#because at the end of the day the purpose of my work

[exhausted-archivist]

This is the banter about his going rates that I referenced in another post, and I see the comments and tags. I cannot tell you how much this isn’t him being a nepo baby or the “how much could it cost” meme.

Shoving the rest under the cut because I get the joke here but I need to yell about this man.

tldr: This isn’t dialogue about Lucanis being out of touch, and not knowing what money is worth. He knows, he’s a union man. This dialogue is about Lucanis learning about Harding’s values and priorities. He was worried he was low balling Harding. The tone in this dialogue throws him because what Harding says could easily be taken as “six thousand is only this much and I deserve more compensation.” Hence why he offered to negotiate with her and also why he clarified that the comparison was good.

Now for me yelling about this man:

Lucanis is a union man. Lucanis thinks everyone should be paid fairly, equally, and the market rate. He tells Neve to unionize with the other detectives to make sure she is being compensated fairly (to make sure they all are tbh) and that no one is underpricing themselves. If they are, they’re a scab.

He tells Bellara the Veil Jumpers are providing a service and risking their lives - they should be fairly and properly compensated. They should not only unionize but charge for their services.

Now there is something to say about capitalism and such, but Lucanis is vouching for this stuff because at the end of the day money is important in Thedas. With money you can buy the supplies you need. With money you can make more impactful change, bribe people with lesser morals, provide for people who need it. Cover funerary costs, compensate the families of those who died who maybe the person working for/with you was the only money earner. With money, you can choose to help on jobs that don’t pay at all because you have the comfort of knowing you have other work to cover things.

Lucanis isn’t asking Harding if that’s good because he doesn’t understand the value of what he’s offering. He’s asking Harding if it’s good to understand what her value of it is. Money is after all just a social contract of a universally agreed to system to value the more abstract concepts of value (and even then it fails at times). For all he knows she could have been presenting those examples to show he is lowballing her.

This man is offering to negotiate with her, but her words and tone throw him so he’s not sure if she is happy with the offer or offended.

Lucanis isn’t a nepo baby who thinks 10 dollars for a banana isn’t a lot. Illiaro is the nepo baby. Lucanis was born into wealth but he knows the value of it and works hard to not only earn it but also maintain it. This man has standards, he wants the best because he can afford it so he will not accept anything less than his expensive, luxury Orlesian peaches.

Lucanis doesn’t value goats or a barn the same way Harding does. For her there is personal attachment and sentimentality (see where money fails to properly put a value on something). He knows their monetary worth of those things but he would not be pleased or excited to be paid in a herd of goats (unless perhaps if they were Ayesleigh gulabi goat). But Harding does value those things. Those things have more meaning to her than their value in gold, that’s home. That’s stability. That’s purpose and security. Giving books to the whole village? That’s enriching lives, that teaching people to read. That is uplifting people.

If you asked Lucanis to list off what 6k gold could get him? You’d see his values are different, it would be coffee, luxury food ingredients, wyvern memorabilia, daggers.

Anyways, this isn’t my blorbo but he’s the blorbo of friends I have and man is up there with Cullen, Davrin, and others. Just rotating in my brain space because people I care about like him.

Also this makes me wonder how much the Inquisition was paying Harding and if Lucanis is going to provide her with one of his lawyers like he did for Neve and Bellara.

I've seen Lucanis' family villa so I knew he was rich, but this banter made me realize that he's a rich boy who has no idea what money is worth lmao.

[3liza]

part of the age-phobia that haunts millennials and gen z is our parents' fault. i only know this because my parents actively worked against it my entire childhood and now i am almost completely lacking any sort of angst related to aging. my mom inoculated me against it by approving of aging bodies. my mom told me she didn't care about her sagging breasts or gaining weight because her body had worked hard for her and fed her children and was strong and capable and beautiful. my dad said things like "you're going to be beautiful when you're 40, i cant wait to see you all grown up". neither of them worshiped youth or spoke with envy about anyone's lack of age. they both have friends who are older and younger than they are. it is actually our parents' job to do this. this is what "values" is supposed to mean, they're supposed to give us frameworks to think about and navigate life with, but the term has been so abused and is a neutral thing in the first place, people can have shit values. but yes you are actually supposed to teach your children what to think about things. and you'll end up doing it anyway so you better do it on purpose, and give them lenses through which to see the world that make them stronger and braver and more capable, not fearful and helpless. idk. the older i get the less i blame people for not having the right mental skills and the more i frown and shake my head at whoever's parents didnt teach them that they would be 50 years old one day and how to anticipate and value that process

[robo-writing]

helloooo

I’ve recently gotten into call of duty and I make a humble request 🕺

could I have a ghost x afab!reader who’s usually innocent and stuff, but tries to seduce him or something? Take your time!! I love your work

I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to people saying they love my writing 🥹

His squadmates check up on him occasionally—especially Soap, nosey as he is. For everything that they've gone through together they practically know nothing about Simon, and he likes it this way. Not to say that he doesn't trust them, but because Simon's a solitary creature, nothing more. However, it's surprising to the entire team when he off-handedly mentions that he's picked up a new hobby recently—bird-watching.

Immediately questions are fired off, but much to everyone's annoyance Simon only smiles as he takes another swig of beer. They almost suspect him of lying; he's not. His favorite past-time is making his way to his local haunt—9:00 pm sharp, every Friday—all to watch the pretty little bird behind the bar. He hasn’t missed a day, a regular customer every week for the past three months.

He likes the atmosphere, he likes how no one seems to ask questions about the 6’4 beast that orders his whiskey neat and sits alone in the corner—even more than that, he likes how you greet him with a smile every time he walks through the door.

Adorable really, how you fly about the bar, chirping out orders at the speed of light. More than once he’s had the opportunity to talk to you, and more than once have you averted your eyes from him, made yourself busy in hopes that you could hide the obvious attraction written on your face.

It never works, but he likes that about you.

He likes how you stumble over your words, how you meekly offer him a refill once his glass is empty, how your face lights up when he purposely lets his fingers touch your own when you set down a new glass. It's easy to let his mind wander knowing how easily riled up you are, and let it wander he does. Sensitive little birdy, he thinks to himself. Wonder how you'd react if his fingers were stroking your clit instead.

His pretty little birdie, shy little thing you are. So shy that you can’t bring yourself to express your little crush with words, but it’s alright—he knows—and he's willing to play this game for as long as you want it to go on. He's a patient man. It's February now, and it seems as if you're ready for this game to end. Among the red streamers and paper hearts that decorate the bar is you, and the cute red set you're so excited to show him. "I got the boss to sign off on it, see?" You ramble excitedly, stepping away for a single moment to show off your low-cut top and jeans to match. "Isn't it so cute?" He's the only one that gets this special treatment, the sight of you doing a 360 almost enough to make him reach across the bar. "Mhm," he agrees, far too engrossed in the shape of your ass than the color of your outfit. "Y'look amazing birdie." You bow your head in embarrassment at the nickname, unable to see how Simon's lips curl upward in response. "How am I supposed to react when you say things like that..." "It's a compliment. I don't say shit I don't mean." Again, you feel your face heat up at the implication, surprising yourself with a sudden burst of confidence. "You really mean that, don't you?" "I do. You think I don't?" "I think you're a flirt," you reply, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up your spine when he answers— "I'd be more than happy to prove just how honest I am, birdie." The look he sends you is nothing short of a promise, eyes boring into your own as he takes a sip. He knows, and you're willing to guess that he's known for a while based how how quick he is to laugh at your befuddled expression. "That's—I mean—" He sets his glass down slowly, tilting his head towards you. "Am I reading something wrong here?" You stumble over your words, barely muttering out a meek little "no" under your breath as he leans in close, enough to smell the liquor on his breath. "So, if I ain't wrong, feel free to meet me in the back after closing. I'd hate for you to think I'm a liar." Hours later, he found the answer to the question of how you'd react with his fingers against your clit—turns out you're even more sensitive than he imagined.

[highvern]

Steam II

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitutionSmut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~16.4k | Fic Length: ~60k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: part 2 is here! pls reblog and lmk what you think. also! the poem mentioned near the end. part 3 will be up friday because wednesday is reserved for a very special bday fic for one of my favorite people.

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Wonwoo’s first day as your personal guard was a case study in public humiliation.

Your grandmother sat high on her dais in the council debate hall with you seated on a slightly lower platform at her side, stiff as a board. The meeting had already taken hours. Councilmen and nobles argued back and forth across the aisle, every topic of debate hammered into the ground for them to ultimately agree to the same terms the proposed at the beginning of the discussion. It was a waste of time and energy to argue superfluous details but it kept them content which was a priceless luxury. Better to let men yell their silly insults across the debate chamber than across the battlefield.

Their raucous chatter served another purpose: preventing you from falling asleep. When that stopped working, your nails stung into your palms and you pinched your thighs, hands hidden beneath the sleeves of your gown.

Wonwoo moved into the servant’s quarters of your apartment last night and you hadn’t slept a wink, tossing and turning all night. He’d arrived and disappeared into his new room without so much as a glance in your direction. It shouldn’t have confused you as much as it did. Nothing could ever happen but it didn’t stop the tension from thundering through the entire suite; knowing you fantasized about having him in your room only for him to actually be there. 

Then that morning when you rose, servants and lady's maids fluttering about to prepare you for the day, you felt his judgment even though he never vocalized it; a heavy weight around your neck. Face hot, you shoved the new found shame down as far as you could and tried to ignore it.

The burden didn’t lighten as he followed a pace behind you throughout the day, to every appointment and lesson. He watched in somber silence as the royal jeweler presented fine gems set into crowns, necklaces, and rings. He stared at his shoes while your seamstress pinned and unpinned in a new dress. And now, he hovered somewhere behind you in the very meeting you wished would end.

“And now our last order of business,” Chancellor Dak started, scanning the long document before him. “Lord Belaor, you have the floor.”

Lord Belaor rose from his seat at the end of the chamber and approached the wide center aisle. The billowed sleeves of his robes resembled a peacock. He was dramatic as ever, demanding full attention for whatever gripe possessed him.

“As we all know, it is customary that the 25th birthday of an heir to the United Islands’ throne is a matter of great significance. It—” 

“‘It signifies that this heir is eligible to assume the throne’,” Chancellor Dak finished. “Of course we are aware of this Lord Belaor, but Princess Y/N and Her Majesty agreed she would delay her ascension until she felt comfortable assuming the throne. This has been long discussed.”

Murmurs of agreement whispered across the chamber, nobles and councilmen rolling their eyes.

“It is not Princess Y/N to whom I was referring,” Lord Belaor said. “Last month, on the occasion of his twenty-fifth birthday, my nephew, Duke Tsao, became eligible to assume the throne.”

A terrible silence filled the room. Nobles and councilmen gaped like fish as what their peer suggested: treason.

“I beg your pardon?” you gasped.

Belaor turned his head not towards you, but your grandmother. “My nephew is ready to take his place as United Island’s rightful king.”

Your jaw clenched so tight your teeth threatened to crack. Tsao, that bumbling idiot, wasn’t fit to pour water in a bucket without supervision, couldn’t bend to save his life. Tsao flaunted his mistresses without shame and starved his tenants with burdensome taxes to fund his affairs. He’d get the throne over your dead body.

“Princess Y/N is the first in line for the throne, a direct descendent of royalty. Are you challenging the line of succession, Lord Belaor?” Lord Gaha asked. Of all the nobles, he maintained the most influence and he didn’t seem sold on the idea Belaor presented.

“I am simply providing a potential consideration given that Princess Y/N is of age and yet remains unmarried. Not all of the council is completely confident she is the most suitable choice to govern our great nation with that information in mind.”

Freezing Belaor and his Spirits forsaken nephew until their hearts stopped became more and more appealing. If that didn’t work then drowning was another solid option; however, it’d require far more work. Murdering a noble would be frowned upon but Lord Belaor, frozen to the far wall, bloody and bruised from your fists was a satisfying image. He probably hadn’t considered that outcome before opening his mouth.

Your grandmother appraised Lord Belaor, a look you were familiar with. “We have never required princesses to marry in order to rule our country and I will not start now.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty. But my nephew is already married with several children. His line is secured in the event something unfortunate happens. Can we say the same of our dear princess? Spirits protect her, but we must prepare for the worst possible outcomes.”

He didn’t mention that six of Tsao’s ten children were bastards with rumors of more.

“I will take your concerns under consideration, Lord Belaor. You are all dismissed.”

Chancellor Dak echoed your grandmother’s sentiment and followed your grandmother to her private office, whispering urgently. 

Princesses did not rush, or stomp. They did not slouch or shrug. They did not fantasize of murder no matter how righteous. But of all the things you were not allowed to do, you refused to break in front of self important nobles.

You marched through the palace, pulse hammering in your ears with each step. If you were born with your mother’s fire instead of the late king’s water, then the palace would’ve crumbled to cinders. But you were in control. You just needed to get to the private pavilion at the edge of the gardens and then—

Your attendant, Lin, struggled to match your pace. “Your Highness, you have a tsungi horn lesson with—”

“Cancel it. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.”

“But!” Lin objected but you already turned the corner before she could attempt to argue.

Wonwoo watched you destroy the training pavilion in fury. Targets exploded like fireworks from ice blades the size of his torso. When there were none left you bent ice into the shape of what looked suspiciously similar to the noble from earlier and started destroying those as well.

He was…terrified. You were not the poised princess he met at the barracks, nor the crafty opponent he met in the warehouse. This was something new. Something volatile. The leash of carefully crafted control slipped from the typhoon that waited beneath the surface. You held back all those times he watched you bend. Were all princesses trained to be so deadly?

A small part of him, a piece he didn’t know existed, felt relief when the nobles revealed you were unwed. He wasn’t a part of some grand betrayal. His only crime was being overly friendly with a woman above his station which shouldn’t really be considered a crime. Wonwoo hadn’t compromised you no more than you compromised him. 

“AH!” you screamed and the remaining effigies shattered into a million pieces. 

Despite the noise, no one came. This far edge of the gardens, so far from the palace that the hedges blocked the spires, seemed to be the one place not crowded with servants. 

Wonwoo remained in agonizing solitude as you collapsed on the ground, closed your eyes, and huffed like a toddler. You looked so similar in the orange and pinks of sunset as you did in moonlight and yet nothing was the same. The eerie calm you maintained during a fight, the confident sureness you’d win, had waned into whatever he had just witnessed.

You made a disgusted noise and rose to your feet, surveying the damage. When you finally turned, you gazed at him as if you forgot he existed. “Can you go away?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Then do you have to be so loud about it?”

“I haven’t spoken to you since I got here.” 

Here as in the palace, simply because he hadn’t known what to say last night and chose to hide in his room instead. A room larger than any he had before, even those he shared with others. It was all so new and strange. He imagined you alone in your room, just down the hall. The benign realization that he was effectively alone with you returned those horribly vivid memories; the feelings of longing. 

Wonwoo kept his mouth shut because he wasn’t sure what would come out. Another teasing jab, or something more damning. Now with witnesses in every corner and maids who liked to barge in without a care, he couldn’t afford to slip.

You glided across the pavilion where there was a stack of towels and began wiping away the dirt and sweat clinging to your face. “Yeah, well, I can feel you judging me.”

“I’m not judging you,” Wonwoo sputtered. 

“Yes, you are!” you argued.

Wonwoo really wanted to say he was judging those old men and their unabashed scheming. He knew Lord Tsao, or of him. Knew he wasn’t fit to rule a pile of dirt let alone a kingdom; heard the stories of his tenants going hungry season after season to pay the lord’s gambling debts. 

But Wonwoo did not say those things. He doubted fanning the flame of your ire would have much benefit other than more destruction of more unfortunate targets and he’d prefer not to become one. Besides, he really does not want to talk about politics and marriage; he wants to go back to your apartment and take a long bath and try to find the sleep that evaded him last night.

“I’m just not used to having servants do everything for me,” he said.

“They’re doing their jobs,” you snapped before mumbling, “We’re all just doing our jobs.”

With the sun sinking below the line of the hedges, the pavilion cast in deep shadows. 

“Can you at least tell them not to be so thorough? One of them offered to help me bathe last night.”

“That's Han’s attempt at flirting. She thinks you’re handsome.” A blip of amusement crossed your face, so brief it could have been imagination but he savors it all the same.

“Glad I’m making a good impression,” Wonwoo said. He looked to the sky above, the stars already dappling the sky. They’re more visible here than in the city. “So if you’re old enough to be queen, why aren’t you?”

You deflated and Wonwoo instantly regretted the question. “All I’ve done since I was a child was learn what it was to be queen. I’ve studied history, war strategy, tax reforms. I’ve attended council meetings since I was twelve. It is all I am, all I have been raised to do from the second I was born. And yet… there is so much I do not know.”

“So you sneak out of the palace?”

“Partially,” You admitted, taking a seat on a nearby bench. “If I told them I wanted to see the city it would take days of planning, countless staff and guards. A full royal procession. Even then I’d only be allowed to see what's considered ‘proper’ which excludes pretty much everything. I wouldn’t have known there were places like the Red Lanterns or the homeless encampments near the warehouses. They all pretend those issues don’t exist so they can spend money on stupid parties or whatever else they want.”

“So you want to be a queen of the people.”

“My decisions affect those people. They are my people. Every war we enter, every tax collected, they pay for it while I sit on a throne behind ivory walls and treat them as numbers on a page. I will not let those arrogant old ass holes run my country into the ground while people suffer.”

“Such language from a princess,” Wonwoo gasped in mock shock.

“Shut up, before I freeze you to a wall.”

“How scandalous!”

You looked genuinely thrilled at the idea of sticking him to a wall and leaving him there until morning. 

“So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I am going pray there is at least one suitable man at next week's festivities and marry him. My grandmother won’t make me but I know it’s why she’s decided to host every single dignitary, ambassador, and wealthy noble she could find. I have a stack of dossiers back in my apartment to review before bed.”

In his world, marriage was for love. Sometimes duty if there was a kid involved but mostly love. Two people choosing each other above all others, for the rest of their lives. That did not appear to be the case for royalty. Marriage was another political decision, picking someone from a catalog after ensuring they checked whatever important boxes.

“Oh. That’s…a good idea.”

“Yes,” you huffed like a petulant child refusing to eat their vegetables. “I can’t wait to have some random spoiled prince try and boss me around my own kingdom.”

“Then don’t marry a prince, I guess.” Wonwoo shrugged. “Or just make him watch your attack some targets again, he’ll be too busy pissing himself to think about telling you what to do.”

“Or I could freeze him to a wall,” you said but when Wonwoo risked a look at your face all he could see was sadness and defeat.

He didn’t like it. Defeat fit you like a jacket six sizes too small. Wonwoo didn’t have words of comfort, what could he say? But when words failed him, he had action.

“Alright, get up. Enough moping.”

“I’m not moping!” you argued, eyes locked on his with defiance.

Good. 

Wonwoo strode to the center of the pavilion without looking back, smiling at the click of footsteps following. “You are and it’s freaking me out.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you.”

“You’re a bad liar, Your Highness.”

You fumed, “I told you not to call me that.”

“And just what are you gonna do about it?” Wonwoo tensed, already prepared for the hit of ice against his skin. It felt good. Familiar. If you were fighting him then he knew what to do instead of feeling that odd desperation to make you smile. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Two hours later, the pavilion was covered in soot and ice. The ground was scorched in some places and flooded in others. You finally tired and called for a truce that Wonwoo eagerly agreed to. How intimidating it must have been for the princess and her personal guard to limp back to your apartment together, covered in sweat and filth. 

Wonwoo slept like a baby.

The welcoming procession lasted hours. All manner of speeches, gifts, and presentations from the different delegations blended together into a dull thrum. 

Cheeks sore from smiling and butt numb from your perch on your throne, you thanked Prince Bavruq for the abalone chest filled with jewels that reflected light like the sea; greens, blues, and whites projected across the throne room as sun filtered in from the large windows. They were truly beautiful. Just like the other chest of rubies and diamonds from Admiral Gyan or the ensemble of lapis carvings from Senator Maoki. Or any of the other gaudish presents serving as a means to impress you and your grandmother and soften your opinion towards one of them. 

Perhaps you would have been impressed if your neck didn’t ache from the heavy combs of silver and gemstones littering your hair. 

Dinner was an entirely different fiasco.

A feast in the name of camaraderie served as an opportunity for all the guests to appraise and gawk at you like a prized komodo horse. It wasn’t unusual or new sans for the unabashed way they all seemed to be sizing each other up as well. There had been a stand off for the seats directly across and beside you; grown men acting like children wanting first turn with their favorite toy as they shouldered one another and mumbled threats under their breath. 

Your wine glass sat empty before the first course ever arrived.

“Your Highness, I hear you are partial to the tsungi horn. I would be honored to play for you.” A man beside you, dressed in a fine coat that clung to his broad shoulders, said. His golden eyes gleamed like a falcon’s.

“That would be lovely, Lord Char. Thank you.” You lifted your spoon once again from the full bowl of cold soup. Everyone else at the table had nearly finished but your guests insisted on keeping you occupied with conversation rather than eating.

“Princess!” called another man across the table. “I’m not as skilled on the tsungi horn, but perhaps I could play the dramyin for you?”

“I would be delighted, Commander Raza.”

You hated the dramyin.

Someone else began speaking and the edges of your bowl frosted, ice crystals floating across the oily surface as you tried to gain composure. A servant intervened before you could follow through on the idea of throwing it at the scraggly bearded noble boasting his accomplishments in poetry. Princesses did not launch their meals at unsuspecting men. 

Others began clearing the remaining dishes before new plates arrived with thick slices of meat covered in peppered sauce and vinegared vegetables. You were quick to take a bite before someone new could interrupt to discuss another dreadful instrument.

“We shall make an event of it,” your grandmother clapped from the head of the table. “A night to display the unique talents of your kingdoms. My granddaughter is partial to cultural affairs.”

“What a lovely idea but I don’t believe we have the time with—”

“Nonsense! Night after next we shall have a splendid performance,” she gazed at you with a bright smile as if to say deal with it. “But tonight, we will eat.”

You bit your tongue until dessert came. A terrible coincidence that the moon peach tarts with cream were your favorite. Maybe Han can bring some up to your room. A servant passed by, filling Lord Char’s glass. You waited with both hands tucked beneath the edge of the table for Lord Char to grab for his cup. When he did, you tugged at the blood in his veins, barely enough to make the muscles jump.

“My dress!” you gasped.

The few people who had not been watching you like a petting zoo animal whipped around, mouths open in horror.

“Your Highness, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean…Let me help you!” Lord Char stammered, the contents of his drink puddled across the table and your lap. He grabbed for his napkin but floundered with the realization he couldn’t touch you.

“I believe you have done enough, Your Grace,” you bit out. Wine stained the front of your gown in large splotches, the blue of the fabric mixing with red to resemble a giant ugly bruise. A true shame, to destroy such fine silks. But ruining a brand new dress was worth escaping the evening. “Excuse me.”

You ignored the silent reprimand blooming on your grandmother’s face, allowing servants to crowd you with towels as they led you from the dining room swiftly. Her ire would be dealt with later when the voices of whiny nobles no longer rattled through your ears.

Lord Char followed spouting more apologies. “Princess Y/N, my hand slipped! I would never mean to—”

“Excuse me, Lord Char. I find myself needing to change out of my favorite gown since it is ruined.” 

He deflated and stepped aside as you continued on your path.

“I am fine.” You brushed away the servants once the heavy doors shut, dismissing them back to their posts. “I will be retiring early this evening.”

Bending the liquid soaking your gown into a potted plant, you continued to your room with a pair of footsteps echoing behind.

Wonwoo watched the skyline of the city glow with light from your bedroom window while you…did whatever you did with your lady’s maids in your bathroom. 

Logically, he knew but refused to dwell on such things. He had plenty of knowledge of what you looked like naked and soaking wet, at least from the waist up. And plenty of imaginations of the rest. There was no reason to add to his suffering by ruminating the gentle splashes echoing through the door.

Or the…giggling.

How many times had you looked at this same view? Watched a city you never experienced right at your feet thrum to life every night while you remained out of sight? Locked away in your tower night after night, wallowing and alone after your staff retired for the evening; imagination running wild with all sorts of activities might be taking place and wanting a slice for yourself.

And then you did just that. An incredibly foolish endeavor but his chest warmed with fond pride. He imagined what you would say if presented with that fact.

Only foolish if I was caught. 

Wonwoo hadn’t considered the trouble you went through to sneak out the palace and down into the Middle district. It was at least an hour on foot assuming you didn’t encounter any delays, probably more since there was never a word of suspicious activity taking place in the Nobles Quarter. Foolish but not foolish at all.

Then he thought, how many nights had he paced the same streets just outside the palace walls, completely unaware that you were locked in this tower. That you ran straight across his path while he remained none the wiser. The night after he met you in the market, when he wandered the streets during his rounds consumed with thoughts of you; only for you to be right here.

Two people so close yet worlds apart.

After what felt like hours, your maids, Han and Sami, filed out to prepare your room, turning down the bed and stoking the dwindling fire.

Sami fed the flames another log and looked at him. “Mind helping?” 

“I’m not a butler,” Wonwoo said but manipulated the dying flame until Sami waved him away.

Technically, Wonwoo was allowed to retire to his rooms now. He’d swept the windows and building tops for potential threats and found none (he never did). But Han and Sami were good company despite their constant teasing. It felt good to talk to someone other than you or Mingyu. 

“So what did you think?”

“Of what?”

Han rolled her eyes as if he was an idiot to not understand exactly what she meant. “The suitors.”

Wonwoo could have said a great many opinions. Lord Char smelled like a brothel and Senator Maoki’s carvings looked rather phallic to be the sea serpents and lion turtles they were meant to be. Prince Jao’s singing made him want to jump off a building but not before pushing the man off first. Wonwoo especially didn’t care for the way they leered at you like starved wolves.

But his opinions did not matter.

“I’m not a matchmaker either,” he huffed.

“Men really undervalue the fun of good gossip.”

“What did you think then?” he asked, arms crossed. 

“Prince Bavruq is so dreamy,” Sami crooned.

“He’s forty!” Han laughed.

“I’ve always liked an older man. He’s so…dignified.”

“Then maybe he’ll take you back to the North Pole with him,” Wonwoo added. It felt good to be a part of something again. In the barracks they played games and joked every night. He didn’t realize how much he missed it until now.

“A flower is only as good as its petals and my petals are too delicate to be locked away in the North Pole!”

Han snorted from across the room. “You’re as delicate as those rocks Chancellor Kabaar gifted her.”

“Now talk about a man,” Sami swooned.

You entered the room wrapped in a thick robe. “You are dismissed.”

Han and Sami bowed out but not before giggling again. When your face soured it only grew louder.

“Something funny?” he asked, watching the maids leaving through the door as they cackled to themselves.

You sat on the chair next to the window – eyes on the same sights Wonwoo watched earlier – and blew out a disgruntled breath.“Besides the fact that I was doused with wine in front of a hundred people?”

“Yeah, considering you did that to yourself.”

You raised an eyebrow. It was difficult to keep track of the masks you wore: a proper princess in front of others, the confident siren of the field, the force of nature from the training pavilion. They all slipped and rose so swiftly Wonwoo couldn’t keep track. “You dare suggest that I would purposefully sabotage dinner?”

“Based on past experience I can empathize with Lord Char on being made a fool at your hand.”

“Save your sympathies for someone more deserving than him. He is a terrible flirt with a gambling addiction which I supposed would be less of an issue if he ever actually won,” you said sourly. 

At least he had a concrete reason to dislike Char besides his smell.

“So you admit you did it on purpose?”

“Of course I did it on purpose but if you want to go rejoin them then by all means. Jao is probably performing some of those Earth Kingdom poems still.”

“Are they always so self important?”

“They are princelings from the richest and most powerful families in the world. Usually they’re worse.” 

You passed Wonwoo a tea cup, and without thought he warmed it between his palms until it was steaming before handing it back. “Hard to imagine that.”

“At my eighteenth birthday party a game of ice marbles turned into a wrestling match and they destroyed the south courtyard.”

“Well then,” he clapped. “At least the talent show will be interesting.” 

Wonwoo turned to leave, the sound of your amused snort tugging at that warm place in his heart carved just for you.

If someone asked what he thought a princess’ day looked like before he came to the palace, he would have assumed it was days full of tea parties and mindless chatter. An easy life filled with nothing but comfort and luxury.

But the more time Wonwoo spent attending meetings and meals, the more he realized the palace was a viper pit covered in the finest lace and gold.

Meetings upon meetings upon meetings left his head swimming. Every conversation was layered with double meaning, from chatter on tea selection to the actual topics. It seemed like a knot that only became more tangled as he focused on unraveling it. 

You seemed to navigate it easily though, the eerie mask of diplomacy firmly in place. 

“Admiral Gyan, I understand that we have trade agreements,” you said, face smooth as a pearl but your eyes gleamed like you had your boot on his throat. “However, it is in the best interest of both of our people to make amends to terms that predate our births.”

Gyan picked at the spread of tea cakes and snacks, ignoring you completely in favor of snagging the last sweet bun. “All this talk of trade is rather tiresome, don’t you think? Tell me Princess, what is your favorite flower?”

Wonwoo watched you shut your eyes with a deep silent breath. 

He prepared to intervene if needed; however, the admiral deserved to be knocked around a bit. An hour long discussion and all he asked was about your favorite sweets and candies (his were cherry nut tarts and jennamite), if you preferred the summer to winter (he liked summers), and your opinion on whether the Royal Theater’s production of Love amongst the Dragons outdid The Lost Slipper (nothing compared to The Echoes of Spirits).

Wonwoo made the mistake of implying the need for a chaperone for these meetings, considering most verged on courting rather than business, and he knew most guards waited outside the door during private meetings. Wonwoo was mortified to learn he was not only a guard but a nanny as well. 

“Two birds one stone,” you said as Han smoothed the creases from your robe. “I need a guard and chaperone, and most leaders do not want to talk business with too many prying ears.”

The unsaid parts were clear; Wonwoo was a servant. Wonwoo was nobody next to these men who demanded respect for simply being born to the right people. The more appointments he attended, the more his resentment boiled. It was no different then the hundreds of times he stepped aside for men of higher status in the Nobles Quarter or the barracks. He never thought much of it before, it was simply something he’d been trained to do for years. So why did it bother him now?

Each dignitaries had done quite the same as Gyan, only perhaps a touch subtler; at least their attempts at flattery were related to trade agreements. Every asinine inquiry They were eager to make up for time missed at dinner the previous night, and your absence at breakfast this morning. Every single one began their time with a high chin and starry eyes, only to leave disillusioned from your insistence to discuss policy and finance. To their knowledge you were not officially seeking marriage, they were simply hopeful for the inevitable day you did. 

How unaware they were of how soon that day came. Wonwoo read the dossiers; scanned them for anything of consequence: questionable relations, suspicious behaviors. For security purposes, of course. But one was the same as the last. Second borns never trained to take their own crowns who liked to spend their days indulging in hunting or drinking. Or, sons of rich families with strategic influence and holdings dating back centuries. And then, there were the well off military figures with armies more loyal to them than their nation.

Admiral Gyan happened to be all three. 

“Ice lilies,” you sighed. “As I was saying—”

Gyan picked at some invisible lint at his sleeve. From his position against the wall, Wonwoo could see the way Gyan stared wistfully out the window instead of the papers you presented across the table. Not that Gyan could see them if he looked, his snacking left them covered in powdered sugar. Your attempt at serious political engagements turned into a place setting. 

Wonwoo focused back on one of the paintings across the room. It wasn’t his concern and yet, despite everything, he’d begun to consider you a friend, or at the very least an acquaintance; someone he felt familiar enough with to feel annoyed on their behalf. But Wonwoo didn’t need much familiarity for the way these men talked down and disregarded your words to leave ash in his mouth.

“I’m allergic to ice lilies,” Gyan said pensively.

You blinked. “How unfortunate. Again, these trade—”

“If your husband did not like something you preferred, what would you do?”

“Not marry a man allergic to my favorite flower.” You stiffened, realizing the error of your ways. Then you dipped your chin and whispered. “However, a man that helps my country would be far more valuable as a husband than a man who can tolerate my…floral preference. Would you agree?”

Admiral Gyan studied for a long moment before speaking again.

The ink of the new agreements dried by that afternoon.

A long day of discussions left you irritable. It would have been different if any of the lordlings you met argued their terms on tariffs and trade, or introduced their own nation’s concerns. But no. They’d rather interrogate you on asinine details like your favorite teas and opinions on Earth Kingdom literature. 

Perhaps that would be important after you officially took suitors into consideration but presently, they were invited with the intent of international diplomatic cooperation. Not eat all your food and ruin court records.

Dinner continued in the same fashion as the night before: too little eating and too much chatter. And since you couldn’t get away with bowing out early again, you were forced to remain through the entire ordeal. You managed a few bites between their lengthy monologues but after the meal you left with a grumbling stomach and a thunderous headache.

Back in your apartments, you fell into deep thought while Han and Sami flurried around as they pulled away your outer layers and plucked out the jewels in your hair. 

“Any interesting developments today? Men declaring their undying devotion?” Han asked as she untied your slippers.

“Prince Bravruq promised he would perform some water tribe dance tomorrow night…shirtless.” You smiled at Sami’s reddening face. “But other than that, thankfully, no.”

“Not even our favorite broody guard?”

“For the last time, Wonwoo is simply doing his duty. He does not have…feelings.”

“I don’t know,” Sami sang. “He seemed upset when we asked him about all your new suitors last night. And after the council meeting? He is rather handsome when he’s all roughed up.”

“I think he’s handsome all the time,” Han said.

“Even if he did like me, nothing could come of it,” you reminded yourself. 

“How many stories do you know where a princess falls in love with a commoner and they live happily ever after?”

“And how many do the princess and commoner lose their heads?”

“You’re always so serious. It’s not good for your complexion.”

“Well why didn’t you say that earlier?” you gasped. “There is nothing between Wonwoo and I. We are… friends. Maybe. But that's it.”

Sensing the end of the conversation, they drew your bath before you waved a dismissive hand. 

The hot water soothed away your anger from the day, softening the tense muscles of your shoulders and back. Your eyes slipped shut as you sunk further into the tub, head resting back on the rim of the tub. Events of the day replayed, your mind sorting successes and failures, what agreements remained unsigned and how to do so. And then there was the matter of courting. Your intent to marry was barely a whispered rumor amongst staff and yet these men tripped over themselves like bumbling idiots.

But you no longer wished to think of business and wedding bells. You’d rather indulge in more relaxing imaginations.

At first there was nothing at all, just the lap of hot water at your throat sending prickles along your flesh. The water was adorned with different oils and soaps and felt like liquid silk. It allowed your hands to glide without friction, teasing drags of fingers against your sides until your nipples tightened. You remembered what it was like when Wonwoo touched them, first his hands, then his mouth, then the satisfying sting of his teeth. The times you tried to imitate those sensations only left you wanting.

Memories of the encounters had brought little satisfaction. Recalling how it felt was nowhere near as good as it actually had been, never brought the same pleasurable ending. And yet you tortured yourself with trying.

He really was handsome. Not just in the narrow cut of his uniform that clung to his shoulders, or when he removed his outer layers to reveal what hid beneath. He was most handsome when he didn’t realize you were looking. When whatever lordling tried to win your favor with overzealous compliments, Wonwoo couldn’t help rolling his eyes and biting back a laugh.

Or when his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through a particularly challenging form, muscles flexing and bunching; sweat gleaming off his skin, sticking his hair down. 

Your hand ventured lower, a tease between your thighs, fingers soft against your clit just how he touched you. The bathroom is quiet sans your breath; miniscule sighs breaking through your lips as candles flickered around the room. It’d do nothing to think about the field but maybe what you needed was a new fantasy.

With firmer pressure, you imagined Wonwoo walking in, finding you touching yourself and offering to help; taking advantage of the slick glide between your legs, filling that horrible emptiness with the warmth of his hand. The tub was large enough for him to join. You could plant in his lap and ride his fingers like last time or, he could sit behind you, the heat of his chest firm against your back as he left those maddening kisses against your neck again. 

You slipped a finger in, the tight squeeze nothing next to the desperation for more. The water muffled the sound of depravity as you fucked yourself timidly, only gentle splashes betraying movement and mute whines. Your chin tipped back as your hips rose in search of more. Rocking into the heel of your hand, you bit back a moan. The Wonwoo of your fantasy dragged you out of the tub and into bed, spread you beneath him to use his mouth against your core; kissing and sucking the same place you desperately touched. He teased how badly you needed him, eyes trained on your reactions from between your legs.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. Your muscles twitched again, clenching around your fingers, pretending they were his until your back arched and then—

The walls of the tub proved far too slippery as you thrashed into an orgasm, sinking beneath the surface unexpectedly.

You gasped for breath once surfacing again, flailing and splashing water onto the floor loudly. The bath had run cold in your mentally wandering and jolted you back to your senses. The delirious lull in your muscles fled as you kicked off from the bottom of the pool sized tub and back to your perch. 

Wonwoo chose that moment to barge in. 

He slammed the door open, rushing in and eyes scanning the room. “Is everything okay? I heard—”

“I’m fine!” you shouted, face heating as your voice bounced around the room. “I slipped.”

Wonwoo looked like he didn’t believe it. A waterbender having trouble in the bath? Unlikely. But he accepted it without question and straightened before asking, “Where are Han and Sami?”

Whatever warmth and longing rooted in your chest moments ago fizzled at his question. “Do you think I’m incapable of bathing on my own?”

“No, I…”

At that moment, Wonwoo recognized your state, eyes tracing the slope of your neck down, down, down until the surface of the water obstructed his view. The bubbles from earlier had fizzled to nothing, fine as sea foam and scattered like wispy clouds. If he stepped closer then everything would be visible. You were torn between sinking deeper and rising up, revealing your bare chest for his gaze. What would he do?

There was no one to interrupt, servants gone and the day done until sunrise. Wonwoo could touch you. You’d let him for as long as he liked, as many times as it took for that terrible clawing, demanding need to cease. You could drag him into the water and make every horrible dream and intoxicating fantasy plaguing you for weeks a reality.

But Wonwoo did nothing, simply stood there blankly, eyes trained on your throat. The warm light from dozens of candles danced over his face, flickering wildly but not revealing what was brewing beneath the surface of his glazed stare. You had an idea from the way his breath became labored and his fingers flexed but he didn’t move a muscle.

And then he promptly turned on his heel and strode back towards the door. 

“Wait,” you called, startled by your own voice. What were you doing? “Can you warm this for me?”

Wonwoo stopped immediately. You watched his shoulders tense, slowly rising to his reddening ears before he responded, “Your bath?”

The candles around the room grew for a moment. But he didn’t turn around, instead he looked over his shoulder and pinned you with an expectant look. You began to speak, a dismissal at the tip of your tongue, but ultimately nodded. Silently, he approached, eyes glued to your face. A jolt of heat cracked through your veins. Ears ringing, your breath grew stunted with every step that brought him closer. 

Wonwoo loomed over you, shrugging off his uniform jacket, still maintaining eye contact as each button loosed beneath his fingers. Your own twitched in response, aching to return between your legs for him to watch. He pushed the sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows. He only broke eye contact to perch at the edge of the tub, back facing you. His hand sunk just past his wrist beneath the surface of the water. He grazed your knee and jerked away with a splash. You bit your tongue to stop from pushing your knee against him again.

His hand bunched into a fist, heat blooming through the water until steam rose from its surface. The contrast of his skin next to your beneath the water made your mouth water as he forced out more heat. 

As his hand rose once again, rivulets clinged to sinew and ligaments in his arm. You remembered how he looked in that field, soaked to the bone in the moonlight. The cling of his pants revealing the muscles below. Every ripple of those muscles when he moved, when he rolled into your grip on his cock.

“And this.” You nudged his hand with your wash rag, swallowing thickly when he accepted it. Again, Wownoo refused to look as his fingers flexed around the fabric, veins rising from the force of his grip, more of those tempting drops of water clinging to his skin. The strangest urge to suck them from his fingers rooted in your head. Steam rose from the cloth and he passed it back, hot and dripping.

“Anything else?” His hand remained floating between you. How badly you wanted to slide your fingers between his and tug until he found the arousal between your legs.

Now reach back into this tub and warm me, you thought.

“That–” you stuttered. “That's all. Thank you.”

Wonwoo left and the candles returned to their dim flutter.

After scrubbing your skin raw, you exited the bath. Despite your earlier fatigue, you knew there was no point in trying to sleep now. You’d only lay awake, tempted by the idea of sneaking down the hall to Wonwoo’s room and making your imaginations reality. There was no point sitting in your room, tossing and turning and itching and pining for something else. You could have slipped out your window and hid in the gardens, burn the restlessness in the training pavilion until exhaustion took over. 

But Wonwoo would find you. You knew he would; he managed to do so repeatedly. When you refused to retire for the evening he would offer to train with you. And then it was back to square one, the same tension from the close quarters of the bathroom, except with the bloodrush of bending and memories of the last time you both fought beneath the moonlight. 

The thick stack of papers balanced on your bed table; treaties and amendments forged during the day, signed in your own blood, sweat, and tears. Additionally reports from different advisors shuffled through the stack. If you couldn’t sleep then getting work done for tomorrow was the only solution. 

In the dining room, you rung a servant to bring leftovers from dinner you never ate. They returned with a spread of stuffed cabbage rolls, salted meats, and other dishes. Far more piled on the table than you could ever hope to eat, despite your ravenous appetite. Without the pretense of formal dining, you nibbled and read a new batch of reports from Lord Gilen about the Lower Block hospital you’d invested in since the spring. The numbers provided little distraction as you heard Wonwoo move around the apartment like a ghost.

“Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Can’t.” You flashed the papers in his direction and went back to reading. You couldn’t look at him. Not sitting there in a robe and nightgown, skin still warm from the bath. He could part it easily, reach inside and—

He remained in the doorway, gaze like a heavy weight on your shoulders. 

“Eat. It’ll go to waste if you don’t.”

Wonwoo hesitated but then shuffled forward and took a seat at the opposite end before piling a plate with food. Still, your eyes remained glued to another row of swirled ink that turned illegible to your distracted mind as he slurped and grunted. More horribly tempting thoughts seeded as he continued.

Appetite vanishing with your sanity, you focused on carefully sipping your cold tea and read on. Lord Gilen’s missive was long and detailed and a perfectly appropriate distraction from the fact Wonwoo hadn’t put his jacket back on. 

“What are you reading?” Wonwoo asked.

“Reports for a hospital in the Lower Block I’ve been funding. Lord Gilen has been handling it for me.”

You continued reading. The lapse in judgment in the bathroom was just that, a mistake. You were a princess and needed to act like one; not some bumbling infatuated maiden. 

Still, you wanted to snag the pitcher from the table and hurl it at the wall.

“A hospital in the Lower Block? Yeah, sure,” he snorted. 

Your head snapped up. “I have the documents right here.”

“I’m telling you, there is no hospital in the Lower Block.”

“Look for yourself.”

Wonwoo scanned the pages, brows furrowed. A bit of sugar from the coconut puffs clung to his lip. You wanted to lick it off.

“I walked this street every time I went from the barracks to the warehouse. Unless he somehow demolished a condemned burnt out building and built a brand new one in its place in the time I’ve been here, then it doesn’t exist.”

The poise you’d painstakingly clung to since exiting the bath dissolved. If what Wonwoo said was true then Gilen was a liar. If the hospital didn’t exist then over twenty thousand gold marks were unaccounted for; twenty thousand gold marks vanished into nothing, and Lord Gilen was to blame. Lord Gilen who’d been in court since you were a baby, a favorite advisor of your grandmother’s, a close confidant. It was impossible.

Stacks of falsified documents with forged signatures, counterfeit invoices for materials to rebuild and train healers. Sketches and blueprints of the building. Patient records for people who didn’t exist. If Gilen was embezzling the money there was a paper trail of his misdeeds a mile long. 

But he had encouraged your investments; presented multiple projects of his own design, touting the needs of the people with zeal. Managed the entire process with assiduity and constant progress reports down to the last detail. Gilen wouldn’t conspire a tangled plot like this. It only took a gentle tug at a loose end and the entire tapestry of his scheming unraveled.

And yet, Wonwoo never provided a reason not to trust him.

Whatever simpering girl you’d been in the bathroom holed up behind a hard mask of anger. “Show me.”

“What?”

Brushing the papers aside, you rose. “I’m going to the Lower Block and you’re going to show me.”

You didn’t wait for him to follow, blinded by rage. The rest of the apartment was empty of servants as you paced the seating area. 

You ripped the overstuffed couches to shreds.

You screamed until your throat bled.

You stood in frozen silence and did nothing but stare blankly ahead.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“If you think I’m going to sneak you out of the palace you’re out of your mind.” Wonwoo said as he entered the room.

You turned towards him and stared for a moment. “Then I’ll go by myself.”

“You’re not going to the city this late at night, it’s at least—”

You rounded on him, until you were toe to toe with a finger digging into his chest. “You do not tell me what to do. I’m the princess and you are my glorified nanny.”

Wonwoo glared down at your hand twisted in his shirt. You began to withdraw it, realizing your mistake, but he snatched it with a firm grip and kept it between your bodies and met your gaze.

“I’m not one of your little lordlings you can push around and make agree just because you bat your eyes. Go to the city, and I will walk out that door and tell everyone.”

It wasn’t fitting for a woman of your age and rank to stomp and huff like a begrudged child but you did it anyway.

“Why don’t you just chain me to the bed and leave me until morning!” you sneered but faltered at the spark in his gaze.

“If you give me no other choice, I will.”

Yanking your hand back, you retreated to your room. “You are so infuriating!”

Wonwoo didn’t know how you got into the city. He didn’t know the passage in your office or the labyrinth beneath the gardens that lead outside the palace walls. Sneaking out your window was less convenient but no one knew the gardens better than you. If he chased, you’d lose him and he could only reveal your location by admitting he failed his one job. 

You blew out the candles and sat in the dark for a long moment as the moon rose outside your window. Shedding your robe and nightgown, you donned the servants clothes and cloak you stole long ago then stuffed the robe and some pillows beneath the covers in the shape of a body. 

Careful of the squeaky hinges, you cracked the window open slowly with baited breath. 

“Going somewhere?” Wonwoo asked from the doorway.

You stiffened. “If you must know, I was feeling a bit stifled and thought a breeze would be nice.”

“And the breeze gave you a chill so you got dressed?”

“Is that so difficult to believe?”

He entered your room and dragged the covers back with a quirked brow as if to say ‘Do you think I’m that dumb?’

“If you recall, I’ve done this countless times without you and never been caught.”

“There's a line between bravery and stupidity.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” you gasped, even in the dark you could see the exhaustion on his face.

“I’m calling you heedless. You can’t just run down to the Lower Block on a whim. It’s dangerous,” Wonwoo said, voice thin. “Where Galin says the hospital is is no place for—”

“For a princess?”

“For anyone to go alone. I wouldn’t go there alone because I know what happens on those streets. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into and you don’t care.”

In your haste safety seemed like a minor concern. You held your own enough times and this would be no different. Wonwoo didn’t seem to understand this wasn’t a matter of pride, it was principal. You weren’t a puppet that nobles could tug at your strings however they pleased. And if Galin, trusted and venerated Galin, was playing you a fool then there was no telling what the other, less favored, nobles did in the dark. 

Treachery was an infection in the open wound of your trust and you needed to amputate the limb before it could spread. But not without proof.

“I am being made a fool of by my own councilman,” you started. “He is stealing from me and thinks he can get away with it, that I would have no way of knowing because I’m kept under lock and key here. I need to see it with my own eyes. You do not have to come with me but you cannot honestly expect me to stay here."

Wonwoo watched for a long moment then stormed out of the room without response. You feared he ran to tell someone of your plan and raced to open the window.

“If we get caught I swear—”

You whipped around at the sound of his voice. Wonwoo strode in dressed in casual clothes similar to yours; trousers and a long sleeved tunic, a hood to conceal his face. 

“You’re coming with me?”

“Of course I’m coming with you. Knowing you, you’ll blast some poor drunk with a canon unprovoked and we both know how that turned out. Let's go.”

You silently led Wonwoo through a secret door in your private office, down, down, down until the walls transformed from the stone of the palace to dirt with wooden slats supporting the structure. There were no lanterns so he kept a small flame alive in his palm. He tried to keep his bearings through each twist and turn but soon failed. He figured the walk had been long enough to be far outside the palace grounds but each switch back left him more unsure.

Suddenly, the dirt floor turned into cobblestone and the walls followed soon after and then an iron ladder leading up appeared from nowhere. 

“This lets out beneath the crystal elephant statue in Emerald Park,” you said before climbing.

Wonwoo walked the perimeter of Emerald Park hundreds of times; circled the statue dozens of times and never realized there was a secret passage in all this time. He knew there were secrets the Nobles Quarter kept from him but not a path into the palace right under his nose.

The park was empty. Fountains bubbled and frogs croaked, the low light of gas street lamps providing enough cover to reach the southern exit towards the Middle District gates.

The shuffle of feet alerted him to a patrol up ahead. It was only another block to the gates leading into the Middle District and yet, he found himself having to crouch in an alley while a few guards walked past. You hid somewhere behind him. Truly, it was the last place he wanted to be with you after the incident in the bath.

He should have said no; refused to come anywhere near you while you were undressed. But he couldn’t help it. It was as if you were a siren singing straight to his blood. When you asked him to come closer, he tried not to look beneath the surface of the water but it was in vain. Even in his peripheral he saw the slope of your breasts, the pinch of your nipples. It hadn’t been better to look at your face. Your dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, bitten lips. Just like the night in the field.

It took all his willpower not to drag you from the tub, spread you on the bed, and taste you until all he heard were hoarse cries of his name; begging, praising, even a reprimand. He wanted them all and he half expected you to ask for them when he took his coat off; prepared to unbutton his trousers as well. A single glance would have told you everything, the tightness of his pants unbearable. But you asked him to heat your water and your rag and then dismissed him without another word. 

When he heard you pattering about the dining room, he planned to ask just what game you were playing but you pretended nothing happened. 

Now, he was hidden in the shadows of an alley with you less than a foot away and rather than worry about guards catching him, all Wonwoo’s thoughts were captured by images of you pressed between his body and the wall.

The patrol passed by without suspicion. Wonwoo signaled you to follow once again. The sooner you saw the imaginary hospital in the Lower Block, the sooner he’d be free to lock himself away until sunrise. 

As the gates came into view, you tugged Wonwoo’s sleeve and directed him off the main road, through narrow side streets and more alleys until the stone wall separating the Nobles Quarter and the Middle District came into view. Here, there were no guards and Wonwoo didn’t remember ever circling this area during his years of patrols. Another secret.

The wall was a foot taller than him so he hoisted you up before following. Restaurants and shops backed up to the wall on the Middle District side. This late, few were open, most windows and open doors framed employees sweeping or cleaning up the last bits of mess. None looked up from their work as you both snuck past.

Wonwoo’s feet pounded against the cobblestone as he darted down the street, you behind him, footsteps echoing loudly. Physical exhaustion felt good. His lungs burned and muscles strained but it gave him something to think about other than the heat of your chest against his body when dipping into an alcove to hide from a passing group. Most of the streets this far out were still crowded with late night partiers.

“Take off your hood,” he commanded, removing his own.

“Why?”

“Because we look like thieves. No one will recognize you out here and it’ll be easier to get through.”

Your hood came off, and Wonwoo was struck by how similar you looked to the night at the market. Hair fluffed around your face, the sheen of perspiration for the balmy night. He wanted to kiss you.

He stepped out from hiding and started down the street. 

“I’ve never been this way before,” you shared. The crowd grew thicker and forced you to remain tight to his side or risk drifting away. 

“You have. Down that street,” he gestured, “are the Red Lanterns.”

In all fairness, Wonwoo wouldn’t have known about the seedy avenue unless he stumbled on it as a teenager. It was the first time he saw…many things and he’d avoided it ever since. They were not memories he ever thought of voluntarily. 

The crowd flowed further away from the palace, until the stacked buildings of Merchant’s Row transformed into warehouses and empty lots. The people changed too. No longer did couples of all ages and children flitter about, gone were poets and musicians and artists busking on the corners. The only light came from the waxing moon and windows, not the gas street lamps up the block.

The Lower Block was a slum.

Wonwoo kept walking as you looked  around as if the street was a zoo full of exotics; eyes wide and shining in the light like coins. The streets used to be pristine, organized chaos at all hours. Guards, manufacturers, and merchants would weave between the buildings like armies of ants, raw materials pouring in from carts and goods immediately replacing them for transport. The Lower Block used to be pristine.

Now, old men crouched around overturned crates as they played cards and drank from green glass bottles; wiry kids chased stray dogs across the poorly paved street; vendors hawked fruits and vegetables more rotten than fresh, cloying the air with sickening sweetness. Uneven cobblestones hosted potholes large enough to bath in when it rained.

Luckily, no one paid much attention to a couple stumbling about like drunkards, they were all too absorbed in themselves. However, one glance and the entire charade would unravel. Your posture was straight as a razor edge, chin tipped back; as if you owned the world. You did, Wonwoo guessed. Everything – from the smallest pebble to the gigantic steamers in the western harbor – was yours. 

Wine houses lined the street, dirty alleys wedge between. Wonwoo knew the wine houses well enough; where other fighters from the warehouse went after matches to find another conquest for the night or drink themselves numb. He’d done both enough times to fear being recognized.

“Come here,” he commanded. You gave in easily when he hid his face in the curve of your neck. The scent of wildflowers and soap tickled his senses, and Wonwoo barely contained himself from pressing his nose more firmly beneath your jaw.

“What are you doing?” you murmured but didn’t push him away.

“Hiding.”

“What for?”

“Not all of us have the benefit of being anonymous.”

“You’ve been to these places?” you said. Wonwoo followed your gaze to a brothel, scantily clad women and men lounging around the wide porches, attempting to lure passersby. 

He didn’t answer.

“Is that why you said I’d be a bad prostitute? Speaking from experience?”

“I never paid anyone,” he argued.

“It’s okay if you did,” you laughed. “Not everyone can be so lucky with women.”

Even through his frustration, Wonwoo wanted to bottle the sound of your laughter; taste it on his tongue, feel it against his lips. He wanted to push you back into the darkness of the alleyway and remind you just how lucky he’d been not so long ago. He wanted to rip his hair out because agreeing to spend more time with you tonight was a horrible idea. 

At the next intersection, Wonwoo turned you down a narrow street. The lively crowd’s absence left a hollow silence. A handful of people milled about, shifting through the shadows like sharks. The warehouse Lord Gilen posed as a hospital stood halfway down the block. Covered in rotten boards and rusted chains, there was no trace that anyone had been near it in years. 

You pulled away from Wonwoo as you approached the ransacked building. “You’re sure this is it?”

“Even if I wasn’t, do any buildings here look like a hospital to you?”

Your fist clenched and he stepped back slightly. Wonwoo expected tangible anger like in the training pavilion; icicles the size of a human, a flood pulled from the humid air of the night. But you stood silently, unmoving. If your anger in the pavilion was a storm, Wonwoo felt as if he was in the eye of a hurricane. 

Hurricanes always brought wreckage.

You drew some water from a pouch at your hip, weaving it into the lock before it cracked and the chains slouched. Wonwoo didn’t wait for an invitation to follow you inside. 

There was no light inside, the windows were caked in thick dust. He lit a flame in his hand but there wasn’t much to see. An empty warehouse full of garbage: broken machines, rotten newspapers, broken crates. Something rustled beneath a heap in the corner. A fat elephant rat scurried out and darted out of sight.

Again, you stood still like a statue, soaking in the realities. Silence spread into the warehouse like an ink stain.

“Let's go.”

The walk back to the palace was in thick silence; not the silence of before when Wonwoo couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or turn around and renounce his assignment for the sake of his sanity. It was the unnerving silence just before something went horribly wrong. 

You kept ahead, shoulders square, head high. It wasn’t the performance you gave nobles, or the wildness from when bent your element. This was a new mask Wonwoo couldn’t decipher. 

In your apartment, you walked straight to your room and Wonwoo watched as the door shut with a quiet click.

Wonwoo woke covered in sweat. Even hidden behind a curtain of dark clouds he could feel the sun just peaking above the horizon. 

He wasn’t sure what the day held but he showered and put on his uniform like every other morning. When he exited his room, maids and footmen fluttered about like every other morning, you at the center of the storm. You acted the same as every other morning as well, sipping your tea and scanning a stack of documents.

Wonwoo hovered in the hall entrance, unsure of what to do. The anger charged atmosphere of last night vanished from the sitting room though that might be due to the presence of others than anything else. Displays of emotion were reserved for private, when no one but Wonwoo paid witness. Your face was impassive in the early dawn light, completely unperturbed. Unlike other mornings, he noticed the usual jewels pinned in your hair and clinging to your throat were absent. Only a pale ribbon tied around your neck. Your dress was a modest lavender, no flashy embroidery or outlandish cuts; but it was more to do with the woman wearing it than the dress itself. He didn’t know when he started paying attention to such things. But the first lesson you taught him was looks can be deceiving and you would bank on that fact.

“Stop hiding in the shadows like a ghost, it's off putting,” Sami said as she strode by him.

“I’m not hiding,” Wonwoo argued. If he was hiding it was for good reason; a man never knew he stepped foot into a riptide until it was too late.

“Like a little boy afraid Koh is hiding under his bed,” she teased.

“Leave him alone, Sami,” you called from the table. 

Sami turned and stuck her tongue out at him. This must be what it was like to have sisters.

“Everything in the Solarium is set and this,” Sami placed an envelope on the table in front of you. “Han is making copies of the records now.”

“After she’s done, Mingyu is to escort her to the archives after the meeting. Make sure people see them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Finally, you looked at Wonwoo. “Let’s go.”

You glided through the palace hallways, greeting everyone who crossed your path. Again, just like every other day. The longer you pretended last night didn’t bother you the more unnerved he became.

He’d never been in the Solarium and wouldn’t soon return back if it could be helped. It was a spectacular enclosed glass structure on a terrace overhanging the gardens. That was not the problem. The Solarium was a greenhouse turned into a meeting room with a low table in the center surrounded by cushions, with a tier of teacakes and pitchers precariously placed. Gigantic plants with leaves the size of dinner plates crowded so thickly around the walls it was like entering a forest. Blossoms in shades of red and blue and white and yellow peppered throughout, their floral scent thickening the air like a putrid perfume. There was no wind to move the smell, it stagnated in the humidity as fountains bubbled cheerfully in the background.

“What are we doing here?”

You ignored the question. “Can you firebend in here?”

Wonwoo conjured a small flame in his palm but with the abundance of moisture it swiftly began to choke and flicker. “You came to a greenhouse for what exactly?”

You started to answer but a knock at the door interrupted.

As the footman entered to announce Lord Galin’s arrival, Wonwoo moved towards the wall next to the door; his station where he oversaw your meetings time and time again. Best to play his part even if you refused to share the script you were operating from.

“Lord Galin,” you smiled in greeting. Every inch of you reverted back into the meekness Wonwoo witnessed that first day in the barracks. A delicate flower, so beautiful you forgot it’s filled with poison.

“Your Highness,” the old man bowed deeply. “You look more radiant than the last time I saw you.”

“I apologize we couldn’t meet in the Azure Chamber. It flooded sometime last night.”

Whatever happened in the chamber last night, Wonwoo figured you fashioned it somehow.

“No apologies necessary, the Solarium is just as magnificent though it is quite humid here.”

“I forget not everyone is as unbothered by it as I am.” You led Galin to the table, taking the far seat so you faced Wonwoo. He kept his gaze trained on the back of Galin’s head.

“Let us eat first and then we shall talk business, yes?” You sat and plucked a slice of pear from a serving plate. “How are your grandsons?”

“Citree just began his tutoring. He’s a very gifted firebender.”

You glanced at Wonwoo over the man's shoulder. “Like his grandfather.”

The puzzle pieces clicked into place in Wonwoo’s head. This was where you’d confront Galin, it’s why you chose a room so humid no flame could survive or thrive in its cradle. You wanted to ensure if Galin thought to retaliate, he’d have no ability to do so. Wonwoo rested a hand on the pommel of the blade at his hip and titled his chin in understanding.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” Galin hummed.

You continued to chatter about all matters; Galin’s other committees, his wife’s health, the plum orchard on his property in the East. The man talked about himself too eagerly; bumbling through long anecdotes that made Wonwoo’s eyes glaze but you kept a warm smile on your face the entire time. 

A knock interrupted and Sami entered with a new plate of desserts and a wink at Wonwoo. 

“Your Highness, Your Grace,” she bowed and placed the treats in the center of the table. Wonwoo noticed she slipped something from her pocket into your hand.

But Galin didn’t seem to notice, too entranced by the pastries placed before him. “You remembered my favorite!”

“Of course, my Lord. My cook was worried they wouldn’t come out in time but it seems she is a miracle worker.”

You did not eat and Wonwoo wondered if you had them poisoned. 

“Fickle thing, star lace. You can spend all the time and money on the best ingredients, preparing them just right, but if the cook isn’t careful to see the process through then the entire thing is for naught. And then, you have hungry people who are only able to eat their disappointment.”

Wonwoo couldn’t see Galin’s face but his body tensed. He wasn’t sure what new role he was playing in your game. Not a chaperone and certainly not a protector. A witness? An insurance policy? 

You continued, “And if those people were royals, princesses perhaps with the ability to make assassinations look like accidents, well it wouldn’t be very wise of a cook to disappoint her, would it?”

“I have no idea—“

“I’ve heard recent reports of wildfires in the northern provinces. Uncommon but not exactly rare I suppose. How unfortunate would it be for one of those fires to consume the temple Citree is studying at?”

Despite sitting, it was as if you grew an inch taller with each word. Staring down your nose at Galin, Wonwoo wondered how anyone doubted that you were born to rule.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Lord Galin,” you cooed. “I’m only speaking in hypotheticals. However, I suppose that if someone decided to steal twenty thousand gold marks from the crown and leave a trail of evidence, then I’d be left with few options. Strip him of his title, take everything he values…really the possibilities are only as limited as my imagination.”

“What do you want?”

“Forty thousand gold marks and the names of any other nobles who have been cheating the crown.“

“Fort—forty thousand?” he sputtered. “I haven’t got forty thousand gold marks.”

“How unfortunate. You know what I’ve got? A condemned building in the Lower Block and months of documents pretending it’s not. So find forty thousand gold marks by tomorrow evening or you will find yourself mourning your grandsons by the next day.”

So this was diplomacy. Wonwoo’s skin prickled at the realization. It was as if he was witnessing a tsunami preparing to crash into land, taking everything and leaving nothing behind in its wake. Unforgiving. Ruthless. Brutal. Wonwoo softened towards Lord Galin but swiftly remembered the only reason the noble became the target of your rage were his own deeds. Galin was a thief and a liar. This was justice.

“You haven’t told Her Majesty about my deeds, have you?”

“No. I am offering you my mercy but if you prefer to beg for hers then so be it.”

“Fine, but I have no names. I don’t know the other ministers’ deeds.”

Wonwoo doubted that. Where one went, the rest followed. How many other projects were nothing more than shams to line their own pockets?

“Forty thousand gold marks returned to my coffers and a list of names with proof of crimes. Or is there a price too high for your family’s safety?”

Galin tensed, hands flexing at his sides. You warned him Galin was a firebender and Wonwoo recognized the signs of his element. He stepped forward to intervene but found your eyes over the old man's shoulders, a single look and he knew you didn’t need his help. The temperature in the room dropped until his breath puffed in a foggy cloud. Wonwoo didn’t need to see the tea cups to know they were frozen too; the glass walls and ceilings frosted despite the harsh sun beating down outside. The fountains silenced, and the plants twisted like snakes poised to strike. Wonwoo had been terrified of you before, but now he found himself too impressed to think beyond the fact you could send an ice blade through Galin’s throat before either of them realized what happened.

“You will sign these confessions,” you said, passing over the papers Sami slipped you earlier. “In the case you do what is required, then no one will ever discover them. But if you don’t…then I’m sorry for your loss.”

The plants relaxed and the fountains began bubbling enthusiastically once more. Frost receded, and you sat primly, plucking a fig from the tray of fruits as if you were discussing the weather. You wore as many masks as Wonwoo had teeth and the ever shuffling nature unnerved him.

Lord Galin glowered, “I was unaware royalty resorted to blackmail these days.”

“I won’t fault you for it, you don’t seem to be aware of much these days but I’m honored to bring you up to speed.”

After signing the confessions and sealing them, you dismissed Galin, face smooth, the wave threatening to destroy everything in its path receding beneath the surface without a ripple. As if it never existed to begin with.

Galin rose to his feet, wrinkled face red as rose petals, ink staining his fingers. His mouth opened to say more but shut when you raised a brow in question. Wonwoo became a new victim to his indignation.

“Filth!” Galin spat, chest puffed. “Get out of my way!”

You didn’t rise from your seat, or shout, or freeze the air again. Your voice was unnervingly calm, gaze as cold as ice. “Lord Galin.”

“Yes, Your Highness?” he bit without turning back.

To Wonwoo’s horror, your fingers bent at a rigid angle and Galin jerked to face you like a grotesque puppet.

Bloodbending.

It didn’t matter if Galin could bend or even if he had a knife hidden in his pocket. A flick of your wrist turned him into a living marionette, doomed to do whatever crossed your mind.

Wonwoo’s stomach sank. 

One hand held steady and you poured yourself a cup of tea with the other, spoon scraping the bottom of the porcelain cup when you added sugar. “I’ve heard the strangest tales of people drowning on dry land in the Umber Islands. It might do well to warn your daughters of such a phenomenon. They’ll be celebrating the festival there this year, won't they? I’d hate for anything unfortunate to happen to them.”

Galin’s eyes widened with horror and Wonwoo knew his face must have looked the same but you remained unaffected; sipping from your cup. 

“Thank you for sharing, Your Highness.”

“You may go,” you said, hand dropping to snag one of the pastries and pop it in your mouth with a pleased hum.

Galin scurried from the chamber and Wonwoo nearly followed. 

Wonwoo realized, among a great many things, that your threat to Galin is on his behalf; you’d go to the same lengths to get your money back as you would to settle an insult against him. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it’s a drop in the bucket of your ire at the noble, at everyone, at circumstance. Maybe you’d been looking for an excuse to put Galin in his place, flex your power over him completely. 

Wonwoo didn’t need anger on his behalf.

But he also realized he’d like if you were.

In the garden, the scent of honey suckles and damp earth perfumed the air. The clipped bushes and hedges stood proud, like rows of miniature soldiers as they carved a maze towards the ornamental pond bustling with turtleducks. You sat in silence with Wonwoo, pretending to read a novel by a new poet while he actually read his own. It felt odd to have him stand at attention while you relaxed, same as when Han or Sami or Mingyu hung around waiting for some task to do when all you craved was company; more friend than servant but Wonwoo felt more something than friend.

You weren’t sure what he’d think of the ruthlessness you wielded in the Solarium, and a part of you wilted at the idea that you cared so much for his opinion. It’s what had to be done. 

It didn’t stop the sick satisfaction knowing Galin wet himself when you yanked him around by his veins.

Han and Mingyu ensured Galin’s footman witnessed them delivering the fake confession envelopes to the archives while Sami hid the real ones throughout the palace. When Galin visited the archives that night hoping to destroy evidence against, he’d realize the fool he thought you to be was a grave miscalculation. And when he sent a messenger to ensure his grandsons’ safety, you had a spy set to follow; same with his daughters. He’d play right into your web just as you had his but this time you’d win; it was up to Galin to define what that meant.

Wonwoo had not spoken to you since leaving the Solarium and you wondered if it had been worth it. You felt like a child playing pretend; the first trial of being queen, what it would take to keep the nobles in line. You could have turned over his confession to your grandmother and been done with the entire ordeal but you wanted to beat Galin on your own; needed to outmaneuver him without her help.

Only time would tell if you had.

Now, you sat in the gardens and tried to carry on as normal as if you didn’t owe this success to your guard. You trusted him. Not just to protect you if someone should attack, Wonwoo would do that for anyone. You were sure of it. Even with Sami and Han’s constant teasing he would protect them if needed. But it was beyond expecting him to do his duty. He gave you proof, put himself at risk of getting into trouble if you were caught together. He helped you in a way no one else ever could.

You’d have to find a way to thank him later, when the rush of the day wore off and you didn’t replay the hundreds of things you could have done differently.

You knew he wouldn’t appreciate the money from Lord Galin, he’d insist it went back to the people. He liked to read, you knew that much. Maybe a book? But that didn’t feel grand enough to convey the level of your gratitude. Recommend him to Aiko for a promotion? You’d have to ask him.

There were other things you could do for him. Indulge in the urges that plagued you since you spotted him the first night at the warehouses; let him touch and taste and tease as much as he wanted; finish what started against that wall in the market and rekindled last night. It’d be an entirely inappropriate reward but you wanted him and it was a convenient excuse to let him have you.

Wonwoo interrupted your spiral. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

For a moment you thought he meant the fantasies flashing in your head. Yes. Without question. Wanna run to the gardener's shed right now? But when you looked away from your book and towards his face, something unfamiliar clouded his face. Something like awe and fear and disbelief morphed into one.

He meant Galin.

“Yes.”

“Is it that easy?”

You shut your book with a snap; no point in saving the page, you’d have to start from the beginning anyway. “It's not easy.”

Galin’s daughters had been your playmates as a child, before they married and went with their husbands. You attended Citree’s and his brothers’ first birthdays, sent gifts for the Winter Fete every year. It was not easy but Galin made it necessary. Wonwoo didn’t understand. He never would.

Rising with the intent of excusing yourself to somewhere he couldn’t follow, you found one of your guests approaching.

“Your Highness,” Senator Maoki bowed. “I apologize for interrupting you but I was hoping I may accompany you on a walk through the gardens? I’m told you know them best and I’d be honored with a tour.” 

I would rather hang upside down completely naked and recite my family lineage back fifteen generations. 

Senator Maoki was several inches shorter than you with a boyish face, baby fat firmly in place despite his age. He didn’t look old enough to drink let alone wed, and he wouldn’t; not to you at least. But Maoki could serve a purpose now.

You smoothed a hand down your skirt. “That would be lovely.”

He trailed behind as you swept towards the arch leading back to the palace; a short tour through the more impressive parts of the garden, then you could hide away in your room until night came.

“I’ve been trying to introduce myself but your schedule is so packed, Your Highness,” Maoki huffed.

“Lots to do when running a country.”

“It’ll be grand when you're married,” Maoki said. “then you won't have to worry about such things.”

You stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean to say,” Maoki stammered, “you’ll be busy raising your children so your husband would naturally step in as king.”

“The man I marry would be Prince Consort, not King.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Maoki must have sensed your discontent and scrambled to change the subject. He looked over his shoulder and turned back to say, “Does he follow you everywhere?”

You continued down the pebbled pathway, flowers exploding in the greenery like vibrant fireworks, Maoki and Wonwoo on your heels. “He’s my guard, it’s his duty to protect me.”

“I could protect you, Your Highness.”

You couldn’t protect a block of ice in the South Pole.

Maoki puffed up his chest but looked more like an baby otter penguin than something intimidating. There was a noise behind you that sounded suspiciously like a snort. At least Wonwoo found him entertaining.

“I’m sure you’re very capable,” you dipped your chin to the orange blossoms, their sweet scent offsetting the sour taste of that lie. 

“I’ve never understood women’s affinity for flowers. They’re just silly flowers.”

You drew back to full height, your chin an inch or so higher than the top of Maoki’s hair. “These flowers will become fruit that will feed everyone at the palace. That hardly seems silly to me.”

His eyes rolled. “I guess but not all flowers turn into something useful.”

“So you only see value in things that may be of use to you.”

“No! I mean, yes, but I wouldn’t—”

“Some things’ only use is the comfort they bring by having them near.” Like Wonwoo. The realization jumped at you like a bolt of lightning in broad daylight; you shove it away before thinking too much of it. “Did you not have a favorite toy or blanket as a child?”

“I had a rock.” Maoki declared proudly.

“A…rock?” 

“My favorite rock, come I’ll show you.”

Maoki trudged past, leaving you and Wonwoo alone for a moment. When you look up at him he’s smiling; an amused twist on his lip like he too can’t believe Maoki cuddled with a rock as a child. 

That comfort you described crept up, the warmth in your chest, the knots in your muscles loosening. All by just standing there with him as the birds chirped and the breeze rustled the leaves and swirled the scent of fresh rain and the blooms. You knew the want he brought with him; the urge to touch and be touched, to be pressed into the wall and drag him against you. But this was different. A new urge to stand in silence, knowing Wonwoo stood only a few inches away, and enjoy the gardens in soft silence; share looks you both understood without speaking; laugh at nothing and everything and look to see if he was laughing too. 

“Your Highness?” Maoki called.

“Coming.”

Next to the fountain, Maoki held a stone the size of a fist. “A good rock is a lot like a woman. Some may be unassuming from the outside, but, if you take the time to look at what's within, it can dazzle. Look.” He cracked the stone open and the inside glittered in the afternoon light like a thousand stars captured together.

“That’s beautiful.” If you didn’t have hundreds of things that sparkled then you might have been more sincere in your compliments. You might have bitten your tongue. “Does your rock do anything?”

Maoki frowned. “No, Your Highness. It’s meant to be admired for simply existing, a thing of great beauty and great value that lasts far longer than flowers.”

“But it doesn’t smell as nice as flowers,” you sniffed.

“No, I think flowers might have the advantage there,” he joked back. “Shall we walk some more?”

Walking the gardens is nice even if you’ve traced the same paths so many times there are permanent footsteps to follow. It’s the time of year the grass is as soft as feathers and you wish to toss away your shoes and to feel it beneath your feet; you would if Maoki wasn’t there and it was just Wonwoo.

Another fountain came into view; water trickling down the many tiers in thick sheets to the basin where turtleducks paddled across the surface and fish swam just beneath. Maoki led you around the edge and the turtleducks and fish followed close, expecting the treats you frequently spoiled them with. You focused on ignoring whatever Maoki rambles about, thinking through meetings and to do lists. 

That’s when something crashed into the water behind you.

“Wha—” you gasped. 

Wonwoo sat in the fountain, soaked from head to toe, the fabric of his uniform dark and clinging like a second skin. His eyes blazed, trained on Maoki. “I tripped.”

“You should go change, Captain Jeon. Wouldn’t want you dripping all over the gardens.” Maoki straightened, back rigid as if he was sizing up Wonwoo. A ridiculous sight; like a puppy sizing up a wolf.

The birds no longer sang, and the wind held its breath.

“Are you alright?” you asked, extending a hand.

Wonwoo ignored it, rising to his feet. “I’m fine, Your Highness.” 

The correction is on the tip of your tongue but you bite it back. The last person needing to witness your familiarity with him was Maoki, the horrible gossip. You wanted to laugh; you would have if Wonwoo didn’t look so vicious and Maoki’s face didn’t burn red with fear. 

You tried not to stare as he tugged off his soaked coat, revealing the fabric of his undershirt nearly translucent from the water. Tried as did, you failed spectacularly. What was a woman to do when a man as handsome and defined as Wonwoo stood in front of her practically naked from the waist up? It wasn’t fair to expect anything other than gawking and imaginations.

You could have bent the water from his uniform and left him perfectly dry, continuing your walk with the senator as if nothing happened. You could have turned around and left Wonwoo standing there to dry his uniform with his own body heat. Of the many things you could have done, you decided to leave Maoki to his rocks and give yourself privacy before you scandalized the rose bushes.

“I think I’ll retire with Captain Jeon, I must prepare for tonight's festivities anyway,” you said. 

“But, Your Highness!”

You turned on your heel, a soaking wet bodyguard following behind. What you didn’t see was Maoki and Wonwoo sneering at one another but you guessed as much. You hid your satisfied smile in your sleeve.

Wonwoo soaked in the tub for what felt like hours but knew the sun barely began to set when he returned to his room. You had been whisked into your room by Han and Sami for last minute alterations with the Royal Seamstress and he was clearly not invited by the door slamming in his face. Fair enough, he didn’t need to see you naked. Not after what happened in the bath.

He didn’t have many possessions in his room: a few books, his clothes, a framed picture of his family. It’s why he noticed someone left something on the unused desk in the corner so quickly.

A pristine copy of The Pearls of Drak sat on his desk; not the one ruined by the fountain or more specifically Maiko. The pages were aged and the cover softened, but far nicer than the one Wonwoo owned. 

He brought his books from the barracks with the assumption he’d have a little free time, not realizing he’d need to ration their entertainment. Wonwoo had nothing but time these days. Mornings started late, and you seemed to prefer ending the evening early – at least publicly. He couldn’t sleep well knowing you were just down the hall, or the nights he heard you pacing in the sitting room.

There was another book beneath it. Poems of Stars. The title had faded to the point it was nearly illegible, the leather cover worn to the point it thinned around the edge. Many of the pages were nicked or ripped at the corners, and as he flipped through he found stains from tea cups and smudged ink, the spine creased and broken that it laid flat on almost any page.

He never read it before but someone clearly loved it, poured over the text over and over again. As excited as he was about the books, his heart squeezed at the orange blossom, petals dried and browned, pressed between the pages. 

Some things’ only use is the comfort they bring by having them near…

He knew they were both from you. Were these gifts or loans? Wonwoo needed to ask. The poems were well loved and he doubted you part with it but the fact you left it to him at all, even only temporarily, made him flush.

One second you were asking him to heat the bath you sat in, the next threatening nobles on his behalf, and now you gifted him something you held dearly. Wonwoo couldn’t begin to think what any of it meant.

The idea of you in his room made him nervous, seeing the few things that belonged to him in the space that certainly wasn’t his own. What did you think of it? Of him? How little he had in comparison to you? 

Maybe if he had the money to study he’d be at a university and not in the palace; and if he was at university then he’d never be guard, and if he had that kind of money he’d never have stumbled into the warehouse that one night to fight and lose. He’d never have gone back to fight and win. Never would have fought and lost against you, never would have found you again in that field. 

There was no point in obsessing over what ifs or hypotheticals. But if Wonwoo had, then he supposed if none of this happened, he’d never have a book with a silly flower with no use at all other than the comfort that it came from you.

He dressed and left his room, entering the hive of the main apartment buzzing much like the morning. You were tucked away in your room, out of sight but not for long.

You came out in pink silks, so pale they looked white, and the jewels absent from this morning were back in place, woven intricately through your hair.

Wonwoo found comfort in the fact he wasn’t required to speak, he had no idea what would have come out of his mouth if he did. You didn’t seem in the mood to talk either. After this morning he couldn't blame you.

Rows of chairs filled the Grand Room, a makeshift stage at the front for each man to present his talent. Most of the seats were already full but two upfront were left empty for you and the Queen. 

Servants wove through the clusters of nobles and dignitaries with trays of lemonade and wine, others with plates of cookies. 

Wonwoo stationed himself against the wall at the side of the room, a clear view of you and the performances from the shadows. He didn’t want to miss the bumbling fools embarrassing themselves; it was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

It started innocently enough. Lord Char played a ballad on tsungi horn; Admiral Gyan recited a long winded ode from Poems of Laghima and ended up making up the latter half after he clearly forgot the words; Commander Raza’s dramyin performance was loud and off beat, impressive given he performed solo. Maoki turned a rock into a turtleduck figurine which was almost realistic if the turtleduck’s body had been flattened but its head enlarged.

You accepted it with a tight smile and a small dip of your chin. Someone else would have thought it modest but Wonwoo caught the shake in your shoulders, and the clench of your jaw.

More followed with less than impressive routines: hoop rolling, card tricks, and slight of hand that wouldn’t impress a toddler. Polite claps filled the hall after each stint. 

The entire time Wonwoo cut glances at your face, waiting for flashes of amusement or confusion to match his own. Admiral Gyan danced on clunky feet without music and you hid a smile in a glass of wine, a private smile you look at Wonwoo to share and he’s happy for the shadows because he’s gnawing on his lip to keep from reciprocating. Prince Jao sang, loudly and off key, the look that passed between you and Wonwoo nearly ended with you both in tears of laughter.

Then, Prince Bavruq’s turn came around.

Sami would be disappointed to miss the man shirtless, chest obviously oiled. You peaked back at Wonwoo with an arched brow as if to say ‘Seriously?’

Bavruq flexed and stretched through different tumbles, commanding the water from two large barrels rolled in for his performance. Wonwoo watched with admiration. Obviously the man was a skilled bender but he couldn’t help thinking you were better. Bavruq dropped into a low stance, two arches of water spiraling overhead, and your head tilted in interest. In the light of the candle chandeliers, the water glittered much like the stone Maoki presented in the garden. 

Your eyelids dropped, head tilted in thought. If he didn’t know better then it’d appear you were enamored with Bavruq but Wonwoo saw the challenge. You were sizing Bavruq up, like a predator assessed potential prey. If it came to it, Wonwoo bet on you.

Bavruq froze the water in a spectacular arch, bowing for applause. You clapped politely and Bavruq left the stage. The dread of Sami’s comments later tonight started to root in Wonwoo’s stomach.

“Wonderful!” the Queen turned towards you, her next exclamation echoing through the hall. “You are all so impressive, I don’t know how you will choose a husband.”

Your eyes widened as you floundered. Wonwoo couldn’t believe it himself but he knew this was the plan from the start; however, the Queen clearly desired to speed the entire thing along. All the men that just performed swooped to surround you like moths to a flame, you sneered something to your grandmother before looking at Wonwoo with pleading eyes.

It wasn’t his place to intervene, even if you wanted him to, even if he wanted to. Standing on the sidelines, Wonwoo watched you navigate the viper pit as your grandmother smiled boldly.

Another hour passed before the swarm dissipated. Your smile remained fixed the entire time but Wonwoo noticed the strain in your cheeks, the dull glaze cast over your eyes, the clench of your jaw. When you were finally able to get away, he followed you back to your suite ten paces behind like he always did.

Back in your apartment, you dismissed Wonwoo and others with a wave of your hand, locking yourself in your room without a word. 

In his own room, try as he might, sleep evaded him. Every time he came close Maoki’s sniveling face flashed in his mind, or the panicked look on your face in the crowd of hungry suitors. Or the way you looked at him in the garden, like there was a joke just for you two. 

He couldn’t sleep and he refused to call the kitchens for tea to help so Wonwoo decided to read. He read The Pearls of Drak enough to recite the entire thing in his sleep so he grabbed the new book and flipped through the pages until his eyes caught on “The Belle Dame.”

I met a lady in the meads,  Full beautiful—a spirit’s child,  Her hair was long, her foot was light,  And her eyes were wild. 

Well that certainly sounded familary.

Wonwoo scoured page after page of the poem. How the man yearned for a woman he couldn’t have, enchanted by her to the point of despair. Wonwoo’s chest ached as he read on, hoping for some happy ending. And then the poem ended; no happiness, no peace. The man woke up on the hillside – alone – wandering in ruins forever looking for the woman he loved who will never be found. 

Wonwoo read over and over again, obsessed in his own way, trying to work out a new angle, some way to spin the story into one he’d be satisfied with. But finding that ending proved as easy as finding sleep. After the tenth time, Wonwoo snapped the book closed and shoved it beneath his bed.

He didn’t sleep very well. Every time he verged just on the seam of sleep, a pair of wild eyes stared back at him.

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[felassan]

Some snippets from DA dev Luke Barrett on the unofficial BioWare forum, cut for length:

DA:I -

User: "I am still convinced that Bioware cut the healing spells and went with barriers instead because of the Multiplayer." Luke Barrett: I can't speak to any other games directly but I can give a bit of historic context for DAI. The game was initially a more dungeon/linear delving - see how far you can get - experience and there was no barrier of any kind. As a side note: healing has always been a hot topic in design because as soon as you include it there are many other conceits you now need take into consideration for the gameplay - one of which I will call 'the Anders problem'. Anyway, as DAI got the date moved and shifted more into the pseudo-openworld the concept of attrition (see how far you can get before having to return to camp) became less relevant and we needed to help the Players have more moment-to-moment agency around their survival. Unfortunately for various reasons (one of which is the sad reality of designing a game with a shifting timeline) the healing couldn't be re-added so we ended up with more of a mitigation strategy in the barrier system. It went through a lot of iterations but eventually landed on what it shipped with which I would call... acceptable (but just barely). Now, I will concede that a part of the reason it didn't return after that shift was an aversion to holy trinity gameplay specifically for MP but it wasn't the core reason. As a side story, trying to balance the game (as that was my job on DAI - and yes, it could be much better haha) we had to all but force Players to take barrier. It is intentionally the first skill in the first tree for the Mage and all the autolevel (I also handled that) is designed to get it right away." [source]

User: "Merry Christmas Luke! Sooo what was the hardest class you had to balance? [DA:I]" Luke Barrett: "I feel like anyone who was around for the post-launch content will already know the answer to this as it was the bane of my existence when I got put exclusively on MP after launch but the Knight-Enchanter barrier absorbing was a pain. Stuff like that is very challenging to feel good without being broken as they are relative to damage so scaling is fairly open-ended. Too little and the casual players won't get use out of it, too much and the character builders will be wildly OP. We actually had a 'no nerfing' guideline for the SP side so it was a hard battle to fix that silly thing 🙃." [source]

"As a fun fact, I did all the logic for autolevel on DAI and the guideline I was given was literally "make functional builds, but don't make something optimal that you'd play"." [source]

DA:TV -

User: "If you can, say thanks to the people making the no die option possible." Luke Barrett: "Done! My team handles this stuff so I let them know 😊" [source]

"Comically, I designed the majority of the items and skills and I am still finding it fun making awesome builds (been almost entirely doing playthroughs lately" [source]

"Was really important to the team that everyone could play the way that felt best to them." [source]

"Each specialization has a focus around a few specific mechanics, some of which are the weapons or damage types but you can go off script and make it work for sure (this was intentional in the designs)." [source]

"I designed all the skills and so they're each enjoyable to me to some extent. I have been playing through the game over and over the last couple months for balance purposes so I've played them all fairly extensively." [source]

User: "Necrotic sounds like it could be either Spirit or Nature." User: "For Rogue, it replace "poison". For Mage, it replace spirit (Spirit bomb). For Warrior, it's more spirit (especially Reaper), but some skills could work as poison too. So basically they merged spirit and nature." Luke Barrett: "Thats pretty close to spot on. They were actually heavily iterated on throughout development - I can't (at least currently) go into specifics as to why though." [source]

"the target for the progression vision is that you can make a viable build out of almost** any aspect of the gameplay." [source]

"As for timelines, We started DA4 in October of 2015 roughly. The entire team was moved to MEA for about 3-4 months to help it ship and I also spent all of 3 weeks helping out on Anthem. But otherwise I've been on some incarnation of DA4 for about 9 years now - pretty ready for it to release 😅." [source]

"yes, years of working on the same thing can cause some burnout but I've played through the full game probably about 8 times in the last few months and it's still fun (though some of the specific levels that haven't changed in a long time I've done 50+ times easily and I could do without ever seeing them again 😂)." [source]

User: "I do kind of feel that at this point the DA team has put so much work into creating and improving their tools and learning the ins and outs of Frostbite [...] But who knows what the devs in the trenches really feel" Luke Barrett: "I will say it does some things very well and some things poorly, relative to other engines. Personally I really enjoy Frostbite but I've been using it since 2012. In an ideal world, many engines would be viable and developers would make games suited to the strengths of a specific engine." [source]

User: "Since this game is much more stat heavy than prior titles, specifically when it comes to skills and gear, there's likely a need for some balance changes to be made post-launch. Does the game being playable completely offline hinder the data capture side for your team (in terms of analytics), or is this a non-factor?" Luke Barrett: "Generally speaking, most people leave data analytics on so we get more than enough data coming in. Additionally, I'll personally be watching several channels for things that are underperforming (relatively speaking) and not have to nerf anything. The rpg side is vast though and I'm sure people will find OP combinations/synergies that might need 'adjustments' but as long as it's fun and not an "I win" button that trivializes combat I'm pretty cool with it." [source]

Luke Barrett: "I can safely say there are many builds for each class that will feel very powerful if you're not on the highest difficulty 😉. What I'm really excited for is when the guides comes out that show people the fastest way to get some of the uniques that unlock 'special' gameplay 😊. Let's just say I love the feeling of rushing to Patches in DS1 and kicking him off the bridge for the Crescent Axe (iykyk)." [source] User: "Speaking of guides. Will there be a guidebook like there was for DAI? " Luke Barrett: "Not that I'm aware of but I'm happy to help feed info to somewhere like fextralife or the dragon age wiki after a week or so to help with those pursuits. Have to leave some time for exploration and discovery before the optimizers streamline the experience 😉" [source]

"Effectively, at least until the game launches (and likely a week or so after), you won't get anything interesting out of any of the devs save Mike Gamble or John Epler. Longer term I hope to be very active, at least for build mechanics and all the combat/rpg nuts and bolts conversations." [source]

"I started "da4" in October 2015 and so after 9 years of effort (minus 3 months on Andromeda) I'm quite excited for tomorrow and the launch week. I don't know if I'd say nervous, I feel pretty confident in the product, but definitely that eager kid before Christmas feeling 😊" [source]

"As the person who did all the balance, I will say that if you are comprehending how to make a cohesive build and understand the combat mechanics, you should play on Underdog. One of the downsides to having a lot of power growth vectors is the difference between people who engage vs those that don't becomes a chasm quite quickly. If you start blowing enemies up rapidly, turn up the difficulty (or play on nightmare where that will not be the case) - basically if it ever feels super easy or like enemies are health sponges you're probably on the wrong setting for your skill level. The custom difficulty settings are there to make the gameplay enjoyable (for whatever that means to you)." [source]

"As a tip from me, the balance is subtly tipped in the players favor until the last fight of the 3rd combat mission. Be warned if it's feeling too easy you may want to wait until after that to decide." [source]

[on DA MP] Luke Barrett: "It was actually pretty fun but very much not what most people wanted us to make (including internally). Also we had, let's say, limited staff who had a passion and background in MP so it was definitely the right call to go SP only. Now, it would have been nice had we just started that way but so it goes sometimes." [source] User: "You still play it yourself from time to time (DA MP), or have you left it be?" Luke Barrett: "After playing variations of DA4 for so many years (9!!!) it's hard to go back to anything with DAI controls/gameplay speed. Even the initial Joplin prototypes I was doing were much more snappy/twitchy - for everything good about DAI the combat was definitely in the middle of two different styles." [source]

[on aiming bows] "we actually used to have separate buttons for ADS and ranged attack but it was wildly overloading the controller. These RPG games need controllers with at least 2 more buttons (fingers crossed for the next gen)" [source]

User: "After the last few games, I'm really surprised by the current skill... tree?" Luke Barrett: "I call it a skill graph - aside from the beginning where you have 3 choices the entirety of it is 2 choice splits and it'll essentially make a build for you. Just go a little at a time and aim for whatever specialization seems most fun to you 😄" [source]

"Loot is not random so theoretically guides with drop locations should appear pretty soon." [source]

"Yep, Spellblade is the only spec that directly impacts fire damage but you can get benefits from most of them and still go fire. As for the specs, yes it would have been nice to support all of them but just wasn't in scope unfortunately. Mage has Mourn-Watch, Shadow Dragons, and Antivan Crows specializations - only the Rogue has a Veiljumper one. Deathcaller left side you can go beam based and use a Fire weapon. Evoker you'd likely need to do a hybrid ice/fire build." [source]

User: "Bit of a side question, but for those who intend to make more characters, is BioWare considering upping the amount of playable character slots you can have (currently at 3)? Or is there a hardware restriction here given the game is offline playable?" Luke Barrett: "Don't quote me as I don't handle the technical side of this but my understanding is we have to allocate a specific amount of HD space on the consoles so we basically have to pick a limit, relative to our save file sizes, and then divide that by number of careers. I'll inquire if this is something we can increase with an optional download or something but I suspect consoles are stuck that way, unfortunately." [source]

[on Patch 1] "It's been awhile since I actually did the content for this patch so I'd have to check but I have a pretty anti-nerf policy for SP games. I know I fixed up a couple enemies that weren't as hard as they were supposed to be and definitely boosted a bunch of synergistic things though. I'll take a look tomorrow but for those that don't know, the turnaround time on these things is about a month of it's not an emergency due to certification process with consoles. Longer term my goal is to keep an eye in telemetry of any underused abilities and items (or enemies with too many kills under their belt) and audit them just to double check if they need a boost or if people just haven't figured them out yet 😉." [source]

"The equippable items are all predetermined with a minor exception*. Some items are class specific (all the weapons, a small amount of armors and accessories, 2 runes) so when you play a different class you'll see your classes 'version' of that item. Things that are random (from a table/pool) are valuables. Exception: Near the very end of the game we do a few checks on what equipment you haven't acquired. A bunch of those final drops, and inventory on the final merchant, simply find stuff you don't have and give it to you. That's basically the only major RNG we have with loot. If you notice even 99% of the skills and item mods employ an effect after a condition is met X times rather than a more traditional 'proc chance'." [source]

[on modding] "Once this starts to pick up, feel free to PM me if anyone needs help 'finding' assets or has questions about how one might mod something. We don't officially support mods buuuuut we don't have any kind of anti-modding stance either" [source]

"To give the high level gist of the resource economy: - each class starts off with minimal ability usage, this is intentional to force people to learn the other combat mechanics as they're a necessary skill and it's easy to lean on a crutch like ability spam and kiting - abilities are designed to feel powerful on use, thus they all have a decent cost and can't be spammed* - weapon attacks generate your resource - in the bottom right of the center skills area is a node to make each class's resource easier to manage - halfway down all starting segments (N, SW, SE) there is always a node that boosts generation - there are +max nodes on all sides of the skill graph for each class, this is particularly important for the Mage as they start each fight at max - each class can build into being ability focused but starts intentionally rounded - loastly, the first ability is always a resource spender and 1 or 2 of the next available ones will be cooldown gated. It is recommended to have at least one cooldown based ability slotted" [source]

"So loosely the rogue momentum works like this: - each ability costs 50 momentum - hitting enemies generates ~2 momentum per hit (base), you get extra for bow weakpoints - when you are directly hit, you lose 15% of your current momentum, this means the more you hold the more you will lose (this loss has a small cooldown so you don't lose a whole bar when you get hit rapidly) - momentum carries forward between combats (compared to warrior rage which decays when out of combat) If youre having issues, make sure you get that skill in the middle section that reduces momentum loss when hit. As a helpful tip, the Quicken buff generates small amounts of momentum each second so it's a good way to get more if you're having issues." [source]

"I highly recommend using the belt that grants Quicken early game until you can generate momentum faster yourself. And yes, the time dilation affects everything in the world except the Player so all your buffs and things still tick at normal speed" [source]

User: "If I knock an enemy off an edge, if they were supposed to drop something will it appear on the edge, or is it lost for good?" Luke Barrett: "It should appear on the ledge. I will say the 'real' loot from enemy drops are all hand placed. The actual random stuff is just valuables and materials." [source]

" The way it actually works is very complicated with a lot of necessary exceptions but loosely - each ability has a base damage and ones that hit multiple times have an offset multiplier. - That value is multiplied by the sum of all your stat bonuses, conditional bonuses, resist and layer modifiers. - We then subtract enemy defense and multiply by 1-resist (with penetration being calculated here). - this new damage then gets multiplied by 1+crit+weakpointpoint (so those bonuses always feel meaty) and then multiplied by a random number between .95 and 1.05 just to give a little range to the floaties (basically just a presentation thing) - we then multiply again for buffs and debuffs so they, again, always feel meaningful - lastly, we take all added damage and add it flat on top" [source]

"Specific enhancements make enemies immune to the matching affliction. For example, Fire Enchanted enemies are immune to burning. Juggernaut enemies are immune to being staggered but otherwise it should work in everything." [source]

[vainilladollie]

fruitcake track 6; white xmas

pairing ; soft!mattew sturniolo x fem!reader

summary ; christmas shopping but it's the first christmas officially as a couple.

warning (s) ; fluff + shy!matt. established relationship headcanons and me writing after MONTHS.

❛ i'm dreamin' of a white Christmas

just like the ones i used to know

where the treetops glisten and children listen

to hear sleigh bells in the snow, mmm ౨ৎ

shy!matt who follows you everywhere, quickly grabbing onto your pinky finger as you walk and drag him through the crowded aisles looking for that little ornament you saw days ago but until now you could buy, and now it's a mainstay for the whole house decor.

shy!matt who tries to take pictures of you while you choose between some polar teddy bears for the couches, but fails; and gets everyone's attention in the hallway, except yours since you are so focused on christmas stuff. And it all ends with you asking for a picture after turning to look at him for the purpose of asking his opinion and seeing how he clumsily tried to put his cell phone in his pockets "oh oh oh oh, matt let's take a pic with this teddies!"

shy!matt who loves when you make hot cocoa and try some of the short tiktok's or reels decorations and use him as a taster, and secretly loves them all and ignores chris' giggles when he asks to try one just to annoy him. and of course you only use christmas mugs.

shy!matt who slyly squeezes the faces of the stuffed animals and rushes back to you after someone from the staff asked over the loudspeaker to “please, the guy in the Christmas stuffed animal aisle stop hitting them" + helps in choosing a shared pair of pajamas or hoddie for this christmas with you (chris and nick get ones for themselves) and enjoys you and nick getting excited after agreeing on opinions.

shy!matt who laughs at chris's deer ear headband until you ask him to let you wear it, and then he loves it because oh my god, now it's the cutest thing, and he's going to get the same one, even if he has to quickly grab nick's in the middle of the store.

shy!matt who lets nick and chris in the back seats between many of the christmas shopping bags, while you are his passing princess and dj (playing the christmas playlist you both made) and y’all need to know that NOBODY can ask for a song to be skipped.

۫ ꣑ৎ bella little message ; this is my first "job" or whatever you want to call it, after MONTHS of not writing; so please be patient if this sucks, and just enjoy.

© vainilladollie ; all work is owned by me. please do not copy, translate or transfer my work to any other blogs or sites and do not claim as your own. bunny gifs are MINE, i made them! wanna use them? then GIVE credits, please.

[cosmicjoke]

I think you misunderstand my point entirely. It's not about the practical reality of whether Ash could "conceivably" have escaped his life of crime and lived a secure and anonymous life with Eiji, and it's certainly not me saying I think Ash had to somehow "pay" for what he had done during his days as a gang leader. It's about what Ash thinks of himself, and his particular trauma and the damage wrought upon him and his psyche by the severe abuse he suffered and the life he was forced to live as a consequence. It doesn't matter if Ash could have realistically or potentially escaped his life, because he couldn't escape the self-hatred that the abuse he suffered instilled in him. It doesn't matter whether his being in Eiji's life wouldn't have actually endangered Eiji, becaues Ash believed that his presence in Eiji's life did. He couldn't escape his trauma, and that's really the point and the purpose of Ash's death, in the end, is it doesn't allow the reader/audience to undermine or downplay what Ash lived through by acting like everything would have been hunky-dory if only he'd been able to run off to Japan and live happily ever after with Eiji. It forces the audience to contend with just how devastating Ash's trauma is and the true horror of child abuse by showing the tragic end point of it in Ash's death. Ash quite literally dies as a result of that abuse, because it was that abuse that led him to run away from home, which in turn led him into Dino's hands, who's further abuse led him into a life of crime, which, ultimately, is what led to Lao believing he had to kill Ash in order to protect Sing.

Ash had all the ability in the world, all the potential in the world to be whatever he wanted, sure. But it didn't matter, because his life was destroyed by the abuse he suffered and by the people that abused him.

Banana Fish offers no idealistic ending or silver lining to the life that Ash was forced to live, and that's what makes it such a powerful work of art. It presents a naked and raw depiction of the true consequences of child abuse and forces the audience to contend with that reality. It doesn't allow you to console or comfort yourself with notions that anything, no matter how bad, can be gotten over, if only you try hard enough. That's just not reality. There are so many people in real life who never get over their trauma, who never make a full recovery, or even a partial recovery, and it's one of the most insidious and cruel aspects of this insistent claim that everyone can recover from their trauma, because it's essentially telling the people who can't that the failing is their own, sending them the message that they failed because they didn't try hard enough, or simply weren't strong enough. And that's just simply not true. People who are unable to overcome their trauma are no less than anyone else.

Ash believed plenty of things about himself that weren't true, and that's the point. He believed those things because he'd been conditioned through years of horrific abuse to believe them, and him dying in the end forces you to contend with the true weight of that, by denying Ash what he actually deserved, which was a life of happiness and love. It's so absurd to me when people say "Ash didn't deserve to die" or "Ash deserved better". Like, no shit. But Ash didn't deserve any of what happened to him in his life, and again, that's the point. It didn't matter what Ash actually deserved because he was failed so completely by the people that should have protected him in the first place, and it's their failure that resulted in Ash's life being so unfair and cruel. It's because they allowed Ash to fall through the cracks. The same story of so many abused children in this world. None of it is deserved or fair, but it's reality.

Banana Fish is meant to serve as a warning for why we can't allow the things to happen to children that we see happen to Ash, and it drives home just how unacceptable allowing those things is by having the story end in Ash's death, by giving us the worst possible outcome for what Ash suffered, and so impressing upon us why we have to try our hardest to make sure what happened to Ash never happens to anyone else. Ash's death forces us to face the true consequences of allowing children to be abused. We aren't allowed to pretend through Ash's "happily ever after" that what happened to him really wasn't so bad after all.

Further commentary on the ending of Banana Fish (Spoilers):

Look, I understand the controversy and upset surrounding the ending of Banana Fish.  My last post on this topic seems to have pissed some people off, which was never my intention.  But I think maybe I could have worded things a bit better, so I’m going to try again to explain why I feel like the ending of Banana Fish was so perfect.

It’s not a happy ending, and I don’t think anyone, anywhere, will try to tell you that the ending was meant to make anyone happy, or satisfied.  That’s the point.  It’s not MEANT to please the reader.  It’s meant to remain true to its narrative realism.  And in that realism, it’s meant to break the readers heart.  And boy does it do both.

I don’t think anyone would tell you, anyone with any ounce of feeling in their heart, anyway, that Ash didn’t deserve a happy ending, or that he deserved to die after all the awful shit he went through.  I think we can all agree that we would have wanted, if we had a choice, to see Ash have a happy, hopeful ending with Eiji in Japan.  We all agree that Ash DESERVED a happy ending, because he was a good person who was dealt about the shittiest hand in life a person can have.  And despite all that shit, he retained that innate goodness of heart that made him who he was.  He never became a monster, like the people who used him up and abused him over and over again.  That’s what makes him such an extraordinary character that’s deeply loved by so many people. He absolutely deserved to be happy.

But that’s the thing. Banana Fish is a story that deals in reality.  Everything that happens in the story, despite the often extraordinary, larger than life circumstances, is dealt with in a way that is, very often, brutally, painfully honest and realistic.  It doesn’t give us what should be, it gives us what IS.  And that makes perfect sense in accordance with its relation to writers like Hemingway and Salinger.  They wrote stories that dealt in brutal honesty and reality too, and both writers are referenced throughout Banana Fish.  And it’s Banana Fish’s commitment to that brutal honesty and reality that makes it an authentic piece of art.  People want a fairy tale ending, where Ash gets to ride off into the sunset with Eiji and live happily ever after, but at no point in Banana Fish are we given any indication that the story is, at any point, going to delve into the realm of unreality and fantasy, and give us such an ending.  To do so would have been a betrayal of the genuine nature of the narrative. It would have ultimately robbed it of its authenticity as a piece of art, and the story, as a result, would have been left hollow and lacking.  

Banana Fish, throughout its narrative, shows us that terrible things happen to good people, and that good people are often forced into doing terrible things.  It never shy’s away from that cruel, heartbreaking reality, and the ending is no exception.  

It affects us so deeply, and leaves us so upset, because it’s so REAL.  It feels genuine to us, it feels real, because it refuses to betray its honesty for the sake of a happy fantasy.  It remains loyal to the harsh truth of reality, and the harsh truth of Ash’s reality in particular.  Ash is a deeply damaged, broken person, who’s experiences in life are the very definition of cruelty.  Here is a boy who, since the age of seven, has experienced sexual, mental, emotional and physical abuse repeatedly and on a scale truly unfathomable to almost all of us. A boy who was forced into a life of prostitution in order to simply survive on the harsh streets of an unforgiving city.  A boy who, again out of a necessity for survival, has had to kill other human beings. A boy who, out of a desperate situation in which he was forced to choose either to save his soulmate or watch him be murdered by his best friend gone berserk in a mad, drug induced insanity, had to kill his best friend by shooting him straight through the heart.  A boy who, each time in his life that he’s tried to build real and meaningful relationships with other people, Griffin, the girl he liked when he was 14, Skip, Shorter, Eiji, he’s had to watch those people he allowed himself to grow close to either die or almost die, over and over again.  All of that combined creates a level of trauma that’s so far beyond the normal scope or understanding of a regular human being, so far beyond any discernable mechanism for coping with trauma, that to expect Ash to just get over it, for it all to magically be okay just because he moves to Japan with Eiji, is the height of unrealistic, and, again, would be a betrayal of the authenticity the story marries itself to from start to finish.  

Ash’s death is a tragedy, as his life was a tragedy, and the story is a reflection of that.  It stays true to that narrative, and never compromises on it.  That’s the point.  Life doesn’t always have a happy ending.  People that have suffered severe, irreversible trauma don’t always recover, and can’t always heal from it.  People who have suffered in the obscene and brutal ways that Ash has aren’t always going to be alright.  Sometimes it’s just too much.  For Ash, it was just too much.  Too much damage.  Too much heartache.  Too much pain.  Too much loss.  Sometimes we can’t overcome our damage, and that reality presented in this story scares people, I think, because it’s so nakedly honest and unapologetically expressed.

The ending is so god awful painful too because we see, in that moment after Ash reads Eiji’s letter, hope bloom inside him.  For an instant, this belief that maybe he can have a happy ending, when he thinks he’ll catch Eiji at the airport, and maybe go with him.  And in the next instant, he’s mercilessly reminded of that hope’s falsity. Hope springs eternal, but not always true.  Hope and happiness were never meant for Ash.  The chance for that was taken from him before he could even understand what those concepts were.  The thematic arc of the story was telling us from the start that it was going to end in tragedy.

People weren’t meant to LIKE this ending.  It wasn’t meant to make them feel good, or okay with what happened, or fulfilled.  In fact, I’d say, it’s meant to make you feel completely devastated.  As the story reflects reality, so often too does real life end in a way that leaves us feeling lost and confused and heartbroken.  Banana Fish is so good because it stays true to that sense of reality, right until the very end.

The ending doesn’t leave us feeling happy, but it sure does leave us FEELING.  Like any real piece of art would.  The emotions it conjures are immense and, for some I guess, too real. That sense of loss and hopelessness and pain it leaves us with is so effective because, again, it’s so honest. And I guess that because those emotions are so real, and felt so deeply, and with such intensity, it leaves some readers and viewers feeling angry.  Lashing out at a reality which they don’t want to accept.  The irony, of course, is that their hatred and rejection of the ending is testament to just how deeply the ending touched them.  It didn’t leave them feeling nothing, it left them feeling too much, and they then go into a state of denial, which is really just a stage of grief.  A refusal to accept.  You know Banana Fish is a true piece of art for that, in how it conjures sincere feelings of grief and mourning in us for its lead character in Ash.  We CARE about him, deeply.  We want him to be alright, because we love him.

But real art isn’t concerned with placation.  It’s concerned with truth.  So many great pieces of literature have unhappy endings, because that’s the truth of the human condition, and the condition of life in general.  Real art won’t shy away from those painful, awful truths, nor is it afraid to conjure the feelings which go hand in hand with those truths in its audience.  

With all that said, the tragedy of the ending doesn’t demand a feeling of meaninglessness or desolation at all.

Eiji’s love for Ash and Ash’s love for Eiji is still so pivotal and, ultimately, essential in how the story ends.  It’s what allows, maybe not a feeling of hope, but a feeling of peace.

You sense throughout the story that Ash knows he’s going to die.  Like he senses that his life is too fucked up, that he’s been through and had to do too many horrible things for it to last very long.  It’s like the saying of he who burns brightest burns twice as fast.  Ash is burning, and he knows it.  He’s already accepted it as an inevitable conclusion.  He doesn’t actively seek death, but he doesn’t fear, nor fight against it.  At points throughout the story, even, he asks for it, when the horror of what’s happening to him becomes too much.  He knows death is coming for him.  The only thing keeping him from giving in so easily I think is his lack of agency in how he will.  Everything has been taken from Ash, and he doesn’t want to give this last thing away. This choice in how he dies.

Eiji’s love is what finally gives him agency in that decision.

Ash died knowing Eiji loved him, and that knowledge, that certainty that he was loved, genuinely loved by another human being, without any strings or conditions attached, simply loved for himself alone, is what allowed Ash to finally find the peace in death which alluded him in life.  He no longer feels like he has to keep fighting, or struggling on through an endless malaise of misery and pain, because he’s finally found the calm and acceptance which comes with knowing he has this one, pure thing for himself, which nobody, none of his abusers, can ever touch or take away.  With everything else that’s been stolen from Ash, his innocence, his sense of agency, his own body, his own mind, Eiji’s love for him is the one thing nobody could ever steal away.  And that’s, I think, why Ash dies smiling, because it’s that knowledge, that he was worthy of another human being’s true love, that at last shows him that he was a human being himself.  Not an animal.  Not a monster.  He was a human being worthy of love.

Ash’s death is heartbreaking, and brutal, but there’s deep consolation to be had in knowing he spent his final moments with the feeling of Eiji’s love for him alive inside his heart, allowing him at last to feel like a person deserving, worthy of love.

It’s that which allows Ash to finally let go of his struggle, and let’s death’s embrace take hold of him.  It’s his own. Eiji’s love, and his choice to let go of life.

It doesn’t make the ending any less heart wrenching or brutal.  It doesn’t make us any less devastated by Ash’s death.  But it gives us a sense of peace, in knowing, even if we are left feeling lost and heartbroken, Ash himself left life with the fulfillment of knowing he was loved.

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 7

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.4k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: How will your next practice go, now that you've talked?

a/n: so what will dancing together be like now? Posting early because I'm traveling later today. See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), fluff!!!, more talking

Chapter 7

By Monday, you were exhausted and most of you hurt, but you walked into morning class with a smile playing around your mouth.

You’d nailed Hermia, and you didn’t think you could feel better about it. Adrian had already tackled you in a hug the day before, after the third performance — thankfully already out of his glittery Puck costume. (Or Elena and Max, the costume heads, would have been pissed.) But he’d been amazing, too, and you told him so. 

As you put on your shoes for barre, you felt someone come up and stand next to your spot along the wall. You looked up and saw black shoes and black tights, and smiled.

“Hi, Din,” you said, looking up to meet his gaze.

His face was as expressionless as always, but you could have sworn the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly when your eyes met. It was small, but it was there.

“Morning,” he greeted you softly. “You were amazing this weekend.”

You grinned as you moved to stand. He offered his hand and you took it. “You saw?” You hadn’t seen him in the wings or the audience, but that didn’t mean anything — it was a packed house for all three performances.

He nodded, squeezing your hand before letting it drop. “Yesterday. I brought Grogu, too, he loved it. But we couldn’t stay after, so I couldn’t look for you to tell you how good you were. You captured her perfectly. I could feel her confusion and turmoil.” He turned to walk towards his spot at the barre and you moved with him. “It felt so… tormented. I could almost see her indecision.”

You smiled and ducked your head as you reached the barre. You grasped it in both hands and leaned into it a little. “Um, thanks.” You looked up at him and found his gaze was soft behind his mask. “It did feel good. I was really happy with it.”

He nodded at you. “You should be. It was beautiful.” He paused for a moment, looking at you, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.

Din opened his mouth to say something else, but Alexa called out for everyone to start, and you started to move towards your spot at the barre next to his. 

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to catch your arm. “Can we meet tomorrow? After lunch. To rehearse.”

You nodded. “Tomorrow.” 

…

On Tuesday, Din told you he’d reserved one of the tiny practice rooms set aside for just that purpose. You promised you’d meet him there. As he stepped away, Adrian stepped up to fill the space. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Were you just lurking there, listening in?”

“Obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “What’s the practice room for?”

You laughed. “We’re going to work on the pas de deux, before rehearsal on Thursday.”

He waggled his eyebrows at you and you elbowed him. “Oof. Rude. It sounds like things are going better, then?”

You nodded. “I think so. We haven’t tried it again, yet, but I think it’s going to work better, this time.” You’d already told him all about your conversation with Din, leaving out the personal details Din had shared. You didn’t think he’d want you to spread those around.

“Good.”

Alexa called out to Adrian and you moved off, waving as you turned into the hallway. 

…

As you walked towards the room Din had reserved for you, you couldn’t help but notice how different you felt, compared to your walk to rehearsal, so full of dread the week before. 

You found the small room, tucked away at the end of the rehearsal hall and around the corner. You almost never came back here, you realized. 

Din was already inside, fiddling with the sound system.

“Hey, Din,” you said, smiling when he turned to look at you. You closed the door and moved to join him. “Did you go home for lunch?”

He nodded. “Grogu had a half day today, so I got to eat lunch with him.” He smiled — just a small thing, but the obvious difference from how he was in class warmed you. 

“That’s great,” you said, and sat to put on your shoes. “I’m sure he was excited to see you.”

Din made a small noise, and you looked up. He was smiling a bit bigger, and you realized he had laughed, just a bit. You grinned. “He was. He said he talked about the ballet at school and danced for his teacher.”

You laughed. “That’s so cute, oh my god.”

Din ducked his head and you thought you saw an even wider smile take over his mouth.  You looked down at your shoes to keep yourself from staring. He looked good when he smiled. (He looked good all the time.)

You cut off your own thoughts, moving to stand. “So, did you have something in mind for today?” You asked.

He nodded. “I was thinking, what if we talk through what we have so far? I’d like to hear how you think about it. What you’re feeling and how you want to show that. I think that would help me.”

You blinked. “Sure. I can do that. And I want to hear from you, what you’re thinking is going on in your character’s head. That’s how I usually start — what is she thinking? And how can I show that, in my body? Should it be obvious or subtle? And then the emotion can come out in so many different ways… but I always start from what she’s thinking.”

Din looked thoughtful. “I usually do think about that, too, but I guess I haven’t had as much freedom before. In terms of what I can do with it.”

That made sense, based on what you knew of CBC. But something about what he said caught your attention. “Din… what if we use that. In the dance.”

He tilted his head at you and leaned against the barre. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we know Kuiil wants our characters to learn from each other and then create something new together, right? Or form a new connection that affects each other.” He nodded. “Ok, so what if your character becomes freer or more open over the course of the performance?”

His eyebrows flew upwards. “Oh.” He sounded like he was as struck by the idea as you had been a moment before.

You nodded. “Yes! And so you could start from something more familiar and change, over the course of the dance. And that’s what we could work on. So you’re not starting from something so new, but instead growing towards it. Maybe we could even work that in, that my character is sort of drawing yours out? It would add to the back and forth between us, and the give and take. And I could even mirror you a bit, to invite you in! Your reactions could sort of waiver towards and away from the openness my character is inviting you to have. Right? Between acceptance and rejection. What do you think?” You ran out of breath, and you knew your hope for him to agree must have been showing on your face. Now that you’d had the idea, you were attached to it. It seemed perfect.

He looked down, and you bit your lip. “Din—“

But then he looked up, and he looked relieved. He nodded. “I like it. I think that’s perfect. And it will feel like so much less pressure. I think I was getting too in my head about getting it right from the beginning.”

“Oh, good! Ok, great.” You reached out and squeezed his arm. Almost immediately he covered your hand with his free one and pressed down gently. You couldn’t help but notice how big his hand was, as it covered yours, and you felt your face heat up and ignored it. You needed to get used to touching each other, anyway. “I think this will be good, Din. We can do this.”

You were standing so close, you realized, since you’d reached out to touch him and he’d held you there. You hesitated. “So, do you want to start by talking it through?”

He nodded. For a moment he didn’t move, but then he squeezed your hand again before releasing it and stepping away. “Let’s start from when we first see each other.”

You nodded and moved to join him in the center of the small room. As you began, you could feel it. This would work. 

…

Rehearsal on Thursday was so different, you could tell Kuiil was both surprised and over the moon with excitement.

From the moment the music started, you could feel it. You and Din were still dancing separately, still “meeting” each other in character, but you were working together. Something had shifted, since you talked and practiced and began to work together. And it might not be what it needed to be yet, but it was so much better than what it was before.

You could feel him moving across the space with you, and it was like a tentative connection formed between you that you could pull taut and release. It was almost like you were listening for each other, taking cues from changes in each other’s breath or even small movements. His body would echo one part of the music, and yours would follow another in response. You extended your leg, and something in the way he moved his shoulders responded to it. He turned, and you spun around, meeting him from a different angle. It felt good. It was new, but it was there. 

You ran through it once, and Kuiil looked like he might actually cry, or jump for joy.

“Oh, yes, yes!” He said, coming towards you in the middle of the room. He rested his hands on his hips and looked between you, smiling widely. “Yes, I knew it — I can see it forming within and between you. Well done, both of you. Could you feel it?”

You and Din both nodded, and he gestured widely with his arms. “Of course you could! The energy, you have found it. You are building it.” He nodded again. “I can see that you have talked, and settled more into your characters. Now we can truly get to work.”

And so you did.

…

February began to fly by, much faster than January, and with much more ease. You and Din found a rhythm together that actually worked. You were friendly, in the mornings in class, though he still hid behind his mask around the rest of the company. And then you started to become something more like actual friends when you were alone or rehearsing with Kuiil. 

Din seemed more comfortable with you than he had before, and that comfort allowed him to open up in a way you hadn’t seen him do yet in his dancing. Kuill began to focus on the second movement, when your characters circled each other, and you could see Din relaxing his form and beginning to open his movements beyond the emotionless technique that had been drilled into him at CBC. It was beautiful to watch — you were so impressed with him.

Two weeks later, rehearsals for Swan Lake had picked up, and so had your rehearsals for the pas de deux.

Kuill had just walked you through the crescendo of the second movement, which involved jumps, some partnered turns, and a complicated lift section. It wasn’t the first time Din lifted you in the choreography, but it was the first time you needed to rely on him and his support so completely, with two lifts and transition into a different hold. 

It wasn’t your first time being lifted by a partner, of course, but it was your first time doing something like this with Din. There was always a moment, when partnering with someone new, when you found out just how much you actually trusted each other. You didn’t need to be best friends to dance together well, but you did need to trust in the support of your partner. 

You shook out your arms and legs and rolled your shoulders. You trusted Din. He wasn’t hidden behind that expressionless mask anymore, not with you. I can do this.

Kuill started the music, and you twirled into action, leaping past Din. He caught your hand as you began to move away and spun you around him. You “fell” into a collapsed position over his arm, allowing the spin, and then he guided you upwards with light touches into an arabesque. He tugged you forward through traveling turns that crossed the stage, squeezing your hip just at the right moment to let you know when to stop. Finally you attempted to pull away, and he pulled you back and spun you in a circle into a tour jeté lift. As you landed he turned you again and lifted you upwards into a horizontal spin that finished with your hands resting on his shoulders as you stretched your legs into a fully extended split, perpendicular to the ground. You paused there, for just a moment, before he lifted you by your hips and then brought you back down gently. You sprang away instantly.

The music stopped, and you turned back to look at Din, breathing hard. You were both grinning. You froze, staring at how it transformed his face. He was beautiful. 

Kuill called out that that the lift was perfect, but that he wanted you to work on the build up to it. You almost couldn’t listen to him. You were too caught up in the feelings running through your body.

You’d never experienced anything like that before. The first attempt, and it was perfect — Din had lifted you seemingly effortlessly, and his hands had gone exactly where they needed to go. You’d communicated with each other through touch with ease. You had felt fully supported and able to truly perform to the music, even when in the air. You felt amazing. And you could see on Din’s face that he felt it, too.

“My dear?” Kuiil asked, stepping up beside you. 

You tore your eyes away from Din’s, finally, and realized you’d probably missed what he said. “Sorry! Again?” 

Kuiil nodded, and you ignored his knowing smile. He looked almost smug. “Again,” he agreed, and you stepped back towards Din.

When you looked at him again, you found he hadn’t looked away from you. “Again,” he murmured, echoing Kuiil. The look in his eyes made your breath catch.

It went just as well the second time. 

…

prev | next

a/n: such improvement!

Partnering: so in this chapter we get an extended partnering sequence. I tried to find moments that looked like what I was picturing for each piece, and they’re linked above (and they should take you to the right spot in each video) – the hand grab, the traveling turns, communication while partnering, a tour jete lift, and the lift into the split. I hope it makes sense! This video has a bit more about partnered turns (though they’re doing traveling ones here) and this one has more about what the guy is doing with his hands during those turns. I linked to different spots in this one a couple of times but the video overall is great because Mira Nadon shares some really interesting thoughts about what it’s like to work with a new partner. 

I’m going to talk more about Swan Lake next week because it’s more of a focus in the next chapter. 🦢

[lawofangie]

I need some advice

Our 3D is just a reflection of our assumption and I have proven it to myself and have seen few evidence of it too like I yesterday manifested brownies

But I couldn't manifest being in void from past 3 months almost and this is frustrating me a lot now I don't know why but I am like yeah I will be in void but whenever I assume that I am going to get in it on this day or like that I just couldn't belive myself that it is happening or will happen and I just need some genuine advice

I ha,ve manifested shit even after reacting to 3D in 4 days but this is getting on my nerves and I need some advice

By The way read your story and it is inspiring and the things happen to you were not what you deserved but am happy for you still

Bye

i've never understood why you guys care so much about that stupid void stuff. it's not the end all be all of manifestation, it's just a fucking method, like affirming, visualizing, scripting, SATS, etc. it means nothing. i truly do not understand the craze, the hype, watching people post about it and people try their hardest to get in such a state feels like watching the blind lead the blind.

if the void state isn't working for you, then just give up? no method has more significance than another, no matter what you do, the end goal is assuming you have something and it materializing. what does the void state have to do with any of that? why do you care so much?

what does the void state have to do with you achieving your dream body, your sp, money, clear skin, your dream house, dream job, what does the void state itself have to do with any of that? what is the law of assumption even about? do you even remember at this point?

the reason why you can't get into that void thing is because manifesting is about assuming, which is believing something to be true before seeing it with your own eyes (which is similar to a prediction). if you wait expectantly for something to happen, you aren't making an assumption. plain and simple. waiting for something to happen every night for 3 months defeats the purpose of making an assumption.. because waiting for something to be true, again, isn't assuming. you're supposed to already decide that it is.

i really don't know how else to put it. it just gets to a point where you guys don't even understand what you're doing anymore. if a method (a way of doing something) isn't working for you, then simply try something else? i honestly don't understand why this thought hasn't crossed your mind on your own.

in any other context, would this make any sense? you keep doing something that obviously isn't working for you until it somehow works for you, even though you already know it doesn't or it's taking too long? wouldn't it make more sense to just find another way?

this is the issue. you guys put this thing on a pedestal as if it means something, when just like any other method, it's just a way of doing something. that's all a method is, a way of doing something in order to achieve something. the purpose of using a method is to help you achieve something. so i truly don't understand why you've been trying and failing to use a method for 3 entire months. what significance does the void state truly have to occupy so much of your time? how is this more special than any other method?

and once you reach the void, what then? is it really worth stressing yourself out every night when people are literally manifesting their desires overnight by simply deciding they have them? while you've been waiting for a stupid method to work for you for the past 3 months? you are TRULY wasting your time.

you clearly are already understanding the law and proving it to yourself, so why not just keep doing that? if you've already found what works, then why are you changing? i don't get it. what do you gain in the end?

[mariacallous]

Sarah McBride is the first openly transgender person elected to the U.S. Congress, but she is not the first trans politician to be banned from using the bathroom of her choice by a hostile fellow lawmaker.

Back in 2006 in Italy, newly elected Vladimir Luxuria was briefly barred from using the ladies' room when she took her seat in Parliament. She said her heart breaks for McBride, a Democrat from Delaware.

"They did that to me," Luxuria, 59, said in a telephone interview with NBC News from her home in Rome. "What is happening to Sarah McBride is rank politics."

Which bathroom McBride will be able to use in the next Congress became an issue last week when Rep. Nancy Mace, a South Carolina Republican and staunch supporter of President-elect Donald Trump, introduced a resolution to prohibit lawmakers and House employees from “using single-sex facilities other than those corresponding to their biological sex.”

When asked if the move was specifically in response to McBride, Mace said, "yes and absolutely, and then some." Not long afterward, House Speaker Mike Johnson, who is also a Republican and a Trump supporter, said he supports restricting “single-sex facilities” in the Capitol, including restrooms, to “individuals of that biological sex."

McBride, in a post on X, responded, “Every day Americans go to work with people who have life journeys different than their own and engage with them respectfully, I hope members of Congress can muster that same kindness.”

Luxuria, who left Parliament in 2008 and is an actress and activist, was following in the footsteps of the late Georgina Beyer, a New Zealander who became the world’s first openly transgender member of Parliament when she was elected in 1999.

The only other transgender woman who has served in a national parliament is Poland's Anna Grodzka, who was elected in 2011 and served one four-year term.

Luxuria said she had endured a lifetime of "cruelty" but was still shocked when Italian lawmaker Elisabetta Gardini, who was a supporter of then-Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, confronted her "outside the women's toilet."

"I always went to the women's bathroom because if I even tried to use the men's toilet they would be embarrassed and demand to know what I am doing there," Luxuria said. "So when I came out, I was surprised when Gardini began yelling at me, 'What were you doing in here! You're a man!'"

Luxuria said Gardini "was very angry" but she was determined not to back down.

She said she told Gardini: "OK, I am a trans woman. But if you don't want to see me in here, you should go use the men's toilet."

Luxuria said Gardini walked off in a huff and in no time "the matter of where I could go to the bathroom became a debate in Parliament."

"I was lucky because, in the end, the members of Parliament decided I could use the women's bathroom," she said. "But it was embarrassing that it became an issue."

Luxuria said she has her suspicions about why Gardini, who was a well-known actress and popular TV personality before she got into politics, went after her.

"I suspect Berlusconi's party wanted to make this an issue to attack my party, which was in opposition," she said. "So I am very sympathetic to Sarah McBride."

Gardini did not respond to an email seeking comment.

Noting that Mace once described herself as a pro-LGBTQ social moderate, Luxuria said she thinks Mace's attack on McBride was part of a bigger plan to try to divide Democrats and force them to defend an issue that still makes many Americans "uncomfortable."

"The purpose here is to generate hate for political purposes," Luxuria said.

McBride and Mace did not reply to NBC News' request for comment.

In the aftermath of Vice President Kamala Harris’ loss to Trump, some Democrats and pundits have pointed to the Biden administration’s support for transgender rights as one reason Republicans prevailed.

They noted that the Republicans spent more than $200 million on network television advertisements that underscored Harris’ past support for taxpayer-funded gender-affirming care treatments and that repeatedly aired during NFL and college football games.

During her four years in the Polish Parliament, Grodzka also faced verbal attacks and was repeatedly misgendered by fellow Polish lawmaker Krystyna Pawlowicz. In an interview with Pink News, an LGBTQ digital news outlet based in Britain, in 2013, Grodzka largely brushed off the transphobic comments.

“Krystyna is a very conservative person, therefore I guess I am probably just a little bit too much for her," Grodza said. “She has an imaginary idea of a [perfect] person who is supposed to go to church, etc. … In that case I ruin her picture, therefore it’s a reason for her to attack me."

In recent years — nearly a decade after she left Parliament — Grodzka is still occasionally on the receiving end of personal attacks from Polish lawmakers, as the country's right-wing has embraced anti-LGBTQ sentiments.

In a 2002 documentary about Beyer called "Georgie Girl," Beyer said she commonly faced questions about her gender identity that other politicians would not have to endure.

“I get asked questions no other politician would ever have to answer," she said. "Regarding the surgery, you know. ‘Did it hurt?’ or, ‘When you have sex now as a woman, is it different to how you had sex as a man?’ Well, honey, obviously.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

What can you tell us about the prince shouto fic?

a lot has changed but not everything !!

the main premise of the fic is that prince shouto is trying to stage a coup and overthrow his dad. him inheriting the throne is uncontested because his siblings all forfeited rights to the throne but he wants to take control of the imperial palace before then and needs more people in his corner to make it happen

he seeks reader out on purpose after learning about her because of her lack of presence in high society lmao

reader is one of aizawas adopted kids who stays out of noble society and takes care of his land as a farmer and planned to do so until she died basically. keeps a low profile because she's a runaway from a fallen nation. talented swordsman (has good kinsthetic ability in general) but aizawa doesn't let her do any work with it because she's too violent and reckless. eventually she gave up asking in exchange for aizawa continuing to train her

todoroki lowkey sought her out on a whim but she ends up being a good fit for his bride. todoroki has a few more noble families who would happily marry their daughters to him / side with him but the imperial palace is incredibly hostile and it felt wrong to him to allow a normal noblewoman to marry into that mess lol so he needed someone who was more well suited to endure that. he finds reader on out of desperation but she ends up being perfect.

reader is so beloved. loyal + ruthless + cunning. frequently makes decisions on a whim. bad with socializing but extremely well loved by animals. holds a lot of anger. has some weirdly traditional views about random things like marriage. has a tendency towards violence and carnage. often holds petty grudges with shinso who she's been closed to since she lived on the streets.

prince shouto basically asks reader to come back with him to get married the day he goes to seek her out and reader is like. if you can send people to take care of the farm in my absence sure i'll get married to you. aizawa is like ???? but there wasnt a deep reason she just felt like she should go so she does 💀💀she makes me laugh so bad dkjskd

after getting married reader also becomes prince shoutos imperial knight since it's not technically against any laws and it gives her a reason to attend specific meetings. she's very sturdy and holds her own but she sucks at some etiquette stuff dskjfsjd

i think thats as much as i can spoil for now since this all takes place in the prologue and chapter 1 + 2. the rest of the story is split up into 3 main acts. acts 1 + 2 focus on executing the coup on the imperial palace and act three focuses on restructuring. its when stuff settles down and where they enter their wife husband arc forreal.

i love these two so very much you would not believe.

[gamebunny-advance]

Huwah~

I don't like that it's so difficult to find out who exactly has retweeted my posts.

I don't even get a notif if someone leaves a reply. I feel like that website is basically useless to me.

Edit: Resolved. I'm just a moron, but I'll keep this post up in case I forget how to do this again.

[firestorm09890]

FUCK what I said about the majority of significant changes to dialogue in Re:CoM being to adjust Axel's characterization, the most egregious change is actually this

(GBA CoM)

(Re:CoM)

if I had to guess, the reason for this change was because in GBA CoM, The Superior was a spooky, unknown being at the head of this Organization we had very little knowledge on, and for Vexen, the guy who runs his mouth constantly about how much better he is than the others, to be terrified of him, he must be some pretty scary dude. But then after kh2 we know him, it's Xemnas, he's very dramatic, he likes to talk to the moon, and the effect of your mind filling in the gaps about what "The Superior" must be like is gone. So it wasn't really necessary anymore, right?

(rest under cut because it's long)

Except... the way they changed it is so weird. In the GBA version, what's happening is pretty clear:

Marluxia tells Vexen that his project is a failure

Vexen demonstrates that he does not give a shit about Marluxia's opinion

he does care very much about The Superior's opinion, though, and Marluxia uses this to blackmail him into eliminating Sora- an action which is nonsensical, as the entire point of what they're doing needs Sora alive, making it clear to everyone in the room that he is deliberately sending Vexen to die

and then after that, when Vexen shows up to fight Sora, he goes "if you want to fight me for real you've gotta do it in the memories from the other side of your heart lol bye" and Sora goes "huh? other side?" and then it cuts to a scene on the top floor:

and then this gets more into subtext but here, Vexen has realized he's totally fucked and his only hope is to mess directly with Marluxia's plans (well, they were the Organization's plans, but it's pretty obvious by now Marluxia's abusing his power for his own purposes) by giving Sora more information than he should know. This does get the traitor gang worried enough to send Axel to go kill him (as opposed to just letting Sora take care of him, which was presumably the original plan)- he very specifically cuts Vexen off to keep him from saying too much (this is retained between the original and the remake)

Anyway, what happens in Re:CoM sort of follows the same order of events, but everything is changed slightly in a way that just makes things more confusing.

Marluxia tells Vexen his project is a failure and Vexen demonstrates that he doesn't give a shit about Marluxia's opinion, as before

Marluxia threatens Vexen with a weapon, rather than threatening to tell the Superior

this, notably, does not seem to faze Vexen very much. he continues to run his mouth while having the scythe pointed at him.

Xemnas is still leveraged- Marluxia points out it was the Superior who entrusted him with the castle

...even though reasonably Vexen would already be aware of this, and has still demonstrated that he has zero respect for Marluxia despite it

the lines about betraying the Organization being a capital crime are retained, probably because it's super relevant later, but then that line of thinking is abandoned in favor of Marluxia and Larxene just taunting Vexen instead

The part where Marluxia says "do it. you won't" could be seen as a sort of threat... if not for Axel's line: "You give a challenge like that to Vexen and he'll seriously want to eliminate Sora." It frames it all as though Vexen went to fight Sora out of some sort of pride.

And look, Vexen may have a temper and a superiority complex, but he's not stupid. They're obviously baiting him. Plus, what happened to him seeing himself as above the others and countering things he doesn't like with "well actually I'm higher ranked than you and also you're an idiot"? Is he that insecure in his fighting capabilities? I could deal with characterization changes doing him dirty if it didn't also make no sense in the context of the plot.

So now we have Vexen going to try to kill Sora, something that really makes no sense to do, out of pride. What was the purpose of sending Sora to Twilight Town? Also pride, over the fact that he managed to get that information? Giving the writing the benefit of the doubt, I could say that these nonsensical actions can be explained as evidence that Nobodies can have hearts and people with hearts do strange and rash things, but that just feels like a reach, which is bad because what they had in GBA CoM worked perfectly fine and made sense without any reaching for the "idk emotions make you do strange things" explanation.

It continues. After Vexen gives Sora the Twilight Town card in Re:CoM and Sora wonders about what the "other side" means, this is that version of the conversation the top floor members have:

...what? "If Sora disappears, that would mess up the Organization's plans"? what are you worried about? the only reason Sora would disappear is if Vexen killed him. there's no way they think Vexen being in Twilight Town would give him an advantage, right? they know he's a pathetic fighter. "Vexen has clearly committed a treasonous act against the Organization" HOW? HOW IS IT CLEAR? they don't express any worry about Sora learning too much, up until Axel says "I came to stop you from talking too much" when killing Vexen- and that being there makes it seem like they were worried about Sora learning to much, but if that's the case, why would they replace the perfectly serviceable lines in the above scene? it's just... baffling that they would want to lean into the narrative that Vexen going to kill Sora (which he'd been goaded into doing) is the problem here, because it just makes so little sense compared to what it was originally.

once again giving them the benefit of the doubt: Marluxia's real plan was to take over the Organization, and he saw an easy way to pick off one of the members, so he took it. the motive for stopping Vexen doesn't actually matter.

buuuuut it's the same as with Vexen earlier. Marluxia may be too self-absorbed and power-hungry to notice Axel is scheming against him, but he, too, is an intelligent man. he's plotted for a while, getting into Xemnas's good graces in order to be put in charge of the Castle. this is incredibly sloppy for him. I guess it could be said that getting so close to his goal would make him sloppy, but again, if they'd just left things the way they were in GBA CoM, I wouldn't even have to be saying this

in conclusion: GBA Chain of Memories' intra-Organization strife subplot is so tightly woven with calculated moves on all sides that Re:CoM changing certain things without taking into consideration the consequences makes certain parts of the plot fall flat and become far more confusing than in the original story

[elisedonut]

fuck i'm actually going to end up enjoying Sevpercy huh

maybe in a picky I like them when they are in my head or when I do it kind of way

or in a time travel way because when it comes to Snape I like his teenage self a lot more than his adult self

[juliareed]

Fandom: Alias Relationships: Sark/Sydney Song: Spiracle by Flower Face Content warnings: Blood, death, violence, spiders, insects, flashing lights

[pplatonic]

Unfortunately I have to turn off asks because random strangers keep sending me charity/donation solicitations which spiral my moral OCD and paranoia/delusional thinking. So if you want to talk to me just DM me instead (discord is an option too, send me your usernames in DMs if you prefer that.)