#if it does not spark joy then why add it to your project to have fun? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dulce-pjm · 4 years ago

Text

stepsisters and squires

word count: 11.0k

genre: fluff, angst

summary: as the story goes, the fairy godmother saved cinderella and sent her to ball. wrong. that was you. you were the one got the dress, the carriage, the glass slippers. but you’re also the one about to screw it all up. so much for happy endings.

warnings: parents slapping their children, swearing, bad dancing?

“Cinderella. Fetch me my ribbons.”

A look of disdain crosses her face before she rolls her eyes, tugging a little harder on your corset.

“Fetch them yourself, bitch. And stop using that stupid nickname.”

You laugh obnoxiously from your belly, only to have the life squeezed out of your lungs when she yanks on the corset strings, nearly cutting off your oxygen. Your giggles are quickly cut off with a shout of pain.

“I’m kidding, Sowon!” You throw up your hands and gasp when she pulls again. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re much too dramatic,” the girl mumbles, though she’s struggling to hide her grin. You ignore her.

“These things really are torture devices, you know. I don’t understand the point of even wearing them tonight, it’s not like I’m getting married!”

“Isn’t the whole point of the ball to get you engaged?” she asks, eyebrows raised. You glare at her in the mirror, but her eyes stay pinned on the back of your dress. Her light bangs barely hang over her eyes, her shiny, loose curls framing her soft cheekbones perfectly. You’ve always been a tad jealous of her natural beauty, but despite your insistence on the fact that she’s gorgeous, she never takes your compliments. You suppose the innocent humility only adds to her charm.

“My mother might say that, but we both know she’ll never pull it off. I’d much rather pig out at the pastry table than pretend to be interested in a lifelong marriage with some boring rich guy.”

“Not even a hot boring rich guy?” she counters. You stop to ponder that for just a moment too long, making your stepsister of several years giggle, the sound sweet and tinkling.

“What is it?” you shout incredulously, only making Sowon laugh harder, desperately holding onto the corset strings in an effort not to undo her hard work. “If I’m gonna have to commit to someone for the rest of my life, I might as well enjoy looking at them.”

“You have no morals,” Sowon says between spurts of laughter, her cheeks and nose tinged bright pink. You’re smiling widely too, her comment sparking the memory of a certain someone.

“Morals are no fun,” you retort, shifting uncomfortably in your gown. “Are you finished back there? I’m gonna pass out if I have to keep this posture any longer.”

“Just finished.” Sowon steps back to admire her work, letting you spin in your deep magenta ballgown. The skirt is covered in lace and intricate floral designs, the sleeves puffed and hemmed at your forearms, just as you prefer them. Makes it easier to eat without dirtying the cuffs. Sowon always takes extra care with your dresses, never failing to make you feel like a princess. It’s another trait of hers she refuses to accept is just extraordinary. Obnoxiously humble as always.

Sowon adjusts a pin in your hair, fashioned into a braided low bun, with just a few stray curls hanging by your ears. You can’t help but smile, excitement tickling at your stomach. Once Sowon gives you the nod of approval, you spring into action.

“Alright, I better go check on Jin- What are you doing?!” She cries in surprise as you forcefully take her shoulders, and move her to your bed. She falls back onto the comforter, barely upright.

“Just stay there!” you shout, dashing towards your dresser. She’s doe-eyed, her brows raised and mouth cutely pouted as she watches you in utter confusion. You rifle through your drawers until you see a suitable piece of fabric, a satin blue ribbon from a previous gown. You snatch it and rush back to Sowon, moving to tie it around her eyes. She throws up her hands before you can, wrapping her fingers around the cloth.

“What’s going on? Are you trying to blindfold me?”

“It’s a surprise!” you whine. “And yes, stupid girl, I’m clearly trying to blindfold you. It adds to the surprise factor.” Sowon forces an awkward smile onto her face, lowering the ribbon to her lap.

“Can’t we do without the blindfold? Since, you know…” You loll your head to the side in confusion before you realize your utter insensitivity. Sowon’s absolutely terrified of the dark, though she’d never let you say that out loud. Ever since she’d halfway divulged the secret to you, you’d made sure there was a lamp full of oil and a box of matches by the attic door every single night, silently creeping through the hallways as to prevent your mother or brother from catching you. To others, it might seem childish, but you knew that years of being locked away in a cold, dim room with creaking walls and leaking ceilings would give anyone nightmares. In your excitement, you’d nearly forgotten her phobia.

“Oh, of course! Just… think you can close your eyes? Please?” You puff out your lip and bat your lashes, making Sowon’s eyes fly to the ceiling for guidance.

“Why can’t you just show me the surprise?”

“It’s not in here!” you huff, gesturing towards the door. “We have to go get it.”

“You want me to walk with my eyes closed?”

“I’ll guide you!” You grab her hands, squeezing pleadingly. “It’ll be fine, just trust me!” Sowon gives you a long look full of hesitance and suspicion, but seeing your genuine excitement, she eventually gives.

“Fine.” You break into a smile, and pull her to her feet, tugging her down the hall. At your request, Sowon squeezes her eyes shut, stumbling slightly as you weave through the halls of the manor, laughing at her yelps every time her foot barely catches on the carpet or a loose stone in the flooring. And she calls you dramatic.

You approach the one room Sowon never cleans, the storage closet you’ve secretly turned into a home for the surprise you’ve been planning over the past few months, ever since the ball was announced. You bring your stepsister to a halt, screaming when she barely opens her eyes for a moment. After checking the surroundings for any stray family members (who certainly would not approve of your endeavor), you unlock the door with the key you always keep on you, letting it swing open with a large creak.

“Here it is!” you cry, finally allowing Sowon to open her eyes. She looks at your project and then stares at you blankly.

“What is this?” You roll your eyes and grab her arm, tugging her into the poorly lit room and shutting the door behind you.

“It’s your dress!” You fling your arms proudly towards the soft pink gown. You’d spent every last penny you could to make it as extravagant and royalty-like as you could, paying for the hem to be decorated with bows and the waistline to be embroidered with pearls. You were especially proud of the sweetheart neckline, a daring fashion choice that you thought would suit Sowon perfectly. “For the ball tonight. I saved up some money secretly and had it made for you. I know it isn’t much but when mother said all that, I had the idea and I just wanted you to have a dress that made you feel as pretty as you always make me- oof!”

Your impromptu rambling is cut off when Sowon nearly tackles you in a hug, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. She sniffles into your neck, and while your mother might have screamed at the possibility of her saltwater tears ruining your clothes, your chest is swelling with pride. You wrap your arms around your stepsister, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers. “Thank you, Y/N.” You give her a soothing pat on the back before breaking up the hug and stepping away. There will be time for being sappy later, but now, there’s work to do.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s no big deal. Now let’s put it on!” Sowon is smiling brightly, her cheeks practically glowing. Your roles are switched now as you’re the one attending to her attire, helping her pull the gown over her shoulders and lacing up an old corset of yours while she watches you through a large mirror you’ve leaned against the wall. You pretend not to notice the tears escaping past her lashes every few moments as she grins uncontrollably at her reflection. Her joy is contagious, infecting even your cynical mind. Even if you hate these stupid social events, seeing Sowon so excited made you remember that you had reasons to be excited too.

You pin up a few strands of hair and fasten a pearl comb into the crown of her scalp to compliment the dress. The gown you picked hugs her frame nearly perfectly despite the measurements being mostly guesswork. She looks stunning, absolutely regal, like she was made for this lifestyle. You finish up with only a few minutes to spare and step away, allowing her to bask in her own reflection. Now, tears are threatening to pour from your eyes as you take in your work. It wasn’t long ago that the younger girl barely spoke to you, her eyes always filled with fear and sorrow. There was only so much you could do for her under the hawk-eyes of your family, but you’re glad you’d done enough to see her this happy, even if only for a night.

“This is amazing, Y/N, I don’t know how I can thank you, but-”

“Thank me by coming tonight and dancing with a hot boring rich guy! But we can talk about that later.” Your voice lowers to a whisper. “Now, here’s the important part.” She leans in as you explain all of the preparations you’ve made over the past few months.

You tell her of the carriage and coachman ready for her a ten-minute walk away from town on the main road and which door to use to escape without one of your mother’s eyes and ears and catching her. You instruct her to wait exactly five minutes after you leave the room and then to sprint for the exit as fast as her legs would carry her without ruining her outfit. You tell her to stay away from your mother and brother, to avoid the main ballroom until after the first dances, at which time you, your mother, and Jin will move to the dining halls to mingle. And most importantly, you emphasize how imperative it is that she leave before midnight, before the servants lock the back doors and your mother is too tired to stay out any longer.

“Oh, and I almost forgot! Have fun and no matter how great it sounds, don’t drink the alcohol. It goes down like sugar but your head will be spinning in no time.” Sowon looks like her head is spinning now as she memorizes your instructions, nodding furiously.

“Okay, I won’t.” Her hands are shaking with anticipation, but you know her night of fun will quell the nerves. “You’re like a fairy godmother, you know.” You shrug lightly, pretending to flip your hair.

“What can I say? You deserve a magical night.” You smile earnestly before cracking open the door, making sure the coast is clear before you leave Sowon.

“Wait!” she whisper-yells before you can slip away. “What about shoes?” You nearly smack your hand against your forehead, internally scolding yourself for forgetting.

“There’s a box behind the mirror. Treat them well, they’re very fancy. Venetian glass. Custom fit, too.” Sowon laughs, assuring you that she will.

“Oh, don’t forget to tell your squire I said hello,” Sowon says teasingly as you step out into the hall. You rest your hand on your hip, giving her a knowing look.

“You know I won’t.”

“Really? Because that time I found you two it didn’t look like there was very much talking going on. I thought he was eating you ali-” You slam the door before she can finish, your cheeks heating. You can barely make out her laughter behind the thin walls as you scurry away to the front door, a dumb smile across your face.

You’d like to hope you both are in for a romantic night.

“You bitch.” Your mother’s hand smacks across your face and your head is forceful turned to the side. Jin watches you with slight sympathy in his expression, though he makes no move to aid you. He’s too much of a mother’s boy. “You helped her, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, straightening your spine.

“Don’t play dumb,” Jin chimes in, arms crossed. “You told me that dress was yours two months ago when it was delivered.” You glare in his direction, having hoped he would have forgotten the entire encounter by now.

“You dare lie to me?” You ignore her, instead focusing on your brother, the one person who should be your ally.

“I’m surprised your memory goes that far back,” you sneer. “With your intelligence, you’d think you were dropped on your head as a child.” Your mother gasps, making you hiss as she strikes you again. Jin attempts to mask his feelings with a look of apathy, but the flicker of insecurity that flashes across his features is enough to make you feel victorious.

Your mother presses her fingers to her temples, looking to the heavens for guidance.

“What did I do to deserve such a disobedient child?” You open your mouth to snap a smart reply, but quickly shut it when you notice her hand still raised.

“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” Jin says.

“You’re right, you’re right,” your mother replies, massaging her forehead and scalp. “I’ll deal with you both in the morning. For now-” She glares pointedly at you. “You will stay in my sight for the rest of the ball. You will be cooperative and pleasant and receptive and you will do exactly as I say. You will dance with every man that I pick for you, even if he’s ninety, and you will not eat a single bite unless I say you may. Am I understood?” You nod defeatedly, eyes pinned to the floor as your mother huffs, dragging you out of the small side room and back into the fray.

It’s not Sowon’s fault, you could never be angry with her. How were you supposed to know they were going to announce everyone as they entered? She’d even thought to keep her real name to herself, though you could imagine that upon being asked, she’d panicked. As soon as a ‘Cinderella of Greenfield’ had been loudly introduced to the ballroom, your mother’s eyes had bulged out of her head and her face blanched of color. Within minutes she’d put your panicked expression and stepsister’s surprise appearance together and yanked you away from the crowd, unleashing her anger.

Your face falls further when you realize that this new development means you won’t see the one you’re really looking for, who you’re always looking for, really. You’d like to hope that even if you aren’t dancing with your ‘prince charming’ (a term that would make him cringe and groan), Sowon will at least have her own fun before the clock strikes twelve.

“Fix your posture.” You quickly straighten your spine, folding your hands neatly in front of you. You can already see your mother’s eyes scanning the premises, searching for a new victim- er, suitor. Your brother has already disappeared off to god-knows-where, probably chatting up another girl. You, however, don’t have such luxury when your mother believes it’s taking way too long to get you married off.

Despite your insistence that being single at twenty is in fact not the same thing as being an old maid, your mother pays no attention to your opinions on the subject.

You resist taking a swig from the champagne flute resting between your fingers, instead turning your attention to the dancing couples. The first few times you were allowed to attend these balls, the dancers seemed magical and heavenly and happy, dress skirts spinning in sparkly swirls of color. But the dance floor had long lost its glamour when you realized how political the act of dancing really was. No one danced because it was fun or romantic, they did it to secure their relationships, to sign the contract of their alliance without touching a pen. It was all about appearance and status. Dreams of waltzing with your one true love were crushed once your mother had shoved you into the arms of a man much older and much creepier than you would have ever wanted.

You could say with confidence now, however, that dancing isn’t anything close to a requirement when forming a romantic relationship. It’s honestly pretty boring. Shameless flirting and stolen kisses, however, are much more fun.

Too bad you wouldn’t be doing any of those things tonight.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” you ask, making your mother pinch your side. You do your best to ignore the pain.

The man you’ve been talking to for the past several minutes pauses, his sweet smile becoming strained.

“And- Oh, it’s Jimin.” You nod, pretending like you’ll remember it five minutes from now. You feel bad. The guy’s pretty cute, his dashing eye smile and boyish features making his cautious flirting all the more adorable. But it’s difficult to really appreciate his looks when your mind is occupied with other faces and names. Or, well, a very specific face and name.

“My apologies, her mind is always wandering,” your mother intrudes, leaning into your conversation as if she’s the one who’s supposed to be initiating a courtship and not you.

“It’s alright…” Jimin squirms uncomfortably under your mother’s scrutinizing stare.

“We really would love to know more about your father’s business. You are the eldest, correct?”

Jimin’s eyes flash from your blank expression to your mother’s eager one, before, like all the suitors before him, he realizes that this really isn’t the place he wants to be. He gives you an apologetic look before inventing some excuse about seeing a business friend and darting away before your mother can protest.

She turns to you, eyes ablaze.

“You’re acting like a petulant child,” she snaps. “Don’t expect to leave your room at all for at least a week. Keep this up and you’ll be lucky to have a single meal.”

“It’s not my fault!” You know you aren’t helping your case by being defensive, but at this point, you don’t care. You’re bored and miserable and your skin still stings where your mother slapped you. “You keep scaring them away!”

“Watch your tone.” It’s ironic, really. You could smile and flirt and be docile all day long, the only thing stopping your mother’s wishes of a suitor from coming true is your mother herself. She can’t help but question the hell out of every man who walks your way until they’re shaking in their dress shoes, fully regretting ever coming within your vicinity. You’ve never had a courtship last longer than a month, let alone make it past the first conversation. At least not one that your mother knows about.

Your mind wanders again to the vision of a snarky boy you’ve come to care for deeply, his thoughtful, coffee-colored eyes, his pouty lips. You’re grinning to yourself at the memory of his ever-stern expression breaking into a sheepish smile when you push just the right buttons, make just the right remark. There isn’t much you wouldn’t give to be talking with him rather than the men picked out by your mother, but, alas, not all dreams come true.

“Ow!”

Your toes ache when your new suitor clumsily steps on them, his palm sweaty and nervous against yours. He quickly panics at your expression but continues the waltz.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” he whispers, awkwardly twirling you under his arm, just as his foot slams onto yours again. You wince. The poor kid might be your age, but it seems he still isn’t quite used to the lanky limbs puberty gave him. He’s barely even dancing at this point, mostly just stumbling across the floor and stringing you along. You wonder if this is his first ball, because it took a good ten minutes for you to coach him into actually leading you, instead of the other way around.

“It’s really okay,” you assure him, noticing his blonde strands falling into his face. You were scared out of your mind the first time you danced, too, though probably for entirely different reasons.

“I promise I’m not usually this awful,” he insists. “I broke my glasses just before I got here, so everything’s pretty blurry.” You sympathize with him. Awful vision and carefully maneuvered dancing don’t exactly pair well together.

“Namjoon, was it?” He nods, flashing a small, dimpled smile. “This your first time?”

His grin turns sheepish. “Was it that obvious?” You shake your head, but then wonder if he can even tell, if his dancing is truly a reflection of his poor eyesight.

“No, I just hadn’t seen you before. I attend most of these things.” Namjoon relaxes at the casual conversation, glad to be talking as peers and not potential spouses.

“Really? Don’t you get tired of them?”

“All the fucking time.” Namjoon’s jaw drops at your language. You cringe, glad your mother can’t stalk you while you’re dancing. “Er- sorry.”

“It’s fine, really.” The lights are dimming outside and your sympathy for the man only grows. Even your vision begins to fail once night falls. Would it kill them to get better lighting in this place?

“My point is, they get easier. Promise. The nerves will go away eventually, probably quicker than you think.” Namjoon laughs skeptically, his grip loosening in yours.

“Easier said than done.” A smirk creeps across your lips.

“See? You’re already comfortable with me! I’m proud.” He immediately starts blushing and tensing up again, but you’ve made your point and Namjoon is grateful. You knew you could be quite intimidating, that this whole event could be quite intimidating, so you’re always glad to help a fellow straggler out.

The dance ends with Namjoon accidentally knocking his head against yours as he bows deeply, profusely apologizing. You laugh it off and send him on his way, probably to recover from the embarrassment in private. You almost get your hopes up that your mother will let you go, but it doesn’t take long for you to be shoved into a new conversation.

“It’s just- I love her, you know?” The boy is staring at you earnestly, his chin propped in his hands and his shaggy, brown hair anything but styled properly. You’re not even sure why your mother settled for this guy. He certainly doesn’t seem like a rich bachelor looking for a wife.

You lean in, fully captured by his heartfelt story. It only took two minutes before the guy noticed your disinterest and gave up on flirting, suggesting the two of you chat casually over desserts instead. You accepted his offer in a heartbeat, feeling your mother glaring holes into your back as he guided you away, finding a corner table and a heaping tray of eclairs. Now, you were listening to his romantic tale, absolutely astounded at his experiences.

“Yeah, I think I do. But what are you supposed to do? She’s locked in an enchanted tower! With a witch!”

“Exactly!” Taehyung responds, throwing his hands into the air. “The only reason I’m here and not with her is because of my family. If I could just get away from them, I’d think up a way to rescue her, I’m sure of it.” You ponder his dilemma as you shove another eclair into your mouth, treasuring the sugary pastry while you still can. He’d already tried the obvious choice, bringing a rope, but as soon as he stepped inside the tower with his love, it disintegrated in his hands, spoiling the plan.

“Maybe you can trick the witch!” You suggest, words muffled by the dessert you’re chewing on as you blatantly talk with your mouth open. All manners have been abandoned as Taehyung is eating two eclairs at once, equally focused on the matter at hand. “Well, no, maybe trying to trick a magical scary lady is a bad idea.”

You think for a moment longer, taking a few more desserts, before your brain lights up.

“Wait, we’re both idiots!” you exclaim, slamming the table in epiphany. Taehyung leans forward, anticipating your new idea. “Just cut her hair and use it as a rope! Surely the enchantment isn’t that advanced.” Taehyung processes your idea before his lips grow into a wide, joyous grin that stretches into his cheeks adorably. If it weren’t for other circumstances, you’d actually consider courting this guy.

“That’s genius!” he shouts, jumping up from his seat. “What do I do now?” You rise with him, taking his hands into yours.

“You have to go to her. Now.” Taehyung’s face grows solemn with resolve as he takes a deep breath.

“I will! Thank you, really.”

“You can thank me by inviting me to the wedding!” The boy laughs and assures you that he will before he grabs one last eclair, dashing out of the castle and into the night. You can only hope that he’ll be successful in his quest, that he won’t die because the plan went horribly wrong or the witch is waiting for him. You send a silent prayer to whoever is listening, but a part of you just believes he’ll be alright.

Having nowhere else to go, you make your way back to where you last saw your mother, brushing against several shoulders as you weave through the crowd. But instead of your mother, Jin is who you see, pigging out on a plate full of food from the buffet. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Where’s mom?” you ask tentatively, Jin barely meeting your eyes before returning to his meal.

“Went to talk to someone important. I dunno.” You sigh. For being your older brother, he sure is useless.

Your second great idea of the night begins to grow in the back of your mind, daring to give you hope.

“Oh… Well, if you see her, tell her I’m speaking to another suitor. A very rich and very powerful one.” Jin nods, barely half-listening. Knowing your mother, if she was really talking to someone important, it’d take a while. Giving you plenty of time to do the one thing you really came for.

“Uh-huh.”

You dash off before Jin can think twice, leaving him with his second love, only topped by himself, of course.

Your heart is throbbing in your chest, lungs aching from lack of oxygen as you weave through the ballroom and sprint down the halls, making your best guess as to where to find him. You can see the look on his face now, seeing you all dolled up and exhausted from socialization. He’ll make fun of you to no end, but you don’t mind. You have plenty to tease him about, too.

As you round a corner, you collide with a strong chest, only stopped from falling by a pair of strong arms.

But when you glance up, you’re met with a very different squire than the one you’re seeking, but still a dear friend.

“Y/N? I thought you weren’t coming!” You smile as you steady yourself.

“Are you kidding? I’m always at these things, Hoseok.” You step back, peeking around his shoulder, but you’re only met with an empty hall.

“You’re telling me,” he laughs, a friendly hand still lingering on your shoulder. “What took you so long?” You shrug, still catching your breath.

“Suitors, dancing, my mother… You know how it is.” Hoseok nods in understanding, his kind eyes and warm brown hair a welcome sight after a night full of socializing with strangers. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“Ahh, it’s our last night off. Like a reward before we get knighted and swear our lives to the crown and all that.”

“Wait, really? You’re getting knighted?! That’s amazing, Hoseok!” The man blushes, shrugging sheepishly. His stupid humility reminds you of Sowon. The two of them would be great friends, you muse, being all shy about their accomplishments together. But never in a million years would you allow them in the same room, not with Hoseok’s reputation.

“Well, we both are.” His eyes light up at something behind you. His hand spins you around, facing you towards the rest of the ballroom. “But your boyfriend can’t even enjoy his one night to have fun. He’s over there brooding in the corner like he’s on duty or something. Doesn’t matter how many times I or Jinyoung tell him to relax, he won’t listen.”

“Sounds about right,” you muse.

“Go talk to him, will you? Make him lighten up.”

Hoseok winks at you before strolling off, making you roll your eyes. But your gaze quickly returns to the idiot you’ve come to love, looking more like a criminal than a knight as he watches the crowd with narrowed eyes. He looks dashing in his ball attire, his dark hair slicked back and leaving his forehead exposed, only a few strands falling out of place. He’s dressed in a simple suit, a white dress shirt with navy blue slacks and overcoat, but he makes the entire look seem classy and elegant.

Despite his piercing gaze, he doesn’t notice you until you’ve snuck up behind him, trailing your fingers up his arm, leaving goosebumps in your wake. His eyes barely flicker to your before quickly returning and focusing on the dance floor, as if you were never there.

“Hey, squire.” No one notices you fiddling with the collar of his coat, not as the lights are growing dimmer and dimmer. He doesn’t respond, face still fixed ahead.

“Oh, come on, you’re off duty. Hoseok told me. At least talk to me.” Still, nothing. He’s as still as a statue.

“Please? I’m sorry I took so long, I got caught up with my mom, you know how she can be.” It’s like you’re talking to air, having a conversation with yourself. His brows furrow at the mention of your mother though, sharing as much hatred for the woman as you do.

“Yoongi.” He sighs, finally facing you. But upon seeing your face, really taking it in, his expression immediately fills with concern, rather than that smile you really want to see.

“Are you okay? Your eyes are swollen.” Damn it. Rely on Min Yoongi to always see right through your facade, to never save you your pride. “Was it your mother?”

“No,” you lie. “I’m fine, really. I just missed you.” Eager to change the subject, you smirk, eyeing the top of his shirt, left unbuttoned. “Really, Min? How unprofessional…” You reach up and fix it, leaning close enough to feel his breath on your face. You meet his eyes cheekily, seeing the conflict brewing in his mind.

“Where have you been? How’s Sowon?”

“Around. Turning down suitors. And as far as I know, she’s good. Hopefully enjoying herself.” Your hands linger at his collar, fiddling with it as you grow closer and closer.

“You sure they aren’t turning you down? You’re pretty damn annoying.” You feign a gasp.

“Wowww, do all those years of me helping you train mean nothing to you? All those late nights for you to insult me like this?” Yoongi takes your hand before you can slip away in your faux-anger, intertwining your fingers.

“I think you’re glossing over all the years that I protected you from the snakes in the palace garden.”

“Oh please,” you scoff. “That was all just a ploy to get me to hold your hand.” He smirks, fully turning away from the party and towards you.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Only because I wanted it to. Now, are you going to keep holding my hand like we’re fourteen or kiss me?” He laughs, eyes flashing to your lips.

It only takes a moment before the two of you have disappeared from the main room and you’re pressed up against a wall, kissing him messily in a quiet hall, far from the other guests.

You’re not stupid enough to go any further, as much as you’d like to, but for now you’re satisfied just to feel his lips on yours, just to be in his presence for a while. Your fingers are running through his hair, ruining his hairstyle as his arms are wrapped around your waist, tugging you close as he kisses you senseless, as if to make up for the lost time.

No matter how many times you see him, no matter how many times you corner him in a dark room with time to kill, your heart always thumps in your chest and your stomach always flutters when he’s nearby. It’s always like the first time you talked to him, nerves racing up and down your spine like the idiot teenager you were back then.

He’s always been the first one you want to talk to in the morning, the last person you want to see before your head hits the pillow. And, of course, he’s the one you always wished was treating you to dates or romantic strolls instead of whatever suitor your mother chose next.

While your mind is racing, hands beginning to wander, Yoongi pulls away all too soon, leaving you reeling.

“Sorry,” he mutters, growing all embarrassed when the tips of his ears turn pink. “I was getting carried away.” You laugh, poking at his blushing cheeks. He jerks away, summoning a scowl that he can’t maintain as you only laugh at him further.

“That’s not very knightly of you,” you tease, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re still alone, a habit you’ve developed over years of seeing him in secret. Yoongi shakes his head, glaring at your proud grin.

“I don’t think sneaking off with a squire looks very good for you, either, dumbass.”

“I think you mean running off with a soon-to-be knight! Hoseok told me!” Yoongi scoffs.

“Of course he did. Asshole.” You quirk your brow.

“Wait, are you not happy you’re being knighted?” You affectionately comb your fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix the damage you’ve caused as he shakes his head furiously.

“No, no, that’s not it. I wanted to tell you myself, that’s all. There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, now.”

“What, that you’re finally using your knightly privileges to kill me once and for all?”

“What? No! At least, not yet.”

“You’re gonna get me my own sword?”

“No. I’m-”

“You’re going on a quest to save a girl in a tower?” Yoongi’s expression is incredulous. It takes everything in you to suppress your giggles as you relish in his confusion.

“What are you even talking about?”

“Trust me, it happens.”

“Oh- Okay? Well, what I’m trying to say is-”

“You’re leaving me for Hoseok? It’s okay, I understand. He’s so hot, I would too-” Exasperated, Yoongi claps a hand over your mouth, still keeping you pinned in the corner despite your struggling.

“God, no! I’m trying to tell you I’m gonna marry you, okay?” You freeze, eyes going wide. His hand lowers, letting your jaw drop. “I mean, assuming you want to.”

“Yoongi…” You sigh, a sadness you’re often able to ignore filling your chest and throat. “We talked about this, you know my mother won’t-”

“I don’t care what your mother thinks.” He sighs, face unsure instead of smug or annoyed, as usual. The sight makes your chest constrict. “I’m serious. I’m in love with you and I have been for years, you know that. I’ve been saving up and I can take care of you, at least for a while. But after I’m knighted, I’ll have a steadier income. And then in a few years, maybe we can open that tailor shop with Sowon you’re always talking about. You can do the numbers and Sowon can sew and I know I’m not great with either of those things but I’m sure I can figure out something to help with. I’ll make it work, I promise. You just have to trust me a little.”

For a moment, you allow yourself to hope. To stare into his pleading eyes, to imagine a future with him, a life filled with sarcastic remarks and flirtatious glances and a shop, a place to call your own with the people you love. Out of your mother’s reach, in Yoongi’s arms, happy and content.

But you’re not stupid.

No matter where you go, she’ll follow you. She’ll crush you and ruin you just like she’s done to everyone in her path, spreading rumors and menacing words until you’re despised and cast aside. You’d watched her do it to her own friends, to Sowon in her own house. Once she knows about Yoongi, she’ll do the same to him too. You can’t allow that to happen. You might be afraid of your mother, but you’re far more afraid of what she would do to him than what she would do to you.

“Yoongi, I love you, I really do, but I- I can’t. I won’t.” I won’t hurt you. You almost laugh. In order to spare him from a world of pain, you have to inflict pain yourself.

His face darkens, his expression flashing with hurt. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. His grip loosens on you, and the disappointed but unsurprised look on his face is too much to bear.

“Are you serious? Is this really what you want? To let her control you?” Yoongi bites his lip. You wish he’d get angry. That he’d yell and scream and insult you. Instead, his eyes grow glassy and sad, his brow furrowed with concern, making you feel all the worser. You wish you could kiss him until it was all gone, until nothing mattered anymore and you both felt alright again.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi.” You slip away, out of his arms. You’re out of the room and wiping tears from your eyes in a flash. You hurl yourself down the hall, muffling your choked sobs behind your hand. You’re stumbling like Namjoon on the dance floor, ignoring Yoongi calling your name and chasing after you. You know he’ll leave you alone once you make it back to the crowd, once it’s possible your mother could see.

Maybe it was better this way. If you just left each other alone, pretend it never happened. You were nothing but a leech, really. Taking and taking and taking from him and never giving. You didn’t deserve him, not his talks, not his kisses, not his anything. You deserve to grow old miserable with someone you don’t love. You aren’t brave enough to try for something more, not like Yoongi is.

“Y/N?” You nearly run into the girl, her face looking as panicked as you feel. You quickly dab at your eyes, summoning a casual smile. “Are you okay?”

“Hey, Sowon! Having fun?” Not unlike Yoongi, she’s clearly conflicted on whether or not to press you further. You’re grateful when she doesn’t.

“I- um- yeah. I’m leaving, actually.”

“What?” You aren’t carrying a watch, but you know it’s not anywhere near midnight yet, not by a long shot. “Why?” It’s then that you notice that her cheeks are slightly tear-stained too, red from embarrassment. Her hands are shaky, barely holding onto yours. “Did something happen?”

“I really can’t talk about it, now,” she says, voice breaking. “I just have to go.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to you at home, alright?” She nods, her weak smile thankful.

“Alright, see you-”

“Y/N.” Your heart leaps into your throat when you see your mother standing not too far from you and Sowon, her glare murderous and cold. She pretends not to see her stepdaughter, but you know a majority of her fury comes from her presence at the ball tonight.

You shoot your stepsister a look and she’s gone before you can blink, tearing off into the crowd. Wait, is she missing a shoe? Those took up half of your budget!

“I was just looking for you!” You say it awkwardly, the worst acting performance of your life. You’ve done better than this as an eight-year-old. You try to force yourself to forget everything that’s just transpired. All that matters is minimizing your mother’s wrath, if possible.

You aren’t entirely sure why, but she hasn’t dragged you away to a private space to scream at you for your insolence. Instead, she’s forcing a strained smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Your stomach starts to sink. Somehow this feels worse.

“We’ve been summoned. By the royal family.” Your stomach accelerates from a sink to a drop, leaving you nauseous and an anxious feeling itching up your arms and back, choking your throat.

“What?”

“I don’t know why I continue to do these things for you,” she says, wringing her hands, as if to keep them from lashing out. “But it seems I’ve secured you a betrothal. To the Crown Prince.”

“What.”

It had to be a lie. How had your mother, the least personable human you knew, managed to do this? And she hadn’t even consulted you? Not that you’re surprised about it, but the stress and pressure and cruelty of it all is getting to you. What would this even mean? Is it all just a lie to get you alone so she can really yell?

But the look in her eye and Jin’s story support her claim. Your emotions hit you like a train again as the realization sets in.

“Mom.” Your lip trembles, unable to force itself into a smile for her, not anymore. “I don’t want that. Please.” You silently follow up your plea with desperate eyes, frantically attempting to keep tears from further spilling down your face. But her expression contorts, leaving no room for fake smiles and laughter. Her brows are pressed as far down as they can go, her mouth permanently twisted into a scowl. Her hand raises and you flinch prematurely, casting your face downwards.

“You ungrateful little-”

“I’ll be glad to escort you to the royal family.” Your eyes shoot upwards at the sound of the familiar voice. But Yoongi doesn’t even glance your way, looking at your mother with his stoic, knightly expression he’s worked to perfect over the years. Like he didn’t propose to you minutes prior.

“Who are you?” your mother sneers, giving him a skeptical look.

“A knight,” he states plainly. “This is my night off, but considering your daughter’s recent change in status, it’s only practical she receive a change in security as well.” Your mother ponders this before smirking, the pride of your apparent future marriage already fueling her own ego. She nods, forcefully taking your elbow. Yoongi’s eyes barely flicker with fury when he glances at your mother’s hand, knuckles white from her grip, but he’s able to calmly mask it before your mother notices.

“Well, then, by all means, get on with it.” She gestures ahead as if she’s the one paying him to be here and not the palace. He pretends not to notice her blatantly rude behavior, steadily striding back down the hall, leading you to your own doom.

Ironic, really. You’ve just had someone propose to you and now you’re being lead off to another engagement by the very same man. My god, you’re about to be engaged. To the fucking crown prince. What’s his name? Isn’t he younger than you? You can’t even remember, your mind is going too fast, your heart pounding too loudly.

Your mother is hissing instructions into your ear, berating you for your behavior before you’ve even entered the room, but you don’t hear a single word.

You’ve accepted defeat before the battle has begun as you bite your lip to keep it from trembling.

You hate the way Yoongi doesn’t fight it, how you can only watch his backside as you walk towards an engagement you never wanted, too afraid to say no. You want to run away, to grab Yoongi’s hand and never look back. But that leaves too much to chance. You don’t know where you would go, if you could take Sowon with you.

Crippled by fear and indecisiveness, you stay silent.

“Well, I think that settles everything.” You jolt in your seat, yanked from your daze when you’re being pinched harshly.

Jin’s been pouting in his seat the whole time, frustrated he even had to be here in the first place. He should be pleased, he’s about to have all the food and women he wants, and more.

“We’re incredibly thankful at being given this opportunity,” your mother insists. You muster a smile, unable to meet the eyes of the supposed prince, who’s pouting like a petulant child. His features match his seemingly immature personality, boyish and cute. His eyes are large and doe-like, nearly bulging out of his head with each word spoken, each negotiation settled. You’re glad you’re not the only one who feels poorly about this, though the two of you express that emotion very differently.

Yoongi hasn’t looked at you once the entire time. Instead, he’s standing at the door without a sound, just like the knight he’s been trained to be.

“Well, we’re grateful to have negotiated this opportunity as well, Lady Kim. I’m sure your daughter will make a lovely queen alongside Jungkook.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You hadn’t even opened that can of worms yet. How were you supposed to be a queen? You could barely play checkers without panicking, how would you be able to manage the stress of ruling a country?!

“I’m sure she will, too. Right, Y/N?” All eyes pin on you and your blood runs cold, goosebumps running up your arms and legs.

“I- I’ll do my best,” you murmur, your voice choked and quiet. The king leans forward, brow furrowing.

“What did you say?” You open your mouth to repeat yourself, but your mother beats you to it.

“She said she agrees. She’s really quite the talented socializer, always making friends and connections. She’ll be a beloved queen, I’m confident in it.” The queen smiles softly in approval, gazing at you affectionately. She must think your nerves stem from being in the same room as the prince, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You’d give anything to be able to sprint away, never looking back.

“I’m sorry, but when did I say I agreed to this?” Jungkook shouts the question, making everyone else in the room jump. Your gaze lowers to the table again as you try to pray yourself out of existence. The queen places her hand over her son’s, sighing disappointedly.

“Jungkook, not right-”

“No, Mom! You tell me to get married and I say fine, as long as I can do it on my own terms. You tell me to find a girl I liked at this ball, who I think I could care for and would make a good ruler, and I did. I found someone and you won’t even hear me out!”

“Enough!” the king roars, slamming a fist on the table. “Your ‘girl’ ran off and all you have to prove her existence is a glass shoe. A glass shoe, Jungkook. That’s not evidence of a queen candidate, it’s footwear!”

“I told you, your stupid guards scared her off! She started panicking and mumbling things about a stepmother and needing to go and your guards kept me from following her! And now this is all I have to show for it.” A loud gasp leaves your mouth and you look up to see Jungkook holding a small heeled slipped, made of Venetian glass. Sowon’s slipper.

“What?” Jungkook leans forward, eyes boring into yours. “Do you recognize this? Do you know her?” Your mouth hangs open like a fish out of water, unable to form words. But your mother has already pieced together this puzzle, what with your startled reaction and Jungkook’s retelling of the story.

“Oh, surely not,” your mother insists. Her hand squeezes yours, nearly crushing it, making you yelp. You barely see Yoongi’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t move. “She just loves Venetian glass, don’t you, dear?” The question falls on deaf ears when Jungkook starts ranting to his father again.

“I’m not giving up on this,” he states matter-of-factly, almost initiating a staredown with the king himself.

“And I’m not going to be controlled by a teenager who doesn’t understand priorities,” he snaps back, eyes blazing. The queen sighs, massaging her temples, as if this isn’t the first time such an argument has occurred.

“I have an idea!” your mother exclaims, clapping her hands together and momentarily drawing the attention of the rest of the table. Jin is still totally checked out, staring off into space. You wonder if he’s sleeping with his eyes open.

“His Highness should try to find this mystery girl! Put out an ad, let girls try on the shoe, do house visits if you wish.” You gawk at your mother, wondering what the hell she’s playing at. “We all deserve a chance at love, no?”

“Yes,” the king responds. “But-”

“But if in, say, two weeks, this girl doesn’t show or she doesn’t turn out to be a good candidate…” You gasp when she interrupts the king, a blatant show of disrespect, but he says nothing, only listening to your mother’s idea patiently. “Then we move forward with the engagement with my daughter. That way we all get a fair chance at what we want.”

“I… suppose that would fine.” Jungkook looks at your mother skeptically, but he really has no reason to say no. She’s just offered him his chance with his dream girl. Why would he refuse?

To everyone else, your mother seems charitable, maybe even absurdly so. But to those who are privy to full the context of the situation (you, Yoongi, and Jin), she’s anything but. In one fell swoop, she’s managed to seize full control of the situation while making a good impression on the royal family. As long as she has you and Sowon pinned beneath her thumb, she’s won easily.

“Yes, I suppose that is fair,” the king says. “Two weeks, Jungkook. That’s it.” His son nods solemnly, determination filling his eyes.

“Two weeks.”

You say nothing to Yoongi as you leave. You know he understands just as well as you do. You’re getting engaged. Just not to him.

“Wait!” You spin around only to be met with your maybe-future-fiancé, gripping your shoulders with a desperate look in his eye. You catch another man staring at you from the door, but you pointedly don’t meet his gaze.

“Yes, Your Highness?” The prince groans.

“Oh, please, don’t call me that.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Your cheeks heat as your mother glares at you from the side, just out of Jungkook’s view.

“Are you sure you don’t know this girl? She’s about this tall-” He raises a hand to just below his shoulder. “-and she’s blonde and really pretty and she was wearing a pink dress.” You’re about to respond, but he continues his description. “And she’s honestly the nicest, most sweet person I’ve ever met. I don’t think she could hurt a fly if she tried.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair nervously. “I know I’ve gotta sound insane right now, but I’m not claiming to be in love with her or anything like that. I just have to see her again. And by the way she was talking, I’m really worried. She might need help. Even if she hates me and that’s why she ran off, I just have to make sure she’s okay and safe.”

You’re astounded at his passionate speech. You’d misjudged him completely. He might be immature or naive, but never had someone seemed so genuine. Never had someone seen Sowon the way you saw her: the silly, sweet girl with a heart of gold.

You’re impressed.

But your pleasant surprise is spoiled when you catch your mother’s gaze, and a realization hits you.

You’d be stupid to trust this Jungkook idiot. No matter how earnest he was, there was no guarantee your mother wouldn’t contradict you, wouldn’t call you insane and have you institutionalized. She could go home tonight and have Sowon shipped off and killed before Jungkook had a chance, and it’d be all your fault. No one was going to stop this. Not Jin. Not Jungkook. Not Yoongi. Not you.

No matter where you go, no matter what you do, your mother will always be there, always be pulling the strings. To try to resist it would only make things worse. For you and Sowon.

You won’t be selfish. You won’t be brave. You’ll take whatever your mother makes you do, as long as she doesn’t hurt Sowon.

Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, full of unspoken apologies.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you lie. “I don’t know her.”

You turn away before you have to see the disappointment in either of their faces.

Two weeks later, you’re allowed to leave your room again. You’re dizzy and nauseous with the guilt and hunger and exhaustion, but your decision remains firm. It’s not like you could really undo it anyway.

You lug your body downstairs, forcing yourself to smile, to look pleasant. Jungkook is sitting in the foyer, a poorly masked sad expression on his face. You’re sad, too.

“-really am disappointed you weren’t able to find your girl. I suppose some mysteries just can’t be solved, can they?”

“Mmm.”

You gulp. You worry about said girl two floors up, who you haven’t seen in a fortnight, probably feeling upset and betrayed.

But you’d been able to cut a deal. Your silence and compliance in exchange for Sowon’s freedom and safety. Maybe it was reckless and stupid to prioritize your stepsister’s life over yours, but after years living in a household that did the opposite, you figured it was the least you could do.

Or maybe you were the selfish one. Maybe all of this was an elaborate ploy to avoid standing up to your mother, your biggest fear.

Either way, it felt much too late to turn back now.

Of course, to make things more painful, Yoongi had to be here too. Watching as you betrayed yourself and him, maybe even Sowon too. You hated how he attempted to hide his obvious disapproval and hurt, to hide his true feelings for your sake.

He stills looks just as good in uniform as he did in his ball clothes. He’s still dressed in navy blue, but the royal crest is embroidered across his chest and a sword hangs at his waist, his hair slicked away from his face again. He looks dashing. Knightly. Regal.

But you’ve given up the privilege of being able to look at him that way. He’s not yours anymore.

An exhausted look duke stands next to the equally tired Jungkook, blabbering on about logistics and future plans. They’re here to take you away permanently, to begin residing at the palace and training for queen hood and preparing for the marriage. Your mother and Jin will follow soon after, leaving their servants here to be released from work, including Sowon, for which you’re grateful.

“Well, I’ll miss her dearly while you’re keeping her,” your mother croons, her voice so sickeningly sweet you think you might vomit again.

“I’ll make sure she’s treated well,” Jungkook assures her. Another bout of guilt claws up your throat. He’s much too innocent, much too good for you.

“I would hope so.” Your mother wraps an arm around you and squeezes. “She deserves the best, she really does.” At some point, Yoongi’s dropped his stoic look, putting up his hands pleadingly in desperation.

You deserve better, he mouths.

“I don’t.”

“What?” Jungkook’s brow is quirked, a very puzzled expression on his face.

“She’s just humble!” your mother nearly shouts, voice strained and threatening to crack.

Are you going to let her decide for you?

It is my decision.

I love you.

You look away from Yoongi before you cry again. You’ve done enough of that over the past two weeks.

“Well, I suppose it’s time we get going,” the duke pipes up, gesturing to the rest of the guards, who begin trudging to their feet and filing their way out of the room. Jungkook takes your arm awkwardly leading you away from your childhood home. You bite your lip and squeeze your fist.

Is this really want Sowon would want? You don’t know. She ran from Jungkook, after all. If she really thought he cared about her, if she really thought safety or love was possible, wouldn’t she have stayed? Jungkook seemed genuine, seemed caring. So why?

An awful thought occurs to you. An awful, terrible, irreversible thought.

There was only one reason you could think of as to why your stepsister had run, had sacrificed her chance with her prince charming.

She didn’t want to leave you behind.

Your mother would have been furious, would have dragged both you and Jin out of the country if that’s what it took to quell her own embarrassment. She’d threatened it before, and she wasn’t one to do so without the intention of following through. You’d never see Sowon or Yoongi again, not in this lifetime, anyway.

Your stepsister risked everything for you, sacrificed her own happiness for your own, and here you were about to leave her behind in the same way she refused to do to you.

You’re giving up everything you cared about, because, what? You’re scared?

Yoongi loves you. You love him. You’ve longed to be with him, to really be with him, for years. And he gave you a solution. He put in the effort to make it work, put it all on the line to be with you.

And you told him no. Because you were scared.

You don’t want to be scared anymore.

“Stop!” you shout, pushing Jungkook away, his expression riddled with surprise. “Just, stop. I have your mystery girl. Come on.”

“You what?” You sigh loudly, leaving him in the dust as you march back up to your mother, who’s gaping at you in horror and disgust from the large doorway.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” your mother gasps. You ignore the way your stomach clenches and that familiar feeling of wanting to crawl under the covers and never come back out.

“Get Sowon or I will.” You state it loudly, for everyone in the vicinity to hear. She gasps, her face turning bright red with anger. You see the retort forming on her lips, the scream threatening to tear from her lungs, but your spine remains straight and tall.

You resist smirking as a familiar presence eases its way behind you, a gentle hand landing on your shoulder.

“Move aside,” Yoongi bellows. His voice clearly sends shivers down your mother’s spine as she jumps to the side out of fear, but you’re suppressing a giggle when you know that he’s just a big softie underneath.

As you make the final trek upstairs to unlock the door and bring Sowon to her awaiting prince and freedom, Yoongi’s hand never leaves yours, giving you reassuring squeezes every time you hesitate. He’s never been one for passionate declarations or romantic gestures, but his unending honesty and small actions are enough for you to feel loved.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs into your ear as you tug Sowon out the door for the last time. You don’t give your mother the dignity of a last glance. You can guess how she appears, face contorted in anger and embarrassment and shock as she realizes she’s been betrayed, that she won’t be able to manipulate her way out of this one, though you wouldn’t put it past her to try.

You do, however, give a single nod to Jin as you go, a silent message of forgiveness. He returns a similar look to you. You know the two of you can never be close again, but you hope one day you can see him again. You both are just doing what you must to survive.

After being peppered with questions and giving thousands of explanations to the guards and Jungkook, you’re finally allowed a moment to breathe. Sowon and her prince are staring at each other sheepishly, both suddenly shy and unsure. He awkwardly shakes her hand just as she goes to curtsy, making the both of them burst into stiff giggles and smiles. You shake your head at their antics, but a part of you hopes they make it past this phase and work out.

Just as you’re about to suggest that the group get moving lest your mother takes all of your heads, you’re being yanked away into the shadows behind Jungkook’s carriage and being met with a knowing smile.

You smirk, looping your arms around his neck.

“Hey, squire.” You lean up to press a kiss against his lips but he stops you with the pad of his finger.

“Knight. I’m a knight now.” He’s grinning cheekily, smile so wide you can see his gums. You shake your head and pat the top of his hair, which luckily isn’t covered with a silly metal helmet.

“You’ll always be a squire to me,” you tease, combing your fingers through his hair. Yoongi feigns a glare before wasting no time in stealing a kiss (or three) from you, the two of you pressed up against the carriage, tucked away from sight just like in the good old days.

“And this- Oh!”

You tear away from Yoongi, your cheeks heating as you see a pale Jungkook staring at the two of you in horror as Sowon stands slightly behind him, sending you a look that says, ‘You really couldn’t wait any longer?’

Your eyes are burning holes into the ground as you silently wonder whether kissing a royal guard while kind of engaged to the prince is treason.

“I am so sorry,” you manage, trying to formulate an excuse, but none comes. Yoongi has returned to his knight like stance, acting like a statue and not a lovestruck idiot.

“It’s, uh… It’s fine.” You glance up in surprise as Sowon slips her hand into Jungkook’s, pulling him in the opposite direction.

“Sorry for interrupting!” she calls over her shoulder as she leads her prince away, not noticing his sheepish grin as he stares at their interlocked fingers. “We’re leaving soon so don’t waste too much time…”

As soon as their forms disappear from view, you’re laughing quietly to yourself. After years of sneaking off with Yoongi, it’s still Sowon covering for you. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to pay her back for everything she’s done for you, big and small, but today is certainly a start.

“So…” Yoongi begins, his hands finding yours. “Did you think any more on what I asked you the other night?” You laugh, resisting the urge to tug him in for another kiss.

“Well, seeing as my chances with the prince have been completely ruined…” Yoongi groans, fingers hovering above your stomach threateningly. You jolt backwards, only to be met with the side of the carriage. “I was joking! Just teasing! Please don’t tickle me.”

The man you’re hopelessly in love with only rolls his eyes, fumbling with the pocket of his pants.

“And I’m trying to be romantic. One of these days I’ll get my revenge for the amount of headaches you give me.” He produces a small box from his pocket, but before he can ask any questions or see the happy tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, you pull him close, pressing your nose into his shoulder. He laughs, quickly reciprocating the embrace.

“Does that mean yes?” he asks. “Because I don’t have the ring yet, the box was a symbolic thing. Unless you like my grandmother’s ring, in which case-” You scoff. A thousand teasing remarks come to your head, but you decide to cut to the chase, not leave him hanging.

“Yes!” You can’t wipe the stupid grins of either of your faces as you pull apart slightly, staring at each other in pure joy.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because then this would be pretty embarrassing. For you.”

You’re still giggling as the two of you round the carriage hand-in-hand, garnering a few odd glances from the other knights and guards. But instead of quickly jerking your hand away, creating a normal distance as usual, you proudly march up to Yoongi’s horse, let him help you up and lean against his chest as you sit in front of him. Sowon and Jungkook are long in their own world, chatting away about god-knows-what.

As the caravan of carriages and horses rides away, you don’t look back once. You don’t worry about making it back to your mother in time or planning an elaborate explanation to give her to quell her suspicions. Instead, you fully relish in Yoongi’s warmth, teasing him relentlessly and talking about nothing and everything all at once.

You can’t guarantee that it’ll all be easy, that the royal family won’t be royally pissed at you for keeping such a big secret for two weeks. But as the hope of a long life spent with Yoongi and Sowon becomes closer to the truth than ever before, you think you’ll turn out just fine.

#fanfic #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenario #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #this ended up being a little bit more about OC and cinderella than i intended #but i think i can live with that lol #enjoy :)

40 notes · View notes

mostlyanything19 · 4 years ago

Text

What I'm finding so fascinating about this decluttering process is to realize just how personal your relationship to so many of your things really is, but also that that doesn't automatically mean it's a positive relationship, or one that's beneficial for you to keep. Often it just... is one.

Everything you own demands and deserves a piece of your attention. And especially if it's clutter or things that don't have a place: Everytime i look around my room and see twenty things lying around that should be put away/taken downstairs/folded/just are there and take up space bc they're just kinda...around, those things tug at my attention and sap at my energy, however unconsciously, permanently, all the time. And if you don't have a lot of energy to go around, or if it's very cluttered, that really adds up.

And I have a hard time letting go of some things, but it's incredibly freeing to do it. I think one of the most interesting things I've learned about the Marie Kondo thing is, to learn to spot the difference between things that spark joy, and things that merely alleviate anxiety. I never would've thought to look out for that, but there is a difference there, and I can see why it's important to learn to spot it.

And then there's looking realistically at all these subconscious guilt trips we make for ourselves. Those projects we wanted to do at one point but it's ten years and we never have. Those unfinished books that gather dust but looking at them doesnt make you want to read them, it just makes you feel vaguely restless that you haven't yet. Those things you feel bad about giving away because once upon a time they were expensive, but they don't spark anything in you except that vague feeling of avoidance/guilt. And all of that doesn't add to your energy. Its drains it. Individually very little, maybe, but it does.

43 notes · View notes

novelconcepts · 4 years ago

Note

Hello again Novel. 👋🏼 I know this isn’t from the response you gave to my ask, but it does go hand in hand so I thought I’d add to it here:

“Since starting that one, I’ve written hitman!Jamie (which might have more, we’ll see), vampire!Dani (which might have more, especially if I keep looking at that sick piece of artwork), a handful of one-shots, and a half-fleshed-out pirate piece that may yet see the light of day. So. All of which to say: I did not mean to write Bly fic at all. Cannot stress enough that I thought I was done being a fic writer (and possibly a writer altogether) when this show punched me in the face.”

I know muses are a fickle thing, and I’m just so happy yours is still supplying you with inspiration for Bly stories. And though you are out of your comfort zone, you somehow make all these AU versions of Dani and Jamie work. They still feel very much in character, even though they’re in a completely different world. But, because you find ways to still tie it to the show, they hit home every single time. I really hope you continue writing, even after Bly (which hopefully won’t be any time soon because this show just hits so differently from ANY other fandoms I’ve had over the years) because you have such a gift for words that it would truly be a loss to your readers. And I realize you can’t guarantee it, but Roman’s vamp!Dani drawing is seriously having me jones on reading the next chapter - no pressure. Lol. It’s just so breathtaking to look at! And obviously I’d love to see what those two badass hit(wo)men you have would do next. 🥰 And a pirates one too? Is it Christmas already?! Now, I have all these visuals...Dani in a corset, Jamie with a cutlass, Dani surprising Jamie with a good natured sword fight because she’s just full of surprises. Look what you’ve done! 😂 Plus, one shots and the band one you reminded us!!! You keep us so well fed, and also keep these characters alive and thriving. Thank you for that, it’s such a joy and comfort slipping into your stories. 💖

I’m really glad these stories are still hitting, and hitting in interesting ways--and that, 30-odd stories in, I’m not just walking over the same ground on repeat. I will say that inspiration/imagery is never in short supply; I’m so invested in Dani and Jamie and this world that I can’t seem to stop inventing new ways to look into their characters/relationship. If I’m having a problem at this point, it’s simply with the words not being as willing to pair up with those images as they once were. Which is frustrating. I want so much to give life to the ideas in my head, but I’ve also been doing this for five straight months, and it can be a bit difficult to coax plot along by this point,

That said, I’m still very much enjoying myself when it’s going well. I can’t make any promises for any of the above projects being completed--I can never make promises on stuff like that--but I do hate wasting words. Because I’ve already hit the ground running on the above AUs, I feel like they deserve to be finished, even if it’s extremely slow-going in the process. And I’m glad to think someone is waiting for them to finally come together, no matter how frustrated I get that it’s taking time. As for writing in general...I don’t really know who I’d be without it, it’s such a part of my identity. That’s why those years where I thought I just couldn’t do it anymore were so difficult, and why I’m so fucking grateful that this show lit a fuse in my brain. Sort of reminded me of who I am, in the strangest way, and I am...grateful. For the story, for the spark, for the readers. Very grateful.

(And yes, very invested in the imagery of vampires and hit(wo)men and pirates. Just need the words to behave as well.)

#ask #kind writing words #fic talk #thank you very much for sticking with me #i know i've been...slowing down a bit #and my mental health has gone back to its usual fuck-around-and-find-out vibe #but i'm really glad to know people are still hanging out and enjoying the stuff that comes out whenever i manage it #crow25

12 notes · View notes

pip-n-flinx · 4 years ago

Text

yup, it all goes below the cut

So I’ve been seeing a resurgence of ME content following the trailers for ME4 and MELE, which makes sense. But I’m a salty m-fer and I honestly am sick and tired of Mass Effect getting shit on for things that other game studies (looking at you fromsoftware) get praised for. So we’re going to unload a little.

The underpinnings of the mass effect universe is this huge extinction cycle, designed and perpetuated by the Reapers. As sufficiently advanced civilizations reach a tipping point, not unlike the great filter theory of space travel, these AI come in and wipe anyone out. This sort of cyclical storytelling, with pieces of the previous cycles being dribbled in throughout the trilogy, seems pretty similar to progression of Dark Souls. At the end of the Mass Effect Trilogy, many fans were upset by the ending choices: Destroy, Control, and Synthesis.

What are your choices in Dark Souls? At the end of the first game, the cycle ends and you, the player, get to choose how the world enters the next era. Does they cycle of undeath continue, or do you shatter the world and hope something new rises from the ashes?

How, pray tell, is that really any different a decision? And why is it when fromsoftware does this its groundbreaking storytelling, but when bioware does it we decide collectively its ‘just a shitty recolor of the same ending?’

I agree, there are some flaws in how they chose to animate the climactic moments of ME3. For one, the fleet assembly and space combat with the reapers above Earth doesn’t change much no matter how many/which allies you bring to the final fight. And of course, the ‘garbage recolor’ ending. And I agree with the premise that more than the color should have changed. We should not have had to wait for the still flawed Extended Cut ending to be released to see how Shepard’s final choice changes the end of the game.

We can also comment on what the crucible actually does. If it is some incredible power-source in need of direction - the citadel - it is a strange choice of weapon to design for your battle against the reapers. We could speculate endlessly on why the writing team chose this, but the real issue here is that there is very little in game context for how this comes about. We get a few lines from Hackett and Liara explaining the Crucible, but that’s about it. Surely there could have been more discoverable codex entries about it, perhaps on Eden Prime with Javik?

To be clear, I don’t actually have a problem with the end of the Trilogy. Sure, it has its plot holes, but I’m not actually too fussed about it. It felt like a fitting end to the series to me. Graphically a little disappointing, to be fair, but otherwise a fine capstone to the story.

I’ve actually read some comments and posts explaining that they ‘won’t buy the legendary edition because they won’t fix the ending’ and I.... Do you even know what a remaster is? I’m not buying the remaster because I think many of the new lighting choices detract from the story, and a reskin won’t ensure the graphics stand the test of time any better than the old ones. I’m perfectly happy replaying the original trilogy without a fancy graphics package that adds nothing to the artistic vision nor sets out any distinctive art style. A few years will see even these HD 4k graphics obsolete/dated, and I’ve spent enough money on Mass Effect as it is.

Moreover, I really hate what speculation and rumor I’ve heard about Mass Effect 4. First, I hate that it will be a ME4 and not an MEA2. This will take some explaining so bear with me.

I’ve seen videos of the original graphics and animations that caught so much flak for Mass Effect Andromea. Unpopular opinion: I don’t think they were bad, and I certainly don’t think they were bad in the context of Mass Effect. None of the games prior had flawless rotoscoping or anchoring. Even watching stock sheploo in the original trilogy is painful if you’re hoping for realism. If y’all want to play this game we can start sharing clips but suffice to say I’m personally convinced we can go tit-for-tat on awkward animations.

Moreover, I think Mass Effect Andromeda is the best Mass Effect game. Best gameplay, by far. It has all the hallmarks of a great sci-fi: new aliens, new planets, new villains. And while I understand some people felt the switch from overcompetent supersoldier Shepard to young-kid-with-daddy-issues-and-more-than-a-few-bad-bosses Ryder was jarring, I absolutely loved playing a plucky hero who lost their mentor before they’d even properly started training. It gave the game an urgency I loved, and to me Ryder felt like a much more relatable protagonist than Shepard.

The story itself is a fucking masterstroke. Hear me out:

So in Mass Effect, the twin plot drivers are infighting with council/alliance/cerberus ‘allies’ while facing down the threat of and advanced AI wiping out all organic life to preserve diversity and make way for the next ascendant race. In Andromeda, we’re met by the same bickering and infighting amongst our own faction, and the Kett. The Kett, for whom nothing is cyclical. Everyone must assimilate. Who shun technology and seek to eliminate biodiversity by ensuring all civilizations end with Kett. And instead of a well trained military commander and a ship of soldiers, mercenaries, and specialists in the sciences who grow to be respected players on the galactic stage, we get Ryder. Ryder and their crew of misfit nostalgia-driven rock-licking rule-breaking cereal-smuggling culture-vulture heart-broken multiple-amputee nervous-doctor neophiles who meet one alien and have to save all their races from genocide by a rogue Kett Archon. And the Jaardan? the long gone artificial life-forms who had the technological capability to be reaper analogs? They’re the life-givers, the gods of the Andromeda galaxy, seeding species and hope into the galaxy for the player to find.

It’s such a perfect inversion of the original trilogy while still preserving the genre and the universe they had already built. It’s fucking brilliant. And I’ll never forgive them for abandoning it, nor will I forgive the fans whose vitriol stopped the project in its tracks, and killed any hope of a second trilogy.

Honestly, I don’t care if you agree about MEA, or the ME3 ending. I know this isn’t a common take among bioware fans. I just... I’m so fucking done with this franchise and this fandom. I’d like to think my mutuals and the other blogs I follow have level headed positions on this stuff (possibly more level headed than my own salty takes these days) but I honestly wonder why I’m even on this platform some days. It doesn’t spark much joy anymore. I hope no one takes this personally, I certainly don’t mean this as an attack or criticism of any of my followers but damn, I’ve got a lot of feelings tonight and almost all of them are negative...

#long post #really long post #mass effect critical #bioware critical #fromsoftware critical #sort of #fandom commentary #god I'm tired #I should just be in bed but I wanted to read #and I found some interview with mass effect devs #I just wanted to read some new stuff on one of my favorite franchises of all time and it was completely ruined by all the 'hot takes'#and even the editing of their words painted this unnecessarily negative picture #and I get it #they aren't even close to perfect games #and AAA studies shouldn't release games with as many bugs as is the norm #I know that #don't think I ever pay full price for a shitty buggy bethesda game anymore #haven't bothered with them since oblivion was new #but I just....#I feel like theres this dirth of critical thought #or coherent standards #when we talk about art in any form #and it kills me inside

7 notes · View notes

poorlytunedukulele · 4 years ago

Text

Day 16 - Duality

“Just how close are you and your Ghost?” Ikora asks. Azra is strangely on edge today. Although she lounges in her chair, there is an edge of… not exactly anxiety, not exactly wariness, but something the opposite of comfort. Not enough for true fear, but enough to quicken the Hunter’s heartbeat by a little. A feeling of unsteadiness.

The Hunter is alone right now. Alone alone. Her Ghost is nowhere to be seen. In her past discussions with Azra, Ikora has gotten the feeling she has only been getting half of the picture. So many thoughts pop into the Hunter’s head fully-formed. Sometimes an answer will be considered with nothing but buzzing static until Azra is saying words she shouldn’t have been able to string together without focus.

Not today. Today her thoughts are fully scrutable, normal, and whole, if missing something fundamental. Ikora had been worried about the Hunter and her lapses- but if the answer lay with the Ghost and not the Vault’s nonlinear time, she could rest much easier.

Azra shifts in her chair. “There’s some natural variance, right? We were already unusually close before. And then…” the Hunter trails off, thoughts going to that place- slick stone and icy mist, echoes and the whir of Vex machinery.

“I am not very close with my Ghost,” Ikora admits. “What is it like?”

Azra tilts her head. “Can’t you read my mind?”

“Yours? Yes. Your Ghost’s? Not so easily.”

Some flicker of something catches Azra’s attention. Talking about you, the Hunter thinks. Well, about us.

Ikora can’t hear what the Ghost says in response. Azra sends some vague inquiry about what he’s doing. Ikora catches the barest flash of something- clean white concrete, green grass- then the Hunter sends the mental equivalent of a shrug.

She refocuses her attention on Ikora. The Warlock can read clearly what she’ll say before she says it- “Spark is on his way. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

Ikora sends a mental prod at her own Ghost- he is probably in her library. She gets the sense that he is very absorbed in something. She could guess at what Ophiuchus is doing, but it would be only a guess.

She focuses instead on Azra’s thoughts when Spark arrives. She catches something of what the Ghost means to the Hunter- joy, belonging, home, safety, support. There’s something basic there, a fitting together of a mechanism, like two halves of a broken-heart pendant like the children of the City wear- Best Friends Forever.

It’s more than that. It’s so much more than that. Ikora is left in the dust as a flurry of thoughts passes between the pair, only half of them audible, and only partway so. Azra’s mind speaks with another voice, but Ikora can only catch the echoes of what it says. The edge of disquiet is utterly erased.

The pair turn their eyes back on the Warlock Vanguard after only a few seconds. “You had questions,” Spark says

“Your neural symbiosis is very advanced,” Ikora said. “Perhaps the most I’ve seen. I was simply curious- where do you normally sit with each other?”

Azra shrugs. “I mean, we can ignore each other if we want. We just were. But sometimes it’s a lot more useful- he’s real good at not exactly visualizing maps, but if he pulls up the file I can basically read it without a projection if we focus.”

“If we scout different directions,” Spark offers, “she doesn’t need to tell me what she sees. And when she’s injured I already know where it is.”

Ikora steeples her fingers. “Just how close can the two of you get?”

The Hunter and the Ghost make eye contact sidelong. Ikora gets a very one-sided flurry of debate before Azra settles on the answer of, “Real close.”

“On command?” Ikora asks. If their thoughts are confusing now, just how unreadable could they get? How far could they push it?

The Hunter dips her head. “It gets weird. And… kinda freaky, to be honest.” Azra is not uncomfortable with the closeness itself, but of the alienation. It is something fundamentally inhuman and she clings to perceptions of normalcy. She doesn’t want to be a curiosity.

Ikora shakes her head and folds her arms. “I am not here to judge.”

“Well, then,” the Hunter says. She can find no other arguments as to why not.

It happens fast. No meditation, no thought exercises, just a mental feeling of joining hands- and Azra’s mind slides sideways almost. Ikora is confounded. She can read general feelings, but the specific thoughts- it’s like they have been passed through a filter or a cypher. There is nothing she can parse.

Azra’s eyes open. Spark’s eye blinks. “We can talk in unison, but that’s… disturbing,” the Hunter says. Not to them. Having one speak but not the other feels deliberate.

“I can’t read your mind at all, now,” Ikora says. “That’s…” interesting? Fascinating? But both of those words don’t mean the same thing to Azra as they do to Ikora. The Warlock settles on, "That's cool. Is it hard to stay like this?”

“Oh, it’ll fall apart eventually,” the Ghost says. “Our senses are different. Having limbs is strange to Spark.”

“And the whole EM thing is weird to Azra,” the Hunter says, picking up the sentence flawlessly from her Ghost. “And being this close… has its drawbacks. Everything’s a bit distracting, except what should be distracting. It’s more useful as a party trick.”

“Was it like this? In the Vault?”

Azra’s face goes stricken. Her shoulders hunch. Spark floats downward slowly. “The Vault-“ they whisper in unison.

They shake it off. “Yes,” they say. “it was.” Ikora can feel them struggle to place their tenses. The sense of loss hits Ikora like a truck. Loss, and grief, and unending loneliness, despair…

“It’s a hurt we share,” they murmur. “No cure for that here. Azra feels sometimes that she is too… different. Spark does not like being helpless. And normally we can comfort each other. But both of us have suffered that, so much. That’s why we’re like this.” Their voices mix, inflecting so perfectly in unison Ikora cannot tell what is an overtone of one voice and the undertone of another.

They both look up, Azra’s eyes fierce, Spark’s shell set rigidly in place. “We had eternity with only us. In the same place, the same affliction, how could we not learn each other?" The agony rises like a crashing wave. "How could we not-“

The Hunter shakes her head and stands abruptly. Something breaks and everything is back to normal. “There are downsides,” she says (just her, not her Ghost), “to being one person instead of two.” Her hands shake. Spark lights down on her shoulder, silent reassurance.

“I understand,” Ikora replied. “If you’re too upset, if you need to go-“

Azra wants to very strongly for a moment. She teeters on the edge of indecision, then sighs as if relenting under some heavy load. She sits back down and reaches for her mug of tea, grumbling under her breath about meddling Ghosts.

“He badgered you into it,” Ikora guesses.

Azra sips her drink, sweet fondness tinging her frustration. “He’s not so bad,” she murmurs. “Without him I’d be… well, dead, to start, but without him, specifically, I’d be a very pessimistic loner.”

“And without her, I’d be… forgotten,” Spark adds. “It’s a pretty sweet deal.”

AO3 Link

#destcember #destcember2020 #destiny #destiny the game #ikora rey #shhhh #it's the sixteenth somewhere

7 notes · View notes

superhero--imagines · 5 years ago

Text

<--- Part 3 Here! / Part 5 Here! (Last Part)--->

A/N: I’m going to do one more part, and then a Light + Dark ending.

To my usual followers who didn’t come here for star wars content, I’m so sorry. Usually I make separate blogs for different content, but then when I lose interest/get busy, I neglect the blog, and then I realize I haven’t made content in a while, and then I get anxiety and keep pushing it off, and then I feel bad because I put all this effort into this project, and didn’t carry out. It’s just a whole negative feedback loop. So from now on I’ll make a separate tab for different fandom imagines, and keep a separate master list. I refuse to change my username though because I’ve had it for 4 years, and I refuse to let it go (lol).

Anyway hope you’re having a good day :)

* “That’s so rad!”

*Ben can’t help but smile, it’s nothing all that impressive, he just made a few flowers bloom for you

* But your smile as you walk though the garden, leaning over to smell the perfume of the hibiscus flowers:

* It’s like he hung the moon for you

* It’s well worth the trade off of his life force

* “Rad? Is that a new word from back home”

* He doesn’t miss how you freeze when he brings it up

* He hadn’t meant anything when he said it, he certainly didn’t mean to make your smile constrict like that

* “Yeah, it is”

* You get that look on your face again, the one he’s seen since childhood

* You’re eyebrows are strung together, and your hands tremble slightly

* Your eyes remained fixed on the flower in front of you

* Ben has always wondered what it is you think about when you get like this

* What he can do to ease your mind

* He rests a hand on your shoulder, his hand is so big against your shoulder, it’s three times larger at least

* Just like that you spark back to life

* “Shall I guide you to the Queen’s rose garden, Ambassador?”

* “Yes,” a gentle smile curling on to your lips “that sounds lovely”

* A part of him was worried that you had changed, five years is a long time after all

* But watching you frolic in the meadow, carefully threading small white flowers together in a crown;

* You’re still the girl he remembers

* “There!” You say, placing the flower crown on his head

* “Now you look like a prince”

* Ben feels his face grow warm, he’s sure his face is practically red by now

* “I’m a Jedi Knight, not a prince” he tells you, and you grin

* “You’re my prince and I’m your knight, remember?”

* If he wasn’t sure of his blush before, he certainly is now

* Why would you bring that up?

* But Ben isn’t one to back down

* “No, you’re my Princess and I’m your knight.”

* Your cheeks bloom with color, almost as red as the roses that surround you

* That’s an awfully pleasing expression

* “I’m not a princess, just an Ambassador” you mumble, Ben’s ego continues to swell

* It’s almost as big as his head, before promptly deflating when he see’s Poe waiting for you in your suite

* “Ambassador, I’m going to the bazaar to look for parts, would you like to join?”

* So the boy wasn’t just apart of his imagination

* He’s not quite sure how to feel, but he knows he does not feel good

* You eyes light up as soon as you hear the word ‘bazaar’

* Well, it’s not as if he can monopolize all your time

* “You’ll come with us, won’t you Ben?”

* You look up at him with stars in your eyes, and he feels that nostalgic warmth bloom inside his chest

* Then, as if you just realized he might not know who this man is, your eyes light up

* “Ben, this is Poe” you gesture to the handsome boy, with hazel eyes, and the strong nose, who’s made Ben feel bile in his throat for years now “and Poe, this is my best friend Ben!”

* He should be happy you called him your best friend, but in this situation, it just makes him feel empty

* They share a handshake, but he can feel the tension in the air

* “So did you make that light saber on your own?” Poe nods to his weapon of choice attached to his hip

* “Yeah, Lu- Master Skywalker makes us all make our own”

* Poe’s eyes are practically sparkling

* “Can you show me how?”

* Poe is actually a very nice person. Ben understands why you would want to be his friend

* “You know, it’s all about getting to that sweet spot when you’re piloting”

* “I agree, the feeling as you’re just about to leave the planet’s atmosphere-“

* “Oh, man” Poe claps a hand on Ben’s shoulder “I know”

* Ben wants to hate him, but he’s such a cool guy

* They laugh and joke all the way to the bazaar

* Ben feels a chill, and notices he hasn’t heard you say anything for a while

* You must be annoyed, you probably feel left out of the conversation

*It adds up, you probably didn’t expect to be the third wheel in this situation

*He looks over, and the slight tremor from before, becomes a blizzard in his chest

* You’re wearing a cloak, but he can still make out your expression

* Eyes dead set on the ground, your hand trembling

* You’re not annoyed, it’s worse than that

* It’s that face again

* He isn’t quite sure what to do, he can’t call out to you in this situation

* He can’t attract attention

* frosty white teeth dip into the tender flesh of your bottom lip, your hands clenched so tight, Ben’s sure there will be crescents left on your palm

*But he can’t just watch you tormented like this either

* He catches the glimmer of gold, and an idea strikes him

* His hand rests on your arm

* “Do you like it?” He motions towards the pale pink gemstone ring in front of you

* It’s slow, but you relax under his touch

* And just as slowly the chill begins to subside, left with a comforting warmth

* Oh

* These are your emotions

* He’s felt this way around you since childhood, so he never noticed

* All along he’s been feeling your emotions

* Those times when he felt lonely, and you were a galaxy apart, when he felt this warmth

* It was you

* It was always you

* He’s tosses a gold coin to the shopkeeper, and slides the ring on to your finger

* “Ben, it’s not even my size!” Your face blooms with color, as red and lovely as the rose’s you love so much

* He just smiles

* “We’ll get it adjusted then” he leans down to whisper in your ear, and your flush only darkens

* That expression looks good on you

* He can’t help but grin

* He slides the ring down your ring finger

* “Seems to fit fine to me”

* “Ben do you-“ you look up at him with wide earnest eyes

* “I think I got all the parts I need!” Poe interrupts, carrying a crate full of various parts

* “Let’s head back then” you mumble, wrapping the clock around you just a big tighter

* “Did I interrupt something?” Poe asks, and Ben can see from his aura he’s genuinely clueless

* Well that makes two then

* The walk back is silent, with Poe trying to break the tension, only to recieve a one word response

* “Did you have fun?”

* “Yes”

* “What was your favorite part?”

* “All of it”

* Poe decides to head to the ship, either to give you some space, or to avoid the awkward situation

* Ben walks you back to your quarters in complete silence

* “Well, see you tomorrow morning” You tell him

* He moves to turn away, but stops

* “She hates you now”

* He doesn’t want to leave like this

* Before you can open the door, he places a large hand in front of you, smack dab on the middle of the door

* “Have I upset you in some way?”

* His hand is planted firmly on the door, a few inches above your head

* You’re so small now, he hasn’t noticed before. You’re almost a whole foot shorter than him

* When you were kids, you were taller than him

* You look up at him, with large expressive eyes, bashfully glancing down

* “N-no, it’s just, I’m just-“ you cut your own words off, toying with the ring he bought you

* He’s never seen you like this before, face flushed, shuffling anxiously

* “I’m embarrassed” you mumble, looking away from him

* “Because of the ring?” His hand moves to hold yours without even thinking, and your blush only deepens

* You really are as lovely as a rose

* “A man shouldn’t buy jewelry for a woman unless he’s in love”

* Is that all?

* “That’s fine, because I do love you” the words tumble out of his mouth before he can process what he’s saying

* He’s a bit embarrassed, but he doesn’t regret it

* He loves you, he’s loved you since he was a child and you would follow after him like a hatched newborn

* When you would throw rocks at his window in the middle of the night

* Even when you would stick your nose into all of his business

* He’s awfully fond of you, you should know that by now

* Instead you sigh, slipping your hand out of his

* “Not like that Ben,” the flush is gone, you look older when you look at him now, tired

* “Romantic love”

* What the hell has romantic love got to do with it? Love is love isn’t it?

* Noticing his puzzled expression you add:

* “You know, when you love someone so much it almost hurts you. You think about them all the time, and you miss them when you’re apart, even if it’s just for a day. And whenever something happens, they’re the first person you want to tell”

* “Have you ever felt that way about someone?” The question leaves him without restraint

* You smile, but it’s without joy, and look at him with those same, tired, eyes.

* “Maybe once or twice”

* Ben feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach

* He doesn’t know why but the thought that you had loved someone, loved them like that, before

* It makes him so sad

* “You’re not the only person who has her heart”

* “Keep the ring” he rushes to put on a smile, but he’s sure it looks forced “consider it payment for all those years you were my knight”

* At that you laugh, and the feeling on Ben’s stomach gets a bit better

* Against his better judgment, he reaches for you hand once more, careful not to hurt you

* And presses his lips to your ring finger

* “I’ll see you tomorrow Princess”

* Ben doesn’t remember how he gets back to his living quarters, or even how he ends up in his bed

* What he does remember is the dream he had that night

* You were in a pair of lacy red panties and a bra, and nothing else

* Hair falling in wild waves over your shoulders

* You held him so well, wrapped yourself around him so well

* He rested his hands on your hips, you felt so soft

* Then, all at once, you crumble against his chest

* You’re so small, your head buried in his neck

* “Ben, please”

* He wakes up with a start, groaning when he checks under his blanket

* The perfect start to a perfect day

* Elsewhere you wake up in quite the same manner, awkward and embarrassed

* You have the soul of a 40 year old at this point, yet you’re still at the mercy of this hormone laden body

* “This is going to be a long week”

Tags: @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark @treestarrrrrrrr @treblebeth @crazynocturnalkiki @lokilover-39

#star wars imagine #kylo ren imagine #ben solo imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #beno solo x reader #ben solo x you #poe dameron imagine #kylo ren x poe dameron #platonik aşk #kylo ren headcanon #kylo ren #ben solo #jedi!ben solo #Jedi!Ben Solox reader #superhero--imagines

117 notes · View notes

contaiinedarmageddon2 · 4 years ago

Note

Another day in another timeline Sollux had a different Aradia over. Not only was she quite tall, over ten feet plus her horns, but she was, as she likes to say, a proud fat nerd. And like any respectable nerd she was camped infront of the tv laying on her rug covering gut as she played his game grubs. Her even larger ass rising above her, the immense grey boulders taller than troll completely engulfing her underwear, while her pitiful excuse for a skirt was bunched up on her back

"Sollux! Im horny, come fuck my ass!"

"You're always horny, you get caught in doors almost as much as tv does! Anyways what do I look like, a bang maid?"

"No, but only because you won't wear the outfit. 0n0 Besides its not like your doing anything other than jerk off your diffidence excretor!"

"It's your outfit! If you won't why should I? Anyways I'll have you know I'm up to your spheres in a project right now, try a little patience."

Aradia grunts and just psionically pulls Sollux over, monitor tower and all, which is easier than it sounds considering Sollux is only several inches tall. Taking off his pants she psionically caresses his bulge, electric sparks of pleasure zapping along its expanding length, getting the monster length worked up and hard. His hardware was plopped atop her twin moons, in easy reach, while he was pressed into her deep crack, already troll devouring in size to normal trolls to Sollux it was if the ground itself split apart and beneath it was ass.

And for good measure she also freezes his arms until he gets to work.

((Decent sized prompt below the cut, nsfw))

Most nights, this would’ve been a perfect scenario for Sollux. An Aradia chatting him up trying to get into his game grub collection? Could hardly tell her no. Unfortunately, two miscalculations followed. One, attempting to set a specific date with a Time player juggling a limitless amount of different dates all at once instead of just saying the night you were going to be busy. Two, that rather than patience she would have a libido as big as her ass. As his slightly over half a foot frame was yanked airborne, all he could think was that if he missed this deadline she owed him a rewind.

Where she learned to do it was a mystery to him, but it was hard to cross your arms and scowl when someone is practically vibrating your dick. Sollux closed his eyes and took steady breaths, trying not to think about her biting her full lips as a blush crept across her face at the feel of her mental constructs wrapped around his monstrously disproportionate shaft... Dammit he was failing miserably. At least there was no Serket around to make quips about him being 8″ 8′

Sollux opened his eyes only to briefly see the great cleft in the vast moonscape reaching out to welcome him, before darkness once again as he crashed down into their gelatinous embrace. Without his arms to brace with, rather than settle onto or slightly wedge at the top of the crack like his computer had, the weight of his prodigious endowment given momentum by Aradia herself dragged him downward into the cleft. Eventually the way each fat cheek rested against the other created enough resistance to stop his descent, helped by his rapidly hardening bulge touching down against her backside deep below.

For Aradia this was enough to draw a small pleased sigh. Sure she had toys, but she couldn’t even fully reach back there without her psionics! This was real, and she planned to savor the feel of every inch of it pressing back against her elephantine cheeks and twitching with vitality... Or maybe that twitching was Sollux struggling not to be further consumed. Aradia might’ve forgotten he’d probably need leverage to get much done even if his dick had agreed to her demands. She gave a quiet apology and freed his arms, feeling his hands gripping her as the yellowblood pulled himself back up. Maybe some other time she’d like to feel the rush of silencing Sollux’s griping by stuffing him nice and deep between her pride and joy, but for now Aradia wanted them both to relax and both to enjoy each other.

Back on top Mt. Megido peaks and unaware what the future may have in store, Sollux was back into the light and holding onto his computer almost like a life preserver. As if to further add to the analogy he heard Aradia give a smug little laugh and begin slowly tilting from side to side. It took a few seconds for the effects to even reach Sollux on top as he was, but the world became a tilting theme park ride as Aradia’s ass began wobbling and pitching from side to side. Sollux had to keep hold of his electronics to keep them from flying off but was himself anchored firmly in place. Said anchor was being squeezed and kneaded by the shifting walls of Megido meat as she toyed with him.

“Enough stalling Captor! I can still play if I’m on top you know.”

He could almost hear the damn emoticon. Fine, he wasn’t getting out of this any other way, sometimes you just have to fuck a time goddess. Braced (and occasionally even able to type on) against his computer and thoroughly hotdogged to hardness Sollux found his mark and started to push. Despite eagerness and countless toys training it, the greedy rustblood’s pucker still gave some resistance to her newest toy’s first thrusts. At last being filled how she’d craved, Aradia let out a moan of both relief and pure lust.

Each thrust took the yellowblood a little deeper. The soft, squeezing canyon of her asscheeks traded for the incredible tightness inside her. Practicality kept him from slamming his hips with reckless abandon. If he put too much into it he might start sinking into that vast ocean of soft grey, plus he might be giving into to both of their base desires here but he still had to try and not lose completely. Still the size of the cock steadily plowing into her transferred a great deal of force no matter how casual the strokes were. Laying atop the pudgy cushioning of her own belly, Aradia slowly started to slide back and forth with each pounding movement. This rhythm helped force even more of her partner’s impossible shaft deeper into her while she panted and bit her lip, now having to try and force her attention back to her own gaming.

So the two continued into the night, casually competing to see who could force the other to give up on their secondary pursuit. Sollux occasionally wondered if he had seen the moon move past his window more than once. Aradia gave her ass a psionic slap powerful enough to set it jiggling for the next few minutes if she caught him slowing down to think instead of fucking her.

#biggestcuttlefish #assradia #prompt #weak ending tbh but i had to stop somewhere

2 notes · View notes

mokkemusic · 5 years ago

Text

Sub Episodes OS or other Pokeshipping/Misty Mentions/Cameos that are translated!

Full Sub episodes by kissanime.au (NOTE: This list does not include the movies cause all have been subbed even Master Mind of Mirage Pokemon)

(ALL 4 SUN & MOON EPISODES)

(DP Buizel your way out of this)

(SUB ONLY, NO ENGLISH TITLE) Ep250 (The Ice Cave!)

Ep167 A Hot Water Battle (The Three of the Jungle! Battle in the Hot Springs!!)

Ep164 Carrying On! (The Carrier Poppo of the Poppo Store!)

Ep152 The Totodile Duel (Who Gets to Keep Waninoko!? Satoshi VS Kasumi!) Ep148 No Big Woop! (Lots of Upah)

Ep146 Tricks of the Trade (Sonansu and the Pokemon Swap Meet!!)

Ep70 Go West Young Meowth (Nyarth’s A-I-U-E-O)

Ep46 Attack of the Prehistoric Pokemon (Resurrection!? Fossil Pokemon!) Ep45 The Song of Jigglypuff (Sing! Purin!) Ep44 The Problem with Paras (Paras and Parasect) Ep43 The March of the Exeggutor Squad (The Great Nassy Squad Match!) Ep42 Showdown at Dark City (Showdown! Pokémon Gym! ) Ep41 Wake Up Snorlax (Wake Up! Kabigon!) EP40 The Battling Eevee Brothers (The Four Eievui Brothers) Ep39 Pikachu’s Goodbye (Forrest of Pikachu) Snow Way Out! (Iwark as Bivouac) (Not Aired) Holiday Hi-Jynx (Rougela’s Christmas) (Not Aired) Electric Soilder Porygon (Computer Warrior Porygon) Ep37 Ditto’s Mysterious Mansion (Metamon and the Copycat Girl) Ep36 The Bridge Bike Gang (Stormy Cycling Road) Ep35 The Legend of Dratini (The Legend of Miniryu) Ep34 The Kangaskhan Kid (Garura’s Lullaby) Ep33 The Flame Pokemon-athon! (The Great Fire Pokemon Race!) Ep32 The Ninja Poke-Showdown (Sekichiku Ninja Showdown!) Ep31 Dig Those Diglett! (Lots of Digda!) Ep30 Sparks Fly for Magnemite (Do Coil Dream of Electric Mice!?) Ep29 The Punchy Pokemon (Fighting Pokemon! The Great Battle!) Ep28 Pokemon Fashion Flash (Rokon! Breeder Showdown!) Ep27 Hypno’s Naptime (Sleeper and Pokemon Hypnotism!?) Ep26 Pokemon Scent-sation! (Erika and Kusaihana) Ep25 Primeape Goes Bananas (Don’t Get Angry, Okorizaru!) Ep24 Haunter versus Kadabra (Ghost VS Esper) Ep23 The Tower of Terror (Capture at the Pokemon Tower!) Ep22 Abra and the Psychic Showdown (Casey! Psychic Showdown!) Ep21 Bye Bye Butterfree (same title) Ep20 The Ghost of Madien’s Peak “The Ghost Pokemon and the Summer Festival) Ep19 Tentacool & Tentacruel (Menokurage Dokukurage) Ep18 Beauty and the Beach (Holiday at Aopulco) Ep17 Island of the Giant Pokemon (same title) Ep16 Pokemon Shipwreck (Pokemon Adrift) Ep15 Battle Aboard the St. Anne (Battle on the St. Annu!) Ep14 Electric Shock Showdown (Electric Shock Showdown! Kuchiba Gym) Ep13 Mystery at the Lighthouse (Masaki’s Lighthouse) Ep12 Here Comes the Squirtle Squad (Enter the Zenigame Squad) Ep11 Charmander - The Stray Pokemon (Stray Pokemon - Hiokage) Ep10 Bulbasaur and the Hidden Village (Fushigidane of the Hidden Village) Ep9 The School of Hard Knocks (Pokemon Victory Manual) Ep8 The Path to the Pokemon League (The Road to the Pokemon League) Ep7 The Waterflowers oc Cerulean City (The Suichūka of Hanada City) Ep6 Clefairy and then Moon Stone (Pippi and the Moon Stone) Ep5 Showdown in Pewter City (Nibi Gym Battle!) Ep4 Challenge of the Samurai (Challenge of the Samurai Boy!) Ep3 Ash Catches a Pokemon (I Caught a Pokemon!) Ep2 Pokemon Emergency! (Showdown! Pokémon Center!) Ep1 Pokemon-I Choose You! (Same title)

WRITTEN these are all credited to @zdbztumble AG132 The Scheme Team (Enishida and the Battle Frontier!) Ep273 Gotta Catch Ya Later! (Goodbye…and Then, Setting Off!) Ep267 Love, Pokemon Style (League Preliminaries! Battle of the Magmarashi Flame!!) Ep216 Dueling Heroes (Whirlpool Cup! A Big Battle in the Water Colosseum!!) Ep100 Wherefore Art Thou, Pokemon? (Nidoran’s Love Story) Ep93 Navel Maneuvers (Navel Gym! Snowy Mountain Battle!) Ep91 Bye Bye Psyduck (Goodbye Koduck! Come Again Golduck?

So that is everything I can find. I wanted to make this list for myself as a catalog of what I am still hoping one day to find or someday will be translated. I think the top ones that still need to be are.. (this is going in the order of what I would want most-least and not chronological)

AG Ep44 The Princess and the Togepi (Enter Kasumi! Togepy and the Mirage Kingdom!!)

AG Ep55 A Togepi Mirage! (Other Side of the Mirage! Togepy’s Paradise!)

Ep52 Princess vs. Princess (Fierce Fight! Pokemon Girls Festival)

EP61 The Misty Mermaid (Hanada Gym! Underwater Battle!)

Ep217 The Perfect Match! (Satoshi VS Kasumi! The Final Battle in the Whirlpool Cup!!)

Ep132 For Crying Out Loud (Crybaby Maril)

Ep103 Misty Meets Her Match (Yuzu Gym! Type Battle 3 VS 3!!!)

Ep110 The Stun Spore Detour (Nyoromo and Kasumi)

Ep157 The Fortune Hunters (Pokemon Fortune-Telling!? Battle Royal!)

Ep169 Hook, Line, and Stinker (Azumao! Fishing Battle!!)

Ep183 Troubles Brewing (The Five Sisters of Eievui! Battle at the Tea Convention!!)

Ep193 Sick Daze (Takeshi Collapses! A Dangerous Camp!!)

Ep155 Forest Grumps (Ringuma Shock!!)

Ep206 The Joy of Water Pokemon (The Nurse Joy Who Hates Water Pokemon!? Kasumi’s Angel)

Ep226 Espeon, Not Included (Eifie and Sakura! Enjoy City Once Again!!)

Ep256 Just Add Water (Ryugu Gym! Battle in the Water!)

Ep121 Illusion Confusion! (Hoho and the Mysterious Forest!)

(OS)Ep50 Who Get’s to Keep Togepi? (Who Gets to Keep Togepy!?)

(OS)Ep57 The Breeding Center Secret (The Secret of the Breeding Center)

THE LAST THING IS SOMETHING I HAD TO CHANGE FROM MY ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THIS CATALOG. I NOW DON’T NEED TO ASK THIS CAUSE THANKS TO @pokeshipping I NOW HAVE ALL THE RAWS OF ALL OF OS -THE AG MISY CAMEOS.

This is another thing I mean when I say “If anyone would like to help with this project in any way” I have already started to message a translator for work on some specific clips. It is going to cost to me so I have to pick and choose. So if someone does have something not on this list and knows a translator or anything that could be of some help and lower my bill it would be greatly appreciated. I want this so much for myself so thats why I will do some translations out of pocket but when I do have translated clips I will be posting them for your benefit too. So if anyone wants to help.. please do message me. Maybe you have something i’m not aware of already translated or on the back burner and if so I would really appreciate hearing about it :)

If somehow I actually had the SUBS for specific scenes in my possession I would do all the editing and embed them into the clips themselves. Even if they are just written translations it would be helpful.

#pokemon #pokeshipping #misty waterflower

47 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 6 years ago

Text

The Brightest Star Pt.03

Starshine Eclipsed

05/22/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader Word Count: 9,658

Masterpost Warnings: light smut, dirty talk, jealousy, language, fluff

A/N: I have never struggled so much to get a chapter just right. I rewrote a portion of this chapter three times and finally found happiness in what I wrote. I hope you like it! I know this one isn’t as popular as my other stories but I LOVE this story personally. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

What to do? What to do?

Thor feels trapped. No, not trapped. Uneasy. His mind is racing. His heart is aching. And for all it’s furious thoughts, racing by faster than light, he still doesn’t know how to react to what he’s been shown.

Tony sits watching him. Thor can sense his eyes. The sharp yet quiet gaze of his earthly friend.

His eyes watch Thor as he crosses in front of the desk from one side of the office to the other. Thor has been pacing since he saw your tragedy. Made larger by the death of your mother and stepfather.

“Why did you show me that-that horror?” Thor growls, vicious regret in his tone even though he has nothing to regret. He didn’t do anything. Yet, he was alive. When you were four and your mother put you in that abominable casket.

He wishes he’d been there even if that makes no sense. He had not even known you existed all those years ago.

“Maybe I should have let her tell you?” Tony offers, knowing full well that you would have never volunteered the information unless you were forced.

Maybe if you and Thor got serious enough you might have eventually told him.

Thor stops to stare at Tony, glaring at him but then his electric blues dim, the spark of his anger fading, as he realizes that his friend was right to have shown him.

“No.” Thor relents. “No, she would not have told me, I don’t think.”

“I don’t know her really well, but I know enough about her personality to know that she’s shut herself in. For a while she tried to get out there. Join the world. Probably what she's doing again with those two clowns you’ve seen her with.” Tony pushes away from the desk and moves around it to pull out the left side drawer. He reaches in and pulls out a small black square.

“I went to school with Henry. We weren’t the greatest of friends, but we kept in touch. He was a good man. His wife…” Tony sighs and holds the picture out to Thor who stops his pacing finally, his nails digging hard into his palms as he keeps them fisted.

He moves towards Tony and reaches for the frame, bright red welts in the heel of his hand as he takes it. He looks at it and his heart goes into arrest.

There, smiling shyly at him from between a man with an honorable disposition and the horrible woman that Thor had seen in the video, is you.

You’re wearing a dress similar to the yellow of the one you wore in the video. Sunflower bright with pretty white lace around the collar and sleeves. You’re small. Smaller than you had been in the video. You can’t be more than two and a half? Maybe three?

His eyes sting.

“She was so small.” Thor laments. The wretched darkness of your skin charring, cracking like glass, and then exploding outwardly plays itself over and over in his mind.

“I was out of town when it happened. Young. Too busy with the rest of the world to care about what happened to anyone but myself. I was still—I lost my parents really young. Nowhere near as young as Y/N, but I spiraled.

“When I heard about what happened to her, I hesitated. I let it sit for a long time. I’ve known her since she was born. Cute kid but I had no time for cute kids back then.

“When I finally looked into what happened that night, no one was willing to help me figure it out, so I went on a hunting spree. When Hydra hacked into the Surestar systems and found this video, they saved in on a mainframe at one of their bases. I stole it from there. Kept it outta Fury’s hands. Just in case.”

“You were researching to see what had been done to her?” Thor asks, intrigued but not surprised that eventually Tony reached out to help Y/N. Thor understands that his friend holds the innocent in high regard, but he also cares very much for his friends and family.

“Not until I got this video. I was just trying to find out what happened in the lab. When I saw what they did to her, I began to wonder what secret project Carne had been working on and since she was up and about I found myself stupidly curious about what they’d done to her.”

Thor runs a large thumb across the curve of your tiny face before passing the picture back to Tony.

He takes it and Tony stares at it.

“And what did you discover?” Thor wonders, splaying both hands on the edge of Tony's desk, waiting for his answer.

“I’ve got the gist of what Henry was hoping to happen. Sometimes asteroids, small pieces, and meteors fall onto Earth. He wanted to catch them before they entered the atmosphere to see if the radiation could be transformed into energy. It was a silly idea. The amount of radiation on the rocks was too weak to do anything. You’d get more power from a potato.”

Thor's brow furrows, confused by the thought of powering anything with the lumpy vegetable. “Potato?”

Tony waves the question off, shaking his head.

“Yeah so, he turned to the Earth itself. He sought out different craters of impact, searching for…” Tony reaches up to run his right hand through his already unkempt hair. He drops the picture in his left and shoves that hand into his pocket, his eyes heavy and his expression sour. “…I don’t know, some miracle rock. He finally gave up and turned back to the resources we had right here but then there was an asteroid. A big one.”

“And it fell to Earth?” Thor wonders, brow creased and voice calmer.

“A piece of it did. The majority of the asteroid went around the Earth, did a loop in orbit and just flew on by but it knocked into a satellite. It got really close. Gave the space nerds a real scare for a while. Jane would have probably been dancing for joy.” Tony gives him a teasing smirk but Thor frowns.

His mind is on you. What does Jane have to do with this?

Tony waits for some type of response. When he doesn’t get one his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he pulls a packet of gum from his pocket. He pops a piece then holds out the squares to Thor.

“Gum?” He asks.

Thor shakes his head.

“Anyway,” Tony sighs and pockets his gum. “A piece broke off of the asteroid and for a long while everyone thought the rock was just that. Normal asteroid. Nothing special. Slightly higher than normal energy signal but otherwise nothing to cause alarm or incite interest.

“Of course, Henry being who he was, he didn’t give up until he'd tested the hell outta that rock.” Tony moves around the desk and Thor follows him with quizzical eyes.

“How do you know that if you said you were otherwise occupied in selfish exploits?” The insult is veiled though honestly also almost non-existent. It's only an insult if you don’t know Thor. Tony sees it for what it is. Curiosity.

“It was all in the reports I stole. What wasn't in the reports was what Henry found in those samples he had or what he was planning to do with what he found. I’ve been searching for years but the only clue to what happened to Y/N died with Carne and Henry. She may not even know herself what happened.

“I wish she'd just let me run some tests. I know I could figure it out and help her maybe? Not that she needs my help. She seems to have this whole reclusive heiress gig worked out. And now she's got the God of Thunder on her trail? She could be doing worse. She text back yet?”

Tony stops by the door to face Thor, both hands in his pockets now.

Thor's heart pounds, remembering the stupid text he’d sent. An unimpressive hello.

He clicks the button that Nat had shown him to bring the screen to life but the small bar at the top indicates no received messages.

“No.” Thor replies with a pout.

“She's a busy woman, despite all the stalking you did, if you didn’t know who she really was then I’m sure you only saw her when she was blowing off some steam. Give her some time.” Tony offers, hoping his words will give Thor a bit of relief.

“Right.” Thor nods but looks down at his phone again.

“Bed time. Pepper’s waiting. See you in the morning.” Tony turns to leave.

“Stark,” Thor calls out and he waits for Tony to turn. “Can I keep that picture?”

Thor's not looking at Tony. He’s staring at your family portrait where you're still shy but clearly happy without the weight of the world on your shoulders yet.

“Sure. And F.R.I.D.A.Y. send Thor a copy of the video we saw tonight.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Thor is already reaching for the picture but stops at Tony's words to look at him. “Maybe you might see something I’ve missed? Night.”

Thor can’t sleep. In fact, he's spent the night pacing the length of his bedroom. The sun is just cresting across the horizon painting the sky a brilliant orange, carnation pink, and sunflower yellow when his phone finally dings.

Never in his life has an innocuous series of chirps and digital beeps made his heart leap quite so fast into overdrive.

He dives for his phone, slamming his hand hard against the fancy white bedside table where his phone has been charging.

“Ow.” He mutters, shaking his left hand as he falls sideways onto the plush of his bed. “Damn.”

He reaches over and grabs his phone with his other hand as he continues to shake his throbbing fingers.

He eyes the table suspiciously. What the hell is that thing made of?

He clicks the screen and shoots to his feet when he sees your name on the screen, the preview of the message is simple. Just like his own message.

Starshine: Hi. Who is this? With a smiley face on the end.

Thor revels for a moment on the small image after your response. He'll have to figure out how to add those later. For now, heart pounding, he unlocks the phone completely and opens his messages to reply.

Thor: Good morning! It is I, Thor. Son of Odin. I’m sorry if I woke you last night from-

“No. Something cooler, Thor.” He grumbles at himself, fingers trembling excitedly over the small keyboard.

Thor: Oh, hey. It's Thor. Forgot I sent this message. I was just getting up. Almost didn’t even hear the tex-

“No!” He gripes, then growls and erases the message.

Thor: Hello, my gem. It is I. Your God of Thunder. How are you this morni-

Thor chuckles darkly, his jaw tight as he jams his thumb onto the backspace button. The screen flickers.

“Gently.” He reminds himself. Nat had warned him these devices tended to he very fragile and that if he broke the screen he'd be doomed to replace it with his own money.

With a defeated sigh, his thumbs fly across the phone, pressing the digital buttons with a deep apprehension. Is it too late to just give up?

Thor: It's Thor. Sorry I sent the message so late.

With nervous guts, twisting and coiling, Thor stares at the unimpressive message and waits with bated breath. What if you don’t reply right away?

He's saved the waiting however, as the phone vibrates too loudly in his hot hand and the dings of his alert make him jump.

Starshine: Thor! I’m so happy to hear from you so soon. I woke up this morning sure that I’d dreamt up the whole morning yesterday.

The soothing wave of relief melts the tension holding Thor's shoulders stiff and he throws himself back onto the bed. He taps his feet happily, still pressed to the floor over the edge of his mattress.

He replies quickly. Now that he knows you’re happy to hear from him, he has no reason to not reply fast, right?

Thor: There were moments when I too thought it was a dream. This is my new phone number. Be sure to save it. I hope you slept well?

He continues to hold the phone over his face with his left while he drops his right arm, hand splayed out over the ultra smooth silk silver sheets. The material is cool having sat all night without his heat to warm it.

Smiling like a fool, he waits patiently impatient for your reply.

Starshine: I slept very well. Thanks. And you?

“Fuck.” Thor breathes, nearly silent. Cursing is reserved for only the most severe of stressful situations and realizing too late that you'd reciprocate the polite inquiry of sleeping well, he now has to either lie to you about not having slept because he was waiting for your reply and watching that video of you over and over, or just tell you.

Both options are not ideal. Will he seem strange to you for it?

Thor: If I’m honest, I did not sleep.

He waits, knowing what you'll ask.

Starshine: Oh. I’m sorry. Were you working? With the Avengers? Feel free not to tell me of it's like confidential or something.

Thor smiles despite the raging yellow belly of fear he's fighting.

Thor: No. Nothing like that. My mind was simply preoccupied. I had a lot to think about.

Starshine: Was I a part of that “lot to think about" at all?

Uh oh. Nervous flutters are raging in Thor's belly and he can’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. Like a boy with a crush. If he tells you he loves you, will you shun him?

Thor: You might have popped in there once or twice. Or three or seventy times.

Starshine: I was waiting all day for you to call or text. Is that weird?

Thor: No! It's not weird. I have been eager to see you again.

Starshine: Really? Me?

Gods, you are perfection. How do you not know it? Then again, if he hadn’t been looking at you right when your eyes shined with that intoxicating enthusiasm, he might not know either. Blind fool! He'd almost missed it.

Thor: Yes. When can I see you again?

Looking cool be damned. He wants to see you.

Starshine: Is this morning too soon? I’ll be at the café in about an hour. I just need to get dressed.

DONK, DONK, DONK!

Three startling knocks surprise Thor and his hands slip. The phone falls onto his face painfully crushing his nose. The corner poking his left eye.

“Ow!”

“Thor? You up?” The Captain's voice is even, strong, and very awake for the time.

Thor sits up, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, grabbing the phone in his right.

“Yes.” He booms, irritated slightly but only because his face hurts and also, he's pretty sure he knows why Steve is here.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks.

“Of course.” Thor grumbles.

The door opens and just as he suspects, Steve walks in wearing his suit. His Captain suit.

“Hey, we uh—isn’t that what you had on yesterday?” Steve asks.

Without his cowl, his blonde hair falls annoyingly perfect across his forehead. Has Steve always been that good looking? Thor frowns.

“Yes.” He replies curtly.

“Oh.” Steve continues. “Well, we got a mission. Can you meet us in Latvia?”

Thor sighs, looks down at your message, then nods as he meets Steve's storm blue eyes once more.

“Of course. I will follow shortly.”

“Great.” Steve smiles, and Thor narrows his eyes at the blonde beefcake. That is what they’re called right? Good looking men with wide builds and sturdy legs?

Thor swears he heard Natasha use it for Bucky once or twice. Under her breath of course. Never loudly enough for Bucky to hear.

As he leaves, Thor wonders if you’ve seen Steve up close. What if you secretly like Steve? He'll wait a long time before he introduces you to the team.

He'll make sure you’re absolutely in love with him before he does.

With the door shut, Thor looks down at his phone and sighs heavily with disappointment.

Thor: It seems that I am needed with the team. I’m very sorry to say I will not be able to go to the café this morning.

Starshine: Oh…okay. I mean, the world needs you right?

Thor: It would seem so. Forgive me.

Starshine: Thor, there's nothing to forgive! You have a job to do. An important one. I can see you later. Right?

Thor: Nothing would give me more pleasure.

Starshine: Great! So, how about this? When you’re done saving the world, call me?

There's a moment of pause while Thor reads your message, then his heart is twisting in a strange excruciatingly pleasant way as another message comes through.

Starshine: I wanna hear your voice.

Thor: The very moment I am back, I will call you. Wait for me.

He has to be dreaming. This can’t be real.

Starshine: I’ll wait days if I have to.

Thor's heart nearly bursts through his chest. Days be damned! He will be back before the day is out.

He gets to his feet, shoves the phone into his pocket then holds out his hand as he struts towards the large almost wall of windows. He carefully pushes the door aside as Stormbreaker lands in his hand.

The small balcony is only large enough for one chair and a spot for him to stand comfortably.

In one fluid motion he throws his arm with Stormbreaker up at the sky. It crackles and booms as he's engulfed by blinding light shifting him into full black armor, his red cape billowing in the wind as Stormbreaker pulls him up into the sky to catch up with the jet.

You’ve never really liked anyone before. Not seriously.

There was Seth of course but it had only been a crush. Maybe this thing with Thor is just a crush too?

It doesn’t feel like a crush though.

It’s stupid. You feel stupid for getting like this over a guy—no, Thor’s not just a guy but still—when you’ve only spoken to him once. Twice if you include the texts.

There’s a knock on your door. You jump. Startled out of the silence and deep thought you’ve fallen into.

“Y/N?” You know that voice but you’re not in the mood to hear it.

You can hear the soft whish of your dark wooden door, but you don’t dare look back. You remain seated where you are, at the foot of your bed on the soft gray padded bench, silver hoop legs resting on the edge of your royal plum carpet. You keep your eyes focused on the horizon. Deep blue as the evening shifts into night. There are no stars. You wish you could see the stars.

“Hey.” He says, smooth as silk, elongating the word like he’s talking to a toddler throwing a tantrum. Or like he's done something wrong.

You say nothing. Why should you? No one wants to hear you talk. No one wants to see you. Why is he here? Your phone sits beside you, screen still lit with the keyboard on full display while message after unanswered message fills the rest.

Jeremy sits beside you. He keeps the phone between you, stares at it for a second, then lifts it up to read it. He scrolls through the messages. You watch his reflection, too embarrassed and ashamed to look at his face. He's all casual today. A gray baseball tee with ocean blue sleeves. Jeans. Sneakers.

Jeremy knows you better than anyone else on this planet. Your old caretaker, your father’s most trusted employee, had been the other. Papa Roman, you’d called him. He’d been a sweet older man with dark graying hair, a tall build with arms and a chest that had hinted at a life lived healthily.

However, even exercise hadn’t kept away his heart attack and he’d passed two years after he’d hired Jeremy to watch you when he couldn’t.

Only Jeremy knows, like Papa Roman had, about what you’re truly capable of. You want to keep it that way.

Despair isn’t something you’re familiar with. You know loneliness well. You know desire and you know what it feels like to wish you had parents.

Agony?

This deep pit of pure pain that you find yourself in doesn’t feel right or good or even worth it for the time you spent knowing Thor.

“Still no reply?” Jeremy wonders, still scrolling through text after text. They’re all variations of the same message.

You: Did I do something wrong? Why haven’t you called? Are you okay?

Answering Jeremy’s question isn’t important.

He sighs, then scoots closer and drops your phone onto the edge of the carpet between your feet where it falls and rattles against the umber hardwood floors of your bedroom.

The screen is off so at least you don’t have to stare at your inability to take a hint.

“Maybe this is for the best, kid? I mean, he’s a hero, right? Wouldn’t he have tried to get you to step up?” Jeremy wonders, eyes scanning the scant, yet modern decor of your bedroom.

You don’t need much in this space even though it's large. The city skyline makes it feel full.

The doorway that Jeremy had wandered in through is to the right of your bed. It's wide, tall, and in a small squared alcove that keeps it in darkness. Overhead a single row of small round circle lights embedded into your tall dark ceiling cast a soft glow of yellow light down into the room.

It’s dim. With three walls—though really, it’s more like sections since the walls are really just one large curving flow of windows, separated by two large cylindrical columns—all made of floor to ceiling windows, you have no need for extensive lighting. You keep a lamp by your bed, just in case.

To the right of your doorway is a small sitting area. A gray modern couch, angular and sharp in its lines but soft and plush to sit on. Comfortable. With large comfy pillows and a pink throw blanket for when you get cold which is almost never.

Against the right wall of windows is a matching backless settee with white and pink pillows to match the blanket. At the center of these two seats is a large square coffee table where you’ve left your laptop, a book, and a glass of sipped water.

It’s probably stale by now.

The edges of the table are slightly more interesting as on it is a long bar of what appears to be glass with a slightly larger bit of glass towards the center, like a fin at the center of the line’s back. There’s a dim purple glow coming from the glass and several icons on the left and right side of the center, larger part of the glass bar.

To the left of your doorway, almost as soon as you come in is a small black bedside table. Modern design, shining and elegant. Then your bed, pressed against the only solid wall of your bedroom is a patted gray headboard and a low platform bed with dark gray sheets.

There’s a bit of empty space between your bed and the next doorway—your bathroom—and past that is a sturdy glass doorway that leads to a sizable balcony that wraps around a portion of your room.

The balcony is decorated. You like being outdoors and there are several seats, plants and pretty lights in minimalistic modern lanterns carefully staged to give you the sense of a small outdoor garden.

You’d spent a meticulous amount of time picking each and every flower; Peach azaleas, multicolored snapdragons, burgundy calla lilies, chamomile, pale blue chrysanthemums, orange ice geraniums, aromatic lavender, majestic midnight morning glories, pure white petunias, sunshine orange dahlias, and blush pink foxgloves. You’d made yourself a veritable Eden.

There are lots of dark corners to hide between the seats and large potted plants. You should have hidden from Jeremy out there.

“You not talking to me too, now?” Jeremy probes, nudging you with his shoulder.

You reach out with your toes and nudge your phone, pushing it so that it slides across the smooth wooden floor.

“Come on, Y/N. I know you got your hopes up about this guy, but you can’t shut down like this.” Jeremy sighs heavily, reaching over to take hold of your hand.

“I know.” You admit, hating the insecurities you’ve been wallowing in. “He was just so…I mean, eventually he might have understood me. You know? More than most people can. He was…I though he was different.”

Isn’t it human to feel things? You are human still. Just because you burn hot and because you’re like Thor, different, it doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel rejected if you’ve been rejected. “And…nine days? Without so much as a word? He promised he’d call and—never mind. Maybe I just read too much into it? Like always.”

“Y/N, you’re going to find the right guy someday. Or girl, if that’s what you want. And they're going to love every part of you. Even the bits you can’t help.” Jeremy gives your hand a squeeze and you nod.

Appeasing him might be the best way to get yourself to be alone again.

“But you can’t go skipping your meetings. I know this sucks, Y/N, but you have responsibilities. Starlux Café needs your attention.”

“Is something wrong with it?” You twist your head to look at him, worry creasing the space between your eyes as your mind finally makes room for something other than the intoxicating warmth of Thor.

Starlux Café has been your one and only true investment since inheriting your dad’s company. In a sense, the chain of cafes is your baby.

“No. Nothing’s wrong with it, but you need to be present, Y/N. This is your responsibility. You can’t just shirk it because you got dumped.” His words are harsh. They hit you sharply, making you flinch and turn away from him again.

“I’d have to have been dating him to get dumped. He didn’t even see fit to have a real first date with me.”

“Well, there you go. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass back to work.” Jeremy insists ruthlessly.

You turn a scandalized look on him only to find him grinning at you, his chiseled chin all covered in fuzzy five o’clock shadow and his round framed glasses slipping down along his straight nose.

You return his smile for all of one second because you know that he’s only trying to distract you from the pit in your stomach.

As your smile disappears, you turn towards the starless night sky, so easily visible through the wall of windows before you.

You’re filled with a strange sense of yearning and you’re not sure if it’s for the stars or for Thor, but it hurts.

With a fluttering hand you reach up to stroke the shard of gleaming black stone dangling around your neck. It's hung on a delicate silver chain.

The stone itself has got several facets and your finger searches for the front most one until it finds the slightly larger inward curve where the tip of your thumb finds the almost glass-like feel of the garnet colored gem shard within.

Jeremy’s hand finds yours again. He slips his fingers between it and the stone to pull you away from the nervous habit until his palm is pressed flush to yours. His skin feels cool against your own fevered temperature.

“You’ve been stressing.” He realizes.

Duh! How else are you supposed to feel when the possible man of your dreams sends you some flirty texts and then doesn’t call you like he promised he would?

Leisurely he slides his hand along your palm then stops when his middle finger finds its center. He traces slow tantalizing circles, your core twitching in response to the familiar indicator of what's to come.

You know what he’s going to do before he does it and you meet his dark stoic gaze. You don’t resist him as he stands, turns to you, then places his right knee to your left on the soft cushion of the bench.

He leans down towards you, bringing his handsome face mere inches from yours while he wraps his left arm around your lower back.

He lifts you up, arching your back so you're chest to chest then leads you back onto the end of the bed.

Your body sinks pressed against the mattress as Jeremy crawls over you. He hikes you up until you’re laying with your head on your pillow.

With his eyes boring into yours until he can no longer meet them, he presses a slow open mouthed kiss to your throat.

You sigh, your core constricting once more, but he gets up before you have the chance to enjoy the touch. His biceps bulge and twitch with the movement as he stands beside your bed.

He removes his glasses first, dropping them onto your bedside table before he reaches up behind his head to grip the neck of his navy and gray baseball tee and peel it away.

His body is ridiculous. You know he’s a bit of a fitness nut. He doesn’t eat things that are bad for his body which weirds you out. How do you say no to such good foods? In these moments you appreciate his dedication though, however irritating it might make him when he argues with you about what you should eat for lunch.

He kicks off his sneakers then unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the floor before stepping out of them, leaving him in a pair of tight lime green briefs with a dark gray waistband.

The sturdy fabric does little to his the rock hard bulge of his cock. Once more, your core clenches, eager to be filled.

You smile at him, amused as he climbs back over you then with skillful hands, begins to undo the large silver buttons of your long knee-length black skirt.

He starts at the bottom and slowly works his way up. Your heart pounding with every flick of his fingers.

“What are you smiling about, kid?” He asks, blinking slowly as his hands work their way up your legs. He doesn’t smile, but rather gives you a nice steady gaze. It’s so clear, the mischievous glint of his dark eyes.

Jeremy sees you for who you are. Emotionally stunted. Insecure. Afraid. Powerful. A bit of a sap. And lonely. Mostly lonely. He knows your good and your bad.

“Nice undies.” You tease and he drags his bottom lip between the edge of his teeth. He slips his hand into the open slit of your skirt. Up, up, up until he reaches beneath you towards your bottom.

He gives it a pinch. Hard.

You jump. “Ow! Jerk.”

“Don’t make fun of my underwear then.” He laughs, then grabs the waistband of your underwear to drag them down. Yours aren’t so impressive either. Just a pair of teal boy shorts.

You lift your legs as he pulls them away, slipping them off then tosses them to join his pile of clothes.

“You want me to make you feel better? Feel good?” He asks, his voice low and husky. You know that tone so well now.

You nod, slowly. Completely at his mercy in this moment, under his unwavering control. You take his lead here. In your bed. In every place he’s ever shown you the wonders of what you’d known nearly nothing about. He’s always been in control of you here.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Jeremy?” You’re too scared to look at him. He’s sitting across from you in your living room, the TV on the segmented wall to your left mounted over the unlit fireplace is playing some old movie you’re too distracted to pay attention to.

Your mind is reeling from the sight you’d stumbled upon earlier today. You hadn’t been expecting it but seeing that couple in the bathroom of your building, making those noises and saying those things when they thought no one was listening…well, it got you curious.

Your cheeks burn as you wait for him to look at you and respond. He’s busy with his paperwork. He’s so focused. So invested in your affairs. He’s been there for everything.

Over the last year, after Papa Roman had gone, he grew more determined. Devoted. Jeremy’s been with you through thick and thin.

He helped you fight for dominance in your company. To preserve your dad’s original vision and keep the jerks on the board at bay and he'd helped you cope with the loss of Papa Roman and the stresses of living life as you and your strangeness.

Will asking him this be weird? You have no one else.

No one.

“Jeremy?” You repeat meekly.

“Hm?” He mumbles, leaning far over the wooden coffee table to reach a paper with too many numbers.

“What-what is sex like?” You blink, cheeks burning, ears molten, neck on fire. You keep your eyes on his extended hand. His fingers curved around the slip of paper, now frozen.

Should you look at him? No. You can’t.

“What?” His voice isn’t outraged like you’d suspected it might be. It’s not even uncomfortable. Surprised maybe?

You chance a look and find him watching you with his brow furrowed. Dark brown eyes searching your expression for a giveaway that maybe this might be a joke?

He won’t find it.

“What’s sex like?” You swallow hard. Now that you’ve met his eyes, you can’t tear them away. Is he ashamed for you? Are you embarrassing yourself for asking him this?

Of course, you are! You know why you’ve never been able to do it. For one, you’re so withdrawn that you haven’t really connected with anyone meaningfully to want to do that. You also haven’t let yourself even think about kissing or doing anything that might bring about a reaction.

You’re dangerous. You know this. Papa Roman had the scorch scars to prove it.

“You haven’t-?”

You shake your head, wildly from side to side. Answering his question but also chasing away the stupidity if what you just asked.

“I-I’ve read about it but…” You stop, voice trailing off into silence as your energy shifts nervously.

You’re not blind. You know how hot Jeremy is and that's not helping your bashfulness.

“Why are you asking, Y/N?” He demands sternly.

“I heard a couple. The bathroom in my office was being repaired, so I went to use the one in the hallway but when I went in there was someone m-moaning and I could hear them. I saw two pairs of feet…with my condition, doing anything like that has never been an option for me. I’ve made sure to keep people at a distance for exactly that reason. I could hurt them.”

Could you be more embarrassed? Probably not. Jeremy’s face isn’t betraying whatever he’s thinking either. He’s so stoic. Thinking hard, clearly, but unaffected by your words. Maybe he doesn’t care?

You’re so used to him being here, around you, helping you, that you realize you might very well have been mistaking his dedication to his job as concern for you. Not everyone can actually care like Papa Roman—and you would never have dared ask him something like this. Papa Roman would have freaked out with worry.

Because he’s taking so long to respond, you look away from him and watch the sunlight dance along the floor. The walls behind the two of you are pure glass curve with stark white metal support beams. They allow the light of the early afternoon to filter in.

Living at the peak of your building has its perks. With so much reinforced glass, you have no need for lights during the day.

Five minutes have passed.

That’s a long time for silence. You’ve never tried to deliberately sit and wait five minutes to pass in complete silence and you realize now how terribly stressful silence can be.

Your eyes wander down to your feet and you curl in on yourself, retreating from the needless question you should never have asked.

“Never mind. I-I’m sorry I asked, I was just curious. I didn’t mean to-Ah!” Strong arms suddenly yank you to your feet.

Your shout of surprise doesn’t startle Jeremy.

In fact, he doesn’t seem phased at all.

He drags you away from your sofa and pulls you towards the kitchen open modern kitchen on the other side of your TV mounted wall.

He pulls you past it and your heart thumps heavily as you realize that the only place to go from here is your room.

Giving his arm a firm tug, you plant your bare feet on the cool and gleaming concrete floor.

“Where are we going?” You ask, terrified.

No. That can’t be what he’s doing. It’s impossible. It’s unethical. He’s your assistant! He’s paid to help you…out…?

“I’m gonna show you what sex is like, but only if you want me to.” He explains, watching your face with sudden trepidation. There’s a subtle downward curve to his lips almost as if he’s afraid you may tell him no.

“But my condition will prob-”

“I know very well what your condition is. Do you want my help, or not?” He asks, stepping closer to you.

You’re suddenly very aware of his substantial size. He’s muscular and tall. Well above average.

“I could hurt you.” You worry, voice rising in octave towards the end.

“Is that a ‘no’?”

“No.” You whisper, and he takes that as a yes.

Closing the distance between you he sweeps your legs out from underneath you with one arm and catches your back with his other one then proceeds to strut towards your bedroom.

“Jeremy…?” You begin, worried about what this might mean for your working relationship.

You can’t afford to lose Jeremy. He’s your life support! He helps you with business and now it seems he’s going to help you with your personal life even more than he already does?

“This doesn’t mean anything, Y/N. I can give you this and I hope maybe it’ll make your life a little easier.” He explains as he pushes your door open with his foot.

“But…you don’t have to, Jer. This isn’t what-I’m not expecting anything like this. It’s not your job.” You blather.

“Taking care of you is my job. And we can’t expose your condition to some outsider.” He drops in height, still holding you tight as he lowers you onto the bed. “Can you imagine the paperwork I'll have to fill out if you hurt some random dude?”

You consider it. There will be liability waivers and NDAs. Insurance and it really would be a big headache.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispers.

You consider it. You almost open your mouth and tell him that you can’t do this. It isn’t right. It’s not fair to have him do this for you. Maybe sex just isn’t something you’ll ever get to have?

Cool skin burns a trail from your right ankle, slowly up along your calf, knee, and along the soft outer flesh of your thigh. You gasp, tingling strangely where you’ve never tingled before. You feel slick and strange as your core moistens.

This you’ve felt before but never like this. Never this strongly.

“Tell me to stop.” Jeremy whispers, lowering himself closer. He’s only a few inches away from your face.

“No.” You relent, giving in to the intoxicating sensations your body is getting from the strange ice-fire of his touch.

It scalds you and Jeremy stares into your eyes, reaffirming without words that this is duty not passion, before he seals his lips to yours drawing out your ragged breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How?” He asks, grinning at the way you melt to his instruction.

He’s always been bossy, giving you tips and pointers and detailed direction. Lately he's become more demanding vocally. Asking and urging you to tell him the things you want and like. Clearly wanting you to take charge of your sexuality.

It’s sweet, in a weird sort of way.

He wants you strong. He wants you to grow.

“My fingers?” He asks, holding up his hand for you to see.

You shake your head, despite what you know he can d with those fingers.

“A toy?” He offers, giving your bedside table a glance.

You shake your head.

“You want me to rub you?”

You shake your head, tempting as having his hands on your body might be.

“You want me to eat you up, Y/N?”

A strange thrill passes through you and you nod.

“Then tell me.” He orders and you bite your bottom lip. You’re not sure about this talking in bed thing. It’s great hearing him say these things to you but you’ll probably sound stupid saying it yourself. “Come on, Y/N. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Jer, please.” You beg, he knows what you want! Why does he need to hear you say it?

“You gonna burn me if I don’t do it? Come on, kid, tell me what you want. You want me to eat your pussy?” He speaks slowly, deeply, his tone tantalizing. Your body is on fire.

He smiles, feeling the rise of heat underneath your skin.

“Come on, kid, tell me.” He whispers, teasing you this time, playfully.

“E-eat my p-p-pussy?” You tell him, your confidence waning as soon as you begin to speak the words.

“Gotta do better than that, chipmunk.” You hate that nickname. And he only uses it in bed. Bastard.

Your anger is momentary because his hand is sliding up along the inner flesh of your thigh. Your mouth pops open, your breathing heavier as the tips of his fingers slide along your wet slit.

“I wanna do it, chipmunk. You just gotta tell me.”

“Ugh, I hate you.” You growl at him, falling back completely as you wiggle against his hand.

His fingers disappear and you whine in protest. You curve to your left, staring down at him where he’s still grinning like the teasing shit that he knows he is.

You growl in frustration, then drop your defense as you plead, “Please, Jer, eat my pussy? Please?”

He smiles, wide.

“’Atta girl.” Pearly whites shining in the dim light of your room. He shifts on the bed, hooks his hands behind your knees before yanking you down a bit and then spreads your legs as he disappears into the half open fold of your skirt.

So much had gone wrong on mission. Although it could have been worse. At least the rest of the team was safe.

“It’s gonna be good to be home.” Tony confesses keeping up with Thor's flight speed easily.

Thor can understand Stark’s desire to get back. He’s got Pepper. Probably worried out of her mind.

“It is indeed my friend.” Thor agrees, eager to get home to shower and change and-

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!

They all come in at once, distracting Thor from his train of thought as he finally lands on the section of balcony outside his room.

“What the hell is that?” Tony wonders distracted by the strange noise too. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Incoming missile?”

Thor has to agree. It sounds oddly like Stark’s suit alerting him to danger.

Thor turns around to look up at the sky where Stark has stopped to float in mid-air, thrusters hissing blue fire. He looks behind Tony, searching for the threat but he sees nothing.

“Wasn’t me.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says.

“What then? Flying ice cream truck?” Tony asks sarcastically.

Ding.

One more comes through and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s finally home, back on Earth, so close to his room, or because he can see your glittering, twisted building in the distance but Thor remembers his phone.

“Oh, no.” His heart drops.

“What?!” Tony asks, on alert. He flings himself around, scanning the skies, arms raised and ready to fight.

“I forgot.” Thor gasps and he scrambles to retrieve the phone from his hidden pocket.

“Forgot?” Tony’s confused. As he flies lower to level out with Thor, he suddenly starts to laugh.

“It's not funny.” Thor growls at him but Tony is incorrigible.

He shakes his head, making the Iron Man look displeased but Thor knows that Stark is really grinning underneath that helmet.

“Please tell me you didn’t make plans with her or that you at least called her before we flew out after that maniac spaceship. It’s been almost ten days.”

As if Thor needs Stark to tell him!

He’d completely been wrapped up in the fight that he’d given chase without thinking twice about what he was leaving behind.

Forget you?

Yes, okay! He forgot you. But it was only because—oh what does it matter?!

Thor is so busy punching the side button of his phone that he’s not listening to anything Stark is saying.

Tony nods, and when Thor focuses on what he's saying, he's mid-sentence. “-good thing I designed them with that extra long battery life. Maybe I should work in a really strong signal booster? Hope you didn’t screw the pooch too badly.”

Thor does too, but he’s distracted and he doesn’t notice when Tony flies off to his own floor.

As he scrolls, Thor's eyes read faster than they’ve ever read before.

Starshine: Thor?

Starshine: Are you okay?

Starshine: You never called. I just hope you’re okay.

Starshine: I saw the news. You went off-world?

Starshine: When you get back, coffee’s on me, okay?

Starshine: There’s this new movie playing and it reminded me of you. I mean, the guy in it is tall and blonde and kinda looks like a Viking so…yeah.

Starshine: I have another book for you to read, if you want. I’ll show you when you get back.

Starshine: Is it weird to text you when things make me think of you? I feel like I’m texting you too much.

Starahine: Good morning! I had a dream that I was floating in a sea of stars last night. It was beautiful.

Starshine: You’ll have to tell me what it’s like in space. To be surrounded by all those stars? It must be breathtaking.

Starshine: Have you ever been to Pluto? They say it isn’t a planet anymore. Poor Pluto, right?

Starshine: What about Mars? Are there really aliens there?

Starshine: Wait. Aren’t you an alien, technically?

Starshine: There’s this joke I heard and it’s so silly and stupid. I’ll have to tell you when you get back.

Starshine: I’m being weird, right? It’s been days and I’m still texting you like some psycho stalker.

Starshine: I was determined to go all day without texting you but they put whip cream in my coffee and I thought of you.

Starshine: I hope you’re safe. You’ve been gone four days now. You’re coming back right?

Starshine: What kind of music do you like? Here on Earth? Have you discovered anything particular?

Starshine: I’ll make some suggestions if you want. If you don’t know where to start.

Starshine: I really am starting to feel like meeting you was a dream. A really good dream.

Starshine: OMG! You’re back! I can’t wait to see you.

“O-M-G?” Thor wonders what that might mean. And back?

He sneaks a look at the date of the message but it's five days ago.

Starshine: I’m sorry I’ve been texting so much. I was just worried.

Starshine: Am I bugging you? I’m sorry. You’re probably tired. I’ll leave you be.

Starshine: Thor? I know I should stop texting you, but I just want to know that you got back okay. They said in the news you got back yesterday but you haven’t been by the café. Did you still want to meet up?

Starshine: Did I do something wrong? Is it all the texts? The calls? I just…I don’t understand.

Starshine: Thor?

Starshine: Can we just forget all of my craziness? I’ll stop texting, I promise. Just send me a simple, ‘ok’ and I’ll know that you got back safe and I won’t bug you anymore.

Starshine: What did I do? Do you know? About my company? Who I am? Is that it? I didn’t mean to lie to you. I just…people find out what I do for a living and they react. They don’t treat me the same anymore.

Starshine: I get it. You’re upset maybe? I’ll wait at the café for you. All day if I have to. Just give me a chance to explain myself. Please? I promise if you don’t want to talk to me after I’ve said my piece, I’ll leave you alone.

Starshine: I know that if you didn’t come you probably want nothing to do with me. I’m sorry I’ve bugged you so much and I’ll stop texting you now. It was nice to meet you. Again, I’m sorry. Really sorry.

And one final text message that came in yesterday.

Starshine: Thor?

Thor scrolls all the way back to the top again and then all the way back down as if a new message will appear. One for today. There has to be one for today. And you’ve been begging him to reply!

Is there any way to feel more awful about the way your excitement seems to have died, even via text? He hadn’t meant to forget. It just…what news reports?

Thor storms his way into his room but opts to forget the shower in favor of finding out what the hell it is you were talking about.

It’s also so late that you have to be asleep. He can call you tomorrow to avoid waking you. He places Stormbreaker by his door as he leaves.

The kitchen is packed. Tony and Pepper stand behind the counter—Tony’s hand moving from side to side along the small of Pepper’s back—while Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Vision lounge by the dining table. Nat turns towards him as he marches in, perched on Bucky’s lap.

Guess things went well for them?

Bucky shifts his metal arm around her waist as Nat twists to turn and look at Thor.

“Hey Romeo, go see your girl yet?” She playfully queries, sending a painful spike through Thor’s chest.

The sudden shift of expression on each of his friend’s faces tell him that his own is probably somber. Steve is the one to step forward, looking more concerned than anyone else.

“Yeah, did you read all those messages?” Stark asks making Thor frown more deeply.

“Y/N said something about new stories in her messages. She said that Stark and I returned five days ago when we clearly did not.” Thor ponders, confused and worried.

“Oh, that.” Nat begins but she turns her gaze on Steve.

“We fed the news to the larger stations so that our enemies wouldn’t know that two of our strongest members were off-world. It keeps the riffraff at bay. Why? Did it cause a problem?” Steve wonders, his storm blue eyes genuinely concerned.

Thor looks down at his phone, sighing in defeat. “Y/N…she thinks we’ve been back for four days and that I have not been returning her texts because she did not tell me about her wealth. I just got the messages now.”

“I’m so sorry, Thor. I-” But what can Steve say? It’s not like he did it with the intent of hurting you. He was being practical about the threats that Earth faces on a daily basis.

“No.” Thor cuts him off, his worry increasing as he thinks over what you might be feeling this very moment.

He would never not respond to you. Surely it had been clear how much you were of interest to him, right? The looks he gave you, the few words of clear affection that he said to you, they were enough to keep the darker thoughts at bay, were they not? “No. I should have called her before we left.”

“Well, you said she’s nice right? Sweet?” Sam wonders, moving to lean against the back of a chair. “I’m sure she’ll understand. Just tell her it’s Steve’s fault.”

“Way to go, Steve. Smoothest cat with the ladies. Even the ones in your periphery.” Bucky chortles, shaking his head.

Steve tilts his head to one side, sorry for his part in whatever trouble might come from this misunderstanding.

“Right…I’m-I’m sure she’ll understand.” Thor nods, forcing his lips into a small smile that does not meet his eyes. “Excuse me. I’m going to shower.”

“Sorry, buddy!” Steve calls out after him, but Thor is at a loss. Every step that he takes back to his room fills him with more dread.

He wants you. He wants you so badly that he can taste the sweet scent of you even though he hasn’t seen you in days. He wants to shower you with affection and love and maybe he’s jumping the gun, but love is most certainly what this is, right?

He wouldn’t feel like dying this way if it wasn’t love.

No. He can’t wait.

He can’t leave you wondering.

If it were him and you’d disappeared for days on end and never replied to one of his messages he’d have already been scouring the globe for you.

He’d be out of his mind with worry and self-doubt and that is not acceptable. He can’t be one of the reasons you feel that way.

Thor turns, shifting towards his balcony and holding out his hand. Stormbreaker flies into it. Once he’s outside again, he thrusts the hammer upwards and Thor is pulled from the spot.

He flies with purpose, wasting no time getting to your building. He rounds the top, spotting a smaller balcony with lots of flowers blooming despite the cold of the growing winter. The air nips and bites at his skin but he shifts his weight and flies straight for that balcony.

He lands as quietly as he can, hoping not to wake you if you have managed to get some sleep.

He can see the soft glow of light and he follows it.

“Do you feel better now?” Another voice asks. A male voice.

Probably just your assistant. It’s not weird that he’s here at this time of night. He works for you. Thor’s mind is quick to reason.

“A little.” Your sweet voice mumbles.

“Oh, jeez, thanks.”

You laugh. Easy and smooth and rich. He wants you.

Thor’s heart breaks. That beautiful laugh! He has to see you.

Very slowly he sidles along the large countless potted plants. He shifts between two long cushioned blue seats and peeks into the room you’re in between two large bushels of some peach colored flower.

The anger that courses through Thor is like a stranger. Once felt but long since forgotten. He remembers this feeling. This cutting emotion that poisons his heart to clench painfully. The sharp sting that falls along his spine drives his hand into a hard fist around his axe. His hand sparks and burns, saturating the air with the smell of ozone.

There you are, looking beautiful…and naked. Your bare back exposed for him and your assistant to see. You’ve got the sheets of your bed positioned carefully so that your breasts are not exposed but you are naked.

The man with you is also naked but Thor tries not to look at him for fear of marching inside to tear out his ribcage and pull it through his chest.

You’re smiling. Up at him. That man.

“Sorry. I’ve just…You did make me feel much better. Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Thor can’t listen to this much longer.

“I have my sources.” The man teases.

Thor tears his eyes away from you, looking down at his feet in favor of the shattering image of you beaming, shining like gossamer moonlight and naked with another man.

However, you’re not his. Why should he feel like this? Possessive to the point of wanting to tear that man limb from limb?

Thor knows he has no right.

“Do you have to go home?” Your smooth voice asks.

It’s quieter, more intimate and that draws Thor’s eyes up once more. He's imagine you speaking to him softly like that. Wanting and filled with desire.

The man is hovering over you, pushing you back to lay against your pillows. He settles between your legs. His hand traces the exposed flesh of your ankle all the way up to the base of your knee.

He pushes against it, spreading you wide as he ruts against you once.

No! Despite the shattering image, Thor can appreciate your perfection.

You’re a goddess, dewy skin and sparkling eyes. They dance with starshine again but Thor hates that it’s your assistant giving you that sparkle.

“Do you want me to go home?”

“Not really. I-I want you to make me feel even better.” You whisper, waning confidence.

“Oh, chipmunk, all you gotta do is ask and I will give you whatever you want.”

Thor can’t listen. He turns to move away but he’s not fast enough. Before he can thrust Stormbreaker back towards the sky to get away, you moan loudly as the man with you probably presses himself against you again.

Your lilting voice confident and breathy says, “Fuck me, Jer. I really want you to fuck me.”

The sky cracks open, spilling waves of searing lightning around the apex of your building. As he disappears into the starless black trying to leave the horrid image of you in the arms of another man, ice-cold rain showers down to a deafening chorus of thunder.

Support Me on Ko-Fi

Forever Tag List - CLOSED. @until-theend-oftheline @jessieray98 @dsakita @coldfacedwarf @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @fairislesheets @jewelofwinter @mannls @moonlessnight14 @sovereignoblivious @pandazlazykid @lilulo-12 @moli1497 @shifutheshihtzu @the-real-mary-jane @pastelxvirgo @just4muggles @vulpecula-minor @wildefire @mdgrdians @tiffanynguyen03 @shield-agent78 @i-cant-shine-without-darkness @the-wayward-robot @babytrollgirl @alagalaska @sincerelytlh @theonelittleone @sea040561 @xrosegoldwolfx @peppermintvanillaa @awkwardfangirl2014 @crist1216 @xxloki81xx @idk-random-fan-girl @romimiux @badassbaker @this-side-of-midnight5 @booklover2929 @natura1phenomenon @xlittlestarling @whosmarisaaarw @hiddles-rose @supernaturaldean67 @literallymoonshine @sebbystanlover-vk @pineapplebooboo @quokkatrash @marvelpott @spaghettirogers @rainbowkisses31 @basementcafe @death-unbecomes-you @kind-sober-fullydressed

The Brightest Star @ravennightingaleandavatempus @baebeepeach @kazumilein

341 notes · View notes

diveronarpg · 5 years ago

Photo

Congratulations, RACH You’ve been accepted for the role of TAMORA. Admin Rosey: You’d think that a person wouldn’t REALLY be charmed by Trinity. I mean, why would they? She’s terrifying and otherworldly. I don’t know how you managed to do it, Rach, but in that interview you had me completely and utterly charmed by Trinity -- her voice, her mannerisms, everything about her had me sighing in total infatuation. But then you reminded me of who she was -- a beautiful, terrifying monster. Shaped by tragedy, but still learning and evolving. I am so incredibly happy to finally say this: everybody, welcome Trinnity Zakarian onto the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

IN DEPTH

Alias | Rach

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | 8.5 ; These quarantimes are doing wonders for my activity levels.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp? | See below!

Current/Past RP Accounts | I play Jules over at @julianaxcapulet ;)

Character | Tamora; Trinity Khalida Zakarian

Trinity - “Triad”

Khalida - “Deathless”

Zakarian - “God has remembered”

What drew you to this character? |

If I were to compare Trinity to Juliana at face value, I’m not sure that I could select two more different characters, but I suppose that is part of what draws me to Trinity. She is so different from what I typically look for in a character and there’s something deeply and darkly alluring about her character. There’s a certain cleverness, a certain craftiness that I sensed in her bio that initially drew me toward her. Despite her inability to feel emotion, I think she has a surprisingly strong grasp of the human condition. She has a unique perspective and furthermore, a unique understanding of people, one I think does her both a great service and disservice in the land of Verona.

I think time and time again I am drawn to characters who experience this very quintessential loneliness, but when it comes to Trinity, there’s a distinct lack of longing for companionship which intrigues me. Here is a woman that has only ever come close to loving one thing, a son that was stolen away from her in the wake of the greatest betrayal. Her story is so tragic but clearly unfinished. I love the idea that the loss of the thing she held dearest is what marks the beginning of her story, rather than the end. If death is the beginning of Trinity’s story, then perhaps life is the end and I am extremely excited to see how that could possibly play out.

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

One.

Full disclosure, Titus Andronicus is one of my favorite tragedies but I find myself thoroughly interested in where Trinity’s story departs from (or rather begins at the end of) her namesake’s story. As mentioned in what I wrote about what drew me to Trinity, I am fascinated by how her character blurs the line between beginnings and endings. Her character stands to exist so non-linearly in such a forward-moving world. Shakespeare’s Tamora, Queen of the Goths, is driven entirely by revenge, but Trinity is a character who has had her revenge without facing the same untimely fate or consequences of her namesake. So how does Trinity exist beyond the fulfilment of her revenge? The Montagues have given her a place to plant her roots, but where and how does she grow from there? There is a ghostly quality to her presence, but it is an enduring one and I want to explore how Trinity’s spirit endures. She has already begun to develop a legacy, one written by outsiders and onlookers to her life, but what does Trinity want the world to remember of her? How does she honor her son’s memory? Is it through big, public acts or rather, through smaller, everyday actions?

My suspicion? It’s a combination of both.

Two.

I am intrigued by how Trinity is a character that simultaneously manages to be wholly content and entirely discontent at the same time. It’s a strange line to walk. She wants for nothing, but is solely driven by this constant yearning to feel. Trinity is such a stranger to the hungry ambition that seems to drive so many of Verona’s people that I would like to see her have a taste of what really drives her new city. I would like to see Trinity put in a situation where some form of ambition is encouraged, if not required of her. Perhaps, the Montagues task her to further develop her ties to the Russians elite, or better yet, encourage her to further integrate herself into Verona’s high society, where she cannot merely slide by on the nobility of her last name. Trinity is well acquainted with the art of acting, of maintaining a presence, but what happens when what is required of her is something that must come from deep within? How does she adapt? Are her suspicions confirmed that all tasks and ventures are equally empty? Or better yet, does she find an additional avenue of finding that warmth she aches for? Does she find a new way to slow her brutal decay?

Three.

This may sound strange, but Trinity’s connection to Mona was one that managed to surprise me, to catch me off guard (in the most pleasant way, of course). The notion of envy from a character that is so intrinsically distant from emotion adds this wonderful nuance to her character. It’s this wonderfully humanizing quality that somehow manages to still feel characteristic and honest of Trinity. There are hints of this passion throughout Trinity’s bio-- the spark she feels when her son is born, the desperation in her bones when she stabs her wife. I love the idea of such grievous, deplorable emotions being the tipping point for her, which is why I would really love to explore what else within Verona can ignite such fury, such wrath from detached being like herself. Besides Mona, I would love to explore the different emotions that can be pulled from Trinity through her different connections. Conversely, there’s a part of me that wants to see Trinity become attached to something, to someone, especially because I know it’s something she would be resistant to, something she may not even recognize within herself. I think there’s a lot of potential ways that it can be taken (maybe with Grace?), but I would be very excited to explore how that might unfold.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Always

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

Tw: murder, death, blood, torture (kind of)

What is your favorite place in Verona? |

To have a favorite, is to have attachment, Trinity thinks. She is keenly aware that an attachment is not something she possesses within the confines of Verona borders, or perhaps, possesses at all. In truth, she does not particularly care for Verona. Faron had promised her that the warmth of Italian summers was incomparable, though she’s been rather underwhelmed by the mellowness of the Veronian sun. Every now and then she finds herself longing for the endless, Russian winters which were at least bitter enough to send a chill through her bones.

“The Lamberti Tower.”

“Why?” the interviewer presses further, as if intrigued by her lack of elaboration. His reaction alone alerts her to the nature of his being-- he’s the typical journalist type, addicted to the thrill of uncovering secrets and stories. He’s eager and objectively handsome enough to make something of himself, but perhaps too curious, too invested in his art for his own good. She thinks she might see something in him but she’s not sure what.

She contorts her lips into what passes for a pleased smile, though the creases beside her eyes fail to form, “I like the view from the top.”

The interviewer pries no further and Trinity decides he may actually possess enough self-control to go far in life.

What does your typical day look like?

Trinity takes in the question, absorbing it before formulating a calculated response in her head. It’s a much preferred question to the previous one and it’s one Trinity supposes she can humor for the time being-- no revealing of attachments, no nostalgia or falsified wistfulness.

Since the passing of her son, her days have begun to blur together-- only identified today, tomorrow, yesterday. She puts no faith in the distant future that she does not know, for she sees her life in two acts: before her son and after her son is born. Alexei’s death marks the end of her life, as he takes her heart with him to the grave. It’s a morbid finale followed by a somber epilogue, in which she must continue living.

“The day begins in the early hours of the morning, when my sleep breaks,” Trinity begins as though she is narrating a story known well by her missing heart.

“And then there are the meetings and of course, more meetings…” she draws on with the tilt of her head, as if to highlight the fact that they are engaged in some sort of meeting right now. She recounts the numerous times those around her have complained of their lengthy meetings and in truth, Tamora doesn’t really care. She has no particular affinity for small talk nor discussions of projected growth, but there was something to be said for the time that they managed to fill. What else was she to do with her countless hours of the day? There was nothing leisurely about her life, no excitement to be captured from the monotonous joys her brethren seemed to so easily delight in. She could feign delight and desire with a flawless accuracy, but it did little to hide the ultimate truth that there was no spark to be found behind those hollow eyes.

“Meetings can be so dull,” she adds for good measure, leaning in towards the interviewer, as if to confess something honest. Really, it’s just an easy lie, one with a dangerous relatability that manages to produce a nod of agreement and knowing smile from the young man she sits with. He’s charmed now, confident that he’s managed to peer into her mind, elicit some great secret from a locked vault. Little did he know that if he were to truly see inside the woman before him, he would be consumed whole by a dark and tormentful emptiness, a ceaseless, gruesome night with no end in sight.

“After finishing up my personal work, I like to return home and unwind...perhaps even watch a movie. I’ve always been partial to films ever since I was a child.”.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you liked movies, Miss Zakarian,” the interviewer notes, with mild interest scribbling something down on his notepad for the first time during the duration of their entire interview.

“Doesn’t everyone like a little escapism?” she replies, actively curling the edges of her lips into an easy smile, an expression so well-practiced it seemed as though it was the most natural response in the world.

This time Trinity had afforded him a half-truth, for indeed she did occupy her time with the occasional movie, though never with the intentions of escape (she had long known of their ineffectiveness). Rather, there was something educational to be taken from films, to absorb the mechanics at which actors expressed themselves so convincingly. Films were like holy scriptures to her, unflinching in their portrayal of the human psyche, even if not always intentional. There were lessons to be learned from even from the worst actors, just as there were lessons to be learned from the worst kind of people.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

The ghost of her smile fades just as quickly as it had formed itself upon Trinity’s face. Mistakes were certainly treacherous territory.

The answer seems increasingly unclear to Trinity as she sees herself gazing into her wife’s eyes one final time, as she plunges a knife into her lover’s heart, over and over again. Her eyes are dry, for she cannot yet weep for the child she has lost at the hands of a woman she had sworn her life to. She had sealed her wife’s fate without a moment’s hesitation and made her pay for her wretched crime, in the only way she knew how. Trinity had watched the life fade away from her wife slowly, her eyes glazed over, devoid of sentiment, ensuring her beloved knew that the price of her betrayal was her life. Only when they are both truly gone, does she finally dissolve. For one brief, shining moment, her grief manifests in a tidal wave of anger, sorrow, rage, and tears and it is the last time she ever comes close to touching life. Alone in her cursed home she falls apart, clinging the body of her dead son tightly against his chest as his blood pools around her, drenching her dress in an unsightly crimson.

When Trinity finally leaves her home she never returns, nor does her heart. It’s remains had been left behind to turn to ash, along with everything else she had ever loved.

She attempts to discern what marked the beginning of the end, what had set the stage for such tragedy and betrayal but she finds herself largely unsuccessful. Each moment was interwoven within the next, each choice could be traced back further and further until her memory turned to oblivion.

“Identifying one’s biggest mistake is a futile endeavor,” Trinity replies aloofly, her counterfeit charm giving way to something far more harrowing. If the young man before her was so eager to peer behind her mask, then she supposed she ought to offer him a glance. “Every mistake is merely a summation of what has come before it.”

“So, your biggest mistake is being born?” the interviewer frowns, attempting to gather whatever scraps he can from her cryptic response. His tone suggests confusion but there’s something that resembles intrigue that forms upon his well-sculpted features.

Trinity presses her lips together firmly but does not correct his assumption.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“Tasks implies a sense of duty...” Trinity replies pointedly. The very notion of a task seemed to involve some sort of great undertaking, which much like sentimentality, was not something Trinity had ever associated with. She makes a conscious effort to lace her cool fingers together in her lap. If the young man were to shake her hand now, he was sure to be frightened by the chillness of her touch.

“And you do not possess a sense of duty?” the interviewer prods, though this time he’s managed to more effectively mask his surprise at her response. He seems more engaged now, fascinated by the woman that sits before him, desperate to unearth more of her secrets.

“I did, once,” Trinity nods, affirmatively and she sees her young son’s face in the corner of the room. He’s looking at her imploringly, with bright eyes and she sees the only spark of life she’s ever known. “But I am no longer beholden to that duty.”

“Why not? Did you succeed? Did you fail?”

“Success and failure are not metrics of difficulty,” she answers, “Just as some people fail at easy tasks, others succeed at difficult tasks.”

“And you?”

She gazes through the young man before her and her eyes settle on the wall behind him, as through she could see straight through his skull. He looks nothing like her Alexei, but she finally understands what she’s recognized in him the moment they met. His eyes are so bright, so full of promise, that she’d like to sink her cold thumbs into the sockets of each eye and push harder and harder until she felt that warmth, that brightness, even if only for a few solemn moments.

“Success, task, failure, difficult-- they’re all just words, маленький, empty words. It would serve you well to learn that.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Arguably, Trinity's loyalty to the Montagues likely failed to constitute loyalty at all. It was merely a convenience, if that.

“Where do your loyalties lie?” she asks, turning the question back towards him.

“I’m journalist, Miss Zakarian...I’m loyal to the truth,” he says, and Trinity cannot help but grit her teeth slightly, a rare reaction from the otherwise largely unresponsive woman. What could this man possibly know of the truth?

“So you truly possess no ties to the Montagues, then?” Trinity clarifies, as she stands from her chair stepping closer to the young man, cupping his face, her icy fingers searing into the warmth of his skin as she examines his every feature.

“No...no,” he replies, his eagerness mounting as his own hands settle upon her waist, gazing at her with a hunger she cannot possibly begin to relate to. “Honestly, they would probably prefer if I wasn’t around. They don’t really like independence around these parts...but you do, right? You’re really not like the rest of them are you?”

“No, I am not,” comes from the lips of the corpse-like woman and it’s the first truly honest admission she’s made through the entire interview. She looks at him vacantly as her fingers slowly slide from his jaw to his throat until they settle firmly around his neck and begin to squeeze.

She looks on as his expression morphs from excitement to confusion to desperation which manages to send a single tingle running down her spine. He attempts to struggle but her grasp is too tight and by the time he’s realized his fate it’s too late. His body releases one final shudder before eventually falling limp below her. With two fingers, she drags his eyelids shut with mild satisfaction as she has finally managed to extinguish the light.

She exits the room silently and glides to the hallway void of any emotion. When they eventually ask who finally took care of that terribly nosy young journalist, she’ll collect her payment but not before her lips curl into that well-practiced and reply, “A ghost.”

Extras:

Mock Blog

#accepted #accepted: tamora

6 notes · View notes