#but its the fact that this is utterly out of character for her that truly worries him and makes him object

[zarnzarn]

ok but ares being protective over thena and not liking how ody grabbed her but then being chill when reminded that athena can take care of herself is just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAÀAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

hah a public admission that he cares abt his sister but at what cost

bro didnt even grab her that hard theyre all just unused to athena not planting her feet and being stubborn about everything. and also hes slightly traumatized from having to watch them make out in front of him lol u have to give him leeway for being a bit hysterical atm. but when ody said that he remembered that oh shit yea me too and couldnt think of anything else to stop them in time.

ares does not like this whole situation though. he does not understand why someone like athena who had been so steadfast in her refusals and violent in her rejections was just. giving in? it was not like her. he suspects foul play.

also in general in the rest of series, odysseus is just. fucking head in hands dealing w the rest of the prying gods and constant casual misogyny. one conversation actually left him so scarred he had to go 'i think we are not talking about the same person, athena snapped my spine once.' and just got up and left. went straight to ask athena to put a spear through his head so he could forget what the fuck he had just heard lol.

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

Consider this the official request for you to lay out your Hellboy trans narrative discourse.

Okay so Hellboy is LITERALLY the story of someone born being told they are one thing who is NOT this

Assigned Anung Un Rama At Birth

The very first scene we see of adult Hellboy in these movies?

We're told he files his horns down to "Fit in" he is LITERALLY INTRODUCED WITH A LINE ABOUT HOW HE WANTS TO "PASS"

Like speaking as a trans woman who has felt INTENSE dypshoria about any kind of facial hair because I KNOW that it will mark me in the eyes of some people as "Not a real woman" the fact that Hellboy literally does this to look "Like everybody else"

GUH

MY FEELS

His whole character arc in these films is like big metaphor for the feeling of being trans of wanting to be accepted by society, of learning that society will always other you and of finding love and acceptance within your own community

When Hellboy reveals himself to the world we literally see right wing media calling his and Liz's relationship a "Threat to traditional relationships"

Hellboy's arch foe literally constantly deadnames him, referring to him by his dead name, an identity he utterly rejects because that is NOT WHO HE IS

Hellboy's initial longing to just live a "Normal" life to just be part of this world and then the heartbreaking realisation that its not possible

His resentment of Myers coming from a place of knowing that Liz dating him would be seen as a "Normal" relationship while her dating him will always be "Other" just like how society treats lesbians who date trans women or straight women who date trans men like they aren't in a "Real" lesbian/straight relationship because "Oh well that's not a NORMAL guy/woman they're dating"

The climax of the first Hellboy film is literally him rejecting the power his dead name has over him because that's not who he is

The movie's opening/closing lines are "What makes a man a man? Not how he begins....but how he ends things" its literally saying "It doesn't matter what you were assigned to be at birth, what matters is WHO YOU ARE NOW"

THESE MOVIES ARE A TRANS NARRATIVE

Hellboy literally being harassed by law enforcement because his body is "Different"

The mix of wanting to be part of the "normal" world and the anger at how that world rejects you and won't see you as "one of them", how all it can see is the body you were born with, how it doesn't care about who you are as a person it just cares that you aren't "Like them"

Also for real, Liz in the movies differing reaction to Hellboy's to "Coming out" feels like a trans person who doesn't know how truly hateful the world is vs someone who has experienced it. Hellboy is so proud of his coming out at first because he has an idealised view of how this will go, while Liz is like "I hate people staring. It makes me feel like a freak"

In the end The Golden Army ends with Hellboy and his fellow outcasts and "freaks" realising how they no longer want to be part of trying to be in "Normal" society, resigning from the BPRD and heading off on their own because of how self destructiive it is to care more about respectability and "Passing" than being true to themselves, because all it has done is create a worse situation

Also

Hellboy loves cats and killing nazis

If that isn't trans culture what else is <3_<3

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Swallow - H.JS

🌳Who: Hong Jisoo (Seventeen) x female reader 🌳What: Smut. Fantasy. Fae Jisoo. 🌳Wordcount: 3.4k 🌳Warnings: Oral(male receiving). Inexperienced reader. Big cock Jisoo. Praise. Trickery. Morally dark character. 🌳Summary: “ Ever since you were little, your parents warned you to be careful of the tricks of the fae folk of the woods.

You never paid much mind to the warnings, assuming they were nothing more than stories designed to scare little children into behaving and keeping out of the woods.

A little too late, you learn that you should have listened. ” Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. Masterlist

You remember the day Hong Jisoo arrived in town almost six months ago, just when Mother Nature woke from her winter slumber, bringing forth new life, and apparently, a new, handsome bachelor for the women, single or otherwise, to swoon over.

You would like to say that you are not amongst that particular category of starry eyed maidens, but that would be a downright lie.

From the very first moment your eyes were graced with Jisoo’s otherworldly beauty, you were infatuated and wished he would look your way and bless you with one of his charming smiles.

For weeks, it seemed as if the man knew nothing of your existence, and you were far too shy to ever approach and introduce yourself.

Then one day while out in the woods admiring the beautiful blossoms of your favourite tree, a majestic old beauty deeper into the woods than you know any of the superstitious townsfolk would dare wonder, the man himself happened to appear. He stepped out from behind the tree so fluidly and without prior sign of his presence that it truly seemed as if he came from the tree itself; a preposterous thought that did not remain in your head for more than the time it took for him to smile at you.

You found out then that Jisoo had, in fact, noticed you from his very first moment in the town and had been wanting to introduce himself, but you never seemed to have interest in him so he had respected what he thought your wishes were and kept a respectful distance.

Of course, you had stumbled over your words to correct his assumption and let him know that you are simply too shy. He had smiled at you as if he thought you were utterly precious and promised that from that day onwards, he will always approach you first.

You had not expected him to stick to his word, but he did. Every time Jisoo saw you, he would approach, even just to wish you a good day before parting ways. Though sometimes, when the timing was right, the pair of you would be granted the blessed chance to stroll through the town side by side as you got to know one another.

Over time, your time together grew more frequent and adventurous.

It turns out that Jisoo knows an awful lot about a variety of plant life and the life within the forest; from the life cycle of the caterpillar, to the diet of sparrows and foxes alike.

You had never known someone so knowledgeable on the woodlands and became so enchanted by everything he taught you. You were always so eager for more information to put into use in order to point out plants and little creatures, which you had never noticed before, and proudly recite the knowledge the man had imparted on you during your woodland walks.

So your town strolls quickly diverted to the woods to continue the casual lessons that inevitably always gravitated towards that very same tree under which you first met; it quickly became your official meeting spot and a truly a special place for you, more than it already was.

Now that summer is nearing its end and the days turning colder, you worry over what you can do to keep Jisoo’s attention solely on you for hours at a time when it will soon be too cold to be out in the woods.

As it turns out, you need not worry about the weather nor his attention, Jisoo has a plan in mind to solve both issues. Though there is another reason you should worry, you just are not aware of that yet.

You know from the moment you meet Jisoo at the tree that something is different about today. He is standing in wait for you beside the already arranged, familiar blanket, which he always brings along for the pair of you to sit on side by side with your hand securely in his and a blush on your cheeks.

Though today, something about the happy glint in his eyes does not quite sit right with you when you first see him. Yet when he steps closer to you and out of the sun’s rays, the glint vanishes, so you tell yourself it is simply a trick of the light.  

After sitting side by side with your fingers laced with his own on his thigh closest to you and your head resting on his shoulder, you feel something shift in the air as he sighs.

“My love, I fear I must tell you some news,” he says softly as to not entirely ruin the calm content of the woods around you.

“Bad news?”

“I am afraid so,” is his confirmation.

You let out a sigh of your own and take a moment steel your nerves before straightening up and turning your body slightly to look at him better where he’s seated on your right and leaning back against the bark of the tree. “What is it, Jisoo?”

“It is time for me to move on.”

Your heart immediately drops into your stomach. It takes you a few attempts to speak, only managing to open and close your mouth absurdly in shock for a handful of seconds. “Move on? From me?”

“No, my love, I do not mean from you in particular. Though…” He sighs again and lifts your connected hands up to his mouth so that he can press his lips to the back of your hand. “I always intended to stay only for spring, I meant to leave come summer but I became enamoured with you and found myself unable to leave as planned.”

“Then-then you can stay longer. You remained once before; you can continue to stay here by my side.”

“I cannot, my love. I must leave.” He lifts his head to look at you with a pained gaze that you know in your heart means that there is nothing you can do or say to keep Jisoo here with you.

“I see,” you whisper as you feel your throat start to thicken with impending tears. “I cannot join you?”

“You wish to?”

“I never want to be without you, Jisoo. I love you with everything in me.”

“My precious, sweet, darling,” he breathes out and reaches up with his free hand to tenderly cup your cheek. “How did I become so lucky to gain your attention and affection?”

“By being the kindest, warm hearted man to have ever graced this world with his presence.” He chuckles softly at your honest words and leans closer slightly, making your heart shoot back up into place and thrum rapidly with nervous anticipation.

In all the months you have been meeting Jisoo, he has never once tried to kiss you, even holding your hand took some time to build up to, so this is rightfully partially exciting and partially utterly nerve-wracking.

“May I kiss you?” His request is so softly spoken that it meets your ears on a gentle breeze that sends prickles across your skin. You do not even have to think before nodding in consent. Jisoo smiles that same fond, crinkled eyed smile and strokes his thumb over your cheekbone before he closes the distance and tenderly presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is sweet, simple, barely a few seconds of a motionless press of his soft lips against your own, before he pulls back to honour you with another beautiful, little smile as his thumb brushes over your blush adoringly.

“I have been wanting to do that for such a long time now,” he admits.

“Really?” You can barely talk above a whisper; your body is still so full of nerves and a madly thrumming heart that there is no space left for a louder voice. Though the two of you are so close together that you need not talk any louder for Jisoo to hear you so clearly; as proven when he hums softly in confirmation to your words. “Oh, then perhaps…perhaps it would be wise to make up for lost time?” You suggest shyly, glancing away until he taps his thumb against your bottom lip and draws your suddenly wide eyes back to him.

“That sounds very wise to me, my love,” Jisoo confirms in a lower tone than you have heard him speak in before; it sends a shock of something warm through your body that you have little time to ruminate on before his lips are once again on yours.

This second kiss is leagues different from the first.

Jisoo’s lips slot against yours in a way that feels intentional from the first touch; his head tilts further as his mouth moves slowly, thumb gently prying your jaw to encourage you to follow his movements.

Understandably, your response is hesitant and timid; you have never kissed a man before, let alone like this so you are not sure what exactly to do, nor if you are doing it correctly when you try. But Jisoo makes soft little reassuring sounds and strokes his thumb soothingly over your cheek, causing you to gradually relax and melt into the kiss.

Every time you think the kiss is over as the man pulls back a little and opens his eyes just enough to look at your gradually darkening lips, he simply takes a few breaths then leans back in to claim your mouth all over again.

After a few times, you realise that Jisoo has no intentions whatsoever of letting you escape his hungry lips, not that you wish to. You would spend an eternity discovering all the ways his mouth can dance with your own if given the chance.

It is when your feel his tongue slide against your lip that you truly lose your ability to think coherently and whimper softly while opening your mouth wider to allow the wet muscle to enter your mouth expertly. You try to match his motions, allowing your tongue to curiously search out his own, earning soft, pleased groans from the man, which makes your body tremble a little with excitement and rapidly growing arousal.

How long you kiss for, how long your tongues roll and slide together before you are both forced to break to refill achingly empty lungs, is entirely beyond you. It is not even the last thing on your mind right now; time has simply ceased to exist in your heated, private bubble with Jisoo in the deepest parts of the woods with the grand tree watching over you.

“My love,” Jisoo murmurs breathlessly after a handful of seconds of laboured breathing, breaths mingling with his forehead pressed firmly to yours and his hand still holding your jaw securely. “I must ask for something from you.”

“Anything,” you reply with a heavy exhale and not an ounce of hesitation.

Jisoo leans back and flutters open his eyes to peer at you. As you open your eyes upon feeling his gaze on you, you see a darkness in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. Shivers you assume mean excitement, arousal; you are not as in touch with your instincts as you should be right now thanks to Jisoo’s skilled tongue swiping away all rational thought.

“Anything?” He repeats, lips slowly lifting into the start of a pleased smirk. “Promise?”

“Whatever you want; I will do anything for you,” you promise with a nod.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet darling,” he coos and leans over to press a final sweet kiss to your lips before letting you go to get to his feet.

“Wh-where are you going?” You panic, feeling thrown off by the man suddenly getting up and try to get to your own feet, though you only manage to get to your knees before his hand is on the top of your head and keeping you there in place.

“Nowhere, my love. You stay just like that; this is perfect for what I want,” he encourages and brushes his fingers through your hair slightly before pulling his hands to himself.

You are utterly clueless about what he means, what he could want from you, and just stare up at his face perplexed, earning a little amused chuckle from the man. Yet he says nothing to explain.

Catching his arms moving in your peripheral, you lower your gaze downwards and realise that he is unlacing his trousers where he stands in front of you. Now that your attention is in the right place, you can see the obscene bulge of his hard cock in his trousers and it makes your hot body heat up feeling both beyond shy and aroused.

“Hm, expected you to divert your gaze,” Jisoo comments as he tugs open his trousers further and lifts his neatly tucked shirt out of the way to reveal that he has entirely forgone underwear as a teasing glimpse of his most intimate of areas meets your wide eyes.

“Do-do you wan-want me to?” You stammer and start to tilt your head back to easier look up at him, yet he puts one of his big hands back on top of your head to keep your focus angled to where he is pulling his cock from his trousers, making you gasp softly.

It is the first time you have ever seen a man’s nudity, let alone one in such an aroused state, so you cannot be certain but you truly believe that all men cannot be so well endowed as Jisoo. If all men are quite this big, then you cannot believe that so many women would be willing to take such girth for reason past reproductive necessity.

Then again, if all men were as beautiful as Jisoo, you think it would be much more understandable for a woman to want to be split open by such a large cock.

“No, my love, I want you to look; how else are you doing to take my cock into that pretty mouth of yours if your attention is elsewhere, hm?”

You swallow thickly, nervous yet excited when he steps closer, cock in his free hand as he strokes it slowly. “M-my mouth?”

“Yes, sweet girl, your mouth. You said whatever I want, you promised me, so open up and let me in.” Jisoo stops directly in front of you, so close that his crotch is almost in your face and then he leads the tip of his cock to your mouth and taps your slightly parted lips. “Come on, sweet thing, open.”

Tentatively, you open your mouth slightly, then a little wider when his cock presses more incessantly against your lower lip, smearing the wetness from the tip against your flesh.

“That’s it, good girl,” he coos as you open your mouth wide enough that he can slide the tip of his cock onto your tongue. The praise makes the flush on your cheeks darken happily as you lift your gaze as best as you can with his hand on the top of your head and his cock in your mouth, to peer at him. “Oh, don’t you look beautiful like this,” he breathes out, sounding truly taken by the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth.

A pleases hum tries to leave your mouth, though with your lips spread around his girth the sound simply vibrates against his sensitive skin and makes him hiss as he lets go of his cock to plant his palm against the tree at your back while pushing further into your mouth and forcing you to accept the intrusion with his other hand moving to thread his fingers into your hair.

It is a lot; to have your mouth filled in a way you never expected, with his taste starting to coat your tongue in a flavour you are genuinely rather pleased by, while he towers over you until his broad frame blocks the sun from meeting you.

“You just sit there and look pretty for me darling, I will do all the work,” he says and grins a little when you try to nod slightly and close your eyes. “Good girl.”

At first, Jisoo is careful as he slowly works his thick length in and out of your mouth; never pulling out entirely nor pressing in too far knowing that you have never done such a thing before so he cannot rush and risk hurting you. That would ruin the experience.

Patiently, the man leisurely uses your hot, wet mouth for his own pleasure, lust heavy gaze glued on where his slick cock slips through the ring of your lips. He can see you fidgeting in his peripheral, darkly flushed cheeks clearly confirming your arousal, yet he ignores it and focuses on steadily increasing the speed and depth at which he feeds you his cock in a way that causes you no discomfort.

As much as Jisoo is a truly patient man, he wishes he could fuck into your pretty, little mouth with fervour, force his cock into your throat and use you until he can pull out and paint your features with his cum. The only reason he can hold back from just taking what his body aches for is the thought that he will have the chance to use you however he deems fit in the future.

The mental reminder that you have promised him whatever he wants, that you have fallen for his charm and perfect smiles sends Jisoo’s arousal rushing hot and heavy through his body.

“My love,” he pants when he feels himself close to the edge. “Whatever I want, right? You promised whatever I want,” he reminds. You whine a little, needy, but what for you do not even know. It makes him chuckle lowly. “Then swallow.”

It does not register in your fuzzy mind just what that means until he moans, curling over your head a little as he forces the tip of his cock to the entrance of your throat where you feel liquid suddenly spurting out and you realise he wants you to swallow his cum.

You feel utterly filthy in an oddly pleasant way as you obey, working your throat as best as you can to swallow down everything he gives you; at least you try to but he pulls back before you can lave your tongue over his length to claim the last drops.

As Jisoo grasps his cock in his hand to smear the last of his cum over your bruised, still wide open lips, he starts to laugh. Slowly at first, but it builds and builds until he is laughing heartily and sounding so pleased in a way that does not sit right with you.

You open your eyes to look up at him yet have to close them again as the sunlight harshly pierces your eyes. It does not make sense for it to be so bright now when it was not before, especially with the man still standing in front of you and blocking the sun.

You are forced to flutter your eyes for a little as your eyes grow used to the strange, over saturated light before you can keep them open and look up at Jisoo. He too looks different, colours a little brighter as if he has captured the sun in his very skin.

He is still laughing when your confused eyes meet his joyfully manic ones.

“Wh-what’s funny?” You question, voice slightly hoarse even if he had been gentle with you and barely entered your throat, yet there is an unease growing in your chest and spiralling bigger and darker down into your stomach making your voice waver weakly.

This is all wrong; you no longer feel like you are somewhere known and safe to you, both in these woods and with the man in front of you.

“Oh, my sweet, little love,” he coos around his laughter and moves his hand from your hair to cup your jaw and tilt your head backwards to meet his gaze better, to let you see the darkness flit across it; the same darkness you had earlier assumed to be nothing more than arousal.

The same darkness you should have taken as warning.

“Were you never taught the most important rule to abide by in these woods?” His head tilts slightly as he smiles a little too big down at you, showing almost all of his too perfect teeth. “Do you not know to never consume anything given to you by a fae?”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

[thornsofthenightcourt]

What has this fandom come to?

So i usually never post on tumblr. i've always been a silent supporter for all my fandoms from the same blog i've had since middle school, mostly supernatural and it2017, etc.

But in the past few years, ACOTAR has utterly consumed me. It got me out of a 5 year reading slump and honestly brought back my fan girl self, someone who i havent seen in a LONG time.

I didnt want any spoilers for ANYTHING, so i stayed away from all online discourse surrounding these books. I was SO SO excited when I finally finished ACOSF to come on here and once again silently watch the fandom of a series I have grown to love so much.

Boy oh boy was I utterly confused. Not that i was expecting much, but as someone who stayed far away from any outsider theories or ships or anything, i truly expected everyone or the majority of people to be on the side of elriel??? Based on the CANON (yes, CANON) scenes between the two throughout all 5 books, and SJM making it very obvious that elain and luciens mating bond is the ONLY mating bond to ever be questioned, and Feyre herself creating the most romantic and iconic couple name for them, and nesta knowing why Az was the way he was on solstice night, i just kind of assumed that everyone picked up on the fact that elriel was next?????? The same way i could tell Nesta and Cassian were next since ACOWAR. I genuinely did not think there was any other conclusion to be made. Even my friends and family who aren't online agree that elriel will be next.

So imagine my pure shock and horror i had when the first fanart of az was with gwyn of all people? never, and i mean NEVER, during ACOSF did i picture them being together. As someone who purely only read the books and based my theories on what i was READING (cough cough ACTUAL CANON), it was always az and elain, just like it was always cassian and nesta even before ACOSF, just like it was always rhys and feyre even before ACOMAF (knew he was going to be the mmc when she described him as the most beautiful person she's ever seen). From the very moment the bat boys met the archeron sisters i picked up on the theme of three, the rulers, the warriors, and the spies. "Oh but its so boring and predictable" YOURE READING A FAERIE ROMANCE SERIES WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? It's almost like symmetry and patterns are IMPORTANT to story telling. It would be so unsatisfying if it was 2 sisters and 2 brothers, and then one sister and her unwanted mate who didnt stop her from being kidnapped and dragged into the cauldron, and then one brother and this random chick who was in the last book as a side character, only there to aid the plot line of a main character. It's almost like 3 sisters and 3 brothers is the perfect way to wrap up the stories of all 3 archeron sisters.

It's been months now of me just silently watching the ship wars go down (why is this even happening, why are we shipping someone with the very person who is making her visibly uncomfortable and cave into herself, like im literally going to crash out) and i quite literally have had enough. I cant be silent anymore. This fandom is the most toxic, anti against the literal series they are reading, compared to ANY other fandom i have been it. Dont even get me started on the whole rhys is evil and the IC sucks debate. I just genuinely have never seen a fandom deny canon text so much? How. HOW??

Anyways, my point is im sick of it. Elain clearly needs as much love as possible in this toxic ass household and I will no longer be a fly on the wall to witness her abuse. I LOVE YOU, ELAIN ARCHERON. You are fierce, beautiful, powerful, and have more kindness than all antis combined. To break you down into just a mate for someone just because people think he deserves it (spoiler: he doesnt) is utterly insane, and purely misogynistic and i will NOT stand for it. I am dedicating my entire blog to her from now on (and yes that includes az too, because CANONLY they have crushes on each other and want to kiss <3) because i am so sick of the misogynistic losers bringing my poor sweet girl down every chance they get. Elain you will always be famous.

(if you are against anything i said in this and comment, you will be blocked i dont even have the energy to argue)

[dangermousie]

I've been thinking more about Minglan and one of the things I love so much about it is that it treats its characters as real people - not virtue and vice cut outs.

There are so many terrible people in it - GTY and Minglan's fathers, Concubine Lin, Manniang etc but the drama treats them as actual people* - by that I mean it shows what makes them tick, how they are heroes in their own minds (very few people believe they are villains) and yet it does not excuse them - it follows explanation is not excuse mode.

But also, and even better - it allows Minglan and GTY their anger. There is no grand reveal of "this monster parent cared, they just didn't show it well," no sweeping of mistreatment under the rug, no redemption no revelation.

Both Minglan and GTY get full well why their fathers are the way they are and yet this does not mean they forgive. By the end, Minglan has a cordial and distant relationship (one that actually just what her father likes) and has ceased to care or wish for anything else utterly. He is a selfish, solipsistic man who only cares for appearances - maybe it's his childhood maybe it's innate maybe it's societal structure. She doesn't really care why. She accepts that this is how he is and her heart is locked and it's fine.

And the same with GTY - he finds out the full backstory and it explains so much for him but there is no forgiveness or give. In fact, his reaction to when his older half-brother tries to get him to sympathize is literally "RIP to him but I am different."

And I love that so so so much. They are allowed their anger, their hurt, their lack of repair to familial bonds that ruptured under the other side's abuse or neglect. Too many otherwise excellent dramas sweep that stuff under the rug (Ning, Blossom with the Dad etc) and in real life, it would not be so easily forgotten. I love that Minglan gets that.

*even truly minor characters feel real that way. Qi Heng's first wife does not appear to have much complexity - she's a spoiled woman wanting a toy in her bed. But unlike so many "crazy sfl chasing after ml despite his lack of interest" she actually makes sense. If you look at someone like sfl in Si Jin, she makes no sense - who tries to force into marriage someone higher in status and who's indicated decided ability and inclination to murder you? (Same goes for that girl in LLTG.) But this woman actually makes sense - she doesn't care about love, she just wants obedience and sex basically AND she actually picks someone of lower to her status so she CAN order him around without fear of his status/his family's status causing issues and he's a scholar who is not the type to commit murder anything else be damned.

[rikiiholic]

ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴘ.ꜱʜ

Standing here, hoping it gets to you

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Sunghoon was the younger of two sons in the Park family—the most powerful royals in all of Decilis. And you? You were just the maid, a background figure in their grand tale, a side character meant to be seen but never noticed. The same maid who slipped him anonymous letters, unaware that he wasn’t nearly as oblivious as the world believed him to be.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: Prince!sunghoon x Maid!reader

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Royalty au, fluff, and a little angst if you squint, forbidden romance.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not really any just sunghoon crashing out at one point, jealousy, heart break (can u tell I like broken hearts?), happy ending.

ᴇxᴛʀᴀ: Jay is Sunghoons older brother, Ning Ning (aespa) and Wonyoung (IVE) (Ning Ning is a bit annoying but its just for the plot)

ᴡᴄ: 13.8k (another long ahh fic)

You knew things about the Park family that no outsider, not even the most trusted noble, could ever dream of uncovering. Secrets buried beneath layers of polished smiles and royal etiquette. Like how the eldest son of one of their distant relatives—once hailed as the pride of his bloodline—had an affair with a village girl while still married to his noble wife. And when the girl became pregnant, instead of facing the consequences, he used his status to force her into an abortion, simply because she wasn’t of royal blood. It was cruel, calculated, and completely erased from the official family record—just another scandal swept under the royal rug.

The only truly good royals in the entire Park bloodline were the two sons—Jay and Sunghoon. Unlike their cold, calculating parents, the brothers possessed a rare warmth that set them apart from the rest of the family. While the royal court whispered arrogance and superiority into their ears from the moment they could walk—telling them that villagers were born to serve, to kneel, to revere the ground that nobles walked on—Jay and Sunghoon never bought into it. Instead, they rejected that cruel hierarchy, quietly defying everything they were raised to believe. More than anything, they valued kindness, fairness, and the belief that every person, no matter their birth, deserved to be treated with dignity. And in a palace built on pride and power, that made them dangerous.

Then there was you. You weren’t a princess, nor did you carry a title or boast a drop of noble blood. In fact, the only reason you knew the truth behind the palace walls was because you had spent nearly your entire life living within them. Your mother had been the Park family's first and most trusted maid—loyal, discreet, and utterly irreplaceable. But when illness stole her strength, the responsibility of her duties fell to you. From a young age, you stepped into her shoes, not out of choice, but out of necessity. You became the palace’s most cherished maid, not just because of your mother’s legacy, but because you were quiet, observant, and knew when to disappear into the background. It was in that silence that you saw everything—heard everything. Things not even the nobles whispered about in daylight.

You could say you were the only person in the entire palace whom the King and Queen ever addressed with genuine respect. As the youngest maid in the royal household, you were seen as something of an anomaly—young, diligent, and utterly indispensable. Your mother’s reputation may have opened the door, but your own quiet grace and unwavering loyalty earned you a place of strange privilege. The Queen, in particular, treated you almost like a daughter. She would brush your hair from your face with a tenderness she rarely showed to her own staff, offer you silks she no longer wore, and ensure you were never mistreated by other nobles. But even that affection came with its walls.

"Stay away from my sons," she would often whisper in a tone that was both loving and stern. A warning laced with something colder beneath. It didn’t matter how highly she thought of you—you were still a village girl, and in her eyes, no one of your status would ever be good enough for Jay or Sunghoon. They were heirs, bearers of legacy, and their futures were already written in ink and expectation. The Queen made it painfully clear that no woman born of the lower class could ever satisfy the duties of royalty. And though she never said it outright, her message was loud enough for you to hear: no matter how close you stood to them, you would never truly be allowed to have them. And eventually, you began to believe it too.

Which is why your infatuation with the youngest heir—Sunghoon—remained tucked away like a delicate letter never meant to be opened. You never dared to speak of it aloud, not even to yourself on the quietest nights. But it grew, slowly and steadily, nurtured by the small, gentle moments you were lucky enough to witness. He was nothing like the other royals—never loud, never entitled. A quiet soul with a kind heart. You’d watch him from a distance, hidden in your daily routines. Every morning, while the palace stirred and the maids began their chores, Sunghoon would slip into the garden with a book in hand, greeting the early light like an old friend.

He moved with the ease of someone who didn’t feel the need to command attention, yet still had it effortlessly. One morning, as you were picking flowers for the Queen’s table arrangements, lost in the rhythm of your task, you heard his voice—soft, curious, and unexpectedly close.

"May I join you?" he asked, gesturing toward the blooms in your basket.

Your hands had stilled, heart jumping before you could mask your surprise. For a brief moment, it felt like the world had forgotten about rules, bloodlines, and expectations. Just a prince in a garden, and a maid with dirt-stained fingers, sharing a quiet piece of morning.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you replied softly, lowering your head as you shifted to the side, making room for him among the blooming rows. Your fingers hesitated just briefly over the stems as you adjusted your posture, careful to maintain your composure.

Sunghoon gave you a small, polite nod before kneeling beside you, moving with an elegance that somehow still managed to feel grounded. He was careful—almost too careful—not to let the edge of his royal tunic touch the damp grass, though he didn’t seem overly concerned about it either. His hands, slender but strong, reached toward a cluster of roses with practiced ease, as though he’d done this before.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked casually, his voice low and smooth, pulling a deep red rose from the bush and inspecting it.

You kept your gaze on the flowers in your lap, fingers busy arranging them by color as you answered. “The Queen requested fresh centerpieces for the receiving room. She said the palace was beginning to smell like dust.”

A soft chuckle left him. “She does have a dramatic way of describing things, doesn’t she?”

You allowed yourself a small smile, but didn’t look up. Being this close to him—close enough to smell the faint trace of his cologne and the garden around him—felt like toeing the edge of something dangerous.

Sunghoon picked another rose, more slowly this time. “Do you do this every morning?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” you murmured. “It’s part of the routine.”

“I think I’d rather do this than sit through another hour of diplomatic reports,” he muttered, half to himself, twirling the stem between his fingers before adding it to your basket. Then, quieter: “It’s peaceful here.”

You glanced at him briefly, just enough to catch the softness in his eyes before looking away again. “It is.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the rustle of leaves and the distant clatter of cleaning from inside the palace. And in that stillness, something unspoken passed between you—something gentle and uncertain, like the brush of petals against skin.

You never realized how sweet this moment could feel—how something so simple, so quiet, could make your chest ache in the gentlest way. Being alone in the garden with the prince had never been on your list of duties, nor had it ever crossed your mind as something that might actually happen. Yet here you were, sitting beside him in the early morning sun, your hands brushing over petals while his voice lingered softly in the air.

There was a kindness in Sunghoon that you hadn’t expected to see up close. A softness that didn't match the sharp cut of his royal robes or the weight of his title. He was calm, almost cautious, like someone used to keeping pieces of himself hidden behind polished smiles and princely obligations. But here, away from the eyes of the court, you saw something quieter in him—something more real.

He plucked a daisy from the grass, twirling it between his fingers with a thoughtful expression. You watched the movement, then risked a glance at his face. He looked relaxed, but there was a tension beneath it, like a thought he hadn’t yet spoken.

You opened your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Your Highness… if I asked what you really think of the other royals… would you tell me?”

He paused, eyes lifting to meet yours. For a moment, you thought he might dismiss the question with a smile or a careful response. But instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving just barely.

“I’d have a lot to say,” he replied, voice quiet but sure. “But most of it would get me into trouble.”

You smiled, a real one this time, and he noticed. Something softened in his gaze—just for a moment—and it felt like the garden itself exhaled around you.

"I'm not really allowed to talk about royal stuff to people like you," he said casually, plucking another flower without thinking.

The words hung in the air like an unexpected chill.

You froze, your fingers tightening around a stem as you felt the sting of those five careless words. People like you. The phrase echoed in your mind, sharp and familiar—reminding you of every unspoken line that separated your world from his.

Sunghoon must’ve sensed it immediately. His hand stilled. His shoulders tensed. He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, his eyes were wide with regret.

“Wait—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his voice laced with panic. “That came out wrong. I just meant… I’m not supposed to talk about palace affairs with staff. It’s a rule. I wasn’t trying to—God—”

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple in frustration. “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, surprised by how flustered he looked. Most royals wouldn’t have even noticed, much less cared about the weight of their words. But Sunghoon looked like he genuinely hated himself for it.

“I know what you meant,” you murmured after a beat, your voice softer than you expected.

His gaze met yours, searching your expression for any trace of anger or disappointment.

“You sure?” he asked, voice quiet, unsure.

You gave him a small nod, though part of your heart still ached. Not because he meant harm, but because even he, as kind as he was, had been shaped by a world that always reminded you of your place.

Still, the way he looked at you—hopeful, apologetic, almost desperate to fix it—made it harder to hold onto the hurt.

“Yeah, no, I get it. Don’t worry,” you said with a soft chuckle, brushing a petal from your skirt as if it could wipe away the awkward moment too.

You weren’t offended—not really. If anything, your heart had skipped a beat the moment he started stumbling over his words, trying so desperately to explain himself. Royals didn’t explain. They didn’t have to. But he did—his voice flustered, his brows furrowed, like the thought of hurting your feelings actually mattered to him.

And that… was dangerous.

Because instead of thinking about your place, about the rules, or the Queen’s warnings, you were busy thinking about how cute it was. How unexpectedly sweet it felt to see the prince—your prince—fumble over an apology like a boy who didn’t want to be misunderstood.

He let out a breath, clearly relieved by your response, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a sheepish grin. “Still… I’ll try to be more careful. I’m not great with words.”

“You seemed fine just now,” you replied, allowing yourself a teasing smile. “At least you didn’t call me a peasant.”

That made him laugh, the tension finally melting from his shoulders. “Not yet,” he joked, nudging a daisy into your basket. “But I’m full of surprises.”

The silence at the table was sickening. It wasn't the peaceful kind—it was the heavy, suffocating quiet that wrapped around your chest like a vice. The kind that made every clink of silverware echo louder than it should’ve. You moved carefully, hands steady as you placed trays of delicately prepared dishes before the King and Queen, their expressions unreadable as they waited for the arrival of the Jangs and the Nings.

The tension wasn’t just in the silence—it was in the air itself. You could feel it in the way the Queen’s fingers tapped against her wine glass, in the sharpness of the King’s stare, and in the way Sunghoon and Jay sat rigid in their chairs, saying nothing.

You knew why. Everyone in the palace did.

The princesses from the Jang and Ning families were on their way—royal guests dressed in silk and status, arriving not for diplomacy but for something far more binding. Engagements. Alliances. Futures planned in ink and sealed by bloodlines.

Jay and Sunghoon were set to be promised to them. The Queen had made the arrangements, proudly boasting of how the unions would strengthen ties and preserve royal legacy. But what she refused to acknowledge—what she would never understand—was that both her sons had already said they wanted something else.

You had overheard them in the garden weeks ago, their voices low but honest. Jay, shaking his head in frustration, muttering that he didn’t want to marry someone he could barely hold a conversation with. Sunghoon, quieter, simply saying, “I want to choose.”

Now, as you stepped back into your place along the wall, hands clasped in front of you, you glanced at Sunghoon from beneath your lashes. His jaw was tight. His eyes focused on the untouched food in front of him. You wondered if he was thinking about the flowers from that morning—or if this silence was the beginning of the end of the life he wanted.

And maybe, just maybe, the end of whatever fragile thing had been growing between the two of you.

After the final dish had been served and the guests were seated—smiling through tight politeness and rehearsed laughter—you slipped away like a shadow into the halls behind the palace. No one noticed. No one ever did when you disappeared into the maze of stone corridors and servants’ doors. That was part of your role: to be invisible until needed.

Your feet carried you on instinct alone to the small chamber you called home—a modest room tucked behind the eastern wing. It wasn’t much, just a narrow bed, a cracked window, and a worn wooden desk barely big enough to hold the few possessions you had. But tonight, it felt like the only safe place in the world.

You sat down at the desk, lit a small oil lamp, and stared at the blank page in front of you. You weren’t sure what compelled you. Maybe it was the stiffness in Sunghoon’s shoulders at the dinner table. Maybe it was the way your heart ached seeing him sit across from a girl he’d be forced to love. Or maybe it was just the need to feel something real in a world built on performance.

Your pen touched the page before your mind fully caught up.

He was standing in the garden when I first noticed him. Not in the way that a servant notices a prince, but the way a person notices something they aren’t supposed to want. He wasn’t doing anything grand—just reading. Breathing. Alone. And somehow, even that felt noble.

You kept your handwriting small, delicate—almost cryptic. You were careful not to use names, never anything direct. Just fragments. Moments. Feelings.

He never looked at me like I was beneath him. That’s the part that still catches me off guard. Everyone else sees a uniform, a station, a role. But sometimes, he sees through it. Or maybe… he chooses to.

You paused, the pen hovering in the silence.

I know he’ll never be mine. Not really. But if I don’t write this down, I might forget what it felt like to be seen—even if it was just for a second.

You folded the paper gently when you were done, slipping it beneath the loose floorboard under your bed—a secret for no one but yourself.

And still, as you lay back in the dimness of your room, staring at the cracked ceiling, one thought remained: You weren’t sure if writing it made it easier… or harder.

You hadn’t meant to send the letter at first. It was supposed to be for your eyes only—a quiet confession folded in ink and tucked safely where no one would find it. But as the days went by and the palace grew louder with talk of alliances and wedding preparations, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You needed him to know—even if he never knew it was from you.

So you wrote more.

One letter became two. Then three.

Each one carefully worded, cryptic enough that no one could trace it back to you, yet honest in a way only he might understand. You wrote about mornings in the garden. About the way his eyes softened when he thought no one was watching. About how he never quite fit the mold the palace tried to force him into.

And then, one early morning while the sky was still a deep indigo and most of the palace slept, you slipped through the servants' corridor with a folded letter tucked safely in your apron. Your heart thudded wildly, but your steps were steady—you’d memorized the route by now. Past the west wing. Down the corridor with the cracked marble tile. Left at the tapestry with the lion’s crest.

Sunghoon’s chamber was at the end of the hall, just before the royal library.

You hesitated only a moment, then bent down and slid the letter beneath his door—quickly, quietly, just as the royal mailman would. It was how they always received messages: no knocks, no noise, just silent slips of parchment that disappeared into the room beyond.

And with that, you turned and left, your footsteps lighter than they’d felt in days.

It became a ritual after that.

Every few mornings, when your thoughts became too much to bear, you wrote him another letter. You always made sure the ink had dried before folding it with care. Sometimes it was two lines. Sometimes it was pages. But it was always honest. Always you.

He never responded.

But you didn’t expect him to.

Because in a palace built on silence and duty, your words were the only rebellion you had—and giving them to him, even secretly, made you feel just a little less invisible.

a little later

The room was colder than usual.

You stood by the hearth, carefully pressing the intricate embroidery on Sunghoon’s royal ball attire. The gold trim shimmered faintly under the firelight, a painful reminder of where he was meant to be tonight—at an engagement ball with Princess Wonyoung. His fiancée, or so the palace liked to call her. It wasn’t official yet, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time.

The silence was broken by the soft click of the door opening behind you.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

The subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the steam from his recent shower, and you could practically feel the warmth of his skin from where he stood, towel-drying his hair. Water still clung to the ends of it, dripping onto the floor.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Then, suddenly—“Have you seen any letter?”

You froze, your hand suspended above the garment as your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you turned to face him.

His eyes weren’t cold. They weren’t curious either. They were searching.

The way he looked at you—expecting something, hoping for something—sent your heart into a frenzy. The fact that he even asked you that question... it said everything. He’d read them. All of them. Every folded piece of your heart, slipped beneath his door in silence. And now, on the one morning you hadn’t left one, he was looking for it.

For you.

You quickly lowered your gaze, willing your face to remain neutral.

“No, Your Highness. I haven’t,” you said, voice steady despite the storm inside your chest. Then you turned back to the ironing board, pressing the fabric like nothing had happened, like your world hadn’t just tilted slightly off balance.

Behind you, there was a long pause. No footsteps. No reply.

Just the sound of silence and water dripping onto the stone floor from his wet hair.

You stood near the edge of the ballroom, a silver tray clutched tightly in your hands, though no one seemed to need anything from you. The chandeliers above shimmered with gold and crystal, casting a warm glow over silken gowns and polished shoes. Laughter echoed off the marble walls, accompanied by the soft hum of string instruments playing a waltz far too beautiful for the ache in your chest.

You weren’t meant to be there—not in the way they were.

The maids had been asked to serve discreetly during the ball, dressed in muted colors that would blend into the walls. And yet, you felt more exposed than ever. Because your eyes wouldn’t stop drifting toward the center of the room—toward him.

Sunghoon.

He looked perfect, as always. Regal. Poised. But his face told another story. He danced with Wonyoung, his supposed fiancée, their hands barely touching, their movements too precise to be natural. His expression was blank, almost bored, like he was doing what was expected of him and nothing more. His gaze didn’t linger on hers. It didn’t soften. It didn’t shine.

And still, watching them together made something twist painfully in your stomach.

You hadn’t even noticed the figure who appeared beside you until you heard his voice, smooth and laced with quiet confidence.

“He doesn’t want to marry her.”

You startled slightly, turning to find Jay—his older brother—standing next to you with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a faint amusement in his eyes as he watched the scene unfold with a kind of detached awareness that unnerved you.

You lowered your gaze quickly, unsure of what to say, unsure why he was even speaking to you.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you said quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the music.

Jay took a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on his brother. “You do,” he said simply. “You’re just pretending you don’t.”

His words weren’t cruel. They weren’t mocking. In fact, they were oddly gentle. Observant.

He finally looked at you then, his gaze sharper than you expected. “You should see your face. You’re trying so hard not to care, but it’s all over you.”

Your cheeks flushed, shame prickling at the back of your neck. You turned slightly away, clutching the tray tighter.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Fall for him?” he cut in, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. That’s usually how it happens. Especially with him.”

You looked up at Jay then, surprised by the weight in his tone. It wasn’t judgment. It was understanding. As if he, too, knew what it felt like to want someone the world said you couldn’t have.

He gave a soft sigh and turned back to the ballroom. “Sunghoon’s too loyal for his own good. He’ll do what they ask. Unless…”

You blinked. “Unless what?”

Jay didn’t answer.

He simply smirked faintly, finished his drink, and walked away—leaving you alone with a heart that beat too loudly and a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the space between you and the boy you loved.

You sighed, the sound barely audible over the sweeping melody echoing through the ballroom. It wasn’t just disappointment—it was resignation. The kind that settles deep in your bones when you realize a dream might always stay just that. A dream. Sunghoon twirled Wonyoung gently, their movements elegant and flawless, but his expression never changed. Not a single spark of joy. Not a flicker of warmth.

Still, it hurt to watch.

Just as you were about to turn and disappear into the crowd, Jay reappeared beside you—quiet as a shadow, yet far too noticeable for someone who was supposed to blend in with the rest of the royals. He leaned in, the scent of whiskey and something sharp and earthy clinging to his coat.

“Unless he’s truly in love…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, low enough that only you could hear, “then he’ll fight for his lover.”

His breath brushed your ear, sending a chill down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold marble beneath your feet. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned your head just slightly—but he was already pulling away.

Jay walked off without looking back, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, his smirk lingering like an echo in your mind. As if what he’d said was nothing—just idle chatter between sips of expensive liquor.

But it wasn’t nothing.

Because it struck you with the force of something dangerous—something hopeful.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you stared ahead at Sunghoon, who now stood at the edge of the dance floor, momentarily alone as Wonyoung greeted some noble from the East Wing. His eyes weren’t on her.

They were searching the room.

And for one fragile second… you swore he looked right at you.

Your breath hitched.

The moment your eyes met his, it was like the entire room disappeared—the music faded, the clinking glasses and idle chatter dulled to a distant hum. Sunghoon didn’t look away. He didn’t blink. He just watched you.

There was something intense about the way his eyes held yours, as if he was trying to decipher every thought you’d ever had, every word you’d ever written to him. His gaze wasn’t soft—it was calculated, focused, like he was searching for a truth you hadn’t meant for him to find. And yet, there was no malice. Just… curiosity. Conflicted interest.

It should’ve been easy to look away. You should’ve looked away.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

He had you, completely, and you were drowning in it.

Then—snap.

Wonyoung’s fingers waved briskly in front of his face, her expression puzzled and a touch annoyed. “Sunghoon,” she called, tone light but strained. “Are you even listening to me?”

He blinked, startled, as though yanked from a deep dream. His shoulders straightened, his attention dragging reluctantly back to the woman beside him. “Yeah,” he said, the lie painfully obvious. “Sorry.”

You exhaled softly, the connection between you two broken, and instantly felt colder without it. Like sunlight had passed behind a cloud.

You looked down, willing your pulse to slow, your fingers tightening around the tray. That look—it meant something. It had to.

As the grand clock in the ballroom struck midnight, its chimes echoed through the gilded halls like a final warning.

You flinched slightly at the sound—twelve sharp, the unspoken curfew for anyone without a royal title. No matter how long the celebration lasted, no matter how busy or beautiful the evening had been, maids were never allowed to stay past midnight. The golden rule of the palace. Unfair. Rigid. But absolute.

You clutched the silver tray a little tighter for a second before quietly placing it on the serving table and slipping away from the noise and lights. Your heart was still racing—partly from the stolen glance you’d shared with Sunghoon, and partly from the lingering echo of Jay’s words.

"Unless he’s truly in love..."

You couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t stop yourself from replaying that look—those eyes locked onto yours like they knew.

As soon as you reached the narrow corridor near the servants’ wing, you picked up your pace, heels clicking softly against the stone floor. You rounded the corner and hurried into your small chamber, exhaling only when the door clicked shut behind you.

The quiet felt suffocating after the grandeur of the ballroom.

You moved straight to your little desk tucked under the window, grabbing the worn diary you always kept hidden beneath a stack of folded linen. Pages already stained with ink and emotions, now ready to hold more secrets.

Sitting down, you opened to a blank page, your hands still trembling slightly.

You had to write. You needed to.

There was something desperate about the way you uncapped your pen, as though pouring your thoughts onto the page might steady your breath or silence the thunder in your chest.

Because tonight wasn’t like the others.

Something had shifted.

The corridor was still and dimly lit, the only sound coming from the soft patter of your steps and the distant hush of moonlight filtering through stained glass. You held the folded letter close to your chest, your fingers trembling just slightly. This one had taken longer to write—your words had been more honest, your feelings laid bare in ink you could never take back.

You reached his door, heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum. You knelt slowly, fingers reaching toward the floor to slip the letter underneath, just like all the nights before.

But this time, before the paper even touched the marble—

"What’re you doing?"

You froze.

The letter remained pinched between your fingers, inches from the ground, as his voice—soft, calm, and devastatingly close—cut through the silence.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He stepped forward, bare feet padding softly against the cold floor, dressed in a loose white shirt and black silk pants. His hair was slightly tousled, damp at the ends like he’d just come from the bath. There was no anger in his voice, no edge. Just quiet realization.

"Is that…"

His eyes flicked down to the paper in your hand, and he took another slow step toward you.

"You're the one sending them," he said, more to himself than you.

Then, he scoffed—but it wasn’t mocking. It was disbelief. Shock. Like the truth had always been there, just beneath the surface, and he’d finally let himself see it.

You swallowed, still crouched, your body frozen in place. The palace was dead quiet, the world holding its breath.

You stood slowly, your face burning. You didn’t speak—you couldn’t. What was there to say?

But then his eyes met yours. Really met yours.

And he didn’t look away.

“You knew it was me?” you finally whispered, voice barely audible in the stillness between you.

Of course he knew. Who else in the palace wrote like that? Who else spun words with the kind of softness and pain and quiet hope only someone truly watching could express? You'd always dreamed of being a writer—someone whose words could touch hearts from behind a curtain, never needing to be seen to be felt. And yet here you were, exposed under the silver glow of the palace corridor, your story no longer a secret.

Sunghoon’s eyes didn’t waver from yours as he spoke.

“I’m not an idiot,” he said plainly, stepping just a little closer, his voice low and steady. “Nor am I blind.”

That’s when the thought hit you—sudden and jarring.

He was supposed to be at the ball.

He was supposed to be with her.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you looked past him, toward the empty hallway, the absence of the usual music and laughter suddenly ringing louder than ever.

“Wait…” you breathed, realization dawning slowly. “You’re not at the ball. Did you—did you follow me?”

His expression shifted, almost imperceptibly, but you saw it. A flicker of hesitation, followed by something more vulnerable than you’d ever seen on his face.

“I noticed when you left,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “And when I didn’t find a letter tonight, I… I knew where you were going.”

Your heart was pounding.

“You left Wonyoung… for this?” you asked, almost afraid to believe it.

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, his hands sinking into the pockets of his coat. “She didn’t notice,” he said with a bitter sort of amusement. “But I did.”

He took another step forward. The space between you was almost nonexistent now. The letter still sat in your hand, but neither of you looked at it anymore.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he murmured. “Not at first. I didn’t want to assume. But every word… it felt like you’d written it from inside my own head. Or heart. Or both.”

You blinked up at him, stunned. Speechless. He continued.

“I couldn’t stop reading them,” he admitted. “Every morning. They became the only part of the day I looked forward to.”

And just like that, it wasn’t a secret anymore.

It was real.

It was shared.

To him, it hadn’t just been a collection of words.

It had been a friend.

A silent companion waiting for him each morning, nestled under his door like a secret the world hadn’t yet tainted. A single sheet of paper that somehow understood him in ways not even his own blood ever tried to. The kind of understanding that couldn’t be faked, that didn’t ask for anything in return, that simply was.

His gaze lowered slightly as he spoke, and for the first time, you saw it—real, unfiltered vulnerability flickering behind his princely composure.

“They made me feel… seen,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like someone was finally listening. Not to the title, or the responsibilities. Just… to me.”

He looked at you again, softer now.

“And it was you,” he added, more to himself than to you. “It was always you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, but not in a painful way—like a warmth you didn’t expect, seeping into all the cold, silent places you had kept hidden. You weren’t supposed to matter. You were just a maid. You’d always told yourself that.

But to him?

You were the only one who did.

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if he was debating whether to reach for you—or whether that would be too much. Too soon. Still, he didn’t step back. He didn’t retreat behind his title or the rules his family lived by.

He just stood there, looking at you like you were something he’d spent his whole life searching for without knowing it.

He stepped closer.

So close that the air between you grew too still, too heavy. Your breath caught in your chest as his eyes locked with yours—searching, quietly desperate. Inch by inch, he closed the space until your faces were just a breath apart. You could feel the warmth of him—his breath brushing against your lips, the quiet rise and fall of his chest mirroring your own.

But he didn’t touch you.

Not even a brush of his fingers.

That restraint told you more about him than any words ever could. He could’ve taken—could’ve stolen a moment for himself in the shadows of the palace—but he didn’t. Because he was respectful. Because even here, even now, he cared more about how you felt than what he wanted.

His gaze softened, searching yours for even the slightest flicker of discomfort. But he found none.

And still… he didn’t move.

For a second, it felt like time might stop altogether. Like maybe, just maybe, the world would give the two of you a single moment untouched by rules or names or rings.

But then, like a wave crashing over him, reality returned.

He exhaled shakily and stepped back—just enough to break the spell. His hand rose slowly, deliberately, as if the very act pained him. And then he showed you.

A silver ring on his left hand.

It glinted dully in the low light, cold and cruel in its simplicity.

“My mother betrothed me to Wonyoung today,” he said, voice quiet but heavy, as if the words weighed too much for his lungs to carry.

He didn’t look at the ring. He looked at you. And that made it hurt more.

“I didn’t want this,” he added, almost a whisper now. “But I don’t get to want things.”

His eyes lingered on you, the way you stood frozen, silent. There was so much behind that look—regret, longing, heartbreak wrapped in the prince’s golden cage.

And you realized it wasn’t just his freedom that had been taken.

It was yours, too.

The morning air in the dining hall felt heavier than usual—almost suffocating. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around your throat like a collar. You had been summoned to stay and eat with the royal family, something that almost never happened.

And that alone told you something was wrong.

The table was grand, as always, lined with silver cutlery and crystal glasses that shimmered in the soft light spilling in through the high windows. The King sat tall at the head of the table, his face unreadable. Beside him, the Queen wore her usual expression of composed superiority, her gaze occasionally flitting over the table like a hawk observing its prey.

Jay sat across from you, calm but noticeably stiff, next to the ever-poised Ning Ning, who smiled politely at everyone—even if the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes. And then there was Sunghoon.

Seated right next to you, but feeling miles away.

Wonyoung, on the other hand, was practically glowing. She laughed softly at nothing, spooning fresh fruit into her mouth with all the delight of someone who had everything she wanted. Her gaze often slid toward the Queen, as if seeking approval—and always receiving it.

Sunghoon didn’t touch his food.

He sat slouched in his chair, eyes heavy with the kind of exhaustion no sleep could fix. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. Every now and then, he’d glance at his plate and back down again, as though even eating felt like a task he couldn’t bear. He hadn’t said a word since sitting down.

And you—trapped between the two of them—kept your hands folded neatly in your lap, doing everything you could to seem invisible.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you could feel it.

The weight of his sadness.

The way he was shrinking into himself with each passing second.

And despite Wonyoung’s smiles and the Queen’s satisfied silence, something about that table felt deeply wrong.

Like a celebration no one actually wanted.

“So, Y/n,” the Queen’s voice rang out, calm but unmistakably sharp as she delicately placed her utensils down on her plate with a soft clink. Her gaze shifted to you, piercing and unwavering. “Where did you go after the ball last night?”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth.

The question cut through the quiet murmur of the dining hall like a blade.

Your heart thundered in your chest. For a moment, the edges of your vision seemed to blur, every sound around you dulling as if the world had pressed pause, waiting for your reply.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a steady voice. “I went back to my chambers, Your Majesty.”

A lie. Small, quiet, but a lie nonetheless.

The Queen leaned back in her chair, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue, her expression tightening ever so slightly. It was subtle—elegant, even—but it spoke volumes. She was angry. Not the kind that shouted. The kind that simmered. The kind that could destroy with a whisper.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice soft but laced with steel, “I care about you a little more than I care about the other staff in this palace.”

The room seemed to still, your breath caught in your lungs.

“And because of that,” she continued, her gaze narrowing just a touch, “you should know that I hate lies.”

The weight of her words sank into you like cold water.

Jay shifted slightly in his seat across the table, eyes flickering toward you, but saying nothing. Sunghoon remained motionless beside you, his expression unreadable, though you could sense the tension in his body.

You felt as though you were on trial, sitting not in a dining hall, but in front of a throne.

The Queen wasn’t just a ruler.

She was a mother.

A mother who would do anything to protect what was hers.

The sharp clink of cutlery echoed as Ning Ning’s voice suddenly pierced through the stillness of the hall.

“She was with Sunghoon, mother-in-law!” she burst out, eyes wide with theatrical disbelief. “I’m telling you—they’re having an affair!”

The word affair landed like a thunderclap in the middle of the royal table.

Your breath hitched. The room spun. Your eyes snapped to her in shock, completely blindsided by the accusation. It wasn’t just a misunderstanding—it was a complete distortion of the truth, twisted into something vile.

Jay froze mid-sip, and even Wonyoung’s spoon paused halfway to her lips, stunned.

You felt the shift beside you before you saw it.

Sunghoon.

He sat rigid, shoulders tense, his grip tightening around his silver fork until his knuckles turned ghost-white. His jaw clenched hard, as if he were physically holding back the flood of fury rising in him.

But Ning Ning wasn’t done.

“I have a picture,” she added smugly, producing a folded photograph and handing it across the table with far too much satisfaction. The Queen took it with calm, regal precision, unfolding it slowly like a verdict being read aloud in court.

The image said enough. A snapshot taken in the dim corridor just outside Sunghoon’s chambers—capturing the exact moment he’d leaned in toward you, the air between your faces too close, too charged, too easily misinterpreted.

“Can you believe he’d do such a thing to Wonyoung?” Ning Ning pressed, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Honestly, Y/n might’ve… I don’t know… spiked him. That’s probably the only way she could even get his attention.”

Your blood ran cold.

The insult stung more than anything else—like you were some lowly temptress manipulating your way into his affections instead of simply being someone who cared. Someone who had stayed silent. Loyal.

Sunghoon slammed his fork down.

The sudden noise cracked like thunder, making the Queen’s hand still mid-air, the photograph paused just inches from her face.

He turned to Ning Ning with a look that could freeze fire. His voice, when it came, was low and shaking from how hard he worked to restrain himself.

“Don’t you dare speak about her like that.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The collective breath of everyone at the table seemed to hitch in unison.

Sunghoon—the prince—had just defended you.

A maid. A lowborn village girl.

The gasp of disbelief came from every direction. Wonyoung’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth agape. Ning Ning, momentarily silenced, held her breath in stunned realization. Even Jay, ever the observer, couldn’t hide the slight shift of his gaze as he took in the scene unfolding before him.

Sunghoon’s hands slammed down onto the table with such force that the cutlery rattled. His chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, his usually composed expression now twisted with raw emotion. This was something more than anger. It was defiance.

And for the first time in your life, you felt like someone was standing in your corner—not just as a maid, but as a person.

His gaze never wavered as he turned to face the Queen. The air between them crackled, thick with tension, as his words hit like an undeniable truth.

“Mother,” he began, his voice steady but dripping with the weight of what he was about to say. “Never once in my life have you asked what I wanted—what Jay and I have wanted. Instead, you’ve paraded me and my brother through a string of women like we’re nothing but tools to secure your royal alliances.”

His tone was fierce, unlike anything you had ever heard from him. It cut through the silence like a blade.

The Queen, ever so poised and authoritative, actually flinched. The vulnerability in her expression was fleeting, but it was there. A crack in her regal armor.

“You go out and find me a suitable wife,” he continued, his words ringing out like a challenge. “A woman to fill your idea of what’s best for this kingdom—while I’m left with no choice, no say. And now, this,” he gestured to the scene around them, his voice rising. “You accuse me of betrayal because I stood up for someone who deserves my respect. Deserves my loyalty.”

The Queen’s lips parted, but no words came. She was frozen—stunned into silence by the force of her son’s declaration. For the first time in her life, it seemed like Sunghoon was no longer the obedient prince she’d molded him to be.

And he wasn’t done.

"You don't get to decide who I marry," Sunghoon’s voice dropped, quieter now, but with an intensity that was unmistakable. "And you don't get to tear down the one person who has stood by me, when all I've wanted was to choose for myself."

You watched, breathless. He was no longer the perfect son she’d expected. He was his own man now.

The moment was electric. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your chest.

Sunghoon’s hand shot out, gripping yours with a force that sent a jolt through your body. You froze, eyes wide, unsure whether to pull away or lean in. But he didn’t give you the option. His fingers intertwined with yours, holding you firmly beside him as if claiming something that belonged to him, something he had finally made the choice to fight for.

The rest of the room seemed to disappear, fading into nothing but echoes of the soundless reactions. Every eye was on him now.

The Queen’s eyes widened as Sunghoon stood tall, his posture shifting from the dutiful prince to a man taking control of his own destiny. He was no longer the son who obeyed without question. He was speaking with the passion of someone who had spent too long hiding his true desires.

“You asked me a long time ago who I wanted to marry,” Sunghoon said, his voice surprisingly calm for the storm of emotions roiling beneath it. “And back then, I followed your rules. I stayed loyal to the principles of royalty, the image you wanted. I said Wonyoung, because I thought that was what I was supposed to do.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, both from the weight of his words and the warmth of his hand holding yours, steady and certain.

Sunghoon paused, his gaze flicking to Wonyoung. The coldness in his eyes could have frozen the entire room. It wasn’t just indifference—it was hate. A deep-rooted frustration that had been bubbling under the surface for so long, finally erupting.

“I know what I want now,” he continued, his voice gaining strength, each word an anchor to the truth he was finally claiming for himself. “And it’s not Wonyoung. It’s not this royal status that you all built with your authority and power, using it to control everything around me.”

You could feel his thumb brush over your hand in a rare, tender motion.

His eyes locked onto you, unwavering, his gaze softening but still fierce, full of something raw and genuine. Something he had never shown to anyone—especially not to the Queen.

“It’s Y/N.”

He said your name, and it was as if the entire palace fell into a hushed reverence, a quiet acknowledgment that the prince had spoken his truth.

The Queen sat frozen, her hand still gripping the edge of the table as if she needed it to steady herself. Wonyoung’s lips parted, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief, but there was nothing she could do.

The atmosphere in the room shifted. What was once tense with uncertainty, now pulsed with a chilling certainty. The Queen’s words hung in the air like a poisonous fog, but they couldn’t break the force of Sunghoon’s resolve.

"Are you crazy?" The Queen’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried enough weight to crush any lesser person. It wasn’t anger—it was disbelief. The kind of disbelief that came when a parent’s world was shattering before their eyes. She couldn’t believe her son, her prized heir, the one she’d molded and controlled his entire life, was choosing you.

"You know what we did to the villager your cousin tried to—"

But Sunghoon wasn’t having any of it. He was done with her threats. Done with the suffocating chains of royalty and the power they held over everyone else.

Before she could finish, Sunghoon cut her off, his voice ice-cold with finality. “I will protect her with my life. If you want to kill her, kill me too.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap, making even the most stoic of the servants flinch. He was no longer just the Prince of this palace. He was a man with his own will, a man with his own heart, and he had made the choice.

“I don’t care when I fell for her," he continued, his gaze unyielding as he turned it to his mother. "Maybe it was in the garden, or maybe it was before either of us knew each other's names. It doesn't matter now."

His eyes locked onto yours, softening for a moment as he took a step closer. His voice lowered, but his determination grew stronger. “I’m in love with her.”

The words were a confession, a battle cry, and a promise all at once.

The air grew heavy with tension. The Queen, who had always held control over the palace with an iron grip, was speechless—stunned into a rare silence. The kind of silence only broken by the raw, unfiltered truth that came from a son who had never truly been allowed to choose for himself.

"Dare I say," Sunghoon added, his voice cold and unwavering, "If you touch a hair on her body, I won't stand still."

The room went deathly still.

His words sent a chill down everyone’s spine. There was no hesitation in his tone—no room for negotiation. He was serious. He would go to war for you. And the promise he made was as dangerous as it was resolute.

Even Jay, who had remained quiet until now, couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes. He understood the weight of Sunghoon’s words—the finality in them. For the first time, Sunghoon wasn’t just a prince. He was a man prepared to risk everything.

The room was frozen in time. No one dared to move, speak, or even breathe.

Sunghoon’s hand trembled slightly as he removed the engagement ring from his finger. The ring that symbolized the future the Queen had chosen for him, the life he had been expected to live. But as he held it in his palm, you could see the weight of that expectation shattering with every passing second.

With a cold, deliberate motion, he walked over to Wonyoung. Her expression was a mixture of shock and sorrow, but there was no anger in her eyes—just understanding. She knew what this was, what this meant. She had long known Sunghoon’s heart was not in their engagement, even if she had tried to convince herself otherwise.

Sunghoon held out the ring to her, his fingers slightly trembling as he placed it in her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though it was not regret that filled his voice. It was more of a solemn apology for the role he had played in this charade. “But I want to marry Y/N. And that’s my final choice.”

The words hit like a declaration of war. The air thickened, as if even the walls of the palace were holding their breath. The tension had escalated to an unbearable point, and yet, in that moment, it was clear that Sunghoon had made his decision. No matter the consequences.

“I... I want to marry Y/N,” he repeated, his voice more certain than ever. “Kick me out of the palace, beat me, execute me for this choice—I don’t care.”

His voice didn’t falter, didn’t break. It was steady, firm, and resolute. Every single word carried the weight of a promise—a promise to you, to himself, and to the world that nothing would ever stop him from following his heart.

You felt your chest tighten. His declaration wasn’t just a rebellion against the Queen—it was an act of defiance against everything he had known, everything he had been taught, everything he had been expected to uphold as a prince.

And he was throwing it all away for you.

You glanced at the Queen. Her face was a mask of fury, disbelief, and betrayal. Her eyes were dark with rage, but underneath, there was a flicker of something else. Was it... fear? Fear of losing control over her son? Fear of the kingdom’s image shattering?

But Sunghoon stood unwavering, his back straight, his chest proud. His heart belonged to you, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that away.

The silence in the room was suffocating. No one moved. No one spoke. But the tension was palpable, like a storm waiting to break.

The tension in the room remained thick as Sunghoon left for a brief moment, leaving everyone in stunned silence. You could feel the eyes of the royal family on you, waiting for what he would do next. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall, each step adding to the weight of the moment.

When Sunghoon returned, he was carrying something precious—something that would change everything. Your letters.

He held them up, each one in his hands, like a sacred relic. His mother’s eyes flickered between him and the letters, confusion clouding her face as she wondered what he was about to do.

Without a word, Sunghoon walked up to the Queen and placed the stack of letters in front of her. The Queen’s expression hardened, but there was a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. She glanced at him briefly before turning her attention to the letters.

“No girl has ever shown me love through letters,” Sunghoon began, his voice quieter now, but still full of conviction. “Until Y/N.”

His words hung in the air, and you could see the Queen’s eyes flicker with something you hadn’t expected: a brief moment of vulnerability. She took the first letter in her hands, flipping it open, and began to read.

You held your breath as she read through each word. You had written those letters with so much care, pouring your feelings into every sentence. It was a side of you no one had seen before—raw, vulnerable, and completely open. The Queen’s expression was unreadable at first, but as she continued reading, you saw the subtle shift in her face.

Her lips parted, just barely, as her eyes scanned the pages. Each word was like a thread, weaving a story of emotions, admiration, and love. And as she reached the end of the last letter, something shifted in her demeanor.

The Queen’s hand trembled ever so slightly as she held the final letter. For a brief moment, her gaze softened. She glanced at Sunghoon, her eyes flickering with a rare vulnerability, something you’d never seen from her before.

“You… you’ve never spoken like this about anyone,” she murmured, her voice low and almost wistful.

Sunghoon remained silent, his eyes fixed on his mother as he waited for her to process.

Her gaze then dropped to the letters again, and this time, you could see it—something had shifted. The walls that had been built up between her and Sunghoon, between her and you, were cracking. Maybe it wasn’t forgiveness yet, but there was understanding.

The Queen’s emotions seemed to waver between anger and something else—something close to regret. She couldn’t bring herself to fully acknowledge the love that had blossomed between you two, but she couldn’t deny it either. These letters were proof of something real. Something she couldn’t control, no matter how hard she tried.

She exhaled slowly, and for the first time, the Queen looked at you—really looked at you. You felt exposed, but there was no turning back now. Sunghoon’s choice was final.

Her voice broke the silence, but this time, it was quieter, softer than you expected.

“Sunghoon, I... I didn’t realize. I didn’t see it before.”

You couldn’t tell if she was speaking to him or to herself, but it was enough to send a wave of uncertainty through you.

You had never expected this moment. The Queen—cold, calculated, and unyielding—was, for once, not as powerful as she seemed. She was just a mother, faced with the reality that her son had chosen a path she could neither control nor predict.

The room seemed to freeze once more, as if the very air held its breath. Sunghoon’s words were like thunder in a storm, echoing across the cold, regal halls of the palace. There was no hesitation, no wavering in his tone. His declaration was firm, unyielding, and filled with the kind of conviction that only true love could bring.

"I'm going to marry Y/N in a month from now," he stated, his voice cutting through the tension with undeniable strength. "And none of you are going to stop me, understand?"

His gaze swept across the room, locking eyes with his mother, the King, and even his brother, Jay, as if daring anyone to challenge him. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, it seemed as though the Prince was no longer bound by the expectations of his royal lineage. He was fighting for what mattered to him most—you.

As Sunghoon spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with emotion. He was doing the impossible—choosing you over everything he had ever known, over the kingdom, and over his royal duties. There was no turning back for him now. No matter the consequences.

For the first time in your life, you truly understood the meaning of love being a force that could not be stopped. Sunghoon was determined. He was willing to risk everything for the chance to be with you.

You glanced over at Jay, who was quietly watching the entire exchange with an almost amused expression. His words from earlier echoed in your mind: "When he’s in love, he’s unstoppable."

You could see it now—Sunghoon wasn’t just making a choice, he was staking his claim on his own happiness. And nothing in this world, not even the power of his mother or the rules of royalty, could sway him.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed, her fingers gripping the letters so tightly it almost seemed as though she might tear them apart. She was seething, yet there was something else beneath the anger. A small, almost imperceptible flicker of something she hadn’t shown before—resignation. As if she knew that Sunghoon had already made up his mind, and that no amount of fury could change that.

The King, usually a man of authority, didn’t speak. He simply looked at Sunghoon, his gaze hard but unreadable, as though calculating the repercussions of his son’s rebellion. It was clear that this was not a simple defiance. Sunghoon wasn’t merely rejecting an arranged marriage; he was rejecting everything the kingdom stood for when it came to royal duties and expectations.

Finally, after a long, suffocating silence, the Queen’s voice broke through the tension.

“You think this is easy?” she asked, her words tinged with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “You think you can just throw everything away—your future, the family’s legacy—all for a lowly maid?”

Her voice cracked, but she quickly regained her composure. “If you marry her, Sunghoon... everything will change. The kingdom will see this. The nobles will revolt. Your place as the future ruler will be in question.”

Sunghoon stood tall, his shoulders squared, his resolve unshakable.

“I don’t care,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve already made my decision. I’m marrying Y/N.”

The room was silent again, but this time it wasn’t the kind of silence that felt oppressive. It was a silence of finality. The storm had passed, and what was left was the undeniable truth of his words.

In that moment, you realized the power of Sunghoon’s love was not just about his feelings for you—it was about him finally choosing his own path. No longer a prince bound by the expectations of his family and the weight of tradition, but a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And what he wanted... was you.

The room fell into an unsettling silence again, but this time, the atmosphere had shifted. Sunghoon’s words were like an unexpected revelation, a soft blow that carried so much more weight than anyone could have imagined. He wasn’t just rejecting the throne—he was relinquishing it willingly, handing it to his older brother, Jay, without hesitation.

He turned his gaze to his brother, Jay, who had been silent and distant this entire time. His posture was stiff, his eyes downcast, as if avoiding the truth in the room, but Sunghoon’s words hit him like a tidal wave.

“Jay is a better choice for king,” Sunghoon continued, his voice steady and sincere, but there was a quiet ache underneath the surface. “He’s older than me, more mature, he follows the rules—couldn’t you see that he wants it more than I do?”

The words hung in the air, delicate but raw. Everyone at the table—his mother, the King, Wonyoung, and even you—couldn’t have predicted the direction this conversation was taking. Sunghoon was not only defying his mother's expectations and his duty, he was giving Jay the one thing he never asked for: the throne.

Jay, who had always been in the shadows, who had followed his duty and remained in line with the family’s desires, now found himself the center of attention. His heart raced, and his throat felt tight. He had always admired his younger brother’s spirit, his courage, and for once, he was the one who felt vulnerable under Sunghoon’s words.

Jay refused to make eye contact with anyone, his face flushed and his heart heavy. Sunghoon had just defended him—his brother had stood up for him in front of the most powerful people in the kingdom. His protective older sibling was now shifting the entire weight of the royal world onto his shoulders.

And Jay wanted to cry.

For once in his life, he felt the raw sting of emotion that Sunghoon was carrying for him. Sunghoon, the one who had always been seen as the more rebellious, headstrong one, was now openly acknowledging that Jay had the qualities needed to rule. But Jay had never wanted the throne—not like this.

He had always been the responsible one, the dutiful one. But to be seen as a ruler by his family—by his own brother—was something he had never truly prepared for.

The Queen's face was a mask of disbelief, her lips trembling as she absorbed Sunghoon's words. She had never expected such a declaration. For Sunghoon to not only renounce the throne but then offer it to Jay so selflessly? It shook her to her core.

The King, too, was silent. His gaze turned slowly to Jay, his eldest son, his heir. But Jay couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. The pressure was suffocating, and he could feel the weight of everyone’s expectations suddenly closing in on him.

“I don’t need it,” Jay muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity was there. “I never asked for it. Sunghoon... you should be the one who—”

But Sunghoon cut him off, stepping forward, his tone firm but filled with an unexpected tenderness.

“Jay, I know you’ve always followed the rules. I know you’ve carried the weight of this family’s expectations without complaint. But the truth is—you’ve always wanted something else. You deserve a life of your own, not one decided for you.”

Jay felt his heart wrench as his brother spoke. For all the years they had spent under the same roof, in the same palace, Sunghoon had always seen more in him than he ever allowed himself to see. Sunghoon, despite everything, knew what his brother wanted even if Jay couldn’t say it himself.

The Queen’s expression softened just a little, but she still held the weight of the crown on her shoulders. This situation was far from over, and she wasn’t ready to let go of her son’s future so easily.

“I don’t care about the throne anymore, mother,” Sunghoon added, his eyes still locked on her. “What I care about is Y/N. She’s everything to me. And if that means giving up everything I’ve ever known, then so be it.”

The Queen’s lips trembled as she watched her son. She had always known he was different, but she had never imagined he would go this far. The once unyielding power she held over him, over all of them, seemed to slip through her fingers.

Jay still didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but his heart was pounding in his chest. For the first time, he felt like Sunghoon wasn’t just his younger brother—he was his protector. Sunghoon had defended him, given him the chance to choose his own future. Jay swallowed hard, his emotions swirling in a way he had never felt before.

And you? You were standing there, watching it all unfold, your heart racing as the love of your life fought for you, for the life you both dreamed of.

The palace seemed quieter as you walked beside Sunghoon, his hand gently holding yours, and you couldn’t help but feel like the world had shifted on its axis. The halls that once felt so distant, so far beyond your reach, now felt strangely familiar, as if they were finally becoming yours in a way you never imagined possible.

Every step felt like a dream—one that had been carefully built on secret letters and stolen glances in the garden. But now, everything was different. You were no longer the lowly maid, hiding behind the curtains of the palace's grand halls. No, now you were walking hand-in-hand with the prince, the man who had just declared his love for you in front of everyone.

Your heart was still racing from the earlier confrontation. The words Sunghoon had spoken, the way he had stood up to his mother, to everyone in the room—it all felt surreal. His declaration wasn’t just for your love, but for your future. He had made it clear that he wanted to be with you, and he was willing to risk everything to make that happen.

“I can’t believe it…” you finally spoke, breaking the silence. Your voice trembled slightly, still processing everything that had just transpired. “I never thought this would happen… I never thought I’d be… I mean, me? The prince’s wife? I was just a maid.”

Sunghoon stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was soft, his eyes searching yours with such tenderness that it made your heart flutter. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“You’ve always been more than just a maid, Y/N,” he said softly. “You’ve always been more than that to me. You’ve always been my equal. And I’ve always seen you that way. Not as someone beneath me, but as someone who deserves everything I can give.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. His words—those simple yet powerful words—struck a chord deep inside you. Sunghoon, the prince, had always seen you for who you were, not for the title you carried or the status you were born into. And for that, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotions you had kept hidden for so long.

“But what about everything?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your family... the crown... They won’t just let us be.”

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened for a moment, the weight of his family’s expectations hanging heavily between you both. “I don’t care about the crown anymore,” he said, his voice steady, but filled with a newfound resolve. “I care about you. I care about us. And if that means stepping away from all of this, then I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to be with you.”

His words were more than just promises; they were the kind of declarations you never thought you’d hear from someone like him. Someone who was supposed to be tied to the throne, bound by duty and tradition. But here he was, standing before you, his hands still holding yours, ready to face a life that didn’t come with a crown but with something far more valuable: love.

You didn’t know what the future would hold. The road ahead would be difficult, filled with opposition, uncertainty, and the wrath of his family. But in that moment, as Sunghoon stood before you with such sincerity, you knew one thing for sure: together, you would find a way to make it work.

Sunghoon leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll make it work, Y/N,” he whispered. “I promise.”

And in that moment, with his words and his touch, everything felt right.

The day had finally arrived. The grand halls of the palace were filled with people, all gathered to witness the union of the youngest prince and the maid who had captured his heart. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the decision that had been made a month ago still hanging in the air, but there was a lightness to it now. A new sense of hope, of change.

Sunghoon had spent the last month standing by his decision, unwavering in his commitment to you. The wedding preparations were nothing like you’d imagined for a royal marriage—there were no forced smiles, no pretending. There was only a quiet, serene understanding that this was what was meant to be. The queen had reluctantly accepted, but the more she saw how happy Sunghoon was, the more she realized this was the right path for her son.

You stood in front of the mirror in your chambers, the reflection staring back at you almost unrecognizable. The delicate wedding gown draped over your figure was nothing like the humble attire you’d worn as a maid, and yet, somehow, it felt like it belonged. This was the beginning of a new chapter, one that you had never dared to dream of.

You thought about everything that had led up to this moment—the secret letters, the stolen glances, the way Sunghoon had stood up to his family for you. There was so much to be thankful for, and yet, so much that still felt surreal. How could this be your reality? How could the boy you once admired from afar be standing by your side, ready to pledge his life to you?

The sound of knocking pulled you from your thoughts. A maid entered, carrying a bouquet of white lilies, your wedding flowers. She smiled gently, placing them in your hands.

“It’s time, my lady,” she said, her tone soft, almost reverent.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. Today was the day you would marry Sunghoon. Today, you would finally become his.

The ceremony was held in the grand ballroom, the space beautifully adorned with flowers and silks. The royal family was seated at the front, the queen’s expression softer than usual, her gaze following her son as he stood at the altar. There was no denying the change in her. She no longer saw the royal duties and status as the only things that mattered. She saw her son, truly happy for the first time in years, and that was enough for her.

Sunghoon stood at the altar, his eyes scanning the room for you. When you entered, the moment everything shifted. His face lit up, his gaze never leaving you as you made your way down the aisle. He looked so different today—like he was free, like he wasn’t bound by the weight of a crown or the expectations of his family. He was just a man in love, ready to start his life with you.

When you reached him, he took your hands, his fingers warm and firm. The priest began the ceremony, but everything felt like a blur. It was hard to focus on the words when the only thing that mattered was the way Sunghoon was looking at you—like you were the most important person in the world to him.

“I do,” Sunghoon said when it was time to vow.

The words came easily for you, though your heart raced. “I do.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the priest declared you husband and wife. A cheer erupted around you, but all you could hear was the steady beating of your heart as Sunghoon pulled you close and kissed you, sealing your vows.

When you pulled away, you found Jay standing at the back, his arms crossed but a soft smile on his face. He wasn’t one for grand gestures, but the pride in his eyes told you everything. He had supported his brother through this decision, even if it went against everything they were taught. Sunghoon wasn’t just a prince anymore—he was his own person, and Jay had respected that.

The rest of the royal family, though tense, seemed to accept the union with quiet grace. The queen—despite her initial reluctance—looked content. She saw the love between you two, and in that moment, she realized this was the best choice for Sunghoon, and maybe for her, too.

As the night went on, the ball began. The guests mingled, the laughter and music filling the air. But through it all, Sunghoon and you remained side by side, your hands intertwined. You were no longer the maid, and he was no longer just the prince. You were partners now, standing together against the world.

And as the night grew late and the stars sparkled in the sky, you realized that everything had changed—your life, your future, and most importantly, your love for Sunghoon.

In that moment, as you danced with him, you felt a sense of peace, of belonging. No matter what came next, you knew this was where you were meant to be.

Wonyoung stood there, the clink of her champagne glass a soft accompaniment to the music filling the room. Her eyes were locked on you and Sunghoon, watching the two of you move together on the dance floor. The soft sway of the music seemed to only heighten the intimacy between you, the way Sunghoon held you close, his expression filled with a quiet joy that she'd never seen before.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the sting of it, the loss of the future she had imagined with him. But deep down, she knew this was right. Sunghoon wasn’t hers to have. They had never truly been a match, not in the way he was with you. And while it pained her to see him with someone else, she could also see the happiness in his eyes—the real, unguarded happiness that only you had been able to bring him.

She took another sip of her drink, her gaze softening. She couldn’t hold onto something that wasn’t meant for her. She had learned that the hard way, through all the years of pretending, all the attempts to fit into a mold that wasn’t hers. Sunghoon had always been a dream she chased, but dreams weren’t always meant to come true.

As the music continued, Wonyoung found herself smiling, even if it was bittersweet. She knew the palace would whisper about this, about the unconventional nature of this union, but she didn’t care anymore. The world would keep turning.

She had her own path to walk, and while it didn’t include Sunghoon, she was finally ready to start walking it. The past was no longer something to hold on to, and the future was hers to shape.

Watching you two, she realized something important. You had something real, something she would never have with Sunghoon, and she would be a fool to try to stand in the way of it. So she stood there, silently acknowledging your bond, accepting the way things had turned out—because in the end, love was about letting go, even when it hurt.

And as she turned to walk away from the scene, her heart felt lighter than it had in months. Wonyoung was done fighting for something that wasn’t hers, and that was okay.

Wonyoung stopped, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she turned slowly to face you. Her expression was unreadable, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The champagne in her hand had long been finished, and her gaze seemed far away, like she was still processing everything that had happened tonight.

"Y/n," she replied softly, almost as if she hadn’t expected you to come after her. "What is it?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. You had seen the way she had watched you and Sunghoon together, and though she’d put on a brave face, you could see the quiet sadness lingering in her eyes. You understood that kind of heartache—being in love with someone who could never love you back the same way.

"I just... wanted to say thank you," you began, surprising both her and yourself. "I know this isn’t easy for you, and I want you to know that I’m not trying to take something from you. Sunghoon is his own person, and I never wanted to hurt you." Your voice softened, the words flowing more naturally now. "I think you’re really strong for being able to stand here and face everything."

Wonyoung’s eyes softened, a small, almost imperceptible tear glistening at the edge of her lashes before she blinked it away. "You don’t have to say that," she murmured, shaking her head gently. "I never truly had a chance, did I? Sunghoon... he’s always been different with you."

"You were both pushed into this," you said, stepping closer, your voice filled with empathy. "None of this is your fault. I just... wanted to make sure you knew that."

Wonyoung took a deep breath, her lips pressing together in a tight line as she absorbed your words. There was a long pause before she spoke again, her tone softer now, almost like she was confiding in you.

"You love him, don’t you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the question carried more weight than any others. She wasn’t accusing you; she was asking because, in that moment, she understood.

"I do," you admitted, your heart feeling lighter as you spoke the truth out loud. "I never imagined this would happen, but... I do love him."

She nodded slowly, as if she had already known, but hearing you say it aloud somehow made it real. A small, wistful smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and despite everything, it held no bitterness. Just an understanding.

"I hope you both find happiness," Wonyoung said quietly. "Maybe it’s not the way I envisioned, but if he’s happy with you, then I’ll learn to be okay with that." Her words, though tinged with sadness, carried a sense of acceptance.

You reached out to her, your hand brushing hers gently in a gesture of solidarity. "Thank you, Wonyoung. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make him happy."

She glanced down at your joined hands, her gaze lingering for a moment before she nodded once more, her voice barely audible as she spoke one final time.

"Take care of him, Y/n. He deserves someone who truly understands him. And I think you’re the one who does."

With that, Wonyoung turned and walked away, her steps quiet but resolute. You stood there for a moment, watching her retreat, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you. There was sadness, yes, but there was also a newfound respect for her strength, for her grace in letting go.

You turned back toward the ballroom, your heart heavier, but in a way that felt like progress. And as you made your way back to Sunghoon, you couldn’t help but feel a deeper sense of gratitude for the path you and he were now walking together—no matter how complicated, no matter how unexpected.

You walked back toward the ballroom with a heavy heart, your thoughts still lingering on Wonyoung. Despite the whirlwind of emotions you had felt since the moment you’d met Sunghoon, you couldn’t ignore the sadness that had settled in your chest for her. She was beautiful, graceful, and strong—there was no doubt in your mind that she would find someone who truly deserved her. But it didn't make watching her walk away any easier.

As you neared the ballroom doors, you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. You had done the right thing, you reminded yourself. You had spoken to her honestly, given her the respect she deserved. The world wasn't always fair, but maybe in time, she’d find her own peace with it.

You pushed open the doors to the ballroom, the warmth and bright lights flooding your senses. The music was still playing, and the laughter and conversation filled the air, but there was a shift in the atmosphere now. You felt different, like something had changed in your heart.

Sunghoon was still standing in the center of the room, waiting for you. His eyes locked onto yours as soon as you entered, and you saw the relief in his gaze, like he'd been waiting for this moment. He smiled at you, a soft, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

Without a word, you walked toward him, the weight of the night still pressing down on you but somehow feeling lighter now. When you reached him, he held out his hand, and you placed yours in his without hesitation, the connection between you both undeniable.

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked softly, his voice gentle, as if he could sense the quiet storm inside you.

You nodded, smiling up at him, trying to push aside the lingering thoughts of Wonyoung. "Yeah. Just... thinking about everything, I guess."

Sunghoon’s expression softened, and he took a step closer to you. “You did the right thing,” he murmured, as if he could read your mind. “You’re not alone in this, Y/n. I’ve got you, okay?”

You swallowed, the weight of everything in that moment almost overwhelming, but the warmth of his words helped steady you. You looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time tonight, and for the first time, you felt a true sense of certainty. This was real. All of it.

“I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

And in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever came next, whatever challenges you’d face together, it was all worth it. You weren’t just a maid anymore. You were Sunghoon’s—his equal, his partner. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to make everything else fade away.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This story is NOT based on the song, I put the song on there for the sake of the title so please do not come at me! thank you for taking your time to read this story- I wanted to make something refreshing rather than my sad ass angsty stories so I hope you enjoyed!

[pm-my-beloved]

heyo! i've doing some analysis on some lcb egos in my spare time but i can’t for the life of me figure out a semi decent analysis of wingbeat ishmael, so i wanted to see if you have any analysis on wingbeat! [sorry if this comes off weird! >.<]

I was asked about EGO analysis in DM's! I have made it! Preface, as stated earlier, I am not an Ishmael scholar, having read only a few chapters of her book as of now, but I will still try my best in interpretation

Lets start with what Fairy Festival itself is as an abnormality. They are the originators of the "Fairy" abno cathegory, where every abnormality has heavy ties to gluttony and predation, If I recall correctly, all of them also use trickery to try to lure their prey in, attempting to appear as hospitable. An interesting divergence that happens with Fairy Festival specifically, is that its Ruina form, and in Limbus, is more openly predatory, AND FAMISHED. My personal reading on it is that in a perfect enviroment for them, they are such hyperpredators that they run out of prey, putting them into starvation.

So, how does that relate to Ishmael? Partially it can be explained by my post about predatory themes in Ishmael when making prediction for the Christmass E.G.O., so I will focus on alternative angle of interpretation.

Remember who was Ishmael BEFORE even the voyage? She was a feather, so utterly bored with her existance that she sought out ANY way out of her current life, one could even say that she was starved for excitement. This goes along with early book presentation of Ishmael, where the character seeks to go out on voyage specifically because he's about to go nuts from boredom.

So what did our Ishmael do? She hard jumped onto ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS JOBS IN THE CITY, HUNTING MERMAIDS AND WHALES, Literally a form of predation of humanity upon natural life, solely to satiate that hunger inside for some adventure.

I believe of course, that this exists ALONGSIDE the Ishmael being perfectly suited to be a predator in her own right within the city, even with a persona of proffesionalism.

When it comes to her Awakening line "Very good. Sit still and be gentle. Scarred meat isn't... tasty." I think its mostly the abnormality channeling her metaphorical hunger into a more literal one.

Corrosion is more interesting on the other hand "Y-you suspected me, didn't you...? Bastards harboring such evil thoughts must be...!" This, together with the fact that Corrosion gains bonuses from harming its allies, leads me to specific line of thought. Throughout the story of Limbus and her Identities, we see how strongly Ishmael attempts to keep up her facade of detachment and professionalism. Thus, I think this might partially be a clue that Ishmael is very averse towards her persona being seen through, not wanting others to see her thriss seeking behaviour for what it truly is, even if she herself is unaware of it.

Lets move onto Sin costs now shall we? At 3 cost we have Gluttony, which just plainly makes sense as going out of ones way to get more thrill and excitement than one is exposed to is pretty gluttonous behaviour. Then we have 2 Pride cost, which is somewhat difficult of a read to me. The main one thought that comes to mind is a sense of superiority over other living beings that would be required to pursue hunting as ones way of life when its not some need (As opposed to bloodfiends) And lastly, we have 1 Lust cost, which in my opinion, reflects how Ishmael in spite of everything, genuenly enjoyed, and still enjoys, the thrill of the hunt.

The last aspect that is to read, is the Sin Resists. Pride Fatal, with weakness to pride being emotional subservience, imho relates to how Ishmael upon getting onto the voyage let her decisions be guided entirely by Ahab at the time. Envy Fatal I believe could reflect either the judgementality she put onto Ahab after the encounter with Pallid Whale, OR judgementality towards her own previous way of life that she grew so bored with. Gluttony ineffective I think reflects how in that life, her need and pursuit of that excitement were satisfied, not having to go out of her way in pursuit of more. And finally, Lust Endured comes from the reluctance that came from realisation of the struggles and issues that come from both being a sailor, and being Ahabs sailor specifically, she was not completly seduced by that world, which is also partly why managed separate herself from the crew after the failed attempt to defeat Pallid Whale. Phew, thats it. I hope this made some sense.

[eternalera]

i love everyone saying how if ekko stayed everyone would understand his choice and not blame him for it but he left anyways and that makes him the best character. and while yes i kinda wanna dig deeper into this, the fact is that if ekko stayed i doubt that he ever wouldve been able to forgive himself, he never wouldve been truly happy, why? because he had everything that he wanted. he was flung into another dimension by chance and it just happened to be the best one where everything went right and he's dating his childhood crush (aka jinx/powder although im gonna use powder since its technically powder).

throughout ekko's character we've learned a few things and one of them being that he's not selfish by any means. he's built an entire commune for the greater good, he doesn't charge people anything and he lets them stay, he created a utopia in a dystopian world so that people can grow up normally and live a life that he and a lot of others never lived at his age. he doesnt force the people into labor he lets them have fun and i highly suspect that the people in the firelights are there because they went to support him and his endeavors and he doesn't want to let them down.

he has people relying on him because of this thing that he created so what does he do when there's a problem? he finds it and goes to fix it, and when he does that its then when he gets flung into this alternate reality and has to try and get back even though he has everything. why?

because his people need him. the tree is still dying, and if that tree dies everyone's lives who live there will be utterly destroyed. because he created that commune/utopia he is responsible for it's survival and while he has everything in this universe it's not his universe it's not his to have. what is his though is once again his society and he cant just throw that all away not with everyone counting on him. so he needs to go back.

not only that but in the end powder was right, he gave them the tip, he started off the chain of reactions he was the one who introduced everyone to hextech and while it's not his fault of how everything plays out he played his rule as much as the next person, as much as powder or vi. he started the chair reaction and while he can't control what happens after it what does matter is that he started it, he knocked over the domino's and for that he has to live with his decision and how it played out.

in this universe everything turned out fine, in his though is an entirely different story and he has to own up to that, while he didn't control it he still started all of this kinda like jayce with creating hextech, he didnt want everything to go out of hand or for viktor to basically become god and emotionless but regardless of the fact that's what happened and maybe in a different reality that doesnt happen but it still happened and because of that he has to own up to that mistake.

when vi slaps powder and runs off she couldn't have predicted that silco would take her in or that powder would become jinx but she still has to take some sort of responsibility for it.

ekko has to face what his decision caused in the end, maybe there it turned out for the better but in his universe it didnt and i think thats what makes his character truly mature in a sense. now am i saying that everything is ekko's fault? no, it's not but just like everyone else he had his part to play and even if it's not his fault arcane does make it clear that he's not entirely innocent just like powder says

"you gave us the tip"

you introduced us to this, you made us go on this mission. you're not innocent. and this fucking works it acknowledges the part that ekko had to play in everything which... lets be honest some people were NOT (and still arent) talking about. so that makes him going back and fixing everything so much better even if most of it wasnt his fault he still sees the harm that he caused and wants to fix it.

thats why he's the boy savior, and that's why he cant stay.

[obsessingoverthisandthat]

ANNABELL LEE

Is such a complex and lovely character, I can't. The difference between her thought process and Lenores thought process is beautiful and interesting-

She's a woman who very early in her life understood that she was not in a position of power, just by being a woman. That her life is controlled by a system everybody abides by that will never favor her. That she has to follow the rules of said system or even her family will cast her out as a mad woman, evident by the way they treat her anxiety/panic attacks. Nobody is safe. Nobody can be trusted. To keep safe is to follow the rules-

And the only way to get on top of anything, to gain even a smidge of control is to use the rules to you're advantage.

But this in turn demands of her to turn off care and empathy for others (which she is capable of btw. Annabell Lee is not just some unfeeling monster) Because factoring in how it would affect the other person, caring about another person is a risk factor to herself. And anyway, its not like anybody truly cares about her, right? Its not like there are people out there who would be willing to have empathy for her. They pretend, just as she does because it is polite. Some may even mean it on some level, but not truly. Not wholeheartedly. That's how she sees it.

She's on her own. Her true self is utterly and fully on her own.

Cue Lenore. Lenore started out just the same as any other person Annabell Lee could take advantage of. However, with one additional perk. She was a break. Annabell Lee didn't have to watch herself as closely, not maintain a facade as tightly as usual. Because she is talking to a mad woman. A woman diagnosed with hysteria, a woman shut in in the basement. She has no social power over Annabell Lee. Any accusations or similar can be explained away with her mental illness. So, with time she gets comfortable. Relaxes just a tiny bit. Lenore is pleasant company, sensible and quite smart to talk to.

She, on some level, understands Annabell Lee. And then. Then she cares.

And that is such an unfamiliar feeling. Such a dangerous sentiment. And ridiculous too, for why? Annabell is just taking advantage. Perhaps that's why Lenore is mad, for not quite understanding that. The social games and ladders.

And then the house burns down. And she grieves for a brief friend she had to leave, the first person who really cared.

And then Leo shows up.

Actually taking advantage of the rules, but in such a mad way, it is utterly baffling for her. It is the ultimate proof of care. Lenore cares for Annabell so deeply, it seems, she's willing to give away her life.

And she cracks. Because she desperately craves that. True companionship. True care. True love. And Lenore, wonderful, selfless Lenore, is willing to give her that. Does it with a smile and sacrifice.

So. The only sensible thing to do now. Is to make sure she keeps it. So, she cares back. So fiercely, she's willing to kill for Lenore. So fiercely, that Lenore becomes the only other real person in her life. The only other real person in the whole world.

It feels special. They are the only ones worth fighting for. They are a team, a unit. Annabell Lee truly cares for Lenore because Lenore will always truly care back. And that is worth more to her than a million other lives, that have never known true care even if it stood before them, waving.

Now, imagine the heartbreak when she understands, that Lenore is willing to truly care for others too. She never truly got the fact that Lenore wasn't all alone like her. That Lenore had a brother who truly cared and that Lenore became a madwoman because of said brothers death. She doesn't get it, that real connections do not require sacrifice. It is scary for Annabell that Lenore is willing to give up a lot for people, she perceives will simply not do so back.

Fact is Lenore was Annabells first and only friend. But Annabell is not the first and only friend of Lenores.

Fact is that Annabell thinks the only way to be safe and get ahead is to play by the set up rules. But Lenore doesn't see the sense in doing that if it harms her friends. Lenore would rather rip the system and rules apart than play by them. And that's always been the case.

Even if to Annabell, previously, it didn't look it. Even if Annabell thought they were the same.

And the most heart wrenching thing? Annabell will continue to act like she always has, because she values their relationship too much, values Lenore too much. Because that's how she keeps the things important to her, her life, her love, safe. And it will continue to drive Lenore away, because it requires sacrifice of people Lenore is fond of.

They will only get somewhere healthy when Annabell gains another friend and starts understanding Lenores point of view.

But Annabell is scared of that. It feels unsafe. She might become a madwoman.

So. We are at a cross point. Either Annabell Lee gives in or Annabell Lee loses Lenore.

Which. Fun. Is she gonna give in? Not without a fight, I imagine. It goes against everything she ever build up, against every rule of being she ever set for herself.

It is going to be difficult.

And there will be loss.

I'm so very excited to see it.

[sadcoms]

timepetals thoughts i keep having:

i know that the assumption is “she is my s-” means soulmate but i always think he just thinks of rose as his soul. less that she completes him or is his other half and more that she just is his conscience and any goodness he may have is hers. he was born out of love for her, she is such an integral part of him, she is his soul itself.

i know everyone has taken permanent damage from the “how long are you going to stay with me” and why the general focus is on the doctor’s reaction but the way rose says forever gets to me. she’s not giddy or girlish when she says it, in some ways she almost sounds resigned to it, which has wonderfully angsty connotations in the timeline of s2. but it’s why it really works for me, she is so dead serious and committed when she says it, because she understands everything it means (and therefore part of her feels solemn about it). it has a lot of weight to it. even the first time donna says she’s going to travel with the doctor forever to martha at the end of the doctor’s daughter she sounds a lot more fanciful.

every time i hear the doctor scream when rose loses her grip in doomsday i just think that he would absolutely not have survived her actually being sucked into the void.

i always think the vocals in doomsday are similar to the doctor’s theme so to me the angry rock music is rose’s side and the vocals are his, rather than the howling wolf idea i’ve heard some people compare it to. how the doctor’s theme is lonely and mournful with its sparse instruments but calm, everything the ninth doctor was, while doomsday is heartbroken and angry and an entire orchestra because it’s two people overcome with grief together. how doomsday becomes such a motif for both characters individually, even when they're separated.

i still struggle to comprehend that the doctor wearing floral ties in s3 is canon and NOT a fanfic trope like you're telling the doctor said "i need a floral motif as close to my two hearts as possible" and you're describing him as something other than a grieving widower???

the doctor really could not go anywhere in s3 without running into some kind of couple but i never see people talk about the parallels in 42. “we chose this ship together / he keeps me honest so i don’t want false hope” and the way the doctor literally gives mcdonnell his condolences through gritted teeth?? the fact that she would rather die with korwin than be without him and have it be her fault

that the doctor, king of self-loathing, saw rose dressed as his ninth self and carrying a giant weapon and he not only RAN to her but then deliberately protected her from the trauma of seeing him change again. and then tentoo immediately picks a blue suit to be like now i’m matchey matchey with rose 🥰 the universe was ending and he’d seen rose again for two actual minutes but the doctor was so utterly focused on her.

how tentoo truly is rose's doctor, especially as he's got that little bit of nine in him. he's born out of the same love and protection of his previous incarnations but he loses a heart and the curse of the timelords and goes oh, this is rose's heart. and then he wears the blue mourning suit and yes, there is still mourning, but there is also the start of the rest of their lives together.

how the doctor’s hair most noticeably changed after school reunion to become spikier and less boyish. how that coincides with him using mickey to put distance between himself and rose now that he’s been reminded of rose’s mortality.

how wild the doctor and jack’s conversation in utopia is. the way the doctor says “rose” like it’s an entire explanation in itself because even before she absorbed the time vortex she fundamentally changed the life of everyone she met. the way he says “everything she did was so human” and the way he accepts jack’s sorry to him because there’s no trying to deny his feelings from jack, not when he saw his ninth self. the way jack has BARELY finished his sentence about watching rose grow up when the doctor casually asks him if he wants to die, the almost playful way he says it. one semi suicidal immortal who spent half of the season trying to get himself killed to another, both of them still kind of toying with the idea. both of them trying to have hope even though they've lost so much.

[therustedcat]

my personal theory about the soul and the prophecy + extra yapping

The role of the Soul in Deltarune is very interesting, but I think the fandom has a very black and white view of its (our) role in the narrative. Sure, it's capable of evil, but I don't think that was ever supposed to be the point, or even the reason Kris treats it the way they do. Like a tool, almost, for sealing fountains and even killing a titan, but something that must be prevented from understanding what is going on. Why would that be? I think Chapter 4 reveals this almost in its entirety. The first hero is a 'cage'. Not a 'puppet' or a 'vessel', but a 'cage'. Kris dislikes the soul being in control and directing their actions, but they keep it around despite not seeming to need the soul to move and act like normal. They even take it out to sleep, which implies that they could keep it out for far longer than we see them do it in game. They're even capable of defying what the soul wants them to do, no matter how much it pushes. The sequence in Noelle's house is, I think, meant to show that we are not and have never truly been in control. Outside of Kris's body, the Soul is utterly helpless and can do nothing. Your only means of resistance is hiding or trying to alert Susie and Noelle so they can do something. Deltarune seems to be asking "what if it was the PLAYER who had no agency in a videogame, rather than the characters?" and the normal route is an exploration of that hypothetical. So what about the prophecy? Why does Kris use THIS soul, rather than their own? Susie mentions the Soul for the first time after her and Kris defeat the Titan. Then she runs off, reads the prophecy's outcome, and shatters it. What did she see that would make her so viscerally upset? What would make her specifically say to Ralsei "YOU would never let that happen?" Is it possible that the reason Ralsei is always so unfailingly kind to Kris, even when they do the same things Susie does in chapter one, because of his foreknowledge? The way he acts, the way he praises them even for small things, are all comforting actions, aren't they? Like you'd do for someone whose days are numbered. It's possible that the ultimate tragedy of the prophecy is that Kris, bearing a human soul, is meant to sacrifice it to save the world with its power. But now, alongside the Knight, Kris seems to be trying to subvert the prophecy. What if that is the reason they are keeping you around - but also in the dark? To fulfill the prophecy in their place? Maybe that's why they indulge you to a certain extent, even when it confuses them or goes against their wishes (like opening the door in church at the end of chapter 4 or stopping you from being cruel to Ralsei).

Snowgrave is, I think, one of those things that throws this for a loop. But not by much. How are you 'supposed' to find out about Snowgrave? In chapter three. The S-rank door hints at how to find the forbidden path. And you can only proceed down it by going back to chapter two. But, generally, most people would keep that info for later, after they've finished the game. Deltarune is episodic, but the fact that chapter three tells you how to discover Snowgrave despite the entire internet knowing at this point I think shows the original intention of how the story was told. You would play through the game 'normally', maybe one more time to get what you might have missed (superbosses, side conversations) and in doing so you might also find Snowgrave. A potential way to avert YOUR fate at the end of the normal route. But this time around, Kris isn't your 'cage' anymore. You're stronger on the forbidden path. You can do things you simply can't on the normal route. You can force Noelle to bypass the puzzles. You can make her cast a spell she 'doesn't know' and kill her friend. Kris cannot disobey you even when they have previously. You can FORCE your way back into their body, against their will, and make them do what you want. I think the trash can beatdown in chapter 4's Snowgrave scene isn't just anger. It's also fear, because, even though you have controlled them before, you shouldn't be able to do what you have done in the weird route. Ripping the soul out is Kris's way of regaining control completely, and you showed them that even THAT isn't a guarantee anymore; that you can return whenever you want.

Perhaps it's easier to treat the world of Deltarune and its characters so callously here because, unlike Undertale, you aren't pursuing the forbidden path out of mere curiosity. The Soul is meant to be a sacrifice. Coming back and pursuing the weird route is almost... revenge. So it doesn't matter how cruel you are, does it? (also Ralsei is sooooooooooooo trans fem it's insane but i needmore screencaps to make that post)

[pangaeaseas]

Lily marrying James isn’t a betrayal. It was, however, completely incomprehensible to me as a child reading for the first time and honestly still is after gaining life experience. Why would anyone get with somebody they witness violently abusing others for kicks, even if a mere year or two later they claim to have cleaned up their act - that was still a core part of their character?! He might’ve been charming and confident and good to people he likes, but he also sexually assaults somebody with considerably less privilege in public, which should’ve been enough of a crime to put any girl off for good even if the victim was now somebody she had cause to hate. I’d have been totally behind it if it had been a purely strategic decision to take a pureblood name in wartime! That’s pragmatism, it makes sense! But it’s written as true love, and tbh it’s never sat well with me what that says about Lily’s character, and what it says about JKR’s attitude towards the awful idea that the love of a good woman can fix abusive men.

Thanks for leaving me a reasonable response, I was a little afraid I would get people with utterly wild takes screaming at me in my inbox for that post!

Yeah, I don't think Lily marrying James is a betrayal, I'm glad we agree on that.

A lot of how we interpret J*ly depends on how we interpret James and Lily based on the very, *very* limited and biased information we receive about them. The reader can never know the full truth about them and truly know them as people, because they died pre-story and Harry will forever be learning out of context things about his dead parents without ever truly knowing them. Which, to veer a little off the main subject of the ask, is honestly a choice that really works for me as someone who lost a parent young. Receiving biased information and trying to judge based off of that while having to accept you can never form your own opinion is just how it is, for Harry and for anyone else in his position.

The thing is, the reader is placed in Harry's position. James and Lily are characters we can make extrapolations about, yes, but we don't have enough information to fully understand them. You cannot really do the same kind of deep dives on them you can do with a character like Snape, Lupin, or Sirius, because there isn't very much material there. So any argument about James and Lily will by its very nature involve a hell of a lot of speculation.

What we get about James doesn't look very good. I don't want to minimize James's terrible actions in that scene. His interaction with Lily there is a really bad way to treat her and it doesn't speak well of the future of their relationship. (And he is also terrible to Snape, obviously, but the rest of this ask isn't about Snape so I won't go more into that). To be quite honest I think some of it is JKR trying to write a rom-com bickering enemies to lovers dynamic between them but for many readers it falls flat as the implications of him trying to get her to go out with him in exchange for releasing Snape are pretty terrible. And most positive information about James we receive is through biased sources like his best friends, though I don't think we should totally discard the fact that he was a good friend to Sirius and Remus and devoted his life to fighting against the Death Eaters--potentially good qualities Lily might have liked about him. Also, in SWM, he makes a point of NOT calling Lily a Mudblood and condemning the slur, which...you are really not the moral authority here, James, but at least you are trying not to be blood supremacist--and that would be a stark contrast to someone Lily trusted suddenly calling her it. We just..don't know all that much about him, so we can either take only his bad traits or try to extrapolate some good ones (or draw out the good traits he does have canonically), depending on what you personally want to do with him.

You say that 'any girl' would be put off by James, but, well, there are a lot of reasons people are attracted to each other. People have been attracted to more terrible people all the time. Whether or not James and Lily's relationship was abusive, people stay with their abusers for all sorts of complex reasons and it feels somewhat dismissive to say 'oh, I wouldn't do that'...you're not in that position. Just because you personally wouldn't do something doesn't make it an impossible decision for someone.

And there is evidence that James matured as a person, though you can feel free to be unconvinced by it. We don't know what Lily saw in James. We can feel free to imagine it how we want to, as a fandom. I just don't think we should really be critiquing her for something largely speculative, and we especially shouldn't be using her dating James as a reason to bash her for ending her friendship with Snape. Lily is allowed to date James without it being about Snape, because she is an autonomous person with her own wants, needs, and desires. Of course, these are my interpretations influenced by my subjective reading of the text.

The final point you make is, I think, a really good one. I have a lot of problems with how J*ly is written in the books! And I do think it is absolutely influenced by the trope of a Good Woman redeeming a Bad Man. That doesn't mean said trope is the only way J*ly can be written in fic and understood in the fandom. But yeah, Lily is written in some very troubling ways...fandom discourse about her just often becomes even more troubling. My ultimate problem with the 'Lily is a bad friend' line of argument is honestly a critique of the exact same trope: the idea that Lily's purpose as a character is entirely to redeem Snape, that she was responsible for fixing him and saving him. Saying that Lily was a bad friend to Snape for not forgiving him for calling her a racial slur and specifically demeaning the help she offered him--and for not preventing him from joining the Death Eaters, even though it was his choice to do so, is misogynistic! The text is obviously not free of misogyny but fandom isn't either, which is why the Bad Friend Lily take gets me so mad because it plays into a misogynistic trope!(Thinking about it, I do wonder if the framing of Lily 'saving' James in the text is why people want her to 'save' Snape...)

Anyway, I hope this doesn't come off as condescending or rude, it's an interesting subject to discuss and it's not my intention to attack you at all. Thanks for the ask!

[casual-socks]

HI IVE BEEN MASSIVELY HYPERFIXATED ON TMA FOR ABOUT A YEAR AND IVE SEEN MAYBE ONE (1) SINGULAR PERSON TALK ABOUT THIS and i am not even kidding when i say its been a passionate topic of conversation for that entire year. people know me for this. it comes up and my entire friend group SIGHS AUDIBLY because they know the 20 minute tangent i Will be taking

WHATTTTT IS GOING ON WITH GERARD KEAYS NAME. what. what???? okay i

youre telling me jonathan sims went to oxford college (relatively prestigious if my memory serves me correctly) for RESEARCH. for, to put it simply, READING. and he looks at the name gerard and goes Yeah looks like jared to me lets go with that!!! HELLO?? NO?? not even mentioning the fact that he is being what could easily be called possesed when reading these statements which leaves us with two options

1. the ENTIRETY OF ENGLAND CANNOT PRONOUNCE THE NAME GERARD.

2. jonathan sims is so monumentally stupid that he is somehow breaking this possesion for the 2 seconds it takes to say the name gerard (i love him i swear i will sound so so hateful for this entire post but its out of love)

and like??? its not even that EVERYONE is calling him jared? elias and gertrude have both called him gerard and thats just off the top of my head. i also think jon said it correctly ONEEEE SINGULAR TIME. Just the once.

now i feel it necessary to mention jared hopworth here as well. because why, why on gods green earth, would you name a character gerard. pronounce it jared. TURN AROUND AND GO. lets make another jared but this ones made out of meat and is sort of implied to not be too fond of gay people. Yeah he steals peoples bones. Yeah.

SO LIKE GERARD KEAY IS THE OBJECTIVELY SUPERIOR JARED EXCEPT HES NOT JARED HIS NAME IS LITERALLY GERARD?? FUCK YOU SO MUCH

so okay. sure whatever this podcast is sooo british that a bunch of people are just completely failing to pronounce gerard. sure. whatever you say.

GERRY?????? HIS FUCKING NICKNAME IS GERRY???????????? NO!!!!

NO. no. LOOK ME IN MY EYES. LOOK AT THE NAME GERARD. GER-ARD. AND YOURE TELLING ME YOURE GONNA CALL HIM JARED. SND THEN YOURE GONNA CALL HIM GERRY WITH A G???? gerry with a g. that is utterly ridiculous i cannot even believe this that is monumentally frustrating i cannot even begin to describe to you all the anger i have experienced over this particular bit because why on earth would you take that particular extra step??? gerard -> gerry. sure. thin ice, but sure. jared -> jerry. sure! yeah! makes sense! GERARD -> JARED -> GERRY? you must be playing some sick joke jonny sims. seriously. you are a cruel and usual man

now this is when i start to wind down, but far from where i finish. lets take a moment to really pause and soak in his actual name here.

gerard.

that is so unfortunate already i mean really, gerard is such a…. a name…. i mean his mom skins people and puts them in books and the cruelest thing i think she ever couldve done is honest to god name her son gerard.

keay.

now dont get me wrong. theres nothing seriously wrong with spelling it keay on principle. but god, really? youre gonna shove all this gerard gerry jared business in front of me and tell me his last name is just key but gone the extra mile. really feels like the cherry on top of a shit cake.

now if you consider gerards character i truly feel as though thats the deepest disservice here. gerard keay is an incredible character whos short appearance is so memorable and charming, and despite his VERY little screen time he still has an intriguing and well fleshed out character. really, gerard keay is so excellent character wise. But, every time i think about him for any more than 5 minutes, almost this exact rant is being told to whoever is unfortunate enough to be near me at the time.

another thing i think also really adds to this is just the nature of gerard keay. everything you can say about that guy could be ended with “and everone calls him jared for some reason”. hes emo and everyone calls him jared for some reason. his hair dye job is so miserable that EVERYONE mentions it and everyone calls him jared for some reason. he has mommy issues and everyone calls him jared for some reason.

okay i need to wrap this up before i start just repeating WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY for thousands of words but heres a graph i made for my friends in october 2022 when i was going on about this in the middle of my spanish class 👍👍

[rise-my-angel]

'BuT NeD ThInKs PoSiTiVeLy Of RhAeGaR' Ned thinks of Rhaegar ONCE that he was a man unlikely to visit brothels. From this we can conclude that he was not a sex pest like Robert. How on earth does this inform of Ned's personal feelings though? Ned is comparing Robert and Rhaegar and thinking in factual terms. Its similar to how he thinks of Aerys killing his father and brother but not once does he express hatred against Aerys. But we do know what he would think of Aerys, its common sense. Even if we go by 'Lyanna was willing' idea, Lyanna still died because Rhaegar impregnated her at 15 and then left her imprisoned without proper healthcare. She died because of Rhaegar's actions. People who use this argument are usually those who don't understand Ned's character very clearly, he is a man who while suffering from ptsd, suppresses painful emotions and feelings.

Ned Stark is SO MUCH more complicated then those people will ever give him credit for. They are desperate to paint him as so easily black and white when he is the most "living in the grey area" man to literally ever exist. They also refuse to give any context to that scene.

Because it isn't really Rhaegar Neds thinking about in that scene, it's Jon. Ned is in a brothel looking for one of Roberts many bastards, and connecting Robert to Lyanna to Rhaegar he wonders if Rhaegar was like Robert in that sense. The question Ned is really asking, is if there is a possibility that there are more people out there like Jon. He's asking himself if he's sure that Jon is alone and comes to the conclusion that yes, Rhaegar probably didn't sleep around like Robert and this comes to the conclusion that the only secret child of Rhaegars is in fact, still Jon.

But it's like you said, Ned strongly buries his true emotions deep down. He is a very traumatized man who has never truly gotten past the point in his life where his sister died in front of him. Ned is still trapped in that room and the haunting smell of blood and roses. Ned was described as catatonic for a while after Lyanna died and he never truly came out of that emotionally. He keeps everything inside very deeply and is utterly haunted with that upcoming trauma once the main story starts. His every action in Kings Landing is rooted in that trauma of what happened to Lyanna and the deep fear of what will happen to Jon. Everything he does in Kings Landing is about that, Neds priority in the story, is Jon. That dicates everything he does in the main plot because he is deeply traumatized and terrifed of what will happen to his son.

There's even a strong argument to be made that had Robert never come to Winterfell and involved the Starks directly within the dealings of the Crown, that Ned wouldn't ever have let Jon join the Nights Watch. That agree or disagree with letting him, that a big reason he allows it, is out of the fear of Jon being anywhere near the people Ned's spent Jons entire life protecting him from. That Ned would rather Jon be in the Nights Watch, then hunted down and murdered by Robert.

Ned the entire story and half of his life has been burying very deeply rooted trauma of what happened to Lyanna, and has been motivated that same time to put Jon as one of his biggest priorities right up until his death. But because he keeps this all buried deep inside, its easy for people, mostly Rhaegar defenders, to paint him as black and white, a bad father, a mindless soldier with no autonomy outside of Robert, a selfish man.

Ned Stark is one of the best written characters in recent literature, theres a reason he's still remembered and talked about to this day, and it is certainly not because he is as black and white as Rhaegar stans desperately try to slander him as.

[variousqueerthings]

hi hello the exorcist show for the ask game please!!! (hope you are well!)

AHHH HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO HELLO

awwyeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (also known as: the show of all fucking time that nobody watched before it was too late, including my good self but lbr they were never giving it a third season but does it matter???? we got two seasons of some of the most beautiful narrative you can imagine. chill im chill you know im chill gosh im so happy you watched this show still!)

my favorite female character ooh, this is interesting, because I never had a Fave fave out of all of them, but i think a toss-up between Angela Rance (duh, perhaps, my beloved Geena Davis), Mother Bernadette (i miss u babe), and Rose Cooper (head solidly on her shoulders as she navigates the utterly bizarre, adopts all the kids 😭😭😭)

my favorite male character YOU KNOW! HOW DIFFICULT! THIS IS! YOU KNOW I HAVE TO GO MARCUS BUT THEN TOMAS WOULD ALSO SAY MARCUS (but then Marcus would say Tomas, so forwards and backwards we go) - my midlands orphan who was groomed and abused by the Church to become an object/weapon, who has somehow maintained an inherent belief in People, in Goodness, and above all who will never ever let another child suffer on his watch!!!! who sees abused children and wants to save them!!!!!!!!! who is queer and deeply repressed (canonically this time, we say this about many a character, but Canonically!!!!) and working through it!!!! played by the beauteous and yet rugged Ben Daniels!!!! This character Did Things to my psyche forever and always, he is nestled softly in there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my favorite book/season/etc Mmmmmmm there's only two to go for... I think........ argh. hm. ok. no. i can't do it. coward's way out. soz babe

my favorite episode (if its a tv show) me like, damn it's so episodic, what happened wheeen but ok in terms of Moments in the story: s1: when we properly discover who Angela is. the rug pull is so so good for me and pulls everything into focus as a Story! s2: toss up between "Marcus makes out with a sexy fisherman (called Peter!!) while Tomas embarks on The Horrors alone," and the finale............. gosh that s2 finale!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my favorite cast member I've seen Ben Daniels onstage and it absolutely rocked my whole world, but I cannot go without shouting out Alfonso Herrera (yes, he of Sense8 fame to anyone reading this trying to connect the dots!) Geena Davis, and John Cho!!!! like!!!! this cast is fucking Stacked!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my favorite ship Tomas/Marcus. whatever they are, they are everything to one another! which is the whole core of the show

a character I’d die defending Father Devon Bennett!!!!! I don't know if he needs defending from fandom, but holy cow the way we leave him is so so bleak it hurts my soul!!!!! can someone come save my baby boy 😭😭😭

a character I just can’t sympathize with Idk man. the demons? OH NO WAIT I KNOW FUCKN! MARIA WALTERS!!!! Truly a "ok sob story, still evil" kinda thing (which is the point, this woman!!! this fucking woman!!!!!!!) -- i do like how absolutely pathetic she was in a particular way I usually see in these powerhungry guys! girlboss! cancer killed the demon inside of her (lol)

a character I grew to love I'd say Mouse. I think the thing about Mouse is simply that we didn't get to the next part of her story, so she's In Potentia permanently. I also think it was a slight misstep to ground her in a past will-they-won't-they with Marcus, because it puts her into that fatal position of "oh so she's just a love interest after all" vs giving her her own journey, BUT! HOWEVER! She does have her own journey! very much so in fact! it's just that that wig Ben Daniels had in the flashbacks was fucking atrocious and you were maybe more interested in the current-day stuff on first watch but then on second watch she really came into her own for me, especially everything she was doing with Bennett! I wish we'd had more of them doing Stuff together! I wish we could have seen her and Tomas properly bonding!!!!!!!!!

my anti otp um. dunno really. Marcus and the wig. I wasn't necessarily compelled by Marcus and Mouse romantically either, I will say, but her hero-worshipping him and misreading it a certain way (she was a young nun, he was a mysterious exorcist), that I can get behind, especially since present-day Mouse is so Capable and Jaded, we like that journey for her

Anyway... that fucking show. forever in my mind. forever hurting my soul. forever waiting for a third season. forever recommending it because even without a full ending it's so so satisfying!

sry needed to add gifs of marcus touching tomas like he's precious

[moth-mortuary]

𝔏𝔞 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔡𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔞

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Twilight Series - All Media Types Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Original Female Character(s), Carlisle Cullen/Reader Part: 4/? Language: English

♱ Masterlist ♱

Chapter 3: Look for the truth in the back of your hand

You are one. A damned thief to be clear, at least you will be to the eyes of your boss when he’ll watch back on those CCTVs he insists on keep rolling tape after tape in the kitchen of the dimly lit bar.  And you are pissed, so fucking pissed, and for once in your life you feel like all of this is completely, utterly, useless. That nothing you do means anything at all, only another violent child raised in a violent environment that will end up digging their own grave in the same place they were born, digging their heels in a dirt that birthed you and will host your departure. For the first time in a long while, you feel like you could not possibly get out of the mess your entire existence is. And it is not only a low buzz, softly feeding you words of desperation directly into your ears, it’s a fact. Nothing more, nothing less. You just know you will not see your thirties.

The frozen meat you had not paid for stings against your cheek. It drips blood in the sack it has been stored in. Melted ice and droplets of crimson red.

Everything hurts. Who are you kidding? You were never a hitter; you were not born for this, you are nothing but a kid who has learned to take life face-first. 

You wish to scream, yell at the empty space in the back alley you had sought solace in, and funnily enough, as if to mock your own sentiment, you had wished for your clenched fist to hit someone. To just feel the knuckles shift underneath your stretched skin, stretched too thin, too frail to absorb the impact of yet another punch, yet another hit, yet another outburst of violence.

You were not born a violent creature, the fact you are so damned good at pretending you were only makes for a more spectacular fall.

You wish for a cigarette, in a half-assed analogy between candles on a cake and rolled pillars of tobacco in between your teeth, you have not the mind to dismantle. You just wish for your body to cease any functions and just shut down.

So you smoke. Because what else are you supposed to do in times like this?

Your name is barely a whisper, a whisper from a voice you have learn to associate with annoyance. Tonight, you associate it with pure hatred. It just rubs you the wrong way after what you have had to endure, what you have had to pay for that very same voice to run rampant and carelessly to the wrong crowd.

«Get the fuck away, girl.» Lauren lingers on the steps of the back entrance, light coming from the kitchen casting her lithe frame in a soft glow that makes her the prettiest thing this town has seen in a very long time. Silence stretches, uncomfortable and charged with all the pent-up energy you had not had the opportunity to release. You feel deflated and ready to strike all together, a loaded gun jammed with a single shot in its chamber. A single bullet that could misfire at any moment.

«…I’m sorry.» A grunt, you seriously cannot afford anything else right now, or you would snap.

It’s not her fault; she’s a kid, a privileged kid who had had her life fed to her on silver spoons, never watching her tone, her words or the way her eyes linger unashamedly on the eyes of others. But you truly cannot blame her if, given the opportunity, you would have traded your right hand for your siblings to have lived the life she had lived.

It’s okay, you can pretend it’s your fault, you can think it’s not like you to be that sloppy. It’s your fault for biting more than you could chew. It’s alright. You work, you care for your kids, you hit, you rinse what you can rinse out of your soul, then you repeat.

If you get hit in the process, is your own fault.

You work your jaw a few times, it still opens wide, even if with an ominous creak. You truly do not wish for your Hospital visits to be a recurring event.

Mallory’s girl lingers on the steps of the door, she looks sorry enough for you to forgive her; enough for your voice to soften, for your fists to unclench and your vision to lose the red tint that had fallen over it. «Get inside, kid, you’ll catch your death in this cold.» None of you two will address the fact that you are wearing the same attire, she wouldn’t dare and you cannot be bothered to smooth out the creases of your own hypocrisy. «Okay…»

The house is silent, the clock ticks in its quadrant, life passes you through painfully slow. The unsorted mail on the kitchen table waits for you almost menacingly, another wall between you and your bed.

Two hundred and thirteen bucks for an MRI feels like a scam, but you google the damned thing on your loud pc and when the sum 12.000 comes up your throat does a chocked sound just higher that the fan on your computer and you shut your damned trap right away. Two-thirteen it is. You write a check, you lick the envelope shut, and keep sifting through unread mail and expired subscriptions. The night gets thicker, and by the time you wake up to the sound of screams, your back aches and your face has taken the shape of the piles of mail you had dozed off over. You take a deep breath. One, two, three, okay. Let’s go.

«Get the fuck out Frank.» you duck, evading a poorly calculated slap given backward and only vaguely in your direction. He stinks of booze. «Come on, old man. Don’t you have a bar to raid? It’s my day off.» That does the trick, in a minute he’s out and about of the house, wobbly steps carrying him into the fog. Today is another foggy and sad day. «Aight kiddos. Food, clothes, school; chop chop.

Your car smells distinctively of Frank and it takes you the entirety of the trip to your siblings’ school and almost back to town to understand what exactly reeks of it. You. Yesterday night had been a mess, shame on you, truly, for having tried with words first instead of your closed fists straight away. You had been easy to spot, “the bitch that cannot mind her own damned business” sounded about right, a couple of drunken had commented on Lauren’s too-short-short-shorts, she had amped up her bitchiness, a man had stood and you, stupidly, had tried to calm things down without ending up with scabbed knuckles and a very unimpressed Charlie staring you down from his desk at the police station. Instead, you had ended up bruised and wounded in your pride, spilt beer seeping through the folds of your ratty clothes. And perhaps it was precisely because Charlie had been sitting in your section, sipping his beer and occasionally eyeing you over the rim of his glass, that you had not tried violence first. A punch on your cheek, one on your stomach, then the bouncers had taken care of the dudes, your hands had itched and Charlie had not been able to finish his beer. Your fists had met no skin at all, and the thirst for vengeance had rotted in your mouth. Sour and useless.

You smell like Frank. Spilt beer and festering anger.

You hastily park to the side of the main road, you need a moment to recollect yourself. The similitude has you almost gagging, you hate every moment of the mental images that your sadistic brain provides. You are nothing like your father, and it means nothing that you have his eyes. Your breath quickens, you feel three times bigger than your skin, the crack on your skull aches dully, has it always throbbed this way? You feel like the air inside the cabin has suddenly vanished, your lungs twitch painfully. You feel like your father.

A couple of sharp raps over your window have you jump in the air. You hit the horn, and the quick jab of the loud sound makes your heart stumble out of the quick peace it had started, fear literally jumpstarts you back into motion. Your head snaps to the window, eyes meeting the pale fabric of a well known button-up. «Is everything alright, Miss Moore?» his voice hits you, once you finally lose the debate whether it would not be too rude to simply engage first gear and drive away.

The cold breeze swishes over your skin and seeps into your damp hair from the rolled-down window, sweat dripping down your nape, uncomfortable and icy, tangling your locks even more. Winter is still clutching at its last straws; it will be spring soon, not that it would make a difference. Today, you don’t really feel like hoping.

You seize your own sanity by the neck and with both hands, forcing something, anything, out of your mouth. «Isn’t that a cop question?»

A perfect line of pearly teeth almost blinds you, crinkled eyes. Tepid, not warm, as if no warmth had reached them at all. «Will you give me a criminal's answer?» You scoff, the doctor looks relaxed, you weirdly feel so too, even if something still lingers in the back of your mind, a survival instinct that is being forcibly pushed down. «Me and my two kilos of cocaine in the back seat are fine, officer.» The joke tumbles out of your mouth so easily, so weirdly. Since when are you this open? So easy-going and friendly. It almost concerns you, it feels old and disused, something you used to be but have not been in a very long time. It tastes bitter.

At this, he laughs, perfectly controlled and dosed, it almost feels fabricated, untrue. As if he had administered his reaction drop for drop. Cold. Devoid. Something thrashes inside you, you don’t feel safe at all, and yet something forces you to lean on it, to shove your gut feelings down, down, down. «Do you need a lift?» The words blur out of your mouth without a reason to exist. In the nervousness that keeps you pinned by the throat you feel charged. This time, the confused look feels genuine; something calms in the back of your mind and your guts untangle from themself. You feel like you can finally breathe again. «I—I couldn’t possibly ask—» «You aren’t. I’m offering, for— for the face and all…» mumbles, mumbles one after the other, you don’t feel in control of yourself, you still fake it. «Then, I mustn’t say no.»

«I must ask, though. Are you in a condition to drive?» What? Oh. Yeah, you reek of alcohol. «Didn’t drink, some douchebag spilt his beer on me some hours ago, I didn't swallow a drop.» you vaguely gesture to yourself, hand hitting the steering wheel while reconnecting to its sister on the outer rim of the leather. You slouch in your seat, almost defeated-looking. «Sorry ‘bout that.» Doctor Cullen shakes his head of neatly combed hair, not a single lock out of place, and straightens back. «Don’t be.» his hand stays on your rolled-down window, he’s impressively tall, you notice it almost by mistake now that you can no longer see eyes to eyes with him. «Are you needed at the hospital?» you crank your head, the cold sun of the wintertime blinding you for a second. Doctor Cullen feels incredibly still, as if he’s not even breathing, your eyes burn from strain, your back aches, and you just want a way out of your own head, no matter if it has presented itself in the uncanny figure of Forks’ best surgeon/doctor. «Yes, thank you, Miss.» His hand pats the juncture between the interior of your car and the paintwork, he rounds your car and enters the passenger seat.

«Long night then?» he asks once inside and seated, gently putting his briefcase at his feet. Your car is squeaky clean, thanks god, but it’s still a very old model, almost vintage if one squints their eyes and doesn’t think about it too much. You feel like Dr. Cullen must own a very expensive, very new car, but you simply swallow the thought and, engaging second gear, you drive away, the engine of your car, strangely enough, purring under your fingers «One could say so, surely not harder than yours if you did night shift.» You grunt, eyes locked on the icy street, once again not understanding why you are feeling so uncomfortably at ease with the doctor. «I wouldn’t be so sure, Forks is a very small town, not a lot of people need my assistance during the wee hours of the night. Not unless somebody sent them to me.» The implication is there, only this time it’s almost playful; you snort a laugh out of your deviated septum, clearly feeling how one nostril can breathe better than the other. «I didn’t do anything this time.» It’s not defensive at all, you are not biting, not growling in warning. You are nothing but a big dog quietly sleeping on the porch steps. You shift and slip into the next gear, «Forks’ easy to manage.» He hums, you aren’t even sure he understood what you meant by that, but you cannot actually explain what you meant, so you simply let it slip. Silence falls comfortably and only slightly tinted by the fear that had you checking your rearview mirror multiple times the first one the two of you interacted.

The measly traffic passes one car at a time. You fully expect him to stay silent. He doesn’t. «We do have an awful infestation of violent cupboards, though. Terribly bothersome.» You stop at a red light and prop an elbow over the still-open window, supporting your head and turning toward him almost fully. Something tugs at your lips, it feels so weirdly out of place and unexplainable.  He’s staring at you intently, eyes scanning your face as if able to diagnose you in a single glance. «I have no chance of convincing you to stop by and let me examine you, do I?»

You feel some control slipping back into your hand, and yet it almost pains you to say that. «You’re outta luck, doc.» The light turns green, you palm the steering wheel into a sharp curve, and the hospital comes into view.

You park without putting too much care into the positioning of your car; you won’t stay long. Doctor Cullen sighs defeated, you fetch a cigarette out of the pocket of your jacket, but you wait to light it.  You are gruff, not rude. «Carlisle.» «Wha—» «My name. Use it, it’s not proper to call one by their profession.»

He’s outside of your car and almost lingering at your side when, in an exhale of smoke, you tell him yours.

«I’m used to being called bartender, but if you want to get all up in my business, knock yourself out.» Your hand fall out of the window, your cigarette dangles dangerously from your chapped lips, the hazard lights blink idly at your ex-passenger; he stares at you, once again perfectly still, infuriatingly handsome, in control.

You feel the childish urge to do something stupid and petty, you haven’t felt petty in a long time. So you wink. Playful and mischievous, looking straight at him. And drive out of the parking lot in one swift manoeuvre.

⚜ ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝟜

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