#like—no?? her presentation was engaging and colorful and interesting and I wanted to look at her stuff MORE bc of it

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #helluva boss vox #vox x reader #vox hazbin hotel #alastor and vox #hazbin hotel vox #overlords #hellaverse #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #yandere Vox #yandere Vox x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #isuckatwritingsobenice infernal shadows #isuckatwritingsobenice

[yelenasdiary]

I was wondering if you could do a Wanda X masc reader. Wanda is a cam girl and reader pays her to go out on a date due to having social anxiety. Please add some angst oh and a happy ending.

Just Be Yourself

Pairing: Camgirl! Wanda Maximoff x Masc! Reader

Summary: After a dare from your friends, you asked your favourite camgirl out for dinner, of course paying her for her time.

Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Adult entertainment, Mentions of Social Anxiety, Wanda getting some unwanted attention, Mentions of physical violence | 2K

AC: I hope it’s okay that I tweaked this a little, thank you for sending it & I hope you enjoy! x

"What's the worst that could happen? she says no?" your friend said, flicking through her magazine. "That's the not point" you replied, "she'll probably think I'm just some creep like the rest of her followers. Hey, you don't know me but if I paid you $300 would you go out on a date with me? I would sound desperate" you added. 

"You're overthinking it, she is literally asking people to give her money to perform stuff on camera" your friend pointed out, "besides, I dared you so you have to do it" she added. You sighed knowing she was right, whenever one of you dares each other to do something it becomes like an unspoken rule that you had to do the dare regardless. You grabbed your laptop and opened up the woman's website.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you thought of how to ask her out to dinner tonight, but she did say she was open to these type of things. People give her money to just go to engagement parties as a plus one from what you've heard. How do you ask somebody you've only had little interaction with on a date? To dinner? You went to close the lid of your laptop until your friend stopped you, "give it me!" She shook her head, taking the laptop from you. 

"Hey,

I hope this isn't out of line or anything, but I would love to take you out to dinner tonight. I would pay you of course, just name a price. If you're interested and would like to have a fun night, I would be more than happy to pick you up around 7pm. If not, that's fine but I hope you'll think about it"

Your friend typed out the message and pressed send. "There, now it's done" she looked to you. 

"What did you say?!" You panicked. Your friend turned the laptop around to face you, "oh god" you sighed, "this is stupid!" You added. 

"I have been hearing you talk about how funny this woman is and also how you beautiful you think she is, despite her being a camgirl, I think you should really go for this" she explained. You were about to reply when your laptop made a ping like sound. 

"Hi there!

This is really sweet of you and I would love to have dinner with you tonight, are you in or around the Westview era? If so, there is a diner you could pick me up from if you'd like. I would feel more comfortable in a public setting, I hope you understand. 

As for pricing, I usually charge $800-$1,500 for events but for something like this, $500. Let me know what you think! I can't wait to hopefully meet you!

~Wanda xo"

The message stared back at you leaving you speechless. She actually replied, she said yes and even said she couldn't wait to meet you. Your social anxiety had suddenly made its appearance, your palms began to sweat and your mind was coming up with different ways to try and get out of going. As much as you wanted this, your anxiety had always been a block in the road. 

"Hey, don't even think about it" your best friend's voice brought your mind back to the present. "I'm not doing anything" you replied, walking over to your wardrobe. "You are, you're thinking of ways to not go, you're letting your anxiety win" they added as if they were inside your head.

"I'm not, I am just trying to think of something to wear" you replied, brushing off their comment.

----

As asked by Wanda, you waited inside the diner for her to arrive. You wore a pair of your favorite jeans, a plain colored tee topped with your favorite jacket and shoes. Your favorite rings on each hand and one of your favorite necklaces to finish the outfit. The clock on the wall read 7:10pm and your mind began to wonder if maybe she had stood you up. Your heart began to sink, the one time you try to put yourself out there and you get stood up, until. 

"Y/n?" A woman's voice softly caught your attention, making you turn around. You smiled softly; it was her. 

"Yeah, that's me" you replied trying to hide the nervousness in your voice. 

"Hi, I'm Wanda" she smiled sweetly, "it's lovely to meet you" she added as she reached in for a friendly hug. You were glad she didn't go to shake your hand, nothing seemed to stop them from sweating. You took a moment to yourself just to remind yourself that you've got this! Your friend's voice floated in your head, "just be yourself, she'll love you!" Reminded you that you didn't have to be nervous besides the fact this woman is a complete stranger that you met on the internet, but she was just as nervous as you were, you just didn't know it.

"It's lovely to meet you too, I made reservations at a Mexican restaurant only a few blocks away, is that okay?" You replied. 

"I love spicy food!" Wanda's eyes lit up. You smiled softly, thankful that she was excited for the place of choice. You held the door of the diner open for her as you both left, you held the door open of your car for her which surprisingly took her back a little. "I can't believe I was beginning to think that nobody liked to hold the doors open anymore" she commented with a chuckle. 

"I guess you could call me old school" you replied before closing the door. Your nerves slowly began to calm down, you'd made her smile and chuckle all before even getting to the restaurant and you took that as a small win. 

----

"I have to say, this is really refreshing. I mean, you're not like anybody else who pays me to pretend to be their partner or pays me for other things. You're sweet, so I have to ask…why did you want to take me out tonight?" Wanda asked, taking you completely by surprise while the two of you picked at the shared small bowl of nachos before your main meals arrived. 

"Oh, umm, I mean, thank you" your words stumbled, "I don't want to sound like a creep or anything but I didn't first come across you from your website. You actually came up on my Instagram and I thought you were beautiful so I followed you and then I saw your website and some of the things you do on there but I just thought you'd really nice to get to know but I totally understand if that freaks you out" you added, your palms under the table begin to sweat once more. 

Wanda smiled softly at your reply, "that's really cute actually! I am so used to people wanting 1 thing, which I guess I set myself up for that but it's really nice to not feel that tonight" she spoke. 

You couldn't help but smile in reply just as the waiter placed your main meals in front of the two of you. "So, tell me a little about yourself" Wanda looked up at you before picking up her fork. 

By the time you had ordered dessert for the two of you, plenty of laughs and jokes were being shared. The night was going wonderful, better than you could've ever imagined and your anxiety eventually became more tolerable. 

"Hey there, sorry to intrude on whatever this is but are you scarletwitch838?" a young man asked, not caring for the fact he was in fact intruding. Wanda looked up at him and sighed quietly to herself, "I'm sorry, you must have me mixed up with somebody else" she replied. 

"For real? Damn, you look just like her, look!" he replied, pulling out his phone and showing her a video she'd uploaded to her site. "H-how did you save that?! You're not supposed to keep the content!" Wanda snapped in a panicked. "I knew it! You are her! Yo, I'm a huge fan! The way you can move your body, man I've never jacked off so hard before"

"Okay, that's enough. You're being rude and I think you should go" you stood up, looking him in the eyes. 

"What the fuck are you going to do about it? You know she's a whore for the camera, right?" he laughed causing Wanda to excuse herself. You wanted to call out for her but you didn't want the man to know her real name. The man laughed once more, "I guess the bitch can't handle the truth, I hope you have a great time with her, sure as hell everybody else has" he added with a smug look.

Your body reacted faster than you could think, punching the guy in the face harder than you've ever hit anything before. He fell to the ground, "You crazy bitch! What the fuck!" he groaned. Customers around you all froze, the manger shook their head at you from afar and you knew you were going to be asked to leave. You pulled out your wallet and placed a $100 bill on the table before making your way to the bathroom to find Wanda. 

"Wanda, are you okay?" You asked from outside the bathroom. She opened the door and sighed, "I'm so, so sorry about that. I really try to avoid things li-"

"Hey, don't stress. He was out of line, you have every right to be mad. Plus, I think he got the message" you interrupted her. 

"Excuse me, I'm going to have to ask you both to leave" an unknown voice spoke from behind you, you turned to see the manager standing there with an unimpressed look. "Don't worry, we were just leaving and honestly, if anybody should be leaving it should be him. He harassed this woman, is that what you want your restaurant to stand for?" you replied. Wanda looked between you and the manager. 

"I'm really sorry, I wasn't aware that he was causing an issue. We will ask him to leave, and your night is on the house. Again, we are sorry" they replied, handing you back the $100 bill you placed on the table before. You gave them a light nod before looking back at Wanda, "I'll give you a ride home"

----

Wanda gave you directions to her neighborhood, you pulled over out the front of a nearby park out of respect for her but she insisted it would be okay for you to see where she lived. "Nobody has ever stood up for me like that" she said as you pulled up out the front of her house. 

"You don't deserve to be treated like that by anybody" you replied looking over at her. 

"I had a really great time tonight, I really hope this hasn't ruined it for you" 

"Ruined it? This was the best date I've ever been on. Even with that crap, I had a really fun time with you. You're funny, you're sweet and really, really beautiful. I'm not usually this straight forward like this but I just want you to know that I don't see you like how he did" you replied with a soft smile, "you're person just like everybody else and so what, you make some money online, we all need to make money to live. So who is he to judge how you make your money" you added. 

Wanda smiled before leaning over and placing a kiss on your cheek, "I'd love to see you again, if you're up for it" she said as your cheeks went red. "I'd love that" you replied with a flustered look. 

"Good, keep that money, I don't want you pay for my time. You deserve it out the money" she replied, "I'm going to put my number in your phone, text me when you get home, okay?" she added. You nodded before you punched in your passcode and handed her your phone. Your stomach filled with butterflies, your night started off with nerves and anxiety was now ending with flustered cheeks and butterflies. It was safe to say you were excited to plan the next date.

Taglist:  @boredandneedfanfics | @music-4ever | @karmasgxrl | @milkeeteaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @swaqcenix | @mostlymarvelsstuff | @scarlettbitchx | @mallyka-blog | @itsalwaysskorpioszn | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #Elizabeth Olsen #camgirl! wanda

[setsugekka]

↳ Forever was simple: meet a man you love, and live happily ever after.

A hope built on lies, and when it all comes crashing down, you find a new faith inside of the atrium at the countryside.

painter!lee minho x fem!reader/prince!hwang hyunjin x fem!reader (side pairing) — arranged marriage au, historical au. royalty, slow burn, angst, idiots in love, sexual content. [26k wc] cws: themes of vaguely period-typical sexism, themes of loneliness, (heavy) pining + the poor decisions that sometimes result from that, themes of social anxiety + using alcohol to cope, heavy sexual content.

𝕀.

Everything around you glitters in the ambient light of the evening masquerade ball.

Tables lined with beautiful cloths sit along the edges of the ornate hall, piled high with decorative and delicious foods. Amber, bubbling drinks flow and occasionally spill out of long, crystal glasses held by perfectly manicured hands holding them just a little too excitedly.

The kind of night life that you have grown so accustomed to.

Your dress is stunning and perfectly to your tastes, hair styled to match and draped in decadent jewels to showcase yourself with. The suitors are dressed much in the same, though in far more drab colors as men tend to do. This is of no consequence to you, because your eye is set on only one in particular.

Crown Prince Hwang Hyunjin.

You watch him from across the marbled floor, through groups of guests who might as well not even be present with how rapt your attention is on him. He is tall and broad, far from lanky but toned enough to give the impression of a certain kind of sturdiness that has always edged a particular curiosity in you. Hyunjin's hair is black, tied back from framing his face with its length, and you watch him laugh through conversations with other women who likely desire the same thing as you.

Engaging in private rendezvous with potential suitors is strictly against the royal code, all the more reason that no one must ever find out about the edge above the rest that you have taken for yourself in regards to him.

The memories date back to the summer—winter now—a late night out with other women that you've mostly grown up with and set as your entourage. The first time, running into the royal Hwang entourage without prying eyes to watch you felt like something of a hint, and the second, more of a blessing as the night ended with soft hands against your skin, and plush lips pressed against your own.

These secret encounters carried on through the months, as well as implicit promises in relation to the royal choices soon to be made. Between the sheets and with warm breaths of air exhaled against the shell of your ear, Hyunjin has promised time and time again: "You will be my choice, you have nothing to fear, my love. It's all for show and display, isn't it?"

You believe him.

"Are you going to spend the whole evening in the corner by yourself?" A woman steps up beside you with a knowing grin, and you offer your elbow to her side lightly in response.

"I've no particular interest in showing myself off like some prized cut of meat for men to fawn over, you know this, Sana."

This woman, a friend since your earliest days, looks out across the crowd not unlike yourself just moments before, and then offers yet another smile of understanding before speaking.

"Not for men, perhaps, but for a man," she says. "Are you really so sure that you only carry interest in Crown Prince Hwang? There are so many other perfectly acceptable suitors to choose from."

You sigh, taking a small sip from your glass. "I do not doubt that there are, but when have you ever known me to be the type to spread myself so thin between any such possibilities in life? I have always been something of a single-eyed woman."

"That much I do know, yes," Sana says with a small laugh, "but I don't want you to be left with nothing in the event of things not turning out the way that you wish them to. The Prince has many hopefuls, and while he is the only prince, would it be so bad to consider a life outside of the royal court? You've never much cared for the excessive nature of their goings on, anyway."

Turning to look at her, you cast Sana a questioning glance, "I have grown up in the lap of luxury, it is all that I know, are you to imply a step down is what suits me rather than a step up?"

"I would never, but there are many levels between poverty, and royalty."

"Anything other than a step up, is a step down," you say firmly, pressing the rim of your glass to your painted lip again. Your eyes wander out towards Hyunjin once more, and a slight curve upwards takes them, perhaps some enjoyment in the fact that you know something that even your closest confidants do not. Perhaps some enjoyment in the fact that you have already won a game that the others still insist on competing in. "Besides, do you think not of me as future Queen?"

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing, just remember me and all of our times shared once you begin lobbing off the heads of people who dare to oppose you."

Feigning horror, you reel exaggeratedly, "Now who is assuming things?"

Sana's hand finds the small of your tightly bound back, and lightly pushes you forward.

"Go dance with your future husband, would you?"

𝕀𝕀.

While far from unusual for your nights to end up like this, perhaps after everything that this one has presented, the aura casts something different, something intangible and strange that you can't quite grasp despite its familiarity still.

The masquerade ball winds down three levels from where you reside now. People still dance and laugh and shout amongst themselves, though the largest collective of guests have long since begun their journeys back to their own homes. Your entourage awaits you somewhere outside for much of the same, though they have long since learned not to bother coming and finding you in the event that you have disappeared.

For that, you are thankful, because nothing good can come of being discovered like this.

The room is small—a sitting area with little more than a table, chair, window, and tall bookshelves filled to the brim with just that. Moonlight shines in as the only illumination, faint and appearing cool to the touch if one were able to. Only enough to find one's way, and plenty to remain hidden in the darkness while people engage in their disagreeable deeds.

Lips hurriedly find your own, teeth nipping at them with a needy hunger. Palms graze up the outside of your legs, dress hiked up and leg eventually along with it. The door is pinned shut by your back firmly pressed against it, your head tips back with a small thud, Hyunjin chuckles under his breath at the sound, and then drives his hips forward to give the both of you what it is that you've been waiting all evening for.

"I saw you speaking with Lady Sana this evening," Hyunjin whispers, mouth feathering against your neck. "Am I wrong in suspecting that you were speaking about me?"

He presses himself forward, pulls your body down and against the effort simultaneously, ensuring no space is left between your figures. You gasp at the feeling, and he smiles at the sound, fingernails digging into the flesh of your thighs and hips in places that you don't dare let any of your house staff see.

"You would not be wrong," you reply, forcefully maintaining some semblance of composure. "Only good things, of course."

Chest pinned against your own, Hyunjin pulls back, then presses into you again. The glide is smoother this time, and you can't help the moan that escapes you suddenly.

"Have you told her?" he asks, drives quicker and less shallow than before. "I must announce my decision tomorrow afternoon, not long to wait now."

The ability to converse is leaving you with each steady roll of Hyunjin's hips. Your fingernails grip tightly into his suit jacket, though it grants you little purchase with the smoothness of it. Harder, faster; the tell-tale signs of nefarious activities beginning to be heard in rhythmic fashion against the wood of the door, as well as the explicit, unmistakable sound of skin meeting skin.

"No," you manage to say, though barely, "I would never, would never jeopardize what we have waited so long for."

Hyunjin's lips trail up your neck, along the edge of your jaw and settle lightly against your own. He kisses you gently, then merely sits there to drink down the gasps and whimpers of you accepting him. There is little time for this—something that the both of you know—rolls and snaps of his hips become quick, erratic in order to meet his end, and so he does with the kind of rapidity that leaves you terribly wanting and wishing for more.

There is a parting kiss left to you, and Hyunjin readjusts himself so that he can reemerge into the public. Smoothing your dress and slipping out from the doorway, he cracks it open to leave but looks back at you with a smile that you can only assume to be full of sly adoration for you, and for this. The joys of engaging in such things unbeknownst to others, the excitement of deception.

"A shame that tomorrow we will put an end to this, isn't it?" he says.

A shame indeed, you think to yourself. And then he is gone.

𝕀𝕀𝕀.

Just as you had anticipated it would, the city streets come alive for the naming of the Crown Prince’s companion.

Bodies crowd around you by every inch, music performed with accompanying dancers displaying their crafts as well as shop setups lining the way selling beautiful merchandise; hand crafted with care that shines blindingly under the sunlight above.

As you move along your way, the numerous scents of charred meats and grilled vegetables infiltrate your senses, all encompassing and inviting in a way that makes you almost wish to give up on what it is that you are meant to do today. In order to keep your mind set, you remind yourself that soon you will be at the receiving end of royal chefs and all that it is they have to offer you. There is charm to the street cooks and their home grown and cut ingredients, but nothing matches the knowledge and adeptness of the throne.

You have dressed simply today, not wanting to draw attention to yourself nor wanting to appear expectant. Reaching closer to the stage, the bodies are packed in far more tightly, as do the frequency of other potentials come more into vision. So many women; hair stacked high and curled in such a lovely way, all standing in wait in their best dresses with moderate jewelry. It is cold today, and the lavish, heavy coats that hang around their shoulders allude to as much, but you are warm with a deep understanding of what you are to gain this afternoon.

 A few rows back from the front of the stage, you find Sana as well as another friend shared between the two of you, Tzuyu. A beautiful woman wrapped in dark vermillion red with black hair that hangs so opposingly to Sana's blonde. They both smile and greet you, as do you, to them.

"Are you anticipating the naming as much as the rest of us are?" Tzuyu asks, a bright, cheerfulness to her tone that gives her something of a charmingly juvenile expressiveness. "So many women are here in wait, I do wonder what His Highness has in store for us."

"A difficult choice awaits him, no doubt," Sana adds, glancing up towards the place where he will soon call his decision towards the people. "I question how these sorts of decisions could ever be made through matters of the heart, but I suppose when it comes to royalty, the heart is of the least concern."

Pulling your coat tightly against yourself, you force back the smile that wishes to take your lips. "I trust that he will make the right call, do you not?"

"I'd sooner disappear into the forest, never to be seen again than dare speak ill of the royal house and their choosings," Sana says through a laugh. "Besides, I would be banished to such a place for doing so, anyway."

"You speak in theatrics," Tzuyu scoffs, a roll of her eyes punctuating it. "The rulers of our country are not so sinister."

"One can only hope, but knowledge of the Crown Prince and his ways are not well known to the people, only time will tell if he is as benevolent of a ruler as His and Her Majesty are," Sana says.

You look at her questioningly, "You suspect otherwise?" you ask, but she is quick to shake her head.

"No, but I am realistic in all of the possibilities that lie before us. Quite the contract, in fact, I have heard rather good things."

Sana's tone is peculiar to you in a way that you find difficult to pinpoint as she speaks on the intricacies of Hyunjin's personality. Her face is simplistic enough to not give anything away, but the sound of her voice carries a sort of inflection when referring to him that settles a strangely ire spark within your chest.

You are given no time to question it further, however, because the royal guards set themselves perfectly in place along the stage, and the arrival of the throne is loudly announced from beyond.

His and Her Majesty step forward first, luxuriously sparkling with expensive jewels and fur coats that you would otherwise never hope to afford, not even from your own place of incredibly comfortable class. The two of them settle in the background, and without wasting any further time, the man that you have grown to love and adore enters the stage in long, tall strides that exude confidence and elegance both.

Thankful for your place in the crowd, you gaze up at him and await his eyes to meet your own. A scroll is handed to him by one of the royal staff from just outside of the main stage, and he slowly unfurls it for all waiting eyes to see.

Hyunjin, all white in attire and garnished with a stunning sash that weighs heavily with brooches and sigils, inhales deeply and then looks out towards the crowd. You stare expectantly, because this is your time. So many nights shared hushed and secret between the two of you, discussed between sheets and pillows of just this very moment that will be granted unto you. His eyes do not find yours, but it is of no particular concern to you, as there will be so many more times for adoring moments to be had between the both of you from this day forward.

No more secrets, no more hiding your love for one another.

"Thank you for gathering here today, it is an honor for me to be able to share this with the people of my country. I do not wish to take much of your time, as there are far more convivial activities for you to be partaking in, aren't there?"

Gentle laughter resounds through the crowd, and Hyunjin smiles ever so slightly at the sound of it before glancing down at the paper in hand once again.

"With my greatest pleasure, I will announce to you the future Queen of the Hwang throne…"

Excitement flows through your veins, head light and nearly dizzying as you await the call. You clutch tightly to your robe, knuckles white and forcing your breath steady as the seconds pass by you like decades until the name is called.

A name is called.

"Minatozaki Sana."

A name that does not belong to you.

From just beside you, a shriek falls from Sana's lips but is forced back halfway through, presumably as to not embarrass herself. Tzuyu clutches at the friend’s shoulders and the two of them celebrate with covered mouths, wide eyes, and hushed shock. The world dulls into a kind of unfelt, nonexistent quietness around you as you stare forward and towards this man; this man that you have shared your body and a bed with, so much of your time and trust with.

He has betrayed you.

You can no longer hear the other women around you, shrouded in disbelief as you gawk at him. Something within you wishes to disappear—humiliation beginning to thrum up and across your skin—there is a small token of solace in the fact that no one else knows of your engagements with him prior as it is widely and heavily frowned upon for the both of you, but this knowledge does nothing to ease the pain that swiftly starts to replace all of the other initial feelings that have befallen you in these seconds passing.

The dizziness begins to set in faster and heavier, you realize that you must take your leave now. You take a step backwards, bumping into another saddened hopeful, but don't even have your wits about you enough to apologize for having done so. Sana and Tzuyu grab at you, say something, but you cannot hear it through the thick blanket of betrayal that casts so heavily between you, and them. Perhaps you congratulate her, words leave your lips but you haven't the slightest clue of what they are. Sana is smiling, crying, so perhaps they have been adequate enough.

Another step back, and you look up towards Hyunjin again. This time, his eyes find yours, and all he offers you is the faintest of wicked grins.

You take your leave quietly, without another word. Heart hanging heavily and not allowing him to take the tears from you that he has so evilly and rightfully earned.

𝕀𝕍.

You are not given time to grieve your loss, as if to intentionally add insult to injury.

Unfortunately, your parents can only be as understanding as information granted allows them to be. The first month, you are given space to wade through your reasonable disappointment, but past that point in time, questions of your next potential suitor once again begin to find themselves at the forefront of discussion amongst the dinner table. You did not know this man, I understand your disappointment in not being chosen, but it's high time to look forward and set your sights towards other potentials, your mother says. Royalty is not everything, there are plenty of other perfectly well-to-do men to take your pick from, your father says.

You tell them that you will look, with no intention of truly doing so. Once the second month passes by with little more progress, you begin to find the signs around the house of your parents taking matters into their own hands.

Letters line the desk of your father’s library room, and one in particular causes the hair at the back of your neck to stand on end.

Only partially sticking out from beneath the stack, you just so slightly pull the corner to unearth more of the words that bring a sickness to your stomach. 

"Would be honored to be chosen as your daughter's suitor. The estate is grand and well-kept, though rather empty of life—" the sentence is cut off, you skip to the next area that you can read. "Staff around the clock. Any endeavors she wishes to engage in will be made available—"

The spin inside of your stomach has you reaching forward and clutching at the sides of your father’s desk. It has only been two months, and already there are discussions of having you shipped out and elsewhere, to a strange man that you have never met, and will be expected to placate in all of the ways that one might. While these sorts of scenarios are nothing new to you—the knowledge well known—this was never supposed to be you. No, you were to marry into the royal house, to be made Queen, and having done so through a shared love. 

Not pawned off to a stranger who intends to keep you as a moderately cared for pet. You have heard the stories of other such arrangements before; the best that you can ever hope for is a perfectly tepid and boring man who has no interest in your being there, and has only accepted it for the offerings that such an agreement carries between the families in a monetary and societal sense.

How could your parents do this to you? The truth of the matter, however, is that they do not know the intricacies of what it is that they are doing to you. The details of your prior goings on. They must never know, and god forbid potential suitors were to ever find out about your involvement with the Prince beforehand…shunned and displaced, you will forever remain.

Turning towards the doorway, you begin to take your leave. The wheels are in motion and there is nothing left for you to do. Moving forward, you will await the day that your father comes to you with the news of having come to an agreement with a man for the arrangement of your marriage, and you will grin and bear it as daughters of high class households are told to do. In the meantime, you will hope and pray that the man chosen by your father is a kind one, a simple one. Dull and uninteresting and with only enough attention to give to his own things.

𝕍.

Writing takes you by the soul, and always has for as long as you found yourself able to hold a pen.

Your timing in finding out about your father’s misdoings an impeccable sort, because it is only two days later that he finds you in the large study of your manor and informs you of the news. A decision has been made about your future—one that you have had no part in making—and you will be sent off in two weeks time to the northern countryside to live with a man who he describes as "kind, albeit a little eccentric from what I can gather." The documentation has already been signed, and as far as you are concerned in a legal sense, are now married to someone whose name you do not even know.

"Lee Minho," your father says quietly, and you can't help but wonder if the airiness to his voice is of true sadness in having done this to you, or a feigned one, only given because he believes it to be what you desire of him. "He's a painter, quite gifted. A very well-off man, you shouldn't worry about wanting for anything in the absence of our affluence."

Hand gripping the pen tightly, still pressed hard against the paper, you find yourself indifferent to whether or not he can see the displeasure washing over you.

"Understood, I'll have my belongings packed by the handmaidens in proper time."

Your tone is simple, offering nothing more than the most basic of expressions. He does not reply to you with any sort of swiftness, and instead sighs as he turns to make his exit.

"I'm sorry it had to come down to this," he says suddenly, and with no warning. "As you know, you are coming up on your age and—"

"I know, father," you reply, just as flatly as before and continuing with your work along the page. "It is understood."

He leaves, and your scribbling comes to you with a slightly more erratic speed.

𝕍𝕀.

The goodbyes shared with your family carry little weight, and while there is a large part of you never wishing for this day to have come, there is another area that finds solace in no longer having to live under the roof of people who have done so wrongly by you, and with such great ease.

All you needed was time, and you were not given that. Is it so difficult to carry empathy for people who are hurting? To cast aside asinine traditions of age and worth for the sanctity of caring for those that share blood? 

Sitting in the back of the carriage as it plods along, you stare out of the small window and contemplate just that. What is family, if not the people meant to care for you above all else? Hyunjin betrayed you with a kind of extravagant ease, but your family, he was not. What excuse do your parents have to cast you aside so eagerly? All but sell you off to a man and for no other reason than to maintain social appearances. Yes, my daughter married that famous painter, Lee Minho. How exceptional and prized such a partnership is. 

The journey is a long one, and you hope to have settled in your anger by the time that you arrive. You have no interest in maintaining any sort of exceptional appearances with this man, but perhaps at the very least, he does not need to be on the receiving end of your indignation.

Instead, you fantasize about the perfect life you may be able to cultivate upon your arrival. Perhaps there are perks to him being involved in such a solitary way of life; you imagine two sides of the same mansion, one for you, and one for him. The painter and the writer, and never shall they meet.

𝕍𝕀𝕀.

Nighttime falls upon the land before you make your arrival, and late into the evening do you come. 

The estate is seen long before you come upon it, with a handful of lights standing out against the otherwise stark darkness of the countryside surroundings. You recall a mention of the home being relatively lifeless, and so few lights on inside certainly give truth to that. Barren trees line the street and as far as the eye can see given how deeply into winter it still is. There is little snow piled up into little hills along the ground, but it is impossible to see the vastness of the land without proper daylight to guide you.

When you arrive, a handful of house staff are there to greet you. Three women smile and bow, help you out of the carriage and then move along to retrieve your things. One remains with you, and you pull your jacket tighter so as to not allow the frigid air to touch you.

"It is much colder in the countryside than what you are used to," she says gently. "You'll get used to it in due time, but it can be frightening at first."

You glance at her, though not for long. It feels strange to be attended to by staff other than those that you are used to being handled by. This strange woman—older but softer in demeanor—smooths a hand down your arm with little more than a feather-light touch, and then offers you a slight yet understanding smile.

"My name is Mai, I am the head of the housing staff, you'll be seeing me around quite often, so I hope that we can grow comfortable with one another quickly. I understand that this is difficult for you, and strange, so please take your time. There's no rush to become acquainted with myself or the estate grounds."

It's only then that you come to realize the stark lacking of someone else's attendance to your arrival. You glance around slightly, perhaps you have missed him? But there are no men, and so, you ask the question, "What about Mr. Lee?"

Mai's features drop ever so slightly, like she feels some level of sympathy for you. Her hand smooths over your arm again, then gently tugs you towards the large doorway.

"The Master of the house will seldom make himself known, I wouldn't worry too much about that, dear."

"He didn't even come to welcome me, a strange sort of fellow to not bother greeting his wife upon her arrival," you say pointedly. It garners another, particular sort of look from the woman bringing you inside.

"Yes, the Master has been referred to as strange before, this would not be the first time. Please don't take it personally, or as some sort of slight towards you individually. I'm sure that given enough time, the two of you should meet and become acquainted with one another."

You chuckle under your breath, "Husband and wife, acquainted with one another. What have my parents done."

Though your wish upon arriving has ultimately come true, you sift through the confusion in your feelings regarding Minho's disinterest in finding you. The woman that he has taken into his home, agreed to marry, surely expected to have children with—yet with no apparent interest in your being there whatsoever. Stepping inside of the home, it shines and exudes beauty, almost like a museum. Pieces of painted art and statues sit at every inch, as far as the eye can see, but all you can think about is the absence of the man who has beckoned you here.

"I apologize for the darkness of the estate, as you know, it's quite late. I hope that you will take it upon yourself to wander tomorrow during the day. Everything is yours, please make yourself at home." Mai extends a hand forward and towards the large staircase, then points upwards at the centered emptiness created by the winding steps. "At the highest level is the atrium, the only place that is strictly off limits. The Master does most of his work up there, though it's difficult to simply stumble upon, no cause for concern as far as that goes."

Continuing to gaze up at what feels like forever, you slowly bring your attention back down and then fully towards Mai.

"Why has he brought me here?" you ask.

A single corner of her mouth perks, as if contemplating offering a smile that may or may not be apt. Besides that, however, the only expression of feeling you can find amongst her features is that of compassion, and perhaps, maybe even pity.

"As you know, these sorts of things tend to be about maintaining appearances…" Mai trails off, likely on account of having nothing more to add to the fact. It is plenty enough, and indeed, you are very well aware.

"I'd like to be taken to my room now."

There's a hazy numbness that finds your limbs as the staff take your things and begin moving towards the stairs. This is your new life, your new normal for the rest of your life. A loveless existence, a loveless marriage with a man that you will scarcely meet. You wonder, albeit briefly, what you have done to doom your existence to that of such fleeting tenderness. 

Hyunjin did not love you, but he was willing to pretend, and while your body was beneath his, you could so easily believe it.

Minho does not love you, and will not even grant you as much. No willingness to try, no interest in feigning the possibility of as much. You are not so foolish to expect to fall in love with this man, but is it so wrong to wish for moments that offer themselves to the fleeting fantasy of it? Infrequent dinners, shared glances from down the hall, and if all goes well, even a kind of friendship developed amongst incapable lovers.

Your bedroom is stunning and immaculately decorated. Mai informs you that anything that you wish to have added or removed is yours to have, and that she will see to it being done swiftly. The walls are lined in a dark, royal blue and accented at the corners with incredible, gold fillings that make the estate feel more like a castle than a simple home for only one man and his house staff. 

The thought is appreciated, but you truly cannot fathom wanting for more, not in the physical sense of owning and acquiring physical things. The emptiness inside of you is so much heavier and deeper than the shade of the walls, or the perfectly waxed oak of the floors.

"Thank you," you say. The words are small, and sound far more defeated than you would like them to. Mai is heavenly, everything that you could ever want from someone that you're likely to be spending the majority of your time here with. "What time shall I come down for breakfast in the morning?"

Mai smiles in the doorway, her light gray dress swaying with every slight movement that she makes.

"Eight is standard for the house, but whenever you prefer. If you are an early riser, we can see to it that it is ready and waiting for you by the time you find your footing."

You glance at your handbag, manuscript of your writing sticking out by the corner from it and make your decision going forward.

"I am something of an early morning type. I like to write, I find that I do my best work before the rest of the world begins to stir," you say, forcing a small smile into your lips. "I don't require much, especially just for one person. Just some small breads with butter and coffee will suit me just fine."

Mai nods happily, so obviously delighted by your willingness to allow her to do what she does here. "Of course, anything you wish. If you need anything else in the morning, please don't hesitate to inform any of the staff, we want to make your transition here as smooth and seamless as possible."

"Thank you," you say again, and Mai takes her leave.

Sleep does not find you well that night, despite the weariness of your body from the travel. Instead, your mind races with possibility and wonder about the ghost that you now share a home with, and when you finally do find rest, all that is there to greet you now is the dark, faceless silhouette of a man that you may never come to meet.

𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀.

Time at the estate feels as though it crawls, and yet slips away and through your fingers in ways that make it feel as though it doesn't really exist at all.

Another month passes you by, a new routine set into motion not unlike yours from back home. Different settings, different foods offered; scents that arrive to you like they are foreign and fabrics against your skin that feel entirely different from that which you have become accustomed to. Life here is easy, and for that, you are thankful, but the dull ache of listlessness begins to take hold of you faster than you might have anticipated it to, and your curiosities about the manor creep up and make themselves known to you without much of an ability left in you to fight them off.

You have yet to meet Minho, even in all of your time here. A month is not long to spend in one place, but feels like a lifetime to not have met the person that you live with, the man that you are married to and meant to spend the rest of your days alongside.

Writing, at the very least, comes to you with incredible ease while cased inside of these walls. Your manuscript—a sort of anonymous autobiography of your life—grows and grows like it is showered with all of the sunlight and nutrients of a lovingly kept garden. There is nothing else for you to do here, after all.

These routines come to you naturally, not one to stray from those things that come naturally and comfortably to you. In the mornings, you wake early to head downstairs to eat warm, buttered bread and take your cup of coffee; leaving towards the large study that sits looking off into the flowerbeds with a large, never dirtied window to grant you such a view.

Books surround here, as do their smells. You could never hope to read them all, though you might like to. When particularly down about your circumstances, you consider the fact that you have ample time to begin such an endeavor, as nothing else inside of this building will ever bother to ask for time from you.

One day after the mark of a month from your arrival, you stay up a little later than usual and slowly sip an aged, red wine from the shined lip of a glass. Your nighttime gown already drapes from your body, but you have no such intention of finding sleep any time soon.

For one reason or another, the atrium calls to you silently in the ambient darkness of the house.

The house staff is long asleep, nobody lurking the corridors to ensure that the inhabitants are not allowing the whimsy of curiosity to get the best of them. You step out and into the hallway, small candles lining the way and towards the stairs that lead further up, guiding lights beckoning you, asking you to follow them, telling you to take liberties not truly afforded to you.

So you do. Up so many flights, a climb that feels endless at points, until of course, you reach the top. 

Perhaps you had expected too much, built up the possibilities so much in your mind that whatever it is that you might find here never standing a chance in living up to your imagination. There is little that greets you once you climb the last step; no warning signs, no guards or traps set for intruders stumbling upon this place. Instead, you find an incomprehensible mess along the large and wide expanse of floor. Canvases sprawled as far as the eye can see—some still basking in their unmarred perfection, others splashed with color or linework—paint pots and filthy brushes, palettes that appear as though they've never seen the loving touch of water to clean them.

Furthest away from where you stand, you find a table and a single chair, though it would not seem to be used for its intended purpose with the way items have been set against and atop them. There are papers sitting on the wood, however, and your budding curiosity gets the best of you even more as you carefully step forward and over all of the belongings that coat the floor.

The floor beneath you is sturdy, and for that, you are thankful. There are no creaks of footsteps to alert anyone of your presence here, and when you arrive at the table, you find piles upon piles of letters pinned down beneath dirty, likely forgotten jars of water.

The penmanship of one draws your attention, familiar and loud as it stares back at you. It is from your father.

This date is recent, one of the few things that you can make out from where it sits. You care little for maintaining your invisibility here now, and pull the sheet out from within the others so that you can read it in full.

You realize quickly upon scanning it that you did not know what to expect, but what it is that you have found now somehow sits even more strangely in your chest. Your eyebrows furrow as you take in the words from your father—they are nonsensical in every sense of the word—incomprehensible when paired with the realism of your life at this place.

One part reads: I am happy to hear that the two of you are getting along so splendidly. Of course, it is impossible to say when putting together such matters, but I had something of a feeling that it would be right, and I am so blessed to find that this meeting has been a successful one.

He has been lying to your father ever since your arrival here.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Your attention shoots up from the letter, which drops from your hand on account of the shock in being found. What jars you from your thoughts much more than having been caught, however, is not that fact in and of itself. Rather, it is the fact that it is the voice of a man that has questioned you.

And looking up from here, back towards the stairs, the moonlight shines in from the glass ceiling panels of the atrium, down onto the face of a man with somewhat long and relatively unkempt black hair that curtains in front of his eyes delicately. His jaw is strong, sharp; outlining narrow eyes and lips that settle into a somewhat upturned position when not forced into another shape.

Could it be…?

You do not respond right away, and neither does he press you further for a reply. Instead, the man carries himself forward and kneels down in front of a particular pile of painting supplies. Perhaps you hadn't taken careful enough notice of them, the way that the paint is still fresh and wet, now that you look at it.

His shirt is white, sleeves rolled up along his forearms and cuffed carelessly at the bend of his elbow. He appears strong, not at all the dainty, frail image of an artist type that one might typically assume someone like this to be. Somewhere within you swims the possibility that this is not the man that you are married to, merely some other person who also is granted the ability to use the atrium for its assigned purpose, but the thought seems asinine with the evidence presented in front of you.

He grabs a brush, takes a palette into hand and dips the bristles into something dark. One stroke, then another onto a canvas that has already been seen by his hand previously. He ignores you for many long moments, and as a result, you merely stand there in silence and watch as he continues on.

The brush dips into a jar of water, swirled around and faintly clinking against the glass. Then, the man looks up at you again.

"Is there?"

Forgetting that there has ever been a question posed, your mind races to catch up to what it is that he's asking. Nervousness catches your limbs, not knowing what to do with your hands, your feet, the expression on your face when suddenly and finally addressed. 

But you have no interest in answering his inquiry, and instead, pose one of your own.

"Why have you been lying to my father?"

"Ah," he says, the sound quiet and coming out with a knowing exhale. His attention drops back to the canvas and colors in front of him. "Do you make it a habit of reading other people's mail, then?"

"We've not even met once since I moved here, yet you're telling my father that we're getting along swimmingly, why?"

"Are we not?" Minho says, his engagement in the discussion confirmation enough of the fact that this is him. "No arguments, no raised tones or names called. As far as I'm concerned, we're getting along as well as one might hope, all things considered."

"We have never even met!" you nearly yell, dropping your volume at the tail end with the way that you know voice carries through the halls of the estate. This is a discussion meant for the two of you alone. "The least you could do after all of this time is introduce yourself to me, especially if you're going to be lying to my parents about the goings on out here!"

Minho looks up at you then, but his face is empty of feeling. "This is why I thought it best that we not meet, now I have to tell him that things have taken a turn," he says.

His face does not allude to it, but his tone very much does in the way that the faintest hint of amusement can be discerned throughout his words. Hearing such coyness does nothing to calm your growing resentment towards him, if anything, only adding fuel to the budding fire.

"Do you think this is funny?" you ask, anger laden in your voice. "Is that why you brought me out here? For your amusement, so that you could laugh to yourself in the late hours of the night about the woman that you're keeping holed up while I rot away inside of these walls and lament what my life might have been if my father had only allowed me a little more time?"

Stare unwavering, your eyes remain locked onto Minho's once you finish speaking, and he is not quick to reply in any fashion. Silence slips in between the two of you, only the faintest ticking of an old, antique clock stationed off to the side heard between the nothingness growing inside of the atrium.

Then, he sighs.

"I brought you out here because of the nature of our society and the expectation of certain norms therein. You know this as well as I do, what is expected of us by certain ages. Unfortunately for you, both of our time is nearly up and as a result, this is how fate would have it."

He explains it so matter of factly that the entire concept of these arrangements feels strange and foreign to you, despite its familiarity. Minho is right, and what he says to you is true, but it does little to make you feel calm in the matter. He offers you no comfort, no easiness or soft words to sort any pain that you may be feeling as a result of it. Perfunctory in delivery, Minho only gives to you precisely what it is that the two of you already know; nothing more, and nothing less.

You know this, but the dull ache of pain inside of your chest does not wane. It grows instead, so much so that you find yourself losing the ability to maintain disdain for him, or the fact that he brought you here, at all.

"Did you reach out to my father, or did he call out to you?" you ask, voice timid and broken. The details of the arrangement are of little consequence now, but you find yourself questioning it all the same. Perhaps they have only both ended up here by chance, and if so, is that the best possible outcome of all?

Lips thinning straight, it's a sort of forced smile that barely ever comes through, and Minho breaks eye contact once you present the question to him like he is aware that nothing he has to offer you will ever be enough.

The brush handle rattles against the glass once again, the sound sharp and jarring, bothersome to your ears now.

"He reached out to me," Minho says plainly, "and for that, you have my condolences."

𝕀𝕏.

Two weeks go by without so much as a sighting of the man that lives among you. In that time, however, a letter finds you from your mother. Late in the morning on a particularly dreary day, Mai comes to you in your study and hands off the envelope with a gleeful smile, seemingly thrilled to be offering you something instead of your husband.

"I was hoping that they would write to you soon," she says. "The early stages still require much conversing between the Master and your parents, but it's good that they have found the time to reach out to you now, as well."

"Yes, very good," you reply, forcing the sound of pleasantness through the words. You wonder if she knows about your meeting with Minho not so long ago, if she has been informed of your snooping and the knowledge you gained therein. "Thank you, I'll read it quickly."

Mai takes her leave and you are once again left to your things. Your finger slides beneath the flap of the envelope and pulls the seal apart, nimbly releasing the letter inside from its confines. Heart beating rapidly and not knowing what you will find, you attempt to steady your anxiety and land your eyes onto the page.

The words penned across it are happy ones, and that shifts your nerves at a sudden pace. She expresses her joy at all of the things your father has informed her in regards to his constant speaking with Minho; how well things have been going between the two of you, how worried she had been at the possibility of otherwise, and how proud she is of you. The words feel empty and as if they are not meant for you—how could they be? There is no truth held inside of any of it.

Once finished, you slip the letter back inside and tuck it away beneath your manuscript, opting instead to turn your attention towards the garden that awaits you just through the dampened window. Rain lightly pelts it, a calming sound that is very much needed in the aftermath of this reminder. 

Recalling your conversation with Minho in the atrium, you hone in on the specifics of it now. In particular, his stoic interpretation of this combination between the two of you. It was not he who intended to seek you out, and rather, the both of you share the difficulties of age and societal expectations that have been casted upon you at birth. A loveless marriage it is, convenience, even; but circumstances that the both of you are flattened beneath the pressure of.

You had once wished for him to be a man with no interest in you, and that is precisely what you have been graced with. Minho does not care for your presence, does not wish to spend time with you or converse with you in any way that people who share a home tend to do. This is what you had wanted for, so then why now does it feel so rotten to be on the receiving end of it?

A flash of lightning in the far off distance comes to pass, and it is at that moment that you come to your decision: you will make your way to the atrium once more.

𝕏.

Shadows flicker and dance across the darkness of the walls and bookcases lining the crescent shaped sides of the atrium, seen long before you reach the topmost step. There is no sound besides faint rustling, and the occasional, familiar clinking of wooden stick against glass rim.

Minho is there.

You reach the top and find him; on his knees and hunched over not unlike your last meeting in this place. His shoulders and back flex against the tightness of the white blouse that holds him, deceptively firm muscles that you are only now able to see from this angle. He stills briefly, silent acknowledgment of his knowing that you are there, but carries on with his task for a while before bothering to utter a word.

"You shouldn't be up here."

An expected warning, but it does little to deter you. Instead of turning back, you continue forward, towards him, and stop only a few more strides away. Distance given out of the goodness of your heart, and because you accept wrongdoing in ever having come here in the first place.

"Why?" you ask.

With busy hands, Minho remains fast at work, splashing blues, pinks and purples across the white canvas. His features do not twist or contort in any sort of way that one might expect from tortured artists who suffer at the hands of their crafts. Quite the contrary; he appears at ease, calm and collected in this place that is meant only for him and the creations that pour from his skilled fingers.

"For no other reason than it being my working space, and working spaces must be maintained as such." He pauses finally, drops the bush into the water sitting just beside and then looks up at you through messy, loose strands of black hair. "It is no place for conversing, especially if you wish to fight with me like before."

The reluctance in his voice, almost pained in the way that he says it, has your eyebrows pressing together with rather intense confusion. While it is true that you had been far from pleased with the discoveries made the first time you made your way up here, to call it something of a fight feels rather excessive to you, in hindsight.

"I wouldn't say that we fought, can you blame me for feeling the way that I had felt then?"

"Not at all," he admits with ease, "but you shouldn't go through my things, and you shouldn't raise your voice at me in regards to matters that are just as much out of my control as they are your own."

That rubs you wrongly, and your eyes narrow as a result of it. "They are not equally out of our control. You desired a woman to live idly in your home and that is what you received. I desired only the smallest allowance of time in order to get my surroundings back on track, and in the end, what I received was nothing more than being the aforementioned idle woman."

Minho sighs heavily, then turns back to the canvas in front of him. "How many times must I apologize for that? It's not as if I had known when the inquiry was sent to me that you would be so displeased. Is it not enough that I do not force you to engage with me?"

"That's not—"

"I ask nothing of you," Minho continues, a newfound pointedness to his voice. "I do not request your company in any capacity, no expectation of you to entertain me in any way. I do not bother you, I do my best to stay out of your way. Anything you desire, it's yours. Money, gifts, luxury cloths or even the most expensive art pieces from all across the globe…any of it can be yours, should it suit you."

His voice wavers as he reaches the tail end of his words, and the weight of it hangs heavy on your heart. Minho sounds sad, defeated in a battle that he hadn't even bothered to take on. 

Then, he looks up towards you again. 

"If a lover is what you wish to have, you may take one. I understand the difficulty in meeting people so far out in the countryside, but I'll see to it that the staff will accommodate your needs in any way."

Once he finishes, you stand silently just off and to the side of him. Your stares towards one another rest in the balance, you anticipate him saying more, but the words never come.

You frown at him, just slightly.

"What do you know about me?" you ask.

The question seems to take him aback, eyes widening slightly at the suddenness of it being presented towards him. His eyes fall from yours then, cast around the floor between you as if the answers sprawled out somewhere there. Eventually, he accepts his fate, and looks back up towards you.

"I…I don't know. Nothing, I suppose. Not beyond what your father has told me throughout our correspondence."

"My father knows nothing about me, not beyond the perfected image of daughterhood that I am expected to present. You know all about expectations, don't you, Mr. Lee?"

His watching you continues, but no words dare to be uttered by the man.

"Perhaps instead of holing yourself up here your whole life, you come down and do what is expected of you." Turning back towards the stairs that brought you here, you begin your descent down—one, two—and then pause to turn back for your final parting words.

"A man is expected to be seen by his wife, is he not? To talk to her, to know things about her, to learn. More than that, a husband is expected to do all of that, and even more. I refuse to allow you to use my invisible presence here as nothing more than a story that you can tell people while you're away presenting your art pieces. You wanted me here, and so I am. You will have to do better, because I have nothing left to lose, and the humiliation of returning home from a failed marriage is a far cry from the things I have already endured."

Minho does not reply.

𝕏𝕀.

The next morning, just as any other, you maintain your routines.

Exiting your bedroom, your feet pad along the floor one after another—simple slippers that adorn them, keeping your toes warm—the sound of it is one that you have now grown accustomed to, the echo as it carries through the emptiness of the estate.

Thankfully, as you draw nearer to the lowest level and towards the kitchen, the gentle music of other inhabitants fondly make themselves known to you. Scents mix in as well, cinnamon and coffee and vanilla all whirled together in the air that you can't help but find peace amongst it all. When you enter, you are greeted brightly by Mai, as well as the other housekeepers lending their hands to ensure a seamlessly run ship.

You offer your thanks, and head along your way towards the study. The door hangs ajar, just as you always leave it. No concern for whether or not Minho will make his way down and curiosity will get the best of him upon catching sight of your belongings; a man who has made it more than clear that he holds no such fascination in you.

The large seat situated in front of the window awaits you. Today is sunny, the short rain that tells a tale of spring soon to come, having since passed during the nighttime and bringing after its having gone bright skies and pristine white clouds. A good day, a nice day. You sit, opening the drawer inside of the desk and pulling from it the notebook that holds your manuscript. So many years of work, so personal and encompassing everything that makes you. 

With your back towards the door, you only vaguely hear the sounds of Mai's hushed utterance from just within the kitchen. Some exclamation of surprise, though it disappears with the same swiftness that it seems to have caught her. Perhaps a bug, or a misplaced knife settled within the wrong drawer—anything could be the case—and for that very reason, you brush it off and focus instead on the pen and paper before you.

Then, there's a knock at the wood of your door.

"Yes?" you call back out at it, unsure of what the housekeepers could be wanting from you. Your typical routine with them has been more or less concluded, no obvious reason for anyone to be looking for you now. "I've not finished with my first coffee yet, I'll come when I have, you need not wait on me and worry yourselves sick."

"Does the Lady of the house have a moment of her time to spare?"

Before you can so much as fathom it, your body whips around and you nearly wholly twist in your chair to look back at the place that the masculine voice has come.

As if what awaits you there could be anything else, anyone else; Minho stands in the small crack of the doorway, barely enough for him to fit half of his body through. He does not dare attempt it, waiting outside for your word of affirmation. His face is downcast, looking up through eyelashes at you like he is doing something entirely wrong of the both of you. Anticipating being turned away, expecting to be berated for having the gall to make such a brave attempt.

"Y-yes, of course, come in!" you reply, biting back the eagerness in your tone at the end of the sentence. Suddenly, you become painfully aware of the space around you and how unkempt you have allowed it to be. "I apologize, it's something of a mess. I only come in here to do some small tasks to keep myself busy and then I leave so I don't think much of keeping it tidy."

Minho steps inside, though the effort is barely there. Two steps into the room, and then he stops; looks around it like he has never been here before. Eventually, you come to understand that he is not so much looking at the things he keeps and rather, that he is avoiding eyes that belong to you.

"It is yours, you may keep it as you wish," he says. His hands dance between being cradled in front of himself, to similarly behind his back. Forward again, thumbs craned into his pockets, then out and to his sides—strangely, uncomfortably. He does not know what to do with them. "I apologize for intruding on your time like this, I—" he pauses, stops looking around once he realizes he has seen all that there is to see, and then has no other option than to look at you. This action is short lived, however, eyes quickly falling to the wood beneath his feet. "I believe that you were correct last night, in your assessment of me and our arrangement. For that reason, I want to make an effort. I want to…do what is expected of me."

Silence blankets the room, his eyes cast upwards again; "If that's all right, of course."

"Yes, yes of course it's…what I would prefer, I think." Once again, excitement that betrays your unwillingness to give too much, too fast. Even if he weren't looking at you, the glee would be heard in your voice. "At the very least, an effort made to get to know one another on a more personal basis. We may never fall in love, may never become lovers…it's impossible to say if we will ever even become friends, but I think it best for the both of us if there is some level of acquaintanceship here."

Minho nods once, swallowing so hard and through a throat so dry that you swear you can hear it. "Understood. Though I must say, I do…" he trails off in thought, returns to it only moments later, "I still intend to spend the majority of my time in the atrium, for work. I must insist that even with our new arrangement, you do not come up there. I will instead…make myself more common down here, or if you request my presence—not that I suspect you will—please inform Mai, and she will retrieve me."

"I accept these terms, but in the inception of such, it is only fair that I forge those of my own."

Eyes widening in shock, Minho seems surprised by your candor. Though you do not know him well, one thing you are thankful for is his seeming unwillingness to abide by much of the traditional social construct that exists around the expectations of the way that men and women are meant to engage with one another. You speak loudly and brashly with Minho, a man that you barely know, and he accepts as much with grace. When he wishes for you to not engage with him in such ways, he calmly asks it of you, rather than demands it through authoritarian fear.

When you wish to push back, he takes a step backwards of his own in order to grant you the space to do so.

"That indeed is fair," Minho agrees, a barely-there smile curving into the corners of his lips. "What does the Lady seek?"

"We have a meal together, most days. Breakfast or dinner, it is of no particular consequence to me. I do not know if you prefer the morning or evening hours, but based on your artistic habits and the dark circling beneath your eyes currently, one can only assume that breakfast is out of the question."

Your own smile perks up, and along with it, Minho's widens. He turns his head, looks over in an attempt to find the nearest reflective surface. Only a silver vase, his face coming out all wobbly and distorted as he looks at himself against it. The truth of your words is still found, however.

"I accept," he says. "Dinner. Let's have dinner together tonight."

You grant him a nod, and he cumbersomely turns towards the door to take his leave.

"One more thing," he adds, paused perfectly within the doorframe but choosing not to look back at you. "Perhaps we should…prepare for the conversations that will be had. It would be awfully unfortunate to waste our time together among the dead of an otherwise quiet night."

Charmed in all of the most fascinating and incomprehensible ways, you see straight through the veil that Minho has attempted to hold up. A million questions run through your mind already; regarding him, this estate, his work, where he has been, and you cannot fathom the possibility of him not experiencing the same. Rather, the second likelihood swims within your thoughts, humorously intriguing, and serving as the catalyst for your ability to begin putting the pieces of him together into something far more recognizable.

Lee Minho is reserved. Locked away in the countryside and borderline cripplingly timid in the face of anything new and not easily understood—made sense by the dabbing of colored paints onto a canvas, dragged and splotched into something that his eye can really and truly see.

Later that evening, Mai and her staff spend far more time and effort preparing a meal than is truly necessary. You worry to yourself slightly watching the lot of them hustle about—there are only two of you, after all—but Mai insists each and every time that she finds the concern spread across your features that she is actually quite thrilled to be doing something such as this for once.

"The Master does not have company often, and for that reason, does not frequently take a proper meal in the evenings," she says, delight dripping from her voice.

Comically to you, however, is the fact that Minho is here and seated at the table across from you already; spoken about as if he is not even in the room. You look him over when Mai admits as much and his features pan, somewhat pained by the truth of it all, you suppose.

"I'm busy in the evenings, more often than not, you are well aware of this, Mai."

"That's no reason not to allow us to have some fun in this kitchen." Her fists ball up at the tops of her hips, and then a handful of other staff begin making their way over to set dishes atop the table.

"You shouldn't say it like I don't permit you to do so," Minho says. He glances up at you briefly, as if to gauge how you're taking all of this. Worried you might think him to be an evil ruler of the manor. "You can, it's just—"

"Wasteful!" Mai finishes with a knowing nod, and then disappears from your side of the table altogether. Her next words are spoken from quite a ways away, down the hall and out of the dining area. "Enjoy your meal! Call for us if you need anything!" she says.

And then the room is silent.

The smells of roasted chicken and glazed vegetables quickly beckon your attention. Buttered dinner rolls in wicker baskets and already poured glasses of wine await each of you. The serving of food has already been completed, your plate piled high with items that drown in delicious looking gravy and topped with garnishes. 

You reach towards your wine glass, and make short eye contact with Minho along the way.

He clears his throat, shuffles uncomfortably in his seat after it, and then picks up his eating utensils.

"Some men," he starts, then waits, like he isn't sure that it's so much of a good idea, "some men can be strange about the types of food, or the amount, that their wives eat."

You continue staring at him, because what is the point of this?

Minho reaches for his glass, takes a large sip from it. "Uhh, I'm not like those men, so please, have your fill."

"Are you informing me that I am permitted to not go hungry for appearances?" you ask flatly.

"I—" he begins, short and cut off, not sure where to go from here. "Yes, I suppose that I am. I just wanted to be clear, in case there was cause for concern."

"With all due respect," you say through a light chuckle, "we're in the middle of nowhere, and I've not left the estate since I came. Who am I really intending to impress?"

Minho does not respond to that. He seems to be willing to relent to the conversation at just about any turn, which amuses and also confuses you. Watching him, he cuts into a piece of potato and carefully puts the chunk between slightly crooked, off kilter front teeth. Sort of charming, one of those quirks about a person's appearance that grows on you over time.

He looks up at you suddenly, then takes another sip of the wine.

"What do you do here? How do you spend your days?"

That is unexpected, though you can't quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it is the brashness of finally asking something so quizzical, so personal; a true attempt at learning something about you in a way not before seen or expressed by him. You do not answer right away, nor does he press further. Only the scraping of silverware against fine porcelain is heard throughout the space for entirely too long.

Might he think you strange for your habits? Is he someone safe to tell?

It's worth the chance, and you will yourself to be unbothered by any negative reaction that he may have.

"I…um, I'm writing a book," you say, steadying the tremble that punctures the words, "I do a lot of writing. In the mornings I wake up early, have my breakfast, and then I write in the study by the garden."

You remain nervous about Minho's reaction, but for no discernible reason you come to find. His eyebrows perk up, attention rapt by what it is that you've said. "A book? That's quite impressive, how long have you been working on it?"

"Oh, many years." Stumbling through the strangeness of his sudden exhilaration, you attempt to maintain your composure. "It is something of a memoir, so I have been collecting moments of my life for as long as I can remember."

Minho shakes his head, evidently stunned by such a possibility. "Writing is such a magnificent craft, everyday I wish that the gift of language and written word is the one that had come to find my hands."

"Painting is an incredible art, so few people are creatively capable of mastering the concepts of color or line like you have. Anyone literate can write a sentence."

Minho looks up and the two of you meet glances. It is a moment shared between people who have a newfound understanding amongst one another, and as a result, it feels special; magical. He smiles slightly, and you can't help but match it, too.

"Well, anyone can scribble color onto a canvas, but I think we both know well enough that there is much more that goes into the arts than that," Minho says, a newfound casualness that you feel as though you have only just unlocked to his tone. "Are you looking to publish someday?"

"I think I might like to, if the opportunity were to arise." You stop, reconsider the content therein, and correct for that. "Anonymously, or under a penname. Not my own."

He nods in acceptance of that, then takes another bite of food with his vision cast down towards the plate. In times like this, Minho reminds you of a small child, poorly socialized and unsure of how to move about the world with other people in it. He tries his best, has only the best of intentions, but it never quite feels as though it's enough.

Little by little, you're peeling through those layers. All things considered, so far, the journey isn't half bad.

"I'm pleased that we've decided to do this," Minho says, focused solely on pushing the broccoli around on his plate idly. "Spend time together, I mean. Getting to know one another."

Thus far, perhaps there is a part of you that cannot help but agree.

𝕏𝕀𝕀.

New routines unearth themselves throughout the estate.

Spring washes over the land in waves; flowers in their fullest blossom, live with color and birds that joyously scour the land for new perches to rest their tired wings atop. The trees fill in once more with lush greens and fruits that begin to fill in along the firm branches.

Minho makes himself more often seen throughout the manor corridors, though often brief and insistent on his having some other place to be. You learn not to take it to heart—his insistence in giving himself an out of the conversation—as it would seem that conversation with others is not a skill that comes naturally to him.

Still, you appreciate the effort. Some mornings, Minho slinks down the stairway and into the kitchen, long before his usual rising hours, and asks you about the agenda for your day. You often do not have much to offer him, but Minho watches on as you fill him in with his chin cradled in his hands and eyes that sparkle under the barely breaking dawn that washes in from the windows. He always smiles; somewhat crooked, with one side pulling ever so slightly higher than the other. It isn't a lot, but for now, it will do.

The month is April, and out of the study window you find Minho tending to the garden.

The outside grounds are not well traveled by you, partially on account of arriving to the countryside in the dead of winter. Now that the breezes have warmed and the snow has melted, it's as fine a time as any, and you carry yourself off towards the side door in the kitchen to take your first few steps into the garden that you have adoringly watched all of these months.

"Decided not to keep yourself cooped up in there, did you?" Minho asks playfully, only briefly glancing up towards you from his bent and knelt position in the turned soil. His hands are dirty—no gloves to be seen—but his forearms flex and pulse with strength as he rips at weeds and digs his holes. "People are going to start to think I don't permit you to leave."

"People? What people?" you reply. "Even my own parents have grown bored of writing to me. I don't think you live in any fear of what the people might think. Perhaps they assume that we are wildly happy together, no interest in sharing that with the rest of the unworthy world."

"Aren't we?" Minho says, chuckling lightly. 

You make an effort to ignore the question, as well as the way his muscles all appear taut and well attended to beneath his moistened white shirt. Minho is a good looking man, in ways that are a little surprising to you and even in spite of his lack of social character, but even as your husband, he is a stranger. A man that you now live with because it is nothing more than convenient for the both of you, not someone to be lusted after.

Hyunjin comes to mind suddenly. Every time you find yourself missing the touch of a man, it's him that torments you still.

"Of course." You make an effort to ignore the thoughts, and change the subject. "I didn't know you had an interest in gardening. Perhaps I wrongfully assumed it to be something kept up with by the staff."

"Wrong indeed," he says, wiping at his forehead with the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. His skin glistens under the spring sunlight, hair collecting the moisture of his face within its strands. 

You are only lusting after him in this way because you wish to be touched by a man again, you barely even know him, you reason. Some reason.

"It's something I picked up a good many years back, when I was shoved deeply into the success of my career. I spent even more time locked away with my work and my paintings, if you could even believe it," Minho says, smiling at himself at the memory of it all. "So, I had to find a reason to get out of the house. Not too far, or for too long, but something. Additionally, I enjoy the act of creation…" he pauses, picks up a small vegetable bulb and holds it up for you to look at. "What's more creative than life?"

You smile, wide and with teeth in a way that you don't remember having done in such a long, long time. Minho laughs at your reaction, and then carries on burying the plant into the ground as originally intended.

"You like to play God in the garden, then?" 

"I wouldn't say that."

"What would you say?"

Minho looks up, a surprisingly thoughtful expression etched into his features, as if really, genuinely giving the question an ample amount of thought. "I would say that I like to create!"

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Minho continues on with his task. You cock your head to the side, watching him quietly as he moves as if an incredibly bizarre exchange hasn't just taken place. The truth of the matter, you know without so much as even having to ask, is that the discussion is more than likely not strange to him, at all. A perfectly fine chat, nothing out of the ordinary.

Naturally, in the midst of moments like these is when Minho seems most at ease.

"You're a bit odd, Mr. Lee," you say. Calmness is heavy in your tone, marking down the potential distaste that might otherwise accompany such words. "Do you often hear that?"

"Yes, but my oddities and eccentricities are what make the mind tick, the art work and come to life. If I were anything other than myself, who knows what may come of it. I'd rather not find out. Oh, that reminds me—"

Setting his tools down and wiping his hands uselessly on his brown trousers, Minho pauses all of his toiling about to give you his full attention for the words that he is intending for you. His face appears somewhat disappointed, but there's something else mixing within the emotions that you might easily name that you can't quite pinpoint.

"At the beginning of the summer, around June or so, I will leave you to carry on with a showing. I will be gone until autumn time, perhaps November…it will be cold again when I return."

Your stomach drops, and that feeling shocks you.

"Of course, the estate is yours to do as you see fit, and you may leave it as frequently as you wish, too. All of the staff will be yours. It is all yours."

Your lips thin into a frown, and as it would seem, the reaction surprises Minho. He looks up at you in confusion, and perhaps quickly works through the thoughts by himself, because his eyes dip down and away from you, unable to share his gaze with your own with how displeased you appear.

"I'm going to be alone here…for months…"

"Well, you won't be alone…" he says quietly, offering nothing.

"We've finally begun the process of getting to know one another in a meaningful way, and now you're leaving until autumn…it'll be as though we're strangers all over again when you return."

"Surely it won't be that bad…" Minho forces himself to give you answers, but none of them quell the feeling that presses against your chest. "I'll return before you even notice I'm away. For a long time upon your arrival, it was as if I wasn't here at all."

"And I hated it!" you reply quickly, brashly. The words come out loud and honest in a way that you have not intended. Your eyes sit wide on your face, and finally, Minho slowly looks up at you again with eyes not unlike your own.

Neither of you speak for a long while, until Minho sighs and has no other option but to do so himself.

"I apologize, I…did not anticipate that you would feel this way about it, but nevertheless, there is nothing that I can do. This is a part of my work, I often must leave to do such things. The year after this one will be no different, and if it is, then the futility of fame and the fickleness of the human intrigue has finally caught up to me." He quiets again, continues trying to wipe the dirt caked onto the skin of his hands off and onto his pants uselessly. A pointless endeavor. It feels not unlike wanting to be loved. 

"I can…try to come home sooner, at the tail end of things. Sometimes it wraps up earlier than anticipated," he says, looking away from your disappointed eyes. "I've not bothered to rush home before, with nothing waiting for me. Not to imply that you are…waiting for my return…"

"I would like that," you say, simply put. "Suppose then we should make an effort to make these last two months together count, yes?"

Minho doesn't look up at you, too socially strangled to do so. It's not necessary, however, because the small perk at the corner of his mouth as a result of what you have proposed says plenty.

𝕏𝕀𝕀𝕀.

"Another lovely dinner, thank you, Mai."

She nods to Minho kindly, accepting the compliment, and then finishes up her small cleaning tasks to head out and away from the dining area. You look out and across the living room at the large window that leads into the garden—not unlike your study—and bask in the way that the moonlight shines down onto the glistening, wet leaves and petals that have since come to bloom.

"Have you been out yet? In the evening, I mean." Minho turns to you when he says it, notices where it is that you've been looking, but you shake your head.

"No, too busy with my writing, I suppose."

"You'll find an excuse forever if you allow yourself to, come on, let's go."

Minho doesn't touch you, but he waves his hand towards you and then back into the direction of the side door that leads into the garden. You follow along without much argument, wanting just as much to see what the grounds have to offer you, and perhaps now is as good of a time as any.

The nighttime breeze is cold, and you are not at all dressed to be traversing it with only a thin shawl draped over your shoulders. Immediately upon stepping down and onto the cobblestone pathway your arms fly up to cradle yourself, attempting to hug back the warmth that escapes. Minho seems far less bothered by the pricking of cold against his skin. He is never dressed in anything special or extravagant for as long as you have known him; a plain, white button down shirt with brown, fitted pants suited for not much more than becoming dirty without a care. 

Regardless, you push through. It is not often that the two of you partake in anything other than a dinner, or a coffee together. Two people so wrapped up in their own things that they nearly forget about the existence of the other. You make an effort—Minho is getting better over the weeks—but only so many hours in a day.

The two of you slip around the gray, brick corner of the home; grand in its stature. As far as the eye can see sit beds of flowers, ornate bushes, and the shining droplets of rain from earlier in the day that still collect on each. It's a beautiful sight, the way that they twinkle, and when Minho turns to look back at you, a rare and wide smile pulls at his face.

And then it falls.

"Are you cold?" he asks, concerned and rushing towards you instead. "You should have said something, only now do I realize that you're not dressed for the evening breeze."

"I'm fine, really," you insist, something of a lie with the way that you tremble. He must not be thinking clearly, too wrapped up in the sight before him to thoroughly consider all of his options. Minho reaches for you, presses smooth, warm palms to your arms and runs down them carefully before grasping gently at your wrists and pulling your body against his. He wraps his arms around you—he is firm, both in body and embrace—and he smells like the strangest combination of paint and cinnamon.

Indeed, you are warmer now.

You are not unfamiliar with the touch of a man, and it is not that in particular that dredges up the nervousness in your stomach. Rather, you have never shared a touch with this man, and this man is the one that you live with, are married to. You wonder if it is only natural to have considered the possibility of wanting him; handsome, smart, kind, who wouldn't at the very least enjoy the fantasy of such a thing.

But never to touch.

Minho's hands, surprisingly strong and confident, inch down your back to pool at the small of it as distance is created between the both of your bodies. You crave the kind of intimacy that being like this gives you, but still it feels wrong when it comes from him. Accepting this arrangement as nothing more than a marriage of convenience cements certain ideas for the remainder of your time with this man, and one of those, unwaveringly, is that love and love making will be strictly absent from it.

Yet you enjoy the way that he touches you now.

In the dark of night, and just outside of the manor, Minho pulls back from you slowly and it's like this that you are finally able to see him up close, the tiny, charming intricacies of his face otherwise missed due to proximity. A small freckle on his nose, the ever so slight crookedness to his front teeth that—while you have noticed—are so much more handsome and real like this.

His eyes sparkle looking at you, and there's a pause before anything more happens. In your mind, you beg. Loudly asking for that which you seek, no matter the outcome. You can deal with that when it comes, and perhaps you don't even know precisely what it is that you desire from him now. Still, you beg; please, please, please…

Minho's eyes fixate on yours, and then drop down, down, to where your lips sit. His own part, as if with intention to speak, or a desire to taste, one you prefer far more than the other. He does neither, however, finds eye contact once more, but his fingers grasping harder into the loose fabric sitting at the small of your back sends chills down your spine in a way that the meeting of your lips might not even manage.

Do you want, Lee Minho? Do you crave, as well?

"We should go inside," he says, a whisper that shakes. His gaze finds itself fixated down towards your lips again, and all concern aside, you want in that moment for him to have you. "You're not dressed to be out here, you'll catch a cold."

If Minho has ever desired you, even for a moment prior to this, never has he shown so much as an inkling of it. Now, he stands unraveled, pulled apart and bare for you to see. You wonder if he aches, you cannot help but wonder whether or not the need will be sated.

"Yes, let us do that," you answer, but only because you should. No part of you wishes to find warmth within the walls of the estate. 

The following weeks bring a sort of comfortable bliss to the previously cold, ominous interior of the home. One morning, however, that all changes.

Early mornings are warmer now than they once were, each passing day cutting through the chilly breeze. The grounds come to live in lush greens and colorful petals; you've even begun taking trips out of the countryside and into the nearest, small town. It has little to offer besides functional necessity, but leaving the estate is a breath of fresh air that rejuvenates your senses.

You hope to make that journey today, but first, there is work that must be done.

The manuscript is coming along, words filling each page like they've always meant to be there. With your coffee in hand, you make your way towards the study that keeps your things like an untended vault. Secrets hide inside, but no one dares to seek them out—or so you thought.

You push the door open, and what you find is nearly enough to drop the cup from your hands and to the floor completely. Your heart stops similarly instead, and for a brief moment, you cannot believe your eyes.

Minho looks up at you from inside, standing by the desk from which you often work. In his hands sit all of your deepest, innermost secrets. Things you wish not to share with him now, perhaps ever, but the look on his face is one of someone who now understands everything.

He is difficult to read from here, his feelings incomprehensible from just what his features have presented as the two of your eyes meet.

You rush inside, though the damage is done, you know. "What are you doing?" you ask, making little effort to mask your feelings on this matter. Once you reach him, you snatch the pages from his hands and shove them back inside of the drawer from which he got them. "That's not yours to read!"

He does not respond right away, and instead, the room fills with a heavy silence. Minho's hands drop slowly to his sides as he watches you, lips pulled thinly across his face. He appears neither angry, nor sad. He has the appearance of nothing, at all.

"I only wanted to understand you better, get to know you more than what we already have, I thought…" he trails off, eyes falling away from yours, "I thought this to be the best way, suppose I was not mistaken."

You don't dare make an attempt to find his gaze, not looking at one another. It's better like this. Anger bubbles up inside of you, as well as the humiliation of everything that has led you to this point, to this place with him. "So, now you know. Now you know everything."

"I don't…" Minho starts again in response, once again there are words that he cannot seem to find with the same sort of urgency that he needs them. "If it is some concern about my feelings on the matter, I'm unbothered by what you've done, by your history."

"And why should you care?" you ask, the words coming out biting and spit like a kind of venom. "We are not involved in this partnership in any typical sense of the word. This is a marriage of convenience, and convenient it shall remain." It feels bad when spoken, as if betraying your own self-interest. What you feel it to be instead is the most logical course of action given the circumstances; neither serving you nor your heart as far as any potential, budding relationship between the two of you is concerned.

Minho's eyes dart up at that and find your own, but you continue on. "A wife for show, am I not? And for show I will continue to be. No one else knows, you will never experience the same sort of humiliation as I have, if that is your concern."

"It's not." His face twists at the words you've said to him. "That couldn't be the furthest thing from my concern. Do I come off as someone who loses sleep over the opinions of people?"

There's more fight in his voice now, something you're not used to hearing from him. It rattles you, but only slightly, because you are not frightened of him or what he may do. Rather, it serves as a sort of reminder of just how little you appear to understand about him. Most men, most husbands, in these situations would be livid, and demanding of the dissolution of a partnership from which has been built upon deception. This, however, would seem to be far from Minho's interest.

"I would be dishonest if I said that I didn't wish you had told me, of course I do, but I am reasonable enough to understand why you have not," Minho says. "You have lived a whole life before ever having met me, your path leading you elsewhere. That is neither my business, nor my concern. My concern is…"

He does not complete the thought and instead turns away from you once more. Minho makes his way towards the door of the study, but gives pause just before making his exit.

"I am to leave in a week's time, perhaps the space will do us well, after all."

The reminder of all of the time that you will spend by yourself hangs grossly dense inside of your heart. Everything about this feels so wrong, not as it was meant to ever be. Birthed from some incomprehensible place is the desire to beg him to stay, to not leave you here alone despite knowing that he cannot. So much progress has been made between the two of you, only to be spoiled by this; left to fester for the summer months, and you cannot fathom a scenario in which he returns having missed you now.

𝕏𝕀𝕍.

When Minho leaves for his trip, you do not bid him farewell.

Instead, you watch from the window of your bedroom as bags and canvases are piled into the carriage. Minho, Mai and the rest of the staff all smile and say their goodbyes—you can't help but wonder if he wishes you were there alongside them.

It is unimportant. What must be done carries on regardless, and Minho sits himself inside, the carriage pulls away, and down the pathway he eventually disappears; not to return until the leaves on the trees begin to color and fall away with the soon to be onset of winter air once more.

You wonder if you will miss him, only time will tell.

The passing months bore you, and offer you little to placate your wandering mind.

Summer is in full swing, it comes and works its way to closing before you have much of a moment to enjoy it. You make many trips into town to partake in the fresh bakeries and even engage with the folk who enjoy their lives there. They seem happy, you can't help but wonder what that must be like.

Though the manor had been lonely upon your first arrival, there is a stark difference between then, and now. The knowledge that Minho was there—somewhere—within the halls somehow serving as just enough of a comfort to take the edge off of the blanketing nothingness, now gone; and worse than that, you do not know what awaits you when he will return.

Mai offers you kindness, and that is appreciated, but her dedication to her job makes it so that the line towards friendship never truly becomes crossed. You have not seen your parents, and they do not write to you as often as you might like them to. Tzuyu has sent a letter or two, but they are as infrequent as the others, as she is busy with the courtship process herself after the announcement from the prince.

Seven days into September, there is a knock at the door.

Sitting in the vast living room area, surrounded by old paintings, books and other such decorations, the sun begins to set on the home and the summer heat finally starts to wane. The book in hand—one Minho had recommended before his departure—is one that tells the tale of an old painter who traveled all around the world, and gifted a canvas of his art to every person that he met along the way. You wonder if this is the life that Minho wishes for, you wonder if eventually, you will be left behind for good as nothing more than another collectible that he has accumulated inside of the estate.

"Miss…" 

Mai comes up from behind, wringing her hands strangely, unlike anything you've ever seen from her before. Nervous. "You have a visitor."

"I do?" you question, reeling. You are not expecting anyone. "Who is it?"

"I think it might be best if you come quickly."

She has never appeared so concerned to you, and thus, you make haste to follow her and trust her word. The strides past the kitchen and through the small hallway are quick and long, there's a kind of worry bubbling up inside of you. All of the worst potential things begin to muddle your mind; what if your parents have passed away and someone has come to deliver the news in person? 

But turning into the foyer puts a different kind of nail into a different kind of coffin.

Three men stand in the doorway, one on each side of the person intended to be the centerpiece of their arrival. A simple, loose black shirt draping over broad shoulders and a thin, lithe torso, cinched at the waist and carelessly tucked into the matching black trousers there.

He nearly gives the appearance of someone normal, everyday. Just a spot above Minho's own, usual look. Fascinating, the way your mind instantly moves to compare the two.

"Hello, darling," Hyunjin says. Then, he turns to his guards. "You may go."

You feel Mai's eyes on you, and quickly turn to acknowledge them. "Please, leave us."

She nods, and you can only imagine the questions running through her head. You have not a clue how you intend on ever addressing them in the future, but there are many things that you do not understand yet in front of you.

"Your Highness," you say, and then begin to take your bow. Hyunjin steps forward with a gentle scoff, and quickly waves the display away, instead setting his hand atop your shoulder as he moves past you and into the direction from which you came. 

"That's not necessary, let us leave the theatrics of royalty for the streets, where the people might see them, shall we? I think we are a long way away from requiring that between us."

And so you do. The two of you make your way back into the common area of the downstairs and each take an end of the lengthiest couch. Hyunjin sits leaned forward, hands clasped together and resting against his knees. His hair is still long and dark, you thought he might cut it to relinquish such a boyish, juvenile look, but you find that has not been the case.

"I must admit," he begins through a sigh, "I was a bit taken aback when I heard who it was that you ended up being married off to."

"Yes, well, suppose I experienced much of the same when it came to you," you reply curtly.

To that, Hyunjin smiles slightly and stares down at the floor between his feet.

"Fair play. Unfortunately, there are certain expectations…"

"Was everything a lie? Did you never have any intention of marrying me? Did you never love me? If there are expectations then surely you knew when we began our private affairs what could come of it all, so why…"

"It's not so simple," Hyunjin says slowly, turning to look at you now. "My parents have the majority of say in who gets chosen. How lovely it would be if falling in love were enough."

You look at him, but frown. The possibility that the choice be wholly out of his hands is not one that had ever crossed your mind, too busy cursing him for a choice that may have never been his to begin with. Your eyes rake over him, his face; and perhaps there is something of a sadness behind his eyes if you dare to give him the grace of seeing it.

"Where is Sana?"

To this question, Hyunjin sits back with a heavy, loud exhale. "At home, perhaps shopping with her friends as she tends to do. Where is Mr. Lee?"

"Away for work, until the end of autumn."

"It must be lonely, being cooped up here in the countryside alone for so long."

"I…" you hesitate, unsure of how much of yourself you wish to indulge in a man who has already hurt you so gravely in the past. "I make do."

Looking towards you again, Hyunjin's gaze is heavy and narrow, full of a silent contemplation that he has not yet shared with you. Talking to someone that you know so well feels comforting, welcomed. You feel at home. He is disarming.

"Does he suit you?" Hyunjin asks.

You hadn't thought about it in such simplistic terms before. Does Minho suit you? you question yourself in your mind again.

And then you give one, single nod. "He suits me enough, I suppose. Our partnership is a bit…unorthodox perhaps, but we find joy in each other's company."

His eyebrow perks up at that, catching the hint of something unspoken hidden between the words.

"Is that so? A loveless marriage then?"

You scoff, shifting uncomfortably in your seat at the mere mention of it, regardless of how much truth there may be in the statement. "I think loveless makes it seem so much more harsh than it is. I believe we have begun to care for one another in some fashion, over the months. We talk, we have meals together—"

"But he doesn't make love to you."

Stilling your awkward movements, you slowly turn to look up and meet Hyunjin's curious gaze once more.

"No. We've not…reached that point in our relationship, if we ever do." Your eyes fall away. "Surely you are familiar with marriages of convenience, and that very much is ours. We are both at peace with it. Minho is kind, he is accepting of my interests and allows me to do as I please in order to maintain a sense of self, I couldn't ask for more."

As if taking your words as an invitation, Hyunjin slowly begins making his way down the length of the empty couch and towards you. A wry smile tugs at his lips, and though the better part of you knows better than to entertain the possibility of whatever it is that this man may have to offer you, there does still remain the wicked loneliness of a woman who misses—craves—the adoring, wanting touch of a man who desires her.

You tell yourself to create more space between your bodies as Hyunjin comes near, to stand to your feet, to ask him to leave. You are not frightened of him, not an ounce of concern laden in you that he may wish to take something that you are unwilling to give him; no, the horror lies within the fact that you very much do wish to give to him.

Hyunjin's hand finds your leg. The touch is light, tentative and testing. You do not pull away.

"That is no way to live the rest of your days, my love."

It should be harder, you imagine, to give in to his whims. The consideration should weigh heavier on your chest, not handed over so easily once his lips find the skin of your neck, and shortly thereafter, your own. Hyunjin's hands smooth up your legs and beneath your dress, laid back against the sofa. He hovers over you with long, black hair that curtains the both of you inside of this moment. Unsure whether or not it is right, or wrong. For him, the answer is a simple one, but suppose these sorts of things are commonplace among men of a royal standing; after all, who exists to cast down judgment upon them?

His touch is electric against your skin, even more so with the first, slow press of himself into you. You gasp at the feeling. Indeed, you have missed this more than even you had known.

Still, you think of Minho.

When Hyunjin takes his leave once more and bids you farewell, new thoughts and feelings run rampant through your mind as you smile and wave down the cobblestone walkway. Perhaps there had been a kind of truth in his words—that this is no way to live forever—but you cannot fathom any other way, either.

Falling into Hyunjin's touch is easy because it is one that is so familiar. The same motions repeated time and time again and to a kind of perfection, however; something is missing, something that you cannot quite put your finger on.

𝕏𝕍.

The weeks continue to draw on, as does the day of Minho's return in November.

Leaves begin to change their colors, falling away from the branches that they once called their home. The flowers litter the ground, browning and dying to spring anew in the following year. It reminds you of your first arrival upon this place, though snow covered the land then. Not yet has it fallen for the first time this season, but soon it shall.

You keep busy, trying to put out of your mind the happenings in his absence. It is of little consequence to you what has happened in Hyunjin's brief visit, and perhaps the worst part of your soul considers it a kind of unearned payback towards a friend who had taken everything you had hoped for from you. It is unfair, not the kind of person you wish to be, and you put the thought to bed just as quickly as it comes to you. You do not expect to see him again, and in kind, you decide to never delve in such foolish and unbecoming behaviors regarding him even in the event that you do.

Written off as closure, there is some semblance of peace therein. 

On the day of Minho's return, the house is alive. The keepers of the manor all rushing around to ensure that everything is precisely as it should be for the moment that he steps inside; it fascinates you to watch them, knowing full well that Minho is not the sort of man to be bothered by the occasional, misplaced item or a spec of dust left upon the mantle. Of course, this is their job, and they take it upon themselves to make sure that it is done to the best of their ability. You wait just inside the foyer as good wives do when his carriage pulls up, and the quick, anxious beating of your heart comes to be a far more unexpected guest than the man of the hour is.

The doors open and he enters. Two other men are with him and aiding with his belongings, a sight that reminds you of Hyunjin's visit, and you are none pleased by that fact. Minho is dressed differently than you are used to seeing him; far more put together, and with a heavy coat sitting atop his shoulders. Hair less unkempt, it makes you wonder if someone had their hand at his appearance before he left to begin his journey.

He greets the staff first, those that arrived with him handing off his things, and then, he turns his sights towards you.

"Welcome home," you say, fighting back the shake of your voice. "Was it a good trip?"

"It was, but long. Too long for my liking," he admits with a smile. "I'm happy to be home, and not looking forward to having to do much of the same next year, but we'll take it as it comes."

The two of you step towards one another, and to your surprise, Minho takes your hand into his.

"How have things been while I've been away? Hopefully not too dull."

His eyes are gentle as he looks at you, and there is a part of you that wonders if he even recalls the events that took place only just before his embarking. If he does, he shows no signs of it; only a captivating adoration for you.

"Things have been fine…good," you say with a nod, eyes forcing themselves away from his own. Your nervousness and secrets catching up to you, making themselves known within the room. "The days passed as they do, I took many trips into the small town down the way, worked on my book…you've not missed much along the way."

You can feel Mai's eyes on you as you tell the half-truth, and for that reason, you continue on. Perhaps a wild assumption that you would be able to keep this large a secret strictly under lock and key.

Squeezing his hand lightly, you smile ever so slightly at him and say, "We should talk, there are some things. It would be best that way, once you're settled in."

"Of course, I only need a short while. A rinse off and a change of clothes from being cooped up in travel for so long, and then I'm all yours."

Pulling his hand away to attend to his things, you wish deeply to hold on tight—afraid that this may be the last time Minho ever offers you such a genuine, cherished moment.

Later into the afternoon, the changing colors of the sky can be seen through the windows. Hues of blues, purples and oranges that decorate it so beautifully, informing all of those who can see it that the sun is soon to take its rest along the horizon.

You stand in the kitchen, a bowl of fruits sitting before you. Apples, cranberries and persimmons give off their assortment of shades to choose from when Minho quietly makes his way inside.

Eyes meet, and smiles follow after.

Minho's hair is damp from water, strewn about his head and face, entirely uncared for in appearance. He is back in his usual attire; pants with paint stains that not even Mai has managed to defeat, but that function perfectly well as far as he is concerned, you reckon.

Leaning against the counter beside you, he pops a cranberry into his mouth and then cocks his head to the side inquisitively. "You wanted to speak to me?"

Moments like this make it so much harder. You'd not wanted to disclose this to him in any case, but have since decided it better to do so. The guilt weighs so heavily on your chest—has ever since the day—and you wonder if it is selfish to put that onto a man who does not need to carry the burden. Minho is your husband, yes, but in title and legality alone. He has given you permission to carry on as you please, explicit permission to take a lover if that is what you so wish to do; so why is it that having done so feels so regrettable?

This is not a situation that you have ever found yourself to be in before, and thus, you do not know how best to navigate it. You are not one to mince words, however, and so you make the choice to simply come out with it.

"While you were away, Hyunjin was here."

Minho's chewing slows, all softness in his face melting away once the words finally come together as something that he understands the meanings of. "Here? He came here?"

"Yes, to see me."

"He came here…to see you…" Minho says slowly, thoughtfully. "If he knew to come here, then surely he must know that you've been married." He pauses briefly, thinks it through just a bit more before continuing. "As has he."

You nod affirmatively and then say, "Yes, all of this is true. He wanted to see me…I think…there was something of unfinished business between the two of us, as you know with the way that things turned out. It was a brief encounter, he was not here long. I do not think we will meet again in the future."

Minho looks at you tentatively, and you can nearly see all of the questions that beg to be asked swimming around behind his eyes. Surely, he fights back the urge to do so with all of his might for your sake alone, and instead chooses to stomach the brunt of this knowledge by himself, no matter how much discomfort it may bring.

But you do not escape them all.

"You say the encounter was…brief," he starts, though his eyes are unable to meet your own as he presses forward with what he must know. "I have little interest in prying into your personal affairs, I understand what this is—between us—just as well as you do, but I must know; did you—"

"Yes."

Rather than making him say it, you put an end to the entire thing abruptly. Minho blinks through the acceptance of it, a little awe struck, you can tell. He gives two, small nods and then swallows down hard.

"Thank you for telling me," he says. His voice is level, but you can tell as well as anyone else might that it is a facade. Minho turns towards the hallway and says, "If you don't mind, I have work to attend to. Have a good evening."

He does not appear outwardly angry or upset in the ways that you are used to men expressing such emotions, and thus, you are unsure of what to make from all of this. You watch him take two, three steps towards his exit before you rush around the corner of the marble counter and towards him. A hand reaches out towards his arm, but you do not dare make contact—unsure of what may happen if you do. Minho does not scare you, nor has he ever shown aggression, or violence towards you, but you must at all costs aim to protect yourself in such precarious circumstances.

The movement must catch his attention and he stills in place, seemingly waiting for you to reach him. Minho turns to look at you from over his shoulder, unwilling to fully give himself to your insistence of such.

Your chest feels impossibly tight, the struggling burn of discomfort creeping up and into your throat. Are these tears that threaten you? Why, you wonder. You care for him, yes, but there is little between you, and in most recent times not much more than some sort of contention. What is there to care for? And more than that, when has this man ever bothered to express as much towards you?

Still, you press forward. "Are you upset with me? It was thoughtless, but you have said before that I am able to do such things. Don't punish me for the allowances that you have offered!"

"Punish you?" Minho says, tone questioning. "I have no interest in punishing you for anything that you have done in my absence. Your personal matters are your own. If you wish to sleep with the prince then who am I to tell you not to."

"I do not wish to sleep with the prince! I wish to sleep with—"

It comes out faster than you have the chance to pull it back. Dripping with pure emotion and absolutely unbridled truth, you manage to cut it off at the tail end, though you fear that the damage has been done. The heat of humiliation curls up your spine, you take a step back and away from the man in front of you.

Too much silence creeps up between the two of your bodies, and Minho offers nothing to you in the immediate aftermath of the words. Wordlessly, you beg him to say something—anything—to cut through it, even if it is condemnation that sits at the tip of his tongue.

Much to your surprise, however, Minho turns back to face away from you fully with something of an awkward shift to his stature. He does not look at you, but the more that he chooses not to, the less you believe it to be a sign of displeasure and more so one born from a kind of strange unsureness of how to move forward, where to go with this from here.

He clears his throat loudly, one by one cracking the knuckles in his fingers as if to fill in the empty space between your bodies. Finally, he says, "Perhaps we simply move on from this, as if nothing ever happened. In any case, I'll be in the atrium, should you need to find me."

A curious thing to say from the man, one that has you reeling in shock upon hearing it. 

"Is that…an invitation?"

And to that, Minho sighs aloud.

"Must you make me speak everything into existence? Surely you've noticed I lack the capabilities for these sorts of things."

It's not perfect, but you'd not expected to leave this particular discussion with a smile pulling at your lips.

𝕏𝕍𝕀.

The atrium smells of cinnamon, paint thinner, and alcohol.

Rum, in particular. You're not able to make out its particular scent until you're much closer to the man that it emanates off of, pungent and impossible to ignore. You try to recall any other time that you've been aware of Minho's drinking, but you cannot.

Tonight must be a special night for him to be partaking.

There's a soft spot in the wooden paneling of the floor, and it creaks beneath your weight. This is enough to finally alert Minho of your arrival to this place, having not noticed you before. He glances at you from over his shoulder—not unlike the hours before—and then carries on with the mixture of colors that have already been dabbed onto the bristles of his brush.

"You came," he says.

"You drink."

Minho sighs at your response. "You know this, we have shared wine at the dinner table before."

"Yes, but not like this."

Hunched over and knelt onto the floor, Minho ignores this and instead continues painting. You opt out of pressing any further on the matter and instead, bring yourself to his side in order to see what it is that he is working on.

The canvas is wide rather than tall, with hues of blue, white and green masterfully splashed across the majority of it. The beauty of the ocean and the waves that live within it perfectly captured in time by his hand—a small ship depicted amidst it all.

"I spent some time by the harbor on this trip, and spent a good deal of my time there thinking about how my life might be if I ceased to exist here, the way that I have been, the way that I do."

You look down at him, but he does not look up. He continues with his work.

"The truth of the matter, is that there isn't much keeping me here, is there? Not much would change. I could be anywhere in the world doing this. No reason it must be here."

"Is that why you painted this? Your wish to escape it all?" you ask.

Minho stops his strokes, then drops his paintbrush into the muddied mixture of water just beside him. He stands to his feet—albeit wobbly—and stares down at the piece of artwork as if it's something not crafted from himself. A strange existence that has somehow found its way into his home, into his thoughts, but not of his own doing.

"I'm not sure that I even wish for it," he says. "I'm unsure of a lot of things. I make decisions largely because they are expected of me, because I see what everyone else does, and so I emulate it. It's easy to assimilate like this, I don't have to think about it all that much."

"Like taking a wife."

Minho looks away from the painting then and over towards you. You meet his eyes, but feel a sense of nervousness under the intensity that sits behind them tonight. 

"It has always been difficult for me to set my anxieties aside without the aid of warmth that the bottle brings. I don't partake often, I know it's unhealthy, so I keep to myself and suffer alone." Minho's hand reaches towards yours, and while you're happy to allow him to take it, that is not all that he does. Quickly you feel the gentle tug of his strength, inching you closer to him. His warm, soft palm tracing up the outside of your arm until it disappears behind your back to rest there. Now the scent of alcohol is strong on his breath, but you cannot find it within yourself to care when proximity is so tightly held between you.

Minho's finger traces down the middle of your back, an action that sends chills up the very same place. You fight back the shudder that threatens to shake you while in his grasp, and your own hands find their placement at the front of his broad, firm chest.

The alcohol indeed must be making him brave, lowering his inhibitions and the torrent of thoughts that otherwise might bar him from ever attempting this. For that, you are thankful. You glance at his lips, then up at eyes that are already watching you. Minho's thoughts and feelings are nearly indiscernible on his face; still thinking, thinking, thinking, no doubt.

He leans in towards you, so short and small that you nearly miss it entirely if not for how rapt with attention to him you are. A tentative gesture to test the waters, to see if you will pull away.

But you will not.

And so, he presses forward again, slowly still, as if to give you ample time to escape him. You couldn't imagine yourself a world where you might; heart beating hard and fast within your chest in anticipation of this, fingers gripping tightly into the fabric of his shirt with each passing second between the two of you. Truthfully, you have been wanting this, for so, so long. Longer than you could ever fathom to allow him to know, the kind of dull, anticipatory, hopeful desire that rests dormant often, but never completely able to be ignored.

It's hard to pinpoint the moment in which Minho became more than just a concept of a husband in your mind, muddied even more once his lips finally find your own. Careful and warm, he kisses you like he's afraid to break you, but the hand gripping at the small of your back tells a different story; one of forced back desire, of bitten back need. It presses your body more firmly against his, it informs far more than his words will allow for now. 

When you do not create space, the kiss becomes heavier too. Testing, unsure lips that at first only ghost against your own then expose their want for you in the careful turn of his head and ever so slight nips of teeth at the bottom of your lip. Harder, faster with every moment that passes in the atrium; you forget to breathe and gasp into his mouth, Minho finally relents in tasting you so ravenously.

Physical desire is nothing new to you, but never have you experienced it quite like this.

Minho's free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb grazing lightly against the skin of your cheek as he looks at you. Both just slightly out of breath, you can't fathom how wrecked you appear just from a kiss.

His lips part as if to speak, and then close shortly thereafter. Once again; thinking, thinking, thinking. The alcohol is incapable of disposing of it all. Then, they part again, and Minho pushes forward with the words that fail him so frequently.

"Do you still love the prince?"

The least that you can do is answer his question honestly.

"I don't know."

And though it may not be the ideal reply, Minho still appears pleased by it. Everything that you have learned about him since your arrival here points to the very same conclusion, because he smiles ever so slightly, and gives a small nod in acceptance.

𝕏𝕍𝕀𝕀.

Though not spoken of, the kiss lives on in every interaction shared between the two of you going forward.

You wish deeply for the conversation to come to a head, but by now you know Minho and the way that he functions well enough to know that that will more than likely not be the case. Still, you manage to find solace in this fact; his nervous mannerisms and the barely there catch in his voice when speaking to you on occasion, as if the memory of such has just caught up with him in real time. You smile through these instances, pleased by them in some capacity. Pleased knowing that it is not a thing that has simply come and gone.

The only person that Minho answers to in his life is his agent, and his agent insists on having a holiday party at the estate.

On the day of, it is a week into December. Snow has begun to fall, though not heavily yet. It sprinkles like sugar from the sky, only lightly dusting the windows and grounds. It is a beautiful sight, but you're thankful for not having to be the one traveling within it, and when the guests start arriving, you realize just how grossly unprepared for this volume of guests the home truly is. Not enough coat racks, not enough space for wiping off their shoes. Hats are placed wherever it is that they can go; Mai scuttling about the hallways with her staff in an attempt to make it all work.

To your surprise, Minho makes himself seen. No doubt a push by said agent, but his displeasure at doing so resides heavily within his stature.

First laying eyes on him is a sight to behold. His hair is more put together, set into place purposefully. He wears all black, but the front panel of his coat is garnished with the sparkle and shine of dark jewels that bring it to life. It's a little unlike him, you have to admit, but Minho wears it well.

Quickly, you finish up a conversation with people that your husband barely knows, that you have barely been partaking in, and go to him. He, too, is amidst something of the same, though handling it far less gracefully than you have.

You put on your widest smile, and curl your arm firmly around his own from the side.

"My sincerest apologies," you start, tone dripping with a sweet edge, "I'm afraid I must take my husband from you, if only for a brief moment."

The man smiles and nods happily, understanding of whatever situation it is that you've made up in your head in order to rescue Minho. It's late into the evening and you've not been keeping a watchful eye, but the smell on his breath of alcohol is one that you're quite familiar with, and disappearing into the halls towards less-traveled passages, you can't help but wonder what this instance has in store.

Minho drags along, but doesn't say a word. He stumbles slightly once, you try not to ascribe it to his drunkenness unfairly. You have just the place in mind, and once you reach the old, empty study at the far, opposite end of the hall, you push Minho inside lightly, and then close the door behind.

"Are you rescuing the damsel?" Minho asks, cheeky and with a smile. "Was it that obvious?"

"Only to someone with the eyes to see it," you reply. "I know that you don't enjoy these sorts of busy situations."

"One might say I hate it, in fact." Minho steps towards you, and you take a step back. Only there is nowhere left for you to go, and your back is up against the door from which you came. "Indeed, I much prefer quieter moments of peace, just between myself and another…"

His hand finds the outside of your thigh, only the thick layers of your dress between skin. He closes the space further, as much as he can, until his body is pressed tightly against your own. You've been holding your breath—for how long? you wonder. A sharp inhale takes you, though it's ragged and shudders at the feeling of being with him like this. Everything that Minho offers you feels white hot, regardless of the clothes that keep you separated, and when his mouth finds the line of your jaw, you cannot help but melt into the touch.

You ache for him. A dull throb that makes itself known, impossible to ignore. His other hand snakes around your waist to pull you closer—as if closer is physically possible. You could beg for him to touch you elsewhere, drunk with want not unlike his own intoxication.

"I don't care if you love another man," he says suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere. The abrupt mention of Hyunjin sends something of a cold chill to your otherwise hot skin. "I'm happy that you're here, I love having you here…" His lips are still lightly mouthing against the flesh of your jaw, voice low, nearly a whisper. "I love…you. Even in the event that you love another, that is of no consequence to me. Not really."

Desire has waned, flushed away quickly as if it had never even been there. You gently push Minho away so that you can look him in the eyes, but all that you find is the slightly drunken, but incredibly sincere glean looking back at you.

"You're drunk," you say, rejecting his advances for this to go any further. Now is not the time. "You always say and do such things when you're intoxicated."

"Do you assume me to be more intoxicated than I am so that you don't have to acknowledge the words?"

You don't respond to this immediately. Minho does not deserve to be told a lie, and thus, you say nothing.

He continues on. "In the atrium that night, you assumed that I was making poor choices, outside of the realm of my own logic? Things that I would never do just because of the drink? And then now, you think the same? Do you truly believe that, or is it easier than the words? Because no one understands that feeling better than I do."

"Is that why you drink, then? To say and do all of the things that you can't do when you're sober?" You scoff lightly. "You can't drink through every step of your life."

"I don't, I won't," Minho says firmly. "Think of it more…as a coincidence."

Stepping towards you once more, Minho closes in on you all over again. His lips mere inches away from your own as he gazes down at you.

Then, the door opens from behind you, and he pulls it open to fashion himself an exit.

"If you don't believe me, then you're more than welcome to nurse my hangover in the morning hours, since you'll be awake!" he says loudly, far too cheerfully for everything that's gone on. 

You smile at him, and hate that you do. This annoying, eccentric, strange man that has buried himself so deeply beneath your skin. An unshakable, ineffable and unquantifiable shine to his mere existence.

Minho disappears back down the hall and towards the guests that await him, nearly skipping as he does so. You watch from the doorframe, make an effort to steady the quick beating of your heart, and replay the words over and over again in your mind; unremittingly.

"Good morning, darling."

Bent over the kitchen counter, chin perched up against your palm, you cock your head and smile at Minho as he slowly, carefully enters the shared space. Eyes narrow, like any light pains his entire being.

"Shall we take you for your bath, then?" you add, walking towards him and circling your arm around his.

A light steam rises from the water as Minho's sore body sinks into it. You reenter just moments later with a set of clothing in hand, and sit yourself just beside the porcelain tub to aid him in his recovery.

"You shouldn't drink so much," you say, obviously.

"I know," he admits through a groan. "Every time I do this, I say it'll be the last. Then another social event comes up."

"There was no such social event in the atrium that evening."

"Sure there was, you were there."

Silence falls between the two of you in the following moments, and you watch as Minho closes his eyes, sinks his body deeper into the water to the point that only his head sticks out from the top. You take it upon yourself to lightly remove strands of hair stuck to the dampness of his forehead, and then, Minho inhales with intent to speak.

"I apologize for last night, as well as for the evening in the atrium. I apologize for…parts of them, but not everything." He pauses, eyes still closed, but forces himself to continue on. "The truth is: I do not care about your history with the prince, no matter how recent it has been. I understand there is a complexity there that I may never be able to grasp, nor do I think it necessary for me to do so. What is necessary of me—as your husband—is to be kind, understanding, and perhaps if there could be space for it; loving."

You still completely, allowing the words to wash over you and sink deeply into every crevice of your being.

He speaks again. "Suppose what I had hoped for; some starry-eyed, hopeless romantic sort of expectation in all of this that was left unspoken, is that regardless of your feelings for him, your history with him, that you might still find space in your heart to someday love me too."

An immediate reply escapes you, and you lose sight of just how tortuous such a wait can be until Minho cracks one, single eye open and peers at you cautiously through it.

"Please, say something. Put me out of my misery, if you must," he says.

Your senses come back to you quickly, shaking your head in the negative. "No! No, Minho…have you truly not noticed? Let us not forget who it was that insisted upon the two of us becoming more than strangers who share a home together…"

"Living with strangers is, well, strange. You could have meant anything by that."

You try not to roll your eyes, but fail. Instead of pressing further on this particular endeavor, you decide to revisit the original one, as brought forward by him. The entire thing remains fascinating to you—the density of his capability to understand things that come to you with such ease.

"I probably can," you say, acknowledging his hope for the openness of your heart. "I probably do."

Minho closes his eyes again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The tension that collected at his shoulders amidst all of this falling away like weights strapped to him. You are calmed watching him unravel before you.

"Let us share an evening meal tonight, something special. Think about all of the things that you wish to say to me in earnest, and I will do the same," you offer quietly.

"I would like that."

𝕏𝕍𝕀𝕀𝕀.

Minho enters just as the large, antique clock begins to sing its tune of nine in the evening.

Candle light flickers against the walls of the dining room and illuminates the table where all of the dishes that Mai has hand crafted herself sit. A beautiful display, though hardly what you're taking an interest in tonight.

He takes his seat across from you, clears his throat gently, and averts his eyes as much as he can until it seemingly dawns on him that he cannot do so for much longer. Reluctantly, Minho looks at you, and though his appearance is not unlike his usual self, something new makes itself apparent within him.

Mai comes over and pours your glass of wine, then makes her way around the table towards his. However, Minho does not accept the gesture. Watching you the entire time.

"You're not having wine with your meal?" you ask.

"No, I've decided to come off it, at least for a time."

"For a time?"

"This time."

Surprisingly confident and almost sinister sounding, Minho no longer makes an effort to avert his eyes from you and as a result, the weight of them rests heavily on your form. There is a sort of humor to this, you find, desiring nothing more than for him to see you for so long and now feeling as though you should shrink away from beneath his gaze. Why is he looking at you in such a way? Why is it that you feel like prey?

You steady your nerves and smile. "Well, there will be other times."

"Do you wish to remain married to me?"

Your attention pulls towards him quickly and with a confused earnestness. "What? Why are you asking me such a thing?"

Minho leans forward against the table. "We agreed to have this meal together and discuss such things. I think…I have not done much to aid in the ease of your comfort here. I think we have grown a lot together, maybe even enjoy our time shared. Perhaps it is time that we decide on just how much of a married life we wish to have with one another. Thus, do you wish to remain married to me?"

"Is there really an alternative?" you question, somewhat humorously. "Of course, marriages have ended before but we hardly meet the sorts of societal requirements for such a thing."

"You have not answered my question," he insists.

You press your palms abruptly to the table, fed up by his ridiculous pushing on the matter.

"Yes! I wish to remain married to you! My goodness; we've shared meals together, our thoughts and dreams and hopes for the future together, intimacy together! As if I've not made it clear where I stand on the matter while I drag you along through all of this kicking and screaming the whole way…you don't exactly make it easy on a woman!"

"So you are happy."

"Yes!" you quickly bite back.

"Content."

"Yes, Minho!"

"But you want more," he continues on, the rapid fire back and forth between you now mounting the anticipation of where this is meant to go.

"Of course I do!"

"You desire more of me."

"Yes!" you reply, exasperated by the questioning but barely even having a moment to register what's been laid out before you. The affirmation slips out from your lips unwillingly, but it's too late to bring it back. Instead, you watch Minho's eyes narrow mischievously as a result of the grin that tugs at his lips. He must be pleased with himself.

"We should eat." Hardly convincing when you say it. Still, you pick up your utensil. "The food will get cold."

"We can eat any time," Minho says, still playfully persistent. "Is there anything that you wish to ask of me?"

"Yes! What has gotten into you?"

"You, us; the concept of it, the possibility of it." Minho pushes his chair back then and stands, makes his way around the table and towards you. He takes your hand gently, timidly, and pulls you up towards him. Protest dies in your throat before you have the chance to make it heard, because his hand slips around your back and as a result, your body rests flush against his. "Admittedly, I am slow on the uptake of such things. My thoughts get the best of me, second guessing every interaction, every word…" He trails off, the hand at your back slipping to settle at your waist, and then it tightens. "Every touch."

Minho's face dips over to the side of yours, lips edging at the shell of your ear and then he whispers against it, "But you say you want more of me, more that I've not yet given. More that I can give."

Your head swims, warm breath tickling your skin in such an enticing way. Minho's grip against you does not relent, nor do you want it to. You've quietly yearned for what appears to be now presented before you; his touch, and in ways, so much more than that.

"I've still not seen where you sleep," you say quietly, pointedly. "Only ever the atrium."

"Some husband I am, making my darling wife wait so long for such a thing." Minho's hand then slowly falls from your waist down to your hip, then further more to your thigh. His palm settles atop the front for a short moment before he then continues the journey between them, bunching the fabric of your skirt where his fingers rest. "I've not been doing my due diligence, have I?"

Knees nearly buckling at the touch, you clutch onto him by the shoulders, breath hitching as you attempt to answer him. "No, you certainly have not."

This is your best attempt at maintaining composure, but truthfully, you stand in his grasp, disoriented with want for him. Minho's lips graze your jaw, teeth bared within a smile. He says, "Allow me to make it up to you, then."

The large, ornate door to his bedroom closes, and with no more time to waste, Minho's hands begin to artfully search for the flesh of your body.

His lips hurriedly find yours, as if the only thing he ever wishes to taste is within them. Fingers adeptly unfastening the buttons and clasps of your dress while you, in turn, do much of the same at those that hold the fabric of his shirt in place. The race is won by you, and your mouths part only long enough to remove the hindrance from his body—but he follows just after—and your garment falls away, exposed to the ambient chill of the room, though not for long.

Minho leads you with a gentle urgency back towards his bed. There's a haste behind his motions that alludes to a dormant kind of desire that has been held inside of him for far longer than you have been aware of, not at all unlike yourself. As your back finds the mattress, Minho follows you over it; mouth only leaving your skin for the briefest of seconds before finding it once again.

Your legs fall apart to fit his body between them, and his hand slips beneath your last remaining undergarment soon after. Deft fingers that glide between your folds, ample pressure that has you gasping into his mouth for him to drink down and arching your back up to meet the firmness of his chest. Minho smiles against your lips as you do so, slowly and methodically unraveling you for his own viewing pleasure.

He pulls back, slinks down the length of your body and trailing his lips along the way. Warm, wetness circles at your chest before he continues further down.

Hands grip firmly into the plush flesh of your thighs, prying them apart for him just that much more. You glance down, but cannot stand to look at the sight of him; his face mere inches away from just the place that you wish for him to touch again. Minho does not leave you wanting, perhaps he cannot bear to do so, and his tongue finds you, mouth pressed flush against your own lips. The gasp that escapes from you is horrid, far too telling of how much you've been wanting to have him like this. 

Minho pulls off of you, but his dominant hand finds the place he has only just left instead. The wetness pooling is nearly humiliating if not for the comfort that you feel in his presence, and his fingers delicately trickle downward further, carefully driving into you. He watches your face as he takes you apart just that much more, but you do not have the sensibilities to muster up much for words.

"Do you like this?" he asks, the first words spoken since entering the room. The press of his fingers against you is slow, rhythmic, testing. Before you find it within yourself to respond, his mouth reattaches to the place just above where his hand works you open.

Yes falls away from you, though you're not sure how you've managed it. It appears to please him, however, and he continues on with a newly found enthusiasm. He pushes deeper, and a moan escapes you with every drive. A sheen of sweat collects atop your skin, strands of hair matted against you, fingers curling tightly into the sheets beneath your grasp.

Your skin prickles, warmth spreading across your body and muscles stiffening as he continues on. Breaths to take in become shorter and faster, the grind of your hips against the way that he works your body less and less within your conscious control. You slip a hand down between your legs, gently carding fingers through soft, black hair. His fingers curl inside of you, and as a result of it, so do yours atop his head. A whimper slips out from between your lips, and following immediately after, come the desperate pleads for him not to stop.

And he has no intention of doing so. Minho does not stop until your pleasure peaks and ravages your body within his hold. You shake and cry out; wounded gasps and moans that avalanche from you thoughtlessly, the only thing that you can manage through this feeling. Once satisfied, he slows to bring you back down gently, and once delicately seated, he removes himself from you and the bed entirely to finish the act of disrobing.

Chest heaving with exhausted breaths, you nearly miss his doing so, only alerted to the fact once the bed dips again, signifying his return to you. Minho crawls between your legs and up the length of your body just as he did the first time; kisses your chest, your neck, your jaw, only to then settle atop your lips. Teeth faintly find the bottom of your lip, already well and truly bitten raw from your own abuse. Still, you reach up to feel the warmth of his skin under your hands and revel in the way that his body feels against your own. Though release has found you once this evening, you are not truly satiated by him yet.

Minho's hand slips down between both of your bodies to hold himself in place. You feel him against you; wet and solid, enticing and teasing. You move almost involuntarily against him, hopeful to receive what it is that you desire from him now, but he is unwilling to relent to your neediness just yet.

You gasp lightly against his mouth, and Minho happily accepts it into his own, delighted by the way you come apart beneath him.

"Have you thought about it before?" he asks, a coy whisper shared only between lovers. A question that does not require further expansion, for you know precisely what it is that is being referred to.

"So many times," you reply.

At that, Minho begins the slow, precise drive of himself inside of you once more. "Apologies for keeping you waiting then."

He sinks into you, body accepting him with ease. Minho's mouth hangs slightly ajar as he does so, taken by the feeling, and settles momentarily once his hips meet flush against your own before his hips pull back and he repeats the process once more. The thick drag, hard and strong is dizzying and nearly disorienting to your senses—your fingernails dig into his skin, and for the first time, Minho groans with a sort of primal lust that has the hairs across your skin standing on end, and the fire inside of your abdomen burning just that much hotter than before.

With the ease in which your body accepts him, Minho is able to find a quick and strong rhythm. Harder and faster his hips find your own, the urgency needing this moment for so long finally coming to a head between the both of you. Your whimpers and moans echo off the walls, losing sight of the once prominent thought in your mind that the staff may hear you; instead, you beg and plead for more of him, anything that he is physically capable of giving you—he does.

Body tightening beneath him, you feel once again the familiar promise of release. Your hands glide over hot, damp skin; muscles that flex and move with every drive of himself inside of you. Minho kisses you—a sloppy attempt—but you meet it happily, and his face falls away to the crook of your neck to nip into the skin there. One, strong hand slips down to grip at your thigh, pulls you apart further and wider for him to work your body open with his own. Hard, methodical strokes; one after another, whimpers and whines punched out of you with each. You beg for more, continuously beg as if never satisfied, and Minho continues to give relentlessly to you until his own ability finally falters and gives way; rhythm shifting, failing, wavering. He hisses against your skin, choking out a pained groan, and you find your end just alongside him in bitten back cries and a final, deep sinking of himself within you.

Chests heaving and basking in the afterglow for many, long moments, he does not hurry to separate your bodies, and instead, his lips begin to work at the sensitive skin of your neck once again. You close your eyes to simply enjoy the feeling of this, of him, and hold tightly in your arms the man that has somehow come to be precisely what it is that you have always hoped for someone to become.

"Stay here tonight," he says quietly. "Don't go."

You smile, barely there. Mustering up all of the energy within your bones that you have left to expend and say, "I wouldn't dream of it."

𝕏𝕀𝕏.

The new year brings new cheer, as well as new prospects to the household.

It has been a year since you've been back to the city center, and though covered in snow and the dreadful darkness that winter brings, you feel some semblance of ease having returned.

You remember the days that you spent dreaming of being inside of these very same castle walls, though now that you're here, you can't help but feel as though they glitter less brightly than what it is that you had imagined.

Beside you, Minho stands with a forced and feigned confidence. He glances at you, perhaps having felt your eyes upon him, and offers a nervous smile that does nothing to placate your concern for him. Indeed, not all things change with ease—and some may never—but having the comfort of those who love you shouldering much of the burden instead. 

In arm, he holds a wrapped painting. One that you know well; a small ship atop a vast, brightly colored sea.

You hear the echo of doors opening from behind you, and when you turn, you are familiar with what you see.

Methodical clicks of shoes being the only thing that cuts through the silence, you watch as the prince makes his way towards the two of you—a smile on his face—and most certainly a genuine one. You've never known Hyunjin to be particularly petty, or mean-spirited; and despite all of his shortcomings, he likely does feel softness in his heart for you and the happiness that you have found.

"Your Highness," Minho says with an accompanying bow, but Hyunjin is quick to put a hand up and wave away the gesture.

"I do believe the three of us are well past the need for such things." Looking at you, Hyunjin smiles. "I see things worked out in the end, then?"

With half a mind to question how it is that he knows, you instead chalk it up to a sort of intangible, understood aura that simply exists between lovers; people who are madly, deeply in love with one another. You couldn't fight back the smile if you tried, and so, you don't. Instead, your hand finds Minho's free one, and you nod.

"Yes, indeed they have."

"Splendid news! Perhaps someday I will find myself to be so lucky," Hyunjin says, though there is a particular bite of discontentment in the words that you feel you understand far too well. "Nevertheless, you've brought the painting! I wish I could express in words how eagerly I've been anticipating receiving this piece…ever since it was put up into the auction, I simply knew I had to have it."

"I appreciate your kindness," Minho replies, squeezing your hand lightly. Just another, small offering shared between lovers.

"You will be paid handsomely for this. I am aware of what the asking was but I feel as though it is worth far more, and I'll see to it that you receive precisely that which you are deserving of."

Eyes widening in surprise, Minho glances first at you—but you merely shrug, unmoved by Hyunjin's antics—and instead, he defers to the prince, himself. "Your Highness, that's not—"

"Aht! It is. You creatives truly must value yourself higher, the world moves and exists and revolves around these crafts. Without art, we have nothing. We are nothing."

Hyunjin calls for his housestaff to take the canvas from Minho's grasp, and as they disappear down the hall, the man smiles widely at the two of you as if pleased with himself, with everything that has taken place today.

"Perhaps next in line is getting that book of yours published."

You shake your head, a sort of nervousness striking you that isn't commonplace. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, you know, there is much of you written inside of those pages."

He waves his hand in the air again, unbothered by the fact. "So be it, I'd rather like being not just a part of history, but a part of art, as well."

"Strange fellow," Minho says, walking beside you through the city streets and long after having bid the prince farewell. "Not sure what it is that you ever saw in him."

The comment is pointedly comedic, and you judge him playfully with your elbow before responding in words. "He's handsome, and royalty. Suppose for a long time I didn't consider there to be much else outside of those things. What else could a man have to offer me?"

"As it would seem, only having one of those things is plenty to suit you," he jokes, slinging an arm up and around your shoulders as the two of you carry on. "You have been taken by my confusing whimsy and cumbersome charms."

"So it would seem," you reply, watching the sprinkle of shimmering snow collect atop a difficult, complicated head of black hair that you have incomprehensibly grown to love.

a/n: thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed it! no pt. 2, and kind words are always much appreciated ♡

#lee know smut #lee minho smut #stray kids smut #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee minho x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #lee know fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n

[tiaramania]

Wedding of Prince Mateen of Brunei

The wedding celebrations of Prince Abdul Mateen Bolkiah and Anisha Rosnah Isa binti Adam Kalebic have started in Brunei. I still haven't gotten a very clear picture of her engagement ring yet but it is a very large diamond.

Here is the full schedule. The events on the 14th and 15th should be when the bride wears a tiara. I'm going to put links to videos and articles inline with each event even if they don't include the bride and groom. The ceremonies are still interesting to watch.

3 - Majlis Khatam Quran

7 - Majlis Istiadat Bersuruh Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)

8 - Majlis Istiadat Membuka Gendang Jaga-Jaga (x)(x)(x)

9 - Majlis Istiadat Menghantar Tanda Diraja dan Pertunangan Diraja and Majlis Istiadat Menerima Tanda Diraja dan Pertunangan Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

10 - Majlis Istiadat Berbedak Pengantin Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

11 - Majlis Istiadat Akad Nikah Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)

14 - Majlis Bersanding Pengantin Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

15 - Majlis Persantapan Diraja (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

16 - Majlis Istiadat Membaca Doa Selamat dan Menutup Gendang Jaga-Jaga (x)(x)(x)

The first event was the Majlis Khatam Al-Quran where Anisha read the Quran. It's wasn't broadcast like some of the later events will be but someone in attendance posted a clip if you want to watch. Her dress is a Baju Kurung made of Tenunan Brunei fabric by Teh Firdaus.

Then Anisha wore another dress by Teh Firdaus for the Berbedak Mandi after the public ceremonial events on the 9th. The bride and groom weren't seen during the first two parts where the official betrothal gifts were presented but she is looking at the gifts in the photos. I noticed diamond earrings, a ring that looks like it's from Chaumet's Josephine Aigrette collection, a necklace with a large colored stone (maybe sapphire) pendant, a Patek Philippe watch, and a big diamond feather amongst the gifts.

On the 10th was the Majlis Istiadat Berbedak Pengantin Diraja or Royal Powdering Ceremony when the couples' family applies colored paste and scented oils to their hands. It's my favorite part of Bruneian royal weddings because of the beautiful outfit worn by the bride. It looks like Anisha used the same gold jewelry as Mateen's sisters except for the belt. She also wore the same diamond earrings that Princess Fadzillah and Princess Azemah wore for their powdering ceremonies.

The Akad Nikah was next which is when the couple are officially married. On the left is Prince Mateen at the Berbedak and on the right is him at the Akad Nikah.

The Majlis Bersanding Pengantin Diraja and parade on the 14th finally brings us the first tiara! The now Princess Anisha wore some major diamonds and a simple dress made of a beautiful woven patterned fabric. We got new information about the tiara that was first worn last year by Princess Azemah. It was made by Singapore based jeweler, Flower Diamond, and features over 132 carats of diamonds.

The Majlis Persantapan Diraja on the 15th is the last big event. It's a massive banquet at Istana Nurul Iman with around 5,000 guests. Princess Anisha wore Queen Saleha's Diamond Tiara which has been worn by several of her new sisters-in-law for their wedding celebrations. She did not use the optional heart diamond center but did use the blue and pink diamond toppers.

#Prince Mateen #Princess Anisha #Anisha Isa Kalebic #Brunei #Bruneian Royal Family #royal wedding

[1-800-deactivatednearu]

woag character design notes

[i.d.: a drawn line up of the half life vr ai characters, from left to right, gordon, dr. coomer, tommy, bubby, gman, and benrey. /end i.d.]

yeah i skipped some guys , i dont draw some of them enough to have much unique designs and some of them are a png of a dog

trust me i am just surprised as the rest of yall that i am doing hlvrai art . design notes below (very long, mind your step)

gordon:

wow this guy dont got no head

i didnt want to give gordon a face because of how unexact the person is as the fandom engages with it. is it wayne rtvs? (well as presented to an audience, yes) is it gordon freeman? (well as seen from an in game perspective, yes) is it a whole new guy entirely? (well as

i cut the confusion and took it a whole new direction: guillotine

hlvrai being treated as a very broken game is fun to me as a design perspective, so if you (the audience) are not supposed to see his face, what happens when you see it anyways? missing texture time

there are eyes drawn over because i did not have confidence in my expressions at first and then it grew on me

i think if i were to draw (and i have drawn) an actual person under the mask i would still censor the eyes because that is where the vr headset sits!!

(i do not like putting an actual flesh to gordon though)

though i really like seeing how other people interpret gordon hlvrai it is not . my gordon ? we are talking about the same guy . but this is my gordo . i made this one . this guy my guy . maybe i should draw other gordon designs

i can draw the hev suit from memory and it is also the entire reason why i can render metal confidently

i liked how people changed the lambda to read ai :] i also have no clue if i wrote the lambda correctly

(i did, i just checked)

dr coomer:

as much as i draw/drew him i find it more fun to not stick to one set design :)

so a lot of my takes on dr coomer tend to jump from idea to idea, especially from what other people are doing, though they could be fitted to the left and right designs!

the left design is mainly based off what i saw in fandom spaces

we see rounder shapes, making for a more friendly and welcoming appearance

i think of this as straying from the more professional uniform of the actual scientist models

enter swimming shorts and bright yellow socks, for some reason

so now he kind of looks like a cool science teacher :)

it might be the lab coat

the right design is mainly based off thumbnails for hlvrai itself

these use a more angular appearance

i want to push how comically buff he is because of strength he shows at times, especially since his left design seems to completely down play it as a comically not buff man who is still very strong

the shadows on right design coomer get so much more harsh and exaggerated because i have comic books on the mind :)

he really does look like a dehydrated comic book character huh

tommy:

stick bug (he gets it from his dad) (this thought process is explained at gman section)

i pushed a lot of the saturation of colours in her design because i think tommy gets to be a little silly with it

fun art story of the day! when you color, try messing with hue! you might notice you can get away with a lot as long as your values are about right

i like pushing this with white because you can get away with a lot of things reading as “off white”

old faithful for me is cool shadows with a warm transition colour to keep things visually interesting

i keep making white objects the trans flag

happy pride

tommys design looks a little like a school boy, with the tucked in button up shirt+suspenders+shorts+jacket tied around the waist . and the primary colours . but like it is really fun to dress up so brightly

i actually was strongly inspired by medieval babies if that is a weird descriptor? i wanted him to both be a middle aged man but also a young adult

do not be like tommy, who has their finger on the trigger of the gun while not even looking at where it is pointing and good god he is squeezing the trigger . top ten firearm safety of all time

bubby:

the absurd part is that i think bubby is tall . he is just between tommy and gman who are exaggeratedly lanky .

i wanted to make bubby a pointy kinda guy, so he is the only one actually wearing the lab coat proper . and the only one actually wearing dress socks but not even wearing dress shoes

i wanted to give him a novelty tie but i was running low on ideas and running high on boreds so we dont get a tie

he does have crocs though!! in attack mode!!

i do think we all kind of saw his model and collectively decided it works for him because i have honestly not seen major divergences from his model?

gman:

stick bug

i wanted to stress the more spooky and unknowable nature of him and took it in the dark souls direction of “make bigger than player character”

maked too bigger

he cannot walk through any doorways but you will have to crane your neck to look up at him

in the opposite direction of tommy, i pulled a lot of the saturation in gmans design

it feels important to make them both not fully match the rest of the slightly less broken npcs because there was so much work to make them look cool so i have to respect that

actually a lot of gmans and tommys designs are made in opposite to one another

gman has a largely stationary face and very stiff line work

while tommy is pushed to expressive as possible

thats pretty fun, way to go me

benrey:

benrey also has two designs

and in both of these i keep getting too lazy to use a reference so  the vests are super plain (forgetting the badge and black mesa logo) . i think the helmet is supposed to be darker actually .

the design ethos of benrey was “built like a brick shithouse”

a friend of mine took this cooler and interpreted it as a shield/wall/barrier as a physical (and narrative) obstacle

again the first uses fandom designs

most notably the overcast shadow (seen in video thumbnails but i never noticed it or understood why so many people did it until someone pointed it out to me)

i think hlvrai is such a great medium because it acknowledges it is a game and is able to play into that to great effect! i think the shadow is fun to imagine as solid black as a small reminder of the impossibility of the space :]

benrey is a smug cat in the body of a human . to be honest . and this is the full range of emotion i have ever drawn him with

the second was mostly because as fun as taking creative liberties are, i just really wanted to see benrey as is: the half life security guard model in all its slight wonk :]

i actually do prefer this design . it is a little more uncanny because i choose the worst translations of the model . i like it because it is a little more uncanny !

that can be said for like . every single design in this line up huh .

#hlvrai #my art #gordon feetman #dr coomer #tommy coolatta #dr bubby #gman coolatta #benrey #half life vr but the ai is self aware

[iceinwrt]

Chocolates

Happy 14th of February!

Sitri: ¡Solo...!

Paimon: How pretty you look todaaaay! *Scratches Sitri and pushes him out of sight* Weeell, today is a special day, because this is the first Valentine's Day you're with uuuus. So, I wanted you to accompany me just for a...

Zagan: ... *He arrives suddenly at your side, with a small box decorated meticulously in one of his hands, which he extends to you silently, but before you could see it clearly, a shot is heard from the distance, and the pink box disappears.*

Leraye: That's so unfair! They didn't even wait for...!

*And before you could hear the end of Leraye's complaints, or even register another movement, you dived underground. Pink ribbons kept rising on your body, until finally you emerged from the ground.*

Eligios: You're finally here! The best thing would be to hide you before...

Bimet: Don't even think about it, you cheap bastard, she'll get my...!

Valefor: It is clear that you are both wrong. She will get first what I worked so hard to do.

Foras: I've got you. *He holds you in his arms, and cuts the ribbons, before entering the space inside the coffin.* Walk with me for a moment please, soon we will be in Hades and...

*You look at Glasyalabolas, who was standing in front with his arms crossed.*

Glasyalabolas: You weren't thinking of cheating, were you?

Foras: ... I brought her here first, so I have the right to be the one to give her my...

Barbatos: Solomon's daughter won't disappear whether you give her chocolates first or not, won't you accept my present first?

*A bright smile shows on his mouth, before he gives you a deep, lighthearted kiss. He holds you by the waist, pulls you away from Foras quickly, before some tentacle struck Barbatos and leads you into the corridors of Hades with a humming hum.*

Barbatos: I hope they don't take you from one place to another, so let's sort that out first before we....

Marbas: With your permission, descendant of Solomon. *He holds you affectionately from behind your back and his chin touches your shoulder.

Stolas: Solomon's daughter has an engagement with Abyssos. *A raven is placed over your head.* It's only fair that Abyssos should have his guest back.

Barbatos: This palace belongs to Hades and...

Marbas: I refuse. Paradise Lost is waiting for Solomon's descendant...

Morax: Anyway... It is not important for you to go anywhere, always... You can choose where to stay. *He came closer, breathing irregularly, before the pretty cheeks were stained red. The skin under the bandages was more interesting than Marbas, Barbatos and Stolas' fight* I came as fast as I could, I just want to hand you over....

*White fur covers your sight, and a long tongue runs all over your face. Morax helps you remove the Dog god, and you laugh, when the color of his skin becomes more reddish.*

Buer: Looks like he filled you with slime... I'll clean you. *A broad smile greets you, and Buer's fingers slide down your cheeks* By the way, can I give you my chocolate too. It may not be much, but I'd like to give you a present from me. Would you accept it?

*Before you could open your mouth, the Dog god lifts you up with his snout and makes you climb on top of him. You try to hold on, before you fall, and he left Hades' palace at full speed. The god seemed to have no course in mind, before another dog, with three heads, pushed the god away.*

Amon: Dogs. *He sighed, as he pulled you away from the dog fight, with Naberius and the white fur rolling on the ground.* How about eating something delicious? I saved it for...

Naberius: Don't you dare! *You turned your head in the direction of Naberius' furious shout, before the giant dog appeared again.*

Amon: We'd better go before he starts coming. *He whispered, as he grabbed you and flew too fast to realize you were already in Abyssos, entering the palace.* Hasn't anyone given you anything yet? Then, can I be the first to give you...

Bael: Do you want some chocolates?

*You turn your head, and stare at Bael. Your mouth waters at the sight of the sexy demon in an apron, spreading a strangely shaped tray on it.*

Stolas: *Suddenly arrives and throws the tray* What the fuck! Do you want to poison her?

*You, Amon and Bael look at the chocolates on the floor.*

⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧

A little late, but I had fun. I even overslept today after the horrible time with exams. 😵‍💫

But finally, I hope you enjoyed it! I don't know if I'll post an illustration, and I'm sorry if I didn't cover the kings, nor the other demons besides these, but it was more out of ignorance than not wanting to.

I already had this idea saved for you guys, that's why I didn't write any nsfw for the moment, but anyway.

#whb #what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad? #whb all characters #ice's headcannon #whb headcanons #whb sitri #whb stolas #whb foras #whb morax

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Eclipsed [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@without-ado) Center (@sadgirlzluvdilfs) Right (Google)

Prompt: A one-shot about how the reader saved Aaron from a date gone wrong and when Aaron, Jack, and the reader go to see the solar eclipse together. 

Pairing: Aaron x fem presenting reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns. 

Category: Hurt/comfort/fluff (at the end)

Word Count: 6.6K 

Content warnings: Mentions of a break-up and cheating (reader), mention of alcohol and drinking, there is an inebriated person (they are safe), unwanted touch (on the chest [Hotch]), mention of extremist ideologies, mention of bombings, death by bomb (unsub and victim), religious intolerance (religion not specified), veterans issues, slight body image issues (Hotch), slight depression (Hotch and reader), mention of drugs, therapists. Post - Hailey’s passing. Let me know if I missed any.

A/N: Hi loves. It’s time for another meet-cute one-shot. This story is based on the fact that I got to see the solar eclipse two weekends ago. It’s also inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins and her awesome Meet Cute Writing Challenge. The prompt I went off of was: Characters are both stood up at the same date spot. I also want to thank Rome @criminalskies who I bounced this idea off of. Their comments helped build up this narrative. Also, this fic takes place a few years after Hailey’s death. Those who know about astronomy will know that those in Virginia would not actually see the full eclipse, but please just suspend your belief in reality for the sake of the story. I hope you all like this story, and if you do, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you all have a great Tuesday - Levi 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/f/a/d_ = your favorite alcoholic drink

_l/n_ = your last name 

_e/c_ = your eye color - aka green eyes, brown eyes, hazel eyes, etc, 

_y/n_ was nursing an old-fashioned and a bruised ego. It had been half an hour, and “Jake” hadn’t shown up for their date at the bar. She had done all the things that those trying to get back into dating recommended: Pick good realistic pictures, be honest about expectations in the bio’s, and actually get out there on dates. Because generally, relationships were rarely made solely online. One had to actually go out and meet the guy or girl that had piqued the person’s interest. _y/n_ had gone as far as Facetiming Jake to make sure he wasn’t a catfish. Something about his pictures looked a little too good to be true. But he had been real, and _y/n_ was honestly surprised that he had shown an interest in her. _y/n_ had agreed to meet him at his favorite bar downtown. She half agreed to see if Jake was pulling her leg. _y/n_ had not been very successful in her dating life. There had been a few flubbed relationships in college and then she had thought she had met the love of her life. It had started out as long distance, but she and her partner had met in person and sparks flew. They had committed and a year later they were engaged. She really thought she was going to have it all. ‘You stupid idiot,’ _y/n_’s inner monologue chided. _y/n_ took another sip of her drink. She had moved to D.C. for them. It was at that point that she realized that her supposed faithful lover had been cheating on her for five months. And there she was in a new city, looking for a new job, and in some of the worst emotional pain of her life. It had taken her a full year to recover from the hurt and betrayal. _y/n_ now looked at love with a bitterness that she never thought would happen to her. She never thought she was going to grow up to be a cat lady, and as relaxing and unbothered as that life sounded like, part of her still longed for a soft and gentle love. For someone to lean on. 

As _y/n_ finished her drink, her gaze fell back to the bar. She cringed at what she saw. It had been happening for the last half hour and it was like watching a trainwreck. She wanted to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t look away. It had started when the very handsome man had stepped into the bar. He was tall and gave off a commanding aura. _y/n_ had rolled her eyes at her brain's choice of words. At this point, she checked the door every time someone came in to see if it was Jake. He was already ten minutes late. But it wasn’t Jake, it was this tall, fit man in a suit and tie that she thought might be Dolce and Gabbana. ‘Out of your tax bracket,’ she thought. _y/n_ tore her eyes away from the man and pulled out her phone to text her date. When it became apparent to her that he wasn’t coming, she got a drink for herself. She’d driven twenty minutes to get here after all, so she was going to enjoy it solo. As she turned back to her spot, she saw the man again. He was seated at a table like hers. He also seemed to be waiting for something. As she passed him, he turned his wrist to look at his watch again. _y/n_ clocked the Rolex, and she was starting to feel a bit jealous of whoever was supposed to be joining this stranger. She huffed at herself. As _y/n_ sat and took a sip of her _y/f/a/d_ she thought, ‘You really need to work on your negative self-talk.’ It took a few more minutes before the attractive man’s face seemed to fall into a morose expression. _y/n_ hadn’t seen the man smile yet, but his face was more somber now than it had been before. He was also looking at the door from time to time, and _y/n_ genuinely wondered if he had also been stood up. She couldn’t help but think, ‘Well whoever stood this guy up is a real dummy.’ 

A few minutes later, the man got up and moved to a seat at the bar instead. The place was crowded. She assumed he did this to make room for a group that had just entered the establishment. This meant the man was kind and had a taste in fashion. Double whammy. The trainwreck part of the night started when a woman, who was clearly a few drinks in, started hitting on the man. The inebriated woman had ordered a drink and made a comment about “How such a hot guy was at a bar alone?” The man had politely answered but showed no interest in a continued conversation. The woman did not pick up on these cues. The man declined when the woman asked to buy him a drink and to have him join her at her table upstairs. Finally, the woman went away, and the man looked relieved. But if anything, apart from the fact that the woman had probably had one too many, was the fact that she was relentless. She had come back and tried to convince the man two more times to join her or go home with her, or any assortment of awkward pick-up lines and lewd suggestions she could think of. Given what he was enduring, the man was handling the situation with incredible grace and decorum. _y/n_ actually felt a small bit of pity for the drunk woman. She didn’t have her full faculties and if she had that much to drink, she might be throwing herself at the man just the same. And now the woman was back for a third time. And this time she was getting handsy. It was at this that _y/n_ felt discomfort. The man was firmer now, but the woman’s hands continued to feel over his shoulders and chest. The man looked around uncomfortably, and _y/n_ thought, ‘Would someone stop this, please!” _y/n_ clearly realized that if someone was going to stop what was happening at the bar, then it was going to have to be her. A wild and outlandish idea hit her, and she couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. She stood and approached the pair. _y/n_ cleared her throat and stood next to the man, separating him from the woman. She placed her hand on his shoulder. As he looked at her, she stated, loudly enough for the other woman to hear, “Hey, honey. Sorry, it took me so long to get here. The traffic was terrible getting into the city.” 

Aaron was suffering. The latest case had been rough. The unsub was a veteran who had fallen on hard times and had started using drugs to cope with the trauma he had endured during the first invasion of Iraq. Along with the drugs, he had started to form delusions and fallen into some extremist conspiracy theories. The man had started bombing churches, and at the last minute, the team was able to save a religious building from imploding. And Aaron was relieved by this, but he had made a bad call. He fully assumed that the unsub would give up and get the treatment he desperately needed if the man’s former commanding officer gave the unsub orders to stand down. The man did seem to give up, but at the last second, the unsub approached his old superior. He pulled out a trigger and set off a pipe bomb that he had hidden in his cargo pants; killing himself and his former officer instantly. The team was lucky that the area was cleared by the bomb squad because the blast was so strong that it shook the ground and knocked out the glass windows two buildings away. And now Aaron had to live with his choice to send an active duty and decorated military officer into that situation. He had gambled and lost. After that, there had been piles and piles of paperwork, and a reprimand from Strauss about his ability to do his job well and lead the team. There was also a piece in the news highlighting the team's failure. Hotch had made sure that any heat the team took from the public was aimed at him. They hadn’t been the ones to make the call. He had. And yes, the paperwork, reprimand, and public disapproval were annoying, but it was never going to be enough to make up for the loss of life. After this, Aaron actually felt like he understood how Gideon had felt those many years ago in Boston. 

Hotch had completely forgotten that he had agreed to meet a woman he was talking to on a dating app three days after he had returned home from the case. She had texted him in the morning asking if they were still on. He felt like it was too late to cancel on the woman, so he agreed even if he really wasn’t feeling it. He planned to fake it on the date, gently let the woman down, and then delete everything off his phone when he got home. He wasn’t in a place to be in a relationship right now. Aaron was glad when his date didn’t show up. Once what felt like an appropriate time had passed for him to sit at the table for two, he got up and moved to the bar. He did like this bar, which is why he had suggested it in the first place. Hotch would never be a man to drown his sorrows, but tonight, after everything that had happened, he allowed himself to have a drink alone. Then a different kind of discomfort from being stood up appeared, as a woman approached him. Aaron did everything he could to let her down and get her to leave him alone with his thoughts. The logical side of Hotch’s brain told him to get up and leave, but some maladapted piece of him told him that this was some sort of cosmic justice for his mistakes. He was uncomfortable when the woman started touching him, and at this point, with no other solution in sight apart from fleeing the scene, he got ready to close out. When another woman approached him and stood between himself and the person who had essentially been groping his chest. He felt even more apprehensive. But when the new stranger said, “Hey, honey. Sorry it took me so long to get here. The traffic was terrible getting into the city,” he blinked a few times in confusion. It took him a beat to realize what the new person was offering; a lifeline. Hotch immediately played along and said, “Now worries, darling. I’m just happy you got here safe. I know it can be a long commute.” The woman gave him a reassuring smile, and he continued, “How about we find a place that’s a little more private?” The woman nodded, and Aaron got up from his seat. The other woman who was still standing close by looked crestfallen, as the two of them moved across the room to the table _y/n_ had been sitting at before. Aaron, having the opportunity to really make this look real of the woman still standing at the bar, ghosted his arm behind his savior's waist. He didn’t actually make physical contact with her body. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, or for her to think that he was some creep taking advantage of her kindness, but he faked it well enough, and the woman at the bar made a hasty retreat upstairs. 

At the table, they both sat down for a second, and Aaron sincerely said, “Thank you. I was really at a loss back there.” The woman gave him a small smile and replied, “I’m happy to help. I can’t believe that actually worked. It felt like being in the scene of a romcom.” For the first time that evening, Aaron smiled. It was small, but it was still an actual smile. He extended his hand and said, “Aaron, Hotchner.” The woman took and replied, “_y/n_, _l/n_.” There was a moment of silence and then the woman said, “Aaron huh. I kind of pegged you as a Thomas.” Again there was another silence and Aaron looked at the table and asked, “I’m sorry, am I in someone’s seat? Are you waiting for somebody?” _y/n_ seemed to deflate at this and said, “No. The man who was supposed to be meeting me made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to show up forty minutes ago when he was allegedly arriving.” Hotch let out a breath and said, “Well, you’re not alone in that.” Hearing this response confirmed that Aaron had been stood up like she assumed. _y/n_ replied, “Sometimes I really can’t stand the idea of dating anymore.” Aaron heard the sarcastic bite of the statement, but underneath there was a real note of sorrow. He took a moment to look over _y/n_ carefully. For someone that had their date ditch them, _y/n_ seemed nonplussed, comfortable even. She was leaning against the back of her chair with one hand slung over the back. She had an air of disinterest like nothing could bother her. Somehow Aaron didn’t believe the persona she was exuding. He looked over her face. It was too dark in the bar for him to see if her _e/c_'s were dilated or not. Whenever Hotch made a close observation of those he got close to, especially women. They had some kind of attraction tell. He couldn’t figure out why exactly. What they saw in him apart from his height which he knew some people were attracted to. Other than that, he was rapidly approaching middle age, his crows-feet stated that clearly to the world. And though he tried to stay active between cases, taking care of Jack meant less physical activity, and that showed on his body. He didn’t hate himself or anything, just that he thought he could be improved. Aaron snapped to the present when _y/n_ said, “I’m going to grab another drink? Do you want something?” Hotch thought for a second. In _y/n_’s offering to get him a drink, it was an invitation for him to stay a bit longer. He didn’t want to intrude, but talking to _y/n_ meant he couldn’t hold a pity party for himself. He also wanted to see if _y/n_ really was as nonchalant as she let on. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. A gin and tonic, please.” _y/n_ nodded and moved back to the bar. 

As she went to get a second round of drinks, she could still feel how Aaron’s warm eyes had been looking at her -- deeply, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. She hadn’t fully expected him to accept her offer for a drink, but she had asked because she wanted to spend a few more minutes with him. Because she didn’t expect to spend a lot of time with anyone like this again in a long while, so why not go out with a bang? Also, there was the fact that he was very attractive. The closer he got to her, the better he looked. As she waited for her order, she casually looked back at Aaron, and he seemed to have drifted to a distant place. She frowned. Like this, he looked sad. She wondered what was bothering him so much. Before her break up, people had told her that she wore her heart on her sleeve, and she was a fool for doing so. After the cheating incident, she had buried that part of her deep inside. But sometimes it came out. When she was sad or needed comfort, or she saw someone hurting. The bartender called for _y/n_, and she took the glasses in her hand. _y/n_ moved back to the table and she set down their drinks. She was about to sit down, but a noise from behind her caught her attention. 

Aaron sat straighter when _y/n_ came back. He said, “Thank you,” and he watched as _y/n_ pulled out her chair. He watched as the woman who had been hitting on him seemed to be getting ready to leave. She was on unsteady feet and had her keys out. She kept jiggling said keys as she moved toward the door. Hotch frowned and thought that he should do something. Before he could, _y/n_ quietly said, “Excuse me.” _y/n_ turned and moved a few feet across the floor to the woman. Aaron was close enough to the pair to hear _y/n_ say, “Hey ma’am. Miss.” The woman attempting to leave turned and moved toward _y/n_. _y/n_ put a steadying hand on the woman’s arm and said, “Hey again, you’re not going to try and drive home right?” The woman slurred but affirmed that was her plan. _y/n_ nodded her head no, and replied, “No. I don’t think you should drive. Let me get you an Uber or a cab?” The woman replied, “‘Is only a few blocks down. I’m okay.” _y/n_ replied encouragingly, “Great, if it’s close, then an Uber can get you there in no time and it won’t be expensive. I don’t want you driving. It’s not safe for you.” _y/n_ pulled out her phone and after a second, asked the woman for her address. It took the woman a moment, but she finally thought of it and punched it in on _y/n_’s phone. _y/n_ double-checked with the woman that this really was her address before punching the request ride button. The Uber was only two minutes away, and one of the bar's employees offered to walk the woman out once he had the license plate written down. When this was done, Aaron watched as she moved back to the table. When she sat down again, she said, “Sorry about that.” As she took a sip of her drink. He said, “Don’t be. That was very kind of you.” For the first time that night, those words seemed to get to the woman. She flushed slightly and let out the smallest of exhales. And maybe, just maybe he had been right about her not being as aloof as she let on. _y/n_ replied, “Honestly if you left me in this bar for another two hours I might be acting like her.” She paused and tacked on, “I have acted like her, many, many years ago.” Aaron and the _y/n_ spoke for the remainder of their drinks. They talked about easy topics like bands and the weather. Aaron shifted the conversation away from work. He was having an enjoyable time, and he didn’t want to have to think about his job right now. There would be plenty of time for that when he got home. As the two parted ways, neither expected to see the other ever again. 

It wasn’t until next month that their paths crossed again like figure skaters on a frozen lake. Aaron was feeling much better. Less despondent. The team had really bolstered around him. They weren’t clingy, because they knew he hated that, but they had been understanding, compassionate even. Hotch was gearing up for another Monday in the office. He was just taking off his two guns and placing them along with his keys and sunglasses in a plastic container. His briefcase and duffle also went into a tray that would go through security. The security guard motioned for Aaron to move through the metal detector which he did. And as he did every day he was in the office, he lifted his arms slightly as the guard patted him down the chest and legs. This was an obvious security need for the job, but he didn’t always like it. He didn’t get a lot of physical contact, and this didn’t exactly cut it for comfort. But it was always quick, and he would grab his things and pretend that it didn’t bother him. Aaron looked up when he heard Daryl Jones's deep baritone voice coming his way. Agent Jones was the Unit Chief for the Drug and Firearm unit like he was the Chief of the BAU. The two teams intersected on cases every now and then. Aaron was never not surprised by Jones’s deep voice. It was the deepest voice he had ever heard. There was another voice too. Much lighter in pitch and tone. Hotch looked up and was surprised to see the woman who had helped him during the uncomfortable encounter at the bar. He wracked his brains for her name, and after a moment it came to him; _y/n_. The security guard let him go, and Aaron quickly took his things and moved toward _y/n_ and Jones. As he drew nearer, _y/n_ looked over to him and the surprise on her face must have looked like he had moments earlier. She looked over his badge. Rather awkwardly, _y/n_ extended her hand and said, “Hello again, Aaron.” Hotch took her hand and replied, “Good morning, _y/n_. Is everything alright?” Jones looked between the two and asked, “Agent Hotchner, do you know Ms. _l/n_?” Aaron could sense that _y/n_was slightly embarrassed, and he answered quickly, “We’ve met once before.” Jones nodded and _y/n_ looked up to Aaron and answered his question saying, “I think everything will be alright. Thanks to Agent Jones.” Daryl replied, “Well, I’ll do what I can, and if you see anything else suspicious or troubling please come and see me again, alright?” _y/n_ nodded and said, “I will, thanks.” Jones nodded and gave the woman a reassuring pat on the shoulder. As she moved forward, _y/n_ turned back to Aaron and said, “It was good to see you again Aaron.” With that, she moved through security and out the doors of the bureau. 

Hotch watched, as she left, and he turned back to Jones and asked, “What was that all about?” Jones moved with Aaron back toward the elevators and said, “You know about the Menendez cocaine ring we’ve been trying to crack?” Hotch nodded yes, but wasn’t sure how this factored into the discussion of _y/n_. All the Unit Chiefs met weekly and updated the others on what was happening, and if there was any need for the teams currently working on a case to cross-coordinate. Jones’s team had been after a drug cartel for months, but every time they got close, the leads seemed to disappear. Jones had started to believe that there must be someone on the inside who was either FBI or police. As it turned out, Daryl might be right as he said, “Well Ms. _l/n_ was trying to file a report about some drug activity. Janet, my liaison had asked her why she didn’t go to the police, and_l/n_ stated that she had seen an officer she knows works for the city going into the house allegedly selling drugs. She was scared that if she reported it to LEOs, there might be repercussions.” Aaron processed the information. _y/n_ was right to avoid the cops if she expected them to be involved. There had been many cases where those supposed to be protecting and serving, overstepped those boundaries. Jones continued his story and said, “When Janet heard the part about the potential police involvement, she brought me in on the conversation. I asked Ms. -l/n_ a lot of questions. She was very patient. And by the end of that conversation, I’m pretty sure we have a good lead for Menendez.” Hotch let out a breath. For a second a flash of fear for _y/n_ moved through him. Having her, or anyone living near illegal activity was dangerous. Doubly so now that she had made a report about it. Aaron pushed that thought aside. As unfortunate as it was, he didn’t have the time to be worried about everybody. If he did there would be no time to get any work done. It was good that the Menendez case was getting some new life, and Aaron said, “It’s good you have a new lead. I understand that the case has been ongoing for a while.” Jones sighed and said, “Tell me about it.” There was a moment of silence as the men got on the elevator and pushed their floor buttons. Daryl looked over to Aaron and asked, “How do you know _y/n_ exactly;y?” Hotch flushed briefly and said, “We just ran into each other last month. I don’t know her personally.” Hotch was glad that Jones was not a profiler, because if he was, his colleague might see how his body was softly saying, ‘But you want to know her personally.’ Aaron sighed and exited the elevator on floor six. He moved past the bullpen and up to his office. As he sat, he couldn’t deny that _y/n_ was beautiful. She had been dressed up at the bar. She had been expecting a date after all. But today she was dressed more casually and it looked good on her. Aaron let out a breath and settled into his chair. It was going to be a day full of paperwork, and with head a bit aflutter, he didn’t mind the mindless work for once. 

The next time they met would be the one that started their relationship. Aaron was sitting in the waiting room to be called back by his therapist. Strauss had required him to attend seven therapy sessions after the bombing incident. She didn’t want a repeat of Gideon. Aaron had gone and talked about what had happened. Talked about his feelings. It was awkward, but he knew why he needed to go. When the required sessions were over, he decided to continue with a different therapist. Someone who might better address his personal needs and complicated past. That was how he met Dr. Chekov. At the consultation, Aaron felt good, and the therapist agreed to take Aaron on as his client. Now they met monthly on Tuesday evenings after he was finished with work. Aaron was grateful to have a safe space to air his emotions and thoughts about the past and present. He thought it was doing things to better his mental health. He had slowly stopped beating himself up about his body. He was now working through the grief that was losing Hailey. It was some of the most painful work he had done, but it was necessary. He knew that he couldn’t carry that hurt forever. At least not how it was now. Aaron checked his watch. Dr. Chekov must be running over with another client. Hotch’s eyes raised to the door as the bell went off. His eyes widened when _y/n_ walked through the open door. He thought, ‘You have to be kidding me.’ The office space housed multiple therapists, so it wasn’t surprising that someone else would be waiting in the waiting room, but it was surprising that _y/n_ would end up in the same building as him, again. 

_y/n_ checked in for her appointment with her therapist. She had to reschedule her appointment due to a work emergency. Her therapist, Dr. Glen, had been very accommodating and had slipped her in at a later time that week. She turned once she had handed the form to the receptionist to find a seat while she waited. The office was pretty empty, but her eyes caught onto Aaron’s, and she let out a small breath of surprise. She could see that he was just as surprised as her, and _y/n_ smiled and moved to sit next to him. She pointed to the chair adjacent to his and asked, “This seat taken?” It was a rhetorical question. Hotch chuckled at her inquiry. The office was virtually empty. He replied, “I think it is.” _y/n_ sat next to him, and as she put her purse on the ground their shoulders touched. Feeling the warmth of her body, even for a moment, made him flush. When _y/n_righted, she looked at him and said, “It’s nice to see you again, Aaron. What a surprise it would be here. How have you been doing?” _y/n_ thought back to the first time they had met and how he had looked so deeply saddened. As she looked him over, she thought he looked better. More relaxed. It made her glad. Aaron replied, “I’m doing better, I think. I’m trying.” Hotch could see that she was really looking at him. That she cared about what he was saying. After a beat, he asked, “How are you, _y/n_. How are things in your neighborhood? I might have asked Agent Jones about what was going on when I saw you at the bureau.” _y/n_ flushed when she heard that Aaron had checked in on her. She cleared her throat softly and said, “I’ve been alright. I’m kind of going through something, thus the therapy, but otherwise I’m well. And it’s the same with the neighborhood. There are still people coming and going at all hours of the night. I just avoid any interaction with them as Agent Jones suggested.” Aaron nodded and said, “Good. If you ever feel unsafe please just leave. Come to the bureau again and Agent Jones can help you figure something out.” Hotch thought about how she was going through something, and he wanted to ask what it was. But he didn’t want to pry or bring up bad memories for _y/n_. _y/n_ similarly wanted to ask Aaron about working in the FBI, but she didn’t know how much he could talk about his work given its sensitive nature. So they sat there in silence until _y/n_ finally asked, “Aaron, would you like to get coffee with me sometime?” She sounded rather embarrassed as she asked.  She smiled again, brightly as he said, “I’d like that, -y/n_.” 

They had gone to coffee, and neither of them approached it like a date, but by the end of the two hours of just talking, it was clear to both of them that there was a connection between them. Then they had gone rock climbing at _y/n_ favorite gym, and she had complained about how unfair it was that Aaron could get routes in so few moves due to his height. She also didn’t really believe that he hadn’t done a significant amount of bouldering before that night. When he teasingly said that he really didn’t practice beforehand, she could only assume that he was very athletic, and a man of many talents. Then they had gone to dinner. And _y/n_ met Jack when they watched a kid's movie together. And the love bloomed between them. Aaron hadn’t told the team about them yet, but he was going to ask if _y/n_ would like to join him at Rossi’s next party. It would be an easy way for her to meet the other important people in his life. But for now, they were cruising down the highway to get to a park a half hour out of town. Aaron hoped it wouldn’t be too crowded. When _y/n_ had said she was excited to see the eclipse, Aaron had suggested they go together with Jack and make a day of it. _y/n_ had readily agreed. Aaron was keeping his eyes on the road and playing some soft jazz at a low level. _y/n_ was half-turned in her seat talking to Jack about school and soccer. When they arrived at the small park, _y/n_ and Aaron were relieved to see that there weren't many cars in the lot. _y/n_ helped unbuckle Jack while Aaron carried the cooler from the back of the car. Aaron had brought some sodas for them to drink while they waited for the solar event. _y/n_ had also packed them some sandwiches and chips to snack on for lunch. 

The group found a clear spot on the grass. There were a few other families and a couple or two scattered around the field. Jack was restless and asked, “What’re we waiting for Daddy?” Aaron looked over to his son and said, “Well, in around an hour something is going to happen to the sun. It will get kind of dark. We even have some special glasses so we can look at it while it happens.” Jack seemed to understand a little and said, “What happens to the sun? Is it fast?” Aaron looked over to _y/n_. She knew more about this than him. _y/n_ beamed at Jack and moved to sit in front of him. She explained, “Well, you know the sun and moon right?” Jack nodded eagerly. _y/n_ continued, stating, “Well there are some special times when the moon actually gets in front of the sun. It looks like a ring in the sky. It’s kind of like magic.” Jack’s eyes grew wide and he asked, “Why is it a ring?” _y/n_ tried to think about how to best answer. After she found the words, she said, “The sun is a lot bigger than the moon, so when the moon is in front of the sun, you can still see some of it. Isn’t that cool?” Aaron watched on with a smile at _y/n_’s enthusiasm and Jack’s attention. As much as his son seemed to want to see the eclipse, he was a six-year-old, and he got restless quickly. Aaron had brought a soccer ball in case this happened. The two played around the field while _y/n_ watched on. She watched while she was lying on her stomach, head propped up in her hands. A gentle smile was on her face. She loved looking at Aaron like this. He was so good with Jack. After he had told her about Hailey’s death, she understood why he was so protective of his son. Why the love was compounded in him. The man had lost someone so painfully. When _y/n_ thought about the hurt that he had endured, she still ached for him, even though he was happy and smiling now. She could never replace what Hailey had been to him, and they were too early in their relationship to think about marriage, but she was glad she could bring Aarons some comfort and joy. 

As it got closer to the eclipse, _y/n_ gave everyone their special glasses. They all looked up to the burning star in the sky that was slowly beginning to be covered by the moon. It wasn’t until about another fifteen minutes that the moon was almost entirely eclipsing the sun. And then it happened. The moon centered in front of the sun, and the star made a perfect bright ring in the sky. Aaron looked at the phenomenon for a moment longer before he turned his face to Jack and _y/n_. He slipped off his glasses and saw the awe on Jack’s face. His gaze then fell on _y/n_ and he felt such a warmth looking at her that the sun being blocked out didn’t even make the world feel cold or darkened. Because when he looked at _y/n_ it was like he was looking at his own personal star, and they were gravitationally pulled to each other. Aaron thought about how the moon had slotted perfectly in front of the sun, forming that ring in the sky. How he felt like his life was coming full circle. The last three years had held such change. There was the pain of losing Hailey and caring for Jack, and he didn’t know how he could go on. And then, like a shooting star _y/n_ had crossed his sky, and he thought that he would never see her again. But he had, and now he had found happiness again. A lasting happiness that no cloud or moon could hide. 

After the eclipse, they all had their lunches and then piled back into the car and drove home. Jack quickly fell asleep in the back seat, and _y/n_ moved her hand to his thigh, resting it on the soft flesh. Back at his apartment, _y/n_ moved Jack to his room and tucked him in while Aaron emptied the water and ice from the ice chest in the small front yard of his apartment. When he stepped back inside, he found _y/n_ seated on the couch, and he moved to her. He sat near the edge of the couch and opened his arms for her. _y/n_ nestled into his arms and chest, and he snaked his arms around her back. One of his hands rested on her lower back and the other was softly stroking the area between her shoulder blades. _y/n_ relaxed against him and hummed contentedly. Aaron quietly asked, “Is Jack still asleep?” He could feel her nod her head yes against his chest, and she replied, “Yes. He’s out like a light. I think this was a pretty exciting day for him.” Hotch moved his hands to her hips, and he set his head back a little to rest on the side of the couch. At this angle, he could see some of Jack's door and the hallway that led to his room. The feeling of _y/n_ resting on him was never going to get old to him. It brought him such comfort. After a short silence, he asked, “Did you enjoy today? I know you were looking forward to it.” _y/n_ replied, “I really did. I love spending time with Jack, and you of course.” As she spoke, her hands made their way to his chest and then slowly down his stomach. Aaron closed his eyes at the warmth that seeped through him. She continued talking, saying, “I think it’s so amazing that we live on this speck of dust in an infinite universe, and we get to get to see it working. I think that’s pretty special.” Hotch hummed his agreement. He loved it when she spoke like this. Honest and slightly rambling, but fully from the heart. When she had told him about the person who had left her bitter and emotionally broken, he could understand and empathize. But when she spoke like this, he knew that she was coming back to herself. That she was comfortable sharing her heart with him. _y/n_ slipped her hand under his polo and he sucked in a breath. Her fingers gently moved over his abdomen. _y/n_ used her middle finger to swirl the trail of hair that started at his belly button and grew lower down his navel. Her touch wasn’t sexual, though it could be if they wanted it. But of course, they would never do that with Jack so close. The contact was just to let Aaron know that she was here. _y/n_ found her voice and said, “It was also beautiful. It’s unique. There’s nothing else like it in the universe, and I love it very, very much.” Hotch could sense that she was looking at him, and when he opened his eyes he felt his breath leave his body. She was watching over him with such care and affection, and he knew she wasn’t speaking about the eclipse anymore. As he shifted up to kiss her with a passion. He said, “I love you _y/n_. More than anything in the world.” They bridged the gap between them, and as their mouths met, it was like the sun kissing the moon, impossibly unlikely, but beautiful and rare as an eclipse.

___________________________________________________________

Taglist: @criminalskies @tgskitten

Want to be added to the list? Please check out my CM Taglist Post (linked)

#criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotcher #reader insert #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #aaron x reader #aaron x y/n #hotch blurb #hotch ramble #hurt/comfort #Hotch goes to therapy #meet cute #cm #eclipse #cute #hotch fluff #criminal minds x reader #non!bau reader

[theflowerofhumanity]

Written in the Stars

“Miss Grayson?”

Amanda felt a small hand tugging at her skirt. Tearing her gaze away from the very animated tour guide who held the rapt attention of the rest of her third-grade class, she looked down to see a mess of blonde curls and a pair of huge, pleading brown eyes. She was nearly as interested to hear what the guide had to say as the children, but she smiled down at him and said, “Yes, Micah?”

The child hissed “Igottagotothebathroom” through semi-clenched teeth without pausing between words. Amanda almost laughed, not at the antsy little boy but at the urgent and earnest way he delivered the information. “All right, buddy. We’ll find one. Hold on for a just few more seconds.”

She didn’t want to interrupt their tour or call Micah out in front of his classmates by announcing his needs to everyone else. Besides, there were only so many places for a group of twenty nine-year-olds to get lost in the heart of the government district of downtown San Francisco. They were all pretty good kids, and they were listening very attentively despite the somewhat dry subject matter. In the classroom, Amanda sometimes struggled to engage them about such riveting subjects as the Charter of 2161, but field trips imbued almost anything with some magic. So she took Micah’s hand, saying in a conspiratorial whisper, “Come on. I kind of have to go, too,” which made him grin just like she’d hoped it would.

The Federation Council building happened to be the one nearest to them. After just a moment of hesitation and second-guessing herself, Amanda marched inside, Micah in hand, with more confidence than she felt. Fortunately, the lobby was bright, airy, and somewhat empty. When she inquired at the reception desk, a polite middle-aged woman pointed them in the right direction with no judgment. She felt silly to have worried. Weren’t they Federation citizens? Why shouldn’t they be able to pop in here for a bathroom break?

As they washed their hands in the bathroom, Amanda noticed that her student’s reflection looked suddenly glum. “Why the long face?” she asked. Micah shrugged.

“Aren’t you having fun?” 

Another shrug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey...you were so excited to come!” Amanda crouched down so she could look him in the eye at his own level. Like approximately half of her students both past and present, Micah was convinced that he would not only work in outer space when he grew up but that he’d someday attend Starfleet Academy and subsequently captain a starship. “What’s wrong?”

The boy gave a furtive glance around the empty bathroom, chewing his bottom lip. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s just...we haven’t even seen any aliens here,” he said. “No Andorians...nobody!”

Fighting the urge to laugh again, she nodded. A smile spread slowly over her face. “No...but the day isn’t even half over yet! Don’t give up hope that easily, starman.”

Micah looked skeptical, but he considered her words and then nodded too. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Now let’s go find everybody else...before they leave us behind!” He was almost out the door before she could even stand up straight, and she finally gave herself permission to laugh softly. Moments like that made teaching worth it. She crossed her fingers in hopes that Micah’s wish for an alien sighting would come true.

Maybe that innocent superstition worked too well. As she emerged into the sunny lobby, she heard Micah exclaim: “Miss Grayson, Miss Grayson, you were right!” He was nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. She followed his gaze to a group of three tall, dark-haired men in long robes standing several yards away, and her eyes widened. There were his aliens, sure enough, but they weren’t Andorians—and she didn’t think they would be very amenable to being interrupted by an exuberant human child.

Before she could say so, however, or even reach for his hand again, Micah dashed eagerly in their direction. “Micah, no!” she breathed. The color drained from her face. Seeing no other solution, she took off after him.

Micah had made a beeline for the man standing somewhat apart from his companions but stopped short of running headlong into him. Intimidation had won out over his curiosity at the last second. He was just a little boy, after all. But Amanda, being considerably taller, was less lucky. Even as she realized that Micah had stopped and tried to do likewise, her momentum carried her farther—right into the robed figure in front of them.

Amanda’s cheeks flamed bright red with embarrassment, and she stumbled back. “I am so sorry,” she said in a rush. When she lifted her bright blue eyes to his face, her words died on her lips. “I was just...”

Of course she’d seen Vulcans before, though mostly in passing or on film, and like many girls, she found their exotic features rather attractive. This man was at least ten or fifteen years younger than any picture she’d ever seen, much less any she had encountered in person. He was also cute. Well, maybe cute wasn’t the right word, especially since she’d just tripped right into him, which was probably much more offensive to Vulcan sensibilities than a human child doing so. If so, well, it was too bad that she wasn’t a nine-year-old boy, and she refused to be intimidated. So she straightened up to her full five-foot-four, lifted her chin, and gave the handsome young Vulcan her most dazzling smile.

“I apologize. My student’s never met an outworlder, and he got pretty excited. Say hello, Micah.”

“H-hi,” Micah squeaked from behind her.

@multirptrash

#cheesiest title of the year award #*wits

[faeriekit]

Faer i would love to know more about the event about fan ostracization from mainstream comic culture??? Do you have any like, panelist names or details or anything?

OkAY I found the program online because the paper thing they gave me for the programming sucked severely!!

It was a thursday panel, which meant pros/educator oriented (Thu, Oct 12, 2023 • 10:30 AM - 11:30 AM). The title was "Geekspaces Assemble! Safe Spaces for our Marginalized Communities". Clicking the link will give you all the details, but the panelists were (Left to right) an owner of a queer/female friendly comics store in Portland, a letterer who's been in prominent aspects of the comics industry for fifty years, a...business entrepreneur (maybe also she was an illustrator?) and Jubilee fan, and an Author/Illustrator who spent a good chunk of his childhood in Puerto Rico. The panel consisted of three women (which, for comics, seems rare as hell), one queer women, two women of color, and a gentleman of color who grew up outside of America.

The only reason I am not putting their names down is that I am Suspicious one name might be wrong and I cannot verify it because they did not link their professional contact information to their NYCC guest pages haha. Their identifying info give on the page is still present.

To summarize the bits I remember, everyone involved gave a rundown on how hostile comics culture and the outside point of view on comics culture was to their efforts to actually enjoy their hobby. The woman in the industry spoke on how hard it was to actually get her voice and interests heard, and how the need to make a safe space for women and people of color helps keep the peace. The business woman spoke on representation and how it affected her growing up, and how when there isn't anything to look up to, we sort of have to make our own role models and characters to lean into, and having a space space to create helps us do that. The man had an interesting perspective on how comics were a huge hobby of his growing up, but when the Simpsons made it to Puerto Rico, the Comic Book Guy made it so that other people looked down on him for engaging in something that seemed so snooty and unpleasant on the show. The bookshop owner talked about how it was not only super vital for her main audience, queer people and women, to have a space safe enough where they could explore comics how they wanted to, but that she heard testimonials after she opened that the main cishet white male audience of comics loved and appreciated her shop as a safe space too, because it was a place where they didn't feel the need to perform in order to engage with their hobby as they had to in the quintessential shops that were so popular at the time.

Everyone was well spoken and brought up great points about how the experience for enjoying comics is so different when you're queer, not a man, or white— something I have absolutely noticed from spending time even peripherally watching the dc fandom here on tumblr and on ao3. Having a place where you can express your interpretations and experiences with your hobby without fear of reprisal or attack makes all the difference. Comics are very often not written for us. Based on their age, comics written about us may be lacking, at the very least, or outright harmful at the very worst. Reading certain DC lore gives me psychic damage. If we want to make comics a fun, welcoming space (and I know that's not every comic fan's goal), we have to make and protect our own spaces from outside prejudice.

Overall, it was a great panel, I loved it, and I really wish it hadn't been at 10:30 in the morning because half the intended audience (and a panelist!) was still trying to get into the building by the time it hit 10:30! It also reinforced my need to make the graphic experience in the library better integrated with the younger kids, because I don't want them to think that comics aren't for them if the first experience they have is people being weird and rude when they get into it as teens. I know that the panelists are from at least one if not more generations above me, and that the landscape has expanded and changed since then, but I find the fundamental base of the talk very true, and find it even more prudent that they speak, because their work built the foundations we're trying to build up on right now— with graphic memoirs, with indie comics, with irl geekspace occupancy, with ao3 and tumblr gossip and interaction.

Anyway, occupy your local comics shop. If they suck, get on facebook, network, and see where all the weirdos like you collect.

#nycc 2023 #tumblr #faer winds #library posting #comics #mainstream comics

[waheelawhisperer]

Slogged through V9E6, thoughts are under the cut

As always, I am worried that Jaune’s arrival means he’s going to start sucking focus away from the other characters again. Here’s hoping the writers remember he’s best used as a supporting character.

Jaune why did you grab the weird thing that looks like a clock what did you think was going to happen

Don't touch weird shit you idiot it's like rule #1

I hate the Ever After so much

So did he just sit there for years until he got DILFed? Lmao.

I'm sure this change will have long-lasting ramifications for both Jaune's characterization and the narrative as a whole.

Well, this was a wonderful, touching moment until it was immediately ruined by Weiss’s daddy kink

Like seriously who the fuck thought it was a good idea to have Jaune admit that he’d gone through a horribly traumatic experience and been incredibly lonely for what’s indicated to be literally decades based on his physical changes and then have Weiss immediately start thirsting for him like we literally see his eyes watering and then not seven seconds later Weiss is looking at him with do-me eyes

These writers genuinely have zero understanding of tone or how to set and maintain it effectively it’s amazing it's like they watched the MCU and the only lesson they took away from it was that every moment that might possibly have any kind of emotional impact needs to be undermined by a snappy quip as quickly as possible because otherwise someone might make the mistake of assuming your show is sincere about anything

Anyway girliepop’s showing her whole ass right now way to keep your fetish under wraps Weiss

Yang’s looking at her like “I know what you are”

Nice try Yang like I didn’t see you eyeing up Jaune too feast on the crumbs my fellow pan Yang truthers

Miles is genuinely never beating the “Jaune is a self-insert” allegations holy shit

Like if you want people to believe that the character you voice, who's received a disproportionate amount of narrative focus throughout the series already and has received repeated criticism for it, who's already been presented as attractive on at least one occasion, isn't a self-insert, maybe don't have one of the mains openly thirsting after him once you've written an excuse for him to be aged up so that he's both closer to your age and significantly older than she is after you've already posed for a picture with a body pillow of an underage girl from the show you write for and your coworker has posted that picture online with the caption "She's still only 16, don't get too comfortable". Like maybe consider the optics for 5 seconds. It'd be 5 seconds longer than you typically think through your writing choices, at any rate.

Wow, finally someone is engaging with the fall of Atlas, Team RWBY’s part in it, and the ramifications of both the previous things. Only took half the fucking Volume.

I actually like the pretty distinct perspectives and the conflict between Weiss and Blow. Weiss is the one who has the most reason to be attached with Atlas and Blow has the most reason to feel negatively about that Kingdom, so having them be the ones arguing here is a good choice.

Yeah, Weiss, you did fail, but it wasn’t just you. Most of the blame rests on the shoulders of Ironwood and these dumbass fucking writers.

That said, you guys didn’t exactly pass your trials with flying colors.

Good point, Ruby.

Yang is the first one to engage with Ruby’s distress again, even if she’s not exactly on the money here either in terms of her actual position on Ironwood or how to help Ruby.

I feel like this is one of the few moments of actual substance we've gotten this Volume and I really wish we'd spent more time digging into it. Unfortunately, He-Jaune, Master of the Universe, cuts it short. Not a fan of that choice unless we pick this up again at a later date.

He-Man’s a little bit of a jerk. Interesting. I kinda want to see where this goes.

He also doesn’t seem to like the Cat. He gets points for that.

He-Man, Master of the Jauniverse, does not want them going to the Tree. Given what apparently happened to the Herbalist, this implies something sinister about the Tree and Ascension.

You read my mind, Weiss.

Jaune has a very different perspective on Ascension than the Cat. On the one hand, the Cat is a denizen of the Ever After and probably knows more about how it works than Jaune does. On the other hand, Jaune is far more inherently trustworthy as a character we’ve known for 8+ Volumes, whereas the Cat is sinister as fuck. They've been creeping me out since their introduction.

Once again, Ascension is equated with death – you lose your memories, lose who you are. Whatever you used to be is gone.

Good pun, Yang.

Who the fuck is Lewis?

Oh, wonderful, Alyx had a brother. An irrelevant character had another irrelevant character to hang out with. Can we please stop expanding the cast?

Go off, Weiss (and Yang)

What the fuck did the Cat just do

I love you Weiss. There really is just no end to the Ever After’s bullshit, is there?

Where the hell are Blow and Yang?

You walked right into that one, Weiss.

Love how He-Man’s just done with everything. I am too, buddy, I am too.

Here it comes, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Maybe we’ll get something decent out of this Volume after all.

YOU GUYS CAN LITERALLY DOUBLE JUMP WHY DOES EVERY SCENE IN THIS VOLUME THAT DOESN’T INVOLVE COMBAT INSIST ON FORGETTING THAT THE CHARACTERS HAVE MOBILITY TOOLS

I could cross that shit and I don’t even have superpowers

You have perfectly good ropes right there

Yes I get that it’s a metaphor for taking the next step in their relationship blah blah blah but the metaphor is shit

This Volume really likes presenting challenges as insurmountable when Team RWBY has regularly handled far more difficult ones it keeps breaking my willing suspension of disbelief

I'm normally pretty willing to buy into what a show is going for but I just can't do it for this Volume

Was that Summer in the reflection?

Looks like the reflections show everyone’s issues – Summer for Ruby, Penny for Jaune, Atlas for Weiss

Oh, so Alyx was a little shitter, huh? I’m sure there’s nothing negative about the choice to portray a (female) character of color this way, especially in a show known for being racist produced by a company known for being racist.

Okay yeah Jaune you probably fucked up here trying to railroad her into the book’s storyline. Somebody’s never played D&D before and it shows

Poor guy’s really hurting though, can’t blame him for feeling like a failure

I’d like the show to unpack all this but I don’t even trust it to handle Team RWBY’s issues (or even address them in a meaningful way) so we’ll see

I feel like we have to take everything Jaune says about the Cat and the Tree and the Ever After with a grain of salt, but the Cat is genuinely creepy as shit, so I feel like there’s some validity to this, at least.

So Jaune thinks the Cat fed Lewis to the Tree. Is he right? Who the fuck knows?

But it does set up some sinister implications about the Tree, the Cat, and the nature of the Ever After. If the Tree’s not an option, how does the gang get home?

I get the feeling that Jaune is at least partially wrong about how the Tree works, but what he's saying makes sense based on what he knows.

Yang you fucking dork

Anyway if Blow has a really good brain it’d be nice to see more examples of it beyond “she’s the bookworm”, I’m sure setting her own house on fire was a great demonstration of intelligence. I feel like this is another indication that I’m right when I say that RWBY would’ve really benefited from another Beacon Volume to really build the relationships between the core cast that the show tries to convince us exist.

Also, Yang is smart even if Blow makes her brain turn to mush. She seems to have figured out the trick here. She sounds so sweet and sincere when she mentions liking Blow’s ears, though I feel like this is another instance where the show isn’t taking Blow’s status as a minority seriously, what with the potential elements of fetishization here. Still, I’ll try to go with the writing’s intent here.

Honestly it probably wouldn’t even bother me if this Volume hadn’t insisted on continually comparing Blow to a cat

You did, in fact, nail it, Yang. Such a fucking dork I love her

Okay, Blow, maybe you do have a really good brain after all. Again, would’ve been nice to establish this a bit earlier, but oh well.

Yang you fucking dork lmao

Damn, Blake went hard here. Yang went with the surface-level stuff and was probably expecting the same in return and Blake just started pouring her heart out. I love the way Yang’s eyes and face just softened the moment Blake said she was an extraordinary person. Girlie was not expecting that at all.

“I like that you’ve never been intimidated by me” BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Yang she fucking flinches like a dog expecting to be beaten every time you raise your voice around her she’s the only one in your friend group who’s ever been intimidated by you even Jaune is fine around you and that boy’s afraid of his own shadow

Jk I lied the other abuse victim on your team also has negative reactions when you act aggressive

Anyway I guess we know why we got that line about Yang not being scary (even though she could be if she wants to) back in Episode 1.

Yang how are you missing with every line Blow gave up on Adam and the White Fang and that was a good thing because it let her escape his abuse hello?

Oh and she sure as hell gave up on Qrow and Ironwood when Qrow crawled into a bottle and Ironwood decided to raise Atlas, and she was literally the only person on her team who didn’t believe in Yang’s innocence when Cinder framed Yang during the Vytal Festival (guess who was ride or die for Yang in that moment? I'll give you a hint: her name starts with a W), and she ran away from her entire team when Weiss was racist for two episodes. Finding her was the whole fucking plot of the V1 finale. Like I’m not even arguing that she was wrong or unjustified for any of that but if you want her to be the one who never gives up on anyone then maybe fucking show her never giving up on anyone

Does Blake really know what matters to her, Yang? It sure as hell wasn’t Faunus rights during the Atlas Volumes.

That fucking lighting lmao

Just spit it out you idiots lets get this over with my expectations are dropping with every line

God Yang is such a fucking dork I genuinely love this for her it would’ve been so easy to make her the cocky flirty one all the time and they didn’t

For all my frustrations with this show I do genuinely like that.

I like how Yang hesitated a bit and didn’t quite commit but Blake went full-bore.

Oh my God it’s so sappy and cheesy and romantic

I can understand why people love it even if for me it crosses the line to narm like honestly this scene just feels ridiculous but that's just a personal taste thing, it feels too over-the-top for me but there's some charm to it as well

I feel a little bad for the Cat but honestly they strike me as manipulative more than anything

Every scene just gives me bad vibes

Damn, they were makin out, hands changed positions and everything

Nice little leg pop Blow

You and the fandom both, Jaune.

Kinda wonder when you figured it out though because you were not picking up on it in Volume 8 ("Ruby?" "Yeah... Ruby.")

Good to know the Bees thought confessing their feelings was more important than getting home or stopping Salem. I like both characters less every time they treat the Ever After as a vacation.

The little hand touch is cute though.

Okay, Ruby is not reacting well to the return of Crimson Rose, probably because it represents the burden of being a leader and a Huntress.

She's pushing her insecurities down again. That's gonna burst out sooner or later.

Jaune thinks Alyx traded Lewis to the Tree in order to leave. My guess is that either Jaune or Ruby tries to trade themselves to the Tree so the others can go home.

Damn, Ruby’s rejecting Crescent Rose pretty emphatically there.

Music is still forgettable I don’t think there’s been a single song that I’ve remembered a not of when it’s not actually playing for 6 whole episodes

Miles gave a solid performance here and so did whoever voices the Cat.

Okay, so, here it is: the scene we’ve all been waiting for since Volume 2 at the latest. The Bees are an item now, and it’s really obvious that it meant a lot to CRWBY. They put a lot of love into that scene, and it shows. Visually, it’s gorgeous, the voice actresses clearly put their hearts and souls into it, the music is meant to scream romance...

Unfortunately, I don’t like it. Perhaps this is just a nitpick on my end because I’m a stubborn ornery cantankerous bastard who hates being told what to do, but this confession doesn’t feel organic. It feels like they were forced into it by outside factors (the stupid fucking punderstorm that wouldn’t let them leave until they told each other their feelings. If I'd been in their place, I would've sat my stubborn Texan ass down and told that fucking weather condition that it could let me out right now or move along on its own time, but I'm staying right here until it does. Ain't no fuckin rain clouds gonna tell me what to do).

I don’t like that in and of itself, but it gets worse when you consider that both characters are A) queer and B) were only coded and not explicitly confirmed as queer within the show prior to this scene. It feels like two queer characters are being forced out of the closet, which would be bad enough on its own, but gets infinitely worse when the company behind the show named itself after a homophobic slur and then built a company culture around bullying and bigotry and the lead writer on the show has been openly biphobic and fetishized bi women in the past. Good job, morons, you managed to take a ship I’ve supported since the characters involved met in the Emerald Forest and make it feel gross to me. Between this and Blake’s jokes about Yang’s arm in Episode 2, I’m officially not a Bumbleby shipper anymore. You’ve fumbled the bag that badly. Please never hold a job in any creative industry again.

Overall rating: Horrendously Bad And Specifically Disappointing On Top Of That/10

Amazed that I can't definitively declare this a bottom three episode of the Volume because 3 of the 5 others I've watched so far were also this fucking bad. Truly an accomplishment.

Everything that wasn't Weiss's thirst for DILFs and the Bumbleby confession was okay (not amazing), but the writers fucked up so badly with the parts that sucked that they accomplished something incredible: they executed a scene I've been waiting for for ages so incompetently that I don't ship Bumbleby anymore.

#this entire volume has really been a masterclass on how not to write a story #I would be ashamed to put this on my resume if I had worked on it #rwby #bumbleby

[sailtomarina]

Last-Minute Leather

Harry x Draco | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 6: Last-minute Christmas shopping haul | WC 1539 | Rating: M

What do you give to a bloke who has everything?

Harry always knew what to get Hermione, and Ron loved anything he could eat, but Draco? His boyfriend was the sort of wizard who bought what he wanted when he wanted–no matter the cost.

Harry quickly discovered that Draco Malfoy was a man of many and varied interests.

The question re-imposed itself at the forefront of his mind: what do you get someone who has everything? Where does one even begin when that same person shrugs when asked, simply answering, “You don’t have to get me anything.”

In Malfoy-speak, that essentially meant, “I’m just happy to be with you.” Of course, the git would never actually utter something so openly affectionate. Harry knew better than to expect that. What they shared was still so new, that he was afraid to exhale too hard and shatter what they’d built together over the past year.

Diagon Alley was packed to the brim with other last-minute shoppers–mothers hustling their children from storefront to storefront, undoubtedly hoisting their shrunk-down purchases within their purses; merchants hawking their wares with free samples and colorful displays; weary partners sitting on the many benches lining the cobblestone road as they waited for significant others to finish up their business. Objectively, Harry thought the wizarding shopping district had never looked more festive. Wreaths hung from the lamp posts and every shop featured their own array of holiday lights. All they needed was a sprinkling of snow to finish off the pretty painting.

Harry stuck to the edges of the crowd holding his coffee cup aloft, partially for the warmth and partially to hide his face. He could just disguise himself and avoid any overly-zealous fans, or use the Invisibility Cloak, but the pressing bodies would immediately reveal the odd hole that was his hidden body and he hated having to go through the extra effort at all. 

No. Better to make up his mind on what he wanted to get Draco, then plan his angle of attack.

“Harry?”

He turned at the familiar voice and came face-to-face with a mountain of mahogany curls.

“Hermione!” Hope bubbled up at the sight of her cheery grin. Hermione always made for a good target to bounce ideas off of.

She eyeballed the tote under his arm. “I take it you’re still getting gifts?”

A sheepish smile was her answer, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“What! Not everyone can be as well prepared as you,” he exclaimed. Then, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Although, what are you doing here?”

She didn’t look like she counted among the harried customers, but who knew what secrets she kept hidden in that beaded bag of hers. She’d been known to hide a few tricks in her hair, as well.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been good on presents for weeks, some of them for months,” she said, her smug tilted upward. “I just so happened to be here to catch Pansy’s new winter collection.”

He nodded slowly as he recalled Pansy’s blossoming fashion business, which she’d started after breaking off her arranged engagement with Gregory Goyle. Call it a distraction, or her version of a rebound, but the decision had been the best choice she’d ever made. She thrived under creative pressure and stepped her best heel forward as she took the wizarding fashion world by storm.

He certainly had much to be thankful for, given her almost-immediate attention to his person, demanding that he dress as befit his station as Head Auror, public figure, and Draco Malfoy’s lover. He’d never worn such perfectly-tailored suits and robes in his entire life once Pansy took control of his wardrobe. Draco certainly didn’t have any complaints, if the way he worshiped him behind closed doors was any indication of his…vast…appreciation.

“I’m pretty much done except for one problematic individual.”

“Malfoy?” She served him a knowing smirk.

“Well, what about you? What did you get your wizard?”

“Well, Theo is much easier than Malfoy,” she smacked him on the arm as he started to make a suggestive comment. “He doesn’t spill his Galleons at the drop of a hat like somebody else.”

She seemed to consider whether or not to tell him more, eyes flitting around for any possible eavesdroppers. Skeeter had long been ousted from any respectable news agency after Hermione exposed her Animagus status, and was currently serving five years in Azkaban to boot, but there were always other would-be paparazzi where the Golden Trio were concerned.

“Muffliato,” she murmured, before leaning in unnecessarily towards him. “I picked up some custom lingerie that Pansy designed for me.”

His eyebrows jumped high on forehead. He thought of Hermione like a sister, so any mentions of her and sex were about as appealing to him as a mouthful of Hagrid’s treacle fudge. Still, she was on the right track. Draco adored Harry in just about any and all uniforms (his Quidditch kit, his Auror uniform, re-sized Hogwarts robes) as much as he loved him naked.

He had yet to wear something overtly sexual in nature.

“Do you think Pansy might have something for blokes?”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione looked fit to burst, her cheeks puffing up as she grinned wide and a high-pitched squeal starting to work out of her mouth. “She totally would! Please, go see her.”

Godric, he was a lucky man to have such brilliant friends in his life. He swept Hermione up in a hug, thanked her profusely, then headed in the direction of Pansy’s shop.

As he approached the familiar storefront with its black brick and tasteful window displays, arranged almost like snow globes, complete with falling snow that somehow never reached the floor, he realized this might take much longer than he’d thought. There were so many witches seeking her services that there was a line going out the door and down the street.

He could bite the wand and take his place at the end, risking recognition and ceaseless questions, or he could leave and return at a less busy time–perhaps just before the end of open hours. Better yet, maybe he could just owl Pansy and ask her to come up with some options. She already had his measurements, after all. Surely she was skilled enough to math out some of his other assets she had yet to put a tape measure to. It couldn’t be anything more complicated than a snug pair of boxer briefs, right?

His mind now made up on the third option, he spun on his heel to make a hasty retreat, only to walk straight into the witch herself.

“Potter!” She stumbled back, nearly losing her balance before he quickly grabbed onto her elbows to steady her.

“So sorry, Pans. I didn’t realize anyone was behind me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. In this crowd, there’s no avoiding a few bumps here and there. What about you? Is there something I can help you with?”

He glanced nervously at the line of women, before returning his attention to the one right in front of him. One perfectly-manicured brow lifted in curiosity.

“I’m shopping for a gift. I just ran into Hermione and she told me what you made for her, and I just thought that maybe—”

She held that same hand up to stop him.

“Say no more.” She ran an appraising gaze down his form, the corners of her lips curling upward as a dangerous glint appeared in her eyes. “I assume this is for you, for Draco?”

“Shhhh!” he hissed, frantically looking around to see if anyone had heard.

“Oh, please, lingerie is nothing to be embarrassed about, Potter.”

“It is for me. I’ve never worn, never even thought about, this kind of thing before. I can’t imagine what others might say if they find out that I’m looking to…looking to…”

Her chin dropped and she leveled a stern face at him, far too reminiscent of Hermione’s best discernment for his liking. “To what? Dress up special for someone you love?”

It sounded so simple when she phrased it like that. Not just simple, but even normal.

“Well…yes, I suppose.”

She nodded in approval. “I’ll come up with several options. You come back tonight at 5 and we’ll go over them together.”

“Isn’t that when your doors close?”

Pansy looked pointedly between him and the line behind them. “Do you want to come back here during open hours?”

He swallowed heavily and shook his head.

She patted him on the shoulder and moved past, their plan now set. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Don’t be late.”

That evening, Harry learned a great many things he had never known before, including harnesses charmed to withstand any amount of stress to the straps, jock straps meant for more than just sports and how they differed from split jock straps, and that he quite liked how he looked wearing a snug bit of leather. He walked away with a few different options, already looking forward to the look on Draco’s face once he opened the first present.

Harry would already be wearing the other gifts, and he expected to be unwrapped with far less finesse and a good deal of swearing.

Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3

I was recently introduced by a friend to Nasty Pig while asking him questions about different types of menswear, and boy, oh, boy, did I get some wonderful images for reference. If you’re at all inclined towards harnesses, jock straps, and the like, feel free to check it out, or let me know if you know of other sources of inspiration.

I don’t write much Drarry, but I’ve always loved the idea of them. They’re such an obvious and wonderful pairing given their obsessions with one another at Hogwarts. I don’t know how much justice I could really give them, though, in a scene, hence this being wholly in Harry’s POV, and Draco in the periphery.

#harry potter fanfiction #drarry #draco malfoy x harry potter #draco malfoy #harry potter #hp yuletide bliss #christmas hp fest

[utilitycaster]

Hi I just wanted to say thank you for putting everything that frustrates me about the fandom’s interpretation of Imogen and Laudna into words. I’ve made a few posts about Imogen’s flaws and how easily she seems to switch loyalties and I’ve been met with so many people telling me I’m not watching the show right or how Imogen isn’t to blame because she’s being controlled by the moon and it’s exhausting. I’ve been wanting to make a post about it but I didn’t know how to phrase it and you articulated pretty everything I’ve been thinking. I’m also planning on writing about the weird misandry in the fandom and how a lot of people don’t like male or male presenting characters if they can’t them their uwu sad white boy of the month and am really interested if you have any thoughts on that. I really hope people aren’t assholes to you about that post❤️ -brjeauregard

Hey! Thank you so much! I'm assuming you're ok going by your handle here since it was a voluntary add to an anon but if you want me to delete this for whatever reason feel free to message me and I will.

Yeah...I'd agree that it's really tiresome how if you actually want to engage with Imogen as an entire character with motivations and flaws, there's this immediate freakout. It's obnoxious that people seem to think all her impatience, grudges, and little snipes and unkindnesses must come from some other source (the gnarlrock, Ruidus); it can't be her cynicism or being cranky due to exhaustion from holding up her psychic barriers; that only makes her more nurturing and empathetic, apparently). Like, there's all these accusations that people have no empathy for Imogen, coming from people who openly would happily throw every other character (sometimes even including Laudna) from the skyship for the crime of having individual motivations different from Imogen's goals, and I'm very over it.

I would love to see more posts about the misandry, tbh. It's a really tricky subject because like...look, in the real world, misogyny is a load-bearing pillar of oppression not just of women, but one of the core underpinnings of homophobia, transphobia, and toxic masculinity as well. What people call misandry irl is, much of the time, either hatred directed on an individual level rather than a systemic one or is actually oppression of men under a different system (eg, transphobia towards trans or gnc men; racism towards men of color, etc). But in fandom, especially on Tumblr which is overwhelmingly female and/or queer, there is this weird hatred towards men (or, as we've seen a bunch with Ashton, masc-leaning nb people) in fiction for no reason other than they are not women. I'm not linking them here so as to not invite weird shit to the doors of my mutuals but I can think of two very good recent posts that touch on this subject, one from a month or so ago about the fandom tendency to reshape characters in their own (often white middle-class queer) image instead of trying to relate to someone not like you; and one from yesterday that does address fandom misandry directly.

It is interesting because it feels like half of the hatred or weird fanon towards male characters comes from a "well I can't make him into a palatable white sadboy" (trying to turn Orym into The Most Tragic when he is just a guy; ignoring Chetney, Fjord, or Scanlan because they don't fit that mold neatly); and the other half comes from hating the character because he can conceivably be treated as a white sadboy even though he's got much more going on (Vax, Percy, Caleb, sometimes Caduceus). Like, there is really no winning. To be fair, there's also no winning for female characters among people with that mindset (see: the entire post that prompted this, in which they must be Good Examples Of Sweet Unproblematic Women who Chastely Kiss, Pinterest Style) or nb characters (will be misgendered in an instant if they do not support the narrative of the fave or interfere with preferred ships).

I think, generally, once people start judging a fictional character, who lives in a gender-equal world with no transphobia, primarily on the basis of gender, it just turns into a slippery slope of kind of hating every character. I do want to see interesting women in fiction! Part of why I watch actual play is because it is a still relatively rare case where many of the originators of these characters are women who are granted nigh-total creative control over their characters! But I'm not going to write off a character with a personality that speaks to me simply because our genders don't match; that's not interesting to me and it feels far too close to gender essentialism for my comfort. And if you do for whatever reason want to watch actual play that only has female PCs, that is your choice to make...but you then need to find that show instead of being mad that there are men on the show with five men and three women in the main cast.

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag

[tokiro07]

Cipher Academy ch.46 thoughts

[Welcome Home, Cheater (Affectionate)]

(Contents: shipping, Yosaimura analysis, Kogoe analysis, Anonymity analysis, predictions)

Whoa whoa WHOA! You're telling me that Nakigara, the girl we'd never met whose face we couldn't see was actually Anonymity this whole time??? Who could have possibly seen that coming?!

But seriously, the only thing surprising about this reveal is the speed. We've been in the metaverse for, what, five chapters now? And we're already seeing both Anonymity and Yosaimura come back? We knew we'd see them, but I figured it'd be more of a last-minute twist, y'know?

Not that I'm complaining, of course. As everyone knows by now, Anonymity is easily, without contest or any moment of wavering, my best girl in this series, and I'm always happy to see her. Yosaimura's definitely top five for me too, though her place is still being determined, but getting yuri moments with Anonymity definitely helps her standing

I mean, did you see the look on Anonymity's face when Yosaimura took her hand??? There's no straight explanation for that. Also, the official Cipher Academy Twitter posted a color image of Yosaimura recently, and shockingly (serious), Yosaimura's a blue girl! I had her pegged as a blonde or a silver, but nope, she's an icy blue, not unlike Kogoe, making a nice contrast with Anonymity's burnt orange. On top of that, they've got a real butch-femme look going on, especially in their last panel what with Anonymity putting a flower in her hair. Actually, if anyone is good with flowers, can you ID what kind of flower she's got? That's not a kind of lily, is it? Is it???

Anyway, yuri goggles off, there are actually a good few topics to discuss in this chapter, short as each one is. The first thing I want to address is that we've seen a good chunk of the floors between 1 and 200 now and there hasn't been a single sign of monsters or creatures, it's all basically been escape rooms, which comes with pros and cons. Naturally, it's not that visually interesting to just present everyone with a puzzle and ask them to solve it, but on the flipside, the fact that we've only seen like two of the actual puzzles in action up to this point is a pretty clear indication that the puzzles aren't what we're meant to be focusing on here: this is a character study. Koshibai teaching Iroha to have fun with the metaverse, Iroha sharing a chunk of his backstory, Yugata challenging Kubinashi, everyone coming up with their own strategies for advancement, Yosaimura defending Anonymity, these are all character-driven story beats, whereas the puzzles themselves would be plot-driven story beats, and the former is always going to be a lot more engaging

However, this chapter DOES give us a bit of a glimpse into what kind of fantastical visuals we could get to see as we go deeper into the metaverse. Dekiai's virtual body allows her to effectively shapeshift, so there's no telling what kinds of modes that she or the other AIs might be able to take if they end up becoming the encounters for our cast as we go forward. Here's hoping that Nisio and Iwasaki let us see more of that; I love these character interactions, but I really want some more inventive visuals like Anonymity's false nameplate getting cut in half diegetically

Next, Yosaimura gave us a couple of fascinating glimpses into her character and backstory. We now know that she was telling the truth (or at least partially) in chapter 2 when she said she wanted to avenge her older brother, as she actually does have a deceased older brother, Gokaku Yosaimura. Whether she's actually trying to avenge him, or if she's doing so for the sake of her younger brother, is unclear, but Gokaku is dead, as confirmed by Kogoe being in possession of his bones. I don't know what "unsinkable air graveyard" means, whether it means a graveyard aboard an aircraft or a graveyard at sea kept afloat by air, but the fact that Kogoe was using them as leverage suggests that Yosaimura wasn't able to reach and salvage them and has likely been visiting an empty grave this whole time

Of course, when offered said bones, Yosaimura gets pissed, showing her first big display of emotion in the series. More interestingly, this is the first show of anger that Yosaimura claims to have ever experienced. If that's true, she honestly handled it well, as she was clearly able to restrain herself from actually hurting Kogoe. Sure, she was extremely threatening, with easily the scariest face I've seen from anyone in this series so far, but she ultimately got across the lesson she was trying to impart to Kogoe

Speaking of, Kogoe's tendency to manipulate people when a more straightforward approach of just asking for help would be more useful speaks volumes about her. Iroha was pretty trusting of her up front, presumably so was Toshusai, and Yosaimura acquiesced once Kogoe was honest about her feelings. Kogoe clearly has lived her life thinking that she needs to have leverage over people to get what she wants, that she needs to have a contingency plan for every occasion (spreading the glasses weapons throughout Class A instead of putting her all behind one candidate), and that she needs a sense of control over every aspect of her life. Visually this is represented succinctly through her Earth-shaped glove, putting the world in the palm of her hand, and narratively this is reflected through her status as a warmonger, controlling the flow and development of the world via the cessation and triggering of "inconvenient" and "convenient" wars

Yosaimura's reaction immediately makes it clear to Kogoe that this is not someone she can control, at least not with her usual methods. Yosaimura saw through Kogoe's intentions, that she thought she could control her by dangling the right carrot in front of her nose, and let her know that was not going to fly here. Of course, no one likes to be manipulated, but other people might find Kogoe's offers to be opportunities to take advantage of - not Yosaimura, though. To her, it was an obvious attempt to control her coming from someone who didn't understand what it means to ask for help. Yosaimura correcting Kogoe instead of either walking away or outright harming her speaks to an immense level of patience and forgiveness on her part, especially if she really doesn't know how to control her temper from a lack of experience

I'm sure Kogoe will continue to be manipulative going forward, but I hope that this moment will come to mind for her going forward and serve as the beginning of a lengthy character arc for her

Speaking of brief moments coming back in a character's development, Anonymity refuses to thank Yosaimura for helping her, only to remember that she did the same to Iroha before he jumped out of a tree with her tied to his back. This memory prompts her to thank Yosaimura after all and even go so far as to apologize for her behavior during Leaky Poker

The really fun thing about this, though, is that while it could mean that Anonymity is growing as a person and learning to associate her usual nasty behavior with unsavory consequences, it could also just be indicative of her "anything goes" personality, having the moral principles of a jelly donut and the willingness to betray herself in the interest of self-preservation. Of course these aren't mutually exclusive, and she might self-preserve herself ass-backward into positive character development, or she might end up doubling down and burying herself into a deeper hole until someone (likely either Iroha or Yosaimura) needs to yank her out and force her to see how much of a nasty personality she has. Either way, she's always been a riot to watch, and after this display, I know she's going to continue to be for the foreseeable future

It does look like we're going to be taking another break from them, though, with this chapter mostly serving as a way to tell us that they are also pieces on the board to account for while we focus on other groups. Next time, though, we're apparently going to be seeing a Karigane/Hanagoromo team-up against Iroha/Koshibai/Kasuri, which ostensibly they've done before. Was it against another student or group of students? Has someone else been eliminated? We haven't seen Aen, Mengatasuzume, or Togenanafushigi yet, and all of them were between Kasuri's starting floor and now, so unless they snuck past or were let go, there's a chance that any of them got knocked out by this duo. Of course, it's also possible that them being a duo is something that's been true from before the expedition - in fact, how do we know that Hanagoromo didn't have someone on the inside helping her hide under all of those tables during the first arc?

That's all I'll say on the subject for now since we don't have anything more to go on, but I hope that they'll become our next yuri coupling, I really like Hanagoromo and I really want to like Karigane if she'd only get a bit more shine. Fingers crossed that that's what we can expect from ch.47!

#cipher academy #fouryearsandananime #4y1a reviews

[vintagehomecollection]

What are your thoughts on the way many people (especially nowadays with HGTV and the internet) tend to try and design their spaces in an extremely white, empty, and sterile way? I feel like minimalism can work of course, but there's an obsession with making your space look "presentable" and almost marketable in a way. I'm definitely biased and prefer maximalism myself (I think it's enriching!) but I think there's more humanity and soul in a home filled to the brim with color and patterns and artwork with little care to an overall theme than trying desperately to adhere to a specific aesthetic, even if that aesthetic is colorful and full, it's still not genuine in some way. Obviously money is an important factor to consider, but I generally mean for those that have more to work with, plant life available, or those who can create their own art and visual engagement in their home. What do you think?

I used to stage homes and work in a decorating store and I'll tell you, 90% of people see an empty interior and have no idea what to do with a space. I had a customer that brought in a picture once... it showed the top of a bureau and she wanted me to help her buy items to fill the top of the bureau then tell her exactly how to stage them. It's not meant to be insulting, but like some people who can't visualize what to do with blank yard or canvas, it's the same with interiors. I used to find HGTV-blehbleh etc. programs interesting because I didn't know what I was doing. Now that I know my style I know how to take my ideas and make them happen at home. I am also a maximalist. I like to be surrounded by things and visuals that bring me comfort. I couldn't imagine living in a farmhouse style McMansion with black accents, gray walls, Home Goods artwork, and live laugh love-ing vibes. But order, cleanliness and conformity bring comfort to lots of people.

On the topic of money - you do not need money to make your place look great. Once you develop your decorating "eye" you'll see stuff everywhere. I could go on for dayyys talking about free stuff, used stuff and bartering. I don't like to spend money on decorating. You just don't have to.

I'll feature some of my inexpensive/free stuff on my Instagram: @hellovintagehomecollection

I don't think I answered you completely but good question and observations.

[animehouse-moe]

Undead Girl Murder Farce Episode 9: Werewolves

Where to begin, where to begin indeed. I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. You want a series to crown as the king of Summer 2023? It's Undead Girl Murder Farce. It might not have the pedigree of other returning titles, it might not have the biggest studio ever behind it. But by god, if they aren't working tirelessly to provide one of the most outright creatively exciting mystery series I'm not sure what it is they might be doing.

Right away, we're met with black and white in a flashback. Standard fare, right? Well, you're wrong. There's incredibly important groundwork being laid here that works insanely well to set the tone and purpose of this episode.

It's not just black and white. There's red, and there's fire as well. Three pieces, three very important pieces that create the foundation for this episode.

The point of it, both in past, present, and arguably even the potential future is as follows. The black and white, alongside the imagery of religion that's pasted further into the episode is used as weaponry against werewolves. They use the monochromatic color scheme to highlight the thinking of the humans in that Werewolves are only capable of being the enemy of humanity. The fire represents the human's hatred for werewolves and the destructive nature of such a thing. The blood is a reminder that despite appearances, these creatures hurt in the same manner of humans. It's an intricate tapestry that focuses on both widening the rift between werewolf and human while bringing the gap between them closer and closer.

And within that lays another reference, at least I believe it to be one. That reference being the death of Frankenstein's Monster in the popularized 1931 movie. In that movie, the monster is stuck in a windmill that the humans outside light on fire, causing the monster to die. Here, while it may not be a windmill, the werewolf we follow finds a similar fate.

Now, what about this use of color in the present tense? Well, while Doctor Heinemann so graciously explains the grisly nature of the deaths of girls in his village, we're treated to that black and white color palette once more.

But it's more interesting than just being a copy of the past tense. Rather, the use of black and white differs here. Blood is not displayed in red, there's no fire used, and there's actually color given to the murdered girls prior to their death.

Weird, right?

Well that's because the purpose of the colors has changed. This isn't a hunt, but rather a stroke of revenge. Blood, blotted out to remain gray distances the prey from their predator, and rather than yellow or orange flames denoting a fiery hatred associated with these acts, we see bodies blackened and almost charred-looking instead. As if those flames had already been extinguished, leaving behind what viewers are treated to.

It's an incredibly strong sense of direction that implicitly ties these terrible acts to the young werewolf Jutte, subject to the heinous acts of the village people 8 years prior. But of course, it's more than that, as the latest victim's abduction tells a different story. But I'll talk more on that later. Let's rewind, shall we?

Got a little carried away with the impressive work here, but there's still plenty more peppered throughout the episode, so allow me to get started once more.

Tsugaru as a character makes so many of the expositional scenes work, but the staff also put quite a lot of effort into varied visuals and approaches to keep viewers engaged and interested.

Like this shift in art style as Aya explains an experience from her (distant) past.

Or this once more stunning visual used to explain the various transformations and forms of werewolves. Also, allow me to point out once more the color palette. This time, no blood, but a heavy focus on the monochromatic style of the open as well as that fiery background.

Anyways, here's doggy Tsugaru

Okay, back to it. A rather strong penchant and appeal to style that remains throughout many of these episodes is the concept of superimposition. Sometimes it's used quite often, and others not so much. I think this episode is a solid example of the former as we get treated to many scenes like this.

Even more interesting than superimposition however, is this oddly intentional blur that appears only a handful of times throughout the episode. The composition is largely and layouts of both scenes are very similar, so there's certainly an intentional reason behind the blur, but I don't have anything that immediately comes to mind.

This is a mystery series though, isn't it? Well, I'd love to talk the mystery, but I want to skip ahead to this church scene before diving head first into the rest of it. I'd show it, but I have a limited amount of pictures, but the way we open on the church is by showing the burning tower of the past before fading into the spire of the church in the present. It's a very scary way of uniting the humans under the strength of their religion in expulsing that which isn't similar, all the while justifying their actions.

The most important piece here though is Gustav, the father of the most recent missing girl. And what a sequence it is. It's something that I'm sure many can implicitly understand, but when faced with explaining you're helplessly left stumbling over your own words. I won't make a fool of myself, but rather make a more creative connection, "The eyes are the windows to the soul". Peel back that curtain, the façade that all operate under, and gaze into the truth that you may be unwilling to face.

Anyways, back to the mystery of Louise's abduction. Under a clear night sky, within the comfort of her own home, Louise was stolen away from her parents. Doesn't fit the MO, does it now? Making an appearance around others, leaving a trail of information behind, this one is decidedly different than the others. Arguably the most interesting piece being the fact that we're shown blood in its proper color. Despite the black and white nature of the recollection, and the visual consistency of the other deaths, we're given a clear and decisive outlier here.

So, let's lay out the details we've been given. Blood on the bed, but none from the bed to the window. A trail of paw prints from the chimney to the window, but none that lead to the bed, nor the damaged parts of Louise's room. Broken glass on the outside of the house, indicating it was shattered from the inside, and on the window that is unable to open, as well.

Lots of inconsistencies and issues, no? I think perhaps the most interesting though is the sounds from the flashback. We hear the sound of several glass-like objects shattering. We don't hear Louise's voice trail off as she's carried away either. And, after those sounds of something breaking, we still hear sounds coming from in the room. Now, I'm no detective by any means, but considering the "order" of the sounds, I believe it's safe to say that we didn't hear the window shatter during the break in/flashback.

Moving back into the realm of the actual detective, Aya discovers an odd inconsistency with the information laid in front of her. Tsugaru placed a hand on the floor to investigate the chimney through which it was presumed that the werewolf entered via, but after displaying it to Aya, it's shown that there's no dust or ash covering it.

So, she performs an experiment. Drop something small and in similar size to the werewolf down the chimney, and see what happens. To no surprise, a puff of ash engulfs the pair as they watch the fireplace.

But more important than the act itself is the residue that it leaves behind. Look at this image from before the test. That ledge to the fireplace is rather neat and clean, no sign of any ash or dust building up on it.

After that soot is spread by the falling of Tsugaru's pillow though, take a look at that ledge once more. That's right, it's dirty. So, the culprit (most likely) did not come through the chimney, but used the piled up soot to create footprints to make it appear as though they did.

Now, just for a few pieces of detail to add here and there. The famous author Goethe makes an appearance, most likely due to their middle name being Wolfgang. Not anything incredibly important, but a fun detail nonetheless.

More questionable than that however is the notion that Gustav's gun was previously stolen about a year ago, which is around the same time that the werewolf appeared in the village.

But I'll let that one stew, here's a super interesting visual to accompany Aya's explanation of the break in and abduction. Love how it gives a loose form to an idea being expressed by the character, rather than a very detailed and "accurate" example.

Alright, now I'm sure that just like me, many out there are dealing with a fried brain right about now, so I'll cut to the chase with the end of this episode. Rather than seeing Banquet disembark a train, we see two of the effective executioners for our lovely "insurance" company make their way towards the Forest of Fangs. What I found interesting here is that the characters will always travel in twos, and that they're presumably paired based upon their nationality, as this duo embodies the United States thanks to things like the Cowboy outfit.

So where do we stand at the end of this episode? The key to the werewolves is hidden behind the village chief's bet with Aya about finding the culprit of the child murders, and the "insurance" company is hot on their tail with Banquet nowhere to be found. Will we see a head to head prior to the discovery of the werewolves? Or will our various parties converge only once the village is uncovered? Personally, I can't say. What I can say though is that this episode, like all the others before it, is so full of life, creativity, and detail, that it nearly spoils the other series of the season. I've already watched this episode at least twice to create this post, and I already know I'll be going back once more before we return next week.

#undead girl murder farce #アンデッドガール・マーダーファルス #mystery anime #supernatural anime #anime recommendation #anime review #anime and manga #anime

[cxldtyrant]

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

@saiyanandproud asked: 🖤 ?

Mariko

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

          “Mariko is presentable enough, though perhaps a good combing is needed for that hair of hers,” he remarked with a short chortle, swishing the chalice in his hand. “Nonetheless, she wears the Armored Squadron colors well. I am proud to present her as an elite soldier of mine.”

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

          “Admittedly, I was initially worried about having her as a soldier. Indeed, her strength is impressive, but there’s a softness to her that had me wary that she would be incapable of handling her duties. But, she had proven reliable, if unorthodox…” Cooler couldn’t help the smile that twitched over his lips, recalling how she had brought a farmhouse down upon herself and Kitrus to prevent his escape, as well as placed the unhatched heir of Zalt in a spittoon during the rescue mission. Unorthodox, indeed. “The only detriment to having her is her endless requests to celebrate various Earth customs. Or her occasional odd suggestions of adding distractions to the ship. And the fact she keeps trying despite my constant refusals…though I suppose I can applaud her tenacity…”

          He gave a little scoff, though it lacked any venom. “A pool of all things, how ridiculous…”

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

          “No. That is entirely inappropriate. She is my subordinate, and I would never abuse my authority like that.”

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

          “She is my soldier, yes. But she is also my pupil. I see within her a great potential that I want to bring forth,” he admitted, bringing the chalice near his lips. “As her Lord and mentor, I will do what I can to see that potential nurtured. I will mold a great warrior out of her, one whose very name will echo the cosmos with fear and awe.”

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

          “I have always seen this potential in her, though I was uncertain as to what to think of her at the time. Seeing the potential in someone is one thing, but getting to know them is an entirely different,” he took a moment to sip his wine, allowing him time to gather his current thoughts of the young Earthling. He placed the cup down after finishing his drink, glass clinking against the tabletop. “However, she has yet to disappoint me. She listens well enough, barring some occasions, and she takes to my lessons well enough. And in missions, she has proven dependable. This bodes well for her future, and I look forward to seeing how far she’ll go under my guidance.”

#[saiyanandproud] #[inquiries; response] #[she's his star pupil] #[he is very pleased with how she is coming along and looks forward to more shenanigans-] #[I mean missions with her lol] #[I promise I will get to that thread soon] #[I am ready for another fun mission with Mariko]