#so she got a bit of a complex from really admiring him. i got a bit of a complex from really admiring her. i was named after him.shit's wild

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

My gender complex goes back 3 generations and through two queer women and their family trauma, I feel like I know what I'm talking about. We know a thing or two because we've seen a thing or two.

[sleepynoons]

Locked Eyes

Jing Yuan finally returns from his Grand Tour, but by the bounds of society's customs and traditions, you cannot marry him. This is a romance story told through letters exchanged, secret rendezvouses, red silk embroideries.

jing yuan x afab!f!reader, regency!au, sfw

word count: ~15,300

cw: explicit language, slight suggestive content, minor character death

notes: the regency era is too complex, and i got lazy with my research, so this is not accurate!!! best read on desktop because there are some long paragraphs... would also appreciate reblogs + comments!!!

infinite thanks to @staraxiaa, for always being a fantastic and incredibly insightful beta-reader, and for watching me lose my sanity over the past 1.5 weeks. and to io, wherever you may be, this is for you. you made this piece possible, and even if we do not talk anymore, i hope you are well and happy. every day, i am so grateful we met, and i hope you can enjoy even bits and pieces of this story.

YOU HAD met Jing Yuan in your early years, by chance, peering at each other through the relentless beating of the sun’s rays and the glittering of the sea’s many jeweled crests. At the time, the boy had, you thought, equally dazzling eyes, as golden as the chains that adorned your mother’s neck and wrists, the same in reflecting your curious, admiring gaze.

Now, the gold is shades darker, matured and cured, a reflection of his much more grown state. Even from across the room, past the rotating crowd of other noble families, where you peer at him over the top of your lace fan, you can deduce his transformation, his broader, fitted shoulders and chest, inappropriately loose, long hair, tall stature that dwarfs those lingering near him. Most importantly, though, you cannot help but smirk at the flicker of red when Jing Yuan adjusts the collar of his tailcoat. The flash of color is meant to be discrete, though to observant eyes, it might as well also serve as a challenge.

For now, this will do.

A call of your name from your older brother pulls you from your watchful perch. Beside him is another man, another introduction, another attempt at your mother’s instruction. Your foxy satisfaction melts into your typical countenance, and you curtsy as the two gentlemen approach you. You know this conversation will result in nothing, but you entertain your brother and the baron he has brought over anyway.

–

You have never been the daughter your mother wanted. Perhaps, when you were once little, you were on course to becoming favored, but you have grown, enough, at least, to develop a pointed sense of your own being. Your brother says you think too much, that you are unable to see the bigger picture, and perhaps that is why your mother does not take too kindly towards you. After all, why would anyone favor another that watches, observes, judges their every move?

Even now, as she sits across from you, informing you of the baron and his lineage weeks after your introduction to the man, your mother is aware that while her directions may escape your memory, her movements do not. The shuddering of her fingers, an instinct that comes with age; the adjusting and readjusting of the pleats of her nightgown, a glean into her deep-set fear of abandonment; the twitching arch of her brow, the permanence of her distaste and disappointment in you.

“Mother,” you interrupt, “I suppose you are willing to sacrifice the nobility of our family name in order to satiate your sole desire to marry me off?”

She harrumphs. “Incorrigible.” The word is equivalent to being spat on. You give her some reprieve by pulling out your handkerchief and dab at your forehead, as if she really did. “You dare to claim you exhibit even an ounce of the dignity and lavishness you have been raised in?”

“Not at all.” You cease your acting, slipping the cloth away, and stare straight into your mother’s eyes. The briefest thought, that it is your fearlessness, a lack of tact, that your mother wholly detests you for, flickers in your mind before you extinguish it effectively. No matter. You say, “But we must not forget I still bear your husband’s last name. Regardless of your personal feud,” and you raise your chin towards her, “your husband would never allow even the likes of a woman such as myself to tarnish the family’s honor.”

You can see the tightening, working, grinding of her jaw. She grits, “You must have someone in mind, do you not?” She throws down her fan, the lacquered wood snapping in half when it collides with the ground, and rises on her haunches, towering over your seated figure. “You whore. Who is this man that you are seeing? Do you not understand what a scandal –“

You tilt your head, less than impressed. “There is no other man. That is your job, to find your only female kin a suitable proprietor. I would never do something on your behalf.”

Your response simultaneously placates yet enrages her further. “See yourself out now. And do not appear in my sights again tonight.”

“Of course, Mother.” You finish the last sip of your tea before standing to curtsy and exit the drawing room.

You pad through the darkening halls of your father’s manor with purpose. Instead of returning to your bedroom, you make your way to the third of four floors, veer towards the right end of the hallway, and knock on the last door.

The door cracks open before you can identify yourself.

“I am no postman, My Lady.”

“Oh, Fu Xuan!” You giggle and clasp her hands in yours, holding her fingers up to your cheek. “You are absolutely wonderful to me.”

“I would prefer if you kept your correspondences to a minimum. The servants are already gossiping about the frequency in which letters are delivered to me, and in due time, your mother will begin to pry into this matter.”

“Please, it is only every fortnight!”

Fu Xuan huffs, retracts her hands, and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You would not believe how bored your servants are.”

“Well, then, I do apologize. Perhaps I should have a more extravagant fight with my mother next time? At least she might knock over a teapot or something. That should occupy the maids for a day or so.”

“My Lady, if I may presume, it seems you will no longer have to meet that baron?”

You flash a wide grin at your governess. Born in an unconventional household, Fu Xuan is educated, beginning her academics at the age of no less than three, and prepared her whole life to work as a teacher. At first, your mother was against employing Fu Xuan because you were already struggling to conform to the set of traditions and expectations she had placed upon you then, but after meeting the young academic for a brief hour one morning, Fu Xuan and her adept way with words convinced your mother otherwise.

To you, Fu Xuan is more than your governess. She is also your closest confidant, similar enough in age to understand your perspectives yet more than practiced to offer wisdom when required. Though she was shaking her head as you proposed your strategy, Fu Xuan nonetheless agreed to help send and receive letters on your behalf to avoid the hawkish gazes incessantly monitoring you, to deprive them of another chance to pierce and tear at your person.

You walk over to her desk, cleared of everything except for a paper envelope and a small butter knife. You pick the former up, running a pointer finger across the wax seal, and release a soft, muted sigh. “You have always been so keen, Fu Xuan. How could you tell?”

“My Lady, your strengths have never lied in deception.”

“Oh, please!” You feign offense, dramatically setting the back of your hand to your forehead with faux urgency. “I am always excited to see you!”

“Please read the letter, so I may rest.”

Fu Xuan pulls out her desk chair for you to sit in, and you take the small butter knife in your unoccupied hand. Carefully, you prod the tip underneath the seal, gently pushing and easing its grip, until the wax plucks off neatly.

The envelope is thin this time, slimmer than many of the previous letters you have received, and you feel a pang of disappointment, resounding and clear in the hollows of your chest. You pull out a single sheet of paper and unfold it carefully, as if it might tear and dissipate into dust if you so much as brushed a finger a degree too harshly against the fiber.

Dear Lady,

I would like to foremost extend my condolences regarding your father’s condition. Word has reached the far edges of my relatives’ stays in Bath, and when I had visited a week ago, my family had discussed the news over lunch. I should have returned for a brief stay by the time this letter arrives in your hands, and do give Lady Fu Xuan my utmost thanks. I believe I shall see you at the dinner party that is occurring in just a few days time, and, if the chance arises, I will see to it that I am introduced to your brother.

Regarding your question in our previous exchange, my thoughts on the matter vary. Perhaps we may reach an impasse on the issue, but it is an overwhelming hurdle to pass such aggressive tax revisions without unanimous agreeance from many of the other men on the Royal Council; this is hardly achievable in the current instance, and I would advise My Lady and myself to not fancy ourselves with ill-conceived hopes. However, I do concede that your suggestions come from willful intent and are what is best for the common people, and therefore, I will do my part and pass on word to my father and his heir. I sincerely apologize that that is the extent of my powers. I am also aware that this writing may be shorter than before, and I hope My Lady is not discouraged, though, it may be presumptuous of me to assume My Lady would ever have such moments of wavering.

Once my tour has been completed, I can assure that there will be plentiful recounts of my journeys and more debates to be had about the state of affairs I come across. I bring your embroidery with me at all times.

– Your most faithful friend  

Jing Yuan, ever thoughtful, always considerate, never one to miss a single detail. Jing Yuan has always been thorough, that has been clear ever since you witnessed those dense, molten golds, and you are glad that he actively reciprocates your efforts in conversation, despite how inexperienced and eloquent you may be in comparison. On cue, Fu Xuan pulls out a drawer to grab a quill, a sheet of paper, and a well of ink, setting them beside your dominant hand. A maid will come to check on you very soon, judging by the rising of the moon, so you must write with precise decisiveness.

Sir,

Many thanks for your condolences to the Marquess. He is recovering and should be able to return to his post in a few morns. I did, indeed, witness you at the dinner party, and I am a little dimmed at the lack of correspondence between you and my brother. Instead, I was subjected to quite a drawling meeting with this baron from somewhere in the South, and the Marchioness has been encouraging his affections for me since. I managed to escape the impending engagement, after inciting a fit from her, but good Sir, while I do not mean to expedite our efforts unnecessarily, I would prefer if we could bring our exchanges elsewhere soon. Paper simply does not compare to the excitement and passion one feels in speech and gesture. Miss Fu Xuan is also beginning to fall under scrutiny, and I would never put her in harm’s way.

As for my simple questions regarding the rumored tax revisions, I thank you, truly, and can only implore My Lord to use the full extent of your ability, despite slim chances at approval. I hope your travels are safe and felicitous, and do write to me next month. I will be awaiting your full return.

– Your most affectionate friend

There is very little time for you to look over your reply. Quickly scanning, you pause only for any glaring errors, and at the lack thereof, you set your quill down and fold the letter in half.

“I must go now,” you tell Fu Xuan as you stand.

“I shall see you tomorrow, My Lady.” The two of you share a soft embrace, cheek to cheek, before you creak the bedroom door open and traverse with light steps to your own chamber. You make it in time, already shuffling into bed when one of the servants arrives to snuff out the candles lighting your room.

–

You remember the soft pulses of warm wind against your arms, the crisp, slightly briny scent of the sea and sand the breeze wafted to your nose. There were many families, children and women and men alike paddling in the sea, while others lied underneath umbrellas on the shore. If there is anything you and your mother have ever agreed on, it is that the beach is truly a healing, almost spiritual location.

Although your mother forbade you from wading into the waters, in fear of the sun burning your visage and hands, you did not mind staying behind on the sands in the first place. The feel of the dirt and grains and cracks of shells felt foreign against your palms, your nerves much more accustomed to the smooth, flat texture of grass blades and rough cobblestone. The beach sands were harsh, sometimes sharp, sometimes rounded from years of natural erosion and other children’s curious touches. You also took delight in the colors of the shore, glittering hot white and beige and speckled pink, winking at you as you scoured for conches and clams. The large sunhat you were wearing kept perturbing your digging, constantly sliding down your forehead and obscuring your vision, yet every time, you would pull it back into place and continue shoveling with curled fingers, until the sand transitioned into wet, moist sediment.

Your mother could not prohibit your burrowing for she was under another umbrella with her acquaintances, and you took much delight in being able to cause some mischief right in front of her without repercussion. But more than petty vengeance, you wanted to find a memento to bring home. Though young, you were already aware of some rift between you and your parents, and you were not guaranteed attendance on such trips in the future. The only way you could comfort yourself was by digging for that perfect shell, with its spirals and grooves and gradient of pearlescent white and baby pink, the ones described in the simple novels Fu Xuan lent you.

But the area around your feet offered little reward, and you were dissatisfied by the chips and scraps remaining in your palm as you sieved through the sand with your fingers. You gave up a little saddened and frustrated, as children do before they lose interest. Then, suddenly, you felt a soft tap on your shoulder, and you peered over to see an outstretched hand with a piece of something bright and orange. You glanced up, and that was when you first laid eyes on Jing Yuan.

“What is this?” you asked, voice muted and withdrawn in the face of a stranger.

“A piece of coral,” he answered. His voice was light and energetic, warm and welcoming, what you imagined playing and frolicking in the sea might feel like.

“What is coral?” He grinned wide, and you decided then that you liked this boy with wild white hair and generous hands. He did not shun you for speaking in questions, did not criticize your lack of knowledge, did not comment “little girl” under his breath.

“My mother says it is a type of rock, found on the ocean’s floors.”

“How did you get it?”

His grin softened into a gentler simper. “She gave it to me. She has these beautiful coral necklaces, and one broke two nights ago. She and her maids could not string it back together, so she gifted me the beads.”

The way he spoke so adoringly, lovingly, about his mother was foreign to you. But even then, you knew how important this woman was to him, and you could not understand why he would give you a present that was meant for him.

“Should you not keep this bead for yourself?”

He shook his head adamantly. “I can share.”

“But this is not something to be shared, yes?”

He paused for a moment, considering his response. He cocked his head to the side, rubbed at his temple with a knuckle, carefully stringing and knitting together the words he wanted to say.

“I want to,” he decided, with a tone of finality. “That way, I will not be the only one to remember my mother.”

You would later find out that Jing Yuan is the illegitimate child of one of the honorable dukedoms. Your brother had informed you but elaborated no further. It was then that you learned that it is customary for those of different castes to separate themselves from each other.

–

Jing Yuan listens to you well. You receive his next letter exactly a month later, timed intentionally no doubt, during a luncheon with Fu Xuan. Your father was still recovering in his chamber, and your mother was away for the weekend to spend some time with her younger sister. It has been a while since the last time you could so openly indulge yourself.

Dear Lady,

I believe I must offer my condolences to both Lady Fu Xuan and My Lady herself; I hope this report is delivered not even an hour too soon. Alas, I am also deeply perturbed at the notion of you being engaged to a baron, of all potential suitors. Though I will not fault the Marchioness, for you are of age and she must feel the pressures from the Marquess and other prying persons, it truly is deeply troubling that she has had to resort to such dire methods. Rest assured, however, that I will do my best to build an alliance with your brother.

I am to complete my tour before the New Year, in time for the coming Season, leaving us ample time. I only pray that the Marchioness does not rush My Lady into another introduction in the meanwhile.

“My Lady,” Fu Xuan interrupts, “your countenance is slipping.”

Without removing your gaze from the letter, eager to continue reading, you simply reply, “He will be back in less than two months.”

I am eager to see the familiar fields of the Duke’s estate when I return, but more than that, and I hope My Lady does not take my affections so lightly, I am delighted to reunite with you. As of this writing, I have only just arrived in Rome, with its famed colonnades, brilliant masonry, and fine arts. If my travels allow, I shall ensure that I bring some trinkets back with me to present to you. I will say no more regarding my tour, as My Lady and I will have more than sufficient time and space to discuss all that I have seen and experienced in the past three years.

However, this is where I have to mark the end of good news. My communications with my father have been unsuccessful, and the revisions we have agreed upon will not even reach the table of the Royal Council. The Duke has made it clear in his returned correspondence that he will speak no further on the issue, and therefore, that is the limitation of my influence. While this outcome may be discouraging, I hope My Lady’s interest in the politics and machinations of our nobility will not wane, and I will continue to improve upon myself to aid in seeing your efforts to fruition.

Before I forget, I must say that I had arrived late to that evening party and could not identify you or your brother at the hall. Next time, I will be more vigilant. Do tell how My Lady is faring, and perhaps we are only a letter or two away from being able to speak to each other in person.

– Your most faithful friend

You do not even bother to respond to Fu Xuan’s calls for you to finish your meal. Rushing out of your seat, you head straight to your brother’s study to write your letter in answer. Fishing through the drawers, you manage to find a dwindling well of ink along with an old, ragged quill, but they shall suffice.

Sir,

How excitable that My Lord is to return so soon, but surely, you jest. Upon the conclusion of your tour, you will have met many characters of people, and therefore, will not feel a need to see such a lively creature as myself. If I had the privilege of my own tour, I know I would lock myself in my room upon its finishing for three days or longer, with no disturbance, not even from Lady Fu Xuan, to record and digest all that I have experienced. There are also the remnants of your mother’s garden; though they may be bare in the midst of the winter snow, I am sure the winding branches and thick brushes are welcoming, familiar sights.

That said, I will hold My Lord to his word and shall comment no more on the matter of our formal introductions. I will continue to educate myself, to silence any hesitation or doubt you may have of my fancies towards academics. It pleases me to know that My Lord has such adoring concerns for me, as I to you.

– Your most affectionate friend

Just as you seal your envelope, waiting for the wax of your family seal to harden, a knock comes from the door.

“This is your own room. You ought to walk in and out as you please.”

Your brother laughs, always amused at your quick wit, and pads over to the front of the desk.

“You behave as if this room belongs to you. It looks like someone has ransacked my drawers for ransom and treasure.”

You roll your eyes. “There are none of such wares here. Your most pitiful sister could only employ an abandoned quill and a leaking pot of ink.”

“But you finished writing, nevertheless. To whom may I inquire?” He attempts to peer at the back of the envelope, hoping to catch a glimpse of a name or an address, but you slide it off the table before he can see.

“A friend.”

You know this answer will not satiate your brother’s endless curiosity, one of your many similarities. “Do I know of this friend?”

“You will,” and you wave at him to dismiss his other queries.

Unwavering, he says, “I see my ‘most pitiful’ sister has tricks up her sleeve. I am eager to see what surprises you have in store for me.” You nod cheerfully in agreement.

Aside from Jing Yuan, your brother is the only other male figure in your life that encourages your willingness to explore and learn. In the first place, he distastes the act of patronizing or critiquing you, and only provides guidance when even Fu Xuan cannot convince you of your wrongs. So when he brings up the debates and discussions that have occurred at the Royal Council, you are ever grateful for his generosity.

“I am sure you have heard recent word of the revolts happening in the slums. Such news has reached the ears of those in the Royal Council, and the Dukedoms have unanimously agreed to patiently wait for silence to befall the common folk.” He glances at you to see if you have anything to say. You blink, urging him to continue. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly, leans forward, bending at his waist so you two are now nose to nose. In a hushed voice, he says, “In fact, in the upcoming Season, they plan to raise the taxes again.”

You huff, frustrated. You mutter, “Relentless, they are.”

Your brother echoes your sentiments, wearing a solemn expression as well, and mumbles, “Indeed. How cruel, too, to decide the fates of so many right before the New Year.”

“I am confident Father agrees?”

“Regardless if he does or not, a Marquess cannot possibly rebuke the demands of a Duke.”

Both of you can only sigh. Without lingering for too long, though, you rise, preparing to send off your waiting response.

“Be well,” your brother says as he accompanies you to the study door, “for I have heard this winter will be sinister.”

Rather than feel a chill in your bones, though, your blood rushes with renewed warmth and vigor. An initiative, a motivation to take action, something you have never experienced before, appears in your mind, burning into your thoughts so you will never forget. This is a chance, you think. An opportunity I will never be bestowed again.

–

In and out, through and through, back and forth. You wet the tip of the thread with a flick of your tongue and string it through the silver of the needle. In and out, through and through, back and forth. You tie a small knot at the end of the thread. In and out, through and through, back and forth. 

Stitching did not come naturally to you. If one studied the pads of your fingers at length, one could discern the faint scars of scratches and pierces of the tender skin, remnants of your debacle with the needle before you learned to seamlessly wield it. Now, after many years of practice, you have come to enjoy the meticulous process of creation, watching as each push, pull, and tighten amounts to a stroke of an image.

At first, it began with tambouring, straightforward enough for a young girl to grow accustomed to the pricking and stringing motions of a needle, decorating spare handkerchiefs and old dresses that you could no longer fit in. Then, when you received some canvas and a circular wooden frame from Fu Xuan for your birthday, you transitioned to the needle and began to acquire knowledge of the many different types of stitches and patterns. From there, your practices extended beyond the frayed edges of cut cloth. From lace trimmings of your skirt to the cuffs of your brother’s shirts and coats to the reticules your mother had long abandoned and forgotten about, your work started to resemble that of the many renowned seamstresses in town. Of course, many did, still do not, look favorably upon this talent of yours. Embroidery is considered a lower form of art, incomparable to the ways of music or sketch or paint. But, still, you seek comfort, when your mind is much too tense and worn, in the rhythm and coming together of fabric and lines.

“What is it?” Disinterested, convinced that whatever you have conjured up is of no importance, will always never be important, your mother looks outside of the window panes, more content to watch flakes of white drift from the graying sky.

You are not swayed. You clear your throat and say, “We are mother and daughter. Occasionally, the blood that binds us does show in our behaviors.”

Your mother sighs. “Out with it, foolish girl.” She casts a glare at you before her eyes flick back to the scenery outside. “I require total peace, so hurry with your speech.”

“I simply want to request a tea party with a few of the other ladies.”

Eyebrows furrowed, your mother peers at you as if you have sprouted the Devil’s horns atop your head. Incredulous, she asks, “Why such a change in heart and mind?”

“Well, to ease some of your concerns, I think it is best that I learn from those you deem proper enough. Further,” and you stare at her intently now, “your dearest son has informed me that this winter will be particularly harsh. How can we entertain our guests when we are all inside for so long?”

“Is the usual routine of games and food and good laughter not sufficient?” Your mother is fully facing you now. Inwardly, you chuckle with much delight.

You speak slowly, stretching out the silence between each phrase to heighten pressure and suspense. “Fair,” you muse, “but all of our fathers are getting older, too. See your husband, Mother, his state is faring worse and worse. Perhaps... us ladies can spend the time more wisely.”

“I see.”

All you can do is wait as your mother mulls over the idea, letting your suggestion sink, ruminate, digest. You cannot push anymore, so you bid a good night and return to your room. Even without the tea party, even if you have to bear the burden yourself, your work awaits you.

The next morning, you are surprised to find one of your mother’s maids carrying several letters outside.

“What are these messages for?” you ask.

The maid does a brief curtsy before answering, “The Marchioness is sending out invitations for a tea party, My Lady. It is set to happen immediately, a week from today.”

The outcome is even better than you had anticipated.

You rush to the morning room, where your mother is eating bread and chocolate. 

“Mother, thank you,” you say, a hand over your heart as you bow.

She huffs and finishes chewing her bite. Dusting her fingers, she replies with arrogance, knowing you owe her a favor, “I have also gone ahead and asked for layers upon layers of cotton, linen, and wool to be delivered to the estate. Let this be a reminder that you owe everything to your noble upbringing.”

You are much too giddy to smartly reproach her.

–

The tea party is loud and boisterous, filling the usual silence of your family’s manor with tall tales, news on the men’s recent fox hunts, and scandalous romantic couplings. You hear that a baron was caught with his mistress of several months. A Duke’s son fell off his horse because he was severely inebriated, but thankfully only broke his dominant arm and nowhere else. An older earl and countess were blessed with another daughter. 

You sit in a rocking chair and let the conversation float freely in your mind. For once, your mother has truly outclassed your expectations, presenting you with an occasion, an opportunity, so bountiful that you are almost compelled to forgive her historical grievances towards you. You sew together sheets of linen, piling in wool and cotton, before closing the seams. The other ladies also work with unparalleled diligence at having been given a purpose.

“What a wonderful idea!” one praised with joy. Another said you were “incredibly thoughtful.” You smirk within your thoughts, concealed by a pleasant countenance on the outside. Even the accompanying men nodded approvingly at your intentions.

At the beginning of the party, you announced to the many guests, “Please, do enjoy your time here at the manor. I am incredibly gracious towards you all for making the cold journey to this distant estate. However, I urge all of the ladies present to work as quickly yet dutifully as your hands can, for we need to make as many coats as possible. There is no such thing as too much warmth in this never ending cold.” Everyone agreed with solemn expressions before breaking for Chinese green tea, gingerbread, and walnut cake, filling the air with festive cheer.

You pause for a brief break. As you curl and uncurl your fingers, stretching out the strained joints, you glance over at a couch. In a day’s work, the couch is covered in layers upon layers of coats and thicker shirts. Some are small, others are longer, few haphazardly put together, but all will still do. Then, you look around the room, passing your eyes over the faces of all of the guests. The women, more than there usually are at such parties, sit in armchairs around the room. The men stand in between, wherever there is space, holding onto glass cups of wine and emptied coffee cans. Though you have never felt like you belonged in such groups and communities, you cannot help but find today’s gathering rather agreeable and successful. Is this what it feels like to start something and see it through to the end?

Well, not that you are at the end. You count in your head and conclude that there is still a month before Jing Yuan returns. When he does, then you will be able to see your work to completion.

At the thought of him, though, you feel a faint flicker of concern. It has been a month since your last letter, and you have yet to receive one in return. You try to comfort yourself with reminders that Jing Yuan is busy and there is always the possibility of mail getting lost or delayed in transaction. But, in that case, you must try again.

Later that evening, when all of the guests have dismissed themselves and the drawing room brims with clothes, you slip to Fu Xuan’s room and draft a quick message by melting candlelight.

Sir,

My sincere apologies for disturbing your journey. As I have not received a reply since my last letter, I wanted to send another one to let you know that I am, at least, faring well. Winter is rapidly approaching, and I hope My Lord is not experiencing any disorder or illness yourself, that is, if Rome is experiencing such volatile weather as well, I would not know. If possible, since you insist, shall we wait in your mother’s garden when you return, as we did years ago?

I patiently await My Lord’s presence.

– Your most affectionate friend

–

A knock on your window wakes you from your restless sleep. Already half-awake from tossing and turning, you hear the curt raps against the glass pane and slowly blink awake. The person is patient and remains silent, as if knowing you would require a few minutes to get dressed and prepared. 

You pull on another two layers of gowns and a thick shawl. You also grab one of the coats you sewed. Finally, you grab two pairs of gloves, one much larger than the other, and pad over to open the curtains covering your windows.

The sky is overcast, large clumps of clouds blocking the moon and stars from your vision, but occasionally, faint streaks of light pour through the cracks of the grim overhang. And right as you see him, a single ray casts its brightness over the man waiting outside, as if to anoint him prince or king or some holy spirit. His hair gleams the purest silver, and he adorns a coat, one that is seemingly a little too small for him, with floral patterns adorning the length of its sleeves. He flashes a close-eyed smile, and you cannot help but also beam at him.

Firmly, you hold the top sash of the window while pushing the bottom panel up. As soon as the bottom panel is lifted even slightly, a gust of biting air enters your rooms and flurries around your figure. You shiver at the chill but continue to lift until the window is fully open and slip through.

Holding onto your arm with one hand and your waist with the other, he helps you out of your room and onto the tiny balcony with him. When you stand, you two are pressed chest to chest, but by now, the streak of moonlight has disappeared and you can only make out faint traces of him.

“Good day, My Lady,” the man whispers.

You take a deep breath, basking in the sturdiness of his frame against yours and the ticklish sensation against your ear from his breath. “Should it not be ‘good evening,’ My Lord?”

“The day is anew, so I shall be the first one to greet you in this early morn.”

As your eyes adjust to the darkness, his features come into clearer view. The strands of each hair, the creases of his lapels, those molten golds. You cannot stare for too long, lest you blaze and melt as well.

“I will go down first,” he says, “and be there to catch you when you jump down.”

“Yes, yes,” you agree, though, not without a tinge of sarcasm. “As we have done before.”

He nods, maintaining his grip on your waist for another moment, before he releases you, leaps into a nearby tree, and swiftly climbs down to the ground. You, on the other hand, pull yourself up to sit on the balcony railing, and when he motions with waves of his hands, you take a deep breath, feel the pounding of your heartbeat against your ribcage, and propel yourself off with a push of your legs, holding onto your belongings. He catches you, arms knowingly finding their way around your waist and under your knees, as if he did not simply perform a feat of great strength and balance.

“Jing Yuan,” you gasp.

“Oh, now we are using names?” he jests. You are still too excited to reprimand him, and he laughs at your awestruck state before saying your name. He carries you over to where his horse stays, neighing and nosing at the ground, and helps you get on. By now, you have recollected your breath and can say much more.

“Jing Yuan,” you call out. “Your coat is much too small for you. Wear this one instead.” You toss the one you have been clutching onto this entire time, along with the larger pair of gloves, into his arms. “It may not be as comfortable, but it should keep you warm.”

“It seems My Lady has become quite cold-hearted in the years we have spent apart.”

“No, I know why My Lord chooses to wear what he has adorned. But I cannot have you falling ill on me. I need you.” The sound of your last three words seem to soften something in Jing Yuan because when he looks up at you, his gaze is full of longing and yearning.

“Then, we must leave here immediately,” he replies as he mounts onto the horse, sitting in front of you. “Hold on tight.”

And with a tug of the reigns, the two of you are racing through the fields and roads that surround your family’s estate. You bury your face into Jing Yuan’s back, feel the scratch of the linen against your cheeks, and submit to the roaring of the wind in your ears.

Three long years since you have been on the back of this very horse, holding onto Jing Yuan as so. Mimi, a most peculiar name that Jing Yuan imagined, was only a young mare at the time, but she could at least withstand the weight of your younger selves, quite strong for both her sex and age. In the past, the two of you often made such arrangements, every fortnight or so, him greeting you at the window as he did this evening, you leaping into his arms, the two of you escaping to the safety and privacy of his mother’s garden.

You do not know how long it takes to reach his estate from yours, but Mimi must have gotten faster because you arrive before you can fully adjust to the jostling of horseback. With a tip of his chin, the gatekeeper of Jing Yuan’s manor obeys and cracks the gate only enough to let your party slip through. Mimi’s hooves clop against the gravel of the driveway as Jing Yuan slows her down to a slight gallop and guides her towards the left side of the estate, where one can enter his mother’s garden after jumping past a few evergreen hedges.

He gets off first before helping you down. From above, you can see the tips of his reddened ears and scoff, frustrated.

“What is the matter, My Lady?” he inquires, attentive to even the smallest shifts in your disposition.

“I must apologize, My Lord. I should have brought a tippet.”

“Do not concern yourself with such trivial matters. Yanqing has already prepared warm clothes and food for us.” He sets you down and guides you to an open space nearby that is hidden behind granite pillars and dry rose vines, where, on top of a picnic sheet on the floor, lay two oil lamps that illuminate a spread of covered tableware and articles of muffs, coats, and blankets. If you recall correctly, this area used to host a small table and two chairs, allowing Jing Yuan and his mother to nibble on biscuits and talk about the day’s events during spring dawns and summer dusks.

“Yanqing must have grown considerably,” you say as you take a seat. Jing Yuan nods, sitting right beside you, and drapes a blanket over your shoulders.

“Much has changed,” he muses. “He is at my shoulders now. He has taken great care of Mimi.”

“You did not bring her along with you?”

Jing Yuan tilts his head, as he always does when he is about to tell an interesting story. “I had to travel by boat several times throughout my tour. There was no way to bring Mimi, for she is terrified of the ocean.” You perk up at and listen intently, eager to drink in all of the details of his travels.

Jing Yuan speaks of meeting the British envoys and French royals. He recounts the myths behind the statue of the Tiber. He speaks of the many hurdles he experienced as he made his way from one country to the next, once needing to barter with a driver over ten cents for an additional mile, another time having to locate a luggage that slipped into a raging river. He describes the cuisines he ate in masterful language, the fragrant breads, seasoned fish, decadent pastries, hearty stews. He lists cultural differences, how the Austrians bond over musical theatre and opera, the way Italians pore over their massive collections of literature, the Portuguese’s peaceful lives separate from war and political strife.

“I wonder how Portugal does it,” you mumble.

Jing Yuan leans down to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “My Lady,” he mutters, “there is no such thing as a complete utopia in this world.”

“But did you not just prescribe their land as such?”

He hums, tracing his finger from behind the shell of your ear, down to your pulse point at your neck, back up to the under of your jaw. “A Grand Tour is still only a tour. One does not visit the slums or the rural villages or the dirty outskirts of cities, if it can be avoided. We will never fully see or understand how the common people live. How they survive.”

You can feel the intensity of his stare. He is testing you, urging you to look back, to taste the raging of flames and anger and frustration in his golden eyes. But you cannot, or rather, you should not. It would be too presumptuous of you to act like you still know how he thinks, understands, perceives the world.

“You are right, My Lord,” you manage to croak, throat somehow parched, despite the cup of warm milk you only just finished. “We will never truly know.”

You want to say more, but you do not know if you should. Instead, you shut your mouth and lean against Jing Yuan’s shoulder.

Unexpectedly, he shrugs you off. He even pulls away from you. Then, he taps at the middle of your spine, causing you to sit still and upright.

“Speak,” he instructs, voice low yet stable, as if he is waiting with bated breath, patience wearing thin. “I know you have your own thoughts, so speak your truth.”

“My Lord, I…” You falter. It has been a while since you have been allowed to speak so openly about such serious matters, and you are no longer accustomed to late hours past your curfew, neither of which aid you as you attempt to string together some semblance of eloquence. “In reality, I… I will never have the chance to know. To know how it feels like to go without food or shelter. Or to withstand this severe weather in the barest of threads. Or any degree of suffering and hardship, truly. But…” You take one hand out of the muff and place it on top of his gloved ones, running the pads of your fingers over the glazed leather. “But I cannot sit idly by and do nothing, no?”

Jing Yuan interlaces his fingers with yours and asks, “What can you do?” It is not an admonishment or an ironic jab, but instead, a genuine question with hopeful intentions.

“Jing Yuan.” The punctuated way you utter his name alerts him, and he tightens his grasp on you to let you know he is listening. “Forgive my impertinence, but perhaps, I have found a way. Your coat.” You nudge your chin towards his chest, and he finally examines the thick wool keeping him warm.

“Did you make this?”

You nod. “And many other ladies. I hosted a tea party a few weeks ago where we gathered together to make many. Though they may not be lined or hemmed properly, they should last a few winters.”

Jing Yuan shuffles to look around at the coat that he is wearing. You watch as his eyes dart from the collar to the sleeves to the buttons. As if coming to some sort of internal agreement, he nods and releases an interested hum.

“I wonder how you convinced such noble families to partake in charity?”

You chuckle, shaking your head before resting it on his shoulder. This time, he does not shake you off. “They do not know that it is for charity. I simply requested that we do it under the guise of my father’s illness, and bless their hearts, they agreed to assist in making as many winter pieces for the noblemen as they could. My Lord, women can be quite determined if given a meaningful task.”

Jing Yuan laughs at your last comment. “That I know well, for My Lady is a prime example of such fortitude. But will they not realize some of the clothes will be missing?”

“Oh, of course, I addressed that as well. I told them I would be sending the pieces we made to the seamstresses to get it properly fitted, which would require some time and patience. My Lord, you ought to know that, while many noble ladies know how to embroider, that is the extent of their talents. None of them even know how to put together a dress for themselves! At the very least, they can do rudimentary work in sewing together large pieces of fabric and stuffing cotton. Regardless, in the meantime, I will continue to sew as many as I can to substitute for the missing amount, and I will be sure to distribute the coats to their intended owners before the New Year. Speaking of which…”

You nudge at his chest with the point of your elbow. It takes Jing Yuan a second to react, the exhaustion beginning to penetrate and muddle his senses, before he realizes. 

He chuckles again, softer, quieter. “I understand why My Lady said she needed me earlier this evening.”

“Would you be willing to support such an endeavor, My Lord?”

Without a single word, he brings his arms around you and sets his head atop of yours, embracing you with comfortable tightness and security. “Of course, anything at your behest. Let me know when, and I shall act upon your instruction immediately.”

“On Saint Thomas’s Day. Visit as many families as you can, especially those with children.”

“Then it shall be done.”

With that, silence fills the space around you. You should be even a slight bit cautious and careful, with the way Jing Yuan surrounds you whole. You both are much more grown, after all, and if someone, anyone, were to see the intimacy the two of you are sharing, it would tarnish your reputation irreparably. But three long years it has been since the last time you felt his touch. Three years since you could feel his hair graze against your cheek, his fingers hold at your waist, his chest press against your back. And more than anything else, these past three years have cost you the sound of his voice. He sounds different now. More worn and fatigued, yet simultaneously confident and articulate. You have been deprived of his lips ghosting your ears, his hot breath trailing against the lines of your neck, each of his words sending tremors through the flesh and bones of your body. 

“Are you warm, My Lord?”

“Yes, much due to this coat of yours.”

You huff. “You should not have worn such an ill-fitted coat in the first place. It does not fit you anymore.”

He strokes at your side and banters, “My Lady, I truly do hope that you are not, in reality, ignorant as to why I chose to.”

Of course, you know. The way the coat stretched to accommodate Jing Yuan’s growth is only another sign, in testament to how much he has transformed since your last encounter three years ago.

You still remember doing, undoing, redoing many of the countless florals that are strewn across the expanses of the sleeves. The red thread is bold, in contrast to the crisp white of the article’s linen, and you remember how, at the time, you were embarrassed by your brazenness to choose such a distinct color. You had wanted to change it to something else, perhaps a muted blue or yellow, but it was too late, and you had to see Jing Yuan off before his tour.

Seeming to know where your mind is wandering off to, he says something that steals your breath and sets your heart ablaze. “I wear this coat whenever I can.”

You can only roll your eyes, and you are grateful that your frostbitten nose and ears do not give away the warmth in your face. “You foolish man, Jing Yuan.”

Somehow, his hold on you becomes stronger, and you feel as if he is swallowing you, overwhelming all of your senses with only him. “I think it is romantic. It is My Lady’s first gift to me, after all.”

That is true. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be coddled, and think back to when both of you were much younger and even more so naïve, not yet fully aware of fate’s unfoldings.

After your encounter at the beach, you did not meet the boy again until a few years later at a party. Your parents were unacquainted, but as soon as you saw him, you escaped your mother when she was too busy meeting other guests and pulled Jing Yuan aside to say your much belated thanks. When he was younger, Jing Yuan was mischievous, feisty, energetic. He delighted in your spontaneity as well, and as children do, the two of you decided to meet up after he learned to ride. There was no discussion of details or logistics, only an intangible promise that somehow carried more trust than any vow or oath. 

Yet, he found you. And he brought you over to this very garden, to a small shed where his mother was awaiting the both of you.

You remember his mother in vivid detail. One could describe her as the embodiment of the nobility. Her posture exuded dignity and discipline, her choices in fashion tasteful and elegant, a woman of such gentleness and compassion that you had wished many times she was your blood mother as well. Jing Yuan’s mother was also responsible for introducing you to embroidery. Had she not, you are sure you would never have touched the needle and string in this lifetime. You practiced so diligently, hoping to impress and astound her with your talent. But truly, regardless of what came of your fastidious efforts, she always caressed the top of your head and praised you, repeating honeyed words and phrases until you almost believed them. Jing Yuan would watch the two of you work and occasionally try his hand at your activities, though he was never much good, too impatient and easily irritated as young boys are.

But then, in the spring of your twelfth year and Jing Yuan’s fifteenth, she was gone. There were no more traces of her, and the shed no longer stood where it once was. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. The tulips, pansies, and hyacinths his mother labored over were in full bloom, yet she would never see those sun-kissed petals and brilliant green stems. She would never witness Jing Yuan’s rapid improvements in the sword or your ability to peruse a text meant for grown men. She would never see the two of you grow up to become the man and woman the two of you are today.

And Jing Yuan did not cry when he told you. But you could see the sorrow and emptiness hang from him, outlining the lines of his face, scenting the tear stains on his button-up, creaking in his joints. You stood behind him, watching as he raised his head to look up at the sun, so bright and gleaming and proud. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully. And he told you everything, answering all of the questions you never voiced or had.

His mother was the mistress of a Duke, making Jing Yuan an illegitimate child. But because his father was a Duke, no one batted an eye, and it never caused a stir, simply a passing comment made as the nobles greeted each other over mealtime before moving onto more extravagant rumors. And, as Jing Yuan described, he did not suffer much either. The Duke still gave him the education and training befitting of a high-ranking noble’s child, and he was granted unrestrained freedom and privileges. But the one thing Jing Yuan deeply, wholly wanted his whole life was never satisfied.

Although Jing Yuan was allowed to do whatever it is he wanted with no dispute, his father maintained distance and never showed much of an interest towards him or his mother. His mother had always been sickly and was often in isolation, yet despite the circumstances, the Duke only slipped farther and farther away. Jing Yuan had longed for a complete family, but to no avail. And his mother passed away, accompanied only by a physician and two maids, when Jing Yuan was away for a hunt. How ironic, you remember thinking wistfully.

Afterwards, the two of you became an inseparable duo. You visited more often, almost once or twice every week, and though you never cared much for, or rather, did not know much of, affection, you began to let your fingers linger on his shoulders as he helped you down from Mimi and to sit in a way such that the cap of your knee would brush against his. And when you were not in the presence of each other, the two of you established a line of communication via letters. These letters would bridge the physical gap between the two of you and proved extremely useful when Jing Yuan went on tour.

Aside from letters, when he was away on tour, Yanqing would deliver some clothes to your estate, hiding a bag of shirts or tailcoats in a bush, of which you would collect when you and Fu Xuan would return from your afternoon strolls. These were articles prepared for Jing Yuan during his brief returns, usually due to some family emergency or duty for the Parliament. At this point, you fully embraced the color red and its flare and passion, choosing to take on the burden of a crimson so bright that you are left with no choice but to ensure that every stitch is perfect. You adorned his clothes with the subtlest of details, only meant to elevate them around the collar or cuffs or pockets.

And that is how those three years passed. Now that he is beside you, the time apart feels both painfully enduring yet incredibly effortless. Though he was not by your side, it never felt like he was far away, definitely not across oceans and mountain ranges and plains with names you have never heard of. Regardless, all that matters is, in the present moment, Jing Yuan is truly here, and you are with him.

–

The events leading up to Christmastide and the holiday itself flurried by. As planned, Yanqing had come to collect the coats you and Fu Xuan had left in bags behind a bundle of trees, and on Saint Thomas’s Day, Jing Yuan went out to deliver them, spending the day outside and reporting to you promptly when he returned home later that night. Through the grapevine, you heard of the countless praises the nobles showered upon Jing Yuan and his father, and from Jing Yuan himself, many of the common folk were at a loss for words, shocked that the son of a Royal Council member would dare to tread into their territory.

The end of such festivities also signaled the beginnings of the new Season. January was spent preparing the finest laces, silks, ribbons, jewelries you would be donning at the never ending series of parties, picnics, hunts, and other gatherings for the next few months. This time, though, you were eager, hounding all of the maids, Fu Xuan, even your mother to assist in the wake of your unprecedented enthusiasm.

Presently, you are en route to your first ball. You and your mother are in a coach, while your brother rides on horseback. It is dark outside and the snow is incessant, but the ambience is full of excitement, the hopeful chattering between young ladies and lords, as well as the charming music from the band playing inside, drowning out the howls of the wind. As your party nears the assembly room, you can clearly see the size of the gathering, dozens of middle- and upper-class families present and attendants rushing about to answer calls for help.

Your coach stops near the edge of the driveway, and your brother takes your hand as you step out.

“I heard from Mother that you were fervently awaiting today,” he says with a smirk, brushing off the snowflakes collecting on your shoulders. “This is your third season, so what could possibly be so unique about tonight’s party?”

You open your fan, concealing everything below your eyes, and shrug. Behind the fan’s ribs, though, you are smiling widely, unable to feign even an ounce of indifference.

“I simply hope this is your sister’s final season,” your mother remarks as she exits the carriage.

As soon as the three of you step into the hall, your brother is hounded with warm greetings and impatient requests. Your father had fallen ill once again, and given his series of absences, many have turned towards your brother as the patriarch of the family.

“I shall tend to these matters. Do enjoy your time, dear Sister!” your brother calls as he gets pulled away.

You and your mother walk over to a group of ladies, many of whom attended your tea party and took part in your ambitious project. One lady in a pale pink gown, in particular, seems to be at the centre of the conversation, as all the rest are peering at her with palpable expectation. You can hear bits and pieces of the conversation as you approach.

Another in tea green pokes at her. “Miss, please share! We are begging you to tell us how!”

The lady blushes deeply, fanning at herself. “Friends, there is no how! I simply met the man at a closed gathering the week before.”

“What is his demeanor?”

“Is he of your rank or above?”

“Have you garnered affections for him yet?”

Questions are flung at her, and she simply responds by closing her fan and tapping at one of her cheeks at each query.

When the arguably most important question is asked, whether or not she wants to be engaged to the man, she places the tip of her fan against her right cheek, and everyone breaks into surprised gasps and delighted murmurs.

Then, as if staged, the music in the room diminuendos until the band tapers into silence. There is a brief shuffling of sheet music before the musicians break into the first country song of the evening. A gentleman comes over, a son of an earl from a glance, and bows in front of the lady in the pink, holding his right hand out in search of her left. The other ladies, you and your mother included, watch with intent and rapture, and follow the extension of her elbow as she lets herself be taken. As the pair slip away, mutterings break between the remaining women before they, too, are asked, one by one, to dance with other single gentlemen.

As usual, you excuse yourself to the corner of the ballroom, finding a seat that ensures an adequate view of the dancing attendees. There are rumors that you do not participate because you are not well-trained, but truly, it is only because you have very little interest in dancing with men you have never met before. 

From here, you can observe the subtlest of details without disturbance. You notice a younger boy slip into the room with refreshments, bound to gorge himself on bread and butter even though dinner is scheduled in two hours or so. An old couple stands at the tailend of the dancing line, half a beat behind everyone else, chuckling to themselves as they attempt to keep up with the steps they know by heart. The mothers of many of the debutantes are lined against the walls, their eyes not on their respective daughters but rather on the many potential suitors in the room, cherry picking the perfect son-in-law. 

And then, a flash of red. You see it at the edge of your periphery, and your head whips to the left. You do not see the red again, but instead, a dense cloud of white. You are about to leap up and pace forward, but you catch yourself and hurry to rearrange your expression to one that is more neutral and acceptable.

Jing Yuan comes to stand before you, followed by your brother.

The latter says, “Dear Sister, this is Lord Jing Yuan.”

You bite at your lip to prevent yourself from reacting to the comedy of the situation, and curtsy towards Jing Yuan as he bows to you.

“Pleased to be in your presence, My Lord.”

“I should be thanking My Lady.”

Your brother chuckles. “The two of you are too stiff. Sister, Lord Jing Yuan has just returned from his Grand Tour and is the son of Duke…,” and he prattles on, listing facts and details you are already aware of. Jing Yuan is also amused and glances at you every so often, but you avoid returning such stares and focus your attention on the sound of your sibling’s voice.

However, soon thereafter, the Master of Ceremonies interrupts all activities, including your trio’s brief exchange, and calls for mealtime. Jing Yuan dismisses himself, returning to his step-brother’s side.

Suddenly, your brother grabs you by the shoulder. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shake your arm in response, urging him to loosen his grip.

“What a miracle!” he exclaims. You furrow at him with confusion. “Sister! Lord Jing Yuan himself rushed to greet you. That is unheard of!”

It takes you a second to understand, to remember that there are customs and traditions in society’s place, and the oddity of the situation finally dawns on you. “Brother,” you respond, “tell me how you encountered him.”

“Well, I paid the Duke, his father, a quick greeting on behalf of our family, and Lord Jing Yuan was there as well. When I was about to take my leave, he followed after me, and asked if I had any time. Can you believe it? He asked if I had time!”

“Yes, yes, please proceed.”

“I was worried I had done something imprudent in front of him and the Duke. I began saying a flurry of things, but he simply asked if I knew of any ladies that are seeking engagements, as he is in a rush to get married himself. I should have asked why –”

“Brother.”

“Ah, dismiss that thought. Anyway, of course, I had to say that you are of age, and he requested I direct him to you. I resisted, because as our father is only a Marquess and him a part of a Dukedom, it is only proper that I bring you to him, but he said he needed to be somewhere quieter and hurried us off.”

Your brother takes a deep breath and waits for your response. With much effort, you remain stoic.

“How peculiar,” you muse, with as even a tone as you can muster.

“Dear Sister, perhaps…” The two of you share a quick look, his expectant, yours knowing.

After a lingering moment of silence, you can only sigh. “We shall see.”

Ecstatic, your brother takes your shoulders with renewed vigor, lightly shaking you back and forth. “How auspicious! Of course, I will miss you, but Sister, you would be much happier away from our estate! You must seize this chance!”

You go along with his antics and incessant chattering, making slow progress towards the dining hall.

–

The third month of the year promises a multitude of changes. Primarily, fox hunting ends in March, therefore the men are rushing to organize their final hunts. As the men are occupied during their outings, the women pass their leisure time inside, rather impatiently, too, for Easter and the height of the Season, which will be at full throttle within a few weeks’ time. For noblewomen in particular, they also have the option to accompany the hunts, and on this late morning, you and your mother stay in a carriage to support the participants from afar.

Today’s hunt is small, exclusive to a few select Dukes and Marquesses of the nobility. Your father, now recovered, and your brother are present, and you notice Jing Yuan and his step-brother are also members among the group. 

Truly, Jing Yuan stands out amongst the crowd. Again, you are reminded of his towering and broad stature, and even when he is not speaking, he carries a solid aura of authority and a command for respect such that the other attendants do not dare to mention, let alone mock, his birthright. At the moment, he is running his hands through Mimi’s mane, and even his trust and care for her alone are superior to the mediocre handle the other men have of their horses.

The hunters seem to be strategizing, plotting out routes and dividing themselves into smaller groups, and with each passing second, your interest dampens, and it seems your mother is also growing disinterested.

With a flick of her wrist, glass-beaded bracelets clinking and clanking, she speaks, “The white-haired man, is it?” 

You nod.

She huffs through her nose, but she is not unhappy. She is silently beckoning you to question her.

And so, you inquire, “Mother, what are your judgments of Lord Jing Yuan?”

She leans towards the window and narrows her eyes. “A man of benevolent nature… Quite handsome as well… But a bastard child, is he not?”

You shrug. “What does it matter? His father is a Duke.”

“It does not change that he is born from the womb of a wicked woman.”

A striking flash of anger and urgency erupts in your gut, and you are close to hurtling uncouth insults at the woman sitting before you, but there is no need because your mother finishes her thought before your outburst can materialize.

“That brings me great pleasure,” the absurd woman says, with a twisted snark, “for you do not deserve happiness in your marriage. While I may be gone, misfortune shall always befall you. You will always suffer from your ill nature.”

Without a word, you swing the door of the carriage open and step out, in need of space. You strut to a group of barren trees, sparkling with melting dew, and lean against the trunk of one, looking off at where the hunters and their hounds are racing after the scent of foxes.

The biting cold does nothing to cool your raging internal heat. The echoes of your mother’s spiteful words act as fuel, a permanent well of dark, staining oil, spinning and stubborn in your mind. In fact, you become more bitter and sensitive at their persistence, and if anyone were to say one wrong phrase or make one wrong move towards you at this very instance, they would, for sure, catch your ire. 

How dare she. Even in your most distant memories, the thought of Jing Yuan’s mother brings warmth, a tight embrace, an affirming kiss on your forehead. In comparison, your own blood parents have done nothing more than bring you into this world. Even the jewels, fabrics, food, shelter they provide you are done out of obligation; given the option, they would abandon you without hesitation.

The taste of acid and iron surprises you. You are usually tame, capable of extinguishing any sign of anger or disappointment, so to find yourself so outraged that you have bitten open the inside of your cheek serves to worsen your temperament. You refuse to let that woman, only bound to you by blood and flesh, grate at your nerves, but it seems, this time, she has poked at your most sensitive vulnerability.

Suddenly, a loud neigh from a horse rings through the field, and you turn your head just in time to see Jing Yuan, a crumpled body, and Mimi leap through the air and land near you.

“Jing Yuan!” you cry, hands clutching at the sides of your skirt, annoyance and frustration set aside.

He tugs at Mimi sternly, and with a kick of her front legs, she rears to a halt. You rush over as Jing Yuan hops down with a man on his back, the latter wearing a deep-set frown and releasing low groans.

“What happened? Someone, please –”

Jing Yuan intervenes with a call of your name, shaking his head. “No need for your people. I shall bring the Marquess to his carriage and stay with him till he reaches his estate.”

You could care less about the injured man. “And what about you? Are you injured, Jing Yuan?”

He nods. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “Careful, for we are being watched. But thank you.” Something in his eyes glitter, a light diamond yellow, a new color so beautiful and mesmerizing. You force yourself to tear your gaze away. “I am fine, My Lady. Please, take care.”

You clamp your mouth shut. With that, he paces away, doing his best to carry the injured Marquess steadily.

You do not see him again for the rest of the day. But his heroics, over the course of an evening, become the talk of the town.

Two days pass, and for the first time, Jing Yuan and you meet during the daytime, accompanied by Fu Xuan. A nearby promenade has been kept cleared, as more and more folks spend time outside, and it is only proper that the two of you extend your public interactions beyond simple greetings, primarily to discourage and drive away any suitors who still retain hopes in having your or Jing Yuan’s hand.

“My Lord has certainly come under scrutiny,” you say, playful and amused in tone.

“Ah, the nobles do love their entertainment, I suppose.”

“Do not be so bashful, My Lord! I have heard of everything, and what you did during the hunt is truly an accomplished feat.”

“Tell me, then, My Lady, what you have heard.”

You switch your parasol to your other shoulder and tilt it up so that you can better see in front of you. There are other prospective couples, as well as their respective chaperones, but all eyes seem to be on you and Jing Yuan. With no fan in hand, it is difficult to signal to your partner, but he, too, already seems aware of the prying stares.

You begin to tell, “I much prefer the noble ladies and their recollections. Their recountings began before the hunt even started.

“You were steering the conversation, as if you were a general and the others your cavalrymen, planning every possible move and route.”

Jing Yuan stifles his fit of laughs with the back of his hand, and you do as well.

Resuming, you say, “Then, the group broke into partitions of four or five men each. The hunt seemed already destined and fated for success, with you in charge. However, many of the noblemen are elderly, yes? So as you and Mimi galloped so freely under the blue sky, the other men in your group struggled to keep up, and one Marquess with very little talent in horseback did not jump over a jutting root in time and came tumbling down with his English thoroughbred.”

Jing Yuan claps when you finish. “I am surprised you know what a thoroughbred is, My Lady.”

“I do not. To me, a horse is simply a horse. But, more importantly, what does My Lord think of my rendition?”

You glance up, only to see that he is watching you, and immediately, you turn your cheek the other way.

“I think,” he muses, “that My Lady is an excellent bard.”

“A bard?” You feign shame, because you already know how hyperbolic the noblewomen are in their gossiping.

“Indeed.” He continues to tease. “My Lady seems unmatched in her lyricism, rhythm, and most importantly, exaggerations. A true bard in nature.”

You cackle out loud, at which Fu Xuan shoots you a swift glare. You calm yourself and ask, “Exaggerations? A bard only makes songs of tales they hear from their journeys. My Lord, then, must tell the truth himself, as he is the protagonist of this one.”

“It pains me to say, then, that the story would no longer be as interesting.”

“My Lord does not aspire to be a bard or a court jester, so please speak.”

He sighs. “I did no such leading or commandeering. I simply listened from the side. Though the noble ladies are not wrong that it was an older Marquess who felled, it was not due to his own carelessness. Rather, one of the younger hounds must have caught the trail of a fox, and ran in front of the Marquess and his horse. His Lord was only trying to protect the little one, but injured himself in the process. I happened to be riding behind the Marquess and assisted him in returning him home.”

Jing Yuan, ever observant, always humble. You do not know if he is dismissing the finer details of his saving the Marquess, but you cannot even pinpoint where to press him further.

You settle with a simple platitude. “My Lord’s kindness knows no bounds.”

He does not say anything, only closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the winter-spring air.

“What plagues My Lord?”

“My Lady, tell me another story, one from your childhood.”

You still, and he takes two steps forward before he pauses as well.

You turn around to face your governess. “Fu Xuan, shall the three of us sit somewhere?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Fu Xuan replies. “There is a bench around the bend.”

Between you and Jing Yuan, neither of you speak until you both sit down. Fu Xuan finds another spot, a shady patch underneath an old willow, to supervise from afar.

Your bench is located beside a fountain, a large stucco vase with carved borders, emblems of flowers and reeds, gilded bronze around the circumference of the bottom. The water splashes past the rim, wetting the surrounding pavement, amusing the toddlers that belonged to some of the lounging women.

It is not rare for Jing Yuan to ask about yourself, to request to learn more about who you are in the moments when he is not by your side. While it is not always enjoyable, especially when you reflect on the less joyous memories, you do like that he is the only person in the world that knows so much about you, your strengths, weaknesses, likes, dislikes, fancies, displeasures.

But on occasion, he asks you to share because he does not want to speak about himself anymore. Today, as you judge the crease between his brows, the white of his knuckles, his hair free of its usual braided cord, this seems to be the case.

You speak of the many sleepless nights you had in December, how you had pricked the pads of your fingers several times from trying to sew by dim candlelight, hurrying to finish as many coats as possible, lest the noblewomen became suspicious. You speak of the shelf of books your brother had lent you when you were only ten years of age. You finished the literature within a fortnight, and your sibling was shocked, jaw agape, from your intellect and efficiency. Lastly, you speak of the morning of Jing Yuan’s departure, how you refused to come out of your room because of how distraught you were from bidding goodbye, needing to lie to the maids that your tears were only a result of a gut-wrenching stomach ache.

The entire time, the two of you sit side by side, shoulders brushing against each other, staring straight ahead, never at each other. But you do not need to see to know that he is listening with rapt intent to each and every one of your words, and you feel empowered to continue and please him with whatever he wants to hear.

Many hours pass, from high noon to late afternoon, finishing well past lunchtime. The atmosphere has relaxed, and Jing Yuan himself seems more at peace, and you are grateful that you have an eternity to indulge him.

When the three of you retrace your steps back to your family’s coach, he grips onto your hand as he assists you into the vehicle. His grip is tight, restricting you from sitting down, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his forehead against the back of your hand, nose brushing against your fingertips.

“A fortnight,” he mutters, loud enough for only the two of you, and promptly releases his hold.

You bring your hand, the one Jing Yuan held moments ago, to your cheek, basking in his lingering, escaping warmth, and nod in understanding.

You repeat, “A fortnight,” and he closes the coach door behind you.

– 

It is uncharacteristically cold for April. Frost forms a thin sheet over all of the foliage and herbage, the rabbits and woodchucks still slumber in their dense burrows, the moon silvery and thin in its wake.

You tuck yourself into Jing Yuan’s hold, where he sits behind you with his legs propped on either side of your figure. He grabs another blanket and lays it over your knees down to your feet, and sets his chin on your shoulder.

“I wish your mother’s shed was still here,” you admit through gritted teeth.

A little sleepily, he agrees. “I, as well, but please bear with our conditions for tonight.”

You are grateful, though. The worst of winter is past, and there are no clouds to conceal the stars or moon, meaning outside, you can make out his features and expressions with little effort. Before, you would have to strain and squint at his visage, but there is no need anymore and you think Jing Yuan appears softer, younger under the placid moonlight.

“My Lady,” he says, “if it is not inconvenient, I have an inquiry to make.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Why is it that you never look at me?”

You startle, jumping in your skin, not expecting such a jarring interrogation at this hour and place.

“Of course, I look at you. What can you possibly be insinuating?”

If you sound offended, you do not mean it. Rather, you are, to a minor degree, disgruntled at being caught. Internally, you have been well aware of your sudden shyness towards Jing Yuan. Before his departure, you had no such fears, but since his return, upon seeing all of the ways in which he has transformed and grown, you can no longer allow yourself to be so bold. You cannot look at him with wholly pure intent.

“Apologies. I meant that My Lady does not seem to look me in the eyes anymore, as we used to. Have I done or said something to deserve such avoidance?”

“Do not be foolish, My Lord.”

“And what is with the use of ‘My Lord’?”

“Do you not refer to me by ‘My Lady’?”

“Only because you seem so insistent on such etiquette. If I had a choice…” He takes a sharp inhale. “I would call you by your name all the time.”

The chill of the atmosphere does not seem so acute anymore. You feel a rush of heat, from the crown of your head all the way down to the lengths of your toes.

“How improper,” you mumble.

He laughs. He knows you could care less.

To drive his point further, he enunciates your name, rolling the letters and phonetics out with the curve of his tongue and a caramel sweet, taffy-stretched tone. He then whispers, “You seem to only use my name when you are quite agitated or excited.”

You swat at his arm. “Jing Yuan!”

Your reaction causes him to bark out true laughs, ones from the gut and stomach, and he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck. You want him to press further into you, to bite and nibble and mark at the tender skin, to meld into you so you always have him with you. You need more of him, all of him. Being by his side as a confidant in public, a lover in private, for eternity will never satiate your greed.

“My Lady, you never cease to entertain me! You are absolutely darling.”

“You are totally arrogant.” You shrug his head off of your shoulders, to your own disdain, only for him to place his chin on top of your head, entrapping you once again.

“My Lady, I believe I am not so arrogant. Rather, my actions are demonstrations of my affections for you, and the latter seems to grow at an astounding rate with every moment we spend together.”

He utters your name again, so sincere, full of unconditional respect. This time, you are forced to look at him, scooting yourself forward and twisting your back halfway around to soak in those melting, incandescent golds, brimming and spilling over with unfiltered love, loyalty, trust. You cease, completely bewitched and spellbound.

Slowly, he leans forward until the peaks of your foreheads touch. He is still staring at you, you are still unable to breathe. His hands have come up to cup your cheeks, and by sheer instinct, yours grasp weakly at his sleeves.

“Finally,” he breathes, “you are looking at me.”

Shuddering, you try to nod, but his hands keep your head in place. Regardless, he knows.

Jing Yuan, ever knowing, always understanding. He can see through you at all times, and you do not mind that it is him. In fact, you want it to be him, always him, and you have been waiting for this moment. Since you saw him on that sandy beach, with the orange coral bead and crystal clear waters and damp earth. Since you saw him standing alone in the garden, his back turned to you, tearless yet grief incarnate. Since these three long years, where he was seas and mountain ranges and plains separated from you, only brief moments of respite when he would return for business, yet never to interact.

You, who have waited this entire time, can finally see him again. You have no reason to disallow yourself. You have an eternity to indulge him, and an even longer infinity to indulge yourself in him.

The oil lamps flicker no more. The hawks and owls no longer cry. The vines and stems of the flora no longer sway in the wind. 

The only movement is from Jing Yuan, when he purses his lips and takes a deep breath.

He whispers your name, as if it is a prayer, an oath, full of promise and reverence. He says it once more, twice more. Then, he closes his eyes briefly before looking up at you again, a fire and determination now smoldering in bright gold.

“I have kept you, yet you have patiently, without any complaint or excuse, waited for me. You, the only person in the world who has witnessed me a mischievous child, a brooding boy, and now, an older man. I cannot fathom being with another, and this has been true since I first met you.”

You can only gulp, and staring wide-eyed, anticipate his next words.

“You cannot imagine how many times I begged my mother for permission to visit you during the day. At the time, I could not understand her unshakeable refusal, and even now, I am still resistant in some ways. Did you know I became jealous of my mother? I have never been adept with delicate work, and at one point, I was convinced you only came so you could sew with her. I would leave the shed to shake off my anger with the sword. And then my mother was gone, and I thought you, too, would disappear. But, of course, in light of all of my deepest fears, you stayed.”

There are traces of tears in his eyes, but he is more preoccupied with brushing away the ones that stream down your face. You do your best to cease the trembling of your lower lip, the blur of your vision, the cries that threaten to spill out. 

“I was frightened once again, when my father announced the beginning of my Grand Tour. I knew you would come of age as soon as I was scheduled to leave, and I wanted to propose right then and there. But my father does not know who you are, and not even the illegitimate child of a Duke could get away with marrying someone of a lower caste. A coward I was, am, indeed. Yet, we maintained correspondence, and we wrote to each other at length. Many times, I wanted to abandon my Tour, but your curiosity and eagerness convinced me otherwise. 

“It has always been because of you. I am who I am today because of you and your endless affections. And it is my turn, now, to let you know that my love for you goes beyond words and actions. My existence is solely yours.

“May I?”

You nod vigorously, desperately, longingly.

He presses tender kisses to the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips. After, he takes your hands in his palms and kisses at your wrists and knuckles and joints and fingertips.

Finally, he sits up, and you raise your chin to follow his eyes.

He says your name, this time firm, grounded, determined. “I love you. Please, let us never part again.”

–

The Season has reached its peak, and at long last, June permits enduring hours of sunlight, hot, humid evenings, a myriad of blossoms of all distinct shades and colors. Your brother guides you into the ballroom, your mother trailing behind the two of you, feathered fan concealing her rather displeased disposition.

“I still cannot believe it,” he gasps with incredulous wonder.

“No? Will I have him come to ask for your permission again?” you reply, indifferent, more concerned with identifying Jing Yuan amongst the crowded halls.

“No, no, no need for that, Sister! I am, well, rather, well –”

“See, Brother! There he is!”

Adorned in a handsome cream ensemble, Jing Yuan stands near a table of refreshments, collecting two glasses, one of which you presume is yours. You rush to his side, your brother in tow, and curtsy when he notices. And, as you suspected, he bows and hands one of the cups over to you and the other to your brother, already turning around to grab another for your mother.

Your brother takes a nervous sip before exclaiming, “Lord Jing Yuan! Good evening!”

“Good evening!” Jing Yuan greets, festive and light-hearted.

“I wanted to give you my thanks, again, Lord Jing Yuan. I have never thought my younger sister would marry anytime soon, but you have truly done her a wonderful service. How could I –”

Your mother coughs and interrupts your brother. “Son, cease with your rambling. I could hardly stand the fuss you are making, let alone imagine how exhausted Lord Jing Yuan must be.”

Jing Yuan shakes his head and intercepts. “Not at all. Brother-in-law, I understand that our engagement has only been newly confirmed, so your surprise is inevitable.”

The boisterous chattering and guffawing seem to quiet down, passersby slowly redirecting their attention to your quartet.

Your mother seems to notice as well and fans at herself. “How could the son of a Duke possibly have taken an interest in the daughter of a Marquess?”

The encompassing crowd falls into a hush. All are thinking the same question, almost bloodthirsty in their intrigue to know the answer, and they flit their eyes between you and Jing Yuan, wondering who will speak first.

You, for one, have no interest in such public or dramatic gestures. You put your glass back down on the table and comment, “Mother, Brother, My Lord, the dancing is about to commence.”

Someone whispers that they have never seen you dance before, adding another layer of suspense.

Jing Yuan extends an arm out, and you take it without a shred of doubt or hesitation.

But before the two of you leave, you pause to speak with your mother. “Oh, Mother, please, take my fan!”

She glares at you, and you smile back, taunting and urging her to keep watching you, to see what you can and will do.

You can imagine the way the room will uproar with shock and rage as soon as you step out. You know your mother will splinter your fan in her wrenching grip, and your brother will have to figure some way to placate her. You know you and Jing Yuan will reminisce on this memory with much jest and delight.

And so, you do it.

Committing to putting on a show, everyone watches the flick of your wrist, the extension of your index finger along the frame of your fan. You direct your gaze to Jing Yuan, who is already looking at you with unreserved adoration, and slowly draw the fan across your cheek, dragging out the moment for as long as you can.

You hear the gasps, the cries, the confused mutterings. But the Master of Ceremonies, always in a timely fashion, calls for everyone’s attendance in the ballroom, and you drop the fan in your mother’s upturned hand before Jing Yuan whisks you away.

Now everyone knows you and Jing Yuan are lovers, to be married in a little over a month. Though you would prefer to be married already, you remind yourself that your shared happiness has already begun, and nothing will change that. 

Hand in hand, you and Jing Yuan, along with many other couples, approach the middle of the ballroom, taking your positions in the dancing circle.

“When was the last time My Lady danced at a party?”

“Never before, actually.”

“Then, I must be blessed to have your first dance.”

“And many more, of course.”

“How many more? And just dances?”

You raise your head to stare at him, right as the Master of Ceremonies gestures at the band to begin. Jing Yuan’s eyes shine a brilliant gold underneath the glow of the chandeliers, clear and proud in their affections for you. Jing Yuan, always loving, forever yours.

As the waltz begins, you rise en pointe, and he clutches onto you so that your chests press together and your faces are only a breath apart.

You speak, the words you articulate only for him to hear.

“My existence is entirely yours.”

[altxrrmelancholy]

Tags: suggestive, bf!Hwa, Yunho is both your friend, Yunho is making you flustered, it seems dubious but it's really not, a bit of fluff, you're just freaking out at your boyfriend

•••

You were standing at the window admiring the view from Seonghwa's bedroom. You always liked the green around the apartment complex. It soothed you somehow.

You slightly shivered as you became aware of the skimpy outfit you wore: a white cotton spaghetti top with matching shorts, all with just a bit of lace. Ever since you got together with your boyfriend, he never failed to constantly let you know how sexy you were. That gradually increased your confidence, making you buy outfits that you normally wouldn't wear, and in turn him buying for you outfits. He liked seeing the confidence as he thought it made you ten times sexier.

Speaking of Seonghwa, you hadn't seen him since you entered. He was probably at one of his friends apartments, since the whole bunch collectively decided to live in the same complex. You didn't call him because you loved how cute that was. Living together in the same complex.

How cute.

Like you would ever tell Seonghwa or any of his friends that.

Lost in your mind, you slowly registered the sound of the door closing behind you. You were still leaning on the drawer that was near the window, still looking outside. Seonghwa's hands came around you and rested them on the top of the drawer, his chest pressed to your back. You grabbed his hands with the intention of putting them around you. His... huge hands? A bit surprised you looked down at his hands. His long fingers.

These were not Seonghwa's hands.

"Hi y/n." The voice whispered close to your ear, evidently with a smirk. You don't remember the last time you yelled the way you did. You jumped out of the man and looked back to find Yunho staring at you with surprise.

"Yunho?!"

The door burst open.

"What?! What happened?! Why did you scream like that?!"

Seonghwa stood there looking at the two of you, looking at each other with surprise. It was obvious though who looked the most traumatized. Your hands covered your chest as your outfit clearly shaped your boobs, not wanting Yunho to see what he wasn't supposed to.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" Seonghwa uttered, looking at you innocently. You jumped and rushed behind him to cover yourself more.

"Yunho came into the room and then I thought it was you and then I was going to hug you and then I realized it wasn't you and then, the scream, and- and then-" His groan cut you off.

"Oh my gosh, Yunho. Now look what you did."

"How was I supposed to know she would scream like that!"

"You should have at least talked to her first?!"

"That's what I was trying to do!"

You were a bit concerned as to why Seonghwa wasn't yelling at his friend for what he did to his girlfriend.

Their bickering stopped and Yunho was walking towards you his hands in front of him cautious.

"Y/n... I'm not gonna startle you, I promise."

"W-where- what are you doing?"

"Seonghwa said I could have you."

Seonghwa said he could have you.

Suddenly everything stopped. It was quiet enough to hear how loud you were breathing from the adrenaline from this whole situation. You looked up at Seonghwa and he just shrugged.

"Love, you're gonna let Yunho have you, right?"

You were dumfounded.

You didn't even realize Yunho slowly walk towards you. He practically jumped on you and held you from behind, one of his hands caressing your waist. And your boyfriend was just standing there.

You became aware of the hands touching you and you didn't know how to feel about that. You tried prying yourself out of his arms but your attempts were so weak that they ended up riling Yunho up.

"Seonghwa! You're j-just gonna stand there? I'm you- "

"Oh, calm down Y/n." He casually walked to his bed and lay down, his hands behind his head as he watched his friend start to kiss down your neck, trailing one of his hands to your core. You were sighing softly, your eyes closed, while struggling (?) to leave his embrace. As soon as his hand cupped your clothed core, you yelped. You jumped, forcefully pushed yourself off his hold and ran to lock yourself in Hwa's bathroom, feeling both turned on and extremely confused.

Yunho looked up at the ceiling and exaggerated a sigh. Seonghwa smiled. "You should have just let me tell her first."

"I'll go get her." He said, annoyed, as he left towards the bathroom door.

You could hear your boyfriend's obnoxious laughter from where you were, booming across the walls, clearly amused with the situation.

[kenzirr]

The BAU team sat in their usual spot at the local coffee shop, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of soft chatter filled the air. Spencer Reid sipped his coffee, his mind briefly at ease from the complexities of their latest case.

"Man, it's good to have a break," Morgan said, leaning back in his chair. "These last few weeks have been non-stop."

"Tell me about it," JJ replied, stirring her latte. "I can't remember the last time I slept for more than four hours."

"Well, at least we caught the guy," Rossi added, taking a sip of his espresso. "Sometimes it's nice to just enjoy the little things."

Spencer nodded, glancing at his friends. "You know, there's a study that shows taking short breaks can actually improve productivity. It helps to reset the brain and reduce stress."

Garcia chuckled. "Leave it to Reid to turn our coffee break into a lecture."

Spencer smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I just find it interesting."

"Don't apologize, genius," Morgan said, patting Spencer on the back. "We love your brainy insights."

Hotch, who had been quietly sipping his coffee, joined in. "It's true, though. These moments are important. They keep us grounded."

Spencer nodded. "It's fascinating how social interactions can affect mental health. Even brief conversations can boost mood and improve cognitive function."

JJ laughed. "Always the scientist, Spencer."

Just then, the door to the coffee shop opened, and in walked Y/N. She scanned the room, her eyes quickly landing on the BAU team. She had heard about the legendary team and their brilliant, yet socially awkward genius, Dr. Spencer Reid. With a confident smile, she approached their table.

"Hey there," she said, her eyes locking onto Spencer's. "Mind if I join you?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not at all. I'm Morgan, and you are?"

"YN," she replied, taking a seat right next to Spencer. "And you must be Dr. Reid."

Spencer looked up, startled. "Uh, yes. Yes, I am. Nice to meet you, Y/N."

Y/N leaned in a bit closer, her smile dazzling. "I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Reid. Your work is really impressive."

Spencer blushed, glancing nervously at his teammates. "Thank you. It's... it's just part of the job, really."

Morgan chuckled. "Don't let him fool you, Y/N. Spencer here is a genius. He can read 20,000 words per minute and has an IQ of 187."

"Really?" Y/N's eyes widened in genuine admiration. "That's incredible. You must be a walking encyclopedia."

Spencer chuckled nervously. "I guess you could say that."

Y/N's smile widened. "Well, I'm impressed. So, Spencer, how about you and I grab a coffee sometime? I'd love to get to know you better."

Spencer's face turned a deeper shade of red. "Um, sure. That sounds nice."

The team exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying Spencer's flustered state.

"Great," Y/N said, jotting down her number on a napkin and handing it to Spencer. "Call me."

Spencer nodded, taking the napkin. "I will."

As Y/N walked away, the team burst into laughter.

"Looks like Reid's got a date," Morgan teased.

Spencer smiled, his heart racing. For once, he didn't mind being the center of attention.

---

A few days later, Spencer nervously adjusted his tie in the mirror. He had agreed to meet Y/N at a local bar for their date, and his stomach was doing flips. Arriving at the bar, he spotted Y/N immediately. She looked stunning, her smile lighting up the room.

"Hi, Spencer," she greeted, giving him a warm hug.

"Hi, Y/N. You look amazing."

"Thank you. Shall we get a drink?"

They found a cozy corner and ordered their drinks, settling into a comfortable conversation. They talked about everything from Spencer's work with the BAU to Y/N's interests and hobbies. Spencer found himself relaxing as Y/N shared funny anecdotes and stories about her life.

"So, what made you decide to join the BAU?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

Spencer thought for a moment. "I've always been interested in understanding human behavior. Profiling criminals allows me to use that knowledge to help people and solve cases. Plus, the team is like a second family to me."

Y/N smiled. "That's really inspiring. It must be challenging."

"It is," Spencer agreed. "But moments like this, getting to know someone new, make it all worthwhile."

As the evening progressed, their initial nerves melted away, replaced by laughter and shared stories. By the time they left the bar, they were holding hands, their connection undeniable.

At Spencer's apartment, things quickly escalated. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, the chemistry between them sparking a passionate encounter.

[elizabethsnuts]

can we get a flasback of winterwidow before their daughter was born?? Like all the preparations and stuff :D

Preparations

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Bucky are getting ready for your arrival by finishing the important tasks.

———

Natasha sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the nursery, she was looking around the room and reviewing it. She and Bucky had spent weeks making it perfect for you, even if you were going to be sleeping in their room for the first few months of your life.

Bucky entered the room, carrying a large cardboard box labelled "Baby Clothes." He set it down gently on the floor, then straightened up, putting his hands on his hips. "Alright, Nat. Ready to sort through these?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Natasha turned to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Absolutely. There’s a lot of stuff in here."

Bucky joined Natasha on the floor, opening the box and pulling out tiny, adorable outfits. There were onesies in every colour imaginable, soft little hats, and even a pair of teeny tiny socks.

They started with the clothes, sorting them by size and type. Natasha held up a tiny onesie, grinning at how small it was. "Can you believe she's going to be this tiny?"

Bucky took the onesie from her, holding it up to his chest. "No, I really can't. It's so crazy."

Natasha picked up another piece of clothing and held it up, it was a frilly pink dress, and her expression was filled with warmth.

“This is so so cute! I cannot believe she's going to be wearing this soon." she said, her voice tinged with awe.

Bucky chuckled, reaching over to take the dress from her. "The time is going too quickly, I swear."

They continued sorting through the clothes, carefully folding each piece and placing it in the dresser drawers. As they worked, they talked about their hopes and dreams for you, the kind of parents they wanted to be, and all the adventures they would have together.

Natasha picked up another piece of clothing and raised her eyebrow in amusement. “A suit? Really? Who gave us this?”

Bucky laughed and fixed the tie attached to it. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say Tony. He wants her to be Ms Billionaire Baby.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and chucked it in the drawer. “I’m honestly not surprised one bit.”

Next on the list was assembling the crib. The pieces were spread out across the floor, along with a rather intimidating set of instructions. Bucky picked up the manual, flipping through the pages with a furrowed brow.

"This doesn't look too bad," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

Natasha laughed, giving him a playful nudge. "Come on, we've faced worse than this. We can handle a crib."

They set to work, Bucky handling the more complex parts while Natasha read the instructions and handed him tools.

"Careful with that screw," she warned. "We don't want it to be loose."

Bucky glanced at her, a smirk on his face. "I've got this, Nat. You just relax."

She rolled her eyes but leaned back, watching him work. There was something incredibly satisfying about seeing Bucky so focused and determined. It reminded her of the countless missions they'd been on together, except this time, the mission was creating a safe and loving home for you.

After a bit of effort and a few playful arguments, the crib was finally complete. Bucky stood back, admiring their handiwork. "Not too bad, huh?"

Natasha nodded and smirked, placing her hands on her hips. “I’d say you did pretty good! Now, can you do a stroller?”

Bucky shrugged and gestured to the crib. “I did that, how hard could it be?”

The stroller was in fact quite difficult. The crib was more of a breeze than the stroller which proved to be more of a challenge. It came with a manual that seemed to be written in an alien language. Bucky unfolded the various parts, scratching his head. "Who knew a stroller could be so complicated?"

Natasha took the manual, squinting at the tiny print. "I think we need to attach these wheels first."

They fumbled through the assembly, laughing at every wrong screw and backward piece. At one point, Bucky tried to fit a piece where it clearly didn't belong, and Natasha couldn't help but tease him. "Super soldier, huh? Can't even build a stroller."

Bucky feigned indignation. "Hey, I'm doing my best here!"

Eventually, they managed to put the stroller together. Natasha gave it a little push, watching it roll smoothly across the floor. "We did it."

They took turns pushing it around the living room, laughing at the absurdity of pushing an empty stroller. Bucky even tried fitting one of the cats inside, but he promptly jumped out and hid under the couch.

"Guess we'll stick to just the baby," Bucky said, grinning.

Next, they tackled the baby shower gifts. They had received an overwhelming number of items from friends and family, each one wrapped in colourful paper and adorned with ribbons. Natasha unwrapped a gift and pulled out a plush octopus that lit up and played music.

"What is this even for?" she asked, holding it up and pressing the button to make it glow.

"No idea," Bucky said, laughing. "But it might keep her entertained for a few minutes. Or scare her. One of the two."

They continued opening gifts, finding a mix of practical items and more… interesting ones. There were adorable blankets, diapers, and baby bottles, but also things like a baby food processor that neither of them knew how to use and a set of tiny sunglasses.

"These are ridiculous," Natasha said, holding up the sunglasses and putting them on her nose. "Do you think she'll actually wear these?"

Bucky chuckled loudly. "She might, but she definitely won't keep them on for long. Babies aren't exactly known for their fashion compliance."

As they sorted through the gifts, they made a pile of things they thought they'd use often and another pile of the more questionable items. Bucky picked up a baby hammock and shook his head. "Who even thought this was a good idea? It looks like a miniature torture device."

Natasha laughed so hard she had to hold her belly. "Well, we can always re-gift it. Maybe someone else will find it useful."

By the time they finished, the nursery was organised and clean, and both of them were exhausted but happy. Bucky looked around and then at Natasha, who was resting on the rocking chair with her feet up.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Bucky whispered, placing his hand on Natasha’s bump, feeling the soft kicks of your tiny feet inside.

“Me too… we still have to get her car seat ready though.” Natasha giggled and rubbed the bottom of her stomach.

Bucky groaned and chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “We’ll do that later! We did so much today.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, thinking about the future and how you would soon join their family. The preparations were almost complete, but the real deal was just beginning.

[cheesesoda]

i don’t ever want to let go again

post re4!leon x fem!reader

genre: fluffy asf

cw: none :))

summary: leon finally comes home from spain.

a/n: another one that’s not a request but i wanted to write some tooth rotting fluff about my bbg <3

as soon as leon got off that plane, he practically raced to his car. after a long and exhausting mission, all he wanted to do was see his girlfriend. as bad as it sounds, she was really all he could think about in spain. he wasn’t allowed contact with her and he didn’t know when he would be coming back, and it was terrible. it wasn’t any easier for her. he ignored his heavy eyelids as he tried to focus on getting home as quick as possible (a/n: drive responsibly please!).

when he finally reached the apartment complex, he took the elevator to the top floor, where he and his girlfriend’s shared apartment was. he was practically vibrating with anticipation to see her. she was his anchor. what kept him sane after all the shit he’s seen. she was there with him in raccoon city, and despite the horrors he witnessed there, it was all worth it because he got to meet his soulmate. he trudged tiredly to the door, and quietly turned the keys in the lock. there she was, in all her beauty. she was sitting on the windowsill ledge, wearing one of his button-down shirts and some short shorts. she had a book splayed across her chest as she snored softly. he admired her for a second; the way the moonlight shone on her s/c skin, her h/c hair decorating the pillow under her head.

she must have sensed his presence because her eyes opened groggily. she looked around sleepily and was met with the sight of her boyfriend. in disbelief at first, she just stared at him until he gave her a lazy smile. then, she smiled widely and walked over to him. reaching her hand to stroke his cheek, she successfully managed to hold back tears. “i missed you… so much.” she tried to keep her voice low, in order to not choke out a sob, but this time she failed. “i know, i missed you so much more.” he whispered back, pulling her into a hug. she cried into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. “i was so scared.” she says ever so softly. “i know, i’m sorry.” he replies, hugging her impossibly closer. the feeling of holding her restored the ache in his heart back to it feeling full again. “i love you.” she pulls back to look him in the eyes. she rubs her hand on his cheek again and kisses him lovingly. “i love you so so much.” she repeats, kissing him again and again. “i love you too.” he smiles softly but on the inside, this whole interaction made him feel like a lovesick teenager again. “do you want me to run you a bath? what about your injuries?” she asks. “no, just wanna stay here with you for a bit.” he yawns as he closes his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder. “let’s go to bed, my love.” she stroked his hair.

the feeling of the not-so-empty bed made her feel so incredibly happy. he buried his face in her chest, arms hugging her waist tightly. he never wanted to let go of her again, and neither did she. she continued to stroke his hair as he tried to fall asleep. what did he do to deserve her?

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: You continue sending dexter treats as he tries (and fails) to find out your identity.

Part 3

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Dexter never could’ve imagined things in his life getting any worse than they already had, but life was cruel so of course it did. Rita had ended things with him after finding out about the overnight trip he took with Lila, just as he thought maybe there was a better future for him with Lila she went absolutely psycho and nearly got him killed by the same man who killed his mother, Lundy and his team were far too close to catching him than he was comfortable with, and Dexter still had no clue who this secret admirer who knew too much was that had continued to send him baked goods and notes. Despite all that the admirer that knew too much was likely the only thing that hadn’t been stressing him out as of late, surprisingly that is. Unlike everyone else they weren’t prying into his life or trying to control him, as far as he knew at least, rather it seemed they were simply interested in learning more and forming a friendship of sorts. One of mutual understanding as in one of their notes he had come to learn they also had unique after-hour hobbies, and from what they were letting on they had a code similar to his own. All of this only made Dexter even more curious about who this admirer was, unconsciously he craved to be understood by someone after what happened with his brother. It was all too perfect, especially if this admirer followed similar rules as he did maybe he would have a true friend that could understand him entirely. Dexter hadn’t realized it yet but he grew obsessed with the idea and spent each day eagerly waiting for another note and baked good, he had to admit that whoever this admirer was they were a damn good baker. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention, especially with the thrill of it being from someone like-minded. Even though it made his heart race when he received a note revealing they knew he was the Bay Harbor Butcher, Dexter nearly collapsed when he read it but it gave him an odd thrill that someone had so easily found him out and despite that continued to admire him from afar. Not to mention they flirted with him as well, Dexter would give anything to find out who this was but for now, he had hit a wall and could only wait for them to reveal themselves.

Admittedly, Dexter was a bit hesitant about this new love interest but considering how easy things were with them compared to the complex mess he had to deal with when it came to Lila and Rita. It wasn’t hard for him to warm up to the idea. Things with Rita were awkward and she kept pushing him away despite his explanations, and Lila had proven to be outright psychotic her actions only growing more and more outrageous. He needed someone mentally stable and less emotionally demanding, but also someone who understands him like this admirer. Something neither Lila nor Rita could do for him. Speaking of the devil, as Dexter starts to leave the department he frowns upon hearing Lila’s voice. He turns to see her surrounded by his coworkers laughing happily, if she couldn’t get through to him apparently she would go through to his friends.

“Ahah! Looks who’s come out of his cave?”

“Lila, what are you doing here?”

“She came to see me, bro.” Angel butted in with a proud grin on his face.

“Angel mentioned that he needed a decorator and well, a slot just opened up so I gave him a call.”

“I’ve always wanted a decorator,” Angel said with a grin his eyes glued onto Lila, Dexter pulled him off to the side away from the group, trying to warn him.

“Angel come here… she’s not really a decorator.”

“It’s not really my apartment that I want decorated.” Before Dexter could continue Lila came up behind them wrapping her arms over their shoulders.

“So hey, the boys here have persuaded me to go for a drink.”

“Or ten,” Angel playfully added and Dexter just stared back at him.

“Oh god, should I be worried?”

“Yes, you should,” Dexter said flatly as his eyes met Lilas but she only grinned and rubbed his nose with hers.

“Then maybe you should come with us, because who knows what secrets will come pouring out of me once the drinks start flowing.” She said as she entered the elevator but at the same time, an officer from another department stepped out, her brows furrowing slightly when she saw Dexter.

“Dexter Morgan? This is for you, and you better not break her heart got it?” The officer said narrowing her eyes as she handed him a cute mini drawstring bag of cookies with a note inside the bag rather than in one of the cookies, which was new.

No matter how complex the dessert they’d always managed to place it inside the goodie so maybe this note was something different. Dexter tucked the cookies into his pocket as he entered the elevator, which was when he realized Lila saw all of that. Dexter didn’t like the fact she had, because with the unstable behavior she was already showing who knows how she would react to more competition. Dexter glanced over at her and he could see the anger in her eyes and knew that this wasn’t going to end well.

★ ✮ ★

I was in the lobby just chatting with Jackie before she left work for the day, our idle small talk was just a cover so that I could maybe catch a glimpse of Dexter. To my surprise, he seemed less on guard about my notes, and I had a few guesses as to why. Primarily I assumed he finally realized I wasn’t a threat and had grown impartial to my notes, which meant it wasn’t fun for me anymore. It’s a tiny bit of a shame but I guess it is time to bring our game to an end, certainly glad I did something different with my note today. I had given him a note with a time, date, and place. We’d both had enough of the games and it was about time that we finally met.

Speaking of Dexter I watch as he and his team from homicide exit the elevator with a certain ‘skanky vampire’, according to Debra at least. The whole group was magnetized towards her, except Dexter who kept a very noticeable distance between them, pretty privilege is real but I guess there’s more to that pretty face from how he’s acting. Again our eyes met briefly for a moment and I just politely smiled and returned to my conversation, no need to raise any suspicion from him just yet. I watch out the corner of my eye as they leave the building, and of course, Jackie has to butt in.

“So how long are you going to do this secret admirer act, tits up and ask him out already!”

“Well you’re in luck I just did, I gave him some cookies and a note asking him to meet me somewhere.”

“Hooray! Oh my god please call me afterward and tell me all about it, don’t you dare leave out a single detail!” She said with an eager grin clapping her hands.

“I promise will, anyways I should probably get back to work. Drive home safely okay?”

She nodded and waved me off and we parted ways, I headed back into our office as I had been called in to do overtime. The system had been semi-frequently going haywire and they needed all computers working for whatever case they had begun to crack, though from the FBI agents lingering in the building much later than usual it wasn’t hard to guess which department had a breakthrough. I headed down to where the servers were to check on them, it was a short walk and I said a few goodbyes as others turned in for the night. Once I got to the room everything seemed to be in place but I double-checked anyway, and unfortunately for me, it seemed like a critter or two had gotten inside and had been nibbling away at the wires. I wrapped some electrical tape over the exposed parts of the wires as a temporary fix until I could call for pest control, but this meant I would have to replace some of the wires and disconnect some departments from the system. It wasn’t urgent though, the wires were still working as needed and as long as they didn’t chew through any wires things should be fine.

After handling the mess downstairs I started on a few miscellaneous tasks around the building, there wasn’t much for me to do which is why I hated being called in for overtime just in case something happened. I sighed as I spun around in my desk chair bored out of my mind, I had done literally everything I could at this hour. I even filed the paperwork for all the requests I’ve completed, even though doing so had made me drowsier than I already was. I decided to get some coffee to wake myself up, I stood and left the office and decided to head up to homicide. The FBI had been staying late so it was likely that they would have some fresh coffee I could ‘borrow’. I rode the elevator up to the next floor and casually walked into the department which was currently a ghost town minus the few agents and deputy chief conversing in the debriefing room, I just walked past them into the kitchen where thankfully there was a little bit of coffee left in the pot. I made myself a cup and leaned against the counter drinking it quietly, I hate when the station was like this. The silence always made me uncomfortable as it left me alone with my thoughts for too long, I could overthink and criticize all my actions up until this very moment with no distractions. I hated dwelling on them and always having someone I could chat with or have a conversation to eavesdrop on so that I could escape all the thoughts floating around in my head.

A welcome distraction came from Dexter Morgan and what appeared to be his FBI escorts, I watched as they brought him into the debriefing room. Thankfully the curtains were open and I could peek inside, they had Dexter sit down and were talking to him. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but it was likely about whatever was on the table in front of him, I decided to get out of there while they were still talking. I’d hate to get in trouble for snooping where I shouldn’t be, besides I think it’s almost time for me to go home anyway. As I walked out of the kitchen and passed the debriefing room I took one last glance inside, the thing they were talking about was some storage box with slides of blood inside.

“So those are your trophies….”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[ghostboneswrites2]

I FINISHED TWD AGAIN AND 💔💔SPOILER 🚨 💔💔💔 daryls wife reader is rositas bestfriend everyone is content then rosita reveals to her that she got bit she crumbles screaming crying while daryl just holds her and later she goodbyes rosita

At Peace

Warnings: sad, grief, TWD typical content, character death, spoiler

Masterlist

  It was a long day full of death, carnage, and the not-so-rare running for your life shebang you had all grown used to in this new world. The dinner, though, that was nice. It was convivial and bright, even in the dimly lit dining room. People laughed, joked, conversed, passed happy grins between each other as if nothing could go wrong. 

        You were the first to notice something was off with Rosita. She masked it well, smiling and pitching in, planting sweet kisses on Gabriel’s cheek every so often. Still, something in her eyes was reserved, sad, sentimental. There was a peacefulness about her, though, like whatever it was, she accepted it. 

        It seemed to go unnoticed by the others. For you, though, it was plain as daylight beaming down on you. That was the thing about best friends; nothing went unnoticed. Except, something had gone unnoticed, much earlier in the day. Something you could have never seen coming. Something you’d never stop grieving over for all your years of life to come.

       You were painfully aware of Gabriel squeezing her hand and mouthing to her, ‘What’s wrong?’

        You watched with scrutiny as she leaned in and whispered something to him, unable to read her lips regardless of how hard you concentrated on them. 

        Whatever it was, Gabriel was mortified. The worry that washed over his features quickly caught the attention of the others. That was when she announced it.

        “All things considered, I’ve had a good life. Kicked lots of ass. I’m glad I got that. Not a lot of people did, and they all deserved it just as much as any of us.” 

        Everyone looked confused at this sudden outburst of sentimentality, until she stood and revealed her bite. A hideously neat and perfect double crescent of teeth, already turning the flesh around it all sorts of unnatural hues. Time froze for you. Daryl was the only one to look your way and scan your features for a reaction. You were close to her. Real close. Inseparable. You were there for years by her side, during the birth of her children, through the losses she felt. And there you were, experiencing the loss of her, and it took you longer than most to allow that to set in. 

        From the moment you laid eyes on that horrible, rotten imprint of even more horrible and rotten teeth, time froze, but only for you. People moved and spoke around you, Rosita was taken to her bed, and the world kept spinning, while you sat frozen in place. Daryl saw all of that, and he understood it. Your eyes were empty and wide, glued to a random flaw in the fabric of the tablecloth.

        By the time it had really registered, you were outside, clutching your chest, hyperventilating.  You heard a door open and shut from behind you, but it felt too distant to pay it any mind. You collapsed, fully expecting the impact of the ground beneath you, but instead you were gripped tightly by a strong pair of arms. You didn’t care to see who it was. You just let it go, sobbing and coughing and wailing out inhumane sounds. You’d hear the occasional hush from behind you, soft and sweet like a mother cooing her child to sleep on a fussy night.

        You were overwhelmed, breaking down, falling apart. All these years by her side and you’d forgot how to function without you witty, sarcastic, drop-dead gorgeous, downright badass best friend. You admired her, went to her for guidance, centered a large part of your life around her. That’s what best friends did. 

        Somewhere along the way, in your sniffling, groveling mess, you did realize it was Daryl behind you. Your relationship with the man was complex and largely unspoken. A few drunken nights alone in the woods, naked against each other, sweaty and carefree. Otherwise, it was usually a passing glance or a lingering gaze, a simple nod communicating all that needed to be said. In that moment, though, he held you together and let you melt into him until you could control your heart a little bit. 

        Eventually you pushed yourself to your feet and dusted yourself off, wiping tears away from your flustered cheeks with haste. 

        “I have to say goodbye.” You reasoned. He agreed, silently, with the aforementioned nod. He led you inside to where she laid comfortably in white sheets with fluffy pillows underneath the cascade of her dark silky hair. Gabriel looked at you when you came in with dad, tired eyes. He smiled at you and squeezed her hand, needing to offer no explanation when he left the room to allow you your final moments alone with her. 

        At first it felt like your shoes had been welded to the floor. You had to break your legs out of the invisible steel bindings in order to move them forward and plant yourself in the chair beside her bed. She smiled at you with knowing eyes. Anything you came to say didn’t need to be said, at least, not for her to know the truth behind it. You needed to say it, though, for closure, if that was even a real thing anymore.

        “I’m gonna miss you.” You choked out. She reached over and took your hand in hers. 

        “Yeah. I’m hard to live without.” She joked. You uttered something like laughter and a sob. “You got this, girl. You’re too strong to fall apart.”

        “You make me strong.” You insisted. She shook her head. She still looked so beautiful, even as pale as she was, with those dark circles around her eyes and thin sheen of sweat caking her cheeks.

        “No, we all make each other strong. They’ll make you strong enough to get through this, just like we all have for each other all these years.” She assured you. You shook your head. 

        “Who the fuck am I gonna talk to every day? Nobody knows me like you.” Your lip quivered. 

        Rosita glanced to a looming figure in the doorway, stuff and awkward and brooding. Messy hair swept over his eyes, dark clothes, muddy boots. He smirked. 

        “I can think of somebody who wouldn’t mind listening to your voice all day, every day.” She soothed. In your state of grief, the comment flew over your head. Later, though, you’d surely figure it out, Rosita figured. 

        “I just can’t believe it.” You went on.

        “You can.” She insisted. “You have to. And you have to know that I’m okay. I’m at peace.”

        Her health seemed to drastically decline after that statement. It was like she had to say it, that she was at peace, before her soul was willing to let go of her body. Gabriel rushed in with her babies and made sure they got that last bit of time with her. Daryl gently ushered you out of the room, so that whoever had to make that final call wouldn’t be doing it in front of you. 

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[mksbigg3stfan]

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MCSM Ship Dynamics

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(Just how I think different MCSM ships would work + my overall thoughts and opinons on them !!!

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Jesse x Lukas

Jesse and Lukas are like the bread and butter of MCSM ships, very basic but beloved for their closeness and banter. Jesse, no matter which route you take or choices you make, is a more extroverted character that is a strong leader. Generally, Jesse cares very much about their friends and is a pretty friendly person. It's mostly up to how the person individually perceives Jesse, but the most common interpretation of Jesse I've seen in Jesskas is that Jesse learns to admire Lukas as they travel together. Lukas usually falls for them as well, but in the "He fell first they fell harder" kind of way, lukas being the former.

I've also seen some interpretations of Jesse having a little crush on Lukas at the beginning of MCSM because they think he's cool. Overall, I think Jesskas would be a pretty healthy ship.

The two of them admire each other, and they accentuate each other's strengths well! Jesse got Lukas out of his shell and pushed him to improve, and Lukas hyped Jesse up and helped them grow into the hero they were in season 2.

Lukas as a character in season 1 doesn't exactly have confidence. Though he does have faith in some of his own strengths, and is the most likely character out of Olivia, Axel, and Jesse to disagree with Jesse, he still is always trying to keep people happy and try to keep conflict to a minimum. Not being an aggressive character doesn't mean he won't stand up for himself when needed, though. Even though Lukas wasn't exactly the leader of the Ocelots, they still sort of listened to him and considered his opinions in a way, so Lukas could probably hold his own on Aiden in an argument. The reason Lukas didn't argue with them as much was most likely because he believed that the Ocelots could change, but when he was proven wrong the arguments became more frequent and he got kicked out.

Jesse and Lukas in season 2 are very clearly closer, and it seems like they'd been hanging out a lot more before everyone became too busy to see each other more often. Still, in season 2, Lukas is belittled by Romeo, who brings up his old insecurities. He sees through Romeo's disguise because he and Jesse always lift each other up and encourage the other to improve. Lukas also seems to be a character that would show affection through words - like cheering people on or subtle physical affection - like a high five and the ever so often hug. Jesse, Olivia, and Axel definitely have become his safe place after the Ocelots kicked him out.

The only real critisism I can think of for Jesskas is that there was a lot of mischaracterization of Lukas in the past, and still some in the present, along with it kind of overshadowing a lot of other characters and ships.

Jesskas is very overdone, but there's nothing wrong with that! It's cute, albeit very basic. I don't really ship it, but I see where people are coming from, and it has the potential to be very cute!

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Jesse x Petra

Again, Jesse and Petra are a pretty basic, bread and jam type of ship. It's a little more complex than Lukas and Jesse, but not by much honestly. Petra is also a bit of a cool girl archetype, someone who's generally closed off from other people and doesn't like showing weakness due to fear of being seen as just that - weak. Only her weaknesses. She has trouble staying in one place for long or getting attached to things, but when she does, Petra holds on tight. While Lukas is just about as extroverted as Jesse, Petra is more introverted and selfish. She looks out for herself.

It's difficult to pin a characer for Jesse since, honestly, the different routes and such make it seem like every person who plays MCSM will get their own individual Jesse character. Also, because of lacking writing, which makes Jesse kind of has the amount of character of a peanut shell most of the time ... but I guess that again, that makes Jesse's character mostly up to individual interpretation. With Jesstra, I've noticed people seem to pin Jessie as a person that likes physical affection, so them and Petra tend to bond over fighting and sparring.

Petra is probably mostly averse to physical affection and touch - she seems more like someone who would do acts of service, being a mercenary and all. Jesstra seems like a ship where they would be sparring and flirt with each other through complimenting each other's moves + lovingly beating the shit out of each other. In a healthy way, though! After sparring, I think they would take care of any bruises or harm that was caused together.

When Petra was super closed off and mysterious, Jesse was the one to get her to start talking to more people. They were one of Petra's first really close friends, and that meant a lot to her. They were also the one that forced Petra to realize she couldn't stay stagnant forever and expect things to never change. She had to grow up and move on.

I can see the appeal with their compiments and banter during fights and sparring, as well as Jesse leaving Beacontown at the end of season 2 to go travel the world with Petra. A very healthy ship as well!

To be honest, we really need more focus on the smaller sapphic and wlw ships in the MCSM fandom, in my opinion. This ship probably is the gateway a lot of people get into those through, so I thank it very much for that. Not only that, but it's a pretty cute ship! Again, I don't exactly ship it, I don't really ship anyone with Jesse because I don't find Jesse that interesting.

As for faults with this ship, from what I've seen, the characterization of Petra is pretty good, but because Jesse is a lot less complex in comparison to her, it feels kind of empty on one side.

Anyways, I can definitely see where you guys are coming from! I personally do love dynamics like this one, so I think it's pretty good!

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Jack x Nurm

Boy, oh boy, old man yaoi !! (just jokes, guys, please don't kill me). While Nurm speaks in villager, Jack is able to understand him completely fine. They both seem to have a very deep understanding of each other anyway. They give the vibes of adventurer husbands who traveled the world together in their youth. By now, they're pretty much done with adventuring and want to settle down together and live in peace. And they deserve it!

You can tell just by hearing them talk that they've spent many an adventure together, fighting alongside the other and tending to each other's wounds. If they have any child relatives, I'm sure they'll be the favorite relative just for the sheer amount of cool stories they can tell.

Jack has a lot of respect for Nurm as a cartographer, and Nurm respects Jack's physical strength. Nurm is probably more the brains of the two, more quick witted and smart. The only thing is, Jack is one of the only people who can really understand him. That probably got them to be much closer than any of their other party members, anyways.

Also, not to mention, they live together. They are married guys trust me. (You don't have to take that serious dw) The only thing I could possibly think of as critisism is that it's kind of weird that Nurm is a villagerx but he's proven that he's just as intelligent as any player, so it's fine. Besides, it seems like people have universally accepted that they are married or in love, at least, from what I've seen.

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((If you want me to talk about a specific ship, you can just ask !!! ( ´∀｀ )b))

Never feel scared to ask me anything !! I live when people send asks, or just interact with me in any way at all BSNANDND

[nohoney]

thinking of touya pounding me down, sweetness😁 (horny on my bday yikes HAHHA)

aaahhh happy birthday my love (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

warnings: drug use (weed -> edibles), smut, some degradation

Smoke billows in the air after you blow out your candles and a cheesy round of the happy birthday song is sung around you, cameras pointed at you to take pictures and videos to save and post and tag you later on social media. The first slice of cake of course goes to you, your eyes roll back a little at the first bite and smiling afterwards. It’s light and airy, just like how your mind feels right now.

You’re high as fuck.

It doesn’t take much to get you there; a little edible gummy of a mere 5mg THC will get you and anything more ends up making you go to sleep, no matter the strain. So you’re lucid enough to mingle and have a conversation but high enough that your mind falls off track sometimes and you end up giggling and asking, “Wait, what?”

The party ends towards midnight and despite the temptation of continuing the party to another venue, Touya leans into your ear to remind you that you were the one that didn’t want to party too late.

“Yeah well that was sober me and she wasn’t having fun at the time she said that.”

It takes a bit of back and forth but you relent eventually, bidding your friends goodbye before getting into the passenger seat of the car. Your friends playfully boo at Touya with little jeers of c’mon, it’s still early!

“Birthday girl was the one who said she wanted to be done at this time, I’m just following my lady’s rules.” Touya dismissively waves off the playful boos, bidding the others goodnight before getting into the driver’s seat.

In the drive back to the apartment, your music is played at a gentle volume and your head lolls against the headrest. You sink just a bit into the seat your eyes are set on your boyfriend. His side profile is beautiful, his eyes glancing to the mirrors to check that he was safe to merge into the next lane.

You cling to his arm as the two of you walk the path inside the complex back to home. A part of you wants to sit on the swings of the playground but you know that the chains aren’t oiled and the squeaking would definitely disturb the neighbors nearby.

“Fuckin’ finally, come the fuck over here.” Touya says out loud with relief and pulls you to him as soon as the front door is locked. You have no idea how riled up he was watching you during your party, his eyes admiring the short dress you wore. God he wanted to go up behind you and just rut his cock against your ass a couple of times. He had to excuse himself for a smoke here and there, sometimes he’d have to go inside the restroom to calm himself down.

But now he’s got his pretty girl all alone now.

The zipper is pulled down and loosens the dress, you’re shrugging off the straps to it and Touya’s hands assist in shoving the dress off your body and to the floor. It’s kicked to the side and Touya practically pushes you to the wall, one hand holding your face and squishing your cheeks a little as he looks down at you.

“My baby, my pretty doll…”

God, you love this man.

He kisses you silly, takes you to bedroom, and asks what you’d like him to do to you.

“Can I choke on your cock, please?” you phrase it as a request but you and him both know that you’re gonna get whatever you want tonight, “Fuck my face? Want it really bad, Touya!”

He can’t say no to you, especially not on your birthday of all days.

So your wish is granted and you’re on your knees, looking up pitifully as Touya roughly fucks into your mouth, into your throat. When he tells you to open your mouth wider, you do it. When he says to stick your tongue out and licks his balls when he’s got you pressed to the base, you do it. When he tells you to just fucking take it, slut and to be a good girl for him, you do.

You’re a mess of tears and spit, coughing and sobbing a little when Touya pulls you off his cock. He gazes at you at first, watching the teardrops fall from your eyes and drool drip off your chin. He can’t help but think you’re such a pretty thing when you’re dick drunk.

“You know, it was cute to see you at your party. All high and stupid and forgetting what you were talking about with our friends.” Touya comments and pulls you back to his cock again, tapping the tip against your lips. “I like when you’re all dumb.”

“‘M not dumb.” You mumble before wrapping your lips around your boyfriend’s cock again. His cock glides smoothly into your mouth, the thickness of his cock a familiar thing for you as he touches the back of your throat.

Touya’s hand briefly pets your head before he holds your head in place. His hips fuck into your mouth, his cock fucking into your throat again and a fresh new set of tears well up in your eyes. You can’t think when your mind is so dizzy and heady, when all you can do is just be used and talked down to.

“Fuck, look at you! My pretty doll, you look so fucked out and I haven’t even touched your pussy yet!”

You cough and sob out his name when he lets you off his dick again, your body exhilarated and your mind still feels the high. Your boyfriend’s pretty cock is so slick and wet thanks to all your spit, weakly grasping it in your hand and stroking it as you beg, “Please Touya? Please, fuck me?”

He practically throws you to the bed, pulling off panties and your bra in haste that get carelessly tossed to the floor. You choose the position, holding your legs open for your boyfriend and your pussy on display for him. Enthusiastic can barely describe his actions as he discards his own clothes, pushing his cock quickly into you that makes you yelp in surprise, “Ah Touya!”

It’s delicious the way your warmth wraps around him, tight and perfect for him. What’s even better is that your pussy flexes around his cock, just a brief signal before wetness envelopes around him. You already came but he’s just getting started.

Your nails scrape down Touya’s back as he fucks into you, your voice muffled into his shoulder as you do your best to suppress your sounds. He mutters into your cheek, “Scratch me harder, fuck make it hurt!”

Touya can barely keep in his own groan when your nails dig a little firmer into his skin and drag down. He can imagine the bleeding red lines already, the pain spurs him on and he grits his teeth as he concentrates on you. He jams himself balls deep into you, his body shuddering as you cum around him again. He’s a little too excited that he worries that he’ll cum too quickly but you’re too high and blissed out that he knows that you wouldn’t care.

He wants to last a little longer for you though and what isn’t helping is that it’s your face that makes him want to cum quickly. You’re all gorgeous when you’re fucked out and stupid, your glassy eyes rolling back and then focusing in again to get your bearings back.

Touya maneuvers you into the position he wants, turning you to lay on your side and propping your leg over his shoulder before pushing back into your cunt. You let out a whimper when you’re filled again and you cum on his cock.

He pistons himself into you, drinking in your little sounds and your breathless pleas for him to utterly wreck you.

Touya intends to, grabbing your limp wrist and directing your hand towards your clit. “Touch yourself.”

You rub messy little circles on your clit, adding to the onslaught of pleasure that spikes higher and higher in your body. It’s so goddamn wet in between your legs, it’s almost pathetic how you cry that you think you can’t cum anymore but your body is saying differently. “I know you can keep on cumming, don’t fucking like to me!” Touya grunts, his brows pinching as he tries to hold himself together.

“I can’t!” You whine and your hand tires out, “C-Can’t!”

You’re put onto your back again and Touya fucks at just the right angle that’s hitting that spongy little spot that makes your eyes roll back again. He has to clasp one hand over your mouth while the other one presses down on your lower belly. Because he knows that it does this-

“God! Fucking—fuck!” Touya cusses when your orgasm hits you stronger this time, clenching down on his cock before cumming more intensely. He fucks you through your orgasm, reaching that high point of ecstasy as you cry into his palm.

Touya! Touya, I love you! is muffled beneath his palm and your watery eyes look up at him. He’s ruthless in his pace as he chases his high since you’re fucked stupid from experiencing yours, your head even higher in the clouds thanks to him.

So he says all the nasty shit on his mind, watching as you nod your head in agreement and whimper little sounds still into his hand.

“God, you looking so dumb right now. Fucked your brains out baby? You all stupid now?” He asks and he’s answered with a little muffled mmhmm. “My stupid lil doll, huh? All it takes to make you so sweet for me is my cock, ain’t that right?”

His hand slides off your mouth but moves to grasp your neck, his fingers pressing into the sides and watching as your mouth drops open and you mewl his name.

You’re a fucked out mess, the most pretty mess that gives him sass and loves him so intensely that he feels like he knows real love with you. And Touya laughs a little himself, delirious on how intoxicated he is over you before he finally empties himself into that precious cunt that he’s been fucking for the last few years of his life.

Thick ropes of cum fill you, overflowing out of you that Touya should pull out but he keeps himself stationed in you until he catches his breath. He reaches behind him for the shirt he flung off his body, always knowing to keep at least one piece of clothing nearby and he tucks it underneath you before pulling out.

It leaks out of your well fucked cunt and Touya admires it for a brief moment, only snapping out of it when you whine and your hips shift slightly. He wipes you clean and he leans over to kiss your forehead, muttering ‘happy birthday’ and pulling back to discard the cumrag into the laundry basket.

You get up to pee after finally collecting yourself, the high long gone when Touya fucked it out of you, and when you come back to the room, he holds out a little box from your favorite bakery towards you. “Wanna eat cake in bed?” He offers.

You blow a single candle on a piece slice of strawberry cake, the smoke billowing from the tip of the candle where the flame is and Touya tells you again, “Happy birthday.”

[aashi-heartfilia]

Why BakuDeku will be canon and not IzuOcha? Connection between TogaChako and the entire Love Square...

So this is pure hypothesis and I should clarify that I'm not a shipper when it comes to MHA. I just love the story, its premise and the various themes that it involves and I love to see what happens next. I don't particularly support any ships and so with all that being said, let's jump into it!

So, Ochako said that "You should never hide your true feelings or that face of yours".

Horikoshi is very very clever with the panelling.

While most people were debating on whether or not it was an IzuOcha ship bait, I think it signifies something completely different.

Notice how Ochako was thinking about Deku as she said those lines but even in Ochako's imagination, Deku wasn't looking at her.

HE WAS LOOKING AT BAKUGO.

I mean, look at it.

He was a bit embarrassed and looking at someone else. It is most probably a memory from when they were training before the second war (when Bakugo was showing his new move Cluster to Deku)

But why would Ochako think about Deku looking at someone else during such an important time?

It parallels how Toga thinks about Twice in a completely platonic sense. He was more of a brother to her (Toga and Twice->brother sister bond)

Plus it also signifies Ochako's journey of self acceptance. Think about it!

When we met Ochako in the beginning, she had an inferiority complex about her hero motivation and background.

She met Deku, who played her knight in shining armor, who had this cool quirk and everybody loved him.

He was a Hero, and always in the spotlight. Even All Might was interested in him (according to Ochako because she never knew about OFA)

So she admired him and wanted to be like him as in wanted to be a great hero like him but it backfired because Ochako is Ochako and Deku is Deku.

Throughout the series, we see these feelings grow.

But with admiration, what Ochako always felt was jealousy....envy.

The theme of envy has been very prominent in the series. Bakugo is the biggest example of it.

I admit that Ochako might have had a tiny bit of crush on Deku because who wouldn't?

He is a cute, clumsy boy, well natured, a crybaby at times but a real hero at heart. Who wouldn't fall for that?

Plus it's not wrong to have feelings.

But in Ochako's case, she always felt that Deku is so far away.

It is such a literal representation!

Deku was moving forward while Ochako felt like she was lacking, like she is behind him, literally and figuratively.

We saw how she was struggling to deal with whatever she was feeling.

At first it looks like she is struggling to deal with her feelings for him, but at this particular moment her feeling could only be described as envy.

Admiration could easily be confused for love but!

You're never jealous of the person you love!!

Because till season 3 Ochako was feeling both admiration for his best friend (which everyone else confused for love) and jealousy.

It was especially awkward because they were friends and their other friends kept on pointing in that direction.

But the real change came in the war arc when Ochako got Deku's letter and realised that maybe Deku is not that special after all.

They are good friends, and she was worried about him because she realised that behind the Hero persona that Deku has, he is also human.

Being a fellow hero, it was more relatable to her.

"Special powers are one thing but there is no such thing as a special person" she said in her speech.

Humanizing all heroes and villains.

I also wanna talk about this specific panel after Bakugo's apology.

Something about Ochako's expression here really struck a crod.

As Deku falls in Bakugo's arms, the camera pans on Ochako who just stands there observing, what true love is.

She didn't feel anything, because she realised the bond between BakuDeku is a bond of love.

Which is why she never made an effort to follow Deku's footsteps again.

The famous cliff scene: the day before the second war! Both of them knew they could die the very next day and yet they chose to say nothing... Nothing as in love confession, because there was nothing to confess.

Ochako realised that Deku loves and admires Bakugo and she's ok with that, so she'll focus on more important matters, like the Toga situation.

Because she realised, she can be her own Hero.

And now she wanted to help Toga. A girl like her, that was crying.

Because she has seen so many happy faces, she cannot help but wonder what made Toga cry.

Plus Toga said that only heroes and the people they protect are counted as people and the rest don't even matter.

As a person, Toga should be free to love whoever she wants but because of her quirk she is constantly judged by people except LoV.

Toga was mad because nobody accepted her throughout her entire life, her parents, her friends, Heroes and the one place where she found home was also snatched away from her.

Everyone is free to love and admire heroes then why not Toga. Everywhere she went, she was rejected.

Even Deku's quirk pointed out that there was no real malice behind TOGA's actions. Her love is so strong that it puts people in danger.

Heck, Danger sense didn't activate in the beginning because Toga didn't wanna hurt Deku.

But it was after she was rejected so badly, that she turned against them.

It was not about a girl asking a boy out but a villain asking a hero out.

And Deku not only rejected her completely but also judged her.

So if the world rejects her, she is bound to do the same!

Which made Ochako the perfect person to face Toga. Both are girls full of love but hide deep inferiority complexes.

Ochako understood this and told Toga her smile is beautiful.

Why? Because Ochako realised it the hard way, what happens when you suppress your feelings which is why she admired Toga and told her that Toga is right and she should never hide her feelings or her face because she is beautiful.

She admired Toga for her genuine honesty and told her that it is nothing to be ashamed of.

Toga went on a rampage because Deku hurt her (he was the final nail in the coffin) but just because Deku rejected her doesn't mean the end of the world.

Toga is free to live her own life, just because Deku rejected her doesn't mean her life is finished and if she really wants to have a girl chat, Ochako will always be there!

She'll give her blood to Toga for the rest of her life..!!

It's just Ochako's way of telling Toga that just because a boy rejected her doesn't mean her life has ended. That Toga is beautiful and has a lovely smile. And if toga wants to talk about it, Ochako will be more than willing to listen and support her for the rest of her life.

And such is the beautiful dynamic of TogaChako.

Cheers! Sunshine!

[wilcze-kudly]

Beifong babies appreciation post

This is gonna be a more self indulgent post. But if you spend any time on my blog, you know how much I adore the Beifong family, particularly Suyin and her children. And you know what I don't see enough appreciation for Suyin's babies, which makes sense, since they're side characters, but here's a lil ramble about them and some reasons why I love them.

Baatar Jr

Actually, I think Baatar is actually a very underutilised character for being Kuvira's supposed right hand man, as well as her fiancé.

He's technically the brains behind Kuvira's collosus, and probably much more.

As damaging as living in his father's shadow was for him, I do find it extremely adorable how he engineered all Baatar Sr's projects, it's really cute!

His loyalty to Kuvira and his love for her is admirable. It's honestly adorable, how much she means to him.

Btw mans stared into Korra's eyes while she threatened him im the Avatar state and laughed. Say what you want about him but he has balls.

The angst surrounding his involvement with Kuvira is absolutely delicious.

Like imagine turning your back on everyone you know and love for one person, only for then to turn on you and try to kill you with upur own creation?

And then everything you've worked for for 3 years is null and void? Gnarly

Also him being under house arrest with the family he betrayed? You could argue he got off really easy, which he did... but goodness gracious the angst.

Huan

I'm like 75% sure that he's a reference to The Dark One, one of Toph's metalbending students, which is actually really fun I love you emo metalbenders.

I always found non combative benders very interesting, especially when they use their bending for things like art, it's very cool.

While I think a Huan's character is made to mock "tortured abstract artists" a bit, he actually isn't terribly caricaturised?

Like... he has a pretty clear ideology and moral compass, and he sticks to his guns, even when threatened. He clearly values personal freedom and freedom of expression, and is willing to stand up for it.

I also love headcanoning that he had a close relationship with Aiwei. Since some of Huan's ideals match up more or less with Red Lotus ideology, which makes me wonder if Aiwei did subtly indoctrinate Suyin's children.

Huan and Ikki's friendship is really cute too lol.

His design is also really cool ngl

Opal

MY BABY AHHH 🧡 honestly my fave female tlok character.

Free her from the heterosexual love interest dimension she deserves so much better lol.

Like, I really dislike Bopal as a ship, and part of it is because of how much of a disservice it does to both characters. But most anti Bopal takes I see are also horrifically anti Opal.

Honestly, Opal just gets a surprisingly large amount of hate in genral? Like why? People call her annoying and a brat/ a knockoff Korra and she's barely done anything lmao

Opal's is very interesting, her journey to independence, her unseen development between B3 and B4, her firece loyalty to her family despite her separation from them

A lot of people criticise her attitude towards Kuvira, but honestly, she was quite rational in her anger? I also think she should have been allowed to hold a grudge against Bolin for longer, like yes he redeemed himswlf somewhat when rescuing her family, but it does feel really shallow and a fast way of tying up a pretty complex storyline.

Her arc reminds me very much of Toph's in atla, which is bittersweet since we see how that ended for Toph.

I love her lil pouty face ahh.

Wei and Wing

Genuinely. Might be my fave underdeveloped side characters.

Avatar has a habit of making very interesting twin duos and these two are no exception.

I really like their strong bond with their mother, they really are the most mamma's boys to ever mamma's boy.

Similarly to Opal, the twins' firece loyalty to their family and city is really sweet, but also there's a lot of potential for angst here. Like, Opal gets to see the world and adventure, but the twins are probably stuck in Zaofu forever.

The twins also are the only ones of their siblings upholding that "Beifong metalbender" archetype that Toph started. I think there is a bit of pressure on them, ad they are the "golden boys" of the family

I'm also a sucker for when benders work together/combine their skills so seeing the twins work together is really sweet.

Also. Gay™️. [Insert longass ramble about weilin lol]

I actually find the small differences in personality between them that we are shown. Where Wei is a bit more snooty and competitive, Wing is very playful and outward with himself. I like picking their differences apart.

Okk.. that's it my ramble for today us over 😭 I love the Beifong babies so much and wish there was more appreciation of them lol

[wildflowerdoeeyed]

𝑀𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒪’𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒶

the character overlook part 2!!

this is going to be shorter but i still want my yap (spoilers it’s not im passionate about this), spoiler heavy for chapter 4-6

i’m not really proof reading any of this so sorry if anything’s wrong please tell me

🪞before i say anything i want to point out a bit of dialogue between sean and molly

m - i dont have much opinion on you

s - ah but you don’t like me, i can see it in your eyes

m- i don’t know what you’re talking about mr macguire

s - but you look down your pretty little stuck up nose at me

m - i guess i didn’t come to america to meet boys who crawled out of the local bog. when i could have paid them to sweep my chimneys at home

s - i knew it. you’re a snotty nosed little west briton

m - i am no such thing

s - ‘course you are, i see it now. you probably have a family with a big farmhouse and titles

💋 i want to bring this up for a few reasons

1. sean is one of the only characters in camp proud of his heritage, molly is quite superficial and she doesn’t talk much about it, kieran doesn’t know much about his heritage and doesn’t know how to pronounce colm even though kieran was with the o’driscolls

2. he calls her a “little west briton” which usually means an irish person who greatly admires England or Britain, thinking them superior to Ireland

3. i said in my last post that i assumed molly became well off from. a family business in agriculture

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

💋now i don’t have much to say about her outfits here because of the fact that they stay the same so i’ll talk more about her and dutch

💋from shady bell onwards molly really starts to loose it and there’s more and more arguments between the two of them at one point she screams that he ruined her life

💋molly starts getting really paranoid, she sits at one of the docks by herself and karen even tries to comfort her in her own drunken way even when molly approaches her and confronts karen about talking about her (i’m not entirely sure if she actually did) molly smacks karen, karen hits her back harder and molly storms off to behind the house

💋i feel molly starts to realise she is the fool that everyone calls her for falling for dutch, and there’s a held sentiment that dutch probably never loved anyone more than annabelle and molly was more of a distraction with a pretty face

💋walking around shady belle, molly is usually found sulking in the corners of the house on her knees with her head down, i’d also like to put out there that in their room one one side of the bed is disturbed

💋i think kieran’s death was a way to put into perspective how the gang was falling apart molly asking arthur how this is allowed to happen

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

💋molly is absent at the end of chapter 5 and i’m not entirely sure that people really questioned it at all (i was obviously trying and failing to find my wife)

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

💋now let’s get into the deep shit of the start of beaver hollow

💋molly is clearly drunk back in her casual outfit with her blue shirt, which i think personally is how she felt more comfortable in

💋she curses out dutch and says that she told milton about the saint denis robbery

💋i think she went through the realisation when she was away of dutch’s complex about himself, calling him “your majesty” or “master” when she makes fun of him

💋dutch talks a lot about loyalty and having faith and him and miss grimshaw carry the sentiment that she broke the rules

💋miss grimshaw shoots molly, and i think, though i love molly, she is my wife, it was the last nail on the coffin that when molly died she sees dutch, the only person she thought liked, even loved her, looking disappointed in her

💋she also didn’t get a proper burial and got burned

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

(only doing positive ones bc that’s what my baby deserves)

💋 karen’s the most aggressive after mollys death as she holds a grudge to miss grimshaw, calling her a filthy murderer and saying that she probably liked doing it, karen had seen (imo) that molly just wanted dutch’s attention and she was blinded by love

💋 i personally hold a grudge too but she seemed remorseful that she did it because she had to

💋 abigail feels guilty but they’re still under the pretence that she ratted on them

💋 charles says he feels bad even though he didn’t know her well

💋 strauss, though i think he probably did not gaf he actually includes molly in him saying the camps falling apart

💋 marybeth just feels guilty about her, saying that she doesn’t believe it, she probably said that in the way of she couldn’t believe that mollys dead but i’d like to think she also didn’t think that molly did it

💋 swanson says she’ll be in his prayers

💋though i’d like to add dutch’s reaction to yknow the supposed lover of him saying that he shoulda cut her off ages ago

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

💋i feel like people forget that milton tells arthur they couldn’t get anything out of molly , if you know micah is the rat you have to know molly isn’t

💋 off topic but i want to say i also saw someone say mary (linton) was one of the rats, i feel like people forget that mary knew arthur was never going to change for her, her missions never affects the plot, she’s always going to send the infamous letter at the start or beaver hollow, she never changed the ending you can not help her and never talk to her again and there’s still the same ending it’s all micah

@lovearthur since you got tagged in the last one 🫶🏼

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

Something about Izuku I keep thinking about is how much he's a downright hypocrite and the only reason he isn't called out on it is because he's one for himself and not for others and at the core of it all it boils down to his pending childhood issues and the *vaguely gestures* "relationship" he and Katsuki have- I mean, just out of the top of my head:

Wants to be a strong and dependable hero but is at his weakest when he's alone.

Says to Himiko he would never hurt someone he loves but was the reason Katsuki was forced to dance with death until his own sacrifice. Hell, I'm expecting him to actually accidentally hurt Katsuki (Physically? Emotionally? You decide) next time they talk.

Wants to save people with a smile but barely cracked genuine ones during his battle with Tenko- I can think of two(?), and even then those felt more like a resignation (379 and 412 iirc) than actual smiles.

Being aware Kacchan's a jackass, fine, but the entire "Imitate the people you love/admire" themes, having an attitude when heated or absolutely Done with anyone's BS (makes sense for someone who grew up besides a kid in the Inferiority-Superiority Complex but still) and "This is a battle between All For One and One For All, you can't keep up" is still very much pot calling the kettle black (it's because his "arrogance" is rooted in selflessness and desire to be useful but that's for another day)

Deadass called All For One out for being a lonely man pretending to be a "Demon Lord" yet will not admit he himself thinks a he's just a lonely kid pretending to be a hero; and by the time he seemed to be growing out of it: Paranormal Liberation Front.

"IT'S YOUR POWER, ISN'T IT?!" Cool, nice of him to comfort Shoto and try the same with Touya, now if only he could do the same in regards to himself and OFA-

Wasn't able to connect with Tenko at all and that's why he failed but it's wild to me he'd still the one who even at surface level could relate to):

Spinner, because they're nerds who were ostracized based on Quirks/lack thereof looking for a purpose and were unable to help him because of AFO's interference;

Himiko, because they want to be like others (because they hate themselves at least a little bit) but also show love in a way others wouldn't accept and;

Touya, because they wanted to prove they could be useful to others and be heroes to the point of actively harmed themselves while using their own Quirk.

Hell, when you think about it he related to the crying child but he could've used Literally Anything from his relationship with Katsuki to try and reach Tenko, but of course he didn't, that means he'd have to think about his own issues and yet he saw Tenko's issues no wonder he didn't get the job done-

Also can we talk about him saying he relates to Ochako confronting Himiko but she actually succeeded- Or even Shoto wanting to forgive Endeavor; I keep recalling both Ch. 322 him saying he won't forgive Tenko for anything he did (understandable but still) and Tenko going "And I won't forgive anyone". Connecting these three instances are huge stretches, I know, but really, he hasn't addressed the apology he got- combined narrative punishments for empty platitudes.

Kept saying he needed to improve in his control with OFA: had to get beaten up during his internship and in the Summer Camp for that lesson to stick... Then he heard the words "Control Your Heart" and decided to Not Address It At All.

Supposed to surpass but he's really All Might's successor in every way that counts: Smile so nobody will worry, keep fighting even though you are destroying yourself, be so selfless you'll make your friends desperate enough to make you stop for your own good, hide every single thing you can about yourself, the only difference is in the bed they made: Toshinori lies in omission most of the time, and Izuku thinks he lies in white when almost every other character's in the dark, but as long as there's a dream of bright smiles in the future, who cares they're now forcefully entangled in this nightmare, right?

And these are just the examples I can think of the top of my head, there might be more, but. No wonder we've been "panicking" (let's be real his therapist already scheduled him for Ground Beta atp-) Shoto and Ochako brushed him off by accident in Chapter 425, it's the consequences of his hypocritical ass coming back to bite him-

(I am not hating on him, by the way, it's just something about him I wanted to point out. I like that aspect of his. Makes him more human. But jeez can someone call him out and make him practice what he preaches? XD)

[belit0]

HIIIII<3333 How are you and how have you been. First, i need to praise you for such a good work you do, i really am impressed by your writing skills and how you write the characters so realistic and understandable. You truly have my respect especially for writing some characters like Madara or Indra are really complex to write because of their personality and they truly are complicated due their backstory. So thank you dearly for accepting requests and working on them. You truly have an unique writing style wich i do absolutely admire! Please keep up but don’t overwork yourself, rest is important and please remember to drink and eat enough. I love you so much and your blog is literally my favorite. ( You 🔛🔝) So actually i wanted to ask for a request. (A oneshot or a scenario please) About Madara watching his wife giving birth to his baby and how he sees his wife holding their new born in her arms. Please i am too curious cuz i really can’t Assess this man if he would cry at this sight or not😭. I woule appreciate if you would accept my request. But there is no need to. Feel free to ignore it, i still love your blog so much.

I swear your words touched me so much that I took a screenshot and saved the message in my private chat to read it whenever I need motivation, you brought tears to my eyes (literally)!!!

Thank you infinitely for your beautiful company and for supporting my modest work, I love to share what I do, especially if I have people who like it and enjoy it, it fills my soul to read words like that💕🙏💫🛐

I can never explain the appreciation I feel upon receiving this type of messages, it's a very powerful and big feeling, too strong and too deep for words.

Thank you so much, my beautiful nonny, for being around and keeping me company, please never go away, i love u😭💕💫

Now, going back to the request, OF COURSE MADARA CRIES, he's one of those persons who cries out of anger, it bothers him a lot because he feels weak but has a great facility for tears.

Now, what I did to him in this piece is a bit cruel, I apologize🤣🙏

He can't stop pacing the hallway, anxious and nervous, desperate because of the screams he hears on the other side of the door. The midwives demanded he stay out of the room to avoid creating more chaos, his distress palpable in the air every time he asked "Is she in a lot of pain? Is the baby okay? Is something wrong with (Y/N)?"

He was kicked out of the place to avoid putting more pressure on the poor women assisting with the delivery, and even as the clan leader, he was taken away the choice of whether to be part of the moment or not. It all pushes him so far over the edge he even resorts to taking off his gloves and chewing his nails like he's 15 years old again.

"You look like crap, Aniki." Izuna comments with a smirk on his face, openly mocking his poor older brother. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he looks at him with amusement and even a bit of pity.

As always, his Otouto accompanies him.

"No shit." He snorts in anguish, tearing the skin off his finger and hissing from the burning. He may be the strongest warrior of all his time, but he can't help the little mundane aches and pains of day to day life.

"What's got you so bad? It's just a baby." He reaches out to him as if to lay a hand on his shoulder, but stops before doing so, knowing the outcome, clicking his tongue at how fickle fate is.

Staring at the ground and swapping the tortured finger for a new one, he fails to get out from inside his mind, raise his head, react. Worry consumes him, and (Y/N)'s screams of agony don't help. "Exactly that. I couldn't protect anyone, I couldn't protect you, I won't be a good father, what if-"

"Wowowo, hold your horses, Aniki. You couldn't protect me because I wouldn't let you, if anyone was going to take that idiot down it was me. We talked about it many times, didn't we?" He stands in front of him, unable to get his older brother out of his vicious cycle of insane thoughts, and crouches down to the ground to meet the path of his eyes. He smiles at him again, an act that always manages to get Madara's attention, and he finally listens to him.

"Did you think of a name? That'll be your job if it's a boy." Madara jumps in a startled gasp as (Y/N) screams louder than ever, and looks at the door separating them as if wanting to set it on fire. Respecting the midwives' wishes feels stupid, but neither does he want to get in the way of things he doesn't understand.

"Izuna." He answers without moving his eyes from the spot, walking and avoiding his younger brother like he couldn't just walk right through him. He moves a little closer to the door, waiting.

"What?" The younger Uchiha gets up, and moves back to stand next to him, not understanding.

"Izuna, for the name."

"You want to give your precious baby my terrible name? You'll doom him to be a beautiful mess."

"Tribute, so he'll always remember the uncle he never knew." And at the moment his eyes fill with sadness and melancholy, his brother decides to change the course of the situation.

"If you want to pay tribute to me, take him to visit my grave and drink sake over my remains, you idiot. I say you name him Inari, I always thought it was beautiful."

"Inari..."

"Sounds nice doesn't it? It's a good one to scold him after he gets in trouble, which I'll make sure he does."

"Will the baby be able to see you?"

"We'll find out."

"MADARA-SAMA!" the door suddenly opens, one of the midwives coming out agitated "THE BABY IS COMING, SOON!" She demands him to re-enter the room, and Madara looks at his brother for encouragement.

He smiles at him again, and that's all he needs to know that everything will be okay.

The makeshift delivery room, on the other hand, is a mess. Several women run around moving bloody towels and trying to wipe the sweat from (Y/N)'s forehead. One holds her hand tightly as his wife pushes and pushes, legs spread wide and revealing a picture both terrible and wonderful.

"MADARA-SAMA!" the midwife shoves him from behind to the side of the bed where she attempts to deliver their child, unafraid to be rough with the clan leader. Madara, unable to react, grabs the hand that was previously held by another woman, as he stares at her belly and can do nothing but try to hold back tears.

Paralyzed by inoperability and not knowing what to do, the Uchiha feels useless, incapable of helping or assisting in any way. His expertise is in fighting, combat, violence, he has no idea how to act in sensitive situations or those that require emotional intelligence. He is afraid to say something inappropriate, something that will upset (Y/N), and cannot find the strength to speak without crying.

No one told him he would feel this way, an experience so surreal as to make him break down.

The last time he cried disconsolately was with his brother's death, years ago, but his child's birth seems to challenge him in the same way, the miracle of life and the product of his own dedication coming to reward him, demanding him to pour out all his feelings through tears, no shame for being in front of strangers.

Everything seems to disappear around him, focused only on his wife and the task ahead. The stupor washes away little by little, getting into the game and helping her get through the experience as best he can.

At one point he thinks to be speaking words of encouragement, but has no track of what is going on. The image of (Y/N) suffering, crying, screaming, stirs him to the core of his very being, wishing he could take away her agony and be the one to endure this odyssey.

He holds her hand with both of his, while between his wife's legs two midwives demand further pushing. Everything is chaos, a maelstrom of speed where Madara can only concentrate on her, until he suddenly hears it.

The most beautiful cry he has ever witnessed, a small, high-pitched sound coming from a tiny baby in one of the midwives' arms. (Y/N)'s face automatically relaxes, ready to faint from exertion and exhaustion, yet she whispers "Hold the child" before smiling with genuine joy.

Madara, following orders while being totally out of his comfort zone, receives the newborn in his arms, and what was once silent tears now turns into unrestrained crying.

He crumbles in front of his baby for different reasons, moved and overwhelmed for having been able to produce something so beautiful, so delicate, after destroying and murdering as much as he did. That adorable little human being is proof enough, at least for him, of not being a disastrous person, for there being hope and kindness in his destiny, able to repent for all the lives he stole on the battlefield.

Izuna's death brought him great resentment for the world, condemning him to anger and rage as a way of life, willing to destroy whoever it takes to regain what was lost, yet (Y/N) saved him from an avoidable catastrophe, and showed him he could be more than his grief, giving him the tools to move on.

Holding the result of such pure and generous love in his hands is the mythical demonstration of how the blood on his hands is washable, how his past does not define him, and how his future is not marked by eternal pain.

The thrill of a better life engulfs him completely, as he stares with pure affection at the child he himself created. His son, utterly his, the most beautiful ray of sunshine. "Inari..." he whispers between sobs, and brings him closer to his wife for reconnection with his mother.

Upon reassuring (Y/N) is no longer bleeding and there are no further problems to worry about, the women begin to leave the room, carrying lots of bloody sheets and towels, cleaning the space little by little and giving privacy to the new family.

One of them takes the newborn for close examination, and when the room finishes clearing of people, Madara can see Izuna near his baby, making sure the midwife treats him well and takes proper care of his little Inari.

He can't help but cry again at the image, knowing his son will always have a guardian angel with him.

[doll-elvis]

did you like linda thompson for elvis? any insight to their relationship?

I recently got two asks about Linda so I thought I would just combine them here: warning this is long because as always I have too much to say 🤭

and thank you so much guys for the asks <3!! I really appreciate the opportunity to delve into these topics and have an open discussion, please share any thoughts or opinions y’all have, I would truly love to hear from you guys too

as for the first ask: this will probably be controversial but honestly I have mixed feelings about Linda Thompson, and it’s not so much over her relationship with Elvis that I feel conflicted about, it’s just some of the comments/posts she has made that have rubbed me the wrong way a little bit🤧

To start though I want to say I by no means hate Linda, Elvis loved her and there’s no questions I have for why he did- I think she is a really caring and nurturing person at heart. So if Elvis loved her, then I wish the best for her, and I try to live by this philosophy for everyone he loved… even if they do things I don’t like or don’t agree with

Also her book is one of my favorites out of all the girlfriends and it is genuinely beautiful (although I do wish the whole book was just about Elvis because I could not care less about Caitlyn Jenner lmaoo). You can feel the love and respect she has for him, and I will always admire how candidly she talks about Elvis whilst also being understanding of him and his complexities. Obviously Elvis was not a perfect human, but Linda writes in a way that really conveys her compassion/love towards of him even during the times when he was being quite frankly, an asshole 💀

I truly respect her for taking care of him the best she could, and still defending him to this day. I was honestly always relieved whenever the camera was on her in that Amazon prime documentary “Elvis’ Women” because she often set the record straight and didn’t allow for any sensationalized stories to be told about him

And one of my absolute favorite quotes about Elvis comes from her book and it’s when she said, “There is black and there is white, and then there is Elvis Presley”

As for some of the comments she has made (mainly on her Instagram), I cannot help but get the vibe that she is a touch narcissistic or as some of the Memphis mafia have said, “has a beauty queen personality”😖

Obviously I’m no psychologist but if y’all follow her on Instagram you might know what I mean. A couple months ago she shared a Instagram story that had a quote from David Stanley saying something along the lines of “Linda was the most beautiful girl Elvis was with and the best for him”

Now there’s absolutely nothing wrong with holding that opinion, she is incredibly beautiful and she cared deeply for Elvis, but I feel like sharing that quote had no purpose but to boost her ego. And David Stanley can choke for all I care, especially because some of the headlines he has been making lately

Linda also has a tendency to diminish the relationships Elvis had with other women, particularly with Sheila Ryan and Ann Pennington

(quote from Shirley Dieu about Linda finding out about Sheila Ryan ⬆️)

Linda was very young and in love at the time and rightfully angry about being cheated on. But at the same time I don’t think that justifies calling another woman a hooker, and that definitely doesn’t make it okay to tell everybody in the group that she was getting paid to be with Elvis, especially when it’s known that Sheila was the one girlfriend who demanded nothing out of him ⬇️ (y’all know I love Sheila I’m serious about defending her lmaoo)

She also recently made a post on Instagram where she shared some photos of her and Elvis and said this in the caption ⬇️

Am I too sensitive or does this rub y’all the wrong way too?? I wouldn’t call Sheila Ryan or Ann Pennington just “friends”. This may have not been Linda’s intentions but I find it disrespectful to reduce their relationship with Elvis to that, especially when Elvis cared so much about them

Even in the Amazon prime documentary “Elvis’ Women” she referred to Sheila and Ann as “dalliances” and also said the only women with any “holding power” in Elvis’ life was herself, Anita and Priscilla. But to name a few, Elvis almost married Dixie Locke before he got famous, he bought Graceland and intended to live there with June Juanico, he seriously considered marrying Ann Margret, he wanted Joyce Bova to live at Graceland (same with Sheila Ryan) and he literally proposed to Ginger Alden

Again, I might just be sensitive but that “holding power” comment totally rubbed me the wrong way. I have the feeling this is how she fuels her self-importance … by minimizing Elvis’ relationships with other women 🤧

as for the second ask: I think what caused the decline of her relationship with Elvis was that as she matured and grew up within the 4 1/2 years they dated, her priorities changed, and they no longer fitted to what Elvis wanted

Linda was pushing for marriage and by doing so Elvis was feeling pressured, and just from what I have read about him, that man didn’t want to be pressured by anybody

I honestly don’t believe Elvis ever intended to get married after his divorce with Priscilla, and despite proposing to Ginger, like many others, I don’t believe he would have taken the step to the actual altar. So by being very open about his affairs and wanting to be photographed with Diana Goodman and introducing women like Sheila Ryan at concerts as his girlfriend, perhaps that was his way of letting Linda know he didn’t “belong” to her and wasn’t planning on getting married🤧

(excerpt from “Elvis: What happened?” ⬇️)

This excerpt is from Albert Goldman’s “Elvis” so definitely take it with a grain of salt but I think it’s very interesting as it describes the course of his relationship with Linda ⬇️

In Linda Thompson’s book “A Little Thing called Life” she talks very openly about how their relationship essentially became “sexless”, and how she graduated to the role of caretaker as opposed to romantic partner. And according to Diana Goodman, Linda even acted as a third wheel when Elvis went on dates with Diana, and so I think by that point in the relationship Linda didn’t feel as threatened by other women because she knew her role in Elvis’ life: caretaker

This is just my opinion but I think Elvis stayed with Linda Thompson so long purely out of convenience. She was a woman who knew what he liked (movies, food, music etc. etc), she knew how to take care of him, and she had integrated herself into the group very successfully and got along with the people in his life, especially Lisa Marie. I have seen Elvis being quoted saying “I don’t want to teach another one” a few times, meaning he didn’t want to have to teach another woman how he lived, and how he liked things, he was simply comfortable with Linda because she knew him

But I think Elvis likely felt a little suffocated by her constant presence, which seemed to be the case with most women who he was with for long periods of time, and I believe that’s when he began pursuing women like Sheila Ryan, Ann Pennington and Diana Goodman. I also believe this is why he bought Linda an apartment out in California and a house in Memphis despite her living at Graceland: he was slowly trying to inch her out of the picture so he could do whatever he wanted with whatever woman he wanted. I forget what Memphis Mafia member said it but I remember a quote that said something like While Linda was out shopping in California, Elvis got with other women, that’s why he encouraged her spending

(excerpt from Linda’s book where she confronted Elvis after he began having affairs after the first year they were together ⬇️)

“once in a while I just need a little different stimulation, different company”

As for Elvis saying he could never picture himself marrying Linda, Ginger Alden’s book gives great insight ⬇️

Elvis could be very old fashioned about things so this definitely seems like a plausible explanation as to why he could never picture himself marrying Linda, she was likely too headstrong about it and it turned him off from the idea. As for flirting with the idea about having children with Linda, Elvis was very “obsessed” with the idea of having a son, and when he began dating Ginger Alden he also told her about him wanting her to have his son, and name him John Baron. So I don’t think his ideas of having more children was because of Linda or Ginger specifically, I believe he just wanted a son, and would likely tell whatever woman that he was intending to be with for a long time, his idea

if y’all have made it this far, thank you for reading <3!! I’m always open to discussion and just remember most of this is just my personal opinions so don’t take anything as the cold truth until you have done research and decided for yourself. I’m curious to read what y’all think about everything 👀