#it's a very difficult skillset

[isaacathom]

accidentally prompted myself to reconsider the lotmv story, so thats fun

the premise, such that it was, was that Seora was a demigod of light, and had funky light magic. And there was a weird magical darkness that had corrupted the land, and she was one of a whole class of people who keep it at bay. But that 'bay' is pretty politicised, and at some point the whole forced to live with the magical darkness kidnap Seora to make her fix things for them. And then a whole lot of shit happens.

And that's... fine? i guess. but i think it could be better, and part of that is just. telling the big grand politics angle to leave. there was a lot of weird geopolitics happening and we dont need that.

the changes arent unprecedented, since i tried to fix the story earlier too lmao.

what i think id prefer is something a bit more. social?

In a reconsidered lotmv, Seora is still a light demigod, and still has these very specific duties that she's been practically raised for since birth. There's strict duties and hierarchies and so on, things she can and cant do. She has a 'boyfriend', a bodyguard called Roderick, who has absolutely has no interest in but cannot very well reject, because to do so would be stepping out of the social agreement. it would cause problems for them both, but mostly for her. So she's stuck in her job, and in a "relationship".

At some point, she is contacted by Esther, who is a member of a group trying to fix the magic goop problem - a group whose reasonable requests for aid keep being denied. The two start a very careful correspondence, each bound by the norms around them.

An idea comes into focus. Seora would like nothing more than to help them, but the binds of her position stay her hand. She cant do anything. And if she acts out and voices her support, she'll be stripped of whatever "authority" she had while remaining bound.

So, to get Seora into the correct locations, a kidnapping will be staged. The group will kidnap Seora, bring her back to their place, and "force" her to help them. Once she's done what she needs to do, the group will suddenly become amenable to any of the negotiations presented by Seora's people, and they'll return her. She'll not be harmed, her reputation will be preserved, everythings fine.

For the optics, to make it seem that she's unwilling, they'll need to play up some things. She understands this going in. That they'll need to skirt the line for the greater good. She has her part to play.

And what she doesnt reckon with, prior to agreeing to everything, is on falling in love with Esther. And Esther doesn't either.

And that's a problem. Because if Seora starts getting too comfortable, enjoys herself too much, then the whole part of the operation intended to preserve her reputation fails. Because, well, now she looks willing. And that defeats the whole point.

So the two of them are stuck in a complicated dance of the various expectations of them, what they need to do, what roles they have to serve, and what they want.

Because, for Esther, Seora's help is essential. She's the one person that was on board. They need her magical skills. Esther was willing to risk being caught kidnapping her, because the end goal is very important to her. And now she's in love. And that risks the whole fucking thing.

Strictly, this could have all been "present" in the original version of lotmv, but its a slight reframing to be about those expectations and complications. There's still the issue of what exactly Esther's group is, how they fit in/oppose Seora's. In the original, they're different countries. i feel like that still wooorks? two countries who are not on speaking terms, a group within that countries military (?) who feel they have no other choice. there's some little worldbuilding... bits that make things weird, but its workable, i think. maybe? idk

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bioluminescence | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season one — you thought all bellamy blake wanted was sex and other women, but when you sneak outside of the camp walls at night, bioluminescent plants are not the only shocking discovery you make, and not everyone is happy about it.

warnings: fluff, swearing, jealousy, mention of sexual themes, (L/N) use, roma

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

word count: 4.1k

Sleep was a rare luxury after you and the other Ark prisoners were sent to Earth, especially since you were all crowded in a small camp surrounding the drop ship. Teenage hormones, anger, violence, and trauma were not a great combination for peace. So, it was either crying, fistfights, or the incessant moans of couples who couldn't keep it in their pants for more than five minutes that usually kept you awake at night.

You were certain it was Bellamy Blake and his two model-looking female companions who were often to blame for that last subject. Although to everyone in the camp, it was very obvious that their relationship was solely physical, neither Roma nor Bree seemed to appreciate when other women talked, interacted with, or even sat near him. Clarke was a heavy target because of her co-leadership with Bellamy. And so were you.

You were within the inner circle, the informal 'Earth council'. You were also handy with a rifle and knowledgeable in tracking, so it wasn't exactly surprising whenever Bellamy took you with him on various missions and hunts. Sometimes though, he would bring you with him even if the task wasn't within your skillset—those were the times you were left feeling a little confused.

Nevertheless, a small friendship sprung from it. You weren't best buddies, but you weren't opposed to each other's company either. That was a big no-no to Roma and Bree and they frequently expressed that fact through passive-aggressive tactics.

This night was no different from others. Thankfully, it was the never-ending fistfights that kept you awake instead of other's carnal endeavours. You opened the flap of your tent and stepped out into the crisp air; autumn was definitely approaching. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked around the camp, unsure of where to wait out the commotion. Everywhere was taken, so you decided a brief walk in the woods wouldn't hurt. Well, you hoped it wouldn't. At least if the Grounders killed you, you would finally get some undisturbed rest.

As you made your way over to one of the fence-wall openings, you ran smack-bang into a barely dressed girl with long brown hair. Roma.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," she spat, scrutinising your appearance from top to bottom.

Ignoring her lovely remark, you eyed her jeans and the way her upper half was only covered by a grey sports bra. "Aren't you cold?"

"Not now I'm not." She smirked, eyes flickering to Bellamy's tent.

You grimaced. I so didn't need to know that.

Right on cue, Bellamy emerged from his tent, fully clothed. He scanned the surroundings before his hardened gaze briefly landed on Roma and then settled on you; it was impossible to miss the way his face softened when your eyes met. Strange.

"Jealous?" she asked, regaining your attention.

"Unlikely."

You brushed past her, though she made an effort to forcefully knock your shoulder and spit another curse at you. Classy.

Bellamy took a step toward you. "Hey—"

But you simply moved past him, continuing toward the wall and saying, "A real gem you've got yourself there."

At least Bree was all bark and no bite.

You could hear him sigh as the distance between you both grew.

Truth be told, you were a little jealous. An unfortunate truth but still a truth all the same. You knew you were beginning to feel something deeper for Bellamy and it was becoming difficult listening to other girls brag about their nights with him. Not like you would ever tell him though—he wasn't a relationship type of guy and as far as you could tell, his feelings for you were platonic.

Never mind. You could settle for his friendship... for now.

You had made it outside the camp walls. At first, you planned on circling the fence for a while, but when your eyes caught on something glowing from the opposite side of a tree, you strayed from your path. Rounding the tree's trunk, you found a glowing neon-pink flower; the species of which you were unsure, but it was beautiful. Then, in your peripheral vision, there was something else lighting up your vision, something blue this time. There was another flower just a few trees away.

And again, you walked over to the strange plant, only to find yourself now on a journey that kept leading to more and more glowing flowers the deeper into the woods you trekked. They were almost everywhere and at this point, you were practically running with an excited grin on your face. In the near distance, numerous radiant colours lit up an area covered by a thick cluster of trees. You wove yourself through branches and leaves, pushing your way into the bright section of the woods.

Once you emerged from the trees, amazement morphed into your expression. You had stepped into a small meadow filled with glowing flowers of various colours that covered the forest floor. There were countless species, but they all shared the same mesmerising radiance. Much to your disbelief, there were even electric blue luminous butterflies that concealed the tree trunks and fluttered in the air.

"Bioluminescence," you whispered to yourself.

It was so beautiful, you could have cried.

Maybe you should just leave the camp and build a hut here. It would certainly beat living with the others.

As you moved further into the small clearing, the butterflies flew closer around you. Holding out an arm, one butterfly tentatively circled your hand before landing in your palm. You laughed in amazement, watching as the small creature curiously crawled across your hand and ticked your skin. Okay, that settled it—you were definitely a Disney princess.

The sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling suddenly pulled you from your amazement; it was coming from where you had entered the clearing. You reached down to your belt only to find the knife holster on it empty. Of course, you didn't bring your knife. You had left the camp's safety and didn't even think to bring a weapon. So stupid.

Before you could reprimand yourself any further, a tall figure emerged from the tree line. The tight dark blue shirt was an easy identifier as to who the figure was. And so were those deep brown eyes.

It was Bellamy. "Woah."

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling your tensed body relax again.

His gaze swept across the vivid tree-encompassed meadow, sharing the same wonderous expression you once had. The overpowering glow from the butterflies turned his tanned skin a light blue, defining the contours of his face and arm muscles. He sort of looked otherworldly.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked.

The incident before you left camp quickly returned to mind and it was evident in the slight irritation etched on your face. He didn't need to respond for you to realise that he had followed you. Great. His little girlfriends were going to have a field day tomorrow if they saw him come after you.

Bellamy's eyes found yours, taking note of your negative reaction. His steps were cautious as he began walking towards you. "I could ask you the same thing."

He stopped in front of you, peering down through a few stray strands of dark brown hair whilst wearing his infamous lazy smirk. No wonder girls were always fawning over him; he was gorgeous, and he damn well knew it too. Even you were falling into the very same trap. Unlike them, though, it was the moments you shared with him when you were alone that conjured your attraction to him. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but you had also learnt that he was surprisingly a decent human being. More than decent actually, despite how he presented himself to others.

He treated you with respect—a lot more than many others had ever done. You had learnt to trust each other, communicate effectively, and work as a team. Sometimes, you would even find yourselves discussing things that you both intended to keep within till the day you died, things that felt too intimate to share with anyone else.

No matter how much you hated it, you couldn't help but develop feelings for him. Even when it seemed he was preoccupied with other women.

Bellamy eyed you, waiting for the snarky retort he knew you were putting together.

You sighed and turned around, crouching on the floor to inspect one of the neon-pink flowers. "Shouldn't you be teaching Roma and Bree gun handling safety in your tent right now?"

That line was dangerously close to sounding like jealousy and you knew it. You bit your tongue because Lord knows you were most likely to expose your feelings for Bellamy through word vomit.

If only you had been facing him to witness the shame washing through his eyes.

"Funny," he said. "But no. I've got more important things to do."

"Like what? Making sure your best hunting partner doesn't get killed by glowing plants?" you joked, glancing over your shoulder to see his reaction.

It wasn't a grin or smirk like you expected. Not even a little chuckle. Instead, he simply stared at you with this intense look in his eye; it was almost sad but also like he was trying to communicate something to you telepathically.

"Something like that," he murmured.

After those words left his mouth, something about the atmosphere shifted. You suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion and his soul-piercing stare was not helping. There wasn't a wide selection of movies on the Ark, but you had watched them all, including all the romance movies. The only thing you could compare Bellamy's gaze to was Mr. Darcy's in Pride and Prejudice. Reluctance. Longing. It was all there. Had you been completely wrong about his feelings for you? Or were you just imagining it?

The likelihood of Bellamy sharing your same feelings seemed impossible, so you chalked it up to your wishful imagination.

You stood back up, facing him but avoiding making eye contact. "Well, I—uh," you stammered. "I'm not going back. Not yet."

"I didn't come here to take you back."

That made your gaze meet his.

Why did you come then, Bellamy? you thought.

He side-stepped you and you turned to see him wandering deeper into the meadow. He began observing each and every beauty and oddity the small sanctuary held, touching the petals of every flower with a delicateness you had never witnessed before. Soon enough, you felt compelled to join him.

The two of you must have spent an hour in that meadow, inspecting each species of flora, hovering your fingertips through the glowing cusp of each plant as if you could feel its light on your skin, laughing together when a butterfly landed on the tip of your nose. Sometimes you caught Bellamy watching whenever your face lit up with excitement as you discovered something new. He never really looked at what you had found; he just looked at you, but you were too overjoyed to even contemplate why.

You felt like you had entered a dream, protected from the outside world where there were Grounders, war, and bitchy brown-haired girls. Everything real was forgotten, even your unrequited feelings for Bellamy. You just enjoyed his company in this dream and pretended it would last forever.

Somehow, you had both ended up lying on the forest floor side-by-side, surrounded by flowers as you stared up at the starry night sky through the tree crowns. It wasn't as cold as before; you guessed it was because of Bellamy's close proximity to you. One of his hands was behind his head, the other on his stomach. His warmth was radiating off his skin and onto your own.

You could have fallen asleep if you closed your eyes. Probably not the most logical idea though.

Bellamy's quiet, yet deep voice disrupted the silence. "It's just a distraction, you know?"

"Hm?"

"Those girls," he clarified, and you watched as his words turned to mist, carrying into the black sky. "If I focus too much on the fact that I have to control an entire camp of teenagers, fight a war against the Grounders, while taking care of Octavia and y—" he cut himself off, closing his eyes with a sigh. "I just feel like I start to lose myself."

Your focus shifted from the sky to him. Even he didn't seem to be looking at the sky anymore, despite his gaze still being pointed straight upward. He looked lost in his own thoughts. Serious and sombre—much different compared to how they had been just a short while ago.

"Well," you began softly. "We can't have that. You already seem a little rough around the edges, Blake."

A grin slowly formed across his lips and he shook his head. He turned his head to the side, looking down at your smiling expression from where he lay. The weightiness from before had melted from his demeanour. Because of a little distraction.

You had thought those two girls he spent most nights with were there purely for his own physical needs or because his attraction to them was greater than his self-control. Never had you contemplated the fact that it might have been because he was mentally struggling with the hardships of being a leader. Of course, how could you have? He had never told you before now.

Your brows furrowed. "Why tell me?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched and the grin fell from his lips. A sense of seriousness returned but this time it was less heavy. It seemed more like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. Like a declaration. Like a long-awaited confession.

You felt something warm brush against your hand; it gently grazed over your knuckles, lighting a fire beneath your skin. In Bellamy's dark eyes, you could see the reflection of his hand caressing your own and your heart leapt to your throat.

"Why do you think?" he murmured, his eyes flickering between your own, urging you to connect the dots instead of making him say it aloud.

Your lips parted and the crease between your eyebrows deepened. 

Every time he picked you first to be his partner on a mission, every deep conversation you shared when no one else was around—they all had a hidden meaning. All the times his hand brushed against yours as you walked in sync side-by-side, the times you caught him staring at you through a one-hundred-person dense crowd, or the way he would step in front of you as if to shield you whenever there was even a hint of danger—it was all because...

"Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah." His eyes flickered between yours before he turned back to the stars. "And I—I understand if you don't feel the same way; I know I haven't given you much reason to. From those girls to the... the radio, and the culling on the Ark. If I could take—"

His sentence was cut short as you leaned over him, pressing your lips to his. You could feel his pulse racing in his lips. Or was it your own? Probably both. Your hair fell to the side and his mouth started to move against your own. He began to rise, moving you up along with him until you were both kissing in a sitting position.

Bellamy's hand moved to cradle your jaw, his lips slow and tender. Everything felt like it had fallen into place, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be, with his lips on yours in the middle of a fairy-tale-like meadow whilst surrounded by a field of glowing flowers and beautiful winged creatures.

The butterflies weren't just circling you now, they were somehow fluttering around in your stomach too and it felt exhilarating.

Unfortunately, the kiss did have to come to an end at some point. Even so, the warm fluttering in your stomach never ceased. Bellamy had pulled away first, his hands gently falling from your jaw and back into his lap. He was looking at you and at first, you were afraid he would get up and leave, or tell you he had changed his mind. But he didn't. A smile crept across his lips—not a self-satisfied smirk or a tantalising grin, but a genuine smile.

Forget the butterflies; your stomach was doing somersaults now. He found your hand once more and interlocked it with his own in your lap. His thumb drew small circles on the side of your palm almost as if he knew you needed a reminder that this moment was really happening.

"That was my first kiss," you admitted.

His smile became a little nervous. "Was it okay?"

Was it okay? This boy was a little clueless if he couldn't tell that you thoroughly enjoyed having his lips on yours. So, you answered him with another soft peck to his lips, then pulled back again to see his reaction. He chuckled, nodding his head to say he understood.

"We can always come out here to practice if you want," he said, this time with a smirk.

You laughed. "I think that's a good idea."

He tucked a lock behind your ear and gently brushed pieces of hair away from your face. You could feel warmth creeping into your cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. Well, it was probably more of a violet hue due to the intense blue glow from the plants and butterflies. Either way, it still revealed how nervous he made you feel.

"It's getting late. We should probably head back and sleep," you said. Bellamy raised an eyebrow, creating his own little innuendo with your words and your eyes widened. "Not together! Alone, I mean. In separate tents. With clothes... on..." you trailed off, realising you were only digging yourself a deeper hole.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in embarrassment.

He just chuckled and rose to his feet. "Come on, (L/N). Let's go sleep."

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he helped you stand up with him.

For a brief moment, you gave the area one last look, imprinting the memory into your mind. Who could have guessed that when you left the camp walls you would enter a fairy tale of vivid colours and electric butterflies? Or, even more surprising, that Bellamy Blake would later confess his feelings for you? All you had wanted was an escape; instead, you got a dream come true.

Bellamy pressed a hand to your lower back, guiding you with him towards the tree line in comfortable silence.

The walk back to the drop ship was pretty quiet. No more words needed to be said; a conversation that clarified what you two were now could wait for tomorrow when your brains weren't clouded by fatigue and the fresh excitement from confession. Some things hadn't changed though. Bellamy still stole glances at you every now and then, as you did him, earning a nervous smile and blush each time either of you got caught. Your hands alternated from brushing against one another to ever-so-slightly linking pinkies.

Okay, maybe things had changed a little.

You passed each flower that had led you to the meadow and this time, they became less and less as you grew closer to the drop ship. As you came up on the camp walls, the sound of fighting and conversations had died down and was replaced by the faint crackling of dying fires.

Finally, you both stepped through one of the openings and were within the camp. There didn't seem to be anyone awake; with the way the moon was shining down straight overhead, it was clear why. 

Your pinkie fell from Bellamy's and you moved in front of him, taking a few slow steps backwards. "Uh, that's my tent over there," you said, gesturing behind you.

His eyes never left yours as he continued to walk toward you. "Yeah, I know."

"Oh, you know, do you?"

A grin stretched across his lips as he hummed and reached for your waist, pulling you against his body. Your hands wound around his neck, a smile present on your face as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your own. His lips had just brushed against your own when someone behind you cleared their throat and you both jumped apart.

Bellamy peered beside your head, semi-glaring at the interrupter behind you.

What a surprise it was when you turned around to see Roma, arms crossed—clothes on, thankfully—and looking severely unhappy.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said with a scowl.

Perfect. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Looks like her field day had come early.

No way. You were too tired to deal with this. You gave Bellamy an apologetic glance before attempting to slip away through the gaps between tents. Unfortunately, it wasn't in Roma's best interest to let you off so easily. She caught your wrist and jerked you back toward her.

Bellamy looked like he was about to step in, but you beat him to it.

You tore your wrist from her grasp, words dripping with bitterness as you said, "Never do that again."

For a split second, she looked the slightest bit intimidated, but then quickly covered it up with disdain. Her gaze flickered from you to Bellamy; it was hard to miss the way she straightened her posture and tried to look more presentable for him.

And for a split second of your own, you felt the slightest twinge of fear that Bellamy would change his mind about you and leave with her again. But at that very same moment, he gently grabbed your hand and guided you back to his side, dissipating all your previous worries.

Both you and Roma looked down at your interlocked hands in disbelief.

"Listen, Roma." He sighed, sounding like he was desperately trying to keep his cool. "I think it's best if you and Bree find another tent to sleep in from now on."

Her disbelief turned into pure astonishment. "What? Are you serious?"

Bellamy lightly squeezed your hand.

God, he was putting this girl through the five stages of grief. You almost felt bad. Then you remembered the daily torment she had been putting you through just for existing and the remorse immediately washed away.

"Because of her? She's not even—"

"Choose your next words very carefully," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she realised any insult thrown at you would end badly for her. It's not like Bellamy would hurt her, but he did have power over the camp, so he would probably force her to share a tent with Myles or something. His non-stop babbling would drive her to insanity.

She gave him a defiant look. "What if we don't want to leave?"

"I'll take the tent down and move it somewhere else."

"Then Bree and I will make both your lives a living Hell."

You could hear Bellamy suppress a laugh. "Unlikely," he echoed your previous words.

Roma looked to you as if you could help her case—the audacity. You gave her a sarcastic 'what-can-you-do?' shrug which just enhanced her seething temper. It was obvious that she was getting nowhere and the moment she realised, you swore you could see her ego literally deflating.

She made a short high-pitched noise of frustration and spun around, her hair whipping melodramatically through the air as she practically stomped back to Bellamy's tent. You could hear her call out to the other girl inside, telling her to 'pack her shit' and that they were moving tents. Not long after, the blonde-haired girl emerged from the tent flap holding a bundle of clothes. Roma must have explained to her what happened because they both shot a venomous glare in your direction and then walked off in search of another tent.

You sighed in relief as they disappeared out of sight. You were about to walk back to your own tent, but Bellamy tugged you back to him once more, his arms wrapping around your torso as your hands fell on his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought she'd handle it better."

You fiddled with the material of his shirt, half-smiling. "I told you she was a gem."

"Yeah." He chuckled. "My taste of women has been a little... questionable."

Your hands moved up to his shoulders, pulling your body up against his. His fingertips grazed the exposed skin of your waist, sending a wave of goosebumps across your body.

"You should really try breaking that trend."

He had that same intense look in his eye as when you were both in the meadow. This time it didn't hold any sadness or longing, but rather a sense of finality and affection, like his greatest wish had finally come true—that would make two of you. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as his face grew closer to yours.

The heart thumping in your chest almost gave out as you reflexively leaned further into his warm embrace.

"I already have," he murmured before his soft lips descended upon yours.

And the butterflies returned.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP: Dog Walker

Danny needs someone to walk his dog.

He had been in Gotham for about five months when it became apparent he needed companionship.

Ever since Clockwork and Frostbite came to the same decision to move Danny to a new universe for his health- his core was deteriorating due to his obsession being fulfilled as Amity Park was safe, and everyone was ready to grow up and move on.

So Danny moved to a rough city in a harsh universe so that the danger could help his core restart his obsession.

The first few weeks were fine; he even found work as a computer program designer that allowed him to work from home thanks to his universe's advanced technology, but soon, he struggled with loneliness and homesickness—that was where his dog came into the picture.

He adopted Equinox- Nox for short- from the local shelter, and while Nox was a mutt with unknown parents, Danny had no trouble taking care of him.

That was until he accepted a job offer at Wayne Enterprise, and his work hours shifted from remote work seven days a week to four days. He wasn't stimulating Equinox properly by keeping him inside the three days he was out and his poor boy was suffering from it.

This could have easily be solved with a pet sitter or just a dog walker but this is Gotham. Danny knows he picked this place for its constant danger to keep his obsession active but he just wasn't expecting Gotham to be so...much.

He had a panic attack just thinking about what would happened to Nox if he trusted just anyone to take care of him.

Nox is the only living being that is under his Protection. It went against his very Instincts to not find someone he trusted utterly to walk him.

Danny checks his phone to see Nox peaceful sleeping in his doggy bed and sighs. His boy has been sleeping more and more lately, losing his bright spark.

"Whats wrong Danny?" Karla, one of the Office interns, asks from where she is walking along side him.

"Nothing, it's just my dog needs to go for a walk, and I'm not there to give him one." He says, turning the screen. "I wish I can have some one walk hin for me-"

"Understood. I shall pick up your dog tomorrow, Fenton," a tiny voice cuts in. The two turn around only to look down at the green eyes of Damian Wayne. His bosses' son and brother. Oh boy.

"Ugh, I'm sorry?" He blinks as the youngest, Wayne thrusts a piece of paper at him. Danny has no choice but to hesitantly takes the paper. On it is a professional if short resume belonging to Damian that highlights his skillset and community service.

"Father has informed me of the family tradition started by our Pennyworth. Every Wayne gets a part-time job from twelve to grow character." The boy says, hands behind him and back straight, appearing every bit his status. Also, it is like a little kid trying to appear as an adult. Danny found it kind of cute, and it reminded him of Jazz. "I have multiple experiences with animals, as you can see from volunteering at the local shelters. My fees for my services are also meager and would surely not be difficult to cover."

Danny's core turned cold, but not in the wrong way. It was a cooling sensation he had associated with a fun day of either a snowball fight or the fresh first fall. He knew he could trust the boy.

"You know what? Yeah I love it if you walked my dog. In fact would you be interested in being a dog sitter?"

The boy's green eyes brightened with childish glee, but he tried to remain serious. Danny's heart melted at the sight. Oh, he should call Jazz soon. "That would be most acceptable."

Unknown to Danny, Karla, or Damian, Dick Grayson watched the trio as his brother handed one of the most mysterious employees a resume. Now, why would Fenton want to be close to Damian?

Over the last few months, people have been trying to take advantage of Damian because they thought his brother stupid for his mixed blood, just as they did when Bruce first took him in.

Danny doesn't mind Alfred's rule to find a part-time job to help teach them values, but he finds people aren't as kind as they should be. He'll have to keep an eye on this Danny Fenton.

Maybe he can help co-sit his dog.

[csuitebitches]

Book Review- The Wealth Elite: A Groundbreaking Study of the Psychology of the Super Rich, by Rainer Zitelmann Notes

I came across this book because I was looking for psychology books. I found the first of the book rather boring and too textbook-y. The second part is much better.

The author interviewed like 45 millionaire - billionaires. These were his findings.

—

48% stated that real estate was an ‘important’ source of their wealth, and one in ten described real estate as the ‘most important’ aspect of their personal wealth-building. And a total of 20% described stock market gains as an ‘important’ factor in wealth-building, although in this case only 2.4% stated that this was the ‘most important’ factor in building their wealth.

‘Creative intelligence’ is key to financial success. The following is a comparison between the percentage of entrepreneurs (and in brackets the percentage of attorneys) who agreed that the following factors played a decisive role in their financial success: seeing opportunities others do not see: 42 (19); finding a profitable niche: 35 (14).

The role of habitus

* Intimate knowledge of required codes of dress and etiquette

* Broad-based general education

* An entrepreneurial attitude, including an optimistic outlook on life

* Supreme self-assurance in appearance and manner.

He identifies a key quality that is essential for any prospective appointee to the executive board or senior management of a major company: habitual similarities to those who already occupy such positions.

Skillset of Entrepreneurs

* The ‘conqueror’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to make plans and a strong will to carry them out.

* The ‘organizer’. The entrepreneur has to have the ability to bring large numbers of people together into a happy, successful creative force.

* The ‘trader’. What Sombart describes as a ‘trader’, we would more likely call a talented salesperson today. The entrepreneur has to “confer with another, and, by making the best of your own case and demonstrating the weakness of his, get him to adopt what you propose. Negotiation is but an intellectual sparring match.”

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Commitment

* Creativity

* A high degree of extroversion

* Low levels of agreeableness

Entrepreneurial success personality traits

* Orientation towards action after suffering disappointments (the entrepreneur remains able to act, even after failure)

* Internal locus of control (the conviction “I hold my destiny in my own two hands”)

* Optimism (the expectation that the future holds positive things in store)

* Self-efficacy (the expectation that tasks can be performed successfully, even in difficult circumstances).

constant power struggles with their teachers in order to ascertain who would emerge the stronger from such confrontations.

Secret of selling

* Empathy

* Didactics

* Expert knowledge

* Networking.

Conscientiousness is the dominant personality trait. Extroversion is also very common among the interviewees. Openness to Experience is very common

A high tolerance to frustration is one of the most characteristic personality traits of this group.

exceptionally high levels of mental stability.

primarily characterize entrepreneurs as being prepared to swim against the current and make their decisions irrespective of majority opinion.

“No, I never did that (lost my temper). I never get loud. But I can be resolute and say: “That is unacceptable.” And then you either have to go your separate ways or make a decision that the other party might not like. It’s the same in negotiations. I was always described by other people as a bit of a toughie.”

Having the courage to stand against majority opinion is probably a prerequisite for making successful investments, as this is what makes it possible to buy cheap and sell high.

Many of the interviewees spoke about their ability to switch off and direct their focus, even in the event of major problems. The interviewees consistently referred to their ability to focus on solutions, rather than torturing themselves with problems.

At least in the initial phases of wealth creation, most of the interviewees rated their own risk profiles as very high. This changes during the stabilization phase, when risk profiles decrease. In this phase, the hypothesis of moderate risk does apply.

Conscientiousness was the interviewees’ most dominant personality trait. It is important to remember that the Big Five theory’s definition of conscientiousness does not just include qualities such as duty, precision, and thoroughness, but also emphasizes diligence, discipline, ambition, and stamina.

[demilypyro]

Thanks for recommending Moon Channel, by the way. I've been listening to these essays while gaming. The video about the connections between Brazil and Japan was very interesting, and the video exploring nihilism was like a trip down memory lane for me.

I got really into philosophy in my teens to find a way to cope with my dysphoric depression, and I've usually considered myself a humanist, but particularly one informed by absurdist nihilism; I find that even if life is meaningless, we owe it to ourselves and others to at least make that meaningless existence a pleasant one when possible.

I see this as the main motivation behind my work. Life is intrinsically difficult, but if what I can do with my particular skillset can make life a little easier for other people, if my content helps them relax a little after a hard day, or gives a distraction from something painful, even if only a little, then that gives my life meaning.

Sisyphus deserves a break now and then.

[hyukascampfire]

To: Someone From a Warm Climate

wc: 17.5k (whew…)

genre: smut, angst, fantasy violence

pairings: faerie!taehyun x human!reader, faerie!yeonjun x human!reader

synopsis: a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

a/n: y'all. Y'ALL. I have so much in store for you. I was hunched over my desk writing this like a crazed scientist mixing their chemicals.

! warnings: violence (stabbing... twice..), a dead animal appears in a scene, fem reader, mentions of past family trauma, cunnilingus, overstimulation, unprotected sex

playlists: taehyun | yeonjun | series

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It’s more difficult than you had anticipated to keep your mouth shut about what had happened, but Taehyun stays quiet, so you do too. You make yourself useful, packing up with him, hoping to ease the palpable tension.  

Insecurities whisper in your ears that the kiss was just… disappointing to him. It was your first kiss, anyway. The feel of his lips on yours is brutally seared into your mind. You hope your mouth harasses his mind as much as his does yours. You can’t let that fester for too long, though. You have a lot to do to become a useful spy. Your inadequacy is why you’re even here, traveling in silence next to Taehyun, heading north. You’re not sure why they decided to throw you to the wolves for your first assignment, but there has to be a reason. You can only throw yourself more fully into improving your skillset. 

You decide on trying to cut the nagging tension with words. You’ve walked for hours with it looming in the air. But, it isn’t easy. You open your mouth to speak, closing it to rethink your words, and repeat a few times, before finally just saying, “What are we going to even be doing, when we reach the north?” You readjust your bag on your shoulders, its thick straps digging into the bone of your shoulder. The bag is heavier than it was yesterday. Everything is heavier today. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re progressing toward your dream, but it’s all hazier than you imagined it would be. Or, maybe, it’s the awful cold shoulder Taehyun is throwing at you.

“Do you know much about the Unseelie queen?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You know that her kingdom is revered as the most fearsome in Faerie, and you know that they hold a special brew of distaste for humans. But, you do not know much more. Your school lessons had, for reasons you could infer, brushed over the ice kingdom only very briefly. The folk prefer that humans don’t see those sides of this world. Not for your peace of mind—but, because it keeps you complacent. It’s not like you don’t see it, anyway. You know the evils of this world well.

“You need to be careful when we get there. Things get rough for humans up there. You need to remember that you can’t trust the words that come from their mouths.” 

How long until snow powders the ground? The scenery around you has already grown wintry—trees are sparse, and foliage is hardier. It all is so much more muted. Probably not too long. 

“We’re going to be infiltrating The Queen’s Court. She’s always pledged allegiance to him, but The King wants eyes and ears in the north.”

The King thinks that she’s going behind his back? There’s more in this world that you are oblivious to than you imagined. You’ve been under the impression that the Northern Queen was starkly allegiant to The High King. It makes sense, though. There isn’t much incentive to keep humans in the know on faerie politics when you’re just here to be working bodies. “Does he have any reason to believe that?” you ask. It would be nice to have some more information. 

Taehyun explains, “The Northern Court and High Court have had a history of tension. It’s why it became a tradition to send their children to intermingle with each other’s courts. However, the Queen hasn’t upheld that tradition for at least the past hundred years.” An extra chilly breeze licks at your cheeks, and you shiver. You are definitely making progress northward. 

“So, he risks the lives of his heirs?” you ask, pursing your lips. If the northern court is supposed to be so vicious, you cannot imagine why The King would even consider it, especially if relations are supposed to be so strained.

“The Queen would not outright harm them. She values the power that his alliance gives her too much, and she would lose the war that would follow. She is the scheming type.” Taehyun tugs up the hood of his cloak to keep the wind from chapping his skin, and you do so with yours as well. “Which is why we’re going up there in the first place.” 

You acknowledge his answer with a nod. The wind whips past you, and you have to fight it to keep your eyes open. You would appreciate the accompanying snowfall if it was not blowing wildly down on you and stinging your cheeks. With a flex of your fingers, you confirm that they’re still mobile, but they’re lethargic and locked up in the cold. A powdery layer of snow builds on the ground, and you curse it for the way it has your toes freezing through even your leather boots. 

“Can,”—Your teeth chatter—“Can we get a fire going, or something?” 

You catch a glimpse of his face under his hood as he turns to you. His nose and cheeks are rosy, but it seems that the cold affects him less than it does you. The snow is high enough now that you have to drag your feet through with each forward step. Is the rest of the way going to be like this? You might freeze to death, then. 

“We’ve got a bit of time. Let’s get as far as we can, before stopping.” 

You roll your eyes. Maybe he wants you to freeze to death, and then he could be freed from any trace of what had happened last night. You bring your hands to your mouth and let out warm puffs of air as if it would thaw out your poor hands and nose. 

Your mouth struggles to even form words.“I would appreciate living to see tomorrow,” you say slowly. You still lace it with plenty of attitude.

Taehyun doesn’t respond. 

❈

Taehyun curses as visibility wanes to only a few feet. All that lays in your path is whipping snow and haze. 

Your boot catches on something beneath the snow, and you tumble. Frigid snow and ice shards greet you on the ground, biting your skin. Looking up, you find Taehyun gone. He has to be at least somewhere in the gray haze around you; it’s only been a few seconds. If you can’t find him, you’ll die here. That isn’t up for debate.

 “Taehyun?” you shout, your voice muffled and carried away by the howling wind. 

You stay where you are, but lift yourself from the ground. You can’t start wandering blindly, you’ll end up separating further from him.

He calls your name, but it’s distant. 

“Here,” you say, “I’m over here!” 

There are many ways that you do not want to die, but you especially do not want to die like this. Your throat tightens the longer he doesn’t respond. 

“Taehyun?” 

He appears through the veil of snow and haze. A cry erupts from your throat, your voice breaking with relief. He takes you by the arm and tugs you behind him wordlessly, searching for something.

“I thought I was dead,” you say to the air, but it mostly drowns you out. 

“I know.” His voice is thick. “I did too.” 

He finds whatever it is that he seems to be searching for, and you might cry as you recognize the rocky opening to be a cavemouth. You won’t be dying today, at least. 

“I’m going to start a fire,” Taehyun announces only moments after you both duck under the low cavemouth and step into the refuge of the cave walls.

“You’ll get lost.” It’s true, but you also just cannot stand the idea of sitting in this cave alone for any extended amount of time. Your hand is barely visible in front of you, and it’s only getting darker as the blizzard grows thicker outside. 

“I’ll be fine. You’re going to freeze to death without it,” he says, before he dips out, leaving you alone and shivering. He could’ve at least given you a second to protest.

You’re not usually too scared of the dark, but you do press your back to the wall, decorated with liverwort, and sit. Getting separated earlier nags at your mind. You have to remember that you aren’t safe. A line of work like this guarantees it. You could easily have become a body losing heat out in that flurry of wind and snow. You would’ve died before ever seeing the fruits of what you could make of yourself; would’ve died living an insignificant life. Some jaded part of you wonders what Taehyun might’ve felt if you had. Would he move on with this assignment without delay?

At least the wind is no longer circulating about the cave and producing the howl that has been haunting you. There are no such wintry winds to freeze up your extremities in here, but it’s still cold enough to have you shuddering and tucking your hands underneath your knees to ration your warmth. 

Will you even be able to make it all the way to the Northern Court? You imagine telling Taehyun that you can’t handle it, or that you’re going back, and you imagine the look that would fall over his face. No. You’d become a statue of ice, frozen forever at a crossroads between a meaningless life and new beginnings, before that. 

The cold beckons you to sleep, and the aching in your tired back and limbs say that sleep is a splendid idea, but you resist. You need to see him return so that you know that a fire will warm your aching bones to sleep. But you are so cold, and sleeping it away sounds so nice… 

Your eyelids are heavy, and it’s harder to keep them open than it is to just let them fall. Your veins are sluggish with the cold.

When your head drops, you’re brought back to consciousness, but it’s so, so cold when you’re awake. It’s so cold that it burns. Even your lungs are slow and weary. 

You are so cold that you can no longer shiver. 

Something is muffled and shuffling beyond your shivering huddle, but you can’t rally the energy to worry about it. You hang suspended between dream and consciousness. You want both so badly.

Taehyun curses. “I need you to stay awake,” He says. You can only muster a nod for him. Your eyes protest as you hold them open, watching Taehyun hastily sparking up a fire. He strikes rocks against each other, growing more frustrated each time a spark doesn’t catch. When one does, the flame starts slowly on the snow-wetted wood. Your skin tingles under the warmth radiating from it. The roiling flame is intense, having been cold for so long. 

You bask in the fire’s flickering light. Movement comes easier to your limbs as you defrost. Taehyun produces a few hardy roots and skins them with a dagger that glints in the low light, then sets them to roast over the flame. 

“How did you find those?” you say. It was hard to even walk out there, and you’re sure it had gotten worse while he was out. How would he even find them under the snowpiles, unless he knew where to look?

He gives you a long look, as if considering something. “Just got lucky digging through the snow while I was looking for the wood.” 

That explanation doesn’t make sense; finding three subsurface roots underneath thick snow is different from finding hunks of wood protruding from it. It might be the truth, but you decide to ask, “Under the snow?” 

Fire crackling is the only sound to fill the silent moment as he doesn’t answer. Well, if you weren't already iffy, you are now. He watches the flames prance around for a charged moment, the reflection of it shimmering in his dark eyes. 

“I’m from the north,” he finally says. You frown. Why hadn’t he just said that in the first place? 

“Is that why your ears aren’t pointed?” you ask, sitting up a bit. He pulls the roots, lightly toasted, off the fire. 

His gaze rips away from the flame, landing on you. His eyes are a little too intense for such a simple question. “No,” he says.  His behavior tickles a curious part of you; if you’re going to be on this assignment together for so many weeks, then it’s best to get to know each other. You also have been intensely curious about his ears from the moment you noticed their curvature. It’s odd to see fundamentally human features on a faerie. 

You don’t mean to be overly invasive, though, and you feel bad for prodding so much as his face hardens. You hadn’t thought too much about why it might be a sensitive subject for him; you just wanted to satisfy your curiosity. You’re seconds from telling him that you like his ears, but he speaks before you can. 

“My mother was human,” he says, his eyes trained on the cave floor in front of him. He’s half human? That’s why he’s so averse to mentioning his ears—he’s embarrassed by his human mother. You stew over that. If he dislikes his mother for her humanity, it explains how he has acted concerning you. You pity him, though. It would be difficult to belong anywhere with that specific mix of blood: humanity fears him, and Faerie does not treat half-blooded faeries as truly its own.

“She hid herself away when she found she was pregnant, and gave birth to me where she thought she would be safest. She knew what my father would do. He found her eventually. He killed her because she was dirt on his name. He couldn’t kill me, though.” Your stomach does a sickened flip. You know that, by faerie honor, he would have to raise Taehyun.

“I’m so sorry, Taehyun,” you say. He just presses his lips thin and hands you a roasted root to eat. 

“I hated him for it more each day, so one day I took a blade to my ears and made sure I never resembled him again. At least, in that way.” Your heart lurches. The thought of him carving off the points of his ears to spite his dad… He had maimed himself, and you’ve been poking and prodding him about it. You wince.

You want to apologize again, but you have a feeling that he doesn’t want any more apologies, and you don’t know him well enough to comfort him in any meaningful way. Instead of saying something that you’re sure will ring hollow, you say, “The faerie that stole me from my parents was a seamstress. She wanted a human girl to work her shop for her, without having to pay wages like she would for a faerie. It was taxing work, even when I was this tall,”—you denote the height of a child six or seven years old with your hand—“Maybe she just didn’t know what it means to raise a human child, but she wasn’t the best replacement for parents. She knew that I needed to be fed at least regularly, and provided everything I needed for hygiene, but she didn’t know that I needed a mother. She gave me an education, and I know that humans here don’t usually get that. I’m grateful for it—I really, really am, but it’s just… The fact that it was more for her own benefit than out of the goodness of her heart…” 

Taehyun listens, his eyes reflecting the oranges and yellows of the fire. You know that you’re rambling. “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is… I guess…” You hope the yellow glow of the flames is enough to disguise your embarrassment, and also that he doesn’t think you’re trying to upstage him. You just feel wretched for putting him in a position where he had to surrender such dark memories to you.

He doesn’t say anything, taking a root from the fire for himself and biting into it. 

You bite into the fat, tuber-like root too, appreciating its nutty flavor, and you embrace the silence that grips the cave. Only the garbling of the fire speaks, but it is a comfortable quiet. 

❈

The snowstorm must’ve died down while you slept, because the snow isn’t too much higher when you and Taehyun set back out the next day. It’s a bit of a drag to fight the mountains of snow it left with each step, but you don’t complain. 

Sunlight shimmers off ice crystals and sends droplets down from snow-dusted branches and to your cheeks. Every breath into your lungs is crisp, but you have bundled yourself in the thermal clothing from the bag Taehyun had packed for you, so you’re mostly comfortable. At least your fingers and toes are mobile now. 

Taehyun says that you have less than a day until you’re there. You repeat that like a mantra in your head as your feet ache with the strain of traveling so far by foot. He hasn’t said much else since, though, and you wonder if it has anything to do with last night’s topics of choice. His shoulders are as tense as his demeanor. 

It’s getting boring walking for hours on end, and Taehyun isn’t the most talkative. The most you get for entertainment is your thoughts and watching the scenery change. So, you decide to put this time to use. You apply the silent walking technique that he had taught you despite how awfully your feet ache. It’s harder in the snow, but you’re better off knowing how to do it even in extraneous circumstances. You don’t know all that you’ll be facing in the north. Sliding your sword off your back, you realize how much it had been dragging your back down. No wonder your spine aches…. You practice swings and jabs, still sloppy with inexperience. 

Taehyun hears you, and says over his shoulder, “Don’t push yourself today. You were close to freezing to death last night, just recharge your energy.” 

Was it so bad? You know you had gotten pretty cold, but you feel fine now. “I was just exhausted, not freezing. We walked forever yesterday.” 

You continue trying to get used to the weight of a sword in your hands. 

Trees start coming fewer and farther between, and though the snow on the ground grows lower, it is crusted over in an icy layer that you have to break through with each step. Everything is sharper and more icy, less fluffy and light. Icicles drip from trees so sharp they could substitute for a weapon. You put away your sword; the ground is slick, and you’ll fall if you don’t think your steps through. You’ve got to be in the Northern Kingdom, now. 

You walk like this for a while longer, only sparse trees and shrubbery, until an estate standing tall on the snowy flat peeks through the midday haze. An ancient and gnarled blackthorn tree sits proud on the estate’s grounds. Its spiny branches, bare of any fruit or leaf, twist among themselves. They remind you of impish claws.

Taehyun is heading straight for the estate. 

“Are we about to meet somebody?” you ask, closing the distance between you with a little jog. 

He shakes his head. “It’s my father’s residence.” 

You stop, and he makes it a few steps ahead of you before he realizes. “We’re meeting your father?” you say. The thought turns your mouth to cotton. He had killed Taehyun’s human mother. Faerie hospitality doesn’t seem to mean much to him, and you don’t think he’ll like you much.

Taehyun’s brow creases. “What? No,” he says, looking back at the estate. “He’s been dead for a while.” 

You reign in the relief that you feel, but that tidbit of information renders you curious again. Faeries don’t die of old age. How had he died? Is Taehyun pleased that he’s gone?

“Oh,” you say, not pushing it. You learned that lesson yesterday. “Good, ‘cause I’m not in any shape to be meeting anybody right now.” You drag your fingers through your knotty and tousled hair to make a statement. It’s wet in some places, where snowflakes found their way to your head and melted there. You’re sure it looks even worse than it feels. “Are we staying here, then?” You could use someplace to make yourself look less like you’ve just traveled three straight days, and it’s relatively optimistic that the sizable estate ahead of you has what you might need. 

Taehyun hums in confirmation. 

You approach the heavy ironwood front doors, and you gape at the wood interior and high ceilings. Nut-hatch’s humble cottage was more than the roaming life the wilder fae prefer, but it pales next to this. Charcoal-black banners hang down from the mezzanine and are embroidered with silver into a family crest that resembles the blackthorn tree that sits on the grounds outside.  

“Who, exactly, was your father?” you ask, running fingers along the top of the dusty dining table that sits center of the estate. The sight of the empty chairs that encircle it is almost mournful.

Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you look for him to see why, he is planted to the floor. A muscle feathers in his jaw as takes in the estate.

“He was general of The Queen’s guard. And, I guess, also a lord in her court.” There’s icy distance in his voice.

This is absolutely the estate of an esteemed general and lord if you’ve ever seen one. 

“Anywhere for me to clean up?” you ask. You don’t want to intrude on whatever he’s dealing with returning here.

He nods, pointing up to the mezzanine floor where the walls are lined with doors. “There should be some stuff left over. You can use whatever you find.” 

You follow him as he leads to a room. As you draw yourself a bath with water warmed over a fire stove, you cannot help but wonder what awful memories this place might hold for him in its ornate, wooden walls.

❉

Waking up in the warm sheets of a plush bed was a soothing balm for your aching joints and bones. Your hair is fresh and perfumed with the soaps and powdery-scented oils left over in the bathing room. You delighted in brushing out the tangles. The estate is full of pleasures that only the gentry could find mundane; you, on the other hand, are only left scheming how you might make this life your own. 

You don’t see much of Taehyun all day, until he pokes into the bedroom you’re staying in and informs you that you’re attending Court tonight, and though you’ve known for a while now, a thick ball of nerves coils up in your stomach. 

You unstring your travel bag, worrying that you’ll have to wear what you arrived here in, but Taehyun had packed accordingly. You tug out a mute dress, beige in color, and embroidered in the bodice and skirt of it with bronze threads. The short, puffed sleeves are pretty. There isn’t much to decorate yourself with, no pretty pins or silk shoes in the dressing tables or wardrobes, so you just wear your hair as it is and lace up your traveling boots for footwear. You find yourself in the mirror to be prettier than you’ve ever looked. Any dresses you’ve had access to in your life have been largely unspecial, and they marked you as a human servant. Even nakedness, in the land of Faerie, is more ornate than those kinds of dresses.

You hold the skirts of your dress up and above your feet so that it does not tread on wet snow and dirt as you and Taehyun leave the estate for Court. The knots in your stomach don’t let up any. You know you’ll stick out as a human, that’s a given, but you are deeply terrified you’re going to make a fool out of yourself by forgoing some unspoken faerie revel rule. You can’t compromise your assignment. Does Taehyun know you’ve never partied alongside the fae? Humans often attend faerie revels in the High King’s court, but are they even allowed to do so here?

Taehyun is dressed lavishly, clad in black from head to foot, and he wears a sleeved doublet encrusted with shimmering black beads and threads that glitter in the moon’s light. He wears the black fur pelt of some beast around the collar of his neck. He resembles entirely the son of a general. You feel plain, next to him. 

“What do I do when we get there?” you ask, stepping around a puddle encased in a thin layer of cracked ice.

“The King wants to know if anything is going on, so you need to just listen. Look around a little, talk to people you think are interesting, and go from there.” 

Sounds simple enough. 

A thick forest surrounds the snowy flat that Taehyun’s estate sits on, and as you approach it, Taehyun says, “When we’re there, you can’t dance, no matter how badly you’ll want to.” 

“I won’t.” You reassure him, but you’ll just run on the hope that Taehyun sticks near you. Faerie celebration is untamed, and if a human happens to dance among them, they will not be able to regain control over themselves until a faerie takes pity and pulls them out. That isn’t usually the case, though. The folk delight in seeing humans lose themselves to the abundance of faerie delights. 

Taehyun accepts your answer, but he stops at one of the many wax-leaved holly trees and plucks a few jewel-red berries from their branches. Holly berries are faerie wards, and humans often carry a handful of them in their pockets to protect themselves from simple faerie glamours. 

“I don’t have anywhere to keep them,” you say, taking the berries he drops into your hands. You feel around your dress to reaffirm that it doesn’t have any hidden pockets or pouches. None. 

He produces a needle and some twine thread, offering it to you. 

“What?” you say, a little lost. Obviously, he wants you to do something with it, because the berry’s juices would burn him, but you’re not exactly sure what. 

“String the berries on it, and then I’ll show you.” 

You purse your lips and do so as you continue on your way to the revel. Some squish as you do, but you tug them down the thread anyway. The thread seems long enough to wear as a necklace. 

When you’re done stringing the berries, you look up to find that you’ve arrived. You admire how The Queen’s hall of revelries is not even a true hall, and is instead formed with tree trunks for walls and their branches for ceilings. Off-kilter faerie music twists and turns and floats alive in the air; the lilting flutes urge your limbs to move. Maybe it’ll be more difficult to stay off the dancing floor than you had initially anticipated. 

Taking the strung berries from your hands, Taehyun gives you a look that you yet again cannot decipher before walking around you. He takes the top section of your hair into his hands. 

“What are you doing?” you say. 

He sections the hair into two and spins the pieces before pinning them in place. He continues fiddling with it for a bit, tugging something around and in between the hair, and then steps away. You feel your hair. He had pinned the hair into a half-updo with an ornamental hair comb and braided the berry string through it as a ward that doubles as a pretty hairstyle. It’s a fairly intricate hairstyle.

“How’d you learn to do hair?” you ask, spinning to face him. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s intuitive.” 

You laugh a nose-crinkling laugh for the first time in a while and take him by the elbow to drag him toward the reverie ahead of you. 

❉

You stand eating fruity delicacies and glazed meats off banquet tables, to curb your anxieties. There is plenty to enjoy—throngs of faeries dancing like nobody's watching to the rich song of the fiddle, long tables surrounded by chatting folk and rendered full with the plumpest of fruits and blocks of various cheeses. You had worried that you would stick out as a human attending Court in the north, but you have quickly realized that most are more worried about sinking in the debauchery than ogling you. There are so many conversations to listen to, but you don’t have the slightest clue which to even begin with. The Queen does not make an appearance today, but you don’t know if she ever even does. 

You stand here, though, because Taehyun suggested it was best you split off and try to cover the most you can. You’ve been trying your best to strain your ear, but it all blurs into Court jargon to you. You inspect each of your snacks for the poisons Taehyun had taught you. It’s not like anybody cared enough to poison you, but Faerie courts are fickle. 

A tap on your shoulders has you turning around to face the most beautiful faerie man you have ever seen. His brown eyes twinkle under the chandeliers hanging from branches overhead as he regards you, as do the plethora of crystals sewn into his extravagant white get-up. You gulp down the last of the cheese block in your hand.

He smiles, the corners of his lips turned up in a cheeky tilt. “Are the snacks any good?” he says. 

It feels a bit odd that he’d be worrying what a human thinks of the food, but you reply anyway, “The cheese is fantastic.” 

He laughs, having just watched you gulp down the last bit of it. His honeyed laugh compels laughter from you, too. And, so quickly that you don’t notice it, the rest of the revelry fades around you. 

“Do you want to dance?” he says, gesturing over at the whirling sea of faeries. He holds himself with grace, down to his posture.

Your lips tug down into a disappointed frown. There are quite a few things you’re better off not doing here, but that is what you should do the least. “I don’t think I should.”

His eyes flicker with understanding, but his smile doesn’t falter any. “I’ll pull you out if it becomes too much,” he says. “I promise you that.” He presses a pristine hand over his chest, right at his heart, in testament to his sincerity. 

Well, his words are plain enough to know that he isn’t lying. But you’re not here to dance; you’re here to perform your duties. 

He can tell that you’re not convinced as he studies your face. “We can always stay here and enjoy these,”—he pops a cube of cheese in his mouth, so his next words are muffled—“No problem.”

His quickness to compromise is unfamiliar to you.“Let’s have some cheese.” You try to emulate his smile with your mouth, but you’re sure it looks better on him because he throws his head back and laughs. 

The more you study his features, the more you realize how reminiscent of a fox they are. “Can I ask your name, pretty?” he says. The sugary-sweet words taste good in your mouth, and they rot your inhibitions. You shouldn’t be sitting here twirling your hair. Where is Taehyun under this canopy of branches? You wonder if he’s catching any useful stuff. Guilt digs its claws at your skin. 

You flounder and try to catch your name as it seems to slip away from your mind and into the air. You’re not always this ditzy, it’s just that his sharp eyes and mouth confuse you. You tell him your name. 

“Are all human names as pretty as yours?” he says. He thinks your name is beautiful? Human names are unspirited and prone to repetition, not singular like a faerie name. 

You’re not sure how to respond, so you deflect. “What’s your’s?”

His black hair slides over his eyes as he tilts his head, eyes alight. He wears so much on his face. You’re wary, though. Maybe he is cunning like the fox, maybe his face tells you a different story than his mind. You worry again why he is sitting here making conversation with you.

“Yeonjun,” he says, and you try to remember when he had gotten so close.

“Well, Yeonjun,” you say, trying his name in your mouth. “I’m not the most interesting, so if you’re looking for entertainment, I don’t think you’ll find too much here.”

His eyes roam your face for a few heartbeats. “I think you’re plenty interesting. Maybe the most interesting lady this court has had the pleasure of keeping.” His use of the word lady, addressing you, feels good in a bittersweet way. You’re a far cry from a lady, but the sound of it settles deep in your bones and warms you. 

The way he sees your burning cheeks, and seems to delight in it, should alarm you. You know his words are saccharine. But, his attention is delicious. You find yourself hoping he’ll stay here and keep you company until the night is over. 

“Okay, now I know you’ve got to be up to something,” you say. 

He grins and, stepping back, says, “I’m going to go get something for you. Don’t move.” He slips through the gaps of chatting revelers before you can tell him that you won’t move; that you’ll be right here all night because you should be. Taehyun trusts that you’re doing your job. You sigh a breath, trying to force down the guilt that gnaws hungrily at you again. 

You make an effort to tune your ears into the conversations around you. There was so much you could’ve missed in the time you spent talking to Yeonjun. 

As you do, pair of frilly and silk-draped faerie girls, one with skin like white snow and crystalline wings at her back, and the other with hair inlaid with glittering strands of gold, approach the banquet table arm-in-arm. You hate the way their eyes land on you, and then on your awful dress. You hate the look they share, and the way one hoots at something the other says. Your skin burns with how you become something to laugh at. 

You don’t notice Yeonjun’s return until he steps in front of you, his hands full with a bounty of bonbons and indulgences from various tables throughout the hall. 

“I want you to try these,” he says. You shoot him a skeptical eye, raising a brow, to which he scoffs and says, “I just wanna know what you think. They’re my favorites.” 

You take a sweetmeat and place it in your mouth. Your brows shoot up at its full, mallow flavor. 

“You have a sweet tooth?” you ask, chomping on another. 

“You could say that,” he says. The flip of his words and the facetious raise of his brows make you feel that he isn’t just talking about confectionaries. You squirm a bit under his heavy gaze. 

You continue taste-testing the sweets he brought, but your mind keeps cruelly spinning the jeering of those faerie girls. You scorn your inadequacies; your inability to be a worthy spy, and your inability to ever fit in. It would be easier to act as one with the court and to coax out meaningful secrets if you look at least like you belong. However, Yeonjun seems like the only place you have to start. 

“You meant what you said about pulling me out if it becomes too much?” you say. 

Yeonjun doesn’t look at all taken aback by your words. He must’ve seen the way your eyes flickered over to the rambunctious dancefloor. “Of course. I won’t let you lose yourself, and nobody will touch a hair on your head.” 

“Let’s dance,” you say, and giddiness blooms wide in your chest. Is dancing among the faeries as enchanting as it's said to be? 

Here’s to finding out.

Yeonjun brings you to the dance floor, and he smiles down at you as you begin moving. Your limbs are heavy with hesitance. His hands find your waist, and the touch soaks up the stiffness right from you. Suddenly, you are alive in ways that you hadn’t known you could be before. Your boots slide over the packed earth, and he guides you to a rhythm that you can feel thrumming in your bloodstream. Yeonjun’s eyes are on your face. You can feel the other dancers all around you, and you brush up against some here and there, but you don’t mind much. You feel the music in your heartbeat. His fingertips dig divots into your skin, and it’s the only thing you can really feel. 

He leans in over your shoulder. “I heard what they said. Do you want dresses? I can give you dresses more beautiful than those girls could dream of wearing.” 

It takes the words a bit to cut through the fog in your head, but you narrow your eyes at him. “Is this one really so bad?”

He squeezes his eyes shut in a laugh, as if that were ridiculous, and then opens them to look you in your eyes. “Pretty, you’d look delightful even in your bare skin.” He tugs your bodies impossibly closer, melding them together into one spinning thing. “But, if what they said hurt you, I will give you whatever it is you ask for.”

Even in your hazy state, you know that doesn’t sound right. But, you don’t ask why he would bother with that, you only lose yourself further into his eyes. They devour you.

The music grows faster, and faster, and faster, coiling itself up and around your legs, willing them to dance for you. Yeonjun’s hands grab here and smoothe over there, exploring. Mapping. 

“Do you love it?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. Your head is swimming, crashing through the throes of waves, and the undercurrent of panic only thrills you into dancing more. 

His eyes rove over you in a languid pass, before he kisses you like your lips are the sweet delicacies he so loves. You are as lost in his lips as you are the spirit of the dancefloor. His hot tongue explores and licks at your lips. The world swirls behind your eyes even as they are squeezed shut, but you welcome the dizzying nature of it. Your heart jumps from its cage in your chest as he brushes a hand along your collarbone, sliding it up the side of your neck, and then places it at the back of your head, pushing you further into his kiss. A vignette blurs your vision, lungs burning for air, but you can’t find it in you to care. 

You’re abruptly pulled from the messy tangle of galavanting bodies. Like if someone were to just halt the Earth’s spinning on its axis, your body reels. Your mind comes back to you, but it’s scattered, and your heart pounds like drumbeat in your head. 

Someone speaks. It’s Yeonjun’s voice. He situates you in between two of the pillar trees that make the walls of the hall, and you drag in the night air. It’s so fresh it burns your lungs a bit to breathe. 

“I feel like shit,” you say. Your heart is still running amok in your chest. 

He snorts. “Yeah, I bet. I’m sorry I didn’t notice that you were slipping earlier.”

You’re unsure how long you two danced, but the sky is breaking into day, so it had to have been for way longer than you remember. You groan. Taehyun has to be looking for you. Or, perhaps he left without you.

“Something wrong?” he asks, watching you recover.  

“No, no, I’m fine,” you say. “Thank you for that. I’ve never done anything like it.”  

His eyes crinkle. He really, really, is beautiful, down to the points of his ears. “You don’t need to thank me. Seeing you enjoy yourself like that was a sight for sore eyes.” 

You laugh a little, looking out at the way the sun crests over the horizon from your little hiding spot. The breeze does wonders in brushing up on your blazing skin and placating it. The thrill still lingering in you makes you wonder if you could claim such a life for yourself.

The sound of Taehyun’s voice saying your name rips out that seedling of hope, and stomps it down into the ground. It was a useless hope, anyway. As he approaches you, Yeonjun nods his head in greeting. Taehyun’s face is drawn, but he bows low at the waist. It’s quite a formal greeting. 

“It’s time to go,” Taehyun says, addressing you. His eyes are searching yours like he’s trying to find some answer in them. It seems he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. 

A crooked smile tugs at Yeonjun’s lips. “Is she under your care?” he asks. It’s a less direct way of asking: does she belong to you? 

Taehyun’s face morphs into something hard, but his words remain cordial. “Yes, she is.” You know he says it because it’s the best way to explain why a human would be attending Court, but for some reason, you had expected Taehyun to answer that a little differently. 

Taehyun gives you a meaningful look and tilts his head to the side in a silent way to say let’s go. You curtsy a farewell to Yeonjun, letting a soft smile onto your lips before you depart with Taehyun. Yeonjun doesn’t say anything at all, but you feel his eyes following you. 

You walk without words until you clear the hall and reach the forest, where the thicket can muffle your sensitive words and keep them just for you. “Did you find anything?” he says. His attention stays ahead, and his jaw is a bit strained. Here it comes; he saw you wasting time. 

“Nobody around me was talking about anything other than gossip until I ran into him. His name is—”

“I know who he is.” Taehyun snaps. “Please, enlighten me. What did you learn of him?” 

His words feel a bit like he’s spinning you a web. A trap. You don’t even have anything to offer him, because you hadn’t learned anything about Yeonjun.

“You made a promise to me. You promised you wouldn’t dance at all, and I find you dancing with The King’s son.” The world trembles underneath you at his words. You were flirting with a prince all night. You kissed a prince.

The dam of guilt and embarrassment and shame that has been filling you throughout the night crumbles and washes over you. “I didn’t mean to waste time, Taehyun. He just seemed like the most interesting person to talk to. I thought that maybe I could hear something interesting from him.” Your legs protest as you lift them to step over a tall bush. Dancing had exhausted you down to your marrow. “A prince seems like a pretty good place to find information, though.” 

“Does kissing him entail hearing something interesting from him?” His words are spat, and when he looks at you, his eyes hold distaste. So he saw that, too. 

You sigh. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, either.” 

“You didn’t mean for it to happen,” he echoes, scoffing the words. “You are nowhere near serious about this. Why are you even here? Well, let me tell you this; you did not come here to suck the faces of pretty princes. This life is not yours.” 

His words are everything you don’t want to hear, and they antagonize the anger in your chest where shame had previously sat. “It’s a little hard to do what you’re asking of me when you send me in looking like this,” you say, gesturing down at your get-up. 

“This is about a dress?” Taehyun says. “You don’t need all that. They’re just putting on a show.” He doesn’t say them, but he dances delicately around the words: You’re human.

You get up in front of him so that he has no choice but to look at you. “You know that I’m going in there at a disadvantage! You know that I can’t just blend in, and it’s so much harder when I look like this.” You point your finger at him accusatorily. “And, did you even get anything? You’re sitting here, picking me apart, but really, what did you do?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

“Oh, that’s rich,” you say, tone mocking. 

“The difference,”—he says his words slow—“Is that I didn’t use the night to enjoy myself in snacks and courting ladies.” 

“That’s because you spent your night watching me,” you snap. If he was even trying to pick up information, he wouldn’t have had his eyes on you the whole time. “You just wanted to catch something to give me shit about. Can you not see any value in following this thread? If Yeonjun is the king’s son, and he’s taken interest in me, imagine what I can catch hanging around him.” The estate appears on the snow flat as you two clear the forest. The sun hangs well in the sky, now. Ugly hurt twists in your chest. Yeah, you could’ve been more alert, but you can easily turn whatever you’ve got going on into something. 

Taehyun shakes his head at you. “I want you to remember this one thing, if you’re going to remember anything I tell you at all. The folk will never fail to make you into a spectacle. Your duties lie in The King, and only that.”

You walk the rest of the way to the estate, and then split off to your rooms, in an awful silence that sits itchy under your skin. It’s always silence, with Taehyun.

❈

Taehyun’s accusatory voice wakes you up from a hard slumber. You don’t have time to even blink out the sleep from your eyes as he roars, and you listen.

“You had him send you dresses?” There is a scorching flame blazing in his eyes, and they blister you.

“Huh?” 

His face is pulled into a sneer. “You had the prince send you dresses because you decided you wanted pretty things? What are you doing?” He holds a silvery, glittering gown in one arm.

His words remind you of what Yeonjun had said to you last night, and you curse. How would he even know where to send them? 

“I didn’t ask him to do anything,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m telling you that I didn’t, and I mean it! I didn’t ask him to send me dresses.” You slink out of the mess of a bed, the wood flooring cold under your feet.

“So a royal errand runner shows up at the door, with a pile of dresses directly addressed to you, and I’m supposed to believe that it’s random?” 

“Why don’t you just believe me?” you ask, and the words sound pathetic even to you as they leave your mouth. “We’re supposed to be partners. You’re supposed to believe me.”

Rage dissolves from his face, but his features don’t soften. No, instead, they harden into stone. You almost wish they would twist back into fury. You can work with anger. But, whatever this thing that he does is, it leaves you unable to crack through his hardened exterior. 

“Take your shit,” he growls, tossing the dress in his arm at you, and then spinning around without care of where it lands. 

“I don’t want this, send it back to him,” you say. You go to throw the dress back at him, but his words stop you. 

“I already sent them back.”

You watch him storm out. That means that the dress in your hands is not from Yeonjun; it is from Taehyun.

❉

You hold up the gown in front of you. Looking at the sheer material of it, embellished with beads and crystals that remind you of snowflakes in the sky, feels bitter. It only reminds you of the nasty terms you and Taehyun are on. 

You haven’t seen him once today, and you assume you’re going to be heading to Court alone, too. All you can feel is resentment. 

You go about getting ready with a ten-pound weight in your mind, and Taehyun is as absent as you had imagined he’d be when you leave the estate for Court. The walk feels a bit longer this time. Though you didn’t talk much last night, the presence of Taehyun just being there was enough to ground your nerves.

All is the same as last night in the hall. The tittering of folk and the lovely aroma of burning incense spices the air, and the music is just as inviting. You find that secluded spot Yeonjun had taken you last night when he pulled you out of the crowd and lean into the tree. Tonight, you’re going to just watch which faeries interact. The more you know about who associates with who, the more you’ll be able to dissect your priorities. 

Your eyes fall over the throngs, and a majority you remember from last night, but some are new. These folk all have to be important in some capacity; they wouldn’t have a place in Court otherwise. If you look hard enough, maybe you can find who is the most important. It doesn’t help, though, that you’re not familiar with important figures in the Northern Court. Taehyun forgets that he was born into this Court, and you are a foreign human girl. You may be better off playing into your ability to lie; maybe you should spin up a good falsity and ask around with it. 

You’re halfway to the crowd with the intent to poke around when Yeonjun steps into your line of vision. His wry smile is inviting, but you can’t do this again. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says. “But, I don’t recognize that dress.” He looks you over. 

“You didn’t tell me who you were, last night,” you say, crossing your arms. 

Yeonjun’s suave falters. “Ah. He told you. Did he also not like me sending you those dresses? You sent them back.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Please, I don’t appreciate being toyed with.” 

His lips tug into the first frown you’ve seen worn on his ethereal face. “You wound me. I don’t just send gifts like that to anybody. I’m not toying with you. Not even a little bit.”

You’re not sure what to make of his words. He seems like the type that, even when his lips can not form the shape of lies, he would hide them in between the gaps of truths. But you do see sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“I didn’t even get to see the dresses,” you say, relenting to the conversation. If he insists on making your company, you’ll entertain him. You wouldn’t dare shoo a prince away, anyway, and his words are a soothing balm to every thought that tugs at your mind. 

“Did he give you this one?” he asks, looking down at the glittering thing. 

You hum, nodding your head. You wonder if Taehyun has made it here tonight, or if he is even here at all. You’re going to put all your eggs in this basket. If it leads you nowhere, you’ll deal with that when you get there. You don’t know where else to start. 

“They’re all yours, whenever you decide you want them. Just come and ask me, sweet thing. I’ll even send you more if you want.” 

His words shoot a thrill through you, for whatever reason. It’s hard for you to imagine a life where those kinds of things can be given away so easily. 

“Do you want to dance tonight?” He says. His fingers are warm against your skin as he takes your upper arm into his hand. Each time he rubs his thumb over the skin there, it makes you shiver more than it soothes you. You don’t remember much of the time you had spent dancing last night, but you do remember his kiss.

You really can’t do that. You need to do something that keeps you present so that you can pick up on stuff. 

You tilt your head to one side and offer, “How about you show me around? I wanna see your hiding places. I know you’ve got some.” You smile a heart-felt smile; running around the hall and discovering the nooks and crannies Yeonjun hides away in actually sounds like fun. It’ll familiarize you with the layout of Court, as well.

Yeonjun agrees, his face lighting up. He brings you around to alcoves and hollows that you wouldn’t imagine even existed unless he was showing you. Leave it to a faerie to find little places to hide.

“How often do you come to the north?” you say. Taehyun had said that The King sends his heirs here for foreign relations. It must be why he’s here. 

Yeonjun pauses his touring. “Most of the year. My father prefers me here, so he sends me out often.” You’re a bit taken aback by how generous he is with the information. You had expected to sly-foot it from him. 

The King sounds like a paranoid, centuries-old man. Maybe you and Taehyun will find something in your time here that proves his fears right, though. It’s just as probable that tensions run deeper than you think.

“Why doesn’t he have The Queen send one of her children to his domain if it’s for diplomacy? It’s a bit strange that she swears fealty to him, but he’s the one sending his heirs out.” Also, why does he have you and Taehyun here, undercover, when his son is here already?

Yeonjun shushes you with a finger over his lips, and it reminds you that you can’t just say all that comes to your mind here. He doesn’t seem to take any offense, though. 

“The Queen doesn’t send her children out as emissaries.” His words take on a rueful, bitter note. The look plastered on his face says what his words don’t: The King does, though.

Yeonjun is good company, and you don’t notice how night bleeds into day. 

“I should probably go now,” you say. Your dress itches and your feet ache in a way that calls for the lush bed waiting for you back at the estate. The revelry is still very much alive and kicking, and the crowds haven’t even begun thinning, but they’re so drunk on pinot wines and faerie spirits that you doubt they even feel the toll the night is taking on their bodies.

He nods. “Let me walk you home?” He offers you an arm, his smile so very sweet. You would like nothing more than to have someone to accompany you on the trek home. The walk here had been dreadful in your loneliness.

You pretend to think about it for a minute, a teasing smile playing at your lips, before you say, “Why not?” 

He swipes a baked good topped with sweet fig from a platter for the journey, and begins heading for an exit between trees.

 “But!” you say, and he halts. Your eyes scan the crowd.

“What is it?” he asks, rejoining you. 

“I need to find Taehyun.” 

He offers you the delicacy in his hand. “Do you?” 

“Yeah. I need to tell him if I’m going to be leaving.” 

Yeonjun scoffs at that. He takes you by the arm and points out Taehyun in the crowd. He appears to be in conversation with a spindly, feather-skinned hob. “He’s right there. But, you’re not going to be doing all that. It’s not right that you have to report your every move to him. C’mon.” You know that he’s only saying it because he thinks that you’re Taehyun’s human servant, or something, but his words are simultaneously gratifying for your current woes.

Your laughs bounce off the darkwood trees as you walk shoulder-to-shoulder. Yeonjun has a way to him that makes you feel like you’re really living. Maybe you can let this hope fester. Maybe Yeonjun is genuinely courting you. And, you foolishly let yourself think, maybe you don’t need to be a spy to make something of yourself. 

When you make it to the door of the estate, Yeonjun is behind you, peppering warm kisses up and down your neck. You pry yourself from him to open the door, and you stumble in. You then stagger up the stairs and to your room. Yeonjun doesn’t make it any easier, roaming his hands everywhere they shouldn’t be. 

Yeonjun clicks the door shut behind himself, and your stomach drops seeing the unabated hunger written into his face as he turns and looks at you. 

You fizzle under his gaze. “Thanks for walking me,” you say. “That walk is scary alone.” 

“Turn around for me, pretty,” he says, his voice glazed with honey and sugary syrup. You do, heart thundering in your chest. Something in the deep pit of your mind feels guilt, but you don’t pay it enough mind to sort it out, you just suck in a breath and hold it as Yeonjun steps so close behind you that you can feel his breaths on your neck, and he starts working at the laces of your dress. He doesn’t lean forward and press any more kisses to your neck like you wish he would; he just undoes the ribbon, until the dress loosens on your body, and you have to hold it onto yourself. Should you drop it? Does he want you to drop it? Is he just toying with you?

A puff of air on your neck makes you shiver as he laughs softly, his face hovering over your shoulder. You wish you could see his face right now.

“You’re so tense,” he says into your ear. He takes the top of the dress into his own hands, sliding them under yours. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and your neck so hard that you hear it in your ears, and maybe even he can, too. He rubs a thumb over the skin where the dress starts to slip. 

“Tell me you want it.” 

You suck in a breath. “I want it.”

He begins letting the dress down, and you let him. Chills rise on your skin, both at the cold that meets your skin as it is freed to the air, and at the kisses and scrapes of his teeth at your now exposed shoulder. “Yeah? You want me to make you feel good?” he says, and you can hear the tease in it. His words douse you in flame.

“Yes, Yeonjun, please,” you say, and it sounds pathetic to your ears. He makes it so hard to sound like the confident spy that you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself that you are.

The dress droops lower and lower on you, releasing your skin in tantalizingly slow increments. He’s in no rush. He just continues to pamper your skin with his tongue, nipping your ear here and nibbling at your shoulder blade there. Your mind unravels a bit more with each. 

The fabric finally pools at your ankles, and the both of you sit in an electrically charged moment. 

“Turn around. Let me see you.”

When your eyes meet his, your breath catches at the way he takes you in, but mostly at the way his eyes come back up and fix on yours with such depth that you feel it in the way your heartbeat skips. You resist every urge to cover yourself, ignoring the tensing of your muscles that tell you that you should run and hide yourself away. You can’t believe that such a beautiful creature is devouring you with his eyes like this; like he wants you, like it doesn’t matter one bit to him that you are so much less than him. And maybe it should. He’s a prince. A prince of the king that you are supposed to be serving right now.

He guides you by an arm around your waist to the bed, and then stands at the foot of it, looking down on you with hazy eyes. Your stomach flips, and your knees and thighs are pressed together. He drags his bottom lip into his teeth.

“Open your legs, baby. I want to see how much you need me.” He reaches down, patting at your knee.

You hesitate, but slowly pry your knees apart, letting him see the mess that had been brewing there. The cold air immediately brushes at the wetness, and it makes you feel impossibly more exposed.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging out the word like a hiss. The raw, ravenous look in his eyes reaches deep into an unwanted part of you, that had for so long believed that you’re not worthy of anything like this. You know that you’re still not worthy of it, but you’ll happily bask in its warmth while you have it.  “So wet,” he growls, eyeing your center without ceremony, as if those aren’t the most lewd words you’ve heard spoken aloud. “Pretty, you’re dripping all over your bedspread, and I haven’t even really touched you yet. Makes me wonder if you’ve ever even been touched before.” 

Your cheeks flame the more he stands over the foot of the bed, lazily drinking you in. You haven’t. You had your first kiss in the woods somewhere a few days ago. Flashes of those memories plague you for a second, of bark on your skin and Taehyun’s hand in your hair, and that guilt that you can’t seem to place tugs at you again. You need to forget about it; Taehyun doesn’t seem too caught up on it, so why should you be? Where is Taehyun right now?

“Has he touched you? Did you let him put his hands on your skin,”—he brushes a whisper of a touch on your inner thigh, so close to your center, yet not actually paying any attention to it—“like this?” The rush that shoots up your spine is lethal. He draws such intense feelings from you with the simplest of touches in a way that borders on scary. 

Oh, yeah. Yeonjun still thinks that you’re Taehyun’s human servant, or something. You decide to just lean into it. “Why would he?” you ask. 

“Because I saw the way he looked at me yesterday,” he says, and the plush of the bed dips as he settles his knees into it. He hovers over you, notched between your thighs. You knew the truth behind that look, though. Taehyun was livid at you, at how you had shirked your duties and danced all night. You don’t know how to convey that to Yeonjun, though. Any explanation would just lead to more questions you couldn’t answer. 

He plants a line of kisses up the length of your inner thigh, just where his hand had ghosted, and you wiggle your hips in anticipation as if it would move him any faster to where you need him most. It doesn’t, he only continues to antagonize your skin with his tongue and lips. 

“Please,” you breathe. Yeonjun’s lazy eyes flick up to yours from his place between your legs, and the sight makes the blood in your veins sing. 

“You want my mouth?” he says, sitting back up onto his knees and running a smooth hand from the wet patch of skin on your thigh up and over your hip bone, and then the softness of your stomach, and then he brushes a thumb over your breast. You struggle to breathe a bit as he does, and it’s exponentially harder to as his words ricochet in your ears, cutting through the fog of your mind. 

“Yes,” you say. You can’t muster anything else. A satisfied, lopsided smile plays at his lips, and he lets his thumb over your nipple, rolling it. 

“Do you realize how badly you’ve got me?” he muses. His gaze leaves your chest, opting for your eyes as he says it. “I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I’ll do anything, if you ask it of me.” The alarm bells ringing in your ears sound more like music than warning. It should sound like too much; you’d met him yesterday. He’s a faerie, you’re a human. His words are cloying; he’s lying. He’s lying.

But, he can’t lie.

He settles his head down, a breath’s-width from providing you with relief from the burning that he so cruelly kindled there. “Here? You want my mouth here?” The words puff onto you. You can feel your ears reddening; he seems to enjoy seeing you debased. It’s like he wants to be the source of your ruination.

“Yes, right there,” you say, toes curling in anticipation. He hums, taking the back of your thighs into his hands and pressing them up. It leaves you even more exposed to him. When the first contact of his mouth to your cunt comes, it’s with a barely there roll of your clit with his tongue, but it spreads like alcohol through your system. You mewl as he holds eye contact as if entranced with the way you react to him, and swirls his tongue around it. Your hands find perch in his hair.

He is wholly overwhelming you: his hands dig divots into your thighs to hold you open for him to eat, his eyes make sure you’re watching as he does, the sound he makes into your cunt. You don’t know what else to do, other than squirm on the sheets and chant nonsensical words. The more his mouth consumes you, the more it consumes your thoughts, until you are tunnel-visioned, only able to feel his touches. He runs his tongue down, and you gasp as it prods at your entrance, but he brings it back up, and then suckles at your clit some more. 

“More,” you say. 

He detaches from you for only a moment, just to ask, “More what?”—he pushes your thighs further up, molding them to your body—“More this?” He pushes his tongue into you, and then out. 

“Mhm!” you cry, digging your hands into his hair harder. He makes a low hum of satisfaction, slurping you up, lazed, as if you were a sweet sugarplum liqueur. A tense knot settles in your belly, sending your legs jittery even as he presses them, and your toes curling in the air. Your hips roll up and into the bed wildly, chasing that knot. “Yeonjun—”

Yeonjun knows what your cries mean, pulling from your hole, if only to suction his lips around your clit. It halts every thought and word in your mind, and the knot tightens so intensely with it that it snaps. You seize up in his hands and then explode in shakes and desperate whimpers. Your body rages, but your mind is suspended somewhere in the sky, removed from you. Yeonjun lavishes you through it, despite the way his tongue bumping into your sensitive spots has you jumping. His mouth follows your hips everywhere they go as you writhe to escape it; he isn’t letting you float down, he keeps your body on that high and builds on it. Your breaths come panted and whimpered. 

“Slow—slow down, ‘jun,” you say, pushing at his head. When he pulls off of you, the sight of you all over his mouth draws a moan from you. His tongue swipes at his lips. 

“You’re divine,” he purrs. “Did that feel good, sweet thing? Do you want more?” You lay, catching your breath, trying to let the waves of aftershock dissipate so that you can articulate yourself. You feel it still thrumming in the hollows of your bones. He skirts his thumb oh-so-lightly around your throbbing clit, and it’s no help in your efforts.

You nod. “I want to make you feel good, too.” You can’t fathom letting him please you like this without returning the favor. It would be so nice to see him fall apart, too.

“Yeah?” He drinks in your state. He stops circling his thumb to press it to your bud. You let out a surprised sound, your muscles coming back to life to jolt. He acts as though he’s thinking it over, but you can see the teasing lilt on his face. “Say my name again, pretty. It sounds loveliest on your tongue.”

“Yeonjun,” you indulge him. A content sparkle in his eyes tells you that he’s gonna give you what you want. He lets your thighs down, instead resting his weight on either side of your head, leaning down to capture your lips in a sultry kiss. He tugs your bottom lip into his mouth. The scrape of his teeth is dizzying. He’s freeing himself with one hand when he pulls back, and your spine tickles with anticipation until you see the look on his face.

 Is he suddenly disgusted with you? You can feel the color drain from your skin as you ask, voice thin, “What?” He climbs off of you, and you could throw up. “What is it?” 

“I think your friend is here,” he says, adjusting his clothes. Oh. Your mind wars between relief and terror knowing that, if Yeonjun knows Taehyun is here, Taehyun knows Yeonjun is here. Damn their superior hearing. 

You curse. “Go,” you urge, slipping out of bed with sticky thighs and stumbling to the wardrobe to source a shift dress to slip into. Yeonjun thumbs your chin, tugging your face to him, and presses a parting kiss into your lips. It lingers on your lips as he lets out a soft laugh, shoving open the window and disappearing through it. You roll your eyes, finding the image of him clambering down the tree to escape quite humorous. 

You clean up and settle into the bed. Is whatever you have going with Yeonjun sustainable? Echoes of Taehyun’s voice, vicious and tart, tell you that you should get it together; that you should nip this in the bud, and focus your energies elsewhere. You want so badly to make the little girl, snatched from her home, proud. You want to fulfill her dreams. But, you can’t shake yourself from whatever hold Yeonjun is securing over you. He so casually promises to give you everything you ever ask for; would you be stupid to ignore it? Is it naive to imagine that a man would say his words and mean it? A faerie, no less? 

You sink further as sleep calls you. If Taehyun knows that Yeonjun was here, or what you had done with him, he doesn’t show up to chew you out for it. You wish he would.

❉

The next few days blur into hours of Court spent around Yeonjun and his courtly friends. You try to glean as much information as you can from it, but really, it’s mostly nothing of any importance. You begin to think that Taehyun is right; that you shouldn’t be sticking your nose into the business of a prince. If Yeonjun were to ever find out your reasons for even attending Court… Your stomach does a sickened flip. He might hate you for lying, maybe even begin thinking that you have been using him.

You really do like Yeonjun, though. It’s not just that he’s an interesting thread to follow; he treats you like you’re no different from him. Your bruised and beaten heart clings to him, hoping he’ll soothe over all the years you spent insignificant and unloved. If anything ever comes of all of your stolen nights and kisses, he’d have to know eventually. It can’t be shoved down forever, though you truly wish it could. 

You sit at the ornamental vanity in your room, combing through your hair, when Taehyun makes an appearance at the door. You haven’t had even one conversation with him following the morning Yeonjun had those dresses sent to you.

“We’re not going to Court today,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is steely. 

“Oh?” You place the boar bristle brush down. “What are we doing, then?”

He studies the room you’ve been staying in. It looks an awful lot like he’s searching for something. His eyes linger on the bed. “I think I got something last night. We’re going check it out. You’re gonna need your weapons.” 

He’s gone from the room with that. The conversation was terse and majorly discourteous, but it’s the most you’ve seen of him in multiple days. You’ll take it. Maybe you’ll even have time to plead your case today, or some way to show him that you’ve been practicing your fighting stances and memorizing poisons on the days sleep doesn’t find you as easy.

You’ve armed yourself to the teeth by the time you meet Taehyun at the bottom of the stairs. He’s armed much lighter than you.

“Did I overdo it?” you say, slicing yourself some cheese to eat on bread.

He adjusts the blade sheathed at his hip, shaking his head. “That’s just fine.” 

You frown and bite into your breakfast. What kind of information could he have gotten yesterday? The need for weapons worries you.

You like to think that you’ve adjusted to the chill of the north by now, but as you break through an untrodden forest with brambles catching your legs in each step, it does nip at your skin. You’re still only human, after all, no matter how hard you pretend yourself to be a faerie lady in the Court. You’re still only a spy, you’re reminded, as the two of you come across a mound of packed dirt sitting atop the snowy ground. It’s marked as an entrance only by a hole that looks hand-dug. You’ve lived long enough in Faerie to know that it’s more than just any old dirt hill or foxhole. The folk dwell in odd places like these.

“When we get in there, I need you to pretend that you’re a human servant. Can you do that for me?” he says. You’re unsettled, but you nod.

 You head for the entrance first. It’s just big enough for you to slip a leg into, duck under, and wiggle in. The entrance opens up, and you’re sent sliding down a chute of twigs and dirt. It takes every bit of your willpower to not make a ruckus of shouts and gasps in your descent. When your feet meet the ground you stumble to steady yourself, you know you look a mess. Taehyun makes a much more graceful descent, and you explain away any mortification with the notion that Taehyun had been anticipating it.

A throaty voice hoots almost immediately, “So, great Lord Taehyun thinks to show his face at this honkey tonk?” 

So, this is that kind of place, then. The reek of ale and wilder spirits tells you enough. What does he think he’ll learn from a place like this? Clearly, he’s known in this place, too. You’re always left with more questions about Taehyun than answers.

Taehyun doesn’t pay the barkeep any mind. “Fetch me a drink,” he says, before leaving you as he cuts through the measly crowd of revelers drowning in their merriments. You narrow your eyes and brew with distaste at his words, but you know he needs you to play the part of demure servant. You don’t know exactly why, but you can do it for him; you’d lived the role your whole life.

You scurry off, shoulders curled in, to the barkeeping hob that stands pouring foamy goblets of honey mead from barrel taps. He eyes you. “Pity you, girl,” he says. “That one’s a real brute.” 

You infer that his words are about Taehyun. Really, you should just grab a drink and go, but curiosity compels you. The faerie laughs at the questions brimming in your eyes. 

“A real, stone-cold killer,” he drawls, twisting open a different barrel. You resist the eye-roll tugging at your eyes. He’s just looking to entertain himself off of your human fright. You feign hesitance in your limbs when you accept the goblet full for Taehyun. He goes to fill another, from a third barrel. “The House of Blackthorn are all such a frightful bunch. The late Lord even more so, but he sowed a good seed of wicked into his son, regardless.” The worry you let your features into is real this time. There’s so little you know about Taehyun; this is the first you’ve ever heard of him that isn’t directly from his mouth. Should you be scared of Taehyun? Ice runs in his veins, sure, but you can scarcely imagine him as a brutal Lord. 

“One mead for the Lord, and one sugar-sweet liqueur for the lady,” the hob says, handing the drinks to you. You offer him a meek, “Thank you.” 

He shoots you an unsavory, toothy grin. “Welcome to The Hovel.” 

You find Taehyun in conversation with a sweet-faced faerie boy who strums at a lute. Their conversation tapers off as you approach. You hand Taehyun’s drink off to him. 

“You’re sure of it?” Taehyun says to the boy. 

“Yup. Just last night,” the boy says. His waved mop of blonde hair moves as he nods. You see the cogs of Taehyun’s mind turning behind his eyes as the exchange comes to a close. So, the information he was following from last night came to fruition, then. You kick yourself for your lack of any real results.

“Who was that?” you ask, voice hushed. You tilt your head at the faerie as he rejoins the other musicians, and the stream of lute song intermingles with the other instruments once again. You pretend to sip from the drink the hob had given you for free, tipping it into the dirt when you think nobody is looking. You know it’s bad manners, especially in Faerie, but you have bigger fish to fry. Taehyun hadn’t paid that boy for that info, nor had he paid the tavernkeep for his drink. You recall the hob’s words of warning. They fear him. 

He shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here, first.” 

When fresh air meets your lungs, you realize how stale and muggy the air inside the little burrow is. You pull yourself out through the exit, following Taehyun. The two of you begin your battle against the wild forest again. 

“So…?” you say. 

It’s getting colder as night arrives. His breath puffs from his mouth, furling like smoke into the air as he says, “Apparently, there were some lackeys there last night asking around about me and a human girl in cahoots with The Prince.” 

Your mind launches into a frenzy. Do they know that you’re spies? How would they even know? It’s not like the two of you have even done anything to garner any suspicion. Whoever has had their eyes on you and Taehyun has also noticed that you’re running around with Yeonjun. Is Yeonjun in danger? You gnaw at your cheeks. This person had to have been hovering around you two for days and days—not once had either of you noticed.

“Did you find out who it could’ve been?”

He shakes his head solemnly. You can tell he’s unseaming and picking apart every moment leading up to this one—you are, too. Nothing sticks out. 

You freeze in your tracks. A pretty magpie sits dead on the forest ground, its blood decorating the snow in patches. No arrow pierces it, nor is it caught in any sort of trap. It lays with its little legs in the air. The imagery is unnerving. 

“Poor thing,” you say, crouching down by it. 

Taehyun pays you and the bird no mind, but you feel that something is off when he turns to you with his limbs and shoulders stiff. “What?” you ask.

His eyes survey the forest around you. He must be hearing something that you can’t. The hair on your skin prickles. Are you being watched? Taehyun narrows his eyes, looking over the surrounding forest for a few long moments, before continuing on his way, and so you decide that you should too, despite the feeling buzzing at the back of your neck.

 Somebody comes crashing out of the foliage, securing your arms to your side before you can process that they’ve got you. They hold the point of a dagger to your chest.

Metal hisses as Taehyun frees the blade from his hip, but he doesn’t make any advancements. Your heart beats under the point of the weapon, chasing breaths as fear paralyzes your chest. 

“A little birdie told me,”—your captor says from behind you—“that I’d find you two here.” 

“Let go of her,” Taehyun says. He stands with so much restraint in his limbs.

A patronizing laugh hurts your eardrum with its proximity. He sounds like a cawing crow. “No, I don’t think I will, Lord.” He spits the title out like it is bitter in his mouth, letting the blade dig the littlest bit into your skin. You don’t even feel it with the way adrenaline buzzes in your gut, leaving your limbs shaky.

Taehyun can’t move, so you begin wiggling your fingers for your dagger. Fear chokes you. 

“You won’t miss this one, right?” the man says. He uses the metal to point up at your face, before replacing it over your heart. You’ve almost made it to your thigh, and still, he hasn’t taken notice. “I’ll just get this over with, and then we can talk about this more comfortably.” You may throw up. 

You bunch up the hem of your dress with the littlest of movements to free your thigh and slide out the dagger hidden there.

“Who told you where to find us?” asks Taehyun. Your palm is sweaty around the metal of the dagger, and you readjust your grip a few times, trying to muster the courage to swing it up.

“I told you already,”—the man readjusts his hold on you—“a little birdie.” There’s a sneer to his words. He points the tip of the dagger up to your chin, ghosting it down the column of your throat. Repressed whimpers of terror bubble to the surface. 

“Shut up,” he spits.

Taehyun challenges him. “Do it, then.” Blood roars in your ears.

“You think I won’t?” your snatcher says. 

“Do it,” Taehyun repeats, and you almost let your life flash before your eyes until you see that Taehyun is not looking at the man as he speaks; he’s looking at you. He’s telling you to do it. You tighten your grip on the dagger, before driving it behind you. It makes contact, and the faerie man bellows. You use his shock to free yourself. 

You had driven the blade deep into the man’s shoulder. He thrashes, ruby-red blood inking his fingers as he holds the wound.  

“Bitch!” he howls. “You’re fucking dead, anyway.” 

What does that mean?

Taehyun plunges his sword through the faerie before you even notice he had approached, or ask the man what, exactly, he means. He drops to the floor, mouth filling with blood. You can see it when he opens his mouth to scream and is only able to burble. His own blood chokes him. Your fingertips feel numb, and so does your face.

Taehyun turns to you. “You did good.” 

You did good? You don’t feel good.

You nod. “Thanks.”

 Now, on the forest floor of white snow, lies both a dead faerie man and a dead magpie. You feel the sensation of his skin breaking under your dagger reverberating in your hands, twisting in your mind. His blood paints the ground a nauseating shade of death-red.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun asks, eyeing you.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I am.”

❉

You and Taehyun attend court the next day skittish. Taehyun delegates you a new role, now; make as big of a scene with Yeonjun as you possibly can. The goal is to throw attention to that, rather than to Taehyun as he continues snooping around. 

It’s not hard to make a spectacle of you and Yeonjun when everybody is already noticing. He doesn’t hide the way he showers you with luxuries, nor does he want to. You can’t help but wonder why he’s making such a show out of it. At some point, his father will hear of him courting a human. Word flies fast in Faerie. You can’t imagine The King would be pleased.

A hand curls around your hip, and you know it’s Yeonjun’s. 

“You weren’t here yesterday,” he says. 

You frown. “No need to state the obvious.”

 He laughs and thumbs your cheek, and you swear the butterflies that flutter in your stomach are nearly painful. “I missed you,” he says. His eyes glitter with the words. “Did you go somewhere with him?” he asks. You don’t miss the way the word him curls in his mouth, much like how a person of the court would speak of something more unfavorable in a sickly-sweet way, to keep up a mask of indifference. 

“We just ran some errands.” You shrug it off. It isn’t the truth, but it also isn’t so far removed from it that you feel uncomfortable about lying to him. Lately, the guilt lays more heavily over you. With each dress and bejeweled trinket Yeonjun sends your way, the more you want to get this big lie out of the way. You should’ve done it before Taehyun set you out to do this; at least then, you could face him and not feel so deceitful. Is there a way to tell him that still conveys that you aren’t using him?

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker to your mouth, and back up to your eyes so quickly you could’ve missed it with a blink. “I see,” he muses. “I could take you under my care, you know. He wouldn’t have a say in any of it.”

Your expression sours a bit, and you know it’s not the reaction Yeonjun had expected if the look on his face says anything. 

“I don’t want to just become a playtoy,” you say. 

He looks taken aback. “You wouldn’t be a playtoy,” he says. “Ever.” He searches your eyes for something. “Why would you even think that?” 

Because you’re a prince, you think. Because I’m a human. Because that’s all we are to your kind. 

“Then why don’t we just stay as we are?” you say. There would be no real reason to even go through with such a thing—not when nothing would come of it. Princes of Faerie don’t marry humans. You’d become a mistress, and that’s being optimistic.

“Taehyun is not a good man,” Yeonjun says. His voice is stripped of its usual playful inflection. Why does everybody seem to keep telling you that? “I would feel better knowing that you’re safe.”

Safe? He thinks Taehyun would hurt you? “I’m okay, Yeonjun,” you say, if only to placate him. He doesn’t look convinced at all. “He treats me well,” you laugh. You meet his hand on your cheek with your own, curling it around his. While he doesn’t know the truth of everything, or why you stay with Taehyun in the first place, it stitches some old wounds inside you seeing that he cares for you.

His jaw tightens. “My offer will still stand if you ever decide otherwise.” 

He brushes his thumb at the plush of your bottom lip. Your mind goes fuzzy. When he presses it fully to your lips, you suck his thumb into your mouth, tasting the imprint of his fingerprint with rolls of your tongue around it. He looks as though he could moan standing there watching you, so you make a point of not losing contact with his eyes. You feel multiple burning stares on you, but you shove them out. 

He watches your tongue and his gaze comes alive with hunger, tugging your lower lip down before taking your chin into a hold and molding his lips to yours. His kiss conveys every thought plaguing his mind in its raw nature.

Their eyes are on you; so many eyes are. You know they look, but for the first time, you don’t falter under the weight. He tastes like broken shackles and weightless limbs. He tastes like salvation.

He roams his hands dangerously. When your mouths part, despite your shortage of oxygen, you say, “I’m sure you had many courtly ladies to entertain in my absence.” Your head buzzes. 

You’ve never seen Yeonjun so much as interact with another woman, but you still worry that he doesn’t only have eyes for you. 

His face turns sly again. “They’re honestly all quite dull.” 

Maybe, one day, you’ll join those ranks. You remind yourself that you won’t be here forever—that this moment in time is finite. Hopefully, you won’t be here long enough to see that happen. You’re not sure your self-worth could handle that hit.

“Are you really so superficial?” you ask. You stay playful in your tone, peeling from him to waltz toward an entree table. He follows. The way he trails you like a puppy on a leash does a bit to bloat your ego, despite your worries. “What’s so special about me?” It’s cheap, you know, but you crave his praise. You’ve found yourself thriving off of Yeonjun’s sweet words like oxygen. The question had been plaguing your mind since he had first spoken to you, anyway.

He looks as if he can’t articulate what he’s thinking. Or, maybe, he’s just concocting some words that’ll sound nice to your ears. “This life has become tiring. It drains you, and I am surrounded by it. Endlessly.” He pops a treat off a platter into his mouth. “You’re like a breath of spring air to my lungs.” 

You’re his distraction. He saw a human and decided it would be the biggest spectacle he could find to distract from his princely woes. You draw back. What do the faeries in this court think of you? Do they snicker when you turn your back? Do they laugh to see you think that you’re more than just entertainment to him? Does he join them? 

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun asks, seeing the way you retract into yourself. “What is it?” 

You have to keep this act up; the well-being of your mission relies on it. You should’ve never gotten your feelings so entangled. 

“Because I’m human?”

A frown etches into his porcelain face. “No. Maybe at first, but…”—he releases a measured breath—“No.” Selfishly, you’re thankful that his kind can’t lie. 

You and Yeonjun find the dancefloor, more packed with cavorting faeries each day, and you accept the distraction from your dreary thoughts. The wild nature of it strips you of such things, leaving you bare to just your happier feelings. It leaves you just as breathless as the first time had. You kick and whirl and flail your limbs freely. 

When Yeonjun inevitably tugs you from your trance and out of the throng of folk, you’re dazed. Exhausted. Your hands itch to be all over him. 

“Breathe,” he reminds you, smoothing over the wild tousle that your hair had become. You focus on steadying your erratic breaths. “You’re a wild one,” he says, a pleased grin on his lips. The flush on his cheeks mirrors your own, despite his teasing. 

You lean into him to support your legs of jelly. You must’ve danced for hours. 

Yeonjun looks down at you, and his features are soft. “You wanna rest?” You nod. He laughs and then takes your hands into his. He guides you away from the soiree, out from the canopy of trees, but not toward Taehyun’s estate. You don’t question where he leads you, even as cold air makes you realize how bare this dress leaves your arms, even as the unfamiliar path catches at the hem of your dress. He notices how you don’t care to lift it from the ground, snorting, before lifting you into his arms.

“Woah!” you protest, feet off the ground in seconds. “I can walk.”

“Ah, but, only a fool would let a pretty lady like you soil her dress in the dirt.” 

You scowl at him, but it doesn’t change the way your belly swoops. He treats you so delicately. 

He carries you until you arrive at a mini palace that is no doubt royal—it towers over any surrounding trees. And, you had thought you had seen luxury. This is luxury. This is a life spent fed off of only crystal spoons. You admire the lush interior as he carries you into the palace. 

“This is where you stay?” you say. 

He hums, and you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “For one half of the year, this is my home.”

You notice how utterly empty it is. You had expected advisors and permanent guards and bustling servants. “It must get lonely here.” 

“I prefer it here,” he says. You can sympathize with that. You had spent the entirety of your life in the land of summer, but you had found more warmth than ever here in the north. This place was supposed to be a death sentence for humans, and though you had briefly met the danger that the north could present yesterday, you almost dread leaving. Maybe you just need more time, and then you’ll be so overtaken by fear that it’ll make it easy.

Yeonjun carries you through a door, and into what you assume is his room. A bed so large it would swallow up a third of the room you’re staying at in Taehyun’s estate sits in the middle of his room. He sets you down onto its velvety, rose-petal coverlet, before he climbs in next to you, propping himself up onto an elbow so he can admire you.

Your skin sighs as he rubs sweet circles over your bare shoulder with the pad of his thumb. The two of you settle into a long, comfortable silence.

“Do you believe that I don’t care for you?” he asks into the quiet. Do you hear hurt in his words? 

You meet his gaze and struggle to find words. Is it wrong to lie, just because you can? 

Your hesitance tells him enough. His fingers on your skin stop. “I am not so shallow, if you actually meant that.” Your words from earlier must’ve been gnawing at him. 

“It’s not that,” you say, avoiding contact with his eyes. It was exactly that. He doesn’t allow you to look away from him, sitting up to cut straight back into your vision. 

“What is it, then?” 

Your heart thrums. You want to tell him that you’re a liar, and that he should spit in your face and tell you to get out. You want to ask him if he’d still care for you the way he does if he knew your truth. You want to ask him if there’s any way that this can play out where the both of you end up together and unscathed. Your mind beckons you to ask him about every little doubt that has harassed your mind concerning him so that he can comfort you and assure you that they are just doubts. 

You ask none of those. 

“How can I show you?” he says. He climbs over you, knees straddling each side of your legs. “What would it take to prove to you that I mean it when I tell you that you make my heart ache? What will it take to make you become mine?” He lines a kiss up on your forehead, and then your cheek, and then onto the corner of your mouth. “This?” he asks, and then he hikes up the length of your dress, bunching all the fabric above your hips. He draws back so that he can plant a kiss on your clit, and he makes sure you’re looking at him while he does it. “Or is it this?” 

You breathe in the sensation, gasping his name like prayer and making room for him between your thighs. 

“Is that what it is, pretty? You need me to make love to you? I can do that,” he says. “I can do that, no problem.” 

He works at his clothes with one hand and brushes touches to your cunt with the other. Eventually, his needlessly extravagant Court shirt is off, and he’s holding your hip down as he prods the tip of a finger at your entrance. Your hole flutters in anticipation, his eyes catch it, and he breaks into a lousy grin. He finally begins pushing the finger into you, watching as you gasp at the way he curls into you. 

Pleasure whorls in your belly, rendering you increasingly dumber. “I need you,” you say. The muscles in his arm strain as he fingers you, and his black hair falls into his face with the movements. Your heart clenches.

“Slow down, baby. I need to do this, you’re not ready for me yet,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your temple. “I want to make you feel good.” He slides another finger in, and you suppose he’s right, because it stretches you. He pumps and curls the both of them, and you dig your nails into his forearm as it all starts building in your belly. 

Yeonjun tugs his lip into his mouth, biting it, as he watches you grow restless under his fingers. Your peak feels so close, but his pace is so leisurely that you’re worried you’ll never reach it, as if caught in a limbo of torturous delight. “Faster,” you cry. “Faster, please.” It amuses him, and he abandons his casual pace for sloppy curls that have you whimpering into the air of his bedroom.

 “Yes, yes, yes!” A crescendo looms over you, until it crashes and your back is arching off the bed and you’re making embarrassing sounds. You dig crescents into Yeonjun’s arm when he continues to finger you. Your insides protest his stimulation, tugging and clenching tight in a way that borders tastefully on discomfort. 

“Fuck,” you hear Yeonjun say through the haze. “Just like that. Doesn’t it feel good?” he purrs. His fingers plow you through this peak, hurling you toward another one brutally. “I know it does; you’re clenching around my fingers so hard.”

Your hand covers your face. His words are lewd, and he says them like it’s nothing. It makes your insides burn. You can tell that the orgasm he beckons you into with each deliberate thrust is going to be explosive, frantically squeezing your thighs around his arm to staunch the intensity of his movements. Wet sounds punctuate each curl of his fingers. You can hardly believe that those sounds are coming from you.

“You want another one?” he says. You only answer him with pathetic whimpers. “Keep making those pretty noises for me.” 

You do, and he rewards you with his thumb on your clit. It drives you utterly wild. The blend of his fingers inside you and each bump against your nerves is exactly what you need to explode, and so you do, bucking. You’re worried he’s going to try and have you cum again when his fingers don’t stop, but he brings you down gently with small swirls. 

You catch your breath while Yeonjun adjusts you on the bed, tugging you down by your hips and sliding one of his thinner pillows under the bottom of your spine in a way that lifts your bottom half into the air. You laugh through ragged breaths; it feels a tad ridiculous.

“What’s that for?” 

He massages your inner thigh, soft humor twinkling in his eyes, but also so much more. “You’ll see,” he says. He hovers over you, bracing his weight into one arm at the side of your head so he can look right into your face. His free arm lines the tip of him up with you. Before making any moves to slide into you, he kisses you and takes your bottom lip with him as he pulls back. It exhilarates you; everything he’s ever done to you is exhilarating. You’re swept into a ripwave of emotion. Do you deserve all this? Is this life yours?

His hand rests on your hip, brushing over your hipbone with great gentleness, as he pushes into you. It’s slow and full of peppered kisses all over your face and neck, and then he’s in you to the hilt, and then he’s pulling back out of you so that you’re just so empty, but of course, with just a thrust he’s filling you back up. He falls into a swift pace, but each time he ruts up into you, it’s calculated and well-placed. Maybe it’s the pillow, or perhaps it’s just expertise, but he’s plunging into a sickeningly soft spot inside of you that makes your legs that are locked around his waist shake each time. Your eyes flutter close, but your mouth drops open in a soundless moan. 

“No, open your eyes. Look at me. Do you feel it? Do you feel my love for you?” he says, voice raw. “Is this what you needed?” 

Yes, this is exactly what you need. You feel so far removed from yourself that you can’t even feel your hurt or worries. You nod your head frantically. 

“Please, open your eyes,” he repeats, pleading in his tone. His face is right in front of yours when you do. His eyes flicker between both of yours. The intimacy of it is as consuming as the flames licking your insides, winding you up so tight that you might explode into a ball of blazing fire. The rolls of his hips turn into short, needy ruts. His mouth drops open, but he won’t close his eyes. He wants to watch you. 

“Yeonjun—” you breathe. Your muscles are tense all over, especially in your core, where he winds you tighter. The impending orgasm whispers into your ear that it will swallow you whole in its wake, and you believe it; you can’t breathe. 

“I know,” he says. When you squeak, face screwing up, Yeonjun reads you like letters on paper. “I know, it feels so good.” He’s just as much of a mess as you, panting while his free hand grabs at each of your curves to ground himself. You hold back your climax; it’s so hot in your belly that you fear how it’s going to wreck you. The hair on your skin prickles and rises. 

He feels how tightly you clamp down on him. “C’mon, pretty.”

Your nails rake paths down his biceps. “I can’t” you gasp. “Can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” 

Warm tears pool in the corners of your eyes and you shake your head. You do everything you can to urge it back; wriggling under him to escape his thrusts, pushing at his chest, biting into your poor lip until you fear it’ll bleed. Pressure builds all over you, your eyes burn and your muscles burn, like a thousand pounds of ecstasy pressing on each square inch of you and begging to be released.

“Stop running from it,” he says, pushing your hips into the mattress, pinning them so that he can deliver pointed thrusts up into that place that is so sensitive. It works wonders. “Let go, baby. Let it happen; I promise you it’ll feel so good.” 

You crumble, crying out into the air and clenching wildly around Yeonjun. 

“Yes, fuck!” he growls. He’s chasing his own peak now, leaving you no time to breathe through your own. 

You chant his name.

 “Squeezing me so good—you’re driving me up the fucking walls, pretty.” 

The sounds he rips from you are errant the more he pistons into you, and your hair sticks to your neck. For the third time, you cum, circling him in your arms and keeping him close while you try your best to ride this one out.

With the encouragement of you sporadically tightening around him, he stills over you, abdomen tensing up, before cumming into you, producing strangled sighs. He collapses down to his elbows and drops his head into your neck, delivering shallow rolls as he rides it out. Breaths puff onto your skin as he peppers warm kisses over every inch of your exposed skin. He stays like this, intertwined with you, for a while, lazily delivering thrusts until you’re both able to breathe fully again. 

When he pulls out of you, you feel him dripping from you. You should’ve told him to pull out; you must have no fears. It’s hard to worry too much about that, though, with the way he’s looking at your cunt as if the sight of his seed oozing from you was like nothing he’d ever seen before. He takes your ankle into his hand from where it hovered in the air, feathering a kiss there.

“Do you see now?” he asks, bringing his eyes up to yours. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.” 

END PART 2

a/n: there she is! I wanna see who y'all are more attached to this far.

tags: @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 1 Transcript

00:00-00:30 Intro Music

*Typing Sounds*

0:36 Sherlock: What are you doing?

0:37 John: I’m collating the questions from the fans. Ah-well, d’you know actually they might not be fans. They might just. *pause* I don’t, I don’t know, listen, but, uh, ah, you know not actually, you know-

0:48 Sherlock: -Like you?

0:49 John: What?

0:49 Sherlock: They might not actually like you.

0:51 John: Us. The show. Anything. What do you mean ‘not like me’? Why would they not like me?

0:57 Sherlock: Well…you can come on a little strong…sometimes, I suppose.

1:02 John: In what way?

1:03 Sherlock (voice slightly high): You’re just, rather, keen. (voice normal, reassuring even) Nothing wrong with that of course.

1:07 John (sarcastically): Oh, great, thanks.

1:09 Sherlock: That’s something people add after making a crude observation on another’s character.

1:14 John (warily): What is?

1:14 Sherlock: “Nothing wrong with that of course.”

1:17 John: So you just added it because you thought-

1:19 Sherlock: It would soften the blow.

1:20 John (sarcastic): Lovely. Very kind.

1:23 Sherlock (clearly missing the sarcasm): Quite alright.

1:24 John: Okaaay, we got some Q’s from the L’s, and now its time for us to provide the A’s. That’s, uh, that’s questions from the listeners and for us to provide the answers.

1:36 Sherlock: Yes, I cracked the code, Watson.

1:39 John: Right! So! Beau from California wants to know where they should go when they visit London.

1:44 Sherlock: Er, sorry, uh, I thought this was about crime?

1:47 John: Whaddya mean?

1:48 Sherlock: I thought there would be questions regarding criminal activity?

1:52 John (lightly sarcastic): Oh, right yeah, sorry. Um, there is one here from ‘PsychoMurderer69’ who wants to know if he should stab his next-door neighbor.

1:58 Sherlock (seriously): What’s the length of the blade he’d have access to?

2:00 John: Jesus Christ.

2:00 Sherlock: Does the neighbor show signs of possessing any self-defense skillsets?

2:04 John (interjecting over Sherlock): Alright, no, where should Beau visit in London, please?

2:09 Sherlock: Um, uh, St. Dunstan in the East. Little Venice. Spitalfields. Brick Lane. The Vaults! Neal’s Yard is rather charming as well, I suppose…pleasing colors on display.

2:20 John: Right, great. Colors. See, that wasn’t difficult, was it?

2:23 Sherlock: South Kensington Ice Rink.

2:25 John: Yeah, lovely. I- Sorry, where are you going?

2:26 *Sound of door opening.*

2:27 Sherlock: I just said.

2:27 *Audio Cut - Vaguely outside sounds.*

2:28 John (sounding like he’s struggling to balance): Heeey, folks its, woah, woah, Ja-ah,*sound of skate blades scraping deeply in ice* Jesus, aw, bloody hell, ahahaaah Christ. *sounds of the mic rubbing as he presumably falls down, a sharp intake of pained breath* Ahh.

2:35 Sherlock (sounding at ease): Get up, Watson.

2:36 John: Ah, oh yeah, thanks for the advice. Uh, um, hey folks-*under his breath*ah, God- Sherlock, can get *sounding unsteady on his feet* easily distracted when he’s not w-w-what’d’you call it. Uh. Totally onboard with something. So he wanted to *sounding unsteady again* go ice-ce skating. Uhum *clears throat*, uh there’s a-a rink. Temporary rink open in South Kensington right now so we’re skating- hey-oh, ooo-getting up some speed now. Oh here we go. Ha ha hah! God is this what Canadians feel like? Oy oy! *laughs proudly*

3:10 Sherlock: Very good, Watson. You’ve got the hang of it.

3:11 John: Hahah, yeah well I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m not smashing my ribs into the ice, uh, for the time being. So-woah! Shit!- *clears throat* Right! Another question!

3:21 Sherlock: Go for it.

3:22 John: “What are your favorite hobbies?”

3:24 Sherlock: *with relish* CRIME. Deductions. Observations! Intricate studies that focus my mind. Feeding my hyper fixations, which often stem from crime and the desire to understand it.

3:37 John: …Riiiight. Yeah, I think the listener Sherlo8 in Poland, uh, I think they meant more like, um, you know, I don’t know. Golf?

3:48 Sherlock: Golf? *chuckles* I don’t golf. I live in Baker Street.

3:52 John: No, I-I know, but, um. *deep breath* Right, okay. My hobby is-

3:58 Sherlock (interjects): Podcasting.

3:59 John: Well, no. Uh, that’s my job.

4:00 Sherlock (skeptically): Is it now?

4:01 John: My hobbies. Uh…so I like to play football. I like films and tv. Ummm I’m very partial to a board game. Uhhhh… Oh! Ok! So here’s a confession. I have the flight tracker app. I’m not saying I’m a, a plane spotter, but um… I like to, yeah, just check in with that. Y’know? See what’s overhead? Where it’s come from, where it’s going. Picture the kinda people that uh. *sigh* Oh I don’t know, going from swha-Rome to Mexico City, y’know? Th-th-the weary business men and women tucking into their inflight meals, families that have created a whole crate of memories that they’re going to talk about for decades.

4:42 John (dramatically): The lovesick Italian man flying out to see his Mexican sweetheart. His heart bursting with excitement and fear that the stewards who keep complaining about some bloke in Row G, c-

4:49 Sherlock (interjects): Trains.

4:50 John: Hm?

4:51 Sherlock: Trains. I like trains. And, dinosaurs.

4:56 John: Ok. Great! Well, haha! That’s wonderful! We did it, another answer to another question. See, I told you it’s bloody easy- *sound of an ice blade scraping the ice too hard/wrong, a loud hard thump, the mic is rubbing terribly against clothing, sound is muffled* Oh, God!

5:07 *Audio Cut-Vaguely café sounds*

5:09 John (pained): Ahhh *sucks in air through his teeth* Oh that stings. *sounds like he’s holding his face*

5:15 Sherlock: Yep, they’re loaning us their frozen peas.

5:18 John: Oh what, they’ve got frozen peas in this place? Why aren’t they fresh, meals are twenty quid?

5:21 Sherlock: Uh, do you want the frozen peas or not?

5:23 John: Yeah! Yes, please, give’em here. *sound of a bag of frozen peas being shuffled around, John’s voice is muffled* Oh, yeah. Oh hoho, that’s the stuff, baby. Oh yeah. Ahhhhhhhhh. 5:39 Sherlock: Just to confirm,

5:40 John: Uh hunh?

5:40 Sherlock: they are paying for this? People are…paying for this audio?

5:46 John: Yeah, mate. Oh! Ah God! Ooo! Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie, ouchie…

5:49 Sherlock: Understood. Well, people can be rather odd, can’t they? Nothing wrong with that of course.

5:55 John: Uh, d’you mind? I see- I actually know what you’re doing with that ‘nothing wrong with that’ lark. So, right! Next question, ‘How did Archie get his name?’ says May Van der Hayden in New Zealand. Ah, well mate, I didn’t have much say in the matter. *clicks tongue* Um, I bought him as a birthday present for…uhhhh. M-my ex-girlfriend. Um, e-e-ex…yeah, y’know she was. She was-she was the bi- big one. The one I l-lived with and planned t’m-my life. Around. Sort of thing. Um. *clicks tongue* B-bought him for her, she chose Archie. Um. I-I don’t know why? Ha. And then she chose my friend who had a Range Rover Sport. So, yeah, she left me and the dog. *clicks tongue* And I left the dog to help the Ukrainians. Now I’m back. *clicks tongue* Got a dog and a master detective. Uh, lucky me. *awkward chuckle*

6:55 Sherlock: I feel your answers should be more concise.

6:58 John: Yep, thank you for that input. May also asks, Sherlock, seeing as you have handled cases for other countries, have you ever handled any in New Zealand?

7:07 Sherlock: Yes.

7:08 John: Oh! Lip, lip. Now numb. Ah, ah. Can you expand on that please?

7:13 Sherlock: Yes, but you’d have to stop recording or redact it from the podcast.

7:17 John: Aw, what’d be the point of that?

7:19 *Audio Cut- Sounds like they’re on the tube now*

7:23 John: Question here from Chloe Davies in Canada. Hi, Chloe. Sherlock, your hugging machine, is it based on that of Temple Grandin?

7:31 Sherlock: Er, she sent me some early designs, yes. I needed to tweak its pressure loads to clench my shoulder blades.

7:40 John: That’s the way you like it, is it? Hugwise?

7:43 Sherlock: Yes. Any sensation below the diaphragm causes me to stress.

7:47 John: Good to know. Uh, Nick Licher or, er, Licker. Uh…let’s go with Nick Licher. He asks, “Why did Sherlock need your shoelaces?” Yeah, why did you need my shoelaces?

7:58 Sherlock: I was conducting a thorough cleansing of our garments following the proximity to duck poo we had undergone that day in the park. *sucks in air sharply* The shoes contain the most potentially harmful pathogens. I removed the shoelaces for deep cleaning.

8:11 John: Okay.

8:12 Sherlock: Okay? Is that it? For potentially saving you untold hours and days on the toilet?

8: 19 John: How so?

8:20 Sherlock: E.coli, Watson.

8:22 John: Yeah, but on my shoelaces? Mate, I wasn’t going to chew on them. Right, Adrien Kaiser from Minnesota. “John, if you miss an upload should we just assume you and Sherlock have been arrested or are dead?”

8:32 Sherlock: Yes. As assumptions go, those options would be some of the likeliest. Wouldn’t you agree Watson?

8:39 John: No.

8:40 Sherlock: Why not?

8:40 John: Well, I don’t know. Maybe my laptop breaks, maybe we don’t get an adventure that week, I’m ill, your ill, a long list of things that aren’t dead or arrested, Sherlock.

8:50 Sherlock: It was Adrien that said it, not me.

8:52 John: *heavy sigh* Arlo asks, as a Shakespeare fan-him, not me- he asks what my favorite play by him was. Uhhh, um, I love Romeo and Juliet. Bit of um, a sucker for romance, me. *awkward chuckle* Hamlet’s too long, should’ve streamlined that a little. I’m uh going to go Romeo and Juliet. Or Julius Ceasar. Good drama in that one, I think. Kind of can’t understand what they’re saying, but uh I hold my English teachers at school responsible for that one, I mean also why are we reading them? Yeah, they’re meant to be performed, come on. Uh, next question. Soma asks “what’s your favorite tv show?” Uh, I loved ‘Band of Brothers’. Um, but, of course, an ex soldier would say that wouldn’t he. Um, psh, yeah, ‘Band of Brothers’. Or, something light and millennial, like, um, I don’t know. Fraiser? Or, uh, Will and Grace?

9:46 John: Sherlock? Favorite tv show?

9:48 Sherlock: This is us.

9:48 John: Really? I never saw it.

9:49 Sherlock: No, Watson! This is us! Quick!

9:52 John: Oh, bollocks, Oh! The doors are closing! Ow!

9:53 *Audio cut-sounds of a tube station/outside*

9:54 John: Misha asks,

9:56 Sherlock: Mmhm?

9:57 John: “Do you have a sweet tooth?” Well, I can tell you, Misha, that yes, he bloody does! Sherlock?

10:02 Sherlock: Yes, I bloody do. *awkward chuckle, sharp intake of breath* Yet, my diet is highly unpredictable and more often then not tied to my mood

10:08 John: Yeah, I can vouch for that. One minute he’s slurping down some borscht on a whim. Next minute, he’s going ten straight days eating tomato penne pasta.

10:16 *sound of a building door opening*

10:19 *sound of the door closing, presumably they’re in the foyer of 221 Baker Street*

10:19 John: *sigh* Uhhh, just trying to find uh…

10:23 Sherlock: Yet more questions?

10:23 *sounds like they’re removing their coats*

10:25 John: Yep. Uh, ooo, questions, right, last one. Uh, “Doctor Watson, hope this question doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Do you use a cane for your leg injury? I use a cane myself due to joint pain from Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. In fact, one of the canes was hand painted by a family in Ukraine during the war.” Well aw! *delighted chuckle* Aw that’s nice. Um, no I don’t use a cane. Uh, I had some surgery, and I was very kindly along with a few others flown out to Florida for some rehabilitation and then back to the UK for some hydrotherapy courtesy of the Ministry of Defense. Uh. Then they sacked me. So, heh, booooo. *chuckles* So, no. I’m actually cane free. But, uh, I have had moments. Especially climbing these bloody stairs *sounds of him stepping heavily up stairs* where I’ve wanted something like that.

11:15 Sherlock: Finished?

11:16 John (slightly out of breath): Finished.

11:17 *sound of a door opening, presumably 221B’s*

11:17 John: Right, say ‘Bye, Listeners’.

11:19 Sherlock: ‘Bye, Listeners’. You know, you do have a rather silly gait. *pause* Walking style. *sound of a door closing* The cane may have been needed. You do look weird when you stroll. Nothing wrong with that of course.

11:32 John (under his breath): For God’s sake.

11:33-12:03 *audio cut to end theme. It’s Mad Prodigy but a different part not used in the main show with a bit of piano.*

END

[thechekhov]

In your opinion, do you think there’s a language that’s the most difficult to learn? Is there one that’s the “easiest”?

Not a single one, no.

There are, however, relatively harder or easier languages - depending on what languages you already know.

Because of course, the difficulty level of learning and acquiring new skills will heavily depend on the skillset you already have. Snowboarding is a skill that takes time to learn, but someone with, say, a skateboarding background may have an easier time than a basketball player.

Many native English speakers cite Mandarin Chinese as a particularly hard language to learn, but that's not because Mandarin is inherently confusing. It's because English, their first language, is very much UNLIKE Mandarin. They have to therefore learn more new skills and create new ways to think about language.

This is contrasted by a Japanese person learning Mandarin and finding it easier because there is a level of similarity and shared ancestry between kanji and Chinese characters.

Or, say, a French speaker learning Italian. Those two are cousin languages, and they, too, share ancestry and many similar grammatical features and many of the same root words which will make learning new vocabulary easier.

So - is there a "most difficult" or "easiest" language to learn? Sure. For YOU.

Someone else who doesn't speak the same languages as you do, however, may have a very different experience.

[comicaurora]

Hi, thanks for the awesome comic! I'm curious about two things: 1) Dainix mentioned having a teacher. What were they like? They seem like they had at least one good bit of advice, so cool person, maybe? 2) What was Dainix's training for Ravvan duty like?

Dainix started his combat training fairly young as a healthy outlet for some frustrations and difficulties he was having with his peers - when everyone but you has developed fire magic already, it's not easy being the odd kid out, and it's easy to start seeing enemies everywhere. His teacher taught him independently at first and helped him focus on directing those frustrations in healthy ways instead of engaging in any sort of direct retaliation or lashing out at random, and he was very driven to improve. It was never entirely painless, but when he decided to pursue the Ravvan training, its focus beyond the individual's skillset stressed teamwork and communication, and most of the rough edges got sanded off with time and practice - and it didn't hurt that Dainix was one of the most skilled hand-to-hand fighters and tactical thinkers in the group, and even the people who'd given him a hard time in earlier years grew very comfortable relying on him to have their back when it counted, just as he relied on them when he needed someone to do the one thing he couldn't. As he settled into his identity, he became a lot less angry and much more comfortable with himself and where he stood with his peers - though his teacher thought he never quite lost that need to prove himself, to make things just a little more difficult for himself just to prove to himself he could handle it.

[akutasoda]

I read your ‘A Mafia’s Jewel’ post, and I couldn’t get enough over the idea of some of the Port Mafia members reacting to how breakable Gem! Reader is, albeit they may not be the toughest gem, they’re still considerably hard enough, yet when they’re pushed to their limit during a mission one day they see Gem! Reader’s own body begin to shatter and break, like their limbs are not attached anymore, but they still keep on fighting since technically they are immortal and not exactly human.

a mafia's jewel [part 2]

synopsis - they are assigned a mission with you and witness what happens to a humanoid gem when they get injured

includes - chuuya, koyo, akutagawa, gin, tachihara, higuchi warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, wc - 1.1k

chuuya nakahara ★↷

↪chuuya grasped at the chance when kouyou asked him to join you on your first mission. it was clearly an unrealistic standard to expect you not to go on atleast one mission while you were with the mafia, and so he would prefer to help keep you safe.

↪he would stay close to you the entire time, he didn't exactly know what your skillset was so your abilities in battle were practically unknown. chuuya also worried that because you were a humanoid gem you could shatter easier - and he would practically be right.

↪you both overestimated how difficult the mission would be, and chuuya became concerned when he saw parts of you start to shatter and break. he didn't know that you were immortal or that your body parts could be replaced, and so he was worried.

↪he was worried that it truly would be the end for you, but he was even more shocked to see you continue on despite your injuries. he still was worried about you so he wasted no time in helping out more than he was.

↪he still fussed over you afterwards, so you would have to convince him that with the right materials, you can replace your broken parts - but noticeably he still hung around you more than usual, hoping to save you from even shattering a tiny bit.

kōyō ozaki ★↷

↪when she was told that you were still expected to go on missions, she understood. evey member of the mafia, temporary or not, was expected to serve the mafia via missions and such so she didn't expect you to be an exception.

↪but kouyou did insist that she accompany you. if you were to have any hope about leaving the mafia, a good start would to still be alive and well - although you were technically immortal but she had yet to learn that about you.

↪although kouyou didn't expect your first mission to be so extreme. maybe an assessment of your skills should've been carried out before, but it was too late for that now. all she could do was watch as parts of your body began to shatter and break.

↪naturally, she immediately panicked, thinking that this would be the end for you and it would've been her fault. but she was pleasantly, and rather horrifyingly, surprised to see you keep fighting.

↪that's how she found out that you were immortal, you would also have to explain that you could recover by replacing the shattered body parts with compatible materials to ease her worries. kouyou was more intrigued about you than ever now, perhaps she could get you to tell her a bit more.

ryunosuke akutagawa ★↷

↪admittedly, he was surprised when he was assigned a mission with you. although he didn't know what he was expecting because it clearly would take you a while to leave and so there was no way you would've avoided a mission or two.

↪he didn't think he cared that much from you, akutagawa didn't bother to get to know you seeing as he knew you were desperate to leave and return to where you came from. but he greatly misjudged his feelings.

↪because as soon as he saw you start to shatter and break, he focused entirely on what was happening around you instead of him. akutagawa would deny it all he'd want, but it was very evident that he was worried that you became seriously hurt.

↪he'd insist that he was more concerned about you messing up the mission than your actual health, but you couldn't miss the way he checked up on you multiple times after the mission ended - ensuring that your injuries weren't major. maybe he cared more than he'd like.

gin akutagawa ★↷

↪like her brother, she didn't exactly spend time getting to know you so gin didn't expect to be assigned a mission with you - although she didn't mind at all.

↪gin did keep more of an eye on you than she usually would with others. she didn't know your skills, and a part of her worried that you were extremely fragile due to being a humanoid gem - if you had any chance of getting home, it would be a good start to be alive.

↪so when she noticed parts of you starting to shatter and break, she became increasingly concerned mainly because you kept on going. gin immediately came to your aid and unlike her brother would've, she showed more worry, not majorly but she would atleast admit it.

↪your explanation of how you could regenerate your shattered body parts did provide a bit of comfort for her. although she would still check up on you, gin was determined to help you at anytime.

michizō tachihara ★↷

↪tachihara was rather excited when kouyou requested him to help you on your mission. his intrigue wanted him to find out as much about you as possible, especially about the kind of skills you got from being a humanoid gem.

↪although, a part of him was concerned that because of the jewel part of you, you were much more fragile than anyone. and his instincts would be right to a certain extent.

↪worry made itself evident on his face when he saw parts of your body shatter and break off, tachihara had no clue that you were practically immortal. he cleared the area out quicker than he could've imagined just so that he could check up on you as soon as possible.

↪he’d be incredibly intrigued to hear your explanation about how you could regenerate your shattered body parts, and it did comfort him to know that you were mostly fine.

ichiyō higuchi ★↷

↪higuchi felt extremely honoured to be assigned to help you with your first mission, she was expecting it to be someone else, a higher up perhaps. but now she had the opportunity, she definitely wasn't turning it down and promised to help as much as she could.

↪so seeing parts of your body shatter and break during the fight made her incredibly worried - not only did she fail to help and protect you, you might be seriously injured so would no longer have the chance to return to where you came from.

↪although, she couldn't help but stare in awe at your persistence to keep fighting despite the parts of you break off. higuchi would quickly snap out of her stupor and immediately helped you to make sure that you weren't injured more.

↪she listened intently to you explaining that it wasn't a big issue because of your ability to regenerate with certain compatible materials but she couldn't help but still worry - higuchi made a promise to keep an eye out for you more from now on.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @vi-chan07

[wizardraziw]

Hello students!

It looks like the bunch of you are eager to learn how to make potions! Potion making is very rewarding and fun. I cannot wait to expand your knowledge of alchemy. However, I come to you with something different. Today we are going to learn a little bit more about the types of wizards, Soil, Scab, Rust, Crystal, and Parchment!

There are two categories of magic, which are Wild and Controlled. Wild magic is the basic magic all wizards know. It's uncontrollable, imprecise, and sometimes dangerous. However, when a wizard finds the right magic item, that magic becomes controlled and more easy to use. Here are some examples.

Soil Wizards are those who can commune with the dead. However, when Wild, it makes the communing part difficult for them. Some Soil Wizards may find communication to be tricky via sight, hearing, or speech with a spirit. However, when using a magic item made specifically for them, they will find communication to be a lot easier! :)

Next up we have a Scab Wizard! Scab Wizards are those who can either speed up the process of an injury or progress it. They make for excellent healers but scary adversaries in battle. When using wild magic, a Scab Wizard could have difficulty with precision. However, when given a magic item that channels their magic they could make better decisions with more confidence! :D

Next up we have Rust Wizards. Rust Wizards are mages of the elements. They can be of fire, earth, water, or air depending on their star sign. Today we will use Fire mages as an example. This Rusts fire magic is too uncontrollable and powerful for a Wizard to effectively use. But finding a correct item will make it far easier for them to channel their powers into better uses! >:D

Now with Crystal Wizards! Crystal Wizards can sometimes have a hard time distinguishing their own magic from reality. Visions created by them out of fear or dreams could be projected uncontrollably and make for scary encounters. Give that Wizard the proper tools and they gain more control over what they can make! :O

Finally we have Parchment Wizards! Parchment Wizards have no magic, technically. They cannot cast, but they can imbue items with magic and make magic items for other wizards to use! Magic does not run through them, but they have a talent with weaving it to their will for the benefit of others. Some Parchment Wizards are even talented enough to make scrolls to hold spells cast by other Wizards to use for their own sake. However, they would need to train very hard and have access to other kinds of wizards to cast those spells into the scrolls to hold them.

Magic focuses or items can come in any form. It's up to the wizard what they find easiest to use depending on their skillset and preferences. Hopefully you can find a Parchment Wizard up to the task for your vision! If not, there are always second hand stores that you can search through!

Well, I fear that is all I have to teach you today. My asks and messages are always open if you have any questions! Have a wonderful day, pupils. Until next time! :)

- Wizard

[qwertyprophecy]

The Illusion of Aggravating Player-ness

Pictured above: demo footage of me attempting to hit the Hero when their dodging program is turned to maximum. (I can only test this for so long before getting annoyed, which is exactly the vibe I'm going for.)

More about the feeling that has inspired The Dark Queen of Mortholme under the cut:

A couple years back I happened upon a tumblr post identifying a surprisingly common sentiment when playing Pokémon. The player has an edge over NPCs in battles for basically the entire game, because unlike those silly programmed losers we've figured out how to use healing potions. So upon getting to end game and witnessing our first case of the NPC trainer healing their Pokémon to full with a hyper potion, it feels like such bullshit. How come they get to do that? Only I get to do that!

There are instances of little details in many other games that evoke a similar emotion, like this one boss in Sekiro who can sneakily counter the player's charged attack with a move that till then only the player has been using. (Please let me know if you personally recall any examples!) The sheer audacity of non-player characters using player-only moves, being annoying as I am! It's a deliciously strong reaction that goes beyond the game's difficulty ramping up; I think it's about recognising ourselves, the essence of distinctly player-like behaviour in this fictional entity made from code.

While thinking about that I also happened to be mulling over what I considered a huge missed opportunity in the end boss of the game Katana Zero. Without spoilers, let's just say that it made me consider whether it would be even remotely doable to create a narrative boss fight against a player-like entity who appears to get to save and re-try the fight by themselves. In Undertale there's a brief illusion of a NPC saving and loading game states, but they don't quite do it like a player would.

The illusion would have to include a feeling that your opponent not only gets to try again but is learning from their mistakes. Furthermore it's specifically an advantage they have over you; you don't get to try again, nor do you get room to improve. And unlike them, your preprogrammed skillset is designed to have exploitable weaknesses and a static power level which can be surpassed.

No matter how skilled, you'd be doomed to lose against an opponent like that. The bosses we beat have it rough, huh. I myself am not particularly good at video games–when I try to get past a difficult boss fight in any game where those are designed to take a fair amount of attempts and learning, I feel in my bones that meta-level story of striving to overcome a seemingly impossible obstacle. It's a journey through various emotions from eagerness to frustration, culminating in the triumphant success.

But from the boss's point of view, that story takes a very different shape, involves different emotions, and (assuming the player keeps playing) invariably culminates in a predestined loss. Sounds unfun. So obviously, that's the experience I aim to provide! (Unfun games really are my forte, with my previous work simulating jubilant experiences such as job hunting blues! anxiety! exam anxiety! trying to fix a spaceship engine that's killing you!)

Who wouldn't want to enjoy being the most powerful being in their universe until some little dipshit bursts in and locks you in an unending battle till they’re satisfied and you’re dead?

[centrally-unplanned]

Though in the effort of balance, I too hate the "STEM uber alles" educational drumbeat not because STEMcels lack the effette wisdom of the liberal arts (obvious bullshit, most liberal arts majors also lack said wisdom and STEM people read books too, education doesn't work that way). I hate it because its just bad advice - low performing STEM majors do worse on the job market than average liberal arts majors, and most "STEM" programs actively weed out students via early feeder courses because many students aren't going to cut it and are better off in different majors. With a few very tiny exceptions college is a great choice regardless of major, if you graduate the large, large majority will do fine. (Not graduating is a serious issue in the US, dramatically so - but I promise you pushing more students into STEM is not going to reduce your fail rates).

To add two caveats, I am down for marginal changes, wanna boost engineers by 5% yeah probably a win, whatever. I don't think that is what most people are saying though - to be specific, the reason you would want 5% more engineers is because they tend to have more spillover effects that aren't captured in their salaries, they don't personally benefit and business majors do pretty much just as well as them, but society might. But that is a bit of an opposite claim than the default one imo.

The second one is that there are big picture "structural" issues that can change these dynamics. Lets take my favorite punching bag of US medicine - in the US education system the "weeding" courses for being a doctor have no connection to the practice of doctoring. The traditional one is organic chemistry, an intensely difficult course involving primarily memorization but also extensive logic applications that burns out huge percentages of the class, and also is a skillset unused by 95%+ of doctors. It virtually never comes up in anything but the most trivial ways, it is only an arbitrary IQ test. The reality of course is that being the median doctor is not that hard (tail end doctoring and certain specialties can get different) the way say programming is. Many more people could be doctors. We just don't let them be doctors in order to ensure doctors can artificially boost their wages via cartelization. So if you changed the laws/practices then suddenly oh yeah we should be pushing more people in the other M of STEM, but until the reforms it makes no sense to do that.

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi, do u have any tips for building a thicker skin and not getting hurt easily? I've only just realized recently that I'm very sensitive, if someone talks a little rudely to me or says something rude to me, I get hurt and anxious. It's so weird because I usually do not care about what other people do or think about me. But I can't handle being treated rudely or criticism. I just have the urge to stop talking, runaway or leave if a person is even a tiny bit rude to me. help.

Hi love! I would say it's all about cultivating emotional resilience. Like any muscle, you need to train your mind to remain calmer under pressure or stressful situations. Here are some ways I think are helpful to build this skillset:

Step into difficult conversations as two people vs. a project/problem/situation. Depersonalize any criticism by objectifying the criticism of a certain behavior, action, etc. Think of it as its own entity – like an object that can float away in the wind.

Internalize that a lot of criticism/rudeness is a form of projection and says more about the other person's inner turmoil than your demeanor or character. Offering non-constructive criticism is self-destructive. Case closed.

Look inward and make it a priority to truly get to know yourself. What are your core values? Desires? Goals? How do you want to present yourself to the world? What are your likes? Dislikes? Fears? Self-knowledge gives you a blueprint of how to move forward.

Reverse your "what ifs." Instead of wondering what could go wrong by leaning into criticism and difficult situations, consider "what's the worst that can happen?" Once you ask yourself and answer this question honestly, you realize that most of the time your fear is disproportional to the likely outcome.

Consider learning to sit/be present in the discomfort to be an act of self-care. You're becoming emotionally stronger and proving to yourself that you can hold your own in any situation. Stick up for yourself but know when to silently bow out for your own sake vs run away due to perceived personal incompetence.

Hope this helps xx

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I swear if Crowley's is Malleus father, he better explained on why was his absent for the whole year...

Just a year? I think it’s been way longer than that, Crowley has theoretically been an absentee dad since before his son was born 😭 It’s been hundreds and hundreds of years…

Honestly, while this revelation might paint Crowley as a terrible guardian, I think this would make for an… interesting (?) development for his character. I find imperfect parents really fascinating because parenting is very difficult, thankless, and not a skillset everyone has. It wouldn’t excuse Crowley’s presence for all this time, of course, but it’d still give us something to mull over for a while. These things aren’t exactly easy scenarios for anyone involved!

[shuttershocky]

Any subclasses you think are "full" in the sense that it's difficult to create a new operator that isn't encroaching on the niches of the others in it's subclasss.

Got a few!

Deadeyes - There was a really long stretch between Fartooth and Lunacub, and when Lunacub finally came out she was pretty much a more specialized take on Firewatch's S1. That's because it's kind of hard to squeeze more into this archetype. They're long ranged, single target, slow but hard hitting units, aka actual Snipers, but there's only so many ways you can spin this idea, especially when your first two Deadeyes were Firewatch and Ambriel.

Executors - This subclass was done, and the existence of Texas the Omertosa and Kirin Yato prove they didn't know how to make more of them that wasn't just pumping big DPS numbers into a fast redeploy unit. Before these two, the Executor class might have been one of the most holistic, decently balanced archetypes in the game, all with their different uses. Gravel was the tank, Red was the stunner, Waai Fu the silencer, Kafka for sleep, and Phantom the assassin that could hit two parts of the map at once. There wasn't any room for more.

Chargers - This was not a balanced subclass from the very beginning, and Hypergryph kind of realized that too. Plume was really effective for a 3 star, Vigna was REALLY effective period, and when Bagpipe came in she instituted herself as 1/2 of an iron fist over the entire vanguard class that's never been overthrown until now. It says something when your worst unit is Reed, who isn't even numerically bad, she just dared to be a niche unit (whose niche had much better options in other classes) in a subclass of monsters. Wild Mane was a good unit to sunset Chargers with imo—not stupidly broken, but with a unique and well-thought out skillset that can be applied to a variety of strategies. Speaking of Vanguards though

Flagbearers - You know it's hard to make more units of a certain subclass when you ask 90% of players who the strongest Vanguard is and they will all say Myrtle, the 4 star that has ruled over all content even slightly above average difficulty since the moment she came out. I don't know how a new Flagbearer even hopes to exist, honestly. Elysium and Saileach are both incredibly busted and yet Myrtle still reigns supreme by virtue of being Myrtle.