#because you know the moment you represent the slightest inconvenience to him he will no longer “love” you

[novadreii]

We were raised on cocktails of Disney movies that brainwashed us into believing our lives were not complete without our white knight coming to save us from a miserable, cat‐filled future as a solitary childless hag. That we could never hope to be happy unless we were worthy enough to be chosen by one of them. So it makes sense that these women cling to disgusting, vile practically dickless excuses for human beings who don't even make them happy. It's the thickest smokescreen in the world, but once a woman chooses to or is forced to disperse it, she will spend the rest of her life trying to understand why she was willing to settle for so fucking little, and barely recognizing that past version of herself.

[sterlingsilver-starlight]

You are a Gift ❤️‍🩹

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: emotional trauma (reader has verbally abusive mother), very brief implication of past suicidal thoughts, briefly racist language/discussion of racist behavior (reader is mixed white/Asian) mild language, intimate moments (heated makeout scene, but nothing further)

Word Count: 5938 words

Summary: After struggling with an abusive mother’s racist and oppressive behavior, Reader finds solace (and possibly more) in the arms of her closest friend, Seonghwa…

Inspirations: I listened to this emotional music mix and this piano tutorial version of Star 1117 while writing this :]

This was very comforting to write…this is the first fanfic I’ve written (though I’ve read plenty here and there ^^); I hope everyone can find someone like this in their life 🫶🏼

Also please note that this is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual idol; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :)

“Hey…what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You slumped against the wall, head pounding as dizzy visions pranced about the room overhead. Your hands trembled at the slightest of sounds. Your eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall, yet collected on your lashes like raindrops after the storm.

What even was real? What was life, anymore? What had it been?

Every step you took…only ever felt like it was one being taken backwards.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were just a failure at life. A disappointment because you couldn’t keep straight even the most basic things.

You’d tried to drown out the noise as much as you could. But there was only so much you could play pretend with.

The chill in your spine ached like the fever dreams you’d been struggling to cope with the past few nights. Sweat pouring down your temples, constantly waking up in the middle of the night scared with tear-stained cheeks.

You had never meant to get sick. You had never meant to come home and spend the weekend recovering from a cold. And most of all, you had never meant to spread it to your sister.

So little could have prepared you for the awful things your mother would shout back, in spite and hatred that you could do little to deflect.

Except ignore, grit your teeth against, and eventually, cave into and cry silent tears to.

“We were having a great weekend until you had to go and get sick and get your sister sick!”

“I’ll bet you’re so glad you went to see that movie this week, huh? Maybe if you’d had some white friends you’d actually have known better than to walk in the cold like an idiot!”

“Stop pretending to be someone you’re not! All you do is act like you’re 120% Asian! Newsflash: You’re NOT, so get off it!”

There was no end. You bit your lip, fingers shaking furiously. There was no end to what might be said the next day.

Maybe this had all just been a horrible idea to bring him into it, too. You were just disturbing him. After all, isn’t that what she always said? That you were too sensitive to everything in plain —

“Y/n?”

You inhaled a shaky breath, desperately trying not to cry, but to hear him call your name, to hear someone call your name so calmly, as though you weren’t just a piece of trash left on the streets, triggered a dam of emotions.

“I-I…” you started, hoping he would still stay on the line after having been given the unintentional silent treatment for so long already.

“It’s okay. Go on. I’m right here. Talk to me, okay?”

You choked back a sob. “I-I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you. I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, on such short notice, I…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to right now, I’ve been in hell these past few days and I know I look like it. I feel like it. I’ve constantly been reminded how much I’ve screwed everyone’s lives up, to the point that I got so afraid that maybe…”

You couldn’t go on.

There was a light sigh on the other end. “They’re all settled in by now, right?”

Your eyes widened at the sudden shift in topic. “Y-yeah. W-why?”

“Pack some stuff in a bag. You’re staying with me for a few nights.”

Nothing else could have compelled you to gather clothes and spare toiletries in a duffel bag so quickly and so quietly, especially on a late Saturday night.

But when Seonghwa gave you advice so directly, you didn’t hesitate to see it through. He’d been one of your closest friends for what seemed like forever, even though it had only been slightly less than two years since you first encountered him walking to class one chilly winter morning. You smiled at the brief memory.

Headphones charged up, supplies ready to go for lecture, phone at the ready for impromptu sky snapshots, check threefold. You smiled at the glistening snow on the trees, the slight crunch your boots made with every step, the way the sun brightened the eyes of even —

There was a jolt, and before you knew it, you’d completely spazzed out and knocked into a fellow passersby. Pulling down your headphones, you turned around frantically. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

The stranger looked up at you with warm brown eyes that scrunched upward as he smiled. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good. I should have watched more carefully, no?” He chuckled lightly tapping near his ears, indicating your headphones.

Your eyes widened, cheeks burning crimson. “O-oh! Yeah…sorry about that! Once I hear a good song, I just really get lost in its melody, I guess!” You bit your lip, trying to look anywhere else besides this man’s general direction. He was really quite beautiful, though, the more you observed him: from the outline of his nose jutting out nicely from the soft curve of his eyes and round, full lips, to the delicate swoop of his jet-black, wavy hair.

“Anyway!” you started, realizing you’d been taking in his features much too long. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you…?”

“It’s Seonghwa,” he replied softly. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Seonghwa…” you tested the name on your tongue. “It’s a very nice name. I think it suits you very well.” You beamed up at him shyly.

Now it was his turn to blush. “T-thank you, yours as well…Y/n.”

You sighed as you packed the last pair of socks in your bag. Yes, it really had been that long already since you two had met, and it hadn’t taken an eclipse or anything nearly as occasional for the two of you to become as thick as thieves. For it had turned out that he was also a student at the university, so naturally, you started meeting up regularly, sometimes for study sessions, sometimes to explore the campus, sometimes just to talk about everything and nothing all at once.

And he was the trustworthy, empathetic kind of person as well. So much that, the first time things had really gone downhill back home for the weekend, you had felt dead certain he was the only person you knew who could be trusted with knowing such details. It wasn’t a logical conclusion, going straight off how long you’d known each other, or anything of the sort.

You could just feel it.

At first, you’d been deathly afraid that he might view you differently, worse even, if he knew what kind of dysfunctional shambles you were living under. But when he’d taken your hand that day and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, only then did you feel brave enough to tell him what was happening.

Fast forward to tonight, and something very similar was happening. The problem is, you realized, there were still secrets in the shadows that even he did not know of, and that you would rather die than attempt confessing to him.

You see, over the times you’d spent getting to know each other, getting to trust one another more and more, you’d slowly but surely found yourself developing feelings for him, but with how close and intimate your friendship was, you’d been determined never to say anything. Why chance it? Why chance losing a bond that was so precious, that had given you so much hope, so much strength through so much chaos?

“It probably wouldn��t matter, anyway,” you mumbled to yourself. This offer he’d made over the phone was probably just a one-time thing. You were sure that had the roles been reversed, you would be doing the same out of compassion.

You turned again towards your bedroom door, reveling and realizing in that moment all the hells and horrors you’d been an earwitness to for so many years. Most probably wouldn’t believe it when you said that the words your mother spoke, whether out loud to you face-to-face or within earshot from another room to your sister or father, were enough to make one consider taking their own life.

But it was true.

You hated how things had gotten to this point, but, you supposed, maybe most of it could be attributed to just growing older and becoming more aware, more dead set on educating yourself about the red flags and the signs that something, or someone, was toxic. That their atmosphere, their vibe, so to speak, was unhealthy for you to keep absorbing like secondhand cigarette smoke.

There wasn’t much you could do about it, though. You were a full-time university student whose campus happened to be close to your family’s house, so being the frugal young adult you aimed so much to be, you’d chosen off-campus housing with your parents for financial reasons. There were much bigger struggles out there, you’d convinced yourself, that you just didn’t want to tackle yet: juggling bills, paying for your living space, and so on. And while you had been able to save up a bit of money from your summer job, you needed to continue those habits as long as you could to make it all the more easier after you graduated and started working for a while, to ease your mind before graduate school.

A sharp pair of raps at your window startled the rambling trail of wondering memories. You jolted, having squatted the whole time by your bag just collecting things and your thoughts, and looked like a deer caught in headlights as you quickly turned to the glowing windowsill, curtains drawn back enough that they resembled billowing, flowing tendrils in the night.

Seonghwa’s smile might have been hidden by the backlight of the moon tonight, but you could still make out his almost toothless grin as he beamed back at you from the other side of the glass. You couldn’t help but return it as you slowly got up to open the window, realizing how grateful you were that your bedroom was on the first floor.

“So,” he started, looking up at you with a twinkle in his eyes, “are you ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” You grabbed one of your bag straps tightly. “Yeah. I am.” You wore a firm-lipped smile as you carefully followed him out the window, taking one more quick look-around behind you to make sure nothing was too out of place — not that anyone would be checking for the next week, anyway. Since you had been getting over a cold, almost everyone (namely your mother and sister) had decided you were about as worth talking to as an infected might be in a zombie apocalypse series: enough to confirm alive-or-not status, and after that, nil.

Realizing this, you stopped behind him and tried not to panic already. He heard your lack of footsteps and stopped with you. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m feeling…fine now, but I should let you know,” you continued, backing away slightly to put more distance between the two of you, “I was getting over a cold recently, and —”

“Y/n, I’ll have you know that I’m not just gonna abandon you because you were feeling a little unwell. Everyone gets sick from time to time. Sure, it’s not the greatest thing to be feeling, but it’s certainly no reason to start treating you like you aren’t still, well, you. You’re still the Y/n I know and love, so that settles it.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, taking no apparent notice of the way that your heart was pounding in your throat at those words — or at the smooth warmth of his fingertips.

Don’t overthink it, he’s just saying those things from a place of friendship, remember?

“Come on, let’s go. My place isn’t too far from here, remember? Plus, it might be a good time for a walk.”

Once you made it to his apartment, you felt unease slowly dissipate from your body.

“Make yourself at home. I have no intention of kicking you out quickly, so stay here as long as you feel you need to.” He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the hallway. You smiled, taking note of the fluffy pink headband with cat ears still hanging near the end; it’d been a birthday present to him not too long ago that you’d figured he would like since cats were something he could just about talk your ear off from.

Setting your bag down, you took a seat on one of the sofas in his living room, the open layout of the place allowing you to continue watching him as he moved his things around, flicked on the lamp near the sofa, and settled in next to you.

“So…” he clasped his hands together, rubbing them gingerly.

“So…?” you repeated playfully, already feeling a bit more lighthearted than you had just earlier.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You took a deep breath. “Well, you know how earlier I was saying I’ve been getting over being sick, right?”

“Yeah?”

You nodded sadly. “Well…my mom…she didn’t take too kindly to that when she found out. Like, at all. I had a mask on just to be safe when I was headed to my room after my shower, which is unlike me because I usually take it off when I’m home, but my sister spotted it and then pointed it out and then my mom took notice and, and —” You felt tears start pooling in your eyes again, and frantically put the back of a hand to your mouth to quell any sobs that threatened to come forward.

“Shh, shh…it’s okay,” Seonghwa assured you, rubbing one hand gently up and down your back, taking care with the other to pull away the shaky fist you had balled up by your lips. “Keep going, you’re doing great. Nothing and nobody is going to hurt you right now. It’s just you and me. Right here. Right now.”

His hand didn’t leave yours, his fingers slowly unwrapping your clenched ones until they were intertwined.

You swallowed, taken aback by his boldness. “M-my mom took notice, and from then on…it was like I was a prisoner of war being looked down upon every other minute. Even from behind my closed door, I could hear her spewing angrily how surely I had just gotten sick on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do anything while I was at home, how I just loved ruining everyone’s day and everyone’s weekend and how I never failed to not take care of myself and make everyone stressed about possibly catching something from me and…” You looked up at his round boba eyes with your own teary ones.

“And?” he questioned, eyes never leaving yours.

“And…” you stumbled, recalling more that you didn’t want to recall. “How I’m a fool for surrounding myself with people who aren’t white, even though I’m myself white. How…” I bit my lip, still looking into his eyes — for courage, for strength, for something deeper than what I’d been led all these years to believe existed within the eyes of someone viewed in my house as ethnically inferior.

“How?” he continued, urging you to keep going, no matter how hard it got in the middle, or near the end, or even in the beginning, of your words.

“How…I’m bringing shame to my family and convincing myself otherwise just to feel good. How…the friendships I’ve kept are…ridiculous because they’re mostly Asian, perpetuating the lies I tell myself about being mixed or wanting to identify as mixed, even though genetically I am mixed because my mom is half Asian, so by genetics that automatically makes me a quarter.” You broke down into soft sobs. “B-b-but that’s n-not even the worst p-part.”

He said nothing, but the squeeze he gave your hand was more than enough of a response. You worried about continuing, but at this point, you were already in too deep, so you figured you might as well put things out there while you still could.

“The worst part,” you trembled, “is that my own mother would rather die than see me one day in a relationship with someone who isn’t white. Like it would be doing some disgrace to her efforts with having married a white guy, my dad.” You shivered. “It’s just not fair, Hwa! Getting taunted that I pretend to be someone I’m not is one thing, having the friends I meet up with to go see a movie get made fun of and berated because of their ethnicity is another, but now it’s about the kind of person I might one day want to be involved romantically with? I can’t —” You ripped your hand from his to catch your face in both hands. “I can’t take this anymore, Hwa! It’s just not right!”

Uncontrollable crying resonated throughout the apartment for what felt like hours on end. The broken child inside of you was aching more and more with every passing second, half in disbelief of all the verbal and mental abuse and trauma you’d gone through for so many years, especially recently, and then half in shock that you weren’t already dead by now from collapse and grief and complete hopelessness.

“Maybe she was right…maybe I do deserve to just —”

“Stop it right now.” The solemn firmness of his statement knocked you out of a weeping daze instantly. He was firm, yes, and he could be firm, yes. But never authoritatively like this.

“What?” You brushed strands of hair out of your eyes, blinking back tears, lips trembling like hell had frozen over.

“Stop saying these horrible things about yourself. Even if they aren’t things you yourself said in the first place.” He took both of your hands away from your face, cupping your cheeks so that you were both looking each other in the eyes again.

“You are an amazing person, inside and out, and if she can’t see that because of something as trivial as you falling ill temporarily, then she is the fool, not you. She mentions how you’re bringing shame to the family by believing or supporting the people and the cultures you do? Well, she should be ashamed of herself for being mixed and yet being the one to dishonor it as much as she does. And as for that last point?”

He bent down so you were both at eye level, close enough now to watch every eyelash as it flickered up and down between blinks.

“That last point…I personally think that’s for you to decide, who you’re interested in and whatnot. Ignore the noise she brings into your head. It won’t always be there to cloud your thoughts. I know you wish you could have been able to foster a better relationship with her, but…” His eyes slowly welled with tears as well, making yours only brim more.

You hated seeing him cry.

“H-hwa…y-you’re crying…” you raised a hand to caress his cheek, wiping away a lone tear.

He smiled sadly. “For good reason.” His eyes widened more as he took you in. “And…”

“What is it?”

“You’ve never called me Hwa before.”

You smiled back softly. “I guess it just slipped out. Spur of the moment. But…you’re the only constant I have in my life right now. Like the stars.”

His cheeks warmed. “Then I guess it’s only fair to say that you are very much…the same, in my eyes.”

You bit your lip yet again, instantly reminded of the day you two had met when you were a nervous wreck and eager to look anywhere else as much as you could.

“Yes, really.” He repeated, as though answering your unspoken doubt. He continued smiling at you, no ill intent or manipulation locked away in those warm brown eyes, no hatred or malice brushing aside the pure kindness and love that somehow, you could just sense in his gaze.

“Then I…” It may very well have been now or never. You had never been more sure of anything in your life than you were at this very moment, and yet you had never been more unsure of anything, either.

Somehow he seemed to catch on. “Do what you need to do.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m afraid.”

“I already told you…I’m right here. Talk to me. Okay?”

You leaned in, the flicker of the lamp only adding to the small warmth nestled within this space that you two shared.

“Hwa, I…I don’t know how else to put this.”

“Try.”

“You…you feel like home.”

A smile. “I’m glad. Because so do you.”

His hands reached to grip yours, firmly but softly, before he leaned in slowly, closing his eyes. You followed suit, the last thing you saw being the trickle of a tear or two down his lashes, down his cheek, before you met his lips in a gentle kiss. You pulled away slowly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, checking with him silently to make sure it was okay.

To make sure this was real and reciprocated as you were, hopefully, not overreading into.

He smiled back, a small crinkle in his eyes as his view flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes again.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his, this time letting your hands travel through his locks, pulling him in closer while his hands wrapped around your waist, moving you ever so slightly so you were in his lap. His tongue nudged your bottom lip, and you obliged, sucking softly on the warm muscle that now danced lithely in your mouth.

His fingers massaged up and down the small of your back, soothingly, as the kiss deepened and the world around you seemed to fade away. For whatever horrors and dangers might be beheld outside these walls, in this moment, it was as though the universe had conspired for circumstances to bring the two of you together here, in the now, in a moment that felt like a dream inside a dream.

With every tender touch of his lips against yours, you could feel warmth and affection pouring from his soul, and through the tears, through the ache of the past, your heart still raced in response, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. It brought a sense of serenity in this way your bodies seemed to melt into each other — a connection that transcended mere words.

You lost track of time as the kiss continued, wrapped up in the sensation of living mindfully, living in the moment, of being so close to him, feeling his breath against your skin, and the way his fingers played a gentle symphony on your back. It was a moment of pure bliss, and you couldn’t help but somehow be grateful for the pain and turmoil that had enhanced your ability to fully embrace and cherish this point — for how would you have been able to genuinely feel the significance of a moment like this, had you not gone through so much dark before?

When you both needed to catch your breath, you pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other. Your eyes locked, and you shared a wordless conversation, a silent promise of what the future might hold for the two of you. It was an unspoken agreement that whatever challenges were up ahead, you would face them together.

His fingers continued to trace patterns on your back, and he spoke softly, “What would you say if I told you I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and that it’s even more incredible than I ever thought it would be?”

You giggled, feeling the deepest of happiness truly start to bubble up inside of you. “Me too,” you replied. “I guess I should have just said something earlier on, no?”

His laughter filled the room, a rich, melodious sound that still sent shivers down your spine. “Maybe,” he considered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But I think the anticipation, the longing, made it all the sweeter…even if it took the pain that you’ve been so strong to overcome to get there.” He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips moving with a newfound urgency, a hunger that you sensed had been building for far too long.

As your mouths met once more, the kiss deepened, and the passion between you ignited like a wildfire. His hands moved from your back, now exploring the curves of your body, tracing every inch of your form as if committing it to memory. You gasped into the kiss when his fingers delicately found their way to the small of your back again, pressing you closer to him.

The room seemed to grow warmer, your breaths coming faster and heavier. The chemistry between you was undeniable, an electric charge that pulsed through every touch and every kiss. His tongue danced with yours — a sensual, intoxicating rhythm that left you breathless.

You moved your hands from his hair to his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. You could sense the desire in his every movement, and it mirrored your own. The intensity between you kept growing like a storm on the horizon, threatening to consume you both.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. Your back arched as his mouth nibbled on an area just below your ear, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He smiled and started sucking slowly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body like lightning.

With a desire that couldn’t be contained any longer, you straddled his lap. It was a bold move, but you were both now beyond the point of hesitation. His hands explored your body more eagerly now, caressing your curves, tracing every inch of your skin as he murmured sweet, passionate words of longing.

The heat between you two continued to intensify, your bodies pressing closer together. Every touch, every caress, every stolen kiss sent electric currents of desire through your veins. It was truly a symphony of passion, and you both were eager to explore every note and melody.

Your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing each one as you revealed the sculpted contours of his chest. His skin was warm and smooth beneath your touch, and you couldn’t resist tracing your fingers along the lines of his muscles. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement you needed to continue.

His own hands weren’t idle, either, as they slid beneath your clothes, slowly teasing the sensitive skin of your lower back. You shivered at the touch, a mixture of delightful anticipation and longing snaking through your body. It was a dance of sensation, a thrilling exploration of each other’s bodies that left you both aching for more.

His lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses that made your skin tingle. You couldn’t help but arch your back more, a quiet moan escaping your lips as you kept yearning for his touch, a fire of pleasure igniting within you. The sensation of it all was exquisite, and you held onto him tightly, your nails grazing his back as you bit your lip to stifle your moans, all the while feeling the comfort of being in the arms of someone who genuinely, deeply cared for you.

As the two of you finally broke apart and just lay there, sweat still building and hearts still beating like there was no tomorrow, he sighed in content. Wrapped in the afterglow of your intense connection, he whispered, “You’re safe now, love. I honestly hope you packed enough things coming here, because…”

You eyed him curiously. “Because…?”

He smirked, giving you one more small peck on the lips. “Because you don’t have to go back to that place, to the pain your mother brought. I’ll protect you, and we’ll build a better future together.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Then…in that case…does this mean that we’re past…?”

He smiled. “That we’re past the point of friendship? Well,” he laughed softly, “considering how the past several moments were just spent, I would believe so. Unless you would prefer otherwise?” He pulled his signature eyebrow raise that instantly made you feel weak in the knees.

“N-no, definitely not!” you stuttered, half-excited and half-nervous. “I mean…I’ve just never gotten to the point where anyone wanted to consider me like that…l-like a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Well,” he whispered near your ear, hot breath cascading down your neck with every syllable, “consider me honored to be the first.” He left a gentle trail of kisses near your collarbone before meeting you at eye level again, waiting for your response.

On the one hand you were filled with gratitude and love, brimming with hope for the future, but on the other hand memories of your past kept your heart heavy. Your throat felt tight as words became hard to say, though they formed so quickly in your mind.

Hwa noticed the shadow that crossed your face, the turmoil still swirling within you, and he gently lifted your chin to meet your gaze. “I can see the worry in your eyes,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re afraid that you’re inconveniencing me with everything now, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip and nodded, the insecurities ingrained by years of manipulation from your mother resurfacing. “I can’t help but feel like a burden sometimes. It’s just that…my mom always made me think I was, and it’s hard to shake those feelings.”

Stroking your hair, Hwa leaned his forehead against yours. “I know you’ve been carrying the weight of your past for a long time. I know you’re still coping with moments of doubt, especially from the difficult relationship you’ve had with your mother. But please, please understand that you are not defined by her words or her actions.”

You closed your eyes finally, feeling the warmth of his presence soothing your troubled soul. “I’ve tried to be strong, again and again,” you whispered. “I’ve tried to let go of the past…but it’s like a shadow that never quite disappears.”

Hwa’s voice was filled with empathy as he continued. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge your pain. You’re not a failure. You’re a survivor, and you’re so much more than the hurtful words that were thrown at you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you finally, finally allowed them to spill over, lips trembling as you realized in that split-second how much you’d pushed to the back of your mind, how much you’d really forced yourself to hide away all these years — how much you’d feared being shunned by another as your own blood mother had for so long. “I just…I don’t w-want to b-burden you with my problems. I’m a-afraid…to be too sensitive, like she always said. Or to string you along under the guise that I’m something I’m not, like an imposter of my heritage or — ”

“Your mother’s words have no basis in reality,” Hwa began, his voice firm but gentle. “You aren’t defined by her prejudices or expectations. You aren’t a prisoner of her narrow-minded views. Y/n, you are your own person, with your own identity, and you have every right to embrace all aspects of your heritage, including the Asian part.”

Your eyes met his, wanting to believe the truth behind what he was telling you. “But, Hwa, I’m only a quarter Asian, and my mom’s made me feel like I have no right to claim that part of my identity. Plus, she makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong by having friends who aren’t white.”

He smiled softly and cupped your face, shaking his head as his eyes filled with warmth. “You are as much Asian as you are anything else. It’s not about the percentage, it’s about how you feel and what you choose to embrace. Embracing your Asian heritage doesn’t make you any less of who you are. It’s a part of your identity, and you have every right to explore and celebrate it. And your friends, no matter their ethnicity, are bringing diversity and richness to your life. I can always see the effect glowing in your eyes. Don’t ever lose that spark. It’s what adds to your amazing character, whether you know it or not. Those connections you’re always so apt to keep making just reflect the beauty of your open heart and your willingness to meet people from different backgrounds. You should be proud of the friendships you’ve built, so don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.”

You felt a spark of hope kindling within you, the idea that you could embrace all facets of your identity, all features of your ethnic communities, and not be constrained by your mother’s views. You wrapped your arms around Hwa’s neck, nestling your cheek against the warmth of his chest, the steady pace of his beating heart syncing in time to your slowing breaths.

Hwa’s expression softened even more, and as he held you tighter, he looked down at you lovingly, wiping yet another stray tear. “And you are not a burden, my love. You are a gift. You bring so much light and happiness into my life, and I’m grateful for every moment we share. Your feelings are valid. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you, and because I want to support you through this journey of healing, however long it might take. Your sensitivity is a strength, not a weakness. And it hurts me to see you carry this weight, but please know, you are cherished, and you belong here.”

His words were like a warm embrace for your soul, and you felt the tight knot of self-doubt beginning to unravel. “Thank you for being so understanding and patient with me, Hwa,” you whispered, tears of gratitude glistening in your eyes.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and held you close. “You’re not alone in this, my love. We’ll face your past together and build a brighter future, one filled with the love and happiness you deserve. I’ll always be here to support you, to remind you of your worth, and to love you unconditionally. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

You smiled slowly but surely at him again, bringing him close to you for another kiss, softer but sweeter this time around. As you nestled into his arms, the storm of your past seemed to fade away, and you basked in the love and acceptance that he offered. With each passing moment, you felt yourself healing, letting go of the guilt and insecurity that had held you back for so long.

With Hwa’s support, you felt more and more of a renewed sense of hope and determination, ready to leave behind the painful memories and look forward to the beginning of a life you could feel ready to step towards, together. A breeze began to pick up outside, as far as you both could hear, but you could care less now, your embrace and love stretching the seconds and enriching the heart in such a way as to convey just how thankful you were to have him in your life, in your arms, in your warmth, and in your future.

[peachmuses]

@sociieties asked: “ i want to go back to when you’d paint me into the prettiest things you could think of. ” // hr

kazuya speaks first, ryou comfortable/uncomfortable in the silence between the two of them. this is only about the third / fourth time, that kazuya has come back around since he had left and ryou still doesn't know how to feel about best friends actions. ( can kazuya be counted as his best friend still ? does kazuya still consider him to be his best friend ? that's the most important question actually. ryou had promised to always wait for him, if he had left, when they were children, under a blooming cherry blossom tree. he wonders if kazuya also remembers that childhood promise. probably not / it had probably just been a thing kazuya was saying at the time. ryou, after all, has always had taken kazuya more seriously than he should have. when kazuya speaks, ryou stops his graphite, to glace up. he misses it too - misses the ocean and the moon and the seashells and flowers and the sun and and and --. he didn't think kazuya would remember them / or cared about them, in the slightest. ( always amusing ryou's antics just because it was ryou asking -- never anything more than that / because ryou was kazuya's friend and kazuya was ryou's friend. ) serious gaze searches best friends face for a moment, " yeah ? " he thinks back to the last time he had painted him -- the last time -- before kazuya disappeared, before kazuya started to date, before he kissed him, before his mother told him that he was just an inconvenience to him. thinks about how he traced paintbrush over kazuya's bare back, bristles moving over muscles and leaving trails over pink behind. he doesn't think about how he had stuck his fingers into the paint and had hoped that his fingerprints would burn kazuya so when he left, best friend would remember him, somehow. mind whirls as he thinks about what he'd paint kazuya now -- a sunrise -- sunset -- moonrise -- something. a rise, at the very least. flicks of white paint to represent stars -- attention moves back to pad, and he speaks softly, " how can i paint you any prettier ? you're already a piece of art. "

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, do you accept order? If yes, you could make a single one shot of Yandere! Brat Spoiled, please...

What would it be like if Yandere were the son of wealthy parents who always have everything they want, when they don't always get what they like, always act like a spoiled brat (and also his parents are afraid of their son, as they have already seen what he is capable of when he gets angry)... that's where the reader comes in. She is a new student at school, a nice and kind person, so the yandere knows her and falls in love so strongly that she never felt that way in life, but the reader is always rejecting her advances for being a spoiled brat and the way he treats the people around you.

What happens next?

Title: Eat the poor

Tw: non - consensual touching, obsessive/possessive behavior, violence, low-key bullying, blackmail / coercion, reader is in university

Part 2

It had started during your very first year of college, back when you still felt motivated to go to school and meet new people. You had heard the rumors about him before ever meeting his gaze and oh, did they disappoint.

You met Gabrielle for the first time when the snowdrops bloomed and the birds returned home – in the early autumn, at night, in a small crowded room reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne which you quickly realized wasn’t his. The man smelt like the cigarettes he never got bored of and sweet caramel. He was wearing a big leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, yet the simplicity of the outfit seemed to suit the expensive brands displayed on the clothing. In a way the student represented the typical youthful boyish beauty with his golden locks, eyes the color of the sky and frame tall and well – built. Yet his face remained motionless the whole night and his body stayed still despite the mass of bodies dancing around in rhythm. But then some poor unfortunate fool managed to bump into the male, spilling his drink all over him, and his pretty face quickly twisted into a mask of disgust and anger.

“You stupid piece of shit!” The male yelled shortly after as his fist connected with the stuttering boy’s stomach. His clear eyes were now two wild thunderstorms pouring rain and lightning over the tipsy guy who was nervously apologizing and promising to pay for the damages done. “Do you know how much this costs?” Gabrielle spat with venom and pushed the other onto the floor, bringing his black sneakers to that white shirt until there was a mark of dirt formed on the otherwise clean fabric. Everyone else in the room had stopped drinking now and all the eyes were pinned onto the two men yet no one had the courage to do anything. Your own heart was beating hard in your chest at the sudden display of unnecessary violence but you had always been a calm kid, a kind soul too scared of its own shadow to learn how to fight properly. So you had no idea what to do.

“My father can have you expelled, you know.” The blond man suddenly spoke out in a quiet eerie voice as he pressed his foot harder into the shorter boy’s stomach causing him to whimper and squirm. “Unless you are willing to beg for my forgiveness, that is.” The bully proposed with a sly smirk on his pink lips as he glared at the victim underneath. The student on the ground was clenching his eyes tight so no one could see the tears in them when he shook his head no. You finally decided you couldn’t let this inhumane scene go any further.

“Stop this madness right now!” You shouted manically, drawing all the attention to yourself as you made your way between the two men. Gabrielle immediately pinned his burning gaze on you in unhidden intrigue. “This is too cruel. He didn’t mean to bump into you. Please, leave him alone.” As much as you had wanted to curse at the spoiled rich boy there was this suffocating feeling in your lungs telling you to be careful and play the mediator. The others quickly started gasping and some were already gossiping at your reaction proving your point that the guy was indeed dangerous.

Then he looked you straight in the eyes with his deep blue ones. He chuckled softly before smacking his lips in an unpleasant way, his “tsk” sending shivers down your spine. You had fucked up. “Well, well, well… Looks like the new girl wants to play hero. How cliché.” The bully grinned as he let his gaze roam up and down your body, your cheeks turning red in return when having realized he was handsome even while doing something so vulgar. “But if you do want to help him so badly…” The golden – haired man paused for a moment pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe we could have a little deal, bunny.” He moved his leg away from the sobbing boy and stepped in front of you. From this close you could feel the warmth of his skin and the sweet aroma of burnt sugar it radiated. Gabrielle tilted your chin up almost gently and whispered in your ear “Kiss me.”

You tried to break free from the uncomfortable pose but the student simply squeezed your jaw line harder, his eyes cold and calculating, following your every move. You mind went blank and foggy at the forced intimacy and you couldn’t think straight with his breath on your neck. It felt like the time had slowed down just so the sadistic snob could mess with you a little longer. You opened your mouth to voice your protests but fortunately you didn’t have to say anything because at the very same time the host of the party appeared, ready to stop the fight.

“Gabrielle, I’d have to ask you to leave.” The dark – haired junior growled enraged as he pushed the taller male away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at him in appreciation. He was the only one brave enough to help you after all. “You are ruining the party for everyone. ” The stranger continued. The blonde seemed irritated at the sudden interruptance yet it was obvious he was powerless against the owner of the house. Still he grit his teeth and signed in annoyance as he turned to face the host. “Fuck you, Jackson!” The man cursed but eventually moved towards the door, red with anger. “My father will hear about this.” He looked at you as he reached for the golden doorknob, his features softened. “See you around, bunny.”

This was the first time you met Gabrielle. You already wished it was the last.

-------------------------------------------------------

After the incident the snob seemed interested in you, blatantly so. He would eye you up in the halls like you were a shiny new toy in a claw machine and try to strike a conversation no matter how much you ignored him. The man never once apologized for what happened at the party but at least he didn’t bring it up so you counted it as a small victory. You gradually understood just how much power and money the heir had. His father owned casinos, hotels, banks and apparently even the university you two were studying in received major monthly donations by the big businessman. This explained why everyone was so scared of the blonde, especially when he did nothing but flaunt his status at the slightest inconvenience. And now he wanted you.

In your eyes the boy was just an annoying brat who lived off daddy’s hard work, there really wasn’t much to him that intrigued you. The male was handsome, pretty even, but his grades were terrible and his interests were bland and shallow, mostly involving expensive brands and grand parties. But the worst thing about him was his personality. The snob treated his friends like servants and his enemies like dirt, but you he rather saw as a challenge. Gabrielle would ask you out every time you were unlucky enough to run into him. The first time the man gave you so many roses you couldn’t even count them, the second he demanded your affection with a silver necklace in hand ready to cover your neck in his mark of ownerships. You couldn’t recall all the other gifts the blonde used to try and court you with but you remembered refusing each and every one.

“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” He exclaimed one day after you had just returned the expensive bracelet you had found in your locker. It was a dark winter night and the heir seemed irritated with you for the first time, his eyes a deep electric blue just like the sky. The man had you cornered against the wall but you were used to his pathetic attempts at intimidation. Yet today there was something different in the air around him, some small voice at the back of your head wondered whether this time he wasn’t just joking around. “Are you still angry about that little wimp I expelled, bunny?” Gabrielle asked contemptuously yet his pupils remained cold and distant. Once again he was too close for your liking, too close for you to function properly, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. You to be compliant and obedient like all the others who crawled and kneeled at the very sight of him. “Or are you sulking because I beat up Jones after he asked you out, hmm?” What? The blonde man was the one who gave Tony the black eye? But he had told you it was just a street fight… Why had your friend covered for the bully you both hated?

“Why would you do that to him?” You whispered, staring at the twisted boy in front of you. Your heart was beating fast and your blood was boiling hot in your veins but you couldn’t let him win by showing him how much his actions affected you. Gabrielle reached out and cupped your cheek gently before smirking mischievously. “He was trying to take something that belonged to me.” The heir said casually as if he was talking about the weather. His fingers were cold against your warm skin and you fought the urge to vomit right then and there. “I am not yours.” You spat out with poison and pushed his hand away from your face. Next thing you know his knee was separating your thighs, lifting your short black skirt up, his breath lingering on your neck. “S-stop.” You stuttered and tried to squirm out of his hold but the man easily caught your wrists and brought them above your head, pinning you further into the wall. He was stronger than he looked and you felt so small and helpless in that moment you could have cried if your stubbornness hadn’t prevailed.

“What don’t you like about me?” The blonde suddenly spoke out, his voice unnaturally broken and needy, bordering on a whine, crying out in desperation. You weren’t sure whether he was trying to manipulate you now or if he actually wanted you to answer so you decided to be honest anyways. “I hate the way you treat other people. I could never love someone as cruel as you.” You inhaled deeply, ready to voice all the painful thoughts you had kept inside since the beginning of the semester. “You are spoilt rotten. Metaphorically and literally.” The man was breathing sharply like a wounded animal after hearing your words and as much as you wanted to sympathize with him, you couldn’t bring yourself to after everything he had done to you and your friends. He was irredeemable. “Let me go.” You finally demanded, hoping to use him weakened emotional state to your advantage.

Instead Gabrielle clenched his teeth and squeezed down harder on your already bruised wrists causing you to whimper in dull pain. His eyes were wet but the tears had finally stopped just like his willingness to show you his vulnerable side. The man had tried being nice and sweet to you, patient, then mean and patronizing, and neither worked. So obviously it was time to become the terrifying bratty monster everyone was so keen on believed he was.

“Have you noticed how many people seem to go missing after talking to you just once?” The heir whispered in your ear as his free hand traveled down to your waist, drawing you into his hard chest. You groaned at the sudden realization that the snob was actually right, less and less guys seemed to show up to your shared lectures in the last few months, but you had always assumed they just needed a break from school. University was stressful after all. “Did you…” You started off but couldn’t find the right words. Did you force your father to expel them? Did you harm them? Maybe a part of you didn’t want to know the answer. “I did.” Gabrielle responded before you could even finish the sentence. The sly smirk you knew way too well adorned his lips and it wasn’t hard to see he had already won. “And I will keep doing it until you agree to be mine and mine alone.” The man stated confidently as he sucked the sensitive skin of your neck until you arched your back in shock, your eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “N-nhgg.” You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your warm flesh leaving a scarlet mark for all to see. “Come on, baby, we both know you are too good to let them suffer because of your own selfishness.” He taunted you as he left a line of small wet kisses along your exposed collarbone. You wanted to argue, to yell at him how you weren’t the crazy, selfish one, but deep down you knew it was pointless. Gabrielle had power and you had nothing to bargain with. He could have anyone yet he wanted to torment you. “Give into me. I promise I can make you happy if you let me.” The blonde uttered softly as his lips brushed against yours, almost touching them, following your reaction with his clear eyes. Your own were puffy and red from the tears but he didn’t seem to care much about your misery and discomfort. The man wished to own, not to please, but you couldn’t do anything. And of course you wouldn’t let him ruin the lives of the innocent. Of course your stupid heart was too good and human for your own good. So you closed your eyes and slowly connected your lips with him even though they tasted almost metallic, like blood and defeat.

“I knew you would come around, bunny.”

[ackerfics]

so this is love — annie leonhart

— annie leonhart x female reader

— request by anon: I kinda have a request. How about royal au? Where 2 kingdoms are at war with each other, and reader is the heir of the throne of one kingdom (but they’re not the spoiled type of heir, more like the solider one?) and then the kingdoms decided a truce. Reader will have to marry the heir of the other kingdom which is Annie. Idk maybe those arranged marriages that they never get along at first? Kinda like they were enemies bc they never get along until some development of feelings happen along the way. Maybe Annie will realize that she has feelings when reader got injured since they’re a soldier

— warnings: mentions of war, slight angst if you squint, just two idiots falling in love with each other :))

— summary: you were sent off to another kingdom as a sign of a truce, promising to yourself that the engagement is close to death at how you got off on the wrong foot with your betrothed. it was hell at first but who knows? maybe, unbeknownst to you, the two of you are a match made by the gods.

— word count: 7.5k

— author’s notes: i am so sorry this came out so long :((( we just finished our exams and we have a case study to write as our midterm for a subject. i hope this will still quench your annie fic cravings. and by the way, i fashioned the kingdom of idylle to mondstadt because genshin impact is my stress reliever right now and a kingdom built upon freedom sounds like a gem. plus, the glass castle of the reader is based off of the castle of cinderella, which is the reason for the title hhhhhh happy reading !!!

so this didn’t appear in the tags so i reposted it :”(((

Corsets were abominations that needed to be burned.

The girl with your features staring at you from the mirror was someone you couldn’t recognize from all the preparations your chambermaid did on your figure. The make-up was appalling and thick that you could see a smear on the back of your hand when you tried rubbing your itching nose. Your hair was done in a half up-do with too many decorative pins sticking out, creating a makeshift crown of silver roses, one of the symbols of your kingdom. The dress your mother expected you in was straight-up ridiculous, you couldn’t move from the tightness of the corset and the heaviness of your skirts was hindering you from moving freely. You couldn’t even deny that it was a lovely gown but its inconvenience was irking you at the slightest turn or stretch.

Dressing up this lavishly was rare for you, the Crown Princess of the kingdom boring flags of silver and lilac. You very much preferred the heaviness of your armor and your title as one of your kingdom’s Commendatore rather than the ladylike image your mother has been forcing you on the past few weeks.

You were livid when your parents renounced from the ten-year war that was purging the continent with just a sign on a piece of paper — one that included your name and your honor. Everything was brutal, carnage dotting every town and village of the two kingdoms throwing spears and fire cannons, and you witnessed it all firsthand when you started being one of your kingdom’s soldiers four years ago — a sixteen-year-old girl throwing orders that gave you an advantage from your enemies wearing the crest of the kingdom that painted your lands a heart-wrenching red. Of all solutions that your parents and the other kingdom could come up with, it involved you in the most unacceptable way possible. Officially entering your twenties this year, your parents thought it necessary to offer you as a bride that signified peace to the warring nation right beyond the border. The idea made your vision red, an outburst coming out of your mouth mere seconds after the proposal was announced in the council meeting.

A soldier, a knight, a commander — that’s what you are.

Not some forsaken young woman ready to be shipped off to your rival nation because it was the only way out of this bloody mess.

You had no choice.

The only way for you to grasp the final moments in your kingdom was relishing the touches of the chambermaid and taking in the décor of your room — the small trinkets scattered on your nightstands, the books you escaped to, the jewelry that boasted the colors of your family, and the stuffed animals your nanny sewed for you when you were a toddler. You closed your eyes and let the feathery fingers of the people around you lull you into a prayer for the gods in their celestial thrones, asking for their blessing in this far travel. In the middle of reciting an ode dedicated to the goddess of divine bravery, you felt a cool pendant carefully slide over your collarbones.

Your mother’s face appeared beside the watery princess of the mirror, a forced smile pulling on the corners of her lips. Your distinctly colored irises flickered down on the necklace your mother placed upon the exposed parts of your body. It was a flower-pressed necklace, the gold plate carefully protecting the flower representing your birth. The golden chain holding the necklace together was so thin that you worried for a moment that the fragile piece of jewelry might break in less than an hour while you meet your partner-to-be. You met your mother’s gaze in the mirror — from a chivalrous princess of armor to a dignified queen ruling within a land of eternal spring.

“You look so beautiful,” your mother breathed your name, holding your arms tightly against her ring-adorned hands. Tears blossomed her eyes, trickling down her cheeks akin to the lavender flowers’ petals of the large white tree in your backyard. “You look like the queen you were supposed to be.”

You tried smiling but your wobbly lips made you falter. You can only purse your lips in a tight, flat smile as you face your mother, face set in a kind expression. “Please don’t cry, Mother,” you murmured, placing your palm on top of hers, squeezing it for reassurance. “They wouldn’t do anything to me.”

They, meaning the kingdom you were at war with, the nation that claimed they needed a bride for their Crown Heir. In your world, there was freedom even in marriage — with the kingdoms pairing their sons with the sons of their enemies all for the sake of a truce, especially if the two of them were firstborns. This is very much your situation at the moment. The kingdom of Idylle was a beautiful haven of songs dedicated to the god of the winds, very contrasting to their military power that could take down a good number of your soldiers. You heard stories from some villages in your nation that Idylle was a hoax, that they were bloodthirsty warmongers hungry for the spilled blood of the people of Glaieul, your kingdom. You couldn’t help but believe their words. That was the only addition to your knowledge of Idylle except for their battle tactics and placement of soldiers on the battlefield.

“We’ll pray to the deities that they will do just that,” your mother laughed a little despite the tears. “Or else your father will wage war if they so much scratched you.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Mother,” you shook your head with a slight smile. “You two have worked so hard for this peace treaty. If I ever scratched myself in Idyllic lands, trust me that it would most likely be my fault. Not theirs.”

Your mother’s laugh twinkled in the room, painting everything in a light that erased the heaviness shrouding in every corner of your chambers. “I suppose so. You and your love for your sword are unrivaled. I can still remember the time when you first got the weapon, you were so thrilled for a six-year-old that one would think you were born in the barracks. I have to admit, you looked adorable swinging your sword until the greeting of the night and its stars.” She wistfully sighed, looking down at the necklace she gave you. “Your father was so proud when you came back for dinner that night.”

“My sword has always been a lifelong companion. I will even bring it to their castle.”

Your mother placed a hand on top of her chest, over her heart. “I hope you don’t unsheathe it in front of their royal family.”

You breathed a laugh. “No promises.”

The two of you talk about all the things that happened in your childhood, your laughs echoing through the hallways. The maids and the butlers bade you goodbye and safe travels as you passed by, never forgetting to nod in their direction in acknowledgment. You will miss their company for they saw you grow up before you decided to partake in the war. Almost all of them fussed over the mess you made while practicing your swordplay, cleaning up the broken vases and the mud on the carpeted floors. Even one of the apprentices of the Keeper of Books residing in the palace, Armin, enthusiastically waved at you, his friends flanking him for a visit in the kitchens. You didn’t miss how Eren directed an incredulous stare towards the blonde man, with Mikasa looking shocked at how easily the apprentice interacted with you in a public setting since your times with them only happened behind prying eyes.

You gave the three of them a huge smile that gave their faces a pretty rose shade.

Upon reaching the foyer, your father stood at the foot of the stairs along with the soldiers you acquainted in your time on the battlefield, sending a wave of warmth through your chest. His silver coat lined with gold details was a beacon and his white breeches were tucked in a pair of knee-length boots. His chest was decorated with his sash full of medallions, the kingdom insignia of lilac gladioluses and silver roses pinned on top of his heart. The king of Glaieul softened his eyes, crinkles appearing at the corners, at the sight of you and your mother descending on the stairs.

“My little flower,” was his greeting to you when you reached him.

“Father,” you breathed, picking up your skirts to settle in the embrace of waiting arms. You buried your figure against him, inhaling his scent of pine and rosewater, creating the last memory you will have of him. The two of you pulled away for a moment, your eyes watering at the sad visage your father sported. You felt the lightest brush of his kiss on your forehead. 

“Now I’m becoming reluctant in sending you off,” he told you. “I felt guilty when I saw you fight against this during the council meeting. But it is what they offered and I have no say in the matter.”

“I know.”

“May the eternal spring never waver in your soul.”

You nodded before taking a step back, bowing with your knees on the marble floors. Your crown glinted against the light from the stained-glass windows, your hair forming a curtain around your face as you replied, “I will let it fester among the ballads and idylls they will offer. I will carry the name of Glaieul with faithfulness, honor, and grace.” You raised your head to meet your father’s eyes. “I promise to never deter the eternal spring.”

It would be that way until your last years in that kingdom. And as you rode the carriage with the soldiers you fought with guarding the vehicle with their lives on the line, you could only sigh and offer another round of prayers that this swerves in a more positive direction than what you were expecting. After a hefty journey across the bustling capital (people stopped by and waved your carriage goodbye, offering you flowers that one of the captains of the fleet, Levi, scowled at — you coaxed him that it was alright, though) to the hectares of meadows in the countryside, the sight of flowers mixed with emerald turned into a sea of teal as you entered the outskirts of Idylle, your betrothed’s home. Everything was bathed with the endemic species of grass solely blessed by the god of the winds on Idylle — legends say that it was because He wanted the kingdom that worshipped him to look different than the rest. No matter how much you deny it, it was beautiful.

“How are you faring, princess?”

Your daze was interrupted by a baritone voice, deep enough to alert some of the men around the carriage. His gray eyes provided you support during the war. You couldn’t help but smile at the onyx-haired man riding by your right window. “Hello, Captain Levi.”

“Tch. Drop the title, brat. You and I both know that the war made us friends somewhat.”

You let out a small laugh. “Well, Levi, to answer your question, I’m quite fine even though my parents just sold me to gain peace.”

Levi rose an eyebrow at the remark. “I am not one to have the capabilities to comfort someone but think of this as a way for you to help the kingdom without sacrificing your life for once. A nation without its heir is just like losing its king. I’ve seen you train when you’re starting as a squire and to the point when you got the position you deserve. This would be like a small walk in the gardens of your mother.” He fixated his stare on you, eyes dull yet determined to get his point across. “You have a role in every part of your life and this time, this is what the gods crafted for you. Do not fret, princess, you have more chances of being on the battlefield again.”

The words Levi spoke settled in you until you reached the capital of Idylle, a small island in the middle of a clear azure lake with walls resembling a huge castle. The bridge leading to the gates was lined with guards bearing the kingdom’s crest, all of them standing under the flapping flags bearing the symbol and colors of the royal family they serve — a harp surrounded by the colors of gold and blue. Their eyes warily followed the series of carriages, postures becoming stiff in the realization that the entourage holds the visitor their rivaling country sent. That was still the scenario when the series of carriages and horses passed by the marketplace, the vicinity on the lowest part of the walled capital, as if the wind even ceased to let the people gawk at the brightly-colored entourage making its way to the highest tier depicting mansions and the main plaza where their patron god stood tall and proud in front of the palace’s gates.

Everything looked magnificent.

It was a breath of fresh air from the glass castle you grew up in. Whereas your kingdom built a white, blinding home that withstood for hundreds of years, Idylle’s palace blended with the brick walls with its leveled mansard roofs and turrets. The gates were made of gold, welcoming you into a huge square of maze-like hedges, a fountain sitting in the middle of the labyrinth. Some gardeners stopped their daily chores to greet the carriages with a wave of their hat, seeing as you were going to be an addition to the royal family after the wedding in a few months. The steps leading to the main doors loomed in front of you with only a few servants waiting for you to step out of the carriage.

You took in a deep breath, nodding at Levi to open the door. When it swung open, you placed your hand on top of Levi’s as he guided you down the propped steps on the side of the carriage.

“Well,” Levi hummed from behind you, making you glance at him with a curious eye. “May the eternal spring never waver in your soul, Your Highness.” He bowed in front of you, only a dip of his head, a firm hand on his heart, and yet that was enough for you to reciprocate it with a kind smile.  

“Safe travels back, Captain Levi. May the gods protect you.”

The servant boys standing on top of the stairs jumped an inch in the air, going down in fleeting steps to get your luggage when they realized they were staring too long at you. You smiled at them in gratitude before stepping inside the palace as the guards opened the huge, gilded double doors in front of you.

The inside was just elegant as the exterior appearance of the entire capital. Everything was bathed in gold that seemed to rival the Sun and it made you look away for a moment. The grand hall followed the kingdom’s colors, from the turquoise carpets leading towards two winding staircases to the golden ceilings decorated with paintings of cherubs and the story of how their god of the winds came to be. One of the servant boys slightly cleared his throat, snapping you out of your curiosity of the myths laid on the ceiling. You turned to him with raised eyebrows, spurring him to whisper a faint, “Follow us, Your Highness.” They led you through hallways hung with tapestries and paintings, drawing rooms where the queen hosted her tea parties (Levi would have loved it), and ballrooms that have the same aesthetic as the foyer. Finally, you stopped in front of one of the apartments in the palace, the servant boy who told you to follow them brightened at the guard stationed there.

“Reiner!”

You waited patiently and let your eyes roam across the hallway.

“Hello, Falco, Udo.” The man, Reiner, smiled at the young boys before turning to you. He placed a hand on his heart and bowed. “Welcome to Gale, the capital of Idylle, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for the welcome,” you replied, motioning for him that it was quite alright to straighten his posture. “The palace looks lovely.”

“Indeed, it is.” Reiner opened the doors of your room and once again bowed with an outstretched hand towards the room. “Here are your chambers and I will be your guard for the entirety of your stay here in the palace, Your Highness.” You muttered a faint ‘thank you’ as you entered a drawing room with a door to the private chambers on the left and the bathrooms to the right. There was a table fit for two people, armchairs, and drawers with vases on top. A huge floor-to-ceiling window illuminated the room, your feet carrying you there to open them, and letting the wind caress the curtains as they danced in the breeze. “If you ever need anything, you can call for my name and I will be here in an instant. Your chambermaid will be up here in a moment to help you prepare for the family dinner. For now, rest well, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Reiner, Falco, Udo,” you smiled, retreating towards the private chambers.

You let out a sigh and stared at nothing for a few moments. It came down to this. To think that you were in enemy lands and was treated so well without any degradation came as a shock to you. The people so far that radiated negativity at your arrival were the guards stationed at the bridge and some of the townsfolk and nobles parading in the streets. As you think about the servant boys and Reiner’s calmness in receiving you in the palace, you immediately thought that it would be better than you expected.

You took off your heels under your dress, mind racing that this wouldn’t be so bad, and plopped on top of your canopied bed, its baby blue curtains protecting you from unknown disturbances and drowning you in a rapid of dreams.

-

The dinner didn’t go so well as you expected.

You donned a more suitable dress for indoor use, something that doesn’t include forcing your figure in a tight corset and yet presentable enough to be shown in the family dinner. You even placed a circlet of silver flowers on your head to compensate for the dull dress you chose, the description fitting after one of the chambermaids expressed their perplexity at how simple regarding design your dress has. Your light blue skirts fanned out around you as you made your way to one of the grand dining rooms reserved for family use. The choice of the color of the dress should be enough to express that you are willing to be on good terms with the family of the person you will marry.

But your first meeting with Annie Leonhart was interestingly disappointing.

Before departing from your kingdom, you learned the royal family and even Idylle’s customs. You learned how they always valued freedom and expression above all else, compared to your home that valued their ties with the gods more than the idea of getting rid of the shackles placed by your deities. You learned how they have this festival dedicated to celebrating the love they share with their patron god and how it spanned for half a month.

Finally, you learned about the indifferent Crown Heir of Idylle, the young woman with the piercing blue oceanic eyes sitting in front of you at the dinner table. She was known for building up walls that discouraged some of her engagements with other royalties across the continent. She was so closed off that she didn’t even glance in your direction for one second. Her hair was done in an elaborate bun wrapping around her head in a braid, her small, thin diadem resting against her golden hair. Annie kept her gaze on her plate, even playing with her food mindlessly for a couple of minutes before sighing and taking a bite of the chicken the maids served. No conversation was exchanged and the dinner ultimately became one of the most awkward meals you had. The king even tried to engage his daughter for casual talk but Annie dismissed them with a hum.

The queen had to apologize to you several times after the dinner, with Annie huffing at the back and eager to get out of the room. Despite how much she was against this engagement, you still bowed at her before you retreated to your room.

Now dressed in your nightgown, you stared at the canopy of your bed, already missing your home the more you fixed your attention on the bundled-up curtains. You badly needed to hit a straw dummy with your sword to let out your frustrations. Of all the royalties present in your continent, why did it have to be you that was shipped to this measly forced marriage? There were still so many solutions that could lead to a peace treaty but why was this the only one the kings and queens could present to their courts? A sigh escaped your chest once again at the thought of actually getting to know Annie. You laid on your side, curling your legs towards your chest and prayed that the god of dreams will visit you sooner than expected.

A knock reverberated through your chambers, the sound making you sit up.

You went to the receiving room and opened the door. You kept the small hitch of your breath in your chest at the sight of Annie and her half-lidded eyes. There was no one in the hallways. You figured that she sent Reiner away for some privacy, meeting the blue irises you likened to brilliant sapphires. 

“What brings you here, Your Highness?” you asked, opening the door wider.

“Annie.” She saw how your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Call me Annie, we’re betrothed after all.”

“Of course.” You smiled. “Annie,” you tested her name softly, missing the way she inhaled too sharply at your voice. 

Annie reciprocated the gesture by saying your name. The two of you stared at each other and it felt like an eternity before she looked away to focus on the receiving room behind you. She noticed how your eyes held kindness underneath the star-like shine even though she showed hostility during your first dinner with her family. Your hair was disheveled and it didn’t take her a minute to realize she might have woken you up from a good night’s rest. The journey from Glaieul to Idylle was a long one. You deserve all the rest you can get, “I apologize if I woke you up but I feel like I should do this before dragging it out.” You once again raised an eyebrow so she took out a leather box, opening it to reveal a ring with a holographic gem showing teal and pink in the middle. The Leonhart family ring. “Here.”

“Oh.”

You were gawking at the beautiful piece of jewelry, with Annie taking the matter in her own hands. She took the ring out of the box and pocketed the container. Her hand reached out to hold your palm against hers, sliding the ring in your ring finger. Your hand still hovered in front of you after Annie retracted hers to find their place by her side. She continued to eye your mesmerized visage with a half-lidded gaze, clearing her throat to catch your attention. You turned to her with a small apology for spacing out.

“It’s fine,” Annie waved off. “It’s yours starting today.” She turned away from you and went down the hallways but not before saying a “Good night, [Name].”

-

The entire week of your stay in Idylle was uneventful, to say the least.

Annie kept her distance from you after that night she gave you their family ring. It left you thinking that you should also gift her the [Last Name] ring your family treasured for centuries. The ring was placed in a small cushioned jewelry box that you opened and propped on one of your night tables. Your conscience was telling you to give it to her but there wasn’t exactly any moment alone with her let alone just passing by her in the hallways. The blonde princess made it her mission to never let your fates meet the more time you spent in the capital. You then decided that she probably didn’t want this engagement to happen.

But she gave you the ring. Wasn’t that a strong signal that Annie accepted you as her betrothed, unlike the others before you?

You shook that thought as you focused on giving consecutive hits on the dummy in front of you. Two days before, you proposed to the king to let you have a moment alone in the training grounds for about two hours or so to keep you in shape. He reluctantly agreed, but not without a side stare at the queen. They heard of your glorious feats during the war, how you managed to become one of the Commanders of a battalion of soldiers tasked with being in the frontlines and how you won constant ambushes against Idylle’s numbers. Two hours of training became three until here you are, still not stopping as you finished every single dummy in the private training grounds. With your day spent outside, you thought it would be nice to have a nice dip in the bathtub before dinner.

In your walk towards your chambers, you spotted Annie in one of the drawing rooms, sitting in the window seats with a book of war tactics in hand. You recognized the author as one of the revolutionaries mentioned to you by your tutor. 

“That’s a nice book,” you couldn’t help but mention. Annie turned to you unfazed by your interruption though there was a glint of interest in her eyes. “The book mostly describes battle formations but I think the author likened it to every situation on the battlefield. For instance, the phalanx was native to the empire of Great Findara and it was great for preventing casualties until it was overpowered by the infantry tactic of the city nation of Khisfire where every man has a role and a weapon depending on their group. The latter was more on the long-range yet melee way of taking back the territory.”

Annie hummed. “Do royal tutors of Glaieul teach this to their students?”

“Oh, no. I learned it while taking on the role of a squire.”

She once again hummed. “It completely slipped my mind that you are one of the Commanders in your military. You were ruthless as the folks in the noble plaza say, blood tainting your hands from doing raids in the border villages of Idylle.” Her tone was like a jab to your side, like an arrow tearing through your skin. “I know it was a time of war and desperate times call for desperate measures but our people didn’t deserve to experience the massacres.”

“They were far from being massacres,” you gritted your teeth.

Annie scoffed. “Then what were they? Because that’s what it looks like to me. I can still remember the story two years ago of a young girl wearing her lilac cape in the bloodbath, eyes so dull that you can see your reflection on it. What’s to say that this engagement is a hoax plotted by your parents to assassinate my family for you to win a territory you greatly needed because of the resources?” She closed her book with too much force, bitterly spitting out the next words, “The apple doesn’t fall from the tree as the saying goes.”

“If you question my being here then why did you give me your family ring, Annie?” you asked, your body now facing the tense young woman by the window. You cursed at how the light made her look angelic like the girl the god of the winds sacrificed his life to before he ascended to the heavens. “This peace treaty is everything my family wanted even though hundreds of our soldiers died in vain for not meeting the ends of what they fought for. If you’re saying that my parents placed me in an undercover predicament to add to the weight of deaths on my shoulders, I suggest you tell your father to put a stop to our betrothal. Because I don’t even want to be here, Your Highness, and it would do me such a huge honor. I would rather spend my time out with my fellow soldiers than pretending I’m some dainty princess my family sheltered when in fact, I was anything but that.

“Have a good day and I hope you enjoy the rest of the book. Chapter ten was a personal favorite of mine,” you dismissed, turning towards the direction of the apartments.

Once you reached your door, Reiner straightened his posture, faltering for a second when he noticed the cross look on your face. He chose not to say anything as he opened the door for you. You took off your boots right beside one of the armchairs of the receiving room and immediately went inside your private chambers. The glint of the ring on your night table mocked you. You stomped over the furniture and forcefully closed the small jewelry box, throwing the container inside one of the drawers.

Maybe sleep will be much kinder to you, the sheets enveloping you in an embrace you wish your mother can only give in this time of need.

-

You were radiant under the harsh heat of the Sun.

Annie was scheduled to have a free slot in her timetable after being included in one of the court meetings regarding the resiliency plan of some of the villages in the borders that managed to survive the Glaieulian raids. She suggested that the villages should be moved to one of the more remote villages nearer the capital, where the terrain is suitable for growing crops and starting small farms. There wouldn’t be an issue with overpopulation because the recommended village was home to the elderly and children. The newly situated families will also aid the old people as they go about their mundane activities. It was a sound suggestion and her father was also considering it. Annie hoped that would be the case as she scribbled a small note on a piece of paper. After the meeting, she stopped by one of the windows overlooking the training grounds, and there you are.

Your small argument that happened a few days before stirred some guilt in Annie’s stomach. 

You weren’t even part of the raids she was talking about. They were led by a commander by the name of Erwin Smith. The stories about you that she heard were from Idyllic soldiers that suffered a lot during the war, not from the people of the villages Erwin raided. Annie couldn’t deny it but she did step out of the line by accusing you of being an assassin. That was too far-fetched. She was just stuck in her suspicions when she was supposed to be getting to know you.

All she knew about you was that you were adept with a sword and can name any tactic written in books about wars.

Annie saw a maid cleaning one of the vases in the hallway. “Miranda.”

The maid turned around, curtsying in a haste before patting her uniform. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

“Can you prepare a tray of iced apple juice and some cakes?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Annie nodded. “And can you place this note on the tray and deliver it to [Name]’s room?”

The maid was taken aback. “Well, it would be my pleasure, Princess.”

“Thank you.” With that, Annie walked away without a glance back.

Curious eyes followed the princess’ form, the maid finding herself looking at your figure sparring with Reiner and a smile instantly greeted her face. This could be a turning point in the betrothal because she could’ve sworn Annie had a small blush on her cheeks at the mention of the other princess. 

After your training, a tray of sweets and a pitcher with glasses of apple juice awaited you in your receiving room. You wanted to ask Reiner if he asked some of the chambermaids to prepare the afternoon snack but a folded note caught your eye. With one hand gripping the towel around your shoulders, you read the note, your face warming up at the short yet endearing sentence.

Indulge in these, they taste better after a good training session.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, you thought as you munched on a sprinkled cookie.

-

Her eyes kept following a trail of gold tulle, silks, and laces, never looking away the moment her blue eyes laid themselves upon a beauty that rivaled the goddess of oneiric realms, the most ethereal goddess of the heavens. You were dressed in an off-shoulder gown with loose sleeves reaching your elbow, the bodice carefully wrapping around your torso in the most flattering way possible, and skirts adorned with silver gems. In a sea of aristocrats with fabulous dresses, you were a sight to behold in this ball dedicated to commemorate the truce between Glaieul and Idylle as well as announce the engagement between the two countries. You were starlight personified, shining in Annie’s eyes under the lights of tens of chandeliers in the ballroom. 

You were on the other side of the ballroom, laughing with your friends from your home kingdom. There was a tall brunette that seemed to be star-struck because of you just like Annie, a black-haired young woman who was smiling slightly, and a blonde who was engaged in an animated conversation with you. Your smiles were refreshing, to say the least, Annie seeing it for the first time since you came to their palace. Your laughs are genuine and it came out of you so easily when in the company of your friends.

Annie visibly stiffened when you turned around and smiled at her, gesturing for her to come to join the small huddle. Your three friends tensed noticeably at her half-lidded stare, with you reassuring them that she’s not that indifferent all the time. 

As if sensing Annie’s hesitance, Reiner chuckled behind her. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to introduce yourself to them, Your Highness.”

“I’m getting to that, Reiner.”

A laugh came from the blonde man. “She’s good for you. That much I can tell. The kindest soul I’ve ever met in my life.”

Again, guilt pooled in Annie’s chest. Those words are the opposite of what she spewed out to you the last time you talked. She called you a power-hungry monster who ravaged the war with no care on your shoulders. She didn’t even apologize yet. Annie sighed, “I know.” Then, she pulled up her skirts, navigated the ballroom, and stopped directly beside you. Her blue eyes scrutinized the three people you grew up with, with the brunette and black-haired woman stepping a small step forward to assert their dominance while the blonde pinched their backs to warn them not to step out of line in another kingdom. “Hello.” She transferred her eyes on you afterward, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back and rubbing it in a comforting motion. “I hope you enjoyed the ball so far.” Those words were directed to you.

You only nodded with a smile. “Annie, this is Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. They’re my friends when I was growing up in the glass castle.” Annie nodded. “Everyone, this is Annie, my fiancé.”

“We know,” Eren, the long-haired man in a low ponytail murmured with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Eren,” Armin reprimanded. He smiled at a stone-faced Annie. “Thank you for making [Name] happy! I can sense that she has a different air around her while we talked. It must be because of you.”

Annie stayed quiet, her hand coming into a still on the small of your back. It was a good thing her left hand was hidden away because they would immediately think that you didn’t accept the engagement. She glanced at the ring nestling in your finger, a perfect match against the golden train of your dress. Realizing that she created an awkward stretch of silence, Annie could only nod wordlessly before shifting her attention to you again. It seems like you’re the only one who can calm her nerves down inside the vast ballroom. She never took her gaze on you even as you continued the conversation between your friends.

Her mind was fogged with thoughts of only you throughout the ball.

The two of you excused yourself from the trio when Annie’s father called for everyone’s attention from the front of the huge chambers. “Everyone, kind souls and pure-hearted people of the continent, since tonight is all for enjoyment, the waltz of the ball will now commence.” His blue eyes went to his daughter, standing at the side of his throne. “The moment everyone is waiting for — the first waltz.”

She rehearsed this too many times for when a proper betrothal comes into play but why is her hand shaking when she outstretched it in front of you? You must have felt it because you flashed a comforting smile her way. The two of you went to the middle of the ballroom, the guests staring expectantly at the birth of a romance. They were wrong because you hate her and she hates you. Right? Her hatred for you will never waver for killing her people even though you look like a descended goddess with the lights of the chandeliers raining on you. Hatred must be fueling her heart to beat faster than ever, why she seemed to trip over her skirts and how her words stumbled in her tongue. That must be it.

The dance slowly made its way to the part where she struggled, dipping you as gracefully as she can. Before it happened, you whispered to her, “Please don’t make me fall.”

Annie’s voice was soft, for your ears only. “I promise, my princess.”

It truly was a birth of a romance, the two of you unaware of it all.

-

“Come on, Reiner!” You shouted at him from across the training field. “Come at me with all you’ve got.”

The blonde man hesitantly shifted into position as he eyed you. “Are you sure, princess? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He remembered the threatening look he received from Annie before this training session and he would like all of his limbs intact, thank you very much. “I just don’t want your chambermaid to nag me again after last time.” He managed a cut on your arm your previous session and you had to wear a long-sleeved dress in such stifling weather.

You scoffed lightheartedly. “I can handle it, Reiner. You don’t have to worry about it. Plus, I can dress my wounds perfectly.”

Reiner didn’t believe that. Your skills in covering up your wounds were lacking despite being a soldier. The most you could do was apply some salve on your bruises, that was it. He had no choice because the past month he spent his days with you, you were like a persistent little child that reminded him of his younger cousin. He hoped that you two wouldn’t meet. “Alright, here I go, Your Highness.”

Parry after parry could be heard in the private training field. You were doing fine in deflecting Reiner’s sword but your ankle immediately ached after shifting your body, leaning back to avoid the sharp edge of the knight’s weapon. You let out a huff as you dropped on the ground, jolting when Reiner called for you to stay alert. Seeing the glint of his sword, you rolled away and the pain on your ankle flared, even more, traveling through your calf. It also didn’t help that you received a cut on the side of your bandaged arm. You picked yourself up despite the throbbing pain on your ankle and arm, now being on the defensive as Reiner continuously struck you with his sword. He then circled his weapon around yours, throwing your sword on the side and pushing you to the ground with the tip of his weapon. That was the time where your ankle finally twisted into a sprain.

“Ah!”

“Princess?” Reiner’s tone became alarmed, dropping to your level and taking off your boots in an instant. His hands ghosted around your swollen ankle, not knowing what to do. “Gods, Annie’s going to kill me!”

“Annie?” You asked between pants. “What does this have to do with her?”

He only shook his head, carrying you in his arms and into the palace. His steps were hurried and the maids gasped at the sight of your red ankle. “Please prepare a bucket of ice and bring it to Princess [Name]’s private chambers.” He turned to you. “Hang on for a moment, Your Highness, we’re nearing your room. Just a little bit more.” Reiner entered your room and gently placed you on your bed. “I’m going to be taking off your other shoe, Your Highness.”

“Reiner, I think I’ll take it from here.”

Reiner stiffened, slowly turning his head to the entrance of your private chambers. Annie was impatiently standing with a bucket of ice in both hands, eyes glacially set on the blonde man kneeling on the floor in front of your confused form. She didn’t care if Reiner trembled in front of her. She vividly remembered telling the knight to never hurt you (she didn’t see the cut you had last training session because Annie was in another court meeting involving the incoming tax collection of various villages). Annie glanced at your ankle, barely grimacing at the state of it before gesturing for Reiner to get out of the room. The large blonde man took his leave, bowing at the two of your hastily and closing the doors with finality.

Annie mimicked Reiner’s position, kneeling in one knee to place your injured foot on her thigh. She didn’t wear any dresses for the day and it made her look dashing. The image implanted itself in your brain. Her hands are gentle against your skin, your cheeks flaring at the contact. Her features were contorted in a downturned one that showed how bothered she was. 

“How did this happen?”

Your eyes settled on the top drawer of your nightstand. “I dodged Reiner’s blow and I twisted my ankle in the process.”

“You should be more careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

Annie scoffed. “That’s clearly obvious.” She said nothing more while dipping your foot in the ice bath. She lifted her head too fast when you winced at the coldness of the water. “Deal with it. We wouldn’t want this to be worse than it already is.”

“Thanks for the concern,” you dryly mentioned.

“What makes you think that my being worried is all fake?” You’re silent, Annie choosing the moment to continue the words she didn’t have any control over. “When the maids prepared this bucket of ice in the kitchens, I was out of the council meeting. When I saw then bringing this up to your chambers, I was alarmed and my mind was a mess of thoughts concerning what happened to you.” At each word, her face held a multitude of emotions that you never saw on her. Her lips became pursed whilst you wordlessly stared at her. “I am not pretending to care for you. How could I pretend when I’m already feeling foreign emotions when it comes to you? It’s my first time feeling this way so I don’t know if I can categorize this as falling in love. But it feels like it. So, for the love of the gods, can’t you see that I’m rambling because of you?”

You didn’t reply, instead, you reached out to the drawer where you kept that ring.

“What are you doing? You should be still right now.”

You pulled out the jewelry box and flipped it open, showing the blonde the ring fashioned in a vine, the centerpiece being a group of small gladiolus flowers with diamonds in their centers. 

Annie’s cheeks reddened, flustered at the pretty jewelry. “What?”

Words never came out of you as you took Annie’s left hand. The ring looked pretty on her, the two of you admiring it after you slid the engagement jewelry in her ring finger.

“I now accept you as my fiancé, my future lover, and holder of my heart. Annie Leonhart, may our eternal spring bloom for centuries, and may your god of the winds bless us with his idyllic ballads.” Annie’s eyes were wide and you can see your reflection on them, along with constellations that lit up her irises. You placed your forehead against hers, looking straight into her flushed face. “They were right, this is the birth of a romance.”

And as you two kissed for the first time, the gods were rejoicing in their thrones, each of your prayers answered — your love finally etched in a whimsical melody. 

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, SCAR! You’ve been accepted for the role of CRESSIDA. Admin Julie: Scar, your app for Celeste was phenomenal. You had us hooked from the first plot in a way that we loved. You demonstrated through both your prose and plots that Celeste is a multifaceted woman with many masks, capable of cruelty and kindness in one without even knowing it -- something we often look for in portrayals but don't always find. Your emphasis on her own personal selfishness was a cherry on top of the cake, too, a breath of fresh air, a reminder that not everyone in Verona is for the greater good. Some people, like Celeste, are only trying to survive; you demonstrated that beautifully. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Alias | Scar.

Age | 22.

Preferred Pronouns | She/her.

Activity Level | I should be good to hop on two-four times a week for replies and I’m generally available for chatting on Discord.

Timezone | MST.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Celeste Duval / Cressida

What drew you to this character? | Celeste is wholly representative of her name. She’s made of stars and moonshine, of infinitely growing forces trapped by bone and flesh. We romanticize the stars and gaze upon them in all their glory but fail to acknowledge the birth of one is one of the most violent things that can happen in the universe. And that’s the same story with Celeste. We can fall in love with her and her starry eyes and dazzling personality but we’re blind to the annihilation that’s tucked behind her molars and the poison that laces her honeyed words. She’s a representation of all our strongest feelings— love and anger, fear and confidence, lust and disgust— intertwined and mangled to the point of not knowing where one emotion ends and the next begins. Characters who are cold and detached are the ones perceived as the biggest threats but really, what is more dangerous than hot-blooded emotion?

Celeste has always been too much, too curious for her own good, rising above her place, her gender, demanding in the way that was only accustomed to the boy kings, slamming their tiny fists on the table and asserting their power, their wealth, their gender. No one knew what to do when it came from Celeste. Her father gave up on her the moment he realized he couldn’t control her, and her mother quickly followed suit. But she wouldn’t be so easily spurned. She’s brilliant, was the thing. Power has surged through her veins from the moment she realized she was a woman in a man’s world. She’s learned to compensate for her delicate features and by being so lethal that she couldn’t be ignored. Her intelligence has been sharpened to a point, carefully tucked away beneath girlish laughs and an effervescent smile. She’s as cunning as her father and twice as subtle and this is perhaps where his resentment of her lay: he had condemned her to a life of mediocracy and she had looked him in the eye to be anything but.

Her bones are made of diamond — made of wrath and jealousy and spite and scorn — but her heart is soft and that is perhaps her greatest strength and her greatest weakness. She’s been groomed to be cynical through the environment she was raised in but her heart is untouched. There are moments when she wishes to let the cruelest parts of her take hold but her heart will deny that pleasure, favouring to neatly fold that pain and tuck it away in the back of her head— a momento. The beating organ works as a filter, combing through the pain to find slivers of humanity to ground her. She allows tears to freely cascade over soft cheeks and laughs so loud that the room shakes. She dances naked under the moonlight without a care in the world and smashes fine china against marble countertops at the slightest inconvenience. Her heart is a wild and unstable organ and that is why she’s akin to the stars.

God truly is a woman and she comes in the form of Celeste Duval.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

I AM THE KNIFE THAT WILL SLAUGHTER HEAVEN | At twenty-three years old, does anyone really know who they are or what they’re doing with their life? Celeste, I believe, is no exception to this. She’s twenty-three years old and her whole life has been laid out for her. Yet somehow, she’s managed to spit in the face of everyone and everything and walk away with a cherry-sweet smile. She’s had a childhood that calcified her bones into diamond and walked into a position that sharpened her teeth into daggers. She’s filled with a childish, bullish swagger that really only twenty-three years olds can possess and she’s made it work for her.  In her rise to power, she’s made enemies, and she’s stepped over corpses to get where she is. She’s manipulated people and hurt them and she has never paid such cruelty much mind. In her head, she’s had to endure it her whole life, so why shouldn’t they? And then it all came to bite her in the ass.

I think this journey is going to be the most interesting part of Celeste’s story to explore. A girl who had nothing but her own mind to keep her warm; she built herself into a skyscraper only to be the reason she herself lost everything. I think she so desperately clings to the structure she’s created for herself that when the beams start to break and the foundation starts to crack, she sticks bandaids on it and prays it away. Blurring the lines of this strong, powerful woman that she’s scripted into her bones contrasting the scared, little girl that rests at her core is going to be something that bleeds together and becomes nothing more than a mess of a woman. Is she on a slow descent to which rock bottom is the destination or will she scrounge together the ambition akin to her name and slip her way out of life’s razor-sharp hold? Will she snap after being used and abused for so much of her life or continue living with a noose around her neck?

This plot is centred around Celeste finding her own identity through both who she is at her core and the persona that she’s created for herself. It’s about navigating through her crashing waves of emotion in a tiny sailboat and solidifying who she is in this world. Celeste has done an exceptional job of sweeping things under the rug. Her parents— deal with it later. Her marriage — deal with it later. Yet now, it is later and I’d like to explore her actually having to come to terms with all of it.

ABSOLUTE POWER CORRUPTS ABSOLUTELY | Despite unwillingly joining the mob, Celeste has manifested what she wants: power and influence. Perhaps she doesn’t have the same commanding presence as some of her peers, especially given her whimsical nature, but she stands in the ranks with a sure-footedness that comes from knowing how to wield her weapons. She holds the title of emissary and she takes pride in what she does. She’s spent her life yielding to men and their desires that it only made sense to spin it into gold. This plot is focussed on Celeste reclaiming her power and has two central ideas: deciding how much of it she gives to the mob and how much of it she gives to Easton.

I don’t believe Celeste has any true loyalty to the Montagues. She is truly only loyal to herself, a selfish trait she’s sure must have been passed down by her father. Living a life of obligation has fitted her into her role in the mob but like she had done in the role of daughter, of wife, she broke free of the box she had been slotted in and it’s only a matter of time before she breaks her role in the mob. Like her namesake, Cressida is synonymous with betrayal so I believe loyalty is an integral aspect of her character that I’d like to explore. Whether it be at the hands of Easton or of her own volatile will, I believe Celeste will eventually tug too hard at the strings that bind her to the Montagues and fall from the heavens straight to the pits of hell. Celeste herself, has always stood confidently in the morally grey area– having to choose to remain loyal to the Montagues versus willingly double-crossing them is something I’d like to explore in time. Because to openly betray them means to free herself of Easton’s chains but also means to subject herself to purgatory for the rest of her life.

Specifically in regards to Easton, the villain of her story, I’d like to see her fight back. Perhaps not directly but in the form of getting close to him without getting close to him. Befriending his friends, finding his weakness so she can rip out his heart and consume it whole. Her ambition is perhaps her greatest strength, so I’d like to see her really in the weeds with this one; making under-the-table deals, initiating secret arrangements, holding out bribes, the works. She’s got a knack for fluttering her lashes and playing the naive little girl so if it means burrowing her way between the ribcage of a couple Capulets to weasel her way into Easton’s life, so be it. In addition, I’d like to see her potentially reaching out to someone in the Montague ranks as a “mentor” under the guise of wanting to expand her repertoire of deadly skills to figure out how she can finally put an end to Easton’s story.

I RIP APART THE INSTRUMENTS OF MY IMPRISONMENT | Celeste looked up to her father from the day she was born and with every fibre of her being, craved his love. Never once did she receive it, and she watched on bitterly as he ignored her and berated her. All these years later, she claims she’s over it, but has Celeste really ever gotten over anything in her whole life? No. Even if she can’t admit it, she needs approval with a desperation she finds sickening and if she was able to cut out that piece of her soul, she would. I think this would translate into her position in the mob— craving the approval from superiors and peers. Breaking free is a recurring theme in Celeste’s life and it was born in removing herself from her father’s stifling hold.

There are two elements of this plot— the first is exploring her stepping out from her father’s shadow and reclaiming the Duval name. What did she have to do to achieve that? How has it changed people’s perceptions of her and her family name? Do people look past her doe eyes and bouncy curls to see the venom underneath her tongue? Part of this journey includes her position as an emissary in the Montague ranks. I believe this goes above just using her sexuality for her own benefit and touches on the idea of sexual extortion— which is something to explore her own feelings about. Was it something that she naturally saw fit for herself or something that was coaxed upon her, whispers to play to her strengths echoing in her ear? Her sexuality was something she used to break free from the chains of her childhood and the journey of weaponizing it is something I think is integral to her character.

The second element ties into her destruction arc from the previous two plots, and her own made-up feeling of being rejected from the Montagues because of her silent betrayal. The desperation to be accepted and praised is what inspired her rise to power and it’s what keeps her fueled. I believe Celeste has the potential to be obsessed with trying to overcompensate for Easton’s blackmail because of the yearn of approval from her peers. This is inspired by her connection to Lawrence and the tension between them but I think while she’s contemplating her own loyalties to the mob, this doubt she has of Lawrence and his reciprocated distrust, I believe it would sow the seed of paranoia in her. While her internal struggle of loyalty plays out, this paranoia would take over everything and anyone who disagreed with her or tried to stop her, she would wonder if they knew of her deceit.

IN AGONY, IN LOVE, IN WORRY | Celeste has a healthy amount of tenderness for Tomas. It’s not love but maybe in another timeline it could be. He allows her to be whoever she desires to be and makes no attempt to change her, accepts every part of her without hesitation, and asks for nothing in return. Both of them are so full of feeling, two sides of the same coin that perhaps, if the circumstances were different, they could have been soulmates. But in this reality, she wields his affection like a sword, aimed directly at his own heart to keep him at bay. It’s only when she has the upperhand that she feels at ease and she knows as long as she holds his affections under lock and key, she will always have the upperhand. I think she can feign the love he craves, give into his desires just enough to satiate him and over times, playing the part has worn a hole in her ribcage just large enough for a trickle of softness to spill through.

But then there’s Isabella. Oh Isabella. All wildfire and passion, who truly brought meaning to the word love. I believe what Celeste has with them is an all-consuming love. Celeste’s whole heart belongs to Isabella and the strain of her marriage, of the mob, of Easton, has cast a shadow on the purest love, dimming it’s shine to a faint glow. But more than that, I believe a lot of Celeste’s personal choices will put a strain on her relationship with Isabella and they will put Celeste in a place where she’s forced to make the decision of how far she’ll go for this relationship. This potentially comes down to Celeste having to choose between the reputation and image she’s fashioned for herself and the true desires of her heart.

Ahh, both of these relationships I’m so invested in already but the destruction of both is so close I can almost taste it. I’d like to explore both of these relationships, Tomas and Isabella, and the rise and fall of it. The growing suspicion in her marriage and her attempts to smooth it over with Tomas while navigating the yearn for Isabella without allowing herself to fall completely head-over-heels.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. :(

IN-DEPTH

001. | She didn’t quite know why she returned as often as she did. Perhaps it was the obligation that was sewn into her skin, tugging and pulling and reminding her whenever she moved. Perhaps it was the sheer pleasure she got out of seeing them grow old, the life slowly dwindling out of them until they would collapse in a pile of bones that she would use to feed her dogs.

“Shouldn’t you be in your own house?”

“I’m here for you, Papa.” The reply is curt and she doesn’t need to turn away from the stove to see the flare of his nostrils, the inability to accept help from anyone, let alone his worthless daughter.

“You think you’ll get this house?” A barking laughter falls from his lips, “Your favourite place in Verona, hm? Or is that the whorehouse?” The comment tries to grip onto her but her armour has been sanded to a perfectly smooth metal so it slides off, forming a puddle beneath her feet. Stupid man.

“Actually,” she replies airily, a sickly sweet smile painted on her face as she places the boiling cup in front of him, “It’s wherever they plan to bury you.” She offers him a glance and this time she relishes the flare of his nostrils.

002. | Morning light forces its way through the french windows, dark lashes fluttering as she roused from her sleep, amber curls tousled from a night of turning fitfully on a silk pillow. With a deep sigh, she turns in the satin sheets, an attempt to reclaim a couple moments of sleep. Before her lashes can press together, her gaze settles on Isabella laying next to her, eyes sparkling as their lips stretch into a smile.

“Good morning, mon chou.”

“So, I get you all to myself today, hm? Do I get to live through a typical day of Celeste Duval?” The other’s teasing smile reflects Celeste’s as she draws herself closer.

She let out a breathy laugh, closing it off with a firm kiss on the other’s lips. “A typical day, hm? So you want to spend the day with little ol’ moi? ” A manicured hand moves up to cup Isabella’s cheek, a kittenish smile pulling at her lips. “Well then we’ll spend the morning in bed.” A kiss on the cheek. “Order more than we can eat from the pâtisserie on main street…” A kiss on the temple. “Then get all done up for a day on the town. Maybe indulge in a bit of shopping.” Her fingers trail along the other’s lithe form, following the dips and curves of their body. “Then we’ll take a bath together— a bubble bath, of course, complete with the finest wine Italy has to offer.”

She leaves out the bloodbaths and the cheating and the blackmailing and the copious amounts of self-pity.

“Sounds nice, oui?”

003. | Velvet gloves press against the mahogany door, pushing it open to reveal the hundred saints staring down at her with accusatory glances, demanding to know why they died for her sins. She walked down the pews, one step at time, head never bowed, gaze never faltering. It had occurred to Celeste that perhaps her confession didn’t do her much good if she bore no remorse in committing. Yet the click of her heels echoed as she made her way to the confessional booth.

Her confession was a silent one. Not for a priest or clergy, but for her and God alone. Her eyes closed and her head finally lowered. What was her sin that she should confess to— her biggest mistake thus far in life? Was it breaking her promise to her husband or offering false hope to her lover? Was it praying each night the man who raised her would choke on his dinner just once and just die? Was it the way she wore the title of whore with a kittenish smile and a too-short hemline, or the way she relished the feeling of hot blood on her hands?

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned.”

Yet that was as far as she got before she was interrupted. Though it was not the glorious bells of the cathedral but rather the chiming that came from the Chanel bag at her feet. With that, she stood up and shrugged her bag back over her shoulder. The confession was still perched on the tip of her tongue and yet she no longer felt the weight of her sins on her shoulders.

004. | Her eyes are shining and wet. Her back straightens, and she fingers the fabric of her skirt, looking down at her shoes as he stands there in silence. There is nothing but silence as she tries to fathom what he is saying, and she nearly stumbles back, almost ashamed by his honesty. Why was he doing this? She was too bold, too brilliant, too breathtaking for a life of dim characters and colours. She was too good for this shit city and yet here he was, trying to cut her off at the knees.

He, on the other hand, is nothing special. If men were skyscrapers then he would be a faint grey building, flickering in the corner of the taller, angry rectangles dusting the clouds with their hats. If she were riding in an airplane down, she probably wouldn’t even be able to spot his shape. But he was hers and she was his and they were bound by an eternal string, fraying more and more by the minute.

I’ve never asked much of you, my love. His words echo in her ear, the one thing: to stay faithful to me. Surely that can’t have been the hardest task you’ve been asked of… Or is it?

���I don’t know who’s putting these vile thoughts in your head, my darling,” she coos, a reassuring hand, cupping his cheek. Her words are soft, but the slight undertone of frustration is simmering below the surface, threatening to spill over. “We’re married, aren’t we? Til death do we part.” And with that, she seals her vow with a saccharine kiss, the knot unclenching from her stomach as she felt him relax into her. A honeyed lie was better than a poisoned truth, wasn’t it?

005. | She was fixing herself tea in the parlour when the doorbell rang. She smoothed out her skirt — a silk dress hand-stitched with Egyptian cotton hugging her figure (custom-made for her by Saint Laurent), pearls decorating her décolletage (a wedding gift), and diamonds piercing her ears (well, those were just an indulgence). Even at home, she dressed for any occasion.

Standing before her is a man she’s come to hate, a man she’d go to bed every night praying he would drop dead. Easton Craven. Her cheeks are ruddy with the colour of shame, and as she lengthens herself, spitting at him in hushed tones.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you not to come to my house.”

He only smiles in return, pushing his way through the entrance and into the foyer of the manor. “Visiting a friend, of course. I’m rather upset you haven’t invited me over before.” He speaks with his back to her, stopping to gaze up at a painting decorating the wall. “Did Tomas pick this out?” The question mocks her and she has to bite her tongue.

She could kill him. The thought flits through her mind and solidifies itself at the front of her skull. She could kill him and claim self-defense; a home invasion turned on its head. Before the thought can even fully form itself, his lips curl upward into a cruel smirk. He knows she won’t do it. Not because she can’t but because they’re similar in this way. He wouldn’t have come here without a back-up, something to hold over her head even if he was lying dead, bleeding out on her Persian rug. So she smothers the thought and clears her throat expectantly.

“Now tell me, Celeste, what are your thoughts on this war? The Montagues, the Capulets— does any of it even mean anything to you? You’re so quick to betray that I really am curious what you think.”

“Go to hell,” she snarls back. He’s right though, it really doesn’t mean anything to her, and perhaps that’s the worst thing of all.

[leahxx129]

No Idea (Castiel x Reader)

Okay, so I had a very interesting dream last night involving Castiel (nothing NSFW, unfortunately :D ) and I just had to commemorate the rare occasion of me having a dream about one of the boys with a fic. I hope you like it!

Summary: In hopes of finding Chuck, you and Castiel visit a Supernatural Fan Convention. At the event you bump into a couple of enthusiasts who uncover some very interesting facts about the real nature of the relationship you and the angel share.

Warnings: sexual implications

Word count: 1.885-ish

Gif not mine.

The engine of Castiel’s pimp car dies out with a chug and your face automatically turns wry as you read the banner displayed by the small congress center’s entrance: XV. Supernatural Fan Convention.

“Remind me again, Cas, why are we here exactly?” you ask the angel as you open the car door to get out, suppressing the gut-feeling that screams for you to stay put.

“Well, we’d like to gather some information on Chuck’s whereabouts and considering that he’s quite the narcissist, Sam and Dean think he may show up here.” he replies while bypassing the car to stand by your side.

“Wonderful…”

“Is there something wrong, Y/N? You seem a little… off.” genuine concern in his voice hits your ears.

You sigh deeply before responding.

“No, nothing’s wrong per se… I’m just – I’m just really not up for this right now, you know?”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it has something to do with the idea that if I go in there, I might run into strangers posing as me and that makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck.”

A mischievous smirk spreads across Castiel’s handsome face.

“Allow me to clarify things… you fearlessly hunt beings more gruesome than an average person could ever fathom and a few literary enthusiasts are what frighten you?”

You roll your eyes at him.

“You know what - I haven’t had my fix of morning caffeine yet so I am totally not ready to engage in this argument right now...” you take a quick glance at the banner once again. “Instead, let’s go in there and get this over with as fast as we can, okay?”

He nods in agreement and you both start off in the building’s direction.

The knot in your stomach grows two sizes upon entering the place – a multitude of Sams and Deans flood your field of vision, along with a few Castiels, Bobbys and Rowenas. You are unable to decide which will haunt your dreams for the next few the days – the bad wigs and makeup, or the even worse imitations and accents. Perhaps a combination of all.

“Hey, it’s a little crowded in here, I think we should go backstage to talk to the organizers. After all, they would be the ones with any insight, right?”

You look behind your shoulder just to discover that the person you came with is nowhere to be found.

“Splendid!” you mutter under your breath annoyed, but when you turn your head back to the front, Cas is standing there only inches away from you.

“Jesus, Cas, I almost punched you! For future reference – don’t scare me like this. Sometimes I hit instead of screaming.” you scold him in a low voice, trying to avoid any unsolicited attention.

He looks at you apologetically, holding up a paper cup.

“Noted and I’m sorry. It’s just you said you would like some coffee so I went and got you this. I highly doubt that it’s premium quality like the sticker on the machine claimed but I figured it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Oh, wow… I’m sure you’ve known it already but if not… I love you!” you say, taking the steamy drink from him.

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to, pretty boy!”

You wink at him and his lips curl into a small smile.

“That. Was. Brilliant.”

Each syllabification is followed by a clap and both of you snap your heads to where the sounds are coming from.

“Beg your pardon?” you question, raising an eyebrow at a short man dressed in all black.

The taller guy standing next to him speaks up instead.

“He meant the bit you just did.” the perplexed look on your face urges him to wallow in further explanation. “You know, you’re obviously dressed as Y/N and your friend is obviously dressed as Castiel, and the dialogue you just did was spot on. The way you managed to capture their dynamic is remarkable. I mean we’ve seen a few Y/Ns and Cases here today, but you two have delivered the best portrayal by far.”

You swallow hard, not knowing how to react to this, but fortunately Cas does.

“Thank you! That’s really nice of you to say! And your portrayal of… uhm… of-”

“Lucifer and Crowley.” the guy points at himself first, then at the short man, helping Cas out before the situation could get any more embarrassing.

“Ah, yes, Lucifer and Crowley. You guys did an outstanding job with their portrayal, too.”

“Thanks!”

You silently pray for the interaction to be over, but the tall guy who labeled himself as Lucifer keeps pushing things to much of your chagrin.

“You know, we used to think Castiel had a thing for Dean.” he exclaims, and you have to try your best not to burst out laughing at the perplexed face the angel in question makes.

“But now we’re a hundred percent sure he’s into Y/N and the feeling is very much so mutual.” fake Crowley adds, making you choke on the sip of coffee you’ve just taken.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks but you ignore his inquiry. Your focus is entirely fixated on the wannabes.

“What- what makes you think that?”

They exchange a proud glance, ready to elaborate on the topic.

“Well, for one, Castiel helped Y/N quit smoking. You don’t meddle with someone else’s addiction unless you care for them.” fake Lucifer points out.

“I think that’s something one would do for a really close friend, too.” you counter his argument in a heartbeat.

“Sure, maybe. But would a close friend take an angel blade almost to the heart for the other, like Y/N did for Cas? That’s something that on most occasions not even family would do, let alone a friend…”

You open your mouth to protest but it’s fake Crowley’s turn to contribute to the debate.

“Yeah, you watch Netflix with friends or have a meaningful conversation with them over a nice cup of coffee, but you don’t get stabbed for them, nah. Plus, I specifically remember that one part in the latest book where Y/N was doing yoga and Cas accidentally saw her through the cracked open door. Now, the thoughts he had were anything but friendly, to say the least...”

“Alright, I think that’s enough!” Cas interjects and you can see a slight blush tint his cheeks.

“Attention, everyone! May I please have your attention?!” a lady with a headset starts shouting few feet away from you, putting an end to your inconvenient discussion with Hell’s fake representatives. “Okay... so, I’ve just got the news that Mr.Shurley is unable to make it today.”

A wave of displeased grunts washes over the crowd and the lady starts lifting  the spirit up, but you don’t hear any of her consoling promises. Your legs are taking you out of there at a quick pace. You got the info you wanted – he’s not gonna be there – so there really isn’t a reason for you to stick around.

Just as you shut the car door, Cas appears in the driver’s seat next to you.

There’s a moment of silence as neither of you can word the gazillion thoughts running through your minds.

“Look, can we just not talk about what those nerds said? Like ever?” you eventually speak up in the hopes that he would agree, but to much of your surprise, he replies with a firm ‘No.’

“What do you mean, ‘No’, Cas?”

He turns to face you and you swear you’ve never seen those baby blue eyes more vibrant than now.

“I mean I’m not gonna let this one go. So, start talking.”

You’re usually better at standing your ground but this time there’s just something in his gaze that makes you surrender before it could all begin, so you just mumble a “fine” through gritted teeth.

“I..uh.. I didn’t wanna come to this convention today because I was afraid that what happened would happen… and ta-da, it did.”

He furrows his brows.

“I’m not certain I’m following.”

“Jesus, Cas, you’re hellbent on making me say this, aren’t you? Alright then, here it goes…” you take a deep breath to prepare for the big reveal, then continue “I’ve been kind of harboring these feelings for you for a while now and I was afraid if I came here, someone who read the books would point it out. And that’s exactly what happened.”

“Oh. So, this is the real reason you were anxious this morning, not the literary enthusiasts and their imitation.”

“Yup. I’m not saying that I entirely get the dressing up thing, but that was just an excuse.”

“I see. The only thing I don’t understand now is the reason why you didn’t want me to know about your feelings.”

You hang your head in shame.

“I – I just didn’t want to ruin what we have now, I guess.”

Out of the blue, he grabs your chin and forces you to look him in the eyes.

“What makes you think confessing would’ve ruined it? In my opinion, a little upgrade is long overdue.” he whispers in an even hoarser tone than usual, making your eyes go wide.

“What are you talking about, Cas?”

“I’m talking about the fact that those feelings of yours are reciprocated. They have been for a long time now, I just did not have the slightest of idea how to present them to you.“

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Is this really happening right now? It’s too good to be true, and things like that have a tendency of biting you in the ass. Perhaps you’re dreaming? Or is this a cruel prank? Would he do that to you?

You squint your eyes, examining every feature of Castiel’s face suspiciously, looking for any sign that might give away the truth behind his words.

“Did those nerds drug you after I’d stormed out and now you’re just saying this ‘cause you’re high? Or did an undercover witch put a spell on you? Or did-”

He rolls his eyes, fed up with your ridiculous ideas, and shuts you up the best possible way he could come up with – by kissing you with a profound passion that has been buried for so long and is finally set free.

“Do you still think I’m high?” he questions after breaking apart.

“Nope, your counter argument has been quite convincing.” you say while trying to stabilize your breath. “But you know what would destroy even the last shred of doubt I have?”

“Go on…”

You put a hand on his thigh.

“If you told me about those thoughts you had while watching me do yoga…”

He looks at your hand, then his gaze slowly travels up to your face. Is that lust in his eyes?

“Or better yet, why don’t I show you? I saw a motel a few miles down the road.”

The proposition renders you speechless – something that you rarely are. It takes a good few seconds to regain your composure.

“Wow, pretty boy… that’s… that’s kinky.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea!” he replies, starting the engine.

Usually you detest rest stops once you get on the road but this time, you simply cannot wait.

[ruminativerabbi]

Omar and Tlaib: A Way Forward

Sometimes I have to search around to find the topic I wish to write about in my weekly letter to you all, but other times the universe simply presents me with an issue that it feels almost impossible not to write about. This is one of those weeks. And that was before President Trump called the loyalty of Jewish Americans who vote Democratic into question.

I am thinking, of course, of the huge brouhaha surrounding the proposed, then banned, then half-unbanned, then cancelled trip of Representative Ilhan Omar (D-Minnesota) and Rashida Tlaib (D-Michigan) to Israel.

The single point of near-universal consensus is that the whole incident was handled maladroitly by all concerned—and that really is saying the very least.

The congresswomen, by declining to go on the actual trip of members of the House to Israel that took place just a few weeks ago, were making it clear that they had no interest in actually visiting Israel or hearing what representatives of our staunchest ally in the Middle East might or might have had to say to them…and then feigned shock when they were called out for insulting the leadership and citizenry of Israel by planning a propaganda tour featuring meetings solely with Palestinian bigwigs and Arab members of the Knesset. (The itinerary for the trip they then proposed to make on their own confirmed their intentions clearly, although Rep. Omar now says—contrary to the itinerary she herself released—that she would have met with at least some Israeli officials.)

President Trump, by putting his oar in where it wasn’t even remotely needed, seems to have made Prime Minister Netanyahu feel obliged to ban the Omar and Tlaib from entering Israel lest he appear weak or—and, yes, I know how weird this sounds to say out loud—unmanly. (The ensuing firestorm on this side of the world would have been considerably less hot had it not seemed that the Prime Minister’s decision reflected more than anything his desire not to provoke President Trump or to irritate him—which paradoxically actually did make him look and sound weak. And unmanly weakness was indeed the specific issue in play: the President’s tweet confirmed as much: “It would show great weakness if Israel allowed Rep. Omar and Rep. Tlaib to visit.” He didn’t have to say who specifically was going to be labelled weak for not banning the two!)

For his part, the P.M. himself, more than aware of the importance of playing ball with his nation’s biggest supplier of foreign aid and himself an extremely savvy politician, seemed somehow not to understand what a huge error of judgment it was going to be to appear to disrespect members of Congress…and, at that, the specific members of the House that the world was just waiting to see if he would dare to insult.

The whole incident played out in Israel entirely differently than it did here. For your person-in-the-shuk Israeli, the whole rumpus was basically uninteresting. I saw very little coverage in the Israeli press—not none, but nothing like what I saw on every American website I visited while we were in Israel. When it did come up, most regular Israelis I talked to seemed confused why this was even an issue. Although I think most Americans surely do not, everybody in Israel remembers when, in 2012, the United States barred a Knesset member, Michael Ben Ari, from entering the United States because the party he represented, the Kahanist Kach party, was formally labelled as a terrorist group. (Nor, for the record, is it unheard of for the United States to bar entry to people deemed undesirable for one reason or another, a list that over the years has included such dangerous criminals as Amy Winehouse, Diego Maradona, and Boy George. For a full list of people now or once barred from entering the United States, click here.) So the notion that Israel would bar entry to two individuals who have been outspoken in their animosity towards the Jewish state and who openly and shamelessly support the BDS movement, and neither of whom is above lacing her rhetoric with openly anti-Semitic language, merely because they were also elected to Congress—that didn’t seem that big a stretch to most Israelis that I heard giving forth on the topic. Indeed, when I did hear Israelis talking about the issue, the question was more why Israel shouldn’t decline to offer unambiguously hostile people a public platform on which to promote invidious policies than it was why they should let them in without any assurance that they would be at least minimally respectful of their hosts’ sensitivities.

Still, Israel could have turned this whole affair to its own advantage by inviting Rashida Tlaib and Ilan Omar to come to visit, but by making the invitation conditional upon their agreement to meet with Israeli officials and learn about the Israeli take on the Middle East conflict. It would have been a good thing if that happened too, because, as their comments about Israel over the last few days prove, both Omar and Tlaib are as naïve as they are hostile towards the Jewish state. Omar wants Israel to grant Palestinians “full rights,” but without saying what she means exactly. Does she want Israel to annex the West Bank and make its Palestinian population into Israelis with the full rights of citizens? It seems hard to believe that that’s what she means. But then what does she mean? Is she in favor of a two-state solution featuring a State of Palestine in which the Palestinian citizens would have “full rights?” But then why is she not addressing the Palestinian leadership and telling them to declare independence and get down to the work of nation building? When she denounces the Israeli decision to bar her entry as “unprecedented,” does she not know that our own country also bars entry to people deemed hostile or dangerous, or likely to promote views considered inimical with the nation’s best interests? When she speaks about “the occupation,” does she not realize how bizarre it is to blame Israel for “occupying” the Palestinians’ land when Israel has repeatedly offered the Palestinians an almost complete withdrawal in exchange for their willingness to live in peace? And, of course, also without showing the slightest interest—at least as far as I can see—in the places in the world that actually are occupied by foreign powers—Tibet, for example, which has been occupied by China since 1951 or the part of the Western Sahara that Morocco has illegally occupied since 1976.

For her part, Rashida Tlaib sounds more calculating then naïve. When she denounces Israel for setting up roadblocks that inhibit free travel from the West Bank into Israel, she conveniently forgets to mention the reason those roadblocks were set up in the first place: to prevent terrorist attacks on innocents of the kind that were part and parcel of daily life in Israel during the first and second Intifadas. To suggest that those roadblocks were set up to harass innocents like her elderly grandmother instead of owning up to the fact that they have worked so well, as has the security fence, that terror attacks inside Israel have plummeted to almost zero—that crosses the line, at least in my estimation, from finessing the details to make a point and approaches something more reasonably called manipulating the facts to create a wholly false impression. (I think we can all be confident that, if violent terrorists were blowing up children in discotheques and pizzerias in her own home district, she would support any plausible effort to end the carnage even if it caused her grandma some inconvenience.)

It would, therefore, be a good thing for both Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib to come for a visit to Israel. Nor is it too late. In my opinion, Israel can and should offer to invite them to Israel if they are willing to listen, to learn, and to refrain from promoting anti-Israeli views while they are in Israel as guests of the State. Contrary to the President’s tweet, principled reaching-out towards people who have in the past been hostile but who could conceivably change their minds would be seen by all—or certainly by most—as an act of strength, not weakness. There is, after all, a lot to learn. Understanding Israel today requires knowing a lot about Jewish history and its impact on Jewish reality today. It requires understanding the relationship between Israel and both Judaism and Jewishness, a relationship that is obscure in many ways even to relatively savvy observers of the Middle Eastern scene. And it requires understanding the specific way that Israeli identity has been forged over the decades against a background of unremitting hostility on the part of most of its neighbors and, even more perfidiously, on the part of the United Nations—and how decades of exposure to that kind of stark enmity so often tinged with not-so-subtle anti-Semitism has made Israelis, to say the very least, wary and mistrustful of the world.

It would surely have been better if we hadn’t come to this impasse in quite the way we have. But having come to this crossroads, we must now traverse it and I believe we can. If they are truly sincere in their interest in learning about Israel, Representatives Tlaib and Omar should indicate their willingness to come and to listen. Israel, for all it is barred by its own laws from admitting to the country people who advocate policies inimical to the nation’s survival (and specifically the BDS movement), should find a way around that restriction to welcome them both and to help them understand where Israel is coming from and why it acts as it feels it must. If everybody involved is willing to take a step back and to calm down a bit, what at the moment is an impasse can become a crossroads that all concerned can grow mightily by traversing.

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.40

“You Can Never Go Back”

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 39 - The Lonely Machine 41 - War >>

Every time Lorca set foot on the Gabriella, there were more fortunes lining the wall. He could trace them all the way back to the first one she had saved: "If you fail to try, you never succeed." It was yellowed with age now, as were the ones around it, but the further along he went, the lighter the paper became. The most recent ones were still bright white.

Each one represented something they shared. Here was a dinner on a moon with a pink sky: "Don't wait for your ship to sail in, swim out to it." This one came from a meeting at a starbase: "Even the sky seems small from the bottom of a well." Lalana had taken a moment with that fortune and then recontextualized it in a way that fit Luluan: "You cannot see the limitless possibility of the sky from the bottom of an underground pond."

He knew which one was her favorite, but it took him a moment to find it. "To reach distant places, you must take the first step." She had loved that one the moment he opened it, and even though it had been his fortune, he agreed it was supposed to be hers and traded for "You have a magnetic personality." (A fortune so useless he hated it every time he saw it.)

Their sham marriage certificate was on the wall, too. "Heyliell" Lorla and Eleanor, as witnessed by Sollis and Caxus at the Winowa on Risa. He bit his lip against the grin forming on his face. It was his favorite paper on the wall. The way the registrar had looked, the outlandishness of it all as he and Lalana tried to one-up each other's lies. Her lies were bigger, truly, but the blatant fake coughing was what really made the performance soar.

Then he remembered why he was here on the Gabriella and the smile faded. It was time to go back. It was time to stop running.

Lorca sat down beside Lalana at the front of the ship and watched out the side window as the Buran vanished into the lines of starlight. He had a pair of cookies with him, as always.

"Live a life you love," read hers.

"Sometimes you just need a change in perspective," said his.

They ate their cookies together. "You know," he said, letting her wipe the crumbs off him with her tail (zero waste; this allowed her to eat the crumbs), "they finally figured out those molecules Umale sent the Federation."

"Oh? What were they?"

"Tree medicine."

Lalana clicked her tongue. "That makes good sense! He would not have sent medicine for people, since he does not like them, but all lului like trees. Even ones who choose to live on starships." She had a small garden, nothing like Yoon's setup on the Buran, but enough to provide a splash of living green in virtually every corner of the ship. "Are you tired? I know it is late on the Buran right now. I readied the cot for you."

The cot sat beneath the hammock she used as a bed when she slept, which he now knew was a rare event. Most of the time she only pretended to. It was a pretense he enjoyed. "I'll just watch the stars for a bit."

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" They seemed to be going by at a noticeably faster speed that usual. He said as much. "Oh, I have upgraded the engines again and rerouted most of the power to them. The Gabriella is much faster than a Starfleet vessel now. Or rather, you can go this speed, but I can maintain it for an entire journey, whereas you would burn out your engines or maybe worse. We are actually not going at top speed right now because I turned on some life support systems for you."

"So sorry to inconvenience you with my continuing need for life," he drawled at her in amusement, and she clicked laughter right back. "It is nice, though, having a starship captain at your beck and call."

"Oh, it is the best!" Though she had no ability to make any expression, he could tell she was smirking at him all the same.

He drummed his fingers on the console. "How about some music?"

"Yes! Space is so much better with a soundtrack."

He scrolled through her music archive. It just seemed to get bigger and bigger every time he saw it. Every world she visited, she took its music with her as a memento, more than probably even she could listen to in her lifetime, especially when she kept returning to the same few songs over and over.

He could have put on God Only Knows and would have done it for her, but instead he picked an alternative they both liked.

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy..."  

Except for visits to Starfleet headquarters in San Francisco, Lorca had not set foot anywhere else on Earth in over two decades. Seeing it now, that little blue-white swirl amidst the backdrop of the stars, he almost told Lalana to turn the ship around. A heavy weight had settled onto his shoulders. Nothing about this was easy.

Lalana had to get clearance to land her ship close to their destination. "I have a special dispensation," she informed traffic control, and transmitted the allowance she had been granted by the Federation to land her ship as needed on Federation worlds. Never transporting was a constant hassle. She always had to take the long way to get where she was going. Flight control supplied her with a path and they entered the atmosphere.

Most people felt elation, contentment at coming home. Lorca felt a mild sense of dread. He reached out and touched Lalana on the shoulder. "Slow down." Sometimes the long way was preferable.

"I am observing the speed—oh, this is not the problem, is it? I will slow us. But the destination is the same no matter how long we take to get there." For once, the fortune cookie sentiment was no comfort.

Lorca gave in to the urge to stand up and moved behind his seat, leaning against the headrest as the landscape began to resolve itself into familiar geography.

He was startled to see how much had not changed, and strangely upset to see how so much had. Familiar buildings were gone, unfamiliar buildings had appeared. Businesses had moved or closed and new ones opened. The steeple of the old church rose above the trees, but on the far side of it was some sort of fancy recreational center. There was the park he had gone to as a child, but gone was the playground, replaced by a large open field for sports. There was a new playground of an entirely different design where once had been a picnic area. He recognized the street where the first girl he'd kissed lived, but her house wasn't there.

He realized he was a stranger. The whole way here, he had been hoping the entire town was gone, replaced by something completely unrecognizable, and now it turned out he didn't want a single part of it to have changed. Every bit of it that changed was erasing some part of who he was, of who his parents had been.

He had been running away from a place that hadn't existed in years. Probably it had ceased to exist the moment he left. He inhaled shakily. He didn't want it to be erased, any of it. It felt like he was the one being erased, and so were his parents.

The ship landed in a small cargo port. The stiff December air had a cold bite to it that was entirely familiar. The particular mix of trees in the region, even in December when the world was cold and barren, gave the air a faint aroma completely unique to the region.

Lorca helped Lalana put on a heated thermal suit. Cold remained her greatest weakness. It reminded him a little of the first thing he'd seen her wearing, that puffy jumpsuit he'd helped her take off, but this time the clothing was specially designed to suit her range of motion, not restrict it, and it was a navy blue shade with white piping Lorca suspected Lalana had chosen as an homage to a Starfleet uniform.

They had clearance for twenty-four hours. The man at the cargo port was about the same age as Lorca. Had they gone to school together? Had they known each other? Did he recognize Lorca? If they had met, they had both grown so differently over the years, there was no recognizing either of them. Maybe this man had only moved to the town after Lorca left. Somehow, that was even worse, because Lorca's mind had never given this man permission to move here, and yet this man was not only present, he was less a stranger here than Lorca was.

When Lorca exhaled, he could see his breath in the cold air. "It's a bit of a walk. We can get a taxi."

"I do not mind," said Lalana.

Their path took them past places familiar and not. Lorca tried not to dwell too much on any of it but found himself slowing to look at the things that were familiar. A furniture store was entirely the same. Not the merchandise, but the name, the building, the sign above the windows. "We bought a couch there," he said. He had been maybe eight years old. While his father dealt with the salesman, Gabriel had run around, bouncing on cushions and yelling at his parents about which couches were good and which were not based solely on how high they bounced him. The salesman said kids did it all the time and laughed it off, but his father had not laughed in the slightest, not in the store, and not later that night.

Lorca hastily resumed walking. Lalana kept pace with whatever speed he chose and said nothing.

People looked at her, because they always looked at her wherever she went, but for once it was to their advantage. It meant no one really had time to notice or recognize him. He was just some man in a long grey coat with the collar turned up walking beside a non-humanoid alien. Some thought there was something familiar in those pale blue eyes fixed sternly straight ahead, but no one got a good enough look to be certain.

They made one stop, a coffee stand. He had them heat hers almost to boiling and she drank it at that temperature while he carefully sipped at his much cooler cup to avoid scorching his tongue.

The cups ended up crumpled in his pocket as they approached their destination. The one location in any town you could count on to remain mostly unchanged. Even in a world where absolutely nothing was sacred, the idea of building on such land was abhorrent because it was this bit of land that held the promise that one day, you, too, would be interred among your loved ones, and there for many centuries would you remain, protected by the same reverence you had shown to this land in your own lifetime.

Lorca stopped at the entrance gate to the cemetery and stared out at the many graves. They no longer buried people in these plots laying down. They stood them up to make more space for families to be together. Better still were those who chose to be interred as cremains, because they took up very little real estate indeed.

After a long minute, she finally spoke. "Hayliel?"

"I need a minute." He wasn't entirely sure which was the right row of graves. There seemed to be so many. He leaned against the side of the gate. "Shit. I don't know where they are." The magnitude of this statement hit him. He stared out the graves, helpless and lost.

She knew he was coming to Earth because he had said as much when he requested the week off. When his communicator pinged off the planetary relays, she expected him to call, but he didn't, so she did a quick check after an hour to see where exactly his communicator was. It was a mild abuse of power at most. Part of her just wanted fair warning before he turned up on her doorstep, as he had done twice before, once at a most inconvenient time.

When she saw where he was, she knew something was wrong. She grabbed her coat, ordered a transport, and beamed directly into the middle of town.

She spotted him immediately. He was getting coffee from a stand. He wasn't alone.

Cornwell decided against approaching. She hung back, staring at them from across the street, and watched as they made their way towards the outskirts of town.

She could track his communicator easily enough, but she only needed to check the map of the area to realize where he was going, because she had been there with him herself many years before. She could still remember the look on his face. Absent and distracted, like he wasn't fully present. As they placed the caskets into the ground, she couldn't really blame him for being mentally not there, because it was a lot to take in at the time.

What she could blame him for, and had done, was failing to deal with the aftermath of it. Despite her urging, despite her pleading, he had taken a stance of complete and utter denial and pretended nothing was wrong. "It's fine," he had told her, over and over and over again, until finally he stopped answering when she asked the question and accused her of being the one with the problem. When an assignment on a starship had taken him far away, he had never needed to listen to her ask the question ever again, and she had not tried since.

Twenty years was apparently how long it took him to ask the question of himself.

She trailed after them, watching the blip on her padd, wishing she had thought to grab a hat and a scarf, or maybe a coffee at that stand. She couldn't decide if she was doing this because she was his friend and she was worried about him, or because she was confused as to why he was there with Lalana instead of her. A little of both.

Cornwell didn't actively try to avoid being discovered. Sneaking around made what she was doing feel wrong. She walked out in the open, completely conspicuous in her Starfleet uniform coat with its piping and pips denoting her rank as admiral, and merely stayed far back enough that the question of whether she was spying on them was never quite raised. Not until they finally arrived at the cemetery and stopped moving. Then she watched from a distance as Lorca seemed to freeze at the cemetery gates, unable or unwilling to go farther.

She watched as Lalana stretched up against him with absolute ease, as if she had done this many times before, and wrapped her tail across his shoulder. It looked like she was whispering something into his ear. Then she withdrew, entered the graveyard, and began swiftly striding through the graves, turning her head as she did. Cornwell stepped behind a tree and waited until she heard a distant call of summons. When Cornwell peered back around the tree, she saw Lalana leading Lorca by the hand towards the side of the cemetery where his parents' graves were.

When Lorca wiped a hand across his face, Cornwell realized he was crying. When he knelt down and put his hand against the ground and Lalana brushed her tail across those same tears on his face, Cornwell decided she had made a terrible mistake giving in to her baser instincts and immediately called for a beam-out back to San Francisco.

She also realized something. It seemed crazy to her at first, but then it made a strange sense. Two years ago, Risa. A captain not in Starfleet.

It would have been a simple matter to check the ship's registry and confirm whether or not the Gabriella had been on Risa, but Cornwell decided against it. Enough was enough. He was entitled to whatever life he wanted to have.

Two days later, Lorca was in Cornwell's office, looking as good as she had ever seen him, smirking that impossible smirk at her. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" she asked. He was due back on the Buran in under forty-eight hours.

"I've got a fast ride," he said jovially. "I'll be back before the New Year. Now, you've got those science officers for me?"

She did, several candidates. They sat and reviewed them together. "Huh. Would you look at that. I've met this one, actually. Saru. He was on my ship. What was it, seven years ago? Triton, not the Buran."

"Did he make a good impression?"

Lorca squinted. "Can't say he did. Bit of the opposite." There was also the memory of hearing Saru argue with the person who had eventually ended up as Georgiou's first officer, Michael Burnham.

"I would strongly consider him, he's a good candidate with everything you're looking for."

"Sure," said Lorca noncommittally. "How about this one here. Andrea Basily."

"She's pretty," noted Cornwell.

Lorca blew a quick raspberry and pushed the padd with her file away. "Nevermind," he said, rolling his eyes.

Cornwell snorted. "I didn't mean you shouldn't pick her."

Lorca fixed Cornwell with a look. "You free tonight?"

After the cemetery, Cornwell had not expected him to express any interest. "Aren't you still seeing that captain? The one from Risa?"

"It's a flexible situation," he said, beaming with what looked like genuine pride in this arrangement. He chuckled. "Come on, Kat."

Cornwell looked at him long and hard. Those twinkling eyes, the arc of his raised eyebrows, the crinkles of happiness on his face, that positively impish smile, the way he was tracing circles with his free hand on the table. She leaned her head on her hand and smiled at him. "Fine. But I'm in charge."

"You're the admiral, admiral."

Lorca invited Lalana to celebrate the new year on the Buran with the usual warning: "No stowing away."

"Seven years, you never let me forget," she said, but her hands were spinning. If he reminded her every day from now until the end of time, she would not mind it.

When the Gabriella jumped to warp two days later, Morita said, "I'm glad she finally got her ship. She spent so many years trying to make one..."

Lorca turned in his chair and blinked. "What?"

Morita looked equally confused. She thought no one knew Lalana better than him. "On Luluan. She kept trying to build her own spaceship after the invaders came the first time, and the other lului kept breaking it."

"She never told me that."

"Maybe she was embarrassed. I heard about it from Lualen."

Lorca turned back to the stars on the viewscreen. Lalana was right where she belonged, and so was he.

Part 41

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Perfection

Tommy Whistler was awesomely unlucky. You will, perhaps, tell us that the term “awesome” doesn’t quite fit for the description of so sad objective reality, which dear Tommy has faced? Oh, if you had only known what his family had to pass through over the last year! You, certainly, don’t have the slightest idea of that and therefore we are ready to forgive you such inconvenient and unreasonable remarks. And Tommy didn’t even whistle on a constant basis – only quietly under his nose from time to time during short moments of spiritual bliss. And they, believe us or not, weren’t that long. And how he has managed to come to this low-water financial mark – only the God or the accountant knows.

Some soul would probably tell us, that a single year – it isn’t quite a term, and there is no reason to dive into hysteric and confuse our noble readers here, – but that depends on how to measure. If to measure this term in seconds, which precisely like a herd of lambs come one after another in a never-ending chain – one can easily turn into a sheep himself. And if to measure in events of his life –one will certainly cry and there will be no more wish for counting. The ideal option would be to measure in years – but what’s there is to measure then? So Tommy had either to howl to the moon like a wolf, or to the dog like a kitten or to go at once and register without a second thought in a club of anonymous losers. There was still, however, one other option to become a family of totally and irreversibly enlightened people – but financial opportunities of Tommy’s family didn’t allow them to place such a great number of lighting fixtures in their house. Therefore, his family hasn’t conducted calculations of own misfortunes for a long time, for it’s an expensive procedure – to measure own sorrows, especially when you are swimming in low waters.

And for the last three months, everything was on the decline, though absolutely not forever. Salary at the enterprise, where Tommy has been working, was constantly delayed, and all its workers were in literal and figurative terms fed with breakfasts. In literal – because he as an employee of a dairy factory was subject to be supplied with milk and its derivatives, and in figurative – because terms of final payments were as changeable and unsteady as women of easy virtue – even uneasy ones – never happen to be. Mainly for that particular reason, he felt more and more like a small sprat in a bank – that particular bank when he, having trusted colorful words of marketing specialists a few years ago, has issued a mortgage.

A typical story, you will tell us? Typical, but not typically. Not typically from the word “absolutely”. Because in that significant day something absolutely out of order of his previous accidents happened to him.

***

During that Saturday morning Tommy couldn’t find any peace in at least two meanings: firstly, because bank workers were already going to literally throw them away in the upcoming future from their cozy dwelling due to failure to pay the credit; and secondly, because not cats were scraping his soul, but impudent mice instead, who have bred in fair quantity due to cats constant fatigue.

“What for? What for, Lord, have you given us all these trials? Don’t you see how hard our life is? Even though we live in the most beautiful and democratic country of the world, bank clerks don’t become better, housing doesn’t get cheaper and milk doesn’t form rivers with a land of milk and honey,” so Tommy Whistler mentally lamented, walking to and fro in his bedroom since early morning.

Here we have to mention, that our dear Tommy wasn’t quite a believer at all – in the sense that he, unlike a lot of other proud of themselves and respectable citizens of his small town, hasn’t spent Sunday hour in a local church, listening to ardent speeches of holy priests, fattened by parishioners. But so hard life has jammed all organs of Tommy by this moment, his heart included, and limits of his powers turned out to be so limited, that both his soul and thoughts were aspiring somewhere to limitless heights in a hope to share own grief with someone unknown, someone so much bigger than all his sorrows taken together.

“So where do you lead us, aye?” he continued in the meantime to mentally address to some unknown and far-reaching distances. “Have you abandoned all of us a long time ago? Maybe you even relaxing now somewhere up there on a cloudlet while we down here in earth dirt are trying to build our lives as we can. Phuh, perfect one! Good for you there, comfortably! I would like to be in your shoes – lie idle, do nothing in general, just help somebody from time to time so they don’t forget about you at all. Not even a life, but a fairy tale!”

So, winding himself more and more and quickening more and more own rhythmic pace, Tommy wandered about his own bedroom. Movements of his legs were becoming wider and movements of his hands steeper, so the soil under his legs was figuratively more and more crumbling under his feet. In a literal sense, it crumbled when a sudden ringing of a not-so-really-his home’s doorbell distracted him from these strange thoughts. Tommy faltered from unexpectedness and fell down on a floor. He would have lain like so, with a downed interface, for several more minutes, if that persistent guest didn’t continue to press the bell’s button time and again, thus producing a familiar, yet somewhat banal, “Dzin!” sound.

“Whom, lung as on mention, did the hard life brought again?” Tommy was thinking to himself while hastily putting on his business suite. “Maybe it’s neighbors who have again come to agitate me to come for a Sunday prayer? And what if this is the bank worker together with a bailiff this time? No rest from foul vampires!”

“Greetings!” with a smile in response to a gloomy and distrustful Tommy’s look answered the young man in a white suit with a red bow tie. “Is this the place where mister Tommy Whistler lives with his venerable wife Valencia?”

“Perhaps,” Tommy answered gloomily. “And who might you be?”

“Oh, so that’s you, Tommy? Fantastic day! It means that I was correctly directed to a required address. I was afraid that estimators will mix up something again – they, you know, don’t have your all-seeing GPS, – and the way to this world and place was, trust me, a far one.”

“I see nothing wonderful in this accursed day!” this strange mister began to irritate Tommy more and more.

“I am not here by accident, I assure you!” smiled again, replied this unusual guest. “My name is… well, it’s really unimportant of how you would like to call me afterward. You can call me simply as Agent. I am honored to represent our fine company LLC ‘Center of Desires Fulfillment’. Quite recently we received your inquiry, performed necessary preliminary inspections and came to a conclusion, that we can aid you in fulfillment of your desires. Congratulations, your candidacy suits us!”

“If you are from a local church, then I am not going there,” Tommy replied harshly. “I am a non-believer and don’t run business with strange folks in general.”

“Don’t worry, we are not a religious organization, we stand… how should I put it clearly… somewhat higher. Your last inquiry to our instance passed this designated religious structure and got straight to our processing center for incoming wishes. It’s only necessary to settle some small formalities, and everything will be just fine – you shall become our VIP client.”

“And what does it mean exactly – to be a VIP? What’s in it for me? If only you get something – a bonus for another handed off the flyer, or concluded by deception financial contract – then fuck off to… Iraq!” Tommy muttered.

“No deceptions, no Iraq, we are not in the UN!” smiled young representative of the mysterious organization. “And, by the way, their desires were fulfilled by our direct competitors who wear black suits as a rule. Only a few clarifying questions and a short induction, if you allow it.”

“Well, drag it on.”

“Fulfilling first dragging,” young man laughed the matter off. “You are Tommy Whistler, forty-two years old, your wife is Valencia, thirty-five years, you have a little daughter Mila of seven years and son Gregory of twelve years. Correctly?”

“Correctly. And where actually have you got such information? What, did the service of bailiffs leaked it to you?”

“Oh, not bailiffs at all, yet this has some distant relation to a court, you are right,” confirmed a young man, ticking off somewhere in the questionnaire. “Recently you have been experiencing emotionally hard and unstable conditions – or, in other words, a depression, which has relation to your financial hardship. Correctly?”

“Yes. As I have thought, you are from a bank!” Tommy was totally upset.

“And the last clarification – are you familiar with the processing rules of our system?”

“What kind of system?” Tommy didn’t get it.

“Ah, it turns out that you are dealing with us for the first time. That’s great, we love and respect new clients,” young man in a snow-white suite was the politeness.

“So, as for the rules… they are, actually, simple. In accordance with your recent – or, more precisely, ten-minute and forty-five-seconds ago appeal, we are ready to fulfill your desire with some safety restrictions. We will turn on our system for you – we call it a system of tests. Within this system, you will continue to live and work as usual – with the only difference that your requested desire will be gradually implemented with safety restrictions. In particular, you won’t be able to cause any harm to any living being in this world, especially ones with a soul – any similar action will cause a reciprocal pain in much greater amount. Secondly, a short time later you may start receiving appeals, which are being sent to our CEO, whose deputy you have desired to become. And thirdly and lastly, please remember: to receive absolute power one has to be absolutely perfect and to be perfect means to voluntarily accept all restrictions, imposed by perfection. Also remember that either you or your relatives will be able to ask for a break, having sent another request to our department. Upon termination of system’s functioning, we can ask you to leave us a comment or to tell your friends about it. Please tell, is that clear to you?”

“Not really, but who the heck cares. Where is that system of yours? Can I at least take a look?”

“Oh, very soon our courier service will deliver it straight into your life, don’t you worry. From one to several days are required to completely integrate it, please take note. And yes, I have almost forgotten – its usage will be completely free of charge – for you were already, so to speak, financially reasoned, even though for your debts you have not yet been imprisoned,” joked the guest.

“Very funny!” Tommy squinted his face. “Where do I sign?”

“No signatures are necessary. The fact of your request to our organization was already enough. Await the integration of our system – and goodbye!” and, having that said, the young man in a white suit with a red bow tie waved his hand and went, nearly jumping in the processing, somewhere further on his affairs.

“Darling, who came in there?” a sleepy voice of Tommy’s wife came out of a bedroom as soon as he has managed to slam the entrance door behind this strange visitor of his dwelling place. “Were they from a bank?”

“No, sweetheart, not from the bank!” Tommy shouted in response. “Some kind of strange dealer. Offered some systems. That’s some kind of a madhouse instead of a life!” Tommy said in a fit of temper and plunged himself back into his – or not quite his – gloomy thoughts.

From this information swamp, he was pulled out almost by being dragged by his dear wife, who embraced his neck and put her head on his shoulder.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“All right, thanks. You are my priceless treasure. Don’t throw me away as a loser.”

“Perhaps I will throw you once,” Valencia laughed. “But not earlier than you will turn tail from me yourself.”

“That will hardly ever happen,” he replied and embraced her in return.

“Shall we go together to a grocery shop today?”

“All right, let me just have a breakfast first.”

***

We did tell you that Tommy was catastrophically unlucky – and did you think that we were trying to deceive you? Just like that, once Tommy started coming from his bedroom downstairs to a first floor in order to go together with his beloved for a shopping spree, so beloved by every true American, their domestic cat Jess barred him a road in a literal sense of that word. “Meow?!” she said interrogatively-instructive, having pointed a testing look of her green eyes directly on Tommy, hinting him that from the time of her last feeding an inexcusably great amount of time – certainly, by cats’ standards – have passed already.

“Shoo!” Tommy shouted to her, “I will feed you later. Get out of my sight!”

“Meow!” that hungry cat started yelling even more demandingly and scratched legs of his owner and by coincidence bringer of food.

“Away, silly fluffy!” Tommy shouted with irritation and kicked the cat, who was sitting on a ladder pass. “I will punish you for your bad behavior once I come back!”

“Meeeeeooooowwww!” Jess suddenly grew furious and rushed on her owner’s back, having seized him with her immoderately sharp by human standards claws.

Tommy cried, trying to throw off from his back a newly born predator, twirled in one place, faltered over one of the top stairs and rolled down, head over heels, damning all cat’s kin in general and that of Jess in particular.

“Ouch! My leg! My fucked curved since the childhood leg!” he moaned, having grabbed his right leg and swirling on a first floor right after he has finished his way downwards.

“What has happened to you, daddy?” Mila ran out from her room to incoming noise. “Your leg hurts, is it? Do you want me to blow on it as you did for me, and all your pain will go?”

“It won’t… go,” overcoming flashed pain in own joints and as much as possible calmly replied Tommy. “It’s… sprain, probably. Better call for… your mother.”

“I will do that ASAP, daddy, but let me first feed Jess, you see how she stares at us? And you lie here, have a rest, daddy, you can never rest at work, I heard it from the mother,” Mila said unperturbably with her angelic voice.

***

So, having lain for the first half of the day with bandaged leg in a bed and sadly beholding through a window, how the wife of his neighbor is ineptly trying to park their brand new expensive Porsche car in a garage, having managed to several times throw a slipper into a cat, who has decided to visit her sick owner, Tommy prepared morally for viewing of an evening telecast of “Voice of America”.

Here we need to note that this particular voice, which has many residents of other countries and cities, has always been calming down Tommy. How pleasant it was for his tormented consciousness to listen to it after a hard labor of everyday life and understand that somewhere there, far beyond the World Ocean in other countries, which Tommy never succeeded to visit and which he would barely able to find on a globe without some extra hints from “Google Maps”, new national revolutions are being made for the sake of democracy, and their country, America, blessed by the God himself – in whom Tommy didn’t believe – goes on with her holy mission of protection of various social minorities and strictly, just like a kind police officer, monitors the rights of humans for the sake of peace on the planet Earth. Rights of what people were meant by news announcers, speaking about the recent invasion of Iraq by the USA, approved at the UN level, Tommy never tried to inquire.

This TV telecast was about to begin in several hours, but from a sole boredom Tommy turned on his speaking box before the usual time.

“Idiots, idiots, idiots – they give us the problems all day… fuck you, oh Muslims and idiots, that’s what we are gonna to say!” some newly appeared group of niggers danced, sang and threatened to finish off all Muslim immigrants on a hastily build stage of Detroit under the gaze of many television cameras.

“You are idiots yourself!” muttered Tommy and switched to another TV channel.

“My little fool, my little fool, I sleep with you, I like your rule,” a voice of yet another porno-star, who has gained access to the big scene by well-known and trivial means, sang from a turned-on TV screen.

“Fuck you, freaks!” Tommy swore under his nose, throwing TV remote aside, “there is nothing good to watch at all. Where does America slide? By the name of Mila, that’s ain’t right!”

“What did you say, daddy?” Mila slightly opened a door of his room. “Did you call for me?”

***

Next morning Tommy’s bandaged leg reminded of itself again with a sharp pain, once it’s owner stood up from his bed and proceeded on own feet into a bathroom.

“Oh, God, how great I am!” some male voice spoke over his ear all of a sudden.

“Who’s there?” Tommy took alarm, promptly looking around. “It’s a private property, what’s the hell are you doing here?! Show yourself!”

“Oh, my Lord, I am simply magnificent!” the voice of invisible interlocutor continued, paying not even a slightest attention to unsuccessful Tommy’s attempt to establish a contact. “Hell, I am the most beautiful man in this damned world!” the voice assured himself and suddenly calmed down at the same moment.

“Hell, I am going crazy with this trauma already,” Tommy thought to himself. “Some kind of hallucinations are starting already. At first yesterday’s dealer, now some kind of voices. It’s all the nerves, probably… perhaps I should start buying antidepressants,” he was thinking while shaving own cheeks. “What my poor wife would only think of that…”

“We love you!” two unknown girls, whose faces and other body parts Tommy didn’t see at all, suddenly sang directly into his ears.

“Do you even exist?” some person of very and very uncertain gender asked a question in a very and very uncertain voice.

“You are just a jerk!” admitted a man of average years in a fit tempter.

“Go away from me!” some woman sent Tommy in an unspecified direction.

“Thank you! Thank you!” child sobbed in a crying voice.

“Are you a fool or what? Don’t you see what you are doing? What have I asked of you in a church yesterday? That’s not what I wanted at all!” one more unknown subject as if slapped Tommy in a face.

“One thousand of imps!” thought scared Tommy. “What, have I gone totally nuts? I definitely need some rest!” he assured himself. “I will surely issue a working holiday on Monday if I don’t go mad before that day already.”

***

This Sunday trip to a supermarket helped Tommy to learn a lot of new about his personality.

“Fool! Jerk! Genius! Rascal! Wise man! Savior! Torturer!” voices have been tirelessly shouting inside his head. His wife cautiously glanced at her husband, who was hardly driving the car and continually crying out in the air: “You are a fool yourself! Thanks! It’s you who is a rascal! No need for gratitude! No problems at all!”

His neighbor didn’t even start to be too soft at all and without a search for roundabout ways called Tommy as the loser in response to Tommy’s comment in the spirit of “you have become too choosy from riches!”

The police officer on the road named him precisely as “the weird loony who drives faster than a hundred kilometers per hour and doesn’t look at road signs at all!”

The cashier in a shop, having silently looked at the check, called him “cheapskate”, and his own wife as “my poor darling” by the end of that day.

His daughter Mila called him “my sick daddy”, son Gregory as “raunchy ancestor”, and Jess-the-cat didn’t even go into unnecessary details and just said “Meow!”

Having accurately bypassed a cat in the evening, Tommy flopped down on a bed, even finding no time to take off his boots, and started snoring in some five minutes. His loving wife silently sat down near him, put her hand on a forehead of a sleeping Tommy and sadly shaken her head.

And he dreamed this Sunday night of a huge garden with a set of beds, which Tommy saw only at familiar farmers who were living outside the city, – and these beds were all except for only one filled with a horse-radish.

***

Tommy’s boss decided to organize a meeting, of which necessity the labor union hinted him a long time ago, and in very plain terms declared, that wages for previous two work months won’t be paid in this one, because, we quote, – “these damned Chinese communists have seized a substantial share of our market and we, proud and freedom-loving Americans have to do a lot to kick their lean yellow asses!”

And that’s where Tommy’s patience finally failed him. Having proudly straightened his shoulders as would be done by any freedom-loving carrier of democratic values and the far descendant of the first immigrants-convicts from the Old World to the New one, he grasped air in his mighty breast and, using a very primordially American speech, explained to his chief to what point in this endless space he can start moving right now without postponing this procedure in a milk bottle, and what kind of starry-eyed person his boss is in general, even though with a few inclusions in his ideal character of some truly bestial human qualities. And all that would be just nothing, but being urged by approving shouts and looks of his colleagues, Tommy agitated himself so much that in the end, he climbed to the eminence from which his undersized boss was speaking, and kicked him with all his force in his primordially American ugly face. This face reddened at first, then turned blue, and then uttered that he, Tommy, can go off from here to there where the sun never shines and that he doesn’t work here anymore from now on.

And on his way back from nowadays former work some truck crashed at the intersection of roads into the ugly face of Tommy’s car, which caused another sad sight of his wife and ill-concealed giggling of his neighbor and by coincidence owner of a brand new and undamaged Porsche.

***

What sort of occurrences the visitor of a club of anonymous losers Tommy had to experience for these three months, which have passed since his first meeting with that strange agent from LLC “Center of Desires Fulfillment”.

There were falling into manholes after foul language speaking with the head of a local church; broken fingers, which have already tired from showing this infamous American “fuck you” sign; torn sinews of legs, which excessively sharply kicked from own rage homeless dogs and cats; and a wide variety of other ways of interaction between the physical Universe and not less physically existing inside it Tommy. And to the voices, who have been persistently either demanding something from him, or flatteringly expressing their sincere devotion, or questioning some next nonsense, Tommy ceased to pay attention at all.

Valencia, looking at her unfortunate husband, only looked away in times – and more and more frequently her eyes filled with tears during evenings. His daughter Mila started calling him “the sick daddy” on a constant basis, and son Gregory was proud before his school teammates of how crack headed and raunchy his ancestor is.

…And it all has come to an end when a truck, carrying filled with milk canisters from that dairy factory, which honorable wage-less member Tommy has recently been, run over him on the road.

***

“Do you understand now, dear mister Tommy, how important it is to formulate your desires correctly?” the young man in a white jacket with red bow tie inclined over Tommy and searchingly looked him in the eyes. “A desire is – how to express it more clearly – a door in a window of opportunities. Allow me to be curious – how is the life of God’s deputy for you?”

“Not… very… lively,” with hardly obeying lips and somehow unexpectedly quite said Tommy.

“It’s quite obvious that it’s a hard life. You are not even inside so habitual for your body right now. Here you are lying in a coma in the surgery, and your wife keeps praying for you behind that door. Do you know, what kind of desires is overcoming her now? I shall tell you, even though you don’t ask for it. Her only most powerful and overflowing desire at this moment is your life, Tommy. She wants that you keep living, do you understand that? She is asking not of perfection or divinity, but of a preservation of your life – which you, it should be noted, didn’t value too much.”

“Some voices… haunted me constantly,” barely audible whispered Tommy.

“Ah, these were incoming inquiries from people, mentally formulated by them,” answered the Agent. “We duplicated them for you. Unfortunately, as you have probably already noticed, the program isn’t perfect as of yet and therefore insufficiently qualitatively performs their filtration, therefore sometimes totally unrelated to God inquiries and vain formulations pass through. That’s because our system is in the alpha stage of development – and therefore hasn’t been fully tested as of yet. But never fear – our programmers are already notified of this issue and in the nearest future we will most certainly fix this annoying error. So, why did you desire to be in a, so to speak, the shoes of our director, Tommy?”

“I did… no… such thing.”

“You did, Tommy, you did. Most people don’t even think at all of how is that – to be perfect. It seems to them that they only have to ask God just about anything – and he must immediately run off and fulfill any of their whims, even if that will lead subsequently to their own deaths. Tell me, how, for instance, our CEO has to execute wishes like ‘let it all burn in a blue flame’ – to burn away all offices of Gazprom? To kill all people on the planet Earth – or only selected offenders of the wisher? God is perfect, Tommy, and he by his very nature is unable to execute what enters in disharmony with perfection, he can’t cause harm to living beings. And people constantly ask him of that, believe me, Tommy! Have you noticed, how our program returned back all that evil, which you have caused?”

“And what about… all the evil around… who… will fight against it?” Tommy continued whispering.

“Let me explain this to you on a familiar example. When some cells of an organism get sick, becoming exclusively parasitic in nature, and rapid growth of a number of similar cells starts representing a threat for organism’s life – what must organism do in order to survive?”

“To… liquidate these cells?”

“Correctly, Tommy. For the sake of health and survival of the whole organism, individual pathogenic cells may be liquidated. The same rule applies to a planet, Tommy.”

“Can I… talk to my wife?”

“Firstly, you have to answer one clarifying question, Tommy. Tell us, please, would you like to prolong your desire to feel yourself in God’s place?”

“No… no desire. I think… I understood everything.”

“Perfectly, then. Then today we will disconnect you from our program of tests. And surgery operation on your heart will undergo successfully, by the way. Your wife’s appeal to our organization with a request for your rescue was truly pure and sincere – and we will gladly fulfill that desire of hers. And will also help you with finding a new job – you should maintain such a loving family, after all,” with these words the Agent stretched his transparent and glowing hand to Tommy’s heart, filling all organism of the victim with some inner warmth.

“Thank you… for a lesson.”

“Oh, don’t even start thanking me,” smiled the Agent. “And don’t forget of a cell analogy, Tommy.”

***

“Incredibly powerful cyclone, dominating over all territory of Alaska, will live on for at least for a month, according to weather forecasts, having brought about eighty centimeters of snow, – loudly broadcasted announcer from more than one million of turned-on TVs. – Because of the abnormally cold weather, which has come to us from the territory of Canada, about eighty percent of state residents are unable to leave their homes for two weeks already. Scientists-climatologists promise that this cyclone will lead to a full paralysis of social activity as a minimum of half of the citizens in at least eight more northern states and will sustain up to the middle of May. The president already imposed an emergency rule in five states. This is the greatest nature challenge, ever faced by our country for its entire short history…”

29.07.2017