#purposes that they do not fully understand and yet they stride on' and 'YOU are G-D!' type of way. they may then act as a guide but that

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

pets are angels, but not like that !

[gurrenwrites]

Jada's Smile- A Short Story

Synopsis: When climate change and civil war ravage the United States, who gets blamed?

Day 12

"You seen Parasite?"

"No, why?"

"That movie haunts me to this day."

"Damn, it's really that scary?"

"In a way, yes, but not in the way you'd expect."

"We'll have to watch it once this is all said and done."

"Yeah, for sure."

The waves pounded against the edge of the creaky, wooden dock. The ocean was getting increasingly relentless as the sun etched its way lower and lower into the sky. The waning of the sun almost made it feel heavier in my pocket, its weight fluctuating and pulsating with each stride.

With each passing minute of agonizing, conversational lull, its mass grew and grew. Suddenly I found myself limping, struggling to carry its weight with just my right leg alone. Biting my lip, I maintained my stride to the best of my ability, careful not to hint at my struggle.

But Jada knew; she always knew. She looked at me with that stinging concern.

"You ok, Jack?"

"Yeah, of course."

"You don't seem ok."

"Well I am, trust me."

Another surge of growth; another wince.

"Alright guys," she stopped, turning to face our two companions. "We really should find a place to rest for the night."

"And get some food, right? I'm fuckin starving!" Dad smiled with excitement, bringing his wheelchair to a halt.

"I just gave you a granola bar two hours ago!" Amber clocked dad on the back of his head.

"One for me, four for you, right?" Dad chuckled, poking at her admittedly large stomach.

"Bastard," she sighed, unable to hide her smirk.

I still didn't fully understand why Amber chose to travel with us in the first place. Sure, Dad really had no other choice but to come; after all, he couldn't survive without me as his caretaker. Amber, on the other hand, was a fully capable woman in her 40s, not a legless veteran. She still had a whole Walmart to run, even without me as her top employee. But whether it be out of loyalty to me, a lust for adventure, or simply being a good person, she insisted on joining us until Jada was safe for good.

"Look, I know a nice hotel about a mile up ahead. I used to go there with my parents as a kid. The price is a bit steep, but they do free food for guests. What do you say we see if we can get a room?" Jada asked.

"Sounds good to me, I ain't broke just yet!" Dad excitedly wheeled ahead of us.

In agreement, we continued our stroll.

I instinctively reached down for my left pocket, clawing for a cellphone that I knew was no longer there. It's so easy for our brains to form routine, to take the luxuries of modern life for granted. If it were just a few years earlier, I would have been able to call ahead and make sure the hotel had a room before we trekked all the way over there. But the war had a funny way of taking things we were used to and chucking them into a dumpster fire.

The sunset had blossomed into a magnificent orgy of orange and violet. The waves crashed with increasing ferocity below, water beginning to leak up onto the dock's surface.

"Hey Jada?" I winced over pain from my adjacent pocket.

"What's up?"

"We're gonna make sure you're safe, I promise."

A glistening, white smile slid across her ebony skin. That smile was my purpose. That smile made it all worth it.

Day 36

Jada and I sat among the sisters as the sunrise leaked in through the pristine, glass windows compiling the lounge's walls. With no watch or phone, I couldn't really tell what time it was. But given the sun's position on the ocean's horizon, it was early enough for Amber and Dad to still be fast asleep in our room. For me on the other hand, sleep was a luxury that my mind simply wouldn't allow. Jada was no stranger to this insomnia either. I think guilt kept her awake at night; I can always feel it flaring up in my pocket as the night etches deeper and deeper into inky darkness.

"So young man, what brings you to our monastery?" the oldest of the nuns asked, breaking my train of thought.

They kindly took us in so late at night, I almost forgot they hadn't questioned our purpose before sending us off to shower and sleep. I looked at Jada, who nodded in approval. This meant I could choose between one of three pre-rehearsed cover stories. I strategically selected the one that would get us the most value out of these nuns.

"Her," I gently patted Jada on the back.

"You see, she was separated from her parents when the war hit New York, and ended up displaced down here in the south. We're traveling north to find her parents, which is very difficult without phones or the internet."

"Ah my poor things! What a nasty thing that war; we tried to stay out of it to the best of our abilities," the sister assured. "After all, the church must remain neutral in all conflicts."

"Though we all really know who's to blame here," another sister chimed in.

She sat legs crossed with a smug smile, middle aged, blonde, with a reddened complexion.

"Those nasty witches! Without them, none of this nonsense would have ever begun in the first place," a third sister, with graying, raven-black hair confirmed.

Anger bubbled inside my chest.

"I really don't think that's true. Witches, if you insist on calling them that, are just misunderstood, that's all. You can't blame the object dependent for years of our irresponsibility when they didn't even exist yet."

"Are you seriously defending those vile monsters?" the black-haired nun sneered.

Jada gripped my hand. It began to flare in my pocket as her nervousness grew, sending spasms of pain shooting down my leg.

The blonde sister huffed and smacked the arm of her chair, "I swear to our heavenly father, if I see one of those godforsaken degenerates, I'll kill her myself!"

"Amen," all the sisters chimed in in unison.

"Wow, such a beautiful morning!" Amber suddenly strolled in, wheeling a yawning Dad before her. "We should spend some time relaxing on the beach before the water gets too rowdy."

"We were actually just about to get going, weren't we Jack?" Jada shot up from her chair, yanking me up with her.

"But why wouldn't we stay just a few more hours? We have all day to walk," Amber said.

"You really gonna argue with her, Jack? She always gets what she wants," Dad chuckled, taking a sip of coffee from an ancient-looking mug.

"We have to get going Amber, we're on a schedule," I gritted my teeth.

Still, she failed to pick up on my que, gazing at Jada and I with complete cluelessness. She would get it soon enough. My leg was on fire; I couldn't keep my pain hidden any longer. A golden glow burst from my pocket, illuminating the room with a yellow tinge.

The oldest sister sprang up from her armchair with startling ferocity for a woman of her age.

"A familiar!," she pointed with a shriek.

Jada broke free from my hand, and turned to me.

"Run!"

Day 1,012

The smog was unbearably thick this morning, if it was still morning that is. It was hard to tell this close to a facility. Amber, Jada, and I trudged through the jungle of mutated dunegrass, barely able to see just a few feet ahead of us. We would not have been able to make it any further if we still had to push dad around.

I found myself stopping. My pocket wasn't any heavier than the usual, constant heft, but the weight in my chest was paralyzing.

As if reading my mind, Jada placed her arm around my shoulder.

"We have to keep moving; this is dangerous territory."

"I know, I know."

"I can hold it if you want me to. It's easier for me to carry; you know that."

"We can't; it's too risky to keep you together. You know that as well as I do."

"Give it to me then; stop being so stubborn," Amber reached out with the annoyed compassion that used to bug the hell out of me during our Walmart days. But those days were long gone; Amber wasn't my supervisor anymore.

"NO," I barked, immediately regretting my tone.

This took both of them aback; they gently stepped away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just... it's just..."

Before I could finish, I felt the warmth of Jada's arms surround me, immediately followed by Amber's from the other side.

"Think about how far we've come," Jada said. "We can't stop now, we have to keep moving forward."

"It's what your dad would have wanted," Amber added.

I stood up, breaking off from my companions.

"You're right; we have to keep going!" I turned to Jada, "we'll find you somewhere safe in no time, I promise."

The rustling pierced my ears before I could continue on.

Instinctually, I leapt on top of Jada, knocking her to the ground, covering her entire body with mine. Before she even had time to ask what was going on, a small group of soldiers crashed through the brush toting massive, monstrous guns, pointing their long barrels directly at us.

"You three! Who are you? What are you doing on facility grounds?"

Amber confidently slid in front of us; her cover story ready to go.

"We're so sorry sir. You see, I'm trying to get my niece and nephew to New York City, they got separated from their family during the war and..."

"Very funny. You know as well as I do that Manhattan is underwater."

My heart sunk. It wasn't our true destination, but it was our cover for so long that it almost felt true, like an artificial goal. Now even the waves had taken that from us.

"We... we didn't know that actually. We don't really get much news when traveling like this."

"Can I see your identification?" another soldier stepped forward.

Suddenly my pocket spasmed, sending me shooting off of Jada. She was clearly in a panic.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here," the first soldier chuckled. "If it isn't the infamous Wicked Witch of the East herself. You really think you could hide from us with that hair, that scar? You're wanted everywhere; nowhere's safe for you."

My pocket strained, beginning to tear; it was the heaviest I ever felt it since I met her.

"You're coming with us," the second pointed his gun in our faces.

Grabbing Jada's hand, I attempted to burst into a sprint. It was fruitless; she was ripped apart from me near-instantly.

"Jack, Amber, run! Run as far away as you can! I'll be fine! I promise! GO!" she struggled in the arms of her captors.

My pocket burst open, sending it smashing onto the ground below.

The relief on my leg was unexplainable, but the weight on my chest was ever present. I was paralyzed with fear.

"GET THAT GUY AND GET THAT THING, NOW!" the soldier holding Jada screamed.

"I'll be fine, I promise," Jada smiled.

The smile shattered my heart and reformed it over and over again in an agonizing loop. My only goal was to keep her safe, keep that smile safe, and I failed.

"You haven't failed yet."

Suddenly my adrenaline came back in full force. I hoisted it from the ground, turned to Amber, and we ran.

"I swear I'll stay nearby; I'll keep it close until we find a way to get you out of there! I won't let you die! I'll keep you safe; I promise!" I screamed as we sped past the soldiers and deeper into the grass.

It withered down to its normal size as my shouts echoed back to Jada.

Day 3,650

The heat beat down upon me with sizzling ferocity. Wiping the globs of sweat from my unruly, greying beard, I continued to push the wheelchair across the abandoned road. Soon the heat would be too high, and the water too scarce to push on, but we'd worry about that when it comes. That's how we made it this long after all.

Chunks of the shattered boardwalk sat submerged in blue, relentlessly bobbing in the roaring waves. The blue monsters etched closer and closer, gnawing away at the edge of the street. But the road was only so thin, and traversing the ruins of the hotel strip to our right wouldn't be possible with Jada's condition.

She sat contently, happily humming along with a tune only she could hear. I needed to get her water fast. But the waves were too close; I couldn't leave her here while I explored the ruins for the narrow chance that some half-drunk bottles lay in the rubble.

It sat nearly weightless in my pocket, the smallest it had ever been. Just one wrong move and it would shatter into a million pieces. I couldn't take any more risks if I wanted to keep her safe, if I wanted to see that smile again.

"Hey Jada?"

"Yeah?" she turned up

"You seen Parasite?"

"No, why?"

"That movie haunts me to this day."

[uwezo-learning]

A Detailed Look Into The Process of Career Counseling

The pool of various career options has greatly evolved over time. Considering the recent developments in the market, it has become essential to make a decision about your professional profile after careful consideration. Hence, to ensure the right decision is made, the best career counselling becomes necessary. 

And to assure one knows and understands career counseling well, this blog is written. For a closer and more in-depth look into career counseling, keep reading the blog. 

Understanding the Essence of Career Counseling 

The sole purpose of career counseling is to help individuals guide the path of picking their careers by assessing their interests, skills, values, personality traits, and a lot of other factors. 

Apart from this, career counseling acts as a motivational supporter and a tool aiding one in being self-aware of their true interests, hence allowing them to land on a well-thought-out yet highly self-aware decision aligned best to their strengths and aspirations. 

Key Components of Career Counseling 

Since career counseling is a fully fledged process, it has a few essential components added to the procedure, and some of them are as mentioned below. 

1. Self-Assessment: 

The first thing a career counselor does is help one identify their honest interests, skills, values, and more by guiding them through the path of self-assessment. And it is an essential thing to do as it allows one to be more self-aware of their needs, strengths, and preferences. 

2. Goal Setting: 

Thereafter, once a person knows what they actually want and what interests them the most, the next thing a career counselor does is help them set a goal or maybe a few options. But, on the other hand, they ensure that they are realistic at the same time. 

The process of setting a goal involves considering long-term aspirations, short-term objectives, and the steps required to reach these goals. 

3. Exploration of Career Options: 

Apart from the helpful steps discussed above, a career counselor also offers a candidate multiple career options to consider. Hence, we are helping them explore the various career choices they have. 

4. Education and Training Guidance: 

A career counselor is also responsible for equipping you with the necessary information. We are offering you various training plans to add to your resume. Most of all, they also groom you for interviews, including basic etiquette and many other things employers notice apart from skills and knowledge. 

5. Skill Development: 

Identifying skill gaps and facilitating skill development is a crucial aspect of career counselling. Counsellors offer guidance on acquiring new skills or improving existing ones to enhance employability in the chosen field.

The Best Career Counseling in Hyderabad 

If you are in Hyderabad, one of the country's metropolitan areas, known for its rapidly developing real estate and its IT boom, you are in luck. The city has multiple options for accessing the best career counselling.

One notable career counselling service in Hyderabad is renowned for its commitment to understanding individual needs and providing actionable insights. With a team of experienced counsellors, this service has earned a reputation for guiding individuals towards fulfilling and successful careers.

Conclusion

It is safe to say that wanting the best career guidance is not a bad choice at all, and without any doubt, one should opt for it if they are confused about which career to pursue. 

The availability of the best career counselling services in Hyderabad ensures that individuals navigating their career paths receive expert guidance tailored to the city's dynamic job market. Embracing career counselling is an investment in one's future success, and with the right guidance, individuals can confidently stride towards a fulfilling and prosperous career.

[sonofdorn-vii]

VII

The Seventh Primarch couldn't sleep. Not that any of them really SLEPT like ordinary men, but he was restless. Rogal Dorn had been part of the Great Crusade for almost a year, after meeting his real father for the first time. It had been a time of change, difficult and challenging. He'd lead men for decades and understood the nature of leadership. But this was different. Thousands of soldiers, all genetically altered to be like him, to have a single spark of the raging inferno of his potential inside them. All needing leadership, guidance. All looking at him with... awe. Even on his own ship, the mighty Phalanx, he couldn't escape the feeling of obligation, of all of them waiting for him to DO something.

It was the early hours of the morning, and wandering his ship in an effort to quiet his mind, Dorn turned randomly at corridor intersections and down grand promenades. Since declaring Phalanx to be the home of his Legion, the gargantuan ship was never fully quiet, never completely empty, even in the small hours of the night. His bodyguard kept their distance, giving him his space, allowing him to breathe. Turning a corner, Dorn's enhanced hearing heard a low buzzing coming from a closed hatch up ahead. The hatch lead to the apothecarion in this section. As he approached, the hatch opened and a Legionary exited, wearing plain dark blue fatigues and heavy laced boots identical to Dorn's own. Seeing the primarch, the Legionary's eyes widened slightly and he leapt to attention, saluting with his fist over his primary heart. Pausing slightly, Dorn returned the salute, and indicated the Legionary should go on his way. Approaching the hatch, it sensed his genecode and irised open. Dorn entered, the light inside bright white compared to the dim approximation of 'night' in the rest of the ship. On the far side of the chamber, collecting together chrome tools including inky needles, was a large man. Big by astartes standards, his clothing was identical to the primarch, except for the pristine white lab coat over the top, and the pale surgical gloves he began peeling off. The fingertips were black like the needles he'd collected in a counterseptic bath. Hearing the Seventh primarch enter, he looked up and sprang to attention. 'Sire, I-...'

Dorn held up a hand.

'You were...tattooing...the man who just left.' He could smell the ink and blood in the air, beneath the scent of cleaning compounds.

The apothecary said nothing.

'I have made my feelings on such things clear Apothecary Fane.'

The apothecary stiffened. That the primarch knew his NAME...

'I have decreed such unnecessary ostentation to be outlawed in my Legion...Yet here you are.'

Dorn traversed the length of the chamber, his long stride eating up the distance between them slowly. The room was low-ceilinged and clad in rectangular tiles of bare steel, scrubbed clean. Surgical bays off to either side were in darkness, and the room contained twenty four identically made beds, twelve on either side, none occupied.

'Do my men think themselves savages of Fenris or the scum gangs of Cthonia to be decorating their bodies in this manner?' Dorn's voice was low and dangerous. 'Speak freely apothecary, tell me why you've chosen to disobey my order. Don't lie... I'll know.'

'Sire, I would never lie to you,' said Fane blushing slightly, 'I'm not sure I actually could.'

Dorn said nothing, his gaze unwaving, his disappointment threatening to tip into rage.

'Then speak, Fane. Now.'

'I understand that I am working against your wishes sire, as does every man who visits me for this purpose, ' Fane began. 'The tattoos are a...symbol sire. A way of showing commitment to the Legion, to the Emperor, to you.' The apothecary sighed slightly. 'Every single man who wears the Imperial gold of the Legion will die in service to you, sire. They will never see their homes or their families again. They know this, as do you. They are choosing that fate, that certainty, to be part of something greater."

The apothecary shifted slightly as Dorn crossed his enormous arms over his chest.

'Our Legion draws it's men from many different places, unlike the legions that recruit from a single world. Terra, Inwit, a half dozen other planets so far. The men of our Legion all look different, they all sound different, have different backgrounds and beliefs. The inkwork you so distain is a way of them... homogenising. Of declaring an allegiance to the single thing that ties them all together... which is you.'

Dorn looked taken aback suddenly, as the apothecary continued.

'YOUR blood sire, is the only thing that they, that WE, all have in common.'

Dorn's eyes softened slightly.

'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,' quoted Fane, ' the allegiance we CHOOSE is more important than where we came from.'

Dorn looked away, conflicted for the first time.

Fane said nothing, seconds passed.

Eventually, Dorn returned his gaze to the apothecary, 'Its not vanity,' he said. A statement, not a question.

'No sire. The majority of the men I have marked have something simple; the Legion numerals, a squad number. Our bodies would reject the ink, push it out. Except if we mix the ink with the blood of a brother first' Confessed Fane, 'Some have more complex designs of course, requiring multiple sessions. But not many. Your Legion is prideful sire, but pride and vanity aren't necessarily the same thing.'

Dorn considered this for a long moment. A creeping realisation dawning that had eluded him for almost a year. He was PROUD of his Legion already, the men under his command were exemplary soldiers. But he'd never told them. He'd never shown them anything other than the cold decisive side of command, because he saw them AS soldiers; nothing more. He hadn't considered how they viewed him, that they might have an opinion. He realised suddenly that was a mistake, they needed leadership, but not like any men he'd lead before. They weren't his soldiers, they were his sons. Could this oversight, this OBVIOUS misstep on his part, be the reason for his discontent?

Apothecary Fane was correct, all of his men were from different places; had different lives and ideas and thoughts. They were choosing to be together, choosing to belong. He hadn't realised at all, he hadn't CHOSEN anything. The men under his command deserved better, they deserved a leader who was one of them.

Dorn approached Fane, and placed a huge hand on the apothecary's shoulder.

'Thank you my son,' he said. 'You have shown me an...error... for which I will ever be in your debt.'

Fane was too astonished to respond, merely looked into his primarch's grey eyes, the colour of an approaching storm. The primarch smiled.

'I have something to ask of you, if I may.'

When he returned to his quarters sometime later, Dorn experienced his most complete rest in many months. Fane had used his own blood, at the Primarch's insistence, to mix the ink for a new tattoo. The first, but not the last. Simple, but heavy with importance; the Legion numerals now marked the skin of the Seventh Primarch's right shoulder.

[mythomagically-delicious]

Okay so in a better world au ford and fiddleford created the Institute and made up, right? What happened to stan?

The point of that first post about "the twist" was this: what if Stan and Ford switched bodies and stans was sent into the portal with ford inside, and Stan in Ford's body remained behind. Stan immediately tries everything to turn it back on, to no avail. He went thru hundreds of papers and notes trying to understand ANYTHING and he got some general idea that ford had had a research partner out here who knew things- knew ford, knew the portal, he could help!

Stan in Ford's body races to town instead of staying isolated in the cabin for four weeks, and finds fiddleford. Fiddleford looks confused and stranger than the notes suggested but it matches up. He begs fiddleford to help him, and despite the falling out fiddleford has enough fondness for his old friend remaining that he is swayed. He doesn't get his full mind erased by the society bc he isn't abandoned fully and left wandering the town to be targeted by blind Ivan in his power grab.

Fiddleford and Stan (in Ford's body) go back to the shack and stan starts to take him to the basement when fidds starts freaking out, yelling and crying about the world-shattering consequences. About the things he saw, rhe demon, and more. Stan calms him down, takes him back upstairs. He's frustrated to high heaven and back but he knows he could never do this alone.

(He hasn't told fiddleford who he really is. Yet. He will, he just needs some help first. Who would help a loser like stan? But ford has a friend, he can be ford for a little bit to work the angle and get his brother back.)

It takes time. Way too much time, for Stan, but fiddleford slowly recovers enough of his sanity and calms his nerves enough to go down to the basement and not freak out. Stan admits to anything fiddleford asks him about, anything he saw from Ford's notes and makes it convincing that he's asking for a second chance. Maybe they could rebuild it, better? Without demon assistance?

Fiddleford helps tear it to shreds. They mark every part as they dismantle it and fiddleford searches for the reasons it opened a portal to nightmares. He doesn't follow schematics blindly, any more, no more blind trust to his friend. But he does help. Stan is learning on the job. He isn't convincing in the slightest of being a genius but fiddleford is too frazzled to notice. He's got his own shit going on.

They tear it down. Stan is afraid and angry and desperate but he holds his shit together. Fiddleford regains more of himself as they go. Stan learns more about ford and fiddlefords time together as fiddleford recovers memories and tells them to Stan. Stan makes his own notes, of how to Be Stanford Pines.

In time, they get to a stable place of living in the shack together, Stan trying to learn as much as he can about this science shit, pretending he was hit by the memory gun into forgetting himself when fiddleford questions it. Fidds is afraid to go confront the society, and can't remember where they are anyway. Stan doesn't care about it as long as his cover isn't blown. He hasn't told fiddleford yet. He will! But not yet.

They begin to plan a new, stable trans-dimensional vortex. It takes a whole hell of a lot, but they slowly build it anew. Still in the cursed basement, not even a skeleton of the old machine left after they destroyed it the first time.

Stan is flying less by the seat of his pants. Taking a leaf from Ford's book and staying up to radically terrible hours of the night studying and trying to understand all the science and math shit to make this work, to keep stringing fiddleford into helping him. Fidds takes time for his own projects and Stan doesn't bug him about it, saying if it makes money to split it, and when fiddleford hits a big invention that also happens to patent well and spread? They use the money to help their new portal.

It takes ten years to do it, but they recreate the portal, this time to a place they can control thru careful calibration. Fiddleford writes a scientific paper about it, publishes it with ford as a co-author, and they get international renown. Stan knows how to work a crowd and he uses their leverage to get people invested in investing, so to speak. It's not cheap to fund the energy required to turn it on, so they expand the building and create the Institute of Oddology, given enough time and building and circumstances lining up just right.

Fiddleford runs the teams and the day to day stuff. Stan handles finances and resource allocation and scheduling tours, interested parties, rivals, anything business side. He and fiddleford go to the first stable dimension together , though, and Stan uses all of the science gizmos at their disposal to search for ford while they're there.

He doesn't find him. He still hasn't told fiddleford. Its been too long at this point, right? What if he takes the money and fame and everything and kicks Stan out for lying? He mostly rode fiddlefords genius to get here, there's no way he'd not be mad about this.

They go to many dimensions. Stan takes samples and learns scientific process thru osmosis over the years and contributes to publishibg written works to the greater scientific community.

He looks for Ford. He finds nothing. He tells no one his true purpose for everything he's achieved to that point. He lies and wears Ford's face and shakes hands and is a sham.

One day Fiddleford races to his office, frantic and eyes wide and hands shaking slightly like Stan hasnt seen in years. It's been 30 years since ford was lost to the portal. And fiddleford comes to him and says there's a parallel you, Stanford, in conference room B, we need to send him on his way immediately, you remember what happened to Ernie on that trip 8 years back?

And Stan ignores this, heart pounding, and knocks fiddleford out, locking him in the office, racing to conference room B.

He bursts in, and sees a version of his brother. One he doesnt see in the mirror. A real Stanford Pines, 30 years older than the kids they were when they fought beside the portal. Apparently no universe is fair, if ford ends up inside in multiple dimensions.

Stan is speechless. The portal!ford is on the defensive, but interest is clear in his face. He keeps his distance, cognizant of parallel!fiddlefords warning from before. Of counterparts meeting in a dimension of origin. Annihilation.

Stan cries. Ford looks shocked to see his own self in such a state. He doesn't know what to do. Stan surges forward for a hug and Ford tries to dodge, afraid of the consequences. Stan traps his hands to his sides and sobs on Ford's mysterious black coat, calling him brother. Ford's inner alarm bells go off even as he clenches his eyes shut against the incoming total destruction.

When nothing happens except for a wet patch to grow on Ford's clothes, he opens his eyes and studies himself. They look scarily similar, truth be told. His counterpart heartier than he, an interdimensional fugitive. That makes sense. Parallel ford is apologizing into his jacket and clutching him hard enough to leave bruises.

Ford dodges out of the grapple his counterpart has him in. He demands answers in a clipped tone. Stan does his best to reign it back in as he confesses what transpired in this dimension to this dimension traveling ford. How he hopes his own brother, trapped in stans body, is still out there, still surviving, still where Stan can find him.

Ford starts a fight. Stan defends himself but it gets physical and he doesn't have the same instincts to take down he did when he was younger. He remembers the last fight he had with his brother, and doesn't want that to happen again.

Fiddleford eventually gets free of the office and runs in to see parallel ford beating the shit out of his ford. He stuns ford with a device on his belt and brings things back to some semblance of order, getting a first aid kit out to tend to them both. P!Ford's knuckles, mainly, and stans face.

The truth comes out, ugly and stained and fiddleford forgives Stan immediately. He turns to parallel ford and helps him out of the room, promising help with his weapon and more, later.

Stan is left with the knowledge that all these years later, no matter what he does, his brother hates him.

Fiddleford helps ford with his weapon. If ford can destroy bill cipher, more dimensions will open up to be explored. If his and stans ford is still alive out there, they'll have a better shot if Bill is out of the picture. They send parallel!ford off a few days later. Fiddleford goes to Stan that night and calls him by a name that hasn't been spoken in 30 years. Stan can barely look at him. Fiddleford gives him time and space, but tells him he understands.

A month and a half later, a ripple is felt thru thousands of dimensions at once, the death of Bill cipher in every iteration is making its way thru the multiverse. Celebrations are happening as people cheer and laud thr name of the one who saved them, spread in a cosmic understanding by some greater power. Stanley Pines, shatterer of Bill Cipher.

4 years later, they find Ford. Ford in Stans body is old, ragged. He's missing an eye and an arm and so much more of who he used to be. But they bring him home. He doesn't want to switch bodies back.

Stan feels guilt eat at him, but ford is different than the other traveler they'd met. He's more settled. He thanks Stan for finding him. Doesn't blame him for how long it took. Didn't think he'd be come for anyway.

It's strange and rocky but slowly strides are made to bridge the gap of decades and become people they want to be, again. Brothers, friends, explorers. They never body swap again, but they settle into themselves and own who they are.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Lena blinks from her stare. Her mother doesn't take her eyes from young Lena, not even when Lena begins to close the distance between them.

"This... isn't real."

"Isn't it?" Elizabeth returns. Her head tilts. "Perhaps it is as real as you want it to be."

Lena scrunches her eyebrows together. "That doesn't make sense. But nothing has, lately. Why should you?"

Her mother smiles then, her eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. "You sound like your father."

Just like that, the air freezes in Lena's lungs. The warmth of the sun fades away, and her body stiffens, suddenly tense.

"Don't say that," Lena says, her voice strangled, almost a plea. "Don't you say that."

Elizabeth turns to face her, finally. "Why shouldn't I? You're as much his as you are mine."

"No." Lena denies it, shaking her head. Tears burn at her eyes. "No, I'm not, I-- I don't want to be anything like him, not after what he's done--"

"Lionel could be cold, at times," Elizabeth admits, taking Lena's hands in hers. "But he loved us as much as he could. And he offered you a home when I could not."

Lena jerks her hands away with a scoff. "He didn't love me. He-- he watched me grow into your spitting image and never once told me the truth about who you were to him. Who *I* was. He never told me! He died letting me believe that I was adopted! I sat there on his deathbed, and--"

Cutting herself off, Lena begins to pace. Her hands tremble, until she clasps them to make them still.

"I am NOT like him. I reject every part of him that is in me."

"Then you reject the very essence of who you are." Elizabeth stills her by meeting Lena on the return face, cupping her cheeks with both hands. "Florence tells me you have discovered your gift."

Lena rolls her eyes. "Not that I've actually managed to do anything with it--"

"Magic--" Elizabeth pressed on, "is the ability to exert our will on the physical world. In that sense, it is not all that different from what you did before you learned magic exists."

Lena huffs hopelessly. "I don't understand--"

"Hush." Elizabeth taps her finger to Lena's cheek. "You cannot change who or what you are: you can only choose what to do with what you've been given. YOU choose what effect you have on the world around you."

With a sigh, Lena closes her eyes. She'd believed that once-- before she lost her way, devastated by the grief of losing Kara's friendship; before Lex had rewritten the world erase every stride she'd made without him. She leans into her mother's touch.

"It doesn't feel like it'll ever end," she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut against threatening tears.

"Is that why you hold back? Because you feel it is futile?"

"It is futile!" Lena's eyes snap open. "I killed my brother and for what? For him to be resurrected and placed on top of the world he always wanted for himself?"

Lena swallows thickly. She had removed herself from Lex's reach out of desperation, in a hopeful bid that it would keep her out of sight, out of mind. But here she was, still tied in knots over him. She wasn't free of him. Not yet.

"Perhaps it simply means your fight does not end with his death." Elizabeth smiles upon her daughter. "Perhaps your fight is not with him at all."

Staring at her mother, Lena blinks. Before she can respond, her younger self comes pelting up the hill, a ragged stuffed rabbit hooked under her arm. "Mommy, mommy!"

Elizabeth pulls away from Lena to scoop the child into her arms. Though Lena still struggles to understand, she can sense that her mother has fulfilled her purpose. She can feel Elizabeth moving away, though she stands still in the grass, her young daughter propped on one hip.

"Wait!" Lena says suddenly. She crosses the distance between them, taking her mother's free hand in hers. "I love you," she says with her whole heart.

She looks at her younger self, who fiddles with a hole in one of her bunny's ears. Lena carefully reaches out, stroking the soft dark hair that falls around the child's face. A locked part of herself unlatches, filling her with warmth.

"Both of you."

She loves them both.

Elizabeth smiles, as brilliant as the fading sun. "You are everything I could have hoped for, Lena, and more. I am so proud of you."

"I miss you," Lena whispers. Finally, her tears spill over, running down both her cheeks. She squeezes her mother's hand.

The sun starts to set, but instead of fading to night, the scene simply fades. Her mother's touch lingers, though her hand disappears into shadow. Her voice, too, lingers in Lena's ears, beneath a growing roar of wind.

"I am here with you," Elizabeth says. "Always."

Lena bolts upright with a gasp, her heart pounding. She coughs, choking on air until hands steady her, clasping her by both shoulders.

"Lena? Lena, are you all right?"

"Kara..."

Lena's vision clears, adjusting to the shadows of the Tower at night. Kara kneels before her: it's her hands on Lena's shoulders, gripping tight like Lena might slip away if she doesn't. Nia is beside her, her features full of concern. Beyond them, Brainy stands at crisp attention, hands clasped behind his back as he waits for Lena to speak.

"I'm okay," she says.

Each of them heaves a sigh of relief. Kara wraps her in a hug, her hands pressing against Lena's back, but it's Nia who Lena looks for, whose eyes she meets over a caped shoulder.

"I saw my mother."

Her voice cracks, and suddenly the tears start flowing. Before she knows it, she's fully sobbing, heaving great wretched breaths against Kara's shoulder. Kara's embrace turns gentle, and is joined by Nia's hand on her back, rubbing softly in understanding.

She cries and she cries and cries, until she can't cry any more.

[forcefulkitten]

my only experiment

[feitan portor x fem! reader]

summary: your sexscapades with Feitan are normally similar to a business transaction. he see’s something in you that’s intriguing, and you long to experience all of him.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, face slapping, spanking, knife play [his claws], rough sex, mentions of blood, anal fingering, anal plug

word count: 2,392

You always questioned your sanity for enjoying the way Feitan used your body for his own pleasure. You felt like an experiment to him, an obedient little whore who’s purpose is to fulfill his desires and endure the pain he inflicts on you. You’re different from the other experiments he’s had in the past. They were all soft, unable to find pleasure in his ministrations, dealing with it in hopes of gaining his affection. Feitan enjoyed seeing them in pain, until he got a glimpse of you. He wouldn’t admit this to you, but the way you enjoyed his punishments convinced him to keep seeing you. You took whatever he subjected you to with stride, even thanking him for pleasuring you so well. He was... pleasuring you? This confused him. Feitan wanted to torture you. Finding out you enjoy his antics as much as he enjoys impairing you only makes him more animalistic.

Naked and on your knees facing Feitan, he leaned in front of you looking down at your figure. Your eyes inviting him to begin the fun, he brings his hand down harshly and slaps you right across your face. The sting is pleasant to you, turning your face for him to slap the opposite side. Feitan follows through, both sides of your face feeling tighter because of his heavy hand. He grips your chin and yanks your face to meet his stare, but he has a look that you can’t understand right now. He doesn’t look as cold and calculating as usual, you begin to think he was admiring you for a second. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Feitan dragging you up by your neck and sitting you down on the silk lined bed behind you. He’s hovering over you, two of his fingers finding their way into your mouth. You opened for him, licking his slender digits that pushed as far back as they could go until his knuckle was grazing your front teeth. Feitan’s other hand found its way to your neck, squeezing tightly and stopping your airflow. You tried to keep your composure even though black began to cloud your vision, threatening to knock you out from the lack of air and his fingers knuckle deep in your mouth all at once. Tears welled in your eyes, gathering to fall any second now. Feitan could feel his erection growing at the sight of you. “Good girl.” He praises, releasing his hold on your throat and taking his fingers out of your mouth. The first few times he’d done this, you gasped for air and gagged on his fingers, still enjoying yourself but not yet accustomed to the things he was doing.

Taking a seat near you, he motioned for you to lay over his lap with your ass facing upwards. Following his silent instruction, you get into position and giggle with excitement at what’s to come. This earns you a hard slap to one of your perfect cheeks, and a warning from Feitan for you to relax.  With expert precision and a firm hand, he slaps each cheek heavier than the last one at a time, over and over. You stopped counting at one point, focusing your breathing and gripping the silk sheets. Both cheeks red and stinging, the pain is still enjoyable for you. Each hit sends shivers through your entire body and heat directly to your core. Feitan brings one of his hands down to play with your cunt, not shocked by how wet you are already. He slides his fingers up and down your slit before finding your bundle of nerves and swirling gently. You can feel his erection prodding your lower stomach, wondering when he’s going to give in and fuck you. He’s unpredictable and there’s days where he’ll torture you for a little while, and days where he prolongs it for hours before entering your cunt.

Grinding your pussy up towards his fingers for more friction, Feitan is growing irritated at you being impatient and testing him. “Brave today?” He inquired, almost too quiet for you to hear. “Aren’t I always?” You mocked, a smug tone and sarcasm laced in your voice. You earn a chuckle out of him as he takes one of his digits soaked in your essence and pushes it right in your ass. You whimper out in pain at the new sensation which required more prepping for sure. Feitan doesn’t let up his onslaught on your puckered tight hole, sliding his finger in until it goes in and out with ease. 

The noises coming out of your mouth are delightful to him, he wants to hear more. Adding another digit, you trembled “Fei please.” Are you insisting for him to slow down? You? His favorite experiment that never complained? He’s shocked, aroused, and having too good of a time to be considerate at the moment. “Fei? Don’t. Call. Me. THAT.” He emphasizes each word with a hard push of his two digits while tears are streaming down your face. “Just be brave, aren’t you always?” He taunted you with the sarcasm you spit at him earlier. This goes on for what felt like forever before the pain turned into pleasure. Your tears dried up and now drool spilling out of your mouth at the sheer satisfaction of how he’s making you feel. Feitan was delighted to see that you’d made it to this point. You’ve never asked him for mercy and he thought you were going to a while ago ago. You’re captivating and solid, these days he finds himself actually wanting to make you happy instead of force his punishments on you. Slick fingers pop out of you and are replaced with an anal plug. You winced in pain at the stretch but the sting was forgotten quickly.

Feitan instructs you to get up and lay on your back. You oblige, plopping down onto the soft bed. You can’t remember ever feeling this bed on your back. He always fucked you from behind, thrusting into your body with a strength that was surprising from someone of his size. Making his way to you, Feitan traps you between both of his arms and goes straight to biting and sucking on your neck. The feeling is indulging, and you can’t stop your thoughts from going back to his different demeanor today. He didn’t even fuck your face today, which was always in his routine. He seems softer right now, and you’re hoping you can press your boundaries and actually kiss him today. Out of all your sexscapades with Feitan, he never once locked lips with you. Keeping a scarf on to cover his face, and a black shirt instead of his long cloak even when he’s busy impaling you. It never took away from the experience but you dreamed of what his mouth felt and tasted like. Would he be rough? Would he be soft? Dominating like he always is, or will he let you control the pace since he’s busy rutting into you? 

You were caught in a daze between his feast on your neck and wondering what his mouth was like when Feitan began to position himself at your entrance. He slid his cock all the way in, your walls tight but inviting after him teasing you for so long. His pace starts off hard and quick like if he’s trying to break you in half, and he brings his hand baring sharp claws to press into your neck. Feitan has cut you with his nails before, and even told you that he can gut you easily with one hand alone if he desired. That didn’t stop you from still seeing him, and you couldn’t doubt that it served to make you desire him more. He’s dangerous, cunning and merciless. It was a thrilling feeling to go walk home sore, feeling the cold air sting the fresh cuts that riddled your body. You felt like you survived a battle, a losing one, but you were always content nonetheless. 

Feitan hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder, pounding into you relentlessly. Your moans and the squelching noises from your cunt filled the room. You felt every ridge of his cock, biting your lip to stop yourself from screaming in bliss. His nails were leaving you with surface cuts on your neck but he wasn’t trying to slice into you like he normally did. The feeling of his cock hitting the same spot deep in you, pressing against where the anal plug was resting, only separated by your gummy walls, made your orgasm build up. The friction from his body fucking into yours is intoxicating, you didn’t want this to end. Feeling your walls start to tighten against his cock involuntarily, Feitan knows you’re close and grunts “I’m taking my time with you today.” 

His heavy thrusts slow down, pace becoming slower and more gentle. He grabs your hips and begins to roll his into your soaking cunt, kissing your cervix with a sharp thrust once he’s fully sheathed in you. Sweat beads piling up on his hairline threaten to fall at any moment, and your clouded mind is sick of hearing your moans fill the room. Feitan never helped with this either, keeping himself quiet besides low groans and grunts when you clenched around him or when he was close to his climax. Feeling brazen, you slip your hands underneath his shirt and explore his torso for the first time ever. Much to your surprise, he isn’t putting up a fight. Tracing his abs and slowly inching your hands up to where his neck was, you know you’re pushing your luck. Feitan’s forehead is resting on the top of your head, continuing his slower pace into your cunt. You think he’s not paying attention, too distracted by how much tighter you feel because of the plug wedged in your ass, but he’s deciding to be lenient with you and see what you have planned. 

Taking full advantage of this rare opportunity, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, still underneath his shirt and bring your legs around his waist. Sure, Feitan’s small in height but that doesn’t mean he lacks in strength. The new position has you grasping onto him with all your weight, his cock reaching even deeper than before. Bodies pressed together closer than he’d ever allow before, you bring your hips to meet his everytime he inches himself out of your cunt. His fingers are gripping the sheets now, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t bust right now and see you walk out to go home less than 10 minutes later. The feeling of your breast pressed so close to him, you clinging onto him for dear life and the way you smile at him while he destroys you is flooding his thought process. He wants you like this forever now, underneath him writhing in pleasure, begging him not to stop his ministrations. The business like experiences you both shared before aren’t satiating him anymore, not when you try your best to please him no matter the circumstances, still enjoying yourself even in a vulnerable state. He admires your vulnerability, a trait that he would never allow himself to be. 

Your orgasm is creeping back up again, all of the sensations too much for your body to handle. Quickly tugging Feitan’s scarf down from his face, you take in a sight you’ve never witnessed before and ready yourself to possibly be killed. It would be a happy death though because you got to see and feel him in his entirety now. His claws come to your neck swiftly and slice into you, blood splattering near your jugular and onto the sheets behind you. Not enough for you to die or bleed out, but still a warning nonetheless. You grip the hand that just sliced into you and bring it down to play with your clit. Feitan just goes with it, swirling his cold fingers around your swollen bud. Orgasm on the brink of hitting you, your moans are music to his ears. The fact that you dared to grip his hand and force him to meet your needs surprises him. You look up at Feitan in adoration, taking in his full face. He’s nothing short of beautiful, lips perfect and a shade of pink that contrasts his pale skin. He can see you staring between his eyes and lips with hunger and dips down to make out with you.

For the first time ever, Feitan’s lips are on yours while his fingers bring you to your orgasm. He’s exploring your mouth like a starved man, cursing himself for not kissing you sooner. Bucking against him and gripping his shoulders, the coil in your stomach breaks and your orgasm spills onto his cock, cunt squeezing him with a vice grip. He doesn’t stop swirling his fingers on your clit but you’re too distracted with his mouth to pay attention to the overstimulation. 

Speeding up his thrusts again and plummeting into your cunt to chase his release, he knows he’s close. Moving the hand from your clit to palm one of your boobs and pinch your nipple. Your tongue is swirling in his mouth, sucking on his tongue, nipping and biting his lips any chance you get. The way you’re fully submitting to him whilst engaging some dominance sends Feitan over the edge. Spilling his seed into you, your walls milk him for every drop he releases. Your hips continue to meet his slower now, and he tears his lips away from yours to press a kiss to your forehead. Getting himself up from the bed, you lay back and take in all the new events that happened. You should be getting up and leaving after cleaning yourself, but since fatigue is washing over you, you don’t have the willpower to get up right now, so you decide not to. 

You wake up some time later, blanket covering you and a glass of water on the side table next to the bed. Sitting up and taking a sip of the water, you notice a note next to the glass. “Be back later. Make yourself comfortable, or don’t. You’re my only experiment from now on.” Smiling to yourself, you realize that you’re in for a lot more fun with Fei, and your heart is elated.

[chenziee]

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

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A Divine ball of fluff

[Read on AO3 | Request info | Ko-fi]

Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp—  “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”  

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you.      Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

 ~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

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Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

[Request info | Ko-fi]

[samdotdocx]

A very long-winded essay about why I love Night in the Woods and The Ramayana makes me Big Mad ft. Lets Talk About Mental Illness™

So I was in this class called 'The Ecology of Language". Excellent class, 10/10 would recommend - and especially relevant in the Indian context in particular, but that's a topic for another day.

One of the things we talked about was the concept of 'relatibality' in media, which, I'm sure we can all agree is a large component of contemporary character or story-line development. Considering the context of modern readers, what that sometimes ends up looking like (in our society that is built on constantly being told we are lacking, and the subsequent need to satisfy manufactured desires), is some wonderfully nuanced characters in stories stories that are three-dimensional, well rounded, and well developed and written. It's pretty great. And sometimes, what that means is that we have excellent characters that don't conform to the standard 'protagonist' stereotype. They might not even be 'good' (this is NOT a villain-apologist post). In fact, they might be complete idiots. They might be the people in stories who make all the wrong choices.

One such relatable character is Mae, and it's because she's an unmitigated train-wreck.

Anyone who knows the game probably knows what I'm talking about when I say the illustration style and character designs are gorgeous. Anyone who's ever dissociated probably knows what I'm talking about when I say that illustration style and character design were excellently used to create the sort of subliminal, surreal state of Mae's mind. And as you play the game, you see how that state of mind plays with the other characters, and - spoiler - it isn't great.

This is the first of the relatable aspects of Mae’s character; there are people around her who love her and are worried about her, but at the same time, are angry and irritated about her behaviour. At what point does it become too much to ask of those around you to forgive all your continuous and repetitive mistakes? Even if you have a good reason for it, mental illness is not an excuse for being exploitative, even if it is unintentional. Mae is not trying to hurt the people around her, but she constantly needs emotional labour from them – it’s exhausting, and people’s patience is going to run out eventually, as is their right.

Another aspect of this behaviour is the lack of reciprocity, an example of this being when Bea’s mother died of cancer – and Mae didn’t even notice.

There are several instances of Mae’s thoughtless behaviour throughout the game; she gets completely wasted and makes a scene at the party, gets jealous of of Greg and Angus because they’re leaving the town without her, and ends up destroying the radiator Bea was supposed to fix, getting her in trouble.

The thing is though, that Mae is given the opportunity to fix her mistakes.

A large part of relatability is the want so see yourself in a character. Mae is relatable to me because there are several circumstances and events in our lives that match up, but more than that; the game is an interactive visualization of her healing process. Her nine steps, if you will. She is given a second chance – and that chance is hard won, particularly in the context of the game.

Mae talks about feeling like she’s falling behind, of knowing that she is, in a way, wasting an opportunity that was a privilege in the first place, especially considering her family’s financial situation – but at the same time, being literally unable to help herself. And the aspects of the gameplay that hint at the supernatural elements of the story possibly being a figment of Mae’s imagination – well. All us depressed losers know what it's like to not be able to trust your own judgement and point of view. She talks about why she dropped out of college, and her description of the dissociation, and the mental and emotional deadening that it causes is spot on and so well represented.

It underscores the point that the logical brain knows that mental illness is an illness like any other – but the emotional brain doesn’t care.

The game does a brilliant job of laying bare the realities of middle class life, and makes painfully clear the fact that, at that level, it doesn’t matter how difficult things are for you. The world isn’t going to wait for you to get back on your feet.

Mae’s mental state and the limitations it imposes on her cultivates a state of extreme frustration. Again, relatable. It’s an understated aspect of illness of any kind; the anger at yourself, and how that anger carries over into a lot of things in your day to day life. After a point, it becomes a habit. Mae does this too; she's belligerent, and instigative, and unrepentant of consequences, because anger blinds you.

It's not how things will always be. I have the privilege of hindsight, so I can say that with authority. But, this isn’t the kind of thing that ever fully leaves you, either. If you break a kneecap, it’s going to bother you for the rest of your life, and similarly, mental illness has a ‘no return, no refund’ policy. So you grow up, and you try to adapt those habits and impulses into a more positive context. Recycling, right? Maybe you set your sights on things that actually deserve your anger, and you go from there. You find people who, for their own reasons, perhaps or perhaps not related to your own, are angry.

And you don’t understand the people who are not.

A large part of the anger and frustration surrounding mental illness is due to the stigma surrounding it. It’s frustrating to be so powerless and dependent, but this is exacerbated by the attitude of ‘it can’t be that bad’, which makes it so difficult to reach out, to be able to say, ‘I need a break’ – and actually get one. This is an attitude that carries over to a lot of other issues as well, and the worst part is – we are surrounded by people who are okay with it, who believe in and support that mentality.

The myth of Sita, for example. She is a strong female figure in Indian mythology, who overcomes her circumstances to live a ‘good’ life, and for all intents and purposes, is a hell of a role model.

But that’s the thing; her life wasn’t good, was it? She was supposed be a goddess reincarnated, she should have been powerful, and respected, but instead she is reduced to ‘wife’ – and everyone today is fine with it.

I respect her immensely for the choices she made; marrying for love was her choice, going into exile with her husband was her choice. She was the paragon of virtue, of 'wifeliness', of kindness – she chose her husband over everyone and everything else, including herself, as was expected of her. But yet – she couldn't win his trust or respect. It should not even have needed to be won.

It’s commendable the way she takes it all in stride, but why did she? She was kidnapped and held captive for years, entirely against her will, and her husband's response to that is to force her to walk through fire to prove her ‘purity’ – and she does it. And she stays with him after, and I cannot understand the depths of her patience and forgiveness, because I would have been livid, and I want her to be so too. I’m furious for her, because Ram was not just her husband, he was also the king, and his later verdict to exile her, alone, while heavily pregnant, his readiness to condemn her based on speculation and public sentiment, was not just a verdict against her, it was against every woman in his kingdom who had ever been victimised.

Sita became a martyr to the modern feminist movement – if she could not be angry on her own behalf, we will do it for her. But at the same time, she is still relatable, because we are held to a slightly lesser degree of the same expectations. There are always going to be aspects of things that you relate to. ‘Big Mood’ culture is a strong indicator of the human ability to empathise, especially with characters that you like, or respect.

Sita’s world, I imagine, was run by the expectations her society and community had of her, and maybe she didn’t even have the liberty to be angry. Who is responsible for portraying her in passive acceptance of her fate? Is that representation reliable? Would the story have been different had it been written by a woman?

I can't remember a time when I was not angry, especially about things like this. I am always ready to fight, and I think the same goes for so many other people today, sometimes to our detriment. I cannot imagine a world where that was not at the very least an option. Not necessarily the best option, - but Sita’s world was very different to ours. Even with centuries between us, we’ve just gotten over angry and depressed women being labelled as ‘hysterical’ and subsequently being locked away. What is it like, to have to be calm and careful in response to being treated like this? This care in response may not be an overt requirement anymore – though the fact remains that society will not take you seriously if you become hysterical - but shouldn't you, at the very least, be able to rely on the support of other people in the same boat?

That is the main difference in these stories, and another main point of relatability to me; Mae, like myself, had a support system. Sita did not. Mae was selfish and demanding in so many ways, and required a lot of time and patience and healing before she was able to give back, but she got there eventually because she was able to put herself first. She fought for herself, and when she couldn’t, she had other people to fight for her. Night in the Woods represents the intersection of oppressed minorities and community with their portrayal of Mae, Greg, and Angus in particular, and the importance of community support – and, the difference between geographical community, and communities formed through camaraderie and actual unity. And so does the Ramayana - except, where was Sita’s community? Where were her sisters, or her parents, when she was abandoned in the woods, and later when she committed suicide? We are well aware, in the modern day, of the state of mind that causes people to kill themselves, and yet that is a part of the story that we never talk about. Where were her people then?

What would have happened if she had been more like Mae, and put herself first instead of bleeding herself dry for people who never respected her, and would never do the same for her?

People relate to personalities. They relate to choices, and circumstances, and habits, and it is neither a good nor a bad thing, to be relatable or not. Sita will be highly relatable to people who, like her, were governed by their circumstances, and were screwed over despite their best efforts. People who felt they couldn’t, or shouldn’t exercise their power and agency. Sita’s death was at odds with her strong personality, and so was her deference to her fate on many occasions, but there are a lot of people out there who will relate to the feeling of simply wanting things to be over. Mae on the other hand; she’s a steamroller, and she doesn’t stop. There’s a reason her character is a cat, and jokingly referred to as feral in the game. She is persistent, she is growing.

[1] In Defence of Kaikeyi and Draupadi: a Note – by Fritz Blackwellhttps://www.jstor.org/stable/23334398?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents [2] https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/10/emergency-room-wait-times-sexism/410515/

[batfamily14]

The Sun Queen

BOBA FETT X BLACK QUEEN!READER

Chapter 2

Rating: explicit

A/N: You were raised to be strong, fierce but when you suddenly come into power with the task of fighting a war and for your people’s freedom becoming queen is more challenging than you imagined. Recruiting a fearsome bounty hunter by your side, it’s up to you to restore your kingdom. Follow your journey to becoming a royal legend and perhaps find love on the way.

You caught yourself thinking...

he may destroy you.

And you know what? That’d be fine.

To be completely disintegrated by all the best parts of him. At least then you’d know what you had was real.

Even if it killed you.

You’re settled in the garden, your crown perch on your head. The thick loth cat cloak you wear stands out against the black gown that slit up both your thighs. It’s you who now caught Boba staring.

Boba.

The name so fitting. As if it were crafted for him, and him only.  It wouldn’t make sense if it belonged to anyone else.

You.

He couldn’t help but to look at you. The hunter notices that your skin makes it seem like you were conceived by the night sky, the stars caught in your eyes. Sparkling when you smile. He has been with plenty of women and seen dozens of beautiful girls but when he made love to them or kissed them, it didn’t feel right. When he was a young teen he often wondered what was wrong with him, thinking perhaps he would never be capable of falling in love.

But now, he thought maybe he just didn’t recognize those other girls. When he touched you he recognized you, as if your entire essence was lost to him at some point and now you’re finally his again.

Home.

You’re complete. You’re real. A living and breathing artwork met before his eyes and all he wanted to do was memorize your details. So, then maybe he’d appreciate everything in the universe that was bright, soft, and brown.

And it’d lead him like little boats down aisles floating back to you.

Back home.

~*~

You’re sitting, gazing at your mother’s statue, you squint your face up. You did that when you’re about to cry, he noted. Which you often did when you thought of your mother. He reaches out and touches you, touches you like you’re a rare and universal treasure. Precious. Fragile.

A confronting hand on your shoulder. He did that more often now, his hands becoming an extension of you.

“Little one,” his modulated voice came. The nickname shatters you. Pleasantly breaking under the unmerciful weight of him. “Fett,” you respond, coolly. His finger traces patterns into the skin of your shoulder, another new sensation.“What was her name?” He questions , softy.

“Saphoriae,” you tell him. “ In my language it means “The loved one.” ”

“What does your name mean?”

“Shining light.”

He smiles under his helmet.“How fitting.” The hunter thinks. “It’s perfect, practically designed for you.”

He’s gone back to guarding the garden entrance behind you, blaster to his armored chest. You’re perched on a bench, eyes carefully tracing over him. His body seems as if it's sketched from charcoal like he’s art and art isn’t beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, and every time you see him something blooms in you. It always did. You try to remember how this happened, when you started to wonder why he wasn’t a painted portrait hung everywhere in case the universe forgot he existed once, and that thankfully at the same time you did too. What luck that is. That you could climb up his ribs into his heart if he let you.

You shift in your seat, your hand caressing through your hair. His visor gleams in your direction, his head doing his signature tilt which you found yourself growing slowly fond of. He strides closer, walking with purpose, always moving with a reason. He stops at the edge of the bench next to you. When Boba looks at you, he focuses on you as if you’re the only person in the world. Despite how unimportant the thing you could be babbling about, he makes it seem like you’re telling him the galaxy’s greatest secrets.

Your eyes unintentionally linger on the battered scars of his armor. Dents and scrapes, you cherish them all. The armor is a part of him like an exoskeleton, a shell that you so desperately want to see him crawl out of. Not so that you’d appreciate the real him, the honest him is a bounty hunter too. Just so that you could appreciate every layer of him, peel back every exterior of his being and appreciate each surface.

“What’s on your mind, little one?” He questions. You bat your lashes at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Your armor, how did it get like that?” You ask, gesturing to a rather large dent on the side of his helmet. He huffs, “I’m a hunter after all.” He says matter of factly. You roll your eyes to the sky making him let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean...did it hurt?” You inquire.

He sighs dramatically, peering down at you and offers a small shrug. “All a part of the business.” Boba lets you run a shy hand across his chest plate. “I’ve seen you train in the Sparring Hall, I would...watch you.” You confess. You hear the rumbling of another chuckle bubbling up in his throat.

“I know.” He almost teases, and you think you should feel embarrassed but you don’t. If he really didn’t want you to watch him he wouldn’t let you. Boba has a way of disappearing and reappearing whenever he pleased. You awe at him,“The way you fight it’s…”

Breathtaking.

He moves fluidly, as if he was dancing. Every flick of his wrist or thrown kick and punch roll one after another. His build is strong and a bit slender but nevertheless his form showcases all his strength.

“It’s what?” He probes, two fingers smoothly lift your chin up when your eyes shift away, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s...it’s fascinating.” You answer, flush with nervousness.

“Fascinating?”

“Yes...I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“How to fight?”

You nod. “Our warriors have a particular way of battle but you...you’re ruthless. You’re brutal. I like it, the fierceness of you.” Boba chuckles putting away his blaster to cross his arms over his chest, listening. “When you fight,” you continue. “It’s a testimony to your power. I want to fight like you, I need to.”

“Why do you want to fight?” The hunter questions.

“I want to feel what it looks like when you do.”

“And what’s that, girl?”

“Alive.”

~*~

The sparring hall is carved under the kingdom, built firmly with mud brick. Heavy wooden doors open to a sweeping

aged cream colored staircase leading to a platform covered with a blue mat. There’s various weapons draped on the walls. Spears, knives, a hunter’s wet dream. You’ve changed into your mother’s old sparring clothes when she waged in wars. A manogany thicken fabric wraps around your breast and crisscrosses over your stomach and spine securely, a pair of shorts with a pooling fabric hangs in the front and back like a skirt split in half, and leathery strapped sandals lace up your legs and thighs. Your locks are pulled upward with a silk wrap revealing your whole face.

Boba wears grey sweats, and it feels like a violation to see this much of him. As if he’s wholly exposed though his helmet is still on. Boba’s body is lean and muscular, his skin tan, littered with scars like his armor. But still...art nevertheless just greatly more detailed now. You find it strange, almost comical actually. At first he wasn’t your anything, a guard if you had acknowledged him in the least, always looming behind. A second shadow. But, now he's undeniable and suffocating, he’s like…

fire.

It’s always fire with Boba, burning inside you. You’re surprised him touching you hasn’t completely disintegrated you yet. You used to go all night without thinking about him, place him far enough in the back of your brain so you could survive eight hours. But, being without him is like not breathing, even in your mind. So, waking up in the morning and seeing him bathed in the sunlight is as if taking your first breath after an eternity of drowning.

It’s a desperate gasp from the loss of him.

“Let’s start with something simple.” He says. “A punch.”

You nod focusing on him and he directs with his hand to back up. “I’m going to teach you primary types of punches, first a jab.”

Boba demonstrates a series of jabs, arms moving in a blur. You can hear the wind whipping with the force of it.

He’s strong, grateful, ruthless. He’s advised to watch his form, observe his steady movements. “When it’s a decent fighter,” he begins. “they won’t be easy to read. They’ll move their arm from the place where it is right forward , so you need to have a quick reaction time and defense saved in your muscle memory to react to it automatically. You understand?” You nod and he circles around you talking. “You won’t be able to tell which arm will strike first. So, when your punch lands, your arms should be close to fully extended, extending your striking range and improving your punching power.” He demonstrates again by throwing a quick punch that breezes pass your face and you flinch away.

“Land the punch with your index and middle fingers, with your fist rotated so that your thumb points downward on impact. Power is transferred better there, and you're less likely to break your hand.” You lower yourself into stance, but your form is all wrong so he comes up behind, his hands on your hips. “Relax your upper body and use speed instead of strength.” You let him correct your stance and he knees your thigh making you slide your feet further apart . “Rotate your body and be sure not to lean forward. And most importantly...” he trails off and you hear the smile in his voice. The sound of it makes you shudder like his breaths prickle your neck. “...protect that pretty face.” You nervously adjust your footing, squaring your feet just below your shoulders.

You throw a sloppy jab that makes the hunter grunt under his helmet. “Were you even paying attention?”

You grumble under your breath a few frustrated curses before throwing another jab. He shakes his head in disapproval and grabs your arms. “Straighten up and twist your hips. Keep your eyes on your target.” You try again and though you do a lot better you almost embarrassingly lose your balance, making Boba have to catch you. He groans under his helmet frustrated but pulls you up to your feet anyway. “Try again.” He orders. You can already feel yourself prickling with irritation but you're too keen on not giving up so easily. You ultimately go at this for hours, him grunting under his helmet and correcting you, you groaning and cursing. Finally Boba has had enough and tries a new tactic, “hit me.”

“What?” You gasp, stopping your fist in mid air. You’re drenched in sweat and heaving from exhaustion. Boba feels himself twitch in his pants. “Hit me.” He repeats, voice stronger. “N-no.” You protest and he shakes his head growling. “It won’t hurt.” He argues, and admittedly that stinks but you still refuse making his cheeks burn red. “Hit me like your people depend on it.” He says suddenly, and your eyes narrow at him. “I mean it!” He growls. “Hit me like I’m the only thing standing in your way of freeing your people.”

“No!” You choke, backing away. “I won’t.”

“If you won’t hit me! How will you ever defend your people?” He insists. You push at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “I can help them. What do you know?” He grips your arms firmly. “I know alot about war, girl. There’s no mercy for the weak and hesitant.” You scold him, this time pushing past him. “I’m not weak nor hesitant!” You sneer.

“Prove it.” He hisses. When you don’t turn around he pushes at you once more. “You say death is better than bondage? What is different from giving up and living and giving up and dying if either way you’ll be remembered as the last of the Nivrols.” You hault, your skin burning, you’re practically seething at his words. Knowing they held a deadly truth. “Because we’ll die with honor.” You growl, fisting your hands at your side. Boba steps closer, his head tilting down close to your ear. “But you don’t want your people to die, you want them to live like every great leader would.” He whispers, and you clench your eyes close as you feel him tilt closer. “So, are you willing to lay down and die for your people or are you going to fucking fight?”

You don’t think, you just move like he does. Fast and fluid.

It happens so fast, he barely has time to register what happens. You hardly know what’s happening yourself before it’s too late. He lands on the matted ground with a heavy thud and you hold your aching knuckles close to your chest. D-did you just fucking uppercut him? You’re bewildered, panting and staring at him with wide eyes. He’s still...too fucking still but then you hear it, grumbling from the depths of his chest and you’re frozen. He lets out another animalistic growl at the sight of you. Horribly disheveled, a wondrous messy thing. Lock strands loosely hanging, clothes ruffled and nearly exposing the sensitive skin he’s dreamed about mindlessly. You tower over him like a true Nivrol warrior, a savior coming to cut down a sarlacc herself. Your chest heaving and stickyly coated with sweat. Mouth parted and tongue peeking out and licking the saltiness tethering down to your lips.

You could crumble right now, he’s a vision of ecstasy. Pure static plowing right through you, electrifying every nerve in your body. He’s on his hands and knees gazing upward at you, panting. Then all of sudden he’s growling and springing forward, latching his arms around you and using all his weight to knock you over. Forcing all the wind out of your lungs. He wrestles your arms over your head once you’re on the ground and you grit your teeth squirming. Great sun god he’s fucking strong! His visor glaring below at you, you give in, gasping for air. You could fight him, you feel the edge of it curling in your stomach but you release the urge. Instead relenting and letting the sensation of him hovering over you consume you. Overwhelm you.

You’re like that for a while, a sweaty messy pile on the floor. He’s snarling at you as if he's an animal, ravishing with no reason, with the desire and instinct of wanting blood between its teeth. You’re afraid to move, laying like a corpse underneath him. His blunt nails bite into your skin as if he can’t decide how to devour you yet. You feel yourself clenching around nothing between your legs, grasping at an emptiness, longing to be full. You brace yourself for whatever comes next. His head lowers slowly and you’re trembling in his grasp. His visor comes closer until it’s taking up nearly all your vision.  Then suddenly you’re closing your eyes, waiting in anticipation. Agony. Then...there’s a cool icy sensation pressing against your forehead. it’s heavy and hard, shoving your head into the mat. Your eyes hesitantly peer open and you realize he’s connecting your heads together, comfortably. It’s… debilitating.

You’re certain his eyes are close and you think maybe yours should be too. Some of the most beautiful moments in life are often spent with your eyes closed. Praying. Dreaming. Kissing. Wait, is this kissing? It feels like it, spine tingling and disembodying but it’s so much more. You know it. So you close your eyes and relinquish, pressing your head back into his. His breathing shudders at the action but he doesn’t move away. Instead his hand comes to gently cup the side of your face. With your free hand you hold the back of his helmet. His fingers loosen around your wrist, thumb brushing up and pressing into the center of your palm.

You’re disintegrated.

Utterly annihilated. This is it, he’s finally done it. Like a laser beam from the Death Star he’s ripped and vaporized you molecule after molecule. So, you catch yourself wondering how long does it take for a galaxy to collapse? Because it feels like only mere seconds for stardust to flood behind your eyes as if Boba has ignited a billion supernovas inside you.

Boba’s weight is heavy on yours, his legs stretching out and on either side of your own , trapping you in. You can hear faint panting breaths beneath the hem of his helmet. Your heart beats an inconsistent thump in your ears, and you absently wonder if you’ve ever heard it this loudly. His visor is a shimmering vision of your own reflection, holding it eagerly. You see your face glancing back at him with a peculiar look of joy and adoration, as if you’ve transcended. You’ll never get over how he looks at you. How could someone ever get over how a deliciously tan man admires them, as if they're a kaiburr crystal. His strong arms help pull you to your feet. You could smell the million miles of the galaxy on him. Feel the raveled adventures and experiences buried within his heating skin. You stand entwined , his arm swung around your waist and yours looping around his neck.

You almost ask him to lift his helmet, promise him you won’t peek, that you just want him to lift it so that you can kiss him...again. This time traditionally on the lips. Your mouth stutters open hesitantly but a voice stops you.

“Your majesty.” It proclaims.

There’s a brief silence.

You turn to glance at a man standing at the doorway, his braided beaded hair is tied back from his handsome face. He wears a wool brown coat and unpolished leather boots. You recognize him as Zoid’s son, Randdem. Zoid towers directly behind him, a disdain expression looms over his face. You nonchalantly remove yourself from Boba’s grasp and the hunter follows in suit. You felt pearls of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. If Zoid wants to say something crude he stifles under his breath.

You nod to Boba who takes that as his crew to leave, he walks casually to the changing room outside the hall. Zoid and Randdem wait for you to stride up the steps with the little bit of dignity you have left. You’re quite as their judging eyes glance you over, once Zoid has emptied all the pitying remarks from his head he sighs deeply before saying, “You remember my son, don’t you queen?”

Randdem is a husky young lad, bolder and fuller in outlines where Zoid is thinner. He’s worse than Zoid, really. He’s a four part combination of Zoid’s arrogance and pity with his mother’s selfishness and pride. Talking to him is like speaking to a tornado, not much to deliberate with a thing that only wants or knows destruction and dominance. The saddest part of it all is Randdem is fairly handsome and if it wasn’t for his redundant personality more suitors would surely be in his favor. You’ve never liked him, not even when you were children.

“Of course,” you swallow. Zoid nods approvingly,”I brought him here to get to know you better, seeing as he’ll be serving at your side as a council leader once I’m gone.”

Yeah, great. “My queen,” Randdem says and he halfway bows to you. “If you’d like I’d love to request having you to dinner this evening.” You must pull a face because Zoid scolds you. “I-I’m sorry!” You try to recover. “This is so unexpected.” You rub the back of your neck, embarrass.

“I understand your majesty, which is why I made sure to ask on a day I knew you’d be free.” Randdem continues. You give him a puzzle look. How long have they been planning this meeting? “Though, I wasn’t expecting to find you here?” He goes on. You try grinning but you know you must look ridiculous because all you want to is snarl at them so you just purse your lips instead and nod. “R-right.” You answer, your hands fidgeting at your side.

“So you’ll be ok with this evening?” He asks again.

You frown,“Well, actually-”

“Of course she will!” Zoid interrupts, and it takes every ounce of self restraint in your body not to uppercut him. “Isn’t that right?” He turns to you with a look of expectancy in his eyes. And you’re left gawking between the two before mustering up the tintest smile you could without cursing at them both.

“Of course.” You finally utter through gritted teeth. “It’ll give us time to catch up.”

“As I thought,” Zoid nods. They both turn to leave but before they’ve finally left Zoid turns around and crinkles up his nose. “And please I’d advise you freshen up before the evening, if you don’t mind. You smell ranted and too much like him. ” Randdem and Zoid chuckle on their way out before letting the heavy doors slam close behind them. You turn around, sighing with exasperation. Boba stands with his arms crossed, now fully armored. “So,” he began. “You have a date?” You groan, “Shut it, fett!” He chuckles and you feel your heart flutter but you are in too much of a sour mood to truly enjoy the sound of his laughter though it is nice to hear.

Great sun god give you strength. What have you been dragged into?

~*~

The dress Galine has fastened you in is way too nice for an evening to be met in disaster. The hunter is cautious with his hand, lingering and pressing into your back lower than what’d normally be appropriate. He lets it slither away and melt down at his side when the merchant warriors come into view at the entrance of the dining hall. Randdem leans back casually against the large doors, arms crossed and an impatient expression sunken in his features. “Shall you accompany me inside?”, he began. “Without your…companion.” He flicks his hand in Boba's direction and recoils it just as fast as if his skin cells reject even being near the same air as him. Your inside grind together to mush. “If your warriors will keep him company instead.” You bargain, and Randdem scowls at you but you just smile which makes his scowl impossibly more scornful. He clamps his mouth shut and nods pointedly, escorting you into the dining hall. His brows never unfrowrow . Like father, like son you supposed.

~*~

A single marble table with a white sheet handsomely decorates the dining hall. Two chairs set out on either ending sides of the table, and bestow on top are delicate appetizers and aged wine. Randdem pulls out your chair for you before walking and plopping down on his own. He picks lazily from a bowl munching on a purple fruit.  While a young peasant boy fills your goblet , before scrambling into the kitchen away from the tense atmosphere. The air is stale from the lack of conversation. “I didn’t know you took an interest in me.” You quip, taking a slow sip of your wine. “I’m interested in our people’s future.” He sneers, plucking again at the fruit.  A smile stretches thin on your lips. “I figured.” His own grin is sly and conspiratorial, making your leg twitch under the table. “You’re leading an entire world now. Do you believe it’d be wise to do it alone?” You shoot him a curious glance and it’s like he relishes in watching you grow flustered. “Historically,” you began. A knowing smile tilting upward on your lips, “women led their kingdoms better compared to kings. Especially alone.” He scowls at you but you pretend not to notice, instead politely sipping more wine.

“Are you referring to your grandmother?”

You nod, “When my grandfather passed she raised my mother alone and cared for the entire kingdom. Then for ten years my mother led this kingdom before marrying my father. During that time we prospered.”

He clasps his hands. “Those women were not only queens, but warriors.” You cock your head, a challenging glint in your eyes. “Warriors can be judged more than on just their fighting.”  You respond. “They can be judged on their character. I was raised by two of the most prominent warriors of our lifetime, and not just because of their fighting skill but because of their heart.” Randdem gives you a smug impression. “Our people need more than good spirits and charm.”

“Then I will be whatever they need me to be.” You say.

He crosses his arms, leaning back making the wooden chair creak in protest. “Why is it then you pranced around with that hunter in the training hall?” You squint your eyes at him. “That doesn’t concern you.” He chuckles amused.“You know I’m right! That’s why you were down there with him.” You flush warm with embarrassment. “You shouldn’t comment on what you don’t know.” You snarl. “I've seen enough of your gushy display in one of the most sacred rooms in the entire kingdom to know you have no shame. How dare whore yourself out to t-that damned cloned buckethead your father allowed to roam the kingdom and filthy it!” This time you scowl at him. “You dare speak ill to me? You’re queen! Who are you to speak to me this way and question my father?!” You shot to your feet, voice ringing out. He jabs his finger in your direction, “You are not my queen!” He growls, teeth baring.

“But I am, whether your father or you can accept it or not! I am your queen.” You hiss, gripping either side of the table. “But, you’ll never be king.” He glares at you, eyes like two black infinite portals. “What were you expecting? That I’d marry you?” You croak. “Never.”

“The kingdom needs an honorable leader.” He retorts. “And that isn’t you!” You huff, crossing slowly around the table like a predator onto its prey. Menacing and delighted to devour. “And you think that’s you?” You snarl, lifting an eyebrow amused. “You have less honor than you think. Your father would rather give in and lay over as our people become enslaved, he’s less of a warrior than he is a leader.” He’s taken back by your words, fisting his hands in his lap.

“That’s not true you lying bastard!” He snaps, rising to his feet and knocking over his chair behind him with a loud clang.

“But it is.” You sneer. “My father and I wanted to fight for our freedom, but yours wanted our people to suffer again. And you accuse me of being the weak one? So, don’t you dare question me or him.” You growl, closing in. “And don’t dare talk about the hunter like that again or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?!” He interjects as he rounds the table all fuming anger and resentment. “Don’t make me laugh, boy.” You huff. “You think you’ll bring back our honor? You’ll have no honor left if I find out your father had anything to do with my father’s death. You and your whole family will be banished!” Randdem stills, paling at your accusation. “N-no!” He can barely spit out. “No! That’s isn’t t-true! M-my father is a man of honor!” He screams, like a child throwing a tantrum. You know the help is listening, who wouldn’t. You’re sure there’ll be rumors spreading like vicious fire tomorrow. You turn away and he’s left trying to follow after you but he’s so angry and confused he stumbles over his own feet having to use the table as leverage as he walks, while cursing loudly behind you. The dinner hall’s doors abruptly open and the hunter and merchant warriors usher themselves inside. You carefully maneuver yourself around them, making a hasty exit while Randdem spits more cruel insults. The hunter half expects you to turn around but you don’t budge. Instead you walk calmly out of Randdem’s sight and request the guards not let him enter the castle again without direct permission from you.

~*~

“What happened?” Boba spoke first and you’re startled by the gentleness of his voice. Your chambers are dark and quiet, chilly from the wind blowing in the open window. You perch yourself on the edge of your bed. “We had an argument, and he said some rather distasteful things...and so did I .” You groan and run a tiresome hand through your locks. “It’s clear Randdem and Zoid don’t want me to be queen.” When he steps closer you shift your eyes away. The hunter tilts his head.

“What else is bothering you?”

“He...well he insulted you.”

“So?” The hunter shrugs and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. “So,” you mock playfully. “I defended you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He huffs as if scuffing down a laugh and you glare at him. The hunter looks down as if his shoes suddenly needed a close inspection. His shoulder shaking lightly, the corner of your mouth quirks up. “I thought you once saw me like you saw dirt on the bottom of your shoe.” He suddenly comments and you flick your eyes at him in shock and this time you make a quiet sound that made him peer halfway up at you.

“I see you like I see the sun, blinding. Even when I’m not looking at you, I feel you.”

The hunter’s head snaps up at you and you take a breath.

You wondered if he was smiling, imagined his eyes crinkling with the force of it. As if reading your mind a hesitant hand reaches out and touches the bottom of the helmet. You suddenly seem incapable of moving, face deliberately blank. He waits and there’s a brief moment before your eyes grow wide. You rise and walk close to him and your hand covers his own. His gloved hand is warm underneath the rough leather. You’re trembling with pure adrenaline, heart fluttering. You let him guide you into lifting it, you go slow enough for him to stop you if he wants to, but when he doesn’t you see his soft lips first and you almost lose your composure and kiss him right then but instead you take a deep inhale. Dark trimmed facial hair prances across the lower half of his face and his upper lip, it  prickles against your fingers. Dark hair brushing under his ears and trimmed and faded almost down to his gorgeous sharp jawline. Some of his hair extends long over the back of his neck, then his broad nose comes into view, straight and wide. And suddenly...his brown eyes meet yours and you realize he’s more breathtaking than you could’ve ever dreamt. Handsome and sculpted as if everything in the universe that blooms from a certain beauty that commands your attention cracked open and offered you him. Now that you see him for the first time...smiling at you...you realize

like the moon he’s a stealer of light but you know nothing better that could hold light like the smile upon his face because just like the moon he’s crafted to glow. So, maybe he’s collected borrowed time, star dust, and gunpowder. Enough wisdom and morals to fill a holy scripture but enough violence and death to also burn the same book to ash by the touch of his fingertips. Enough adventure to last lifetimes and fill children’s heads with a mindless abundance of wonder and fantasy. Enough vulnerability hidden away to quiver at your hands and melt like an ice sculpture to his knees. There’s so many ways this could end, but with him in front of you like a heavenly body, you know it’s barely begun, whatever universe that was slowly being born into existence between you two. You knew you’d be tethered to him by it forever.

“Come with me.” You whisper softly and his brown eyes gleam, heart thumping against his chest.

“Where?”

“Outside.”

You point to the window and he rubs a slow hand up his arm while the other holds his helmet against his side.

“It’s cold.” He protests and you giggle to yourself as you begin to clamper out the window anyway. The ledge is much smaller compared to you now of course, though you still manage to crawl out and sit near the window. You lean back on the kingdom wall carefully, knowing Galine would kill you if you soiled your gown. Your thighs rest on the ledge while the rest of your body hangs over. You close your eyes but the corners of your mouth twitch up in a small victorious grin when you hear his defeated sigh. Boba comes out more smoothly than you as if the womp rat has done it a thousand times and he rests himself beside you.

After a moment of staring into endless space he utters, “Tell me about the stars.” You bite your bottom lip. “The stars have secrets like us my mother used to tell me, but they also have stories.”He tilts his head, waiting. You smile, closing your eyes tighter and breathing in deeply. You remember your mother taking you into her lap at the window and oiling your small braids and scalp. “She’d say the sky and the world fell in love. That the sky hung the moon for the world, and that the world in return gave the sky, flowers. My mother said the sun god was born first, then all the other gods followed.” She’d tell you each god’s birth and their purpose as her soft massaging hands lulled you to sleep.

“You believe that?” He questions, lifting an eyebrow . You look at him, baring a cheeky smile. “That two powerful lovers created a universe of their own? I witness it all the time.” You gesture to the hundreds of homes stretching out in the grasslands of the kingdom. Boba chuckles, smiling at you and leaning his head back against the wall and you couldn’t help but stare at the subtle movements. You know he wasn’t doing anything extraordinary but you could tell he was the god of his life, of his own destiny. We’re all the gods of small things, even if it’s just ourselves. With an upturn face you peer at him. If you both were gods you wanted to meet him halfway to an astral plane where both your heavens collided.

So...you kiss him, mouth slotting over his gently, soul transcending to the stars. Your mouth becomes an open exhibit for his tongue to explore through. Instead of his eyes, his wet warmth admires the best parts of you. Flicking and tasting the dirtiest details with the filthiest sweetness he’s ever known. Your fingers curl into the nape of his dark coarse hair, tugging. As if teasing the strings from an instrument it pulls a wondrous sound from his lips, an orchestra rumbling in his chest. His heavy groan quiet against your lips, a song only yours.

If tonight you could make love to him, you’d push him over the sheets of your bed, lay him bare and golden like a horizon. Kiss his scarred skin and lick the stardust from his flesh. Let him wither you down into a vulnerable shaking pile on the blanket and obliterate your ego and the rising sarcastic remarks on your tongue and so maybe then when he’s laid warm on top of you, weary and desperate, you suddenly appreciate everything in the universe that is...

...metal, quiet , and green.

And it lead you like little boats floating down aisles back to him.

Back home.

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when you’re feeling sensitive

This work, 敏感时刻, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it

The original work is split into two parts but angst isn’t good for digestion so I merged them (¯▿¯)

[ VICTOR ]

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen such things.

Ever since your relationship with Victor was disclosed to the public, negative comments on the Internet became a staple to your daily life.

They were all in unison, stating that you weren’t good enough for Victor. 

Victor - the young and promising CEO of Loveland Financial Group, the ideal man for innumerable women.

But he chose to be with a girl like you.

You - a producer from a small, unknown company. 

Because of you, the dreams of countless women were shattered.

Although Victor has already been doing what he can, such as dedicating a small team to control the harsh comments levelled against you, it’s natural that you’d feel stung by such comments. 

Am I really not suitable for Victor?

Why is Victor even with a girl like you?

“I’m back.”

Victor’s voice disrupts your train of thought.

You shake the lingering thoughts out of your head, then plaster a smile on your face to greet him.

“Welcome home.”

However, the moment your eyes flit to Victor’s shirt, your smile freezes in place.

There’s an obvious lipstick mark on it.

It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t upset.

Victor notices the slight change in your expression, immediately taking a step closer to you.

“What’s wrong?”

You push Victor’s outstretched hand away, then brush past him. 

“Nothing. I’m going over to Kiki’s house for a couple of days.”

Perhaps what they said wasn’t wrong, and you were not worthy to be with him.

Perhaps you never should have fallen for him.

-

It’s rare for you to look this dispirited. Immediately sensing that you’re out of sorts, he chases after you, embracing you in his arms.

“What’s wrong? Did things not go smoothly at work?”

He pauses before adding, “If it’s because of comments on the Internet, the legal team in LFG will handle them.

You shake your head, wriggling out of his grip weakly. “Those things are fine.”

Victor loosens his grip, but maintains his posture of hugging you, not letting you go completely.

“You didn’t get the limited-edition lipstick you wanted?”

The moment he brings up the word ‘lipstick’, the floodgates open.

“Let go of me! Since I’m not the only one who leaves lipstick marks on you, go look for other women!”

Victor knits his brows in response to the sudden accusation. “What are you talking about?”

You bite your lip, pointing at the mark on his shirt.

He lowers his head, eyes following your finger. When he releases a sigh, your heart grows several degrees colder. “So it’s because of this?”

Victor retrieves his phone from his pocket, then taps on a video in his photo gallery, showing it to you:

“Dummy, your lipstick got onto my shirt.”

“I did it on purpose! Victor, I want to tell the entire world that you’re my man, so you’re not allowed to wash it off!”

It’s a video of the last time you got drunk. The HD camera captured the scene clearly - the exact same shirt, the exact same location, the exact same lip mark.

He pokes your cheek.

“A certain someone forgot that she got her lipstick on me. And now she’s accusing me of being unfaithful?”

“I was wrong,” you mutter softly.

He sighs, taking you into his arms again. “Are you still leaving?”

You sniff, burying your head into his chest.

“I’m not leaving. Victor, I’m not leaving in this lifetime.”

[ GAVIN ]

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen the “belle of the police station”.

You always seem to bump into her whenever you’re on dates with Gavin.

Every single time she sees the two of you, she’d wear a surprised expression, as though it’s the first time such a “coincidence” has happened.

You never really suspected that there was anything going on between the both of them. 

But Gavin has been gone for far too long on this mission. You haven’t seen him in a month, and haven’t received any calls from him.

Gripping your phone, you’re filled with worry, anxiety, and fear. You have a bad feeling about this whole situation, but decide to try calling him one more time.

Unexpectedly, Gavin picks up.

“Gavin! How are you doing?”

 “I’m now...”

“Gav! I’m here!”

A woman’s shrill voice can be distinctly heard at the other end of the line, and you find yourself no longer registering what Gavin is saying.

It’s the belle of the police station.

And everything clicks. 

You understand why Gavin hasn’t contacted you even after such a long time.

“Gav~ Come over and play!”

“It’s all right, Gavin. You’re busy.” 

You hang up.

A wave of disappointment overwhelms you, and you huddle into a ball before letting the floodgates open.

It’s really upsetting. It’s really, really upsetting.

You never expected Gavin to do such a thing.

You never expected that he would ever leave you.

You thought loving a person meant loving them for an entire lifetime.

But you forgot that life consists of countless variables.

Perhaps you and Gavin were never meant to walk down the same path.

Perhaps the both of you were simply meant to meet for a moment, love for an instant, then continue down separate paths.

-

Gavin stands in the STF command room, his brows furrowed as he stares at the phone, the officer in front of him silent.

Eli looks at the belle of the police station sternly. “Xiao Liu, what’s the meaning of this? Didn’t you know the Commander was in a call with his wife?”

Xiao Lu shrugs. “Sis-in-law isn’t so petty, right? If it were me, I would definitely not keep Gavin on such a tight leash.”

"Shut up.”

It’s rare for Gavin to exude the dignified air of a Commander in front of his subordinates.

“Intern officer Xiao Liu. Given your ranking, it’s inappropriate to address me by name.” While speaking, he rifles through a stack of papers on the table, retrieving a particular report.

Without a moment of hesitation, he writes a “fail” on her assessment results. Gavin slams the completed report on the table, glowering at her.

“Disrespecting your superior, slow-moving, not heeding orders - I can come to a conclusion right now. You’re not suited to be a part of STF. Return to where you came from.”

With tears in her eyes, Xiao Lu strides out of STF.

When Gavin returns home, his girl behaves the same way as always whenever she feels hurt - cocooning herself in blankets, as though she doesn’t have a sense of security at all. Seeing you like this, Gavin feels a tightening in his chest.

He gently peels open your protective cover.

“Hey, I’m back.”

As expected, your eyes are red and swollen.

You shove him away violently, reminiscent of an injured animal - weak, yet stubborn.

Gavin draws you into his arms unyieldingly, not giving you a chance to escape. Distressed, he plants feather-like kisses on your swollen eyes.

“I did not.”

These three words are simple and plain, but sufficient to convince.

You understand what he means, but you can’t help being unreasonable. “She’s always around. This isn’t the first time.”

“I’ve never cared about her whereabouts. If she didn’t participate in this mission as an intern, I wouldn’t even remember what she looks like.”

Gavin is honest, and he states undebatable truths.

You let out a “hmph.”

“She even called you ‘Gav’!”

“I told her to return to where she came from.” Gavin holds you even more tightly, lowering his head to the crook of your neck so he can drink in his favourite scent.

"You’re being so fierce towards me even though we’ve been apart for so long. Should I do something to make up for it?”

[ LUCIEN ]

You wonder if you should just run away right now.

Standing at the door of Lucien’s office, you watch as a girl leans incredibly close to him.

From this angle, there’s virtually no difference from them kissing.

Words spill from the girl’s parted lips.

“Lulu, you like me too, don’t you?” 

So the pet name wasn’t exclusively used by you.

When did Lucien start losing interest in you?

It makes sense though. You can’t match up to anyone in Lucien’s Research Centre. Everyone here is a scientist who has high intellect and stellar academic qualifications. 

And you? You’re just a producer from a small company.

It’s an almost laughable notion that Lucien would like you.

“Lulu, be with me, okay?”

That girl’s voice carries with it the shyness of one who is confessing her love for the first time. You watch as Lucien stands up from his chair, preparing to respond.

“You’re a good woman.”

“Lulu, I just knew you’d agree!”

You can’t bear to listen for even a second longer.

And you start regretting picking up the phone call.

Maybe if you weren’t so curious, you wouldn’t have to witness this, and you could pretend that nothing happened today,

But you came, and you saw what happened.

You can’t tell yourself that nothing did.

Perhaps you aren’t the best partner for Lucien.

Perhaps you aren’t his only butterfly.

-

Eyes wet with tears, you can barely make out the figures of Lucien or the girl through your blurry vision.

You don’t dare to stay behind and listen to Lucien’s answer, afraid to hear an agreement from his lips. But your legs seem to be filled with lead, forcing you to fully appreciate the scene as it unfolds before you.

Lucien takes a step back to put some distance between himself and the girl. His voice is even more firm than usual.

“You’re a very good woman, but it doesn’t mean that I’ve agreed, nor does it mean that I like you.”

You stop breathing.

“First, I need to correct the way you address me. Given your position, you should be calling me ‘Professor Lucien’.” His clear voice carries with it irrefutable authority.

“Also, I already have a family, and I love my wife very much.” Lucien pauses, a look of longing surfacing on his face. “Just like how the painter only has eyes for the butterfly, she is the only colour in my eyes.

He vaguely notices that the girl before him is tearing up. “To me, you’re no different from the other students. Now, please leave my office.”

He walks to the door and pulls it open. Unable to hide in time, he spots you. Although he’s mildly stunned, he quickly recovers, voice gentle.

“Why are you here?”

“I received a call.”

Considering the tacit understanding between the both of you, Lucien guesses what happened. He directs a stern gaze towards the student in the room, and speaks mercilessly. “Maybe I should have a discussion with the Dean regarding whether a particular student should be allowed to stay.”

He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. Leading you into the office, he lets you sit on his chair, then faces the student.

“Get out of my sight immediately.”

[ KIRO ]

How did things become like this? 

You’re lost in thought, staring at the screen which displays a picture of Kiro at a celebrity dance party.

The funny thing is, the comments left are unanimously supportive.

“A talented man and a beautiful woman - they’re just so compatible!”

What about you? What can you do as Kiro’s girlfriend?

Returning to your own social media page, you’re met with unanimous scathing, humiliating remarks.

Some assert that you snagged Kiro simply because of luck.

Some commented that your subpar looks don’t make you a good match for Kiro.

A small group of fans support your relationship with him.

To be honest, these things didn’t bother you. What you cared about was Kiro.

As long as he loves you, nothing else matters.

But now, it seems like things are going the way you expected them to.

Kiro told you that he was out of the country to film for a movie. Yet, he has been photographed at a celebrity dance party, sparking rumours as a result.

Marketing immediately used this chance to pair the two celebrities together, completely disregarding the existence of you, Kiro’s girlfriend. 

It makes sense though. As a normal citizen, what kind of hot news can you stir?

Why should you be a party to this mismatched love?

Perhaps he’s suited for someone better.

Perhaps being with him is simply an incredibly beautiful dream.

There will inevitably come a day when one has to wake up from a dream.

It’s time for you to wake up.

-

The television is off, and your electronic devices are placed as far away from you as possible. The door to the house is locked, and it’s even bolted with an anti-theft chain that you’ve never used before. All the photo frames featuring the two of you are placed face-down.

You don’t want to hear about anything related to Kiro. All you want is to live in a tiny, empty world belonging only to you.

After calling you for the eighth time only to be notified that your phone has been turned off, Kiro has a bad feeling in his gut.

Savin thrusts a laptop into Kiro’s lap. “Look at what’s trending on the Internet.”

Puzzled, Kiro stares at the screen. The more he scrolls through the pages, the more his eyes darken, and his golden hair faintly turns a shade paler.

“Savin, arrange for a press conference immediately!” Right now!” Kiro whips out his phone, calling you once more. “Miss Chips, please pick up.”

“I’m sorry, the person you are calling is currently unavailable...” The cold, mechanical female voice drones on.

Kiro takes out his notebook laptop, checking the surveillance feed of the house. He sees that you’re seated on the bed, staring out the windows in a trance. Fingers flying across the keyboard, he hacks into the control system, connecting his webcam to the television.

In an instant, his frantic face appears on the television screen.

The sudden lighting up of the television gives you a fright. Seeing Kiro’s face, you feel the burning sensation in your eyes returning.

Miss Chips, don’t believe the fake information on the Internet. I...”

“Kiro, the press conference is ready!”

Savin’s work efficiency is as stellar as always.

“I’ll have to trouble you to hold this laptop.” He turns towards the screen again. “Miss Chips, watch this. Don’t leave, and don’t be upset. I’ll be back soon”

-

“Aside from collaboration for work purposes, I have absolutely no personal relations with her. As for the false rumours on the Internet, my legal team will officially take action, and will also protect my fiancé’s reputation.”

Fiancé? He hasn’t even proposed.

“Also, in front of everyone on the Internet, I wish to propose to my Miss Chips.” Kiro walks in front of the press conference table, taking out a ring he has prepared since a long time ago.

He kneels down on one knee in front of the laptop Savin is holding.

“Miss Chips, will you marry me?”

-

[Cheri’s intrusive thought: I’m imagining how everyone at the press conference would be seeing this LOL]

[ SHAW ]

Unsurprisingly, Shaw’s in Live House.

He hasn’t contacted you for a whole week.

So you’ve been camping in Live House for a week.

It’s been an interesting few days, and you’ve noticed the same girl appearing at his side.

She’s very beautiful, and exudes a certain maturity. As compared to her, you’re clearly inferior.

So why did Shaw pick you instead of her?

Or rather - were you simply a second choice, and will soon be replaced since the true owner of his heart has returned?

The thoughts in your heart spiral into increasingly dangerous waters. 

But the more you think about it, the more you find it plausible.

Shaw seems different when he’s interacting with her. He’s more careful with his tongue, and tends to have a serious expression on his face.

Perhaps he doesn’t show that side of him to just anyone - not even you.

Could this be a sign that he doesn’t love you as much as you think he does?

You’ve gone through a heartbreaking love before, but didn’t expect to experience it again.

Perhaps a sweet romance is unattainable for you.

Perhaps some people have never belonged to you.

-

With a heavy heart, you plan to leave Live House, not wanting to face a break up. Doing it over the phone would be better - he wouldn’t know whether or not you’re crying.

You definitely have to be the one to initiate the breakup. Even if it upsets you, you have to retain your final shred of dignity.

Head lowered as you walk through the entranceway, you bump into Adam, who is just about to enter. Losing your balance, you support yourself on the door frame.

“Eh? Sister? Are you looking for Shaw?” Shock is written all over Adam’s face. “Shaw’s been busy lately.”

You cast a glance inside, but you can no longer see the Shaw nor the woman.

“Mm, I know.”

They probably went into the room. The rehearsal room that you rarely visit...

Completely oblivious to how strange your behaviour is, Adam leads you over to the rehearsal room enthusiastically.

You pause in your steps, keeping your voice calm. “Is it really appropriate for me to enter? Won’t I be disturbing them?

Adam laughs. “No way. Sister, you can just sit at the side and watch without saying anything. They don’t get disturbed easily.”

“I’d better not. I should go.” You decide to retreat, not wanting to hear their sweet nothings, afraid to see how meticulous Shaw is with that woman.

Just as you turn, the door opens.

Shaw stands at the entranceway. “What are you doing here?”

That’s right - you shouldn’t have come.

“I’m off.”

You direct this at Adam, not even giving Shaw a glance.

The woman seems impatient, rushing him to return. “Shaw, why aren’t you back yet?”

“Forget it, you should continue with what you were doing.”

Despite what you just said, Shaw pulls you into the rehearsal room.

Initially expecting that you’d be catching them in a romantic rendezvous, you’re instead met by a table filled with messy clumps of clay.

You stare at the somewhat cylindrical shaped object on the table.

“...this is?”

Before Shaw speaks, the woman pipes up. “Are you Shaw’s girlfriend? I’m the teacher in charge of Ceramic Art Design in Loveland University, and also the wife of his teacher.”

The female teacher turns to Shaw. “He promised that if I were to teach him pottery, he’d not be late for school, or leave early.”

The truth is out.

Your cheeks redden, and you hastily greet her. Then, you sneak a peek at Shaw.

“Why did you bring her here!? I worked so hard to hide for a week, and now it’s all ruined!” He balls his hands into fists and looks like he’s about to beat Adam into a pulp.

“Calm down. Isn’t it good enough for Sister to know that you’re preparing a gift for her?” Adam chuckles.

Shaw’s eyes flit to yours, then he averts them. “Tch, it’s none of your business!?”

A laugh escapes you. 

He really isn’t cute at all.

--

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[michaelburnhamfanclub]

season three is where star trek discovery claims to have found its stride, and i must admit that with the season’s premiere, i was more than inclined to agree. however, now that s3 is complete and we’re able to take a holistic view of all of the resolved and unresolved arcs, i’m still pretty unsatisfied

with the s3 finale, it became clear that the season’s mission in terms of its protagonist was a concise one: to fully prepare michael burnham for the captain’s seat

i was thrilled when michael finally was promoted to captain, but it’s really worth examining the ways that the show went about its final preparations for such a promotion. there were a few major tenants to michael’s character arc across these thirteen episodes, and the following two themes are the ones i think are most worth unpacking in terms of what they do in service of michael’s promotion:

1. michael’s ongoing and complex relationship with isolation

2. michael’s inclination to subvert authority and protocol in service of what is right

i’ll try and unpack these a little bit below the cut

michael and isolation

ever since the very first episode of the very first season, michael burnham has been a character entrenched in her own isolation. in season one, michael found friendship and community on the discovery by forging bonds with sylvia tilly, ash tyler, and paul stamets and by redefining previously broken bonds with saru and the alternate philippa georgiou. one of the main reasons why s1 is kinda still my favorite season is this very aspect of it: michael’s success and the federation’s survival depended on the creation and strength of these bonds

season two continued michael’s experience of isolation by introducing her estranged and tortured relationship with spock. the major theme of michael’s character in this season was her instinct to “reach” for the people who always seemed furthest from her despite everything (i.e., she “reached” for her parents, spock, tilly, etc.). this was the final message she imparted to spock: the act of reaching for others will always be the most worthwhile thing, even if you are unable to ever touch them. michael was finally able to connect with spock only to be launched into the future

season three picks up on this theme in what i think is the most conceivably devastating way possible. michael is isolated for a whole year from the crew of the discovery, and when she returns into the fold, nobody reaches for her.

now, a huge part of why the first and third episodes hit me so hard is because i really thought they were going somewhere meaningful with this. she loses so much, and the gratitude directed towards her in the third episode is directly acknowledged as NOT ENOUGH. michael stands among her found family in the halls of the discovery, a family she has mourned for a year, and tilly says, “you let us go, didn’t you?” and there seems to be purpose to it

the first half of season three sees michael feeling lost, struggling to find a single reason why she should feel like she should belong with these people on this ship anymore. tilly and saru both clearly understand this, and instead of seeing any efforts on their part to welcome her back into their family, they further contribute to her feelings of isolation and make HER apologize for keeping THEM out of the loop (and yeah i understand that these apologies have to do with breaches in starfleet protocol but rn i’m only focusing on the interpersonal implications). the only meaningful connections that michael is able to maintain this season are with book and georgiou. and while i adore them both, georgiou leaves before the season ends and book is from the future and isn’t a discovery crew member, which makes it feel like when michael says she doesn’t think she belongs on the discovery, she’s RIGHT

this first half of development would’ve been all well and good if it had been carried out to its logical conclusion, which would have been the discovery crew fighting to make michael feel like she belongs, but that never happened. instead, we get unification iii, which is a great episode on its own, but it only resolves michael’s internal feelings regarding her place in starfleet, not the interpersonal tension that’s made her feel more isolated than she’s been since, like, maybe even early season one.

this is all to say that i don’t understand how this unfulfilled arc generates michael’s preparedness to stay on the discovery as captain, unless we’re going with the “the captain defines themself as separate from the crew because they’re the captain” narrative that star trek does admittedly love. i would be more into it if i was sure that discovery would actually explore that isolation with the care it deserves

it could be cool to potentially explore a discussion or resolution of this arc next season by bringing commander nhan back as michael’s first officer, another character who felt disconnected enough from the discovery’s crew to actually decide to leave, but idk i guess we’ll see

michael and authority

i’ve talked about how michael’s s1 character arc was a journey to learn how to subvert authority before. she starts the show as “the mutineer,” and this is a signifier we can’t forget

my roommate and i have also talked a lot about how the command structure of the discovery is so fucking weird, and i think a large part of it is because it naturally organizes itself around its heart, which is a position that michael instinctively and effortlessly occupies (though that is not to say that this effortlessness is not without its own suffering---michael being the heart of the discovery is what leads to the reinforcement of her martyr complex, though that’s not the focus of this post so i won’t dwell there)

season three’s essential question that it sets up with michael centers around doing the right thing her way or doing the right thing starfleet’s way. in her year alone, michael is finally able to define herself outside of starfleet, and she likes who she finds. this is one of the main reasons she struggles to reinsert herself into the crew of the discovery, this is the reason she rejects the idea of being the crew’s captain outright, and this is the reason saru gives for demoting her. this is the eventual reason that michael sends paul in an escape pod to the federation hq instead of immediately trying to jump for hugh, saru, and adira. this is the reason that she is eventually promoted to captain

tbh i would have had less issue with this storyline if not for a couple key details: (1) michael was punished for subverting starfleet protocol when other characters (like keyla or tilly) were encouraged or rewarded for it. (2) idk i feel like we’ve exceeded the bounds of the whole “needs of the many/needs of the few” ideological tenant, which was (i think) something that the ni’var president even SAID.

when it comes down to it, i just think that michael’s complicated relationship with subverting authority deserves a much more complicated storyline. i do think that this is something we’ll see more of in s4 because it’s always going to be one of the greatest tenants of her character, but that doesn’t change the fact that it seems to have fallen rather flat in s3 for me. i’d argue that this is because discovery doesn’t seem to want to commit to its serialized style as much anymore, but maybe that’s for another post lmao

i don’t think i’ve quite found a way to properly articulate it yet, but michael taking the captain’s seat was supposed to be the culmination of three seasons of buildup. however, the buildup that the show suggested in the s3 finale seemed to be based on things that michael had already earned by the s3 premiere. her relationship with authority this season felt. idk. maybe it’s because this was kinda the first time the show attempted to show michael as a subordinate on the discovery instead of as the heart of the discovery, but it felt like it just wasn’t the natural place to take that particular element of her characterization. i’m hoping that s4 will deliver on this front, but the main thing is that i don’t think s3 did

tl;dr s3 was not what i was hoping for in terms of furthering michael’s character, and now that she’s captain i would love for these two elements of her characterization to be explored to their full and complicated conclusions

[mephistagain]

Everything, or Nothing At All

Hello good, sweet, kind, wonderful friends who follow Flawed by Design.

Here is an epilogue which will not appear in the actual story, but which I*gleefully embraced and ran, ran so far away*toyed with the idea of at one point a few months ago. 

If you’d prefer to wait for me to finish FbD prior to reading any spoilerish content, abort reading now.

John parked the warthog in the usual spot at the edge of the redwoods. He retrieved his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and hauled the camo tarp atop the vehicle so that it didn’t stand out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the verdant mountainside. Then he turned and started into the forest. The trek generally took him two hours, and while the warthog could handle the terrain for part of the way, he preferred the solitude of travelling on foot. 

Briar had also complained on the one occasion he had driven closer that the approach had been about as inconspicuous as he was - which was evidently not very, he’d been given to understand. 

The hike gave him time to clear his head of the latest sim test results, the monotony of base life, and the lingering impotency of being involuntarily removed from active duty. He was still a highly functioning tactical asset, so while he understood the decision as it had been explained to him by Brass as a matter of PR, he didn’t like it. Linda didn’t either, but she never complained. Unsurprisingly, Fred and Kelly were transitioning from life in the field with the most ease. They were anticipating instructional appointments as an opportunity to guide and shape the next generation of Spartan-IVs. 

Not him.

Pausing, John examined the trunk of one of the towering trees - more specifically the scarred markings some animal’s claws had torn into its bark. She’d informed him when he’d last left that there was a cougar lurking in the area. He continued on, the familiar weight of the M6H2 strapped to his thigh precluding any concerns about crossing paths with the predator. The territorial scorings didn’t appear recent, sap had already wept over the abrasions and hardened, but he still recentred his focus. Which wasn’t easily done as he tallied up just how long it’d been since he’d last left base. 

An unfamiliar weight settled in his gut, but he knew it for what it was - guilt. Seven weeks was not inconsiderable. And while it hadn’t been his intention to avoid returning, neither had he sought rec time or leave in order to do so. Hadn’t even given it much thought between the day in, day out routine trials Blue team had been selected to participate in for the Gen3 MJOLNIR platform.

He now had to wonder if that had been subconsciously purposeful because of his conflicted feelings over the pregnancy. Briar had encouraged him to seek the input of Fred, Linda, and Kelly, and yet he’d not done that either. Not even when Fred had noted that he was behaving more introvertedly than was characteristic of him. The reason for that, at least, was logical. As Blue team’s leader, undermining the others’ confidence in him by requisitioning advice on a subject none of them were more likely to have experience with than he did was irrational. Fred and Kelly may be more sociable than he was, but he doubted they were concealing clandestine children out there in the systems somewhere. The thought nearly made him snort, in fact. 

The elevation increase and time elapsed since he’d set out from the warthog suggested he was better than halfway there now. 

Would she be displeased with him? He hadn’t gotten the sense his initial reaction had caused her to be so. If anything, she’d seemed as uncertain about the development as he’d been. She hadn’t questioned him when he’d prepared to head back to base earlier than planned. Just requested that he speak with his fellow Spartan-IIs. 

The issue stemmed from the fact John had never factored children into his future. He’d factored another few decades of service in. But not much beyond that. And now, here he was; forced into semi-retirement for all intents and purposes, and staring fatherhood down the barrel. What that even involved, he couldn’t begin to fathom. His memories of his own childhood were so watered down and repressed that it took a Herculean effort just to recall that he’d possessed one at some distant point in the past. He would have a duty to protect the child, that much was obvious. And provide for it - though with the healthy settlement he’d been saddled with as compensation from the UNSC, there should prove no barrier to that. 

What would life for a child born to two Spartans even look like? It had never been explicitly expressed, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind they’d never been expected to produce offspring. And while the inquisition into Orion and the subsequent Spartan programs had clued up, and public perception had shifted dramatically in light of its innumerable findings, it still didn’t feel as though society was prepared for Spartans to fully re-integrate. At least, not IIs and IIIs. The IVs had been regular enlisted before being recruited into their program. They’d led normal lives. Had families. No so for his and Briar’s generation. Despite having been stationed there for six months now, Blue team still received a variety of conspicuous reactions from the base’s other personnel as they went about their assigned duties. He ignored them, but the relief of leaving it all behind when he drove past the last checkpoint and the wild landscape opened up before the warthog had been palpable. 

The fact he looked forward to Briar’s company wasn’t the enigmatic response it had initially presented as to him any longer. With her, he was just John. And whatever that entailed, she took in stride. No expectations. 

He smelled it before he saw it. The copper tang of blood hung heavy in the air as he approached the clearing the cottage occupied on the ridge. Through the foliage, tawny hide could be glimpsed. Brandishing his sidearm, he strained his honed senses for further signs of intrusion as he stalked in towards his quarry. Within twenty metres, John could detect the error in his assessment. The once-predator’s pelt hung from a make-shift frame of pliable branches, stretched out wide in a curious display of victory. So, she’d taken care of the cougar. Bypassing the trophy, he was returning the magnum to its holster when he noted the smear on the doorframe. Briar wasn’t as fastidiously tidy and organized as he was wont to be, but a bloody handprint seemed grisly even for her to disregard cleaning up. 

John glanced back to the hide. The dark stain from blood which had pooled beneath it seemed to indicate it’d been hung there for some time. Hours, probably. His attention returned to the smeared handprint. Was it possibly not the result of the animal’s blood, but her own? Had she been injured?

“Briar?” he called not without apprehension as he pushed through the door and inside. Crimson droplets led directly across the rustic floorboards towards the lav. His heart rate kicked up a notch. She hadn’t responded. Dropping the pack with a thud, he stepped over the trail as he strode to the open doorway. No light spilled out, so he wasn’t surprised not to find her within, but the open med kit, mess of bandaging supplies, and blood ringing the sink did alarm him more than he cared to admit. She’d treated herself for whatever wound she’d received, he reasoned with himself. Everything was likely fine. 

Noise outside pulled John away from the chaos which had been unleashed in the lav. He re-emerged from the cottage just as Briar was latching the door on the small tool shed he’d insisted they erect during his last visit, to remove the clutter of equipment from the limited space offered in the main living structure. 

She looked about as bewildered by his presence as he felt about the scene he’d witnessed upon arrival, but as usual, recovered first. “Could have used your help earlier,” she commented while wiping her dirty hands on her already soiled pants. A combination of blood and grime interrupted their dark green camo patterning. 

“With the cougar?” he surmised, having paused just outside the door.

“With burying it.”

That explained the mud, anyway. “Are you alright?” She appeared whole, but the med kit had been rummaged through for a purpose. Her black t-shirt revealed a few shallow lacerations on her arms, but none of them were bandaged.

Briar shrugged, or began to, though the motion was cut short by a grimace. “It got the jump on me, nothing serious.” She lingered by the shed, her gaze having shifted to the hide. “Should have driven it off a while ago.” It didn’t seem a conscious action, but one of her hands drifted briefly to her abdomen before falling back to her side.

It hit him with the sheer, unrestrained force of a NOVA. She’d been in danger - the child she carried, his child, had been in danger - and he hadn’t even known. No matter his uncertainty, the overwhelming and fierce instinct to protect that precious unborn life consumed him with an abruptness he’d never before experienced in his 48 years. He didn’t know what to expect from fatherhood, but the fear of having that opportunity snatched away by variables outside his control was perhaps the realest he’d ever known. 

She was eying him pensively as he closed the distance between them. Dark strands of hair had escaped her braid and smudges on her cheek and temple implied she’d probably been pushing the loose locks out of her eyes. He reached up to do so for her now after she’d unsuccessfully attempted to blow them out of her line of sight. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking, or should I stand here waiting like an idiot for you to say something for another ten minutes first?”

“I’m thinking that cougar chose its prey unwisely.” 

She rolled her eyes, but they then shot down to where his hand had come to rest over her stomach before she could reply. 

“And that I shouldn’t have waited so long to come back,” he supplied with regret. Not only did he now comprehend how cowardly it had been, even if it shamed him to ascribe such a trait to himself, it had nearly cost him more than he’d at first understood. 

Briar was regarding him with an unreadable expression. She hadn’t stepped back, but neither did she seem particularly welcoming of his proximity. What must she have thought of him as the weeks had stretched on in his absence? “I knew you would,” she said after some time. “Eventually.” It didn’t sound as though that certainty had reassured her much, it was more of a statement of fact.

“I didn’t speak to the others about it.” She deserved to know he’d disregarded her request along with leaving her out here alone without explanation.

“John-”

“But I’m going to. When I go back.”

“It was just a suggestion-”

“What were the bandages for?” he cut her off, having already made up his mind on the matter. Blue team might not be able to offer parenting advice, but they would give him their honest assessment of the situation. And since the added responsibility could potentially affect his performance as team leader, they needed to be aware of that. 

Sighing, she turned around and lifted her shirt to reveal the gauze padding haphazardly taped to her back. Blood had already seeped through several wads, suggesting the wounds they covered were deeper than those on her arms. “I’m going to clean up the shitstorm in there, I just wanted to deal with that asshole before dark,” she said while shooting the pelt a miffed glare and dropping her shirt again. 

“So you decided to skin it.”

“Only after it tried to eat me.” 

John took her by the arm to gently propel her inside. Fortunately, she didn’t resist. In the lav, he again turned her so that she faced the opposite direction and pulled the t-shirt up and over her head, prompting her to lift her arms in the process. Then he began the painstaking process of peeling the medical tape off, doing so slowly so as not to aggravate the injuries beneath. 

All of this, Briar endured cooperatively in silence. Even when he applied the biogel, which he knew from plenty of personal experience, stung owing to its antiseptic component. Once he’d reapplied the bandaging in plush squares, he returned the supplies to the med kit and rinsed out the sink. 

She was still standing in the same spot, shirt held in one hand as she faced the shower unit. Her posture didn’t point towards being receptive to physical contact, so he leaned against the doorframe to give her some space.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking… if this isn’t something you want to go through with, I understand.”

The sudden remark set him on edge almost as swiftly as the cougar pelt had. “Explain,” he prompted her when no further information was offered. 

“Explain what - that neither one of us would have any clue how to raise a kid?” She was shaking her head and he knew without needing her to say more exactly where her doubts stemmed from. She’d confessed before to having no memory of her parents, and his own were vague impressions in the few flashbacks he’d experienced over the years.

“I want to try.”

When she turned around finally, she was frowning. “It’s not something you ‘try’, John. There are no trial runs. No sims. You can’t fuck it up, you don’t get to reset to alpha position.”

Jaw setting with determination, he pushed away from the doorway. “Then we don’t fail.” They’d been forged with a will to succeed at all costs as ingrained as the fundamental functions of breathing, eating, or sleeping. 

“And we’re going to base it off of what? How Mendez treated us? The other drill instructors? AIs?” Briar moved to bypass him, but he prevented her by blocking her path. It wasn’t difficult in the confined space. “I won’t be responsible for screwing some kid up as badly as we were.”

“Some kid?” John repeated, chest tightening at the description of the child even now developing in her womb. He searched her features for some sign she held no attachment whatsoever to the new life they’d inadvertently created. All he saw was diffidence and frustration. This time when she tried to squeeze past, he caged her in against the cabinet the sink was built into, an arm to either side to keep her there. “I see you,” he told her, voice even despite his own inner turmoil. He couldn’t pressure her into a role she wasn’t prepared to undertake. Even if he’d come to the conclusion it was what he wanted. One of the few things he’d ever wanted - not because it was a duty he’d been trained and groomed to carry out, but because it was one he desired the privilege of fulfilling.

Dropping her gaze, she balled up the shirt. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, another indication of her state of agitation. 

It wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but he brought one hand up to cup her face nonetheless, offering her the comfort he perceived she required in that moment. He still recalled the light and foreign touch of her own fingers upon his cheek in ‘Vadam’s keep. It’d been the first time anyone other than Fred, Kelly, Sam, or Linda had laid a hand on him for a purpose other than addressing an injury, delivering punishment, or examining his MJOLNIR since he’d been conscripted into the Spartan program. She’d advised him not to analyze it, but that’d proven impossible when, from that moment forth, a steadily growing part of him he hadn’t previously known existed had craved that contact. Expressing that hadn’t been something he’d been aware of how to do, or even whether he should do. 

“What’s going on in there?” she asked quietly.

Chagrined to have lost focus, his brow furrowed. He ran his thumb over the dirt smudged across her cheekbone, but it didn’t remove the blemish. Neither did it diminish her appeal, however. “Thinking,” he answered. “About you.” About how much had changed for him in the time they’d known each other, none of it anything he could have ever predicted.

She was waiting for him to elaborate, he could tell.

“And about being something other than a Spartan.” Something more. Something he chose. “But only if it’s what you want.” 

Her lips grazed his palm as she turned her head. She pressed a kiss there. “I want you.” Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she gripped his shoulders, the t-shirt slipping to the floor. “I want everything. With you. And it scares me, John.” And he could see it in her eyes. That terror. The fear of daring to want something. 

Carefully drawing her in close with an arm around the small of her back, which hadn’t sustained any gouges, John held her gaze. “Someone told me being human can be like that.” He was expecting physical repercussions for the cheeky reminder, namely a punch, but gladly obliged when Briar instead tugged on his tags. Lowering his head, he released a pained grunt when her mouth only briefly met his before she captured his lower lip between her teeth. 

“Smartass,” she scolded him with relish and then kissed him - properly this time. 

[rouiyan]

𝘖𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the first volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: prince jeno is willing to trade his heart and soul for the throne. but lee jeno is also willing to trade his heart and soul for you.

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 7.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

✧ author’s note — i have a bad case of 'lee jeno will forever sit atop my bias list, unmoved,' but i guess this is just my way of coping. happy reading, loves.

back to series masterpost: till death do us part.

prince jeno will never be king. he will never sit atop the throne and his plates will always be silver, not gold. he shall be addressed with 'prince' prior to his name, always and perpetually, and until he's wrinkly, gray and even through the eons after he passes, he will only ever be 'prince jeno.' and this is only because of his stoic-faced brother, crown prince doyoung, who is always a step out of reach. born a little more studious, a little more driven, a little more empathetic, and born a little earlier. jeno knows this, his parents know this, even the kingdom is fully aware, that jeno is an example of what a future king should look like, but also that doyoung is the epitome. 

but if there's one thing that jeno excels at, in greater lengths than his brother, it'd be his sense of independence. at the ripe age of one, jeno was already on his own two feet, quick and adept. at three, he could eat solid foods and put on his clothes without aid. at six, he'd gone out of his parent's willingness to learn professional swordsmanship. and at ten, he'd sworn, one sudden night in a fit of angry tears, that he would never marry. he was ten, just touching on double digits, yet he'd never felt such fervent ardor for any one thing. lee jeno was convinced, by none but himself, that he was better off alone, in marriage, in friendships, in brotherhood, in family. he needn't no one but himself for he knew more than anyone, his own capabilities. but he also knew that no matter how ardent he was in his endeavors, he would never be king, at least, not of the southern kingdom.

as he draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the northern castle is fortified in pristine white; white footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the sunlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of luminescence. the castle itself, though, serves as a halo of radiance that rests above a breathing orchard which is then, set behind a pathed meadow of gently mowed lawns. there's a noticeable wind that courses through the splaying fields, gurgling the water of the moat he'd just passed and ruffling the wildflowers. jeno's spirits lift as clusters of petals lift from their stems, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a delicate scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of a similar but more explored palette. he's guided by a man of the recipient kingdom, dressed contrastingly in white, that strides a few paces ahead of the arriving group through the orchard of dew-laden trees, their boughs offering bundles of green apples low enough to be grasped by the hand.

it's easy for jeno to momentarily forget the reason he is here in the first place.

he stands, that night, under a flurry of blinding crystal chandeliers and in line with others, kindred to his age and stature, first as a guest and foremost as a suitor. a man enters from the archway on the left, stout but tall in posture, and he announces, "arrival of crown princess y/n of the northern kingdom, followed by the king and the queen of the northern kingdom."

jeno fails to notice how his own breath hitches, but notices the man next to him stir at the sight of you. for good reason, he thinks. your dress is nothing short of seraphic, a layered piece of cream silk upon silk, built up into a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline. a pearled bodkin swirls back the upper half of your hair, allowing the supple skin of your face to spangle in the light. it's from this he understands that the rumors of your beauty are not half moonshine. he disregards the soft features of your face and focuses on the way you curtsy, gentle but profound, for each member of the line, a bow sent in return for each adjacent man. jeno is careful in his observations but he cannot seem to find a fault in your movements, each tailored to the exact second. your eyes, your attention, your pleasant countenance, spends no more time on himself than the others. this is one of the two things he notes during the feast, the second being your father, the king, taking a blatant liking to whom he knows to be the crown prince of the western kingdom, na jaemin.

an alliance as solid as marriage between the western and northern kingdoms would perhaps be the turnover of the century, a threat to be reckoned with. the aqueducts of the western kingdom, the pure water it provides for the region and its people, paired with the flourishing arts and wealthy merchants of the northern kingdom would yield tremendous power over the agriculture of the eastern and the coal mines of the southern. jeno is sharp in calculations, his resolve shifting and with this, the arranged trip becomes a lot clearer in purpose. he stares ahead, knowing that he has little charm to offer to the miss, but imagining himself on the throne of the northern kingdom for a change. albeit, next to you, but he'll find it in him to deal with that in the long run and for the time being, divert his attention to the young highness.

dinner clears out and the party moves into the nearest drawing room in the west wing of the palace. the princess and her parents are escorted earliest and jeno utilizes the opportunity to make his objective clear with whom he sees as his primary source of competition, the prince of the western kingdom. prince jaemin has a smile gracing his face at all times, a habit that jeno has come to despise the more time he spends looking at. "how do you fair with the princess' impression, mind i ask?" jeno is taken off guard when the boy speaks first, now standing beside him, both gazes held up front instead of at each other. he rights his expression before replying curtly, "a sight to behold, no doubt, but i find her to provide amusing company withal."

"and is that all you see her for? an eyeful and merriment?" jaemin's tone gives way to how he's condescendingly sneering at the prince, in distaste by means of long forgotten familiarity.

jeno doesn't bother to answer for it is now within his knowledge, and the other's, that his intentions are unearthed. jaemin continues, his voice light but carrying heavy weight, "i'd hope that she chooses wisely. the princess deserves her throne." 

they are ushered from the vicinities of the dining parlor into the drawing room. the space is lit with candles that glint and flit across the pale green plaster, lined with golden leaf molding and wainscotting. the walls encasing the room are at least a bountiful twenty feet high, the echoes of thirty or so people colliding off the ceilings and upon the polished floor. nothing remarkable can be said besides the fact that the churnings in the pits jeno's stomach become painfully acute with each step you take towards him, and that he, in turn, can't help but take further steps back.

jeno returns to his assigned quarters without a word spoken to or from you. he does not feel belittled by the others, in fact, he knows his royal blood gives him a hefty advantage over the sons of advisors, distant cousins, older merchants, and others of far off importance. he retires into the crisp white sheets after he blows out the already billowing candle by the bedside. prince jeno only dreams of the throne, the only visions he has ever come to see behind the veil of his eyelids, but it's tonight that he's met with you. smile wide in response to something he's said, an act of jest maybe. he smiles along and towel dries your hair lovingly, brushes through it with tender fingers, lays you upon the bed in fluid motions. it's the morning after that he wakes up with no recollection. 

the following day is open to any and every pastime the palace has to offer, the only program being the ball in the evening, a gathering of formal introductions by footwork and intense stares. jeno doubts the princess will have enough stamina to follow through with thirty or so consecutive dances, each with different men, but he's adamant to be one of the few. he's ambling directionless in the castle, unaware of which halls leads to what and in the forefront of his mind, he's looking for you, as he is sure many others are as well. he stumbles upon a dusty balcony, evidently unused, by the landing of the fourth level that opens up to an expanse of flowers, rows and rows of varying genera, each blooming in full vigor. it's here that he finds you, frolicking among the reposeful blossoms, mirrors of your countenance that rise to your waist. from what he can see, you're walking alongside the small dirt paths with a brown haired boy of sun kissed skin. hand in hand you walk, and he can almost see the pleasant smile the boy adorns and the vibrancy you radiate. 

jeno learns from a maid with a adoring smile, that the boy is prince donghyuck of the eastern kingdom, the youngest son of four and therefore the most unfit match for a crown princess, a spiteful thought that jeno can't help but think. he also learns that he is the one boy, the one person, you've been the closest with since birth and that, out of anger and disapproval, your mother had invited the suitors for the purpose of serving you a more worthy husband and future king. the maid now sports a frightful expression, knowing that she had crossed her bounds by oversharing. jeno is glad though, and reassures her that the secret is safe with him.

he dresses accordingly for the ball, and while many of the fellow suitors donned garments of white to match your family's signature, jeno cannot find a single piece of his that holds the same hue. the color black oozes from the lapels of his pressed suit jacket, from the tie and shirt underneath. the color is second nature to him, one of his own family, and he gives it no thought.

perhaps it's the color, though, that catches your eye that night because you prance over to him not a half hour after the ball commences. kind eyes that feel so welcome on his skin, and though the churns and froths have resurfaced in his gut, he offers his hand in the first and last dance of the night. you say yes to both but the last is when he starts to chip off the guise of royalty to reveal the ramblings of a young girl.

"i'm not in love with him, most certainly not, but i feel strongly that if i were ever granted a say in marriage, it would not be of anyone in this room, no, i would marry my dearest companion." jeno fails to admit that the smooth vibrations of your voice are enough to set fire to his resolve, the purpose behind your hand on his shoulder and his around your waist. 

he draws you in, "and why not marry for love?" though he's sure he doesn't mean to.

"and why not should my love for a close confidante count? is it not love all the same?" you pull from him and jeno follows in step of the music to twirl you back into his embrace, just the way a prince should.

"i believe the love you speak is of the head," jeno counters. the ball is in his court, but he pays it no attention, sincere in obtaining an answer, "i am asking why you should not marry for love of the heart?"

"of the heart," you repeat to yourself, an utterance that jeno finds so endearing but cannot bring himself to immerse in. "i've yet to encounter such an emotion. may i ask, has the prince himself ever held such affection towards another?"

he chuckles, "i only know of once where another held my gaze captive. i know little of her, yet i can speak quite arduously on her behalf."

"what a sight she must be," you muse, partially uninterested now that your partner has declared the purpose of his attendance entirely political by speaking of his one true love whilst in your presence.

prince jeno stops, the hand of his on your back slots for more support and he lowers your figure down by the waist, hie eyes never leaving yours and your noses touch, "yes, you are quite the sight." 

prince jeno's passed the golfing greens, the rose gardens, the hiking trails, and the fencing grounds, but he has yet to find something that catches his eye, something he has never seen. as a southern kingdom native and royal, the northern kingdom is easily foreign territory. the air is clear here, there's no soot to brush off when you head inside, and a step outside the walls of the palace, he knows he'll find artisan markets that run for miles instead of coal sites. the artisan markets, he thinks, is where he wants to go. 

he's just tipping into the edge of the thick forest that lines the southeastern bounds of the estate when his ears pick up on the babble of a creek. jeno's quick to brush through the creepers and ramblers until the trees give into an expanse of open air. the creek he'd thought he heard is in actuality a wide bathing pool, the water a clear green. he spots a level bronzed rock on which you lay, bare-skinned, the direct sunlight engulfing your figure in glorification. quickly, he diverts his eyes and clears his throat to announce his presence. you're also quick to your feet at the sound, scrambling to grasp at your robes strewn about. 

to your surprise, the man, whom you've now identified as the second prince of the coal mines, has not left and is simply standing still, his back turned to you. it's now you that clears your throat and he understands well enough by turning back around to face a clothed you, the flames of his cheeks withstanding. 

"it's quite alright, you know, nothing to be embarrassed about." he hums in response and you proceed with your thoughts, "but i'd like to affirm it was by chance, was it not?"

jeno clasps his hands behind his back, willing his eyes to yours, "surely by chance, i would no- never- not dare, such intentions are not-" he's cut off by your chuckles, light and airy, like bouts melancholy chords to his ears. the prince, a boy who had been schooled by only the finest etiquette scholars of the region, finds himself blundering for words. jeno is undeniably embarrassed by now, but his eyes soften as you take steps towards him, fingers fumbling to tie your robes shut. 

the heat in his cheeks is still very noticeable but his shortness of breath is not. the prince even goes so far as to close the distance between the two of you himself, hands coming to your aid in lacing the strands of ribboned satin together, gently tugging it into a looped butterfly. you think his favored form of communication is the clearing of his throat for he does it once again, "will you allow me hold account for my mishaps?"

"you hardly did much wrong, your highness." his nose scrunches at the formality.

"then may i repay you for your forgiveness?"

your expression isn't shy to conceal your incredulity at his persistence, "my, now i cannot help but be a tad bit intrigued. what can you offer than i cannot already find on my own land?"

"allow me," he pauses, a smile forming before he can even let you in on his gracious idea, "to give you a tour of the artisan marts, what do you suppose?" the smile is contagious, infectious even, spreading onto your face as well, "a mineral boy to guide me through fine arts? i think i ought to say yes."

your peals of laughter are imminent in the air of sundown. he thinks the painted coasters are plates, he sees the tapestries as scarves, the delicate ribbons as horse whips. but when the two of you come across an array of jeweled accessories, he has the gall to sneak a sapphired hair pin from the display and slot it between your locks, the hood shielding your identity from passerbyers  falling back. you're eyes are blown wide at this but jeno simply smiles, fingers coursing through two entangled tresses, courtesy of the abrasion on the rough commoner's fabric. 

"a pretty face like yours should never have to hide," he chides. jeno's eyes form soft crescents and he's subtle when he takes your hand in his, "wouldn't want to lose you, princess." you see him slip a gold coin for the dear madam selling the goods before he's off, jogging lightly and pulling you close to his back. the destination is unknown to you but the man seems to lead with an air of awareness. he slows a few blocks down, allowing you to catch your breath as you note that his hood has also been brushed back. returning the favor, you go on your toes to ruffle the strands into place, not missing the surprised flinch his composure gives way to. people left and right are starting to notice, it just so happens that the two of you are stood right in the middle of all the commotion that comes with the afternoon wave of customers. "over here."

jeno's hand is in yours again and you wonder if it's the cause of the heavy hammering in your heart. you wonder, because though it is certainly not an unwelcome feeling, you doubt you've ever felt it beat so hard. his hand gives your own a squeeze and it's as if your heartstrings have been strummed like a guitar, his ragged breaths music to your ears, a remedy for your aches. the narrow alleyway he's entered hosts a light at the end and it opens up into a view of the town, the terracotta-tiled roofings, bronzed candle streetlamps, public works funded by your mother, and all the townspeople going about their days, now in miniscule movements. the sun is just about setting but from the looks of it, it might as well be seen as rising. afterall, who is to say that only sunrises bring new days? new times, new beginnings, new understandings, new loves are all brought about just as much from sunsets as sunrises. and if there's one thing to prove that, it's the way jeno's hand never leaves yours, not for the rest of the night. 

"and they'd asked if i should want to extend the stay for anyone."

prince jeno crosses his room and leans upon the footboard of his bed. a week certainly isn't enough to develop a bond of marriage but he is glad to acknowledge that it doesn't get any better than this. "and did you?" he knows where you're going with this, you know that he knows, the whole palace knows that you know that he knows. why else would crown princess y/n head down to the guest quarters, to ask for the room number of a specific boy, if not to tell said boy, whom she had spent almost every second of the week with, that she would like it if he stayed? 

"yes, i did, i requested your stay. late yesterday, in fact, but i didn't have it in me to inform you until now." you're blushing and he's thrust into the awareness that the feelings you subject him to aren't customary. "will you be staying?" his eyes are unwavering on yours as if to tell you exactly what he means to say before he eventually does, "it'd be my pleasure."

a knock on the door breaks the moment, but jeno is quick to call the maid in. a letter is tucked between her fingers and upon delivery, the prince recognizes his name printed in the neat scrawl of his mother. an absentminded, "thanks" is followed up by the zealous unsheathing of the letter, a ill-minded idea of the content already forming in the forefront of his mind.

our dearest jeno,

it has come to our attention that you plan on extending your stay until a month's time. officials of the northern kingdom are already working in conjunction with our advisors to plan a date. of most excitement did it certainly incite within your family. had i known you'd be married off to a lass of such prestigious blood, i would have sent you much earlier. your father would love to hear of your methods of courting, perhaps your brother could do well with it no doubt. i've no time to spare, the schematics of your succession are coming fast in the drawing room. expect no less than the best and send my warmest regards to the young highness.

all the best, your dearest mother.

"she'd like to welcome you to the family, that's what's said." jeno's thankful that you decided to teeter over to him now, after he finished skimming through the damned article. he has time to fold it closed before you're by his side, fingers reaching for his. he's rubbing smooth lines into the ridges of your palms. "i suppose they are all thinking the same thing, marriage."

you speak, "do you suggest that it's wrong of them?" but jeno wishes you'd get to the point so he can tell you just what he means.

"not wrong, but natural. if i was my father i doubt i'd think any different."

"then, if not your father, how would you think?"

"i think," he's drawn to the way your teeth bite down on your lips. "i think i'd like it." his thoughts block out everything except the image of your lips and he ponders following through with the ideas plaguing his mind. jeno goes in when you draw back, turning to hide your flushed state. you're retreating even further now, taking an exit all together but not before clearing the air. "breakfast tomorrow at seven, east wing. ask a maid if you are unsure."

next time, he thinks.

breakfast is silent sans the clattering of cutlery on plates but jeno finds baseline joy in the shy glances that you sneak at him across the table. he does not, however, particularly like the prolonged stares your father blatantly spends on him. jeno thinks he's about to look away, for the sixth time at that, when the elder decides upon the moment to speak, "a striking young man, i'll let that. y/n, dear, pray tell me your decision was not built on his good looks." your father is rather speaking to you.

your face burns up in tinged mortification, "father, that is hardly an appropriate question to bring up over the course of a family meal-"

much to your chagrin, the king pays no heed to your interjections and resumes, "preposterous as it may seem, i would despise if our ranks were to be infiltrated by those of the miner's kingdom. our liberal arts are not so often mixed with a line of lowly traitors, an observation may i add-"

"father! oh, how lowly it is of you to be restricting a kind young sir of royal blood to the bounds of his heritage!" your mother has halted in her tracks, setting a golden spoon aside and retreating her hands to her lap.

"must you forget that the blood in him courses silver not gold?" your father's voice never raises, never lowers. you fail at maintaining the same composure, distress budding between outbursts. 

"color does not render the propriety of one for better or worse. i believe that was what you'd taught me to rule by but for laughs or for naught, a king you so-call yourself!" 

breakfast is silent once again, but this time, not even the aid of cutlery against plates is around to sheath the tension in the air. jeno's enlightened to learn of this side of you. your eyes are hardened, your jaw left slightly unhinged, and deep breaths are taken to retain any sort of semblance. he sees determination in your eyes, lined with a raw and unearthed air of conviction, and there's no other way to describe the look on your face except to say that you are solely driven by a vehement passion for righteousness. but drawing back from the you who has captivated him, he's left with the realization that he hasn't given a second thought to his original resolve since setting foot in the palace. and while the four of you sit in silence, glares and glowers being thrown about, prince jeno is daunted by the fact that more than ever, he feels the fervent ardor that in order to be a king, deserving of accolade and reverence, he needs you by his side to be his queen.

"what my father thinks is beyond me, really. i'd only hope what he said doesn't deter you all that much." you pop a cherry into your mouth, fingers clasping the stem and tugging it off with a pop. jeno looks down at you in adoration, the events of this morning a figment of the past. "not much at all for me, if it doesn't bother you." the soft smile that fills his countenance is given as if to say, 'as you wish, my love.'

you sit up abruptly, the thin cotton cloth scrunching under your thighs. the grass is still dewy from the morning showers but you slip off your sandals in favor of the bare grit of soil beneath your feet. the sun is beginning to stutter from its position overhead but not so fast, you think, the day has just begun. with one last look spared for the bewildered boy, you mouth a 'catch me if you can,' before bundling up the folds of your linen dress into your hands and taking off into the open fields. native flowers of poppies and calendula, orange and white, are trampled in your wake but you don't mind because prince jeno is hot on your heels. he is hot on your heels with a grin of mirth gracing his expression and strides that are long and fast. so fast that you are caught within a matter of seconds, encased in his arms before you even know it, feet lifting off the ground and squeals of protest in response. the adrenaline in your system is slow to subside as you land on your feet once again, eyes lit up like a child's in front of santa claus. the verdant grass looks a murky brown behind your rose-tinted glasses but prince jeno continues to look ethereal. grasping his dark locks in a fistful, you tug him down so that your lips meet and in no time, his lips are working fast against your own. the sensations are nothing short of paradisiacal, as opposite ends of the planet meet, the sun and the moon, the sky and the earth, summer and winter, water and fire, and silver and gold.

wet and slippery, you laugh at the strand of saliva that spreads thinner as you part from his lips. jeno repositions so that you are situated on his back and he allows you to catch your breath before strolling aimlessly across the grounds, as if what happened seconds beforehand didn't just mark the beginning of time. he takes you back inside once the sun has set and your eyelids are half closed. he waits outside in your chamber as you bathe and he stands behind you as your sit in front of your vanity, hair dripping wet and a towel in hand. jeno is gathering your hair in his hands, smoothing over your wet locks with the cloth when he remembers. he remembers the dream he had just over a fortnight ago. the one where he stood in this exact spot. he remembers it just as he sees you give a small chortle in the reflection of the mirror in response to him playfully pulling your hair a little too hard, an act of jest. the trickling feeling of déjà vu hits him so terribly hard but he can only live out the dream in real time, his fingers gently raking your now dried hair. he spins you in his seat and decides that whatever vision he was granted hadn't been revealed to him until now for the very reason being that he simply wasn't ready. the jeno of two weeks ago wasn't ready to love another, to accept another, to cherish another as he does now. now, for you. 

prince jeno's eyes are glazed over in awe and revelation as he feels the way your hands draw him closer to you by his waist, entwining your bodies. he's overcome with the need to be the one to make you feel the same way you do unto him. gingerly he lifts you from your spot, hands hooking under the crevice beneath your knees with your arms riding up to his shoulders while effectively removing his shirt in one fluid motion. he's glad that you share the same idea. 

that night is the first of many where he shows you the sheer magnitude of which he loves you. he lives for the look of your star-studded eyes, rolling back into your head and the way your toes curl as you call out his name and his name only. he breathes for the way your fingers are in a world of their own as they scour every inch of his hair, pushing and pulling the same way the moon teases its waters. his mere existence is reliant on the shine of his arousal on the bare skin of your stomach. with each time, jeno is reborn.

it's the crack of dawn when he hears your voice, barely scathing the absolute threshold, "i am still very much awake."

"as am i," jeno lifts his head to look across the room, past the dirtied sheets, the swathes of clothes on the ground, to the doors of the balcony that are swung wide open. the sky is of a distilled blue, not yet bright, but still illuminated by the crown of the sun.

"would it be deemed a waste to simply lay here for the duration of the night?" you question, but move to sit up in decisiveness. jeno answers offhandedly once again, even now revelling in the feeling of your skin on his, "i would feel so, yes."

"shall we take a trip to the study? i recall you mentioning a desire to visit." the prince smiles at this. curt again, "if you'd like."

"yes, a warm cup of tea and agreeable literature is an ancient remedy for sleeplessness. my, morning it is already. i don't suppose a morning nap has ever been heard of, though i'd think i'd like just that at this moment." you mumble out the last half, partially rambling to yourself. 

"light a candle, my dear, my eyes aren't half as sharp in the dim light." you chuckle at that and reach for the brass pricket set on your bedside table. upon lighting it, you are met with the boy's face irradiated in such a way that accentuates everything from his sharp jawline to the apples of his cheeks. he smiles as takes the instrument from you to allow you to don some clothes. the same is done for him and the two of you make quick time in rushing across the stale floors of the palace to the opposite wing. 

the main library, situated on the third floor but occupying large parts of both the third and fourth, is certainly the pride and treasure of the palace, the crown jewel of the northern kingdom even. the separate floors are each sixteen feet in height, filled wall-to-wall with encased book upon book. the collection dates back to the romans and as far forward as your most recent journal entry. jeno pads upon the floors that boast a parqueted mahogany, the same that runs along the integrated shelving and the carvings that crown the skylight above. the windows are made of giant panels of stained glass, mosaics that depict the landscapes just beyond, and as a result, the little light the sun has to offer is cast in shades of blue, green, and red. an assemblage of the masterpieces of ettore forti, genuine, he suspects, are hung in individual alcoves and molded with golden embellishments. jeno thinks the northern kingdom simply cannot have anything better to offer than this. except for you, he thinks.

a maid delivers your tea promptly, a gentle brew of loose leaf herbs, ginger and rooibos by the taste of it and you settle into the plush velvet of the segmented lounge. the work you're reading aloud is enough to keep you awake for the better half of an hour before you begin dozing off. your soft and even breaths are enough for jeno to be shaken from his attention on a few select poems, and he's careful when he moves to replace the leather-bound diary in your hands, with a hand of his own. jeno uses his other hand to cradle the side of your face, as any besotted boy would do, caressing by the means of docile strokes. he feels a mellow calm when you're persistent by his side, even in your sleep. tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, he's leaning in for a quick kiss to the temple when the door of the study is propped ajar, a boy of briefer height emerging from the unlit halls. 

jeno recognizes the boy almost instantly, the image of you walking hand in hand with him still as unrelenting in his mind as it was on day one. lee donghyuck, of similar surname but a long-diverging lineage, the fourth prince of the eastern kingdom of agriculture. jeno isn't hit with jealousy, per se, but rather annoyance. 

donghyuck's steps halt the moment he sees the still figure on the juniper-stained chaise. his brows draw in suspicion but he's prudent of the expression he lets on. a dialogue of whispers ensues.

"prince jeno, is it?" donghyuck's face darkens when the other nods. "ah, i've heard of the tidings, may i pass on sincere felicitations to you and your betrothed."

"much obliged, prince donghyuck, i presume." obverse, the aforementioned boy nods.

despite all his efforts, donghyuck can't help but let loose a sliver of his composure, "i have little credit i can give to your word, but i'd like to hear what you have to say in regards to the arrangement."

prince jeno is ticked off now, to say the least, he hides his vexation by keeping his reply as formally insincere as he can muster, "elated, the arrangement could not have been better dealt with." 

"and you are a man that deals in the prospects of union?" donghyuck does not mean to nitpick but there's no way around it when the prince in front of him is so obviously indignated by his presence. you could say that he's been provoked.

voice held level, jeno proceeds, "i am a man of virtue and i come in good faith, i assure you."

"i must inquire, a man of virtue and good faith? i'd like to know of you and your families' conspiracies, falsities, machinations." a snide and low-shot remark, no doubt, but it riles up the taller of the two fair enough.

jeno sussurates, raspy voice and all, "and who are you, brave enough to speak in such a fashion to a second prince."

"gold by marriage is synonymous to silver by birth. why count the numbers when we are one and the same?" donghyuck's voice is still a bare undertone, but harsh and course in resonance. 

"a pity you weren't raised to tell the difference." neither of the princes bother to conceal their malignity for the other. if you were awake, neither would know, too caught up in the heat of their frustration. 

donghyuck is fed up with years of spite and built-up distaste. in between all the blundering he has found a point, a target to aim for. he may not see jeno as a harm to you but he knows there's an unspoken wedge that revolves around his family. donghyuck glows in his opportune moment, then he strikes, "and you were raised upon your father's supremacy. do tell, do you believe your father to be an honest man?"

he is met with jeno's silence, compliance, submission.

the leisure sport of swordsmanship is what prince jeno sets out for first thing after ensuring you had woken and eaten something fulfilling. he is in the need to exert his energy on something, or someone, that isn't an acquaintance of yours, for fear that he has done more damage than good by manifesting himself as an enemy in the eyes of your closest companion. he requests your court's highest ranking knight and is surprised and slightly jarred that the man before him is of a smaller stature, a few inches shorter with narrow shoulders and lean muscles. renjun is the name he goes by and he dominates without the need of force. jeno tells the boy to display his best effort, that a scuff here and there is fine, but he severely misconstrues his opponent's abilities. 

renjun, as it turns out, finds amusement in jeno's stances, flaws evident in ways that only he can see. undermining the prince's pride is what he aims for and he does exactly that, successful with three strokes, two that flit like sparks in the air and the last that scathes the skin of the prince's left wrist. it's small in area and deep in puncture, the raw film underneath unfurling within itself, but it's enough for him to call the session off. jeno's hand withdraws from the new wound and he's met with the sight of red.

the prince is drawn, in many ways more than one, to the red as it seeps between the clasp of his fingers. as it begins its descent towards the fast-approaching floor, the floor of white limestone. he's drawn by the depth he sees within the color, the solidarity he feels towards the hue. in the silver ichor that pools by his feet, he's drawn to his blood red reflection.

jeno finds you retired in your room that night, in exhaustion of formal meetings and other circumstances that required a princess' supervision. despite this, your visage still lights with joy upon seeing the prince. "would you prefer if i let you rest?"

"depends, what will you propose if i refuse?" the lilt to your voice has him almost coddling, his thumbs running circles on the skin behind your ears down to your neck to release the tensions. "i'd propose a midnight adventure, stargazing maybe." 

you give a modest snigger, "a bit of a romanticist, aren't you?"

"only for you i must admit." his tone is humorless. "are you up for it, dear?"

your face returns taut, "yes, needless to say, only for you." 

prince jeno takes you by the hand, he leads and you follow. he makes rounds about the same halls, you think he's unsure of where he is heading, but he comes to a stop at the precipice of the fourth landing. the balcony that leans off to the side is one that you have never stood atop of before though you're unsure why. the outlook it bestows upon you is breathtaking, even in the dead of night. just barely are the outlines of the flowers oscillating in the drafts shown, even fainter are the hills that overlap in the distance, but oh-so-clear is the moon. 

it's quartered today, the slope of the curve is round and prominent. all of a sudden, jeno is quoting ray bradbury, a classic text he knows you'll know a little too much about. "and if you look," he nods to the sky, "there's a man in the moon." as he conjectured, you're quick to catch on the act before the moment dissipates, "he hadn't looked for a long time."

"do you believe in the man in the moon?"

"i believe in the man and the moon, but the man in the moon is very much apparent as well." your eyes are set in the stars. "he is astray and far from the ground, from earth. he does not seek what we all should seek, but rather he dives headfirst into the superficial."

"and what is it that we all should seek?"

"the one thing in the world that carries any significance at all: happiness."

it is now that prince jeno sees himself as the man in the moon, chasing after mirages of aspirations when in truth, he does not find solace in power, he does not revel in the destruction of others, he does not take lightly when the lonely are forsaken and he shall never partake in the atrocities his father subjects him to. but the man in the moon is a conscious past of his, a living memory of growth, for jeno finds happiness in you; you who grounds him to the earth.

lee jeno thinks the world of you and, as the greatest russian poet ever wrote, "she is a beauty. yes, a marble nymph; angelic eyes, unearthly lips…" (Alexander Pushkin, The Collected Works; "A Suite of Lighted Rooms")

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

[kyeungsoo]

sweet talk.

× pairing: oh sehun + fem reader

× genre and warnings: just fluff tbh, i don’t think domesticity is an au but it’s just you and sehun living together and doing living together things

The stupid whitening toothpaste that you buy is way too expensive. Even when it’s on sale, you can hardly consider two for nearly twenty dollars a discounted price for ten ounce tubes of stupid fucking toothpaste.

But it sure does work. Yeah, it makes your breath smell all good, but the whitening aspect is really there too. Consistent brushing twice a day has actually begun to chip away at the years of coffee stains and plaque on your teeth. So, maybe the money is worth it. Besides, the toothpaste is miles cheaper than the whitening strips.

(Which, you also caved in and bought because sure, saying “fuck it” and not caring about the relative whiteness of your teeth is one thing, but it’s so much easier to give in and do it. Plus, if your teeth looked fine, then that’s one less trip to the dentist, and we can all agree that that is certainly worth it all.)

Though consistent, you are not overzealous with your very expensive toothpaste application—for the obvious reasons. So, when you lift up the tube, only a mere three weeks after it’s purchase (and it was not on sale the last time you’d wandered into the grocery store, so this was a full price ten ounces of plaque fighting goodness) and it seems much too empty, you purse your lips together.

Carefully, you apply the proper amount, still curious as to whether or not you should cut back on how much you use, and begin to brush your teeth. Your eyes wander back to the tube, painfully half-empty and sigh. Until your eyes keep trailing, and you spot a dark blue tooth brush with suspiciously moist bristles that do not belong to you, next to a very unused-looking tube of much cheaper, non-whitening toothpaste.

You spit the condensed, minty from from your mouth, and scream at the top of your lungs.

“Oh Sehun!”

You know he’ll be in no rush to come to you—he never is, he strolls everywhere like he has all the time in the world, even when he doesn’t—and it’s baffling really because, one: he never leaves his house early enough to have the leisure of strolling, two: he has all that leg and doesn’t put it to good use, three: he has absolutely no sense of urgency.

It gives you time to rinse your mouth properly and wash your face. Sehun finally makes his way to your bathroom when you’ve got your face in a towel, dabbing the excess water from your skin.

He stands there with and amused expression on his face because he heard the tone of voice with which you called him. He goes so far as to lean against the door frame while you finish drying your face, one overly long leg crossed over the other as his stupid smirk grows.

“Yes, dear?” he vocalizes his presence, relishing in the way your startled body jumps at the sudden ringing of his voice.

You spare him the glare, and instead, hang your face towel back on it’s hook, and take three, long, purposeful strides towards him. You pull on his t-shirt, bringing his head and neck down with him, and kiss him firmly on the lips.

Sehun is surprised to say the least, but is not one to pass up a perfectly good opportunity. He lets you lick into his mouth and wraps his right arm around your waist.

He’s about to bite your lower lip when you pull away, releasing your grip on his shirt, in favor of pointing and wagging your finger mere millimeters in front of his nose.

“Aha!” you shriek, “You have been using my toothpaste, you rotten bastard!”

Sehun blinks, slowly standing upright again whilst processing your words. He looks past your index finger, still genuinely stunned at your proclamation.

“Well, yeah.” He’s not sure if it’s the right reply, but he has yet to fully understand why or if he’s in trouble yet, either.

“Sehun,” you whine, drawing out the vowels in his name, “You have your own!”

“Yeah, but yours taste better,” he chuckles, letting his hands fall to your waist again. He leans forward and kisses you sweetly, “See?”

“I know that, stupid,” you slap his arm, “But it’s mine and it’s expensive! I bought you your own toothbrush and your own toothpaste for you to use when you sleepover, so use them!”

“Wait,” he blinks, “I have my own toothbrush?”

“Sehun!”

He’s borderline cackling now, head thrown back in completely amusement while you stomp around childishly in the constraint of his arms. He presses a happy kiss to your forehead, before holding your head back in both of his hands.

“I’m joking, love,” he clarifies. It doesn’t cease your pouting, so Sehun leans forward to press a kiss against the tip of your nose, “I’ll try not to use your special toothpaste anymore.”

“Good,” you grumble, nestling your head into his chest. Sehun’s smile widens, and he rests his chin atop your head.

The moment is nice, but fleeting as Sehun makes another confession, “I guess this a good time to tell you that I’ve been using your face wash, too.”

“Oh Sehun!”

[be-dazzled]

The Art of Falling

Chapter II LOVE, AN ABSTRACT CONCEPT

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser, Gajeel Redfox Alternative Historical Universe Genre: Old World Vibes, Period Romance All Chapters: Click here

Writer’s Corner: I think we have to make this one alternative historical since, Juvia will obviously maintain her blue locks. She isn’t Juvia if she won’t. Also, as promised, this is going to be a monthly update. So, see you next September! Let me know what you think. Show your girl some love.

Masterlist

“Let me put this into perspective,” Lady Mika Fullbuster slowly started, trying to make sense out of Gray’s proposal, “this woman you speak of, the woman who left you beaten out in the cold, is the woman you wish to marry?”

The gentleman seated opposite her inside the carriage was looking out the window, at the passing scenery through the small frame of the horse-drawn carriage. He expelled a breath of exasperation as he repeatedly answered the question since the first night he proposed the notion.

“Mother, no matter how many times you ask, the answer will remain unchanged.” Gray did not take his eyes off the window as he answered; finding the herd of cattle tended by an old cattleman far more interesting than to keep repeating himself. So, he only heard his mother turn to the patriarch for confirmation.

“And we are going to allow this?”

“The Locksers aren’t a bad family, dear. I’ve met the gentleman many times.” There was a rustle of paper as Silver turned the page of the periodicals he was reading. “As a matter of fact, their family was one of the original settlers of Magnolia. They still have some connection, although very little.”

It took Gray a week or two to finally find the peculiar woman he met at the night of his welcome party. It came as a surprise to him when he learned that Juvia Lockser, one of the daughters of the Lockser family, had lived her entire life in Magnolia. She didn’t seem to share the genteel modesty expected of the ladies of such prestigious town. But who was he to judge as he only met him through those humiliating affairs.

“That wasn’t what I meant, dear.” The other half of the Fullbuster couple swiftly rectified. There was a slight embarrassment in her tone as she feared that her question was deemed critical of the Locksers. “I am only concerned for our son’s well-being. For him to marry a woman he just met in such an extraordinary circumstance…” She trailed off, mulling over her next words.

Gray had an idea what his mother was most worried about – that he would be bringing an unrefined lady into the Fullbuster family. It was, after all, his mother’s duty to see to it that the woman he chooses to marry was fit for the Fullbuster name. That meant that his future wife must possess all his mother’s requirements. Unfortunately, Juvia Lockser seemed to have fallen short of those requirements. So, why was he squandering time travelling to the Lockser household? He could simply not tell them the true reason. Hence, he covered with, “She is the woman I choose.” As if his words offered any explanation but certainly resolve.

“If she tickles his fancy, my love, there is nothing either of us can do about it.” He folded the paper and turned to his wife, saying his next words with finality and resignation. “The heart desires what it desires.”

His father’s words pulled Gray’s attention towards the couple who shared a look filled with silent adoration. It made Gray consider about ‘his heart’s desire’? It was preposterous to think that a heart, a living organ inside his chest, a mere tool for his blood circulation, had the ability to contemplate on wants or desires when the heart lacked a brain on its own. The mind, logic, those were the things that seek for purpose, for desire, for ends and, without a doubt, not an organ like the heart. What a preposterous notion.

Silence once again settled above their heads as the carriage continued to traverse the dirty road towards their destination – the Lockser Home.

…

“My dear, my dear! Come downstairs this instant!”

The Lockser patriarch, with his dull, blue hair sticking flatly to his head, descended the steps with lazy strides.

“What is with this commotion so early in the morning?” he riled, not sparing a glance at the woman jumping at the landing of the staircase, something she’d never done in decades.

“What’s lighting your bottoms, my dear?”

“Oh, my dear, Mr. Lockser,” she swooned beside her husband, feeling lightheaded with the news that came to her this morning, “you have no idea what fortune is about to befall our suffering family.”

“Our family is only suffering from your cry of woes, Mother.”

The Lockser sisters trailed behind their father with Eliana, Juvia and Wendy falling in line on the narrow staircase. The eldest, disapproving of Juvia’s attitude, reprimanded her with a loud slap on the shoulder.

“Don’t speak to mother in such a manner, Juvia. A proper lady only speaks politely.”

As Juvia opened her mouth and about to retort, Eli knew better to cut her off.

“What is this good fortune you speak of, Mother?”

“Oh, my loveliest daughter Eliana!” she exclaimed, caressing the eldest Lockser’s smooth skin of her cheeks with her palms. “Lord Fullbuster has sent word that they are heading to pay our family a visit!”

There was no other news that could send Mrs. Lockser into a high spirits other than even the slightest prospect of an offer of marriage from a wealthy gentleman.

“Oh, Eli!” Elmara flatted the strands of hair into Eliana’s clean and tight bun and pretended to brush imaginary dust on the Eldest’s shoulders, preparing the young lady for the destined meeting. “You must have captured the heart of the Lord’s son. Oh, what beauty!”

“But I haven’t met the Lord’s son, Mother.”

Juvia had this bitter feeling starting at the pit of her stomach. The Lord’s son? She would not have the chance to know the Lord’s son since she did not stay long enough to meet him. But somehow, she felt something she could not place a finger on. Like, something was amiss. Strangely, her mind travelled back to the night she met that debauch of an opportunist and her anger with his shamelessness made her blood boil. An ugly idea crossed her mind, but which she quickly dismissed. There was nothing noble about that lad except for his expensive coat he forced upon her which later, she realized, she badly needed. Catching herself thinking about him again, Juvia dragged herself back to reality – the bothersome reality of her mother preparing the eldest Lockser for a possible destined meeting. She couldn’t fully sort out her feelings about it; about the possibility that Juvia might have to lose her eldest sister in marriage and that saddened her. But to Eliana, she seemed enamored about the idea.

In a rush, the family’s help broke into the living room with an announcement.

“Lord Silver Fullbuster, Lady Mika Fullbuster and their son, Lord Grayden Fullbuster.”

Elmara did everything in her power not to squeal and embarrass herself and, in extension, her entire family. Fearing that she was in earshot of the guests, she restrained her voice as Mrs. Elmara Lockser spat out her orders, forcing her family to arrange some staged presentation to somehow make the Fullbusters believe that the Locksers still possessed the gentry they once held, to which her family fell uncomfortably into.

“Tell me why are we pretending to be something we are not again?”

“Just be quiet, young lady.” The reprimand was spoken through gritted teeth and an awfully pretentious smile. “Do not ruin this opportunity for your sister.”

But to this kind of larking around, Juvia saw an ally. She threw a knowing glance at her father. They shared a resigned smile and a shrug of the shoulders. Her father has long accepted that Mrs. Lockser’s priority was finding a suitable mate for their daughters. That if she failed to do so, Mrs. Lockser deemed herself an unfit mother. As the head of the family, however, Mr. Julian Lockser still had the last word.

The old wooden floors of the house creaked as it welcomed the nobility that paid the Lockser household a visit. It was Lord Silver Fullbuster himself, aided with a cane, who introduced himself first, his wife and then his son, Grayden Fullbuster, who was the one who had business to discuss with the family.

Juvia’s expression was one which seemed like she saw a ghost or thought that maybe her eyes deceived her. But her vision was clear as day. The shameless man who did all sort of unspeakable things to her back at the party now stood before her and her family, walking in with one of the most powerful and influential families in Magnolia. There was a bad feeling gripping at her, disliking the road where her thoughts led. She wanted to leave, to discreetly escape from the house. It was a tad too late as the moment his dark blue eyes locked with Juvia’s, Gray immediately recognized the woman who visited his mind quite frequently. She sternly met his gaze and he held her foreboding glare as long as he could.

Oblivious of the staring match his second daughter and the son of his guests engaged in, Mr. Lockser invited one and all to the parlor. Mrs. Lockser, who was pleased more than anyone, apologized for the current state of the room, only to give off false humility.

“We were not expecting your arrival, Your Lordship.” Elmara waved the help into the room and offered the guests her finest tea and bread. “Please, help yourself with the refreshments. I understand you have travelled far only to meet our humble family.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Lord Silver accepted, resting his cane against his chair’s armrest and made himself comfortable on his seat. The Lady, on the other hand, was still quite reserve; contrary to the friendliness her husband displayed. Lady Mika has yet to make her mind about the Locksers. So, as her husband enjoyed himself with the offered treats, Lady Mika stated their purpose.

“We apologize for coming without prior notice.” She started. “However, I believe my son has a matter to discuss with your daughter. One which cannot be simply delayed.”

All expectant blue eyes, varied in shade, landed on the aptly dressed young lord. He was initially surprised by the sudden attention. Then, he coughed into his fist and cleared his throat before speaking.

“Yes. Our purpose for coming here.” He said inaudibly, as if reminding himself of their goal. Finally composing himself, Gray met those expectant eyes without waver. “I would like to request a private audience with your daughter...”

Juvia prayed he would say the right name as the rest of the Locksers, save her father, held their breaths.

“Ms. Juvia.”

Juvia knew what everyone was thinking; she thought of it too. How could a man of his stature look pass the real beauty in the family? Was he blind? Has he lost hold of reality?

“My daughter Juvia?” Elmara repeated, releasing the breath that hitched in her throat and voicing the question the rest of the Lockser family had in mind.

“Yes.” Gray reiterated, meeting the doubtful eyes of Mrs. Lockser, and then turned to the woman who was the purpose of his long journey. “The second daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lockser, if she would allow.”

Albeit still quite confused, Elmara turned to her second daughter, uncertain of what to say or how to react, exactly.

“Then, Mr. Fullbuster…” Both men of the Fullbusters answered, making Juvia realize her mistake. “I meant, Mr. Grayden, please come follow me.” Juvia excused herself from the room, expecting the lad she requested to follow her where they could discuss their matter more privately.

Juvia gathered the skirt of her dress, only to pull the hem above her ankle, so she could ascend the stairs more quickly, without sparing a glance behind her. If Mr. Grayden Fullbuster lost his way around the Lockser home, she’d feel much better. She traversed the narrow hallways to bring the man to the room she shared with her sisters, only to have him keep himself behind the threshold, reluctant to take another step.

“Would it really be alright if I…” the gentleman’s voice trailed off, his dusky eyes inspecting the small room, taking inventory of its minimal contents, until he met Juvia’s reticent stare. “If I enter your personal room?”

“I invited you, haven’t I?” If he wasn’t too confident or too sure of himself when he spoke to her parents earlier, Juvia would have assumed that the gentleman who refused to enter a woman’s room without permission was a nervous wreck. She watched him hesitantly cross the threshold into her room but maintained a distance between them.

“I shall not waste your time any longer and quickly state my business.” He took a deep breath, making it quite obvious that it was his first time to be in such a situation. “It is of common knowledge by now that I am to inherit my father’s estate. It is estimated at about–” Gray’s speech was abruptly cut when something textured hit his face and darkened his vision. He removed the clothing and realized it was the coat he lent the woman the night they met.

“I assume you are here for that. It must be expensive, after all.”

This time, when Gray met her eyes, he caught him staring at the strong-willed pools, same as those the night of the fateful meeting. There was no more of that modesty she pretended she had around her family. She was, once again, the defiant girl who left him in cold blood, out in the streets after the air left his body with a single punch. This was the girl who he came here for and he was unsure why he was quite relieved when Juvia behaved more like the peculiar woman at the party.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Confronting a woman like Juvia left his mind all befuddled that he, for the first time in his life, was at loss for words. Gray shook his head, finding the act ironically useful to clear his mind. “But my purpose for coming isn’t just about this coat. No.” He corrected himself. “My purpose for taking the journey isn’t about this coat at all.”

With a clearer mind, his intention swam into focus. Gray stepped forward, bridging the small distance between him and the woman, and settled the coat on the bed nearest to Juvia.

“I, Grayden Fullbuster, would like to ask your hand in–”

“No! Don’t speak of it!” Juvia’s blue eyes turned into angry oceans.

Gray had to take a step back, to keep his distance as her harsh tone made him feel unwelcomed. He beseeched her eyes, searching for a reason that could possibly explain how his attempt to ask her hand in marriage might offend the woman. All he found were her deep-seated ire to his audacity and a buried ache that she probably did not wish for him to see. Perhaps Juvia saw the confusion in Gray’s remorseful stare that she chose to hide and turn her back on him. The young lord felt a bitter taste stir in the pit of his stomach, burning its way up his mouth. How a gentleman could cause a lady such pain?

“I just wanted to take responsibility for that night.”

Juvia faced him again, her face twisted in an expression of pure arrogance. “I never asked you to.”

The declaration came as another surprise. This woman, the woman standing her ground so firmly, so determinedly, was no one like any other he had met before. Gray was growing impatient that despite himself, the young gentleman had raised his voice over the lady.

“We found each other under circumstances that must only transpire between married couples. I invaded your personal space. You look at me defiantly as against tradition. I put my hands on you without permission. Yet you refuse my proposal?”

There was no more pain but her eyes held such fierce fury that burned Gray’s skin. “I am not aware of how you perceive a man and a woman should behave around each other nor would I give it time in my day. Despite appearances, Mr. Fullbuster, I am a woman who will only marry for no other reason than love.”

Before taking the journey to the Lockser Household, Gray Fullbuster had practiced his speech, selecting the words with utmost consideration. Doubts frequented his mind about the second daughter accepting his offer. With the way she carried herself so differently from the women that came before her, he had expected Juvia to act and decide reasonably. To accept the gentleman’s offer of mutually beneficial partnership was, in all sense, very logical. Grayden Fullbuster was a man who had a lot to offer: fortune and prestige as among others. Any woman would be induced to accept his proposal of marrying into the noble clan of the Fullbusters. Hence, he could not seem to fathom how a sensible woman such as Juvia would even entertain the idea of love. But Gray Fullbuster ought to laugh at himself for expecting something so usual and ordinary from an extraordinary woman such as Juvia.

His silence stretched on, making the young lady uncomfortable. In her final act of rejection, she turned away from him again, and broke the silence with her own proposal.

“I understand your Lord and the Lady have traveled this far only for it to be unfruitful. I am not the only daughter in this household.” There was a slight twinge of ache in her chest that ran deep than the mere rejection of the marriage for the wrong reasons. “You might have noticed the beauty might eldest sister possesses.” Who could have not seen and appreciated the beaut that is Eliana Lockser? “Perhaps, you’d take fancy on her.”

If she was being honest to herself, a part of Juvia wanted him to reject the idea. A part of her wanted to believe that the proposal of marriage was Gray’s sincere offer. A part of her wished he’d noticed her own charm in spite of the presence of the most beautiful Lockser sister.

A part of her, however, believed that in a world where Eliana existed, Juvia could not.

“Perhaps.”

And that part of her, laughing at her own silliness to dream, had always been right.

…

Like the way they arrived, the Fullbusters travelled back home in silence. But despite the lack of exchange between the parents and the only son, the heir of Lord Silver Fullbuster, Gray’s head was far from at peace. Juvia’s words about seeking marriage for love had Gray question his own belief system.

Love? Wasn’t love a mere chemical reaction in the brain? A by-product of the need to procreate?

“Did she accept?”

Gray lifted his gaze to meet his mother’s inquiring look. “She imposed upon me a condition.” He answered.

“What condition?”

“That I make her fall in love with me.”

Love. An abstract thought which cannot be seen nor held. Something Gray had yet to understand the concept of. That which no one could ever fully explain, not by his books or any accounts to those who fell victim to it. How, then, could he make Juvia Lockser fall in love with him?