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zettaireido-emotion · 2 days ago

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Camus character analysis: games VS anime

If you finished the Uta no Prince-sama anime and your opinion of this man is "wow, he's kinda terrible," I don't blame you. in fact I've seen a lot of people say this

In this post, I want to talk about his characterization in the games and give my two cents on what the anime was trying to do with him, especially in his single focus episode Saintly Territory (S3E6).

Disclaimer: I wrote this on a whim because I'm sick and stuck at home so if anyone reads this, sorry I might go all over the place

Spoilers for all of the games!

The "be my slave" thing

Starting with Anime Camus's most egregious crime: treating Haruka like a servant/slave (however you want to translate it)

Basically in his focus episode, Haruka is tasked with writing a song for Camus. She wants to learn more about him in order to write it, but Camus will only let her follow him if she acts as his servant. She accepts without complaining, Cecil is rightfully angry, Haruka continues anyway and the song gets completed.

Now, am I about to say that Game Camus would never do this? No because he literally does lmao.

The anime doesn't pull this "servant" plotline out of nowhere, here's the context in his route:

Haruka accidentally overhears Camus talking about a plot to assassinate Saotome on the phone. When he notices that she heard everything, he basically tells her that he has to kill her now. But if she served him, he'd be able to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't leak anything, so she could escape death.

Okay uh "work under me or DIE" isn't exactly better, nor is it a good start to a love story, but I'm not finished!!

(A side note: I have to add that the anime made him look like an even bigger asshole and borderline dumb when it came to the things he made her do. Like he expected her to know that snapping your fingers means you want coffee without prior explanation. bro

^This might have been for comedic effect but I promise he can be actually funny and endearing.)

What the anime couldn't cover

The Camus episode wraps up with Haruka pulling through and writing a song that makes Camus "sincere," he says it's cool at the very end and that's the episode. I think the problem is that we technically didn't see him being sincere or what that even means to him, besides when he was singing (banger song btw)

It's a shame because in a 20-minute episode you really can't show the game experience of slowly piecing together what this man's problem is.

First of all, in Debut and AS you'll be quick to notice that he always has homeland and duty on the mind, constantly reminding himself that he's in Shining Agency/Japan for a reason, and it's NOT to have fun or make friends

The truth is, he slowly starts to appreciate the banter with his colleagues, music, and working there in general.

But because of his initial mindset, he has to rationalize & justify every connection he forms, like "it's just for work" or worse: "actually it was ALL A LIE and I NEVER ENJOYED A SECOND OF THE TIME WE SPENT TOGETHER, I'm such a great actor haha"

He uses that to fool himself and to push the other person away so it doesn't happen again. This scene is probably the best example:

(I'll be using google lens because it's faster but I checked that the tls were okay)

He also does this in the Non-Fiction drama, which may or may not have actually happened, but I think it's still a pretty good reflection of what could happen in reality because he tells Ranmaru their bond was a lie, then mopes around in his guilt thinking about the good times and wondering why he's sad, and THEN later doubles down on the "it was a lie, I don't care about you" because he just can't let himself get attached to anything.

Basically, he's terrified at the thought of forming actual bonds because he genuinely thinks he's nothing if he stops being a cold weapon:

At one point he does admit he sucks (as a love interest)-

-which is pretty huge by utapri standards. I love these games, but the amount of times where a male lead does something icky, and everyone, including Haruka, acts like it's normal or like it's Haruka's fault is ehhh but I digress

Upbringing

Of course he's very proud of his homeland and status, but sometimes it's to the point of thinking he can't be anything other than his title. So why is he like this?

We got to hear about his childhood from Camus himself a few times, and it often ended with Haruka thinking "wait? that's kinda messed up?" and Camus insisting it's nothing/it's normal so yeah that's something...

His parents were in an unhappy arranged marriage, and his mother was forced to birth an heir which traumatized her so much that she can't see Camus without falling ill. Overall it's a pretty tragic situation since what happened to her was horrible, though not Camus's fault either. Even now she refuses to see him, and I wouldn't say that makes him sad because he never really met her, but simply knowing of her sacrifice probably adds a lot of pressure. As in, he only exists for this one purpose (inheriting his father's title and serving the country), so if he doesn't play his part correctly, it would have all been for nothing.

He was raised by his father not as a child or son but as the heir, always treated and judged as an adult (even during physical training apparently, make of that what you will)

When Haruka asks about childhood memories he has a very hard time finding something that doesn't have to do with his duties or the nation. And then admits he didn't truly have a "childhood" since he was never treated like a child

As for the queen, I think his love for her is sincere: she taught him a lot of things growing up, and according to him, she's also a victim trapped by her duties so he wants to ease the burden.

So hypothetically, if he found things or people that made him happy in Japan, he would feel obligated to lock them away because that happiness is incompatible with his life: he'll have to leave when his mission ends, he shouldn't be spending time on things that aren't "useful" as he doesn't have the free will to pursue them

In his mind he's completely tied down by the fact that he was born and raised for a single reason, and the fact that he does want to serve the queen.

(This is Saotome describing him btw)

Also it might sound ridiculous to bring his self-worth into question because of how pretentious he is, but I've counted a few situations where he seemed to have complete disregard for his own life, only worrying about Haruka and Cecil's safety in scenes when they were present. And he thinks wanting to be loved unconditionally is a childish thought he shouldn't have.

"Double Face" was a lie. There's like at least 10 layers

On the surface he does have two personas, his perfect polite butler act for the media, and his cold bitchy attitude off camera. But honestly, even when he's not acting as a butler, he's often putting up a front to hide any form of vulnerability (from himself as well)

His main struggle is finding who he is outside of what he's being told to do. Before, he never actually stopped to think about what he WANTS because it just never occurs to him, or if it does he ignores it.

That's why realizing that he has his own desires is essential to his character development, and him staying with Quartet Night (and Haruka in his routes) is so important. It's why Reiji feels the need to reach out and when he does, Camus either freezes up or tears up;

This all makes him the opposite of Ranmaru (being true to yourself and sincere), and similar to Ai (gradually learning to view the world in a less cold and logical way), but I kind of want to save that for another post lmao

He is especially hard on Cecil because Cecil says & does whatever he wants, and everything still works out for him, which is a way of life that Camus can't imagine for himself at all (despite maybe wanting it?)

That he can realize this and eventually admit out loud, despite all his pride, is also one of my favorite things about him

Season 2 does hint at something, so that's pretty cool!

Side note, I really love that his theme in the new Oracle series is "Change," the melting of ice.

So what was the anime supposed to do??

Of course there's no way to show all this in a single episode or even during the runtime of the anime, and I never expected them to because the story is very surface-level (that goes for all characters).

It's just unfortunate since the anime is the most accessible and well-known utapri media in the western fandom, and the character's main episode is bound to leave the biggest impression.

I understand the choice of being laser-focused on the servant plotline, it's supposed to be funny (?) and waters him down to a trope that's easy to understand at first glance (the step-on-me guy I guess)

Still, I can't help but compare it to Ranmaru's episode, who was also hard to work with in the games but was chill in S3E7 and got to pet cats. Anime onlys will never know how much Camus loves to dote on his dog smh.....

#please don't take this too seriously #i just wanted to cry about camus #uta no prince sama #utapri #camus (utapri)#quartet night #cecil aijima #ranmaru kurosaki #reiji kotobuki #ai mikaze #tag for me yapping about utapri

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katerinaaqu · 3 days ago

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It is! Oftentimes.

-Yeah... Perhps that is true but I am not sur eanymore. I know he deleated the songs on Ismarus slaughter but yeah

-Yes perhaps it is unfair of me to take it out on you. It is just that I have answered this question more times than what I can count. I take that back. I am annoyed in general by this but yes it is unfair to take that out on you. Hahahaha fair enough true true. Like I said I take that back.

-To be fair I understand why and the example is quite blunt I understand but this is literally the level of Iconic scenes like Sirens or Circe are. Remove the sirens experience and you have a story where the shoe of Cinderella is no longer a thing and Cinderellla is recognized by something else instead.

-Clearly, I suppose. To me "retelling" is exactly what the word says "re tell a story". The story is there. The adittions to the story would be either fill in the gaps or add some piece of information that is part of the research. At least this is how I usually work on my retellings as well. I actually posted a small analysis as an example on how I usually do the stories

I am not saying if my work is a bad or good retelling (that is in the eye of the beholder). I am just saying that in my mind a retelling is not something that aims to change everything; is something that retells the story in the present potentially making some changes to make it easier to the target audience but all in all the basic plot is respected and followed, otherwise like I said is not retelling to me, just a "loosely based on" idea. I definitely agree to that I am not sure either what better word one can use at that case! Hahaha

-I did hear that from fans as well. Like I said there is nothing wrong with liking it especially since you are clearly also aware of the differences. It just doesn't vibe with me

-I agree to the first one. Yes if a story is said to be a retelling or an adaptation I myself expect it to be accurate. But at the same time I also get annoyed becase these stories had more than enough of unfaithful adaptations as well which again makes me a bit sad as well Generally I dslike this "fanom logic". On one hand it is great that people get dedicated and like something, on the other it becomes so hard to control these things and find truth from lie and imagination from fact sometimes. Indeed they are. I found most of them very nice. One or two again didn't vibe with me like "Suffering" but they were personal preferences (plus again linked to that iconic moment that got twisted hahaha)

-Oh yes I do find very good converstions on the matter for sure. Well call me crazy but again I think the OG Odyssey has as much video game logic as it can't be more. Like Odysseus slaughters Ismarus but saves Maron, Maron gives him the godly wine, Odysseus uses that godly wine to get Polyphemus drunk. The bag of winds needs not to be opened it is opened so the people move from one place to another. To defeat the witch you have to pay the price and sell yourself to her. You go to the underworld with stuff that she gives you and slay a sheep and not let others go to drink till Tiresias arrives. Tiresias gives a prophecy. To go through Skylla you try to fight but ultimatey you pay the price. To save yourself from Charybdis you need to grab on the tree the witch told you about etc. Not all video games have boss fights every five meters and I could absolutely see Odyssey as an open world video game already from the OG material. But maybe that is just me.

-Absolutely that is a positive outcome from it if more people get to read the original.

New Epic saga and it's horrible... to give you an idea, Odysseus fought Poseidon, stole his trident and made him beg for mercy

hmmm a god begging a mortal for mercy is not exactly on par with Greek religion and stories. How did that scene made it into the final version?

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theitgirlnetwork · 3 days ago

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What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 1 : Self-Restraint (Rafe has none)

Milan's Party Outfit

Note: Okay this took forever to come out and I'm sorry. Please let me know what you think. Also something to note, I have an OC who is the main love interest in my JJ story. She is present in this story, but the two stories don't intertwine. Just something for those of you who will read both. I hope you enjoy and I love interacting. I will accept (constructive) criticism. And feedback. Another note, Milan is a little more of a bimbo character than my other ones, she won't be fully lost and I refuse to make her childlike. She just likes to be in the wind and chose a man who handles stuff for her. Also she doesn't have a permanent face claim yet, so if you have any ideas for that, please message them to me! :) Thank you for giving my story a chance, and if you're reading any of my other stories, I hope to be posting more to have some reprieve from the state of the world. Thanks so much!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual conduct, strong language, drug use

“Let’s go, I don’t know why I have to wait for you, we’ve got things to handle today, you’re makin’ me late-”

“Yeah, Dad-” Rafe huffs, jogging his way down the steps, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack in the foyer. “Well, Sara has been in my shit again so, maybe you could talk to her about that-”

“I don’t touch your shit, no one wants your shit, Rafe.”

“I can tell, you probably brought your bum ass pogue boyfriend in here too, he shouldn’t be in the damn house-”

“Rafe!” Ward’s voice booms, making Rafe’s eyes snap to his father’s obediently, mouth snapping shut. “Do you really think that it's productive for you to waste time arguing with your little sister when I just told you we need to get a move on?”

“Uh,” the younger man breathes heavily through his nose, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides as he glares at his sister over his father’s shoulder. “No, sir.”

“Alright then.” Ward rolls his eyes, nodding his head for his son to grab the bag on the ground and grab the car keys before turning to address his eldest daughter. “Need you to be home for dinner tonight. There’s a new family moving in a couple blocks over and we wanna make a good impression. That means no fighting,” the older man raises his eyebrows at his children, placing his bluetooth in his ear, “no boyfriends, Sarah,” Ward finishes with a rough pat on his son’s back, “no drugs. Get it? This could be big, Gregory Cabot is big in the oil industry and they might want to…settle here. If they do, we should be their first friends, understand?”

Rafe nods quietly, attentively hanging onto his father’s every word. Taking them in with an intensity that would satisfy any other dad. But not Ward Cameron. “Sarah, they’ve got twins about your age. Make sure you and Wheezie are cleaned up nicely. Rafe,” the 21 year old is met with his father’s rough hand smacking his cheek once, twice, under the guise of an affectionate pat. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“It’s like he uh, doesn’t get it, right? Like I do fuckin’ everything he asks, and I’m uh…I’m the fuck up.” Rafe stammers irritably before sending a powerful swing into the golf ball in front of him, watching it sail off into the distance.

Topper and Kelce exchange looks as their friend grinds his teeth, grabbing a beer from their cart and taking a deep swig. He’d been ranting about this morning since they’d started on the course an hour ago. Apparently, his father’s comment had carried in Rafe’s mind all of the way through the brief errand down at the docks he’d accompanied him on, followed him to the country club and was going to last the entirety of their hang out.

“Yeah man, I mean,” Topper begins, “I get it right? My mom’s always on some shit too. Like I screw up everything I do.”

“You do, Top.” Kelce chuckles, lining up for his swing.

Rafe nods along, taking another swig. “For real, like realistically, I do everything I’m supposed to, like I really step up and it’s fuckin’ bullshit that I’m still supposed to act like I’m his little bitch boy. I’m fully a man. I’m focused and shit. Because for real, Top, I feel like if Sarah asked you to come over right now you’d go runnin’ right?”

“Fuck you man.”

“Motherfucker knows I’m right.”

“Kelce?”

“I mean, Top, let’s be real.”

Topper rolls his tongue in his cheek irritably, turning red at his friend’s taunting, “Well, y’all are the ones who lost a girl to Maybank. Angel is glued to his broke ass.”

Rafe scoffs, picking his club back up and practicing his swing. “Yeah, fuck that, that was Kelce’s thing. Angel’s bad, but she’s more like the sister I wish Sarah’s annoying ass was.”

“Sarah’s just like, young minded, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Kelce laughs again as Rafe rolls his eyes, the two men switching spots as Rafe goes up for his turn again. “She knows, it’s just not you, man. Maybe that pogue just has better dick than you, Top…or did she ever let you fuck her?” Kelce laughs, turning his head to look up the hill at the juice bar at the edge of the course, squinting at something in the distance.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’.” Rafe huffs, swinging again, smirking as the ball goes directly into the hole, resting the club on his broad shoulder. “If you bitches weren’t so worried about chasing ass, maybe your game would be better.” The dirty blond brags, turning to see both of his friends now staring off into the distance. His jaw ticks in annoyance as he realizes that his friends had missed his impressive swing and ignored his bragging to stare at… “what the hell are you idiots looking at?”

When they don’t answer, Rafe decides to look for himself. The sight he sees is simultaneously exactly what he’s expecting and something he couldn’t have seen coming.

Standing at the juice bar was possibly the sexiest little thing he’s seen in his 21 years of living. Sure, he’d expected to see a pretty girl. That’s just about the only thing that can get both Topper and Kelce to shut the fuck up for more than two seconds. Their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape, the two men didn’t hide their attraction at all.

But Rafe, he was experiencing something else entirely. He’d thought she was fucking hot like they did, obviously. But this was a different kind of fine. She had to be new. There was no way that she would have evaded him by now. His cheek dimples slightly as he absently bites his lip a bit, watching the girl lean over the counter, her feet lifting slightly off of the ground, her tiny white skirt giving him a shot of the smooth skin that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. Rafe’s eyes follow her every movement, like a predator stalking its prey. Intense blue drinking in the dark, shiny, barely shoulder length hair falls out from her hat as she lifts it from her head, smoothing her hand over it before placing her hat back on.

Come on, baby, turn around for me. Lemme see the rest of that body. Lemme see that face.

It’s as if she could hear him. Like she decided to move, position herself, just for his enjoyment, because she turns. She turns and pulls herself up onto one of the barstools with a hop, pulling her shades from her face and tucking them onto the front of her shirt. She’s far, but even with the distance, Rafe finds himself puffing out a breath of disbelief, drinking in her gorgeous features. Full, glossy lips, tinged red, big eyes and a sweet, absent expression.

Next thing Rafe knows he’s making his way up the grassy hill, ignoring the calls of his friends for him to wait up.

“But, my parents are signing up for membership today.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but until you’re in the system you’ll have to pay with cash or card.”

Milan pouts and furrows her brows. She just wanted to have a quick refresher before she met up with her mother at the new house so she’d ridden over to the club with her father. She didn’t really think she’d need money. She never carries cash because she’s likely to lose it and she’d left her card in her red purse, but it didn’t match her outfit so she’d sent it ahead to the house. She could go ask her father for money, but he was in the club owner’s office talking shop and had instructed her to explore while he finished up. “But it’s hot out here.” she whines.

Milan turns to her right and starts scanning the outdoor bar area, looking for someone who looked friendly enough to spot her until her dad came down and paid them back. She drums her manicured nails on the wood of the countertop, ignorant to the bartender rolling her eyes at the girl.

Finally, her eye lands on a table with three guys that look fresh off of the golf course. They’re all dressed similarly and just like every other guy at the club. Polo shirt and khaki pants. Two of them wore hats. They looked like her friends from back home. But the third one, he’s the one who gives her pause. As soon as her eyes land on him his shoot over, locking on hers. She straightens her posture a bit under his gaze, offering a polite smile before doing what most normal people do when accidentally making eye contact with someone, looking away. Her bob length hair brushes her shoulder as she turns her head away, but she can’t help but feel someone was still watching her. She decides to turn her head back slowly, trying to be inconspicuous, only to find she’s right. The guy is still watching.

He wets his lip as he tilts his head. His eyes still trained on her as he uncrossed his muscular arms. A small, what seems to be a smile, rests on his lips as he drums his hands on the arms of the chair he’s sitting in, pushing out of the seat and making his way over. One of his friends making a comment about something being ‘fuckin’ unfair’.

Milan fully straightens, tucking her hands under her butt and whirling around to face the bar again as if she hadn’t just been staring back at him. She kicks her feet until she feels a presence behind her? Beside her?

She turns her head and looks up to find the same guy, caging her in, standing slightly behind her with one hand resting on the bar at her side, the other grabbing the bottom of her stool and turning her to face him fully.

Seeing him up close she can see how cute he is. Pretty blue eyes, clear skin and pink lips. His jawline is sharp, his seemingly blond hair is buzzed short to his head, and a dimple is revealed in his cheek with his smug grin. He’s big too. Tall and muscular, his presence is all imposing, crowding her against the bar and giving her no choice but to accommodate him in her bubble. “Hey.” he says softly, his voice still a deep rumble.

Milan finds herself mimicking his position, tilting her head to match his, placing her elbows behind her to rest on the bar leaning the same way he was. Missing his eyes dropping briefly to wear the fabric of her shirt strained against her breasts. “Hi.”

“So, you uh, you want a drink or somethin’?” he asks lowly.

“Um..” she shrugs sheepishly, lifting her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “I dunno.”

She does. That’s what she’s been trying to do for the last few minutes, but that was before the cute guy was towering over her, taking up her space. He furrows his brow for a second, a smile still on his face as he pushes up a little, whistling into the air, nodding his head for the bartender to come over.

The woman sees the man and immediately sweeps her hand over her hair, smoothing it out and prancing over. “Yeah, yes, hi Mr. Cameron.” She twirls the end of her ponytail, offering him a wide grin. “What can I get for you?”

“Yeah, Erica, get me and the boys some beers and, uh,” the man raises his eyebrows at Milan.

“Oh, Milan.” she smiles up at him prettily before looking back at a very annoyed Erica. “Can I have a peach refresher? Please?”

“She doesn’t have a membership account yet-” Erica starts only to pause when she realizes that the blond hadn’t glanced in her direction since calling her over.

“Then put her shit on mine. Want anything else, sweetheart?” he asks, a heavy hand resting on Milan’s lower back.

“No, I think I’m okay.” she hums, lifting her chin as the bartender rolls her eyes and strolls away. “Thank you, by the way, for covering me. My father will pay you back when he’s done with his meeting.”

The mention of her father has the man recoiling a little, retreating his hand from her with his smile dropping slightly. “Don’t uh, worry about it, aight? So, Milan, how, uh, how old are you anyway?”

Milan works an even wider eyed look on her face, perching herself on the edge of the stool and swinging her legs. “15, how old are you, Mr. Cameron?”

His eyes widen and he takes a large step back, smoothing his and over his jaw, looking away briefly before looking back at her. “No shit? I uh…I’m-”

“Cute.” Milan giggles, hitting his arm lightly, pulling back when she feels the muscles that are barely concealed by the stereotypical polo that he’s wearing. “‘M 20, Mr. Cameron.”

“Rafe.” he says firmly. Milan straightens again when she feels his imposing presence once again, the heavy hand back at her back, spreading warmth up her spine.

“Rafe.” she repeats.

“Good.” Rafe praises. Milan shifts in her seat at his approval, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion at the feeling she gets from the praise. “You, uh, new around here, or…”

“Yeah, I’m new, just settling in.”

“Right, yeah, and uh…your family just left you all alone, that doesn’t seem fair.” He offers her a small pout that Milan fails to recognize as patronizing. “Wanna join me and the boys?”

“Sur-”

The sound of a glass slamming down on the bartop startles the girl, the splashing of her drink leading her to scoot back, bumping into Rafe’s hard chest. “Three beers and a refresher.” Erica sneers. Milan checks her outfit for juice stains while Rafe tosses a tip onto the bar, an unimpressed look on his face.

“That shit’s not cute.”

Both girls whip their heads to look up at him, a hard look of disapproval has Erica huffing and storming away after snatching the tip from the counter. As quickly as it appeared, the look is gone when Rafe refocuses his attention on the girl directly in front of him.

Milan finds herself smiling again as the man mumbles a short, ‘you’re good’ under his breath as he scans her clothes for any evidence of a spill. Just as she’s going to agree to join them she receives a text from her father. Time to go. “I’d love to, but my father is ready to leave, it’s been a long day for him, I don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

“Nah, we wouldn’t want that.” Rafe offers Milan a hand, helping her hop down from the stool and passing her the drink. “Go on, sweetheart. I’ll see you around.”

As Milan walks away perkily all she can think about is the cute guy she met at the country club. Turning back once to wave her fingers at him and being met with a crooked smile and a nod of the head she flounces off to find her dad.

And sharp blue eyes follow her skirt the whole way.

The muscle working in Rafe’s jaw is doing overtime as he cocks his head to the side, staring blankly at the wall trying to temper the rage boiling in his stomach as Ward carries on screaming in his face.

Apparently if he didn’t have anything better to be doing, he should have been shadowing his father today instead of golfing.

Apparently he was a dickhead for even thinking he’d be sitting at one of the seats at the end of the table because that’s where the head of the house sits and he doesn’t run shit but his mouth.

Apparently he was a poor excuse of a man for not knowing why Sarah was late and Wheezie’s dress wasn’t perfectly ironed, because how the women in the house look and act is a reflection of him and more importantly, Ward.

So Rafe stood there. And he ate that shit. Nodded quietly, eyes squinted, internalizing every slight, every insult, and making note.

He counted every book on the bookshelf in his father’s office until he felt his jaw being gripped and forced over to face Ward. Then, he started counting the wrinkles on his face.

The verbal lashing didn’t end until Sarah came barreling in, her straps to her dress barely on and her hair combed for fucking once since getting with that fuckin’ bum. But Ward softens. He redirects his attention to tell his daughter she’s beautiful and thank her for coming. And then he points a warning finger in Rafe’s face before storming out of the room.

“Where the hell were you?” he asks his sister through gritted teeth.

Sarah rolls her eyes, pushing past him. “Don’t have to answer to you, Rafe.”

It takes everything in him not to put his fist through a wall.

So, yeah, one could say he’s a little on edge. Sitting on his father’s right because the guest of honor, Mr. Cabot deserves the seat on the left, that’s where food gets served first. Rose sat on the opposite end, where the second host sits which will also place her closest to where Mrs. Cabot will likely be. Ward is at the head because where the fuck else would he be? And Rafe is in the seat on the right. The seat where the food will get served last. The seat where the youngest in the family is supposed to fuckin’ sit which anyone who has any kind of knowledge of etiquette would know. Which Rafe knows because he’s proactive and he fuckin’ learned it. Because he knows every aspect of running a household, not that Ward would acknowledge it.

He needs a fuckin’ bump.

Or a blunt.

What the fuck ever the wine ain’t cuttin’ it.

But Ward is watching him like a hawk and clearly won’t tolerate him disappearing to find some peace no matter how brief and slick he is about it.

So instead, Rafe’s leg jumps under the table. And his fingers drum on top of it. And he works his jaw irritably.

“You need a nicotine patch or something?” Wheezie asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“C-could you actually shut the fuck up for one second?”

“You’re such a jerk, Rafe, she’s a kid, Jesus.” Sarah huffs. “When’s this family supposed to be coming anyway?”

“Asking that repetitively is not going to make them get here faster.” Rose groans, rubbing her temples. “Honey-”

“They’re here,” Ward calls, retreating from the door, snapping his fingers and pointing toward the sitting room for Rafe to get four scotches ready, and sitting in the seat in the corner of the room. “Ladies?”

“We’re going.” Wheezie whines, following behind Rose into the kitchen and carrying in the dinner that they were pretending Rose and Sarah made as Sarah goes to the foyer to wait for the bell to ring. “But this little routine we have is really sexist.”

“Don’t screw this up.” Ward sneers under his breath, as he takes his glass from Rafe.

“Dad-”

The ring of the doorbell has everyone falling into their roles. It all starts without a hitch. Sarah pulls the door open with a bright smile and sickeningly sweet greeting. Rafe tries to tune in to the fake conversation his father started with him when they heard the footsteps in their home multiply.

“Oh! I’m a mess, nice to meet you, I’m Rose, please come in. Sweetheart, why don’t you go with Sarah and Louisa while I show your father to the sitting room. Then us girls can really get to know each other.” Rose plays her part easily, her heels clacking against the floor, the sound getting closer as she chatters away to what should only be the couple and their son now that she’s dumped the girl off with Sarah. “Your daughter is just beautiful, really, you’re going to have to watch her on this island.”

She says that to everyone. 9/10 it's a lie.

“Your daughters are gorgeous too. You must have your hands full.”

Sounds like Mrs. Cabot knows the game too, usually people don’t get a word in while Rose is running her lines.

“We keep our eyes peeled, but our girls just aren’t doing the dating scene yet.” No, Sarah’s too busy laying on her back for dirty pogues to date someone worth mentioning. A little money doesn’t change status. “Ward, darling, our guests are here.”

And that’s our cue.

Like they’ve done many times before the two men stand, Rafe watches his father’s movements carefully, making sure to always stand tall, and one step behind him. Ward takes 2 steps, Rafe takes 1.

The man entering the room behind Rose was tall. Only a little shorter than Rafe. Broad and appearing stern. He guides his wife in by her waist and Rafe quickly looks away from the older woman. She’s attractive, and if it was him, the last thing Rafe would want is his potential business partner’s son eyeing down his wife. The man holds out his large hand to Ward first, the two of them shaking firmly. “Gregory Cabot.”

“Ward Cameron, good to meet you.” Ward gestures behind him for Rafe to enter stage left. “And this is my son…”

“Rafe, uh Rafe Cameron, nice to meet you, sir. Ma’am.” he says, shaking Gregory’s hand and squeezing the appropriate amount. A craft he’d perfected during the early days of doing these.

“Good shake son.”

The comment has Rafe standing at his full height, biting back an accomplished smirk as his dad glances back at him with a look of approval.

“Handsome young man, too.” the older woman hums.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rafe offers her a polite smile to appease his father.

It’s all a part of the game. This little back and forth. It breaks the ice, and Rafe is the sacrificial lamb for it everytime. Gregory would say:

“Don’t be tryin’ to seal my wife there, boy.”

Pause for laughter.

Then Rafe would say something like, “if I was a couple years older I might give you some competition, sir.”

To which everyone would laugh and Ward would swat him with strength that varies depending on how the interaction goes.

Rafe has this little dance down to a science.

It was going well. Really, it was exactly how it should be, and going quickly too. Rafe was desperate to get this part over with so they could handle business, make some money, and he could celebrate by going to a party he’d heard about earlier.

But then she came in. And suddenly this was something entirely new.

“Dad, I’m gonna go to a party with Sarah after dinner. Can I have some money?”

There she is. Her shapely body draped in a silky green dress with pretty pink roses, her manicured fingers already outstretched toward her father. Glossed, rose petal lips pursed as she waits for the bills to be placed in her hand.

Milan. Rafe forces his eyes away from her, feeling two warring feelings flood his body as he wills himself to keep his eyes on her father instead.

“Without Milo?” Gregory asks.

Milan rolls her eyes to the ceiling, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts upward and causing Rafe to work his jaw lightly. “‘M grown, Dad.”

Ward would never tolerate that tone…neither would I.

“We’re in a new place, your brother’s away on business-” Rafe can immediately feel his father’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head.

Milan’s eyes slide shut as she takes a deep breath, retracting fully and turning to leave the room. She was so caught up she didn’t even notice Rafe. It aggravated him. Spoiled. She’s spoiled.

I can fix that.

Eventually they get dinner started and it’s like the interaction hadn’t happened. Milan sat through the dinner and acted her role accordingly. She introduced herself to his father, which clearly had impressed Ward. She made her obligatory conversation points, but mostly chatted with the other women at the table. When Rafe pulled out her chair, she smiled at him prettily but aside from that, gave him no indication that she recognized him from earlier.

Rafe tries to focus on talking shop with his dad and Gregory, but his eyes keep wandering back to Milan’s mouth on her spoon and the little hums that leave her mouth.

The damn ice cream ain’t that fuckin’ good.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been trackin’ the macro model for crude oil and uh, I, I’d wanna know more.”

“That’s great son, yeah, it takes time, but it seems like you're on track, maybe I could put you in contact with one of my buddies that does the numbers for me, then you can run them with your dad and I.”

Rafe’s on fuckin’ fire. He’s killin’ this shit, and he’ll be deep in those Cabot pockets in no time. But all he could think about is the man’s pretty little princess perched on her chair a couple seats down, pouting as Sarah raves about how fun this party is going to be to Milan and Wheezie.

None of my fuckin’ business.

“Sounds really cool, Sarah.” the girl smiles behind the metal spoon, sighing wistfully.

Don’t do this shit man, Ward’s gonna kill you.

Her final sigh and last scoop of vanilla ice cream being spooned into her mouth through plump glossy lips is what does it.

Fuckin’ weak, Cameron. Over some pussy?

“Uh, Gregory, I’m goin’ to this party too. I’m takin’ Sarah, there’s no reason why I can’t keep an eye out for Milan too.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill.

Ward is staring Rafe down with a look that would have a weaker man retracting his offer immediately, but the bright smile that plastered across Milan’s face made Rafe stand his ground.

Gregory is simply pensive. His eyes flick between his daughter and the Cameron siblings. “How old did you say you were again?”

“21, sir.”

Gregory’s brows furrow as he looks Rafe over again, before turning to Ward. “Reminds me of my boy. Protective over his sister and her friends. Good stuff, Cameron.” He turns back to Rafe with a menacing look on his face. “Back like I sent her, Rafe.”

“Of course, Gregory.”

The older man couldn’t have known what he just allowed.

“Fuck, Sarah, how long does it take?”

“I didn’t even want to ride with you, Rafe, John B. could’ve picked up me and Milan-”

“Yeah, well, her dad put me in charge of her safety, Sarah, and actually, Dad put me in charge of yours, so-”

“Oh my God, don’t act like…like you’re doing some noble thing, okay? I know why you offered to take us, cause you leave me all the time-”

“You don’t know shit, alright, Sarah?” Rafe groans, backing out of his spot and turning out of their street.

“I know plenty, and I know you’re tryin’ to fuck Milan.”

“So what?”

“So what?” Sarah tosses her hair angrily, shifting in the passenger seat. “So, you’re fucking nuts, and she’s actually a nice girl. So, Dad’s doing business with her dad, that’s so what, Rafe.”

“I like, genuinely don’t need you telling me shit about shit Sarah, like for real.”

“I really hope her brother is fucking huge, so he can kick your ass.”

Rafe snorts, slowing the car down a little and turning down the music as he pulls into the Cabot’s neighborhood. “Yeah, maybe right? Cause God knows your little pogue bitches have tried and failed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, love you too, sis.” Rafe looks at the large house found at the address that Gregory had given him and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Get in the back seat.”

“Are you serious-”

“Back seat, Sarah, Jesus!” He huffs, slamming the car door and making his way up the walkway, stopping on the freshly laid cobblestone when the heavy, double wooden doors swing open.

“Bye, Dad, I’ll see you later!”

If Rafe had thought the dress Milan had on earlier was something, this skimpy number she trots out in would test any man. The girl absently twirls in her outfit. It’s a white two piece set consisting of a long, see-through skirt, barely hiding her white bikini bottoms and matching cropped top. His eyes trail along the dips in her waist, catching on the dimples on her back before finding the matching ones on her cheeks. All he could think is how perfectly his thumbs would fit in both sets of dimples. “Hi, Rafe.”

He tilts his head back, openly staring down at her appreciatively. “Don’t you look cute.”

With the shy smile that overtakes her face he all but expects the girl to melt under his gaze. Rafe is pleasantly surprised when she lifts her shoulder before brushing past him to make her way toward the car. “Thank you, I know.”

He chuckles to himself as the heels of her sandals clack on the cobblestone and stop just before the passenger door. Milan purses her lips without even considering touching the handle, rocking on her feet and swinging her purse absently as she waits patiently for him to come open it, just smiling when Sarah calls from inside the vehicle, ‘it’s unlocked.’

Rafe doesn’t know what moves him. Normally, he left girls to hoist themselves into his car as he hopped in himself on the driver’s side. But he could tell, this girl didn’t even conceive that she should be the one to open the door. No, she expected him to help. To care of it. And used her pretty little grin as his payment once he gets the picture and pulls the door open and offers her his hand to settle her into the seat. “You uh, you comfortable?”

She’d already pulled down the mirror and was reapplying the lipgloss Rafe was determined to taste, humming absently to herself. “Hm? Oh, yeah.”

Not a thought behind those pretty eyes, huh?

I like that.

Milan watches out of the window as they pass by trees and grassy nooks. String lights twinkling as they ride by, people selling produce on the side of the road. The salty smell of water in the air through the open window. She could see Sarah in the backseat, smiling to herself as she texted on her phone. Milan’s own phone lights up as she receives the girl’s message. The two of them had really gotten along when they met at dinner earlier. She wasn’t expecting the blonde girl to be so kind and welcoming. The entire family had been really kind. Wheezie was a cute kid and Rose seemed like every other tired housewife in their world. A little fake, but ultimately harmless. Ward seemed strict like her dad. He seemed to grit his teeth angrily at almost everything his family said, only to offer a wide smile when her own dad seemed pleased, or at the least unbothered.

And Rafe. Rafe was…cute. Hot, he’s hot. He’s handsome and tall, and can talk to her dad about all that business shit she didn’t give a shit to try and understand. And he’s attracted to her. Milan can tell. His eyes were shooting between their fathers and her the whole dinner. She felt the intensity of them even as she reapplied her lip gloss, as she chatted with his sister, when she’d taken a selfie as she leaned against the headrest, posing both for the camera and him.

But for some reason he’s wound so tight. As hot as it is, it can’t be healthy how frequently that muscle in his jaw jumps, keeping in rhythm with the bounce of his leg and the drumming on his fingers. Milan’s eyes flick across his movements and her lips part as she considers asking him if he was okay. Her voice catches in her throat when sharp, blue lands on deep brown and his brows raise as if he were asking a sarcastic ‘yes?’ When she shrugs lightly, smiling in return, he sends her a smirk before turning his gaze back to the road, peeling off at the light and turning up the music playing on the speaker to drown out his sister’s chatting.

Milan blinks at the heat she feels on her face and refocuses on her phone, opening her messages from Sarah.

Sorry about my brother. He’s a dick. When we get to the party you can hang with me. :)

The party was apparently at some house on the beach. Young adults were filling the walls of the building, spilling out onto the sand and grass. The music booms in the night air, and the smells of salt and weed fills their lungs.

Sarah pulls Milan along, their arms looped together as she guides her away from Rafe as quickly as possible. The man is clearly disinterested in following, offering Milan a brush on the shoulder before stalking off toward the back of the house, calls of his name in greeting following his arrival.

“Oh okay, yeah, my friends are in the kitchen, c’mon.” Sarah tugs her the rest of the way, leading Milan to the dark kitchen over to a crowd of people. She recognizes one of the guys as the guy on Sarah’s phone. John B. she said his name was. Apparently, normally, Sarah stays with him at his house but Ward had asked her to come around today to meet with Milan’s family, and she did it because they were trying to ‘rebuild their family’. “Hi.”

John B. turns to her immediately, a grin spreading on his face as he pulls Sarah to him, effectively separating her and Milan. “Hi, baby.”

His loud blond friend with his arms draped around a pretty girl with brown skin peaks his head out from behind them, pausing mid story, and drunkenly causing his girl to stumble with him. The girl follows his gaze and offers her a kind smile, pushing the blond by his face, laughing at whatever he’s mumbling in her ear. “Hi,” she calls over the music. “I’m Angel. This drunk dumbass is JJ.” She huffs, as he gives Milan a wide grin and nod before guiding Angel’s face back to his.

The tall guy next to him is flanked by a shorter light skinned girl and a girl pouring shots, laughing with Sarah, calling her a lightweight with a thick accent. “Cleo. You want one?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a shot.” Milan shrugs. Her eyes squeeze shut as the liquid slides down her throat, burning it and her mouth. She shakes her head, before letting the warm feeling spread in her belly. A hand on her elbow grabs her attention and has her looking over her shoulder.

“Come dance with me.”

It’s some random guy, already tugging her toward the crowd of moving bodies, not waiting for her reply. “Oh, no thanks.” Milan plants her feet, stumbling a little against his pulling.

“C’mon, you don’t like to dance?”

“No, I just don’t want to dance with you.” Milan chirps, glancing down at her nails to make sure he hadn’t made her accidentally knock a gem off. She watches as the guy’s face shifts from shock to a deep frown. He roughly releases her arm and storms off. She takes a couple steps back to where Sarah and her group are standing, seeing all of the couples wrapped into each other. The light skinned girl reaches her hand across the island counter to get her attention.

“You good? I was about to make my way over. The guys on this island are entitled assholes.”

“Yeah, that’s guys everywhere. It’s never the cute ones that come to you, huh?”

“Nah, it’s generally the creeps and losers who feel bold.” The girl laughs. “I’m Kie, Kiara.”

“Milan. Do you feel like dancing?”

Kiara shrugs, mumbling a ‘why not’ glancing back at her own friends before taking Milan’s hand and leading her toward the sea of people dancing. Milan twirls Kie as they step onto the makeshift dance floor smiling as they begin dancing together. The two girls take turns spinning each other, holding each other’s hips and guiding their dance. Milan can feel several pairs of eyes on them as they rock against each other, the base of the drum in her ears and chest. But her eyes only searched for one set in particular. She allows Kiara to turn her and flips her hair out of her face. And then they are. Steely blue.

Rafe blows smoke from his nose before licking his thumb, flicking through the stack of cash Kelce had just shoved into his hand. “Aight.” He nods, reaching his jacket pocket and producing a small bag of coke. He’d been giving Sarah and Milan space. For one, because he genuinely does not give a fuck what his hoe ass sister does. If she doesn’t give a fuck about the Cameron name then she could take that dirty pogue’s. On Milan’s end, Rafe was exercising self-restraint. He knows that now that they’re away from their families it wouldn’t take long for him to crack. She’d looked fucking gorgeous earlier that day, and even more so at dinner. Now that they were at a party, and he could take a fuckin’ second to breathe outside of Ward’s scrutiny…he’d break eventually. He was relying Sarah to keep her busy and away from him so he didn’t end up fucking her and fucking up the deal their fathers were trying to work out.

“What the fuck? That’s it?”

Rafe’s brows furrow as he looks at his friend. “Yeah, you fuckin’ druggy, told you I needed to go see my supplier. Your fiend ass didn’t wanna fuckin’ wait, so take it.”

“Shit.” Kelce scratches his head, scooping out some of the white powder and leaning forward on the couch to line it up on the coffee table. “Hey, that’s the girl from before right? At the club?”

Rafe looks up to find Milan across from him in the other room. He watches as she twirls and rolls her hips against Kiara’s. Her shiny dark hair bouncing from shoulder to shoulder and her pretty lips mouth along to the song that’s blasting throughout the house. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip as he watches her movements, completely unaware of the group of girls trying to flirt with him and offer him a bump on the couch next to him.

When they lock eyes her smile grows even brighter and his own becomes wolfish. Her movements become even more daring, she dips low, arching her back before coming back up quickly, flipping her hair and rolling her full body. Her hands cover Kiara’s on her hips as she puts on a show for him.

Rafe chuckles darkly under his breath as he drinks her in, sitting back against the couch comfortably as if he’d paid for this little performance.

It all ends too quickly.

The song changes and Kiara leans into Milan’s ear, murmuring something and making a smoke motion before heading toward the sliding door in the kitchen. The girl is gone for like a few fucking seconds before the fuckin’ loser bastards that had been lurking around them pounce on Milan. Crowding her, trying to usher her into a dance.

She pushes up onto her tiptoes, looking over some guy’s shoulder to regain eye contact with Rafe, an offer in her eyes as she motions him over with her finger.

Shaking his head and smirking, Rafe pats his knee, challenging her. He cocks his head slightly to the side when she gently shakes her own head, and gestures for him to come to her with a single finger.

“Rafeeee, you got anymore?” A whiny voice calls to him.

Right. He was supposed to be moving weight. Damn girl is distracting him. “Uh, yeah, I’m low right now, so I’ve only got baggies, aight?”

“That’s fine,” the girl says flirtily. He rolls his eyes as he feels her hand on his knee. “You have discounts for pretty girls?”

His eyes drag back over to Milan and his jaw immediately clenches. She’s still facing him, but this time she had someone decidedly less acceptable in Rafe’s eyes clutching her. He watches as some prick who he used to play league basketball with when they were fuckhead teenagers basically nutting on Milan’s back. Rafe’s lip curls as he watches the girl dance for this guy. He couldn’t even think of his fucking name. Milan catches his eyes again, looking at him through her pretty lashes, shrugging absently. Seemingly completely unbothered by the goddamn loser basically humping her like a dog. Rafe feels his head swim dangerously and his stomach turn as he watches weak hands trail along her perfect body. Her brow quirks at him once before she turns in the guys arms, turning her back on Rafe.

“Rafe?” The girl to his side looks at him questioningly, briefly trying to follow his gaze with her drug-addled brain, giving up and leaning on him again.

“Uh, right, I’ll give it up for $200.”

The girl’s eyes widen as she looks back at her friends who gesture for her to try again. She smiles at Rafe and tilts her head toward him. “Um, how much if we can hang out a little upstairs after?”

“Oh shit.” Kelce chuckles, sniffing and wiping his nose.

Rafe rolls his eyes. He’s so used to girls offering to sleep with him or suck his dick for drugs. Usually they at least ask him to give it to them for free, this girl was gonna fuck him for a discount. He rarely takes advantage of it, on doing it if he was trying to hit anyway. Really, he doesn’t have to exchange free drugs for getting his dick wet. Fuckin’ look at him.

Right now, he wasn’t really in the mood for random pussy. Not when he literally can’t fucking see Milan in his line of sight anymore. And that fucking idiot that was grinding his dick on her was fucking gone too. He needed to look for her ASAP. “You got the $200 or what?”

The girl huffs and digs in her purse, dropping the money in his extended hand and snatching the bag off the table, grumbling ‘asshole’ under her breath as she and her friends stumble outside.

As soon as Rafe pockets money he goes to shoot off of the couch to hunt Milan down, only to be stopped before he can fully stand.

“Is that cocaine?”

Milan’s sweet voice puts him on red alert. Rafe settles back into his seat and looks at her. She’s staring down at the table worriedly, wrapping her arms around herself as she stands in the doorway. “Was that guy a friend of yours?”

“You didn’t wanna dance.” she pouts.

“Okay?”

“And I wanted to dance.”

Brat. “So you, uh, just dance with some random dick instead?” He asks, giving her a disappointed look and relishing in the way she shifts under his gaze.

Interestingly enough, even with his glare, she doesn’t back down, pursing her own lips and sitting on the arm of the couch. “Jeez, you’re strict, I feel bad for Sarah. Is that cocaine?”

“Yeah, I just provide a little party favor for my friends here and there. What, you want a bump?” He starts to test her limits, resting a large, warm hand on her thigh, feeling her through the thin fabric of her skirt. Careful not to move and startle her.

“I don’t do coke. D’you?”

It’s her wide-eyed look. The dimpled frown as she glances back down to the white substance on the table. She gives herself away to him easily. Milan is a good girl. She’s just a good girl who knows she’s pretty. That’s what the whole dance was about. She was being cute. That’s what she does. But she’s not really about shit. Daddy’s girl with a protective older brother. Two dragons guarding their little princess. Never had anyone tell her no and mean it. If Rafe used the logic in his brain, he would know, he’s too much. What he expects of the girls he hooks up with. God forbid dates. He’d turn this pretty little thing out. He should be nice, and leave her alone.

But Rafe isn’t a nice guy. Not really.

“‘Course not, can’t get high on my own supply.” He smoothes a thumb over her knee. “Don’t worry, Princess, it can’t jump off the table and get you.”

Kelce snorts and Milan’s brows furrow. Rafe whips his head around to his friend, nudging him sharply and sending him a silent message. “Oh, uh, I’m gonna get another drink. I’ll be back.” Rafe sends him another look. “Or I won’t.”

As soon as Kelce gets up, Rafe scoots over on the couch, holding one of Milan’s hands and guiding her onto it with him. “That was one of your friends from earlier right? At the country club?”

“Yeah, Kelce, he’s a fuckin’ idiot.” He says absently, reaching over and grabbing the blunt he’d abandoned when he’d started dealing, re-lighting it. “You don’t smoke weed either, huh?”

Milan shrugs, scooting closer. “I just don’t know how to do it by myself.”

God she’s just fuckin’ perfect isn’t she? Rafe hangs his head, letting out an exasperated laugh. It’s like she was sent as a test. She’s already bad as shit, she’s just sitting here, damn near in his lap with her big fuck-me eyes and wide-open personality. She knows she’s sexy and that’s just about it. But her dad let her go because he was supposed to be responsible. That’s big money on the table, and Ward would fuckin’ kill him if he was distracted by the opportunity to hit on the literal oil baron’s daughter. “Figures, pretty thing like you can’t do anything by herself. What, you need me to light it for you?”

“I’ve only ever had someone shotgun it for me.” She says.

Rafe’s hand is at the back of her head, fist in her hair before he can even realize what he’s doing. He pulls her close, tugging her against him and halting right before she hits his lips. He brings the blunt to his own lips, inhaling the smoke before leaning even closer, drunk on the way she’s looking at him. “Yeah?”

When she gasps out a breath, offering him a little nod, already puckering her plump, lips for him.

Fuck it. Rafe thinks.

He could be a responsible man for his dad tomorrow.

#oc #love #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #sarah cameron #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #obx #rafe cameron x oc #milan cabot #what are you willing to do?

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havendance · 3 days ago

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New Comics Time!

Shazam! #17 -- So the green lightning bolt that gave Freddy powers is exerting a sinister influence on him. Who could've seen this coming? Anyway, this was another fun issue. I enjoyed the conflict between Billy and Freddy and I loved Hephaestus' design--it worked really well with the art style. I think my one complaint is that Mary's subplot got a little confusing at the end. She was clearly getting into a bit of a pinch, but the how was unclear from the art. Hopefully that'll be cleared up next issue though.

Batgirl #1 -- Cass! This was really fun. I'm having trouble articulating my thoughts than I was for comics I was less excited about reading. I loved both Cass and Shiva in it. There's a couple moments for Shiva that really reminded me of O'Neil's Shiva, and there's a lot of great moments for Cass with all of her attitude and skill. (I love her little 'Good Luck' and 'I am an orphan by choice'--an elegant way of tying together her past with her present and her attitude toward Shiva with whom she is currently fighting) I'm not sure how invested in this whole 'Unburied' thing for now, but we'll see where it goes because the relationship between Cass and Shiva very much is interesting here. Cass' internal monologue did feel a bit much at points, but I understand the necessity of setting things up and introuducing her in the first new solo she's had in like, decades. Art and colors were both very good and I am looking forward to seeing where it goes next!

Absolute Batman #1 -- The best part of this comic was Julia telling Alfred to never contact her again (haha joking, unless...) Overall, this was a good Batman comic. Not necessarily my favorite and I don't think it really feels revolutionary in the way that DC is trying to hype these absolute titles, but I can appreciate. I think all of the fake-outs that Snyder put into this before Bruce finally showed up is well done, as well as the moments where he brings a character in and then re-contextualizes them by introducing them like he did with Barbara and Martha. I know I'm not the target audience for this, but at the same time, I do very much appreciate the bat ear-knives and bat-symbol ax in the same way that I appreciate some of the crazier stunts that Batman pulls in the first arc of Tom King's Batman. I'll keep reading for now and we'll see where it goes from here.

Action Comics #1070 -- This was very much an issue that was laying the foundation for both stories. I am admittedly not as familiar with the Superman side of comics, but I do think it's kind of funny that Superman's like 'If something's happening to the Phantom Zone,I can't let people suffer in my prison void dimension.' Like, I get that it's a matter of degrees and there's a prison vs torture prison dimension to it all, but also. You're locking up your enemies in the prison void dimension. There's a certain level of not-fun that entails. Anyway, the Supergirl backup had very pretty art and is certainly intriguing, but it did leave me wanting a couple more answers rather than feeling like one giant cliffhanger.

Batman and Robin #14 -- I have not been following this book previously, so I can't comment on the Damian characterization discourse I've been seeing, but this was enjoyable enough. I liked the villain, he seems cool. The art was nice and I wanted to like the coloring, but it felt, hmmm, a little washed out to me. I can see what it's going for, but I'm not sure if it's working for me.

#dc #wednesday spoilers #havendance reads comics #batman #superman #cass tag #shazam #carthago delenda est

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skzhocomments · 1 day ago

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The Rising Empress (Bang Chan) - Chapter 8 - Envy and Power

General Masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

Taglist: @vxllxnsworld

---

Chapter 8 - Envy and Power

Chapter word count: 7.5k words

Each new day brings new opportunities, Aristia thinks as she steps out of her room with resolve. She wants to accomplish two things today:

1. Reading at least one book on the history of the Empire,

and

2. Punishing that maid – Juliana.

As her doors open, she is shocked to see someone else standing in front of her room; not her usual guard.

“Changbin?” Her eyes widen.

“Your Majesty.” He bows respectfully. “I’m glad to see you’re in good health.”

“What are you doing here?”

“His Highness informed me that I will be your personal aid from now on. I was supposed to come yesterday, but there was some… business… to take care of.”

“Business?” Aristia inquires and notices the way Changbin is carefully looking from left to right to make sure no one is able to hear them.

Her maids are a safe enough distance away.

“We needed to dispose of your father’s body.” He whispers, and Aristia is glad she now has Changbin, as she’s always thought of him as an open book that keeps her in the loop.

She truly didn’t expect Chris to give him to her, and the fact that he decided to do so before their talk yesterday warms her heart a little bit.

Changbin’s always been talkative, which she would exploit to the hilt.

“What did you do with it?”

“Burned it. We also made sure to lock all of his guards in the dungeon, to hopefully get some more information from them. The Emperor opted for that instead of killing them.”

“I see.”

“However, he decided to let one of them go and sent him back to the Kingdom with an official letter declaring war.”

Aristia’s eyes widened.

“Truly? Wouldn’t it have been better to play innocent to buy some more time?”

“The Emperor also thought of that, but Seungmin – one of his assistants – suggested owning up to it and blaming the King for your injuries. Would be better for the people’s morale, he said.”

“Seungmin… I see.” She smiles. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re going to be my personal guard. I’ll be in your care.” Aristia smiles and Changbin’s lips switch to a proud smirk.

“I’ll be the best guard in the world! You can count on me!”

“Great. Let’s go now.” She chuckles.

“To the dining room, I hope. I have strict instructions from the Emperor to make sure you eat this morning.”

“It’s not even morning anymore.” She chuckles.

“Even more so to not go on an empty stomach.”

Aristia rolls her eyes but follows Changbin to the dining room anyway.

She is on her own, but this time, her food comes out perfectly fresh and tasty. It turns out that starting the day with a good meal sets you up for a good mood.

“Alice, grab the third book on the second row there and put it in the stack. Ah, and the fifth book on the 8th row. They seem related.”

“I’m on it, Your Highness!” The young girl exclaims excitedly as she picks the requested books and places them in Juliana’s arms.

The second maid is now holding over a dozen books that look heavy to say the least. Her hands must’ve surely gone tired.

“Alright, I think this is all for today. Let’s go sit down at that desk over there. Do you know how to read, Alice?”

“Uhm… I do recognise most letters, but I’m still learning.” The young maid smiles.

“Great. Then pick up the third book in Juliana’s arms and sit down. I want you to know how to read and write. If you feel like you’re not able to do it on your own, feel free to say so, and I will arrange a tutor for you.”

“Your Majesty! I could never accept such grace… I will do my best!”

“Good.” Aristia smiles and pets the child on the head. She’s only 5 years younger, but they are on completely different levels as far as maturity goes.

Alice is still an innocent child, whereas Aristia never had the chance to grow up surrounded by such innocence. However, Aristia is aware that Alice was brought up in the Capital, which surely means that she’s clever to say the least.

“What should I do, Your Highness?” Juliana asks.

“Oh, you’re already doing your sole task of the day. You are to hold my books so I can get them easily.”

“But Your Highness, I could place them on a chair, or on a table, or-”

Aristia raises her hand in the air to stop her from talking.

“Have I requested your opinion?” She smiles cunningly.

“No, but-”

“Then stay there quietly, will you? This is a library.”

“But-”

“Juliana.” Aristia turns her whole body to face the maid. Her eyes are cold.

“I understand you are upset at me, however-”

“Upset at you?” Aristia chuckles. “Tell me, do the insects you pass by in the streets upset you at all?”

“Your Majesty…” Juliana’s eyes widen, unable to believe that the Empress compared her to an insect.

“Defy me one more time and you’ll wish you'd been born an insect instead.” She warns and slaps the top of the book stack as hard as she can, making Juliana lose her balance and drop all of them on the floor.

With a low chuckle, Aristia continues her torment:

“Oh my, look at the mess you made. You should clean that up and resume your position quickly. And be careful, the books are the Emperor’s property. If you damage one, you could be punished.”

Aristia sits down and opens one of the books, beginning to read about the founding rulers of the Empire. They are described as cruel, but well-respected between the people, and Aristia can’t help herself but think that she might be a bit cruel to Juliana as well.

She wonders if she’s at least well-respected outside the Palace’s walls, since she’s brought peace to the Empire. However, with the upcoming war, she starts to worry, and a new plan starts brewing in her mind.

She doesn’t pay much attention to it now, as she has something more important to focus on: her health, acquiring knowledge as soon as possible, and making sure she does a good job as the Empress.

After at least two of these conditions are met, she will execute the plan as well.

Aristia’s days are productive enough; with the library pass, she makes acquaintances with the books in the library and reads to her heart’s content. She thought it was going to be hard focusing on her books with Juliana throwing daggers with her eyes in her back, but it was surprisingly easy to ignore her, despite her sighing and fidgeting annoyingly often.

Juliana doesn’t even complain much anymore; she’s gotten used to Aristia telling her to clean the same spot on the floor over and over again, to carry heavy books and keep holding them, and to even run certain errands, although for the more important ones, Mari and Alice were mostly trusted to handle them.

Despite going to the library and reading every day, it’s been a period of resting for Aristia; her back is a bit better, with almost no risk of the wounds opening back up, she has been eating well and gaining a bit of weight, and she’s been sleeping well enough during the night.

With a new week starting, there are many things she wants to do: first of all, there’s the meeting with Seungmin and Jisung, who will have to teach her how to do her job as the Empress.

Then, there’s the matter of the court ladies. Ever since Arabella’s been sent away, they’ve all been living quietly between the Palace’s walls, most likely afraid they’re going to meet the same fate and have their lives uprooted by the cruel Empress, as they like to shush between themselves.

Although Aristia’s never been interested in what they have to say, she doesn’t want to let it go like this either. So, she decides to host a brunch and invite them all, to become acquainted properly. It’s about time they have a chat.

She settles on a time and place a few weeks away, and begins writing letters, sealing them with hot wax and with the Empire’s seal.

“It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Your Highness.” Han bows, and Seungmin follows suit.

After they introduce themselves, they sit down in front of Aristia’s desk. Chris has given her a room to turn into an office, specifically to do her job somewhere outside her bedroom.

“So,” Aristia begins, “let’s start from the beginning. What should I know about you two?”

“About us?” Jisung’s eyes widen. “Uhm, well-”

“We are mere subjects of the Emperor, Your Highness. There’s nothing of importance to be known about us.” Seungmin intervenes.

“Is that so? I’d still like to know what you two are like. If I am to choose somebody, I have to know who I’m dealing with, unless you’d be able to suggest a different method?” She challenges Seungmin, whose lips turn into a thin line.

Truth is, she already knows who she’s going to pick, but learning things about Chan’s people is never a bad idea.

“Your Highness, I’ve been training to become an advisor ever since I was born, as my father himself was an advisor.” Jisung replies, his cheeks growing a subtle pink tint.

“What became of your father?”

“He unfortunately caught a severe illness and never recovered. He left us a few years ago.”

“I see. I’m sorry for your loss. What about you, Seungmin?”

“As I mentioned, there’s nothing of importance Her Highness should know about me. I am but a clever man and the Emperor thought I deserve the honour of serving the Empire.”

“I believe the modest look doesn’t suit you too well.” Aristia attacks, but Seungmin only deflects.

“Regarding your future work, what exactly do you wish us to teach you?” He asks coldly. “We’ve been doing a very good job so far, so, perhaps Your Highness’ efforts would be better spent someplace else.”

“See, we don’t agree on that, unfortunately. I have enough knowledge in budgeting and accounting, but a brief explanation on how you’ve managed until now would be greatly appreciated.”

“We are in your service, Your Majesty.” Han bows.

“Thank you, Jisung. Then, what should I know of?”

The two men begin talking to the Empress, explaining all sorts of concepts regarding the way they’ve been dividing the work. It’s not simple, but it’s also not impossible, and with a bit of training, Aristia is sure she would have no issues taking over.

There’s a stark contrast between the ways Jisung and Seungmin are explaining things, she notices. While Jisung tries to explain every other term, unaware of how much knowledge Aristia possesses, Seungmin speaks unfiltered, using any term, no matter how complicated or hard to understand.

“So, who do you wish to assist you further?” Seungmin asks impatiently after about an hour. “As you might be aware, there are a lot of things to do, and keeping both of us here-”

“Yes, you’re right, Seungmin. Well then, Jisung,” she starts, and Seungmin places his hands on the handles of his chair, preparing to stand up, “you may go finish whatever work you have. Seungmin shall assist me from now on regarding this matter.”

“What?” Seungmin’s eyes grow wide, annoyance plastered all over his face, while Jisung bows and exits the room. “What do you mean? I thought that-”

“What, did you think that you’d get out of this if you acted like an asshole?” Aristia chuckles.

“Like an asshole-” Seungmin replies baffled, leaning back into his chair. “I see how it is. You think that because of that high title of yours, you can act however you please and everyone would bend over backwards for you and your wishes. But you see, Your Highness? Respect is not conveyed by your title, it’s earned. These cheap tactics might work on everyone else, but not on me.”

“And that goes both ways, Seungmin. You have yet to prove to me that you are worthy of my respect.” She answers with a sneer.

“Why me, then? Jisung is clearly a way better fit for you.”

“Because you declared war on the Kingdom.”

“Is that all? We have a common enemy and now you want us to be friends?”

“Nothing of that sort. I just found it a clever way to boost the people’s morale, as they now have a new objective in mind: protect the Empress at all costs. You did well.”

Seungmin sits straight in his chair and looks at Aristia, dead in the eyes.

“I will teach you, but only if you manage to solve this issue we’ve been having throughout the Empire.”

“A test?” She chuckles. “Let’s hear it.”

“The economy’s been plummeting for no apparent reason. We are the most prosperous in the continent when it comes to trades, and yet- just look at the Empire’s budget, and you’ll notice a gap.”

“Have you already solved this issue?” She asks.

“Not yet. It just came to our attention the other day when we rummaged through whatever papers we’d use to teach you.”

“That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?” Aristia chuckles, but Seungmin only smirks.

“Those are my terms. Take them or not, there is nothing for me to lose. You have until the end of the week to find a cause and a solution to this problem.”

“Fine. I shall think about it. You may go.”

Seungmin stands up, satisfied that he’s probably won a battle against the Empress. This is a delicate matter that neither he nor Jisung know the answer to so far, that has yet to be brought to the Emperor’s attention, so solving this task would most likely be impossible for Aristia.

He is almost elated that he won’t have to teach her anything. His aversion is very much still there; before, he hated her because she was the King’s daughter, and now, he hates her because she caused ruckus by forcing them to start a war when they are still unprepared.

He simply dislikes her and everything she stands for, and this is not going to change.

Aristia studies long and hard about this. What could possibly cause the decline of the economy in such a prosperous nation?

She tries to recall every economy book she’s ever read, and she reads countless more in the following days, but still, she is unsure.

Could it be counterfeit coins?

That’s the only idea that comes to mind as she reads the 15th book on the topic this week, but even if this is the answer, what would a solution be?

Seungmin mentioned explicitly to ‘find a cause and a solution’.

Ugh. Aristia frowns and stands up to grab another book from Juliana’s stack. She’s not complaining as much this week.

She briefly glances through the large library’s windows and notices the dark sky outside.

How much time did I spend here today? She wonders, but it doesn’t matter, for tomorrow is already Friday, and unless she finds a solution as well, she’s doomed.

Of course, she could always study from Jisung, but there’s just something about Seungmin that she knows would make him a better fit for her. She likes his ideas.

As she sits back down at the table, she takes one more glance at Juliana and lets out a small sigh.

“Juliana, do you know how to read and write?”

“I do, Your Highness.” She replies quickly.

“I see. Put those books on the table and pick up the third one, the one about the noble families. I need you to write a summary for me about every relevant family of the Empire, their children, and specifically, their daughters.”

“Your Highness…” Juliana immediately follows soon, her eyes showing gratitude for the first time ever.

“I need your report by Monday.” Is all Aristia says. She’s punished Juliana enough, and she’s ready to finally give her a chance to be useful to her.

Before the maid can reply, Alice enters the library and comes running towards the table, and panting, she tells the Empress that she must go to her rooms immediately.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Aristia asks.

“It’s an urgent matter, Your Highness.” The young girl responds, so Aristia instructs Juliana to see to her task and put all the books back in their place when she’s done, while she follows Alice back to her rooms.

When they get there, a selection of nightgowns and lace underwear lays flat on the bed.

“What is this…?”

“My lady, His Grace sent word that he expects you in his rooms tonight, so I selected a few beautiful pieces appropriate for such an occasion.”

“Alice… what?” Aristia’s cheeks turn red. She examines the clothing once more, and she feels that same stomach dropping sensation she felt during her wedding night.

She also remembers the way Chris treated her that night, how he practically ripped her garments just to show her how easily it would be for him to overpower her, and she shudders.

Does he really want to lay with me?

“My Lady, I think this robe would be most appropriate, as it comes easily undone.”

“Alice, you’re barely 14 of age! How do you know about these matters?!”

“I have to serve Your Grace to the best of my abilities!” She counters and urges Aristia to get changed. “Besides, I’m 14, not 4.”

“Too young!” Aristia frowns but obliges and instructs Alice to get out of the room.

She feels nervous about this for some reason, as she examines herself in the mirror. Sure, she looks beautiful, but this attire is way too inappropriate and revealing!

Ugh, why does he want to see me?

And why do I have to wear this?

Aristia grimaces when someone knocks on the door and pulls her out of her thoughts. She quickly grabs something to put over the skimpy outfit and tells them to enter.

“Your Highness, are you ready to go?” Changbin asks, blushing at the sight of the Empress. Even though she is covered in a robe, he has a rich enough imagination to know what might happen tonight, she thinks, and this thought makes Aristia grimace again.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

The walk towards the Emperor’s chambers is quiet, as the hallways are empty so late into the night. Aristia yawns and suddenly feels tired, realising how many hours she spent in the library the past few weeks.

Even today, she lost track of time and it’s now a little bit past midnight. Why did Chris ask for her so late?

They reach the Emperor’s room and Lee Know nods shortly before opening the doors.

To her surprise, both him and Changbin follow her inside. She looks at them bewildered, before turning her gaze at Chris who was sitting at his desk and got up as soon as she entered.

“Good evening, Aristia.” He greets, then looks at her clothes and rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Clothes?” She replies, annoyed. She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“Yeah, I can see that, but- oh, God.” He goes to his wardrobe in slight annoyance and pulls out a thick fur coat, similar to the one she’s worn on her wedding night.

“Well, you asked for me at midnight, so I thought- ugh, nevermind, give me that.” She snatches the fur coat with annoyance and puts it on her shoulders, tightening it around her body. “Why did you send for me?”

“It’s time for you to hold your end of the bargain.”

“My end of the bargain?” She tilts her head in confusion.

“That’s right. I gave you Changbin, so it’s your turn to give me what you promised.” Chris points to the guard and chuckles, and Aristia rolls her eyes. Changbin blushes a bit more, unaware of the deal between them, but he is nonetheless flattered that Aristia asked for him specifically.

“Alright. Here?” Aristia asks.

“No. We have a meeting to go to, so let’s make haste.”

Chris goes to his large bookshelf and pulls out a few books, uncovering a lever. Aristia watches him with curiosity as he pulls down the lever and the bookcase begins to spin, revealing a secret passage.

“Come on.” He urges Aristia to go first, and she does, despite it being hard to see.

They walk for a good 10 minutes until they reach the far end of the passage that ends with a large wooden door. Chris takes out a key and unlocks the door, opening it, revealing a room with multiple other entrances, which indicates that multiple other bedrooms or common rooms must be connected together through passages throughout the Palace.

The walls of the room are covered with maps of the world and bookshelves, and in the centre, a large table with ten chairs around it occupies the space.

“Take a seat.” Chris instructs, and she follows his orders, sitting down at the table and looking at the faces of everyone around it.

She recognises some – Seungmin and Jisung – but there are also several men she’s never seen before around the palace. Most of them are a lot older than her and Chris, but there is also one man who seems around her age, with pitch black hair and fox-eyes dark enough to make anyone shudder.

They don’t bow at her, nor do they bother to introduce themselves, but their auras are all the same; they exude power, and she believes they must be strong individuals that have earned a spot at this table through their own devices.

A grin threatens to spill on her lips at the thought that she has also earned a seat at this gathering of formidable people, at least for tonight, but she is quick to control her expression the moment her eyes dart again around the unfamiliar figures, and she notices the way they are looking at her.

She doesn’t pose any significance to them, she’s not of any authority, and they don’t respect her. Especially the man her age, whose eyes look disinterested in her at best. If not for the golden crown on her head, no outsider would realise she’s Empress by these men’s behaviour towards her.

Everything changes on their faces the moment Chris sits down, though. The demeanour of these unfamiliar men morphs into something different, and they share a completely distinct look, contrasting the one they’ve given her. Chris’ simple presence projects strength, but in a different way compared to the other men.

The way his head sits on his shoulders, and the way he places his arms steadily on top of the table is so authoritative, it’s immediately noticeable that he has the power and that you must respect him, and every man around the table does so, undoubtedly.

Their eyes sparkle with veneration, and Aristia becomes, for the first time in her life, envious. She remembers the conversation she had with Chris, how she told him she wants more, but now that she is sitting at this secret meeting, the feeling only gets amplified a million times.

She wants way more. She wants power. She wants these people to look at her the same way they look at Chris, and she wants a permanent spot at this table.

“So,” Chris starts, looking at Aristia. He immediately notices that burning in her eyes that attracted him since day one, and his heart skips a beat. He starts wondering what could be going through her head, what made her eyes spark that way, but time is scarce and there’s more important matters to focus on. He continues. “Since we’re all here, let’s start the meeting.”

They start discussing various things, such as problems that arose between the nobles, a possible rebellion which might put the crown in danger unless they take action, and eventually, they move onto the most troubling matter: the upcoming war.

“Aristia, you told me you have some crucial information that might help us. Let’s hear it.” Chris urges her to speak, and for the first time since the meeting starts, she does.

“First of all, my father’s army is led by a very powerful man. He’s called the General, and you must’ve heard about him in legends, as he had won all his wars. All of the legends are true, and he is a truly frightening and strong man. However… in case you battle against him, there is a secret no one knows, a weakness.”

“Which is?” Lee Know asks, his sharp eyes observing Aristia.

“His left eye. He’s been stabbed in it, and his current eye is a prosthesis our doctor created specifically for him. It looks natural enough to fool anyone, but he has no sight from it.”

“That’s impossible. You said so yourself: the legends are true, which means he’s never been scratched in battle. How would he lose his eye?” Lee Know counters with scepticism.

“He didn’t lose it in battle. My father took it out when drunk one night. You see, he was overly fearful that people would betray him, so… he asked the General if he would sacrifice his whole life for the Kingdom and for him, and upon his agreement, my father asked him to prove it. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘You must give me something of importance. Something you truly value. Unfortunately, your limbs are crucial, so how about this?’ my father replied, and pulled out his blade. You can imagine the rest yourselves.”

“And how did you come to know about it?” Chris asks, and Aristia averts her gaze.

“I was there… when he stabbed him.”

“Alright… that’s good to know. His senses might not be as sharp on his left side, then.” Changbin nods.

“Now, what do you know of his army?”

“Right…” Aristia nods and starts explaining the way their army is divided. She seems to impress most people around the table with the knowledge she has on the matter, as it’s truly unexpected. She is even able to give an estimated number of soldiers from when she still lived in the Kingdom.

Most people are amazed, with the exception of the fox-eyed man, whose gaze remains dark and unchanging.

She decides to ignore his hostility and continues telling the men about the Kingdom’s usually discussed strategies, their strengths and their weaknesses, and she tries to convey as much information as possible, despite this not being her strong suit. Truth be told, she doesn’t know much about the military; it never interested her to read about. However, she does her best to remember what she’s heard her father and the General talk about, and by the end of her talk, Changbin and Lee Know, as well as three other men she doesn’t recognise that are sitting around the table begin talking about their own strategies, using the new intel from Aristia.

“Do you all know what you have to do?” Chris asks after a little while, observing everyone. They all nod, so Chris stands up. “Alright, then. We will retire for the night. I’ll see you in a week from now, unless other problems arise.”

He comes behind Aristia’s chair and helps her stand up as well, and he guides her back to the passage. He opens the large wooden door and steps through it with her, before locking it.

“What about Lee Know and Changbin?” She asks, noticing that it’s just the two of them, but her mind is still stuck on the meeting, and on the new information that a week from now, another one will be held.

One that she has no spot at.

Yet.

“They’ll go to their own rooms for the night when they’re done planning.”

“I see.”

The walk back to Chan’s room is quiet except for their steps that echo through the long passage. When they finally reach the room, the bookshelf turns back in its place, making it impossible to notice there is something hidden behind it, unless you knew it was there.

Aristia finds it fascinating.

“So…” She starts, pulling the fur coat closer to her. “I guess I should go.”

“It might be better to sleep here, or at least stay until the morning.”

“Here?”

“Unless you want people to start talking again about how you got kicked out in the middle of the night.” He chuckles, slight mockery behind his words. “You asked me to make you Empress, and I’m giving you a chance to secure your position.”

“What, do you want to sleep with me now?” She asks in slight annoyance.

“No, Aristia.” He sighs. “I’m just thinking of how to prevent any more rumours from circling around you. I won’t touch you, so you can relax. And next time I ask for you, don’t wear such scanty clothes, and there’ll be nothing to fear.”

She chuckles, to Chan’s surprise, and drops the fur coat, going to the large bed and pulling the covers off to make enough space for her to go under.

“How’s your back?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Sometimes it’s sore, but Hyunjin comes to apply a salve if I ask for him.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks. Aren’t you going to come to bed?” She asks with a frown, noticing that Chris is heading to his desk.

“… No, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head with a smile.

“Why not? It’s big enough for both of us.”

“I just have some work to do. Worry not and go to sleep first.” He urges her, and she pouts a bit before covering herself with the comfortable duvet.

“Good night.”

“Night.”

She closes her eyes and lets herself listen to every sound Chris makes. He’s not loud at all; sometimes, he flips a paper, or tuts, or sighs, but other than that, she can only hear his breathing.

She continues laying on the bed with her eyes closed for some time, but despite being fully relaxed, it rubs her the wrong way that Chris keeps working instead of coming to sleep.

She decides to sit up and observes him for a while, until he notices she’s not asleep.

They look at each other for a few moments without saying anything.

“What are you working on?” Aristia asks eventually, supporting her head on her knees.

“I’ve been reading some reports from the Capital. It appears a new disease has been spreading and no one knows why. A lot of people have died already. Hyunjin’s team is investigating as well.”

“Oh.” Aristia replies. Once again, she’s out of the loop.

She’s at least glad that this time Chris is the one to fill her in, and not Changbin.

“What are the symptoms?” She asks.

“Stomach pain, vomiting, diarrhoea, cramps, fever… Hyunjin said it might be food poisoning. There was an issue with a trade a few years ago where the Empire received spoiled goods, and a lot of people passed away after eating them.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“We assumed it was a disease at first, we tried treating the symptoms, but as the people kept consuming the spoiled goods, they kept getting sicker. Hyunjin was, at that time, a doctor somewhere in the countryside, and he suggested which food is causing the issue. It’s what earned him a place in the Palace, actually.”

“That’s amazing, he’s a very talented doctor.”

“He is, indeed. I’m just dejected that we didn’t find him earlier. We’ve lost important people because of it.”

“Like… Jisung’s dad?”

“… Yeah. How do you know about him?”

“He told me the other day…”

“If only I would’ve met with Hyunjin earlier…”

“It’s not your fault.” Aristia tries to console him, but Chris still looks dejected. He looks back at his papers and then changes the subject, back to the Empire’s actual problem.

“I was looking at all the reports of the trades and trying to figure out what the spoiled goods might be this time.”

“Maybe it’s not food. It might be water.” She shrugs, and Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Water?”

“Yeah. Contaminated water… wouldn’t it lead to the same symptoms?”

“I’m not sure. I guess? I need to talk to Hyunjin about it tomorrow. How did you think of this, though?”

“I’ll tell you if you turn off the lamp and come here.” She grins and pats the empty space beside her in bed.

Chris chuckles but stands up anyway and comes to the bed to lay down. He doesn’t go under the covers; instead, he sprawls out on top of them, supporting his head with a hand while he watches Aristia with curiosity.

“Let me guess, you read about it in a book.”

“No, not this time.” She chuckles.

The air between them feels light and relaxed, and so she lays down as well.

“My mother’s maid has taken care of me since I was born. She was like a mother to me. Since I didn’t have the King’s affection, other servants mistreated me quite often, if my maid wouldn’t pay attention. I would get sick often, despite my food being fresh, and we couldn’t figure out why. One day, though, she caught one of the maids washing some apples with dirty water, and suddenly, all my stomach issues made sense. She took care of all my meals going further, until she passed.”

“Aristia…” Chris immediately frowns, seemingly upset about the new information. “You’ve received such harsh treatment ever since you were little…?”

“It’s fine. It’s all in the past.” She says, watching Chan’s gaze. Her eyes get adjusted quickly to the dark, and his sparkle in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry… how was it after she passed away?”

“Well … let’s just say that the way I was treated here was light compared to how it was in the Kingdom.” She chuckles lightly, but Chan’s expression only falls more.

“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“Not necessarily. Only if you want to hear it.” She shrugs.

“I want to hear it.”

She hums and thinks about how to begin, and a few seconds later, she resumes talking.

“I was given old food most days, and I would be sick often. I wasn’t allowed to get out of my rooms much, but thankfully I had access to the library. My father called for me one night and that’s when it all started… and it got progressively worse with each passing week. I never knew when to expect the next beating. It honestly broke my heart when he came here and did the same thing. I thought… I foolishly thought I’m safe here.” She lets out a bitter laugh that’s pulling at Chan’s heartstrings.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He places his hand on top of hers. “No one should ever have to go through something like this, let alone a child. And you are safe. You are safe here…”

“What was your childhood like?” Aristia smiles softly, trying to ignore his last words, as they seem meaningless. To her surprise, he actually opens up.

“My childhood?” He hums. “My parents were lovely people, but my mother passed away soon after Felix’s birth, and my father was poisoned a few years ago. That’s when I got on the throne. I was your age.”

“You became Emperor at 18, just as I became Empress at 18.” She replies in thought, knowing how much this title weighted on her shoulders. It must’ve been much more difficult for Chris, whose responsibility was so much bigger.

“Yeah.” He lays down completely, putting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes briefly. He feels tired, worn out, but he doesn’t think he can sleep.

He never can.

“How was he poisoned?” She asks almost in a whisper, making Chris open his eyes again.

“A noble’s son worked as a butler here. They were a loyal family, and that’s precisely why their son was sent here, but they were secretly planning a rebellion. We simply weren’t careful enough.”

“I’m sorry…” She gets out of her covers and lays down as well, on her side, looking at Chan’s side profile. He is a beautiful man, she notices once again, and she is reminded of the first time she’s seen his face in the church. It feels like a lifetime ago, even if it’s only been a year.

Back then, she would’ve never thought she’d spend a night with him talking casually like this.

“Is this why you can’t sleep?” She whispers again, and she decides to move one of her hands towards his head, ignoring her rapidly pulsing heart.

When her fingers touch his hair, she halts temporarily, waiting for a reaction from him, but he simply closes his eyes, so she digs her fingers deeper, scratching his scalp lightly with her nails.

“Yeah. It’s a sad realisation, knowing that you might get killed any second, unsure if you can truly trust anyone around you.”

Just then, he suddenly grabs her wrist and turns on his side as well, looking into her eyes.

“Can I trust you, Aristia?” He asks, but before she has a chance to answer, he continues speaking. “Tonight, at the meeting… you surely noticed that only important people are allowed there. I trusted you blindly, which resulted in everyone else trusting your words as well. I didn’t make a mistake, did I?”

She immediately shakes her head.

“But how can I know that?” He whispers and releases her wrist, showing a sad smile. “Can you prove it somehow?”

“How, Chris?” She asks. Her chest grows tight, as his expression is tugging at her heart. She’s never before wished so strongly for someone to believe her.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but then begins talking again, and his words simply don’t sit right within her heart.

“I guess there’s no way to find out before it happens. If I am to die in this war-”

“I’m sincere, Chris. You can trust me.” She says with resolve and breathes in, trying to get enough courage to move. She decides to stop thinking so much, and closes her eyes tightly, getting closer to him and pressing her lips against his.

Chris opens his eyes wide and doesn’t understand what’s going on for a few seconds. Aristia moves away and is glad for the darkness of the room, as her cheeks must be blood red.

“Uhm, I-” She starts, but is cut off by Chan’s lips on hers, his left hand finding its way to her waist, holding it tightly.

Their kiss deepens as Chris bites her lower lip, making her gasp slightly, moment when he slides his tongue inside her mouth.

Their tongues touch numerous times feverishly, and Aristia’s right hand finds Chan’s neck. They keep kissing passionately, gasping for air, when Chris ends up on top of her. She makes space for him between her legs as her hands move to his back, fingernails touching him through his shirt, and when they get down enough, she finds a patch of skin around his lower back, and she slides her hands under.

Chris can’t get enough of her sweetness, and he keeps kissing her passionately until he feels her nails scratching his back, and he pulls away to look at her. She looks so beautiful under him, moonlight radiating on her skin, and fuck, her skimpy clothes are not helping the growing bulge in his pants. He wants to devour her completely, to make her his, and his fingers move to the small cord keeping her nightgown together.

He hesitates for a few seconds, looking into her eyes that seem as full of desire as his. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes that enticed him since day one with their powerful, alluring burning.

“May I?” he asks, and she nods eagerly, closing her eyes in anticipation. This is a stark contrast to their first night, when, despite them not sleeping together, he ripped her robe open to show her how easily it is to overpower her.

He doesn’t want to overpower her this time, or control her, or dominate her. He simply wants to bring her pleasure, and to chase his own by using her body, as long as she wants it as well. He wants them to be Emperor and Empress, husband and wife, equal to one another as they become one.

Having her accord, his fingers untie the robe that reveal her underwear quickly: a two-piece lacy set that hugs her body perfectly. He touches her breasts through the lace bralette, and she lets out a soft moan, rolling her head back.

“You’re so beautiful, Aristia.” He whispers, connecting his mouth to her neck, sucking patches of skin and marking her with his kisses.

She arches her back at the contact, and Chris takes advantage of this moment by sliding his hands under her, unclasping her bra. He takes it off swiftly, watching her breasts bounce as her back connects to the mattress once more.

He moves his mouth lower, taking her left breast into his hand as his lips latch onto her right, and he begins sucking on her nipple, while his fingers play with the other.

Aristia squirms under him, trying desperately to clench her legs together as she feels her arousal building up, but Chan’s body is still between her legs, so she is unable to move much. However, he notices her urgency, so he decides to spare her of her suffering.

He begins moving his mouth lower, and when he reaches her abdomen, he presses a long kiss on her belly as his fingers entangle the hem of her underwear, beginning to take it down.

“Chris, I- oh, God.” She moans as his mouth connects to her core, licking her clit eagerly. She rolls her head back again, and she’s never felt as much pleasure before. An unfamiliar feeling settles deep in her stomach, as she moans louder and tries to move away from him.

However, his hands on her thighs keep her in place, and he continues licking that sweet spot until she comes undone with a loud whine.

He begins kissing his way up her body again, and when he gets on top of her, he presses a long kiss against her lips.

“How was it?” He asks, looking into her eyes for any second-thoughts or doubts. He doesn’t find either. Her eyes are burning up more than ever, with a passion stronger than he’s ever seen before, and instead of replying, she raises her head to kiss him again, and she’s the one biting his lips this time.

Her hands find the hem of his shirt and she urges him to take it off, watching in awe how perfect he looks. His body is as beautiful as his face, extremely toned and pleasant to the eyes.

She holds her breath in anticipation as he takes his pants down, and when he presses his hard dick against her entrance, she closes her eyes instinctively and holds her breath.

She tries counting seconds in her head instead of thinking of all the books she has read about the female anatomy and the stinging pain a woman has on her first night, but she tenses up, nonetheless.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” Chris asks, touching her face tenderly with his hands and making her open her eyes again and release her breath.

“I’m just… scared.” She replies honestly in a small voice, it comes out as a whisper. “It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” He nods. “But I’m not going to hurt you deliberately. I’ll be as gentle as I can, and if you decide you can’t take it, we can stop anytime.”

“Do you promise?” She whispers again, and all of a sudden, she feels exposed and vulnerable. All the confidence she had until now, gone, in the blink of an eye. “Do you promise not to hurt me?”

“Yes.” He answers quickly, resolve lacing his tone. “I don’t want to hurt you. I promise.” He continues, pressing a kiss on her neck.

“Alright…” She nods unsurely and buries her head in Chan’s shoulder, her hands hanging onto his back for dear life.

He begins pushing in, and she feels a slight pain, but it’s nothing as bad as she thought.

“Ugh…” She lets her head fall back on the bed, looking into his eyes, noticing how closely he observes her.

“Can you take more?”

“Yeah…” She nods, and he pushes in some more, until he bottoms out into her. The stretch is uncomfortable, but Chris is not rushing her; he lets her get adjusted to him before he begins moving slowly, and soon enough, his slow thrusts get more momentum, and the pain mixes with pleasure.

Her hands release his back momentarily, until she connects them to it again, digging her nails in his skin softly. She also adjusts her position and moves her legs around his waist, allowing him to dive in even deeper than before and hit an angle she never thought possible.

“You’re so good…” Chris praises, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic, and with no warning, he stalls on top of her, panting heavily.

He pulls out and she feels something warm dripping out of her, before Chan’s fingers find her pussy again, rubbing it. He moves his other hand as well, making two fingers enter her, curling up and touching that sweet spot from inside as he keeps rubbing circles on her clit.

She comes undone for the second time with ease, gripping his arm to signal him to stop.

He does, and comes back on top of her, taking some stray hairs out of her face and tucking them behind her ear, as he kisses her lips.

“Was it that bad?” He asks, and she shakes her head.

“I was expecting… the worst, honestly.” She laughs. “You were really good. Thank you for being patient with me.”

Chris is the one who lets out a laugh this time. Who thanks their partner like that?

Nonetheless, he is glad she also had a good time, as this experience came as a surprise to him. He never planned to bed her, and the way it happened, the way his heart kept beating faster and faster until his desire became almost impossible to control, caught him completely off guard.

Hell, his heart is still beating way too fast for his own liking, and her plump lips look so inviting, he wants to kiss her over and over again.

“We should head to sleep.” He says instead, and she nods softly.

Chris aids Aristia in getting under the covers, and he follows suit shortly, but his body suddenly feels cold, empty, like something is missing.

He turns to look at her again, his eyes softer than ever before, and he grabs her body, making her come into his arms.

She responds to his touch and snuggles into his chest, and they fall asleep, cuddled against each other.

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

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thetepes · 17 hours ago

Note

Bună seara, my migraine inflicted friend. Take a nice hot bath. I have this well in hand.

And Bună seara, not so friendly anonymous. I am The Țepeș. I am a trans person of Japanese and Romani heritage over 30 who has been in the Lily sphere for some time. You are in good hands. So sit down and listen to your, probably given her age range of fans and followers, LGBTQ+ Elder. Now, let's begin with the very first issue here...

What is happening is not pedojacketing.

I understand, I really do, that it's hard to find the meanings for these terms. A lot of our language is buried in blogs, videos, and forums where finding a consensus of the meanings is near impossible. I struggled myself as a nonnative English speaker to find the meaning of things that are so insular to our community and ended up having to take the time to really sit and talk with others and learn through examples of what is and isn't. I'm afraid you've fallen into a bad faith interpretation of this word.

Pedojacketing is not accusing a transwomen or LGBTQ+ member of pedophilia. It is accusing them falsely. Without proof or reason.

Now, I do not know about you, but I am a very critical person by nature. Being a person of not just nonwhite, but mixed race has conditioned me to not accept off the cuff accusations especially with no proof readily offered. Good proof, not all proof is created equal.

Let me show you what convinced me. I can't show you everything I saw because posting Stockholm itself would be a horrible idea, but I did read parts of that as it was put out at the time it was put out and it has absolutely been provably tied to Lily without a shadow of a doubt not just by me seeing her posting parts of it at the time, but by her own words and data proof.

youtube

And something else I rarely see people talk about, but was the biggest nail in the coffin was a RPGgame she made called Doomsday Ascending. I was in the MLP fandom with this was dropped and saw it dropped and saw everyone's reactions to it, but did not play it myself after hearing what was in it because I am a victim of incestual childhood sexual assault. Going back through my messages though that I saved I have this screenshot.

It is filled and I mean filled with rape, incest, pedophilia and Lily's characters. This is totally and completely tied to Lily in a way no one can deny and the video of the "easter eggs" shows the very disturbing porn that was put in that game. The video is still up. This is something I do not care about how long ago it was made, same with Stockholm.

At one point you could have said it was made a very long time ago, but Lily negated that when she outright denied ever making these things. Multiple times. Including saying that someone used AI to make her say she wrote Stockholm ignoring the fact that AI tech is very new and didn't exist when she was pointed out as having made these things.

This isn't pedojacketing.

Media aside, Lily has victims. Victims that have publicly posted their stories and it is not my place to speak for them. Please listen to them and their stories of abuse. We are so rarely heard. No matter how loud we scream no one seems to listen until it's too late and there's another victim. Don't let there be another victim. Especially her sister who she abused and raped.

youtube

Lily has echoed her abuse of her sister in her writing from PokeMad house to Stockholm. I can't speak on it more, listen to her.

Britt has repeatedly shared her own experience.

youtube

Lizzy's experience is well documented, but please leave her be she's repeatedly said she wants no involvement with any of this anymore and just wants to move on.

There are minors other that have spoken out on their grooming and exposure by Lily that have stated their experiences especially the one who was very specifically flashed on stream after Lily told him to join and see why it was marked 18+. That is not the only flashing. There is another documented flashing WITH Mikay also flashing the camera. Obviously I can not share those screenshots, but that is well documented.

Here's Lily arguing why it's ok to flash on youtube? I don't know why you'd argue that. Apparently, one of her girlfriends asked her to and she just did it. I'm as baffled as you are.

I hope this helps you understand where we're coming from and why these accusations have been so pervasive for so many years. Please remember, the majority of these accusations come from LGBTQ+ people themselves and we speak out at the theoretical threat of making our community look worse if we're being untrue. No one here wants this kind of accusations to be made among us. No one here wants this kind of drama. We are saying these things for the sake of truth, safety, and it being the right thing to do.

Have a kinder night than the morning you awoke to.

are y'all really that dense? why wouldn't lily be aggressive when sai and the others support transmisogynistic pedojacketing weirdos like you? there's no normal dude on the "lily orchard critical community" who just disagrees with lily and her media takes, all of you are intertwined and constantly propagate the same disgusting accusations be it directly or via proxy, lily doesnt owe y'all ANY respect.

Pedojacketing means baseless accusations of pedophilia. The accusations against Lily are about as far from baseless as you can possibly get.

I've had to clarify and dig up evidence and rehash things she's said to me for people who refuse to look at any of it again and again and I've got a migraine today and I'm fuckin tired...

@thetepes would you mind taking this one..

#lily orchard #lily orchard critical #Youtube

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chaosnojutsu · 10 months ago

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late night writing/life update to whom it may concern

#wanna know the real reason reliance hasn’t been updated?#i fell in love and moved in with someone who i thought would love me back.#that did not happen.#so i’m back at my parents’ house and legitimately wondering where my life goes from here.#i want to finish that story so badly but i do not have the capacity for that right now.#also she reads that story and follows me on here.#it’s kind of actually how we met. the reason she messaged me in the first place.#so as much as i love my story and my readers i do not know if the readers of that story will get the ending they deserve.#i’m sorry.#i’m heartbroken.#i’ll try to come back to it when i can.#but because she gets the email notifications for updates i don’t even wanna put this in an A/N or anything yk?#she never gets on tumblr anymore though so here i am.#leaving the truth hidden here for someone to hopefully read and understand.#reliance #i’m not looking for sympathy this is legit just a heads up

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year ago

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Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night.

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

“No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.”

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs.

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her.

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes. “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.”

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.”

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun.

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud.

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too.

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in.

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke.

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes.

#inklingschallenge #inklings challenge #team tolkien #genre: time travel #theme: visiting the imprisoned #with a tiny little hint of #theme: visiting the sick #story: complete #so i like to read about the reformation in october when i can #when the teams were announced i was burning through a book on the women of the reformation and these two really reached out and grabbed me #Jeanne in particular. i was like 'it is so insane that this person is not more widely known.'#Protestantism has its very own badass Jeanne/Joan. as far as i'm concerned she should be as famous as Joan of Arc #so that was the basis for this story #somewhere along the line it evolved into a study on different kinds of feminine power #and also illness worked itself in there. go me #anyway. hopefully my catholic friends will give me a shot here in spite of the protestantism inherant in the premise #i didn't necessarily mean to go with something this strongly protestant as a result of the Catholic works of mercy themes #but i'm rather tickled that it worked out that way #on the other hand i know that i have people following me that know way more about the French Wars of Religion and the Huguenots than i do #hopefully there's enough verisimilitude here that it won't irritate you when i inevitably get things wrong #i think that covers all my bases #i am still not 100% content with how this turned out but i am at least happy enough to post it #and get in right under the wire. it's a couple hours before midnight still in my time zone #pontifications and creations #leah stories #i enjoy being a girl #the unquenchable fire

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aroaessidhe · 1 year ago

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2023 reads // twitter thread

The Sun and The Void

Venezuelan inspired high fantasy

follows a young outcast swordswoman taken in by her grandmother, the dark sorceress for a noble family, who relies on the magic to keep her alive after being attacked by monstrous creatures

and a young noblewoman who’s the shame of her family because of her mixed heritage and desire to use magic

both are manipulated by those with more power than them into a plot to free an ancient evil god

mineral based magic, politics, nonhuman MCs

#The Sun and The Void #aroaessidhe 2023 reads #hm. haha. surface level this is kinda interesting and cool but i am going to follow with so many complaints #though I feel like it didn’t go into the magic or worldbuilding as much as I wanted and it felt irrelevant to the characters #like how does the magic even work? idk man #though I feel like it didn’t go into it as much as I wanted and it felt irrelevant to the characters #very slow to start and the pacing is weird. it would also go ages without having the other POV. very disjointed?#it felt like the first 60% was just context for the group of characters getting together as a group and then it was a bit predisposed with #They’re A Group! even tho. they're barely a group for long #the authors note mentions that the story concept started with a line about the god and ritual and…..yeah I can kind of tell #I feel like everything was built up around it in a way that ultimately that part didn’t fit right #I never bought that any of them were actually like fully committed to the evil dark magic? and also there’s this plot twist #that they have to fully kill the sacrifices & I was like…did we not already know that? girl r you stupid what do you think sacrifice means #also #oh my god at like half way one of the MCs is like. oh finally this guy who I’ve been exchanging letters with for months turned up to get me #away from here! by the way I’ve been exchanging letters with this guy and we’re friends! and like. she’d been doing nothing much for the #last 10% of the book why was that not like….shown as something she was doing? and like build up the friendship for the reader instead of #just dropping it on us - and also that we know the character from the other POV. and hes a racist prick. and we're supposed to believe she'#charmed by him because of this letter writing WE DIDN’T SEE….. why.#and then also that is like. he’s a shitbag and it’s obviously not romantic at all. he’s manipulative and terrible to her #EXCEPT at the end it implies his bad behaviour is because demon and oh uwu he gets all beat up and maybe hes sowwy now #and starts to imply she likes and is attracted to him? and I get the impression the next book is gonna be like evil power couple dynamic?#which. feels like the first concept the author had; and then tried to build up to that but not effectively lmao #for the lesbians:#I DO APPRECIATE having an assumed love interest then realising that that was idealised and actually you have feelings #for this other person you’ve become friends with! nice slow switch up. though quite brief #I do however dislike that when she admitted her feelings to the first LI and she rejected her it was still framed as the other’s fault #for not reciprocating the feelings….worst trope….also like. it kind of conflated her not feeling that way to her having a bit of class disc #which. yikes? oh my god stop villainising people for not reciprocating romantic feelings (ALSO they turn out to be related anyway 🤪)#i just feel like the romance switchover could have been done with more nuance and complexity

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meejijis · 2 months ago

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"Why are all SK fans proshippers" Silence fetus

#text #mind you SK was released in a very different time period where fandoms back in the day were built different. freaks strived and #everyone back in the day followed fandom etiquette “ship and let ship” and “dont like dont read”. fandoms back in the old day were #peaceful and supported one another. ppl shipped anything and everyone and ppl minded their own business in the early 2000s #thats how almost all old sk veteran fans i know turn out to be what they are today #(ofc there are some. other veteran folks i do not fuck with as theyre also genuine assholes and are hypocrites/ostracizes others.#. but another discussion for another day lol. you must be a level 100+ of friendship to unlock my tragic sk fan backstory)#also news flash all of your favorite anime/manga stories are all written by profic ppl! thats right! everyone in japan are profic #shocking i know #japanese folks dont give a flying rat ass when it comes to FICTIONAL morals because they know how to differentiate between fic and reality #the fact that so many antis keep on twisting the word proship so many times to the point where its widely misinterpreted and ppl #nowadays esp the younger gen easily believe in the misinformation and keep repeating the cycle of misinformation in modern fandoms today #it pisses me off honestly #but yeah what did you expected from a old series that came out in the late 90s. the fact that theyre consuming the series when the series #itself also literally has problematic elements too lol #and see this is why im glad SK is niche despite that i wish it was popular so it can bring in more renmei fans but in the end its better of #being niche #because had it blown up it wouldve attracted all of the chronically online kids/puritans/fandom police and ruin everything for everyone #modern fandom today is the reason why all fandoms suck nowadays and its why i gave up joining and being part of them #theres discrimination everywhere in modern fandoms. oh your a proshipper? gtfo DNI and kys!!!!11111 #its like theres eggshells everywhere no matter where you go. you have to abide with morality and puritanical rules its the “automatic” law #but fuck that thats never been the automatic law in fandoms lol. Ship and let ship AND dont like dont read is the real fandom laws here lol #but back to what i want to also say. theres nothing you can do about SK fans being proshippers. the old fans has always operated that way #since the old times. either adapt / cope with it OR you can just. block everyone and preserve your peace. which takes like 10 seconds #this is like maybe the 15th SK puritan fan i know lol. then again i also know theres ALOT of renmei antis who follow the puritan mindset #imao. I say this alot many times but SK fandom is only ugly and almost everyone becomes a puritan when renmei gets mentioned #which has always made me ????????????????? so yall can handle yoyo boy and anna teen preg can handle serg getting groomed/manipulated #by marc and xes laws can handle kids getting their arms and legs ripped off can handle kids getting killed left and right #can handle shipping bruce lee whos like plenty years older than JUN which btw beginning of the series she starts off being 17 #but a 4 year age gap between ren and jeanne is too much apparently and should be cancelled. geez louise

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sttoru · 6 months ago

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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. bragging about your oh-so-perfect boyfriend to your friends certainly has its (welcomed) consequences. . .

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff & smut. p in v -> unprotected. missionary. sweet but also nasty and condescending. creampie. body worship. size difference / - kink. nicknames ‘(little) princess, baby’. name calling once. not proof read bcs im sleepy. wc. 2k+

“right! he’s so thoughtful,” you sigh dreamily as you chat with your friends over the phone. you’re laying on satoru’s bed, kicking your feet up while you remove your make-up. of course, you had to call your girls to tell them all about the little date you just had with your boyfriend.

satoru’s in the shower, so you’re taking the time to relive the experience.

“here she goes again y’all,” one of your friends sighs dramatically, to which the others follow with giggles of their own. they know that you can go on and on about your partner. they’ve heard all of it before.

you grin and roll your eyes, rubbing the cleansing wipe over your lips, removing the light pink gloss you had on. you’re all giddy as you recall what satoru has done and given to you this evening. you’ve been pampered—spoiled rotten.

“hey! don’t blame me,” you retort with a chuckle. your friends laugh and urge you to go on since they’re only joking. the stories you tell are always either adorable or heartwarming, and thus they’re happy to listen. plus, debriefing you on your love life is free entertainment.

it’s not unusual for you to stray from the main story. you ramble about the restaurant you’ve visited, the pretty green scenery you’ve walked past, the museum you’ve visited, the way satoru paid for everything and how he made sure to pick activities you’re interested.

you get an occasional ‘aww’ or ‘cuteee’ when you mention your boyfriend’s loving gestures. from the enormous bouquet of flowers he’s gotten you, to the fact that he carried you back into his apartment the moment you told him your feet were hurting.

walking in heels wasn’t the smart move you thought it was, though luckily you had a thoughtful lover by your side.

“he’s just so handsome ‘n stuff. god—“ you squeal, not even bothering to dampen your excitement. you hide your face behind your hands for a split second, gaining a few fan girling squeaks from your friends as well. they’re happy that you’re being treated like deserved.

you don’t hear the door of the bedroom open since you’re too busy gushing about satoru. you’re focused on your small pocket mirror, careful not to forget a spot on your face. you notice that your friends have gone quiet, but you don’t question it.

“his gentle personality is honestly such a turn-on,” you mumble as you rub off the concealer from under your eyes, “and his subtle yet possessive touches? phew, don’t get me started.” you continue to babble on about how hot satoru is when he gets mad, unable to point out a flaw.

you’re about to comment on your friends’ sudden silence when a hand lands on your shoulder. you freeze and finally make eye contact with no one other than satoru—hovering over you from behind. he’s smiling down at you and mumbles a quick, ‘hey, baby’, before kissing your forehead.

you try to explain the situation, yet have no idea where to start. you can hear a friend of yours snickering and another faintly whisper an ‘oh, girl. . .’

before you have the ability to get another word out, satoru cuts you off, waving at your front camera for a second. his smile reaches his eyes and his dimples show;

“hey ladies, mind if i steal my girl from you?” satoru asks as he puts an arm around you. he places his cheek against yours, awaiting an answer. your friends are left speechless at the sudden turn of events.

the white-haired man appears extremely good on screen. he’s basically blessing them with his handsome looks. the towel hanging over his head indicates that he just came out of a fresh shower. there’s a visible vein running down his neck—nearly bulging out of the skin—as if satoru’s holding himself back.

once your friends snap out of their daze, they greet satoru and nod, exchanging quick ‘see you later’s. your boyfriend thanks them with another one of his charming smiles. he waves at the camera again, “bye bye, thank you.”

the call ends and the bedroom falls quiet. you stare at your screen which fades to black, completely dumbfounded. you quickly sit up—your mind a chaotic mess full of thoughts.

“satoru, i uhm, i didn’t know—“ you attempt to form an explanation, though you realise that it’s likely futile. satoru’s probably heard every word that left your mouth. you look up at him, your voice a quiet whisper, “how much did you hear?”

the sorcerer grins. he’s so enamored with you; everything you do is adorable. he grabs your hands and holds then into his larger ones—thumbs gently rubbing your skin. he pulls them up to his lips so he could place chaste kisses on your knuckles.

“everything, princess,” satoru hums, rotating your hands to place kisses on the inside of your wrists. there’s a subtle blush on his cheeks that even reaches his ears. no matter how calm and collected he may seem, he’s still but a complete sucker to your love, “talking about me to your little friends, hm? how cute.”

a shiver runs down your spine. you feel your tummy turn as you’re slowly guided onto your back. multiple kisses cover your body—from head to toe—like a canvas getting painted on. satoru’s taking his sweet time, admiring the art that’s your physique.

every piece of clothing that comes off is a step closer to the grande revelation. the masterpiece that is you. moving from one empty spot - filling it with his kisses - to another. sighs of content leave your lover’s mouth with each reveal, as if he hasn’t seen the sight of your naked body before.

“does this turn you on, baby? my ‘subtle touches’?” satoru mutters against your breasts, remembering your earlier words. his blue eyes stare up at you through his white lashes. not wearing his blindfold may overstimulate him due to his abilities, but he’ll risk anything if it’s to admire you the best he can.

he chuckles when you nod. your boyfriend kisses your hard nipples—taking his time to swirl his tongue around both of them just to feel your back arch off the mattress. your hands holding onto him for life is extremely thrilling. “it turns me on too,” satoru confesses quietly. his slender fingers reach the hem of your panties, “you turn me on so fuckin’ much.”

your breath hitches when your underwear gets tossed somewhere across the room. you’re dripping, obviously. there’s no way you couldn’t get turned on by the way satoru’s been worshipping your entire being.

you can also see the effect you have on him; he’s sweating. the vein on his neck seems to grow more visible when your cunt is revealed to him.

“there she is,” satoru grins in satisfaction. he seems to be in a daze for a second before he regains composure. he looks at you for a quick check, needing to know if he has your consent before he continues. the moment you nod, your lover separates your legs.

you sniff and try to hide your embarrassed expression behind a hand. satoru’s quick to pin your wrist above your head so you wouldn’t have the chance to do any of that. “keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he leans in to place a swift kiss on your lips.

“mhm,” you nod after returning the peck. the white-haired man utters a small ‘thank you’ and undoes his sweatpants with his free hand. he fumbles with his boxers—unable to keep himself from trembling in pleasure from the view alone.

your small body underneath him is a sight he’ll never get tired of. that face of yours morphing into one of pleasure whenever you’re intimate is one of his favorite things to witness. thus why the missionary is his go to position.

“c’mon,” satoru kisses your cheek as he manages to pull his erected cock out of his underwear. it’s standing tall, the tip pointing right at the place it wants to be buried at—your wet, warm and inviting pussy, “you were so loud when talking with y’r friends ‘n now you’ve gone quiet on me.”

satoru pouts, “it’s not fair. i wanna hear my princess too.”

you almost choke on your spit because of how whiny yet demanding satoru sounds. you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, firmly holding your hand down above your head. you’re still flustered by the entire situation. you open your mouth as tears gather in your eyes, “i’m sorry, i’m jus— ngh!”

you can’t even get your words out. the lewd feeling of satoru rubbing his tip between your folds completely catches you off guard. he grins, as if he planned on doing that the moment you tried to speak. he’s such a tease.

“shh, shh, i know,” satoru coos mockingly, acting like he’s not doing it on purpose. you can’t blame the man; he’s been rock hard ever since he heard you praise him so openly through the phone. your lovely voice speaking so highly of him was driving him nuts.

you’re so appreciative for all he’s doing and it makes the sorcerer want to spoil you even more. to give you the love and affection you deserve because of how precious you are—even if you don’t realise it.

he wants to give you more. more, more, more.

without thinking, satoru pushes his cock right through your tight cunt. he shudders at the sight of your poor, small pussy struggling to take his fat dick. he can’t hurt you, he knows. especially with the amount of times the bulbous head of his cock nearly bruised your cervix.

though, it’s difficult not to go all out. you’re so accepting of everything he does—satoru can see that by the way your eyes stare at him. it’s all love. the light reflecting in your pupils makes them sparkle beautifully. he cusses under his breath, “y’re so pretty, baby. fuck, fuck, fuck. y’re making it so hard.”

satoru tries his best not to plunge his cock all the way to the hilt. he reaches halfway with each thrust, the thwacking sound increasing by the second. your legs automatically wrap around his waist and your fingers squeeze his.

“toruuu, fmhh, so big,” you babble, the drool forming in the corners of your lips threatening to drip down your chin. each soft yet firm thrust seems to resonate within you, evoking a sense of pleasurable contentment.

satoru lets out a haughty chuckle at the sight of you going cockdrunk already. he’s still trying to hold his urges back by focusing on your satisfaction alone. “i’ll give you something else to brag ‘bout to y’r friends,” he pants with a confident smirk, kissing your jawline as he ruts into you,

you’re embarrassed by your current predicament. despite that, you find yourself enjoying every consequence that your actions have caused. your moans echo in satoru’s ears, each slap of your bodies connecting sounding twice as loud.

his thick cock is stretching you out so well. your cunt is working overtime to make space for every inch. your boyfriend gently bites your bottom lip, his breath faltering when you clench around him in response.

“‘re ya gonna tell them?” satoru asks through a guttural moan. his hips move non-stop, aiming to please you until you lose your mind. he’ll live up to the expectations set no matter what. he kisses the swell of your breasts, “are ya gonna tell ‘em how you let your ‘lovely’ boyfriend fuck you like this? how y’re a complete slut for his cock?”

you don’t know how to react to his dirty talk. it’s getting you wetter, that’s for sure. your thighs shake around his waist and your tummy feels like it’s doing flips. satoru doesn’t leave it there, “gonna tell them about how good i fill you up, yeah? dirty little girl telling all her friends about our private life, tsk tsk.”

it’s overwhelming. the sudden increase in dirty talk makes you want to cum on spot. you feel like you’re being degraded, however satoru’s touches make you feel appreciated and loved. his hand holding yours above your head never leaves you—a sign that this is still him making love to you.

“am—am not gonna,” you hiccup. the words simply roll of your tongue without much thought. you’re mindlessly responding to your lover. “am not gonna tell them anything,” you continue before cutting yourself off with a string of whiny moans when satoru plays with your clit.

satoru shakes his head, increasing the pressure and speed in which he’s pumping into you. he loves the view of you being so helpless—succumbing to the pleasure he’s granting you. “sureeee, i believe you,” your boyfriend snickers and pushes his pulsing cock in further. his tone is soft but condescending, “i’ll trust my little princess to keep her mouth shut f’me.”

you’re getting so close. your nails dig into his skin and your noises get louder. you’re right on the edge of euphoria. the clit stimulation along with the feeling of being filled to the brim is enough to make you see stars.

satoru nods at your desperate whimpers that alarm him that you’re close to climax. “i got you, baby. cum f’me—i got you,” he places sloppy kisses all over your face and rams his cock in and out of you in a stronger rhythm. there’s nothing satoru wants to do in this world more than to flood your insides with his cum.

his cock doesn’t stop prodding at your sweet spots and it’s making you approach that peak; the peak of pleasure that’s going to push you over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover and he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. “it’s okay, do it f’me,” satoru encourages you once again through a husky whisper.

you’re thankful that you have such an attentive partner. he can go from teasing you to comforting you and it’s the most reassuring thing ever. you’ve never had a man hold you so intimately while he’s balls deep into you.

“g’nna cum,” a strangled moan leaves your throat when you try to speak. your chests are pressed together and your heartbeats match—like the perfect pair you are. satoru feels his balls clench with an aching feeling, needing to release every last drop they have stored into your tiny cunt.

just thinking about the way you were bragging about him again, is enough. “take it—fuuuckk—take it all, baby,” the white-haired man takes a deep breath in and can’t help but bury his entire dick inside of you, that one last thrust making you yelp.

you reach your climaxes at the exact same time. your fluids mix as you feel satoru’s thick spurts of cum coat your insides a sticky white. your body spasms and your boyfriend instantly soothes you by rubbing your back. his own legs are trembling a little, but you’re far more important.

you don’t utter a word and simply focus on regaining your energy. all that you can say are incoherent babbles. “easy,” satoru kisses the corners of your eyes and relishes in the fact that he’s fucked you full of his cum. it’s a reminder of just how much he loves you.

a few encouraging words and hugs later and you’ve calmed down. you don’t fully grasp the reality of the situation until the adrenaline and other hormones drop down to a normal level.

you’re suddenly reminded by your previous words and this time, you succeed in hiding your face into the crook of satoru’s neck.

it’s certain that he’s greatly enjoyed overhearing you talk about him to your friends, but it’s still a somewhat embarrassing memory you wish to forget. “not a word, please. j-jus act like you haven’t heard anything,” you mumble quietly now that you’ve come down from your high.

satoru laughs softly. he can’t help but tease you after that—it’s a given. you’re still so caught up on what happened and it’s endearing.

however, satoru wouldn’t be him if he didn’t tease you about your little comments. without pulling out, he tilts his head back and stares down at you with a faint grin, “do i have to act like i haven’t fucked you silly just now too?”

“satoru!”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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