#burn capitalism to the ground <3

[lovelyhan]

— promise ring ⟢

no one would've guessed that the daughter of the town’s royal mage has a soft spot for the clumsiest fire elemental in the entire realm. but when the crown prince suddenly asks for your hand in marriage, you're forced to consider how you feel about a certain lee jung chan a lot more seriously.

★ FEATURING; chan x reader (ft. joshua x reader)

★ WORD COUNT; 21k words

★ TAGS; fantasy, royalty, childhood friends, mutual pining, love triangle, LOTS of drama, jeonghan being a menace, slow burn, angst, smut

★ NOTES; full disclosure that the plot to porn ratio is probably 80:20 so if you're simply looking for filth, i might not recommend this,,, but if you're down for 20k words of slow burn childhood friends to lovers topped with a juicy love triangle with our best boy chan, then this should be perfect for you <3

this is part of the secret garden, a svthub spring collab and the it's complicated series!

★ SMUT TAGS; vanilla, lots of making out, unprotected sex, touch starved chan and reader, first time, body worship, dom/sub undertones, lots of loving n endearing language during the act bc they've pined for each other long Enough, corruption kink if you squint but chan doesn't rly act on it

★ TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jeonghancvunt - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @emmmui - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv

When you wake up, it’s to a strange feeling that something big is going to happen today.

You open your eyes to radiant sunlight filtering into the room through a crack in the curtains. The songbirds chirp happily by the windowsill as the rest of the town prepares to meet the day head-on. You lie in bed for a few minutes more, wondering what’s causing your chest to stir with misplaced anticipation. None of the annual festivals are drawing near and you’re certain you haven’t forgotten anyone’s birthdays either.

The sensation carries over as you head to the Academy with your father. Being from the family who founded the school several decades ago, he makes it a point to uphold the legacy your ancestors have left behind. That includes being at the school grounds an hour before any of the formal magic classes are scheduled to start, apparently.

Some students arrive much earlier than both of you, practicing spells and incantations in the small quadrangle as a means of preparing for their assessments later in the day. You giggle to yourself when you spot one of the older mages—a water elemental named Seungmin—fumble with his technique a little. 

Whether intentionally or not, his friend, Changbin takes the brunt of it—his robes rendered sopping wet from the water that Seungmin had (accidentally?) blasted him with. Though it doesn’t take much to undo the damage since Changbin is easily one of the best fire elementals in the Academy. With one snap of his fingers, his clothes are instantly dry. 

There are times (like this) when you envy the versatility of fire magic. But your father once told you that the gods grant each person with their respective elements for a reason. Instead of questioning their grace, you must show your gratitude by mastering what you've been blessed with instead. 

Yours comes in the form of nurturing all the plants and flora you set your eyes on. It’s for this reason that you still bother to come to the Academy even if you’ve already completed its scholastic program over three years ago. 

Despite your father constantly insisting for you to find a job that suits your talents in the royal capital, you prefer to impart your magical knowledge to the other students in your hometown instead. 

In fact, you don’t miss the wistful look in his eyes as you part ways for the day—him to the headmaster's office and you to the greenhouse at the edge of campus.

As you direct yourself to your destination, that feeling from earlier is yet to subside. Though much more muted now that you’re surrounded by fellow mages both students and faculty alike, it still remains. Quiet yet foreboding, as if telling you not to let your guard down just yet.

So lost in your own thoughts, you startle at the sound of someone calling your name in the distance. 

“Thank goodness you’re here!” One of the junior mages, Chaewon groans before bracing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “He’s done it again!” 

A worried smile stretches across your lips. Life in your hometown is but a cycle of doing the same things over and over everyday. You don’t particularly mind the monotone of your routine—you’re at peace with it, honestly—but if Lee Jung Chan keeps accidentally burning someone’s precious plants, you’re going to have to make a few changes.

Chaewon leads you to the crime scene swiftly, explaining how your best friend set fire to the monsteras she personally grew from little seedlings with an irritated pout. While you’re completely sympathetic to Chaewon's plight—being her mentor and all—you can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles in your chest at the story.

“Why are you laughing?” she whines. “You’re not gonna let him get away with it just ‘cause you’ve been friends since you were babies, right? I worked so hard to enchant those plants with exotic flowers!” 

The two of you arrive before you can issue an apology on Chan’s behalf. Not that your best friend wouldn’t have already expressed his remorse directly to Chaewon the moment the monsteras caught his flames. 

You can easily spot the repentance in his posture as Chan stands awkwardly outside the greenhouse. From the looks of it, he’s currently being lectured by a school instructor who’s also named Chan, though most of the students and staff call him Chris for easier identification. 

You’re certain that Chris has it all under control. Though you’re not sure how, since he’s a non-elemental mage. You can’t exactly see him putting out a fire with musical magic no matter how good he is, but you’re grateful for his intervention still. 

“I know you only wanted to help out, but Chaewon isn’t the headmaster’s daughter. She’s yet to learn how to properly foolproof her handiwork against clumsy fire elementals.” Chris sighs deeply, arms crossed with a serious look before his eyes catch yours from the distance. “Speak of the devil…”

One would expect Chan to be mortified at the sight of you. After all, he did just inadvertently fuck up Chaewon’s project for her elemental assessment this month. As her mentor, you have all the right to rain hell on earth in the name of your precious student, but the thing about you is that you can never get mad at Lee Jung Chan—no matter how badly he messes up sometimes.

“Hi,” he squeaks with a small wave. “I swear I was just watering Chaewon’s plants ‘cause they were looking kind of…dry.  I do it for you all the time right? But then a cat snuck inside the greenhouse and knocked over a bunch of pots from the high shelves. It scared the living daylights out of me and—”

“Chan, have you at least apologized to her?” you sigh, patting your student’s head while she shoots Chan a hard glare from where she’s hiding behind you. 

“O-Of course!” he stammers, hands flying everywhere in an attempt to express his damage control better. “I even asked Chris where I can get seeds so I can replace them for her! You know I never leave any debts unpaid.”

It’s difficult to keep your mask of professionalism in place when he’s being so unintentionally adorable. Right now, you’re one of the Academy’s respected alumni as well as an instructor that many students look up to. You wouldn’t make the mistake of fawning over your best friend while he explains his not-so-innocence, but that doesn’t mean it makes keeping up appearances any easier for you .

“I told him that BamBam sells everything under the sun at his shop in the next town over,” Chris informs you with a tight-lipped smile. “Though Chan might have to be careful when talking to that guy. He’s a bit…”

“Eccentric?” you supply.

“Exactly.”

“Can he do that now?” Chaewon huffs impatiently. “I was meaning to start another experiment after I made sure this one didn’t fall through, but I guess I’m back to square one.” 

You flash your student a placating stare, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Hey, your next assessment isn’t until the end of the month, right? You don’t have to rush. Besides, I’ve been thinking about teaching you how to brew your own instant growth potion.”

The enticing promise of a new technique visibly piques Chaewon’s interest. She gasps, taking your hands in hers before letting out a loud shriek. “Really?! You’re really going to teach me that? You know there are no take-backs once you say it, right?”

“Yes, I know.” You chuckle. “Now go head off to class. You have Chris here for first period, right?”

Your student groans. “Yeah… I still don’t know why I took musical theory as an elective.”

“You talk like I’m the worst instructor among the school faculty,” Chris huffs before walking back to the path leading to the main building. “Come on, Chaewon. You’ll be late.”

“How can I be late if I’m with you, though?”

“If you don’t stop being smart with me, I’ll tell BamBam to switch your monstera seeds with venus flytraps.” 

As the two of them bicker all the way to the entrance, you’re left alone with your troublemaking best friend. Chan still has his shoulders set as if the guilt from his earlier actions is still fresh in his heart. You sigh, gesturing for him to follow you into the greenhouse before stepping inside the enclosure.

Out of all the projects you’ve dedicated to mastering your elemental magic, the Academy’s greenhouse is by far your most renowned feat. It started as a pipe dream during your first year of attendance and in your final year, you managed to convince the board of elder mages to build the greenhouse with the help of your father.

Of course, since he’s a royal mage—the town’s representative in the courts of the royal capital—you won’t deny that he might’ve pulled a few strings here and there to make your dreams a reality. 

(If you can recall correctly, you once heard Chaewon’s friend, Yunjin jokingly whisper something about nepotism during one of the on-field classes you held.)

But whatever the means, the greenhouse proved to be an effective medium for magic of varying affinities. Both elemental and non-elemental mages often stop by to test their ideas about innovative applications of their powers. 

Some water mages have tested if plants can purify contaminated samples from the upstream river. A spatial mage once tried to clone a bonsai tree by multiplying their cells in an exact mirror image. 

And your best friend often tests the limits of what he can and can’t do around all the flora—given his magical constitution.

“So I’m guessing you already forgive me?” Chan asks with a sheepish smile on his face. “I promise I’ll just help out somewhere else when you’re not around. Baekho’s been inviting me to the magical combat wing a lot these days, but I need to think about it first ‘cause…you know.”

You do know. And out of every single person who knows Lee Jung Chan, you like to think that you understand his predicament better than anyone else.

Both of you started studying at the Academy at the same time, but you’re the only one who got to graduate after senior year. This made Chan ineligible for any sort of teaching position, since official employment required being an alumnus of any recognized magic school in the realm. The most he can be offered is a spot as a teaching aide and none else.

You’re well aware that because of that smudge on his track record, coupled with his clumsy tendencies, people often assume that Chan is a failure of a mage. A fire elemental who has no idea how to wield his own flames.

But what they don’t know is that in terms of raw power alone, even your father agrees that Chan surpasses every single student that’s ever had the pleasure to graduate from this school. The reason he can’t control his own flames is because of how potent they are. How powerful and all-consuming they can be if kept unchecked.

Your father once offered to bring him to one of his friends in the southern cities—someone who can help Chan tame his powers in ways he failed to guide him to. But your best friend declined, insisting that someone who can’t control their own flames doesn’t deserve the time and hospitality of anyone outside your hometown.

To this day, you still haven’t forgotten the resignation in his voice as he said the words. Like he’s so certain that all he deserves is to be some aberration kept in the shadows. You’ve always hated it whenever he sells himself short, but it’s not as if you can do anything about it if he’s so complacent with where he is now.

“Hey? You’re spacing out on me all of a sudden.”

You blink, nonplussed by Chan’s voice despite the fact that you’ve been standing with him inside the greenhouse for over five minutes. He’s posed a respectable distance away from any of the potted plants and flowers in the vicinity—standing so still, you almost find it funny.

“What made you drop by so early in the morning anyways?” you ask in an attempt at small talk. Your first class of the day doesn’t start until an hour, so you can afford to squander some time. “Don’t you usually get out of bed at noon?” 

“Hey, I get out of bed at eleven!” He insists as if that’s any better. “But anyways, the reason I showed up so early is because someone made a wrong delivery to my house. Ma was so surprised to see a huge crate at our doorstep, but she was even more surprised to see it was addressed to you.”

…A delivery? For you?

“What do you mean?” you wonder, head craned with confusion. “What was inside? Did it say who it was from?”

Chan shakes his head before pointing at the far end of the greenhouse. There, you see the massive wooden crate he must be talking about. “A bunch of flowers in a plant box with no return address. Maybe it’s one of those scholars from the capital who want you to study them again? You did work on a research project about hydrangeas last month right?” 

Strange flower delivery aside, you gape at him—heart fluttering at his thoughtfulness. “You remember that?” 

“Of course I do,” he says easily. “Now are you going to check out the crate so you can tell me what those flowers are or are we gonna stand in the middle of all these highly flammable plants all day?”

You don’t even bother asking how Chan managed to transfer such a huge thing from his house to the greenhouse. He must’ve asked help from Mingyu, another instructor’s aide who does a lot of heavy lifting around the school. Or maybe he even roped Baekho into this whole thing.

Either way, as soon as you open the mystery package, it’s as Chan described it: a plant box brimming with an assortment of flowers arranged in a way only professionals can put together. All the vibrant blooms are expertly placed so that one wouldn’t outshine the other and whoever sent this, they’ve certainly earned your approval. 

“So which is which?” Chan wonders as he peeps inside the crate again.

“Well,” you start, hands tracing each flower delicately. “This one is called a primrose, the dark pink ones are chrysanthemums, while the dantier flowers are carnations.”

As you explain how different they are from the other, it’s hard to miss how Chan struggles to keep himself from reaching into the crate to touch them. You feel kind of bad, but you know he’s only holding himself back because he doesn’t want to unintentionally start another fire. 

“What do they mean? In the language of flowers?” he wonders. “You always go on and on about how each one has its own special meaning. What about these guys?”

You ponder on it for a moment, actively recalling what you’ve been taught. “Hm. Primroses usually represent youth and optimism. Chrysanthemums are for friendship, and carnations…”

When its meaning flits to the forefront of your mind, your eyes widen as an abrupt realization hits you in the next moment. Your gaze drifts back to the flowers as Chan patiently waits for you to continue, and that’s when you notice something strange inside. 

Tucked in the middle of the assortment of lush flowers is a small envelope that wasn’t there before. The flap is enclosed with a familiar wax seal: the royal family’s crest. 

You’ve seen your father open enough letters from them to recognize the sigil pressed into the bright red wax, but you’ve never once received one for yourself. 

“Carnations signify fascination. Love,” you continue, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But I’m sure whoever sent these doesn’t know all that. They could’ve just picked these out because they’re pretty to look at together.”

Chan looks unconvinced. “Why don’t you open the envelope? I’m just guessing here, but maybe it was made to respond to your magic specifically? It would explain why it didn’t appear when I first checked the flowers out.”

For all his foolishness, he might actually be on to something this time.

But instead of brimming curiosity, that bothersome sensation from earlier surfaces again. It cloys in your chest, stirring your heart with trepidation before sinking like a stone in the pit of your stomach. 

Your hands go clammy as you inspect the envelope as if it’s hiding a beast so it could swallow you whole. The royal family hasn’t given you any reason to even be remotely wary of them, but your reluctance refuses to waver.

In the end, you choose to brush it off, picking at the seal until it detaches from the envelope. When you take out what’s inside, the familiar scent of rich red roses laces the fine parchment. 

It’s fairly easy to figure out who the sender is after that.

The greenhouse falls silent as you read through the letter’s contents. You’re acutely aware of Chan’s equally engrossed stare, but with each passing second, you grow more and more cognizant of the fact that this is definitely the reason why you awoke so keyed up first thing in the morning.

“Prince Joshua, huh?” He whispers somewhat disbelievingly before turning to you with curious eyes. “I figured you were friends since your father brings you along to the royal balls so often. Didn’t think he was this into you though.”

You didn’t either. You can hardly call the prince who’s second in line to the throne your friend, much more, a romantic prospect. Sure, Joshua is always hospitable whenever he catches you nursing a drink in the ballroom before asking for a dance, but you never would’ve imagined he harbored those kinds of feelings for you. 

What’s more is, though you came from a highly regarded lineage of mages, there isn’t a drop of royal blood in your veins. But here he is, asking you to be his fiancée all while giving you the prettiest flowers you’ve ever received.

“Do you think it could be a mistake?” you mumble, reading over the letter once more to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

Chan rolls his eyes. “Look, that’s clearly your name he mentioned at the top. And don’t you think that someone as important as Prince Joshua will be more careful about sending out gestures of grandeur? He can’t just give any beautiful girl flowers, you know.”

His words shouldn’t faze you as much as they do. It’s always been easy for Chan to compliment people when the chance arises and he’s called you beautiful dozens of times before. Sometimes teasingly, more often genuinely. 

It’s so strange. The most sought-after man in the kingdom just asked for your hand in marriage, but here you are—heart doing somersaults all because of your best friend’s easy admission.

Oh, heavens, you muse to yourself as Chan goes off on a tangent about how you’re mandated to get him front row seats to the wedding. 

This is going to be difficult.

“That’s good news!”

When you dragged Chan to your father’s office once all your classes for the day were finished, you expected him to at least mull over Joshua’s abrupt proposal a little longer. It’s not that he was strict about the men you let in your life, but he looks much too elated for someone whose daughter is on the brink of being married off to someone else.

Well. When that ‘someone else’ is Prince Joshua, you think the proposal holds more weight than it otherwise would with any other commoner.

“But I don’t understand,” you tell him, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Why does Prince Joshua want to marry me all of a sudden? He hasn’t expressed any sort of romantic interest in me before, so why…?”

Your father chuckles from behind his desk, one finger guiding the drink from his glass with magic so he can spin it around in circles. Water elementals can be so strange at times. 

“If I told you the prince has felt the way he claims in his letter for a good few years now, would it help you consider the proposal better?” he asks before putting the stream of wine he’s playing with back to its proper place. 

“Wait a moment,” Chan pipes up from his seat. “Are you saying he’s been in love with her for a long time now?” 

“Well, I’m not sure of the specifics, but the prince informed me of his affections a few months ago to seek my approval,” your father explains before leaning back into his seat to cast you a fond stare. “But I told him that regardless of what I think about the whole ordeal, the final decision isn’t up to me at all.” 

The weight of their stares suddenly falls on your form.

You swallow thickly, having known all this time that your father wouldn’t possibly push you to go through with the proposal despite how happy it made him. It’s not that you don’t think Joshua is suitable to be your husband, but…

“Isn’t he taking things a bit too fast?” you ask dryly. “He could at least court me first—”

“My sweet girl, you know the way things work at the castle are much different from how they are in this small town of ours,” your father sighs. “You’ve heard about the royal assimilation period, yes?”

You have. It’s a sort of probationary period imposed on non-royals who wish to marry into the family. You know of a few acquaintances who had to spend a full year in the castles of other kingdoms without setting foot outside the premises during its entirety. At the time, you found the idea of isolation dreadful and that you can’t ever see yourself being in their place.

Now here you are, at the brink of being tied down to a prince you barely even know.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend a chunk of your day thinking about the pros and cons of marrying into the royal family. Becoming princess consort means you’ll be given a voice in the political court of the castle. Though your father does just fine in representing your hometown as its royal mage, being part of the regency itself grants you more authority over the decisions being made for the kingdom’s sake.

The thought of being able to improve the quality of life in your hometown as well as bringing more adequate funds for the Academy makes the offer all sorts of tempting. This is the place that made you who you are today, and you’d want nothing more than to give back however you can. 

Plus, the thought of being married to Prince Joshua isn’t as daunting as it was when you found his letter hidden between the flowers he’d given. Since you had the whole work day to think about it, you managed to get over the initial dread and actually consider how having him as a partner would be.

His reputation as the kingdom’s most esteemed gentleman precedes him even in other places. It was once a popular opinion that Joshua would marry and settle down much sooner than his older brother, Jeonghan simply because of how adored he is among the people. Yet he’s already halfway through his twenties without any prospective partners.

Until now.

“I think you should accept his proposal.”

It shocks you that Chan is the one who tells you that. You stare at him with glaring disbelief while your father merely raises an eyebrow with mild interest before his lips break into a grin. “See? Even Chan over here agrees. I know it’s a bit much to suddenly become the fiancée of someone so important, but you’ll get to know each other better during the assimilation period anyways.”

Chan nods in agreement. “Besides, we can still visit you every now and again, right?”

The smile on your father’s face falls. “Oh, about that… Prospective royals aren’t allowed to entertain visitors that aren’t immediate family until the assimilation period concludes. But you can send letters if you end up missing each other too much.”

Your father says the words in such a light-hearted manner, you’re sure he didn’t say them in jest. He knows how close you and Chan have been since childhood; knows how important he is to you. If you accept Joshua’s proposal and whisk yourself off to the castle, it would be the longest you’ve gone without seeing your best friend in your entire life.

With Chan added to the equation, you realize that it’s not your level of familiarity with Joshua that makes you so reluctant to go through with it, nor is it the idea of being isolated from the outside for an entire year. 

It’s the fact that you won’t be able to meet Chan for its entirety.

“Well, it’s not like it’s something you have to decide on right away,” your father interjects when he senses that the atmosphere has dipped. “I’ll keep in touch with the prince about the whole thing, but I’m sure he’d like you to take your time anyways. This is a lifelong commitment we’re talking about after all.”

This is ridiculous. Well, not as ridiculous when you remember you’re now of marriageable age and the prince has been harboring feelings for you for longer than you thought. 

Still… 

When you look at Chan, you half-expect him to at least comment on your father’s words, but he merely grins as if he’s completely on board with the idea.

Yet you can’t help but notice how that smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You end up accepting Joshua’s proposal a week later.

From what you could tell when he responded to your letter, the prince was ecstatic. He went into great detail about how he promises to make the entire assimilation process comfortable for you and that he can’t wait to have you at the castle. What makes the entire exchange all the more endearing is the fact that he’s genuinely apologetic about the abruptness of his proposal and that he honestly didn’t expect for you to agree.

You didn’t either.

If Joshua was ecstatic, your father was over the moon. When you informed him that you’re exchanging correspondences with the prince about the entire arrangement, he was quick to put together a farewell party when the final date of your assimilation period has been set in stone. 

In other words, the past month was extremely busy for you. It consisted of several back and forth trips to the royal capital so you and Joshua could get all the paperwork involved done together. He’s just as sweet and accommodating as you remember—making the whole process less intimidating than it’s supposed to be. The more time you spend with the prince and soon-to-be-fiance, the less nervous you are for what’s to come.

The anxiety finally wears off by the time your farewell party comes around. Your father made sure to invite close friends and family as well as a few of his students and yours. Chaewon was in tears at the news that another mentor is going to be assigned for her because of the circumstances, but you promised to keep in touch when you come back.

Although once you’ve had your final conversations with most of your guests, you start to feel how wary you are from interacting with so many people at once. Eyes scanning through the small venue your father rented for the occasion, you attempt to look for a single person—a pout tugging at your lips when you can’t find him amidst the crowd.

No one knows Lee Jung Chan better than you do, so you’re right on the money when you venture out to the nearby river—immediately spotting him sitting alone by the banks.

You can only guess how many stones he’s already skipped across the stream, but Chan doesn’t even flinch as you settle down beside him, pulling your legs to your chest so you can rest your chin on your knees.

“You haven’t come here in a while,” you murmur quietly. “Something on your mind?”

“Mmm.” His eyes are pulled straight forward as if still lost in thought. You sigh before opting to stew in the sound of the flowing river—gazing at the slowly setting sun in the far horizon.

It hits you at that moment just how much you’ll miss him. Quiet afternoons with your best friend have become few and far in between ever since you started teaching at the Academy. Now that you’re Joshua’s fiancée, you don’t even know if you’ll ever get to watch sunsets with him like this again. The thought fills you with that same sinking feeling that you only learned to overlook recently and it must show on your face because Chan is quick to turn to you with a curious look on his face.

“You nervous?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Then why do you look so…”

“So?”

“I don’t know…that.”

“You have to be specific, Chan.”

He huffs, taking another stone from a pile he collected at his side before skipping it across the water. “Well, you look like the way you did before your first magical assessment. Remember when the headmaster called me to sleep over because you were practically shaking with anxiety? Even if you’re literally from the best sorcerer family in the city?”

“Hey! Just because my father is good at everything doesn’t mean I am too!”

“But you don’t have to be good at everything.” Chan smiles and you’re unprepared for how your heart lurches at how breathtaking he looks. “You just have to be yourself.”

A pause hovers in the midst of the conversation and you can feel the heat starting to creep up your cheeks. If your best friend notices, he doesn’t let you know.

“I remember that you aced that assessment. Scored highest in our entire year too,” he recalls with a hint of fondness. “I think you’ll do just fine in that assimilation period. Wait, no. I know you will.”

You’ve always admired how easy it is for Chan to uplift others, despite the harsh words some people have used to put him down countless times. It’s like he soaks up the negativity in his life and lets it all out in a more productive manner. 

The steady flowing stream rings in your ears as the silence sets yet again, heart threatening to beat out of your ribcage as you drink in the sight of your best friend. Rays of muted sunlight filter through the trees onto his face and it makes the kind grin on his face glow even brighter.

Chan lets out a choked up sound when you immediately pull him in for a hug. He’s speechless for a couple of seconds—wondering what on earth got into you. In the end, he lets out a defeated sigh and returns your embrace with twice as much affection. 

“Sounds to me like you’re perfectly okay with marrying off your best friend to some guy,” you murmur jokingly, breathing in his scent like it’s your last. Burnt sugar and just a hint of musk. 

He laughs and the sound vibrates across your skin. “Prince Joshua is not some guy. And why wouldn’t I be happy that you’ll be married to such a great person? He can give you everything, you know? Even if I used to give all the dudes who got close to you back then a lot of shit, I know the prince will make you happy.”

Happy…

That’s something you haven’t really considered ever since you and Joshua started making the preparations for your assimilation. He’s a good prince who values his people over his own interests and he’s also a gentleman that always considers your input in every step. 

But not once did it ever occur to you that marrying him would equate to your own happiness.

The thought fills you with shame—especially knowing how much Joshua has done for you for the past month. You tell yourself that maybe it’s because you still don’t know him that well; that you just need a little more time before you can think of him as a person who can make you genuinely happy and not just someone who you have to marry for the sake of your town.

If there is someone who makes you feel that way without breaking a sweat, however…

Chan shoots you a puzzled look when you break away, rising back to your feet all while tugging at his arm. Still, he lets you pull him up—a determined look settling across your features.

“Follow me.”

During weekends, the Academy only grants entry to both students and faculty until mid-noon. But luckily for you, you’ve spent years sneaking into the greenhouse when you were still carefully cultivating all the plants you have on display.

Chan voices out his concern when you bring him inside, muttering something about trespassing on school territory but he tails you from behind anyway. 

The plant box full of dazzling flowers he brought a month ago isn’t here anymore—having been planted safely in the garden of your house. In its place is a brand new shipment of flowers you ordered from BamBam about two weeks ago.

Chan hasn’t seen them yet since he’s made it a point to avoid the greenhouse while Chaewon is in the middle of her experiments. But the curiosity in his eyes shines when you show them to him.

“These are called forget-me-nots,” you say, a warm smile tugging at your lips. “They aren’t that rare, but…they’ve always been my favorite. The first time I saw them was in a forest near the southern cities, where Father taught me the names of all kinds of trees and flowers.”

Chan nods with an expression that tells you he doesn’t quite get it, but is happy for you nonetheless. You stifle a laugh and his face immediately reddens as he clears his throat. “Um, why’d you ask BamBam for these though? They look kind of…simple compared to everything else you already have here.”

“It’s because they’re so simple that they stood out to me, silly,” you chuckle. “That forest was teeming with the most exotic plant life I’ve seen. Flowers of all shapes and colors, trees that grew up to the clouds… Even in such an abundant forest, simple flowers like these grew unassumingly by the side—still thriving despite being considered inferior.”

When you stare at Chan, you realize how much these flowers remind you of him. And it’s for that reason that you’re about to ask him a huge favor.

“Can you take care of them for me while I’m gone?” you whisper—voice carrying a hopeful tone. “I know it’s a tall request but—”

“Are you kidding? Nothing’s ever a tall request from you.” He huffs. “Of course I’ll do it.”

Your mouth hangs slightly agape—not expecting Chan to agree to it so easily. It takes you a moment to pick up your train of thought, but when you do, you break into an even wider grin. 

“Really? Notorious plant-killer Lee Jung Chan is agreeing to take care of a bunch of flowers for an entire year?” you tease. 

“Hey, you’re the one who asked, so why are you suddenly questioning my credibility?” The pout on his face just makes you want to tease him even more. “I’m probably going to end up burning a few of them by accident, but I won’t be seeing you for a long time. This is the least I can do while I wait for you to come back, right?”

You are going to miss him so much, it makes your heart hurt.

Unlike earlier, Chan immediately reciprocates the hug you pull him into. You bury your face in the crook of your neck, ingraining the scent of him in your mind so that you’ll never forget your best friend even if you tried.

“I’ll come back for them in the spring,” you whisper. 

Chan hums, his thumb tracing idle shapes along your shoulder blades. “Is that a promise?”

It feels like forever before you break away from him, but when you do, the desolate feeling you got from the thought of being apart from him goes up in smoke. Chan raises an eyebrow when you reach into the plant box to pluck two forget-me-nots from the soil—enchanting the blooms with your magic so the stems could morph into rings.

One for you and one for Chan.

“It’s a promise.”

“Miss, you’ve got a letter again.”

You’re in the middle of reading up on a compilation of the kingdom’s annual state of affairs when your handmaiden, Sakura, finds you in the castle gardens. She gathers her skirts with one hand while the other carries an unassuming envelope. It’s routine at this point.

“Thank you, Kkura,” you murmur before flashing her a warm smile. “Has Prince Joshua returned yet?”

She shakes her head. “The peace talks between the four kingdoms are taking much longer than anticipated. Although he and Prince Jeonghan should be back by tomorrow, if what the socialites are gossiping about in the main plaza are true.”

You stifle a soft laugh. “I bet Prince Jeonghan’s stirring up trouble in a foreign court as we speak.”

“You can say that again,” Sakura agrees with a withering sigh. “One of the reasons the king won’t easily let Prince Jeonghan take his place is because of his constant deviance. I’d bet my salary that he was just waiting for Prince Joshua to take up a wife before handing him the crown instead.”

“Kkura, the others might hear,” you scold, but there’s a chuckle wedged between the words. “Well, if a miracle happens and they arrive home earlier than expected, you know where to find me.”

“You’re very diligent about reading, aren’t you, miss?” She comments, impressed. “I know a couple of princess consorts in the making, but you’re probably the only one who cares to read about the technicalities of running a kingdom. Most of them are only in it for the chance to marry into a royal family.” 

“Those waiting for me back home wouldn’t be very proud if I only leeched off my engagement with Prince Joshua,” you say a-matter-of-factly.

“You mean your father?”

There’s a pause in the conversation—one long enough for you to suddenly be cognizant of several things at once. The water running from a nearby fountain. Birds chirping before migrating into their nests for the night. In the silence, you let your eyes wander to the rings in your fingers.

A diamond engagement ring that probably costs more than what you’ve earned in your entire life on your ring finger and a bright blue forget-me-not wrapped around your pinky.

Right. Sakura doesn’t know about… 

“Yes,” you tell her, but there’s hesitation in your voice that you hope she won’t hear. “He’s been very thorough about giving me advice on how to make the best decisions for a lot of people.”

“As expected of a royal mage,” she sighs, “Oh well, I’ll leave you be, miss. If your father is as thorough as you say he is, then I can only imagine what he’s written in that new letter.”

Well, she’s not exactly wrong.

After exchanging farewells, Sakura bows her head with a practiced curtsy—saying something about supper being ready in an hour or two before leaving you to your own devices. When you find yourself all alone once more, you rip open the envelope with a hint of excitement buzzing on your fingertips. 

It’s been about three months since you’ve left your hometown and started your assimilation period. During those three months, you were constantly fed with a multitude of information that comes with being part of the regency. From etiquette classes to foreign relations—your teachers all expected you to take everything they told you to heart. 

While the process sounds much too tedious, especially for someone who’s quite literally stuck here for another nine months, Joshua always took it upon himself to make sure you wouldn’t feel too bored with all the stringent formalities. 

He’s wonderful company—never running out of stories to tell. From childhood embarrassments at the hands of his older brother to his own share of mischief that’s always overshadowed by the gravity of Jeonghan’s, Joshua kept you constantly entertained.

Your fiancé even suggested that the two of you sneak out into the city sometime just so he could show you that pub near the outskirts that he enjoys frequenting while undercover as an ordinary citizen. Of course, the offer sounded tempting at first, but you rightfully declined out of respect for both the royal family and the tradition that has kept the kingdom going for so long.

However, Joshua isn’t always here to keep you company. Being one of the most important figures in the kingdom, he and Jeonghan are regularly called in and out of the castle to attend to some business that their parents are too busy to sneak into their own schedules. 

It’s during your fiancé’s bouts of absence that you look forward to your next form of entertainment—all the letters sent from home.

Just as you’ve told Sakura, your father accommodates all your questions about ruling over one’s constituents as much as he can—telling you to pay attention to the needs of the people above all else.

But aside from the detailed notes he leaves you with, there’s always another letter wedged inside the envelopes he sends to the castle every fortnight.

Hey.

How are you? Has the prince been treating you well, still? Sorry I couldn’t write to you last time. Training’s been hell and Jongkook hasn’t let me breathe for the past week. When the headmaster told me that becoming that guy’s apprentice wasn’t going to be easy, I didn’t think he was that serious. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten third degree burns from all this temperature training.

Things are a little a lot different in the southern cities compared to home. Everyone is as mean as they could be. Jongkook called it the survival of the fittest and I kind of get where he’s coming from. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to see someone smiling every now and again, right? It’s a good thing I’m allowed to go home every week, or else my sanity would’ve disappeared before we could even see each other again.

About your flowers: have I told you that Chaewon’s helping me maintain them whenever I’m away? We’ve buried the hatchet and agreed to look after your forget-me-nots together! But she kind of emphasized that she’s doing this for you and not because she’s completely forgiven me for the monstera incident. But hey, progress is progress, right?

I checked them out personally when I got home today. They seemed more vibrant than usual. Almost like they’re happy to know I’m back. Seeing them made me think how I’d probably feel when your assimilation period is over. Ah, but I’m running out of parchment to write on. Sorry about that. There isn’t much going on with me anyways. 

Tell me about your classes when you write back, yeah? You also mentioned a pub that Prince Joshua wanted to sneak you into last time. Did you go through with it? Did you have fun? I can’t wait to hear from you so the story better be exciting!

P.S. If the prince himself encourages you to sneak out of the castle, would you consider doing that so we can wander around the main plaza sometime?

P.P.S. That was a joke, by the way. Don’t have the royal guard arrest me. 

P.P.P.S. But if you’re up for it, I wouldn’t say no.

Chan writes his letters the same way he talks in real life. You can almost hear his voice inside your head as you go through every word. You’re glad that he still has enthusiasm to spare over receiving tutelage from someone as important as Kim Jongkook, but even you can tell that his training is no walk in the park. 

There were tears in your eyes when he first broke the news. You thought he’d spend his entire life without getting the proper guidance he needs to hone his powers. But a month after your departure, Chan quickly kept you up to speed about his newfound mentor with a promise that he’ll be the best fire elemental in your hometown by the time you got back.

But with how he bemoans the rigorous training in his letters, you ponder if he sometimes gets hit with the thought of quitting halfway. While his excruciating routines are a far cry from the year’s worth of assimilation classes you’re required to attend, you like to think that you and Chan have a similar threshold for the things you’ll willingly bear without complaints. 

Though you’ve already accustomed yourself with your life at the castle, it’s a no-brainer to say you’d choose to leave for home in a heartbeat if given the chance. But your conscience won’t let you entertain the idea for too long, especially knowing how much you owe it to your hometown to persevere until the end.

That’s why even if you’d want nothing more than to see your best friend, you decidedly draw a fine line between your responsibilities and your heart’s desires. You want so badly to meet Chan again even if that means sneaking past the royal guards, but you’ve never really been one to bend and break the rules for selfish reasons like that. 

Instead, you tuck your best friend’s letter away in the envelope beside your father’s. Nothing but the sound of the water spilling from the fountain rings in your ears. 

As you stare at the pretty blue flower tied at the base of your pinky, you wonder for the hundredth time if you’ve made the right decision at all.

Prince Joshua is easy to love.

By your sixth month in the castle, you can genuinely say that you’ve at least developed a kind of attachment to the prince that borders on romantic. He’s handsome, thoughtful, kind, and many other traits that would only quantify him as a perfect husband. 

Jeonghan regularly catches your gaze lingering several seconds too long on your fiancé every suppertime and it’s no surprise that the eldest prince would tease you to the ends of the earth for it. Saying something along the lines of if you’re already making moony eyes at him now, what more when you finally tie the knot?

It’s something that always flusters you no matter how many times Jeonghan brings it up. But it’s not because you’re embarrassed about what you feel for Joshua. It mostly stems from the fact that you don’t know what to feel for him.

Despite having lived under the same roof for six months, you’re still unsure of where your heart stands when it comes to Joshua. It’s a standstill of emotions that frustrates you to no end. You know nothing will be lost if you just surrender to your budding feelings, but it’s like there’s something always holding you back. 

When the king hosts an overdue gala in the castle, you finally realize what it is.

It’s been more than half a year since they last held one within the premises out of respect for your ongoing assimilation. But now that you’ve passed the six-month mark, the royal court deemed it appropriate to give you more exposure to social functions such as this.

You’re understandably nervous for your first public appearance as Prince Joshua’s fiancée. Sakura has told you about how ruthless the kingdom's nobles could be when it comes to unearthing other people’s business. But your handmaiden assured you there’s nothing to worry about since you’ve done flawlessly with your classes since day one.

So there you are in front of the ballroom, arm linked with Joshua’s as the queen introduces you to every single noble in attendance. You wonder if the prince can tell just how nervous you are but you can at least hope that your smile can convince a hundred other strangers otherwise.

“Hey,” he whispers—eyes still riveted towards the crowd.

“What?”

“You don’t have to be so uptight.”

You try your best not to make a face. “Easy for you to say, Mister I’ve-been-attending-galas-since-I-was-in-the-womb.”

Joshua chuckles softly. “But you’ve been attending these frequently, too. That’s how we met, remember?” 

“Yeah, but I’ve never been the center of attention!”

“Well…” He pauses before shifting his gaze towards the crowd—his mother’s sweet voice echoing throughout the ballroom as she tells everyone how excited she is to welcome you to the family soon. “If it helps, there’s a certain someone in the crowd that’s definitely rooting for you.”

Your confusion visibly shows on your face before you follow his line of sight. You knew your father would be in attendance as is required of all royal mages, but it’s not him that you spot in the crowd.

It’s Chan.

He’s a lot different than you remember—looking much too dapper to pass as the boy you knew as your best friend. He’s donned in expensive-looking garbs, the maroon silk of his tunic hanging loosely off his frame. His hair is slicked back and styled in a way that would make anyone think he was from one of the noble houses. Even the manner he’s holding a glass of champagne looks way too sophisticated for someone you frequently teased for his lack of etiquette and—

There’s a woman hanging off his arm. A woman you don’t know, but looks just as breathtaking as any maiden inside this damn ballroom.

Who is she? Chan has never mentioned any new friends in his letters. Hell, he didn’t even tell you he was going to be here tonight. Instead of feeling at peace with the fact your best friend is finally in front of you like Joshua assumed, all it does is stir a plethora of unpleasant feelings in the pit of your stomach.

“Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way,” the queen says with a smile—snapping you out of your trance, “how about we let our stars of the night lead the first dance? I know the lot of you have missed our parties. On behalf of the royal family and your future king and queen, we hope you’ll enjoy this night of music and liquor. Have a good evening, everyone.”

Forcing yourself not to think about how the queen just referred to you and Joshua as the kingdom’s future king and queen, you let your fiancé lead you to the dancefloor. Joshua is careful as ever as he helps you down the polished marble steps—that handsome smile never leaving his face. You feel like your heart would’ve fluttered as the two of you exchange the opening bows, but your heartbeat is all over the place knowing Chan is here watching everything unfold.

“You remember what we practiced, right?” Joshua murmurs as the orchestra starts the song. 

“U-Uh, yeah,” you stammer—hoping your hands aren’t sweating through your silk gloves. “I won’t step on your toes anymore. Promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

His smooth-talking is not doing you any favors, but you try to dance the same way you practiced with for weeks. The thing about Joshua is that he always makes things easier for you—be it your engagement or some opening dance his parents requested for you to do. He’s so unbelievably accommodating that your initial nervousness easily falls away as the music continues to fill the ballroom.

You only notice that the other guests have already paired up with their own partners on the dancefloor when Joshua twirls you around and hands you over to a noble gentleman you find vaguely familiar. He grins at you when he receives his next dance partner, mouthing “You can do it,” before he spins her away. 

This is the part that you barely rehearsed for. Joshua simply told you to have fun and the rest will come easily. His unhelpful advice threw you off a little, since you were so accustomed to doing things by the book—to abiding by the rules that have been set. 

Your current partner—Hyunjin, as he introduced himself—seems to pick up on your nervousness.

“You’re the kid of one of the royal mages, right?” he asks. “I’m the same. You’ve done this partner exchange thing before, haven’t you? I’ve seen you around a few times in the past.” 

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, but I’m just really nervous today.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Understandable. Don’t think about it too much and just let the music guide you through it.”

Well that’s easier said than done. The noblemen in the kingdom must have some sort of dance class where they’re taught to just take it easy because that’s definitely something you can picture Joshua saying to you as well. 

But as the orchestra continues to play song after song, you find your initial inhibitions ebbing away with each partner that passes. Hyunjin is right—you have done this before and you’re slowly remembering how fun it feels to dance with strangers in the middle of the castle’s ballroom. 

As the last few songs start to play, there’s no trace of nervousness left to be seen on your face. You’re finally in your element.

Until you finally find yourself in the arms of the same person who amplified your anxiety in the first place.

“Hey,” Chan greets with a soft smile as he fits one hand over your waist and entwines the other with yours. “I thought I’d never be able to get to you.”

You spend a couple of seconds just gawking at him, but your body thankfully still moves to the rhythm. Chan has the gall to stifle a laugh at your reaction and you nearly step on his foot on purpose.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss as he twirls you around. 

“Whoa. Don’t get so worked up. The headmaster invited me, so my presence here is completely legal,” he responds, that stupid smile never leaving his face. “Anyway, you look beautiful tonight.” 

“Thanks, but you could’ve at least told me you’ll be here!”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

You want to snap at him and scold him for taking you by surprise like that. Part of you kind of wants to ask about his date for the night too, but past the frustration, you’re still glad to see him. It’s been too long and you know you have lots of catching up to do in person. So instead of an endless barrage of questions, you simply bask in the feel of being in your best friend’s safe hands after going so long without him.

You lose yourself to the music. At that moment, it’s as if you and Chan are the only two people in the world—contained in your own little bubble. When your gaze lands on the hand clasped with yours, your heart soars at the fact that he’s still wearing the ring you gave to him all those months ago.

A forget-me-not at the base of his pinky—much like your own.

“I’m not sure if I can steal you away for a quick chat after this so…” He purses his lips together as if he’s unsure of what to say. “You’re doing great. The queen seems enamored with you from what I could tell from her speech, so I hope you won’t put yourself down like you always do. You’ll be the best princess consort ever.

“And you seem really happy with Prince Joshua. I’m glad.”

Before you could even issue a response, he’s already turning you over to your next partner—making the words dissipate on your tongue before you can say them out loud.

Your next partner is none other than your future brother-in-law and you’re not sure if this is a good thing or not.

“Having fun?” Jeonghan asks with mirth coloring his tone. 

“As much fun as someone who’s wearing heels all night can have,” you sigh as you match his careful yet precise movements. “Am I really going to have to do this all the time once Prince Joshua and I are married?”

The older man hums. “Mmm… You and Shua getting married? Not too sure about that, love.”

You furrow your brows at him. “What?” 

“Ah, forgive me. I was just teasing,” Jeonghan muses with a sleazy look that’s rubbing you the wrong way. “It’s just that…I noticed you and that last partner of yours have matching rings, as well. Seems too good to be a coincidence on my end, but I could just be making the wrong assumptions.”

You don’t know why, but your chest seizes with panic—immediately explaining to Jeonghan that Chan is your best friend and nothing else. It’s not that you’re ashamed of him, but…

“Relax, little dove. I never insinuated otherwise,” Jeonghan chuckles. “But if you’re going to settle down with my brother, I suggest you do it with an unwavering heart. That’s all.” 

You know you didn’t do anything remotely wrong, but Jeonghan is making it seem like he’s just caught you red handed for a crime you aren’t aware of committing. The same cheery smile lingers on his face for the entire dance, but there was an uncharacteristic seriousness in his words when he told you that last part.

A quiet voice inside your head tells you that you completely deserve the suspicion. 

“Go find your fiancé for the final dance, love,” Jeonghan says with one last gentlemanly bow. “It’s only fair to  properly conclude something you started together.” 

Something tells you that there’s a double meaning behind his words, but even with how much time you’ve spent with Jeonghan, you still can’t easily parse what he means to say. Despite this, you do as you’re told—weaving through the crowd of visitors in search of Joshua.

You find him near the orchestra, dancing with the same woman whose arm was linked in Chan’s earlier tonight. There’s an dazzled look on her face that you’ve seen on the other ladies your fiancé has danced with and you chalk it up to the usual enchantment people are subjected to when they’re in Joshua’s company. He has that effect on people, it seems.

But she promptly snaps out of it when her eyes drift off to you—whispering something for Joshua to hear before the prince spins around with a welcoming look. He grins like he’s oh-so happy to see you and even if you know you should feel just as elated…

All that swells in your chest is guilt.

“They want us to what?” 

A few days after the royal gala, Joshua pays your bedchambers a visit early in the morning. Sakura had just finished helping you into your corset and dress when the prince came knocking and despite your initial surprise, you gladly welcomed him at the doorway.

“Mother and Father want us to pay the local orphanage a visit,” Joshua reiterates the same words he just mentioned a minute ago, bemusement clear on his face. “They’ve been dispatching royal mages to hold magic classes for the young mages there lately. Jeonghan is usually the one who oversees it, but he has something more urgent to take care of today.”

Your throat bobs at the news. “But…I haven’t completed my assimilation yet.”

Joshua waves away your concerns. “About that. Since you’ve done such a remarkable job with your training thus far, and since you’ve apparently enamored dozens of guests the other day, I asked Father to reconsider the restrictions that come with the process.”

Enamored dozens of…? You shake your head, focusing on the matter at hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the assimilation period is still in effect, but we’ve decided to…rectify a few of the rules that come with it,” Joshua explains with a cheeky smile. “Once royal protégés like you have passed the half-year mark, you’ll be allowed to go in and out of the castle as you please.”

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. Is he being serious? Or is this a test? 

“Come on, you’re making that face again.”

“What face?”

“Like what I’m saying is too good to be true.” Your fiancé pouts. "Don’t you want to go out? If I was stuck for six months in the castle without getting a taste of the outside, I honestly would’ve gone insane. Abiding by the one year rule is simply inhumane and it should’ve been amended a long time ago.”

…There he is again—making things easier for you like he always does.

You’ve never once thought of the castle as a prison, but… You did miss the outside. You miss early morning strolls in parks, weaving through markets to buy produce from local vendors. It’s been so long since you’ve had actual freedom that you forgot that you were quietly longing for it at all.

And Joshua went out of his way to give you just that.

“Okay,” you tell him—cautiousness still evident in your tone, but much less pronounced.

“What time do we leave?”

You have a feeling that the gods are out to smite you today. 

No, really. They are. Because what sort of sick game is at play right now? Just when you thought you’ve found even more reasons to stick by Joshua until the end, they decide to throw a curveball at you in the form of…

“Oh, hello,” Chan greets with a stunned look when he appears behind the double doors to the orphanage—white marks that suspiciously look like cake batter smeared across his face. “I didn’t know that you were coming today. Prince Jeonghan said—”

“Yeah, Prince Jeonghan was busy so here we are,” you speak before Joshua could even explain, which you think is all kinds of rude, but your mouth starts running before your brain can even process the fact that your best friend is right in front of you. “Pray tell, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, princess-consort-in-the-making. What’re you doing outside the castle?” Chan laughs as he opens the door wider with an apologetic bow given to Joshua. “Forgive me, Your Highness. We’re always just this familiar with each other.”

“So I’ve been told,” Joshua chuckles before turning to you. “Didn’t your father tell you? Chan is his newly appointed aide. He’s dealing with something in your hometown right now, so he often sends him to tend to matters like this in his stead.”

No, your father did not tell you anything about this at all. Your incredulous expression shifts between your fiancé and best friend as if you’re waiting for the punchline of some joke shared between them.

It never comes.

“I-I see,” you say instead, clearing your throat before looking at Joshua again. “So is there anything I need to do?” 

“Mmm, you can go meet the children with Chan while I talk to the orphanage directress,” he suggests. “You’ll be alright with that, right Chan?”

Your best friend nods. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“No need to be so formal with me. My fiancée's friends are mine as well,” the prince chuckles while he shakes his head. “I best be off to the directress’ office. I’ll come find the two of you after. Does that sound alright?”

“Yes, of course,” Chan answers. “It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Joshua grins. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

And that’s how you found yourself in the  orphanage’s communal kitchen—rounding up children who might or might not hurt each other with their own play magic.

They were apparently in the middle of baking a cake for the directress when you and Joshua made your unannounced visit. From how smitten the kids are with Chan, you figure that he must’ve been spending a lot of time here lately.

Your best friend mentioned that he has a new…sideline going on, but you never imagined it to be this.

“Channie, who’s this?” Iseul—as Chan introduced—asks while he eyes you with a doe-eyed look. “Your wife?”

“Iseul,” reprimands one of the other kids. This one’s Eri, if you recall correctly. “That’s rude…”

The boy laughs nervously before fidgeting with his fingers. “O-Oh, sorry. I just thought so since she’s wearing the same ring Channie’s wearing.”

As if on cue, you and Chan both glance at your rings—two forget-me-nots stare back. 

Your best friend is the first to address their curiosity. “No, she’s not my wife.”

Iseul cranes his head. “Then why’re you two wearing matching rings? The directress told me that only people who are married can do that.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” he chuckles before walking towards the brick oven in the middle of the kitchen—striking the coals with a precise shot of flame magic. A quiet ember immediately smolders beneath. “We wear rings as a symbol of a promise we made to each other. Isn’t that right?”

Trying not to look too stunned with his precise technique, you clear your throat. “Um, yes. Chan is my best friend. We make promises all the time.”

You kind of fear that the explanation might not be enough for Iseul, but surprisingly, he just nods in understanding. “Ohhh. Just like me and Eri then!”

At the mention of her name, Eri’s face goes red, but she doesn’t make any moves to deny it. 

“Yup. Just like you and Eri,” Chan agrees with a laugh. “Come on. Let’s put the cake we worked so hard on in the oven. You want to give this as a gift to the directress, right?” 

Ten minutes later, the other kids joined the fray as they watched the cake rise inside the oven. You and Chan watch them carefully from a distance, making sure no one comes too close to burn themselves. 

“Sooo,” your best friend starts, leaning against the wooden counter. “Did the prince sneak you out or?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No. But he did negotiate with the king to overhaul the terms that come with the assimilation period. Once someone manages to last for six months, they’re allowed to go outside.”

Chan whistles. “Now that’s a guy who’ll do anything for his wife. Uh, future wife.”

If those words were uttered by someone else, you would’ve felt flattered. It’s an honor to have someone like Joshua as your fiancé. He’s done more than enough for you over the past year and you can’t even begin to comprehend how you’re supposed to pay him back for his kindness.

But when Chan says them, it fills your chest with a feeling you can’t name.

“Anyway,” you begin, “were you planning on telling me that you’re Father’s aide now or was I just going to find that out from Prince Joshua after all?” 

“Hehe, sorry,” he says, sounding anything but apologetic. “I…kinda wanted to keep it a surprise until your assimilation period is over. But turns out, I could get to see you much sooner after all.”

You roll your eyes despite the smile that creeps up your face. 

It’s common practice for royal mages to appoint aides that they’re training to be the next royal mage. You can only imagine how much Chan has improved over the last six months to have garnered your father’s approval like this. That man’s standards are crazy high.

But then again, you’ve always known that Chan was always cut out to be an amazing mage.

As the children’s attention shifts to Eri, who’s being egged on by Iseul to ‘do that trick with the flowers again’, you find yourself quietly observing them. With red cheeks, Eri relents—snapping her fingers once before a pretty sunflower materializes out of thin air.

That casual display even catches you off guard. 

At your side, Chan stifles a laugh and you shoot him a dirty look. “You and Eri have the same elemental affinity. She doesn’t know her way around plants yet, but she can make flowers from sheer will alone.”

That’s…quite impressive, actually. You haven’t met a promising mage with an affinity for plant life since Chaewon. And Eri is barely ten years old. 

“I bet she’ll grow up to be a fine mage,” you comment fondly as you keep your eyes on the kids. 

Just as you say the words, Iseul claps his hands enthusiastically—lone spurts of fire jumping from his fingers. The other kids all exclaim as they avoid the flames before telling Iseul to knock it off.

“Uh, yeah. Iseul is a fire elemental,” Chan says dryly. “He’s also kinda having trouble controlling his powers. But don’t worry, that’s why I’m here.”

At that moment, you realize that a lot can change in the span of six months. Before you left your hometown, you never would’ve imagined Chan being responsible for another child’s magical progress. You were so used to hearing him putting himself down that the confidence he now exudes surprises you. In a good way. 

Whatever he went through in the southern cities, you think of extending your gratitude to his mentor, Jongkook. You can only imagine what he put your best friend through for him to have this much trust in himself and his powers now.

Chan heaves a laugh that he pulls from the bottom of his stomach when one of the kids douses Iseul with a magical spray of water. It’s a sound you’ve longed to hear for months and now that his laughter is singing in your ears, you can’t help but stare at him a little too fondly.

What’s more is that he still has cake batter smeared across his cheek. You wonder if he genuinely isn’t aware it’s there or he’s just keeping it on for laughs. Still, you unconsciously lean closer—raising your hand to brush your fingers across the cream. Your best friend visibly startles at the gesture but makes no moves to shy away from your touch.

With your faces inches away, you start to realize just how close you’ve gotten. You can almost feel the hitch of his breath across your skin and… 

Has Chan always been this handsome?

But those few precious moments are immediately shattered like glass when Iseul gasps and points to the entrance of the kitchen. “Look! It’s Prince Jeonghan!”

You and Chan break apart like you’ve both been burned by Iseul’s flames. Confusion races through your brain because you were told that Jeonghan was busy today, so why…?

“Common mistake, but I’m not Prince Jeonghan. I’m his brother,” Joshua clarifies as he steps into the kitchen with a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

One of the other kids gasps. “Are you a prince too?” 

“He is.”

It surprises you that Chan is the one to speak up—having moved away from the counter and closer to the kids. You feel your heart twist when he leaves, but you shove down the emotion since Chan is beaming like he always is.

“He’s Prince Joshua and he’s getting married soon,” he continues before gesturing to you. “To her, actually.”

The children let out noises of awe, blinking up at you and Joshua with mouths agape like they’ve just witnessed someone do a neat trick with their magic. You can feel your face heat up at the sudden attention and you would’ve been glad to know that Joshua—for all his confidence and wit—isn’t faring so well either.

If only you weren’t so put down by the fact that your best friend just drew a fine line between the two of you. A line that he probably, definitely won’t cross.

“That’s right. If all goes well, we’re having the wedding in six months,” Joshua agrees quietly—his initial shock morphing into fondness. 

“Whoa! A royal wedding?” Iseul gasps. “Are we invited too?”

The atmosphere proceeds to blur into a buzz of questions that Joshua is happy to accommodate. For children who are probably no older than twelve years old, they seem very engrossed in the relationships interspersed between the royal family.

You wonder if Jeonghan had a hand in their particular interest in the matter, but you don’t ponder on it too much because Chan eventually excuses himself from the kitchen—asking you to watch over the cake while he goes to check on the other kids playing in the backyard.

Your eyes stay riveted to the entrance even when your best friend is long gone.

You’re not sure how you’ve managed to last nine months away from home, but here you are.

As the end of your assimilation draws near, so does the royal wedding that’s been the talk of the capital for weeks now. Ever since you’ve been given freedom to go out of the castle as you please, you’ve made several friends among the elite socialites. 

They’re always dying to get their hands on an inside scoop about what you and Joshua have planned for the final quarter of the process, but you often turn these requests down before convincing one of the ladies to tell you about the diamond necklace her husband got her for their anniversary. 

It’s a scheme that Sakura told you in passing: if you want to get the nosy ones off your back, just trick them into talking about themselves instead. 

Speaking of your handmaiden, she’s been busy booking you several trips to the most renowned boutique in the capital. With only three months left until the wedding, you’re expected to look out for the perfect dress to wear on that special day. 

Despite knowing that you’re more level-headed than most marriageable women your age, you have fantasized about what you would look like in a wedding gown. Although sixteen year-old you never would’ve considered getting to sample the designs of well-known tailors across the kingdom, much more being fussed over by the royal family itself.

What you pictured was a simple wedding in your hometown—donned with a dainty white dress that didn’t boast much glamor and glitz. The only visitors would be your family, some close friends, along with your colleagues and students. A spring wedding always seemed perfect to you, and whenever you imagined yourself walking down the aisle, the person waiting for you at the altar is—

“Oh my goodness,” the seamstress behind all the stunning dresses you're trying on gasps when she lets herself inside the dressing room—eyes glittering like rhinestones. “You look absolutely stunning! I definitely like the fit of this more than the others, miss!”

You startle out of your careful reminiscing as your brain zones back in on your reflection in the mirror. This dress is as white as an angel’s wings and though she is completely right about it easily being the best you’ve tried on so far, it’s a far cry from the one you dreamed about wearing as a teen. 

You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“You think so?” you murmur, pushing down those past preferences into the furthest vestiges of your mind. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Aside from wedding gowns, the queen often consults you about the venue of the wedding. You’re actually quite surprised with how much agency they’re allowing you over the necessary decisions, but she insisted that it’s only fair for her future daughter-in-law to have a say with how her own wedding is going to pan out.

“I was thinking of holding it in the castle’s courtyard for all the kingdom to see,” she tells you over afternoon tea, a kind smile settled on her face. “That’s how all royal weddings usually take place, but I thought we could use some fresh input, you know?”

“Fresh input?” you repeat. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t think I can follow…”

The queen shakes her head. “Silly girl, I’m asking if you have another venue in mind! Your ideas about royal politics have always been refreshing to hear, so I figured that you must have an alternative sitting inside that pretty mind of yours.”

The moment the words leave her lips, you immediately picture the riverbanks back in your hometown. It’s not a place that could accommodate hundreds upon thousands of guests like royal weddings should. But if you were to settle with a more intimate gathering, that would be your best bet.

Of course, you tell the queen none of this.

“I think holding it at the courtyard is a splendid idea already, Your Highness,” you tell her with a smile that you don’t quite believe in. “After all, there’s no place like home.”

Another thing to consider is the guestlist. Even if this is an event that the royal family encourages the entire kingdom to look forward to, only a select few are allowed inside the castle premises. 

For some reason, Jeonghan is the one saddled with the job to curate who gets to witness you being hailed both as Joshua’s wife and as princess-consort. He’s hard at work when you find him in the castle library one day, buried in stacks upon stacks of invitations with a look on his face that screams why am I even here?

Curious, you slide into one of the empty seats at the table. “I didn’t think they’d hand you a job so tedious.”

“They didn’t,” Jeonghan frames the words with a sigh. “I volunteered ‘cause I know it would make Shua happy.”

“You can make your little brother happy in other ways too,” you joke.

The older prince hums as he scribbles onto a fine sheet of parchment. “You’d know a lot about making my brother happy, now would you?”

Jeonghan has a reputation for being a scheming, sharp-tongued prince. You’re fully aware of this, but getting to live with him for almost a year made you see sides of him he doesn’t usually show to the public.

Though not as openly as Joshua does, he cares for his family and the staff in his own, quiet way. You like to think that his subtle thoughtfulness even extended to you during these fateful months in the castle. 

But after that fateful encounter in the ballroom during the six-month mark of your assimilation, something told you that you no longer had the privilege of being on the receiving end of his support.

“It’s kind of ironic, really,” Jeonghan muses before dipping his pen into the inkwell. “I’m willingly overseeing this blasted guestlist despite the fact that my brother is getting married to someone who doesn’t even love him. But I suppose it’s an older brother’s job to cater to the fantasy until he sees things for how they are on his own.”

“Your Highness, forgive me but it’s rather bold of you to assume that I don’t harbor an ounce of love for my fiancé,” you tell him outright, lacing your fingers together tightly on your lap. 

Right next to the lavish ring Joshua had given to you, a forget-me-not sits unassumingly by its side. 

Jeonghan laughs. “Really? That’s quite amusing, since I think it’s even bolder for you to choose responsibility over the man your heart truly longs for.”

Silence rings in the room like white noise and you aren’t able to school your expression into neutrality fast enough to escape Jeonghan’s observant eyes. The complacent set of his jaw clues you in on just how much he actually knows and you aren’t certain about what to make of it.

“Whatever you think is going on with me and…that person,” you start, the address tasting like acid on your tongue, “I guarantee you that it’s long gone. He’s the one who made it clear several months before and I never once intended to go back on something I already started.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before pointing the tip of his quill at you. “You know, things would be much easier if you were just a gold-digging commoner and none else.”

Your face twists with offense. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he retaliates as he leans back in his seat. “If you were in this for money and power like every other woman out there, Shua would’ve called off the engagement much sooner. But even I know that you’re too good for that.”

Your momentary vexation with Jeonghan blurs into confusion in a matter of seconds. Is he making a jab at you or complimenting you?

When he recognizes the puzzled look on your face, he heaves a long-winded sigh before putting down his pen altogether.

“Let me put it this way: you’re objectively the best princess-consort-in-training that I’ve had the pleasure to meet. You do everything you’re told flawlessly—sticking by the book at all times if you can help it. You’d even sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of others. 

“While that sense of responsibility would make for a great leader in the future…my little brother doesn’t deserve to be loved as half-heartedly as you love him.”

Your heart thumps inside your ribcage as if it was a prison it longs to break free from. Part of you knows you should refute every single thing that Jeonghan just said. It’s what a future princess-consort should do. 

But every time your mind flashes back to that old spring wedding fantasy you conjured up in your hometown, Chan’s lovely smile burns itself into the back of your eyelids.

Wordlessly, Jeonghan goes back to work and you stew in the silence of the library much longer than you have to. It’s only when one of the servants calls both of your attention to have lunch in the dining hall that he speaks again.

“You still have several weeks to make up your mind, little dove,” Jeonghan whispers slowly the moment you both enter the dining hall. It doesn’t help your case when Joshua perks up in his seat at the sight of you walking inside with his older brother like he hasn’t given you an ultimatum right then and there. 

“Make sure each one counts.”

You don’t really receive letters from Chan anymore.

He’s stopped sending them together after you last met him in the orphanage. Your father explained that he’s been entrusted with several tasks both in and out of the Academy and that those take up most of his time. 

You want to tell him that your best friend never once missed a letter even during those hellish days he spent in the southern cities, but in the end, you decide to keep your silence.

Thoughts about letters that won’t come are the last thing on your mind when winter falls upon the kingdom. The preparations are in full swing despite the fact that there’s still a month left before the wedding itself and because you refuse to be a sitting duck that lets everyone do all the work, you decide to contribute every now and again.

But even if there’s a sense of accomplishment in being able to help around, this season has always been your least favorite. 

You’re a mage who practices with plants and flowers alike, so it’s only natural for you to feel under the weather this time around. The fact that you’ve scarcely gotten to practice your magic ever since you set foot in the capital does little in contributing to your peace of mind as well.

Your hometown is teeming with plant life that you could nurture with the simplest spells. Inside the stone walls and marble floors of the royal castle, there’s barely anything that requires your constant care. 

It’s a given that royals tend to avoid relying on magic for all matters concerning the regency. You were taught that cleverness and wit are the two things that will keep you alive among the foreign courts of other kingdoms and that things like magic can be entrusted to the royal mages instead.

But all it takes is a withering winter to make you realize that you don’t want your magic—the very core of who you are—to dwindle into nothingness.

It’s for that reason that you find yourself heading over to the castle gardens despite the fact that you promised Sakura that you’d start practicing for matrimonial dance with your usual instructor this afternoon. The sun has barely peeked beyond the clouds these days, but you’re convinced that you’ll at least find comfort in the flowers that grew sparsely inside.

There, you find Joshua crouched next to a shrub of carnations.

He’s dressed down today—comfortably enough to let you know that he doesn’t have any plans for the meantime. Your fiancé is examining each bloom with such rapt attention, you’re convinced he didn’t even notice your arrival. 

Surely enough, as you take the first step to approach him, he rises back to his full height—turning around with a vibrant carnation in his hand.

Everyone inside the castle uses their magic so infrequently that you sometimes forget that you and Joshua share the same elemental affinity. Maybe that’s the reason it was so easy for you to get along with him for the past eleven months. 

But you know better than most that there’s more to it than just that.

“You’ve been very busy lately,” Joshua comments with an easygoing smile. “I barely see you these days.”

You sigh, tucking your cardigan closer to your form. “If I’m not helping with the wedding preparations, I’m holed up in my bedchambers. I…don’t really like winters.”

“Neither do I,” he chuckles. “But my duties won’t stop just because I loathe the cold. I’m sure you understand that well.”

The quiet settles over the both of you like a blanket of snow—making you wonder how you used to deal with long winters in the past. 

Then you remember a boy who’s always brought warmth in your life without even trying. Nights spent sleeping in front of the fireplace, tucked in the warmth of his body no matter how harsh the blizzards could be. Collective yearning for the day the snow finally melts and spring returns with a flowery smile. 

But that’s the thing—it’s all in the past.

“Can I…ask you something?”

The hesitation in Joshua’s words makes you stare at him pensively. 

He always sounds sure of himself. Attractively confident. Not in a way that others would find obnoxious, but the complete opposite. There’s a reason why Joshua is so loved in his own kingdom yet right now, you’re starting to see the cracks forming on his gentlemanly demeanor. 

“What is it?” you murmur softly despite dread slowly sinking its claws into your skin.

Joshua tilts his head up to the overcast sky like he’s wondering if it’s going to snow today. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before meeting your eyes again.

“Are you certain you still want to go through with the wedding?”

This…oddly feels like the time you found Jeonghan in the library. The guilt you’ve been harboring for the longest time festers at the implications of his question and you wonder if everything you’ve worked so hard on for the past year will come crashing down today.

“Of course,” you tell him but you’re well aware Joshua knows a lie when he hears it. 

“Really?”

“Is there something specific that you wish for me to say?”

He sighs—the cold starting to materialize with each breath. “No, nothing in particular.”

“It’s just that I believe it would be unfair of me to impose marriage when your heart already belongs to someone else.”

The water running from the fountain is all that plagues your ears yet Joshua’s admission doesn’t evoke the visceral reaction you had to Jeonghan telling you nearly the same thing. Hearing the words come from your fiancé’s mouth doesn’t instill you with guilt.

No… This is something much closer to acceptance.

“I once thought that your time in the castle would give enough leeway for us to get to know each other better,” he continues with a sad smile. “And it did. I’m certain that we’re much closer now than we were a year ago. But… I was a fool to think I could ever get you to love me the same way you love him.”

You’re immediately seized with the need to placate him somehow. After all, you were taught that it’s a wife’s duty to ease her husband’s troubles should he confide in her.

But you’re not Joshua’s wife. 

(And from how this conversation is going, you might never be.)

All of a sudden, something that Jeonghan said to you in the library resurfaces in your mind. At the time, you were too frustrated with him to actually process the words, but suddenly all of it makes sense.

I suppose it’s an older brother’s job to cater to the fantasy until he sees things for how they are on his own.

“You’ve known all this time,” you tell him incredulously. “Why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think that you were obligated to love me for my sake. That’s something that should never be imposed,” he murmurs, twirling the flower in his hands almost wistfully. “I assumed that…maybe if I just gave you enough time, it would come to you naturally. But sometimes things just don’t work out the way you thought and that’s okay.”

If you weren’t trembling in your shoes a minute ago, you certainly are now.

“Joshua,” you whisper. “What are you saying?”

The smile on his face never wavers even as he crosses the distance between you and pulls you into a sound embrace. It catches you off guard for a second because Joshua has never initiated this kind of contact during your entire stay. 

But even with the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the fact that your mind immediately compares it to how it feels to have Chan’s heat permeating your skin…

It only means that this engagement is as good as over.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Joshua whispers back—one hand smoothing across your hair as he holds you in place. “For giving yourself the chance to love me. For being selfless enough to do everything you’ve done so far. I used to admire your self-sacrificing tendencies, but…

“Now I’m sure it’s high time that you chose yourself for a change.”

You don’t know when the tears started to fall, but you find comfort in the crook of Joshua’s neck as you sob into his arms. He doesn’t say a word as you let it out—all the years you spent looking after others, putting their wellbeing first before your own.

You’ve gotten so accustomed to taking responsibility for everyone around you that it never really occurred to you that things don’t have to be that way.

You’re allowed to choose yourself. You’re allowed to be selfish. 

“Go,” Joshua murmurs against the crown of your head. “Go back home. You deserve as much.”

You look up at him, sniffling. “B-But the wedding—”

“There won’t be a wedding,” he reassures with the same sad smile that breaks your heart to see. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll explain the situation to everyone. Right now…you have to go because your father informed me that he’s leaving soon.”

As if you haven’t already been given enough to deal with in a single day, you feel like an anvil has been dropped into the pit of your stomach.

“What do you mean?” 

“Lee Jung Chan was assigned to travel to another reputable magic school on the other side of the continent to build an alliance with the Academy,” Joshua explains swiftly. “He leaves tonight and won’t come back in a long, long while depending on how the initial negotiations turn out.”

An alliance…? 

Is that what he’s been so preoccupied with these days? So much that he can’t even spare the time to write to you anymore?

Before the next bout of tears could spill from your eyes, Joshua calmingly tucks a loose tuft of your hair behind your ear. He looks at you with so much adoration and longing that you briefly entertain the possibility of you loving him unconditionally in another life.

You hope he’ll be happier there.

“There’s a carriage waiting for you at the gates of the capital,” Joshua says. “Leave now while you still have time.”

You want to say something. To apologize to him. To thank him. To tell him that he deserves the world and much, much more. 

But all you do is slide off the diamond engagement ring from your finger, handing it to Joshua with an apologetic look before bolting to the castle entrance—not even sparing him a single word in goodbye.

Venues? Wedding gowns? Invitations? None of these mattered anymore.

Not when you're about to lose your best friend—the love of your life.

Joshua tries not to think about how your hand looked now that it was devoid of his gift; how all that remained is a promise ring that he should’ve taken as a sign to give up a long time ago. 

Just as he hears the commotion stirring down the winding halls, Joshua looks up at the sky again. When he closes his eyes, he feels the first few snowflakes land on his face—cold and solitary, much like himself.

Even so...

You broke his heart in the middle of winter, yet Joshua still looks forward to the flowery smile of spring.

The moment you arrived at your hometown, you weren’t sure where to start looking. For one, the coachman who brought you here said that your father was out of town for undisclosed reasons. You couldn’t exactly march up to the headmaster’s office in the Academy to interrogate him about Chan’s whereabouts. 

That’s why you opted to start with your best friend’s house openly greeted by his mother with a shocked expression as she asks what on earth you were doing so far away from the royal capital.

“Uh, it’s a long story,” you tell her sheepishly as you try not to shiver too much from the cold. “I promise I’ll keep you up to speed, but for now I really need to find Chan.”

She hesitates for a moment and you chalk it up to the fact that Chan’s mother must be thinking she’s going to have a hand in something illegal if she helps you. After all, she’s always had good instincts when either you or her son were up to no good.

But you tell yourself that this is probably the most good you’ve done for yourself in a long, long time. 

In the end, she directs you to the Academy—saying something about Chan wanting to deal with a few things first before he leaves. With just half an hour until nightfall, several students can be seen walking out of the gates after a long day. Some just pass by you without a word, while others throw second glances over their shoulder—as if they couldn’t believe that you’re back either. 

You recognize those kids to be some of your former students, but you can’t bring yourself to stop for a quick chat—simply hoping they’ll forgive you for your haste.

But through the thundering of your heart, you hear a familiar voice call your name in the crowd.

“You’re back!" Chaewon remarks with a delightful gasp before tackling you with a firm embrace. “Why didn’t you tell us you were visiting? Did you bring Prince Joshua with—?”

“Chaewon, where’s Chan?” you interject almost desperately.

Your old student blinks up at you, rightfully confused. “Um, he’s going on a trip for a while. Yunjin told me just now that she saw the other royal mages that gathered here leave on their horses an hour ago. Why? Did you need something from him?”

The news makes you feel like your head has been submerged in murky waters—cloying your senses until you could no longer make sense of what’s around you. Chaewon flashes you a disconcerted look, asking if everything is alright. 

You want to tell her that you’re fine, but you can’t find the words. Your mouth feels cottony and your eyes are starting to sting. Instead of answering, you turn on your heel, biting down the guilt that comes with dismissing one of your favorite students as you run towards the opposite direction.

Chaewon calls out for you several times, but you don’t look back.

Maybe you should just head back to the castle and tell Joshua that this was all a mistake—a lapse in judgment that can still be taken back. You should just see your assimilation through until the end. You’ve already made it so far, after all.

But you just know, deep in your gut, that Joshua wouldn’t accept that so easily. He made it clear that he wants you to want him with no holds barred. Not because you feel responsible for his feelings. Not because the love of your life has already left. That’s just who he is as a person.

Not wanting to burst into tears for the second time today, you find yourself walking towards the greenhouse—craving that familiar solace you always get whenever you’re inside. Your father told you he was going to keep an eye on it while you were gone and you figure that he’d been telling the truth when you find the enclosure just as you’ve left it. 

Several of your personal experiments seem like someone enchanted them with time suspension magic—looking the exact way they did before you left almost a year ago. Among the other plants and flora are other pieces you don’t recognize. You figure that these must be Chaewon’s work and you remind yourself to compliment her once you sort yourself out. 

But when you don’t spot a certain plant box you were looking for, a frown roots itself on your face.

Did Chan move your forget-me-nots somewhere else? The vibrant blue flowers should’ve been easy to spot even amidst the lush blooms all around you, but there’s nothing like that in the vicinity. 

You take your search outside for reasons unknown. Perhaps it’s the restlessness of just staying in one place when you know the very symbol of your promise with your best friend is nowhere to be found. As you make your way out, you glance at the single flower sitting at the base of your pinky—sadly wondering if Chan is even still wearing his. 

But the moment you make it to the back of the greenhouse, you’re much too stunned with the sight that beholds you.

What once was a vacant patch of grasslands is now filled to the brim with forget-me-nots that glow vibrantly in comparison to the bleak gray winter. Despite the drop in temperature, the field of blue flowers stretches on until the borders of the Academy and you have to pinch yourself and make sure you’re not dreaming. 

Then, as if this situation can’t get any more unbelievable, you spot someone crouched in the middle of the field of forget-me-nots.

Your best friend.

Chan doesn’t immediately notice you—seemingly lost in thought, just like the day you found him by the riverbanks a year ago. For someone that’s leaving on an indefinite trip to the other side of the continent, he surely doesn’t look dressed the part, having opted for his comfortable cotton tunic and trousers instead of the garbs royal mages and aides are required to don.

You don’t think twice. You just run.

He lets out an undignified yelp when you tackle him into the ground—palms heating up with a flare of his magic with the full intention of blasting away the intruder. But when he finds his best friend lying right on top of him amidst the forget-me-nots, he’s engulfed with a different kind of heat entirely.

“You asshole,” you hiss with teary eyes, beating your fists weakly against his chest. “You’re going away for a long time and you didn’t even bother to tell me? Am I suddenly not your best friend anymore?”

There’s nothing more that Chan hates than seeing you cry, but he loathes it even more when he’s the cause of your tears. He doesn’t even know if you’re actually here with him. You should be back at the royal castle, preparing for your wedding and not sobbing because of your best friend.

But the warmth of your body nestled on top of his own is much too real. It’s the same sensation he’s craved since you left. The same feeling he’s always longed for, for as long as he can remember. 

And he’s not such a glutton for punishment that he’ll deprive himself of it any longer.

Chan cracks a barely there smile, the breath of his laughter materializing in front of him as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear. He’s not sure if your face flushes because of him or the cold, but he likes to think it’s the former.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, opting to save his many questions for later. “Dunno how you found out about the trip, but I backed out of it last minute. Told the headmaster that I’m not the best with negotiations and that I might unknowingly start a war in the process.”

He half-expects you to either laugh in his face despite the clearly distraught expression you’re wearing or fume at him for being so ridiculous. You probably made the trip from the capital to your hometown just to see him off and he’ll understand your frustration at the fact that his participation was rendered null and void.

But you do neither of these things.

Instead, you curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt—pulling him up and leaning forward at the same time. 

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about kissing Chan at least once in your life. But you can attest to the fact that you didn’t imagine it to happen while you’re freshly broken up from a year-long engagement—snowflakes starting to fall in the field of flowers you asked him to take care of.

Those he promised to take care of.

“I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, hands trembling from where they grip Chan’s clothes as you force your breathing to even out. “I’ve always loved you and I’m the biggest idiot in the world for not accepting that sooner.”

Chan gazes up at you in stunned silence, lips moving as if meaning to say something in return but the words evade him. But just when you’re about to emphasize your point again, Chan raises an arm to  shield his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You’re lying,” he chuckles almost helplessly. “You’ve got to be messing with me.”

A scowl stretches across your lips. How could that be his first reaction? You thought he’d be elated that you came back and professed your feelings. 

But then you entertain the possibility that…what if you’ve read the entire situation wrong? What if Chan never had any feelings of the romantic kind for you at all?

What if you risked everything for nothing?

“Lee Jung Chan,” you whisper threateningly. “I left the Crown Prince himself in a heartbeat when I found out you were going away. Made the entire trip from the capital to here just for the slim chance of seeing you before you left. I even kissed you outside in the middle of winter because I was so fucking glad that you’re here to stay. If that isn’t genuine enough for you, then what else do you want me to do?” 

Your best friend lowers his hand and you try not to waver at the sight of his puffy red eyes. He sucks in a deep breath that almost whistles down his throat before taking one of your hands and lifting it closer to his face.

At the base of your pinky is the same ring he’s never once taken off since you gave it to him.

As night falls and the endless snow falls upon your hometown, two lone figures in a field full of flowers remain undisturbed in their lonesome. 

For some, love is something you don’t give half-heartedly. For others, it should never be imposed.

For you, it’s a whirlwind of emotions that you could never quite figure out how to deal with.

Yet when it comes to Lee Jung Chan, you realize that love has always been easy.

“Chan,” you sigh into the cold air of his bedroom as your best friend peppers your neck with kisses much too heated than you expected. “S-Slow down a little.”

He breathes out a laugh that sounds much too airy for your liking. Chan detaches his lips from your skin as he flashes you a gummy smile. “Slow down? I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. I don’t think I can slow down anymore, princess.”

You have to fight the urge to hit him with his choice of words. “Act any more cheeky and I’m walking out of your house.”

“Duly noted.” 

Then his mouth is back on yours. 

The trip back to Chan’s house—a new, one bedroom apartment near the town square, not his mother’s house—was a bit tricky. For one, you had to walk around where virtually everyone knows you to be Prince Joshua’s fiancée, answering questions about what you’re doing back home with the wedding coming up so close. 

You keep your answers curt and short—not wanting to ignite the scandal of a lifetime before Joshua can even prepare the ample damage control. That and each time someone mentions how happy they are for your engagement, you can feel Chan’s eyes boring into the back of your head. 

So now you’re here, crowded beneath your best friend on his mattress as he kisses your breath away. 

You’ve never done this before. The most daring thing you’ve done with Joshua, who was literally your fiancé for almost a year, was that last hug you shared before you left the castle for good. So you suppose no one can blame you for feeling so lightheaded from the feel of Chan’s lips pressed against yours alone.

It doesn’t help that, even through his desperation to leave no space between the two of you, there’s still caution weighted beneath his desire. He could probably sense the hesitation in your movements as you reciprocate his vigor—kissing back almost awkwardly despite how good his kisses are making you feel. 

“Open your mouth a little for me,” he murmurs, one hand cradling your jaw as you let out a little whimper. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now. I promise you’ll like it.”

Not wanting to keep either of you waiting for much longer, you do as you’re told—opening your mouth just a tad wider right after Chan kisses you again. He easily muffles the gasp you make with his lips when you feel his tongue lick into your mouth. The sensation makes gooseflesh prickle your arms and he coaxes out another embarrassing noise from you—one too salacious for others to hear freely.

“See? What’d I tell you?” he whispers breathlessly against your lips—a strong arm coiling around your waist as he pulls you against his body. “You like it that much?”

You nod meekly. Chan laughs.

“I wanna try something. Hold on.”

Confused, you watch your best friend take a spot beside you on his bed, legs sprawled across the mattress as he tugs you closer to him. You resist his ministrations for a moment as you try to figure out what on earth he’s planning to do. But then it dawns on you. 

He wants you to sit on his lap.

“Too much?” he asks with a hint of caution, to which you quickly respond with a shake of your head. 

“Just…surprising,” you admit as you settle your hips across his thighs. 

You kind of want to ask where he even learned about all this, but part of you doesn’t want to know the answer. Picturing Chan lying with someone else like this is enough to kill your mood, so you decide to push the thought far away until you could no longer remember it.

Despite how…strange and new this is to you, it’s much more comfortable than having his weight press you down into the mattress. Not to mention, you can just brace your hands on Chan’s shoulders as he licks further into your mouth—fingers laced behind the small of your back as you continue whimpering into his kisses.

Gods above. Will you even get out of this alive?

“You taste so sweet,” Chan murmurs before carding his fingers through your hair. “Much better than I imagined.”

You find it in you to chuckle in spite of yourself. “You’ve been imagining this?”

“Enough times to grant me admission to an asylum,” your best friend replies with a sigh as he continues combing your tresses. “I’m crazy about you, if that isn’t obvious enough. Wanted to kiss you so bad back in the orphanage when you leaned in way too close.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but looking back at it now, you definitely felt the same. Now you’re not sure whether or not you should treat Joshua’s untimely entrance in the kitchen that day as a miracle or a curse. 

“I did too,” you profess with little hesitation, tracing the curve of his lips with your thumb before resting your forehead against his. “We’re so stupid. If only we admitted our feelings earlier, we wouldn’t be in such a huge mess.”

Chan hums. “You mean…if I just spoke up when you got Prince Joshua’s proposal, you would’ve rejected it?”

“Of course I would,” you nearly exclaim. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, Chan.”

“Ditto. Guess we have lots of missed time to make up for.”

When he claims your lips again, it’s charged with want so potent you can almost taste it on your tongue. Chan presses your body even closer to his, if that’s even possible and as he continues building up the fever pitch of your desire, you start to shift uncomfortably on his lap—slick beginning to pool between your thighs the deeper he kisses you. 

The evidence of his own arousal pokes against your middle as well—leaving Chan a groaning mess each time you unknowingly jerk your hips to chase after the barest hint of friction. You don’t know where all this will lead nor do you know what comes after.

All that matters is that Chan is with you right here, right now.

Your clothes all come off one by one. Chan doesn’t forget to drag his lips across every inch of newly exposed skin—a quiet, unrelenting profession of his feelings. He wants to engrave himself into every part of you; to leave his mark so that you’ll remember him still even if he only gets to have you for the night.

But what Chan just doesn’t get is that your heart has already been set on him since the start.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, trailing his calloused fingers along the sensitive curve of your waist when he lays you down on your back. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t like.”

It’s so Chan of him to be this concerned about your boundaries. But you don’t know how else to say that you want nothing more than to take things all the way aside from tugging him back down for another breathtaking kiss.

“Is it going to hurt?” you ask, genuinely curious, just a tad bit afraid.

Your best friend purses his lips, the heat of his body offering you some much needed comfort as he plants another kiss on the corner of your mouth. “It will for a while. But I’ll ease you into it and make you feel good. I promise.”

Chan says the words like you have anything but trust in him. You know he needs a verbal confirmation out of you, but you’re both too embarrassed and too aroused to give him the green light out loud. Instead, you nod your head twice—leaning closer to his ear to whisper:

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Your best friend sighs out something that suspiciously sounds like gods, I love you, before burying his face in your exposed chest—lips latching onto one of the pert nipples as he massages your other breast languidly. The wet sound of his mouth getting to work makes your face flush several shades of red and your sex to leak even more slick than it already has. 

There’s just something so arousing about how careful Chan is with your body. He handles you like you’re the most precious thing in the world and throws your mind into an inexplicable haze.

But then again, maybe you’re just that in love with the guy.

You visibly tense underneath his touch when you feel him start to prod his fingers along your glistening seam. You’re so sensitive that you twitch from the slightest contact and Chan sighs a laugh into your chest when he feels it.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “I can’t make you feel good if you’re too high-strung.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff. “You’re not the one who’s about to be fucked into oblivion.”

Chan startles from how easily the words fall from your lips—mouth agape like a fish out of water. You wonder if you said something out of turn but when he kisses you for the millionth time today, you notice something else eclipsing his ready set gentleness.

Something more carnal.

“You can’t rile me up by talking so filthily like that,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m trying to be a good lover by taking things slow. Promise you won’t catch me off guard like that again?”

You shake your head with a laugh. “Chan, you know I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But I'll try~”

“Fuck. Alright. I can work with that.”

When he eases a finger inside your awaiting heat, you find the sensation a little uncomfortable. It’s like having something inside you that doesn’t quite belong there. Chan analyzes your reactions in the silence as he continues prodding your entrance—looking for any signs of discomfort like a hawk as he experimentally thrusts that single digit in and out of you.

“F-Feels weird,” you mumble. “Is it supposed to feel weird?”

“I guess you’d feel that way if it was your first time,” he chuckles and your eyes narrow at the implication behind his words. “But I’ve got to loosen you up if I don’t want to hurt you.”

So this wasn’t his first after all. Though you want nothing more than to hear tales about former escapades, you decide to grill him about it later. 

You’re about to question how something like this can do that before Chan robs you of your capacity to think coherently, curling his slender finger inside you until he brushes a spot that has your muscles spasming underneath him. A wicked smile finds its way to his face as he slips in another finger so easily—the pads grazing that sensitive patch of flesh to coax out the same reaction from you.

“Still weird?” he laughs. 

“Good…” you whimper, grinding your hips shamelessly into his hand. “Feels so good, Chan.” 

Your best friend sighs as he watches you slowly cross the threshold between awkward curiosity and the beginnings of an enjoyable time. You’re wet and wanting—just like how he hoped you’d be and the way your tight walls clench around his fingers barely tempers the raw anticipation that sizzles in his veins. 

Gentle. He needs to be gentle. 

He doesn’t want to lose control when he’s waited oh-so long for this moment.

But god fucking damn are you making it so hard when you’re moaning so prettily for him.

“C-Chan,” you mewl and he feels you tighten even more around his digits. “It feels weird again… Like something’s coming.”

He sucks in a sharp breath before pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. The sensation makes you buck further into his hand and Chan can only do so much to keep himself from just fucking you into the bed.

“Let go,” he tells you before flicking his thumb across your puffy clit. “Let it all go, beautiful. Don’t be scared. I’m right here.”

The newfound stimulation blindsides you in a way you didn’t expect—reducing you into a mumbling mess of arousal beneath your best friend as he continues tracing tight circles around the sensitive nub. Your first (of many) orgasms crashes over you like a tidal wave and you sigh out his name so needily, he can barely contain himself for much longer. 

But he doesn’t rush you no matter how pent up he is—he won’t, he won’t, he won’t. 

Besides, the sight of you so fucked out from taking his fingers alone—lips parted, chest heaving, eyes pulling in and out of focus—is a reward in and of itself. 

“You still with me?” your best friend checks in with a concerned look, wiping the sweat that beads across your forehead with the back of his hand. 

But the moment his skin makes contact with yours again, you absentmindedly grab his hand—pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles.

“I’ll always be with you.”

Gods above. He doesn’t deserve you.

When he’s sure you’re ready, Chan positions himself right before your entrance—carefully nudging your thighs apart as he fists the angry red erection he’s been sporting all night. The sight of his cock makes you blush, but you figure there’s no point in acting coy now that you’ve made it this far.

“You know what to do when I do something you don’t like, right?” 

You nod—not really hearing the words with how transfixed you are on other things. “Y-Yes.”

Chan offers up a lazy smile. “That’s my girl.”

You take all of him inch by unbearable inch—your walls meeting the stretch that his girth offers with mild resistance. His fingers are child’s play compared to this and you force yourself to power through it despite how it burns. 

Of course, Chan doesn’t miss a beat despite how hard you try to conceal your discomfort.

“I’m hurting you, aren’t I?” he asks with an apologetic smile, wiping the tears that are pooling in the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry. Just a bit more and you’ll get used to it.”

“You promise?”

Your best friend brings an outstretched pinky close to your face—the same pinky with the ring that started all of this staring back at you. The moment you hook your own finger around his, your best friend murmurs:

“I promise.”

Chan is quite patient despite the fact that he’s balls-deep inside of you—keeping the innate desire to just ram his length into you until you’re a sobbing, crying mess for him. The Academy’s best graduate, the kingdom’s sweetheart, his perfect best friend. All reduced to tears on his cock.

“Chan,” you breathe in deeply, having finally accustomed yourself to how he stretches you out. “Y-You can move now.”

Shit. You sound so shy, so innocent.

How could he not give you what you want?

The first outward drag of his hips pulls a pretty little whimper out of you and an even prettier moan when he thrusts back in. Chan sighs as he minds the pace he’s set, cradling your face with one hand as he steadies you with the other.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a featherlight kiss on your nose. “More than there are stars in the sky, more than how many flowers you’ll ask me to look after while you’re gone.”

His sweet words are subverted with a harsh thrust that he does experimentally to see how you’d react to it. When Chan doesn’t see any indication of pain or dislike, he repeats it—again and again until he can feel you coating his length in the slick of your leaking arousal. 

“Feels so fucking good around me,” he rasps, keeping himself from biting into your shoulder because he isn’t sure of how you feel about those kinds of marks just yet. “Perfect… You’re so, so perfect. I’ve never loved anyone else as much as I love you.”

It feels a bit worrisome, admitting all this in the heat of it all. Chan fears that you would find his words a tad disingenuous. For all he knows, you’re thinking that it’s your wonderful cunt making him say all these sweet nothings. 

But you’re too far gone yourself to even think about the specifics.

“Deeper,” you beg, lacing your fingers around his neck as more tears start to cascade down your cheeks. “Need to feel you deeper, Chan.”

You’re going to be the death of him—this he’s finally sure of.

The fat head of his cock batters your poor, abused pussy with the vigor of someone who’s been waiting for you all his life. Chan babbles out a mantra of compliments and praise all strung together in a haze of pleasurable delirium as your nails start to rake across his back. 

“Want you to be mine forever,” he sighs against your lips—his hot breath fanning against your face. “Can I have you? For the rest of my life?”

Even in the throes of passion, the answer comes to you so easily.

“I’m yours,” you cry out as he angles his cock just right and grazes the spot that makes you see stars. “I’m yours, Chan. Always yours. Forever yours.”

Your mind crumbles as your release crests out of nowhere—coherence draining from every recess of your mind while Chan fucks you through your high. He snaps his hips unforgivingly as he chases his own orgasm. His fingers leave red imprints on your thighs with how firmly they dig into your supple flesh and they stay there even when he finally pinpoints his release. 

The two of you collapse onto the mattress with shallow breaths, sweat-slicked skin sticking to each other with how close your bodies are. When your mind finally returns to the shores of reality, you dare to crack your eyes open—only to see your best friend looking back at you with a tired smile.

This is the man who saw you cry over a stick fort that he accidentally stepped on when you were kids. 

The one who thinks you’re still pretty even when your face is rife with tears and snot.

The one who skips stones with you in the river at sunset. 

The one who keeps you warm by the fireplace during every winter.

The one who defended you from classmates who accused you of being a fraud that rode on her father’s coattails. 

The one you’ll gladly spend the rest of your life with.

You think you should find it strange how Joshua suddenly comes to mind now that you’re finally where you want to be. But if it weren’t for him, you never would’ve gotten that final push to be selfish—to choose yourself for once and not feel any ounce of remorse for doing so.

If it weren’t for him, you never would’ve felt what true happiness feels like.

“So…” your best friend starts as he pulls a blanket over your naked bodies. “For tonight’s pillow talk, you get to decide the topic of interest.”

You snort. “Okay. What are my choices?”

“Hm. The first is: what are we going to do now that we’re together-together when the entire kingdom still thinks you’re still Prince Joshua’s fiancé? You still owe me a story about how the engagement fell through, by the way. Unless I’m actually a homewrecker…?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slap his chest. “What’s the second option?”

He grins at you cheekily. “What pet names can I use on you while we’re having sex because…I honestly held back the entire time ‘cause I didn’t know what you were comfortable with.”

“I don’t really mind anything,” you say. “Just…nothing too degrading?” 

“Alright.” Chan nods. “What do you say about lovebug?”

The suggestion is met with a scowl, making Chan giggle underneath the covers.

“Not a fan? How about my little dew drop? My chrysalis blooming into a beautiful butterfly? My hundred year-old tree that never ceases to amaze me with your beauty? My spectacle in an endless galaxy? My—”

“Lee Jung Chan, if you don’t shut up right now, I might just march back to the capital right this moment after all.”

Chan responds to your threat with a needy whine as he cages you around his arms. Your best friend nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck with a sulky pout.

“No! You’re mine. I don’t care if everyone else thinks otherwise.” He huffs and you entertain him with a laugh before Chan eventually disentangles himself from you—the playful expression on his face morphing into something more sobering.

“I was serious about the first pillow talk suggestion, by the way,” he murmurs. “Once the news breaks out, it isn’t going to be easy for any of us.” 

“I know.”

Chan raises an eyebrow at your nonchalance. “Hm? You’re usually the type to psych yourself out way too much when problems like this arise. Who are you and what did you do to my worrywart of a best friend?”

Paying his teasing no mind, you lean in to press your lips to his. The moment Chan’s shoulders sink in surrender, you smile against his mouth.

“Honestly? I don’t really care about what happens,” you admit, tracing the outline of his chest with your finger. “As long as I’m with you, I think we’ll be alright.”

Chan is quiet for a while—a loving look glazing over his eyes at the sight of you.

“Yeah.” 

Your best friend presses another kiss to your temple, lacing your fingers together.

Two forget-me-nots finally find their way back to each other. 

“We’ll be alright.”

⟢ end notes: and that concludes the longest oneshot i've ever written for a seventeen member :') honestly considered breaking this into parts, but decided not to in the end bcs telling their story in one go felt like the best way to go about it! shoutouts to my good buddies and pals from svthub for the constant support and pep talk they offered while i was writing this monster of a fic. freya, my bridgerton sunbae, and zeta, my favorite wonwoorideul (real), thank you tons for your lovely input <3 your silly comments on the doc always made me smile. ofc i won't forget nana who gave me an...interesting list of pet names chan would unironically use on his s/o lol that said, thank you for reading! i hope you enjoy the other fics posted under the spring collab! all writers who contributed poured their hearts into each piece <3

this is part of the secret garden, a svthub spring collab and the it's complicated series!

#svthub #svthub.collab #seventeen smut #dino smut #lee chan smut #seventeen fanfic #svt smut #svt fanfic #lovelyhan #📖 collabs #full length fic 📚 #🐇 i always need queue

[risuola]

Hi! How about exploring JJK characters as cop with this scenario hehe, ngl this is very Gojo coded for me

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSLcR9FJ1/

POLICEMAN — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

You get back home and see a mess. there was a break into your apartment and your first thought is to call your cop boyfriend.

a/n: i love the concept! thank you for the suggestion <3 i wrote it for gojo, because there’s never enough of this man and imagining him in the police uniform should be illegal, soooo…

cw: slightly angsty. other than that – none — 2k words

“Police, what city?”

“Tokyo, I, uh…” you muttered through shaking breath and tears blinding your eyes. “There has been a break into my apartment, and I, um, I’m not sure, but I hear noises from above, and-“

“What’s the address?”

“It’s, um, Meguro district…”, you worded the address, two times to confirm it, pushing your back to the front doors, that now had their lock completely broken and useless and sliding down to the ground. The dead roses scattered near your legs in a puddle of stale water reminded you that you were alone. Maybe if the flowers weren’t dead, maybe if it was just few days earlier things would not end up like this, with you along the crumbles of what made your reality bearable.

“I’m dispatching police patrol, please stay on the line, don’t touch anything and remain calm. Help is on the way. Now, tell me what exactly happened?”

That night you were out, with your closest friend, enjoying the excellence of Japanese cuisine in the heart of Roppongi. No matter how long you’ve been living in the capital of Japan, it still amazed you with all of the delicious meals, the tradition that laced through the modern takes on dishes that are well-known for centuries and the absolute art of presentation. All of it made every experience magical but this time you couldn’t fully take it all in, the beauty slipped through your thoughts, as your mind was occupied by heartbreak you’ve just recently went through.

It's been a week, only few days but it felt like a year has passed already. Exactly one week ago you fought with the love of your life. Burning screams of the argument, harsh, heavy words and so much cyanide were poured into the explosion of emotions made for one of the worst days in your life and eventually, after hours of failed communication, after tears and helpless whispers, it all came to an end. A breakup, but what broke that day was not only your relationship with Gojo Satoru, not only few plates and one of your favorite mugs, but also your heart and you doubted it’ll ever heal. You don’t even remember what caused it all to shatter, what brought both of you to the point of cutting the strings that attached you two together for over a year but when it happened, it became obvious that there’s no way to tie them back. It seemed like what you had and built dispersed into nothing but hurt and sorrow. You watched him gathering the things he had scattered all over your place in silence and then, you watched him leave. He left you alone, with your face stained in tears and your throat dry and aching from all the words that hurt it.

That was the reason your friend invited you that night for some chill on the city. She knew how heartbroken you were and cheering you up was the mission of the highest importance. Aware of how fresh all of it was still, she didn’t push much, but it went quite nicely, you really put in effort to keep a bright face, but when you came back to your apartment, all of your good humor turned tail, leaving you with fresh new terror to experience. Something you couldn’t possibly be ready for.

Your doors were open, the lock completely broken and all of your mind quickly envisioned every black scenario that could happen right at that moment. You remained silent and entered when you determined that no on seemed to be inside, but what you were met with made your breath stuck in your throat. It seemed like nothing around you was not broken as if a tornado went through your little apartment, destroying everything on its path but when you grabbed your phone, instinctively searching for the number that your recent history of calls and messages knew all to well, the one that you could recite in the middle of the night from your head, you stopped, with your thumb hovering above the green headphone symbol and tears rolling down your face. You couldn’t call him.

When Satoru heard your address coming through the police radio in his car, he blanked for a moment. The street and number with the brief description of an offence taking place echoed in his head before someone on the line, some other patrol, possibly the closest one to your building, informed that is taking the issue and heading on. A residential break-in? And it was made obvious that the ambulance is dispatched as well, so you had to be hurt? Were you in danger? And if so, why wouldn’t you call him instead of those assholes in the general emergency line?

Questions piled up in his head when he informed the dispatcher that he’s also heading on the place, despite the objections of his superiors. All the way he was thinking that the address might be a mistake. Maybe it was another apartment in the building, or better, the building next to yours, maybe someone got something wrong, but when he got to the place, he realized it’s not. Few police cars and an ambulance were already there and by the look of a man being led handcuffed to the police car, he assumed the offender was captured already. Gojo run up the stairs to reach your eleventh floor quicker than the elevator, because he couldn’t wait any longer for it to go down. Adrenaline rushed through his veins saturating his thoughts with the irrational fear of seeing you there hurt, broken, abused. He would never forgive himself for not being here with you when you needed him.

Satoru busted through the door and met with the sight of complete disorder and mess, he almost gasped. He couldn’t imagine how frightened you had to be seeing all of this for the first time, realizing your apartment has been turned into a pile of broken memories, but as he pushed through the crowd that was taking pictures of everything what was broken, he noticed you in what once was your living room area.

You were there, with a blanket draped over your shoulders, surrounded by officers that were pushing you for the typical W’s that consisted of where, what, when, who and why. You sat on what would usually be the bottom of a couch that now has been upside down, visibly distressed and still crying, keeping your eyes down as the paramedic was measuring your blood pressure or whatever else. But you were there. In one piece, not bleeding, breathing quickly, but that was understandable. Sobbing. The cops were harsh on you, gathering your statement, asking for as much specific information as possible, forcing your answers and he knew it was just the procedure being followed, but it angered him nonetheless.

“What the hell happened here?” he almost groaned, stepping forward, when someone, visibly a freshly baked cop, tried to stop him explaining that this is a crime scene and no one’s allowed to get in. “Get out my way, rookie.”

“Let him through,” one of the officers that were around you called, and Gojo was quick to kneel in front of you, quickly assessing if you were hurt anywhere. He double checked. The sight of him made your heart beat faster, what didn’t go unnoticed for the paramedic beside you. Satoru was here, he was there and he came to you, because he cared, right? “We got a call-“

“I heard the call go through,” he cut him off harshly and then turned all of his attention to you, softening his features. The blues of his eyes, usually bright and joyful now were overflowing with concern. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard the address. All I could think was that if it really was your house, you surely wouldn’t just call the police – you would call me. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I assume you know that lady, officer?”, a cop asked and Satoru gave it a sigh, getting up as you stayed non responsive. You were too overwhelmed by the whole thing, the questions, the mess, and the paramedic that tried to force some drugs upon you to help you calm down – Gojo couldn’t blame you for shutting off, so he did what he could in order to finish all of this quicker.

In an hour, you were left alone. He took over the responsibility of making reports, gave few orders and promised to finish the formalities just to get rid of the crowd that invaded your space. Clocking out of the duty, he closed the doors and got back to you.

You were silently picking up pieces of what made your home a home, trying to tidy up, but in all honesty, you had no idea what to do, where to begin. How could you stay here for the night, when your locks didn’t work anymore and in the middle of the night, there was no way of fixing them? Hell, even if the locks would work, it seemed like the building that took pride in the advanced security systems and cameras wasn’t that secure after all. You could go to the hotel, or to your friend, but leaving your apartment open and unattended also didn’t sound well. Your hands were shaking when you tried to clear the floors from everything that was scattered there. Glass in the picture frames was broken, your pillows cut open with the filling thrown all over the place, clothes pulled out of the drawers and everything in between just messed up. As you looked through your belongings, it didn’t really seem like anything valuable was stolen. Jewelry still on its place, your documents untouched and yea, the few hundred yens that you had stored in one of your drawers was gone, but it was hard to believe all of this mess was just for that. Maybe the burglar was looking for something specific.

“Y/n,” Gojo called your name softly, carefully grabbing you by the waist and pulling your petrified form to himself. Immediately, you melted against his chest, wrapping your arms around him, searching for the safety only he could envelop you with. He was more than a home to you; he was everything in the universe that mattered to you.

“I wanted to call you,” you whispered, crying against his black, tight t-shirt that he had underneath his police uniform. The one that you always laughed he bought in the kid section because it was that tight, but nonetheless, you loved it on him. “I wanted to call you, but I had no idea if I should. If I still can.”

“You can always call me. I’ll never leave you without help and I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happen to you,” he cooed, smoothing over your hair, meaning to calm your distressed nerves, but his own heart was beating faster now than it was when he run up eleven floors. The one week of not having any contact with you was torturous to him, it felt wrong not to exchange even a simple hello in the mornings when usually, you would exchange messages for the whole day. He was used to hearing your voice whenever he wanted to, he craved your presence and everything that came with it – the feeling of your soft skin against his own, the subtle fruity scent of your hair, the tickle of your lashes fluttering against his neck when you buried your face there. He missed how your small hands would hide completely in his large palms and he missed how you would climb on top of him while you sleep, shamelessly stealing his warmth because you were almost always cold. Without all of this, his days became empty, incomplete and it only has been few days, but he couldn’t imagine it going on for any longer.

“I was so scared, I-“

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.”

“Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t know what to do…”

“Yeah, I will,” he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head. “And the night after. And the next one, and every other night. If you’ll have me.”

“I’d love that.”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru imagines #gojo imagines #gojo satoru #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo #satoru #satoru x reader #satoru imagines #satoru thirsts #gojo imagine #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x you fluff #gojo x reader fluff #satoru fluff #jjk gojo

[nrilliree]

Aemond is the stupidest of Alicent's children, who harmed the Green cause more often than he helped it.

Can anyone tell me at least ONE thing that he did well and to the benefit of his family and the Greens? Because I know a lot of things he did wrong.

1) He started (or at least sped up) the real war, because of his own stupidity and arrogance (and in the book - his little d*ck complex). He claims that he studied philosophy and history, but apparently he learned nothing from these lessons, because he decided to murder the messenger. That was Luke. A messenger who could not take part in the fight. His actions led to retaliation and the death of his nephew.

2) He caused, or at least helped, permanently cripple Sunfyre and Aegon because he thought the best solution to defeat Meleys was to crush her to the ground along with Sunfyre. Or he lost control of his dragon AGAIN. Maybe that's why the gods decided in the first place that he shouldn't have any...

3) He took over the regency only to be provoked and left the capital unprotected, so the Greens lost it.

4) Blacks were supported by more houses than Greens, so what did Aemond do after gaining the favor of Storm's End with the marriage pact? He made a bastard with the bastard Strong witch, whom he decided to marry. Because as we know, Aemond loves bastards. Especially the Strongs. And Lord Borros would certainly appreciate rejecting the promise of marrying his daughter in favor of marrying a bastard 👍 As we know, thanks to Walder, these types of insults are easily forgotten...

4) This excellent swordsman was able to kill underage messengers on their little dragons, old men surrendering a castle and... That's all. Oh no, sorry! He fought hard to gain support for the Greens, burning part of the kingdom in the Riverlands. Nothing increases your brother's support like burning "his" kingdom! It's obvious he studied politics!

Thanks to him: The Greens started the war with kinslaying. Blacks gained a reason for Blood and Cheese. Sunfyre was crushed. The Greens lost the capital because he left it unprotected from dragons. He harms their few alliances. He destroyed part of the kingdom. Because of him, Vhagar had to die.

The only good thing he did was get himself killed ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd #team black #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #anti aemond targaryen #anti team green

[franzkafkagf]

okay so i want to hear about your take on aegon i know you like him and all (so do i no matter how much i wish not to) but whyy

yess thanks for asking, I love being insane about him<3

I think Aegon is such a wildly tragic character– many asoiaf characters are but I'm so drawn specifically to him; he didn't want power or responsibility or the crown. It all was bestowed upon him against his will, and he shouldn't; putting on the crown is his definitive death sentence. The coronation scene has got to be one of my favorites in the season– he is quite literally walking up to be butchered like a sacrificial lamb, there are tears streaking his cheeks in the scene! I love the tragedy of it, the way it couldn't have been avoided anyways; his fate was sealed from the very start! He was quite literally dead from the very beginning.

I'm going off a mix from the book and the show but I actually love what they did with the character in the show? The book version does have some hard-hitting moments from him that are missing ("What sort of brother steals his sister's birthright?") but there wasn't that much there in terms of characterization and relationships. And wow, did they deliver on that in the show; I'm gonna give whoever came up with his mommy issues a forehead kiss.

Because YES! He and Alicent are reflections of one another– Alicent suffered under the heavy boot of Otto, turned into the perfect daughter, turned into the perfect queen for him. She recognizes that this was wrong and abusive of him, then she turns around and does the same thing to Aegon– the poison DOES drip through, the wheel is NOT broken!! It's BRILLIANT.

@atopvisenyashill put a GREAT tag under one of my posts–

#he looks like her and he’s weak like her so why can’t he get strong like her.

While Alicent persevered, Aegon crumbled under the pressure. He is miserable when we meet him– and he should be! He is unfit for the role of king, but it is his destiny nonetheless, everybody tells him so. It destroys him.

It's so sad too and I cannot help but to feel bad for him. No one knows where he is in ep 9, I don't think he has anyone to confide in; it must be lonely. Everybody seems to have written him off already– he is a drunk and a failure at being heir, being a son, being a father. He tries to prove them wrong later, and does in some aspects.

His loneliness plays into another aspect of him that I really love; his desperation to be loved. He will never be enough for anybody, he probably knows it deep down.

"[Aegon is] desperate to be loved but destined to be hated." – Tom Glynn-Carney

Obviously there is the carriage scene with Alicent that shows this. But I also really love the moment in his coronation, where he basks in the people's affection and cheers. He is poised to bleed out in front of the throne, he was crying and fighting for his life not to take the crown just minutes before. But now he's here and they love him and he can't help but love that.

He takes the crown to protect his family (the show does hint at that with Alicent telling him as much in ep. 6– in the book it's much more explicit with Criston pressuring him on the day of the coronation itself) and then his son DIES because of it! And he drinks and rages and drinks some more; he must've blamed himself. He goes to battle, flies too high (figuratively), and he FALLS; he burns and falls to the ground. He isn't made to be king. He knows. He does it anyways.

"You have already written yourself into legend, you survived dragonfire" – Larys Strong in season 2 (probably)

He survives, he is gone for over a year, unable to do anything but he SURVIVES. He escapes the capital, takes Dragonstone, he falls AGAIN, he loses most of his family; but he still goes on. Fueled by what? Maybe anger, or bitterness or just pure lust for revenge. It doesn't matter. He must've realized somewhere on the way that this was always meant to go this way, ever since he put the conqueror's crown on. It doesn't matter.

And then he dies and it's not grand or spectacular or anything like that. He drinks poisoned wine, nobody even sees him die, they only find him after. It's so uniquely lonely.

#hotd #house of the dragon #tom glynn carney #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #hotd meta #aegonposting #alicent hightower #otto hightower #omg now im sad </3 #ales.txt #asks

[maggiecc]

When the World Shifts (Finnick O’Dair x reader) Part 2

Finnick O'Dair x reader

TW: It's about the Hunger Games, so murder, talks of death

You have been made shorter than Finnick, but it's not important. Do I include Y/N?

No Betas, we die like vikings.

Part 1, Part 2 (here), Part 3, Part 4: TBD

The day of the reaping came all too soon. The days leading to the reaping were filled with training, for Finnick, and you, as well as everyone taking shifts with Annie. If you were with her, Finnick trained with Mags, if Mags was with her you and Finnick trained, and if Finnick was with her, you and Mags trained. Annie had fallen back into many of her old patterns from the months after her games, if she did not have one of you to ground her she would start to scream and rip her hair out. You worried that when you and Finnick left, Annie would only have Mags but she will know where you are and you are unsure if Mags will be enough.

“Are you ready love?” Finnick pulls you from your thoughts. You take a breath in to steady yourself.

“Does it really matter?” You attempt to joke, but your words hold much truth. It doesn’t matter if you are ready, the reaping will occur and you will soon be on a train to the capitol, whether or not you like it.

The District 4 victors all gather together to walk over hand in hand. You walking next to eachother, Finnick, you, Annie, and Mags stepping onto the stage together. You looked at the bowls, the left had 3 pieces, and the right had 1; seeing them making it feel all the more real. 

The capitol representative who had drawn, Annie’s, Finnick’s, and your names walked up to the bowls. He began his long-winded speech from the capital all about the importance of the Hunger Games and how significant the quarter quell is. It was a summary of what Snow had said, and that speech was already burned into your brain. You start to disassociate from yourself, it had been so long since the last time time you had been at the reaping in person. 

After your victory, you tried to go to the reapings to meet the tributes after they were reaped to help comfort them, but it became too much. No matter how much you tried the tributes were outmatched by the careers. So over the years, you had to stop going, seeing the names pulled and looking at the faces of the children who were lambs to the slaughter became too much. Sometimes you still dream of those first few kids, 

Coral was only 14 when she was chosen, and had a smile that could light up a room. She made you a bracelet you still wear on your wrist, made of dried fish bones and odd-shaped shells. She went in with Moss, a soft-spoken 16-year-old. You grew up on the same road as him, his older brother even went to school with you. He did not have hope for himself but spent the game trying to protect Coral. They lost their game by a sneak attack while they slept, leaving you a wreck for weeks. The only comfort you had was they went fast, a mercy not many receive in the games. 

The next was Annie, and although she won the loss of her partner hurt you as badly as the first two you lost. Annie winning was both a blessing and a curse, it let you keep Annie but the next 2 years held hope which only made the pain hurt more. After losing 4 more tributes you eventually stopped going to the reapings. You wanted to be there to help the kids but the mental torment was simply too much. Finnick trained, them and Mags the group after, you returned to join the rotation knowing that it was hard for Finnick and Annie as well.

Your reminiscing was cut off by someone grabbing your hand. You turn to look a the source of the warmth and comfort. Finnick looked down at you and tried to give you a comforting smile. It was like he read your mind and knew what you were doing, and he was probably doing the same. You all knew not to get too attached but it was impossible to look a those young kids and not care.

“It will be alright, love” Finnick attempted to comfort you, but you could not even muster a response, only being able to squeeze his hand.

“We shall let the men go first,” The host announced, laughing as he pretended to search around the bowl, but there was only one name. You knew what the host was about to say but you still flinched upon hearing it. “Finnick O’Dair!” 

The host began to clap and District 4 reluctantly joined in, out of respect for their only male victor. Finnick gave the cameras a wave as he walks to the side for the next name to be called.

“Alright, now for the female tribute!” The host was loud and excited, so clearly capital. He saw this as some sort of game but the districts knew the truth. These were murders, children slaughtered for nothing, a war they weren’t alive for. “Our female tribute is . . . Annie Cresta!” Your heart sinks. Annie broke out in tears holding herself as she begins to weep. You knew what you were about to do, knew she wouldn’t enter the games but hearing her name still hurt her.

“I VOLUNTEER!” You scream tears starting to form. Mags begins to wrap Annie in her arms as you walk over to join Finnick. 

He wraps you in a hug and leans to whisper in your ear “We will make it out, I promise.” You nod your head and wipe your tears.

You move to stand side by side and grab Finnick's hand. You raise it high above your head for your District to see. All of District 4 began to cheer for their victors, turned back into tributes. They finally have a reason to have hope, both of you were survivors and maybe you could have a chance, that they would not have to watch more of their people be slaughtered for entertainment. You had the same hope, maybe you could make it out, maybe both of you could.

Once you were able to walk off the stage you run to where Annie and Mags stood. You wrap them up in your arms, and Finnick does the same holding all three of you. Your little family, the only people who truly understood you was being torn apart. Annie grabbed both you and Finnick, gripping your arms to the point her nails dug into your skin but you ignore it. She is still crying but not screaming anymore. She lets go of your arms and grabs your heads to put them to her. She was unable to speak but you understand what she is saying. Annie lets out a soft laugh and you know that she cannot control it.

“We will make it back to you, I promise,” Finnick tells her. You don’t know if she believes him, or if you do but she lets go of your heads. She grabs your hands to give you one last squeeze followed by Mags giving you both a soft touch to the cheek and a smile. 

The peacekeeper starts to head towards your group, a sign you had to leave. Their weapons stayed in their hands, not pointing towards you, but the threat was clear. You are leaving now.

“We’re coming you grunts,” Finnick told them as he turns to walk. You begin to join him but quickly turn your head around and mouth, I love you to the woman. Annie turns into Mags' arms as her weeping returns.

You turn to look up to Finnick, seeing him tensing upon hearing Annie’s cries but not being able to hug and comfort her. You grab his hand and squeeze it, making him look at you. “We got this. Mags will take care of her for when we come back.” you try to comfort him.

He gives you a soft smile that does not fully reach his eyes “Of course my love. They don’t stand a chance against us.”

You nod your head, then turn forward to walk, hand in hand with Finnick, knowing that whatever you are going to face you will at least be with him.

#finnick odair #Finnick O’Dair #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x reader #hunger games #the hunger games #annie cresta #thg #finnick odair fanfiction #finnick fanfiction #finnick odair imagines #the hunger games fanfiction

[fatehbaz]

On the night of April 30, 1541, the Ming Ancestral Temple in Beijing was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. [...] 

[T]he fires forced the Jiajing Emperor to resurrect one of the dynasty’s most expensive, difficult, and destructive projects: the logging of old-growth timber in the far southwest of China. Disaster struck again in 1556, when fires burned the Three Halls that form the central axis of the Forbidden City. The Three Halls burned yet again in 1584. Through the end of the sixteenth century, repeated damage to the imperial palaces forced reconstruction. Yet the lightning strikes in Beijing were also a disaster for the old-growth forests of the southwest, where the logs to build the palaces had first been cut in the early 1400s. As logging supervisors soon learned, ancient trees could not be felled on a regular basis. Officials pressed ever deeper into the gorges of southern Sichuan and northern Guizhou to find them, bringing massive transformations to the environment in the process.

---

The foundations of Beijing were laid between 1406 and 1421 by the Yongle emperor, a junior son of the Ming founder, who moved the court to his personal appanage in north China. [...] Grasping the sinews of power that connected his court to far-flung regions of the empire, Yongle pulled one million laborers to Beijing to build his palaces.

Because the weight of Chinese buildings is carried by their pillar-and-beam frameworks (liangzhu), monumental buildings required monumental trees (Figure 2). So Yongle also dispatched a similarly large labor force to the old-growth forests of the far southwest to cut the fir (Cunninghamia lanceolata) and nanmu (Phoebe zhennan) that grew straight and tall enough to be used for imperial construction.

We cannot be certain just how many logs were cut to build Beijing, but the figure must have been astounding. In 1441, two decades after the completion of the project, 380,000 large timbers were left over from the earlier construction. By 1500, these too were gone, used for repairs or too damaged by rot to be used for construction purposes.

---

In the sixteenth century, logging officials wondered how their predecessors had been able to obtain so many giant timbers. Li Xianqing, who supervised more than 40 logging sites in the 1540s, noted that large trees could still be found, but they could only be transported out with great difficulty and at great expense. The majority had to be discarded as hollow or insect-damaged.

Even when a quality log was found, it took five hundred workers to tow a log over mountain passes.

Skilled craftsmen were on hand to build “flying bridges” (fei qiao), stone-lined slip roads, and enormous capstans (tianche) to tow the logs up slopes (Figures 3 and 4). In the remote forests of the southwest, loggers faced attacks by snakes, tigers, and “barbarians” (manyi); “miasmatic vapors” (yanzhang, probably malaria); storms, forest fires, rockslides, and raging rivers (Figure 5). Labor teams had to carry their own food and often starved. At the rivers, logs were tied into massive rafts bound with bamboo for buoyancy, towed by teams of 40 men, and then launched on the three-year, three-thousand-kilometer journey to Beijing (Figure 6). Only a small fraction of the trees reached the capital in a condition where they could be used for palace building.

---

Expeditions exceeded their budgets up to fiftyfold.

One official remarked, “the labor force numbers in the thousands; the days number in the hundreds; the supply costs number in the tens of thousands each year.” Another saying held that “one thousand enter the mountains, but only five hundred leave” (rushan yiqian chu shan wubai). To make matters worse, logging mostly occurred within territory that was under only loose Ming control [...].

---

The Yongle Palaces were said to replicate the otherworldly atmosphere of the old-growth forests where their pillars originated. The presence of these timbers in Beijing linked the capital, materially and symbolically, to the southwestern landscape of cliffs and gorges where the trees had grown.

But ancient sentinel trees could not be reproduced on demand. The fifteenth-century logging project was a millennial event, removing the growth of hundreds or even thousands of years. Later officials were forced to come to terms with the transformations their predecessors had wrought in the ancient forests. Eventually builders had to switch to smaller, commercially available timber, using ornate artisanship and commercial efficiency to substitute for the austere majesty of the early Ming palaces, and the thousands of years of tree growth on which they rested.

---

All text above by: Ian M. Miller. “The Distant Roots of Beijing’s Palaces.” Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society, Environment & Society Portal, Arcadia no. 39. Autumn 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #ecology #colonial #imperial #plantation

[dizzymoods]

People are starting to ask the question "Are we replicating colonial violence by sharing images of Palestinian martyrdom."

This is a question borne out of the decolonize movement which in practice restates the neoliberal, pro-capital status quo in radical language.

This question not only fails to employ the basic principles of media literacy but also fails an understanding of national liberation movements. It's an unnecessary and dangerous question.

We have a 56 year history of Palestinians using images as part of national liberation. 55 years of an international standard for the use of images in national liberation movements (Third Cinema).

When we hold these images to those standards, we don't even need to ask that question. It's been answered for us already. The answer is no. In the context of national liberation, images are supposed to shock the consciousness of the people. These images did that.

What didn't happen is that we didn't do the necessary and effective work of organizing those who have come to support the Palestinian cause into affecting a ceasefire. That is not the image's fault. That is an indictment of our organizing.

The principle point of Third Cinema is that the image is a detonator. It is a spring board for direct action. An excuse to gather people. Third Cinema is not delusional. It knows that only such action can stop colonialism.

The question that needs to be asked is one of tactics.These images would not still be circulating if there was a ceasefire. And the Palestinians have told us this time and again.

This is why that question is dangerous. Because we can circle the drain all day talking about the epistemic violence of the camera, the camera as an a priori, always already, in perpetuity, ontological white supremacy machine.

The question asks us to investigate our individual consumptive habits. Not what can be done to materially support the Palestinians. You can answer that question without engaging with the history of Palestinian political images. Without reference to the directives the Palestinians have given us on the ground. With no knowledge of politics.

The Palestinians are creating, sharing, contextualizing these images. The Israelis are cutting hasbara to discredit these images. In no way can these images replicate the violence of colonialism bc the colonized are producing them and the colonizer is trying to stop their circulation. In fact, by asking this question we invite people to do the work of the colonizer by stopping the circulation of these images. We proudly delude ourselves into thinking that we are helping the Palestinians when we are materially aiding the israelis.

The AnsarAllah showed us what to do politically. Stop the weapons manufactures and stop the shipment of arms. They took over the red sea by hijacking only 3 ships. Evergreen & BP stopped using the red sea after that.

Last tuesday America and ~10 other countries declared that they would retake the red sea. But by that friday, the mission collapsed before it started.

And, quiet as kept, we knew Biden and congress would not yield to mass demonstrations. We spent the last decade doing mass demonstrations to stop police violence but the only action that lead to a guilty verdict (which did not stop the violence) was the burning down of a police precinct.

If it is true what Fanon says about violence yielding to a greater show of violence, and that is the level of violence necessary to put one cop behind bars then.... 🤷🏾‍♂️

But, ironically, this question does replicate the very violence that it attempts to not engage in.

The Palestinians who take photos of Palestinian martyrs are the same photographers who take images of Palestinian life and the resilient spirit of the Palestinian people. Palestinian kids playing in bombed out ruble, Palestinians sharing scraps of food with others who have none, doctors "adopting" children whose families israel killed, Palestinians dancing. Why aren't these images worthy of our anxiety? I mean they condemn us to hell, don't they? "We are alive! Please keep us this way" and everyday there isn't a ceasefire is a day we fail them.

Why aren't the images of the al-Qassam brigades wiping out israeli encampments in minutes worthy of discourse?

Why does this question exceptionalize the image of a helpless, pitiful weak, dead people? Is that not how the colonizer sees the colonized? Is this not the same hubris israel had by ignoring all signs of Al Asqa Flood for a year and a half?

If we understand the principles of montage, then we know the images of Palestinian martyrdom do not mean anything outside of the context of the other images coming out of Gaza. And taken as a whole, the images lead to the same conclusion as our political analysis. The Palestinians have the ground. It's israel's air power that allows it to commit this genocide. We must stop that air power by any means necessary.

Decolonize wants you to think, not act. It wants you to forget about the socialist history of national liberation movements. Lenin put anti-imperialism at the heart of the socialist project in 1916. Every single anti-colonial, national liberation movement was either spearheaded by or had the necessary participation of Marxists. The practitioners of Third Cinema made reference to socialism and many had party affiliations with socialist movements.

Decolonize, like critical theory, is explicitly anticommunist. It doesn't want us to engage in real socialist politics which directly oppose and break from this neoliberal hellscape. Instead it channels our anger into a discursive, metaphysical effigy that we can sacrifice so we can sleep at night. But tomorrow will be 85 days and 75 years of the Palestinian genocide.

edit: changed houtis, a colonial designation, to their proper name the AnsarAllah.

[stonedporcupine]

Past Due

💚 First Lin Beifong x reader fic y'all !!! 🧡

Slow burn! ❤️‍🔥

All reviews and comments are appreciated;

Will eventually add on Ao3;

Warnings: Violence, little blood.

Chapter 1 Ch 2 - p.1 Ch 2 - p.2 Ch 2 - p. 3 Ch 2 - Part 4

Y/N´s PoV

Ahhh, Republic City, first time I moved in here about 1 year ago I had a blast. I felt it was about time I got myself away from that hell hole I was supposed to call home…but we don’t talk about that. “Bills are catching up to me…and I´ve got nowhere to run.” I mumble beneath my breath, as I hold a bunch of letters on my hand. The large, thick, red letters with a prominent “Past Due” and “Final Demand” written on each one of them. I feel the unpleasant weight on the pit of my stomach and swallow dryly, shoving the letters aside with a loud exhale. Who knew it cost so much to make it to detective?! I mean, sure hands down it’s the fucking capital city of the United Republic Nations AND one of the largest and most modern cities in the world but Tui and La…ease on the prices!

I look up at the old clock, on the small entry hall of my apartment. “Fuck fuck, shit shit shit!!” I gasp, I am so going to be late to practice. I grab my black jacket, with the fire nation insignia on its back, and my dark matte helmet as I run out the door, down the old elevator, towards the garage. The loud and stressful squeaking of the elevator only heightens my already high cortisol levels. I swear to Raava, one day this shit is going to break down and take the building down with it! Once the old, loud, rusty metal doors of the elevator open I barge right out heading for my perfectly parked satocycle on its assigned place. A gift from Asami and Mr Sato for my hard work for the company. Shoving the helmet in my head, part of my dark messy curled hair hangs out on the bottom. I speed out of the garage, the bike taking off the ground slightly as I go over the bump on the entrance of the parking space, joining the satomobiles on the road with a loud squeak from the wheels of the bike, as I drift to the right.

I can´t be late again! Officer Wang will kill me and probably pull me out of the program, which is a big ass no no. I haven’t come this far just to fuck things up all over again.

Chief Beifong´s PoV

“Officer Song, didn´t I JUST tell you to take the route to Northern Avenue?!” I grumble between gritted teeth at the officer who´s driving. Guess I know who´s driving next time. I mean how much of an imbecile do you have to be to not follow simple orders?! Orders I JUST GAVE!!?? I look at the terrified officer, gripping the wheel of the satomobile as he mumbles and gags on his words. “I- uh- Ch-Chief I just I- I´m sorry I wasn´t paying attention.” He swallows. I remain unimpressed with the attempt of a shitty excuse that was made. “Well focus and listen. You´re not getting paid to sit around, mouth agape listening to the spirits.” I groan loudly at him.

Fear in his eyes officer Song nods his head up and down quickly and practically yells “Yes Chief!”. Just as I was about to tell him to tone it down the loud screech of wheels catches me off guard. Just as I look to my side, a black satocycle with a few red highlights speeds right past us. What the flame-o was that?! Swiftly making its way past traffic the motorcycle speeds away. “Officer Song, catch up to that satocycle, now!!” I practically scream at the officer as he presses the clutch, changes to 4th and speeds up.

Y/N´s PoV

Did I just fucking see what my eyes saw. Did I just speed through a police patrol satomobile?! The loud sirens catching up behind me answer my fears. Well, that´s it. I´m officially fucked. I´m done for life. I´m left with two choices, obey, pull over, pray it´s not the fucking Chief of Police, flirt my way out of this and definitely arrive late for class…or drop it, speed off like a demon, hopefully not get caught or die on the way and��still arrive a little late to class. I groan as my head drops in defeat.

I´m so done with my life.

I signal to the right as I slow down, pulling over. The blaring sirens emitting a last Woop before silencing, as the satomobile pulls right behind me. I turn the motor of the bike off, getting off and standing up, as I hear the doors of the car shutting behind me before a deep female voice sends a shiver down my spine. No, it can´t be. You can´t be serious right now. My eyes wide in fear as I slowly turn around to be met with the most beautiful yet lethal jade eyes I´d ever seen my entire life. Damn, hearing her voice back in headquarters from far away was already…something, but seeing her up close?! Not even The Avatar ,wherever they're at, can save me from this one. It´s the first time I get to see the Chief of Police personally. Sure I´m in the Detective´s Program but we rarely stay in the headquarters where she seemingly lives at. I am snapped back from my thoughts when her striking voice booms through my eardrums. Wait, was she talking? Shit I didn’t hear anything…

“I am talking to you. Take off your helmet, now! I asked you a question, better start speaking.” she says. I didn’t even realise my helmet was still on. I carefully take it off, still in shock at seeing THE Chief Lin Beifong in front of me. My messy, dark hair falls to my shoulders. The, once bright, blood red highlights shining on the sun. “I- uh” I try to speak but nothing comes out. My mouth feels dry, as I lick my lips. I look at the other officer behind her, he seems to be putting a strong façade, but I can see the nervousness behind his eyes. “Don’t stare at my officer! I asked you a question.”

Chief Beifong´s PoV

Oh for fuck sake, she´s slow…is she go- why is her hair painted? It´s not exactly unlikable. I think I´ve seen her, but I can´t recall where from. Why am I staring? WHY IS SHE STARING? “Don’t stare at my officer! I asked you a question.” Her mouth agape, my already visible frown deepens. She has three seconds to answer. 1…2..- “I- uh I´m sorry ma´am- uh Chief. Sorry, could you repeat the question? The uh…helmet was- I don’t think I heard.” I groan rather loudly as I exhale. I clench my jaw, as I breath in. “I asked. Do. You. Know how fast you were going?” I speak slowly and clearly as I cross my arms.

Y/N´s PoV

Spirits…and I thought I was stressed, this woman is going to explode! “I asked. Do. You. Know how fast you were going?” I hear her say loud and clear. So that´s the Beifong scowl people talk about. It´s cute. A little unnerving for those who can´t handle it. “Uh…not fast enough clearly!” I joke to get some tension off the air, but as I look at the Officer behind her, I only see his eyes widen beyond possible. I look back at the Chief and if looks could kill… “Is this a joke to you?! Is endangering other citizens lives a hobby for your entertainment? Clearly you seem to be asking for your license to be revoked.” Her stern voice makes straighten my back. It´s not that I´m afraid of her, but if I want my way out of this I might as well show some class. I clear my throat as I say “I apologize Chief, that was never my intention. I am pretty secure on my driving skills, and I am fully aware of the dangerous action I was doing. In my defence I am in a huge hurry. I´m in the Detective´s Program and I´m just trying to not get kicked out of there, this is my last chance…” I mumble that last part as I rub the back of my neck. Fuck it´s weird to be so verbally polite. I look back up at her to see what kind of reaction I got off of her only to be met with the exact same Beifong scowl as before. Well, that was worth shit. Her gaze is penetrating mine, almost as if she´s analysing me.

Chief Beifong´s PoV

That´s where I know her from. She´s in the Detective´s Program and sometimes wonders in the headquarters, she must be the firebender that Officer Wang told me. What was her name? Just as I am about to ask her, I am interrupted by the blaring sound coming off my radio. “Chief, come in. Over.” I groan in annoyance. Spirits, when do I ever catch a break? “I´m busy, what is it?” my stern and strong voice talks back to the radio. “Chief, we´ve got a Triple Threat Triad attack going on, over at the Eastern Market. We need your assistance. Over.” I look back at the young cadet with a scowl as she smiles back at me. Ugh, why is she smiling?

Y/N´s PoV

I just might make it out of here. I look at the Chief with a smile on my face as she stares back at me, the same Beifong scowl on her face but this time thicker, more prominent. I hear her exhale. “I catch you driving that thing over the speed one more time and I revoke your license and you better not drive it on my watch if you ever make it to detective, which hopefully, you won´t!” I hear her yell at me. Before I can even say anything back, she turns back around heading for the police satomobile. Well, isn´t she charming? Hot…and charming. “Song, move it! I drive.” I hear her yell at the officer. Poor guy, spirits. Though he is lucky he gets to be by her side. Hm, maybe I´ll be lucky enough for that once I´m a detective, which I want more than anything now that she seemed so annoyed by it. I smirk to myself as I think how it would be like to be next to this very angry yet stunning woman all day. Pushing her buttons does seem fun.

I put my helmet back on as I drive away towards the officers’ training site. I do my best to keep the speed on limit but as I look at the time on the satocycle I almost pass out. I am already 10 minutes late. FUCK. I groan loudly as I check my surroundings for any secret police satomobiles as I speed away. The faster I get there, the faster this is all over.

.- Later during practice -.

Y/N´s PoV

Fuck, I´m beat. Wang sure is getting his revenge for my late arrival. We are not many in the Detective´s Training Program and we´ll be even less given there are only two spots available. The majority of the class is all earthbenders, me being the only firebender. Which should make me feel perhaps uneasy or maybe a little scared, but honestly it just makes me feel like a total badass. I mean, hear me out, the only firebender in the troop and I get one of the Detective spots?! How crazy would that be? I´m quickly pulled from my thoughts when I hear that annoying voice once again. “So, Y/L/N, seems like you can give up already and give me my position as Detective.” The man says with a pleased smug on his face. “Why don’t you go bother someone else, Kang?” I groan annoyed as I take a sip from my water. “I´m just saying, as the only firebender you should at least make an effort to arrive in time don’t you think?” He scoffs loudly. I ignore his little stunts as I smirk to myself. “And you should make an effort on brushing your teeth. You got a little something there.” I scoff as I point to my own teeth with a disgusted face. I can visibly see him get red as a smirk makes its way on my lips.

“What´s going on over here? Y/L/N, Kang break is over. Get over here you two.” I hear Officer Wang´s voice yell from the other side of the field. Over? Spirits, I didn’t even have time to piss! I groan as I look at Kang´s smug little face. “Quit your whining and come prove your worth, princess.” I hear him chuckle. Did this cunt just call me, princess?! Now he better pray to Raava I won´t kill him. My blood boiling at the nickname I groan angrily. I have nothing to prove to you, cunt.

“Alright cadets, Y/L/N and Kang you two seemed to be having a nice chat back there. Get sparring, the others watch.” Wang´s voice echoes through the dusty field as I walk towards the centre, Kang right in front of me with that smug still plastered on his face. I scoff to myself.

I am going to wipe the fucking floor with you.

Once I see Officer Wang´s hand signal us to begin Kang wastes no time and throws a large piece of boulder at me, I swiftly avoid it, turning my body sideways and leaning slightly backwards. Just as quick as that boulder came at me I 360º my body, lowering myself to the dusty floor my right leg pushes forwards as a small wave of fire strikes all the dust away and forces Kang backwards. Before he can react, I get back up and briskly uppercut him in the jaw getting a loud grunt from him. How ´ s that for a princess? I don’t let my guard down knowing this isn´t over until Officer Wang decides. My arms close to my ribs and fists closed tightly near my face I watch Kang´s movements attentively, guessing his next move as he cracks his neck and smugly says “That all you got?” I roll my eyes as I stare at him through my eyebrows. Kang´s right leg rises and hits the ground, making it shake in an attempt to shake me off my feet. I use my fire propulsion to elevate myself from the ground slightly to lower the impact, flying over him and landing on the ground behind him. Before he has even time to acknowledge where I went, I lower kick his leg, spinning my body after the hit to gain power and land a higher kick to his arm which was protecting his ribs. I hear him grunt and groan in discomfort and anger as he throws a punch to my face. I quickly dodge downwards, pulling the same first move by pushing my leg outwards and kicking Kang´s body to the ground. He hits the ground with a loud thud, dust setting in the air around us, I look over at Office Wang to know if it was over yet, but Kang takes my short distraction as a chance. His body still on the floor, he raises his arm and the piece of boulder I was standing on goes flying with me in it. Throwing me through the air and across the field as I land on the ground, rolling over due to the speed I was thrown, getting a few scratches and dirt all over me. I breath loudly as the dust covers my sight, relying on my hearing I hear the rumbling sound of the earth beneath me as I look ahead and see a wave coming from the ground. I barely have time to react, my eyes widening, as I dodge to the right but not fast enough. My left shoulder caught on the edge of the rock-wave as I stumble backwards. I don’t fall, my feet sliding backwards with the dust as I grip my shoulder and wince in pain. Fuck! This bastard almost dislocated my shoulder. I sway my arms in the air and push them outwards as a thin wave of flames pushes the dust away, finally allowing me to see Kang. Does he ever stop smirking? I run towards him as he sends two fat boulders my way, I lower myself, dragging my body through the ground as I avoid the boulders. I get back up quickly and jump, using my fire propulsion to help me gain height. I see Kang´s eyes widen as I stretch my leg down, my foot coming at high speed in contact with his face. He barely has time to register what happened before his body jerks downwards with the force of the hit. Faceplanting on the floor with a loud thud and grunt he stays there, the dust on the ground escaping sideways from us. “Who´s the princess now Kang?” I whisper smugly on his ear as I stand up and hear Officer Wang´s annoyed voice “Alright that´s enough of it. Get here you two.” Is he mad that Kang didn’t beat my ass? Why is it that nobody wants me to succeed?! “You fucking bitch…” I hear Kang grunt between gritted teeth as he gets up. I smirk proudly to myself, “What´s wrong? Hurts much?”. I hear Kang scoff loudly, “Barely feel it.”, pfff yeah right.

We walk backwards towards Officer Wang and the rest of the trainees. “Alright, as you know our program is coming to an end. We have two detective positions open and there are ten of you. Being Detective is no easy job, that is why there is a final exam in five days. Me and Chief Beifong will be deciding on who gets the job positions and who goes out.” No. Fucking. Way. Now I know for sure I won´t make it to Detective! Beifong and I were already off to a bad start this morning! She said it herself; she doesn’t want me to make it to Detective! “…Final Exam will be set in two parts. In the morning you will have the written exam, to make sure you actually listened to what was taught these past few months, and, in the afternoon, it will be a competitive sparring. Just like Kang and Y/L/N did, except the first one to fall is automatically disqualified.” Written exam? What is this, fucking high school?! Ugh, I better not be paired with Kang. “That´s it for today cadets, see you tomorrow at 9am sharp.” Officer Wang glances at me sideways as I mouth a ´sorry` silently. “Y/L/N, hit the showers in the headquarters, your shoulder is bleeding.” Officer Wang says with a hint of despise on his tone. Spirits, sorry I´m not made of fucking metal. I didn’t even notice I was bleeding. I look at my shoulder and notice the few reddened scratches and a small trickle of blood coming out. I hear Kang snicker next to me. The fuck are you smirking about? “Your nose also looks like shit Kang, but I guess a shower can´t fix that for you.” I smirk as I grab my towel, shoving it over my shoulder and heading back inside the headquarters before he can say anything.

My body is covered in dust and sweat; my defined muscular arms filled with small little scratches from rolling on the ground. My once black tank top also covered in a light brownish dusty substance. Gosh do I need a shower…My body is killing me. I pass through the Officer I saw with the Chief in the morning. Shit, she´s probably close by. I rush my way to the showers as to avoid her. It´s not that I don’t want to see her. Spirits know how much I´d pay to see those penetrating jade eyes of hers. But I don’t want her to see me while I look like shit…and probably smell like one too.

Chief Beifong´s PoV

As I am filing down some more reports and going over them, I hear grunts and noises from outside. Annoyed at the disturbance I get up from my chair with a sigh as I look over the window. Must be Wang training the cadets. Seeing the training field, I stare at one of the male cadets throwing boulders and another one dodging them out. Trying to figure who the other one is, I squint my eyes. The amount of dust surrounding them makes it hard, but the worn-out red highlights and the distinctive fire coming from the body allows me to figure out who it is already. It´s that speeding satocycle cadet I caught this morning. I observe them as I see the male cadet shake the ground, a wave heading towards her. But there´s too much dust for her to see anything at all. Fuck even I am struggling to keep up with what is going on. She dodges it but seemingly not totally. “That’s a nasty hit…” I mumble to myself. But she does seem to handle it…quite nicely I must say. Spirits, I´m staring again. I shake my head and groan in annoyance but am quickly distracted by the fire coming off her feet. Fire propulsion, that’s useful. I stare as she lands a powerful hit on the male cadets’ face. That´s going to leave a mark. I guess…she´s not that…bad. Whatever. If she´s to make it to Detective she´s supposed to be, at least, useful. I turn away and decide to head downstairs to check how Song is getting along with the other files. He´s not in the Detective´s Program, but he has some…potential, I cannot deny that.

“Officer Song, how are those files coming along?” I see him tremble underneath his armour. “Uh- well, Chief. It seems that the Triple Threat Triads crimes are lowering in amount…” I scoff. Sure, but they are not getting any easier to deal with. Song continues talking but I barely catch what he is saying as I look over his shoulder and notice the firebender cadet. She´s all dirty. Bunch of scratches in her shoulder too…bummer. She can deal with it. I think to myself, but yet, I can´t seem to find an explanation as to why I feel so drawn towards her. I shake these thoughts away and refocus on Officer Song. “…So, I guess that is pretty good right, Chief?” What´s pretty good? Shit, I didn’t hear. “Uhm yes, yes, it is. Now, get back to work Officer.” I clear my throat as I make my way back to my office. Sitting down on my chair I exhale, looking up at the pile of files and papers to read and fill in. Spirits I´m exhausted. I get started against my will. It´s going to be a long night, I might as well get it over with. After some time of insufferable writing, scribbling, and scratching I hear a knock on the door. I look up from the papers as I catch a glimpse of the clock and then stare at the door. It´s 10pm who the fuck is still in here?

“Uh, Chief, can I come in?" Is that- What is she doing here?

#lin beifong #lin beifong x reader #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra #fanfic

[khalixvitae]

★Stitched ★

Idia Shroud x Reader | ~5k words

Warnings: none really??? Idia is self deprecating as usual. Allusions to book 6 lore but no spoilers. I leaned into Idia’s weird hybrid inferiority/superiority complex (he’s frustrating and annoying but that’s my wife). I wrote way more than I intended lmao.

Info: GN Reader with no physical descriptions. slowish burn, potential to be friends to lovers? No resolution in the end, a smattering of angst bc Idia is… well he’s himself. Heavily based on his vignettes, Home Screen idles, etc etc (this is for the detail oriented baddies and by that I mean I have capital A Autism and I’ve been fixated on him for months). I have been very into the idea of Idia making cosplays and props since becoming obsessed w his Halloween card, so uh. Yeah! There’s no mention of what the reader’s costume is, so it can be whoever you want! Only mentions that it’s from a manga so go wild! <3

——————————————————————————

When Ortho Shroud suggested that you commission his brother to build a prop for your Halloween costume, you’d agreed enthusiastically. You’d even said something about how sure you were that it would look great- a compliment he’d pass on to his reclusive sibling. After all, Ortho was living(?) proof of Idia’s handiwork, so making a prop would be playing on easy mode. Ortho did neglect to mention that his brother was not taking commissions (and frankly never would if Idia had it his way), but it wouldn’t be that big of an issue, right?

Wrong. The second Idia’s phone pinged with a message from an unknown number, from your unknown number, he was convinced he was going to die.

You were lucky you’d stated your case all in one message- if you’d started with just a greeting and expected small talk he would’ve just preemptively blocked you to avoid your little side quest. Besides, who messaged someone so early in the morning? Another look at his phone through bleary eyes would show that it was actually 6 pm, but nonetheless! He’d just woken up, so it was still far too early for that kind of shameless extrovert behavior. At least your message was pretty concise; Ortho had passed along his number because you wanted to commission him, and you’d offer payment in exchange. As clear as that was, there was still a lot to unpack. Ortho’s intentions to find friends for him were clearly at play here, which would’ve ground his gears more if it all wasn’t so well meaning. But giving someone his number for a cosplay commission? That felt a little excessive! What kind of meet-cute scenario was this? And how on earth did you plan to pay for a custom piece anyway? Not that he would actually make it, of course, but hypothetically. He’d heard through the grapevine (read: Azul’s chattering during board game club meetings) that you had a part time gig at Monstro Lounge, but surely you wouldn’t be spending your limited in-game currency on a cosplay prop. While he thought it would be a stupid decision, he had to respect your dedication.

Hypothetically, of course.

Despite any reluctant interest he had in knowing what costume you were putting together, there was no way he’d actually agree to a commission. Besides, it was probably a lame request anyway. And who cares if you’d probably (definitely) look great in your costume? Certainly not Idia, no sir. And he totally didn’t think about how happy you’d be if he were to accept your commission (which he’d never do, of course), or how you’d look holding a piece of his unquestionably perfect work. No, he wouldn’t lie awake thinking about any of that at all. Thus he decided to ignore your text indefinitely- it’s not like he had his read receipts on or anything. He’d just kick back, work on his own nearly finished costume, and maybe even send a halfhearted “soz, just saw this :/” a day or two before Halloween night. No unnecessary and draining social interactions, and you wouldn’t have to be inevitably disappointed by… well, by him. His craftsmanship was S tier without a doubt, but he had a charisma stat of 4 at most. So he’d just let the message sit there. That would be easier for everyone involved.

Well, that was the plan. But as it turned out, Ortho would have none of it. When he’d caught wind that Idia hadn’t bothered to answer your message a whole day later, he’d immediately bombarded his big brother with endless arguments for your case. It was the usual string of points- that Idia would be happier if he had irl friends (as if), that his general quality of life would improve if he had some positive social interaction (no way!), and so on. At least he was sure Ortho’s logic processors were working as irritatingly well as ever, though Idia found his points far too idealistic. But logos wasn’t the way to go when talking Idia into something he had no interest in doing- it would have to be pathos all the way baby, appealing to what really made him tick. Unfortunately for him, Ortho knew that too.

“I need you to make a friend before you graduate,” he said abruptly, arms crossed like he was prepared for a one shot k.o. “Just one. I’m sorry I gave them your number without permission, but I really think this could be fun. You make the coolest stuff ever, and it’s your favorite holiday, so I thought it was a good opportunity for you to talk to someone.” He was silent for only a moment, as if deciding whether or not to deliver the final blow. “I just need to know my big brother will be okay after graduation. And I’d like to see you have fun every once and a while, you know.”

There it was, the absolute punch in the gut Idia was dreading. “You see me having fun all the time, Ortho. We hang out every day.” It was a weak argument and he knew it.

“Yeah and I love hanging out with you, but that’s different! And I know other people would love hanging out with you, too! You’re the coolest person ever, big bro.”

And how could he ever say no to that?

“What’s the costume anyway?” Idia muttered, pulling his lower lip between sharp teeth.

“I’m not sure. They told me it was someone from a manga they really like! You should ask them about it!” Ortho was absolutely beaming. Something in Idia’s chest ached.

His response to your message was short and simple. He asked what your inspiration would be, and what prop you were looking for. Price could be negotiated, etcetera.

You responded with astounding speed; it made him nauseous. At least you were courteous, though. You gave him a lot of info to say the least- more than he needed considering he was a fan of the same series. Ortho had definitely known that, but that was a complaint for some other time. He had to admit it was a good choice- and the character you had in mind would suit you well (he’d never put that in writing so long as he lived). You sent him all of your inspo pictures- purely from the manga, you explained, as the anime adaptation had changed some of the details and you had a strong preference- as well as any measurements he might need. Idia couldn’t resist pointing out that the anime had made a number of phenomenal aesthetic choices, which did start somewhat of a tangent. Before he knew it, he was caught in a back and forth with you. It was… easy. Way easier than he had expected. When you stopped replying he was even a little disheartened; that is until he realized it was nearly 4 am. It had been that long of a conversation? Something about that made him warm all over. He’d ignore it for the moment.

When you messaged him back the following morning he felt the same rush of… something wash over him. And so a tentative back and forth between you two began. Draft sketches and material concepts on his end, and what felt like endless amounts of praise from you. That’s not to say you never brought any criticism to the table. You were just as fickle as he was, it seemed- and he liked arguing with you. Whether it was about the commission or over some unrelated tangent (which the two of you frequently succumbed to), there was something uniquely fun about debating your shared interests.

Over the week or so leading up to Halloween, your communication persisted outside of his prop updates. You even sent him photos of Grim! It was hard to stomach that he’d hit it off so well with some normie, but if you were sending him cat photos and had some (several) based media takes he’d tolerate that discomfort. Part of him kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. The exchange was transactional- after Ortho delivered the prop to you, there would be no need to keep socializing with him. He couldn’t imagine why you’d want to anyway. Speaking of transactions, the two of you hadn’t decided on a price point. Or rather whenever you’d ask, he pushed the question aside by saying he ‘wasn’t sure yet’. He’d given you a relative range, but no exact number. He felt pathetic, but part of him didn’t even want to charge you for it. It wasn’t like he needed the money anyway, and Ortho had been right about the whole arrangement entertaining him. He couldn’t believe he was going so soft. But it wasn’t entirely his fault! Every time he’d start to work up the nerve to give a number, you’d do something so nice it made his head hurt. Sometimes it was asking questions about his games, or sending him voice messages so you could keep the conversation going when you couldn’t text. You’d even asked to vc once or twice! He’d denied that request, but nonetheless you asked! How was he supposed to follow that up? “Oh haha yeah, it’ll be like half your last paycheck sry lmao”? He’d rather die! He knew what his work was worth (and frankly so did you), but the idea of charging you that amount was a little nauseating. How fucking lame could he get?

And the other shoe did drop eventually, just not in the way he’d expected. It came as a lull in your late night banter, followed by ‘[name] is typing…’ for quite some time. That totally didn’t make him want to puke, no way. The message that followed was as short as it was sweet.

“Hey, so ik it’s not really your scene, but I’m having a Halloween thing at Ramshackle. Idk if I’d call it a party but yk it’s something. I was wondering if you’d want to stop by? If not that’s totally cool!”

Idia stared at that message for a while. Shit. Of course there was no way he’d go, not a chance, but he couldn’t just say that could he? He’d rather be dropped headlong into Tartarus than to go to some gathering of extroverts and npcs when he could be collecting his Halloween login rewards. At the same time, giving you a resounding ‘fuck no’ sounded just as unpleasant. So he just sat there and stared for a while before doing what he did best: he gave some vague, noncommittal answer.

“uhhh idk. I don’t wanna intrude haha. plus i have a raid planned so idk if i could make it sry”.

It seemed like you got what he was trying to say; Idia was beginning to resent just how well you listened to him.

“Totally get it! Just thought I’d ask :)! Send pics of ur costume tho! I wanna see it all put together :D!”

He tossed his phone aside, opting to throw himself face down in his pillow with a resounding groan. Why did you have to be so considerate? You had to have known he’d reject that request, so why even ask? And why did it mean so much to him that you had? His moping was interrupted by Ortho knocking at the door. Idia just grunted in response, turning his head to face him.

“What’s the matter bro?” Ortho hovered in the doorway, glowing eyes keenly focused on Idia’s sprawled figure. At times like this, only illuminated by blue screens and his own artificial fire, he had an uncanny effect that was hard to shake.

Idia peeked at him through his flickering bangs, huffing a little and sending the flames askew. He subsequently realized that they were streaked with a mortifying shade of pink, one that made him want to scream into the pillow all over again. “Nothing, I’m good. What’s up?” It was obviously a lie and he wasn’t helping his case by rolling over to face the wall.

“I wanted to see if you were up for a few pvp rounds before I set up to charge for the night. But what’s going on? My scanners detect no signs of physical injury, but your vitals indicate distress. Do you need medical attention?” Idia didn’t have to turn around to know his ‘brother’ had hovered closer.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid-,” he planted his face back into the pillow defeatedly. “It’s- [name] invited me to some stupid Halloween thing.” It was muffled, but that didn’t matter. There was no way Ortho wouldn’t hear him, so there was no need to sit up.

“They invited you to a party? That’s awesome! We could go together! I know, you could even give them the prop in person and see their costume completed!”

“I’m not going.”

“What? Why not? You’ve had so much fun talking to them and working on this commission! You should go see them!” Ortho was gearing up for another uphill battle, one Idia was once again going to resist him on.

“Because I don’t want to. You can go, I guess. I mean I’m sure you’re invited. That’s probably why they asked me, right? Because we’re a package deal? You’ll have more fun without me there to weigh you down. And anyway, I don’t wanna be around that many people. It’ll probably be total npc shit anyway.” He fell silent for a moment, the quiet whir of machine fans filling the air in his stead. Ortho didn’t try to interject.

“It’s not like- it’s not like they wanna see me anyway. Maybe my costume, I mean its S tier, but not me. And I can’t even get on a vc with them- I’d be seriously delusional if I thought I could hang out with them irl.”

“Hey, they totally want to see you. I mean, I’m sure they want to see your costume too. But I know they want to see you. If you don’t feel like going that's okay, but I don’t want you to miss out because you think their invitation wasn’t genuine.”

“Why? Like I know we get along fine over chat, and they’ve interacted with my tablet, but what if they see me irl and get all weirded out? ‘Oh, why is he blue all over? What’s with his teeth? Ewww’. I think I’ll pass.” He chewed at his sleeve, nervous over the mere prospect of facing you like that. “Even if they’ve seen me in passing like once, being up close is a whole other level.”

There was another long pause before Ortho spoke again. “They like your hair.”

“What?”

“They told me they like your hair. Like you said, they’ve seen you irl once or twice in passing. Should I play the recording for you?”

Idia felt a little conflicted about that. It felt a little invasive somehow. But a far less conflicted part of him (his massive ego) needed to hear it, and ultimately triumphed. “Yeah, fine. Go ahead.” He curbed his anxious enthusiasm by biting his sleeve even harder.

“Sure thing! Commencing playback.” There was the sudden background noise of hallway chatter, followed by your voice. “I think I saw your brother in the library yesterday. Well, I’m assuming it was him, he looked a lot like you. He’s got great hair, I’ve never seen anything like it. It must’ve taken forever to grow it out that long.”

There was a measured click as the clip came to a stop. “Recording ends. See? They don’t think you look weird. And there’s nothing else in my data logs to indicate that they would.”

“That’s… not exactly reassuring,” Idia muttered, watching as the mess of curls surrounding him flickered to life with the same rosy hues as before. Of course you wouldn’t tell Ortho that you thought he looked weird, that was his brother. But nevertheless, that was technically a compliment. A win was a win right?

“We should go, I think they’d love to see you there in person. We could even go super early to drop off the prop and leave before everyone else gets there,” Ortho chimed in, clearly trying to find some loophole in his brother’s anxiety. “And we can show off our costumes again.” There was another long pause.

“Fine. But just to drop it off.”

The remaining few days passed without incident, aside from Idia’s mounting anxieties (which he was sure would culminate in sudden death). Half dressed for the function, he sat on the edge of his bed and sent you photos of the final product. At the very least he was sure you’d like it- how could you not? He was a master craftsman after all. Your response came back at the typical lightning speed. He doubted he’d ever get used to that.

“Holy shit, it’s perfect??? Thank you so so much, I love it!! <3 did u sign it?”

“no lmao?? y?”

“Bc it’s your work??? And u should be proud of it and put ur name on it ??? Duh??? And bc I want you to ofc.”

Well that was certainly unexpected. He sat there for a minute and mulled it over- what could you possibly gain from him signing it? Did you really just want that, plain and simple? God you were fucking weird. It did feel kind of nice though. Nice enough for a smile to fight its way onto his face as he meandered back to his workstation. What was the harm in indulging that request?

“can do ig. i charge extra for autographs tho, soz. so ik ortho was gonna drop this off, but is it cool if i come? want to make sure it doesn’t need any adjustments etc yk”

Even though it took him a few (fifteen) minutes to type, it came out smoother than he’d expected. He’d consider it a win. Of course the piece didn’t need any adjusting, it was perfect and he knew it, but he had to justify his sudden appearance (mostly to himself).

“You can make it ??? Nice !!! Yeah ofc! Come over whenever :D !!! <3”

Hearts. Were you trying to kill him? And why did your texts read like the logs of a dating sim? Maybe he should lay off the otome games.

Getting fully into costume was a little more complicated than he’d anticipated. Combined with putting the finishing touches on Ortho’s matching specs and engraving an insignia onto your prop, there was no way the Shroud duo would arrive early. In fact, they’d be perfectly punctual (which Idia loathed). Halfway up the driveway to Ramshackle he started digging his heels into the dirt. Even from a distance he could see light streaming through the dingy windows, along with far too many figures crowded on the porch. Part of him wondered how many students such a dilapidated structure could support- he decided to drop that train of thought before he collapsed in your front yard. “Hey- maybe this is a bad idea. Even if they wanna see me-“

But it was too late. Cater was the first to spot the two, and immediately came down the stairs to greet them. Oh great, a boss level extrovert right off the bat? He had to get out of here!

“Hey hey! I didn’t expect to see you two here! Ooh, whatcha got there? And nice costumes! Did you make them yourself?” The redhead had a cup in one hand and his cellphone in the other, his head cocked as he observed the brothers.

Idia’s mouth just sort of stopped working, and the more questions Cater asked the more he wanted to dip out. Luckily Ortho was way better at navigating normie conversations.

“Hi Cater Diamond! [Name] invited us! And yes my brother made our costumes, aren’t they so cool? We’re kind of in a hurry though, we have the last piece of [Name]’s costume! Once we get it to them, we’ll have more time to talk.” He started to move past Cater, who was now more than ready to usher them through the throng of people in the foyer. Idia followed behind in amazement. Having Ortho around was such an op move.

“Oh nice! They should still be upstairs. Once they’re all set the three of you should come back down so I can snap your pics, ‘kay? You guys really went all out!” Cater slipped away easily before either brother could refuse his invitation. Well, Idia would just have to make sure the coast was clear when he decided to make his escape. The two made their way up the rickety staircase (seriously, how was this place still standing?) and onto the landing above. Your bedroom door was open so at the very least you were easy to locate. Before Idia would go any further he slipped on the pumpkin helmet, properly obscuring his face. That felt a little better- maybe he’d actually be able to look at you.

He lingered behind Ortho as if it would block him from your view (despite being much taller than the android model), knocking at the door frame twice. “Uh… hey. Can we come in?”

You looked up from your phone with a start, eyes widening as you took them in. “Idia? Wait, holy shit, you guys look sick.” You were fully in costume- had you been waiting for them? The way you said his name nearly made him keel over right then and there. “Like I knew they would be cool, but this is insane.” Your gaze flickered to the prop in his hands. “And that’s for me? Dude, it’s perfect. Seriously, thank you so much. I’m so glad you came.”

Idia didn’t process half of it, including you taking the prop from his grasp. You looked so good he felt lightheaded. Forget talking to you, now he was worried about remaining upright. “You- uh- yeah. You too,” he stammered weakly. You too? That didn’t make any sense! “I mean- I mean you look cool. And yeah this is for you.” Breathing in the helmet was a bit of a challenge and he couldn’t recall a time his throat had ever been drier. Ortho made no effort to intervene either- he was just watching, practically on standby mode as his brother made a fool of himself. Great. So much for his op cheat code.

He decided that looking anywhere but at you was his best option, his eyes scanning along the walls of your bedroom. It did look liveable, he’d give you that much. You even had a small shelf with a decently sized manga collection- considering how long you’d been there and the wages Monstro paid, he was kind of impressed. It was cute (you were cute). Your voice snapped him back out of his meditative scanning.

“Sorry there are so many people. I would’ve given you a heads up, but I had no idea it would be this crazy. People just started posting about it and,” you sighed. “So now like half the school is in my condemned house. Happy Halloween I guess? Deuce and Jack got a few of the other first years to preemptively agree to help with post party cleanup, so that’s nice.” You were still looking at him intently; Idia had to remind himself that you were checking out his costume and not him, of course. Unfortunately that didn’t stop the ends of his hair from flickering a dull but obvious pink. He knew it caught your attention, but you didn’t mention it. Instead you opted to change the subject entirely. By the Seven, how were you so good at this? “Anyway, I wanna hear all about your costumes. I got bits and pieces over messages but give me the rundown!”

Now that he could do.

Infodumping was an art form, and boy had Idia Shroud mastered it. From the materials he used to the classic inspo, he was more than happy to tell you all about his creations. It took him a little warming up, but he was quickly in full swing. Down to the sound effect rigging, he gave you a thorough explanation of his work. You seemed particularly delighted in how he and Ortho’s costumes were a matching pair, and of course that opened the floor for him to explain the intricacies of making new specs for his brother. In his excited haste, he’d even taken off the helmet to show you its interior. He didn’t notice for quite a while, nor did you make any mention of it. You just watched him, smiling and nodding attentively. By the time he picked up on just how greatly his range of vision had improved, it was far too late. With his peripheral unblocked he also realized that Ortho was gone. A wave of panic washed over him as he reassessed his surroundings. It was just the two of you, standing beyond the threshold of your bedroom, alone. How long had he been talking? And why were you looking at him with those big, starry eyes? He tried to tell you to stop staring, but no sound came out. Once again, Idia was convinced he was going to die.

You definitely caught onto his nervous demeanor- he wished you’d stop doing that. “Hey, so how much do I owe you?” You asked, your voice gentler than he’d realistically want it to be. Why were you being so nice to him? You had the prop already, so just kick him out! There was a whole party going on downstairs, yet here you were spending god only knows how long alone with him! Wasn’t that depressing?

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a hard ask, and only noobs care about production costs,” he muttered, his tone not entirely unkind but thoroughly dismissive nonetheless.

“Oh- are you sure? Idia, it’s really beautifully done. Even if it wasn’t hard to do, you still took the time to do it. I owe you something.”

“I could make another one in my sleep. Just take it,” he was planning his escape, but could see no easy way out besides just turning tail and running. “Sorry for uh- well, for keeping you up here for so long. You’ve got a party to get to.”

“I’ll take it if you’re sure. Thank you, seriously. And don’t apologize, I like talking to you. I know this really isn’t your scene, so I really appreciate you coming out tonight.” The way you looked at him had him itching to put the helmet back on in record time. Your next words would foil even that half baked plan and freeze him in place. “If you wanted, maybe you could come over and hang out sometime? It’s not normally this crowded, it’s usually just Grim and I. You’re welcome here whenever, and so is Ortho.”

Every turn of phrase felt like you were whittling a hole in his brain, which made it increasingly difficult to think straight. What angle were you trying to work here? Was it just to embarrass him? He couldn’t think of a single thing you could gain from befriending him, which frankly made your kindness even more concerning. You had him one friendly gesture away from counting five things he could see, four things he could touch, and so on in the middle of the function. “I’m gonna go find Ortho,” he stated, abruptly turning on his heel. Now was not the time to go nonverbal, but that was steadily where he was headed. And he’d been doing so well! He’d talked to you irl, face to face! You hadn’t even seemed grossed out- if anything it felt like the opposite (which he would ignore). But of course his brain had to catch up and ruin everything. No, he had to ruin everything, just like always. This fucking sucked. The pumpkin helmet was back on, and he wasn’t showing his face until he was safely back at Ignihyde.

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I’ll walk down with you.” You wasted no time following after him, still holding your new prop. The trip down the main staircase was a silent one, but the raucous sounds of the party below more than made up for it. You didn’t push him to speak, which he was begrudgingly grateful for.

It was no surprise that your arrival from upstairs with Idia in tow drew a little attention. Cater even snapped a photo, saying something about how “cammable” you two looked (Idia didn’t have the strength to wonder where that photo would end up). You handled your entrance to the gathering like a pro, deflecting all the attention away from him with a small smile. He really couldn’t decide whether or not he hated how considerate you were, but that would be a viable train of thought once he was safely in his own bedroom. As he slipped away to find Ortho, he heard you discussing your costume with those gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Working up the nerve to risk a look back, he saw you proudly showing off the piece he’d made for you. The way you were so eager to credit him for it was debilitating.

Part of him wondered what would happen if he walked back over and joined the crowd. He knew he didn’t belong there, of course, but hypothetically. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like to stand there by your side for just a little longer, to even let people photograph the two of you together. You hadn’t seemed to mind it a moment before. But maybe you were just being nice. You were always so nice. Regardless these were only hypotheticals, and he was bound to ruin your time if he stayed any longer. He’d be doing you a favor by leaving, right?

Right. With one last look at you, he resolved to find Ortho and get the hell out while he could, for your sake and his own.

Maybe next year, then.

——————————————————————————

Tag list: @v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time @heatofmyexoheart (dm to be removed or added! <3)

Soz for not posting for a while (and this late as hell Halloween fic eek!), I obliterated my ankle about a week ago and have just been taking time to recover (that is a lie I’ve had to go to work every day on it but I digress!!!)

#twst #Idia shroud #twisted wonderland #x reader #idia x reader #fics ! <3 #khalix writes （＾＿＾）☆ #idia post （ ; ; ）<3

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Top 5 comics that aren't bat related?

GOD okay I'm admittedly so so behind on my non-Bat comic reading because trying to read Everything Published In A 15 Year Period is fucking TIME CONSUMING, but! but but but!!! I have some fun ones!! also as always these are not in ANY particular order!

Thirsty Mermaids (Kat Leyh, 2021)

first off: yes we are including graphic novels! that's just a honkin big comic! nobody @ me! anyway, I read Thirsty Mermaids in one sitting on an airplane earlier this year and it was delightful. it follows three mermaid besties who turn themselves into humans and go ashore in search of booze, only to get stuck when the party mage can't remember how to turn them back. what follows is a mix of shenanigans and genuinely heartwarming character development as the trio cope with being landlocked and try to survive capitalism. there's a high potential for a story like this to get cloyingly oversentimental, but Thirsty Mermaids struck the right balance for me the whole way through and never went overboard.

also, the character designs are soooooo fun. look at them!

2. My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2016)

MLEWL is one of those books that actually completely lives up to the hype and then some, and it totally knocked me on my ass the first time I read it. I didn't really know what to expect going in, but I was totally blown away by how boldly Nagata's willing to share the ugliest parts of her life through this reflection. it's so much more than romance and yearning (and that isn't even really resolved by the book's end! Nagata continues to struggle with interpersonal relationships in later books, which you should also read!), and it felt really refreshing to see such an honest depiction of how much being depressed and anxious and insecure can just fucking suck. but at the same time, Nagata's ability to turn all of that into art and process what she's experienced in a really levelheaded way as she finds the will to grow and change is really affirming.

I have to give a special note of appreciation to the actual sex scene and how intimacy is negotiated between Nagata and the sex worker she hires, especially the ultimate realization that sex is just an act and losing her virginity didn't really change anything about why she was unhappy in her life. as a sex educator, I really appreciated the honesty and sheer practicality of how it was all framed.

3. Nimona (ND Stevenson, 2015)

hi okay yes basic bitch alert I'M AWARE, but I reread Nimona last year to remind myself of why I didn't want to watch the Netflix adaptation and I was so right for that, because OG Nimona fucks so much harder. it's heartfelt but also chaotic and violent and funny and deeply jaded; I think when I mentioned it in my monthly reading synopsis here I described it as weird art for pissed off queer people by a weird pissed off queer person. and I stand by that! if you haven't read it already or if you haven't in a while, it's right there waiting for you with an open invitation to burn the entire corrupt government to the ground.

I know the word feral is overused and therefore cringe but christ, comic Nimona is feral. come on, man. just let her kill your ex. he's a cop.

4. Superman Smashes the Klan (Gene Luen Yang and Gurihiru, 2020)

I had to get one DC comic in here, sue me! it's not Batman-related at all! it's a really rad Superman story that takes place in the 1940s and loosely reimagines an old radio serial, "Clan of the Fiery Cross," the was pretty much a 16-part hit piece on the KKK that was hugely successful in tarnishing their reputation and getting membership to drop. how cool is that? in this version we follow Lee family, Chinese-Americans who have just moved to Metropolis and are met with harassment from the local Klansmen, contrasted with Clark, early in his hero career, still figuring out the full extent of his alien abilities. you get some really nice parallel storytelling between the Lee kids, Tommy and Roberta, exploring what it means to be part of two different cultures at the same time Clark is going through something similar figuring out how to be a representative of two totally different planets, and it all works out in a way that's really sweet. now that I have a friend who's a baby I can't wait until he's old enough to get a copy.

it's an extremely comic book-y comic but in, like, the best way possible.

5. Hawkeye (Matt Fraction and David Aja, 2012-2015)

I can't believe I almost forgot to list tumblr darling Matt Fraction's Hawkeye! what do I even say about this series that hasn't been said already? I love the way Clint Barton is a sadsack piece of shit who's repeatedly ruined his own life, and I love rooting for him anyway because he's just trying so goddamn hard. and also because there's a teenage girl who stole his name and gimmick bullying him the whole time. (Kate Bishop you are everything to me and you will always be famous.) there are costumes and crime fighting but it's first and foremost a slice of life about a life that fucking sucks but keeps on trucking anyway, and that's so up my alley it's not even funny. a lot of the humor probably feels dated now but fuck it, the series is iconic for a reason.

MCU, eat your heart out.

bonus because I wrote out the whole thing and then decided I wanted to include a different one: Paper Girls (Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang, 2015-2019)

I'd be lying if I said that the thing about this series that I love first and foremost wasn't the art, because Chiang's art is breathtaking and I'll read anything ever if he does the art on it. but it's also just a super cool twisty, time-bending story about four girls getting roped into some high sci-fi bullshit when they're just trying to finish up their paper routes the morning after Halloween and having everything go to hell around them. I really respect a series that is committed to being weird and doesn't really care if you don't understand what's going on for a decent chunk of the plot, especially because it all comes together in a way that's pretty satisfying. waiting to read the whole series in one big run once it was all published so that I could track all the little hints and clues and things coming together across time travel bullshit was mwah, delicious.

also more than anything it's a story about how you Do Not fuck with 12 year old girls, especially in packs, because they're metal as hell, and I'm really about that.

#bookblr

[zeloinator]

---- .. Ulla Ajla .. ----

Desert Hare; Orphaned at the young age of 3 Ulla and her brother, Davaajav, knew one thing; they could only rely on each other. Davaajav scrounged for every gil (or gil equivalent) to keep Ulla from dying as the droughts and wildfires began pushing more and more people into the now cramped oasis. Growing to the age of 13 in those outskirts of the desert capital the ever growing droughts and wildfires drove Ulla and Davaajav away from the only place they ever knew. During the long and arduous journey Davaajav was kidnapped by cultists of the great flame while out hunting, leaving the siblings separated until a fateful meeting near the end of their lives.

Army of One; Ulla, freshly on her own for the first time in her 12 years, struggled to care for herself to the point of being on death’s doorstep 3 times in the year following Davaajav’s disappearance. The shortages of everything only grew worse, and with it the chaos amongst those without the means to lock themselves and their family away, leaving Ulla to finally drag herself away from the walking corpse she saw herself as. It took a while to build muscle again, barely even able to stand when she first found her first rusty sword. The weight made her feel corporeal, real, and most importantly burning with life. Once walking became easier Ulla set her sights on the final of the 3 major cities left standing, Atlantis. The ocean bastion. 

Traveling alone to the western sea was not advised in the best of times, let alone in the time of the looming fire cataclysm, but that is the path Ulla chose. She had learned the tricks of survival in the once lush lands. Succulents native to the area had adapted to survive in the shade of mountains, one just had to be willing to climb to the alcoves they huddled in. That was how she survived, risking everything everyday to live. 

Her fighting style was the exact same way. The shield she carried became more of a blunt bashing weapon as her style blossomed. At just 15 was able to hold her own in a fight against several adults with just her sword and shield. Winning was not important, living was as close to winning as Ulla got during the 3 years it took to reach the quickly drying sea. As she set her eyes upon the sparkling ocean jewel that Atlantis was, the Echo hit her with the force of a chocobo.

At age 18, after 2 years of working as a hired bodyguard for Atlantis, Ulla met her brother again. He had become fully devoted to the Great Flame, an extraordinary black mage burning himself alive from inside out in their service.

The Doomed Protector; The Great Flame succeeded in the summoning of Ifrit, setting their final plans on the great volcanic island. The great volcano began its eruption as the strongest incarnation of Fire and Fury, Inferno Ifrit, touched the ground. This was Ulla was sent to, a single bastion of hope amongst the fires of hell. 

Inferno Ifrit managed to injure Ulla before it fell to her own fire. But she did not expect her next fight to be with her brother, the last remaining Great Flame. Davaajav pulled Ulla into a craterous cavern, down into the bowels of the volcano. With no energy left, and unable to bring herself to truly strike at her one familial relationship she had in the world. He does not afford her the same mercy, disarming Ulla as soon as he saw her doubt form an opening. She couldn't make herself speak, couldn't beg for her life to be spared by the only reason she survived as long as she did.

FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE...

. . . . . . ... ONLY EVER LEAVES AN ALL CONSUMING INFERNO

#oc; Ulla Ajla #doomed protector #ffxiv viera #ffxiv oc #oc lore

[fernthewhimsical]

Hopepunk Primer pt. 3

How to practice Hopepunk

Find joy in the small things. The flowers growing through concrete, the way the sunlight hits the grass. There is beauty and joy in the small things, but it takes a bit of training to find them. Mindfulness or a gratitude journal (or even a Tumblr sideblog) helps with this training. Hope can be learned, I promise.

Be a pebble. [8] Imagine a tall glass that is half-full with water. Imagine you are a crow. You try to drink the water but you can't reach, the glass is too deep. So you take a pebble and throw it in. The water level rises slightly. Other crows come in with pebbles, and with each pebble the water level rises until finally you all can drink from the glass. There is a lot of focus nowadays in activism circles to be aware of every horrible thing that is going on in the world and to work on each and every one of them. The tough reality is: we can't. We're only human and right now we are all very prone to burn-out. We can't bring change if we are burnt out or have compassion fatigue. So be a pebble. Stay small, perhaps even stay local. If everyone focuses on one thing and focuses their efforts and energy there, we will make it. We'll make the water rise so everyone can drink. Be a pebble.

Stop doom scrolling. It's ineffective and only serves to make us feel more hopeless and demoralized.

Be responsible for your own internet experience. This is related to doom scrolling. Unfollow people who make you feel hopeless and like the fight is useless. Block trolls and don't engage them. Find people who make you feel inspired, invigorated, hopeful. Blacklist tags, block, delete.

Look into hopepunk media. Be inspired by the stories told. Some examples are movires: Lord of the Rings, Mad Max: Fury Road, Pacific Rim. Series: Sense8, the Good Place, Star Trek. Books: Binti by Nnedi Okorafor, A conspiracy of truths by Alexandra Rowland, the Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin. Music: Torches by X Ambassadors, This Yeah by the Mountain Goats, Be More Kind by Frank Turner.

Build/Find your Community. Share what you have, ask for what you need. We're in this together. If you grow your own fruits and vegetables share them with friends and neighbours. Exchange favours like doing a grocery run or offering to watch the kids for a night. Make a tiny library or give & take cabinet. Share skills and resources. This can be done both online and in person, but making a difference locally is easier with boots on the ground, so to speak.

Create. Live authentically. Do things just to do the thing. So much needs to be "content", these days. So much needs to be a "side hustle" or "monetized". Resist. Create because it makes you feel good. Because you want to. Create bad art, sing off key, swing your arms wildly and call it dancing, write edgy poetry, create Mary Sue self-inserts. Live.

Resist capitalism. Reuse, recycle, repair, thrift, make, trade, etc.

Vote. If you really want to make a difference get out there and vote. Especially in the US they do not want you so rebel and vote. Not just for the president. Voting locally for your representatives will have more of an influence.

Unionize. Alone you beg, together you negotiate. Only together can we make change

Spread hope. Do random acts of kindness, compliment people, share positive things that happened, spread love and joy where you go.

[8] Be a pebble

Further reading:

Alexandra Rowland's Hopepunk Manifesto What is Hopepunk by Vox.com Hopepunk-Humanity blog on Tumblr Hopepunk: A Genre, Philosophy and Movement by Lexi Drumonde (Video) Intro to Hopepunk by Morgan Hazelwood (Video)

Part 1: Intro and history Part 2: Philosophy of Hopepunk Part 3: How to practice hopepunk and further reading Part 4: Extra! Hopepunk and magic

#witchblr #hope #hopepunk #mine #personal #divider by saradika

[zeenimf]

Where the Sea Ends - Wip Intro

Over the last century the tides have grown violent, and each day they climb higher and higher. Seo, a dune nimf from the northern isles has watched the sea swallow her home. Her Mistress, Ikuzand of the Grey Order, was destined to stop the flood, but just as the waves began to touch the beach of her home did she pass away in the night. Distressed, Seo travels to the capital of Hoogdam, hoping to find a way to bring her Mistress back to the world of the living. Little does she know that the quest she is about to embark on will take her beyond our world and put her face to face with the gods.

Genre: NA Fantasy

Expected Wordcount: ~80k

Hello! I am excited to share the first few tidbits from the project I have been working on the last two months. As I progressed through my academic specialisation in Japanese literature I realised just how little I knew about the literature of my own country. Not just literature, actually, but folklore and myths are almost completely unknown to me. This project is an attempt to rectify that in the hope that I can inspire other Dutchies to be proud of their culture and arts.

It will be a 'classic' fantasy story, filled with spell tomes, hard magic systems and knights. However, I will draw as much as I can from medieval and earlier Dutch folklore and history. I won't give too many details about plot/characters as they are still up to change. The core of Sen, a stoic and disillusioned mage with a sweet tooth, Pip, a young and ambitious archer and Karel, royal knight turned himbo barbarian will probably stay the same. Still, I hope you enjoy my research project turned wip as much as I do! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist <3

Much love,

Katrielle

Here's some excerpts to grasp the *vibes*

The tree that marked Ikuzan’s grave stands before me. Its grey leaves hang above me, their edged gilded by the sun. The tree has grown over the gravestone, roots entangling the stone, removing any indicator of who lies below. The size of the tree surprises me. Has it truly been so long since I last visited that Ikuzan’s soul had blossomed into this large a tree? “So long, Miss,” I mutter under my breath. My hand rests on my staff. The faint hope that Ikuzan has hidden a secret near her grave, something that would solve everything, lingers in the back of my mind. But my staff stands lifeless, and the branches waving in the wind as if beckoning us to leave.

-x-

“Pip, now!” I shout, ducking behind a nearby cart. The dragon roars as it jumps off from the tower, breaking off the roof and sending hundreds of bricks to the ground. Pip steps into the alley, arrow nooked. “Zerikan feek,” I say, drawing on as much of my mana as I can. As soon as I finish speaking my spell the arrowhead of Pip’s arrow lights up in purple flames, and before the flames can spread to Pip’s bow does he shoot. The arrow flies through the air, splitting the curtain of smoke that has risen from the burning city around us. With a loud bang the arrow hits the dragon in her chest. A second explosion follows with such strength all the smoke is blown away. My hands reach for my ears, a loud and high pitched noise overwhelms my senses. Even the dragon's weeping as it falls down is barely audible. Silent to me, but as loud as a star, the dragon crashes into the church and vanishes through the roof. But a single arrow will not slay a dragon, I know that much. “CHAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!” Karel runs past us, axe in hand. Not much remains of the top of his leather armour, showing a conspicuous amount of skin. I am never sure whether it is the blade of foes, or Karel himself that causes his armour to wear out so quickly. One thing I do know, however, is that that dragon isn't long for this world.

Taglist: @peepos-prose

#fantasy #wip intro #writeblr #and no ikuzan's grey is not from gandalf haha

[hauntedadagium]

Hostage

For @blossom-adventures <3 || Ardyn x Reader || CW: violence, threat, injury. Words: 3.3k

You’re sent by Niflheim to retrieve information about Insomnia and the Crystal’s whereabouts in hopes of returning it to its rightful owner and destroying the Citadel once and for all.

Someone was hot on your tail.

You knew it’d be risky heading into the heart of the enemy, but despite all warnings against your advancement, you had concocted a plan to determine a weakness; A crack in the armour of Lucis. You knew that somewhere amongst the high reaching buildings of the capital, there was a mortal flaw.

A Glaive missing at their post. Gossip in the ranks. An unguarded entryway. 

To them, you were the enemy. But you were simply there to make moves to claim back what was stolen from Niflheim. 

Stolen from him.

You weaved through the streets of Insomnia under cover of night, but that wasn’t enough. Whether it was a Glaive or one of the Crownsguard, you’d been made, and they were in pursuit. You cut into the night, seeing the blue flashes above you as you careened into a thin alleyway, surveying your surroundings for a way up. Your eye caught a glimpse of metal under the moonlight; a fire escape.

You pushed off the ground, hurtling toward it and scaling upward to make it to their level. With each rung you climbed you gave a grunt of effort, lungs drawing in quick breaths and exhaling frosty clouds.

The power of the crystal. You’d recognise it anywhere. This means they hadn’t just sent any old royal guard after you; the King would stop at nothing to apprehend you. A twinge of something nagged at your mind, biting back the sting of failure and instead focussing on your escape.

Sure, they were fast.

But you were faster.

Never give someone the high ground, he’d taught you. Be one step ahead of your enemy.

You hauled yourself up and over the ladder onto the flat top of a high-rise building, scanning your surroundings. “I’m flattered,” you called into the dark, raising an eyebrow. “For the mighty Cor Leonis to send his most special Glaive in my pursuit?” You crouched, watching for movement. “Better off safe than dead, I suppose.”

You twirled a dagger in your hand, gripping the hilt tightly. 

“What’s say we put an end to this game of cat and mouse?”

Still, you saw nothing. No shifting in the shadows, no signature blue sparks. Baiting them out wasn’t going to work. Successful withdrawal was your priority, but it was difficult to pause and navigate with him trailing closely behind.

You could tell they were waiting.

And the longer they waited, the less chance you had of escape. 

More chances for reinforcements to arrive. More chances for them to close in. Gritting your teeth you turned heel and started running, leaping from building to building above the bright lights below, feeling the cold air burn past your cheeks as you went. 

It frustrated you to not be able to stand and fight, but the feeling was absolved by your better judgement. You’d be vastly outnumbered potentially within minutes. There was nothing left to do but swallow your pride and flee.

You’d seen enough for tonight; another amplifier disguised amongst a nest of high rise buildings. That is how you would take down the Wall. You’d scoped almost all of them, but you had to be certain. If there was one thing Ardyn wouldn’t stand for it was negligence, but moreover, you feared not his wrath, but his disappointment.

Too caught up in your ire to concentrate, you launched yourself from one building to the other, losing your footing as you landed and teetering on the edge. Your arms flailed as the damp roof ground beneath your boots, starting to fall backward, heel tipping off the ledge in slow motion. 

Your hands reached forward for purchase but swiped at nothing but thin air, until—

A strong grip presented itself on the front of your jacket, twisting in the fabric and hauling you back up onto the rooftop, tossing your stiff, adrenaline filled body to the ground.

It was too fast, too dark to see, hissing in pain as you skidded toward the feet of a stranger. There was more than one of them now. It was over.

“Be thankful we didn’t let you fall to your death,” a deep voice spoke above you. He stepped over your limp body and whispered something to the man who saved you— but without enough time to fling your dagger across the rooftop toward him, you felt an almighty crack in your skull, and everything went dark. 

—

They were too fast. Too succinct. Had they known you were coming?

Your first conscious breath was pain. Pain in your back, your chest, your head. Your fingers gently combed through the hair at the back of your head, snagging on a flaky, matted section at the back.

Blood. Whoever had knocked you unconscious wanted to make sure you were out cold.

You squinted into the outline of a blurry light bulb swinging from the ceiling above, noticing something was disturbing your vision.

Metal bars. 

The room was small, half of it portioned off behind thick metal poles sunk deep into the ground. On the other side, there was an empty wooden chair.

You shifted uncomfortably, legs tingling where your bodyweight had been lying unevenly. It took everything within you not to scream, trying to temper your rage with what little strength remained. How could you have allowed this to happen? It was the first time you’d been imprisoned since your defection to Niflheim. 

As soon as you regained the feeling in your legs, you stood, wrapping each hand around the bars and tugging firmly.

“Damnit,” you cursed, wincing at the throb in your skull.

You had no idea where you were; clearly you were in the hands of the Crownsguard, but you were prepared. You’d been trained for this. Lucis were soft, there’s no way they’d break you.

But you were a valuable asset. An asset worth bargaining for.

Second in command to Niflheim’s Imperial Army and known love interest of the formidable Chancellor Ardyn Izunia— this was all the leverage they needed.

Footsteps fast approached the only door in and out of the room, and a well dressed man entered; he was tall and slender. Not exactly the threatening type.

You remained silent. Better for him to play his hand first.

“You’d have realised by now you’re not in a favourable position.” He cleared his throat and took a seat. “So I suggest you cooperate.”

You removed your hands from the bars and took a step back. “What do you want?”

“It’s not so simple as that.” He crossed his legs, slinging his elbow over the back of the chair. “It’s more what you…represent.”

Again, you said nothing. What exactly was this guy's angle?

“Considering your position, it’s been agreed that interrogating you would be rather… pointless. Though, I do think there are some things we may be able to discuss amicably.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” You folded your arms. “So get over your monologue and let me go before you live to regret it.”

The man chuckled quietly. “Oh dear,” he said with lighthearted amusement. “You don’t know how much trouble you’re in, do you?”

Something inside you faltered. You needed leverage. A bargaining chip. 

“As soon as they know I’m missing you’ll feel the wrath of the Imperial Army.” You swallowed nervously, and he noticed.

“Is that so?” He said, dismissing your unfortified threats. “Let’s move on, shall we?” Standing, he moved closer to you, about an arms length away. “King Regis means to whip you through the streets.”

Your stomach dropped.

“He…” Your mouth hung open. “He…what?”

A twisted smirk crept onto his lips. “I must admit I was quite surprised by the King’s cruelty upon his suggestion, but I fear he’s become quite tired of mercy.”

“You can’t.” You shook your head in disbelief. The Crown would never display such a crass act of punishment. 

“We can.” He looked you dead in the eyes. “And we will.”

At that moment, all your defences crumbled. You could withstand imprisonment, interrogation, even physical punishment; but public humiliation? Stripped and whipped through the streets lined with thousands of your enemies. It was incomprehensible. It was torture. 

Following your silence, he began to pace back and forth in front of the bars slowly. “Allow me to extend you…let’s call it, a lessening of your sentence.”

Your eyes followed him as he walked.

“Tell me exactly why you were here, and you may appeal to the King’s mercy.” He stopped and turned to you. “Though I can’t make any promises.”

“What’s stopping you doing exactly the same to me even if I talk?” Your breaths became shallow.

“Nothing,” he said plainly, staring at you. “You’ll just have to trust that I’ll vouch for you.”

You didn’t believe him for a second. He’d strip that information from you and hang you out to dry like the snake he was. Instead, you opted for ignorance, telling the man what he knew already.

“Niflheim wants to bring down the Wall.”

Again, he chuckled softly. “The Wall cannot be brought down.”

You knew that was a lie. You’d scoped out the vast city before, noting that across the area there were towers that served to amplify the Crystal’s power and maintain the wall. Without them, the Wall could be destroyed.

“But that’s not really why you were here, is it?” He sighed. “If you mean to misdirect me, I think you’ll find my patience wears thin.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” You frowned, trying to steady your breathing. 

He couldn’t find out that Niflheim were developing technology to nullify the wall. He couldn’t know that you knew the location of the amplifiers.

“So you’ve made up your mind, then.” The man sighed and stopped, turning to face you. “Last chance.”

“That’s all I know.” He wasn’t buying it. You had run out of time.

“I see.” For a moment, you thought you saw sadness on his face. Or was it regret?

Clasping his hands behind his back, he headed for the door.

“Wait!” You reached through the bars in desperation. “You can’t do this.”

He paused momentarily before heading for the door, letting it slam shut as he left. It was happening. Tomorrow, you’d be flogged through the streets as a traitor.

Made an example of.

You sank to the ground in despair, burying your face in your hands. There had to be a way out of this. He had to come to your aid.

—

The sun didn’t rise that morning. A low, thick haze beneath grey clouds cast a dull hue across the city. The morning’s news spoke of a gathering in the streets to display the King’s vengeance and dedication to protect his people. You’d been reduced to a lesson.

A message for Niflheim to back off.

You’d pleaded with the guards who dragged you out of your cell. Begged them, bribed them; but they remained the loyal King’s dogs through and through. 

Regis was making a mistake. Your maiming, or worse, death, would only bring about the wrath of the Empire. 

You could hear Ardyn’s voice in your head, telling you to hold on. An imagination of hope. You longed for his embrace as your limp body was dragged outside and you were tossed into the back of an empty van. As the engine roared to life, you heard your fate be sealed as the doors were firmly locked.

The jeer and chants of crowds forming outside only solidified your dread. This was really going to happen. You wondered if the King would do it himself— no, he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty. This wasn’t a job for him or his Glaives; all he needed to do was show his face and then retreat to his finery whilst the people of Insomnia intensified his message. 

Niflheim would soon hear of it.

But by then, it’d be too late.

“Ardyn…” You whispered, defeated. “Not like this.” You had been abandoned, but what did you expect? It was too risky to march into the capital, let alone undetected, and he couldn’t send the ships with the Wall in use.

Besides, were you really worth saving?

You steeled your resolve, scowling as the van screeched to a halt and the doors flung open. 

Before you there was a long street headed for the Citadel lined with thousands of people. They began throwing things into the street before your feet had even touched the tarmac. The hiss of the crowd crawled up your spine like a riled snake as a man ushered you out of your corner of safety and into the dim light of day.

Though they’d taken your shoes, they’d mercifully allowed you to remain in your shirt and pants, though they were suitably filthy after they’d dragged you from your cell. As soon as you were forced to stand and face the crowd, what little remained of your courage buckled.

The whole of Insomnia had gathered for the King’s spectacle. 

You jolted as the van doors slammed behind you and the vehicle drove away, leaving you and three men at your back, one shoving you forward.

The ground was cold and wet beneath your feet, taking the first step in this shameful display. You readied yourself for the pain, ignoring the onslaught of heinous insults from the crowd and instead listening for the guard to raise his whip.

It was barbaric.

One pushed you forward, urging you to walk, letting the crowd soak up your fear before the real punishment began. So you did; your feet begrudgingly dragged you forward toward the Citadel where undoubtedly Regis was awaiting your bloody form. Or your corpse.

You wanted to cover your ears to drown out the noise, but you held your head high, focussing directly ahead and concentrating on every chill step you took.

But something on the left caught your eye. Nestled between the crowds of people there were white vans, the sides of them plastered with tacky news advertising, but the camera crews were nowhere to be seen.

You paused, seeing another on the right before feeling a hard shove from behind sending you to your knees. You collapsed with a hard thud and the crowd cheered, looking over your shoulder at a stranger who withdrew a whip from his belt. It was time.

You turned away and looked down, taking a deep breath and holding it, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation for the pain.

It cut through the air.

The whip cracked.

The crowd gasped.

But…nothing came.

Your head snapped around, hand fumbling at your back to see if the whip had in fact hit you but your body was simply too pumped full of adrenaline to notice yet.

But your eyes settled on a familiar sight.

“Hello dear.” Ardyn’s amber eyes flashed with menace as the whip dangled in his grip.

The two remaining guards scattered like cowards before the crowd began an uproar of screams and panic, swarming like flies to scramble away from the busy streets to no avail.

Before you could even stand, you heard the roll of a van door open and the drum of a hundred footsteps raced in your direction. Flashes of silver armour passed you right and left until a circle had formed around you, the ensuing chaos sending the citizens of Insomnia into a frenzied panic.

“You came,” you whispered, standing and running to Ardyn just a few feet away. You threw your exhausted body at him and his arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace, letting his cheek rest atop your head.

“I’m here, my love,” he rasped, pushing you away slightly so he could examine you. “Did they hurt you?”

You simply shook your head, the strong draw of relief and the sound of chaos overwhelming you. 

Ardyn looked toward a line of Magitek soldiers standing beside him and nodded in the direction the guards had fled. “Bring them to me.”

Watching them disappear into the crowd, you shuddered. “How did you find me?” You took a deep breath as you watched the crowd scatter. “How did you get in?”

“Don’t worry about that, my dear.” Ardyn took your chin in his hand. “You’re safe.”

You melted into his touch, drowning out the chaos around you. You could hear the distant sound of gunfire and steel on steel. It had started to rain lightly, coating your hair and shirt, leaving you shivering. It wouldn’t take long for them to become overwhelmed, just as you had before; he couldn’t have enough soldiers to stave off a full onslaught from the Citadel. 

“Ardyn—” You pleaded as he let go, clutching the sleeve of his coat. “We should go.”

“No,” he said, looking down at you with a placid expression. You could see something ignite within him as the Magitek soldiers made light work of retrieving the guards, tossing them into the circle in front of you on their knees.

“I think it would only be fair to afford them the same mercy they intended to withhold from you.”

You looked between them; it was Regis who should pay, but he would be too heavily guarded. 

It was time for Niflheim to send their message.

The guards cowered in front of Ardyn, but before you could take another breath, he raised the whip above his head with reckless enthusiasm, bringing it down and stripping the flesh from the cheeks of the men in one fell swoop.

Blood splattered on your feet as they cried out in pain, both clawing at the gaping wounds on their faces.

You looked up at his wicked grin as he dropped the whip, nodding for the soldiers to move out. They started firing their weapons into the air to scatter the crowd, and in the distance, Insomnian guards were coming to the city’s defence.

“About time,” Ardyn waved a jovial hand. “Keep the casualties to a minimum,” he instructed his soldiers, slowly making their way toward the Citadel. Taking a step toward one of the maimed guards, he put his boot to his chest and kicked him over, letting his body flop pathetically onto the road.

“You’ve made your point,” you stepped in front of him. “Come on.”

“Oh, let me have a little fun, won’t you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I think the King could stand to learn a lesson or two.”

In the distance, an explosion. Screams. Fireballs launching into the air.

“You brought bombs?” Your eyes darted left and right. The immediate streets were now empty of civilians.

“Oh, no no,” Ardyn chuckled. “They brought this upon themselves.”

Even amongst the anarchy, you felt safe next to him. It had been but a day since your capture and already he’d infiltrated the enemy to garner your rescue. After all, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t abandon you. 

Seeing you lost in thought, he turned you away from the violence to focus on him. His hand brushed past your cheek and settled on the back of your neck gently, thumb caressing your cheek.

“I would bring the world to its knees for you,” he said softly, “I won’t let anybody take you from me.” Slowly, he leaned into you, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips.

For a moment you both lingered, the world passing by as you shared a feeling of relief and intimacy. He kissed you with purpose. Possession, yet love. 

You looked into his eyes as he leaned away, full of promise, of safety. Taking you by the hand, he summoned two soldiers over.

“Order the retreat,” he commanded, looking at the chaos over his shoulder. “We’re done here.”

Ardyn gently turned your face away from the disorder. “Come,” he said in that irresistible tone. “Let’s go home.”

#ardyn izunia #ffxv #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #final fantasy xv #ardyn #had an absolute blast writing this #thank you so much <3

[dearhargrove]

Stranger Things have happened in the nighttime

Billy Hargrove x reader

summary: You can't shake off the unpleasant feeling in your stomach the closer you seem to get to "Watergate" as Dustin named it.

word count: 4,465

a/n: I won't spoil too much.... not proof read of any kind. There's probably tons of spelling mistakes etc. So if you find some lemme know <3 title's inspired by Chase Atlantics song 'Stranger things'

Masterlist

The gentle waves of the lake rock the boat from side to side, a bit of wind accompanying the calm lake.

"Alright, your compass is going from wonky to wonky with a capital ahhh,'' Robin says, gaze fixed on the small metallic compass. The walkie talkie crinkles a bit and then Dustin answers, "Okay, the gate should be very close to you now."

You try seeing the three kids standing at the shore, knowing very well it was way too dark to actually see them. The moon shines brightly above you, casting everything in some kind of mysterious, yellow glow. "I'll see what's down there." Steve decides and shrugs his shirt off. "What? No!" Nancy protests and they start arguing, before Steve counters with him being lifeguard as well as swim team captain.

She glares at him which he ignores. Eddie looks at you, confusion clear on his face. "They're always like that." You shrug and look at the black sea beneath you.

There was nothing you were more afraid of than water where you can't see the ground, you must admit. You watch as Steve gets ready to dive down, and you pass him the torch that you'd wrapped in a plastic bag. He thanks you and before jumping off the boat you hold his pant leg. "Be careful and come back up the second you find the gate, yeah?" he nods and playfully ruffles your hair which causes you to lightly hit his calf. "Fuck off," you groan, trying to fix your messed up hair.

Steve laughs before diving down the lake.

It's still for a while and you pray for him to come back soon. You couldn't deal with more loss and grief.

When he comes back up he gasps for air and pushes his hair back. "Alright, it glows like really red and is super slimy." Nancy informs the rest of the group per walkie talkie and you keep your gaze focused on Steve. Something didn't feel right. Usually if you got a hunch it was always right, something you'd gotten from your mother.

"Steve, come out of the water, something feels wrong." You see Eddie looking at Nancy, probably confused why you'd randomly say that. The others already knew about this sixth sense kinda thing and didn't retort anything. Steve nods and reaches out for your hand before slipping and falling back in the water. He looks down at the lake in confusion before slowly raising his head, panic evident in his eyes.

You shoot forward, grabbing his forearm only to be pulled off the boat and into the dark water. You choke on the water entering your throat and lungs, closing your eyes as the water burns against them with the speed you're rushing through it.

You see the red glow and panic sets in. This was one of the vines. The Demogorgon. Or, in this case Vecna as you'd dubbed it. There was no way out of this anymore you realize when you're being pulled through the gate, There was no feeling that could describe what you felt when arriving in the Upside Down, you think.

Fresh but ice cold air seeps through your clothes and your teeth start chattering, still tightly holding Steve's arm. He seems to have lost consciousness for a second, blinking awake. You crawl forward, desperately reaching for his hand but one of the vines circles your ankle and starts pulling you back, away from Steve.

A bloodcurdling scream leaves your throat as you're being dragged over the hard floor, various sorts of things causing tons of small scratches and wounds on your body. You try kicking the vine, trying everything to get away from this hellish pain.

It slows down as it pulls you over something big, circled by vines. You use it to your advantage and pull yourself free, quickly running back to where Steve would be. Except he wasn't there anymore, and to your horror you heard voices. Robin, Nancy, Eddie and Steve. They were talking loudly, their voices echoing through the dark space. You sob, trying to run in their direction while calling for them.

"y/n?" They heard you, you could cry from relief. Screaming for them you try finding a direction they're coming from. You turn in circles, trying to escape the lurking gray trees. The small white stuff falling from the sky snowflakes? - gathered in your hair and the cold creeps under your clothes and captures your body in a consistent shiver.

Aimlessly, you run through the woods until you find yourself standing in front of a similar house. How'd you come to stand in front of Billy Hargroves house? The vines covering it seemed to eat it up completely more than any of the other houses.

What shocks you slightly is the red glowing that emits from the inside. You frown, interest piqued. You'd lost track of the others a few minutes ago and what good would it be if you kept wandering around when you were lost anyway? You look over your shoulder at a loud screech, probably from one of the bats that were crowing the space as well as guarding the Watergate.

With your eyebrows scrunched up you step closer to the house. You'd only been here once before, in your dimension, and you'd been able to hear the loud rock music all the way outside in your car. Since you tutored Max every Wednesday (or were there for her in general if she needed someone to talk to) there were a few instances you'd brought her home. Usually she'd make you stay a block away, probably not wanting to be embarrassed about Billy. you guessed.

When he died she came to you first. She didn't tell you a lot of details but you knew he sacrificed himself, saving the town and all of her friends. You remember her crying, guilt evident in her features. You've tried all the time to get her to realize that it wasn't her fault and it was his decision but she was stubborn and didn't listen to you. You did the best you could and took her to the graveyard frequently.

You smiled and opened the door to the house, black vines creeping about and snow flakes floating through the stale air.

Entering room after room you stopped short in front of the one that must've been Max's. You figured some time ago that the upside down didn't go with time, didn't evolve. It was stuck to when it - seemingly - was first opened. 1983. The year Will went missing and all this mess started.

You run your fingers over the cold furniture before sighing. What were you doing?

Leaving the house you wince while going down the steps of the veranda. The bites where the bats had gotten you were gradually becoming more painful and you were losing like a ton of blood. Wow, of course this would happen to you. Getting pulled into another dimension and being attacked by rabid bats. You'd always wanted to experience that. Note the sarcasm.

You shakily rip a piece of your shirt off and wrap it around your middle, pulling it tight. You had some experience with bandaging and taking care of wounds - perks of having a skater friend.

"Let's find the others," you say to yourself and make your way back through the woods.

Walking through the woods without knowing where you were going or if you were even going closer to where you came from was very probably one of your worst ideas yet.

So, hearing voices made you stop in your tracks. Either you were starting to have hallucinations because of the blood loss and dehydration or your friends were close.

You watch out for the vines and make your way towards them. The voices get louder and you press a hand to the wound on your side. The blood had started seeping through the cloth tied tightly around your waist and was running down your leg in singular drops.

You skip the last few steps, finding yourself at Skull Rock. The rock towers over you just as the trees. Everything is still - a sickening gray or dark red.

"No, we first find her then we find a way out!" You're certain you hear Eddies voice exclaim, for once not sounding like the goofball he usually is. You stumble over, leaning against the rock that was holding up the big one which looked like it was floating.

"Guys-" Robin tries interrupting at seeing you lean against the stone behind them. "Not now, Robin!" Steve chides and goes back to arguing with Eddie about something. "I know that we gotta get her first but listen: it would make a whole lot more sense to find a way out, get her or find her and immediately get out of here!" So they were talking about you.

"I like Steve's idea." You giggle and walk over to Eddie, throwing an arm around his shoulders as far as it was possible. You can't hide the scrunch of your nose from the pain of moving your arm around too much as it stretches the skin where you were littered with bites.

Eddie flinches before recognizing it's you and pulling you close. "Oh my goodness, I really thought I was gonna lose you for a few seconds back there," he mutters through a sigh of relief and wraps his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder. "Missed you, too, dumbass." You laugh and pat his back a few times before welcoming Steve's hug.

Nancy was the first one to speak up about your injuries. "Steve told us that some animals attacked you and got you pretty badly." you nod, leaning against Steve with your back. "Yep." You pop the p of the word and glance at Steve, "He had to play hero and didn't wanna come out of the water quick enough and, boom, I'm being dragged over rocky floor with weird vines moving all around and literal bats trying to tear me apart!" Steve snorts in amusement as you huff and Eddie looks worried but amused.

"Dude, don't worry. She's gone through worse and here she is, ain't she?" The boy behind you tries calming Eddie who started pulling at strands of his hair. "She- she's gone through worse??" He asks in disbelief and leans forward. You giggle and close your eyes in pain.

"Yes, she's really tough." Nancy states with a small smile and waves you over. You free yourself from Steve's embrace and go to her.

"I thought about it: remember how Will communicated with us when he was stuck here?" You think for a second before nodding, "The Christmas lights." Nancy nods, waiting for you to catch on. "Fuck, you're right!"

You pass Eddie's trailer on your way to Nancy's house - hoping for Dustin and Lucas to be around in their dimension. You're a bit behind all of them as you lost a considerable amount of blood by now. Something rustles next to you and your head shoots up. Timidly, you move closer to inspect the cause of the noise. If it was another monster your best option would be checking now what kind it was.

When Eddie sees you parting from the group he decides to quickly follow you. "Hey, we just found you don't get lost again," he calls after you and comes closer. You flip him off over your shoulder and keep walking towards the source of noise.

He rolls his eyes at you and comes to stand in front of you, keeping you behind him. "Are you serious? As Steve said, I've survived worse than this." While you were flattered by his protectiveness you weren't fragile or anything and you hated being treated like you were. "I know. Just rather have you mad at me than you dying because of your stubbornness." He gives you a look and treads forward.

"What the fuck?"

The least you expect is seeing Billy fucking Hargrove standing behind the bush, leaning on a tree that isn't circled by vines. "Hello to you, too, (y/l/n)." He smirks. Several wounds covered his chest and arms, the blood either dried and so dark red it nearly looks black, as well as some fresh ones that look eerily similar to the bite wounds on your side.

"There's no way- I watched you die!" Eddie looks between you two, having no idea what's going on. "Let me in? When did you watch him die? Are you even sure about that?" He asks and raises a hand to point at Billy. "He doesn't seem dead to me." You could strangle him right now. "Eddie," you warn and glare at him before marching over to the older boy with the mullet.

"You!" billy looks confused but amused and waits for you to continue, crossing his - surprisingly muscular - arms over his chest. "Me?"

"Why are you here? How in the world are you alive right now? Max completely lost her shit when you died, there's no way you're here right now." You argue and he stiffens at the mention of his sister. "How's she?" He asks and you laugh humorlessly. "How is she? How can you ask that? She's been blaming herself ever since it happened. She has nightmares and doesn't think there is a day she doesn't say that it should've been her that got killed!" Your anger rises as you poke his chest with your index finger. He stumbles back a step before regaining himself and sending you a dark glare.

"Are you seriously blaming me when it was also your ass I saved that day?" He starts getting aggressive and Eddie gets nervous as the argument gets more heated. "No one asked you to do what you did that day! And don't think it makes you a hero all of a sudden!" It's out before you know it and you're very aware of how much of a low blow that was.

What he did that day does make him a hero and while he was a massive asshole the good definitely outweighed the bad in this case. You step back and lower your head out of shame. "Shit, I'm sorry that was out of pocket." your voice is low and you don't dare look up. "So you got some fire in you, huh? Always took you for the most stuck up person in all of Hawkins." He chuckles and you stagger. What?

"Why would you think that?" genuine curiosity and slight anger is evident in your voice but before he can answer the voices of the rest come closer. "Am I dreaming or is that you Hargrove?" Billy asks and smirks again.

"Yeah, it's me, don't cream your pants." Steve answers in a cool voice, hands on his hips in his typical mom-position he'd started doing when he became the unofficial babysitter for the kids. Billy laughs and leans back against the tree he'd parted from when your argument with him started.

"Wait, how the fuck are you here right now?" Robin asks with wonder in her voice. "Uh, well, there were two me's kinda? Like one was in the Upside Down and one was in your dimension. Since it was still me I could take over every once in a while but yeah." Billy explains without much bravado and stays standing as you're left gaping at him. All the grief for nothing, wow.

"I don't really care right now, you coming with us or not?" Nancy asks hurriedly. "Sure I'll come with you. Need someone to protect you after all, am I right?" He cockily grins and gets ready to leave. Nancy rolls her eyes and trots back in the house while explaining what they found. "All the places where the lamps are, is some type of glowing, gold dust. We're guessing it symbolizes the lamps. If we touch it, the lamps in their dimension should start flickering, meaning we can communicate with the others."

She leads you into the living room where over the table is some of that dust floating around. You reach out to touch it, an amazed smile on your lips as the ticklish feeling washes over you. "This is so cool..." Billy looks in your direction, fond look in his eyes.

While he's never really gotten along with you, he had always admired your bravery. You were never afraid of him, instead turning him down or straight up ignoring him every time. So seeing you with another dude who was having his hands all over you struck a nerve of his and he snapped at you.

He comes up behind you and places a hand on your waist, pretending not to care about the feeling of your skin, which was barely warm anymore, on his.

You scowl a little but nevertheless find yourself enjoying the feeling. Why did he have to be so fucking charming?

"We made a plan; we'll find something to communicate with them and then get out of here."

Talking through lights worked better than you thought and you could cry from relief when you heard Dustin and Lucas laugh from happiness.

You were trekking to Eddie's trailer because the others had found out that there's a gate you could pass through. When the adrenaline had worn off your exhaustion came back and you barely took note of what was happening around you anymore.

Your side was aching, everything was sticky with drying, cold blood and the headache was increasing. Great circumstances to climb a fucking rope through a weird dimension crossover.

You watch Eddie go first, then Robin and Nancy. You're left with Steve and Billy, barely registering their bickering by now. "No, you know what, y/n you'll go first." Steve calls with a loud voice and you wince at the pounding pain it causes in your head. You manage a weak nod and get closer to the rope.

Looking up your vision goes black and you panic. No, no, no, not now! You gasp and hear panicked shouts before falling over and painfully landing on your back.

"Fuck," Steve chants and tries waking you back up. The others are panicking now too and Billy tries finding something to get you through the portal with. "Alright, Harrington, we gotta get her out of here, now." Steve nods and for once they agree with each other. He informs the others and hoists your body up on the couch in the room, one of the only things that aren't overcome by the poisonou, and possibly lethal, vines.

Billy gets one of the chairs and positions it under the portal. "Alright. Eddie? We'll lift her up and you gotta catch her, yeah?" Billy sternly explains and steps up the chair. "Come here and take her carefully." Steve nods and picks you back up, making sure your head is placed on his shoulder.

He takes you by your knees while Billy maneuvers you through the portal, your hair hanging in the different direction as soon as you're through the slimy gate. Billy holds onto you, your body basically floating now. "Got her! Let go of her slowly!" Eddie shouts and grunts as he welcomes you in his arms.

Robin panics in the back and Dustin tries finding someone with a car to get you to the hospital. Billy and Steve follow suit through the portal.

"We don't have a car, we gotta walk." Lucas explains and throws your form a worried glance. "I'll take her." Billy says and walks over to you. "No." Nancy warns him. "You've been stuck there for over 6 months, doubt you have the strength to carry her right now." She decides. "Also, there's someone you should greet first before doing anything else." She throws Billy a stern glance before helping Steve secure you on his back.

"Max?" He wonders and looks around before watching the door open. A familiar redhead stands in front of the door and talks with Dustin, probably discussing the situation.

"Max..." he mumbles again, though she hears him this time. Her brows pulll together and she turns, a gasp tearing from her throat when she recognizes him. "Billy?" She asks in disbelief before stepping towards him.

Dustin watches the two reunite and decides to leave them to it, calling for Steve. "What happened there?" His older friend sighs, "Long story, dude."

Arriving at the hospital feels surreal. A nurse notices them and doctors start crowding them, getting them all to different rooms for examinations.

Billy gets taken to one too, trying to argue to get one with Max. He hadn't seen her in so long, god 6 fucking months, and now they're already parting them again. He huffs angrily and sits down on the stretcher waiting for a doctor.

When they're all checked out and gathered in the foyer Steve speaks up. "We gotta get some food, especially for Hargrove over there." He nods towards the boy's direction, who flips him the bird, and focuses back on the kids. "You wait here. Dustin, you've got another walkie-talkie?" Said boy nods and digs around his backpack before fishing one out and turning it into the right channel. "We'll notify you when we get some news about y/n." Steve and Nancy nod before getting up and making their way to one of the cars that Nancy and Robin got while the others were still with the doctors.

Everyone was eating when a doctor came to them and asked for family of you. "We're family." Nancy says and the lady looks at the group with a suspicious look, fixing it on Lucas who puts on an innocent smile. "Extended." He nods and the doctor scoffs before motioning them to follow her.

"One at a time. She lost a lot of blood and the wounds on her side had to be stitched. She'll have to wear bandages around it for at least two weeks. Is there someone that will do it? We don't think she'll be in the shape to do it any time soon." Max is the first one to nod, knowing how to patch people up very well due to her being a skater and all that.

"Alright. Here's some of the stuff she'll need." She fixes a look on the other teens, "One at a time."

Dustin rolls his eyes and sits down on one of the seats in the hallway, the others expect from Billy and Steve doing the same. When the nurse leaves, Steve turns to open the door. "Woah, what are you doing?" Billy asks and pulls him back. "Uh, visiting my best friend, want the fuck are you doing?" Billy halts in his movements, knowing well that he couldn't admit to the small crush he harbors for you. Rolling his eyes he sits down next to Robin and scoffs again.

"Dude, your crush on her is like super obvious." The girl next to him raises an eyebrow and throws him a disapproving glare. "Excuse me but who even are you?" He asks and turns back to where he can see Steve standing through the small glass window in the door.

"I work at scoops ahoy with Steve. I'm Robin." She introduced herself and recognition flooded Billy. She'd been there too, that day at Starcourt.

It's weird and disorienting, waking up in a hospital room with an IV in your arm and the unpleasant lights burning in your eyes. "Finally woke up?" Steve greets and pushes some hair behind your ear. "Finally?" You ask and look around. You sparsely remember what happened: you fainted and you were in the Upside Down. Oh, also Billy was alive?

"Took you some time." Steve explains and gestures to the clock. "We got here around 4 AM, it's 10 now."

You grimace and turn towards the door. "Please tell me the others went home and rested." Steve stays silent and you sigh disapprovingly. "Steve," you warn and he exhales. "What did you expect? Max has been worried sick and Billy is super on edge. What does he even have to do with you?" He asks, more rhetorical than anything. "Tutored Max so he probably knows 'bout me. Dunno why he cares, though. Confuses me too."

Steve hums and stands up. "Alright, I'll let Max in. She hasn't slept a wink since you were admitted. A smile creeps on your face and you throw him a small wave, "See you later." He reciprocates and leaves, Max basically storming through the door with Lucas and Dustin in tow. "You're awake!" She cheers and you smile at all of them, sitting up in the uncomfortable bed.

"Yep. And you are too. Shouldn't you be home by now?" They look guilty for a second before Dustin speaks up. "Practically, yes. But this is an exception!" You snort and nod. "Good to know."

When they leave Billy comes in, some bandaids over his arms and one on his forehead. "Morning, sleepyhead." his infamous grin takes place on his face and he sits on the edge of your bed. "Morning to you too." You greet and wait for the awkward tension to evaporate. "You scared me quite a bit when you fainted back there, you know? Not to mention that Munson dude. He's been freaking out over you." Billy scoffs and takes your hand, throwing you a genuinely concerned glance.

"How're you feeling?" You start blushing and swallow. Him worrying about you? Unexpected but a 100% welcomed for sure. "You know. How you'd feel after traveling through dimensions and being attacked by a bunch of weird rabid bats." He breathes a laugh and looks at your hand in his, his significantly bigger.

"The time in... there gave me some space to think." He starts and directs his gaze to yours. You wait for him to continue, anticipation building.

"I like you, I'm certain about that. It's, uh, hard to put into words but it's different from other girls and how I feel about them." the blush on your face darkens and you nod again. "This is embarrassing, Gosh." He laughs and turns his head away. You reach up a hand and take his face in it. "Come here you idiot."

Tugging him down you place a kiss on his lips. When you part he keeps his forehead on yours, staring into your eyes. "I'll protect you from now on. Gotta be sure you don't go missing in another world," you can't believe he's joking about that right now, this man.

"You're so weird." He shrugs and leans back again. "You gotta deal with it from now on. After all, I'm your boyfriend, aren't I?" You like the sound of that and nod, tightening the grip on his hand a little.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #Spotify

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 9 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 6.1k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Library

Chapter 9—The Very Thought of You

If you thought your day had been going badly so far, it was about to get worse. Auntie sent you on your way with a large bottle of hard liquor from her personal stash, stating: “Poor Rooster will need it more than me.”

Your heart clenches. How are you supposed to tell him? He’ll be angry—of course. It would be strange if he wouldn’t be. But you are scared. Scared he’ll be mad at you, that he won’t believe it’s really not your fault. However, you also don’t have a solution, anything to soften the blow. How do you tell someone their only hope of getting home might just have, quite literally, gone up in flames?

Well, thank god you have plenty of time to agonize over it. There’s an unexpected disruption in the train connection from the north to the capital. Well, unexpected… the night guard’s words suddenly have a different weight. You dismissed them quite easily earlier, seeking comfort in believing they were just drunk ramblings from an old, lonely man. But you’ve been walking along the deserted road to the next city, a good ninety minutes away by foot. At this rate, you should be happy you’re back home by dusk. 

And then you still have to break the news to Rooster.

You really don’t want to add his anger and disappointment to the pile of the awfulness of your day. Sighing, you trudge through the high grass, mud squelching under your boots. That said… if your roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want Rooster to keep something this important from you. If anything, that would make you even angrier. 

It’s late afternoon already, but at least it’s sunny. It’s one of the first days in the year when you can smell the early spring blooms on a gust of wind. Better days are coming. 

The bottle it glass bottle full of liquor is heavy in the makeshift knapsack in your hand. You’re barely halfway, but you haven’t seen a car pass yet. Well, no, you’ve seen cars pass, but they’re military trucks or sleek black Mercedes—neither carries the particular folk you’d be wanting to hitch a ride with.

As if they would stop for you right now. Auntie cleaned your increasingly threadbare coat pretty well, and you washed your face and hands before you left, but your pants have big dirt patches on the knees—the mud from the bank you’ve been walking on has splattered over your boots and trouser legs. You didn’t even really bother fixing up your hair, electing to tie it up with a scarf so it would be covered from the dirt in the cellar.

No one in their right mind would stop to give you a ride, which is just as well.

You haven’t been on a proper hike for a long time, and your legs actually hurt by the time you reach the station at the next town over. People are waiting, so hopefully, the trains are operating here—you skim the extensive timetable pinned next to the ticket booth. Unfortunately, you missed the last train by ten minutes, and the next one won’t be along for another half hour. 

Fuck, today is really not your day, is it?

***

Bradley thinks he might have burned a trail through the floor from all the pacing he’s been doing. You mentioned you might not be back until later, but promised to stop by to let him know what happened. He’s spent a fair share of time thinking about you, pleasant thoughts mostly—but never have you consumed every one of his thoughts like this.

By now, you should have made it to the station. The train only takes an hour—pace, pace, pace. So by now, you should have made it to the house. There’s probably some polite small talk—pace, pace, pace. You should have sent the message by now, surely. The reply should not take that long—that frequency is monitored by someone almost permanently. 

Finally, Bradley collapses on the bed. Surely, you wouldn’t dally too long if you had a reply. He doesn’t even want to consider the chance something might have gone wrong—no, you’re smart; you would not have failed when it mattered most. Your blatant confidence had surprised him, but… you delivered. If you had some extra time, Bradley would have put you through your paces a bit more and done more drills—but the fact you got this far in the first place deeply impressed him.

All things considered, this was probably the worst situation he’s been in his life. His mother dying and leaving him an orphan at sixteen after his father died before he was in elementary school would probably always be his darkest day but in a different way. Mav had also been around then to support him, and he wasn’t stuck in the Third Reich.

He can’t focus on reading anything; there’s nowhere for his thoughts to go in the small room. It’s getting on his nerves as his mind seems to be running away with him.

For all the enormous bad luck that Bradley had that faithful night he crashed in the mountains, you were the only blessing he was granted. He decided to follow that night hunter, overestimating his position and nearly paying for it with his life. He was known as a calm, conservative pilot even. Taking risks is part of the job, but Rooster likes to believe he does so in a calculated manner.

The Czech and Polish pilots always flew like they had the devil on their wings, with a bloodlust driving them that he could hardly match. One particularly crazy pilot, Hangman, would always laugh at him that he wouldn’t understand—his homeland wasn’t under occupation, after all.

He would never admit it out loud, but Hangman got to him. So he took a risk, less calculated than usual, as if he had something to prove. But as his parachute pulled him from the burning wreckage of his plane, hurtling toward the earth, he had one thought on his mind: if he is going to get out of this alive, he’d never do something this stupid again.

Sometimes, when he sees your mischievous smile, he wonders if the same anger and pride drive you as those pilots he met. Like you also have a little devil on your shoulder. He shudders at the thought of you having anything in common with someone as annoying and arrogant as Hangman.

It’s turning into late afternoon. It should all be done and dusted by now. Bradley leans out of the window, elbow on the window sill as he lights one of his last cigarettes. It's strange to know his fate might be sealed already, but he has no way of knowing how it will turn out.

It’s a beautiful day; the early spring sun feels warm. He misses going outside and walking around with you. He misses home. 

Although he’s pretty sure when he gets home, he’ll miss you.

The hours pass in a haze. Bradley is sitting at the table, shuffling a deck of cards to at least keep his hands occupied, when he hears your footsteps coming up the stairs. His breath stocks as you come closer. When you reach the final step, he expects you to knock. He’s half out of the chair in anticipation.

Nothing happens for thirty seconds like you’re hesitating to announce your presence. 

He doesn’t want to think about it. 

He refuses to believe it until you tell him.

But the ice-cold realization slithers down his spine: this is bad.

Bradley half-trips over the chair as he suddenly gets up from it. He needs to know. Pulling open the door with considerable force, he’s met with your surprised face. Your hand hovers mid-air, curled into a loose fist like you were just about to knock.

The look in your eyes tells him everything. The disappointment, the pain. He storms away from you, coming to a violent stop within just a few steps on the other side of the small room. You’ve follow him in wordlessly, looking sad and weary.

Leaning heavily on the window sill, head down; Rooster looks defeated. 

“Just tell me.” He says harshly. You bite your lip nervously as you softly put the knapsack on the table.

“We never managed to send the message.” You reply, refusing to let your voice quiver from the overwhelming emotions you are feeling now. “The system shorted, overheated, and caught fire on the second attempt.”

Rooster laughs loudly, humorlessly. You can see his shoulders move, but his head is still down. It’s a scary sound, almost otherwordly coming from him. Then, finally, he looks up, meeting your eye in the window's reflection.

“So I’m fucked.”

You don’t reply—there’s nothing you can say. There is no plan B, at least not right now.

“You really don’t have anything to say, Anya?” He is almost mocking you, lashing out in anger and grief. You shrug.

“There’s nothing I can tell you to make this better.” You reply calmly. “All I can offer is to forget for a little while.” Then, pulling the large glass bottle from the knapsack, you hold it up, knowing Rooster can see it.

Finally, he turns around, still frowning. You don’t like that look on him. 

“Are you suggesting I get drunk?” He asks incredulously. 

“We.” You counter lightly. “Do you have a better idea?”

Rooster narrows his eyes at you but finally just shrugs and sits back down at the table. 

“Did you bring cigarettes?” He mumbles, voice still so flat. It sounds unnatural coming from him. “I’ve been all out since the afternoon.”

“I figured you might be,” You keep your tone conversational, pulling two packs from your pocket. “Here, this should tide you over.”

You shrug off your coat—it’s warm in the small room. You kick off your dirty boots for good measure, not wanting to track mud and dirt through the place. 

Bradley follows your movements from the corner of his eye. You’re wearing the same pants you wore in the mountains, although they’re splattered with mud. They’re a little big on you, he notices, a belt cinching them tightly at your waist. The simple dark cotton button-up shirt you’re wearing is loose, the neckline falling a little deeper than he has seen on you before. Your hair is tied back with a simple light gray scarf, granting him a view of the elegant curve of your neck all the way to your shoulder, the smooth skin tantalizingly inviting. 

However, you pay him no mind, rolling up your sleeves and quickly rinsing the two simple white china coffee cups in the bathroom sink. It does not escape your notice of how neat everything is. Towel folded, toothbrush, razor—everything is neatly arranged in the small space.

You sit down, put one cup before yourself, and push the other towards Rooster. He doesn’t look up from his hands. He looks empty. Defeated. As everything has just now, at this moment, caught up with him. It’s true that you severely questioned his ability to take things seriously, and wondered if he actually understood his situation. But, of course, he did. And seeing him like this is painful.

Awkwardly, you try to wrench the cork from the bottle—the tops of your index and middle fingers still hurt to the touch, so you can’t wrap them around all the way.

“What happened to your hand?” Rooster’s harsh question takes you off guard. But before you can answer, he’s already peeled your injured fingers away from the cork, stretching your arm over the table toward him. It leaves you awkwardly holding the bottle in your other hand. You regard him for a moment, he’s still not looking at you, but his touch is soft.

“When the radio shorted, my hand was on the leaver,” You tell him carefully. “The surge went up through the metal.” 

His fingers trace along the reddened pads of your fingers up to your wrist, where the red scratches mar the skin further. Your palm twitches under his touch.

“Are you okay?” His question is soft.

“I should really be the one asking you that.” You reply emphatically, turning your hand and grabbing onto his. Ignoring the screaming pain in your fingertips, you lightly squeeze. 

“You already know the answer to that.” He finally looks up; the look on his face is heart-wrenching. “So humor me.”

“I’m fine,” You assure him. “It’s just a few scratches. As a kid, I once fell out of the apple tree at my grandfather’s house; I practically skidded down—both my legs were full of lacerations. I was in pain for -”

You stop. Rooster probably doesn’t want to hear this right now. You’re not even really sure why you started telling him that.

“So, a drink?” You ask instead, gently pulling your hand back. Rooster nods mutely, looking at his hands again.

You wrench the cork off, pouring a generous splash—kind of what you assume a shot would be?—into the cups. 

“Cheers.” Rooster picks up his cup without ceremony and downs it in one go.

“This too shall pass.” You don’t know what else to say, but it seems like the right thing to say. As you down your drink—shit, you overcalculated the amount—Rooster just lets out a sarcastic chuckle. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you look at him questioningly.

“What?” You ask, a little bit perturbed as you pour out another round.

“Do you really believe that?” He is serious, you realize. Frowning, looking for assurance almost.

“Show me an empire that didn’t fall.” Your retort, shrugging. 

“Even if we won’t be here to see it?” It’s so uncharacteristic of him to be so dour. You sigh and down your drink. Another overpour. These cups are treacherous.

“If we don’t have hope, we have nothing,” It’s not a particular conversation you want to have, but Rooster probably needs to hear it. “Look. We’ve been on the back foot here since the beginning—outgunned, outmanned, everything. And the resistance system has been absolutely decimated.”

You take a deep breath, staring Rooster down.

“But you are still here. I am still here. We still have a chance.” You shake your head, a sad smile on your face. “We might not see the war's end, but we don’t own the future. But it’s… it’s not really about us on an individual level, you know? At least… I think freedom is more than that.”

“Are you prepared to die for freedom?” Rooster’s question is acerbic, like he doesn’t believe you, although he doesn’t look so angry anymore.

“Aren’t you?” You counter, frowning. 

“I guess I just never thought it’d be like this.” He mumbles, staring into his mug before knocking it back.

“Like what?” You inquire, not unkindly, refilling the cups again. After this, you need to pump the breaks on the alcohol because you haven’t eaten anything in hours.

“In a foreign land. On the ground.” Rooster seems almost embarrassed to admit it.

“Instead of a blaze of glory?”

Rooster chuckles. “I suppose.” He meets your eyes again. “But you never answered my question, Anya. Are you prepared to die for freedom?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” You try to deflect.

“Stop answering my questions with questions.” Rooster looks at you sharply, but his words lack edge. You chuckle.

“Yes.” You say it with conviction, although you’ve never said it out loud before, mainly because no one has ever asked you. There was never a need for that, really, because it was a given. In the resistance, if you’re caught, you’re as good as dead: either you’re just shot directly, you get sentenced to death, or if by some strange twist of faith, you’re sentenced to hard labor, you’ll probably die in a mine or factory somewhere far away from home. There is no other way out: it’s either them or us.

Rooster just nods and holds up his cup. His face looks impassive. You lean forward, clinking your cup against his. “Cheers,” You smile. “To victory. To freedom. And,” You lick your lips quickly, in a nervous gesture. “To us.”

“To us.” Rooster echoes forlornly. As he knocks back the drink, he grimaces. It doesn’t taste any better than the first shot.

Your head is spinning a little now. You should have eaten something. At least it seems to have taken the edge off for Rooster. He looks sad but doesn’t seem angry as he pries open the pack of cigarettes you’ve brought him. You sit in silence together, billows of smoke filling the room. There’s nothing much left to say right now—you both feel awful, but neither of you wants to be alone. Rooster hasn’t asked you to go, and you don’t want to leave either. 

Sitting slumped over in your chair, chin heavily leaning on your uninjured hand, you watch Rooster. He’s leaned back, his long legs sticking out past the table. From a glance, he looks relaxed, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes, and how his mouth is set in a hard line. 

His movements are sharp, the frustration evident as he runs his hand through his hair, messing with his usually neatly combed curls. He is so devastatingly handsome—there is no way to deny that—when he’s sharply dressed, he turns heads on the street. You’ve seen them look.

But now, a little bit messy, unguarded, languidly smoking a cigarette, long limbs sprawling, feels so much more intimate. Your heart is beating faster just looking at him. You know exactly what he looks like under that wrinkly shirt and how defined his muscles are under those rolled-up sleeves. You have felt how warm his skin is and traced the broadness of his chest. God, that drink is hitting you harder than you thought it would, leaving your thoughts to wander.

“You look flustered, Anya,” Bradley comments lazily, not moving his head to look at you, just his eyes. You sit up a little bit straighter, fanning yourself theatrically. 

“It’s stuffy in here.” You reply dismissively. Pushing yourself up from the table, you dainty step over Bradley’s long legs and open the window. His eyes follow you around the room. Leaning out of the window a little bit, a gust of air cools your heated skin. It feels good, almost sobering.

Turning back around, Bradley hasn’t moved from his spot, the cigarette burning to a stump between his fingers. Your heart clenches again because there is nothing you can do to change what must be—for him—a hopeless situation. Stuck, literally and figuratively, in a small room on the top floor of a building in a strange country, thousands of miles from home, and the only hope of getting recused just going up in flames.

So now, you have to believe in both of you. Giving up is admitting defeat.

“The stars are out,” You comment. “Rooster, come see.”

Bradley doesn’t particularly feel like getting up. He doesn’t particularly feel anything right now except slightly lightheaded. But when he turns his head, he nearly does a double take—you’ve heaved yourself onto the window sill, straddling it, one leg already dangling outside. You beckon him, and he starts to shake his head. But then that mischievous smile plays over your face like a magnet. He gets up, discarding the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table.

“Bring the bottle,” You smile. “And my boots, please.”

Bradley hands you your boots. Slipping them on, you swing your other leg over the ledge.

“What are you doing?” He asks, genuinely wondering what had gotten into you. 

“Let’s go stargazing,” Your eyes are sparkling with mischief and wonder, and like a moth to the flame, Bradley follows you. Under the window, about a meter down, is a small ledge of the roof covered in black tar. Bradley had spent plenty of time looking out the window but never really noticed that his room was placed on top of the building, with a tarred ledge around it. Leaning from the window, he sees you a few feet down the ledge, waiting at a rain pipe. You beckon him again.

Bradley promised himself he wouldn’t do anything stupid anymore. He wouldn’t break any more rules—it never worked out for him anyway. Never did. It’s how he got into this mess in the first place. Unnecessary risk. 

Stargazing in the capital of Nazi-occupied territory is on his list of unnecessary risks. 

However—Bradley hasn’t been outside in over a week. It’s getting to him. He’s antsy. 

And then there’s you. Radiant cheeky smile beckoning him. 

You would know if it’s okay, right? 

“Rooster, come on!” Your whisper is carried on a gust of wind, and Bradley can smell spring. 

Fuck it. 

He swings his legs over the window ledge. It’s strangely warm outside for it being so early in the year—there is a bite in the wind, but it’s clear winter is over. Carefully shuffling over the ledge, he comes up to where you are. The wall in front of you is about six feet high, with a thick rain pipe running down the side.

You wink as you wrap your hands around the rain pipe, placing one foot flat against the wall and hoisting yourself up in one fluid motion. Then, you take another step, putting your other foot high against the wall and using your momentum to grab onto the wall's ledge, pulling your upper body up.

You were hoping to do this smoothly—you’ve done this a million times, after all, but instead, as you try to swing your leg over the edge to pull yourself up entirely onto the roof, you tip forward. Then, with a small yelp, you keel over onto the roof. You hear Rooster chuckle. 

Rolling your eyes, you pretend nothing happened, turning back to him.

“Hand me the bottle,” You whisper again. “And then climb up.”

“Why are you whispering?” He whispers back.

“Echo,” You reply simply, voice still soft. “Some crotchety old coot will probably have a fit if we talk too loudly.”

Bradley gets it but also appreciates that you don’t say it’s speaking English that will get you in trouble. He holds the bottle up for you to grab before mimicking your technique, climbing up the rain pipe. You hear the small grunt as he pulls himself up, and even in the darkness of the night, you can see the muscles in his forearms straining. At the crook of his neck, a vein appears as he flexes. You swig from the bottle, unsure if you want to commit this to memory or erase it completely.

Once on the roof, Bradley looks around. The city is quiet, with few lights on the bridges and houses flickering in the darkness. 

You pat the ground next to you. As Bradley sits down, he keeps a respectful distance. One risk is enough for tonight. 

He watches as you take another swig from the bottle before handing it to him and lying back. Averting his eyes, he tries not to notice how he can see the swell of your breasts past the opening of your loose shirt. Taking a drink, he places to bottle between you before laying back too. 

“How did you know about this place?” Bradley looks up at the sky, littered with stars. It feels strange whispering in the open air like this—as if you’re sharing some sort of great secret between you. Like in that moment, you’re the only people in the world. 

“I…” You hesitate. Would it be so wrong if there were one person in this world who knew you? “I found this place years ago with some friends.”

You hear Bradley shift next to you.

“We used to come here to smoke cigarettes in high school.”

“So you live here?”

You turn to Rooster. His head is turned to you, watching you speak. But rather than answer, you just smile. Some things are better left unsaid. He chuckles.

“I grew up around here.” You reply instead, again not quite answering his question. “I would go exploring with my friends; that’s how we found all those service entrances and stairways. I think I was around ten when we first climbed up here.”

“You climbed out of a window onto a roof at age ten?” Bradley is now fully turned to you, lying on his side, head leaning on his hand. He takes another sip from the bottle. “Why?”

“Well…” You move onto your side, too, to face him. “I uuhm… I was terrified of the ghosts that haunted the stairwells.” You chew your lip, embarrassed you’re actually admitting to this. “I thought I heard one come up the stairs, so I climbed out of the window.”

Bradley guffaws, but you immediately shush him, unable to keep the embarrassed smile off your face.

“Somehow, that explains so much about you.”

“You’ve seen those hallways—tell you wouldn’t believe they’re haunted.” You defend yourself lamely, taking the bottle from him.

“Fair.” Bradley concedes. “Do your friends still live here?”

“Most of them disappeared.” Shaking your head, you gaze off into the distance.

“Can I ask… how?”

“Deported, put to work, left the city, fled abroad—it’s hard to say.” You shrug. “There’s no way to know; most aren’t keeping in touch.”

You take a swig. There is only one person you’re pretty sure about where they are—Jakub, who joined the air force after graduation, must have made it to England. If anyone made it, it would be him. He was born lucky. Sometimes you wonder if you should ask Rooster if he had, by any chance, met Jakub in England—maybe they flew together? 

But you never do and never will. It’s information you shouldn’t have and would only put Jakub in danger. And how would you even keep it from his mother? Could you ever look her in the eye, knowing where her beloved son is, and endanger her by telling her the truth? 

Probably not.

“Enough about that.” You turn back to Bradley, a small smile on your face. “Now you have to tell me something about your childhood. It’s only fair.”

He smiles at you—finally. You nervously take another swig, ignoring the sudden blood rushing in your ears.

“Honestly, it’s probably boring compared to yours. There’s a distinct lack of haunted staircases.” He holds out his hand for the bottle. As you hand it to him, you are sure you’re not imagining that he deliberately brushes his fingers against yours.

“My dad was in the Navy, so we moved around often. So I can’t really remember many of the places I’ve lived,” Bradley sounds distant like he’s recounting something that happened to someone else. “When I was in high school, we were already living in Virginia, and I would sneak out of school to watch the planes at the nearby Naval airbase.” 

“Of course, I was found out, and the principal called my mom,” He smiles at the memory. “She grounded me for a month, and I missed the baseball championship game.”

“Oh.” You frown. Your own mother was pretty strict, but you’ve never been grounded like that. “What did your father say about it? Being in the Navy himself?”

“He had been dead for over ten years at that point.” He says it entirely matter-of-factly, without a shred of emotion. You blink at him, surprised.

“I’m sorry,” You offer. He just shrugs like it’s no big deal. He takes a drink from the bottle before his eyes settle on you again. You’re looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes like you’re trying to figure something out, but you don’t say anything. In the end, you just look away.

“So you always knew you wanted to fly?” You ask instead.

“Not always, but I can’t imagine a different life now.” His voice sounds warmer again. “Have you ever flown?”

“No,” You chuckle. “But I’d like to.”

“I could take you.”

And there it is. The teasing little comment that is so Rooster. He looks relaxed now, although he also kind of looks drunk. Your hand feels heavy as you rub it over your face—you’re pretty drunk too.

“Careful,” You tell him lightly. “I might take you up on that offer.”

“I don’t invite just anyone up with me.”

Your brain is starting to feel really hazy, and your judgment is getting increasingly impaired. It’s like all your reactions are delayed; it’s only now that you honestly feel kind of cold. Of course, it’s only a little, but you are suddenly keenly aware that you are a little too eager for Rooster’s flirty attention.

“Let’s go back in.” You offer, sitting up. Bradley follows suit, letting you lead the way. Clambering down the rain pipe, you jump down the last part, almost losing your footing on the landing. For a moment, you see the dimly lit inner courtyard a little too far out before you manage to throw your body back. A hand clamped over your mouth, as much in shock as to stifle a nervous giggle, as you lean against the wall. Bradley hands you the bottle, and his face seems to have soured—you can see the serious look on his face, wide-eyed, but you don’t notice. He jumps down, a lot more controlled than you, as you shuffle along the wall back to the window. 

Slipping back into the room, you rub your hands over your eyes. Everything is starting to spin—you need to go home.

“Do you make a habit of charging into things without regard for yourself or others?”

Rooster’s words are like a bucket of ice water being dumped down your spine. Wide-eyed, you turn to him.

“Excuse me?” You ask incredulously. He is pulled up to his full height, arms crossed, and staring you down. At that moment, you know you shouldn’t really take him on in this discussion—clearly, you’re both drunk—but yeah, you have a habit of charging into things. Especially if it’s unfair or unjust, like Rooster’s accusation. So you mimic his stance, pulling up an eyebrow. 

“You nearly pitched off that ledge and ’t even blink.” He bites out. “What would have happened if -”

“But I didn’t,” You cut him off, getting annoyed. “I know what I’m doing.”

Probably only half true right now, but the point still stands, you think stubbornly.

“You know what you’re doing…” He scoffs, staring daggers at you. “You’re a jumped-up little schoolgirl playing at war.”

You clench your jaw. What got into him? 

You should walk away. You should not engage in a drunk spat. But your sense of self-justice won’t allow you. The comment is uncalled for, and you will defend yourself.

“If I’m only playing at it, I do it well enough, considering you’re still not dead.” You counter, voice taking on an icy edge.

“You could have died just now.”

“I could have died many times over in the last few years.” You try to keep your cool. “Why are you lecturing me?”

“Your attitude is dangerous,” Rooster is livid. How can you be so blase about everything? If you died, he would be left in an impossible position. It’s making his head spin, thinking is hard, but one thought is crystal clear: the thought of you stumbling over that ledge has an icy grip on his heart. Your reaction is completely infuriating—the confidence that was endearing before now grates on him as blind arrogance.  “You are overconfident, barely competent, and don’t understand the consequences of your actions.” He seethes, voice getting louder by the syllable.

How can you not see how important you are to him? 

“I didn’t exactly choose any of this,” You remind him firmly. “I was operating in the background just fine before I found you in that coop. And even then—don’t you dare interrupt me -” Your voice could cut steel right now. 

You hold up a finger to silence Rooster, who just opened his mouth to say something—you hate it when people make unfounded accusations, you hate it when people are unfair, and you especially hate it when people talk over you—Rooster is currently expertly doing everything to make you completely lose your temper.

Bradley is actually stunned into silence for a moment. As an adult, hell, not even as a child, has he ever been told to shut up like that. He would be impressed by how fearless you are, but right now, everything from the top of your head to your muddy boots to every word that passes your rosy lips is making his blood boil.

“And even then,” You continue, voice firm, pulling yourself to your full height and planting your feet. “I’ve been doing a darn good job of it so far, so what’s your real problem?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“A bit rich, coming from you.” You quip bitterly. Your chances of getting killed didn’t grow exponentially since you met him. “Out of the two of us, you’re the one who crashed a goddamn plane.” You add haughtily. 

He looms over you, trying to get you on the back foot. But you’re not going to back down—not from him or anyone. You refuse to be intimidated like that, but your head is swimming, and somewhere behind Rooster, the floor appears to be swaying. You blink heavily, forcing yourself to focus on the flurry of angry words Rooster is still hurling at you.

“I may have crashed, but at least I didn’t burn out on a code high school dropouts easily master.” His voice is low and harsh—you cannot keep the shock from passing over your face. The cruel grin you get in return tells you he absolutely intended for that comment to hurt you. You purse your lips, quickly disguising the pain.

“How come you can’t hold a rhythm, doll face?” He is taunting you. Bradley knows he’s crossing a line, but the frustration for the last month and a half is suddenly pouring out. Everything is mixing into a poisonous cocktail within him: the stress, the pain, the worry—and you. You’re like the spark that lit the fuse on him, and now he can’t stop the raging fire. You look at him with a stony expression. It only pisses him off more. “No one ever asked you to dance? Is that the expression you wore standing at the edge of the dance floor?”

He reaches out to you, nearly trailing his finger over your face. Nostrils flaring, you swat his hand away, stumbling back on your unsteady feet. The chair you bump into noisily drags over the floor. To his credit, Rooster actually looks shocked for a moment—his hand is suspended mid-air, still reaching out to you. He is about to take a step toward you as you regain your footing.

“Don’t.” You cut at him, stopping him dead in his tracks. The shock on his face melts away like snow in the sun, and he looks at you disdainfully. Your heart is beating so hard that it makes you lose equilibrium. So Rooster finally dropped his mask—he had you fooled for long enough with that fun American attitude. 

“I didn’t choose this.” You repeat angrily, voice raw, stomach-churning like you’re about to be sick. “You don’t get to blame me for everything.”

“You think I wanted this? You think I chose this?” He suddenly thunders, taking another step closer to you, moving into your space again. Why does he insist on being so close to you? You stop yourself from physically pushing him away—you might be confident, but you’re not stupid. 

“Yes, actually.” You’re raising your voice to match his volume. “I saw your papers, remember? You weren’t drafted Rooster; you enlisted. You chose exactly this.”

Firmly, you turn away from him and grab your coat off the chair. If he has anything else to say, you don’t want to hear it. Rooster is calling out your name. He doesn’t deserve you listening. Awkwardly folding your coat into your arms, limbs heavy, you realize you probably look like a mess, disheveled and drunk. But you don’t care. You want to get out of here.

You storm towards the door. Is Rooster still talking? The beating of your heart is so loud, the voice in your head urgently calling you to leave; there’s no way you can tell. You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Hand on the doorknob, you still.

“You’re a really shit drunk, Rooster.” You tell him calmly, not turning to him; tears are burning in your eyes. You don’t even really care if he is listening. “But it’s nice to finally really meet you.”

note | finally, a regularly scheduled update x

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