#responsibilities and expectations to uphold. after all- how could she live with herself if she rejected what mirei worked so hard for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ijustliketoreadstuff · 10 months ago

Text

The weight of Kagami's emotions.

At the end of "Protection", after Kagami realizes she had made a terrible mistake by misjudging Marinette, believing Lila's lie that her friend was secretly a liar and manipulator, she breaks down, blaming herself for being so weak as to allow her own emotions get the better of her again and cloud her judgment.

Kagami has always had a very strong reaction to discovering any mistake she made was the result of her failing to set aside her own emotions, especially considering those emotions have been used by Monarch to akumatize her, but this is expected on account of just who she is.

( In “Protection”, Lila explains Kagami has enormous pressure to be perfect and sees any emotion as a weakness)

Having lived a very isolated life where her only sole purpose was to uphold her family name, by being the perfect daughter, did eventually make Kagami realize she didn't know anything about how to socialize with other people, let alone about the relationships that surrounded the friendships everyone had. Even though Kagami might not have known how to make friends, she was determined to learn how.

(In "Ikari Gozen", Kagami tries to learn how to be friendlier to improve her social skills and make a friend, starting with Marinette)

Back in "Ikari Gozen", when Kagami decided to try and befriend Marinette during the friendship day competition, she was not aware that Marinette had misunderstood her and viewed her as a cold diabolical person who was dedicated to carrying out any secret scheme if it meant she could get Adrien to fall in love with her(more here).

Fortunately, Marinette was quick to realize her mistake and wasted no time in trying to make up for her actions, determined to accept Kagami's friendship with open arms and show her they can be friends, a moment that Kagami likely thought about later on when she became Ryuko for the first time, a time when Marinette/Ladybug and the viewers got a chance to see Kagami open up a little about her fear of failure .

(In "Ikari Gozen", Kagami was happy to see Marinette's determination to accept their new friendship as she spoke to her mother to cover for her. Marinette might not have been an image of perfection, but she proved to Kagami that she was a good person nonetheless.)

On the surface, Kagami appeared to be seemingly perfect to anyone who met her, but for her to maintain that sense of perfection was not only hard, it was nerve wracking as any sense of failure was seen as a disgrace by her family. "There are no second chances in my family", these are some of the core beliefs Kagami's family has lived by, and this we see all throughout the series affect Kagami again and again as she willingly accepted any failure that crossed her path.

(In "Ikari Gozen", Kagami did not blame Marinette for feeling disappointed in being paired with her for the friendship day competition. Instead, Kagami believed it was her own fault for not being worthy enough of such a friendship to begin with.)

(In "Ikari Gozen", Kagami's immediate response in failing to follow Ladybug's plan and stopping her akumatized mother on her own, was to quickly deem herself unworthy, someone who was not good enough to work alongside the heroes, and because of this, she did not hesitate to try and renounce the dragon miraculous.)

However, Ladybug told Kagami making mistakes are no reason to stop fighting, she always had the choice to try again, she only needed to be willing to take that chance. This was not only good advice for Kagami to hear, it was something she had taken a little more to heart that day she met Marinette for the Friendship Day competition. Ladybug's words might have been a complete contrast to what her family was taught to believe, but after watching Marinette's determination to give their new friendship a second chance, it was enough for Kagami to tell herself that maybe she could give into the thought of second chances for herself.

And yet, despite Ladybug's words of wisdom and Marinette's heartfelt attempts to be there for Kagami as a true friend, that feeling to be the perfect person, never left Kagami.

(In "Perfection", Kagami explains she has always had this overwhelming feeling to be the perfect person.)

To the Tsurugi's, nothing was more important than perfection. If they couldn't be perfect, then they were nothing. Kagami understood she knew very little about friendships, she didn't know how to act around other people, but it did not sway her from doing everything she could to try and be that perfect friend to the few she had.

But no matter what she did, be it reach out to her friends during their time of need or make room during her busy schedule to attend group gatherings, she could never shake that fear of potentially disappointing her friends if she didn't do more to be the perfect best friend.

Unlike other moments where she saw a challenge with a victory at the end of the line, maintaining a friendship was one thing Kagami could not understand if she was doing right, because unlike every other challenge she faced, her friendships were not a battle to be won, they were bonds she had to learn how to nurture and understand, and since she didn’t know if her actions were producing the results they should, that feeling of not being good enough remained the same.

(In "Perfection", Kagami was unsure if she was doing what a friend should do, but was happy to hear Marinette tell her she did help her and she has always been a good friend.)

Of course, friends like Marinette were there to help consul her about just what it means to be a good friend, but for someone like Kagami, who still knew so little about friendships, the possibility that some friendships were toxic, had yet to cross her mind, leaving her to accept advice from someone like Lila who intended to use her against others. Sure, Kagami had her own history with Lila, but after her experience with Marinette during the friendship day competition, what reason did she have to not give a second chance to those who were willing to listen and be kind to her. If the love between friends can be multiplied rather than divided just like Marinette said, then to Kagami, Lila was just another friend who would be added to that love, never knowing that the love Lila had for her was fake.

(Kagami had a strong dislike for Lila back in "Oni-chan" for being so close to Adrien. Although Kagami did eventually view her as a friend in "Perfection", she has not yet realized that her friendship with Lila would be the first toxic relationship she experienced, something she had never experienced and is unable to see now due to having a positive view of Lila that overshadowed any possibility that she is toxic and intended to use her to hurt Marinette.)

Kagami is currently content with the friendships she has and the new friendships she made near the end of "Perfection", but to have had that chance to experience such friendships away from her family and draw wisdom from them, did eventually reveal the cruel reality of her families toxic views and the unhappiness she ignored for much of it all.

Kagami rarely talks about her own feelings if she thinks it could cause trouble for others. In "Protection" alone, Kagami chose not to tell Marinette and Adrien about the pain she felt from watching the two of them live out a romance she once felt certain she was destined to have, with Adrien(more here). And if things ever came down to talking to her mother, well, she rarely talks about her feelings to her mother, and after the events of "Ikari Gozen" and “Protection”, we can see why. Tomoe does not approve of the decisions Kagami makes when she is guided by her emotions, regardless of the good intentions her daughter had.

Back in "Perfection", Kagami was happy to see everyone be so understanding of each other and dedicated to coming together to solve a problem. She was also happy to see Adrien working so hard to make his emotions clear to better deal with them, but knowing the struggles Kagami has had in sorting and expressing her own emotions, odds are, these were all things she wished would occur more in her life, but can't. After all, emotions are cast aside and looked down upon in her family, rather than shared and understood.

Emotions are viewed as a source of great weakness to the Tsurugi family, and if Kagami refused to accept this, her mother was more than willing to attempt to force her to uphold their families ways. If Kagami still had feelings for Adrien, then Tomoe saw no reason for Kagami to just cast aside her feelings of friendship and cut the bond Marinette and Adrien shared, all so Kagami could take Adrien back.

To Tomoe, Kagami was never meant to have a say on how she felt if things were already decided for her. Anytime Kagami did attempt to express her feelings on a matter, her mother never hesitated to belittle her for it. Kagami's choice was whatever her mother's demands were, and unbeknownst to Kagami, her entire life had already been decided, from the kind of person she should be, to who she would spend the rest of her life with.

(In "Protection, Tomoe rejects Kagami's reasoning to not take Adrien back, believing that Kagami's feelings on the matters of being devoted to her friends is ridiculous and must end it if it prevents her from taking what she wants. )

When Kagami dated Adrien in the past, Tomoe and Gabriel were aware of their romance, but were not aware of the breakup they quickly faced in "Lies", until "Protection". Needless to say, they were not happy with the news. Gabriel and Tomoe decided long ago that Kagami and Adrien were never meant to have a say on the matters of who they chose to love, they had to marry each other because the two of them were supposed to be perfect for one another, a plan that obviously backfired the more Kagami and Adrien lived out their own lives.

Kagami knew Adrien loved Marinette, and for them, she was willing to keep her pain hidden so as to not cause them any hurt, but being pulled back and forth between abiding by her mothers demands and remaining a loyal friend, left her desperate to talk to a friend who was willing to listen to her woes, and the only one she could turn too to trust, who would not be involved with both Marinette and Adrien, was Lila, who sadly was quick to use Kagami's pain as an advantage to ruin Marinette (more here). To hear her mother tell her to take back Adrien was one thing, but to hear her so-called “best friend” tell her the same thing, was on a whole other level.

Near the end of "Protection", after Lila's lies about Marinette were cleared (more here), Kagami blamed herself for failing to push away the emotions she believed would only cause trouble. Despite her mistakes, Marinette and Adrien know Kagami could not be that perfect person for them, no one can, they have all made their share of mistakes every day of their lives and Kagami was no different. They appreciated Kagami's efforts to be a good friend, but they also cared for her and her well being, and what they wished most for Kagami was for her to not push away her emotions, but to instead acknowledge and learn from them.

( Marinette gave Kagami the words her own mother would never dare say herself, let alone accept, which was that emotions don't have to be a weakness. If you are willing to face your own emotions and understand what they are telling you, they can be turned into a strength.)

It was important for Kagami to know that Marinette and Adrien loved her just the way she is. Kagami may be strong willed, but she is still very innocent, she may seem perfect, but she is still very flawed just like everyone else, and just like everyone else, she didn’t have to feel ashamed for simply having emotions. The Tsurugi legacy, and Tomoe, taught Kagami to view her emotions as a weakness, but if being friends with Marinette and Adrien has taught Kagami anything, it's that sometimes it's good to listen to advice from the friends who love and cherish you.

The moment Kagami realized her friends saw no shame in her simply trying to tell them how she felt as best she could, was the moment Kagami admitted what she felt all along, but tried so hard to hide, which was that watching the love her two friends had for each other, hurt.

Marinette and Adrien might have felt compelled to apologized to Kagami for their love causing her so much pain, but Kagami knew it was not their fault, they did nothing wrong by choosing to love each other and she now knows it was not wrong to feel the way she did either, to speak out about those feeling rather than bottle them all up. But for her to simply let go of a past love and a future she thought she was meant to have, all in an instant, was not something she could easily do so long as she was constantly reminded of what she had and what could have been, she understood that she had to move on, but it had to be done with time.

To follow her mother's advice to take back Adrien, regardless of the pain it would cause her friends, was out of the question, and to look past the lies Lila told was not to be easily forgotten. Kagami may be a Tsurugi, but the things that her family were willing to do, and the emotions they were willing to sacrifice, all to obtain the victory they wanted, no longer felt right, and neither did giving up on any friendships she felt were meaningful and genuine, including Lila's, who's friendship will take Kagami time to realize was never real.

72 notes · View notes

cannoli-reader · 2 years ago

Text

As funny as the macro is, the underlying truth behind it says something about Egwene. Something interesting or problematic, depending on your perspective. The joke in the meme is, of course, how poorly Gawyn stacks up against Rand on paper, so why would anyone pick Gawyn over Rand?

But here’s the secret: that inferiority is a feature, not a bug, for Egwene. Look at her relationship journey with Rand in tGH. At the end of the prior book, when she discovers Rand can channel, she hugs him and says she does not care. She has a heart-to-heart with him in the epilogue. Then in tGH, she is helping to hide Rand (massively incompetently) from the Aes Sedai, and still hugging him goodbye when he leaves Fal Dara. She is unwontedly jealous of his encounters with other women who are arguably nicer to him. But then, after Falme, after he invokes the aid of the Heroes of the Horn to rescue her from the Seanchan, when she sees him with Min, she tells Min that he’s no good as a partner, that he’s not safe. Min’s response is more informed by her viewing back in Baerlon, when she foresaw Egwene leaving Rand behind for the Tower, than by anything she has seen Egwene do to that point, but Egwene seems to feel it for the truth. What happened between Egwene leaping at Liandrin’s invitation to come help Rand from some unstated danger, ignoring the obvious trap, to go to his aid, and finding him after the battle?

Rand leveled up. Rand proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn in a way that had to be believed by any witness and Egwene could no longer deceive herself about their relative importance.

There is a saying among Egwene’s people. Not the Two Rivers, her true people, the Aes Sedai, which states that people have trouble accepting a spouse who is more powerful than they. For the most part, that’s bullshit. It certainly does not appear to be a problem with the Sea Folk or the Aiel, and Rand’s only issues with love interests who can channel or might become Aes Sedai is the conduct of Aes Sedai. The power dynamic never occurs to him when it’s him and Egwene before he knows what he is. But it is an Aes Sedai saying, and like most people, they are quick to accuse others of the flaws they know they have themselves.

With Rand, Egwene always had the advantage of the power dynamic. Whether consciously or not, she chose a potential husband where Egwene would have no higher-ranking women in the household once they married. The usual practice in the Two Rivers is for a married couple to move in with one of their families, and for multiple generations to live together under one roof. In almost any other family, that would entail becoming the junior-most woman in the household, but there are no women in the al’Thor family. By moving in with Rand and Tam, Egwene automatically gets a promotion to female head of the household. All the decisions, choices and power that traditionally accrue to the female sphere of influence would have become hers. And the farm is far enough from the village that she won’t have to deal with the authority of the Women’s Circle or the Wisdom very often. What’s more, those powers will be basically obliged to support and uphold Egwene’s authority within the house, as it will be their first chance for leverage over that family, who otherwise have managed to live free of the Matriarchy.

Shortly before the series begins, Egwene is offered the chance at a Wisdom job, and of course, later Aes Sedai. She expects Rand to be 100% supportive and willing to follow her anywhere for these opportunities, regardless of his attachment to his home, his friends and his father, or his opinions of Aes Sedai. She really thinks that her dancing and basking in Aram’s flirtations and accepting gift and compliments from him (where he, on his part, clearly seems to think this is a contest he is winning against the perceived competition of Perrin) is not at all a transgression against her relationship with Rand, while at the same time, concealing far more anger at meeting women whom Rand has encountered, unwillingly, and in each case, with a degree of eagerness to be away from their company. Rand never danced with Min or Else or Elayne, nor gave them necklaces, nor sought out their company in preference to a lonely friend from back home.

It’s worth noting that a part of Egwene’s over the top reactions on meeting Elayne and Min could possibly not so much real belief in Rand’s infidelity, as chagrin in discovering that he had been telling the truth about meeting the crown princess of Andor. An interesting pattern of behavior for Egwene in EotW is her disbelieving Rand, repeatedly, and not just expressing skepticism but rebuking him for lying. She does this when Mat & Perrin tell her about seeing the Myrddraal (while Rand knows better than to even try), when Rand claims they are only leaving because the Trollocs are hunting them, and when Rand claims to have met the Daughter-Heir to Andor. It’s a pattern of belittling Rand, and dismissing his knowledge or his importance.

Egwene’s choices of hiding places in Fal Dara are all ones where Egwene perceives herself to have the upper hand, and never mind that they are horrible places for concealing anyone from Aes Sedai. The idea that the guards on the dungeon will not tell any higher-ranking officer, noble or sister who asks that Egwene brought Rand in, and came out alone, is ridiculous. The idea that Rand is safe from Aes Sedai in the women’s quarters where the sisters can move about freely and Rand cannot is equally ridiculous. She considers assaulting him because he does not wish to have an argument with her to be perfectly legitimate, comparing it to riding a mule, an animal one owns, who exists to work for its owner, but calls extricating himself from her unwelcome grasp to be an unwarranted use of force. She even lords her miniscule superiority in channeling training over him, while gloating about his own moral inability to hurt her. Again and again she demonstrates a fixation on power and control in their relationship. She even lectures him about his attempt to speak to her, despite Rand making it clear he did not try to trespass, and after bringing him in herself, just to remind him of the authority of the people with whom she associates, relative to him.

It’s even the theme of Egwene’s Accepted test. Where Nynaeve faced a variety of scenarios, Egwene’s are all about having power over Rand, having him dependent on her. While we don’t have enough information to speculate how or why this occurred from a Watsonian sense, there remains the possibility that power of Rand was the best way the ter’angreal could find to tempt her, and from a Doylist standpoint, Robert Jordan clearly wanted the readers to see her in this light. And for someone with Rand so firmly on her mind, Egwene is remarkably slow to pick up on Rand being the object of the Aiel’s search. Mat and Perrin both realize it immediately, at a time when they don’t even believe Rand is the Dragon Reborn. Elayne puts the clues together from the Maidens and what they know about Rand. Egwene doesn’t even get it when Elayne prompts her with a loaded question.

That’s where Egwene stands when she (finally) takes note of Elayne’s interest in Rand, and offers to pass over his pink slip. All her denial and denigration has failed, Rand is now without a doubt the Dragon Reborn, and powerful enough to dismiss and balk Moiraine. In Egwene’s eyes, that is a mule she has no hope of putting a bridle on, so she does not want him for a relationship partner any longer.

And what she gets in Gawyn is someone who will never be that. Gawyn has been trained to be subordinate to a woman her own age, since he was a toddler. He has no real power or hope of getting more. The dream that clinches it for her features Gawyn liberating her, and then approaching her in a state of humility and self-abnegation (again the contrast with Elayne, who appears to take satisfaction in observing Rand commanding among the High Lords, and gives him advise for maintaining his authority over them, whereas Egwene is appalled at him giving orders to the Aiel instead of politely requesting they restrain their racist tendencies toward murder and theft). And that’s all Egwene really wants in a romantic partner - someone who accepts his role in her story and recognizes her as the protagonist.

#egwene al'vere

7 notes · View notes

mystery-salad · 2 years ago

Note

My kingdom for a Call dating sim 💕

HONESTLY the hardest one for me, Call lives in such a weird place in my head on dating cause on one hand she's had trysts and fun nights with fellow mercenaries but on the other hand she wouldn't admit her crush on the Commander to anyone and only did so to herself by taking a fucking petal from their dead corpse when they died, to remember them by as she took up the mantle of Commander! Friend and I joked that the only successful route is one where the player dies as they ask her out BUT for you I will do this 💖

There's two options here, pre- and post-commander Call. Let's run em both!

MERCENARY CALL:

A rash but intent bundle of wood, Call in her younger years did a lot of freelancing and vigilante hero work. You'd meet her in battle, either fighting alongside her and she saves you from a bad hit, or a civilian whom she's just saved you from danger. You have the option to give her a token as thanks, along with a casual or flirty line. The latter would get a sly flirt in response before she returns to her duties. You'd court her through various interactions, all fairly casual and a couple one night stands if you're bold enough, before pushing for more and promising you can handle her and this wild traveling lifestyle she leads. There would be an argument involving her self worth issues that would function almost like a mini game. If you lose the argument, that's it and you'll never be more than those one night stands to her. If you win it, well...maybe there's room in her life for something a little more steady. In the epilog you'd join her on the road, either a partner in battle or someone there to help soothe her injuries after.

COMMANDER CALL:

The thing is, she has admirers but she also very much has an appearance to uphold. She takes the former far less seriously, and the latter far more seriously. She is a lot harder to get something even casual with now, and her confidence has skyrocketed. She won't date coworkers, now that she has a set concrete guild instead of an ever-changing roster of mercenary friends and partners.

So you would have to play a character that happens upon her by chance while also having reason to keep coming round. Enough to get more familiar with her, without overstaying your welcome. She's nice about crushes, but wouldn't reciprocate and the only way you can make headway is by choosing very casually friendly conversation options. You have to majorly build up those friendship points before her potential affection meter even opens as a mechanic.

Once her affection meter does open, keep asking friendly. Casual hangouts that could be also seen as dates, little tip-offs about how much you like being around her, things you like about her...you really have to slowly reel her in until her affection meter is high enough that she will ask you out first. And she'll be nervous about it! It'll be a timed question where if you miss the window she'll laugh and brush it off and say actually no, she knows it's a no, sorry if she made it weird.

If you succeed in hitting yes during the timed question, she will very flusteredly say she wasn't actually expecting a yes but...great! She'll uh...pick you up later this week for dinner?

The date would be in a small and out of the way place, low profile to keep her personal life and you out of the public eye. But at the end of the night she would lean down to kiss you and say she'll see you for another one, if you'll have her. The epilog would show you two growing closer and you eventually becoming known as her partner.

I hope this all makes sense HOUGH Call is still an enigma to me in ways in this specific department o(-<

#kissingagrumpygiant #cearcall sithiche #thank you im glad you love her 💖#this was HARD TO WRITE but hough i hope it makes any sense at all

5 notes · View notes

captainswanapproved · 2 years ago

Text

The Queen's Gambit-Chapter 7

A03, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Daemon x Rhaenyra Multi Chapter AU: Rhaenyra is now 18 and eager to prove herself. Having never been forced to marry Rhea Royce, Daemon has matured and given up his gallivanting through the Street of Silk. Queen Aemma survives her final birth but the baby does not.

Queen Aemma knows of Daemon’s devotion to Rhaenyra. She also knows that this devotion is not unrequited. Aemma goes to Viserys with a proposition: one that will ensure the future and legacy of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra woke to Daemon singing in High Valyrian, his hand pressed against her abdomen.

Rhaenyra was tempted to laugh. “Singing a hymn will not magically make me pregnant, my love. You must be more industrious than that.”

In response, Daemon kissed her, stifling the giggles and driving away the humor of the situation entirely. Heat pooled in her body, and she clung to him and urged him to continue his advances. If she was not yet with child, perhaps this time the gods would reward the endeavor.

He entered her slowly. She grumbled with impatience and raised her hips to meet his. Daemon’s laughter was deep and rumbling. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed herself flush against him. His pace quickened until she was crying out in pleasure. She tumbled over the edge, her body trembling from the force of her release. She would never tire of making love to her husband.

“In nine moons, we will have our first child, my love. I am certain of it.” He kissed her abdomen again and sang another verse.

Rhaenyra could only hope he was correct. When she was younger, the idea of being forced to bear children seemed a terrible fate. She had not known that the making of children could be so enjoyable. Now that she was wed to a man she loved so completely, it did not seem unreasonable to have ten children or more.

Rhaenyra happily snuggled against Daemon’s warm body, reluctant to face the day. She knew their time alone together would inevitably be spoiled by the arrival of the Kingsguard, or perhaps her father would come himself.

There was no telling how Viserys might react to the news of their flight from King’s Landing. But Rhaenyra would not forsake him. Even if it meant surrendering her claim to the throne.

As if Daemon could sense her thoughts, he said, “I will not allow Viserys to come between us. Nor will your mother.”

“Nor will I,” she answered. “Even if I must surrender my inheritance.”

“It will not come to that, love. You are your father’s only heir.”

“Perhaps he will be the first Targaryen to live forever. The smallfolk say we Targaryens are closer to gods than men.” It was a jest, but Rhaenyra thought she could become accustomed to a quiet life at Dragonstone with her husband, raising their many children, riding their dragons, and upholding the traditions of their noble house.

“My brother is no god,” Daemon said. “Though I love him dearly, he will not leave a lasting mark upon Westeros. That will fall to you, my love. You will be the first ruling Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The smallfolk will write songs of your reign.” He kissed her, long and deep and passionate.

They were interrupted by a knock on the heavy chamber door. Daemon reluctantly got out of bed and wrapped a robe around his gloriously naked form. Rhaenyra was grateful for this. Now that they were wed, she had no wish for anyone else to see what belonged to her alone.

Daemon opened the door, blocking her from view of the visitor. She expected this was by design. Dragons were possessive, after all.

The voice on the other side of the door belonged to Maester Gerardys. “My Prince, a raven has come from King’s Landing. It bears the King’s seal.”

Daemon took the scroll, and quickly read the message. Rhaenyra could not see his face, but she noticed the way his entire body seemed to tense as he read. He cursed in High Valyrian and said to Maester Gerardys in the common tongue, “I will call for you when I have a reply. I must consider the matter.”

Daemon slammed the door when the maester left. His handsome face was contorted with fury and he looked as though he wished to kill the messenger. Gerardys, however, had served their family loyally for decades.

“Daemon, what is the message?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Daemon crossed the room and gave her the scroll. “Read it with your own eyes.”

Daemon,

Tales of your exploits with my daughter have reached the Red Keep. You have ruined Princess Rhaenyra’s reputation and with that you have cast doubt upon her suitability to take the Iron Throne.

For years, the Queen and I were your only allies at court. I defended you against many who despised you, because you are my blood, and the blood of the dragon runs thick.

But I cannot allow you to wed my heir. It would mean the ruin of the realm.

My advisors have told me to send you to the Wall or put you to the sword. I have chosen a different course.

I have contacted the Iron Bank of Braavos. A payment of one hundred thousand gold dragons has been arranged.

Set Rhaenyra aside and fly across the Narrow Sea. Begin a new life in Braavos or Pentos or anywhere else in Essos that appeals to you. Return to your whores and lickspittles. You were never meant to be King Consort.

My Queen and I are travelling to Dragonstone. We shall arrive in three days. If you are gone by the time we arrive, you will be free to live your out the remainder of your life in Essos. Refuse, and I will be forced to put you to the sword. History will remember me as a Kinslayer, but I will go on to the next life, content that I protected you from ruining the life of my only child.

The message was signed with her father’s name and titles.

“And exactly what do you have to consider, husband?” Rhaenyra asked, more than a little stunned by what she had just read.

“If I should meet him on the Kingsroad and challenge him for his insults,” Daemon growled.

“Could this truly be from my father? It is not written in his usual style.”

“I am certain the idea to pay me came from the Hightower cunt, but Viserys put it in writing. As though I would ever agree to such a proposal.”

Rhaenyra rose from the bed, donning the discarded nightgown from the previous evening. “I am relieved to know that I am worth more to you than a hundred thousand gold dragons.” It was a jest meant to distract her lover from his fury, but it only seemed to increase it. He seized her face in his hands, his lips claimed hers in a bruising kiss that made her knees buckle.

“You are mine, Rhaenyra. I will not surrender you. Ever.” His voice was rough and raw. She could see the devotion shining in his eyes. She caressed his cheek with her thumb, and this small gesture seemed to soothe him. He pressed his forehead against hers, and was silent for a long moment. He simply held her, as though to assure himself that she would not suddenly disappear.

“I never imagined that my brother would sink so low. I will not stand any insult to you, even from the King himself.”

Rhaenyra was grateful that Dark Sister was safely locked away in the armory. Daemon was a true dragon, quick to anger, and eager to strike against those who threatened him or the few people he truly loved. Only now it was her father making threats. “You should not respond in writing. Any reply you make could be interpreted as treason. I will send a rider with a message declaring my loyalty to you. He will have to accept our marriage if he wishes for me to take his place on the throne.”

“And if he chooses another heir?”

“So be it. You are more important to me than an ugly iron chair. But it will not come to that. Mother will make him see reason if we cannot.”

Daemon sighed heavily. “We should leverage your threat further than that. He must accept our marriage and send the Hightowers back to Oldtown if he wishes to keep you as his heir.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “That is a brilliant strategy. Surely he cannot still be hoping to wed me to Gwayne.”

“That boy is not worthy of a dragon,” Daemon snarled, wrapping his arms possessively around her.

“No,” Rhaenyra agreed. “Only a dragon is worthy of another dragon.”

#daemyra #daemon x rhaenyra #HOTD The Queen's Gambit #chapter seven #my writing #All hail Queen Aemma #captain of the daemyra ship

10 notes · View notes

young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 4 years ago

Text

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 7

Sorry this took so long y'all. This chapter was difficult to write. Hannibal invites Theresa for dinner and y/n finally confronts her.

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide, child sex abuse; graphic descriptions of violence; confronting an abuser; body-shaming

The stitches in your cut hadn't even dissolved before Theresa intruded on your life again. Before you stormed out, Hannibal did in fact invite her to dinner. Polite society would rule the invitation null and void after that confrontation, but Theresa felt herself exempt from the laws of politeness. Like Evangelicals or craisins, Theresa loved to insert herself where she was clearly not wanted.

Of course, you were peeved at Hannibal for upholding the invitation when she called. But you could tell he had something planned. He was intrigued by her audacity and wanted to see how far it would take her. You couldn't begrudge him professional curiosity, as you too wondered what the fuck her problem was.

In truth, you saw what he did to your grandma, and you wanted to see him do it to Theresa. You wanted her subject to the same psychological torment that she put you through. And that, you realized, was why he honored that invitation. He wanted to vindicate you. And that was the sexiest damn thing you could possibly imagine.

Theresa showed up alone. That was her first mistake.

"Thank you for having me, Dr. Lecter." Theresa greeted, shedding her long coat and dropping it to the ground. "Will [F/N] be joining us?"

"[F/N] will most certainly be joining us." Hannibal said, his voice hardening. He noticed her coat in a pile on the floor and something in his head clicked.

"I hope I'm not overdressed." Theresa tossed her hair over her shoulders.

She was. And you knew even before she showed up that she'd wear that green evening dress with the plunging neckline. It was the same one she wore to prom. She kept it as a memento all these years to memorialize the day she completely fucked you over.

She was here to make history repeat itself.

"Not all, Ms. [L/N]," Hannibal grinned, glancing at the staircase. "[F/N] is just touching up her makeup.”

“That sounds like [F/N].” Theresa laughed. “She always took the most time getting ready in the morning. And she was always the ugliest. It was quite sad, really.”

Hannibal reminded himself what he had in store for Theresa before letting himself get angry. “If you could join me in the kitchen, I could use a little help with the appetizers.”

Theresa took the bait and followed him through the threshold into the massive kitchen.

“Could I trouble you for some psychological advice, Doctor Lecter?” She said, leaning against the island.

“That depends.” He answered, though the tone of his voice connoted a firm ‘no’. “Are you going to be honest with me?”

Theresa mounted herself on top of the island and crossed her legs. “I’ve just been having quite a bit of trouble in my marriage.”

"Please get off my counter." Hannibal politely demanded. "I just sterilized it this morning."

“My husband just isn’t so excited by me anymore.” She pouted like a child. “He just doesn’t seem interested in... well, any of the things I have to offer him.”

“Have you considered the possibility that you have nothing to offer?” You said. You approached them with purpose, the skirt of your purple dress fluttering behind you. Your favorite pair of strappy heels clacked against the tile and echoed through the room with every step.

“[F/N] makes a valid point.” Hannibal agreed, taking you under his arm. “You’re an abusive narcissist, a serial adulterer, and you’re quite horrible at flirting. I certainly don’t understand what you could possibly have to offer.”

“Nice to see you again, [F/N].” Theresa said, resigned to her defeat. “I didn’t want to say anything at the wedding, but you look like you’ve gained a few pounds.”

You almost laughed. Growing up, Grandma had subjected you to every form of body-shaming known to man. Nothing Theresa could say would have any effect on you.

“Really? Because I’ve never felt better in my life.” You smiled, knowing it to be true. “Hannibal is an amazing cook. You’d probably gain weight too if you were eating so well.”

"Well, I have appearances to keep up." She refuted. "Gideon and I both have very busy schedules. Besides, he finds the kitchen more of a woman's domain."

"Unfortunate for you." Hannibal threw a dish towel over his shoulder and picked up a wine bottle by the neck. He kept his hands busy by pouring three glasses of wine. "That Gideon does not put in the time to keep you well-fed and fulfilled. Might I suggest not molesting children as a remedy?"

You snickered as he handed you a glass. You migrated to the dining table, where the trial was set to take place.

"Did you invite me here just to gang up on me?" Theresa leaned back in her chair. "Because if so, that's really mature."

"Of course not." You said, Hannibal pulling your chair out for you. You placed your napkin in your lap. "Well, maybe a little."

Theresa took a long sip of wine. "You're not going to get an apology if that's what you're after."

"Oh no." You shook your head. "I've stopped expecting basic human decency from you years ago."

"Good." Theresa huffed. "Since that's clearly what you want me to be, that's what I'll be."

"Don't give me that shit." You sighed. "I know what gaslighting is and you're not as good at it as you think."

"Y'know I never asked to be a parent figure to you and Anna." She crossed her arms.

"You may not have asked for it but you sure as hell enjoyed it." You countered, furrowing your brow. "Don't act like you weren't the dictator's right-hand man. You sucked up to grandma and always got preferential treatment."

"I was a kid." She shrugged. "You're really gonna blame me for the shit I did before my skull fully hardened?"

"Well, it exposes a way larger pattern of behavior." You explained. "You're a megalomaniac that wants power without responsibility. So you attach yourself to someone with power, probably another narcissist who's too self-involved to see what a leech you really are. It's what you did with grandma and it's what you're doing with Gideon."

Dressing Theresa down like that gave you a rush. It made you feel alive. But more importantly, it made her look small. It stripped her of her power.

"Well done, Sherlock." Theresa taunted. "But you're forgetting one thing. If I were a megalomaniac, why would I waste my time beating up on you? Some nobody with no power to speak of?"

"Because I'm a living reminder of your past." You narrowed your eyes. "I remind you that you can't just beat everyone into submission."

"Ladies," Hannibal interrupted, holding three bowls. He placed one in front of you, the savory broth enticing your nose. "This is pot-au-feu. It is a simple French stew made from beef, vegetables and potatoes. I added a marrow-bone for extra richness. It's the perfect combination of simplicity and substance."

You couldn't even wait for Hannibal to sit down. You'd been so hungry all day. Smelling the meat slowly braise over the course of the day was torturous. You went straight for the marrow, which was a recent favorite of yours.

Theresa picked the bone up between two fingers and dropped it onto the table, her face wrapped with disgust. "I think I'll pass. I'm not a dog."

"You are not." Hannibal said, spearing a piece of meat on his fork. "I find dogs much better company."

Theresa tented her fingers and glared at Hannibal. "So you're just going to let her rip into me? Aren't you supposed to be the professional here?"

"Don't discount [F/N]'s analysis just because she is a student." Hannibal glared back at her. "From what I know about you, she's dead on."

"Isn't this entire interaction a professional conflict of interest?" Theresa folded her arms. "I don't trust her to analyze me because she hates me."

Hannibal put his utensils down. Anger flashed across his face. "I don't think you quite understand what this interaction is. You are not owed an unbiased psychological profile, especially not from me. You are not my patient. You are [F/N]'s abuser."

Theresa narrowed her eyes and leaned over the table. "So if you understand that, why am I here?"

"You think very highly of your intelligence, Theresa." Hannibal glanced down at his dish. "Perhaps you can figure that one out yourself."

You coughed, narrowly avoiding choking on your food.

"Darling, please pace yourself." Hannibal instructed, though he seemed pleased with how enthusiastically you inhaled your meal. "You're going to make yourself sick if you eat too fast."

"I'm sorry." You said after taking a long sip of water. "I don't know why, I'm just so hungry today."

Hannibal dropped his eyebrows, looking worried. "Did you take your medicine this morning?"

"I think so." You nodded.

Theresa smiled and reached for her phone. The movement caught Hannibal's attention, and he could tell what she was up to right away.

"Theresa, it's very rude to text at the dinner table." He scolded, taking a sip of wine. "Surely, anything you're saying to your grandmother and Anna, you can say to us."

Theresa, too proud to back down, slipped her phone into her purse and met your eyes. "You're pregnant."

"Brilliant fucking deductive reasoning." You rolled your eyes. "A woman gains a little weight and has a healthy appetite? That's the only logical conclusion I would draw."

"Well, aren’t we defensive?" Theresa taunted. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Theresa, stop it." You gritted your teeth, trying not to convey how pissed you were.

"You're going to need to drop out of school to take care of the baby full time." Theresa sneered.

You knew exactly where she was taking this and you wanted more than anything to just disappear. You reached for the wine bottle and refilled your glass. "Shut up, Theresa. Shut the fuck up before you say something you'll regret."

Her face lit up from the satisfaction of finally making you angry. "And someday you'll blow your brains out just like your mother!"

This time, she would regret it. You chucked the empty wine bottle across the table. It hit her directly in the face with a deafening crunch before ricocheting off the table and shattering on the ground.

Theresa brought her finger to her nose, noticing the stream of blood trickling from her nostril. She stood up, stabilizing herself with the back of the chair.

"I didn't think you had it in you." She jabbed before collapsing to the ground.

You went silent, too afraid to look at Hannibal.

"For what it's worth, darling." Hannibal piped up. "I always knew that you did."

#hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #tw violence #tw blood #cult girl #tw csa mention #tw suidice

147 notes · View notes

mikeshanlon · 3 years ago

Text

i really enjoy the way young royals explores the theme of legacy and how detrimental it can be to have to live up to a legacy or be obsessed with reputation. (analysis and thoughts under the cut)

i think wilhelm resents the fact that he has to live up to the role of being in the royal family and yet is very afraid of ruining that legacy bc of all the pressure. before he was sent off to hillerska he went to a normal school and wanted normal people around him and was content with erik having to take on the responsibilities of crown prince. and when he does have to assume that role he says he can never be erik, that he’s always had to be compared to him and obviously doesn’t like that. but even before erik passed and he had to take on those duties he was afraid of fucking up the legacy of the crown, when he sees that sign in the hallway that says you are in charge of your own legacy after he holds hands with simon, his anxiety worsens. you can tell it’s been instilled in him for a long time that what is most important is the crown’s reputation rather than his own wants. in the scene where him and simon fight about alexander being caught, he obviously wants simon to stay, but he focuses on how him doing drugs will fuck up his family’s reputation if it gets leaked. as much as he cares for simon, his legacy and his duties are like this oppressive cloud hanging over him.

i do think that wille cares for his family of course but to me it’s different that the sort of loyal unconditional care with simon and his sister/mom. erik and wille had unconditional love, erik understood how difficult being a prince in the public eye was, and wille obviously cared for him deeply and felt like he could to talk to him about issues. his relationship with the queen is much more strained, she wants a tailored, doctored representation of him in the media, he cannot be anxious and bite his nails, she makes all the decisions for him. family is important to wille partially because it has to be bc of how special his family is. he helps his family, he helps august pay his tuition, and then makes a point of disowning august after his betrayal as his new “brother”. but again, because of the royal status and expectations upon the family, that supersedes and colors all of their relationships with each other. it seems to be more a sense of “duty” than unconditional love. especially after erik’s death, wille always has to consider how the crown’s image will be impacted, even though he never wanted to have this responsibility, or even the responsibility of being the “regular” prince under erik. being a family unit that is under constant public scrutiny is going to strain relationships. the queen knows that the anxiety of fucking up his legacy will get to him, and she uses that to get wilhelm to back out of admitting it was him in the video and coming out. wilhelm has to choose between his own happiness and their reputation, is forced to think that denying it’s him in the video is the only way. he loves simon and wanted to live freely, but that pressure of legacy won out.

i don’t know if i think wille necessarily values the crown over his own personal happiness and relationships, like in the way maybe the queen does--i don’t think it comes from a place of “i’m lucky to be prince and owe my duty to the crown, so i do what i have to do to stay that way” (like how the queen said the crown is a privilege not a punishment), but from fear of destroying the legacy and his family. afterall, he still wanted to pursue a secret relationship with simon, i think if he fully valued the crown and uplifting legacy and fulfilling his duties he wouldn’t have tried that. he wouldn’t have made a point to tell simon he loves him. hopefully we get another season because i think with the iconic ending revolution rendition and him looking in the camera, which also parallels the shot of him being forced to apologize/go to hillerska, he is realizing that focusing on legacy is taking away what’s important to him, and he’s going to shake shit up.

august is definitely the most obsessed with legacy, wanting to carry on his father’s business, being persistent on befriending wilhelm and trying to social climb, wanting power and perfection with being prefect, rowing captain etcetera. he is so obsessed with perfection and reputation he gets addicted to drugs, he fucks with simon and makes him get stuff for parties he can’t afford because good parties will make him look better, he manipulates sara multiple times, he mostly wanted felice because of her nobility, he fucking films wilhelm and simon and OUTS him, his own cousin. he hates that wille has everything he wants but isn’t as interested in preserving and more importantly improving the legacy he’s inheriting. meanwhile august’s familial legacy is dwindling, and he holds on to the last bit of assets and names that he can.... v much sick and a weirdo that shows how harmful being obsessed with legacy is

the queen is of course v focused on legacy and it really breaks my heart and makes me angry that she doesn’t care about wilhelm’s happiness more than their reputation, and moreso doesn’t get august in trouble for literally leaking child p*rn of her kid for the sake of appearances?!?!?! like how is he even remotely trustworthy she is wrong for that! like i said earlier the obsession with legacy puts a strain on their mother/son relationship. she doesn’t even really say anything about wille’s sexuality or his relationship, and barely comforts him, mostly goes in with a plan she’s already concocted without him to fix everything.

erik seemed to understand and accept his role as crown prince but obviously had issues with it as well, like when he makes the plan for him and wilhelm to run from the press, or when he tells wilhelm to enjoy himself while there aren’t so many eyes on him that care. erik shows someone who has more unconditional love and empathy but still has to focus on legacy and is much more inclined to continue his legacy, but we do see those glimpses over how even the most “ideal” attitude of preserving legacy causes issues.

felice is expected to live up to her mother’s legacy, of being an equestrian, of being the lucia, but she doesn’t want either of those things. her mother wants her to be thinner and straighten her hair, and find someone of nobility to be with. obviously she does find wilhelm attractive lol but i think the main reason she pursued him and definitely why she pursued august was because she was expected to social climb and have royal kids. felice feels the need to portray a false narrative of herself on social media to uphold a certain image of herself. it’s very fucked up that her mom wants those values instilled in her but i love that felice was putting up boundaries and pushing back against her mother and the narrative she’s supposed to live up to. her giving sara the role of lucia and focusing on supporting her friends more in the latter half of the season shows growth and i’m excited to see where her story goes.

sara is interesting because she seems to want to reject the legacy of her family and being working class and to fit in with the elite of hillerska. sara hates micke, hates that simon contacted him because it’s bringing in this “shameful” and painful part of their past (which i mean is def fair). other than sara’s betrayal in 1.06, i think the scene where she tells her family that she wants to reside at hillerska really exemplifies where she’s at in her relation to legacy/class. after dining at hillerska and living amongst the elite she gets annoyed at eating around the TV, she blames her mother for not leaving micke sooner, she gets angry with simon for caring for her. she wants to lead her own life, be popular and wanted because people want her, not for pity (even though i think simon of course truly cares abt his sister she feels annoyed with his protection and care). felice says early on that she thinks sara doesn’t care what other’s think or having friends, and sara says she still wants friends though. i think sara’s biggest thing is she wants to belong, her and simon moved schools after she was bullied for being autistic so i think that definitely affected her even though she tries to act nonchalant about hillerska at first. we see sara’s longing to fit in in smaller ways at first, like her asking her mom for a better piece of her uniform because hers are “cheap” and already worn out. she gets annoyed at simon for chewing loudly, or her mother sitting casually at the table. as she gets closer to felice and madison and all the other students, the allure of the upper class and their lifestyle draws her in more. so much to the point where she gets very anxious and upset at the idea of her and simon leaving hillerska because he’s having his own crisis and doesn’t consider his pov. so much so that she effectively betrays simon and felice, the people she’s closest to, to make a deal (and make out lol) with august to room there and “be just like him”. personally i think sara’s attraction to august is mostly that allure of the elite and that he seemed to “desire” her when he kissed her because he was being a manipulative dickhead--again that want to fit in and be wanted. and i think there is a really interesting angle of jealousy and competition in female friendships, even if it is really subtle or not intentionally insidious or anything, sara does slowly start to trying to assume all the roles/fashions/mannerisms of felice to live that life she wants. i do think felice and sara’s care for each other is genuine and one of my fave parts of the show, but i think a lot of people who experienced being a teen girl know how we are always pitted against each other even in our subconscious because of how society treats and values women.

simon seems to be the character that is least interested in upholding legacy and tradition or giving a fuck what anyone thinks (as omar said here lmao) and that makes him a really interesting foil to wilhelm. there could be something said about micke fearing that simon is following in his footsteps, but to me that plot more so reveals how the upper class (august) continually exploit the working class for their benefit, and the trappings of generational oppression. the other thing that can be said is simon signing up for private tutoring and rowing, but again i think that serves to further show that he is forced to “play” by the game of the elites because the school/society is corrupt, and also, that simon has further ambitions outside of where he’s at. he wants to get good grades because he wants to explore new places and avenues. to me simon’s biggest motivations are his passions, the things and people he loves--music, his family, wilhelm. he isn’t loyal to others just because he’s expected to be, or uphold a certain image but because he really cares. he doesn’t watch out for sara because that’s his expected role as her brother to do so, but because he cares. he wasn’t interested in knowing wilhelm because he’s a prince like everyone else, he makes it clear he thinks the royal family are privileged and exploitative, but he is interested because he saw the real wilhelm. he’s out and proud even though his elite classmates are more conservative, he doesn’t care about voicing his unpopular opinions, he has no problem walking away from august’s dickhead behavior or calling him out on his shit. simon doesn’t care if people don’t think of him in the best light. (the only exceptions ig are the drugs conflict and the video, though literally anyone would have a problem with that because it’s much deeper that public opinion and has ramifications and is deeply traumatic--but just adding that before someone is like “well actually!”) i also think it’s interesting that most of the songs simon sings has themes of pushing back against the societal norms, and being remembered in history, plus of course the revolution song motif, and how much those songs affect wilhelm, he seems to connect deeply, like he wishes he could do those things but simon is the one who gets to sing them and actually live them.

#young royals #the way this is 2k words lmfao #i do not expect ppl read to this but when the analytical worm starts gnawing on my rottin brain i must oblige

66 notes · View notes

buckybarnesthehotshot · 4 years ago

Text

I Like You (Alexandra Trese x Diwata!Reader)

gif not mine |main masterlist|

summary: In the middle of a case, confessions arise

word count: 2046

warnings: mentions of illness, filipino traffic, i don’t proofread stuff

a/n: i’m only now writing again haha puta nakakagago yung writer’s block

Team Trese was at it again with maintaining the balance between the Underworld and the world of humans. It wasn’t too difficult of a job to keep up with when your team—some would use that term loosely—consisted of Alexandra Trese, Hank Sparrow, The Kambal, and y/n. She was one of the newer recruits to the team.

To outsiders, y/n was an enigma; she was a Diwata and yet nothing about her behavior would even suggest that she was one. The way she would often act was unbecoming of one’s expectations for a Diwata. There was no way one could instantly come to the conclusion that she was one especially with the glamour she wore to disguise her own appearance.

Diwatas existed to preserve nature; one would expect them to keep a calm-headed demeanor, glimmering with an aura of positivity and radiance, all coming from the beauty of the environment that they shroud themselves in. If a monarchy were to take place in the Underworld, the Diwatas would be the epitome of regality, carrying themselves with grace and compassion.

But y/n? She was a different story. At first glance, one may believe her to be a “corrupted” Diwata as she didn’t seem to uphold the same values her sisters did. Alexandra, though, held different impressions and thoughts on the h/c-haired deity.

To Alexandra, the “darker” side to y/n wasn’t an irreversible defect coming from when she came to be. Alexandra knew there was so much more to the girl besides her impartiality to the way other Diwatas lived their lives and how she chose to live hers differently, hiding herself amongst the humans. There was so much more to her than meets the eye.

Alexandra was sure y/n was a product to the environment she was born into. As one of the younger—well, if you could call nearly a century on the planet young—Diwatas, she didn’t get to experience nature at its peak, not the way the elders did, at least. She was not birthed to the beautiful colors of nature, nor the peace nature could provide one with.

No. Alexandra understood that the girl was born to the destruction of what it was she was meant to be protecting. She didn’t get the opportunity to witness what it was she had to protect. She didn’t get to see the place she was meant to call home as the forest she was supposed to inhabit had been turned into a city before she could understand how to use her abilities.

If anything, the human world poisoned y/n’s outlook on what it meant to be a Diwata. All the pointless destruction brought her both anguish and confusion. However, birthed from that confusion was y/n’s innocent need to help nature become one with the city life. Her goal was to at least bring small bits and pieces of what the world used to be into the city.

“What’s the next case for today, Bossing?” Crispin questioned as soon as Alexandra set her phone down next to her in her seat.

“There have been reports of illness among a group of Lumberjacks in the province. Some people are convinced it has something to do with supernatural beings who may have inhabited the forest. I was hoping y/n would know something about it,” Alexandra explained, sending y/n an eager glace, as though to ask what could have caused the fatigue to spread amongst the lumberjacks.

“Well, they’re lumberjacks, there are plenty of beings they could’ve pissed off,” y/n explained, earning a nod from both Crispin and Basilio, “I mean, there are plenty of creatures who live up in trees. It’s either that or the trees were in another creature’s domain. Either way, all this may have something to do with the chopping of trees.”

“Could a Diwata have done this?” Hank questioned, earning a small glare from Alexandra before he backed up his statement to defend himself, “It’s just that the Encantados and Encantadas have been known for their power. y/n over here’s pretty powerful too, so we may never know if a Diwata could be responsible for this too or not.”

“Hank’s right, but if there’s a Diwata taking domain over that land, I would have known already. Diwatas are mostly peaceful beings, and if there’s one of us out there riddling the human world with disease, there would have been some talk of it amongst the other Diwatas,” y/n explained, a small smirk making its way to her face as she added, “The older generation of Diwatas; they can be such gossips at times.”

“So, it’s not a Diwata? Could it be a nuno or duwende living in the tree when it was cut down? Maybe they’re the ones spreading disease in the form of a curse,” Basilio suggested, earning a small nod of encouragement from his twin brother.

“Well, the only way to know is to actually go to where the lumberjacks were working and investigate,” Alexandra stated firmly, before everybody else returned to whatever it was they’d been doing in the car; Hank driving, the Twins conversing over whatever topics it was that came to mind for them, y/n looking through social media in an attempt to keep up with everything happening in the human world, and Alexandra already thinking of possible solutions to whatever the problems they might have ended up encountering.

The ride to the province took longer than expected. Despite the fact that they all left the house pretty early, it was already well into the afternoon—Philippine traffic was a pain in the ass when it came to travelling to the province from the city—when they finally parked the car in front of one of the houses in the Barangay.

“This is the house of Danilo Corpuz, he’s one of the lumberjacks who fell ill after a day from work,” Alexandra explained, earning a nod from everybody else as they all got out the car and into the house.

Alexandra made quick work of questioning the man, asking him about what he’d been doing, where they were cutting down trees, and if there’d been any signs of anything supernatural going on.

“There were burnt up cigars and emptied out bottles of Red Horse at the trunks of the trees,” the man explained to them, as everyone present came to the realization of what it was they were all going to be facing.

“How are we supposed to deal with the Kapres? They’ve been known to be vengeful and difficult to talk down whenever their trees are chopped,” Basilio huffed as the others slowly nodded in agreement. The Kapres were stubborn; there was no way to talk them out of seeking revenge however it was they saw fit considering it was the humans who’d made the first “attack” on their homes.

“Trust me, I’ll find a way through it. Now, come on, let’s go. We don’t have time to waste, there could be lethal effects of the illness—or curse—if we don’t hurry,” Alexandra ushered them all back into the car. She sat at the front seat, studying the conditions of the treaty to see whether or not the Kapres laying their curses on the humans was against it and what punishments she could serve them.

y/n smiled to herself, witnessing the determination on Alexandra’s face. She watched silently as the woman began to look through the items she kept in her coat for something that could be useful for them.

“Hank, can we stop at a sari-sari store first?” y/n questioned, watching Hank’s eyebrow arch from the rearview mirror as though to question her on what could be so important for her to buy that it would delay the trip to the woods, “I need to buy a few bottles of Red Horse and some Marlboro. I figured it would help get the Kapres to loosen up and talk to us.”

“That’s a great idea, Ate y/n!” Crispin exclaimed, high-fiving y/n upon hearing her suggestion, “Besides, I’m getting tired of all the fighting and having to regenerate.”

“Does it consume your energy whenever you have to regenerate?” y/n questioned, raising a brow at the twins as Crispin chuckled.

“No,” the twins chimed in unanimously. y/n found herself chuckling at their remark before getting off the car to where Hank stopped. Alexandra watched intently as the enchanting woman spoke with the tindera at the store before walking back in the car, plastic bag filled with vices swinging in her hand.

Turns out, the woods where the lumberjacks had been working wasn’t too far from Danilo’s home. From the sari-sarii store, the trip there must have lasted them ten minutes. Everyone hopped out the car and ventured into the shadowy woods, knowing damn well what they were about to encounter.

“I know you’re here,” Alexandra called out to the thick branches of the tallest trees in the forest. It was silent for a moment until the leaves on the branches began shuffling until at least four kapres made their presence known, no longer cloaking themselves with invisibility.

“Little Trese, what’s this visit about?” one of the Kapres questioned, his dark eyes beaming into Alexandra’s. It was clear they weren’t exactly welcome there. Still, y/n wanted to try her best to avoid confrontation, so she slowly made her way towards the Kapre’s tree, then motioning for him to come down.

As a Diwata, she and the other creatures of the forest naturally held mutual understandings between each other; after all, to some degree their interests and beliefs intersected where it mattered the most—preserving their homes. Hesitantly, the Kapre made his way off the tree as the team could only watch the interaction unfold.

“You know what I am, don’t you?” y/n questioned slowly, tucking her hair between her pointed ears, giving a small smile as she dropped her glamour to reveal her true divine form, the Kapre nodded as y/n continued, “Right, well, these are my friends. Alexandra wishes to have a word with you and you will hear her out. In return, you get this.”

The Kapre eyed the contents of the bag before nodding, taking the bag from y/n’s grasp and motioning for the others to get off the tree. y/n watched intently as the Tribe communicated with Alexandra, voicing their reasons, and listening as Alexandra tried her best to come up with a compromise to make sure no humans would get hurt and the Kapres would not be bothered.

In the end, everyone agreed that the Kapres should be moved somewhere less open, somewhere where humans wouldn’t dare venture in pursuit for just lumber. They made a deal where y/n would guide them to safety while they take back whatever curse or disease they put on the human men.

To y/n, watching Alexandra negotiate with the Kapres was almost like watching an artist create art; it was a satisfying process to watch from beginning to end. y/n had been so mesmerized that she forgot to put her façade back up when the negotiation ended. For a brief moment, Alexandra’s eyes met hers before y/n tore hers away quickly, already leading the Kapres deeper into the forest somewhere she knew would be safer for them.

Alexandra began to quicken her pace, rushing over to y/n’s side.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” y/n’s brows furrowed at Alexandra’s question.

“What was that look about? The one you sent me when I was talking with the Kapres,” Alexandra questioned again, brows furrowed with confusion before y/n’s eyes widened, before the Diwata let out a chuckle.

“Nothing, I just like you,” y/n shrugged as Alexandra found herself staring at the Diwata in disbelief.

“You like me?”

“Yeah? Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you never talk about anything to anyone,” Crispin cut in, only to get a flick to the ear from Hank, telling him not to interrupt the pair’s conversation.

“Right. That. Believe it or not, I admire you a lot, Alexadra. I find it admirable how you’re doing so much for both the human world and the underworld,” y/n, for what seemed like the first time to most, let out a soft smile in Alexandra’s direction, “Now, come on, we have a Kapre tribe to relocate!”

TRESE TAGLIST: @thatmultifandomloser / @sitherin-mxschief / @thegodswereneveronourside

#trese netflix #alexandra trese #trese #trese x you #trese x reader #trese x y/n #alexandra trese x you #alexandra trese x reader #alexandra trese fanfic #alexandra trese x y/n

66 notes · View notes

antebunny · 4 years ago

Text

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian

Opening–the Jiangs

(post-SSC) in an effort to restore his reputation and run away from responsibilities, Wei Wuxian agrees to spend three months in each sect. Full series here.

Jiang Yanli is the one to suggest it. She comes swooping in as always after Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng have another argument, and this time beyond soup and comforting words that they’ve both grown used to, she offers a plan.

“Are you serious,” Jiang Cheng says, squinting at his older sister like that’ll make her make sense. “They’re going to snap and kill him within a month.”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian objects immediately. “Don’t you mean try to kill me?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says absently, but jerks upright when he notices Wei Wuxian trying to make off with his soup. “Hey! Watch those thieving hands!”

“A-Xian, don’t steal his soup,” Jiang Yanli intervenes immediately. “Jiang Cheng, be nice.”

They both scowl at each other but then smile at her, settling back around the pavilion’s table. The small, square pavilion they’re gathered in is on one of the far edges of Lotus Pier, calm waters lapping at the wooden sides.

“Are you serious?” Wei Wuxian asks after a moment of silence.

“But he needs to stay and help us rebuild,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. The thought reminds him of their fight, and he shoots a glare at Wei Wuxian.

“But what would we even get out of it,” Wei Wuxian says, bewildered.

“Right now, we are the strongest sect,” Jiang Yanli says. The brothers share a look, neither wanting to be the one to tell her that that’s not true, but she’s still talking. “But only because of A-Xian. And the other sects don’t trust A-Xian, because they don’t know him. But if they just got to know him–”

“Then everything will be sunshine and rainbows?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “I’m telling you, they’ll kill him within the first month.”

“I don’t care what they think of me,” Wei Wuxian says, almost offended at the thought.

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, still gently, but there’s a tremor in her voice. “A-Cheng. Please. They’re afraid of A-Xian because they don’t understand him, but if they just knew that he’s a good person–”

“I–what!” Wei Wuxian squawks. He reaches for her hand and grips it tightly, his cheeks coloring.

“Am I wrong?” Jiang Yanli demands. She turns to Jiang Cheng. “Am I wrong?”

Jiang Cheng swallows a spoonful of soup harder than he should. “No,” he admits, the word pulled from clenched teeth. “But still–what would we even tell them?”

“That A-Xian has volunteered to live as a guest in each sect for three months,” Jiang Yanli answers. “To ease their fears about his demonic cultivation.”

“That makes them sound like paranoid idiots,” Jiang Cheng says thoughtfully, and Jiang Yanli only smiles in response.

Wei Wuxian swallows his next complaint with a mouthful of soup and thinks for a second. “But I can’t go to the Lan sect,” he says. “And…I don’t want to go to the Jin sect.”

“If you are a guest of the Lans, they will not do anything,” Jiang Yanli counters.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, “I suppose there’s a difference between a guest disciple and a guest…but would they rather uphold their impeccable hospitality or, you know,” he waves vaguely at Wei Wuxian, who doesn’t even bother to act offended.

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli says firmly.

“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian admits.

Because here’s the thing: Wei Wuxian is tired of living with the secret of his golden core hanging over his head like a noose. He’s tired of constantly letting down Jiang Cheng, who needs his support, and the Jiang disciples, who need a Head Disciple. He doesn’t want to leave Lotus Pier, but he also needs some time away–away from the memories, away from the people, away from the responsibilities he’ll never be able to fulfill again. Maybe after nine months, he’ll have figured something out. If he can just clear his head long enough to think, he’s sure he can.

“But he doesn’t care about his reputation,” Jiang Cheng says, a tad bitterly.

“I do,” Jiang Yanli says. Her cheeks flush when they look at her in surprise. “I just–I won’t always be able to protect you, A-Xian.”

“That’s,” Wei Wuxian says, silver eyes wide. “I don’t want–I don’t need you to protect me–” He reaches for Jiang Yanli’s hand, but she yanks it away.

“But I always do!” Jiang Yanli says, raising her voice. Her hands are visibly shaking before she hides them in her sleeves. “I am always intervening, whenever–” she cuts herself off and presses her lips together.

“A-Li,” Jiang Cheng says, somewhat worriedly, “you don’t have to stop.”

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian admits, putting his soup bowl down guiltily.

She is right. He doesn’t ask her to, he would never ask her to, but she is always the one stepping forward or intervening whenever Wei Wuxian gets the wrong sort of attention in public. Wei Wuxian doesn’t cause trouble on purpose, but he doesn’t want Jiang Yanli to have to protect him forever. Isn’t it time he grew up?

Wei Wuxian doesn’t care about his reputation, and never will, but he does care about Yunmeng. If the only way he can help is by convincing the sects that he’s not evil or crazy (okay, he’s maybe a little crazy, but not that sort of crazy), then he’ll do it.

“I’ll do it,” Wei Wuxian says abruptly, shocking both of his siblings.

So this is Wei Wuxian’s plan: he’ll go to the Nie sect first, because that’s the only one he’s sure he’ll get through. He’s already friends with Nie Huaisang, and even if he doesn’t get along with Nie Mingjue, at least he respects the man. That’s where the only possible source of tension will come from–not Nie Mingjue disrespecting Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian disrespecting Chifeng-zun. The Nies don’t know how to season their meat, but at least they have meat.

Wei Wuxian puts the Lan sect second, because he’s only half-sure he’ll make it out alive. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but Lan Zhan didn’t spend the entirety of the war trying to get Wei Wuxian to come to Gusu because they’re fond of demonic cultivation. Wei Wuxian knows that Lan Zhan is pretty much the paragon of Lan rules, but if he was badgering Wei Wuxian about it all throughout the war–from the very moment they reunited, without so much as a hello, how’ve you been–then Wei Wuxian has little to no hope that he’ll convince the Lans that demonic cultivation isn’t that bad within three months.

The Lan sect is the only one that Wei Wuxian expects will lower their view of him over the course of three months, not that it’s particularly high at the moment. But he guesses, or rather hopes, that it’ll be in a good way. If he goes from the fearsome, uncontrollable inventor of demonic cultivation to an uncontrollable pest that they can barely stand to look at without their disdain for him blinding their eyes, then that’s…an improvement. It’s the failure that Wei Wuxian hopes for, anyway.

He expects constant attempts at cleansing at best, not to mention the complete lack of food with taste and climate (“I’m not going there during winter.” “Fair,” Jiang Cheng says) and the rules. At worst, well. In Gusu it’s fair to give a guest disciple 100 lashes for breaking curfew. That’s lighter than Madame Yu, although she never made a curfew, but she did find some sort of joy in beating Wei Wuxian, but it’ll still be life-crippling for a non-cultivator. So basically, the worst that could happen is that they retroactively find out about Wei Wuxian’s missing golden core, because he’s dead, and then he won’t be there to explain himself to Jiang Cheng.

Look, Wei Wuxian will be the second person to admit that he’s paranoid, but it’s not easy to get through war without seeing death around every corner. Especially since he recently lost his golden core. He also has first-hand experience with the Lans, and there’s no way he’ll get through three months without badly breaking their rules. He knows they’ll treat a guest Head Disciple differently than they’d treat a guest disciple, but he doesn’t know by how much, and he’s at the mercy of whatever they decide.

Wei Wuxian also doesn’t particularly want to see Lan Zhan. Or, well, he does very much want to see Lan Zhan, but not like this.

Lastly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to go to the Jin sect because the Jins are trash. They’ve been trying to recruit him for almost a year now, as if Wei Wuxian would ever abandon the Jiangs–for the Jins, no less!–and Wei Wuxian doubts that they’ll suddenly grow a moral backbone in the six months before he has to go there. That said, he doesn’t expect any major trouble from them, just their usual insufferable personalities and intolerable sect leader.

So if Wei Wuxian, by some miracle, makes it out of the Lan sect alive, then he’ll go to Lanling. But if, more likely, he ends up high-tailing it out of Gusu because they’re about to do something that’ll paralyze him for life, then he never has to suffer through Jin Guangshan and his stupid peacock of a son.

But first: Qinghe Nie.

The great forested mountains of Qinghe sprawl across the horizon, and Wei Wuxian stands at the bottom, with an annual supply of spices, various notes and sketches, and both Suibian and Chenqing tucked in his side. The rigid stone fortresses of the Nies rise halfway up the mountain, and not for the first time, Wei Wuxian feels the deep, aching loss of Suibian before he gets back on his horse and heads up the mountain.

#so this could be a fic #but here's the premise basically #anyone interested?#greetings tumblr void?#mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #yunmeng siblings #my writing #writeblr #antebunny's ficlets

141 notes · View notes

hoe-imaginess · 4 years ago

Text

hostage | madara uchiha

Madara x Tobirama’s s/o

summary: Tobirama’s wife is held captive when the Uchiha invade Senju territory. She does what she can to keep the peace. It doesn’t last long.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: sex as a bargaining tool, physical/emotional harm, heavy angst, mentions of miscarriage/abortion, brutal use of sharingan

a/n: part of a long and self-indulgent founders era fic I was writing, but recently gave up on. so this is just a very choppy rough draft. it’s all over the place. apologies for the poor & skimpy writing style. fair warning: bit of a darker rendition of Madara than what I usually write on this blog. IM me if you want more details before reading

⤰

They attack in the dead of night.

With the main host of the Senju army battling in far-away provinces, Hashirama and Tobirama with it, few seasoned shinobi are left to protect the plot of land which the Senju call home.

The Uchiha overwhelm the paltry resistance quickly and efficiently, then set about infiltrating the rest of the territory to claim as theirs.

They’re met with little defiance. Of the Senju who don’t escape into the woods, slipping through Uchiha clutches before they can fully surround the vicinity, a majority left to endure the raid are civilians with no real experience or means to contend the invaders’ assault.

Chaos ensues. Uchiha chase down fleeing families, drag them back to the center of the camp where hostages are corralled. They bark and shout orders at stubborn Senju who refuse to abide, sometimes resorting to violence to win obedience.

Then come the fires. The Senju, in one final, practiced act of loyalty, set ablaze as much property as they can in an effort to destroy any intelligence on Senju affairs which the Uchiha might find and use to their favor.

Some of these renegades are stopped before they can succeed, others manage to do their part before being apprehended.

She is one among them, burning the room in her home which her husband uses so often to practice and hone his jutsu; where plots of war are imagined and scribed; where important records are stored.

Tobirama would balk to see all his work going up in flames, but she knows that it’s what he would want her to do.

The anguish that beats mercilessly in her chest as she watches her home catch fire is dreadful.

Such a small little place, she thinks. Just big enough for the two of them. They hadn’t been married for more than a few months now. Arranged, like so many unions those days.

Yet the little, perfect home held such memories in that short time; watching smoke rise from the walls and foundations makes her sick with sorrow.

But it must be done. Whatever the invaders might pillage from her home, they would find nothing to their benefit, and nothing that might end up hurting Tobirama, or the Senju.

Two Uchiha men grab her just as she watches the roof of her home collapse in on itself, pillars weakened and corrupted by flame.

It’s a sodden and meager thing to find so fulfilling, but it’s the only thing from which to reap comfort.

Doomed as she may now be to whatever her captors have planned, she, too, has plans: plans to remember Tobirama’s prudence, adopt it as her own. Whatever awaits her, she can face with her chin held high.

As she’s herded into a crowd of the Senju hostages, uncertain of their holistic fate, the cries and tears of anguish from men, women, and children alike hurt her beyond words.

When the leader of the invaders stands before them and addresses them, with his coal-black eyes piercing every one of them even in the dark void of night, she feels anger beyond words.

And when she learns of his plans to occupy their land, to keep them as prisoners of war, she feels determination.

⤰

When she’s brought before Madara Uchiha in the coming days for the purpose of interrogation, he senses immediately that she isn’t a Senju.

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon, and Madara knows Hashirama is quick to support alliances with clans he finds trustworthy enough. Madara wonders who, among the Senju prominent enough to be pursued for political marriage, might call this woman their wife.

Feeling foolish for having not expected such a question in advance—though somewhere, she’s hardly able to blame herself, given the chaos of the last few days—her mind races for explanation when he inquires about her husband.

“I’m a widow,” she lies. “He died months ago.”

She remains with the Senju to uphold the alliance her marriage created, she says, hoping he believes it.

His gaze is startling, and she fears intermittently that he’s staring right through her with those merciless eyes, extracting the truth under her lies, truths that needn’t be spoken, only simmering underneath the surface for his scrutiny to grab.

She feels apprehension like she’s never known when, after her explanations, he’s quiet. Utterly quiet.

Then, just as she tries and fails to steel her heart’s rapid beating, he dismisses her.

As she’s led out of the tent the Uchiha have constructed for their own purposes of war, she takes a calming breath.

If she plans on putting her wits to use and curbing the punishments soon to be expounded against the Senju innocents, she needs to leverage herself with composure.

She can’t let Madara Uchiha rattle her this much if she plans on contriving against him.

If she plans on winning his trust.

⤰

It’s fairly easy to be granted an audience.

She’s rigid in her loyalty to the Senju, and answers any of Madara’s interrogations about Senju information with silence or ignorance. Still, she’s compliant with otherwise basic facets of the Uchiha occupation; she tells him where best to find food and water in the land; from which fields they might find the most harvest; offers insight on neighboring clans that may contend the Uchiha occupation of Senju territory, loyal to the Senju as they were.

In compensation, Madara is usually merciful with her requests. She asks that the Senju hostages be given more daily rations and more room in which to sleep and live, now that the Uchiha occupy most of their old homes.

Generally, entreatments to the betterment of their well-being are met with leniency. Something for which she is glad, but the brother, Izuna, is not.

She hears them arguing sometimes: Izuna claiming that his elder brother is being too forgiving on the enemy—she assumes she is the enemy in question—and Madara stating in response that he has no quarrel with Senju commoners, and that amending some of their grievances is no harm to their cause.

These small victories continue to mount, until she finds herself at his side almost daily, discussing hostage afflictions, enduring his queries and, occasionally, even his frustration at receiving no answers.

This frustration burgeons quickly, until she’s half-convinced that her play at ignorance is one he sees right through. But he always dismisses her when his irritation becomes visible and unavoidable, almost as if to save her from facing the brunt of it.

It’s the first of the strange, apprehensive intimacies that he gives her.

More apparent, soon after, are his long-held gazes.

They sweep over her, inspect her while she talks, greedily scrutinizing her responses. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through her when his dark eyes linger for too long.

She isn’t naive enough to think this prolonged regard is devoid of any suspicious undertone, nor is she naive to dismiss the lust behind his gazes; the careful inspections of her very body that describe something hidden and desiring under his facade.

She doesn’t want him to look at her like that. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the way it makes her skin crawl, or her heart stutter.

But how can she be ungrateful for his dangerous admiration when it might prove profitable?

⤰

She reaps the benefits of his greed not long after their invasion.

He’s taken up residency in one of the precluded houses near the center of the camp. No guards stand watch outside; he doesn’t need them.

When she asks for entrance to his room he gives it, albeit cautiously. She doesn’t bother disguising her visit under any pretense; she’s there for him, and he knows this, apparently, judging by the careful look he gives her when she walks in and shuts the door behind her.

Shame and irritation sizzles underneath her skin, but she ignores it. Her efforts have guaranteed the safety of the innocents under Uchiha rule so far, but those efforts won’t last forever. There’s more to be done.

It’s not long until she’s pressed against him. Insistently her hand rubs over the space between his thighs. He’s soft, unaffected by her touch. It discourages her, but she continues, regardless.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” he asks, eyes steely and trained on her, as if her eager hand isn’t even there.

He hasn’t made a move to stop her, so she urges herself on.

"Isn’t this what you want?” she implores.

“What makes you believe that?”

“The way you look at me.”

It’s a calm declaration, though she’s still explicitly hiding something under her tone, he sees, something like frustration.

“How do I look at you?” he inquires.

When she refuses to answer, he lifts a finger under her chin and forces her gaze to him.

“Like you want to control me,” she answers bitterly.

The bulge under her hand twitches to life. She rubs harder. His face changes; his expression is tighter, more concentrated.

“And that’s what you want?” His hand stretches across the back of her neck, keeps her head still. Fingers brush at the nape in deceptively gentle tandem. “To be controlled?”

“No.” She squeezes her hand, hard. He replies with an angry, swift breath. “You could never control me.”

The hand at her nape curls into her hair and yanks hard, so hard that her rubbing stops.

“I already do.”

She’s infuriated by his words, he can see that plainly on her face. But he doesn’t care. She’s made the mistake of dangling her seductions in front of him, and he’ll rise to the occasion, if she's so determined to stir him.

It shocks her how smoothly he maneuvers her to the futon at their feet, lays her down and climbs over her; how expertly his mouth captures hers and his tongue slides over her lips.

She opens her mouth obediently, lets him explore. Shame courses through her when a hand between her thighs coaxes a pleased, albeit startled hum from her mouth.

His fingers work her up quickly, pull her clothes off without a hiccup or delay.

She had, foolishly, underestimated the strength of him. After she’s stripped bare, when he holds her arms down, there’s no room for her to fight back. As he looms over her, powerful and dangerous, she realizes she should be shaking in fear, in hatred, in uncertainty.

Instead, her body is calm, forcefully calm.

Sensing this, he sees it not as her resolve, but as a challenge.

She refuses to close her eyes when he starts, and stares up at him, disputing his gaze. The pleased sigh that leaves his mouth when he starts rocking into her makes her shiver, despite her determination to keep her body still, keep it pliable for his pleasure but loyal to her convictions.

His thrusts are deep and hard, reaching into her in ways she didn’t even know possible until now. Her breath catches with every snap of his hips, until those breaths are choking off into surprised gasps when he angles his body a certain way, hits a certain spot inside of her that makes her legs jolt with pleasure.

One hand is planted firmly into the sheets beside her, keeping his body suspended over her. The other holds her thigh, keeps it pressed down to ensure she’s stretched as open as he needs her to be.

When pleasure urges him to go harder, he takes her leg and curves it around his waist to dig into her deeper. With the new angle she can peer down, watch his cock spear into her with precise finesse. She tears her eyes away, the sight of it making her nerves tingle, making the unbidden pleasure that much more potent.

Even if she wanted to vacate her mind, to numb herself to all feeling until she could be sure he was done and her task finished, it’s an impossible feat. Too many sensations; his heavy breath coming in low pants; strong thighs shoving against her legs with every thrust; his eyes, even when she turns from them, searing into her, pinning her down.

A flush spreads over her body, hot and feverish and anxious. In the scant light she sees his skin giving way to his own pleasure; sweat lines the curve of his prominent clavicles, a drop on his brow as it furrows with the heightened pace of his thrusts.

She starts to tremble uncontrollably as he roughly pounds into her, losing some of his rhythm, a basic need for release urging him. Rumbling, chest-born moans spill from his lips, and against her body’s wishes, she cums with a hard-fought whimper.

As she shivers through the onslaught of pleasure, he stares down at her, his face an emotionless canvas.

She doesn’t even realize he’s near his end until he grabs onto her hard, grunts loud and staggered, then stops moving.

He takes a moment to let the pleasure sink in, eyes closed to revel in the wet heat surrounding him, pulsing and twitching. Then he pulls out.

He leaves her on the mat, naked, curled into herself as if to hide the shame of her orgasm. Nothing in his posture speaks of an identical sentiment on his part. The sex she finds so monumentally impairing, he sees as nothing more than what it is: sex.

No sooner than he moves away from her is he dressing, the raw muscle of his back moving with every motion, his sweat-glazed scars glistening in the moonlight that invades from closed curtains.

Before he leaves, he says, “I assume you have herbs.”

Her eyes open.

The herbs.

She had almost forgotten. She hasn’t needed to take them since Tobirama left, since there was no one else to share her bed…

The thought of Madara’s seed quickening inside of her makes her nauseous. She’s almost grateful he’s reminded her of the contraceptives.

“Yes,” she says. She’ll take them first thing in the morning. They were made to work even after the fact. No need to panic.

“Good.”

He leaves her in his room, and she falls asleep despite her errant thoughts.

⤰

She draws a bath for herself and slips into the lukewarm water.

The bruises and love-marks haven’t gone away. Every time they do, every time her skin is returned to its unsullied state, she’s in his bed again, tempering him, giving herself over to his rough desires in some hope it will continue to coax leniency out of him.

She’s been bathing more often, she realizes: some meager attempt to wash his scent and his touch from her, no matter the pleasure she takes from it in kind.

But there’s still much resistance in her thoughts when she gives herself over to him, a chiding reminder in the back of her head that says what she’s doing is shameful.

She’s a married woman, after all; widow, in Madara’s eyes.

But the masquerade doesn’t take away from the guilt she feels every time she opens her legs for his lust. It’s not even easy to imagine it’s Tobirama anymore. Tobirama isn’t so purposefully rough, isn’t keen on making pleasure so hard-fought with such domination that she receives from the Uchiha.

A chill runs through her to think of the difference between them, to think she might never again know the softer, more loving touch of her husband. The possessive, taking nature of Madara’s intimacy might be all she ever knows.

She touches the skin under her breast, feeling no texture on the flesh, but knowing the seal Tobirama left is still there: a risky, but comforting reminder of his caresses.

She so misses them. She misses his voice, his touch, his earthy scent. The room around her is so devoid of it. The very air feels seized by the conquest of her Uchiha captors. Every breath she draws is more of their smoke, their fire, their danger.

She sinks underneath the surface of the bathwater, eyes closed, a calming air reserved in her lungs.

The water is comforting, reminds her of Tobirama. She imagines it’s him surrounding and warming her skin, if only for a moment.

She lets the world around her numb to nothingness, hoping at some point, so too will her anxieties leave her and make this dilemma all the easier to endure.

⤰

Izuna hadn’t meant to come across her this way.

The woman isn’t answering his brother’s summons, and the guards stationed outside her home say she won’t respond to the calls or demanding knocks they make at her door.

Izuna isn’t a patient man. He has much better things to do than fetch his brother’s stubborn whore.

The guards at the door had apparently been warned not to intrude on her sanctity more than necessary, and utter a protest when Izuna barges into her home unannounced. He ignores their murmuring, unfamiliar with the respect—or whatever it is—that keeps them compliant.

The living area is empty and so is the kitchen. He calls her name once, then twice, irritation coloring his shouts. They garner no response.

At the back of the house, he hears a sound, and goes to it. He hears it again once he’s closer, coming from the washroom, he thinks.

He knocks once.

No response.

He knocks again.

Still, no response.

Sufferance all but worn, he pulls open the door.

There’s a bath of water, her form distorted underneath its surface. His intrusion is apparently louder than any previous call for her attention and she folds up quickly from underneath the water, breaking the surface and sending splashes everywhere in her haste to glance around, size him up, and cover herself for modesty.

Too late. He’s seen it.

Never mind her naked body. Even if he needs to be forgiven for barging in on her later, he doubts, now seeing the mark that she quickly goes to hide under her breast, that she’ll be getting mercy from him or any other Uchiha from this point on.

⤰

When Izuna drags her into the war tent, Madara is more startled by the interruption than irritated.

She’s half-clothed, body and hair wet from the remnants of what he assumes was an interrupted cleanse; Izuna has a distraught look of fury on his face that never bodes well. What surprises Madara most, however, is the way she cowers into herself when Izuna throws her down at his feet.

“What is this, Izuna?” Madara demands of his brother, mildly offended to witness this treatment of her, at his brother’s hand, no less. Madara’s intimacies with her are common knowledge, if not frowned upon by some of his Uchiha lieutenants.

Izuna points an accusative finger down at her. “Look at it.”

Madara blinks through his confusion, waiting for clarity. Izuna hisses in anger, grabs her hair, and yanks her upright.

“Show him,” he commands her.

She groans angrily in response.

He yanks a little harder.

“Show him.”

Madara’s suspicion gains with rapid unease. The doubt always tugging at the rear of his conscience comes to the forefront, ready to be fed with truths, ready to reap its victory.

Izuna forces her to stay still, then claws at the hand she has wrapped about her stomach, hiding something beneath the haphazardly-adorned clothing.

Madara catches on, and approaches.

She slows her writhing when he crouches down in front of her. Then something like preemptive defeat rushes through her when he puts his hands on her, and she stills completely.

Madara doesn’t know what he expects to see beneath the fold of the robe he pulls away from her skin—the skin which is always covered by bandages when he strips her bare at night; courtesy, she always says, of a wound received during the invasion—but Tobirama’s Senju’s hiraishin mark is definitely the last.

The silence that ensues as he scrutinizes the seal is far more tormenting, she thinks, than any punishment he can possibly have in store for her.

He’s enraged, of that she’s sure. And the indignant, defiant scowl on her face which receives him when he looks at her undoubtedly makes that worse.

But she’s been found out, she knows. There’s little else she has to her aims at this point except her resentment, a resentment which she can now display with liberation.

Her masquerade is extraneous now; any excuse she can possibly make redundant. She has to accept her fate, with her chin held high.

Like Tobirama would.

But the conviction doesn’t last long.

“Hold her down,” Madara tells two of the Uchiha men in the room.

She panics.

When Izuna’s hands leave her and more vindictive ones take their place, she starts kicking away, trying to fight and make their hold on her that much more difficult to win.

But it’s useless against the pure fear that runs through her when Madara slips out of the tent and returns a moment later, in his hand, an iron poker which had been mending the campfire outside.

When he brings it over to her, she feels the heat radiating off of its glowing, orange, sharp tip.

Her heart rate skips into the margins of delirium and she shakes her head.

“Don’t—” she pleads, glaring up at him. “Don’t—”

Madara presses the singeing iron against the skin below her breast and she screams. Loud and ragged. He doesn’t care.

Even before the deed is done, the smell of her own burnt flesh nauseates her beyond the limits of her endurance, and she passes out.

⤰

The burn is so severe that it leaves her bed-ridden for days on end.

Every twist and turn of her body stretches the thin, pink skin and leaves her whimpering in pain.

Uchiha medics tend to her wound. She isn’t allowed the relief of healing jutsu; the burn is treated with oils and creams which alleviate only some of the pain, and none of the superficial scarring. Something for which she knows she has Madara to thank. He wants her to bear the mark of her deceit, wants the charred flesh to serve as a reminder of mockery.

She had slighted him with her seductions, made a fool of him with her deception. The burn itself would be a meager sanction in comparison—he could have killed her, after all—if not for the scornful significance it held that did more justice to his condescension than any words could.

Any semblance of superiority her secret had once given her is all but crushed with the wound. Tobirama’s seal had soothed her, served as a pillar of faith and courage; a warm breath of comfort on her skin whenever the chill of her captors’ doujutsu fixed her, whenever Madara’s gaze searched her for weakness.

Knowing her husband’s latent protection remained hidden from the eyes of the invaders had been enough, amidst all the turmoil, to shield her from fear.

Now it was gone, rendered useless and indiscernible under corrugated skin.

Like her home, her body now, too, at the hands of the Uchiha, denied her refuge.

Yet in some twisted, ironic way, the wound still grounds her. The pain is a bittersweet reminder that her body is alive, and not a shell for the hopelessness she feels inside.

It’s a degrading and pitiful comfort. But it’s all she has now.

⤰

Madara makes infrequent visits during her recovery.

The first few are made in silence. As she lies there, pitiful and motionless, he stares without a word to spare. His scrutinizing gaze, both spiteful to set eyes upon her and satisfied to see her agony, is the only acknowledgement he gives.

The patronizing graduates to interrogation. He stands over her impotent form, leering down as he demands to know the reason for her having the seal on her skin, demands to know her relationship to Tobirama Senju.

The line of questioning betrays the deductions he’s already made. He’s already decided that the woman is Tobirama’s spouse, or at the least, some sort of lover. The intimate placement of his seal is telling enough, and her previous elusion on the subject of her purpose on Senju land is further proof. All the suspicions piece together and exploit her lies.

But he wants to hear the truth from her own mouth, the very mouth which conspired to deceive him with its pleasure, keep him pliant with its warm caresses on his body. Only then will he be satisfied, only when she admits who she is, what she is, who she belongs to—

Then he can remind her that it’s he who owns her now. He who conquered her home as easily as he had conquered her.

Her silence isn’t as defiant as she thinks, not by a long shot. To patronize her is a pleasant notion, but the hooded, resentful gaze she gives him fails to stir him in any way besides to sing praises of his own power.

⤰

“Kill her,” Izuna insists.

His determined indignation on the matter comes like a chant in the days following the revelation.

Madara’s commitment to deciding how best to deal with her is only marginally interrupted by his brother’s input, but it does disrupt his logic and feed his own fury.

He should kill her. Should string her up for the rest of the Senju to see: let her be an example to whoever else among them may have delusions of defying him.

“What point is there in keeping her alive?” Izuna presses on. “Kill her. Send her body to the Senju army. Let them know we won’t be trifled with.”

“No,” is Madara’s decisive reply. “She serves more use to us alive.”

“I fail to see how. She’s done enough to outwit you. I would’ve thought you eager to be rid of her.”

Madara resents the comment, but tempers his irritation. “I know your dislike for Tobirama makes you enthusiastic to do her harm. And why is that? Because you know harm done to her is harm done to him.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you should understand the benefit of keeping her alive.”

“Fine. Keep her alive. But not unscathed. If you want to use her as leverage, deliver a gift to the Senju. The correspondence between you and Hashirama has been pitifully civil so far. Send something with the next envoy. Something of hers. A finger will do.”

“No.” Madara’s tone is unequivocally firm. “We will do no such thing.”

Madara has little doubt that his brother’s enmity runs deep enough that an adequate offense on her part, no matter how slight, might be cause for Izuna to damage her. That’s not something Madara can allow.

His conscience forces away the fact that part of his aversion to his brother’s threats are rooted in possessiveness; Izuna has no claim to her, has no entitlement to her punishment.

That’s Madara’s. That’s his. And his alone.

⤰

How she finds herself sharing his bed again, she may never know, and will never be brave enough to ponder.

She’s silent when he moves inside of her. Even when he makes her cum, as easily and powerfully as he always has, she barely lets the ragged, frustrated moan loose from her lips for a second before closing her throat and swallowing down the tightness.

When he rolls off of her he lies in silence. Where he would usually get up to bathe or leave, he remains, like he's done so often recently, to sleep beside her.

He taunted her once, told her he had no fears of sleeping beside her now, because she knows what it would mean for the Senju hostages if she tried anything.

That aside, she’s half-convinced that he’s awake at all hours of the night regardless, waiting patiently for the opportunity to catch her plots and punish her accordingly.

But how difficult would it be? To kill him, leave him, save as many hostages as she can while he bleeds out in the room, alone and cold.

It’s a fantasy she allows herself to imagine over and over again. A fantasy too opportunistic to ignore after their nights of scornful passion leave her weak and spiteful.

The kunai she left under her pillow feels cold as ice when she slowly reaches for it, hiding the purposeful movement behind a comfortable stretch.

It’s been a long hour since she first played at sleep. She never hears him breathing, but considers his silence as good a signal as any that he’s unconscious.

When she carefully turns over, she confirms that his eyes are closed. He sleeps on his back, always, as most shinobi do. Alert and at the ready even in slumber.

Slowly she rises from under the sheets, ever so careful not to let the fabric move an inch across his skin. She should just slit his throat, she realizes. But piercing into him will be swifter, and more profitable.

The kunai wavers in her hand. Killing unwitting men in their sleep isn’t so difficult a task; shinobi and kunoichi alike do it all the time, don’t they? That was war.

It should be easy to stab down into his heart and twist, to watch him wake in tormenting shock as the blood fills his lungs and chokes him. She would enjoy that.

But the wavering in her hand worsens to a subtle tremor.

He’s not an unwitting man, not some simple enemy to kill for convenience. That makes her confidence ever harder to steel, but she has to. She has to kill him.

She won’t wait a moment longer. Kill him, destroy him, and be done with it.

But just as she raises the kunai, a strong hand wraps around her wrist in an unforgiving grip.

His eyes are open, glaring at her.

She shivers with fear and rage as his hand tightens to a bruising grip. Her panic sends her mind into a frenzy of action.

She can still do it. Just one stab downwards and she can end it.

But even pushing down with both hands doesn’t overwhelm his strength. He still glares and scowls, infuriated.

She tries again, putting her entire body’s weight down on the weapon, limbs shaking with the effort.

He doesn’t budge.

He flips them instead, and the kunai is suddenly in his hands, pressed against her throat.

“There are easier ways to kill me,” he mutters. If his blood is boiling at her trespass, nothing in his bored, thin voice betrays composure. “You could be more creative.”

Tears prickle her eyes. Her hands press desperately against his, trying to push the cold blade away from her skin. But he keeps it there. Even the smallest movement will slice the flesh.

“Remember that you are the one at my mercy. I could kill you and every Senju in this camp any time I wish.”

“You’re horrible,” she seethes, breath shallow in anger. "I hate you.”

“I’m aware. Yet you continue to share my bed night after night. You still think you’ll gain anything from it?”

The words sting her pride, split her open to let the doubts and faults and fruitless depravities spill in.

“You do nothing but shame yourself. Look at you. Spreading your legs for me like a dutiful whore, thinking it will somehow save you and your people. It’s pathetic—"

She slaps him, hard.

Though his cheek burns with redness, he’s otherwise unfazed by pain. He scowls and slams her arm down to prevent any more of her rage.

“You may think you have control over me,” she says in a seething whisper. Even with the kunai pressed against her jugular, the expression on her face is nothing short of brazen. A lofty, defeated brazen that comes across as scorn. “But you don’t, and you never will. There’s only one man I’ve ever loved. When you’re on top of me I think of him and only him. It makes it bearable. You’ll never be half the man that he is.”

He scowls at her, his eyes like burning, silent daggers. She knows she might have sealed her fate right then and there. But so be it. Let her last moments of life be spent spiting him.

Her body relaxes, unconcerned with fighting whatever comes next.

She doesn’t expect him to laugh.

“Tell yourself that, if you must,” he says, with a sadistic, grim smirk. “But you know very well the power I have over you.”

His eyes turn crimson and she gasps, but by the time she makes to look away, it’s too late.

In the illusion, Tobirama is frowning at her, eyes wide, a sneer of disgust on his face.

She doesn’t understand why, at first. Why does he look so gloomy? She feels only joy to see him. Joy and unbearable relief.

She tries to run to him. But burning hands at her throat summon her back. Despite no voice, face, or body to accompany the unforgiving grip, she knows it’s Madara who impedes her by the ferocious strength alone.

“Whore.”

It’s not Madara’s voice, but Tobirama’s. It carries over to her, like they’re separated by a valley despite his being only yards away. If she could reach out to him, touch him, feel his embrace—

“Uchiha whore,” he barks at her again, scowling now.

“No,” she pleads, eyes stinging with tears. She tries to pull the grip from her neck away and escape, but Madara locks her arms down to her sides, rendering her utterly trapped.

“Tobirama,” she begs for his sanctity, for his forgiveness. But he’s backing away from her now.

She cries and cries desperately, screeching in frustration when Madara’s grip tightens to a visceral degree, until she feels like her skin is alight with flames.

She looks down, and sees that they are. And the skin which these flames scorch dies off to corrupted, pink flesh as it travels up her arm in a slow crawl. An agonizing, horrible, slow crawl.

Hours elapse as she endures the torture. Hours of raw, inhuman pain and her husband slurring his vile insults at her. The sheer destruction it pillages on her mind and body makes her feel small, makes the flames which take their time in exploring her skin burn brighter and hotter until finally she feels like nothing but ash.

The last of her willpower billows away with that ash, as she watches Tobirama’s form start to disappear on some horizon that defies logic.

She still wants to touch him. Still wants to be held by him. She still wants him, despite how clearly he doesn’t want her.

His obscenities circle her thoughts, all-encompassing, completely and finally defeating her.

Whore. Slut. Traitor. Weakling.

She cries a voiceless cry when Tobirama disappears, and Madara takes the illusion away shortly after.

She blinks for clarity, eyes adjusting back to a reality no less harrowing than the previous artifice.

He leers down at her, takes in her anguish and her seedy frame with gluttonous cruelty in his gaze.

Numb, teary eyes stare up at him as they slowly read his form. Realizing her predicament, she starts to hyperventilate, and tears run down her face.

She shuts her eyes in one last attempt of modesty, forcing the stream of salt to sluice more violently down her cheeks.

“Tobirama,” she pleads weakly, the only thing that she can think of in her hazy pain.

It angers Madara.

“He doesn’t want you. Now look at me.”

She refuses.

His hand twists into her hair and snaps her head back so hard that she almost sees stars behind her eyelids.

“I said look at me.”

“No,” she cries weakly, though she obeys, regardless. Her bloodshot, desperate eyes feed his sadistic vengeance. Then she’s turning her head away from him. Meager defiance. “Please—”

Satisfied with the short admission of her defeat, he takes her face and forces her look at him.

“Try anything like that again and I’ll make sure you spend an eternity in a nightmare of my making. Do you understand?”

She has no energy to respond.

“Answer me.”

All she can offer is a weak nod, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

In a moment of triumphant vindictiveness, his fingers press harshly against the burn under her breast, bringing to life a reminiscent pain, a crushing reminder of what he’s done to her.

He pushes her face away and she curls into herself, thinking of Tobirama.

In these makeshift quarters he’ll find no sleep; his mind is a mess of anger, desperation, and confusion. He needed to hurt her, didn’t he? She had defied him again. What other choice did he have?

Another moment spent in her presence is another pin of irrational emotion nudged into his chest. He needs to leave.

He catches her glaring at him when he climbs off and starts to dress. It’s a look full of pure, searing hatred.

But he says nothing. He’s extracted enough triumph from her.

His silence is in victory; hers in defeat.

⤰

She feels less alive each passing day.

She doesn’t see him very often, not since the incident in the night when she’d failed to take swift revenge.

Occasionally she hears him on the other side of the door, inquiring the guards who stand watch outside about her disposition. Rarely does he enter and see for himself.

When he does, they exchange no words. He examines the room for any plotting demonstration of escape or sabotage, disguising his observation of her underneath these sweeping inspections.

However, sometimes he gives up on the pretense and simply stares, studying her, trying to decide how he feels.

His actions are regrettable, of that he’s sure and self-condemned, but there’s still a glimmer of insolence in her eyes when he catches her gaze: one which rekindles the spite within him, fans vengeful flames and reminds him that she brought this upon herself.

She would see no pity from him.

Any words of apology on his tongue fizzle away then, and his visits conclude as silently as they begin.

⤰

The fight in her dwindles helplessly, and as it dwindles, so too does all sense of reservation.

The prodigious determination there once had been to contend Madara and his Uchiha conspirators is all but spent. What good does it do her now? She’s broken, subjugated, and without leverage.

Her body, which had once enabled her to use its seductions to the advantage of her people, is now depleted and only a shell. A shell for the hollow, cold heap of defeat that she now is.

How deluded was she to think she could save all the people here? How had she ever thought that she alone could protect the hostages from the evil at their door?

And Tobirama, whose embrace was denied to her even in dreadful illusions—what would he think of her? Madara was right. What else was she now but an Uchiha whore? Obsolete, ruined, soiled.

Tobirama won’t want her. Not now. Not ever again.

What more is there for her?

As the weeks go by, Madara’s distrust ebbs away. Suspicions of subterfuge die with her audacity; the times he does happen upon her, she’s nothing but a husk of the sharp woman she had made herself out to be.

House arrest soon becomes a superfluous precaution, and even when the guards leave their posts, she makes few attempts to leave her home. And when she does, she wanders aimlessly, meanders without direction and without purpose.

She’s pitiful, Madara decides. Pitiful and crushed. He has nothing to fear or suspect from her. Her fire is gone.

What he doesn’t expect is that the last ember of that fire holds one desperate dredge of scorn. One which she won’t allow to be extinguished.

When she wanders into the Uchiha war tent that day, she isn’t stopped.

She’s given no second-glance by any of the Uchiha shinobi. Even if they were to give her careful inspection, they would never know of the kunai in her pocket, the steel icy and begging to be utilized for one final, desperate fight.

Madara isn’t there. Instead, she finds Izuna.

“Where is he?” she asks weakly.

Izuna pays her so limited attention these days, regards her as little else except the harlot his brother broke in and conquered, that her presence has nothing more than a fleeting impasse on his patience. Like a gnat buzzing around his head.

“My brother? Who knows.”

When he accords her his attention he sees that she’s looking lifeless as ever. Sometimes he ponders the nature of the unkind things his brother has done to her, with a fraction of a fraction of pity. Then he’s reminded of the trespasses she’s made, and the pity is gone.

“What?” he mocks. “If you’re hoping to charm some leniency out of him, you’ll get nowhere looking like that.” He tsks, a sneer marring his lips as he pulls his eyes over her form, like it’s a harrowing task to complete. “You’re better off groveling on your knees... save him the displeasure of looking at your face, at the least.”

Although she doesn’t react, he sees humiliation simmering underneath the hardened, broken surface of her expression. He would have favored a more promising response to his taunts, but he’s satisfied to see her tamed of her previous unruliness, nevertheless.

He turns his back to her. Her misery is pleasant only for so long; the more he looks, the more unsightly it becomes.

The Uchiha sigil stares back at her, stitched proudly and delicately onto the back of his garb.

It mocks her, does more to incite her than any of his degrading condescension can.

Unthinking, she moves to him.

Hearing her approach he turns to meet her, the same bored sneer on his face.

The melancholy is still in full bloom on her features, but there’s something else there, too. Something that tells him she’s struggling to express a grievance on her tongue.

He scoffs.

“What is it, woman?”

He’s not Madara, she decides, but he’ll do.

Aimlessly, she yanks the kunai from her pocket, then brings it down on his neck, not caring for whatever consequences will follow.

⤰

She wondered why Izuna didn’t kill her the moment he wrangled the kunai from her grip.

Blood spills from his neck; thick crimson pours in rivulets down his shirt, down the hand that presses against his wound.

It may not be fatal but it’s certainly critical. Sharingan had worked in his favor. An inch more of the dagger’s descent studied without the activation of his doujutsu might have guaranteed his death. He inched away just in time.

She doesn’t have time to lament her failure.

He did throw her to the floor in his anger, but nothing else comes. If he hadn’t been so occupied with sealing his wound, she imagines his ire would prove much worse, if not terminal.

She doesn’t bother pushing up from her place on the floor when another Uchiha, hearing the din of Izuna’s angry hollers, barges in, sees the chaos, and sprints away after taking orders from Izuna. She doesn’t hear the essence of these orders, numb to the world as she is.

Had the kunai been in her hand, she would slit her own throat in defiance. Death would have been preferable to what comes next.

When Madara storms in, she’s still a pile of hapless defeat on the floor.

He says not a word, but the pure rage boiling behind his gaze says all it needs to: She made a grievous mistake.

She gasps when he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her to her feet. She screws her eyes shut, unwilling to look at him. He doesn’t seem to care whether she does or doesn’t.

She’s certain that he rips hair right from the roots when he whips her around, shoves her forward with enough force to break every bone in her body. A bookcase greets her as she barrels into it. That’s when her eyes open in pained shock, a rushed gasp escaping her as she struggles to regain the air thrown out of her lungs.

She wants to collapse, but a hand clasps around her neck and keeps her standing. Then the fingers tighten around her throat. She chokes pitifully for oxygen.

“I told you that if you ever tried something like that again that you would regret it.” His voice is cold with anger. “But to make an attempt on my brother’s life?”

She doesn't answer. Apparently, he doesn’t expect her to.

He shoves her back to the ground. It knocks the wind out of her, and when she pushes herself up on shaky limbs, a heavy boot in her back sends her to the floor again.

She yelps as he digs his heel into sensitive muscle. A burst of hot and red pain spreads through her back. Her kidneys, maybe? She doesn’t know. But he’s damaged something internally, and she wishes she were dead.

Her breaths are pitiful and scant when he finally takes his foot away. She says nothing. Thinks of nothing.

“Get up,” he demands, in a rigid, thin voice devoid of anything except fury.

Even if she wanted to obey, her body refuses.

“Get up,” he snaps, and the unforgiving hand returns to twist into her hair, sending webs of pan across her scalp as he hauls her to her knees.

He crouches in front of her, a hand still fisted in her hair. Now he wants her to look. His other hand takes her face and squeezes, so hard she’s half-convinced he plans to crush her skull.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Desperately, she tries. But it’s a task to keep her eyes open without nausea seeping into her gut. Her eyelids force themselves to shut in an effort to quell dizziness.

But then he jostles her around by the grip in her hair, so hard and so viciously that her entire world blacks out momentarily. The motion sends her mind reeling and her vision swimming.

“Open your eyes.”

Adrenaline shoots through her and demands her to obey.

She isn’t surprised when the red of sharingan is there to greet her.

Everything goes black in the world of his making. She almost expects to see Tobirama there, for him to shout at her and degrade her again.

Instead, she feels pain. The worst pain she’s ever felt. So painful she can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing that exists is the hot, searing flame of anguish that stings every inch of her skin, every gap of her insides, down to the very organs.

A hundred kunai stab into her head. She hears them slicing flesh to ribbons and digging fractures into her skull. Her blood curdles until it’s set aflame. That too, she hears, bubbling underneath the surface of her skin like thick, boiling water.

Everything hurts. Everything is endless agony.

When air finally fills her lungs, she wails.

So loud, so violently, so wretchedly, that it’s almost itself anguish to hear.

Then he takes it all away.

The relief is heavenly. She crumples into a ball.

She hates it. She hates the weakness. If Tobirama could see her…

Then the pain comes again. She screams in tandem, then bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

The cruel routine goes on, for what to her deluded, frenetic mind seems like hours, but is in reality passed in mere minutes.

Izuna watches as his wound is tended to, his expression as devoid of any mercy or sympathy as his brother’s.

⤰

Two weeks later, when her body and mind make the slow, pitiful climb back to equilibrium, she notices the change.

It’s unlike one she’s felt before, but not entirely unrelated to an irksome nausea: a queasiness in her stomach that neither food nor rest alleviates; something new, like an aura, that swathes her and accompanies her every second of the day; an extra weight added to the burden of her body.

Then comes the fearful ascent of logic.

Amidst her turmoil, she’s forgotten about missing her monthly bleed. Its absence could be blamed on the toll her body has taken, but she knows better.

The revelation brings her into a spiral of hectic anxiety, of despairing conflict.

It’s not long before she finds herself sneaking into one of the medical tents, decision already made on how best to deal with the new predicament.

She shuffles through the stock of vials and herbs which the Uchiha medics keep at the back of the tent, finds what she’s looking for and almost escapes as covertly as she had infiltrated, when she’s stopped.

“What is that you have?”

She pauses a foot away from the tent’s exit, her body in a mode of panic.

“Some herbs for my wounds,” she mutters.

An elder Uchiha woman, a medic, turns her around and inspects the filched items in her grasp.

“That is ginger root,” the medic observes warily. “If you need something for the pain, I would suggest dried poppy.”

The young woman stares fretfully at the old woman; the old woman stares back.

“Thank you,” the younger stutters blankly, unable to make a step in either direction; play along and heed the advice to go search for the proper herbs, or flee and risk suspicion?

“You look ill,” the old woman says, eyeing her, putting a hand to her forehead.

She backs away. “I just need rest.”

“Let me examine you. I can help you find the right medicines.”

“No,” she says. Any medic will be able to feel the life inside of her, given the chance. “I’ll be alright.”

She tries to leave then, but the old woman doesn’t let her.

⤰

When Madara answers the request for his presence at one of the medic huts, he’s surprised to find her there, sitting on a cot, hunched over and distressingly quiet. Two Uchiha men stand at her sides, supervising her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Madara asks.

Recently, he’s appreciated any reason to stay away from her. The sight of her makes him sick, makes a conflict of rage and confusion and culpability dance angrily in his head.

The old woman offers him the ginger root, and a small vial of clear liquid. “She was after these.”

Madara takes them into examination. “Am I supposed to know what this is?” His patience, already thin, dwindles considerably for the roundabout elucidations.

“A toxic mixture,” the old woman explains plainly. “Boiled with regular tea and these will certainly destroy whatever grows inside a womb.”

With subdued bafflement, Madara looks at the woman on the cot, understanding all at once.

She doesn’t dare meet his eyes. Even now her body trembles with frustration, with fear, with defeat.

Izuna, who had accompanied his brother, scoffs, incredulously loud. “So either you managed to put one in her, brother, or it’s the Senju’s.”

“Can it be determined?” Madara asks the medic, ignoring his brother, and never taking his eyes off the frail form on the cot.

“In a month’s time the chakra should be durable enough for us to sense.”

“Kill it,” Izuna insists, coming to stand next to his brother, a voice of frustrated reason. “If it’s a Senju, better off unborn. And if it’s an Uchiha... you would pass on the clan’s power to halfling filth.”

Unperturbed, Madara stares in silence. Finally she meets his gaze, unsettled by the look of dark concentration in his eyes.

“Why attempt to destroy the life inside of you unless it’s a burden to you?” he ponders out loud.

She realizes his train of logic: it must be his, for her to be so adamant in her pursuit to terminate it.

“If it was my husband’s,” she says, “and it is, I would do the same. You would kill my child the moment I bring it into this world. Why let life grow that is destined to be murdered in cold blood?”

“And if it were mine?”

“It isn’t."

Madara scowls.

“And if it were,” she goes on dangerously. “All the more reason to destroy it.”

That visibly infuriates him.

“Give her the herbs,” Izuna asserts again. “Let her solve the problem. Either way she’s doing you a favor.”

Madara doesn’t speak for a long time.

His careful inspection of her lasts long enough to make her doubts rise afresh, make her feet fidget uncomfortably and her heart pound in desperation.

“She stays here tonight,” he decides ultimately, looking to the Uchiha guards at her side. “She doesn’t leave.”

Izuna looks muddled, and somewhat irritated by the decision.

She just looks afraid.

⤰

He doesn't return for many days, but his absence can’t be appreciated as much of a reprieve at all; her mind is a mess of anxiety and denial the entire time.

This can’t be happening, she tells herself countless times. She can’t be pregnant. And worse, can’t be ignorant to the father. There’s no possible way. It can’t be happening.

Part of her reasons for the better: it must be Tobirama’s. No more than three months have passed since the Uchiha first conquered and occupied the land, no more than three months since she’s been with her husband.

The other part of her, downtrodden and beaten into pessimistic depravity, knows that with the chaos Madara brought, so too came a negligence to her normal routines: was she taking the contraceptive herbs as diligently as she needed to, given their intimacies? Amidst the turbulence he caused, had she remembered each and every time they were together to make sure nothing was conceived from their depraved liaisons? How could she not, when the way he touched her and took her made her sick?

But then, doubt: leading her astray, reminding her that everything horrible and miserable that could happen already had, so what was a bit more to the mountain of suffering she already endured? What was stopping fate from deciding that the life inside her womb belonged not to her loving husband, but to her unforgiving captor?

Thinking about it drives her to depressive insanity. By the time Madara comes to see her, she’s depleted almost all of her brain power.

“Leave us,” he commands the guards who have been assigned to watch her.

They obey, and the pair are left in silence.

Her mind pleads with her to run, to attack, to simply scream—anything. Anything that will quell the distress of the pause in the air, the distress of not knowing his intent.

When he takes a step forward she inches back. Noticing this, he’s dissuaded from approaching any closer.

“So long as the child is inside of you, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her heart pounds so furiously in her chest that she’s sure it’s audible in the quiet of the room.

The statement angers her, scares her, and much to her shame, relieves her.

“It’s not yours,” she claims.

“Unless I’m miscalculating, the Senju host left a week before my arrival. And not long after that, a fortnight at most for the sake of assumptions, this child might have been conceived. Between us.”

Bile rises in her throat and she wants to protest, but he goes on, badgering her with the logic she’s thus far refused to entertain.

“If it were his, you would be farther along. Visibly, for one. And more than likely, I would be able to sense the chakra, deduce which clan it belongs to.”

By now she’s trembling quietly with her fear, fighting the urge to deny him, to preserve the hope that the reality he speaks of is in fact skewed.

“The child inside of you is an Uchiha,” he says determinedly.

She shakes her head.

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re not,” she argues. “You said yourself there's no way of knowing. Not yet.”

He cocks his head. “Then you really have no idea, do you? No idea who it belongs to? Normally mothers can read the chakra within them at this stage. Can you not?”

She won’t grant him an answer, instead stares down at her feet as they dig into the ground, as if in a desperate attempt to escape underneath.

Madara watches her with careful scrutiny. “I suppose we’ll have to see, then. But somewhere in that head of yours, you know I’m right.”

You’re not right, she repeats in her mind. You’re not. You’re not.

Just as he makes to leave, he stops.

“And let me be clear,” he says, menacingly. “If you make any attempt to destroy what grows inside of you, you won’t be the one suffering the consequences.”

The glare he gives her speaks volumes: The Senju hostages. The violence that would ensue. The atrocities he might commit if she disobeyed.

He leaves her. She clutches her stomach, letting the first, long-suppressed tear roll down her cheek. A warm, wet trail is left in its wake.

In the turmoil she finds evidence for and against his claims when she lets her thoughts run away with logic. A wash of anxious desperation enlivens her, makes her conscience grab for a reprieve to her doubts. But even that is denied by the crushing reality of her situation.

The life inside of her might belong to the enemy, to the Uchiha.

And still, it might not.

She stumbles between one acceptance and the next, each clouding her ever more until the tears are spilling in streams down her cheeks.

When she puts every morsel of her ability into sensing the life within her, she can’t tell if the faint trace of Senju chakra she feels is authentic, or a desperate manifestation of her mind’s making.

#madara #madara uchiha #naruto imagines

753 notes · View notes

metanoiamorii · 4 years ago

Text

Wip Re-Introduction: A Rope In Hand

❛Horror is like a serpent; always shedding its skin, always changing. And it will always come back. It can’t be hidden away like the guilty secrets we try to keep in our subconscious.❜

♧ Title: A Rope In Hand [ARIH]

♧ Status: First Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third Person, flexible between a few

♧ Genre: Dark Fantasy, Supernatural, LGBTQ+, Action, Drama

♧ Warnings: This story revolves around the occult. There will be talk of witch hunts and trials and cults. There will be torture methods used to gain confessions, and these methods will be justified under religious belief. There will be toxic and abusive relationships, particularly family; finding an escape from them, and healing from the trauma. There will be homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and colonization. There will be major character deaths, but I can spoil after the book ends the main characters do get a happy ending. Each chapter and scene posted will have personalized warnings, but these are the main things to expect.

♧ Featuring: The majority of the characters will be LGBTQ+, from pansexual, homosexual, to asexual; genderfluid, agender/nonbinary, and transgender. Each character is complex and morally grey. Yes, they will do things that are blatantly terrible, or actively good. Overall, they will be morally grey and questionable at best. There will be complex world-building, from both the universe it takes place in, and the religious pantheons brought up. The religions brought up will be polytheistic and animism-themed. The romance between the major characters will be slow-burn enemies to friend to lovers, and them learning to love themselves through one another. There will be an exploration on generational healing, and unlearning toxic, and bias believes.

♧ Setting: The setting is influenced by Victorian London, and Medieval Ireland. There will be mention of other places, primarily western Europe, the Ottoman Empire, Ancient Rome, Eastern Asia, and Napoleonic France.

♧ Synopsis:

In the town of Arkaley, in the northwest of the Duchy of Ruairc, the people have been plagued by bad fortune and crime. Attacks of bandits on the road, raids from pirates on the shores, untimely deaths of children and young women, elected officials coming out corrupt; there is no end in Arkaley of the suffering the locals endure.

Rationally, to explain such a bad string of luck, there is only one possible explanation: Witchcraft.

The Duchy of Ruairc already has a history of witchcraft: the Ó Ruaircs turned out to be witches, the Abondé incident in Salem, the Liathain incident in Trakee; the Ruaircs have their record. Perfectly acceptable for everyone to assume the worse of the Ruairish, as they have proved to be nothing but.

To prove his worth, the young Reverend Prudence Clemency Frye, takes up the task of quelling this coven of witches and heading this witch-hunt. Young and naïve, witch only knowledge from books and little hands-on experience, he’s unprepared for this challenge. When he finally leaves the town, well… everyone would rather put this incident behind them.

♧ Tease:

My darling dear, a knave so clear

You appear, so bravely near;

Do you hear my darling dear, sneers of austere jeers?

Behave, my dear, when I am near;

For peers will lear, in their fear,

Allow me o' dear our persevere

So my fave you appear

And volunteer a slave so dear

in an atmosphere we fear.

my darling dear, wave so clear

Depravely as we leave, and give a souvenir;

My lips to yours, as you crave in these fallin' years.

Be brave darling dear, and give into hearts o' queer.

For mine you be, your darling dear,

To the stars you have swore in love, so crystal clear.

My peers shall sneer, but whore I be, and you I crave

Oh so bare. slurs and glares, just listen to my prayers.

Kiss me love, and leave o'they to a'crave

In this atmosphere that we fear

Their own, o' pure, knave so dear.

♧ Excerpt:

".... This is wrong." Prudence finds the words slipping from his lips, voice a quiet whisper; a breathless tone of voice. He allows his fingertips to falter against scarred skin, watching as Mastema turned his cheek, he pressed himself into the palm of Prudence's hand. Eyes closed, a smile curled on his face. Prudence couldn't help but smile at the scene, but slowly, slowly, slowly, he rescinded his hand; breaking the hold.

"Revered..." Matching his voice, Mastema replied. Maintaining such a soft voice, as he shifted himself forward on the bed. One foot to the ground, the other drawn beneath himself. Over Prudence he leaned, resting one palm to the sheets, the other lifting to seize Prudence's hand before he could recoil back. "You have made me feel something in which I've never felt before..."

From where he laid, Prudence could only form a soft frown. He knew he could draw his hand back, the grip was far from tight. But he didn't. He laid there, allowing Mastema to hold his hand. "... This is wrong, Mastema."

Mastema frowned; he matched the reaction Prudence wore. Through it, he forced a half-smile, tightening his grip on the other's hand, and forward he brought Prudence's hands to kiss the knuckles. "... If this is wrong, I do not wish to be right."

At the response, Prudence shook his head. "It is not for us to be right or wrong, the gods—"

At the angle he sat, Mastema shifted once more. He dropped Prudence's hand, to lean forward; to lean in close. Both of his palms found the other's cheek, as he touched their foreheads to one another. "... Do not force your will onto another." In that soft whisper, he spoke. Eyes closed, breath drawn in. "Is that not a Commandment of our Creator?"

"I..." Prudence faltered. In, he drew his breath, to try to steady himself. "... I did not take you for the religious sorts."

"I'm not." Mastema all too quickly retorted. But as he was, he laid; this proximity. "But you are."

♧ Characters:

The Order of Witchesbane

Prudence Clemency Frye; The Reverend

Half Fae/Half Human • Intersex • Genderfluid • He/They • Homosexual • Homo-demiromantic

The bastard son of Lord Zachariah Frye. Raised by his father, with his mother dying young, he took to following in his footsteps. He became a religious young man and an active witch-hunter. A part of him desires his father’s acceptance, his praises; the other part despises his father and everything the man stands for. In recent years, he has joined the De La Cruz household, becoming an apprentice beneath the famous Witch’s Advocate; upholding the beliefs that not every witch is evil and has foul intentions, and the ones that mean harm are the only ones that should be hunted.

Zachariah Frye; The Bloodhound

Human • Male • He/Him • Bicurious • Aromantic

The oldest living member of the Order. Now he is the man that holds the face of the Order, who you think of when they come to mind. Cold. Vindictive. Despotic. Violent. He is not a good man. He is firm in his beliefs and stubborn to change. Once his mind is made up, he cannot be reasoned with. He is blindly convinced of his beliefs and his cause to eradicate every living witch, unfazed if he has to fill a few innocent thousands in the process.

Calisto Ferzan Hermengildo Melchior Lorencio De La Cruz; The Witch’s Advocate

Half Fae/Half Human • Amab • Nonbinary • Genderfluid • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic

A witch-hunter in title alone, Calisto has been making enemies since he could first talk. He’s always enjoyed being the underdog, going against the expectations of society, being ridiculed by his peers. The sole reason? Proving them wrong. To ridicule his own peers for their outdated beliefs, he’s taken to defending witches, proving them innocent of their ‘crimes’, and going on to help them to set up a life in a country more accepting of witchcraft

The servant of Calisto, never seen far from his side. He is a servant in name alone and is more-or-less an assassin, a hitman for Calisto. Held in contempt by Athylian society for being a foreigner, he often treated by others more as a slave than a servant. To help be unseen, to help the De La Cruz Household, Michelotto endures the treatment and goes as far to be perceived as ignorant, alongside him being born a mute. Keeping his true intents and intelligence duly guarded, only a handful are aware he is also a witch.

Myk'loumihr [Michelotto Dougal] Siavash; The Man-Servant

Witch; Amab • Agender • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic

Austin Duvine; The Lord Without A Ring

Half-Human/Half Fae • Amab • Nonbinary • He/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

One of the younger members of the order, Austin relies on his father's wealth and name. He doesn't care for responsibilities, he doesn't care for hard work. He's a playboy at heart. He's fit to hold social events, and use his natural talent to gib and fib his way through life. He'll keep his mixed feelings to himself, struggling with doing the right thing or upholding tradition.

Alistair Lavine; The Witchfinder General

Human • Amab • Agender • He/They • Bicurious • Aromantic

The best friend to Zachariah and his right hand. Where Zachariah is business and lacks charms, Alistair can charm a crowd and hold their attention. He knows how to feign being an ideal human, without letting on his own bloodlust; he's a monster in human skin. At the end of the day, unlike Zachariah, Alistair does have morals and standards he will abide by, even if they come back to ruin him.

━━━━━━━━━━

The Vakari Coven

Ausrine Baoghal; The Lady

Witch • Female • She/Her • Bisexual • Aromantic

The woman in charge of the town, widowed and inheriting the right to rule as her husband had no heirs. She is a manipulative and dangerous woman, eager to commit any sin or crime for more power. She, in truth, cares only for herself and would feel no remorse if she had to turn on one of her coven to further her own agenda.

The magistrate and also the chief policeman of the town. He maintains a calm, but manipulative personality. As a front, he presents himself to be fair and just, liked and favored by the people for genuinely caring for them. While in truth he has his own heinous and sinister agenda, aiding Ausrine in her plans.

Leary O'Laoghaire; The Magistrate

Witch • Male • He/Him • Bicurious • Aromantic

The oldest member of the coven, Dairine lives under the guise of an elderly woman, who lives alone with her children and grandchildren already leaving her to live their own lives. She is a kind and understanding woman and cares for the younger witches in the coven. She will not support Baríon with her agenda, nor does she care for the servant girl, she even despises the so-called ally Ausrine claims to have and who they all adhere to.

Dairine Ó Séaghdha; The Crone

Witch • Afab • Agender • She/They • Asexual • Aromantic

The acting servant of Barion, Anisha’s true loyalties lie elsewhere. She stays within the town, serving the coven while acting as the eyes and ears of someone, the person who is truly pulling the strings. She is the one to relay information and letters between the coven and her master. She is a quiet woman, that keeps her head down and her mind to herself. She only shows her true, confident and demanding, nature behind closed doors with the coven when they dare to question her.

Anisha Kaur; The Servant

Witch • Afab • Demigirl • She/They • Asexual • Aromantic

The charming son of Leary. Many whisper that is part fae, due to his charm, if it’s true or not many are unaware. He is a very sophisticated young man, that has managed to wrap the entire town around his finger. While on the surface he is alike his father is a caring, compassionate, charming young man, something sinister brews beneath. He is devious, demanding, domineering.

Nathir O'Laoghaire; The Magistrate’s Son

Half-Witch/Half-Fae • Amab • Agender • He/Him • Bisexual • Aromantic

Being the baker's daughter, Liannah helps around the bakery and family business. Unlike the company she keeps, she is a reserved young woman. She is polite and maintains her manners with whomever she is dealing with. She has the patience of a saint and rarely loses her cool. Liannah is a woman with a calm demeanor about her, being a woman many are comfortable around due to her peaceful and calm aura.

Liannah Ó Buachalla; The Baker’s Daughter

Witch • Afab • Genderfluid • She/They • Asexual • Panromantic

Ausrine's bastard son she had with a spirit she bargained with for more power. Since he was young, he was raised by the servants of the house, and the coven, over his own mother; the two have more of a business relationship over a family one. Since he cares less about what his mother does, he spends his time with Liannah and Reyes, either at the bakery or getting into trouble somewhere. With Reyes as an influence, Mastema is a flirtatious man that enjoys scandals and making the most of life

Mastema Baoghal; The Knave

Half-Witch/Half-Spirit • Amab • Genderfluid • He/They • Pansexual • Demiromantic

Rochan Misra; The Charlatan

Half-Witch/Half-Spirit • Amab • Queer • He/She • Pansexual • Aromantic

A foreigner to the Coven, born and raised in the Duchy of Incali. At a young age, he became a traveling charlatan, recently settling within the coven only as he befriended Liannah and Mastema and enjoyed their company. Now, he is the local bad influence: scamming locals out of their money at the taverns, wooing and seducing young men and ladies alike, always trespassing and vandalizing something. He is trouble but has a heart of gold when it matters.

ARIH: : @hekat-ie, @writings-of-a-narwhal, @silent-creed

━━━━━━━━━━

Taglist:

General: @endlesshourglass, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words, @alexwritesfiction, @primusesgiantmetalballbearings

Both: @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @hazard-writes, @egg-shark

48 notes · View notes

koala-smiles · 4 years ago

Text

i love you (ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?)

For @petalstosarah TPT. Based loosely on the book PS I Like You by Kasie West. Click here to read on Ao3.

James wouldn’t say he was bored in his Remus-mandated daily study session. He would simply rather be anywhere else.

Well, that wasn’t fair. He was usually happy to get all his homework done by midday, leaving his evenings open to whatever fun new thing Sirius was planning. But he could hear Remus and Peter discussing the different uses for a levitation spell when working with magical creatures, and it somehow wasn’t interesting enough for a distraction from the charms essay he still had to write.

He was considering asking if anyone else was hungry, even though he wasn’t, to try to convince Remus to take an early lunch, when he could suddenly hear a gentle humming, barely noticeable over the sound of Remus and Peter’s discussion, which seemed to have turned into a bit of an argument. He turned his head and saw that it was Sirius, humming James’ favorite Beatles song while writing down the components of various potions.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

The song was going to get stuck in his head. He mindlessly took his undipped quill and scratched the lyrics in the corner of the desk he was using.

By the time he finished scratching the ‘t’, he looked at his watch and saw that it actually was time for lunch, or else they’d be in the classroom when the next class actually had to use it. He looked down at his finished lyric, and realized he didn’t really want anyone to see that he had done something as dorky as scratch lyrics into a desk. He was a Marauder, dammit, and he had a reputation to uphold! A quick illusion charm made the desk look completely normal, and he gave his work a quick nod. Then he heard something that pulled his attention back to his friends.

“Hold on Peter, you think Ringo is the coolest Beatle?”

They left the classroom deep in discussion.

____

It’s not like he had expected his words to disappear by the next study session, but when he got there and waved his wand to undo the illusion, he was surprised to see a response to his lyrics.

So, we have a Beatles fan, do we?

There was no reason for this to affect him like it did. It might have been because someone saw this part of himself that he didn’t let out except when he was around the other Marauders. He spent almost the entire study session deliberating how he should respond, because of course he had to respond, before coming to a decision.

It seems that we have two, since you recognized it.

He smiled to himself, for once excited to have his next study session.

_____

Lily hadn’t meant to find the lyric the first time. It’s not that she got bored in her Potions Theory class, it’s just that Slughorn could get… a little long winded. She was just twisting her wand in her hand when she noticed that the wood of her desk was different than it was yesterday. She decided not to get into how much she must not pay attention to class to notice the difference in the woodwork.

She waved her wand discreetly to try to figure out what had changed it, and the simple illusion charm broke. She smiled when she saw that someone had used their spiky handwriting to scratch a Beatles lyric into the wood. She had made the snap decision to respond and then recreate the illusion of unblemished wood.

That had been a month ago. By now the desk was almost completely covered in their conversation, and she was forever grateful that she didn’t have a deskmate.

The conversation had evolved from the Beatles to muggle music to muggle culture to feminism (she was surprised to find a rant about the patriarchy scratched into the desk) to their lives and feelings. In an unspoken rule, they never gave enough away to identify who they were. But even so, Lily could feel herself developing a crush on the spiky handwriting, and having that grow into even more.

She told this mystery person things that she had never admitted to anyone else. How much it hurt to be shunned by her own sister, how tiring it was to put up a brave face when she was constantly scared for her safety.

It felt weird to leave these things scratched into a desk, but they were well hidden by the advanced charm and the anonymity of leaving nothing but her own handwriting. Besides, hers was the only class that used this classroom.

She gained confidence every time the person reciprocated. Being woken by the screams of their brother reliving his past in his dreams, the bitterness of not being able to do more.

She didn’t know the face behind the handwriting, but whoever it was knew her better than any other living person. She wanted to learn who it was more than anything, but she wouldn’t risk what they had for the chance.

She walked into the common room thinking about this mystery person, because who else did she ever think about anymore, when she heard Remus call her over.

“Could you double check this paragraph? I’m not as good with potions, but I’m supposed to be going over this paper.”

“I’d be happy to,” she replied, sitting down and taking the parchment from him. Her vision tunneled as she saw the same spiky handwriting she had been replying to all semester. A quick glance to the top of the paper told her who her mystery person was.

James Potter.

She stood up in a daze and handed the paper back to Remus, confirming that the paragraph was accurate. She walked up to her room in a stupor, not noticing her surroundings.

After hours of laying in her bed and thinking, she decided that it was unfair to have only a one-sided reveal. She spent the night thinking about how, after all this time, she fell in love with James Potter just by his words. After all this time of rejecting him and ignoring his advances. After all this time.

____

James rushed into the classroom for his daily study session as he always had lately. He had begun to get to the classroom at least ten minutes before any of the rest of his friends, after they had noticed that he was too busy scratching words into a desk to do his work.

He sat down at the desk and rummaged through his bag, trying to locate his wand. By the time he pulled it out, victorious, he saw that the charm had already been broken. He could have sworn that the desk had been clear when he walked in, but it didn’t matter. He traced his fingers along the words, following the conversation all the way down to the bottom, where he saw the latest thing written.

I love you.

A female voice pulled him out of trance.

“Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

He looked up, grinning like the devil. “It’s you.”

Lily smiled back at him. “It’s me.”

#jily #jily fanfiction #jily fic #james potter #lily evans #marauders #petals is killing me with her tpt's #because i love them so much but it's exam week and i've been doing this instead of studying for linear algebra

46 notes · View notes

simoviacourt · 4 years ago

Photo

LIVE BROADCAST - HER ROYAL MAJESTY QUEEN ALMA UNDER QUESTIONING BY THE PRIME MINISTER AND THE PARLIAMENT

Presenter 1: We're coming in live here from the parliament, where Her Royal Majesty, Queen Alma is under questioning today regarding her failure to inform the government when she was not fit to rule.

Presenter 2: Yes, it has been all anyone in Simovia has been able to talk about after the press conference from the palace and the subsequent statement released by the prime minister.

Presenter 1: One cannot but feel sorry for the Queen...

Presenter 2: But she did break the constitution...

Presenter 1: Yes. So now it remains to be seen what the consequences are.

Presenter 2: Many are calling for her abdication...

Presenter 1: I doubt it will come to that. The Crown Princess is too young. Nobody wants a regency.

Presenter 2: Let’s have a look around. In the front row up on the balcony, we have some members of uh the... extended... royal family.

Presenter 1: There’s His Royal Highness Prince Andrew... returning from the coronation in Nalore... quite the chaos there.

Presenter 2: Indeed! I’ve heard that the Prince had a role to play too.

Presenter 1: Oh?

Presenter 2: Yes... though the palace has refused to comment on it. But, who else do we have... Her Highness Vorstin van den Wenen, the Queen’s grandmother.

Presenter 1: Do I also spot the Creutz family in the background?

Presenter 2: Yes! It is curious that the Queen’s in-laws should be in attendance.

Presenter 1: Especially with His Grace Landgraaf van Hoensbroek there!

Presenter 2: I must say that it’s quite remarkable how quickly the Landgraaf has made his way to be included with the family...

Presenter 1: Oh look, the Prime Minister has taken the podium!

Presenter 2: He’s about to start...

Feng: Dear members of the parliament, of the public. We are gathered here under the most perplexing of circumstances. In all my years in office, no, in all my years of life, have I ever been faced with a situation like this. Our ruling monarch, our Queen, has shown such utter disrespect and disregard for the very constitution that she is supposed to uphold that we must summon her here to be brought under questioning.

For the past seven weeks, Her Royal Majesty has failed to inform the government that serves in her name that she had been rendered unfit to rule. Now, we may feel sympathy for Her Royal Majesty’s person, and indeed, I have spent many years working alongside Her Royal Majesty and I have always had tremendous respect for her but this does not change the basic facts. The Queen has knowingly gone against the constitution that binds her the same as all of us and we must demand that Her Royal Majesty explain herself here today.

Presenter 1: Strong words from the Prime Minister.

Presenter 2: Indeed... and it is a historic moment too. Never in all Simovia’s history has the Queen been summoned to the parliament like this.

Presenter 1: I think the Queen is about to speak.

Presenter 2: She looks very frail out there.

Alma: Prime Minister Feng, good members of the parliament, of the public. I will not deny any of the charges laid out by the Prime Minister. Indeed, I could not, for it is a fact that I was incapacitated and unable to perform the duties of the monarch.

Presenter 1: The cabinet doesn’t look too pleased.

Presenter 2: No they certainly don’t.

Alma: However, there are certain facts that are missing. When I summoned Prime Minister Feng to the palace last week, I did not wish to share those, on the account of my duty as a granddaughter. However, my duty as a monarch to her people must come first and so I will now reveal the true reason that the government was not informed.

After I was discharged from the hospital, only a handful of people knew of my condition. Among those was my grandfather, the Vorst van den Wenen. As I was in no condition to inform anyone at that time, I entrusted the responsibility to His Highness. Indeed, I thought that I could reasonably expect that as the Head of the House of Lords he would follow the correct protocol to ensure the continuation of government. I was aggrieved when I found out that he had not done so, though the fault is mine for keeping this from the Prime Minister.

Gregory: This is preposterous!

Feng: How do you answer the Queen’s allegation? Did you know that she was not fit to rule?

Gregory: You will address me as you should!

Feng: Did Your Highness know that Her Royal Majesty was in no state to govern?!

Gregory: I will not answer that here. You have no right. I will answer to my peers only.

Feng: You will answer the people’s elected representatives!

Alma: Please, gentlemen, let us convene in private for a moment before this turns into a shouting match.

Presenter 1: Well... wow. That’s not what I expected to be hearing today.

Presenter 2: If he knew... the consequences would be massive.

Presenter 1: He must have known. Why would the Queen lie? It’s her own grandfather... I can understand why she tried to protect him. This will tear her family apart.

Presenter 2: But for the Head of the House of Lords to keep things from the Prime Minister and the parliament? It’s unheard of...

Presenter 1: Is it though? The sessions of the House of Lords are closed for the public and their records are sealed. I only wonder how many of them knew.

Presenter 2: We'll have to see what His Highness has to say when they return.

Previous - Next

#ts4 royalty #ts4 royal simblr #ts4 story #ts4 storytelling #simoviacourt #sim: alma of simovia #sim: andrew of simovia #sim: erasmus van hoensbroek

47 notes · View notes

spade-riddles · 4 years ago

Text

"Adjusting Expectations" Post

This submission received a lot of responses and 120 notes, so I thought I would compile the comments here.

Anonymous said:

Adjusting expectations anon was so good. If their timetables are right and we do just need to be patient a little longer, can Kaylor please send us a sign? I guess it would be too loud to slip "adjusting expectations" into social media posts, but maybe they could both do something with playing cards? To show they are card sharks right now but they'll find their way home eventually? That would reassure people. And it would fly under the radar.

casuallycruel131313 said:

I agree with a lot of this but I think the main issue right now is that moral and ethical lines have been crossed and there's no coming back from that. In these post-Trumpian insurrectionist times it's unfathomable that they could continue the Kushner narrative I no longer care if or when they come out, I enjoy the music and I'm happy to observe from a distance because I'm interested from a PR/marketing point of view but my opinion of T &K as people has changed irrevocably and I don't see how they can clean the tarnish off.

@theprologues said:

Agree with most of not all if this but I would like to say as a Kaylor the toe Grammy stunt didn’t phase me. I was not crushed by that by any means. I just shrugged and honestly expected it. It was the attributing Betty and exile to him during the LPSS in November that bummed me out and really made me go...really?

rockcrow20 said:

Have to say I also agree with most of this.

I no longer have any expectations on anything changing any time soon and have not been surprised by the recent events its to be expected after everything over the years really

Nothing has really changed (bearding narrative wise) since I fell down the rabbit hole in 2017 (except that great night in nashville 2018 rep)

Honestly I can't say I am as invested anymore about them ever coming out as I was.

I think the wb/Joe thing was the last moment for me and the continual kushner connection just troubles me like many others.

I mean my kaylor motto for awhile now has been hope for the best but expect disappointment.

Low expectations = limited feelings of disappointment.

original-cypher said:

@rockcrow20 the WB was a breaking point for so many. You are absolutely right. There are just so ma'y contradictions that feel like absolute whiplash. (I know I seem to have been the only one experiencing that with Gorgeous but... that was a big one for me, too) But like. You go on a whole PR campaign about speaking up and standing up for yourself. You say you're capable and tired of men trying to take ownership of your success and profit off of your name. And you credit you literal damn work to a bloke? Bitch, 'consistency'? Look it up. It grossed me out. It would have felt iffy if I believed they were real. But since I wasn't born yesterday it just sent me the message "this is how far I'm willing to sacrifice my principles to not be queer".

rockcrow20 said:

@original-cypher exactly why it bothered me and I know alot us so much. Such mixed messaging of being a strong fighting for your rights female and then oh hey let me attribute some of my best work to my pr boyfriend and the pr pics where she is walking behind all the time like 🙄 The Betty thing that was big one for me too!

rainbowdaisy13 said:

This write up and the comments are spot on. I don’t have much to add other than like @original-cypher said, Miss Americana is tainted for me now and seems like at the very least, it was released too soon in the plan. I get we think they have had to pivot but man, that doc, and including her literally saying “gay rights make me me” at the end was such a false flag. To see her wax poetic about not taking shit from men anymore and then see her do the same old hetero weak woman song and dance routine with the WB shit for albums that are of her genius mind has been so disappointing. I still believe Kaylor is real and I hope they get a chance to show the world that. Karlie posting that cardigan pic in the woods before the folklore release cemented for me they are still together. Adding a baby makes me feel all kind of weird ethical things but I hope I live long enough to see it play out and wear my I Told You So shirt 😁

@kellykaylor said:

agree with your post... I dont care about toe stunts but what really pissed me of was hetwashing betty 🤮! beautiful post tho anon!!

roameroo said:

Totally agree with these all comments especially the strong messaging of MA only to turn around & pull that WB = my "bf" crap. I was disheartened by her mentioning him at the Grammy's only bc he's getting credit for sh*t he doesn't/didn't do. That is what irks me the most about this, giving him credit for her life's work.

always-the-last-word said:

Can I throw my pennies in the pool ?? Taylor will put out the big three first Fearless, RED then 1989 that should bring us to about August. This is where the excitement should begin. If Taylor preps and waits for National Coming Out day it's a no lose for her. Lover her money making machine will go through the roof !! If things go bad or good in the public eye she'll have REPUTATION Taylor's Version ready to release. It will be epic and she'll own it and be FREE.

@karlie-what-you-want said:

always-the-last-word I like this take a lot! I try not to be too optimistic but if she wanted to come out sooner rather than later, I think this plan would satisfy both business and PR needs (at least on Taylor’s end). Remains to be seen how Tay will help Karlie dig her way out of the mess they made together regarding the K*shners.

always-the-last-word said:

Always remember that Taylor has a PLAN. Some of her plans are year's old (easter eggs). Taylor's one and only LOVE is her music, everything else comes second. If KK wants to change and be with her full time she'll make moves around the same time frame. That's if she chooses to. In any event Tay will be open and own all her music. I've seen this film before and WE might not like the ending.

chosetherose said:

I’ve been going back and forth for a day trying to figure out what I wanted to say when I reblogged this post. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I understand I’m owed nothing by Taylor or Karlie. I understand that circumstances out of their control have caused the girls to pivot over and over again.

But, the root of my frustration in the past months stems not from me battling with the trivial (e.g. pap walks, etc.) but with my personal principles. I fiercely believe credit should be given where it is earned and I uphold this in my career regularly. To see Taylor crediting Toe with her art was deeply disappointing. Watch the 1989 and folklore acceptance speeches back to back and tell me it doesn’t upset you. I believe the K******s have blood on their hands and that their actions during the pandemic have killed people. To see Karlie still associating with one of them disgusts me.

I can’t help but think back in frustration - Would you really fall from grace to touch her face? (And in the brilliant words of @9w1ft) But would you die for her in public? I go back and forth feeling like questions like this aren’t fair at all and thinking they are sort of valid. At this point, it sort of feels like Taylor would only fall from grace for her lover if all the stars and facets of her life aligned perfectly. But perfection like this does not happen. Such is life. So why am I here?

I do question why Spade left certain messages in their final days. I am still holding hope a fervent revolution exonerates everyone. I so desperately want Taylor to regain control of her masters or re-records. Maybe this is the plan they thought was best with multiple goals in mind (re-records, having a family, coming out of the closet one day etc). I’m trying to remain patient because Spade told us to trust her endless yearning. But WOW it is asking a lot of us at this point.

Anonymous said:

Despite being a pragmatist kaylor and oftentimes getting into arguments with fellow optimistic kaylors (owner of this blog included) I think it's quite unfair -at this point- to say to the optimists who have patiently sat through the worst kind of stunts with the most terrible kind of people (yes I'm talking about the Kushner's friend group too) that they should have seen it coming. Besides, if it weren't for the optimists we the cynicals would have burned this fandom down by now.

Anonymous said:

Even if we ignore that an insurrection happened partially because of the family karlie's still working for and getting paid from, she literally said before the pregnancy debacle unfolded that j*sh was her last client while talking about cutting hair and doing a cutting gesture. How should we have interpreted that? 😤That a year later she would be more stuck with the Kushners than ever? We don't wake up on day and decide to have unrealistic expectations. She feeds into them. 😠

Anonymous said:

I have no expectation of Taylor coming out anymore. Zero. None. I have no expectation of her dropping Toe or even of Kaylor publicly reuniting. It doesn't even matter that much anymore. But I - do - expect 1 thing. Karlie to drop and completely dissociate herself from the Kushners and this has nothing to do with kaylor. It was everything to do with me being unable to support a person who willfully assists (now using her baby too) and receives money from a family that has made so many suffer.

Anonymous said:

A quick word from an ex-kaylor (who will never become an anti). A year ago, when the Trumps were still in power and untouchable and there was no baby, I was excusing and turning a blind eye to many things Karlie did for the K*shners. Even that dinner in September. I had also made peace with the truth never being revealed. But a year later the Trumps are gone, Karlie is still on full stunting mode now with a baby in the mix, a baby that is already being used by the Kushners, and I've really run out of excuses. Now the only thing that could possibly keep me on board is if I knew there was a good chance that the full truth would come out, so that Karlie's inexplicable and honestly borderline immoral actions could eventually make sense. But as your sub said, this is an unrealistic expectation, thus I became an ex-kaylor and I'm not planning to come back even when they reunite. 😕

Anonymous said:

What baffles me is that Taylor has explicitly expressed her regret about not giving her lover the credit she deserves and her doubt whether fame is worth hiding her true love: "when I walked up to the podium, I think I forgot to say your name", "what's a lifetime of achievement, if I pushed you to the edge". But yet again she didn't do anything to change this. I didn't expect her to acknowledge Karlie, but a nod or at least not falsely crediting her beard would be a good start.

Anonymous said:

1🙁 Let me chime in re: "expectations". I'm one of the kaylors who ever since the pregnancy reveal was trying to tell everyone there's NO way she was gonna dump him soon after birth let alone before that. It would bring too much unnecessary attention and Jerk would have never agreed to something that would make him look like a bad guy/husband. For the exact same reasons, I was also saying there's no way he wasn't going to post about the baby. All the above against the popular opinion back then.

2🙁 So I agree that the day of the birth post was known to T, not the timing though. Simply bc Kushner-leaning outlets made sure to note that detail. If they wanted it to go unnoticed, why draw attention to it? That being said, kaylors would have been more patient with this mess, if Karlie hadn't gone overboard with her freedom "smoke signals" last summer and Tay's "insiders" hadn't been insinuating that the end is VERY near. Both of them SHOULD have known by then how we would react to these.

3🙁 So it's natural that everyone feels played and has no patience for any more bullshit. Another sore point is how Jerk AND the Kushner-Trump klan monopolize the baby news. This isn't just to make it realistic, it's an abuse of Kaylor's baby's name to garner good pr for the worst family in America, with Karlie's blessing. In order for her marriage and split to appear realistic she's putting a LIFETIME burden on her child's back. Unless you believe she's eventually gonna say Jerk isn't the dad.

4🙁 So "we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming". But we did see it coming, that why some made these extreme scenarios, bc this is the worst possible outcome. "Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships." Ultimately this isn't just a "bad rs". It's a horrific association that should have been resolved ages ago, not one to bring your child into, doom it to suffer a similar fate, and expect people to sit idly and watch. That's what frustrates most.

29 notes · View notes

pradaksj · 4 years ago

Text

7 Rings | 02

♛ pairing: taehyung/reader

♛ genre: richboy!taehyung | blackmailer!reader | infiltration au | future smut | angst.

♛ rating: mature

♛ word count: 9,990+

♛ warnings for this chapter : explicit language, usage of alcohol (legal)

♛ (please read) author’s note: This chapter basically goes back in time to the day in which Y/N finds out about her mother, but instead we now get a glimpse of tae’s life so there is not much y/n in this chapter !! Just to let y’all know so you don’t get confused :)

♛ summary: In desperate need of money, you and your best friend come up with a plan to infiltrate one of Seoul’s richest families, the Kim family. The plan was simple, garner some money and disappear, but of course things don’t always go as planned. Especially not with someone like Kim Taehyung.

━ ❝ Whoever said money can't solve your problems, must not have had enough money to solve 'em.❞

♛ chapter index/masterlist || series masterlist

Chapters⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08

Friday Morning.

“In today’s news, the Kim family’s multibillion dollar deal has been officially confirmed. Their partnership with Hyundai is estimated to bring in at least seven billion in revenue to Korea’s economy over the next 5 years. Both parties have agreed to terms that will lift…”

Kim Taehyung stared at the coffee shop’s mounted TV as he waited in line to order, feeling as if it was already too early to be stressed out. The weary feeling of 4 hours of sleep was beginning to manifest itself, irritation slowly beginning to take its form. Honestly, it was a feeling he found himself feeling quite often these days. In a few years, the responsibility of a billion dollar empire would be under his hands, something he wasn’t exactly looking forward to. The images of his dad shaking hands with Hyundai’s CEO appearing on the TV, the man was basically hailed a hero. Taehyung’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

One could say his relationship with his father was not only distant but … complicated. As Taehyung grew up watching his dad’s empire become almost unstoppable, it also meant that he was always away from home. Though for the most part, Taehyung didn’t mind. His mother was everything a child could ask for, compassionate, hard-working, and never failing to provide her almost endless unconditional love for the young boy.

When he was younger though, his father seemed like an unattainable hero, an inspiration, and at some point it was a relationship he longed for. He often felt guilty whenever he’d hear kids in his school mention not having a father figure in their lives, either due to tragedy or other unspecified reasons. He was lucky enough to have his father in his life … so then why didn’t it ever feel like it ? Not like he had a right to complain.

Without his father he wouldn’t have grown up in the world of luxuries as he was fortunately able to. You see, there was a reason why Kim Enterprises was plastered all over Seoul (if not all of Korea), and that was because they were the IT company. A multi-conglomerate holding company who owned stakes in almost every major company from South Korea that you could possibly think of. Their rise in power was truly undeniable.

The company had been founded just a couple of years before Taehyung had been born, originally starting off as an insurance company which had done small investments in prospect companies, slowly rising in their investment and stakeholder shares. At least that was the story Taehyung’s father told him growing up, never failing to remind him that he came from nothing, and for that reason Taehyung should be nothing but grateful, stating that because of him he’d never know what it was like to feel the stigma of being poor in his own home and the powerlessness that comes with it. And you see Taehyung had absolutely no problem with that because well… it was true, and there was no denying that. What bothered him though, was that those speeches never seemed to come out of a place of genuinity, but one of animosity. As if to remind Taehyung that without his father he was, is, and would’ve been nothing.

To a certain extent he respected his father, but he didn’t love him. There was no genuine relationship there, and he knows it may sound horrible to say, but Taehyung most definitely had his reasons. But some things were just simply better left unsaid.

“Hello? Next in line,” a voice (an annoyed one at that) interrupted his thoughts, as he failed to realize that the cashier had been calling out for him for who knows how long. Though he didn’t take her harsh attitude to heart, if anything sympathizing with her and what he assumed was a stressful job, and it wasn’t like he was making it any easier by being a slow-poke.

“Welcome to Seoul’s Magnificent Mocha, what can I get for you this morning?” she asked once he had made his way up front to the cashier counter. Taking off his sunglasses, he couldn’t but want to laugh at how quick her facial expression had changed. It was the face that people made when they recognized him. It was amazing what a simple baseball cap and some shades could do, he hadn’t even worn his black face mask this time. “Y-You—” she began to stutter her words, instead slowly pointing at the TV. He gave her a small smile along with a small nod as a way of confirming what she was trying to say.

“That would be me,” he smiled, “Can I get an iced Americano and um a,” he paused trying to remember what Namjoon had wanted, “strawberry iced tea. Both medium please,” he finished off the order clearly sounding very uncertain.

“It’s g-going to b-be um,” the poor girl was so nervous she couldn’t even tell him his total without stuttering, “15,000 Won,” He proceeded in handing her a 50,000 note.

“You can keep the change,” he winked at her before putting his sunglasses back on and politely dismissing himself towards the waiting area, quietly laughing at how quickly she facepalmed herself when he was out of her line of sight.

Taehyung always did have a special charm on people, plus he was good looking, and he knew it. He didn’t have any special talents, nothing he could actually proudly boast about. It would be dense of him not to acknowledge that the only reason he was so famous was because of both his status and looks.

There were many people who swooned over him such as the cashier, but there were also many who believed he was still the same old spoiled brat who was nothing but a troublemaker from four years ago. It didn’t help that gossip blogs were still using the same clips from years ago when he really was nothing but a troublemaker who liked flashing his expensive cars for the paparazzi, and purposely kept a high profile. He had been naive, nothing but an eighteen year old teenager who thought fame was better than anything else in the entire world. Four years later, now at the age of twenty-two, and he had long learned that fame was horrible. But he had changed and that’s all that mattered, right? A complete 180, if you will.

Those people didn’t know him, so what made them think they had the right to judge him? To act as if they’d do things any better if they were in his position. The only Kim Taehyung they ever knew was the one they’d seen through a screen. He remembered the first time his name had made its way on the headline of gossip blogs and the comments that came with it.

[Kim Taehyung, son of Kim Jeong spotted out having a wild night out in Hongdae. Pictures leaked from last night with some steamy footage. Click here for more.]

[+3,623, -59] he better pray he doesn’t catch any STD’s while he’s at it ㅋㅋㅋ wouldn’t be surprised if he already has some

[+3,100, -100] i feel bad for his dad, he expects someone like this to run the fortune he’s worked so hard for??? he’s so young as well…

[+2,547, -57] leave him alone and respect his privacy

[+2,100, -23] ah he’s so cute!! whoever was dancing with him is one lucky lady!

[+1,022, -34] a brat like that doesn’t deserve the things he has

That night had only been the beginning to years of nothing but front covering gossip magazines and having his privacy invaded on a daily basis. People became invested in what he was doing with his personal life, his friends, who he was seeing, what he was wearing, and anything else you could possibly think of. He often wondered why, but he assumed it was the same reason as to why people continue to give someone like Kim Kardashian attention despite claiming to hate her. Because people want a glimpse of a world that isn’t their own, simply fascinated by the rich. That and their obsession for scandal only adds fuel to the fire.

With fame came pressure though, pressure to uphold an image for the family company, one his father fairly cared about these days. Hell, nowadays his dad gave him more attention than he ever did as a child, all because he knew that Taehyung was and is the future for Kim Enterprises. It was his father’s pressure that led to his current relationship with— ah speak of the devil.

[From: Sunhi]

[9:10AM] I know you see my texts.

[9:11AM] why are you ignoring me???

[9:12AM] hello???

“Taehyung! Your Iced Americano and strawberry iced tea is ready!” Taehyung rolled his eyes as he glanced through the several number of text messages, instead locking his phone and going up to grab the drinks.

Sunhi was the granddaughter of Hyundai’s CEO and had long been in the picture as early as Taehyung could remember. The two went to the same middle and high school, a one sided crush on her side forming at some point. It wasn’t until about a year ago after returning, that his father had basically forced him to take her out on a date citing that it was in his words, “good for business”. And well today the “good for business” approach had its results, the confirmation of a multibillion dollar deal.

The media loved the two together, hell, they were even labelled as Seoul's next generation’s power couple. Their names amassing a fortune worth billions behind them, their good looks garnering both of them ambassador deals, all in the meanwhile social media was the backbone of the phenomenon that was their so called “relationship”. Not that Taehyung considered it much of one, in his opinion it had stopped being an actual relationship a long time ago.

It wasn’t that Taehyung hated Sunhi, in fact in the beginning of their relationship he was smitten for her, but it wasn’t long until the spark burned out. “Wasn’t long” meaning a couple of weeks in and she actually turned out to be the real definition of a brat, the actual real-life manifestation of Blair Waldorf. Constant up and downs with her had quickly worn him out, and the constant badgering from the media only made things worse. But that doesn't mean he hated her, in order for him to hate her he’d actually have to care about her, and well in all honesty… he didn’t.

Sometimes he’d ask himself why he was still with her considering the deal had long been confirmed even before today. Taehyung had been free to do what he’d like for a long time, meaning there had never been a need for him to have kept this going for so long, he just did. One must ask, why?

Maybe it was because he knew she was the safest option, the person everyone expected and wanted him to be with. Breaking up with her right now would only further his stress, something he definitely didn’t need more of. Plus she knew him from the surface, and he knew her from the surface, and maybe that was just enough. He didn’t need, or want, anything more than that from her or anyone else for that matter. Sunhi was just enough.

It wasn’t like she was using him for anything, especially considering she already has everything. But by being with her, he was satisfying others, he was becoming the person everyone wanted him to be, the person he always should’ve been.

Hell, who knows, maybe he could truly fall in love with her one day … though in the back of his mind he knew the answer to that.

“Took you long enough,” Namjoon complained as he turned on the ignition of the car. He glanced at the drinks in Taehyung's hands, dramatically sighing at the sight, “and you somehow still ended up ordering the wrong drink for me,” he sighed, grabbing the drink from Taehyung’s hands nonetheless.

“My bad, I had forgotten in the moment…” he shot an apologetic smile towards his newly dyed platinum-haired friend.

Namjoon was the son of another one of Seoul’s elite, but also Taehyung’s right hand man. The two had met during their freshman year of high school, but funnily enough the two originally hated one another. Now looking back at it, Taehyung could admit that the two had acted extremely childish over a girl who’d end up picking neither of them, but that was a story to tell for another day.

Luckily Namjoon seemed to enjoy the drink, no longer complaining about it during the ride to Lotte World Mall. The two needed to go buy some new suits for tonight's event in celebration of the brand new deal between Kim Enterprises and Hyundai. The paparazzi were definitely going to be there and with all eyes on him, Taehyung decided that he might as well look good.

Friday Evening.

By the time Taehyung had returned to his place, he was both drained and exhausted, the idea of taking a nap and ditching the event seeming all too tempting. Namjoon this morning had felt the need to visit almost every high end store he could think of and try on the most useless things including scarves, gloves, and a whole bunch of other things. Basically going back and forth all across the mall whenever he’d regret not buying something.

He carried his bags upstairs to his room, ready to plop onto his bed and take a well deserved nap, but of course as always the universe seemed to work against him.

“I’ve been waiting for you!” he silently cursed to himself, asking himself why he thought it was a good idea to give Sunhi access to his penthouse. “Of course you went shopping without me, and to think I wanted to color coordinate,” she puckered her lips attempting to give him a small kiss on the lips, but before she could Taehyung had turned his cheek causing her to almost entirely miss.

She quickly composed herself acting as if that didn’t just happen, instead beginning to rummage through his bags, complimenting the things he chose while he just laid in bed slowly taking in deep breaths trying not to snap at her for coming unannounced. “So what exactly is that you came here for Sunhi…” he mumbled, failing to hide his annoyance.

She pouted, “Well you weren’t answering my texts, and I wanted to know whether you’d be going tonight…” she began to give him small pecks on his face, hoping that he’d show some kind of affection.

“I am, I am. I’m just really tired right now and in desperate need of a nap,” he responded, ignoring her obvious attempts to initiate things. His eyelids were half way closed, clearly ready to knock out at any second.

“Oh well I’ll just stay—”

“No, no. Just go back home, get ready, and I’ll see you over there okay?” his voice was much harsher this time, turning to face the other direction of his bed which was no longer facing her, a cold gesture on his part.

Sunhi sat there for a moment, feeling a mixture of both anger and disappointment. She wanted to say something, but instead crossed her arms, and let out a huff of air in response. Taking one last look at him before getting up from his bed and walking herself out. The same old feeling of being unwanted creeping into her mind, a feeling she knew all too well.

Friday Night.

By the time he had arrived, Taehyung thought that the paparazzi would’ve grown impatient waiting for him and end up leaving, but as per usual he was completely wrong. If anything, him being late had only caused them to triple in numbers. Those men really had no shame, their camera flashes penetrating through the Mercedes Benz’s tinted windows.

“You let me know when you’re ready Mr. Kim,” his security guard said. Taehyung took a deep breath, fixing his YSL brooch before nodding to him, letting him know that he was ready. He was quickly greeted with a stammering number of questions.

“Where’s Sunhi?”

“Over here! Over here!”

“How’s your night been?”

Taehyung tried to not make any faces, knowing that even the slightest lift of the brow would be taken out of context, and that by tomorrow morning there’d be a whole bunch of rumors trending on Twitter. The only thing was that the paparazzi always knew how to push his buttons whether it was shouting something rude, roughly grabbing at him, and etc.

At this point he just needed a drink to relax and take his mind off of these low life men who had nothing else better to do than to try and make a quick buck off his name.

“Finally! Took you long enough,” he heard, quickly spotting Namjoon the moment he entered the venue, wondering if he had been waiting up front for him the whole time.

“You didn’t have to wait for me you know? And plus it’s not my fault you had me running circles around the mall,” Taehyung said causing Namjoon to scoff in response, “Has he given his speech?” the “he” Taehyung was referring to was his father.

“I honestly don’t know,” Namjoon shrugged, who like Taehyung, never did like these kinds of events as they always had him wanting to knock out halfway through, the only thing he really did appreciate was the food they served.

The two walked towards the bar which caught their attention much more than the cathedral-inspired venue, deciding that a drink was necessary to kick the night off right.

“Two gin and tonics please,” the bartender nodded, beginning to prepare their drinks. Taehyung watched the bartender pour gin into his jigger, curious as to how someone could memorize the recipes for so many drinks. “How many years does it take for one to learn the ways of bartending?” he asked the brown-haired man, an attempt to strike conversation.

“Ah well a simple gin and tonic is something every bartender should know like it’s the back of their hand,” the man chuckled, “but if you’re talking about something like hmm,” he paused for a moment, “something like a bloody mary perhaps.”

A bloody mary? Isn’t that just vodka with some tomato juice?

“It’s much more than that,” the bartender laughed at Taehyung who was slightly taken aback, not realizing that he must’ve said what he was thinking aloud. “Though those are the two the main ingredients, it includes salt, pepper, hot sauce, garlic, herbs,” Taehyung was now genuinely curious as to where the bartender was going with this, “It covers the entire range of the human palate from sweet, salty, sour, unami, and savory but you have to make sure it doesn’t taste bitter.”

He continued talking as he poured the tonic water onto the frosted drinking glasses, “A little too much of one ingredient or a little too less and the whole drink goes to waste. You have to find a balance,” he emphasized the last part, almost as if this went beyond drinks, “Someone who wants a bloody mary is someone who definitely knows what they’re looking for,” he concludes his sermon-like speech, intensely staring at Taehyung. Namjoon looked at the man like he was crazy, who the hell overanalyzes a drink to this extent? Taehyung on the other had a look of fascination on his face, instead returning the stare.

“Well … cheers!,” Namjoon breaks the tense silence by raising his drink, momentarily being left hung dry until soon enough Taehyung lifted his drink up as well, the two of them clinking their glasses before chugging the bittersweet drink down their throats.

“Ah there he is!” Taehyung turned around, watching as his father made his way towards him, right alongside Sunhi’s parents. The two gave each other an awkward hug, “You better have a good damn reason for being so late,” his father harshly whispered into his ear before pulling back, the famous fake grin that Taehyung had grown to hate still plastered onto his face. The man was an expert at saving face, like father like son.

Taehyung remained silent instead politely greeting Sunhi’s parents before watching the trio as they made their way to greet other guests.

“I’m going to need a second drink,” he exasperated, causing Namjoon to let out a laugh. The bartender nodded, immediately beginning to prepare their drinks.

“I’m surprised Sunhi hasn’t gotten her claws on you yet, I could’ve sworn she was here earlier,” Namjoon mentioned causing Taehyung to shrug, his expression now dulled at the mention of her.

“I feel bad, I sorta snapped at her earlier, but she kept on nagging me, wouldn’t let me sleep in peace. I blame you,” he said, commenting on the situation earlier.

“Hey I’m not the one whose forcing you to be with her,” Namjoon remarked, causing Taehyung to shoot him a glare, his eyebrows now furrowed.

Instead he changed the topic, accustomed to Namjoon’s dismay of the relationship, “I just want to go home and sleep,” Taehyung yawned, the event was boring him more and more by the minute.

“Same he—” Namjoon suddenly stopped mid sentence, something more “important” now having caught his eye.

“You’re practically drooling, you do realize that right?” Taehyung deadpanned, glancing at the girl who had caught his friend’s eye. She was pretty, he wasn’t going to lie, but she seemed like someone who was quite stuck up to be honest. But he assumed that about everyone around here as it takes one to know one. “So are you going to just stand here and stare like a creep or …”

“You don’t mind me leaving you here?” Namjoon’s voice sounded a little too excited. Taehyung shrugged his shoulders, he wasn’t the type of person who couldn’t stand being alone. In fact, he enjoyed his own company sometimes, he had actually read somewhere that it was quite important for one’s own mental health.

“I think I need to go find Sunhi either way, or else she’ll be nagging me the whole night as to why I didn’t find her sooner, that and apologize for earlier,” Namjoon nodded, lightly patting on his shoulder before making his way to the woman who had caught his eye, trying his best not to gawk so much.

“Now where could she be…” Taehyung mumbled to himself, having now left the bar and instead walking around the venue, making a half-assed attempt at looking for his girlfriend.

Taehyung could feel his legs swaying left to right, the lack of balance he had was probably laughable to anyone who wasn’t him. He wasn’t drunk, at least that’s what he was telling himself. The way the world was spinning told him otherwise. In all honesty he had only asked for a couple more drinks after the second one, but nonetheless he always was a lightweight drinker to begin with. His bladder felt as if it was going to burst at any moment so instead of Sunhi being his top priority, going to the restroom now was.

He looked around, the signs on the doors now looking slightly blurry. He grabbed the handle to what looked like could be the men’s restroom harshly pushing the door open.

Everything happens for a reason… right?

“Oh my God, It’s not what it looks like,” Because what were the chances that he caught her right in the act, with none other than Jeon Jungkook.

Taehyung had seen this situation play out in so many movies and TV shows, whereas the boyfriend usually destroys everything in his way and immediately begins to throw punches at the lover, and yada yada yada. But for some odd reason all Taehyung could do was stand there and watch as she hurriedly tried placing her bra back on.

He couldn’t help but actually want to … laugh. Really, because what were the chances? What were the chances that instead of walking into what he thought was a restroom, he instead walked in on his girlfriend and Seoul’s biggest man-whore about to fuck in a janitor’s closet.

He glanced at Jungkook who had nothing but a giant smirk plastered on his face, not even bothering to put his shirt back on.

Taehyung gathered his thoughts… What was he supposed to do again?

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing left for Kim Taehyung to do, but to turn around and walk away. And so that’s what he did, drowning out her pleads for him to stay, a small smile gracing his lips. He was finally free.

Namjoon must’ve left early because once Taehyung had returned back to the bar, he was nowhere to be found. He decided it was just best to leave before Sunhi could find him and start begging him to hear her out. After texting his security guard to meet him out front, he asked for a bottle of water and attempted at fully sobering up before he’d have to face several rapidly flashing lights in his face.

Did it end up actually helping? Fuck no. God, why did they have to park his Mercedes so far away. It was as if no matter how many steps he felt like he was taking, he was no closer to where he wanted to be.

“Smile for the camera man, come on!” The rapid flashes of light caused Taehyung to stumble his footsteps worse than before, the responses he gave to the multiple questions being thrown at him coming out more like mumbles and slurs. He knew that deep inside his brain was sending him signals on what to do, whether his body was listening was another story.

“Watch where you’re going man! Momma’s boy can’t handle his liq—” one of the paparazzo shouted at him while grabbing at his arm, and maybe it had been cause he was drunk, maybe because he was simply just tired, but in an instant Taehyung had felt his fist collide with the man’s face throwing everyone and everything into a frenzy. The questions and comments now coming out of their mouths at a lightning speed, some were cursing him out, others were pretending to praise him at an attempt to get him to say something, but none of it mattered because by the time he got into the car it was too late to take any of it back, and soon enough everything had gone black.

Saturday Evening.

The hangover the next day was literal hell, Taehyung felt as if the inner surface of his skull was practically being thrashed upon, his eyesight struggling to cope with the rays of daylight that directly shone on his eyes. Not only that, but his mouth had felt so dry, however having to get up for water seemed like so much work to do considering how much his back was aching.

It was like the flu except it had been self-inflicted. He attempted to raise his heavy eyelids all in one go, just for them to immediately fall shut. He could feel the constant vibrating notifications from his phone, choosing to ignore it altogether as he figured it was probably Sunhi sending him several text messages. Even if it wasn’t her, he was too lazy to even stretch his arm out and disconnect his phone. Maybe he could sleep it off, he thought to himself, curling himself back under his thick duvet.

How was it that he was barely 22 and already facing the repercussions of intense hangovers when just a couple of years ago he could drink all night long and wake up the next day hangover free. It was as if with each passing year it just got worse, no wonder so many older folks didn’t get drunk anymore, they had learnt it the hard way.

And just as he was about to fall asleep, of course his stomach had to both lurch and gurgle like some kind of trapped animal. He groaned, swinging his feet around in bed like a kid who had just been told “no”. Sadly, he was going to have to force himself to get up and so he did.

Once on his feet, he immediately felt the room sway almost causing him to lose balance until he managed to grab onto his bedstead in order to keep himself standing. He yawned and stretched out his entire body, lowkey loving the sound of his bones cracking. Time to start a new day.

After brushing up, he began to prepare himself something quick to eat fearing that his stomach was going to lash out on him any moment and so he decided to make some scrambled eggs. Quick and easy. Right?

Wrong.

The rare occasions that Taehyung did cook were always 50/50, as in there was half a chance whatever he cooked would come out either decent or completely under/over cooked. The boy practically lived off of takeout, restaurants, and microwaveable food, but at this current moment he needed food and quickly at that. Today his eggs had come out slightly undercooked with some of the yolk still a little slimy, but it was edible nonetheless.

As he ate he was genuinely surprised at the fact that Sunhi didn’t ambush his home this morning, causing him to set a reminder on his phone to remove her fingerprint off of his security system as soon as possible. He scrolled through her long thread of texts that consisted of her going back and forth between apologizing, begging, and guilt tripping him, only causing him to roll his eyes and sigh.

[Incoming Facetime from: Namjoon 🐨]

Taehyung quirked his brow before clicking “accept”.

“Weren’t you the one who scolded me about facetiming without sending a warning text,” he laughed, it wasn’t like he was lying.

“Ah I know, I know, but I felt sorta bad for just leaving last night without saying goodbye, but a man has his needs,” Namjoon now sported a giant grin on his face, probably recalling last night’s events, “and well I thought you’d be in bed hungover, in need of a wake up call,” he joked only causing Taehyung to flash him the middle finger through the screen.

“Well I’m up,” Taehyung wondered if Namjoon knew, maybe Sunhi had told him or something. He quickly scratched the idea as he knew Sunhi was the type of person to try and keep everything under wraps … but Jeon Jungkook was not.

Jeon Jungkook.

Remember the small mention of Namjoon and Taehyung fighting over the affections of a girl only for her to end up choosing someone else. That someone else was none other than Jeon Jungkook, one of Upper Seoul’s biggest man-whores, if not the biggest man whore. If Sunhi was actually someone Taehyung loved, he probably would’ve punched that stupid smirk off of Jungkook’s face last night, but luckily he didn’t have to. Did Jungkook have it out for Taehyung? It was unclear to be honest. This definitely wasn’t the first time Jungkook has attempted at sabotaging him despite Taehyung clearly showing he could care less.

In fact the two before yesterday’s incident had actually been mutual acquaintances being in the same “circle” and all. That circle being the sons of the multi million/billionares of Seoul which included names such as Kim Seokjin and Park Jimin. Namjoon in particular was good friends with Seokjin, who in return was very close with Jungkook. Seokjin and Namjoon both being the “neutral” bridge between the two. So Taehyung wasn’t going to be surprised if Seokjin had in fact informed Namjoon of yesterday’s dilemma. It had been Seokjin who told Namjoon of Jungkook’s actions of the past such as leaking Taehyung’s location to paparazzi on a number of occasions, stealing brand deals under Taehyung’s nose, and many other things.

“So…”

“I know that you know,” Taehyung chuckled out, causing Namjoon to let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh great, I was really not looking forward to beating around the bush and forcing it out of you,” he laughed, “well it looks like you got what you wanted.”

Taehyung’s nose crinkled in confusion, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on!—” Namjoon’s mouth curved into his famous dimpled smile, obviously trying (but failing) to repress his laugh, “Don’t act like you’re not the happiest man on Earth right now! You’ve probably been praying for something like this to happen for forever,” Taehyung’s face went sour, “You’ve needed an excuse to break up with Sunhi without you ending up being the bad guy for so long, and that’s why you probably haven’t even shedded a single tear since you found out,” he insisted causing Taehyung to let out a bitter scoff , mumbling a silent “That’s not true.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night Tae—” suddenly the sound of something abruptly falling grabbed Namjoon’s attention, “Moni! Put that down! Uh I gotta go, just text me later alright,” and with that he clicked, presumably to deal with his white feisty Eskimo.

Taehyung glanced at the clock which read 3:25PM, a small nap wouldn’t hurt right?

Sunday Morning.

So much for a “small nap”. Despite him having slept the whole Saturday off, Taehyung had woken up very early and in a good mood, ready to have himself a productive day.

He made himself breakfast that even a 5 year old could make: avocado toast with different slices of fruit and a simple protein shake. While letting his breakfast settle down in his stomach, he began to do his pre-workout stretch, with his goal in mind for today’s run being at least 6 miles.

After he was done stretching, he went down to the lobby making sure to politely greet his “neighbors”. They were the same people who kept tabs on him and sold him out to the press every chance they got, but not like he could lash out on them so instead he was forced to give them fake smiles along with stiff waves.

During his morning run, Taehyung took into appreciation of the crisp morning air which was both cold and dry. The view of the river brought him a sense of relaxation and before he knew it, he was done with his workout.

“What a beautiful day,” he had thought to himself as he walked back to his penthouse’s building, ready to take a much needed shower, but of course he should’ve known she was going to ambush him at some point because there she was, sitting in the building’s lobby.

Once she spotted him she immediately got up from the couch. He tried to quickly outpace her and get into the elevator, but she yanked on his hand preventing him from going any further.

“Stop avoiding me… please,” she sounded distraught which confused him. She certainly didn’t look distraught when she was getting her neck sucked on by Jungkook.

“Can we do this,” he pushed her hand off, “some other time. You’re gonna make a scene,” he scolded her. The two of them were in the middle of the lobby, and even though there seemed to be no one around, he could never be too sure.

“No because it seems this is the only way I could get your attention,” she muttered , “especially considering you removed my access,” causing him to let out a stifled laugh.

“Well that’s what someone does when they’re significant other hmm I don’t know cheats on them,” his voice emphasized the last words.

“I didn’t,” she quickly lowered her voice once she realized she had shouted that part out, “cheat on you,” she mumbled. “I was about to, but I didn’t,” she dramatically waved her finger at him.

“Yeah because I walked in on you?” he wondered if she knew how stupid she sounded.

“Well maybe if you showed me some affection every once in a while I wouldn’t have resorted to such acts!” What the two hadn't realized was that there was someone in the lobby quietly hiding behind a pillar, secretly recording the interaction between the two.

“Sunhi,” he ran his hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh, “can you just leave me alone? There is no fixing this, especially since this,” he made a motion with his fingers pointing to the both of them, “has been broken for a very long time.” And with the final word, he turned around and walked away, not bothering to look at her face which had now fallen from expression.

Sunday Night.

“Kim Taehyung NASTY fight with girlfriend Sunhi. Click here for more.” was what the Twitter article headlined their argument, and of course the link provided the video of the whole thing.

[From: Namjoon 🐨]

[10:10] you really can be an ass [link to video]

[To: Namjoon 🐨]

[10:11] how!!

[10:11] i just told her the truth, at the end of the day no one can tell me that I was in the wrong 🤷🏻‍♂️

[From: Namjoon 🐨]

[10:12] you’d be surprised with what knetz have to say…

[10:13] them and the media are going crazy over you unfollowing her

Taehyung scoffed while unplugging his phone and rolling to the other side of bed now that his phone was at 100%.

[To: Namjoon 🐨]

[10:14] yea well idc.

[From: Namjoon 🐨]

[10:15] well at least ur out the relationship, that’s all that matters right 😬

[10:16] looks like ur back on the market … we all know how crazy that can get

Taehyung could feel himself become stiff at the last text. What was that supposed to mean? Maybe he was overthinking it too much…

He was a different person now, he reassured himself. Before he could dwell on it any further he decided that it was best to just go to sleep.

Monday Afternoon.

The next day Taehyung continued with his routine of making a somewhat decent breakfast, and running his daily number of miles, crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t be ambushed like the morning prior. Luckily he wasn’t.

The sensation of steamy water hitting his body was calming to him, the shower was very much needed. Trying not to get so lost in his thoughts, he began to sing the random songs that first came to mind. He’d been told by Namjoon on multiple occasions that his singing was good, but Taehyung at this current moment was just glad he lived alone. Namjoon, or anyone for that matter, would probably make fun of him for the song he was um … rapping.

“Ain't got enough money to pay me respect. Ain't no budget when I'm on the set. If I like it, then that's what I get!” his sudden motions almost made him slip, but luckily he had caught himself just in time, “yeah,” he finished off the lyric despite his near death experience.

It was once he got out the shower that he was in for a surprise.

“7 Rings… really?” Taehyung’s towel almost fell from his waist because of his jump in surprise. Thankfully he had held onto it before it could completely fall. “I didn’t take you to be such an Ariana Grande fan,” Taehyung rolled his eyes to the teasing Namjoon.

“It’s the song of the summer for your information,” he interjected, “And how the hell did you even get up here?”

“Hmm I don’t know maybe because you practically forced me to get my fingerprint and memorize your code so that I would,” Namjoon mimicked quote signs with his fingers, “stop bugging you when I could open the door myself,” causing Taehyung’s stern face to quickly become one of dumbfoundeness.

“Oh…”

“I’ll be in the kitchen making myself some food,” he playfully sighed before making his way out of Taehyung’s room.

Taehyung quickly lotioned his body, put on his overnight hair products, and threw on a baggy sweater along with some black sweatpants, assuming that Namjoon hopefully wasn’t going to try and drag him to go outside. He had a long week ahead of him which included photoshoots, interviews, meetings, and overall promotion for this brand new deal considering he currently served as the “face” to his family’s business.

“Wow making japchae, who put you in a good mood?” Taehyung laughed as he peeped over Namjoon’s shoulder, catching a whiff of the food he was making causing Namjoon to flash his dimpled smile at him.

“Well I have a date in a couple of weeks and so I’ve been practicing every chance I get,” he admitted catching Taehyung by surprise, “and before you ask, yes it’s the girl from the event on Friday.”

Taehyung tried to subdue his shock, “If I’m being honest I thought she was kind of a…” he contemplated his next choice of words, “um…”

“A one night stand,” Namjoon completed the sentence, a look of understanding on his face. “Well if I’m being honest I thought the same thing,” he cheeks reddened, “but she actually ended up being really sweet, and well I really li—”

“Okay I think I’m done hearing your little sap story that you haven’t even started,” he pretends to yawn, causing Namjoon to flash his middle finger at him which only makes him laugh, “Sorry I’m not a hopeless romantic like you.”

Namjoon scoffed as he stirred the noodles around, “So what? Deep down you know you’re one as well.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Why are you here again?” Namjoon flashed his middle finger again now causing Taehyung to laugh even harder than the first time.

“You sure know how to be rude sometimes,” Namjoon was now serving the japchae onto some plates, “and I’m here because one, I was bored, and two, because I was wondering if you were going to Thursday’s brunch,” the look on Taehyung’s face gave Namjoon the answer he was looking for.

“I completely forgot about that…”

“Why am I not surprised,” Namjoon sighed while giving Taehyung his plate of food.

“It’s always the same old place, same old routine, and most importantly the same old people,” he made sure to emphasize that last part, “you’re telling me you don’t get bored?”

“I do, but look what happened last time, I met someone new!” Namjoon bragged, only resulting in Taehyung rolling his eyes once again. “You’re like the grinch, but for love I swear,” Namjoon groaned, mentally taking note that the pleasant look on Taehyung’s face meant he had done a good job at making japchae. As long as he followed the exact amount of ingredients and steps as he did today then his date would go along just fine.

Taehyung slurped the final remaining bits of food on his plate before responding to Namjoon, “I’m fresh out of a relationship Joon, let me enjoy being single for the time being.”

“In the media’s eyes you’re fresh out of a relationship, but you and I both know that you’ve been single for a very long time,” Taehyung stayed silent at Namjoon’s words, a sudden pang of guilt now hitting him as he recalled what he had told Sunhi in the lobby that past Saturday. Did Taehyung see Namjoon’s point? Yes, of course he did. Did it feel good hearing it? No, it didn’t.

“Well um guess what, she cheated on me. I remained faithful, which honestly,” he scoffed in between his words, “was the least I could do. So stop trying to paint me as some big villain,” he sneered.

“All I’m saying is that the Taehyung I know would have never even gotten into that relationship to begin with,” Namjoon silently muttered to himself, a dismissive look on his face, causing Taehyung to let out a sardonic laugh. As if Namjoon was a better person than he was?

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, “You know I’m getting real tired of your little sly comments, as if i’m not going to catch on at some point, if you have something to say then grow some balls and say it,” Taehyung's voice echoed across the kitchen walls. Taehyung’s heart was practically pounding out of his chest, his jaw now completely clenched, glaring at Namjoon. The light atmosphere in the room had become stiff in the blink of an eye.

One would think that Namjoon would be shocked, maybe even angry at Taehyung’s outburst, but all he did was stare back, seeming completely unfazed, a pot that had been bubbling for quite some time between the two finally bubbling over. Withheld opinions, finally lashed out, “I’ll just never understand why you couldn’t break up with her from the moment your dad didn’t need you to date her anymore, or why you even got with her in the first place. All you did was waste her time and let her convince herself that she was in love with you knowing damn well you’ve never felt anything from day one. I mean even now she thinks there’s something worth saving,” he cursed, his voice now elevated up several notches, “And it’s the fact that you see nothing wrong with it that makes me sick!”

Taehyung’s face immediately fell, hurt by his friend’s words, but it didn’t stop Namjoon from continuing on, “I mean the Taehyung I knew would’ve never in a million years agreed to do something like this for anyone,” disappointment evident in his voice, “let alone for your dad,” he spat. “It just,” he pauses, “It just isn’t like you Taehyung. None of this is.”

Taehyung could feel his tough demeanor crumble, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, so stop acting like you do,” he scowled.

“It’s just funny to me, years ago you’d talk about becoming nothing like your dad, but nowadays it looks like I’m looking at his clone,” Namjoon muttered, “You’ve changed Taehyung. You may joke around with me here and there, but I can tell you’re always holding back. You leave for a whole year to God knows where, and come back a completely different person, acting like your dad’s very own fucking puppet. You’ve closed yourself off. Like, like you’re mad at the world or something, or I don’t know—”

“And what, you want the old reckless Taehyung back?! The one who destroyed everything in his fucking path! Is that what the fuck you want?” his voice boomed, but even Namjoon could see it was merely a facade, the mixture of both guilt and sadness seeping through the cracks of his voice.

“Of course not! But the Taehyung standing in front of me is no better than the one before. You may not be as reckless as you used to be, but you’re definitely just as careless,” Namjoon condemned him, “And so then I think about everything and all I could ask myself is why? Why don’t you find something or someone, you genuinely love, something that makes you happy, not your dad, not the media, YOU.”

“Because I just don’t want to Joon…” Taehyung looked away, ashamed to make eye contact, his voice had now become a mere whisper.

“And all I can think about is if it has something to do with —” Namjoon could see Taehyung physically tense up, “Taehyung what the hell happened that night?” he pleaded desperately.

“Just don’t Joon,” and with that Namjoon knew that even he was pushing the boundaries, deciding that it was best to just keep quiet, “I came back didn’t I? ” he harshly spat.

There was a pregnant pause, “I’m sorry,” Namjoon apologized, but was only met with silence. Taehyung got up from the kitchen chair, and placed his dish into the sink, harshly passing by Namjoon.

“Make sure you lock the door on your way out,” he muttered, before making his way upstairs into his room, leaving Namjoon standing in the kitchen by himself.

Monday Night.

And so that night, Taehyung stared up at his ceiling thinking about what Namjoon had told him. He was hurt by his friend’s words, but he couldn’t deny that he didn’t understand where he was coming from …

But it wasn’t like Taehyung was a cold hearted person, or at least he’d like to think he wasn’t. Behind it all, he was still the same kind and polite person he’d always been. He was just more mature nowadays, finally growing up like he should’ve years ago. It was simply for the best.

So then why did he feel so wrong?

He felt conflicted, he felt guilt, but honestly he had been feeling guilty long before he got into a relationship with Sunhi. Maybe it was that same guilt he’s felt eating him alive for the past several years that’s made him close himself off to others. It was the same guilt that led to disappearing one night and not coming back until about a year later.

Feeling overwhelmed, he decided to get up from bed, and stepped onto his balcony just wanting to just look at the stars before going to bed. Tonight they had seemed to be shining extra bright, he attempted at counting each one, losing count mid way.

He couldn’t help but reminisce about his childhood, when he and his mom would go camping at Noeul Campground at least once a year, and oh how the stars would shine like never before. The two of them making a game of who could come up with the best figurines using the stars. It was nights like these that he truly did miss her, but he knew she was watching over him. Forever and always.

“I know I haven’t talked to you in a while, I hope you’re not mad. I know it’s no excuse, but time nowadays just goes by so fast and well I’m coming to a point in life where I feel like I have nothing figured out. Like as if I’m not truly satisfied, and not truly well … happy. I just feel lost, Ma. I thought coming back here, I could put the facade that I was fine but,” he lets out a deep breath,”I’m just not. God I wish you were here, you’d know exactly what to say right now,” he could feel the warm droplets of water falling from his face, not bothering to wipe them off. “I’m so sorry Ma,” were his final words before stepping back inside, a peaceful slumber waiting for him in bed.

Thursday Morning.

“Ah now this is what I’ve been looking forward to,” Namjoon grinned as politely grabbed the mimosa from the bartender’s hand. Taehyung made a motion with his hand once Namjoon offered him his cup, instead leaning against the bar watching as guests made their way in and out of the venue.

Taehyung and Namjoon had made up in the days prior, Taehyung sending a “btw the japchae was too sweet 🤭” text message, as a way of telling Namjoon that all was forgiven. Taehyung in return, reflected on Namjoon’s words, deciding that he was right, something needed to change.

“This place, it’s …” Namjoon expected a complaint out of Taehyung’s mouth, “really pretty,” he finished off, genuinely surprising Namjoon.

The venue resembled some kind of greenhouse, the arrangement of dangling flowers and potted plants, along with the rays of natural sunlight peeking through the glass exterior, and the minimalist design in seat arrangement truly was a work of art. The air itself felt crisp and fresh, he assumed it was because of the mixture of the plants’ scent along with the air ventilators.

“Wow, look who's in a good mood,” Namjoon teased him, Taehyung flashing him a small smile. Despite it only being 9 o'clock in the morning, he was glad he came. It was a brand new day, and he felt optimistic that things were going to start looking up for him.

“Ah well, let’s just enjoy it while it lasts,” he responded clearly joking around, “Let’s just say I thought about everything you said, and well I just want to start fresh. No more getting pressured into things, and being so tense about everything all the time, just me going with the flow,” Namjoon quirked his eyebrow, genuinely interested in what Taehyung had to say, “Whatever happens…” he pauses, “happens,” he finishes off, a grin now on his face.

As the brunch event went on, Taehyung continued to observe people, examining what they wore, the way they spoke, how they acted, as it usually told him a lot about a person.

“I’ll take a bloody mary, light on the vodka please,” Taehyung’s ears perked up at what he heard, a bloody mary? This early in the morning? He remembered the bartender’s words from a couple of days ago.

He tried to glance at the figure who was only a couple of feet away from him, sitting in one of the many empty seats aligned at the bar. He tried using his peripheral vision to try and make out a face, but sadly whoever this was, the angle that they were sitting along with their honey colored straw hat helped cover most of their face. The only thing he could see was that whoever it was, was a female and clearly a reckless one as a bloody mary was most likely going to result in an embarrassing stain.

He wondered if she was new around here, the way she was sitting clearly told him that she probably was. You see there were almost unspoken rules in the upper class, methods on doing things, and a high regard for appearance and well her posture wasn’t exactly… the best, and the blatant disregard for the all white dress code made him curious as to who she was. Like there was some kind of pull that made him feel the need to go up to her. She seemed … different.

“And you wanted to come at me for gawking last time! You can’t even see her face from here,” Namjoon’s undeniably loud voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Um any fucking louder and I’m sure the whole place will hear you,” Taehyung face was flushed, hoping the woman didn’t hear. Namjoon raised his hands in defense.

“Hm …” Namjoon stayed silent for a couple of seconds, before a mischievous look appeared on his face, “Hey well since you’re so keen about going with flow,” he mimicked Taehyung’s word’s from earlier, “how about you go get her number and see where things go from there,” he winked.

Taehyung quickly shook his head, garnering a laugh out of Namjoon. “Since when has Kim Taehyung been too scared to ask for someone’s number,” he teased, “Come on you know you want to, I’ll even go find something else to do just in case she rejects you, I won’t be there to see it.”

He contemplated going up to her, what if she was just another Upper Seoul brat? Worse, what if Namjoon was right and she just completely shrugged him off? No, no one shrugged Kim Taehyung off. Namjoon's grin became wider once he saw Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow, and a determined look appearing on his face.

And so with that he decided he’d go up to her, maybe try and make some small talk. It wouldn't hurt , right? At least he wouldn’t be as bored as he was now. Slowly he made his way over to the seat next to her, trying not to look so much like a creep.

“I’ll take a mimosa please,” he ordered, the bartender nodded, “So you’re not scared of spilling your drink?” Taehyung quickly noticed how tense the woman became from his question, her posture going from relaxed to completely stiff. It wasn’t until she turned to face him that Taehyung felt taken back, his heart now pounding out of his chest, and the feeling of nervousness hitting him like a wave. As cliche as he thought it sounded, she was completely mesmerizing.

“Oh uh well,” she stuttered her words out bringing him a sense of comfort that he wasn’t the only nervous one,“um,” she was looking anywhere but his eyes, “No not really, I tend to be careful with things like this,” she explained now fidgeting with her fingers.

Maybe it had been bad luck, but a couple of seconds later Taehyung suddenly now had red tomato juice mixed with vodka plastered all over his shirt. “Oh my God! I am so sorry!” she exclaimed.

Several guests were now staring at the scene in front of them, the unknown girl now had a look of horror on her face, but instead of being upset all Taehyung could do was genuinely laugh. “I really didn’t mean to do that, oh my—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassured her, slowly pushing her hand away which was uselessly blotting his white buttoned up shirt with a napkin.

“No it’s not, I really didn’t mean to do that, I just—” her face was as red as the spilled drink itself, her words coming out completely jumbled almost as if she was talking more to herself than him.

“And I’m telling you it’s okay,” he insisted, “I think you’ve done the most interesting thing around here in a very long time,” he then stuck his hand out, “I’m Taehyung,” he introduces himself, giving her a small smile along the way.

It felt like she was staring at him for an eternity with nothing but a doe-eyed look on her face, and he wondered what was going through her head. Was he really that intimidating? With several thoughts running through his head, the feeling of regret now creeped onto the back of his mind, maybe he shouldn’t have ever come up to her. What was he thinking? This was practically all his fault.

His panic came into a halt once he felt the touch of her hand now moving along with his, “I’m Y/N.”

🧚🏻 a/n: here we goooo! finally kicking things off hehe, things should defiantly move faster from this point on, I just felt like it was important for me to establish both y/n and Taehyung’s personality, background, and all that good stuff before diving into the basis of the whole story. feel free to send me any theories, comments, asks, etc ! I shall update very soon.

151 notes · View notes