#You got blocked for living in a fantasy world while I live in reality but I unblocked when a mutual informed me of this
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✐ᝰ "You knew all too well i was right where you left me" | CL16 ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊
chapter one: “love is short but forgetting is so long” -> chapter two
parings: retired!charles leclerc x writer!ex!reader
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
book tittle: "right where you left me"
author: y/n y/ln.
sinopsis: Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? While time moved on for everyone else, she stayed trapped in a single moment, lost in a fantasy of what could have been. She’s still 23, clinging to the life she thought she’d have, the one where everything was “just right.”
This is the story of a woman living in delusion, unable to let go of the exact moment her world fell apart. Breakups happen every day, but for her, it was more than that. Sitting cross-legged at a restaurant table, under the dim light, across from him, everything felt perfect—until he said, “I met someone else.” The shatter of glass on the white tablecloth marked the death of their love, but not the end of her story.
While everyone else moved on, she stayed behind. In that restaurant, in that moment, with those words echoing in her mind, her heart suspended in a “forever” that never came.
A poignant romance about heartbreak, grief, and the lives we leave behind when we can’t move forward. If you ever wonder if you got it all wrong, remember:
“I’m right where you left me. You left me no choice but to stay here forever.”
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
word count: +5k.
MASTERLIST
⋆˚࿔ Ten years ago 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
You were wearing your favorite flower dress Charles gifted you for your year anniversary last year. He always said you looked the prettiest on it. So you decided to wear it for this date. Charles told you he needed to tell you something and you prepared mentally for an engagement ring or something. Or like he would propose to you to live together. You couldn't think of anything else. You were happy.
He held your hand while the waiter guided you both to your reserved table next to the window. It was your favorite. It wasn't the first time you came, it was your go to restaurant. You even had your first date here.
The restaurant was inspired to be like a flower shop mixed with a coffee shop. It developed to be a fancy restaurant in monte carlo. Your apartment was two blocks away so you were a regular client alongside charles.
You were so proud of him and every single accomplishment in his last year. He was finally becoming an F1 driver. Your heart is exploding with happiness for him. You admired how determined he always was about his dreams.
You sat on the table in front of each other. The waiter made sure you were comfy and left the menu for you to check. You grabbed it starting to read it, not noticing charles behaviour wasn't normal. His body language was unusual. He seemed uncomfortable, stressed. He cleared his throat making you look at him and have your attention. You left the menu over the table to give him your 100% of attention.it was summer so you had your hair up in a pin and charles was wearing a plain white t shirt that always looked so precious on him.
Your eyes had question marks all over them expecting to hear what he wanted to say. There was a soft smile on yours but Charles wasn't smiling, on the contrary, he was looking down at the white tablecloth. You frowned when he took so much time to say anything. He noticed so he looked at you.
“I met someone else” he said and you felt like cold ice water was sprayed straight to you. His hands sweaty showed anxiety creeping and your face went white. You just couldn't move for a few seconds.
“W-what?” That was the only thing you could say at the moment. It was like your brain went dead in the instant it heard him saying those words. I met someone else. Four words. It took only four words to break your whole reality in a million pieces so tiny you thought it was impossible you could live properly anymore. Your mouth went dry. His eyes were cloaked on you expecting something else out of you. But how could he? He saw how you broke down there and then in front of his eyes, how confusion and heartache took over you with just four words.
Those damn four words you won't ever forget. They will haunt you for the rest of your life. You just knew.
There were a few minutes of silence. Really painful silence. You didn't know what to do. You didn't even know if you wanted to know more about it or just run away from here. You looked down at your dress. Tears creeping to stream down your face.charles out of desperation and discomfort talked again.
“I met someone else. I don't love you anymore, and before doing something stupid, I just wanted to tell you first” his words coming out of his mouth at the same time the waiter was laying your white wine glasses on the table. When he bheard what Charles said, he tripped and smashed the glass on the floor next to your table. You exalted. Charles got really nervous about it for some reason. You looked at him. The mess helped you to snap out of your bubble you were drowning alive.
“What happens to everything we build together, then?” he didn't have an answer for your question. Your tears started streaming down your face alongside your not waterproof mascara. The waiter apologised when he ended up cleaning, uncomfortable hearing two strangers break up in front of him. Charles licked his lips nervously and shook his head lost in what to answer.
“Guess, it doesn't matter now” his words cut through your skin like daggers.
You were waiting for him to propose something beautiful together. You believed you were the love of his life. He told you that everyday. Then one day to another, he found someone better.
“Is it because I'm not pretty enough for your new status life?” you needed to find a reason even if it was the stupidest one. You just couldn't live without one for this terrible outcome of your life. It was the end.
It was the fucking end.
He denied with his head not looking at you. He couldn't. And he also couldn't believe he fell in love with someone else while you were there the whole time. He knew this was the right thing to do for both of you. But he didn't even understand what happened. Why did he stop loving you? He had no clue. The only thing he knew is that he loved alexandra, not you. Alexandra made him feel something he had never felt for you as much as it hurt him to admit it. Because he cared about it, he cared a lot. Even though it seemed like he didn't because he didn't love you like that anymore.
“I’m sorry, y/n” that was all he had left to say. He didn't want to make you confused. He didn't want to lie to you. You didn't deserve that. Honesty was the least he could offer you after all of these years together.
You couldn't understand properly what he was saying at this point. You didn't understand why he would invite you for a date when he wanted to break up. Why he didn't say anything yesterday or the day before, or the other. Just, why? What did you do wrong? Wasn't your love enough? You gave him your all. Are you a problem? Probably. So beautiful to think someone was leaning on their knees to ask you something beautiful then hear “you would’ve been such a lovely bride. What a shame she’s fucked in the head”. He found someone better than you. More beautiful. Even more intelligent and interesting for sure.
You gasped at his words. Your chest aches and your hands are shaky. He felt terrible seeing you like that but he had to be strong and do the right thing.
“It’s better i go, goodbye y/n” he didn't know what to say nor he wanted to stay any longer. It was all too much for him.
You watched him leave the restaurant. He was leaving with everything you once were and now you're nothing at all. You watched everyone looking at you, there, left alone and a mess. Unloved and unimportant. You felt they stared at you forever, because it felt like it.
What were just a few minutes for the rest of humanity, it felt like centuries for you. You were stuck there on a loop hearing his words and watching him leave, again and again, and again for eternity.
You froze there, lost and empty.
Everyone moved on but you didn't.
How could you?
⋆˚࿔ Ten years later 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
You were at your office in your beach house in monte carlo. You were writing your second book. And yeah, so much happened since you last seen charles.
Of course, the aftermath of it all was terrible on your side. You fell into a depression you didn't know it could be real to experience. The emptiness you felt was immense. Also, your self esteem was destroyed and that was the hardest part to build back up again. You went to therapy two times a week. There were so many things you didn't understand. It was really hard for you to cope with the pain by yourself. Your best friend, agostina, moved in with you. She travelled from New York and left her life behind so she could be there for you. She was an Italian teacher so she could get a job pretty fast and that comforted you. You felt guilty and ashamed of your situation. You just felt like a fucking problem to everyone.
You had started journaling by the time your friend pointed out something that would change your life forever.
Monaco’s weather was the prettiest. Autumn it’s really beautiful up here. You were seated on your lounge chair by the pool. Your friend sat next to you leaving two cups of tea on the tiny table between you two. The morning was your favorite time of the day, because you had the habit of writing down everything you felt about anything and everything. Your friend knew it so she just accompanied you through it. She knew it was part of the process and she just wanted to be there for you, always. As she always did since you were kids back in london.
The words stormed out of you straight to the paper like lighting. You were writing fast every single word you heard. And after a few moments when you finally stopped writing, you would read your words out loud to process them.
“Okay, hear me out. Are you ready” you asked your friend so she could join you in the process and debate about your thoughts and feelings. That always helped you out so much. She nodded, taking a sip from his tea cup.
“Alright” you adjusted yourself comfier on the chair moving to face her and grabbed your journal better. “Maybe we got lost in translation or maybe I asked for too much. Or maybe this thing was a masterpiece till you tore it all up. Running scared, I was there. I remember it all too well. And you call me up just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest. And now I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here. Time won't fly. It's like im paralyzed by it. I’d like to be my old self, but I'm still trying to find it after `plaid shirt days and nights where you made me your own. Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone. Because there we are again when I loved you so, back before we lost the one real thing you’ve ever known. It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well” your voice was soft and low. When you finished your friend stayed silent analyzing your words.
“Have you ever considered becoming a writer? Because that, what you wrote, was beautiful y/N” she told you. Her words sinked in you. Maybe you should. You write a lot, so you can try and if you fail you stick to your translator job as you do now. Something fliked inside you. What could go wrong?
And to be fair, the rest is history. You started your journey as a writer and it was not easy but all of the heartache you carried helped to write the story of your life. Not like, actually, but it did indeed change your life forever.
Your first book was called “all too well” and under any expectation, it became a best seller worldwide. You were a best seller author now and a pretty famous one. Your novel broke selling records. It made you tour the world, getting to know so many people and signing so many copies of it. And then, you started being so happy. Your suffering became the art so many people appreciated. Unlike Charles, you were important to them, and they cared about your words, your feelings, and your vision. You now have helped someone with your book. As it helped you get through the life you thought you would have with him.
He got married, you saw him on the news one morning while baking cinnamon rolls for your nephews that came to visit. He was a 3 time world champion in formula one and one of the most adored drivers. An icon in fashion and now a businessman. To be fair, it was all you would have dreamed for him. So at some point you were happy for him. At least he achieved everything he dreamed of. And he had a beautiful wife, she was an artist. Sometimes you pass through her gallery to see what new piece she created. She didn't know you, of course. No one knew about you except for Charles' family. His brothers knew. Hisparents knew you.but you were a buried secret to that family. You heard from a friend of a friend it was a pretty big shock when charles told them he was already someone else the next they he dumped you. I mean, you were shocked as well. You thought it wasn't possible for someone to move on that quick. But you couldn't judge him. You were so young. He didn't know better. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you showed up to a race one day. Would he pretend he doesn't know who you are? Would he pretend you never existed? One part of you, hoped he would fall in love with you again. Just Like the first time. And that he regretted leaving you behind. But reality was way more complicated. Though, you were offered by Mercedes and McLaren to join a few races since you became a recognized figure to the world. You also wondered if Charles knew about it. If he saw you in the news as you did. If he read your book. If he felt the way you felt. If he believed you described him right or wrong. If he missed you sometimes. If he dreamed of you. If he was waiting to find you again and do it all over again. But just the right way this time. Forever.
⋆˚࿔ present day 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
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Liked by agostinabff, arthurleclerc, alexandramsaintlux and others
yourusername: happy 5 year anniversary of your fav book!! It’s “all too well” birthday (and season!) and to celebrate I am so thrilled and happy to announce all too well it’s actually a MOVIE ON THE MAKING!!! kept this secret for way too long, but now you know and I can’t believe it’s actually reality! Special thanks to my bestie who from day one told me to become a writer and look where we are now. Thank you all so much for reading 💌 don’t forget to bake cinnamon rolls and wear your red scarfs and lipstick! 🍂🧣🤎
tagged: universalpictures, alltoowellthenovel, alltoowellthemovie
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user345: OMG FINALLY FINALLY 😭
user89: I don’t know how to feel about I just hope it’s good please
agostinabff: always with you beautiful and talented soul. We are so proud of you, me and Benjamin, Renato and Dante love you 🤎 ready with our red scarfs come pick us up!
↳ yourusername: I love you my family 🥹 omw 🤎
user234: I really want to know who broke her heart this deep to write a masterpiece like all too well is
↳ user234: GIRL exactly like I ache for her
↳ user79: I would be dead if I had to live something like that
user123: just between us, did the love affair maim you too? 😭😭😭😭
↳ user21: you kept me like a secret but i kept you like an oath 😭
universalpictures: we remember it all too well 🤎❤️
↳ user34: thank you for this it’s amazingggg
user411: can’t wait
arthurleclerc: congrats y/n! waiting for it such a great book!
↳ user673: what are you doing here darling????
↳ user1: didn’t know racing drivers read romantic books
↳ user76: now you became more perfect than perfect 😍
↳ user7923: suss
⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
“La Dernière Fleur” looked so much different from where you and Charles broke up. It was now a cafeteria. And a really cute one. You loved coming here to write your following book. Up to now, you were gonna tell the story you had with Charles, everything. You needed to finally let go of him. Let go of the past. And finally, move on.
You sat at your regular table for the last three months. Your computer and notebook on the table. You were surrounded by papers with so many notes on them and coffee cups. Your hair up in a pin and your reading glasses on. Your red hair looked shiny thanks to the sun reflecting on it coming though the window. Everybody knew you there and felt honoured that you chose that place to write your next best seller. They always gifted you their exquisite lemon cinnamon roll. It was your favorite. They made you feel really special and you were really grateful about it.
Your next novel will be called “right where you left me” and for you it was a great idea to go back to the place where it all started.
The first day you came you almost threw up out of anxiety. It was hard to remember it all. But the second day around you could actually think of the storyline and write down some notes. And that’s how it all started three months ago.
In other news, your book was so successful, it was going to become a movie in two years. How crazy is that? You accomplished so much in all these years. Sometimes you had to pinch yourself to see if you were dreaming.
It was autumn, your favorite season of the year. Wearing sweaters and scarfs and red lipstick. Everything was perfect. It made life feel so much more romantic. You loved taking your nephews to the beach and running in circles, then making a war of the leaves at the park. Agostina had 3 beautiful boys with her husband Andrew. She never doubted you’d be the best aunt in the world for her children so she moved her whole family to Monaco and life was beautiful.
Yes, it's surprising you never saw Charles again but you lived on the opposite corner of monaco. And you both travelled so much during the year. And also, you didn't like going out so much so no, you didn't go to parties where you could find him.
Now 10 years later, you’re 32 and realized you missed your whole life waiting for him. So this book was a goodbye to him. And a hello to your new life. You wanted to find someone, trust in them, and have a family. That was always your plan. But it got twisted along the way. But it is what it is, life’s sometimes a bitch and destiny likes to play its part in a cruel way. but maybe it was for the better. Maybe someone amazing was about to come your way.
You took a sip from the coffee cup, malena, the waitress left for you a few moments away. You couldn't actually swallow the drink, because through the door you saw a person coming in who you would have never expected to see again unless it was on tv.
You almost choked when a 35 year old charles, your charles (well, not anymore for sure); got into the coffee shop with a few friends laughing out loud. Hearing his laughter sent shivers down your spine.
You felt frozen in that moment, the same way you felt the day he left you behind, alone.
You swallowed the drink in your mouth the best way you could. And left the cup on the table carefully. You looked down at your notes realizing you have been writing his name on the edge of the page. Like doodling. You felt stupid and just broke the paper gently so you wouldn't disturb anyone or catch someone’s attention you for sure didn't want right now. Your heart was racing and your hands were sweating. You started to feel hot due to anxiety of the not expected encounter with him here. And you guessed you felt like this, also because you knew he was single again and your delusion could make you believe that maybe you have another chance with him. You really didn't want to feed it. You need to move on as soon as possible. You could keep going in circles in this rabbit hole you're trapped in for so many years now.
When you looked back up again you felt you almost faint. There he was, charles fucking leclerc smiling at you shily while his friends were talking. You recognized a few of them. One was Carlos for sure. They all looked so different. Charles looked different but as pretty as he’s always been. His smile made you panic to say the least. You couldn't smile at him back. All he received was your eyes looking away to a moment after start grabbing your things to get the fuck out that coffee cursed shop. And that’s what you did. Once you collected all of your things and left money to pay for everything, you sprinted out of that shop to your car. You never left a place so quickly. Anybody watching would think you were escaping from something or someone. and in fact, you were. you were scapingfrom the guy who broke you in so many ways.
Charles came back from a paddle match with his friends. They decided to have some food in the nearest place from the court there was. That was the place where he ruined his life. Or that was the way he liked to call it. Because he dumped the best girl he ever met. But he didn't know better back then. He was a dickhead for sure. And because he knew she deserves someone that knew her value not like him, he really tried to make it work with Alex all of those years. But he couldn't anymore because it showed. It was obvious even if he pretended that he really loved her the way he loved his past girlfriend. He felt stupid above anything to be honest.
The guys chose the place and he had to agreed. He didn't want to tell them the story though Carlos knew about it and he always said it wasn't cursed and that what happened in the past should stay in the past. And he knew he was right but he couldn't quite actually move on completely from it. Because he missed you. He slept with a lot of women, tried to date a few after his divorce. He tried to find you in every body he could touch. But none of them felt like your skin. Even if they had the same hair, or eyes, none of them had your smile. The one he loved to see every morning he woke up.
They got into the cafe. It looked pretty different from what he remembered. And he remembered it all too well. He won't ever forget how everybody turned to look at him walking away leaving that poor girl crying, alone and with her heart broken. He was so selfish. Maybe too manly for his liking. He was an asshole to say the least. And he knew it. He won't ever deny it. but He likes to think he learnt from it.
His breathing stopped when while taking a seat and listening to Carlos talk about how next year he was gonna work in the Ferrari team on strategy, he saw you. The girl he had nightmares with and his most lovely dreams. All he could do was smile. You looked so different yet so beautiful. He realized he had never seen you this beautiful from what he can remember. You dont look like in the pictures of your times together he keeps on a google photos cloud. But you didn't smile back at him. That made him feel an ache in his heart for some reason. Not that he would see you ever again he guessed. He observed every single moment you did until he couldn't see you anymore. He was left feeling confused but tried to play it cool so the guys wouldn't catch him. He felt weird for the rest of the day. He couldn't stop seeing your face looking him straight in the eyes. what was your life now? were you married? were you single? he knew you were a writer but even if he thought he wouldnt see you again, he wanted to know. he wanted to know you. Were you as miserable as him?
When you got into your car you started breathing heavily hearing his loud laugh in your head repeating like a broken record. You felt scared. Why now? Why now that you really need to move on? Why is it gotta be now that he shows up in your life again?
You just drove home trying to make yourself believe it was a dream. He wasn't real. He didn't walk into the same coffee shop he broke up with you. He didn't smile at you. You didn't stare at him for a few microseconds. That moment didn't exist.
You were hallucinating, you guessed.
⋆˚࿔ FIN 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
Chapter two: coming soon.
tag list: @theseerbetweenus , @sie17136
author's note: alrightyyyyy, i thought this would be just one part but then i had so many ideas that it will turn into a series! so feedback is very welcome!!
i just really hope you like it as much as i like this idea! any recommendation is welcomed.
i'm already working in part two so stay tuned i will update you in these next few days <3
thank you all so much for reading and supporting my work, mwak mwak, you are amazing!
#works by cate :)#charles leclerc x you#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 x female reader#f1 x you#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fanfic#charles leclerc#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc smau#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc angst#cl16 x y/n#cl16 x you#cl16 x reader#cl16 imagine#cl16 fic#cl16
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𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉
𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.
you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.
wc ➳ 20.2k
pairings faerie!taehyun x human!reader, faerie!yeonjun x human!reader
warnings angst, heated kissing, violence, blood, jealousy jealousy jealousy, controlling and obsessive behavior, a bit of a gross nightmare, magic spell placed over a human, a bit of traditional values, i think that’s all…
playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series
…🪶 ashlynn's note guys. really. that’s all i have to say. i love u and once again if u see a typo or like whack sentence…… no you didn’t. also my back hurts help
← ⑊ →
You’ve come to a thought, in all your aimless idling about the estate. Running your fingers over the surface of all the things you’ve done and the decisions you’d made leading you into this reality, you’ve been caught on one particularly worrisome divot: the geas.
They hadn’t exactly given you a time frame, but you surmise that you’re quickly approaching the limit. You've entertained the fantasy that they’ll just consider the both of you dead, but it’s just that: fantasy. You know it’s a ridiculous thought. There’s a plethora of things that they might first assume before coming to the conclusion that you’ve met your ends. Though the geas’ workings are a bit elusive to you, you can imagine that all it would take is a tug to check whether or not you’re alive. So, if you ever really wanted to call this place home, you’ve got to do away with it. You’ve got to. Otherwise, all your wagering to stay here would be in terrible vain. You imagine how much of a fool you already look to Taehyun, considering your entanglement with the prince, and how he’d warned you repeatedly. It’s not your fault that he decided to stay here along with you, but you feel nauseous imagining your own mistakes getting the both of you killed.
Embroidering whorling designs on the hems of your coverlets or sweating away your energy with practicing blocks and parries, you’d also let your mind wander off to fill the silence. It was then that you’d remembered what Beomgyu had offered you in his attempts at luring you. I could dissolve that geas for you.
You sit, legs spread out ahead of you, in the little spot that you’ve found yourself frequenting these days: pressed against the side of your wardrobe, just enough room for your feet to brush against the wood framing of your bed without having to bend your knees. Taehyun has recently been bringing an influx of faeries to work the estate—all indebted to him or his father. Or, well, that’s what he tells you, anyway. You choose to believe him, but still, you wonder about the circumstances of those debts. The brownie assigned to your care, named Conifer, is long-limbed with bark for skin that crawls up from her spindly fingers and toes, just to end at her shins and fore-arm, and insists on bathing you and preparing your clothes each day. When you refuse her, she loiters around the doorway anxiously watching you prepare yourself with her watery black eyes until you decide to make her life just a bit easier and allow her to do her work. You don’t exactly adore the scrape of her sharp fingers on your scalp while she does your tresses up, though. Their presence reminds you of the servants you’d see running around Yeonjun’s place.
In this corner, you avoid them. It’s a nice spot to betray your own resolution; his letters are only a grab of the handles away. You try not to, but you read them. Often. When your memories really get kicking, when you’re sickened by twinkling, desperate eyes looking up to you from the ground, you read them.
“You look sorry.” Beomgyu settles opposite from you, his back against your bed.
Scoffing at him, you pull yourself out of a slouch. “Oh, wow. Thank you. You have a way with words,” you quip, hiding the letters you’d fished out indulgently away behind you.
He furrows his brows. “I meant it.”
You drag in some air and release it slow. “I know. I’m sure I do.”
He points at you with the hand he has rested on his knee. “Does it have something to do with the letters?”
You hadn’t hidden them fast enough. Shame crawls a warm red path over your cheeks and ears. Nobody has made any comments at you for your longing, but it feels pitiful to be doing so. You shake your head. “No. I was just... thinking. About something you said when we first met.”
Strong brows shoot up over lazed eyes. “I think I said many things,” he says, “you’ll have to tell me.”
“That you could dissolve my geas,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.
His eyes consider you. “It bothers you.”
“It does,” you say. “It was a mistake. I should’ve refused it.” Hope flutters in your chest like a dead weight. You shun it away before reality can rip it out for you.
Deadpanned, and not particularly delicately, he tells you, “I cannot break it.”
Nodding, you wilt. It’s what you were expecting, anyway. That would be too easy. "Why not? You said it yourself that you could.”
“A geas is a type of magic cut from the fabric of a promise. It’ll exist until the faerie that placed it over you chooses to revoke it. I couldn’t reach in and cut the line like I would another sort of enchantment.” He presses his mouth into a line. “I was under the impression that you were brought up here. Hadn’t you known that a promise is binding?”
Wincing, you answer, “Yeah. I did.” And yet, you made it. It was perhaps the biggest mistake you’ve made in your entire life. You now understand Taehyun’s aversion when he first made his appearance at the den. You were too tunnel-visioned to really listened to him, then. You run your hands furiously through your hair. “Still... you said you could. How did you say that, if it was a lie?”
A wicked smile cracks over his lips—one that looks as though he’s sharing a joke that only the both of you might understand, but you’re far from being in on it with him. “A bit late to be learning how our kind play, I believe. I was able to say that because I made myself think it true. It is not plain, and it is not fair, but it’s what it is.”
“That makes no sense,” you say, shaking your head. “You can’t believe something is true over what you already know is the truth. You’d have to acknowledge the other thing’s truth to do that.”
He grimaces. “That you believe that is why you’ve found yourself here. It’s paradoxical, maybe, but we’re good at that. Loopholes exist where you look hard enough for them. If you don’t intend to get caught up, you just never accept a Faerie deal, there’s no other way to it.”
Running fingers over the grooves in the wood of the floor, you say, “I suppose I shouldn’t ask you to work up an enchantment that might counteract it, then.”
“Perhaps I could,” he says.
Perked up and mouth dropped open, you’re ready to ask him a waterfall of questions. He cuts in before you can even start. “It wouldn’t rid you of the original magic, and I can make no promises to you that it’d be watertight.”
“I’ll take anything,” you say. With narrowed eyes, you add, “After that whole speech about finding loopholes to lie, and to never trust faerie magic, though...”
He frowns at you. “I see how it is.”
“What? I mean, you said it a few seconds ago. I think getting tripped up into another Faerie trick, like, literally seconds after you warned me about them would be a bit ironic.”
“We’re no longer friendly,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
You laugh. Him considering you friends is news to you. The word is delicious. You want to say it more. “Oh, please. We’re only friends when it benefits you. How can I be so sure you aren’t tricking me?”
“Now, we’re really not friendly.”
A laugh bubbles past your lips once again, and you crawl over to him to try and make amends. “You’re the one who said it.”
He turns his face from you. “Spare me.”
“Seriously though, do you mean it? That you’d help me?” you ask. The proposition is too shiny to not consider.
“It’s not as if I could harm you in any way,” he tells you, dropping the theatrics. “I think I’d like something in return for it, though.”
You frown. Of course, in Faerie, there are no favors. “What would you want?”
The kelpie’s eyes roam over your room for a moment, but it’s mostly for show, because his eyes come back on you with intent. He lifts his head at you in a pointing gesture. “Those letters,” he says.
Frown deepening, you sit back. “The letters?” you say, trying to rein in your face. You don’t want him to see how awfully you want to cling to them. Having them is inconsequential when stood beside dealing with the geas, but still... “The ones from Yeonjun?”
Eyes dancing with interest, he nods. “Those.”
You pull them from behind you. They look a lot less pretty now, envelopes dented with your touches. You can’t see why he’d have any interest in them; they weren’t even for him. “Why?” you ask him. “They’re just letters.”
Beomgyu nod his head in acknowledgment. “They are,” he says. “So why do they bother you as they do?”
Pausing, you consider his words. Why do they? Yeonjun is a liar. You weren’t special—just a mission to him. You should hate him; seeing those letters full of flowery words and proclamations of love should anger you. And they do, they do anger you, but that doesn’t stop you from reading them. You’re not sure what you’re searching for in them. Closure? Proof of his lies? Or, excuses?
Beomgyu has no interest in the letters. It’s his way of telling you that you need to grow a spine. You suppose it’s about time that you do just that.
“Here.” You push them off into his hands. “You’ll do it, then?”
The corners of his lips turn up. “Maybe...”
You hiss and reach for your letters, but he tugs them toward himself and holds them safe out of your reach.
“Give those back, you prick,” you say. “You don’t get them for free. It’s called a deal. You said you’d help me.”
With his eyes dancing with wild mischievous intent, he pretends to think. “Did I?”
You land a smack on his upper arm, groaning when it only sends his face more viciously taunting. That playing glint in his eyes is welcomed, though. At least you know he’s only playing. Otherwise, you might be more worried that he is genuinely screwing you over. “Stop playing tricks,” you say, furled out from gritted teeth. “You know you did. This is what got you here in the first place, idiot. I’m being serious.”
His lip curls, and he relents. “Do not remind me.”
“Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?” you say, sending eyes with dagger points his way. “C’mon. Magic.”
Looking kicked, he grabs your hand. It sends you back to the day you’d gotten that awful geas and the way Cricket had done the same thing. You’re going to fix that mistake.
“I was just having my fun. I suffer a terrible drought of it here.”
Your skin tickles, and you know he’s working on it. Heart doing nervous laps, you say, “Well, look whose roof we live under. It’s no wonder.”
He likes that, wicked delight crackling over his features in just the same way his magic crackles through your veins. It’s a far cry from the last time you’d felt a sensation like this. It feels as though a beast of the wild is crashing through your bones like they’re hollow. It’s untamed, but you know just by the thrumming of it that his magic is much more refined and ancient than the geas’. Its claws brush up against your very core.
You try and blink away the daze, deciding to distract yourself away from it with speech. “You know, I was thinking.”
He raises his eyebrows, listening. His magic doesn’t falter as he offers you his attention; no need for his concentration. Not when he’s had centuries to become intimately familiar with it.
“That maybe Yeonjun is a gancanagh,” you continue.
A gancanagh—sugar-mouthed faeries with the power to send those around them enamored with them with only as much as their words. They’re better known for their other, and in your opinion more fitting, name: love-talker. You’d been so taken by Yeonjun, so weakened by him. The idea that perhaps it was all to the effect of some magic... You’re not sure whether it consoles you or makes it hurt more. Then again, it could also just be you trying to justify the mistakes you’d made. Your mind bends and twists around the thought, maybe the magic. Or, maybe, frustration.
“A gancanagh,” he says. Beomgyu considers the notion for a moment, but still works his magic through you. “I’m not sure.”
Not sure? You press the issue. “How are you not sure whether or not the prince is a gancanagh? I know you stay in your forest, but I imagine that you’d know that.”
“Hmm.” He turns your arm as if trying for a new angle. “I believe that the prince’s mother is one of the sorrier kinds that the High King takes. He has his Ladies, and he has his courtesans. It seems that he was not so proud of her, since her name never reached my lands.”
A bout of nausea rolls over your skull. His magic is so potent. The tidbit of information is enough to have you perking up despite it. “You think that his mother is a courtesan?”
“Well, I know she is not a favored Lady. I know nothing of her. She could be gancanagh, or she could be any other thing.” He shoots you a pointed look. “I’m curious as to why you ask.”
Skin clammy, you wipe at your cheek. “How long does this take?” you ask.
“As long as I make it take,” he says, tilting his head off to one side. “Why are you worried of the prince’s heritage?”
You know he’s fishing answers out of you. Shrugging, you tell him, “It was a genuine thought.”
Nausea and buzzing subside as he releases your arm. “The King has many children. Only some were really considered for their father’s throne, though. I know that the young prince was never one of them. I suggest thinking on that.”
You blow out a shuddering breath, controlled and small, to compose yourself under the weight of this new magic. “That’s it?” you ask, brushing some hair away from your face. “What did you do?”
“Mostly, blocked.”
“Elaborate,” you say, running fingers over your skin as if you might feel the magic there.
Taken with amusement, he answers, “If the one who placed the geas there tries and play that card, they’ll find the pathways blocked.” He slumps back onto your bed. “It does not mean that the original magic is gone. It is still very much there. Just... hindered.”
Your head swims. It’s not gone, but this... You know that your sleep will come to you easier now. Maybe it’s not foolproof, but this is much better. Much.
“No more deals,” he tells you. “You’ve only got so much of yourself. Each time you fill yourself up with our magic, you lose that space. You will never be whole again, but you ought to savor what you’ve got left. You can only make the best of it.” His mud brown eyes are not joking, now.
Blinking, you fumble out a nod.
You’ll never be whole again. You hope that’s more a clever wording than the truth, but with the chill that grips your belly and brushes over the overfilled parts of you, you fear you can’t help but believe it.
❆
You hate it.
Drowning in it—you hate it. You hate the scarlet red of it, you hate the sticky spray of it on your skin, hate the cries of agony that follow its ceremony, and the feel of its blazing warmth fresh from the body. You’re choking. Swimming up with thrashing arms, it’s so thick that you make no way.
The liquidity turns to sturdy arms. They cage you, grab your heart and twist, point daggers at your chest and they whisper words in your ears that you don’t want to remember. Your place is in the dirt, they say. You are nothing. A boot in your neck chokes you. You want to scream and cry that you are good, that you didn’t want to hurt them, that you’ll just mind your place if they take their boot off from your neck, but you can’t. You have no voice.
The metallic tang of the blood follows you, even as you find yourself standing in Court. It stains the muddy floor a wretched color. A thousand eyes blaze on your skin.
You feel them looking at you. You want them to stop, but they laugh and laugh. Yeonjun joins them, looking up at you with vile mock.
“You think I’d beg for you?” he sneers. His sweet voice is warped and twisted into something ugly and mean that grates at your ears and heart. His laugh echoes, and then you’re looking up at him as he hovers over you. “You don’t deserve my begging. I hate you.”
Metal burns your nose, and when you look between the two of you, he’s bleeding from the stomach—from the dagger you’d plunged there. He looks up at you, livid eyes piercing you. “Look. Look what you did. You killed me.”
You shake your head frantically, going to hold his face. You try to tell him no, no you didn’t—you didn’t kill him, but still—
Shooting up, you grasp for breaths and clutch at the bedding. Heart thudding in your chest, you find Taehyun stood in your doorway, looking dragged from sleep.
You adjust your sleep gown, disheveled with sleep and ridden up your thighs. Still piecing together consciousness, you croak out a, “Huh?”
There, tickling at the back of your mind, you still smell blood.
“I thought something was wrong,” he says, taking in the room with a thorough sweep. “You sounded...” Taehyun starts, but does not finish. “Since you’re doing fine, I’ll leave you to sleep.”
“Stay?” you blurt, before he can turn and leave you here. Your voice comes out thinner and more fragile than you’d meant it to.
Brows shooting up, Taehyun is hesitant to step into the room. “It’s probably hours before sunrise,” he says. “You don’t want to fall back asleep?”
You shake your head. No, you don’t. If you do, then you’ll be back to drowning. You might not even be able to fall asleep at this point. The taste lingers. You’re still panting a little when you say, “I don’t want to bother you, but... Please.”
Taehyun relents apprehensively, stopping just before the end of your bed. Moonlight blooms over his face from the window. It makes a show of his sharp cheek and jaw lines and emphasizes the feathering of his jaw around a hard swallow. “You were having a bad dream,” he says, an observation rather than a question. “About what?”
Him standing over you like that; it doesn’t feel so easy to tell him that you’re haunted by what you’ve done. You wince at him and send a gesture up. “You don’t have to stand there. You can sit here.” You pat at the opposite end of your bed.
He flexes one hand, a rare anxious gesture from him. “I wouldn’t just invite myself into a lady’s bed.”
Well, he didn’t have to put it like that.
You say, “I’m inviting you to sit down next to me, Taehyun...”
It’s a few moments before he does, bed dipping beneath him. Like this, it feels much less like an interrogation. Insects buzz outside, singing their song to the stars and mercifully filling up the moment that you take to pluck up composure. He watches you, but doesn’t say anything. He waits.
Catching a few strands of your scattered thoughts, you say, “Do you get nightmares sometimes? About the people you’ve killed?” It’s blunt and not much, but it’s all you have in you. It’s a thought that has served as a thorn in your side for quite a while now, too. Is it only you who’s had a prison made of their own mind?
Will it ever go away?
Resolutely, he shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”
“Oh.” You hold yourself a little harder, as if the chill that passes over you is a draft from the window and not bitter dread. “How? How can you not be bothered by it? They’re dead, and they’ll never be coming back. They had as many thoughts and wants as we did. They had mothers that might weep to know they’re gone. I can’t... I don’t stop thinking of them.”
“It’s a bit too late for me to start feeling sorry for it,” Taehyun says. “You can’t let it rule you. Not everybody is good, and they were not. If they try to hurt you, you hurt them first. If they lay their hands on you, you cut them off.”
You grow tense as he explains, eyes so heavy that you can practically feel the dark hollows beneath them. “Not even when you hurt someone for the first time? It didn’t bother you then?”
He eyes you. The pine smell of him so close to you is both familiar and a distant memory. “I saw blood too early for it to ever haunt me.”
Turning finally, you find his eyes. “I feel so guilty.” Your body buzzes with the need to curl into him, to have him comfort you for it, but you know that he won’t receive it the way you want him to. The way Yeonjun had.
But you need it. You need it so bad right now.
“That won’t absolve it. Guilt will not raise them from the dead,” he says. It’s forthright, but he doesn’t mean it to disconcert you. “You’re tearing yourself up inside, but there’s justice in protecting yourself.”
Swallowing around tension, you nod. He’s right; you had every right to kill those times. You’ve known that the whole time. So, why does it still visit you in the deep hours of the night? You chant his words in your head, as if to beat them into your skull. If you try hard enough, you will.
“What happens?” he asks, when the both of you have been quiet for too long. It’s strange to see him making attempts to fill silence. “In the dreams, what happens?”
Shifting into a cozier position, you lean into the headboard by your shoulder. Some of the adrenaline has worked itself away, but remembering it is still bitter.
You don’t miss the flickering of his eyes over the expanse of your thigh. You might’ve explained it away as a quick glance if that... look had not passed over his face. Restraint—darting eyes and his throat bobbing. It seems that his concern about being in your bed was about more than just propriety.
“Mostly, blood.” You make a distraction out of the hemming of your blanket, pinching and picking at it. “So much of it. Sometimes the dreams are different, but... it’s always the common theme.”
Acknowledging that, he dips his head in a slow, shallow nod. “We’ll start training you on the bow, then.”
“The bow?” you ask.
“I think that the long range will be better for you,” Taehyun elaborates.
You drink his face in once more. In it, you see him reaching out a hand—it’s shaky and awkward and untrained. But under all that, you see that he’s trying. In the silver moonlight, the bow does not look so bad.
Taehyun doesn’t leave you until dawn cracks through the windows.
❆
You wish that you had your gloves. It’s freezing today—wind whipping your hair and teeth chattering even through your extensive layering. You have, like, two pairs of woolen stockings on. But Taehyun said that you’ll need to be able to grip the bowstring good, and so you abandoned them when you’d dragged all this on.
He’d made good on his word. Now, you’re out in some shallow neck of the woods, and he’s pointing out the trees that you’re supposed to be using for targets. They’re obscured in the onslaught of snowy haze. You want to gripe that he’d picked the worst day to drag you out here, but really, you know it was a fully intentional choice.
“No bullseye for now, just try and hit them wherever you can manage.” Taehyun makes a gesture up at the array of trees. “Don’t forget that the wind is blowing west. You’ll have to adjust for that.”
He watches you take up an arrow, quiet as you clumsily wiggle it around until it sits in a spot that feels relatively correct.
“Higher,” he finally says. “Find the rest for the arrow, and then you’ll find the nocking point on the string.”
You fumble with the placement some more, freezing fingers not as agile as they could be. Just as he said, the arrow falls into a place where it sits comfortably. “This?”
He hums, voice closer. “That’s good. Now, you lift it just like that. Don’t lose that hold, and pinch the back of the arrow, behind the feathers, with your knuckles.”
Raising the bow, you’re so concentrated on keeping the arrow in place that it shocks you how hard it is to pull the bowstring. The further back you pull it, the more force it demands from you. You only manage to bring it halfway before you stop. “Woah.”
Wind stops brushing your cheeks and hair so hard, and Taehyun’s voice comes from right beside you this time. “Harder than you thought it’d be, huh?” he says, smirk in his voice matching the one you find on his mouth when you turn to look at him. “It’s going to be hard for a while. You’ve got to build up the muscle for it. For now, you just have to power through it.”
You try again, finding the spot where your muscles protest and then going beyond it. Your arms tremble, some spot in the middle of your chest aching with it. You sift through the trees, rushing to find one to release the arrow on before you can no longer maintain the hold.
“Stand straighter.” He reaches over to adjust your arm, pulling the string-wielding one even further back and forcing your chest further open. Your arms burn. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold like this.
“Hurry,” you say.
“Go ahead.”
Deciding on the nearest tree, you let the string go from between aching fingertips. It misses and passes the tree to land somewhere in the foliage behind it, but not as awfully as you’d expected. Hissing, you shake out your arms and stretch your shoulders to try and kill the burn, but it lingers. “You made that look a lot easier than it really is,” you tell him.
“My first shot looked a lot like that,” he says, leaned back into a tree. “That was a great first try. I should’ve had you on the bow earlier.” He motions to the bow. “Show me another one.”
Arms still ringing, you sloppily repeat. None of the arrows meet their mark, and you get worse with each. You’d done so well with the first one, though. Frustration sparks in your chest, catching into a flame when this one misses as well. The cramping in your shoulders and the gnawing of frost at your fingers do not help your temper. “Guess that was beginner’s luck,” you say, jaw tense. “I can’t shoot for shit, now.”
Pushing himself off the tree, Taehyun approaches you once more and says, “It helps if you breathe out before letting the arrow go, but it’s mostly that your arms are tired. Today isn’t about aim, it’s about repetition.” Now in front of you, his eyes dart down to your mouth, but it’s a split-second look. You’d have missed it with a blink. You want to ask him why he keeps looking at you like that—like how he had in your bed that one night. You don’t want to make the air awkward, though.
To be more honest with yourself, you’re afraid to ask. You’re afraid what the answer might be; you have don’t even have the foggiest clue. “Maybe we should go back. I’ll just stick with what I know.”
“So, you’ll just give it up when it gets hard?” he says, a little ticked off. A muscle in his jaw feathers.
You wonder what he’s thinking, beyond just what he’s saying. What he feels beyond what he’ll let you see. The reason that Taehyun dropped the spy life the moment you’d told him you’d stay here with Yeonjun is still just as elusive to you. You’re no fool—you’d seen the look that passed over his face when you had. It had brought a chill down your spine, something hollow but also desperate. Taehyun does not seem like the type taken to puppy love. He does not seem like the type to follow whims, either. So, what is this? You’re unsure what to make of it, and what to make of him.
You two had been snapping teeth and blazing arguments, but what lays beneath that? Why does the impenetrable man let you get under his skin the way he does?
“Yes,” you say, just to ruffle some feathers. “I’ll just keep working on swordplay.”
He catches the bait. “Then, what are we out here for? I thought close combat was bothering you.” Flakes of fluffy snow sit on his hair, white petals against black. “And, it doesn’t hurt to diversify your skillset. Not with a war looming.”
Frustration gives way to softness. Taehyun doesn’t have to be out here. He has no obligations to help you with your ridiculous, pitiful dreams. You’re thankful for it, no matter how rugged he comes across while doing it. “I’m just messing with you. You make it too easy,” you say, offering him a smile. Beneath it, you’re left reeling with the reminder about the war. In your choosing to omit it from your thoughts, you’d just about forgotten about it. Anxiety comes crashing back through the crumbling dam. By now, the King has absolutely realized that Yeonjun is not coming back. Does he think that the north has hurt him or holds him hostage? He might start the war himself, then. A thought dawns upon you. That might’ve been the intention all along—to have him start things, to remain faultless. Taehyun had said that the Queen is a scheming sovereign.
“War,” you say, licking over chapped lips. “Do you think it’ll really happen? That it’ll come to battles?” You can’t help worrying. You’ve chosen your side in staying here. What if that was the wrong choice? What if your betrayal comes around to bite you? Or, what if the north’s reputation for brutality ends up doing the job before it ever can? You feel surrounded by death—surrounded by walls of violence, where too far in one direction would be your end. “It’s not as if I’ll be fighting, though.”
Face solemn, he says, “Let’s start heading back.”
That draws no complaints from you, tucking fingers under your arms to try and save them. He hadn’t answered your question, though. “Taehyun?”
Brittle leaves and brush crunch underfoot. “It’s coming.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, tensed in the shoulders, you ask, “Why are you acting like that? Are you hiding something from me?”
The both of you pause to let a dryad scurry off, snow falling off its bark skin in chunks as it crashes through the forest and away from you. These woods are a lot fuller than the ones you’d found Beomgyu in.
“Taehyun,” you repeat. Your stomach is sick. Skin burning, you get flashes of memories—of Yeonjun’s guilty eyes that night. It rushes through your bloodstream like icy water. This feels like an overreaction, but your body does not align with your stuttering heart. You can’t tamp it down. “What is it? I don’t like secrets.” Your voice comes out fragile, like it’ll break in the frigid air like ice and fall down to the ground in a crash.
His face is hard. You don’t like that, either.
“You’re not going to be fighting, but I know what is planned. It’s messy; messy and dirty. And dirty wars are not afraid of collateral damage.”
Frowning, you ask, “How do you know what’s planned?”
“It’s a general’s job to know the war he leads his army into.”
You stop dead. “Are you serious?” you snap, voice on a tight leash. “Seriously, Taehyun?” He keeps walking, forcing you to tear your feet from their spot to follow him. Jogging to match his stride, you say, “So, you’re just going to take up his will? You’re going to lead a war, like him? What about me, Taehyun? What happens to me?”
It seems that he’s fully taken over his role as heir to his father and his estate, but why? Why, if he sheared off his own ears to escape that legacy? Taehyun’s moral code has exceptions for violence, but he said it himself—he doesn’t like senseless killing. Not like what would come with taking on this role.
“Being general secures me a seat while they discuss their plans. It means I have sway in what happens. This is not for my enjoyment, or for power, like how my father saw it,” he says, measured and steady. “You’ve not seen a Faerie war. They’re given to dramatics, and they span... they span long. If something is going to happen, it’s better off that I’m in the room that they discuss it. Otherwise, we’re just sitting here and crossing out fingers that we don’t get caught in the crossfire.” Head held high, he adds, “This is my duty.”
Anxiety warms your frozen bones. “Duty?” you say through a caustic laugh. “You’ll be going to war, Taehyun.”
“Not petty battles. If something more drastic happens, I suppose I would, but being a foot soldier is not my role in this. Maybe my father would’ve, just to see the blood and carnage, but not me,” he says, as if that makes it any better.
“I don’t like this.”
“They know we were here as spies. They could decide at any moment to kill us. As general, my position would protect us.” He levels you a stare, hard. “You decided to stay here for him, so this is what I have to do.”
A terrible sickness settles in your stomach with his words. These are the consequences to your actions, for your overenthusiasm, but you feel more like a burden than sorry for yourself.
You want to tell him to stop paying the prices; that it’s not his job, but a chilly breeze sings in your ears that it’s much too late for that.
❆
Biting back complaints and the prickling of tears, you let Conifer work on your hair. She’s merciless with the tugs and pins, fingers threading through strands to tug them up into the frilly and loose updo.
“Why do I need to be dressed?” you ask her, watching her work dutifully behind you through the mirror.
“My Lady,” she says around a pin she holds in between her lips. “One moment.”
“You don’t have to call me Lady, or anything,” you tell her, wincing at the sound of it. “I’m no more a Lady than you.” She’d come into your room, nervously plucking at the pine needles on her forearms as she informed you that she needed to get you prettied up. It’s random, but you’d perked up immediately. It’s been so long since you’ve done anything—so long since you had a reason to look pretty and drag on glittering dresses. Not doing the work yourself is strange, though. You wonder if this is what your life would’ve been with Yeonjun, with servants waiting at every corner to pamper you and make sure that your hands never again see any type of hard work.
You shake those thoughts away. That’s not your life here in Taehyun’s estate. It does you no use comparing. You’re not so used to this, anyway. It gets under your skin a bit, though you know they’re working off debts in his service.
“Oh, the Lord would prefer that I do,” she says. A sharp pin scrapes up against your scalp as she pushes it in, securing up a willowy tress. All Yeonjun’s gifts—the dress she’d laid out for you, and the jewels she garnishes you in. How strange is it to have Taehyun’s servants dressing you in Yeonjun’s things? You still don’t know why he even bothered with bringing them in. You all were managing before. It's not as if any of you are the type to demand being waited on, anyway. You all have lived in more humble means. Beomgyu literally comes from the forest. And, why would it even matter how she addresses you to Taehyun?
It wouldn’t be fair of you to demand her to call you otherwise, then. You nod. “I’m sorry you have to work for me.”
“Oh, it’s no bother, dear. I’m grateful that the Lord has chosen such a way for me to pay him for my debt.” She tugs a few tendrils loose. It looks now more like the style is worn in by a good night spent dancing and laughing than freshly combed up. “There are worse ways to do so.”
That’s right. For her, servitude is only a result of some extrenuating circumstance. Your servitude was nowhere near your fault. That’s where the difference lies; why she can be so blithe about it.
“What happened?” you ask. It’s an invasive question, sure, but you prefer to ask it straight. No buttering it up or smoothing over words.
“The late General spared my life on a whim. I’d worked this estate for years, even watched the boy grow into his manhood, until the General passed and the young Lord went disappearing. No reason to work an empty estate. And now, by bloodline, my debt is owed to him.”
You frown. Serving under Taehyun’s father, only because he decided out of the kindness of his heart to not murder you, sounds harrowing.
“But, that’s of no importance, dear. The Lord is expecting you; the Queen holds council soon.” Hastily, Conifer slides one last pin in, just for safe measure. “It’s terribly important that you maintain good manners, dear. Stay by the Lord, and do not speak unless they speak to you.”
Council? He’s expecting you to come with him to a war council? You pause, but she ushers you up and away.
Bounding down the stairs in a flurry of feet, you hold your skirts in a death grip, heart clenching with nerves. Once, you’d been a mirror to this—panicking over attending Court for the first time. That was nothing. If you had been oblivious to Court propriety, sitting in on a Faerie council in the presence of the Queen and her entourage... You’re screwed. So, so screwed.
Taehyun waits beside the blackthorn tree. Noticing you, he greets, “Ready?”
“You’re serious about this?” you say. It’s hard to speak around the lump in your throat. “Why do I have to come? It seems more like a risk than anything.”
Brows furrowed, he adjusts his tunic. “You’re smart, aren’t you?” he says, cadence flat and matter-of-fact. “It’s not a risk. I’m bringing you so that they know you’re with me. You won’t have to come to any more after this, unless it’s what you want.”
Frowning, you say, “I feel as though they’ll react not so kindly to a human just... waltzing into a war council. You really think they’ll just let me come and sit in?” The Queen will be there, and all the terrifyingly massive players in the Unseelie Court, and then... You. You’ll just have to make yourself seem important enough to be there. Taehyun is one of those invaluable players now, you suppose. The General. Your mind still struggles to wrap itself around the enormity of that.
Will Yeonjun be there? He’s no doubt got the status. You pick at your fingers viciously. You’re not ready to see him again; not sure if you’ve fortified your walls enough for that yet. You might crumple with just a glance, but to sit in the same room as him?
“They’ll trust my judgement,” he says. The lines of his face do not carry the same confidence that his voice does. “You’re not just stumbling in. You’re walking in with me.”
“But, I’m sure they’re all very aware by now that we were spies. Doesn’t that leave a stain on your word?”
He reaches up to a low-hanging branch, dark and bristling with thorns, and snaps off the very ends of them into thin poles of twig armed with spikes. The thistles remind you of his eyes—in fact, the whole tree does. Barbed and dark and sturdy; the House of Blackthorn could not have better chosen their symbol.
“They made me their general,” he says, circling until he’s come behind you. “They’ve already made up their minds.”
Tugging at your hair tells you that he’s wiggling those sticks, black and sharp, into the updo, as if they’re accessories. It’s like what he’d done with those berries just before you’d gone to Court for the first time, but these twigs do not act like a ward like they had.
You turn to interrogate him and his sudden interest in your hairstyle, but confusion splinters off into nothing when his cold hand brushes at the back of your neck. In a heart-pounding moment, his sword-roughened fingers drag down the length of your jaw from behind. He grabs your chin his hand and turns your face further toward your shoulder. Snowflakes and the breeze and the stars all stand frozen around you. Or, maybe, you haven’t got the will to pretend they exist while he’s leaning down so that he’s right in your ear and whispering with puffed breaths that raise chills on your skin.
Under his breath, low and just for your ears, he says just one word. It’s one that you don’t recognize, curling in a way that you doubt your tongue would be able to even pronounce. As quickly as the moment had come, he releases your face. Snow crunches under his feet as he retreats.
Blinking for a moment, you spin on your heel to follow him. You make a point to not catch his stride fully, though. He absolutely should not see how ruffled you are. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer, only leaving you in a flustered, charged silence. You beg the wintry breeze to carry away your racing thoughts, or at least to lick at your cheeks and cool them. Whatever it was that he’d said, you can only assume it to be in an ancient Faerie tongue.
With a stuttering heart, you follow him. You’ll just have to whistle in the dark. If you don’t do it scared, you won’t do it at all, and you’re always scared.
❆
Inside the council room, a handful of who you assume to be the Queen’s most important advisors sit around a circle table. On that table stand war maps and a collection of letters and objects no doubt important to plans and intel.
In one of those seats sits Yeonjun. Of course, he’s here. You’d anticipated as much, but that doesn’t change the way you jump right out of your skin the split second your eyes meet. It’s a fiery exchange, sending sparks up your spin and rendering your mind a blistering mess. His eyes are hard. He doesn’t shy away from it the way you do, tearing yourself away to sit in the seat next to Taehyun’s.
It’s not just Yeonjun’s eyes that burn on your skin. They’re wondering why you’re here. You itch to dip out and away from their scrutiny.
“Do I have to say anything?” you say, voice barely anything but a whisper as you lean over to Taehyun. “Like, announce myself or anything?”
“Not now,” he says. “Not unless you’re asked to.”
Fidgeting with your dress under the table, you dip your head in a shallow, quick nod. You’ll just mind your own, unless you’re forced to do otherwise. You can’t risk saying something that’ll end up screwing you both over.
Chairs scrape the floor, faeries standing and dipping at the waist. You follow them. Your back is to the door, but you don’t need to see to know who’s arrived. The Queen.
She sits in her seat, at the head of the table, and everybody else follows. You swallow hard. Her eyes, hardened and storm-colored, pin each of the attendees as she sweeps the room. A diadem of twigs and rotted leaf lays on her tangle of hair. The Unseelie Queen; she looks the part. Breath catches in your throat when her eyes come to you.
When she opens her mouth to speak, jagged teeth reveal themselves from behind grey lips. “The human girl. Does the Blackthorn house claim her?” she asks. Her voice commands the air—both slackened and imposing.
Yeonjun’s eyes bare down on you.
Taehyun answers her. “Yes. She is my retinue.”
One of the council members, with a haughty, long face and a sneer to match it, says, “Is this the girl that you sang so profusely to us for, prince? The spy girl?” His ruffled sleeves flourish as he gestures. He’s dressed especially plummy among them, but they all are dressed in glittering robes and tunics. This faerie no doubt thinks highly of himself, though, to be poking at Yeonjun.
Yeonjun had spoken of you here?
You feel a little frozen. Becoming the center of their attention is the very last thing you’d wanted. Rather than sinking back into your seat, you claw at your insides to keep your head held high. You do exchange a quick glance with Taehyun, who’s mouth is pulled taut.
He takes it in stride. “Yes, it is.”
“You beseeched us for her safety, but...” the black-haired faerie continues, “She’s sat beside our General.” A cruel smile plays on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “And I believe it to be unprecedented that a human joins us here, your highness.” He turns to the Queen, a smile that tells exactly of the game he’s playing.
“Not here,” the Queen snaps. “We haven’t the time for this. Who cares. Let’s not waste what slight time we have, with all of us in attendance.”
The black-haired faerie snaps his mouth shut, but a nasty attitude lingers.
Another speaks up. “Your majesty, is there not something to be said of the exclusivity pertaining to who we meet here with?”
She drums her fingers on the arm of her seat. Bored. “Be gone with it. I did not know you’d become so wary of humans.”
That stings. You’re not even worthy of being a threat. Jaw tightened, you grit your teeth.
“She has ears,” he says. “And a well-working mouth, I’m sure, and we have delicate issues to discuss.”
None of them press any further as she sends them a pointed stare. They begin offering up and discussing their positions and knowledge, much of it lost on you. All you’re thankful for is that most of it is bickering over how to approach the war, and not plans for full-fledged schemes.
Taehyun offers up his approach a few times, his voice carrying strong and his shoulders squared. Yeonjun does not speak much at all.
And when it’s over and everybody disassembles, you know you’ve got to leave. Fast; fast enough that Yeonjun will not be able to corner you into a conversation that you are too flimsy to be having. As you do, though, you war against every instinct in your body—heart and feet and arms ringing pleas in your bones. You can’t. Really, you can’t.
“Pretty.”
That voice, smooth but also so very sullen now, shatters your frenzied bubble. You go solid and frozen to the ground.
“Pretty, look at me,” he grits out, voice cracked down and raw.
When you don’t, he steps around you. His eyes dart up, taking in something on your head, and then his jaw ticks when he finds something he doesn’t like. The blackthorn twigs in your hair.
He’d looked sullen and detached when sitting at the table, but here, up close, he looks awful—far and beyond worse than you’ve ever seen him. It’s as if you’d ripped the heart right out of his chest and asked him to go on living without it. In the hollowness there’s a sadness, but there’s also a blazing anger.
A frozen hand takes your upper arm and tugs hard. “Come on. We’re leaving.” Taehyun’s voice is hard.
You stumble forward with him, summoning the will within you to not look back while you do. You do not want to watch his face as you leave. You absolutely cannot. Your gut twists viciously.
You’re pathetic, missing him the way you do.
❆
When you get the first letter, you accept it from the servant uneasily. You don’t even ask whose letter it is. The wax seal tells you enough, but you’d know even without it. Yeonjun has broken his silence.
It confuses you. Taehyun had intercepted his letters when he sent them before. Why does he not bother, now? It doesn’t feel like a kindness. It feels intentional—like a gambit. Beomgyu had made a point to take those original letters from you. You know he meant well in the cheeky way that he shows his companionship, but you’re spineless after all, and they come at a very weak moment. Just as you’ve built up wavering pillars, he reaches in and crumbles them down as if they were nothing.
ℐ 𝑘𝓃𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝑡𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑘 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝑡’𝓈 𝑙𝒾𝑒𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝑡 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓅𝒶𝑟𝓉 𝑜�� 𝑡𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓁. 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝒾𝑛𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝑡 𝓅𝒶𝑟𝓉 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝑙. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝓇𝑦 𝒷𝒾𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝑙. 𝐹𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝓇𝑦 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑛𝓉 ℐ 𝑙𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝑡𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹. 𝒩𝑜 𝑙𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑟 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒲𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝒹; 𝒲𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒𝒹 𝑡𝑟𝓊𝑒.
𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑦 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒾𝑛𝑔 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑦 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝓊𝓂𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝑡𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝑙𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 ℐ’𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝑟𝓉 𝑦𝑜𝓊. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝓌 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑟𝓊𝑒. 𝒟𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝑘𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝑟𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑙𝒾𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝑜.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓊𝑛𝓉 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝑦 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝑙𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝑛, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑦𝑒𝓉 ℐ 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉.
𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝑛𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑡 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝒾𝓉. 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑣𝑒 𝒾𝓉. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝑡 𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓎 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉; 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝑙𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒹𝑟𝑜𝓅 𝑜𝑓 𝒾𝓉. 𝒯𝑒𝓁𝑙 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑓𝒾𝓍 𝑡𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝑛𝒹 ℐ’𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝑣𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝒶𝓈𝑘 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝑡𝒽𝒶𝓉.
𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒿𝓊𝑛
You’re able to let this one roll off your shoulders, but the next few are not so easy.
𝐼 𝑤𝒾𝑠𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ℎ𝑎𝒹 𝑠𝓉𝒶𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑙𝒾𝓈𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝑟𝓈𝑡𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑤𝒽𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝑡, 𝑎𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑒𝑡, 𝐼 𝑠𝓉𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝑤𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ℎ𝒶𝒹. ℐ’𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝒾𝑠𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊.
𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 ℐ 𝑝𝓁𝒶𝑔𝓊𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝑚𝒾𝓃𝒹. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑓𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝑤𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑡, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝑡 𝑏𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝑏𝒶𝒸𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑡𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝓂𝑒: 𝑚𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑠. 𝒲𝒾𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 ℎ𝒾𝑚. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 ℎ𝒾𝑚.
𝒫𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓅𝑡 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝑏𝓊𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝓃𝑜𝓉. 𝒯ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝑡𝒽 𝓊𝓃𝑓𝒾𝓃𝒾𝑠𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝑤𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑟𝒾𝑒𝑣𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝑠.
𝑁𝑜. 𝒯ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝑠𝓃’𝑡 𝑒𝓃𝒹.
𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒿𝓊𝓃
The letters change with your prolonged silence, too.
𝒮𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑟𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑏𝓎 ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝑓 𝓎𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓈… 𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑤𝒶𝑛𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝑟𝒶𝓏𝓎? 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 ℐ’𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝓉 𝑜𝑓 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌�� 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝐼𝑓 𝓉ℎ𝒶𝓉 𝑤𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝒾𝑛𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑡𝒾𝑜𝑛, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ℎ𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙.
𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝒾𝓈 𝑏𝒶𝑛𝒾𝓈ℎ𝓂𝑒𝑛𝓉 𝒾𝑓 𝓎𝑜𝑢 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉, 𝑏𝓊𝓉 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝑛. 𝐼𝑡'𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑙𝓎 𝑓𝒶𝓉𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌ℎ𝑜 𝒶𝓂 𝐼 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝑤𝒾𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝒶𝑡𝑒?
𝒴𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒿𝑢𝓃
It’s jarring, it’s more of that desperate pleading that you’ve been trying so hard to escape, and it’s burrowing deep down into the tender parts of your heart like a stake.
There are some letters that are even more frenzied than that. They’re testaments to his promises: this doesn’t end.
You had been sorely mistaken in thinking that Yeonjun would just step away. Terribly mistaken. Deep in your belly brews the feeling that this is not going to go over as smoothly as you hoped it would. In retrospect, how had you ever thought you could cleanly tear him off you? This is not like ripping off a bandage—quick and painful—no, this will be much, much more unpleasant than that. Yeonjun had done a delicate job of veiling just how wretchedly he loves you, but you’d seen peeks of it. Flickers and moments of potent neediness and jealousy, quickly smoothed over with something more groomed and palatable. Now, you see it in full force. As soon as given the need to unveil himself, he was not afraid to. As long as it brings him you.
But he will not get you. You’re not yet so foolish to go falling back into his arms. Not after you’d done just that, and then learned what trusting him just based off his inability to lie meant. It’s not as if you’re not already slowly wanting to forgive him for the fact that his initial job was to kill you. In weak moments, you construct excuses. But if you brush off lie after lie, where is the limit to the lies you’ll accept, if only just for him? There would be none. That is a dangerous beast to toe.
You think you know now, why Taehyun lets you read those letters freely.
❆
Lifting your fist to knock on the door, you bounce on your heels. Taehyun tells you to come in, voice muffled behind the door.
Stepping in, you drink in the sight of his quarters. Not once in the months that you’ve spent here have you been in his room. In the center is the bed, bedding coal black. His desk is cluttered with maps and stray daggers. Taehyun works on the strap to his leather baldric, looking up to you.
“Where are you going?” you ask him.
“They called me for council,” Taehyun answers. He straightens up. “What’s up?”
You purse your lips. “Oh,” you say. “Nothing. I was just seeing what you were up to.”
Honestly, you’re not entirely sure why you’d stumbled in here. It had just felt right in that moment. It couldn’t hurt to try and mend the tensions that lay between you two, anyway. If this is going to be your home, it’s better off that way.
Taehyun nods slowly, as if he’s not entirely sure what to say. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
A smile tugs at your mouth. Beneath the confident, hardened exterior, Taehyun is stiff in the face of emotional connection. “Didn’t want me to join you for this one?”
He shakes his head, the lines in his shoulders stiffening as if the thought were offensive.
Scoffing around a laugh, you say, “I didn’t do that bad, did I?” It’s more to pester him than offense—you’d had your fill. And you want to know what’s changed; why he’s suddenly averse to you joining.
Jaw shifting, he says, “No, you didn’t.” Taehyun brings his hand up and adjusts his collar. “I’d just prefer it.”
You change tack. His face has fallen a bit, and you’d intended to lighten things up. “It’s fine. That was boring anyway,” you say, “Besides, I’d prefer it here, with the army of servants waiting to see to my needs.” Tilting your head to one side, you give him a grin chock-full of mock pretension.
His brow furrows. “The servants? Do you not like it?”
Shrugging, you answer, “I don’t hate it. It’s nice to have help getting ready, though, I guess. Makes me feel special.” To quell your own gnawing curiosity that’s been festering beginning the moment the first one had arrived, you add, “Why’d you do it, though?”
His face flickers. “The estate needs to be run. They have duty to do so. If it were going to be anybody, it’s them.”
You know that look. Living with Taehyun, you’ve got to become fluent in the face and even the most subtle changes. What he doesn’t speak in words, you’re forced to find there. Try as he might to fortify his mask, water will always find and slip through the cracks as slivers of true emotion crack through his face. He’s not telling you the truth. You narrow your eyes.
“Yeah. I understand that. I just thought we were doing fine before, I guess.”
“I thought...” he says. “Did the prince not keep servants?”
Your frown deepens. Why would it matter whether or not Yeonjun has servants? Of course he’d have attendants; he’s a prince of Faerie. Mind churning for a moment, you stumble upon a thought. Or rather, it stumbles upon you.
Taehyun had brought servants here because he figured that, because of your time with Yeonjun, you’d want that. It bothered him to think that Yeonjun could provide something for you that he couldn’t. He’d gone out and tracked down faeries indebted to him and his father because that got under his skin. You think to that morning he’d woken you up, spitting venom, because Yeonjun had sent you those dresses. And in his arm, he’d held a single crystalline gown.
“Taehyun, why did you tell Yeonjun about our kiss?”
For a split second, he’s taken aback, shifting as though you’d lit a fire under his feet. The air hangs heavy—so, so thick. It’s so stiff that you have to breathe with conscious effort. This silence, tense and on the brink of snapping, stretches for an eternity. Your mind reels; you’re just as caught off guard as him. You haven’t the faintest clue where you’d trudged up the nerve, but you had, and now you’re terribly curious to know his answer. The memory had hovered around, blazing and impossible to brush off, from the very moment the words had tumbled out from Yeonjun’s lips. How had you even lasted this long, pretending it hadn’t happened? All off that electric curiosity comes to a head here—now—and you do not know if you’ve prepared well enough for the truth of it.
As silent as it is, the moment buzzes. It’s deafeningly loud, just as it is deafeningly quiet. His silence answers just as well as words.
His answer slices the air, cutting through the tension like a scalding knife. “The prince told you that?”
You step toward him, looking up at him through your lashes. “He did," you say, quick and dismissive. “Why did you tell him? When?”
A flash—a flash of something untamed and deep like the woods—renders his eyes dark. You remember that look; he’d scarcely let you see it. It had scrawled under your skin the first time he had. Something in it strips you down to your very bones, where you are nothing more than buzzing soul and heat. Taehyun approaches you in dark, languid steps. You’re lightheaded, breaths lodged deep in your chest. Any semblance of clarity you might have had becomes a lost cause as he takes your face in his hands and leaves you no other option than to meet those smoldering eyes. Bitterly cold hands bite into the soft skin of your cheeks. Cold-blooded.
Your head spins. “Taehyun?” you say, short and breathless. Even just a naked whisper of his name, you struggled to manage it. Him, here, in front of you, is both so real that it rattles you down to you core and so intangible that you wouldn’t dare believe it. And yet, blistering eyes pierce through the mist, and you know that it is sickeningly real.
“Fuck,” he says, mouth turned down and at war with the rest of his face. He’s so close that you feel the word on your face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His throat bobs. “I don’t know who this is.”
In a stumble of clumsy feet, you clash with the desk in a rattle. There’s hardly any perch for you, but in a scramble, you curl your fingers white-knuckled around the edge. He has you pinned between him and the wood with nowhere to breathe and nowhere to think. A controlled, shaky breath comes tumbling from behind your lips. Electricity crackles in the air between you, and you’re weak to it. You turn your head away, clawing for some semblance of control or respite from the bare intensity.
Despite your shock, somewhere deep, deep down in your belly, you know that this is only the fruit of some howling storm that has been swirling—swirling and churning and gaining power. You’d felt the trembling of it, the promise of something explosive and imminent, as oblivious as you were to its source. Now, the ground cracks open beneath you, and it will accept nothing other than to swallow you whole.
“Do you not think of me as a man?” he grits out. Since you’ve decided to blatantly avoid his gaze, he gets down right into your neck. “Well, I am. And you brought him here. Brought him into my home, and you let him touch you. ”
Taehyun had been there that day.
It’s as if time itself slows down around you. This moment inflates into something infinite. Everything that he’d done, every little thing that you’d struggled to digest, is laid out before you. He’s holding your hips as if you’ll fade around the edges and leave him here. There’s something raw beneath the growled words; something desperate.
Belly flipping ruthlessly, you speak, but they’re not coherent thoughts. “I... didn’t think that...”
He’s quick to cut you off, rearing back to look you in the eyes once more, forcing you to do the same. And he holds you there. “Do you think that he can provide for you better than me? That I can’t provide you your needs?”
Your heart is a ravenous, wild thing in your chest. All that he’d done: the dress, the servants, finding Beomgyu, staying here in the north, demanding that you don’t depend or even associate with Yeonjun, urging you to not attend Court because he knew Yeonjun would be there—was because it was supposed to be him. And it was killing him because finally something had managed to drive right through that suit of ice armor he struggles so hard to keep up, right down to where his real emotions slumber, and he is forced to feel something. In all that banishing emotion away, he’s now faced with this blazing consumption, and he is utterly lost.
Taehyun curses, a relenting of his will, before he’s taking your lips to his. It’s a ravaging, fervent meeting, clashing teeth and roaming hands with no destination. He lifts you up onto the desk, and then his hand finds the hair at the very back of your head. You remember this wild dance of tongue and mouth—the first time he’d put his mouth on you, it’d been just the same. You’re gasping and clawing at his shoulders.
What on earth are you doing?
His hands are all over you. It’s as if he can’t get enough, as if he’s catching up to all that had been bursting at the seams in his mind. His lips taste like finally. When he’s forced to release your lips for air, it’s not as if he gives you any real room to breathe—his lips fall like glowing ashes down the column of your neck. You’re helpless to the whines he takes from your lips. He melds your bodies into one clumsy thing, pushing you down into the desk in a clumsy clatter. He wholly overwhelms you, and you think that it is a conscious effort. He intends to wiggle his way into every little corner, every little space, until you have no room for thought but him. If the drunken haze that’s rendered your thoughts sluggish is anything to speak of his efforts, he’s succeeded.
You catch yourself halfway down, before your back makes it down onto the desk. His mouth is back on yours, spinning with the sting of your scalp as he guides you through his kiss. His hands reach your upper thigh, making slow work of bunching the fabric.
“If you knew,” he says, appreciating the bare skin as if it were as precious as jewel and gold the same way he had that night in your bed: as if every inch were just as intimate as a glimpse of your cunt. “If you knew what I think about doing to you.”
Blood roars beneath your skin. The confession that Taehyun has thought about touching you like this, or the fact that he’s been battling against his own mind in the onslaught of those thoughts, sheds a new light over so much. Beneath that stony face, he’d been needing you.
Through the licking of your bottom lip and the buzzing behind your skull, you see Yeonjun’s face. Your stomach does a flip. You’re not supposed to feel guilty. You shouldn’t, but guilt slices like a molten dagger through the haze. How can you be here, doing this, when he’s out there aching for you? As far as you distance yourself from his sphere, you’re still reminded of who taught you your body now that another man touches you. You imagine how hurt he’d be if he saw you now.
You rage against those thoughts. You owe no guilt to the man that had only ever approached you because you were his target.
Taehyun’s gaze meets yours. You must’ve gone quiet, or maybe still. Perhaps it’s your eyes that gives it away, though, because he does not like what he finds in them. In a blink, he’s retracting back into his shell.
“You’re thinking of him,” he spits. His voice is so caustic and venomous as it falls out that your skin burns. “Even while I’m touching you.”
You want nothing more than to reach in and pull that fire and raw emotion back out. He pulls away. Your skin is painfully empty of his touch. Chest aching, you say, “Taehyun, wait. Please. I wasn’t.” The lie rolls off your tongue too easily, but you can’t stand the chill fallen over your form.
His face is far off and distant, his jaw set tight. He runs a hand through his hair, made a mess with your touch, the action punctuated by a barbed laugh.
He doesn’t even say anything more to you when he leaves the room. He just leaves. You sit for a few minutes, legs dangling and blood roaring.
Taehyun has kept a lot beneath a jaded and aloof front, but it seems that even he has a tipping point.
❆
“That reeks,” Beomgyu says. He’s sat on the basin, legs dangling down.
The water embraces you in a delightful lukewarm that disarms your nerves and has you drowsy. “Soap?” you say with a subsequent rich snort. You scoot, bathwater lapping at the walls of the tub when you bring your knees to your chest. The round tub is big enough for you to sprawl out, but you prefer sitting right up against the wall. Only the suds and perfumed oils sitting in a thin, hazy film on top of the water protect your decency from Beomgyu’s eyes. With the servants insisting on helping you wash, though, you’ve become indifferent to bathing in front of others. It’s not as if you’ve got to worry about him leering, anyway. He doesn’t blink at your nakedness. You appreciate the company. “It smells clean. You know, so you don’t smell like straight mud.”
“Mud is not such an offensive smell as that,” he says, nose crinkling. “You lather yourself in smells that are wholly unbelievable.”
Laughing, you feign sending a spray of water droplets his way. “Well,” you muse, “We are not hewn from the same stone. We have to clean ourselves.” While your worldly body demands that you maintain hygiene with soap and water, the folk wash for leisure. You don’t bemoan it, though. It’s your reality—always will be—and you delight in coming out feeling fresh. “And your earthy... musk... is just as terrible to me as this is to you. So...”
“Agree to disagree.” He sits still. Beomgyu is always eerily still—you’ve come to the realization that it’s because he doesn’t breathe. No rising or falling of his chest meant he could sit in absolute repose. You’re not entirely used to it, even now. How could anything be a living, talking being, without breath? There he sits, though.
Echoes of your washing fill the room. You sigh. With each scrub, you imagine carving away both any dirtiness and any heavy thoughts. It doesn’t work, of course. You feel no less heavy. If only it were that easy.
“Taehyun is general now,” you say, frown tugging at your face. “For the Queen.” Remembering it makes you feel impossibly heavier. It had been a secretive move, but still... He had become the one thing that has haunted him for you. His words yesterday said as much. You buzz at that memory, heart racing at just the memory. It had been a battle pretending your first kiss hadn’t happened, but this was different. Terribly different.
You blink, trying to bring yourself together when Beomgyu says, huffing out a humorless laugh, “He is only his father’s son.”
Sighing, you sink lower into the water. The kelpie wouldn’t be himself without some snide remark in Taehyun or his father’s expense. You know why he’d done it, now, but you’re awful and can’t help but consider what him being general might mean. Taehyun has a strict moral code; you don’t think he’ll go around killing in cold blood. Still, in order to retain his standing, he’ll have to carry out the council’s will. It’s a slippery slope; you fear the he’ll become the thing he’d once hated at your expense. With a sickened stomach, you hold your knees closer. You don’t want that. “He said it was to make sure we’re no longer targets. You know, since we came here as spies and all that,” you say, voice softening as thoughts grow louder.
Agitated, Beomgyu slips off the basin. “Why would he have bothered with finding me, then, if he had already made other plans?”
Spinning water with a finger and watching it swirl, you say, “I know for a fact it’s why he did it. It’s just that I don’t like it. I mean, getting involved in the war is one thing. We were already involved to some degree, anyway. Becoming the general is a whole other thing.”
A wicked delight crackles across Beomgyu’s face, and you brace yourself for whatever has excited him so. “If you would deign it with your word... We could be gone from this estate. Anywhere that pleases us, free from the fool.”
“Of course,” you say, rolling your eyes and watching him pace the floor. “It’s always dramatics with you. We’re not running away. Good try, though.”
He pauses, grimacing down at you. You suppress a laugh. Maybe you could’ve entertained his grand plan. At least, for a moment. Your fingers have pruned up, but you have no will to drag yourself from the warmth. Let you just stay like this, cocooned in its welcoming arms, for a bit longer. Then, you’ll find it within you to face the memory of Taehyun’s hands and the gravity of what he’d let slip.
❆
Dust motes flutter when caught in the light. You, with bare feet padding on the chilly morning floors, plow right through them. A clattering, so lively in the still sleep-ridden estate, floats out from the kitchens. You follow it.
Beomgyu stands, lanky and strange as always, watching a servant work dutifully on a meal. You frown. It’s a bit early for any of your usual meals.
“Hanging around in the kitchen? Thought you didn’t eat,” you say.
He gives you a distracted grumble. “I can eat. I just don’t need to.”
An eye roll slips. “That’s even worse. You asked for a meal to be made for you, just so that you can taste it,” you say, hand on your hip. “Very inconsiderate.”
Disconcertment lines his face at that, looking back over at the servant. “I did not ask for a meal.”
“Yeah... Okay. Anyway, do you know where Taehyun has gone? Out?”
Beomgyu shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe he’s gone anywhere,” he says, eyeing you. “You’re searching for the Lord?”
“I mean, I was just wondering where he is. I didn’t see him around, or anything.”
“Oh, pull your stake from my heart,” he grumbles and scratches at his neck. “I fear you’ve abandoned me in my loathing, with who else am I to escape this place? ” he says.
“There you go again,” you say, relenting to conversation. Conversation with Beomgyu makes you feel lighter. “If we ran away, we’d make it like... a week.”
He cocks his head to the side. “You’d last a week. I’d be just fine.”
“Oh, you think so?” you scoff. “And where would we go?”
Now, he’s really riled up, throwing his arms up, exasperated. “To the forest,” he deadpans. “I... come from the forest. Of course I’d go to the forest.”
Mouth pulled into a grin that you know will irk him, you say, “Sounds like a nice place. For you. You just want to get out of here, you don’t care about what happens to me. I’m hurt. This is supposed to be our escape plan, not Beomgyu’s.”
He likes that, lips curling at the corners. “Well, I pride myself in my cleverness, and it’s not as though I’ll be leaving this rotten place by my own means,” Beomgyu says.
“Oh, you’re just so clever.” You’ve become too familiar with that impish grin—he’s joking. But you don’t doubt for a second that if you were to propose running away, Beomgyu would be elated. He makes the jokes for a reason, anyway. It’s become a sort of game; him suggesting it, and you shutting it down. “And is that why you deign to bless me with your presence? Plotting and scheming?”
“Don’t give me your sarcasm,” he huffs. “I deign you with my presence because I ought to. What else should I do?”
“You love me,” you say, tableware and platters clattering and mingling with the sound of your voice. “I know it.” You drag out the last syllables in a taunting melody.
The servant who had been busy with making the breakfast, a hob you don’t really recognize, pokes in to tell you that it’s finished, so you move your conversation over to the table. Pulling out the chair, you eye the plates. It’s more extravagant than you usually eat here. It reminds you more of Court food or what few meals you’d had with Yeonjun: a honeyed meat and some fire-roasted burdock root. Beside it is a bowlful of salt, but it’s only by yours. You dip your head at the faerie, careful of course not to say thank you. That would mean that the faerie has done you a favor, and then you’d be expected to repay it. A simple gesture works just fine.
Beomgyu doesn’t sit, nor does he take any interest in eating. Instead, he hovers at the far end of the long table, telling you, “I do not love anything.”
Raising your brows at him, you say, “Whatever.” You salt the bitter root before forking it. “What are you so antsy for, anyway? Isn’t your whole thing that you sit around in a swamp for the entirety of your existence? What’s that, to staying in an estate for a bit? I think that you just like to complain to me.”
He laughs, rocking on his heels. “It’s about free will,” he says, “And, maybe I do. Though, isn’t it a wonder that you complain to me just as much?”
You’ve finished your plate. “Fair.”
Taehyun emerges from a room. Your belly does a little surprised flip. You knew he was still here, but you’d hoped to avoid him. When you’d first arrived here, the estate had felt massive. Now, it’s not so much the same.
He doesn’t mention it, though. Instead, he surveys the table, and then his brows knit. “You’ve cooked?”
“Not us. It was being made when I got up. There’s some for you, too, though. If you’re hungry.”
His frown deepens, but he nods and wanders off into the kitchen. You understand. You’d been confused when you’d went into the kitchen to find a meal being made so early. It’s as if the servant is new and unfamiliar with schedules. Turning to Beomgyu, you say, “Anyway. Would sneaking out for one night appease you?” You push around the last bits of your breakfast, too full to eat anymore. “Maybe you just need to get the thrill out of your system. I have a tree by my window, that might up the ante rather than sneaking out the front door.” You give him a tongue-in-cheek raise of a brow.
“Well, I don’t think it’s sneaking if you discuss it a room away from who you’re sneaking around,” he answers, picking at the wood of the table. “And, no.”
At a crash, you both are whipping your heads toward the doorway. The hob servant is sprawled out on its knees. Taehyun’s face has gone cold, and he holds his sword out at the faerie in a point. Your eyes go wide, and you hop up out of your seat. “What are you doing?” you say, taking in the scene. Adrenaline sparkles in your pulse. One second, you’d been enjoying your morning, the next Taehyun has one of his servants at sword point. It’s whiplash.
Despite your initial shock, though, you pull together the pieces—about the strangeness of the routine, and the unusual meal, and the unfamiliar faerie. You go to share a look with Beomgyu. In the narrow twitch of his eyes, you deduct that he’s come to the same conclusion. And, you’d eaten that whole meal.
“Face me.” Taehyun barks out the command, looking down on the hob with a chilling severity.
The faerie does slowly, bowing its head to avoid Taehyun’s face in an attempt to placate him. Taehyun says, “Who have you weaseled yourself into my estate for?” His voice carries, strong and unforgiving. It penetrates down to your marrow. You’re sure the hob feels it worse, though. There’s a long few moments with no answer. Either they won’t say it, or they can’t. They dip their head further. “If you think that your silence will earn you a quick death, it will not. Speak now, or give me your hand. I’ll have your fingers.”
“Taehyun,” you say, shooting him a hard stare. “Are you serious?” Your stomach goes nauseous. You’ve seen Taehyun kill before, but a punishment like that, meant to inflict agony... It shocks you.
Taehyun looks at you strangely, eyes at war with the rest of him. He says to you, keeping his sword on the hob, “Am I serious? You just ate all of that, who knows if it was poisoned.” Now stood behind the hob, he takes it by the scruff and lines the deadly edge of his sword up to its neck.
Your heart does a little trick. You absolutely had eaten that food without question. Why would you question it? It hadn’t come to your mind at all that somebody might infiltrate this estate. With Taehyun’s new role, it only makes sense. You don’t feel bad, though. Not like when you had been poisoned at The Hovel. You’d felt that pretty fast and hard. Right now, you feel fine. As much relief as that brings you, it does beg the question: if they’d come here to do harm, why wouldn’t they utilize such a blaring opportunity? The hob had just... made you food.
“I have every right to protect my home, and those who live in it.” Taehyun grabs harder, picking the hob up and pressing his sword in closer. The hob squeezes its narrow eyes shut. “It’s my duty.”
It’s always duty, with Taehyun. The sight of the faerie bracing, knowing that Taehyun will hurt or kill it, worms under your skin. Your fingers strain in trembling fist. You can’t handle the awful sight, no matter if the faerie had intended to harm you.
You think you know who’d sent the hob to come and be eyes on the inside of Taehyun’s estate, anyway.
Beomgyu scoffs hoarsely from beside you. “I watched the fool make it. She’s not fallen sick, had she?” His bored eyes shine with distaste. "You, general, just miss the taste of blood on your tongue. You miss it dearly, I know. It’s a terrible hunger to have.” He exchanges the word Lord with one that you can acknowledge hits as a much lower blow, considering his past. Beomgyu would never miss the opportunity to remind Taehyun that from which he comes from. To that regard, you are thankful for not knowing who your parents are. No matter where you end up, at least you’ve had the power to mold your own legacy. Taehyun’s follows him, grim and stained red.
“Taehyun, can’t you just make an exception this once? Beomgyu’s right. If they’d have wanted us hurt, they had a pretty good opportunity to. But, they didn’t.” You flex your fingers hoping to expel some nerves and step closer to where he’s stood. Making a point to catch his eyes and hold them hostage, you add, “We’d be hypocrites to kill for spying. You know that. Who are we, to call it justice and kill over this? That’s not fair.”
He holds your eyes, pausing. “Exceptions are dangerous,” he says, but his voice is changed. There’s something other than ice-cold resolution there. You release a breath of tension.
“I get that, but...” You search his face. “Please.”
The estate is quiet aside from the huffing of the hob for a second. The look in Taehyun’s face changes, and then he’s throwing the faerie to the ground. He sheathes his sword with a crisp click that you’ve never been more elated to hear, and he snaps, “Get out. Go. Tell whoever the hell sent you here that I won’t take so kindly to this again.”
The hob does not waste even a second in making good on their second chance. It scrambles up and away in a scramble of furious legs and arms.
Beomgyu shakes his head and goes to retreat off to wherever he spends a majority of his time, now that the show is over.
Taehyun, looking disconcerted with his arms folded and brows lifted, says, “Somebody is sending their people here, and now I’ve set a precedent. I look weak. Those wolves will pounce on any stretch of weakness they can find.”
You sigh. “I know,” you say. “I know, Taehyun. Thank you.” You don’t tell him that the wolf he speaks of is Yeonjun, and that the spy was not here to kill or collect intellect from him.
It seems that the prince has made his move.
❆
“You think that was the end of it?” Beomgyu says. “No. That was nothing beyond a glimpse. A life spent beside his blood-drinking father is undeniable. How the gentry kids learn Court snark, the Lord learned to take butchery as a trophy.”
Shooting him a glare, you slot the arrow in its home and pull the bowstring taut. It comes much easier, now. Your chest doesn’t tremble, and you can properly hold it there comfortably enough to actually aim. Finding the bullseye of woven straw, you narrow your eyes down. You find the center of the spiral, further down the field now that you’ve gotten a better handle on your archery. Like Taehyun had said, you aim a little left to make room for wind direction. You release a slow breath in a smooth, silver stream of breath. Wind whistles around the arrow as it dances down the flat of powdery snow. It pierces the center left with a far-off thud. Not a bullseye, but you’re glad to meet your mark.
You reach for another arrow. “Or,” you say, “Growing up with his father taught him to be a better man for it.”
The kelpie, having watched you practice out here for at least thirty minutes, looks up to you from where he sits squatted on the ground. “You don’t believe that,” he scoffs. He drags a finger in the snow. The ground around him is a work of muddy shapes, where he’s worked the snow so much that the wet ground beneath it has begun turning it to brown slush. “The brute is no different. Ardently as he may detest the former general, he has followed his tracks in the snow. Reluctance makes him no better.”
Cupping your hands over your mouth, you puff out warm breaths that soothe your stinging nose and stiff fingers. It lasts only a small, gratifying moment. You puff out a sigh and take the bow back into your hands. You thought you’d gotten over this conversation, decided to determine for yourself what kind of man Taehyun is, but... When he took up his role as general, you were set back an infuriating mile. Things are even muddier, now. You know he has a reputation to keep up as general, and that he made an exception for you in letting that spy go. If he doesn’t present a strong front, it’ll put you all in danger. That doesn’t stop abrasive thoughts from sticking under your skin, though.
“Don’t even try and act like you care about violence,” you tell him, giving him a high brow. “It’s not as if you don’t trick people and drag them down into your swamp for your own enjoyment. You just dislike Taehyun.” You bring back the string and let another arrow go. It lands somewhere near the first.
He doesn’t deny that, a rotten smile splitting across his face.
Your next shot lands beside the bullseye. Letting out a triumphant sound, you say, “Did you see that?”
Beomgyu hums. “That one was good.” He stands up to full height with creaking bones and adds, “But, aren’t you getting bored of this? I say we find something more interesting to waste precious time with.”
You frown. “More interesting...”
He nods, enthused.
“That sounds like a terrible idea, coming from you. Interesting is subjective, and I don’t think I’d like to learn your interpretation of it,” you say, voice sewn with suspicion. You lean your bow against the tree, though. Hitting so close to the center was enough gratification to appease you for the day. “And how can I be sure that this isn’t part of an escape plan?”
He groans. “Let me play some, won’t you? I have a place that will please the both of us.”
You feign long consideration, but you’ve already decided. As cold as you are, and despite your weary arms, you’re jumping at the opportunity to escape the strong walls of the estate. You’ve got a funny tingling in your veins that pleads with you to go and do something. Wherever Beomgyu may take you, you’ll just appreciate the distraction from muddled thoughts and recycling anxieties. You nod finally. “Fine. Don’t bring me anywhere weird, kelpie.”
Though, you never know what you’re getting into, with Beomgyu.
❆
Well, the dusted walls of a once-great residence around you are not the worst you imagined when thinking where Beomgyu might take you.
“You told I’d me be pleased,” you say, voice bouncing off the walls and coming back to you hollow. It was the residence of some gone gentry folk, you know. Why that would be of any interest to you, you’re not sure. It’s pretty, sure. You’d fought snow and numb fingers to get here, though. You frown at him expectantly.
“You have a sorry amount of trust in me. You would be, if you’d just open your eyes to it,” he cuts back.
You hum. “Sure.” Raking your eyes over the baseboards, brown wood carved into leaves and acorns, and then down the still halls, you make an effort to see anything differently. Of course, it does nothing. Beomgyu speaks strangely, and he hadn’t actually meant to look differently. Despite your conclusion, you still see a stale and forgotten place. You cross your arms over your chest and say, “I get it. This was just an escape plan. And I’m gonna get your ass. Do you know how far of a walk that was?”
“This would be a nice place to stay, if we were to forget a certain Lord’s estate...” he muses, tilting his head off to one side. “But no.”
Looking around, your eyes catch on the film of dust on the floor down the hallway that shoots off from the tall dining hall that you stand in. More specifically, you’re concerned with the set of footsteps leading down it. Your feet tell you to dart. “Beomgyu?” you say, eyes wide as you look over to him. “Who’s here?”
“Should we go find out?” he says, thick set of brows jumping in a playful twitch.
He sets off down the hallway. You follow, internalizing the new surroundings with large drinks. You’re not sure why you ever thought this would end with him taking you out to the forest to watch will-o'-the-wisps dance in twinkling balls of light, or going to watch a babbling brook work its way over the earth.
A tall man steps out from a room. You jump, pulling Beomgyu back, as if he weren’t some ancient faerie beast capable of managing himself. He cracks a laugh. The man looks between you two. Your tongue darts out to wet dry lips. He’s no doubt wondering who you are, just the same as you’re wondering who he is. You whisper to your cavorting heart that Beomgyu is magically compelled to not shove you into harm’s way, and it seems that he knows who this is.
You notice the man’s round ears, and his soft and humble features, and the earthliness, and the imperfection-flecked skin. Familiarity bursts in your chest—you’re looking into the face of another human. “Who is this?” you whisper over to Beomgyu.
“This is Soobin,” he announces, answering your whisperings with his full chest. “A friend, and a human, as I think you’ve noticed.” A proud gleam flashes over his eyes. “I believe that you owe me your thanks now.”
The man, Soobin, dips his head at you. Dull, brown eyes study you. “I am,” he says.
Searching for words, you open and close your mouth a few times. A nervous thrill wraps you up. You’ve wanted to get to know and be friends with your kind for your entire life. “Why are you here?” you ask, making a gesture at the residence. “It looks abandoned. Very abandoned.” When you’d first arrived at Taehyun’s estate, it’d been left alone for quite a while in Taehyun’s leaving it behind. This, though, looks much different than that. You wonder who this place belonged to, and why it’s no longer in use.
Sullen eyes answer yours. They remind you of Beomgyu’s, the old tiredness. It’s strange, seeing that look reflected on such a young face. How does Beomgyu known him, anyway? Soobin answers, “I was a glamoured servant here. Until the faerie died.” He continues talking as he returns to the room from which he’d come from. This room, off and away from the massive inner hall that makes up the majority of the residence, is fresher. Where dust balls and had taken over what was once most definitely a place busy with servants and the host of many feasts, this room is alive and no doubt where Soobin lives. “Then, the glamour died, and I came back to myself.” He sits down onto a foot bench in front of a green-sheeted bed. This must’ve been bedroom for the faerie he’d served. Now, it’s his. He brings his hands up. Where the soft skin of an easy life should sit, there’s worn and ruined skin in its place. “I wasn’t conscious when I’d been working it, but when I came back... my body ached. It ached so bad, and at first, I had no idea why or... where I was. All I knew was that I’d been worked into the ground.”
Your heart hangs like stone in your chest, looking at his broken hands. When you’d been taken from the human world, you’d been so young that it made no difference to you. Growing up here, it’s all you’ve ever known. Not every human is brought here how you had been, though. Some are snatched up from their adult lives; fallen to some faerie trick hidden in plain sight. Slip up, and you’re stolen away to come do work in this wretched realm. You don’t know what’s worse: what happened to you, being raised here and molded into a meaningless servant, or that. The faerie had stolen time from his life that he will never get back—and he remembers none of it. Glamoured servants had always stricken a gut-wrenching sick feeling in you, whenever you’d seen them. With gone eyes and hollowed out cheeks, they’d look right through you like mist and continue on with their prescribed duties. Like a husk of a living being.
Even now, Soobin’s body tells the story of the taxation. This faerie must’ve seen humans as cattle. “Why stay here?” you ask, making a seat out of a sofa along the wall. The cushions accept your shape graciously; made affable by time and use. Beomgyu trades the cushioned seat for the floor in front of your crisscrossed legs. He lolls his head back, coarse hair tickling at your skin.
Beomgyu answers. “Because he has no place else to go, and his awful stubbornness keeps him here. There are no rides back to the human world, if you’re not willing to give something away for it.”
Soobin, looking more annoyed than genuinely angry with Beomgyu’s words, says, “I’m not going to give your kind any more of me than I was already forced to. I’ll find a way. Eventually.”
Eventually. The word is heavy coming out from his mouth, falling out like a dud; not even he believes it. “How long have you been here?”
“I... don’t know.” He shifts, watching the flooring rather than looking at the two of you as he speaks. “Since I was taken here? I have no idea. I don’t remember a lick of it. But from what I do remember, long. Centuries, maybe.”
Your fingers, raking paths through the tangles in Beomgyu’s hair, freeze. Looking up at him, you tilt your head. It sounds like it should be a hyperbole, an overdramatization to describe what feels like an eternity spent here in this old place. But he doesn’t deliver it as such. No, his voice doesn’t joke at all—his eyes stare hard and lack the light of life. “What?” you say. Your voice crackles with a confused flare. “What do you mean, centuries?”
“He means that he’s been making this his home for centuries,” Beomgyu says.
“No,” you say, willing your glare to burn holes through the back of his head below you. Of course, he doesn’t stir or notice at all. “I mean, that’s not possible. We don’t live that long.” Nonetheless, he looks no older than you. Anything above twenty years is no less unbelievable than centuries.
“You don’t?” Beomgyu says. You hear the patronizing smile through his words. “I have known him long. And yet, he lives... How strange is that?”
You deliver a punishing shove at the back of his head. “You know what I meant, idiot.”
Simpering, he says back to you from over his shoulder, “You’re not so much the sweet girl I remember meeting. Spend enough of your time here, and even the human’s body slows. The makeup of his human flesh has not aged for quite some time. Neither will yours.”
A lifetime spent dreading how fast your life will dwindle away comes crashing down over you. You blink hard at the impact. You’d been haunted; followed around by the dark and heavy promise of a soon death, of deteriorating joints and a forgettable name. That had all been in vain? The enormity of that realization... it comes overhead like dark and swirling water, sucking you down where no amount of kicking or thrashing will clear a way. It swallows you. A bitter anger kindles down in the depths from which that fear had nestled itself. So, Nut-hatch had made the very conscious decision to lead you to believe otherwise.
“You’ve reached maturity, and you will stay this way for until you leave Faerie. The years will begin coming to you, as long as you remain there; where time flows differently through the veins,” Beomgyu continues. “He only wishes to spend his blessing of time decaying away here.”
The two of them begin talking back and forth about whatever it is that Beomgyu says, but a loud silence like fog in your head has their words more like background noise. You’d lived for so, so long thinking that you were running out of time. The tick of a terrible clock sounded off in the distance in a haunting echo in everything you ever did. It’s why you ever rallied the nerve to up and leave the life you’d been dragged into. You’d been so scared of wasting what little life you had—fear welled up high and told you that time was running out to do it. Would you have ever even left, if you’d not thought yourself so rushed? Your face feels hot.
Soobin saying your name, loud and questioning, draws you out just enough to hear him say, “How did you get tricked?”
You swallow and clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?” you ask, mental inertia coloring your words lost. “Tricked?” Doing a re-survey of the room, you stop on the windows. Day has begun weaning off into the gray of eventide.
“How did you end up as a servant, I mean,” he elaborates.
“Oh,” you say, nodding your understanding. “Sorry, I got distracted. I was taken when I was little, so I didn’t get tricked, or anything.” Nut-hatch didn’t have to trick you to bring you here like most faeries do when taking humans from their world, because you had no will. It’s the loophole in their governing nature; though they might not be able to just take humans without a promise or debt or something of that sort, they can take away the newly born. As long as they leave behind what they believe to be a replacement as payment.
“You’re a changeling,” he says, as if realizing out loud. His eyes meet yours, dead and gone and bitter. “You should’ve killed that faerie. They all deserve it.”
The acidic rancor there has you balking. Kill Nut-hatch? You may still harbor resentment—deep, deep gnarly gashes and crevices that you’d had to fill, and it just so happens that enmity did the job well. You understand his anger, but the thought of killing your stealer for self-gratifying revenge doesn’t make you feel good. Not in the way he suggests it should. In a sick way that only a child with a cavity in their chest where the love for a parent should be could manage, you consumed her role as your owner and digested it down into something you could cling on to. And, with chubby little desperate hands, you had. Perhaps she would spit in your face if you were to return to her now—because you’d failed to fulfill your purpose for her—you could not fathom hurting her. You pull back the sour face twitching at your muscles and say, “How do you feel about that, Beomgyu? I thought you were friends.”
He shakes his head. “If you make senseless bets, you’re already the fool. You can’t act so surprised when you’re then asked to put on the fool’s hat and to dance,” he says, pointed derision like an arrow at Soobin.
Whatever that means. The folk speak with adages and idioms, but Beomgyu’s verbiage is infested with it. You scuffle down your laugh when Soobin does not share your humor.
“How was I supposed to have thought I’d be making a bet with a faerie? Nobody even knows this shit is real, there. It’s all just folklore and scary stories. It’s not fair ground if I didn’t even know that I was doing it. And now, here I am: everybody I ever knew and loved is long, long dead.”
His words are seething with hatred, and yet they’re barren. It’s carved him up inside, dug him out into a shell with only this awfulness left. It shakes you a bit. You’d been so eager to find another human to know or to bond with. This, though... Your brain feels rattled around in your skull. You hope to never become this.
“So, no. We are not friends,” Soobin says. “He only comes here to enjoy my misfortune, and our kind live with the need for interaction. I tolerate it, I guess.”
You husk out a laugh that doesn’t find your eyes. “Well, that’s not very nice, Beomgyu,” you say, stressing his name with false reprimand. “He enjoys my suffering too,” you tell Soobin. You nudge Beomgyu with your dangling leg, trying to drag the nonplussed kelpie back into the conversation to save you.
“Of course, he does. It’s why they take us from our world: our pain is no more than like playing with a beetle to watch it struggle, and then killing it when it’s no longer fun. We’re bugs. Or, dirt. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. They love to tell us that.”
You have. That memory is one that you prefer shoved down and compact where you can’t let it remind you what your designated role really is. You’ve been so good about ignoring it, too. With a quick glance to the windows and the dark that’s fallen outside, you say, “I think we need to go, Beomgyu. We didn’t bring any lights...”
The kelpie drags himself up from the ground and away from the room without any sharing of pleasantries. You offer Soobin a quick goodbye and are next out of the room, feet moving like the wood flooring has gone to hot coals.
Even in the round edges of a human face, you had not found the resonance that you’ve longed so hard for. Humans have the capacity for unshaking violence and vacant souls too, it seems. Perhaps it was never that you were looking for a human to see yourself reflected in—you’d just bloomed cloudy hopes of finding eyes that will see you clearly and deeply. Those hopes had been misplaced.
But, if not in another human, then who?
❆
It’s utterly black outside—a moonless night. Kicking your restless legs out from your blankets, you stumble down the stairs.
You can’t find sleep, even behind closed eyes. Behind your eyelids, you see Yeonjun’s storm-clouded face and you taste Taehyun on your mouth. You’re harassed by guilt cruelly, and feel the weight of your conversation with Soobin deep in your chest.
How you end up at Taehyun’s door once again, you’re not sure. It’s a wholly inappropriate hour of the night, and you ought to have learned your lesson the last time you’d found yourself here. You don’t know why your sleepy legs lead you here. You’re better off plaguing Beomgyu with your restlessness instead. Why you’re stood here before this door... It’s beyond you.
Though, you’ve been desperately unable to shove down the urge to stick your toes in the water and see just how icy they are. He’s pointedly avoided you, and you have no grasp on where you two are going after this. An innate feeling, settled heavy like stone in your chest, tells you that everything has changed.
Once you’ve knocked and cracked the door open, though, a nervous tide creeps up on you. You should pivot and be back to your room. You would, if you were smart, but as Taehyun sits up with a mess of dark hair and sleep-dusted cheeks, you’re compelled by something other than your mind. It’s something strangely human, waking up in a groggy haze. The sight of sleepiness on the ever-composed Taehyun is jarring. It’s gone in only a blink, though, as he shakes it away.
“Is something wrong?” he says. He may have brushed away the fog in his brain, but he’s powerless to the husk still weighing his voice down. It sends a strange thrill through you.
You shake your head, throat dry.
He frowns. “You’re having dreams again?”
The gentle question has you pausing. It’s so out and away—so far beyond what you expect from him. Taehyun has never been one to ask around about how you’re feeling. He’d much rather skirt around such things, and pretend them away. Emotional nuance is a lost cause on him. Or, that’s what you’d thought, anyway. What’s changed? “No,” you tell him, pursing your lips. “I just... wanted to talk to you.”
Taehyun sits more fully upright. “About what?” he says. You don’t miss how his shoulders straighten and stiffen.
On bare feet, you shuffle over to his bed. “Nothing,” you tell him. You hadn’t exactly planned on coming here. Of course, he thinks you’ve come here to address what had happened. But... that’s not why you came here. At least, you think it isn’t. You don’t know. “Can I sit?” You gesture at the foot of his bed. He nods, eyes trained right on you. Pressing one knee into the coverlets, you climb in.
The buzzing and hum of wind dance in the air between you. You’re not sure what to say; it’s so heavy with every single thing. It’s hard to keep things light with him, when even the silence is painted with intensity.
You settle with just saying, “I couldn’t sleep.”
He licks his lips, nodding. “I’d only just fallen asleep,” he says. “Always something to think about.”
You can relate to that. The melody of a serene, content mind seems like a distant memory. “Sorry,” you say. You hadn’t meant to ruin his rest. Rigidity intrudes on the flow of conversation. You don’t remember ever being this awkward.
He dismisses that with a shake of his head. “I’ll manage,” he says. “When I came back yesterday, you and the kelpie weren’t here. Where did you go?”
This is exactly what had been keeping your mind awake. You had wanted to think of anything but that, but maybe talking to somebody about it will be nice. “Beomgyu took me somewhere,” you say. You laugh softly as he makes a face. “Yeah, I know. It was some old, run-down place. And there was this human there.”
You pause, filtering through the memory. Taehyun doesn’t speak, his eyes watching you with an attentive slowness. He’s just listening. Continuing, you say, “It was weird, because... Well, we were talking, and... He was nice. It was nice, talking to another human and seeing my features on him.”
You give a passing glance over at his ears.
“And Beomgyu is a jerk, but I don’t think I learned that yesterday,” you say. You ramble, perhaps filling the space where the uncomfortable memory sits before you can let it bother you. It doesn’t help that the air is so quiet. Your mouth moves quick to make it less so. “But... this guy. He’s centuries old, and just lives inside that place. I’d been so excited to have someone who could understand me like that, but then he started saying stuff that made me feel... just, bad for him, I guess. He was so angry and bitter.”
Taehyun watches you speak, and then nods. Tinged with his sleepy husk, he says, “Not everybody stays good when they live for so long. He let it rot him.”
“Yeah. It was really like he was rotted. Not bad, I guess,” you say. “It made me worry that I’ll end up that way, someday. Even though we came here differently, I still feel that sort of anger sometimes. I don’t like it, though.”
“I don’t think you will,” he says.
His voice feels so strangely soft. You don’t know how to respond to this, coming from him. Long, quiet beats only decorated by the crackling of bushes scraping up and down the windows, fall over you two again. Your gazes intertwine, dancing together in a way that is also different. “Thank you,” you tell him, your voice meek. “I hope that’s true.”
The longer you’re sat there in Taehyun’s bed, the plush warmth of it and his presence serving as some sort of scarecrow for your pestering thoughts, your eyes grow heavier and your words more useless. Here, in his room and in his presence, it’s as if those thoughts and their terrible claws cannot reach you. You prattle on to him about sleepy nothings, but he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re stealing his sleep from him. He only listens, eyes watching you melt down into something softer on the surface of his bed.
❆
When you’d woken up this morning, you’d popped up in a frantic flurry. Instead of on your own bed, your dreary eyes were met with the walls of Taehyun’s room. You had fallen asleep in Taehyun’s bed; talked yourself into a solid sleep. You had been so thankful that he was not there when you’d been drug from your slumber by the feel of foreign bedsheets on your skin.
Even thinking about it now, your ears glow red. Had he been annoyed? You frantically shove those thoughts away.
There’s a thump from outside. You lean over from your spot on the bed and try to get the best look out you can manage, but it’s at an angle. You see nothing but winter’s flurries there.
Your head drops back down to the threadbare fabric in hand. Beomgyu, after a long-winded back and forth, had relented to letting you patch up his clothes. Well, just his shirt. When he’d handed it over to you, it had been a valiant internal battle to not run off and drown the thing in soaped water. For now, you settle for just patching up the mangiest bits. It gives you something to be busy with.
Taehyun has been especially busy lately. You’re not sure why; he doesn’t exactly go around singing about his stresses.
This time, there’s three resounding and deliberate knocks at the pane of your window. Your working fingers come to a stop, head popping up. A nervous rattle thrums up and down your spine. It could have been a straying tree branch knocking a song with the wind’s encouragement, but they’d been so sure and pronounced. You let the shirt down and slip off the bed. Keeping your approach down to whisper, you creep toward the window.
Yeonjun, nose gone pink, sits on a sturdy branch.
For a moment, you stand there taking in the sight of him there; a prince of Faerie, crouched up and in a tangle of branches as he waits for you. It’s absurd. Not only that, it’s dreadful. You’ve done well, tearing yourself away from him. So, so well. Recently, all that hurt has painted its face and made itself anger. At the sight of his face, it sparks in your chest. But it’s a dull, slow flame, oh so reluctant. This anger feels different than other angers. It bothers you so deeply that you can’t place a finger on why.
And you want to let that anger sit there and fester, hoping that it will work at eroding away your still-connected heartstrings like rot. Even through the glass of the window, you feel them—red and reinforced and tugging you toward him.
It’s ridiculous. This is ridiculous and pathetic, letting him send you fragmented just with this. You’ve become the sort of girl that you’d snort over in sappy lover’s ballads and odes, the kind that you’d looked down on for their lack of spine. How different it is, when it comes to your turn. Despite it all, you reach out and push the windows open. Even with the sputtering flame you foster, he’s frozen and does not look like he’s going to give up just at this. If you were to pretend he wasn’t there and flop back down into the bed, you think that he might sit there brazen and let the ice freeze him from the inside out. Or, he’ll find some other way to speak with you. The glint in his eyes, the only light reflected in flatness, tells you as much.
“This isn’t cute, or... romantic, like you think it is, Yeonjun. Not like last time. It’s just hurtful,” you tell him.
Breath like smoke, Yeonjun says, “I don’t mean to hurt you. It kills me that I do.” His voice is sweet and smooth like malt liquor. It grips your mind in dazzling claws.
You shake your head, staying a reasonable distance from him and the window. “You’re not supposed to be here. You have to go,” you tell him, pulling the leash to the collar you’ve put on yourself taut. “It’s icy. Climb down safe, please.”
Of course, that doesn’t budge him. “Not supposed to be here? Why, because you don’t want it, or because he’ll be angry at you?” he says. His pretty face has gone sour. “Look at you. You’ve lost so much weight. He’s not taking care of you, pretty. Come home to me. I know you know where it is; I see the look on your face. I know that you lie to me with your words, but you were never good at hiding your face.”
You stay rooted to your spot; you won’t be so weak to words again. No matter how sweet and soft they feel against your shining, weeping wounds. He put that hurt there. Leaning into it would just be self-destructive.
“Please. It hurts both of us to be away, so why do it? I know that I’ve hurt you, and I’ll spend every last of my waking breath letting you know that it was a mistake. I’ll leave it all behind—none of it matters,” he continues. “Make me your servant. Ask me to swear my life away to you, and I’ll drop to my knees and put it on my beating heart right now.”
Your throat feels dry. He’d swear himself in your service, give you the ability to control him as you will. It’s an unfathomably massive show of trust and dedication. You don’t want that, though. Not one bit. His frantic professions punch you in the gut nonetheless. Had you been losing weight? You haven’t even noticed. Yeonjun did, though—at a glance, he’d known you’ve been hurting.
“Yeonjun, please. You’re not making this easy for me. Just give it time; we’ll get over it. Eventually, we’ll forget each other,” you say, jaw aching with protest at each heavy word. Now faced with the reality of a much, much longer life, your own words bite you. It means, though, that you have so much time to build yourself up into something solid and beautiful. And, somewhere down the road, you’ll think of this and be unaffected. Won’t that day come any sooner, though?
“Forget each other?” he says, laugh like poison. “No, we won’t forget each other. Time doesn’t fix it. I promise you that I know that all too well. Our love is not the kind you can forget. It will just hurt forever.”
“Go on,” you say. “Lie to me again. I want to hear it.”
Eyes shining and unable to lie, he says, “I love you.”
Swallowing thickly, you back away and get ready to close the window.
He climbs in through the window in a quick move. You don’t even have time to protest it before he’s saying, “Ask anything of me. Any last thing that you want of me, but do not ask me to watch you in his arms. I will not.”
There it is again—that dread. You want it to go easy, but of course it never was going to. “Stop it,” you say, mustering up a shaking finger to point at him. “Stop. Just go.”
His face goes hard. “That bastard is off to a war camp. Soon. He becomes more like his father every day, doesn’t he?” His soft hands, warm and cradling, find your face. “You don’t have to punish me by being with him. Come be safe. All he’s done is throw you out in the path of danger. If he cared for you, it would have never happened.”
Darting between his eyes, breaths come quick to you. “What?” you say. It’s the one word you can pull out from the chaos that he’s wrought onto your thoughts. A blizzard erupts, and through the whipping breeze and shards you don’t think to pull away from him or take his hands off of you.
So, that’s why Taehyun had been busy. What does that even entail for you? Are you going to be here? Does he expect you to pack up and go there with him, to travel for a war that you don’t even care for?
“All I ever did was protect you, pretty. I know that, in hindsight, it all seems shady. But I promise you that I did. They were never going to hurt you, and neither was I,” he says, his voice thick and strong with conviction.
Metal rings, the sound of a quick blade being unsheathed.
“Leave,” Taehyun snarls. He holds his sword at point, right on Yeonjun. It’s an emphatic promise of what he’s capable of and what he’ll do.
Flame, wild and melting you around the edges, eats up every last bit of oxygen in the room. It leaves none for you to breathe. It crackles and pops between them, where their gazes meet and feed it. Everything else has gone still. Even the wind, it seems.
Sword held fast and unmoving, Taehyun says, “You send your people into my home, and now you sneak in yourself. I won’t be walked over. Leave now, or you waste my courtesy.”
So, he’d come to that conclusion as well. He’s so still—his face carved of ice into sharp edges.
When Yeonjun sends a look your way, you shake your head at him. You have no clue what he’s thinking, but you want none of it. Your stomach does a violent flip. “Yeonjun, go. I want you to go. Please.”
His features lined with flame; he looks from you to Taehyun. “Your violence will be the fall of you,” he says, jaw tight as he pushes out toward your door. Not without a final glance sent to you, though. The promise you see there is a dreadful one.
You refuse to meet Taehyun’s daggered look. Beomgyu’s shirt lays forgotten on your bed. You’re half tempted to grab it and resume work; to continue on and escape this.
“That didn’t take very fucking long, did it?” he says. “Right back into his arms.”
Your drag your hands down your face. “I didn’t tell him to come here,” you snap. “It’s none of your business who I talk to. How about we talk about you leaving? When did you plan on telling me, huh? I don’t like secrets, Taehyun.”
Taehyun slips his sword back into the sheath. It clicks back in place. “None of my business?” he says. He repeats the words back at you with an asp’s curl. “When he’s in my home, in your room, it’s my business.”
“Would you stop?” you say, exhaustion sputtering out your fight. “With Yeonjun, I always know what’s going on. With you? I don’t know what to expect,” you say. “Tell me. When were you going to tell me that you’re going?”
His face morphs into something different: one of those bone-chilling ones that you don’t know how to explain. He doesn’t answer for a few beats; you can see his mind turning itself over. “This was going to happen. I told you that,” he says. “And I was going to tell you.”
You let out a long sigh, your shoulders loosening with it, when this time his voice isn’t so venomous. He’d been so busy lately. Being general assured that, especially now that things are moving. “When? How long will you be gone?” you say. “What if something happens to you, Taehyun? What are Beomgyu and I supposed to do?” You include Beomgyu in your proposition, but you’re not sure whether he’d stay with you or run off into the tree line the moment he finds he’s free. Then, really, who would you have?
“You’ll be there,” he says. “You can come. I prefer it. If you stay here, you’re vulnerable to attacks. This estate is known to be mine, and now that I’ve become the general... I can’t say that it’s safe.” He’s come so close that now his eyes look down on you. They don’t feel acidic on your skin. “And nothing will happen to me. I promise it, nothing will happen to me or you. Or that kelpie. I’ll win this war.”
Around a thick swallow, you nod.
You don’t doubt that Taehyun has the skill or the wits to do so. You only can hope that he doesn’t destroy himself trying to prove it; to both you and himself.
…🪶 ashlynn's note i know, i know. we made big moves this chapter. AHHHH! taehyun…… taehyun…..
﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!
#txt#txt fanfic#txt x reader#taehyun x reader#taehyun fanfic#yeonjun ff#taehyun smut#taehyun fanfiction#taehyun#taehyun ff#yeonjun smut#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun fanfiction#yeonjun#choi yeonjun#txt smut#txt fic#txt x you#beomgyu fanfic#hueningkai fanfic#soobin fanfic#to someone from a warm climate#tsfawc#txt x y/n#taehyun x female reader#fem reader txt#faerie txt#txt fantasy fanfic#txt ff#txt fanfiction
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This is complaining day because I realized there's more than one thing that got on my nerves lately and it's not just about the treatment of a kpop idol's mother. Let's begin.
Please, stop refering to Jungkook's mother as mama Jeon. I know the tendency is to ignore so many of the cultural differences that exist, but in SK, people don't change their surname after marriage. It just sounds idiotic and westernized in a ridiculous way.
So, Jungkook's mother loves all BTS members. She LOVES them all. How does army know that? How? I'm genuinely curious and genuinely asking. Because they say it as a certainty. Or, forgive me if my memory is faulty as well, but the only instance that we as outsiders were privy to in which we heard that woman speak for the first time, it was in early 2021 on another phonecall with Jungkook when she said I love you to Jimin.
Of course, the same ot7 narrative came as a buldozer at that time too. Damn, does that mean Jimin = BTS? Sometimes yes, but only when Army wants to diminish Jimin's importance and doesn't allow him to stand out individually too much. Musically or otherwise. But back to this Big Love that Jungkook's mom is supposedly feeling for everyone and which has been invoked once again when that woman mentioned Jimin twice while talking to Jungkook on the phone. Cause she already knew they were in Jeju. I bet she didn't have to find out randomly from a schedule group chat.
So what happens? An assumption is turned into certainty because of small people being extremely insecure. Because they see that one person is once again given more importance on a personal level and we can't have that. No sir! So in a panic, they tweet, they post on tumblr, tiktok, youtube the old age, boring af, sounding like a broken record sentence: "Mama Jeon loves all seven". Fuck me gently with a chainsaw cause that sounds a lot better than the feeling of throwing up I get whenever I read such things.
No, she doesn't love all of them. That is not a fact. It could be true and it's not impossible. But it is not a fact based on the knowledge we have at the moment.
Also, it shows once again that an entire fandom is actively creating a reality of their own which is not even like some sort of simulacrum of the reality they must live through. In Army world, the mother of one member of a k-pop group must love all the members of such group. It doesn't matter than irl, our mothers a lot of the times don't even like all our friends, besties or partners. We might have the most incredible connections and it would mean nothing to our mothers.
In that same vein, another narrative that makes me want to pull my eyes out is the "awww, their bond is to die for, they are (like) siblings after all". Do any of them never had any siblings? Never saw other people and their relationship with their siblings? Or with their family?
I also had to read (which was followed by me blocking it immediately) how Jimin and Jungkook's relationship is the sum of the other relationships they have with other BTS members. I mean, why would I have any sort of expectations from any of these people when they are completely incapable of looking at JM and JK as actual people. As persons with individual minds and an intellect of their own. Let alone the fact that their world does not stop with the presence of 5 other men. In what realistic scenario does this translate in real life? That's not how it works. Yes, we are social creatures and a product of our surroundings, but it is not in the way in which these stans believe it to be. They think that living in a dorm for a few years and working together with other people, it means that those experiences are the only ones that actually shape the personality of a person. They are real people, not fictional characters. I've never heard such ridiculous theories in my entire life, to be used as talking points about someone's behavior or relationship with another person.
Maybe the need to create this elaborate fantasy comes from the lack of love in their life, which then gets projected into this Disney, kumbaya, capitalist heaven narrative in which everyone is a big family and they love each other so much and equally and all the parents of all the children love every single member and thus, harmony is created. Love is always platonic and ever present. The complexity of human relationships must not exist.
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for @zodoods, I hope this lives up to expectations 🙏
Words: 4k Summary:
Marinette knew she tended to get tunnel vision when she was focused, but luckily her boyfriend Chat Noir was always there to watch her back as they fought Monarch. With their enemy having disappeared, however, they decided together that it was finally time to reveal themselves. In public. Face to face. It's a little silly to have to introduce yourself to your own boyfriend, but after all, it wasn’t Marinette’s fault that she never knew her boyfriend’s name. (Adrien has never been to school, and Marinette doesn't know him.)
Marinette hadn’t known her smile could be so wide. Staring at herself in the reflection, she couldn’t be bothered to worry about the awful dark circles under her eyes, or the frizzy mess of her hair. Everything could be covered or smoothed over, after all. None of that really mattered. Not when her whole world was about to change.
Today was the day.
“Today,” she breathed the word to herself. “Tikki, can you believe it’s today?” she asked, turning around to look towards her kwami.
Tikki giggled from where she sat atop the dresser. “You and Chat Noir have only been planning it forever,” she replied.
The smile was beginning to make Marinette’s cheeks ache. “We have.”
For months following the disappearance of Monarch, Ladybug and Chat Noir had been planning and mentally preparing to finally reveal their identities to one another, eventually coming to the conclusion that they were both ready for it just a week prior. She could still see Chat’s goofy smile in her mind’s eye, clear as day.
“So, we’re really doing this?” he had asked as they sat atop a rooftop together. “For real?”
“For real,” she had replied, excitedly nodding her head. Taking his hand in hers, she had pressed three rapid kisses to the back of it, trying to impress all of her enthusiasm and all of her love into his skin through the suit. “I can’t wait to meet you, mon Chaton,” she had promised him.
His face was rosy, with that big, beautiful smile of his stretching out his cheeks. “Neither can I, my Lady.”
Marinette let out a low squeal at the not-so-distant memory, pressing her hands against her hot cheeks.
She was going to meet her boyfriend. For the first time.
Well, not exactly the first time, but first enough.
They had plans to meet at a little café just a few blocks from the Grand Palais. He had surprisingly been a bit apprehensive at first, but she assured him everything would be okay. Marinette promised to wear the rose he had given her in her hair, and she was going to look for the boy wearing the scarf she had made him on his pretend birthday (and then he could tell her his real birthday!).
She couldn’t wait.
This day was a long time coming, and Marinette had plenty of fantasies to prove it. She wanted to hold her boyfriend’s hand in public, kiss him and go to the movies, all without a crowd of people taking photos of them. She wanted to goof off and be silly with him, all without worrying about being a hero, or acting like a good role model. She wanted to take him over to her house, and have him meet her parents, and stay for dinner without the threat of a supervillain interrupting the desert.
And after today, all that could finally be reality.
She got to work applying her makeup and wrangling her hair, not wanting to waste another second. Although she was notoriously late for most events, this was something she hoped to actually arrive early to. The ruby red dress she had laid out the previous night while she should have been sleeping was the last to slip over her head, perfectly matching the scarlet of Chat’s rose tucked behind her ear. The knee-length skirt fluttered to and fro as she took one last scrutinizing look in the mirror. Everything had to be perfect for her not-so-first impression.
Once she was finally satisfied, Marinette tossed her purse over her head. As soon as Tikki was settled and comfortable, she at last headed out.
There was a skip in her step the entirety of the walk, completely out of her control.
Although excitement was certainly at the forefront of her emotions, she would be lying if she didn’t acknowledge that little seed of nervousness. What if he didn’t like her? (He would.) What if he wasn’t as kind as she thought, and his personality was nothing more than a front? (Impossible.) What if his nerves got the best of him, and he didn’t show?
With her heart thundering in her chest, she turned the last corner to bring the café into view.
Her eyes zoned in on a mop of blond hair instantly. It was neat and combed back— completely at odds with the wild wind-blown look she was used to seeing on her boyfriend, but something in the way her stomach twisted and swooped inside of her told her that she may have spotted him. Taking slow steps closer, she traced the curve of his posture with her eyes as he sat hunched over the tiny café table, gasping slightly as she located the familiar shade of blue peeking from his collar.
It had to be him. It had to.
A chorus of giggles broke her concentration, drawing her eyes to a gaggle of girls a couple tables over. They were whispering excitedly and pointing in the direction of the same mop of blond hair, all with cell phones raised. A sudden wave of heat ran up Marinette’s spine as she realized they were ogling him.
She wasn’t surprised that girls were looking at him. Chat Noir was the cutest, most handsomest boy in the world, so of course they would. But that was her cutest and most handsomest boy in the world.
Her slow steps quickly evolved into a fast walk until she was right beside him, at which she practically threw herself onto the table, bodyblocking the girls’ view. The boy visibly jumped at her entrance. She glanced at his face for his reaction, but his eyes were covered by large sunglasses, effectively hiding any expression of recognition. Face feeling suddenly warm, Marinette stood back up straight and cleared her throat, casually drumming her fingers against the laminate surface.
“H-hi. I’m looking for my kitten,” she said, uttering the code phrase they had planned to use to confirm each other’s identities.
The boy smiled, instantly easing her worries. “I saw a little bug on the flyer.”
A grin spread across her cheeks before she could stop it, giddiness overflowing to the tips of her fingers. “I found you,” she murmured, just quiet enough to be just for him.
He stood from his seat, still smiling, and Marinette thought he was going in for a hug until he stepped around her. She was only confused for a second before he pulled out the chair on the other side of the table.
“Oh.” So the gentlemanly thing wasn’t an act after all. Accepting the gesture, Marinette turned to sit, feeling him push the chair in behind her as she did so. “Thank you.”
He simply hummed, before returning to his own seat across from her.
“So, um–” Not really sure where to start, (how does one introduce themselves to the boy they’ve been dating for two years?) Marinette figured the basics should go first. She almost wanted to laugh as she realized she was essentially on a blind date with her long-term boyfriend. “I’m Marinette,” she said, tugging at her bangs before pushing them behind her ear.
“Marinette,” he breathed. Breathed, as in he actually sighed her name when he said it. Marinette thought she might melt. “That’s a beautiful name.”
She wondered how dopey her smile must look to him. “Thank you,” she replied. “And you are?”
Thin blond eyebrows raised over the rims of the glasses, before dropping back down out of sight almost as quickly as they appeared. He laughed. “Okay,” he said between chuckles. “I’m Adrien.”
Marinette wasn’t quite sure what was so funny, but his laughter was just as contagious as always. With a giggle, she stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Adrien.”
His returning smile was soft. “Nice to meet you, Marinette.” He took her hand, and turned it to rest atop his on the table, running smooth circles over the back of her palm with his thumb. The feeling of his warm skin on hers was foreign and exciting, setting off yet another flurry of butterflies in her stomach.
“You still wear your pigtails,” he stated.
Naturally, her free hand trailed to her hair. She smiled as her fingers brushed the velvet petals of the rose. “They’re kind of my armor,” she replied with a shrug. “All the better for you to recognize me.”
The corner of his lip twitched, but the soft smile remained unchanged. Part of her wondered if he was still nervous about meeting. Hoping to ease his worries, she grinned.
“And I’m glad to see you don’t wear whiskers,” she joked.
He laughed again, and that seemed to be enough to lower the tension in his shoulders, to Marinette’s relief. “You’re right, I don’t,” he said. “I have a clean public image to maintain, you know.”
Marinette furrowed her brows, trying and most likely failing to hide the confusion on her face. It was surprising; Chat Noir was definitely the type of person who would grow “whiskers” just to commit to the bit. To each their own she supposed. Mustaches did seem to be more supervillain-y than superhero-y, after all.
“I do have to ask, though, what’s with the glasses?” she asked, moving the conversation along. “They’re so big, they’re covering half your face. Any plans to take those off?”
“Well, I–” Adrien’s head turned minutely towards the girls at the table behind her, barely perceptible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. “I don’t know.” His hand pulled at the scarf where it crossed over his black t-shirt.
“Please,” she insisted, putting on her best baby-doll eyes. “How unfair you get to see all of my face and I can’t see all of yours.” She held his hand tighter, imploring but hopefully he knew it was still light-hearted.
“Marinette, it’s just–”
She pulled out her secret weapon: the pout. His mouth instantly stopped moving.
“I’ve never really seen your eyes before,” she added. At his answering sigh, she felt a bout of pride swell in her chest. Victory.
Hesitantly, he removed the sunglasses and folded them on the table, all the while looking shyly up at her through golden lashes.
Marinette’s pulse quickened as she finally— really— met his eyes. Such strange feelings of déjà vu ran through her when she caught sight of how green they were. It was the first time she had seen his whole face, and yet it already felt so nostalgic and familiar. It was almost as if she had seen him before, and she supposed she had, in her dreams at the least.
“Gorgeous,” she sighed, unable to stop her tongue from embarrassing the rest of her.
All the regret she might have held drained out of her, however, when she saw how pink his cheeks went in response. His dropped jaw slowly curved into a small smile, and those pretty green eyes closed in half moons as he replied, “Thanks for the compliment.”
Was this really the same boy?
Marinette snorted. “What? No cheesy remark about how you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist you?”
“I’m just far too stunned by the beauty in front of me to think straight,” he said, mouth pulled sideways. “I daresay you could outshine me anyday.”
There he is.
She rolled her eyes in response, but she couldn’t deny the coils of warmth that spread across her skin. With a fond shake of her head, she brought one elbow to the top of the table to cradle her chin in her hand.
“You know, you’re taking this really well,” Adrien said, the smirk fading back to a humble smile. It was odd seeing him so reserved. “Better than I thought you would.”
“Taking what well?” she asked. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she recalled his apprehension from the night before. She attempted to keep things light, sliding into a teasing tone as she conspiratorially whispered, “Did you think I wouldn’t like you without the cat ears, mon Chaton?”
“Well, no, that’s not exactly—”
She cut him off, making sure to speak with all the sincerity she could muster, “Because there is no universe where I wouldn’t like you.” With a coy wink, she added, “Believe me. I checked.” She grinned with pride as her fingers squeezed his on the table, feeling as though she had one-upped him in cheesiness.
Again, his mouth hung open slightly as he processed her words, but soon morphed back into the soft smile. His head tilted to the side. “You always know what to say to make me happy, my–” The corners of his lips twitched, his intended endearment clear to both of them— “my Marinette,” he said instead, pulling their joined hands up to brush his lips against the back of her palm.
Dimly, Marinette registered the sound of a squeal from somewhere behind her.
“But, um, no.” His countenance took on a much more nervous expression, his free hand drifting back to play with the nape of his neck. “I meant more–” He paused, waving his hand awkwardly towards himself.
“What?”
His brows furrowed, mouth open and clearly poised to explain himself, but he was interrupted by a waiter arriving to take their orders, and the moment was surreptitiously forgotten.
As the date went on, conversation flowed freely between them. Marinette learned so many of his favorite things, what he was studying in school, that he was an only child just like her, and of course, his birthday, time and year. So many things that she would normally have naturally learned over time, which was something that she took for granted in her other relationships with family and friends. It was odd, but wonderful that this absurd blind date was just another unique experience that they could share together.
She would have been more than happy to talk to him forever if she could, but a trill from Adrien’s phone stopped their conversation short.
His eyebrows turned down as he read the screen. “How did it get so late?” he pouted, just as cute as before when he wore cat ears on his head. “I’m sorry, Marinette, but I have to go.”
Her smile was sympathetic, barely holding herself back from mirroring his pout. “That’s okay,” she replied. “We’ll just have to have our next date sooner.”
The answering smile on his face made it all worth it.
Adrien’s fingers flew across his keyboard for a second, before another trill responded. “My bodyguard says he can take you home, though!” he announced happily. “So we can spend a little more time together.”
Marinette couldn’t stop the confused noise from escaping her mouth. “Your…bodyguard?” she repeated slowly.
“Yeah!” He looked up from his phone, lips softly quirked upwards. “And don’t worry; he may look mean but he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
That certainly wasn’t something Marinette was worried about, but now she felt like she needed to be.
She tried to cross the appropriate wires in her head. Okay, so Chat Noir, famed superhero of Paris and wielder of the power of destruction, had a bodyguard in his everyday life. And that bodyguard apparently drove him places?
Perhaps she needed to collect more evidence.
Too busy thinking to come up with anything to say, Marinette mutely nodded her agreement.
Having already paid the bill— well, Adrien paid, despite her protests—, the two stood from their seats and headed down the sidewalk. Marinette followed Adrien closely, too busy sweeping her eyes across the busy street to spot this ‘mean-looking’ man to notice Adrien’s knuckles bumping into hers. She finally looked up at him when he laced their fingers together and squeezed. His green eyes almost seemed to shimmer as they looked into hers, and Marinette could feel all that wound-up tension melt away in response.
The spell between them was broken by a sudden honk.
Adrien was the first to break eye contact, turning back towards the street. “Oh! There he is.”
Marinette followed his gaze. Her eyes widened as they landed on the sleek sedan that had pulled up to the curb in front of them. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew enough to identify the logo of a luxury brand. The car was well-washed and shiny, unlike most of the vehicles that parked along the dirty city streets.
A burly man emerged from the driver’s side door, and walked around the car. To Adrien’s credit, he did seem a bit scary, based on sheer size alone, but Marinette supposed her Papa was probably about the same size. She figured if the man smiled a bit more, he would come off much friendlier. He greeted the two of them with little more than a low grunt and a nod, before briskly opening the rear passenger side door.
Marinette froze in place as she waited for one of the others to move. She couldn’t for the life of her understand what was going on. Was Adrien going to drive and this man was graciously letting her have the front seat?
“Marinette?” Adrien cleared his throat. “Are you ready to go?”
She blinked a few times, looking back and forth between the open door and her boyfriend’s face. “Um, yes,” she replied nervously. “I’m ready.”
He bowed his head, gesturing with his free hand towards the open door. “Then, after you, my lady.”
The familiar name quelled the voices in her head long enough for her to step forward. “Thank you, my prince,” she teased in response.
Though she did step in first, she held fast to his hand, pulling him along with her. The inside of the sedan was just as clean as the outside. Small tablets nestled into the back of both front headrests, and a far fancier screen than Marinette had in any of her devices at home was centerstage on the dashboard. She could feel her eyes widening as she took it all in.
Chat Noir was rich.
Chloé Bourgeois rich, maybe.
That was… unexpected. Admittedly, she never imagined Chat to have a high-class upbringing (if she could even call Chloé’s that). She had always envisioned him as a rough and tumble sort of kid. He would take soda over wine any day. Canned tuna over caviar. He had never turned up his nose to fast food, or cheap nosebleed seats at a concert, or acted like he was any better than anyone else.
No, Chat– Adrien— was amiable, gracious, and an appreciator of the little things–
“Marinette?”
She whipped her head around to meet her boyfriend’s gaze, having been yanked from her thoughts. “Yes?”
Adrien seemed to be holding back a laugh, clearly having recognized her thinking face. “Your address?”
“Oh!” She leaned forward in her seat, directing her attention to the driver. “12 Rue Gotlib, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
Adrien’s face lit up in the rearview mirror. “That’s just around the corner from us!”
“Really?” She was reminded of that flash of déjà vu she had felt upon seeing his face for the first time. Maybe they had met before. Most people who lived in the 21st arrondissement got their baked goods from her parents’ bakery, and Marinette often worked the front counter. They must have had at least one encounter before as their civilian selves.
It was almost a shame.
She would have loved to know that her favorite person was just around the corner.
He tightened his grip on her hand as she turned back to face him. “Almost too good to be true,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
All lamentations of lost time were forgotten at that, and she chose instead to be happy in the moment they had now. She smiled, squeezing his hand back.
They were content to spend the short ride in comfortable silence after having spent the majority of their time together with endless conversations. Adrien’s bodyguard didn’t ask any questions after Marinette gave her address, so she saw no reason to try chatting with him when she could cuddle into Adrien’s arm instead. The world was pink and fuzzy, and the only leather pressed against her skin was that of the car seats. Feeling the rise and fall of Chat Noir’s breaths through warm cotton was a wholly different, welcome experience.
The ride was too short, however, and before she knew it, they had pulled up in front of her family’s bakery.
Adrien’s short intake of breath pulled her eyes upwards, and she noticed him staring at the sign with eyes full of wonder. “Whoa, you live so close to the boulangerie,” he noted.
Marinette grinned. “Well, yeah, I live above it,” she said, delighted when his head whipped back to face her. “My parents own it.”
His eyes looked about ready to bulge out of their sockets. “You do?”
She pointed to the sign. “And I designed the logo. Tom and Sabine Boulangerie,” —she turned the finger towards herself— “Tom and Sabine daughter.”
Adrien’s face was painted with the most excitement she had seen from him all day. “That’s so cool! They have the best macarons— I’ve had some at events when we get catering— and I’ve asked Nathalie a few times, but, well–” His face was a bit pink as he paused. “You’re amazing, Marinette.”
“I’ll have to bring you some macarons next time I see you,” she giggled.
His eyebrows danced over his eyes. “Now I know why you’re so sweet.”
“Oh, hush.” She lightly shoved his shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”
Following some pointed clearings of the throat from the driver’s seat, they eventually got out of the car and Adrien walked her to her door. She left him with a quick kiss and a promise to text him later.
The remainder of the day went by in a blissful blur. Dinner, homework, and television with her parents faded into the background as she slipped lovingly into her daydreams. Adrien was too busy to talk, but he had sent her a few hearts and memes throughout the evening, and she looked over all of them with her chest fit to burst. Before she knew it, it was time for bed and they were texting each other good night.
It wasn’t until the next morning that Marinette realized the true shift the world had undergone.
The incessant buzzing of her phone was an unwanted wakeup call. Marinette blindly slapped her hand against the mattress until her fingers met the smooth plastic of her phone case. She slowly cracked her eyes open as the screen lit up again with notifications.
New Message - 🦊Alya🔥(32), Missed Call - 🦊Alya🔥 (2), New Message - Adrien ♥️🐈
Wondering what was so desperate for Alya to be blowing up her phone so early, Marinette quickly responded to Adrien’s “Good morning <3” in kind before opening the floodgates. She was immediately treated to a number of news articles, all caps messages, and photos. Photos of her and Adrien.
Her fingers flew through the slideshow of photographs: Adrien waiting alone with those ridiculous sunglasses, herself haphazardly draped over the table, Adrien kissing her hand, the both of them stepping into his car. She paused on one of the last photos. It was of the two of them, hand-in-hand as they waited for their ride. Adrien’s soft eyes that had mesmerized her up close were just as soft from a careful distance.
She blinked rapidly as she processed it all.
How did Alya get these?
Scrolling back up in her conversation history with Alya, she looked at the articles again, scanning over the headlines: “Adrien Agreste - Dating?” “Adrien Hits the Town with Mystery Girl!” “Who Caught the Eye of Adrien Agreste?” “Agreste Son is Growing Up!”
…Agreste?
The conversation shot down to the bottom as another text from Alya came in: CANT BELIEVE YOU DIDNT TELL ME????
Faster than she could process, Marinette swiped away from her messages to plug “Adrien Agreste'' into her search engine. A shocking thousands of images popped up, all of her boyfriend in various poses and campaigns— including one with the bowler hat she had designed for a competition run by Gabriel Agreste.
A banner notification popped up at the top of her screen, Marinette’s finger tapping it automatically.
Adrien ♥️🐈: I have a photoshoot until around noon, but do you want to get ice cream after?
Marinette dropped the phone as everything suddenly became clear.
Perhaps maybe their civilian relationship wasn’t about to be quite as low-key as she thought.
#ml fic#ml fanfic#miraculous ladybug#adrinette#ladynoir#love square#miraculous#ml#this is very unserious#i wanted the first fic of the new year to be Serious but we are starting it GOOFY okay#my writing#it's just all dramatic irony in here
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IT SHOULD NOT MATTER BUT IT DOES IN THIS WORLD.
What I am doing is calling out the fact that "people with certain character traits represented on a screen" should not affect how humans view one another's value.
But it does. I live in the real world where this CURRENTLY DOES MATTER. It has, and it will for the foreseeable future. Because the media reinforces stereotypes, stereotypes that can lead to VIOLENCE. And a PROVEN way of fixing this is with POSITIVE REPRESENTATION. Because when we all get used to seeing diversity, differences suddenly matter way less.
You can't heal a cannonball wound by shooting a different style of cannonball into it.
No but I and others are left trying to SURVIVE a canonball wound. And we have a solution—good representation, but you reject that as a gauze for the canonball wound because you don’t like it. And unlike a firing back at a canonball with a canonball, portraying Black people as good is not the same as portraying them as bad and causing violence against them, actually. It’s not evil, like reinforcing racial stereotypes is. It’s a false equivalence. Again: fix the sundown towns and then you, oh wise one, are welcome to sit on your high horse and preach.
All you're arguing for, right now, is enabling these people. Enabling racists. And what does that make you, do you think?
I got blocked. People tend to do that after a while of engaging someone they don't agree with. But I think this topic is too important to let pass by. Here's the response I was typing before the blocking got the post deleted out from under me:
Please read this: I am not denying the facts that some people are racist. I am also not denying the fact that you, or racist people, or people in general, all feel things about one another (sometimes, things specifically about our worth and value) thanks to "people with certain character traits represented on a screen."
Again: I am not denying the above statements.
What I am doing is calling out the fact that "people with certain character traits represented on a screen" should not affect how humans view one another's value. At all.
I am saying, the fact that we, as a culture, ever got to the place where "being up on screen", or "being portrayed a certain way up on screen," or "HAVING A CERTAIN COLOR OF SKIN" = "you have value or exist," WAS ALWAYS. WRONG.
That was always the problem.
You certainly can't make it right with the same type of thinking. You can't heal a cannonball wound by shooting a different style of cannonball into it.
#You got blocked for living in a fantasy world while I live in reality but I unblocked when a mutual informed me of this#Racism#antiblackness#on media#representation matters#because THAT IS THE WORLD WE LIVE IN.#I long to join your fantasy world where race doesn’t matter tho
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Types of fans you should never be if you ever want to date a celebrity
So, you’ve got your sights set on a celebrity. Maybe it's their stunning cheekbones, their charm, or the way they casually wear a leather jacket like it’s no big deal. But let’s get one thing straight—if you want a shot at turning that celeb crush into a love story, there are a few *major* fan mistakes you’re going to need to avoid. In fact, if you ever plan on dating a celebrity (or even just having a conversation with them without getting blocked), don’t be *that* fan. Here's a breakdown of the types of fans that *never* get a first date—let alone a second one.
1.The Stalker: "Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop"
We get it. Celebrities are like mythical creatures. They post something, and suddenly, your thumb is on autopilot, refreshing their Instagram like you’re hunting for treasure. But here's the thing: stalker behavior? *Very* much not cute. We’re talking about following them around town, sending them 70 DMs a day, and, oh yeah, Googling where they live because you’re "just trying to be close to them." No. Just no. Celebs are human, and they can *feel* that vibe. If you think it’s love you’re after, it’s more likely to land you in their "block" list. The good news? You have the power to stop being creepy. *So stop being creepy.*
2. The Horny Fan: "It’s All About the Body"
We all know that one friend who talks about sex *way* too much. While that might fly in some circles, it doesn’t when it comes to dating a celebrity. If your only thoughts about your celebrity crush revolve around their abs or how hot they look in that one music video, you’re probably not going to end up with them. Here's the reality check: a person is more than just a walking fantasy. Celebs are looking for genuine connections, not someone who can’t see beyond their six-pack. If you treat them like a piece of eye candy, you’ll find that the only thing you’ll be connecting with is a cardboard cutout, yes, the one you keep in your room. lol So, maybe start thinking of them as a real person, and not just a human Pinterest board.
3. The Shallow Fan: "All Looks, No Substance"
Objectifying people might be a pastime for some, but if you're hoping to date a celeb, it’s an absolute deal-breaker. Celebrities aren’t just there to look good on your social media feed—they’re talented, hard-working individuals with interests, opinions, and personalities that go beyond their Instagram aesthetic. If you’re only interested in their looks, it’s like showing up to a dinner party and only talking about the wallpaper. Newsflash: it’s not a turn-on. Celebrities (just like anyone) crave real, authentic connections. So next time you tweet about how "hot" they look in a photoshoot, maybe try throwing in a compliment about their *actual* talents. It might just make them see you as more than just a shallow fan with questionable taste in hashtags.
4. The Kiss Ass: "I’m Your Biggest Fan (And I Have a T-shirt to Prove It)"
We’ve all seen them. The ones who are *too* enthusiastic about everything their celeb crush does—like, buying merchandise that features their celebrity's partner’s face, just to show how “down” they are. But guess what? Celebrities are *not* dumb. They can tell when someone is being disingenuous. If you think wearing a T-shirt with their dog’s face on it will make them fall head over heels for you, you’re sorely mistaken. It just screams desperation. Celebrities want authenticity, not the world’s most bizarre fan merch collection. Take a step back, be yourself, and stop pretending to be their #1 fan—because you’re definitely not fooling them.
5. The ‘Just Trying Too Hard’ Fan: "I’m So Unique, Look at Me!"
This is the fan who thinks that showing up at a celebrity’s event dressed in an absurd costume, or dropping *way* too many "accidental" Instagram comments, will somehow win them over. It's like you’re auditioning for the role of "Most Extra Fan" in their life. Guess what? Celebs don't need another *performance*. They need a person who can hold a real conversation and not just be an accessory to their brand. So, if you’re trying to get noticed by being *super* out-there with your fashion choices or social media stunts, remember: it's not about how loud you scream—it’s about how genuine you are when you talk.
---
How to Actually Date a Celebrity (Or at Least Not Get Blocked):
Now, let’s get real for a second. If you’re serious about dating a celebrity, here are some **actual tips** to increase your chances of not coming off like an absolute psycho. Ready?
1. Be Yourself (Unless You're a Stalker):Celebrities want to meet real people, not another fake persona trying to get in their good graces. So, put down that "I Heart [insert celeb's name]" T-shirt and be authentic. Be funny, be kind, and be *you*—not some over-caffeinated fan trying to impress them with your knowledge of their ex.
2. Find Common Ground: Celebs have lives and interests that go beyond their career. If you're looking for love, start by finding something you genuinely have in common. Maybe they like the same obscure band you do, or they have a pet you could bond over. Get beyond the surface level, and actually get to know them as a person.
3. Stop Making It Weird: Just because you’re a fan doesn't mean you need to talk about their every move. Keep your cool, and don’t bombard them with compliments or weird questions about their personal life.
4. Be Patient: Celebrities have busy lives, and even if you do meet one, don’t expect them to fall for you just because you made them laugh once. Patience is key.
5. Respect Their Boundaries: Celebs are people. That means if they want to keep things private or take a step back, respect that. If they’re not into you, don’t keep chasing them—let them be.
Follow these tips, and who knows? You might just go from a fan to a date. But, remember: don’t go all-in on the "fan" part of the relationship, because, spoiler alert: that’s not what they're looking for.
Now go forth, not as a creepy, obsessive fan, but as someone worthy of a celeb’s attention (and maybe even their phone number). Good luck out there!
Love,
Hologram Cowboy
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Reviewing every rpg book on my shelf: 1, Dungeon Crawl Classics
Everything about this game is absolutely dripping with bonkers maximalist bombast that makes me excited to play. To start with book itself is nearly 2 inches thick. Is that practical? No! does it feel like you've got an ancient tome full of roleplaying possibilities? Absolutely.
In a world tending towards minimalism and 'polished' production its so good to have somthing thats just big and fun and unapologetic about not being what it is.
DCC's dice are a microcosm of everything great about it. Not only do they come in shapes they never taught you about in maths class but they also all come with a fun little bonus. One of my sets comes with a stat block for a monster, while the other has a ridiculous table of reality warping effects on which you roll ALL the dice in the set, and inevitably send your campaign careening off into madness. (and it has a frame story about a stoner wizard in a magic van).
And then there's the actual contents of the book, which is probably about 80% spells and ridiculous tables. And the spells are just so good. Each one takes up a a least a full page on average and gives a range of results according to how well you roll, from 'it missfires and things go horribly wrong' at the bottom, through 'it does about what you would expect' in the middle result ranges, to 'actually, this is almost too much' if you manage to get a roll in the 30s.
Alongside being sick as hell, this also has a satisfying effect of keeping low level spells relevent and interesting as their effects scale with the strength of the caster on a variety of axis.
related to spells is the 'spell duel' procedure. I have no idea how well it runs at the table, but the idea that when two (or more) wizards fight their spells can interact and you can use any appropriate spell to try and counter another spell is so increadibly compelling.
Ok, enough gushing about vibes. what about actually playing? So far what I have run is the 'level-0 funnel', which is probably what you have heard about if you have heard anything about DCC. The premise is simple: randomly generate 2-4 level-0 peasants for each player, send them into a dungeon, and then take whoever survives and level them up to become your characters for a campaign.
Not only does these lead to much hilarity as a mob of townsfolk bungle their way through danger but also really fun problem solving as the players work out how best to navigate problems with a shoehorn, a bundle of wood and a live chicken.
Specifically, what I have run is Sailors on the Starless Sea, which is correctly recognised as THE introductory module to use. Its a nice sequence of somewhat open investigation followed by a excellend sequence of bombastic set pieces, all the while giving the players lots of scope to come at things ininteresting ways. It can get a bit unwiedly trying to manage such large number of characters when they do run into combat but if you plan ahead a bit and use various tricks (it would be useful is more of that advice was in the book rather than coming from forums) it is manageable.
And to return to vibes one last time: the art in these books is just so good. We could not be further from the slightly stiff generic highly rendered fantasy art of wotc era d&d. Its all fantastically old school fantasy, so full of character, and just the right amount of rough around the edges. My only slight complaint is that this does include a little too much of old school fantasy art's treatment of women than I would like...There are still prenty of sensibly dressed women and i'm not about to decree that no sexy fantasy women are allowed but the dial is a little further in a direction of objectification that I would like.
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so has anyone harassed you yet or were you told to stop posting shit like that and focus in more... pressing issues like most places in the world (including the country you live in) criminalizing lgbtq+ (expression/people) and who and which are intentionally mislabeled as pedophiles and pedophilia by the very conservatives you are parroting and helping?
If you think me saying this is harassment, I have unfortunate news for you, I'm just describing you
oh and one more question, why does it bother you how people cope? You wanna control their fantasies and life or something like mini Trump? Or are you gonna look into psychology and realize that taboo fantasies are actually extremely common? Or maybe, if that's too hard for you, why not talk to your parents and let them protect you from every bad influence that could impact you negatively? Since you think fiction always affects reality
Aww~! Somebody's triggered. Are you mad because you can't handle the truth? You must have noticed that I don't actually go around harassing proshippers for their views. The fact that you're ranting about how I harass others when there's no proof makes zero sense. 😂
If you hate the way that I view proshippers, why can't you just block me like the 'reasonable' person you want to be so badly? Do you think sending a hate ask while remaining anonymous is gonna make me change my mind and praise the ground proshippers stand on?
It takes you more time to interact with me than to hit that block button. Bitch and moan all you want, Anon, but I ain't changing my mind about hypocritical piss babies like you. 🙂
@boykisserkisser @antiproshipconfessions @angelxwaifu200k, look! I got another hate ask, except this time, this one is getting all pissy pissy over a post that they didn't have to view. :D
One more thing, if you're gonna send a complaint to my blog, at least don't hide behind anonymity like a pussy. Say it to my face like you genuinely mean it, you hypocrite.
You can cry yourself to sleep for all I care. I don't have to deal with crybabies like you who jack off to fictional children in your mother's basement because nobody wants to fuck your crusty, musty, dusty, moldy ass. You have the same IQ as a water droplet in the ocean.
Anyways, I'm done here. This might be the last time I answer a dogshit ask like this.
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Drifting - Part 7
"That went well." Qik said as she slipped a foot into the nerve suit's trouser leg while Casper was currently running his fingernails across the top of his scalp, itching it vigorously. The man glared at the messy cap of hair that had plagued him for the last hour.
He'd had to wear it for the entire interview with a GC representative. All a giant farse to hide the fact that as a 'critically endangered species' mere months of living in geckin space, Caper was now piloting thirty-foot mechs that had the potential of killing him if he took a bad hit.
"I want to burn this." He said bluntly, glaring at the ridiculous yellow, blonde wing that was more in place on a fictional character than real life.
"Do it, throw it into the furnace." Qik shrugged, as she shimmied into the Nerve-Suit, its shiny material hugging her curves in ways that made the human stare quite openly. Qik was slim, sleek, and athletic. Her abdominal muscles showed through her fur quite easily and the 'skintight' Nerve-Suit only emphasised that further. His eyes greedily drank in the way the light played over the smooth contours. He blinked, snapping back to reality. Why was it hard to concentrate?
"Uhh, I... Can't. That was it. It belongs to a geckin, not part of the military. But... why did they have a wig?" Casper asked, holding it in his hands and squinting at the item, trying to distract himself from the toned leg that was parked on the bench next to him as Qik adjusted and made sure the suit was in place.
"Apparently they had a fantasy of a human. Or a facsimile." Qik explained as Casper put it aside and began to disrobe.
"What do you mean?" He asked as he turned away from her to remove his underwear, still suffering from the human-made taboo of being undressed in front of the opposite gender. He'd discovered that, that was not a common fear amongst the stars. Humans were the odd one out for how much they cared about separating the genders. Even on his public ID, it didn't have his gender listed.
"Humans aren't new in some parts of the galaxy apparently." Qik began, fists now on her hips whilst she openly stared at Casper as he donned the stretchy Nerve-Suit. "You might have only been officially part of the GC for like, six months? But it seems that Ssypno media has human-things running around long before then. Rumours and shit. This geckin was a human lover." The lopel mercenary finished with a grin.
Casper frowned and ensured his suit was donned correctly, trying to line up the needle holes with the red welts that covered his ashen skin.
"Human lover, before humans were found. Sounds like a-abduct-..."
Casper blinked as the changing room was suddenly filled with a deafening roar, he tried to say something, but nothing came out as he became lightheaded and lost his balance. Toppling forwards, strong arms and hands grabbed him, arresting his fall. It took a moment for his legs to work and lift himself back up, knees shaking. He looked down at the brown fur and black latex covered arms holding him.
Qik.
Noise from behind his ear. She was saying something. He took a guess, not wanting her to know how far gone he was.
"Dizzy... Just a bit dizzy." As he was sat down on the bench with her help. "Got up too quick."
"You been eating?" Qik asked, her face close to his. She had knelt down and held his head between both of her hands, peering into his eyes, using her thumb to pull his eyelid down slightly and observed him. They were warm. Her hands were so warm and blocked out the world and the roaring noise. He gently reached up and touched her hands, not quite holding her there, but ensuring she didn't pull away too quickly.
"Yeah..." He lied, the young man hadn't been hungry recently. He'd nibbled the nutritional mush but had poured most of it down the toilet before going to bed. He felt fine, he'd felt this way before, and knew the moment he was back in the rig, he'd be better than fine once more.
The brown furred rabbit-like alien merely frowned, then clicked her tongue. She let go, much to his disappointment.
"Come on then. We're testing live weapons today. No more simulations. You're going to need a pick-me-up." She decided on his behalf, her voice moving away.
Blinking, Casper willed himself to concentrate, to get back in the room and turned his head to find the alien rifling through her jacket's inner pockets. She pulled a tiny hard packet and held it between two fingers, holding it to the light. Standing back up, her legs going on for days, she cat-walked back over to where he was sat and folded herself back down.
She took the packet, snapped it in half and held it to Casper's nose with one hand, while the other grasped the back of his head, preventing him from retreating.
"Sniff. Once and hard." She ordered, eyes fixing him in place.
He trusted her, Casper complied.
Immediately he felt better. The second he finished inhaling, his lungs breathed out through his mouth and his vision became notably clearer. His eyes felt as if he had put drops into them. The tightness in the back of his skull was gone. He wasn't high or wired. There wasn't a tremble to his hands like when he had, had too much coffee, but in a matter of seconds; he was awake and alert once more. Qik nodded at his eyes focusing on her a moment later. Even his legs felt strong and ready, the tremble, gone as if it were never there.
"It's not a fix, but it keeps you on point during extended missions. It'll get you through today. You'll need to eat tonight though. Come on. Let's get going." She explained, patting his knee and standing up right, leaving his head at hip height.
== 0 ==
Casper received a message from Qik. These were public knowledge, and Qik never spoke of private matters over these messages as anyone could have been reading them. At least while they were operating under geckin jurisdiction.
{Okay New Guy, first up. Heavy weapon frames.}
Qik's rig was running ahead, the spiked ends of her rig's legs tip toeing across the landscape like she was merely a thirty-foot mech running through a feel of daisies. As the pair of them left the safety of the hangers and went to the wider, more deserted firing ranges for the rigs, Casper was reminded that they were travelling a not insignificant distance at high speed.
Casper's rig was running alongside her, but it was more of a skip, where his massive metal feet kicked at the earth and his booster suite, fit to his back, propelled him forwards in great leaps and bounds. It didn't matter which way he wanted to move, the directional jets would automatically move with his desires, and fire as one, launching the human rig in a complete 3D space. Even up into the sky, although jumping was ill-advised at most times.
While Qik's rig was armoured and designed to be fast and deadly, offering her an all-round offence and defence, Casper's rig was an 'ultralight', designed to not *be* hit, by being faster than the opponent. It suited his style, fast and accurate, avoiding confrontation if he could. The near zero drift of his connection to his rig meant that plenty of effort was put into freedom of movement of the machine. If his body could do it in 'real life', he could do it inside his rig. Even jumping, the engineering crew of the geckins had put a lot of thought into shock absorbers, just to prevent the utter destruction of the suit from one bad landing.
It had gone so far that Qik had been tasked with teaching the young man how to roll and fall safely on crash mats in the real world. He hated those lessons; his biological side was even weaker now... not like his mechanical body. It had yet to fail him even once.
The new received message caught his full attention.
{Heavy weapon frames are equipment packages that are launched into the combat area during the softening barrages. To the enemy, it could be an unexploded ordinance. To you? It's a power up.} Casper felt *something* ahead, it made him giddy. It was something pleasant. Something good. Like a 'blip' in his mind, he made a straight line for it.
The pair of the giant rigs came up to the lip of a crater. At the centre, in the lowest part of the divot, was a metal lid. Without prompting the lid pinged off and a weapon package appeared from the ground.
{Approach it.}
Casper complied, sliding down the loose dirt with more ease than should have been possible. The loose dirt of the craters had toppled more than one mech in the past. As he approached however, the package unfolded, and an autocannon revealed itself to him. Without training, the software of the rig stepped in and he instantly knew how to equip the item. It was always odd when the software packages that were part of his rig inserted their knowledge in places that he had previously no experience.
He had not known to aim for joints to disable a mech's weapons or movement. He did not know that pilots were almost always situated between the shoulders at the back of the mech. He didn't know, to duck his head and shoulder the weapon platform, nor how to all clicked and clunked into place. But now, thanks to the software, he knew it by instinct. The moment he needed the information; it was there, in his mind as if he had merely forgotten it.
Casper stood up straight, shouldering the platform and felt the weight. He could feel that his movement was lessened dramatically, bending his knees under the weight.
[Its heavy.] He sent.
{You're not going to be able to boost or move at your normal speed with that thing. This is a shoot, empty the weapon, then bug out package.}
[Speed is life?] He sent with mild hope she would get the reference.
{Yes, that's a very good motto to keep in your head. Now, that mountain over there insulted us, fire at will.} She demanded, and a pockmarked slab of rock was pinged as a target. His optics tracked it perfectly, so did the cannon. The cannon was easy to use. It was as if Casper had gained a third eye, one that followed exactly where the barrel was pointing. It was no harder to aim the weapon than it was to cross or uncross one's eyes. It took concentration, an effort, but no more than that. A mild effort to aim an oversized tank cannon.
If Casper could smile, he would have, he settled for clicking his optics. The satisfying clunk and explosion of the weapon rattled the entire frame of Casper's rig with each round. His shots, despite aiming somewhat carefully, went far wider than he expected. It certainly wasn't as accurate as he wanted, so he knelt low and aimed his shots instead of firing wildly, tensing his arm.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
The shells of the expended ordinance flew out the side of the cannon, away from his rig until they dented the earth. He was watching the rounds carefully as they arced, however. He was pleased when each hit the centre of the previous round's explosion, visibly boring into the side of the mountain until entire sections began to crumble and begin a rockslide now that gravity wanted its due.
Each time Casper willed the weapon to fire, not pulling any mechanical trigger, he felt a counter in his mind. Like each fired round made him lighter, and emptier until finally nothing more happened. He knew that he had nothing left in this weapon.
{You're out, that equipment is now nothing more than extra weight. Eject it.}
Casper shrugged and pins fired as one. The new frame that had locked around Casper's rig fell to pieces, freeing him. Immediately he felt his spine lengthen and had to resist the urge to bounce on the spot with the returned freedom. His rig twisted and flexed, while Qik's rig merely watched on, still as a statue. His rig's arms extended, then returned, shadow boxing in the open air.
{You really feel more alive out here, don't you?}
[You have no idea...]
{Tell me about it, we got more stuff to try, Southeast.}
A new 'blip' appeared in the distance. It was a curious sensation, like there was a physical presence touching his forehead when he looked in that direction. The software, melding perfectly with his nerves. The pair of them began their run once more, bounding over hills and along valleys. Casper breathed deep, the vents across his chest opening fully, reducing his armour, but allowing his reactor to run hotter. Everything was in sync.
He was the mech. The mech was the real him.
[It's a freedom unlike any other.]
{I've enjoyed lots of different freedom New Guy. It can't be that good. }
[I don't think I could explain it to you unless you lived like a human did only a little bit ago. We were told we had freedom, we didn't.]
{I hope your old leaders survived, only a matter of time until a juicy contract pops up for them}
[I don't want revenge. I just don't want to go back.]
Casper hadn't even laid eyes on the metal capsule before the lid audibly pinged off this time. His mech grabbed the lip of the crater as his legs and boosters threw him up and over the lip. It was the same movement as jumping over a fence, only his entire body knew where it was and where the ground was. He'd never catch his foot on the ground, he'd never worry about being tired. He was truly in control now.
Similar to the Autocannon there was equipment hanging in the air, ready for Casper's rig to get into position. He did so without hesitation, he trusted himself.
{Fastest method of taking out a threat is to ensure its destroyed. Let me get clear before you turn all that on.} Came a message from Qik before he felt her rig retreat rapidly over several hills.
Casper's rig stepped into the frame and a hilt was presented to his hand, which grasped and locked it into place. On his opposite arm, a round disc was bolted into place, the lug nuts twisted and locked in within seconds. Casper turned and swept the hilt in an arc in front of him, just as the fusion engine buried within burped to life.
[You got me a sword!?] He demanded, moving through several motions, finding them natural and fluid despite never having held a sword, real or fake, before.
{It's technically a blowtorch, but if you want to designate it a sword, go for it New Guy.}
Again, Casper's rig's optics clicked in glee as he swung the sword in greater arcs with faster and faster strokes until he was spinning and hopping from one leg to the other. He was graceful and deadly in equal measures. The young man felt as if he could take on any master swordsman if they had the ill fortune to cross him.
{Enjoying yourself? Good to see you so loose and limber. It'll be useful for this next bit.} Came Qik's next message, but she was beyond his range of perception, even if he tried to extend his sight, his feelings; wherever she was, if she was still in the dunes, she was low and still. Hidden from him.
He was turning his head from left to right, searching the horizon for a clue to where she might be, when the first shot pinged off his left shoulder. Sparks flew and something squealed off into the distance. Casper rolled forward with the force of the below, bending over and getting cover within the crater.
More rounds from the west began to fly overhead, chewing up the crater's edge. He could see and hear the bright flashes of the live rounds whizzing mere inches, or what felt like inches, from his head.
{New Objective: get back to the hangers without being disabled. Good luck New Guy.} Was the final message Casper received from Qik. Emotions never came across in the text format, but this felt cold, or maybe she was amused? Either way, Casper knew the lopel pilot was serious. Casper shuffled on his hands and knees, the ignited blade dying at his whim. He made his way around the crater away from the barrage of bullets that threatened to take the head off anything that appeared.
In the brief moment that Casper's reconnaissance unit popped up, time seemed to slow. His optics clicked and he immediately saw the tower that had sprung up from the ground, from between two of the formerly unimportant hills. Atop it was a turret that was firing a stream of bullets his way. In this slowed state, he could see the barrels twist and adjust to his new position, so he ducked again and shuffled to the bottom of the crater.
Moments later, the space his head had occupied exploded in a shower of dirt and sod. But Casper didn't care.
He might have cared if he was weak.
If he feared for his flesh.
But he didn't.
He was inside a machine that made him fast, strong and dangerous. He might have worn a frown, or even a grimace, but the rig couldn't recreate those movements. As he prepared to leave the crater, his optics clicked instead.
From the crater, Casper's rig exploded out of it with a burst of speed that belied the size of the machine. His legs unfolded and braced him for impact as the rig landed, scraping down the side of one of the hills, sending dirt and grass flying. There was no delay, the main thruster that sat in the very centre of Casper's back roared to life and catapulted him forwards!
If he were a mere human, he may have feared the speed at which he rocketed forwards towards the turret, he may have even feared the barrels as they tracked him, spinning up, ready to vomit another stream at him.
But not whilst he was within his mech, not while he was who he was meant to be.
He.
Was.
Invincible.
The tower grew and grew as his rig approached at Mach speed, all he had to do to reach it was kick the ground only a few moments before he hit the base directly. His trajectory changed in an instant and the rig soared into the sky majestically. The barrels flashed and burped another stream, but the sword was only part of the weapons package he had picked up, the shield bolted to his other arm was raised high, tilted to deflect, rather than absorb the rounds that screeched and wailed as they ricocheted off the solid shield.
The sword came to life once more, flame and fire that burned in the thousands of degrees flowed from the hilt, directly into the metal of the turret, cutting through the armour with ease and destroying both the precious wiring and the volatile ammunition within. Like a knife through butter. As gravity reasserted itself, Casper bent his knees and the booster pack closed all the vents on his back, opened the vents to his front and fired, softening his landing in a cloud of dirt just as the tower and the turret exploded in a shower of sparks and fire.
[Hah! Take that!] He sent on a broad wave, standing in his moment of true victory, one fist raised, holding the sword aloft.
The RL238 AAFPPT (Anti-Armour, Falling Petal, Pass Through) round pummelling straight through the left hand vents on the front of Casper's rig without losing even a fraction of its energy. The spinning munition tore through internal components without a single care, easily completing its mission of punching right back out the otherside of the machine. The round continued its journey for just short of a mile before being oblitorated as buried itself into the dirt.
The barrel of the 120mm rifle that had fired the round was still glowing at this moment. Vapour steamed gently away, unfussed by any breeze despite the violence of noise and light that flashed by only moments ago.
Qik winced in her rig as she observed the perfect hole straight through the chest of Casper’s rig. It was a hard lesson, but one every pilot needed to have.To be disabled.
What did it mean to a pilot with no drift though?
[r/WolvensStories]
[Ko-Fi]
#conservationverse#cuddleverse#human#hfy#haso#humans are space orcs#furry#human x furry#lopeljack#rabbit
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Writer Interview
Tagged by the fantastic @beesht, @commander-krios, and @coreene!
(just realized I forgot to tag people ummmm @lolliputian, @aviatorasharak @bloobluebloo)
When did you start writing?
So long ago that I no longer recall when it was. I also like arranging and playing with words. It's a crutch for me; my brain often feels aimless and chaotic. Writing lets me lock down my thoughts so I can quit chasing them.Expressing myself face-to-face has always been a struggle; I hide behind screens, sunglasses and masks. I'm happiest when people don't know what I look or sound like, and writing is the easiest way to talk with people without my physical-ness getting in the way.
Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?
Love horror, adore it. I'm not super great at writing it (yet!).
I also love heists. I keep trying to write a heist. It is not going well.
Finally, I love mythologies and folklore. I'm currently really into American Indigenous (specifically Inuit and I just got a book on Latin American mythologies) and Middle Eastern (specifically Iranian). Or, at least what I can find in English, from a reputable source. I would love to write about characters from these (Esfandiyār! Sedna!) but I'm a white American who is neither a part of those cultures nor educated enough to treat the subject with the respect it deserves.
But I will talk about them and encourage other people to learn because they're very cool.
Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?
Haha, I specifically don't read while I'm writing so I don't emulate anyone, but creativity doesn't happen in a vacuum so..
My writing style and content were influenced by the authors I grew up on: KA Applegate, Terry Pratchett, Diana Wynne Jones, Terry Brooks, Sergio Lukyanenko, Neil Gaiman, Francesca Lia Blake, Anne Bishop, Terry Goodkind, Arthur C Clarke, Laurel K Hamilton. Some of those authors I was far too young to read, a lot I don't read or like anymore, but they definitely shaped my fascination with urban fantasy, people living normal lives in weird worlds, people finding the weird in normal worlds, horror and humor and how they fit together, how both are most effective when they're just reality taken slightly off-kilter, and how small any single person's perspective is.
I've also been on Tumblr for about a billion years and have the Tumblr/millennial accent and I'm too tired to change it.
Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?
On my phone, swipe keyboard, usually while commuting or waiting in line or standing over the stove or late at night when I can't sleep. Writing isn't a priority in my life right now, so I squeeze it into all the empty spaces.
What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?
I wrote about this here under "recharging when I'm not feeling creative" and here under "where do you get inspiration", but short answer is taking a complete break from creating anything, slogging through whatever is blocking me or interacting with my community.
Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?
Shifting identities and what defines a person. I was raised on the idea that the "soul" is a person's core unifying self. I'm fascinated by this concept because if you take away "soul" as an easy answer, then what is a person? What makes me the same person as who I was twenty years ago? As me, age 2 months? If I lost all my memories, am I still me? What if I only lose one thing, like my driving force, or a fundamental belief, or if I recover from trauma or receive treatment for a chronic condition? What if I was uploaded into a machine?
Anyway, I'm rambling, but I think I probably assign my identity to experience: memory, skills, hobbies, achievements and failures, and those are the concepts I've been exploring a lot.
What is your reason for writing?
I get itchy otherwise.
Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?
I like knowing the exact parts people like, so whenever anyone quotes part of a fic, I get excited. I also love hearing people's theories or if they noticed any Easter eggs or references. My writing is so self indulgent sometimes and meeting people who also like it feels like meeting people who would like me? (That sounds really pathetic haha but I'm leaving it because it's honest).
How do you want to be thought about by your readers?
Funny! And hopefully a bit creative.
What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?
Finishing a piece before I publish it, I guess. Writers have a right to bail on a piece for whatever reason, even for no reason. Writers have a right to publish incomplete work. But, personally, I'm a little proud that I put out completed pieces.
I also try to write in a way that's uncomplicated. I avoid using oversized words, complex sentences, too many pronouns or vague references. Keep things simple, you know? I want to write things that people can read when they're distracted, or only have time for a few paragraphs, or if they aren't great readers.
Usually when I'm reading my head is already fried and I don't have the time or spoons to get assaulted by a thesaurus.
When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?
I'm only influenced if I'm doing a piece for someone, or if I know a specific person will read it and I want to make them smile. Beyond that, it's all for me :)
How do you feel about your own writing?
It's a little trite, but that's okay. I love happy endings, so I aim for that. I also love the bizarre, absurd and ridiculous.
I do overuse this sentence format, where it's two clauses together. I'd like to fix that. And like all my paragraphs are three sentences, gross.
Anyway, I like it overall.
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La Maison du Chocolat
No matter how different books are, they always cause the very same feeling. Their smell, the sound of rustling pages, the weight in your hands – it is familiar and welcoming, inviting you to escape this noisy, confusing world outside. You can allow someone else to take you on an adventure with them, be it something exciting or dangerous or romantic. All you have to do is stick to the protagonist and watch how things unfold, with no need to make any moves or decisions yourself.
And most importantly: those protagonists don’t scold you for placing the book down mid-sentence, during a huge fight, not finishing an important business. They won’t be mad at you if you pick up another book instead, forgetting about the first one for weeks until you find it again in the pile of promising stories on your nightstand.
Book stores are a wonderful place as well, because it is completely valid here to skip pages and read a couple of sentences until you move on to another book that looks as if it contains a good story, or to simply watch the covers and admire the art on them. It is usually quite silent since people are minding their own business and if they talk, it’s mostly a low murmur, with no loud shouts or music distracting you.
This time, only the sound of your phone brings you back to reality, causing you to close the book you’re currently holding and drop it onto the table next to you.
The image on the screen shows a certain blonde, and just like always, you try not to get lost in the dark eyes of his. You would have stared at them for hours, completely ignoring the jingle, if it wasn’t for an elderly lady throwing dark glances at you because your phone keeps interrupting the silence.
“Oh, hi?” you eventually whisper, taking the call.
Chishiya sighs on the other side of the line. “Care to tell me what happened to the living room?”
“The living-?” It’s typical for Chishiya to skip any kind of formalities and go straight for the important part, but it also confuses you for a moment because you take a while to understand. And once you do, you swallow down the urge to hit your face against the book shelf closest to you.
“Ohhh…” you answer, trying to explain, “I-… You see, I wanted to clean the living room. See if I could tidy out some things. And when I got to the big cabinet, I found all the old photo albums that we never fully organized.”
You can imagine Chishiya standing there, between dozens of opened albums and at least a hundred photos flying around loosely because they have never been stuck in correctly.
The blonde snorts, not at all convinced by your story. “Well, if you intended to organize them, you failed.”
“I… I wasn’t finished yet! You see, the piles do have a meaning. Childhood photos from you, childhood photos from me, vacations, everything’s sorted. But neither did we have enough albums to put them in correctly, nor was there any tape left.”
“So you went for some tape shopping.”
You look around the store, shrugging sheepishly although Chishiya can’t see it. “Yeah… no. I wanted to go to Marunouchi, but there was this little book store on the way to the Metro station...” The shopping mall isn’t exactly close to your home, and all these books almost shouted at you to stop here, looking much more inviting than something several blocks away. “Did you know they already have the newest release of that one manga you used to read?”
It must sound weird to Chishiya. You messed up the entire flat because you completely got lost in skimming through old memories, and now you’re admiring book covers and beautiful protagonist names, having entirely forgotten about the albums. But the truth is that the photos were interesting as long as you sat there, surrounded by them, and now that they’re out of sight, they have been replaced by fantasy novels and mangas and whatnot.
Through the phone, you can hear the rustling of paper, as if Chishiya is tidying up the piles so he can at least halfway move through the living room. “I’m not reading much lately”, he mutters, “but are you still going to get that tape? Or can I put this mess back into the shelf where it belongs?”
What a shame it’d be if all the work you already put into organizing the photos was for nothing. It took at least two hours to inspect all the photos and find a good way to sort them, and if Chishiya put them back now, you would have to start all over again.
On the other side, the shop is still quite the distance to walk, and it’s getting late… You don’t know if you could still find the motivation to finish this today. “Maybe I can do it tomorrow”, you propose, knowing full well that it might take months to find the needed motivation for this again.
Chishiya knows that, you can hear it in his sigh. “Marunouchi, you say? Might be worth going there now and stopping at La Maison du Chocolat. As far as I know, they’re closed tomorrow.”
You inhale sharply. That’s the chocolatiere selling the best macarons and pralines all throughout Tokyo, and they also have a splendid choice of pastries. A bit more expensive than what you can buy in any normal grocery, but the taste is so worth it! They close early in the evening, but if you hurry, you can still make it in time.
“Bring some crispy pralines”, Chishiya requests. “Oh, and- “ he’s calling your name just as you want to hang up the phone, “- don’t forget your albums and tapes.”
With the image of mouth-watering confectioneries in your mind, you quickly put away the books you had been looking at, still being glared at by the old lady who obviously doesn’t approve of phone calls. As if you had been in a library!
You leave the book store and head to Marunouchi district. Yuurakuchou station is only a few stops from the closest subway entrance, and the train isn’t as crowded as you feared it would be. Sure, there’s no seat left during rush hour, but at least you’re not pressed against some sweaty, smoke-covered stranger this time. Public transport is a blessing until you meet the most disheveled residents of Tokyo, although none of them seem to be in your train now. Instead you notice a woman having a conversation with a friend, and while you don’t get most of what they’re talking about, her voice is so calm and soothing that you could have listened to it for hours. You wonder if she knows about that, if she works as something that requires usage of her voice or if she isn’t aware at all. It’s so mesmerizing that you would have almost missed your stop, and you rush out of the train just before the doors close again.
From Yuurakuchou, it is just a few minutes walk until you reach the chocolatiere. A chocolate-colored front greets you, and the smell inside is so sweet that it feels as if you’ve already eaten a ton of sweets only by breathing in. Wonderful.
An entire wonderland of macarons, éclairs, mousse cakes, pralines, truffles and so much more greets you. Heart-shaped gift boxes filled with the most soul-warming treats, and dark chocolate as well as nut mixes or ones containing alcohol. They even have fruit bars for those who don’t want the rich chocolate taste, but today, you’re here for the full experience.
The nearing closing time is a reminder for you not to get lost in between all the stuff, and you make sure to grab Chishiya’s crispy pralines and the pastries you love so much before anyone can throw you out the store. You can’t leave without buying a handful of other things though, because they look so promising that you have to try them. It will be a blast to eat them together with Chishiya on the sofa tonight.
Hands full of sweets and one bonbon already in your mouth, you make your way back to the subway station when your phone beeps, indicating a message has come from your blonde.
You switch all bags to one hand so the other can take out the phone, and you laugh out loud when you read the words on the screen.
‘Albums and tape. Don’t forget.’
Chishiya knows you so well, it’s almost scary. The pastries have been your motivation to actually go to Marunouchi, and now you would have almost left without the things you intended to buy in the first place.
Still laughing, you turn on your heels and search for the shopping mall that sells the photo tape and the albums. How embarrassing it’d be to get home without them and being mocked by Chishiya. But he’s already fully aware; otherwise he wouldn’t have sent you a reminder with perfect timing.
Oh, how good it is to have a boyfriend like Chishiya Shuntarou.
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I'm currently pet-sitting for my folks. They have Comcast, so I was doing some surfing recently and came across a channel called "Primo"...
Apparently it's some sort of a dumping ground for action cartoons and various live-action kids' stuff from the aughts. Plenty of CODE: LYOKO, BEYBLADE, and such. These weren't shows that I really watched back in the day (think 2005-06), but I was well aware of their existence. Some of them were on Cartoon Network's decades-old Miguzi block, which was like a weekday replacement for Toonami. But largely made up of non-Japanese action cartoons. CODE: LYOKO for example was a French production. They also aired fellow French classic TOTALLY SPIES, along with TEEN TITANS and the 2003 TMNT. I mostly watched Miguzi circa 2004 for SPIES and TITANS. I'm also queer, so, yeah "If you were AMAB and watched TOTALLY SPIES, you are- Yeah, you get the idea.
The "commercials" on Primo are largely for the channel itself, its shows, and other things like that. Like, they're very short commercial breaks. Whatever is a post-aughts show on there feels like a boys' action cartoon from the aughts. Interestingly, that PAC-MAN AND THE GHOSTLY ADVENTURES cartoon that sometimes get brought up on twitter is on there. A cartoon that looks like it could've come out in 2005 to coincide with the PAC-MAN WORLD games...
It's really like being in a weird time loop.
Then I remembered something else... Something specific...
In early 2007, I was often watching a short nightly block of Funimation dubbed anime on a DISH Network channel called CoLours TV. Stuff like DRAGON BALL Z, SLAYERS and NEGIMA were aired on there. NEGIMA was one I really got into at the time, and it was relatively new. I was 14. It was one of the few things at the time that I was enjoying while my mental state was month by month falling apart, and something about that show - among other things - kept me hooked. Might've been the mix of magical stuff and fantasy and it all being tied to a rather mundane boarding school setting. I hadn't seen an episode all the way through since 2008. A real "it got put away in the lower drawers of the file cabinet hallway" case.
And then I remembered the channel/block, for whatever reason, showing commercials for things that were new in *2005*... And it would be these same commercials over and over... A HE-MAN DVD, some PSP games, a series called MR. STAIN ON JUNK ALLEY...
And it turns out, I wasn't misremembering anything, lol. This rather recent YouTube retrospective confirmed it all for me.
youtube
Much like this Primo channel, it's like being in - to repeat myself - a weird-ass time loop. Like I briefly got stuck in a facsimile of the year 2005 or 2007 or something. A sorta GROUNDHOG DAY purgatory of specific nostalgia and overall weirdness... Like another dimension, an irreality that repeats, repeats, repeats. Almost if they ARE being broadcast and projected from another reality.
It's kinda how I feel when I walk into, say, my local Kohl's and they play this really bland and annoying pop music that absolutely does not exist anywhere else. I'm sure of it! It's like some alien's idea of what we listen to based on a random search and subsequent generalization.
(I'm sure it's Muzak-made or commissioned by the store to some publisher idk let me entertain a silly conspiracy theory that doesn't target marginalized people)
#i was a weird teen#neurodivergent#autistic#autistic things#what was this even about again?#i dunno i don't make sense sometimes lol#Youtube
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How I Feel About Romance & My Personal View and Opinions On It (Writing Prompt)🩷
“I think that love and romance is a really great thing and I especially enjoy reading romantic novels and I write some of my own too but I’m not looking to pursue a relationship any time soon for some of the main reasons which I will explain below.”
1.For One reason I am an animal lover and they are cute and cuddly and I would get overwhelmed having to continue to try and please another person and putting my needs aside. Don’t get me wrong I do care about others deeply it’s just that I need to focus on my own well being and do what’s best for me so please understand.
2.There are a lot of creeps online and in real life and I try to be careful with who I’m following online because there are some really perverted people on here especially on tumblr thirsty guys liking my selfies that I take and I have to block these pages immediately for my own safety.
3.I have lived with hypersensitivity disorders my whole life with both textures and sounds and living with a partner would be overwhelming and I’m not looking to have children in the future either, I want to own a dog a Dalmatian one day if I could because kids and relationships would all be stressful and hard on me personally.
4.While kissing is very cute and adorable especially in romantic films the feeling of someone’s lips on mine honestly would gross me out so if I had to be in any type of relationship I would want to just have a close friend by my side and someone who understands like a platonic bond. I appreciate other types of intimate affection such as hugging and hand holding but any type of kissing would make me really uncomfortable to be honest and that includes on the cheeks. I hate the feeling of someone else’s saliva on my face because people close to me have done this. Friendships are what I appreciate the most because you are still able to share a close bond.
5.I have always had bad luck when it comes to love and I get my heart broken every single time and so I don’t have time to pursue any relationship I enjoy my interests instead like planting and doing artwork it bring me peace and my job at the homeless shelter I help feed people and donate to them and I enjoy and I am deeply loved by everyone there and I appreciate it.
6.I don’t enjoy the company of people 24/7 just a few close friends as me being introverted and im an animal lover and enjoy them more than the company of people.
7.Whenever I feel alone I talk to my family and close friends who care for me and I enjoy writing about any unlucky feelings I have when it comes to romance as I am a songwriter. Reading fanfiction especially x reader helps fill that emotional void that I feel in my life and so does writing music because it gives me all the feels of what it would be like in a relationship fantasy world is much more fun than the disappointment of reality and having to feel pressured to follow what society is doing I’m not looking to fit in.
8.My Imagination is better than the harsh reality because sometimes it’s better to live in denial of something that will never happen because at some point we all face the truth of wanting someone or something we can’t have and I have got my heart broken many times so I sometimes need to write what I feel and it is helpful. Loving myself is important who needs a relationship? My therapist told me to focus on myself too we all have to, I don’t need a man to make me happy. To get away from the real world I enjoying writing.
9. I enjoy reading fanfiction online as well and it gives me warm feelings especially x reader stories they’re my favorite it’s always fun to fantasize and feel the moment in your imagination, I sometimes read these to get away from the insecurity I feel about my real life love life as an escape from reality and not being able to find love in real life but I’m not really worried about that because I love myself and that’s what’s most important. I’m just not comfortable pursing any type of real life relationship because I very much enjoy my reading, fanfiction is enough to satisfy my romantic voids. Imaginary lives are much more fun than ones in real life.
10. I have always had mixed feelings and emotions when it’s comes to dating at the same time I have always been left with curiosity about what kissing feels like especially with all of the romance films I watch I think I already know because I see it all the time. Now I have given it more thought I don’t think I would like it because it would gross me out so I much prefer hugging please respect that so please don’t troll or judge me on my blog about this topic or you will be blocked, I’m asking politely, everyone deserves respect.
11. It irritates me whenever people pressure me to get into a relationship and constantly tell me that the right person will be here for me one day. I’m not going to date anytime soon and that is my choice and I’m 100% okay with it and how I live my life. I prefer being single and it’s more fun for me because I know how to make myself happy and I am not worried about the opinions of others.
“Thanks for reading and know that it’s okay to be different”
-Alexandra🤍
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Beyond Buttons and Beeps: How Consumer Durable Brands are Revolutionizing Content Marketing
If you’ve watched movies like The Terminator or Transformers, you’ve likely spent time imagining a future world where machines dominate, assisting and occasionally terrorizing humanity. With rapid technological advancements, machines may not yet wield full control over our lives, but the line between fantasy and reality is growing thin. The latest gadgets and appliances aren’t just products but smart entities with personalities, convenience, and enhanced connectivity. And with the clever storytelling of brand marketers, our household machines are evolving into characters with real voices, enticing us with stories that go beyond specs.
Imagine this: you’re walking down an electronics store aisle. What if the gadgets and appliances around you could speak? What might they say? Here’s a closer look:
AC: “Pick Me for Frosty Paradise!”
The air conditioner pipes up with confidence: “I’m not just an AC; I’m your entry to a chilly haven. My turbo-cooling and whisper-quiet operation will have you relaxing in no time. I’m also super energy-efficient, so I won’t drain your wallet. And check out my design—I blend seamlessly into any room, while my filtration system blocks dust, pollen, and bacteria. I’m a must-have, so don’t walk past me!”
TV: “Ready for an Epic Entertainment Adventure?”
The TV greets you warmly: “Step closer, viewer. With my voice-recognition remote, you’re just a click away from exploring a universe of pixel-powered entertainment. Dive into drama, journey through fantasy, or get lost in A9 Gen AI processor-powered gaming. My low blue light feature keeps your eyes safe while we binge-watch together. Ready to settle in?”
Fridge: “The Ultimate Food Fortress at Your Service!”
The fridge makes its pitch: “Look no further for the coolest fridge on the block. I have adjustable shelves, deep drawers, and tech-smart sensors to keep your food fresh and your beverages cold. Why settle for a basic fridge when you could have a fully equipped food fortress? Let’s keep your food fresher for longer, shall we?”
Phone: “Your Digital BFF Is Here!”
Your smartphone’s voice is casual yet eager: “Ready to upgrade? I’ve got you covered. From tracking screen time to offering split-screen mode for ultimate multitasking, I’m here to support you. Plus, with my facial recognition security, only you get access. Let’s take those selfies, crush those notifications, and make every moment worth sharing.”
While appliances can’t actually speak (yet!), brand marketers bring them to life through vivid storytelling. Machines are no longer merely functional; they’re allies in our daily lives. Consumers today are looking for more than just product specifications—they’re seeking engaging, relatable stories that connect them to the products they buy.
How Brand Marketing is Breathing Life into Machines
Here are some storytelling techniques that have proven effective for consumer durable brands around the world.
1. Stories Over Specs
In the world of home appliances and electronics, brands like LG have found success by focusing on emotions rather than technical specs. A recent campaign from LG, for instance, built its brand around the feeling of ‘optimism.’ Rather than merely listing features, LG’s marketing emphasized the happiness and comfort that their products bring. This focus on “sunny optimism” transformed a potentially cold product category into something warm and inviting, proving that stories can resonate more deeply than specifications.
2. Flip the Digital Rules
Innovative campaigns are essential in a world where digital fatigue is real. Samsung’s “Flipvertising” campaign for the Galaxy Z Flip 4 in Australia stands out as an example. By creating a digital scavenger hunt, Samsung didn’t just advertise a phone; it created an experience. The campaign generated excitement, boosted engagement, and, most impressively, led to a 34% increase in sales. It’s a reminder that taking risks and creating unique, interactive campaigns can yield fantastic results, particularly for tech brands.
3. Inclusivity is Key
In India, brands like Voltas Beko are connecting with consumers by championing inclusive messaging. Their #StrongerDads campaign celebrated modern fathers who actively participate in household chores. This resonated with audiences who saw themselves and their evolving family dynamics reflected in the ad. On a global scale, Whirlpool took inclusivity further with its ‘Care Counts’ initiative, where it provided washers and dryers to schools to help children without laundry facilities. By prioritizing social impact, Whirlpool connected its brand to a deeper purpose, showing how inclusivity can make a meaningful impact.
4. Think Outside the Social Box
In an age dominated by social media, sometimes thinking outside the digital space can set a brand apart. HP, for example, launched the #HPCoachella campaign in tandem with the Coachella music festival. HP created immersive installations, allowing festival-goers to interact with their products and brand in creative ways. This offline presence tied to a global event allowed HP to reach an audience that might otherwise overlook a printer or laptop ad. By associating their brand with a major cultural event, HP created memorable experiences that enhanced brand recall.
Smart Machines Meet Smart Marketing
As machines evolve to become more intelligent, consumers are also becoming savvier. They value creativity, authenticity, and content that speaks to their personal experiences. Consumer durable brands are under pressure to level up their content strategies, not just to keep up with technological advancements but to meet the rising expectations of a digital-native audience. Here’s how consumer brands are staying ahead:
Embrace Interactivity: With consumers craving experiences over ads, interactive campaigns are more effective. Think augmented reality (AR) shopping experiences, gamified product launches, and in-store demonstrations that let customers experience a product’s personality firsthand.
Prioritize Authenticity: Today’s consumers quickly spot insincere marketing. Brands that focus on real-life benefits and customer-centric stories tend to build trust and foster loyalty. Whirlpool’s ‘Care Counts’ program and Voltas Beko’s #StrongerDads campaign are shining examples of campaigns that resonate because they’re rooted in real social issues.
Showcase Innovation with Purpose: While machines are now smarter, consumers care about how this intelligence impacts their daily lives. A TV that adapts brightness to save energy or a fridge that minimizes food waste with smart sensors isn’t just a gadget; it’s a lifestyle upgrade with real benefits.
Tap into Pop Culture: Leveraging pop culture events—such as HP’s partnership with Coachella—allows brands to reach audiences through memorable experiences tied to cultural moments. These collaborations break the traditional mold of marketing and create an emotional connection with younger audiences.
In Conclusion
From AI-powered phones that manage your day to refrigerators that keep your groceries fresh, machines are becoming more intelligent and user-friendly. As technology advances, our fascination with them only grows. Brands are harnessing the power of storytelling to add a human touch, turning products into familiar companions rather than mere machines. This new wave of consumer durable marketing isn't just about features; it's about crafting memorable stories that resonate with customers on a personal level. In a world where machines are becoming more than just tools, brands that focus on storytelling, inclusivity, and creativity will undoubtedly rise to the top.
For more details, visit: https://www.redbangle.com
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Chapter six about that silly dog
Oats swiveled his head to see a beautiful husky. Her fur was spritzed with a layer of dirt and her face held an obstinate shit-eating grin. She stood confidently blocking the duo’s way out of the alley. To her side a small pomeranian yapped with excitement. They both looked to be the same age as Oats and Cran and carried themselves like delinquents.
“Oh come on. Do you really think we haven't noticed how much money you have whiskers”
The husky jeered at Cran, who scowled in response.
“You think I can’t smell the dye they use in those-.”
Cran interrupted her with a violent hiss. The pomeranian stopped its constant growls and yips.
“I’ll claw your eyes out and sew them back on your butt where they belong.”
Cran’s fur started to rise, making the kitten twice her original size. Oats was completely flabbergasted by his friend's display of barbarity. His eyes darted from cran to their assailants like a nervous pendulum. Cran was inching forward claws out.
Without thinking Oats hoisted Cran by the skin of her neck and bolted away from the strangers. His paws slammed against the crumbled concrete of the alleyway running like he had never before. Cran seemed at a loss for action or words and simply hung limp in Oat’s jaw. The husky and her friend did not seem alright with Oat’s escape. He could hear their animalistic yipping as if they were some type of wild animal.
“Hey, I had em doofus!”
Cran shouted as Oats leaped over a pile of detritus.
“MHMN!”
Oats tried to answer without realizing that his mouth was occupied. He hadn't run anywhere near this fast in a while. He hoped he could keep up the chase until they could find some help. Wait, was he lost? Oats looked around searching for a recognizable landmark in the barren street but his memory came up empty.
“Turn left TURN LEFT!”
Cran screamed as Oats almost missed his turn. He swerved into a more populated road greeting everyone there with his conflict.
“Keep running ivory picker!”
The Husky shouted. The expletive “ivory picker” was nowhere in Oat’s vocabulary but he guessed it wasn't a nice thing to say. As oats galloped feverishly into newer and more familiar parts of the city he could hear his assailants were falling behind. They were escaping not because they asked for help but because Oats had put in the effort and ran. He felt very happy about this fact. With one last turn, Oats lost the husky and her minion. He dropped Cran and panted heavily.
“What was that?! I had those geeks!”
Cran angrily spat at Oats.
“Cran, you’re the size of a can of beans. Also, what would have happened if you did beat them? Hmmm. Oh, I'm sorry officer, they wanted my money so I clawed their eyes out and attached them to their butts.”
Oats was too tired to be worried about Crann’s disapproval. He hated to be mean but It was clear she needed a reality check.
“Fuck the cops. What are the Pinkertons gonna do, huh? I’d leap on the first one's face and take all his teeth. Then I’d throw them like ninja stars at the other one and they’d explode!”
Cran jumped around playing out her power fantasy for Oats who was starting to realize just how much energy his new friend had. He would have criticized her use of expletives but was way too pooped to care. With nothing else to do, he started laughing. It had been such a strange day. Before this, when he lived in the small farming village with his father, he would have never had a day this eventful. Oats was consumed with joy. He felt open and in the moment. He felt like nothing stressful had happened. Any responsibility he had was cut from his memory. His momentary joy was even enough for him to almost forget about his kitchen window. As the thought crossed his mind Oats snapped back into focus. The amount of fun he had today didn't change the fact that he was in for a world of trouble when he got home. His expression soured. Cran, who had stopped her violent bouncing around noticed Oat's demeanor.
“Hey, everything's gonna be cool ok.”
Cran said comfortably. Oats appreciated Cran’s care but it didn't do anything to change his mood. He stood up straight to his full height startling Cran. Typically Oats was in a constant state of awkward anxiety which caused him to shrink into himself. In reality, he was very tall for his age. With a deep breath, Oats made a silent promise to himself.
“Everything will be fine when I get home.”
The affirmation was not true at all but Oats was a good liar.
“Cran.”
Oats turned to Cran in a professional sort of way.
“Thank you so much for showing me around Houndsburg.”
“You're welcome, dude.”
Cran met Oat’s stark professionalism with a casual attitude that deflated his ego. Even so, he was thankful for meeting Cran. He hoped that they could hang out tomorrow if he wasn't grounded.
“Well, I should be going. My dad will most likely think someone robbed the house. I should probably explain what happened to the window.”
“Good luck with that man. Hey, do you wanna hang out tomorrow? I can show you my trebuchet!”
“That sounds fun. I'll ask my dad if I can come but I'm not sure he'll let me after today.”
Cran looked ashamed.
“I can help you break it to him if you want. I mean I broke the window.”
“I doubt that would work but if your there he’ll be less mad. Are you sure you don't mind?”
“Pphht what are friends for doofus”
The duo decided who would say what to make Barley less mad and shifted through the streets of Houndsburg to the Cane household.
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A Summoner Birthday
Special Quest: Licho
I don't know about this. Are you sure this is a good idea?
I know this is a bit new for you, but it looked like you needed the help.
Licho: I guess so. I'm not going to get anywhere if I just sit around and get frustrated.
You brought Licho to the virtual fairytale world to help him find inspiration for a new poem he's working on.
Lupin: So, where do you think we should go?
Licho: I guess we could stay here. This town is amazing enough.
Lupin: Okay.
So, you and Licho decide to stay in Candyland.
You and Licho just lean against a nearby shop when you notice a familiar face.
♪Do you know the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man?♪ ... (speaking) Man, what am I doing?
Lupin: Hey, Nomad!
Nomad: (surprised) Lupin? And Licho? What are you two doing here?
Licho: Lupin's helping me find some inspiration for my next poem.
Nomad: I see. How's that coming along?
Licho: Nothing yet. And what about yourself?
Nomad: Andvari has me going around selling muffins around town.
Lupin: How do you get money off of that?
Nomad: He's using cryptocurrency. Whatever that means.
Licho: Making money online. The world sure has changed.
Nomad: So, would you like a muffin? I'm sure Andvari will let it be on the house if it's you two.
Lupin: Thanks.
You choose a chocolate-chip muffin while Licho just gets a plain one. With that, Nomad leaves. You are about to eat your muffin when you notice Licho just staring at his.
Lupin: Is something wrong with your muffin, Licho?
Licho: How does Mother Goose do it? She can make a poem about muffins, but I can't make a poem out of anything right now.
Lupin: I'm sure even Mother Goose had writer's block from time to time. I'm sure something will come soon.
Licho: I guess.
Licho takes a small bite of his muffin. He looks around at the scenery around him.
Licho: This place... It's really not like anything I've ever seen. Even when I take a closer look, I still can't believe it's all just an illusion created by a computer. Where did Kurogane even get get the inspiration?
Lupin: I guess from things Boogeyman told him about his homeworld. It's meant to be a world where fantasy meets reality.
Licho: Yeah. Though, it does get you to wonder. Like... Is there world, the Tokyo we live in real itself? Or, is it also just an illusion created by another?
Lupin: ... That's deep.
Licho: Yeah. I just wonder what's reality and which is dream. Back in my homeworld, I thought that things like love and friendship was just stuff made up for stories. But then my friend came along and I learned that that may not be the case. We created a bond that just seemed so true. Until that event happened and I found myself in that Tokyo. I was convinced that it was all an illusion again... But then, I met you. You, Sanat Kumara, Hanuman, Tetsuox, everyone. Even Wakan Tanka. All the times I spent with you... It was all real to me.
Lupin: And all times we spent with you were all real to us. Because love and friendship are real.
Licho: I'm happy for that. I guess that shows how much I love you all.
Licho then found himself in deep thought... Finally, inspiration struck.
Licho: (excited) I've got it!
He takes out his scroll and and brush and begins to write down the words as if they were flowing right out of the bottom of his heart. Finally, he was done.
Licho: Alright, listen to this.
The Weaver’s Song
In the loom of existence, threads intertwine, A cosmic tapestry woven by hands unseen. Creation dances with illusion, a delicate design, And love and friendship emerge from the weave.
In the celestial atelier, constellations spin, Galaxies twirl like spindles in cosmic kin. The Weaver, ancient and nameless, begins: “Threads of life, let your dance begin.”
Veil of mist, shimmering and thin, Illusion’s dance conceals what lies within. Worlds birthed from whispers, shadows akin, Yet truth peeks through, like dawn’s first grin.
Threads of crimson, threads of gold, Love’s warp and weft, stories yet untold. In laughter shared and secrets told, Hearts entwined, a tapestry to behold.
Silken strands of camaraderie bind, Friendship’s knots, unyielding and kind. Through storms and sunsets, side by side, Together we weave, our souls allied.
You feel lost within Licho's words as they enter our soul, filling it with light and hope.
Lupin: That was beautiful, Licho. I'm sure everyone will love it.
Licho: (a bit happy) Yeah, I'm sure they will.
Lupin: I knew bringing you here would give you the inspiration you needed.
Licho: True. But don't let this place take all the credit.
Lupin: Why?
Licho: Because, the majority of my inspiration for that poem... came from you.
Lupin: ... Thank you, Licho.
Licho: And thank you, Lupin.
You both embrace each other, knowing that poem brought something good and true into your lives to link you all together.
After finishing your muffins, you both do a bit of people watching before returning home.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The poem was written using Bing Copilot.
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