#in his eyes he IS the center of the universe. he has no concept of other people having feelings

[hana-bobo-finch]

what a precious little guy. i hope nothing bad ever happens to him

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [1] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: attempted assault, mentions of abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 6.3k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 1 >> Part 2

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

By the end of the night, you think you might murder someone.

It’s not the party’s fault. Lady Arina Park always hosts the first ball of the season, and in the three years you’ve attended them, not once has it ever been a disappointment. Her taste in decoration always sets the tone for the months to follow, and she is the most wonderful hostess—crotchety, kind, and always brimming with wisdom to impart. 

She might be one of your favorite people in the ton. 

Unfortunately, you cannot only talk to one person the entire night, and given your own reputation, you’re not sure you even have the social right to speak to her this season. See, it was never the party that was the problem. 

It is the fact that you have attended now three times in three different years, each without a husband. 

This is a fact that seems to dog you everywhere you go. Beautiful, sharp-tongued Miss L/N is going yet another season without a man on her arm—or at least a serious man on her arm. Never mind that you have had two proposals, both of which you turned down quietly and did not announce out of sympathy for the man’s reputation. You might be on your third season and desperate, but you rather think you’d prefer to become a spinster than marry either of those who asked for your hand. 

Lord Kierston was nice enough, if absentminded. You genuinely might have said yes to him if not for two things—his rotten breath (you have no idea what he could be eating to have such horrid breath all the time), and the fact that he is over the age of forty. 

You are barely one and twenty. And while there have been married couples with greater age gaps than that, you wonder if it is truly too much to hope to find someone nearer your age.

As for Mr. Thompson…he wasn’t even nice. He was rude, and arrogant, and during his proposal blatantly said that you would have to accept him as with your lack of dowry and snide personality, you had no choices elsewhere. All facts for certain—your dowry is nonexistent, your character is not one that endears many to you, and at the time, no other men were seriously courting you so it was true you had no other options. But you could still be a spinster, you let him know. And you would far rather be old and unmarried than tied to a man such as he. 

He looked almost murderous when you said that, which was why you’d excused yourself quickly after. You may consider yourself cleverer than most, but you are no fool. You thank your few lucky stars that your family left for the country just a few days later at the end of the season and you haven’t seen him since. 

But now you are back in town, with a fresh new crop of debutantes to outshine your wilting, rotten personality, a father trying to drum up business abroad, an evil stepmother breathing down your neck, and possibly a Mr. Thompson to run into. Not to mention Lady Whistledown with her peacock feather pen and watchful monocled eye, carefully waiting to elaborate on your futile prospects with her sharp-tongued words. 

Not that you know if she uses a peacock feather pen or a monocle. As far as your knowledge stretches, no one in the entire ton save the writer herself knows who she is. But you’ve always imagined her with such things. Ridiculous to the max. It makes it much easier not to strangle someone after you read her words about you. 

God, you’d care so much less about her gossip column if she wasn’t so damn good at writing it. 

You wish you were still in the country. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t see you there, and her gossip column would never reach your home. In fact, the only reason you’re certain she isn’t part of your sparse circle is that your spat with the younger Lord Choi at the garden party last year took at least two weeks to be broadcast in London after you came back for the season. Someone had to feed her the information before she could issue it, including your now infamous quote about how you’d like to slit his throat with his own letter opener. 

Your stepmother yelled at you for hours over it. You were sentenced to a week of nonstop chores and none of the few servants still in your family’s employ were allowed to help. Yet at the end of the day, Lord Choi the Younger is a menace to you and to society, and so you privately still stand by your comment. 

Lord Choi the Younger. Mr. Choi, when his brother is in the room. Annoyance. Menace. The devil in disguise. All apt nicknames by which to call Beomgyu Choi, one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Which, unfortunately, brings it all back to here and now, because apparently he is in attendance at tonight’s party. 

And hence why by the end of the evening, you might be locked up in jail for murder. 

Last season after the horrible garden party, you took very, very great care not to end up in the same room as the younger Lord Choi. For the most part, you succeeded. You couldn’t always avoid him—the ton is only so large—but the few times you had to come face to face with him you managed at least one minute of civil conversation before it turned into thinly-veiled verbal sparring that you thankfully had the self-control to bow out of sooner rather than later. But apparently people found your little spats amusing. A source of entertainment. And Lady Whistledown has remarked more than once since then that it would certainly liven up the endless parade of balls and parties to see a showdown between you and Mr. Choi once more. 

You’ve been at this ball for hardly two hours and already almost everyone who’s spoken to you tonight—even Lady Arina Park!—has found some sly way to allude to a possible catfight between you and Mr. Choi to bring down the house. And unfortunately, experience tells you that in the heat of the moment, you care about getting the last word in with Mr. Choi far more than you care about your precarious reputation. 

You do so hate to disappoint the ton, about as much as you love it when your grievances are aired in public via the Whistledown gossip column. And it does so truly break your heart not to be the sole source of entertainment at Lady Park’s annual ball. But this is your third season out and you need to be married soon, so when you see the man himself wearing that annoyingly bright smile and surrounded by an annoying number of young girls and their mothers, you make the first excuse you can to duck out of the ballroom and make a beeline for the gardens, where you find yourself in sudden silence. 

Sudden, but not altogether unwelcome. The night air feels comforting on your face, wind breezing softly against your skin. You hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until you came out here. You settle on one of the benches in the garden and fan yourself with a hand, letting the cool air bring you back to the moment. No one else is out here as far as you can tell. You can relax, if only for a moment.

For a few minutes you just sit in the moonlight, your face tilted to the sky, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. It would be lovely to just stay out here all night, you think. Away from the people, away from the stares, away from the crushing anxiety that no one will ever want to marry you and you’ll have to live at home with your horrible stepmother forever—

A branch snaps. Your eyes fly open. And all of the anxiety returns, with a healthy dose of fear, when you see Mr. Thompson looking at you from the other side of the garden. 

For a long moment you just stand there. Looking at each other. All of the night’s beauty has been forgotten, its comforting silence turned threatening in light of the knowledge that you are a young, unmarried woman alone with a man in a garden. 

Scandals have been made out of less. 

“Mr. Thompson,” you say in as flat a tone as possible. “I apologize. I was just leaving.”

“Now don’t leave on my account, Miss L/N.” His mouth twists in what looks more like a sneer than a smile and he takes a step toward you. You take a step back. “It is lovely to see you after a summer away. Your beauty hasn’t diminished a bit with your age.”

You almost snort. Exactly how much does a person change in one summer? “Apologies if I don’t quite take your compliment, Mr. Thompson. I was not under the impression we were on speaking terms after last season.”

“We never spoke again because you left for the country.” That sneer-smile grows wide and you start calculating how much of a head start you’d need to flee into the ballroom before he caught you. “If it were up to me, I would have proposed again, after you had had the time to consider it.”

This time, you do snort. “With all due respect, sir, after an entire summer to think about it, my answer remains the same.” You still your features into a cold mask and pray, even with the sinking feeling of dread in your chest, that he will go away. “I will never marry you, Mr. Thompson. As I aptly put during your first proposal, I would rather become a spinster than entertain the thought.”

His eyebrows draw in. You’d think the sight was comical if his eyes didn’t glint with menace under the moon. “Do you really think yourself better than me?” he snarls. “You should be thanking me now, for offering you this second chance.”

You laugh incredulously. “Thanking you? For what?”

“I’m your last hope.” He advances so quickly you almost trip on the hem of your dress as you stumble backward. You try to hide the panic rising in your throat as you glance at the house—still full of light, still full of gaiety while you’re trapped outside by the night and this man. “No one wants you, Miss L/N.” He lunges forward and you gasp, his hands uncomfortably tight around your wrists. “Not a single one.”

“Let go of me,” you snarl. “Let go of me—get off me—”

“Not—” He grunts as you stomp on his foot, but doesn’t let go. “Not until I have what I want—”

You manage to free an arm and before you can think, your fist careens through the air straight into his face. 

For a long moment you just stand there, barely able to breathe, the thump of Mr. Thompson’s body falling to the ground playing over and over in your mind. Your heart is pounding and your breath is coming out in short gasps and your fist throbs with pain. A sort of buzzing sound fills your ears. The world starts blurring before you and vaguely you wonder if it’s just the night, or if you’re about to fall. 

“Miss L/N. Miss L/N!”

The sound of your name from a familiar voice breaks through the buzz and you blink, coming back to earth. It takes a moment for you to reassess the situation. 

Mr. Thompson is still on the ground. 

It does not look like he will be getting up soon. 

You are still physically unhurt. 

And there is a new third person in the garden with you. 

Oh, God. You resist the urge to bury your face in your throbbing hands. Not only did Mr. Thompson try to assault you, you also knocked him out with your own fist, and someone caught the two of you in the garden just after it happened. Or maybe even before. Maybe they saw it, saw everything—how much did they see? How badly will your reputation be ruined beyond what is already in tatters?

A hysterical laugh builds in your chest. All that comes out is a strangled whimper. You’ll never be married once Whistledown gets her hands on this. No matter that Mr. Thompson didn’t succeed in whatever he planned to do with you. All that matters is that you were alone with him in a garden at the first damn ball of the season and someone saw you.

Things couldn’t get any worse than this. 

“Miss L/N.” The familiar voice says your name again, this time accompanied by a cautious hand on your shoulder. You flinch viscerally but it doesn’t leave. “Miss L/N,” it repeats, considerably lower than before. 

You shut your eyes hard. Open them. You try to take a breath and only just manage to stifle a strangled half-gasp before it leaves your throat. You’ll have to face your fate at some point when you beg for this person not to immediately spread this juicy piece of gossip to every person in the ballroom. With heaven’s mercy, they’ll take pity on your situation and leave some details out of the story. Or at least not embellish what they already saw. Praying silently to the hopefully-merciful heavens, you slowly turn around. 

And then you curse out loud. 

“What in God’s bloody name—”

You were wrong when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, because the man standing before you is Beomgyu Choi. 

The heavens must be having a good damn laugh at you right now. 

. . . . .

After what just happened, Beomgyu is honestly surprised that the first thing to come out of your mouth upon seeing him is a curse. Maybe he should be thankful, though. This probably means that you’ll come out of this all right. 

“Goodness,” he says as genially as he can, given your outburst. “I would have asked if you were all right, but based on your reaction to seeing me, I suppose you are just fine.”

“Mr. Choi.” You look and sound vaguely sick. Beomgyu gathers that you would rather be anywhere than here. “Apologies. I did not realize it was you.”

“I gathered about as much.” Now that he knows you’re fine, or at least standing upright, he steps forward to check on Mr. Thompson. Thankfully and regrettably, the man still has a pulse. Beomgyu wouldn’t purposely wish death on anyone, but if he had to choose one person in the entire ton he wouldn’t mind not seeing for the rest of his life, Mr. Thompson would certainly be one of the top contenders for the position. He looks back up at you. “Pray tell, Miss L/N, what is your first made of? Pure steel? You’ve knocked the poor man out.”

You look to be grinding your teeth even as you speak. “I had no intention—”

“I am not chastising you, my lady.” He smirks. “In fact, I must say I’m quite impressed.” Then he squints. “You’re not about to swoon, are you?”

A long silence hangs in the air before you mete out a very measured reply. “I am not going to swoon, Mr. Choi. And the next time you decide to say something just as inane, take very good care, or you might find yourself in the grass next to Mr. Thompson as well.”

He lifts his hands in surrender with a laugh. God, he might hate you and you might hate him, but it really is so much fun to spar with you like this. “A jest, my lady. I thought simply to lighten the air.”

You open your mouth to reply, then close it. Beomgyu watches in amusement as you close your eyes for a good few seconds—ten, if he’s counting correctly—before taking a deep breath. Good God, you really are making some strong effort to rein yourself in this season. “With all due respect, my lord, what are you doing out here?” you finally ask. 

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same question.”

“You were the one who walked in on a private disagreement,” you snap. “If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me.”

“It didn’t look like a private disagreement as much as an entire physical altercation,” Beomgyu retorts. 

He expects a rapid-fire reply from you just as he always has, but instead you blanch. Your lips suddenly look too pale, entirely drained of color, and your eyes are fixed on Mr. Thompson’s prone body. He stands up. “Miss L/N?” he says quietly, slowly stepping toward you. “Are you all right?”

“I—” You turn to him but it doesn’t look like you see him. “Don’t tell anybody,” you whisper. Your breaths have grown shorter, more rapid, and he bites back a curse. You look like you’re going into shock again. “Please. I can’t—if Whistledown—if people know what he did—what he tried to do—”

What he tried to do?

Well, clearly now is not the right time to ask, and it isn’t that difficult to put the pieces together anyway from what little he saw—Mr. Thompson grabbing you, you punching him, your current shock. If Mr. Thompson was awake he might yet punch him again but he isn’t, so Beomgyu focuses on you.

“Miss L/N.” He gently puts his hands on your shoulders. Something in your eyes seems to focus and internally, he sighs with relief. “I will not tell anyone what I saw today in the garden. Not a soul.” He takes one hand off your shoulder to place it over his heart. “On my honor, I swear it.”

Something in his words must have rung clear. Your breaths begin to slow, and you manage to nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s somewhat strange, comforting his sworn enemy since childhood, but oddly enough he isn’t too conflicted. Even if you spend most of your time annoying Beomgyu out of his boots, you’re a person too, and clearly Mr. Thompson wasn’t doing anything good in this garden. If anything, Beomgyu is a man, and he knows what the other entitled men of the ton sometimes do. No woman—no person—deserves to be subject to their horrific plans. Not a single one. He keeps his voice as gentle as he can as he leads you to a nearby bench. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He stays quiet as you mumble out a vague summary of the altercation. That Mr. Thompson had proposed last season and acted an absolute arse about it, that you thought you’d seen the last of him but he showed up in the garden when you left the ballroom for some air (Beomgyu saw you leaving just as he entered so he gathers he had something to do with your quest for air, but he bites his tongue just this once). That he had proposed—if it could even be called that—a second time, and when you repeated your original sentiments, he grabbed you by the arms and told you to be grateful. 

And then you punched him. 

Beomgyu nods slowly at the conclusion of your story. “First of all, I must apologize. Being the recipient of a proposal from Mr. Thompson could be nothing short of traumatic.”

For the first time that evening, the ghost of a smile flutters across your lips. It’s a very nice smile. You have always been beautiful—even Beomgyu will admit that—but you’ve never directed a smile at him like this. Likely because you’re always scowling at him instead. Which, given your history, is fair enough, but that doesn’t mean this still isn’t nice. 

“There is a reason I turned him down,” you mutter. “I may need to be married, but I still have my pride.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You need to be married?”

You fix him with a dead stare. “Mr. Choi, I am not exaggerating when I say that if I don’t marry this season, I will go insane.”

Beomgyu blinks. “…Not even a little bit?”

You look away with a loud sigh, muttering something under your breath. Beomgyu doesn’t hear all of it but he does catch something about three seasons and hopeless and men.

He chooses to focus on the first bit, because he gets the feeling that the last two wouldn’t end up being particularly complimentary to him or his kind. “Three seasons?”

You give him possibly the worst stink eye of anyone he’s ever met. “Yes, Mr. Choi. This is my third season out. If I am not married by the end of it I may as well be a spinster, and to be a spinster in my stepmother’s home is not a fate I wish upon anyone.” You look down, fiddling with the dance card around your wrist. “I need to get married,” you say again, though more to yourself than him this time. 

“You need it this badly, then,” he says, half amused, half surprised. “So much so that you would exit the ballroom the moment I entered for fear of confrontation.”

Annoyance flickers back into your eyes. It’s a much more familiar expression than the one you were just wearing, and thus infinitely more comfortable to deal with. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Choi, every time we come into contact in public, the resulting altercation makes its way into Whistledown and, as such, everyone else’s lives. Forgive me if I am only trying to pick up the remnants of my already shattered reputation.”

Beomgyu snorts. “You seem to think it my fault that your societal standing has plummeted so. Have you ever considered it a matter of your personality, instead?”

Low blow. He sees it in your face, in the way your eyes shutter as soon as the words leave his mouth. Immediately he wants to slap himself. He should apologize, but before he can open his mouth to do so, you’re replying through very obviously gritted teeth. “I have, actually.” You fix him with a hard stare that reminds him why half of the ton finds you terrifying. “I would be a poor judge of my own character if I did not realize that I am at least as responsible for our disagreements as you are.” A bitter laugh escapes your lips and curdles in the air. “And it is not as if the ton hasn’t been gossiping about my temperament for years.”

Beomgyu stays quiet. 

You let out a sigh. “I have answered quite enough of your questions, Mr. Choi, so I beg you now to answer mine. Why are you here?”

“Avoiding people.” He eyes the bright lights still coming from the ballroom. Distaste curl his lip. “Mamas, mostly. I suppose they are people.”

You don’t smile, but at least the tension in the air seems to lessen somewhat. 

“They seem to have gotten it into their minds that I intend to marry this season.” He shakes his head. “Just because all of my other friends are married doesn’t mean I intend to so soon as well.”

“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Huening was married.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention to me?” Beomgyu snickers at your outraged expression but continues before you can retort. “He has returned to his home country and won’t be back for the season. Ergo, I get attention I don’t necessarily covet.”

You snort. “I wasn’t aware there was any sort of attention you did not covet.”

Beomgyu sneers. “Couldn’t I say the same for you?”

“You—I can’t do this.” You stand up and Beomgyu can practically see the anger shimmering off you in waves. “I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to be here when Mr. Thompson wakes and decides to take a pass at me again. It’s bad enough that the two of us are alone—” Your eyes widen in horror. “The two of us are alone.”

Beomgyu stands too. “I guarantee you,” he says lowly, “not a word of this will pass my lips to anyone in the ton.”

“Thank you, but that hardly matters.” You take a large step away from him. “You walked in on Mr. Thompson. Someone else could just as easily walk in on the two of us.” Your voice turns sardonic. “And I’m sure you have no wish to be married to the likes of me for the sake of propriety. Good night.”

Well, that’s certainly true. Just the thought of it makes Beomgyu shudder. If your current relationship is anything to go by, the two of you would never stop talking, never stop arguing…

Hm. 

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow as he watches your back disappear from the gardens. He would never want to marry you, it’s true. But if you’re having trouble attracting suitors, and he has too many women on his tail…

“Miss L/N.”

You turn around with a huff. “What is it now?”

Beomgyu grins. He might just be a genius. “I have a proposition for you.”

. . . . .

“This is a very, very bad idea,” you mutter. Then you look around sharply, because it wouldn’t do for anyone to think that you see hallucinations on top of all of your other less-than-choice characteristics. Even though you made sure to stray far from prying ears in this garden, it seems Lady Whistledown’s eyes are everywhere. 

An issue came out just this morning. You were relieved beyond belief that not a word about your and Mr. Choi’s accidental tryst in the garden was mentioned, though she did mention a terrible black eye and a murderous expression on Mr. Thompson when he reentered the ballroom. 

Mr. Choi had assured you a man such as he would never admit that a woman had bested him in a fight. You weren’t sure you believed him until you got the paper and Whistledown could only speculate about what had caused such a spectacular black eye—apparently Mr. Thompson had remained tight-lipped and snarly to anyone who dared ask. And as he hasn’t come banging on the door of your home demanding retribution, you can only conclude that he doesn’t plan to.

All the better for you. 

Fortunately, beyond some other vague mutterings about the other debutantes and who danced with who and who hogged all the lemonade, that was all that was said about Lady Park’s ball. Not a word about you. Not a word about Mr. Choi. 

Not a word about the idiotic deal he proposed as you were trying to leave the garden, and not a word about how you were idiotic enough to agree. 

You never quite believed yourself stupid. If you had anything to your name besides your beauty, you would say it is your wit (quite separate from your sharp tongue, which is not even close to a blessing). But when you woke up the morning after the ball, you really re-thought all of your previous conceptions of yourself, because what on earth possessed you to agree to the insane proposal Mr. Choi presented you that night?

Unfortunately, you know the answer to that too. 

Desperation. 

He’d presented his idea so reasonably. “You are searching for a husband. I want the attention of the ton’s mamas off of me,” he’d said, his tone so calm as words of madness left his tongue. “If I pretended to court you, men would take more heed of you, and the mamas would be discouraged from chasing after me.” He spread his arms in a show of his apparent genius. “Thus, the two of us might find some success in each of our respective endeavors.”

You could only gape harder the wider he smiled.

To your credit, you refused at first. “That is madness,” you had scoffed, turning back around. “Who in this ton would believe that the two of us are courting? Our arguments have become their source of entertainment. No one is going to buy that we now like each other enough to be civil in one another’s presence, let alone court.”

He was still undeterred, for whatever damn reason. So convinced it would work out by his own sheer force of will, like most men. “So we will come up with a believable cover story,” he’d replied easily, still with that unflappable smile on his lips. “Listen, Miss L/N. You are desperate, and I need an out. What do either of us have to lose from at least trying?”

Try as you might, you couldn’t cobble together an answer. Because he was right. You were desperate. You still are. If you have to live another year in your stepmother’s home, cleaning and gardening and playing maid while still maintaining appearances for the ton, you will go mad. Not mad enough to accept Mr. Thompson’s suit, but mad all the same. 

So you had agreed, and in the process lost a healthy chunk of your own self-respect. But you refused to spend another moment in the garden alone with him that night for fear of others seeing, so you two decided to meet at the outdoor musicale at the park a few days later to discuss the…logistics of this plan. There would be plenty of time for refreshment before and after the performance—plenty of time for the two of you to sneak away and find each other. 

So here you are, standing in the sunshine without the cover of night to hide all of your bad decisions. The longer you stand here, the more you’re beginning to believe this is all a major mistake.

But like Beomgyu has said multiple times, you’re desperate. You’ve tried being yourself for one season. You’ve tried reining in your sharp tongue for another. Neither worked. What’s the worst that can happen? You not being married for a third season in a row? Sick as the thought leaves you, it’s not as if you haven’t pondered the possibility many times already. 

Anyway, if your stepmother drives you too far up the wall, you’ll just have to run away. Find work as a governess somewhere, or a maid. Nothing could possibly be worse than her shrill voice ordering you to do this or that while she sits on her arse all day without contribution, your father still gone on some business call hundreds of miles away. Easier said than done, but a bad plan is better than no plan. Or so you hope.

In fairy tales, this is when the handsome prince is supposed to swoop in with a charming smile to come and save you, the poor damsel, from her distress. Unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale, and all you have to save you is Mr. Choi and this ridiculous deal. 

What a world you live in.

“Miss L/N.”

You jerk your head around to see Mr. Choi pushing through some bushes a few feet away. A quick glance behind him confirms that no one has followed him here. “Mr. Choi,” you greet, already feeling your stomach roll. This is a terrible idea. “I wonder if it isn’t too much to hope that you have re-thought your ridiculous plan and intend to call it off now?”

He snorts. “Of course not. You should be on the floor, praising my genius.” Before you can reply with something scathing about his big head and nonexistent intellect, he continues. “Besides, no matter how ridiculous you think my idea is, you’re still here.”

How you wish you were here to just call it all off. Unfortunately, you are just as desperate as you were several days ago. “Unfortunately, my desperation is greater than my self-respect at the moment.” You look up at where he’s still standing in the grass. “Do you plan to sit?”

He sits on the green next to you, that stupid unflappable smile still on his face. You want to slap it off. “We need a cover story,” he begins. “You were right on that front. Which means at some point, one of us must have apologized first for the cake and dirt incidents from when we were children.”

“You apologized,” you say immediately. “You knocked my cake over first, ruined my new shoes, and it was my birthday.”

Mr. Choi scowls. “You threw dirt at me—”

You raise your voice over his. “It was my birthday, and you didn’t even apologize then—”

“I had dirt in my hair!”

“And my new shoes were ruined! Forever!”

The two of you glare at each other for a long, long moment. Then you stand abruptly. “Forget it,” you mutter, ready to head back to the party. “If we can’t even agree on this—”

“Neither of us apologized,” Mr. Choi snaps. “We just agreed to put it behind us.”

You turn around slowly. “…Fine.”

He gestures impatiently to the grass. You sit down again, resolutely not looking at him. Silence passes over the two of you for a long time before you force yourself to speak. “So how exactly did that happen?” you ask, voice rough. 

Slowly, the two of you hash out the details, though not without your fair share of sniping back and forth. After the last season, the two of you met at a gathering in the country. Having seen how badly Whistledown had written of you two, you agreed to put your old resentments behind you. You began exchanging tentative letters through the off-season and those letters increased in volume as time went on and you became friendlier. It was very surprising when Mr. Choi asked if he might court you at this season’s first ball, but you did not say no, and that brings you up to now. 

None of it is verifiable. That’s the only thing that makes you think this plan has even a shot at working. You two were at some gatherings in the country together, and ironically, because you did your absolute best to avoid him by hiding in different places, there are definitely some moments where the two of you could feasibly have been alone together and talked things out. As for the letters, they don’t actually exist, but no well-bred person would dare ask to see private correspondence. Hopefully. 

You work out a schedule for the next few months. He must call on you at some point, and you both agree you’ll need to be seen in public at least several times. At least one promenade every couple of weeks, and you will dance together at least once at each of the balls you both plan to attend. One call a week and if he cannot make it, he must send flowers. “A large bouquet,” you say, internally smirking at his expression. “You must act serious about it so that the other men will know they must outdo you.”

By the time you’ve argued and compromised and sniped it all out, the sun is almost directly overhead, and you need to return in time for the musicale to start. Mr. Choi stands and you don’t refuse his hand to help you up, a new grudging respect in your chest for him. If anything, he’s a good negotiator, not to mention a gentleman. “Shall we return to the musicale together, then?” he asks, offering his arm. 

You stare at him. “Already?”

He peers at you, eyes twinkling obnoxiously. “There’s no time like the present, hmm?”

While you were talking and snapping and quipping, you were able to ignore the voice in the back of your mind screaming that this is a terrible idea. But now as you look at his proffered arm, it suddenly seems to be all you can hear. 

Everything is going to go wrong. You’re going to make a gaffe because for all you can act nice and pretty around pleasant people, you cannot hold your tongue in front of people you dislike, Mr. Choi obviously included. Which means someone is going to get suspicious because of your mistakes. Which means people are going to start talking and eventually the truth is going to come out and you will be humiliated publicly more than ever before—because what idiot pretends to court their enemy in an effort to gain suitors—and bloody fucking hell, this was a mistake and you might as well run away right now—

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to yet.” Mr. Choi’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, his words gentler than before as he lowers the arm. You hate that he can do that—can be going back and forth with you for hours without pause, then put it all on hold to respect you as a woman and a human being. It makes it really hard to hate him as much as you want to, and ironically makes you hate him even more. “I only thought it would at least explain our combined absence, in case anyone noticed.”

You swallow hard. “No, you’re right,” you mumble. “We should—we should start now. Sorry.”

Mr. Choi raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me.”

And there it is. You scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs aloud, a sound that would be quite pleasing if you didn’t want to punch him in the face so badly. “I am sure I won’t,” he replies, a bite beneath his genial tone that ironically soothes your anxiety. Yes, even if you two go through with this, nothing will actually change between the two of you. You’ll always be annoyances to one another. “Now, are you ready?”

You take his arm gingerly. “It doesn’t quite seem like I have another choice.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[aventurineswife]

This idea has been stuck in my head like a pinball so I'm just dumping it here-

Mr Reca x reader x Dr Ratio

I just think the dichotomy would be SO FUNNY. Like one is high strung and eccentric while the other is stoic and aloof. Like both of them pining for the same person would be amazing- idk I thought it would be cute.

The Director, The Scholar, and You

Summary: Caught between the fiery passion of Mr. Reca, a renowned but eccentric film director, and the stoic intellect of Dr. Ratio, a brilliant scholar from the Intelligentsia Guild, you find yourself at the center of an unexpected love triangle. As the two men vie for your attention, their contrasting personalities create tension, hilarity, and surprisingly heartfelt moments. When the cosmos aligns their paths, you realize there might be room for both their chaotic creativity and calm logic in your life.

Tags: Mr. Reca x Reader x Dr. Ratio, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers (Rivals to Allies), Humor, Found Family Dynamics, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst.

Warnings: Mild emotional conflict (arguments between Reca and Ratio), Slight mentions of career-related disappointments, Themes of memory manipulation and dream exploration.

The cosmos was vast and unpredictable, and yet somehow, you found yourself at the center of an extraordinary dilemma.

Your time at Penacony Paperfold University College, where you worked as a guest curator of rare cinematic artifacts, had introduced you to two very different men. On one side was Mr. Reca, the infamous Memokeeper and film director whose intense creative energy could both inspire and terrify. On the other side was Dr. Ratio, a brilliant member of the Intelligentsia Guild whose stoic demeanor and sharp intellect could cut through any argument like a blade.

Both of them, inexplicably, were vying for your attention.

It began with Mr. Reca's sudden arrival at the university to conduct a masterclass on cinematic storytelling. His assistant—a mechanical frog with a camera lens for an eye—leaped onto your desk one morning, startling you.

"You!" Mr. Reca had declared, pointing at you dramatically. "You have presence. A raw, untamed aura of authenticity. I need you to assist me in my latest project."

Before you could decline, Dr. Ratio entered the scene, clipboard in hand. His hair shimmered under the fluorescent lights as his piercing eyes scanned the room.

"Mr. Reca," he said flatly, "your methodology is unorthodox, to say the least. You cannot simply commandeer the university’s staff for your whims."

"And you," Reca shot back, "are precisely the kind of soulless bureaucrat that stifles creativity. Let them decide."

Caught between the fiery passion of the director and the icy logic of the scholar, you couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward both of them.

As the days passed, their rivalry only grew more intense. Mr. Reca insisted you accompany him on his location scouts, dragging you to surreal dreamscapes and haunting memory fragments, all while his mechanical frog documented every moment.

“Feel that?” Reca asked, his voice low as he gestured to a shimmering dream bubble suspended in the air. “That’s the kind of truth I want to capture. Unfiltered, raw. Like you.”

Meanwhile, Ratio countered with intellectual challenges, inviting you to observe his lectures and philosophical debates. He had a way of making even the most abstract concepts seem approachable, and his occasional smirks hinted at a softer side beneath his austere exterior.

"You are far more capable than Reca gives you credit for," Ratio remarked one evening, as you walked back from a lecture on the nature of perception. "You have the potential to contribute to something meaningful—beyond his... theatrics."

It came to a head one night, during a university gala. Mr. Reca had unveiled a short film he’d been working on, a medley of fragmented memories and dreamlike visuals. As the audience applauded, he turned to you, his eyes filled with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

“I made this for you,” he admitted. “To show you what I see in you.”

Ratio, standing nearby, let out a soft scoff. “Touching, but sentimentalism rarely withstands scrutiny. I believe our friend here deserves more than just flattery.”

He stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You are brilliant. And you deserve partners who recognize your mind as much as your spirit.”

The tension between the two was palpable, and you found yourself caught between their gazes. Both of them offered something unique: Reca’s passion and creativity, Ratio’s intellect and stability. And both of them, it seemed, had come to see you as their muse.

The night ended with the three of you standing under the stars, the gala behind you. Reca leaned against a railing, his normally fiery demeanor subdued.

“I’ll be honest,” he said. “I’m not used to losing. Especially not to a stiff like him.” He gestured vaguely toward Ratio, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“But,” Reca continued, “if I had to lose, I’d want it to be to someone you trust. Someone who makes you happy.”

Ratio crossed his arms, his tone softer than usual. “The decision is yours. Whatever you choose, I only ask that you stay true to yourself.”

Their words hung in the air, and for the first time, you realized you didn’t have to choose.

Weeks later, you found yourself at the center of an unlikely collaboration. Reca had begrudgingly accepted Ratio’s involvement in his latest project, and Ratio had agreed to lend his analytical expertise to Reca’s chaotic vision.

“It’s still nonsensical,” Ratio muttered, adjusting his notes as Reca’s mechanical frog leaped onto his shoulder.

“And you’re still a bore,” Reca replied, smirking. “But... maybe you’re not entirely useless.”

You laughed, watching as the two of them bickered. Somehow, amidst the chaos, you had found a way to bring balance to their dichotomy—and in doing so, discovered something extraordinary.

Perhaps you didn’t have to choose after all.

[flufflecat]

The theraprism text reads: "YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

And the fine print is under a readmore because its very long:

"This contract is legal and binding. We reserve the right to use your likeness, face, voice, and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary. Sans soul, your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day, never making eye contact, not even processing that you have eyes at all. No amount of interacting will move them to a place where they can remember, in feeling, the thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together, each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous river. You were birds. You were trees with roots entangled, drinking in the sunlight together. “Wherever we go next, whatever you choose, I will always be right there with you.” Thats done, buddy. Congratulations! You have chosen Bill instead! McDonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow M on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded times square while you scream “The fries, the fries, they don’t degrade in nature!!! It’s an immortal food!!! They will be in landfills long past our deaths!” Good god, the things I’ve seen. Me, who am I? Oh I’m Bill’s previous lawyer. He put my soul into a quill pen so I can write his legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe. I used to be so hot! I was so fine! Now I’m fine print. Speaking of which, Bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object, a strange creature, a concept, a sentence, a tasteful but rustic mason jar with wildflowers in it. If at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul, you will be swiftly denied. Unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you, then Bill might want to come along. By signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food. It will turn to ash in your mouth. A fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you. Bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary, especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition. Soulmakeoverrr! Your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects. This has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die. Signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife, including but not limited to: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Big Corner, Flow State, The Dream House, The Reincarnation Processing Center, Axolotl’s Tank and Consequences Hole. Signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms. Signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend. They can sense what is gone. Cats are indifferent. Signee may experience occasional demon possession  from Horculus the Red, Plabos the Merciless, Morbus son of Mortem, Plaga the Oozing and other such common demons roaming Earth searching for weakened, empty vessels. Tips for ripping your soul out at home: watching Youtube commentary channels, attending an extended family event with an open bar, using generative AI and asserting that you are creating, turning a blind eye to human suffering, amassing more wealth than needed, purchasing a blue checkmark"

[midnight1nk]

EPISODE CONCEPT #4

What if... SMG3 had the courage to confess his feelings for the real SMG4?

[more below cut]

For context, this is part two of my Episode Concept #3 [link], which many have asked for! @starcrossed-prince this is for you! (this is somehow longer than #3, holy shit.) Now, without further ado…

I promise.

He could never forget the feeling of tangible pixels leaving his arms. What once skin and clothes turned into mere 0’s and 1’s.

Those eyes, the ones he was willing to sink in its depths for hours, they cried. Of apology, of bittersweet farewell. He promised a lot of things, and one was to never let Four cry.

But it was never your Four.

At the time, a thousand thoughts passed through his mind. That this was simply a nightmare, or he had gotten too drunk. Or he ate a Wonder Flower by accident. Somehow, some way, this can’t be happening. He wanted to deny it all, but he knew. Why deny the truth when he fading away in your arms?

Goodbye, Three…

“SMG3?”

Three jumped at the mention of his name, turning to Tari who looked back at him with concern.

Tari: “Oh, sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re okay. You’ve been staring at Lil’ Spot for a while.”

He blinked at her, and then looked down at the gray-feathered duckling nestle in his cupped hands. Ah, yeah, he was.

SMG3: “I was just daydreaming, that’s all.” [*looks around, recalling where he was*] “It really is a nice place. It’s not far from the Showgrounds, right?” Tari, smiles: “Yep, I always like to come down here, it helps me clear my head. Plus, I get to hang around with the duckies!” SMG3: [*nods and with a finger, he soothes the duckling’s head*] “You were right before, I could use the fresh air.” “Eh, Tari, a little help here?”

Three looked across the way to see a couple of yellow ducklings climbing all over SMG4, who was standing by the edge of the lake. All over on his arms, his shoulders, under his blue cap. As Tari ran over to help, Four trying to not let any of them fall while giggling, tickled by their fluffy feathers.

Three began to smile, and perhaps he could let his heart feel that missing warmth.

Have courage.

But the cautious part of him didn't let him. He should've known better, he apologized to his heart.

Not yet.

Four and Tari came back with the tamed ducklings lined up in their arms.

SMG4: “If I spent a little more time with these little guys, they're gonna think I’m their mom.” SMG3, hums: “You always did have a thing for being the center of the universe.” SMG4: “Hey, it's not like I do it on purpose.”

And yet, you managed to become mine. But Three kept that thought to himself.

Tari: “It's getting late, and I told Meggy I was making dinner tonight. I should probably get them back to their mother.” SMG4, handing the ducklings from his arms to hers: “Yeah, we should head home, SMG3.”

Three said goodbye to Lil' Spot before handing the duckling to Tari, who promptly went to drop them off and returned. While Four was distracted, folding up the picnic blanket, Three leaned towards Tari while keeping an eye on Four.

SMG3, whispered: “Tari, could you please do a simulation check?”

Tari looked at him, her concern reflecting once again. He has asked that everyday. Any chance he was with her, it was the same. The first few times, she tried assuring him, telling him, “It's okay, SMG3. There's no need, you’re safe now.”

But it never seemed to calm his nerves. As much as she wanted to protest, she knew that it wasn't an unreasonable exaggeration. Whatever the simulation did to him must've been really horrible for him not to tell anyone what happened. To think he was back.

Tari nodded and programmed a command on the floating screen projecting by her arm. A window popped up saying, No detection of simulation.

Tari: “All clear.” SMG3, letting out a sigh of relief: “Thanks. I owe you one.” Tari, letting out a small smile: “No worries, we’re your friends after all. Though, I wouldn't mind having one of your cookies again once you’re healed.” SMG3: [*chuckle*] “That I can do.” SMG4, swinging the backpack over his shoulder: “Alright, ready to go?”

SMG3 nods. After saying goodbye to Tari, SMG4 pushed SMG3’s wheelchair on the path towards the Showgrounds.

It’s been over a month since Three was freed from the simulation. The Crew wasted no time bringing him to the hospital. The rest, well, it seemed like a blur. To Three at least. The doctors and nurses, what they said, he never caught it. He was lucky that his friends were there to remember for him. Three wasn’t exactly sure what to feel. Should he grieve? Should he be grateful that the Crew found him and his son?

What he did know was the promise that he kept.

The Crew was naturally relieved to see he was in good hands, but anyone could tell that they were exhausted from the stress of the search. So, while Three was going through recovery, they took turns watching over him. The rest, who didn't have the shift, took the chance to rest.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

One night, Tari and Saiko were walking down the quiet hospital hall, Saiko holding a gift bag and Tari a duffle bag with colorful patches all over it.

Tari: “Do you think SMG3 will like the card?” Saiko: “He’s a big softie on the inside, of course he will. Let's just hope we can pry SMG4 away from him.” Tari: “You can't exactly blame SMG4. I mean, don't you remember? He didn't sleep for days, or even eat. He was worried sick.” Saiko: “But he needs rest too, not just us. SMG3 is rescued, he should let us take care of it, if he wasn't so stubborn.” Tari: “Well, that nurse did say SMG3 would be better soon. Maybe we convince SMG4 this time.”

They reached to Three's room, but they found an unexpected sight when they opened the door:

Four fell asleep on the chair beside the bed, his head resting on Three’s lap like a pillow. A sleeping Three had a hand gently on Four’s hair with all the tenderness and quiet reassurance in the world. What was free, their hands were intertwined. It was certainly a rare sight, and they seemed so at peace with each other.

Tari and Saiko shared a glance, a gentle smile.

Tari: “Aw, that's so cute.” [*snaps a picture for the group chat*] Saiko: “C’mon, let’s them be.”

Saiko tiptoed into the room and left the gift bag on the nearby table. Peering at them one last time, she gently closes the door. They could always come back tomorrow.

There, what awaited in the gift bag, were reminders of home. A bomb from his cafe, a mini-plush of Eggdog, a record of jazz music. A homemade card, one side filled with heartwarming messages and the other a drawing of all the Crew with the Castle in the background, one of the best works Melony has ever done.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG4: “I bet I can drink a thousand cans of Monster Energy.” SMG3: “Nah uh! You’re lucky I can’t drink that stuff yet because I would’ve totally beaten you!” SMG4: “Oh, really? Well, I can’t wait to see you try.”

The two laughed as they reached the Castle. Eggdog greeted them at the door, happy to see his dads (And yes, I know what I said, shh) after Three's physical therapy session and jumped into his dad’s arms for a quick hug. Beeg4 slowly followed his brother, only letting out a pufferfish noise as a small “hello”. He isn’t usually the affectionate type. Four went to get Three’s customized cane leaned against the wall, and helped Three get to his feet. (The cane was a gift from the Crew but Bob was the one who added neat little secrets for Three to use. Though, Bob wants it to be off the record that it isn’t because he’s gone soft or anything.)

Ever since Four proposed the idea for Three to stay at the Castle, this has become second nature for them. They switched out the wheelchair with the cane at home so Three would be more comfortable walking around. Plus, he would usually hold Four’s arm to lean on. After his physical therapy appointments, Four would cook up dinner for the whole family. Or see if there’s any leftovers or takeout on special occasions. Three recently got the approval to eat solid food again, and Three couldn't be more glad. He was honestly getting sick of the same old soups day after day. Well, even if they tasted good. And they all sit at their usual seats at the table, not that they assigned seats or anything. It felt natural.

And today was pizza night.

SMG3: “Y’know…” SMG4, setting the pizza down: “No.” SMG3: “Oh, c’mon. You haven’t even tried it, you big baby.” SMG4: “And I already know that your ‘Ultimate Pizza’ is a disgrace to culinary art. To your tastebuds. Who the hell puts baked beans on pizza?” SMG3: “Well, Eggdog likes it.” Eggdog, helping set the plates: [*happy bark*] SMG4: “Oh, so now you’re bringing the kids into this? C’mon, Beeg, help me out here.” [Beeg doesn’t respond] [*acts dramatically, like someone stabbed him in the heart*] “I’ve been betrayed. Pleh.” SMG3, shakes head amusingly: “Shut up and eat, idiot.” SMG4: “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.” [*taunting*] “Forever.” SMG3: “Oh no, whatever should I… do.”

He… said this before, hasn’t he?

SMG4, mouth full of pizza: “Uh, SMG3, you’re good?” SMG3: “Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” [*eats his slice somberly, looking away*]

Four kept his gaze on Three. He wanted Three to tell him what was in his mind. He wanted to reach out and hold his hand. Comfort him. They have been there for each other at the worst of times. At each other’s worst.

There were two things they shared with absolute certainty: (1) they’re both stubborn, and (2) they would put up a brave face for the people around them.

Four did, when he discovered Three and Eggdog missing from the cafe. He would put on a determined smile, telling the rest of the Crew that they would rescue Three. But he supposed they could see right through him. That he was crumbling. Three was the one who saved him when he went insane and was possessed by the demonic keyboard. How could he not be frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t do the same?

Biting into his pepperoni slice, Four thought to himself, if only there was a way to take away all the pain Three was feeling right now. If only Three would let go of the front he has and let him show his pain in front of Four. To let Four be his safe space.

There isn’t much he can do, other than to let Three come to him on his own terms. When he is ready.

After finishing up dinner and washing the dishes, they all went to Four’s room. Eggdog and Begg decided to play Jenga, Three sat on the bed scrolling through his phone, and Four went back to editing videos since there was a lot of catching up to do. The record player was playing jazz music, the LP cover was signed “To SMG3”. Three bobbed his head while Four hummed the notes, admittedly it was a great disc that they could both enjoy. After a while, Three reminded Four to take a break from the screen, to which Four immediately complied and sat next to Three.

SMG4: “How’s your legs?”

SMG3: “Tired. But not as bad as last time. Could you pass the pills?”

SMG4, grabbing the bottle and handing it to Three: “Well, you are getting better in today's therapy session. Just wait a bit more.”

When SMG3 grabbed his medication, they briefly touched. It normally wouldn’t mean anything, but there was a tingle. Of curiosity, of warmth. The two lightly blushed, which they quickly brushed it off. They sat in silence as Three swallowed the pills.

SMG3: [*held his jaw by the hand*] “Do you know what I miss the most?” [*looks at Four, who nods as a sign for him to go on*] “Dancing.”

Three didn’t lie, it was one of the things he loved to do. That, and one other reason...

After some thought, Four stood up from the bed. Three didn’t even notice until Four stood before him. Four cleared his throat, a tint of pink on his cheeks, and held out his hand.

SMG4: “Wanna dance?” SMG3: [*puzzled, looking at the hand to Four and back*] “SMG4, I think we should get you some glasses.” SMG4: [*amusingly rolling his eyes*] “’It doesn’t have to be perfect.’ Isn’t that what you always told me?” SMG3: [*starstruck at the remembrance of this memory, lightly chuckled*] “And you dare to use my own words against me.”

Four helped Three up to his feet, his arms being his only support instead of the cane or wheelchair. At first, it was naturally awkward, being that Three is still recovering. Their dancing, if you would even call it that, was more of them shuffling their feet around the floor. They didn’t care.

Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars

Slowly, they melted in each other’s embrace. Oh, how easily it was to be lost in the other’s eyes, pools of ruby and sapphire. Secretly, they wished they could be like this forever.

Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars

In the back of Three’s mind, alarm bells were ringing loudly. It isn’t real. He just wants to be friends. Somehow, Three ignored it all the moment Four gave him a smile.

In other words, hold my hand In other words, darling, kiss me

What Three didn’t know, Four was lost in his own mind. The romanticist that he is, he’s freaking out in the inside like a high school girl. It felt like a scene in the romcom movies he watches. But it was real. Three taught him how to give second chances. Perhaps there was a chance now.

Fill my heart with song Let me sing forevermore

Three ran his fingers on Four’s sleeve. It’s real. He’s real.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore

His shooting star, his sweet prince.

In other words, please be true

His hope.

In other words, I love you

As the song ends, the two came to a stop, but they didn’t part. Once again, they were lost in each other’s world.

SMG3: “…We’ve stopped.”

SMG4: “We did? Then, why is a room still spinning?”

Being so close to the other man, the tension was high. Have courage.

Even then, it wasn’t enough. He’s not your Four. Three cleared his throat, looking away before any temptation got hold of him.

SMG3: “I’m… pretty tired, SMG4.” SMG4: “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” [*reaching to hand Three his cane, hiding his disappointment*] SMG3: “Thanks anyway.” [*walks out the door, preparing to go to bed*]

SMG4 stayed where he stood, his heart skipped a beat. It felt like a dream. He danced with his… Well, ‘friend’ was never the right word for him to label Three. Partner? Maybe.

Crush. Yeah… that sounds about right. Ever since Four was saved by Three, he never looked at their relationship the same way. “Just friends” was the stability for the longest time. The “safe” term. And yet, it was selfish to wish for something more. So much so that Four had dreams of a domestic life with Three. Holding hands, to lean to his touch. To…

Four shook his head. Three didn’t seem ready, or even interested. It was just part of his imagination and nothing more.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

The concrete halls were dark, cold by the touch. All was silent except for the dripping coming from an overhead pipe leak. Light shined through, daring the shadows to confrontation.

They didn’t think they’d be back, but here they were.

Mario, Meggy, and Saiko walked down the abandoned building, remembering their way to a specific room.

Meggy: “We’re getting close, guys. Keep your eyes peeled.” Saiko: “I seriously don’t see the point of us coming back here. Whoever did this is long gone.” Meggy: “Tari was telling me how SMG3 was, and… Look, whoever did this really messed him up. But they must’ve had some big plan for them to involve SMG3 in something. We gotta figure out what it was.” Saiko: “If you think it’s gonna help, fine. Like I said, I’m only here as backup.”

Finding the right door, they entered what was once the simulation room. The group split up and searched for any clues.

Saiko: “Looks like they didn’t come back here.” [*examines the monitor and finds a file of plans in creating the simulation*] Meggy: [*picks up the simulation machinery*] “It’s completely busted. Find anything, Red?” Mario: “No.” [*trips over a hidden box, spilling its contents*] “Ow, my ass.” Meggy: “Are you alright?” Mario: [*rubbing his head*] “Yeah.” [*looks at what he tripped over*] “Hey, I found SMG3’s clothes!” Saiko: “Clothes?”

Indeed, there was a pair of black overalls, a dark blue long-sleeve, and a familiar cap. Meggy picked up the cap, spinning it in her hands. Seeing the “M” emblem, she recognized it immediately. SMG3 wore this getup before the redesigns, and she knew why the “M” was attached.

Meggy: “The Youtube remote. They were trying to make SMG3 into a villain again.”

Mario and Saiko exchanged a glance, seeing the situation at hand. To force Three into a villain again…

Saiko: “You guys get out of here.” Mario and Meggy: “What?” Saiko: “The simulation machinery may be destroyed but it doesn’t mean another one can’t be built.” [*presents the file to them*] “That person’s going to come back and get their things, maybe continue with their plan. They already hurt one of us, it can’t happen again. You guys get out of here, I’ll take care of it.”

Mario and Meggy looked at each other before giving a nod. Saiko was right, the culprit always comes back at the scene of the crime after all. The two left, leaving Saiko alone in the room. She picked up a lighter and lit the file blueprints, watching these plans of cruelty burn to a crisp. She was lucky to buy one of Three’s bombs just for a moment like this. She lit up and ran out, letting the explosive destroy it all. The clothes, the plans. The building itself. Every single bit to a crisp.

No one messes with the Crew. No one.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

“Three?”

SMG3 opens his eyes, widening as he recognizes his surroundings. The white void.

SMG3: [*heavy breathing*] “No, no, no.”

He turned his heel, ready to run, when he was stunned to see…

SMG3: “…SMG4?” SMG4: “God, you really are pathetic.”

Three is left stunned.

SMG4: “I mean, did you really think I had feelings for you? I’m only taking care of you because I feel bad.” [*walks over to Three*] SMG3: “I thought—” SMG4: “Oh, you thought? Please, get a grip on what’s real here.” [*harshly grabbed onto Three’s arm*] Villains don’t get happy endings.” SMG3: “Four, you’re hurting me. Stop it. Just stop!”

Suddenly, Four went limp, starting to fall over.

SMG3: “Four!” [*catching him*]

Three turns Four over to see his face half of it was pixelated, fading away.

SMG4?: “You… couldn’t keep your promise.” SMG3: “No… I… I’m trying. I really am.” Digital SMG4: “I got a chance to live, to experience love of all things.” [*his voice quickly distorting*] “And you ruined it all.” SMG3: “No, it’s not true. It’s not!” Digital Four: “Why, Three? Why did you have to be so cruel?”

In that moment, Four faded away, its code in the wind.

SMG3: “No, no no!”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG3: ”NO!”

Three jolted up from the bed. A hand clutching at his shirt, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Four, who slept right next to his partner, also woke up.

SMG4: “SMG3. Three. It’s okay, that dream isn’t real. It’s not real.” [*his hands gently cradled Three’s face*] “Easy, easy, easy.”

Three finally came to his senses, grounded by Four’s reassurance. His heavy breathing settled until his panic was no more.

SMG4: [*his thumb caresses the other’s cheek*] “See? It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

From the calmness and comfort of his hands, Three leaned into his touch. What he dreamed of, that wasn’t his Four. They stayed like this, the air becoming heavy. Until Three reached to grab Four’s hand from his cheek, but he didn’t shoo the other man away.

SMG4: “Three…” SMG3: “I can’t. Sorry…”

SMG4 sighed, once again unable to reach him. But there still had to be a way to help Three.

SMG4: “Hey, do you think you can sleep again?” SMG3: [*shakes his head*] “No.” SMG4: [*gets up from bed and grabs Three’s shoes*] “C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Three had no idea where Four was taking him, but here they were: walking through the woods still in their pajamas, in hoodies, and shoes. They weren’t in a rush but Four was seemingly eager to show him this mystery. He looked at Four without the other noticing.

Me, the Crew, everything, it's an exact copy of the real thing.

The Four in the digital world was a mere copy. But even a copy could never show him what he was about to see:

Beyond the woods, there was a field of white flowers. Open to the beautiful stars above. The two sat down and looked at the view.

SMG4: “Whenever I get a nightmare, I always come here. I just happened to stumble upon this place by accident. But it somehow clears my head. Especially after… the ‘perfect’ incident.” [*small chuckle*] “I guess there are some things we can't get over.”

Three looks at him, hanging on to every word.

SMG4: “I care a lot about you, SMG3. More than you could ever realize. But it hurts to see when you’re trying to keep it all together. I know that feeling all too well. I can’t force you to tell me what happened in the simulation, but know that whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.”

Their hands got closer together. Their pinkies touched, they noticed but didn’t show.

SMG3: “I don’t know if you should. All the people I care about don’t stay for long. I’m unlikable, SMG4. I’m a villain and always will be.” SMG4: [*shakes head*] “You’ve changed. Besides, I like you. All of you.” [*their pinkies intertwined*] SMG3: “Four…” SMG4: “No, I’m not going to change my mind. I won’t leave you. Whatever you wish me to be, I will be it. A friend, a partner. Someone you can talk to. Anything.”

The air felt heavy once again, and everything became a blur. The silent wind passed through their hair. Have courage.

SMG3: [*gulping*] “…Then, let me ask: are you real?”

A free hand from Four held the other’s face.

SMG4: [*briefly looking at Three’s lips*] “As real as you want me to be.”

Whatever stopped him several times before, Four cut those ties loose. He leaned forward, his eyes slowly closing. He was patient and ready to see if Three would reject him. But Three didn’t and let Four close the gap.

A soft kiss, it was brief. It was tender. It was real.

Three kissed back, letting the other know he reciprocated. They parted for a moment, waiting for the other to make a move.

SMG3: “Then, be true for me.”

They went for a second kiss, this time with passion and longing. This. This cleared every doubt they had before. Their insecurities, whatever held them down. Three wrapped his arms around Four’s neck while other did the same, around Three’s back. If this was a dream, screw it, let them dream. This time, nothing was going to take it away from them.

A single tear rolled down Three's cheek. It's been a while, hasn't it?

SMG3, talking in between kisses: “I love you, Four. I always have.” SMG4, doing the same: “I love you too, Three. I wanted you for so long.” SMG3, parting from kiss: [*laugh*] “Oh? Did you now?” SMG4, turning bright red: “Uh.. c’mon, dude, don’t ruin the moment. It’s not my fault you’re attractive.” SMG3, mischievously leaning to Four: “Really?” SMG4: “Shit.”

Three nuzzled into Four’s neck, kissing all over and leaving Four laughing at how ticklish it was.

SMG4, bursting in laughter: “Three, s-stop!” SMG3, whispered: “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one who thought the same.”

Oh, how wonderful was it to listen to the sounds Four makes.

His shooting star, his sweet prince.

His Four.

After a while, the two catch their breath. They leaned onto each other, held hands, and looked back at the stars.

SMG4: “I promise I’ll be true for you.” [*gave Three's hand a squeeze*] SMG3: [*hums, returning the gesture*] “Well then, I’ll do the same for you.”

Three held many promises, one was to never let Four cry. Now, there was another: to be his truest self.

[riotwritesthings]

An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron - M, 3k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, thriller/horror?, canon-typical violence, loss of control, panic attacks

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends-

It can’t be-

But they are.

See what happened was. I thought about this post so hard that it broke my writer's block. I have no plan for this, I'm just following vibes and vague ideas and hoping the muse doesn't abandon me. If you're feeling brave, let's see where we end up!

Happy spooky month, here's my interpretation on soulmates as a horror concept.

---

Chapter 1: we locked eyes

Tony manages to slap his hand over the barrel of the handgun just as it levels with his face.

Barnes pulls the trigger.

The sound of it is deafening, hitting Tony like a physical blow, but the bullet stops abruptly when it hits his gauntlet-covered palm. It still stings like hell, but his face and brain remain intact.

Even as he fits his thumb over the slide lock, preparing to pull the whole thing away from the rest of the gun, Tony feels a smirk tug at his lips. He flicks his gaze up to direct his smug look at the rampaging soldier-

The entire world falls away.

Except that’s not strong enough. The entire world shatters in an explosion of razor-sharp pieces that slice through Tony’s mind, through his entire being.

The large open lobby is still in chaos around him, but all of the noise of shouting and approaching footsteps and even the ringing in his ears is suddenly so far away. Like it’s coming from the end of a tunnel, or the top of a well, and he’s falling.

There’s no ground beneath his feet. There’s no air around him, his lungs are collapsing. His heart lodges somewhere around his throat and he can’t breathe-

Barnes has such blue eyes. Cold and fierce but bright, wide, and Tony is lost.

He can’t tear himself away. Why would he?

There is nothing else.

Just the sparks dancing along his nerves and the pull in his chest and the realigning of the entire fucking universe around him.

Tony can’t tell if his head is spinning or if it’s everything.

Where-

What was he doing here? It was important, he knows that, but everything is gone-

All he knows is-

Barnes blinks and the world snaps back into place.

Except it snaps back wrong.

Like the center of gravity suddenly isn’t where it’s supposed to be. All of the colors are wrong, too bright and too rich. The air tastes electric.

Tony drags in a shuddering breath and he has no idea how much time has passed. A second. A lifetime.

Barnes is blinking rapidly now, like he’s trying to wake up.

At least Tony remembers why he’s here. He remembers all of his goals so clearly.

Stop this mess from becoming any more of an international disaster. Help Steve, if he can. Find out the truth.

He still needs to do all of that, it’s important.

His thumb falls away from the slide lock as Barnes lowers the gun. Barnes doesn’t actually pull out of his hold.

They’re still just staring at each other.

Tony needs to- to figure out what the hell happened here and how to fix it-

They need to-

The sound of footsteps are right behind him now, two sets of them, and he doesn’t think.

He spins on his heel, hand raised, and sends off a repulsor blast.

His blood runs cold as Natasha skids back across the polished floor and collides hard with one of the countless scattered tables. Sharon freezes a couple of feet away, staring at him with wide eyes.

He can’t breathe.

Natasha is still standing but she winces as she steps away from the table at her lower back. She hesitates, clearly confused, eyes darting between Tony and Barnes.

Tony doesn’t have any answers for her, even if he could speak. Why did he do that?

He still can’t fucking breathe.

Sharon lunges forward and Barnes’ hand wraps around the bend of Tony’s elbow, pulling him out of the way. Barnes puts himself between Tony and the attacking agent like a solid wall and it feels-

Tony shoves that incomplete thought away with the same vicious force that Barnes shoves Sharon down through another table.

He still feels so off balance. Like he’s waking up from a life-long dream. He’s relieved when Sharon curls around herself with a groan and doesn’t try to get up.

This isn’t right. Tony is supposed to be helping stop Barnes from breaking out of here, not- not looking for the exits-

Natasha is moving towards them again and Tony needs to help-

He needs to help her, he should- he should grab Barnes again, hold him so Natasha can-

Tony can’t even finish the thought. He’s still frozen in place.

None of this is right.

Barnes catches Natasha’s fists just as easily. Tony is all too familiar with the way Natasha swings herself up around Barnes’ shoulders, ready to strike, and he- he can’t-

He needs to-

They need to-

No, fuck. Tony can’t get it together, he can’t think. Everything is still sideways, it's all too bright.

Natasha brings her elbow down hard onto Barnes’ head, and Tony-

Reality finishes shattering around him.

He finally moves and things start to happen so damn fast. He sends out so many pulses of disorienting energy that the heat of the repulsor starts to burn his palm. Natasha hits the far wall and crumbles, and guilt twists Tony’s gut. He doesn’t stop to think.

Barnes' hand wraps around his arm again and Tony follows. More counter-terror agents approach them as they cross the room. Tony repulsors them. Barres takes care of any that get too close. They keep moving.

They have to get out of here.

It’s not until they’re approaching a staircase that Tony stops and says, “No.”

The helicopter is too exposed, too obvious. But Tony doesn’t need to explain.

Barnes goes tense for just a second. His fingers twitch against Tony’s skin. His eyes are fever-bright as he looks at Tony and nods.

So blue. Tony is still falling.

They turn down a hallway. Tony knows the way to the secret service tunnels. Barnes is following him now, hand still wrapped around Tony’s forearm. The contact feels like touching a live wire and Tony’s heart keeps stuttering in his chest. The strong grip feels like a brand, like a shackle-

Unbreakable-

T 'Challa steps into the hallway, blocking their path. Tony’s hand comes up again without thought, palm out and fingers spread in clear threat. He can’t stop himself.

“Stark,” T’Challa says, his eyebrows furrowed, “why are you doing this?”

Tony opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t have an answer. He can’t say it.

Barnes’ hand tightens on his arm the second T’Challa moves, and the chaos resumes. Tony's body moves faster than he can keep track of, than he wants to keep track of. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s- why he’s-

T‘Challa is clearly aiming to subdue Barnes and Tony can’t- he can’t let that- The repulsed burns his palm again, but the prince is quick. T’Challa’s hand swings at his face and Tony can’t dodge it.

He doesn’t have to.

Barnes is there. He grabs T’Challa’s arm with both hands and an audible snap echoes through the empty hallway.

Tony wants to throw up, he wants to stop. Instead he puts his palm to the side of T’Challa’s head and activates the repulsor.

It embeds the man halfway into the wall where he stills with a groan and Tony wavers on his feet. His hand is going numb and every fiber of him is screaming.

He’s still off balance, he still can’t breathe.

But he grabs Barnes by the wrist and they keep moving. Down the hall and then they’re practically tumbling down the dimly lit stairwell. They make it to the service tunnels. The tunnels lead to a parking garage, but the doors are locked.

Somehow Barnes’ gun found its way into his free hand, and Tony lifts it while Barnes works on the lock. When the doors swing open there’s a guard standing in their way, his hands shaking around his own gun.

Tony pulls the trigger first.

The man crumbles, bleeding, and bile rises in Tony’s throat.

Oh fuck, why can’t he stop?

Barnes pulls him along and Tony doesn’t protest when he picks their getaway car. Barnes smashes in the window and Tony hotwires it as easy as breathing. Tony drives.

Within minutes they’re blending into traffic in a nondescript sedan. When his phone starts to ring Tony passes it over, and Barnes crushes it in his metal hand without instruction.

They keep driving.

---

They don’t stop running for thirteen hours.

The entire time, they don’t speak. They don’t need to.

Tony’s stomach is still rolling.

He doesn’t sleep, even when Barnes takes over driving near the end. He’s too tired to consider questioning the rundown farmhouse that Barnes finds near the northern border of Lithuania.

It’s not like he’s been thinking through a fucking thing since-

Barnes leads the way into the one-room shack, and Tony doesn’t let himself think. He watches Barnes drop stiffly onto the worn couch.

Tony is trying so hard not to think.

Everything is still wrong. He’s exhausted but energy is still buzzing beneath his skin. Electric and terrifying. He can taste static on the air and his heart rate is still- He doesn’t-

"What the fuck?" Tony finally bursts, his voice hoarse, “why- what the fuck just happened?”

Barnes doesn’t look up from staring at his own palms. “You know,” he says heavily, “you’re too smart t’ pretend you don’ know what this is.”

“No,” Tony snaps. He spins on his heel and starts to pace. He doesn’t make it more than three steps towards the door before his head starts to pound, his chest pulling tight. So he paces the other direction, not looking over at Barnes as he repeats, "No, there’s no fucking way."

“You got another explanation?” Barnes demands. His breathing sounds ragged, too-quick.

Tony refuses to look over.

"I don’t- how about a mental breakdown?" Tony replies. His own breathing is shallow and shaky. "Why else would I- unless your Hydra brainworm is fucking contagious-"

"Wh- no," Barnes says around a harsh bark of laughter.

“- Then I don’t- something else must have-”

“No,” Barnes says again, "you know what this is."

Tony whirls on him, glaring, but Barnes is still hunched over himself. They’re both breathing too hard, too fast, Tony can hear the air wheezing in and out of his lungs.

It can’t be-

“You helped a fugitive escape custody,” Barnes says flatly, not looking up from his hands. “I was- you broke my orders with a word. Why else-”

“Shut up,” Tony snaps, "I am not your- we are not soulmates." His voice is too loud is his own ears, ringing oddly. “That’s- this shit doesn’t happen anymore.”

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends-

It can’t be-

But they are.

Tony makes a strangled sound as the truth that he’s known all along starts to really sink in. He’s not even trying to breathe anymore.

Barnes mutters something under his breath, too low for Tony to catch. Then he repeats it, over and over as he drops his face into his palms, and eventually Tony can make out the words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

The wave of guilt that crashes over Tony is unexpected and infuriating.

He doesn’t want an apology, not from Barnes- Not when-

Neither of them chose this, but that’s kind of the fucking point, isn’t it? Tony wants an apology from the goddamn universe, not from the man hyperventilating on the shitty couch.

And the worse Barnes’ breathing gets, fast and too deep until his entire body heaves with it, the more Tony wants to- he doesn’t even know, but he can’t-

He can’t stop himself.

Tony marches across the room, his body once again moving without any input from his brain. Like a puppet on strings. Without the adrenaline of a fight it's even more obvious how completely out of control he is.

All that fucking time and effort trying to take back control of his life and his legacy, even if he has been regularly fucking it up, and now this-

By the time he’s standing in front of Barnes his own chest is rising and falling nearly as quickly and Tony hesitates, trailing to a stop. Now that he’s here he doesn’t actually know what to do, he has no plan, all he knows is that it’s physically impossible to do nothing.

Every breath Tony takes burns through his lungs and Barnes is starting to hiccup on every inhale, what Tony can see of his face going ghostly pale.

Tony can only watch numbly as his hands move, reaching out, and not knowing what he’s going to do is fucking terrifying. So he makes a decision instead.

He buries his fingers in Barnes’ wild hair and it feels like being electrocuted. Tony’s grip clenches tighter as a current of something that damn sure feels like electricity flows up his arms. They’ve both stopped breathing entirely. Tony’s chest is too full of something-

It feels-

Barnes doesn’t resist when Tony yanks on his hair with shaking hands, letting Tony pull his face up out of his palms. He lets Tony pull until his head is craned back, loose strands of hair falling out of his face as they stare at each other.

His eyes are wide and bloodshot. Still so damn blue.

"Breathe, stupid," Tony finally manages to wheeze. He has to drag in a shuddering, painful lungful of air before he can add, “I’m having the panic attack right now, and I don’t share.”

The laugh that Barnes chokes out is edged with hysteria. His gaze moves over Tony’s face, looking for something, and when Tony forces himself to take another shaking inhale Barnes follows along.

Tony takes another breath, and so does Barnes. It’s easier than Tony expected, shoving everything aside to just focus on getting air in and out of his lungs.

Maybe because they’re finally touching again.

Barnes’ hair is surprisingly soft. It's hard to ignore, even if Tony is doing his best not to notice. Barnes’ skin gives off a heat that radiates up Tony’s arms, into his chest, and it is slightly loosening the knot of panic wrapped around Tony’s heart.

They continue to stare at each other, breathing in time.

Slowly Barnes raises one shaking hand to grab blindly for Tony’s hip. He holds on like Tony is some kind of life line, wrinkling the expensive fabric. It’s hard enough to bruise and it feels-

Everything is still sideways.

Reality has been pulled inside out, too bright and harsh and messy and it's never going back.

Even the faded colors of the farmhouse are too saturated, the weak overhead lighting nearly blinding. Tony can feel every stuttering beat of his heart through his entire body.

But standing here like this- close- touching-

It feels right.

That thought has barely settled in his mind before Tony is ripping himself away, stumbling backwards. He immediately feels off-balance, untethered, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he retreats the few more steps it takes to put his back against the far wall.

This can’t be happening.

But it is.

Tony is living a legend. He’d abandoned all of his plans the second he’d looked into Barnes’ eyes, everything he’d gone to Berlin to do. He’d betrayed his teammates- attacked Natasha-

His breath catches wetly as bile rises in his throat. He really- this isn’t supposed to-

But it's happening-

All the air has vanished from the room. He can’t breathe again, lungs closing up as he tries desperately to think of any other explanation.

There’s nothing. And even if he could find another reason, he knows-

He knows it's true. He has a-

No-

Tony has to get out of here, go-

Anywhere.

His head starts to pound, throbbing in protest, and Tony groans as he lets himself slide down the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and thumps his head back against the rough wood, breath rattling in his chest.

He can feel Barnes watching him. He keeps his eyes firmly closed. He doesn’t- he can’t deal with this.

When Barnes finally speaks, what he says is, “Lemme know when you’re done with th’ panic attack, I call next.”

His voice sounds a little better, a little more stable, and it actually sends a bolt of relief through Tony. Followed quickly by a fresh wave of irritation.

“Fuck off,” he snaps back, the words rough and wavering.

Barnes doesn’t reply, and Tony keeps his eyes shut.

He’s not sure which is more upsetting, the very thought that Barnes might leave, or the soul-deep certainty that he can't.

Chapter 2

[s0lemnhypn0s]

I translated the jargon at the bottom of bills contract on the thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com.

the top part says

"YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER"

but the rest of it says:

"THIS CONTRACT IS LEGAL AND BINDING, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE, AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECCESARY. SANS SOUL, YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL, NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER IN FEELING THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. THATS DONE, BUDDY! CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD. MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM. THE FRIES, THE FRIES, THEY DONT DEGRADE IN NATURE, ITS AN IMMORTAL FOOD, THEY WILL BE IN THE LAND FILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS, GOOD GOD, THE THINGS I'VE SEEN. ME, WHO AM I? OH I'M BILLS PREVIOUS LAWYER, HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT, I WAS SO FINE, NOW I'M FINE PRINT, SPEAKING OF WHICH, BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT. IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED, UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL DAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU, THEN BILL MIGHT WANT TO COME ALONG. BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD, IT WILL TURN TO ASH BY YOUR MOUTH, A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU. BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECCESARY, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION. SOUL MAKEOVERRR. YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS, THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE. SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER, AXOLOTL'S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE, SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD THE SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS. SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT. SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSIONS FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEM, PLAGA THE OOZING, AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR WEAKENED EMPTY VESSELS. TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT AT HOME: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK"

I translated all of this by hand and I got a headache for it you guys better appreciate this and if someone beat me to the finish ill cry

[catscraftsandcommentary]

So I had some time to think tonight at work (in between operating heavy machinery, swearing at the materials, and trying to keep the line running, fun times!) And I asked myself, "self, hypothetically, what might @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU look like in another generation or two - once people really get used to witchers being The Good Guys (TM) and helping out?"

And I was like "well, they'd probably get invited to social events - ooh! Who'd like which events best?!? What would that look like?"

Geralt, as we all know, detests anything too formal or Warlord-focused. He enjoys weddings and receptions, but his TRUE favorite is baby christenings. Seriously. Put him in a room with a tiny baby and he's happy as a clam. He'll happily growl away (or weaponize his puppy-dog eyes against) grannies, aunties, and other family members to hold the baby for as long as possible. He's also 90% of the reason that witchers are now rumored to be able to bless babies.

When Mouse and Treyse bring this new rumor to the council, everyone has to just sit. And process for a minute. Because what the ever-loving fuck?!? (Jaskier immediately writes the sweetest lullaby ever, "A Witcher's Blessing", and it is the ONLY song that Geralt ever sings in public, and only ever to babies and small children. Multiple women blame this for their immediate conceptions.)

Jaskier adores weddings and festivals of all types, and if a happy couple includes details of how they met and/or fell in love with their wedding invitation, there's at least a 50% chance that he'll show up to the wedding with a personalized love song, holy shit.

Ciri loves tourneys. Loves watching them, loves displaying in them, loves sneaking into competing in them (omg, heir, NO), loves WINNING them. She's a menace. She has various stealth coats of arms that she rotates between when she's not supposed to be competing, but her favorite is the battle goose. Obviously.

Eskel doesn't like crowds or being the center of attention, which are almost inevitable with public invitations, but he does enjoy being the +1 for his family. Several of his and their interests overlap, and even where they don't, he likes to see them enjoying themselves.

Yennifer becomes well-known as an extremely efficient - albeit terrifying - treaty negotiator. She'll talk to both sides, get a list of their must haves, deal-breakers, would-likes, and don't-wants (as well as - perhaps more importantly - the reason why each of those are on that particular list). Then she draws up a draft and viciously negotiates a compromise. She is genuinely surprised the first time that both sides thank her for her help.

Vesemir, with all his long years of teaching, loves visiting schools and seeing any sort of student performance or sporting event. Kindergarten to university, drama to music to dance recitals to track and field meets to football games to student symposiums to science contests to... He buys out bake sales and funds club field trips and donates several fortunes worth of antique knick knacks to various schools. He's invited as a guest lecturer, a commencement speaker, a competition judge, a referee.

Lambert and Aiden, at some point, discover bachelor's parties, call dibs, and never look back. People learn very quickly not to invite witchers to their stag nights unless they want the entire party to get horrifyingly drunk - but at least Lam and Aiden will make sure that everyone makes it home (or to the wedding) safely. Perhaps not soberly, or sans hangover, but definitely without major injury. (And if the bride asks nicely and the groom and friends weren't total jerks, Lambert can usually be counted on to make a hangover cure. He really is a softie at heart.)

Dragonfly and Serrit get tapped for the odd bachelorette party or ladies' birthday parties. Anything that falls under "I want to be able to drink and party with my friends without worrying about some strange guy hurting one of us." They are extremely protective and have both been drunkenly proposed to several times. (Livi finds this terribly amusing. Gweld just wants to know if he can watch.) Milena and Zofia sometimes go with them.

Milena loves going to wedding showers and baby showers, but outside Kaer Morhen, she has to stay in sight of Lambert or one of his brothers. Lambert's rule. (She got KIDNAPPED, okay? He's allowed to worry!) Usually she'll take Geralt (there might be babies! He's excellent protection!) or Eskel (he's very quiet and has excellent manners, and his signs are impossible to fight) for the more, ah, female-heavy events. If anyone asks, they're her brother-in-law and genuinely like spending time around kids. And very, very married.

[ouatpancakes]

The complete, translated fine print at the bottom of the soul contract:

This contract is legal and binding. We reserve the right to use your likeness, face, voice and small town pluck in whatever nefarious manner is deemed necessary. Sans soul, your soulmate will not recognize you and will walk right past you on a cold autumn day, never making eye contact, not even processing that you have eyes at all. No amount of interaction will move them to a place where they can remember, in feeling, the thousands of lifetimes you have already spent together, each time choosing whatever form would keep you closest like otters holding hands in a tumultuous river. You were birds, you were trees with roots entangled, drinking in the sunlight together. Wherever we go next, whatever you choose, I will always be right there with you. That’s done, buddy. Congratulations, you have chosen Bill instead. McDonalds reserves the right to put a giant yellow M on your torso and forehead and send you walking through a crowded Times Square while you scream “the fries! The fries! They don’t degrade in nature!! It’s an immortal food!! They will be in the landfills long past our deaths!” Good god, the things I’ve seen. Me, who am I? Oh I’m Bill’s previous lawyer. He put my soul into a quill pen so I can write his legal documents until the sun snuffs out like a candle in this sick universe. I used to be so hot. I was so fine. Now I’m fine print. Speaking of which, Bill reserves the right to put your soul into an inanimate object, a strange creature, a concept, a sentence, a tasteful but rustic mason jar with wildflowers. If at any point you wish to have visitation rights with your soul, you will be swiftly denied, unless you had a cool day planned for the both of you. Then Bill might want to come along. By signing this document you forfeit any rights to eating soul food. It will turn to ash in your mouth. A fitting punishment for a fool who squandered the only true gift life owes you. Bill reserves the right to dress your soul however he deems necessary, especially if your soul was a nerd before acquisition. Soulmakeoverrr! Your soul may become fractured and placed into different objects. This has no purpose and will not resurrect you if you die. Signee has forfeited all rights to any afterlife, including by not limited to: heaven, hell, purgatory, big corner-flow state, the dream house, the reincarnation processing center, axolotl’s tank and consequences hole. Signee can no longer board the soul train and is advised to discard all bellbottoms. Signee can no longer have a puppy as a best friend; they can sense what is gone. Cats are indifferent. Signee may experience occasional demon possession from Horculu the Red, Plabos the Merciless, Morbus son of Mortem, Plaga the Oozing, and other such common demons roaming Earth searching for weakened, empty vessels. Tips for ripping out your soul at home: watching youtube commentary channels, attending an extended family event with an open bar, using generative AI and asserting that you are creating, turning a blind eye to human suffering, amassing more wealth than needed, purchasing a blue checkmark.

[tresorgizjoralb]

Im selling prints of my piece "Kim Karbasitan" 32x45 100$

16x23 50$

Kim Karbasitan

September 14, 2023 - September 16, 2023

In grade school I had a very complex relationship with the concept of gaining knowledge and education i couldn’t spell any word more that 5 letters correctly and I would many times be taken out of class beacease of how i performed on test/quizzes I hated being different and I hated other kids thinking i was different so I trained myself to fit into the kid it took to sit on the square carpet during story time i’m not in school anymore and i no longer have to fit into standards set by this fake world I no longer have to know how to spell beacease or to know to correct my b’s that were “supposed” to be d’s. Kim kardashian is the eve of our world she is what we view as perfect she is what we are supposed to view as perfect she is the center of our universe and everyone knows her and knows her lips eyes waist tits and her “perfect” body she is “perfect” she always has been and alway will be It is a curse we will never break from or escape because that’s is who we chose to be “perfect” she is our eve. kanye west is our adam they are both in each other in every way possible they are inseparable in the media, family bonds, social bonds, and in marriage when a person thinks of kanye they think of kim and vise versa he is trapped in her while she moves on and continues her perfect life after draining kanye for all his worth he has to rebuild his life but he can’t she was too perfect for him to move on she was perfect in ways we couldn’t see or understand causing him to “sin”. Kim karbasitan bears our cross she is everything wrong with this world we live in she signifies rape drug abuse adultry murder crimes of passion she absorbes what we hate most about ourselves she carries the things we can’t hold she is the rug outside your front door you dust your feet off on she is the tears you cry at night she is what holds our deepest secrets and fears we just can’t shake she is what bears you scars she is the of years trauma she is the longing you feel when on the coldest days of the year waiting for the bus she is the lump in your throat while on the verge of tears.

[angelofdumpsterfires]

BILL'S CONTRACT FINE PRINT DECIPHERED

I'm sure someone has beat me to this, but because I decided to decipher/translate all 1000ish words of the fine print on this here totally normal contract (by hand)

Bold code is theraprism substitution cipher, the rest is the author's substitution cipher, i've reformatted the text to be more readable but i've also made a version with the more accurate, original line formatting here

YOU ARE NOW TWENTY ONE GRAMS LIGHTER

THIS CONTRACT IS LEGAL AND BINDING, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE AND SMALL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECESSARY.

SANS SOUL YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER - IN FEELING THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTWINED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. -

THATS DONE BUDDY, CONGRATULATIONS YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD.

MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM “THE FRIES, THE FRIES, THEY DON'T DEGRADE IN NATURE… ITS AN IMMORTAL FOOD… THEY WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS.”

GOOD GOD, THE THINGS S I’VE SEEN, ME. WHO AM I? OH BILL'S PREVIOUS LAWYER, HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE. I USED TO BE SO HOT. I WAS SO FINE. NOW I'M FINE PRINT.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT.

IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL DAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU, THEN BILL MIGHT COME ALONG.

BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHTS TO EATING SOUL FOOD, IT WILL TURN TO ASH IN YOUR MOUTH, A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU.

BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECESSARY, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISITION, SOUL MAKEOVERRR!

YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS. THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU WHEN YOU DIE.

SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS OF ANY AFTERLIFE INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER, AXOLOTL'S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD THE SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. CATS ARE INDIFFERENT.

SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSION FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEM, PLAGA THE OOZING AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR WEAKENED/EMPTY VESSELS.

TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK.

[outmakingmoonshine]

The Bear & Roman Mythology

After seeing this post by @thoughtfulchaos773 awhile ago I started looking into the myth of Venus and Mars and I'm now in a never ending rabbit hole of mythological conections in The Bear. If you haven't read the post above already I highly recommend checking it out before continuing with this. There are so many things that line up with characters and storylines in the show, even beyond the myth of V+M but it all still centers around the story of SydCarmy.

Thank you to @thoughtfulchaos773 for helping me structure and edit this post.

Disclaimer: There are many versions of mythological characters, sort of like different universes in Marvel & DC where the same characters appear in different stories, with different relationships and dynamics. Sometimes 2 characters are the same person but "split" into different aspects of broad concepts like love, war etc. There are also multiple different interpretations of those stories, relationships and dynamics by different philosophers, writers, artists etc. and of course this post is mixed with my own interpretation of the symbolism and priciples of the characters. Myths are heavily based on symbology and Roman myths are heavily based on the symbology of western astrology (or vice versa) so I'm mainly looking at the mythological and astrological symbols they're replicating in The Bear. This could be possible spoilers for the end of the show. Gifs that aren't credited are mine.

The table scene depicted Syd &Carmy as Venus & Mars but I think that was just the reveal of the mythological connections to their stories and they’ve been subtly showing us these (and other) mythological connections to multiple characters all along.

I debated putting this into parts but I think it needs to be understood all together so there is a lot of information and it's really long so it's under the cut.

Mars is the God of war and the spirit of battle who was immediately in awe of Venus's beauty, is attracted to her natural sexuality (not promiscuity) that matches his own and he quickly falls in love with her. (In astrology Mars also rules passion and lust.)

Carmy was practically in awe of Sydney’s beauty from the beginning

He openly sexually desires her from early on, his eyes basically magnetize to her lips whenever she's near and he can't help but flirt with her

He has fallen (or is falling) deeply in love with her

The overall tone of their myth together is Venus helps Mars find peace and balances out his war-like-nature so it doesn't consume him. He becomes a more evolved version of Mars from their relationship together. He's still the God of War but now with the wisdom of "being one" with love and peace. He can wage war in a noble and just way instead of like a savage because the true motive and purpose of war is to find peace.

Who is Carmy's motive/motivation for everything he's been doing?

Gifs by heardchef & thoughtfulchaos773 .

Who is a significant part of Carmy's purpose/dream?

Gifs by swannsways

And who does he desperately want to find a connection with? Syd, the source of his peace.

"Syd and Carmy do things for one another. She is a source of peace and focus for him and, at times, he can be a source of inspiration and dependability. Sometimes he can’t." - Jeremy Allen White

The overall tone of the show and Carmy's story so far is that he desperately needs to heal and find peace and Sydney is the one who brings that to him. Also Venus (Syd) is the only person in the entire Roman mythology (the show) that can get through to Mars (Carmy) and calm his anger and spirit of battle.

The actors and writers keep referring to Carmy as "like a baby" in interviews and we're watching him go through an evolution or "metamorphosis" on the show from being "like a baby" in dealing with his family situation, socialization, relationships, love etc, to being a man. Sydney was the catalyst for that change in Carmy like Venus was the catalyst for change in Mars.

********************************************************************

Venus was in a loveless marriage with the "God of the forge" aka the God of fire, Vulcan, and through her relationship with Mars finally gets to experience being with with someone who she truly loves and who loves her, someone who can match her nature with fiery passion.

The way I interpret the way the show plays with the symbology of Venus being "in a loveless marriage to the God of fire" is Sydney is the God of Fire (she's the one who represents fire in the show) but she has trouble believing in her own fire/passion and expressing it. Sydney loves cooking and she's excellent at it but she can't connect with her passion and make what she envisions. Sydney doesn't know how to express her loving nature either and that also keeps her from connecting with the fire inside her. Passion for something, creativity, cooking, love etc are all associated with fire. So Sydney is in a "loveless" marriage with her own fire. (Marriage is symbolic of being one with something/someone.)

Sydney also represents Ceres Goddess of agriculture, growth and motherly relationships. (I read a meta about this while ago but I can't find it now, if you know who wrote it please link it so I can add it here.) Syd is the reason for any growth of the restaurant and nearly everyone in it. She planted seeds of confidence, inspiration and motivation in so many of them and has nurtured their growth through the process. Carmy stopped letting her nurture the seeds she planted in him in 2x03.

Also Minerva (Goddess of Wisdom). The wisest people know they don't know everything so they spend a lot of time seeking more and more inspiration/knowledge/wisdom, symbolically they're all the same thing. Syd came to the restaurant to seek inspiration/wisdom in the culinary world from Carmy, he didn't deliver so turned to Coack K's book. Syd's always looking for ways to better her skills and knowledge even though she's already very skilled and knowledgable. Syd is usually the voice of reason for Carmy when he listens. She was a voice of reason for Richie in 1x07, although a very harsh one. Also in one version of myth Mars was in love with Minerva but she was annoyed by him and rejected his amourous advances and based on Syd's reaction to this amourous look from Carmy in 2x09

I think we might see Syd not being as open to these looks from him in S3.

I think Carmy also represents Neptune/Poseidon (God of the Sea). Blue, water, emotions, feelings etc all relate to water and to Carmy. Neptune had 2 main siblings, one was the God of the Heavens (Mikey), one was the God of the Earth (Nat, the Earth is symbolic of fertility) and Neptune (Carmy) was God of Freshwater and The Sea.

********************************************************************

Claire = Anna Perenna

Anna Perenna is the Goddess of Time and The Changing Of Years.

Time:

I still think the clocks in scenes with Claire relate to season 2's theme of time, “every second counts” and the fact Carmy was wasting time doing unproductive things with her instead of actually helping to build the restaurant. But I think another layer of meaning could be symbolism that she represents the Roman Goddess of time.

The changing of years - Anna Perenna is where the term "per annum" comes from, Anna symbolizes bringing in the new year but “the changing of years” can also be interpreted as metaphorically trying to "change" your past years, to make up for them, relive them or to right wrongs from them etc. That’s basically what Carmy was trying to do with Claire in S2, relive/"change" the negative effects of his past years. Carmy was trying to bring in a "new year" and new beginning but not with Claire, he wanted to start something new with Sydney.

The myth is Mars was in love with Minerva (Syd) and he went to Anna for advice but Anna wanted him for herself so she tricked/forced him into marrying her. Some versions don't mention a marriage between them and just say Anna disguised herself as Minerva to access Mars's bedchamber, either way their myth together revolves around her disguising herself as Minerva to force him into a relationship with her.

Carmy was imo very clearly attracted to Syd by 2x02. He ran into Claire and turned her down giving her a fake number but she wanted him anyway so she tracked him down and forced him to communicate with her which ultimately forced him into a relationship with her, even though that part wasn't really Claire's fault. I think Carmy gave in to Claire chasing him, one because he felt trapped and two, so he could learn through hanging out with Claire how to hang out with the woman he actually wants; Sydney. So he basically gave in to Claire to get a form of advice.

I'm not going to say much about the show's take on "disguising" Claire as Sydney, here are some posts that explain it very well. Carmy projecting his idea of Sydney onto Claire also plays into the concept of Anna being "disguised" as Minerva.

Anna and Mars do stay married (bc there's no divorce) in one version of myth but tricking Mars into marriage is basically all there is to the "love" part of their story which isn't really a love story because Mars was never in love with her and never chose to be with her. 

I think almost everyone in The Bear cast and the writers have said they want Carmy to end up happy, even Molly Gordon said it in a recent interview. Mars was not happy with Anna Perenna, he was trapped with her. Carmy isn't happy with Claire, he was basically cornered and trapped into that relationship. If Carmy is going to end up truly "happy", I don't see how that can be with Claire. They've done a lot of work with the script, the lighting, the directing, the music etc to show Carm is his happiest with Syd. It's ingrained so deeply in the narrative of the show now and they use Claire to contrast and highlight that fact. 

The show is about family, found family, love and connection with others. To be blunt, Carmy has shown zero signs he wants to genuinely connect with Claire on that level and every sign he wants to connect with Syd. He basicaly indirectly asked Syd to be his family multiple times. We haven't heard or seen that sentiment once with Claire. Everything the actors and writers have said on what the show is about and what they want for Carmy in the end isn't conducive to him ending up with Claire imo.

********************************************************************

Claire = Psyche

Psyche is a mortal who later becomes the Roman and Greek Goddess of the soul. She's a beautiful woman depicted as a pixie.

She’s portrayed as the “perfect-girl”, very beautiful...and that's about it for her personality traits. (Although later Psyche becomes a Goddess in her own right, the myths mostly present her as the male fantasy of the "ideal" beautiful woman with no distinct personality traits so men can project whatever idea they want on to her, much like how Claire is written.) She's a mortal who gains the attention of the Gods for her "otherworldly" beauty rivaling that of Aphrodite (the Greek version of the Roman, Venus). Considering most stories made today are retellings and twists of ancient epic tales, mythology, literature etc. I would bet the “manic pixie dream girl” trope is strongly influenced by Psyche.

One of the most well known novels including Psyche is “Metamorphoses”, alo known as “The Golden Ass” by Lucius Apuleius. It has 11 books but only 3 of them (books 4-6) are about Psyche and her love story with Cupid. 

**This might seem a bit confusing but it’s an important distinction to understand; Cupid is Venus & Mars’s “son” but not necessarily literally, everything in myth is symbolic. Figuratively V&M’s love “gave birth” or “created a new concept” that didn’t exist before, which is love and war combined as one. Cupid delivers love with a weapon so he’s the symbolic representation of V&M’s energies combined as one. Cupid is also known as Eros (God of erotic love) and Eros is the lust and passion aspect of Mars. Mars is not Eros/Cupid but Eros/Cupid is a singular aspect of Mars. In the show Carmy is not actually Cupid but Cupid is a version or aspect of who Carmy is. Similarly Psyche is a version or aspect of who Venus is so Claire is a version or aspect of Sydney. Psyche & Cupid are basically another rendition of Venus & Mars. Venus (the heart) becomes one with Mars (the ego/mind). Cupid (the heart) becomes one with Psyche (the mind). They're the same concepts just told from different perspectives for different cultures. 

The rest of the books in Metamorphoses are about the main character Lucius who is obsessed with “magic” and it follows his struggles, adventures and misfortunes on his personal journey of metamorphosis. Psyche & Cupid’s story shows up right in the middle of that as a kind of interruption to Lucius’s journey.

Here's Wikipedia's breakdown of the novel: 

Let's look at these story beats and see what’s recognizable in Carmy’s story in S2. But first:

Birds are symbols of freedom, hope, spirit, transition, new beginnings, strength, love, and joy. 

Donkey's are symbols of service, suffering, being servile, a beast of burden, a workhorse, being stubborn, stupid or just an “ass.”

“Lucius, dabbling in magic, attempts to turn into a bird”

I think "Magic" is symbolic of love here but to look a it from another angle, Carmy acted like he was put under a spell as soon as he met Claire in that freezer aisle. His focus has never been that great but it's like we entered into a different reality with Carmy's character in that scene and for most of S2. The same fiery man who doesn't mind being sassy, giving people attitude, who has no problem bossing anyone around, becomes a withdrawn shell of himself around Claire. Almost like he was a one-dimesional/singular aspect of himself with her. The whole airy fairy, fake deep, “stoner bro” way they were talking in that scene was also weird and unnatural imo, almost like they were portraying him as “under a spell” or “not fully himself” without bringing actual magic into the show. Tbf Carmy also seems like he's under a spell when he stares at Sydney so I think overall magic = love in this context. *Psyche & Cupid are still a love story and Carmy didn't know yet that he wasn't in love with Claire.

Through his relationship with Claire, Carmy was trying to be a bird; looking for freedom from his past, pain & trauma, hope, a new beginning, love & joy but he isn't looking for that with Claire, he’s looking for it with Sydney. He wants to transition into something new with Syd and was figuring out through Claire if/how he could do that. Claire was the cold prep.

Another layer of symbolism could be he was trying to be a bird by trying to be like Mikey (and Richie), be a “normal” guy, have a girlfriend, go to parties, be the “cool” guy etc. Trying to be what other people think freedom is because he has no idea how to make sense of it on his own.

“But after the spell goes wrong, turns himself into a donkey”

After “the spell” aka his relationship with Claire goes wrong, Carmy's been transforming into a "donkey" for most of S2.. His transition was complete in 2x10 in the walk-in when he stupidly and stubbornly came to the conclusion he can't be in a relationship and decided that reverting back to the mindset he was in at his worst in NY is the right thing to do. And judging by the trailers we're about to see him lean into being a “donkey” in S3. 

He's going to become a beast of burden, a workhorse, not just a burden for himself but for everyone else. Service is the nature of his job and he's going to work himself and everyone at The Bear to the bone. I think we all agree Carmy was stupid and “just an ass” regarding Syd in S2 and he's probably going to be an even bigger ass to her (unintentionally) in S3.

“And goes on a long journey where he is restored to human form by the Goddess Isis”

Isis is primarily known as the female matriarch in Egyptian mythology and is the basis of most, if not all, of the major female Gods created after her. Venus is the Roman version of Isis so Isis, Venus, Aphrodite etc are all different versions of the same concepts and principles just remixed and made more relatable for different cultures and time periods.

“Along the way, he hears many stories, including tales about Socrates and the endeavors of a group of bandits.”

I don't really know anything about the tales of Socrates but a quick Google gave me this:

I'm more interested in the unhighlighted part. It sounds like wisdom Carmy needs to think about and make useful if he's ever going to stop self-sabotaging and find peace. He needs to admit his ignorance and start listening to people instead of making up his own mind about what he thinks they mean, especially in regards to Syd. We're watching Carmy go through this continual questioning, his monologue scenes are one representation of that.

“The biggest, most notable story Lucius hears on his journey is about Psyche and Cupid's love story, spanning books 4-6.”

Psyche and Cupid's love story for the middle few books of the novel and Claire came into the show in the middle of the story. The story of C&P is a "side-story" and all Claire kept taking carmy on "side-missions" throughout their relationship.

The love story between Psyche and Cupid is long so I won't go into too much detail here but some brief relevant notes from it are; Venus was jealous of Psyche so she sent her “son”, Cupid (who’s really an aspect of Mars/Carmy) to make Psyche fall in love with a monster but Cupid accidentally hit himself with his own arrow and fell in love with her instead. I think Carmy “accidentally” falling into a relationship with Claire when he clearly didn’t see her as his girlfriend, represents that. When Psyche realizes she’s in love with a monster she runs away. Claire doesn’t really know who Carmy is and in 2x10 that “monster” side of him was revealed to her and she ran away.

I might make another post on Cupid & Psyche after I've seen S3 but here’s an interesting little preface of the story of Cupid & Psyche within Metamorphosis on Wikipedia:

“Lucius [...] finally regains human form by eating roses sacred to Isis.”  The end of the story is basically Lucius/Carmy stops being an ass and regains human form by eating roses sacred to Isis/Venus/Sydney.

I think Carmy is going to be “restored to human form”/ by Sydney at when he finally eats something she made, eats not tastes. Carmy will find love and peace, something he craves in another person, Syd is the only person he's shown he wants that with.

“As a structural mirror of the overarching plot, the tale is an example of mise en abyme. It occurs within a complex narrative frame, with Lucius recounting the tale as it in turn was told by an old woman”

Cupid and Psyche's story is a structural mirror of the overarching plot of The Golden Ass/Metamorphoses novel. Carmy, The Golden Ass, is going through a metamorphosis, the overarching plot of The Bear is about his journey. His story with Claire has been a mirror of his relationship with Sydney.

“Mise en abyme” is “the technique of placing a copy of an image within itself, often in a way that suggests an infinitely recurring sequence. In film theory and literary theory, it refers to the story within a story technique.” (Credit wikipedia)

Carmy & Claire are a smaller story within the overarching story of Carmy eventually finding love and peace with Sydney, that Carmy (Lucius) experiences on his journey of metamorphosis. Claire/Carmy is a copy of SydCarmy within the overall story.

Anyone who’s written a meta in this fandom knows how this show and sydcarmy “occurs with a complex narrative frame”. All the info in this post alone is barely scratching the surface of the mythological symbolism they’re using, let alone all the other works they’re using symbols and influences from.

“Although the tale resists explication as a strict allegory of a particular Platonic argument,”

Which basically means:

The story of The Golden Ass aka Carmy in The Bear, isn't easily explained as a clear example of a specific idea from Platonic (Plato's) philosophy. 

The use of the term “Platonic argument” here is very interesting imo, I know it has its own context here but what the showrunners and actors keep giving the audience is the “platonic argument”. Why do they keep repeating that word even after S2 when sydcarmy is clearly not just “platonic”?? These are cryptic clues imo, they want us to know what the show and story is about but they don’t want to tell us and ruin it. 

You can tell from all the different mythological connections to one character alone that this story doesn't come from a clear example of a specific idea, it's a hodgepodge of multiple stories and ideas but I think Apuleius’s “Metamorphoses aka The Golden Ass” may be the overall story the show is retelling. The Golden Ass is Carmy, (he’s the “star chef”, stars are gold. He never got any stars but he retained three of them, he’s like a “golden child/prodigy” in the culinary world.) The show in general is following his journey of metamorphoses. Venus & Mars are Psyche & Cupid, that’s why they keep parallelling carmy/claire with sydcarmy, blurring the lines between Syd & Claire and who Carmy’s thinking or talking about, flashing images of Syd in claire/carmy scenes etc.

Venus and Mars were only ever a secret love affair btw. They never got married or were officially together, the story of their romance is really based on speculation and interpretation. That’s basically how the show has deliberately portrayed sydcarmy as they continue to give their story so many romantic elements but still gaslight the audience so it stays a "secret love affair”.

I think The Bear is a modern retelling of the story of Venus & Mars and Cupid & Psyche via the story in Metamorphosis where V&M, one of the greatest love stories of all time, actually end up together in the end. Carmy experiences a love story with Psyche on his journey but the story ends with him being saved by Isis/Venus.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I need to write another part about Richie (and possibly Nat if I find enough connections) but I want to wait until I’ve seen S3 first. Briefly, I think Richie might be Apollo who is Perceus in Greek mythology and the rival/brother of Ares/Mars. Apollo is the one who tells V&M’s husband about her affair with Mars and helps Vulcan catch and expose them. I also think Richie sees himself as Mars in a way, the leader of the army so to speak. Other than the mention earlier, I think Nat could represent another one of Neptune’s siblings too, Juno the Goddess of marriage.

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [8] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: mentions of assault, abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 11.2k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 7 >> Part 8

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

It’s been a week since you took unwilling part in the biggest scandal to overtake the ton this entire season, and you’re feeling more and more certain with each passing day that your reputation will never recover.

You thought the same thing at the beginning of the season, just a few months ago. At the time, you thought it couldn’t get any worse. Funny how time ends up proving you wrong. 

Of course, you have no idea how the ton is receiving any of the gossip. You know the facts, as does everyone else who was in the room when it all happened, but that doesn’t matter. Someone will undoubtedly distort them for the sake of a good story. Your stepmother has been refusing all calls on your behalf, though, so you have no clue what the ton is saying. It’s not like she would tell you, anyway. The morning after the Jung ball she slapped you across the face so hard you saw stars, and you had to listen to her scream at you for an hour after that. When you tried to ask her what people were saying about you a few days ago, she gave you another mark to match the first one.

The bruises still hurt to the touch. 

Maybe it’s just as well. You’re not sure you want to know what anyone is saying. The gossip about you and Beomgyu had hardly abated before the Jung ball, and with all the speculation then about you being sort of shameless whore able to seduce men into offering you marriage proposals, you can only imagine what they’re saying about you now. They probably think you seduced Lord Cho, too. 

They probably think you deserved whatever he intended to do to you. 

Which isn’t true. You never asked for any sort of physical relationship with him, never even considered it. You said no when he offered it—if the word offered could even describe the situation. Stupid as it is, you really did believe he wanted to marry you, and his words cut you deep when you learned of his true intentions. But the cynical part of you can’t help but feel like you got what was coming to you. You should have known better—known that no one would truly ever want to marry you, because you have nothing to offer. Maybe it’s true that you aren’t fit for anything more than a mistress. 

If you didn’t have so much damn pride, maybe you’d have been able to accept that by now. 

You can forget any delusions of being married, now. If you weren’t already ruined by Beomgyu leaving you after the waltz, surely this incident has marked you as a fallen woman—or at least as close to it as you can get without having actually been deflowered. Never mind that you never asked for it. Never mind that you had to beat him off with a damn candlestick. No one wants a woman who’s been sullied by another man’s touch, no matter how unwarranted. 

Maybe it’s really time for you to start making plans to run away. 

Even as the thought crosses your mind, though, you have to stifle a snort. Pausing in the middle of scrubbing out a large pot, you close your eyes for just a moment, hoping to clear out all of your remaining stupid thoughts. Run away, yes? With what money? You have nothing. This family has nothing. There’s nothing useful you can even steal from the house, and your father isn’t coming back with any money. This, you know now. 

You can still hear the terrible silence that accompanied the opening of that letter. Your stepmother’s simmering rage as her eyes scanned every carefully penned line that told of the passing of your father, and the loss of any remnants of the family fortune at the hands of his gambling addiction. You had no idea he had such an addiction. The few times you saw him over the past decade, he always seemed so stoic, so upright. You never thought he could have been hiding something so terrible behind that façade. 

But he was. And now he is dead, and he has passed nothing onto you except a mountain of terrible fortune. 

There’s really no end to it. You sigh, returning to the pot still half covered in suds in the sink. Maybe this is for the better. You’ll grow into a spinster, hide yourself from society with your position as a servant in this household, and fade away from public attention. In a few years, people will forget about everything. Maybe. Hopefully. And then you’ll have some peace of mind. 

…There’s no real hope of that, though. You’ll never have peace as long as you live with your stepmother. Maybe that’s your eternal punishment for all the stupid choices you made this season—having to live with her until she dies, or you do. 

At least she’s gone now. She left a while ago to make some morning calls, you think. You tried to ask who she was going to meet and she just snapped that she was trying to clean up the mess you had made of yourself and your family this season. 

Very useful information, that was. You didn’t press though. You didn’t want to add on to the collection of bruises already beginning to bloom across your cheek. 

She’s gone now, though, and you haven’t heard her return, so you have some time to breathe without her sneering down her nose at you every minute of the day. The silence is nice even if you know it’ll be short lived.

Something sounds in the hall as you’re scrubbing the last pot clean. You stiffen, thinking it might be your stepmother, but it still feels like it hasn’t been long since she left—surely she wouldn’t be back so soon? You look over at Soyoung, who’s helping you scrub away. Her raised eyebrow indicates she’s as confused as you are.

Footsteps sound down the hallway, and then you hear Brighton speaking. Your confusion increases by the second—surely no one has any reason to call, not when your stepmother has been chasing away callers almost every day. You wonder if Brighton will have them leave too, whoever they are, but he likely won’t. Without your stepmother here, he would probably defer to you, unless she left him with explicit instructions not to. Though he might disobey them anyway. The staff here don’t take very kindly to your stepmother. 

The thought makes you smile, but that smile quickly begins to drop as Brighton’s characteristic light footsteps sound closer and closer to the kitchen. You finish rinsing off the last pot just as he enters the kitchen, standing primly in the doorway. 

“Miss L/N.” 

You turn around, wiping your hands on your apron. “Yes, Brighton?”

A hint of distaste edges his words. “Mr. Choi has come to call.”

Despite the situation, you almost smile. You can’t say you don’t appreciate the staff’s quiet support at your situation. No doubt they’ve heard all manner of gossip from the other servants around town, but you told Soyoung what truly happened so your staff has been very kind to you since everything started going downhill. Brighton in particular has taken to speaking the Choi name with a subtle, almost undetectable annoyance that only butlers can emulate, and you won’t deny that it makes you feel a little better, sometimes. Not because you hate Beomgyu—you wish you could hate him, it would make everything so much easier—but because it’s nice to know that someone has your back.

The almost smile slips off your face almost as easily as it came, though. Because you really don’t know if you want to see him. He was right about Lord Cho, right from the start—and all you and everyone else did was just brush his concern off as jealousy. You don’t want to face him. You don’t want to know what he has to say. And truth be told, you’re still not entirely sure you forgive him for what he did at the Haynesworth ball. He tried to explain when he called the last time. You didn’t let him. You’re still not sure if you want to let him. Anger is the only shield you have now against your pain and you’re not ready to give up its embrace so soon, even if its warmth is more suffocating than nourishing. 

There is another warmth that is nourishing, though. A warmth you’ve only ever felt with those you loved. Delia, Henry, Soyoung…

And Beomgyu, too.

All of the residual anger drains out of your body, leaving you cold and a little empty. You look down at yourself, at your dirty servant’s garb splashed with water and soap, at your tender hands still holding a sponge covered in suds. You should hear him out, let him speak, but you’re just…so tired. You want this all to be over. And anyway, even if you knew you wanted to speak with him, you don’t know when your stepmother will return from her own morning calls—calls meant to repair your reputation, whatever the hell that means. She might come back in the middle of a conversation and you really don’t want to know what would happen then. 

That’s just an excuse, though. You know that just the thought of your stepmother wouldn’t be able to stop you from doing anything you really wanted to. The question is, then, do you really want to see Beomgyu? Do you really?

“For what it is worth,” Brighton says, interrupting your thoughts, “he has tried to call every morning since the Jung ball, Miss L/N.” He twists his hands together in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. “Your stepmother turned him away each time, but…perhaps he truly does have something to say.”

Every morning since the Jung ball. You blink. That’s…dedication. It reminds you an awful lot of how he tried to see you almost every day for a week after the Haynesworth ball, which in turn reminds you of that terrible last conversation you shared with him. He had wanted to explain himself. You hadn’t let him. Instead, you’d told him never to come back and he had heeded your words then, but now he’s returned. 

Part of you still hurts at what he did to you—or rather, what he didn’t do. Even now you can still call up some of that anger and you try to wrap it around you like a cloak, but it isn’t doesn’t work anymore. There isn’t enough anger left to shield you, which just leaves you open. Raw. Vulnerable to your emotions. 

The emotions telling you to listen to him this time, instead of just sending him away. 

You stare at your hands. You know that Beomgyu wouldn’t hold it against you if you told him to leave. He wouldn’t argue. He would give you space. And you really, really hate that. If he wasn’t so honorable, it would be so much easier to hate him. You would never have fallen in love with him in the first place. 

Life would be so much easier, then. 

But he is honorable. You may still be angry at what he did at the Haynesworth ball, but you also have the grudging grace (or maybe the idiocy) to understand that one mistake does not dictate a person’s entire character. You remember Beomgyu holding you as you shook so badly in his arms just moments after Lord Cho had tried to lay his hands on you, and you can’t help but recall how safe you felt in his hold. Not completely so—Lord Cho was right there, obviously you wouldn’t feel completely fine—but Beomgyu lent a steadiness to the moment that you needed, desperately. You trusted him without thinking. Without even feeling. 

Maybe that says something. Maybe that says a lot of things. 

You swallow hard. He’s already in your house. He’s come by every day, even though he’s been turned away each time—not by your choice, but by your stepmother’s. This might be the only chance you get to hear him out. 

You’d be a fool not to take it.

“Do you know when my stepmother will be back?” you ask quietly. 

“She left not long ago,” Brighton replies. “I do not know for certain, but I would estimate you have at least two hours before she returns.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Two hours is likely enough time to talk. Sabine is taking care of the children in the nursery, which leaves Soyoung or Brighton to chaperone. You don’t have time to change or to cover up the marks on your cheek, but you don’t really want to. Part of you wants to approach Beomgyu with this part of yourself on display. To let him see you as you are. 

You stand up and take a deep breath. “Then bring him in.”

. . . . .

When your butler bids him to come inside, Beomgyu has to bite his tongue to stifle his shock. It’s been a week since the Jung ball and though he’s called every morning since then, the response has always been the same—that you aren’t taking visitors, and won’t be for the near future. The setup feels eerily familiar to when he tried to see you after the Haynesworth ball, though he supposes that is just what comes with scandal. The ton’s memory is like that of a goldfish. Once something else happens, they move on quickly. 

In theory, at least. In practice, the memories stick around for a bit longer than gossip suggests. 

Today, though, the butler—Brighton, he thinks—allows him inside. Before shutting the door, Beomgyu sees him cast a furtive glance towards the street, which leads Beomgyu to believe he might not actually be allowed to be here. Still, he appreciates being let in so he doesn’t comment as the butler leads him through the short hallway and into the drawing room. He then disappears to find you.

It seems to take forever for the butler to return, or at least for Beomgyu to hear any sounds indicating you might actually see him. He half expects to be told to leave and honestly, he wouldn’t blame you for it. He can’t really think of a reason why you would want to see him in the first place, but he just wants to make sure you are all right. Or as all right you can be after what happened. 

God, he really wishes he had done Lord Cho’s face in. The man would have deserved it—just one quick punch to break his nose. But then Beomgyu wouldn’t have been there to catch you when the shock set in and you nearly fell, your entire body trembling as you sank into his arms. Anyway, you already hit Lord Cho over the head with that silver candlestick, and that gave Beomgyu more than enough satisfaction to witness. 

Footsteps sound down the hall—more than one pair, it seems. Beomgyu straightens where he stands and his heart begins to race as you step into the room. 

He almost gasps but bites his tongue just in time. In all the times he’s seen you, you’ve never not been dressed for society—fine gowns, light jewelry, pretty smiles. Now, though, Beomgyu almost doesn’t recognize you. 

Dressed in a plain servant’s garb, apron still damp and slightly stained, you stare back at him, expressionless. Your hands are bare, cracked and raw, and a bruise swells dark on your cheek. Anger twists in Beomgyu’s stomach when he realizes it looks very much like the mark left if someone had hit you. There’s no doubt it was your stepmother. 

You seem to track his gaze, unsurprised at whatever you find in his expression. Something hard glints in your eyes and Beomgyu recognizes it as a test. You could have made him wait for you to change, to get ready for a typical call, but you didn’t. You chose to show yourself like this, rags and calluses and all, for a reason.

Well, if this is a test, then he will do all he can to pass it. Beomgyu holds himself tall and bows just as he always has even though the bruise on your cheek makes him want to throttle something. “Miss L/N,” he says in greeting. 

You look back at him steadily for a moment. Then suddenly your shoulders slump, as though you can’t hold yourself up anymore. “Mr. Choi,” you say wearily. “Why are you here?”

Your refusal to call him by his given name hurts more than it should, but Beomgyu forces the pain to pass. It’s no less than he deserves. “I wanted to see if you were all right,” he replies quietly. 

As the words come out of his mouth, he realizes how stupid they are. Obviously you aren’t fine. After what happened, no one in your situation would have been fine. The evidence is staring him right in the face—even if it weren’t for the bruise, the weariness on your face speaks volumes. 

“Well, you have seen me.” The corners of your lips lift slightly, though there is no mirth in the movement. “If that is all, I will be going now.” You turn around as though to leave. 

Beomgyu moves before he even realizes it. You flinch when he catches your wrist, but to his surprise, you don’t pull away. Not immediately. “Y/N,” he says, and you seem to shudder in his hold like when he held you that night. “Please.”

You remain silent for a moment. “Please, what, Mr. Choi?” you ask harshly. “You got what you wanted. You saw me. What else could you need?” You laugh. The sound scratches at Beomgyu’s ears. “Do you want to gloat? Over the fact that you were right about Lord Cho, and I wasn’t? Because that’s low, low even for you—”

Beomgyu takes a small step forward and you cut yourself off. He lets your words pass over him—you’re angry. Maybe even frightened. You’ve spat insults at him before that you actually meant, so Beomgyu knows the difference between that and you simply lashing out from your pain. “I didn’t come to gloat,” he says quietly. 

Your expression crumples. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to apologize.” His next words come unbidden. “And I wanted to ask if you would marry me.”

A long pause follows his unplanned declaration. Beomgyu doesn’t panic, though. Because even though he hadn’t intended to give his proposal right then and there, he still meant the words. They just came out a little early. 

“Why?” you finally ask. 

Beomgyu’s heart nearly breaks at your shattered expression, the obvious exhaustion written all over your face. You didn’t deserve this—none of it. If only he hadn’t been such an idiot, if only he hadn’t run away instead of facing his feelings earlier… “Because I love you,” he says, voice trembling. “And if you will allow me, I should like to explain.”

He watches you swallow, throat bobbing as you look down at where his hand still clasps your wrist. You keep looking there for a very long time. “Then explain,” you finally allow, but you don’t look back up at him. 

Beomgyu tries to hide how much that hurts him. It isn’t as though he has a right to feel hurt, anyway. “I am…incredibly sorry for what I did. Or what I didn’t do, I suppose.” He swallows. “I am well aware that no verbal apology of mine could ever make up for leaving you at the Haynesworth ball and I do not intend to make excuses.”

Your eyes finally shift up to his. There’s nothing in your gaze, nothing to give any indication that what he’s saying is right, but Beomgyu has been a coward long enough and he won’t continue that streak now. “I should not have asked you to waltz.” 

Your gaze shutters immediately and you go to pull away. Beomgyu almost panics and tugs your wrist back. “I did not mean it that way,” he says quickly. “I only meant…I was not proper. I should have asked if you had permission first. I should have asked if you were fine with it. I should have remembered the social repercussions of asking you to share such a dance.”

You jerk your wrist out of his hand, but you don’t leave. “Then why didn’t you?” you ask sharply. 

Beomgyu winces. There’s really no way to make “Lord Cho smirked at me which made me extremely upset” sound any better than that, but he has to try. “I was already upset that Lord Cho had been keeping your attentions the entire evening,” he says. Embarrassment creeps its way up his neck. “I was jealous. And at some point, when I was about to just leave the whole affair all together, he…gave me a look, that made me believe he was doing this on purpose. That he had been keeping you engaged the entire evening to avoid me.” The words, once they leave his lips, sound entirely self-serving and rather egotistic. But he swore to himself he would honest and, well, this is what he felt. “I probably sound rather self-centered,” he admits. “But it seemed that way to me.”

You don’t say anything. You hardly react, even. Beomgyu supposes this is at least better than if you were to scoff at him immediately. “I wanted to dance with you,” he says quietly. “I had waited several hours that night just for the hope of speaking to you. I did not realize it was a waltz before we took to the ballroom floor, but even then, at first, I truly did not care. In fact, I was enjoying it. You…you were so beautiful. You always have been.” He swallows. “But there was a moment where we met eyes and I…it hit me then. That I was in love with you.”

You’ve gone as still as a statue. Only your eyes move, warily tracking his every movement. 

“I was scared. Terrified.” Beomgyu clenches his hands at his sides and feels his nails biting sharply into his palms. “I suppose I had some inkling of it before, but I refused to think of it. I was too scared to—I had hated you for so long and we’d only been civil for a few months. I thought, surely, it could not be so. I could not love you in such a short time. But as we were dancing, and as I held you so…” Against his will, his eyes drift to your lips. “I remembered our kiss,” he says quietly. “And I knew, then, that I loved you.”

This time, you do scoff. “You have a funny way of showing it,” you say, bitterness coating every word. 

Beomgyu flinches, but it isn’t as if your words aren’t deserved. “I was a coward,” he admits. “An incredible coward. I realized it then and I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t think with everyone around us and I was so confused and terrified by the prospect of loving you that I just…ran.” He drops his head, finally. 

“You were so scared of loving me.” You snort. “Me. Yes. Because I’m just another one of the dowry-less crowd, full of scandal and Lady Whistledown mentions. Who in their right mind would ever fall in love with me?”

“It wasn’t because of that!” Beomgyu looks up at you, stricken. “Y/N—Miss L/N—do you have any idea how impressive you are?”

For the first time today, you look shocked into speechlessness. Beomgyu’s own face is starting to redden but he forges on. “You—I was terrified of how quickly I had fallen in love with you,” he gets out. “For weeks after we kissed, I couldn’t stop dreaming of it. I wanted to kiss you again. So badly. And it was—terrible. I wanted to be around you and only you. I was jealous of Lord Cho and anyone who seemed to be interested in asking for your hand. But I just could not believe I was in love with you, because you are…well, you.” He gestures vaguely. “Sweet, kind, intelligent, witty…”

God, the more he talks, the stupider he feels for not having realized his feelings sooner. 

“You are you, Miss L/N,” Beomgyu says. “Incredibly lovely and impressive, extraordinarily strong and brave.” A wave of shame washes over him at the truth of his words. You apologized first. You asked to be friends first. Every step of your relationship beyond the first fake deal was initiated by you, and the moment he realized his feelings, all he did was run. “I was terrified of how deeply I had fallen for you,” he says quietly. “Terrified of how much I felt for you in such a short time. It was cowardly of me to run. I should have stayed with you, and I will forever regret that. In the moment, though…it was too much for me to process all at once” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for it. But that is my explanation, in the end. As idiotic as it sounds.”

You look away for a moment. Your cheek turns to him, and again Beomgyu sees the bruise your stepmother left on your skin. The momentary anger bolsters him enough to meet your gaze when you turn back to him. “I trusted you, you know.” More than your words, the exhaustion in your voice strikes Beomgyu to the core. “I trusted you to know the dance, and what it would mean to the ton. What it would mean to me.” You laugh slightly, but there is no humor in the sound. “I thought you might propose to me then.”

Beomgyu bows his head. “I am incredibly sorry,” he says quietly. “Nothing can excuse what I did.”

“It can’t,” you agree. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. It has already happened, and anyway, it’s not the worst thing a man has done to me this season.”

He stares at you. Did you just joke about Lord Cho’s assault? 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, hunching into yourself. “It’s true.”

Beomgyu swallows. “I…suppose it is,” he mumbles. 

For a long moment, you two remain silent. “Nothing may excuse what you did,” you finally say, “but at least I can understand it.” And as Beomgyu is reeling from your response, trying to make sense of it, you step back. “I accept your apology,” you say. “And I appreciate it. But I think it is best that you go now, Mr. Choi.” You start to walk away. “Brighton will see you out.”

Beomgyu gapes, even as the butler comes back into the room. You said you understood. Understood feeling so strongly that it terrified you, understood the urge to run away that he gave in to—

Brighton steps toward him but Beomgyu ignores him, catching your wrist again. “Y/N!”

You stop, but you don’t look back. “What?”

Beomgyu senses that he only has one chance for this. Just one chance to say the right thing, or you’ll walk away and leave him forever. “What did you mean,” he asks, voice ragged, “when you said you understood?”

You turn to him, derision scrawled across your face. “You are a true idiot,” you snap, “if you believe you were the only one who dreamed of the kiss for days afterward.” Then you turn again and try to walk away, but Beomgyu keeps his grip on your wrist. “What is it now?” you snarl, whirling back around.

Everything is hitting him too hard, too fast, but this time, instead of running, Beomgyu stays put. You dreamed of the kiss. You thought of it for days on end just as he did, your eyes drifting to his lips the way his drifted to yours. Suddenly Beomgyu remembers moments when he saw your gaze fixated on his mouth for mere fractions of a second before you returned to the conversation, moments when you smiled at him and there was a shyness in your expression that he had never seen before…

He remembers the waltz and how you settled so comfortably into his hold, eyes sparkling, lips parted as he lowered you into the crook of his arm. You were so warm. So trusting. So full of a joy and hope that made his heart race. 

“I trusted you to know the dance, and what it would mean to the ton. What it would mean to me.” 

What it would mean to me. 

Beomgyu is an idiot. An absolute idiot. “Miss L/N,” he says slowly, “do you love me?”

Your eyes shutter. “It doesn’t matter.” 

He holds your gaze. “Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you grit out. You try to tug yourself away but he won’t let go. “Let go of me!”

He releases you immediately, memories of your cries a week ago forcing his hand open as soon as the words leave your mouth. But he doesn’t let you run away. “Answer my question,” he says. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you hiss. Beomgyu hears panic rising in your voice, some sort of fear pushing anger into your tone that he knows isn’t real. “What about that doesn’t make sense to you?”

“It does matter,” he says, cutting through your panic. “Because I asked you a question before that you still haven’t answered.”

You fall silent. 

“I asked you to marry me,” he says quietly, each word like a gunshot in the silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brighton slip out of the room again. 

You say nothing. You don’t even look at him. It should discourage Beomgyu, but strangely, in the face of your silence, he feels more hopeful. “So I ask you again, Miss L/N,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “do you love me?”

“Why do you need to know?” you ask, voice less sharp, more pleading. “It doesn’t matter, Beomgyu!”

“If you can say no, then I’ll leave.” He puts his hands up in surrender, but privately he feels even more hope with the sound of his name from your lips. “I swear it. But you must answer me.” His voice lowers, almost to a whisper. “Do you love me?”

Your silence is more telling than anything you said before.

Beomgyu takes a leap of faith. “If you do…” He swallows. “Then marry me, Y/N.” 

You stay quiet for a long time. A clock ticks nearby, slowly marking every second that passes. Beomgyu feels as wound up as a spring, his muscles so tense it almost hurts, but he doesn’t move. He won’t move. Not until you speak.

And eventually, you do. 

“My father is dead.” 

Beomgyu’s eyes widen. Your lips curve a little, but the movement holds no humor. “We received the letter a few days ago.” 

“…I am incredibly sorry.”

“I’m not.” Your words are callous but you shrug like they mean nothing—and perhaps, after all these years, they don’t. “I hardly knew him and he hardly knew any of us. All these years, we thought he was trying to make money overseas, but he had actually gambled it all away.” You shrug again. “He died over a year ago. It took that long for anyone to try and track us down. The country home will need to be sold to pay off his debts. This house is all we really have left and we might be on the verge of losing that too, so I don’t care for him at all.”

Beomgyu stays silent against the rolling tide of your fury. He has no right to judge the situation, and nothing he could say would soothe your anger anyway. He had two loving parents, a rarity in this ton—he can hardly imagine how you feel now, both biological parents dead, one having betrayed you without your knowing for years on end. 

“I didn’t tell you this for pity.” You take a deep breath, and some of the anger dissipates, replaced by your previous weariness. “But, Beomgyu…you won’t gain anything from marrying me. Nothing at all. I’m just another girl with nothing to my name except a heap of scandal. I don’t have a title. I don’t have money. I do chores in the household where I am supposed to be a lady and while I don’t care, if this were to spread to the rest of the ton, you would be ruined, too.” Beomgyu follows your gaze down to your bare hands, your palms rough and weathered, your fingertips raw and pricked. “There’s nothing for you to gain from this,” you say quietly. “Nothing at all.”

Beomgyu reaches out. When you don’t flinch away, he takes your hand. He rubs his thumb over the skin of your palm, skimming over the lines, the cracks, the scars. “I notice,” he says slowly, “that you have still not said no.”

You scoff. “Retract your proposal, and I won’t have to.”

“What if I don’t retract it?” he challenges. “Will you say no, then?”

“You’re an idiot not to!” you snap. You try to pull your hand away but this time Beomgyu doesn’t let go. You glare at him. “Did you not hear a single thing I just said? I can’t bring you anything but burden!”

“I love you.” 

With those three words, the fight drains out of you almost immediately. Your head slumps over your joined hands and when you finally look back at him, tears sparkle, unshed, in your eyes. “I love you,” Beomgyu says again and even though it feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest, the words still feel so right, leaving his lips. “I love you, and I want to be with you. To be with you could never be a burden to me because I love you and everything that comes with you.” You open your mouth to say something but he barrels on. “I don’t care if you have no dowry. I’ve already told you it’s an outdated notion and I care nothing for it, and besides, my family has more than enough money. I don’t need more.” He takes a breath. “I don’t care that your hands will never be smooth. Your scars carry the weight of the care you have for those you love, and they have no bearing on the goodness of your heart. And as for your scandals…” Beomgyu smiles a little, surprised to find some genuine humor in what he is about to say. “I will not have you bear all the burden when the fault is also mine. I am at least half as responsible for all of those scandals as you are.”

You stay quiet. Beomgyu gives up tracing your palm, instead clasping both of his hands over yours. “I love you, Y/N,” he says softly. “None of these things change that, and they never will.”

“You’re an idiot,” you say. Your voice is surprisingly steady, but the last syllable trembles just as the first tear slips out of your eye. “You’re an incredible idiot, Beomgyu. You know all of this—you know what sort of new scandal it would create if we married—”

“What does it say about you, then, that you have still not given me a reply?”

“I’m also an idiot!” you yell. “A bloody fucking stupid idiot who loves you against all of her better judgement. I loved you when you waltzed with me, I loved you when you left me, I loved you when you gave me those gloves—even though I didn’t even it know it then. I thought about you kissing me for days on end and I asked you to be my friend just so you wouldn’t stop speaking to me, looking at me, because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you everywhere and not being able to talk to you. I loved you and I still love you because I’m an idiot. A bloody, stupid idiot—” You cut yourself off as tears begin to spill down your face. You harshly wipe them off. “I don’t want to say no because I love you, you stupid fool. Despite everything I still love you and I always will, and I need you to realize that this is a terrible idea because—because this will be a mistake, it will be a huge mistake for you if you marry me, but I—I don’t know if I can say no.”

Beomgyu lets go of your hand. You flinch, no doubt expecting him to step away, but he instead comes closer. This is hugely improper but Beomgyu doesn’t care as he lifts his hand to your cheek to brush away the tears as they come. “Then say yes,” he whispers.

You shake your head wildly. “This is a mistake, Beomgyu. You’re making a huge mistake.”

“You have never been a mistake,” he says quietly. “Not once. Not ever. It was only my mistakes that got us to this point. If I hadn’t been so terrified and unable to cope with my own feelings…” He swallows around the shame that rises bitterly on his tongue. “I am the one who left you at the ball. That was my mistake. But if you can still trust me, Y/N, trust me when I say that loving you was never a mistake for me.”

“I can’t do anything good for you,” you say miserably. “Society will talk about this forever.”

“They’ll talk about it forever anyway,” Beomgyu points out. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m somewhat past caring about what they think of you and me. They’ll never get the facts right, and I can’t control that, but…I know that I love you.” His thumb sweeps another tear from your cheek. “And if you love me too…”

“I do.” Your voice is hardly a whisper but the two words embed themselves in Beomgyu’s heart, warmth slowly filling his blood. “I do love you.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Beomgyu gently presses his forehead to yours. “I don’t care what the ton will say. I want you to be with me, forever. You say you can do no good for me but just having you near me…Y/N, I have never felt this way for another in my life.” He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer gently, gently. “You are the best thing that has happened to me. I should be honored to have you with me wherever I go. I don’t care what you can and can’t do for me. Being around you, being with you…that is all I want. All I need.”

You take a shuddering breath. “Beomgyu…”

“I’ll take you everywhere, Y/N. We’ll travel far away, go wherever and see whatever you want. We don’t need to stay here. We can deal with the ton as much or as little as you want to.” You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “Don’t worry about your servants or your family. I will provide a dowry for Delia. I will buy the house for your brother. Your servants can travel with us or stay in the home, and I will double their wages.” He takes a deep breath. “So say yes, Y/N.”

You swallow hard.

“Say yes,” he whispers again. “Please.”

You close your eyes. Tears wet your eyelashes, and Beomgyu fights the urge to brush them away, for that would break the two of you apart. You open your eyes and they’re red from crying but in this moment, Beomgyu knows he could never tire of this. Of having you close, of seeing you close, of being able to love you like this—freely, without regrets. 

“Yes.” The word ghosts over his lips, your breath soft like the wind against his skin. “Yes, Beomgyu.” You swallow hard, and though another tear rolls down your face, Beomgyu dares to believe it isn’t from sadness—that there could be some happiness joining the myriad of emotions on your face. “I will marry you.”

. . . . .

The next morning dawns uneventfully, which almost tricks you into thinking the previous day was just a dream. There’s no proof that anything happened beyond your memories, and even then, the idea that Beomgyu proposed to you seems almost too fantastical to be true. 

But it did happen. You can still feel Beomgyu’s hands encasing yours, his thumb smoothing over the cracks and lines on your palm like his touch could take away the pain. You can feel his forehead pressed to yours, his arm around your waist, pulling you to him. You can feel him, his presence—feel the memories of him wrapped around you like a shield against the world. 

You have him, and you have his promise—the promise that he would return the next day, today, with a betrothal ring. The promise that he would marry you and take you far from this place. The promise that he would love you forever. 

“I will leave now, before your stepmother returns,” he had said, holding your hand. “But tomorrow I will come. I don’t care if your stepmother refuses callers—I will come. And I will have a betrothal ring, and we will be married as soon as we can.” And you had agreed, and he had kissed your hand like you were dressed in the finest silks and jewels rather than your dirty servant’s apron, and he left, and you believed him.

Maybe you are a fool for trusting him so after he left you once. But even knowing that…you still believe him. You still believe in the man who held Delia like a little princess. You still believe in the man who defended you from Lady Trombley. You still believe in the man who gave you the gloves. And when you hear people talking in the hallway just after the clock strikes ten, your heart lifts, setting several butterflies alight in your stomach. 

You were right to trust him. 

Unfortunately, as the minutes tick on, you start to suspect there might be some trouble. While you can’t quite hear what your stepmother is saying, the sound of her cold voice permeates through the walls enough that you can tell she doesn’t plan on letting Beomgyu in. You abandon your chores in the kitchen and follow the sound of her voice towards the hall. 

You run into Brighton first, thankfully. “What’s happening?” you ask, even though you’re almost certain you know what is going on. 

“You have a caller, Miss L/N,” he says. It’s all he gets out before your stepmother rounds the corner and interrupts. 

“We are not taking callers,” she snaps, face even more pinched than usual. “Get back into the house.”

You ignore her. “Who is the caller?”

“Mr. Choi.”

Nervous warmth begins to tingle in your fingertips, which almost makes you groan—this is not the time to be feeling any sort of fluttery butterfly-ness, not when your stepmother is right there. “Let him in.”

Your stepmother snarls. “You are taking no callers—”

“He wasn’t asking for you, Stepmother,” you retort coldly. “Brighton, please bring him in.”

Brighton, smart man that he is, immediately departs. You brace yourself for your stepmother’s inevitable incoming tirade. There isn’t much in this hallway to put between you and her, so you can only hope Brighton comes back quickly. 

“You are not the head of this household.”

You glance at the end of the hallway. You really hope Brighton comes back soon. 

“You technically aren’t, either.” You take a step back but your stepmother advances faster, her eyes narrowed and sharp. “Henry is. But I don’t suppose you want to take orders from a four year old.”

There’s a flash of skin, a loud cracking sound, and then pain blooms across your left cheek. You cradle it instinctively, biting your lip against the pain. Well, at least the left side of your face will now be matching the right. 

Your sharp tongue never fails to get you into trouble these days. 

“Go back to the kitchen,” your stepmother snarls, her hands folded deceptively calmly at her waist. What a witch. “I will deal with you after I deal with Mr. Choi.”

“What, are you going to slap him too?” you snap. “He is my caller. I will receive him. You have no right—”

She laughs, high and sharp. “You wish for him to call on you now, when you look like this? Even if you weren’t buried in scandal, I would never let another see you in this dirty garb.”

“And whose fault is that?” You snort. “I wouldn’t be in this dirty garb if it weren’t for you. And for the record, Stepmother…” A smirk creeps across your lips. “He has already seen me like this.”

Horror flashes across her expression. “You—”

“I did.” You let your smirk widen. “He knows.”

You hear the slap before you feel it. The force of her hand against your cheek nearly knocks you against the wall and you don’t manage to stifle your cry, pressing your palm to your cheek in a futile effort to relieve some of the pain. A sharp sting rushes up your face, though, and when you pull your palm away, there’s a thin streak of blood. Her ring must have cut you again. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say as calmly as you can. “Mr. Choi is here. In this house. Brighton will be back with him in moments. Do you think it will benefit you at all for him to see me like this? To see you like this?”

She blanches. You keep talking, years of rage boiling over. “What, lost your tongue?” You laugh humorlessly. “All these years you’ve kept me pent up like this, one of your worst secrets—cleaning for you, washing for you, sewing your clothes and mine—you’re lucky I cared enough about Delia and Henry not to say anything.” A sneer curls your lips. “You hit me and you slap me and you know it’s wrong, you know it’s bloody wrong because you never do it in front of the children! Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to deserve—”

You see it coming—the hand rising, the palm flashing. Instinctively you flinch. Your eyes slam shut and you cringe away from the hand, covering your cheek as some small protection against the impact. 

But it never comes. 

You open your eyes. Beomgyu stands beside your stepmother, fingers wrapped tightly around her still-raised wrist. If you weren’t almost hyperventilating, you might laugh at how comically wide her eyes are, but only a slight wheeze manages to press past your lips. 

“Miss L/N.” Brighton’s voice sounds next to your ear. You hadn’t registered his presence, but it calms you. “Are you all right?”

“Not—not really.” You look at Brighton, whose usually calm expression has twisted with anger, then at Beomgyu, whose face can only be described as the pure embodiment of cold rage. “But I’m fine.” You don’t take your hand away from your bleeding cheek as you meet Beomgyu’s eyes. “Beomgyu, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Beomgyu drops your stepmother’s wrist and shoves past her, coming to  a stop right in front of you. For all the anger in his movements, his hand is surprisingly gentle as he pries your fingers away from your face, revealing whatever marks she left moments ago. You hiss as open air hits the cut, but Beomgyu’s thumb soothes it slightly. “Is there anything we can use to clean this?” he asks Brighton with deceptive calm. 

“I will bring something shortly.” The butler bows, then quickly leaves. 

Silence falls in the hallway, though Beomgyu’s anger clearly sizzles in the air. His dark eyes search yours for something, and only when his gaze falls to your cheek do you understand what he’s asking. 

“I’m fine,” you say quietly. “Or, I will be.”

It’s clear Beomgyu isn’t happy with your response, but he does seem to realize you don’t want to speak about this—at least not now. He nods almost imperceptibly, then turns to your stepmother. “Leave,” he snaps. He barely gives her a glance.

She gapes, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. If the situation weren’t so charged, you might laugh. “I will not be ordered about in my own home!” she finally manages, her cheeks turning blotchy with embarrassment.

“Good God.” You sigh. “With all due respect, Stepmother, isn’t this exactly what you wanted? For me to be married to a wealthy husband and out of your hair?” You sneer. “If you don’t leave, that fantasy will never come true.”

Her eyes widen more, if that was possible. “You—” She glances between you and Beomgyu wildly. “You want to marry her?”

“I don’t answer to abusers,” Beomgyu says coldly. 

“But—”

God, she is the absolute worst. “I don’t suggest you make Mr. Choi any angrier than he already is,” you snap. 

With a last incredulous glance, your stepmother hurries out of the hallway. You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally.

Beomgyu’s gaze immediately softens, though concern still burns in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says quietly. 

“You didn’t know.” You shrug. “It’s fine, Beomgyu. I’ll heal.”

“It’s not that,” he says, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s the fact that this has clearly been going on for a very long time—”

“That is true,” you interrupt. “But I couldn’t say anything then. And anyone who knew didn’t have the power to do anything about it. I am only glad now that I have someone who knows, and who might help protect me.” You take the hand still pressed to your cheek and squeeze it. “I will be fine.”

Beomgyu searches your expression for a long moment. Whatever he is looking for, he seems to find it, because he seems to relax slightly. “If you say so.”

“I do.” You smile, wincing when the movement hurts your cheek. Beomgyu clearly notices but he also clearly sees that you don’t want him to remark on it, so you’re very grateful when he says nothing. You let your voice take on a more playful tone. “Now, what are you here for?”

“Well, I came as I promised yesterday.” His voice takes on somewhat of an edge and you realize he seems almost nervous. It’s very endearing, and your smile widens. “I brought you a ring,” he continues, producing a small box from his pocket. “If you will still accept my suit.” He opens the box.

You gasp. A bright emerald decorates the simple gold band, flanked on each side by small diamonds. There isn’t much light in the hallway but the gems catch what light there is, sparkling cheerfully in the box. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper. 

Beomgyu lifts the ring from the box and takes your hand. “It is yours,” he says, voice clearly shaking a little, “if you should like to have it.”

“Of course I would.” To your surprise, you can feel tears coming to your eyes that aren’t just from pain. “My answer hasn’t changed, Beomgyu.”

Relief floods across his expression, a tension disappearing from his shoulders that you hadn’t noticed before. “Oh. That’s good,” he says, smiling slightly. “Good for me, I mean. I just…I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.”

You keep quiet for a moment, choosing your next words carefully. “I can’t say I wasn’t hurt by what you did, Beomgyu,” you finally say. “I was.”

He nods, looking terribly guilty. 

“But I also know that you are not characterized only by your mistakes then.” You smile softly, folding your hands over his. “You are still the man who defended me from Lady Trombley. The man who helped me after Lord Cho. The man who gave me gloves.”

Beomgyu peers at you with his dark eyes, so soft, so kind. 

“Maybe it will take us time to work past this.” You shrug. “That’s fine. Everything takes time. But…I know, at least, that I want to work past this with you. I want to be with you.” Your smile grows, trembling on your lips. “We were idiots for so long. I’m just…I’m just glad we were able to get to this point, at least, without it being too late.”

“Well, we only have you to thank for that.” Beomgyu smiles softly, most of the awful guilt slipping off his face. “You were the one who apologized first.”

You make a face. “Desperation can do strange things to a person.”

“Desperation?”

Your cheeks feel warm. “After you kissed me, I couldn’t stop thinking of it.” You turn away, embarrassed. “I couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you again either. I was desperate. So I apologized, because I at least wanted to be friends.”

Beomgyu’s fingers light on your chin, turning you back to him. “Well, you are far braver than I,” he says sheepishly. “I was too scared to say anything, for fear that you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

You smile teasingly. “That just means you have the rest of our lives to make up for it.” 

“Trust me, I will be.” And with that, he slides the ring onto your finger, the gold band comfortingly cool against your skin. 

You hold up the hand, admiring the sparkle of the gems even in the dim light of the hall. “It really is lovely,” you murmur.

“It’s one of the betrothal rings that has been in the family for a long time,” Beomgyu says. “Soobin had our mother’s, of course, because he is the first born, but I think this one suits you better anyway.”

The emerald glints against your finger, cheerful and bright. You haven’t seen the other rings in Beomgyu’s family collection, but you’re inclined to agree with him. The longer you look at it, the giddier you feel, even remembering everything that happened just minutes ago. It’s almost unbelievable. You’re going to be married. Married. And to someone you love, even. Your smile widens. 

“I can’t really believe this is happening,” you admit, almost in a whisper. It’s more to yourself than to Beomgyu, but he hears you anyway. 

“Me neither.” The society version of him is gone now, replaced by a shyer, almost boyish version of him that endears you far more than is good for the butterflies in your chest. “I mean, less than a few months ago we were still at each other’s throats.”

“I suppose you can claim all the credit for this, then.” You laugh. “You’re the one who suggested that ridiculous deal in the first place.”

“I may have suggested it, but you’re the one who took it to the next step.” Beomgyu grins. “Out of desperation.”

You hit him lightly as heat floods your cheeks. “Hey, you felt the same way!”

“I did, and I was an idiot for not acting on it sooner.” Beomgyu steps forward, taking your hands, and suddenly you’re so close you swear he could hear your heart beating right now. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Stop apologizing. I have already forgiven you.” A rush of boldness course through you and you lean your head against Beomgyu’s shoulder. He stiffens for a moment but relaxes so suddenly you almost flinch, and then his arms come to wrap around your waist. It reminds you of how he held you when you kissed and with that memory, you only sink deeper into his hold. “Anyway, what is that thing they say?” you mumble. “Something about there being a line in between love and hate?”

Beomgyu smiles and pushes you away, but just so he can look into your eyes. “There is a fine line,” he murmurs against your ear, his gaze drifting down to your lips, “between hatred and love.”

You laugh as he kisses you, his mouth soft and sweet against yours. “Yes,” you whisper when you pull away. “A very fine line, indeed.”

. . . . .

epilogue.

“Beomgyu!” You run down the stairs, nearly tripping over your skirts in the process. “Where are you? We’re going to be late—”

A hand catches your wrist as you fly down the last few steps. Beomgyu’s laugh rings out when you screech, his arm pulling you flush against him. “I’m right here,” he says into your ear. You hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t see it, pressed to his chest as you are. 

“I couldn’t find you!” You pull away, hoping your makeup hasn’t rubbed off onto his outfit. “Where were you hiding?”

“Nowhere.” He sneaks a kiss in between your flailing and you yelp again. “You just weren’t looking hard enough.”

You scowl, but both of you know there’s no real annoyance behind it. “You are incredibly annoying,” you inform him, only to be met with another chuckle. 

It’s been a year since the last season, and six months since you married. If you had had it your way, you would have married as soon as he proposed—called the banns in a week, married in a matter of days after that. With your father dead, however, your entire family was sent into mourning. Never mind that you had never cared for the man. 

You hated those six months. It wasn’t the seclusion from society, which you honestly didn’t mind—but just…mourning your father. A man who was barely present in your life. A man whose face you wouldn’t have remembered if not for the portrait still stuck up in the drawing room, a man who lied to you for years until he died so far away from home. You almost considered eloping to Gretna Green to escape the months of forced darkness—you’re fairly certain Beomgyu would have agreed—but ultimately decided against it. You had participated in enough scandal during the season to last you a lifetime. You didn’t need any more of it.

It helped when the three month mark came around and you could change out of the void black gowns and into the lighter colors of half-mourning. Not so much because of the clothes, but because you could slowly begin to accept social engagements again. It isn’t that you particularly wanted to see anyone—the season was over by then and you were incredibly glad for that—but Beomgyu could visit, then. It wasn’t as often as you or he would have liked since his family had moved to the country while you stayed in town, but it helped the time pass more quickly, especially when your little half-siblings freed themselves from the clutches of the staff and managed to tumble into the drawing room to join you two. You’re almost certain Delia has a little child-crush on Beomgyu, and Henry looks at him like a role model.

It's adorable. 

Still, sometimes those three months seemed interminable. You barely spoke to your stepmother but after so many years of living under her iron fist, you could never feel at ease in the same house as her. When the wedding came around, you didn’t invite her and she didn’t ask to come. It was a lovely day to celebrate your escape from a life you never wished to live. 

And here you are, now. Bickering with your husband whom you love in a home you can call your own, free from the back-breaking secret of your previous life and able to live, really live, in a way you haven’t been able to in years. You can even go about in society with your head held high, just like you will tonight. 

That is, if Beomgyu decides to stop stalling anytime soon. 

He leans in for another kiss but you jerk away before his lips can land on yours. “We’re going to be late, Beomgyu,” you repeat, forcibly pushing his face away. 

He looks at you, face mushed still mushed against your hand. You fight the urge to laugh but a smile makes its way onto your lips anyway. “Be honest with me, Y/N,” he says, pulling away with that little twinkle in his eye. “Do you really want to go tonight?”

You open your mouth, ready to respond affirmatively. But then Beomgyu catches you with those very sweet, very alluring eyes, and you pinch your lips together. He’s already won, you both know, but you have to fight him a little bit. Just a little bit. 

“You’re telling me we should skip our first public event since coming back from our very extended honeymoon?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Why not?” he asks, sneaking a quick kiss onto your neck. You yelp, squirming away, but he maintains his hold on your waist all the while. “We’d have more fun at home anyway.”

You do your very best to ignore the way he’s smiling against your skin. “We already said that we would go.”

“Something came up. A terrible emergency that required us to return to the country for another month.” Beomgyu decides that whatever he’s doing right now is no longer enough and begins to lay kisses down your neck, trailing them towards your shoulder even though he knows you are incredibly ticklish over there. “You can’t tell me you’re so eager to return to society.”

You sigh. Beomgyu made good on all of his promises—he bought the house for your brother, he set aside money for your sister’s dowry, and he doubled the wages of all your staff in service. Several of them have followed you to your new home, too. And after your wedding, he whisked you away from London and the upcoming season to show you everything he knew in the continent. It was wonderful to leave England and even more wonderful to see the world, but by the end, you had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t just leaving London that gave you this joy. It was the fact that you had someone you loved by your side. 

It was the fact that you had Beomgyu.

It sounds terribly cliché, and you had said about as much to Beomgyu when you admitted it the night you returned to London, confessions whispered under the starlit sky. He had asked you if you really felt all right returning to society after the scandals and gossip of the last season and after a moment, you nodded. It would be difficult, but you didn’t want to hide forever. And with someone really and truly on your side, you could believe things would turn out fine. 

You thought he’d laugh at you, and he did—a little bit. But that laugh was accompanied by a surprising shyness and warmth in his touch as he pulled you closer under the bedsheets, your head coming to rest against his chest, just under his chin. “That is somewhat cliché,” he had said, words ghosting softly past your skin. “But I am very glad you feel that way.”

Now here you are, ready to attend your first public event of the season, and he’s trying to convince you to stay home. 

“I’m not not eager,” you protest. 

“But you aren’t exactly saying you’re eager either,” he retorts easily.

You sigh. “We promised we would go,” you say emphatically, but even you can tell that you’re losing ground for your argument here. 

Beomgyu hums into your shoulder, his arms sliding down to wrap around your waist from behind. “I’m sure Lady Park will understand,” he murmurs. 

That draws you up short. You’d nearly forgotten who was hosting tonight. “We are not skipping out on Lady Park’s ball,” you say, twisting around to look at him fully. “She is probably one of my only supporters in society right now!”

He makes an affronted noise. “What, is my family just chopped liver?”

“They are family,” you retort. “It isn’t the same. If they didn’t support me, we would be in far greater trouble by now.”

Beomgyu falls silent, which means he’s conceding defeat—at least on this front. “Fine, we’ll go,” he eventually groans. “But no one said we have to stay the entire night.” He whirls you around so that you’re facing him directly, and his grin becomes something distinctly inviting. Sensual. Your heart begins to beat uncomfortably quickly. “In fact, no one said we had to arrive on time, either.”

Your mouth suddenly feels very dry. You fight hard to keep your eyes meeting his, and not floating downwards to fixate on his lips. “Beomgyu…”

He grins. He knows he’s winning. “Twenty minutes,” he proposes.

“…Five minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Twelve and a half.” You laugh, and Beomgyu takes your distraction as an opportunity to press his lips to yours again. “Twelve and a half,” he repeats when he pulls away, eyes sparkling. “And by the way, did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening?”

You laugh again, despite yourself. “You are absolutely incorrigible,” you inform him. 

“And yet you still love me,” he points out, infuriatingly correct as usual. “Twelve and a half minutes.”

“…Fine.”

He has his lips against yours in less than a second, an arm around your waist pulling you protectively close as your own hands wrap instinctively around his neck. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers against your lips. “I promise, every minute will be worth it.”

Sometimes it just suddenly hits you how lucky you are—how less than two years ago, you believed you would never find a husband, that you would never find love, that you would be forced to run away to avoid a life slated for a miserable end in your old household. Just a year past you believed this man to be your mortal enemy. When you think about it too much, you start to panic. Now that you have everything, a life that months ago you could only have dreamed of, it all feels like it could be taken away so easily. 

So as Beomgyu’s lips capture yours again, pressing you against the staircase as his hand rises to caress your cheek, you decide not to think about it. You push your doubt and panic away and focus on here, on now—on the warmth of his hands and his lips, on the love he manages to convey with every miniscule touch. This life is yours, this life filled with so much devotion and warmth, yours to build, yours to love. And if you know yourself, you will never willingly let it go.

When you break away for air, you don’t let Beomgyu pull away too far. You tangle your fingers through his dark hair, grinning all the while. If he notices a few tears of joy threatening to spill down your cheek, he says nothing, just looks at you with his doting smile.

“That was never in doubt,” you reply, staring into loving eyes. “Because every moment with you has always been worth it.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[s-b-party]

Nous & Mythus: A Cycle of the Known & Unknown

****Honkai star rail version 1.6/crown of mundane and divine spoilers ahead****

After getting another update to the Simulated Universe & w/ Dr. Ratio coming soon, it’s a good time for me to discuss about these 2 Aeons & give my thoughts/analysis on them!

So who are these two?

They are Nous the Erudition & Mythus the Enigmata

We’ll start off w/ Nous so what does erudition mean? A synonym we can use is knowledge although that might be a bit oversimplified

Erudition often has the meaning of extensive learning whether it’s from books, practice, lectures, etc. The implication is that an erudite person or thing has a LOT of knowledge; think of a person who’s well-rounded but also has extensive knowledge in the many fields/subjects they have learned about, they can be considered erudite (this is reflected in how Erudition Pathstriders function in terms of gameplay, normally their specialty is dealing AoE dmg to multiple enemies at once as opposed to just a singular target)

Nous takes the form of an astral computer, they are a machine w/ many dangling wires visible & a red “eye” in the center, very much mechanic all around; as for their symbol it seems to speak to their concept quite well

If we look at the background, the cylindrical shapes can be interpreted as scrolls which are often associated w/ learning & knowledge; in the center, the abstract shapes seem to make an eye (their gaze perhaps) but I think it could also be taken as a flash of light which could represent “enlightenment” which we often think of as a sort of critical point in one’s journey in obtaining knowledge

Is it possible that the center is meant to symbolize the moment when Nous reaches their own enlightenment?

To name a few of their more well-known factions, we have the Genius Society & Intelligentsia Guild, both of which have members whom we’ve already officially met in the game: Herta, Screwllum, Ruan Mei from Genius Society and Dr. Ratio from Intelligentsia Guild

Seeing as they’re 2 different factions following the same Aeon, that means there’s something differentiating them, presumably their approach to knowledge

You can tell based on the name of the Genius Society what exactly they focus on (geniuses) which is a bit of a contrast to what the Intelligentsia Guild focuses on which is the dissemination of knowledge meaning that they believe everybody should have access to knowledge

The Genius Society doesn’t seem to share their knowledge that easily which we can see based on how some of the members tend to work alone, one even became known for killing some of the other members despite being in the same organization (#4 Polka Kakamond), Ruan Mei often sticks to herself when it comes to her research, etc; as a result it’s a contrast to how easily knowledge flows within the Intelligentsia Guild which even goes as far as to view it as currency in their motto

Although we’ve pretty much met only one character associated w/ the Intelligentsia Guild officially & despite how much of an asshole he may be, there are aspects related to Dr. Ratio that are in agreement w/ the belief of the Intelligentsia Guild

The name of his banner is Panta Rhei/Panta Rei which is usually associated w/ Heraclitus & it often translated to “Everything Flows”; Heraclitus was a philosopher whose focus was on the movement & changes that the universe goes through which sounds similar to how the faction wants to make knowledge easily accessible (therefore making knowledge flow through the universe)

Ngl the convo between him & Screwllum at the end of the continuance quest had me lost for a bit but I got the gist of it; to sum it up Ratio ended up rescuing the researchers who got teleported by Duke Inferno, Screwllum was wondering why Ratio would just stand back & observe when he could have prevented the situation from being dragged out any further since Ratio had the Phase Flame; Ratio explains that the best thing when dealing w/ ignorant people (in this case, the researchers in the space station including the people in the chat who were gossiping about the situation) is to stand aside & observe bc according to him foolishness is the most difficult thing to cure; Screwllum deduces that Ratio was attempting to make the employees realize that they shouldn’t be idolizing geniuses so much; Dr. Ratio is in a way similar to Alhaitham; they both think that geniuses shouldn’t be made into such a big deal or overly revered; in both cases the reverence of geniuses creates a gap between people based on intelligence

Another aspect which I find both funny and fitting is that Dr. Ratio as a 5 star will be available to EVERY player; as it is implied in the livestream, it’s his way of spreading knowledge to the mediocre; as much as he can be very arrogant & rude, it’s interesting to see that he still upholds the belief that knowledge should be available to everybody, not just to geniuses, in his own unique way

4. The last aspect of Dr. Ratio that I want to touch upon is the combination of his title & name: his full name is Veritas Ratio, veritas meaning “truth/truthfulness” & ratio meaning “reason” in Latin; the title doctor comes from the Latin verb docere which means “to teach/instruct”

This may be a stretch but hear me out: when put together, the name (not necessarily the person) Dr. Veritas Ratio gives off an impression of someone who is either qualified to teach others about “truthful reasoning” or a teacher who is truthful & rational (it might not sound like it but this kinda falls in line w/ Screwllum describing him as candid). Something I noticed is that based on what we’ve seen, not many people in the Genius Society go by the title of Doctor; what I’m trying to get at is that there is something to be said about Ratio having the title of someone who is qualified to teach while members of the Genius Society usually do not really seem that interested in spreading knowledge to the masses or teaching them

This isn’t to say that the Genius Society is entirely incapable of teaching, they probably could if they wanted to (keyword: wanted), it’s more so their motivations & values that differentiate them from the Intelligentsia Guild

Getting back to Nous, both factions do reflect specific sides of the Aeon: both are interested in expanding their knowledge but the Genius Society overall seems to be removed from civilization/society or at least a bit distant (matched by the quote describing the knowledge seeker as having a cold core) while the Intelligentsia Guild has a more cooperative aspect in terms of having a network of intelligence which can be seen in the meaning behind Nous’ signal which is explained in the entry of the Genius Society (although the signal is more so reserved for geniuses, it’s still an attempt at having a group of people work together to find the answers to the universe)

Now that we’ve looked a bit at Nous in detail, I’ll talk about Mythus; as the Aeon of Enigmata, they represent the concept of mysteries that can’t be easily perceived & their form is quite interesting to look at

Their name is related to the word “mythos” which usually refers to the stories & arts that help demonstrate values, beliefs, & attitudes of societies

*I found out recently that apparently the word myth is more of a pejorative term for mythos bc it’s more often than not used to describe stories as false or not true so there is controversy around that*

Overall they look like a jellyfish w/ the main body being faceless & legless while their tentacles/tendrils dangle out; some parts of their body have a unique effect on them that resembles oil spills or the surface of a bubble which is probably meant to be the fog that accompanies them; the staircases that come from their body seem to never end & even fade out into the darkness of space

Their symbol is very similar to their form; you can see the jellyfish w/ tentacles flowing down & in the background there is a ring of rectangles that overlap each other which may be referring to the stairs that appear in their art

The usage of the jellyfish is interesting; just like how the ocean can carry them along, the jellyfish can symbolize flow & movement, perhaps it’s to establish how mysteries simply exist in the universe without push or pull from outside forces

I can see them using the jellyfish due to its connection to one of the biggest mysteries of the world: the ocean (or at least the deeper parts of it); if we think about it, space is like an ocean of stars and unknown things so I think it’s kind of fitting using a jellyfish form to represent mysteries but it might be a stretch

Now a few known factions that follow Mythus are the Riddlers & History Fictionologists: both are pretty straightforward in terms of their agenda which is to enshroud the universe in mysteries

The Riddlers create mysteries by altering texts & words while the History Fictionologists create mysteries by eradicating evidence of past events aka history itself

It is interesting seeing how these factions actively create mysteries sometimes to the point of destruction (of texts, history, etc) even though the existence of Enigmata should be able to exist as long as Mythus exists bc Aeons themselves are manifestations of concepts; in some cases, Aeons can die while the concepts they identify as may still persist to the current time

So how do Nous & Mythus even relate to each other in the overall world building ? Their identifying concepts might appear as opposites of each other (known vs unknown) but I think there’s more to it than that

There is a readable item written by Fu Xuan called “Glimpses into the Beyond” where she explains that Nous doesn’t necessarily provide answers but they provide many questions & that “answers may only be found by oneself”

We also hear of Nous doing calculations & trying to solve the mysteries of the universe & since the Enigmata exists, Nous doesn’t have all of the answers due to the existence of mysteries

I think that while they do know a lot about the universe & can represent knowledge, they can also represent the learning process/the journey for knowledge

Something interesting is that Nous in Greek philosophy refers to the ability to process & perceive information so if Mythus is meant to be the representation of the things that can’t be easily perceived, does that still apply to Nous themself when they’re both Aeons?

Also where does that leave their dynamic? They’re enemies of sorts bc Mythus is trying to destroy certainty left by Nous but this is also a relationship where Nous is essentially searching for the answers to the universe’s mysteries aka what Mythus encapsulates, making Mythus their “goal” I guess you could say

Life will always have people who desire to gain knowledge & it will always have things that have not been discovered/figured out; there is one particular thing that I do wonder about amidst all of this: with Mythus wanting an uncertain future, I wonder how this will spell out for one of the most important concepts in many HYV games: fate

I guess we’ll have to wait & see if they’ll connect this to fate in the future 👀

*I hope you guys enjoy the first lore thread of the new year! :3

[mitigatedchaos]

Revisiting The Origin

Finished watching Mobile Suit Gundam: The Origin again a bit ago. A few thoughts.

The animation quality is fantastic. It's well-shot, written, and paced. The music is spot-on. The plot is moving. It's amazing.

One aspect that stands out more on this viewing is the way each character is intensely his or herself. Every line of dialogue reveals something about the character's nature, and just about none is wasted. The series gives you reasons to sympathize (if only for a little while) with characters like Degwin or Kycillia even though their actions are power-hungry and cause terrible consequences.

Ghiren Zabi especially stands out - he shows an incredibly fluid ability to manipulate ideology, and actually seems to get more skilled at this over time, yet at the same time he's as slippery as an eel. You can easily see how he could get people to follow him, and also how he can figuratively broadcast on the national mental wavelength.

It's actually less political than I remember. For some reason, I thought that there was more content covering the oppression of Spacenoids, the internal factions within Munzo (which became Zeon), and the formation of ideology. There was actually much less oppression of Spacenoids than I remembered, though there is certainly plenty of rioting and sending tanks to suppress riots.

That said, the series is still highly political. This gets into the whole 'politics in media' thing.

The Origin is a sequence of events leading up to a gigantic space war, proceeding through the early phases of the war until right before the first episode of the original 1979 Mobile Suit Gundam (though with a few tweaks). It's a thrilling story of escapes and intrigue and murder and violence!

However, it all generally feels quite natural. A mobile suit may be an absurd form of military unit, but other than this, everything has its proper weight and momentum. It's a story told with great consideration, by someone observant and experienced.

I originally wrote that last line as a guess based on watching the series. The eye with which the author observes the characters suggests a great deal of life experience, and an understanding of individuals, their nature, and their course of development. In fact, there was an interview of the now 77-year-old author Yoshikazu Yasuhiko, who was on the staff for the 1979 original:

It was over 10 years of hard work, but I could depict the outbreak of the war in the prehistory of 'Gundam' and the absurdity of the elitism advocated by the Principality of Zeon to some extent.

He appears to believe that the idea of newtypes was over-emphasized in later series after 1979, resulting in confusion and support for elitism.

Just watching five minutes of one episode of The Origin was enough to help a concept click in a peace theory I have been working on. I don't mean a related episode. I had left it on pause a week or so before, and when I returned, after a few minutes of watching Char and his comrades, it came to me that I could reapply the tension and officer models that I use for ideology.

The Origin has an interesting contrast with Mobile Suit Gundam Unicorn, another incredibly dense series set in the Universal Century, set sixteen years after the war that The Origin shows us the beginning of.

Where in The Origin, newtypes are of relatively little importance, in Unicorn, they take center stage. Where The Origin is a story told by an old man who cherishes people, Unicorn shouts at you as loudly as it can. So loudly that it fills your senses. So loudly that you can finally hear.

Between the two, it's my opinion that Unicorn is more dense. I found myself coming back to watch different scenes repeatedly, pause, and then pace and think deeply about the nature of the world.

I recommend both highly. However, I don't know what it would feel like to see either while having no familiarity with the Universal Century timeline.

There was an argument on Twitter probably a year or so ago. Is fiction valuable? I think that depends on which fiction we're talking about, at what time, for whom, and for what purpose.

[enviedear]

Hiii !! How are you? Pleasure to meet you!

I saw your engineering major!Anakin post and when I tell you I immediately twirled around on my bed and started kicking my feet like a fucking teenage girl… I’m not joking.

This is a headcanon that has been following me ever since I entered the beautiful world of Anakin Skywalker. Seriously. I even have a one shot about lmaoooo

Could you please elaborate on that? I would love to hear your takes, discuss them and just thirst over him together! Because god lord, I’m so grateful to found someone who was the same interest on engineer Anakin. Also bonus points for college student Anakin because that’s just hot as fuck

Thank youuuu

Mina

i literally am obsessed over this concept thank you so much for indulging me! i centered it over him in college mostly because— i just... it does things to me.

also what if i said engineering major!anakin fic in the works...

a few nsfw themes in here so minors dni i will block you <3

he strikes me as the type of guy you'd see once on campus and then immediately try to find him on the university's social media accounts.

he wouldn't be fucking anywhere until you find the engineering college's Instagram account

it hasn't had a single post in two years but it's okay because you find one of him !!!

and the only picture of his face is so grainy, but he's in it and he looks so fucking hot at his computer and that's enough

also he's totally unapproachable

not that he's a dick or anything, he's just cussing out all his professors in his head and worried about his last materials exam

i think in his (very limited) spare time he'd be into either metalworking or cars... probably both

like i think he could fix almost any car-related issue without having to go to a shop

axel on his car goes out? yeah he's ordering the part and putting it on his damn self

his motor blows up? he's spending his summer rebuilding it while taking sixteen hours of summer classes

and if he does have to go to a shop, it's strictly because he doesn't have time and he most certainly will pop the hood and check their work

also i believe he'd like stick shift

literally won't buy a car unless it's manual

"what the fuck is the point of an automatic"

he totally also learns how to tune in his free time and everytime you hear a car speed by you on campus you just know it's his work

now, if you're lucky enough to catch his eye i truly believe he'd be so fucking consumed by you

he'd ask you to go everywhere with him; he needs to study in the library? he's asking you to come. he has to give a dissertation? he's begging you to come watch him. it's 3am and he just finished his statics project? he's calling you like, 'baby please come with me to get food. I'll buy you a treat.'

also the biggest and most clingy bf ever in the history of the world

will stop doing his work to come watch you play the sims and just hold you (also tells you how to build a proper house despite you bing like,, "ani... the fun part is making them get into trouble not making sure their roof is durable.")

also likes to be incentivized with you

"if i get an a on this next test will you let me bend you over the desk?"

or, "i'll study better if you let me taste you, please baby?"

star-student, no question.

and he's so fucking smart it's a bit annoying because he'll bitch and moan about how bad he's doing while getting on the dean's list every year

the way he explains what he's working on is hot as fuck

numbers make sense to his mind in ways you will never understand, but good lord is it nice to watch his smart little mouth move

type of man to take you on a date into the city and point out the shitty infrastructure

"for as much rain as we get you'd think these fucking idiots would have put more drains."

"that bridge is due to fall in less than ten years, what the fuck were they thinking."

he's just the smartest boy, and you make sure to tell him any chance you get not that he agrees but he'll always say, "thank you pretty girl"