#so much love and deep affection and reverent fascination

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

miles + looking at alex during photoshoots

[jinwoosungs]

7/29/24 09:21pm

sung jinwoo x fem.reader

[ drabble ]

{ lucky i’m in love with my best friend | lucky to have been where i have been | lucky to be coming home again… }

you were utterly fascinated with the young man who lay next to you, lost in a blissful slumber as you admired his sleeping features. your fingertips ached with the urge to touch him, feeling them reach out to gently grace at his jawline in an almost reverent manner.

sung jinwoo had always been such an anomaly to you; you hadn’t the slightest clue as to how such a powerful, yet kind, man could have ever fallen in love with you.

you, who had loved him from the start-

(back when he was labeled as the weakest in the world.)

you, who had always believed that he had the potential to be so much more.

it was true that the love you gave to jinwoo was nothing short of unconditional. you loved him when he never once loved himself, always filling your days with self-deprecating rants as he sought comfort in your embrace.

even when fate had changed his life (for better or for worse, you couldn’t say for sure) when he was made stronger by becoming a player of the system, jinwoo never once left your side. regardless of how much he leveled up, jinwoo still relied on your love and care, always wanting you to help heal him while thanking you by littering your face with sweet kisses.

your heart swelled with love for him, unable to believe just how lucky you were to remain by his side. deep down, you knew that jinwoo could have chosen another to love; how he could have been with someone more suited for him while leaving you in the dust-

but that never once happened. by some miracle, jinwoo’s feelings for you never once changed, remaining just as strong as the day he first confessed his feelings for you all those years ago.

watching him sleeping so peacefully, (with his handsome features remaining oh so tranquil as he was lost in the land of dreams), you could feel your affections overflowing for him. a mischievous grin paints your expression, and you found yourself becoming a bit more playful tonight.

with a gentle hum, you lay across jinwoo’s broad chest, watching as a frown paints his features. giggling profusely, you lean up to press a series of butterfly kisses all across his face, earning a soft grunt from him.

“sarang…” jinwoo’s voice was hoarse, filled with a feign annoyance from being woken up so suddenly. he opens one eye to look at you, stormy grey meeting with your playful gaze as you simply smiled innocently at him.

“my precious monarch.” you continue to litter his face with kisses, earning a light chuckle from him as he wraps his arms around your waist, calling you a troublemaker before pressing a lingering kiss against your lips.

to say you melted against him would be an understatement, for upon feeling the sensation of his lips perfectly slotting against yours, you lost all coherent thought. jinwoo playfully bites down against your bottom lip before sucking at it in an apologetic manner, making you let out a soft moan in response.

“that’s what you get for waking me up.” his voice turns stern, but held no malice as he allows you to cuddle closer to him. you end up burying your head within his chest with a sigh, pressing your ear directly over his heart as you basked in its gentle beats.

“sleep, my love. then i’ll take you to somewhere nice when morning comes.” jinwoo promises you all while massaging at your scalp, purposely threading his fingers through your hair as you let out content purrs in response.

eager at the thought of spending more time with him, you let out one last giggle before basking in his warmth, feeling your eyelids grow heavier as you finally fell into a peaceful slumber while in his embrace ♡

end notes: new blog, new me, who’s this? lol but honestly, my original blog just made me feel overwhelmed for some odd reason, and i wanted to do something new. my original blog won’t be deleted, but all my new writings will be here from now on (⺣◡⺣)♡ thanks for joining me once more if you’re an avid reader of my works!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[luveline]

omg morning routine but with sleepy grumpy hotch (who most def does not wanna get outta bed) + a very jubilant slightly ditzy reader (who just wants breakfast) :]]

Thank you for your request! I focused more on Hotch not wanting to get out of bed, rather than their routine, I hope that’s okay! fem!reader

Aaron has stubble. Didn’t-shave-this-weekend, uncharacteristic for him stubble. You’re fascinated, holding a tentative, soft palm to the sharpness of it and rubbing slowly. It scritches into the quiet. His breathing is steady and deep; he snores with every other breath.

“Handsome,” you say, so quietly that it’s more of a wish than a real prompting, “wake up.”

He’s a light sleeper. Your minty breath tickles his cheek and his nose no doubt. You’ve already washed up for the morning, and you’d considered going to get something to eat and letting him sleep in because your stomach is aching and he never gets enough rest, but eating without him is boring. You’ll enjoy it much more, whatever it is, with his smile across the table and his ankle locked around yours underneath it.

It feels cruel to wake him. You kiss him, then, to soften the blow. Sweet, dainty kisses against the column of his throat. It’s not an entirely selfless thing, you really love kissing him, privileged to be this close, to sleep in his bed, and to feel his arm come to life as it curls around your waist, pulling you to him.

“Time is it?” he asks after a minute like that.

You hold his face between two hands like the warm heart of a star, totally and ridiculously reverent. It’s a good metaphor —sometimes, you look at him, and you think he’s the brightest point in the universe. Your chest soars with lightness.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

He smiles. You know it to be an unconscious gesture, sleep clouding his thoughts. “Too early, then?”

“It’s never too early for breakfast,” you say, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

He sighs and pulls you ever closer. You get what he’s saying without him having to open his mouth — Yes, it is, and I wish you’d let me sleep.

“You can go back to sleep if you really want to.”

His hand climbs over your hip and presses unapologetically into the soft bump of your stomach. You’d be insecure if he wasn’t obvious with his affection. His touch feels appreciative, thick fingers gently kneading your aching abdomen.

“You’re hungry?” he asks in defeat.

“Afraid so, handsome.”

“S’why I tell you to eat more at dinner.”

“I didn’t want more at dinner,” you say truthfully. You’d filled up on stodgy garlic bread because Aaron made the mistake of putting it out before the pasta, and Jack is a bad influence.

He looks at you seriously. You look back, his face still cupped in your hands, half on top of him at this point and worried you’re crushing his hip.

He leans down to kiss you.

“Alright,” he mumbles, grumpy but lovely all at once, “breakfast.”

He kisses you again, slow and imprecise, tip of his nose snug against yours. You melt under the sensation, fingers sliding into the short but soft hair at the back of his neck, letting out a little sigh that you know makes him happy to hear.

“I wish you didn’t know how much power you have over me,” he says.

You stroke his cheek with the back of hand, eyes pouring into his. They’re so brown they’re almost black in the dim light.

“Really?” you whisper.

His lips quirk up, the subtlest hint of a smile softening every line, every gorgeous feature. “No,” he says. “Not really.”

[fancyrat4cotl]

The temple was dark in the night. The moon's light made the white marble gleam with a silvery sheen. A tall figure was alone at the altar with hands pressed together and head bowed before a regal statue of a dragon-like form of a sheep.

Something manifested in the walkway, the shadows peeled back as if afraid, or perhaps bowing with reverence to the God of Death.

On silent hooves, they glided over to their worshiping disciple. The feline at the altar chanted an ancient language in a deep, rugged voice. He donned a shredded veil. It is the same veil he had when he wore when he was still a God. Thin strips of black fabric partially covered his face, hardly hiding it, but succeeded in concealing his third eye.

"Narinder, it is late, surely you're tired by now. Come meet me, I have to tell you something." Lamani whispered. Narinder turned, his third eye closed, and threw the hood on his cloak over his head.

"What is it, Lamb?" Narinder sighed, stoic and unemotional as ever. His stride was graceful. With sleek, dark fur and faithful red eyes, Lamani was always fascinated with the cat. So much so, they had forgotten what they wanted to say to him, so their mind spoke for them.

"I… love you-" It was an accident, a slip of the tongue. Lamani immediately realized what they had said out loud and clamped their mouth shut, gritting their teeth. That was not what they had meant to say at all, where had it come from?

To say Narinder was taken aback would be an understatement. His body went rigid as he lept backwards. All three crimson eyes were wide and disbelieving. His golden crescent moon earrings swayed back and forth as his ears swung back.

"Love?" the cat scoffed, his tone harsh with scorn. "You, who took everything from me, dare even suggest I might be something more than you already forced me to be?" The Lamb loved to torture him, he felt, unaware of Lamani's true feelings.

"I am your disciple. I am the head of your faith. I am a witness to your rise to divinity. You keep me alive only to torment me, using me as a puppet in your grand design."

But even as the words left his lips, he felt a twinge of something unfamiliar stirring within him—a flicker of doubt, perhaps? The memories of Lamani visiting him during his imprisonment lingered in the back of his mind.

He could almost see the truth reflected in the depths of the young God's eyes—a truth too potent to be denied. Then again, the lamb had always had a gift for manipulating followers. It was needed to be a sufficient cult leader, after all.

Before Lamani dethroned him, the little lamb had formed a connection with him, or so he thought. Lamani's betrayal was the catalyst to shutting out any and all affection from then on. For a moment, he had felt a feeling unlike any other every time he gazed upon the soft, blood stained wool each time Lamani perished in combat.

When they first started their crusades, Lamani was not yet used to the pain from each demise. The image of the poor, shaking creature standing before him had died over and over in his name. And, sometimes, after a particularly violent end, Narinder would lift the delicate Lamb in his skeletal hand, cradling them in his palm until their shivering ceased.

But now, their positions had swapped. Narinder may be immortal and have been given some powers by the lamb, but he still had a fragile mortal body.

The first death was the worst. The Lamb had revived them in their realm, away from the prying eyes of their followers. He had awoken in the palm of a massive hand with a forest of sharp teeth and horns glistening from above.

They mocked him, he truly believed that Lamani was punishing him, or at least taking out his anger on him for the elimination of their kin or the centuries of servitude to him.

A thousand years and multitudes of betrayals from those he cared for had caused him to subconsciously build a wall around his heart, a heart that truly longed to be loved. His body was free of chains, but not his mind.

It didn't matter now, and he felt nothing now, or, until the night Lamani accidentally confessed their love. There was something deep down in his chest that had been absent for centuries.

As he stood glaring and motionless, Lamani's ears pinned against their head and cheeks flushed. They hid their snout in their cloak. The sudden movements softly jingled their bell.

"I will leave now. Do as you please." Unable to remain any longer, Lamani vanished into the darkness from whence they came, leaving Narinder alone in the cathedral.

He dragged his feet back to the draconid sheep statue and fell to his knees, his chest was aching and he couldn't understand why. The moon was dipping into the horizon now, and the faint luminance glittered through the red stained glass.

He lifted his chin and spread his arms out, as if waiting for an embrace. Blood rushed through his skull and ears as his lungs burned. He felt faint, and it was hard to breathe. The agony of it all constricted his very soul.

Bathing in the moonlit sanctuary, his mind kept repeating God's words. Love him? Did they? There was a faint echo, the longing of a connection that he had sworn to himself to never make again.

He would continue his quiet worship for the rest of the night. Narinder closed all his eyes in silent prayer, his desires a battleground. But in that moment of quiet surrender, he felt the wall around his heart crumble down.

This is Part 1.

Next →

[adapembroke]

Living with the Lunar Nodes in Taurus and Scorpio: A Conversation with Astrologer Carrie Clough

Carrie Clough is a writer, musician, and evolutionary astrologer. Carrie has the south node in Taurus, and I have the south node in Scorpio. In this conversation, we talk about what it’s like living with the nodes of the moon in Taurus and Scorpio, especially when the nodes are transiting those signs.

Ada: I’m so excited to have this conversation with you because I feel like you’re coming from the place I’m trying to go, in a sense, because we have the nodes in opposite signs. 

But I feel like I’m getting ahead of us.

What do the nodes of the moon mean to you in your practice? How do you read them.

Carrie: I’m excited too! So glad you suggested we do this! 

For me, the lunar nodes reveal more about the struggles and proclivities in a native’s life than any other aspect in the birth chart. 

After studying them for years, I visualize them as they are described in Vedic astrology, yet describe them in evolutionary terms.

The tale of the dragon Rakshasha being sliced in two yet still immortal, Rahu (north node) and Ketu (south node) represent a karmic crossroads: how who we were in a past life can feel polarized by how we are meant to evolve in this life.

Ada: It sounds like you and I take a similar approach. My background is in evolutionary astrology, too. I trained with Paul Richard, one of Steven Forrest’s early apprenticeship graduates. But I love Rahu and Ketu. The south node can be so dark and difficult. Talking about it as Ketu, the “butt of the dragon,” breaks the spell and makes it easier to not take ourselves so seriously and let things go.

Carrie: As a natal Taurus Sun conjunct Jupiter and the south node in Taurus in the 4th house, I have felt both the comforting love and simultaneous restriction of my family throughout my life.

My north node in Scorpio is conjunct Uranus and my M.C., or midheaven, so an interest in astrology and a fascination with psychology is pretty outlined in my chart. When transiting Uranus first hit my 4th house in 2020, a major shift happened for me. 

With a Taurus south node in the 4th house, I easily felt all the Taurean tactile aspects of family: physical affection, financial support, hard work, sensual simplicity. My parents (now divorced) are both earth sign Suns with Scorpio moons. 

As a child, I felt that deep emotional engagement with my family was simmering below the surface pretty much all the time. Our interactions were mostly superficial (at least to me). 

Even though I had physical comforts and physically demonstrative love, I felt emotionally bankrupt. I wasn’t very happy. I would spend endless hours alone in my room, drawing or fantasizing about something. I had a hard time engaging with others because deep intimacy only existed in my inner world. 

Ada: That is so interesting to me. I have the sun in Taurus and the 10th conjunct the north node, and family is a big theme in my nodal story, too. There was all of this tension between the reality of my family, which was very scorpionic, and the taurean image that we needed to project out to the world because my dad was a preacher. 

The tension between Taurus and Scorpio has been hard for me. What you said about having trouble with the superficial in your family really resonates for me.

When I was a kid, Taurus was just the language of advertising. My default attitude was “only the dark is real.” 

My biggest growing edge lately has been realizing that my 10th house Taurus sun can help me create a safe container to descend into the underworld. I feel like a tour guide in my astrology practice sometimes, pointing out landmarks to my clients as we sail by eating dates on Charon’s boat. 

Carrie: Taurus & Scorpio, sharing the generative axis, experience the most terrestrial forms of life and death. Visiting India years ago really illuminated their interconnectedness for me. 

A sensual celebration of both life and death (and, of course, reverence for the cow, our Taurean kin) helped me embrace Rahu and Ketu as having equal importance. Prior to this, I felt that my south node in Taurus was holding me back. 

When I turned 28, I decided to start a career as a chef - not at all something I imagined myself ever doing in my younger years. A classically moon-ruled south node in Taurus career. Nurturing with food.

It took me many years to let my inner Scorpion out of the closet. The pragmatism of Taurus demanded the secrecy of Scorpio. I finally put an astrology website & blog together just as Uranus moved into my 4th house. It was textbook transit-wise. 

In 2020, I got in my car and started driving, leaving California, the land of my origin, behind. I ended up in New Orleans, which is a very Scorpio city. I immediately felt I needed to live here. 

On its own, Taurus can seem pedestrian, but when combined with Scorpio, it's as if Earthly existence has a profound story to tell. A unique story.

I understand the tension all too well. I love your tour guide image - that really resonates with me. 

I’m really curious how Uranus transiting your North Node in the 10th has affected you. Since I have that conjunction natally, I have always felt that my career was meant to be unusual in some way - I just couldn’t figure out how to finance it. When transiting Uranus hit my sun and my 4th house, I felt like my identity was given a wonderful jolt of electricity. Really pushed me out of my Taurean comfort zone.

Ada: That Uranus transit sounds delightful. Though, I’m sure it wasn’t easy. 

Uranus is still passing over my sun and north node, so I’m sure I don’t have the final story yet, but the transit has been remarkably literal. I have Uranus in 5th house Sagittarius closely quincunx my sun and sextile my Jupiter. I’ve always felt a lot of tension between the need for playful wandering in my work with the need to feel consistent and secure. 

During this Uranus transit, I’ve been realizing that it’s possible to have both at the same time by using my Taurus drives to create a container for my Uranus in Sagittarius. I founded the Narrative Astrology Lab, giving my practice a mad scientist flair. My students study astrology by coming with me on experimental adventures and getting support for experiments of their own. It’s a predictable unpredictability that keeps me interested.

At the same time, I’m experiencing the 5th house connection with children. Just as Uranus was hitting my sun for the first time, I got pregnant after being told that I couldn’t have children for over twenty years. I am delighted and feel so blessed, but I can definitely see there being some friction between being a mom and having a full-time astrology practice.

Carrie: I saw your Narrative Astrology Lab on your site! So brilliantly tailored to your expertise! I love that :)

Ada: Thank you so much! 

Carrie: So your natal Uranus is in the 5th house, Sun is in the 10th—so you have a Cancer or Leo ascendant? That’s incredible about the pregnancy—what a gift!

Ada: Leo ascendant. Rawr.

Carrie: With Uranus transiting my 4th, I am thinking constantly about pregnancy. Mars is moving back and forth between my 5th and 6th houses, which could also be part of it. I’m also experiencing the last pass of Pluto squaring my Moon/Venus and opposing my Saturn in the 7th (Capricorn rising). Uranus is definitely shaking up my conception of home and family. 

Ada: I can imagine! What has that looked like for you?

Carrie: Because of my Sun and south node in the 4th, I struggled for years to let go of what was familiar. I went away to Maine and New York for college (as well as studying abroad), but after 4 years, I came back home to California. I didn’t have a strong urge to live anywhere else. It wasn’t conscious codependency, but it certainly was. My identity was so wrapped up in living in California. Now that seems absurd, but it was true for a good portion of my life. So naturally, re-creating a 4th house family bond now that I’ve left that world behind would involve a desire to bring a child into my life, as well as a solid partner. 

Uranus activating your north node in Taurus is helping you access the physical realm in regards to your pregnancy. Focusing on the generative need to feed new life within the body is a beautiful manifestation of Taurus energy. Somehow, it is going to enhance your 10th house practice, not detract from it. Wonderful!!

Ada: You’re so right!

Even though I have a Taurus sun, I have found Taurus really challenging, but the pregnancy has forced me to listen to my body in a way that I haven’t before.

I have Saturn opposite the sun, and my default has always been to push through hunger and tiredness. It’s easier to listen now that I have a belly and a kicky little body reminding me and everyone else that it isn’t just about me. Before that, it felt profoundly selfish. I’m amazed how much I’m already learning from my daughter.

Carrie: We should have another back and forth regarding quincunxes. I listened to a great lecture by Lynn Bell on quincunxes earlier this year. My Sun & Jupiter in Taurus are quincunx my Pluto in Libra. 

Ada: Absolutely! Quincunxes might be my favorite aspect.

Carrie: What I can learn from you is the Scorpionic ability to merge with others and create community. That has always been a struggle for me. What you can learn from me is the ability to appreciate simplicity. A Taurus south node is good at taking care of basic needs. Too good, frankly. :)

Ada: Learning the ability to appreciate simplicity? Absolutely! Most of the time that feels like the pole star to me, a distant place it would be lovely to visit someday, but I have moments when I’m able to cut through complexity and be like, “No, this is really simple.” And it feels like a big yes. 

I paused for a second when you mentioned the ability to merge with others. I have Mars in the 11th, and being separate from the crowd has always been important to me. What you said reminded me that dissolving boundaries is one of the properties of water. That’s not something we talk about very much when we talk about Scorpio. It’s more likely to come up in conversations about Pisces. 

But there is a bonding quality to Scorpio, isn’t there? The bonding of people who have been through hell together and lean on each other as they limp back to the land of the living. Trauma bonding, too, but that’s more the dysfunctional side of Scorpio.

Creating community where people feel safe enough to keep their stingers peace-tied and be deeply honest with each other is important to me. 

Carrie: You phrased that beautifully. I think too with you being in the Pluto in Scorpio generation that your ability to bond is also enhanced. We Pluto in Libras are certainly capable of bonding, but more so in an effort to be accommodating. It’s much less intimate than Scorpio.

Scorpio will also leap to protect those who are vulnerable. Cancer and Pisces often get more credit for this trait as water signs, but the fixed energy of Scorpio is more formidable in its efforts to protect. It’s an often misjudged Scorpio ability. 

Ada: I absolutely agree. When we talk about Scorpio’s stinger, the astrology community is way too fast to focus on self-defense. My partner is a Scorpio, and he’s much faster to protect others than himself.

Carrie: Is there anything else you want to touch on? I think we each had pretty thorough shares. 

One thing I want to add about Scorpio having co-rulership with Mars and Pluto: I don’t see Scorpio as being at all martial unless it is motivated by protecting others. There is a need to be seen and validated by the group that differs from the Mars-ruled sign Aries.

Aries wants to be seen as an individual; a trail blazer. Whereas Scorpio wants to be seen as a crucial member of the group. With Pluto’s influence, feeling left out or dismissed is Scorpio’s greatest fear. When provoked, its attacks are subtle and subterranean- like Pluto more so than Mars. 

Scorpio is deeply maternal to me, which does really resonate with who I am. What are your thoughts? I’m writing this right as the moon moves into Scorpio :)

Ada: When I look at traditional rulerships, I focus on the metaphor of the sign being the home of the traditional planet and the modern ruler having more of an affinity. So, Pluto is more like Scorpio, and Mars makes a home in Scorpio because it’s a house that has things Mars needs. 

In order to be itself, Mars needs to be courageous. As an extroverted sign, Aries provides obvious, outerworld opportunities for Mars to express its courage, but Scorpio is the sign of inner world courage. In Scorpio, Mars descends into the underworld of dark emotions. Mars’ association with surgeons expresses itself through the healing of trauma. 

Healing is generally seen as a Pluto thing, but I think Pluto and Mars are different kinds of healers. Mars is the fast, inner planet and performs battlefield medicine. Patching you up enough that you can live to fight another day. 

Pluto is more of an oncologist. I don’t think it’s an accident that Pluto has radioactive associations. Pluto cures are like cancer cures, cures that kill the disease just a little bit faster than they kill you because the disease has convinced your body (metaphorically or literally) that it is you. 

Carrie: I love your analysis. I have never thought of Mars as a healer, but there is an immediacy to Mars we link with courage—a potent kind of balm.

Ada: Before we wrap things up, I’m curious about your experience with previous nodal oppositions. Do you notice recurring themes?

Carrie: Absolutely. The last nodal opposition for me, 2004, was when I decided to become a chef and attend cooking school. This time around, I am ready to end my career as a chef and focus completely on my astrology career. 2004 was also when the band I was in for years toured the UK. That was easily the peak of my performance career. This past summer, I spent a month in Europe visiting old friends, both professional musicians. 

Career is a recurring theme—naturally with my 10th house getting activated—but 4th house themes are also strong. In 2003-04, I was living with my first longterm boyfriend and it wasn’t working. 4th house instability. Even though I’m single now, the instability theme is prominent again. 

I can’t remember what happened in 1985-86 - oh wait, maybe I can. I was in 5th grade. My mother and teacher expressed disappointment that I couldn’t finish writing a short story. I got discouraged, as I recall.

If I could distill the nodal opposition for me in one word, it would be discipline. 

Ada: That is so interesting. Of course, home and career makes sense with those houses involved. Where does the discipline come from? Is there a Saturn connection?

Carrie: Transiting Pluto is opposing my natal Saturn right now for its final pass, but I also associate discipline with Scorpio. It’s a struggle for my south node in Taurus, which is too focused on comfort and being stuck in ruts.

Ada: I wonder if that is a difference between the north and south nodes. Or, maybe, I’m learning to work better with my Saturn-sun opposition. Over the last few years, I’ve been finding more patience for slow, steady, methodical work over a long period of time. 

Carrie: Another nodal opposition theme for me worth mentioning is elimination. I purged 20 years of stuff from my storage unit in California this summer. I remember this being a theme for me during the last n.o. The austerity angle I’ve always felt was very Capricorn (why Marie Kondo was so popular in the Pluto in Capricorn era) but the art of elimination is very Scorpio. It is the act of releasing non-useful possessions rather than a state of austerity. Very liberating!

Ada: On the flip side, being too quick to eliminate things has definitely been one of my vices with a south node in Scorpio. I’ve been known to throw out drafts of novels, old toys that meant enough to me to stuff them in a tiny UHAUL when I moved across the country, my entire CD collection (including dozens of irreplaceable EPs from early-00s indie bands) just because I’m “not feeling it at the moment.” 

But more positively, what are you feeling these days? If people want to connect with you and your work, how can they go about it?

Carrie: My website is mercurialdream.com. I blog about various astrological topics and ideas  - a lot of mundane astrology re: politics in recent months. 

I’ve been thinking lately about when transiting Pluto was conjunct my north node in Scorpio in 1987-88. This was right after my first nodal opposition. It was a courageous time for me at the age of 11-12. I gained the ability to stand up for myself and others. I’m remembering that the Scorpio soldier within me emerged a long time ago. 

Ada: And it’ll always be with you when you need it most. 

Thank you so much for having this conversation with me, Carrie. It’s been so enlightening for me, and I hope that everyone who reads it gets as much out of it as I did. 

Carrie: Likewise! Thank you for suggesting it! ! It was very enlightening for me as well. So serendipitous to have found you on a south node in Scorpio google search! :) 

If you would like to learn more about Carrie and her astrology practice, you can find her at mercurialdream.com and on Instagram @mercurialdreamastrology.

[dummerjan]

But you like it, don’t you? When I am like this.

This is the line I keep coming back to.

Vegas says this and yet, when they have sex he shows no trace of anger. He is overwhelmed by Pete initiating the kiss, he is reverent when taking the rope and binding Pete’s hands. His kiss, to me, is an expression of gratitude, accepting Pete’s submission and thanking him for it. He worships him, every touch tender and gentle, appreciative.

(I just had to include this pic, I couldn't help myself.)

I don’t think Pete ever looks like he is enjoying Vegas’ cruelty and mood swings. Yes, he is fascinated by him during the torture scene in Ep. 7, but in that instance the violence isn’t directed at him and purely business related. It’s a kind of violence Pete is familiar with, has exerted himself without qualms. When he is the victim he doesn’t cower or back down, he laughs at Vegas in defiance and despair, but not because he finds any pleasure in it. I am not saying he isn’t a masochist. But even if he is, it doesn’t mean he derives pleasure from any kind of pain, especially not in the context of captivity and torture when he is expecting to die. Same goes for the intimidation and humiliation. So, from where does Vegas get the idea that Pete likes him volatile and moody? Was he just trying to get a rise out of Pete because he likes him defiant and fierce? Is it just something he says in self-defense after Pete saw him in such a vulnerable state, grieving his hedgehog and failing his father’s task? Vegas strikes me as an incredibly lonely person. For me, personally, the pain of being lonely and lacking relationships is as much, if not even more, about lacking the possibility to love someone, to prove myself worthy of being loved and capable of love as it is about not being loved and having someone care for me. To have proof that I am not a monster that needs to be locked up in the basement, kept away from other people. And this might just be self-projection because those are the kind of characters I latch onto, but that is what I recognize in Vegas. When I look at Vegas I see someone who is finally allowed to be soft, caring, show affection and love. Previously he only had Macau to care for, but he also had to protect him from Kan in the role of the big brother.

He is still violent, manipulative, cruel and selfish but he is also a human being capable of love and deeply, painfully lonely. To finally have someone be the object of that love must be overwhelming. That’s how I interpret the way he looks at and so carefully touches Pete in the hospital, with reverence and wonder, not yet understanding how and why he is allowed to have that and thus all the more desperate to prove himself worthy of Pete.

I thought this would help me figure out what he means when he says "But you like it, don’t you? When I am like this." but I am just continuing to overthink this obessively to no avail. I doubt it's that deep but there’s a dissonance between his words and actions that I can’t figure out and it's been driving me crazy. Maybe someone else can make sense of it.

[filmsmakkari]

Satisfied

Wordcount- 2.2k

Hamilton!Tom Holland x Angelica!Reader

Soldier!Tom x Princess!Reader

So this is the first part of a story based on Angelica and Alexander's dynamic in Hamilton :)

i would recommend listening to the song satisfied here

Full Series Masterlist

I remember that night

I just might regret that night for the rest of my days

Being raised the crown princess of the small island nation of Larione had never been easy. Larione wasn’t particularly important to larger countries, only included on a few maps. Many of the citizens lived in poverty and only a powerful marriage alliance with a wealthy royal would solve it. Being born a girl only made things worse. No matter how people will deny it, boys are always favored over girls, especially in royal families. No one would ever take you seriously as a queen without a king by your side. It was imperative that you married a future king- preferably a wealthy one. You’d been raised with the responsibility of marrying for your country’s benefit, so the idea of marrying for love had never even crossed your mind.

I remember those soldier boys trippin’ over themselves to win our praise

It all started at your father’s Winter Ball. Plenty of the continent’s royals were in attendance, all trying to earn you and your sister’s favor. Though Larione’s royal family wasn’t the wealthiest, the (Y/L/N) Sisters were known to be quite beautiful, making you the envy of all. As you socialized with the guests, you noticed a few soldiers flirting with your ladies-in-waiting. You smiled at one of them, Lady Adannaya, as a way of encouraging her to continue their flirtation. That was when you first saw him.

But Alexander, I’ll never forget the first time I saw your face

Another soldier had joined his friends and your ladies. You knew from the moment your eyes landed on him that you would never be the same. He had silky brown hair and a hunger-pang-frame. You wondered if he ate regularly. And oh, good lord those eyes. They were a deep shade of brown, but they shone gold in the light of the candle he was near.  They sparkled with intelligence, wit, and ambition. He must have felt your gaze on him because he suddenly turned to meet your gaze, smiling seductively at you. At that moment it felt as if your heart had been set aflame. He began to approach you. Then it felt as if your entire body had been set aflame.

You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied

“Your highness,” he said, bowing and kissing your hand.

“Good evening, soldier. What is your name?”

“Thomas Holland, your grace,” he replied.

Thomas Holland, you thought. You knew him. Not personally, but you’d heard of him. He was essentially Major General Njeri’s right-hand man. A soldier with a marksman’s ability, and not too bad with a quill either. From your understanding, he wrote all of the general’s correspondences.

“Are you enjoying the ball, Thomas?”

“I am,” he looked you up and down “but you aren’t.”

“Pardon me?”

“All of these suitors, they don’t make you happy, do they?”

“Well, aren’t you perceptive?” you asked, a smirk painting your face.

“Oh, come on.” You made a surprised face, taken aback by his familiar tone. “Suitors, balls, court life, none of this satisfies you, does it, your grace?”

You chuckled in disbelief. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself, Thomas.”

You turned to walk away, but he grabbed a hold of your wrist. You looked down at your wrist, then back up at him, eyes wide in surprise as he spoke.

“I don’t think so, your grace. You see, you’re just like me, I’m never satisfied,” he said genuinely.

“Oh, is that right?” you questioned, forgetting not to show your intrigue. “Where is  your family from, Thomas?”

I asked about his family, did you see his answer?

His hands started fidgeting, he looked askance

He’s penniless, he’s flying by the seat of his pants

You could see the reservation about the topic of his family in his eyes even before he spoke.

He shook his head nonchalantly, but his hands were fidgeting. “Doesn’t matter where my family’s from. I’m going places one day. Just you wait. You’ll see. Just you wait.” And with that, he was back with his soldier friends, leaving you fascinated and slightly lovestruck. You knew it was foolish to have feelings for someone you barely knew, especially being a princess, but you simply couldn’t help it. His boldness and lack of regard for your position ensnared you immediately, and before you’d even spoken much, you knew he had you.

Everything we said in total agreement

You spoke with the handsome soldier boy a few more times that night, always agreeing, constantly sharing the same opinions. It was as if you shared a mind. You never did get to dance with him, but you promised he would have a dance before the night was over. If you hadn’t been sure already, you were then. You were completely and utterly in love with him.

Handsome, boy, does he know it

Peach fuzz and he can’t even grow it

I wanna take him far away from this place

Then I turn and see my sister’s face and she’s

“Helpless,” your sister, Yelizaveta, whom you all affectionately called Eliza, said to you.

She had just pulled you to the side of the ballroom and told you that someone had her “helpless”.

“What do you mean? Who does?” you questioned.

“Him.” Eliza turned, and there he was.

Thomas. The one who had your younger sister so helpless was the very same young soldier who had stolen into your affections.

“He’s wonderful (Y/N/N)!” she turned back to you. “It’s Thomas Holland, General Njeri’s favorite soldier! He’s so handsome and brave.” Your sister was basically swooning by that point.

“Helpless? Eliza, it’s only been one night, are you sure?” You knew you were being hypocritical. You yourself felt deeply in love with Thomas and had also only met him that night. And anyway, you knew she wasn’t exaggerating. You knew your sister like you knew your own mind. All you had to do was look into her eyes and you knew she meant it when she said she was completely helpless for him.

“Yes, sister, I’m sure. He has me,” she replied.

And I realize

Three fundamental truths at the exact same time

You nodded, stroking her face and walking over to him. As you got closer to him, you realized three key truths that you had foolishly allowed yourself to forget.

Number One

I’m a girl in a world in which my only job is to marry rich

My father has no sons so I’m the one who has to social climb for one

You were the oldest of all your sisters, making you (Y/N), Crown Princess of Larione. The future ruler of your country. Crown princess, not prince. You would never be taken seriously as a ruler on your own. Your job was to marry a rich royal, preferably a king or crown prince. Thomas Holland was the furthest possible thing from that. A poor bastard orphan from the Caribbean, with no title or wealth. Simply a soldier favored by a revered general. As a woman, he could give you love, but as the future of the realm, there was nothing he offered you.

“How have I offended you now?” he asked jokingly.

“Not at all,” you said, smiling. “There’s actually someone I’d like you to meet.”

He raised his eyebrows as you grabbed his arm and led him in your sister’s direction.

“Where are you taking me?” he questioned.

“I’m about to change your life.”

“Well then, by all means, lead the way.”

As you approached your sister, she curtsied politely, saying “Princess Yelizaveta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Princess?” Thomas turned to you in confusion, having thought this girl was one of your ladies.

“My sister!” you explained.

“Thank you for all you do, sir,” Eliza said.

“If  it takes fighting a war for us to meet it will have been worth it.”

“I’ll leave you to it!” you said, smiling through the pain of your actions.

Number Two

He’s after me cause I’m a Schuyler Sister

That elevates his status

I’d have to be naive to set that aside,

Maybe that is why I introduced him to Eliza

Now that’s his bride,

Nice going, Angelica, he was right

You will never be satisfied

Thomas Holland was an ambitious man. A social climber, desperate to rise above his station. To marry a princess would make him a duke, one of the highest titles in Larione. His children would have royal blood, and so would his grandchildren after that. Perhaps that was the reason you had introduced him to your younger sister. A princess, but not one who would be queen. Someone a step above, but within reach. A decision you regretted almost immediately. You wished you had kept him to yourself. Ha, would you look at that, he was right. You will never be satisfied.

Number Three

I know my sister like I know my own mind,

You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind

If I tell her that I love him she’d be silently resigned

He’d be mine,

She would say “I’m fine”

She’d be lying

The week following the ball, Eliza and Thomas were writing back and forth constantly. Eliza’s eyes lit up with every letter that he wrote her. You played the role of the protective, prying older sister, saying to her in regards to the letters “I’m just saying If you really loved me you would share them!”, trying to playfully snatch one away.

Of course, it was all an act. You wished those letters were for you. You wished you were the one Thomas was so eager to write to. You wanted so badly to confess your feelings to Thomas and Eliza and to take him for yourself, but you could never do that to your kind, gentle sister. Realistically, if you were to confess, your sister would be happy for you. She would sway Thomas in your direction, just as you had done for her. She would tell you she was happy for you and that she was alright. She’d be lying. Eliza felt strongly for Thomas, anyone could see it. She’d be heartbroken, but she’d deny it. She would want nothing more than your happiness, the same way you wanted her’s. Your love for her triumphed over all, even your love for Thomas. You loved her more than anything in this life and would put her happiness over your own every time. So you bit your tongue, hiding away your true feelings.

Before you knew it, several months had passed. Thomas, through ambition, skill and, and hard work, had risen in station from a common soldier to Secretary of Larione’s Treasury- a position high enough to marry a member of the royal family.

So finally, the time had come to ask your father for his blessing to marry your sister. You, Eliza, and your youngest sister, Margaery, or “Peggy”, were sitting on a couch in the upstairs corridor leading to the stairs, listening for your father’s approval.

Your father stood up and walked towards Thomas slowly. You got nervous, fearing he was going to deny Thomas’s request for marriage. You truly wanted him to bless the marriage. All you wanted was for Eliza to be happy. Thankfully, your father shook Thomas’s hand saying “be true to each other”.

Thomas smiled brightly, looking up to Eliza. You all rushed downstairs. You and Peggy hugged your new brother-in-law tightly, welcoming him to the family. You smiled softly as Eliza kissed him. Though it would be a lie to say you didn’t feel a flash of sadness at the reminder that he wasn’t yours. But as usual, you hid your feelings.

Days passed as quickly as they came, eventually leading up to Thomas and Eliza’s wedding. To say it was bittersweet would be an understatement. On one hand, your sister’s happiness brought you great joy, on the other, the prospect of Thomas being out of your reach permanently brought you great despair.

You smiled as you walked down the aisle as your sister’s maid of honor, but anyone who looked close enough would have seen your eyes were crying.

You couldn’t stop the tears pooling in your eyes as Thomas’s close friend, Lieutenant Colonel Harrison Osterfield spoke loudly, “Everyone, give it up for the maid of honor! Princess (Y/N)!”

“A toast to the groom!” you said enthusiastically, looking at Thomas and Eliza.

“To the groom!” the guests toasted.

“To the lovely bride!”

The guests repeated it back to you.

“From your most adoring sister,” you said, wrapping your free arm around Peggy. “Who’s always by your side.”

“May your marriage be long and prosperous,” you turned to Thomas specifically. “And may you always be satisfied.”

The young man smiled knowingly at you.

The wedding came and went, and before you knew it, you were saying goodbye to Thomas and Eliza as they left for their honeymoon.

“Are you crying, sister? Oh, I love you ever so much!” Eliza said, wiping your tears and kissing your cheek. She thought you were crying tears of happiness for her. Oh, if only she knew. As she said her goodbyes to Peggy, you caught Thomas’s eye. In them was an expression of such deep longing it made your heart ache. Your gazes on each other lingered until Eliza’s sweet, lovestruck voice called out “Thomas?”. At the sound of her voice, he tore his gaze from you, stepping into the carriage and riding away with his wife. Eventually, Harrison, Jacob, and Tuwaine- Thomas’s fellow soldiers- alongside Peggy went back inside, leaving you standing alone, tears running down your face outside of the chapel where your dearest sister just married your one true love.

He will never be satisfied.

I will never be satisfied.

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 4)

Chapter summary: The BAU makes it's plan to get inside your law firm, and you reflect on your previous relationship with Aaron — the good and the bad.

A/N: i'm baaaaack! this is a little bit of a filler with a hell of a lot of introspection + background on the past relationship with hotch

masterlist || read on ao3

'Cause the love that you gave that we made

Wasn't able to make it enough for you

To be open wide, no

-Alanis Morissette, “You Oughta Know”

~~~~~~~

The plan was simple enough. They had a warrant to bug the office, but lawyers are naturally suspicious, so they needed somebody who already had a rapport with partners to place the bugs. That’s where you came in. They were going to give you pens and other random office supplies with covert listening devices in them, and you just needed to leave them around. You were also going to wear an earpiece so that they could talk you through it every step of the way. Easy enough.

Aaron stood at the front of the room, his hands resting on his hips and his face stone cold. You had seen Aaron on television a few times when he had to speak to the media, but that was the extent of your knowledge of his FBI persona. You had never given much thought to his work life, and the only times he even talked about it was in passing. Watching him completely command the attention of the room was really a site to behold. Suddenly, you understood all of Aaron’s career changes and his unbridled ambition- he was made to be FBI Director.

You nodded slowly as you listened to their plans, trying to ignore the side of your brain that was screaming danger. You looked over at Aaron, hoping that he would understand your unspoken question and would give you an honest answer. When he met your eyes, he gave you a subtle nod, as if to say You’ll be fine, we’ll be right there with you. That was the only confirmation you really needed. Aaron looked so confident that it was almost infectious. Besides, a dead civilian wouldn’t look very good on Aaron’s FBI record, so you had to believe that it really was going to be that simple.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, I can do all that. I’m scheduled to go in this afternoon,” you told the room, avoiding everybody else’s eyes on you. You could tell that some of them weren’t totally sold on the idea yet.

“Good, that gives us just enough time to get everything set up. I want you all to go over the office blueprints with Y/N and set up a concrete plan. I don’t want anything left up to chance. While you do that, I will head down to intelligence with Garcia so that we can grab the coverts and prepare them,” Aaron said firmly, and you found yourself nodding along, as if you were a member of his team.

The way he gave orders was almost hypnotic because it was so different from the way he gave orders during sex. When he was with you, there was always a hint of affection and reverence in every word he said. Here and talking to his coworkers, it was almost paternal, like he was assigning weekly chores. You were getting a more full picture of who Aaron Hotchner was, and it was exciting, if not a little overwhelming.

You were torn from your thoughts at the sound of ruffling papers as Reid spread out the floor plans to the office across the table. The next hour and a half was spent going back and forth with the group of profilers to see what the best course of action was. You let them take the lead considering you had zero experience in this particular field, but you were pleasantly surprised when they asked for your opinions, asking you whether or not anybody ever went in certain areas in the building. Working with them was easy, even with David Rossi clearly psychoanalyzing every move you made, probably trying to figure out how the hell you and Aaron fit together.

After figuring out the best excuses to get in each of the partner’s offices, the team had decided that you were prepped and ready. “You’re welcome to grab some lunch in the cafeteria on the second floor,” Reid told you as the rest of the team was slowly filing out of the conference room. “But the food’s not great, to be honest. The only people who ever really eat there are tourists and kids on field trips.”

You raised an eyebrow at him as you shouldered your purse. “With all that security, the FBI has tour guides?” you asked amusedly.

Reid nodded eagerly as he finished folding up the blueprints. “The FBI has actually had a tour component since 1937, even before it settled here in the Hoover building. After 9/11, they stopped the tours and closed the building to the public and didn’t reopen until 2008 when the FBI made the Education Center. It closed and was redesigned multiple times since then, and now it’s known as the FBI Experience. You have to contact your congressman to request a tour at least four weeks in advance so that the FBI can do a background check,” he said quickly, his hands doing half of the talking for him.

You laughed as the two of you made your way to the door. Aaron had mentioned something about the genius Dr. Reid in passing, and he was just as amusing and endearing as Aaron said he was. “That sounds like a lot of work. If that’s the case, then I might have better luck just asking one of you to give me a tour after this whole thing is done. You sound like you know more than the tour guides anyways.”

Reid stood up a little taller at the compliment, but your focus was immediately drawn to Aaron’s office. Specifically, Aaron, in his office, alone, with the blinds shut and the door wide open. You had promised to be on your best behavior, but the temptation was almost too much. You wanted to see more of Hotch, the FBI agent. “Excuse me for a second, Doctor,” you mumbled, flashing him an innocent smile.

Spencer gave you a small wave as you walked off, headed straight for Aaron’s office, your heels clicking rhythmically on the floor. As if sensing your presence, Aaron’s head shot up the second you stepped into his office, his face void of all emotions. You shut the door slowly behind you, having to hide your smile when you saw him shift in his seat nervously. “Y/N, this isn’t the place-”

You held both of your hands up as you made your way towards his desk. “Don’t worry, Agent. I didn’t come here with the intention to seduce you in front of all your coworkers,” you promised. “Although that can always be arranged.”

You were rewarded with a small grin from Aaron and something that was close to laughter, although it just sounded more like an exhale. “How can I help you?” he asked, unable to mask the lightheartedness in his words.

You sat on the edge of his desk. “Well, I’m going to be rubbing shoulders with a potential serial killer for the rest of the day. Don’t I get a kiss for good luck? Doesn’t even have to be a kiss on the mouth,” you teased. Aaron tensed up. That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Maybe he remembered that he was at work, and there was no room for playfulness in the FBI. Or maybe he realized that you would be the second woman he’s been with that he’s sending into a dangerous situation.

This was all new territory for the two of you. Previously, there were so many unspoken rules for the relationship, and that’s what made it work. It kept everything easy and fun and none of you had to sift through any baggage.

He didn’t talk about cases he was on and you didn’t mention Jack or Haley- not that you would even want to. He would order dinner for the two of you, but it couldn’t be from anywhere he used to take Haley. So that took away their Chinese place and their pizza place and, God forbid, their Italian place they went to for anniversaries- you preferred Indian anyways. Every once in a while, you’d meet up in hotels that were way too nice and expensive for a fling, but it was always somewhere out of the city, like Baltimore or Fredericksburg, because between the two of you, somebody in DC was bound to recognize one of you.

But there you were, sitting on his desk in the middle of the FBI headquarters, completely thrown off your game. Part of you wondered why he had wanted to continue this thing with you. It wasn’t some midlife crisis- he was too composed for that- and it wasn’t to help heal heartbreak the way it was two years ago. You weren’t complaining about it, though. There was something addictive about Aaron, something that made you think about him even when you hadn’t seen or heard from him in months, and a nagging voice in the back of your head told you that he probably thought the same thing about you. At least, you hoped he did.

You were so entranced in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize he was talking to you. You refocused your eyes and snapped your head back in his direction, where he was looking at you with worry in his eyes. “Hm?” you questioned.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to read your mind. “I asked if you were sure that you’re ready for this? You all came up with a plan faster than I expected.”

You put on a practiced smile as you slid off his desk, careful not to rustle any of the precariously stacked files next to you. “What can I say, I’m a fast learner. Plus, I went through a major James Bond phase in 7th grade, so this is like a dream come true for me,” you joked, and that seemed to satisfy him.

His face softened, and you once again found yourself fascinated by how much younger he looked when he let himself relax for even half a second. “It’s going to be fine, and I’m going to be talking to you through the earpiece the whole time,” he said. It surprised you just how comforting that single sentiment was, but something about Aaron walking you through the whole process made it less daunting.

Casual flirting with him had worked at the beginning of the conversation, so you decided to try that again. “It’ll be like you’re whispering in my ear all day,” you mused, batting your eyelashes. “That’s kind of sexy, in an exhibitionist kind of way.”

Aaron chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Behave,” he told you firmly, but there was the slightest hint of playfulness.

You made your way towards his office door, throwing a wink his way as you did. “No promises,” you sang. “But I’ll do my best.”

After grabbing something to eat at the cafeteria- Reid was right, the food was terrible- it was time for you to head to the weirdest internship shift you’ve ever had. Most of the team would be in an undercover van outside of the building so that they could listen to everything. You were able to get a ride from Morgan in one of the FBI SUVs, which would drop you off a few blocks away so it didn’t look suspicious. The two of you made some small talk on the way, asking about school and life at the FBI, all very surface level stuff, but nice nonetheless. It helped calm your nerves.

After a while, he pulled over and handed you a bag from the backseat. It was a simple black satchel, not very different from the usual one you would bring to work. “Okay, here is everything you’ll need. You remember the plan, right?”

You nodded quickly as you put in the earpiece, trying to hide any signs of nervousness. “Yup,” you said, popping the ‘P’. “Honestly, this isn’t even the worst thing I’ve done while working.”

Derek chuckled, maybe despite himself. “Remember, we’ll be right outside of the building. Just treat it like a normal day.”

You didn’t think that was even going to be possible, but luckily, you were proven wrong the moment you stepped into the elevator.

“Woah, hold the door for me!”

You stuck your hand out quickly just before the elevator doors closed, and your friend Chris came barreling through. He was a third year when you were a first year at George Washington and the two of you met in your tax law class. You quickly became fast friends, and you met most of your law school friends through him. When he got hired as a staff attorney at the same firm you were interning at, you couldn’t have been more excited.

You clutched the satchel a little tighter, knowing full well that the entire BAU was about to hear this conversation. “Hey,” you said, your voice light.

Chris just raised an eyebrow at you. “Hey?” he asked incredulously. “That’s it? What the hell happened to you last night? We were all supposed to go out and you didn’t show up. No phone call, nothing. And then the only response we got from you was three hours later when you just said ‘Sorry, something came up, next time!’”

You sighed and reached over to press the button for the third floor. It was crazy to think that the interrogation had been less than 24 hours ago- it felt like a lifetime to you. Aaron’s voice came through the earpiece. You can’t tell anybody about the investigation. Make an excuse and change the subject.

“Sorry, mom,” you huffed, staring at the elevator doors. “I got busy, and I’m not attached to my phone all the time like a certain newlywed. How are you and Sam, by the way?” You looked at Chris pointedly with that comment and, like expected, he was frantically shoving his phone back in his pocket. Chris had gotten married two months ago and was still very much in the honeymoon phase.

Good job, Aaron said into the earpiece, and it made you smile despite yourself.

Which, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by Chris. He narrowed his eyes at you for a few seconds before gasping. “You’re deflecting! And I know that smile.” He thought about it for a second before his eyes went wide. “Oh my god, you ditched us last night because you were getting railed.”

Your friends knew you way too well. You rolled your eyes at Chris. “Wow, that is a reach if I’ve ever seen one.”

The elevator doors opened and you all but sprinted out of there. “You’re not denying it!” Chris accused and you had to bite back a groan of annoyance. You loved your friends, but you did not want to have this conversation right now. “Come on, spill. What is their name?”

You heard Aaron take a sharp intake of breath. You weren’t going to tell Chris, even if you weren’t currently wired where all of Aaron’s coworkers could hear. You never told your friends about Aaron because you were worried about their reaction. They would have worried about his age, or if he was taking advantage of you, or if you were in any danger because of his job. They would have pressured you to pursue more of a “true” relationship with Aaron, and you weren’t going to pretend like that was even a possibility.

You liked Aaron, and it really seemed like Aaron genuinely liked you, too, just not in a way that would make sense to people, especially not your friends. Aaron was always nice to you. He treated you like an equal, not just some random college girl he was sleeping with. He was interesting, and being around him was easy. Aaron would invite you over sometimes and the two of you would just do your work while eating take out before you would have sex. Sometimes, you’d ask him for help with your homework, because there really wasn’t any better tutor, and he was happy to give it. At the time when you first met, the two of you were just kind of lonely, and it was nice to have somebody around who just got it.

You also liked the version of you that Aaron brought out- smarter, wittier, and even a little bit more put together. Definitely much more ambitious. And if seeing him at work was indicative of anything, you thought that he liked the version of himself that you seemed to bring out- more easygoing and playful, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And also, yeah, the sex was really fucking good.

You sped up your steps, but Chris was right at your heels. “You’re such a chismoso, but fine. His first name is nunya, last name business.”

You heard him groan behind you, and you turned around so that you were walking backwards. “Y/N, you suck so bad. This is going in the group chat, and we are going to find out who you’re sleeping with.”

You laughed, finally feeling relaxed and calm for the first time since you heard about this plan. “Mhm, good luck with that,” you called to him. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to get to work. Not all of us get paid to sit around and look pretty.”

“Yeah, you just get college credit for it,” he snorted and you just turned back around. You were sure you were going to get so much shit from your friends later, but the bag on your shoulder was getting heavier every second.

Placing the listening devices was as easy as they told you it was going to be. You were able to go throughout your shift fairly normally, sitting through meetings and writing emails, mostly. If you needed to get into somebody’s office, you would just tell them that they needed to sign something or ask them if they wanted any more coffee. The only times Aaron would say something into the earpiece was if they couldn’t get a signal on the device and you needed to move it slightly.

When it was time for your break, you flipped your phone over in your hands a few times, debating on whether or not you should text Aaron. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to hear him moan in your ear while his hands roamed every inch of you. You desperately wanted his mouth on you, his head in between your thighs. You could imagine Aaron on top of you, brushing your hair from your face, and telling you how pretty you were. Maybe you’d text Aaron later, when he wasn’t in a cramped van.

“Y/N?” You snapped your head up to see a woman you knew to be Julian DuPont’s assistant. DuPont owned the law firm, and he came from a very rich and powerful DC family. He was the whole reason that the FBI couldn’t just sneak in and bug the office themselves- he would be suspicious about anybody he didn’t personally know. Even having been an intern at the law firm for almost an entire year, you had only spoken to him one-on-one a handful of times. Sure, they were all positive experiences, but you knew he could lie to almost anybody.

“Yes?” you asked cautiously.

She gave you a sweet smile. “Mr. DuPont has asked to see you in his office right away.”

Your mouth instantly dried up and your heart started to beat so fast that you would have sworn everybody could hear it. “Uh… Yeah, of course, um… Did he happen to say what it was about?” you stuttered out. He was the first office you had placed the bug in. Maybe he found out and was about to fire you in front of everybody. Or worse, your brain supplied unhelpfully.

The assistant shook her head and guided you wordlessly to DuPont’s office. Stay calm, came Aaron’s voice through the earpiece. I will tell you everything you need to say if you get stuck, but you’ll be fine.

When you got to the office, the assistant close the door behind you, leaving you alone in the office with Mr. DuPont himself. He gave you a warm smile, which should have comforted you, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile for anything not related to winning a case or getting money. “Sit, please,” he ordered, gesturing lazily to the chair in front of his desk.

You tried to keep your breathing even as you sat down quickly, rubbing your hands on the tops of your thighs. It felt like you were in the principal’s office. You stayed silent so that he could have the first word.

“As you may know, I’ve been watching your progress very closely, both here and with your professors,” he stated, leaning forwards in his chair. “You’re very intelligent, and I think you have a bright career in front of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, trying to put as much confidence in your words as possible. There was a ‘but’ coming, you felt it. You could vaguely make out mumbling in your earpiece, like the BAU were trying to profile what Julian was going to say half a second before he said it.

DuPont straightened out a pen on his desk- to be specific, the pen with the listening device in it. Your breath caught in your throat. “I would like to capitalize on that potential and have you work here after you’ve graduated, but I need to see how you do in an actual courtroom. Law students are allowed to practice law under the supervision of an attorney, which would be me. If you do well, and you pass the bar, you’ll have a job here as an associate right after graduation. Think of it as a trial run, or a try-before-you-buy program.”

You let out a sigh of relief, not even caring how dramatic it may have looked to Julian, and you closed your eyes for a second just to ground yourself. He didn’t know, it was just a job offer. The secret was safe. The earpiece went silent again. “Sir- I… Thank you so much. I would love to, of course. It would be an absolute honor.”

DuPont nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That’s good to hear. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to. We will discuss this more at a later date.”

You shook his hand quickly before exiting, your heart pounding. You were going to need a drink, or five, tonight. Maybe it was stupid, but part of you wanted to hear something from your earpiece. It didn’t even need to be Aaron speaking, but you wanted somebody from the BAU to remind you that everything was okay.

Ignoring the questioning look from Chris, you sat down at your desk, attempting to process everything that just happened. Once the adrenaline went down, you let yourself get excited. A job offer, and a nice one at that, at a fancy private firm with a nice salary. You were set.

You grabbed your phone so that you could send the news to your friends, but a notification caught your eye.

From: Aaron Hotchner

Congratulations, associate. I told you that you’d make a wonderful lawyer someday.

To: Aaron Hotchner

Thank you :) You know this means I’m going to practice my opening statements on you all the time, right??

From: Aaron Hotchner

I’m looking forward to it.

[ladyartemesia]

▨ FIC • PREVIEW ▨

The Mark of Yun-Ki

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU  • Royalty AU • Fantasy AU • Daechwita AU

Summary: For a thousand years the tiger god Yun-Ki has marked the heirs of the Min Empire and thus only a marked heir can inherit the throne. When the beautiful daughter of the Min Emperor’s loyal warlord rescues a mysterious tiger hybrid from the imperial prison, she unleashes a secret that the throne would kill to protect. The young emperor claims to be the chosen heir... but who really bears the Mark of Yun-Ki?

Word Count: (preview) 2280 (final word count approx. 7K)

Rating and Warnings: Preview is rated M(ature) but final fic will be E(xplicit) for heat sex among other thing. Warnings for the preview include sexual innuendo and mature themes.

Author’s Note: One of the reasons I wrote this was in response to a prompt given to me by @mindays​ like MONTHS ago (I have included the original prompt at the bottom of the preview) • I really hope you like it! Sorry I took so long.

“Why is he blindfolded?”

The guard beside you shifted uncomfortably. 

“The Emperor ordered that his eyes be covered at all times.”

Your gaze traveled covertly over your surroundings, assessing the dimly lit chamber with practiced disdain. 

“Leave us.” 

“My lady, I cannot-”

“Do you know who I am, soldier?”

Your voice slashed through the air like an icy whip. 

“Y-yes, my la-”

“Then you know it is unwise to displease my family.” One jeweled hand came to rest dramatically on your chest. “Your daughter is not yet 15...such a pity to orphan one so young.”

The soldier bowed almost too quickly. 

“I will be outside, my lady-” he bowed again and again as he backed toward the door, “I meant no disrespect-”

Then you were alone… save for the notorious prisoner bound and blindfolded in the cell before you. 

He was clearly aware of your presence, but made no move or sound of acknowledgement, not even when your footsteps brought you to the very edge of his enclosure. 

“Prisoner AG-D2... name unknown... crime unknown...” your hand travelled up to your hair to withdraw a long silver pin, “no date of birth, no date of arrest...”

The prisoner jerked suddenly when the sound of your pin tripping the cell’s iron lock reached his unnaturally sensitive ears. 

His nostrils flared as an almost familiar scent - buried beneath a decade of fury and fear - curled through him. 

“Who are you?” 

The words were more of a growl than a question, but the only answer he received was the sound of his cell door creaking open. 

“Why are you here?” he tried again. 

“I am here to tell you a story...”

The prisoner barked out an empty laugh at your strange reply.

“I love a good story,” he whispered bitterly. The corner of your mouth twitched a bit at his spirit. 

Wrists bound together, eyes covered… but still every inch the proud warrior. His clothes were worn, but well cared for and the body beneath them was sleek and strong. This was not a man accustomed to being bound. 

“You were not raised like the rest of our people... the tales of our customs and our gods were - deliberately - never taught to you...but it is past time that you knew of them.”

He grinned, granting you a wicked flash of razor sharp fangs.

“Are all of the Emperor’s captives tortured with fairytales?”

“Charming,” you snorted, dragging a small stool from the corner of his cell. The prisoner’s ears flicked curiously at the sound.

“Aren’t you afraid of me, storyteller? What if I’ve been imprisoned for devouring beautiful women like yourself?”

You shook your head in amusement as you settled onto the stool.

“Have you devoured many beautiful women then?”

“Oh absolutely-” his grin took on a decidedly sinful slant, “but I doubt that’s why I’m here.”

A strange fluttering stirred in your chest at his words, though you did not fully understand the cause. You could not afford to waste time dwelling on such things, however.

“So... why are you here?” 

The prisoner was silent for several moments as he weighed the risk of being honest with you. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered finally, “I was told the Emperor himself ordered my arrest… but I was never told why.”

Your fingernails dug painfully into the palm of your hand, but you offered no other outward reaction to his words.

“What do you know of the current Min Emperor?”

“Not much. I’ve heard he is young... Stories say he has the temper of a demon, but his people endure it because he is the favorite of an ancient god.”

Your jaw clenched.

“That is correct. Our citizens are privileged to serve and obey the Emperor because the great tiger god, Yun-Ki has chosen the House of Min as his sacred bloodline. It is believed that the Mins are descended from Yun-Ki himself...”

“How ironic,” the prisoner scoffed, “considering that the Mins despise hybrids. They claim we are the unnatural children of the spirit realm and the earth. Surely they would be ashamed to be the product of such… blasphemy.”

Feminine laughter filled the air. It had been so long since the bound man had heard anything so beautiful. The ache it stirred in him was nearly as foreign as the sound itself. 

“Yes it does seem rather hypocritical... especially in light of the events which bring me here.”

Your scent was stronger now. It tugged at the edges of his mind in broken pictures and flashes of sunshine. He knew it...

But he could not recognize it. 

Nor could he explain the heat it began to stir in him. 

“Yun-Ki’s chosen heir bears his sacred mark .... Every child of the emperor’s seed is checked for it the moment they are born. And no concubine or wife of the emperor is ever so exalted as the one who produces a marked heir... except of course, the mother of our current emperor.”

The prisoner leaned forward, fascinated in spite of the strange circumstances.

“The dowager empress is widely revered. I may not know your fairytales, but a hybrid’s ears are better than most. My guards speak of her often.”.

You nodded

“The dowager is indeed very highly regarded… but she is not the emperor’s true mother.”

“Lady…” the prisoner shook his head irritably. “What nonsense is this? And how could it possibly affect me?”

You chuckled softly and the small hairs on the back of his arms rose up in response. 

“Patience, prisoner, the truth I offer you is worth more than both our lives.”

“The fine jewelry I hear clinking around your neck is worth more than my life, lady,” he hissed. “Speak your peace and spare me these cryptic declarations.”

It took every ounce of self-control you possess not to flick him right in his arrogant nose. 

“As you wish,” you replied with heavily affected sweetness. “The story begins with our current emperor’s father. The old emperor was a man of warfare and his spies discovered that the Prince of neighboring PyonKang planned invade our territory, he marched his armies in and occupied the small kingdom without mercy…” (you paused here significantly) “He even took the Prince’s sister as his war prize...”

The prisoner snorted. 

“Did he know what she was?” He smiled coldly. “The royals of PyongKang do not share your nation’s distaste for hybrids or the pleasures of mating with one-”

There was a sharp spike in your scent when he spoke the words; a darker - richer essence than the one he detected earlier, but this time he had no trouble identifying it. 

Arousal. 

Blood churned chaotically beneath his skin, rushing to answer your body’s unspoken request. His mind clouded suddenly and for a moment...he could almost taste you. 

This is dangerous. 

The fabric of your gown rustled as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat - driven to relieve some of the unexpected pressure in your core. 

“He did not know. The lady bore no hybrid indicators. So the emperor assumed - quite incorrectly - that she was not a hybrid.” 

“I’ve heard of such things…” he sighed, sifting through his memory till he found what he was looking for. “A physician I met in Eastern Wei discovered that some hybrids manifest internally. They retain the outer shell of a human, but their inner parts reveal the truth.” His head tilted as he recalled the old doctor’s exact words. “The face of man could hide the heart of a snake.”

You drew your lip between your teeth and nibbled it nervously. 

“You are correct. Except, in the case of the emperor’s war prize concubine, the face of a beautiful woman hid the heart of a tiger.”

The man before you scrambled to his feet in a move so sudden and unexpected, you nearly cried out. 

“You mean to tell me that the current Min Emperor is a tiger hybrid? Surely I would have heard of it. The world would have heard of it.”

You drew a deep breath - almost as if to brace yourself for the words you planned to speak.

The prisoner’s eyes were covered, but he could still make out shapes and shadows through the rough cloth. Your shadow seemed unnaturally still. When you spoke again, your tone was softer and the sound of it resonated deep within him like the bells of the old temple near his childhood home. 

“The princess of PyongKang became pregnant, and gave birth to twin boys. The younger was strong and pale, gifted with the strange golden hair so many of the Min bloodline seem to possess. But his elder brother...”

Your hands opened and closed reflexively in your lap as you worked to calm your pounding pulse. 

“... The elder brother’s hybrid heritage was quite evident.”

You moved then, stepping slowly and carefully until you stood before the prisoner face to face. Your scent swelled erotically with every step until it wrapped around him like a velvet vice. The urge to lean into it - into you - was nearly unbearable. 

“One of the twins bore the tiger god’s mark... but not the one who sits on the throne now.”

Your hand stretched slowly toward the edge of the prisoner’s blindfold. 

“The emperor executed his hybrid concubine immediately, yet even he was not bold enough to kill Yun-Ki’s chosen heir...”

Your fingers hovered a hairsbreadth from his skin. Once you touched him, everything would change. The truth you chased for eleven years would be within your grasp. 

“He sent the child to a poor family of fox hybrids who worked and lived on the estate of his most loyal warlord. The boy was never to know what he was… who he was...”

You could almost feel the moment he grasped the implication of your words. The subtle bond that always hummed strangely between you remained strong despite the years of separation. 

“The warlord had a daughter who loved to ride her horse near the lake.” Your voice trembled ever so slightly as you continued. “One day the horse was startled by a snake and it threw her into the water...”

A single tear wet his blindfold as the alluring tendrils of your scent merged chaotically with the treasured echoes in his mind. 

“Tiger hybrids hate the water,” you whispered, gently drawing the cloth up over his head, “but you dove in to save me anyways.”

Your lungs and throat burned from coughing out the water you swallowed, yet the pain was far preferable to the finality of drowning. The heavy fabric of your gown weighed you down as soon as your body crashed into the lake. 

Death reached for you, but the strange boy cradling you tightly to his chest had pulled you back before you were lost to its embrace.

“Little one, can you hear me?”

His eyes scanned frantically over your small drenched form for signs of serious injury, but you were completely distracted from your almost untimely end by the two feline ears twitching conspicuously amid the boy’s sodden curls. 

“You’re… You’re a cat!”

The boy’s jaw dropped open indignantly. 

“I’m tiger hybrid! Not a cat.” He shook his head irritably. “Have you never seen a hybrid before?”

“I’ve only heard of hybrids. I’ve never really seen one-”

Your fingers itched to touch the soft fur of his ears and you stretched forward almost absently to do so till he lashed out and snatched your wandering hand. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“Oh… I was going to...pet you?” you murmured sheepishly, prompting an irritable growl from the boy. 

“Little One, you do not pet tigers.”

He stood to his feet abruptly, dumping you into a soggy heap in the process. It took considerable effort for you to pull yourself upright while wearing 4 layers of thoroughly soaked cloth, but you eventually managed to regain your bearings and scramble after him. 

“Wait! Come back please I EEP-” 

The water dripping off your dress made the grass rather slippery… Both legs flew out from under you and, for the second time in less than a minute, you found yourself flat on your back. 

After a few moments of gazing miserably into the sky, a familiar face hovered over yours. 

“What a strange girl you are, Little One.”

You grinned.

“What is your name, tiger?”

He sighed deeply and held his hand out to pull you up. 

“I’m Yoongi.”

“Hello, Yoongi.” You tried to manage a proper bow, but only ended up losing your balance again. Yoongi grabbed your sleeve just in time to prevent you from crashing face first at his feet. 

“You’re completely hopeless,” he chuckled, endeared in spite of himself. 

Then you smiled. 

It was a fierce, blinding thing and Yoongi became aware of a subtle yet profound shift deep within the recess of his soul; something his primal half recognized immediately, but his human mind could not begin to comprehend. 

“No one’s ever said that to me before, even though I know they all think it.”

“And why is that?”

You shrugged. 

“They are probably afraid of my father.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in alarm. 

“You’re the warlord’s daughter?!”

“Yes,” you replied with all the haughtiness a ten-year old could muster, “and I’m quite used to getting what I want.”

Yoongi felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. You were such an adorable little brat. 

“And what is it you’re wanting now, Little One?”

You nibbled your lip for a moment, suddenly shy before the handsome hybrid boy whose beautiful feline eyes danced with unconcealed mirth. 

“I want you to be my friend.”

Thirteen years later, those same golden eyes locked with yours as a strangled sob bubbled up from the back of his throat. 

“Little One?” his face lit suddenly with pure joy “...is it you?”

Please let me know in the comments if you would like to be added to the taglist!

I would love to know any thoughts or theories you have! Thank you for reading! This story will be published on or around 7/31!

This is the original prompt which inspired this story...

[poptod]

hello! can i get a ahk x reader where the museum has a new exhibit with an ancient king from what ever culture, just around ahk’s age, and when he comes to life he hits on the reader, who is very flustered and ahk gets jealous and he and the other guy end up duking it out for y/n’s affection? school’s been super frustrating and i really need something fun and playful rn. thanks!

notes: hi! totally get the whole stressed thing with school. it aint fun but hopefully this helps you a little :)

He'd known you for much longer. Far longer than that ratted King had – but still, you spoke happily with him, smiling and giggling as though it was all a little game, and it was. Just not to Ahk. You were far too important to him to have the whole situation be considered nothing more than a game.

Standing in the corner, he watched the new exhibit speak, his words soft as he looked up to you with a reverence Ahk had shown many times before. The King, who went by the name of Otanes, had recently arrived from a museum in Europe, where they held an exhibit for old Persian kings. Otanes fit the description for any rich-kingdomed ruler; tall and handsome, with enough charisma to overthrow a government should he wish. Ahk was not like that. Perhaps that was what irked him most – he wasn't like Otanes at all, and you seemed to like the King quite a bit. After all, Otanes actually had a decent sized rule, while Ahk was King for only a day and a half.

It didn't help that you couldn't move, either. What with the whole actually being a painting made by Maoli people many, many years ago, no one had bothered to try and enter the stone you came from. You were startlingly clear next to the images of birds and trees – startlingly beautiful in the red stone.

Despite his feelings towards you, a bitter taste fell on his tongue when you smiled, the softest of blushes coating your cheeks as Otanes complimented the flowers in your hair. Ahk had been meaning to do that; he hadn't yet built up the courage to compliment you so directly, and the thought of Otanes stealing that opportunity from him had anger welling up deep in his chest.

"Ahk!" You called for him, your voice soft and his name welcome on your tongue.

He perked up, finding you waving him over, and Otanes looking rather sour. The tiniest of smirks came to him at that. He joined the two of you, standing side by side with Otanes.

"Why were you off sulking in the corner?" You asked with a small smile, your attention now fully on him. He knew it didn't mean anything, but a happiness began to sprout in him – you had a habit of doing that to him.

"Just.. enjoying the view," he answered cryptically.

"Well, Otanes is very handsome," you said, and every ounce of happiness you gave him curdled, his left eye twitching in irritation.

"Thank you," said Otanes with a small bow to you. "I'd say you're far easier on the eyes than I."

Stupid Otanes with his stupid words.

You flushed red, attempting to stutter out a reply. When you couldn't manage one you looked to the floor, the ghost of your laugh still on your lips, and your blush still prominent even on the stone.

"Actually, I had a question for you," Ahk interrupted, coming up with his sentences on the fly. "Do you remember any of your time in Hawai'i?"

"Not really," you answered seriously, "but I do remember the prayers people gave me. I still get them sometimes... I'm always listening for them."

"That's fascinating," Ahk said before Otanes could say anything.

Throughout the entirety of the conversation Otanes kept circling back to your beauty, complimenting and flirting with you till you could barely speak over your bashfulness. At least Ahk was trying to hold a regular conversation – this Otanes didn't care at all for things like that. He could tell that; he just wished you could, too.

He held himself together for a good long while, but all that buildup of irritation and anger burst when Otanes decided to remark on your legs of all things. Even if he had a good point, it was a weird thing to comment on, and you were clearly getting more and more uncomfortable. Ahk hadn't quite planned on punching anyone in the fact that day, but since the situation called for it he took great amusement in watching Otanes get a nosebleed from his fist.

"I don't think I've met anybody as bad at taking a hint as you are," Ahk said when Otanes sat up, looking up at him with an angered eye.

"Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you," Otanes spat back.

That was the general situation as you watched with wide, frantic eyes as Ahk attempted to punch the living shit out of Otanes. You knew a lot about Ahk – he spoke to you often, and you knew he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but it didn't stop you from worrying about the both of them. It seemed a foolish thing to argue over to you. After all, they were both only making conversation, right?

"Would you two stop it?!" You yelled when Otanes rolled the both of them over, now pinning Ahk down with his fist raised to land a direct punch at his head.

"(Y/N) –"

"No, I'm mad at both of you," you said when Ahk tried to say something. "What are you even fighting about?!"

They both paused, looking at each other before looking back to you, confusion lacing their gaze.

"You don't know?" Otanes asked, his grip on Ahk's collar still tight in his fist.

"Oh my Gods," Ahk muttered beneath his breath, relaxing his head backwards, astounded by your lack of clarity. A small, amazed smile came to him. Gods, you were endearing.

"It's – we're fighting for you," Otanes tried to explain, but the confusion on your face only grew worse.

"I don't want you fighting though?"

"We're fighting for your hand," Ahk finally said, loud enough to echo in the mostly-empty room of your exhibit.

Silence.

"What's wrong with my hand?" You asked, looking to him then back at your hands.

"Listen, there's a very simple solution to this, I think. Just go along with me (Y/N)," Otanes said, watching for your approving nod which came a few seconds later. With you on board, he asked, "which one of us do you like more?"

"Like... who do I enjoy talking to more?" You asked for clarification.

"Sure," he said.

"I like you both plenty," you said, beginning to fidget. "I.. I've known Ahk longer, but that doesn't really mean anything... um.."

"Doesn't Otanes make you pretty uncomfortable?" Ahk asked, sprouting another blush on your cheeks. "He says some pretty demeaning things."

"I do not!"

"Well... a little," you mumbled before the two of them could return to fighting.

"See?" Ahk said with a winning smirk. With your permission granted he fought back, forcing Otanes off his body and shoving him out of the room.

Once assured he wouldn't return, Ahk resumed his position in front of you, a sweet smile replacing the resentment so obvious just a couple minutes ago.

"Sorry about that whole thing," he said, watching your expression carefully.

"It's alright. Thank you for noticing, though. I didn't want to say anything," you said in a soft mumble, tracing your fingertip over your thigh.

"Of course," he murmured, reaching his hand to place it on the stone where your own hand lay.

To his surprise he found no purchase – rather, his eyes widened, watching his hand fade into the dark stone of the large tablet, the outline of his skin nothing more than charcoal. You gasped in surprise, backing up with eyes just as wide as his. Slowly he continued, letting himself enter the stone, where he turned into a painting like yourself, this time able to see you in 3D. He knew you were beautiful, but now that he was able to touch you your beauty seemed insurmountable. His mouth hung parted slightly as he reached for you, touching your skin for the first time. In silence he entwined his fingers with yours, staring at where you ended and he began, oblivious to the people watching the painting outside, oblivious to the other drawings. All that he saw was you – your hand in his, the flowers in your hair.

Tugging slightly, he pulled you to your feet, thoughtlessly leading you out of the black and white and into the real world, where he still had yet to notice the several people watching the two of you. The corners of your lips perked up, widening into a brilliant grin as your fingertips began to turn to color.

"Ahk," you murmured, your voice nothing more than a breath, captivated by the dark skin covering your once-stone form.

The moment you took your last step you fumbled, tripping and landing with your face pressed up against Ahk's chest, your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself. You went into another fluster, apologizing profusely and trying to back up. He didn't mind, though – he never would, and he held his hands in yours, trying to keep you calm even though his own mind was hectic with thoughts. He hadn't ever expected to genuinely touch you in any point in his life, or death, if he wanted to be realistic.

"What a happy couple," came the sarcastic voice of Larry, his hands on his hips as he watched the display. Instantly your cheeks turned a blazing red once more, and you looked away, adamant to not meet Larry's eye.

"Larry," Ahk greeted him, "we found out something new about the paintings."

"Obviously. Can you help me with the Huns now?"

"Do I have to?" Ahk grumbled, still eager to keep you close to him as possible.

"They're trying to rip Otanes' legs off again, I think that's a little more important than your love-fest," Larry said with a dry laugh.

Ahk looked at you, then back at Larry.

"I don't think I'll be of much help tonight."

[earthfire-75]

What Is and What Should Never Be

(A great big thank you to @brownskinsugarplum76 for being my beta for this fic)

Chapter One

I don’t know how I got here, on this plane, or even how I came to be curled up in the arms of a man I barely knew. So much had happened in such a short time, starting earlier in the week.

Monday, my friend asked me to go to a concert with her. It was to see Led Zeppelin. She had introduced me to their music a year ago. I could admit that I liked their music, but concerts weren’t really my thing. Too much of a stick in the mud, as she would say. But I knew how much it meant to her to go, so I agreed.

Tuesday I went in for my scheduled check-up appointment and found out I was pregnant, to my surprise. My boyfriend and I had been careful, or so I thought. To make matters worse, said boyfriend of two years, I might add, broke up with me then and there. Even had the balls to accuse me of sleeping around.

Wednesday and Thursday I was crying my eyes out still, to the point of making myself sick no matter how much my friend tried to comfort me. Friday afternoon saw us driving to the hospital when I started having contractions and I had a miscarriage. After a couple of hours of observation, I was sent home with a prescription for pain medication in case I needed it.

The rest of Friday was spent arguing over whether to still go to the concert the next night or not. My friend argued it was probably too soon for me, and she didn’t want to leave me by myself. I argued that she should still go because she had been waiting so long to see her favorite band play live.

Eventually, I proposed a compromise. We would both still go together, rationalizing that she would still get to be there, and she wouldn’t be abandoning me in the process. She was reluctant at first, but eventually gave in. We picked our outfits for the concert and set them out and then listened to Houses of the Holy as we got ready for bed.

Saturday morning was spent getting ready for that evening. Once there at the concert, though, my mood seemed to shift for the worse. Sadness, depression and the occasional thoughts of suicide, something I hadn’t told my friend about, shifted to a fight or fuck instinct. I was hoping to fuck more than fight, but things don’t always work out how you want.

I was eyeing the frontman like he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen before. And I had been drinking for quite some time by that point, despite my friend’s efforts. I was swaying my hips to the music, finally forgetting the past few days and losing myself to a desire I wasn’t expecting as I watched the frontman dance around the stage.

“Give it up, sweetheart. You’re never getting a piece of that.” I heard another female voice from my left side, and that was all it took for fight to take over. Before I could think about the consequences of my actions, I turned and took a swing at her, hitting her square in the nose. Security separated us before it could escalate, but instead of dragging me outside, I found myself plopped down on a couch next to my friend.

I was vaguely aware that there were others in the room as well. Three, actually. One was on the couch with us, talking to my friend. Across the room at a table were two others talking among themselves though they would look over now and then. My eyes had gone blurry, either from being that drunk or because I was starting to tear up again and trying to hide it, I wasn’t sure.

A few minutes later and the door opened again and two more figures entered. Even though I couldn’t make out any details, I could tell one man was large and intimidating. It made me curl up into a ball and hide my face in my friend’s back. I heard hushed arguing, or maybe my hearing had been affected by the alcohol too? But then I felt the couch dip on my other side and a hand gently rubbed my back. I couldn’t help melting into it and began to relax.

The next thing I knew, I was curled into a hard body, my head resting on a shoulder and my fingers twisted around ringlets of long golden-bronze hair with hints of copper. I smiled briefly as I was somehow reminded of a beach where I often played at as a child; a place that always brought me comfort. I took a moment to take in the rest of my immediate surroundings and found an expanse of golden tanned skin, a chest, with a smattering of dark blonde hair.

Slowly, I looked up, following a path up his bared chest and up his long neck until our eyes met. Such beautiful stormy blue eyes they were. He was looking at me with a kind of fascination and I know my breath hitched when I realized who I was now staring at. He looked so much younger than he was at that moment. When I tried to disentangle myself from him, he held me in place with a gentle arm around my waist and pulled my hand back towards his hair as if he wanted it there.

“Don’t go, darlin, please. Stay.”

How could I deny those pleading eyes? Swallowing hard, I returned to my previous position in his lap and curled his hair around my finger again. I was at once grateful for the comfort he seemed to provide me and afraid of it. Because I knew if I relaxed enough, everything from the week up to this point would catch up to me. Point in fact, I was already starting to feel the prick of tears behind my eyes. Just when I thought I was all out...

Inhaling a shaky breath, I curled myself further into the man beneath me, burying my face into his chest, as if trying to crawl inside him to hide from the world. I felt his other hand come up to cradle the back of my head, and he made a confused, helpless sound at the back of his throat. I tried to voice that my tears were in no way his fault, but sound wouldn’t come. My throat was too tight to speak and I didn’t trust my voice not to shake, and tremble anyway.

“Anjelika?” I heard my friend call, then felt the surface behind me dip as someone sat down behind me. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I thought this would help you get your mind off of things.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know if she’d be ok with me saying. I do know her enough to know she wouldn’t want to be crying in front of everyone. Is there somewhere more private?”

“Yeah, in the back.” I felt his arms shift, one remaining on my back while the other slid under my legs, just behind my knees. He stood, taking me with him and carried me down a small hallway; moments later I was placed on a rather soft surface. A bed, from the feel of it, too soft to be anything else.

I still clung to him as if it might save my life and he lay down beside me. “It’s alright, darlin’, not going anywhere if you don’t want me to.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, as if to prove his point.

My friend sat on the bed behind me, rubbing my back comfortingly. “Is it alright if Jimmy stays?” She asked. I lifted my head up and turned to look back, seeing the dark haired man who she had been fawning over standing by the door. I nodded in agreement, more for her sake than my own. Jimmy sat down next to my friend and I turned my attention to the man holding me.

“We never did get to make proper introductions, did we, darlin’? I’m Robert.”

“Anjelika,” I introduced myself through a sniffle.

“Angelic,” he whispered reverently, brushing my hair away from my face. “Do ya know how appropriate your name is, darlin’?”

I blushed despite myself and smiled weakly up into his gorgeous blue eyes. “You’re too kind, Robert. Which is also rather appropriate for you.” My tears were starting to subside because this man made me feel better about myself. Because he made me feel wanted.

He laughed, “I suppose it is!” He took a moment to gently wipe away the tear tracks from my cheeks with a feather light touch. He kissed my forehead then, though the kiss was soft and lingering. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” He asked softly.

I didn’t really, but acknowledged that if I did, it might help somehow. Taking a deep breath, I explained what had happened earlier in the week, the pregnancy, the breakup, losing the baby just the night before... everything.

“Are you alright, love?” The accent was thicker than Robert’s, so I assumed it was Jimmy.

“Oh, darlin’. Anjelika, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Robert held me tighter then, pressing another soft kiss on my cheek. A few more tears escaped my eyes, but I didn’t break down again.

Desperate to change the subject, I asked Robert, “You’re a fan of Tolkien, yeah?” I recalled my friend telling me that.

He smiled in response. “I am. Even have a book or two in my bag. Did you want to borrow one, darlin’?”

I bit my lip to suppress a shy smile. “Read to me?”

“Great, now I gotta listen to him talk the entire flight! He never shuts up as it is!” Jimmy mock complained.

“Quiet you,” Robert teased back, “everyone loves the sound of my voice! Besides, how do you expect me to deny the beautiful lady a request?”

“Willpower?”

Robert just rolled his eyes and shook his head before he got up to retrieve one of his books. When he returned to the bed, he sat with his back against the headboard and found where he left off in the book. With the invitation of joining him with a slight tilt of his head, I sat up as well, finding my place pressed against his side with his arm holding me close. As he read to me from the book, his voice so soft, lulled me back to sleep.

I woke up briefly, looking up at Robert. He was still reading from his book, so I probably hadn't been asleep long. I reached up and traced the lines of his cheekbone and jawline, thinking how much his features were feline-like. That and his wild hair, reminding me of a lion’s mane. “My lion,” I whispered softly, making him stop and look down at me, but I had already fallen back asleep.

I was woken again by the feel of Robert’s fingers running through my hair. “We’re about to land, darlin’. Time to wake up.”

[the-horae]

tbh i want to know the answers to all of the warden questions but if you don’t feel like doing that then 1 & 2 for each companion? pretty please

Bless!! I’m so excited to do this!! I think I’ll stick to the companion questions just for brevity’s sake :) 

Zevran

1. How did your Warden react to Zevran’s failed attempt on their life? Were they amused? Angry?

Having grown up in the circle, Rowan wasn't accustomed to the concept of mortality, simply because she was raised in such a sheltered manner. I think that she failed to see the seriousness of the situation, and thought it was hilarious that she- an elf from the circle- was considered important enough to assassinate. 

2. Did your warden match Zevran’s lighthearted attitude or were they more serious? What sort of relationship did they have?

Rowan isn’t serious by any stretch of the word, and meeting Zevran helped to save her from being around the doom and gloom of Alistair and Morrigan (she loves them too, but Zevran brought a levity that she needed). They became fast friends, and grew a close bond. Though Zevran did flirt with her on occasion, their relationship always stayed one of deep friendship grounded on mutual respect and admiration. 

Alistair

1. What sort of attachment did your warden form with Alistair, if any at all? Were they close due to their shared experiences as Grey Wardens?

Rowan loves Alistair desperately, in a way that encompasses both romantic love and deep friendship. Since meeting him at Ostagar, she formed a habit of standing really close to him, almost hiding behind him. Even though she served as a leader for their group, she clung to him for comfort and support, which he gladly supplied. They are easily the closest of their rag-tag band, and never seem to leave the other’s side. 

2. Did Alistair’s parentage surprise your warden? How did your warden’s feelings on the nobility affect their relationship with Alistair?

Rowan wasn’t really surprised to hear of Alistair’s royal lineage. She told him once, just after Ostagar, that he bared a great resemblance to King Cailan. Of course, he said they both just had big noses and that was where the resemblance ended, but Rowan never let that thought go. When he finally told her, she simply smiled at him and playfully shoved his shoulder. “Ok, prince-y. Let’s go kill some corpses.” She had said, and Alistair just gaped at her as she skipped off. Rowan never made Alistair king, and favored Anora for the throne so his parentage didn’t affect them much in the end, much to Arl Eamon’s displeasure. 

Wynne

1. What did your Warden think of Wynne’s views of the circle? Did they have different experiences regarding the circle?

Rowan had known Wynne since she was a little child, and had many fond memories of her. Seeing her at Ostagar actually made her cry with relief at a familiar face, and every soul there was subjected to the sight of a tiny elven mage nearly tackling an old woman in what looked to be a bone-crushing hug. As for Wynne’s views, Rowan always thought that the circle was too restrictive, and they seem to agree on that front. Although, after awakening, Rowan became more and more angry with the circle, and the events of Dragon age 2 completely turned her against it. However, during the events of Origins, Rowan and Wynne agreed for the most part. 

2. How did your warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical?

Wynne was the closest thing Rowan had ever had to a mother, and so she hung on to every word she said with deep conviction. When Wynne voiced her skepticism about Rowan’s relationship with Alistair, Rowan was crushed. She was angry at first, asking why Wynne would doubt her like she was, but she soon understood that Wynne was just looking out for her. Once Rowan confirmed that what her and Alistair had was real love, Wynne softened to them and eventually gave them her blessing. 

Leliana

1. What was your Warden’s view on the chantry? Were they wary of Leliana due to her religious beliefs or lack thereof?

Rowan doesn’t dislike many things, but she is certain that she dislikes the chantry. Years of learning the chant in the circle failed to make her devout, and succeeded in fueling her skepticism. She studied the chant thoroughly, and the more she studied, the more she disliked it. Rowan was also a history buff, and the contradictions in the chantry throughout history only made her more distrustful. The Chantry was the reason that the elves suffered so greatly, after all. As for Leliana, Rowan was infatuated with her the second she saw her. She was too distracted by her lovely red hair and mirthful eyes to notice that she was wearing the garb of a chantry sister, and so she accepted her into her party without a second thought. As they got to know each other however, it became clear that they believed different things. Even so, the fact that Leliana actively criticized the chantry helped to earn Rowan’s trust, and they eventually became dear friends.

2. Was your warden curious about bards? If they had the opportunity, would they choose to become one?

As a mage, Rowan couldn’t become a bard, and she wouldn’t want to. After hearing all of Leliana’s stories, she knew that she didn’t have what it took to become one. Despite this, she never said no to a good bard story when Leliana offered.

Sten

1.Had your warden ever met a Qunari before sten? What did they expect?

Rowan, being the history buff that she is, had known about the ongoing war between the Qunari and Tevinter, and so she had done a good amount of research on Qunari before meeting Sten. Meeting Sten was one of Rowan’s favorite moments, mostly because she thought he was utterly fascinating, but also because she manipulated a Revered Mother to set him free. She knew that Qunari were exceptionally tall, but she was not prepared for the quality of Sten’s skin. She knew that Qunari skin contained different properties which made it hard like leather, but she was still fascinated by it. Once she and Sten grew close, he would let her research him through posing for anatomical sketches. He acted like it was an annoyance, but he secretly found her enthusiasm for learning endearing.

2. What did your warden think of Sten’s beliefs that people’s roles were determined at birth? Did they agree?

Rowan didn’t necessarily agree with his beliefs, but she certainly respected them. She would ask him the occasional question about his culture, always making sure to be respectful, and Sten would provide an answer. Even though Rowan didn’t share his beliefs, she often wondered what it would be like to have such certainty in your role in life. 

Oghren

1. What did your warden think of Orzammar? Were they impressed or did they become disillusioned with the city, like Oghren did?

At first, Rowan was fascinated by Orzammar. She thought it was beautiful, and the history attached to it was amazing to her. However, once she became more acquainted with the politics there, she realized how deeply flawed the city was. She ultimately sided with Bhelen, only because he would dissolve the caste systems, which she held a lot of disdain for. 

2. What were your wardens feelings of berserkers? Were they frightened by them? 

Like anything unconventional, Rowan loved the idea of a berserker. She would often grill Oghren about the practice, eyes sparkling with intense interest. She wasn’t afraid of them, most likely because she never truly grasped the concept of mortality, but she did hold a deep respect for them. 

Morrigan

1. What was your warden’s first impression of Morrigan? Did they trust her or were they cautious of her? 

Rowan liked Morrigan the second she laid eyes on her in the Korcari wilds. The idea of a mage living outside of the circle their entire lives fascinated her, and you can guarantee that she bombarded Morrigan with questions every chance she got. She instantly trusted her, maybe despite her better interest, but she held too much respect for the witch of the wilds to not trust her. 

2. Did your warden agree to help Morrigan kill Flemeth? Why or why not?

Rowan absolutely helped to kill Flemeth. It was a win-win situation, she could help her friend AND fight a dragon. Also, the joy in Morrigan’s face when she was presented with Flemeth’s grimoire made any dragon-related injuries worth it. 

Loghain (Rowan did not allow a war criminal to enter her party, and simply asked him to kindly die by her blade)

Shale

1. Was your Warden interested in golems upon meeting Shale? Did they think of golems as weapons or sentient beings?

Rowan was enchanted by Shale upon meeting them, and was constantly writing notes about Shale’s experiences. She believed wholeheartedly that Shale was a sentient being, and loved chatting with them whenever she could. She would also go out of her way to find new crystals for Shale to wear. Shale also allowed Rowan to sketch them, but only when they had their nice crystals on.

2. Did the realization that Shale was once a living dwarf surprise your warden? How did that change their views on golems?

Rowan was definitely shocked to find out that Shale used to be a dwarf, and after going to Orzammar, Rowan made it her duty (after the blight had been ended) to seek out any living family members of those who gave their lives to the Anvil of the Void. Her views on golems changed from fascination to feeling conflicted about them. In Shale’s case, they gave up their soul willingly, so Rowan did not pity them, and instead loved them as they were- a big, stony colossus. 

Dog

1. Who’s a good boy?

Chunk is the goodest boy to have ever lived.

Wow this was long but so fun!!! Thanks so much for asking about Rowan and her companions :))))

[kazuzuha]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ part three

part one ; part two ; part four ; ...

this work is protected by copyright. copyright © kazuzuha ™ 2021

It took me another two years to find a new goal and remember my past one - the latter being that of me exploring the world, meeting new people, seeing the archons, eating new foods, feeling the wind of the highest mountains in Teyvat...

Interestingly, this goal that I had forgotten coincided with the one I had now; running away.

That was all I had in mind in the time gone by, all that truly kept me breathing in that suffocating place. My own mindset was an opposition to my mother’s, her traditional perfectionism trying to mold me into someone flawless, yet, not better than her. My own set of unbearably high standards wore me down, then were further pushed by her hand which ignored the fact that our pressures came from the same place. But I knew. I knew. 

It was at fifteen that I fully understood that knowing you are in an unhealthy situation does not call upon the Archons to help. 

Father was not around, busy with climbing ranks and taming the snowstorms. If he knew of my ambition, he would have agreed to that marriage proposal I had been given years ago, suspiciously immediately after the Tsaritsa’s interest in me was expressed. It was not that my father did not love or care for me; the opposite stood true. However, he was unaware of how deeply the mental scars inflicted by my mother ran. She was a good wife, a great wife for a Snezhnayan especially. But she was not a good mother. All I had tried to explain, he had already known of, but from a completely different perspective; words convoluted, actions exaggerated - after years of hearing second-hand stories about his child, his image of me became exactly what my mother intended. Therefore, hoping and begging for his help would be redundant. I had to get away on my own two feet.

That being said, I still needed outside help and financial freedom. I made acquaintances amongst my peers, though being taken into a circle of Snezhnayan kids was a difficult task; due to my family���s high standing and my mother’s foreignity, I was either avoided or sneered at. No one dared say much, but those that did were not speaking in welcome. The odds would be stately against my success, if it were not for my observance. Most children were homeschooled and the only way to meet others my age was at a very occasional party or in organised training. There were certain aspects that I saw were well accepted in their eyes; strength, resilience, beauty and charm. I trained in strength, my mind forced resilience, the beauty and charm part could be subsistuted by wealth and social standing. It should have worked. Unfortunately, I did not consider my gender.

After beating a boy twice my size in combat, I was not revered as I had previously expected. I was not suddenly accepted into a friend group, was not offered the bitter alcohol they hid under their shirts. I was a foreign girl they could not touch, could not win against. And that pissed them off. The spreading of rumours seemed like a simple childish act at first, but the way people began to view me was set in stone before they even met me, painting me as unattainable, arrogant. A sense of déjà vu made me realise that I was once again losing an exit out of this place. But I was a quick learner.

Instead of my peers at the training grounds, I looked elsewhere. Tagging along with my father under the pretense of learning his strategies, donning my most modest dresses and tint on my lips, I met the younglings of aristocracy. They recognised my situation as their own, shunned for being better than everyone else. The mindset of superiority deeply ingrained in their small heads made it laughably easy to appease them and get piles of information that I made sure to memorize. My graceful actions, soft-spoken words and dainty visuals… all crafted to fit the perfect standard of a young girl beloved by the Tsaritsa. 

Manipulation was effortless to replicate and after shedding a false tear over an acquaintance’s loss of a parent, the apprehension of the lack of my care about using others sent shudders down my spine. I hated it. I hated being forced to do the same I had been an object of. Most of all, I was horrified by how good I was at it. A secret account provided by a lovesick fool who turned out to be the son of the main manager of our biggest bank. Five sources of income through illegal trade business from Fontaine. A shy girl who wished for one good friend, the daughter of the biggest weaponry corporation, owning over fifty industrial factories in Snezhnaya alone. In less than two years, I was the biggest shareholder of two major companies. 

All I needed was a good public reason to leave and never come back - if I had run away in the middle of the night, the powerful people around me would send hundreds behind me without a second thought. The only ones who can facilely leave are the Fatui - Tsaritsa’s dogs - and, of course, her Harbingers. I have seen my fair share of Fatui, especially when I was still dealing with the mess that was the illegal trading with Fontaine’s machinery. They were soldiers, but they were also people; until you gave them enough power to be drunk on. As for the Harbingers, two of them I had met on multiple occasions; the man I had momentarily seen at Tsaritsa’s side on that balcony was presented as Dottore, or Doctor, though his unhinged expressions pointed to him being a rabid predator, not a healer. He was a shadow; never seen, but always… there. The second Harbinger was my father’s old acquaintance known by the title La Signora, or more favourably, The Fair Lady. As a visionless female aristocrat, I was expected to marry quickly and provide many future soldiers to the armies of Snezhnaya. When I was younger I did not understand the disgust and abhorrence I felt at the thought of my set future. Without dreams, I only wandered. It was not surprising that I began to look up to the notoriously powerful Signora, especially since the silver shade in our eyes was of the same empty shine. Fascinated by her bold disobedience of our land’s customs, I caught myself imitating her walk; young and impressionable, sure, but I also knew that without a Vision, I would never be able to stride as freely as she could. 

That is why I spent so much energy and time on getting Mora. In complete honesty, I could have left Snezhnaya a year into my socialisation. In only a few months, I had enough financial security to start a business in the faraway Liyue which flourished past my expectations. Despite resigning myself to using others, the human mind sometimes cannot help but create bonds of affection to others and so, after the first time hearing “comrade” or the late-night conversations with a painfully vulnerable and lonely teenager, I could not help but want to stay longer, although merely subconsciously. I began finding reasons to stay; perhaps visiting Liyue to oversee my business after a scandal was not a good enough plan to leave, perhaps I should save just a bit more before I go on a long journey, what if the branch deal suddenly fails, I need to manage this project myself… The excuses piled up, my very few friendships strengthened and then, I thought; living here for the rest of my life would not be the worst. This idea was proven wrong time and time again, the glares like daggers in my back, enviness of others putting poison in my cups, the bloody display of the rare bunny I was gifted by a prominent and popular merchant, my mother’s slap at the word “Liyue” leaving my mouth.

I was woken up by news of the forgotten childhood marriage proposal being reconsidered.

“My clever girl is all grown up now!” my father spoke loudly, his fork sounding on the golden plate as the guests around him followed his proud tone with interest. Turning to his closest comrade, another one of Tsaritsa’s most trusted, he spoke as if confiding a secret though all invitees could hear him clearly: “Nobody is ever going to be good enough for my dove, but I’m considering accepting that proposal. They’d make a good match, both of their heads full of coins.”

Booming laughter ensued as my smile froze on my lips. He had never discussed this with me beforehand, so why now?

As if he had read my thoughts, Father’s eyes found mine, his bright and naive, sure that I would simply go with it as I had with everything until now. I decided to keep the illusion intact and made myself smile wider. 

“Girlie that plays with coins, hah! If that’s what he needs to tie him down, I’d get on my knees myself,” the other man spoke, raising his glass towards me and eliciting another round of hollers. 

Not one to stay quiet in rage, I spoke with a light, pretty tone: “Sorry to say this old man, but I’d prefer for the man to kneel down for my hand himself. Your legs might just give out from how long you’d have to be begging on the ground for him.”

The hidden jab of my not even knowing who the man proposing was went past their ears.

“As expected!” the man yelled over the ear-wrenching laughter, slapping my grinning father on the back, while another man, whom I recognised as my only female friend’s absentee parent, spoke up; “She’s really your kid, through and through. Shame you didn’t make a boy, too, with that spunk he’d be one of Tsaritsa’s best warriors by now.”

“No kid of mine would be any good as a soldier,” Father countered, the alcohol in his glass disappearing. “Us Silvers use our heads.”

After he playfully headbutts his comrade, the conversation moves elsewhere and I take my leave. Again, I find myself on the balcony, heaving deep breaths, desperately trying to calm my racing pulse. Vaguely, I think about my wild expression and how others would react if they chanced upon me at this moment, but my unbearable fear does not allow for a stoic attitude. 

Ah, right, I wanted to run away.

It is needless to say that I got my plans in order just that night.

I only let my closest friends know of the finality of my departure, sent a personal letter to the Tsaritsa and prepared an entourage of people who wanted to permanently leave Snezhnaya as well.

Tsaritsa’s reply was swift and curt; a permit to leave for business. There was not any mention of a permit to return, but that was exactly what I had been looking for.

I mentioned my journey East to my parents at a rare shared dinner, as if passing news. My mother would have dragged me by my hair if we had been alone; having my father present was imperative. With my mother’s forced silence, I explained that, due to the scandal - which I had painstakingly created myself - I wanted to take charge of the business in Liyue Harbour for three months until I found a capable enough manager to take over the decision-making.

“It is unsavory for women to make the main decisions in a business,” I sighed, massaging the side of my head as if troubled by this gravely. My father nodded, sympathetically, while my mother coldly glared at my theatrics. It was not her that I needed to convince, anyway; she would follow whatever her husband decided. Holding Father’s hand, a physical contact of seldom, I continued: “I want to get this over with quickly, that is why I am going myself. After all, the marriage should not be put off for too long, should it? You told me a few days ago that you wanted a grandson, after all.”

I left three days after that.

The tearful farewells were done in secret, only polite nods were given in the public eye. More people have come to bid me a good journey than I would have expected, my ties reaching further than those of the usual Snezhnayan. I decided to speed up my leave before anyone else could notice.

White mountains and the creaking of snow beneath the heavy feet slowly turned into browns and greens and sloshes of mud. We stayed the night at a guesthouse in Fontaine, the waterfalls washing away the prints of our path. I wished I could have run away immediately, but arriving at the Liyue headquarters was a necessary evil to maintain our facade; if we did not send word, it would have been no different from an escape without planning. 

The warm water felt wonderful against my cold skin, accustomed to the harsh weather of the land of Cryo. It was a few hours after sunset and only the sounds of nocturnal butterflies were present. The unchanging moon shone down, reflecting its light into the lake, its shape sometimes a copy, sometimes a caricature. 

TBA

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

The Tiny Terror

Title:  The Tiny Terror

Summary: (Continuation of this fic) Roman doesn’t understand why a young Virgil would trust him over Patton. With their rivalry that stems all the way to childhood, surely he’s the last one Virgil wants anything to do with. Yet Virgil trusts him, looks up at him in admiration. With Logan away researching a solution and Patton checking up on Thomas, it’s up to Roman to take care of the now kid Anxiety for the day.

Word-Count: 1.9k

Pairings: brotherly prinixety, background platonic lamp

Warnings: de-aging, crying, fear, self-doubt, guilt, bullying mention

This is a birthday fic for @theeternalspace! Happy Birthday Acantha, it’s a little hard to believe we’ve been friends for over a solid year now. You mentioned a while back you’d enjoy a continuation of this AU and well, I hope I’ve delivered :D

-

Roman isn’t scared. Brave, fearless princes like him don’t get scared. They get merely troubled or perplexed when faced with uncertain circumstances. Those emotions don’t last long, mind you. He always overcomes them to save the day and today won’t be an exception. He’s sure of it.

Virgil is tiny. Just a little rain drop compared to his normal gloomy thunderstorm self. He can’t be more than four--maybe five--years old. He’s sound asleep in Roman’s arms, the poor dude tuckered out from his crying. His little hands hold on tightly to Roman’s shirt, as if even unconscious he’s afraid of letting go.

“He’s so little.” Roman whispers, gently stroking Virgil’s hair.

He still doesn’t understand it. Even as children, Roman treated Virgil terribly. He made fun of his fears, teasing young Anxiety relentlessly. Worst yet, the rare occasions he included Virgil in games of make-believe, he always pushed Anxiety into playing the villain. 

So it wasn’t really a surprise that Virgil took that role on full-time. Not even a few years back, Roman thought it’d been only confirmation of Virgil’s true nature. Nowadays he held onto a guilt knowing he forced Virgil into that role.

So why did the Tiny Terror chose him over Patton? Kind, loving Patton who has never cruelly taunted Virgil or shunned him for simply existing? He isn’t deserving of this trust Virgil has placed in him.

Patton and Logan hover nearby, just as perplexed by the situation as Roman. Patton wrings his hands nervously. He looks like he’s seconds away from scooping his anxious kiddo into his arms and never letting go.

 Meanwhile Logan frowns, cupping his chin with one hand. It’s his classic thinking pose. All he needs is a deerstalker hat and a pipe and he’d a spitting image of Sherlock Holmes. Roman pictures a tiny Virgil trailing after Logical Side in too-large clothing as Watson and well...as Logan himself would put it, the image is too precious to process.

“It’s hard to believe we were once as little as him, isn’t it?” Patton breaths in, “he’s so cute I wanna pinch his little cheeks.”

“While he is undeniably, factually adorable, I think we should remain focused on finding out what caused this...change in him.”

“Have any hypotheses, Logan-rithm?” Roman asks.

“A few. However I’d like to do some research just to be certain,” Logan pauses, “It might be also wise for one of us to check up on Thomas and to see if this change is affecting him in any way.”

Roman and Patton glance at one another.

“I can go--” Roman begins, but Patton waves him off.

“No, it’s okay! I can do it! Besides,” He smiles knowingly, “you have your hands full already.”

“Indeed,” Logan adjusts his glasses, “since Virgil seems to inexplicably trust you he might wake up distressed if you are not with him.”

“Then on my word as a knight, I shall keep him safe while you two are off on your own quests.”  Roman vows, forsaking his usual bow since he was holding Virgil. 

“Yes, well, I shall go to my room now to research.” Logan says, sinking out.

“I’m sure you’ll do a terrific job, kiddo!” Patton says as he sinks out, leaving both Roman and Virgil alone in the hallway of the Mindscape.

“Well,” Roman says, looking down at Virgil, “it’s just us, little prince.”

Virgil grumbles in his sleep, shifting slightly. His young face is devoid of the dark eyeshadow Roman is so used to seeing on him. When had he started wearing the eyeshadow? Had it been high school? Roman couldn’t recall. 

He walks to the mindscape common area, careful not to jostle Virgil along the way. He could’ve teleport himself and Kid Fright over there but he was worried that rising up would have a negative effect on Virgil like it did for his adult self.  Once there, he gently lays Virgil down on the couch. Or at least, he attempts to do so. 

“Nooo,” Virgil whimpered, his shrill voice spooking Roman. He nestles his head further into the nook between Roman’s neck and shoulder. He clings to Roman, his grip tighter than any two-headed python that Roman has ever fought.

“You said you wouldn’t let go.” Virgil drowsily mumbles, muffled by Roman’s shirt, “don’t leave  me!”

Oh, Roman thinks as his heart threatens to break, of course Virgil would have separation anxiety. Little kids often had it. He wonders if growing up, Virgil was left alone and terrified because no one wanted to be with him. He tries shaking that thought away. He has to focus on how he can help Virgil now, in the present.

“I am truly sorry for breaking my promise, little raindrop,” Roman says, “I’ll stay with you and protect you from any evil Dragon Witch, knight’s honor.”

Virgil shifts, his little head popping up to look at him.

“Really?” Virgil asks, his eyes so bright and hopeful at the prospect that it hurts Roman’s heart even more.

“Really.” Roman says, booping Virgil’s nose. The kid actually giggles from it. Roman isn’t sure if he’s ever heard Virgil properly laugh before in his life. Usually it’s a dry, sarcastic chuckle or faint muffled laughter from Virgil covering his mouth. When Virgil gets back to normal, Roman decides to make it his mission to get an actual laugh out of the anxious side.

“Hey, wanna help me make a blanket fort?” He asks.

Virgil starts to nod his head before hesitating, “I--I don’t know how!”

“That’s okay, I can show you how if you’d like.”

A small smile slips onto his face, “Okay.”

“Alright,” Roman says, “Let’s get down to business!”

With a single hand, he conjures up the most fluffiest, softest pillows, blankets and stuffed animals imaginable. He looks at Virgil, who has his eyes on the purple bat plushie.  He grins, pleased to know he’d been right to summon that one. He moves toward it, propping Virgil on one hip in order to grab it.

“Here you go.” He says, presenting the bat plushy with the reverence it deserves. 

“I can have it?” Virgil asks, squinting his eyes at Roman, “N-no tricks?” 

Roman wants to throttle whoever dared to hurt young Virgil, himself included, right then and there. No child should be so hesitant about receiving a toy because they’re afraid someone is going to snatch it away last second. However, he doesn’t want to frighten Virgil anymore than he probably is. Instead he takes a deep breath and smiles.

“No tricks, little prince. Her name is Zola and she likes it when you hug her, it helps her feel less scared. You think you can take care of her for me?”

“Y-yeah.” Virgil tentatively nods, and Roman places the bat plushie into his arms.

“Good. Now let’s make the most supercalifragilisticexpialidocious blanket fort!”

“Supercali--super--” Virgil frowns, “what’s that?”

“Why it’s something to say when you have nothing to say!” 

“That’s silly.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It is too!”

The two settle into a lighthearted, childish banter as they set up the blanket fort. It’s a bit difficult, since Virgil continues to koala-cuddle him but Roman makes it work. With the finishing touch of fairy-lights, Roman thinks it’s quite grand. It’s been a while since he’s made a blanket fort. It’s mostly a thing both him and Patton indulge in. Logan sees them as impractical and Virgil, well. For whatever reason, Virgil has never been open to them.

“What now?” The little Imp of Fright asks, still staring at Roman like he holds the entire world in the palm of his hand. Had Virgil always look up at him with such love and admiration when they were kids? How was his younger self so blind to it? How could he take one look at Virgil and decide he was a villain that needed to be slain? 

“Creativity?” Virgil tugs at his sleeve, clutching Zola to his chest with his other hand, “You okay?”

Roman jolts out of his thoughts, “Oh, yes, I’m fine!”

“No you’re not, you’re crying!” 

“Oh,” He touches his wet cheeks, “I suppose I am.”

“Is-is it me?” Virgil hiccups, “Did I do something bad? I’m sorry--please don’t get upset--”

“Anx, take a deep breath,” Roman cuts in, trying to keep the kid from working himself up too much, “You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you were crying. That’s bad!” Virgil exclaims, on the edge of sobbing himself.

Oh dear Hera, Roman thinks. He’s not cut out for this. Patton would know how to calm Virgil down, how to explain things away in a positive, uplifting note. Logan would even be better than him. He could stay calm and rational, diverting Virgil’s attention to some fascinating fact. However they aren’t here and so he must try to do his best without them.

“Not all tears are bad,” Roman says, “sometimes...people get so happy they cry tears of joy. I just got so happy, because we were able to make the best blanket fort I’ve ever seen in my life! And you, little prince, helped. Why, I think it’s even more marvelous than King Arthur’s castle. Surely, you’ve heard of King Arthur?” 

“N-no,” Virgil sniffles.

“Well that won’t do,” Roman declares, “I guess I will have to rectify that by telling you the story of how he became King.”

Somewhere in the midst of his superfluous retelling of Arthurian legends, the two end up in the cozy confines of the blanket fort. Virgil sits on his lap, holding Zola as Roman waves his hands around as he speaks. Slowly, Virgil gets more captivated, asking questions of his own. 

“Wasn’t King Arthur scared?” Virgil asks at one point.

“Oh of course not. The Knights of the Round Table were there with him. He knew with his friends by his side, they’d be able to defeat the dragon together.”

“What do they do?”

“What do they do? Well, of course, dragons are crafty beings, so they had to hatch up a plan that would fool even the smartest of dragons…”

He’s enjoying this a little too much, to be honest. It has been a long, long while since he’s tapped into his core function in such a way. When he was younger, he used to make up stories on the spot all the time. He never cared which direction it went, so long as it ended happily. Nowadays, he doesn’t have time to waste on such needless whimsy. All of his ideas must be dedicated towards Thomas’ career in some way. They must be big and important. They must be perfect or else they don’t matter at all.

Halfway through, his little prince lets out a yawn with Roman following suit. 

“I guess we’re both getting sleepy, huh?” Roman muses. He had stayed up until the devil’s hour to finish a new video idea, so it’s no wonder he’s yawning as well.

“I’m not!” Virgil protests, even as another yawn escapes him, “I wanna know what happens next to Sir Gawain!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep going.” Roman says and he holds to that promise. He keeps on going until he asks the Child of the Corn a question and he doesn’t answer. He glances down to see Virgil curled up against him once more, fast asleep. Carefully, he maneuvers himself and Virgil until they are both lying down on the pile of blankets and couch cushions. 

“Sleep well, Virgil,” He whispers, pulling a soft, fuzzy blanket over the kid.

Roman can’t change the past. Virgil will return to his cankerous, worrywart adult self soon, he’s sure of it. For now, Roman will be the prince that the kid Virgil used to be deserved.

< A Little Prince | The Tiny Terror | An Itsy Bitsy Nightmare > 

[insanityclause]

Coriolanus is a play that’s more respected than revered. Why does it have a rather difficult reputation? Coriolanus is relentless, brutal, savage and serious, but that’s why I find it interesting. Shakespeare sets the play in ancient Rome: a far older place than the Rome more familiar to us – of Julius Caesar or Antony and Cleopatra or the later Empire. This Rome is wild. A city-state wrestling with its identity. An early Rome of famine, war and tyranny.

In the central character, Caius Martius Coriolanus, Shakespeare shows how the power of unchecked rage corrodes, dehumanises and ultimately destroys its subject. I’ve read that some find Martius a hard character to like, or to relate to – less effective at evoking an audience’s sympathy than Hamlet, Romeo, Juliet, Rosalind, Othello or Lear. Yet there is a perverse integrity and purity to be found in his obstinacy and honour, which sits alongside his arrogance and contempt.

The play’s poetry is raw and visceral, quite different from the elegance, beauty, clarity and charm found elsewhere in Shakespeare’s work. The warmth and delight to be found in his comedies are absent here. But the unstinting seriousness and intensity of the play is what makes it fascinating.

How well did you know the play? I didn’t know it well. I had seen an early screening of Ralph Fiennes’s terrific film adaptation at the Toronto film festival in September of 2011. I was fascinated by the visceral intensity of the play: the power, hubris, and force of the title character; its lasting political resonance; and the immediacy and profundity of the familial relationships, particularly between mother and son – Volumnia and Martius – which struck me as perhaps the most intense and psychologically complex presentation of that bond I had come across in Shakespeare.

What drew you to Coriolanus as a character? I was fascinated by the evolution of Martius/Coriolanus as a character through the play. His arc is purely tragic. He begins the play as Rome’s most courageous warrior, is quickly celebrated as its most fearsome defender, then garlanded by the Senate and selected for the highest political office.

His clarity of focus, fearlessness and ferocity of spirit, all qualities that make him a great soldier, undo him as a politician. His honesty and pride forbid him from disguising his contempt for the people of Rome, whom he deems weak, cowardly and fickle in their loyalties and affections. He cannot lie. “His heart’s his mouth / What his breast forges that his tongue must vent.” He becomes a tyrant, branded a traitor, an enemy of the people: an uncontained vessel of blistering rage. He is banished, changed “from man to dragon”. Joining forces with his sworn enemy, Aufidius, he plots revenge against Rome: “There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger.” And then finally, at the very end, as he watches his own mother, wife and son kneel at his feet and beg for his mercy, he reveals – beneath the hardened exterior of contempt – a tenderness and vulnerability not seen before.

That shift, from splenetic warrior to merciless “dragon” to “boy of tears”, fascinated me – and the fact that his intransigence, valour and vulnerability all seem to be located in, and released by, his complex attachment to his mother.

How does this play about politics and people resonate in today’s society? The play raises the question as to how much power should reside in the hands of any individual: a question that will never go out of date. “What is the city but the people?” cries the people’s tribune, Sicinius (in our production, brilliantly played by Helen Schlesinger). The people must have their voices. And, beneath that, I think the play also raises another complex question as to what degree any individual can withstand the intensity of idealisation and demonisation that comes with the mantle of unmoderated leadership or extraordinary responsibility.

It’s a physical role – how did you prepare for it with fight director Richard Ryan? Josie Rourke and I knew it was important to the clarity of the play that Martius be credibly presented as a physical presence. As a warrior, we are told, he “struck Corioles like a planet”. Big boots to fill. Hadley Fraser, who plays Aufidius, and I began working with Richard Ryan three months before we started full rehearsals on the text of the play. The fight between Martius and Aufidius is a huge opportunity to explore their mutual obsession (“He is a lion that I am proud to hunt”).

We also hoped there would be something thrilling about presenting it at such close quarters in the confined space of the Donmar. We wanted to create a moment of combat that was visceral, brutal and relentless. We knew it would require skill, safety and endless practice. The fight choreography became something we drilled, every day. Hadley was amazing. So committed, so disciplined. It created a real bond of trust between us.

You previously starred in Othello at the Donmar. What’s special about that space? The Donmar is one of the most intimate spaces in London. I must have seen at least a hundred productions there over the last 20 years, and as an audience member it always feels like a thrill and a privilege to feel so close to the action. There’s a forensic clarity to the space: the audience are so close that they see every movement, every look. For actors, there’s nowhere to hide. That’s exciting.

It’s what makes the Donmar special: the closeness, the proximity. Hard to imagine in the wake of Covid-19. Theatres everywhere need all the support they can get. But that’s what’s encouraging about National Theatre at Home. It’s keeping theatre going, but it’s also a reminder that the sector will need real support to stay alive: from the government and from us, the people who love and cherish it.

There is a rather bloody shower scene – what are your memories of that moment? I remember that the water was extremely cold. But I was always grateful, because the preceding 20 minutes – scurrying up ladders, down fire escapes, into quick changes and sword fights – had been so physically intense that the cold water felt like a great relief. Martius says to Cominius just moments beforehand: “I will go wash / And when my face is fair you shall perceive / Whether I blush or no.” So I washed.

The scene did have a thematic significance. So much of the play, and the poetry of the play, is loaded with references and characters who are obsessed by the body of Martius as an object: how much blood he has shed for his city; how many scars he bears as emblems of his service. His mother, Volumnia (​in our production played with such power and clarity by Deborah Findlay), says in a preceding scene that blood “more becomes a man than gilt his trophy”. Later, during the process of his election to the consulship, to the highest office, Martius is obliged by tradition to go out into the marketplace and display his wounds, in a bid to court public approval; to win the people’s voices. Martius refuses, in contempt for both practice and people.

In the shower scene, Josie wanted the audience to be able to see the wounds that he refuses to show the people later on, but we also wanted to suggest the reality of what those scars have cost him privately. We wanted to show him wincing, in deep pain: that these wounds and scars are not some highly prized commodity, but that beneath the exterior of the warrior-machine, idealised far beyond his sense of his own worth, is a human being who bleeds.

It’s an intense performance, in a three-hour play. How did you unwind after the show? My first thought is that I was always unbelievably hungry. Thankfully, Covent Garden is not short of places to buy a hamburger. I will always be grateful to all of them.

How did you modify your performance for the NT Live filming? The whole production for NT Live was very much the same as it was every night during our 12-week run. Naturally, as a company, we couldn’t help but be aware of cameras on all sides, especially in a space like the Donmar. We were all so grateful that the National Theatre Live team had come over the river to the Donmar. I always hoped the broadcast would capture the headlong intensity of the whole thing. The play opens with a riot, and does not stop.

What have you been watching during lockdown? I was gripped, moved and inspired by The Last Dance, the documentary series about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls in the mid-90s (Steve Kerr!). Normal People for its two extraordinary central performances from Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones. I’ve rewatched old tennis matches, which somehow I have found very comforting: in particular, the 2014 Djokovic/Federer Wimbledon final. And – because we all need cheering up – Dirty Dancing.

[rockislandadultreads]

Life Imitates Art: a reading list

Optic Nerve by María Gainza , Thomas Bunstead (Translator)

The narrator of Optic Nerve is an Argentinian woman whose obsession is art. The story of her life is the story of the paintings, and painters, who matter to her. Her intimate, digressive voice guides us through a gallery of moments that have touched her. In these pages, El Greco visits the Sistine Chapel and is appalled by Michelangelo’s bodies. The mystery of Rothko's refusal to finish murals for the Seagram Building in New York is blended with the story of a hospital in which a prostitute walks the halls while the narrator's husband receives chemotherapy. Alfred de Dreux visits Géricault's workshop; Gustave Courbet's devilish seascapes incite viewers “to have sex, or to eat an apple”; Picasso organizes a cruel banquet in Rousseau’s honor. . . . All of these fascinating episodes in art history interact with the narrator's life in Buenos Aires—her family and work; her loves and losses; her infatuations and disappointments. The effect is of a character refracted by environment, composed by the canvases she studies. Seductive and capricious, Optic Nerve is a book that captures, like no other, the mysterious connections between a work of art and the person who perceives it.

I Am Having So Much Fun Here Without You by Courtney Maum

Where'd You Go, Bernadette meets Beautiful Ruins in this reverse love story set in Paris and London about a failed monogamist's attempts to answer the question: Is it really possible to fall back in love? Despite the success of his first solo show in Paris and the support of his brilliant French wife and young daughter, thirty-four-year-old British artist Richard Haddon is too busy mourning the loss of his American mistress to a famous cutlery designer to appreciate his fortune. But after Richard discovers that a painting he originally made for his wife, Anne -when they were first married and deeply in love-has sold, it shocks him back to reality and he resolves to reinvest wholeheartedly in his family life . . . just in time for his wife to learn the extent of his affair. Rudderless and remorseful, Richard embarks on a series of misguided attempts to win Anne back while focusing his creative energy on a provocative art piece to prove that he's still the man she once loved. Skillfully balancing biting wit with a deep emotional undercurrent, debut novelist Courtney Maum has created the perfect portrait of an imperfect family-and a heartfelt exploration of marriage, love, and fidelity.

A House Among the Trees by Julia Glass

From the beloved author of the National Book Award winning Three Junes. The unusual bond between a world-famous children's author and his assistant sets the stage for a richly plotted novel of friendship and love, artistic ambition, and the power of an unexpected legacy. When the revered children's author Mort Lear dies accidentally at the Connecticut home he shares with Tomasina Daulair, his trusted assistant, she is stunned to be left the house and all its contents, as well as being named his literary executor. Though not quite his daughter or his wife, Tommy was nearly everything to the increasingly reclusive Lear, whom she knew for over forty years since meeting him as a child in a city playground where Lear was making sketches for Colorquake, a book that would become an instant classic. Overwhelmed by the responsibility for Lear's bequest, she must face the demands of all those affected by the sudden loss, including the lonely, outraged museum curator to whom Lear once promised his artistic estate; the beguiling British actor recently cast to play Lear in a movie; and her own estranged brother. She must also face the demons of Morty's painful past the subject of that movie and a future that will no longer include him. A visit from the actor leads to revelations and confrontations that challenge much of what Tommy believed she knew about her boss's life and work and, ultimately, about her own."

The Marriage of Opposites by Alice Hoffman

From the New York Times bestselling author of The Dovekeepers and The Museum of Extraordinary Things: a forbidden love story set on the tropical island of St. Thomas about the extraordinary woman who gave birth to painter Camille Pissarro; the Father of Impressionism. Growing up on idyllic St. Thomas in the early 1800s, Rachel dreams of life in faraway Paris. Rachel's mother, a pillar of their small refugee community of Jews who escaped the Inquisition, has never forgiven her daughter for being a difficult girl who refuses to live by the rules. Growing up, Rachel's salvation is their maid Adelle's belief in her strengths, and her deep, life-long friendship with Jestine, Adelle's daughter. But Rachel's life is not her own. She is married off to a widower with three children to save her father's business. When her husband dies suddenly and his handsome, much younger nephew, Fréderick, arrives from France to settle the estate, Rachel seizes her own life story, beginning a defiant, passionate love affair that sparks a scandal that affects all of her family, including her favorite son, who will become one of the greatest artists of France. Building on the triumphs of The Dovekeepers and The Museum of Extraordinary Things, set in a world of almost unimaginable beauty, The Marriage of Opposites showcases the beloved, bestselling Alice Hoffman at the height of her considerable powers. Once forgotten to history, the marriage of Rachel and Fréderick is a story that is as unforgettable as it is remarkable.