#i tried to be truthful to the brilliant original while also giving it my own spin but sorry if i butchered it lol

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

i'm a day late, but to mark the occasion of AM turning ten i recorded a little acoustic cover of one of my fave songs off the album ♥️

i only recently started playing again (and learned to play this song yesterday) so it's definitely somewhat rough around the edges, but i figured i'd share it anyway just as a little tribute to my all time favourite band and the record's birthday? idk, happy birthday AM <3 🎂

[bryhaven]

Top 10 Films

Thank you for the tag, @onigiri-dorkk! I've been tagged in a number of challenge posts, and I will try to get to them soon ahah 😅

This was supposed to be a discussion of films but then again, I managed to find AOT/SNK and RivaMika parallels while going through this list 😂

This challenge has been fun and it was hard to pick only 10, let alone rank them! But for the sake of the game, I tried 😌

10. The King and I (1999)

A musical animated adaptation of a Siamese (now called Thai) King who hires an English schoolteacher to have his country learn western modern ways. It was very amusing and enjoyable that the villain and accomplice here are written as comedic. And the added young love story between the crown prince and the servant girl is endearing. And I'm actually fond of forbidden love tropes ahaha. Plus the musical scenes are fun and brilliant! A great family movie! 🥰

9. Troy (2004)

A story focusing on the Trojan war and the heroes in it. I've always enjoyed historical and legend-type movies as they give a glimpse of life in ancient times. I appreciate Achilles (Brad Pitt) and Hector (Eric Bana) in the movie so much that I included them in my AMV tribute to heroes and legends. The Iliad, which is the battle between Achilles and Hector, is one of my favorite legendary fights. Plus one of Achilles' last scenes and the line, "You gave me peace, in a lifetime of war." is so heartwarming. And now that I think of it, it's something that Levi could say to a certain special someone during post-war. 😏

8. Unknown (2011)

An action-thriller revolving around seeking the truth, hence the title. Liam Neeson always delivers when it comes to action and suspense-filled scenes (plus he is the namesake of my Ackerchild OC 😌). The story progression will keep you on the edge of your seat and leave you wondering until the plot twist turns into an answer with a shocking revelation. His character is also badass, brooding, and serious, while also suffering from injury and trauma. Reminds me too much of a certain someone in SnK. 😄 Plus the way that the two main characters develop from reluctantly working together to understanding and caring for each other is just *screams in RivaMika vibes*

7. Brother Bear (2003)

A story about literally walking in another's footsteps to learn a valuable lesson by seeing the other's point of view. It showcases brotherly and familial love in a lighthearted adventure. Watching the movie has a significant and special meaning to me for personal reasons. The plot twist is absolutely heart-wrenching and beautifully executed. Plus the original soundtracks gave me chills, were perfect for each and every exhilarating scene, and hold the rare honor of making me cry. 😭

6. Taken (2008)

Another one of Liam Neeson's action-packed movies. This revolves around the rescue of his character's daughter from human trafficking. As always, his character is badass, brooding, and serious. Some daddy issues, wherein his character struggles with fatherhood to a growing teenage girl. Fatherly love 💖 and gotta love the brilliance of how he tracks down his daughter and saves her. His style and strategies blew my mind, it's amazing! Plus that line in the GIF is iconic!

5. Entrapment (1999)

A story of two thieves, skillful in their own ways, working together to steal an ancient artifact. I love how they came up with brilliant spy-like strategies and synced together to accomplish the task. Recollecting this reminded me as well of @chaosisbeauty23's "Are you in?" two-shot spy story. It gave me similar vibes. Sean Connery's character trained Catherine Zeta-Jones' character, they had trust issues and conflicts, and they grew close through the duration of the preparation until they eventually got to trust each other enough to continue working together. Plus the age difference! Rings a bell? *screams again in RivaMika vibes*

4. Kiss of the Dragon (2001)

A story of a cop helping to crack a major drug ring and ending up having to save a prostitute and her daughter to ultimately resolve it. I guess I have always been fond of unexpectedly-working-together and damsel-in-distress tropes, and this movie has two of those tropes in it! 😂 Recollecting this reminded me of @nuri148's "Not a Pirate" where Mikasa has a child. I love the chemistry between Jet Li and Bridget Fonda here, you can feel the tension and awkwardness ahaha. Plus the height difference! *screams again and again in RivaMika vibes* ghad seriously why am I associating these films I watched years ago with the current RM fics I've read bahaha 😂😅

3. Con Air (1997)

A story of an ex-convict trying to get home to his family after he's been finally freed. I always go soft whenever strong, badass, brooding guys show tenderness and affection with regard to their families or the people they care for. Levi Ackerman as a father, anyone? 😌 This story hits with both the action and the feels. Plus the "How do I live without you?" performed by Trisha Yearwood is just *chef's kiss*

2. Brave (2012)

A story of a princess struggling with life as a royal and trying to find her own path. Merida is my favorite Disney princess and I find her relatable in ways. I enjoyed the adventurous-type songs here as well. I absolutely love her unconventional and strong character which deviates from the typical dainty and girly princesses. She's spirited, stubborn, and won't take any BS 😂 Plus she's great with a sword!

1. The One (2001)

And finally at the top 1 spot is coincidentally "The One" released in 2001 bahaha 😂 another one of Jet Li's action-packed movies which I love. And there are two Jet Lis in here ahaha. The story revolves around Yulaw (Jet Li) traveling across the multiverse hunting down and killing all his counterparts or other selves until only two of them are left. With each counterpart killed in every universe, the energy and power get divided between the remaining surviving counterparts resulting in them having increased strength, intelligence, and speed. I've mentioned this in a post before that this is similar to how Levi's and Mikasa's superhuman powers came to be.

I absolutely love the plot and story progression in this sci-fi setup, which makes you wonder, what if we actually have alternate personas in other universes (and we just don't know about it because there are people who make sure that we don't know in order to ensure peace and balance)? Plus Jason Statham's character as an ally here was unexpectedly funny!

I also appreciate the romance factor in the movie in the sense that, it is shown as trust, comfort, and care. Doesn't need to have all the kissy scenes or so to show genuine love. And one of Jet Li's character's lines about his love here is just 💖

Jet Li always delivers as well when it comes to action and suspense-filled scenes. Plus just look at the parallels below (The One vs AOT S3):

Using a dead person as a shield then obliterates everyone afterward.

Jet Li's characters in movies are usually brooding, badass, serious, and aloof from people. Plus he is charmingly handsome and rather short in stature IRL too! Yep, Jet Li is a real-life Levi Ackerman 🤣😌

I swear I watched all of these way before I even encountered Attack on Titan. I didn't mean for this to be too long and to include much RivaMika and AOT, but it was fun recollecting the movies and then associating them with my brain rot 😂

Now that I have this list, I realize I tend to gravitate towards action movies and familial ones. Plus most of these movies have that one badass, brooding, serious guy who is insanely skilled and strong, and has a reputation but also soft for their loved ones. Geez I already have a type way before Levi Ackerman bahaha 😂🥰😌

None of these movies are focused on romance but the couple GIFs are intentional bahaha 😏

Tagging: No one, no pressure. 😅

[chanluster]

the duke and i | m ; f

“The Duke of Hastings can show you much more than what you write of.”

oneshot | bridgerton! au | f2l! au | 32.3k words

s u m m a r y >> wishing to be a successful writer in the regency period seemed next to impossible for the sole daughter of a dead earl. with arising pressures from your mother to tie the knot, you turn to your dearest friend, hwang hyunjin, duke of hastings and the most eligible, scandalous bachelor of the season, for assistance. when he suggests the insane of idea of marrying each other to help each other, you agree to the proposal, unaware of how much the duke can teach you of the wonders of matrimony.

w a r n i n g s >> noble! reader, duke! hyunjin, hyunjin is a fucking rake, reader is a fucking nerd, also really really innocent, hyunjin is sosososo hot, a lot of teasing, foul language too, endearments, sexual tension, kissing, making out, corruption kink!!!!! corruption! fucking! kink! oral (f. receiving) fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe hoemies!!) orgasming on multiple occasions, there is fluff i promise, yes there is angst, also seungmin cameo of him being a drunk fool, and slight references to regency poets and writers here and there

p l a y l i s t >> here!

t a g l i s t >> @fivefootfuryanon @h0eforhyunjin16 @seoulicitae @linoscult @aliceu @hwangi @shipsaremything98 @babyyynatty @kabira @danyxthirstae01 @sunseokkies @lunefilm @severetimetravelnerd @minaamhh @starry--koo @ninjaleeknow @hyunjeonnies @inlovewithasa @titleisyettobemade​ @maedesculpaeusoubi @fleeingreality @healinghyunjin​​

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e >> help i am back from the dead to finally give you bridgerton! hyunjin!! big apologies for taking so long, and i hope you enjoy this whopper :’) thank you for the constant support, and hope you won’t miss me too much while i’m gone ;)

back to masterlist

YOU TURNED THE PAGE OF YOUR BOOK AS YOUR MOTHER REPEATED THE RULES FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME THAT EVENING.

“And remember,” she droned on, voice barely audible from the din of the carriage ricketing across the cobblestone. “You must dance with as many dukes you can get your hands on. Especially those worth over 10,000 a year!”

“As you say, Mama,” you got out, not particularly focusing on her orders, but the characters in your novel, bickering sweetly with each other. You smiled at the heated conversation, marvelling at how the two people did not realise their undying love for each other.

Unfortunately, your mother caught the slight happiness on your face, and simply had to stample it. “Are you even listening to me, child?”

You hummed out a cryptic answer, but that was not enough. “Stop reading that rubbish, ____!” she ordered, trying to seize it from your hands, but you were too quick, keeping it out of her range. “You have a bigger issue at hand here!”

“Leave me be,” you murmured, hugging the novel to your chest, unable to feel its leather due to your long gloves enveloping your fingers.  

Of course you knew of the ‘bigger issue’ she would not ever stop speaking of. It was another matter entirely that you did not care for it.

“____, listen to me.”

Groaning, you directed your gaze towards your mother, who looked regal in a light golden gown, shawl enveloping her shoulders. “I know you would much rather have your nose stuck in those silly little novels of yours all day, God knows why.” She brought a hand out, planting it on the silk of your lap. “But that may have been excusable before.”

You understood where she was going with this conversation.

Your father is dead now. 

Pursing your lips, you looked out to the tiny window, exposing the other carriages closing up to the huge pathway of the Buckingham estate. The clattering of horseshoes upon the gravel entered your ears, but still could not blank out the information that lingered.

There is no hope for single women in search of a career. Especially if they have no fathers or brothers.

As your own vehicle came to a rest, behind the dozens of others, you held onto your book, a footman opening the door and holding his hand out to your mother. She taking it, you followed suit, dusting away at the dress and tilting your head upwards at the destination.

The Duke of Buckinghamshire could rival the queen herself with his estate — the faded, grey-red brick was alight, orchestral music tuning outside and seducing the guests to enter. Hundreds of windows plastered on the towering walls gave a glimpse of the chaos residing inside, a few couples leaning a little too close behind fans on the sill and men screaming over card game losses. A flourish of men and women adorned in their finest attire rushed to the entrance, the gigantic double doors of the manor welcomed every guest, and you stayed close with your mother as the two of you made your way up the steps, and into the estate.

The interior was even more marvellous — golden chandeliers dangled from the vast, painted ceiling, like glittering diamonds as it shed light on the hallway, servants ready to take any apparel and lead the way to the ballroom. Marble floors glistened as your eyes skimmed over the crowd, looking for a specific person among the riches.

Your mother, finding the host of this ball, patted your shoulder as she began to hurry into the main hall. “Come, my child,” she said as she tugged you along, “I shall reacquaint you with Her Grace.”

Before you could object, the woman rushed into the ballroom, the music louder as the orchestra resided right at the end of the hall, playing its sultry tune to the dancers emerging in the centre. You wished to study the place further, but were turned to face a large duchess of overwhelming dress, red skirts flowing and feathers of the same colour jutting out from her updo. 

“Ah, Lady ____!” the Duchess of Buckingham greeted with a shark’s smile. “Lovely to see you back in society. So soon, might I add.”

You had a right mind to say that it was against your wishes, but your mother chipped in, “You know how it is, Your Grace. When one has an unmarried daughter one can only stay in society until that is undone.”

“Rightly so.” the Duchess brought her fan to her chin, studying you thoroughly. “My sweet, you are a pretty girl.” Her eyes landed on the book you held. “But bringing a novel into a ballroom? Do you not wish to socialise at all?”  

“Perhaps not tonight,” you said with as much disappointment as you could muster. “The Dashwood sisters will entertain me well enough.”

The Duchess could not respond as you bowed lightly and left your mother’s side, rushing past the other men and women of titles before they could converse with you. Your eyes skimmed the crowd, in search of a particular man, but the amount of guests made it incredibly difficult. 

The dancing continued on, laughter ringing throughout the hall as you secluded yourself in a corner, next to the refreshments. The wondrous scent of cakes, pastries and other deserts seduced your senses, but you restrained your temptations as you sat upon an ornate chair placed beside the tables of food. 

An unfamiliar lord, as if waiting for you to be at peace, walked over to your side, and you had to contain your disdain as you instantly deduced the motivations behind his coming over.

Reaching out his gloved hand to you, he asked the most irritable question. 

“May I have the first dance with you, my lady?”

Brilliant. You looked up at him, plastering a tight smile upon your face. “I deeply apologise, sir,” you began, opening your book. “I am afraid my firsts are promised to another.”

Confused, he tried again. “How about the next dance, then?”

Why was he being so persistent? “I shall see,” you replied, not outright rejecting him, but hoping that he understood the implications behind your lack of acceptance.

Beyond puzzled, he hesitantly dipped his head in adieu, wondering at his rejection as he thankfully left you alone.

It was not like you were lying to him — your firsts for everything had been promised to another man. You were just fortunate enough to use that to your advantage.

Glancing over the crowd one last time in search of that particular man, you dove into the novel, hoping he stayed lost in the crowd for the night.

A sad smile exposed itself on your face.

The thought of Jane Austen gaining little acclaim for the writings in your hands crushed you. Maybe that contributed to her publishing anonymously, but still — everyone knew she was the lady behind your favourite works. 

In general, there was simply no other form of joy for you other than reading the works of women. The soul of your gender had only ever been captured by the writings created by ladies of your age and mentality. It almost felt like you possessed a personal connection with them when you read these novels; It felt like that Austen understood you on an emotional level, a degree not many people could comprehend.

You dearly wished you could write such flawless books yourself.

A slight frown enveloped your lips.

As if your mother would let you. Or any man she marries you off to.

Progressing further into the novel, you became so engrossed that you did not notice another man walking to where you were isolated, the soft leather boots near silent on the marble floor. You wished you had perked up at his presence, but you did not realise him there until he got hold of your book.

And snatched it right out of your hands.

A gasp escaped you, features twisting into anger as your eyes followed the origins of such fingers, closing your novel with a snap!

“Of course I see you engrossed in a book rather than in another man’s arms.”

The roll of your eyes was inevitable.

Because before you was the Duke of Hastings, smiling like a pirate finding long-lost treasure.

Your answering grin was more a flash of teeth. “No man is ever as interesting as a good book.”

Clicking his tongue, he plucked a flute of champagne from the table next to you. In truth, Hwang Hyunjin, unfortunately, was one of the most fascinating men you had ever encountered. The greatest giveaway was his appearance — the lean, delicate figure, elevated by his gorgeous features. His eyes, the colour of bitter coffee, shone with mischief as the glass settled on his plush lips, tilting his head back so his lustrous golden curls fell from his shoulders. 

His hair alone sent a shockwave through the city. The gentlemen in society spent their time in the barbers’ salons after his new appearance at Lord Lee’s spring ball, and although they aspired, they simply could not compete. 

Your best friend was a sacred image no being could ever attempt to replicate.

Releasing a dreamy sigh, he propped the empty flute back on the table, dusting away at his cream-coloured tailcoat. The trousers of the same colour hugged his legs perfectly, tightening at his thighs. “Now, ____,” he began, holding out his free hand before you. “It is time for a human being to entertain you.”

You raised your chin in challenge. “And what if I were to say no?”

The scoff that escaped his lips dared you to try. 

“You cannot escape me, angel. Alas, you have promised your firsts to me.”

Grimacing at the truth, you eyed the object he had seized from you, crossing your arms. “What about my novel?” you asked. “I cannot let you discard it in any old place.”

“How about this?” He took a step closer to you. “I will keep hold of it as we dance.”

“And how will you do that, blondie?”

The man narrowed his gaze at the term — a nickname you had established the moment he had revealed his golden locks to you, to his utter dismay. “Well, darling,” he mused, the hand hovering closer, “You are going to have to accept me first.”

First. Always him as your first.

Of course, you were never the one to refuse the Rake of London.

So, making sure you exaggerated as much disdain as you could, you grabbed onto his hand, feeling the determined tug of his hold as he led you to the dance floor. Finding a fairly empty spot among the dozens of other couples, he fully interlocked your fingers with his, snaking the book-held hand around your waist. Feeling the hard leather on your back, you let out a hum of approval as you propped your free hand on his shoulder.

“If you dare drop the book, Hyunjin,” you warned, digging your gloves further into the fabric. “I will tread on your boots.”

His answer was patting your prized possession behind your book. “You worry as if you don’t tread on them anyway.”

As the orchestra began, so did his feet, commencing the dance. 

You saw his eyes wander, pausing at a particular image which made him smirk knowingly at you. “I think you should be worrying more about your mother.”

Fearful, you followed his line of sight. There she was, talking to the other countesses with smiles and frivolous laughter as she pointed to your general direction. Their sons pursued her finger, and as they caught sight of you, you gulped. A small chuckle huffed out of your partner. “I think I might see you engaged at the end of the evening.”

“Do not even utter such words!” you exclaimed. “I will either die a successful writer or die a spinster.”

“You do know you can be an author while you are married,” Hyunjin pointed out, turning you about the room. 

Shaking your head at his statement, you countered, “That could not be further from the truth! Do you remember Lady Andrews?” An absent-minded shrug was his answer. “Well, she lives up north now, but she once confided to me that she wished to be a painter. Guess what happened to her?”

“I assume this is the part where you attack marriage.”

“Yes! Because her life was ruined after she was wedded to some wretched old viscount!” You shuddered depicting the details. “In the last letters she wrote to me, she spoke of her easels and paints being taken away from her. God, it enraged me when she begged the heavens for any kind of assistance to be rid of the man, but after she became with child, there was no escape.”

Sensing your fingers clenching onto him tighter, the duke instinctively patted the small of your back with your book. “I cannot risk such chains, Hyunjin,” you guttered. “I may not have much freedom now, but it is still better than none.”

Allowing yourself to be twirled by your friend, he brought you back into his arms. His silence, although heavy, was temporary, as his eyes settled on you. “Not every man wants to imprison their wife, ____.”

You did not bother remarking on the statement. “What about your own marital status?” you asked, changing the subject slightly. “Have you not found yourself a nice girl from the many you speak to?”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Speak to,” he parroted softly, as if in disbelief. “The ladies that I...merely speak to...their families are a nightmare.” The repetition confused you, but you persisted until he pressed his lips in an unamused line. “I just...do not want to marry these women. I do not feel any sort of affection for them.”

After a moment of quiet, you let out a huff of laughter. “Look at us, blondie.” You gestured to the crowds around the two of you, the chaos of it all. “Both of us are plagued by pressures of matrimony.” 

The music began its path to the crescendo, instruments sounding louder with every second your feet moved in tune to your friend’s. “It seems the value our freedoms too much to sacrifice it forever.”

He did not respond, eyes lost beyond you and the entire ball. His fingers upon yours tightened slightly, feeling the drum of his hands reverberating upon the book latched on your back. You cocked your head slightly, studying his faraway expression, wondering what matter had gained his interest so deeply. It was not an easy feat to gain Hyunjin’s attention.

As the violins sang out higher, the man’s grip on you loosened, almost as he became transported in his mind, losing all grasp on the reality he shared with you. Only when you smacked him lightly on the shoulder did he blink back, staring at you with mild irritation. “Hello?” you said, waving your gloved hand over his face. “Earth to Hyunjin?”

“Ah, um...sorry, angel,” he muttered, looking away as he picked up the pace of the dance once more. “I was just thinking.”

“Of what?” you asked, and when you caught the hesitancy in his gaze you groaned at him. “Oh, do not tell me you are thinking of some poor lady once again!”

“No!” he began, but then he frowned, shaking his head. “Well, yes, I...I suppose I was thinking of a certain lady.”

You grinned. “God help her, then.”

There was another moment of quiet among the buzz of the ball when he spoke again. “____.”

Your stare remained on his face. “Yes?”

As you kept watching him, you witnessed a slight blush arise on his cheeks. “So, um...as you said, correctly, that we both highly value our freedom…”

Not quite understanding, you drawed, “Yes?”

“And of course, you know how we are the best of friends,” he carried on, eyes boring into you, as if you were some child who needed extra explanation. “You know, how everything I would ask of you would be in our best interests.”

A raised brow was your response to his rambling. “Hyunjin…what is the matter?”

He stopped, realising he could not meander any further. Sharp sigh escaping, he proposed a plan which had been haunting his mind since the dance. 

“I think you should marry me, angel.”

The words caused you to still completely. Not a very wise decision, considering the dance was still in motion, resulting in Hyunjin stumbling forward into you. His tugging hands had you continuing, albeit with much more shock. 

“What…” your insides threatened to retch out of your mouth. “What did you just say?”

“No, no, listen to me for a moment!” He clamped his lips together, searching for the right words to argue his point with. “Now I know marriage is something you have disliked—”

“Dislike?” A scoff. “I think you mean absolutely detest!” You saw him almost flinch at your snarl. “How dare you even suggest such a thing to me?!”

“I know, damn it!” he exclaimed, discomfort clear in his voice. “But if you would hear me out!”

“And what is this plan you speak of, Hyunjin?” you seethed, suddenly tempted to ram your heeled slipper into his boot. 

The man looked much in need of escape from this situation, but he merely twirled you about once more, the climax of the music about to begin. “I am very aware of your hatred against matrimony, and believe me when I say that I share in your disdain. Have I not complained of the very ceremony when mothers from every corner of London came to insist for their daughters’ hands?

Grumbling, you nodded. “Exactly, so obviously I must have a good reason why I spoke of this matter.”

“Well, spit it out, then!” you snapped. “It already sounds outrageous.”

With the instruments chanting louder, he commenced. “We both have a dilemma with marriage, especially concerning the burden. Your biggest problem is the freedom being taken from you. Mine is having to live with a woman I have no feelings towards.”

He continued, feet moving quicker and quicker to the melody of the music. “But see, if we wed each other, then those problems would be solved instantly!”

You looked at him as if he was insane. “You do realise that I would still be married. My scrap of independence would be snatched from me anyway.”

“That would be true if you were marrying some silly old lord, who had no interest in you other than your titles.”

His hand on your back pulled you a little closer. “But you see, angel, you would be marrying me.” 

Around and around, the two of you whirled, never stopping for a second to the music. “And you have known me long enough to know that I would never stop you from pursuing your passions.” 

Higher the melody climbed, lost to your ears as your eyes widened. 

His words rang through you with every note that escaped the instruments, sailing through the crescendo that washed over the ball. “You...you would let me write?”

Hyunjin furrowed your brows. “Did you think any different?” he asked, quite offended by your surprise. “Did you really expect that kind of behaviour from me?”

You did not hide your fears. “You may be my dearest friend, but you are still a man.”

That had him twisting his mouth into a scowl. His hands on you clenched harder. “You know me better than that, darling.”

You did, in fairness. The Duke of Hastings, leading you along this dramatic waltz, had been a constant in the entirety of your life. It was in these very balls that he had happened to stumble upon you, a child barely touching your second decade with a children’s book buried in your face. He, the exact same age but with much more excitement, snatched that book from your hands and made you leave your seat, chasing the boy around the ballroom till you burst into tears. After that rather unfortunate event, you vowed never to be in the same room as him, but you somehow ended up being his best friend instead.

Maybe it was because both of you had overbearing parents, driven by pressures of society and personal expectations. Or maybe it was the simple notion that after a while, you began to enjoy his eccentric behaviour and rather addictive smiles.

Perhaps it was better that way, too. For you could not imagine life without Hwang Hyunjin.

Your gaze was apologetic. “I do, blondie,” you supposed, but you steeled yourself once more. “But I have a condition!”

“And what condition would that be?” he asked, swirling you around and around, waiting for the climax to strike any second. The ladies around you were breathless, ecstatic, the gentlemen smug, but you and the duke had only business in your minds.

“Promise me that we remain the same,” you said, never leaving his sight when the music boomed across the ballroom, raw melodies dancing along with everyone within the four golden walls. His grip on you was firm, unflinching as he spun you across the marble floor one last time, dark boots never missing a single note as he nearly swept you away from the chaos of society. “Promise me that you and I will not change.”

And as the music drifted to an end, he finally slowed down. There was a moment of silence, heavier still under his stare. 

“I cannot promise you that.”

His next words sent the strangest sensation down your spine. 

“For we would not be friends anymore. We would be husband and wife.” 

The ballroom erupted into applause.

You blinked back at the new noise, head darting at the couples beginning to clap at the ended dance. Although the others began to depart, the two of you lingered on the floor, hands still clasped. 

His stare never faltered. “I cannot promise you that,” he repeated, slowly shaking his head. “Nor can I guarantee you continuity. 

“What I can promise, though, is that I will not take away your freedom. You may write as much as you wish.”

It was then his hold on you eased, stepping away as he held out the book — never dropped from his hand, but firm as he brought it before you, a silent offer.

“What do you say, angel?” His gaze was impenetrable. “Will you be my wife?”

Among the lords and ladies, there was only you and him.

You and him against the world.

It was difficult, finding allies in a time you lived in. Reminded of your mother, you had a terrible feeling that only doom would fall upon you if you refused his help. 

With good reason, too. No man could match what Hyunjin offered. No man would ever let you pursue your literary passions. 

Not a singular male in this society would ever care for your basic freedom, other than he.

Another first, then. 

So, in the middle of the ballroom, with your mother watching, you held onto the book, gripping it with a firm promise.

You dared not depart from the Duke of Hastings’ stare.

“Yes, blondie.”

You exposed a smile, a mocking quirk in your brow.

“A thousand times yes.”

THE WEDDING HAPPENED QUITE IMMEDIATELY AFTER THAT NIGHT.

You insisted the wedding be small and intimate, for the ceremonies were already boring enough, but both your mother and Hyunjin insisted it be a grand occasion. 

The two of you tied the knot at Fulham Palace, a most esteemed estate dating back centuries, adorned in the finest flowers and gifts of nature surrounding its red-bricked walls. You had been there often in your childhood, due to the place being situated at the heart of your friend’s lands outside of the city, but seeing it decorated for your own wedding elevated the speciality of this abbey.

Many of London’s lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses had rushed to your invitation, fawning over the festivities and seated impatiently on the uncomfortable seating to await your arrival. Your friends, some bridesmaids, prepared your hair and fixed your dress, ordering everyone to take their places and sounding the instruments behind the altar to begin playing.

In truth, the ceremony was a blur.

Because this whole occasion was merely a plan, you did not deign to remember the memorable details of each event, the people who came or even the words recited by the priest.

However, the one figure you could not forget was your best friend.

No, you could not forget his face as you walked up to him slowly. It was a sight you had seen him expose only a few times in his life, when he would observe a flower open its petals in the morning, or regard a particular enchanting piece of artwork in an exhibition, which he would refuse to walk away from. You had raised a quizzical brow at him then as you slid the ring upon his finger, but he only offered you a wink, expression fading when the priest addressed you both.

Of course, another little detail you distinctly remembered was the declaration. The words which sealed a woman’s imprisonment.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Your gaze had darted to Hyunjin at that, finding him staring at you already. Meeting his gaze, you found the comfort you hoped you would receive.

The Duke of Hastings will not throw you into the cages of matrimony. 

This very thought had relieved your nerves as you thanked every guest who congratulated you on the wedding, a few friends wiggling their eyebrows and wishing luck for the honeymoon. You waved them off, not really understanding the connotations, but carried on struggling at the reception until the sun had descended, and it was time for everyone to return home. 

That very evening, the two of you set off for this particular honeymoon.

You bid your farewells to your mother, she much too emotional for your liking, and because Hyunjin had no parents to bid his farewells to, the wedding carriage was up and running before the moon had taken reins of the night sky. 

Conversation never ran dry as you journeyed out of the din of London and into the countryside. Your destination was a couple of hours away, so rest was mostly out of the question as the carriage sped on, eager to get the newlyweds to their new home. 

It was well into the night when you arrived at Hemingford Manor, one of the many estates Hyunjin had ownership of ever since his father’s passing. Engulfed within the lush nature of Cambridgeshire, the little estate exuded a comfortable sort of radiance which you would expect from warm fires of winter. The gardens surrounding its walls was a whole maze of trees, bushes and an assortment of flowers, heightening its already ancient regality. 

The arrangements were made immediately, a small household welcoming you at the door as they took your luggage, unpacking everything as Hyunjin showed you around. It was extremely intimate, you noticed, every feature of any room possessing an unusual air well before your time, almost telling a story of theirs from centuries ago. 

He brought you to the bedroom, the grand bed instantly in sight as it’s curtains were fully drawn around its wooden columns, bedsheets black and red with gold thread stitched in swirls at the hems. Two ornate chairs sat beside the windows, and a huge dresser sat opposite the bed, beside it the door to the en-suite bathroom. Oil paintings littered the red walls of his ancestors, noticing your friend’s portrait made in his youth. The entire room radiated warmth, and you found yourself easing completely in his den.

“Well, I guess I should prepare for sleep,” you began, shrugging off your coat, walking over to the chairs and  settling it upon one of the arms. 

Hyunjin blinked back, as if his thoughts had been interrupted. “Ah, yes, of course.” He gestured to the bed. “You can have this room. I can stay in the one next door.”

You looked at him as if he was insane. “Do a husband and wife not share the same bedroom?”

“Well—” the man put his hands on his hips. “Yes, but I do not want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” You stepped towards him, quite offended. “Have you forgotten when we would sleep in the same bed whenever I stayed at yours for the summer?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “We were children then, sweetheart. The situation is quite different now.”

“No, it is not,” you countered, matching his stance. “You were my dearest friend before, and you are my dearest friend now. That will always stay the same.”

That certainly quietened his tongue. He studied the stubborn quirk of your lips before sighing, unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Fine,” he quipped. “But I will not hesitate to throw you off the bed if you hog the sheets!”

You only offered him a scoff in response.

As the both of you began to ready yourself for bed, you opened your bag, making sure your papers were still intact. Counting up your drafts, you hummed in satisfaction before tying up the bag once again, setting it beside the dresser. Now, in your white nightgown, you went to the grand bed, slipping into the sheets. 

Grabbing hold of Pride and Prejudice, you continued reading from where you left off as you waited for Hyunjin to be suitably dressed for slumber. You hoped he would take longer than usual, but he disappointed you, as the fool always does, by arriving much earlier, frilled-collared shirt all loose and trousers all slack. 

The minute he saw you reading, he let out a groan. Leaning over, he snatched the book right out of your hands. “Hey!” You exclaimed, trying to take it back, but he stretched his hand away from you, propping it not-so-gently upon his bedside table. “Oh my God, not that harshly, you oaf! The book could tear!”

“I do not care!” He jeered, sliding into the sheets, propping his elbow so his hand supported his head. He swiped his locks away from his face, showing his full irritation. “Having your nose in a book on our wedding night!”

“Mr. Darcy was entertaining me just fine,” you sniped, crossing your arms. “You just had to be a Wickham and ruin the whole experience.”

“If this Wickham is a gift from the Lord Himself, then damn do I accept his name with pride!”

His ignorance made you laugh. Sliding your eyes to him, you matched his position, snuggling further into the pillows. “What does one even do on the wedding night anyway?”

Hyunjin’s amusement faltered at this, plush mouth parting ever so slightly. 

The Duke knew exactly what one does on the wedding night. 

As he raked his gaze over you, you waiting patiently for his answer, he wondered whether he should answer you truthfully. Tell you that he should be towering over you, kiss those pretty lips until they’re swollen and spit-slick, and take off that nightgown and uncover you before the stars. It was only customary, but the thought had his insides churning.

So he decided completely against it, to his absolute disappointment.

“How would I know? It is my first marriage as well.”

“Yes, but you’re aware of the ladies, and the gossip.” You leaned closer to him, unaware that the man’s heart halted for a second at the mere action. “When the guests were wishing me luck on my honeymoon they kept chuckling like children, as if they were in on a secret I was excluded from.”

“To hell with the guests, angel.” Hyunjin patted on your pillows, urging you to put your head down. “Our joining was very different from theirs. We can make our own rules.”

“Finally, an intelligent word from you!” You declared, but yelped as he pressed his hand on your head, sending you to the cushions. “Too harsh!”

“As I said, own rules,” he reminded you, a smile curling his lips. “Now please sleep! It is well past midnight.”

You shook your head no, resting your head in your arms. “Come on, Hyunjin! We have the whole night to ourselves, and you wish to sleep?”

Yes, he very much did. Because if he kept looking at you, excited and giggly and adorable, the tight leash he kept on himself would snap. 

He could not have his hands on you on the very first night. Not when you had no knowledge of what that meant.

“Well then,” he started, using all the strength in him to not curl a stray lock around your ear. “Tell me of your writings.”

His request had you face burning. “Never.”

The man made a face. “What?” He demanded, nudging you with his fingers. “Now you must tell me!”

“No, not now,” you hurried off, hiding your face in the pillows. God, the thought of your friend reading anything of yours made you sick to the stomach. “Argh!”

“But why?” he asked, a beginning of a pout etching onto his lips. “Do you not trust me, even though I have tolerated you for all these years?”

You turned to him again, furrowing your brows. “I do trust you!” You reassured him. “And I will tell you at the right time. Just...not at this moment.”

When you saw a frown develop on his face, you pouted at him, shame coursing through your bones. “To tell you the truth, Hyunjin, I am just embarrassed. It is so rough at the moment, so I want to show you the very best.”

“But I want to see everything,” he muttered. “Your worst and your best.”

“And you will see it!” You reached out, wrapping your fingers around his slender hand. The boy gaped at you at the sudden contact, but you continued. “You will be the first to see my drafts. I give you my word.”

The honest consolation brought the duke to a stillness. Hand enveloped by your fingers, he watched you await his reaction. 

Being the first to see your private writings was truly an asset. A special secret he would never share to another. 

“I wait patiently for that time, then,” he said, offering you a smile which melted your heart. “Now, I beg, sleep!” he added, bringing the sheets up to your chin. “I can tell you’re exhausted.”

Knowing your whining would be of no use, you looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Fine, you absolute bother.” You closed your eyes. “Goodnight, blondie.”

A small chuckle escaped him, never forgetting the hold you had over his hand. He regarded over your resting figure, curling ever so slightly next to him, and he just could not help himself.

Stretching out his other hand, his fingers tucked away your stray locks from your face, curling them behind your ear. The smile ghosted on his lips, and only then he sank further into the pillows.

“Goodnight, angel.”

 MARITAL LIFE WAS NOT AS TERRIBLE AS YOU IMAGINED IT TO BE.

A couple of weeks had passed as this ‘honeymoon’ period progressed in Hemingford, and you were beginning to settle in quite nicely to the peaceful time. The birds never ceased to chirp joyfully around the manor, the nature which engulfed the two of you like another living being surrounding you, silent yet welcoming. 

The scenery was perfect for someone like you, who was waiting for an environment like this to bring out the papers and put that inspiration to use. Hours rushed by as you sat under the trees beside the manor, writing away the scenes in your head as the maids brought you food. A few of those hours may have just been wasted on daydreaming, but that was the beauty of this entire situation — you simply had the time to waste in this retreat. 

Hyunjin had been more than satisfactory: he always came to dine with you for all meals, never concluding conversation, and made sure to accompany you on walks around the lands. Everytime you would step into new landmarks he would instantly recall the history behind it, explaining the work his forefathers had done on the manor, and lead you along till the sun followed you two down the horizon. 

You had initial fears. Just because he was your best friend before, it did not predict what his behaviour would be after marriage. You had heard many marital horror stories during the seasons of London society, and each one was worse than the last. Although you always knew the duke could never hurt you, there was no trusting the opposite sex. Fortunately for you, he rid those doubts from your mind, and maybe you began to have faith in the future.

There was, however, a downside to your new husband.

“Why will you not show me the drafts?!” he whined for the last time, following you into the house. Rolling your eyes for the millionth time, you took off your bonnet, handing it to the maid nearby. “I have waited long enough!” 

“I do not have to explain myself to you!” you argued back, grabbing your skirts as you rushed up the stairs, Hyunjin right at your heels. 

The man was much too quick, overtaking you instantly and barring you from stepping into the hallway. A groan was your reaction. “Let me through!” you ordered. 

“Tell me what your book is about.”

“I am not telling you anything!”

He curved closer to you, blond locks sliding off his shoulders. “Why?” he hissed, and you stayed stubborn as his hand on the bannister snuck closer to yours. “What have you written in there that is so exclusive?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, crossing your arms. 

It was not like you had written an anti-Duke of Hastings manifesto. Once again, it was just your humiliation — although you loved to write, there was absolutely no way you could ever willingly show him your work as of this moment.

You could not have your best friend be disappointed by your creations. 

So you turned completely on your heel, descending down the stairs.

“Hey!” you heard the man shout as you stepped into the entryway, picking up your book. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to the trees!” You looked over your shoulder, making sure to give him a glare.”Because I know they will not argue back!”

Before he could speak any more, you thundered out of the house, taking Pride and Prejudice with you. 

An enraged sigh escaped you, walking rapidly into the maze of hedges as you tried to stroll the anger away. When these silly arguments occurred, you began to wish that you had never told him of your work in progress. You could have just admitted that you liked to write, and feared that any other men would rob you off that hobby.

And on the last day of your honeymoon, too. Maybe you should have told him you were illiterate instead. 

Settling yourself upon the white wooden bench, right beside the forest, you opened up your book, gritting your teeth still as you immersed yourself in the world of Elizabeth Bennet. Although progressing, your thoughts drifted to another man who did not reside in the pages, and you found yourself even more aggravated.

Damned the beautiful bastard. Of course you were going to tell him of your writings. Why could he not simply wait?

The thought had you rigid on the bench as you read on, the mere wind and trees your silent company as you read away your rage. The duke did not come searching for you — it was for the better, because if he tried you would have ran away from his stalking figure. 

Night ascended from the horizons, and as the sun retreated so did you, back into the manor, book at your side. You nodded to the guards who opened the huge doors for you, letting you inside as you went straight for the stairs, void of the man who refused to let you pass.

Dim lights illuminating the way, you walked right up until your bedroom door greeted you, and when you saw Hyunjin, leaned back in the ornate chair as he looked out of the window, you paused at the entrance.

Although your steps were quiet, he turned his head to you. His features held a veil of unreadable emotions, cemented by the slight down curve of his mouth. 

You scowled at him as you stepped inside. “I am not showing you the drafts.”

He closed his eyes, nodding. “As you wish.”

You removed your coat, a brow raising. “I won’t show them to you tomorrow either.”

“As you say.”

Another brow joined its partner. “Nor will I show you them the next week.”

“Of course.”

What was this sudden change? “Hyunjin, are you unwell?”

“I am perfectly adequate, darling.”

The endearment had you frowning further. “Fine,” you muttered, knowing he was hiding something from you. “I will be inside, taking a bath.” 

You were about to enter the bathroom when his voice halted you.

“____?”

Looking over your shoulder, you answered, “Yes?”

The man let out a soft sigh, crossing his leg over the other. “I...I wanted to say that I apologise for my persistence.”

Now that was a statement you were not expecting. You opened your mouth, but closed it, thinking it was for the better, and instead leaned at the doorway.

“I…” he clasped his hands. “I realised that as I insisted and shouted, I was becoming the very man you wished to avoid. That is the last thing I want for us. If you are uncomfortable in showing me your writings, that is fine. A husband, most of all a best friend, should respect that decision.”

His eyes lifted to yours, pinning you with a fierce stare. “I will not persist with you anymore.”

You found yourself unable to break this stare as you, too, locked your hands together, biting your bottom lip at this turnout.

The duke had never apologised for anything.

In the many years you had known him, he would always stand by his decisions, even if they turned out to be disastrously against his favour. His stubbornness refused to let him submit to the other, and you had watched him have his boney backside beaten almost every week for it.

Hearing the plea for forgiveness had certainly changed that perception. 

You took a few steps toward him, willing your hands at your sides as his gaze followed. 

Was the denial really necessary? The poor man only wished to take a glimpse into your mind. Was that too much for him to ask for?

No. You had to stay upright. So what if he apologised? He should have! The man had caused a ringing in your ears from the arguing.

But now, even though the entire time your body repulsed at the thought before, you found yourself reaching for your satchel.

His eyes did not leave your hands as you brought out the papers, dumping your bag beside his feet. You held them out, knowing there is no way out of your actions.

“Here.”

Hyunjin looked at the papers as if they were hemlock. “Why are you showing me your drafts?”

You pursed your lips. “Because I want you to eat them.”

“I have no appetite for paper this evening, I’m afraid.”

The attitude had you warning, “Do you want to read it or not?”

He regarded you with an adorable puzzlement. “Darling,” he started, and the word had you raising it closer to him. “You do not have to show me. I cannot have you forcing to do something which you do not—”

“You’re not.”

He paused. Kept that beguiling stare upon you. You carried on, “Hyunjin, I need you to understand that it was never anything personal. It was me just...not really believing in myself.” Gently putting the small stack of papers in on his lap, you locked your hands behind your back. “But I gave you my word on our wedding night. And the day you proposed, and the day I realised you were a dear friend to me.

“You will be my first for everything. Especially in the goals and dreams I treasure the most.”

The duke’s eyes enlarged, darting to the drafts settled on his thighs and then to you, capturing your lip between your teeth in nervousness. He wished ardently that you would break that habit, for if you kept at it he might just grab your face and continue for you.

My first for everything. The declaration had his stomach turning in on itself. He knew he had been there for many of your firsts, but saying it out loud was something else. Saying it out loud meant you were aware of that fact as well. 

So unimaginable, that you did not even realise the impact you had on him. So unbelievably innocent, eyes searching for his answer, desperate for consolation, when he had completely different matters in mind. 

By God, if you did not turn around and leave him, he would let the control on him falter.

“I...I need to take a long bath, Hyunjin,” you said, finding his stare unusually penetrating. “By the time I am done you would have finished reading half of it.”

Turning, you stalked back to the bathroom, looking over your shoulder as you took a step inside. “No sweetening the feedback.”

You did not wait for his answer as you went inside, shutting the door.

Both of you, not realising that the other was doing so, let out a quivering sigh.

Something was amiss. 

There was this...tension. You did not know the origin, but you knew it was there, underlying and creeping closer. Hyunjin was unusually quiet. Compliant even. A small part of you feared that maybe you should not have given him the most vulnerable possession in your care.

Deciding to fill the hot water in the bath yourself, you got on with your task, filling buckets of water in the copper bathtub till it nearly overflowed. Once done, you got rid of your clothes, and stepped inside. You instantly relaxed as the warmth of the water soaked your skin, calming your nerves, which were running high moments before. 

As you progressed with using the soap, you distinctly heard the pages turning in the room next door. Scrubbing yourself, you hoped that the man was enjoying your words, or else you were never leaving this bathtub again. 

At one point, you leaned your head back, closing your eyes as the water, now mixed with the scent of roses, lapped lazily against you. Your thoughts, once again, wandered to the man a wall away from you — what was he thinking? You wished you were there beside him, witnessing his reactions to the actions, dialogue, romance you had added in there.

Maybe that was the real problem. The couple you had added in this story had a strong relationship, but because you yourself had never experienced any sort of star-crossed love, you did not particularly know how to portray the raw romance. Still, you made sure they held hands in the ballroom at chapter 49. That was the pace in every other book you read, anyway.

After what seemed like a whole night later, you finally got out of the water, drying yourself with the towel hanging beside the tub. Grabbing your white nightgown, you donned the light dress, keeping it as loose as possible as you tried to dry your hair further, opening the door.

When you looked up, you saw the duke, head down, scanning through the papers with a face so focused it worried you. You made to say his name, but his hand shot up, silencing you. He did not even glance at your figure, bringing the hand back to swipe a finished page. 

A little smile appeared on your lips. Is he...invested? 

Does he enjoy your writing?

Another ten minutes of observing him, and he put the last paper down. 

Slowly, he tilted his head upwards, turning to where you stood. His face expressed something cryptic — unable to decipher the emotion which swirled beneath his dark, glinting eyes. 

He then let out a scoff.

“Darling, I need you to sit.” He gestured beside him, on the edge of the bed. “Right here.”

Perplexed, you obliged, settling yourself on the soft sheets, watching him heave off his chair, the last piece of your draft still in hand. He began a pace back and forth across the room, shaking his head as he turned at every end.

The pacing began to concern you. “Hyunjin, is something the matter?” you asked, hands grabbing tufts of your nightgown. “If you really wish to walk then you have all of Cambridgeshire waiting.”

“Tell me, dearest,” he said, still thundering across the room. “Remind me why you did not want to show me your drafts.”

That was an usual first comment. “Umm...because I was embarrassed about my writing?” 

Your answer made him stop. Whirl to your direction.

“Ah, yes!”

His features twisted into anger.

“Such poppycock!”

You blinked back. “I-pardon?”

“No, you shall not be pardoned!” he exclaimed, pointing at you with the stash of papers. “Not when you have written something like this!”

“Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

The man nearly ripped his hair out. 

“____, you have written a bloody masterpiece!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

“Wrote a masterpiece!” He swiped through the pages, lighting up at each word that passed his gaze. “A bestseller! An award winning novel!” 

A smile worked its way onto your lips. “You...you really think so?”

Sighing out in exasperation, he set the papers upon the desk as he began to lose his initial anger. “How could you be embarrassed about something so beautiful?” He put his hand on the gold chair, leaning onto its head. “Your descriptions were lovely, the characters are perfectly imperfect. You have outdone a lot of the writers in circulation.”

Your shoulders sagged a little — almost as if you had been carrying a heavy burden, and this man had taken it off of you.

You made sure he saw your joy when you said, “Thank you, blondie.”

Seeing the pure contentment upon your face had your friend looking away, eyes narrowing to the plans once again.

“There was, however, one thing which needed improvement.”

The setback had you straightening once again, eager to hear. At least he was not sweetening it fully. “Go on.”

“As I was reading through, right till the end, I noticed a lack of very important details.” 

That was quite strange. “A lack of?” you asked, when you were so sure that you had added too much of everything.

“Yes.”

His fingers drummed against the velvet of the chair. His other hand tightened upon his hip.

“I noticed that there was a deep lack of...passion.”

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

“Yes, passion. Desire.” He jerked his head towards the papers. “I hardly saw any of those emotions in the book.”

This new information was certainly quite worrying for you. “But I do not understand,” you started. “My whole novel is based on this relationship, of the love that blossoms and grows—”

“I understand that, darling, I really do,” he said. “I know what you are going to say.” 

The drumming continued. “But where is that residing in the chapters? Where is that physical lust implied in the characters?”

Lust. 

You had heard of the word before. Heard of its implications, yet never grasped the weight of its meaning. Was it just another form of longing? 

If only your mother had given you an education on this side of love.

“What do you mean...lust?”

Hyunjin raised a groomed brow. “What else could I mean, angel?”

The way he voiced that question, that endearment, had you parting your mouth, unable to say anything. You tried to speak, to say something to ease the tension which came slithering back into the bedroom.

“I...what were you expecting? From the relationship.”

Curling his locks behind his ear, his gaze became obscure. “You spoke of forbidden love, of...of a coupling which should not be occurring but happened through the fate of the universe. Is that right?”

When you nodded, he carried on. “See, I did not sense that from their exchanges. Their emotions are tame, chaste. An innocence which cannot be tainted.

“Now where is the fun in that?”

You dared not break his gaze. “What is that ’fun’?”

His eyes seemed to darken. “That ‘fun’ in the relationship is physicality. Where is that in your novel?” 

He took a step towards you. “Where are the unbreaking stares? The curious hands, aching to caress another’s? Where are the trembling breaths, the lust-stained sighs that fan lovers’ lips?”

The duke had you craning your neck back as he looked down at you. “Where are the kisses, my darling?”

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

“Yes, kisses,” he repeated softly. “Lips enveloping lips, tasting your inner workings? Travelling to your neck, your collarbone...places which cannot even be whispered in polite society?”

Each part he mentioned had goosebumps pricking at that certain place. 

The bastard still did not stop. “Where is that passion, ____? Where is that forbidden love, which only makes the heart burn wilder?”

And as he descended before you on his knees, delicate hands settling on your lap, you had a feeling swirl up your sides which had never struck you before.

“If I were the man in your book, I would not be tame with you.” 

His eyes offered a new, intimidating darkness. “Because if you were my woman, then I do not think I’d control myself. The moment I’d catch the innocence dancing in your eyes, I’d have waltzed it away into my shadows.

“Only God could save you from my hunger, then.”

Silence descended upon the two of you.

One waiting for the other to speak, and the other unable to form the words to do so.

The moon had illuminated your husband, one side of his face glowing like a celestial being, the other side basked in darkness. How strange, when he had compared himself to it just a few moments before.

You seemed unable to look away from him. His gaze, always intense, now had become so penetrating you wondered whether he could glance at your soul, quivering from his feedback. 

Improvements which you still did not quite comprehend, despite the implications.

Somehow, he could see it on your face. “I have a feeling you still do not grasp the idea. Is that correct?”

A half nod. “I…” God, speak! “I just...I have never understood it, Hyunjin.”

Your head dipped down, darting at the plains of your hands. “You asked me about lust, and I simply cannot answer because I do not know. I have never experienced such emotion.

“Hell, I have not witnessed a single action that you spoke of. How could you expect me to write of desires I have never even felt?”

This.

This was unchartered territory. This was a terrain you had not explored with him.

Yes, he was your best friend. But one does not talk of such...dangerous conservation when your best friend happens to be a male — a complete rake, at that.

It seemed as if the rake, too, was thinking the same. 

His legs, a force which had never let him down, threatened to buckle under him. His mouth opened, only for silence to answer you. 

Lord and all His subjects help him. He did not think he could contain it any longer.

And as his eyes exposed you, vulnerable before him, he only knew of one thing — one fact within this ocean of uncertainty you swam in.

He would jump into the waters for you. But not to haul you out to safety.

No, the duke would drag you down further, with him as your sole saviour.

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

For the Duke of Hastings will absolutely ruin you, body and soul.

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

A singular action, dragging him back to dark, dark reality, even sweeter than his fantasies as it sat before him, shy and wide-eyed.

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

You tried not to shudder at his lilting whisper. “How am I to be helped?”

The man did not even think of the possibilities, to your surprise.

If only you knew, how long he had kept them hidden for.

“How about...how about I assist you?”

Confusion washed over your features. “And how would you assist me, Hyunjin? You have never written a novel.”

His answer was a chuckle, revealing slight glimpses of his teeth as he stood.

“That is true, yes.”

Sitting down beside you, he planted his hands behind him on the bed, leaning into the position. 

“But what I can provide aid for is the one feature you lack in your writing.”

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

Looking over yourself, you watched him reclined in ease. Your speech was uneven as you said, “And...and how will you help me with that?”

“Simple, my darling.” A pause, looking you over. “I shall provide you with examples. Show you what truly happens between a man and woman when all they yearn for is each other.”

He saw the further questions in your gaze. The questions you dared not voice out loud, perhaps dared not understand. 

Smirking, he sat himself up, eyes never leaving yours as his hands encircled your own, bunched up in your dress. As his fingers brushed against your linen he felt his skin go aflame. 

“If, of course, you would let me.”

Tilting your head slightly upwards, you sensed a foreign warmth envelop your face, burning at the sight of your friend studying you like an empty canvas, begging to be filled.

Perhaps you were an empty sheet of paper, waiting to be painted with guidance by the master. Maybe that master was beside you all along.

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

There it was. The question which may have been his drug — his purest form of opium. 

Because when his hands travelled upwards, sliding to your face and imprisoning you with his stare, he knew he would become addicted.

“Not only show you what real passion looks like.”

A shame he did not care for his well-being when you were so fucking tempting.

“But show you what real passion tastes like.”

The shuddering breath that left you caressed Hyunjin’s lips, and he debated throwing the whole course of patience out of the window, and ravage you this second.

But he would never do that. Not unless you asked him to. 

“May I?” He whispered, eyes heavy lidded. The need for an answer was beyond rationality.

You looked at him one last time before you let your heart answer for you.

“Show me, Hyunjin. 

Those three words were all it took for the duke to close the distance. 

Close the final space which had stayed so irritably prevalent, when he brushed his lips against yours. 

The first thought that came to mind was how soft his mouth felt. 

Plush lips, moving against yours with the utmost gentleness; as if testing the waters, familiarising their new surroundings. He did not know what to expect, which was a thought that shocked him. Had he not bedded half of London to know the ins and outs of how a man should pleasure a woman?

Still, his vast knowledge could not prepare him for you and your shy acceptance.

His fingers cradling your jaw, satisfied, he delved in a little deeper, the weathered leash beginning to loosen as he found his opium upon your mouth.

You attempted to follow his actions — letting him lead the kiss as if it were the many dances you had partaken with him, treating this as yet another waltz you both had to share. The issue was, dancing never brought you the unnerving thrill that these ministrations did.

Hyunjin’s kisses were quite indescribable. 

When he tilted your head with the pressure of his fingers, gaining the fullest possible access to your lips, he thought his heart would burst from his chest. So compliant, you were, trailing after his actions. His pleasure heightened when he felt your heartbeat race beneath his fingertips, which resided just underneath your jaw. 

He would have been a happy man if he continued the kiss forever, but he forced himself to break away, remembering that this was your first, that you were not acquainted with the dance of passion. His gaze pried over your features, and a famished smile nearly broke upon his face.

He found you shivering beneath his grasp.

Lips glistening, courtesy of his own, eyes wide and skin warm, there was no other reaction which the duke would have savoured more. A fearful excitement resided upon your beautiful face — almost as if you were scared of yourself, of the feelings he ignited within you.

The man was not far from his prediction. You were positively terrified.

Terrified of the fire-like emotion that threatened to turn your stomach in on itself. It was an extraordinary sensation — as if you were engulfed by some unknown, mysterious fire, and Hyunjin was the one sparking it to life.

You parted your mouth, trying to speak but to no fruition. 

And him, whose eyes grew darker at the lack of words, curled his fingers to your jaw, smirking. “I can hear your heartbeat from here, darling.” A singular finger tapped against the spot, where your blood pumped quicker than usual. 

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears too, making you all the more aware of the situation — you may not know what these feelings were, but you needed to find out.

It was not entirely your fault. A writer must do their research, after all.

Painfully swallowing the lump in your throat, you made yourself speak, asking the questions which haunted you. “Is...is this all?” you got out.

Hyunjin slanted his head a little, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You know…” your hands instinctively reached for your lips. “What we just did. Is that all that happens?”

The hesitation had him chuckling, the shaky exhale caressing your mouth. “Do not pretend that you were unaware of kisses,” he mused, and you desperately tried to look away. 

The slight grip on your jaw had you unable to do so. “And as for your question…” the smirk remained. “We have barely touched the surface.”

His other hand skirting downwards, it grazed along your collarbone, tumbling to the free space at your side. It settled itself among the bunched linen, holding you steady. 

“I can show you more,” he whispered. “If only you wish it.”

Face burning further, you closed your eyes, letting your head dip in acceptance. You could not even think at this point — you were curious. Beyond intrigued, wondering whether these feelings would swell up more, take you into another reality farther from your imagination.

It was a slight inconvenience that Hyunjin shook his head. 

“No, my darling,” he said softly, the fingers on your jaw sliding to your chin. “I want you to say it. Say you want more.”

You had not the slightest idea what this ‘more’ was, but you sure wished to discover — judging by the ravenous gleam in your husband’s stare, he wished for you to find out too.

“Fine then, Hyunjin…” one last pause ensued. “I...I want more.”

The said-man let a small groan escape before capturing your lips again. 

He knew he was being selfish — almost pouncing on you like a man starved, grip on your side tightening as he quickened his pace, slowly prying your lips open.

When you felt his tongue skim along the seam of your mouth, you found yourself opening up to him, shocked at the sudden enthusiasm. Your hands, unoccupied, fumbled at your lap, unsure of their use until Hyunjin, his own hands leaving you, held onto them. 

With precise direction he placed them on his shoulders, all the while slithering his tongue inside. You found yourself gripping onto him harder as he explored you, he himself nearly transcending at your yielding. A groan threatened to escape, but was drowned out by his mouth, closing over yours and kissing you insane. 

His tongue worked wonders within you, swirling along with yours, desperation increasing with every time you complied with his actions. He opened your lips a little wider, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip, and you could not contain your moans any longer. The whimpered replies had him tugging on your lip, slowly sinking his teeth on the swollen flesh. Your fingers could not grasp harder, the lock around his neck tightening with a growing need.

Is that what it all was? Urgency? What was this need for?

You hoped with all your heart that Hyunjin would know.

He pulled away from your mouth, and with gasped breaths, he got out, “Angel, may I—” His thumb caressed the corners of your lips, trailing down to your neck. “May I kiss you here—?” 

The second the ragged yes escaped, the man’s mouth began peppering little kisses along his finger’s trail, leaving your skin burning with every touch. Dipping his head into your neck, he tugged down the neckline of your gown, settling on your collarbone. The hem descended to your shoulders, threatening to fall at your waist. 

His kisses did not falter, even when you gasped out his name, a soft cry which only grew when his teeth grazed at your skin. Pain bloomed at the touch, but the feeling did not last long, replacing it with his tongue lapping up the mark. The dull ache remained, yet forgotten as he created a pattern of these stinging sensations.

“____,” he whispered upon your skin, a hypnotic chant which only had you whining in response. His mouth skimmed right up to your ear in frantic. “I...I must show you even more.”

You stilled completely. “E-even more?”

Hyunjin’s eyes did not leave yours as his hands travelled down, holding onto your sides. Slowly, he tugged you forward, your body merely following as he laid you down into the bed. Your heart hammered as he towered over you, the loose shirt revealing a glimpse of his chest, and his locks, drooping down to your face.

Your hands held onto the sheets. The gesture had him melting, so endeared by your little scares. What would you know of what will follow?

His idle fingers began to roam. With every shuddering breath they journeyed further below, until they found the hem of your nightgown. He held onto the fabric, slowly sliding it upwards. 

You hissed slightly at the cold that welcomed your bare legs, but it was overshadowed by his warm caresses, every touch causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Or something of the sort. That was what it felt like to you, anyway, with how out of place the reaction was. 

You asked him as his fingers paused, right on the edges of your upper thighs. Confusion, mixed with an overwhelming sensation, washed over you with every phantom touch. “What are you—” you paused as his hand tugged your legs open, ever so slightly. “What are you to do with your fingers?”

His answering gaze had you praying for the Lord. “How about I show you instead?” The contact lingered. “I promise it will feel wonderful.”

There was no other answer you could offer him. A hasty nod could only suffice as, with that signal, the duke braced himself for what he had been dreaming to do.

Nothing prepared you for the feeling of his fingers past your thighs. 

Your breathing hitched as they teased against your entrance, running slowly along your slit. He collected the arousal which pooled at the apex, mouth agape from your reaction. 

How you were drenched for him. 

The very sight, and the prolonging idea, had the man exhaling sharply. Even now, he could see in your gaze — you were unaware of your own responses, your body’s hurried joy as it begged for his fingers to delve in further. 

Tonight, he would show you a glimpse of his fantasies. 

His one finger slipped inside you, and you felt the world turn.

Slowly, so painfully slow it slid between your folds, completely halting your breath as you gaped at him. He held your stare with a dark intensity — no doubt there was hesitation on his part, scared his control would shatter, terrified he would submit to your desire and break you under his hold. Already the thought was so appealing. 

Still, he kept his fantasies at bay, holding your face like a fragile artifact as he delved deeper. A soft moan escaped your lips, and he cocked his head, realising it was a whine you tried to contain. 

“Angel, please,” he murmured, and when he paused on his journey you looked at him in desperation. “Don’t be shy with me.”

And then, grip on your side tightening, he began to pull his finger out.

This time, it was impossible to restrain. 

A heightened gasp shuddered out of you, gripping onto his shirt. How could an action so simple be so electrifying? The idea could not make any sense, but it did not need to when it brought such pleasure. You pulled on the fabric harder, elevating Hyunjin’s joy at seeing you so bothered.

“Yes, just like this,” he cooed, repeating the movement. This time, though, he quickened the pace as he began peppering little kisses upon your face. Each brush of his lips was like fuel to the fire below, growing angrier with every leisured plunge. “Say it all for me.”

You did not need to be told twice. 

Your whines grew as he quickened, foreign waves of mysterious origin overtaking your body. You feared his singular finger might be enough to do something drastic, but then his thumb started to wander. When he found your clit, he created a slow pattern of circling the bud, causing you to squirm beneath him. 

Seeing him above you was all too much — you needed his lips upon yours, needed to be lost in his tongue or else you would lose your mind. “H-hyunjin,” you stammered out, and the dazed expression had him reeling. “Please...please kiss me.”

He nearly moaned at the request itself. There you were, asking for his touch. His delirium spoke for him, letting his delusion a little astray. “But darling,” he muttered, leaning his face closer to you. “How can I watch you like this if I simply kiss you?”

Releasing his finger till the mere pad remained, he smiled at your panting. “How will I be able to watch you when I do this—” and brought two digits inside you.

He felt your walls pulsate around him, and he revelled in your reactions, the groans that followed with his delving. So, so compliant. So wonderfully welcoming, when all he did was touch the surface. 

Your speech was all muddled, broken words and half-prayers as his fingers worked within you. As if that was not enough, he curled them inside, and there, he brushed against a spot which had you seeing stars. You could hardly stay still under his grasp, squeezing your legs together. 

“Fuck,” he slipped out, and the curse itself had you fisting your hands in his shirt, damning the turnout if it were to tear. “Sweetheart, it’s okay to let go, keep those legs open.”

Further fastening his labour, you found yourself developing the most intense feeling in your gut — like a dark, swirling ball, aching to be released. You tried to raise your head to kiss him, but he only did the same, you barely missing him.

“Hyunjin!” You gasped out, and the said-man knew that no orchestra could compete with the music you tuned for him. Grabbing clumsily onto his collar, you tried with meak strength to bring him down. “Something...it’s wrong, something is amiss—”

You cut a glance down, where your cunt was more than occupied with his digits. “Wh-what am I feeling?!” In a frenzy you stared at him again, tears pricking your eyes. “Why do I feel—”

The duke only shushed you, a gaze akin to affection being offered to you as he trailed a slender finger upon your cheek. “Oh, sweet angel,” he whispered, voice a little breathless.

“That is me keeping my promise.”

And when he finally swooped your lips in a heart-wrenching kiss, fingers never stopping below, you let the overwhelming feeling take over. The aching was freed, and you broke away with a cry as you released onto him, spilling onto the sheets. 

Hyunjin commenced a trail of sweet kisses upon your face, slowing his work inside you. Lethargy washed over you, and you barely sensed him slip his fingers out until the hollowness of your cunt welcomed you in his stead. 

Through heavy-lidded eyes, you watched him as he brought the two digits to his parted mouth, sucking softly on the skin. A low noise hummed out of him, and you found yourself growing warmer all over again.

He caught you looking at him, and he slipped his fingers out with a pop!

“Truly divine, you are.”

Skin burning, you quickly shimmied your nightgown down, earning a chuckle from your husband. “That was…” you began, and you did not know why the thought made you so flustered. 

“Do not worry your pretty mind, sweetheart,” he reassured you, flicking your nose. “Your release was answer enough.”

That only had you all the more embarrassed. “Hyunjin?”

His eyes rooted to yours. “Yes?”

“Was this…” you paused, trying to find the right words. “Was whatever we did...everything? Was this the end?”

Despite the two of you only finishing now, the duke had his gut turning in on itself all over again. This time, he let patience take over. He had been rewarded more than enough.

He still answered with a hushed tone, offering you another vision. Another promise, which he intended on fulfilling even further. 

“Of course not, angel. This was merely the beginning.”

 THE NEXT MORNING SAW THE TWO OF YOU IN LONDON.

It was a much more gradual journey than the previous one, with all the time in the world to go back to the duke’s main estate, where he was called to work after weeks of leisure. You, first indignant, were now devastated to leave Hemingford, a place which became a special haven in such a short time. 

But of course, one could not neglect their husband. Not when that husband would never let you leave his side.

Hyunjin was all eye-smiles in the carriage, hands refusing to let go of you despite your complaints. You did not particularly mind, but when he resorted to kissing you with the curtains drawn, your levels of embarrassment nearly broke the scale, amusing him to no end. 

There was no stopping him, though. After taking the first heated step with you, the vault of restraint in his senses had cracked. All this time he had proceeded with caution, but your heightened whimpers of the night before had undone the cellar of his desires. 

Once again, you had experienced another first with him. A first which he wanted to conquer for a long, long time.

Unfortunately, business called, or else he would have stayed a few weeks more. Damn the men begging his presence, when he could have explored every layer of your innocence in that manor, revelled in ruining you of your ignorance. 

He thought he had time to show the world of pleasure. 

Alas, the fantasy he created in his Manor had to fade.

Reality crashed upon the two of you unfairly quick — there was not a moment’s rest as you arrived at Lansdowne, the official estate of the Hwang family nestled in Mayfair. It was more an enchanting palace than a home, every room, furniture and painting like pieces out of a fairytale. You could never forget the first time you entered, knowing that despite your previous comforts, you were to be spoiled in this abode. 

The unfavourable situation which turned out from this was that your husband was not present to spoil you in his royal den.

As the days began there, with banality taking over, the two of you barely had any occasion to spend some time together. Business sunk its claws into the duke, refusing to show mercy. All the days and most nights, he managed tenants on his lands, heard their complaints and attempted to provide solutions. 

The problems arose while he was away tending to you in your getaway, his subordinates incapable of handling the work he did so effortlessly. It frustrated Hyunjin to no end, when he had to learn these strategies since his adolescence, yet his employees, far older than him, could not manage to use his funds efficiently. 

Although this meant time was sparse together, you did not mind so terribly. Having solitude meant having opportunities to write, and so you threw yourself into your drafts. You revised the more intimate scenes between your couple, and dared write down your first experiences onto the page.

Even documenting the occurrence had your stomach fluttering — when he kissed you delirious, going as far as slipping his fingers inside you. It felt like a delusion in your mind, scared that you merely created such events through your imagination, but you could not not make up such passion.

Hwang Hyunjin had shown you a very tangible fantasy.

It was these memories that kept you company as you penned down your world, a couple thousand words being scrawled on paper everyday. You wished to talk to him about taking matters further with your novel, but whenever the two of you had the occasional dinners you could not bring yourself to address the subject. He was already so occupied, and dumping your own tasks on him would devastate you

So you secluded yourself into your room, and only wrote.

Few weeks into Lansdowne, and you began to miss him.

You did not know how this feeling entered, but the moment it crawled into you it was all you could endure. It was not uncommon for you to miss your dear friend, even before marriage, but now that you lived with him, the situation changed. During the afternoons, when you burned your mind from the constant writing, you longed for his presence; conversation never ran dry when he was around, and the maids who offered refreshment were hardly an alternative.

Your longing, unfortunately, did not stop there.

Ever since that fateful night, you failed in shaking off the ever present tingling. His midnight eyes, akin to the devil, haunted you in isolation, and the sheer image of his full lips quickened your heartbeat. In fact, when you wrote a similar recount into your writing, the incident came into your mind so clearly you had to abandon the task altogether. The familiar wetness pooled at your core, and you cursed the heavens for being weak.

His fingers had an everlasting impression on you.

That was a whole other problem — you and Hyunjin, because of his tightening schedule, hardly had any opportunity to explore further of what happened. Teasing words and stolen kisses were your only alternative, and you dared not ask of him to do more. Your cowardice may have been one of the main reasons, but he was another factor of your silence. The man came home every night, so exhausted that even requesting to have him satisfy you brought you shame. He was much too tired, and you could not be selfish.

So you did not bother him. Let him leave every morning, and imagine what would be if he did not have so many responsibilities.

However, another couple of weeks later, and the need became unbearable.

Your every thought and feeling was replaced with this...this urgency. It was horrifying to you, never having been forced to such extremes, but it preyed on your mind like a beast. Meaningless tasks turned into burdens, sleep was lost, and your very heart threatened to burst from the intuitions. You wished to stop, but once you remembered that phantom touch, it was over. There was simply no alternative.

During those times, you could barely look at Hyunjin, offering you tired smiles as he disappeared into your chambers. You figured he did not notice, or else you knew he would make a comment on your worsening state. Truthfully, you were overjoyed that he was too exhausted to see you like this. If there was any chance he was aware, that alone would kill you off.

But this desire, too, was slowly withering you away.

Even as the sun began to descend, birds singing softly beyond your intricate window, soon to be drawn to a close. The library was bathed in gold from the light, painting your face as you attempted to write the last of the chapter, but to little success. 

You figured your creativity had had enough of being stuck in your bedroom, so you opted for a change of scenery, but the parasite was at hand, churning just below your stomach. Even with the thousands of books settled all around you, radiating their knowledge, the ache remained, dull yet present. You scowled, pushing the pencil harder in your hand.

The poor lead broke suddenly, making you flinch. “Argh!” you let out, throwing the object upon the desk. Useless — you were so utterly useless, reduced to a mold of nerves, growing with each image that passed in your head.

Cursing, you put your hands in your lap, looking to the gardens beyond the window. 

There is nothing you can do, ____.

The need arising, you slid your palms back, enough so they rested over your core. 

A dangerous thought entered your mind.

That’s not true. There is one solution.

Your eyes widened.

Of course, there was always that alternative. Glancing down, you involuntarily pressed your palm to your clothed cunt. Already a wave of pleasure washed over you, and you suppressed any sound with a hand to your mouth.

You cannot. By God, you cannot do such a thing.

Especially in a bloody library.

Turning around, you glanced at the bookshelves guarding your figure, stretching to the painted ceiling. As an aspiring writer yourself, you cursed yourself for suggesting to do such an action in your temple, with the place your church and the books your Bible. 

However, when the ache begins to creep over, your morality seemed to fade at first flight. 

What a shame your brain was not to be listened to.

Shooting up from your chair, you nearly fell to the plush carpet, leaning against the desk. Gradually, you took a step forward, and another, searching for any secluded area among the lines upon lines of populated shelves. 

“Where is it, where is it,” you mumbled to yourself, passing the Greek Literature aisle, moving further into the darker section. When you spotted the end of the library, you turned to a dim lit section of Romantic poets. “Aha!” You exclaimed, finding the place you were searching for.

This particular section has been a favourite little hiding place for Hyunjin. Recalling the memories, you always caught him here whenever the two of you played hide-and-seek, or when to comfort him here after a particularly harsh spat with his father, the late Duke of Hastings. Above all else, he found himself isolating here whenever he wished to read by your insistence, finding solace in the words of Blake and Wordsworth, picked up on the shelves. 

You, on the other hand, did not come here to read. 

Backing up against the wall, you let yourself fall to the lush carpet. There was barely enough space to stretch your hands apart, feeling the wall on one side, and the bookshelves with the other. It was small trouble, though, as space was not the priority — simply distance. 

Thankfully, you had time — dinner would be served in about an hour, and the servants had been told not to disturb you as you ‘write’.

It was now or never.

“Lord forgive me.”

Grabbing onto your skirts, you raised them upwards, along with your petticoats. After undressing your pantalettes, your white stockings came into view, ending right above your knees, tied with baby pink ribbons. 

With your underwear gone, you felt the cold caressing your dripping cunt. Immediately your fingers rushed to swipe at the arousal that pooled onto the carpet, a hiss escaping your lips. Then, moving higher, you felt the swell of your clit, and began to rub circles, so, so slowly — just like Hyunjin did, exactly like his fingers did.

The ripples of pleasure crashed over you with every swipe of your fingers. It was the most wonderful feeling, experiencing it after a span of weeks. Yes, somewhere in the back of your rational mind, you knew you looked pathetic, whining softly from your own efforts, but your desperation took over; you had been patient long enough.

Your desire, however, had no such moments to waste with such gradual rubbing, so pent up inside you that it forced you to quicken your pace. You prayed that no one heard you, for the sobs that flew out your mouth increased, playing and teasing your clit till it nearly numbed you.

The real bliss poured out when you plunged two of your fingers into you, going deeper and creating that identical pace, relished before. You closed your eyes, and images came flashing back — the midnight eyes returned, along the malicious grin, and suddenly it was not your fingers that pulled and pushed into your cunt. Your mind dared to conjure up Hyunjin, his dark laughter ringing in your ears as he curled his fingers into you, reaching a spot which had you seeing the seven heavens. 

So far along, you did not care if the others heard. With your concoction before you, fingering you delirious, you called out his name. A panted “Hyunjin!” squealed out of you, the word laced with madness. How you begged for release, when it was actually in your control.

And maybe you would have come all over your fingers at that moment. Maybe that was a fantasy that would have been rewarded to you if reality had not been so unkind.

For it was reality that arranged a presence turning to his favourite hiding spot. For it was cruel, cruel reality, bringing at your secret aisle the very man who caused your current frenzy.

Hwang Hyunjin. 

Sweet Duke of Hastings, who thought to surprise his wife and return home early, so he could join her at dinner this evening. Curious Duke of Hastings, who found the servants informing of your ‘work’ in the library, and so walking to you himself, expecting the distant sound of sighs and scribbles on paper. 

Shocked Duke of Hastings, when he heard his name instead, being moaned at the end of his library. 

His pupils dilated, gloved fingers hanging on the edge of the shelf, he grew flushed in his attire as he watched your near undoing. You whimpered his name over and over, as if that was your only comfort among the heavy sensation in your gut, the pleasure which numbed your senses. He trailed down to your sopping fingers, clumsy in their rhythm.

A shuddered breath escaped him.

It was then he let out the most self-satisfactory scoff. 

That moment, you opened your eyes. Widened when they settled on your husband, face exposing an aghast expression as he crossed his arms, gaze never leaving the mess between your legs.

He had the audacity to grin wickedly.

“Oh my, sweet angel. What do we have here?”

Your entire body stilled, fingers frozen inside of you. Every ounce of strength, which tried to make you speak, abandoned ship. 

Noticing clearly, a splutter of hellish laughter spilled from his lips. “All this time,” he began, feline amusement dripping in his voice. “All these lonely, lonely weeks, I was so guilty.” His boots made a soft thump against the carpets, grey longcoat fluttering after him. “I kept thinking, see, of you, so alone and unentertained. Stuck in her chambers all day and night, burning out her brain with her words. Writing of my examples.”

He unbuttoned his overcoat, pinning you with his gaze. “Little did I know you were impersonating me.”

You almost cried with shame. 

“God, I doubt I can call you angel, again,” he drawled, tossing his woolen jacket behind him on a nearby chair, pulling off his gloves. 

He uncovered his slender hands, continuing, “Not with your fingers still in your cunt.”

That nearly had you in tears — you yanked your digits out, making to push your skirts down in a hurry but were dutifully stopped by his raised voice.

“Pray, darling,” he inquired, and you could taste the ridicule as he stood before you, crouching down. “What do you think you are doing?”

He did not give you time to answer as he grabbed your hand, half-soiled by your endeavours. “Why have you stopped the show when the intended audience has arrived?”

All these questions messed with your senses, squeezing your thighs together as the high, threatening to undo you before, began to fade. “Hyunjin—” you said, but you were interrupted, as, with his hand, he lifted your trembling figure with ease. Legs unstable, you let him steer you until your back hit the bookshelves.

“Another notion puzzles me too.” His golden locks skirted along as he cocked his head.

“Why did you scream my name when you touched yourself?” 

Your mouth parted, remembering your incessant whining. The thought caused your entire body to burn up, your husband taking instant note. “Come on, now, darling,” he taunted, grip on your hand tightening. “We both know you are more than capable of speaking.”

It was surprising how you managed to speak, despite the phantom touches.

“I…” you paused, embarrassed that you tried to tell him the truth. “I do not know...damn it!” you hissed as you saw a phantom smile accompanying his hands. “I had this...this need, Hyunjin. Everytime I recalled that night, I…all I wanted was some sort of...release.”

“Oh?” he got out, and he had to cage you with his hands for his own stability. 

The thought of you, withering in pleasure — pleasure you did not realise you yearned for — had his mind transcending any sense. There he was, stirring the cauldron of desire bubbling in your veins, your face twisting in pain from your lack of knowledge. 

He had to pray for forgiveness for his mentality, but at this moment in time, he only knew of one religion. You, and your wishes, whispered in panted breaths.

“If that was what you felt, then why did you not tell me?”

If it was not for his hand gripping yours, you would have covered your face. “How could I?” you whined out. “You were so busy! I could never be selfish enough to put myself before you.”

His heart nearly burst from his chest. “My darling,” he hummed, stroking away the flyaways upon your face. “Do you not realise that I put you before myself?”

Your confusion had him continuing. “If you had told me that you had such...needs, then I would have damned the work to hell.”

Suddenly, you wished you were the most selfish person in the world.

“Every wish, your every want…” his eyes promised the world. “It is mine to bring it to you.

“So tell me, angel.” His fingers lingered on your face. “What do you want?”

Alas, that fated question.

What you wanted was to tell him without doubt that you wished for his fingers inside you again. What you wanted was your husband fulfilling his promises, showing you more, more, more until you forgot your name from the sheer force.

You hated how your speech could never voice it out loud with confidence.

The man noticed your face warming beneath his touch as you stammered, “I-I want—” pausing from his fingers on your cheek, “Hyunjin, I want you to…” 

Your pathetic attempts had him chuckling. “So innocent to me still?” He asked softly. “Even when I caught you moaning my name like a whore in the night?”

Whore. Sane you would have slapped him for saying such a thing, but the arousal that pooled at the term meant completely different. He was aware of your reaction, causing him to be compliant. 

One day, he would voice it out of you. One day, you would say from your own mouth that you wished for ruination.

“How about this, ____?” he started. He brushed a small kiss upon your forehead, heart fluttering at the chaste action. “When you want me to stop, voice that out instead.” The next kiss was upon the tip of your nose. 

You thought up a worrying confession, but when you saw his expression change, you realised you blurted it out.

“I don’t think I would want you to stop, Hyunjin.”

The molten lust in his eyes nearly undid you then and there. He offered you a low, satisfied growl, wondering how in God he could ever resist you.

“I don’t think I would be able to, angel.”

He did not say any more, swooping down and enveloping your lips with his.

You instantly accepted him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer, closing your eyes and letting him paint an artwork of desire upon your mouth. You could tell he was trying to be gentle, but your confession cracked the glasshouse of desire he had tended for so long. 

His tongue was inside your mouth at once, and you relished its desperation, letting it explore all of you as his hands wandered down, your own sliding into his locks. Softer than all the silks in the land, you already felt the moans bubble within your throat, partially escaping with every parting. His heavy breathing in your ears only wished for all distance to fade.

There was so much of him, all at once — you had shared kisses with him after that fated night, but you knew those kisses were the sole form of affection he could offer in those lonely weeks. The way he bit your bottom lip, soft and then a little harder, had you losing all sense.

It was such things that made you realise how much you missed his presence.

Tearing away from your lips, he gave fevered attention to your neck, trailing his kisses down your skin, open and wet and restless. “Hyunjin—” you began, but then you gritted your teeth at the pain of his suction upon your throat. His hands pushed you further into the shelves, and a few books began to fall at the force. 

“H-Hyunjin!” you exclaimed, eyes darting frantically to the classic editions that scattered on the floor. “W-wait, not here!” 

The man blinked in his haze of desire, looking at you. “Huh?” he got out, spit-slick lips parted, his whole body raising from his breaths. “Why not?”

“The-the books, they...!” you tried to explain, but with the stare he offered, you quietened within moments. “...Hyunjin?”

His answer was his hand taking your wrist and turning from the secluded corner. He steered you out of the hiding place, pace hurried with each step he took. Head whirling to every aisle, he cursed under his breath, finding the spaces between the shelves filled only with books. 

“What are you...searching for?!” you demanded in bated breaths, but then he let out a satisfied noise as he found an open aisle, the first line of shelves in the library. 

In front of those shelves sat a large, wooden step ladder — no doubt there to grab onto the higher sectioned novels. A knowing smirk enveloped his features as he led you to where it stood, backing you against it.

A small yelp escaped you as the man hoisted you upon the steps, you holding onto his shoulders as he slithered his arms around your waist. “There,” he said, tilting his head slightly upwards. “Now you shan’t worry about your novels falling.”

“Easy for you to say!” you crowed, already feeling unstable, despite sitting on the sixth step. “This time it might be me falling!”

“Well then,” he began, tugging your legs apart till he fit snug between them, “You just have to hold on tight, don’t you?”

Oh, you were going to kill him.

Leaning forward, he halted your breath, brushing his lips across your neck. “I can stop if you wish,” he whispered on your skin. His hand rested over your chest, where it rose unevenly under his palm. When you did not answer he looked up, climbing so he levelled with your face. 

You felt his heavy breathing fan your lips. “Do you want me to stop, angel?”

His eyes saw right through you — with the way a malicious smile began playing at his lips, he knew his answer long before you registered it yourself.

Head shaking hurriedly, you murmured out your response as you grabbed onto the lapels of his longcoat. 

“Never.” 

You pulled him down, desire taking control of your senses as he undid you with his lips. His hands, sliding down, hitching your skirts higher than before, bunching it at your waist. Never giving himself a break on your mouth, he peeled off his coat, tossing it beside the ladder. Only when you broke away to take a panted breath did he begin his descent — kisses on your neck dragged down further, along your clothed abdomen until he parted, shuffling the fabric from between your thighs.

An uneasy fuck flew from his mouth — your glistening cunt welcomed him again, the recollections of the last honeymoon night crashing back. 

In truth, the events had not left his mind. The memories of his fingers playing with you, inciting those sinful sounds were the few things which brought him a high in the dark days of work. You, drenched by his efforts, dripping for him, and only him, to take care of you.

Seeing the sight before had Hyunjin restraining his cock. Fuck, he thought, leaning closer till his face was a mere inch from the center. He did not comprehend the consequences of this; what if he went crazy? A part of him was distinctly aware that if you were heavenly around his fingers, then you with his tongue would transcend reality.

Hands holding the back of your knees, he slung your legs over his shoulders, securing his fingers upon your thighs. With one last inhale, he closed the distance.

Nothing compared to his tongue running along your slit.

A hiss left you at the contact, tendrils of pleasure curling up your spine as he explored the edges of your cunt. He was teasing, being too leisured for your liking — he could not help himself, fearing he would rush the process and end it too quickly.

He wanted to be inside you the entire night.

Your incessant whining had him lapping up the wetness, gripping onto your legs a little harder as he delved in further, tasting your arousal and letting out a satisfied noise. Leaning your head back against the higher steps, your hands carded through his hair, his locks a comfort for the slow torment below.

When his tongue dove upwards, circling your clit, an obscenely loud moan tumbled out of you. He was so exceptional, so good at what he did to you, licking away at the bud as if he had not been served for days. Your whining was more encouragement for his antics, increasing his strokes with a slight curve to his lips. 

What reduced you to choked gasps was an old prospect from the first night — his digits, leaving one of their spots on your leg and slipping one inside your folds. As if his tongue was not enough, that singular finger created a rhythmic pattern of plunging in and out of you. 

You thrashed under his grip, hips rolling giddily along with his work. Even the ladder began to shudder, jutting slightly back and forth from your desperation. Although the squeeze on your thigh was an indication to calm down, you ignored it, too intoxicated by the thrusts of his tongue to realise his signal. 

He made you realise as he paused his ministrations entirely. You nearly shrieked at the lack of his presence, but then you looked down, and found his lust-hazed eyes staring at you. 

“H-Hyunjin?” You mumbled, voice raspy from your previous moaning. 

The slick glazed on his lips brought you another level of high. “I need you to stay still, darling,” he voiced, slender hand gripping onto your thigh. “You even have the poor ladder shaking.”

You willingly nodded your head, knowing you were lying through your teeth. If he continued with his tongue prodding at your clit, then you would start trembling from the thrill. 

“I don’t think I believe you,” he mused, blowing on your drenched cunt. Seeing you shiver had him chuckling. ”I need you to be still if you want true pleasure, sweetheart.”

An ironically chaste kiss upon the edges of your thigh gave you more reason to grip him harder. “I want you to enjoy this as much as I am.” 

As much as I am.

Good, sweet Lord.

Maybe you will never move an inch again.

“K-keep going,” you whispered, near frantic as you played with his locks. “Please.”

The please at the end was exactly what he needed before he pounced into you again. 

His tongue was relentless — a second finger joined in the venture, and the fullness of him was back again, with an intensity that only promised satisfaction. You knew it was coming, with the heaviness in your lower abdomen. 

You needed that release. Whatever it took, it was the only image in your mind, taunting you of the relief that came with it. With the hard grip of his locks, your husband sensed it straight away, quickening his pace with both his tongue and digits. 

Damn Hwang Hyunjin to Hell, for he was so unfairly good to you — licking your clit to a frenzy, touching a certain spot inside you, over and over again. He never missed, never faltered his labour as the burden inside you intensified. You sang his praise in your stained mind, hoping he could see the joy on your face.

“Hyunjin—!” You whined out, stealing a glance at his head, moving back and forth slightly between your legs. “It’s—the feeling, the one before—!”

You did not have to say anything else; his free hand, wrapping fully around your slung over leg, made you realise of his awareness. The feeling was at its peak then — one more of his stripe along your cunt, and it was over.

Fortunately for you, the Duke of Hastings kept his promises. 

One little nibble of your bud, plunging in his two fingers at the same time, and it was useless. Your release came rushing through, cries escaping your lips as you undid yourself onto his mouth. All sense of surroundings abandoned you: you were drifting away, like a kite losing its roots, further and further as his fingers slowed. You feared that you would lose all sense until his tongue lapped up the release. His hums of satisfaction anchored you back into the library, hands at your hips as he heaved upwards, watching over your dazed expression. 

You saw his every move, licking the remnants of your release off on his face. He then hovered closer, locks more sweat slick as they caressed your skin. 

“God, angel,” he rasped out, holding your chin with his stained fingers. “You…I can’t...I can’t get enough of you.”

He stole a kiss upon your mouth, but your shy whines caused him to go deeper, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. “Shit,” he whispered as he parted from your lips. “You must stop me, ____. I cannot take you all at once, I…no matter how much I wish, I cannot...fuck, I cannot taint you.”

And maybe it was your husband, admiring you like a poet would his muse. Maybe it was something more than the dull ache inside you, the flutter moving to your heart which had you saying the next words. 

“But I...” you paused, every panted breath heavy. “I never…never asked you to stop.”

Hyunjin stilled completely before you. 

His eyes were too much, but you did not stop the confession pouring out. “If...if there is something more, I…” his thumb on your chin hardened.

“I want to know. I want to see it all...even if it may taint me.”

There it was. 

The thoughts which haunted you for the past few weeks. You wanted more, even if that meant that this more would one day be satiated. You wanted to see the end, the final stage, because you knew deep down, your best friend was still holding back from you.

You saw it in his eyes. You saw his unadulterated desires, dark and fearful, yet you wanted to be surrounded by his darkness. 

You wanted Hwang Hyunjin to break you like he wished.

Sure enough, he saw it all over your face too. His jaw turned slack, and he debated slamming his head against the shelves to make sure he was not dreaming.

He did not think his wife would let him have a moment’s peace. 

“God help you, sweet angel,” he murmured, glancing at your dress — more specifically, how to get you out of it. “I don’t think I can leave you innocent any longer.”

You parted your mouth to speak — Hyunjin was about to interrupt you, perhaps take you to the final stage of your passions.

Everything was about to descend when you heard the shrill knock on the door.

Your heart jumped out of your dress, the man above you catching onto your shock. With an unexpected burst of anger, he turned his head towards the large doors and screamed, “Who the fuck is it?!”

The servant at the opposite side flinched at the tone of voice. “Um, there is a guest in the living room, Your Grace!”

That did not help his case. “Then tell them to piss off!” The Duke demanded, holding onto you a little harder.

“But Your Grace, he urgently requests your presence!” The boy insisted. “We tried telling him of your...distractions, but he would not listen!”

Hyunjin looked like he was about to tear the manor down with his orders, and you widened your eyes, holding onto him. “It’s alright,” you reassured him, and possibly reassuring yourself too.

He glanced at you, and the frenzied stare he pinned you with shut you right up. “Fuck,” he cursed, running an angered hand through his hair, the other not leaving your side — as if you would fade from his grasp. 

You feared it too, in truth, that he would disappear. The thought plagued your senses, much more than you would have liked.

“To hell with that bloody guest,” he growled, leaning into you again. He pressed his forehead against yours, cupping your face with his hands. “To hell with everyone.”

“Hyunjin,” you breathed out, relishing the contact. “Hyunjin, it’s okay…” you held his agitated stare, wondering why you were convincing him to go when you wanted him to stay. “I will be here, you know...when you come back.”

He searched your gaze for confirmation, needing to affirm your words. When he found the suppressed desire within, he could not help himself. 

He planted his mouth upon yours, finding solace along the lines of your lips — he loved how your every kiss was a comfort, a sweet little sin all for him to enjoy. In honesty, he could spend an eternity basked in your warmth, but alas, reality was a villain in his tale.

Forcing himself to pull away, he ran a tender thumb along your cheek. “I shan’t take long, angel.”

You nodded tiredly, in time to the man holding your waist as he settled you back onto the carpet. Lingering for a few moments, he made himself leave your side, grabbing his coat and donning the heavy fabric. He satiated his desires with a glance towards you, dazed off with your hands clinging the ladder railing still. 

A small smile catching onto his lips, he turned on his heel, promising murder to whoever disturbed the moment he dreamed of. Opening the door, he looked back, catching your stare. 

The smile upon his face grew wider. A smile so sincere, so loving, with all the world’s miracles nestled upon his pretty mouth. It was a smile that you had never seen before, with all your years beside him — seeing it now had you wishing you could bottle the image and carry it with you forever.

It was a smile which had you so in love with him.

Love.

It was then your heart dropped. 

Hyunjin, unaware, closed the door behind him, leaving you to your revelation.

Instantly, you clutched at your chest, heartbeat racing. 

In love.

You were in...in love with Hwang Hyunjin.

“No,” you slipped out, mind rushing a mile a minute. “No, no, no, no—”

You gripped the railing harder as the hand on your heart trailed down, shivering from the phantom touches of your husband.

Hell, of the husband that you had fallen for. 

One would think love was an entity writers would idolise — your own inspirations searched and indulged in all kinds of love, but you always accepted that an emotion so intense was not for women like you. Love was a rarity. Love was unconditional, strong and vivid and all-consuming. 

Love, undoubtedly, was a weakness.

Your breathing turned ragged, hands reaching to clasp your head in panic. 

I will be here...when you come back.

Your promise to him, before he left you to your hysteria.

Why would you ever say such a thing to him?

“Oh, no,” you kept chanting, turning over to your side, away from the door and towards the window, where night was small comfort to your nerves. 

You could not let yourself succumb to a man. No matter how dear he was to you.

And if that meant staying away from your husband, then so be it.

 IT WAS UTTER AGONY AVOIDING YOUR BEST FRIEND IN EVERY PASSING MOMENT. 

Perhaps you should have given reasonable explanation to why you decided to distance yourself, but of course, reasonable explanation was never your forte. 

Hyunjin, damn him, tried to make more effort in returning home earlier, despite his business demanding his presence with every passing day. You were almost powerless under his tender gaze, but you knew that you could not be swayed.

As if you had not fallen under his spell already.

Your only distraction was your novel, so you did just that — even with your husband in the manor, you closed yourself from everyone, writing furiously on your desk as if committing to anything else would cost your life. The flushed skin did not shy away as you wrote of your second experience, changing the events slightly so they fit your story. The memories tried to torture your mind, but you refused to submit. You could not fall for Hyunjin.

You could not fall for a man.

The duke did not realise of your avoidances, simply thinking that you evading his more heated kisses, his dangerous touches, was a result of your fatigue. He understood, knowing you worked your brain as hard as he. He was upset, obviously, when he craved your touch every waking second. For you, though, he would do anything. If that meant waiting, he would do that too.

However, your recoiling could only last so long. Your best friend knew you like the back of his hand.

He figured something was amiss when he decided to grace you with his presence one evening, expecting another show of your moans behind the door, only to have the distant scribbling of ink against paper. Entering inside, he awaited your surprise, your unadulterated joy, bracing himself to have his arms engulfed with your hug.

In reality, he received a mumble of blessing, and the continuing scribbling.

He was not trying to coax you into giving him affection. He was well aware of how hard you worked on your novel, but that day, he dearly wished you would abandon your project for just a night. Just one, single night, so he could show you how much he missed you every single moment.

Poor, unfortunate man. How was he to know that your affection was the one thing you could not give him?

Another few days into the silence, and Hyunjin had had enough.

He called to you one dinner, ushering the servants away with the flick of his hand. The dining room became all the more huge, like a lush vault, perfect for a sweet interrogation as the velvet curtains drew to a close, and the eyes of a hundred paintings focused on you. You swirled the soup with your spoon, refusing to look at him. 

“Darling?”

Damn him and his endearments. “Hmm?”

The man, too, seemed to be unsure of how to talk of the subject. “Is…” he put his cutlery on the table. “Is everything...alright as of late?”

Your gaze remained rooted to your food. “Of course,” you said. “Why would I not be?”

There was a heavy silence in the room, new and uncertain between the two of you. Your friendship with the duke had never been filled with such quiet — why were you creating such awkwardness around him?

You already knew the answer.

“Do counter me if I speak incorrectly,” he began, grabbing the stem of the wine glass. “But I have noticed you to be quite...secluded.”

“I am busy, Hyunjin,” you said curtly. “I have a whole novel to edit.”

His lips twitched downwards before opening his mouth, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a small sip. “I know you do, and you know I am proud of you for it.”

Choosing to not say anything, you tried finishing off your dinner, aware that you were losing your appetite. It seemed your husband did not want to back down tonight. “____, I feel as if you are hiding something from me.”

The spoon in your hand nearly clattered in the bowl. “And why would you think that?”

“Because—!” Hyunjin paused, downing some more wine. “I do not know, but I feel as if you do not want to speak to me.”

He was too smart for his own good. “You are imagining things,” you waved him off, finding your salad fork oh so interesting in the candlelight.

“Look at me.”

His voice stopped you cold. 

Your gaze scrambled to meet his, and although his command was rough, his eyes exposed a completely different emotion. 

Pure concern washed over his features as he muttered, “Have I done something wrong?”

That question broke your heart.

“No, no, of course not,” you quickly said. You bit your lip in guilt, watching him sigh, almost in relief.

This was the consequences of your actions. A man who had done nothing unjust, yet was being punished. Pure shame coursed through your veins, catching the distress on his face, and you wondered whether you were being cruel. Maybe this time, your feelings were exaggerated.

If you were aware of such truths, then why could you not look your best friend in the eye?

That night, you hurried to bed, leaning on the edge in wait for him. Your thoughts were in disarray; your heart impatiently desired his return, and your brain berated you for daring to. 

Truthfully, it was horrifying how you had become so dependent on someone, when your entire life you relied on the fantasies in your head. Although your revelation was every lady’s dream in society, you felt as if another burden had been dumped upon your shoulders. This time, though, this burden would last for the rest of your life.

These thoughts were your singular company, when you lay awake all night. You were acutely aware of Hyunjin slipping between the sheets, but you did not move a muscle. A small part of you knew that if you turned, you would be unable to resist his whimsical gaze and wandering touches.

So you lay rigid, only letting yourself sleep till your best friend submitted himself to oblivion.

He, too, could not bear to live like this.

The Duke of Hastings was not a fool. He had not known you for over a decade to discard you lying through your teeth. It was beyond his understanding the reasoning of your change, but it deeply disturbed his soul. 

He turned in the bed, watching your back bathed in moonlight. Why would you not tell him what bothered you? What had he done wrong?

As he watched you stay rooted in one position, his thinking turned to dark corners. A realisation struck him; you started acting this way the day after he nearly took you in the library.

This alarmed him greatly — was that why you were so troubled? Were you...uncomfortable with his touch?

His heart dropped down to his gut. 

If you truly detested his affection, then he would not know what to do with himself. Recently, it was all that haunted him — you, you, and a little more you, strolling through his mind as if it were your domain, creating stories underneath his eyes. It only worsened when he discovered your sweet moans, triggered by his kisses and touches. God, the very thought of you, whining his name as you touched yourself, brought him a familiar feeling amplified. So ardently he wished to taint you further. 

Even thinking of the images had him clutching his pillow tighter, fingers aching to turn you over. 

However, the harsh fact was that you could not bear to look at him, and he had to live with that. Questioning you was of no use. 

Hyunjin only prayed that he did not scare you off. 

Unfortunately for him, his prayers were not to be answered. 

Days passed, and the distance grew. The man dared not say a word to you in fear you would stray further, and you dared not approach him in fear you would fall harder. It was the most abhorrent situation, and you knew you had to get away somehow.

Fate spoiled your plans when Hyunjin revealed some news.

You looked at the invitation in slight horror. “A ball?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he explained further. “When we were...interrupted that day…” he sighed a little. “It was Seungmin who was downstairs.”

“Kim Seungmin? Has he returned from the States?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And he has decided that the first thing he wishes to do is throw a huge ball in celebration of his return.” A roll of eyes followed. “Forever the dramatist.”

You restrained your laughter. “It has been over 2 years since we met,” you wondered out loud. 

“Well, you can meet him at his estate when we attend the ball.” 

He felt your eyes on him as he declared his words. Awaiting your outright rejection, settling down on the chair in the living room. You watched his thighs tense under the peach trousers as he folded a leg over the other — damn him for being too attractive to refuse.

“Very well,” you only said, not ignoring the nerves which threatened to take over. They increased a little at seeing the smile on your husband’s face.

You needed to stop leading the man on. Never could you go to the ball with him. 

“It is a week from now,” he added, bobbing his foot excitedly. “I shall write back in acceptance as soon as possible!”

Nodding, you returned to your reading, hoping the faux conversations were enough distraction.

A week. Seven days to somehow escape from this event, or else everyone would see you enter the ball as an official couple, and then your fate as another man’s property would be sealed.

Had he ever made you feel as such?

You did not let yourself ponder over this further. Your only objective was getting out of this invitation.

However, you were a duchess. Trying to hide yourself from London society was an unattainable feat. 

The reminder had you nearly ripping the page off your book, too stressed to read on.

This became your focus of the next week, pondering over the night of the ball, scouring your mind with the possibilities which may occur at Seungmin’s estate. As the days neared, Hyunjin insisted you go shopping in search of a special ball gown, and you only obliged so you did not have to be in the same house as him. Still, if he was not there physically, his image preyed upon you in the markets, constantly reminded of his opinions and likings in every fabric you ran your hands upon. 

There was no escaping him. You were disgustingly obsessed.

Purchasing everything you needed, you requested it to be charged on Hastings’ tab, a privilege awarded to you ever since your joining with the duke. You always argued that you wished to spend your own money, but he would not listen.

“But I adore spoiling you, angel,” he would merely say, and buy up half the boutique, leaving you a flustered mess. The conversations did not leave you as you bought your dresses and accessories, returning home and dreading interaction.

Excusing yourself, you shut yourself in your room once more, and wrote.

Wrote away your soul in the last days, till it was the morning of the fated event. The sun shone magnificently on your home, but failed to radiate its light on your darkened mood. You had no choice on the matter — you were to accompany Hyunjin to Seungmin’s celebrations, and that was final.

You were about to fake typhoid when a letter arrived for you.

It was from your mother; she wrote in question of your wellbeing, and how much she felt your absence in the house. The content was not very interesting, and you debated writing back with a lack of enthusiasm when you read the last section.

She mentioned tonight’s ball — more significantly, how she felt ever so lonely without you with her, “enlivening her spirits”. The praises were nothing further from the truth, but it was her confession which had an idea rushing to your head.

“Lonely without me, huh?” you murmured, as you rang a bell for a maid. Arriving, you requested for a little trunk, asking for your new dress and other adornments to be packed. “For once, Mama, you have been useful.”

The packing did not take much time, the other servants calling for a carriage as you made preparations to leave for a night. Hyunjin, making his presence known, descended down the stairs, a grin upon his face as his hand fished in his inner pockets. 

When he saw your endeavours, though, his beaming flickered. “What is going on here?” he asked, refusing to look away from your luggage.

You turned to him, mustering up the bravado to face him with your decision. 

“I received a letter from Mama this morning,” you explained to him in faux ease, gesturing for the servants to bring your belongings outside. “She is feeling rather lonesome, so I thought to see her.”

The man was not convinced in the slightest. “Since when did you garner sympathy for your mother?”

Never confide in your best friend again. “Please,” you stressed, holding the letters in your hands. “She still took care of me the best she could. Plus, I would never want to be lonely at that age.”

He was not listening to this explanation though, his hands going into his pockets. “When will you be back, darling?”

The endearment made this all the worse. “The morning after.”

A heavy pause instilled on the both of you before he broke it. “But...but the ball. A-are you to just...abandon the invitation altogether?”

“No!” you began, locking your hands behind your back. “No, I shall meet you at Seungmin’s estate. It is a small setback, but—”

“____, this will be our first social event as husband and wife!” he countered, you grimacing at his minor outburst. “I want you by my side when we walk down the steps!”

“But I will be there, Hyunjin!” you exclaimed. “I do not understand why you suddenly want to follow these silly traditions!”

Gritting his teeth, your friend pinned you with his stare, growing fiery the longer you held it. Traditions never interested him, but this one had been a certainty he had been looking forward to. The image of you, descending the stairs with your hand on his arm, brought him an absurd amount of joy.

But there you were, bursting his bubble of dreams.

“Why is this all coming to light today?” he muttered, taking a step towards you. “Why, on the day of the event, you decide to tell me that you would rather go with your mother, who never truly cared for you, than me?” 

Than me, who always did?

You dared not answer his question truthfully — instead, you let your undeserved anger take the reins of your tongue.

“So you are already suspicious!” you snapped. “Why am I not surprised in the slightest?”

His eyes narrowed at the statement. You did not look into it further as you turned on your heel, heading towards the door. “Do not run away from me, ____!” He shouted, following after you. “Tell me what you implied from that horrendous comment!”

“Oh, let me uncover it clearly for you, dearest,” you snarled, standing at the doorway. The words which were to leave your mouth had sure consequences, but in the moment, you did not care. All you wanted then was an escape.

“You accuse me of scheming and demand me things which I do not want to give you.” 

Your hand gripped the letter behind you. “You’re becoming the one thing I feared, Hyunjin. You’re turning into a typical male.”

The man froze entirely at your claims.

Did not utter a defense against him as you sighed out, glancing away from his shell-shocked eyes. You did not bid your farewells as you descended down the stairs, reigning in your temptation to look back as you made your way to your transport through the gardens. 

As you slipped inside the carriage, clasping your hands in your lap, you wondered whether you had taken a step too far. 

You wondered, with rising dread, whether you had broken your best friend’s heart. 

 MAYBE RUNNING TO YOUR MOTHER HAD NOT BEEN THE BEST OF IDEAS.

Biggest reason being that she was truly a pain in the rear. The moment your carriage had arrived on the rocky entryway of your mother’s manor, she rushed down the steps. After engulfing you with an embrace which might have caused a minor stroke, she hurried you inside, her servants bringing your possessions.

You did not particularly miss your previous abode, although it gave you small relief. You passed the familiar hallways, and settled in the nostalgic parlour room where your mother gushed over your presence.

Still, this manor did not seem like home to you.

Conversation was mostly struck from your opposite, you nearly silent as the woman vented out her frustrations of every family in London, drinking her tea and urging you to take a biscuit or two. Your stomach was void of an appetite, missing other emotions which you abandoned on the other side of the city.

By the time evening arrived, all you wished to do was hide yourself into your old room, but your mother would not accept. Having the maids open your trunk, they brought out the ball gown you had picked for the occasion.

It was a dark, seductive red, swell of its puffs cuffed with black lace — this lace scattered over the fabric, lining not only the neckline but down the chest, rose-like stitches etched onto the bust. The high-waistline also bled further black stitching, almost all over the gown as it fell to the floor, with a midnight ribbon trailing at the back.

You bit back a fevered sigh. Hyunjin would have adored this gown.

The thought had you pursing your lips, requesting the gown be pressed. Then, walking over to the dressing table, you settled yourself onto the seat, using the accessories bought previously to style yourself. With the assistance of a few maids, you managed to accentuate your hair, adding small pearls within the locks.

The ballgown came back in an instant, and you undressed yourself, waving away the girls in your room. Firstly, you slipped on a thin chemise — then, you allowed a maid to enter to help with the corset, who tightened it at the back without mercy to your body. Barely able to breathe, you loosened it slightly after the girl left, focusing your attention on the gown. After adorning the petticoats and white stockings, you adorned your attire, slowly as to not crease its fabric. Hooking the back yourself, you turned to the mirror, holding the black gloves.

There was no doubt about this countenance — it was exactly to your husband’s taste. Clamping your lips together, you donned the gloves, the silk smooth beneath your touch as you filled them to the fingertips. With one final peek at yourself, you slipped into your shoes, and left the bedroom. 

You were a fool to think of any other person but your mother welcoming you at the entrance, but wishful thinking had always been your flaw. Her string of compliments had you adorning a ghost of a smile, but you did not say much as you both climbed into the carriage, instructing to journey to Seungmin’s estate.

Without a novel to distract you, you fell into a habit of clasping and unclasping your hands as you sat, waiting for the ride to be over. Your mother was small comfort as she filled the silence for you, but even her voice strained your mood — you wished for other discourse, or other meaningless entertainment.

You ached for laughter.

Whatever. This was your consequence. You must bear with it.

If your mother knew of your troubles, she certainly did not voice them out loud. She did ask of your relationship with Hyunjin, but you waved her off with false reassurances — you could not have her prying into your private life.

“I hope he has burned off your silly writing fancy!” she drawled, catching the lights of the destination flickering closer to our transport. “As a wife you have much more important duties.”

Gazing afar through the window, you spoke your truth. “Actually, Mama, he encourages it.” A small chuckle escaped you. “I think he wants me to be an author more than I do.”

“Oh?” The woman brought a hand to her chin, impressed. “That is a rare occurrence indeed.”

Catching your raised brow, she scoffed. “Do not gawk as if you are not aware of men. I am shocked he has given you freedom.”

You listened to her, watching the estate linger closer. “Child, you have found a man who does not restrict you in your passions. I do not know how you accomplished such a feat, but you must be extremely thankful.” A glance was stolen towards her. “Such husbands only exist in those books you love so much.”

Before you could comment on her statement, the carriage slowed to a stop, reaching the final stop. The footmen opened the doors, and your mother stepped out first before you followed, careful not to ruin your dress on the pathway. 

The crowds had you leading inside the estate, luxury which could compete with the Duke of Hastings being exulted in every corner of the interior. Dozens of lords, ladies and other aristocrats wandered in all places of the house, your own mother being swept away by her friends in her social circle. Your presence felt less relevant with each passing second, fearing you would lose yourself in the rush of golden curtains, rose perfume and unwelcome conversation.

You thought that this ball would grant solitude, but then you heard the bright drawl of a familiar lord. 

“By God, is that my dear bookworm I see before me?”

Jumping from the voice, you whirled on your heel. A surprised smile caught on your face.

“Seungmin?”

The said-man returned your shock with a mischievous grin. Lord Kim Seungmin changed greatly since the last time you saw him — what was once thinned, pale cheekbones were now full and golden, amplifying his eye-smile, which he did not lose in the Americas. He was adorned in navy blue, contrasting with his off-coloured pants, black hair styled effortlessly away from his forehead.

“My goodness!” he began, strolling over to you with his mahogany cane. “Even after two years you upkeep your radiance.”

“You flatter me,” you said as your smile widened. “You certainly have changed. I adore the tan!”

“I fear you are the sole admirer,” he confided, narrowing his gaze at his incoming guests. “As if I wish to look like a ghost among men!”

“You have earned my approval, at least,” you complimented in earnest. “Not that it would matter much.”

Seungmin scoffed at your comment. “Says one of the most affluent women in the country! When were you going to tell me you were Hyunjin’s bride?”

Your irritation sparked as your heartbeat raced. “It was very recent, I admit. I would have sent word, but it would not have reached you.”

“I daresay I am not surprised.” 

You peered at him, then. “No?”

He gave you an incredulous look. “My dear, everyone anticipated the occasion. Only you were clueless to the possibility.”

Gritting your teeth, you jabbed him with your hand, causing him to chuckle. “Ow! I was hoping you would mature by this time! No doubt your duke encourages this!”

Preferring to stay silent on the matter, Seungmin continued on the subject, making it difficult. “Where is he, by the way? Gossip tells me it is your first ball as a couple.”

“Is he not here?” A shake of his head had your nerves creeping back. “Oh, um, my mother was alone, so I thought to accompany her instead.”

You nearly grimaced at his callous features. “How bizarre,” he murmured. He then offered you his arm. “If so, then allow me to accompany you in his absence.”

Accepting his arm, he helped you navigate your ways through the huge foyer, the grand stairs welcoming you two as dozens upon dozens of aristocrats came into view — the host nodded his head in greeting at every passerby, leading you down each step, until your feet landed on the floor of the ballroom. 

Examining the area, you marvelled at the pastels colouring each wall, corner and crevice of the vast space in the room. Sweet music filled the air, and murmurs of many ladies and gentlemen resonated everywhere around you, growing louder as their eyes rested on you, your sensual attire, and the lack of husband on your arm.

“How about a dance, Duchess?” Seungmin asked you as he brought you closer to the center. 

Instantly you shook your head, stopping in your tracks. “No,” you refused, tugging on his arm. “I have no wish for dancing this evening.”

“As if you ever have,” he mused, earning your glare. “I presume you await for your beau? Everyone knows you dance first with him.”

A sharp breath exhaled from your nose. “Nevermind that, just take me where the cakes are.”

Laughter spilled from his lips, stirring you to the refreshments. “As you wish, ____.”

Making your way through the guests, you finally ended up where the food resided, tables lined from one corner of the room to the other, flanked in every type of nourishment. Your gaze found stands of cakes, and you left your hand on your friend’s arm, raised towards the deserts. As soon as a servant handed you a plate, the chocolate cake was in your hold.

“Honestly,” the host started, as you cut a piece with a fork, digging straight in. “And they call you the pinnacle of grace!”

“Who in heaven said that?” you asked, baffled as you ate another small piece. Seungmin, snapping his fingers, brought a tray of champagne over to you. Picking up two flutes, you began, “For me?”

Downing the first, he offered you a grin. “What made you think that?” he replied, already sipping the second. “My party, my alcohol.”

This time you giggled at his demeanour, he handing you a drink as you finished your cake. The bubbly goodness was welcomed, warming you up and calming your senses. 

After the third glass, the champagne-induced man let out a huge sigh. “Right!” he exclaimed, propping the glasses on the table beside you. “I must find myself a pretty lady to dance with.”

“Do try to stay on your feet, Seungmin,” you said, raising your flute in toast. 

“No promises!” he merely countered, disappearing into the crowd.  

Your smile faded at the isolation which hit.

There you were — hundreds of people surrounding you, many potential partners to dance with, yet there you were, hand not in another hand but wrapped around your alcohol. 

You could not blame a single soul. This was all your doing.

That had you consuming the champagne to the last drop. 

At least there was some form of relief in this ball, as you watched Seungmin and about a dozen couples form a circle at the center of the room. With the first opening of the music the host led his partner, all the others following suit. 

Watching the waltz had you remembering the last dance, the fateful night where this union came into fruition. Your friend’s smile, his hand on another’s waist, all these images reflected the very same you experienced many weeks before.

You bit the inside of your cheek, reminiscing deeper and deeper. You hated how every fibre of your body ached for his presence. The worst part was that it was not mere lust, or the carnal desire which erupted at his thought.

You longed for him — his banter, his mischievous eyes, and his rather heart-wrenching smile.

The music heightened, the climax of the dance falling on the ball room as Seungmin whirled and whirled his partner, a string of giggles faintly heard from the crowd. When he twirled her one last time, he caught her instantly, at perfect harmony with the ending of the sweet melody.

Applause scattered across the hall as the couples bowed to each other.

A curse escaped you then. 

There was simply no doubt of your feelings — avoiding him could never be the solution. 

This revelation may have arrived at the perfect time.

Because, as the music played once more, a figure emerged at the entrance. 

The murmurs, one by one like a slow wave, died down as they caught sight of him, gazes shocked.

Sipping your champagne, quite puzzled, you turned to the origins for this change of atmosphere. 

Every atom in your body stilled. 

Froze completely at the sight which stood at the foot of the steps. 

You were unable to suppress his name.

“Hyunjin.”

It was as if, by a miracle, he heard your shivered whisper — his eyes skimmed the crowd, frantic beneath the calm.

They found you in the chaos.

Your very breath disappeared from your lungs.

Hwang Hyunjin looked like the devil’s greatest fantasy; as if he stole the night and imprisoned it in his attire. He was adorned in lustrous black, waistcoat patterned with red swirls of velvet. His collar was slightly ruffled, cravat of midnight as it barely brushed against his chin. His tailcoat somewhat glistened in the chandelier light, dark leather boots still as he stood before the hall.

His greatest change was his hair. Once golden like the lights of heaven, it was now as black as the underworld. Half of the locks were swept up in a ponytail, the rest curling at his shoulders. 

The flute nearly dropped from your hands. 

Seungmin, finding his friend on the steps, burst into a smile. “Hastings!” he broke through the silence with enthusiasm. With his voice the crowd fell into frenzied discourse, the host making his way through his guests, strolling towards the new arrival. “By God, it has been too long!”

Hyunjin hummed, not particularly interested in what he had to say. His gaze from you did not stray for a heartbeat. Seungmin, catching on, wrapped a hand around his friend’s shoulder. “I see you only came for one person,” he said, leading him to where you stood. 

Champagne was not the only substance which heated you further, cheeks growing warmer the closer he walked over to you. Every move he emitted exuded sensuality, as if his bones were made of silk. 

You let yourself to a third serving when he stopped before you, Seungmin clapping his hands together in excitement. “Look at the two of you!” he proclaimed. “Your clothes match so perfectly!”

Sure enough, both of you adorned the same hues of dark reds and raven blacks. You felt his eyes rake over you, and you restrained to not do the same, lest you let more than your stare wander. “I always knew you two were right for each other,” your friend continued, grabbing his fourth flute, drinking away in glee. “I am overjoyed to see that you both see it.”

Something cold swirled in your husband’s stare, and you ran a finger along the empty glass, embarrassed to hear such genuinity. “Hyunjin, the second waltz is about to start.” He gestured his flute towards you. “I know you always dance with each other first.”

The duke’s eyes flickered to the host for a mere second before pinning on you again. “I have no desire for dancing tonight.”

You had trouble downing your drink. “How strange...” Seungmin noted, darting between the couple. “Your wife here said the same thing not an hour ago.”

“Did she now?”

The silence that followed was quite unbearable. Even your friend was unimpressed, offering Hyunjin a drink from the waiters nearby. “Oh, you both are such bores! Maybe marriage is not the solution after all.”

You dared not look at him then, fiddling with your black ribbon. “I need to get drunk!” the host declared, tutting his head at the tension created. “I will come again when you two stop being so bloody shy.”

Shy would not be the most accurate term, but Seungmin was too intoxicated to care. He strolled to compliment a gathering of ladies within your radius, which left you with the one man you feared to be alone with.

Hwang Hyunjin. 

Hwang Hyunjin, in his changed, midnight glory, watching you with an indecipherable intensity. Creating the wildest butterflies ever felt inside your body. 

You did not know where to start. 

The man did not understand where to begin either, tongue at loss for words. There were too many words to spill, too many feelings left constricted.

He wished to say something, but his senses had failed him. So, much like you, he stayed silent, wondering if the two of you would ever break this barrier.

Even then, he could not help but linger closer, leaning against the lush walls of the room, right beside you. His presence was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Tailcoat brushing against your skirts, he examined the ballroom along with you, itching to reach for your hand. He would never really, but in that moment, you were beyond tempting. 

You see, he had no idea what you would wear tonight, and after the spat at Lansdowne, he yearned for change — hence the raven hair and darkened clothing, so unlike his usual pastel attire. He did not even think that you would attend the ball in fear of his presence, but seeing you before him, engulfed in his favourite colours…

He would have damned society and taken you in this very hall. 

Daringly, he let himself wonder whether you felt the same — he heard your shocked murmur when he arrived, and the further shocked stare which made him ever so smug. If only you would let him do something about it.

If only you would let him ease this tension before it spiralled out of control.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted as Seungmin came stumbling back, alcohol, swishing back and forth in his new glass as he giggled at his guests. “Dear friends!” he broke out, hands raised, some of the drink accidentally slipping out. “Oh, forgive me, gentlemen!”

You heard Hyunjin sigh beside you as he held his own hands out to steady his friend. “Steady now, man!” he warned. The drunkard only chortled, foot stepping onto your dress.

“You should not have drank so much!” you scolded, raising your skirts. Glimpses of your stockings came into display, and Seungmin shrieked.

“Careful duchesh!” he slurred excitedly, leaning right into you and wiggling the glass as if it were a finger. Unfortunately, he had little control over how hard he shook his alcohol, and it all spilled over. 

Right onto your white stockings.

Yelping, you saw the middle part stain in pinkish-red, murking the material with every drop landing. “Seungmin!” you yelled in agitation. 

“Oh bollocksh!” he cursed, causing a few gasps around the hearing radius. “I apologishe, dear, so very very much—”

Hyunjin, witnessing the scene, stopped a nearby servant. “Please tend to your master, here,” he ordered, pointing towards Seungmin begging for your forgiveness. Nodding, the boy took the host away, the latter hiccuping as he asked for more wine. “And do not give him any more to drink!” the duke added.

Focusing on you, he rushed over, assessing the mess made. “Damn fool has spilled quite a bit.” Whirling his head to any exits, he spotted a dark hallway, remembering the route of the estate. “Come with me.”

You glanced at him, frantic. “Where to?”

He did not answer fully as he wrapped a hand around your waist, almost making you forget that you had wine spilled over you. “Seungmin has many spare rooms,” he explained, leading you out of the ballroom. Thankfully, the crowd was too occupied in preparing for the second waltz to care for the distressed couple. 

Keeping your skirts raised, you managed to keep your gown safe from spillage as Hyunjin led you down the less crowded hallways, depictions of the Kim family painted on the walls. “Ah!” He got out, reaching to a familiar room as he opened it, ushering you inside. “This is where I usually reside whenever I stay at the estate.”

The room was basked in dark, velvety colours, perfect for the man next to you. Lush carpet underneath, the huge bed, nestled at the wall at your right had its curtains drawn, revealing glistening indigo sheets, matching the framing of the bedroom. Dressing tables, wardrobes and the like were furnished at each corner, your focus drifting back to the dweller. 

There was barely any light, save for the oil lamp sparked to life by his match. Setting it to the side of the bed, it brought much more life to the room, previously engulfed in mystery. 

Without the upheaval, the space was basked in silence. You realised the hand on your back was sorely missed, and Hyunjin, standing a few feet away, clenched and unclenched that very hand, yearning for his fingers upon you once more.

But the two of you kept playing that little game of keeping quiet. Sooner or later, one of you will have enough of this sickening ploy. 

Groaning, you walked over to the edge of the bed, kicking your heels off as you saw your stockings, fully stained. “Damn it,” you muttered, promising Seungmin murder. 

Another few minutes of your grumbling, and he had had enough. 

“Maybe I can be of assistance.” 

Perking up, you found Hyunjin, walking slowly to you, hands fumbling in his coat pockets. After a few seconds of rummaging, he brought out a package, tied with red string. 

You raised a brow. “What is this?” 

“Open it,” he merely said, taking a step closer as he held it before you.

Hesitantly accepting, you tugged on the end of the bow, unraveling the tie. You did not forget the stare which rested on you the entire time you opened the wrappings. 

When the paper unfurled, you examined the contents.

Before you were a folded pair of black stockings.

A soft exhale escaped as you beheld the present, the midnight silk soft to the touch, already aware of its rich feel. You delved in further, and uncovered white ribbons at the top, for tightening their grip. 

“How…” you trailed off, dumbfounded at the coincidence. “How did you…?”

“No, no, this was…” he locked his hands behind his back. “Something I was supposed to give you this morning.”

“Oh.” This morning. When you two had that particularly nasty fight. “I see.”

You glanced down at the present again. Hyunjin had proven, once again, how refined his taste was. “I have never seen such exceptional detail on stockings before.” Discarding the paper at your feet, you ran your thumb across the material. “I doubt this suits me at all.”

There was a pause at that. 

You knew there was something he wanted to say. The way his jaw ticked, the boot lightly tapping on the floor — he was bursting to add a comment which may be a risk, considering the circumstance of your relations. 

Allowing yourself to be the first to dare, you peered up at him. The curiosity, explicit in your eyes, had him clearing his throat.

His hesitancy faded. “Show me, then.”

Catching the ferocity in his stare, you swallowed, hand at your skirts. “If…if you wish.”

And that was all he needed to begin.

You watched as the man descended on his knees, lingering upon you until he looked down, revealing your white-clad legs the further you raised your gown. You stopped before the ends, holding onto your skirts and petticoats as if your life depended on it.

Hyunjin’s gaze did not waver as his hand raised forward, finding themselves upon the bow at the top of the stockings as the other gently held your ankle. Untying the ribbon, he hooked his fingers under the tight fabric, your skin brushing against his knuckles. Slowly, he pulled down the stocking, uncovering your skin before him under the dim lamp light. When it bunched up, his hand at your ankle stretched the ends of fabric, sliding the stocking right off. 

Discarding it behind him, he repeated the unveiling on the other leg. He noticed your skin heating underneath his touch, and he dared not expose his growing delight. 

Once the other half slid off, joining its partner, a hand raised in front of you. You stared at him in dazed confusion, and his fingers curled, save for the pointer directed at your present. 

“The stockings, darling.”

The endearment had you falling short — his caresses on your shin brought you back to consciousness, your hand beyond your control as it handed the gift to him. Taking it, he put one of them beside him, bunching the other with his hands till he directed the entrance to your foot on his lap.

Slipping them on, he worked his way upon your heel; his hands were slow, fingers softer than the silk beginning to cover your leg. Every fleeting touch had small shockwaves coursing up your body, as if it was the first time he laid his hands on you. How were you so unaccustomed to his caresses still?

Maybe because he knew how to agonise you. 

When reaching above your knee, he brought the ends of the stocking to your thigh. His fingers fell to the ribbon dangling from the underside and, with the utmost care, began to tie the two pieces together, forming a pretty red bow. 

As he closed the pattern, he tightened the bow, securing the fabric — snuffing out any possibility for the fabric to fall.

He then continued on the other leg, gaze flickering from your legs to your face. He caught every laboured breath you released, every flutter of your eyes slipping you in and out of a daze. His fingers were slower still, as if he never wanted this to stop. The stockings were like a second skin, adding a lustre to your legs the more he covered you with it. 

Sliding over your knee for the last time, he held onto the blood-coloured ribbons. Fingers skimming against silk-stained skin, he tied another perfect bow, tightening it at the ends. 

All done.

His gaze lingered on the bows, the sliver of skin past your thighs. His hands too, refused to leave your legs.

It was then his eyes flicked upward — right into yours. 

You caught every swirl of desire residing inside. 

Every little detail etched on his face was stained with lustful anguish, suppressed hunger of things you dared not imagine. You held onto your skirts with more force, afraid you would lose strength in your hands. 

Hyunjin’s hands, however, had no such troubles.

For they began to carry out his wishes — they slid upwards, past the stockings and upon your upper thighs, spreading them enough to slip himself between your legs. This alone had you near crumbling for him, but his eyes asked for more. Even with the dim light, you had never seen a man so beautiful in agony. 

You wondered whether he was going to say anything. Silence was a giver of many answers, but the questions you held could only be answered by his lulling whispers. Despite protest, you willed your hands beside you, clutching the sheets, waiting for him to tear your soul in pieces. 

Finally, the Duke of Hastings parted his mouth.

“One word, angel.”

He squeezed your thighs softly. 

“One word, and I will never torment you with my presence again.”

A bated breath escaped you.

It was much too late for that. Hyunjin had already tormented you, had done so ever since your fateful realisation, and you knew he would do so for the rest of your life. It would hardly matter whether he was oceans apart or a hair’s breadth close — him, and everything he represented, was complete and utter affliction.

Such a shame that he was a torment you would sacrifice everything to be around every day. Such a horrible, horrible shame that Hwang Hyunjin was a presence you loved more than you could let on.

Hence was the reason you did not answer him with words. What you wished to say was much too vulnerable.

No, you answered him in actions — replied with your hands raising to clasp his face, leaning down to envelope your lips with his. 

You were surprised to hear a pained moan leave his mouth, and you realised that was the sound of pure, heart-breaking relief. Instantly his hands travelled further as he kissed you back with twice the fervour, hands sliding to grip your waist. Pulling you to him, he erased any distance between you, delving deeper into your mouth. He shuddered at how he went so long without your tongue swirling along with his, like parting from a lost companion.

Fingers sliding to his neck, you welcomed his enthusiasm, his desperation which heightened with every searing touch, every soft bite of his teeth against your lips. He broke away, peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, eliciting the sweetest whining from you. 

“...missed you,” he murmured on your skin, sending chills down your body as he kissed the edges of your dress's neckline. “I...missed you so much.”

“Hyunjin—” you began, wanting to say that you yearned for him, but the words on your tongue faded when his fingers bunched up the skirts of your gown, hitching it higher until the midnight stockings were back in view — he did not stop there, pushing the fabric further till it bunched at your waist, along with the petticoats. His hurried hands pulled down your underthings, sliding them right off your legs, discarding them behind them.

Seeing your cunt glistening in the lamplight nearly broke him.

“I—God,” he breathed out, hands spreading your legs apart. An aching whine escaped you at the action, the cool night air caressing your inner thighs. “Angel, tell me...we do not have to do this.” He glanced up at you, and the madness residing in his eyes infected your soul. 

Maybe madness was the only reason you damned the consequences.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

Hyunjin licked his lips before blessing you with his closure.

The first stripe across your slit set you on fire. 

A soft groan through your mouth at the familiar sensation, the overbearing feeling of being ascended far away from this obscure bedroom. He had always worked wonders, but this time, the languor had faded, desire hardening his tongue against your folds. He pulled on your legs, sending his face further into your cunt, and you yelped at the ferocity of his actions. 

There was no denying it — the man had grown frantic without you.

Swiping in the arousal coating along your slit, a satisfied hum escaped him as he travelled upwards, your seething more encouragement. He struck gold as he found your clit, circling his tongue along the bud, rendering you helpless as you moaned without shame. You cared little if the guests heard you beyond the door, your husband making it too hard to contain yourself.

Perhaps you would have survived his treatment if he did not leave one of his hands upon your leg, trailing up your thigh. He slipped in not one, but two fingers straight inside, and your voice raised an octave — the gradual rhythm of his digits had that overflowing feeling creeping over you all over again. Your grip on his half-ponytail tightened, pleading for him to give you mercy, but the man was relentless, never opting for a break in his devouring.

“Damn it, please—” you grated out, instinctively rolling your hips against his face. The edge of the bed seemed more like the edge of the world. “Wh-whatever you do—”

You did not finish as Hyunjin squeezed your thigh, and you knew then in your dazed mind — a certainty that he understood. 

Within moments his pace quickened, fuelling the spark of nerves which swirled in your gut, threatening to overtake you. Teething your clit softly, then swirling his tongue along, you knew that if he carried on, he would break you on this bed. Something within you felt as if that was his was his very purpose.

Why the thought thrilled you, you would never know.

His rapid fingers and sensual tongue working harmoniously finally got through to you, as, with a whimpering cry, you came all over him, closing your eyes as spots of white stained your mind. You felt his ministrations slow, a small kiss gifted upon your sensitive clit before his lips pulled away. Other hand brushing across your leg, he soothed you from the high you experienced, whispers of his lilting voice perking you from your stupor.

“Hyunjin?” you quietly called, gazing at his lust-struck face. He did not look away as he brought the finger to his lips, sucking away at your residue.

You did not think you could ever get used to this image.

“Yes, angel?” he rasped out, straightening on his knees so his head nearly levelled with yours.

Catching the implications within your eyes, his own widened slightly.

“More?” he let himself wonder, and when you nodded much too desperately, he realised he had done it. 

All he needed was for you to voice it.

“Oh, my sweet little darling,” he whispered, taking one of your gloved hands. Slowly, he slid off the long gloves, repeating the same for the other. “This time, I cannot let you off.

His hands then clasped yours. “This time...I need you to say what you want for me.”

The declaration would have had you closing your legs in embarrassment if your husband was not between them. Not even embarrassment for what he said but...the idea of you wanting to completely oblige it.

Look at you — a few months ago, you possessed not a single inclination of what he suggested; what he asked for, what he so direly wanted you to say. The woman before this one would have rather buried herself under the earth than admit such desire for a man.

The Duke of Hastings, though, brought her out from her underground retreat, and revealed to her all that she was capable of. He showed her what everyone was so afraid to even talk about, and made you addicted to what was forbidden.

A dire shame you wanted Hyunjin to keep you intoxicated for the rest of your life.

You faced him once and for all. Asked him for the one thing which you never thought imaginable.

“Show me...all of it.”

Your hands travelled to his shoulders, keeping him close.

“Show me everything.”

If there was a way to bottle this moment and hang it on the walls of his heart, Hyunjin would have jumped at the chance.

Had he defiled you, after so long? Had he slipped his dirty fantasies into your mind, tainted you with his infatuation?

The answers to his questions were found upon your lips. He collided his own against yours as he gathered you up in his arms, standing up and taking you with him.

Your legs would have given way if we’re not for him keeping his grip — a grip which wandered upwards, catching the little metal hooks of your dress. He thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and the harsh frenzy delighted you, welcoming all of it as you opened for him wider. A shuddered breath escaped you at the hooks being undone by his hands, one by one till you felt your gown loosen.

At the last hook, Hyunjin pulled the sleeves off your arms, and the dress fell to the floor, leaving you with your corset and petticoats. You were caught off guard when he swivelled you around, you feeling the tugs of lace being unravelled with each pull of his fingers. The kisses did not cease, being rewarded at the crook of your neck. Each caress of his lips sent shivers down your spine — more so when he eased off the corset from your body, tugging off your petticoats along with it. 

All that was left was a thin, loose chemise, everything shown clearly beneath the white veil of its fabric. The man turned you to face him again, and his gaze turned molten at the sight that welcomed him. Taking your lips in his, he ripped off his own attire — the long coat, waistcoats, every piece from the waist up being discarded. He had to break away for a moment to take his shirt off, and you caught the sight of his lean figure, turned golden in the light. 

You could not help reaching out, running your curious fingers against his skin, soft and warm beneath your touch. He dared not speak, fearing you would take away your hand, but that was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Tonight, you did not want distance — and neither did he.

Kissing you again, he pulled the lace in front of your chemise, loosening the attire until, with wandering hands, he dropped the last layer you upheld. Slowly, never leaving your lips, he backed you against the bed, holding you steady as he laid you upon the sheets. You never let go of him, aching to take all of him in your mouth, taste his very soul till it was the only thing that remained on your tongue. 

“Fuck—” a curse escaped him as he broke away, catching the swelling of your lips. His gaze trailed downwards, upon your breasts which perked at the sight. “You’re so—so beautiful, I—”

Trails of open-mouthed kisses attacked you after, falling upon your breasts where Hyunjin began swiping his tongue along the nipple. The foreign wave of pleasure had you ripping out the most atrocious moan, caring less if the whole manor were to hear. 

While his tongue played with you, his fingers worked at his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he peeled off the clothing, tossing it to the ever growing pile. You craned your head forward, glancing at the bulge near bursting from his underwear. A quivering sigh escaped you, rendering louder by the quickening of his actions.

Getting rid of his underwear, his cock sprung free, and you were surprised you had not passed out from the mere sight, red and angry and too bloody big. You could not stop staring, hard to believe that a man could possess such...such substantial anatomy.

“Like what you see, angel?” Your husband mused, leaving his place upon your nipple. Flustered, you tried to look away, but it was no use, when the man caught your chin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you can be shy even now.”

That did not help with your situation, causing you to heat drastically beneath his touch. Chuckling, he dropped a little kiss upon your nose before resting his forehead against yours. 

Grasping his cock, he levelled it against your leaking cunt, the head teasing your folds. Even the small action had you seething, the warm residue sending shockwaves across your body. You held onto his neck, fearing you would lose yourself if you dared not hold onto him.

His midnight eyes turned to yours, noses brushing. “This may hurt for a second, ____,” he confessed, voice barely a murmur. “But I promise I will make that second up to you.”

Nodding slightly, you watched only him as his gaze travelled downwards. Fear threatened to take over, but one look at your husband, and it all faded.

With a final prayer to the heavens, Hyunjin began his descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his cock slid into your cunt. A heightened whine bubbled up to your throat, and you let it free with each inch that entered, terrified that this man could break you with what he slipped inside you. Your walls tightened with its entrance, and the more you voiced out the more he tended, peppering sweet kisses upon your cheeks.

You did not know how long it was till he stopped, letting you adjust to him inside you. Your eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets, yet your husband was a huge comfort, circling smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, holding your face as he held the universe in his hands.

Breathing deeply, he glanced at you — a nod was your response to his consoling gaze, knowing what he meant.

With that, the duke began to pull out.

He was slow, just as he was when he first entered you. He was gradual, languid, and the terror that haunted you was replaced with a new, different kind of high. 

You had never felt something so pleasurable.

You revealed your surprise to Hyunjin, stare glistening at the foreign sensation — your entire body was up in the clouds, relishing the slow withdrawal and the skill he brought in the bedroom. You were so sure that he was terrified too, scared of ruining this, but all you could feel was pure, unadulterated delight.

When the head reached the beginning of your folds once again, you thought that this was it — there was no more to be done, and your contentment was short-lived.

However, your husband surprised you as he slid inside you once again. 

This time, there was a slight increase of pace, and it kept getting better, your feelings heightening with each passing second as he dipped further into you. He was so unbelievably good, knowing just how to make you whimper — God, his gaze was enough to undo you, ablaze with all the hellfire from the underworld. The devil worked hard, but Hyunjin worked overtime, bottoming out into you once more.

From that point on, your bodies began to move in sync, you giddily moving your hips along with his, aching to have him inside the whole time. Your hands carded through his velvety locks, taking out the ribbons so his hair fell all about him, curtailing his face as he rocked back and forth upon you. By God, he was so exquisite, something straight out of an artist movement, despite the sweat beading down his forehead, despite the parted mouth, the slight panting.

“H-Hyunjin—” you began, interrupted by another sharp moan from his efforts. “Hyunjin, I think I’m close—”

This time, you were interrupted by his lips upon your neck, teething love bites everywhere upon your skin. He hummed against you at your warning, and thrusted his cock into you. The head reached a certain spot which had you seeing seventh heaven, seeing truth and peace and everything in between, because fuck, he knew where to strike.

You did not know how long it had been till you felt yourself dizzying, the feeling in your lower abdomen warning you of its leash snapping. Hyunjin, aware that you were close, only brought his fingers to your clit, prodding at the bud till tears stung your eyes. 

“I...fuck, angel—!” He gasped between thrusts, pressing sloppy kisses upon your lips. “Look at you, all...all messed up from my cock!”

Heightened wailing was your response, broken murmurs being spewed from your lips. Hastily the man shook his head, revelling in your utter ruination.

“Ah—! Come on now!” he cooed in his husky rasp, holding onto your head. “Say it for me, darling.”

A part of you did not think you could manage, but you had to if it meant he would bring you relief. The duke may have been the love of your life, but he was still, undoubtedly, a smug bastard. 

Despite that, you could not believe how easily you resorted to begging. 

“Please, Hyunjin!” You pleaded in half-pants, the tears spilling when he delved into that one particular spot again. “Make me do—whatever the hell I do, damn it!”

Huffing out a small laugh, the man held onto you a little tighter, retaining his grin. “Oh, ____,” he said, and the next words slipped out in his haze of lust, not realising he had revealed something of terrible importance.

After planting another disheveled kiss, he murmured, “You are so lucky that I love you.”

You did not have time for this declaration to settle before your husband obliged you in the best possible way; his thrusting turned erratic, fast and uneven, and the increased pace of his fingers was too much, all at once.

You had no choice but to let out a cry as you spilled onto him — some escaped from your walls and stained the sheets, whimpering breaths keeping you alive. His ministrations slowed as well, fingers stopping at your clit. 

Watching you undo yourself for him was certainly the last straw for him — for the first time he released into you, grunting at the impact. Parts of his orgasm, too, sullied the sheets, but that was the least of his concerns, as he held onto you for dear life, nearly shattering his entire self upon you.

Pulling out of you, he collapsed beside you on the bed, his deep breaths breaking the silence. You, too, panted for a while, gazing up at the dark ceiling. 

You expected your first thought to be utter delight at your first time. You had finally done what no one in polite society ever told you about, and it was so wonderful that you doubt anyone would have shared in your fortune. 

However, your mind was occupied with another matter entirely.

You are lucky that I love you.

You closed your eyes. 

Hyunjin loved you. Hwang Hyunjin, your best friend and husband, loved you when you thought it impossible.

Something within you then wondered if it was too good to be true.

“____?”

Noticing your name, you turned, finding the very man staring at you — in a way which would have your theories proven true. You did not know about yourself, but seeing him before you, black locks disheveled, skin glistening from sweat, you could not deny that anyone would fall for him if they saw him now. 

You tried to push your emotions past you, blinking back a bit of fatigue. “Yes?”

“Tell me what goes on in that mind of yours.” Turning over, he propped his arm, holding his head in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Perhaps you should have opted for a vague yes, but something in you did not want to beat around the bush anymore. You wished to tell him your truth.

“I was wondering about what you said,” you began, reflecting his position. 

“I have said many things, darling,” the man drawled. “What do you specifically mean?”

“Well…” you tried to avoid his gaze, but you knew by now that evading Hyunjin was useless. “Before I...you know…”

“Know what?” He mused, which had you rolling your eyes. 

“You know what I mean!” Sighing, you continued, constantly looking at his features. “Well, just before that, you said something to me...is it true?”

Silence fell on the room as your husband pondered at your question. His eyebrows raised, and you realised that he had figured it out.

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding. “I know exactly what you speak of.”

You waited for his response, suddenly aware of how naked you were in this bedroom. Dread curled at your stomach, and you debated grabbing the sheets and sneaking out of the manor. 

That is when Hyunjin gave you his answer. Gave it to you as he took your hand in both of his, pinning you with a stare he reserved only for you.

“They are the truest words I have spoken.”

He leaned into you, and your heart fluttered, much more dramatically now because of what he revealed.

A soul-saving smile adorned his lips. “Despite our circumstances, it was inevitable that I would fall, and I thank the heavens that I did. I love you, ____, even if you cannot return the feeling. I love you as the friend I never had.

“I love you because you are the most inspirational woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” 

When he finished, you wondered whether you had the words to respond to a confession as heart-wrenching as the one your husband blessed you with. Tears pricked the corners of your vision, and you leaned into his hands which cupped your face.

Brushing his lips against yours, you willingly accepted, giving him all the affection you garnered within you for so long. The tears trailed down your cheeks, and you had to pull away, hands curling at his locks.

“I-I…” you sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hyunjin, I-I love you so much—”

The man’s heart burst from his chest.

His rashness got the better of him, interrupting you with a searing kiss as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip. 

Never in his lust-hazed mind did he foresee you reciprocating his affection.

He was ready to spend eternity in a one-sided relationship. He was ready to stomach the melancholy you brought if you were to fall for another, or if you simply never loved at all, blankly living your life without any form of affection to give.

But…to have you fall for him. 

What he said to you was wrong.

You were not lucky that he loved you.

He was lucky that you loved him. 

So the Duke of Hastings, pulling the clean sheets upwards, showed you how lucky he was, deepening the kiss and you offering all of you again, moving your lips along with his. 

And in this night, the two of you made another revelation — that perhaps reality was not the villain in the both of yours tales after all. 

THE DAYS AFTER THE BALL WERE NOTHING BUT EUPHORIA.

You wondered whether it was all a dream, with the happiness that followed without any strings attached. 

The passionate endeavours between the two of you did not stop at Seungmin’s manor — hands wandered in the carriage back home, and the moment you stepped at Lansdowne, Hyunjin backed you against the wall and ripped your dress right off, never wanting to stop ravishing you. You did not stop him, did not want to stop him, when you waited so long for him to engulf you without any barriers. By the time you both stopped in the shy hours of dawn, you had been drained of all physical strength, but filled with mental joy.

You fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin, and had the fortune of this love reciprocated. 

Sometimes, you wondered if it was all a dream — a twisted, subliminal illusion, tricking you into believing that marital life is what every writer writes of in the end, the solution filled with flowers and sweet kisses. You never thought, even in your wildest dreams, that you could achieve such bliss with another. 

Then, you would wake up with your husband’s arms around you, and finally understand. Finally comprehend what it meant, to never stray from a soul connected with yours. 

The weeks after also brought the finishing of your novel, your childhood dream all polished in your hands as you took it to the most famous publishers in town. You had fears of the reactions, as what you wrote during certain parts of the novel was borderline scandalous, but the men at the publishing house enjoyed the first few chapters you showed them, and asked for more on the next visit.

You were overjoyed by their reaction, but then doubt entered your mind at once — what if they were only agreeable to your writing because of your position? 

The thought soured your happiness. You did not want to be a writer because of your position in society, but because of your skill. There may have been thousands of other women with talents surpassing yours, but would never be able to achieve even the interest of a publisher. 

Hyunjin was the first to know of your news, and the worries which accompanied it. He listened to you on your second, third visits, scoffing at your disbelief of your turn of events. It was ridiculous in his mind how ardently you doubted yourself, waving off the publishers’ interests in your novel as sheer luck, or your station as the Duchess of Hastings. He assured you many a time, that your flair in creating stories surpassed no man or woman living in London. 

He knew those publishers well — well enough to know that they had never released a novel written by a woman, no matter how influential she may have been. Knowing you had managed to enter consideration for publishing was a feat in itself. The duke had absolutely no doubt that he would see your works in the hands of every person who knew how to read.

What you did not expect, however, was the request from the publishers to have your novel anonymously published. You demanded a reason, and they provided a whole list — women writing was only considered a secondary activity, and if word were to reach the city of a Duchess writing books instead of tending to her family, then it would cause an outrage. You could not believe your ears, despite a small part of you expecting this setback. 

You wanted your name on the book. 

Confiding in your husband once more, you told him of the condition, angrily pacing back and forth in your home. “It is simply...awful!” you spat, locking your hands behind your back, turning the room once more. Hyunjin watched you with a concerned look passing over his features as he looked up from his book. “Why should I hide my identity? I am proud of what I wrote, damn it!”

The man let out a sigh. “I think you should keep the name anonymous.”

That had you pausing. “I beg your pardon?” you demanded, thundering over to him. “Are you saying I conform to their conditions?”

“I am not suggesting it because of their reasoning. I know they are still too ashamed to try publishing a woman’s creation.” 

Closing his book, he set it to the side table. “My love, there is nothing that brings me more joy than seeing you accomplish your dreams. I want more than anything to boast of your mind, and the writings it invents. However,” he continued, “I fear when the public sees your name printed on the novel, a controversial one at that, and see it that they attack you.”

“But that does not matter to me,” you responded, hands on your hips. “In fact, I welcome their criticism! Let me see what poppycock they want to say of my hard work.”

Hyunjin clamped his lips together, trying to hide a smile. “I am happy you do not care for such people, but it would damage your future writings. It would damage your future.”

When you frowned at him, he held out his hands. You closed the distance, settling upon his lap, sliding your arms around his shoulders, while he did the same around your waist. “Tell me, angel, do you wish to write after this?”

“Of course.”

“Well, see it like this,” he began. “Let us say you publish the novel anonymously. It would be in instant circulation, and everyone would read it, no matter who they are. Why? Because your identity is hidden. There would be no bias against you.”

“So?” you asked, and Hyunjin gave you a look. “Okay, okay, continue!”

“As I was saying,” he carried on, “This would not only help you gain an initial audience, but, if you do wish to reveal yourself after that, then it would be perfect. You would have not only shown the public that a woman had written such a brilliant novel, but anyone who would have had previous biases would either conform to reading your writing, or be furious that they had been tricked into reading a woman’s novel.” He then added, smirking, “Which, in my opinion, would be a very amusing situation to witness.” 

You thought over what he said, mind in slight conflict. “In the end, though, it is your choice,” he reassured you. “Whatever you do, you have my undeterred support.”

The little addition had you smiling. “You make valid points,” you admitted, which had the man releasing a chuckle.

“You say that as if I have no intelligence,” he jeered, pulling you closer. “You will be thanking me when all of this goes as I predicted.”

“Don’t push it,” you countered. “We both know you have been proved wrong many times.”

“Hmmm…” he trailed off, leaning in, brushing his lips upon your skin. “At least I know I am right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Your head began to swim as he trailed a few lingering kisses up your neck. “And...and what would that be?”

He did not answer you — only offered an alluring smile before pressing his lips against yours. A soft hum left you as he moved his mouth against yours, slow and languid, teasing his tongue against the seams. 

You would have offered yourself right then and there if he had not broken away, drumming his fingers against your waist. The smile darkened as he gave you his reply.

“You cannot resist me, angel.” 

That, no matter how much it worked against your favour, was an undoubted fact.

After this though, you made your decision to keep anonymous, letting the publishers know of your change of heart. You knew that what Hyunjin said made sense, and, if your novel does receive recognition, then revealing yourself would create a huge statement in London society, positive or not. With this in mind, brought the final edited drafts of your work, and received information of the commissions and percentages taken by the publishing house.

Because the release of your novel was to take some time, you had some freedom with your everyday activities, which were once taken up by the constant editing. The duke, luckily, had begun to employ much more able men in his authority, and so his work was decreased significantly, to the point where he had days to spend with you alone.

During that waiting period, he suggested the two of you retreat to Hemingford, where you both spent your honeymoon. Your smile never left as you jumped at the idea, the man in turn making arrangements for the earliest carriage out of the city. 

Within two days, you were welcomed by the little manor, nestled in the gifts of nature. You found yourself warming to the whole place once more, memories of the past months returning in a flash. Images of the many groves of trees, small network of rivers and a special presence, soothed you in every part you walked through. You nearly forgot how dear Hemingford was to you in the chaos of city life, engulfing its regal, almost mystical atmosphere. A part of you hoped that the book would take forever to be published, so you could never leave the natural retreat Hyunjin’s ancestors had created.

The man himself was glad he opted to take you to the manor — he saw your nerves slowly taking over in London, and knew that the more you stayed in Lansdowne, the more the wait was going to eat you alive. Aware of your attachment towards this place, he made it his personal mission to bring you here, and try to provide you with a little peace. When he caught that certain smile of yours when your eyes fell on the manor and the gardens around it, he felt half his worries melting away in the spring air.

He hated seeing you so unnerved. 

After a few days resting in paradise, the situation was changed for the better. You, breathing in the very earth beneath your feet, observing the trees curved over you like a concerned parent, thought that you could stay here forever. Receiving a letter from the publishers’ of the near completion of copies made only brightened your spirits, and you sighed out into nature.

“Is something the matter?”

Perking up, you saw Hyunjin, who walked over from behind you. 

“Ah...not much,” you said, watching him settle beside you on the bench you sat upon, folding one dark-clad leg over the other. In his hands possessed a book of deep-shaded red, which he held with great care. “Thinking about the letter today.”

“I see.” His eyes wandered down to his fingers. “Actually, I do have something for you, relating to the subject.”

“Oh?” You followed his trail. “Does this book have something to do with it?”

“However did you figure that out?” He drawled, but then he faced you properly, unfolding his leg. “Here.”

You took the possession, eyes on him. “Whose book is it?”

A knowing smile escaped his lips. “Look at the front, angel.”

Curious, you obliged, checking the title. 

You completely stilled. 

Written on the front was the name of your novel. 

“Oh my God,” you got out, holding it with both hands, opening it to the pages. There it all was, inscripted upon the hundreds of pieces of paper.

Your writing.

Your sleepless nights, your labour, your every ounce of strength, tied together by paper and leather and string. 

Rushing, you opened to a random section of the novel, smile widening at the typewriter’s neat, cleaner version of your manic scribbles. The dialogue, the description of each environment — it was there before you, but this time it was not in your head, whirling indefinitely without a place to explain itself.

It was all on paper — in your very hands.

“H-Hyunjin,” you stammered out, not realising your heart was becoming a little too heavy. “Oh my God—where did you get this? Have they—they have begun to sell copies already?”

“Oh Lord,” your husband murmured, hands on your shoulders. “No, no, my love, this was of my own doing.”

When he caught the confused expression upon your aghast face, he explained further. “Before we left for London, I paid a visit to the publishers’, who had started typing up copies of your book. I requested the first copy made be given to me.”

His thumbs began to stroke soothing circles onto your skin. “I know you would have wanted to hold it in your hands before anyone else.”

Heavens above. He truly knew you so well.

You focused back on the book, closing it as you ran your fingers over the leather cover. “I…”

“No need,” he said, giving you an amused grin. “I already know I am the best husband one could ask for.”

He expected his banter to be returned, but you responded to him with a heart-shattering smile.

Holding out the book, you propped it in his hands. “I want you to have it, Hyunjin.”

This time, it was his turn to be confused. “Am I missing the joke here?”

You held his gaze, albeit with much difficulty. “I promised you something once, quite a long time ago. All my firsts are yours.” 

Your hand reached out, brushing against his. “This is my first novel. My most prized possession.” A pause, before holding that state with all your might. “I would want nothing more than for you to keep it.”

The duke used his every ounce of strength not to cry upon the bench. “Well then…” he began, taking the book from you. He turned to the front page, which was blank, save for the title name again, and the written anonymously typed onto its surface. “Well, ____, you must sign it for me!”

A laugh escaped you at that. “An autograph?” You jested, spluttering further when the man brought out his fountain pen, opening the cap. “I suppose with this enthusiasm, I shall throw in a little message.”

Hyunjin slapped a hand to his chest, brows raising in mock surprise. “By God, you spoil me!”

“Give it here!” You retorted, taking the pen and book once more as you found the landing page. 

You pondered for a few minutes on what to write, earning a few hurry ups! and the occasional she does not love me after all, the latter greatly exaggerated. Berating him, you finally thought of the words, arriving straight from the heart. 

Finishing off, you gave the novel back. “Let us see what faux sweetening you have made for me,” he chortled, eyes lowering to the text.

His grin began to fade as he read the message in his mind.

TO THE MAN WHO WAS MY FIRST FRIEND, MY FIRST KISS, AND NOW MY FIRST LOVE.

HERE’S TO MANY MORE FIRSTS WITH YOU. I KNOW THEY WILL ALL LAST. 

I LOVE YOU. 

Hyunjin knew that the sting in his eyes was not the spring breeze.

Slowly, he looked up, catching you staring at him with a smile—loving smile upon your face. A shuddered breath left his lips, unable to form the words.

“Oh no,” you began, jesting despite tears welling up in your own eyes. “It seems the duke believes in my faux sweetening after all.”

A coughed laugh left him at that, trying to clamp his lips together from smiling, but his emotions refused him to suppress himself. His eyes crescented, adding to his near teary grin. Propping the book to the side, he offered his familiar stare, laced with every fibre of affection.

“Come here.”

You jumped at the command, leaning closer as he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you to him. He moulded his lips against yours, and you readily accepted him, offering yourself up entirely for him — as if you were not completely his by your own choice.

The slight madness laced upon his mouth had you whining onto him, taking in the entirety of his affection as you opened up to him. Your request was teased upon with his tongue, sliding along your bottom lip, but the man pulled away, panted breaths fanning your mouth.

He pressed his forehead against yours, fingers holding onto your face as if letting go would cause you to stray. “I…” he let out a deep, trembling breath. “I love you, ____. So much.”

Your heart would never tire of the declaration. “I love you too, Hyunjin.”

And as he claimed your lips once more, you wondered whether you had finally achieved what every work of literature praised in the most elevated of languages. 

Still, at least you knew this — that once there was a duke who you promised all your firsts to, and had somehow found his way into your heart. 

There was once a woman, who refused to believe in love for herself, only for this duke to convince her otherwise, by falling for her completely.

Love stories may be a mere creation of the mind, but at least, at the very least, you knew.

Your love story was real. The first which was not mere fantasy, but real and true and tangible.

You had a feeling that this first, out of all the others you shared with the Duke of Hastings, was going to last.

[raine-kai]

Contextualizing the Messy AkiHaru Scene

So...it came to my attention that a lot of translations of the scene where Akihiko crashes at Haruki's house in chapter 20 of the manga or the anime movie suggest that nothing happened more than we see in the panels/on the screen.

This is a translation error. The Japanese is unambiguous that a lot happened during the scene break; the art backs this up, in the change to Haruki's hairstyle from before to after the scene break.

Mainly, I want to retranslate for people who are interested, who didn't know that this was a mistranslation. But, I think that no matter how the scene is translated, there are subtexts and undercurrents that are lost, that cannot be simply translated into existence.

So I would like to explain several things in the lead-up to the scene in question, as well as in the aftermath, in order to hopefully give more context.

WARNINGS FOR SPOILERS AND NONCON

Notes on Translation: Given astonished me from its very first chapter with its deliberate and brilliant use of words. It is a story that is so incredibly articulate when it wants to be that moments of wordlessness or fragmented words are equally articulate, for they are crafted with as much deliberation and care as the articulate moments. As anyone knows who has ever tried to translate something, just plain translating the surface meaning of words often leaves a lot of the meaning behind. I will do my best to convey in English what the original text conveyed to me in Japanese, but it will inevitably fall short of the original text.

The Lead-In

First off, let's talk about Akihiko and the particular damage that he brings with him into this scene. He, of course, has the argument with Ugetsu and the fact that he has nowhere to go; but he has also been living this way for two years, presumably only a little longer than he has known Haruki. Akihiko describes the patterns that he and Ugetsu go through:

[Translation: "Even since Ugetsu and I broke up, we periodically continue to clash. Sometimes it's about the timing at which Ugetsu found a new guy. Sometimes it's just before or after Ugetsu is away for a long time. Sometimes these clashes come suddenly, immediately after we have been intimate for a few days, just like we used to be.]

Later, Akihiko reveals that he has a pattern of dealing with being kicked out of the home he shares with Ugetsu by finding someone, anyone to stay with. He has come to associate these stays as transactions, where the thing that he provides is most often sex. (We also see this transaction-based approach in his relationship with Ugetsu, for whom he feels compelled to cook—a thing that he later continues for Haruki with an urgency that does not match Haruki's easygoing acceptance of this dynamic.)

In fact, we see hints that perhaps Akihiko associates crashing with someone with providing sex to a deeper degree than even he acknowledges, in a scene in volume 1 where he crashed at Haruki's apartment while drunk, and upon stating it would be too much trouble to pull out a futon, did not merely crawl into bed with Haruki, but on top of him.

[Translation: Haru: Akihiko, get a futon and sleep wherever... Aki: Whaaat? But that's so much effort... Haru: So sleep on the....floor....]

So this is a deeply engrained association for Akihiko.

However, it is also a part of his life that he has gone out of his way to conceal from Haruki. From Haruki, he has not merely concealed the many times that he has essentially prostituted himself for a place to sleep; he has also hidden from Haruki that he has any flatmate at all, much less the nature of his relationship with said flatmate.

Haruki has the idea that Akihiko used to sleep around, but does not anymore. He is blinded partly by his own desire to see only the best parts of Akihiko; he is also blinded by Akihiko's desire to only reveal the best parts of himself to Haruki.

In volume 4, we see the moment that Akihiko lets slip that he has a flatmate, and the degree to which this shakes Haruki.

But the more emotional moment for Haruki comes when he realizes that Akihiko is talking to him on the phone while having sex with a woman.

[Translation: "That was a woman.... He was totally having sex."]

No promises have been broken; no trust has been betrayed. But there is an illusion of Akihiko that Haruki has, that Akihiko himself has carefully cultivated over the recent months for a reason that even he cannot explain. It is a paper-thin illusion, that only held up because Akihiko and Haruki both wanted it there.

But now, that illusion is shattering.

This just so happens to overlap with Take suggesting that Haruki take on a support role in his ex-gf's band.

Haruki has struggled from volume 1 with insecurities. He is the band leader; he is the one who brought them together, the one who runs their social media, the one who keeps them in line. Given is a band that absolutely would never have existed without Haruki. Yet he feels outshined by the other three members. There are several scenes depicting Haruki struggling with this. Akihiko is often the one to whom he voices his insecurities, and always without fail sets him straight. There is one particular exchange, during the same conversation when Akihiko reveals that he has a flatmate, when Haruki calls himself ordinary (凡人枠) and Akihiko retorts that he is not, he is 調停者枠....which is difficult to translate, but essentially means mediator, but in this case is denoting that he is the one who brings the different pieces of the band together (both musically, and as a person). Akihiko tells him then, "You're the one that everybody seeks," with a particular look in his eyes even as he reaches for Haruki's face. (Haruki pulls away and Akihiko pulls back and laughs it off.)

But the undercurrent is, for the first time, Haruki is beginning to see the truth of the words that he never quite believed. He is wanted and needed...he just needs to find a way to explain this to the other members of Given. In particular, Akihiko, who has always felt to Haruki like someone on equal or higher footing than himself, despite Haruki himself being older.

And these are the undercurrents at play as we head into the scene in question.

The Crucial Chapters 19-20

Akihiko shows up on Haruki's doorstop in the middle of the night, with an injured face from a fight with Ugetsu.

Haruki lets him in and they start talking as usual....but this time, it's different. They are both just a little bit at odds in a way they have never been before.

Haruki is aware, now, of a facet of Akihiko's life that until recently he had believed was left in the past.

Akihiko perceives that Haruki is hiding something, and in his typical way, immediately wants to know what it is.

This is why, when Akihiko asks his questions and asks if Haruki is hiding something, Haruki snaps back in a way we have never seen him do before:

[Tr: "[I am, but] you're one to talk!"]

Akihiko grabs Haruki by the wrist and asks again, and Haruki tells him...but throws in that the band he is doing support for is his ex's band.

Akihiko responds, "So you're going back to your ex?" and proceeds to crawl on top of Haruki to acknowledge for the first time what has always been unspoken between them: "You're in love with me, yet you're gonna run away?"

As Haruki lies sputtering for a response (he tries to pretend ignorance, but can't finish a sentence, between Akihiko pressing closer and his own shock) Akihiko reaches for Haruki's braid—the hair that Haruki has been growing out for as long as he has known Akihiko, as something like a wish charm (願掛け) for his love; the hair that Akihiko is somewhat obsessed with, taking every opportunity he can to play with it or style it—and speaks words that reveal that he is still fixated on Haruki's ex.

[Full text: 春樹さぁ、元カノがどうとか言ってたけど、お前こんなんで本当に女なんか抱いてたの？

Translation: You talk about this ex-girlfriend, Haruki, but did you seriously have sex with women like this?

Note: the こんなんで/"like this" is beautifully ambiguous. On a surface level of course it is referring to Haruki's long hair—with all the years of pining and love for Akihiko that that implies—but it also draws attention to how they are right now. The fact that Akihiko has crawled on top of Haruki as he has before, and Haruki does not fully push him away. It draws attention to the way that Akihiko himself is so central to Haruki's entire being.]

While Haruki flushes and thinks to himself, "Shut up, shut up! I did have sex with women, before I met you!" Meanwhile, Akihiko kisses him—a kiss that the art carefully does not show us lip-to-lip, either only showing us angles where we cannot see the point of contact, or focusing on the contact of only their tongues. Make no mistake, this is not a romantic kiss. This is a kiss full of frustration and pent up emotions and two years of unspoken, unacknowledged emotion brewing between these two.

Akihiko begins to strip Haruki further, and Haruki interjects, 「え、うそ、うそうそ、待った」(tr: "Wha- wait wait wait, just a sec"), which Akihiko ignores, and proceeds to begin performing oral sex on Haruki, even as he acknowledges internally that his actions are taking out his frustration with Ugetsu on Haruki.

[Note: the words Haruki uses at this point are not clear "Stop" signals. え、うそ、待った are all words that convey shock and uncertainty, and it is noteworthy that Haruki does not at any point use a word that would convey an equivalent of "Stop". That doesn't make this consensual, as his consent has not been obtained, but this is important to note, that Haruki deliberately does not ever outright tell Akihiko to stop.]

This is where Akihiko reflects on his messy relationship with Ugetsu, and the lingering hold it has on him:

Even since Ugetsu and I broke up, we periodically continue to clash. Sometimes it's about the timing at which Ugetsu found a new guy. Sometimes it's just before or after Ugetsu is away for a long time. Sometimes these clashes come suddenly, immediately after we have been intimate for a few days, just like we used to be. Like he is urging me, "Great, here's an opportunity. Let's part ways and break up for real." Like he is shutting me out of his world by force, to reinforce that he doesn't need me. What the hell? If you don't want me, why do you allow me to hold on? If you sympathize with my holding on, why do you try to throw me away? I want to trap you. I want to escape. I want to give up. I can't fully give up. I want to touch you. I can't breathe...

And when Akihiko comes back to the present, some time has past. His shirt is gone, Haruki places a hand over Akihiko's with tears in his eyes, and for the first time, says やめてよ [approx. translation: "Please stop," but this is a very gentle way of saying it—a plea in softer language]....and then continues, そんな顔しないでよ、辛そうな顔しないでよ、なんなの？言ってよ、なんでもしてあげるから [tr: "Please stop looking like that, like you're in such pain...What is it? Please tell me. I would give you anything."]

It is the なんでもしてあげるから here that is utterly striking. @edragoon​ and I debated translations and arrived on "I would give you anything" as the best option, but even with Haruki's soft language leading up to this, even with his words so focused on Akihiko's pain, the sheer love conveyed by these words is heart-wrenching—as is the art, Haruki's hand reaching out to Akihiko's face.

Akihiko has unearthed Haruki's unspoken feeling as part of his self-destructive spiral in a move that he no doubt expected to hurt Haruki, but instead, Haruki has owned up to his no longer hidden feelings and offers all of himself to Akihiko; turns the focus back onto Akihiko and his pain, rather than on himself, as Akihiko probably expected. As no doubt has happened in similar situations with Ugetsu.

And Akihiko, caught between Haruki here and the mess in his heart that is Ugetsu, expresses resentment that these words are coming from Haruki instead of Ugetsu.

"Why did you have to be the one to say that?" Akihiko laments silently, and then out loud,

[tr: "Telling you won't change anything."]

He follows this up with a small, "Sorry," and wonders to himself "Why couldn't it have been you?" (In Japanese, as in English, it is ambiguous whether he is wishing that Haruki were the one he wanted those words from, or that Ugetsu were the one saying those words. The last use of "you" in his internal monologue was directed at Haruki, supporting the first interpretation, but he is also lost in his head, so it would be no surprise if he is swaying back and forth.)

The scene breaks here, and on the next page, Haruki is curled up facing the back of the couch, fully dressed in new clothes and his hair now pulled back in a ponytail, and Akihiko is seated on the floor with his back to the couch, shirtless.

[Tr: "I'm sorry. Truly. I was completely in the wrong."]

Haruki responds, "That's not the part I want an apology for," even as he remembers those damning words, Telling you won't change anything.

[Tr: "...I said I'd give you anything. By the end it was basically consensual."]

Haruki goes on to say Akihiko is free to stay over, but he will be going to a friend's place.

Akihiko visibly panics, but only manages to call Haruki's name once as Haruki tells him he can use anything, can leave the door unlocked, but simply should be gone by morning.

Haruki leaves the apartment, and we see him cry as he walks through the darkened streets as those words Akihiko spoke again.

Left behind, Akihiko berates himself for how much he lets himself lean and depend (甘える) on Haruki, and he reflects on the events with his family and Ugetsu that lead him to where he is, without anywhere else to go. [NOTE: this is no doubt a significant factor in his later decision to move out of Haruki's apartment once as he goes through the process of bettering himself.] He contemplates the ways in which he has behaved towards Haruki, the parts of his own life he has almost instinctively hidden from his view.

Akihiko spends the night on the floor by the couch. (A shot of the clock at one point tells us it is 1:20am.)

We see morning dawn, and it is as Take is at work discussing lunch break that he gets a text from Akihiko, asking if he's seen Haruki. It is in the evening, when Take goes home, that he finds Haruki listless and hollow-eyed in front of his apartment.

The clock reads 9:40pm when Haruki comes home at last. Apart from the few hours he was with Take, Haruki has spent the better part of a night and a day alone who knows where.

[Tr: "Oh, you're still here"]

The hair that Akihiko had adored, the hair that Haruki had been growing since the day he met and fell for Akihiko, is cut short.

The Aftermath

The two of them don't shy away from the subtext of the last day—especially Haruki, who says blandly, "Sorry, but I'm tired after your rejection of my feelings, as you can see. Please go home." And when Akihiko tries to reach for him with a, "Wait, but—" his hand his slapped away by Haruki, who informs him, "Look, I'm angry at you." and cuts off Akihiko's attempted apology one syllable in with an admonishment that an apology will only make him angrier.

But Akihiko says what he should have said the night before—that he is at the end of his rope and has nowhere to go. He quietly asks to be permitted to stay in Haruki's apartment, assuring him that he will sleep on the floor, that he will not do anything again. He begs for Haruki to help him.

Haruki is furious.

「サイアク」the narration repeats: "[This/he] is the worst."

At last, Haruki agrees, but with the words, "If you weren't a band member, I'd throw you out."

The next day at band practice, Akihiko and Haruki are wildly out of sync, and while Haruki puts on a carefree smile for Uenoyama and Mafuyu, he is still spiraling with despair and humiliation.

And yet Akihiko too is on pins and needles, reacting with abject (though silent) horror when Uenoyama asks Haruki what's wrong.

But Haruki tells Uenoyama and Mafuyu nothing, and when he walks off and Akihiko goes after him, the words that come out of his mouth are all about his insecurities about his place in the band. About how he is too ordinary and does not belong in such a band of geniuses.

This is not what Akihiko was expecting his outburst to be about; this is also familiar territory for him, that he knows how to handle. Akihiko knows music.

He assures Haruki of why his music was off today, as he would have any other day. He assures Haruki that he is utterly deserving of his place in their band, as he has so many times before.

[Tr: "I've pretty much always told you that you're necessary, haven't I!?"]

And all at once, memories come rushing back to Haruki of so many times that Akihiko has told him of his value.

Haruki's anger loses its momentum and he deflates. They had back to Haruki's apartment, with Akihiko promising to cook dinner, as he is the freeloader. (Another nod to his tendency to view these arrangements as transactional.)

Living together proves a disillusionment process for Haruki. Of course, the night that Akihiko first came to his apartment was the enormous catalyst, but the disillusionment process continues.

All of those ways in which he had formerly idealized Akihiko crumble one after another for Haruki as they live together. Akihiko cooks, but he only has one flavor profile, and often makes fried rice. Akihiko spends most of his days on music, be it violin or the drums, and it is louder than Haruki is used to with his bass—it is also evidence that Akihiko is the musician he is because he puts in the work, not just inherent talent.

...And that brings us to the end of volume 4, so I think I shall stop here!

If you read all this way, thank you, and I hope this added something positive to your day!

[oh-ranpo]

I just finished the third light novel for BSD and I’m about go to on a loving Ranpo rant under the cut, so if you haven’t read it and don’t want things spoiled, I would advise to not click ‘read more’ 

I didn’t think that I could really love Ranpo’s character more, but after reading The Untold Origins of the Detective Agency, I was wrong. You still see the arrogant boy that is shown in the anime, but you also get to see a vulnerability that makes my heart ache and truly feel for him on a deeper level.

While he’s brash and forward and portrays this seemingly unwavering confidence he’s also so... lonely. His father was the best of the best and his mother was even more brilliant. And now, he’s alone. In more ways than just physical. He doesn’t understand the world, and while his parents tried to do what was best for him by not fully acknowledging his genius, it severely hinders him when he’s thrust into the real world on his own. 

Being kicked out of multiple places because he voices what he feels and truly doesn’t understand that he sees the world in a much different way than everyone else. The lack of respect he has for adults because he just doesn’t understand why they aren’t seeing and doing the things that he sees and thinks they should be doing. And then Fukuzawa comes along and actually listens to what he has to say and starts to see Ranpo in the way that he is meant to be seen. 

He isn’t just an ordinary boy. He’s a genuis, an anomaly, and he’s so, so scared and just needs someone to explain what in the hell is actually going on.

I mean, the scene where Fukuzawa gives Ranpo his business card and then tells him to call him whenever he is in danger, and Ranpo goes over to the payphone across the room, dials Fukuzawa’s number, and tells him that he’s homeless and has nowhere to go and that he needs saving. He doesn’t even dare look at him during that conversation, even though they are in the same room. He’s a young boy in that moment who is just looking for someone to help him.

And then in the theater when he starts to get viscerally upset over why people would want to watch something so predictable. It’s so obvious to him and he’s so frustrated because he’s bored and doesn’t know why something like this even exists when the outcome is just so plain to see that, of course, any grown adult should recognize it, right? You finally see those cracks from years and years of seeing the world through eyes that no one else can understand, and he’s angry and confused and begs Fukuzawa to explain why everyone else is lying and not acknowledging the truth. Only, Ranpo is the only one who can see the truth so easily. 

And that’s when Super Deduction comes into play. 

I had wondered why Ranpo thought he had a special ability when everyone else knew that it was simply just how intelligent and intuitive he was, and I got my answer. Fukuzawa explaining that the world and the people in it are just exponentially stupider than Ranpo (which true) and that he had a special talent wasn’t really an exaggeration. Is his power of deduction supernatural? No. But it’s unexplainable for most, so it might as well be. And Ranpo’s “So not everyone hates me?” after Fukuzawa’s explanation absolutely WRECKED me and he can believe he has whatever powers he wants if he just doesn’t believe that the world hates him because that’s a different kind of devastating. 

After the theater murder incident, and after Fukuzawa SLAPS him and tells him off for putting himself in danger, Ranpo is stuck like glue to him after that. I personally think (and I could just be projecting) that after that lecture, Ranpo finally found someone who yells at him, but cares about him. Like, the only reason Fukuzawa was so mad was because he thought Ranpo was going to be killed, and I think this is the first time since his parents died that anyone has shown Ranpo that kind of concern. It makes seeing their relationship now even more amazing because Fukuzawa truly took on that father role for him, even if, at first, he didn’t want to.

Ranpo is still arrogant, full of himself, and more than a little hard to handle. He believes he’s the best because truly, he is the best. He says what he feels and he doesn’t hold back to spare other people’s feelings. Sometimes that comes off as rude and cold-hearted, but at his essence, he’s the exact opposite. He was an orphan boy who couldn’t understand the world - and still doesn’t understand a lot of the basics of it - who was blessed with an extraordinary mind. I could go on and on forever about him, and I haven’t even gotten completely caught up on everything BSD related. 

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Future

A/N: Yikes. I cried several times writing this. I'm very proud of how it turned out - I think it's one of my strongest pieces on the entire blog - but be warned: bring tissues. Also, Mozzie's quote is originally from Abraham Lincoln. Requested by @ladykeqing

Summary: In the wake of Neal's death, a regret haunts you.

Word Count: 1,964

Peter sat you down and told you in his home. Well… just June’s home, now. The way Mozzie had trailed behind him, for once wordless… His face looking ashen… A part of you had known even before Peter asked you to sit down.

“He told me to say he’s sorry,” Peter said, barely more than a whisper that somehow felt deafening to your brain. “And that he loves you more than you know.”

The room was suddenly stifling. It was more than just the emotions in the air, layering over each other into a thick, caustic fog. It was the darkening of shadows that stretched in from the glass doors, and the silence of the record player that drove deep into their eardrums to muffle the little sounds of life coming from each other. The penthouse was, in an instant, so tiny and deathly empty, and you wished so dearly that you’d been at your own apartment. Staying the weekend had seemed like such a great idea before you abruptly became the only resident.

For a few seconds, you had a mind to just stay put and let the shadows come and take over. To let the agonizing ache of loss engulf your entire heart and continue expanding until it was bigger than your body and you disappeared forever. All so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the records Neal would never again play and the table he would never again sit at. So you would never have to spend a last moment in the home of your lover before turning your back on it and, by extension, him.

Without him, there was nowhere to turn. The prospect of your remaining lifetime without your partner made your chest and throat tighten with another round of sobs. It all felt so dim. You tried to hold it back, but couldn’t last long before your hands were to your mouth and a strangled whimper was breaking from your lips.

Mozzie could have fooled you into thinking he hadn’t heard, so resolute he was in boring a hole into the rug with his stare. Peter looked towards you with deep brown eyes, solicitous and pleading at the same time. He was as stunned as you were – but where you were being crushed under the weight of isolation, at least Peter got to go home to El. You didn’t have anyone to go home to anymore. Hell, without Neal, did you even have a home at all?

You envied Mozzie. Really, you did. His Buddhist leanings might be a comfort to him, able to think of Neal’s absence as temporary, or his spirit as remaining around them in some way or form. But when you tried to imagine you could feel him still there, the encroaching shadows and silent record player and empty bed all drew together at once until you were drowning in the lack. It was as if your haywire senses were punishing you for thinking even for a moment that you could feel your loss as anything less than absolute. He was gone and the world was permanently less wonderful.

A gunshot. Neal hated guns so much. Maybe this was why.

Wait. No. Time didn’t work like that. Right? He couldn’t hate something for a reason that hadn’t happened yet.

Laughter that bordered on hysterical bubbled out of your throat as you anxiously covered your face, waiting for the mania to pass. Laughter was easier than sobs. It physically hurt less. Emotionally it was so much worse. You could feel the concerned eyes on you while you waited until your desperate giggles died, just like your partner.

“I never said,” you said, wresting the words out before cries – or worse, more laughs – forced themselves out instead. You looked down with shame and guilt. His last words to you were almost cruel. Tender in their meaning, but cruel in consequence – he would never know how deeply you cared for him. You hoped he did. Didn’t you show it all the time? But that was different from hearing the words out loud, and now not only were you going on without Neal, but you were going on carrying the burden of knowing you hadn’t been able to offer him the comfort of certainty in knowing he had been loved in life and would be grieved in death. “I never got to tell him I love him.”

The mere look that Peter gave you in response would have broken your heart if it hadn’t already been lying shattered somewhere between your stomach and the floor. It was as if he were imagining for himself not getting to tell Elizabeth how he felt, or worse, imagining how alone or afraid she might feel if she didn’t know there were somebody fighting for her and remembering her every day.

Sobs would come any moment now. Your throat was tighter than a string on a violin, and any minute you’d stop being able to breathe. In, out, you reminded yourself. Keep it together just a moment more. And then another moment after that. You couldn’t break down until you were alone. You didn’t know why you couldn’t break in front of Neal’s family, but didn’t have the energy to question it, either, not when you barely had the energy not to scream and weep into your hands.

“He knew.” Mozzie’s words were quiet but startling and said with all the confidence of Neal himself. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“But he deserved to hear.” Knowing it and hearing it were different games and Neal, for all his faults, deserved to hear it, too. “He deserved to come home. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought. Why were you talking about yourself when you weren’t the one whose brilliant life had been stolen? After a small shake of your head, you sniffed and shakily breathed out. “We had an entire future. And now there’s nothing left.”

You could see it passing in your imagination, all the little milestones that you’d come to anticipate. Content days at home, interspersed with adventures to his favorite places around the world, marked by marriage and birthdays and achievements and anniversaries. You’d never articulated them out loud, never even realized fully that you’d started to await those days, but now you saw them vanishing and you realized not only were you having to grieve for the best man you’d ever known, but you’d also have to grieve for the missed experiences and joys that he had lost, and the shared life that you had to give up on, as well.

Mozzie finally looked up to you and you noticed that his eyes were puffy and red behind his glasses. You didn’t even know someone could cry that silently. “The best thing about the future,” he quoted, slow and weighty, probably to keep his own voice level. “Is that it comes one day at a time.”

The comfort was meaningless to you. One day at a time was worthwhile when it was endless days of love and companionship. When that was gone, it was just day after day of being adrift with nothing to hold onto.

You sniffed again and replied in a surprisingly even voice, “My future is laying in the morgue.”

~Future~

Leaving Y/N was one of the hardest things Mozzie had ever done, and he had a lot of challenges and dubious decisions in his past. Leaving her to wallow and suffer rubbed him in every wrong way possible, except for the one where it meant – at least for now – that she would be safe. He didn’t think, if he stayed, that he would be able to hold back from blurting out the truth. He couldn’t even look at her for fear of spilling. Not once her tears started. He couldn’t watch his friend, and his best friend’s love at that, weep with agony she didn’t need to feel.

Neal begged to differ, though Mozzie knew that it tore his heart in two to hear her voice over the long-distance connection. When Mozzie was sure the suit was out of earshot, and that Y/N and June had both stayed inside, he lifted his phone from his pocket and breathed heavily in the cold December air that seemed to burn his lungs.

“Did you hear all that?” He asked, impressively steady and managing to get his criticism and support across with his tone simultaneously.

He took off his glasses, thankful Neal couldn’t see that he, too, needed to wipe his eyes dry. Alive was good. Alive but far away and unreachable – at least for the foreseeable future – was still painful.

“I did,” Neal confirmed, voice and heart both heavy somewhere at least a thousand miles away. “I wish…” Neal trailed off, and Mozzie wholly believed that he also needed a moment to compose himself. Why either of them bothered pretending not to cry, he didn’t understand, but they had already dedicated themselves to the farce. “She’s safer this way. If she looks for me, we’re all in danger.”

“If you let this go on, she will never forgive you.” Mozzie warned, thinking about the broken look on your face. It had been like watching a dropped plate shatter in slow motion to see the cracks begin to appear before your very spirit seemed to splinter. Then he thought about how desperately you wished Neal knew you loved him, and he thought maybe there was a chance that desperate love would override the anger. He amended, “Or, if she does, it’ll never be the same.”

“I know.” Neal agreed readily but with a quiver to his voice. “I want to come home, but not if it means visiting her grave.”

“The cautious way it is.” Mozzie put his glasses back on his face, bravely shoring up his willpower. “I can’t know where you are, and she can’t know you’re out there.”

“Keep an eye on her for me.”His voice was full of sorrow and longing.

“Of course.” Neal didn’t even need to ask. If there came a time when the Panthers were dealt with and Neal could – well, if not return home, at least be reunited with Y/N somewhere without an extradition treaty, Mozzie would be the first to set it in motion. “Be well, mon frére.”

“You, too, Moz.”

The line went dead.

~Future~

Approximately four thousand miles away, on a windy beach, Neal stood barefoot in the dark, watching the light from the moon reflect off the choppy, shallow surf. The breeze drifted through his hair and bit across his face with the sting of northern weather.

He looked down at the open phone in his hand, fighting every feeling in him to turn it back on and beg Mozzie to take the phone back up to his former penthouse. Or, worse, to turn his whole body around and get on a ferry to the mainland, and fly back to New York as fast as possible to hold you in his arms. The heartbreak in your voice had been almost too much for him to bear. It would have been, if not for his terror of being reckless and selfish and letting you pay the price.

He had known you loved him, and because he loved you so unbelievably much in return, he couldn’t go home. Not yet. He would work on it from afar, where no one knew he was breathing, much less could trace him back to his darling. One day, if he were incredibly lucky, he could come home and you would still have space for him in your heart and mind. For now, he would have to settle on replaying your words in his head.

I love you, too.

Neal hurled the phone out into the ocean.

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 11

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Bring on the game's credits! BRING IT! The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo part 2 is here!

Episode 2-5: The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, part 2

This is the first time in a while that I actually want to try other options to see what happens. The 'accusation' leads to some witty banter with a frustrated Stronghart, but 'report' is one that gets a reaction from Van Zieks himself. Ryu theorizes that 'since Klint was a well-bred and fastidious man, and knowing the end was near, he might have wanted to tie up some loose ends in all of his outstanding business'. Van Zieks immediately replies that his brother had no outstanding business.

DID I JUST GET PENALIZED BY THE DEFENDANT??? Just for implying his brother might've had some loose ends to tie up? Van Zieks really hates it when people show his brother even the slightest bit of disrespect, huh? Well, it's about to get a whole lot worse. Let's go for the confession option! Van Zieks definitely doesn't take kindly to this one.

“What are you saying? Do you even realise?! A confession...about the true identity of the Professor... That, that would mean...”

He fumbled his speech, there. We've never heard him do that before. And he's gone back to that bobbing, unsteady animation halfway into the above dialogue. Ryu insists it's the only explanation that fits. The man who murdered those members of the aristocracy wasn't Genshin Asogi at all, it was the one believed to be the fifth victim, Klint van Zieks himself.

Welp. We broke him. Stronghart remarks that Pandora's box has opened at last, making it clear he already knew what we just revealed. The gallery is outraged.

We've gone from well-bred to thoroughbred, have we? Susato feels very bad for Van Zieks, but Ryu asks himself whether such a brilliant prosecutor never suspected “what his older brother really was”. To clear up doubt further, he asks whether Klint Van Zieks owned a dog. Barok doesn't intend to dodge the facts of the situation, it seems.

Not what the concept art says, but it's possible Klint owned a different, smaller dog before Balmung. Van Zieks talks about how loyal the dog was and how it wore a jewel-studded collar which was stolen from the house “some years ago now”. This implies it was less than ten years ago, and must've been kept in the house as a keepsake even after Balmung passed away. Ryu and Susato bring up that they've seen such a collar; it was Selden's loot in case 2-2. They note the fancy B emblem on it, and this is the first time we find out that Klint van Zieks was a married man. His widow's maiden name was Baskerville. It's a little odd to me that for someone who thought so highly of his brother, Van Zieks never mentioned his sister in law before now. Conveniently, it never came up for the sake of a twist, I suppose. Either way, the emblem confirms the collar they saw was Balmung's. Ryu notes there was a considerable amount of blood on the collar (nobody washed this thing?) and while it could've come from typical hunting trips, it could just as well have been human blood. With that, the gallery begins to lean towards the truth that Klint van Zieks really was the Professor himself. Stronghart seems to have realized there's no way out of this now and announces that 'they may have the truth'.

Here comes that 'true nature' thing again, just worded a bit differently. Van Zieks doesn't intend to shirk away from it, though. He's open to the insinuation that his brother was, in truth, something truly horrible. Stronghart explains that Klint attempted to fight the growing darkness in London, only to end up being consumed by it. He also admits that after the fourth victim fell, Genshin showed up at his office, putting forth the accusation that Klint was the Professor. He didn't have any evidence and needed a warrant to get some, but Stronghart refused to anger the aristocracy based on the accusation of a visiting student, so he sent Genshin away. As a result, the man headed over to the Van Zieks mansion and Klint perished. Stronghart continues to admit that he was responsible for pinning the Professor's crimes on Genshin, right down to ordering Gregson to fabricate evidence. Sure enough, the late inspector's earlier claims ring true: it seems he did genuinely believe Genshin to be the killer, but was reluctant to falsify anything until Stronghart strong-armed him into it. The jailbreak agreement was also part of Stronghart's plan; he manipulated Genshin into agreeing by proverbially dangling his 14 year old son in front of him. Van Zieks brings up one more point: that Stronghart was the mastermind behind the Reaper organization. Not only does he admit to it, he calls it a “brilliant idea” and even takes credit for how his “minions” worked tirelessly to ensure Van Zieks was never accused of being the Reaper himself. What a smarmy bumhole. He insists it was all for the preservation of law and order across the empire, and the gallery is actually suckered into falling for this ploy. It seems as if he's going to get away with his masterminding without decent consequences. Kazuma now has one more question for Van Zieks, and it's the exact one Ryu asked himself earlier; did he never have any doubts about his brother?

“My brother's sense of justice was extremely strong. Perhaps...too strong, I observed. […] During the time of the Professor killings, my brother did not appear to be himself. But it was only once. Not more. Klint wasn't the culprit. That was my conclusion at the time. And I still believe that now. […] The third victim...was the Lord Chief Justice at the time. It was he who had recognized my brother's potential and trained him as a prosecutor. No matter what the circumstances, it's unthinkable that my brother could have killed his friend and mentor!”

So here, we learn that Klint wasn't an infallible paragon of virtue in his brother's eyes. Simply by saying that his sense of justice was “perhaps too strong”, a flaw is being brought to light. Younger Barok saw that Klint's need to ensure justice was overpowering him, and he also saw that during the time of the killings, something was off about his behavior. Enough to have the younger Van Zieks consider, for a brief time, that perhaps the Professor was him. However, the death of the third victim was like a lifeline to him, a flotation device keep him from going under- or perhaps more like a straw to grasp. It offered a sort of justification to him; a firm belief that Klint would never kill his own mentor and therefore he couldn't possibly be the Professor, and Barok was wrong to ever doubt him. However, it was just a very meager excuse to put his suspicions at ease and blind him to the truth. There are, after all, plenty of reasons why Klint would kill that Lord Chief Justice if indeed he were the Professor.

So Stronghart now tries to wrap everything up with a neat little bow, saying that's all the truth they'll be able to get from this trial and he'll present himself at the Ministry of Justice for whatever sanctions are deemed necessary. Since he's the Lord Chief Justice, I can't imagine the Ministry of Justice will give him more than a slap on the wrist. However, he says just a bit too much in his closing statement and Ryu jumps on that immediately. A third page of Genshin's will was hidden from everyone! Turns out, it was a personal message to Kazuma that they never bothered to send to Japan. Governor Caidin conveniently brought it with him and the contents are read aloud after some pressuring. With this last secret message left behind by Genshin, Ryu manages to find Klint's last will and testament hidden inside the Asogi clan's sword. GASP.

Oblivious to the shenanigans playing out in the Court Record section of the game, Stronghart once again tries to end the trial and even goes so far as to say Klint was basically insane when he took his mentor's life (to which Van Zieks objects fiercely). Ryu interjects, saying he has one more piece of evidence to present. When Stronghart calls the very notion absurd, Van Zieks once again raises an objection, pointing out that “this gentleman has an uncanny habit of producing evidence at the final hour that had escaped everyone else's attention.” Which, y'know, is true. That's how Ace Attorney works. I do want to draw attention to the fact that he said “this gentleman” as opposed to “this Nipponese” or even something like “this barrister”. He considers Ryu a gentleman now! So with that, Ryu has the opportunity to shove Klint's will in everyone's face and things escalate very quickly.

Ooh, his speech faltered again. He is shook! And it gets even better when he gets a closer look at the document.

Stronghart panics and demands Ryu hands the document over to him at once. When that fails, he even tries to forcibly adjourn the trial and get everyone to clear the courtroom. If that isn't suspicious, we don't know what is. It sure is satisfying to watch him squirm. Naturally, he can't actually put an end to the trial now- not with so many people watching, so the document is read aloud. It's revealed that Genshin challenged Klint to a duel, so that he might “depart this world with honor”. Klint goes on to write that he finds himself undeserving of this honor and that “the Japanese are a truly merciful people”. So here, already, we get the final nail in the coffin for Van Zieks's entire motivation for racial prejudice and for hating Genshin in particular. Klint never thought ill of Genshin, not even in his final moments. If anything, he was grateful for being put out of his misery and being allowed to 'depart the world with honor'. Genshin's actions were not betrayal; not ever. They were merciful. (COOL MOTIVE, STILL MURDER.) What we also learn is that while Klint did indeed take the life of the first victim on his own accord, he was then immediately identified as the culprit and blackmailed into the next three killings by someone else. You guessed it, it was Stronghart! Despite his earlier panic, he now has a myriad of justification ready, talking about how sacrifices have to be made for the sake of justice and whatnot. He also explains that he was the one who pressured Jigoku into shooting Genshin in the graveyard when Drebber showed up there. He acts like Jigoku is the only one to blame, but considering Stronghart was basically screaming in Jigoku's ear, I wouldn't be surprised if this poor man pulled the trigger by accident simply because he was startled by the shouting. Stronghart was the one who decided that Genshin needed to die and forced Jigoku to act, so Stronghart is the one ultimately responsible. Naturally, Ryu and Kazuma both attempt to argue Stronghart's justifications into the ground. At one point, Stronghart plays the victim card and asks them to acknowledge his 'struggle', but Kazuma insists that this jerk has done nothing and:

WELL. Okay. Looks like we've finally convinced Kazuma that Van Zieks is a victim in this whole ordeal, as well as someone who 'acts justly'. That's a wonderful way forward. With all this out in the open, though, Stronghart offers a literal round of applause. It's true; he's “done nothing” and “merely been surrounded by fools who've acted very rashly indeed”, which means he can't be charged with any crimes. We can't even prove he threatened anyone into doing his bidding, as he says it might as well have been “bargaining”. Thing is, bargaining with someone to end a third party's life is known as “contract killing” and is, in fact, illegal. I can't find any sources to verify whether it was already illegal in 1900 England, but I can only assume so, or people would've gotten away with murders very easily. I guess the bottom line here is that we can't prove Stronghart really did extort or pay anyone to take a life, since there's no material evidence for that sort of thing, nor anyone who can testify on it. Stronghart claims that the minutes of the trial will be heavily redacted to remove matters not related to Gregson's death, in the interest of preserving law and order, as well as to protect the queen. The gallery has now turned against us as well, chanting Stronghart's name.

Here we have a singular opportunity to deviate into the closest thing to a bad ending this game series has. Anyone who remembers the iconic 'the miracle never happen' ending in AA2, or even the bad endings in AA5 where either Trucy or Athena is implied to be killed by Aura, will be sorely disappointed by this one. First, to compare... In the standard ending, no matter how far along you've gotten in the trial- including proving that Stronghart was the Reaper- Van Zieks will still be found guilty. Stronghart will utter the words that he “would like to think however misguided, [Van Zieks] acted out of a sense of justice nonetheless”, and then pronounces the poor man guilty of crimes we've already proven were never committed by him. Now, in this slightly different ending, if you run out of all your penalty points because you fail to present Harely, the dialogue is tweaked. Stronghart declares that for the sake of justice, “the only correct course of action has been unanimously acknowledged by the clear majority here present. All mention of that which has been discussed in this courtroom today will be struck from the records. Barok van Zieks – Or should I say, Reaper of the Bailey... The heinous crimes committed by your brother, Klint van Zieks, will be lost in obscurity, this time forever. May you also find peace now as you join your sibling in the eternal darkness.”

And then, just as in the standard ending, Van Zieks is pronounced guilty and the doors slam shut. So effectively, the only real difference here is that Stronghart really rubs it in our faces that Van Zieks is taking the fall as the Reaper in the eyes of the public. He knows Van Zieks isn't the Reaper- everyone present in the courtroom knows it. However, since the entirely gallery is siding with the real mastermind, the minutes of the trial will be confiscated and destroyed so that the truth will be lost forever. Neither Kazuma nor Ryu reacts to this turn of events on-screen, which is a shame. Van Zieks doesn't fight the adjudication either, he simply accepts the verdict in silence- Hang on, where have we heard that before? Genshin? And didn't Van Zieks say that so long as his death served a purpose, he wouldn't mind dying over being called the Reaper? Stronghart certainly seems to feel that Van Zieks ought to be thrown under the omnibus and sent to the gallows for the sake of minimizing crime in London.

But we're not going to let the true antagonist of this game get away with his bullshit! Time to pull Harely's ears! Cue another (S)Holmeus Ex-Machina where it turns out the entire secret trial has been livestreamed to the Queen of England through holograms. By royal decree, Stronghart is stripped of his title and will be prosecuted for his crimes at a later time. FINAL BOSS, DEFEATED.

With Stronghart out of the way, Van Zieks has some closing sentiments to offer.

“Is that my brother left this world without a word to me.”

I can see why that might bug him. Van Zieks always looked up to his brother and shielded him from disrespect even a decade after his death, but Klint in turn didn't seem to want to leave any parting sentiments for him, not even a simple farewell. That's not the case, though! Susato points out there's actually more to Klint's will than was read aloud, so let's hear it now.

“Barok, you have always looked up to me, and now, you follow in my footsteps to become a prosecutor. It is my fervent wish that my unspeakable deeds should not hinder your advancement. I ask not for understanding, for none could understand my depravity. I ask only for forgiveness. Asogi is a fine detective, and a hunter worthy of respect. He has agreed to honour my final two wishes. The first is that this document survives. The second... I cannot commit to paper. I have confessed my sins to my wife. May she find resolution in my death. With my eternal gratitude to my Japanese friend, I rest my quill.”

Imagine how different things would've ended if the will had found its way to Van Zieks shortly after Klint's death. It would've prevented so much grief and so much prejudice, because if Van Zieks had learned that Klint still regarded Genshin with so much respect and gratitude even in this situation, he would never have blamed him for Klint's death nor considered it too great a betrayal. Everything that happened was in line with Klint's wishes. As it stands now, the words in Klint's will basically serve to scold Van Zieks for his attitude and hatred these past ten years.

Yep, there we go. The final straw. He's been truly, utterly embarrassed and made to confront his mistakes. When Stronghart explains how his ambition to become Attorney General is what prompted him to silence people like Watson and Gregson. Van Zieks asks him whether he ever bothered to count the number of brilliant people he had killed. Kind of a questionable remark, since Stronghart mostly had criminals killed. We don't even know for sure whether Watson was a good person or not; he comes across as a cowardly skeeve. I guess Van Zieks is mostly talking about Genshin, but even that is... Uh...

I received an Ask a while back, bringing up the matter that Genshin appears to be exonerated of any wrongdoing when the truth of Klint's death is revealed. That despite duels being outlawed and it being literal murder, Kazuma seems to take this truth as his father's name being cleared. Indeed, going over everything we've learned so far, it feels as if the narrative has set up both Klint and Genshin, and even characters like Jigoku and Gregson, as victims of Stronghart's manipulation. The thing is, though... Both Genshin and Klint took at least one life of their own free will, Jigoku pulled a trigger twice for the sake of his own career (and recruited someone into an assassin plot), Gregson conspired with a notorious assassin to commit over a dozen murders just because his boss told him it was the right thing to do... Feeling bad about murder or resorting to it because 'the other person is even worse and needs to be stopped' doesn't change that it's murder. It doesn't seem as if Kazuma or anyone else outright says their loved ones are absolved of any responsibility/their names are cleared, but it does really come across as if the narrative wants you to forgive them. So uh... Yes. This is something the game should have properly addressed, instead of just going 'oh, these poor people, all used as puppets by the final boss'.

Anyway, (S)Holmes takes the time to remind Van Zieks that he's the defendant in this case, not the prosecutor. Our old friend Santa Judge returns for the adjudication! Turns out, he was in the gallery all along. (Was he chanting Stronghart's name too?) He talks about how the darkness of the past ten years has lifted, in part thanks to a bright young star from the East. Awww, we've completely won over the judge! Van Zieks now also has something to add.

“I had the faintest of intimations. That if British justice, so warped and twisted over its long history, was finally to know change... This might just be the man to do it. But at the time, I wouldn't allow myself to acknowledge the possibility. I couldn't overcome my hatred of the Japanese, after the circumstances of my brother's death. Mr. Naruhodo...”

He takes a flourishing bow here, an acknowledgment that Ryu is worthy of his respect and perhaps even that Ryu is superior to him, then stands up straight again for the final whammy.

Ryu is shocked and Susato is brought to tears. We did it, y'all. We've secured the full, heartfelt apology. I'm not sure there's really anything to add to this, nor anything we could want from it at this point in time. Ryu doesn't say he forgives Van Zieks for his discourtesies, but considering how hard he worked to get this guy cleared of murder, that would feel kind of out of place. The forgiveness happened long before Van Zieks apologized, or so is the implication. (Is that the correct narrative path? Not at all, but I'll get back to that in the conclusion.) So after some more closing words from Ryu, Van Zieks gets his not-guilty verdict and court is adjourned.

In the defendant's lobby, Ryu feels a bit conflicted about how this whole thing went down. Susato tries to cheer him up by saying that everything will seem much better once he sees Van Zieks's smiling face. Indeed, in most other Ace Attorney games, this would be the point where at last, an emotionally distant defendant/witness drops their walls and allows themselves to smile (or cry). Just think of Gina, Lana Skye or even Athena Cykes when she cries tears of joy during AA5's ending. Hilariously enough, Van Zieks is not one of those characters.

This is a really fun subversion of expectations and Ace Attorney tropes. And I still believe his face got frozen like that. Even so, he's got something heartfelt to say.

“For you to have risen to the level of excellence you demonstrated today... Well, it's quite remarkable.”

Sounds like a hatchet job of a compliment at first glance, but the sentiment is there. It is extremely remarkable for a foreign exchange student who's only been in the country for about 9 months- and who only spent like 2 of those as an active lawyer- to rise to such a level that he not only uncovers the truth of the current case, but of a cold case from 10 years prior, which was part of a huge cover-up. Ryu points out that he exposed a most 'unpalatable truth' in court and that he feels as if he robbed Van Zieks of something precious. Van Zieks doesn't seem to agree. He reminisces on Stronghart's words.

“But that... That was just the feeble excuse of a coward. Only those with a steadfast eye for the truth have what it takes to fight the dark forces of crime. You made fine work of establishing that fact in court today.”

So once again, he's complimenting Ryu's courtroom performance. Not only that, but he's acknowledging (in different words) the earlier sentiment that the truth needs to come out, no matter how painful. Perhaps, indirectly, he's calling himself a feeble coward as well. Ryu and Susato are proud of Van Zieks's growth, with Susato saying that surely Kazuma would be smiling if he were here. Naturally, when he shows up at that very second, he isn't smiling at all. Like mentor, like disciple! Kazuma takes a polite bow before Van Zieks and congratulates him on his acquittal. Naturally, after watching Kazuma prosecute so ferociously for two whole episodes, that doesn't feel sincere. Van Zieks asks him whether he doesn't instead want to curse him. Kazuma apologizes for his earlier behavior, which does feel 100% sincere.

“Your father, Genshin... If I had been stronger, then perhaps... I made an unforgivable error of judgment. … I can offer no excuse.”

One more apology to add to the pile! And here we once again reach that question of whether the narrative is acting like Genshin should be absolved of all blame. In a technical sense, Van Zieks wasn't wrong to prosecute Genshin, since he did seriously murder Klint. That alone is already warranting of the death penalty, so the added crimes of the Professor on top of that don't change too much. However, I don't think Van Zieks's lines truly relate to the Professor trial itself. The error of judgment, in my eyes, can also be seen as the blind acceptance that Genshin betrayed him (as well as Klint) when there was actually far more at play. This notion that Genshin was a horrid traitor who abused their trust and hospitality was then allowed to grow into an irrational hatred which festered for a decade. Regardless of whether Genshin killed Klint, the insistence that the man's true nature was that of a monster was wrong, and I think that's what he's apologizing for. To be clear, he's not apologizing for racist sentiments uttered towards Kazuma or anyone else from Japan with these lines. This purely relates to his treatment of Genshin. However, he already apologized for his many discourtesies back in the courtroom and I think the racist outbursts were part of those discourtesies.

Kazuma says he can offer no forgiveness, which is totally fair. Kazuma isn't obligated to forgive this man. He does, however, admit that he has respect for Van Zieks, since he “fought for justice and the truth”.

Awww! Remember how in my very first 'strong thought about Barok' post, I pointed out that Barok almost appears to have been designed to be Kazuma's rival prosecutor instead of Ryu's? Yeah. Here we see it very clearly. The reconciliation conversation between these two feels like a much better resolution than the conversation between Van Zieks and Ryu.

So now Kazuma brings up that Genshin promised to do two things for Klint, but the second wasn't mentioned in the will. Mikotoba shows up to share a very heartbreaking tale about Klint's unnamed widow, the lady Zieks-Baskerville, who was hiding out in Dartmoor and passed away from childbirth very shortly after Genshin was executed. The newborn baby girl survived, though! Van Zieks blurts out that that makes no sense. “Why on Earth wouldn't Klint have entrusted the child to my care in that case?!” And that alone is already kind of tragic, but what really packs a wallop is this:

This means Klint and his wife deliberately kept the pregnancy from him. It's never explained why. Genshin showed up at the manor in the spur of the moment and Klint died that very same night, when his wife must've already been around 8 or 9 months pregnant. (she gives birth about a week or two later, after all.) Klint says that he 'confessed his sins to his wife', but that also must've been very recent, if not that very same night, since Stronghart was threatening to tell Klint's wife and brother of his misdeeds. Stronghart's hold on Klint would've weakened if he'd told her the truth months ago, which in turn implies the both of them decided not to tell Barok while she herself was still oblivious to the Professor truth. Honestly, it all feels like a vague plotconvenience.

What is explained is why the newborn baby wasn't entrusted to Van Zieks. It isn't because Klint had the amazing foresight to know his younger brother would become a salty, loner alcoholic; it's because he and his wife feared the truth of the Professor might come out. Heck, if Genshin had never been arrested for Klint's death, perhaps it would've come out for certain. “The girl would be forever branded as the daughter of the infamous mass murderer.” So the baby girl was distanced from the Van Zieks family as much as possible, with all of London unaware of her existence. This girl is, of course, Iris.

Right on cue, the Harely plushie activates to receive a call from (S)Holmes and Iris. She invites everyone over to 221B for a feast and makes sure to invite “Mr. Reaper” too. He very awkwardly declines the offer.

Humanization? Humanization! He does, however, give Iris his word that he'll present himself at 221B in the near future to express his gratitude. I think a big part of why he declined the offer was because he wouldn't feel at home during the big celebration when a whole group of people is there. He'd much rather visit Iris during a more quiet, private moment and that's sweet too. Plus, I don't think he's in the mood for a celebration, considering all the horrible truths he's learned in a single day.

So now Kazuma prepares to leave and asks Van Zieks to accompany him. The wording of “would you care to-” makes it very clear this isn't a demand, it's a very soft request that Van Zieks is free to decline. Not that he hesitates for even a second. Here's some more parting words.

“I believe... You saved my life.”

He takes a deep, flourishing bow and honestly I've lost track of how many times he's praised/thanked Ryu by now. More than Edgeworth thanked Phoenix, most likely. The prosecutor duo prepares to walk away, but Ryu calls after Van Zieks, asking him to wait. Which he does. Ryu asks him what he intends to do now.

... “Prosecutor van Zieks chooses death”??? In a way, he's thinking of pulling a similar move. He intends to publicize the full truth of the Professor, and I can only imagine that includes Stronghart's involvement in what went down 10 years ago. Maybe he'll even share the truth of the Reaper who's haunted the courtroom all these years. He believes that “once that's done, the Van Zieks family will be ostracised completely from London society.” (I don't think he means living family members, but rather, the legacy of the Van Zieks name and the rights associated with it.) So because of that, he intends to leave the capital as soon as he's free of his employment. Considering how easily this man took a five year sabbatical and adding in the fact that the Lord Chief Justice just got arrested, I expect his resignation could be as easy as packing his desk and leaving his office without saying a word. Kazuma, however, calls him a fool and a coward. He basically dares Van Zieks to keep going now that he's finally freed from the pseudonym of the Reaper. Van Zieks neither agrees with the sentiment nor shoots it down, instead saying it's unexpected to hear those words from Kazuma of all people. With that out in the open, they leave for realsies.

Just as Van Zieks doesn't attend the Baker Street party, he isn't there when Ryu's at the docks to return to Japan. I like to think Kazuma did bother to tell Van Zieks that Ryu is leaving the country, because withholding that information seems like a bit of a jerk move, but... Well. Not showing up at the docks to say some final farewells is even more of a jerk move on Van Zieks's part. Though it's possible he felt he wasn't wanted there, and may eventually ask for Ryu's address so he can write a letter (which is far less imposing than invading a heartfelt farewell with a scowling face). It's a shame, though. I would've liked to hear his thoughts on Ryu's departure.

We learn that Kazuma will “stay in Lord van Zieks's tutelage for the time being” to become a full-fledged prosecutor. Which is fine, I guess. It doesn't matter whether he's a defense attorney or a prosecutor; all that matters is the pursuit of the truth. What catches my interest is that even with all that bad blood and refusal to forgive Van Zieks, Kazuma still agrees to keep studying as his disciple. This implies to me that he sincerely doesn't believe Van Zieks to be a bad person anymore, and acknowledges he can learn a lot from this man. Which is not the same thing as being on friendly terms with him, but at the very least he's giving Van Zieks the benefit of the doubt when it comes to improving their... Well, their dynamic, I suppose I should call it.

On to the credits scenes we go! This time, Van Zieks legit does get a scene of his own, but before we address this one, I want to skip ahead real quick to Albert Harebrayne's scene.

“He sent me a very nice letter saying he'd like to show me around now that everything was settled. B-But what have I done? I was so excited, I picked this splendid hotel and now I can't afford the bill! Oh Barok! Come to my rescue again, please! I, I wish I could just vanish into thin air sometimes!”

Several things of note can be taken out of this little scene. First of all, with the Reaper nonsense behind them, Van Zieks seems to have wasted very little time with asking his best buddy to return to London for that sightseeing that was promised. Presumably, he even paid for the trip (again), since Albert still seems to be very low on money. This, coupled with the fact that Van Zieks was reading that letter with quite a bit of dedication in his jail cell, indicates to me that he's longing for the good old days, when he could smile and have friends. He's trying to return to a sense of normalcy and since Albert is still considered his closest friend, it makes sense he'd reach out to him instead of a relative stranger like Kazuma. Baby steps. Now, the fact that Albert says “come to my rescue again” sets the very clear tone that this guy believes Van Zieks has helped him before- during the trial, of course. It's another reinforcement of the notion that Albert is thankful Van Zieks chose the role of prosecutor in order to defend the teleportation theory, even if it meant that he himself would be branded a murderer. Despite his gruff exterior and blunt words, Albert thinks of Van Zieks as a sort of knight in shining armor who will come save him. … With cold hard cash, in this case, but it's the gesture that counts. Van Zieks might allow Albert to stay in his mansion instead, but it depends how high the risk of assassination is at this point in time. People are probably hating on the Van Zieks family now that the truth of the Professor is out.

On to credits scene of Van Zieks himself! We have confirmation by now that he hasn't retired as a prosecutor, since Kazuma already expressed his intent to keep studying under him. So we see Van Zieks in his office, addressing Klint's painting.

“In those days, when I was known as the Reaper, I felt your presence at my side. Once, unable to bear the burden of that grim pseudonym, I even retired from the courtroom. Despite everything, I still wear your prosecutor's badge with pride. But the darkness that beset me is no more. As you, too... Are no more.”

The first two sentences of this bit feel very disjointed and barely related to me, so I had a quick look at some fan translations. First is the sub translation on Youtube: “I could feel you standing by my side through the days in which I was called the Reaper. Yet there were times I could not bear the burden of that name, and left the courtroom far behind me.” The “yet” is very crucial, since it makes the insinuation that feeling his brother's presence was very important to Van Zieks, but the burden became so overwhelming that he retired anyway. Taisa the Gamer's script doesn't have a “yet” in it, nor any equivalent, but the sentence structure still flows well enough not to cast doubt on how he felt about Klint's supposed presence. Contrasting that, the localization's wording with “even” almost makes it seem like feeling Klint's presence was a negative thing- that he was overwhelmed by it and that this was the burden associated with the Reaper name, as opposed to the killings. Which can't possibly be right; he already admitted to us that the idea of his brother's ghost helping him was one of the main reasons he kept on being the Reaper. So long story short, the localization's take on these first two lines is a little off.

The prosecutor's badge thing, however, is spot on. Despite everything- despite the 'true nature' of Klint now exposed, Van Zieks still wears the badge with pride. We know the badge is symbolical, of course. He still believes in Klint's sense of justice and he's still going to openly admit to being Klint's brother- to being a Van Zieks. That's sweet. He goes on to say that the darkness within him is no more. To really grasp what that means, let's go back to the end of case 2-3 for a second. There, Van Zieks says that after his brother's death, he found himself in “a very dark place indeed”. In case 2-4, he mentions that he refuses to trust others to protect himself against betrayal, but has now sunk into a proverbial mire which makes it impossible to breathe. All of that is the same darkness he's referring to now, I'm sure. I don't believe depression can lift this easily; there's no way that darkness is no more. However, I think what he means to say is that it no longer has such a strong hold on him that it manifests in paranoia and irrational hatred. He has a chance now to start fresh and that's what he intends to do. He's striding away from that darkness, towards a brighter future. In order for a person to change for the better, they themselves have to want to change, and it looks like Van Zieks is all for that. Which at last brings us to the conclusion of this essay series! The conclusion, which looks back on the original query posed in Part 1, will once again include a load of screencaps. To keep the post size lighter, I'm going to put it in a separate post. I hope you'll look forward to it!

[aspoonofsugar]

Hello, I would like to know what you think about the discussion that Cinder and Watts had.

It is interesting to note that what Watts tells Cinder is that her suffering doesn't make her strong or special or worthy of anything and by extension Watts tells Cinder that as much as she pretends that her suffering made her strong in reality she is still quite fragile and vulnerable because she hasn't been able to overcome her trauma and still wants to give meaning to her life and suffering.

Hello anons!

These two asks can be answered together.

First of all, I really liked that scene! It is probably my favourite moment of the episode together with the sequence in the underground.

I think there are two ways to see Watts and Cinder’s interaction in the episode.

1) Cinder

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

As I have written here:

Cinder’s way of thinking is very similar to Mercury’s. Not only have they both endured their parents’ violence, but they have tried to give this violence meaning. It is because of Madame that Cinder has become “everything” and it is because of Marcus that Mercury has become “strong”. They must believe that it was not all for nothing and that the pain they felt made them stronger instead of weaker.

This is why Cinder thinks that deep down her “hunger” is good. It is because it drives her, but she ignores that it blinds her too.

The idea that suffering made her stronger and more deserving than others is Cinder’s main coping mechanism.

She was treated as nothing, so she needs to believe she is secretly worthy of things others are negated. As I have stated here, she deep down wants to be chosen:

I would say that Cinder wants to be chosen. She wants to be special and to be given value. This is probably why she is serving Salem. It is because Salem has chosen her for an important role.

Well, Watts’s speech is about exactly this:

Watts: You think you’re entitled to everything because you’ve suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you need to be worthy.

In a couple of phrases he deconstructs Cinder’s coping mechanism and this is why she is made to feel so vulnerable.

The whole point of Cinder is that she should stop reducing herself to her trauma and pain. By doing so, she both dehumanizes herself and dismisses others.

She dehumanizes herself because she tries to overcome her inferiority complex by looking for power and she does not realize that this is turning her into a monster:

Raven: Aura can’t protect your arm, it’s Grimm. You turned yourself into a monster just for power.

She dismisses others because she is so focused on her own pain that she can’t notice others’.

In short, she must stop pretending everything revolves around her and should start working on herself and her own issues. This is thematically what Watts’s speech is about. It also ties to the teaching of the Fall Maiden about choice. Destiny is not something that is given to you, but something you work towards:

Pyrrha: When I think of destiny, I don’t think of a predetermined fate you can’t escape. But rather… some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life.

Cinder is looking for worth outside herself. She wants Salem to recognize her and magical powers to be strong. She misses that self-worth is something only Cinder can grant herself.

However, things are not as simple in-universe because Watts is not referring to this in his speech. What he wants is not for Cinder to overcome her issues and to realize serving Salem is wrong. What Watts wants is for her to become better at her job.

Not only that, but in Watts’s speech there is hidden also this message that @luimnigh and @harostar have discussed here. Their posts are already clear, so I won’t spend much time on it.

The main idea is that Watts is worthy, while Cinder is not and how it goes back to their different upbringings and social status. In short, Watts is an Atlesian elite, while Cinder is a no-one, who was bought as a slave. Cinder keeps feeling this difference and can’t really break free from this kind of mentality.

That said, I think this last point gains more nuance when one looks at what this speech means for Watts himself.

2) Watts

Watts’s allusion is Watson and WoG says that he is Watson if he had connected with Moriarty instead of Sherlock. Personally, I think that as for now another good way to describe his allusion is that he is Watson if he were jealous of Sherlock instead of loyal to him.

As for now, Watts’s defining trait is his jealousy of Pietro Polendina and of his creation:

Watts: She’ll open the vault and she’ll destroy herself...And our little Penny problem would be...

It is not by chance that he wants to blow her up, even if that would not really be necessary. The Little Penny Problem he is talking about is really his problem and not Salem’s, who could not care less about Penny once she has the relic.

Watts wants to destroy Penny because he wants to be better than Pietro. Still, he misses why Pietro is better than him:

Watts: She’s on a set-path now...At least she should be...As much as I hate to admit it there seems to be some part of her capable of resisting...

As we know, the part of Penny who is capable of resisting is her humanity. Penny is a masterpiece not because she is a war machine, but because she is a real girl. This is the core of Pietro’s genius and this is what Watts can’t grasp:

Watts: Our tin soldier's heart has cost him his mind. We need to keep their attention on Mantle for as long as possible.

Watts, just like Ironwood, believes that feelings make you weak and stupid. Of course, this is the anti-thematic statement which has already been proven wrong over and over. Even when it comes to the situation above, Watts is actually being baited by Ironwood and him falling for it results in his arrest. The moment Ironwood is more open about his feelings is also the moment he is acting more logically.

In short, Watts is a brilliant scientist, who bought in Atlas’s ideology that you must pursue success at all costs. You must be strong/clever because only in this way you can be successful. If you let feelings cloud your determination/mind, you are a failure.

However, it is precisely this ideology taken to its extreme that is Watts’s own downfall.

He can’t understand Pietro’s ideal and is overshadowed by him. What is more, the idea of not being the first in his field drives him to disgrace.

His backstory makes so that Inside team WTCH Watts represents Salem’s entitlement.

This makes him similar to Cinder, as well. He is different from her for upbringing and status. Still, they both have the same flaw. They believe they are entitled to things.

Cinder does so because she has suffered. She was no-one, so now she must be the most important person in the world.

Watts does so because he was born an elite and he should stay an elite forever.

Watts is there not only to tell, but to show (both Cinder and the viewers) that the path Cinder is on leads nowhere. Watts had probably everything Cinder ever wanted. He was successful and rich. He did not have to worry about food or poverty. Still, that was not enough for him. He wanted more and this led him to betray his own country and to join a nihilistic witch.

In other words, Cinder will never find what she is looking for in power or success. Watts had both, but he is empty just like her. He is hungry just like her.

This is well conveyed symbolically by Watts being one of the very few characters that never unlocked his semblance. It means he never truly unlocked his full potential. He never truly understood who he wanted to be. He tried to be who his society wanted him to be, but he was not satisfied and decided to destroy it instead.

So, when Watts talks about the need to be smart and the difference between being deserving and worthy, he is actually talking about himself, probably without even realizing it. He is projecting his feelings of failure on Cinder. He was deserving, but not worthy. Pietro was the worthy one.

Other than these two, there is also another level to this confrontation that has been underlined by @misstrashchan​ here.

It is about the parallel between Cinder and Ironwood when it comes to their reactions to Watts spelling them the truth about themselves:

Ironwood: I will sacrifice... whatever it takes... to stop her.

Watts: Oh, I hope you do, James. I hope you do.

The difference, as the post above explains very well, is that Cinder is able to listen to Watts, while Ironwood ignores his words altogether.

This ties to how Ironwood’s inability to recognize his mistakes and to change his mind (literally what his semblance Mettle is about) is why he is the main villain in an arc where we are having the first redemption arc of one of our original trio of villains:

A redemption, which will probably be followed by other defections among the AceOps themselves.

In order to redeem one-self, a person must accept they were wrong and change their mind. Ironwood is unable to do so and this is why he is dangerous.

In conclusion, I love this confrontation because it is very complex, has many levels and is gray. In terms of complexity it reminds me of Tyrian’s interactions with Emerald and especially Mercury:

 Tyrian is seen tormenting the two kids whenever he gets the chance. That said, he ironically ends up spelling out for them truths the two must face:

Tyrian: Do what makes you happy children… please? I’m begging you…

Tyrian: Of course she is! You’re surprised? Salem is destruction incarnate! Our mistress wishes to see the end of it all! There is no ideal more beautiful.

Tyrian is a great evil mentor because he manages to spell out what Emerald and Mercury should do and to make sure through his body language that they are not able to. He tells them the truth and threathens them, so that they can’t pursue what they need.

Here, Watts tells Cinder the truth by lashing out about how she is so worthless, that a machine must do her job.

It is also interesting because both Emerald and Mercury are clearly set-up to have an evil mentor figure:

Emerald and Hazel’s foiling has already paid off, while Mercury and Tyrian’s will probably pay off in the future.

I am not sure if Cinder will have a similar foiling/relationship with Watts. Still, it is an interesting possibility. Especially because one thing I would really like to happen with the original villain trio is for the abuse and the manipulation they are subjected to backfire. I would like for them to break free (with others’ help obviously because they can’t free themselves alone) by taking all these thematic truths they are told, so they can be manipulated, and to change them in teachings they can use against their abusers.

In short, I want Cinder to say...”Yeah, I do not need to be deserving of power because I am already worthy on my own”. And I want Mercury to free himself and to tell Tyrian...”This is what makes me happy”.

I think that this has partly happened with Emerald in the sense that Salem’s tactic to weaken her loyalty to Cinder through fear backfired:

Salem: Emerald... I want you to tell me whose fault this was. Now

Emerald: Cinder! We failed because of Cinder...

Salem: That's right. I want you to understand that failure. I want you to understand why Cinder must be left to toil in her isolation until she redeems herself.

The whole point of this interaction was to make Emerald submissive. It is clear Emerald is there for Cinder and not for Salem, so Salem frightened her and forced her to symbolically “betray” Cinder.

Still, this did not work for two reasons.

a) Emerald needs to see Cinder for who she is, so that she can break free from her.

b) Fear is among the factors that motivated Emerald to leave:

Yang: You're gonna have to try and summarize it. Why should we trust you?

Ren: Because she's scared. Just like us.

Not only that, but in an inversion of what usually happens with fear in the series, it is specifically because Emerald and JOYR are all scared that they can overcome their conflict and work together (as @echo-from-the-void​. noticed). Fear has separated our protagonists from the AceOps, but has brought them Emerald.

These are my main thoughts on the scene, thank you for the asks!

[arabian-bloodstream]

I saw ‘Annette.’ I haz thoughts

(Reposting since this just dropped on Prime.) This movie was brilliant. I can't wait to watch again because the brilliance of it didn't really truly hit until the final scene. It was in that final scene when it all came together. Leos Carax didn't waste a single frame, a single line of dialogue, music, etc.

There are MAJOR SPOILERS!!

The performances were brilliant all around. Adam was fantastic. Simon Helberg's stand-out scene with his solo was absolutely stellar, at turns funny and heartbreaking. Marion Cotillard was beautiful and haunting. Devyn McDowell as the (finally) human Annette was wonderful, holding her own against Adam Driver while singing!

Henry McHenry truly is a monster. I mentioned above that Carax didn't waste a line. Henry mentioned in his comedy act early on that he became a comedian to say things he could say without being hated/judged. He says awful things. And there are so many little things that point to that he IS a monster so that...

* When Ann dies it's a little ambiguous. There *is* a storm. He is drunk. He isn't in full control of his facilities.

* When Baby Annette begins singing, it's less ambiguous, he *is* using her, but it's still a miraculous thing and Simon Helberg's character, the Conductor, is in on it because sharing the miracle of Baby Annette with the world is amazing.

* When Henry finds out that the Conductor could likely be Annette's father and that the knowledge of it could take away his free ride, he murders him. Yeah, no ambiguity there.

So after Henry has been outed and is in prison, Annette comes to visit. Up to this point, Annette has been varying aged up freaky looking puppets (like a female version of Chucky, but less malevolent like). Henry points out she looks different, the puppet-Annette sitting in from of him agrees, but the voice comes from across the room and lo and behold! It's an actual little girl standing there.

The rest of the scene continues between Henry and this real girl and I was astounded. Everything fell into place. Annette told him it was good he was in prison because he couldn't kill anymore. She also told him he couldn't love anymore. He tried to tell her he could love her. But she wouldn't let him love her. They began to sing. She wanted to forget, couldn't forgive both of her parents. He didn't want Ann blamed. It was a back and forth, beautifully done. Young Devyn held her own so well opposite Adam. He again tried to tell her he could love her, but no, no, she would not let him.

What was so incredibly powerful about this scene, how this scene and how it ended once Annette left -- which I will not describe -- is that it brought the entire film into focus. Everything made sense. Prior to this scene, Annette was a puppet because the entire film up until this scene was from HENRY's POINT OF VIEW.

Remember when I said that at the top that "Leos Carax didn't waste a single frame, a single line of dialogue, music, etc. " That's where this really comes into play.

The film begins with the director, Sparks, cast and crew singing "So May We Start," let's break a few things down in there. First of all, Adam is the first actor who sings, and more importantly the first character that is addressed is his character, Henry McHenry... meaning it is HIS story that we're watching unfold. And almost every single scene includes Henry, focuses on Henry, but if you look at the scenes that don't... ah! That's when the latter scenes come into play and show that, yes, it's ALL from Henry's point of view indeed.

The Conductor's solo scenes has information that, again, in retrospect we know that Henry must have known from Ann. Henry knew, Henry absolutely knew...

All of Ann's opera scenes focus on her dying because Henry's jealousy grows and grows until he's ready to take her out, and his love for her becomes twisted into monstrous hatred. And in retrospect, no, her death was not ambiguous, he meant for her to die, absolutely.

Then there is Ann's #MeToo dream, why that? Well, again, Henry's point of view. Take that scene paired with Henry's later scene when he's surrounding himself with all of the different women. Ann's dream was foreshadowing Henry's treatment of her, and paired with his callousness towards women in the latter scene, how he has always used and manipulated people.

Which brings us to who Henry is as a user and a abuser. Someone who used everyone as puppets. He manipulated everyone, using them to do what he wanted, to make him happy, to give him what he wanted, to thrill him, to give him a high. His back-up singers. His audiences. Ann. The Conductor (who didn't even have a name, he was just "my conductor friend"), and then, of course, Annette. Annette was literally a puppet.

Annette was LITERALLY Henry's puppet until the final scene when he was locked away and he could use her no more. That is when she was finally able to be a real girl, when she broke free from him and it was no longer Henry's story. She was no longer his puppet.

Aah, so brilliant. So beautiful.

A few random comments...

- Many reviews tended to downplay Marion’s performance and the character of Ann. I disagree. I think that Marion did an amazing job and I think that Ann was essential to the plot in every way. She drove every single thing that happened. And if Marion had not played every note, every beat as beautifully, perfectly as she did, it wouldn't have landed as beautifully, as perfectly as it did. She was the beautiful force that drove Henry to look into the abyss... which was his own dark soul. And Marion played the light and dark so beautifully. She was radiant in life, and an avenging angel in death.

- The song "We Love Each Other So Much" that I didn't think much of when I listened to some of the soundtrack, I remember remarking that I hoped it worked better in the context of the film. It does. It DOES SO MUCH. It's absolutely perfect in the context of the film, and then is a sucker-punch when it's true origin is revealed later.

- The courthouse scene was the first (but not the last) time I teared up. Henry desperately searching for, singing to the sweet Ann, but in the end, the vengeful Ann found him. So, so well done.

It was also great in that we saw some truth from Henry by admitting that he couldn't tell the truth. In the beginning, he had told the audience that he used comedy to tell the truth because he wouldn't be hated or judged (before, of course, he was). But in the courtroom, he knew that he couldn't do that. Because in telling the truth in the courtroom he had no puppets, he had no one he could use or manipulate. There was no "clap, clap, clap," no "laugh, laugh, laugh." Telling the truth in the courtroom, he WOULD be judged and he knew that.

So that was so powerful and once he admitted that truth, it was as if the guilt swamped him because he went searching for the sweet Ann to release him from his guilt, but he couldn't reach her, of course. There was a barrier between them. She was so, so far away. Ah, but then the vengeful Ann showed up, and she was closer, nearer and no barrier stood between her and Henry as she vowed to haunt him in prison for the rest of his life. The guilt had taken hold.

- Now why was Ann always eating an apple? Because of Eve. Eve ate the apple because she was tempted by the devil. Henry is the devil. Henry is evil, a monster. That's why we saw Ann always eating an apple. And in her solo song, she was describing the sweet, innocent girl--the voice of an angel, a good girl, who was used and abused by men when she came into her beauty. At the end of that scene, then who showed up when she had Annette protectively with her? Henry, looking quite malevolent indeed.

- The mark on Henry's face -- which one critic was like 'wtf? is up with that? random! -- was there all along, but really became noticeable after Henry killed Ann and kept growing. Was it an outward reflection of Henry's guilt over what he had done to Ann? No. Henry always had that mark on his face. We just didn't know that until the final scene because prior to that it, we'd only seen Henry's version of himself, not the REAL Henry. Think of it, Annette was barely older than we'd last seen her before he was jailed when she went to see him in prison, but Henry looked SO different. Why? Because that was the REAL Henry McHenry. Not the stylized, romantic version of himself that we'd seen through his eyes. After he killed Ann we started to see him look more and more like the real Henry. In prison, that was the real Henry.

Again, this film was just absolutely magnificent. I simply can't wait to watch it again. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

[ikemen-girl]

Hello, sweety! I don't know if you're currently taking up request or not (please don't mind this ask if you're not doing it right now ^^). I'm a teacher and seeing how Mitsuhide teaches MC in his route, may I request you for a HC of Mitsuhide finds out that his MC is a teacher as well in her future life? I really want to know how he would react on that. Thank you for visiting my blog beforehand and hoping you a wonderful upcoming weekend! ✨🍀

Hellooooo dear 😍😍♥️♥️, thank you very much for this interesting request 🥰💗! I am also aspiring to become a teacher in few years so I am very glad to meet you😍😍! And I would like to say that you are an amazing artist👏🙌! I hope you also have a great weekend💃🌹! So, here we go😉~

Ikesen Headcanon⚔💗

Mitsuhide reacting to a MC being a Teacher👩‍🏫:

You loved teaching children😍❤ but you ended up in the sengoku era while travelling to Kyoto on a school trip with your students & other teachers leaving a very good life in the modern era😩 & accidentally saved Nobunaga's life to your surprise & Mitsuhide took a special interest in you👀 & his mind-reading skills used to freak you out😨.

You were honestly terrified after stepping on the battlefield for the first time in your life😱 when you have been always surrounded by the laughter & twinkling eyes of children and you were missing it terribly😭, to top it all, the shock of seeing a man die infront of your eyes was too overwhelming, so you fell unconscious😵 & Mitsuhide carried you back in Azuchi Castle.

"Starting from tomorrow, I will be your teacher, little mouse, for the subject matters, I think, tactics, equestrianism, self defense, firearms seems a good start😏!", said Mitsuhide with a huge smirk on his face.

"I hope you will be a good pupil, little mouse🐭!", said Mitsuhide as he stood and gave you a head-pat.

"Pffffttttt, I am waiting for that moment", you murmured, chuckling to yourself🤭.

"Did you say something?", asked Mitsuhide turning back to look at her.

"I am looking forward for tomorrow, Mitsuhide-sensei, goodnight😅!", she straighten up with a slight bow. Mitsuhide smiled at her🙂 and goes outside the room.

"His smile creeps me out, well, nevermind. I am excited to see the surprise on his face tomorrow😁", she let out a huge grin.

"Before starting up on the actual studies, I would like to test your knowledge base, here is your questions sheet, fill it up, little mouse📝!", said Mitsuhide as he gave her the question paper with a smirk on his face😏.

You took it, pretending to be afraid of the test making him amused, "Go on, little mouse, it's not that difficult, I assure you!", he said with a amused grin on his face😄. As you look down at the questions on Japanese literature, history & general knowledge, on the inside, you were so happy 💃while on the outside, you kept a face of a child who is horrified at the thought of giving an exam😱.

You submitted your answer sheet to him and as Mitsuhide scanned it, his eyes went wide with shock😲, he was NOT expecting this at all. You honestly wished that you have a camera 📷 to capture his expression which was so funny to say the least. Each & every answer was correct💯.

"How😳?", it's the only word that came out his mouth. You couldn't control anymore & burst out laughing loudly🤣. "Because I am also a teacher, Mitsuhide👩‍🏫", you said with a proud look on your face. "What😳?", he was left speechless once again which only made it harder for you to control your laughter.

"You really surprised me there, little mouse😅!", Mitsuhide laughs along with you to hide his flustered expression. "So, what do you teach🤔?", he asked, curious to know about you.

"Let's see, I mainly teach japanese literature & history, apart from it, I am well versed in general knowledge, english literature, I love art, psychology, etc, so if any child wants to learn it, I teach these skills to them as well with full excitement as being around them & seeing them grow in their lives makes me so happy🤩❤!", you said with a biggest smile on your face🥰 & eyes shining with happiness since you came to this era👀✨. Mitsuhide was, to be very honest, awestruck seeing your genuine happiness☺️.

As much as Mitsuhide didn't want to interrupt you, but he grew suspicious of your origin as being this educated in this era was surprisingly rare especially in something like english literature🤔. "Who are you & where are you from, mysterious little mouse? Tell me all your secrets, little one", he asked, narrowing his gaze at you👀.

You froze for a moment😳 as you knew very well that you have raised his suspicions when you were rambling non-stop😬 & you couldn't lie or else you will be in huge trouble😓. "Why should I tell you when you are also a potential "traitor" in Oda forces infront of everyone, hm?", you asked jokingly trying to avoid the question😅. "Little mouse, I am used to prying out the secrets and I would not prefer to use the same techniques on you", he said with a frown on his face🤨 unknown to him but you noticed the discomfort in his expression & sighed.

So you showed him your purse👜 and told him everything about yourself as Mitsuhide listened patiently. "So our little mouse came from 500 years in the future, it's hard to believe but you have proof with yourself, now I can see the reason how you are so innocent & untouched by the realities of this time", said Mitsuhide with a amused smirk😏.

"I have only told you the truth, rest is up to you to believe in me", you said with a pout☹.

"Don't pout, I believe in you, little one, as you have been a very nice girl, I will treat you with tea & sweets🍵🍡 as a reward, little mouse", Mitsuhide said caressing your cheek with his thumb😏. You honestly couldn't stop yourself from smiling after hearing the offer😍.

Mitsuhide was overcome with affection for her as she believed in him as a person despite having her doubts and confided in him with everything, he made a secret vow to himself to protect her from everything❤.

You both went to the teahouse together & suddenly Kyubei called Mitsuhide for giving some urgent information. Mitsuhide excused himself for a moment while you were happily eating your sweets😍, but then, you heard some men were talking bad things about him behind his back & you couldn't stand seeing & listening something wrong so you strongly defended him infront of them😡, not caring for the fact that you had no weapons on yourself, one of the men tried to hit you but Mitsuhide arrived in time to rescue you from them😎.

So this started the strong feeling of love in heart of Mitsuhide towards you😍💓💞 as nobody has ever done something like this for him, he was so impressed by the fact that you strongly stood for your values proving your strength of sense of justice as a teacher & a good person by heart☺️💯.

He continued training you in survival skills like self defense, horseriding, shooting as you were already were well-versed in theory. In exchange, you would definitely teach him english literature & tell him about many fascinating things about the human mind & everything you know about future along with many other things😍, you both loved spending time with each other and always look forward to such meetings everyday.

Once, you were well trained in these skills, you gave your gratitude towards your "teacher" Mitsuhide by gifting him a very beautiful portrait✍❤ of him playing with his pet fox, Chimaki🦊. He couldn't resist hugging you tightly the moment, he laid his eyes on it🤗💗. You yourself was the biggest & the most precious gift for him in his life but your gift made him the most happiest person💓😢, he would definitely try to hide his happiness with a amused smirk & headpat but you can see through his facade that he is genuinely happy🥰. He would definitely put the portrait in such a place where everyone could see his little mouse's amazing skills😎😏.

After facing many difficulties together, you both confessed your feelings towards each other💐 and you both were a lovely couple infront of everyone😍👫💗.

You would both use knowledge of english as a medium for infiltration as spies together in other territories🧐. Surprisingly, a language, i.e., english, became a special kind of exchange & secret code between you☺️ and Mitsuhide😏 as you both would often converse in english infront of other warlords much to their surprise & confusion🙄😳🤔.

As you were always willing to stay by his side, he used to take you along to infiltrate certain places, your skill of art would definitely come as a big help for Mitsuhide💯, as you could easily draw the suspects making his workload way more easier than it was before✍😌.

In exchange, Mitsuhide would always make sure that you were not uncomfortable in such investigation trips, he would always give you tips in dancing, singing, acting, etc 🤗 and also expect loads of teasings while he is at it, fufufufu😘.

You both being the best teachers around in Azuchi would definitely use this opportunity to teach as many children as possible who don't have access to proper education without asking for anything in return as you both did it for your own self-satisfaction & happiness in your free times💛. Mitsuhide generally taught the skills of self defense🤼‍♂️, weaponry🔫, etc while you would educate the kids in literatures, general knowledge & art👩‍🏫. Children would also always look forward to meeting both of you everyday🥰❤🤗. It became one of your most favourite & productive ways to spend time with each other❤. Children also ships you both together, mind you👀❤🤭!

Mitsuhide loved the way your eyes sparkles with happiness👀✨ whenever you are around the children🥰😘❤ and can't help falling more deeply in love with you😍💓.

He would always praise you infront of everyone, everytime he gets a chance😏. Cue warlords- We know that already, Mitsuhide, you just told us🤦‍♂️. Mitsuhide: Hooooh~But not that...😏 endless praise begins & he shuts up only when you take him outside the council room dying of embarrasment😳🙈🤦‍♀️ to which he only laughs loudly🤣😏.

Mitsuhide would often call you "my brilliant little mouse💯🐭!", as his way of showing affection towards you💗😏. Cue you blushing deep shade of red tomato and running away from him😳🙈🍅.

Extra~

"You really love her, huh?", asked Hideyoshi as he was walking down the hallways😆. "Obviously, I love her with all my heart💗, she is the brightest star of my life🌟!", said Mitsuhide, his eyes filled with love and a beautiful smile on his face.

"Was that a genuine smile on your face, Mitsuhide?!", exclaimed Hideyoshi, shocked😲.

"My, My, Hideyoshi, I don't have any idea what you are talking about😏", said Mitsuhide as he realised that his facade broke their for a moment out of his love for you. Hideyoshi *eye twitch* : whatever🙄!

Mitsuhide then went looking for you to tease and shower you with all his love & affection❤😏.

Hope, you all enjoyed it❤😍🤗. Comments are appreciated😇!

[docholligay]

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave I-- Morrison’s Ghost

All thanks for the sponsorship to @keyofjetwolf. 4,500 words 

Jack Morrison was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. HIs death was registered in both the United Kingdom and the United States, and his small pittance of a savings account and a life given over to a quick signature. Jack Morrison was as dead as a door-nail. 

Wilhelm Reinhardt was dead, to begin with. Died that same grey and cloudy day in a pile of rubble. His coffin, sent to the Lindholm family plot in Sweden, with nary a stir from the occupant, and buried there, a name carved in stone, dead as the man below it. 

Lena Oxton was dead, to begin with, though her grave had not yet even sunk into the ground, dirt still piled high over the top of it, but please know that it was no less sure, that she was dead. Angela Zeigler had pronounced her herself, and while a bit harried, these last months, she was never one to miss a heartbeat. 

No, all of them were dead, when our story begins. 

Did Ana know they were dead? Of course she did! Ana was Jack’s partner and roommate and perhaps sole great friend in this earth, and Reinhardt was her sometimes companion and always admirer, and the silence of Tracer ever missing from a room was impossible to ignore. She saw their pictures hung in the Overwatch headquarters, having given their lives in the pursuit of making the world they occupied a better one. 

Besides all that, she was no great fool in matters of the mind, however you might find her in matters of the heart, once I allow the tale to truly begin. 

And so, you might say, why all the preamble? Why not let the story speak for itself? Well, I tell you this, because if you do not remember that our assembled parties have all taken their last breath long before this day, nothing wonderful can come of the story laid before you here. 

But enough. This is a story you know, and a story you do not know, and like all stories known and unknown it begins with a hero, or perhaps a villain, or, in the best stories of all, simply a main character, with affiliation to good and evil fleeting and half-decided. 

So brings us to Ana Amari. 

There are people, in this world, immediately assured of their own correctness, and Ana was one of them. This is not to say that she thought of herself as having done everything in the most perfect way possible, or that there had never been something that might have gone differently, given different choices, but simply that she had nothing on this earth for which to apologize. Ana was a child of revolution and struggle, and it was well known that all people did what they had to do, and she had always and ever done that. 

Ana was a genius in some respects, as most of us are, and a particular point of her genius was her ability to justify everything she had ever done as being rooted in a good idea, an impossible choice only she was willing to make, and her skill in deciding others were simply looking for someone to blame.She had changed, she reasoned, in the way many people who fail to see the original problem do. The balance of power no longer held her, and her child was grown, and these changed circumstances allowed her to believe that it was a changed self. 

Ana moved through her life as if she were on trial, every conversation twisted into something that made her into a criminal. She would not be forced to speak against her own effort, and so she antagonized and snapped and refused to answer. They would not force her to admit guilt, to imprison herself. 

Only the weak did such things. 

It was a terribly chill December day, and the grey pall of a London winter cast out of the city as she moved to the cafe on her side of the Thames. She watched London always--she had never learned quite how to not pay attention to every given moment and movement--looking at the people who passed by, their clothing and manner changing as she moved through the city. 

The city was dressed up for Christmas, tinsel in windows, softly glowing lights strung up inexpertly, banners of evergreen strung over the streets as the inhabitants of the areas got richer. Happy Christmases were exchanged along the street between shopkeepers and customers, acting as if they knew or cared for each other at all. It was not a time of year Ana especially relished, not so much for the fact that she had never celebrated it herself, though she did not and would not, but for the fact that it reminded her even more keenly of a universally held truth. 

They were fragile. Londoners were mostly spoiled children who had no idea of what a harsh life might look like. The Omnics had come, those years ago, but they had not needed to rebuild a society out of the flames of the old one. They did not know what it was to have to be strong. To be firm. They were the sorts of people who let a date on a calendar upend their entire lives, pretending at all these childlike ideas. Take away some ridiculous pudding, and the whole of society might collapse. 

A mother crouched down by her daughter on the sidewalk, holding her small hand and telling her that it was was very disappointing when we couldn’t get a little cake to take home, she understood. 

Ana chuffed and shook her head as she walked by, her mental point proven. This was how children were prepared for the world to listen, to give them what they wanted. To hide from them the fact that sacrifice was demanded of people who wanted any good to come of it. It was no question that the sorts of people who attempted to empathize with a four year old’s want of pastry couldn’t understand Ana. 

In some ways, she found comfort in this. If people accustomed to the plush robes of a gentle life could not understand her, it was merely that they did not understand the sort of things that needed to be done. She almost could not fault them, though she certainly found occasion to do so anyhow. Sheep do not understand the sheepdog.  People like her were made to protect the world for people who did not have the strength to be like her, to do difficult things.

The cafe was a simple affair with a black awning, and in summers, Ana imagined there must be plenty of seating on the sidewalk in summer, but now there were only a few small tables crowded into the place, covered in a red gingham plastic. Black and white photography covered the walls, every square inch devoted to a memory that was certainly somewhat different from the lived experience of it. It smelled of bacon and beans and eggs, and it didn’t make much sense for Ana to be there, but the coffee was some of the most competent she’d found, the prices were right, and the English insistence on beans at breakfast was one of the few sensible things about them, this place preparing them with a bit of cheddar, if lacking much else by way of seasoning. They had a ready selection of newspapers, it was at nearly the halfway point between her apartment and her work, and she was accustomed to her little spot in the corner. 

Today, there was somebody in it. Not a tourist, but perhaps worse. A blonde woman with a round, almost dollish face, and bright blue eyes, a cozy pink sweater wrapping her like a blanket. 

Ana found sentimentality a crime, regret a worse one, and found weakness in softness. For these reasons, Ana Amari had never particularly bonded with Mercy, who had encompassed all of these things from the first time Ana had met her. She was a brilliant doctor, and few people could reasonably say otherwise. Her work was integral to the development of several new weapons. She was a private physician to Overwatch’s most complex cases. She was all of this, and Ana could admit it, but she was also the sort of person who cried in her office at times, who questioned the good of what they were doing because the means made her uncomfortable, the sort of person who let her heart overtake. Mercy was as bad as Moira, in her own way, Tracer had once struck her for saying, even if it was true. 

All of this might have been complicated enough, but then, while Ana was temporarily dead, Mercy had gone and married her daughter. 

Mercy sat looking at Ana with a small smile on her face, hands folded in her lap and what seemed to be salmon on toast in front of her. Across the table, there was a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of beans with cheese on toast. 

“I asked them what it was you were ordering every day.” Mercy nodded. “They know you very well.” 

Ana closed her eye and sighed. Mercy never knew when to leave anything alone. Which might have been fine, if she had ever bent Pharah’s ear to understanding what Ana had done was all to the good. But she seemed to constantly be needling Ana to apologize, to reach out to Pharah. When was it going to be Pharah’s responsibility to admit that she was wrong? The she had never tried to understand her mother? 

“Do I look like I need you to buy me breakfast?” She stood, looking down at Mercy, who shook her head. 

“Ana, please. Sit?” 

“I don’t know what possibly we could share here.” But she sighed and sat down anyway. At least there was breakfast, and the order was right. “But go on.” 

Mercy nodded hopefully. “The baby is doing well, the doctor tells me,” she gave a small giggle, looking off away from Ana, “Though, I am not needing too much input, I remember my rotation and have been studying up. A new mother’s anxiety, it must be, you know how that feels.” 

Ana took a drink of her coffee. “I was running an operation to my eighth month. But then,” she shrugged, “ I was so much younger. Less to worry about.” 

She looked back to Ana a moment, and then looked down at her salmon toast. “Yes. We have....we want this very badly, so I am, more nervous.” 

Ana said nothing, simply began to eat her beans and sip at her coffee.

“Ana,” Mercy straightened her back, “I was thinking. Wondering. If you’d like to come for dinner, on Christmas.” 

Ana looked over at her with a long, flat stare. 

“Not to celebrate! But, we always, everything is closed, and, Fareeha is making a wonderful dinner, we watch movies, you would be alone, and with it almost being Fareeha’s birthday,” She leaned forward, “And the new year, there are so many changes that will be coming. I thought that, maybe, since there are so many new things--.”

Ana set down her fork with a high clink, and chuckled. “Now we get to it. What do you want?” 

“Nothing. For me. Ana, you can snap at me, and be--be dismissive of me, all you are wanting for the rest of your life, that was before Fareeha, even, but I love her--” 

“You have never understood things between me and Fareeha. You can’t.” 

“All you would need to be doing is apologizing. Things have been,” Mercy gave a little sigh, “Fareeha, I think, would forgive you, if you tried. With the baby, and with the sadness of Lena--” 

Ana chuckled. “Just because you will hold my grandchild hostage doesn’t mean I’ll apologize, Angela,” she shook her head, “I did what I had to do. There is absolutely nothing to forgive. Just because Fareeha refuses to understand, does not, even for a minute, mean I will bend my knee to--” 

Mercy stood up, hands balled at her sides. “Then--then don’t! I--” she lost the words a moment, tears streaming down her face, and she wiped at them, buying her face in her hands, “I was wanting to help you, is all of it! I want to help her! I want,” She let out a sob,  and continued, very softly, “My parents are dead, Ana. For our child, I was wanting…” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “No. I will go, now. I won’t try again. You can...win, if you are thinking this is winning.” 

She stood up and smoothed the front of her skirt, puling the coat over her shoulders, tears still streaming down her face. Mercy was like this, Ana thought. She was soft, in all the ways Ana was happy she wasn’t, and she good too emotional about things, things that didn’t even really concern her. What she and Pharah had as problems, was her and Pharah’s business. 

As she moved to leave the table, dropping a few pound coins next to her coffee, she turned back, stopped, and then took one look back. 

“You, are a terrible person,” she jutted out her chin, feigning strength, “Fareeha deserved much better than you. But,” she took a deep breath, “I still hope she forgives you, someday. Someday, I hope you will deserve it.” 

Ana sat back in her chair, and picked up a newspaper. 

Ridiculous.

____________

Ana lived alone, now, in that tiny and dark apartment in Brixton with the two small bedrooms barely enough to be called such. It had never occurred to her to live anywhere else. The hallways were dark and dank in the best of times, but the place was cheap, and she didn’t need any kind of frills to entertain all the guests she didn’t have. 

There was a chill coming up the stairs, and Ana attributed it to the cool of the December air, wet and icy on her face, and the poor maintenance of the building. It hardly mattered. The hallway was dim and still, a lightbulb at the end of it flickering out the last of its life in some desperate Morse code Ana could not decipher. She turned to unlock the door, when her sniper’s eye caught the movement, just a little. 

She turned toward the flicker and shadow. Silence. Nothing. Of course nothing, this hallway was always quiet as the grave, small people in their small lives coming and going like mice nibbling for crumbs. Another flicker, and he was there. 

The dark shadow at the end of the hall, strong and bricked and dead for years. Darkness again.

Ana dropped her keys in the moment, and bent down to pick them up. Had she eaten today? Clearly she was seeing things, if she needed to--

She raised her head, and he was there, grey and dead and big as life, standing next to her. She did not even have the time to gasp before his mouth through open and emitted a yell of pain and agony and deep loneliness, one that cut into her spine and made her shiver. She jumped back to ready herself to fight, but another flicker and it was gone. Nothing there, just the dingy carpet that always had been. 

She took a slow breath. Another. 

“Ridiculous.” She opened the door and went into her apartment. 

It was spartan, only a few small things giving any identity to the people who had lived there at all. Ana had made few changes since Jack’s death, other than emptying out his bedroom not because she needed it so much as she wanted the memory gone. There were two pictures on the mantle. A small television. Two tea cups in the small area that passed for a kitchen. 

She was unnerved, no matter how much of a hallucination the incident in the hallway had been, and her training kicked in. She swept the place quietly, examining every space, every nook every corner for signs of life. There was nothing, nothing at all but the long shadows the light cast across the floor. 

Her shoulders relaxed. Of course there was nothing. She needed to eat something, was all, she was no longer young and could not rely upon her body in the same way she had. There was a carton of soup in the refrigerator, and she dumped it into a pot unceremoniously, stirring it until it boiled and she put it into a deep, wide mug that served as a bowl nowadays.

She turned off the unpleasant florescent overhead light, and flipped on her small lamp next to the couch, the one small bit of soft warmth in the place, something that had been her mother’s from a lifetime ago. There was a book on the table, though she likely couldn’t have told you what it was, simply something to wile away the hour while she ate her soup. 

Her only minor concession was the knife set upon the coffee table.

The night had been dark, but somehow grew darker, the shadows drawing into the room, as if night itself was being sucked into that tiny apartment that served as fortress for Ana’s personal war. Ana tried not to notice it, at first. It was silly. She was unnerved by the hallucination in the hallway, and part of that had probably been thinking about the past. It was quite natural to think of the past, when someone stalked you to your cafe and tried to wield it as a weapon. 

Then someone knocked at the door. 

She looked down at the knife, and went to grab it, and then Jack’s bedroom door started knocking too, and then her bedroom door, and the knocking continued, louder and louder and louder, echoing around her as the darkness closed into the room. 

Ana opened her mouth to yell, but nothing came out. 

It stopped. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. 

Ana considered herself to be grounded and logical, as a person. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy, she didn’t see the world as she wished it were, and she knew what to believe with her own eye and her own sense of instinct. She had never doubted her senses, before. She was a creature that fully inhabited them, that required them to survive. The day she could no longer assess a situation would be the day she died. 

It nearly had been, years ago. 

But now a prickling doubt hung over her head, that she might be losing touch with those same protective senses, even in the silent darkness of her small apartment. Losing her edge. She had always assumed death would come first. It had for the rest of them. 

But there was no angel of death in the corners of this room, only the silence being broken by the sound of heavy, slow footsteps, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The floor creaked beneath the thing she could not see, and a low groan of pain and deep sorrow came echoed off the walls. 

Ana leapt to her feet, grabbing the knife off the table and exposing the blade. 

“You picked the wrong flat for this.” She growled. “I’ve had enough for today.” 

But the room was so small, Ana could not figure where the creeping, moaning, creaking came from. She looked behind the couch, only to find nothing. Behind her bedroom door, only shadows. Jack’s room had been closed since London, and it was windowless besides. But still the footsteps, and still the creaking, and still the sense of being watched. 

A face. 

Ana jumped into action, slashing at it quickly, sticking the blade where between the ribs would be, and coming up with only shadow and smoke in her hands. The face became a body, and the body took shape, even in the dull lamplight, as real as it was spectral, shimmering in the line between life and death. 

“Who are you?!” she barked, refusing fear. 

The ghost took full form now, a familiar shape against the darkness. “When I was alive, I was your partner. I was your best friend. I was your roommate, Ana. You know me.” 

The ghost glowered and Ana cocked her head slightly. It occurred to her, briefly, that she had also once been dead, but that was a different matter entirely. It couldn’t be. Jack had died in the Battle for London, she had selected how to deal with his body herself, she had seen him taken away and she had gone home to that same empty apartment that they had shared. She knew Jack. She had known Jack for more than 30 years. Jack was dead. These things she knew. 

“Ridiculous.” she spat.  “Impossible.”

And yet, it had to be. She moved closer to him as he looked at her, shaking his head in frustration and irritation at another one of Ana’s petty arguments. He did not wear his visor now, the shattered eyes he had only let her see fully visible in the shimmer of his presence. There were chains coming from him, dragging across his back and binding him, some attached to rocks, some attached to nails, all of them heavy, and hard, and he moved slowly even as he did not stop. 

“Jack? Jack.” Even his name sounded strange in her mouth. 

She nearly reached out to touch him, and then stopped herself. “No. No,” she waved him off, “This isn’t real.” 

There were ideas that were worse than losing your edge. 

He paced around the living room slowly. “Yeah, because you’ve always been a hallucinator. Why would this be fake? You don’t drink. You don’t do drugs.” 

“I buy sushi from Tesco. There’s the reason all itself.” Ana stopped at the side table, and sipped at her tea. “I have some sort of brain tapeworm from a fish. That is all, and I will go to bed, and, that will be all of it.” 

“Ana.” He said in that tone, that tone that was too close to real, that too carefully mimicked his annoyance and affection, “Come on now.” 

Ana sat down at the edge of the couch and looked over the chair near her. “Can you sit?” 

He shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, I can sit.” 

Jack, for lack of another thing to call him, did so, setting himself in the chair he had occupied so many times in life. Ana herself was still unsure that she believed any of it. 

“Chains? How dramatic.” She sipped at her tea, determined to be unruffled, even as a chill hit across her back. 

“I made these chains, and I’m stuck with them. I made them every single time I set myself apart, every time I used my work as an excuse to build a wall,” he indicated to the rock near his foot, “I build this myself, link by link, with my own excuses and my own behavior.” 

Ana leaned back. “Comfortable.”

“Don’t joke, Ana. You should see the chain you’re wearing.” He shook his head. “It’s too late for me, but it doesn’t have to be for you.” 

Ana sat a moment, looking into her tea, considering all that she had seen, considering the things in her life that she knew were impossible and yet were somehow, still possible. This could be so many things. It could be the beginnings of some mental illness. It could be a hallucination borne out of stress or loneliness. It could be the aforementioned Tesco. But it could also be real, and if it were real, than the world at larger had it all wrong about them. 

“You did what you had to do. To save the world. We both did.” She waved a hand and scoffed. “We gave up so much for it, and then they hated us for it. We never got any reprieve.” She leaned toward him, pointing, “We made the sacrifice.” 

Jack gave a weak chuckle. “Did we? Or was it just always easier to fight?” He smiled softly. “We could have had families. We could have...built connections. The crisis ended, but we never stopped being there. We forgot how to be people, me, and you, and Gabe.” 

“I--”

“You were the most important person I had.” Jack rose to his feet. “I’m here to help you. I don’t want this to happen to you.” 

“And how, exactly,” she raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to help me, with all of my supposed problems?” 

“There will be three spirits: The ghosts of Christmas Past, Present--”

She stood up, laughing. “Why Christmas? I don’t even celebrate Christmas. I’ve never celebrated Christmas. I--” 

“It’s for narrative structure, Ana. Call them the ghosts of Last Tuesday Past, I don’t--” 

She crossed her arms. “I don’t know why we need to--” 

He shook his head again, “You will be visited by three spirits, one tonight, at midnight--” 

“I don’t have time for this, have them all come at once, so I can go back to--”

“ANA!” He howled, and raged toward her and the force of it knocked her into the wall, those empty eyes burning, burning like coals in the darkness of his own death, “I am trying to help you! Do you want to die alone? Do you want to be completely separated from every human being? You can live a long time Ana, and start to realize it’s a hell, and all you’ll do is wait, and stare, at visitors that are never coming, and birthdays you’ll never celebrate, and you’ll know,” He pointed his finger in you’re face, “You’ll know! That you put yourself there.” 

“Jack…”

He sighed heavily and plopped into the chair, his hand at his temples. ‘While I was alive, I couldn’t help you, or save you. You were so damn--we--were so damn determined to put walls around ourselves, thick ones, like we were fortresses, and keep everyone else out. And we did a good fucking job, didn’t we? You and me, side by side, shooting down anyone who tried to come over.” He removed his hand but did not look at her, “When I died, who truly mourned me? You?” he chuckled, “Maybe not even that.” 

“I did.” 

She hated herself for saying it, at first, and knowing that it was true, and then there was a second, smaller hate there, one she could not place. 

“Okay. If you say so.” He looked out the window. ‘This isn’t a discussion. You’re going to be visited, and for God’s sake Ana, please just listen. I could never get you to listen. I...that’s all the time I have. Listen.” 

He stood up and stepped toward the window as if not under his own power, drifting more than walking toward the dark London night. Ana stumbled to her feet, confused and angry and afraid, calling after him. 

“Jack? Jack, why can’t you just--Jack!” 

He faded through the window, though Ana knew it to be double tight, and she was left alone in the dark, with but one word, surrounding her and echoing off the walls. 

“Listen.”

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Bloodborne Chain Game

The first chain has been completed! The original prompt has been the following:

Eileen or Djura's thoughts and feelings after they have decided to leave the Hunter's Dream. Please look at the completed art and fics under the cut and be sure to check the writers/artists out:

@thefatladysang​ The moon rises, silvery light dancing upon the field blanketed in white flowers below. Its surface is cracked and pierced by the bare branches of the great tree as it reaches futilely towards the night sky. A soft breeze whispers through the field, sighing between the hundreds of graves that line the hazy edges of the pasture. From elsewhere in the dream, a gate creaks open and a woman in a feathered coat and beaked mask strides through, boots clicking on the cobblestones. She halts at the base of the great tree and looks upwards at the man in the chair. He wheels around, faces her, and a warm smile splits his aged face. 

  “Welcome, Eileen.” If the woman smiles beneath her mask, she doesn’t show it. Her voice is hard and clear as she answers. 

  “The little doll told me you were waiting for me, Gehrman.” Her voice, normally clear and tuneful, is turned harsh by some kind of agitation. The man in the chair nods and doesn’t drop his grin.  

  “You’ve been dreaming for quite a while my dear. Your strength and skills have become quite sharp and I’ve yet to see another Hunter of your caliber.” He replies as serenely as though the two were discussing the weather. Eileen moves closer to him, remains stoic and silent beneath her mask. Gehrman pauses and tilts his head. The smile drops from his face, but there is no admonishment in his gaze, no judgement, only curiosity. “Yet you seem almost reluctant to hunt the beasts themselves…” Eileen stops her stride, now level with Gehrman’s chair. She towers over him and briefly, she wonders why she feels so unnerved by little more than an elderly man confined to a wheelchair. She shrugs, tries to make it look nonchalant and uncaring. 

  “What does it matter? You’ve others who can pick them off.” 

  “But what drew you to hunt the others down in the first place, Eileen?” Even though Gehrman’s voice is still as gentle as a parent scolding a child, Eileen finds her jaw clenching slightly. It’s not due to shame or embarrassment of any form. She does not regret the actions she took back then. She’s positive she made the right choice. 

  “Beasts are beasts.” She replies in a clipped tone. “Once the plague gets to them, they’re little more than animals acting on nothing other than instinct. The Hunters though...” For a moment, Eileen remembers finding corpses of men, women and even children. Always they’d been torn apart yet Eileen could tell which ones fell to claws and teeth and which ones fell to blades. She remembers the baying and howling echoing through the streets of Yharnam, mixing with the high, mad laughter until the sounds blended into a single cacophony. She remembers a time when the feeling of teeth and claws tearing into her with animalistic fury was distinct from the feeling of a saw or axe ripping her apart and she remembers when that dissimilarity grew smaller and smaller until she could no longer tell them apart. Oh yes. Eileen remembers it all and she has to clasp her arms to keep her hands from shaking. She’s seen the beasts that threaten to overrun Yharnam. She’s also seen the slower, quieter beasts; the ones that hid and gnawed the hearts of men: waiting, watching, biding their time until the tiniest spark, the slightest provocation, set them loose to ravage the world and all those with the misfortune to cross their path. She’s seen it, bore witness to it, and the question still eats away at her, even when she squares her shoulders and answers Gehrman’s quizzical stare. 

  “When the Hunters go mad, whose responsibility is it to see them dealt with?”  She expects admonishment, or perhaps a cold, displeased silence. Instead, the smile returns to Gehrman’s face, somehow wider and more brilliant than it had been before as though she’d said exactly what he wanted to hear. He shifts the blanket slightly and draws a short blade from beneath the folds. In all honesty, Eileen’s not certain what she should make of this new weapon. For one, the blade of the sword is thin, twisting, and it almost looks as though it had been forged as two separate pieces of metal that had then been stuck together. For another, it’s small, practically tiny next to the other weapons she’s seen at the workshop so far. There’s no trace of serration on the blades, or anything that would suggest a lengthening mechanism in sight. Such a thing would be ineffective against the beasts; no way it could tear through the hides or muscles of the creatures. Against the soft flesh of a human being however… 

  “I suppose such a burden would fall to you.” And with that, Gerhman extends his arm, offering the small, lethal looking blade. “This dream is meant for those who hunt the beasts, not other Hunters. For you, the night is nearing its end. And now, I will show you mercy.” Eileen pauses at this, fingers extended, about to take the blade from Gerhman’s hands. 

  “Mercy?” He brings his hands and the weapon back into his lap as his smile takes on a melancholic, almost rueful color. 

  “You will awake beneath the morning sun, freed from this terrible Hunter’s Dream.” He answers. “Free to flee Yharnam and seek out a peaceful existence elsewhere, if you so desire. Or, perhaps, you would prefer to pursue beasts truly befitting the Hunter of Hunters.” He tilts his head yet again, keeps his hands in his lap and awaits her answer. “Do you accept?” The blade in Gehrman’s lap glints in the bright light of the moon as though echoing his question. She wants to accept. She can’t see why she *shouldn’t* accept such an offer. *freed from this terrible dream,* he’d said. Freed from the dream. 

  If she was free from the dream, then… 

  If she could no longer dream, then… 

  “If I no longer dream, I won’t be able to return here should I perish, will I.” It’s only for a moment, but Gehrman falters slightly, as though he hadn’t expected her to catch on to that. When he opens his mouth, close to a minute later, Eileen nearly expects a lie or a half truth. Instead, he replies with frank honesty.  “No. You will not return.” He leans forward, eyes piercing her. “But you will forget. The horror remains, burned into your memory, but even that fades. Should you flee Yharnam, you will come to regard the events of the night as little more than a bad dream after a time.” Little more than a bad dream. That almost sounded like the worst outcome to Eileen. If she forgot, if she could no longer dream, what would become of her mission? Her ideals? If she was to hunt the other Hunters, why would she want to leave the city? 

  “And should I remain in Yharnam?” Her own words give her pause; if she remained in Yharnam, not in the Dream, but in the city itself. Across from her, Gehrman answers.  “Then the dream and the horror will forever haunt your memories until the end of your days.” He leans back slightly and the moonlight catches on the blades once again, throwing silver sharply into Eileen's eyes. “The decision is yours alone, I will not begrudge you either way.” For a moment, his words tumble over her ears and she almost asks what would become of her if she refuses, if she desires to remain in the dream. However, something stays her tongue. Perhaps it's little more than disinterest in the answer. Perhaps it's because she's come to know Gehrman in the long night of the Hunt and she knows that this is his request disguised as a choice. For a moment, the two of them seem almost the same to Eileen; both offerers and dispatchers of a swift, merciful death. And with a small chill trickling down her spine, Eileen realizes what Gehrman intends to do to her if she refuses his mercy. 

  It matters not. She's already made her decision. 

  Eileen steps forward and reaches out to grasp the handle of the short blade in her hand. Gehrman makes no move to stop her. She turns and kneels, but does not bow her head. She is not ashamed, grief or regret does not weigh on her heart. From somewhere behind her, Eileen hears the sound of creaking wood, footsteps over the hard ground, and the metallic ringing of another, longer blade being drawn. Her gaze remains ahead, even as the scythe looms in the corner of her vision, even when Gehrman draws it back slowly, carefully, she grips the handle of her weapon and remains steady. 

  “Good luck, my keen Hunter.” 

  The scythe descends and the last thing Eileen sees of the dream is the immense moon hung high in the east above the field of white flowers. 

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Light flickers across Eileen's closed eyelids as a strange warmth envelops her limbs. She sits up, blinks the fog away from her eyes, and has to pause for a moment before realizing what she sees. It hadn't been moonlight earlier, it had been the sun. She can't quite recall the last time she'd seen it. Slowly, as though moving to greet an old friend, Eileen stands and is startled when a metallic clang sounds from the ground beside her. She looks down, sees the glare of sunlight glinting off the small sword that had fallen out of her lap when she stood. In the distance, the bells of Yharnam peal as the sun climbs higher in the sky after what felt like a long night and Eileen bends and clasps the grip of the little sword. 

  "What curious dreams…"  @dragonbasket​

@palepious​ As the sun descended on the sky, disappearing behind the tall towers of churches and snow covered tops of mountains as if wanting to averd it’s gaze from the slaughter to come and hiding away until it was over. The city was painted in bloody reds, as if it was already covered in blood and flames, really made one want to hide away, cover one's eyes and ears and pray for the nightmare to end. If Eileen had been someone else, she probably would have done the same, but alas nights like these were the time when she really came to life, her gruesome duty becoming ever so important. Who would her prey be tonight? Which one of her former comrades and friends would she have to cut down today for public good? Whatever that meant at this point, after all Yharnam was as decrepit as a city could ever become. To be honest she wouldn’t be surprised at this point if her former rival and then partner  would appear out of the blue to say hello and possibly bury a few bullets in her. Yet creeping through the narrow and dirty streets was as natural to Eileen as breathing at this point, having spent so long chasing after prey in the dark, one learns the city’s layout pretty fast. The few Yharnamites that crossed her way were smart enough to scurry away after seeing her, prolonging their pitiful life for a little. Those poor sods could hardly be called humans at this point, with arms as hairy as a dogs and limbs that looked like crooked sticks that a child had glued the fallen hairs of the family dog to it… and that beautiful image paired with the smell of unwashed armpits and vomit. Just lovely. Eileen decided to walk her usual round for nights like these, stalking the streets of central Yharnam and slowly but surely closing in on the secret pathway into Cathedral ward. She could just use the great bridge, but it was too much open space and was probably inhabited by some large beast, which if possible she would very much like to avoid.  Like death incarnate she swept through the alleys, vigilant and on the look for her prey - though it seemed like tonight might be calmer than she had anticipated aside from diseased and crazed Yharnamites she encountered barely anything that was worth her notice. Of course, she cut the unfortunate beasts down that decided that the raven clad woman would be it’s dinner. But she couldn’t help but think that it was too quiet for a night of the hunt. Of course the villagers screamed their curses at the church and burned some mutt like creature that hadn’t scurried away fast enough. But the telltale sounds of the hunt that she was used to were missing. Where were the heavy footsteps? The eardrum ripping sound of guns being fired at a rapid pace, blades ripping away at flesh and the pained screams of beasts. Were there no other hunters aside from her tonight? Nonsense, it must have been because the sun hadn’t even set yet. Yes, that must be why. Soon enough she would hear Gascoignes roaring and the squelching of a poor beast that made acquaintance with the business end of his axe or gun. She hummed along to the faint melody of a melody box that played faintly from a distance while making her way to the spot she usually stayed at until the night unfolded completely and her prey came undone truly for her to reap. The dogs threw themself against the rusty bars of their cages, barking and yapping at her to no avail. One day these mangy and sick mutts might break out and maul an unfortunate soul, Eileen thought to herself while skipping over  some barrels disguising the entrance to the overlook of the main hall of the sewer hall.  Almost  completely turned Yharnamites growled up at her, but made no attempt to get to her. Which in the end was better for both parties, they could live until another hunter showed up and she didn’t have to bother. The smell of incense filled her nostrils after lighting the small lantern she had stored on the balcony like space between looming the houses, overlooking the canal that led to Cathedral Ward. The sun painted the sky such a beautiful red, she mused to herself, too bad not a sane unsoiled soul could admire the artwork that the sky had become at this hour. Well Eileen could but that was beside the point. A screech, that was in no way human, came from the great bridge and Eileen once again was glad she used this route. Yet some poor soul would have to take care of that beast, but alas once the moon would rise the hunters shouldn’t be far. Steps closing in on her tipped the huntress out of her musings, with the weight of the sound she expected to see Henryk, but alas it was a hunter she had never seen before. The clothes were terribly inappropriate for a night like this and clearly looked like those of an outsider. Which matched the confused look of horror on the hunters face, oh yes this poor soul had no idea what was going on and probably had questions running out of their ears. But they had come this far so they were a hunter, maybe even one sent by the moon… the thought made Eileen smile in pity under her mask. “Oh, a hunter, are ya? And an outsider?…” @maskofconfusion​

@lordmarble​​ Ever since the Good Hunter awoke to the nightmare here in Yharnam, they’ve had chills crawling up their spine, like writhing centipedes, injecting their terrorizing venom through goosebumps and making their blood run ice cold.  It’s not the hunt. They’ve been handed a weapon, a firearm, and a cheat for death itself. No reason to be afraid of a beast, not with the bloodletting teeth of their Saw Cleaver, and especially not with the dream they’re tethered to. But something is wrong. Something is watching them, and every time they look over their shoulder, nothing but shadows. A few beasts have snuck up on them before, but this… this is different. Sinister, even. Everything the Good Hunter has encountered so far had murderous intent, so why is this so…?  Pulling their foreign garb’s hood further over their face, masking the overwhelming stench of blood radiating around them, the Good Hunter makes their way towards the aqueduct, as Gilbert said to reach the Cathedral Ward. But an out of place window catches their eye, hidden behind boxes and barrels, and their curiosity lures them to rotting rafters that they have to tread lightly on. Below them, they can see beasts and giant rats lurking about, and so the Good Hunter chooses to only look ahead of themselves. The wood creaks with every step, groaning with age. They let out a huge sigh of relief when they reach a deck jutting out of the stone walls. They spot an entryway off to the side and hastily make their way there.  A balcony is now within sight, and there stands a person; dressed entirely in a black Crowfeather garb that reaches to the ground. A white, beaked mask rests on their face, devoid of expression. The Good Hunter hesitates, reaching for their Saw Cleaver and waiting for this person to react. Neither of them make a move.  The masked hunter turns their head towards the Good Hunter. They freeze up, that sinister crawling feeling from before comes back full swing, striking through their body in cold waves. Their heart pounds in their chest as they find themselves choked by their own adrenaline. They hold their hand over their chest, steadying their breath.  The masked hunter speaks, her voice smooth, leveled, and foreign in accent, “Oh? A hunter, are you? And an outsider?” The Good Hunter jolts. They nod swiftly as they ease up a bit. For the most part, it seems that this feather-clad person means no harm… But why hasn’t that dreadful feeling lifted from the Good Hunter’s consciousness?  The feather-clad hunter shakes her head, her arms crossed curtly. “What a mess you’ve been caught up in…”  The Good Hunter catches a glint beneath the hunter’s garb. A shine of metal like no other. The Good Hunter stiffens, and then…  “And tonight, of all nights.”  They whip their head around, eyes wide with shock. All they see is a flash of black and white, and just barely they fall beneath the swing of a blood-soaked blade. Another flash of black rushes before them, and the clang of metal rings throughout the air, like a foreboding bell chimed by Death itself. The Crowfeather hunter has locked blades with this new hunter. A helmet covers his entire face and a silver ponytail flows out from behind. Like the Crowfeather hunter, he too wears the same garb, its softness contrasted by the sharp, angled armor covering his legs and arms.  As quickly as the monochrome hunters reacted to each other, they stepped back and rushed at each other in the blink of an eye. The Good Hunter scrambles for the barrels strewn about and hides behind one of them. They peek out from behind the flimsy barrels, and not a peep escapes their throat. “How many times do I have to tell you, Bloody Crow,” The Crowfeather hunter says with a level voice, “you were only to hunt those who have gone mad!” She jumps aside, narrowly avoiding a gunshot from the new hunter.  The hunter apparently named Bloody Crow laughs aloud, laced with malice. It sends more shivers down the Good Hunter’s spine. They’re so shaken in their boots that they overlook the ridiculous implication that his mother really named him Bloody Crow. The Bloody Crow slashes his blade and nicks his opponent’s mask, “Ha! Can you blame me for going after such easy prey, Eileen?!”  The Good Hunter’s stomach twists in shame. They want to scream and say otherwise, but each strike makes them flinch.  Eileen dashes around the Bloody Crow and stabs him in the back, but not before he retaliates by firing his pistol as he turns around. The bullet pierces her thigh and she stumbles backwards towards the entryway.  She has no choice but to back up further to the rotting rafters as the Bloody Crow rushes her with a swift chop, feathers go flying as they’re cut free from Eileen’s garb. They float down to the sewers below and become indistinguishable from the muck. The Bloody Crow pulls the trigger and fires at Eileen’s feet. It blasts splinters into the air and causes the wood to snap beneath her weight. Just before the rafters collapse into the sewers below, Eileen leaps for one of the many chained corpses randomly hanging from the ceiling, and uses her momentum to swing onto a platform sticking out of the wall. The Bloody Crow is quick to react and fires away steps ahead of Eileen. This time, the bullet goes straight through her shin… and she falls. Eileen stabs her Blade of Mercy into the wood and hangs on for dear life. She struggles to climb back up, and the moment she gets her hand back on the platform, she hisses in pain as the Bloody Crow crushes her fingers with his heel.  “Why are you doing this?” Eileen growls between her teeth, “I practically raised you. I taught you everything you know! All I ask is one thing from you and you can’t even do that!”  The Bloody Crow kneels down. “Raised me? Everything I know? Wrong, and wrong again. Stop putting yourself on your foolish, imaginary pedestal of self importance!” Grinding his boot into her hand, he grumbles, “You only found me on the streets after I escaped the Executioners, as an adult, mind you. And you didn’t teach me how to use my blood arts either.”  “You would have died out there if I didn’t take you in. And who taught you how to tread without a sound when you couldn’t sneak up on a beast!? Who taught you how to throw a goddamn knife with your trembling hands!?” Then Eileen’s gets low, venomous. “There’s a reason why your sorry arse ran away from your people who needed you most. You. Were. Weak.” Angered at her words, the Bloody Crow stands up and crushes his foot down with the force of a raging bull. He listens to the sound of her phalanges snapping and her scream ripping through her throat with glee. He stays silent to take in the noise for a moment, and then speaks low, almost dangerously calm. “I may have been weak before, but look at me now, thanks to you. And I am grateful for that, Eileen. Truly. But I don’t owe you shit.” “You don’t owe me shit?!” Eileen shouts and kicks her leg in an attempt to swing back up. “You would be dead if it weren’t for me, and now you betray me because you can’t hold back your damned bloodlust?! How dare you claim that you’re not weak anymore, when you only go after the weak yourself!” The Bloody Crow scoffs. “It’s fun to see the fear bubbling over in my prey. Besides. I never wanted to follow your path as some mindless slave, bound to only killing ‘mad’ hunters. You should have stuck to that foolish oath and killed me the moment you laid eyes on me. And look at what you’ve done because you felt sorry for a monster like me, now you’re dangling above some filthy sewers where you belong, like the pathetic piece of shit you are—!!!” A Saw Cleaver comes striking down at him from behind, bringing him crumbling to his knees. The Bloody Crow’s foot slid off Eileen’s hand, slick from the blood seeping from her gauntlet.  The Good Hunter, through that killer instinct that was once locked away in their blood, thrusts their fist into the Bloody Crow’s back in one smooth motion. He gasps, “W-What…!?”  A spray of crimson goes flying along with the Bloody Crow as the Good Hunter yanks their arm out of his chest. He’s thrown into the sewers many meters below by the sheer force of that visceral attack. A massive splash follows, and the malformed beasts below turn their heads in curiosity.  Breathing heavily, shakily, the Good Hunter looks down at Eileen, offering her a hand. She gratefully accepts and is hoisted up with uneasy arms.  “...That wasn’t necessary of you, but you have my thanks,” She says between heavy exhales, “We barely made it with our lives. You’re not bad at all…” The Good Hunter looks down at where the Bloody Crow fell. He’s gone, a trail of bloody footprints climbing up the sides of the aqueduct. She looks down as well and shakes her head. “I genuinely don’t think you’ll be able to take him on as you are right now, so forget about it. He’s more vicious than any beast you’ll ever fight. I would know.” The Good Hunter’s shoulders slump in defeat. They then point to Eileen’s hand and leg. She sighs, “Oh, these? Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse than a broken hand and a bullet in me.” Concern flashes in the Good Hunter’s eyes, then confusion as Eileen chuckles. “I’ll just take some blood for now, but I appreciate your compassion. That is not something I see in Yharnam anymore. But be careful, kind acts don’t always end well…”  After hearing that heated argument between her and the Bloody Crow, they certainly believe that statement. The Good Hunter merely shrugs in response, though. They turn to drop down safely to the aqueduct, but Eileen speaks again. “Before you go, I must warn you not to go near the tomb below Oedon Chapel. Father Gascoigne, an old hunter, has gone mad with the beastly scourge. And he’s. My. Mark.”  Something glints in the Good Hunter’s eyes. Brimming with a newfound confidence, they hop on down and make their way to Oedon tomb. Eileen reflexively reaches up to pinch the ridge of her brow in annoyance, but she forgets that she’s wearing a mask. She also forgets that her left hand has been shattered like porcelain. “Argh…” She clutches it tenderly before reaching into her pockets for a blood vial.  Eileen limps back to the dock where she was loitering about earlier. She couldn’t let her pride crumble in front of that new hunter, even if they kindly offered her help. She slumps against the barrels, sighs, and tends to her stinging wounds. Taking off her mask for a breath of fresh air, she clears her mind and muses to herself. That hunter, although they were trembling in their boots, saved her and went on to where her next target is. And, they went alone, knowing that the monster she nurtured isn’t too far away. She worries for their safety, but that confidence the hunter walked away with puts her mind at ease. Perhaps they will survive this terrible nightmare, or perhaps they won’t.  Either way, Eileen has a feeling this is not the last time they will see the new hunter. 

[selenes-sun]

Not Again//

George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Request: Angst prompts #5-6 for George Weasely x Reader pretty please? I love your writing ahhhhh By: @thoseofgreatambition

5. “Don’t worry; it hurts a little less each time.”

6. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Masterlist

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I haven’t been in the mood to write recently but I’m back at it again and requests are still open! I hope you guys enjoy <3

Key- (Y/n)= Your name   (Y/n/n)= Your nickname   Italics= Flashback

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“I love you,” I said, looking up at George. It was well into the night and we were both cuddling in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. There were only a few people in there but a lot of other students were getting ready for bed themselves.

George looked down at me with love in his eyes and I smiled a gentle smile in return. He leaned down to give me a peck on the lips and pulled away only for me to pull him back into a deeper kiss.

“I love you too, (y/n/n),” I cuddled closer into his side and he wrapped his arms around me to get more comfortable. We stayed there for most of the night, staring at the fire and occasionally cracking jokes and flirting with each other.

I yawned and stretched my arms over my head while he just chuckled at me. My eyes got droopy and I was ready to fall asleep right then and there. “Ok, off to bed you go,” he said, getting ready to get up.

“No. I’m not tired, I want to stay here with you,” I said with a pout. He only let out a small laugh at my response and picked me up in his arms and stood up. “Noooo, George, I want to stay here with you,” I whined at him.

“No, you’re going to bed and I’m taking you,” he said refusing to give in. Then in my sleepy state, I had a brilliant idea. I looked up at him with innocent eyes and he looked down at me with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “What do you want now?”

“Well, what if I slept with you tonight, then, in that case, I’ll be going to sleep and we’ll be together, happy ending for all of us,” I said with a cheeky smile. He shook his head with a laugh escaping his lips and started to walk up the stairs to his dorm.

I cheered at my small victory and let out another yawn much to George’s amusement. Soon enough we were up in his dorm and getting ready for bed, not before saying a few I love you’s to each other though.

I smiled at the memory and walked up to his dorm with a skip in my step. I was bringing him up his gift for our one year anniversary and I couldn’t be more excited about what we had planned. What I hadn’t planned though, was to find a moaning Angelina Johnson in bed with George.

I let out a squeal of surprise and dropped his gift that was in my hands only moments before. They both looked up at me at the sudden sound and quickly broke apart from their former activities. 

I seemed to be frozen in shock and didn’t break out of it until I felt Angelina scurry past me and saw George walk up to me and gently brush his hand against my face. I felt the strong urge to slap him and also break down in tears all at the same time.

“(Y/n/n), it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” George pleaded, coming up to me. I felt him brush away a tear and that’s when I realized that I started crying. I slowly walked backward, away from him, trying to put as much distance between us as I could.

“Don’t worry; it hurts a little less each time,” I said, wiping my tears away from my face and turning away ready to run down to stairs. I barely got a few steps from my previous spot before feeling him grab my arm and turning me to face him once again.

“(Y/n/n), please, I didn’t mean it, I swear it was a mistake, I won’t do it again,” he pleaded, he honestly seemed like he was about to get on his knees and beg. I pulled my arm from his grip and gave him a furious glare before finally deciding to slap him across the face.

“Don’t call me that! You probably should’ve thought everything through before deciding to cheat on me,” I said furiously. “And with Angelina out of all people, did you even remember that today was our one year anniversary?”

At this, he stopped, frozen in shock at the realization. I backed away once again, feeling nervous for some odd reason. “Oh, and by the way, we’re done.”

I turned to walk away once again, except this time he didn’t stop me. The last thing I saw was him picking up the present that I dropped on the floor. I left him stranded in his own dorm and tried keeping my cool, at least until I got to the bottom of the stairs. 

As soon as I was sure I was out of his sight and his earshot I ran out of the common room and down to the black lake, bumping into multiple people along the way. On my way, I ran into Fred and he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong (y/n/n)?” I felt a fresh wave of tears streaming down my face and a choked sob escaped my throat before I could stop it. “Woah there, did I do something wrong?”

I shook my head and looked up at his face, trying to steady my breathing enough to let out a few words. “G-George and Ange-Angelina, together,” I managed to stutter out. I saw Fred’s face contort into one of anger but I ran off again to my original destination before he could say anything.

When I finally got down to the Black Lake I sat down and leaned against a random tree, letting everything out. The fact that George knew how my past relationships had gone hurt more. He knew that my past boyfriends had cheated on me too.

He knew because he wasn’t always my boyfriend, he was my best friend before he asked me out. I told him everything, I always went to him about my problems. Now, I couldn’t go to anyone, because the one person that I could tell my problems to is my problem.

I was there for most of my afternoon and I saw people walking by giving me either weird looks or looks of pity and sympathy. I decided to skip dinner and walked up to my dorm feeling exhausted after all the wasted tears.

The rest of the year passed by quickly after that. I was glad it was my final year, it made it easier to detach myself from everybody. I was constantly tired and just let myself focus on my studies. For once, glad that I would be leaving Hogwarts.

***

It had been years after the war and I was glad that things were slowly coming back to normal. I walked around Diagon Alley, smiling at the people around me and giving small nods at people I passed.

I was looking ahead of me and I must’ve spaced out because I bumped into someone in front of me. “Oh my goodness, I am so sor-” I looked up and saw George Weasley staring down at me. I snapped out of my daze. “I’m sorry.” I backed away and started walking again.

“(Y/n), how are you?” he asked, I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at him once again.

“I- I’m fine, I guess, how are you though? I heard about Fred,” his face seemed to harden at the last part and I knew I probably shouldn’t have said anything.

“It’s going ok, I guess, I’m still running the shop,” 

My face lit up at the mention of his shop. “How is that going by the way?” I asked curiously.

“It’s good, business is going well, it’s good to see the happiness on people’s faces again,” he said, his face lighting up slightly.

“That’s good, that’s good. Are you in any sort of relationship?” he froze at my question and I thought I might’ve said too much. “You don’t have to answer that, that was probably too personal, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re fine, I’m still single, haven’t had the time I guess, how about you though?”

“The truth is, I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you,” His face turned to one of confusion and I averted my gaze before I spoke again. “I still love you, George, I never stopped.”

“I- I never stopped loving you either,” George declared after a few moments of silence. I looked at him with wide eyes and he gave me a nervous smile. “(Y/n), will you go out with me again?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t, George I love you, really, but you broke my trust, I don’t think I can go through that again.” He looked crestfallen at my response but I walked away before he could say anything because I didn’t want to fall deeper. I couldn’t go through it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Harry Potter Tag List: @angelinathebook @bithnumber1 @emmaloo21​ @mischiefsemimanaged @blackpinkdolan @teenagereadersciencenerd @obsessedwithrandomthings

[angelinasway]

Regaining Hope

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers

Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

[TTH]  [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: I should first say that this takes place about eight and a half years after the first arc of the Season 8 Buffy Comics, however I’m only using aspects of cannon. The back story will not follow the comics as you will be able to see pretty quickly in this chapter. Secondly, I actually really do love Lois so please don’t bash me for being self-indulgent by wanting to see my two favorite Superheroes get together. I can promise you all that there will be no Lois bashing in this fic. Thirdly, as far as Clark’s story goes it follows Man Of Steel so if you’ve seen the movie you know his story. Thanks for giving this a chance I hope you all enjoy reading. Also thank you to my wonderful beta Hipkarma for giving this chapter a look for me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Chapter One

Buffy lurched as the helicopter made touchdown onto the ice. She closed her eyes briefly, mentally preparing herself for what was sure to be a battle of wills between her and one Colonel Hardy. She hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet, but just by his photo she could tell he was going to be a pain in the ass. There wasn’t much love lost between the Watchers Council and the U.S military. Not since Maggie Walsh and the Initiative, and certainly not since General Voll. The Governments of the world as a whole always seemed to have a really bad habit of sticking their noses in things they just didn't understand, hence why she was here in the freezing Canadian Arctic in the first place. Willow had created a program that had been monitoring all military chatter since Voll decided to commandeer Amy and a skinlessly resurrected Warren to attack the W.C. Headquarters in Scotland. That had been almost ten years ago, and since then Buffy had been dealing with countless other countries attempting to harness power or create weapons out of a force that they just didn’t seem to understand could never be controlled. The U.S however, had managed to keep their noses pretty clean since General Voll, even going as far as to work with her and ask for her help when needed. That’s why it was such a surprise to find out that they had found something buried in the snow that predated civilization and were trying to keep it under wraps. Especially from the W.C. And to make matters worse, she was just coming off a week-long mission from hell. Just last week she caught Russia restarting their subspecies research facility and when the shit had finally hit the fan, she had been forced to send in a team resulting in the deaths of two of her girls. After that, she and Wesley had spent the next day getting a hold of the girl’s families, which of course left her holding a big-ol-bag of guilt and the nightmares and sleepless nights to go along with it. So, to say she was cranky and pissed to hear about the U.S. keeping stuff from her would have been an understatement. She was furious! However, she was also willing to give them the benefit of the doubt that maybe this actually wasn’t her jurisdiction. The Helicopter door slid open pulling her from her mental preparation. She blinked when her eyes met a pair of startlingly brilliant blues, surrounded by a handsomely rugged face, and scruffy beard. A green baseball cap adorned his head, hiding what she assumed from the few strands that were messily poking out of the brim was hair so brown it was almost black. He was probably somewhere in his mid-twenties, though on second inspection his eyes held the maturity of someone closer to her age. “Here let me help you.” He said loudly, so his voice could be heard over the whirling of the propeller and the grind of the engine. He held out a large gloved hand as she undid her seat belt and stood on unsteady legs. Her own gloved hand reaching for the strangers. As soon as her hand touched his however, she gasped, almost recoiling in fear, her inner Slayer rearing her head at the sudden sensation of power. And wow, was it powerful. She had never sensed anything like what was behind this man’s strong grip in all her years of slaying. It didn’t feel mystical in nature and it certainly wasn’t demonic. It was almost foreign, as if it didn’t belong here. Strength knew strength however, no matter where it originated from and her Slayer sensed him with a voraciousness that she had never experienced before. She felt a bit light headed and weak kneed by the sensation, and she had to shake her head to clear it of the roaring in her ears. Her eyes shot to his, widening in bewilderment and for a split second he had the look of a dear caught in the headlights. It was gone the next instant though, and a mask of a charmingly shy and unassuming guy replaced it. ‘Quick reflexes then, and someone who’s used to hiding in plain sight.’ The look worked well on him and she admired the quick cover. Only someone who had been living a double life could pull off a cover like that. Regardless of her admiration though, she needed to know if this guy was a threat or not. Especially with the way her Slayer was chomping at the bit and her heart pounding in her ears. So, she squeezed his hand slightly harder than she’d ever dare on someone human, just to let him know he wasn’t the only one standing there that was something other. It had the desired effect, though the fact that he didn’t wince was a little unnerving. His eyes shot to hers as she passed him, an innocent mixture of awe, curiosity, and fear burning in his irises. She knew then. He was no threat to her. The eyes were the windows to the soul and there was no doubt this man or whatever he was, had one. Plus, there was no way anyone could pull off a look that full of innocence if they had nefarious intentions. She removed her hand, breaking the overstimulation to her senses. She tried her best to cover what she had just felt by giving him a brilliant smile and winking conspiratorially. “Normally I would be worried about anyone carrying my bags considering how heavy they are, but something tells me it’s not gonna be a problem with you.” “Buffy Summers?” A new voice asked, distracting her from her assessment of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Muscular. She turned to meet the kind eyes of another man not much older than herself. "Hi." She said in greeting, reaching her hand out to shake. "Jed Eubanks, Arctic Cargo, nice to finally meet you, Miss Summers." Buffy raised an eyebrow in surprise, side eyeing Mr. Powerful for any reaction. "You heard of me?" She asked, watching the stranger’s reaction. When all she got was a look of curiosity and befuddlement her hackles finally lowered enough to completely believe that whatever or whoever he was didn’t have to do with her being here. Eubanks grinned, commanding her full attention as he said, “Little more than that, I was stationed in Afghanistan about five years ago. My chopper went down near Baghaln.” Buffy winced. “I remember that, a terrorist organization had commissioned hellhounds and were feeding their hostages to them.” “Saw you fighting that day.” He nodded. “Never seen anything like it in my life.” He paused, almost as if he was gathering up the courage to continue. “I was next in line you know, if it wasn’t for you and yours, I’d have been dog chow. I never got the chance to thank you for saving my life Miss Summers.” Buffy smiled softly at the man. It had been a while since she’d been thanked so sincerely. She linked her arm with his. “Call me Buffy, I’m sure I’m gonna have Miss Summers shouted at me enough today to give me flashbacks of high school.” Eubanks laughed. “Well, least you know you got one person rooting for you.” Buffy’s eyes traveled back to the mysterious stranger, who had been watching them with rapt attention. Questions, fear, and confusion still simmering in his eyes. She imagined it was very much similar to the look she was giving him, curiosity brimming over like an over flowing stream. She gave him a small nod of acknowledgment, hoping he understood it was her way of saying they would speak later, before she turned back to Jed and plastered on a huge smile. “Now show me where this camp is. The sooner I get this over with, the happier I’ll be.”

******

Clark watched the young blonde woman walk away with Jed, his heart galloping in his chest. She knew. Somehow, she was able to sense he was different. Part of him was horrified at the prospect of her walking into the basecamp below and announcing to the entire camp what and who he was. It was an old fear, one that had guided him and comforted him on cold lonely nights. If he just kept disappearing, no one would ever know the truth. Another part of him however, was beyond curious about her. How could she sense him like that, was she an alien too? When she squeezed his hand earlier it hadn’t hurt, but had he been a normal man it very well may have fractured a bone or two, and he doubted she just went around breaking people’s bones for the fun of it. No, she had definitely been testing his strength, which begged the question, how did she get hers? The military seemed to know her pretty well however, and even Jed himself had encountered her five years ago in Afghanistan. Which almost seemed impossible, because she really didn’t look much older than twenty-two. God, she was beautiful though, with those bright green eyes that looked older and far more tired than someone her age should be allowed to be. She was just the kind of girl he would have only dreamed of asking out when he was younger. He shook his head, finally forcing his eyes away from her retreating form, but keeping his hearing locked on her until he was sure he wouldn’t have to make a sudden and quick exit. He reached for the two duffle bags she brought with her, the first one pretty light and obviously full of clothes and toiletries. The second one however, was quite heavy and when he heard the sound of metal clanging against metal, he did a quick scan of the items in her bag and almost recoiled in shock. It was like a medieval arsenal in there, three sharp looking swords, a wicked looking red and silver axe, six daggers, four sharp looking wooden stakes, two flasks filled with some type of fluid, a cross, two pistols, a shotgun, and a pair of night vision goggles. ‘Who is this girl!’

******

“Colonel Hardy I presume.”  Buffy said with a saccharine smile, holding out her hand to shake. Not at all surprised when he didn’t return the greeting. She then turned to the elderly gentlemen to his right. Her smile softening in recognition. “Dr. Hamilton, how many times do we have to run into each other before I can convince you to ditch these macho elitists and come work for me.” “Miss Summers, always a pleasure.” He said with an amused smile, side eyeing Hardy’s annoyed frown. “I wasn’t aware that you had clearance for this project?” Colonel Hardy said a little too arrogantly.   Buffy’s smile grew, oh she was going to love putting this man in his place. “Oh, you wouldn’t, orders went through about,” She looked at her watch. “thirty minutes ago. You should probably be getting a call from General Swanwick any minute now.” Just as predicted, a young soldier came through the door the next second and Buffy couldn’t help the smug smile that crossed her lips. "Sir, General Swanwick is on SATCOM." It was immediate. The look of self-assurance morphed into pure annoyance within the span of mere seconds, and it was worth every bit of discomfort she was sure to receive in the next few days of her stay. Sure enough, Hardy did not disappoint. He excused himself and as he passed the officer he said, "Please ready Miss Summers accommodations and make sure they're as sparse as possible." Buffy chuckled in amusement, looking at Dr. Hamilton with a conspiratorial twinkle. "If he thinks making me crap in a bucket is gonna offend my delicate sensibility, he's mistaken." The Doctor chuckled, "I wasn't aware you had a delicate bone in your body Miss Summers." She snorted, "I hide it well." Her eyes then traveled to the scientific equipment obviously used for monitoring the anomaly. "So why don't you bring me up to speed on this find of yours, before Hardy comes back and attempts to make my life a living hell." Dr. Hamilton shook his head, leading her over to a computer screen with what looked to be a satellite image. "You do seem to enjoy ruffling their feathers." “Well, what can I say, never been much of a fan of authoritarianism. Also, not exactly easy to trust an entity that’s tried to have you killed more than once.” Buffy said, as she leaned over to get a better look at the dark blob like shape covered by layers of snow and ice. “So, what am I looking at? An Old Ones sarcophagus?” “We don’t believe its demonic in origin.” Dr. Hamilton stated. Buffy frowned in confusion, “But weren’t the samples of ice taken around the object more than twenty thousand years old? If it’s not demonic, what the hell do you think it is?” “A vessel Miss Summers,” Colonel Hardy said, walking back in the room. “A vessel not of this world.” Buffy blinked and turned around. “When you say not of this world, I’m assuming you mean…” Hardy’s smirk was patronizing. “That’s right Miss Summers, extraterrestrials. A spaceship. A topic I might add, that you know absolutely nothing about.” Buffy rolled her eyes, “Oh, as if you do.” “I know more than you Miss Summers.” Hardy responded indignantly. Buffy snorted in derision, her lip curling at this man’s stupidity. “So, what happens if you dig this thing up and you’ve got a violent alien that’s been sleeping in stasis for the last twenty thousand years?” Buffy shook her head. “Furthermore, I’ve seen Alien. What if the aliens inside crash landed on earth because a giant fucking Xenomorph is inside?” “I can assure you Miss Summers we’re taking every…” Buffy threw her arms in the air. Finally losing her patience. It looked like she was the one who was actually going to be doing the yelling today. This was just so typical, as if she didn’t have enough on her plate with Russia and Sudan creating their own Initiative-like secret facilities. “The fuck you are!” She shouted. “See this is the problem with you guys,” she pointed. “This is what happens, this is always what happens!” She started to pace, her fists clenched at her sides, uncaring of the sudden wary looks she was receiving by both Dr. and Colonel, as well as the few other scientists and soldiers in the room. “You discover something…for instance that demons and monsters exist, and instead of just killing it or leaving it the hell alone, you gotta study it, dissect it, see how it works, until eventually you’re trying to harness its power for yourselves!” She shook her head in disgust, “And do you wanna know who always has to clean up the mess? Me,” She pressed her fist against her chest, “It’s always me.” Her voice softened then, a sigh whistling between her teeth as her eyes locked on both a flabbergasted Dr. Hamilton and Colonel Hardy. Okay, maybe she went a little to far there. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame them for the previous week. “It’s not…If I was only dealing with this kinda stuff once in a while I wouldn’t be so cranky. I apologise for insinuating anything about anyone in this room.” She shook her head. “It’s just every single country on earth has their fingers in the demonic cesspool one way or another and I’m getting really sick of doing damage control on top of all my other Slayer duties, not to mention the lovely annual apocalypse that never really takes a vacation. Throw aliens in the mix now and the fact that I haven’t slept very well in a week and yeah, Buffy’s stress level just hit a new high.” Colonel Hardy’s disposition seemed to soften slightly at her words and he stepped forward, “I heard about Russia and am very sorry for your loss.” He sighed, “But we aren’t them, Miss Summers. I’m willing to play ball. Please let me be the first to promise, if we find anything that could be deemed even slightly dangerous as far as alien lifeforms go, we will hand it over to you immediately, without question.” She chewed on his words for a moment, figuring this was the best she was going to get as far as cordial cooperation went, and figured she throw out an olive branch so he knew she really wasn’t trying to step on his toes. “Yeah,” Buffy agreed, sighing with a nod. “Yeah, okay. And if it’s really just a ship I have no problem with giving you free rein on any alien technology you find. Just…just do me a favor, don’t make me regret this by killing us all with it.” Hardy cracked a smile then, “Alright Miss Summers, I think I can agree to that.” And surprisingly enough, he held out his hand to make it official.

****

Clark was more than impressed with the young woman who had pretty much wormed her way into his heart without her even knowing it. She was feisty as all hell; he'd heard her entire conversation and had been caught chuckling to himself a few times. Considering how quiet and reserved he normally was, the other guys on the crew were probably thinking he'd gone insane. There were a few things that were talked about that confused him however. Like her speaking about demons and monsters like they exist. Though, considering the fact that he existed, he wasn't all that surprised there could be something out there that was possibly a greater threat than even himself. He was just surprised he'd never run into anything of the sort before, especially considering how long he'd been traveling. Then again, he never really actively sought out situations where he was a savior, those situations usually just kind of found him. Buffy however, spoke as if she had been doing these types of things regularly for years. So much so, that not only was the military aware of her, but they had deemed her a threat on more than one occasion. He could certainly relate to that, for he knew if they had any idea of what he could do, they would do everything in their power to either try and kill him or use him as a weapon. And that was something Clark absolutely refused to have happen. It not only would disgrace his father’s memory, but it would spit on the very sacrifice John Kent made for him. When he was younger, he always thought that the fear his father sometimes wore on his face was because his father was afraid of him. It was one of the things that had led to the words he used the day his dad died. He remembered how frustrated he was that day; his father was being so stubborn about letting him go to college. He remembered thinking it was because his dad wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on him anymore. That he was so afraid of his son hurting someone…that he would never let him leave Smallville. Then that tornado hit, tearing Clark’s entire world to shreds and he was never able to tell his dad he didn’t mean what he said. It was his father’s sacrifice that finally made him realize that all that fear and distrust he saw etched in his dad’s eyes was never directed at Clark at all. His father had always trusted him, it was mankind that he was so afraid of. So, revealing himself to the world was absolutely out of the question. However, for the first time in Clark’s entire life, he felt he might have someone else he could trust enough to confide in. The simple fact that she hadn’t told anyone what she suspected about him was almost enough to make him trust her. The fact that she didn’t want the military to get their hands on an alien, for fear of what they would use it for and the harm it could cause to the human race also helped greatly in making him want to trust her. She was incredibly cautious about how they should go about unearthing the vessel and spoke of bringing in a witch friend of hers to put a ward around it in case there was something dangerous inside. It truly was a sound plan; it would let them be able to open the ship without accidentally releasing some deadly creature or virus by mistake. It’s also the reason he was now changing his plans of waiting a few days before he went in search of the ship. He hadn’t known magic existed until a few minutes ago and he had no idea if he was vulnerable to it or not. He didn’t think so, but he sure as hell wasn’t willing to stick around and find out. As much as he agreed with Buffy’s plan and admired her caution, he knew in his gut that this might be his only opportunity to find out where he came from. Something deep inside of him told him that the answers he sought were on that ship. He dropped the bags off at her trailer after Jed had informed him which belonged to her, noticing how sparse the accommodations were. Just like Colonel Hardy had ordered. There was only a cot, blanket, pillow, space heater, and sure enough in the corner was a bucket and a roll of toilet paper. He shook his head in amusement, apparently this was not the first time she was forced to rough it. He could hear her and Colonel Hardy heading this way, discussing the ship and what other precautions might be taken to ensure that no one would get hurt. On an absolutely and unexpected whim, Clark pulled out the notepad he’d been keeping in the inside pocket of his jacket and wrote down the first thing that popped in his head. He didn’t know what made him do it, and he hoped she didn’t take it the wrong way. The poem was called “I am” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and he didn’t really remember the entire thing, but the first verse had stuck with him. He quickly ripped the sheet of paper off the spiral, folding it, and tucking the sheet under her bag where just the edge could be seen. He stuffed the notepad and pen in his back pocket, getting to the door just as they were walking up. Their eyes found each other’s immediately, the intensity of her gaze sending an electric shock up his spine, his heart speeding up. God, those eyes of hers were like the color of the fields around the farm in spring. She raised an eyebrow in question at him but he just smiled politely and held the door open for her and the Colonel to pass as he slid by and down the steps. She followed his gaze and he found himself completely turning and walking backwards a few steps, before forcing himself to break contact and walk away. He was going to go talk to Jed, see if he could learn more about her. Plus, his shift was almost up and twilight was approaching. Soon it would be time.

******

When his gaze broke from hers it was like having a bucket of ice water doused on an over heated system. She stood there watching him walk away, her heart pounding in her chest, a loud rush of air she hadn’t even realized she was holding breaking from her lungs. Her nerves still tingled from the heat she felt in his gaze, and she was startled to realize she hadn’t had a reaction like that to the opposite sex in a very long time. Hell, she wasn’t quite sure she ever had a reaction like that, at least not one she remembered. She shook her head, turning back to the Colonel, only to notice he hadn’t missed the staring contest either. She thought he looked amused, but wasn’t quite sure. “Something I need to know about?” Buffy rolled her eyes, “I’m a red-blooded female. I’m allowed to notice a good-looking man when I see one.” The Colonel hummed, his green eyes accusatorily sizing her up. “Seems like he noticed you too.” Buffy’s eyebrows shot up and she frowned. “What exactly are you implying, Hardy?” “Just making sure you didn’t send a spy in close to gather information.” He answered seriously, eyeing her warily, as if she would do something like that so unnecessarily. She rolled her eyes, laughing at the absurdity of that statement. “Colonel, if I were to do something like that it would only be if I felt I was in danger, and I can guarantee it would be another Slayer and not some well-built, redneck, with puppy eyes. No one but the W.C. and the General knew I was coming, why would I risk the little bit of leeway I knew I would gain by showing up unexpectedly, and ruin it by having a spy already in your midst’s. Please do give me some credit.” Hardy shrugged unapologetically, leaning against the wall, “I still don’t understand how your people figured out about the find when we’ve only known about it for a week.” “Oh, so that’s what this is.” She said, raising an eyebrow and looked around the almost empty trailer. He smirked, “That’s what this is.” She shrugged, it didn’t really matter to her if he knew or not. She wouldn’t be sharing the technology no matter how much he tried to intimidate her. Not that she would actually be able to explain it anyway. “A friend of mine created a program that relies heavily on magic to monitor, decode, translate, and record when certain phrases or words are used in any and all military or government communication around the globe.” The Colonel’s eyes sharpened and she watched as his jaw clenched, a vein popping out on his forehead. “And I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share that little piece of technology would you.” Buffy shook her head, “Absolutely not. I’m not helping you war with other countries.” “And you call yourself some sort of hero.” He said snidely, heavy condemnation in his voice. “Do you have any idea how much something like that could help us?” Buffy froze, her back stiffening at his implications. She turned to him, her lips pursed and eyes as sharp as daggers. “It’s my job Colonel, to protect humanity. All of it.” She said, voice trembling just above a whisper in pure rage. “It is not my job to get involved with petty wars that mean very little when every year there’s some demon who gets the idea in his head to destroy every single one of us.” She pointed to the door, “I think its time for you to go now. Sun’s setting anyway, I hear it can get forty degrees below zero some nights.” Hardy frowned and opened his mouth as if to say more, but decided against it. Instead, he said, “Good night Miss Summers, will speak more about this tomorrow.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm, “No we really won’t. Despite what you may think, I’m not trying to hoard technology so I can be some kinda all-knowing God and rain judgment down on everyone. It’s the whole reason its only designed to pick out key words and phrases. I don’t want to know everything, but magic in the wrong hands is the most dangerous thing on this planet. It’s more dangerous than any demon I’ve ever faced or any God.” She sighed, removing her hand. “Trust me when I say, science will get there, you don’t need magic to move it along.” His frown deepened, before he seemed to sigh in defeat. He nodded once, then left her trailer without a word. Buffy sighed, hoping that was the end of that. She really didn’t want to have to keep explaining herself. She walked over and sunk down on the cot, reaching for the lighter of her bags and pulling out her satellite phone. She called Wesley first, knowing he would be waiting up for her to check in. She gave him a brief description of what had happened so far, leaving out the mystery man for fear of making him worry when he already had so much on his plate. Wesley agreed that Willow should be the one performing the warding spell around the ship, and agreed to make the necessary travel arrangements. Her next phone call was to Willow herself, and she smiled at the cheery voice that picked up. “Is the Arctic as cold as they say?” Buffy chuckled, “Yeah Wills, its pretty cold.” Then added, “But don’t worry, you’ll be experiencing it soon enough.” She could hear the frown on the other end of the phone, before an irritated whine escaped her friend’s lips. “But I don’t wanna go to the Arctic, you know how much I hate the cold.” Buffy chuckled, “Yes, but apparently they think they found a spaceship and we need you and your magical-witchy-talents to make sure no hibernating Xenomorphs escape and wreak havoc amongst the populous.” There was a long still silence, before the expected giddy meltdown on the other side of the phone. She heard a squeal of delight, before several vowels that sounded suspiciously like they should have been words. Buffy chuckled, “Breathe Willow, oxygen is of the good.” There were several panting breaths before, “Gods, Buffy do you know what a find like this could mean for us? The technology alone could help…” “Hold your horses there, Wills.” Buffy interrupted. “I already promised the U.S. that they could have the ship.” “Wait, what?” Willow protested. “Buffy if it hadn’t been for Voll joining up with Amy and Warren, those two would have never gotten powerful enough to join up with…” “I know Willow,” Buffy said, cutting her off before that train of thought could even be realized. “I’m just saying, why should we trust them when they’ve put us through so much?” Willow said, the pain and resentment clear in her voice. Buffy, sighed. “I don’t know Wills; guess I’m just getting more forgiving in my old age.” She paused, hearing Willow sigh sadly and knowing exactly where Willow’s thoughts were taking her. They had all suffered the consequences of General Voll raising Amy and Warren up from annoying nuisances, to actual threat. When they inevitably betrayed him, because that’s what happens when you align yourself with crazy, Amy and Warren had managed to gain enough clout to join up with a recently desouled Angelus, and together they had amassed an army of witches and demons alike. By the time anyone caught wind of what was going on it was already too late. Giles had been the first casualty in the chaos. Buffy freezing up when it happened, unable to even react to what her eyes were processing. Spike had been the one to pull her out, and for months he had been the one to push her to keep going. He had been her rock in that time, an unwavering support system without any expectations of what could possibly be if they made it out alive. Wesley and Illyria had joined the fold shortly after Spike's miraculous return, followed by a severely wounded Charles Gunn and an empath demon named Lorne. Buffy had offered Wesley the Head Watcher position, being too far gone in her grief of losing the man who was more like a father to her than her real dad ever was. However, it was losing Spike three months later that had fully pushed her over the edge. It was the only time in her life that she went completely dark, and it was Angelus who paid and then some. She had never thought herself capable of torture before that moment. Figuring she wouldn't have the stomach for it, but she'd been so very wrong. She had given her Slayer full control, and by the time she was finished with him there had been very little to stake. She remembered hating not just him in that moment, but Angel too. Years of pent-up emotional trauma caused by him leeching out of her as she bled him dry. Hatred and rage boiling inside of her at the fairytale romance they'd so naively convinced each other they had. It was never a fairytale; it had been a nightmare from the start. Even soulless Spike on his worse day would have never tried to break her so thoroughly. Angelus, in essence had succeeded in what he started so many years before. Except, instead of the broken pile of tears he expected would be the outcome of his mental torment, he got the broken primal force of the Slayer in full. He must have realized his mistake somewhere between her cutting out his tongue to shut him up and flaying his skin off the muscle and sinew because when she got to his eyes, they were full of the most potent fear she'd ever seen on a creature such as him. She remembered her Slayer purring in delight at the heady look of horror that was etched on his face, so unlike the arrogant knowingness he'd been giving her for hours. She remembered the feel of his sticky, coagulated blood as it spurted onto her face when she slowly pushed the blade into the brown pupil. The same eyes she had once thought so beautiful. She remembered how it felt to twist the knife until there was nothing left. The only sound Angelus able to make was a gargling, choking, scream. Buffy shook her head, banishing the gruesome memories to the back of her mind. She had disappeared for two years after that, running every few days to make sure no one could find her, too ashamed to face anyone. Wesley had finally found her in that broken-down, abandoned hovel, too weak to keep running.  He hadn't asked what happened, he'd simply taken her in his arms and held her. When she had eventually shattered completely, sobbing dry tears, because she was to dehydrated to produce any, Wesley had stroked her back, hushing her. He never once asked what happened, but she suspected he already knew. There was a haunted look in his eyes that told her he had danced that fine line once himself. “Buffy? Buffy are you there?” Willow asked, forcing Buffy out of her memories completely. “Yeah,” Buffy said, shaking her head and blinking several times. “Sorry, what?” “I said, is there anything else I should know?” Willow huffed, a worried edge to her voice. Buffy chewed on her lip for a minute, thinking of her handsome stranger. “Yeah,” She said again. “There’s definitely something else.” She was quiet for a long moment, before finally saying. “Look, I didn’t say anything to Wesley, because he’s dealing with a lot right now, but there’s this guy here and he's...well..." she paused, shivering slightly at the memory of his hand in hers. "He's like uber-powerful." "You mean like Glory and Illyria powerful?" Willow asked, the worry in her voice unmistakable now. "I mean, like take Glory and Illyria, put them in a pot, add a few other Old Ones, stir, and you got this guy." Now Willow sounded downright frightened. "You're kidding? And he's working for the military?" Buffy shook her head even though Willow couldn't see it. "No, he's actually working for the cargo company the military contracted." "Huh?" Willow said in confusion. "Yeah, and here's the thing, he doesn't feel like a demon, or even mystical. It’s almost like..." and that’s when it all began to click into place. Spaceship, uber-powerful guy working as a civilian near said recently discovered spaceship. Power that felt foreign to her, not other worldly, but out of this world. She froze, her eyes landing on a piece of paper tucked under her weapons bag. With a shaky hand she reached down and unfolded it, her eyes scanned the quickly scribbled words on the page. "Willow, I... I gotta go." Buffy said, hanging up before she could hear her friend’s protest. She reached for her weapons bag, unzipped it and pulled out her Scythe. The words of the poem repeating in her head. She thought about changing into her suit, but decided against it. She wasn't sure how much time she had, but the sun had set a while ago and she had a feeling if she didn't leave now, she'd never see her handsome stranger again. She donned her jacket and her beanie, throwing on a backpack already prepacked with survival supplies. She opened the door and ran full speed out into the night. The forgotten poem falling into the snow, the words bleeding out as the slush soaked the paper. 'I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go But the fact stands clear that I am here In this world of pleasure and woe. And out of the mist and murk, Another truth shines plain. It is in my power each day and hour To add to its joy or its pain.'

[Chapter Two]

[bffsoobin]

Sunny Day Confessions

↳having Beomgyu as a best friend comes with an uncountable number of benefits. You thought that you had come close to experiencing them all. That is, of course, until he offered up his confession on a silver platter and waited for you to make the next move.

➤ fluff, smut, best friends to lovers

Word Count:2,412

Requested?: yes!

Warnings: This includes mature content! Please do not read this if you are under 18 or generally feel uncomfortable!!!! Insecurities, dirty talk, oral (f),use of Noona (not sexually), grinding.

A/N: I feel like I got way too carried away with this so I’m sorry if it’s like way too long or weird. Also this is my first time actually writing smut so I know it’s probably not great but hey practice makes perfect. Also if you’re a person who just wants fluff, you can read up to the keep reading line and that’s all you’ll get! Hope you enjoy! ps I know I suck at titles so I apologize!! 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“Beomgyu, I’m serious! Get back here with that!” you yelled, running through the lush grass toward your best friend who was currently holding your phone hostage. The warm breeze whipped past your face as you ran, carrying the loud laughter of Beomgyu with it as he bounded up to stand on top of a patio chair. With his left hand- which held your precious device captive- raised totally above his head, the height advantage left you no real hope. You whined again and made a futile attempt to jump up to height and snatch your phone only to stumble over your own two feet.

 “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re taller or faster, Noona,” Beomgyu taunted, waving your phone around as it glinted in the sunshine like a trophy. Your nose involuntarily crinkled in disgust at the nickname. You were only a year older than Beomgyu, and you had known him since you were both in diapers and drooling on yourself. Despite your dislike of the honorific, Beomgyu insisted on using it whenever he felt like it. 

“Dude, please. Just give it back. You’re acting like a child!” He only rolled his eyes and continued his waving and sticking his tongue out at you. “What? Are you scared I’ll find something scandalous? We’re all adults here, Y/N.” You heaved a sigh and placed a hand over your eyes, ready to admit defeat from your best friend and just sink into the warm grass. Honestly, he was right. You couldn’t think of anything he could find on your phone that would be very earth shattering. He cheered loudly, taking your gestures as a sure sign of his victory as he began making his own background music to lower himself down from the metal chair with signature Beomgyu dramatics. You plopped into the grass and let him have his moment while you plucked at the pieces of grass resting under your fingers.

His singing came to a halt before you felt him nudge at your leg with his foot a few times. You stayed unresponsive, shutting your eyes against the glare of afternoon sun. Beomgyu sighed, obviously unhappy with your lack of response as he laid down next to you as close as he could get. He latched his hands around your upper arm and shook. 

“What now?” you didn’t even bother to open your eyes, just turn your head to the right to face him as you spoke. 

“Open your eyes, Noona. Please! You can have your phone back,” he was whining now, and you could imagine his lower lip jutting out as he tried to win you over. Upon opening your eyes, you were shocked at just how close his face was to yours. Your noses were just inches apart, and you could make out every single line and dot on the boy’s face in the brilliant sunlight. Long eyelashes brushing over his rosy cheeks with every blink, hair falling away from his forehead in a fan around him. He looked beautiful. You mentally slapped yourself for even forming that thought. He was your best friend, and that was something you would never mess up. And who were you to believe that he would find any interest in you either? Swallowing the lump in your throat, you smiled at him and sat up to snatch your phone from the ground between you. At the exact moment you grabbed it, a notification ping rang through the air. 

Upon reading it, you immediately frowned and made a sound of disgust. Beomgyu was sitting up by your side immediately. 

“Everything okay, Y/N?” You nodded and gave him a noncommittal smile that you hoped would trick him into believing you. He furrowed his eyebrows and sneakily tried to read the text before you could move your phone. You were quicker though, flipping the phone over and dropping it back into your lap. 

You gave another smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and laid back down in the grass, waiting for him to just drop it all. Huffing again, Beomgyu plopped himself right on your hips, pulling a surprised gasp from your lips as he looked down on you and snatched up your phone. The surprise kept you front protesting as he easily read the text notification that had originally upset you. You watched his face shift from confusion to anger to sadness as he read again and again before glancing up at you. Before he could even speak, you began, “it’s nothing. I just sent her some photos I took earlier and I didn’t think I looked that good in them so I asked her opinion. And yeah, I mean, she’s right. I don’t look good in the pictures.” 

The silence was stifling as Beomgyu simply stared at you. Rustling leaves and the birds chirping at one another became backdrop music to the awkward staredown that had you shrinking under his intense gaze. “Why would you believe any of that? Why would you take her word for anything? You’re beautiful. I’ve always found you beautiful, and kind, and funny, and you’re so smart. You’re perfect.” his voice was soft and caring; akin to the way he would speak to you when you had a headache over school work.

“Beomgyu, please, don’t.” A pit of despair was starting to roll around in your stomach as the position you were in felt way too intimate and his stare much too intense. You were about to ask him to get up, squirm away from his presence and go inside to drown your sorrows in a bowl of ice cream. 

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t make you feel better? Don’t tell you to ignore your shitty friend? Don’t tell you that I-” he looks up at the sun, squints and swallows hard enough for you to hear before leaning down even closer to your face. “Don’t tell you that I’m in love with you?”

Your whole world spins, like the feeling you get right before you’re about to puke. You’re too hot, too cold, too confused to wrap your head around hearing the phrase you’d been dreaming of for years. He’s patient, his weight on your hips a constant reminder of his presence. The presence that has permeated every part of your life for as long as you can remember. When you finally work up the courage to make eye contact with him again, a shiver runs down your spine and shakes your whole body. Beomgyu is smirking, reading every inch of your facial expressions before leaning down until your noses touched. Your breath hitched in your throat as he placed a hand on your cheek.

 “Can I kiss you?” He asked sweetly, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the texture of your cheek. All it takes is a nod for him to descend on your lips and give you a small peck, testing the waters before you chase his lips for more. You fumble a little bit, nerves getting the best of you before Beomgyu wraps you back up in his presence, his full lips working magic on the tensions in your body. He still tastes like the strawberries you had with lunch about an hour ago, and you eagerly enjoy the feel of his lips on yours as you part your mouth even wider. Neither of you show signs of stopping until Beomgyu pulls back to heave in a breath and caress your jawline. His lips are shiny and swollen and only make you hungry for more. Apparently, he has other plans as he begins to kiss all around your face until he reaches your neck and your giggles melt into sighs. 

“You sound so pretty, Y/N,” Beomgyu groans into your neck as he continues his assault on your skin. Your head began to spin as you were dizzy on his scent and the weight of his body on top of yours underneath the hot sunshine. 

“We- we can’t, not here,” you gasped and grabbed at his shoulder for leverage as you worked to sit up. He let you out from under his weight and fixed his darkened eyes on you. He held his hand out to you without a word, silently asking for your consent to continue what the two of you had started. To his surprise, you yanked him up by his hand with impressive force and practically ran into the comfort of your air conditioned living room. As soon as you passed the threshold, Beomgyu was back to towering over you and crowding your body with his warmth. His breath ghosted past your ear as he bent down to kiss the side of your face. Your eyes fluttered shut at the movement, and he took your moment of weakness as an opportunity to whisper in your ear. 

A hand slipped under the soft fabric of your shirt as Beomgyu spoke “all those times you told me about the guys you liked, the ones who took you on dates you never really liked, all those guys you let into your bed… I always knew I could be better.” The fabric was pulled over your head, leaving you feeling dizzy. Despite the fog building in your brain, you smirked and began backing towards your bedroom door and tapped at your lips in thought, “Hm, I’m not so sure about that.” A fire sparked in Beomgyu’s eyes, igniting his competitive streak had him surging toward you and ushering you into the bedroom. The door clicked behind him as you laid back on the pillows on the bed and Beomgyu kneeled between your parted legs. Getting an eyeful of the marks on your throat and your breasts on display drew a deep moan from his throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll prove it to you, just tell me what you want,” he was playing dirty, tracing his long fingers over your inner thighs and waiting for your response.

“You, Beomgyu. I want you,” his hands descended on the button of your shorts, making quick work of them and your underwear in one pull. You shuddered at the exposure and made to close your legs before Beomgyu gave a dissatisfied tut and leaned back to pull his own shirt over his head. Momentarily distracted by his toned body, you whine and almost miss the cocky grin that graces his golden face. He runs his large hands down your thighs, massaging slightly as he parted your legs to expose your core. 

“Look at that. I know nobody else makes you this wet,” Beomgyu mused as he laid himself down on your bed so that he was face to face with your center. Your chest heaved in anticipation, carding a hand through his locks as you tried to think up a witty reply. The boy under you didn’t even give you the chance before descending onto you with an open mouth. You pull at his hair as he slips his tongue into your slit and pushes your knees up to your chest to open you wider. Gasps of surprises slip past your lips as he makes short work of licking up everything your body has to offer him before he pulls away to smirk up at you. His face is red and shiny, lips swollen with his efforts and you moan his name louder than you’d like to admit. He chuckles darkly, wasting no time in going back to work, wrapping his lips tightly around your clit and sucking harshly. More arousal gushed out of you as your whines grew louder, more frequent. Beomgyu returns the groans in the form of wonderful vibrations every time you tug at the locks weaved between your fingers in earnest. 

“Please, please please,” you were losing all sense of self, only caring about the magic Beomgyu was working between your thighs until he pulled away and propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Please what? I know you have better manners than that,” his voice was teasing, but the facade only lasted until you bucked your hips up towards his face in need and pleaded again. “I need you. Beomgyu, please, let me come, I need-”  air left your lungs in a high whine as Beomgyu returned with renewed vigor, licking broad stripes right where you needed his touch the most. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening as you approached the height of your climax, teetering right at the tipping point and contemplating begging for more until you caught sight of Beomgyu’s still clothed hips grinding against the forgiving material of your mattress. The thought of him getting himself off while eating you out was just enough to push you over the edge as you finally let go with no warning, grabbing for Beomgyu’s hair to ground you as the world spun. He didn’t let up his movements until you whined in overstimulation. Beomgyu sat up on his knees, towering over you as you tried to catch your breath. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he wiped the few tears that had welled up in your eyes and pressed a feather light kiss to your sweaty forehead. 

“Beomgyu,” you reached for him as he took the hint to pull you up into a sitting position across from him. There was no time to care about the mess between your legs, or the way your head was still spinning a bit. 

“I love you, too. I forgot to tell you earlier. But I have, for years and I was afraid that you didn’t like me back,” your confession lifted a weight off of your chest and caused his eyes to crinkle up at the corners. 

“Of course I liked you back. I think I’ve loved you since like 2nd grade. And you definitely wouldn’t have made me this hard if I didn’t like you.” Your eyes widened at his bluntness, but you couldn’t stop the mischievous smirk that crossed your face as you glanced down to his lap to see the bulge straining against his jeans. Taking him by surprise with a harsh kiss, you laid him down on his back and ran your hands over his soft skin. 

“My turn?” he teased, putting his hands behind his head casually. As much as you wanted to roll your eyes and walk away from him, your blooming admiration won over your instincts to be bratty to your best friend. His breath hitched as you began to toy with the button. “Your turn.”

[guigz1-coldwar]

Pulling the trigger (WraithxPortnova)

Yirina Portnova.......Freya 'Wraith' Helvig........two very opposite womens but despite their origins, they found themselves in each other arms as they tried to uncover the truth behind the death of their common friend.

Warning : angst ! Words : 4200+ There were nothing that could have reconfort Yirina Portnova.

Portnova was a genius in mathematics and worked before joining the KGB. Everyone who worked with her know that she wasn't the women to have troubles with. She was described as brilliant, deadly and loyal to the state. A woman that no one should underestimate because she's a threat either on or off the battlefield but behind all of these exploits she has done, were hiding the cries of pain she was suffering because of her personal life......it was the only thing that was making her weak.

Her parents dissaproved of her choice to join the KGB : they wanted her to be a teacher and help the children, especially a mathematics teacher as she was skilled in that domain but everything has gone wrong when she started to study cryptography on her own time during her studies at the Moscow State University and that was at that time, one of her teachers discovered her and her new hobby. He proposed her to join the KGB as she was proved to be able to decrypt any messages she was given to, even those who were considered to be indecipherable. That day, Portnova changed her ambitions and agreed to his proposition but that choice come at the price of losing her parents. They decided to never contact her again, making her new job, her new home.

From that day, she dedicated her life to the organization that was now her family but even with that, it was very hard for her to be accepted as a woman, been surrounded by mens who believed at first that she was inferior in every domain and that she was just another cryptographer but they were all wrong about her. She proved them that she wasn't just an simple cryptographer and that she was more brutal than anyone who were trying to get in her way, allowing her to become one of the most respected agent inside the KGB but if everything was going well in her job, her personal life was another thing.

Been abandoned by her parents wasn't the only thing that happened badly in her life, she was feeling so lonely. There weren't anybody that could be close to her, to reconfort her in her bad times. No one ever wanted to be with her, fearing that she was either too dangerous to be with or because they thought that she preferred to stay alone but in fact, she was never interested to be with a men.....she needed a woman in her life. In her lonely moments, she will sometimes cry in her office, locking it. Each time, she was thinking that she was going to be condemned to be alone for the rest of her life inside the KGB......until one day, she was presented to someone :

Zasha Smirnov

They were so different from the others agents because they were the only one to become her true friend in the KGB, Portnova was finally happy to have someone at her side because she finally found someone that was giving her a new challenge. In fact, Zasha proved to be more skilled than her in cryptography and each day, she tried to prove that she can beat them but they were always one step ahead. Anyway, Portnova wasn't angry at all, that was giving her a new way to improve herself. They were a great friend for her.....the first time in her entire life. And when she was crying alone, Zasha would be not far to come and to comfort her

Portnova became a happy woman in her life as each day she was going to work, she will be with Zasha or 'Zed' as she started to called them affectionately and while not working, they were still trying to compete to know who were the best cryptographer, a friendly competition. At least, she was smiling every time and her cries stopped for good, she was no longer alone until one day, a terrible day.....Zasha didn't come to work at the Lubyanka. It was strange for Portnova because they were always the first to arrive to work but not that day. She panicked and then, one of her superior came to announce her the terrible truth.

Zasha were found dead in their appartment, apparently killed by a bullet in the head. Everyone think that they killed themself because the police found a suicide note saying that they were ashamed to having betrayed the country and the party but Portnova couldn't believe it : Zed was too loyal to do that. She couldn't accept that fact but now, she realized that again, she was alone.....she lost her only best friend and the worst was that she wasn't authorized to investigate their suicide as the case was closed quickly by the authorites.

Everything was starting all over again much worse than before : her moments of cries were becoming more longer, negliging sometimes her work and she started to be more distant with anyone else inside the KGB. Everyone was getting suspicious for her, believing that they had something to do with Zasha's death. For her, it was a murder, not a suicide but she couldn't do a thing because of her superiors who were asking her to stay focused in her work, enraging her. She thought that she was going crazy but one day, someone knocked at the door of her office inside the Lubyanka :

Freya Helvig called 'Wraith'

At first sight, Portnova was distrutful of that woman coming from nowhere especially the fact that she learned that Freya was an ex-Norwegian secret services agent but her suspicions started to flow away as Freya explained her the situation : she was an friend of Zasha and she also think that it wasn't a suicide, she was working with the Perseus spy ring, a very discreet group inside the KGB as described by the Norwegian agent. Portnova learned that Zasha was one of their members, explaining the friendship Freya had with them. At this moment, both womens knew that they had to work together to find the truth.

The first days was complicated for Portnova to deal with her new 'co-worker', still doubting about her origins and her affiliation with the Perseus group but as the days passed, she started to see her in a more cleared way : Freya was just like her, she was determined to found out who killed her friend too. Both were sharing the same pain and both were trying to surpass that pain. It was only them, trying to discover what really happened that day where they both lost a great friend. They started to become friends as the days passed and one day, in Portnova's office, their friendshipt take a new step.

Portnova started to see in Freya, the women she was looking for since a long time in her life. Someone like her, that could help her anyday, anywhere. She wasn't feeling that when she met her but she realized that after the two became friends. She couldn't resist to hide it to Freya and once they were done, Portnova decided that it was time : she kissed Freya as both were looking at each other. She could see the surprise in the Norwegian's eyes but she was surprised too when Freya reinforced the kiss.....her love was reciprocal, the two admitted their love for each other and this day, Portnova found the one that was now her lover.

Their new relationship strenghtened their quest to find the truth about Zasha and after multiples days, the truth was uncovered : Zasha was killed by an group of KGB agents who were in fact dealing with the CIA and Zasha discovered that, getting them killed. With enough evidences in hands, both women presented them to the board of KGB officers and that was enough to make them convince that it wasn't a suicide. At this moment, Portnova & Freya were leading a small group of soldiers either from Perseus or from the KGB to make a undercover attack on the safehouse the rogue KGB agents were using in the outskirts of Moscow.

The attack was successful : they intervened in surprise as polices officer inside the appartment, taking every rogue agent by surprise as they couldn't reach their guns before been gunned down by the soldiers but someone, apparently the leader escaped the appartment, trying to flee the scene but Portnova and Freya was pursuing him, not wanting anyone to escape alive. He tried to flee by the roof but unfortunately for him, he was tackled by Freya.

"You're going nowhere , 'drittsekk' !" She said as she got up, keeping him on the ground with her feet. Portnova arrived, catching her breath after that run,

"Finally, we got him." She exclaimed, he was this guy who shot him, the rogue agent leader. "This is for Zasha !" She then kick him violently in the face with her leg, causing him to get his nose broken. Her anger was shared by Freya too as with her feet, she was crushing his kneecaps

"Who's Zasha ?" He asked, sounding confused

"Zasha Smirnov !" Freya continued to crush his kneecap more furiously, making him scream in pain "Our friend you killed."

"I killed a lot of people in my line of work but no one called Zasha."  He was defending himself but Portnova saw that he was trying to save his face

"You're lying, you killed them, a bullet in the head." She shouted, enraged

"And I thought that he was a man." He laughed nervously but Freya continued to do her thing, making his cries audible again

"Enough !" Portnova couldn't hear anymore of this guy, she looked away from him, looking at the city around her. She was angry, she wanted to kill that man for making her life harder but that wasn't something she could do because of the order they received from her superiors. As she was looking while Freya was holding at gunpoint the man, she received a call from her radio.

"Comrade Portnova, do you copy ?"  It was the voice of a man, she took her radio and put it next to her mouth,

"I copy." She said

"It's the officer Petrov, is their leader has been caught ?"  He asked

"We have him, sir. Freya got him."  She replied, looking at Freya

"Good !" He took a breath before talking back "No loose ends, you have authorization to dispose of him." It was now different orders : they could finally kill that son of a bitch ! Hearing this was giving Portnova a little grin, she looked at Freya who was wondering what was happening. She nodded to her, giving the signal. Freya looked back at the man and put her AMP-63 against his forehead.

" 'Ha det', dipshit !" Freya said before she pulled the trigger of her gun, sending a bullet right in the skull of the rogue agent, killing him finally.

Portnova was now so relieved to have avenged Zasha, she wanted to be the one to do it but she thought that it was better to let Freya do the job but she let tears coming from her eyes. She was still sad to have lost her best friend because of his guy and his mens. Freya was also sad but she was keeping her cool and when she saw Portnova starting to slowly cry, she approached her and hugged her, recomforting her a little bit. She did avenge someone that was important at her eyes.

After a little moment, both womens decided to leave that rooftop, leaving the body of the rogue agent on it, letting the cleaning crews to deal with it. Portnova wouldn't have the strengh to do that and it was better for her and Freya to not stay her. Their mission were finished but they said to themselves to stay together anyways as Portnova finally found someone to love....the women she wanted to have in her life.

In the evening after the events of the day, Portnova was alone in her office, giving a last look to the file of Zasha and every details they found on their murder. She was feeling better, knowing that their murderer was now dead, no longer walking in this world but she know that she will maybe never had someone else like Zasha in her life. Freya was still with her but she will never have the same things she did with them, that time was over for her and now, she needed to move on but she cannot do it. She will always remember her 'Zed' , their little games and their friendship. She decided to keep the file on her desk, not wanting to forget them.

As she was getting up from her desk since her day of work was finished, the door of her office opened : it was Freya, dressed in civilians clothes.....a first for Portnova.

"Hey Freya." Portnova smiled "How you've been doing ?"

"I'm good, Yirina." Freya responded, entering the office "I.....I can't believe we did it."

"I know, I'm thinking the same thing right now." Portnova leaned against her desk, crossing her arms above the chest. Freya approached her and put her arms around Portnova,

"I'm happy to have found someone like you, Yiri." She said, sounding lovely, giving Portnova a grin,

"Me too.....моя любовь (my love) !" She replied before leaning forward to get her lips on top of those of the Norwegian woman, kissing her.

She put her hands on Freya's face as the latter kept her arms around the russian woman. The kiss was beautiful but tears were coming from their eyes, giving this kiss a emotional moment, both were finally happy in each other arms. Portnova stopped the kiss, catching her breath, her eyes moved by the emotions.

"Thank you for loving me." She said, starting to cry

"Don't cry, Yirina, it's okay." Freya cleaned the tears on Portnova's face with her thumbs. After she was done, she looked at Portnova with lovely eyes.

"We should get to my place, I.....I want you to be with me tonight." Portnova suggested as the two never had the chances to sleep together.

"Yes, me too." She replied before withdrawing herself from Portnova "Come on, let's go."

Portnova took what she needed including Zasha's file and then followed Freya out of the Lubyanka building to return back to her home in the outskirts of Moscow as the night started to fall on the city. During the drive, Portnova could only smile about having avenged her friend : they were now in peace as their murdered was in hell for his crimes. It was the only way she could have feel better, she couldn't see the rogue agent be kept alive for interrogation, he needed to die.....nothing else ! Only death was the way !

Freya was sharing the same feeling but she was tough and she wasn't the type of person to cry but anyway, she was broken inside because of everything that happened : losing her friend but now she was now loving a good person in the name of Yirina Portnova. The two women were different but they were loving each other.

After the drive, they arrived at Portnova's home where they had dinner, they talked more about themselves and their past, also talking about their new future together. Even if they were both in different groups, they could talk to their respective superiors about being put together as a perfect and if that doesn't work, they even promised to each other to join the other's group in case. Portnova couldn't think one second about getting lonely again and she promised to Zasha that she will work each day not forgetting their name.....Zasha Smirnov !

The dinner ended and it was time for both women to go to sleep but before, Portnova decided to clean up the dishes. As she was finished, Freya arrived behind her, putting her arms around her and her head on the top of the back.

"I love you, Yirina." She exclaimed before releasing a little kiss on Portnova's back

"Me too." Portnova breathed, surprised by the cold feeling of Freya's lips on her back "You don't realize how much I love you too." She turned around to face Freya

"I know." Freya was going to kiss her until a phone starting ringing, cutting her in her move. "Oh, you've got a call." She smirked

"Aw shit." Portnova rolled her eyes, fainting an annoyance "Must be important."

"I'll await you in your room, be ready !" Freya gave her a little kiss on the lips before walking away, getting up the stairs and leaving Portnova alone in the kitchen with a phone ringing in the living room. Who can it be ? She asked herself as she was getting to the phone, she picked up the phone, thinking that it was maybe just a false call.

"Yirina Portnova." She started in a evasive tone

"Comrade Portnova, it's the KGB officer Dimitri Belikov."  The man said, Portnova was knowing the guy. "We need to talk."

"Comrade Belikov, why are you calling me ?" She asked, concerned. Maybe she know the man but why he wanted to talk to her.

"I think you've been lied to." He replied like that, sounding worried

"What do you mean ?"

"The operation you have done today was a setup organized by Perseus group."  He revealed to her but she wasn't taking this seriously

"You're joking, right ?" She laughed

"No.....the Perseus group is in fact a terrorist group manipulating the KGB since a long time, they've been acting dangerously and you unintentionally helped them to dispose of agents capable to expose their crimes." She didn't respond, wanting to know more but she wasn't at first believing it "Perseus is going to use a project called 'Greenlight' consisting to to blow up nuclear bombs placed under a lot of European cities, that would kill millions."

"How do you know all of that ?" She asked as she sit up, the phone in hand, on a chair just next to her. She was starting to believe him right now

"I've got my own sources but that's not all." Portnova could hear Belikov take a deep breath before he start to talk again,

"Perseus got your friend, Zasha Smirnov, killed !"

At hearing this, Portnova was going to drop the phone on the ground, shocked by the news. She was starting to sweat and breath loudly.

"No,no....you're kidding, you can't-" She started to said, her voice trembling but Belikov cut her

"That's the truth I'm telling you, Portnova !" He exclaimed "I know that I shouldn't do that but I checked the file of their case and I found things that.....fuck....I don't know if you're ready for this."

"T-Tell me !" She simply said, just wanting to know.

"The bullet they have found inside your friend's head was shot by an gun that we don't see everyday.......an AMP-63."  She could hear some sounds of files getting moves "And there's only one person in the Perseus group using that gun....."  Portnova realized everything right now, she saw only one person with that gun,

"Freda !" She whispered enough to be heard by him.

"Yes, that's her : Freya 'Wraith' Helvig."  He confirmed it "You know her ?"

"Sadly.....yes." She took a breath "She's my lover !"

"Shit, I....I'm sor-" Portnova didn't want to talk anymore, she hung up the phone without saying goodbye to Belikov.

After she hang up the phone, she was shocked to the bones, feeling betrayed by the one she loved. During all this times, she was used and played around by Freya and Perseus. Everything they found was just a lie coming from her and her terrorist group. The one she called love was the same person who killed her true friend Zasha and today, she unintentionally saw what Freya could have done to them : a single bullet in the forehead !

Right now, Portnova was clenching her fists and jaws about everything that has been told to her by Belikov. She loved Freya but now, she was feeling empty about her. In her own room, there were Freya and she couldn't stay in that chair, doing nothing, thinking that she was going to sleep with Zed's real killer. She closed her eyes for a few instants and then decided to act, she got up and go grab her Makarov inside her jacket and once she got it, she started to get up the stairs slowly, keeping her gun in hand. Each step was hard for her, she was going to confront Freya once and for all. She promised that she will kill the person who murdered Zasha.

She arrived in front of the door of her room and opened it as she hide the gun behind her back. Freya was still waiting in her bed under the blanket, smiling. Portnova had a blank stare to her.

"You're okay, Yiri ?"  Freya asked, worried, removing the smile she had "Is there something wrong ?" She asked again as Portnova didn't reply and then she was surprised when suddenly, Portnova aimed her gun towards her, causing her to leaned backwards in shock "What are you doing ?"

"I know what you did !" Portnova exclaimed, sounding calm and empty at the same time

"What are you talking about ?" Freya raised an eyebrow, causing Portnova to shoot a bullet on the ceilling, showing that she wasn't kidding at all.

"You killed Zasha.....my Zed !"

"You lost your mind, Yirina ?" Freya was shocked at what was happening "I was-"

"I know the true motives of your group, Freya. You want to blow up Europe with nuclears bombs like fucking terrorists.....and you personnaly killed Zasha !"  Portnova had her finger on the trigger but she couldn't do it.

"No, that's not what happened." Freya said but she inadvertently revealed what she did and Portnova wasn't stupid, she realized that quickly "Please, I'm sorry !" Freya added, understanding that she told her the truth

"Why did you kill my Zed ?"  Tears were starting to flow from Portnova's eyes

"I......they......they wanted to defect to the West." Freya cried too, breaking down "I didn't want that for them, they were my friend !"

"But you killed them anyway, you weren't their friend." Portnova added, it was impossible that Freya was Zasha's friend "You didn't let them a chance and you shot them like they were nothing, right ?"

"No....."

"Tell me !" Portnova shouted

"I never wanted to kill them and since I regret what I have done, Yirina !"  Freya defended herself but that wasn't helping Portnova who was starting to lose her temper, trying to controlling it "When I heard of you and your friendship with them, I felt so bad."

"That's where you decided to love me....to use me ?" Portnova started to cry, she couldn't hold back tears anymore "I loved you for real and now....I learned that you killed my friend."

"I love you too, Yirina."  Freya exclaimed, saying the truth "I wasn't playing you at all, my feelings are real for you."  She then moved her hand towards Portnova "I'm sorry, I'm truly am."

"I can't believe you." The russian shook her head and then put her two hands on the pistol, aiming Freya

"Please, Yiri.....I never wanted that for them." Her voice cracked "Please."

Portnova closed her eyes, her finger was on the trigger of her Makarov, she was ready to shoot the one she loved but also the one who destroyed her only friendship she had but then, her hands started trembling, she couldn't do it.....even with what she knew about Freya and her true motives. It's thanks to her that she could finally feel love and her first kiss but everything was now crushed down. Her dreams of a life with someone....crushed, her hopes to find a new friend like Zasha....crushed.

She lowered her gun, crying and then she dropped it on the ground. She couldn't shoot her. As she was stll crying, she decided to sit on the edge of the bed and look in front of her, blank stare, not even cleaning her own tears. She was feeling so empty right now, she needed to kill her to avenge her Zed but that was too much for her. Maybe they didn't wanted that from her. She promised to kill their murderer but she couldn't.

Freya wasn't moving until she decided to move to get behind Portnova and then put her arms around like she did minutes ago in the kitchen, Freya was still loving her but Portnova wasn't moving at all until she decided to speak,

"Leave !"

That's all Portnova wanted right now : she wanted to stay alone, that Freya will never come back inside her life

"No, Yiri, you can't...." Freya started to plead but that wasn't working

"Don't call me like that." Portnova whispered "You're nothing for me anymore."

"Please, I can-"

"No, you will have to live with that." Portnova removed Freya's arms around her, not looking "Leave me, I don't want to see you again."  She added, still blank stare. Freya couldn't make her change her mind, she realized that she destroyed Yirina's life by lying to her and playing her, she really loved her but this time, love wasn't enough to change things.

Right now, Freya started to get up from the bed, still crying too as she dressed up, ordered by Portnova. She wanted Portnova to look at her but she knew that it will never happen again. Portnova didn't move at all, leaving her alive with the fact that she crushed down a life by taking another one was for her the best solution for the moment. She didn't look when Freya started to leave the room. Freya was looking at her and wanted to speak but she will not respond to her : she was now a monster that can't redeem itself to the one she really loved. She then passed the door and closed it behind her.

After she left, Portnova laid down on her bed, crying alone in pain again : she lost her friend.....and she lost her lover.

She was alone again !