#wish I could still allow reblogs on this version

[acciocriativity]

-> When they reject you…

... but it wasn't a confession (WOOSAN version)

Genre: angst-ish, bittersweet endings, unrequited love (hard to say from each side tho)

Tags/ Warnings: angsty; bittersweet endings; implied bullying in San's part not done by him; implied body shame in San's part not done by him; San's a coward and don't do anything about it; i don't even now what to say about wooyoung's part, that's a warning?

WC: 1,4 k

N/A: I said that I'd make more of these and here they are (after 8 whole months, I'm so sorry). I didn't forget about the lovely people that loved the MATZ version, this is for you guys!

Please reblog my work if you enjoyed it, it helps to reach other people <3

MATZ Version

Ateez Masterlist

JEONG WOOYOUNG (정우영)

You heard the soft buzz of your phone on your beside table, yet the only thing you did was turn around and adjust the thick blanket under your chin. It was getting cold by the minute and a simple thought crossed your mind before you closed your eyes once again, maybe you should see him one last time.

If anyone told you a week ago that you’d be ignoring Wooyoung’s calls, you wouldn’t believe it, but here you are. You could’ve just block him for once and for all, but a little sick part within you liked to hear the proof of his neediness and desperation. Every call were the solid evidence that it wasn’t all in your head, in fact, he was the once who always seemed to cling to you.

The silence filled the room for barely five seconds, then the phone started ringing again.

You wish you could say you slept well that night, knowing that he wouldn’t leave any voicemails, that little prideful jerk. Instead, the same scene appeared over and over in your mind.

You still could feel his hands around your waist. He made it all so casual, natural and comfortable, like it was supposed to be that way between friends. However, you knew he only ever called you late at night, sometimes just to talk when he couldn’t fall asleep, others to beg you to come pick him up and somewhere in between those moments, he made you believe you were special to him. How special or in what way was a work in progress, you were unsure if his actions should worry you, if maybe it was more than friendly, until he made it all clear a week ago.

It was his birthday, so you did everything you could to make a memorable night, even baked the giant birthday cake yourself. Sometime after the loud music turned into background noise, he found you by the kitchen, then asked you to wait upstairs for him. His room was the only one locked in the entire house, so he left you with the key after sending one of his cheeky little winks your way. You still remember how giddy you felt, because you just received the perfect opportunity to give him that one watch he was thinking about buying it for months now.

The whole day you couldn’t really get a hold of him, something you can not blame Wooyoung of all people for, still, it was dangerously close to midnight. Was it too much to ask for some time with you best friend on his birthday? No, no it wasn’t. You weren’t asking for anything much than a simple conversation and a little bit of appreciation, something you were yet to hear from him. So you waited as much as your patience allowed.

Bu he didn’t show up.

And you knew exactly where he was, most likely having the time of his life surrounded by all your mutual friends, and you did love that about him. You’d always say that he was like your personal ray of sunshine, people like him would always have the spotlight and you also knew he enjoyed that very much. How can you wish something else for him on his day? You wish he had all the fun in the world and maybe share a bit with you as well.

So after waiting for fifteen minutes, you decided that you gave him enough grace already. Wooyoung could get lost in the moment sometimes, so you decided you were going to remind him in the pettiest way you could think of.

But none of that mattered when you laid eyes on him, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He held close one of your mutual closest friend, closer then you remembered them together before. They both were in a small circle by the wall, laughing at something he whispered. Were they a thing now? How did you not know? But there was a larger question taking all the space in your head. Is this how you look like beside him? You were used to the closeness, you enjoyed the intimacy, it could easily be you there right now.

Yet, it wasn’t you and it won’t be.

So why the hell can’t he accept that and deal with the consequences of his own actions? You were giving him what he asked for, space.

Still, he’s calling again.

CHOI SAN (최산)

The moment your existence intertwined with San’s back in college, it felt like people’s perception of you changed all of a sudden. You were nobody to most, then became somebody to him and as a consequence, someone to his friends and acquaintances. It would be fascinating to watch if it wasn’t your own life and if it wasn’t so freaking depressing. A frequent comment you’d hear was ‘how odd the two of you look next to each other’, and there was nothing you could do against a sly remark like that, specially when it comes from his so called friends, and you knew San always took that as a light joke about your differences in personalities.

You don’t remember how it happened, one day you sat beside him at the very back of a class you, so desperately, wanted to skip but couldn’t, the other day you both were attached to the hip. And how could you not? Never in you life you thought you’d describe a man as sweet, not with you at least, but there he was, every day, proving you wrong.

To be in the vicinity as someone like him was a once in a lifetime kind of experience, but to be his friend was another thing entirely. San was one of those people that can make you feel at the top of the world when he pays attention to you, the kind of person that truly seeks connection with those around him and when someone talks, he listens with all his body.

You tried to keep those pros in your mind, but more often than not you caught yourself pondering if it was still worth the headache after all those years, like right now.

You promised yourself you’d come to this stupid five-year college reunion, because otherwise San’d whine about it for a whole month, like you not coming would make him lonely somehow, like that was even a possibility.

Then, it started.

It always does one way or another.

This time was a “innocent joke” about how you glued yourself to San back in the day. They all laughed including yourself, you did not want to make a scene, you never do.

Then there was the stares at the two of you sitting beside each other. That was the funniest part for them, the simple thought that you could still have some hope for something to happen between the two of you to this day and age was hysterical. You could tell since the very start of your friendship what those people thought about you and what your place should be.

Maybe if you ever felt anything towards San in that way, it’d hurt you deeply, but you didn’t and still don’t, so it just pisses you off to no end. However, you don’t have the courage to bring it up and perhaps you should’ve done then, but now you barely see any of them, so what is it one more day?

“You’re good?”, he leaned towards you and his hands caressed your lower arm like it was second nature to him.

You nodded, then whispered as you grabbed your purse, “I’ll be back in a minute”.

It was a long walk to the nearest bathroom, outside of the gymnasium, long enough to calm yourself down and to think clearly.

All the while San was downing a drink after the other, laughing at something he barely heard from across the big table of 9 he was in. Red in the face, coughing like crazy in the middle of the chaos, he did not see you walking up to him.

“What?”, he asked the third time, leaning in to hear his friend better.

“Just admit it already, do you like her, don’t you?”

It took him a few seconds to figure it out what that was about, then a flash of you came into his mind and the recognition on his face was clear to them all. He sobered up quick and sat upright, putting his body weight on top of the table.

You don’t hear what the answer was and you don’t need to. Their laughter, his laughter, echoed in between the song change.

So maybe he wasn’t that innocent after all.

Taglist: @h3arteyes4mingi

[cameronsprincess]

Pretty Blue Eyes — R.C

— summary: you see rafe at a party after he’d dumped you, and it hurts more than you thought it would.

— CW: 18+ only! angst, strong language, alcohol consumption, drunk!reader, hurt/no comfort.

— a/n: i’m so sorry. i love angst and when i’m sad, i have to make y’all sad too. this angst prompts list gave me ideas and i used dialogues 3, 14 and 20<3 likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

I never knew losing him would hurt so much. Losing the one person I’d spent the last six months of my life with.

Six months might not seem like much to some, I understand people have gone through greater losses. But I’d fallen in love with him. Fallen in love with all the meaningless words he’d said. Fallen in love with his scent, his touch, his pretty blue eyes.

But he never loved me. I was just a game. Something to use to pass the time. I boosted his ego, made him feel special. And all the while, he was using me. Playing me. Making me fall in love with him, just so he could break my heart. It was random, and very unexpected. Four words was all it took to shatter my heart into a million little pieces — “I never loved you.” is what he’d said.

To make matters worse? He’d told me this right after we’d had sex. I gave myself to him. My whole self. And he took. He took and took, but never gave. He took until there was nothing left for me to give. He owned my soul, my heart, my body. He owned me, but I never owned him.

That was three days ago. Three days of crying myself to sleep, three days of not eating and drinking myself to death. Three days since I’d seen his face. I’ve tried to avoid him, but I knew I’d see him again. We live on a small fucking island for Christs sake. And he’s everywhere. He’s very well known. There’s no escaping him. And tonight proves that. He’s here. His pretty blue eyes watching me from across the room. I wish I could show him I don’t care, that he didn’t rip my fucking heart out and stomp on it…

But I can’t. I still love him.

“Are you okay?”

My best friend, Ashlyn’s, voice pulls me from the darkness I’ve allowed myself to crawl into. I slowly turn to face her, light brown eyes filled with concern intensely stare back at me.

I put on my best fake smile. “Yeah. Fine, why?”

Lie. I’m not okay, and I don’t know if I ever will be. But I can’t admit that.

She frowns. “You’re not okay though, I can see it in your eyes. Do you wanna leave? We can lea-”

I quickly cut her off. “No, no. It’s fine. Let’s just go get another drink. I’m gonna need them if I’m going to last here all night.”

Her frown deepens, but she nods her head. I internally thank the Heavens that she dropped the subject. I don’t want to talk about Rafe and how he’d absolutely obliterated my heart.

She grabs my hand, lacing her fingers with mine before pulling me off to the kitchen, and out of the eyesight of the beautiful, blue eyed man I once had all to myself.

“I’m thinking shots of fireball. Shit will get you drunk so fast.”

I laugh. “The alcohol version of red hot gum, I’m down.”

Laughing at my lame attempt at a joke, she grips the neck of the bottle, grabbing two shot glasses next and filling them both to the rim. I quickly grab mine, tossing it back and swallowing the harsh amber liquid. A shiver wracks my body as the burning liquid makes its way down my throat.

I cough, placing my hand over my stomach. “Fuck, I forget how much that shit burns.”

Ashlyn chuckles. “Yeah. But that’s what makes it great. The burn of this can help erase the burn you feel from Rafe being a royal douche.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. She’s right. I prefer the burn of the liquor over the burn of Rafe and his heartbreaking words.

She quickly fills the shot glasses again, handing me mine and watching as I down the amber liquid once more.

I slam the shot glass back on the counter. “Another, please.”

She smiles widely. “Atta girl. You’ll forget about the smug bastard by the end of the night at this rate.”

***

Ashlyn was right. I was…. twenty shots in?? I don’t fucking know, I was drunk. And I wasn’t thinking about the pretty blue eyed man.

I’m about to take another shot when a voice I didn’t want to hear anytime soon has me dropping the glass on the floor, clear liquid spilling at my feet as the glass shatters — representing my heart because of him.

“Y/N… I think you should cut yourself off and go home.. I’ll take you.”

I snap my head in his direction, those damn pretty blue eyes staring down at me. Looking at me like I actually meant something to him. Lies. He doesn’t give a fuck. He just doesn’t want me embarrassing him tonight. Fuck him.

With shaky hands, I grab another glass from the counter, my eyes never leaving his. I reach out and find the tall, glass bottle of Tito’s, pouring myself another shot and then downing it with my eyes on his.

“Fuck you, Rafe.”

He sighs, setting his beer bottle on the counter and placing his hands on my shoulders. His blue eyes search my face.

“Y/N. Please, go home. You’re drunk, and you’re hurting.”

I roll my eyes and scoff. Fuck him for trying to pretend he cares. He doesn’t give a shit about me. And I’m done caring about him.

“Stop acting like you give a fuck about me, Rafe. You dumped me. So it’s done. I just want to get drunk, and fucking forget I ever loved you.”

He glances behind me, his eyes taking in everyone that’s watching us. “Hey, can we please go talk outside?”

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he grabs my hand, pulling me outside. I’m so drunk I can’t fight him off. He pulls me all the way down the stairs of the front porch and down the long driveway until we reach his truck.

He opens the passenger door, tossing me inside and slamming it shut behind him. My heavy eyes watch him round the front of the truck before he hops inside the driver seat. He pulls the keys out of his pocket, sticking them into the ignition and bringing the truck to life.

I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. “Where the fuck are you taking me, Rafe?”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye before placing them back on the road. “Home.” comes his clipped answer.

I lean my head against the window. Why does he do this? He left me. Why does he care if I’m drunk at a party or not? Why can’t he just leave me alone and let me heal?

The smell of leather and his cologne fills my nose. I feel the tears begin burning the backs of my eyes, and I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I lift my head, turning my head to the side to look at him. He still looks so good, and it hurts. He has one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel and the other lays lazily in his lap.

He has on a tight baby blue polo, and khakis with a backwards hat on. I want him to kiss me, and tell me everything will be okay. Tell me that he made a mistake and he does love me. But I know that won’t happen. He meant what he said, and there’s no getting him back, no matter how badly I want him back.

A few minutes later, he’s pulling into the driveway of my parents house. He puts the truck in park and hops out, rounding the truck to my side and opening the door for me.

He reaches his hand out, and I take it. My heart pulls in my chest at the feel of his touch again. I miss him.

He helps me out of the truck, and walks me to the front door. I turn and face him, wanting to get some things off my chest before he goes.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask softly, tears stinging at my eyes and threatening to spill.

He sighs, and the look in his eyes hold slight regret. “I can’t answer that… I just, I didn’t want to be with you anymore. And I’m sorry I hurt you in the process, but I couldn’t pretend to love you when I didn’t.”

The first tear falls, and I blink rapidly, swiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I still don’t understand what I did wrong..”

He places a hand on my shoulder, and I can’t stop the sob that is pulled from me.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N… I promise. I know this is so cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I just couldn’t commit.”

The tears are now flowing uncontrollably down my face and my body is shaking. I’m in pain. And he’s making it worse.

“I love you, Rafe. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry.. I just can’t. You need to stop loving me.”

I choke out a sob. “I don’t want to love you anymore. But I do.”

He sighs, letting his head fall and his eyes look to the ground.

This is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I’m not getting him back. I’ll never have Rafe Cameron in my life again. And that thought alone has me spiraling into a depression I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back from.

“Say something, Rafe.” I choke out.

His head lifts, and his eyes find mine again. He’s went from looking regretful, to angry in just seconds.

“What do you want me to say? I left you. And now you’re showing up to my friend’s house, getting fucking wasted and causing a scene. What the fuck do you want from me? I can’t fucking force myself to love you! I just fucking can’t! I’m sorry, but that’s the fucking truth. I never fucking loved you, Y/N. Let it the fuck go.”

Another harsh sob wracks my body as I come to terms with the fact that he truly never loved me. He never cared about me. He used me, and I let him. I grab my house key out of my small purse and stick it into the lock. I push open the front door, turning to face him before I walk inside, I say, “I could have lived without knowing you never meant anything you told me. You fucking broke me, Rafe. You ruined me. A once bright and happy fucking woman, and you’ve shattered me. I fucking hate you, and I hope you’re happy. Please, just leave me the fuck alone.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I slam the door in his face, quickly locking it and sliding my back down the door until my ass hits the floor. I bring my knees up to my chest, curling in on myself. I let out a loud scream, knowing my parents aren’t home tonight. Sobs wrack my entire body and I feel the physical pain in my chest from where he once lived. He fucking broke me, and I will never forgive him for that.

RAFE TAGLIST: @rafeism @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @lorelai-lilith @lizcameron @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @digitaldiary111 @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust @sylverdragon @ditzyzombiesblog @the-sylver-dragon @nattywatty @urfavpersonality @stupidbxnny @mattyskies @corpsebridenightamare

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[hanilessa]

aaaaa can you do your work 'your attention' but with xiao, albedo, kazuha and wanderer? i liked it so much i wish they had a version of it 🥲

` Author’s notes: aww hello, dear anon!! thank you very much for your request! i'm very glad you like this idea. i hope you enjoy it!! ♡

part one! part three! likes, replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 my inbox is open for your requests! feel free to text me if you want to request headcanons or drabble. :3

» :、♡  YOUR ATTENTION

` Summary: You pay a lot of attention to your newborn child, and your husband has only to watch it jealousy. He lacks your attention.

` Includes: Xiao, Albedo, Kazuha, Wanderer x fem!reader

` Genre: fluff, romance, hints of jealousy

XIAO

When your daughter was born, Xiao was a little scared. He isn't accustomed to communicating with people, and even with you, mostly at the beginning of your acquaintance, he preferred to be silent, listening to your voice when you talked to him.

But his child is different. This is his blood and flesh. This is your blood and flesh. And he's obliged to give his child as much love as he gives you.

But he must tirelessly continue the work of the exorcism, so basically you take care of the child.

He wants to help you, he really wants to, but his debt of karma has settled in his soul. But you never reproached him for it, and he will always be grateful to you.

You love to sit by the window and look out the window with some longing, waiting for the return of your lover. Your daughter twitches her nose in a funny way while you hold her in your arms.

You smile happily as you cradle the baby in your arms.

And when Xiao, frozen on the balcony railing, sees you and his child in your arms, he thinks he just doesn't deserve it.

You're so gentle, beautiful, you treat a small child in your hands so reverently, and this makes his heart tremble with love and desire to be in your arms too.

When Xiao really wants something from you, he will never say it directly. You have long been accustomed to the fact that basically an adeptus will always wait for the first step from you.

This applies to literally everything. Hugs, kisses, tender words. Understand him, it's just hard for him to be open, but he really tries, so please support Xiao in his timid actions.

Greedy for your touch, he looks with some jealousy at your daughter in your arms, also wanting to receive your gentle touches and words of love.

When you lay your daughter in her cradle, you call your husband closer to you, and the adeptus doesn't dare to resist you, because he knows that he will do anything for you at your one word.

He's always greedy for your attention and kisses, because you're his salvation. You will always be a light in his dark realm, illuminating his path forward with your radiance.

You pull Xiao closer to you, and his tense body gradually relaxes, feeling your familiar cuddle. He squeezes your waist with his strong hands, finally feeling you next to him.

You whisper into his hair, "Rest, my dear. And I will protect your dream."

ALBEDO

Before your son was born, you and Albedo always did experiments together.

You were his assistant and right hand, you always helped him when he needed your help.

When your child was born, you left your job because you had to take care of your son. He was very active and you always needed to keep your attention on him.

At first Albedo didn't attach much importance to your absence, because, for example, he always worked alone at Dragonspine, not allowing you to accompany him, because he was afraid that you might get sick.

And for the most part, he did his job well, even when he worked alone, but something still wasn't right.

The constant feeling of you next to him seemed to have ingrained under his skin, and when you were next to him during the moments of his work, he felt more confident than ever in his experiments.

Because when you were by his side, he knew he could handle anything.

But now all your attention is riveted to your son, and this slight sediment of jealousy remains in his chest.

Looking at you and his son, Albedo clearly feels that he has missed your attention madly.

Therefore when your baby falls asleep, Albedo immediately pulls you into his arms, hearing you exhale excitedly.

Albedo is always restrained and calm, and such a manifestation of his emotions and desires isn't entirely characteristic of him, so you're very surprised when he slightly unexpectedly and rudely presses you closer to him.

He seeks your attention, preventing you from focusing on anything other than him alone. Therefore until he's satisfied with your affection and love, he won't allow you to go anywhere.

You can only shake your head as you watch the great alchemist turn into a small child when he lacks your attention.

"Please be my assistant for the next experiment. I want you to witness my success." He whispers into your neck and you pull his head closer to you, enjoying your husband's presence.

"I promise."

KAZUHA

When your son was born, Kazuha wrote the poem for him. And the next poem he wrote for you, where he said that for him there is nothing more valuable than you in the whole world.

He thanked you for the fact that your child was born, and asked your forgiveness for not being able to be with you every day.

His soul is always dreaming and longing for travel, and you know it. You never reproached Kazuha for this, humbly waiting for him to return to his native land.

And as captain Beidou's ship returned to Inazuma after a long voyage, Kazuha's soul sings with the realization that he will soon be able to be with you and your son again.

At the moment when he sees you holding your little baby in your arms, his heart flutters, and he hurries to give you the most tender and long-awaited hugs.

But Kazuha stops halfway to you, because you ask him to wait a little while you put your child in his bed.

The baby was crying in your arms as you tried to soothe him by humming a sweet melody that seemed to your husband the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

The thought that he could now see you right in front of him after a long separation without being able to hug you tore his heart apart.

But you have always been adamant when it comes to your child, so Kazuha meekly with a bit of jealousy in his red eyes waited for you to put your son in his cradle.

Words of love, beautiful songs burst out of him like birds from a golden cage when you again find yourself in his arms and bestow your attention on him.

Kazuha's love language is words. He can compose for you any poem, any novel about his boundless love for you.

And be sure that his poem about love for you will be passed from mouth to mouth in the breath of a light breeze, which is an integral part of his being.

Therefore continue to give him affection and love.

"Your attention is dearest to me, I beg you, keep looking at me with your beautiful eyes."

WANDERER

It's difficult to call Wanderer a gentle person after how much pain and suffering he has endured, but when you have a child, his puppet heart trembles with sincere joy.

He doesn't believe that someone as rotten on the inside as he is, can give rise to a new life – as pure and innocent as your daughter.

You will never get tired of repeating to Wanderer that even though his past is clouded by bad memories, his future will always be bright, sunny and calm.

Because you and your daughter will always be by his side.

Let him never show it, Scaramouche will always be grateful to you for your words. You and your daughter are the meaning of his life and something without which he could never exist in this world.

But when it comes to your attention, he doesn't want to cede it to anyone. Even to his child.

He looks at the little baby with narrowed eyes as she tries to reach out to you two with her little hands in an attempt to get your hugs.

But the Wanderer tactfully stops her attempts in the bud, because now he's the one who will receive all your tenderness and love.

You just smile, holding out your hand to the little baby, watching your husband's brows furrow as the child giggles happily.

"You promised me that today your attention will be focused only on me…" Scaramouche grumbles in annoyance, pouting his lips.

He's so funny when he furrows his brows. A blush covers his cheeks as he realizes you've noticed his little weakness. Yes, he needs you and your hugs, so please give him your attention.

You chuckle at how cute and irritable Wanderer becomes when your attention is on someone or something else.

"Your daughter wants my attention too. Why don't you share it with her?" You smile slyly.

He just snorts and pulls you tighter against his chest, forcing you to let go of your daughter's hand. After that light sweet kisses begin to cover your neck.

"I won't even think about it."

[xjoonchildx]

kanalia | jhs x reader | final chapter: because i couldn't stay away

banner by the amazing @kth1 💕

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes. smut warnings in effect.

⚜️word count: 10.2K

⚜️author's note: happy birthday month to my forever muse, jung hoseok. i hope that i did this poor, tortured version of you some justice. and yes, it did take me years to finish this story (😭) , but i did. thank you to every single who has ever taken an interest in this story and cared enough to stick with me through long delays and rough writing spells. once again, i have to shout out the OG @hobi-gif who lent her eyes to part of this story. i appreciate you all so much and if you enjoyed it, i would very much appreciate a reblog as well as your feedback.

thank you guys so, so much 💕

previous chapter masterlist

Love doesn't discriminate Between the sinners and the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep loving anyway We laugh and we cry and we break And we make our mistakes And if there's a reason I'm by her side When so many have tried Then I'm willing to wait for it I'm willing to wait for it

– “Wait for It”

Hamilton, An American Musical 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

One perfect loop is followed by another. And another. And another.

You need not look back and check your work, not anymore. Now you know simply by the pull of the thread that each stitch you place is snug and uniform. You sit in your chair by the fire and repeat the motion over and over again, staring unseeing into the pattern in your lap. 

“It’s a beautiful day, Your Grace.”

Hyeri’s voice taps at the edges of your consciousness, muffled as though she’s standing outside the chamber door instead of seated right beside you. You ignore it and push another loop through the fabric.

“Not a cloud in the sky,” she persists, gentle. “Perfect conditions for a walk, if you feel up to it. I could even accompany you, if you wish?”

There was a time, not long ago, when Hyeri’s prodding would have set your teeth on edge. But you do not have the energy to muster any such emotion. And so you give Hyeri the same answer you’d given her the day before. And the day before that one. The same hushed words, spoken in the same decisive tone.

“I’m content to stay in today, Hyeri. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

She drops the matter with a quiet sigh.

It’s unlike her. The Hyeri you know would fret and fuss for as long as it took for you to relent; until you had no choice but to quit your chamber simply to enjoy a moment’s peace. The Hyeri you know would be shooing you away from the fire, prattling on about how one errant thread could catch and send your entire dress up in flames. 

But the Hyeri seated beside you does none of those things.

So you sink deeper into the plush chair perched in front of the hearth and watch the flames dance. The embers at the base of the fire glow deep red, putting off a heat blistering enough to scorch your bare feet. 

But you cannot feel it. You cannot feel anything.

You’ve surrendered to the weariness now; let it consume you. Allowed it to fuse itself to the very marrow of your bones. For days you’ve done little beyond sleep and spend your few waking hours seated by the fire, needle in hand. 

Twice you’ve left your chamber and neither time by choice, but rather because the King had insisted on your presence at dinner. To what end you still cannot be sure seeing as you’d taken both meals in stilted, awkward silence. Apparently His Grace is far less bold without a bit of ale in him.

“The hunting party leaves in three days' time,” Hyeri says. “There’s been quite a fuss in the kitchens over it. They’re taking enough supplies to travel for months, by the looks of it.”

You make a non-committal sound under your breath. Hyeri forges on, undeterred.

“There will be a send-off in the courtyard, of course. Will you – “ she pauses to choose her words carefully. “ – Well, I assume that you’ll want to see the King off.”

You do not want to see the King off. Were it not for his pigheaded adamance that you keep up appearances for the sake of this sham marriage, you’d be content to never see him again. But you’ll not tell Hyeri that. Not when she’s made it clear where her loyalties lie and not when she still holds on to the delusion that one day you’ll decide to embrace your role as the placeholder by the King’s side.

So you say nothing at all. The fire pops as one of the logs crumbles in the hearth.

Hyeri clears her throat. “Your Grace, I only want what’s best for you. Surely you know that by now? And I don’t want people casting aspersions, which they most certainly will do if you’re not there to see the King off. The staff is already asking questions about why you’ve not been seen in days.”

“Has he asked for me?”

Hyeri blinks. “The King?”

“Yes, Hyeri,” you say slowly. “The King. Has His Grace requested my presence at this send-off ceremony?”

The color seems to drain from her soft face as she admits, “No, Your Grace. He hasn’t.”

“Then I see no point in worrying yourself over the matter.”

You return your attention to your needlework and place another yellow thread in the center of your Mugunghwa flower’s pistil. The flames crackle in perfect, undisturbed silence. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“It’s cold out there today,” Hyeri says. “But if you bundle up tight, it’s quite pleasant in the sunshine.”

“Thank you, Hyeri,” you reply evenly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it. You have no intention of leaving this chamber today and much to your relief, the King did not require your presence at his evening meal the night prior. Hyeri had ordered your dinner sent up and then proceeded to dine with you herself. An insidious voice inside your mind whispers she’s afraid to leave you alone.

You ignore it.

Instead you try to focus on your Mugunghwa flower. You study it, blinking until the riot of colors before you has clear, defined boundaries – fiery crimson at the center which slowly bleeds into a subdued pink which in turn dissipates into a milky white. You pull fresh white thread through your needle and set to work on the flower’s edges.

“Your needlework is much improved, Your Grace,” Hyeri notes. “You’ll be finished with that pattern by the end of the day, as I see it.”

You thumb over the fabric and consider her assessment. She’s right, you’ll be done with this pattern in a matter of hours. And the only thing that awaits on the other side is another pattern. And another. On and on and on. 

“Perhaps when you’re done, you’ll consider mending this for me,” Hyeri says, gesturing towards her lap. “My eyesight is not what it used to be. I’m terrified of ruining the old man’s beautiful design.”

You set your embroidery down and turn to look at Hyeri, gaze falling to the opulent plum fabric in her hands. Slowly, the details sharpen into focus. The rich velvet trim. The gold threads glinting back at you in the firelight. The room begins to tilt.

“A footman found it in the woods last night,” Hyeri explains, her cadence slow and deliberate. “By the stables.”

You are keenly aware of the way she watches you in the weighty seconds that follow, one gray eyebrow lifted as she awaits a response. You do your best to appear calm despite the panic clawing its way up your throat.

You’d lost that shawl in your mad dash back to the castle. You’d been tearing through the dark, paying little heed to the branches that tugged at your dress and occasionally scraped at your hands and face. One of them had caught the shawl, but you’d been so desperate to reach the refuge of your chamber that you’d hardly noticed when it was wrenched away. You’d had, after all, your humiliation to keep you warm.

And you’d earned it, hadn’t you? With your drunkenness. With your recklessness. You’d let every one of your baser emotions take control. You’d risked every advantage of your carefully curated life just to throw yourself like a wanton at the feet of one of your husband’s closest confidantes. Like a fool. 

When Lord Jung turned on his heels that night and abandoned you in the woods, he’d done far more than just rebuff your clumsy advances. 

He’d finished you. 

“Your Grace?” Hyeri’s curiosity is evident. “Are you alright?”

Hardly. Your mouth waters as your stomach threatens to cast up what little you’ve eaten today. One glimpse of that garment had been enough to bring a torrent of memories rushing back; vivid, awful memories that you’ve worked hard to banish to the deepest recesses of your mind. You grip the arm of your chair hard enough to make your knuckles go white. 

“Your Grace?”

You don’t answer until you’re sure that you won’t retch the very moment you open your mouth. Hyeri studies you in the interminable silence, lips parted in an expression of concern. Your tongue is thick when you finally collect yourself enough to speak.

“Please do thank the footman for me, Hyeri. And I think it best to leave the more intricate needlework to you.”

Hyeri stares as you reach for your needle and thread with trembling hands, but you don’t dare look her way. You try to place a loop at the edge of your flower but the Mugunghwa’s colors have gone blurry again and you’re forced to back the needle out and start over.

Perhaps there was a time when the Mugunghwa was as vivid as a rose. With petals of rich orange-red, opaque from pistil to tip. But perhaps it was asked to weather too many storms. Too many droughts. Too many winters. 

Perhaps the Mugunghwa looks the way it does today not because of how it was made, but rather what it’s had to endure. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first snow of the season arrives early.

You stand at your window and watch it fall, noting how quickly the fields turn from green to white. You press your fingertips to the windowpane and the cold seeps through it, chilling you instantly.

In the courtyard below, the horses are draped in heavy blankets. Stablehands scurry around them; dusting snow off their muzzles and checking their shoes. Footmen work in teams, sharing the weight of the heavy trunks they load on to waiting carts. 

“I’ll wear the blue walking dress today, Hyeri. The one with the white flowers on the bodice.”

“Your Grace?” Hyeri is on her feet at once to join you at the window. “You’ll see the king off, then?”

“I’ll need the matching cape too,” you direct, brushing her question aside as you watch the newly-packed trunks take on a layer of white snow. “If the conditions are as awful as they look.”

“Yes of course,” Hyeri breathes, hurriedly whirling about the chamber behind you as she gathers your things. In a matter of minutes she has you dressed and seated, fingers twisting your hair into a plait at the base of your neck. She loops the plait and pins it into an elegant bun, fingers smoothing the hairs into place before her hands come to rest on your shoulders. She squeezes them gently.

“I’ll not ask you why you’ve changed your mind, Your Grace,” she says softly. “But I’m so glad for it. It’s important that people see you. For them, of course, but for you most of all. And besides, you look so lovely.” 

You don’t feel lovely. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all. And if Hyeri had pressed you as to why you’ve changed your mind, she’d not be satisfied with your answer. You’ve changed your mind because you cannot bear to cause more conflict with the King. Because you have no desire to create a scandal that you’ll somehow have to fix. You’ve changed your mind because you have no fight in you left. This is the path of least resistance.

You rise from your seat and Hyeri’s hands fall away. She clutches them to her chest, rheumy eyes soft with sadness as she watches you take your place at the window once again. Outside the snow falls harder, and you watch the footmen leave deep divots in it with their boots.

“Tell me when it’s time,” you say quietly.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You can scarcely recognize anyone in the throng of well-wishers gathered outside the castle.

They’re all bundled tight in winter coats and pelts; some wear hats and scarves. The snow doesn’t help either, and from the moment you enter the courtyard you’re grateful for your cape. Not only for the warmth of its thick lining, but for its hood, too. It affords you a bit of privacy in this otherwise very public affair.

You weave your way through the crowd and do your best not to make eye contact with anyone. Surely Boram is among those gathered with sweet Yeona in tow, here to see Lord Min off on his adventure. But you cannot bring yourself to seek her out – not when she’s already called on you twice without so much as an explanation for your disappearance. At any rate, you don’t think you could bear to look at her right now. To see the worry and concern you know you’ll find written all over her face. 

So you keep your hood pulled tight and your eyes down as you set off in search of the King. And you have no trouble finding him despite your reticence to make your presence known. It’s not just that he stands a head taller than most. It’s in his stature, in his stance – in that self-assured air that seems to come naturally to those born with power. He catches sight of you as he’s speaking to a footman and pauses, gaze locking on yours.

Your legs feel heavy. Your boots sink into the snow as you approach, each step more tiring than the last. When you are finally standing before the King you bow, dipping your head as you peer at him from beneath your hood.

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, lips twitching into a cautious half-smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come down to say goodbye.”

“And yet I have,” you respond evenly. A snowflake lands on one of his long eyelashes and you resist the urge to reach out and sweep it away. “So I do very much hope that you are pleased.”

“I am pleased.”

The King reaches for your gloved hand. He waits a heartbeat before bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your leather-clad fingers. Beneath your hood, your cheeks burn. You withdraw your hand quickly and let it fall to your side. 

“Well. Then. I wish you a comfortable journey,” you say. “As well as a safe return.”

The two of you stand there for an awkward moment, the King’s expression expectant as though he’s waiting for you to say more. But you have no more to say. The words you’ve already offered him will do. They’re as empty as the vows you’d exchanged little more than a year ago.

“We ought to head out, Your Grace. We’re losing precious daylight and this weather will slow us as it is.”

The voice comes from somewhere in your periphery, but you need not see the man to know exactly who it is. Suddenly each breath you draw is painful, the frigid air pricking your lungs like a thousand tiny needles. You will yourself not to turn towards it, not to react in any way. 

“You’re right.” The King acknowledges Lord Jung with a brusque nod. “Have the stablehands check over the horses one more time.”

You won’t look at him. You can’t look at him. Not when the sound of his voice reverberates through every wounded place inside of you. Not when you can close your eyes and still feel the hot trickle of embarrassment that slid down your spine that night in the woods. But then he leaves you with no other choice.

“Your Grace.” 

The low timbre of Lord Jung’s greeting makes the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. You turn to him, slowly, and his dark eyes briefly connect with yours before he bends into a shallow bow. Your knees nearly give way when you return the gesture, along with a subdued, “My Lord.”

What must this man think of you now? What has he told the King? The nausea you’ve managed to stave off for days returns at once. 

You startle when a gloved hand wraps around your forearm and the King beckons you to face him. You flick your eyes up to meet his and find that they – along with his countenance – have darkened. By now Lord Jung is yards away, tending to his horse as the hunting party readies to embark. Your lungs ache with each deep pull of cold air.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Not at all,” you insist, contriving a weak laugh. “I’m not accustomed to this kind of cold, is all. I’ll need to go back inside to get warm.”

The King’s brows furrow as he studies you. But you maintain your mild expression until his face relaxes and the disquiet subsides. He leans in to place a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Hyeri assures me you’ll be well taken care of in my absence.”

You lift the corners of your mouth in a gesture that you hope will pass for a smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Be well.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hyeri does not protest when you ask to undress upon your return to the chamber. Nor does she fuss when you climb into bed with the morning sun still high in the sky. She simply presses a soft kiss to your hair, draws the curtains tight and leaves you with a whispered rest well. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Your chamber is dark when you wake but for the soft glow of a fire. 

As you come to, so does an ache in your temples, a quiet thud that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Your muscles protest as you roll onto your side to find Hyeri seated at the hearth. 

She’s yet to realize that you’ve roused and so you lie there for a while, studying her. She has a strange, far-away look in her eyes as she stares into the flames, her grip tight on a book in her lap. After a few minutes she opens the book and begins to thumb through it and you watch, curious, as she pulls a worn piece of vellum from between its pages.

She unfolds the missive and reads over it, face crumpling as she fights back a sob.

“Hyeri?”

The older woman nearly jumps out of her skin when you call out to her.  She hastily folds the vellum and slips it back into her book, smoothing down her dress as she stands at attention. “Your Grace,” she says, voice huskier than usual, “I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

“It’s alright,” you say absently, voice rough with sleep. You steal a look at the book left lying in Hyeri’s chair as she hurries over to bring you some water. Her countenance is that of someone who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. You stare at the glass she offers you, watching the water slosh back and forth. 

Is she trembling?

“You ought to eat something,” she admonishes gently, waving a hand towards the food waiting on the table nearby. “You slept through the evening meal. I had my mind made up to wake you if you’d gone much longer, but thankfully I didn’t have to. So come,” she beckons, “Eat something. It will do you some good.”

Your stomach twinges at the mention of food. It’s been in upheaval for days now, and as such it’s been far too long since you had a proper meal. But whatever awaits in the dishes nearby smells enticing enough, so you allow Hyeri to help you out of bed. Your muscles are stiff with disuse and you grimace as you make your way to the table. Your eagle-eyed handmaid takes note.

“A long, hot bath will do you some good, too,” Hyeri remarks as you spoon lukewarm bulgogi onto your plate. You eat slowly as she busies herself with lighting the torches and stripping the linens from your bed. “I’ll have the maids bring up the water after you’ve had a chance to eat.”

You’ve only managed a few bites of the bulgogi before there’s an army of maids filing into the chamber, flitting about the room like a swarm of bees. You watch the entire affair in a daze as the maids make quick work of the tasks set before them: tidying and sweeping the chamber, draping your bed in fresh linens, filling the tub with steaming hot water. And when all the commotion is finally done, Hyeri dismisses them with strict orders not to return unless they are sent for. 

You are grateful at once for the silence that immediately falls over the chamber. Even Hyeri leaves you for a while, disappearing into the antechamber to prepare your toilette. But when you glance over at her chair, Hyeri’s book is gone. Along with whatever was written on the vellum inside.

“Come now, Your Grace,” Hyeri says, at last. “I’m ready for you.” 

She leads you into the bathing chamber, where the air is humid and sweet. Then she helps you out of your rumpled nightgown and holds out her hand. You accept it, leaning into her as you step over the tub’s steep rim. Slowly you ease yourself down, sucking in a breath as the heat blazes a path up your feet to your legs and thighs. The water is hot almost to the point of pain but you withstand it, sinking until it laps at your shoulders.

“I used rose oil tonight,” Hyeri says, kneeling behind you and cupping your head in her hands. “I thought you could do with a bit of pampering.” 

The delicate fragrance envelopes you, carried on the curls of steam that rise just above the water. You breathe in the soft, floral scent and close your eyes; try to clear your mind. Hyeri presses her thumbs to your temples and starts making firm, soothing circles. 

“I remember the very first moment I saw you,” Hyeri muses softly. “I’d been so impressed by your poise.” Her hands move to the column of your neck and she kneads at the tight muscles there, pulling the tension from them with each pass. “You were little more than a girl then, but I could still see that you were lovely, inside and out.”

Were you? You’re not sure that you would even recognize the girl that stepped out of that carriage so long ago. You’d been so idealistic – so certain of the comfortable life that you would find here. Of the affluence and status and yes, perhaps, even love that you’d enjoy once you’d ascended to the throne. But that girl had been a nitwit. The woman you are now will never entertain such foolish notions again.

“I know that so much of this has not been easy for you,” Hyeri continues, setting to work on your shoulders. “I know that there have been days when you’ve struggled to put one foot in front of the other. But you have. And that means something.”

It does mean something. It means that your mother’s great work is finally complete. She’d spent her entire life molding you into the polished, empty creature you are today. If only she could see you now; see how biddable and pathetic you’ve become. It would fill her to overflowing with joy.

“Anyhow, when you’ve lived as long as I have you realize that nothing is forever,” Hyeri says thoughtfully. “Same as what you’re going through right now, Your Grace. It won’t be forever.”

Nonsense. Hyeri cannot change the King’s heart. She cannot save you from a lifetime of awkward exchanges and forced smiles simply because she believes things can change. And she cannot will a child into your womb simply by decreeing that it should be so. The swell of emotion that surges inside you is more powerful than anything you’ve felt in days. And it’s anger. 

“Hyeri, stop,” you order tersely. “No more.”

Her face falls at that, features going slack with dismay. But she heeds you, holding back whatever she’d meant to say next. Then she reaches for the soap and begins to wash your hair in silence. You chase the beads of oil that float along the surface of the water with a fingertip, cheeks hot with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to be ugly to Hyeri. 

But then you’ve done many things of late that you hadn’t meant to.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s alright, Your Grace. I know you meant no harm by it.” Hyeri dries her hands off and then rises to her feet, looking down at you with a kindness you do not deserve. “I’ll leave you to soak for a bit. You can have a few minutes of peace before I return.”

You’ve been unfair to her, haven’t you? The realization cuts you deep as you watch her retreat from the antechamber. She’s served you in so many ways since your arrival here: as caretaker and as advisor and as confidante. And how have you thanked her? By being cold and distant. By unleashing all the frustration and resentment you feel towards the King on her. And what of the tears you’d seen her hold back while she’d been sitting by the fire? Have you been so mired in your own anguish that you’ve neglected to see hers? 

The water has begun to cool and your skin has begun to pebble by the time Hyeri returns.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she says upon her return, helping you out of the water. “The time got away from me. You must be freezing.”

“Only a little,” you lie, teeth chattering. Hyeri sets to drying you, throwing the damp linens on the floor to catch the rivulets of water that fall from your hair. Her dark eyes dart from your shoulders to your neck to your ears, but they do not meet yours. 

“Is something wrong, Hyeri?”

“No, no. Not at all,” she answers quickly, “Just a bit tired.” Her reassurance rings hollow because she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as she bends to reach for the rose oil. When she straightens, you catch her hand with yours, stilling her. 

“What were you reading tonight?”

Hyeri’s mouth opens in surprise and then quickly closes.

“I saw you sitting by the fire,” you admit. “You were reading something that looked to upset you.”

“And here I thought you were sleeping,” Hyeri grumbles, taking her hand back. She pours the oil into one palm and then warms it before pressing it to your neck, letting a long moment pass before she speaks. 

“It didn’t upset me,” she explains. “Not in a sad way. Those were happy tears, I suppose.” She pours oil into your hands and begins to gently massage it into your fingers. “It was a letter from my Sanghun, back when he’d been courting me so many years ago. You might find this hard to believe, but I wasn’t always the old woman you see now. I had more than my fair share of suitors.”

It’s not hard to believe. Time has been kind to Hyeri. Her features, though soft with age, are still striking. She must have been quite fetching as a young woman. 

“What made you choose Sanghun?” you ask.

“I don’t know that I had a choice in the matter at all,” she laughs as she helps you slip into a nightgown. “The moment I saw Sanghun, no other man existed for me. It was him or no one.” Her eyes go soft with a faraway look as she recounts the memory. “The other girls thought him too practical, too serious. But I saw a side of him that no one else saw. A part of him that was just for me.”

“You must miss him,” you say gently.

“Every day,” Hyeri admits. “Ten years he’s been gone and I think of him every day. Those letters remind me of what it’s like to be young and so in love that you’ll not see rhyme or reason. But –” she trails off and waves a hand as if fending off fresh tears. “Never mind that. Come sit.”

It’s unclear which of you she’s sparing from the memory. But as Hyeri begins working her comb through the lengths of your hair, you’re struck by how shortsighted you’ve been. There is suffering in never having the chance to love and be loved, certainly. But there is a different kind of suffering that comes with having that kind of love and then losing it. The thought humbles you.

Hyeri comes to stand behind you and begins working your wet hair into a loose plait.

“I’m sorry, Hyeri,” you say softly, gaze dropping to your hands. “I’m sorry that I haven’t thought to ask you about Sanghun. I haven’t been myself and I’ve just – “

Hyeri silences you with a soft hush. She secures your braid with a piece of linen and then drops to her knees to look her in the eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says softly, stroking a hand down the side of your face. “Nor do you owe anyone an explanation for feeling the things you feel.”

Her warmth thaws the frozen places inside you. It causes tears to spring to your eyes. And when she takes your hand in hers, you squeeze it gently — hoping that the gesture can convey the feelings you can’t put into words.

“Now put all of that behind you,” she says, smiling through her own unshed tears. “And come sit with me for a while.”

Hyeri leads the way into the chamber and you follow, only to stop short when the hearth comes into view.

When your gaze falls on the silhouetted figure near the fire, you nearly scream. You try to scream. But fear seizes your body, inch by inch – rooting your feet to the floor and closing around your throat like a shackle. You have no choice but stand there, staring in horrified silence as the figure begins to emerge from the shadows. In the span of one frantic heartbeat, the figure has a shape. In the next, it has a face. 

And in the next, it has a name.

“H-Hyeri?” you stammer, swaying on your feet as your legs threaten to give way. Your handmaid doesn’t answer and so you call out again, voice quivering. “Hyeri?”

You cannot take your eyes off the man standing before you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and so you stare as the firelight flickers over his stark, beautiful features. Shadows dance across his clenched jaw and knit brow. And his eyes – those dark eyes you know so well are fathomless, inscrutable – smoldering coal set in unblemished, unforgiving stone.

“Hyeri!“ you call out to her again, desperate – reluctantly tearing your gaze from the man to look for her. And when your eyes finally land on Hyeri, you find your handmaid standing near the chamber door, hands clasped together tightly. Streaks of color running up the thin skin of her neck and into her soft cheeks.

But she’s not surprised, is she? Not flummoxed in any way by finding Lord Jung lying in wait inside your private rooms. The realization comes over you slowly, wholly, until a strangle tingle runs from your scalp to the tips of your fingers. She’s arranged this, hasn’t she? 

“W-What is this?” The words leave you as more air than sound, but they ring out clear enough in the silence of your chamber. Lord Jung and Hyeri exchange a long look, but neither utters a sound.

“Someone speak!” you cry, wincing at the hysteria in your voice. 

Hyeri finally clears her throat, her face now fully aflame. “I believe the two of you – “ she pauses, swallowing hard. “Well, I believe the two of you have some things you need to discuss.”

Discuss? You and Lord Jung? Suddenly the panic you feel metastasizes, growing into something much darker. Has he come to admonish you, then? To punish you for your disloyalty? Has he come to lay bare every humiliating detail of that horrible night at the stables for Hyeri to hear? 

“No,” you whisper. You do your best to appear composed, despite the way your knees tremble. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Hyeri. I have nothing to discuss with Lord Jung.”

“Yes, you do.” The man in question speaks for the first time, his voice little more than a low rasp. “And we will.”

“No,” you repeat your refusal, shaking your head as though the movement will help sort your jumbled thoughts. “No. You have no right to turn up here and say what I will and will not do. And where did you come from? I saw you leave. I saw you mount your horse and ride off with – “

You stop yourself before you can finish the thought, flushing fiercely at the unspoken mention of the King. Your tedious, disinterested husband would be anything but if he had any inkling of this clandestine encounter.

“I was called back to the castle,” Lord Jung explains evenly. “A palace rider came bearing a missive bidding that I return at once to address an issue at the stables. I was but an hour’s ride away at the time.” Once again, he looks to Hyeri and they exchange another one of those maddening looks.

“But there was no issue at the stables,” you deduce quietly, the pieces falling into place, one by one. “Was there, Hyeri?” Your handmaid seems to shrink beneath the weight of the accusation in your eyes. 

“No, Your Grace,” she confesses weakly, “There was not.”

Oh, but your head is truly spinning now – each new revelation more disorienting than the last. How long have these two been conspiring together? What does Hyeri know about what’s transpired between you and Lord Jung? What does he know about the many private things you’ve shared with Hyeri? Both thoughts cause the bile in your stomach to rise.

“You can leave us now, Hyeri,” Lord Jung says. “Thank you.”  

Leave you? Has the man lost all good sense? You open your mouth to protest, but when met with the intensity in his glittering dark eyes, words fail you. You just stand there, mouth agape, rendered mute and immobile with shock. You look over at Hyeri, who has fixed her pleading eyes to your wide ones, her expression urging you to comply. And though you cannot make sense of a single thing that you’ve witnessed tonight, you do.

“Very well, My Lord,” she says quietly. “Rest well, Your Grace. The staff rouses at dawn.”

And with that Hyeri takes her leave, the chamber door closing behind her with a heavy thud that echoes the one in your chest.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Once you are alone with Lord Jung, you realize how truly vulnerable you are.

With little more than a thin nightgown to cover you, he can see far more of you than would ever be considered proper. All it would take was one shout from the man to bring the guards running, to compromise you both to the point of expulsion. Perhaps worse.

But the situation is far weightier than that. 

You’ve been vulnerable to this man from nearly the first moment you saw him. You’d been weak to his attention and charms. You’d allowed him to see you in ways that no one else has: not Chaehee, not Hyeri and certainly not the King. And the only time in your life that you’d thrown caution to the wind – and acted with abandon, not restraint – he’d mortified you. The memory of that night is a wound that’s just barely begun to heal, and now here Lord Jung stands, poised to pour salt on it. 

You’ll not allow him to devastate you again. 

“Go on then,” you say, lifting your chin and speaking with feigned bravado. “You’ve gone to great lengths to speak to me, so speak. I assume you’ll enlighten me as to which matter is so pressing that you felt the need to steal into my chamber and risk ruin for us both.”

“I know what I’m risking,” he growls. Then he stops to collect himself, exhaling deeply as he shoves a hand through his hair. “I know what we both stand to lose. But I could not come to you any other way.”

“Why have you come to me at all?” you demand. “You made your feelings quite clear the night of the festival, did you not?” You can no longer contain your bitterness and it drips from your every word. “You should go back to your sovereign, My Lord. Back to your King.”

Lord Jung looks stricken when you use his own words against him. There is a despair in his dark eyes that might have pained you once, but not now. Not anymore.

“You have every right to be angry with me, Your Grace,” he acknowledges. “And if you bid me to leave, then I will do so. But not without telling you the truth. You deserve to hear the truth.”

“Everything here is a lie. Perhaps you, most of all.”

He looks at you for a long moment before turning towards the hearth to gaze into the fire. Orange-red light illuminates his profile, sweeping across his smooth brow, over the elegant slope of his nose and down to his strong jaw. He is still the most beautiful – and most terrible man you’ve ever known.

“The King said he would give her up,” he says woodenly, staring into the flames. “When your marriage was announced, he swore it. And I believed him.”

Every muscle in your body pulls tight.

“I knew that he loved her. We all did. But he vowed that he would respect his father’s wishes and I’ve never known him to be a duplicitous man. I’ve never known him to say one thing and do another. And when I realized that he’d been deceiving you, deceiving us all, I – “ he stops and shakes his head at the memory. “ – I wasn’t thinking clearly. I confronted him at once and demanded that he explain himself.”

The argument in the courtyard. The memories come back to you in an instant. The way they’d both looked so irate, the way their voices would rise and then fall. Lord Jung turning his back on the King and stalking away into the dark. 

The tightness in your chest is unbearable now, viselike. 

“I was so damned angry,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “Never once in my life have I imagined putting my hands on the King, but in that moment – I don’t know. I don’t know what I might have done had I not walked away. But I confronted him because I had to know why.”

He rips his gaze from the fire and turns to you, eyes flashing.

“And do you know what he told me? Do you know what he said when I asked him why he would insult you by keeping a lover? He told me that he couldn’t stay away. That he’d tried to do the honorable thing but he couldn’t stay away.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The tremor in your voice belies your pathetic attempt at composure. “If you mean to cause me pain, it’s too late. I’ve known about the King’s lover since the early days of this marriage, and I’ve accepted it. Just as I’ve accepted that I’ll never amount to more than a trinket he dusts off to show to his people.”

Lord Jung takes a step towards you, his beautiful face hard in the firelight. There’s a maelstrom behind his eyes, a polite violence that sets you to shiver.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to understand,” he says. “I want to hate him. I have tried to hate him. But I cannot. I have no position of honor to stand on. No rightful claim to virtue. I have no right to condemn the King for his sins when I have so many of my own to account for.”

“I – I don’t understand,” you say weakly.

“I have no right – “ his voice breaks, thick with emotion, “-- I have no right to denounce the King for coveting another woman.” He drags a hand down his face, distraught. “Not when I have spent every single day since you stepped out of that carriage coveting you.”

You stop breathing entirely.

“So no,” he continues, voice graveled. “I cannot bring myself to hate the King. And you were right to think me a liar. I’ve pretended that my nearness to you was benign, nothing more than an act of service. I’ve tried to make myself look honorable to you, when I have been anything but. I’ve been a liar since the moment I met you.”

You are trembling now, head to toe. Rendered speechless by Lord Jung’s confession. Slowly, the maelstrom in his eyes starts to recede. He looks as vulnerable now as you feel. 

“You deserved to know the truth,” he says quietly. “If from no one else, than from me.” 

There is a heavy silence in the seconds it takes you to find your voice.

“My Lord, I – “

“Don’t call me that,” he pleads. “Please. Not now. Not when I’ve come to you like this.”

“Very well, Hoseok. But you sent me away. In the woods that night, I’d asked you to – “ you stop, not wanting to say the words aloud. “What’s changed? Why are you telling me this now?”

“I have tried to leave you alone.” His voice is ragged now, anguished. “I thought if I could just put some distance between us – if I rose earlier and worked harder and retired later – that I could exhaust this need out of me. But I can’t.” Torment is etched into every line of his beautiful face. It makes you want to reach out and touch him but you resist, uncertainty keeping your hands pinned to your sides.

“I cannot war with myself any longer,” he says hoarsely. “I cannot continue to lie to you or myself. And if he is not willing to give you the things you desire, then I will.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, your neck. It gathers in your belly, too.

“So if you’re asking me why now?” he says, taking another step towards you, closing what little distance remains. “It’s because I couldn’t stay away.”

He touches you then, takes your face into one warm hand and strokes his fingers down your temple, smooths the pad of his thumb over your lips. The featherlight touch raises goosebumps all over your skin. It’s more intimate than anything you’ve ever experienced with the King. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. 

“No,” you breathe. “I want so much more than that.”

He looks at you with such heat that the warmth in your belly goes molten. Then he presses his mouth to yours and slowly coaxes it open with gentle strokes of his tongue. He tastes of whiskey and smells of fine, heady soap and he does not relent until you are panting. Moisture gathers at the juncture of your thighs, beneath your thin nightgown.

But suddenly you are apprehensive. You’ve no idea how to kiss a man properly, much less satisfy him as a lover. And you’re not sure that you could ever live down the shame of disappointing him. When he finally pulls away to look down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, you have no choice but to confess.

“There’s something you should know, Hoseok,” you say, the sound of his given name still foreign in your mouth. “It’s just that – well, I am by no means a maiden but in some respects, I might as well be. I know almost nothing about how to please you.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, and for one terrifying moment you fear it’s for you.

“That is through no fault of your own,” he says darkly. “And if he’s been too much of a fool to see to your needs, then so be it.” He dips his head to press a kiss to your ear, then whispers, “Your pleasure will be mine and mine alone.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hoseok spends an inordinate amount of time tending to the fire. 

You sit on the edge of your bed and watch him, feverish with anticipation as he moves the weakest logs and adds fresh ones. Once he’s satisfied, once the chamber is glowing with fresh flames and warmth, he cleans his hands and comes to you.

Your heart rattles harder with each step he takes towards your bed. 

When he’s finally standing at the foot of your bed, he takes off his belt. And then reaches behind his head to pull his tunic away. The sight of his bare chest is enough to make your mouth go dry. His body is lithe and sleek and strong, his muscles rippling as he puts his hands down on either side of you and lowers his mouth to yours for a kiss.

“Tonight is about you, pretty bird,” he murmurs, trailing more kisses across your cheek, down your neck. “So I want you to tell me everything you want.”

“I want to see you.” The words leave you in a rush an account of the way his mouth moves from the juncture of your neck and to the hollow of your collarbone. “All of you.”

Hoseok wastes no time in straightening to his full height to remove his breeches, and then his smallclothes. And try as you might not to stare, it cannot be helped. You’ve never been able to study a man like this. Not even the King.

“Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he groans.

And then you are cautiously reaching for him, wrapping a hand around the length of him, marveling at the way he pulses in your palm. You run your fingertips down the skin of his shaft, awestruck by how silky and warm he is. But when your fingers reach the blunt head of him, he flinches.

“I don’t – I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “Did I hurt you?

“No, no. You didn’t hurt me,” he assures you, his voice sounding a bit strangled. “I’m just sensitive there, is all.”

“Will you show me, then?” you ask, curiosity far stronger than any self-consciousness you might feel. “Show me how to touch you.”

“Of course.”

He sits down on the bed beside you, taking hold of your hand. And then you watch with a heady mix of confusion and excitement as he takes your fingers into his mouth one, by one. He finishes the unfamiliar preparation by licking a long stripe up the palm of your hand. The stroke of his tongue sends a bolt of desire racing through you.

“It’s easier like this,” he explains, guiding your hand back to his length. You take hold of him again and this time he wraps his hand around yours. He moves your hand for you, up and down the length of him, until you can feel him growing hotter and harder in your hand. You’re fascinated by it all – by how firmly he wants to be touched, by how labored his breathing becomes, by the way the muscle and sinew in his legs seem to twitch at your command.

He leans over to capture your mouth as he begins to buck into your hand in earnest. And after a while his own hand falls away, leaving you to take control of his pleasure. And what an intoxicating power he’s given you – taut muscles in his abdomen flexing with each of his strained breaths.

“That feels so good, pretty bird,” he groans, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “Just right. Your hand feels so good around me like this.” 

The wetness you’d felt between your thighs when he’d kissed you the first time returns, and each sound of pleasure he rewards you with makes you wetter and warmer. He is rock hard in your hand now, the dusky head of his manhood shiny with moisture. You watch a bead of it appear at the tip and you slide your fingertips over it, transfixed by how smooth it feels. Beside you, Hoseok shudders.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says, breathless. “I’ll be of no use to you if you keep that up for much longer.”

You have half a mind to protest, but then his hands are sliding over the thin material of your nightgown, cupping your breasts through the gauzy fabric. He takes one of your nipples between his fingers and teases it until it’s standing at attention. You sigh.

“Can I take this off?” he whispers, pulling at the nightgown. 

You hesitate. Not even the King has seen you nude. Not once has he ever asked you to remove your nightgown and so for a long time, that is what you’d assumed he preferred. That is, until you’d caught him in bed with his lover. 

“Look at me,” Hoseok says, sensing your anxiety. He tips your chin up until your gaze meets his own. “I’ll not ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to use my mouth and hands on you. On all of you.”

You inhale deeply, flustered by the way he speaks so plainly about his desires. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve longed for all this time. And that’s what he’s promised you, isn’t it? Pleasure. Pleasure that will be his and his alone. 

You draw your nightgown up to your thighs and then raise up to pull it even higher. When you’ve finally discarded it, when there is nothing left between you and Hoseok you flush, looking away.

“You have nothing to hide,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful. Believe me, pretty bird – you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Emboldened by the praise, you draw nearer to him and trace the outline of his heart-shaped mouth with one finger. And then it is your lips that find his; your tongue that moves past the seam of his lips and your teeth that find the shell of his ear. You thread your fingers in his hair, and he groans, gathering you close.

“You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve dreamed of you like this,” he says, gently laying you back on the bed. “You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve taken myself in hand to these fantasies.”

Oh, but you can imagine, can’t you? The few times you’d dared to try and seek your own pleasure, it had been him in your mind’s eye as your hand was between your legs. It had always been him. 

Hoseok’s mouth leaves yours and when it  finds the tip of one aching breast, you gasp.

“Do you like that?” he goads, laving your nipple with his tongue, taking it between his teeth. The pang of pleasure he incites in you is so sharp, you cry out. “Your body is so responsive,” he murmurs. “So damned responsive.”

There is only so much of that particular torture you can take, and so when his mouth finally leaves your breasts you exhale a sigh of relief. But then his mouth is on your sternum, and then your stomach, and then –

You freeze.

“I want to kiss you here,” Hoseok explains, cupping your mound with one large hand. “I promised you pleasure and this is the surest way to it. Will you let me?”

He looks up at you from the edge of the bed, his dark hair wild and his dark eyes glossy with desire, his mouth hovering over your most secret place. Your pulse skitters, heart pounding erratically at the thought of him kissing you there.

“Is it – is it proper?” you ask, chiding yourself at once for asking such a stupid question. Your face flames when Hoseok raises a brow. “I don’t know that I’ve ever thought to consider the … propriety of such an act,” he says slowly. “But I know that you’ll enjoy it if you allow me to show you. And if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll stop.”

In the seconds that follow, you think about the way he’d let you take him in hand. How he’d showed you how to bring him pleasure, without reserve. How powerful you’d felt when he’d been shuddering under your touch. He’d trusted you, hadn’t he? Just as you now must trust him.

“Alright,” you whisper, nodding your assent. “I trust you.”

He grins at you then, wickedly, before lowering his mouth to your mons. And then he is kissing you there, softly, each brush of his lips moving lower and lower still. Until you feel the heat of his breath at your entrance. You tense.

“Relax for me,” he instructs, licking a long, wet stripe up the length of you. The touch sends a frisson of sensation shooting through your limbs. “Close your eyes and try to think of nothing but this.”

And then he sets his tongue to the tiny pearl at your entrance. 

And at once, you see stars.

“H-Hoseok!” you gasp, your hips flying off the bed at the contact. The urge to snap your legs shut is almost as strong as the urge to push deeper into the pleasing press of his tongue. Almost.

But he pins your legs down with his arms and continues the onslaught, stroking and licking at you with his tongue, nipping at you with his teeth. You grab fistfulls of the duvet as though it might ground you somehow, keep you from bursting into flame.

And then he slides one long finger into you.

You are incoherent now, moaning and begging in broken sentences that do not make sense. But your body is responding in ways that your words cannot, hips moving in time with his mouth. Each pass of his tongue sends sharp spikes of pleasure to your core. You’d thought you’d known what this pleasure felt like, that perhaps you’d be able to reach it on your own someday, but never once had it been like this. 

And then you can feel it – the coil turning inside you, the desperate ascent to the one place you’ve never been able to reach. And it’s so close, so so close – the promise of whatever awaits on the other side strong enough to sate this nameless craving that you’ve felt for so long. It’s within your reach now, if only you can just hold on.

And then it stops.

He takes his mouth and tongue away and the pleasure vanishes. “Hoseok, no,” you cry, sapped of all energy, robbed once again of the relief you so desperately seek. “Please,” you beg weakly, “please.”

But he’s at your side now, the length of his body resting against yours, his manhood hard and hot against your leg. “Come now, pretty bird,” he soothes, “I didn’t bring you this high just to let you fall.”

He presses his lips to your ear at the same time he presses his fingers back to the aching bud between your thighs. “Go on then,” he whispers. “Fly.”

He brings every sensation he’d wrought from you rushing back with his fingers. His mouth hovers at your ear, whispering his encouragement until the coil inside you snaps. He must have known that you’d not be able to contain yourself when you came apart because he covers your mouth with his own, swallowing the sobs he wrenches from you, bringing you down slowly as you come apart.

And when you finally come to your senses again, when your breathing has evened and your heart has slowed and every part of you feels liquid and languid, he smiles.

“I couldn’t risk you waking the entire castle,” he explains apologetically, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you shudder through your quiet laughter, aftershocks of sensation rippling through you. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve never – never experienced anything like that.”

“That’s mine,” he murmurs, going up on one elbow. “Just as I told you it would be.”

Indeed. But what about his pleasure? The firm reminder of it remains pressed against you, the rigid length of it leaking onto your duvet. You reach for it and he draws a sharp breath through his clenched teeth.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you say softly, noting the way a muscle tics in his jaw. You wrap your hand around him and squeeze, astounded by how feverishly hot he feels. “Please.”

Hoseok nods, climbing over you and settling his hips between your thighs. He takes himself in hand and when you feel the blunt head of him at your entrance, you tense again. But he doesn’t enter you right away. Instead he looks down at you, his dark eyes brimming with emotion.

“Are you certain,” he breathes, his brow dotted with a fine sheen of sweat. “I need to hear you say it.”

You lift up to kiss him, pressing your lips to his. “Take me, Hoseok,” you whisper. “Now.”

And in one sure stroke, he’s buried to the hilt inside you. 

Bodies sealed, fates sealed.

The force of his entry steals the breath from your lungs. And though you’ve been breached before, it’s never felt like this. You’re still sensitive from the pleasure he’d given you only moments before and each of his thrusts only heightens the sensation. 

You cling to him as he rocks against you, closing your eyes to revel in the fullness. He buries his head in your neck and thrusts harder, the sound of his skin meeting yours just as gratifying as it is lurid. And when he reaches between you to press his fingers to your pearl once again, impossibly you feel fresh pleasure begin to bloom.

Broken phrases fall from his lips, a string of curses and blessings and everything in between. And his coarse language doesn’t scandalize you; in fact it only causes you to hurtle towards the peak faster. And then you’re flying again – flying apart, scattering into a million pieces. Crying into his mouth as your release explodes into color and tiny wisps of fire slowly drift back to the earth.

But you come back to yourself just as his rhythm has started to falter, just as the steady cant of his hips becomes so frenetic that you know his own release is near. You have only a moment to mourn the loss of his weight and his warmth before he’s on his knees before you.

You’ve never seen anything more erotic. Firelight flickers over him as he throws his head back, the cords in his neck clenching as he takes himself in hand. And then he is groaning, long and low, as his release spills on to the duvet.

Then he collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his arms, turning you both until he’s on his back and your head rests upon his chest. And then you both lie there for a while, skin to skin,  watching the flames cast shadows on the stone.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Neither one of you sleep, the threat of dawn too near to indulge in any such luxury. 

“What happens now, Hoseok?”

You ask the question after he’s made love to you a second time, both of you too exhausted to move. Hoseok inhales and exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I have no control over the world outside of that chamber door, pretty bird.”

You map the lines of his chest with one finger, thoughtful.

“You told me earlier that if the King would not give me the things I desire, you would. Did you mean that?”

“I did,” Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “If it’s within my power, then I will. I will give you anything I can.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. “Thank you.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You sit by the window and take in the afternoon sunlight, eyes drooping as you fight to stay awake.

You cannot ever remember being so tired. You sleep in fits and starts now, two or three hours at a time. And your body is too fatigued to talk up walking again, though the fresh air and exercise would do you some good. But you will walk again, soon. It won’t be long before you’re sitting with your birds and reading in the gentle Spring breeze.

Hyeri charges into the room like a bull, the tea tray in her hand clattering loudly. You narrow her eyes at her as she approaches and she fixes you with a sardonic look.“Oh, hush you,” she grumbles, setting the tray down on the table and walking over to you. “I wasn’t that loud.”

But her scowl falls away as her gaze locks on the baby at your breast, her muted eyes glowing with admiration. 

“That’s a fine Prince you have there, Your Grace,” she says softly. Then she looks up at you and her scowl returns. “Though at the rate you’re going, I’ll never get to hold him, will I? You’ve an entire staff to help you with him, and still you refuse. You’re going to make that boy rotten.”

You chuckle under your breath as you stroke your hand over the tuft of downy hair at your son’s crown. He blinks up at you with his huge dark eyes, and your heart is filled to overflowing with a love that you once you thought you’d never know. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

y,all i finished it! hahah okay so listen. if you'd like to talk to me, i'd love to hear from you. please consider reblogging and dropping me an ask 💕

[sentientfunfetti]

Yandere! Actor Wally, please...

possessive actor!wally/reader hcs

(actor wally and his au was made by @/frillsand on tumblr! go support their work!)

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

CW// POSSESSIVE THEMES

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of course, like any other version of him, this one would be very cautious and closed off at first. he wouldn’t share much with you and if he does it’s brief, but after you ‘prove yourself’ to him he immediately becomes attached to you. he's absolutely stuck by you. you're just his assistant but he falls hard. harder than he ever has.

seeing as how you’re the first person to ever see him for who he is, he lets you get away…with a lot. it’s all bias of course, and you may not even use it but you start to notice that your small mistakes barely go noticed. he doesn't even allow anyone else to scold you either. you can tell that his patience is still thin, however.

he values your time with him. in his downtime he’s hellbent on spending time with you and you only, even if this means dragging you along on subtly planned ‘lunch breaks’ with him. (these are dates) or calling you for petty tasks he could have easily done himself just to see you.

he likes spoiling you, and that becomes very obvious very fast. he loves it when you tell him ‘thank you’ for buying you lunch or getting you coffee. he goes from sending you in to get these things for him to go in with you, bringing his bodyguards along.

you take up so much of his mind he starts to stumble in rehearsal. this actually frustrates him at first. he takes his frustration out on you a tad before finally cooling down.

practically demands all of your attention. he goes to you for just about everything. input, script reading, any excuse to see you. any excuse to get closer. he hates the fact that you two have such a professional relationship and wants to be more, even if that means breaking a few rules. it's not like you're a fan, you're his assistant. no harm done.

ignores fanmail entirely. when you ask why he brushes it off the way he usually does. "why would i want a bunch of strangers telling me what i already know?". the truth is very different, however. he secretly wishes to be praised by you and you only.

speaking of, he may not show it but he soaks up any and all praise you give him and internalizes it almost immediately. no matter how small. he loves it when you compliment him.

it's hard to keep his cool when he sees you getting the same treatment from others, however. he silently watches from the corner, fuming. how dare they. until he can muster up the courage to fully compliment you himself, he glares daggers at people who do. repeat offenders get fired and blacklisted from acting entirely.

he is not above blackmail to get his way. not to you, no of course not! other people, however? free game. he has dirt on just about everyone. they don't even know.

even though he has a tendency of doing horrible things to get his way, he always tries to steer away from that entirely. he keeps trying to convince himself that he’s above that and he’s a changed man. unfortunately, you make that a bit hard with how many other people you seem to attract every other day.

appreciates your patience with him most of all. set aside the fact you're not weird about the fact that he's a puppet like most people, he loves your kind heart and wants to protect that, even if that means burning bridges to see more of you. he craves intimacy with you. he hates how weak you make him feel, but he can't help but let all of those walls come crumbling down when you're that nice to him.

isn't good with physical contact at first, so he sticks to small things: 'accidental' brushes against you, linking pinkies with you, shoving you along. he’s experimenting, give him time.

drags you along to rehearse his lines. he loves using his 'deadlines' as an excuse to get your help. he knows he could ask anyone else but why would he? you say yes every time anyway because that's how nice you are. he absolutely loves the scenes where he gets to subtly flirt with you. did the script call for improv? ssssh. doesn't matter. your red face makes it all worth it in the end.

is not above using the character he's playing mannerisms to get his way. he knows he's good at what he does, and he knows he's adorable. he uses this to his advantage, even incorporating past character's mannerisms into his own when he notices people stick to them. this includes you. if he notices you like a certain thing about a character he's playing he is quick to pick up on this and use that against you.

in the end, his end goal is for you to date, and maybe be something more in the future. he's willing to do whatever that takes, even if that means working on himself more just to make sure you're more comfortable with the idea of dating. has no issue with having a 'secret' relationship if that's what you want.

isn't much of a pet name person but he would call you 'hun' sarcastically at first but over time it would become a genuine pet name for him.

if you two do something together then expect that to be something you two do together. he would get upset at people who try and 'butt in' in the things you two do together. those things are for you two and you two only. certified gatekeeper.

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

funny thing! i actually got two requests to do this guy!

it was a bit hard to do seeing as how i don’t really know much about the au, but thank you for requesting it anyway! (both of you LMFAO). i have a few more planned, and two more requests to do. i’m still working on my reboot wally/reader fic so if i seem a bit slow that’s why. please be patient. i already have the outlines and things like that made for the requests i’ve gotten.

thanks for the request, neighbor!

[jointherebellion215]

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone. 

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.” 

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond. 

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word. 

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his. 

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?” 

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.” 

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food. 

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption. 

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!” 

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing. 

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind. 

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap. 

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves. 

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends. 

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.” 

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly. 

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.” 

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you. 

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.” 

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted. 

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

[neyafromfrance95]

are we EVER going to talk about the ageism against women properly?

bc it has been growing rampant in gen z and the arguments against it aren't exactly addressing the issue through examining the double standards people have for women and men.

yes, ageing is a privilege but i don't think that this argument is doing anything to dismantle the patriarchal mentality that is ingrained in our culture.

in many ways, people's counterpoint to "women expire after the xyz age" is basically "well, ageing is a privilege and natural so you should be ok with being an expired undesirable grandma whose only purpose is taking care of children bc at least you're not dead". we are never going to actually dismantle the ageism against women if this is our only argument.

we have to address the fact that women aren't allowed the same standards that men are.

men are allowed to have two types of desirability - a boy and a man. we don't say that men in their 50s look good *for* their age, we say that they grew well into their age, we simply say that they are attractive 50 years olds.

but women can only be and feel beautiful and desirable if they are young. if a woman in her 50s is objectively fine, we say that she looks good *for* her age, insinuating that there is no way she could ever *just* look good at 50, no "for"s, since she isn't 19-25 anymore and that's the only age range when a woman is truly attractive and desirable.

isn't this actually abhorrent? the fact that people can live up to about 100 years but women are taught to believe that only in 6 of these years they are in their prime? that patriarchy tells women that after their early 20s they are expired and the only valid way for them to be desirable and beautiful is to try to replicate the qualities of the 20 years old version of themselves that according to the same patriarchy, older women can no longer posses?

and the argument that women should not wish to be desirable at all in the name of feminism is very faulty, imo. it often comes from young and pretty women who don't really understand what being deemed "undesirable" in society means. the assumption that women being ok with the patriarchy telling them that they should feel expired after 25, should feel like they looked better in their 20s even if they take a better care of themselves now, should just do the "grandma" stuff while their male counterparts still get to experience romance and the life to its fullest, is not going to be some kind of a feminism win.

the "ageing is a privilege" has started to feel like an argument for women to once again settle for the bare minimum (at least you aren't dead) and conform to the unfair limitations the patriarchy forces on women.

i think what needs to change is us giving these misogynistic double standards any sort of validation. they are not rooted in some kind of universal truth about the inherent difference between men and women, they are rooted in patriarchy. we need to stop acting like younger and older women are in competition and start acknowledging that both are desirable and beautiful in their own ways.

i know that this post won't get much traction, but i feel like we need to talk about this topic more bc the internalized ageism that gen z women have is going to mess them up and the counterpoints to their assumptions are sometimes weak and unhelpful.

edit: thanks for yall's input in the reblogs! i would love to hear more from people so please feel free to reblog and say all that's on your mind regarding this subject since we really need to start addressing this and keep the conversation going!

[clownrecess]

Hi! My son (9) uses an AAC device at school to help him communicate and for teachers to communicate with him. Do you have any advice for parents?

I'm sorry if this isnt very organized, I'll just be listing off and talking about what I wish my parents and adults around me did when I first started using AAC.

I also apologize for the kinda sorta late response. I haven't been doing too well lately, and I also wanted to make sure I said everything in this post how I wanted to say it. Those two things combined slowed down the process a bit.

1. AAC is not a language. However, it functions a lot differently than the oral version of the language that is being used at times, and I feel like thats important to recognize. AAC grammar doesn't need to align with "typical" oral grammar or speech patterns. As long as (most) others can understand what's being communicated by the AAC user, trying to get them to add in words like "The" really isn't necessary. Of course if they want to develop more proper grammar and more language that is super cool. But a lot (of course not all!!) of AAC users I've spoken to, including myself, find it really frustrating when people try to slow down and make it harder for us to communicate by adding in extra words. If its understandable, and the user doesn't want to, it isn't necessary (I also do want to add that I personally do use proper grammar most of the time, but a good portion of the time I don't.).

2. "Encourging the user to use their device" does *not* mean ignoring them when they don't, and/or telling them to "use their words". All communication is good communication. Pointing is good. Body language is good. Drawing pictures is good. Etc. Encouraging use of an AAC device in a good way means making sure it is always available, making sure the user knows it is an option, that the user knows how to use it, and that you respect the device *FULLY*.

3. Oral speech should not be the goal unless the AAC user wants it. All communication is equally good, and favoring oral speech is ableism. If the AAC user WANTS to use oral speech, then that is super cool and then there can be a goal of developing and/or improving their oral speech. If they haven't made it clear that it's something that they personally want, don't try to force it.

4. Stickers!! This one is more silly than serious, and of course it's up to the user, but if they want to put stickers on their device, allow it. Its cute!

5. ACCESS TO VOCABULARY IS IMPORTANT. Limiting someones language to "Eat" "Drink" "Bathroom" "Mom" "Dad" "School" or similar is not okay. I've seen someone on YouTube who didn't even let their kid have a "no" button. I fully understand that not everyone is capable of using complex language, and for a lot of AAC users, only having simple words and an easier to navigate (by having less options) device is important. And that is PERFECTLY OKAY!! But what isn't okay, is assuming one is incapable of using more language than "eat" and "drink". If they can not communicate their wants and needs when they understand that, they need more buttons. If that means starting to SLOWLY add a little more, that's okay.

6. Be patient. AAC takes longer to use than oral speech does. Even if the time we are taking is frustrating, don't show that. And yes, this includes guessing out loud what we are going to say by trying to finish our sentence whilst we are still typing (unless the user has expressed this is okay with them.).

7. Make sure teachers and other people know not to take away their AAC device under any circumstances! Doing so is the equivalent to duct taping someones mouth shut or removing their vocal chords. It's scary.

That's all I could think of. If other AAC users (not parents of them, not friends, etc. ONLY AAC USERS) want to comment or reblog with more tips that would be greatly appreciated! <3

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my wife and i’s ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

[alieinthemorning]

Pragma [Furina]

Content: Genshin Impact Version 4.2 Masquerade of the Guilty Spoilers, Kingdom Hearts III Spoilers, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

You have always had sensitive hearing. And yet, despite the seriousness of the situation surrounding you—You could hear the faint sound of song. A finale of bittersweet release.  And then you felt the urge to dance—to join her on the stage.

You disregarded those around you, disregarded the violent waters that threatened to consume all of Fontaine. All of that disappeared as your dance partner began the final dance of this half a millennium masquerade.

You followed in step, completely in tune with her. You tasted the sweetness of her sacrifice. And the sourness—your hand shot out, unable to reach what was just ahead—of her death. You did not cry. You smiled, just as she had.

And as the song reached its climax, you found yourself ascending the steps of her throne, joined by the beautiful remnants of your dance partner. The remnants reached her before you, but you could still hear the whispers.

"Thank you, Furina. For all you've done. From this moment on, please live happily as a human. Just as I wished we could."

Then as you yourself reached her, you dropped to one knee grabbing her right hand, allowing your lips to just barely brushing against the fabric as you whispered your own words to her.

"What an outstanding performance, Furina. Your time in the spotlight is now complete. Let the rest of the actors finish this tragedy, and when you open your eyes next—the dawn of a new day will come to greet you. And finally, you will be able to take your final bow and receive your roses and standing ovation."

When you opened your eyes, you found that hers were still filled with a pour of tears. Tears that you didn't dare wipe away. After five hundred years of keeping the secrets of an Archon's love, she should be allowed the freedom to finally let it all out. No matter how silent she sounded.

You turned to look back at the spot where Neuvillette, the Traveler and Paimon had been, now gone to take on the All-Devouring Narwhal. Your gaze then flickered toward where the others had been, they too had left. You assumed that they had left to help deal with the storm of sin.

You smiled, turning back to her as you leaned against the balcony's railing.

"Shall I tell you a story, Furina?"

You told her the story of another prophecy—of a boy of light and an old man of darkness. You told her how that boy played into the played into the hands of prophecy even at the very end. The prophecy being conducted by the old man, who had actually been a victim of prophecy himself.

And yet, despite the old man conceding and the darkness receding. There was always a sacrifice that needed collection.  The boy had scarified his life for that of his friends, and although he was a bit frightened, he was still okay with the outcome. Because he knew—

"They can take your world. They can take your heart. Cut you loose from all you know. But if it's your fate... then every step forward will always be a step closer to home."

He knew he would return home one day, no mater what.

"So did she, so will I and so will you, Furina."

There will always be those waiting for us with a smile on their face.

When Furina had finally gained the courage to lay eyes on her ruined kingdom, she was quite surprise to see that her people were not dissolved into the waters, bringing the waves of the torment as their final verdict as they plunged her beneath the waters to dissolve in her death sentence.

No, what she saw was quite different from that.

"The prophecy was—" Furina threw a hand up to shield her eyes from the sudden ray of light. And when she removed it, she found you in the sunbeam's place.

"Good morning, Furina." You presented her a hand.

She gave a watery smile, giving you her right hand.

"Yes, it is a good morning indeed."

Furina found you sometime later, telling you that she was going to embark on a journey.

You knew this was to come, so you simply smiled at her, presenting her with a Lakelight Lily.

Neither of you said the usual parting words, already knowing them by heart. Furina did surprise you, however, by grabbing your left hand and pressed a petal-soft kiss to your knuckles. Then with a flourish only a true god could muster did she bow to you and leave with elegance.

You held your left hand to your heart, hoping to cherish its warmth as you waited for Furina's return.

Yeah, this whole AQ fucked me up real good. Highkey wished that Furina came after this version, just so that people could play it and have more time to save for her. Because, like, Furina is my absolute favorite character now. I love her so much (and as a writer/reader you know why this is actually a bad thing :3c ).

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[thatjadedhotmess]

nightmares

pairings/characters: kazuha x gn!reader, thoma x gn!reader, ayato x gn!reader

warnings⚠️: skin contact (lots !), pet names (e.g. love, sweetheart), tw: food (in thoma's),

synopsis: what would they do if they see you having a nightmare.

wc: 1k~

note: hiiii im back after awhile of not posting i hope you didnt miss me too much/j anyways,, ayato's is super long because this piece started bc of him :> likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3 you can also check out the other versions of nightmares here !

kaedehara kazuha (楓原万葉)

☁︎︎ hums a tune to soothe you.

☁︎︎ he was writing his poems that night on the ship while you slept soundly beside him

☁︎︎ there was a little celebration on the boat that evening to wish one of the Crux’s members a happy birthday

☁︎︎ you and kazuha had headed back to your room after helping out with the cleanup of the ship and it was already about 1 am when you guys officially finished.

☁︎︎ soon after changing out into a set of cleaner clothes; you sunk into the mattress, letting the sound of the waves and rocking of the boat lull your exhausted body to sleep.

☁︎︎ kazuha sat cross-legged beside your sleeping form. He took his book out as well as a pencil, penning down his thoughts as he tried to string them into a poem.

☁︎︎ he instantly realised you were having a nightmare when your eyebrows because knitted and a slight grunt escaped your lips; the peace on your face having been disrupted.

☁︎︎ he shifted himself, moving even nearer to you so that he could stroke your hair, brushing a thumb soothingly across your forehead as he started to hum a tune.

☁︎︎ it instantly soothed your mind, even though you weren't conscious kazuha could still tell, the way your facial features started to relax when he started to hum and the way you curled up and snuggled into his side were all good signs that your nightmares were finally starting to dissipate.

☁︎︎ after he made sure that you were in a better state, he snuggled up behind you, cradling your body as he too, allowed himself to fall asleep to the sound of the ocean.

thoma (托馬)

☁︎︎ he warms a glass of milk for you.

☁︎︎ it had been an absolutely amazing day with the Iradori festival taking place, getting to spend time together with ayaka and ayato and eating all the delicious festive goodies while watching the fireworks.

☁︎︎ you and thoma pretty much fell asleep immediately after reaching the Kamisato estate, plopping down onto the futons in your share room after finishing up your respective tasks and a quick hot shower.

☁︎︎ he tucked you into his chest, an arm around your shoulders and his chin resting atop your head.

☁︎︎ it was maybe 2 am? 3 am? When he realised you were having a bad dream. This had never happened before but it was unlike you to thrash in your sleep.

☁︎︎ he tapped you awake. It took less than a minute before you woke up, startled.

☁︎︎ “are you ok love?” he is concerned, to say the least, having never seen you have a nightmare scared his poor soul out of his body. “I am, sorry for waking you up,” you said, slightly embarrassed that you had woken thoma up from the much-needed sleep.

☁︎︎ “it’s alright, really. I think some warm milk would help. wanna go with me to the kitchen to grab some?” he asked.

☁︎︎ the idea seemed nice, so you nod your head before you got pulled to the kitchen, trailing right behind him.

☁︎︎ he quickly got to work. heating a pot up with enough milk for two first, moving on to grab two mugs, adding some honey into them before he waited for the steam to appear on top of the pot.

☁︎︎ “back in mondstadt, whenever I had nightmares as a kid, my mother would make this for me and tell me a bedtime story. worked like a charm because the thing I knew, daylight had broken and a new day had begun.” he chuckled, the milk starting to steam just as he finished his story.

☁︎︎ and he was quite right. After leading you back to the room, thoma handed you the warm cup of sweetened milk and you fell asleep like, five minutes after finishing the drink.

☁︎︎ “good night, y/n. don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

kamisato ayato (神里绫人)

☁︎︎ massages your head until you fall back asleep

☁︎︎ ayato is a busy man. As the Yashiro commissioner and head of the kamisato clan, he never has much time outside of sitting at his desk and filling in paperwork.

☁︎︎ he usually's up by the crack of dawn and off with Thoma to run the day’s errands before you're awake but sleeps at around 1 am because there's too much work to finish:( (poor him)

☁︎︎ he's well aware of the bad dreams you have, having seen little you wake up in the midnight of night, hair a mess as you tried to compose yourself before he saw your state so as to not worry him (this usually doesn't happen because he hears the thumping of the blanket against the floor and makes a run towards your share bedroom)

☁︎︎ he turns his attention away from his papers, hearing the familiar sound of his study room door sliding open only to see you clad in an old t-shirt of his; one that dropped below your knees

☁︎︎ “what’s wrong sweetheart? A bad dream?” he asks concern evident in his voice as he sees you nod. Turning his chair away from the desk, he stretches his arms out, inviting you to stay with him while he did his work.

☁︎︎ you shuffle towards him, climbing onto his lap and putting your arms around him, before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, letting yourself melt into him.

☁︎︎ “how’s the work ‘yato” you asked groggily tilting your head to the side so your voice wasn't muffled. He chuckles, even though you were exhausted from the day's work and the bad dream you had you still found it in you to start a conversation with him.

☁︎︎ “it was alright. went around Ritou with thoma to settle some matters but that's about it dear.” he touches your head, letting his fingers massage your scalp, feeling you sink deeper and deeper into his hold, until he feels you slump completely, a sign that you've fallen asleep.

☁︎︎ “sweet dreams my love.” he whispers, tilting his head to give you a kiss before turning his attention back to his paperwork.

[paperandsong]

I was reading your post about Christine's Swedish origins and it was ok until you mentioned Erik. Tell me WHAT is the reason to mention Erik and demonize him in a discussion that had NOTHING to do with him? Like for real? "Uwu he made Christine vulnerable, evil monster" seriously 🙄

Hi enon, I think we've had a version of this conversation before and we just have very different interpretations of Erik. And that's ok, I'm not trying to convince you otherwise.

But since you're asking about the post and because I recently reblogged that post in response to our fandom's resident racist TERF making even more racist comments, I'll explain the context.

I believe this is the text you object to:

Strange and sad, Christine is an outsider at the Garnier which both gives her something in common with Erik and makes her vulnerable to his manipulation. A poor foreign orphan who believes in fairy tales with only a senile old woman for protection, she is really the only one at the Opera who was vulnerable and trusting enough to allow Erik an opening into her life. But this is a not a result of her being from Sweden specifically.

I don't call him a monster. But I see Erik as very manipulative and Christine as vulnerable to his manipulation for all the reason stated in my post. Erik lies about being the Angel of Music and Christine is so upset to find out he is just a man that she weeps.

The point of mentioning Christine's vulnerability to Erik is to discuss how much her nationality really does not matter to the story. The Angel of Music is not actually a Swedish legend - Leroux just made it up. And he could have made Christine be from anywhere, just as long as she was from somewhere else, to increase our sense of her vulnerability. Neither her nationality nor her race are important drivers of the plot or characterization of Christine.

I still love Erik x Christine and want to read stories about them together. But I don't deny that he does bad things. That's why he's interesting.

I do wish the two or three racist fans still clinging to the edges of the fandom would either go away or actually reflect on why they are so obsessed with having only white actresses play Christine on the stage.

[theemeraldforesthideout]

Oh, ok, so there is a folk tale around the naming of Sgwd Gwladus. Kind of wish it was a blank slate (although I guess I could write my own version), but still, love a folk tale. "Sgwd Gwladus named so after Gwladus, a beautiful maid said to be one of the twenty-four daughters of Brycheiniog, a 5th century King." 24?! "Gwladus fell in love with a young man called Einion but their union was not allowed by her father because of Einion’s lowly birth." As per... "Broken with grief, Gwladus’ sadness became so overwhelming it mysteriously turned into a secluded pool into which her spirit poured in the form of a waterfall. Distraught at losing his love, Einion threw himself into the river and was transformed into the waterfall Sgwd Einion Gam. Now their spirits flow together as one and their union is complete." OOOOH. oooooh. (I didn't get to visit the Einion Gam as it was late in the day). That waterfall is the 'secret' one further up that river valley. Ok, I've gone all mushy reading that, especially that last sentence. But wow. I had no idea the two falls were linked by a folklore of romance.

EDIT I just realised that I reblogged a painting earlier (before researching all this) that is completely perfect, as an accompaniment to this folktale. This one

[imsparky2002]

Class of Villainy - Headcanons: Part 1

I imagine that Ivan speaks with a southern accent in this universe (Sounds like a teenaged version of Arthur Morgan. Basically sounds like this)

Nora is actually quite friendly to Lila. Sure, she’s Alya’s lackey, but Nora just has a lovable soul. Lila wishes she could join the side of good.

Lila comes from a poor background, and is generally amazed by how big and expensive this school is. She’d be having a blast if it weren’t for her villainous bullies.

The only people allowed to refer to Queen Candy as her real name of Rose are Juleka and her other villainous classmates.

The monarch kids generally lord their status over the heroic students. Marc, Nathaniel and Rose command the kids to bow down to their power, and expect complete power over these peons. Zoe pretends to be humble and kind, but it’s only an act to seem approachable “for a princess” and she’ll drop the act once she’s elected.

As hybrid rulers, Ismael and Alix attack both humans and especially hybrids. It doesn’t matter if you’re a predator-hybrid or prey-hybrid, they treat you like dirt. It’s a good thing that DuPont is a pretty accepting space for hybrids, and the human students rally to help the bullied hybrids fight back, not that it works.

Chloe is great friends with Marinette and Sabrina, even if she finds the girls to be a bit psycho. The ginger and Marinette start out hating one another, and Chloe decides to help them get along, for the sake of evil and for advancing her own plans. She organizes a shopping spree with the girls, who find out they have a hatred for cute animals (Marinette hates dogs, and Sabrina hates mice). They become frenemies (They’re friendly, but they’ll still bicker and argue with eachother at all times.)

Nino feels a bit insecure about himself. Compared to those in the group who have magical powers, athletic skills, big muscles, are, goddesses, royalty, or just plain murderers, Nino’s just a dude who’s good at conning. Hell! Denise can scam people, but they have magic! His friends and girlfriend are able to cheer him up, reminding him that his love for being a bad guy is what got him in here in the fist place. He’s a villain, and it doesn’t matter how small the crimes are.

Zoe and Cosette have the sense to act like their canon selves when interacting with classmates, in order to gain power and votes for becoming the School President and Vice President

For three years, Adrien, Kagami, and Luka fight to win Marinette’s cruel heart. She knows about their attraction, and finds their obsession to be romantic. She lets Adrien and Kagami scheme and fight one another, while Luka just tries his best, and she revels in the drama. Right before graduation, she tells them that she has love in her heart for all of them. They decide to join forces as a maniacal polycule. They can all be villainous lovers, and the whole group celebrates with a party.

The classes genuinely like to be teammates with one another. Sure there’s rivalry from various students, but it’s friendly, and they’re loyal to the end.

And that’s just part 1 of my headcanons. Lemme know what you think. As always @artzychic27 and @msweebyness. I’d love to hear everybody’s headcanons in replies, reblogs, and new posts.

[2d-dreams]

My Flatland TTRPG!

so i been thinking about this a lot and im like hmm.. I read both of the Flatland ttrpg rulebook thingies [what i could find for free so barebones basic stuff.. really wish I was allowed to buy one of them (arguably the best of both ttrpgs) because it has a section on Flatland science that i wanna see so bad...]

And well I'm not super sure on them. Like, they could use some work.. One is pretty good though. but could be better i think. I did make Bill, Pol and Madelyn character sheets to test it a bit [I'll try to play it solo mode maybe] and that was Fun.

I'm planning on making my own Flatland ttrpg though despite/because of these. Definetly taking a lot from them but. still. I will also make perhaps a very rudimentary playable game version [as in, like a computer game] if y'all want.

I'm pretty confident in my attempt at this but I want some input from the Flatland Fandom dwellers themselves.

If you want, and i kinda beg that you consider it, please let me know if you have any ideas you'd like to see in the ttrpg or even if you would be able to try to playtest eventually.

Here are just a few questions if you have the time to help a bit by answering. For now, that's all! [can answer them through reblog, asks/anon, PMs, replies, etc i just wanna see em]

What kind of stories do you think are more appropiate to tell in a Flatland RPG? What stories would you want to see/play?

Do you think magic could work in Flatland?

Would you be able or willing to playtest?

Any ideas?

[agentmaxa]

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