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cheolaholic · 2 days

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ring of love; csc (07)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n;; im gonna be honest, i had no clue as to how im gonna write chapter 7 so i took a short break. that ended with me diving head first into love and deepspace which now has led me to a new obsession – Sylus. if you saw that post i made abt LNDS a few weeks ago, that has manifested into a side blog @chaeriescola where i’ll be posting my-non kpop related fics (read: Sylus & Zayne brainrot) also, i’m on Patreon now !! if you join my Patreon, you’ll get early access to the fics (a week early before they get posted on tumblr & ao3), exclusive bonus content, sneak peeks of other projects etc. if you’d like these special treats, feel free to join 👀 enough of me yapping, onto the fic~

Seungcheol wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when he tasked Mingyu and Vernon to look after you – considering how they both absolutely suck at understanding the whole “look after ___ for me but, don’t let her catch you” concept. He’s seen them tail behind you, possibly raising concerns in some students and staff whether they were stalking you from the moment they spotted you.

coups: can’t you two be more discreet? coups: you both look like you’re the worst stalkers gameboi: ? tallgyu: I think we’re doing a good job alien-non: yea, she hasn’t noticed us gameboi: you really got Mingyu and Hansol to tail after ___? gameboi: no offense to all 3 of you gameboi: but Hansol’s logic is practically gone if Mingyu’s leading tallgyu: HEY alien-non: I suggested we wear disguises but Mingyu didn’t want to! tallgyu: those weirdly shaped sunglasses are way too obvious coups: what you’re doing now is way more obvious! tallgyu: she hasn’t noticed us tallgyu: it’s fine hyung coups: Vernon alien-non: yes coups: you know how aware ___ is of her surroundings coups: she’s probably already spotted you both gameboi: but chose not to say anything

As if on cue, when they both turned a corner, they were both startled to come face-to-face with you, arms crossed, staring right at them.

“You’ve both been following me for the past hours, can I help you?” you ask, eyes narrowing when they both exchange a look.

“Well…” Mingyu started, “We… We just wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost…?”

Vernon mentally facepalms at Mingyu’s response while you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, “To make sure I wouldn’t get lost…? On a campus I’ve been attending for at least 2 years…?”

“Seungcheol hyung wanted us to look after you,” Vernon confesses, “I don’t know why, but he just told us to keep an eye on you.”

“And, so, you’ve decided to follow me around?”

“Mingyu was the one who suggested it…”

“You both would make terrible secret agents…” Seungcheol mumbled as he came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he sent glares to the two younger males. “Cheol, I’m a big girl now – I can handle myself!”

“I know, I know,” he admits, “And, I’m sorry, pup-”

“Pup? You call her ‘pup’?” Your ears burned red at Mingyu’s question, forgetting that not everyone grew up with you and Seungcheol or knowing the reason that he calls you that.

“It’s a nickname I gave her while we were growing up,” Seungcheol answers, “And, it stuck with her since.”

“She grew up with you? Oh, you poor thing,” Mingyu faked cries as he pulls you into an embrace, “He must’ve picked on you non-stop.”

“Actually, he didn’t pick on me.” The taller male pulls away, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at your answer. “He stood for me and may or may not have threatened the people that did pick on me.” He looks at Seungcheol with a look of betrayal, “That’s not fair! Why does she get special treatment while you keep picking on me!?”

Seungcheol pries Mingyu away from you, his arm returning to its position on your waist as he answers, “Because you’re Mingyu, and she’s… she’s ___.”

‘Well… this is… awkward…’ you thought to yourself as you sat in front of Wonwoo, one of the other boys you had briefly met that night. Seungcheol suggested you meet the three of them altogether, mainly Mingyu and Wonwoo since you were already best friends with Vernon, to somewhat break the ice.

‘Choi Seungcheol, you ass, this is anything but breaking the ice! If anything, this is increasing the freezing point of the ice!’

Unfortunately, Seungcheol’s plan of grabbing lunch together is now facing a setback. You had no classes that day, Wonwoo finished his, but Seungcheol, Mingyu and Vernon were being held back for their classes.

“Seungcheol, I’ve only met him once!” you whisper-shouted into your phone, “And, neither of us exchanged a single conversation since!”

“I know, I know,” Seungcheol answers, wracking his head to come up with solutions, “But, this lecturer is talking so slow that I have no choice!”

“What about Vernon and Mingyu?”

A sigh was heard, “Apparently, the model was being fussy about how she should be posing for their portrait. The lecturer needed her to be partially clothed, but since Mingyu was in the class… You can fill in the blanks…”

You let out a sigh, looking into the windows of the cafe as Wonwoo sits at a booth near the pick-up counter, “How much longer until you all are able to get here?”

“Probably an hour… And another 20 minutes to get there. Hey, you and Wonwoo both like drinking coffee and are introverts! Maybe you both can try talking to break the ice.”

Oh, boy, did Seungcheol underestimate the introversion you and Wonwoo possess. You had initially tried to have small talk with him, only to chicken out when he looked at you with that piercing gaze through his glasses. It’s been half an hour since you sat down at the booth with him, your strawberry milkshake sitting on a coaster as he goes to order possibly his third cup of cappuccino.

When he returns with his drink, you can’t help but ask, “Isn’t that… too much caffeine…?”

Wonwoo seemed a bit taken back when you finally opened your mouth to talk, but he recovers quickly and shrugs, “Honestly, after drinking caffeine for years, you kind of grow immune to it. You should’ve seen Mingyu’s reaction when he found me sleeping after downing 5 cans of Monster.”

“Five!?”

“Yes, five.”

“And, you were still able to sleep?”

“Like a baby.”

Wonwoo was surprisingly easy to talk to – you just needed to get over your social anxiety and the very intimidating resting bitch face he has. You’ve come to learn that the man in front of you was GAM3BO1WOO, a famous game streamer on SVTwitch. You’ve seen a few of his stream clips on your feed, but you weren’t exactly a fan of his since his taste in games and yours were vastly different.

“Do you play every new game release?” you asked, scrolling through his MAESTRO account and skimming through his posts.

“It depends, actually. If a new game really catches my eye, then I’ll download it. Other than that, either the companies sponsored me to stream their games, my followers keep requesting that I play the game they think would suit me or want to see me play. Sometimes, Mingyu and Cheol would gift me co-op games since a lot of them have the mechanic of if one player already owns the game, the second player plays for free.”

“Have you ever hopped on trends?”

“It drives traffic and increases my followers, can’t really complain.”

You’re not sure how long you’ve been conversing with Wonwoo. But, it was definitely long enough for neither of you to notice the three men standing right outside the window, watching you two fondly and surprised. “They’re… talking…” Mingyu says in awe, a chuckle from Seungcheol following afterwards, “Nice to know two of our introverts are getting along just fine.”

You noticed them from the corner of your eyes, turning to the window, Wonwoo following to look at them. You smiled, giving them a small wave which they returned while the latter gave a small nod of his head.

“Sorry for keeping the two of you waiting,” Seungcheol apologised the second he got to the booth, taking a seat next to you. Mingyu and Vernon took their seats next to Wonwoo after placing their orders at the counter. “Aren’t you going to get anything?” you asked the older male, looking up at him as you took a sip from your milkshake.

“I’m assuming you’re waiting for me so you can order some kind of snack which we either share or I finish the remaining you can’t.” When you don’t answer and avert his gaze, Seungcheol knows he caught you red-handed. He chuckles as he gets out of the booth and towards the counter, which unfortunately for you, leads to an interrogation by the other three boys – technically, it was mainly Mingyu with the occasional questioning from Vernon. Wonwoo just sits quietly, listening in as his eyes would dart between you, your two ‘interrogators’ and Seungcheol who was still lining up.

The two men asked you the questions you’d expect.

“How old were you when you met Seungcheol hyung?”

“I think… I think I was 5? He should be about 7 or 8?”

“What did he look like back then? Did he look like a nerd?”

“Well, he had the signature bowl kid every boy got when they were kids or teens.”

“Was he scary?”

“Kind of? Not a lot of people messed with me because of how protective he was over me.”

“Mess with little red riding hood, the big bad wolf will come and get you.”

All attention was on Seungcheol as he placed a plate of strawberry cake and a plate of a dozen brownies on the table, returning to his seat right next to you. Noticing the stunned expressions from his peers, he shrugs, “That was what they’d always say to anyone trying to approach her with ill intentions. It’s basically their way of saying ‘if you don’t want trouble, don’t go looking for trouble’.”

An easier way to put it was – if you don’t want to deal with an angry Seungcheol, don’t bother his girl. Your heart still flutters at how some people referred to you as ‘his girl’, but you knew that actually being his girl was nothing more than a dream to you. “By the way hyung, when’s your next fight? Maybe ___ could come and help out, y’know?” Vernon asks, reaching out to grab a brownie only for his hand to be lightly slapped by Seungcheol. “Ow! What was that for!?”

“If you want them, go get them yourselves,” the older male answers, pushing the plate of brownies towards you. “These are for ___. If you want one, go get one yourself.” Your face heats up at the gesture, and heats up further when the three males turn to you. “Why does she get special treatment?” Mingyu whines, “And how can she possibly finish that entire plate?”

Seungcheol pats your head as he answers, “Because she’s ___. And, yes, she can. If she can’t, I’ll finish it.”

“Can we have a piece if you’re the one finishing it up?”

“No, get your own.”

“Ah, hyung!”

You’ve managed to bond with Wonwoo and Mingyu, becoming close with them in a matter of days and now, you’ve got four ‘bodyguards’ walking around with you (Mingyu refers to them as that, the others and you just play along). The downside that comes with the friendship would be a flock of envious fangirls (and occasionally fanboys) who had begun to buzz around you like moths attracted to light.

“How did you become friends with Wonwoo? Could you ask him to shout me out on his streams or MAESTRO account?”

“Is Mingyu single? Could you introduce me to him?”

“Would you like to be friends? I’d love to be friends with the boys!”

Both boys could see you were tired of the clout chasers, especially Wonwoo since he knows you value your personal space. Both men had taken the issue to their social media, expressing how they’d appreciate it if their ‘fans’ stopped bugging their friends and loved ones in an attempt to get close with them. You remembered when both of them addressed the issue on Wonwoo’s stream, the sternness in both their voices still sent shivers down your spine.

“We understand that you may think you know us as we both are content creators and certain information has been released about us online. While we may not be able to put an end to the parasocial relationship that you have built with us, we do not know you and you do not know us. Do not harass our friends and loved ones, and if your unhealthy obsession of us persists, please seek help.”

That was enough for a majority of the fanboys/fangirls to back off. Some still linger, but they were no longer up close and in your face bombarding you with questions or requests.

Currently, Wonwoo, Mingyu and Vernon sat in a discussion room within the library as they waited for Seungcheol and you. It was a small meet-up, but it could also be treated as a short co-working/co-studying meet-up. Your class was ending later than usual and Seungcheol offered to wait for you so both of you could walk to the library.

Beauty and the Beasts

mingoo: @princess how much longer is the lecture gonna take?

princess: erm… another 15 mins?

princess: …

princess: who set my nickname as princess in the gc?

All four boys replied altogether and you playfully rolled your eyes.

mingoo: coups hyung

vernonnie: cheol hyung

nonu: seungcheol

cheol: i did

cheol: i got you your coffee order btw

mingoo: what about us?

cheol: you lot already got your orders before you headed to the library

mingoo: i’m assuming you got her snacks too

cheol: yes

cheol: and they’re only for ___

cheol: so don’t try to steal them

Mingyu lets out a groan as he lays his upper body on the table. “It’s not fair,” he whines, “Why does Seungcheol hyung give ___ special treatment? Is it because she’s a girl?” Vernon shrugs, “Maybe? But, he’s treated his exes the same way, too.”

“Yeah, I know that, Vernon. But, isn’t there something different?”

Mingyu sits up as he looks at Vernon, his words seeming to be hinting at something as the younger male sits in silence. “It’s like he’s more attentive, more caring. Like, he was caring before to the other girls, but there’s this extra layer to it, y’know?”

“He means there’s more than meets the eye,” Wonwoo says, “I think what Mingyu’s trying to say is that Seungcheol is whipped for ___.”

“Yes!” Mingyu exclaims, pointing at Wonwoo with a puppy-like grin on his face, “But, also no? I don’t know! They grew up together so maybe it’s like a habit he has or a sense of responsibility he feels?”

“But, who would want to call their childhood best friend who is now an adult ‘pup’?” Vernon questions, and Wonwoo tips his pencil in the younger male’s direction, “Precisely. Everyone would grow out of it, much less a nickname like that. Hell, would you call any of your friends that kind of name as an adult?”

Mingyu hums in understanding. All three of them knew just how shameless Seungcheol could be sometimes. Vernon bites back a gag when he recalls accidentally witnessing Seungcheol and his then girlfriend making out in his car, in the campus’ parking lot - in broad daylight. He pitied his therapist who had to listen to him ramble on and on about suspecting the older male having an exhibitionist kink.

“So, you really think he’s whipped for her?”

“Seungcheol barely remembers your favourite cake, but he remembers ___’s coffee order.”

“He probably has it written down somewhere?”

“I beg to differ,” Vernon speaks up.

He joined Seungcheol to get coffee a few weeks ago. While Seungcheol was ordering his, you had texted Vernon saying your Business Module class had completely drained you and you were in need of a quick pick me up. All he did was say, “___ wants us to help get her coffee,” and Seungcheol began reciting your order to the barista without a second thought.

“He knew it like the back of his hand! Not a single thing was missed out!”

As Mingyu and Vernon continue to discuss Seungcheol's love life, Wonwoo glances down at his phone as it vibrates, a notification from you. Opening up the text app on his laptop, he types out his reply.

___: hey woo?

___: is it ok if i call you that-

wonwoo: yes?

wonwoo: n yes, perfectly fine

___: ok

___: um, so the class im in rn, we’re almost done btw!

___: they need me to write some kind of paper abt how psychology n business work

___: n since you’re a psych major

wonwoo: you need my help, yes?

___: bingo

___: is it possible for you to help me?

wonwoo: sure thing

wonwoo: why don’t you go over the details with me once you’re out of class?

wonwoo: we’ve booked the discussion room for the entire day

___: don’t the others have class?

Wonwoo can feel Mingyu and Vernon standing behind him as they “observe” his conversation with you. “Oooh, you’re texting his girl~” Mingyu teases, earning a glare from the older male that shuts him up immediately. “She needs help with her coursework and I have relevant information that can help her,” he replies as he resumes to type out his reply.

wonwoo: seungcheol only has one class today iirc

wonwoo: gyu and vernon have some kind of workshop in an hour

___: oh, cool!

___: then i can also get cheollie’s opinion

“Do you think they have a thing for each other?” Vernon asks, seemingly picking up on certain signs just from the text Wonwoo had just exchanged with you.

“Who? Seungcheol hyung and ___?” Mingyu asks back and he nods. The taller male thinks for a while, recalling the times that he’s seen any form of interaction or exchanged conversation the pair have shared. “Maybe? But, there weren’t any obvious signs that explicitly showed that Seungcheol or ___ like the other.”

“Well, there is a saying that love is in plain sight. Or that whole “you were hiding in plain sight” trend that was going around CIRCLES a few months ago.”

“Should we play cupid?”

“I think it’d be best if we don’t interfere with their love life.”

Wonwoo had a point. While their curiosity was gnawing away, the last thing they’d wanna do is accidentally driving a wedge between you and Seungcheol. It would be worse if they were reading the room wrong and neither of you were harbouring any feelings for the other. “But, that doesn’t mean we can’t find some clues to answer our hypothesis.”

Mingyu and Vernon looked at the older male who was still typing on his laptop. “Are we conducting experiments on them now?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. I’d say it’s more of observing their interactions with each other.”

“We’ll leave the psychology part to the psych major.”

“If this ends up being your thesis paper, Woo, we’d better be given credits.”

Later that night…

gyu created the group Operation Cupid 💘

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwooo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetner @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnothelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp @shingbangyes @black-swan-blog27 @minhui896

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sleepynoons · 2 days

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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

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.”

#honkai star rail #honkai sr #hsr #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #honkai star rail jing yuan #honkai sr jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan fluff #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x reader #honkai sr x reader #jing yuan honkai star rail #jing yuan hsr #jing yuan honkai sr #nereids' realm #house of solis occasum #carrot cake!

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epicbuddieficrecs · 1 day

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Favorite Season 6 fics

So these used to be called "Fic recs for my BFF", but unfortunately I was unable to sway her to buddie, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ these are just for me now (and you guys too I guess 😅)

Season 6

🔥Curl Up in My Heart and Let Me Keep You by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Animal Transformation | 10K | Teen): When an orange tabby cat starts hanging around the Diaz house, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. The little guy's cute and cuddly, and seems to always know when Eddie's having a bad time. Weird how the cat's never around when Buck is, though.

🔥let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): “It’s just that—I died,” Buck continues, voice unsteady enough that Eddie wonders if this is the first time he’s acknowledged that out loud. “I died, and there’s so much more. There’s so much more I want to do, things I don’t even know I want to do yet, and I almost had the chance to have and live them taken away. I don’t want to die and regret missing out on everything else, Eddie.” “So let’s make a list,” Eddie says. “Let’s do them.” or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

🔥like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): The kid with blood pouring down his shins is not so far from the dog lonely enough that he thinks breaking his housetraining is worth it for the ten minutes of berating that come with it, the ten minutes of undivided, if reluctant, attention. Buck thinks, sometimes, that at least he wasn’t the kind of puppy that gets put in a sack and drowned at birth. He wasn’t always unwanted. And he isn’t anymore. or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

🔥Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): "Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. — Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together. (Part 1 of homeward bound)

🔥find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date. “Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.” Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out. — the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

🔥Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-S6, Getting Together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

🔥 Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

🔥 Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

🔥 where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (or: Buck can see that people become transparent when they're about to die) (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

🔥 Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): "I've been wondering…" Maddie pauses, watches Buck make a face like he's bracing to be smacked. "What happened with Eddie? You two were dancing around it for so long, and then… what, it just didn't work out? Was the date really that bad?" She's expecting another wince, or even for him to duck out of the conversation entirely, but instead Buck is staring at her like she's grown a second head. "Maddie. I've never been on a date with Eddie." Or: the poker game was a date. It takes Buck a while to catch on, though.

🔥 situations, circumstances, miscommunications ( i just may like some explanations ) by heartbeatdiaz / @lonelychicago (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | Teen): "You didn't know?" Eddie asks, calmer but not less confused. He frowns. "How could you not know?" "You never said anything?" Buck tilts his head to the side. "We were dating?” “I guess not,” Eddie sighs. His heart is beating a little faster, an unpleasant buzz beneath his skin as he all but chokes on a feeling he can’t quite name— it could be hurt or disappointment or maybe a mix of both. In that moment, he knows three things very clearly. 1. Buck is going to be the death of him. 2. He is in love with the most dense, most oblivious man on planet Earth. 3. He is too gay and, honestly, too old for this shit.

🔥listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee/ @theladyyavilee (Presumed Dead | 41K | Teen): The thing is – and Eddie should have known this, has been taught this cruel lesson over and over and over again – the thing is most of the time the worst day of your life will start like just any other day. A million small moments, so familiar and mundane you almost don’t even notice them slipping by - until you would give anything to go back and get just one more. (You can’t.) — Or the one where Buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and Eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone

🔥Eddie Diaz vs The Feelings by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Season 6, Sexuality Crisis, Demisexual Eddie | 62K | Explicit): Eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. AKA demisexual!Eddie figures out he’s demi and finds the happily ever after he’s been longing for

🔥tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): "Think I can get a hug from my best man on my wedding day?" he asks, quietly hopeful in a way that makes Eddie want to tear off his skin. "Sure," Chris replies with a shrug, turning to throw Eddie a cheeky grin. "Dad, Buck needs a hug." Two things happen at once then: Eddie has to plaster on a smile authentic enough to convince the one person on this planet that knows him inside out—except he doesn't really have to fake his smile, not at first, because of number two—he sees groom-Buck for the first time. And groom-Buck is every bit as beautiful as Eddie might have imagined him over the years. For a moment, Eddie falls into the greatest betrayal his brain has ever laid out for him, imagining that he might have got to see Buck like this for the first time from the other end of the aisle— (OR: eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia)

🔥 Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6, Amnesia AU | 40K | Teen): After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

🔥 but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

🔥 a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-S6, Eddie Coming Out | 117K | Explicit): Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

AUs

🔥Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU, Post-S4E13: Suspicion | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

🔥 Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

🔥like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): He completely pulls the charger from the wall as he fumbles to put in his passcode. He doesn’t know who to call first. Everyone is busy, carrying on with their lives and Buck is stuck here in the loft with the terrifying ghost of his childhood like an omen. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the Crooked Smiled Man now standing in the dark entrance way to his bathroom. He swallows around the taste of blood in his mouth, hands shaking, useless as his list of contacts blur beneath the burn of tears. Eddie Eddie Eddie. He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from, but it’s sudden and sharp and excruciating. Eddie is the first name at the top of his list, his most recent calls and texts, and he doesn’t hesitate to hit the call button. [or buck can see ghosts au]

🔥All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

🔥 Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 50K | Explicit): Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

🔥 let it pour out of your soul series by Rianne/ @rianneeyre (Magical Realism AU, Witch Eddie | 3 works | 71K | Complete):

collectively unconsciously composed (S4E6: Jinx | 46K | Explicit): Or: in which the author re-watched Buck Begins and Jinx and thought: what if this was gayer and had actual magic?

that systematic drug (PWP | 5K | Explicit): Eddie’s mouth goes dry when he opens the door and sees Buck. He’s clean-shaven and with his hair carefully styled back, smiling at Eddie sweetly and a little teasingly. Buck is wearing his dark jeans and his light blue v-neck polo shirt, the one that’s tight enough that it shows off the bulge of his biceps and the definition of his pecs and abs. Eddie knows this shirt. Buck's favourite, because he knows he looks good in it.

something binding us together (Established Buddie | 20K | Teen): Or: Eddie plans a long-avoided visit to his parents, discovers some things about his magic, and begins to build his family a home in LA's witching community.

#buddie #epic buddie fic rec #favorites #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfiction

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flowerfreya · 1 day

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The Office AU

part 17 - Poly!141 The men are trying to show reader that they like , but she has some issues reading the signs Pairing: poly!141 x reader

There has been a lot of causal touching. That you are starting to slowly freak you out.

Everytime John calls you into his office to ask for a really simple and almost down right disrespectful task that he is asking for you to do.

“Hey bird, need your help for something”, John calls to you , leaning against the doorway in his office.

“Sure, let me just find a stopping point”, you could stop at any point but just wanted to seem like you were doing something, not because you aren't doing anything but because you always finish your work early in the day. Standing up and walking over to his office , he puts his hand on your lower back as you walk in, it has you stiffening up and developing a little sweat on your hands. You don’t know what he means when he touches you like this.

Is he doing it on purpose?

Does he always touch women like this or just you?

Does he like me ?

“Can’t figure out the printer again”, he says, a little too shameful. Considering you’ve shown him how to do this a couple of times already and he just seems to not be getting it. You go over the steps again , sitting down in his chair and you swivel around to him to see if he’s got it.

“Does that make sense”, you ask him. Look up at him. He then crowds your space and points to the screen and asks a question but you miss it because all you can do is feel his body heat.

He’s standing right behind you leaning over, which puts some weight on his body on your shoulder.

You breathe in long and hard and swear you can smell his deodorant and a little of his natural body musk.

You want to have an oxygen mask of just that scent and only have that survive.

He brings you out of the haze when he lays his hand on you shoulder, “think I got it, hen”

“Got what”, you ask.

“Seems like it printed”, he says, then points to the door frame where Gaz is standing holding what looks to be about 20 copies of some order form.

“Oh”, you let out quietly, standing up from his chair , “let me know if you need anything else”, you say as you walk out. Going immediately to the bathroom and re applying some powder because you know you are shiny after going through that tortuous 20 minutes.

You do your nails almost every two weeks. Since you do it yourself it takes forever and you always had a design or too and you’ve been getting better at it.

So when Soap grabs both of hands and stares at your nails, you forget that you did themand the only thought that is going through your head is that his hands are soft.

“This look right good," he says , leaning on your desk and bringing your hands closer to his face.

“Yer did it yourself?”, he ask and you know it takes a second to answer him but he’s still holding your hands and it’s kinda hard to focus.

You answer and it gets you excited about your nails. You're super proud of them.

Then god damn him , he starts giving your hands a massage.

You were not prepared for that, letting out a quick but low moan.

It has Soap stopping what he’s doing , giving your a little smirk , “feel good?”.

“J-just surprised me is all”, it did feel good but you didn’t want him to know that, you don’t even know how he feels about you.

He still flirts with everyone that comes in this office. And he’s playful. Maybe a bit too playful. You’ve done playful before and that just turn into taking care of all the important stuff because “your better at that stuff” and whole bunch of resentment.

Pulling your hands away slowly , you thank him for the compliments and start to open your yogurt that doubles as your breakfast. As he walks away, “that yogurt is expired”, he says. Which has you looking down and you see the expiration date of two days ago.

#task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #tf141 x reader #x reader #poly!141 x reader #simon ghost x reader #captain john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader

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choiuikawa · 3 days

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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ Rainy Days

CONTENT: it's just you and your boyfriend Kuroo Tetsurou on a rainy day.

WARNINGS: fluff, GN reader, smitten Kuroo, reader hated rainy days, college AU, they both live in the same apartment, lowkey corny, OOC.

author's note: HI! this is my first post on this account, im not good at writing but I do hope you enjoy! ^_^

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

You have always despised rainy days, but your boyfriend? He was the complete opposite. He loves it when it rains, especially on weekends. Whenever it rains and he has practice, he usually comes back home drenched in rain. She doesn't particularly mind, despite the fact that he ends up having fever.

Today was a dreary day, indicating rainfall. You groaned in frustration as it was supposed to be a good day today. You were expecting to go on a date with your boyfriend at a local cafe that has recently opened. Sadly, those expectations were broken down once it started dripping. As the both of you went home, you seemed dejected since you were really looking forward to heading over to that local cafe.

"Why the gloomy look baby? are you okay?" A low pitched voice stops you from getting farther into your headspace.

"Yeah I'm okay." You can't just hide how you actually feel, but being upset over a rainy day because you can't go and head over to a cafe for a date when you could literally just go the next day? You feel stupid.

"Don't hide how you feel. I can obviously tell that something is on your mind. Now tell me, what's wrong?" His voice was tender and gentle towards you, reassuring you that he was there to listen to you.

You hesitate for a few seconds then finally respond to him. "The rain ruined our date today, and I was really looking forward to it. Especially since that cafe has just recently opened.. Including the fact that I've heard that their pastries and coffee's are amazing!" You ranted out towards him with sincerity in your voice.

He looks at you for a moment then his face immediately softens. "Baby, we can just have a date at home. And, we can make good food just like the food and coffee in the cafe. Plus, it's just the both of us. So cheer up okay?" he plants a kiss on your cheek, and your entire mood changes within seconds.

The moment the both of you got home, you had both changed into better clothing and started to brew up your own coffee and bake some delicious pastries. In the process of baking, the both of you messed up the batter since he couldn't stop laughing at the way the batter sort of splashed everywhere while using the mixer. They had both shared laughter and joy together while baking. In the end, it turned out.. decent.. I guess? they both gagged.

After all that has passed, night has fallen upon the day. Currently, it was still raining. Both bodies sprawled onto the couch, her body hugging his while their attention was on the TV in front of them since they were binge watching their favorite shows that they have both shared interest in. The notebook

He turned his attention to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek which caught her attention. "mm? What is it Tetsu?" you giggled.

"Jus' wanted my beautiful lovely partner's attention." he muttered out, purely toned with love and adoration towards you.

You returned back the kiss on his lips, pulling away a few moments later. Your lips had a lingering feel on his, he felt butterflies in his stomach. Sure, it isn't the first time you have kissed, but he was always smiling and looking at you with the most smitten and lovey eyes you could imagine. You never fail to make him fall in love with you again and again.

"I know you don't like rainy days, but this was my favorite day." he proudly says while nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

And there, you realize. maybe,

rainy days aren't so bad after all...

when its with him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

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fluentmoviequoter · 16 hours

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We've Got Time

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!French/American!reader

Summary: You return to Los Angeles from France to visit your childhood friend Lucy Chen and find everything your heart has needed.

Warnings: fluff, r makes Tim a little nervous

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Come on!” Lucy groans. “I told you not to eat macarons when you can’t share.”

You smile guiltily and set the pastel pink macaron back on the hand-painted dish beside your phone. “Sorry, Luce.”

Lucy sighs, and a pang in your heart reminds you how much you miss her. She became your best friend during summers in America as a kid, but you haven’t had a chance to visit the States in too long.

“How’s policing going?” you inquire.

“As good as it can, I guess. Tim is still grumpy and finds something wrong with most of my decisions, but I’m learning.”

“You’re good at everything you decide to put your mind to, Lucy, and no matter what this Tim guy says, you’re going to be a great cop.”

“I think an éclair would make me a better cop,” Lucy replies with a dramatic pout.

“Éclairs au chocolate make everything better.”

“Boot!” someone yells in the background, causing Lucy to roll her eyes.

“Bye, Lucy,” you say. “Je t’aime.”

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t tease me with macarons and French countryside on all of our calls. But… I love you, too.”

Your phone screen changes as Lucy ends the call, and as you trace the paint on your plate with your eyes, you decide what to do. It’s time to visit your best friend.

You straighten your jacket as the U.S. customs officer looks through your bag. Your French and American passports sit on the metal desk as he lifts a wrapped Saint Laurent box.

“Uhm,” the man begins before mouthing a few words. “Contenu de cette…”

“I speak English,” you offer with a smile. “It’s a purse, gift for a friend.”

He nods and returns the box to your suitcase before he leans forward to zip it. “You’re free to go. Welcome to Los Angeles.”

“Thank you.”

As you pull your suitcases through Los Angeles International Airport, you smile. Your excitement to surprise Lucy increases as you near her police station, hoping to brighten her day.

“You’re looking for Chen?” someone asks.

You look up from your phone and across the police station lobby. The officer is handsome - stern but attractive, which tells you he’s…

“Officer Bradford, I presume,” you reply as you stand. “I am. I understand if she’s busy, though. I can surprise her later.”

“Surprise? Oh, you’re the friend that lives in France.”

Your eyes widen in surprise that he’d remember that. When you nod, he turns and walks away. Left to stare after him, you shrug and pick up your bag. You have Lucy’s address, so you’ll wait for her at her apartment.

“Yes, sir,” Lucy says.

You stop and watch the doorway where Tim went, and when Lucy steps through, she freezes.

“No more French countryside in the background, as requested,” you joke.

Lucy gasps as she runs toward you, and you’re wrapped in a signature Lucy hug. You tighten your arms around her as she whispers how much she missed you.

“Napa’s not close enough to the French riviera for you, Chen?” Tim asks as she steps out of your arms.

“Oh,” you tut, shaking your head at him. “There’s no comparison, mon chéri.”

Tim’s lips quirk up as he tilts his head to the side. You ignore Lucy’s questioning look or her growing smile following your pet name.

“I know you’re at work,” you tell Lucy, “but I just had to let you know I was here.”

“Thank you! I’ll give you a key to my apartment and you can stay with me, okay?”

“Lucy, I can’t impose-“

“Forget I asked, I’ll get the key.”

Lucy rushes away before you can argue further, and you’re left alone with Tim again.

“Thank you for letting me see her,” you say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I just didn’t want to hear her complain about missing you for another hour of patrol.”

You smile and agree, “Sure.”

“Uh, so, how long are you in town?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you answer with a shrug. “I came in on a one-way ticket.”

Tim nods, his fingers fidgeting along his belt. “Chen’s taking a while.”

“She is.”

After an awkward pause, Tim sighs and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Yes?” you encourage.

“If you need anything while you’re here, I could- could help you out. If you want.”

“And how would I be able to ask for your help?”

“I could give you my number.”

“What would Lucy think?” you ask quietly, smiling so Tim knows you aren’t saying no.

“Probably a lot.”

You laugh as you pass your unlocked phone to Tim. He types his information in quickly, then sends himself a text before he returns your phone, his fingers brushing yours.

“Here you go!” Lucy announces as she returns. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back around 7, after my shift ends.”

“Merci, amie.”

As you hug Lucy, you wink at Tim over her shoulder. A trip to Los Angeles was the right choice for more reasons than you thought.

“What’s mon chéri mean?” Tim asks as he and Lucy leave the station after their shift.

“I think that’s a question for the one who called you that, Tim,” Lucy replies. “Maybe you should take her out to dinner and ask all about it.”

“But we-“

“You’re terrible at hiding your vast emotional range, Tim. Call her.”

The next night, you meet Tim outside a restaurant of his choosing. After you gifted Lucy the YSL bag and a vintage band t-shirt, she repaid your kindness by letting you borrow a dress and helping you prepare for your date with Tim Bradford. Now, you laugh to yourself as Tim walks to greet you.

“Petit Trois,” you murmur. “You do know that taking a French girl to an American French restaurant is probably a terrible idea, right?”

“Probably. But the chef is French, and you’re the only person I know that can tell me if this is authentic cuisine,” Tim answers. “Unless you’re in the mood for American, in which case, there’s a McDonald’s down the street.”

“No, let’s try little three. If they don’t have éclairs au chocolate, though, you owe me a Frosty.”

Tim offers his arm, and you loop your arm through his as he leads you inside. The conversation comes easily, and between Tim, Lucy, and all of the good memories you have here, you’re beginning to wonder if you even want to return to France anytime soon.

“You met Lucy when you were kids?” Tim inquires after you order.

“I did. My dad’s American, and we spent summers in California when I was young. Lucy was the best friend I ever had, and we stayed close. Even after I moved back to France full-time.”

“What’s your favorite thing about France? Besides the pastries, of course.”

“The scenery, the slow and easy pace. It’s so different from America, but it’s beautiful.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“What about you? What makes California home?”

“The Dodgers.” You shake your head, and Tim offers, “Everything I love is here. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I feel most like me in Los Angeles, I guess.”

“That’s beautiful, mon chéri.”

Tim still doesn’t know what it means exactly, but he falls for you when you take his hand and call him yours. Everything that you love about France, what makes it beautiful and special to you, he sees it in you: your beauty, kindness, and grace. Lucy seemed to think something would happen between you and Tim, and, for once, he wouldn’t mind if she was right.

A week after arriving in Los Angeles, you’ve settled into Lucy’s guest room and have made no plans to leave. You’ve gone out with Tim, caught up with Lucy, and remembered why you loved summers in Los Angeles.

“Lucy,” you begin as you bake macarons together. “Can I ask you something?”

“About Tim?” she guesses.

“Not just Tim. I… I’ve been thinking a lot and I’m not sure I want to go back to France. Not for a while, at least.”

“Are you serious?” Lucy asks excitedly, dropping her spoon onto the counter. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“So, you’d be okay with it? Me staying? I could get my own place or pay rent, whatever, but…”

“Of course, I’d love to have you here!”

“Do you think Tim will want to keep seeing me if I stay?” you ask softly.

Lucy lays her hands on your shoulders and smiles. “Tim feels exactly the same. He wants you to stay because he likes spend time with you. Maybe even more than that.”

“But, he-“

“No,” Lucy interrupts. “Trust me on this. You have to follow your heart. You taught me that when we were kids, remember? My heart couldn’t buy me a plane to France, but it was still good advice.”

You nod and lean forward to hug Lucy. “Merci,” you say against her shoulder. “I’ll follow my heart.”

Lucy pushes you back and points to the door. “Do it now.”

“The macarons,” you argue.

“I can finish them!” she replies. Then, she purses her lips and admits, “I can do my best.”

You assure her they’ll be perfect before you grab your bag and rush out the door. Your outfit feels incomplete without the jacket you like to wear over your tied shirt, but it’s the least of your concerns as you follow your heart straight to Tim Bradford.

“Hey,” he greets as he opens the door. “Did we have plans? I was just-“

“Je t’aime,” you interrupt breathlessly. “I love you, Tim. And I’m staying in the States because all that my heart wants is here.”

“Don’t stay just for me or Lucy, okay?” he says, stepping toward you. “Whatever you want-“

“It’s all here. I want to stay.”

Tim smiles and says, “Well, with all this time, maybe you can teach me how to make your first love.”

“Éclairs au chocolat?” you fill in. “Anytime, mon amour.”

“What are you calling me?” he inquires.

You lay your hand against his cheek and promise, “We’ve got time for you to learn.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader #the rookie abc

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yousaydisco · 2 days

Text

THIS GOT SUPER LONG WHOOPS

I can't stop thinking about this post (TL;DR it is about how Kim's life is almost as sad as Harry's due to how he has lived his entire life as horribly repressed, not allowing himself the freedom of his own silliness which is why he is such a good pairing for Harry, since they are both silly) and I started thinking about thoughts

specifically how this knowledge would fit into a swap AU

like a lot of other people here, I really like a swap AU and I think it allows for a fun way to flip each character on its head and examine a Harry who is more cleaned up vs a Kim who is more of a disaster, and how Harry would fit taking a more patient role to a Kim that lost his memory. But! A problem I have with a lot of swap AU's is that Kim just. . . would never be allowed to be a disaster like Harry is.

If Kim was like Harry, who was brilliant and highly capable and basically the perfect detective except for substance abuse problems, explosive personality, narcissistic traits (looking at you, Superstar), and overall impossible to control, he would get fired. He wouldn't be given 500 chances like Harry (presumably) has. So in his swap AU, Kim is still his highly controlled self and Harry is slightly less of a disaster. Enough so that he doesn't drink himself to amnesia at the start of the case, but he is still a mess dealing with all his stuff.

So how did Kim lose his memory? Probably a car accident. Had to get dragged out of his precious Kineema and its completely totaled, he was hold up at the Whirling-In-Rags as he healed and woke up with just. No memory.

And no reason to repress anything anymore.

Some scenes:

Harry arrived at the crime scene days late because he was avoiding work to get drunk, which is also why Jean Vic isn't with him either because he's sick of babysitting him so when he gets to the Whirling and hears that the other officer hasn't been picking up the slack and instead is horribly injured he's like. Fuck!

Kim doesn't remember shit. Not about him, not about the world, but after some time wandering behind Harry all dazed and confused he finally sees Harry's car and GASPS and rushes over. He examines this thing top to bottom and spouts off trivia facts a mile a minute at Harry, who is just standing there like 'I thought this guy had brain damage' but he listens. So patiently.

He eventually does have to stop him though. He says its for the case, but it's really when Kim starts looking at the interior and he doesn't want him to see the mess in there. Or how badly he's taking care of the car.

Harry isn't sure why he's suddenly so insecure about being seen as messy in front of his guy. Whatever.

During the field autopsy Harry, who is horribly hungover, still throws up. Kim still comforts him by rubbing his back, probably went ahead and pull his hair away from Harry's face, and then pats around his pockets for the handkerchief.

Kim gets an inkling of a feeling that he's missing something (his notebook, though he doesn't know that yet) but Harry doesn't notice what is going on in Kim's head yet, when he probably normally would, because his highly highly repressed bi-sexuality is rearing his head because there is this guy just casually touching him lovingly and he can't think.

(Kim probably also lost his gun and badge, it fell out of his jacket when he was being dragged from the car, but Harry told him that in their first conversation. He wouldn't know that Kim is also missing a notebook)

Kim is also putting in all his effort into the field autopsy. He's like, I'm a cop? Okay, let's solve this!

When Harry suggests that Kim get on his shoulders to get the hanged man down he's like, hmm you look strong enough to carry me alright let's try that, and Harry barely has time to register that this guy called him STRONG LOOKING before Kim is climbing on him and he has to try and appear COMPLETLY 100% STRAIGHT.

He succeeds, but mostly because Kim is too focused on getting the corpse down. If he looked at Harry's face it would be very obvious.

But the actual autopsy = Kim probably approaches it mostly fearless. And he's trying to be really observant to make up for his eyesight not being all that great, and he's probably talking out loud about everything since he can't write it down. But it would still be Harry who noticed the bullet. Kim probably compliments Harry on his ability to see it and, again, Harry loses it a little bit.

Kim's interactions with Cuno and Cunoesse helps him unpack a few sense memories of going undercover with juvenile delinquents and he thinks the best way to talk to them is to relate to them. Somehow. All he can remember his trivia facts about Pinball and the best strategies to get a high school, and in between his lecture on it he sometimes breaks into rants about how Pinball sucks actually, and he hates it, and it makes him feel bad for reasons he doesn't know.

Harry tries to make Kim seem less weird by throwing in facts about Contact Mike.

More than anything it just baffles Cuno and Cunoesse.

When Kim hears that "Welcome to Revachol" for the first time he doesn't remember that its racist, but he does know how it makes him feel, so he's instantly pissed off. Harry, who is overall a good guy but has absolutely said racist stuff while drunk and probably the day before, goes off as well and stands up to the racist so Kim doesn't do something WORSE and get in trouble. It's not that Harry is socially aware enough that has a white guy he can get away with more stuff, he wants Kim to like him.

You know how at the end of day briefing in the game has Harry calling Kim so cool, and it feels like that is the moment where Kim is really endured to Harry? In this AU, Kim will say something like hey. We should hang out once the case is over. And Harry, who has a whole thing about feeling like he's terrible and horribly unlikeable and just wants someone to see him as a mess worthy of their time rather than just a fucked up person, finally admits to himself that he cannot repress this anymore and he might have a crush on this super cool weirdo.

(that doesn't mean Harry feels any better about himself, really. He's now just convinced that he has to Fix Himself Completely overnight so that he can actually help this guy regain his memories.)

(OH ACTUALLY! No, Harry doesn't want to help Kim regain his memories. He's not going to actively try and stop it if it happens, but he will secretly hope that he never remembers the world in case they met while Harry was blackout drunk and Kim won't like him anymore.)

A scene where Kim fiddles with Harry's radio and it starts playing disco. He can't help but let out an audible "ew." before switching it to Speedfreaks. Harry is offended to his CORE and they have a playful but still loud/heated argument about music.

THE BOARD GAME SCENE! Harry still gets Suzerainty and when he starts popping out the cardboard pieces Kim just SNATCHES it out of his hands. No apology. And he's having such an obvious blast just poking out the pieces and then taking out every part of the board game so he can see all the components (classic autism moment) that Harry impulsively (classic ADHD moment) buys multiple more board games just to give Kim more fun little pieces to poke out. And Kim loves it, and Harry thinks "I'm winning at making friends. I'm going to win a prize at making friends and the prize will be a friend :)"

They do eventually find Kim's badge and gun and Harry is very happy at that, but Kim is still like. Hmm. Something is missing.

When he finds his notebook he's just. SO HAPPY! He thinks its like being reunited with a friend. Probably hugs it/clutches it tight to his chest. But when he opens it he's like "god damn my handwriting is awful."

Harry asks to read it, mostly joking around, fully ready to steal it when Kim isn't looking, except Kim just. Hands it over. And doesn't stop Harry from reading it. And of course Harry does.

Kim doesn't really KNOW about homophobia so he probably just. Says gay shit all the time. And Harry can't deal with it. The scene with the smoker on the balcony is still really funny but it's less of Harry having a bi-panic moment (he still has elements of it though) but when Kim starts flirting back in earnest Harry is just. Jealous out of his mind. Puts a stop to it ASAP he's like "OKAY WE WILL TALK TO YOU LATER. ACTUALLY ONLY I WILL TALK TO YOU LATER. KIM LET'S GO!"

When Jean comes into the picture and starts arguing with/berating Harry, he's about ready to turn it into an all out brawl right there in the cafeteria, but Kim is like "HEY! You ass! He's been very helpful this whole time! Just because he's a drunk and he smells bad doesn't mean shit!"

Harry has heart eyes.

The tribunal has the injuries reversed, Kim gets shot and Harry gets the concussion and needs to keep Kim alive. Harry, who has been trying to sober up during the case for Kim's sake, takes speed to allow him to stay up to monitor Kim's health and as soon as Kim wakes up he's like "great! fantastic!" and passes the fuck out.

The whole thing with the Phasmid is the first time where Harry nerds out over something and not Kim. And Kim listens. And Harry probably cries because like, it's something he's allowed to like that isn't related to WORK and someone actually cares about what he is like when he isn't DETECTING and it helps him feel like a person rather than the Superstar Cop.

(Right after his rant on cryptids, Kim goes on a tangent about his cool camera and tells Harry every little thing about it and they just. Nerd out together).

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois #harrykim

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queen-of-the-avengers · 3 days

Text

Dangerous Liaisons

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: angst, prison!loki

Summary: You do your best to make sure the prisoners of the prison you work at get the utmost care that you can give them. The prison gets a new inmate, one that you see yourself connecting with.

Squares Filled: prison au (2021) for @lokibingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

You leave the prisoner’s cell with a heavy sigh. Most of the time, you like your job because that means you’re healing people but not when they try and kill you, too. This American prison is one of the worst in the country because it houses the worst of the worst, the most dangerous individuals known to man. Your brother often tells you that you should quit and work in the hospital he works at, but you actually like it here as weird as it sounds.

Some of the prisoners are a menace that makes you want to quit your job, but there are other prisoners who think of prison as a rehab and try to get better. They’re still the most dangerous men due to the nature of their crimes, but at least they’re trying to become better.

You’re here to nurse anyone back to health because believe it or not, there are a lot of stabbings that happen here. You do your best to take care of the inmates as much as you can without letting the job affect you that much. Mental health is just as important.

You walk back to your station in the middle of the prison where the other nurses are gossiping. You try not to participate in the gossip especially when it comes to the other inmates, but it’s hard not to when you work so closely with one another.

“What are you two whispering about?” you ask.

“Did you hear? We’re getting another inmate.”

“Really? Aren't we at capacity?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Who is it?” you ask.

Neither women know the answer to that. All they know is that he is probably the worst of the worst, and that’s saying something. It doesn’t take long for the new inmate to get here, and you’re looking out the window for him. A herd of guards walks down the hallway with the new inmate stuck in between them. You gasp when you see the prisoner. You know who that is. You’ve seen him destroy New York while you were safe in your house in another state.

Loki’s chains connect his ankle handcuffs and wrist handcuffs, only allowing him enough room to take a small step forward. He has a metal muzzle on his face, covering just his mouth. He can use magic so they thought putting a muzzle on him was best to keep him from using it. He doesn’t look bothered about being here but maybe he’s really good at hiding his true emotions.

Loki looks at the nurse’s station and locks eyes with you. Even though there is a muzzle over his mouth, you can see the smirk on his face. His eyes are a powerful blue that gives his expressions away. A shiver rolls down your spine from how intense his gaze is. You’ve met and been with men who knew how to take your breath away, but never has someone been able to do that just by looking at you.

Plus, it doesn’t help that he’s extremely good-looking.

From what you can see, he has cuts and bruises on his face from what, you’re not sure. The guards take Loki to the most secure prison cell in the place. The place had been under construction for a while, probably getting Loki’s cell ready. The warden walks into the nurse’s station and approaches you.

“Consider him your new patient.”

“What?”

“I don’t want anyone else but you with him. You’re the best nurse I’ve got on staff, but don’t tell the others,” he jokes.

“Oh...kay,” you say slowly.

“Don’t worry about him hurting you. We have taken extra precautions to ensure everyone’s safety. There are guards in place if the chains fail, but they won’t. Tony Stark made them.”

“Do you need me to do it now?”

Preferably within the hour. We don’t want to give him an excuse to be let out.”

You go as soon as you can just so you can get this out of the way. You don’t know Loki, only what he’s done, but you know more than most that your actions don’t define who you are. Look at some of the prisoners here. They know what they did was wrong and are trying to better themselves for it even though they may never be released from prison.

You gasp when you see Loki chained up like some animal. The muzzle is still on his face and a chain is hooked to the chain connecting his arms and legs. That chain is connected to a hook on the floor so he can’t escape. Loki is a magical being that is over a thousand years old (yes, you did research on him). If he wants out of the chains, he’s getting out. Why isn’t he? Why did they let him take him? The other inmates have free roam in their cells but Loki is chained to the ground.

How is that fair?

You walk up to Loki and look into his blazing blue eyes. They’re like oceans. He looks like he’d be the quiet one even without the muzzle on.

“Hi, my name is Y/N. I’ll be your nurse. I’m here to clean you up and make sure those cuts aren’t going to get infected.” He doesn’t say anything, obviously. “I’ll be by every day to make sure your wounds aren’t infected and to check your vitals to make sure you’re not sick.”

You roll over a table and put your first aid kit on it, pulling out the things you need. You use a cotton swab to clean up the blood around the edges of the wounds before dabbing a paper towel on the wounds gently. He doesn’t seem to be in pain and if he is, he doesn't show it.

“Let me tell you a little bit about me so you’re not uncomfortable with me. I started working here about six years ago. It’s not always the best but I love what I do. My brother who is a doctor wants me to work in his hospital but I don’t think I’d ever leave here. When I’m not working here, I like to do ceramics. I have a kiln at home where I make my own bowls and other little sculptures. I don’t need the money but I like to sell them. People seem to like it.”

Loki has a twinkle in his eyes as he listens to you ramble. You do that when you’re nervous, and he really makes you nervous. You continue to ramble as you clean his wounds, finishing in just over an hour later. You leave his cell and return to the nurse’s station in thought. You did minor research on Loki when he attacked New York, and you set a reminder to do some more when you go home tonight. It doesn’t matter what anyone at this prison has done. No one should be locked up like an animal. Your coworkers don’t share the same views as you, but everyone is entitled to their opinion.

When you return to work the next day, the first prisoner you see is Loki. There are guards located outside of his cell twenty-four-seven but you don’t think Loki will escape… maybe. You walk to his cell but the guards don’t move from their spot. Each prisoner gets an hour of your time each day with the more severe cases getting an extra one. They like Loki to be last so that you can focus on everyone else and not give him special privileges, but there is no way you’re putting his health risks below others.

“Excuse me.”

“We can’t let you enter.”

“What did you just say?”

“The warden said--”

“I don’t care what the warden says. My job is to take care of prisoners with wounds, and Loki has several cuts not only to his face but upper chest. Cuts that if left untreated will get infected causing him to be sick and possibly die. Even if he didn’t have anything physically wrong with him, you have him locked up like some animal so he isn’t getting exercise. His muscles will start to atrophy. Now, do you want me to report that to the warden or do you want to step aside and let me do my damn job?”

Both guards look at each other before stepping away from the door. You lift your nose up and yank the door open before walking inside. Loki looks up when he sees you and almost smiles at the determination on your face. You roll the same first aid cart over to Loki and remove the bandages to check on his wounds.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. What was I supposed to say to them? It’s not right how they’re treating you.” You grab more cotton swabs and wipe away the leakage that’s expected to come from the wounds. “Anyhow, aren’t Gods supposed to self-heal?” You pause. “That’s what I hear you are. You and Thor. Gods. Norse Gods, actually. Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. You make me nervous.”

You grab the stitches to stitch two wounds together since they are deep enough to leave a scar if not properly healed.

“I read about you when I got home last night like some stalker fangirl.” Your eyes widen. “Which I’m not, by the way. I just… I saw what you did to New York on TV. I know what you did in Germany.” His eyes grow sad. “Don’t worry, I don’t think you’re as bad as they say you are. We all make mistakes, right?”

Of course, he doesn’t answer. You take your time in stitching up the two wounds before cleaning the rest of them and putting bandages back on them. Next, you check to make sure the restraints aren’t on too tight because you’d hate if you were the one being restrained and it was uncomfortable.

“Are you uncomfortable?” you ask. He shakes his head in response. “Have they brought you any food?” Another shake. “Are you hungry?” This time, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be right back with something to eat. Any preferences?”

Your joke makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. He’s smiling underneath his muzzle. That’s a good sign, you think. You leave and head to the cafeteria to get a tray of food for him. You sneak in one or two extra items just because you’re feeling generous. The door to the kitchen slams open and the warden walks in with fire in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“No, what do you think you’re doing? Are you keeping food from Loki? He deserves to eat.”

“A monster like him doesn’t deserve that. Plus, he’s not even human.”

“If he doesn’t eat, he’ll die,” you glare.

The warden shrugs as if that doesn’t bother him. He looks at the tray in your hands before leaving. You roll your eyes and continue filing the tray until you have more than enough for him. The guards don’t give you any trouble when you return back to Loki’s cell. He looks up and sees the food. He has to admit, he is hungry but he doesn’t think he’d accept any food if it didn’t come from you. You two have only known each other for less than two days but he feels a sort of connection with you that he has never made with a human.

You roll the first aid cart over to you and clear off the top before putting the tray there. With both hands free, you reach up and touch the clasp of the muzzle.

“I’m going to take this off now. I don’t think it’s right that they have this on you like some kind of animal.”

You remove the muzzle but Loki still doesn’t say anything. Since his hands are chained, you have to feed him but he doesn’t seem to mind. You take your time and ramble on about the different sculptures you’ve made, momentarily forgetting where you are.

“I’m not gonna put this back on,” you say about the muzzle once Loki has finished everything you brought to him. “Like I said. I don’t think it’s right.” With the muzzle off, you can see the hint of a smile on his face. Loki shifts and you look at the restraints on him. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m going to loosen your restraints just a little. They look tight.” You use the master key and loosen his restraints, allowing him some more room to stand properly and move about. “Is that better?” He nods. “I’ll be back later with more food and to check to see how you’re doing.”

You take the empty tray and leave his cell. You spend more time checking on the other prisoners than you’d like only because two of them got into a stabbing match in the courtyard. After you get done with them, you go back to the nurse’s station to grab some snacks from your lunch box. It’s better than eating that slop in the cafeteria.

You’re the last one left in the nurse’s station since all the others have gone home for the day. You have more patients than the others because most of them request you to fix them. It doesn’t matter what someone did, you’ll treat them the same way you treat everyone else. It’s better for your conscious.

All of a sudden, the lights go out in the station only for bright red lights to replace them. Alarms echo down the hallway, and most of the prisoners become erratic from the sound. Someone has escaped. They only put those alarms out when someone has escaped from their cell. It better not be Jacobson. He has a habit of finding new ways to piss off the warden.

You continue putting food on the tray when you feel a breeze a your back. The door is open. You look up and see a figure standing behind you through the reflection on the window. That’s not Jacobson. For one, he’s a very lanky short man. The man behind you is tall… very tall. You’re frozen in fear because you have no idea who is behind you. If he wanted to, he could kill you without a second thought.

“Hello, darling.” The man steps underneath the red light and you see those piercing blue eyes. You turn to face Loki as he walks closer to you. His voice is much deeper than you thought it’d be… much more raspy. You must have loosened the restraints too much. He reaches out to you and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not scared,” you say truthfully.

“Good girl,” he grins. “I wish I could stay but I have somewhere I need to be. Believe me when I say I’ll be back.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Just like that, he’s gone. You believe him when he says he’ll be back. Funny thing is, you’re kind of looking forward to it.

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gremlinmodetweeker · 9 hours

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okay okay, it's a lil silly but hear me out konig + phantom of the opera au

man's got it all; need to cover his face, obsessive tendencies, and the need to be a secretive lil (big) weirdo *chef's kiss*

NO NO NO HOLD ON YOU'RE COOKIN. NOT SILLY AT ALL.

Now look here, I dunno if you know this, but I am a sucker for classic literature. One of my top three favourite books of all time is Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. That woman ate when she wrote that book and I will listen to nothing else. I also really want to write an essay about how Frankenstein is Mary Shelly discussing the inherent horror of motherhood in those times and how the lack of a mother figure shapes an individual. I think it's an extremely layered book, but I like to see the parenthood lens of the book.

Now now now, this is about Phantom of the Opera. I do know a bit about the original phantom, and I don't like to think König or reader dies in the end (just personally, I can't write a tragic ending. I really need a happy ending, not for the reader, but because I need a happy ending). So, let me introduce the idea that this is a version where the phantom wins.

This is one where the phantom was fucking right and actually, freak of nature as he is, maybe he had a point!!! Maybe, reader shouldn't be dating someone twice their age. Maybe, though König is a bit older for sure, he's actually not that old and a more appropriate age. Albeit, though now recovered, König still suffered a case of leprosy after being exposed during a war. He considers himself hideous, but maybe reader would be able to look past his sickness?

Now, is König appropriate as a lover? Probably not. He's obsessive, jealous, and a borderline stalker. He's determined to kill off the man who's trying to seduce her ('How dare you try and take my little songbird away from me!!!') and will do anything to keep reader to himself. However, he's also saving reader from a far worse fate with someone worse than him.

Reader is enchanted by Makarov of course, but König knows better and is determined to show her the light. He desperately wants to just talk to her and explain everything to her, but at this point he's committed to what he's doing and social anxiety makes him unable to just knock on her door and talk to her like a regular person.

Once again, like every incredible story in the English language, if you guys just talked everything would be fine but nobody knows how to be an adult.

Anyways, König loves reader dearly. Watching her perform makes his heart ache. His one saving grace is a beautiful voice he uses to enchant her. If his face is nothing but sickness, let him sing to his little songbird and help her connection to music. He'll do what he can to cling to any connections he has to her. He's desperate to hold her, and he'll do whatever he needs to to get to her.

IMPORTANT EDIT:

König with the phantom mask but he has too long red ribbons coming out the bottom of the eyes and the rest of his face is hidden under a dark hood. Consider it.

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things-arent-what-they-seem66 · 14 hours

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What about an AU where it’s not Adam and Eve but Adam and Lucifer.

Lilith and Adam are created from the dust as equals as usual to make love to each other, but Adam instead falls in love with Lucifer after Lilith being a little shit to him.

Out of spite for being denied control of Adam and losing him to an angel, Lilith leaves the garden. Angels, not accepting how Adam might not want to lie with women, make him a new wife, Eve. But he doesn’t want her either, just down for his little angel. And makes it clear one night.

That shatters Eve’s world and makes her incredibly devastated as she thinks she failed in serving her husband and making him happy with her that he doesn’t want her. She gets away from him for a while and begins searching for a cure.

Only to stumble to Lilith of all people, who had returned to the garden after hearing about the new bride she could trick easier.

She leads her to the Tree of Knowledge, and says all she has to do is to bite from the apple and get Adam to do so too -But she can’t tell him what it is, that way it wouldn’t work- if she wants them to be truly happy like the angels told them they would be.

In desperation and cause she had no idea what lying was, Eve accepts, takes two apples from the tree, brings them to where she and Adam sleep, and gets Adam to eat it by saying it’s a regular fruit. Which causes sin to enter the world.

After noticing it, the angels were simply going to throw the two to Earth and Lilith to Hell, but how Lilith screamed about Adam loving Lucifer and that was why he denied to lie with women caused a problem.

Adam and Lucifer both denied it violently, but how Lucifer tried too hard to get the angels to let Adam and Eve stay, how much time they spent before and how close they were physically for most only fueled their suspicions.

So, they decided to look into their memories and see that they were clearly in love. In one they admit it, in one they kiss intimately and in one Lucifer is literally making love to Adam.

And that makes them furious.

They rip Lucifer from his status as an angel, and make him Adam’s new wife instead by giving him both a woman’s and a man’s parts, they do the same to Adam, and also put a baby fever curse on the pair so they would have no escape in populating the Earth where they are sent afterwards. Eve is sent too, but she goes to a completely different place all alone and lives a life of isolation.

Either Lucifer is mostly forced to submit and be the one pregnant because of the curse and how the angels wanted to humiliate him for being with a human, or Adam is because the angels officialy took his title as the first man away and “downgraded him into the level of woman he was too good for”.

I like them both a lot so I’ll just make two versions.

Wow, got a little longer than I thought there..

Whaddya think?

Wow that's sad and amazing. I like both ideas but you know me lol

Adam being "downgraded" when really it makes him happy to have kids with his love.

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #ask

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juno-of-wonderland · 1 day

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Monster au: The Hybrid Lord route [ending 1 (part 1)]

warning: the reader for this route has been drawn (just like the previous one) and will be FtM, blood and injury.

List tag: @112-darling, @rain112-darling, @callmedarling112, @mushroomfrog203

You shake your head, letting go of the bad feeling and approach the flower, crouching down and touching the thin yellow petals. A strange noise was made to the left and no matter how fast you were, you couldn't avoid what was coming; a heavy, hard mass hit your face, throwing you backwards. Due to your imbalance, you fell rolling down a ravine, your body colliding with rocks and roots, tearing your clothes and skin. You heard a thud before you fell. Your head was confused, spinning and your vision threatened to go dark. Supporting your hands on the ground, you try to get up, but your body is sore and your face is burning and hurting, your eyes sting with tears, you fall. Before you lose consciousness, you hear screams and more screams, then everything goes black.

…

You opened your eyes, grunting in pain, you turned your body so that you were on your back, looking through the hole you fell through, you realized that it was already day. You cough your nose before slowly getting up, you sit down and look at that giant den, earth, branches, stone, sinister eyes in the darkness, earth and… Your head slowly turned to look at your eyes, damn it, maybe you really did invade someone's den. The sinister green glow didn't leave your direction and you couldn't make out much of anything because it was in the darkest part of that hole. "Uh… yeah… look, I swear I didn't mean to invade your den, something hit me and I fell here" you said to the thing. You heard a snort and then "herbivores" was spoken. First mental note, the creature can talk, second note, it's apparently male, third note, it's full of itself and you don't like it very much, fourth note, probably, almost certainly, it's some carnivore and you need to get out of its sight if you don't want to become dinner. You moved further away from him, dragging your butt on the ground, until your hand touched something delicate. You looked back and it was the dandelion flower! It was a little crushed and had missing petals, but it must still be useful for something. You looked for your bag to put it away, but you didn't see it anywhere on the ground. So, hesitantly, you looked up. There it was, stuck on a branch that you couldn't reach. "You've got to be kidding me," you muttered. Taking the flower and putting it in a large pocket of your pants, you regretted not being able to keep it in a better place. You walked in circles for a few minutes, thinking of ways to get out and always keeping an eye on what was with you in that hole. Your first and only idea was to climb. One hand grabbed a mound of dirt and one foot climbed on another. You managed to climb three sections before the earth crumbled and you fell, swallowing dirt in the process. You spat and tried to get the taste off your tongue. The creature didn't laugh, but you could feel how amused he was with the situation. "I want to see you do better to get out of here," you muttered. Sitting on the floor, you couldn't think of anything else. You just stood there, watching the clouds pass by, comparing them to things you knew. Belatedly, you noticed blood on the floor. It turned your stomach. At noon, that hole looked like an oven, and your prisoner seemed to agree. If his few grumbles were because of that, maybe that's why he's been in the dark since you woke up. You also wanted to go into the shadows, but your instincts told you it was dangerous, and this time you decided it would be better to stay between the light and the darkness.

"Hey," you said in the midst of boredom, and as expected, there was no answer. "Do you own this place or are you trapped here too?" Silence. "Is that blood on the floor yours?" I can help you, I have this” you show the flower “and some other things in my bag to help you” You felt his eyes on your hand, they were intense and contemplative. “At dusk” he said. You were confused, but accepted the strange situation. As soon as night fell, you waited, with your stomach growling loudly, God, you thought you would faint from weakness at any moment. Staring at the emerald eyes that shone in the darkness, you witnessed them come up from the ground, which indicates that the creature had been lying down this whole time. He came out of hiding, getting closer and closer, you could now see his body, all the wounds and his shape, his lion ears and tail, even dirty and injured, he was breathtaking, but as expected, he looked at you like a prince would look at his poor servant. He held out his open palm, you plucked a petal and handed it to him, which made him frown. “That’s not enough,” he said. “It heals more than you can imagine.” “Maybe a human, but not a vampire, could give me that flower or I’d use your blood to get out of here.” Oh, ohhh, that explains why he has to wait until nightfall, but why isn’t he regenerating on his own? Maybe the weapons that wounded him had something in them… do vampires have animal ears? You hesitated, despite the threat, to hand over the flower, it was such a rare item! But you could never get out on your own, you gave the flower and waited for him to be willing and, after healing himself, to take you out of there too. The vampire swallowed the flower whole, you noticed the sand near his feet molding and the wounds accelerating their healing process slightly, he looked at you and you looked back. Suddenly his hands were on your hips and he was close, very close. Before you knew it, you were already out, thrown on the ground, the man standing next to you, just standing in place, then he falls to the ground, unconscious… you wonder what you did to end up in a situation like this.

(part 2)

#monster au #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twst #alternate universe #leona kingscholar #twst leona #twisted wonderland leona #leona x reader

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acerikus · 2 days

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G o d. All gekkos' outertale posting makes me wanna talk more in depth about the characterisation and plot issues in this game and why they bother me...

(readmore bc holy fuck this got long, it's probably like 5k words. It's also pretty much all salt, categorised by character)

Toriel

Why. Why is she like this. Kinda feels like the creator of the game hates her and if they don't, they have a weird way of showing it. She's treated as overdramatic and unjustified in her anger at asgore despite the fact that he DID declare war on humanity and he DID willingly let the people believe he was killing human children to harvest their souls. Even if he didn't do it for real in this game, she has every right to be angry and to not trust him, and it CERTAINLY doesn't make her undeserving to be a mother or whatever. Idk about you, but I don't think wanting kids to stay away from a man yelling about wanting to kill every child that crosses him makes you a bad parent, even if it turns out he didn't really hurt anyone y'know?

They also REALLY zoned in on 'mother' with her in a way that doesn't really make sense here. I could maybe see her feeling guilty for making a snap judgement but how would that call her motherhood into question?

Sans saying isolation messed with her makes no sense too!!!! The outerlands or whatever they called the ruins isn't sealed off in this game, other monsters seem way less intimidated by her in this game than in undertale (she has friends! She knows sans by name and goes to napstablook's shows and even has their phone number!), and we outright get told she takes the taxi to get her groceries... Meaning she headed off to the rest of the outpost and probably does that often enough.

All things considered, Toriel seems fairly well adjusted in outertale, at least by outertale standards. Kinda then makes it feel like everyone's just trying to convince her she's hysterical and that... Sucks.

Also the fact that they added an ending where you stay with her and framed it as a bad ending that doomed everyone is... Really mean? It sucked ass I'm sorry :/

Sans

... Why is he like this. This take on Sans is absolutely infuriating tbh. The only positive I really have here is that his puns are kinda good, I've seen fangames that fuck up this element massively and it was kinda fun to see his interactions in starton.

Okay, back to salt. His whole 'i became a sentry to help humans' thing is trash. He didn't care about that in ut! He didn't care about that at all! The only reason he looks out for frisk is because he made a promise to toriel, and he hates breaking promises. He didn't want to let down his friend.

...Huh. realising this is yet another case of Toriel disrespect somehow. Yet another thing they took from her, that they then just... Handed over to sans instead. :/

His lack of backstory. Look, I get wanting something silly, but they took almost everything that makes sans interesting away. Not hyperfocusing on sans like certain aus do is nice, but it feels like in a lot of situations in this game they overcompensated by a long shot.

No mysterious past/origins. We know he worked with alphys I guess but???? Honestly I have a LOT to rant about for that part so I'll leave it for twinkly's section. And yet despite all this, Sans inexplicably bleeds in tpe when not even undertale has that happen? Make up your mind!

His role in non Asriel chaotic also... Sucks ass. I'm in a pretty awesome corner of the fandom in terms of the people I follow and the takes I see as a result, so if I'm honest, when I saw all those posts about 2024 fanon sans being indifferent to his brother's murder, I kinda just figured they were vaguing about this game. You're telling me that sans of all people just shrugs off you killing everyone and complains a little bit before letting you pass?! He should know alphys already ran off. He should know the only person left to stop you is asgore, and that it's obvious he won't. Part of this could be connected to how frisk is written perhaps, and much like the twinkly situation, I'll have much more to say on that further down.

I understand the creator didn't wanna have a sans fight in their game - however, if that's the case... Maybe come up with a reason for him to NOT show up in the last corridor, then? Have him busy helping with evacuations or something, or already dead like in the first chaotic ending... This was just sloppy.

Papyrus

Honestly he wasn't... Terrible. The phonecalls were fun even if most were cheap references (though they can be fun in fangames sometimes so I'm not mad at this lol). Him being extremely talented at making spaghetti is just one symptom of one of this game's biggest flaws, however. I really don't like how nobody's really allowed to be bad at anything or have any real struggles in this game - especially when spaghetti in undertale is used to demonstrate his relationship with undyne and the similar wavelength they're on when humans aren't involved. She's the one who started teaching him to cook it, it's deeply intertwined with his desire to be a royal guard, and it's something they suck at together. Him just inexplicably being good at it is... Weird, and feels really disconnected from their friendship and her reluctance to let him in the guard yknow?

Also: his boss final phase. Having the dog NOT take his special attack away this time was really funny admittedly but... Idk? Not only is the fight really unfair for pacifist/neutral and those who aren't as good at the game (ut never gets this hard outside of geno), it feels way too on the nose in terms of insisting he's strong and has powerful attacks. Undertale didn't need to overcompensate to get across that papyrus is strong and disciplined and the way you have to infer that in undertale is way cooler. I might just be nitpicking with this point tbh but it's whatever. Letting myself be a hater for once.

And don't get me started on him getting together with Mettaton. It seemed to come out of absolutely nowhere, the idea that they were already friends in this was glossed over really quickly and no time was really put into developing the relationship save for papyrus commenting on finding him attractive every few minutes.

Gotta be honest, I've never been a fan of this ship nor understood its popularity. Papyrus very briefly mentions thinking he's attractive in undertale, but it doesn't really go anywhere and I'm not even sure mettaton knows he exists. It feels like it was just kinda added because it's a popular ship and that's it, not sure it really contributes much to either of their arcs. It was a light-hearted celebrity crush in canon and never really tried to be more.

Oh, oops. Had more to say here than I thought.

Undyne

Not much to say here... I think she was okay, there's nothing super bad with her. I do think the way gerson kinda downplays her/lacks faith in her in the chaotic route kinda sucks and I think choosing to make her non-undying chaotic bossfight harder sure was A Choice, but it's whatever. Undying was weirdly easy in a way that didn't do her much justice. Honestly they didn't do enough with her for me to have a wall of complaints and I can't tell if that's a good thing or not. Her relationship with alphys didn't really amount to much and her lack of understanding of human culture doesn't really hit as hard when she's just talking about random sci-fi things that we have no way of knowing are real or not in this game's idea of the 2600s ourselves, y'know? Her love of anime (that she mistakenly thinks is human history) is pretty absent here except to validate her relationship with alphys in a very shallow way.

The Ghost Family

Hoo boy... Was gonna make this the mettaton section, but I wanted to talk about napstablook at the same time, so I'm just gonna lump them all together.

What. What the hell was this plotline.

It feels like they tried to go for 'smalltime farmer chases passion for stardom after feeling unfulfilled at home' and as I've seen someone else say, 'shy business owner struggles to talk to their cousin outside of work'. This would've been fine tbh, but... There's a lot of things in the execution of this that kinda grossed me out if I'm honest. I don't think they were intentional, but I think it could've been thought through a lot better to avoid some unfortunate implications - or even lean into them in a respectful way.

Firstly, the ghost family intervention was pretty long, awkward, and didn't feel like it really added much - especially when most people playing would already know mettaton's backstory anyway (and his house is still accessible like in undertale!!!!! What was the point?)

Mettaton airing out his family issues on live TV feels very ooc - he keeps that stuff very close to his chest and I doubt he'd like it getting out. Him entertaining any of that out in the open seems... Weird.

Speaking of the intervention, his cousins' treatment of him was horrifying! Part of it seems intentional and it's nice that there's at least one part in the game where characters are allowed to have flaws and do bad things but... There's also elements that feel like you're meant to agree with them? Their insistence that mettaton just come home and everything they did in the past with constantly badgering him to come and help out on the farm were rightfully treated as something that hurt mettaton's feelings and that gave napstablook and the others pause. That's (mostly, we'll come back to it later) fine. He called them out for it and they reflected on it, cool. The way his ghost form was utilised makes me extremely uncomfortable, however.

Napstablook talks about hearing 'the real [mettaton]' in the recording, right to his face, 'the real mettaton' in this scenario alluding to his ghost form. Considering mettaton is a trans allegory, this feels... Kinda gross? In a similar vein, when passing mettaton's quiz barriers, one of the questions is 'what is mettaton's true identity' and you have the option to deadname him (using a name papyrus literally just made up in undertale rather than having any kind of creativity ofc) Alphys' reaction is simply to ask how you know that which... Doesn't feel great. The correct answer is 'mettaton' ofc thankfully, but everything around this particular plot point feels weird. Maybe don't do that w the most prevalent trans allegory character..?

And ofc, they keep insisting he just come home, go back to working on the farm, go back to his family... Idk, gives me vibes of someone abandoning their shitty transphobic family and then insisting they want to see 'the real [deadname] again' and for them to abandon their new life and just go back to the way things were before. Not good.

All of this would still be okay for the most part since the ghost family are painted as being unfair to mettaton... But in true pacifist, he goes back to helping out with the farm anyway and talks about how he thinks he was probably just being dramatic after all, and how 'blooky didn't do anything that bad'

... What?

It takes me right back to Toriel's treatment. Napstablook, Maddie and lurksalot gave no real thought to mettaton's feelings, made it all about them and showed pretty much no support for his transition nor his career! Fuck those guys! It's funny - mettaton is pretty consistently a pompous asshole (affectionate) in undertale but here, I think all his feelings towards his family were COMPLETELY valid. Mettaton outertale didn't do anything wrong.

Lurksalot didn't feel like they contributed much to the story either, save to be yet another character treating mettaton like shit with zero consequences nor narrative judgement. They just made every ghost family event even more drawn out.

And then ofc!!!! Mettaton and Alphys' friendship is so bland in this game! They're two people who kinda know each other and she says some nice things about him in a letter in chaotic but that's about it. Their friendship and the subsequent conflict frisk's arrival brings to it in undertale is the heart of hotland and the core, but here it's just replaced with unnecessary, hard to watch, boring family drama. The two of them have no issues to work out. She doesn't ask too much of him. There's no funny quips and barely any chemistry at all. God forbid either of them have any real flaws.

One last thing: I'm glad maddie gets her mew mew body, it's nice. Wish it was an on-screen moment or something alluded to more though. Some of that time dragging out the family drama could've been used on that instead, y'know? Especially with napstablook getting the mew mew doll... Genuinely thought they were gonna show it to her when they first got hold of it, rather than dragging Frisk into their intervention. She should've gotten to be more mad, too. Kinda a big part of her identity.

Oh, and mettaton's no-asriel chaotic fight was bullshit. It was a nice spamton reference and the first phase was cool, but the second was utter bullshit and dragged out the fight way too long. Attacking him after snapping all the wires should've killed him im sorry. It's even more of a shame bc I genuinely really liked this game's mettaton neo fight - it was fun and creative and felt possible.

Holding myself back from adding any more to this bc I could go on and on, ugh.

Alphys

Alphys. For a game that tries to make her the star of it, it's actually kinda impressive how much they managed to take away from her and just how uninteresting she is in this game.

At the surface level she's awesome, powerful, and the star of the show. In my first playthrough I was actually pretty happy to see her thriving like this! The more routes I played and the more I thought about it though they just kinda... Declawed her. Took away all her flaws. Made her 'perfect' in a way that I don't think works at all.

The amalgamates never happened. None of her experiments went wrong. She never hid away from her mistakes, or lied to anyone (save for keeping Asgore's secret, which she has no negative feelings about), nor did she over engineer any situations to make herself seem cooler. She doesn't argue with Mettaton! She's confident and assertive! She's Asgore's right hand woman and next in line for the throne! And ofc, the badass final boss! What's not to love?

...But none of this is Alphys, is it?

Her anxiety isnt just because of the determination experiments, it's pretty clear she's always been a pretty shy and nervous person. In fact, based on her entries they were one of the things she was more confident in before it all went wrong. People are hard, but she knows science, y'know?

She doesn't get to be flawed or interesting - despite her presence, she's just a generic cool scientist who's suave with the ladies, I guess..?

She isn't particularly dorky, shes overly confident, she has zero issues to work through. Her relationship with undyne is perfect (derogatory) and her infodumping about anime just before the archive feels very forced, like they remembered last minute that she does that and thought it should be included somehow.

Depicting what she'd be like in a scenario where the determination experiments never happened is a fun and interesting idea! But deltarune demonstrates how to do that well, and I think they completely missed the mark. The way she talks, her body language, the way she acts around others in general... These things are universal constants and yet in outertale, she's basically a different person entirely.

Outertale alphys isn't allowed to lie (save to cover for asgore Secretly Being A Good Person), she isn't allowed to miscalculate, she isn't allowed to mis-speak or make mistakes or do anything she'd regret. She feels like an alphys written by someone who hates her in canon and thinks all her flaws make her terrible and unlikable. I doubt this is the case since I don't think a person like that would've given her such prevalence, but that's the level of love and attention I feel was given to her writing here. It makes me sad.

And, of course... The DT experiments and her fight.

... Why did she have vials of determination if all the humans are alive? Did she take it from them? If so, was this before or after they went into stasis? We know she's not been the royal scientist for long in relation to how long humans have been falling, so did ROMAN take the determination? How much of this did she even DO?

Why did she and sans even DO anything with determination? It... Doesn't really make sense.

Speaking of determination, why did she melt at the end of her fight? I'd assume she's injected herself with determination as one of the vials in her lab is mentioned to be partially used, but I'm pretty sure it's also like this on pacifist. Was that overlooked? Are we just meant to assume it's MORE depleted? Does she just have natural determination now because She's So Cool And Badass? This isn't even really a complaint about the fight, more just how poorly that part of her lab is handled lmao

But getting into her fight... Idk, it didn't really feel like her. A lot of it was just random bullshit that was hard for the sake of being hard, that didn't really seem to be tied to her identity very well at all. People complain a lot about the Zenith Martlet fight in undertale yellow but that's done far better than this, imo. It clearly reflects martlet's character, personality and canonical bullet patterns (we see Alphys' in ut tpe!), there's a genuine feeling of progression in the fight and the act you're given to help with the fight feels more effective - you can still damage her on her turn, so taking a turn to heal act doesn't feel like a waste. The Asriel acts though... They just don't last long enough to feel that worth it? Sure they're okay, but in general, you get a lot less time to breathe. Martlet's fight lets you retry from phase 2 if you die. Sans' in undertale gives you as many turns as you need to heal while he's sparing you. Alphys' fight just feels like it's made to feel un-fun and painful throughout in a way that just isn't worth it, and doesn't really feel like it fits her personality either, y'know? The fight was just a slog and like many others, I had zero motivation to finish it legit. I don't think it helps that the undyne and mettaton fights in this route are fairly easy and simple in comparison.

Tldr: they took away everything that makes alphys endearing, fun and interesting. This isn't alphys at all.

Asgore

A huge chunk of this essay accidentally got deleted, including my first attempt at writing this section. In it, I mentioned that the Asgore apologism went way too far.

This time though, I don't think I'd even call it that. Reflecting on it, it feels less like an attempt to defend him and more like a way to hate on and spite Toriel.

Seriously. So much of his character basically just feels like someone going 'fuck you toriel. I'm giving EVERYTHING to asgore.'

It's... Really weird?

Asgore having a way out of killing humans is an interesting concept! Outertale takes place 500 years in the future compared to undertale, so the idea that they have the resources and technology to do that is kinda cool and in theory, exploring this idea sounds really fun. In practice though, it feels like it was mostly done to make Toriel out to be an asshole for no reason and to laugh at her for ever assuming he would've really killed anyone (despite... Y'know. Telling everyone that's what he was doing.)

He just. Completely moved on from Toriel without a second thought seemingly, and doesn't even look that affected by seeing her turn up again - meanwhile SHE'S got crumpled up tea recipes in the trash and all the Sad Divorced Energy - it doesn't really fit either of them! Toriel wasn't really given a reason to miss him like that, and I think even if he DID fully move on, he'd be way happier to see her than that.

All his leading statements on how she must feel in LV1 pacifist sucked ass also, especially with the way she kinda just agreed that yeah, she feels like shit for not trusting that he'd suddenly do a 180 and not hurt anyone (AGAIN. AFTER HE CONTINUED TO LET EVERYONE BELIEVE THIS) and that she must feel unworthy of being a mother. She hadn't even said half of this in front of him yet! He put words in her mouth! That in itself would be fine (social blunders are pretty normal for asgore after all) but it... Wasn't treated like that. It was handled as if this was a sweet and compassionate thing for him to say which... Yikes.

And ofc he gets to adopt frisk, and monster kid, and get to have Asriel live with him! His fatherhood is never called to question in undertale, but ofc Toriel's motherhood has to be here. Hell, despite their divorced status, if you talk to gerson in tpe it's highly implied frisk asks if asgore would start aging again if he became their dad! Idk, all of this part just reeked of Toriel hate and nothing more. Asgore is just yet another character to get sanded down and de-clawed and it sucks. So much of what makes him interesting is his mistakes and flaws and how they impact him, y'know?

Twinkly

I wanna start this by saying I don't think his writing is too bad. It's not amazing by any means but by outertale standards, he's one of the better written characters. That being said, Flowey is my favourite character of all time so I'm still gonna be critical.

So they did save the goat. Save the goat aus really aren't my thing nowadays - I feel like so often people act like he's a separate person to Flowey entirely and act like the alarm clock app dialogue doesn't exist. Asriel didn't end the story as a doomed tragedy fated to fade away! Flowey ended the story as someone who finally got closure on the loss of his best friend, and can finally learn to move on, even if it takes him a while to adjust. I don't think he needs to be a goat again for that.

That being said, I know these kinda aus are a big wish fulfilment thing for a lot of the fandom that aren't even necessarily something people want to be canon as much as they just wanna explore the idea and see him truly happy, so I won't judge that element too harshly. People are allowed to have fun, and I think save the goat can be fine if it respects him as flowey rather than separating them.

I really like that they allow Asriel to be fucked up and an asshole rather than him soft rebooting into some Sweet Perfect Little Prince once he returns to his old form, like so many other save the goat takes. Even in lv0's ending he struggles to bite back insults and mean comments aimed at Monster Kid which is... Admittedly kinda refreshing! There's definitely some flowey (or I guess in this case, twinkly) behaviour that still comes through here and I'm glad. This carried over to chaotic, too. While his characterisation wasn't perfect, this at least felt like twinkly obtaining a few form and continuing to play with the world, rather than your standard Asriel take. I also really liked that he remembers and acknowledges chaotic if done before pacifist, that was neat and adds to his character (as far as this game goes) I think.

However, onto the biggest, glaring issue I have with him.

Why. Why does he exist.

No, seriously.

In its attempt to make the world perfect, a world that blatantly only exists so the creator could make a save the goat ending, mind, there's no reason for the goat to need to be saved at all. Nor for him to exist after dying back when Chara lived with the dreemurrs.

Asgore isn't killing humans, so the souls don't need to be absorbed by anyone. Frisk can just enter the archive and lend their power to destroy the forcefield themselves, so there's no ultimatum like there is in undertale - there's no implied tradeoff of Frisk's life for the freedom of monsters without twinkly's intervention. In undertale, flowey's messing around opened up an ending that would've otherwise been impossible, something that worked for everyone.

Without him existing at all here, frisk could've broken the barrier just fine. All it really added to pacifist was a couple extra boss fights and asgore being dead for two minutes. And him being saved I guess but again, there's no real story justification for him being here EXCEPT to pat yourself on the back for saving him.

Why was he created? In undertale it's pretty clear - they wanted a vessel to hold all the souls in for now during the true lab experiments. He exists because Alphys selected the first flower to ever grow in the garden and injected it with determination that she extracted from the human souls.

... But all the humans are... Alive and well in outertale? They don't need a vessel to contain their souls. They don't need to extract any determination from anyone. Again, why do they HAVE vials of determination? And why did she inject one into a flower?

AND THAT'S THE OTHER BIG THING. It's established she and sans injected a starling flower for... Whatever reason. SO WHY THE HELL IS TWINKLY A CARTOON STAR?!

This point makes absolutely no sense at all. He looks absolutely nothing like a starling flower nor does he behave like a flower at all, which is confusing if that's what he started as. Honestly, I think it would've made more sense to just keep him as Flowey if they were gonna include him at all, and just have his appearance reflect a starling flower instead of a golden flower.

This applies to his fight too. Mechanically I think it's AWESOME, but the visuals are... Just very very boring. A huge part of why his fight in the original is so good it's the bizarre and chaotic nature of it, the horror elements, and the way so much of flowey's trauma in terms of how he was created and the things he finds scary was put on blast for all to see. The combination of mechanical and organic elements, all the plants and insects... Idk, just going 'hmm he's a star. Let's have him go through a star life cycle' is boring, there's no visual appeal.

If his creation is so vague and wishy washy, this would've been a great opportunity to flesh it out more. How was he created? What kinds of technology and machinery did alphys use to put all this together? How did she (or roman????? unclear) get the determination? What does twinkly remember?

That leads me onto a tangentially related topic - his trauma. I... Don't think this was shown very well. He talks a bit about BEING traumatised from the lab, but telling isn't the same as showing and canon flowey is terrible at hiding it, whereas I'd just as easily believe outertale Asriel made it up for sympathy points. He never really projects, he doesn't force anyone else to experience anything like he did, nothing like that. He's just a cocky asshole who likes killing, and who eventually decides to start being nice.

This game constantly seemed to be speedrunning ways to get him from being twinkly to being Asriel as quickly as possible in almost every single route which... Huh???? It's weird. Would've been nice to let him be a star more rather than just Asriel...

(final amendment bc I lost a huge chunk of this essay originally and had to rewrite it, and I'm realising I didn't manage to fit this in this time... How does a single monster soul let him get his Asriel form again? Sure he's still treated as if soulless and it doesn't make him a good person, but if he was 'so tired of being a star', why hadn't he tried doing this sooner? It makes no sense...)

For a game that exists to give him a good ending, it's so ironic how little he needs to exist at all in this world. Just goes to show what it looks like when you go too far with 'fixing' things or removing stuff you seem 'too problematic' for the sake of being wholesome or whatever.

Chara

Speaking of which... Look I'm just gonna say it. This version of Chara sucks so bad.

Chara is one of my favourite characters - they're really interesting, morally grey, and a fascinating way for undertale as a game to interface with us as players.

They're a child who likely saw the worst of humanity, then found themselves in a home with family who genuinely loved them once they fell down and met the monsters. Their intense saviour complex made them feel like the best way to help their family was to sacrifice their own life to get enough souls to break them free (and once they realised they had control, get payback against the humans while they were at it). They could be mean-spirited and a prankster. They valued efficiency HIGHLY. Their favourite number was nine because it's the limit, the absolute, a way to stop hurting and to stop others hurting.

And by doing geno, you can push this fixation on stats further. Max out all your stats. Gain power. Get stronger. Become invincible. Nobody can hurt any more if the world is gone. And ofc, they stand as the final arbiter of consequences for the player. Your punishment for killing everyone and for pushing them into believing it needs to be completed. Chara both IS is and is separate from us in a way that can't really be fully disentangled and it's really, really cool.

Anyway, enough gushing about undertale Chara. What's outertale Chara in comparison?

... Nothing.

They're nothing.

Outertale Chara narrates occasionally. They're a ghost that follows frisk around, but aren't confined to that, and have been actively wandering the underground since their death. They also still have a SOUL for some reason? This part doesn't really make sense at all.

Other than sacrificing themself and maybe wanting to take out a few humans after Asriel absorbs them, they don't do anything that could be considered bad ever. The most devious thing they ever do is snatch Asriel's diary to leave a silly comment in there when they first arrive at the outpost (sans does this with Toriel's phone in undertale tpe for comparison lmao). Despite what Asriel seems to believe, Chara is completely absent from the chaotic route - never getting corrupted, never caring about our stats, never wanting to hurt anyone, never even trying to make us face any consequences. They're just... Not here. For a character so prevalent in the murder based route of undertale this is fucking wild.

They all but vanish if you so much as say something slightly mean to someone, too! It's strange, makes no sense, and just like with sans, it feels like they overcompensated waaaaaaay too much for the people who insist they're evil. On top of that, if you do chaotic before lv0, they don't even remember chaotic happening! They'd may as well have just been a member of the ghost family who likes following Frisk around when they're especially nice. Like Asgore and alphys, they've been sanded down and de-clawed to be 'wholesome' and 'perfect', and it just results in a bland, boring character who loses anything that made them interesting, nuanced and fun.

'Chara wasn't the greatest person'... Why, though? They don't have enough substance in this game for that line to really have as much impact.

Frisk

I'm gonna be honest - I actually ADORED their frisk at first, and I think that's because I started with a neutral run and ended up drawing them a lot. They felt silly and mischievous and interesting, and this continued into chaotic. They seem pretty chill with what's going on but then take that even further by being hilariously affectionate with Asriel and still doing silly things like being up for picking up the electrodampening fluid or drinking directly out of the fountain. They felt like a funny little mini-kris (save for being okay with all the murder ofc).

Then uhhhhhhh... That's when I experienced the second chaotic ending, the one without Asriel, as well as lv0. I feel like they definitely DID try to lean on the Kris angle on purpose in terms of their feelings on being controlled and stuff but it???? Just doesn't work very well? There's no ambiguity to this version of frisk once you've seen all the routes. Just like EVERYONE ELSE, they're just a perfect little angel who would never do anything wrong and anything past lv0 is just the eeeeeevil player influence or whatever. Come on, we have deltarune for that kinda approach to control 😭 (though even then, Kris is a layered and interesting character who isn't goodness and innocence personalised, and that's why they're cool)

In undertale, we have no idea what frisk is like as a person. WOULD they spare everyone without our influence? Would they kill? Would they be a scared child lashing out in self defense? Would they run from everything, then give up and let themselves die permanently somewhere? We just don't know! We're not supposed to know! It feels like it went back to the very early fandom interpretation where frisk is Good And Sweet and Innocent while Chara is evil incarnate - except this time they're BOTH the former.

It's a contradiction too! Why in the Asriel chaotic route are they so down to follow him, and pet him, and hug him every chance they get if they don't like all the stuff we're making them so? The player has no influence over Twinkly. Every single thing he did, he chose to do, and yet even if the only time frisk has seen him was him destroying their mercy button and forcing them to kill for him, they seem to love him to pieces and go along with whatever he says happily. What.

I feel like they didn't know what to do with Frisk here at all and it shows.

Other characters

This has been ridiculously long, but to quickly go over non-major characters... They did very few things to make Roman seem interesting, the amount of stuff hes implied to have helped Asgore with just reduces even further any influence or impact alphys had, and (a smaller nitpick)... Why didn't he use times new roman as a font when we DID see him speak in the archive/on the signal stars? It's such a missed opportunity...

Burgerpants was fun... Kinda. Developing him like this feels like something that should've happened DURING the actual game rather than before it though because it made him feel like a whole other person entirely? The poisoned food was very funny though.

Why is Snowy now Stardrake when his dad hasn't changed at all and Crystal looks like any other snowdrake? That was bizarre.

I actually really liked the humans! Establishing them as actual characters was really fun, and I especially like justice. Justice, at least in my opinion, is probably the most interesting character in this whole game tbh - someone who tried to do good but ultimately caused more harm than good, while NOT downplaying it, showing the consequences directly, and showing them work to try to make things better. The way we don't grab their item like the others in the twinkly fight nor go through an area for them in the archive (and just talk to them instead) really adds to their intrigue - what are they like? Who did they know? Is there something they don't want us to see? How are they strong enough to not need us to grab their weapon at all to lend their help? I think it's get funny that the only character I'm fully praising is the clover-adjacent one. Justice outertale they could never make me hate you

(that being said... seeing the way this game is clearly just supposed to be a 'fix' for undertale does sour my thoughts on the humans a little. did they only do this bc they thought them NOT being full characters in ut was bad/a problem with it? 🥴 This applies to the additional monster kid story focus too).

Speaking of monster kid... Them being an orphan was clearly just a plot device to give asgore more kids and therefore feel like he won more than Toriel. Monster kid in undertale seems like they probably did have real and loving parents, and they have a sister too!!!! Would've been nice if they'd at least done something with their sister :(

This got... Way longer than I expected, so I'll stop here. But outertale definitely gave me an even bigger appreciation for other ut fangames. My gripes with deltatraveler section 3 feel much smaller in comparison now, if tsus misses the mark on Flowey later down the line they've at least already done most characters so much more justice, and it really puts into perspective all the heart and soul that went into kissy cutie, as well as its genuine love got the source material and characters.

Sorry outertale, you weren't for me. That being said, if anyone disagrees with any of this then that's fine! These are all just my opinions and feelings on it after going through all the routes and talking about it with friends. Media is always gonna resonate with different people in different ways and that's a good thing! If your perspective on any of this is different and if you had way more fun with it, I'm glad you did and I genuinely wish I could've felt the same. I feel like at the very least, making it has probably been a great learning experience for the devs and I really hope they carry on making games and improving their skills. Hope y'all are thriving and having fun regardless 💙

#xan plays outertale #I'm not tagging it w the actual game name. that wouldn't feel right #again: most of this is salt. it's also an opinion piece #it was just nice to get my thoughts out there yknow?#if anyone manages to read all this i respect your perseverance tbh lol

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