striding away with an air of frustration, leaving a lingering sense of failure in her wake.

Ara, Soo-ah, and Ha-rin surround you, their words a comforting chorus dispelling the air of failure. 

“Anyone could have slipped up; it was just a simple mistake,” they assure you, attempting to soothe the lingering tension. With their encouragement, the weight of the mishap eases, replaced by a collective understanding that, in the end, all the cattle were safely corralled back in.

A gnawing sense of inadequacy settles in your chest, a relentless reminder of perceived shortcomings. It's not just about the occasional missteps—whether in riding, feed, or even a simple tire change. Or the way you seem to get on your sister’s nerves everyday. Each incident, a haunting echo of ineptitude, leaves you questioning your worth in this environment. perhaps you're the one who's out of place here, incapable of getting anything right. The thought of returning home starts to linger, a tempting escape from a seemingly never-ending string of blunders.

Despite pouring your feelings of inadequacy to the girls, their reassurances haven't managed to erase the heavy weight on your shoulders. The elusive signature from Jessi seems like a distant dream, and the strained relationship with her intensifies your desire to leave. 

Yet, when the girls invited you to the local town bar before your departure, you agreed. It's a farewell tinged with uncertainty, a bittersweet blend of camaraderie and the looming decision to walk away from the ranch.

As you rummage through the clothes in the guest room, seeking the perfect outfit for the evening, Ha-rin's advice echoes in your mind – nothing too fancy, just a simple shirt and jeans. 

Yet, your hands, tangled in the fabric of uncertainty, grapple with the realization that the perfect shirt is elusive. Did you run out, or is it merely camouflaged within the folds of your wardrobe, playing a coy game of hide-and-seek?

As the realization dawns that your entire collection of shirts is held hostage in the laundry's cleansing embrace, a dilemma unfolds before you. 

The prospect of trudging to the distant cottages to borrow a shirt from the girls seems an arduous task. Instead, a mischievous thought tiptoes into your mind – borrowing a shirt from Jessi. It's just a shirt, a fleeting thought whispers, and she probably wouldn't even notice, right?

Stepping away from the chaos of your disheveled room, you ascend the staircase, guided by the thought of borrowing a shirt from Jessi. With the certainty of her absence, you boldly push open the door to her room, revealing a sanctuary of simplicity. The regal expanse of the king-sized bed commands attention, accompanied by sparse embellishments – a poignant photograph capturing Jessi with your mom and her loyal companion, Cinnamon. A modest dresser stands sentinel next to the door, holding its silent vigil over the room.

With a hesitant curiosity, you breach the privacy of Jessi's dresser, a repository of her sartorial choices. 

Rows of jeans, shirts, and blouses reveal a spectrum dominated by natural and earthy hues – an insight into her affinity for the subtle tones of nature. A twinge of guilt flickers within you, acknowledging the intimacy and impropriety of this clandestine exploration. Despite the internal conflict, your quest for the perfect t-shirt propels you deeper into the folds of her wardrobe.

As your fingers graze the various textures, you're captivated by the softness that beckons your touch. A distinctive fabric captures your attention, and you pull out a grunge-inspired t-shirt—its black canvas adorned with shades of gray, embellished by the iconic AC/DC logo. A chuckle escapes you, a silent agreement with your choice. 

Closing the dresser door behind you, you return to your room, adorned in the rebellious elegance of your discovery, finalizing your look with a touch of light makeup.

You slide into a zip hoodie, a borrowed shield from Jessi's collection, the fabric embracing you in warmth against the crisp night air. Stepping out to the pickup, you find the girls patiently waiting, and even Jessi stands there but she doesn’t spare you a look.

You settle into the car, the engine's hum creating a rhythmic melody as Ha-rin skillfully navigates the night roads. The world outside blurs in shades of darkness, dirt dancing against the windows like fleeting shadows. Ha-rin has cranked up the heat, prompting you to unzip your hoodie.

As the car inches closer to town in the dimness, you feel the proximity of civilization, and just then, Soo-ah interjects, snapping you out of your contemplation, “Who's taking the wheel on our way back?”

A collective gaze circulates among you, and you break the silence, declaring, “I'll take the wheel. I don't plan on indulging much tonight, anyway.” 

As Jessi turns her gaze toward you from the passenger's seat, her eyes lock onto the fabric hugging your frame – a subtle frown etching across her features. “Is that my shirt?” she questions, the tone a blend of curiosity and a hint of something else.

“Yeah, is it okay—,” you begin, but she cuts you off with a scoff. “Take it off,” she demands, leaving you staring at her in disbelief. Surely, she can't be serious!

“All my shirts are in the laundry. I hoped it was okay…” you mope, a pout forming on your face as you cross your arms. The prospect of having to take it off leaves you in a momentary dilemma.

“Well, you didn't ask if you could wear it. So, take. It. Off. Now,” she punctuates sternly, leaving you gaping in disbelief.

“What am I going to wear at the bar then?” you question her with genuine worry. “I can't walk in there without anything on, for heaven's sake!”

“You're wearing a bra, right?” She asks, matter-of-factly, and you nod in confirmation.

“Then you're fine. You won't be the first to walk around in a bra in that place.” Your mouth falls open. You can't believe what you're hearing, and the realization that you're about to walk around there half-naked sinks in.

“I won't take it off,” you huff, crossing your arms tighter around your body, defiance etched across your face.

“If you don't take it off yourself, I'll pull it off you when we arrive,” she threatens, her tone stern and ominous. A nervous trickle of sweat trails down your back; you know your sister well enough now to recognize the determination in her voice. If you don't shed the garment now, she'll simply rip it off you, and with a bigger audience, no less.

“No thank you.” With a sigh, you peel the hoodie off, followed by the t-shirt, leaving you momentarily exposed. Just as you're about to tug the hoodie back over your torso, relishing the thought of having at least that to cover yourself, Jessi interrupts with a deadpan stare.

“That’s my hoodie too, isn’t it?” Her voice, stern and eyes shooting daggers at your skin, catches you off guard. Damn, she noticed that too. It seems you can’t get anything past her watchful gaze.

Reluctantly, you surrender both the t-shirt and the hoodie. A frown etches itself across your face. Here you are, left with nothing on your upper body except for a simple blue bra.

Gratitude tinges her voice as she accepts the returned clothing with a simple, “Thank you.”

You wear a pouty expression, sulking in silence, as the rest of the car bursts into laughter at the spectacle of your misfortune.

As Ha-rin effortlessly maneuvers the car into the bar's parking lot, you all disembark, greeted by a chilly breeze that sends shivers down your spine. Eagerly, you rush toward the entrance, craving the warmth that lies within.

Soo-ah swings open the door, ushering everyone into the bar, and immediately, the inviting warmth envelops your skin. The crowded room turns heads, eyes fixating on your unconventional attire. Whistles from a few men pierce the air, including Jungkook, causing a tinge of discomfort, but with determination, you forge ahead, blending into the lively atmosphere with your group.

Jessi guides you to a table occupied by the Park brothers and two other captivating men. The allure emanating from the group leaves you wondering – why does everyone here seem irresistibly attractive?

Jungkook whistles once more, his laughter echoing through the bar. “Did you lose a bet or something?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes, unfazed by Jungkook's comment, though you catch Jimin stealing a glance at your breasts. The attention makes you feel exposed, but with a hiss, you stride forward, the amused chuckles from the other girls trailing behind you. Soo-ah takes charge, heading to the bar to order drinks and offering a brief respite from the sea of eyes fixated on you.

“Well. Someone doesn’t share clothes. Apparently.” You remark with a hint of spite, directing your gaze at Jessi. She remains unfazed, nonchalantly pulling out a chair beside one of the unfamiliar men. The air thickens with tension, your words hanging in the atmosphere like a challenge.

You settle into the chair, and Soo-ah returns with a round of beers for everyone. Then, a realization dawns on her. “You haven't met Hoseok and Yoongi, have you?” she says, a spark of excitement in her eyes as she introduces you to the two unfamiliar faces at the table.

As you shake your head, laughter escaping your lips, Yoongi and Hoseok extend their hands in a friendly greeting. Introducing themselves as the reliable stable hands for Jungkook and Jimin, their warm smiles put you at ease in the lively atmosphere of the bar.

Yoongi, with his silver hair, wears an expression that hints at a perpetual lack of sleep, his tired eyes meeting yours. Clad in a simple black shirt, he offers a gentle smile while nursing his beer. On the other hand, Hoseok radiates energy, his bright smile beaming at you. His soft brown hair frames his face, falling effortlessly as he strategically averts his gaze from your bra.

You seize the beer Soo-ah passes you, savoring the first sip as the effervescent bubbles dance on your tongue. It's your one indulgence, a calculated choice, knowing you'll be the designated driver on the way back.

Hoseok's infectious chuckle accompanies his question, “How do you find ranch life?” You hesitate, torn between the weight of your struggles and the desire to keep the atmosphere light.

Opting for the lighter choice, you respond with a smile, “It’s exciting.”

But even as the words leave your lips, you recognize the mask in your tone. Hoseok, however, doesn't press for more information; he simply smiles back at you, leaving the unspoken conversation hanging in the air.

You catch Jimin staring at you again, and a subtle shiver of uneasiness trails down your spine. The intensity in his gaze leaves you questioning: Why does he keep fixating on you like that?

“Aren’t you cold?” A sudden chill envelops the air as Jimin turns his attention to you, his question hanging in the quiet intensity of the moment. Uncertain why, a shiver dances down your spine as his eyes lock onto yours. You bite your lip, offering a nonchalant shrug in response.

With a confident grin, Jungkook peels his shirt off, instantly attracting glances from a few ladies at a nearby table. “Here. You can have my shirt,” he declares, flexing his muscles proudly. Eye rolls ensue, both from Jimin and the rest of the table. Nevertheless, you accept the offered shirt with gratitude, navigating the amusing spectacle with a polite thank you.

You slip into Jungkook's shirt, instantly feeling a wave of comfort and security wash over you. It smells musky, like him.

Grinning, Yoongi playfully smacks Jungkook's chiseled chest, remarking, “Well, look who's playing the gentleman.” 

Nonchalantly, Jungkook quips, “Easier to pick up the ladies like this, anyway,” as his laughter echoes through the bar. While he scans the crowd for his next conquest, you remain indifferent, content just to have a shirt on.

Jungkook's attention quickly shifts as he spots an intriguing woman across the bar, prompting him to rise from the table and saunter over to her, leaving your group behind.

While Yoongi and Hoseok engage in conversation with Soo-ah and Ha-rin about a plan to play pool, they eventually depart, leaving you, Ara, Jimin, and Jessi to hold down the fort at the table.

Her eyes plead with you as she asks, “Is it okay if I head up to the bar? I spotted some of my friends there. I know we were supposed to have fun together, but…” The appeal is directed more towards you than Jessi, and you nod in understanding. The rest of your group has already scattered, so you don't mind her branching out.

Jessi takes a deliberate sip of her beer, her eyes scanning the crowded bar. “Actually, I see someone I need to talk to too.” With a firm grip on her beer, she strides away, leaving you alone with Jimin amidst the lively atmosphere of the bar.

You offer him a tentative smile, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. In response, he mirrors the gesture, raising his beer to his lips with a hint of intrigue.

The atmosphere feels tense, and it hits you that you haven't had a proper conversation with him since the incident at the barn party. Unsettled by the lingering tension, you take the initiative to break the ice. Nervously turning the beer between your fingers, you offer, “I'm sorry if I did something wrong.”

Jimin's eyes meet yours, a gentle intensity in his gaze, and he nods, encouraging you to continue.

In a hushed tone, you admit, “I'm sorry I slept with you brother…” His reaction is immediate, a visible flinch, and suddenly the pieces of the tension between you fall into place.

“Why apologize for that?” he questions, sipping his beer with a curious glint in his eyes.

“It just seems like you're angry with me... or something,” 

He observes, his eyes penetrating yours. You look away, unable to meet the intensity in those brown orbs that seem to be searching for something, and you're not sure if you're ready to confront whatever it is.

“Look,” he starts, leaning over the table, “I'm not really angry. Maybe I'm disappointed?” It's unclear if it's a question or a statement, but you choose to lean in, meeting his bold gaze head-on.

“You are, of course, allowed to sleep with whoever you want to. It's just... it's always him.” The words sound gritty, leaving his mouth with a hint of anger. Not directed at you, though. There's a sibling rivalry in his voice, a trace of jealousy that you can't ignore.

A realization hits you like a lightning bolt – is he jealous? Jealous of his own brother?

“All women are drawn to him. He's always fucking around. Not that I'm saying I want to be like that, but sometimes, it would be nice to feel noticed, you know?” His eyes carry a touch of sadness, and you offer him a sympathetic smile. It's evident this bothers him, and you're at a loss for words to comfort him.

As you wonder why he doesn't feel noticed—after all, the man is undeniably attractive—your comforting words hover on the tip of your tongue. Just as you're about to speak, he lets out a deep exhale, as if releasing pent-up emotions.

“You know… When I saw you that day in the kitchen after all those years,” He begins to say as he leans back into the chair, absently scratches his head, a gesture that hints at a blend of frustration and contemplation.

An awkward chuckle escapes him, his upper body swaying with a mix of nerves and genuine amusement. “I never thought I would see you again when you and your father left,” he admits, his laughter carrying the weight of unexpected reunions.

He fidgets with his beer, a bashful admission lingering in the air. “Did you know,” he confesses, “I had a crush on you when we were kids?” A nervous gulp follows, as if drowning the remnants of an old, unspoken secret.

The revelation hits you like a sudden storm. You had no idea. Is this the underlying reason for his jealousy?

You gaze at him with a soft intensity, a hint of nervousness in your own eyes. “I had no idea,” you confess, unraveling another layer of the complex emotions between you.

“I'm truly sorry,” you utter once more, the sincerity echoing in your voice. The unexpected entanglement with his brother wasn't part of any plan, and you hadn't anticipated him witnessing the intimate moment.

“It's fine,” he chuckles, though the sincerity in his tone remains uncertain. The curiosity nags at you, urging you to delve deeper into the past: Does he still harbor that childhood crush?

“Do you want another beer?” he queries, noting the emptiness of his bottle. You decline with a shake of your head, stating, “No, thank you. I'm the designated driver.” He comprehends, lifting himself from the chair to make his way to the bar. Returning with a fresh beer, he resettles in front of you.

“So, what's your honest take on this place?” he inquires with a chuckle, clearly aware that your response to Hoseok's previous question may not have been entirely truthful.

You release a sigh of frustration, sinking back into the chair. “It's tough. I seem to get on Jessi's nerves constantly, and I manage to mess up everything,” you admit, earning a chuckle from him at your candidness.

“Years have passed since you were last here. Getting back into the groove will take time, and she should understand that,” he remarks, sipping his beer. His gaze softens, and you find reassurance in his words. Talking to him feels comforting, and the strange tension that lingered before has dissipated.

Inhaling deeply, you confess, “I've been considering heading back home. It just feels like I mess everything up…”

Jimin dismisses your thoughts with a fervent shake of his head, “No, no, you shouldn't give up. Please, give it some more time.”

A contemplative smile tugs at your lips as you ponder Jimin's words, uncertain whether to heed his advice and give it more time. You're caught in the crossroads of uncertainty, lacking a solid reason to stay, yet finding a growing appreciation for the vast open spaces and the embrace of nature that surrounds you on the ranch.

A nostalgic warmth envelops the conversation as Jimin recalls a shared childhood memory. “Do you remember when we were kids and Jessi took your favorite bunny and hid it?” His laughter echoes through the reminiscence, and a vivid image of the past floods back to you. 

“Yeah! You helped me find it,” you respond, a genuine smile playing on your lips. The memory resurfaces, the two of you embarking on a bunny-rescue mission for hours, Jessi withholding the secret of its hiding place. A chuckle escapes you as the camaraderie of that moment echoes in the present.

“Jessi was so mean,” you chuckle, a playful glint in your eyes, “still is,” you add, the laughter intensifying as the enduring nature of her mischief becomes a source of amusement.

Engaging in conversation with Jimin feels remarkably effortless. The dialogue unfolds organically, and you find yourself wondering why you hesitated to talk to him sooner. It seems foolish now, realizing there was no need to be afraid of facing him.

“That she is.” He joins in the laughter, and you catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked teeth. 

As you take a moment to study him again, really taking him in this time, you notice the fullness of his lips, the endearing crinkle of his eyes when he laughs, and the way he uses his hands to cover his laughter. He looks good—no, more than that, he's attractive. His sweetness, reminiscent of the kid you remember from years ago, now magnified in the man before you. Doubt creeps in, and you begin to wonder if sleeping with Jungkook was a colossal mistake.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[thegridgoddess]

Prove It | Charles Leclerc Pt. 8

One Shot | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x fem!wolff!driver oc

Summary: Charles has a new teammate, but just because she's pretty doesn't mean he's gonna make things easy for her.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, angsty Charles, slow burn till it hits you in the face. Piningggg. George Russell best friend and ultimate mom energy, Lando Norris sibling energy, Pierre Gasly is the worst in this ngl, and Toto Wolff sucks here (not a good dad!). Also did I mention the angst? Remember that this is all purely fictional.

A/N: I have been waiting to write this chapter foreverrrr and I think it's my favorite one yet... Also, ended up throwing another pairing in there, but let me know what you guys think🤭

Word Count: 5.4k

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He won.

Riley could have kissed him. The way he lit up, beaming, pumping a victorious fist in the air as he exited the car. The way it seemed, even time bent to his will, slowing to stop as she took him in. The champagne droplets fell around him like fresh summer rain, soaking his hair even more than the sweat of 78 laps in Monaco–his home race. The sight was too much for her. Charles finally did it. He won his home race, fulfilling a long-awaited dream of his, and Riley was placated with the fact she could be near him as a teammate, if nothing more. 

Lando got lucky today, stealing her third-place spot only because the stewards got nitpicky, handing out five-second penalties like they were Oprah tossing out car keys. Still, she couldn’t be happier for Charles. She just wished she could show it better. 

They still hadn’t talked things out after what went down in Miami, but all things considered, Riley wouldn’t even know what to say. Hey, about that drunk kiss… yes, I’m dating your best friend, but also, I know you’re in love with me? It didn’t sound like the start of a very promising conversation to her either.

Despite all that awkward tension in the air, he still hugged her as soon as he hopped out of the car. He didn’t hesitate to envelop her in a hug–albeit a sweaty and rushed one, yes, but a hug nonetheless. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in deeply before he was instantly pulled in a hundred different directions by other Ferrari crew members. Needless to say, he didn’t hug any of them. He threw her a sheepish smile as he got dragged away in the frenzy.

It’s just the excitement, she told herself, nothing more. It was pointless to think about it anyway. She was with Pierre and blah blah blah, a million reasons why she shouldn’t be with Charles, why she shouldn’t act on the information she heard. Yes, it was his friend she was with, for starters, but also the fact that Charles hadn’t been the one to divulge his feelings to her. Until she hears the words coming from his mouth, they might as well not have been real at all. Love, what was he thinking? It was ridiculous to even conceive the notion, so if Charles was really in love with her, he would have to prove it.

She was lost in thought until a hand wound up on her shoulder, bringing her back into the moment. She assumed it might have been her boyfriend, but she turned around instead to find her best friend standing before her.

“That must have been rough,” he said, an apologetic smile on his lips.

“What? I’m fine,” she dismissed, but it was useless. George could see right through her on the best of days. This was no different.

“Sure you are,” he indulged her.

“I should probably talk to him about it at some point, I’m aware, but not now,” she sighed, her eyes following Charles on his victory tour around the paddock. “He deserves this moment without my melodrama to ruin it.” She nodded to herself, reassured she was doing the right thing by speaking her thoughts out loud.

“I could have been talking about your race, you know? You made this about Charles. I’m just saying.” He brought his hands up in a no-offense kind of way. “Either way, are you still coming to celebrate with us tonight?”

Riley let loose another sigh. “I can’t. I’m supposed to meet Pierre tonight.”

George rolled his eyes, ever against the Frenchman. “You can’t just ditch him this one time? Lando doesn’t just get a podium every day.”

“No, I can’t just ditch him this one time. I’ve already been blowing him off to be with you two since we landed here because you guys can’t mind your own business.” Then to add the icing on the cake, “You remember when you and Lando dabbled in breaking and entering?”

“Hey, it’s not ‘breaking’ if you gave me a spare key,” Lando says, materializing. “Just entering,” he says more thoughtfully as if this distinction matters.

“Yeah, in case of emergencies because you’re the only person I know in this stupid country,” Riley said tight-lipped, arms crossed.

“Oh well, that’s just completely false,” another voice chimed in behind Riley. His voice was silky smooth despite the amount of cheering and shouting he must have done. That adorable accent would always give him away. “You know me,” Charles said cheerfully. “And my country is not stupid,” he added.

It helped that everyone laughed. It meant that Riley didn’t actually have to come up with a serious response to that comment. At least not here. Not right now, in front of her closest friends and just about most of the online world–not that she wouldn’t put it past Lando to curate the rumors regardless of who was around.

She searched for a way out of the conversational group. She didn’t want to stand next to Charles and pretend they were fine when things were not in any way fine between them. She spotted salvation in the form of Pierre Gasly, her boyfriend. Perfect.

“Gotta go. Need to talk to Pierre about something,” she said while already speeding away. She turned over her shoulder and added a wink for good measure. Totally normal behavior from someone who was totally fine.

Pierre must have been deep in thought because he didn’t notice her coming until she stopped right in front of him. His surprise softened into a smile with her presence, and he greeted her with a deep kiss.

“They seem to be doing well,” Charles smiled wistfully. It was apparent that George and Lando didn’t share the same mindset as they were staring daggers at Pierre’s back. Charles was glad that Riley had people that really cared about her. He could live without Riley considering him one of them as long as she was happy. “But you both can let her know that she doesn’t need to worry about anything. I’ve thought about it, and I decided we should just let things go and go back to the way things used to be. We don’t even have to talk at all if that would make her more comfortable. I’d tell her myself, but I feel like she’ll just run away again.”

“What?!” Lando and George exclaim at the same time.

“You can’t do that!” Lando cried out. “What if she’s in l–” 

George slapped a hand over Lando’s mouth before he could do any damage. Lando tried mumbling against George’s hand, but George had learned his lesson with Lando the last time he allowed him freedom of speech.

“What Lando means to say is, you can’t do that!” George realized his outburst and blanched at his unexpected response, feeling faintly embarrassed to have lashed out at Charles in the same way as Lando. Was he feeling alright? To Charles’ credit, he didn’t even react to George, that placated look still lingering on his face. George cleared his throat, trying to regain some dignity. “I mean, have you tried telling her how you feel? Because I think you should really try talking to her.”

“There’s no point. If she’s happy with Pierre, then I’m not going to stand in the way of that. Pierre told me they’re taking things seriously, so I won’t mess with that. And there’s nothing more to say about it besides that.” At that point, George felt a slimy wetness against his hand and dropped it instantly, forgetting why it was necessary to be held there in the first place. He made a sound of disgust and wiped his hand on his racing suit.

“But what about your feelings?” Lando asked fervently. 

“It’s Riley’s feelings that matter, not mine,” Charles answered calmly.

“But how do you know she doesn’t feel the same if you don’t talk to her?” George continued, not caring that he was stooping to Lando’s level of meddling.

“If she felt the same way, she wouldn’t be with Pierre.” Charles sighed ruefully as if he fully resigned himself to the situation and the reality he was forced to come to. There was no other way.

Lando and George started a series of half sentences they couldn’t continue out of respect for Riley, but there was more each of them wanted to say about the matter. The fact of it was that it just wasn’t their place, and it couldn’t be helped.

“Ugh! Fine,” George finally said, dragging Lando away by the arm. “I still don’t understand why I chose to surround myself with children,” he muttered to himself.

“Because you care about us, for one,” Lando answered as if it was a question George was actually proposing.

“Don’t start with me,” he said. The look he gave Lando was enough to shut him up as they left Charles behind to more crowds of celebration. “If they’re gonna figure this thing out, it’s gonna happen regardless of what we think is best. You got that, Lando?” 

George didn’t actually wait for a response to that. He knew the other boy well enough. But much to his surprise, Lando groaned in agreement. 

Charles and Riley were just gonna have to work this thing out for themselves, if at all. No outside help, however well-meaning. The only question about it now was as to how Lando and George would fill the time.

_____________________________________________________________

Charles was on a high like never before. He was downright cheery despite his resolve to let Riley go. This win was special, and nothing could change that. If anything, the fact that he won today only strengthened his resolve. He was certainly on the right track, and this was a sign.

Not much else could bring him down, except possibly for Toto Wolff obstructing his path.

“Charles, I would like to speak with you,” he said without hesitation. The permanent smile on Charles’ face faltered as he thought about how this was Riley’s father, the man who abandoned and ignored her for years. He did not want to speak with the man any more than she did.

Toto caught his face falling and dropped his similarly. All pretenses of politeness fell away just the same. “Look, I don’t know what she’s told you, but it doesn’t matter–not in the face of your future,” he said with a finger pointed in the air.

“My future?” Charles repeated bewilderedly. Anyone could see them having this conversation here. The paddock wasn’t the most private place to be having this conversation. Toto had to be really assured of himself to be lacking all subtlety.

“Yes, the future you could have here at Mercedes if you keep this up. Nothing is final, of course, you know how these deals work. But I can say that Lewis will have to retire eventually, and it would be a shame not to have that seat filled by someone of your talent.”

Charles scoffed, taking Toto aback. “Talent? You wouldn’t know talent if it hit you over the head. And I know this because it did.” Charles shook his head in disbelief. “Riley is a talented driver. And an even better person at that, but you wouldn’t know about that, would you? You don’t have a shred of the kindness, humor, and ingenuity that she has, so why would I waste my time with you?” Charles didn’t wait for a response as he walked past Toto, checking him. 

Somehow, that cheery attitude found him once again, and a smile returned to its rightful place on his face. He was looking forward to the rest of the day. Despite his win, he didn’t really want to do anything in celebration. He wouldn’t be going out anywhere with anyone–not that it had ever been his thing. Finally, he has some time to focus on himself and maybe begin to let go of his feelings for Riley. Because what was the point in celebrating if he couldn’t even do it with the person he wanted to the most?

It was just a little past 11 PM when he saw the headlines, and he jumped in his car well before his phone even had the chance to ring. So much for staying in tonight.

_____________________________________________________________

For once, Riley did not feel like going out. There was a first time for everything, but she didn’t think there would ever be a first time for this. Maybe it was because she didn’t actually win today and had no reason to be celebrating, or maybe it was because these stupid heels were already killing her. It felt like her foot was going to be stuck in that permanent arch if she didn’t take them off soon enough. And she was certain that if the black satin material of her dress kept riding up, she was going to kill someone.

The building itself was gorgeous, of course. Everyone knew that the Casino de Monte-Carlo was a sight to see, with its marble architecture and columns along every wall. The number of chandeliers lighting each room made Riley wonder how much the casino spent on electricity alone. Then again, the cost of the paintings probably wouldn’t pale in the face of that insane number. The space was filled with the gentle cacophony of games happening all around.

Riley wasn’t sure what she was meant to do here, but Pierre wanted to come so she would indulge him. They had actually been having a rather good time together as of late. Before today’s race, they had stupid conversations that made Riley laugh while Pierre rolled his eyes and just hung out like normal people would. It was simple between them, and that was nice—no headaches required. 

She texted him of her arrival and waited for him to come find her.

People were mingling all around her, looking effortlessly classy in a way that made Riley feel out of place, even in her nicest black satin dress. Though she knew her friends weren’t there, she kept scanning the room, holding out hope for a friendly face.

She almost wished she already had a drink in her hands so that she would at least have something to do with them. She hated having to stand around awkwardly, fidgeting with her hands. Finally, she pulled out her phone to text George and Lando, but her messages sat there on delivered. This meant they were probably getting absolutely plastered somewhere. It almost concerned her since she didn’t know anyone else who could be with them to look after them, and George certainly wasn’t the reckless type to be partying without someone declared to stay sober. She hoped wherever they were, they were being safe but still having a good time–not like she was while waiting for her boyfriend to turn up.

She stared at the small screen, willing something to happen, anything at all. It had been almost ten minutes, and nothing. Originally, she and Pierre were supposed to arrive together, as they agreed earlier in the day, but he had changed his mind after the race, saying he’d rather wait for Riley at the casino. He didn’t give a reason for his change of mind, but Riley didn’t really mind. This way, she could get ready in peace without him hounding her to get going. And even still, the night was still young.

She almost started taking a turn around the room to find Pierre when a grating voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Well, if it isn’t Riley Wolff,” Lance Stroll drawled out, walking up to her with Esteban Ocon following closely behind. “Wouldn’t expect to see you here.”

She had avoided Stroll for so long in the hopes of distancing herself from any nepo-baby allegations, but it seemed it couldn’t be helped at this moment. He hadn’t taken kindly to being blown off regularly, and she always paid for it on the road with him. Despite this, she was glad to see people she recognized, albeit if they weren’t the friendliest. It’s not that she had anything against Ocon, but they hadn’t spoken much, and as far as she knew, Ocon had some rivalry going with her boyfriend. Needless to say, the universe couldn’t have picked worse people to walk up to her.

“Stroll,” she said in acknowledgment with a nod. “Ocon,” she turned to him as well. Ocon had the decency to nod back respectably so, but Stroll remained impassive with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. There was no point in picking anything with them, so she just let it go, moving to walk away.

“We were just talking to Pierre by the bar over there if you’re looking for him,” Stroll said innocently. It was unsettling, but Riley wouldn’t give him the time of day. She just had to find her boyfriend, and then everything would be fine.

“Thanks…” she said warily and stepped away from them toward the bar. She threw a look back over her shoulder only to see the boys were still watching her with something akin to fascination. She quickened her step.

It didn’t take her long to spot Pierre–only, he had a hand on another girl’s upper arm, and she held a blush on her cheeks and wonder in her eyes. He was unsteady on his feet, eyes half-lidded, clearly drunk. He reached up to the girl’s loose blonde ponytail and began playing with it nonchalantly.

“...love to see them sometime,” she heard Pierre say as she neared. The girl giggled and reached out to hand her phone to him in turn. Riley promptly stepped in between them, the phone falling to the ground with a clack as it was knocked out of the blonde girl’s hands. She scoffed at Riley’s intrusion, obviously unaware of who she was.

“What the fuck,” she said, dead staring Pierre’s cloudy green eyes. 

“Riley!” Pierre said, failing to school his shock into excitement and stumbling over a bit. He latched onto her for support, but she shook him off. “You were supposed to text me when you got here.” As he patted the pockets of his suit, he noted the total absence of his phone. Explanation dawned on him in the form of a cackling Stroll, keeled over ten feet away with Ocon waving a phone in the air as if to say looking for this?

It gave Riley all the confirmation she needed as to what was going on right there. She should have known better.

He tried changing his tune. “Shit. Riley, I’m sorry–”

“Save it,” She spat out, suddenly not caring about what everyone else thought around her. “I’m leaving. Come find when you’re sober and ready to talk like an adult instead of getting trashed.” 

He didn’t say anything to that. Riley just didn’t understand why? What made him act out this way? They were doing so well, she thought.

The blonde girl tapped her on the shoulder, and Riley almost bit her head off until she realized she was just trying to get to her phone, which was lodged directly under Riley’s heel. She felt a little bad–it wasn’t the girl’s fault Pierre made poor decisions, but the glare in the girl’s eyes quickly made her change her mind about that. Not innocent then, I suppose.

Riley lifted her foot off the girl’s phone and stormed away, rage fueling her senses. She was not five steps away when she heard Pierre say, “Don’t worry about it. She’s one to talk–but what can you expect from a spoiled girl with daddy issues.” 

Riley had never turned around so fast in her life, nor had she ever clocked anyone square in the face. But this was exactly what she did as she whirled around and lined up her fist to meet Pierre’s nose. “Ah!” He cried out in pain, blood pouring from his now disfigured nose. Several shocked gasps were coming from the crowd around them. Multiple games came to a halt, and the murmuring started a half-second later.

Oh, and it felt good–for all of two seconds until her knuckles started hurting from the pain of colliding with Pierre’s bones and skull. This time, she couldn’t have walked away even if she wanted to, as two arms seized her on each side, forcibly pulling her away. Security.

Riley would be more embarrassed if it wasn’t for Pierre being dragged away as well; somehow, that made her feel better. All of the journalists, podcasters, and influencers were going to be having a field day with this one, to say the least. 

_____________________________________________________________

Apparently, casinos had detainment rooms for this kind of thing, in the same way, that you might get held at a grocery store for shoplifting until the police arrive. Lucky for them, the management at the casino decided they didn’t want to get the police involved. Not only would it be bad press for them, but Riley and Pierre just so happened to be considered high-profile guests in a country where everyone was a multi-millionaire–so that meant something.

It also probably had to do with the fact that neither of them had done anything illegal to harm the casino, like cheating. So they were getting off easy. All they were asked to do was have somebody there to escort them, and they would be allowed to leave the premises–no press or cops involved.

Regrettably, Riley only had a short list of people to call, and none of them would pick up the damn phone. Just what the hell were George and Lando up to? 

She was left with no choice but to leave Charles a voicemail and hope that he would see it sometime soon.

“Hey, it’s me. Um– I need a favor from you,” she cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable begging Charles for help. “I’m in a bit of trouble right now, and well, you’re the only other person I trust in this country, as we established,” she chuckled awkwardly even though Charles wasn’t actually on the phone with her. “Anyway, if you could please come pick me up I would really appreciate that. Uh– just open Instagram or something, and you’ll know where to look.”

She left the message at that, not knowing what else to say.

“You have some nerve,” Pierre piped up from his side of the room. There was only one detainment room in the casino (Riley supposed it had something to do with fist fights being more uncommon amongst those who thought themselves classy), and this meant that security had handcuffed Riley to the bench on one side of the small room, and Pierre on the other. There was also a tiny camera in the corner surveilling them. “Calling my best friend to pick you up after you hit me.”

He was given a ziplock bag of ice for his wound, and he held it up with his free hand. Riley didn’t have the satisfaction of seeing him cry out in pain once again as he was taken elsewhere in the casino to have the bone reset. The blood was dry on the stubble above his lip, just as it was dry on her knuckles. She was also given ice for her wound, but it was awkward to apply with her good hand being cuffed, so she quickly gave up on it.

Riley clicked her tongue. “Well, my teammate can decide whether or not that punch was justified when he gets here. It was warranted,” she gave a hmph. What the fuck had gotten into Pierre? They were just fine before this.

Then again, now that she thought about it, he did try to shake her off rather quickly after she caught up with him after the race. She had assumed he was tired, but clearly, it was something more.

Pierre tilted his head all the way back in cacophonous laughter as if Riley had made the joke of the century. “He’s not coming, Riley,” an air of finality rang in the words. “Even if you two are screwing around behind my back–”

“Whoa- what the hell?!” Riley raised her eyebrows at him. She wanted to throw her arms up too, but the move wasn’t as effective with only one of her arms free.

“--he couldn’t come even if he wanted to,” Pierre finished.

“We’re not ‘screwing around behind your back.’ All right?” Riley clarified. For all she thought of Charles, she hadn’t made a move on him at all since she and Pierre decided to go steady. At the very least, she couldn’t be accused of that.

Pierre gave a little scoff and rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. He’s clearly into you. More than into you, even.”

“What does that matter? I chose you,” Riley made sure to emphasize that last word.

“But you didn’t. Not really,” he said more quietly. “I’ve seen the way you look at him and god–have you heard the way he talks about you?” There was pain in his voice. “You may have agreed to date me, Riley, but you never chose me. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Riley was stunned into silence as Pierre continued, “I liked you first, Riley. For the first time in my life, I was nervous around a girl, and I didn’t know what to do with you. How was I supposed to show you I wanted more without messing it all up? I’m not exactly known for being great at relationships.” His eyes were trained on the floor. “And when I was finally getting round to telling you everything, I realized it was pointless. Because he liked you. Why bother trying when I could see you were already inclined to pick him either way.”

“You don’t know that,” Riley shook her head incredulously. It was hard to describe how she was feeling at the moment. She was still mad at him, of course, but something about the severity of his voice at that moment made her turn in on herself.

“Except I do know that because it’s been this way forever. My whole life, Charles has taken everything I’ve done and done it better. I made it to F1 before him with a decent team, and I thought to myself, wow, I actually did something better than him for once. Only for Charles to come in the following year and just be so goddamned perfect as always that he gets a seat at a front-field team like it’s nothing.”

“So you have poor self-esteem issues when it comes to Charles,” Riley said, “that still doesn’t explain what you think happened between us or why you couldn’t just talk to me,” She gave a light shrug with her shoulder and wrapped one arm around herself in comfort.

“I tried to pretend like it didn’t matter to me, okay? Like I didn’t want you the way I did. I even lied to Charles about it, thinking that it would help me believe it, but it didn’t.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to surprise you that night in Miami and make things official in a special way. I was always going to come back for you. I didn’t imagine George would have left you and that you would end up inviting Charles back to your room.”

Riley sucked in a sharp breath at that. She had certainly been drinking that night, but she remembered the situation all too well. The way she wanted to just let everything go to hell if she could just have Charles for one night.

“I was coming back, and he didn’t even notice me on his way to the bar.” Did everyone see Charles that morning? Riley held back the question, but she almost began to wonder if she was the only one who didn’t understand Charles was in love with her then. All things considered, it was likely. “I could see his emotions written all over his face, and it pissed me off. Just for once, I wanted to have something of my own. Just for once, I wanted to be selfish. That’s when I decided to be selfish with you anyway, despite knowing how he felt about you and how you felt about him. It wasn’t enough in the end, of course. And before you say anything, Riley, it is so obvious that you’re in love with him. It was painful to see you two together today, and I had to pretend like you were still mine.”

Riley wanted to be shocked at the insinuation, but she couldn’t, not when this was what everyone was telling her. Her. Charles. Love. It just all fit together like a puzzle she didn’t know she was building. How could that be? It was just yesterday that Charles was her rude teammate who she couldn’t figure out. Now, she wanted him in a way that could only really be translated as a need. 

That reminded her. “What did you mean when you said that Charles couldn’t come here even if he wanted to?”

Pierre gave a small grin, and she was sure it had to do with her lack of rebuttal against his claims. He was right, and he didn’t need to be told, but it was all the confirmation he needed.

“Charles is a Monegasque citizen,” he said plainly.

“Yes, I happen to be aware of that fact, thank you very much,” Riley replied snarkily, her patience growing thin with this tiresome turn of events.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he pulled a tight line with his lips. “He’s a Monegasque citizen; therefore, he cannot enter the casino. They’re not allowed to gamble.”

“What? That’s ridiculous,” she dismissed. The more she thought of the metal bench under her, the more uncomfortable it grew. She needed to leave. Her dress and heels were already enough of a discomfort.

“It’s true. It’s the law,” Pierre continued, sitting up straighter with not a hint of humor in his voice. He was serious. “Government didn’t want all its citizens to spend all their money here. They’re not just checking IDs for age at the door, Riley. They’re checking for proof of overseas residency.” He waved a hand pragmatically. “Charles would be arrested if he did find a way in, and it’s not as if every person in this country doesn’t know his face either–it’s his home, and he’s famous.”

“Shit.” She hung her head a bit. Charles was already a last resort for her. What was she gonna do without him? “And where are my friends?” She muttered to herself.

Pierre must have heard her because he said, “You mean George and Lando?” He pressed further when Riley gave a nod. “Well–” he stopped himself, chuckling a bit, “I always had the impression that Lando was gay. And George always did enjoy taking care of him too much. If I had to guess, they’re probably ahem together, right now, if you know what I mean.”

Riley's jaw dropped to the floor, only giving Pierre cause for further laughter. This couldn’t be true. There was no way she was so wrapped up in her own life that she could have missed her two best friends getting together or even remotely liking each other in that fashion. 

But she had been rather focused on other things as of late… And all they ever talked about were her relationship issues… Wait, except that one time she was talking to Lando, and he mentioned that nothing happened with a girl he was talking with. But Lando should have already known that eating McDonald’s in a hotel room wasn’t a great date idea because it was something he did with Riley all the time as friends. Then it dawned on her. He was never trying in the first place! Oh my god, they are together!

Riley was lost deep in this thought when keys began to jangle outside the door. One of the security guards came through, but Riley was barely in this reality–astounded still by this revelation. She almost didn’t register the words coming out of the guard’s mouth.

“Riley Wolff, there’s someone here for you. You’re free to go.”

_____________________________________________________________

A/N: For those who are curious, this is actually a real law if you can believe it or not. Learning about it kind of inspired this whole fic, so I suggest looking it up if you want to know more :)

As always, let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to be added to the taglist for all future chapters! I really enjoy reading all your comments!!

Taglist: @leclercwifey @hihiroc511-blog @omnesmorimur3 @siovhanroy @charlesswife @chilifanacc @satanfinalgirl @nikolaisblog @91vhs @dr3lover @onlyonetifosi @chiliwhore @nataliambc @livster @celine-xox @mrsmaybank13 @peachiicherries @purplephantomwolf @leclerc13 @deepestkpoponanime @moonclaine

[besttropeveershowdown]

The Worst Trope Ever Showdown: Round 1, Side B

Always Chaotic Evil

A whole race/culture within the setting who are just evil for the sake of being evil.

Propaganda:

Racist as fuck!

From a narrative standpoint, it does limit storytelling and opportunities for character development. On another level, it’s riddled with dodgy implications when played straight (ie certain cultures/races/ethnicities are purely and inherently evil with maybe one or two exceptions and anything the “good races” do to them is justified or just doesn’t matter). Given how frequently speculative fiction (you know, Sci Fi, Fantasy and Horror) is used to mirror or comment on the real world, this gets a lot uglier and more horrifying for too many reasons to go into here. Look, when Dungeons and Dragons are moving away from this sort of thing and even JRR Tolkien (the father of modern fantasy) thought that trope was distasteful and regretted not showing more sympathetic aspects/members of the orcs in the text, it’s safe to say that this is a bad trope.

making an entire fantasy race all pure evil w zero nuance is just...hmmm

Plot Twist

A sudden, unexpected development in the plot.

Propaganda:

obviously can be well done but…. game of thrones

[fiercestpurpose]

We've been having a conversation in my science fiction class about science fiction as allegory, and I've been thinking a lot about it as both metaphor and not-metaphor.

So, in Doctor Who, the Doctor regenerates. This is very clearly a metaphor for a normal human experience: "We all change, when you think about it. We're all different people all through our lives. And that's okay, that's good, you've got to keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be." This is also very clearly an alien experience to which none of us can relate. There is no human equivalent to having your entire body rewritten in every cell, becoming a new but same person with a new but same personality, and retaining all of your memories of someone you no longer are. Like. It's weird! Regeneration has to function as both metaphor and not metaphor at the same time, and a lot of its power as a narrative device comes from that flexibility.

My other example is mutants in X-Men (because X-Men and Doctor Who are the only two science fiction works to ever exist <3). The mutant metaphor is a long-standing part of the X-Men story, from God Loves, Man Kills to the cartoons to the movies. Mutation is a metaphor for difference; they talk about workplace discrimination, about government surveillance of mutants, about screening for mutant genes in utero. It has always been and will always be in part a metaphor. It is also a category that is extremely unlike any existing category. Some mutants are inherently a serious threat, some mutants are genuinely horrifying and disgusting, some mutants defy long-established notions of what it means to be a "person." And stories about the X-Men have to grapple with that as well as with the metaphor. Treating it purely as a metaphor misses the point, treating it as not at all a metaphor misses the point, you have to understand it as both at once.