#I actually think it's going to result in a few thousand words at least

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[olderthannetfic]

My friend signed up for nonconathon and the person they were matched with is making them very uncomfortable.

Listing no racebending under DNW is fine. But also adding that you don't like Blorbo 1 as his canonical minority ethnicity? Gonna get you a side eye. (Even if canon didn't handle writing that ethnicity well.)

Listing no trans or ace/aro character headcanons can be fine, but when combined with the above?

Having fixed top/bottom preferences is fine. But reiterating it nine (9!) times throughout your list of prompts/likes/DNWs is...excessive.

Repasting your general DNWs at least 3 times and your fandom specific ones twice makes it so much harder to navigate your page (and puts way too much an emphasis on what you don't like vs what you do).

Including likes that don't apply to the event in question (sfw and fluff likes) is overwhelming and makes it harder to parse out what you're looking for from the event.

Having lists of likes and potential prompts that are longer than my computer screen, let alone my phone screen, is also extremely overwhelming.

Preferring fem!sub and male!dom as well as top!alpha and bottom!omega is fine. But not wanting to reference the fact that the person you want to sub/bottom/be raped is canonically larger than the person you want to top/dom is weird.

Like, one or two of these, I tried to defend. Until I read the whole list of what they wanted/didn't want. Way too many little, could be innocent, comments just adding up to a "huh, you're racist and transphobic, aren't you?" feeling.

(Also just rude in how extensive their lists of likes and DNWs are. Isn't it supposed to be just enough information to get someone going and ensure you don't hate the resulting fic?)

--

I love hugely long requests. If the letter is five thousand words, I will read every one and love it. My rule for myself is to try to write an exchange fic that's at least as long as my letter. I think my longest letter was about 7k, but they're usually more like 2-3k.

No, I don't think it's supposed to be just enough info to get you going. It can be that, or it can be detailed plotbunnies or anything else.

The thing it shouldn't be, though, is extremely negative or trying to railroad the author into one specific story. If there are detailed plotbunnies, there should be a few different ones and some ideas about alternate takes if that exact scenario doesn't appeal to the writer.

--

I'd definitely look askance at someone not liking the canon ethnicity of a character. Is it ambiguous in some way? That's odd and an annoying constraint on the author who might like canon.

Not wanting trans or ace/aro headcanons is a standard DNW and isn't any more meaningful than "No second person". For me, it's primarily that I don't want unrequested vag (and have in fact changed to just saying that instead of anything about transness), and I'm always asking for shippy stuff where I want the characters' romantic and sexual tastes to line up well by the end of the story. I wouldn't even bother saying any of this in an exchange signup if people weren't always going "Wharrgarbl! You like non-canon gay ships, so why not non-canon trans characters?!?!?!" and the like.

--

What it sounds like has happened here is that an exchange regular who does the whole annual rotation of exchanges has recycled a lot of their standard letter without updating it enough. The off-topic stuff is part of their default sign up. The repeated DNWs are pretty common from people who think you'll only be reading one section of the letter instead of the whole thing. They're supposed to be helpful instead of repetitive and a slog since you don't have to refer back to a different section. (Whether they actually are in practice is another story.)

This letter doesn't sound that out there other than disliking the canon identity. Reiterating top/bottom preferences in nonconathon makes perfect sense. The thing about character size sounds bad the way you've phrased it but might be meant as "Don't kink on them being bigger". I can see reasons why they'd list something like this for nonconathon.

I haven't read the letter, obviously, but it sounds like the main issues are that it's just not written that well and that you and your friend aren't very familiar with what letters from people in Exchanges Fandom™ sound like. Maybe the vibes are off, but I can't tell from a second hand account.

...

Also... I heard it wasn't running this year?

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Behind the Crime

Warren Lipka x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral male receiving, dominate warren, underage drinking, underage smoking, use of marijuana, rough sex, hint of choking, talk of robbery, um yeah i think that’s it

summary: from the moment you were brought into the heist, you knew working with warren was going to be hard…

word count: 3.4k

a/n: sorry for not posting guys i have not been on the grind lately. i watched this movie and omfg evan was so attractive i just needed to write. if you’re the real warren lipka just scroll this is about evan…

~~~

You sit back in your chair, the crew members adjusting your mic. You’re starting to regret doing this interview, but it’s too late to back out now. Everything’s already set up, the camera is about to be rolling. The interviewer is sitting a few feet away from you, notes in his hand. He waits for you to give him the signal that you’re ready. You nod, he begins.

“So, y/n, how did you become involved with the group?” He asks.

“I was first approached by Spencer when I was eating lunch outside one day...”

~~~

You were sitting alone, the cool fall breeze almost too cold to be comforting. You didn’t pay much mind to it though, you were more focussed on your studying. You were flipping through the pages of another history article when suddenly there was a presence beside you. Looking up at them as soon as you noticed, you recognized the boy as someone from your class.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your tone polite.

He looked nervous as if he were about to ask you out. “Hi, uh, I don’t know if you remember my name, I’m Spencer we have Art History together.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you,” you replied. “Do you need help with the homework or something?”

“No, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, if you’re not busy or anything,” he said, his voice quiet.

You look away for a second before replying. “Sure, sit down if you want I’m not busy.”

He smiled at you before quickly sitting at the spot across from you. He put his bag on the table, you could see him take a deep breath. Was he really going to ask you out? You thought he was cute, but definitely not your type. You started to pray he wouldn’t say anything along those lines.

“I started to ask around a week or two ago about people who are good with computers and stuff, a lot of people told me you were the best person to go to,” he started. He lacked confidence in his voice, you felt bad for the poor guy but paid close attention to his words. “I need some... help with cameras.”

“What kind of cameras?” You asked, intrigued.

What he was saying was true, you were decently good with computers. You mostly would hack into places and disable things you didn’t like, like the cameras on the public library computers. It wasn’t anything illegal, at least you didn’t think it was illegal. It probably was, but you didn’t care.

“Just you know cameras in... semipublic places...”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what kind though? Phone, laptop, desktop, security?”

“Security,” he answered quietly. “But before you say no listen, how does a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of payment sound?

“What?”

“I won’t tell you the details till I know you’re on board but let's just say something is going down and we need help with the cameras. The pay would be huge and all you’d have to do is just mess with some cameras for like twenty minutes.”

You only stared at him; your mouth slightly hung open. Was he being serious? Was he really asking you to join him in a potential robbery that would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars? You never would’ve expected to be asked such a question on a cloudy Thursday at lunch. You shut your book completely and look around to make sure nobody is close.

“This money, it’s guaranteed?”

He nods. “As long as we get the job done, you’ll have it.”

You knew it was crazy, you knew whatever was going to happen would either result in you going to prison or having to run off into hiding. But the thought of being able to pay all your student loans off and have extra money to live off of was more appealing. Hacking into cameras wasn’t that hard, and it wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless it was.

“If you’re trying to get me to make sure a murder or rape isn’t on camera I’ll snitch,” you warned him.

“Oh no, nothing like that is happening at all. It’s just you know a robbery,” he replied, his expression genuine.

You nodded your head, convinced whatever he was asking couldn’t be that bad. “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.”

~~~

“What was your first impression of the guys?

You smile. “They were really cool, funny, just overall really fun people to hang out with.”

“Do you remember the first time you met all of them?”

“Of course, like it was yesterday...”

~~~

The house you sat in front of didn’t look like a typical criminal's house. It looked like an average American’s family house actually. You were parked out on the road outside the house Spencer told you to go to, you were meeting the rest of the people involved with the robbery. It had been about ten minutes of you sitting out there debating whether or not to go in before you got a text from Spencer asking where you were. You sighed, praying to God this decision was the right one before getting out of your car.

You knocked on the front door with a shaky fist. You started to regret your decision, you thought about turning around and leaving, but the door was opened before you could act on it. An older woman stood in front of you, she looked to be in her 50s.

“Oh, you’re very pretty,” she said, making your cheeks turn red. “You’re here to see Warren, right?”

You had no idea who Warren was, but you nodded. The lady's smile grew, and she opened the door for you and ushered you inside. She directed you to the basement entrance, asking you a million questions you had no answers to. After those few but excruciating painful minutes though, you walked down the basement stairs and finally caught sight of Spencer.

There were three other guys in the room and all of their eyes were on you. Two, along with Spencer, were sitting on a couch. One of them was skinny with glasses, the other muscular with no glasses. They didn’t grasp your attention though. The last guy who was standing did. He had long dark curly hair, and eyes to match. His eyes met yours before you watched them slowly move up and down your body. You didn’t know how to react.

“Guys, this is y/n,” Spencer said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Eric,” the guy with glasses introduced himself.

“Chas,” the muscular guy spoke, not paying much attention to you. “Are you sure this was a good idea, Spence? How much do we really know about this chick? No offense.”

“Shut up, we agreed,” Spencer hissed. He waved you over and you complied, walking to the couch and sitting on the end beside him.

The standing guy took a step forward and held out his hand to you. You looked up at him before accepting his handshake. His hand was rough, you liked the feeling of it in yours. “I’m Warren and you are our cameraman or woman I guess.”

You laughed. “I guess.”

“How much has Spencer told you?” Warren asked after letting go of your hand and stepping back. It was then you noticed the maps on the wall with drawings all over them, the layout looked familiar.

“Just that I need to hack some cameras and that it’ll pay me a lot,” you answered. “I don’t even know what you guys are stealing.”

“Well y/n, I’m sure you’ve been to your own school's library right?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever taken a tour of the library’s rare book collection?”

You nodded again.

Warren smirked. “Then you know exactly what we’re stealing.”

Your face fell and you immediately looked at Spencer and the rest of the guys. “Are you serious? You guys want to steal historic books?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Chas mumbled from his chair.

“Shut up Chas,” Warren quickly snapped. He looked back at you, his dark eyes engulfing yours completely. “We’ve been planning this out for months, and you are the last piece to our puzzle y/n. Think about how much you’ll be earning.”

You didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a bad idea.

~~~

“Chas eventually stopped being cold to me, I actually think in the end he became my closest friend in the group,” you say, finishing your story.

The interviewer gives you a look. “Well, besides Warren right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, a confused look on your face.

“I have to ask if the stories are true, you know about you and him. The other guys say something changed between the two of you after a party you all attended. I mean, didn’t the police even question if your involvement had a deeper meaning than simply the money?”

You shake your head, giving your best performance. “Me and Warren were only ever best friends, there was never a deeper meaning behind anything.”

~~~

Music was pumping through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head you could feel it. It had been a few weeks since you met the guys, and they all wanted to do something fun before the heist. So, a frat party was naturally the easiest option. That’s where you were now, already two shots and half a joint in. You didn’t know where Spencer, Nick, and Warren were, but Chas was dancing with you.

Though the two of you got off on the wrong foot, you and Chas quickly learned how well you get along. He was a good friend, all of the guys were. You liked how easily they could make you laugh and brighten your mood. They were all good people who you enjoyed being around.

Warren was the only one that you felt different for. You didn’t know why, but from the first day you met you knew your feelings for him would be different than the other three. The way he looked at you alone was completely different than the others. There was always something darker in his eyes, something you knew wasn’t supposed to be there for simply a friend. Every time the two of you looked at each other, your stomach filled with butterflies. You wanted it too. But in those first few weeks, nothing had happened. No matter how much either of you wanted it.

After some minutes of you and Chas dancing, Warren and Spencer appeared. They asked if the two of you wanted to go out and smoke, you both agreed and followed them outside the back. Not too many people were in the backyard, but there were enough for there to be a bonfire going. The four of you found an empty spot near the fire and sat down. Warren took out a joint and lit it before passing it around.

“Where’s Nick?” You asked after taking a hit.

Spencer shrugged. “Probably with the weird kids doing weird stuff.”

“He’s not that weird,” Chas replied. “He’s just awkward.”

You watched as Warren took another long hit of the joint. Because of the weed and alcohol, you found yourself even more attracted to him than when you were sober. You wanted so desperately to run your fingers through his hair, you wanted to hear his voice as you touched him. He suddenly met your gaze, his lips curled up into a mesmerizing smile. You wanted to kiss him. It was too much for you to handle.

You swallowed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your shorts. “I need to um use the bathroom.”

You didn’t wait for any of their replies. Instead, you rushed back into the house straight to the kitchen. You poured yourself a shot, downing it before giving it a second thought. You needed these feelings to go away. How were you supposed to work with Warren if you couldn’t even look at him without thinking about having sex with him? It made you feel awful. A hookup couldn’t be the reason the robbery went bad, you refused to let that happen.

After another shot, you started to forget about your feelings. In fact, you started to forget about Warren completely. All you felt was the burning sensation of the alcohol in your stomach and chest, it felt good. You stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, grabbing the railings of the staircase for support. Suddenly, you felt a presence next to you, their hand on your back.

“Y/N, are you good?” It was Warren.

You turned your head and looked at him, God how could he look even better? “No- I’m not okay.”

“You’re wasted, you need some water,” he said. He moved his hand around your waist and pulled you up straight. You felt like you were on fire. “Come on, back to the kitchen.”

“Why are you here? I just- I just wanna forget about you,” you mumbled.

He started helping you walk back to the kitchen. “What? Why would you want to forget about me?”

“Because... I want you but I can’t have you. I thought you- felt the same that’s why it’s been so hard to resist,” you spoke, stumbling over your words. “I can’t look at you without thinking about you fucking me.”

Even in your drunken state, you could still see the cockiness on Warren’s face. He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly before turning and getting you a cup of water. You leaned your head back against one of the cabinets, your head was spinning. You couldn’t think straight.

“Drink,” Warren’s voice filled your ears.

You lifted your head and grabbed the solo cup from his hand, downing the water faster than ever. When you finished, you threw the cup to the floor, your eyes meeting Warren’s once again. He was standing close enough that if you reached, you could touch him.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or perhaps it was because of how long you’d felt the tension between you two, that gave you the courage to gently place your hand on the top of his head. His hair was soft, just like you’d expected it to be. You smiled and played with his curls. He didn’t object, you were glad. You needed this.

“Do you want me?” You asked, your voice barely audible against the loud music.

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I thought so, but I could always be wrong.”

“Maybe I should make it clearer,” he said. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand off his head before stepping closer to you. “If this house wasn’t crowded, I’d fuck you right here, right now.”

Your heart was racing, your cheeks bright red. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Warren was still holding your wrist, it sent electric shocks throughout your body. His eyes began to shift from your eyes to your lips and so on. You swallowed; a lump had formed in your throat.

“There’s probably an empty room somewhere,” you mentioned. “You could take me to one of them and show me you mean what you say.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, you’re pretty drunk.”

“I’m not- I swear. I consent, I’ll remember all of this in the morning,” you replied quickly.

“All right.”

Before you could say anything else, Warren scooped you into his arms and began to carry you through the house. You didn’t know whether to pretend you were drunk so it wouldn’t look suspicious or stay awake to also not make it look suspicious. You chose to stay awake and within minutes you and Warren were alone in a bedroom, your lips connected.

The kiss was fast and rough, everything you expected from him. His arms were wrapped around your waist, he towered over you. You wasted no time, immediately kicking off your shoes and pushing Warren back until he fell onto the bed. He pulled you on top of him, guiding your hips in slow motions over his clothed erection. You felt like you were on fire, you needed more.

You broke this kiss and leaned back so you were straddling him. You pulled off your shirt and bra, Warren followed your actions. Once your eyes fell upon his toned abdomen, you audibly moaned. You quickly leaned down again and kissed his chest, beginning a trail down his body. Each breath that left his mouth made your pussy drip even more. And when you reached his navel, his breaths turned into soft whispers.

“Keep going.”

“Please.”

“I’ll do anything.”

When you no longer had any skin left to kiss you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. He got your signal and instantly pulled his shorts and boxers off, leaving him completely naked. You weren’t surprised at his size; you had a feeling he’d be big. You started off by slowly stroking him with your hand, the expressions on his face already enough to make you cum.

After a minute or so of that, you bent down and pressed a small kiss to his tip. You loved the way his leg twitched. It made you proud. So, you took him into your mouth. He gasped, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head. He didn’t push you; he only twirled your hair back into a ponytail-like style and gripped it tight. You moved your head up and down, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. You were never a fan of giving head to guys, but with Warren, it was a different story.

Not much time passed before Warren pushed you gently, telling you he wasn’t going to last much longer. You didn’t care, you wanted him to finish in your mouth. But he told you he wanted to have sex, so you stopped. You peeled off your shorts and underwear before you climbed back onto him. His naked body against yours felt unreal, you were almost convinced this was all part of your drunken imagination.

However, when Warren pulled your head down and began to kiss your lips again, you knew it had to be real. His hands gripped your ass, kneading and playing with your skin. You positioned his tip at your entrance, you were so wet you didn’t need any lube. You broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, you wanted to know it was okay. He gave you a nod and so you began to push yourself down on him.

He filled you well, just the perfect amount. You had thrown your head back, a moan escaping your lips. You hadn’t had sex in months, and this was the perfect way to break that streak. You started to move your body forward and backward while simultaneously going up and down. Warren’s grip on your ass tightened with each movement you made.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned. “You do it so well.”

Your confidence was boosted; you began to move faster. This only lasted a few minutes though, much to your dismay. You weren’t too athletic; you didn’t have good stamina. Warren noticed this, and without saying anything he flipped your bodies. Once on top of you, he began violent thrusts. You almost screamed from the pleasure; you’d never felt anything remotely close to it in your life. He hit your cervix each time, it made your back arch off the mattress and your nails dig into his back.

“Warren,” you whimpered. “Oh, fuck Warren.”

One of his hands wrapped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he just rested it there. You felt the knot in your stomach form at this. It felt so good to be dominated by him. It had been your dream for weeks, and it had finally come true. You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Warren fucking you fill your senses.

When you came, you practically screamed his name. You swore you could see stars. You’d never experienced an orgasm so hard in your life. Warren came a few seconds after you, you felt his dick pulsing inside you. He collapsed on you. You didn’t care about how his weight crushed you, you still held him as the two of you began to come down from your highs.

~~~

As the crew packs up, you remain in your chair, staring blankly out one of your windows. The interviewer is still across from you, but you don’t notice until he speaks.

“Just tell me one thing, off the record,” he says, grabbing your attention. “Did you love him?”

A small smile grows on your lips. “With all my heart.”

[saphronethaleph]

Outside the Throne Room

RK-T glanced over at GD-S.

“So…” RK began.

“Ssh!” GD replied, sharply. “Keep your mouth shut! You know the boss doesn’t like us to, you know, appear human in any way.”

“Boss isn’t here,” RK replied. “Well, he’s here, but he’s not here here. He’s on the other side of that door.”

“He could come out of that door at any time, you know that,” GD said. “We’re supposed to be silent and intimidating. And red.”

“Dude does like red,” RK mused.

He frowned, behind his mask. “Though… I actually wanted to ask. Why exactly do we exist?”

“What are you getting at, man?” GD replied. “We’re… imperial guards. We guard… the Emperor. Literally our only job. It’s in the description.”

“That’s what I’m getting at,” RK said. “We’re imperial guards, and in there right now with the boss is a Jedi. Like… the first one there’s been in decades.”

“Nah, there’s loads,” GD shrugged. “There were like twenty thousand Jedi, you’d never catch all of them.”

“Still, you get my point, right?” RK asked. “Vader goes in there with a Jedi, and the boss tells us to leave.”

GD shifted slightly, his force pike humming. “He’s the boss,” he pointed out. “His word is law. In fact I think his word is imperial dictat which is even more certain than a law, you know.”

“Not what I’m getting at,” RK replied. “He told us to leave. Literally. That’s the biggest threat possible, a rebel Jedi, and he’s told us to leave. And, what’s more… you’ve got to have thought about this yourself, but the boss is also… the boss. Most of the time he doesn’t need bodyguards… it’s not like he’s going to need us to stop him from being beaten to death by a mob, he could just electrocute them all.”

“That… is true,” GD admitted. “Now you’ve got me wondering why we exist at all. Thanks.”

“Sorry,” RK said. “I thought you’d have an answer.”

“Well, I don’t,” GD said, a bit snippishly.

The two red-clad guards stood in silence for a long moment.

“Maybe I should check on him,” RK suggested, and flicked on his comlink.

Then, a few seconds later, flicked it firmly off again.

“Well?” GD asked.

“Boss told the Jedi to kill him,” RK reported. “Then I heard the sound of a lightsaber and the boss laughing. So… I’m going to assume that any kind of, fighting noises or whatever, are his plan.”

GD sighed.

“It would be so much easier to do our jobs if the boss told us about this sort of thing,” he said.

Another pause resulted, this one longer and more awkward.

“Ever wonder if maybe our purpose is just eye candy?” RK suggested. “Looking good while the boss is doing something?”

“That’s depressing,” GD muttered. “But, yeah, that checks out.”

He looked at his force pike. “It’s not like these weapons are going to be much good for actual bodyguarding…”

“They can do the stun thing,” RK pointed out. “There is that.”

“Yeah, which is short ranged and really awkward,” GD answered. “I think I’m coming around to your point of view. If we were supposed to be proper bodyguards we’d have blasters.”

Silence returned, curling around and around like a cat preparing to settle in for a nice nap.

“...seen any good movies lately?” RK asked, eventually.

“This is doing great at maintaining the mystique,” GD groused.

“Do you see anyone to care?” RK replied. “Myself I actually thought the latest Starflare holodrama was good.”

“Isn’t her husband Baron Fel?” GD said, then shook his head. “Great, turns out my weakness is gossip.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check in on the boss again,” RK offered, reaching up to flick on his comlink, then turned it off again. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Fine?” GD repeated. “Is that a proper report?”

“All right, all right, I heard several seconds of someone screaming, then the boss said ‘and now, young Skywalker, you will die,’” RK informed his coworker, copying the Emperor’s voice as best he could. “Is that enough of a report for you?”

“Yeah, whatever,” GD said. “Sounds like he’s having fun, at least… sounds like he might nearly be finished, though. So no time for gossip.”

“Whatever,” RK sighed.

Silence came back for the encore, and the two Red Guards stood either side of the door, defending someone who didn’t need defending from the absolutely nothing that might threaten him.

Then the door hissed open, and Darth Vader came through.

So did the Jedi, supporting Vader on his shoulder, and RK and GD both stared.

“...um,” RK began. “...halt?”

“He’s with me,” Vader replied, his voice strained.

“Where’s the nearest shuttle bay?” the Jedi asked.

RK and GD both pointed, completely unsure what to do, and the Jedi and Vader hobbled off down the corridor.

“Wonder what that was about,” GD said, eventually.

“Attention all decks!” a panicked voice said. “Attention all decks! Rebel fighters have entered the Death Star, they’re headed for the reactor, we can’t stop them!”

Two blank red masks gazed at one another for several seconds, then RK and GD bolted for the shuttle bay.

[styrvexxual]

Han Jisung's Guide to The College Experience (CH. 1)

My child, my first ever fic, right here on Tumblr

minsung-centric (ft. a few side ships ;) )

7.3k words

Nothing 18+ here -> not sure what's happening later

college au, not quite enemies to lovers but like kinda, me projecting my hatred for college on skz

also posted on ao3 here :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/61759963/chapters/157886353

An empty stage, save for a single microphone conveniently placed center stage. Enter stage left, one Han Jisung. “College fucking sucks,” he says into the mic.

The result is a resounding agreement, applause echoing through the room. People have even started throwing flowers towards the stage (and various other items that shall remain unnamed). The aforementioned Han Jisung has never felt more seen and accomplished, this shall go down as the greatest moment in his otherwise bland, unimportant life. That is until he hears a faint booing from somewhere in the third row.

Kim Motherfucking Seungmin

Or at least, this is how it would’ve played out in said Han Jisung’s head if this situation happened. In hindsight, he realizes that might be the wrong person to play the role of his daydream arch nemesis given that Kim Seungmin usually cannot be bothered to give two shits about most things, and definitely wouldn’t attend a speech given by Jisung even if just to be a general disturbance. Changbin on the other hand, the man who lives to give Jisung the younger brother treatment and constant humiliation? Now that might be just a slight bit more realistic.

Take right now for example. Fall registration, the worst part of the year for any underclassman who wants a sliver of a chance at classes that will prove themselves useful for their degree. Chan and Changbin, two upperclassmen who have taken it upon themselves to ‘adopt’ Jisung in a sense after he was able to squeeze himself into an actually useful lower-division music production class the other two had also enrolled in last semester, filled their schedules hours ago and were able to find classes that might one day provide them with their degrees. The rest of the day proceeds as follows:

The three rented a studio space for the day to begin recording for their last final project of the year knowing that they would each have to halt the process for their brief window of an enrollment period. Going into their senior and junior year respectively, in addition to their overachiever tendencies providing them extra course credits, Chan and Changbin had prime enrollment times earlier in the morning while Jisung had to wait until the late afternoon before he could even think of opening his laptop and checking his schedule.

After hours of anxious leg shaking and tense recording sessions, Jisung found himself in front of his laptop, refreshing the page as soon as it loaded until the buttons lit up that let him enroll in his courses. As soon as his enrollment window opened, a scream that could be heard across campus regardless of the soundproof recording booth was let out.

“Waitlist? Fucking bullshit is what it is.” Jisung muttered as he found himself able to enroll in only one of the five classes he had planned on for the next semester. Tens of thousands in yearly tuition payments and he can’t even get a fucking degree? Absurd.

Luckily his friends had taught him how to make backup schedules because surely there’s no way everything he wanted to take was full, it’s not like there are that many people on this campus. Right?

Wrong. After a grand total of six separate schedules and 16 courses Jisung was even considering taking (including those horrific STEM classes the school wanted him to take to graduate thank you very much) only two other classes had spots, neither of which fell under his major. At this rate, he wasn’t even going to be allowed to come back to campus with how barren his schedule looked.

“Chat, I fear we might be cooked here,” Jisung said to no one in particular. Well, actually that’s a lie, as there are two other people in the room with Jisung, and he would very much so like them to bestow upon him their worldly advice.

“Jisung, as funny as I might find this, which mind you is incredibly hilarious, you do need to find another class to fill your schedule,” Changbin responded. As objectively right as he is, Jisung hopes all of his classes get canceled so he can feel a fraction of the stress he’s currently under.

“Have you considered sorting by classes with available spots? You might as well just take what you can get before you’re stuck with waitlists longer than the class size.” Chan adds. He’s never wronged Jisung before and he’s already under enough stress, so he can have a slightly better fate. Maybe only a class or two was canceled, or a waitlist he’ll never get off of.

In all honesty, Jisung wouldn't wish his fate upon anyone, not even Kim Seungmin. Now that he’s been brought up within the confines of Jisung’s mind palace, he wonders how enrollment went for his roommate. Probably significantly better considering he took six classes a semester his first year and the classes for his major have 200 spots compared to Jisung’s 25 spot music classes. Jisung briefly considers swapping his major to computer science, as studying classics like Seungmin is quite frankly too pretentious for him, but quickly remembers how poorly that would go for him as he had to drop his course on the subject last fall before he failed it. Surely he should’ve gotten some good karma from the computer science major he got off the comically large waitlist. Wait, that's not the point here, enrollment closes in five minutes and Jisung still doesn’t have a fourth class.

“That’s it, I’m sorting by classes with available spots and just clicking on one. As long as it doesn’t stop me to tell me my schedule conflicts it literally cannot be worse.” Jisung announces to the room. It’s not like a university campus has classes so useless this backfires on him.

“You sure about that one? I mean you could at least try to find something that fulfills a graduation requirement. I'm sure something still has space.” Jisung hears Chan ask in the background. He pays no mind to this warning and instead clicks on a random class that pops up with available spots.

“There’s no way you seriously just signed yourself up for a two-hour 8 am every Monday and Wednesday. I don’t even care what that class is, you’ve just screwed yourself beyond belief here kid.” Changbin says, cut off only by his laughter. Jisung doesn’t really find this situation humorous, but to each their own he supposes.

With that, the enrollment window closes and all Jisung is left with is 4 class codes and the worst schedule of his college years. How can someone end up with an 8 am every day of the week but also an 8 pm? Jisung closes the tab his schedule is on, refusing to believe this is something that actually happened to him. Before doing so, he noticed a class code under one of his 8 am classes that wasn’t on his schedule before, CDM101, clearly the class he signed up for randomly. Surely it can’t be that hard, it’s an introductory course, and the only classes he can think of that start with C are communications and chemistry, and anything under the latter is definitely full already.

The topic of registration is nothing but a stray thought in the back of Jisung’s mind, batted away like a cat toy. He’s enrolled in four classes, he won’t be kicked out of school, and at least something there will be going towards his degree. As the three begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel on their final project, they quickly wrap up their recording and agree to finish editing on their own and grab dinner instead as they have very little left. Three burnt-out college students versus a single final project for their music production class, who will win? Let the records state that although it was a concerningly close fight, the students did in fact win, and they all walked away with an A on their transcript.

As the three boys leave the restaurant, significantly more optimistic than they were walking into the studio (save for one Han Jisung), a lull in the conversation occurs and Chan just can’t seem to help himself because he immediately turns to Jisung and asks, “Are you sure you’ll be okay in your classes? You can always just talk to an advisor, that’s literally what they’re paid to do. We both know you don’t do well with mornings and I don’t want to see your grades slip just because you didn’t want to get up to go to class.”

Chan truly is nothing if not a worrying mother at heart. Jisung would find it endearing if it wasn’t contributing to his already soured mood over his classes. Yes his schedule sucks, and yes he will be immediately calling his parents once he gets back to his dorm to cry about it, but nobody needs to know that, especially his friends.

“While I appreciate the concern, it was truly never that deep, I’ll be fine,” Jisung responds, before fully turning to Chan to add on, “and everyone knows advisors are actually paid to be a pain in your ass and make sure you enroll in even less than if you just did it yourself.”

Yes, Jisung might be a little frustrated with his schedule, but he’s dealt with worse classes. Like that computer science class, but at least he could drop that one. So he signed up for a communications class, big fucking deal. He’ll just show up to the first lecture, find out if attendance is mandatory, and never show up again if it’s not. Communications classes are easy, he knows how to talk to people, and surely that’s what he signed up for, right?

Right?

——————------------------------

Wrong.

Again, seriously? Jisung wonders how many times he’ll be wrong before he gets something right because it’s apparently more than two. Well, it’s a lot more than two given his track record but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Jisung needs to find his classes, starting with his Monday 8 am communications class. He left his dorm around 7:30 this morning, as he was positive this was all the time he needed to reach the mystery class, and right he was. Gold star for Jisung everybody! He should throw a party, maybe even invite his new communications professor.

Now Jisung knows some friends of friends who have taken a communications class or two for an easy A, so he knows the building this class is in is definitely not the communications building. He’s almost positive that the building in question is on the other side of campus, not two buildings away from the music building over by where the art classes are held. He also knows that classes tend to stick within the building of their department as to avoid confusion. So the question remains: What the fuck did Jisung sign up for last spring?

A dance class. A fucking contemporary dance class. It couldn’t have just been a communications class, a history of dance class, or even any other style of dance. It just had to be something that requires a genuine understanding of movement and a body with the capacity to do things no human should be able to do. It should be, in theory, or at least according to the syllabus and Han Jisung’s limited knowledge of the dance department, an easy A just like it would’ve been if he actually signed up for a communications class. However, there’s one bright, shining error in his brilliant plan to get an A.

Mandatory Attendance.

“Showing up is half the battle my ass,” Jisung mutters as he reviews the syllabus the professor had been handing out at the door. He hopes she didn’t hear him as that could possibly win for the worst first impression of Jisung’s college career.

Yes the final for this class is a paper, and yes he has maybe three homework assignments the entire quarter; but seriously, how hard is it to make a syllabus where attendance isn’t 50% of your final grade? At least in other mandatory attendance classes, the portion of your grade that attendance counts for tends to be insignificant enough that you could still get an A while missing a good portion of lectures so long as you did well on the exams. Jisung begins weighing the possibility of dropping out of college entirely and living off of Changbin’s trust fund when the door closes, signifying what is usually the beginning of class, but who fucking knows at this point, this is uncharted territory here.

“Welcome to beginning contemporary dance, I’ll be your professor for this semester.” A voice cuts through Jisung’s pessimistic stream of consciousness, “As stated in the syllabus, you will have a teaching assistant who will be attending class alongside you. Unfortunately, he couldn’t attend class today due to a conflict in scheduling within the department, but know that you have much to learn from him”

The professor continues to drone on about how despite the class being made for beginners, she expects effort and attention from all students regardless of their dance background, or lack thereof (definitely a pointed comment thank you very much); and then a few other things regarding the attendance policies and grading structure. Jisung, however, is paying shit attention to this little speech and hasn’t been since the professor mentioned a teaching assistant. He? Now don’t get it twisted, Jisung is in no position to be prejudiced. In fact, it’ll be great to have some boy doing spins around him for two hours at a time. Jisung’s never been able to focus too well in class without something to look at, so surely this will motivate him to show up at 8 am twice a week for the next 18 weeks. On second thought, it probably won’t, but it doesn’t hurt to hope.

Jisung’s thoughts are once again interrupted by the professor, this time addressing him directly. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” He asks, trying (and failing) to make himself not look like the biggest idiot on the planet.

“We’re doing introductions. Just tell the class your name, year, major, and a fun fact. Nothing too difficult, that comes later of course.” the professor tells him, adding a seemingly ominous wink to the end of her sentence.

Well, that’s easy, the same shit you do in every class, surely this sentiment will remain similar for the remainder of the semester. Jisung thinks for a second before responding with, “Hi everyone, I’m Jisung, I’m a second-year music major, and I’ve never danced before nor wanted to in my entire life.”

“Thank you for participating Jisung, and I sincerely hope this class can change your views on dance.” With the passive-aggressive comment from his professor out of the way, Jisung resumes his stream of consciousness. Today’s class seems to be largely focused on getting to know each other, which he does so on autopilot, listening but never taking in the words of his peers.

For once, the universe decided to work in Jisung’s favor, and class got out early, meaning he had an extra hour to spend before his 8 pm lecture that night that he didn’t really need but still liked having regardless. He found himself at the campus coffee shop he frequented his freshman year in the hopes of finishing those pesky homework assignments he was supposed to do before classes started. Say what you want, but summer homework is egregious and should be banned regardless of the subject. At long last, it was 8 pm, and time for a class that Jisung actually gave a fuck about, his sole music-related class; which turned out to be a history class? Look, registration was rough, and if he needs it to graduate, then by god Jisung is going to get that snoozefest done.

Luckily the class is one he shares with his friends, so really it could have been worse. You know, like the rest of his schedule. Once he reached the classroom, he noticed Chan and Changbin waving him over, having saved him a seat. Jisung knew what they wanted to hear, and briefly yet seriously contemplated running the other direction and taking the inevitable hit to his grade that ditching class would leave him with. Despite all this, he moves to sit between his friends, anticipating the immediate badgering and questioning, but not quite moving to deflect. Look, he just needs to complain, like seriously who makes an 8 am mandatory — attendance being half your grade at that? He pauses for a second and proceeds to voice this thought to his peers.

“You mean to tell me you’ve somehow found an introductory communications class at 8 am that lasts two hours, mind you, that’s completely mandatory and worth half your grade just to show up?” Changbin explains, looking a little too enthused by Jisung’s suffering.

“Nah dude, that’s the worst part, it’s not even a communications class,” Jisung responds. “It’s a fucking dance class. I have to participate and shit, can’t even slack off in the corner of a lecture hall.”

“You know, most people go to class to learn,” Chan adds. “It only makes sense that would be applied to more practical classes.” Curse him and his realistic worldview, and sue Jisung for using lectures to online shop and play 2048, it’s not like they aren’t recorded and uploaded anyway.

Upon giving his two cents, which are somehow worth more than most people’s despite still being two cents, Chan looks away to pay attention to the lecture. Jisung can’t help but thank him in his head. Not because he’s no longer grilling him, but because he knows Changbin won’t let up and neither of them will take a single note tonight.

“So what do you even do in that class? With your two left feet, I can’t foresee anything about this going well.” Changbin leans over to whisper.

“Bro, why are you acting like I know? All I remember from whatever that class was is that some dude is gonna come in and TA for us.” Jisung thinks for a second and adds, “I’ll probably just make friends with him and hope he can save my grade.”

“Your TAs a guy?”

“Yeah dude, didn’t realize you of all people would take offense to that. Isn’t your boyfriend literally a dance major?”

“Not where I was going with that dumbass. Was just gonna say I know a guy who’s TAing a dance class this semester.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Says the one who didn’t even know he was in a dance class until this morning.”

“Whatever dude, so what should I know about this mysterious TA guy? The prof kept hyping him up and shit, no way he’s that good?”

“I'm not telling you shit with that attitude,” Changbin says, finishing their gossip session before it could start. “Pay attention, according to what I just heard you need to if you want to pass any of your classes this semester.”

With that, Jisung turned back to the professor at the front of the room. Paying attention in a class where all of the lecture videos get sent to him is pointless, Jisung thinks as he opens 2048 on his computer, a game already in progress.

Tuesday went by in a blur, two general education classes Jisung will be doing the bare minimum for because no hiring manager in the history of ever is going to give a single shit that someone working in music production got a C- in their genetics class they were forced to take sophomore year. It was once Wednesday hit the semester began to immediately worsen, which Jisung didn’t even think was possible. Look, the 8 am classes every day are really starting to get to him, especially when paired with a class twelve hours later.

So he overslept and missed his dance class, no biggie, surely there’s a policy that says he can miss a few classes right? Every class has those, it’s like a fail-safe for when overworked college students inevitably find themselves too sick (or lazy, as seen here) so Jisung will be fine.

Or not. Seriously, one excused absence for an entire semester? That’s a little absurd, even for a dance class. Oh well, he’ll just have to go to all of the classes in the future if he wants a good grade. Better hope he doesn’t find himself catching every disease ever like all college kids do in the fall.

Thursday followed as per the Tuesday schedule, and Friday was empty save for a morning discussion class Jisung would rather dunk his socks in cereal and suck the milk out of than attend despite participation being a significant enough portion of his grade. Aside from the utter failure that has been trying to attend his dance class, Jisung was sure he could turn the semester around and make it into something bearable. Make lemons out of lemonade or whatever old people say when they don’t want you to believe it’s okay to be frustrated.

——————------------------------

Surely after the disaster that was trying to get to all of his classes last week, Jisung could bring himself to attend his 8ams, and attend his 8ams he did. Walking into the dance building at 7:55 am (see Changbin, not that hard) Jisung noticed a boy about his age approaching him. He takes a moment to think back to last week, trying to recall a face, name, or anything to help him remember this boy who clearly knows him. His strikingly blonde hair and round features allowed him to stand out amongst the crowd, and surely Jisung would remember meeting someone as unique as him. He comes up with nothing, and takes the last few seconds to pray that they don’t actually know each other and he isn’t about to severely offend someone.

“Where were you on Wednesday?” the boy asks, “It kinda sucks being the only guy in this class, well except for the TA I guess.”

“I’m really sorry but, do we know each other?” Jisung responds with the only thing he’s thinking at this moment. “I don’t mean to offend you, I just do not remember a thing from the first class and I feel like I’d remember meeting you.”

“Well not yet I suppose, but that’s what this is for. Lee Felix, a second-year dance major.” The boy, Felix as he now knows, reaches his hand out, presumably for a handshake.

“Han Jisung, second-year music major. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in a class for beginners if this is what your degree is in?” Jisung worries he’s pried a bit too much for a first-time conversation, but he really doesn’t understand why someone who loves dance enough to major in it is in a class with the likes of him.

“Don’t worry, people already questioned me about it last week, I’ll give you the run down since you weren’t there. I’m auditing the class, which means I kinda just show up when I feel like it and don’t worry about a grade.”

“Dude I wish that was me. I signed up for this class by chance after I was under the credit limit.”

“Seriously? I hate to break it to you, but you’re really in for something different if you signed up by accident. I mean, just wait until you meet the TA, he’s really gonna have it out for you if he ever hears that.”

“The TA? Don’t worry man I have that covered. All I gotta do is play nice and make friends, and he’ll help me get an A, right?”

“Wrong.” The second Jisung hears this from Felix, all he can do is put a little tally next to the chart on his brain whiteboard next to ‘wrongs’. The ‘rights’ side is regrettably empty save for when he made it to class on time (does that count?). “Don’t think I’m trying to scare you or anything, he’s not a bad guy, it’s just… he can be a little more on the serious side when it comes to dance. I mean I’m sure you get it, being in the arts and all that.”

“Whatever man, just wait. I’ve got this in the bag already.” Jisung says as they enter the studio together. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots something, or someone that is, that definitely wasn’t there last week. He likes to think he’d remember seeing someone like him. He also believes he’d remember every single girl in that class (which mind you, is everyone with the exception of Jisung and Felix) shamelessly staring the same guy down as if he was the last croissant at that trendy bakery down the street from Chan’s apartment. It makes something akin to jealousy shoot down Jisung’s spine and into his fingertips. Look, it’s not what you think it is, he doesn’t even like girls like that, but he sincerely doubts Mr. Twinkle Toes over there does either, he’s in a dance class for fucks sake. It’s just the whole attention thing; Jisung loves being the person in the room that people feel compelled to approach (except for when he really doesn’t), and this guy is hogging his spotlight. Jisung does the only thing he thinks can help him in this situation, and turns to Felix to ask, “Who in the everloving fuck is that?”

“Who?” He distantly hears Felix’s response over the sound of blood in his ears as he makes eye contact with the mystery man. Jisung really just thinks it’s unfair, how can someone have such an objectively perfect face, and maybe now he understands why all 20-something girls just can’t seem to look away from their classmate. His stare is piercing, almost as if he’s one of those mind readers Jisung worries about when his thoughts get a little inappropriate for the situation, and now all he can think about is if that’s exactly what’s happening right now.

Regrettably, before he can really unpack what any of that is supposed to mean, the professor walks in, and any fraction of the boy’s attention that Jisung held is immediately lost to what he thinks is a motivational speech to open the class.

“Alright everybody, today’s class will be focused on Horton Technique” the professor starts, “As a lot of you are not dancers, we will begin the class with a bit of a lecture on the history of the form. Contemporary dance is deeply rooted in the evolution of modern dance forms, so it is important we begin with these foundational techniques”

As the professor drones on about the history of modern dance, a voice in the back of Jisung’s mind reminds him that although there are no exams, the homework assignments are probably based on what she’s saying right now. He proceeds to throw that out the window and instead stares at Mr. Twinkle Toes from his place across the room. Look don’t judge the nickname, it's not like Jisung knows his real name and honestly, the nickname is kinda funny and definitely going to stick around for way too long whether or not they ever even exchange greetings.

What he finds, however, is not a sight he had been expecting. TT, as Jisung will now be taking to calling the boy in his head since Mr. Twinkle Toes is long and pretentious and must be saved exclusively for peak comedic timing, is already looking right back at him. Seriously, what is this dude's deal with Jisung? All he wanted when he signed up for a random class was some inner peace and an easy A, and now he’s not sure he’s got either of those. Unfortunately, just like every other time, Jisung has attempted to get any form of information on his mystery man, his professor has decided to stop lecturing and move on to actual dancing, causing both of their gazes to break.

This professor is really starting to get on Jisung’s nerves, can’t she see he’s on a mission here? Clearly more important than whatever the fuck Horton Technique is.

“To begin our warmup series, we will be learning a flat-back combination. This exercise engages your muscles and prepares the body for more rigorous movement” Jisung is vaguely aware of the teacher as she guides the class through the combination, focusing on keeping his head down and refusing to attract negative attention.

The teacher repeats the combination twice through movement, once verbally, and declares this enough before moving to turn on the music. Jisung can’t help but notice that Mr, Twinkle Toes seems to have taken to standing front and center of the studio. Teacher’s pet much? It’s not like he could possibly be good enough to warrant standing there in the first place. Jisung may not be a dancer, but he and Seungmin did drunkenly watch reruns of Dance Moms one night after finals, so he knows that front and center is reserved for special people who can actually dance.

Mystery Boy, as it turns out, is in fact one of those special people who can actually dance, and Jisung finds himself entranced by the way he effortlessly completes the exercise Jisung couldn’t even remember with the repetition and explanations. He suddenly finds himself grateful he’s placed himself directly behind Mystery Boy, and no it’s not because he has a good view of his ass you pervert, he’s wearing sweats anyways. Jisung learns that standing behind him does actually provide him with some knowledge as he simply repeats the movements he sees in front of him, albeit a little sloppier.

As the exercise draws to a close, and the professor moves to command the attention of the class, Jisung realizes something he had been previously ignorant of.

The music

Well, if you can even call it that. Jisung doesn’t understand how Mr. Twinkle Toes up in the front can do the exercises so flawlessly when the sound of nails on a chalkboard would be more audibly appealing than this monstrosity contained in his professor’s iPad. To each their own, he supposes, as he proceeds to figure out how to get his brain to tune out the music for the remainder of the class.

The professor leads them through a few more simple warm-up exercises in the center before announcing that they’ll be moving to the corner to try a few exercises across the floor. Jisung finds himself grateful for this, as if he ever has to do a Lateral T exercise again he might just do something drastic enough to change the trajectory of his professor’s life. He finds himself towards the end of the line the class has formed, alongside Felix, and notices that Mystery Boy has taken up a position at the end of the line. Given his assertiveness at the front of the room, and unfortunately, his ability to dance better than Jisung previously assumed, it seemed like he would be the kind of person to rush to be first in line.

Not that Jisung is complaining, this just means that he doesn’t have to embarrass himself by going after someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

The teacher then leads them through Jisung’s new least favorite exercise. The worst part? It’s not even supposed to be that hard. It’s basically a glorified walking pattern across the length of the studio, something about familiarizing yourself with the ground or whatever, and Jisung just doesn’t get it. He proceeds to share this with Felix, who goes over it with him while they wait in line, and he could kiss Felix for how he saved him from being a walking (literally) embarrassment.

Unfortunately for him, his Mystery Boy is soon after him, and he’s forced to watch the most graceful walking of his entire life. He didn’t even know walking could be so graceful before taking this class. You learn something new every day it seems. Jisung is infuriated by the boy and his strange affinity for walking, and he decides that Felix needs to hear this.

“Who the fuck does he think he is? It's enough to be that obnoxiously talented and objectively attractive, but to know it like he does too?“ Jisung whispers to Felix a little louder than expected. Before he can check if anyone heard him, he feels someone’s breath on the back of his neck, far too close for comfort.

“It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs. I guess I was wrong to assume your parents would have raised you better than that?” He hears from behind him, whispered directly in his ear.

Jisung finds himself unable to move, or speak for that matter. In a true life or death scenario (not that this isn’t), his instincts would immediately choose freeze over the much more useful fight or flight, which should worry Jisung, but he’s a little preoccupied. He says what is apparently the only thing he can think of when faced with strangers recently, which ends up being an incredibly eloquent, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Lee Minho, it’d do you well to remember that. Your TA as well, although in hindsight that part might be a bit more important” he gets in response.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I swear whatever you heard, I really didn’t mean it to be rude. I’m just struggling with the class and dealing with it in an even worse manner. But since you’re my TA, you can help me, right?” Jisung adds that last part alongside some serious puppy-dog eyes as a last-ditch attempt to make Minho believe that Jisung really is just in awe of him and not a jerk.

“Yeah, fat chance after that display. You have a far better chance of getting help from Lixie over here, it’s not like he doesn’t know the same things I do.” So that didn’t work.

“There’s really no need to get snappy Minho, I swear he didn’t mean it like that.” Felix decides to add in at that moment, and thank god Jisung has someone to come to his aid like this,” He really is just curious, he missed class last Wednesday anyways.”

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t let me catch you talking like that again. I’m not a bitch but I will take it up with the professor if you want to choose to act like a child in a college course.” Minho finishes with that, brushing past Jisung before he can even utter another apology.

The rest of class continues somewhat normally, Jisung keeps his head down and mouth shut to avoid inadvertently offending another classmate or worse, his professor. Minho seems to preen even more given that the professor is making it more and more aware that he is the TA, and incredibly talented at that. She couldn’t have done that an hour ago before Jisung was given the perfect opportunity to humiliate himself? This class keeps getting worse.

At long last, class is released, and Jisung is free to hide in his dorm for the rest of eternity out of shame. He almost makes it out of the dance building unscathed, but not before he runs into Felix waiting for a more advanced dance class after the one he shares with Jisung, who offers apologies on behalf of Minho as well as a chance for him to help Jisung better understand the class and his phone number.

Jisung really doesn’t have it in his heart to tell Felix he’s seriously considering dropping this class over how horrifically he’s embarrassed himself. He also doesn’t have it in himself to drop the class when he checks the app on his phone as he begins his walk, so he might as well accept the help where he can. He texts Felix, asking if they can meet outside of class, and heads off towards his dorm.

——————------------------------

Jisung left class that morning more confused than he’d ever been in his entire life. He likes to think of himself as a people person, even though he is one of those people who spends his solo walks and that awkward period of laying down before you fall asleep thinking of every conversation that’s ever gone wrong in his entire life. Honestly, this truly is one for the books, how was he supposed to know Mr. Twinkle Toes was his TA, and how the fuck was he supposed to know that Felix wasn’t playing about him actually giving a fuck about dance. Now Jisung gets it, he’s an artist too, it sucks to have your work devalued or seen as lesser, especially as a student. But it’s not like he even said anything rude to Minho, in fact, he was incredibly complimentary of him, so he really doesn’t understand what upset the other boy so much.

Jisung’s self-deprecating depression spiral over his stupid dance TA, who doesn’t even matter anyway like who even cares, comes to an end when he reaches his dorm and slams the front door a little harder than normal, startling his roommate. Kim Seungmin may be a little shit who makes (lovingly) snide comments towards Jisung whenever he finds the opportunity to do so, but there’s a reason Jisung chose to room with him again despite totally having a way out of doing so. Okay so he didn’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that he really does love Seungmin and appreciates his ability to stay put together when Jisung absolutely cannot.

“The fuck happened to you? I haven’t seen you this upset since spring registration.” Jisung hears Seungmin ask. Although he really isn’t in the mood to ‘talk this out’, he has to admit that Seungmin might have something interesting to provide.

“It’s just my TA for that stupid dance class, not like it’s important or anything.” Jisung responds, “He’s just so… infuriating.”

“Oh? How so?”

“We were going through class like what I assume is normal, and I went to say something about him to my friend in the class and I guess he overheard and flipped the fuck out over it.”

“Well, what did you say? If you’re talking shit about someone and they hear it’s not like they’re going to be particularly excited about that, you idiot.”

“No, I swear nothing like that! I was just upset that he was so talented and objectively attractive AND confident on top of all of that. I didn’t even know he was my TA for fucks sake” Jisung proceeds to flop across their shared couch for dramatic effect, surely Seungmin will take pity on him.

“Wait, what’s his name? I know a few dancers myself you know.” He did not, oh well. Curse Seungmin and his ability to be impartial about situations.

“I think he said it was like Lee Minho? Something like that, not much to go off, unfortunately.”

“Do you have a picture of him?”

“No what the fuck why do you need one?” Jisung feels weirdly called out by this as he does, in fact, have a photo of him. Sue him for being able to find the socials of the boy in question, not like it was that hard.

“I’ll tell you if you show me a picture of him”

“Fine.” Jisung relents, handing over his phone, opened to Minho’s Instagram account.

“Oh! I do know him, didn’t think this is who you’d be talking about though. You sure this is the right guy?”

“Absolutely. How the fuck do you know him, you literally study old books for fun and he’s a dancer”

“We grew up together dipshit, and don’t shit talk about my major. It's not like yours is anything useful either.”

He really got Jisung there. On the Minho thing, a music degree is perfectly useful, thank you very much. Unless he ever decides he wants to do something that isn’t specifically music production, but that’s a thought for another time. Back to the whole Minho Problem. That’s right, it’s become a Problem, with capitals and everything. Could Jisung tell you why he cares so much? Not at all, but that’s why he needs to get to the bottom of this.

“You know, I really didn’t expect that to be who you were talking about. As much as he was a pain in my ass growing up, being older and all that, he wasn’t outright rude” Seungmin adds, “I mean he’s kinda got the closest thing you can have to a reputation on a college campus, dude gets along with everyone.”

“You’re joking. Well clearly nobody’s taken a dance class with him before. Or even heard that he dances.”

“You do realize most of those people in your class are there for the sole purpose of taking class with him, right? The dance department shows are only as popular as they are because of him. I heard they even got more people auditioning this past week because he’s in the shows.”

Now that he mentions it, that does make a lot of sense. Jisung was wondering how it was possible for one person to attract that much attention, but if they already knew who Minho was, of course, they would be looking for him. It also makes sense as to why he might not remember Felix from the first day of classes as it sounds like auditions for the dance department’s production were why Minho couldn’t make class. Seungmin’s next statement snaps him out of his train of thought.

“You know I feel like I should be a bit more hung up on the fact that you’ve been calling my childhood friend ‘objectively attractive’ whatever the fuck that means, but I really can’t bring myself to sit with that right now.” Leave it to Seungmin to find something even less helpful to interject with.

Jisung really needs to reconsider who he seeks advice from, maybe he should talk to Felix more. He really should’ve lied about what he said about Minho, but seriously how was he supposed to know Seungmin was all buddy-buddy with him?

“Whatever man, I’m going to bed. I’ll just like avoid him for the rest of the semester or something, doesn’t affect me.” Jisung says to Seungmin, hoping it’s enough to keep his roommate from prying. “Alright? I assumed you caring enough to rant to me about it meant you’d do something about it, but that’s not on me to inspire that in you.” he hears Seungmin snark in response. So what he knew Minho or something, people change from when they’re kids.

Despite going into that conversation seeking the truth, or at least validation that Minho is totally, ultimately in the wrong here, Jisung can’t feel anything but regret for how their conversation went down this morning. Now it’s not like all of a sudden Jisung thinks what he said was wrong, he just wishes he might’ve said something different so that he wasn’t the most hated classmate of his TA. He just wants a good grade in his dance class, that’s all.

As he tosses and turns in an attempt to get some sleep before his 8 am that night, he can’t help but wonder why he cares so much about what Minho thinks of him.

Just a bit later, while far along the way to the land of dreams, Jisung blinks awake with a genius idea. You see, late at night, right when you’re about to fall asleep is the greatest time to come up with a plan. Well, not quite a plan, just a name:

Seo Changbin.

[onlyjaeyun]

i’ve been following ur writing for some time now and i do have to agree with that anon who said you did CH dirty. you are a very talented writer so it’s just hard to watch.

you started off CH so strong with the lore and little chapters here and there but as it progressed you kind of just got lazy and it shows. when important events happened in the story, they weren’t conveyed through writing but through the texts (ie the riki and yn fight, that was definitely worth a written chapter) and it was honestly disappointing.

the ending isn’t much to say about either. yn and hoon barely go through development after the letter incident and all of a sudden they’re dating and married with a kid like two chapters later?

idk, if it was a mental health issue then i get that but even then you should’ve just gave it a break and thought everything out more. you could do so much better.

thank you for the feedback!

i wanna put you through the progess of a piece of writing from the POV of a writer okay? now keep in mind: i work two jobs, am a fulltime uni student and the daughter of an immigrant household with two parents who still work most of the day just so you know what else i have to deal with, besides my mental health okay?

now, i started off CH strong right? yes. i uploaded on the daily, fine i chose that. a chapter usually takes me around one hour if i actually sit down and focus on nothing but the chapter itself, which includes IG stories, editing, formatting etc. alright

on top of the daily chapters, i constantly replied to 40+ asks a day, a blessing in disguise because no matter how much i enjoy talking to you guys, the pressure does get worse the bigger that number of my inbox becomes, i hope this makes sense

now, i started CH back in october, right when my semester started, thats why i started off strong but as time went on, my assignments and private life got too busy and i guess i felt entitled enough as a writer to skip a few certain chaps and make life a little easier for me by making them regular chapters instead of written ones.

and this is gonna be my main point: i'm not a machine. i wrote a minimum of 5 THOUSAND words per written chapter, MINIMUM. we're talking about a 5-9 THOUSANDED worded chapter EACH WEEK. which usually took me about 6-7 hours, even allnighters.

yes, i chose to do that and maybe my time management wasn't the best but i had to create a compromise where i wouldnt have let you guys wait for over two months which would have resulted in me losing my motivation completely, and yet still focusing on EXAMS. because you know, i'm a fulltime uni student with TWO jobs 😮‍💨

if YOU think i did CH dirty go write an alternative ending yourself but it should be a minimum of 15 chapters including 5 written ones, with at LEAST 9k words each yeah? i wanna see you manage it all, pls prove me wrong snd show me you're better than me i'm genuinely begging bc it might inspire me to do "better" next time.

as a writer/artist/creator, and i can tell you probably arent one yourself or havent been one for long, the longer smth takes to come to an end the worse the pressure becomes which results in a blockage i dont wish upon my worst enemy i'm being deadass. i dealt with some of the worst writer's block ive had since i started writing literally 12 years ago and you're telling me i should have just "taken a break" and do "better"

i never, ever expected anything from anyone but some of you are so entitled to a writer's time and skill it's giving me a headache. maybe you didn't like the timing and writing of the last few chapters of CH and i guess that's unfortunate but this was so unnecessary because you completely dismissed everything else that could have been going on in my life and even belittled my mental health issues like im some fucking AI writing machine

do better, be nicer, write it yourself if you don't like it i'm so fucking over this

if i had gotten out of my own comfort and wellbeing and have actually written another set of written chapters i would have burned myself completely out. ive been in this fandom for not even a year and have already finished FOUR smaus with 50 chapters each, you do NOT get to tell me what i should or could have done better because you dont even give a fuck about me as a person this is just about receiving what YOU think YOURE entitled to but this is MY art and I will do what I see fit even if it's not what was expected of it because i'm a fucking human being with a life before i'm a writer on tumblr

oh, also: i do this for free ㅤ:) just a reminder :) this is my HOBBY :)

and don't you EVER call me lazy again when it comes to writing because i'm not gonna pour my heart and soul into a fic just for you to call me lazy when i literally wrote 50 THOUSAND words for this fucking fic just for the written chapters

goodbye

[cynthiav06]

In which scenes do you think they should have given Klaus and Hayley a kissing scene?

Let's say we disregard the entirety of season 1, let the whole Elijah thing blow over.

Firstly, in season 2, when Klaus is consoling her after explaining the realities of being a hybrid, in the real moments are vibrant scene or even when he takes her out to kill witches, they could have given us a forehead touch in the for the former and a kiss for the latter part.[Both consumed by bloodlust mostly Hayley as Klaus can control it, she accidentally(definitely intentionally while acting on her true desires) kisses Klaus and he is so enamored he can't help but reciprocate.

I trust you, more than you know scene should have definitely evolved into a kiss. Klaus can't help the jealousy and the feeling of fear that arises at the thought of her marrying Jackson (yes, yes, he is also worried about Hope's existence being revealed, but there's obviously more) and after hearing Hayley's words he wants to convey to her that he does trust her and care for her so yeah a kiss there for sure.

In season 3, Hayley turns back and is fighting Klaus but breaks down after seeing Hope and then hugs her? I think that scene should have also had Klaus hugging them both, maybe to symbolise his apology or other but not a kiss, but at least a hug.

After he saves her from Lucien, we really need a scene where he hugs her, and then she kisses him because she needs to feel that he is real and they are both alright. Klaus kisses her back equally fervently to assure her that she is safe as she is both afraid for Klaus's life and her own so he can feel her fear and relief now that Lucien's dead. That should have definitely been added. (So many missed opportunities for the building up to probably the most compatible and perfect couple you would think they didn't do it just to not brutally destroy the previous Klaus or Hayley ships. Oh shit that's exactly why)

When they are alone in the wood clearing, and he says, "I have given you a thousand reasons to abandon me, but you haven't yet, thank you?" A kiss would have gone really well with that.

Maybe a scene where Hayley shows off her karaoke skills, and Klaus is so amazed he kisses her? That would have been perfect.

When he goes to Marcel to sacrifice himself for Hope, Hayley and his family, a parting kiss

When Klaus, Hayley and Hope unite and Klaus and Hayley see each other's struggles they can't help but kiss because Hayley has missed Klaus's presence, his words, his protection and Klaus has missed his little wolf and littlest wolf dearly, moreover Klaus can't help but marvel at her strength each time for whenever he thinks this might just break my little wolf she perseveres through it and he has been wanting to kiss her since they last parted and as she was one of the few who broke him out the want only doubled.

A lots of kisses during that time cause two people don't go to such lengths for each other if they don't love one another like crazy.

When he has to leave with the hollow's essence, a sorrowful but desperate kiss. Yet again, parting ways and this just might be permanent.

I like to think Hayley gave him individual visits to check on him when Hope was grown enough and was in school and they kissed and everything.

Lastly when Klaus saves her from Greta, the Hollow's defeated and its all good for the rest of them, after Hope's taken back, passionate kissing and make out scene that results into another miracle baby is exactly what we deserved. [This is what I believe would have actually happened if the writers weren't bloody fools and also so I don't wallow in misery at the unfairness of it all for both of them]

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

oh my god, I did not expect a response so soon. WHY ARE U SPOILING ME LIKE THIS?!

abt the chinese web novel.. it has 4928 chapters.. the author was possessed by some ancient evil entities because 😦😜☹️🤬🥹 you absolutely do not need to put urself thru that unless you're freaky like me and like the angst and torture. (link) I rarely ever say a work is epic but this was peak for me! during covid times. dare I say one of the best novels in existence. (ofc there's a few translation errors here and there but I would kms if I had to translate just 15 chapters from one language to another- not to even think of damn near 5 thousand) on the bright sides, the chs are relatively short! I used to burn thru like 150 ish chapters a night 😭

abt s&s!mc's dilemma related stuff. I now realize that not everything does apply to her. so I went and ss'ed the ones that I feel fits </3 I would not be me if I did not at least attempt to hyper analyze the living daylight out of every media I consume.. (and your works have helped turn the cogs in my head <3 I am both inspired and equally amazed everytime I read from you)

the full essay, titled 'no good alone' is posted on substack by essayist rayne fisher- quann! the link seems to work for me but issokie you DONTTT have to check it out 😭 I just be yapping abt anything because I read a lot and every time I consume any content, im like "oh, that reminds me ofㅡ!"

also, human resources omg!! I have much to learn from you.

"KMSSS" take me out too, damn.

and it's okay, YOU ARE DOING MORE THAN ENOUGH. i promise 🤍 we live and we learn. from the world and from each other.

literally sobbed when u said u wrote between ur lunch break- so ur telling me if u pavlov me to sit like a dog I would. my response is even messier 🥲 but oh well! dhakjddjkajs

MUCH LOVE, always

- yveria

Yve! Finally, I am here to give you a response to your response to my response to your response…wow it keeps going.

Damn 4928 chapters… that’s actually crazy. I can barely hold my attention enough to write 200 words… In that sense, I’d like to commend both the author and you for actually sitting through it.

Moving to the essays by Rayne. I read through the screenshots, and I must say it’s a wonderful piece of literature. I’m starstruck and astounded by the description, and like you said, it made me go, “Oh! That reminds me of—!” So here are some lines that really stuck with me and reminded me of Safe & Sound.

It is tempting, in this world of alarm-bells and flashing warning signs, to want to trap yourself in a room where there’s nothing to bounce off of but myself.

You may hate yourself, but you’re also a hero, bravely forgoing love and connection and community to protect the world from the car-bomb of your own instability.

Isolationists have one very strong argument on their side—when you’re alone, there’s no one there to hurt you, even accidentally. There’s no one there to throw your own flaws into stark relief. There’s no one who you might hurt with bursts of uncontrollable emotion or human carelessness.

It’s driven me to isolate myself, convinced that ritualistic self-punishment and pathetic martyrdom were the only ways I could ever make myself worthy of other people.

I realised, though, that I was being a coward. Beling alone is hard, to be sure, but it’s also deceptively easy—it requires nothing of us.

To grow beside a friend or lover, knowing that you will poke and prod at each other as you take shape but unafraid of the resulting scar tissue—this is the good stuff.

If we agree that our well-being is inexorably linked to the well-being of our communities, it becomes clear that nothing generative—nothing truly healing—can come from destroying yourself trying to save someone else.

You do not have to treat your flaws like action items that must be systematically targeted and eliminated in order to receive a return on investment.

Your job, really, is to find people who love you for reason you barely understand, and to love them back, and to try as hard as you can to make it all easier for each other.

We all exist to save each other. There is barely anything else worth living for.

It’s hard, certainly—it’s painful and exhausting and fundamentally terrifying to rip yourself open and leave the guts at the mercy of the people you choose to love. But if I know anything. I know this: It’s better than being alone.

This last one hits super hard knowing what I know is going down in the last two parts... Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece of literature; it truly inspired me too! Might have to go read the whole essay now.

And ISTG Yve, your asks and reviews make me go 🥺😫😭😳😂 by the amount of seriousness and unseriousness in it. So, thank you again for this!

Love you with all my heart 🤍

- Nat

[heich0e]

liv…. i eat up your dialogue EVERY TIME like a crazy person.. if you post smth for someone i dont go here for, i read it just because 🤍 i 🤍 love 🤍 your 🤍 writing 🤍 but that being said……. i must know the details of the canonverse levi wip you posted. what did erwin do! what was levi and r’s relationship! how!!!!

if you're genuinely interested, i really don't mind telling u what the plot is because i will quite literally never post it. it was the first fic i ever wrote for any anime, and i hadn't even gotten very far into the actual show at the point of writing—so while some aspects are (tenuously) canon-compliant, there are also many very clear ways in which it is not.

so, to reduce that terrible levi x reader fic (it's so bad and i MEAN that!!) down to its barest bones, start to finish:

[WARNING: THERE IS AN ENTIRE FIC SUMMARIZED UNDER THIS READ MORE AND IT IS MULTIPLE THOUSANDS OF WORDS LONG. THEMES INCLUDE: DUBCON, CANON CHARACTER DEATH, VAGUELY MISOGYNISTIC TONES, AND EVERY SINGLE CRINGE-Y FANFIC CLICHE U CAN IMAGINE. BYE.]

at the point where the fic opens, reader is a young, low-ranking soldier in the survey corps on her way to mitras with levi and erwin to attend a small gala being hosted by a very wealthy family that they're petitioning (effectively wooing) to provide funding for the corps

the reason reader is asked to come along is because she comes from a very good family in mitras and is connected to the "high society" folk—though never explicitly stated, erwin very much intends to use her and her social graces as a sort of poster child and mouthpiece for the corps, in hopes that she can charm ppl and help them gain favour to accomplish their goal

all things considered, reader was very privileged growing up and had as comfortable/luxurious of a life as anyone (at least anyone in paradis) could possibly hope to have. her family is aristocracy/noble and comes from a long line of "wealth." her father is a doctor who consults with the military in a high ranking capacity—though he's never actively been a soldier, and it's largely just a cushy job where he doesn't do much actual grunt work, just gets consulted on things and sits on boards or whatever

reader graduated from school and enlisted in the military when she came of age—to the shock and horror of her family (especially her mother) and their noble peers. but she felt an impetus to do something with her life that wasn't just sit around docilely and look pretty until eventually her father handed her over to an advantageous husband and she went from daughter to wife and surely then eventually mother—while never actually having any agency or choice for herself

because reader was well-educated from childhood, she did well academically at the cadet academy, and because she grew up in a comfortable home she is physically very competent as well (though truthfully her skill as a soldier is often very OP and cringey to read back now... but it was my first fic! sue me!)

levi and reader don't interact much in the corps (as he's not her squad leader) but when they do they're constantly at odds—he thinks less of her as a result of her silver spoon upbringing, and while she doesn't dislike him, per se, she definitely resents his treatment of her

on the trip to mitras (alongside a very uncomfortable homecoming to her estranged family's home with two men who are effectively her bosses) they attend the gala/banquet and it's revealed that the family hosting it is the most wealthy in mitras (save for the royal family, though they're sort of unofficially considered the second-in-command) who reader is very familiar with—they have a son her age, and a few daughters slightly younger, who she grew up close to (i made all these characters up btw.... first fic liv was rly going wild)

the son from this family was always sort of sweet on reader growing up, and they have a vaguely romantic history in their teens (before reader enlisted.) reader very quickly surmises that she was brought along (or at the very least is able) to possibly sway the son in their favour, as the eldest and heir to this family's fortune, who would in turn convince the father to support the corps

the son (his name is adam btw. if anyone cares? lmao) is actually very sweet, and earnestly cares for her. he's just blinded by his own affluence to a lot of realities—like most extremely wealthy people are

reader is a good soldier and she's cunning, and she knows that what she's doing is ethically/morally questionable but in the interest of the greater good she goes along with some flirtation/manipulation for the cause

the story progresses and reader continues her work in the military, but the heir from this family is clearly infatuated with her and he (and his father/family by extension) begin implicating themselves more heavily with the military as an excuse to see her/spend time with her/etc though of course it's all under the guise of official business

so it's like the life she fled is bleeding into the one she built for herself, and it's stark juxtaposition becomes very clear in those instances where they overlap and she's forced to juggle them both

she just wants to be a soldier and do good. erwin is (in so many words) pressuring her to do her part and keep up the charade. levi is watching this all unfold from the wings and starts to feel some genuine sympathy for her

lots of very dramatic things happen, yadda yadda yadda. levi grows less hostile over time, and reader becomes closer to him. she's always respected him and that grows into something mutual. there's a lot of unspoken tension brewing between them

it's revealed that reader threw her cadet exam results so that she wouldn't be in the top of her class, and therefore couldn't become an MP and had to join either the garrison or the scouts. she did it intentionally (erwin knew and used this to his advantage) so that her family wouldn't be able to force her back to mitras. when levi realizes what erwin did/knew and how he used it to his own advantage it really upsets him, because he's basically pimping reader out for the betterment of the survey corps. this is the first time you really see levi get angry about the way she's being used (and you can infer in this moment that he maybe cares about her a bit)

more dramatic stuff happens!

the story culminates in the reveal that the son is planning to ask for reader's hand in marriage. her own family has already agreed. part of the financial agreement the powerful family has made with the survey corps is that reader will effectively be retired once she marries (and transferred to a clerical role with the MPs. desk work, basically. fake work, for all intents and purposes, because the position was made up just for her)

reader goes to erwin, understandably extremely distraught when she finds out, and begs him to stop it from happening. she doesn't really care about getting married, but she doesn't want to leave the scouts. he effectively (though not explicitly/in these particular words) implies that maybe if she fucks her "fiance" he'll be more open to compromise and let her stay in the corps

she does it, but unsurprisingly loverboy is not about to let the woman he's obsessed with (who he has now officially boned lmao) go back to risking her life every day in the military, and it's almost immediately revealed that her plan didn't work at all

(erwin pretty much knew the whole time it wasn't going to work. bastard.)

reader feels betrayed and helpless. she goes to levi the night before she's set to leave—who basically is like "uhhhh i told you so??" upon finding out what's happened—and they end up sleeping together anyway in a very emotionally fraught and vulnerable moment

she leaves the next day

a timeskip happens. turns out that the ENTIRETY of the wealthy family was killed in the attack in mitras (like between annie and eren's titans i think? don't remember what season that is. a lot of ppl get smooshed in a church. they were there.)

but reader had already been married into the family. she wasn't in the church and inherited the entirety of their wealth as the sole surviving family member.

she was also.... pregnant :) (of course she was! this fic hits every trope and bad fanfic cliche! maybe it's twins!)

levi is back in mitras years (??) later (listen.... i didn't know where the hell the canon storyline of this manga was going at the time so FORGIVE ME for the fact that obviously this is not canon compliant l m a o)

reader has become sort of a recluse since everything happened in mitras, but having inherited the wealth she's become a key figure politically and particularly with respect to the military because of her influence as a donor.

levi tracks her down to this surprisingly humble property on the outskirts of town.

there's a little boy playing in the yard. no more than four or five. he has dark hair and slate grey eyes. levi looks at this child and sees his mother's face.

the little boy speaks to him but levi is (understandably) very confused and disoriented. reader comes outside and is shocked to see levi there. like she's seeing a ghost.

reader tells the little boy to come to her and scoops him up in her arms, and she quietly reminds him (his name is Teddy btw... short for Theodore) that he's not supposed to talk to strangers.

and Teddy leans in real close and says "but mama... he has your wings" because Levi is wearing his survey corps uniform with the insignia on them. you've kept your own patch (a parting gift from erwin when he sold you off... how thoughtful) and treasure it.

all of which is to say that basically Levi is the kid's father, but because reader was already married when her pregnancy was discovered and the timeline still checked out—so no one ever questioned the paternity (especially because she was a WIDOW by the time she gave birth.)

teddy is now the "legitimate" heir to the entire fortune that was left by reader's husband/his family, but until he comes of age it's reader's to manage, so she can provide a safe home for him to grow up in—though notably removed from the society that she was raised in.

it's heavily implied (though not actually confessed) that reader and levi have been in love with each other for all these years, and there's a kind of optimism about what future is ahead for them now that their paths have crossed again. (present day canon-knowing liv is laughing at this part in particular.)

the end.

[beggingwolf]

I came across this tiktok and it gave me something to chew on

I fully agree with the critism of newer published (some self-, some traditional) authors being too sensitive to critique of their works—I've heard the stories, I've seen the ranting goodreads posts haha—but I was definitely left with something to consider about the "culture of niceness" commentary regarding fandom

that's arguably how I operate in fandom spaces these days, ESPECIALLY around fanworks. "say something nice or say nothing at all" was, to me, the acceptable way to interact with passion projects people were doing for free. it's interesting to hear someone push back against that mindset and actively miss days of fan critique!

like, I don't know... part of me is like "if I got someone thoughtfully wording constructive criticism, isn't that a growth opportunity?" as if I wouldn't immediately be put off and affronted by someone leaving critique in the comments of a fic of mine hahaha.

I think I don't have a particularly thick creative skin, and that's definitely a result of my fandom upbringing. hell, even when I was writing crackfic as a tween for twilight, I never got critique for it. I've gotten very few comments that could ever been construed as critque, and I think I've never gotten one that was outright hateful... which is good?

but I do see the pipeline there of "fic writers participating in a culture that only validates and never critiques" to "people who cut their writing teeth on fic who are now unused to dealing with varying opinions on their work".

I do think it's worth saying that I don't think fic should inherently be held to the same standards as published books—lord knows I've dashed off a couple thousands words and slapped them onto ao3 without so much as a second glance—but I think we also should be conscientious of not trying to have our cake and eat it too.

I'm reminded of those really annoying comments online where people are like "i'Ve ReAd FiCs BeTtEr ThAn AnY pUbLiShEd BoOks" and I just go...... okay well if it can be treated as serious literature (which... maybe it can!) then it needs to be able to withstand critique, and we do not have a current culture of critique in fandom to actually put those very good fics to the proverbial test. you know??

this isn't to say I think we should start a reading salon where everyone can loudly proclaim "I HATE THIS ONE FIC" or whatever but it's a complicated dynamic that I believe I have traditionally left unturned because I figured niceness is better than unsolicited critique. and also I don't really derive joy from offering someone unasked-for feedback and potentially ruining their night haha.

I DO get a lot of joy from working with my friends in a beta capacity and being able to really dig in and offer up a harsher look at stuff, AND I think I like receiving it (when I am in the right mindset to do so, as we all have nights where it's like "JUST READ FOR GRAMMAR, I CAN'T TAKE ANY PLOT HOLES POINTED OUT TO ME RIGHT NOW!" haha), but I like receiving it from people who I am DIRECTLY ASKING and whose opinions I already respect and value. getting critique from strangers is an entirely different skillset that has to be practiced, and you have to know when to start filtering out opinions because You Can't Please Everyone

anyways this has been a lot of words to say that I have complicated feelings about a "culture of niceness" in fandom and while I certainly know I ENJOY participating in a culture of niceness, there are downsides (see: people dogpiling anyone who in the FAINTEST WAY POSSIBLE does not precisely conform to the-never-critique-fic attitude) and it's good to at least think about alternate ways to do fandom/alternate ways in which fandom has BEEN done in the past

[with-love-from-hell]

5 Sides of Human

{Part Twenty-Five}

Genre: Mixed WC: ~3.5k CW: mentions of blood, swearing, Storm has a stutter but I am not depicting it with written word consistently, prolly lots of typos lol, spoilers for season 1&2, I'm skipping over/changing some things I didn't like in the main story so it will be a bit different from canon! Series Masterlist

"Whattaya mean, like someone cast a protection spell on us or somethin'? Couldn't they have at least made it so we didn't turn inta this?" Mammon huffed in frustration.

Solomon grinned, casting another sly glance toward Storm. "Well, I don't think it would have been that easy. Besides, I'm sure you'll figure out who the kind soul who decided your lives were worth protecting is soon enough."

"Regardless, we should keep the idle chit-chat to a minimum and continue going through the levels." Lucifer sighed, looking around the room for another message.

The others shrugged, breaking off into groups to search the room they now found themselves in. Beel, Lucifer, Mammon, and Storm began wandering off to where the room began to narrow, while the others remained in the larger open area. It was eerily quiet for a moment, before Asmo broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Solomon, tell us more about the reaper. I mean, living in a place like this and coming up with all these rules...The longer we stay here, the more curious I am!"

"Hmm..." Solomon shrugged, turning from the bookshelf he had been analyzing closely. "Well, In a nutshell, I'd say that my reaper friend is a little on the unusual side."

"Even more than these idiots?" Vivi tilted her head in a gesture toward where a few of the brothers searched under some furniture.

"Hahaha! Well, we've known each other for over a thousand years now, but there's still so many things about them that I don't know."

"Whoa whoa...wait a minute..." Heart snapped his attention toward the sorcerer. "Did you just say a thousand??"

"Yeah, how old are you, Solomon?" Sarah asked pointedly, eyeing him up and down.

"Easy now, haha! Long ago, there was a time when I devoted myself to researching new forms of magic, but one day I made a...small error, I suppose. And as a result, I can never grow old or die naturally." Solomon shrugged. "So, I've lived for thousands of years looking exactly as I do now."

"Hold up, so you're actually just some crusty old man!?" Fern scrunched up their face. "What the fuck, dude!"

"An old man?!" Solomon winced, insulted by their words. "I'd like to think I keep myself appearing very young..."

"Well all of this isn't news to us. I mean, me and Solomon have known each other for so long now, You should have realized that he wasn't just some ordinary human!" Asmo giggled, strolling over to Solomon and gripping his arm tightly. "But I guess it makes sense why y'all didn't know all this stuff. You just met him a few weeks ago."

"I would say Solomon is more than just an unusual human." Belphie shrugged. "He's much different than any of you guys, or Storm. And he has so many pacts that he's probably closer to a demon than a human at this point."

"Hey now." Solomon's eye twitched in what appeared to be annoyance. "I'm just as human as any of them. I'm just...unique."

"Will you all quit fooling around?" Lucifer's sudden harsh tone caused nearly everyone to jump.

"Yeah, we found the doorway to the next level, so if y'all're done gabbin' ya can come this way!" Mammon added, crossing hims arm's triumphantly.

"Alright, alright. We're coming." Heart rolled their eyes, taking Asmo's hands and following Mammon out of the room. Vivi knelt down briefly, noticing her shoes had been unlaced during the ruckus of the previous rooms. As she finished tightly tying the strings, she noticed Solomon also lagging behind the others. Quickly, he grabbed a book off of the shelf he had been hovering near and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket.

"Hey, what did you just take?" Vivi stood, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Who, me?" Solomon smiled, shaking his head. "I didn't take anything. Maybe it just looked like I did from where you were standing."

Vivi sighed. "Whatever it was, it better not get us into any more trouble, or I'll be joining your 'friend' in beating your ass."

Solomon chuckled, walking straight past Vivi to catch up with the others. Vivi scoffed, following behind him to get though to the next room. She bumped into Fern as she walked through the door, already annoyed at the congested pileup at the entrance.

In large letters on the wall, scrawled out in blood, read "NO TALKING." The group looked amongst each other uncertainly, not knowing what the challenge of this room to try to get them to talk would be. The place they found themselves now appeared to be a long hallway, lined with suits of armor. Each figure held a long pole axe, as if in warning to those entering. Many doors lined the hall, and it would take hours to try to figure which lead out of this level and into the next.

Storm narrowed her eyes, assessing each of the doors in her field of vision. Each of them had a mark on them that almost looked like a scratch. Each was unique in color, size, and angle, but they all shared the same semi-straight formation. Well, all but one. Storm's eyes zeroed in on the distinguished door- one that had no markings at all near the end of the hall of doors. After a moment of pause, Storm turned to the puzzled group, gesturing with a tilt of her head to follow. The others hesitated for a moment, but followed after her to see what it was she was confidently chasing after.

"You know, I've been thinking..." Satan wondered aloud, glancing up to the cathedral-like ceiling above them. Before he could continue his statement, Levi wrapped his tail around Satan's pudgy head, muffling his words against the thick scales of his tail. Annoyed, Satan bit down, causing Levi to yelp loudly in pain.

"You realize the three of us have already been punished for breaking the rules, right? Even if we break another, we wont be penalized any more than we already have."

"So...that means we can talk?" Levi squeaked the words out, glancing around to the suits of armor nervously.

"I've already done it and nothing happened, so...yes."

"WOOOHOOO!" Mammon screeched loudly, barreling down the hallway past Storm.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. They seem to never shut up, even under consequences like this.

Mammon grinned as he began walking backwards, now facing Storm. "I bet your jealous, huh?"

Storm raised an eyebrow before shaking her head.

"I mean, I'd rather have the option to be quiet and stay looking like I did before than be a little D." Levi sighed, prancing up next to Storm's side. "So, are you thinking you know the way to the next level?"

Storm nodded with a smile, pointing to the unmarked door she was heading toward.

"Nah, that's clearly wrong." Mammon shook his head, bounding to a door just a few feet away from them. "Look at this one! The mark on it is big and yellow and more scraggly than the others! Clearly this is the right way to go!"

Before Storm could react, Mammon pushed the door open aggressively, revealing a ginormous boutique-looking room, covered wall-to-wall in clothing, bags, and accessories.

Satan's eyes widened. "Hey! Someone cover Asmo's mouth before he-"

"EEEEEEEEEEEE! Look at all these cute clothes!" Asmo squealed, stars in his eyes as he looked around the room.

"...Looks like I was too late."

"Oh my gosh, there's so much here that I like!!!" Asmo squawked, immediately shoving past Vivi to get to the clothing, sending her careening toward the ground.

"Asmo, You're gonna pay for that!!" Vivi roared, immediately rolling to her feet and bolting toward him. Before she could get to him, a bright light flashed from where both of them stood, blinding everyone else.

"Uh..oh..." Mammon gulped, backing out of the room slowly as the light dimmed and the figures that used to be Asmo and Vivi came into focus.

"Oh, this dress is so adorable!" The small pudgy demon gleefully smoothed the fabric between his spindly fingers. "It would look so cute on- AGUGh!"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip you limb from limb, you narcissistic bimbo!" the small beast- who they all assumed to be Vivi- screamed, now having Asmo pinned against them in a headlock. Unlike the brothers, Vivi hadn't turned into a small, pudgy demon. Instead, they turned into a tiny purple and black sheep of the same size. Curled horns peaked out from her spongey coat, and the small muscles in her arms twitched as she tightened her hold on Asmo's neck.

"L-let go! My precious skin will be ruined if you sq-squeeze too tight!" Asmo choked, trying to wriggle his way out of her grip.

Satan pressed his lips together to try to stifle a laugh, but couldnt help the snort that released through his mouth. Vivi snapped her attention toward him, dropping Asmo to the ground instantly. She ran towards him, sliding backwards on the ground. With a buck of her back legs, she kicked him full-force with her hooves. Satan's tiny body flew out of the room with the force of her kick, causing the others to duck out of the way to avoid being hit.

Beel frowned, picking at his fingers nervously. As if able to hear his thoughts, Belphie came up beside him and patted his back in an attempt to comfort him. Vivi huffed, storming out of the room to diffuse her anger.

Storm glanced uncertainly toward Solomon, who covered his mouth to keep from laughing. She made a mental note to ask later about the cure for these curses, but now returned her focus to opening the correct door. The others followed as Lucifer attempted to wrangle Vivi, who was kicking around suits of armor and yelling at Satan.

As Storm predicted, the door lead to the next level. They all stepped into a hall with hundreds of stools sitting tucked under long tables. Another large message lined the walls above tapped barrels, which Storm assumed to be some sort of alcohol. The message was even larger than the last, and seemed to be more haphazardly scrawled out than the other messages they've seen:

DO NOT EAT.

"If we make it through level 4, we'll be at the chamber with the candles. Just a little further!"

Just as the words left Solomon's mouth, the room went dark. When the light to the room returned, the tables became lined with a plethora of different foods and drinks. It was as if the reaper was enticing the tired and hungry group to partake of the feast, though they all knew what the consequences of eating this food would be.

"Oh my lord...I can't believe we have to deal with this now!" Fern groaned as their stomach grumbled. "After we've come all this way!"

"Do not eat...it says Do not eat...that's what it says..." Beel stared between the message and the feast, drool forming heavily behind his lips.

"Beel...You can do this!" Storm tried to reassure him, rubbing his arm gently. He just stared on, completely transfixed on the buffet before him that he was being told to ignore.

"It's no use..." Belphie groaned.

"Hey, this reaper friend of yours...they don't have a cerberus-sized pet, right? I keep hearing this...growling?" Asmo glanced around, hopping to try to see over the tables.

"I'd say it sounds more like thunder." Heart looked toward the ceiling, trying to see if the chandeliers were shaking with the force of the noise.

"Nah, that's Beel's stomach growlin'..." Mammon shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "I have a bad feelin' about what's about to happen..."

Beel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. After a short moment, he opened his eyes and turned away from the food. "Lets go."

Belphie blinked in utter disbelief. "wha- huh?"

"We're almost to the chamber with the candles, right?" Beel swallowed his saliva, trying to quell the growing hunger pains in his stomach. "So...lets get moving."

"I...I don't believe it..." Belphie's eyes were wide as he stared at his twin. "Beel...Y-you're actually resisting the temptation to eat...How..."

"He probably cant resist it for long, so lets go already!" Mammon pushed past them, moving in the direction of an archway in the back of the room. The others followed behind quickly, each glancing toward Beel nervously as they walked through the winding dining halls- each one displaying a more elaborate feast than the last.

Beel mumbled to himself as they moved, listing off the various foods he saw displayed on the plates before him. Storm and Belphie stood on either side of him, squeezing his hands to reassure him they were here.

"We need to get his mind off the food." Belphie nervously glanced toward Beel's line of sight, seeing his second favorite dish piled on top of a serving platter. Droll pooled out of his mouth as Beel tried to breathe deeply, dripping down his chin and onto his shirt.

"Uh...I...I'm pretty sure Solomon made all this food, Beel!" Sarah shouted suddenly, causing Belphie to feel a shudder run up his spine.

"Yeah, and I betcha Fern helped!" Mammon added with a snort.

"Hey! Fuck you!" Fern knitted their brows together as they kicked Mammon hard, square in the ass. He yelped and ran toward Storm's legs. He turned and scowled at them as he held onto her pant leg, trying to stay as far away from Fern as possible.

"Hey, look! There's a door!" Heart pointed to the right, where a large double door was situated. A big red arrow was painted on the door, as if to signal they were headed in the right direction.

Belphie sighed in relief and ran toward the door. "I bet the candles are right through-"

His words died on his tongue when the doors creaked open, displaying another dining room. This time though, the tables were lined with various types of burgers- what they all knew to be Beel's favorite food. They all turned to the second youngest, nervous to see how he would respond.

"B-beel, the color has drained from your face..." Storm commented, squeezing his overly-sweating hand to try to get him to look at her. "Are you okay?"

Beel stayed silent, eyes wide and staring at the steaming plates before him.

"I don't think I've ever seen Beel fight off the urge to eat like this before..." Belphie shook his head, squeezing Beel's other hand. "I have no idea how he's able to do this..."

"Well, if ya ask me, it's about damn time he learned to keep that stomach of his in check." Mammon rolled his eyes. "I mean, he's always eatin'. Like a giant pig!"

"Shut up, Mammon." Vivi hissed, mimicking a punch of one fist to an open palm with her hooves. Mammon gulped, now skirting his way between Storm's legs for extra protection.

"Pig...pig...pig roast." Beel moaned, suddenly snatching Mammon up into his hands.

"Whoa...What- HEY! OW!!" Mammon yelled as Beelzebub bit into his back. "Quit bitin' me! I ain't food, dammit!"

"Beel! Stop trying to eat Mammon!" Storm gasped, moving to pry Mammon out of Beel's hands.

Lucifer's eyes widened in fear and he quickly snatched Storm's arms away, just before Beel snapped his jaws toward her. "Don't try to get your hands in there, Storm."

She nodded nervously, watching Mammon writhe in Beels hands.

"D'AAAH! He's gonn a eat me alive!!! Do something!" Mammon screamed

"Actually, he's just gnawing on him a little. As long as he doesn't bite off actual chunks, it should be okay." Belphie shrugged.

"And it might help keep his mind off of eating the food here." Sarah added, giggling as Beel bit down harder on Mammon's pudgy back.

"AHHH! IT'S NOT OKAY!!" Mammon shouted, finally freeing himself from Beel's grasp and leaping into Storm's arms. She caught him roughly, only being held up by Lucifer's support. She felt him stumble slightly as her body backed into his, thankful that he was there to keep her from falling. Lucifer grunted as he tried to straighten himself, clearly in pain from the impact.

"I can't take this anymore!" Beel whimpered, clutching his stomach hard. "If I try to hold back any more, I might hurt one of you!"

"Might!?" Mammon whined, rubbing the spots on his back where Beel's fangs punctured the skin. "We're already there, pal!"

Beel squeezed his eyes shut, growling loudly. "I'm sorry, I have to-"

Suddenly, a bright flash of light erupted from behind him, causing everyone to freeze in shock. After the light faded, a small little D with a spiney tail with fluff-like tip, curled ram horns, and glistening violet eyes blinked at them from a chair near one of the tables. In his hand, he held a half-eaten burger.

"Huh...so this is what it feels like to be a little D?" Belphie shrugged, tossing the burger aside. "You know, it's not really as bad as I thought."

"Exactly! Now you're one of us, Belphie!" Levi laughed.

Belphie scrunched up his face. "Ugh. No thanks. I don't mind being a little D, but I've got no interest in being 'one of you,' Levi."

Levi let out a yell, mimicking the action of a sword being thrust through his chest. "Belphie scores a critical hit, Leviathan takes 4500 damage!"

"Cringy." Heart giggled, shaking their head.

"Bel...Belphie?" Beel blinked back his surprise, his lips down-turned in an intense frown. "Wh...why would you...This is all my fault."

"It's not your fault, Beel." Belphie hopped down off of the chair, stretching his back.

"You only ate that because it looked like I was about to give into the temptation and eat it myself though."

"Yeah, well...I understand how hard that is...Believe me. Which is why I didn't want to watch you having to endure it. Like, if I had to stave off the urge to sleep, I'm sure I would have felt the same."

"You hung in really well, Beel." Storm smiled sympathetically, patting his arm.

"Plus, the reaper already has an axe to grind with you. If you were to break one of the rules, who knows what would happen to you?" Fern shuddered, not wanting to think of the other potential outcomes.

"So...It's no big deal at all if I turn into a little D. We can figure out a fix for this later." Belphie hugged Beel's leg, smiling up at him.

Beel sniffled as tears began running down his face. He snatched Belphie up, hugging him as tight as he physically could.

"Ack! Beel...I-I appreciate the hug, but not so t-tight! You're suffocating me!" Belphie choked, trying hard to wriggle his way loose to get some air into his lungs.

"Something wrong, Lucifer?" Solomon tilted his head at the oldest brother, who seemed to be holding his balance against one of the chairs. "You're looking...well, you're looking sort of pale?"

"It's..." Lucifer's eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he sighed. "My head hurts."

Storm turned to him, concern painted all over her face. She set Mammon down gently and reached up toward Lucifer's brow, carefully smoothing over his temple. "Another migraine? They seem to be getting worse lately."

"They're usually triggered by the stress of dealing with the problems your brothers though, right?" Solomon smirked as Lucifer ceased waving away Storm's concerned doting, glaring at the sorcerer.

"How did you know that?"

"Well, what do you expect?" Solomon chuckled. "When there's a demon I'm hoping to make a pact with, I make an point to observe him at all times."

Lucifer grimaced. "Well, stop it."

Solomon smirked in response to Lucifers annoyance as he again swatted Storm's hands away.

"In any case, yes...this headache seems to be worse than the ones I usually have...but it's nothing to be concerned about since we're almost at the fifth level. I will just rest when we get home and all will be well. Let's just keep going."

"Are you sure?" Storm stared at him, eyes shimmering with worry. "Maybe you should sit down for-"

"I said I'm fine." Lucifer snapped, shaking his head and moving past her.

"Well, the candle room will hopefully be right through that door." Solomon shrugged at Storm, though the look on his face seemed satisfied with Lucifer's current state. "Lets continue on, shall we?"

[nickgerlich]

In Concert

Marketers always like to think that their brand is eternal, that it will never die and will forever be recognized and known by future generations.

Yeah. It’s a nice dream if you can get it to come true.

So when I read this morning that the old Napster name had been sold for $207 million to Infinite Reality, my eyes perked up. You have to be of a certain age to know what Napster was, probably born 1992 or earlier.

Napster was founded in 1999 as a music sharing platform. It came at a time when high-speed internet was becoming more readily available, and all desktop and laptop computers had CD-ROM drives. Users would upload songs from their device, which would then be shareable (read: downloadable) among the masses. You could build a significant music collection without spending much at all.

As you might expect, artists and industry alike were not too keen on this. The RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) started suing people, from 8-year-old girls to grandmothers, for stealing music, or at least aiding and abetting in that activity. Napster was shut down in 2001. The brand was sold several times in the intervening years, and repositioned as a music streaming service, although it never took off like Spotify and later Apple Music did.

So tell me…how many of you even knew about Napster? Whatever brand equity it had faded long ago into the sunset.

But the new owner has grand plans to relaunch as a virtual 3D space where users can have listening parties and even concert experiences online. You know what? I love this idea, especially at a time when concert ticket prices for top acts have soared into the many hundreds and even thousands of dollars.

The idea is not new, because it was during COVID that virtual concerts became a thing. I remember watching Trans-Siberian Orchestra and Blackberry Smoke on my own big screen, although I did not have the option of interacting with fellow listeners very well. You could post comments to a social media page, and they would show on the side of the screen, but that’s it.

The new offering from Infinite raises the bar considerably because of shared experiences. While it may never be quite the same as actually going to a concert—I love me some live music—it helps solve the problems of high ticket prices, plus the fact that hardly anyone who is good ever comes to Amarillo. Well, except maybe on their washed-up tour when they need a few bucks to supplement Social Security.

And…perhaps most importantly…this cures the problem of those rude people around you disrupting the show, constantly getting up to fetch a beer or visit the water closet, and otherwise making for a sub-optimal concert experience. I hate it when that happens.

The real question is whether the Napster brand still has any equity. Among those in their early-30s and older, Napster was a household word, even if it only existed in its original state for two years.

On the other hand, since this might be a new brand name for many people, it is a lot like starting from scratch. Yes, it typically costs more money to establish a new brand than to leverage an old one—assuming it isn’t tarnished—but now Infinite has the opportunity to reinvent, redefine, and start anew. There is some negative baggage associated with the brand name, simply because of the lawsuits. You don’t have to drill very far down the Google results to stumble into all of those long-archived news reports about poor Grandma getting hauled into court.

More broadly, we must consider whether music fans will consider this a viable alternative to attending concerts. I have become so accustomed to driving to Lubbock, OKC, and DFW for shows that I actually kind of like the inconvenience of it all, because I can roll a concert into a long weekend filled with other activities. No problema.

Infinite has plans to leverage not just live music, but also social applications, merchandise, and shopping. In some regards, it takes the idea of TikTok Lives and runs with it, creating virtual hangouts much like the Clubhouse app did during COVID. They are wildly optimistic.

Since the new Napster brings with it the possibility of asynchronous viewing, it raises questions about how much fun it would be to watch a concert that is not in real time. It’s kind of like watching the DVRd March Madness game you missed last Saturday. There is much to be said for being in the moment.

All that aside, I like this. Although no hint of price tiers was mentioned for concert streaming, as long as it isn’t outrageously expensive, I can see this being successful, as long as there is a constant stream—pun intended—of new content.

But I’m going to have rules in my house. There will be no walking in front of me to grab another beer while the show is going on. And if you do need to visit the water closet, make sure you walk behind me and keep it down. Disruptive concertgoers are a pain no matter where you are viewing.

Dr “I Want A front Row Seat” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Masterlist

Hi! This is so I don't lose track of my fics so far. I thank you all for your kind reviews and reblogs, they make my day. Main is blueredwrites. Feel free to drop your thoughts be it in the form of asks, replies or reblogs. 😉

REQUESTS NOW OPEN! SEE THE RULES HERE

What am I working on?

✨️ Indicates smut.

🪆 Indicates possibly triggering.

🍂 Indicates angst.

🧸 Fluff.

House of the Dragon

Alicent Hightower

Oneshots

Crime and Punishment ✨️🪆

The Queen and you get along wonderfully. After all, the strongest friendships are based on shared interests.

Speak now

Alicent is not too sure of how she feels about you. Or about the fact you just proposed to run away. But she is sure about how she feels about the wedding. 

Cregan Stark

Mini series

Seasons of my love

As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Oneshots

Cregan's Alphabet ✨️

A nsfw alphabet for Cregan. That's it.

One thousand ships

Epithets have a funny way of growing out of control. Thankfully, your husband has a way of seeing you for what you are, and not the myth attached to your name. Or, the nightmare of being coveted by a Targaryen Prince skips a generation or two, but you are never safe from it. Thank the Gods Cregan is more sensible. 

Disagree(able) ✨️

You attempt to kill Cregan. It doesn’t quite go according to plan.

Harwin Strong

Oneshots

Win some, lose some✨️

Harwin and his wife have a disagreement over communication skills. The end result is exactly as the title says.

Lemon cake ✨️

Harwin’s wife is a tough crowd.

Aegon Targaryen

Oneshots

Daedalus

On the eve of Aegon’s coronation, both of you disappear. Your mother imagines a thousand scenarios. But were you really abducted by him or is it a simple coincidence?

Aemond Targaryen

Mini series

Death in four moves 🪆

Aemond and his new partner explore trusting again after SA.

Death in four moves 🧸

Whatever souls are made of 🍂🧸

MAD

Caught in the crossfire of your familiy's ploys, you never expected to catch the eye of the enemy.

Threads of fate

Muña✨️

In which you find yourself caught in a deadly game of tug of war between two dragons. Daemon, your husband, and Aemond, the man who promises to make you a widow.

Oneshots

Last man on earth ✨️

No one told King Aemond about the Song of Ice and Fire. As the daughter of Rhaenyra, you have one last mission left.

Categorical✨️

Aemond needs to blow off some steam, so you offer to verbally spar with him. 

Last word ✨️

Aemond instructs you on the importance of protecting your virtue.

Push and pull ✨️

You just love riling him up. Especially on his name day.

Bouquet of Violets 🧸🍂

You are happy in your marriage, even if your husband can be quite hellish. It all starts to go wrong when a secret admirer shows up.

The Seamstress ✨️

Prince Aemond is your favorite client.

We light the way

House Hightower does not have dragons, but they have a magic of their own.

No masters or kings🪆

Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Unforgivable

Aemond and you are tired of being pawns. Instead of chess, you decide to play draughts.

Young Gods 🪆

History has a way of repeating itself. Ft. Hades! Aemond.

A Challenge

In which you are in a search for identity, and Aemond is in search for a way to prove his superiority to your father. Somehow, both of you find each other.

Daemon Targaryen

Oneshots

Honesty✨️

Daemon seduces his unwilling Lady Wife.

Mirror

Courting. Daemon's version.

Staring back at you✨️

Companion piece to Mirror. You have married Daemon. Now, it is actually time to bed him. You find out you have a few more things in common with your uncle than you thought.

Capital

You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

A Thousand Words ✨️

You want to marry him. He wants to fuck you. The two things are not as incompatible as they sound. 

Violent delights 🪆

As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Lookalike

Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...

Bestiary ✨️

Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Vūjigon ✨️

Companion piece to Bestiary. Daemon has been having sex without love his whole life. It's easy. Marriage should be more of the same, right?

The dragon has three heads ✨️

It's Viserys first day as a King. You and your twin see him off.

You wouldn't believe the things I have done for her ✨️

Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

Gold rush ✨️

Your whole life you have been Daemon’s voice of reason. Tonight, you choose to be the impulsive one. 

To conquer

Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

The girl with the pearl necklace ✨️

You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Two ships

Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Clad in sea

It is not Harrenhal, what drives Daemon to the Gods Eye. It’s the memories of you and your daughter.

The Brave

A collection of first times with Daemon

Miniseries

Little lamb✨️

After the death of Viserys Targaryen, CEO of Targaryen industries, his heirs get into a legal battle over the validity of the will. It's a terrible time to start fucking your sister's brother in law. So of course, you do just that.

Divine intuition ✨️🪆

My take on modern reader meets Daemon

Threads of Fate

Pyrite✨️

A nefarious plot to place Princess Rhaenys on the Iron Throne leaves you, a handmaid, as the sole witnesses. Deciding to save an innocent life, you find yourself an unlikely protector. But Prince Daemon does not make favors lightly.

The night is dark and full of terrors

Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?

Helaena Targaryen

Golden Chains✨️

Helaena isn't yours, but you are always hers

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Oneshots

Baby teeth

Cousins. You love them or you hate them. And Rhaenyra knows exactly how she feels about you.

Three-headed dragon ✨️

Three times Rhaenyra marked you, and one time you did too. Or snippets of the love story I so wanted to tell but didn’t feel confident enough to write.

Doom of Ghis✨️

You decide to trick a Queen. It doesn't go quite according to plan.

Threads of Fate

Viserys Targaryen (Yuck)

The dragon has three heads ✨️

It's Viserys first day as a King. You and your twin see him off.

Events

Halloween

Useful writing things - Episodes.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

[heliads]

The Killer and the Poisoner

Based on this request: "Kaz x fem reader. Y/N attended Ketterdam University and learned which plants are deadly. After graduation, she got a job at a greenhouse in Ketterdam. Kaz notices her boss being creepy and offers to take care of him if she joins the Crows. At some point, she and Kaz start dating."

i love writing about kaz so much omg

masterlist

There are a thousand shades of green before you. To the untrained eye, they all seem the same. There are rows and rows of flora all collected in the greenhouse. Some are here to heal, others to help. Some for no purpose at all. 

One, though, sticks out at you like an honest man in the Barrel, all wrong in ways you couldn’t begin to describe if you tried. It snags at your consciousness, drawing your focus until you start to turn towards it. You have to; if you don’t, the agony of waiting here any more might kill you. 

Patience snapped like a wire, you reach out a hand to point out the offending plant. “That one.”

A pause, heavy as an iron manacle wrapped around your throat, and then the woman behind you scratches down something on her pad of paper. “Correct. That’s most certainly a passing score, Miss L/N.”

You can’t help a proud smile. “Not half bad, huh?”

The woman snaps shut the pocket watch she’s been using to time you. You have half a mind to tell her that the prized antique she thinks she’s been coveting is actually a barely decent fake, but neither of you really want that sort of drama right now.

“Not half bad indeed,” she hums, “that little show puts you in the top percentages of your class.”

Your brow furrows. “Surely other people have been able to pass this test?”

The woman lifts a shoulder. “Oh, they have, but none so fast as you. You’re one of our best and brightest, Miss L/N. You might as well appreciate it. Glory fades quickly around here.”

You smile at her words and leave the examination room. This little stunt isn’t the only part of your final exam, of course, you’ve already sat through written portions and verbal interviews, final presentations and extensive essays. That’s what you get for trying to graduate from the prestigious biology school at Ketterdam University, you suppose. Everything is a lot of work, even down to the final test you’ll take.

That being said, you’re able to trade the examination hall for the bright sunlight with a smile. Even without your proctor’s kindness, you know you did well. You’ve been working at this for quite some time, and this was the last piece of graded work you’ll ever do. You knew that this was going to go well, although that didn’t stop you from joining all test-taking seniors in the hallowed tradition of tossing a coin in the Scholar’s Fountain in the hopes of encouraging somebody else’s Fates to protect your exam score prospects.

Right now, though, you’re free and clear. You get your scores back about a week later, and have sufficient results to pass with a respectable margin. Graduation passes in a blur, and just like that, you’re entering your first job at a local greenhouse.

Plants are a difficult field in Ketterdam. There are hundreds upon thousands of different breeds, all requiring specific conditions or knowledge. It seems like someone turns up in the hospital every month because they accidentally doused their tea in poison instead of the proper herbs, or another unlucky fool gave themselves an allergic reaction because they couldn’t tell their stimulants from their irritants.

You, however, don’t slip up. Not once, not ever. You had your time of mistakes back in university, but you’ve learned from them. You keep your leaves in order, your flora in perfect condition. You also know which poisons are which, not just to keep yourself alive but to hurt others if necessary. And when is it not necessary in Ketterdam to have an extra weapon up your sleeve? Your tongue drips of poison whenever you need it. No insurance policy could ever be sweeter.

So you thought, at least, until you work a few months at your job at the Ketterdam greenhouse and start thinking otherwise. It’s a decent job with decent pay, no problems there, but the issue lies not with the subject material but the man in charge of you. Your boss is certainly a piece of work, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. You turn a blind eye when he hovers over your shoulder, slimy and sweaty and absolutely disgusting in every possible way.

It’s easier to avoid him, and in a place as sprawling as the greenhouse, it’s certainly doable. You turn your attention to the customers and away from the rest of the staff, and you make it work. This is certainly made easier by the fact that the people who frequent the greenhouse are undeniably strange.

Least of all would be the boy who keeps dropping by. He’s never introduced himself, but then again, there’s no need. No one else in Kerch has such a distinctive cane, or carries themselves with the knowledge that they could kill you a thousand ways in a second if they so desired.

No, Kaz Brekker is perfectly recognizable. He comes in about once a month for all sorts of things; poisons and potions and medicines. You know Dirtyhands manages to get himself and his gang into plenty of tight places, so it comes as no surprise that he would need your sort of supplies every now and then.

What does surprise you, however, is his interest in you. By all accounts, you’re just another worker in the greenhouse, albeit one with more recent schooling behind you. That doesn’t explain why Kaz eyes you with cool curiosity every time he enters the shop, why his entire demeanor shifts to piercing ice whenever your boss starts lurking a little too close to you.

If there’s one thing Dirtyhands is known for, though, it’s his knack for spotting a business opportunity. He is the product of the Barrel in all its greedy glory, a boy wrought of kruge and cruelty. So, if you’re looking for reasons as to why he would pay any attention to you whatsoever, you suppose you could expect his job offer when it comes.

Kaz is alone with you on a quiet day when he first makes the call. You’ve been bringing him the plant cuttings he requested when Kaz suddenly leans over to you, eyes dark and fixated on you.

“You don’t like your boss very much, do you?” He asks out of nowhere.

You arch a brow. “He pays me.”

Kaz chuckles quietly. “Other than that. He lingers a little too much, doesn’t he?”

“At this point,” you comment, “I think you have a stronger opinion on it than I do.”

“Alright,” Kaz counters, “How about this? I can offer you a better job than him. Clearly loyalty isn’t something new to you, but this time, you won’t have to try so hard to fake it. Hopefully.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “I’m in a contract for the next few months.”

“Only if the person who signed the contract with you is still alive,” Kaz says pleasantly, “I can take care of that.”

“You’re going to kill my boss?” You ask, somewhat shocked.

“I’m going to remove an obstacle from your career future,” Kaz elaborates.

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t get it. Why would you kill someone for a hire you don’t even know?”

“I do know you,” Kaz says, an icy glint sharpening in his gaze, “Your name is Y/N L/N, you were top of your class at Ketterdam University, although it is rather an interesting coincidence that the one person who could have come near you in the rankings suddenly came down with a bout of an unknown ailment the week before exams start. It looked like a poisoning, but that’s absurd, because that student should have known which plants to avoid. Unless there was someone out there who knew more than him, of course.”

Your spine stiffens. “So you’re here to blackmail me? How charming.”

“I am never charming,” Kaz says, “only creative. I figured two incentives were more than enough to sweeten the deal.”

Two incentives indeed. A secret kept, a creepy boss dead. At last, you shrug. “When do I start?”

Few people can say that they’ve seen Kaz Brekker smile. You’re not sure that the slash of cold humor across his face is a smile, but then again, it’s the closest most come to seeing one.

News of your boss’ death scarcely makes a single headline. Not many people liked him, but even in Ketterdam where popularity isn’t everything, most customers just brushed it off and waited for his replacement to arrive. The wheels are constantly turning in Ketterdam, and few in the Barrel have time for something as wasteful as mourning a man like that. Or anybody, for that matter.

You do your part in moving on. Barely the next day, you’re unlocking the door to your room in the Slat. Kaz arranged for an empty space on one of the floors to be made into a greenhouse, and you’ve started making your own rows of poisons. Few people dare step foot in your workspace, too afraid of accidentally ingesting something that would kill them most horribly.

For some reason, Kaz isn’t one of them. In the beginning, you assume he’s just checking in on you to make sure you aren’t about to make off with his purchased cuttings and rob him blind, but he keeps stopping by. Most of the time, he doesn’t say a thing, just leans against the wall and watches as you work.

As the weeks go by, he becomes more talkative. He’ll bring a newspaper with him, crease it sharply and occasionally comment on some idiot who’s gotten himself killed, or worse, messed up their chances with foreign stocks. Occasionally Kaz dares to leave his perch by the wall and walks to stand stiffly beside you. He’ll lean over your shoulder, just close enough that you don’t brush your arms together, and ask about what this plant does, why that one requires such specific conditions. 

You teased him once, asked if he was only prying for plant facts so he could do your job himself and save the cost of another paycheck. Kaz had given you such a look and scathing response that you didn’t bring it up again, but you still remember the expression on his face. It was almost like betrayal, to even bring up the fact that he might go back on his word. 

No, you’re here to stay, and Kaz sees to that. You’re not the only one who’s noticed it, though. As the months wear on, strange silhouettes start to follow you back to the Slat, goons and gangsters with tattoos that don’t belong to the Dregs. Once, someone launches a flaming projectile through the window of the Slat greenhouse. You’re able to put the fire out quickly, but that doesn’t stop Kaz from almost losing his mind. You can assume that the thought of having his precious poisons go up in smoke is a loss that he’d never want to imagine, but some part of you pretends that perhaps he was worried for you as well. 

About three weeks after the rival gangs’ develop a side interest in you, one of them takes more decisive action. Pekka Rollins is well known for being Kaz’s worst enemy, so of course it is the Dime Lions who decide to take a stand first. Five of them corner you one night and knock you unconscious, dragging you back to their base so they can begin a hostage trade. 

Unfortunately for them, the Dime Lions didn’t count on you being smarter than you seem. Your fingers are tipped with poison whenever you leave the safety of the Slat, and within about a bell you’re leaving the rival gang’s hideout without a scratch on your person to show you were ever in danger. 

If you’re calm about the whole matter, though, Kaz is quite the opposite. He’s in the greenhouse when you return to the Slat, pacing back and forth down the lines of poisons like he could find you hiding within the rows of treacherous green if he merely searched long enough. 

He’s kind of right, too. Kaz looks up when the door opens and his eyes widen. 

“You’re supposed to be kidnapped by Pekka Rollins,” he mutters, holding up a piece of paper you can only assume to be a ransom note. The page is practically crumpled from how hard Kaz is clutching it in his fist, the words distorted around the grip of his leather gloves. 

“I decided against it,” you reply, “If it’s inconvenient for your plots, though, I can always go back.”

Kaz lets out a sound that’s either a snort or a sigh, you can’t quite tell. “I thought you were being tortured. That’s what Pekka promised, at least, that he was going to use your blood to water your own poisons.”

You nod slowly. “I’m out, though. I got out.”

“Yes,” Kaz says after a weighty pause, “you did. I didn’t know that, though. I didn’t know anything about what had happened to you other than Pekka’s threats.”

You stare at him. There’s something Kaz isn’t saying here, something he wants to say more than anything. His tongue has been cut away by years’ worth of knives in backs, though, and you can see the syllables choking in his throat even as he tries to force them out. It is something about the value of a person, you think, more than just a wage or a paycheck but how much you need them, how you could burn the rest of the world to ashes if it meant protecting them.

He manages it eventually. The paper containing news of your imminent death cracks and folds in his hand as he looks up at you. “I can’t lose you,” Kaz mutters, “not if I can do anything about it. Will you let me keep you safe?”

Dirtyhands has never needed permission for anything. Kaz does.

You nod, and you swear you can see the tension start to unravel from Kaz’s shoulders, cutting him loose at last. “Yes,” you whisper, “I will.”

It’s as close to a confession as anyone can get in the Barrel. It does well enough for the two of you. You could not need anything more, and you get the feeling that in the time to come, you would never want anything more, either. Kaz will make sure of that.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

[biffhofosho]

Prisoner to Temptation | Chapter Eight

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: >.>

Your Honor, I’m in love with jealous Hyungwon. 

Cvr | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12

Right on schedule, the princess’s monthlies came, and as it always did in a palace, news traveled quickly when other people did the laundry. Whispers trailed behind her down every corridor like a veil of her failure.

“She’s not that young.”

“And she’s only getting older.”

“Poor Prince Hyungwon. We should go to him.”

“Somebody has to.”

Naran kept her chin up. They were being ridiculous. It was unrealistic to expect results so soon. They were just jealous. Or bored. Or both.

She could think of a thousand reasons why everyone wanted to bring her down, but the truth was, none of that mattered. A princess had one job, and she had not accomplished it. It wasn’t like Naran was in a hurry to be a mother, but it also meant that certain expectations still had to be met this coming month.

For his part, the prince said nothing of the talk of the palace. He showed up at her door one night seemingly none the wiser, and with how needy she always felt around her monthlies, Naran nearly invited him in. In the end though, she begged him to postpone their visit until later in the week and spent a very restless night staring at the ceiling instead. For the next few days, the princess managed as much time away from the prince as she could because she simply didn’t trust herself around his pretty face and his witty conversation.

But if the sexual moratorium had taught Naran anything, it was that without Prince Hyungwon’s special attention, life in the palace wasn’t just frustrating—it was dull. She had always known she was not cut out for the role of princess, but actually having to fulfill the public duties of her position could not have been more tedious. Without an outlet, she felt like a lightning bolt ready to charge at the easiest target.

That very morning, she found herself outside her husband’s door, hoping for the grace to ask for some of his time that night without sounding as desperate as she was, only to be startled by his voice behind her.

“Looking for me?”

“My lord!”

Hyungwon smiled with his head cocked to the side as though he were studying a never-before-seen creature.

“Yes—no! I was just going to check your schedule today—to make sure you didn’t mind if I took a ride out in the pasture.”

“When have I ever minded that?”

Naran narrowed her eyes at his amused tone. “Okay then. I guess it won’t be a problem…”

“Nope.” He was still smiling, and the princess was growing more frustrated by the second. “Is that all, my lady?”

“I—”

Just then, Hansol entered the sitting room but stopped when he found the couple huddled near the prince’s door. With a deep bow, he said, “Pardon me, Your Highnesses. I just wanted to see if you needed any help with your trunks, Your Grace.”

“Trunks?” Naran asked, looking back to her husband.

Hyungwon nodded sheepishly. “Father demands I call on my uncle in Jemulpo, but I shall be back in three nights’ time.”

“Three nights?”

The words echoed in the cavern of the room. Just the thought made her heart sink to the soles of her feet. She was already overwrought, and now she had no outlet for at least three more nights?

“You weren’t going to tell me?” the princess pouted.

“That’s why I’m here. My father just received the request from my uncle, so I am to leave at once. I wanted to go as fast as possible if only to get back all the quicker. I do not like being away from home.” Hyungwon stared at her then, his bottom lip finding its way further under his teeth with each passing second. “Did you need something before I go?”

With a heavy sigh, Naran shook her head. “It can wait, my lord. I hope you have an easy trip.”

The prince sighed, too, but bowed all the same. When he came back up, he stole a kiss of her cheek and whispered, “Wait for me until then.”

Naran didn’t stand around to watch her husband pack. She was anxious enough as it were. Watching him toss things around in his room instead of tossing her around would have been too maddening. Instead, she lived up to her lie and took a long ride on her horse out to the edge of the pastures and then completed an even longer route around the rim of the property. She had hoped she would come back to the palace exhausted, and she did—just not the way she needed.

It all would have been so much easier if the prince were not a talented lover, but since he was, it made it incredibly difficult for Naran to find satisfaction elsewhere. Her tried-and-true methods of self-pleasure were failing. Every time she came close to release, it eluded her, which had never been a problem before. She simply could not bring herself over the edge, and it was spilling over into her days, too.

She was snippy with the empress, snippier yet with the servants, especially with the male ones. Even if the notion to dally with one of them struck her, the moment Naran looked into their eyes, the mood soured. They would be eager to please, she had no doubt, and more than a few of them were probably up to the task, but the thought of having her time wasted on the ones who couldn’t keep up squashed the inclination. She already knew someone capable of doing a proper job, and he was leagues away at the moment.

It was on the fourth day of frustrations that Naran sat with Magda in the tea lounge, silently drowning her sorrows into a cup of jujube tea before another servant came in with a tray with a letter on it. At this, the princess sat up straight.

“Word from the Prince?” she asked.

The servant, a slender thing with a bright white face like a peony but eyes like daggers, bowed and said, “No, Your Grace. I believe the courier said it is a letter from your family.”

Normally, that would have perked the princess right up, but instead, she slumped a bit into her chair as she opened the envelope to read it while Magda looked on, sipping her own tea.

The letter turned out to be from Saran, just an update from the road home as they journeyed back through the Goryeon mountains. It was full of her sister’s teenage fantasies about being swept away by lonely mountain gods or bandits who would have a change of heart as soon as their eyes fell on her. It would have been charming if the images hadn’t been obviously colored with shades of the royal wedding the girl had just attended. Naran had a sinking feeling now that her sister would marry the first suitor she met when she came of age and make an ill-fated match because of it.

And of course, the end of the letter spent over a paragraph sending love to her “new brother” and entreating his promise to take “very good care” of her big sister. It should have been sweet. Instead, it chafed.

Naran dropped the letter onto the table and shifted her gaze down the hallway to watch the busy palace staff go about their mornings.

“Everything all right with Their Majesties?” Magda asked at length.

The princess shrugged a shoulder. “So Saran says. The trip has been easy, I guess.”

Naran returned her attention to her tea, watching the way the little dried fruit bobbed at the bottom of the cup without a care in the world.

“Your Grace!”

Her head shot up to find her old friend’s eyes wide to the whites. Naran frowned. “What is so urgent?”

“I’ve been talking to you for over a minute. Did you not hear me?”

The princess pursed her lips. “I did not.”

At the lady’s admission, Magda smirked. “I was talking of His Highness, Prince Hyungwon. It should be good to see him again, wouldn’t you say? I find the palace rather quiet without him.”

“Not that he says much to begin with,” Naran deflected.

“I must be honest. I have been a bit surprised at how much time you have spent with Prince Hyungwon since we’ve arrived considering all the blustering you did on the way here.”

“You’re exaggerating,” the princess admonished with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve avoided him wherever possible.”

“I think you’ve spent far more time together than you realize, My Lady.”

“And who else shall I spend it with, hm? I only know you and him, Magda.”

The attendant brought her tea to her lips and took a long sip. When she pulled it back, she was smiling with the same wan curve as her cup. “I don’t just mean during the day.”

Naran felt itchy under the collar of her hanbok.

“Now, I know you’re exaggerating just to annoy me. It’s only been twice. And a half,” she mumbled as an afterthought. “Besides, we are still newlyweds. Expectations are high, and I still need to prove my worth to the emperor. And anyway, it’s getting colder at night, so, naturally, it’s easier to stay warmer. Plus—”

Magda’s smile broadened.

“Oh, what?” snapped the princess.

“Nothing. It’s just, I made a simple observation. You seem to be mounting several arguments on why it’s been twice. And a half.”

Magda was vibrating with laughter and Naran growled. “I should have left you in Urga.”

“Either way, My Lady, might I make a suggestion?”

The princess cocked her head as she listened.

“I think you should find some little way to make a positive impression with the servants here,” said Magda.

“How do you mean? Hansol and I get along very well already.”

The older woman shook her head lightly. “No, Your Highness, I mean the other ladies of the palace. There have been… rumblings of late.”

“Rumblings?”

Magda’s face tightened a bit, and with it, a little pinkness capped her warm tan. “It seems more than a few of the serving lasses have remarked on a strong change in the Prince’s interactions with them.”

“How do you mean? Is he scolding them?”

“No, My Lady. I know you know perfectly well what I mean.”

Naran’s heart thundered in her throat. Sex. She meant sex. For a moment, the princess had the awful urge to run out of the room with her fingers in her ears, but she soldiered on. Her voice shook as she asked, “Is he being too aggressive with them then?”

“No. No. It seems he does not pay them much attention these days, and it has caused some… resentment, particularly toward Her Ladyship.”

“Oh.” Naran bit her lip as she tried to hide the creep of a smile. “Oh?”

“You should be more concerned about this, My Lady.”

“It is the prince’s choice with whom he elects to spend his time. We have an agreement he can do what he wants with whomever he wants,” said the princess, though she found it a bit tougher these days to say that and mean it.

“These women are the ones charged with taking care of you, Your Highness. If you don’t nip this in the bud, these sorts of things can get out of control.”

Naran scowled then, her sudden burst of good mood thoroughly rained upon. “Well, what do you suggest, Magda? Shall I check out my husband to them like a library book?”

Now, it was Magda’s turn to scowl. “I said nothing of the sort, and I will thank you not to be crass with me. I suggest you build some rapport with them. Do not make yourself any more of a threat than you already are. Treat them to something nice or spend some time with them.”

Naran rolled her eyes. “This all sounds like work.”

“You are a princess, are you not? That title sounds like a job to me after all.”

“I hate when you’re right.”

“You mean always?” Magda retorted.

As much as it chapped that Naran was being asked to coddle her husband’s paramours, it did beat having her food spat in or other such petty sabotages—or, worse, having her staff actually prey on her husband behind her back.

With nothing else to occupy her overworked mind and no word on the prince’s anticipated return, the princess made it her mission to invite a few of her most vocal dissidents to dine with her in the Secret Garden, which servants rarely had permission to see. Needless to say, the serving lasses were floored by the invitation, but being a request from the Princess Supreme herself made it impossible to turn it down.

They made a sweet table in one of the pavilions next to the stream. The music of the water was already romantic, especially when leaves drifted down to become boats on the current, but Magda, to her brilliant credit, had primed the atmosphere with even more romance thanks to the devious addition of an all-male waitstaff comprised of the most handsome servants the palace had to offer. If the ladies weren’t already pink-cheeked from the dashing faces waiting on them, the cups of wine ensured it.

By second course, the lasses were willing to laugh at anything the princess said. Gone was any potential resentment as Naran called for treat after treat and glass after glass, and eager-to-please men came to flirt with the chatty women. Everything was going exactly to plan.

For a while.

Naran and one of the long-haired, easy-smiling servers were mid-passionate argument over who was the better rider, his friend in the Royal Guards or her, when all her progress was chucked right into the creek.

“Princess.”

Everyone’s heads snapped toward the pavilion entrance to find Prince Hyungwon standing rigid and narrow-eyed. The spells the ladies had been under broke the instant their eyes fell onto his stunning face, flushed with the exercise from climbing the hill, and the other men were forgotten in an instant. It was impossible to deny the way even the princess’s own body reacted to the sight of him.

The server Naran had been arguing with leapt to attention, practically breaking his back when he jerked up from his cool lean on the banister. Everyone but the princess bowed to the prince while she let out a defeated sigh. So much for defending her role…

“What can we do for you, your grace?” Naran simpered.

“You are needed back at the palace at once.”

His voice was cold, and it prompted her tongue to prod at the inside of her cheek. “We have almost finished with our picnic—”

“I said ‘at once,’” Hyungwon repeated. His gaze flicked to the server over her shoulder and then back to her face.

Naran’s eye twitched. It felt very much like a standoff, but if she abandoned the ladies so quickly, they could resent her again, and if she balked at the prince’s authority, she would undermine him. Heaven and earth, she was tired of politics. It was moments like these that she most missed her freedom to simply charge to the stables and ride off into the steppe until her temper had cooled.

The princess took a sip of wine and let out a long breath. “Very well, my lord. Let us finish up this course as it is nearly over. The chefs did take an awful lot of time and expense to treat our staff so well today, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hyungwon was quiet. She could see the storm in his eyes even from her seat on the floor, but he nodded all the same.

“You are welcome to return—”

“I shall wait,” he asserted and took up a post across from the entrance, propping himself on a large rock and watching his wife’s every move.

Naran dug her nails into the skirt of her coat as she did her damnedest to avoid his gaze, but it was next to impossible when he sported his burgundy dallryung, for his dark features and warm skin always looked most striking contrasted in rich reds.

Gritting her teeth, she said to her audience, “Eat up, my dear ladies. Our picnic might have come to an end sooner than expected, but let us not let these delights go to waste.”

The serving lasses obliged, but conversation had come to a standstill and all the heart was out of the party. Whatever goodwill Naran had built washed downstream, especially when she rose and headed over to her husband, who insisted on offering his arm for their walk back to the palace.

“You ruined everything, you know,” she hissed as they walked, tethered to one another, back down the hillside.

“I could see that…” he said tightly. “Why are you eating with servants anyway?”

“Because of you, sire.”

Hyungwon glared at her then, but Naran met it back.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Evidently, you haven’t been… visiting your regulars, and grudges are forming.”

“Ah… Oh.” The prince’s lips pursed as his ears reddened.

“Yes, oh. This was my attempt to get back into their good graces, by offering other options, you see?”

At this, however, his eyes snapped to hers. “For them or for you?”

Naran glowered at him. “We’ve talked about this, my lord, remember?”

“I’ve only been gone three nights. Did you really feel the need to move on so urgently?”

“I—” the princess was stunned by what she could only call hurt etched into the corners of the prince’s eyes. But all too soon, it gave way to indignance. “You have no right to complain. After all, I was only cleaning up the mess you left me. Now, why am I being summoned in the middle of an event I put on?”

Judging by his grip on her arm, Hyungwon did not appreciate the shift in discussion, but he answered, “The palace has received some unexpected guests, and as my father and mother are still detained in town by the Ministers, we are obligated to host them for the evening.”

“Obligations, obligations. I’m sick of that word,” Naran griped. “I was already hosting something.”

“Well, now, you can host two things, only this one will include your husband.”

“I didn’t want to include you.”

Hyungwon pulled her to a stop then underneath a thick cluster of trees. The leaves were starting to redden at their tips, leaving the shadows more vibrant than usual as he pushed her back to the edge of the path where they were less likely to be seen arguing.

“That is painfully obvious,” he said. “Honestly, has your taste descended so far to the depths of Cho Daejung?”

“Who?”

Hyungwon shook his head. “You don’t even know the name of the man you were flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting with anyone, your grace,” Naran insisted.

The prince took a step closer and then another, forcing the princess back until her spine collided with a trunk. A shower of leaves rained down around them as his face drew far too near for the comfort of her wine-addled mind. Though Naran was no lightweight, she felt the alcohol burning through her then, stealing what little control her conscious mind ever had from staring at his lips.

“You were talking this close,” Hyungwon asserted. “How is that not flirting?”

“We were not!” the princess objected. She was right, wasn’t she? The servant would not have been so bold in front of all those others, she was sure of it. “We were arguing about who was the better rider.”

The prince moved in even further as his voice dropped lower. “That is our thing.”

We have a thing? Naran marveled.

Hyungwon’s chest collided with hers, and the breath left her lungs. His hands found her hips now, and she felt her pulse jumping in her throat. His gaze would not let up on hers as it burned to communicate something more than his limited words ever could.

“I swear,” Naran managed through short, tight breaths, “nothing happened. I’m not interested in that man.”

“You’re not?”

She felt his fingers dig in even through the thick fabric of her coat.

“I’m not. I don’t even know him. And anyway, he doesn’t excite me.”

At this, Hyungwon raised an eyebrow. “Who does then?”

Just then, the service bell clanged down below at the palace, summoning all staff to duty. The couple broke apart, which was just as well as the voices of the rest of the party were already tumbling down the hill behind them.

“Come on,” said the prince. “We best get back.”

Hyungwon grabbed her hand and dragged Naran down the hill before the servants could crest it. His pace was unforgiving, and the princess struggled to keep up as his legs were much longer and his anger much hotter than hers. By the time the pair had reached their wing, she was breathless and a little lightheaded. When the prince threw open the doors to the sitting room, Magda nearly dropped the box she was holding.

“Your Highnesses!” she exclaimed. “Is everything all right?”

“Just fine, Magda,” answered Hyungwon curtly as he continued to tow his wife into the room.

“I did not hear you were back, Your Grace,” the attendant said with a deep bow.

“That makes two of you then. If you wouldn’t mind, please leave that in your lady’s room and help the staff ready for the guests’ arrival.”

Magda reeled back. “But won’t My Lady require me to—”

“Should she need you, she will summon you,” he replied. “Our guests should be arriving any moment, Magda.”

Naran looked helplessly at her attendant, who was more astonished than anything, but the resolve in the prince’s voice could not be challenged, and so Magda did as she’d been ordered and shut the main doors behind her.

Hyungwon dropped the princess’s hand at last and immediately whisked off the silk belt about his waist as he headed toward his bedroom door. Over his shoulder he said, “Wear what I bought you to dinner tonight.”

“You bought me—”

But the prince cut her off with a gruff, “It’s on your bed.”

His door closed a second later, and Naran was left dumbfounded in the gulf of space between them. With nothing else to do, she fell back on ritual and headed to her room. There on her bed was the box Magda had been holding. It was large, bound up with a fanciful satin ribbon that looked too pretty to unravel though she had no choice. Her fingers worked through shimmery emerald curls as the fabric puddled all at once to the bed.

Naran lifted the lid, and once it was off, a bloom of iris burst into the room so powerful that the princess felt like she was wandering the gardens again. Folded inside on a cushion of silk and tied again with another satin ribbon was a gown, more art than garment, she thought, though it wasn’t until she’d pulled it out that she understood how exquisite it truly was.

Made of the most divine Indian muslin, the skirt swished as it tumbled, flowing more like water than fabric. It was the color of a full-body blush, embroidered with jubilant golden bouquets along the hem and accented along the top in gold as well. Ruched sleeves capped the shoulders to leave the arms bare while the neckline dazzled in ways unlike anything Naran had ever worn. More in the risqué style of the Brittans, it plunged between the breasts all the way to the empire waist while the back risked a deeper exposure to the dip of the small of the spine.

Swallowing hard, she undressed and slipped into the breathy luxury of spun cotton. It was tight around the ribs, and with the hug of the sleeves, it took the princess a long minute of wriggling to put it on without help. After a life in heavy wools and furs, it felt like wearing a breeze. The bodice cupped her breasts like hands while the skirt fled from her hips as though it resented the notion of touching skin.

The princess stood in front of her looking glass. A woman looked back at her that she barely recognized. Her coal black hair tumbled down her back to cover the deep V, but even then, it was more skin than Naran had ever shown. The pale pink of the gown enhanced the freckles on her caramel skin, and though it should have made her the picture of innocence, the cut of the neckline negated it immediately. Her collarbone flared proudly as she eyed herself from side to side. The chest needed a few stitches to fit her figure more snugly, and if she turned too much, the pillows of her breasts could flash in full. But she liked it. She liked how powerful she felt in it. She liked how enticing she looked.

There was a quick double-knock at the door, and Naran announced thoughtlessly, “Come in.”

She expected Magda. Instead, she found her husband.

“Are you almost ready?” His words were out before his mind caught up to the image of his wife.

Hyungwon froze in the door frame. Naran, too, could not wrench her eyes from him.

It had been months since she’d seen him in a Western style, and even though Naran had many things imprinted on her mind from the night of their engagement, she did not remember him even then looking as aggressively handsome as he did now.

The prince wore a billowing white blouse, and when his arms moved, the sleeves puffed like a bird about to take flight. Most likely, the long ties around the collar were intended as a cravat, but Hyungwon did not wear them that way; instead, they were knotted loosely, a bit like he was planning on getting undressed rather than hosting company. His black trousers fit rather tightly to his legs, elongating an already enormous man, and making matters most problematic for her, he wore polished black boots to his knees. Her husband looked just as capable of charging to the front lines on horseback as he did captaining a great ship with one leg propped on a storm-battered prow.

“You look exactly as I dreamed you’d look in this,” said Hyungwon.

“Thank you.” Naran lowered her eyes to her neckline. “Maybe it should be tailored first though before I wear it.”

“It’s perfect the way it is.”

His eyes were smoky and distant, almost as though the man she had married had been locked away somewhere inside while some shadowy predator roamed around unrestrained.

“I—I think this dress might scandalize your guests, sire.”

“They’re Westerners, and this is in the Western style. I thought it might make them feel welcome, but perhaps it is the wrong kind of welcome.”

Naran bit her lip. “Perhaps I need a chemise underneath?”

His eyes fell to the heart-shaped neckline plunging between her breasts, but all the prince could do was nod.

“But Magda has gone to finalize arrangements, and I can’t get out of this ridiculous thing without her help,” she grumbled. “Whoever thought of clothes you can’t take off yourself. Positively idiotic.”

Hyungwon cleared his throat softly and stepped closer. “Shall I help you, my lady?”

“Didn’t you say the guests should be here by now? I’m sure you should be there to receive them…”

“I’m sure I should…”

Naran wet her lips.

“If you have a moment then, my lord, before you leave, I would appreciate the help.”

Hyungwon closed the door behind him as he approached. The princess presented her back to him. She put her arms up and waited, but instead of lifting the dress over her head, the prince grabbed her wrists and lowered them back to her side.

“Do you like it?” he rasped into her hair. “They had so many exotic things in Jemulpo, but only this one was made just for my princess. It came all the way from Brittany just to adorn these lovely curves.”

His hand circled Naran’s neck, his middle finger stroking the skin there, before it slipped to the wells at her collar bone. The lower he went, the rougher his breathing grew. Finally, his fingers slipped under her neckline as he grabbed a handful of her breast. There was a roughness in his grip she’d never experienced from him before, a hungrier need demanding satisfaction.

“My prince,” Naran said raggedly, “we don’t have time—”

Hyungwon cut her off with a playful pinch of her nipple as he mouthed along her neck. “Time? All I can think about is how much time you’ve made me stay away from you. It’s been over a week since I’ve touched you, my darling. That’s too cruel.”

The prince rolled her nipple between his fingers as her chest thrust out against the sudden burst of pleasure.

“Sire—ah! The guests—”

“There’s no way I can greet them like this. They’ll see how hard I am for you. I need you, Naran.”

As if to underscore his point, Hyungwon grazed his hips against her backside, and the princess felt the unmistakable jut of her husband’s erection.

“No time…” she protested weakly.

“You’re not really going to make me wait any longer, are you? Do you hate me that much?” As he spoke, Hyungwon removed his hand from her bodice to hike the skirt of her dress roughly up her legs until he could grab a handful of her ass and elicit a yelp of pleasure from her.

His hot, wet breath panted along her ear as he said, “If I put my fingers inside you right now, would I find you soaked for me?”

“Please don’t say these things,” she whimpered.

“I thought you liked it when I talked, princess?”

“S-so much…”

“Then answer my question.” Hyungwon kneaded the supple flesh at her hips as he purred, “Would I find you soaked for me?”

This time, the princess let out a little cry. “Yes! Yes, sire.”

Hyungwon kissed the side of her face for a job well done, and Naran melted into it. In the sunlight, his face always looked soft and friendly, but here in the diffused twilight of her bedroom, shadows contoured his cheeks and jaw. When his eyes locked on hers in the mirror, they were resolute.

“You’re always tempting me, always asking things of me, and I can’t say no to you, darling. I can’t say no.”

There were more kisses now, at her jaw and ear and throat until he covered the newly bared skin along her shoulder.

“Didn't you miss me at all?” he pressed. “I missed you. Tell me you didn't let anyone else into your bed. Tell me it's still only me. Even if it's not true.”

Don't say it, Naran warned herself. It's a mistake.

“It's only you, my prince.”

Hyungwon groaned. As though he could read the flutters in her breath as well as words themselves, he added, “Maybe it's because I'm used to getting everything I want, but I like to know what’s mine and mine alone.”

It's just pillow talk, her frantic mind justified. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

And yet, the other part of her refused to be appeased. Put a stop to this now, you fool!

“My prince…”

His chin was on her shoulder, his eyes meeting hers in the looking glass. Hyungwon shifted her skirt in his grip to bare her core and the ghostly vestiges of his brands on her thighs. With his whole hand, he cupped her eager sex.

“This,” he murmured as his middle finger coaxed her seam, “is mine.”

Naran’s hand flew to his, not sure if she was intent on starting things or stopping them.

“Darling,” said the prince with a laugh darkening his tone, “you are soaked.”

He teased the sweet button there with his fingertip, and all his wife could do now was tremble in his arms.

“I missed this,” Naran confessed as her head tipped back against his chest.

“What did you miss, beautiful?”

“Your attention!” she gasped as he circled a stroke faster.

“You can have as much of it as you want. I promise I will make you feel good again. All you have to do,” he whispered as a finger seated itself just outside her entrance, “is let me.”

Naran tore her face from the reflection of her husband to the man himself. He met her gaze there, their lips far too close for her wavering willpower. Would it be so bad to give in? What could it really hurt if she allowed his lips to touch hers? They had been everywhere else on her body already anyway.

Where was the harm in a single kiss?

A knock—more like a pounding—at the door tore them apart at once.

“Your Highness,” said an unfamiliar lady’s voice, “are you ready? Your visitors arrived twenty minutes ago, and no one but your staff has greeted them.”

There was a clear barb in the servant’s tone, but it disappeared when the prince’s stern face confronted the petite woman on the other side of the door.

“Oh, my god—Your Highness!” said Hayun, the peony-faced girl who had brought Saran’s letter that morning. She had also been at the picnic as Magda had singled her out as Naran’s biggest detractor, and for a short while, the princess had thought she’d been successful in swaying the woman’s attentions to one of the male servants, but from the shimmering look in the maid’s black eyes, all hope of redirection was lost.

“Servants do not bang on royal doors, miss,” the prince admonished with ferocity. “If you have not learned that by now, perhaps we can move your post to the chickenyard where you can crow to your heart’s content.”

Hayun stood there on the verge of tears before she gathered what was left of her pride to bow and slink out of the wing.

Naran stood bewildered in the middle of her room. Her hair was disheveled and her brand-new gown askance. Worse yet, her lips were throbbing from unfulfilled promise. But it was for the best.

In the end, she had to be grateful for Hayun’s disruption; otherwise, she would have to reconcile the fact that in a few short weeks, she had been willing to give up her dreams for something that was, at its heart, merely contractual marital sex. Naran would not be the same sort of pitiful princess that had haunted these palace halls for centuries. She was determined to be more than a womb and an outlet for a prince.

“We’d best get going, sire,” she said as she hastily twisted her hair into a bun and secured it with a jade hairpin. “Everyone is obviously anxious.”

Hyungwon sighed but nodded. “There’s a shawl at the bottom of the box so you don’t get cold.”

Naran grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn’t as warm as a hanbok, but at least it gave her some security as she walked next to her husband on their way to the Receiving Hall.

Hoping for a safe topic of conversation, Naran asked, “Who are these visitors anyway that they can just disrupt an empire unannounced?”

“They are traders from Wessex,” said the prince, “or so the story goes. They have already visited nine of the East Sea realms.”

“Which just leaves Goryeo as number ten…” the princess mused. “Is that unusual for traders who have already come this far out of the West? Surely, they want to return home with as many trappings as they can to make it worth the harrowing trip.”

“That would be true if it weren’t for the fact that our empires already trade freely amongst each other. A simple trip to either Tuen Mun or Bombay would have stocked a ship with goods from all ten empires alone.”

“So, what are you thinking then? Spies?”

“Would it be the first time the West has come to the East looking to do more than trade?”

Naran shrugged her mouth, understanding her husband perfectly. She was to be on her guard with the traders, but at the same time, she couldn’t quell the rise of curiosity surging through her. She had occasion to meet Westerners beyond the usual royals she endured before as overland traders following the Silk Road would sometimes stop at Urga to curry favor with the khan, but she was never allowed to sit with them, her mother far too nervous that the princess might stow away in a caravan if given the opportunity—which probably wasn’t far off. There were few things as titillating as life on the open road, but she wasn’t so sure the same was true of the open sea. Naran had never seen the ocean, and the thought of not having land under her feet was terrifying if also intriguing.

“Are you all right?” Hyungwon asked suddenly, shaking her from her thoughts.

“Yes, of course.”

He squinted at her as though he were trying to read her mind but gave up as they reached the doors to the Receiving Hall.

“Just stay by my side,” he whispered. “Be circumspect. If they ask you a question that makes you uncomfortable, you do not need to answer for the sake of decorum. I’d prefer if they left sooner rather than later anyway…”

Hyungwon looked at his wife again, this time with a much coarser emotion in his eyes, and somehow, it felt like his hand was back under her dress again.

Just then, the doors to the hall opened to reveal two white men chatting in the middle of the large and lavishly-appointed room while several servants, including Magda, Hansol, and a red-faced Hayun, waited like statues along the heavily decorated walls. A spread of tea and appetizers covered the table in the center though the guests had not touched them.

As soon as Hansol saw the royal couple, he proclaimed, “Presenting His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Hyungwon and his wife, the Princess Supreme Narangerel.”

The strangers hurried to stand and bow to their hosts, and when they rose, the one with copper hair and a matching beard met the princess’s eyes. The way he looked at her made Naran feel like he knew her. Even as his gray-haired compatriot introduced the pair of them as sailor emissaries from the island nation of Wessex, the redhead stared at her with a strange sort of smile.

“Come, Connor, quit your lollygagging. You’ll make Her Highness uncomfortable in her own home,” reprimanded the elder sailor. “I beg you, Your Highness, please forgive my first mate. He has been at sea for far too long and forgotten all his manners, it seems.”

“It’s quite all right,” Naran assured, though she couldn't shake the intensity of the younger sailor’s eyes.

Neither, it seemed, could her husband as Hyungwon laced his fingers through hers and led her to the couch across from their guests.

For a minute, nobody seemed to know what to say. Naran had yet to really see her husband lead acts of state, but judging by his ramrod straight back and firmly set lips, he was uneasy. For their part, the sailors looked confused, and the princess wondered at the sorts of welcomes they might have received in other kingdoms. Perhaps they were not accustomed to having to lead conversations with royals, and it seemed the prince wasn’t interested in making it easy for them.

“Thank you for accommodating a pair of lowly traders on such short notice,” said the gray-haired man with an awkward smile. “I am Captain Elliot Witherspoon of the HMS Psyche, and this is my first mate Connor McCarthy. We have been traveling the East Seas at His Majesty King Edward’s behest on a mission of goodwill between kingdoms. It is His Majesty’s hope that East and West might strengthen diplomatic relations through trade, particularly with the Empire of Goryeo as trade has been scarce between our nations for years. Last time we sailed into Namgyeong, Emperor Gongmin was very resistant to such a plan unless the other Eastern realms entered into such trade routes first.”

Hyungwon hummed. “And it seems they have, have they?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

The prince did not respond, and the sailors looked amongst each other as they regrouped. “Will the Emperor and Empress be joining us this evening to hear such good news?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the prince. “They are away from the palace on business this evening.”

“No doubt they are very busy running an empire as powerful as Goryeo. Even in the West, the might of your realm is often spoken of.”

Hyungwon just smiled wanly.

The captain looked to his first mate, but the redhead was fixated on the princess.

“I hear,” said Captain Witherspoon, “that congratulations are in order. Your wedding is the talk of the Eastern realms.”

“Is it?” Hyungwon asked flatly.

“In one way or another,” laughed the captain, “particularly in Champa.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Naran retorted and did her best to hide her smirk.

Captain Witherspoon turned his attention to the princess as he asked, “How have you adjusted to life in Goryeo, Your Highness?”

“It’s a beautiful country, certainly not like any place I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you had occasion to visit the city?”

“A bit for the wedding and once for a festival, but, regrettably, not as much as I should like.”

The captain folded his hands in his lap and sat back as silence filled the space. Naran glanced at the prince, but Hyungwon did not offer any conversation despite his insistence that they host these people.

“I confess, Captain,” she said since no one else seemed to know what to say at this point, “I do not know much of the Western empires. Is life there much different from the Eastern empires you’ve visited?”

“The West is fonder of castles rather than palaces perhaps, and the roads are more likely to be paved, but the lands aren’t nearly so vast, and the people are a great deal more interested in each other’s business because of it. That said, people are people everywhere you go.”

“Is that so?” she said. “Still, I should like to see that.”

“Indeed, you would,” interjected the first mate. “Indeed, you would…”

Captain Witherspoon glared at Connor before he turned back to the royal couple and said, “You know, Your Highnesses, we have been hosted in many great houses on this trip, but this is the first time we���ve been greeted in costumes of our homeland. I confess, it’s a rather welcome sight after so long at sea.”

“And how long have you been away from home?” Naran asked.

“These eight months.”

“Eight months! How long shall it take you to get back?”

“Another four or more. Depends on the seas. It’s not a life for everyone, that’s for sure,” said the captain.

“But for those of us who get restless staying in one place, it’s rather a dream life,” Connor added, eyes boring into Naran’s. She didn’t understand why the man kept looking at her like that, but it made her feel rather naked though not in the same way the Western gown did.

Captain Witherspoon pursed his weathered lips before he relented and took a cup of tea. At first taste, he raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You know, tea is different in just about every country we’ve visited. Isn’t that rather funny?”

“As is the alcohol,” Connor echoed. “So much to sample at every port…”

“To that end, Your Highness,” said the captain, finally turning his attention back to the prince, who had barely said a word in the last several minutes, “if you don’t mind, I should like to bend your ear for a bit on this matter of trade.”

Hyungwon looked as much a statue as his servants. Naran stole a glance at him but found that his attention was frozen on her, not either of the guests he’d insisted on hosting. There was longing in his eyes—there was no other word for it—and it made her mouth very dry. She dove for a cup of tea as well, and once she’d had her wits back about her, she said, “As you would like to discuss business, I will show Mr. McCarthy the artwork in the meantime.”

Her husband looked at her as though she couldn’t have said anything more offensive in the moment, but she was tired of doing all the work of this stupid party that he had forced upon her anyway. In spite of his frantic look, she excused herself and headed toward a portrait at the far corner of the room nearest Magda, hoping to draw some strength and sensibility from her dearest friend.

Connor followed eagerly. He did not bother with food or drink, just met her stride for stride as he fluffed out his beard. He faced her full-on now, no interest at all in the stern-faced emperor who sat squat on his throne in the painting.

“I have never met a Moghul before,” blurted the sailor as he studied the princess. “You’re a very exotic thing, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid my good sir has me confused, for I am not a thing at all,” Naran challenged, “but a woman.”

“Ay, and what a woman you are! One of a kind, I should say. You’re an adventurer, Princess Narangerel. What on earth are you doing in a palace of all places?”

At this, the princess turned her attention from the portrait to the man beside her. “An adventurer? What makes you say that?”

The redhead shrugged playfully, a smile splitting his beard. “I, too, am an adventurer, Your Highness. I can see it in you.”

“Is that why you look at me like you know me?”

“Ay, I do. You’ve got the restless eyes and the itchy feet. It’s why you can’t sit still for more than a few minutes. Your tapping foot is a perfect match to my own.”

Naran stood to her full height and stomped down her relentless urge to fidget. “I feel there are many like me back in my homeland, sir. I am not this rare breed you make me out to be. You may be well-traveled but perhaps not where it counts.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. His skin had been leathered by the ruthless sun, which made his bright hair all the brighter, especially his bushy eyebrows, and when he laughed, he looked like the merriest man she’d ever seen. She wondered if there was anything that didn’t amuse a man like him. “If that’s true, then maybe there’s a woman out there for me yet.”

The silly thought rushed through her mind that, if things had been different, if she were still in Moghulikhan, she might have passed a night with the man. He wasn’t nearly so handsome as her husband, to be sure, but Connor was bold and interesting, and it occurred to Naran that perhaps her mother had been right to fear Western men because she could see how she might be spirited away by his wanderlust.

But then her eyes slid back to Hyungwon, who was looking at the sea captain exactly as he had the many eligible bachelorettes the night the couple had met—with indifference. Sitting there with one booted leg crossed over the other and looking more like a pirate king than an emperor, he was magnificent. Maybe she was just strung out from their ruined encounter earlier or maybe it was the compounding of all the days she’d been without him before that, but thoughts of running anywhere but to him seemed impossible in the moment.

“There’s certainly no hope for me in Champa, I will tell you that,” continued the first mate, clearly unaware of her stampede of pained thoughts. “Would it come as a surprise to Her Highness that the name Moghulikhan leaves a sour taste in the royal palace?”

In her mind’s eye, Naran saw a flash of silver liquor dripping from the edge of a desk followed by the flash of her husband’s eyes staring up at her between her legs, and her breath quickened. She took a page out of Hyungwon’s book and stood tall as she faced her guest. “You might be sailors, good sir, but I think you’re doing a bit more like fishing.”

Connor laughed. “Ay, anything is possible. We have visited many realms, Your Highness, but I must say, East or West, I have never seen a royal lady so engaged with our discussions.”

“I'm sure the ladies were engaged enough but maybe not at the liberty to show you. I have never been one to be concerned with appearances, however, Mr. McCarthy.”

“Now, see, I knew I was right about you. So, how does a free spirit like Her Highness find herself as Princess Supreme of a country all about appearances?”

“Happy chance,” she said with a hollow smile, but the canny sailor saw right through it.

“A victim of your station, I take it.”

“I never said that, sir.”

“You don’t need to. When you’ve been out on the open ocean as long as I have, you can read a swell before it breaks over you. Even the calmest seas hide their true devastation. Have you ever been on the sea, Princess?”

Naran’s heart unexpectedly shook. She barely remembered how to answer as she said, “I haven’t, no. My homeland is surrounded only by land.”

Connor leaned against the wall, nearly on the painting, which had Hansol lurching forward in case of emergency, but the Wessex man was totally unbothered. “If you like, I can show you to the harbor tomorrow and take you for a spin on my vessel.”

“She’s busy tomorrow,” interrupted Prince Hyungwon, who had materialized by his wife’s side looking at least a head taller than she remembered. The prince looked to the sailor with a face blank of all emotion, and it left a heavy lump in the basin of her belly. “Please, sir, if you would rejoin us.”

Hyungwon took his wife’s hand again and led her back to the couch, and this time when they sat, he sat flush against her. His hand stayed tangled up with hers before she shook it away with a tight smile for her guests. At length, the sailors began enumerating all the ports along the Wu empire they had had the pleasure of visiting while detailing all the wonders they encountered there, but Naran could not hear any of them because the prince had laid a hand just above her knee now. She did her best to ignore it, but Hyungwon’s heat as well as his grip were impossible to ignore.

Her husband leaned across the seat and brought his lips to her ear as he whispered, “I would give anything to be inside you right now.”

Stricken, her wide eyes shot to the prince, and the princess subtly shook her head. As casually as she could, she brushed his hand away, and the conversation continued onto stories of the Da Viet coast and its bay of stony green giants, but they had barely traveled into the port itself before the prince's hand was back, this time higher on her thigh—with his pinky stroking insistently, nearly brushing her dampening secret.

Again, Hyungwon leaned to her ear and whispered, “Come away with me. Now.”

Naran shook her head again, but it took all her social graces to do so without screaming. She felt the flush rising up her chest, and with her low neckline, she knew full well it was on display for all—Connor’s stare and subsequent lip lick were all the proof she needed.

Fingers dug into her thigh then.

“Now, Naran.”

Hyungwon shot to his feet as Captain Witherspoon was mid-sentence and declared, “Gentlemen, if you will, please excuse my wife and me for a bit on an urgent matter.”

“Urgent, Your Highness?” the captain asked, aghast.

“Indeed. In the meantime, please enjoy a performance on one of our traditional instruments, the gayageum, as our staff prepares some of the coffee you so generously gifted us, and we can enjoy it together before our night concludes.” To his attendant, Hyungwon turned now and said, “Hansol.”

The servant bowed and hurried out of the room to bring back a middle-aged woman in an elegant hanbok. She scurried in and took a seat on a cushion as she perched a long, flat wooden harp across her lap, and moments later, the honeyed twang of the strings echoed in the hall.

Though the sailors looked floored by the unprecedented departure, there was nothing they could do but agree.

Meanwhile, Naran felt like a flag at the wind’s mercy as Hyungwon led the pair of them down the hall to the next room over, which was barely more than a closet compared to the hall they’d just left. No one had bothered to light any candles here, so it was cloistered with shadows and the outlines of furniture.

“What is with you today!” she snapped the first chance she got, but shock and indignance gave way to raw hunger the moment her husband spun her in his arms so her back was pressed to his chest. He wrapped both arms around her and squeezed her to him.

“I can’t take it anymore. You’re all I’ve been thinking about for days.”

“My lord—”

“Hush, darling. Are you going to tell me you never thought of me? Do you want to break me?”

As mad as she was, Naran’s arms encircled his around her chest and she melted back into him. “No…”

“So, tell me.”

“I thought of you, my prince.”

Hyungwon let out a shaky breath against her neck.

“We never got to finish what we started, princess,” he rasped as he dug through her skirts now, seeking bare skin, but the layers on the Western dress were confusing, and Naran heard a tear as frustration got the better of her husband.

“Be careful, sire!” she hissed. “I can’t go back in tatters.”

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Hyungwon warned. “Maybe I want you to go back there with my marks all over you and your face dripping sweat. These sailors are too familiar. They should know they can’t have everything their eyes land on.”

“My prince…”

Naran tipped her head back, and Hyungwon kissed her brow. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time to tease you like before, but if you—”

His fingers glanced across her folds just then, and he let out a ragged breath.

“You’re already so wet,” he said, astonished.

“That’s from before,” she insisted though they both knew it was a lie. From the moment his hand had found a home on her knee, her body had hoped—prepared—for more.

Hyungwon rested his chin on her shoulder as he pressed her back against him. She could feel his hardness yearning for its rightful home, but as much as they should have been in a rush, her lazy prince refused to give up his intimate hold on his bride. Two of his fingertips glided up and down her lower lips, parting her just enough to spill more arousal over his digits. He found her needy little hill there and pressed just enough to have her trembling with excitement.

“You’re holding back. Naran,” he scolded. “Why are you holding back?”

“Our guests—”

“I thought you liked it when your audience leaves unsatisfied?”

“Yes,” she gasped as he rubbed her more urgently, “but these men aren't servants.”

Hyungwon growled against the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “Who cares? We'll never see them again.”

“What will they say about us at the next palace?”

Between kisses, he murmured, “They will say that the prince is very dedicated to producing an heir for his kingdom. Is that such a bad thing?”

Naran’s eyes drooped further and further, with every sweep of her husband’s fingers through her messy seam. Her voice was smoky and lost as she abandoned the last of her defenses. “No… No. It’s a good thing.”

“A very good thing.”

At last, Hyungwon removed his hand if only to bend her over the back of the nearest chair. The princess gripped the armrests, eyes wide with the panic of anticipation, and once he had positioned Naran exactly as it pleased him, he slid his middle finger into her core. Her back arched as the growing craving inside her was finally satiated.

The prince spent only a few moments priming her wet walls before he hiked her skirt properly over her hips. If anyone should open the door to the room, she would be on full display, and that only made her core contract harder.

There was the rustle of more fabric before she felt the dribbling head of her husband’s length against the inside of her thigh. Naran whimpered and glared at him over her shoulder, half in panic, half in desperation. “Wait, my prince—”

“Argue with me again and I won’t give you my cock, Naran. Is that what you want?”

He was gruff and so nonchalant about such language that it weakened the last of her defenses. With her lip between her teeth and her eyes glazed with lust, the princess shook her head.

“That’s what I thought,” Hyungwon said far too smugly, though that faded away quickly as he caressed the swell of her exposed flesh. “You are ready for me, aren't you, darling? Say you're ready. I can't wait anymore.”

In the darkness, his voice was heavenly even as his hands were wicked along the bloom of her hips.

She nodded. “For the—”

But before she could complete their mantra, Hyungwon pushed in to his hilt. Naran let out a long, low cry as the strength of his manhood nearly brought a tear to her eye. He gripped her waist and pushed her hips deep down against him so the head of his cock nestled in newfound depths inside her.

“I could fill you up right now,” he panted as he doubled over her, one hand still on her hip but the other joining hers on the armrest. “I’m that hard for you.”

“Not yet,” she begged though it was mixed with a moan, too.

“Not yet? It’s not just for the throne anymore, is it. My wife wants more pleasure first?”

“Yes…” answered the princess, only vaguely aware of how mindless she sounded.

“Even though there are men with greedy eyes waiting for her?”

The prince thrust in hard, chasing a ragged gasp from Naran’s lungs.

“Don’t care, don’t care.”

“What do you care about?” Hyungwon asked, his tongue thick against the shell of her ear now.

“Just care about you inside me. S’all I care about,” she slurred.

Naran ground her ass back against his hips while the prince rode out a series of emphatic thrusts. Each one was more determined than the last to force moan after moan from her.

Suddenly, Hyungwon came halfway up only to bring her along. His big hand splayed across her chest, groping her breast through her dress as he peppered kisses down her throat. He sucked a patch in the most visible real estate there, and once satisfied, he thrust upward at last to his wife’s grateful gasp.

With the new angle, he favored slower, deeper thrusts that pressed heavy inside her belly. His member savored her heat and tightness at his leisure while his lips continued their assault on her once-unblemished skin. At last, he pulled back, pleased with his handiwork, and Naran swore she could feel her heart throbbing underneath the new bruises.

“Make sure your hair stays up,” commanded Hyungwon as he roughly rocked into her. “Can’t show them the last ones, so I need them to see these.”

“Yes, my lord,” Naran sobbed as she gripped white-knuckled on the back of the chair.

“When we go back—when we go back, tilt your head like this—” Hyungwon’s hand moved to the crown of her head and gently pulled it toward her shoulder so that the sun-warmed tract of her neck was prominent, where his red-and-purple bull’s-eyes would be unmistakable even across a large room. “Let them see. Let them suffer.”

“Oh yes,” she groaned as he drilled more furiously with his every passing order. “Yes…”

“Don’t hold back now, darling. Not today. You're not a quiet lover, Naran. The whole empire knows your screams.”

“I’ve—ooh… I've always been able to control it. Not, ah, not with you!”

Hyungwon rumbled against her lobe, nibbling it as he ground himself in to his hilt. “You like it when I take you, princess?”

“So much.”

“You want more?”

“Yes…” she slurred. “More…”

Naran thought he’d take her harder, but instead, he pressed the both of them back over the chair and switched to a slower, more intimate stroke that ensured his shaft massaged the most sensitive, secret parts inside her. This way, he could bottom out with every thrust so forcefully that she hiccupped out her moans each time. As if that weren’t enough, his hand braced over hers on the armrest again, this time interlocking fingers, while the other splayed across the plane of her belly, pressing firmly to double her pleasure from inside and out.

Naran was stretched so full that she could think of nothing else—not prudence, not courtesy, not restraint. She sealed her hand over his on her stomach and greedily pressed back with each stab of his manhood into her velvet. Hyungwon picked up speed now—faster, hungrier, closer. More, more, more. They panted in time with one another as luxurious pressure built between the princess’s thighs.

There were no more words to be exchanged—they were well passed that point. Just the rasp of her husband’s desire for her was enough to make her climax, but combined with the way his body was consuming her and the way he took her more and more savagely, when Naran let go, she came truly undone. Her knees buckled and her body shook as a hitching cry pealed from her lips. If Hyungwon hadn’t been holding her up, she would have collapsed.

Instead, he hugged her tighter, riding out her seizing release a bit longer with stuttering plunges of his own until he squeezed her hands and pounded into her with a final exclamation of his cock unloading a torrent of his seed into her shuddering walls.

Together, they slumped against the chair, still hopelessly entangled and breathless. Minutes passed before either could form words, but at last, Naran managed, “My lord?”

“Hm?”

“You’re holding me too tightly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. His arms unwound from her, and the temperature plummeted as dramatically as it did during nights on the steppe.

Naran lifted herself off his member and shuddered at the chaser of emptiness that followed. Hyungwon’s release gushed down her thighs. Though the mess made her recoil, it also made her stomach tighten and her weak knees rub together.

“I should clean up,” she said as she shuffled toward the door, but her husband grabbed her wrist to stop her.

The way his head leaned against the paneling in the thin light, his long black bangs matted with sweat and splintering his foggy gaze, made something in her chest squeeze painfully.

“Later,” he said. “Now, we return to our guests.”

“My lord, in this state—”

“Yes, in this state,” he insisted. His eyes fell to her slender wrist in his hand as he ran his thumb over the tendons there. His voice was huskier when he added, “We won’t be long.”

Naran shivered.

They headed back to the receiving room where they found the Irishmen uncharacteristically silent while Magda and Hansol looked on shell-shocked from the corners. At the sight of the young royals’ disheveled appearances, the room’s collective eyes widened, with the orange-haired sailor’s narrowing extra sharply. To Naran’s great relief, the musician kept playing; the princess didn’t think she could bear the company without the distraction.

Hyungwon sat on the sofa again, but when Naran moved to sit next to her husband, he instead tugged her to take a seat on the armrest next to his shoulder so he could wrap his arm around her waist and lean his head against her side. He smiled at the sailors as he said, “Pardon the interruption, gentlemen. Where were we?”

“We were, uh—” Captain Witherspoon glanced around the room, but Hyungwon smiled.

“What was it the good captain was talking about, my princess?”

Naran’s head whipped around to glare at her husband, and from the throat clears across from her, she understood what her husband’s question was really about. In one fell swoop, the burgeoning marks on her neck were the new focal point of the room. Her hand raced up to let down her hair, but Hyungwon caught her and shoved a cup of coffee in it, a smirk on his face.

“Um, Mau Le,” she said, her voice wavering with the embarrassment and maybe a little something deeper.

The prince poured a cup of coffee for himself, and he sipped it as though nothing unusual had happened at all. In fact, he picked right back up where they left off. “Yes, what was that you were saying about the Mau Le markets, Captain Witherspoon?”

Hesitantly, the gray-haired man resumed his description of the humid, fragrant markets of the Da Viet port, but there was much less flower to his stories now. His first mate no longer risked the princess’s attention at all and instead focused on what was left in his coffee cup.

Talk drifted back to the many wonderful exports the Wessex tradesmen could offer thanks to this sailing route, but with her husband’s lust weeping onto the seat of her dress, Naran had a hard time contributing anything to the conversation anymore let alone paying it any attention. For his part, Hyungwon had never looked more engaged.

At last, the princess could bear the distraction no longer, and when she abruptly stood, and all three men rose as well.

Red-faced, she bowed lightly as she said, “If you would excuse me, gentlemen, I will be right back."

“See you shortly, my darling,” said the prince shamelessly.

If Naran weren’t still basking in the glow of a much-needed release, she might have sworn at him, guests or not. Instead, she headed into the hall to the closest wash chamber, but before she could get there, she heard airy footsteps behind her.

“Excuse me, Your Highness?”

Naran turned to find Hayun alone in the hallway.

“What is it?” the princess asked.

Hayun bowed deeply, her hands tucked reverently in her hanbok sleeves as she swung forward with the grace of a bell. When she rose, she kept her eyes downcast as was the custom with the lower-level staff. “I am very sorry to bother Her Grace, but I am wondering something.”

“Okay…”

The servant cleared her throat lightly, a wisp of a smile curling her petal lips. “It seems to me I heard an echo in the halls just a little bit ago. Did you perhaps as well?”

“An echo?”

“Oh, yes. I have a feeling Her Grace might remember hearing them quite well, as did I. There were several things I know I have heard before, but last time, instead of an echo, I heard them much, much closer, almost as though they were in my ears instead of Her Grace’s.”

Naran was too dumbfounded to form words.

“Just thought her Esteemed Ladyship should be aware,” added Hayun with another bow before she rose and returned to the Receiving Hall, leaving turbulent seas for a princess, who had known only firm land, to navigate.

[fishtail-tavra]

no answers just more Thoughts

The tavonica At The End Of All Things comic probably follows show canon, not book canon.

Even through the person who wrote the comic also wrote the books (J.M. Lee), the main carry over from THAT is just Tavra and Onica being a couple.

The visuals are all based on the show, going against book descriptions, and a picture is worth a thousand words. So nothing from the books probably applies here (alas for Kylan's lesbian adoption and Naia and Tavra hugging things out in dream-fast..)

Tae's possession likely doesn't happen- that's a specific result of the books plot- or if it does, it's in a very different way.

Tae herself- if that is her in the comic flashback- looks very different from her book version (no gold hair or blue wings) and her role in the story has probably also changed, in the same way Tavra and Onica's book roles don't match with them in the show.

Tavra is RIDING to Onica on that last page! THIS IS SO STRANGE.

In both the books AND the show, Tavra's gelfling body DIES.

Book her does learn how to possess others- Amri partially a few times, Tae while she was injured and unconscious- while show her might have become part of the Arathim hive mind and lived on in them after death. She might have, through the Arathim, possessed other gelfling later on if so. That's many ifs though.

But it still shouldn't be HER body that's running around.

Which gives three depressing options:

1.) This is all just Onica's wishful thinking and not actually a canon ending for them. I hate this idea and am ignoring it.

2.) Tavra is being represented by her sense of self in this last page, not her actual physical appearance (like in her dream-fast with Naia in the books). So she could be possessing someone else's body or even just be a spider hitching a ride on a landstrider, but the emotional impact, the thing that's important to Onica, is that Tavra IS alive and DOES come back to her- and that's what the visuals focus on. In that case Tavra's spider eyes wouldn't be literal the same way her body wouldn't be. Both are just conveying to the viewer that yes, this Tavra, she's been changed but she's still Tavra even so.

4.) In this canon, Tavra's gelfling body either gets resurrected (by the arathim or her friends?) or reused (by the skeksis as another arthim hybrid experiment??). This Tavra does literally have spider eyes, and she is... what, a Gelfthim?

The last option raises so many more questions I don't even know what to do with it...

If Onica's older in that final page and it's not just the art style, then she'd probably only several unum or a couple of trine older.

I honestly can't tell if she's meant to have more wrinkles or not, but her hair does seem a bit longer. She's got it tied back in a ponytail now. And her cool hat and coat are there!

Something terrible might have happened in Ha'rar.

This is clearly Tavra riding away from Ha'rar's cliff side citadel while a ship sinks just off it's coast.

She might also have just knocked aside a garthim- it's hard to tell if it's just lying on it's side or in the act of toppling over. The sinking ship might be Sifa, but Mayrin's comics make it clear that the Vapra can and did have ships too.

And then there's that sigil sinking in the water..

It could be nothing. It could be the Sifa sigil overturned. It could be the sigil of the Vapra.

It's almost certain that Tavra and Onica won't outlast the war....

...but they might outlast the clans that once kept them apart.

I'd still rather them living in the woods with their adopted son while he makes a cool scrapbook, but if tavonica can't have their book ending, at least maybe they do have this.

Going off of a post by @fishtail-tavra about the Tavronica comic, can we seriously talk about last page and the implications it has for the future?

1. The Garthim carcass and shipwrecks below the Citadel. We know this is during/near the end of the Garthim Wars

2. Onica has clearly aged, seeing not just the longer hair but that she has wrinkles. How far is this into the future and exactly how long do the Garthim Wars last? We still don’t have a confirmed timeline between AoR and the movie

3. The most mind-blowing and stark detail of them all; Tavra is ALIVE, is a GELFING and has SPIDER EYES on her forehead!!!

I’m sorry but this is why we need to see the entirety of AoR played out and completed in some form or another, because I have so many questions from this one page.

What does this mean for Tavra’s spider arc? How long is she just a Threader or does she even become one at all? Does this mean her possession of Tae from the books doesn’t happen? How does she get her Gelfling body back??? How has Onica managed to survive this long and how long do they have with each other before they both die for good?

I don’t care if we get more books, comics, a low-budget animated show/movie or even the roughest draft of a potential screenplay/script WE NEED ANSWERS!!