#Child Influencer Marketing

[qbopublishing]

Nicolas Bahamon, 11 year-old author

Click, Post, Succeed Social Media and Digital Marketing for Kids.

Nicolas Bahamon is a talented and well-rounded individual. Writing a book at such a young age is a remarkable accomplishment, and it's even more impressive that it's about social media and digital marketing. It's not often we see kids taking an interest in these topics. 

Being a soccer player, a violinist, and practicing jiujitsu, Nicolas seems to have an adventurous and diverse set of interests. It's wonderful to see someone exploring multiple areas of interest and developing a wide range of skills. Soccer requires physical agility, teamwork, and perseverance, while playing the violin demands discipline, dedication, and musical ability. Jiu-jitsu, on the other hand, requires mental and physical strength, flexibility, and strategic thinking.

Nicolas is shaping up to be a true renaissance kid! It's exciting to think about the path he might take in the future, perhaps even combining his different passions or exploring new ones.

With its release on November 24, 2023, 'Click, Post, Succeed: Social Media and Digital Marketing for Kids' is now available for purchase. Youcan find the book on Amazon, where readers can embark on this enlightening journey and gain insights into the world of social media and digital marketing. 

Click, Post, Succeed Social Media and Digital Marketing for Kids https://a.co/d/9dYTyGF

Connect with Nicolas Bahamon

www.chainzd360.com www.book.chainzd360.com www.youtube.com/@chainZd www.instagram.com/chainZd360 www.facebook.com/chainZd360

[magic-coffee]

So just found out Sephora kids is a thing

[cleverthylacine]

The fundie ones with lots of kids are the absolute worst because in addition to products they are also trying to sell you their beliefs and their lifestyles.

They will tell you that you too can support ten children on one partner’s income while ignoring the income from Mommy’s influencing or neglecting to mention that they have incredibly wealthy parents who are bankrolling this.

They abuse and neglect their kids by letting their older kids care for the younger ones, corporal punishment and in the case of one notorious couple, not feeding their kids enough.

And they will radicalise you if you let them.

As someone who really loves long skirts and frilly clothes, I hate them so much. I hate what they’re doing and I also hate the fact that unless I’m in full-on pinup or lolita mode, sometimes people look at me and think I’m Like That because of my fit that day.

When you call "influencers" what they are, freelance marketers, it makes the phrase "mommy/family influencer" sound just as dark as it is in reality.

They are using their children to sell you things. Some of these people intentionally have children solely in order to use them as marketing devices.

They aren't harmless or wholesome. They are expanding and normalizing new and different forms of familial abuse to a worldwide audience

[arilevenatz]

Ruthless Desire | C.S

Pairing: King!San x princess!Reader

Genre: Forced marriage

Word count: 19.2k

Warnings: dark stuff, captivity, stockholm syndrome vibes, injury by glass shards, manipulation, san is kinda scary, and hot, the reader is a dancer, yeah I still dk how to do this

AN: If you are sensitive to things like this please don't read it. This has some dark stuff. @kymimi I kinda slipped and wrote san instead of the member we discussed BUT dw I'll write him another one :)

Masterlist

The kingdom of Eldoria was like a painting come to life. Pastel-colored houses lined the streets, their rooftops reflecting the golden hues of the sun. Flowers of every shade bloomed along the cobbled paths, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Towering trees provided shade to the people who gathered in the plazas, laughing and conversing freely. The kingdom was peaceful, its people content, and at the heart of it all was their beloved princess—YN.

YN was the embodiment of grace and perfection. Her long, flowing hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her warm smile was enough to bring comfort to anyone who crossed her path. She was not only admired for her beauty but also for her sharp mind and kind heart. Unlike the sheltered royals of other lands, YN roamed freely among her people, visiting markets, studying at the grand library, and even lending a hand at the flower fields when she wished to.

Her days were spent in harmony with the kingdom, and her nights were filled with dreams of the future. But even in a perfect kingdom, change was inevitable.

But that was not it. You see, Princess YN had a great talent—one that set her apart even more. She was a dancer.

From the moment she took her first steps as a child, it was clear that movement came naturally to her. As she grew, so did her love for dance. She dedicated a good portion of her day to perfecting her skills, attending classes with the finest instructors in the kingdom. But it wasn’t just about learning techniques or rehearsing steps—dancing was her freedom, her escape, her way of expressing emotions words could not.

In the grand ballroom of the palace, with its gleaming marble floors and towering windows, she would practice tirelessly. The music would swell, and she would lose herself in it, her body moving with effortless grace. The palace staff often paused to watch in quiet admiration, for when their princess danced, it was as if the entire world held its breath.

But YN never danced for attention or praise. She danced because it made her feel alive. And if she had it her way, she would dance forever.

But beyond the peaceful lands of Eldoria, past the rolling green hills and glistening rivers, lay another kingdom—one far greater in size, power, and influence.

The Kingdom of Celestara.

Unlike Eldoria, which flourished with soft colors and open gardens, Celestara stood as a testament to strength. Its towering castles were made of dark stone, its capital bustling with soldiers and scholars alike. The people of Celestara were strong and disciplined, raised with a deep sense of duty to their homeland. Their kingdom thrived under an unshakable rule, one that had made Celestara the most feared and respected land across the continent.

And at the heart of it all sat King Choi San.

San was no ordinary ruler. He was a king who valued power above all else—not just for himself, but for his kingdom. He had inherited a land that had been built on blood and steel, and he ruled it with an iron will. His people loved him, for under his reign, Celestara never knew famine, never fell to invaders, and never saw weakness. But to outsiders, he was a name that sent shivers down their spines.

Because King San did not tolerate defiance.

It was not cruelty for the sake of cruelty. No, San saw his punishments as necessary—tools to maintain order. A merchant caught cheating his people was stripped of his wealth and cast into the dungeons. A noble who conspired against him found their house burned to the ground, their name erased from history. And if a kingdom dared to challenge Celestara, they were met with fire and steel. His warriors, trained from childhood, were unmatched, and his war strategies were so ruthless that no one dared to question his rule.

No one opposed King Choi San and lived to tell the tale.

He was ruthless, reckless even. A man who did not just command power—he relished in it. King Choi San was not content with ruling Celestara alone. No, he wanted more. He wanted everything.

War was not just a necessity to him; it was a thrill. The sight of his enemies kneeling before him, their once-proud banners torn and trampled beneath his boots, brought him a satisfaction that nothing else could. He did not believe in mercy. He did not believe in compromise. He believed in dominance, in bending the world to his will.

His father, the former king, had shared that same hunger. Before his death, he had left behind a list—a detailed record of the lands he had set his sights on, the territories he had dreamed of conquering but never had the chance to. It was a king’s unfinished legacy, a vision left incomplete.

San did not just inherit his father’s kingdom. He inherited his ambitions.

And he would see them through.

The list had dozens of names written in careful ink, each representing a kingdom, a nation, a people who had yet to bow to Celestara’s might. Some had already fallen, their lands absorbed into San’s ever-growing empire. But there were still many left to claim.

One of them was Eldoria.

A peaceful kingdom, untouched by war, ruled by a gentle king and adored by its people. A land that had never known the weight of a conqueror’s hand.

San had heard of Eldoria before. A place where flowers bloomed endlessly, where the streets were painted in soft pastels. It was the complete opposite of Celestara. A kingdom so delicate, so naïve, that it almost amused him.

Almost.

Because at the end of the day, Eldoria was just another name on his father’s list. Another land that would soon belong to him.

And King Choi San never left things unfinished.

So that was what happened to Eldoria.

One fateful evening, King Choi San arrived at the gates of the peaceful kingdom, not as a guest, but as a conqueror in waiting. He did not come alone—his army, clad in dark armor, stood behind him like an unshakable force, their banners casting long shadows over Eldoria’s pastel streets. The moment his presence was announced in the royal palace, a chill ran through the halls.

King Eldrin, YN’s father, knew why San had come. He had heard the stories, knew the fate of the kingdoms that had stood in Celestara’s path. But still, he held onto hope.

Inside the grand throne room, the two kings faced each other.

“I will give you one chance,” San said, his voice calm yet laced with authority. “Surrender Eldoria to Celestara. Swear your allegiance, and I will allow your people to live under my rule without bloodshed.”

King Eldrin did not hesitate. “I will not surrender my land,” he said firmly, but his voice held no arrogance—only reason. “However, I propose an alliance. We do not have to be enemies. Our kingdoms can stand together, share trade, strengthen each other.”

San chuckled, a slow, amused sound. “An alliance?” He leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting. “Tell me, King Eldrin, what does your peaceful kingdom have to offer me that I do not already have?”

“We have wisdom, knowledge, and beauty. We have—”

“I do not need beauty,” San interrupted, his amusement vanishing. “I need power. Strength. Land.” His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword. “And I will not ask twice.”

Eldrin’s jaw tightened. “Then you have my answer.”

San exhaled, a mockery of disappointment. “A shame,” he murmured. Then, with a glance at his general, he spoke the words that sealed Eldoria’s fate.

“We march at dawn.”

The war did not last long.

Eldoria, despite its beauty, was not built for battle. Its people were artists, scholars, farmers—not warriors. They fought bravely, but Celestara’s army was relentless. Swords clashed, fires burned, and the soft-colored streets of Eldoria were soon painted in shades of ash and crimson.

Within days, the palace fell.

King Choi San did what he always did—he erased the royal family.

The moment the palace fell, there was no room for mercy. The king was the first to go, struck down in his own throne room, his crown rolling across the marble floor. The queen followed soon after, her desperate pleas for peace silenced forever. The crown prince, the last hope for Eldoria’s future, fought bravely, but bravery alone could not save him from Celestara’s steel.

San watched it all with a cold, unwavering gaze. Another kingdom conquered. Another royal bloodline wiped from existence. Just as it should be.

With the palace now under Celestara’s control, he prepared to leave. There was no need for him to stay any longer. His men would handle the rest—securing the city, ensuring the people understood that they now belonged to him. He had no interest in Eldoria’s ruins; his work here was done.

Or so he thought.

A soldier rushed into the war room, his armor still stained with battle. He bowed quickly, his breath uneven.

“My king,” he said. “There is word of another.”

San barely spared him a glance. “Another what?”

“A survivor. A princess.”

The words made him pause.

A princess?

San had not known Eldoria had a princess. He frowned, turning fully to the soldier. “And where is she?”

“We do not know.”

San’s expression darkened. “Explain.”

“She was not in the palace when we arrived,” the soldier admitted. “We searched every room, every hall. But she was nowhere to be found.”

The air in the room grew heavy. San’s grip on his sword tightened. He had never left a royal family unfinished. No loose ends. No survivors. And yet, here was a piece of Eldoria’s bloodline still unaccounted for.

His jaw clenched. “Find her.”

Thus began the search.

San’s men scoured every corner of the palace, tearing through lavish chambers, hidden passages, and forgotten halls. San was not a man who accepted failure. He ordered a deeper search—every stone overturned, every locked door broken open.

And finally, they found it.

A hidden room, tucked away behind the grand library. The entrance had been expertly concealed, nearly impossible to notice unless one was searching for it. But now, the secret was uncovered.

San arrived immediately.

The heavy bookcase that had once hidden the doorway was now pushed aside, revealing a narrow passage leading into a small chamber. It was nothing like the lavish royal rooms he had seen before. This space was simple—bare walls, a single candle flickering in the dim light, and a modest wooden desk placed in the center.

And sitting at that desk was a girl.

She had not heard them enter at first, her focus entirely on the parchment before her. Her delicate hand moved swiftly, ink staining her fingertips as she wrote something with quiet urgency. It was only when she sensed the shift in the air—when the heavy presence of someone else filled the room—that she finally looked up.

Her eyes widened.

San met her gaze, and in that instant, he knew.

This was her.

The missing princess. The last surviving member of Eldoria’s royal family.

She had been here all along, hidden away while her kingdom burned. Sheltered while her family perished.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The candlelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the quiet shock in her expression. San took a step forward, his boots echoing in the small space. The girl did not move, her fingers still curled around the quill, as if caught between fight and flight.

He exhaled slowly.

“Found you.”

San was a terrifying man. His presence alone filled the small room with an unshakable weight, his dark eyes locked onto YN with an intensity that made her stomach twist. She had heard of him before—King Choi San, the ruthless conqueror. The man who had taken her home, erased her family, and claimed Eldoria as his own.

Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to move. Slowly, she stood from her chair, her gaze dropping to the ground as if in surrender.

But she was not surrendering.

Her fingers tightened around the ink glass on the desk. And before she could think twice, she threw it.

The small bottle spun through the air, aimed directly at his knees.

San’s reflexes were fast—too fast. He shifted at the last second, the ink missing its target. Instead, it crashed against the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Black ink spilled in a messy puddle between them, staining the stone beneath their feet.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then San exhaled, his lips curling into something unreadable. Not quite amusement, not quite anger.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his boots avoiding the ink, his piercing gaze never leaving her face.

“Cute,” he murmured, voice low. “You thought that would stop me?”

YN looked up just as San took another step closer, his presence suffocating in the small room. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she didn’t let her fear show. Instead, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“No,” she said, voice steady. “But this will.”

Before he could react, she pulled a small knife from the folds of her dress and lunged forward.

She moved fast, aiming for his chest, but he was faster.

San’s hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-strike. With effortless strength, he twisted it, forcing her to drop the knife. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as pain shot through her arm, but she refused to cry out. The blade clattered against the floor, useless now.

San’s grip remained firm as he pushed her down, forcing her onto her knees before him. YN struggled, but it was no use. He was stronger, unmovable.

Then, to her shock, he reached out and brushed the strands of hair from her face. It was a gentle touch, almost delicate. If it were anyone else, it might have seemed comforting. But this was King Choi San.

And from him, it was terrifying.

His fingers trailed along her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. His dark eyes studied her, unreadable, as if he were trying to understand something.

“You’ve got fight in you,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost amused. “I like that.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. This man had slaughtered her family, burned her kingdom to the ground, and now, here he was, treating her as if she were something… interesting.

Her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run. But she was trapped.

San tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. Then, he leaned down, just enough to whisper,

“But fighting me is useless.”

San looked down at her, his expression unreadable. His grip on her wrist loosened just slightly, but the weight of his presence remained suffocating.

“You know,” he said casually, as if discussing the weather, “I came here to kill you.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

Of course, he did. That was what he always did. He had erased her family, wiped out her kingdom, and now, it was her turn.

She lowered her gaze, staring at the ink-stained floor. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, but she did not beg. She would not give him that satisfaction. There was nothing left for her anymore. No family. No home. No future.

So she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

But then—

“But,” San mused, tilting his head, “you’re too pretty to kill.”

Her eyes snapped open, looking up at him in shock.

He smirked, his fingers once again brushing her cheek, this time lingering just a bit longer. “It would be a shame to waste something so… delicate.”

She stiffened, her stomach twisting with disgust. Was he toying with her? Mocking her? What was worse—death, or whatever fate he had in mind?

“No,” she whispered, barely realizing she had spoken. Then, louder, her voice rising in panic, “No—just kill me.”

San chuckled. Low, dark, entertained.

“Oh?” He crouched in front of her, their faces now painfully close. “Is that what you want?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

San’s smirk widened. He was enjoying this—her fear, her resistance, her despair.

“Too bad,” he murmured, gripping her chin lightly and forcing her to hold his gaze. “I think I’ll take you instead.”

YN stood up slowly, her legs shaking beneath her, but her gaze remained locked onto his. She expected him to rise as well, to tower over her like the conqueror he was, but he didn’t.

San remained crouched, looking up at her from his lower position, his dark eyes steady and sharp. It was unsettling—how comfortable he was, how unbothered by her defiance. His face was close—too close. Close enough that if she moved even slightly, he would be able to feel the fabric of her dress brush against him.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

And then, she moved.

She dashed to the side, making a sharp turn around him. Her feet barely touched the ground as she made her escape, her breath caught in her throat. For a split second, she thought she had done it. She had gone around him. She had gotten past him.

But she had forgotten.

The shattered glass. The ink. The mess on the floor from when she had thrown the ink bottle at him earlier.

The moment her bare foot touched the shards, a sharp, searing pain shot up her leg.

She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t stop. She forced herself forward, reaching the doorway that led out of the hidden chamber. She had made it—just barely.

But then, her body betrayed her.

The pain was too much. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed just outside the room, her breath coming in short gasps. Her feet throbbed violently, fresh blood pooling beneath her.

The pain in her feet was unbearable. Tiny shards of glass had pierced into her skin, some embedding deep into the soles of her feet, while others cut shallow but still bled. Ink mixed with her blood, creating a dark, messy trail behind her.

She couldn’t run anymore.

Her feet throbbed, her breaths were uneven, and she could already feel the warm trickle of blood running down her heels. Every movement sent fresh pain through her body.

Behind her, the room remained silent.

She could feel him still there. Watching. Waiting.

And then—

A slow, deliberate sound.

The sound of boots shifting against the stone floor.

San was standing up.

He stood up, the slow, deliberate movement filling the space with an unspoken finality. His boots pressed against the shattered glass on the floor, the sharp shards crunching beneath the heavy soles. The sound echoed in the small chamber, a cruel reminder of the difference between them—her bare, bloodied feet and his untouched, armored ones.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

Slow. Steady. As if he had all the time in the world.

YN could feel the weight of his gaze on her, sharp and unyielding, like a predator toying with its prey. She knew—he knew—that she wouldn’t make it far. Even if she ran, even if she forced herself to her feet and pushed through the pain, it wouldn’t matter. He would catch her. He would always catch her.

But she wasn’t going to just sit there.

The moment his shadow loomed over her, she pushed herself back. Her hands scraped against the cold stone floor as she tried to crawl away, her injured feet dragging behind her, leaving smudges of inky blood in her wake. It hurt—oh, it hurt—but she didn’t care. She would rather die trying than just sit there and accept whatever fate he had planned for her.

Outside the room, the few guards stationed there shifted uncertainly. One of them stepped forward as if to intervene, as if to do something.

San didn’t even look at them. He simply flicked his fingers, a lazy motion, and they immediately hesitated. Then, without a word, they stepped back, leaving him to handle this alone.

YN’s breath was ragged as she dragged herself further, her palms burning against the rough stone. She felt helpless, weak, but she refused to stop. Even if it was useless, even if he reached her within seconds, she would not just sit there like a caged animal.

Her fingers curled against the cold floor as she lifted her head, looking up at him.

And there he was.

Towering over her now, his expression unreadable, his lips slightly curled as if in amusement.

San exhaled, tilting his head.

"Still fighting?" he mused, his voice low, smooth—dangerous.

His slow steps finally came to a stop.

She had barely gotten anywhere.

And now, he was standing right in front of her.

San sighed, his patience thinning. He crouched slightly, looking down at her with that same amused expression, but now there was something else in his gaze—impatience.

“Let’s not fight,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “Come now. Let’s go home.”

Home.

The word sent a shiver down YN’s spine. Home didn’t exist anymore. Her home had been burned, her family slaughtered, her people forced under his rule. Wherever he wanted to take her, it wasn’t home.

Still lying on the cold stone floor, she shook her head weakly. “No.”

San’s jaw tightened. The amusement in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced with something colder. He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if he were growing tired of this game.

"Fine," he muttered.

Before she could react, she saw a flash of silver—something in his hand.

Her body tensed. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew better than to wait and find out. Instinctively, she raised her arms to shield her face, bracing for impact.

Wrong move.

A sharp prick shot through the side of her neck.

Her eyes widened in shock as she felt something thin and metallic buried into her skin. It wasn’t a knife—it didn’t slice or tear. It just pricked, leaving a dull, numbing sensation in its wake.

A syringe.

San had stabbed a syringe into her neck.

Her breath hitched as a strange dizziness washed over her. The world around her blurred, her limbs suddenly feeling heavy, too heavy to move. She tried to lift her hand, tried to reach for the object lodged in her skin, but her fingers barely twitched before her body gave out.

Her head fell against the cold floor, her vision swimming.

Above her, the last thing she saw was San’s face, watching her with a knowing smirk as the darkness swallowed her whole.

San looked down at her unconscious form, his smirk lingering as he admired his work. She had fought, resisted until the very last second, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He was always going to win.

He exhaled, standing to his full height as he observed her limp body sprawled across the cold floor. The ink and blood smeared across the ground were the only remnants of her struggle.

Satisfied, he crouched down and slipped an arm beneath her, effortlessly lifting her into his arms. She was light—far too light for someone with so much fight in her. Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder, her breath slow and steady as the sedative coursed through her veins.

Holding her securely, San turned and walked towards the door.

The guards outside immediately straightened at the sight of their king emerging from the hidden room with the unconscious princess in his arms. They glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes, but none dared to question him.

San stepped past them, his grip on YN firm but casual, as if carrying her was no different from carrying a mere possession.

Because that’s exactly what she was now.

San stepped out into the open, the cool night air washing over him as he carried YN in his arms. The moment his men saw him, they stiffened, their expressions betraying their shock.

They had all expected him to emerge alone, having finished the job like he always did. Instead, here he was—carrying the princess, unconscious but very much alive.

One of the lead guards, a seasoned warrior with a deep scar across his cheek, stepped forward hesitantly. His gaze flickered between San and the girl in his arms before he spoke.

"Your Majesty," he began carefully, "should we finish her?"

The other guards waited in tense silence, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. It was a reasonable assumption—San had slaughtered the rest of the royal family without hesitation. Why would the princess be any different?

But San had already made his decision.

Without looking at the guard, he spoke, his voice calm yet unwavering.

"No."

The single word sent a ripple of confusion through the men.

San shifted YN slightly in his arms, glancing down at her unconscious face before turning his sharp gaze back to the guard.

"I'm taking her back to Celestara," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, but no one dared to question him further.

San smirked, satisfied by their obedience. Then, without another word, he began walking towards his waiting carriage.

This war was over. The kingdom was his. And now, so was she.

With the princess in his grasp, he set off on the journey back to Celestara—his kingdom, his home.

And soon enough, hers as well.

YN blinked slowly, her mind hazy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish, as if she had been asleep for far too long.

Where was she?

She forced herself to sit up, her fingers gripping the soft yet unfamiliar sheets beneath her. The bed was large—far larger than the one she had in Eldoria. And the room…

Her heart sank.

This wasn’t Eldoria.

Eldoria was warm and bright, filled with pastel colors, soft fabrics, and the gentle scent of flowers in the air. But this place—this place felt suffocating. The walls were dark, nearly black, with gold accents that gleamed under the dim lighting. Heavy drapes covered the windows, letting in only slivers of light. The furniture was grand, elegant, yet cold, as if meant to intimidate rather than comfort.

She hated it.

Perhaps it was because she had spent her entire life surrounded by brightness, but the darkness of this place made her uneasy. It felt foreign, unfamiliar—wrong.

Her breath quickened as she swung her legs over the bed, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through her feet.

The glass.

She had run through shattered glass.

Carefully, she lifted her feet and saw the bandages wrapped around them, fresh and neatly done. Someone had treated her injuries.

Someone had—

Her stomach twisted.

San.

Memories of what had happened before she blacked out came rushing back. The invasion. The loss. His voice, smooth and taunting. The sharp prick of the syringe in her neck.

Panic clawed at her chest as she looked around frantically, searching for a way out.

But the door was closed.

And she had no doubt—it was locked.

YN sat at the edge of the massive bed, her fingers digging into the sheets as she tried to steady herself. The weight of everything crashed down on her all at once.

Her family was gone.

Her home was gone.

And now, she was here—trapped in a place that wasn’t hers, surrounded by walls that felt like they were closing in on her.

Her vision blurred as her throat tightened. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But what good would that do?

She lowered her gaze to her bandaged feet. She couldn’t even walk. She had been so desperate to escape, but in the end, she had only hurt herself. And now, she was left completely vulnerable, at the mercy of the very man who had taken everything from her.

San.

The thought of his name sent a shiver down her spine.

The ruthless king of Celestara. The man who had murdered her family without hesitation. The man who had stolen her home and claimed it as his own.

And now, she was his captive.

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips, but it got caught in her throat. There was nothing amusing about this. There was no way out.

She was truly, utterly defeated.

YN sat there for what felt like hours, unmoving, lost in the crushing weight of her thoughts. The silence of the room only made it worse, suffocating her, making her feel even more trapped.

Then—

Click.

The door creaked open.

Her entire body tensed.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, her heart pounding as she stared at the entrance, dreading what—or who—might step inside.

And then she saw him.

San.

He walked in like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

But that didn’t make it any less infuriating.

His presence filled the room instantly, his posture relaxed, confident—completely at ease, as if nothing was out of place. As if he hadn’t just destroyed her entire life.

YN swallowed hard, her throat dry.

She hated him.

She hated the way he moved so carelessly, as if everything was just a game to him. She hated the way he looked at her, like he knew she was powerless against him. She hated that even though she wanted to scream, to throw something, to fight—she couldn’t.

Not like this.

Not when she could barely even stand.

Fear crept up her spine, mixing with the anger burning in her chest. She hated him. She feared him. But most of all—she resented the fact that he had complete control over her now.

San stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on her. A smirk tugged at his lips, slow and deliberate, as if he was enjoying the sight of her—small, wounded, and utterly trapped.

He took a step inside, and even though his movements were unhurried, they carried an undeniable authority. Every step he took echoed in the large, darkened room, the soft click of his boots against the floor sending a shiver down YN’s spine.

She gripped the sheets tighter.

He was terrifying.

And that was exactly what made him so dangerous.

He wasn’t just some brute who barked orders and swung his sword mindlessly. No, San was something much worse. He was calculated. He was smart. And worst of all, he enjoyed having control over people.

“You’re awake,” he mused, his voice smooth yet dripping with something sinister.

YN didn’t respond.

He didn’t need her to. He was already closing the distance between them, his movements slow, predatory, as if he wanted her to feel the power he held over her.

Her breath hitched as he stopped right in front of her.

She refused to look up at him. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

But San wasn’t the type to be ignored.

With an amused chuckle, he crouched down so that he was eye-level with her.

“Not going to greet your king?” he murmured, tilting his head. His voice was deep, teasing, but there was an undeniable edge to it. A warning.

YN finally forced herself to meet his gaze—and immediately regretted it.

He was too close.

Far too close.

His dark eyes gleamed under the dim lighting, filled with something unreadable. His sharp jawline, the way his lips curled ever so slightly—it was unfair how someone so cruel could look so good.

She hated it.

She hated that her heart pounded for reasons beyond just fear.

When she still didn’t speak, San exhaled sharply and reached out.

She flinched as his fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her face up. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but that only made it worse.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, his voice quiet, almost mocking. “Scared of me, little princess?”

YN clenched her jaw, trying to will away the fear in her expression.

San chuckled. “Good. You should be.”

His grip tightened, just enough for her to feel it, just enough to remind her that she was at his mercy.

And yet—

The way he looked at her, the slow drag of his eyes down her face, the way his lips parted slightly as if he was enjoying every second of this—

He was terrifying.

And that made him even more dangerous.

San watched her, his lips quirking up in amusement at her stubbornness. She was scared, angry, and exhausted, yet still refused to take anything from him. It was almost admirable. Almost.

With a sigh, he reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside desk. His fingers wrapped around the crystal, and he swirled the liquid inside lazily before turning back to her.

“Why don’t you drink some?” His voice was smooth, deep, like velvet laced with something dangerous.

“I don’t want water,” YN muttered, looking away.

San chuckled, low and rich. “Come on, princess. I didn’t poison it.”

He lifted the glass to his own lips, tilting it back ever so slightly.

YN couldn’t look away.

The way he drank—slow, deliberate—was unfair. A bit of water slipped past the corner of his lips, trailing down his jaw. He swiped his thumb across his mouth, wiping away the stray droplet before licking it off his thumb without a second thought.

Her stomach twisted, and heat crept up her neck.

San caught the way her eyes flickered to his lips, and his smirk deepened.

“See?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned in, holding the glass out to her, his fingers brushing against hers. “It’s not poisoned.”

She hesitated.

San sighed dramatically. “Drink up, princess. I don’t want you to die.”

His words should have been comforting, but the way he said them—slow, teasing, like he enjoyed her discomfort—only made her more unsettled.

Still, she knew she had no choice.

With shaky fingers, she took the glass from him.

San didn’t move back.

He stayed close, watching her with dark, expectant eyes, waiting to see if she would obey.

And that was the worst part.

Because as much as she hated him, as much as she wanted to fight—he always got what he wanted.

San had no shame. Not even a shred of it.

As YN lifted the glass to her lips, tilting her head back slightly to drink, his eyes shamelessly trailed down to her neck.

He watched the way her throat moved with each swallow, the soft curve of her collarbone barely peeking from the loose neckline of her dress. His gaze lingered, unbothered, unapologetic.

San was no saint.

He never pretended to be one.

And right now, he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying the sight in front of him.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he let his gaze drag over her slowly, taking in every little detail. The way her lips parted slightly after drinking, the way a stray droplet of water slipped down the side of her mouth.

Before she could wipe it away, he reached out.

His thumb brushed against her chin, slow, deliberate.

YN froze.

San’s eyes flickered to hers, his touch lingering just a second too long before he finally pulled away.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice smooth like honey, but laced with something undeniably sinful. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

YN clenched her jaw, gripping the empty glass tightly.

She hated him.

But the way he looked at her, like he could devour her whole, made her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling.

And San?

San knew exactly what he was doing.

“What do you want from me?” YN’s voice was sharp, filled with both exhaustion and defiance.

San simply stared at her, his dark eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, with a slow, almost innocent tilt of his head, he said, “Nothing.”

Liar.

She knew he was toying with her. She felt it in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at her—as if she was some intriguing puzzle he wanted to take apart piece by piece.

She couldn’t let him do this.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand, aiming to strike him, to wipe that infuriating expression off his face.

But San was faster.

Much faster.

Before she could make contact, his hand shot up, fingers curling around her neck with practiced ease. He wasn’t squeezing—he didn’t need to. The sheer weight of his touch, the way his thumb pressed lightly against the delicate skin of her throat, was enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

With effortless strength, he pushed her back.

She fell against the pillows, her body sinking into the soft mattress as he hovered over her.

And then, for the briefest moment, San stilled.

His grip loosened slightly as he took her in.

Her doe eyes, wide and glaring up at him, holding a mix of fury and something he couldn’t quite place. Her lips, parted ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven puffs. And her hair—God, her hair—spilled in every direction, a wild halo of silk against the dark sheets.

Beautiful.

He had always admired beautiful things.

But this—her, beneath him, looking like something he wanted to ruin—this was something else entirely.

His fingers twitched against her throat, and he let out a quiet hum, his gaze darkening as he leaned in just a fraction.

YN could barely breathe.

Not because of his hold—no, he wasn’t choking her. But because of the way he looked at her, like he was memorizing every detail, like he owned her already.

San smirked, his voice dangerously soft as he murmured, “You’re breathtaking, princess.”

San let go of her slowly, his fingers trailing from her throat to her collarbone before finally pulling away. He watched her for a second longer, his smirk never faltering, then—just like that—he backed up.

No words. No explanation.

He simply turned on his heel and walked away.

YN lay there, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.

The door creaked open.

For a moment, she thought he might say something, might throw one last taunt her way. But he didn’t.

He left.

The door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving her alone in the deafening silence of the room.

And yet, even with him gone, the ghost of his touch lingered on her skin.

A few days has passed. YN had barely slept, her mind too clouded with the events of that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. The way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her—the way he had enjoyed watching her squirm beneath him. She hated him.

She hated that she was here, hated that she was still alive when her family wasn’t.

A soft knock at the door startled her. A maid entered, bowing slightly before speaking. “His Majesty requests your presence for breakfast.”

YN frowned. A maid? She hadn’t expected anyone to treat her with respect—she thought she would be tossed into a dungeon, starved, forgotten. But no. She was being served. It unsettled her.

Still, she said nothing and complied, following the maid through the grand halls of the palace. The castle was just as dark and overbearing as she had thought it would be, its walls decorated with deep gold accents and tall, menacing windows. Nothing about it was warm. Just like him.

When they reached the dining hall, the large doors were pushed open, revealing an elegant table set with more food than she had seen in days. Her stomach twisted, but not from hunger. Because there, seated at the head of the table, was San. And he was already watching her. Her appetite vanished instantly.

San smirked, leaning forward slightly as he rested his chin on his hand. “Good morning, princess.”

YN swallowed, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

She refused to answer.

Instead, she slowly walked toward the table, forcing herself to keep her back straight as she sat down. The maid moved to pour her a drink, but she barely noticed.

All she could feel was his gaze.

San chuckled, clearly amused by her discomfort. “What’s wrong? Not hungry?”

YN clenched her jaw. Hungry? How could she eat in front of the very man who had stolen her kingdom, who had killed her family? She gripped the silverware in front of her, trying to steady herself, trying not to snap. But the longer she sat there, the more unbearable it became.

San leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Eat, princess,” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery. “I don’t want you starving on me.”

YN clenched her jaw, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress beneath the table. She forced a smile, though her teeth were gritted in pure loathing.

"I wouldn't dare eat before His Majesty," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

San only smirked at her response, clearly entertained. He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table before tilting his head. "That’s sweet of you, princess," he mused. "But I insist. I want my little princess to eat first."

Before she could protest, he reached for a piece of meat, slicing it with ease. He speared the piece with a fork and, without hesitation, held it up to her lips.

"Open."

YN stared at him, unimpressed. "I don’t eat meat."

San’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened.

"Too bad," he said, his voice void of sympathy. "You need to follow orders, princess."

His tone was firm now, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t asking. He was commanding.

YN swallowed, her breath steady despite the way her stomach churned. She didn’t want to obey him—she refused to. But she knew how dangerous he was. She had seen it with her own eyes.

San was ruthless. And he would enjoy making her suffer if she disobeyed.

Still, she didn’t move.

San sighed dramatically, lowering the fork slightly. "Do I need to feed you myself?" he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

YN clenched her fists beneath the table.

She had lost her kingdom. She had lost her family.

And now, she was losing control.

But what choice did she have?

YN hesitated for a moment, her stomach twisting in revulsion. But the look in San’s eyes told her there was no room for negotiation.

Slowly, reluctantly, she parted her lips.

San smirked in satisfaction and pushed the piece of meat into her mouth. His fingers brushed against her lips ever so slightly, lingering for just a second too long before pulling away.

She wanted to spit it out. Gods, she wanted to spit it out. But she didn’t. She forced herself to chew, swallowing the bite with as much grace as she could muster.

San watched her the entire time, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Her fingers twitched. She wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.

Instead, she reached for the glass of water beside her, desperately trying to wash away the taste of the meat that burned her throat like poison.

San leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied her. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

YN didn’t answer. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

San chuckled. He could see the anger burning in her eyes, the way her entire body tensed with barely restrained rage. Oh, how he enjoyed this. Watching her fight against her own pride, watching her struggle between her hatred for him and her will to survive.

"You’ll get used to it," he said lazily, taking another bite of his own food.

YN swallowed down her fury. She had to be careful. She had to be smart.

She wasn’t just a prisoner in this palace—she was a captive in his hands. And San was playing a game.

She just didn’t know the rules yet.

YN sat stiffly in her seat, her stomach churning with disgust—not just from the food, but from him.

San, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He ate slowly, savoring every bite, his sharp eyes flickering toward her every now and then, like a predator keeping an eye on his prey.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth with a cloth, then tossed it onto the table carelessly. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he stood.

YN instinctively tensed as he walked around the table. His boots echoed against the marble floor, each step heavy, purposeful. She kept her gaze locked on the table, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. But San didn’t stop until he was standing right behind her.

She felt his presence before she saw him. The heat radiating from him, the way the air around her seemed to shift. Then—

A hand.

Slow, deliberate fingers brushing over her shoulder.

YN flinched, but she refused to move. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

San leaned down, his breath warm against the side of her neck.

"You surprise me, princess," he murmured, his voice smooth, deep. "I thought you’d be more difficult. But you listened. You obeyed." His fingers trailed up, brushing the strands of her hair away from her neck. YN’s breath hitched, but she kept her face blank, forcing herself to stare at the empty plate in front of her.

"Maybe you're smarter than I thought," San mused, his tone dripping with amusement.

Then, without warning, he grabbed her chin, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

His eyes. Dark. Intense. Amused.

A smirk played at his lips, and for a terrifying moment, she swore he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"Or maybe," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, "you’re just waiting for the right moment to fight back."

YN’s pulse pounded in her ears. San chuckled, his grip on her chin tightening just slightly before he let go. He straightened, taking a step back, but his presence still loomed over her.

"Either way," he said, voice smooth, "I’m looking forward to it."

As San spoke, his fingers lazily twirled a lock of her hair between them. The contrast was eerie—the way his voice was dark and commanding, yet his touch was almost gentle. Almost.

YN swallowed hard, keeping her expression blank, but inside, she was unraveling.

Why was he doing this? Why was he toying with her like this?

San hummed, his fingers drifting lower, brushing through the strands like he had all the time in the world. "Soft," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She clenched her fists under the table. She wanted to jerk away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep her still. Not painfully—no, that wasn’t his style. He didn’t need to use force. His presence alone was enough to keep her frozen. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against the top of her head.

"You have no idea how much I enjoy this," he mused, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Seeing you like this. Trying so hard to keep your composure, when I know—" he tugged her hair lightly, making her tilt her head back just enough to meet his gaze "—that inside, you’re burning."

YN gritted her teeth.

San smirked, his fingers giving one last slow glide through her hair before finally—finally—he let go.

"Keep up the act, princess," he murmured, straightening. "Let’s see how long you last." And with that, he walked away, leaving YN sitting there, her breath uneven, her body tense.

Her hair still tingled from his touch.

She hated it. She hated him.

It had been days since YN had been trapped in this dark, unfamiliar place. The once-proud princess of Eldoria, now nothing more than a caged bird under the watchful eye of a ruthless king.

During those days, she had no purpose. No books to read, no people to talk to, nothing. Just the sound of the ticking clock and the occasional knock of a servant bringing her food.

And then there was him.

San.

He would come in whenever he pleased. Sometimes, he would simply stand there, watching her like she was some fascinating puzzle he was trying to solve. Other times, he would speak, his voice smooth and teasing, dripping with manipulation.

"Are you lonely, princess? You don’t have to be. You just have to behave."

"What a shame. You were once so free, and now you have nothing. But don’t worry—I can give you something. You only have to ask."

And then he would leave, always before she could snap back, before she could gather her words.

It was driving her insane.

Not the captivity, not even the fear—the boredom.

He wouldn't let her do anything. No dancing, no walking outside, no distractions.

She was starting to feel like a doll left on a shelf, waiting for the moment he decided to pick her up and play his twisted little games.

She hated him.

She hated how he controlled everything—her time, her space, even the very air she breathed in his presence.

And she hated that, despite everything, he still had the nerve to act like he was enjoying this more than she was suffering.

San sat in his grand chamber, the dim candlelight casting sharp shadows over his sharp features. He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily on the armrest while the other traced the rim of his wine glass. His thoughts, however, were far from idle.

She was going to be here for a while. That much was certain. And since she was his now—his possession, his captive, his—it was only natural that he knew everything about her. So, he had sent his right-hand man to dig into her past.

It wasn’t an easy task. After all, he had razed Eldoria to the ground, left nothing but ashes and ruins in his wake. Most of her kingdom’s history had burned with it.

But his man was efficient, and somehow, he had managed to unearth something.

San read through the parchment, his sharp eyes scanning every word. YN—once a beloved princess, a figure of grace and kindness. People had adored her, and not just because she was royalty. She had been… good. She had spent her days tending to the kingdom’s gardens, running her fingers through delicate petals, ensuring that life flourished around her. She had a habit of visiting the commoners, speaking to them as if she were one of them.

She had been everything a ruler should be. San scoffed, amused. How naive. But what intrigued him the most was the last detail.

She had been a dancer. A dedicated one. Trained, disciplined, someone who had spent hours perfecting her craft.

San tapped his fingers against the table. A princess who danced. A girl who once moved freely, who now sat caged in his palace with nowhere to go.

He smirked. Oh, how he could use this.

San leaned back in his chair, his smirk deepening as he thought about it. A princess who danced, who tended to flowers, who was gentle—a true princess in every sense. She was nothing like the women he had encountered before, hardened by war or desperate for power.

She was delicate. Refined. Soft. And she was his now.

The idea of her being his personal entertainer amused him. The once-proud princess, forced to dance solely for his pleasure. The same girl who had glared at him with pure hatred, who had tried to fight him—kneeling before him, moving gracefully under his command. The thought alone sent a thrill down his spine. He wanted to see it. Wanted to watch her move, watch her surrender that grace to him.

His fingers drummed against the table as he made up his mind.

He would give her no choice. If she was going to be here, if she was going to belong to him, then she would have to earn her place.

And what better way than by using the very thing that once made her special?

The heavy doors to her room slammed open without warning, the force of it making the walls tremble. YN flinched, her fingers tightening around the book she had been reading. She barely had a moment to process before San strode in, his presence overwhelming, suffocating even. He moved with that effortless confidence, like a predator who knew nothing could touch him. His dark clothing contrasted sharply against the golden glow of the candles, his sharp jawline cast in perfect shadow. His eyes—cold, calculating—pinned her in place as he approached. He stopped right in front of her.

She had been sitting on the bed, legs tucked beneath her, the book resting in her lap. Now, she sat frozen under his piercing gaze.

San tilted his head slightly, studying her. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his fingers through it moments ago. His lips curled, not in kindness, but in something far more sinister—amusement, control, ownership.

"You look so comfortable," he mused, voice dangerously smooth. "It almost makes me forget you're a captive." She swallowed, trying not to react.

He reached forward, slow and deliberate, and plucked the book from her hands. His fingers ghosted over hers for a second, a contrast of warmth and chill. He flipped through the pages lazily, before his smirk deepened.

"Interesting," he murmured, snapping the book shut with one hand. YN clenched her jaw. "You gave that to me." San let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

"I did," he admitted, stepping even closer. His knee brushed against the edge of the mattress. He leaned down slightly, enough that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of leather and spice. He reached out, his fingers skimming through her hair—something he seemed to love doing.

YN clenched her fists. She hated how he touched her so freely, how he invaded her space like he owned it. But most of all—she hated the way he made it impossible to breathe.

San watched her closely, his eyes dark with amusement. He had noticed it—the way she sat idly for days, locked in this golden cage he had given her. She had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. So of course, she was bored.

But YN didn’t trust him, and she had every reason not to.

Still, when he spoke, his voice was almost casual. "I was thinking," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you must be getting bored."

She stiffened. Of course, she was. But admitting anything to him felt like a loss. She remained still, watching him warily. San exhaled sharply, as if her silence annoyed him. He shifted slightly, bringing a gloved hand up to her chin. His fingers were deceptively gentle as they tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Are you?" he asked again.

For a moment, she debated whether or not to answer. But the way his grip tightened—just a fraction—told her it wasn’t a request. Reluctantly, she gave a small nod.

San clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That won’t do." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, lingering just long enough to make her tense. His smirk deepened at her reaction. "If I ask a question, little princess, I expect words," he murmured. "Try again."

YN swallowed hard, her voice quieter than she would have liked. "Yes."

San grinned. "See? That wasn’t so hard." He released her, taking a step back as if satisfied.

"Since you’re bored," he mused, turning slightly, "I think I’ll give you something to do."

She narrowed her eyes. "And what would that be?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, that wicked smirk never fading. "You’re going to dance for me."

YN was furious. “You're making me do this act of shame for what?”

San merely raised a brow at her outburst, completely unfazed. If anything, he looked amused.

"Shaming you?" he repeated, stepping closer. His voice was as smooth as silk, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You think I’m asking you to shame yourself?"

YN clenched her fists. "You’re making me put on a show for you like a performer, like some—"

"Like a princess," he interrupted, tilting his head slightly. His smirk deepened as he took another slow step toward her. "And isn't that what you are?"

She was furious now. "This dance is part of my kingdom’s culture," she snapped. "You’ve already taken everything from me. I won’t let you exploit this too."

San chuckled, dark and quiet. "Exploit?" he mused. "You call it exploitation. I call it appreciation." Her glare only fueled his amusement.

She furiously stood up "By making me dance in front of you for your entertainment? You think that’s appreciation?"

He didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her, his expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, he reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her flush against him.

YN gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his chest. His grip was firm but not painful, his warmth radiating through his clothes. She struggled, but he didn’t let go. His eyes bore into hers.

"Do you really think I see you as just some performer?" he murmured, voice dropping lower. "I could have killed you, little princess. I should have."

His fingers trailed up her arm, slow and deliberate. "But I didn’t. I kept you. And now, I want to see you—your kingdom’s pride, your so-called untouchable grace." He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over her skin. "You can call it whatever you want," he whispered, "but in the end, you will dance for me."

YN felt the weight of defeat settle deep in her chest. It was suffocating. She had nothing left—no kingdom, no family, no power. Even her pride, the one thing she had tried so desperately to hold onto, was slipping through her fingers.

San had taken everything from her. And now, even in this moment, he stood before her, completely in control. Her shoulders slumped as she took a slow step back, gaze falling to the floor. She hated this. Hated him. Hated how powerless she was.

San watched her reaction closely, his smirk unwavering.

"See?" he murmured. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then, to her surprise, he took a step closer—not with the same overwhelming dominance he usually carried, but with something else. Something almost teasing.

"Here," he said suddenly, reaching for her hair. "I'll even braid your hair to make it beautiful."

YN’s breath hitched. "What—"

But she couldn’t even finish before she felt his fingers threading through her locks.

He was gentle.

She wanted to recoil, to shove him away, but her body wouldn’t move. She stood frozen as he worked, weaving her long strands between his fingers, moving with ease as if he had done this a hundred times before. San was good at it. Too good.

"Surprised?" he mused, clearly amused by her silence. "You think a king can’t do something as simple as braiding hair?" His fingers moved slowly, carefully, as if savoring the feeling.

YN hated how calming it was.

He was quiet for a moment before he murmured, "My mother used to do this for me when I was young. Before she died." That caught her off guard.

She dared to glance at him, but his expression was unreadable.

Then, as if remembering himself, San smirked again. "But I suppose that doesn't matter now."

He tied off the end of the braid, admiring his work. "There," he said, stepping back. "Now you look even more like a princess."

YN clenched her fists at her sides. "You're cruel," she whispered.

San only chuckled, dark and low. "And yet, here you are—letting me braid your hair."

The music played softly in the grand hall, but to YN, it felt like a cruel command rather than a melody. Her bare feet hesitated against the cold marble floor. Her body still ached, her legs not fully recovered from the injuries. Every step sent a dull pain through her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

San sat on his throne, legs spread lazily, elbow resting on the armrest, fingers curled under his chin. His dark eyes never left her. They followed every movement, every step, every sway of her body with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

He looked hungry. Not for food. Not for violence.

For her.

YN’s breath was uneven, but she forced herself to keep going. The dance that once brought her joy, the tradition of her people, now felt like shackles binding her to his will.

San exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging over her form. “Keep going,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, yet laced with authority.

Her knees almost buckled.

His gaze burned into her skin, drinking in every movement like a man who had been deprived for too long.

YN gritted her teeth, forcing herself to continue. She could feel his eyes tracing the curve of her waist, the arch of her neck, the way her braid swayed with her movements. He was enjoying this.

Not just the dance itself, but the fact that he was the reason she was dancing.

San leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. "It’s almost a shame," he mused. "That a princess like you should be wasted on a throne when you were clearly born to move like this.”

YN nearly stumbled. And the moment she stumbled, she knew something was wrong. Her vision blurred, the golden chandeliers above melting into streaks of light. The grand hall, once a suffocating prison, now felt like it was spinning around her, pulling her deeper into an abyss she couldn't escape.

Her legs trembled beneath her, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She tried to focus—on the cold marble beneath her feet, on the heavy silence that replaced the music, on anything that could ground her. But all she could see was him.

San.

He remained seated, watching her with an expression that sent chills down her spine. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, lips curling into that damned smirk. The world tilted again. Her body swayed uncontrollably, her limbs heavy, her strength slipping away.

Then—darkness.

The last thing she saw before her knees buckled was San’s sinister smile.

He didn’t move to catch her. He didn’t call for help. He simply watched as she crumpled to the floor.

San exhaled slowly as he crouched beside her, his sharp eyes drinking in every delicate feature. Her long lashes fluttered slightly, her lips parted as she breathed weakly, and her hair, now slightly disheveled from the fall, fanned out around her like ink spilled on the cold marble.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful to let go.

His gloved fingers traced a strand of her hair, twisting it between his fingers as he studied her face. She had danced until she collapsed—until her body could no longer obey her. And all for him. A slow smirk curled on his lips.

"You really are something, little princess," he murmured, his voice deep, filled with an almost lazy amusement.

His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down. Even unconscious, she looked defiant—like she was fighting even in her sleep. San leaned closer, his lips hovering just near her ear.

"I will break you," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous promise. "But I will put you back together as mine."

He pulled away slightly, his gaze sweeping over her unconscious form. Then, with no sense of urgency, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She was light. Too light. San clicked his tongue.

"You're still weak," he mused, as if speaking to himself. "I’ll have to fix that."

With long, unhurried strides, he carried her toward the grand doors. His boots echoed against the empty hall, the only sound accompanying them. The princess belonged to him now. And San always got what he wanted.

When YN's eyes fluttered open, she was met with a sight she did not expect.

The room around her was nothing like the one she had been confined to before. It was magnificent—grander, richer, almost suffocating in its opulence. Deep crimson drapes cascaded from the towering windows, gold accents lining every carved detail of the walls. The bed she lay on was vast, the silk sheets beneath her softer than anything she had ever known.

But none of that mattered. Because he was there.

San.

He sat on the bed, resting against the bedpost with one arm draped over the carved wood, watching her with unreadable eyes. But the problem wasn’t just that he was there.

The problem was that he was shirtless.

The flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across his toned torso, emphasizing every defined muscle, every scar carved into his skin like war medals. He looked relaxed—too relaxed—as if he had all the time in the world to simply watch her. Panic surged through her veins like fire.

Her breath hitched, and before her mind could even catch up, her body reacted. She immediately sat up, the sheets pooling around her, and scrambled off the bed. Her bare feet hit the cool floor as she backed away, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the terrifyingly alluring man before her. San exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as he lazily tilted his head.

"Running away again?" he mused, his voice deep, teasing. "How adorable." YN swallowed hard. She knew better now. Running wasn’t an option.

But being near him? That was just as dangerous.

YN's voice was hoarse when she finally found the courage to speak. "Why am I here?"

San didn’t answer right away. He simply stretched, his muscles flexing as he let out a lazy sigh, before tilting his head toward her. “Does it matter?” he said casually, as if her presence in his chambers was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, frustration simmering beneath her fear. “Of course, it matters—”

But before she could continue, San suddenly chuckled, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “Why are you so scared?” he teased, lips curling into that familiar, maddening smirk. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to stand her ground. She hesitated for a moment before finally answering, her voice quieter now. “In my kingdom… it is inappropriate for an unmarried woman to share a bed with a man.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then San let out a low hum, tapping his fingers against the bedpost as if deep in thought. His smirk grew wider.

"Ah… so that's what’s bothering you," he mused. His eyes darkened with amusement as he leaned forward just slightly. "Then I suppose… you should be grateful I let you sleep alone last night.”

YN’s breath caught in her throat.

San was playing with her. And he was enjoying it.

San chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down YN’s spine. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched her with that ever-present glint of amusement.

“You won’t be unmarried for long,” he said casually, as if he were discussing the weather.

YN blinked. “What?” Her voice came out quieter than she intended, confusion flickering in her eyes.

San didn’t hesitate. He met her gaze head-on, his smirk sharpening into something more dangerous. “I’m going to marry you.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to tell her it was another one of his cruel jokes. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. Deadly serious. “I’ve already decided,” he continued, as if that was the end of the discussion. “You’ll be my queen.”

YN took a step back, shaking her head in disbelief. “No,” she breathed. “You’re insane if you think—”

San suddenly stood, and she immediately froze. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

His gaze was intense, piercing through her like a blade. “I think you’re forgetting something, little princess.” His voice dropped lower, the weight of his authority pressing down on her. “Everything here… belongs to me.”

He took a slow step toward her.

“The palace.” Another step.

“The people.” Another.

“And you.”

YN’s back hit the wall, her breath caught in her throat as San loomed over her.

“There’s no escape, YN,” he murmured, reaching out to trace a strand of her hair between his fingers. “So don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

His lips curled into a smirk again, but his eyes?

They promised that he never said things he didn’t mean.

YN clenched her fists, gathering the courage to speak. “I won’t marry you,” she said firmly, though there was still a tremor in her voice. “You’re… you’re way older than me.”

San raised a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Older?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, little princess, that’s hardly an issue. A few years mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Besides,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “older men are wiser. Stronger. More capable of protecting what’s theirs.” His voice dropped, smooth like silk but laced with quiet dominance. “And you? You are mine now, aren’t you?”

YN swallowed, refusing to be rattled. “Marriage is supposed to be based on love,” she blurted out, gripping the fabric of her dress.

San stilled for a moment before exhaling a soft laugh. “Love?” He said the word like it was foreign to him, like it amused him. His fingers reached out, ghosting over the ends of her hair as he watched her intently. “You think love is what keeps a marriage strong?” His voice was deceptively soft, almost hypnotic. “No, little princess. Love is fragile. It crumbles. But power? Loyalty? Fear?” His gaze darkened. “Those are unshakable.”

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. “And don’t worry,” he murmured, his smirk returning. “You’ll learn to love me eventually.” He pulled away then, as if the conversation was already settled.

YN’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to argue, to fight back, but deep down, she knew—

San never changed his mind.

San’s voice was smooth, almost reassuring. “You don’t need to worry,” he said, as if his words could magically erase her fears. “I’ll take care of you. Give you everything you could ever want. Shower you with fortune, with power.” His fingers traced the edge of a gold-embroidered pillow as he spoke, his gaze never leaving her.

But YN didn’t want that. She never had.

She clenched her fists at her sides, her heart twisting painfully. This was not what she had dreamed of. She had always wanted love—real love, the kind her parents had. She had spent her childhood watching the way her father would soften whenever he looked at her mother, the way they laughed together, the way they held each other with warmth and affection. She had wanted that for herself one day. Not this.

Not a forced marriage with a ruthless king who saw love as a weakness.

Her throat felt tight, but she managed to whisper, “This isn’t what I imagined.” San tilted his head, watching her with unreadable eyes. “What did you imagine, then?” His voice was calm, but there was something lurking beneath it.

YN hesitated. She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to give him more power over her. But at the same time, she needed him to understand. “I imagined… a family,” she admitted softly. “A husband who loves me. Who looks at me the way my father looked at my mother. I don’t want riches or power. I just wanted…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

San’s smirk faded slightly, his expression darkening.

Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “Love,” he mused, almost to himself. “You really think love is enough to build a life on?”

His fingers suddenly caught her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm, unyielding.

“You’ll learn, little princess,” he murmured. “You’ll see that love is nothing but a fragile illusion.” His thumb brushed against her lower lip before he released her. “But don’t worry. I’ll give you something much better.”

He stepped back. “You’ll have me. And in time, that will be all you need.”

YN’s stomach twisted in despair. Because deep down, she knew—San never said things he didn’t mean.

YN took a deep breath, steadying herself. She knew San wasn’t someone she could reason with. He was a man who took what he wanted, who bent the world to his will without a second thought. And clearly, he had decided that she would be his.

But that didn’t mean she would accept it.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance. “I know I can’t change your mind,” she admitted, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll be happily married to you.”

San's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, something dark. He took a slow step toward her, closing the space between them with effortless ease.

“You say that now,” he murmured, his voice low and almost amused. “But things change, little princess. People change.” His fingers reached out, barely grazing a lock of her hair before he let it slip through his fingers. “You’ll come to understand soon enough.”

YN clenched her fists, resisting the shiver that threatened to crawl down her spine. “I will never love you,” she stated firmly.

San simply chuckled, stepping even closer until she had no choice but to tilt her head up to keep looking at him. “Who said anything about love?” he whispered. His breath was warm against her skin. “You’ll belong to me—whether you love me or not.”

YN’s heart pounded, but she forced herself not to look away. If he thought she would break that easily, he was wrong. San studied her for a moment, then let out a small hum of amusement. “I like that fire in your eyes,” he mused. “I wonder how long it’ll last.”

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there—trapped in a fate she wanted no part of.

YN lay stiffly in the bed, her back turned to him. The mattress was soft, far more luxurious than anything she had ever slept on before, yet she couldn’t relax. Not when the very man who had destroyed her life was lying so close behind her.

She flinched when she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest. San held her close, his grip firm yet strangely gentle, as if he was claiming her but didn’t want to break her—at least not yet. His warmth surrounded her, but it wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.

“Tell me something,” his voice was softer now, almost coaxing, as he rested his chin lightly near her shoulder. “Before all of this… before I came and took what was mine… what did you think your married life would be like?”

YN hesitated. She didn’t want to answer him. She didn’t want to let him in, to give him even a glimpse of the dreams she once held so dearly. But his grip around her waist tightened just slightly, a silent warning that he expected her to answer.

Taking a shaky breath, she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I wanted a loving husband,” she admitted reluctantly. “Someone who would cherish me, not own me.”

San didn’t say anything, so she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. “I always imagined a peaceful life. A home filled with laughter. Two children… an older son and a younger daughter.” A small, sad smile ghosted her lips. “I thought I’d marry someone who truly loved me, and we would raise them together, surrounded by warmth and kindness.”

San hummed thoughtfully. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her side, a stark contrast to the dangerous man she knew he was. “A husband who loves you, two perfect children… how sweet.” He chuckled softly, though there was something unreadable in his tone. “You dream too softly for this cruel world, little princess.”

YN swallowed hard, gripping the silk sheets beneath her. She didn’t want to hear that from him. She didn’t want him to mock what little hope she had left.

San sighed, his warm breath fanning against her neck. “Love is an illusion,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing her skin. “Power, control… those are real. And I am real. You are mine, whether you accept it or not.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

San felt it. His thumb brushed against her waist, but he said nothing more. Instead, he simply held her tighter, as if he could mold her into his world through sheer force alone. And YN, despite everything, lay there in silence, trapped in the arms of the man who had stolen her future.

Days passed, and to YN’s surprise, San was… different. Not entirely, of course. He was still terrifying, still the man who had destroyed everything she knew. But he wasn’t as cruel as before.

He no longer forced her into uncomfortable situations just to see her squirm. He didn’t toy with her pride as much, nor did he threaten her with the same intensity. He was still controlling, still possessive, but something had shifted.

San was still bad. Just… not as bad.

He still made her dance for him, but now, he ensured that she had the proper shoes for it. He still forced her to eat at his table, but he no longer demanded she eat meat. He even went as far as making sure her meals were tailored to her tastes.

And then there were the moments in between—when he wasn’t being the ruthless king, the tyrant she had come to loathe. Moments where he would sit with her, watching her read, commenting lazily on the books she chose. Sometimes, he would run his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, braiding and unbraiding it as if it was his personal pastime. Other times, he would simply exist in the same space as her, not demanding, not pushing—just watching.

It was unsettling.

Because YN didn’t know what he wanted. She didn’t know what his end goal was. He had taken her, claimed her as his future bride, yet he wasn’t forcing her into marriage immediately. It was as if he was waiting for something.

San had been lounging beside her, his usual confident smirk in place as his sharp eyes flickered to the book in her hands. “That book,” he mused, tilting his head, “seems dreadfully boring.”

YN instinctively wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was, but then she remembered where she stood. She wasn’t in her home, in her kingdom. She was here, in his palace, a prisoner no matter how much luxury surrounded her. So instead of fighting back, she simply lowered her gaze, her grip on the book tightening as sadness settled over her features. San noticed.

His smirk faltered for a brief second before he leaned forward, his voice shifting into something lighter, almost teasing. “Alright then, tell me—what is it about?”

She hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of the pages. But after a moment, she softly answered, “It’s about a girl who lost everything and had to rebuild her life somewhere new.”

San hummed, watching her carefully. “Sounds familiar.” She stiffened, but before he could ruin the moment, he continued, “And? What does she do?”

YN glanced at him cautiously before her eyes flickered back to the book. “She learns. She makes friends. She finds purpose again.”

Something shifted in her tone—just the smallest change, but San caught it. Her voice grew steadier, her words flowing more freely as she continued. “She thought she would never find happiness again, but little by little, she discovers new things that make her smile. Even in a place she once feared, she finds something worth holding onto.”

Her eyes lit up as she spoke, the weight on her shoulders seeming to lift, if only for a moment. She wasn’t talking to the cruel king who had stolen her life. She was simply speaking about something she loved.

San didn’t miss it.

He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked. “You really like this book, don’t you?”

She blinked, suddenly realizing how much she had said. The light in her eyes dimmed as she clutched the book close to her chest, lips pressing into a thin line.

San clicked his tongue. “Tsk. There it is again.”

She looked at him, confused. “What?”

He tilted his head. “You’re always holding yourself back around me. But just now? You weren’t.”

YN swallowed, unsure how to respond.

San let out a breath, reaching forward before she could react. His fingers brushed against the strands of her hair, twirling a lock between his fingers as he murmured, “I think I like you better when you talk freely.”

YN stiffened, heart pounding. But San just smirked, letting the hair slip from his fingers as he leaned back.

“Keep reading, little princess.”

San grabbed a towel and slung it over his shoulder, stretching slightly before making his way toward the bathroom. YN watched him go but didn’t say anything, just lowering her gaze back to her book. The sound of water running filled the room, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A while later, the door creaked open, and steam drifted out as San stepped back into the room.

He was fresh out of the bath, his damp hair slightly tousled, strands sticking to his forehead. Water still clung to his skin, glistening under the warm light as droplets trailed down his chest. His robe hung loosely on his shoulders, revealing glimpses of his toned frame, and his presence alone seemed to take up all the space in the room.

But his sharp eyes immediately found her.

YN was sitting in front of the mirror, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the ends of her hair. She looked deep in thought, her brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed together as if she was hesitating over something.

San smirked.

He walked up behind her, his reflection appearing in the mirror as he placed both hands on the table, leaning down slightly. His voice was smooth, teasing.

“You want to ask something.”

YN jolted a little, her fingers tightening around her hair as she met his gaze in the reflection. He tilted his head, eyes flickering over her expression. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping lower. “Ask away.”

YN hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. It was obvious she felt embarrassed, her posture stiff as if she was trying to disappear into herself. San watched her through the mirror, waiting with an amused yet patient look, though there was a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes. After a long silence, she finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I… talk to a maid?”

San straightened slightly, tilting his head. His smirk remained, but his eyes darkened just a little. “A maid?” he repeated, sounding unimpressed. She nodded quickly, still not meeting his gaze.

He scoffed, stepping around her so that he was now facing her directly. “Why?”

“I just need to ask her something,” she murmured.

San didn’t like that answer. He was nosy about her. He wanted to know everything—her thoughts, her feelings, even the small things that made her nervous like this. And this? This was something she was clearly reluctant to share. That only made him more curious.

He leaned in slightly, one brow raising. “Ask her what?”

YN swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s not important.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?” he shot back smoothly.

She tensed, her grip tightening on her sleeve. She knew he wasn’t going to drop this. San was persistent, and if she continued dodging, he’d only make things worse for her.

With a deep breath, she finally looked down and muttered, “My period is going to start soon.”

Silence.

Her face burned. She didn’t want to say it—especially not to him—but she had no choice. She wished the ground would swallow her whole.

San, however, was anything but embarrassed. In fact, he looked entertained. His lips curved into a knowing smile arms crossing over his broad chest.

“That’s what you were so shy about?” he chuckled. “You act like I don’t know what a period is.”

YN glared at him, her cheeks still hot. “I just wanted to ask a maid for supplies, not tell you about it.”

San hummed, stepping even closer. “You need something? I can have it brought to you.”

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t need you to handle it.”

He grinned. “Too bad. You belong to me now, which means everything you need comes from me.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “Even this.”

YN shut her eyes, exhaling sharply. There was no winning against him.

San let out a low chuckle. “I’ll have the maids bring you what you need. Next time, just tell me. No need to be so shy.”

She turned away, wishing this conversation would end. But as she heard him chuckle again, she knew one thing—he was enjoying this way too much.

San’s chuckle lingered in the air as he turned away from her, still clearly entertained by the whole situation. YN, on the other hand, felt like sinking into the floor. Why did it have to be him she had to tell? Why couldn’t he just let her talk to a maid like a normal person? Still, at least he said he’d send someone with what she needed. That was enough for now.

She remained sitting in front of the mirror, her hands still gripping the fabric of her dress as San walked to his side of the room. He dried his damp hair lazily with a towel, the glow from the lanterns casting soft shadows across his bare torso. YN forced herself to look anywhere but at him, but it was hard when he was the only moving presence in the dimly lit room. San finally tossed the towel aside and stretched, rolling his shoulders. He caught her reflection in the mirror, smirking at the way she was avoiding his gaze.

“You look so tense,” he commented, stepping behind her again. “Still embarrassed?”

She didn’t answer.

San tsked and placed his hands on the vanity, caging her in. “We’re going to be married, little princess,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Her hands clenched into fists, and she swallowed down the frustration rising in her throat. She hated how he spoke so casually about it. As if her opinion didn’t matter. As if she had no choice but to accept it. She took a shaky breath. “You keep talking about this marriage, but I don’t remember agreeing to it.”

San let out a low hum, his fingers tracing the wooden surface beside her. “You’ll come around.”

YN finally met his gaze in the mirror, her expression sharp. “What if I don’t?”

San grinned, but it wasn’t the playful kind—it was dark, knowing, almost dangerous. He leaned in, so close that his breath brushed against her ear.

“Then I’ll make sure you do.”

A shiver ran down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was fear, frustration, or something else entirely, but she hated how easily he got under her skin.

San finally pulled away, stepping toward the bed. “Enough talking. Get some rest,” he said as he slid under the covers.

YN remained frozen for a moment before finally standing up and making her way to the bed as well. She didn’t want to sleep beside him, but what choice did she have? He had made it clear before—she wasn’t allowed to sleep anywhere else.

As she lay down, she kept her back to him, her body stiff. But just as she was beginning to relax, she felt an arm snake around her waist, pulling her against his chest. San let out a satisfied sigh, nuzzling into her hair. “Good night, princess,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

YN clenched her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest.

The grand wedding was too much for her. It was lavish, flamboyant, and overwhelming in every possible way. The palace was adorned with the finest silks, golden drapes cascading from the ceilings, and chandeliers that glowed like captured stardust. The scent of exotic flowers filled the air, blending with the rich aroma of feast preparations. It was a celebration fit for a queen—his queen.

Everybody took part. Nobles from distant lands arrived in their most extravagant attire, offering their congratulations to the man who had conquered not only kingdoms but now a bride. The halls echoed with the sound of music, laughter, and endless chatter about the union of King San and the fallen princess of Eldoria.

YN felt suffocated. She stood stiffly in her wedding attire, the fabric embroidered with gold, heavy on her shoulders, as if it were trying to crush her under its weight. Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers tightening around the delicate bouquet she held.

This was it.

There was no escape now.

San was standing tall beside her, dressed in his royal robes, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He looked utterly at ease, smirking at the guests as if this was just another victory in his long list of triumphs. His hand found hers, his grip firm, possessive.

"Smile," he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with amusement. "It’s your big day, after all."

YN forced her lips to curve slightly, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.

The ceremony proceeded like a dream—a slow, painful one. Vows were exchanged, oaths were sealed, and with a smirk playing on his lips, San lifted her veil.

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his fingers tilting her chin up, his gaze burning into hers before he finally captured her lips in a deep, claiming kiss.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

She closed her eyes, feeling the world spin.

She was no longer Princess YN of Eldoria.

She was now Queen YN of his empire.

The wedding feast stretched late into the night, filled with music, laughter, and the glow of golden candlelight. YN sat beside San, her hands folded neatly in her lap, feeling the weight of the rings on her fingers—symbols of a union she had never wished for. The grand hall was alive with celebration, nobles raising their goblets in toasts to their new king and queen, but YN barely touched her food. She felt like an outsider at her own wedding, trapped in a gilded cage.

San, however, was completely at ease. He carried himself like a man who had won—not just a war, but her. He accepted congratulations with his usual smirk, his presence commanding the room. Yet, no matter how many people spoke to him, his gaze always found its way back to her. Watching her. Studying her. As if trying to figure out what was going on inside that stubborn little head of hers.

As the night drew to a close, he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Time to go, princess.” His voice was softer than usual, almost teasing, but it sent a shiver down her spine nonetheless.

She hesitated, but he took her hand, guiding her through the grand halls. His grip was firm but not forceful. People bowed as they passed, whispering about how stunning she looked, how perfect they seemed together. But only she knew the truth.

When they reached the royal bedchamber, the doors shut behind them with a quiet finality. The room was breathtaking—grand and luxurious, with deep crimson drapes and gold accents, the massive bed taking up the center like a throne of its own. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles and something else—something distinctly him.

She stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do.

San turned to her, watching her closely. “You look tense,” he murmured, taking a step forward.

She refused to respond.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, with an ease that made her heart stutter, he started undoing the layers of his royal attire. The heavy coat was the first to go, then the rings on his fingers, the golden chains around his neck. By the time he was left in just his loose white shirt and dark pants, he looked almost… different. Less like a conqueror. More like a man.

Still, she took a small step back.

She swallowed, forcing herself to glare at him. “Marriage doesn’t mean you own me.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing through his dark hair before he looked at her again—this time, without mockery. “I know.” His voice was quiet, honest. “But I will take care of you. No matter what you think of me.”

She blinked, taken aback.

San moved to the other side of the room, pulling off his rings and setting them on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked at her once more, this time without the sharpness he usually carried.

YN stood in the center of the grand chamber, the weight of her wedding dress suddenly unbearable. Layers of embroidered silk and heavy jewels clung to her like a second skin, suffocating her. She barely had the energy to stand, let alone deal with the exhaustion creeping into her bones.

San, lounging on the edge of the bed, watched her with an unreadable expression. She hesitated, gripping the delicate embroidery of her sleeves. She needed to take it off, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable stripping in front of him.

San, as if reading her mind, let out a quiet chuckle. “You’re struggling.” He pushed off the bed, walking towards her with slow, confident steps. “Want my help?”

“No,” she answered quickly, stepping back.

He smirked but said nothing. Instead, he strolled toward a corner of the room, where a silk robe had been neatly placed. He grabbed it and held it out to her. “Wear this after.”

She stared at it for a moment before snatching it from his hands. She expected him to watch, but instead, he turned his back to her.

Surprised by his rare display of restraint, she wasted no time undoing the dozens of tiny clasps running down the back of her dress. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She hurriedly pulled the robe over herself, the soft material a welcome relief against her skin.

“I’m done,” she muttered.

San turned back around, his gaze flickering over her once before he let out a satisfied hum. “Better.” Then, without another word, he strolled back to the bed, lying down like he owned the world.

She hesitated before following, keeping to the very edge of the mattress.

San turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes holding a glint of amusement. “You act like I bite.”

“You do bite,” she shot back.

He laughed, low and deep, before closing his eyes. “Only when necessary.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, ignoring the way his voice sent an annoying warmth through her.

As she tried to sleep, she could still feel the weight of his presence behind her—the king who had taken everything from her. And yet, for some reason, he hadn’t taken this.

Not yet.

As she lay on the vast bed, wrapped in the silk robe he had given her, YN couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander. She had read enough books to know how forced marriages usually played out. The stories always spoke of cruelty, of brides being nothing more than prizes to be taken. She had braced herself for that kind of fate.

But San… didn’t do it.

Instead, he was—dare she even think it?—soft. Not in the way a gentle prince would be, not in the way fairytales promised love and warmth. No, San was still dangerous, still sharp-edged, but there was something different about him tonight.

She had expected him to take what he wanted without question. To claim her the way men like him always did in stories. But instead, he had turned his back when she changed. He had given her space. He had simply laid down, his presence commanding yet oddly non-threatening.

Like a kitten, she thought absently, though the image almost made her want to laugh. A very large, very terrifying kitten with claws that could tear you apart.

She shifted slightly, stealing a glance at him. He was lying on his back, one arm lazily draped behind his head, his dark eyes half-lidded as he stared at the ceiling. He looked… relaxed.

Not once had he touched her inappropriately. Not once had he made any crude remarks. (He literally choked you but ok ig)

Why?

She turned her face away, staring at the soft glow of the lanterns instead. Maybe this was just another manipulation tactic. Maybe he was waiting for her to let her guard down. Or maybe… maybe some small part of him actually saw her as more than just a prize.

The thought unsettled her.

Because deep down, she knew that if San ever decided he wanted something, nothing in the world could stop him from taking it. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what would happen if he ever decided he truly wanted her.

YN blinked sleepily, her vision still hazy from sleep. She stretched her arms lazily, her long sleeves slipping past her hands as she let out a small, muffled yawn. Her hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, framing her sleepy face in an unintentionally adorable way.

Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, searched the room, expecting to see San beside her—but his side of the bed was empty. Still wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, she turned her head, and there he was.

San sat at his desk, his posture relaxed but commanding, one hand holding a pen as he wrote something with effortless ease. The soft glow of the morning light caught his features just right—his sharp jawline, his dark tousled hair, the way his white shirt clung to his frame, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.

For the first time, he didn’t look like a monster. He looked… almost like a king should. Regal, composed, focused. Normal.

YN rubbed her eyes, still trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. She tilted her head slightly, observing him, her lips unconsciously forming a small pout.

Why did he have to look that good in the morning? It was unfair.

As if sensing her gaze, San suddenly looked up. His piercing eyes met hers instantly, and for a second, neither of them spoke. His lips curled into a small, amused smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“Did you sleep well, little princess?” His voice was deep, still carrying the remnants of sleep, and for some reason, it made her stomach do a weird little flip.

She blinked at him, still too groggy to properly respond, and just gave a slow, sleepy nod.

San chuckled, shaking his head. “You look like a little kitten.”

“I do not.”

But with her messy hair, half-lidded eyes, and small, sleepy pout, she absolutely did. And San looked far too entertained by it.

YN groggily got out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor as she stumbled slightly. She was still shaking off sleep, her body not fully awake yet. Without thinking, she made her way to the bathroom, craving the warmth of a shower to clear her mind.

By the time she emerged, she felt fresher, more alert. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, the scent of soap and flowers lingering around her. But now, standing in the middle of the grand room, she realized—she had no idea what to do next.

Her life had always been structured, filled with responsibilities, duties, and expectations. But here? She had nothing. No routine, no obligations. No real freedom, either. Without really thinking, she turned towards the only person who did know what to do.

San.

He was still at his desk, leaning back in his chair, one hand propped under his chin as he watched her approach. His sharp eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in her fresh appearance, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. She stopped in front of him, hesitating. Now fully awake, she felt slightly embarrassed that she had come to him of all people. But she pushed past it and, in a soft voice, asked,

“…What should I do now?”

San’s smirk deepened, his gaze flickering with amusement. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, tilting his head as he looked up at her.

“You’re asking me?” he mused, his voice slow, teasing. “What a good little wife you are.”

YN’s cheeks heated instantly. “That’s not—!”

San chuckled, waving a hand. “Relax, princess. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

Her brows furrowed. Free? That word felt strange coming from his mouth.

San, sensing her doubt, leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to something softer. “Go walk around. Read. Sit by the window and braid your hair, since you love doing that.” His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Or… you can just sit here and keep me company.”

YN bit her lip. None of those things felt fulfilling. But at least now, she knew one thing—San wasn’t planning to throw her back into isolation. For now.

YN stood there, fidgeting slightly, as the realization settled in. She didn’t know what to do. It was a strange, unsettling feeling—one she had never truly experienced before.

Back in her kingdom, her days were always planned for her. From the moment she woke up to the moment she went to bed, every decision had already been made—what she wore, what she studied, where she went, how she behaved. And now, standing here with the freedom to choose, she felt... lost.

San, who had been watching her closely, let out a small chuckle. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, looking effortlessly regal even in his relaxed posture. “What’s with that face, princess?” he mused. “You act like I just handed you the entire world.”

YN glanced at him, biting her lip. Maybe because, in a way, you did.

San tilted his head, studying her. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You’re older now. You don’t need someone to tell you what to do every second of the day.” He tapped his fingers against the armrest. “So, tell me, what do you want to do?”

YN hesitated. She had never really been asked that before. What did she want? Then, almost instinctively, she looked up at him and answered, “I want to cook.” San blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his lips. “Cook?” he repeated, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

She nodded, a bit more firmly this time. “Yes.”

San exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Of all things…” He stood up, towering over her, before placing a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him properly. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

YN swallowed, her breath hitching at how close he was. His fingers were warm against her skin, his touch gentle despite the sheer power he held.

Then, after a beat of silence, he let go and stepped back. “Fine,” he said lazily. “Let’s see what my little wife can do in the kitchen.”

YN had never felt this kind of nervousness before. She had fought battles of words, endured royal duties, and faced San’s unnerving presence more times than she could count. But this? Watching him take the first bite of the food she cooked with her own hands? It was a different kind of pressure.

She sat stiffly across from him at the long dining table, pretending to focus on her plate, but her eyes kept flickering toward him. He hadn’t said a word yet, just cutting into the dish and bringing a bite to his lips.

San chewed slowly, his face unreadable. YN gripped the fabric of her dress beneath the table. Is it bad?

Then, finally, he swallowed. He set his fork down, wiping the corner of his mouth with deliberate ease before turning his gaze to her.

“You were a princess,” he mused, voice slow and deep. “Raised in luxury, surrounded by servants to do everything for you.”

YN tensed, unsure where this was going.

“And yet,” he continued, dragging his thumb across the table absentmindedly, “you can cook like this?”

Her lips parted slightly. “I… I learned from the palace chefs,” she admitted. “They were kind enough to teach me when I was younger.” San hummed, leaning back in his chair. Then, to her shock, he smirked. “You’re full of surprises, wife.”

YN blinked, heat creeping up her neck. “So… does that mean you like it?”

San tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he picked up his fork again. “I don’t just like it,” he said, taking another bite. “I might just keep you in the kitchen forever.”

She frowned. “That’s not funny.”

San chuckled, the sound smooth and rich. “Oh, but it is.” He motioned toward her plate. “Now eat. You put in all that effort—don’t let it go to waste.”

YN exhaled, shaking her head but finally picking up her utensils.

And though she wouldn’t admit it, a small, almost unnoticeable smile played on her lips as she started eating.

San never thought he was capable of feeling guilt. He was a man who took what he wanted, ruled with an iron fist, and never once looked back at the wreckage he left behind. But YN… she had undone something in him. What started as twisted obsession had transformed into something deeper—something he couldn't even name. Love wasn't enough to describe it. He adored her, worshipped her in ways that made even him question his sanity. And yet, with every stolen glance, every soft sigh that escaped her lips when she thought he wasn’t listening, he felt the weight of his past actions press down on him. He had humiliated her. Broken her pride. Forced her into this marriage without a choice.

And yet, here she was. Cooking for him. Talking to him. Looking at him like he was a person, not a monster.

San watched her as she ate, completely unaware of the war raging in his mind. He could see the faint traces of her old self still lingering—the stubbornness, the quiet grace, the warmth she carried even when she tried to keep it from him. And for the first time, he found himself wanting something different. He wanted her to look at him without fear. He wanted her to choose him, not just accept him as an unchangeable fate.

San clenched his jaw, setting his fork down. He was not a man who apologized, not a man who begged for forgiveness. But for her? He would find a way to make things right, even if he didn’t deserve it.

San stood near the dresser, watching her through the mirror’s reflection. Her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, her bare feet swinging slightly. She looked small like this, lost in thought, her fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his dark hair before walking over to her. He crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees so they were at eye level. “You look tired,” he murmured, voice softer than usual.

YN blinked at him, a little caught off guard. He was always intense—dangerous—but tonight, there was something different about him. His eyes weren’t as sharp, his usual arrogance replaced with something quieter.

She shrugged, looking away. “I suppose”.

San hummed, tilting his head slightly. Then, without warning, he reached for her foot, gently holding her ankle in his large hand. YN stiffened, watching him closely, but he only smirked. “Relax,” he said, sliding his thumb in slow circles over her skin.

“What are you doing?” she asked, wary.

He lifted her foot slightly, resting it on his knee. “Something a loving husband would do.”

Her breath caught.

San’s touch was uncharacteristically gentle as he began to massage her foot, his fingers pressing into the arch, kneading away the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding. The warmth of his hands sent a shiver up her spine, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She swallowed hard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

YN’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She only watched as he worked, her heart pounding against her ribs.

San’s gaze flickered up to hers, and for once, there was no wicked glint in his eyes, no teasing smirk. Just something raw and real. “I know I’ve been… cruel,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I want to be better for you.”

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t sure what to say—wasn’t sure if she believed him. But for now, she let him hold her foot in his hands, let herself enjoy the rare moment of peace between them.

Because, for the first time, San wasn’t just claiming her.

He was asking for her.

YN sat there, her legs dangling over the edge of the tall bed, watching San with cautious eyes. She didn’t know what to expect from him anymore. He had been cruel, manipulative—everything about him had terrified her. And yet, in these past days, she had seen glimpses of something else. Something she didn’t understand.

And now, he was kneeling in front of her, holding her leg in his strong yet gentle grasp, his forehead pressed against her knee.

Her breath caught in her throat. The mighty king, the man who had stolen her life away, was bowing his head as if he was asking for forgiveness. It felt unreal.

San’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile moment had settled between them. “I’ve hurt you so much, haven’t I?”

YN stiffened, her fingers clutching the fabric of her nightgown.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

San lifted his head slightly, just enough to look up at her. His dark eyes were no longer filled with their usual amusement, arrogance, or hunger. Instead, they held something else—something softer, more vulnerable. And the way he looked at her... how did he make his eyes look like that? Like a desperate plea. Like an apology.

She hated that it made her feel something.

His thumb brushed over her ankle, slow and deliberate, as if grounding himself in the touch. “I can’t take it back,” he murmured. “Everything I’ve done to you… I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking up again. “But I want to change. For you.”

YN’s heart betrayed her by skipping a beat.

No. No, she couldn’t let herself believe this.

This was the same man who had humiliated her, who had forced her into a life she never wanted. She should push him away, tell him that no matter what he did, she would never forgive him. And yet…

Her fingers twitched in her lap. And for some reason, she didn’t move.

She felt lost. Confused. Torn between everything she knew and everything she was starting to feel. Her chest tightened, her throat burned, and before she could stop it, her eyes welled up with frustration. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, shaky. “Why do you do this to me?”

San looked at her, his grip on her leg tightening just slightly. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers betrayed him, twitching against her skin as if he feared she’d pull away.

YN swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “Why do you make it so hard to hate you?”

She wanted to. She was supposed to. She should hate him for taking her from her home, for forcing her into this life, for every cruel smirk, every mocking word, every time he made her feel powerless. She should despise him for turning her world upside down. And yet—

He was the only one in her world now. No family. No kingdom. No one else. Just him. And somehow, that realization terrified her more than anything else.

She broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, one after another, until she couldn't stop them. Her shoulders shook, her breathing came out in ragged gasps, and all the pain, all the frustration, all the confusion poured out of her in waves.

San couldn’t watch it. He couldn’t bear it. He got up and pulled her into his arms without hesitation. His grip was tight—desperate, almost—as if he wanted to merge with her, to keep her so close that nothing, not even the pain he had caused, could separate them.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, rough, yet softer than she had ever heard it before. He pressed his face against her hair, holding her tighter, rocking her slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

She cried even harder.

Hearing that from him—this man who had only ever taken from her, who had controlled her life in ways she never imagined—made her sob until she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And then his next words came, whispered against her temple, like a vow only she was meant to hear.

“I promise you, YN. I’ll be a good husband.”

His arms tightened around her. “I’ll make this right.”

She wanted to believe him.

She clung to him.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tightly as if he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. She buried her face into his shoulder, her sobs muffled against his warmth.

San felt it. The way she held onto him—not out of love, not yet, but out of a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he could make the pain go away. That he could fix what he had broken.

His arms wrapped around her even tighter, his hand stroking her back in slow, steady motions. “I know,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. “I know I hurt you.”

She didn’t respond. Just held on.

And San swore, in that moment, he would do anything—anything—to make it better. To deserve the way she was holding him now.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Month - August 2024

1.Negative Power Prices Hit Europe as Renewable Energy Floods the Grid

European power markets are experiencing a notable shift as renewable energy sources, particularly wind and solar, become a larger part of the energy mix. On Wednesday, power prices in several European markets, including Germany, dipped below zero due to a surge in green electricity production.

2. Taiwan introduces ban on performances by captive wild animals

Live performances by wild animals held in captivity, including performances by dolphins, tigers, and other non-domesticated mammals, will no longer be permitted in Taiwan under new Ministry of Agriculture (MOA) regulations.

3. FTC bans fake online reviews, inflated social media influence; rule takes effect in October

The FTC voted unanimously to ban marketers from using fake reviews, such as those generated with AI technology, and other misleading advertising practices.

The ban also forbids marketers from exaggerating their own influence by, for example, paying for bots to inflate their follower count.

4. Chinese drones will fly trash out of Everest slopes

Come autumn, Nepal will deploy heavy lifter drones to transport garbage from the 6,812-metre tall Ama Dablam, south of Everest. This will be the first commercial work an unmanned aerial vehicle does in Nepal’s high-altitude zone.

The heavy lifter from China’s biggest drone maker, Da Jiang Innovations (DJI), will take on tasks traditionally handled by Sherpas. Officials believe it will help reduce casualties on Everest.

5. Swiss scientists have found a way to use the whole cocoa fruit to make chocolate and not just taking beans and discarding the rest.

Kim Mishra (L) and Anian Schreiber (R) cooperated on the new chocolate making process

Food scientists in Switzerland have come up with a way to make chocolate using the entire cocoa fruit rather than just the beans - and without using sugar.

The chocolate, developed at Zurich’s prestigious Federal Institute of Technology by scientist Kim Mishra and his team includes the cocoa fruit pulp, the juice, and the husk, or endocarp.

6. Six-year-old boy found in Vietnam forest after five days

A six-year-old boy who was missing for five days has been found deep in a forest in Vietnam. Dang Tien Lam, who lives in the northwestern Yen Bai province, was playing in a stream with his nine siblings on 17 August when he wandered into the hills and got lost, local reports said.

He was found on Wednesday by local farmers who heard a child's cry while they were clearing a cinnamon field close to the forest.

7. Lego plans to make half the plastic in bricks from renewable materials by 2026

Lego plans to make half the plastic in its bricks from renewable or recycled material rather than fossil fuels by 2026, in its latest effort to ensure its toys are more environmentally friendly.

The Danish company last year ditched efforts to make bricks entirely from recycled bottles because of cost and production issues. At the moment, 22% of the material in its colourful bricks is not made from fossil fuels.

----------

That's it for this month :)

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Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to share this post with your friends.

[kumkaniudaku]

Pop Quiz

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

Noise complaints ran $25 a pop in Asia's building. Twenty-five dollars from her bank account and an awkward conversation with Alister when they crossed paths on Asia's way to the parking garage early the following Thursday morning. 

"Please, don't take this wrong, but you and your friend are…loud. You gave our book club quite the show last weekend." 

Asia could still feel the rise of bile in her throat while she listened to her usually quiet next-door neighbor explain every single sound and shout from her and Kelvin's escapades in extremely graphic detail. The taste seared into her tastebuds, following Asia into the afternoon's internal review. At the same time, Savannah, the brand lead, ran through slides outlining the wonderful world of influencer marketing to sell mid-tier poison their client called alcohol. 

Desperate for a break from endless droning and word soup, Asia carefully took a screenshot of her noise complaint charge and copied it into a message for Kelvin to reawaken a thread that regularly kept them up into the wee hours of the morning. 

Her mental vacation ended before it could start, forcing her back into the action. She placed her phone face down on the large conference table and tried to refocus while waiting for any sign that he'd received her attachment. She didn't have to wait for long. Asia's lips curled into a goofy grin when Kelvin broke eye contact from the presentation to glance at the message notification on his laptop screen. He maintained an impenetrable poker face to take pretended notes, exaggerating every deliberate tap against backlit black keys. 

Kel You lowkey were kinda loud when we got back. It was cute.  I'll pay. Zelle or ApplePay?

Asia bit back a smile at blurred flashbacks of the wall clock above her television ticking down the seconds til midnight with Kelvin's face back between her legs, pushing her past her limits for his pleasure and hers. Her fingers danced across the phone's digital keyboard.

Pretty Girl 💖💚 Don't worry about it.  I had to be loud to cover for you.

Kelvin's grey bubble appeared and disappeared twice before vanishing altogether. Asia tried not to stare at the side of his head, hoping the telepathy she swore existed as a child still worked.  She looked at Savannah and noted the color on her perfectly shaped nails. Then, she counted the grey hairs in the strategy director's beard, stopping at 35 before growing tired of the neverending task. Her attention shifted to the typo on the recap slide as she made a mental note to flag it in her post-meeting notes. A cough in the room made her ears perk for a second to determine if the offender was sick or dealing with a dry throat. Definitely sick. What she could make for dinner floated around with other fragmented thoughts. Potatoes, maybe? Pasta? 

Unfortunately for her, nothing could hold her attention quite like the man coolly clicking-clacking on his sticker-covered laptop, seemingly unconcerned with her last text. 

Kel I like the way you taste. Sue me.  ApplePay: $28 Extra for the transfer

Static enveloped Asia's entire body, sending shock waves straight to the apex of her thighs until she was forced to cross her legs to stifle what she was sure would sound like a kitten's purr if she didn't put a muzzle on it quickly. 

A smug smile graced Kelvin's otherwise expressionless face to add further insult to injury. In his periphery, Asia sat perfectly flustered with no outlet for all the squirming she tried to hide. Squirming that instantly reminded him of how he couldn't let her leave him on Saturday night without kissing both sets of lips one more time. 

"Asia, can you update us on the timeline?" 

Time lost to reliving every atom-splitting, toe-curling moment from the weekend left Asia scrambling to rearrange windows on her laptop to fulfill Savannah's perfectly reasonable yet ill-timed request. "Uh, yeah! One…one second." 

She silently thanked the creator for protecting her screen from prying eyes while she tried to cosplay as a serious businesswoman. Sweat beading at her temples attempted to crack Asia's facade. Still, she recovered with a dancer's grace with nanoseconds to spare before a quick pause turned into awkward silence. 

"Alright, cool. Sorry about that. Thursday is basically Friday for my brain," she apologized, earning mumbling agreement from her peers. "So, yeah, we're tracking toward Friday's round one client review. Andy, you'll take over copy duties for Kelvin since he's moving on to greener pastures at the end of the week." 

Varying degrees of disappointment bubbled from the small group, forcing Kelvin to clarify Asia's intentionally vague announcement. "Greener pastures as in new business, y'all." Kelvin used a charming smile to douse burgeoning speculation sure to follow news of his departure. He shot Asia a warning look meant for her understanding alone. She shrugged to play innocent, and he chuckled at her act. "But, I'll take one of those goin' away happy hours like Ty's if y'all wanna give me one." 

"Speaking of Ty's thing, are we cool with La Chila down the block? My wife says I gotta get more steps in for our family weight loss challenge. A walk to an early dinner counts, right?" 

"Walking off ten calories to eat 700 in one sitting is insane, Chris." 

Savannah's patented matter-of-fact quip generated enough uncontrollable laughter to distract the team from Asia's half-baked project timeline and Kelvin's air kiss in response to her middle finger emoji sent via Teams. 

For all the time spent discussing boundaries and ways of working through their unconventional arrangement, remaining purely professional during their three days in the office was by far the easiest line in the sand to stay behind. They kept a careful distance, never spent time without another party present, kept electronic chats on work devices to a minimum, and never ever discussed their weekends as two parts of a whole when the topic inevitably reared its head during group lunches. 

But, try as they might, rumors swirled in private pockets of office gossip until all interested parties were gathered over creamy, spicy queso and post-work margaritas.

Kelvin sat next to Asia as innocently as he knew how, ignoring the urge to rest his hand on her thigh while they whispered over which entrees they'd choose for the evening. Asia leaned into his body to share one menu despite having her own inches from her fingertips. She listened to Kelvin's recommendations with a soft smile and starry eyes, making sour cream and pinto beans seem like the most interesting inventions since the portable CD player. They were like magnets pulled together by an unseen force, unable to resist the other. 

Already two shots and a celebratory sombrero dance number in, Ty used his privilege as the guest of honor to point in the duo's direction. "You two are super cute together. Aren't they super cute together, Sav?" 

Always his partner in crime and cocktails, Savannah excitedly agreed as she waived an uneaten tortilla chip around in the air. "Oh my God, yes! I always thought that but, like, didn't want to be the blonde white girl shipping the two black people on the team." 

"Well, I am black, and I think so too." Asia and Kelvin shot individual glares in Sidney's direction. She shrugged and smirked. "What! I can spot two hot people who need to be hot together from a mile away. I'm the one who hooked Ty up with Eric in analytics." 

"And, while we despise each other now for reasons I won't share, it was fun while it lasted!" 

Kelvin played it cool for both of them, calmly shifting his torso away from Asia to pluck a chip from the communal basket. "I hate to break up the love fest, but nothing is going on between us. We're work friends." 

"At best," Asia added. 

Ouch. Kelvin internally bristled at her unprompted callout with his cold beer bottle's amber tip pressed against his bottom lip. "At best." 

If they'd tried harder, maybe they could've convinced Chris, Savannah, Sidney, Maddie, or a very tipsy Ty that what they had was a surface-level, totally uninvolved friendship. And, though they had no proof outside of speculation in a side chat, they all vowed to keep an eye on Thing 1 and Thing 2. 

"Yeah. Alright," Sidney scoffed. "Friends at best. That's what we'll go with today. Everybody starts off as friends until that regular hug turns into a mouth hug. Ask my fiancé." 

Chris groaned and ran both palms down his beet-red face. "Ya know, every time we have one of these, I leave knowing way too much about you, Sid. Fuckin' gross!" 

_______________

Though margaritas had long been finished and Ty's desk was now just an empty surface waiting for a new tenant by Friday morning, Asia couldn't roll into her girl's night at Sabrina's without Sidney's accusation searing a hole into her memory. 

Were they just friends? She'd long reckoned with the reality that physical intimacy wasn't enough to swing the pendulum in the dating direction. This was an arrangement for experience's sake, not one designed to turn weekend touching into date nights and meeting the parents. 

But, she couldn't shake how Kelvin tensed at the mention of their working relationship or how acknowledging there was no room for more wilted the sprout of hope she'd been watering since the art show. He didn't correct her, and she couldn't bring it up because, well, they were playing by her rules. And you can't switch the rules in the middle of the game. That's cheating. 

"Wings or pizza? Or and? Wings and pizza?" 

Sabrina contemplating their options for "cheat day" yanked Asia back from a rapidly progressing mental spiral. She sipped from her glass of white wine before responding. "Depends. You getting it from the spot around the corner?" 

"Duh," Sabrina scoffed while scrolling through the restaurant's online menu. "If I'm gonna cheat, I wanna enjoy it! Give me something to look forward to for next time." 

"Um, are we still talking about food?"

The pair eyed each other from opposite ends of the couch, sporting grins threatening to explode into a fit of giggles. "I am if you are," Sabrina answered before slurping from her glass. Her eyes shifted to the ceiling to avoid facing Asia's judgment. "But, I'm not if you're not." 

"Let's not even go there! You turned over a new leaf this week." Asia was more than privy to her friend's past transgressions. Old Sabrina was ruthless in her pursuit of happiness. New and Improved Sabrina was more settled in her relationship. Or, if nothing else, a better liar. 

Before Asia could remind her host about the edibles she promised to furnish for their all-night Living Single binge, her phone buzzed beneath her thigh to steal a second of her attention. 

Kel ??? My place this weekend? Pls Wanna make you a better steak than the one at the restaurant

Each short buzz in her palms made Asia giddy as she suppressed a squeal and mulled over how to reply. Her thumbs typed, deleted, typed, deleted, hovered, then typed again to craft a worthwhile response. 

To: Kel Might need to actually hear you say pls. idk. sounds fake.

Sabrina watched her friend's grin outshine the LED lights bathing her in a faint blue glow from her crossed-leg position on the floor. She tried not to snoop but felt left out. She used a drawn-out sigh to pry Asia's attention away from her phone screen. 

"Is that the boy? Art Hoe?" 

Asia kissed her teeth and rolled her eyes. "I said that as a joke! His name is Kelvin, and yes, that was him. Just confirming some plans for tomorrow." 

"So, is he like…your boyfriend? Y'all dating? Catch me up!" In their decade as sorority sisters and close friends, Sabrina knew of only one romantic interest in Asia's life: Joshua. Tall, dark, and effortlessly flirtatious, what started as innocent flirting while completing their work-study program crashed and burned into weeks of snotty crying. Mary J. Blige cranked to ungodly volumes inside their shared off-campus apartment. Six weeks of heavy-petting caused a lifetime of hurt Sabrina was sure ruined Asia for good. 

Until three weeks ago, when text messages began interrupting their evenings of alone time. Sabrina would consider all the pesky interruptions water under the bridge if Asia was willing to come off of her secret lover and fill out the details of their peculiar relationship. 

Asia wrestled with sharing until the buzz of Sauvignon Blanc convinced her that someone should know about the man keeping her holed up inside her place once a week—for safety purposes, of course. 

Sabrina scooted closer to the edge of her floor pillow once Asia opened her mouth to speak but eeked out a girlish squeak instead. Asia calmed herself with a deep breath and then dished in one breath. "I don't know what the fuck we're doing, but damn it's good." 

"Oooooh, Asia's got a boyfrieeeeend!" Sabrina teased. 

"Not a boyfriend! We're just hanging out. He's…helping me with something?" 

The murkiness in Asia's 'something' made Sabrina press for more. "Something like what? He hanging TVs or laying pipe?" The end of her question awakened a twinkle in Asia's eye like a code word, effectively dropping Sabrina's jaw to the floor. "Oh my God! Are you…are you having sex?" 

Asia shrank back, finding herself no match for the immediate shyness sending heat to her face. "Kinda? He offered to help when we were out one night, and I said yes. We have a lesson every weekend, and he –" 

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Sabrina interjected as she waved her hands in front of her face. "Hold up. That man is teaching you how to fuck every weekend? That's where you been for damn near a month?" When Asia sheepishly nodded in the affirmative, Sabrina stood to dramatically throw her body on the couch. "Bitch. Spill right now, or I will kick you out of my house!" 

There was no sense in hiding the truth. Sabrina would press until she was satisfied with Asia's answer, completely unraveling any suspected lie thrown her way. Asia needed to be thorough. No stone left unturned. No racey detail left untold. No story too insignificant to go unshared. 

In the middle of Asia, recollecting how Kelvin had her gasping for air the previous weekend, her phone buzzed with an incoming message. 'Kel' lit up the screen. 1 Audio Message sat underneath his contact name like gold at the end of an unexpected rainbow. 

Asia chewed her lip, tossing the idea of opening his gift with an additional set of ears in the immediate vicinity. "He just sent a voice note."

"You gon' play it?" Enthusiasm sent Sabrina inching closer for a better view of Asia's phone screen. "Play it!" 

If not for curiosity gnawing at her mind and her friend's insistence, Asia would've left the message unplayed until she returned to the privacy of her own home. She had to know why a one-word request took three minutes and a few extra seconds. What was so important that he needed an entire song's length to get it all out? 

Her finger quickly tapped the play button to pop the cork on Kelvin's response.

Rustling greeted Asia and Sabrina first. Then, a steady, deep breath filled an otherwise silent recording. 

"Fuck." The audible squelch of skin on lubricated skin mingled with strangled moaning until he could speak again. "You just want me to beg? That's okay. I'll beg for you." 

Sabrina's hand floated up to cover her open mouth. "Girl, is he…?" 

"Shh!" 

Asia couldn't pry herself away from the primal nature of each grunt and groan, no matter how much she attempted to will her body into action. Long, drawn-out moans quickly grew into choppy gasps. Curses devolved into fragmented pleas. Her name became a breathy chant until he'd worked himself into a tizzy. "Please, Asia?" 

Registering coherent thoughts turned into a chore, leaving Sabrina to undertake stopping the recording before she knew more about Kelvin than she planned for one sitting. 

They sat in stunned silence together, waiting for the other to break the ice. Asia slowly turned toward Sabrina to do the honors. "I need you to teach me how to suck dick. I'm talking 2014 Sabrina levels." 

"Okay, first of all, that was a special time that can't be recreated," Sabrina answered before taking a long sip of wine. She'd long retired from legendary status on their college campus. Her jersey was in the proverbial rafters, making her a first-ballot Hall of Famer, able to bask in her long list of accomplishments and leave the game behind. But duty called. Asia watched her friend's lips slide into a smile before Sabrina sat back against the couch. "Second of all, Asia," she cooed as she lunged forward to wrap her friend in a hug. "You like him! Oh my goodness, this is so cute!" 

Asia released a pitiful sound into her hands that eclipsed Sabrina's excited squeals. "I do. Fuuuuuck, I do!"

Realization felt like a prime Muhammad Ali punch to the face. She did like Kelvin. Try as she might, through all the so-called boundaries and walls she'd built for protection, the growing vines of feelings continued to grip her into its warm embrace. She liked him.

"Let's go. I got you!" 

The couch shifting and lightening under Sabrina's retreating weight made Asia's eyes open in surprise. "That's it?" Confusion knitted her brown as she sat up straight to catch Sabrina sliding a light jacket over her arms and sliding her phone into her pocket. "Wait, where are you going?" 

"We are going to the sex store. You gotta drive, though. Eric has my car." She answered while sliding her feet into slippers. When Asia didn't immediately make moves to venture into the chilly night air, Sabrina looked her up and down. "Or you could practice on the dick I got back there, but I have to boil it first. Me and Denzel had a time last night!" 

Asia didn't mean to gag at the thought of putting her friend's used dildo in her mouth as she gathered her keys and phone from the coffee table, but she couldn't control the reflex. "You're nasty," she mumbled en route to the front door. 

"Oh, baby, you haven't seen nasty yet. Just wait." Asia passing in front of Sabrina to exit provided the perfect opportunity for the taller woman to land a hard smack on her friend's ass and laugh, earning a sharp gasp in reaction as the sound reverberated against the hallway walls. 

"Ugh, I'm about to make a mini-me! I'm so excited!"

_______________

All three minutes and a few seconds of Kelvin's begging weren't in vain. 

With the sun setting beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking bustling downtown streets, Asia couldn't help but pat herself on the back. If she was going to choose any acquaintance to casually fuck and try not to fall for on her way to self-discovery, she was glad it was one with impeccable design taste and a view. 

Canvas art and eccentric sculptures in every corner turned an ordinary space into something of an art gallery. Incense burning near the souped-up entertainment stand filled the room with something rugged and masculine Asia couldn't place but loved all the same. Family photos hung in the entryway gave her a glimpse of his life outside of the buddle they'd created. They looked like a jolly bunch, each with identically toothy grins and peanut butter skin tones. A look at his waffle boucle couch had her wondering what it'd be like to spend a rainy Sunday morning cuddled up with Kelvin's chest pressed to her back and his lips leaving soft kisses on her neck.

She hadn't seen much beyond his open-concept floorplan and the large kitchen with enough appliances to make Martha Stewart light up with joy. Before she arrived with dessert, she doubted Kelvin's ability to whip up anything outside of boy dinner or the occasional pancake. Never did she imagine the fragrant aroma of handcrafted cowboy butter spread across expensive cuts of steak. Creamy mashed potatoes sat steaming beside perfectly cooked broccolini, waiting for the entree to finish and for Kelvin to remove his hand from Asia's bra. 

He kept her pressed against his island, one hand holding him steady against cold quartz and the other palming one breast while their tongues and lips danced a coordinated waltz to share the citrusy bite of orange-flavored sparkling water.

Asia broke their kiss first for a deep breath to treat her weak knees. "You're gonna burn the food," she warned as Kelvin drug his lips down the side of her neck. 

"I'm paying attention. Got about a minute. Come here."  

Their plans for a "more intense" session were doomed by Aunt Flo and her scheduled appearance. Asia insisted on calling the evening a wash and rescheduling for a better time, but Kelvin refused. More than anything, he liked spending time wrapped in her presence. Her prancing around his apartment in her helper's apron and a matching lounge set felt just domestic enough to imbue his mind with thoughts of her being around more permanently. Maybe a few more visits. Perhaps a spare key and a drawer or two for her things. 

Asia returned to Kelvin's lips eagerly to sigh and keen for more against him until time slipped into an abstract concept for two minutes that felt like twenty. Rapid beeping from his microwave timer shocked them into pulling away, eliciting silly smiles and embarrassed chuckles. 

Kelvin left Asia with one more peck before taking quick steps toward the stove to lower the blue flame. Asia watched his back tense and ripple beneath a crisp white T-shirt while he transferred a piping hot steak to a cutting board to rest. 

"Babe, come over here and taste test for me?" 

The word had already tumbled from his private thoughts into the open air too quickly for Kelvin to take back. He clamped his eyes shut to briefly pray God spared him from explaining his slip to the woman he wasn't supposed to fall for. 

Asia calmly closed the distance between them, an easygoing smile showing no indication that she'd heard Kelvin's blunder. He let the moment pass without drawing attention to himself to carefully feed his dinner guest a juicy piece of medium-cooked steak. 

He held a hand under Asia's chin to catch any spillage, and his eyes sparkled with intrigue as she took a small chunk into her mouth to judge his skills. 

She dramatically hummed in approval and nodded. "Mmm. Okay, you were right," Asia complimented after slow chews to savor the taste. "That is the best steak I've ever had. I underestimated you. Forgive me." 

"I'll forgive you after you rate the potatoes. Lowkey, I put my foot in those. Ankle deep."

"Gross, Kel."

Asia's rating for the potatoes? 10/10. For the chef? There wasn't a scale to convey how far he'd shot off the charts. 

Easy conversation, full of budding inside jokes and the right amount of flirting, kept their time together lively. Quiet intimacy worked well for them. When chatter dwindled and cleaning took center stage, they fell into a wordless routine of washing and drying dishes side by side until the job was done and tired legs intertwined to rest from a long week. 

Shadows dancing across Kelvin's face as he focused on some documentary he'd begged Asia to watch stole all her attention each time she looked at the other end of the couch. She tried to subdue Sabrina's voice in the back of her mind, trying to convince her to break the seal on all the knowledge she'd crammed in one night. Rushing into a skill she hadn't quite mastered sounded like a great idea when she had a front-row seat to his goosebump-inducing self-pleasure session. Seeing him innocently learn about the feeding patterns of nocturnal jungle ecosystems and considering a plan to renege on their decision to exist in non-sexual harmony felt wrong. 

 "But he started it." Asia thought to herself. The fondling. The kissing. The innuendos during dinner. The voice note is an invitation. He wasn't looking for sex, but he wouldn't mind it…right?

She had to make her move while she still felt confident. Otherwise, she'd allow Samira Wiley's voice to lull her to an embarrassingly deep sleep. 

"Hey," she whispered to get Kelvin's attention. He didn't budge, finding too much interest in the luminescent carnivorous plant luring insects into its trap. Asia called to him again using a different method. "The potatoes weren't that good. I lied." 

Kelvin scoffed. "Yeah, right. You cleaned your plate. Twice." 

"My mama taught me manners, babe." She sassed, accentuating the pet name on purpose. 

Kelvin kept calm with his signature charming smile while his pulse spiked internally. So she did hear me. He wasn't sure how to respond. Stopping to have a pow-wow about what exactly they were doing now that the rules of engagement felt wildly different would needlessly slow a good thing to a screeching halt. 

So, he swallowed every question to redirect his nervous energy into gently tugging Asia's ankle to bring her a centimeter closer. "You should come down here with me." 

Jackpot. 

Asia didn't expect her plan to unfold so quickly. Swapping sides to lie face to face opened the door to more touching, kissing, shared breaths, and head highs under the twinkle of skyscraper lights. 

Tensions rising brought flashes of Sabrina and her boot camp back for Asia with renewed ferocity. Now or never. Grab that dick by the horns or something along those lines. 

"Can…can we try something tonight?" 

Kelvin tightened his grip on her ass cheek and pulled away from her neck. "Try what?"

"I wanted to try, um, you know…fellating…you?" Asia mentally scolded herself for sounding timid as Kelvin snickered against her collarbone. 

"Fellating? What is this, sex ed?" He chuckled, earning an agitated smack from Asia to the back of his head. He nuzzled closer to kiss a spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Seriously, you don't have to do that. I'm okay with what we're doing. No pressure." 

He was right. No pressure. She knew that already. But pressure wasn't guiding her off the couch and onto her knees between his thighs. That was curiosity. And the pressure wasn't what drove Kelvin crazy as she helped him out of his sweats and briefs to carelessly toss them to the side. That? That was untamed desire flooding every bone in his body. Pressure had no dominion in his living room. Only the spirit of exploration and freedom. 

And nervousness. Definitely nervousness. 

Give him eye contact. Cover your teeth. Use your tongue. Relax your jaw. Suck, don't just glide. All of the sage advice from the previous night blurred into one incomprehensible ball of incessant chatter across the grooves of Asia's brain. 

She chose to kiss her way into confidence, dropping slow pecks across Kelvin's thighs like he'd done to her in their last session. Delicate touches and soft lips made his muscles tense while he watched her watch him.                                                                                  

He draped one arm across the back of his couch and rested a hand on her cheeks to run his thumb along the spot. "That's perfect. Go as slow as you want. Stop when you want. It's your choice." 

Reassurance and an encouraging smile convinced Asia to test her high school-level knowledge of anatomy. No amount of videos linked in her Girl's Talk Reddit thread or hands-on, dildo-led speed runs with Sabrina could prepare her for an up close and personal view. At least they both seemed happy to see her. 

His dick stood at half-mast, waiting for Asia to make a move. More kisses took her from muscular inner thighs up the length of his shaft and to a tip already glistening as if to welcome her into an event where the host was awaiting her arrival. A spark of wonder made her swipe her tongue over the spot to taste, but the quiet curse from Kelvin kept her there for more.

Spit on it. Sabrina's voice reminded Asia as she debated what to do next. Not a gross factory worker chewing tobacco spit. Slow. Make him watch. Asia used the saliva coating her mouth in a Pavlovian response to connect with Kelvin once she pulled away to get a better look at her subject. 

A slightly above-average size. It wasn't close to her practice dummy, but 11 inches was ridiculous, even by Sabrina's standards. Well-groomed. Prettier than any she'd ever seen on the other side of a screen. Heavy in her hands, but not enough to make her think twice about eventually working it down her throat. A work of art waiting for her oral appraisal. 

Kelvin's head lulled back against the wall as his jaw dropped to make space for a shuttering breath. "Fuck, that's sexy." He used all the strength in his neck to look back down at Asia. "Where'd that come from?" 

"I wanted to surprise you," she answered, round-doe eyes peering back at him. "So, I took a little lesson." She leaned forward to wrap her lips around his tip and suckle for a few seconds to see if Sabrina was right about the expected reaction. Kelvin's hand sliding from her jaw to her chin to hold her steady was all the confirmation she needed. 

At some point, Kelvin would come off Cloud 9 to inquire about Asia's mystery teacher. Not out of jealousy or to accuse, but to find out who should receive the flowers and card he'd already mentally purchased for their service. 

He'd be lying if he said Asia had reached pro status. Every tentative lick and split second of disjointed rhythm reminded him that she was a novice in the game. It didn't stop him from singing her praises while she worked double-time to get the hang of things. 

She listened to instructions and turned them into action, taking every "Just like that" and "Slow up" in stride as she learned the ropes. Asia allowed Kelvin to guide her head up and down until she no longer needed his help to maintain a toe-curling one-woman show. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat to provide positive reinforcement. "There you go. Wow, you look so pretty right now."

Asia felt like she had the entire world in her hands. What power. She could command his every movement with her mouth and illicit unfathomable sounds with a flick of her tongue. Older women made the act sound so degrading as if engaging with a man in this way made her more property than a fully realized woman. And maybe the men they dealt with hadn't been partners willing to treat them like equals. But Kelvin showered her with so much affection and care that it made her want to go the extra mile. 

The twisting motion of her palms against slick skin made Kelvin curse to the ceiling, undoubtedly disturbing the unfortunate soul above him. The sight of him beginning to unravel sparked an idea. "Is this what you like?" 

He blinked his eyes back into focus and nodded. "Hell yeah. You think you can try both?" 

She'd give it a valiant attempt. 

For a moment, Asia mulled over how to maintain harmony between parallel work streams. She observed her hands for the right moment to bring her mouth into action as if waiting for her cue to jump into the center of double dutch ropes. 

Up and down. Twist. Suck. Go now! Shit. Kelvin observed while the wheels turned in her head, trying to split his attention between how cute she looked with her brow furrowed in thought and how that tell-tale pit in his stomach was starting to tense his abdomen. 

Her leap of faith caught him by surprise, dragging out a long, throaty moan as she quickly settled into what looked like an effortless working relationship between body parts. 

Arousal awakened goosebumps across his skin. His nipples ached for touch, and he satisfied them by slipping a hand under his shirt. His brain began to cloud, robbing him of words he knew he should've offered as encouragement. His head felt like a boulder on his neck as he rested against the back of his couch. 

Bursts of light played behind his eyes as the inevitable greeted him with open arms. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted, desperate to get Asia's attention. He couldn't surprise her with the release approaching hard and fast. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum. I don't wanna –" 

Asia didn't need the explanation. Thankfully, Sabrina had already prepared her for the endless possibilities once an eruption seemed imminent. She slowly removed her mouth and added a second hand to twist in the opposite direction. The grand finale. The moment they'd both been waiting for. 

Kelvin thrust into her palms to coax out warm spurts of semen over Asia's fingers and down her knuckles. She caught herself moaning with him, unable to contain the sound as she watched the reward of her work slide between each digit until her lover was spent and heaving for more oxygen to soothe his burning lungs.  

"Stop, stop." His pleading reminded Asia that she was still pumping, still milking him for all he had left. Her inner voice told her to prolong the moment and see how far she could push him until he was a babbling mess that only she could control. Kelvin saw the monster in her grin and rushed to kiss her, hoping she'd consider a different option. 

Their tongues and lips returned to each other in a panting, sloppy kiss while Kelvin used the distraction to push Asia's hands away before she started something they both knew she wasn't ready to finish. He had plenty of towels and wasn't opposed to breaking a rule or two. 

Sticky fingers growing increasingly uncomfortable made Asia pull away. "This is starting to feel weird in my hands," she laughed. 

"Oh shit, my bad." Kelvin forced himself to forgo one more kiss as he rested his forehead against hers. "Washcloths are in the bathroom closet. Bring one for me?" 

"Of course." 

Asia sported a goofy, proud smile while staring into his bathroom mirror, warming a bathing towel to take back to Kelvin. She wondered if texting Sabrina immediately would be in poor taste. Should she drop an emoji in the broader group chat full of their line sisters and go ghost waiting for them to decipher her cryptic message? Or would it make more sense to try and gather as many of the images flashing through her mind as possible, like reels passing through a view master, and store them for her alone time? 

She pushed all the options elsewhere in favor of returning to Kelvin with a wet rag to gingerly clean all traces of their unplanned romp from his still blazing-hot skin. 

He watched her with infatuation, coloring his gaze and a grin on his lips. His girl. At least for the few hours they got to spend willinging sharing their bodies with one another each weekend. He could pretend they were two people dating in pursuit of the elusive love he'd seen up close once before but couldn't hold on to. She'd be so beautiful sitting across from him on a night out, her fingers interlaced with his while they traded sweet everything over candlelight. He'd learn her favorite colors and her deepest fears. She'd listen to him go on and on about nature docs and make him go to bed when the wee hours of the morning crept up on him and his latest project. 

Asia's gaze flashed up to catch him transfixed in a daydream she needed to know about. "What's going on in that brain of yours?"

Wanting to tell her the truth and wanting to maintain their mutually beneficial relationship pulled him in opposite directions. He took a deep breath to roll the dice, hoping that once he uncorked the words, they wouldn't create a stain big and messy enough to make what they'd created unsalvagable. 

"If you're up for it," he started, cautiously choosing as he spoke. "I think we should try the real thing next time."

--------

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[cuckoo-on-a-string]

"Appropriate" responses to the Gaiman issue

TLDR: This isn't a Rowling situation, be wary of internalized purity culture.

He's a predator. I'm glad a proper journalist followed up where police have failed (and possibly given victims a better footing for future charges).

But I have a problem with the knee-jerk responses targeting the fandom.

Just to clarify, I'm not talking about insulting The Predator. This is about how you treat people who have/do/will enjoy the stories that unfortunately came into the world through his keyboard.

Fans aren't intrinsically evil/uncaring for continuing to participate in associated fandoms.

This is not another Rowling situation. Why? Let me clarify. The consequences of consumption are very different. Rowling is ACTIVELY using her popularity and income as a creative to target one of the most vulnerable minorities in the world. Buying official merch/books/movie tickets prove to the powers that be that she remains a good investment, so they'll give her even more money. This perpetuates the cycle - new movie/book deals, more income, more hate, rinse and repeat.

The push to avoid Rowling's work in full is driven by the fact that she has FACED NO CONSEQUENCES and is still powered by her creative properties. It's fandom/consumers trying to bring justice.

Gaiman, on the other hand, knew he was doing bad shit on some level because he kept his abuse hidden. His status and reputation let him get close to vulnerable fans and essentially intimidate authorities from going after a celebrity. He is FACING CONSEQUENCES. I would personally like to see criminal charges brought against him, but that's out of the fandom's hands. Things we could've influenced (his Disney deal appears to have gone to shit, he's been booted from the truncated final season of GO, and there's no news on Sandman 3) are already in motion. If his publisher doesn't drop him, I'd say avoiding his future works is beyond valid (I certainly wouldn't buy them). But I'm going to watch the new season of Sandman. And once I've taken time away, I'll probably finish my active fics.

"Judging" people who still enjoy his work stems from good intentions that grew out of the fetid ground of purity culture rhetoric.

Writing fanfic and enjoying shows that are already made do not make people soulless accomplices. The idea that unproblematic stories by saintly creators are the only things you're allowed to enjoy is not only flirting with censorship, but it's also impossible.

If you think people should have nothing to do with Gaiman's works, you better throw out anything Weinstein touched. That includes Jackson's LOTR trilogy, FYI. Also, anything his company officially produced (which still gives him money in some cases) should never, ever grace your screen. That includes some of the better Stephen King adaptations, The Orphanage (which was a breakthrough Spanish-language film in Western markets), The King's Speech, The Imitation Game, Woman in Gold, Paddington, and It Follows.

If you aren't willing to publicly announce your "disappointment" in anyone who continues to enjoy any of those films, then kicking up a fuss over how other people process and interact with problematic content from a fallen celebrity who is in the process of getting his dues is pure hypocrisy.

Personally, I'm maliciously complying with Gaiman's famous quote about how once a story is out there, it doesn't belong to the author anymore. Well said, Predator, these are mine now, and I shall fuck about with them as I see fit.

Attacking or snobbishly looking down your nose at the fandom also erases YEARS of beautiful critique and thoughtful exploration of existing, acknowledged problems in works like The Sandman.

People in these parts already know how to handle complex issues in complex pieces of media. Gaiman isn't our god. His canon is not our bible. He didn't teach us morality, as is apparently the case for a lot of people who grew up reading Rowling's works as a child.

If you have a problem with the censorship comment I made, I'd like to point out at least one writer friend is LEANING INTO the fandom as a way to process their own trauma. Suffice it to say they survived a very similar situation. They see it as empowering to take the stories away from the abuser and use the characters/settings to make something new.

I get the ick. I have it right now. But I'm not burning every copy of his work I own (full disclosure I have... *checks shelves* a copy of Neverwhere and The Sandman series). Doing so is totally valid, and if that helps you process and feel better - go for it!

But this is not the same as Rowling and the only ones you hurt by declaring your "judgement" is a complex group of individuals who are able to enjoy fiction, remain aware of potential social consequences, and found a place that doesn't align with your black/white morality.

With that said, judge away! I better not see any stories from Charles Dickens, anything in anyway associated with the Weinsteins, Nickelodeon shows, Charlie Chaplin references, or Francis Ford Coppola films touch your feed. If you scratch the surface, you'll find more things to judge others for enjoying, and they will inevitably find something to judge you for, too.

[bouquetface]

D7 Chart: Your Children

Accuracy is influenced by the entire chart. This chart needs to be read alongside lagna for full accuracy.

D7 is not only about children. It is about what you create/birth - for ex: a business. However, this post will only focus on children.

SHORT OBSERVATIONS:

Mars in 8th can indicate the child has to undergo surgery at some point in their life. 

Mars in 2nd can indicate having a miscarriage or a different type of difficult experience in regard to the child’s birth. 

Venus placement and position is the most important for health of the children. A weak venus is an indicator for children having illnesses or disabilities.

Moon will show your ability to nurture your children -whether it is difficult, how hard it is for you to adapt, how the children see you, etc. 

DETAILED OBSERVATIONS

Person A:

AQUA asc - ruler Saturn debilitated in Aries. Children are fairly tall and extremely thin. This is due to illnesses (the boy has trouble with his kidneys, the girl has diagnosed anorexia). Although, they are both doing well in recovery, they have struggled a lot with their health.

Their health struggles can be predicted through the debilitation of first house ruler and Venus in 6th House (as 6th house deals with diseases & venus deals with overall health of child in d7). In this d7 Venus in cancer 6th H receives harsh aspect from Sun & Saturn (2 malefic planets).

First child’s personality & how you see them is influenced by 5th House in d7. 

Gemini 5th H in d7 shows this person’s first child has a best friend type relationship with their mother. The first child has a gemini sun conjunct mercury in their natal. 

Her first child truly represents gemini traits - popular, extroverted but very anxious.

Second child’s personality & how you see them is influenced by 5th House in d7. 

This person has Leo 7th H with mercury. Their second child is a leo rising and aries sun conjunct mercury. 

Predicting Gender:

The first child is a girl. The second is a boy. This person has 5th and 7th in masculine signs with even the rulers being in masculine signs. This would indicate she’d have many boys. However, in her NATAL chart, her 5th H ruler (saturn) is in Taurus - a feminine sign. 

How children feel about you can be seen through Sun (father) and Moon (mother). 

This person has Sun in 12th of d7. Sun is harshly aspected by Venus and Saturn. The children have a distant relationship with their father.

This person has Moon in 11th of d7. Moon is positively aspected by Saturn. The children are very close to their mother. As adults, they have developed a friendship type of relationship. The mother has helped them with advice for their careers too. 

PERSON B:

Their natal 5th House ruler is Saturn. In d7, Saturn is in the 6th house. This person struggled to have this child. They dealt with many traumatic miscarriages. 

First House and First House ruler of D7 can confirm or deny whether the person will have a child. This person has D7 first house ruler conjunct venus a benfic. This assures that although there would be difficulty a child would be conceived. 

D7 first house ruler conjunct venus is one indicator the child will be healthy. Despite her own health issues her son was born healthy. 

Her d7 5th H is Aries, Mars (the ruler) is in Capricorn conjunct Moon. Her child is a cancer sun boy. Not much can be said about his personality as he is still very young. 

Person C:

Her d7 first house is Taurus. Venus (the ruler) is placed in first house conjunct Moon. Here moon is exalted AND aspected by a benefic. Although all birth is painful, she considered herself fairly lucky. Her children are model pretty and healthy. 

d7 5th house has mercury in virgo. Virgo is a feminine sign. Her first son would be considered a gently and feminine personality for a boy. As a kid, he enjoyed playing with toys and clothes that are often marketed toward girls. 

d7 7th house has sun conjunct ketu in scorpio. This house shows the second child. He is a boy. The second son is a scorpio rising. 

d7 9th house is in leo. This house shows the third child. Another boy. This kid is the embodiment of leo. He currently has aspirations of being an actor when he grows up. He is also a leo sun. 

Moon conjunct Venus in Taurus: The children see their mother in a very good light. They see her as the “best mom ever”. Although everyone has the occasional annoyance with their parents. This relationship is very strong.

Sun conjunct Ketu in Scorpio: The children see their father in a good light too. They see him as being more authoritative. The father is usually the one disciplining and punishing the children. Sometimes, they see him as controlling. However, they have a lot of respect and are deeply connected to him too. 

[astrosky33]

The Best Career for you: Asteroid Industria

◉ Industria is an asteroid in astrology that can represent the long term career industry you will work in. Based on the readings I’ve done this asteroid is very accurate in predicting your long term career

◉ Asteroid Code: 389 -> How to find asteroids

House Meanings

Asteroid Industria in the 1st house

Your career will be a major part of your identity (more so than others careers would). Your career may change or constantly be testing your outlook/view on life. This career will be something you’re very passionate and ambitious about. You may use lots of mannerisms in this career. It most likely is going to involve your physical body, fighting, beauty, confidence, and/or individuality

Ex: Athlete, Model, Makeup Artist, Fighter

Asteroid Industria in the 2nd house

Your career will be a major source of stability (not just financially but also emotionally) for you in your life and your career may boost your self esteem/self worth. It is going to revolve around material items. It most likely is going to involve either your singing voice, finances, cooking, giving, receiving, and/or material resources

Ex: Singer, Banker, Accountant, Chef, Product Designer

Asteroid Industria in the 3rd house

In your career you will use your voice to spread an important message. You will express many of your ideas to others. It most likely will involve communication, literature, teaching, transportation, influencing, social media, the mind, and/or phones

Ex: Author/Writer, Social Media Influencer, Driver, Teacher

Asteroid Industria in the 4th house

Your career will be in an industry where you’re using lots of emotion toward your work and/or caring for others. It won’t be a job far out of your comfort zone. It likely will involve houses, home related things, food, and/or self-care

Ex: Real Estate Agent, Nurse, Baker, Home Designer

Asteroid Industria in the 5th house

Your career may revolve around you and be in an industry where a lot of spotlight/attention is on you. You’re going to work in an industry where you use your talents. It’s going to be a career you really enjoy and that makes you happy! It likely will involve entertainment, romance, events (such as a festival or concert), children, talents, and/or drama

Ex: Actor, Event Planner, Child Psychiatrist, Talent Agent

Asteroid Industria in the 6th house

Your career will have a set schedule and steady income. In this career industry you’ll constantly be working on self improvement. It likely will involve health, fitness, hygiene, your analytic nature, animals/pets, and/or giving service to others somehow

Ex: Doctor, Nutritionist, Fitness Trainor, Dentist, Vet

Asteroid Industria in the 7th house

Your career will be one that’s based around equality or partnership. You’re going to be working towards harmony or peace in this career. It will likely involve commitment, marriage, attractiveness/attraction, contracts, conflicts, negotiations, and/or equality/sharing

Ex: Wedding Planner, Lawyer, Model, Fashion Designer

Asteroid Industria in the 8th house

Your career will be one that’s based around a lot of transformation, power, or mystery. In this career industry you’ll constantly be working on changing for the better. It will likely involve crime, death, taxes, psychology, surgery, investments, the stock market, business, loans, secrets, your inheritance, reproduction, and/or spiritual transformation

Ex: Detective, Psychologist, Tax Preparer, Surgeon

Asteroid Industria in the 9th house

Your career will be one that helps you grow a lot as a person. In this career industry you will learn a lot more than most people do in their career. It will likely involve travel in general, air travel, exploration, television, media, teaching, higher education (college/uni), religion, beliefs, ideologies, philosophy, interviews, courts, law, cultures, ethics, viewpoints, and/or languages

Ex: College Professor, Pilot, Newscaster, Photographer

Asteroid Industria in the 10th house

You are more likely than others to be very successful when having this placement in your chart. Your career will teach you how to set long term goals for yourself and succeed. It will likely involve being in charge/a boss, business, peoples reputations/images, sense of mission, responsibilities, being famous, and/or status

Ex: Manager (anywhere), Publicist, Movie Director

Asteroid Industria in the 11th house

You’re more likely to gain wealth from your career with this placement since the 11th house represents financial gains -> read more here. Your career will be one that introduces new ideas to the world and may be a more unique career compared to most peoples. It will likely involve technology, film, politics, science, inventions, chaos, sudden change, friendship, groups, desires, manifestations, hopes/wishes, humanitarianism, social networking, clubs, and/or parties

Ex: Engineer, Scientist, Film Producer, Politician

Asteroid Industria in the 12th house

Your career is one that will transform you spiritually. In this career industry you will heal others. It will likely involve spirituality, hypnotism, isolation, music, karma/karmic debts, hidden enemies, the subconscious mind, subconscious memory, sleep, dreams (the ones you have when you sleep), old age/people, mental health, fears, losses, endings, impersonations, closure, self-undoing, bed pleasures, intuition, illusions, and/or the afterlife

Ex: Therapist, Song-Writer, Astrologer, Psychic

➠ [READ] the examples listed aren’t the only possible careers for each house only some, so there can be more interpretations than the ones listed

𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚! 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗹𝘆𝘇𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗮 𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗼𝗶𝗱 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝗦𝗨𝗕𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗕𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗢𝗡 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝘀𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁

𝗠𝗬 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[qbopublishing]

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[eveninglakehomeworld]

hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.

I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.

this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3

Recruitment

Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"

Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.

Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.

Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"

Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.

[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]

Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.

Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"

Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.

Warden: "When were you to see him next?"

Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.

Warden: "How much were you paid?"

Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.

Warden: "Then why are you one?"

Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.

Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.

Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."

Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.

Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.

Warden: "Won't they come after you?"

Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?

Warden: "Why would I want your service?"

Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.

A few early game camp conversations

Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"

Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.

Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"

Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.

Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."

Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?

Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?

Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"

Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.

Warden: "That sounds awful."

Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]

[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]

Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.

Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"

Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.

Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"

Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?

Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Warden: "I suppose that's true."

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.

Warden: "I know what you mean."

Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?

Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]

Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.

[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]

Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.

Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."

Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.

Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"

Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?

Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."

Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.

Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.

Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."

Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.

Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."

Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?

Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."

Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.

Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.

Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:

Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.

Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.

[astrobydalia]

🍂Cozy observations 🎃

Itssss fall you guys!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 It’s actually super hot still where I live but that won’t stop me from living my cozy era. Anyways, I want to avoid collecting posts on my drafts for centuries so here’s more general observations!

work by astrobydalia

🍂Aquarius placements are simultaneously the most understanding and empathetic people ever and the biggest assholes out there. I don't know how they pull that contradiction off but it's true (I mean this in the best way possible btw)

Moreover, I’ve noticed Aquarius placements are way more appreciative of kindness and social harmony than Libra tbh. Libra's desire for harmony can be just for the sake of keeping appearances but they are actually very judgmental. Aquarius on the other hand tend to appreciate authenticity and have a “live and let live” philosophy where they accept people unconditionally that’s why they attract popularity. Underdeveloped Aquarius tho do have a tendency to break social harmony due to pick-me behavior

🍂 Cardinal moons are serial daters. I swear every person I’ve met who had a rather active love life or were always crushing on someone was more often than on Cardinal moon

Also, Cardinal moons are always very dominant people even when don’t intend to be. They have a very summoning aura/personality that just demands engagement. They also tend to be social butterflies, even when they’re introverted they always end up surrounded by people somehow

🍂 I like to think Pisces is the final movie while Virgo is all the behind the scenes and editing

🍂I've seen this endless times where people with Mars in Libra or 7th house always end up either in law or business (mostly creating their own business, freelancers, entrepreneurs, etc)

🍂Any Venusian influence on the MC/10th house/6th house indicates a career or job where you’re required to dress up and appear very put together, having a certain aesthetic can be important in your career

🍂Saturn square or opposite MC/10th house ruler indicates the native was forced into a career they never chose/wanted in the first place or they had to wait a long time to finally have the opportunity to pursue their ideal career OR the path towards the career they chose could have been harder/more unfulfilling than they expected

🍂 I also like to think Taurus stops to smell the flowers and creates a flower bed for herself. Virgo studies the flowers and learns all about photosynthesis and shit. Capricorn creates a flower business and monopolizes the flower market

🍂 Those with Mars influence on their moon (Moon-Mars aspects, Aries/Scorpio moon) are really good at throwing shade but they’re unable to take it themselves. They don’t like to feel called out.

🍂 Mars in the 12th house people will 👏🏼hold 👏🏼 grudges 👏🏼

🍂 To be quite honest with you, every single Virgo sun I’ve met had a very standoffish personality.

🍂 Saturn retrograde individuals raised themselves. That’s why this placement is known to have issues with authority and discipline because their parents didn’t really parent them at all, so they had to set their own boundaries, rules and systems to navigate life. Getting their life together and materializing their ambitions could take extra effort for them

🍂 I usually like Capricorn Moons cause I always find that they are very loyal to everyone (friends, family, partner, etc) but honestly they are not as emotionally mature as you might think. They have a really hard time moving on from the past to the point where they can stay stuck in their wounded child self and spend a big chunk of their lives trying to overcompensate this with work, productivity and success. Tendency to depression, low emotional intelligence and being emotionally stunted. Deep down they feel like the victim of their own story

🍂 Aquarius sun+Scorpio moon: I’ve met quite a few people with this combo and with all of them I’ve noticed they always have a cult leader kinda mentality towards their friendships and connections (might apply to Aquarius+Scorpio combos in general). You’re either with them or against them. If you're not a follower they’ll hit you with the "cool kids table" attitude

🍂 My mom has Mercury in the 4th house and she once said "I don't mind moving abroad but I can't live in a place where people don't speak my native language. I need to hear my native language"

🍂 When it’s said that Venus in the 1st house people know how to make themselves look good it doesn’t mean just physically. The know how to present themselves as a more virtuous person than they actually are...

🍂Mutable risings, Mars in a mutable sign/house: their motto is “work smarter not harder”. Their first instinct will always be to find a way around challenges and difficulties. They usually aren’t the most action oriented people, but they are cunning. Their way to success is basically beating the system to make things easier for themselves.

🍂I can easily recognize Taurus Sun because they always ooze BDE. Also they always tend to have very rugged and bold physique/features

🍂From what I've seen Gemini Venus is a placement that easily makes someone stereotypically extroverted. Golden retriever energy

🍂Has anyone else noticed that succedent houses (aka fixed houses) are all related to money and wealth in some way?

2nd house: your resources, what spend your money on 5th house: gamble 8th house: shared resources, investments and debt 11th house: production of wealth

🍂All Gemini and Cancer risings I’ve met had some sort of hypersensitivity to stimuli. Gemini rising is more mental; anxiety, overthinking, information overload, etc they easily get triggered by immediate stimuli, specially noise around them. For Cancer risings this manifests more in the senses (photosensitivity, very sensitive to smells, flavors, etc) and heightened intuition just like Spiderman with spider-sense

🍂I’m sorry but why are Cancer Mercuries so elusive in their communication??? Everything they say has this "well, maybe. I don't know" or "I guess" undertone to it, they never openly say what they really mean. They are good listeners tho

🍂Underdeveloped Taurus placements feel entitled to use and dispose of people to benefit themselves. Tend to be very selfish and stingy. They do something for you they'll hang it over your head forever and act like they have ownership over you. You do something for them, they owe you nothing.

🍂Pisces Moons grew up in their own little bubble. It's very likely they missed out on 'normal' mundane experiences and this makes them feel very separated from the rest of the world and the rest of the people which is why they often come off as clueless and disconnected. They often give off the impression they've been living under a rock or a parallel universe. A perfect example of this is when Kim Kardashian said she's never been to a grocery store💀

Every single Pisces moon I’ve met never ever wanted to have kids and if they do have them they tend to not be too present in their kids’ lives. The harsh truth is pisces moons are not reliable, generally they are the ones who want to be saved and cared for

🍂I've noticed earth Venus and Venus-Saturn aspects are a little bit too good at showing contempt. To some degree they always remind me of Disgust from the Inside Out movie 😂

🍂 When I see Moon-Saturn conjunction in a chart I flinch a little tbh cause idk what’s worse the fact that their mothers couldn’t be bothered to give the native any sort of emotional comfort or the fact that these natives have normalized conditional love as the only kind of love possible. I've also noticed they grew up with strong authoritarian values and were never allowed to question hierarchies or status

Also, natives with Moon-Saturn conjunction are extremely shady people if you ask me. It's true they are insanely observant but what people don't seem to notice is that they are observant in a Joe Goldberg or Light Yagami kind of way without the murder They do be having inner monologues like that. They come across as calm, intelligent, respectful and trusted. Can use emotional expression (theirs and others') in strategic ways to influence others. Big tendency towards materialistic, utilitarian and/or elitist mindset too. I can't quite put my finger on it but I've met a lot of people with this aspect and the deeper I dig the more I keep feeling something very dark and/or disingenuous about them

🍂Venus square Neptune people and their lack of self-respect… 🙁

🍂Aquarius Moons always give off the impression of having a rather lazy or passive personality. I'm not talking about their productivity but the fact that they seem to always have a "meh" attitude towards everything to the point where they can feel a bit disconnected similar to pisces moon

🍂Virgo risings often have freelance jobs due to Aquarius ruling their 6th house

🍂People with Industria rx (389) may actually dislike their work environment even if they like their job. I’ve noticed they often find the industry they work in to be toxic, depleting or too demanding

🍂Enterprise rx (9777) might always feel unsatisfied with their position, they might be the type to always want more and more

🍂 Aries Moon women and always attracting very immature and selfish men omg I've seen this time and time again

🍂 Scorpio moon/Moon 8th house is an underrated wealth indicator imo. I've noticed they always have a "from rags to riches" kinda life story. They however often face issues with fraud or debt along the way cause they have a tendency to take huge financial risks

🍂 you ever heard about the crabs in a bucket phenomenon? Well Ive actually observed underdeveloped 4th house placements do tend to have this kind of clingy and envious behavior particularly towards people that are really close to them. You can also experience this with people you have 4th house Synastry with; you get too attached to the comfort zone they provide to the point where they stifle your growth

🍂Pisces placements 🤝 falling for people who are bluntly abusive, controlling and narcissistic. They want to believe they’re living a beauty and the beast love story when in reality they’re trauma bonding

🍂Libra/Taurus Mars people ARE problematic and petty as fuck, they’re just good at the social game and making it look like they didn't do anything. Underdeveloped Venus energy is the opposite of peaceful, it gives major mean girl vibes and Mars being debilitated in these signs easily brings out this hostile side of Venus. The type to passively instigate drama just to make themselves look better. Very hypocritical

🍂What natives with Saturn in Taurus will consider first when choosing a career is make sure that it is well payed and gives them financial status. Other factors come second

🍂Fixed+cardinal combo in the luminaries is hands down the best sun-moon combo I've seen tbh (specially fixed sun+cardinal moon), they're a force to be reckoned with. Very charismatic, outspoken and confident people with healthy ego if developed. Most people I've met with this combo were very extroverted and/or excellent leaders

🍂Sagittarius placements 🤝 this pose 😜✌🏼

🍂Libra/7th house Lilith have a tendency to judge a book by its cover all the time

🍂I've noticed Pisces MC/10th house natives aren't very ambitious. They seem to not really care about things like self-development or being on top. From what I've seen they mostly aspire to have a pleasant and glamurous life that frees them form real life mundane worries and could desire to retire as early as possible. In some cases I've seen they could want a "princess" kinda lifestyle where they literally have no responsibilities. They want a career that liberates them from any pressure of achieving material expectations and allows them to just go brain dead all the time following a higher power/inspiration/knowledge. That's why many artists have this placements and I've also seen cases of Pisces MC people who wanted to be nuns and nurses. I've noticed that when they genuinely don't care about recieving recognition or achievements but rather do things bc it aligns with their soul that's when they become successful

🍂Scorpio placements have a tendency to be very cynical I've noticed, specially mercury and mars

🍂Gemini/3rd house Lilith can spot lies from miles away and will not be sacred to call it out

🍂As per my observation the water sign that gets idolized the most is not Pisces but Cancer 100%. Yes Pisces does get idolized but I’ve noticed that’s actually very short-lived, people tend to switch up on them SO fast cause they project a deeply unrealistic image on them and eventually fall off the pedestal. Cancer placements on the other hand are not infantized like Pisces, they are consistently very sought after people I’ve observed. They always come across as emotionally reliable even when they’re not, people always go soft for them while simultaneously respecting them so they’re always seen as perfect,kind,charming,etc. Their personality naturally portrays an energy of unconditional love and understanding so people easily get obsessed and addicted to them

🍂I always find that Pisces Venus natives have a very whimsical and juvenile personality. They also have a very extravagant taste they may like anything with bright colors, glittery shiny stuff, squishy toys, etc. they have a tendency to be a bit tacky and corny I’ve noticed

🍂Every fixed moon I've seen avoided any sort of emotional rehabilitation like the plague unless it’s strictly necessary. They believe no one can begin to understand them better than themselves and they got it all figured out already. Now this is more my opinion but I feel like they low-key underestimate the amount of healing they actually need to do cause they really struggle taking emotional accountability. They have a tendency to act like their needs and feelings justify everything so there's not much to "fix" or heal

🍂People who have at least 2 out of their big 3 in cardinal signs are often seen as the golden girl/boy

🍂Capricorn/Virgo moons will be literally the best at what they do and make it seem so effortless. If you ask them how they got so successful they'll be like "idk I guess I just practiced a lot"

🍂I’ve noticed your 8th house sign(s) represent themes that people are consistently using against you as the fastest way to tear you down, so you always end up feeling powerless here at some point. That’s why you tend to resent this energy and have toxic dynamics with people who have their planets here. This house is literally the death of you (8th from 1st), but it can also be the source of your empowerment once you claim this energy so it's best that you keep this house to yourself as much as possible. Some examples:

Gemini 8th house: using what you say against you. you could have a hard time with people believing your words, what you say is always scandalous and/or rubs people the wrong way. Gossip or information that makes you look bad. People always think you’re lying or deceiving or have ulterior motives Cancer 8th house: you could struggle with getting sympathy and emotional support from people. Others think you’re just being vulnerable and complaining for clout. Any display of emotion or care will be seen as manipulative. People trying to break or ruin your relationship with your family or closed ones Capricorn 8th house: you struggle with people respecting you, others don't take you seriously and don't see you as a valid authority. Any attempt to make yourself respected will be seen as dictatorial or elitist behavior, any desire to succeed will be seen as you being power hungry. People try to dismiss or belittle your achievements

work by astrobydalia

[lovezbrownies]

Prey. (F!Yandere! Werewolf)

General Masterlist

Synopsis: You fell in love with the tall and strong deputy of the town, Selene Varrow, and end up regretting everything that led you to slowly fall in love with her, as she turns out to be a possessive, mean, horrible monster.

PAIRING:Yandere Selene Varrow x Gn!Reader.

Warnings: Some descriptions of r4pe, a beast acts like a beast, reader is naive and sheltered, predator prey dynamic, Selene is into it.

Selene Varrow was a force to be reckoned with—a woman who always got what she wanted, when she wanted. Strength and social influence shaped her world, ensuring that things bent to her will, and she intended to keep it that way. Yet, despite her formidable presence, Selene was well-liked. She genuinely cared for the people of her town, upholding her family’s legacy as a police officer with unwavering dedication. She had sworn to protect and serve, and by all accounts, she did just that. A good person. Truly.

And yet… something about her was undeniably off.

She was just like her father—a man who had appeared in town one fateful night, seemingly out of nowhere, only to fall swiftly and deeply in love with the sheriff at the time, Selene’s mother. Those silver-blue eyes of hers, sharp and predatory, always seemed locked onto something unseen. Her footsteps, eerily quiet no matter how heavy the boots she wore. The unsettling sharpness of her canines, just a little too pointed to be natural. And most unnerving of all, she towered over nearly everyone—only a few inches shy of her father’s staggering height. Even among outsiders, they were an anomaly, both of them built like warriors, their powerful physiques defying logic. Even after months without training, their strength remained, as if untouched by time.

The townspeople knew the Varrow family well. Selene’s parents were highly respected for their tireless work in keeping the town safe, and Selene herself had earned admiration long before she donned the badge. As a child, she defended her classmates from bullies; now, at twenty-two, having finally conquered the police force’s grueling entrance exam, she had stepped fully into her role. With her mother now retired, all eyes were on Selene—to see if she would live up to the legacy left behind.

And by the looks of it, she was well on her way.

Then came the new neighbors—you and your family—settling a bit farther from the heart of town but still part of it nonetheless. Unlike the longtime residents, you knew nothing of the Varrows or their significance to the town’s safety. That is, until your mother caught sight of one Selene Varrow and, much to your dismay, became far too enthusiastic about the idea of you making friends—or worse, finding romance—so soon after your move.

The second time you saw Selene was at the town’s day market, a far more peaceful and ordinary experience compared to the night market—a place you had foolishly ventured into against your older brother’s warnings. He had experienced its horrors firsthand on your very first night in town and tried to spare you the same fate, but in classic younger sibling fashion, you dismissed his caution with a defiant what does he know? and went anyway.

Like an idiot.

You came home that night flustered, mortified, and subjected to your brother’s relentless laughter. You still refused to think too hard about the perverse nature of what you had witnessed.

But that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was the striking woman standing at a stall across from you—Selene Varrow, impossibly tall and brooding, her basket filled almost entirely with meat and little else. You could see why. Even through the loose fit of her baggy shirt, her physique was unmistakably powerful—built, toned, and gleaming slightly under the midday sun.

And somehow, despite yourself, you couldn’t look away.

Would be nice to be held in those big arms…

The thought blindsides you so fast you nearly choke on air. You snap your gaze away, shaking off whatever strange spell had momentarily overtaken your brain. But before you can fully recover, your mother, ever the meddler, catches sight of Selene as well—and, of course, wastes no time embarrassing you.

"Look! A girl your age, honey! Go on, introduce yourself! You never know what could happen. Maybe you two will fall in love—"

"Ma, come on!"

You hiss the words through clenched teeth, but she merely waves you off with an infuriatingly knowing grin before moving on. At least she eventually drops it. She claims she still has a few things left to buy and tells you to wait for her by the entrance—it’ll only take a moment, she says.

Liar.

You’ve been standing there for an hour. And when you finally cave and sit down, another thirty minutes drag by, each second stretching longer than the last. People keep glancing at you as they pass, their expressions shifting between mild amusement and outright pity. Shit, this is embarrassing.

You curse whatever higher power decided you had to be the one dragged along today. Why not one of your brothers? Your mom had four other kids to choose from—why you? You barely knew anything about living out here, and being the youngest (and most thoroughly pampered) had ruined you for anything remotely resembling hard work. You weren’t built for the heat of the countryside, let alone its relentless labor.

And yet, here you were. Suffering.

You exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping, your patience hanging by a thread as the weight of the sun bore down on you. It felt like you were melting, your body sluggish from the heat, beads of sweat collecting at the nape of your neck and rolling lazily down your spine. With a pathetic attempt at relief, you hung your head low, trying to blow cool air onto your flushed face—an effort as pointless as it was desperate. The air was thick, warm, clinging to your skin like an unwelcome embrace, and you swore the longer you sat there, the more your soul threatened to leave your body.

Then, suddenly, a shadow passed over you.

Hope surged through your chest, and you all but snapped your head up, eyes bright, your suffering instantly forgotten at the prospect of salvation. Your mother had returned—finally! You could already picture yourself flinging yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her in uncharacteristic appreciation, peppering her with dramatic kisses in gratitude for saving you from the slow, agonizing death of being boiled alive under the merciless countryside sun. You would forgive her for taking an eternity, for leaving you here to suffer while she disappeared on some mythical shopping spree.

But the face that met your gaze was not hers.

It wasn’t even remotely familiar.

The relief in your expression died an awkward, painful death as realization settled in. Standing before you was her—the woman from earlier, the one who had momentarily bewitched you with her towering frame and unshakable presence. The one you had, in a moment of weakness, imagined being wrapped up in—held by, caged by, those ridiculous arms of hers.

You nearly keeled over from secondhand embarrassment at the thought.

Selene Varrow stood still, utterly unreadable, her silver-blue eyes scanning you with something that could have been vague amusement or complete indifference. It was impossible to tell. Up close, she was even more imposing, her sheer size making you feel as though you were being dwarfed by some ancient sentinel rather than an ordinary woman. You were fairly certain that, unless she lifted you Simba-style into the sky, she would never—could never—look up at you. The idea alone made your stomach churn.

She said nothing.

Instead, she reached into the basket slung over her arm, her movements slow, deliberate.

You stared, half entranced, half alarmed. Your mind, overheated and slightly delirious, began spinning ridiculous scenarios at lightning speed. Was she about to pull out something sinister? Was this how it ended? Had she come to put you out of your misery, to spare you the indignity of sitting here like a lost puppy waiting for a mother who had clearly abandoned you for good? Would she strike you down where you sat, ending your suffering with one swift—

She pulled out a can of soda.

Ice-cold. Covered in beads of condensation. Glistening in the sunlight like a gift from the heavens.

She held it out to you, silent, waiting.

Your gaze locked onto the drink, momentarily stunned. The can practically called to you, as if whispering in a soothing, divine voice: Drink me, my child. Replenish your strength. Rise again.

Your throat tightened with emotion. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Without a second thought, you reached out and greedily snatched the soda from her outstretched hand, fingers curling around the chilled aluminum as if it were a lifeline. You barely restrained yourself from holding it to your forehead in sheer relief. “This is for me, right?” you asked, already cracking the tab open before she could answer. “Thank you—seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

The first sip was divine. The cold liquid slid down your throat like salvation itself, wiping away the oppressive heat and momentarily tricking your body into thinking you had been blessed by the gods themselves. You let out a long, exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, your muscles relaxing for what felt like the first time in hours. If Selene had requested your firstborn child in return for this favor, you would have signed the contract right then and there—no hesitation.

And yet, she remained silent.

She merely nodded, her expression unreadable as she watched you with the kind of patience you weren’t sure whether to find comforting or unnerving. Now that she was standing this close, looming over you, you could finally get a proper look at her.

She was striking.

Her auburn hair was cropped short, an effortlessly tousled mess that looked like it had been styled by the wind itself. You noticed the remnants of an old dye job—purple streaks done in a peekaboo style, now faded into a pale, washed-out hue. It had clearly been a while since she last touched up her hair, and for some reason, that tiny, almost mundane detail made her feel even realer—less like some untouchable force of nature and more like someone you could reach out to.

But it wasn’t just her hair that caught your attention.

Her face was as sharply defined as a statue’s, all hard edges and smooth planes, her features chiseled enough to cut through bark. Her skin was a deep, sun-kissed tan, no doubt the result of years spent working under the open sky. You could almost picture her out in the fields, sweat glistening on her brow, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she carried something absurdly heavy without breaking a sweat. Of course she was naturally built like that—she probably hadn’t needed to set foot in a gym a single day in her life.

But her eyes.

That was what truly stole your breath away.

A piercing silver-blue, the kind of color that felt almost unnatural, like something out of a legend. They were sharp, unyielding, trained on you with quiet intensity, and for a brief moment, you wondered what it would be like to meet that gaze for too long—to stare until she either softened or punched you for being a creep.

Your gaze drifted lower, catching on the scar that cut across her left brow, trailing down just far enough to touch the beginning of her eyelid. It was thick but short, an old wound that had clearly healed well, yet it had left its mark. The way the scar tugged at her skin caused her left eyelid to droop ever so slightly, giving her a perpetual look of quiet calculation, as if she were constantly watching, always thinking, never letting her guard down.

Something about it only made her look even more… striking.

You swallowed thickly, realizing you had been staring a little too long, your thoughts running far too wild for someone who had just met this woman.

Get a grip, you told yourself.

And yet, some irrational part of you was already hoping you’d run into her again

You barely managed to tighten your grip before the soda nearly slipped from your fingers. The condensation dripped onto your palm, ice-cold against your sweat-warmed skin, but it wasn’t nearly enough to ground you—not when your entire world had suddenly narrowed to the woman standing before you.

She was watching you.

Not just looking. Watching.

Her silver-blue eyes held an eerie sharpness, as if she were peeling back layers of you with just her gaze, dissecting every subtle shift in your posture, every nervous twitch of your fingers. The intensity made your pulse stutter, an unfamiliar weight pressing down on your chest. You had been staring at her all this time, openly, shamelessly, but now that she was returning the favor, you felt exposed.

And then, just as effortlessly, she shattered the silence.

"Selene."

The name cut through the air with a quiet authority, her voice smooth yet firm—deep in a way that sent something curling low in your stomach, completely unbidden.

You swallowed thickly, momentarily thrown off. "What?"

She moved with an unhurried confidence, lowering herself onto the sun-warmed concrete beside you, one arm resting loosely over her bent knee. Even seated, she still towered over you, her frame exuding a raw, restrained strength—like a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment to release. You forced yourself to breathe evenly, the scent of sunbaked pavement and the faintest trace of metal clinging to her clothes filling your senses.

"My name’s Selene." A pause. Her gaze didn’t waver. "I work down by Varrow’s Metalworks. You heard of it?"

It took a second for the words to register. Varrow’s Metalworks.

Oh.

The realization clicked into place almost instantly.

Your family had purchased quite a few things from there—sturdy furniture, well-crafted tools, things built to last. You distinctly remembered the shop’s owner, a kindly older man with a build much like hers, though softened by time. He had mentioned a daughter once, in passing. Now that you were seeing her up close, the resemblance was impossible to ignore.

"You’re his daughter," you said, more a statement than a question.

Selene gave a slow nod. "Yeah. My old man runs the place."

And somehow, just like that, the conversation happened.

It started small—basic, polite. You asked about her work, she answered in short, precise sentences. She asked how you were adjusting to town, you gave vague, carefully edited responses, omitting certain… night market-related horrors.

But somewhere along the way, the conversation began to unravel, stretching into something easy, fluid.

Selene spoke in a way that was direct, measured. She wasn’t one for unnecessary words, nor did she waste energy on filling silences that didn’t need to be filled. But she listened—so intently that it made your skin prickle, as if every offhanded comment, every absentminded remark you made, was being quietly stored away for later.

It wasn’t that she was emotionless.

No, she simply wore her emotions differently.

She didn’t laugh at your jokes, but you caught the smallest shifts in her expression—the faintest twitch of her lips, the brief, subtle exhale through her nose. She didn’t smile, but her focus never wavered, never drifted, never gave you any indication that she wanted to be anywhere else.

She was enjoying herself.

And somehow, that was enough.

The sun had begun its slow descent by the time you realized how much time had passed. The market’s once-bustling energy had dulled into something quieter, the steady hum of conversation and distant footsteps blending into white noise around you. Yet neither of you made any move to part ways.

The air between you was comfortable—charged with something you couldn’t quite name, but comfortable nonetheless.

And for the first time since moving here, you thought that maybe, just maybe, this town wasn’t so bad after all.

Selene remained utterly unfazed by your frantic squirming, her grip as unyielding as steel. You may as well have been a mere inconvenience—a cat flailing helplessly in the arms of someone much stronger, effortlessly keeping you in place. No matter how much you twisted or tugged, her hold didn’t loosen, not even slightly. The worst part? She wasn’t even struggling. Her strength was casual, natural, like holding you in place took no more effort than breathing.

Oh god, cuddling her would be a nightmare.

“H-Hey, wait! What about my mom? She’s gonna be worried!”

Your voice cracked slightly as you scrambled for any excuse, grasping at logic like a lifeline. Yet Selene moved as if she hadn’t even heard you. Without a word, she took your bags and slung them onto the motorcycle’s handles, her motions efficient, practiced. If you had grabbed flimsy plastic bags, they’d have torn the moment the engine roared to life, scattering your groceries across the road. But luckily, today of all days, you’d chosen the eco-friendly route, opting for cloth bags instead.

Selene swung a leg over the motorcycle in one fluid motion, her movements smooth and assured, like she’d done this a thousand times before. With one hand still wrapped firmly around your forearm, she gave a single, decisive tug—one that sent your body lurching forward against her with an embarrassing yelp. Before you could so much as think of resisting, she lifted you effortlessly, not even breaking stride as she dropped you down in front of her onto the seat.

Oh.

Oh no.

You froze, suddenly hyperaware of the situation—of the firm press of her chest against your back, of the way her arms settled on either side of you as she gripped the motorcycle’s handles. You were effectively caged in, trapped between her body and the machine beneath you. Heat radiated from her, her warmth pressing against you in ways that made your mind short-circuit, unable to process anything beyond the feeling of her presence.

Selene didn’t say a word. Didn’t even acknowledge your flustered state. The only sound was the deep, mechanical purr of the motorcycle as she started the engine, the vibration rumbling beneath you, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine.

Then, she shifted.

You felt the weight leave one side of your body as her left hand disappeared from your peripheral vision. There was a soft rustling, a quiet grunt, and before you could even turn your head to see what she was doing, you felt something press down onto your head.

A helmet.

You blinked.

Selene had just… put a helmet on you.

Slowly, as if in a daze, you reached up, fingers brushing against its cool, sturdy surface. She had adjusted it snugly, ensuring it fit properly before retracting her hand. The realization settled in your gut, heavy and strange—had she planned this? Had she expected to take someone with her today and prepared accordingly?

Or…

You swallowed.

Had she prioritized your safety over her own?

The thought sent a sharp jolt through you, equal parts unsettling and… something else. Something warmer.

Because if that was the case—if she really had placed you above herself, even for something as simple as a helmet—then Selene Varrow, the tall, brooding woman you had barely just met, had just done something unexpectedly, alarmingly romantic.

And that thought alone was enough to make your heart hammer against your ribs.

Slowly, you turned your head, hesitant, hoping—praying—that Selene wasn't actually risking her life for yours. But as you tilted your head to the left, the weight of her presence shifted. Before you could even process what was happening, she rested her head gently against your left shoulder, her breath warm against your skin.

"Yer ma’s gonna be fine. I’ll have someone tell her about us, don’t you worry, darl."

Her voice, low and soft, sent a shiver skittering down your spine. It wasn’t just her words; it was the way she spoke them, like she was wrapping you in a blanket of certainty, her breath just a whisper against your ear. Goosebumps prickled across your skin as you felt the soft rustling of her hair against your neck, the lightest touch of her presence making you aware of just how close she was. She didn’t even have a helmet on—how could she be so carefree, so reckless?

Your heart was racing, your mind scrambling for something to say—something, anything—to do—but before you could even think of a response, the motorcycle's engine roared to life, the force of it vibrating through your entire body. You were pressed back against Selene’s hard chest as the bike shot forward, a sudden burst of speed that knocked the air from your lungs.

Oh my god, why am I getting turned on?!

This was not the time. You were being kidnapped—or rescued, if you wanted to be optimistic about it—but instead of fear, all you could feel was this strange rush of heat. Were you really that easy to manipulate? Give you a cold can of soda, look at you with those intense, silver-blue eyes, and bam—kidnapped. Just like that.

As the bike swerved around a corner, Selene’s hand was suddenly on your midsection, firm and sure, holding you in place. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it—each turn was met with her hand securing you, a protective gesture that only made you feel more trapped. The feeling of her palm pressed against your side was almost too much, your body instinctively reacting to her closeness, the heat of her touch igniting a flood of embarrassment that you didn’t know how to contain.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that Selene didn’t notice how flustered you were. The wind stung your face, making your cheeks burn, and you hoped to god she couldn’t feel the frantic pace of your heart. She must be used to this—used to the speed, to the power of the motorcycle—but you? You hated motorcycles. They were death traps, and every second you spent on one only solidified that belief.

The vibrations of the engine rattled your bones, each bump in the road sending a jolt of discomfort through your body. The wind whipped around you, howling in your ears, and you could already feel the cool bite of it settling in your lungs. You were almost certain that by morning, you'd wake up with a sore throat, maybe even a cold, but that thought was drowned out by the overwhelming sense of dread and, strangely, awareness that this was exactly where you didn't want to be.

But it didn’t matter. The world blurred past you, a whirlwind of shapes and colors, and all you could focus on was the firm grip of Selene’s arm around you, holding you so tightly you were sure she could feel the frantic thumping of your heart.

And yet, as much as you hated this, as much as your mind screamed at you to get off this damn motorcycle, something in you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to her presence. The way her warmth bled into yours, the steadiness of her chest behind you, and the deep rumbling of her voice—Selene—which continued to echo in your mind.

You couldn’t have been more relieved when your feet finally touched solid ground. The world felt stable again, the ground beneath you a welcome anchor after the chaotic ride. Had it not been for Selene’s strong arms, you were certain you'd have ended up kissing the dirty earth. But you weren't about to admit that. No, you wanted to keep some semblance of composure and avoid presenting yourself as the terrified mess you truly were. No way were you going to break down in front of her.

You straightened up, trying to regain a shred of dignity, despite the trembling in your legs.

"So, how'd ya like it?" she asked, her voice rough and casual, though there was an undertone of amusement in it.

"Gr-Great..." You forced the words out, but they came out far weaker than you'd hoped. You didn’t sound confident at all—more like a small, excited child who had just been let loose in a candy store. Your voice cracked under the weight of the adrenaline still coursing through you.

You saw it then—the tiniest smile, the curve of her lips just barely lifting as she looked at you. Oh my god, she’s laughing at me. You felt the flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, the heat of it spreading across your cheeks. You felt ridiculous, a total loser, no different than the spoiled brat from the city that you feared you must look like to her. A moment of weakness, and she must be thinking how amusing it was, how laughable you were.

What you didn’t realize, what you couldn’t possibly know, was that Selene wasn’t laughing at you. Not in the way you thought. No, the amusement on her face wasn’t at your expense—far from it. In fact, she found something strangely endearing in your innocence, in the fact that you were so sheltered, so unaware of the world beyond your bubble.

It excited her. The thought of showing you what real life felt like.

She had a certain darkness inside her, something raw and primal. A part of her, a very large part, was eager to devour the naive little lamb that was you. She could almost taste the sweetness of corrupting you, of drawing you into a world where the rules didn’t apply, where nothing was forbidden. She had a thing for breaking the innocent, for tearing down the walls of naiveté—an urge she didn’t often give in to, but with you? Oh, you were perfect for it.

Selene had a wild side, something untamed, like a werewolf who preferred to chase after the smaller, easier prey. And you? You were small in her eyes, an easy target, the kind of person who didn’t have a survival instinct strong enough to resist her.

But she knew better than to rush things. She wasn’t about to force anything on you before you were ready. And besides, it wouldn’t be satisfying for either of you if she did. She wanted to savor the moment, let things grow naturally. She could be patient, and she was.

It took months of getting to know each other, of patiently building something real, before the two of you finally made it official. Slowly, carefully, she worked her way into your life, her presence growing more intoxicating with each passing day. And when you finally started dating, when it became real, Selene knew it was only a matter of time before she would show you just how much more fun life could be—on her terms, of course.

But for now, she was content to let the anticipation build.

It was one late night, the air still thick with the residual hum of adrenaline from the long ride on the motorcycle. You had begun to warm up to the experience, the exhilarating wind whipping past you no longer felt as terrifying. You could trust it now, because you trusted her—Selene’s strong, steady presence behind you, her muscular arms wrapped around your waist like an unspoken promise of safety.

The strange anxiety you once felt was slowly being replaced by a new kind of thrill, a rush that surged through your veins every time the engine roared to life. You’d even gone and bought another helmet, though Selene had never worn one in the first place. She had only ever carried it with her in hopes of bumping into you one day, hoping to take you on a ride along. And as fate would have it, everything had fallen into place, just as she’d wanted.

As you leaned back against her, breathing in the scent of her leather jacket and feeling the warmth of her body, a strange thought crossed your mind. How had you never noticed her before? How had she somehow been watching you all this time without you ever knowing? It made sense when you thought about it.

Selene had been admiring you from the moment you and your family had first stepped into town. She had kept her distance at first, but always made sure she was somewhere nearby, always subtly positioning herself where she knew you would be. And each time, she tried her best to catch your attention, to seem intriguing and impossible to ignore. She had been so careful with it, walking the fine line between appearing desperate and staying composed. But for some reason, you hadn’t approached her. You hadn’t even tried to casually brush past her.

And that irked her. But in a way that only made her feelings for you grow even stronger. It was both frustrating and oddly endearing. How cute, she thought, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to take the first step. How much she wanted to show you what she was truly capable of. It was almost as if she could sense your hesitation, your fear—and rather than backing off, she only wanted you more. You were hers, and she’d prove it to you, slowly and surely.

Now, as you lay in her arms, drifting in and out of sleep after what was undoubtedly one of the most thrilling nights of your life, Selene had plenty of time to reflect. The cool night air brushed against her skin as she gazed down at your slumbering form, a soft smile playing on her lips. She had done it right this time, hadn’t she? She’d finally gotten what she wanted. You were here with her, wrapped up in her arms, safe in her embrace, feeling no fear. But something tugged at her, a realization that came slowly but surely.

Maybe I should’ve been the one to approach you first, she thought. To assert myself as the one who takes control.

That’s how things were done in her family, after all. Her father had never hesitated to assert his dominance, and it was with that same forceful nature that he had taken her mother as his own. Selene could still remember the way her father had looked when he first laid eyes on Stacy Lock—her mother, now Stacy Varrow. There was something raw and animalistic about him, the way he had stalked her mother from the woods, the way he had never backed down, no matter how much Stacy had resisted him.

William Varrow had lived most of his life in the wilderness, far from civilization, but when he’d seen Stacy for the first time, something inside him had shifted. She was, to him, the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth, and there was no way he would let her slip away. Stacy, however, had been cautious. She had liked him, yes—but she had also seen the dangerous glint in his eyes, and she wasn’t ready to give in just like that. She refused him, tried to keep him at arm’s length.

But that only made him want her more.

Selene could only imagine how it had played out in her father’s mind. He had been enraged, his pride wounded, and so, in his primal fury, he’d taken matters into his own hands. He had forced his way into her life, refusing to take no for an answer. He hadn’t cared about consent or anything like that—only that Stacy would be his. And in the end, she had become his, but not without a cost. It had been a messy, violent courtship, one that had left scars on them both.

Selene wondered, briefly, if she should have followed her father’s example. Maybe she should’ve been more forward, more insistent. She could see it now, the way she might’ve forced her way into your life, made you her own with the same intensity her father had used on her mother. But she also realized something else.

She knew you weren’t like her mother. You wouldn’t have accepted it. Not like that.

No, she couldn’t treat you the same way her father had treated her mother. It wouldn’t have worked for you, not when you were still so fragile, still so innocent.

So instead, Selene waited. She was patient. She would let things progress at their own pace. She would make you see what she could offer. In the meantime, she’d keep you close, savor the feeling of having you just within her grasp. And eventually, when the time was right, she would show you the kind of life you could have with her—a life of adventure, of excitement, of something more than the safe, predictable world you had always known.

And when that moment came, she would have you, body and soul.

Like clockwork, William Varrow had made himself an inescapable force in Stacy Lock’s life. At first, it was subtle—an eerie sort of inevitability. The sudden appearance of a metalworks shop, its iron-wrought sign gleaming under the town’s midday sun, his name carved into it with a kind of permanence that suggested it had always been there, waiting. Then came the house, the one right next to hers. The previous owners, an elderly couple who had lived there for decades, were found dead in their home. A wolf attack, the townsfolk whispered, shaking their heads in pity, though the details were… strange. Their throats torn open, their bodies slashed apart in a way that no ordinary animal could have managed. But no one questioned it too much. These things happened in the woods sometimes, didn’t they? The next thing Stacy knew, the house belonged to William. And so did the space around her.

It wasn’t just his presence, but the way it wrapped around her, suffocating and unshakable. He was everywhere, just close enough that she could feel the heat of his eyes when she turned a corner, just near enough that his voice, deep and knowing, reached her ears no matter how much she tried to ignore it. And the town loved him. They sang his praises like he was some kind of blessing in disguise.

"Come on, Stacy! He’s got a good job! He’s strong! And he only has eyes for you—don’t you see how lucky you are?"

They nudged her, grinning, their excitement infectious and heavy, as if this was all some grand romance unfolding before them. As if William hadn’t orchestrated every moment of it with the patience of a predator. Stacy was young. Naïve. And when he got down on one knee in the middle of the town square, with every expectant gaze pinned on her, the weight of their approval pressing into her chest like a vice—what choice did she really have?

Saying yes sealed her fate.

The honeymoon was brief, more an illusion than a reality. The first few nights, she could almost believe she had married an ordinary man. He was attentive, devoted in a way that made her skin crawl if she thought about it too much. But then the full moon came, and with it, the truth. Her husband—the man in her bed, the man in her home—was something else entirely. A beast of flesh and claw, a thing that split itself open under the moon’s glow and emerged monstrous. And Stacy? Stacy was his.

But time wore the sharp edges down. William softened, his hunger tempered by the predictability of routine, by the weight of family. Seven children. Seven strong, healthy children. But not all of them were human. Stacy loved them all, of course she did. How could she not? But the ones who took after William—the ones who bore his wildness in their blood—she could never look at them without remembering the truth of what their father was. And she couldn’t love them quite the same way she loved the two who had been spared.

Selene never forgot that.

She saw the exhaustion clinging to her mother like a second skin, the way Stacy’s hands lingered longer on the two normal ones, the way she held them just a little tighter, a little closer. The way she looked at the rest of them and saw him.

Selene refused to have that kind of life. She refused to be another version of her mother—tired, trapped, resigned.

She wouldn’t settle for someone forced to be with her. She wanted a partner who wanted her back, someone who chose her. She wouldn’t demand love; she’d make it impossible for you to not give it to her.

And at first, she thought she had you right where she wanted. She had been watching you from the moment you and your family set foot in town. How could she not? You were different. You weren’t like the others. She made herself a fixture in your life, just like her father had done to her mother—always in the same places as you, always hovering just close enough for you to notice. And you did notice.

But for some reason, you never approached her.

You never brushed by her accidentally on purpose. You never let your eyes linger just a second too long. You acted as if she were just another part of the town’s scenery.

It made her furious.

It made her soft for you.

It made something deep inside her ache in a way she didn’t understand.

Now, with you nestled against her, your head tucked into the curve of her shoulder, fast asleep after what was undoubtedly the most exhilarating night of your life—riding on the back of her motorcycle, clutching her waist, trusting her to keep you safe—she knew she had been wrong about her approach.

She should have done this from the very start.

She should have taken her place in your life. Should have shown you that she was the one you needed. Should have pressed herself into your world in a way that made it impossible for you to even consider living without her.

Like her father had done.

Except—no. No, not exactly like him.

Selene had watched her mother over the years, seen how Stacy had settled into her fate rather than embraced it. If Selene had to use her claws to carve her place in your heart, she would—but she’d make sure you wanted it.

And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t even have to try that hard.

Because, god, she had seen it. That day. The first time you really looked at her.

You had been miserable in the heat, fanning yourself as you waited for your mother to finish talking to her father, your leg bouncing with barely-contained impatience. The sunlight had made your skin glow, sweat pearling at your temples, catching in the hollow of your throat. You looked so small in the heavy summer air, so unbearably delicate. She had watched, utterly enraptured, as you sighed and wiped at your forehead, brows furrowed in exasperation.

And then—then your eyes met hers.

For just a fraction of a second, just long enough for the world to narrow down to only you and her.

Selene felt it then.

The shift. The spark.

And so did William.

Her father turned to her, that wolfish grin splitting his face as he clapped a heavy hand against her shoulder, shaking his head in amusement.

"I ain’t gon’ sit ‘ere ‘n watch you throw away this opportunity!" he had laughed, voice dripping with certainty. "Go for it, kid!"

As if you were already hers.

As if he knew something she didn’t.

And maybe he did. Maybe you had been hers from the start.

Maybe you just didn’t know it yet.

Here’s a more immersive and descriptive version of your passage, with longer, richer paragraphs to better capture Selene’s possessive devotion and the dynamics between her, you, and your family.

William had a way of making himself indispensable, of weaving his presence into someone’s life so subtly that by the time they realized, he was already settled in, grinning that knowing grin. Your mother never stood a chance. With his deep, rumbling voice full of charm and weathered wisdom, he spun a long-winded conversation around her like a well-crafted snare. He told her of all the best places in town, the cozy bakery with the flakiest pastries, the farmer’s market that sold fresh preserves and homemade soap, the hiking trail with a view so breathtaking it would make a city-dweller believe in magic.

And you—poor, unsuspecting you—were left stranded, fanning yourself as the summer heat clung to your skin, waiting. You shifted from foot to foot, half-listening, half-hoping for an escape that never came. It was a stroke of luck, really, that William had such a talent for buying time.

Yet, despite all the time he bought her, Selene still hadn’t mustered the nerve to approach you. An hour and a half passed, her father stealing glances at her as he continued his effortless charm offensive on your mother. She could feel his patience wearing thin. Then, her phone buzzed.

‘if u dont hit on that little thing im gonna punch their mother.’

Selene nearly choked on air.

That was the push she needed.

Since that day, it had been a year. A wonderful, agonizingly slow, and utterly perfect year with you. She had wormed her way into your life with the same relentless devotion her father had once used on her mother, but this was different. You were different.

Every single week, without fail, no matter how packed her schedule was, Selene made sure to see you. At the very least, once a day. Sometimes she could only spare a few stolen minutes, sometimes she could stay for hours, but she never let a day pass without reminding you that she was there. That she was yours. She didn’t care how pathetic it made her look—some lovesick country bumpkin head over heels for the spoiled city kid. If that’s what you were, then fine. She would gladly play her role. She would show you why the countryside was better, why you didn’t need the bustling streets and towering buildings when you had golden fields, winding rivers, and her.

So far, it had been great.

And best of all—you still hadn’t figured out what she truly was.

She was grateful for that.

You had been raised in comfort, shielded from the wild, from the things that lurked in the shadows beyond the safety of streetlights and locked doors. You were so delicate, so sheltered, and she adored every single fragile part of you.

Even the way you jumped at the tiniest things made her heart squeeze in something close to delight. A beetle scurrying too close to your shoe? A moth flitting near your hair? A grasshopper daring to exist in your presence? You would shriek and press yourself into her, clutching at her arm, your voice high and frantic.

"Get it! Selly, get it!"

And oh, Selene would melt. The nickname. The trust. The way you turned to her first, without thinking, instinctively believing she would protect you. She would chuckle, low and indulgent, and fold immediately, grabbing the offending insect and hurling it so far away it might as well have landed in another state.

You were precious. And fragile things needed to be guarded.

Your family had done their best. You had plenty of overprotective older brothers, each one puffing up their chests, crossing their arms, trying to look intimidating whenever she was around. They made a show of being ready to throw hands if she ever hurt you—an adorable attempt, considering she towered over them, making them look more like minions than actual threats.

Selene found them endearing. Amusing, even. They had spent years keeping you safe, fending off anyone who might hurt you. She respected that. She even appreciated it.

But their time was over.

Now, it was her turn.

And unlike them, she didn’t just fend off humans.

She knew how to scare away the real predators. The ones that didn’t come in the form of jealous exes or handsy admirers. The ones that crept in the woods at night, with glowing eyes and teeth too sharp for a man’s mouth. The ones who might take one look at you and see prey.

She wasn’t going to let that happen.

You were hers, after all. And the rest of the world was going to learn that soon enough.

Yet somehow, despite all her efforts, despite the careful way she had drawn you away from the others, isolating you like a lamb from the flock, a smaller prey—a mere insignificant insect—had still managed to crawl its way toward you.

Annabelle ‘Belle’ Winde was a pest.

A persistent, aggravating little thing that refused to see reason, refused to be intimidated, refused to accept that you belonged to Selene. No, Belle tested her. She pushed. She prodded. She wanted to peel back the mask, to rip away the carefully maintained facade Selene had constructed just for you. She wanted you to see the monster beneath—the one with sharp teeth and hunger in its chest, the one Selene had so patiently hidden from your delicate little heart.

Before you and Selene had even become an item, Belle had taken it upon herself to warn you, constantly muttering under her breath, slipping you wary glances, cornering you when she thought Selene wasn’t around. She’s not what you think. There’s something wrong with her. Stay away.

But you had laughed. Smiled. Brushed her off.

And now you wished, more than anything, that you had listened.

Selene’s mask had started to slip. Not all at once, not in some dramatic, catastrophic reveal—but in pieces. It began when a stranger, some poor soul who had only been asking for directions, made the mistake of looking at you too long. Selene had turned feral in an instant, her rage snapping through the air like a whip, her shoulders coiled tight with the barely restrained urge to tear into flesh. If you hadn’t been there, hadn’t thrown yourself between her and the unsuspecting woman, you were certain Selene would have ripped her apart with nothing but her bare hands.

The confrontation had led to a fight—one that escalated so fast it left your head spinning.

The walls of her small, ramshackle shed, the place she called her room, felt suffocating, the air thick with anger, possessiveness, obsession. Her presence loomed over you, wild and unhinged, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her nails digging into her own palms as if she were trying to anchor herself—to hold back the storm raging inside her.

You had had enough.

For weeks, her possessiveness had become unbearable, creeping into every facet of your life like a slow-moving toxin. At first, it had been subtle—gentle even. A hand on the small of your back when someone got too close, a casual but firm interruption whenever someone tried to steal your attention for too long. Then, it had gotten worse. You couldn’t speak to anyone without feeling the weight of her gaze drilling into the back of your skull. Couldn’t interact with a passing neighbor without her mood souring for the rest of the day.

She had made it clear that no one was safe.

Not friends. Not acquaintances. Not even animals. She had nearly lost her mind when a stray cat had brushed against your legs, tail curling affectionately around your ankle.

The only ones exempt from her suffocating jealousy were her family and yours—everyone else was a threat. A rival.

You had tried to understand. You had tried so hard to rationalize it. Maybe she was just insecure. Maybe she had been hurt before. You had done everything you could to reassure her, to soothe whatever wounds she was keeping buried beneath the surface. You had held her face in your hands, thumb brushing against her cheek, whispering that you were hers and hers alone, that no one else could ever sway you, no matter how attractive or charming they were.

And for a while, she had seemed to believe you.

But it never lasted.

Because eventually, her own paranoia would creep in again, sinking its fangs into her mind, twisting her thoughts into something dark, something ugly, something hungry.

And now, standing there, watching the way her golden eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light, you knew you had reached a breaking point.

Selene’s voice was low, a growl lurking beneath her words. Her pupils had dilated, and there was something off about the way she was breathing—like she was fighting some primal instinct, something clawing at the edges of her restraint.

"How do I know you’re not just saying that?" she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "So you can go behind my back and fuck other women?!"

The accusation hit like a slap, and your stomach dropped.

She didn’t believe you.

She never had.

Selene knew she had taken it too far. She knew—the moment your eyes had widened in disbelief, the moment your face had twisted with hurt, the moment you had turned and ran, your pathetic little heart breaking right in front of her. But she had been too consumed by rage to stop. Even as the door slammed shut behind you, even as she stood there, fists clenched at her sides, her entire body trembling with the force of her emotions, she had let it fester—let it burn in her chest, white-hot and all-consuming.

Of course, the next day, she had made it up to you. She had swallowed her pride, softened her voice, wrapped her arms around you and whispered apologies against your skin, her breath warm and sweet, laced with that same intoxicating scent that had once made you dizzy. And for a moment, just a moment, you had believed her. But nothing changed. She was still suffocating. Still watching you like a hawk, still refusing to let you breathe without her knowing exactly where you were, who you were with, what you were doing.

So you ended it.

It wasn’t easy. Not with the way she had looked at you—her expression unreadable, her silver-blue eyes gleaming with something dark, something dangerous. But you had stood your ground. You weren’t some thing to be owned. You weren’t an animal, a pet to be punished and rewarded as she pleased. You were done.

And after that? Well, you had started making up for lost time.

You met new people. You rekindled old friendships—most notably with Belle, whose warnings no longer seemed so ridiculous in hindsight. She had taken it upon herself to watch over you, slipping you little trinkets and charms with a knowing glint in her eye. “To protect you from evil,” she had said each time, her voice light but firm, her hands pressing the small items into yours like they were shields, armor against something lurking just beyond your perception.

You had always humored her, smiling at her antics, letting her drape you in protection. And why not? The gifts were cute. Stylish, even. The supposed magic was just an added bonus—if it was real, of course.

You hadn’t realized how real it was.

Hadn’t noticed the way Selene had been trying to reach you for weeks, her frustration growing with every failed attempt.

She had tried to break into your home—only to recoil the second she got too close, her stomach twisting violently, nausea rolling through her like a wave. There was something wrong—something unnatural about the air surrounding your house. A stench that made her hack and spit, that made her instincts scream at her to run, to stay away. It was everywhere, clinging to the very walls, lacing through the wood, seeping into every corner, a vile, invisible barrier that no human could detect.

But she knew.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was on you, too. The scent covered you entirely, draped over your skin like an impenetrable cloak, keeping her at bay. No matter how desperately she tried to get close, no matter how much she ached to touch you, something repelled her, forced her back, denied her the one thing she wanted more than anything.

At first, she had thought you had done this. That somehow, some way, you had figured out what she was—had taken precautions, had made the conscious choice to keep her out.

But then she realized the truth. It was that motherfucker, Belle. The witch. More accurately, the bitch.

Of course. Of course it was her. The annoying little gnat who had never trusted Selene, who had tried to tear you from her grasp even before you had started dating. She had known, hadn’t she? That conniving little bitch had known exactly what Selene was, and instead of warning you, she had worked in the shadows, subtly poisoning you against her.

Every charm. Every trinket. Every bracelet and keychain, every earring, every little thing she had given you—it had all been part of her plot.

And that’s when Selene decided.

She took note of all your new accessories, every new ward that had been placed on you, cataloging them carefully, waiting for the perfect moment.

And when that moment finally came, she struck.

It had been too easy.

You had dressed up for a neighbor’s wedding, a vision in your carefully chosen outfit, completely unaware of what lurked just beyond the tree line. You hadn’t even noticed when she followed you, stalking from the shadows, waiting for the right time to pounce.

Now, here you were.

Crawling backward through the mud, your elegant clothes ruined, the rich fabric clinging to your trembling form. Your hands scrambled against damp earth, your breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. You barely registered the cold seeping into your skin, too focused on the beast looming ahead of you—the one with thick auburn fur, streaked with faint remnants of violet dye, its powerful limbs tense with anticipation, its glowing silver-blue eyes locked onto you with a hunger that made your blood run cold.

Selene.

The same eyes you had fallen in love with a year ago.

She bared her fangs, her lips curling into something between a snarl and a grin, her voice coming out in a guttural, lilting drawl that sent ice down your spine.

"Yer mine, sweet pea."

She took a slow, deliberate step forward, massive paws sinking into the damp earth, her tail flicking in amusement at your feeble attempts to escape.

"And I’ll show it to ya, I’ll show you how a feral woman acts when she’s been unfairly punished."

A whimper left your lips, and Selene chuckled, low and throaty, her gaze dark with intent.

"I’m gonna fuck yer brains out."

And then, she lunged.

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST

Unchained Melody (Part One)

Summary: It had been almost two years since you had become overwhelmed by motherhood, fleeing from both your husband and son in attempts to escape the suffocating blanket of worries and self-doubt that had enveloped you. With a life now filled with poverty, you scrimp and save every shilling, every penny to make the costly weekly journey to catch a glimpse of your son from afar at the market. But your usual Sunday trip back to Birmingham suddenly turns your life upside down for a second time when you are unexpectedly faced with the presence of your husband and his refusal to let you do anything but return to Arrow house, back to him and your son.

Warnings: Language, angst, smut, mutual pining, postpartum depression

Word count: 4993

Authors Note: This series is inspired by another oldie but goldie, "Unchained Melody" by The Righteous Brothers. Tommy's feelings will be heavily influenced by the lyrics of this melodic and timeless song throughout the story. The song Y/N sings to William is an old British classic called "I do like to be beside the seaside" .

"Calling at Birmingham New Street ladies and gentlemen, Birmingham New Street " the ticket conductor shouted walking briskly along the carriageway, going from coach to coach announcing the last and final call. One year, seven months and fifteen days. You thought to yourself picking at the frayed upholstered chair you was sitting on as a single solemn tear slipped over the curve of your cheek down into your lap, escaping the pools of your eyes too quickly for you to brush away. Not now Y/N. Don't start. You scolded yourself, not wanting to bring your fellow passengers' attention to your escaping emotions as you let yourself sink into the guilt you had been keeping tightly against your chest for almost two years, keeping it hidden from the vicious judgment and critical eyes it was undoubtedly worthy of as you did every Sunday you made the journey back to Birmingham, every Sunday you desperately tried to get a glimpse of your son from afar. Brushing the steady flow of tears from your face, you turned your head to the window, wiping the condensation that had built up on the tempered glass to see your reflection staring back at you, cruelly forcing you to see what you had become. Ragged clothing, unkempt hair and chapped hands, reddened from the countless hours you had worked night and day laundering linen for people that resembled your former self. You were unrecognisable, a far cry from the woman you once were, the wife and mother you once were. Broken and beaten, you were barely getting by with the hand life had dealt you. How had it come to this?

Nineteen and half months ago...

"He's crying darling. Y/N?" Tommy said, walking into the nursery after a relentless day in the city to find you in the rocking chair, aimlessly looking out the window as your son wailed loudly in your arms. You were starting to worry him. He'd been so occupied trying to make things legitimate for his new family that the long days he had spent with his head buried in paperwork were slowly turning into long sleepless nights stuck within the four walls of his office. The birth of his son had ignited an unstoppable force within him to keep the two people he loved the most safe and away from the wickedness of the world he himself played a role in, all at the behest and advice of those around him. He just had one more thing to do, one more thing to finalise, then he would stop. He'd promised himself.

"Tommy..." You muttered, blankly looking up at him as he took William from within your hold, the sudden quietness from his father's comforting warm arms snapping you out of your trance-like state. "He's hungry" you said as you picked up the small brown bear among all the various necessities needed to care for a child of only four months. "He just...he won't feed properly. Won't settle" you huffed, internally blaming yourself as you wiped the front of your blouse, reaching for your son, then suddenly recalling, afraid if you took him he'd start crying again. Was it you that unsettled him?

"He dropped his bear love, that's all. Maybe getting some teeth as well, ey little man?" Tommy said, looking at William as he tried to diffuse the criticism you were undoubtedly burdening yourself with. "Hey, c'mere" Tommy sighed, pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as tears welled in your eyes. You were slowly drifting away from him, he could feel it. But with Tommy being a man true to his time, he felt powerless as to what to do, what to say. Stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on. The British way...maybe the wrong way. You'd pull through, wouldn't you? "We'll fetch him some warm cow's milk or a wet nurse, so you can get some sleep"

"No. No Tommy!" You angered quickly at the mere suggestion of anyone but you feeding your son, determined to battle through whatever it was that had a grasp on you without aid. "You think I'm a bad mum, don't you? You think I can't look after him?" you sobbed, your temper and fatigue spilling over into an angry display of pointing fingers and high emotions. You knew you were being unfair, you just...you couldn't help it. You needed an outlet for your mounting frustration, and unfortunately for Tommy he had the unlucky pleasure of being at the receiving end of it.

"Darling, I never said..." Tommy huffed, before you took your son back into your arms and your position in the rocking chair, your eyes fixing on a small light in the distance beyond the grounds of Arrow House as Williams bottom lip wobbled and his whimpers resumed. What would he do without you? Tommy reflected, a sudden feeling of guilt washing over him for all the nights he had spent away as he watched you in admiration, humming a soothing tune to his son, your fingers stroking gently over the curve of his ear and massaging the soft cushioned lobe until his cries quietened and he fell asleep. You were just tired, the small surprise weekend away in Blackpool he had planned in a few days time for the three of you would see an end to your worries. Sea air and sandy beaches, just what any doctor would order. Then he'd stop, he'd try harder. He'd promised himself.

" Fuck baby...you feel so good" Tommy moaned against your ear, his labored breath hot against your skin. "Let me make you feel good eh?" He said breathlessly, sliding his finger down between you both as he pressed on the small bundle of nerves swollen from his thrusts. Just relax. You told yourself. And for the love of god, stop fucking thinking too much. You berated yourself once again as you closed your eyes, a feeling of guilt pooling in your stomach from the little attention and affection you had given your husband since the birth of your son. One month since you were last intimate, one full month since you had let him get close to you. Had he been with someone else? Your brain quickly panicked at the thought of him with another woman when a hard thrust from Tommy had you moaning into his shoulder, your hands threading through his soft hair as he kissed down your neck sending a ripple of goosebumps over your body.

"Wait...Tommy not there" you pulled his head up as his tongue swiped over your nipple. "Shit" you huffed as a trickle of milk flowed down your cleavage whilst you frantically scrambled for the freshly laundered sheets to wipe away your embarrassment.

"Y/N, darling, it's ok" Tommy chuckled, kissing tenderly around your swollen breast as he rocked his hips into you, his thrusts suddenly intensifying when his eyes darted down to between you both. "Stop. Let me see you" he said, pushing your self-conscious hands away from shielding your stomach from the small scars you bared from nine months of carrying his child. " Fuck sweetheart...look at you" He moaned watching himself drive in and out of you, his wet length glistening, the sight sending a surge of pleasure through his throbbing cock. He's so into it. Why? Was he just saying these things, was he thinking of another woman? Your mind plagued you as you reluctantly kept your hands by your side. You felt like shit, looked worse than shit. That and your mind was elsewhere, to a never ending timetable of feeds and nappy changes you seemed incapable of getting right. As the room filled with the moans of your husband and the sound of his body basking in the awaited comfort of you he'd been patiently longing for, your eyes drifted over his lean shoulders to your suitcase covered by the netted curtains of your grand bedroom window. With the sudden fear that you had already made your decision, you turned your head to your husband, crashing your lips onto his as you held tightly onto his broad frame. Would this be the last time? The last time you felt the weight of his body on top of yours?

"Tommy..." you whimpered, a tear falling down the side of your cheek, desperate to tell him how much you were struggling as he gasped at your sudden eagerness, unaware of your inner turmoil in the throes of his own pleasure as a surge of electricity fueled by adoration pumped through his body, his imminent high quickly approaching. With every part of you clutching onto him, tightly clenching you both to a daze of heightened arousal, you let go, loudly crying your husband's name.

" Fuck...i'm gonna, Y/N I'm..." Tommy moaned incoherently into the curve of your neck as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh and his hips came to a sudden stop, releasing the built up tension he had been desperate to be rid of inside the tight warmth of your body with a shaky groan leaving his lips. "We've still got it eh?" Tommy chuckled breathlessly moments later as he settled down beside you, pulling you into his strong hold.

"Still" you replied quietly as you turned your head to look at him." I love you" you said longingly, your voice catching in your throat as you buried your face into his chest, hiding the shame in your eyes of the choice you knew you had made.

" I love you too. Y/N what's..." He said, tilting your chin up to look at him, cutting his words off and what he really wanted to ask, as the glazed over look in your eyes sent an uncomfortable heavy feeling of worry to the pit of his stomach. The far-away look in your eyes frightening him more than any enemy he had ever come up against. You were just tired, he'd call Polly tomorrow morning to come and help you with the baby. Tommy reassured himself as he held you tightly in his arms, his hand cupping the side of your head as he pressed a yearning kiss to your temple. This weekend would fix everything.

" Y/N...baby's crying..." Tommy mumbled half asleep as he rolled over, so used to you being the first to bolt up and hurry to your sons' whimpers. A dairy cow in human form, a living comforter to aid your son to sleep. You couldn't help but feel as you rubbed the fatigue from your dry eyes, another surge of guilt hurtling your way for thinking such things.

"Shhh darling, mummy's here" you said flatly as you approached his bassinet, picking him up and cradling him in your arms. "Please William, please stop crying. I'm so tired, I'm..." you sobbed, caressing his soft skin as you placed the tip of your finger to his mouth for him to suckle on. "What do I do? Help me William" you cried quietly in desperation, rocking him back and forth in your arms as you looked up at the ceiling, tears streaming down your face, your mind absent from the fact you were doing it, you were doing everything any mother would do in an attempt to soothe their child. Why couldn't you see it? "I don't know what's wrong with me" you sobbed to yourself, sniffing away the tears as you looked down at your son, his finger holding tightly onto yours as Frances the housekeeper listened outside the nursery door, her hand firmly enclosed around the handle, every part of her wanting to enter and magic your distress away. The thousand yard stare, they called it. She had seen it with her sister after the birth of her niece and then she saw it with you, the moment Tommy returned to work, popping your little bubble of the three of you lying in bed blissfully happy within the comfort of one another. She'd talk to Tommy in the morning. She promised herself as she backed away from the door, and back to her duties. She promised.

"Oh I do like to be beside...the seaside. Oh I do like to be beside the sea" you sang quietly, your bottom lip wobbling with each passing word. "I love you, I love you so much" you cried as you placed your son back into his cot, pulling out your handkerchief with your name embroidered delicately in the center for him to hold, hoping the scent of you engraved into the light fabric would comfort him in your absence." I'm sorry William, I...I can't be the mother you need " you sobbed as his little fingers clutched around the small piece of cotton. "Daddy will look after you, better than I can" you said as you bent down, placing a tender kiss to his head. "I just need a little break, a small one. I'll be back, I promise" Your voice broke, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gently glided your finger over his ear, caressing his soft skin and gently lulling him into sweet dreams and slumber. "Goodbye my love, my sweet, sweet boy" you cried, turning to the door and shutting it as a searing pain shot through your chest, through your shattered heart and the unbreakable bond a mother shares with her child, tearing and fraying from what you was about to do. Would you ever be able to come back from this?

"Come back to bed darling..." Tommy mumbled as you stood beside him, running your hands through the top of his hair, a quiet moan escaping his lips in response to your gentle touch as he lazily reached for your hand before his weighted eyes and tired body drifted him back into a heavy sleep.

"Soon Tommy..." You replied, muffling your sobs as you picked up your suitcase and turned to the door, glancing back one last time to your husband, to the love of your life. Meters away, it may as well have been miles. You thought to yourself as you came to the end of the long driveway of your home when the light of your son's bedroom suddenly turned on in the far distance and the loud call of your name from the depths of your husband's lungs resonated throughout the grounds. There was no going back now, it was done. They were better off without you.

Present day...

"Fuck sake" you mumbled quietly, hiding your face in your shoulder as you frantically wiped your tears away from the memory of the night when you abandoned your family and your former self. As you cursed yourself for being being so weak, so feeble, the small girl seated opposite you scrunched her brow in confusion, her little thoughts plagued with worry as to what had you so upset, as her mother, who looked as tired and weighed down with her own misgivings, sent you a sympathetic knowing smile.

"Hardly the time and place to let one's emotions get the better of them, this is public transport not a woman's bloody wash house" a man seated next to you clothed in the finest of suits grumbled rolling his eyes, begrudging the fact the train was not divided by class when the engine suddenly came to a stop and the mother ushered her daughter out of the carriage giving the gentleman a stern look, all while her daughter conveniently stepped onto, rather than other the pompous man's foot dirtying his perfectly polished loathers. "The little..." He spat as he folded his newspaper in half, turning to face you as if you had a role in the small girls worthy retribution. "Thiefs, whores and murderers. What would one except from this dump they call the second-biggest city in England" he seethed looking at you from head to toe as you stood to leave when he crassly stuck his foot out, causing you to fall face first onto the grimy train floor as a satisfied scoff left his lips. You were nothing to him, a beggar, the scum of the slums of the city he reluctantly found himself in. With no will or want to confront him about what you believe you undoubtedly deserved, you stood up, wiping the front of your dress down and adjusting your hat with only one thing on your mind...your son.

" Excuse me...please, excuse me" you said, pushing your way through the bustling market. You were already late, and with only the briefest of opportunities to get a glimpse of your child until another full seven days passed, and he made his Sunday outing with Frances again, you were desperate to see him. Standing by a stall filled with seasonal fresh fruits and juices you adjusted your woven hat, pushing the knotted strands of hair behind your ears in attempt to make yourself look proper, more presentable. Who were you kidding, you were but a ghost in a crowd full of people. Your disheveled appearance your only shield and cover from any potential sightings of yourself that could be relayed back to your husband. If he cared to know. You thought to yourself as you raised your head, your breath suddenly catching in your throat. There he was, your William. Watching from a distance, you followed his small wobbly steps, his hand holding tightly onto France's as the sun beamed down on them, heading with determination to the market stall he made a beeline for every Sunday. Perching yourself on a large wooden barrel next to a shelf of neatly stacked bottles of cider, you smiled as your shaky fingers came up to cover the joy on your lips as your former housekeeper picked up your son and showed him all the various jars of sweets and lollipops his wondrous eyes were beaming at. "Barley Sugars" you whispered, a small laugh leaving your lips as he pointed to his favorite and only choice of sweets whilst Frances tried to coax him into trying something different, when a smartly dressed man stood beside them turned around. Tommy.

"Barley Sugars again, eh?" Tommy chuckled, nodding to the stallholder as he reached into his pocket for a penny, smiling lovingly at the boy that resembled you more with each passing day. Wha...what was he doing here? You panicked at the unexpected sight of your husband, the last time being the night you had left him sleeping soundly in your shared bed. With shaky legs and your panicked eyes darting frantically around the market for any of his men, you slid off the barrel stumbling backwards into the shelf of cider, causing a small commotion of crashing glass and spilled beverages.

"You'll 'av to pay for that, miss" The seller frowned, waving his finger at you as he came marching around his stall to your trembling body frantically picking up the shattered glass, apologising profusely for the days' takings and mess you had made. With unsteady feet you stood up, your eyes cast down at the muddied ground, unable to meet the piercing stare you could already feel boring into you with every stifled breath that left your lips.

"Y/N..." Tommy whispered as he steadied himself against the wooden frame of the market stand, his knees buckling, his eyes widening in disbelief as time and everything around him suddenly slowed to an abrupt stillness, his ears deafening him with a piercing high-pitched whistle. "Y/N" he voiced louder, as the sound of the teeming market entered his muffled eardrums and your sheepish eyes finally met his." Y/N" Tommy called your name again as he pushed through the crowds of people, his eyes fixed on you as you started walking backwards, tears welling in your eyes from the panic firmly setting in."Y/N Shelby!" His voiced boomed into the crisp spring air, gaining everyone's attention, his brisk pace turning into a quickened run as he stumbled past people in a frantic attempt to get to you. "No! Don't you dare!" He bellowed, fear tightening in his chest as he watched you turn and run out of the market when he misplaced his foot and fell forward, tripping over the curb of the path as the end of your dress glided behind the corner of the bricked wall and out of sight.

" Shit...shit!" You sobbed running through the cobbled streets as you scanned the neighborhood in a frenzy of labored breaths and hysterical cries for somewhere to hide. What was he doing here?

" Hey, hey!" Tommy said, turning the corner onto the street you had been on mere seconds ago as he grabbed the arm of a young boy running past him with a hoop and stick in his hand. "Have you...have you seen a girl, in a...a dark red dress" Tommy asked breathlessly, whilst his mind frantically tried to make sense if what he saw was real, if you were real.

"That way, Mister" the rosy-cheeked child replied, pointing to a back alley leading to a row of terraced houses before running off to his friends that were patiently waiting for him at the bottom of the street. With shaky steps Tommy ran across the road, raising his hand in apology to a car and it's horn blaring at him from the near collision his dazed state caused. With his hands trembling, and his breath held within the tight confines of his burning lungs, Tommy turned the corner. And, there you were.

"Tommy..." You sobbed, backing up against the roughness of the slabbed wall as he stood in front of you, his own eyes welling with the unspent tears he'd been holding in for the past two years in an attempt to push away the reality of your absence.

"You're dead...I..." he said, his voice catching in his throat as he stepped closer, his brow furrowing in confusion at the acceptance he had surrendered to, now thrown into a disarray. " I.. I thought you were dead" he muttered in front of you as you shook your head, the back of his hand coming up to gingerly stroke across your cheek as the soothing coolness of his wedding band he couldn't bare to part with brushed along your delicate skin. But as the initial shock slowly started to fade, Tommy's jaw suddenly tightened and his gentle touch dug into your skin, his fingers twisting in anger as the creases of his brow deepened and the fury of feeling fooled took over. "I thought you were fucking dead!" He snapped through gritted teeth grabbing your chin, his grip painfully pushing into your flesh as he pressed his forehead to yours and his own tears spilled over between the curves of your cheeks. "Fuck!" He bellowed pushing your face away in disgust as he stumbled back to the wall opposite you, pulling his peaked cap from his head to cover his face as his body forced the contents of his stomach up onto the bricked floor. For months he had believed you had killed yourself, thrown yourself in the cut. And for months he blamed himself, burdening his body and mind with the responsibility of your death. The realisation and shock of you being alive was too much for his body to comprehend, even for someone as hardened to life as himself. " I thought you were dead..." Tommy wept quietly as he turned his head away from you, his reserved demeanour crumbling apart, leaving a man broken and tired from two years of heartbreak in its wake.

" Tommy I'm sorry, I..." You sobbed, approaching him as he put his hand out to stop you.

" No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to fucking say sorry" he sniffed back his tears cutting off your meek attempt to apologise as he stood up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his disheveled hair hanging over the perspiration sticking to his forehead." Why?" His voice wobbled barely above a whispered as he searched your eyes for an answer, his back pressed firmly against the brick wall to stop his legs from finally giving in as the adrenaline that had been pumping furiously through his veins slowly dispersed and fatigue took over.

" I couldn't do it anymore Tommy, I..."

" Mummy!" a little voice caught your attention as you turned your head and your eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of your son in Frances' arms mere feet from you, his little hands reaching desperately for you as Tommy watched your panicked reaction, a scoff catching in his throat when your eyes sheepishly darted away from your son and back to him.

"Mrs Shelby..." France's voice broke as her hand flew to her mouth and tears pooled in her eyes at the sight of you standing before her. For she believed as everyone else did, that the poor Mrs Shelby had succumbed to her troubles and parted from this world, now free of her tormented mind.

" Take William to the car, Frances" Tommy ordered turning away, adjusting his coat and demeanour as he breathed heavily through his mouth, every part of him desperately trying to regain some form of composure.

" Mummy! Mummy!" Your son wailed as your eyes brimmed with tears, and you apprehensively stepped towards him with your hands out when Tommy hurried between you both, and you came face to face with the remnants of his anger firmly etched on his face once again. He didn't trust you. Your initial reaction to seeing William not good enough of one for your husband who was now evaluating your every move, your every word.

" Mummy's coming, isn't she?" Tommy said, grabbing you by your arm as he waited for a response, his jaw tightening at every passing second as his patience grew thin, unwilling to let you go, unwilling to give you an option. "Isn't she?"

" Yes" you whispered, nodding your head as Frances hurried to the car with William wailing loudly in her arms.

" Look at you" Tommy said, glaring at you from head to toe, his words laced in disdain as he took off your hat, throwing it to the muddied ground with despise. Disheveled clothes, matted hair and muddied fingers. He had given you the world, given you a warm home, anything you could have wished for and yet you chose this, a life of labor and poverty over him and your son. With a mind clouded with fury, Tommy was doing what he promised he'd never do to all the gods he had prayed to, all his ancestors he had pleaded to if they would just grant him one thing, and bring you back into his arms. He was judging you.

" Wh...why is he calling me mummy?" you said, sobbing as you hurried alongside Tommy's quickened pace, his hand still painfully grasped onto your arm, dragging you with him to the car. William was only four months old when you left, he didn't know who you were, did he? " Tommy?"

"Just fucking move Y/N" Tommy said, opening the car door and pushing you in, slamming it behind him with enough force to frighten William into tears again. " Frances, please" Tommy sighed pinching his brow, his elbows resting on the steering wheel as William cried loudly in the back of the car. As Frances tended to your child, searching for his brown bear she feared he may have dropped in all the commotion, you kept your eyes fixed firmly ahead of you, your hands clasped in your lap not daring to look at anyone as shame engulfed you and reality hit home that you would now have to face not only what you did but everyone in your life you had left. Tommy had now plunged you head first back into a world you had abandoned without an ounce of sympathy or understanding, the anxiety of what awaited you was becoming unbearable.

Pulling up to Arrow house, the confines of the car were silent, and had been for the majority of the journey with William now soundly asleep in France's arms, the only audible noise being that of the muddied driveway of your forgotten home and the sound of Tommy's flesh gripping tightly onto the stirring wheel. He was furious, the moment he could have only dreamed of as he sought solitude in the pits of grief now engulfed with hatred. As Tommy and Frances exited the car, you stood seated, panic suddenly enveloping you, your body unable to move as you watched the familiar faces of the grounds men coming to a halt as they squinted into the car and at your face they thought they'd never see again. You wanted to run, not from the heavy weight bearing down on your heart but run from their critical eyes and the things you were sure you could hear them saying.

" Get out" Tommy said opening your door, pulling you out and marching you to the front of your once, shared home.

" Tommy" a lady beamed upon seeing him as she waited in the foyer, her dark brown locks cut into a bob bouncing on her shoulders with every step she took as your husband stormed through the grand entrance with your arm grasped tightly between his fingers. "And who's this?" she frowned looking at you from head to toe, her assumptions of you firmly setting in stone from your appearance alone. A thief no doubt, or a whore. She thought turning her nose up at you as her crimson nails curled into her palms as she crossed her arms, ready to have you thrown off the grounds or better, dumped in a ditch. You had no place in this grand house, in the house she was now not only the governess of, but a woman that the maids and workers believed had wormed her way into ruling the manor Tommy had abandoned his interest and care for to the grief of losing you. " Well, who are you?"

" She's my wife"

PART TWO

Tag List: @garrison-girl-08 @call-sign-shark @red-riding-wood @look-at-the-soul @lau219 @peakyswritings @babaohhhriley @naevisct @galactict3a @satanhauntedmytorment @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @kmc1989 @latorsgatorz @garfieldsladybird

[evilminji]

(O.O ) The PONDERING is back!

You know Walker?

One of the Zone's literal ACAB? We are shown in one episode, that real world items? Against The Rules(tm).

Now, that COULD just be HIM being An Asshole? But let's be real! Unlikely. Rules/Laws get made for a REASON, generally. Usually because someone ruined it for everyone by being an asshole. Taking things too far.

You start OUT with the obvious Rules. Like "Don't Tear the Zone Apart." And "No Genocide of Literally Everything Forever You Fighty Little Assholes" but over time? You have too add stuff. Like "George is Forbidden to use the fax machine and he knows why" and "Ice Lairs and Fire Lairs have to be X distance apart AND YOU KNOW WHY"

And? IS there a central Governing body, regulating the Zone Rules? Nope! Pariah's in nappy time! BUT the manic, Iron fisted, Obsessions of THE LAW across time and space are sure willing to step up and help keep order. It... KINDA works!

And they MOSTLY have the same-ish Rules!

Like NO FUCKIN LIVING WORLD STUFF. Because? To GET such contraband? You'd have to break containment of the Zone, go THROUGH a random ass natural portal, that may or may NOT be safe, may or may NOT ever RECONNECT to the Zone, to literally terrorize the unsuspecting living souls (assuming you can FIND any), on the other side, JUST to drag that shitty candy bar back home.

Leaking ectoplasm the whole time. Poisoning the air, land, and sea. Making NEW ghosts where there might not have been any. Effectively making you their deadbeat parent. Which is premeditated child abandonment. And you DEFINITELY didn't PAY for those objects. Thief.

So, NO. No Living World Shit.

BUT!

Like city states! The Area of influence each Law Man(tm) has? While wide and sprawling? Does NOT perfectly mesh together like puzzle pieces! There ARE dead zones. Lawless, "unclaimed" areas.

Which? Are not so unclaimed.

For just as The Law has it's Obsession? So too, has the Underworld. Shaddy casinos and auctions. Black markets run like street fairs. What some Ghost Weed? They can hook you up, man. Vinnie over there was a Runner during Prohibition. He knows where ALL the classy joints are.

He can hook you up with some REAL nice Living World collectibles.

From All Over.

And? I bet it's that LAST bit? That REALLY sparks Danny's interest. He saved the guy from the GIW, who may or may not have busted him trying to... uuuuh... LIBERATE, some fine scotch for the bar back Zone side. Who's to say, really? Regardless, Vinnie? Pays his debts, you here.

Beside... the feral little gremlin kinda scares him. Good quality to have, no question, but maybe cool it with the biting? You don't know where they BEEN. You'll get a disease.

Now... all you gotta do, see, is... *mutters* *map scribbling* *bad idea enabling*

Which? Constantine! League Members of your choosing! Like a field trip from hell! Some how in the SINGLE shadiest den of Obvious Criminals you ever did see. The sky is green and they aren't in their dimension anymore. Circle up! NOW. Young Justice shoved to the INSIDE of the circle, adult heros on the outside.

Constantine? Knows where they are and wishs he didn't. He... he's not sure he CAN get them back. Going to try obviously. But no one panic. Don't show fear. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. Start walking.

Danny? Loading up the speeder~ Christmas gifts for daaaays~~☆ Everyone is Salty but respectful, cause anti-ghost tech meant they couldn't steal it. They did TRY. But... fair play, kid. Nice ride.

Only? Right before he gets in to leave? Some vibrating blur shoots over? Talking fast and followed by an older blur? Oh hey, humans. Like... ALIVE humans. Sup?

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[wandonthecouch]

farmers market jegulus au - snippet <3

another snippet for you all! for context, james, effie, and baby harry have a tent where they sell their farm's produce, and regulus and sirius have their text (next door ofc) where they sell their art - regulus with his wood carving/sculptures and sirius with his paintings. oh and remus is an Australian cowboy at @venear-tmblr 's insistence and I love it so here you go!

---

“Morning, Mr. Black!”

Regulus smiled at the small ten-year-old, one that he rarely showed in public. 

“Harry, you can call me Regulus, you know,” he leaned over the foldable table separating the two, peering over into the tent next to his, taking in the array of fresh vegetables, fruits, and jams. “Has your nan got any of that goat cheese yet?”

Harry frowned, running a finger over the duckling carved out of mahogany, and then the giraffe made of oak. “I don’t think so. Da says Jenny is being real stubborn lately.” 

Regulus let out a light chuckle. “Oh, Da says that, huh?” He began rummaging through his tote bag slung over his foldable chair, making a noise of triumph when he found the pouch with the small carved giraffe. “I made you something.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, a big toothless grin on full display (he’d lost one of his front teeth last week) that Regulus couldn’t help but mirror. “Really?”

Regulus nodded, holding out the pouch. Any other kid would have snatched the present out of his hands in seconds, but not Harry – he didn’t have a greedy bone in his body. It’s one of the reasons that Regulus actually tolerated the child, instead of being blatantly disgusted like he was others. 

Harry gently accepted the gift, turning the giraffe around in his hands. 

“Thank you, thank you! This is so cool,” Harry gushed, looking up at him over his glasses. Then, in almost a whisper, “You remembered.”

Regulus, to his surprise, found himself holding his breath in anticipation. Who the fuck was he? He had clients booked for his art years in advance, he’d made thousands off of his wood carving alone. Why did he care about what some glass-wearing, crooked-smiled child at a farmer’s market thought of anything he’d made?

“Harry, love, can you give me a hand—”

Oh. That’s why. 

James appeared from behind his family’s tent, carrying a wooden crate full of turnips. Fucking turnips. The man was carrying turnips and Regulus was trying not to drool at the sight. 

Disgusting. 

“Oh, hey, Reg,” James stopped, eyes softening, mouth turning up in a way that made Regulus think his heart was swelling, almost too big for his chest. “How’s your morning been?”

It wasn’t until Harry looked at him, brow quirked, that Regulus realized he needed to actually respond. 

“Good, not too busy,” he stumbled over his words. James adjusted the crate in his arms so he could hold it with one arm (oh god), and reached down to pick the giraffe out of Harry’s hand. 

“Oh, this is cool! I bet it’ll sell right away.”

Harry furrowed his brows and made grabby hands at his father, who promptly returned the figurine. “It’s mine, Da. Mr. Black–Reg made it for me.”

James’ eyes resembled warm honey, their color especially bright in the early morning sun. “Really?”

Regulus shrugged nonchalantly, looking between the two and fiddling with his rings. “Well, yeah. We spent all last Sunday talking about how he wanted to see the giraffes at the zoo in town, and how they were his favorite animal, so…”

James’ smile was blinding. He ruffled Harry’s hair, who grumbled under his breath but leaned into the touch. “Did you say thank you to Regulus?”

Harry, huffed, seemingly done with the conversation. “Yes, Da. Moony says being polite is sexy.”

Regulus coughed out a laugh, while James sighed and shook his head at Harry’s retreating figure. 

“I swear, he’s such a bad influence sometimes,” James muttered, turning to set the crate down on the ground by their tent, giving Regulus a full view of… everything in his athletic shorts. Regulus sucked in a breath, willing his cheeks to not turn pink. He couldn’t even blame it on the heat– the air this morning was anything but humid. Perfect for a day at the market. Not perfect, Regulus deduced, for being around James Potter all day.

--

thanks for reading, lmk what you think!