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#but within her dynamic with vi?

mrs5sn0w · 6 months

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Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> A Symphony of Heartbreak-> IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of Allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

warnings: Arranged marriage, MILD ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame : Before, during and after tbosbas

synopsis: In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The grandeur of the Capitol unfolded like a tapestry of opulence on the day Coriolanus Snow and her were bound in matrimony. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, and the opulent venue shimmered in the soft glow of chandeliers. The Capitol's elite had gathered to witness the union of the President of Panem and the Flare family, one of the most prestigious families in the whole Panem, their wedding was a spectacle that rivaled the most extravagant of royal weddings.

As she walked down the aisle in her resplendent gown, a vision of ethereal beauty, the weight of the ornate veil seemed to mirror the heavy burden on her heart. Coriolanus, standing at the altar in a meticulously tailored suit, wore a mask of composure that hid the turbulent emotions within.

He did not want to be there. He does not want to marry her.

The ceremony unfolded like a symphony of obligations, the vows echoing through the grand hall as if scripted by Capitol decree. Her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, met with his cold and indifferent eyes. The congregation, unaware of the loveless undertones, erupted in applause as the Capitol celebrated the union of the two.

As the reception commenced, Snow and her navigated the intricate dance of social formalities. In front of the Capitol's watchful eyes, they exchanged pleasantries and smiled for the cameras, their every move orchestrated like pieces on a strategic board.

In a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes, she summoned a smile that barely concealed the turmoil within.

"Corio-"

"It's Snow." He reminded her not to call him by what she called him years ago.

"Snow, we are the talk of the Capitol today," she remarked, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

He nodded curtly, his gaze fixed on the swirling dancers. "It's expected. our union of significance, a merging of legacies."

A fragile smile played on her lips while Coriolanus' eyes remained impassive, a fortress against the vulnerability she tried to breach.

"Sentimentality has no place in our world. Our duty is to uphold the Capitol's ideals. I'm just doing my duty by marrying you."

He then continued

"Don't get ahead of yourself if you think you can have a chance. Everyone may have forgotten what you did, but not me."

"Cor- Snow, I did what I had to do, to protect you-"

"protect me ?" He scoffed

"The only protection you did was throw my future away"

"But you're here now" she argued

"You still did it to me. It will never change." he demanded

He still believes that she did it.

but until this very day, he did not know the whole truth of what she did.

As the night wore on, the facade of marital bliss cracked in the shadows. She resplendent in her gown, felt the weight of isolation. She approached Coriolanus with a delicate grace, her eyes seeking a connection amidst the artifice.

The reception continued, a lavish display of decadence, but in the hidden recesses of their shared existence, the echoes of unspoken pain reverberated. She was once Coriolanus Snow's closest classmates, and she found herself as a stranger in his indifferent world.

"Snow," she began, her voice tinged with both sadness and defiance,

"do you ever wonder what our lives could have been if things were different?"

He looked at her, the coldness in his eyes softened by the moon's gentle caress. "Wondering is a futile endeavor. Our reality is the only truth we know."

"The only thing i wished to be different is that I didn't have to marry someone like you"

"Anyone but you"

Before she could respond, the distant strains of music heralded their return to the festivities. The grandeur of their wedding, an illusion of splendor, concealed the fractured emotions beneath the surface.

As the night waned and the Capitol reveled in the spectacle, Coriolanus Snow and his wife danced through the shadows of their union, a poignant duet of obligation and unspoken regret.

Snow's wife would always remember this day as the day she gave her life up to be stuck in a loveless marriage.

It didn't matter to her, as long as she was married to the person she loves even when he hates her with every beat of his heart.

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finisnihil · 3 months

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Hello pookies let’s talk about Aventurine and Topaz

Penacony spoilers+Analysis ahead

Let’s start off the bat, I personally like Aventurine more than Topaz and the main reason is because Topaz willingly works for the IPC while Aventurine doesn’t. Some people have pointed out in other posts of mine that Topaz didn’t voluntarily join the IPC. Her planet was dying and the IPC bought it, she joined because it was required of her, but here’s the difference. She chooses to stay.

She emphasizes in her talking with Bronya and the Trailblazer than she doesn’t stay with the IPC just because she has to or because she needs a paycheck. She stays because she likes working for them.

Also, she sees what was done to her planet as a good thing. In her eyes, the IPC saved her planet, in her eyes it isn’t exploitation. She tries to force the same thing on Jarilo-VI to the point she attacks the Astral Express for trying to stop her after Bronya declined the contract. She felt entitled to Jarilo-VI and when she was told no she ignored it. To her, the IPC are the best. It’s no wonder either, as far as we know she hasn’t seen the truly ugly side of the IPC yet because the IPC need her. In her character stories other IPC constantly hype her up, she’s a prodigy, she makes the IPC more efficient. She raises the success rate from 63% to above 80%. Even in her early days we see her breaking rules and getting away with it because the IPC value her too much to lose her.

They don't even question her calculations. Adding to this, when Aventurine is first introduced, it's after she's punished for her actions on Jarilo-VI.

He gives a lot of context about Topaz's power in the IPC. She "dodged a bullet there", implying she theoretically should've got a stronger punishment than being demoted a rank and losing some bonuses she's mentioned she doesn't care about. He even mentions that somebody is "looking out for her". Topaz has backing. He also mentions Jarilo-VI was a high-risk low-reward situation and that her "kind heart" was a liability. Topaz has the room to take on such cases and exercise her "kind heart" because she isn't at risk of losing everything if she screws up. There's little consequences to her actions, there's powerful people protecting her, and the IPC need her. Topaz can leave at any time, she choses not to because she likes the IPC. You see this power dynamic in her character trailer.

A throne is strong imagery and she's surrounded by money, the real representation of power in the IPC.

So let's talk about Aventurine and why I think he's interesting and why I like him more than Topaz.

Let's start with his power dyanmic within the IPC, or more so, his lack of one.

Aventurine has a serial number on his neck and Dr Ratio specifically calls him a "thrall". The term thrall in this context seems to imply he's a captive of some sort of the IPC*, to them he's a product. We can feel his lack of power in the way people talk to him.

Sparkle speaks to him in a super derogratory way and belittles him by implying he had to humiliate himself to influence Sunday. Meanwhile Dr Ratio writes him off as ruining everything before he gets to really do anything.

He gets power by gambling for it. Power is fleeting and he can lose it easier than most.

At one point he talks about how much money he loses wasting ten minutes. Ten minutes is nothing for Topaz but to Aventurine it's lost money and if he's not making the IPC money he's useless and viable to be cast aside. He can't afford it because he has no power. Compared to Topaz, he can't leave. He has less room for screw ups.

Onto friendship.

When friendship comes up, he keeps the idea at a distance. He asks how friends benefit him. Sparkle says he treats friends like bargaining chips and when he's talking with Dr Ratio he says that "Friends are weapons of Avgins". To him, friends are used for or against you.

He doesn't have any real friends, he's always on his own. He has no backing. He can't trust anybody because he's in such a vulnerable state and everyone around him looks down on him because of his heritage. Dr Ratio even tells him he causes too much trouble to have freinds, likening him to a peacock with a jarring call.**

Finally I want to analyze this conversation between him and Topaz. When asking for her help, he calls her old friend, implying he's planning to use her. The thing about Aventurine is that compared to Topaz, he's more ruthless because he has to be, he doesn't have the wiggle room she does, even Black Swan notes this saying he'll go to extreme lengths to maintain an advantage. Right now, that's what he's doing because he's being thrown to Penacony as a sacrifice. For the reasons above he seems to be the most expendable Stoneheart. He notes Penacony is a lost cause and Topaz is shocked that the mission isn't given to a higher ranking Stoneheart. He eggs Topaz into being his project manager with the idea she'll recover what she lost on Jarilo-VI. What he's really doing is using her to shield himself. With her involvement the IPC will be less likely to cut their loses with him, because they need Topaz and if he puts his eggs in her basket to care for they're less likely to be left to break by the IPC. If things go wrong he takes the blame… unless he has Topaz to sofen the blow. He's gambling on her power in their dynamic.

*My personal theory as of 2.0 is that the Sigonians and Avgins had a war and the IPC backed the Avgins for a benefit of their victory, assuring it. Aventurine was a captive or some sort of "war prize" hence the serial number and Dr Ratio calling him a thrall. It also explains the negative view of Sigonians and the very favorable view of Avgins among other lore we've gotten about it. I may do a seperate post of this theory.

**Sparkle and Dr Ratio liken Aventurine to a peacock frequently. Male peacocks use their feathers to attract the attention of female peacocks. This matches Aventurine's very flamboyant and charismatic character and his place in the story.

Feel free to add discussion, have a great day, mwah!

#honkai star rail #Penacony #Penacony spoilers #aventurine #topaz #aventurine analysis #topaz analysis #aventurine theory #Aventurine has grown on me I will admit #He fascinates me #Finis Analyzes

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skzdarlings · 1 year

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part v: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 18k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamic plus explicit violence, threatening behaviour, mentions of homophobia, implied suicidal ideation, and explicit sexual content.

Jisung sighs with agonizing sorrow as he turns his baseball cap around. He tugs the brim low then steeples his hands on the desk.

“I see,” he says grimly. “I understand. You found paradise in Hyunjin. You had a good friendship, it made a good romance. So you didn’t need a friend like me. Now you come to me and say, ‘Han Jisung, come bowling with me and my evil boyfriend.’ But you don’t ask with respect. You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to go bowling—”

“We’re in earth science right now,” Felix says, bemused.

“He’s quoting a movie,” you say.

“Ah.”

“And for the last time, Hyunjin is not my boyfriend,” you say. “We’re just… hanging out.”

Your second ‘date’ with Hyunjin was once more a family affair as your father invited him and his parents to the mansion for lunch. It was professionally catered because your father does nothing by halves, so at least the food was good. You and Hyunjin were mostly silent in the company of your parents, but you were allowed to walk around the yard by yourselves after.

He looked good because he always looks good, in a fuzzy purple sweater and name-brand jeans. His charisma was dwindled to nothing, though. He kept his fists curled up in the sleeves of his sweater and smiled a lot of forced smiles. His parents’ presence clearly does a number on his mentality. He did unwind somewhat when you were finally alone, but it was hard to shake the feeling of observation, their eyes stalking your every step like animals in a zoo.

“Maybe we should just have sex on the ground here,” you said dryly. “See if that satisfies them.”

He burst out laughing at that, an endearingly wheezy sound that made you giggle too.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “When you make jokes like that I remember you and Han Jisung really are best friends.”

“Guilty,” you said with a snort. “Stupid jokes is what is friendship is all about.”

He smiled at the subject of friendship. His expression was full of so much warmth, very contrary to his polite but cold countenance during lunch when he only flirted appropriately.

You like Hyunjin as a friend and you think he might feel the same way, hence the reservation on both your parts to truly commit to this farce of a relationship. It feels wrong to use him to keep your father happy.

You caught his eye this morning in the school corridor, sharing a smile as you crossed paths. Even though a true relationship has not been defined, you told him you wanted to tell Jisung before you started hanging out at school.

You made the mistake of saying this within earshot of Hyunjin’s parents. His father unfortunately overheard you, enquiring as to the identity of this Jisung.

“Just her little school friend,” your father said. “Nobody important.”

Jisung might be nobody important to your father but he is still your friend. And unlike your father, who merits the value of life on business calculations, the first question Jisung asks is, “Does he make you happy?”

Felix is scribbling in his notebook but lifts his head at that question. You cannot look at him directly because you know it will shatter your very careful mask.

“Hyunjin is actually really nice when you get to know him,” you say, because the best lie has a hint of truth in it. “And I really do like spending time with him. So… it would make me happy if you could be happy for me too.”

Jisung scrutinizes you, then glances at Felix who has gone back to scribbling in his notebook. Eventually Jisung smiles and spins his cap backwards.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Jisung says. He turns very dark and serious when he says, “But that pretty rich boy is paying for my nachos.”

You catch up to Hyunjin in the hallway. He laughs when you tell him Jisung’s stipulation.

“I think I can afford it,” he jokes, then quirks an eyebrow. “Jisung… He doesn’t know about your dad, does he?”

“Only a bit,” you say, thinking back to the countless times you abstractly complained about your father to him. “I mean, he knows he’s strict but he doesn’t know why. I complain about some stuff but… I don’t really go into detail.” Truth be told, you like that your friendship with Jisung is so far removed from your home life. He has nothing to do with your father or your wealth or your abuse. He likes you for you and that has always been the case.

“What about Felix?” Hyunjin asks. He nods behind you because Felix is never too far away. He is blending in as inconspicuously as he can, pretending to read notices on a bulletin board.

“What about him?” you say, heat creeping up your neck. You hope you appear casual.

“How close are you?” Hyunjin asks, his casual tone coloured with a hint of suggestion, like he already knows the answer.

You suppose anyone might assume Felix has a crush on you seeing as he is never far from your side. There is little explanation that a civilian could glean other than Felix being clingy or lovesick. No one would guess it is his job to trail after you.

But the suggestion is difficult to rebuke because your true feelings get all twisted up inside you. You and Felix do like each other – too much for your own goods. Though there has not been a reprise of the other morning, in fact you have not mentioned it once, there is a new electricity in all of your touches. That exchange did not satisfy or quell any desires, in fact it seemed to accomplish the opposite. When you wake in the morning to him so close, your heart turns into a thunderstorm and it sends sparks flying through every inch of your body.

You want him more than ever. You also hope you never get him or you will never find the resolve to let go.

“He’s just my—” You cannot force the word friend. “He’s just Felix,” you say. “He drives me crazy, to be honest.” That much is true.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows. He looks at Felix then turns your body so he is blocking you from sight. He leans in close to speak.

“He isn’t bothering you, is he?” Hyunjin asks. “Because if he is—”

A sharp laugh jumps out of you. The offer of protection is unexpected and unintentionally amusing. You have seen Felix in the midst of his training, his body a well-honed instrument that he knows and controls with utmost precision. Hyunjin uses his body in a different way, playing to his strengths with his showmanship, but he would be no match in confrontation.

Not that he knows it. His offer is very sincere.

You gaze at him, studying his kind but determined face. You remember how Hyunjin was expelled from his old school for fighting with another boy, supposedly over a girl. You read the report yourself and you recall how the other boy was badly pulverized. It is hard to picture Hyunjin doing something like that, but you know how violence often lurks in unassuming places.

“Thank you,” you say. “But it’s fine. Really.”

You guide the conversation back to bowling and it distracts him well enough.

At least you were allowed to plan this date. Your father essentially ordered you to go on a solo date with Hyunjin, except you could not be truly alone because Felix had to be there. When you questioned the logistics of that, your father said to work it out, that he would heed Felix’s discretion on the matter.

Fortunately, even with things tense between you, Felix does take your opinion into consideration. He agreed when you suggested a casual venue where you could hang out with Hyunjin and better acquaint him with your friends.

You are still not sure how long this charade is meant to continue, but for now you try to enjoy having another friend. This turns into a daunting task. Your social skills are lacklustre to say the least and attempting to befriend Hyunjin’s huge circle of friends proves perilously overwhelming. Fortunately, Hyunjin doesn’t take offense when you bail early at lunch to sit with Jisung instead. Hyunjin has a lot of friends but none with whom he is especially close.

“Having a best friend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you joke, watching Jisung bowl by swinging the ball two-handedly between his legs. You slouch in your seat as if embarrassed by him, shaking your head while Hyunjin laughs.

“He’s funny,” Hyunjin says.

“Then why do you antagonize him?” you ask, lightly but curiously.

“Because it’s fun,” he says with a smirk, making you laugh and Felix chuckle. “And easy.”

The three of you watch Jisung wail as his ball predictably rolls into the gutter.

“Fair enough,” you say.

You can tell Hyunjin has his guard up. It does not make him unkind but he is less personable even while he is more charismatic. You know that persona is in place to protect him, that Hyunjin wears happiness and charm the way you wear ire. Although they are contrary dispositions, both keep people at bay.

Jisung, being Jisung, manages to slip through the cracks of that guarded wall, much like he did you. You got to know Jisung slowly then all at once, empty moments passing between you until one day you realized he had long passed the guarded gate.

You are mulling this over when you spot him. You are so surprised that you choke on your soda and sputter the liquid painfully out of your nose. Your spontaneous violent hacking startles the boys, all of them jumping then fussing over you.

You are still coughing when Lee Minho approaches.

Hyunjin and Jisung do not see him at first, too pre-occupied with wiping your shirt and asking if you are okay. It is Felix who spots Minho next, realization dawning on his face before his expression sours. You have been seeking that reaction, looking for the vaguest hint of jealousy or at least acknowledgement. Felix does not seem very intimidated by Hyunjin, even when he flirts with you or touches you. He can probably tell your feelings are only friendly. But you did like Lee Minho once and he knows that.

Your heart skips beats when you and Felix look at each other. He has not been holding your gaze lately, quick to look away when you catch him staring. It sounds strange to say that you miss him when he is sleeping in your bed every night, but you ache with the loss of intimacy. He is the first person you see in the morning and the last face you see at night, but he has never felt farther away. Even your very first night together involved more genuine interaction.

If he truly did not want you, it would be easier. But when you do catch him staring, his eyes are intense, his gaze forever thoughtful. When he is not minding his actions, he naturally leans towards you just as you do him, orbiting planets around the light of your stars.

Jisung likes you as a friend, Hyunjin likes you as an ally, but Felix knows every part of you, the good and the bad, the normal and the crazy. When he touches you, he touches all of you, and you feel like a whole person, full of more life and possibility than you ever thought you could be. You told yourself not to rely on his touches and maybe you should have listened, maybe this withdrawal would not ache so terribly now, but you cannot bring yourself to fully regret it.

What you want is to reach across this table and hold his face, to bring it close to yours. Even if you don’t kiss, it would be enough to have him close, his breath on your lips and his freckled cheeks warm under your palms.

You will take what you can get, basking in the devoted attention of his gaze as your former crush approaches the table.

Minho comes up behind Hyunjin and smacks a hand onto his shoulder, startling him.

“I could hear you from the parking lot, Hwang Hyunjin,” Minho teases. “How many degrees was it again?”

When the rival popular boys were both at school, their interactions were minimal despite their reputations. Their few encounters were only jokingly hostile, one running gag revolving around Minho cooking Hyunjin in an air-fryer.

“One-hundred-eighty degrees,” Hyunjin completes the joke. He laughs with everyone else but he is blushing scarlet from the tips of his ears all down his neck.

It is strange. Hyunjin is a physical person, at least when performing. This is the same guy who made out with his girlfriend in a classroom. The same guy who got detention on his first day for skipping class to fool around with some girl. And yet his shoulder dips as if Minho’s hand is too heavy to bear, as if he is overwhelmed by the touch.

Hyunjin once remarked on your powers of observation. It is especially easy to read someone when their behaviour is similar to your own. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. The stilted proximity, the way they naturally lean towards each other, so heavily affected by the simplest touch on the shoulder.

How they absolutely cannot bring themselves to meet eyes.

Minho talks to your table, friendly enough, but it is obvious he has no idea who the rest of you are. He only knows Hyunjin, and he addresses Hyunjin directly, but he does not look at Hyunjin for more than a few seconds, and they do not look at each other at the same time.

Eventually, Minho squeezes the back of Hyunjin’s neck and Hyunjin curls up his fingers. Minho smiles and says his goodbyes, casual, friendly, sparing one final glance at Hyunjin that Hyunjin does not return. Hyunjin reaches for his glass and takes a drink while Minho leaves to join his own friends across the room.

You wonder if Felix registered any of it, but he is still frowning at Minho’s retreating back. You suppose he was watching you more than Hyunjin. Jisung is taking a picture of his abysmal bowling score.

You look at Hyunjin but he is smiling again. He offers to pay for dinner, swiftly diverting the conversation in that direction. Jisung goes with him to counter to order, leaving you and Felix alone.

Felix has gone back to feigned indifference, sipping from his soda as he stares at nothing particular.

“I need to be alone with Hyunjin for a bit,” you say. That quickly snaps his attention to you. “I just want to talk to him.”

“Talk,” Felix says, lifting an eyebrow. “Uhh, about what?”

“If it was your business, I wouldn’t need to be alone with him,” you say curtly. You are being intentionally antagonistic with that one, but you get a little thrill when it succeeds in piquing his interest. You suppose you have always resorted to bad behaviour for attention. Encouraged by the heat darkening his gaze, you flutter your eyelashes and drawl, “My daddy would get mad if you got in the way of us, you know.”

He laughs with disbelief. Stubborn as ever, he looks away, popping an elbow on the table and digging his fist into his temple.

“What?” you say with exaggerated innocence. “Wouldn’t he, Felix? Doesn’t he think I’m a bad girl who needs a good boy to fix her?”

He looks at you, just a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but it gets you so hot that you momentarily forget your whole endeavour.

He drops his arm with a thump, smiling at you with all that performative saccharine sweetness. It is the smile he projects when he is convincing the world he is just sweet, innocent Lee Felix. Beanie, flannel, ripped jeans, just another guy, cute and unassuming.

He stands and swiftly turns on the heel of his foot, slapping a hand down on the back of your seat so you instinctively lean back. He follows you down, in your face when he speaks in that low, honeyed voice, “Hyunjin doesn’t have what it takes for that, sweetheart.”

Then he is back in his seat, arms crossed and back to ignoring you.

“I hate you,” is what naturally falls from your lips, no other word sufficing to summarize the sheer inundation of feelings.

The corner of his lips quirk up in a little grin.

He is the present bane of your existence, but Felix does oblige your request. At the end of the evening, he purposefully leads Jisung away with some empty distraction, holding conversation while watching you over his shoulder. He does not go far, but far enough to be out of ear-shot.

Hyunjin is bent down, changing his shoes, and it takes you a minute to muster the nerve to speak.

“Hyunjin,” you finally say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended.

Your tone is usually sharp so the unexpected softness has him tensing before he even lifts his head. When he does, it is with a dimpled smile, handsome and so polite.

You scrub a hand over your face, shaking your head, trying to think of something to say. You do not want to put him in an awkward spot, but you definitely do not want him walking into a worse situation because of ignorance.

“You… you weren’t expelled for fighting… were you?” you finally ask. “And you and Minho weren’t enemies.”

His expression caves, a sharp breath parting his lips. He stares at you for a long moment, flickering between a fake laugh, anger, fear, and finally resignation.

“How did you…” he starts, then laughs without any humour, dry and airy as he pushes his hair back. “You really are good at seeing people, huh.”

“I stand by what I told you at that party,” you say. “That I’m sorry you feel like you have to hide the best parts of yourself. But as your friend, I need you to understand… my father is a very, very dangerous man. He uses people. All the things that make you who you are… he will just categorize them statistically and work out how to use those things against you to benefit him.”

He covers his mouth and stares at the ground, looking contemplative. After some time, he drops his hand, and speaks in an unsteady voice that makes him seem very young. “I can handle it,” he says. “My father…” Another dry laugh. “I had a… friend… at my whole school. My father found us together. He tried to get him leave me alone but… stupid kid… he didn’t listen. So my dad hired this thug, I mean, I didn’t even know you could do that… He shook him up and we paid off the family and then he moved me here and he said… he said…” His voice trails off and you don’t think he will find it again.

“Image,” you say. “Expectation. Whatever.”

He huffs a breath, rolls his eyes, laughs again.

“Yes,” he says. “I thought it would be easy. He wasn’t asking me to change, just pretend. I said… well, that’s not that bad, it could be worse. It’s worse for other people. I can pretend. But it’s not easy and…” He sucks in an unsteady breath, his face crinkling with emotion. His voice is strained when he continues, “I don’t like lying, and just because I don’t like girls it doesn’t mean I like using them. You were the final straw, I just…” He rubs his temples and shakes his head. “I just need to get through this year. I can move out after school but… my dad won’t give me access to my savings until the end of the year and only if I can show him I’m… ‘better’. So I… I need to get through this year.”

“Hyunjin, I want to help you,” you say, “but you need to know what you’re getting into with me. My father is more dangerous than just hiring a thug. He is the thug, his whole operation is thugs. He snaps his fingers and half the city is rearranging itself for him.”

“You talk back to him a lot,” Hyunjin argues, a fact you cannot refute. Though you are marginally better behaved in company, you are never truly docile.

“Yeah,” you say with a helpless laugh, “but trust me, I’m messed up.”

“So am I,” he says. “We can help each other. Keep our dads off our backs for now then figure it all out.”

Silence falls as you consider each other’s words. You feel like no matter what choice you make, it will be the wrong one.

“He works two jobs,” Hyunjin suddenly says, staring over your shoulder. You don’t have to turn to know it is Minho, on the other side of the room, laughing with his friends. “One is at a coffee shop. On the weekends he teaches dance classes to kids. His family isn’t well off but he is so casual about it that no one cares. Things everyone else gets ashamed or embarrassed about just doesn’t seem to bother him. I thought I hated him at first, because it all seemed so easy for him, and I was jealous because I thought I should be the lucky one. Then one morning after a party I was hungover and bitching at him, and he just said tsk…” Fondness creeps into his expression now, smoothing out the sadness that was there before. “Then he made me some coffee and kissed me when I wasn’t expecting it. I started working myself up about it and he called me idiot and did it again.” He looks at you. His voice is steady now. “My dad would never make coffee for someone. He doesn’t even know how. He pays someone to do all that meaningless stuff for him. Meaningless. That’s all his life is. He think it’s so important but it’s not. But I know better.”

He sits straighter and says with complete confidence, “My life will not be meaningless. I just need to get through this year.”

You know it is not so simple as that. You do not see a light at the end of the tunnel the way he seems to do. But he speaks with so much heartfelt conviction that you really do feel it for a moment.

In the end, it is impossible not to take his hand.

Felix is quiet on the car ride home. You know despite the pretence, he is curious about you and Hyunjin. His regard was a scrutinizing one, watching you hold hands until you said goodbye in the parking lot.

But Felix is acting his role, an indifferent and professional bodyguard. You take turns glancing at each other, occasionally catching eyes but looking away soon after.

The house will be empty for the next couple weeks as your father is on a business trip overseas. You strut confidently into the house with Felix on your heels. You busy yourself with scrolling on your phone, pretending you do not hear his agitated sighs. You plop yourself down on the couch and cross your legs.

Felix stands in front of you, arms crossed. You smile an excessively syrupy smile and bat your eyelashes.

“Yes?” you say. “Can I help you?”

“What are you doing with Hyunjin?” he asks.

“You know what I’m doing with Hyunjin,” you say dryly, looking at your phone again. “Just what my daddy said.”

“Okay but uhhh, you don’t like Hyunjin,” he says. “And you definitely don’t like obeying ‘daddy’.” He pitches up the word in a nasally whine to mock you, smiling when you glare.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” you say. Then you shrug like the whole thing is beneath you, like you could not care less about his reaction even while it is all you care about.

You stand and knock shoulders when you brush past. You make it a scarce foot before he grasps the back of your neck and guides you back to him, gentle and slow but ungiving in its demand. Even when he lets go, you feel tingles where his fingertips so lightly pressed.

You are standing close, almost cheek to cheek. You can count each familiar freckle.

“Are you free right now?” he asks, dropping his voice in such a suggestive way that you immediately feel flushed. You nod without thinking too hard. When you do, his face lights up with enthusiasm and he smiles, eyes oh-so adorably crinkled with mirth. “Great!” he says. “Put on exercise clothes and meet me in the gym for training.”

He leaves the room in a brisk jog, waving over his shoulder. You stand there for another moment, staring at the empty doorway and computing the whiplash of that whole ridiculous exchange.

Never have you come so close to actually hating that abominable nightmare boy.

You have clearly worked Felix into a mood, so you decide to be marginally complacent and do what he asks lest he hunt you down and force you to do push-ups in the bedroom. We can work-out in the bedroom all right, you imagine yourself saying with a wink, knowing very well there is not a chance you would ever actually be able to say that. Agitating him with a healthy dose of implication is different than outright stating it. Though the look on his face would be funny.

When you reach the gym, he is in sweatpants and a t-shirt just like you. He is stretching in front of the mirror wall. He smiles that sardonic smile through the reflection, beckoning you to join him. You make sure to stomp as petulantly as possible, crossing your arms like a stubborn child when you reach the mirror.

“You need to warm-up first,” he says. “Do you know how to stretch?”

“Yes, I know how to stretch,” you say venomously, a useless lie since he has witnessed your pitiful demonstrations of athleticism in gym class. He doesn’t comment, though, just lifts his eyebrows and says, “okaaaay,” before moving on.

You copy a few of his stretches, though he makes his movements look easier than they are. Then he makes you run a few laps around the room, simply smiling when you scowl at him. You are pretty sure that part was just a petty punishment.

Finally he sets up some mats and starts explaining basic tactical defense positions. He clearly knows what he is talking about and the familiarity of the subject seems to ground him in his body. It draws you into a similar state of relaxation and soon you find yourself actually listening to his instructions.

You mirror a few of his positions, focussing on holding yourself steady, on finding your centre of gravity.

“You won’t beat most people with brute strength,” Felix says. “I mean, uhhh, ha-ha, I’m not exactly the biggest guy in the world, myself, you know? It isn’t about that, though. Look, feel your core strength…”

You lose yourself in your concentration, watching your own motions in the mirror as he steps around you. Your attention only fractures when he lays a hand on your shoulder. He is just fixing your posture but your body does not seem to care that the action is casual. You curse your own sensitivity and tell yourself to get over it, especially when he starts demonstrating more bodily manoeuvres, requiring you to put your hands on his arms or hands or shoulders.

He acts unbothered the whole time, making you feel even more ridiculous. Then he explains something while wrapping an arm around your neck from behind. You step closer instinctively and your eyes widen when your backside collides with his front and you realize he is not as indifferent as he is acting. It is only the vaguest stirring of interest, but his sweatpants do little for modesty.

He nudges you away and clears his throat, continuing his lesson but with a little stutter. You feel flustered and embarrassed too, somehow simultaneously craving this sort of evidence and also balking at it. You actually masturbated in front of each other but for some reason it is more embarrassing when he catches you looking at the subtle imprint in his sweats. He clears his throat again but continues the lesson like nothing happened. When he steps up behind you again, you are both careful to keep your distance, his arm only hovering around you.

“So the best thing in a situation like this—” he starts.

“I know what to do,” you say, the tension so unbearable that if you do not shatter it, it will break you instead. You abruptly swing your arm back, elbowing him in the gut. You catch him by surprise and he stumbles back with an oof, holding his stomach and glaring with playful intensity.

“Very funny,” he says and steps closer again.

“This works too,” you say, giggling then stomping on his foot. It isn’t very hard but it is unexpected so he curses, taking a playful swipe at you when you skip away.

“Mature,” he says sarcastically, but with a genuine smile. You stick your tongue out at him and he reaches again, laughing when you dance out of arm’s reach.

He chases after you and you yelp when he catches up, his retaliation a truly heinous, punitive tickle attack. You squeal and laugh in his arms, squirming to get away and apologizing through your shrieks. He just laughs, continuing his evil barrage of tickles. You get tangled together in your flailing, stumbling around and eventually landing in a giggling heap in front of the mirror.

Finally he stops, just as winded from laughter. You are sitting between his legs, slouched against his chest, facing the mirror as you pant and wind down from your giggles.

You look at each other through the reflection, the longest you have held each other’s gaze in a while. It feels different, less direct, but also more complete. You see yourself as well as him, sitting in a fairly intimate position and looking for all the world like a normal young couple, glowing with carefree happiness.

You take a few steadying breaths. He does as well. The rush of your game settles. In the absence of laughter, the room is quiet. The whole house is quiet, a big empty space with the two of you alone in one small room, securely tucked away in your privacy, looking at each other through a mirror.

He swallows.

Your heart is racing and not from any playful exertion. He has a hand on your elbow and the other on your knee, but he is holding very still, as if a move in any direction will be catastrophic. He is probably right to think that.

You touch his hand anyway, holding his gaze in the mirror while you slide his hand from your knee to your thigh. His brow pinches, expression contorted as if in pain, though the hardening press of him against your backside tells you it is not pain.

He says your name. Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and rests his temple against your head.

“Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out all the softness of heart in his low drawl. You whimper, from that or his touch, his hand high on your thigh. Even through your clothes, his touch burns, waking nerves where it roams.

“Please,” you say, watching his face through his mirror. Finally he meets your gaze there, dark eyes on your face as he lets you guide his hand between your legs.

One deft stroke through your clothes has you making a sound like a sob. It pulls him over the brink of his hesitation, leaving it all behind as he cups you with a possessive sort of determination. His touch is clumsy and desperate but you don’t care, because it’s him.

It all seems to happen so fast and not fast enough, two pairs of nervous hands pushing and pulling. He tugs your knee over his, spreading your legs wide, and slides his hand into your sweats while you buck back against him. Your eagerness overwhelms you so he shushes gently in your ear, his free hand splayed across your collarbone. His forehead is pressed into the side of your head and he looks at you sideways through the mirror. You nod, holding his gaze as he touches you properly.

It is a fumbling, hungry touch, the hunger of someone who thinks he might never eat again after all this plenty. He might be right. He might be wrong. It doesn’t matter right now. You give yourselves over to the experience, as raw and inelegant as all that earnest passion is.

Your breathing is loud enough to fill the whole room, the whole house, broken sighs and guttural moans louder than the yelling that usually fills this place. His touch is only surface, not daring to go so far as putting his fingers inside you, even while rubbing his fingers through all that wet desire. Your knee is hooked over his, keeping you helplessly open under his touch when you come. He looks at you with an incredulous sort of amazement, then his eyes close and his low moan turns to a broken whimper as tumbles over the edge too.

You are both breathing hard in the aftermath, eyes closed, heads touching. You slowly bring your leg back and he slowly withdraws his hand. You look into the mirror when you take his hand, when you put it back between your legs over your clothes and hold it there. He says your name and curses.

It is the last thing he says for a while. You are both quiet. It is only later that night when the silence breaks, when he gets into bed after checking the security system. You look at each other across the space of that bed and mutely come to an accord, his arm outstretched in offering as you move into his embrace. He holds you against his chest, his heart beating under your ear.

“Do you hate me,” he asks, like he already knows the answer.

You sniffle. You nod.

“Okay,” he says, and strokes your back until you fall asleep.

Your final year of school passes in a blur of afternoons with Jisung, fake dates with Hyunjin, and long, unsatisfied nights where you and Felix hold each other with the knowledge of everything between you – and do nothing about it. He keeps his head down, trains, and dutifully reports to your father. At least your father is more agreeable these days because of your supposed relationship with Hyunjin. He thinks it is changing you for the better when really you are just being careful for Hyunjin’s sake.

The end of the year rolls around and soon you are down to the last few days of classes. You and Hyunjin are due for a conversation about what happens next. You whisper this to him in class, sitting close as you are sharing a lab desk for two. He is bent down scribbling in your yearbook, his pen scratching when he freezes. He looks up at you and nods.

“Yo, are you lovebirds done?” Jisung asks, spinning around from the desk he is sharing with Felix. He points a ruler at Hyunjin. “You better have left the last page blank like I said, man. I have things to say to my girl.”

“I did, I did,” Hyunjin says with playful exasperation, handing Jisung your yearbook so he can sign it too. Jisung takes it with a snap, clapping the ruler on the desk before turning back to his own seat to write his message. You and Hyunjin look at each other, helpless but to laugh at his shenanigans.

You catch Felix’s eye. He knows your relationship is fake, though he doesn’t know why. He probably figures you are just trying to keep your father off your case. Even if you trust Felix, it is not your place to tell Hyunjin’s story, guarding it so long as he asks.

It does mean Felix looks at you with the occasional battered-puppy eyes.

“Come on, Felix,” Hyunjin says with his big, dimpled smile, “let me write in yours too.”

The yearbooks were handed out this morning so everyone is running around getting their friends to sign farewell messages. You have already signed more yearbooks than you ever imagined you would, Hyunjin’s friends considering you an acquaintance if nothing else. Signing for them was easy at least, lots of have a great summer and good luck with your future.

It is much harder coming up with something for genuine friends. While Hyunjin writes in Felix’s yearbook, you stare down at Hyunjin’s, trying to think of what to say to your fake boyfriend and real friend.

I hope you get everything you want and more, you finally write. I’m glad I got to know you. LUV U BOYFRIEND!!!!

He laughs at the last part when you show him. “I wrote the same thing in yours, loving girlfriend,” he says.

You laugh too. You crumple up some paper to chuck at Jisung who is still scribbling in your yearbook.

“What, are you writing a novel?” you ask. “Hurry up!”

“Patience!” Jisung says. “You can’t rush a masterpiece!”

You, Hyunjin, and Felix all laugh. Once more, you and Felix look at each other a little longer. You did not bother to write in his yearbook as no words could suffice to summarize anything.

He jokingly wrote Have a Great Summer : ) in yours.

Jisung finally finishes his apparent epic, smacking your yearbook onto your desk. You reach for it but he holds it shut, giving you a very serious look.

“You can’t read my message now, okay?” he says. “Read it at home. Alone. With violins in the background.”

You snort and roll your eyes but smile fondly at him.

“Okay, Jisung,” you say, “I promise to cherish it and read your masterpiece properly.”

“That’s all I ask,” Jisung says with a salute.

After school, Felix waits while you and Hyunjin have a quick word.

“Can you come to my house?” Hyunjin asks. “I want to talk properly. Not here.”

You know your father will agree but you need his permission as you cannot visit without an escort. Hyunjin knows you always have a bodyguard not too far from sight; he just does not know that Felix is one of them. Your father sends his own men on your excursions together.

Felix is never too happy when separated. He is cordial enough with your father’s security team but it is obvious that Felix thinks he is more skilled than them, often commenting on their weaknesses or blunders. You do not see things with his professional precision but you take his word for it. It is easy to believe Felix is the best. After all, it takes a whole team of people to replace him.

As predicted, your father agrees to let you visit Hyunjin for the evening. The Hwang mansion is nowhere near as big an estate nor are their security measures even close to your impenetrable, bulletproof, gilded prison, but it is still a secure location where you can be supervised. You go with a few of your father’s men, sharing a dry look with Hyunjin when you arrive at his house. He just smiles, used to it.

You have dinner with his him and his parents, smiling all the while, playing the part you have played all year. Your father’s men surround the house and you pass them in the backyard, making your way to Hyunjin’s old tree-house for some privacy. It leaves you within sight of your father’s men but well out of ear-shot.

You plop down on the little wooden balcony, sighing as you stare into the distance. The sun is setting over the neighbourhood, an orange sky dappled with rosy pinks, sparkling as it catches glass panes and ostentatious embellishments. The creaky old tree-house has a cozier feel, a world separated from the nonsense below.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin says after a moment of shared silence, just watching the sunset. You look at each other and he smiles. “Having a real friend who knows me made a difference this year.”

The forthright sincerity is a bit much for you, seeing as you are not so good at communicating so plainly. You think you are improving, though. The old you would have drawn back, but you are able to smile at Hyunjin in return.

“I hope it helped,” you say.

“It did.” He moves a little closer just to be safe. “My father gave me control of my savings. My grandmother left me an inheritance and I needed the money.” His smile brightens his whole face in the rosy light. “I bought a house.”

“A house?” your voice breaks as you try contain your surprise in a whisper.

He laughs at your reaction, still smiling.

“Yes,” he says. “Well, it’s more like a cabin. It’s not much to look at. I needed it to be off the record, all in cash, and far away from here.”

You find the image of a small, homey cabin to be devastatingly beautiful. It could be the most dilapidated, ramshackle mess of a construction and you would still consider it perfect. You imagine sitting on a tiny porch with Felix, him smiling a big smile that crinkles his eyes and shows his teeth, his face sunny and golden and truly carefree, not just pretending.

You look at Hyunjin and see him staring into space with the same smile. You picture him with all the tension gone from his shoulders, laughing his wheezy laugh instead of forcing polite smiles. You swallow a lump in your throat.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you say, holding his hand. “That’s really wonderful.”

It brings him back to you. Some of the dreaminess leaves his expression but he is definitely still happy. He squeezes your hand back.

“I can’t go yet,” he says. “My parents would just… They’d find me. I’m their only son. It would be an embarrassment to them if I just left. When I think about what my father did to my friend just to teach me a small lesson…” You squeeze his hand in sympathy. You both know his parents did not have that boy beaten to keep him away, but to teach Hyunjin a lesson.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath and says, “They won’t let me walk away easily. I have to do it right if I’m gonna be free.”

“How are you going to do that?” you ask, curious for his sake and even your own. The image of a far away cabin, untouched by trouble, is quickly nestling itself in some hidden cockle of your heart. You know that it will be difficult for him to leave but it would be next to impossible for you, so there is no sense in dreaming.

And yet… If Hyunjin can find a way, it makes you think that maybe certain dreams are not so impossible.

But he just sighs and looks away.

“I don’t know yet,” he says. “But I’m going to find a way.” He lets go of your hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. He passes it to you and you unfold it. You brow furrows as you read.

“Is this—”

“The city and address to the cabin,” he says.

“Why are you giving this to me?” you ask in a small voice. Not for the first time, you curse your inconstant feelings, the quick rise to emotional heights in the matter of seconds.

This is Hyunjin’s future written in a single line on a single piece of paper, such a seemingly simple thing and yet it has the power to completely destroy him. This is his means of his escape, his only avenue of liberty, and he is showing you despite your proximity to some truly wretched forces. He trusts you more than he fears them.

“It’s an easy address to remember,” he says. “I know things are hard for you. I don’t know what will happen to you. I don’t even know what will happen to me. But I know it’s harder when you’re alone. I know having people make a difference because they made a difference for me. If you ever get out, if you ever need somewhere to start…”

You cannot think of what to say. No words seem sufficient in reply. You can only nod and take a deep breath. You look up into the fading light and blink away your tears.

“Thank you,” you say. “I hope if we meet again, things will be different.”

The address has a sweet rhyming lilt to it, easy to remember like he said. You read it over a few times, commit it to memory, then tear up the slip of paper beyond any salvaging.

You sit in the tree-house until the sun fully sets. Little lanterns flicker to life one-by-one in the darkening yard below. When the sky is a blue wash and the path below is twinkling gold, you sigh.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say miserably. You don’t want to see your father or that house. Even Felix will stir nothing but anguish right now, as you think about how you are trapped and he is shackled to you. You also don’t really want to linger here. Your uncontrollable emotional pendulum has swung back from its precipice. A few minutes ago, you were close to crying, and now you feel so empty and resigned that you think you will never cry again. I’m so broken, you think helplessly. You want someone to tell you otherwise but you don’t know how to ask.

Hyunjin leans back, peering into the yard. Your father’s men are getting a little complacent in their boredom, one of them yawning where he is slouched in a deck chair. They are not really paying attention to you. They figure there is no where for you to go, the main steps from the tree-house leading right into their path.

Hyunjin puts a finger to his lips. You follow him quietly across the tree-house, obscured in enough darkness that none of the security team notices. He leads you to a dangling rope ladder, hidden on the opposite side of the tree. He points across the yard to a little garden around a koi pond.

“There’s a gate just past the pond,” he whispers. “There’s a path that leads through the neighbourhood. I’ll stay up here until they say something, then I’ll tell them you went home.” He smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder. “You probably should go home,” he says, “but at least this way you’ll have a bit of time alone first.”

You smile back at him, patting the hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you, Hyunjin,” you say.

“See you around,” he says, then pushes back his hair and smoulders at you. “And don’t take the break-up too hard. I know I’m handsome but there will be other men.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder.

“Oh, please, I broke up with you,” you say. “I couldn’t keep up with your vigorous beauty routine.”

“This face is natural,” he says, laughing too. Then he nudges you and looks more serious. “Go now. They’re not paying attention.”

You briefly weigh your odds. You have not snuck out in a very long time so the punishment might be proportionate to your otherwise good behaviour. Felix is not here so he will not be blamed for your escape. And you will not be avoiding a reprimand no matter what you do, because your father is going to be angry that you and Hyunjin broke-up – especially without consulting him first. If you are going to be punished anyway, you might as well take a walk and clear your head first.

You grab Hyunjin’s hand one last time, giving it a squeeze as you smile. Then you climb down the rope ladder and hurry across the garden. You are out the gate and on the path before you know it.

The wealthy neighbourhood is quiet and brightly lit, every yard illuminated despite the quietude of the street. They are all so pristinely manicured, different yet identical magazine-ready mansions. They look a bit eerie with the darkness around them, like some alien recreation of what a home should look like. It makes you dread the return to your own house. You wonder how much time you have to yourself, if the car is going to pull up alongside you any second now to drag you home.

It is then you remember you do have one more place you can go. Ridiculously, stupidly, your emotions come back in full swing and you feel like crying again. Maybe it is because you have not snuck out in so long, so it is reminding you of the very first time you ever did. You went to the very place you are going now: Jisung’s house.

You always met there before darting off to a party together. Those parties never amounted to much. You and Jisung always talked a big game then spent most of the time in a corner or on a roof, but it was the only time you were ever away from the prying eyes of your father’s overprotective security. You passed many nights that way, complaining to your best friend, talking about nothing, then rushing home before your absence was noticed.

You remember the route to his side of town, catching a bus and getting off at a familiar stop. This neighbourhood looks very different than Hyunjin’s, a range of houses both new and old, rundown and fixed-up. They don’t waste energy lighting their yards unless they have guests. All the light is from the streetlamps and the little yellow squares of homey light beaming through their windows.

You have never actually been inside Jisung’s house. You would usually just meet him in the yard before continuing on. This is the first time you walk up the porch steps and ring the doorbell.

You start to shiver. The adrenaline or your escape kept you warm but now you can feel the chill of the evening.

You are looking around the block and shivering when the door opens. You turn and see an older woman with a scowl on her face. Even if you did not know Jisung lived with his single mother, you would recognize her because of her round cheeks and big eyes, much like him. Except where his face is usually open and friendly, she looks at you like a bug she wants to squish.

“What?” she asks.

“Um, sorry to bother you,” you say, somehow more intimidated by her than your father’s burly security team. “I’m friends with Jisung. I was just wondering if he’s home…?”

She takes a step back and screams his name into the house. You stand awkwardly in the doorway, waiting while thumps and bangs come from the upper level, then Jisung is hurrying down the stairs and skittering into view. You so seldom see him without a hat that it is momentarily jarring, his flop of dark hair going everywhere as he comes to a wide-eyed stop.

He gets over his surprise and smiles wide, saying your name with an upward what-the-fuck inflection.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping aside to let his mother pass. She says nothing more to you, disappearing into a side room.

“I, um, I don’t know,” you say, your emotions in turmoil again. You think about what Hyunjin said, about how having a friend made all the difference for him, and you suddenly realize how much you missed spending time with Jisung, how he was your first and only escape for so long. Tears are falling before you can stop them, a mess of everything with Hyunjin and Felix and your father, but you can only stammer a vague excuse, that you broke up with Hyunjin and wanted to talk to someone.

Jisung’s face is twisted up with surprise and sympathy. He says your name a few times and apologizes, guiding you into the house.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he says, taking your hand and leading you up to his bedroom.

“Won’t your mom mind?” For some reason, despite the mania of emotion inside you, that is what you fixate on.

Jisung just laughs dryly, shaking his head as he closes the bedroom door behind you. “Trust me,” he says. “She won’t care. Sit down.”

Jisung’s bedroom is undeniably him, music posters overlapping on the wall, stacks of journals on his desk and bedside table. It is a sprawling canvas of music and writing, not to mention litters of clothes and baseball caps. He pushes a pile of clothes off his bed so you can both sit, shoulder-to-shoulder. His bed is against the wall, under the window, cool stars twinkling down at you while his bedside lamp fills the room with warmth.

Your sobbing has slowed to a heaving stutter. Jisung hands you some tissues to wipe your eyes.

“I’m gonna kill that evil pretty boy,” Jisung says.

You hiccup and shake your head. “It was me,” you say. “Hyunjin is my friend, he’s a good guy, I just—” You start crying all over again, tearing the soggy tissues to shreds. Jisung leans over to fetch some more, his face scrunched up with concern while he watches you dab your sore eyes. “I’m just so messed up, Jisung,” you say. “You have no idea how much. I don’t even think I could properly love someone if I tried. I just make a mess wherever I go.”

“What! Yo! No. Why are you saying these things?” He looks equal parts bewildered and horrified, quickly wrapping an arm around you. You let your head fall on his shoulder, still wiping your eyes while he rubs your arm. “You are not messed up. You’re my best friend and you’re awesome. How could you have a best friend if you can’t properly love someone, huh?”

“I’m a bad friend though,” you say. “I bail on you all the time and I’m crazy and emotional and—”

“And you have an evil dad who locks you in the house, remember?” Jisung says. “Look, I know it’s not my business, I’d never make you say it, but from what you’ve told me… Dude, that guy fucking sucks.”

You cannot help but laugh at that. Jisung smiles, tweaking your nose.

“I’ve never been mad about that stuff,” he says gently. “Not at you. At your dick dad, sure. But that has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m emotional like him,” you say, tears slowing to a lip wobble. “I fight him all the time but maybe that just proves it. All that anger inside me.”

“Anger isn’t bad,” Jisung says. “It’s a feeling just like anything else. Some people do bad shit while smiling the whole time. Remember that guy who bullied Felix that time at school, and how you hit him with that book? Or other times you just snapped back at some stupid dick? That wasn’t bad!”

You don’t have an argument in you. You just exhale, dabbing under your eyes with the crumpled tissue. Jisung continues to rub your arm.

Your eyes drift and land on one of his baseball caps. It is perched on a stack of schoolbooks. You think back through the years, all those school days, all those stolen parties and late nights. It was a slow beginning, then one day you realized he was your friend, your first ever friend, that he was making you laugh and you had inside jokes and you wanted to spend more time with him. You weren’t afraid to be around him and you knew he wouldn’t make fun of you or push you or judge you.

You feel his arm around your shoulder now and realize you are not afraid of it. You can no longer remember the first time you hugged Jisung, probably because it wasn’t a kiss or anything romantic and so you did not really register it. It was a moment that arrived silently, without any heart palpitations or fanfare, no sweaty palms or hot cheeks. He would have just put his arm around you like he is doing now, asking for nothing in return for it.

You realize he must have been the first person to hug you. Your mother passed away when you were in infancy and the only family you ever knew was your father and his now-late father. They did not hug each other and they did not hug you. The only kind of love you knew was a violent, controlling one, and it made you into a distrustful, feral little child in return.

You have reflected before how it took a long time to warm to Felix. Bit by bit. Touch by touch. It would have taken longer if you had never known Jisung. He drew you out of your shell before anyone else did. You were able to reach for Felix because Jisung reached for you. You were able to befriend Hyunjin because Jisung befriended you.

You find yourself choking back a different sob, one conjured by the realization of just how much Jisung has done by being there. You understand what Hyunjin meant, about a friend making all the difference.

Before you can say anything, Jisung gently asks, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

You sit straight to look at him, brow furrowed.

“Your dad,” he says. “Things are… they’re bad, aren’t they? Worse than just not letting you hang out?”

Tears spill over again. You realize he is sniffling now too but holding back tears. He reaches across to wipe your face with his bare hands, swiping at your tears.

“I knew for a while,” Jisung says in a strained voice. “I could see the bruises. I didn’t know what to do. And I felt like I was letting you down because—”

He chokes on his breath. It gives you a moment to interject.

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” you say. You wipe his tears too, laughing at your equal dramatics. “Seriously, Jisungie.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, grabbing your hands and pulling them off his face. He shakes his head like he is trying to shake his tears out of him. It seems to work. After another breath, he manages to speak clearly. “Do you remember our first conversation? At school?”

“About the weather?” you say, thinking back to the first time Jisung started a conversation.

“No, before that,” he says. “We sat beside each other for months but we never spoke. Then I missed a week of school because I made myself sick, all my stupid anxiety and whatever. My mom, you know, she tries but she… It’s just easier for her to ignore me most of the time, I think. I know she didn’t want kids. So I was taking care of myself. And I missed school sometimes because of it, but no one ever noticed when I was gone. It’s like I was invisible everywhere I went. And I got so sick that week that I just wanted to die. But then I went back to school and I got my homework from the teachers and then you—” He slaps his hands in his lap and looks at you, smiling a teary-eyed smile. “You were the first person to ask where I was and if I was all right. And you made a face like you didn’t believe me when I said I was. Then I started talking about the weather.”

“Oh,” you say, shredding the tissue in your lap for something to look at, trying to keep your tears at bay. “I didn’t remember that part.”

“You’re really good at seeing people,” Jisung says. “Even when they’re trying to hide or pull away. I don’t know how you think you can’t love when you’re like that. You know how to do it better than the rest of us who forget to even look.” He takes your hand again, drawing your eyes up to his. “But I’m looking back now, okay? And I’m gonna save you.”

It is so frank and sincere that it makes you laugh.

“I am!” he says, laughing through his own watery voice. “Don’t laugh at me! You saved me and now I’m gonna save you too.”

“It’s not that easy, Jisung,” you say. “You have no idea how crazy everything in my life is—”

“It is that easy,” he says. “You’ll see. I promise. And a best friend promise is a forever promise, okay?”

You cannot bring yourself to argue. You just nod, your bottom lip wobbling again.

“Okay,” Jisung says. “Now come hug me so you can’t see me when I start crying like a baby.”

You laugh but fall into his arms nonetheless. You sit under that window for a long time. At least, it feels like a long time. You don’t look at the clock and you don’t count the minutes. It is not the kind of hug that is leading to anything because he doesn’t want to kiss you and he has no other motivation. He just hugs you until you are both calm, when your tears feel silly and dramatic and your eyes are sore but you feel strangely refreshed.

“I need to go,” you say, to which he whines in complaint. You laugh. “Saving me will have to wait for another day. For now, if I don’t get home…”

As if summoned by that very thought, your phone erupts with buzzes and rings. You sigh and fish it out of the pocket of your shorts, watching messages from your father, his security, and Felix come flooding in. The others are making commands and demanding your whereabouts. Felix asks, Are you okay? Then, I have to turn on your GPS. They’re gonna come get you wherever you are.

You answer Felix, telling him you’re fine, that you’re with Jisung. He sends an emoji that manages to look very unimpressed, then just says, that’s what the boss gets for sending amateurs.

Your father’s men are far from amateurs but it is still funny when Felix insults them.

You turn your phone to silent after that, not bothering to answer the others. They will find you in no time with Felix’s help.

“I better go,” you say. “My dad is sending someone to pick me up. I’ll be fine tonight, I promise. But I’m gonna start walking because I don’t want you mixed up in any of this when they get here.”

Jisung tries to argue but lets you go when he sees how serious you are. He insists you take a hoodie for warmth so you do. You give him one last wave before you begin the trek down the block, hoping to get far away before your father’s men find you.

You have made it two blocks over when a sleek black car approaches. You start to walk towards it because there is no other reason for a car that nice to be slowing down on a street like this. Only when it gets closer do you realize you the make and model of the car is not one that your father usually uses, and you do not recognize the driver.

Your heart kicks up with a startled, frantic flutter as the car comes to a slow stop not far from you. You swerve, crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it. You try to act nonchalant, reassuring yourself that it is coincidence, that your father’s insanity is seeping into your brain and making you paranoid.

By the time you realize your anxieties are not baseless, it is too late. Not that you stood much of a chance in the first place.

You try running but there are three of them overall, one driver and two armed muscle guys. They chase you down and cover your mouth before you can scream. You kick and jostle but all of Felix’s self-defence lessons fly out of your brain in your panic. Your tears are all used up so you don’t cry. Even terror passes, leaving only nausea in its wake.

It doesn’t feel real, being shoved into the back of a car by men in black suits. This is not something real that happens. This is something your father threatens, something inane and melodramatic, something out of a movie or a book, not real life. Not your life.

Yet here you are, flanked by two strange men while the driver peels across the tarmac. They do not cuff or gag you, simply buckle you into a seatbelt and point a gun at you. You are shaking too bad to do anything useful anyway, and your voice feels clogged in your suddenly dry throat.

They are talking to you but it takes you a minute to register any word, everything fuzzy and out of focus.

“—just be a good girl and co-operate and everything will be fine.”

That is all you hear.

That and the name Miroh.

You try to calm yourself. You think rationally. Miroh has no reason to kill you or even torture you, as far as you know. In all likelihood, he is using you as leverage to get something from your father. That is why your father is always worried about you being taken. He doesn’t talk about damage to you, just his business.

You manage to calm the worst of your shaking. Then the one with the gun yanks on your hair and you jerk away violently.

“She’s better behaved than Miroh said,” he says with a laugh. “Might not even have to take a finger.”

You clutch your hands tightly together, glaring at him, but it just garners more chuckles. The driver laughs too, peering at you through the rear-view mirror.

“Too well behaved,” he suddenly says, eyes narrowing. “You check her pockets?”

It is then you remember your phone. Felix turned on your GPS. They can track where you are going. Felix can track where you are going. If nothing else, you trust that Felix can do something. Felix, Felix, Felix. It is all you can think about. Felix will find you. You will be back with Felix tonight, safe in your shared bed. You are always safe with Felix. You want to be there right now. You can’t even remember how you got here. Your whole day is turning into one blacked out nothingness, a dreary bleak empty before you found yourself in this car hurtling to god-knows-what fate.

The man finds your phone. You try to reach for it but then you feel the gun at your temple and your whole body locks up. You have seen a gun before, many times, but you have never had one pointed at you. You always thought you would be brave, having been around them your whole life. Maybe that is why you are afraid. Your body is trying to protect you, freezing you like it always does.

The man rolls down the window and throws your phone into the wind.

You sit back and close your eyes, willing this nightmare to end. You try to convince yourself that this is your father’s doing, that he is just trying to teach you a lesson. You wouldn’t even be mad. You just want to go home.

But there is no sign of your father’s security team. You pass dozens then hundreds of cars as you leave the residential area and take the highway. None of your father’s vehicles are among them. And how could they be? They can track as far as your phone and then they have nothing. There is no way for them to know where Miroh’s men are taking you. You have no idea what they want. You can’t even cry or panic because your body is shutting itself down in its panic. The periphery of your gaze is obscured in shadow. Their voices fade in and out, rarely directed at you anyway. They seem to know you will not answer. They have experience with this sort of thing.

Of course they do. Miroh is your father’s only equal. Your father does nothing by halves. Miroh would only send the best.

You leave the highway and turn onto a country road out of the city. Wherever they are taking you, it is far and they are unhurried. You have a long time to stew in your anxiety.

You can only see directly in front of you, through the windshield and the rear-view mirror. You stare, willing one of your father’s black cars to appear in it even though you know that will not happen. The only cars are civilian cars and even those begin to disappear as they take side roads to their own destinations. Soon it is just one other car trailing you at a distance. It is a beat-up civilian truck, not very big, a splotchy, peeling burgundy. The rims are muddy from frequent use and little washing.

It is ugly but it could be the last thing you see for a while. It makes you stare more intensely.

You are focussing so hard on the tiny details that you do not even notice it is speeding up. It goes from a distant spot to filling the rear-view in moments.

The driver mumbles a curse to himself, shaking his head and frowning.

“What’s this idiot doing?” he grumbles. “As if we don’t have enough to deal with. Now we got some drunk on the road.”

The truck is swerving, back and forth, then it speeds up and whips past your car. It startles the driver, making him veer a hard right as the truck goes left around him. He shouts a curse even though the other driver can’t hear, the truck already speeding away into the darkness. There are no street lamps on the country road so it completely vanishes, disappearing when it leaves the glow of your headlights.

There is a moment of quiet. A tunnel of light. Darkness around it.

The truck appears again in the middle of it, parked and blocking the entire road lengthwise. The driver shouts another curse and slams on the brakes to stop from barrelling into it.

The whole car lurches with the sudden halt. You snap forward and back again, held down by the seatbelt. The other two hit the seats in front of them, cursing as they fix themselves. The weapons guy drops his gun and it clatters somewhere on the ground of the vehicle. You watch him dive down, cursing to himself before he finds it.

“Get him out of the way!” the driver shouts, pointing to the stopped vehicle. The two men get out of the car, sounding more aggravated by the obstacle than afraid. The other one pulls a gun so they are both armed as they approach the vehicle.

The men circle the truck. You can see they are yelling and cursing again. They come stomping back over to the vehicle. Even with all the windows rolled up, you can hear him as he shouts, “There’s no one fucking there!”

“What!” the driver returns, pointing ahead. “He didn’t just disappear! Check the—”

He is interrupted by the rattle of unexpected thunder – what sounds like someone running up and over the car from behind. You both look up as if you can see through the car roof. The men outside react just as fast, guns raised. Shots are swiftly fired and you cover your ears, flinching.

The figure comes into view. It feels like your heart stops.

Felix takes a flying leap off the roof of the car and comes swinging into view. He lands on the shoulders of one of the men. In one sharp move, Felix snaps the man’s neck. When his body crumples, Felix jumps, tackling the other man and knocking his gun out of the way. He pulls his own gun out of his waistband and you don’t even have time to cover your eyes before a bullet shatters the man’s temple. That body falls too.

It was a matter of seconds. The driver scarcely has time to react. He is fumbling with the glove compartment when Felix walks up to the car and shoots his window. The bullet does not penetrate the glass but it fractures it, sending shards flying onto the man.

You shriek, your voice coming back to you. Felix smacks the broken window with the butt of the gun, shattering it completely. He unlocks the car, his face devoid of all emotion as he throws open the door and reaches in. He grabs the man by the scruff of his neck and repeatedly slams his head against the steering wheel, knocking him out cold.

He closes the door with a kick and tucks his gun back in his waistband.

Adrenaline completely takes over your body. You do not think or reflect, only feel and act. Felix steps toward the car to open your door but you are already pushing it open. He steps back when it flies past him, already breathing hard when you stumble out of the vehicle on shaky legs.

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, his deep voice breaking. “Any, any idea how worried I was? And those stupid, fucking, incompetent—”

He is pointing to nowhere, just gesticulating in his emotions. It all seems to pour of him, terror and agony, anger and helplessness. He is wearing casual clothes, ripped jeans, a sleeveless red flannel over a t-shirt. He was probably sitting at home when he jumped into action.

His dark roots are starting show in his golden hair. You will have to colour that for him, you think, giddily, half-mad.

“You could have died,” he is saying. “They could have—”

You throw your arms around his neck and crash into him. It is a collision of a kiss, more teeth than lips until you figure out to close your mouth.

Those men could not move him but you can. He backs up under the guiding push of your soft hands, walking, walking, walking, each quick backward step until you have him pressed up against the truck, your lips still locked. When you finally separate it is with a gasping, wet split. You stare at each other, taking in the reality of the other person. Him, with blood disappearing into the red threads of his flannel. You, alive, unharmed, right here in front of him with no one to stop him from kissing you again.

He grabs you by the neck and pulls you back to him, kissing you with an open-mouthed desperation that has you practically sobbing with need. He flips your positions, cupping the back of your head so you are not hurt when he pins you to the truck. You sink your fingers into his hair, wrapping a leg around his waist as he grinds against the softest spot of you. He licks into your mouth, making a rumbling noise of deep, heartfelt satisfaction that makes you throb.

His lips are pink and raw when he stops for a breath. You kiss the side of his face, clinging to him, making a pleading noise when he does not resume kissing you.

He steps back and points to the car.

“Get in the truck,” he says firmly. “This isn’t the time. Don’t argue.”

You have no desire whatsoever to argue. You climb into the passenger seat while Felix makes a phone call. You watch him through the window, running a hand through his hair, his mouth pink, his shirt blood-stained.

You have always known Felix was capable of this sort of thing, but seeing it is very different than imagining it. Before it was some nebulous concept of a person but now the reality of him collides with the boy who has been sharing your bed for years. This is the same boy who needed your help to tie his school tie. Cartoon-watching, computer-building Felix, with his dry wit and toothy smiles.

You are not sure what it says about you that you are not afraid of him, not even a little bit. Maybe it is because you are not surprised. Maybe it is something else. But the only thing you want right now is for him to put his arms around you.

He gets into the truck and sits there for a moment, just breathing as he looks down at his phone. A thought flickers across his eyes, a twitch of his brows, then he turns off the phone and tosses it into the backseat. The gun follows with a clatter. You look back at both then at him with shock.

Felix has never turned off that phone. It is always completely charged and within reach. The GPS cannot be tracked if it is off. Your father cannot reach him if it is off. It is never supposed to be off.

You stare at him, tracing his profile as he pushes his hair back then starts the car. You only look away when you pass the other vehicle, the unconscious driver still slumped over the wheel. You turn your head, watching the scene disappear into the darkness behind you.

“Your father’s men will clean it up,” Felix says, drawing your eyes back to him. He does not look away from the road, resolutely focussed despite the lack of traffic on the country road.

“You left one alive,” you say. “What if he wakes up?”

“Uhh, he’ll be lucky if he is conscious in two days,” Felix says with a scoff. His lips draw into that thin line. “Your father will want someone to interrogate.”

You look out the windshield and sigh. You feel like you have aged years tonight yet it also feels like none of this really happened. It seems impossible that moments ago you were staring through a different windshield, petrified.

Felix looks at you. You turn your head and meet his gaze, watching grief twist his features before he looks ahead again.

“Did they hurt you?” he asks, gripping the wheel tight with both hands.

You shake your head, still facing him, studying him.

“I was thinking about you,” you say, the words escaping in a breathless slur. “It was the only thing that made me feel safe.” You find it easier to speak your feelings after everything. It’s like all that fear blasted through a barricade. You thought you might never see him again and all those feelings were trapped inside you. You cannot help but let them pour out now, like blood seeping from an open wound, your hand shaking as you reach across the console to touch the side of his face.

His breath stutters. He takes your hand and for a moment holds it, squeezing it in his. He does not look away from the road. Eventually he puts your hand in your lap, curling it around your thigh and squeezing, then he grabs the wheel again.

Your gaze drifts to the wheel then the overall truck. The rest of reality comes back to you in increments and you suddenly realize this is obviously not one of your father’s cars.

“Where did you get this truck?” you ask.

“I stole it,” he says.

“You stole a car?!” you shriek, voice naturally pitching up with surprise.

He looks at you incredulously.

“I just killed two men,” he says. “You’re worried about the car?”

“I don’t know!” You slouch in your seat, looking out the window. “Don’t talk to me, I’m traumatized.”

He shakes his head but laughs a little. You do not speak for a bit, the only sound the tires rolling over the gravel road. Then Felix sighs.

“They wouldn’t listen,” he says. “Your father’s, hmmm, ‘professionals’.” He rolls his eyes and clicks his jaw, clearly still pissed about it. “I knew it had to be Miroh. You were heading west to the highway when your GPS stopped. I knew where they’d be taking you. But your father’s geniuses thought you threw your phone and were running. But you wouldn’t do that, yeah. You want to be found. That’s why you run. You want him to care enough to chase you and bring you home.”

You look out your window, resting your head in your hand as rows of dark trees pass you by.

“Home,” you say. “Miroh. Not sure there’s going to be a difference in what’s waiting, is there?”

Felix says nothing to this. The gravel road comes to an end as you approach tarmac. Instead of turning left to return to the highway, Felix turns right. You look back through the window, confused, wondering if you mistook your location. But no, you are definitely driving further into the countryside.

“The highway is that way,” you say, looking at him. His whole body is tense, eyes locked on the road. “Aren’t we going home?”

“Yes,” he says, then turns up a different country road. “Eventually.”

You do not know what to expect with Felix. His emotional fluctuation is not as blatant as yours, but he does waver unpredictably, one moment leaning towards you and then pulling away. You do not know what he is planning and you do not ask. You simply stare through the window as you turn up a few more roads, getting further and further from the main road until you turn into a small gravel lane between some fields. Bushes surround the car on either side, the main road very far behind you.

Felix turns off the car but keeps both hands on the wheel, still staring intensely out the front window.

“Where are we?” you ask, squinting through the dark at the fields. It feels exceptionally quiet without the engine running.

“This cannot happen again,” Felix says.

He is still facing forward, concentrating on nothing that you can see. You look ahead then back at him, sighing with exasperation. If he drove you out here to just to lecture you some more…

“I know,” you say. “I shouldn’t have left in the first place. I’m sorry. I know it’s your job to—”

“This has nothing to do with my job,” he says. He shakes his head. “I— You—Do you understand how I— This is— This is reckless. Stupid. It cannot happen again, yeah? Do you get me?”

“I know,” you say. “And it won’t. I get it. No more running, I just—”

Your breath catches when he looks at you. There is so much heat in his gaze that you feel immediately flushed.

He undoes his seatbelt then reaches across the console and undoes yours. When you hear the click, it all registers. You reach for him as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls. This kiss is a crash as well, but a stumbling one, less vicious than thirsty. Arms get tangled in seatbelts but he manages to whip them aside. He guides you into his lap as you climb ungracefully over the console with all your shaking limbs.

You make a sound like relief when you are in his lap, chests touching, knees pressing into his hips, arms around his neck. His hands are under your borrowed hoodie, then under your shirt, palms splayed against the bare skin of your back as he kisses you with a wet open mouth, hungry and seeking, asking and taking.

He reaches to the side and fumbles for something. You squeal with surprise when the seat abruptly drops, your combined weight pushing it flat when he flips the lever. The surprise passes and he spills back, taking you with him. He yanks at your hoodie and you sit up to pull your arms through. Embarrassingly enough, you get tangled trying to remove it at the same time as your shirt. You get them both off, laughing shyly and feeling ridiculous with your ungraceful action.

He blinks up at you, his face full of much more wonder and affection than you think you merit. It is almost more embarrassing than your clumsiness.

Your awkward hand covers your collarbone but he takes that hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing you palm then your fingertips. You throb with the recollection of the last time he took your fingers in his mouth, except this time he doesn’t look away, all that heat centred on you.

He grasps your hips then slides his hands up your body. You wonder if other people feel like one big shivering mess at such simple touches. You blame it on today’s chaotic episode. For a moment, you were nothing and no one, floating in a bleak emptiness with no past or future. Just a bartering tool, business collateral, a thing sitting in a car for transport to be used by a different bad man for financial leverage.

Felix touches you and your body comes to life, all that humanity rushing back. You’re a person and so is he, flushed and excited, just a little messy but earnest. You find yourselves in a stolen moment in a stolen car, nothing yours but each other.

He palms your breasts through your bra then fumbles with the clasp, his usually dexterous hands suddenly jumpy. It makes you both laugh, tittering little sounds as you get it off and toss it aside. His calloused hands on your bare skin erases any lingering embarrassment.

Straddling his hips, you rock against him. The hard line of him is pushing at the fly of his jeans, as receptive and eager as you. You make similar sounds, soft low hums, used to keeping quiet. You remember you don’t have to restrain yourself so you moan when he cups you through your shorts, grinding the heel of his palm against the soft wet heat of you. You push his shirt up, running your hands over his chest, noticing a few scars but not lingering much right now.

You touch him like he touches you, hands wandering, working each other up until you are wild in your wanting. He makes a rough sound when you squeeze him through his jeans, then he is trying to work off your shorts while you unbutton his fly. You have to get off him to take the rest of your clothes off. His fingers are twitchy as they scrabble over his fly, unzipping then shuffling his jeans down his hips.

You are confronted with that moment of intention again, when his jeans are at his knees and his shirt is pushed up, when you are completely naked in a car in the middle of nowhere and climbing back on top of him, making the deliberate choice to do what you are doing. It is exhilarating. It is scary. You have big fears, about the repercussions in the world outside this vehicle, and you have little fears, like what if you are not good at this and you let him down after everything.

But that seems impossible when he looks at you like that, warm and desirous, breathing hard as he drags his fingers down your body and slips them between your thighs. You touch him too, marvelling in his sounds and faces, the flush of his cheeks, his mussed hair. With just his fingers inside you, he is already looking at you like you are a singular miracle.

It does feel miraculous. When you think of where you started, when you think of who you are, this seems so impossible. But you are here, losing yourself to his steady touch and tender gaze. You grab his wrist, instinctively seeking control when he works you up to an orgasm, making you clench around his fingers. You shudder on top of him, your head tipping back.

“Fuck,” he says, so low and guttural it hardly sounds like a word. Then he says softly, “Sweetheart.” This is accompanied with a long touch inside you, dragging his fingers so slowly, drawing out your orgasm until your whole body feels soft and pliant. You ache with the loss of him when he withdraws his touch, just his thumb rolling across that oversensitive nub of pleasure. Your skin already feels sweaty where you are touching, your hand curled around the length of him as you position yourself above him.

Even with his effort, it is a stretch and burn when you first sink down. You smack a hand on the roof of the truck, scratching your nails over it as you sit in his lap with him inside you.

He curses. His head falls back, his eyes closing.

“Is it okay?” you ask in a strained voice.

He replies, “Ahh…” then, “Uh!” then “Uhhhahh…” then finally, “Yes, yes. God yes.” He lifts his head and looks at where he is inside you, then he looks up at you. “Are you, uh, are you okay?”

His voice is a raspy thing, his face so raw with pleasure that you find yourself giggling in spite of yourself.

“Yeah,” you say on a breath. “Just… a lot.”

He sits up, careful not to jostle you too much. You still feel him moving inside you. When you clench, he makes a sound, but he is not distracted from his mission, cupping the back of your head and bringing you close for a kiss. You sink into it, your hands sliding onto his shoulders as his tongue slips past your lips.

He helps you move, both of you following base instinct and little else. It starts to feel deliriously good. You are light-headed from kissing, worked up from knowing he is as close to you as he possibly can be.

You move slowly, hands roaming over each other. You get his flannel off and toss it into the passenger seat. Then he braces himself to move his hips better, holding you steady. You touch the roof so you don’t hit your head, rolling your hips to meet him. It’s good but not enough and soon he is turning you over, laying you on your back under him. He has to separate from you to get comfortable.

You whine, touching yourself, and he smacks his head hard against the roof with surprise. You laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth while he winces and rubs his head.

“Are you okay?” you ask, still giggling. Fortunately, he chuckles, wincing again for show before sighing.

“Never better,” he says, and takes off his shirt. You are both perspiring and not just from exertion, the car trapping all your combined heat and breathing. The windows have completely fogged over and it shields you completely. You have never felt more safe. You eagerly open your legs to him as he settles on top of you and finds his place again.

You wrap around him, whimpering and moaning and sighing when he finds a rhythm in this position. He cradles you in his arms, rocking into you until you are dizzy with it. He somehow feels deeper and deeper with every motion. He kisses your chest and throat, up to your ear, across your face, your mouth. You kiss him back, hooking your ankles behind his back and pulling him hard against you like you want more.

“Got you,” he murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “Got you, sweetheart.”

He makes you come again, tears springing to your eyes from the sensation of it all. When his breathing gets frantic and his hips erratic, you let him go. You breathe hard under him as he sits back and grabs his discarded flannel, coming into that.

He tosses it aside after, then runs his fingers through his hair as he stares down at you. You slowly sit up and lean in for one more kiss. He obliges, cupping your face and kissing you deeply.

You want to wrap around him again, hold him to your chest and lay there until you are both ready for more.

You take what you can get. This was dangerous, but you have no regrets. Even when you are both dressed and in your own seats, you feel enflamed and alive and glowing.

He tosses his flannel out the window, leaving it on the ground behind you. You roll down the windows and return to the highway. It is a long drive home.

Your father does not punish you. He does not punish Felix in place of you. The house is deathly silent when you arrive home. Your father is in his office and Felix takes you there to see him.

Your father does not even look up from his book. After a moment he asks, “Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head but he isn’t looking at you, so you are forced to find your voice and answer, “No.”

“Good,” he says and turns the page to his book.

You are teetering on the edge of panic all over again, waiting for him to erupt, to throw something at you, to grab you by the hair and give you a beating worse than anything ever before. But he just turns another page to his book, so it’s you that erupts.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you say in a frantic rush. “Hyunjin and I broke up and I was upset so I wanted to see Jisung, that’s it, I just wanted to see my friend. It’s just because—”

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to stop you from running your mouth when you don’t need to do so. It succeeds in silencing you, your voice breaking. You swallow down a sob.

Your father finally lifts his head. His expression is completely blank. There is no trace of anger, no sadness, no guilt. You do not know what to do when he is like this. He is giving you nothing worth a reaction so all your emotions bubble inside you with nowhere to go, spilling over and scalding you like a boiling pot.

“Go to bed,” your father says. “What’s done is done.”

It is not surprising that you have a nightmare, waking in a fit that even Felix cannot comfort. Your half-asleep mind panics when he grabs you, forgetting who he is. Only when he repeats your name in that sweet, low voice do you remember yourself. You collapse against him, shaking while he strokes your back and talks gently to you, lulling you back to sleep. It remains fitful and uneven but you get through the night.

You are expecting the punishment to come in the morning but your father does not speak to you even though he is in the house. You do not see him all day. You have another restless night of bad dreams, Felix comforting you as best he can. You wake the next morning thinking that surely, the punishment would come today. There is no way your father is letting you get away with this. He is planning something, something big, something you will never forget.

But your father is gone and so is the security team. Felix phones him and your father informs him that he had some impromptu business to take care of, that he would be gone for the next week.

You are driving to school on Monday morning when Felix says, “Maybe he thinks it was punishment enough on its own.”

“Do you really believe that?” you ask.

Felix does not answer because he knows how far-fetched that is. He knows your father as well as you do.

There are only a couple more days of school. This late in the semester, the lessons are completed, exams being graded. Everyone is gearing up for graduation, signing yearbooks, taking pictures. Classes offer more down time than work, letting students mingle. It is easy few handful of days, the most exceptionally fun days of the whole year.

Jisung would not miss it. And he would not abandon you after your conversation. When he is missing from school on Monday, you are immediately filled with horror.

Felix looks at you when he realizes Jisung is missing, doing his best to calm you with his eyes.

“He wouldn’t,” you murmur, just loud enough for Felix to hear. “Tell me he wouldn’t…”

Felix says nothing. He knows your father as well as you do.

You try phoning Jisung at various intervals through the day but it keeps going straight to voicemail. Jisung is not great at keeping his phone charged so this is not unusual on its own, but you cannot shake the dread in the pit of your gut.

Before the day ends, you all but throw yourself at Felix. All it takes is one teary-eyed please for him to nod, understanding.

You have the driver take you to Jisung’s house. Felix steps out of the car and calls your father, needing to report your diversion from routine, but also hopefully gleaning some intel into your father’s potential involvement. Meanwhile, you run up the porch and frantically bang on the door, not stopping until Jisung’s mother whips it open.

“What?” she snaps. “Why are you banging— oh it’s you.”

“Where is he?” you ask. “Is he sick? Can I see him?”

“He’s just at the hospital,” she says like this is no big deal at all, even while you are sweating through your clothes with anxious terror.

“The hospital?” you ask. “Why is he—”

“Calm down! He just had an allergic reaction,” she says. “Stupid child ate peanuts and didn’t have his pen. He’ll be fine.”

“Can you tell me which hospital?” you say. Some tension leaves your body with this revelation but even so, you will not feel truly at ease until you can see that Jisung is safe with your own two eyes.

His mother tells you where to find him and you thank her while she closes the door in your face. You are feeling lighter already, heart bursting with light when you spin and jump off the porch.

You rush up to Felix, eager to report your good news, but you draw to a slow stop at the look on his face. This is not his professional indifference, listening to commands, but instead an expression of obvious remorse. He looks apologetic, eyes full of pity, as he extends his arm, handing you the phone.

You press the device to your ear, heart skipping beats in the worst way.

“Hello?” you say.

“After everything I have done for you,” your father says. “After everything I have given you. After my leniency despite your repeated abominable behaviour. For you to end things with an appropriate boy to go chasing after some no-count, miscreant loser with no future and no—”

“What are you talking about?” you say. “I don’t even know—”

“You stupid little—” You can picture his face, mouth frothing with rage, brows pinched in fury. You can picture him catching his breath as he slams a hand on his desk. “Do you think I couldn’t see it all over your face? That you were out whoring around with that nobody boy you call a friend? I could see your commitment to the Hwang boy was a front but I foolishly thought you were making an effort to improve yourself. How long have you been deceiving me? Fronting with the Hwang boy while you run around with your schoolboy behind my back?”

He thinks you’re dating Jisung. He thinks this is all because of Jisung. You cannot tell him the truth without ruining your life, Felix’s life, and Hyunjin’s life.

You scramble for a defence, a denial, but memories of you and Felix flood your mind, the panic of that night takes over you, and soon you are freezing up.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” you eventually manage, your voice quivering with the rest of you. “Please, Jisung is completely innocent, he’s just my friend, he—”

“Please,” your father says derisively. “You have the audacity to say please to me now. To ask for my permission now. You listen to me and you listen well. What I did to this boy was nothing. Having an allergen slipped into his food was a warning to you. Your one and only warning, a warning I am only giving you because I prefer not to deal with civilian messes when I can avoid it. But I whole-heartedly assure you, that if I find out you are in contact with this boy, if I find out you are even thinking about looking in his direction, it is over for him. I will have him shot in the fucking head in front of you if that’s what it will take to get through to you.”

You are bombarded with the image of Felix shooting those men. Suddenly, you imagine it is Jisung across from him instead. You look at Felix with a frantic, terrified look. Your voice is weak when you say, “Dad, please, he’s—”

“Do not talk to back me!” he screams. “You spoiled little slut! He’s trash, is what he is! Do you know what kind of life I have given you? How dare you insult me this way. How dare you throw it all on that waste of a person. You go to that boy and you tell him to stay away or it will be the end of him. Do you understand me? Say yes or so help me—”

“Yes,” you say, sucking in a hard breath to keep your tears at bay. “Yes, fine, just leave him alone. Don’t hurt him, please.”

Your father hangs up without another word.

You look up at Felix. He takes the phone, sucking in a breath of his own.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” you say.

Jisung is sitting up in his hospital bed when you find him. His phone is a dead brick sitting on his bedside table, uncharged as anticipated. He is sipping from a carton and watching television when you walk into the room, surprising him. His face lights up with delight and he chokes on his drink, dribbling a bit down his front.

You hurry to his side, worried, but he just laughs and wipes his chin.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” he says. “It was just a flare-up. They’re just keeping me for observation to make sure I don’t, you know, suffocate and die in my sleep.” He says this like it is ridiculous and funny but you are overwhelmed with the image of Jisung lying still in this bed, all the life and colour of your wonderful and vibrant best friend drained to nothing.

Jisung can see something is wrong. The humour falls from his expression, replaced with concern as he sees you well up with tears.

“Hey,” he says, softer. “I said I’m fine. Don’t worry. Is this about something else? Are you okay?”

You are not crying but you can feel the emotion in your throat. If you speak, you think it will pour out in a flood. You can only sit there, perched on the edge of his bed, staring at him. He still looks strange without his hat. Although he is joking around, there is an admitted pallor to his complexion. He is on the mend but he has clearly been very ill for a day at least.

That pallor and serious expression look so wrong on his face. When you think of Jisung, you think of happiness, the first burst of sunshine in your life after growing up in shade. You think about his awkward laughter during your first conversation, his many hugs, his stupid jokes, his winks and encouragements. You did not know how to love anyone or anything until you met him.

In your silence, he looks around, spotting Felix hovering in the doorway.

“Felix!” he says. “Hey! What’s going on?”

“Hey,” Felix says gently. He looks at you, sees your downturned face as you gather yourself. He smiles at Jisung with his best distracting grin, like everything is fine, like everything has always been fine. “Just saying bye, man,” Felix says.

“Bye?” Jisung asks. “Where are you going? Right before grad? Not back to Australia, are you?” Jisung looks at you and pets your head. “Is Felix leaving? Is that why you’re upset?”

“No, Jisung,” you say, forcing your voice. You shake your head. “No, it’s not Felix. I just…” You look up and meet his eyes, so big and concerned. You see him at age twelve, thirteen, fourteen, all those years he coaxed you out of your shell and ran around with you. He was the first person to look back at you, to see something worth reaching for. You want to touch his face and hug him, but you are certain if you start any of that, you will not be able to do what you need to do. “Jisung, I’m leaving,” you say. “I won’t be able to see you again.”

“What?” he asks, confused for just a moment before he shakes his head and frowns. “This is about your dad, isn’t it? Is he doing something? You have to let me help you—”

“Jisung, you can’t help me—”

“Yes, I can—”

“You can’t—”

“Then who’s going to?” he demands.

“Not you!” Anger and sadness combine and you look away, staring at the crinkled juice carton on his bedside table. He is here because of you. “Jisung, he made you sick. He will try to kill you.”

“What?” Jisung asks, barely above a whisper. “H-how? I don’t even—”

“He has professionals,” you say, meeting his bewildered gaze again. “And he can do much worse than this.”

Jisung opens and closes his mouth, failing to find the words, then finally he shakes his head and says, “No. I don’t care. I’m not scared, I’m—”

“I’m scared,” you say. “Jisung, I don’t want to see you ever again, because if something happened to you—” You cannot conceive of a world where this is no Han Jisung. You would not be the person you are now if he had never existed. You would not have any emotions at all. For the first time, you do not curse your sensitive feelings, rather you relish in feeling them at all, that you have a friend that it hurts to lose. “Jisung, please,” you say. “Don’t make this harder for me. I’m going to go and we can’t see each other again. The best thing you can do for me is have a good life.”

Jisung starts crying, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “What about you? What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry,” you say. You laugh dryly, looking aside. “It would have been better for you if you never knew me.”

“You already know that’s not true,” he says in a small voice.

You are certain his face is full of pain but you cannot bring yourself to look at him again. You try to say the word goodbye but it gets stuck in your throat, so finally you just stand up to leave.

He grabs your arm, tugging you back. You stare at the bed, not at him.

“I said my promise was forever,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s in five years, or ten years, or fifty. I know I’m not—I know I can’t do much but—if you need me—”

You just nod, scrunching your face to stop the tears. It does not work. You pull your arm away and he lets you go, his hands falling helplessly limp to the bed. You stare at the ground as you walk away, not looking back at him, not even looking at Felix.

You are standing in the doorway when Jisung says your name one more time, barely more than a whisper yet stopping you faster than all your father’s screaming.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he says.

You look up at Felix. You know when you leave this place, you are going to take his hand. When you climb into bed tonight, you are going to wrap your arms around him and let him hold and comfort you. You are going to soothe his nightmares the way he does yours. You are going to carve out a corner of light and happiness in your otherwise dark life. You are going to do that because you know how, because having a friend made all the difference.

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, wiping your face. “You did save me.”

You do not stop again, walking past Felix and into the corridor. He follows swiftly behind, laying a hand on your lower back then taking your hand. You squeeze it and he squeezes back. You let him guide you out of the building, your vision blurry. He knows there is nothing he can say to help right now, but he touches you gently and helps you along. When you get home, he trails behind you as you trudge up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Can I do something?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Not right now, thank you.” Your voice is still weak. “Maybe later.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

You nod and continue up the stairs, not even sure what your plan is right now. It feels strange to go about your usual routine but that is what you do, your body carrying you automatically through each task, changing clothes, putting your uniform away, washing your face.

You sit at your desk and decide you might as well go through your stack of school supplies. You have been dumping textbooks and notebooks here as the semester ends. You sort the empty notebooks from the used ones, the books you will never re-read from the ones to shelve. You find your yearbook in the middle of it all. You realize you never actually read Jisung’s message.

You open the book, skimming the other messages from other students. Lots of Have a Great Summer from Hyunjin’s friends, but a few cute personalized memos too. Felix’s joking scrawl is at the bottom of a page and it makes you smile and shake your head. You smile again when you read Hyunjin’s note: Our lives will not be meaningless. He ended it with a playful, LOVE YOU MY GIRLFRIEND!!

You flip through the book. You were not in any clubs or on any teams so there are very few pictures of you, just your posed portrait and one photo on a collage page – you, Jisung, and Felix awkwardly smiling as the yearbook photographer snapped a picture of you at lunchtime.

You swallow. You already know turning to the last page is going to make you cry. You could avoid it. You could close this book and never think about it again. Your father would never walk into any situation that would deliberately compromise his mental and emotional integrity. He would deride you for doing so. You used to think he was right, that your feelings were a weakness.

You realize your feelings make him weak, not you. He wants you to be a robotic doll, devoid of feelings, blindly obedient, but you are not. You will never strive to be that.

You flip to the final page, filled with Jisung’s writing. You smile and cry and curse out your father, then close the book and hug it to your chest, your heart beating steadily where you cradle it close.

To the bestest most awesome girl in the world (not just saying that because you’re the only girl I know) from the bestest most awesome boy in the world (including your evil boyfriend, sorry!)

Usually it’s easy for me to put my thoughts in writing but I’m drawing a blank. How can I tell you in words how important your friendship is when that friendship is made up of more than words? I never thought I’d be someone who runs off to parties or sneaks out onto rooftops, and I never thought I’d have so many friends. Thank you for giving me the world. I hope we can keep exploring it together. I know no matter what, we’ll still be friends, even if we’re far away after school ends. Our parents might suck and we might be kinda weird as hell, but we have each other and that counts for something. We loved each other first so no matter what else happens that will be always true. Boyfriends will come and go but your best friend is forever!! And you know I’ll be ready with a shovel if anyone breaks your heart. I know it’s sappy to say, but it’s always safe with me.

Times might be hard and we might drift apart, but I know we’ll see each other again and it will be like we never left. Take care of yourself if I’m not there. Keep fighting!!! Nothing will be impossible for you.

Your best friend now + always,

Han Jisung ♡

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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heliomanteia · 4 months

Note

did u delete ur latest post regarding rick giving leah a lackluster script?

Hi! Yeah, it needed rewording & more examples but if you don't mind I'll use your ask as a reason to talk about it! Annabeth is my favorite girl and I feel very passionate about how easily she could be dealt a better script.

Under read more because I go on a tangent.

I genuinely think Leah's script was mediocre at best and it's in no way the actress' fault. Many people pointed out that she's way "more Annabeth" within mediums not controlled by Richard & Co: interviews, promotional material, her personal interactions with the cast, and such.

My beef with Richard is that he very obviously "used", for the lack of a better word, Leah as some sort of a shield against any sort of criticism and then sort of really failed her - and I believe Leah to genuinely like her character & do her best.

I. I feel like there's a Lack of Annabeth in the camp scenes as an educator/guide.

Chiron wasn't alone in showing Percy around in the book, Annabeth did it with him. That's how we are first introduced to Annabeth as someone who knows so much of the Camp as she lived there so consistently. She also was the one to teach Percy Greek alongside Chiron. I feel like this positioning of her as someone with high degree of knowledge suffers greatly in the show: we aren't really shown that Annabeth is really knowledgeable, we're told that, and that's all.

II. I feel like Percy overtakes a lot of Annabeth's role as a character.

He offers exposition, explains the myths to HER in the Amusement Park episode (why is he the Wise Boy?), and overall "does her job". I wouldn't mind it as much if Annabeth was given a different archetype in return for that exchange, but she's left hollow. It's just Percy doing the thing and her trotting behind. That's... not how their dynamic works.

III. I think Leah!Annabeth is written off as a "Strong Woman" not allowed to show childlike qualities.

She is so serious and it makes her character very single-faceted. Annabeth is serious and focus-oriented, yes; but she is also silly, she is so geeky, she is adorably passionate, and she's so human. Feels like they reduced this in Leah's script by a lot and I don't get why. It would literally cost nothing to let her rant about architecture or let her passionately tell others myths.

IV. I believe her backstory is sort of forgotten about.

Many people spoke about how weird it is that she is presented as the one who needs to reach out to her neglectful dad, to do the emotional labor despite being a young neglected girl. It feels weird that it was Leah who was dealt such unfair treatment of her character.

Annabeth canonically didn't leave the camp much, she isn't familiar with the world outside; it'd be nice to see that aspect of her too. Also, her bond with Thalia is sort of there but her bond with Luke is nonexistent, it's just spoken about. Again, this strips her off so much of her humanity as a character. Without these little things showing that Annabeth can be fragile, vulnerable, sweet, funny, loving we just end up with an arrogant, angry girl. Not a good look for Richard tbh.

V. The show fails to objectively narrate Leah!Annabeth.

The Disney+ adaptation - for the abovementioned reasons - ends up presenting Annabeth to us as Percy's future love interest first and as her own character second. It wouldn't work even if it was Percy's POV because Percy sees her for the girl she is first.

VI. I think Richard fucked up the premise of the character.

Book Annabeth was one of the examples of deceitful appearances: the "dumb blonde" that actually was insanely witty. This "she's not what she appears like" trait was sort of taken away from Leah and I don't get why? I fail to believe that there are no stereotypes regarding presumed lack of intelligence that could be played off with a Black actress. Sounds like Richard and Disney didn't really think about it.

VII. I hate how she was cut out of Tartarus scenes.

That was such a BIG moment for 'beth, she was the one talking to Hades! Because Grover was scared to death and Percy was impulsive and with no filter! He doesn't know how to talk to Gods, he's been a halfblood for so little and Annabeth has been one her whole life! She's the brains, she's the negotiator. The show leaves her in the forest of regrets and sort of forgets about it after.

So, I do think that the script for her sucked bad. And the worst part is, it could be better SO easily. Leah deserved better imo.

#🏛️#pjo show crit #pjo tv crit #rr crit #Throwing to the sharks:#percy jackson #annabeth chase

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mollysunder · 25 days

Text

I'm back to thinking about Jinx's champion tag again. I can't not think about where each of champion (Vi, Ekko, and Viktor) have their tag placed on their person.

Vi has Jinx's tag on her prison uniform, it's placed right at the start of her prisoner ID number. Once Vi's freed from Stillwater Prison by Caitlyn, she quickly gets rid of the prison uniform and thus Jinx's tag for the rest of the season. Then Vi spends the rest of the show chasing after a version of Jinx that doesn't exist anymore. It goes on that way until Jinx decisively ensures that neither of them can return to an impossible ideal past.

With Ekko, you can find Jinx's champion tag on the bottom left on the front of his jacket. It's difficult to see the actual tag because the canvas of Ekko's jacket is visually dominated by the Firelights tags over Jinx's, possibly expressing how the Firelights have become a fundamental part of his life. But Jinx's tag is still there as she still has a present (negative) impact on his life. It's only until the last quarter of the show where he doesn't wear his jacket anymore, and then he soon fights Jinx, where they nearly killed eachother.

Viktor is the odd one out. Jinx's tag never appeared on his clothes, instead it was inscribed in Viktor's tarot card, The Magician. Not only was it on a card with a design to fit his future look instead of his current clothes, it was presented by another character, Sevika. If we apply the way real world tarot works we can see that Sevika is showing the audience the future (foreshadowing) the story of these two on the plot and with eachother.

Jinx's tag is not only in the center of Viktor's card, but it's practically cradled in his grasp within the hexcore, something he'll probably NEVER part with by next season. And I can only wonder, "What kind of insanely unhealthy relationship dynamic will these two have?!?! I need to see it now!!!".

#arcane #arcane meta #ekko arcane #jinx arcane #vi arcane #viktor arcane #i must ramble about the unfortunate state that is Jinx's relationships #obviously silco died so jinx can squeeze in another person in her life historians could only hope to write scores upon scores of volumes #of essays on the complexity of their relationship/partnership bcuz she can't keep things simple #love that about jinx #I'm rambling I'm rambling

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absentia-if · 1 year

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I'm looking for more interactive fiction games to play and I was wondering if you have any particular favourites?

I’m a hermit when it comes to the community as a whole— mainly staying in my own little corner, but I have been able to meet some amazing Author’s during my stay.

Citadel by @bouncyballcitadel is an absolutely amazing medical drama IF. An amazing cast of characters, both romance and non-romance, and real life experiences, and knowledge, fueling the writing in such a way that makes you feel extremely connected to the plot and the MC. I highly recommend it.

An Affair of the Heart by @doriana-gray-games is another amazing IF that I strongly recommend. Not only because I absolutely adore Dori, the sweetest of sweethearts, but she makes the world of Sherlock Holmes come to life in such a way that I can’t even truly describe— Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be proud of her, I can tell you that much.

Novaturient by @kalorphic is an amazing spy IF that has a lovely cast of characters. It’s not as serious, or it’s not supposed to be as serious, as some of the other titles that I’ve mentioned, but it’s such a fun time all the same— it doesn’t have too much in the form of a demo, as of yet, but I think you’ll enjoy getting to know the cast on Ella’s blog all the same. (She also has another blog @ellawrites-if that I think you should check out too.)

Next in Line by @nextinline-if has been a fun read since I’ve started it. Not to mention Vi is an absolute delight to speak with. You have a little bit of everything when it comes to the romances, and who doesn’t love being royalty too? I think you’ll have a grand time with the story, and getting to know everything you’d wish to know about it, as I can’t recommend it enough.

Abyssal by @theabyssal is a great game with an amazing premise— playing Death itself ticking a lot of boxes for a variety of people. It’s quite angsty, as I feel like I should warn you, but the writing is immaculate and you’ll be pulled into the inner workings of a world that you have to find a place in once more. Plus, the ROs are absolutely amazing too.

A World Without You by @jaunefleurwrites has been an amazing read. It deals with the realities of death while still being alive, an ever growing entity that always looms over us all, but it’s still an enjoyable read even if it does have a sadder undertone. I highly recommend it (plus Damin is a sweetheart).

The King’s Hound by @the-kingshound is an Arthurian IF that I think you’ll find yourself drawn to. It has found family written all over it, with tinges of angst and drama strewn within, that I think you’ll enjoy. It’s an amazing story, with an amazing cast, and I think you’ll enjoy it.

Past Imperfect by @past-imperfect-if is an IF with only a singular RO, that’s semi-customizable, and only has prologue released so far, but I strongly implore you to check it out as I think you’ll enjoy the premise of it. (Plus, my friend is the main creator for it and I know she’ll absolutely love to have someone as wonderful as you check out her story.)

Kingdoms and Empires by @kingdoms-and-empires is an amazing high fantasy game that I think you’ll enjoy. It has a wonderful world, that seems dynamic around the MC, with an amazing cast of characters that I think you’ll find yourself growing attached to. If you enjoy fantasy, being a royal, and wish to be along for a long ride? This story is definitely for you.

The Scars I Live With by @thescarsilivewith-if is also an amazing premise that I absolutely adore. It doesn’t have a demo yet, but I think the cast of characters that have been introduced as well as the world building will be able to be just enough until one is released.

If you want more of my stories? I have three other main stories that I’m working on— even if they’re on a semi-hiatus as of now.

Heart of Flames is a dragon rider story where you take on the role of one of the newest dragon riders within Haven, and it expands across the world of Gallinia as a whole. @unforeseenflame

Scandal is based off the show of the very same name— Scandal (by Shonda Rhimes). It’s genderlocked female though, just want to warn you. @nightingale-interactive

Path of Fire is a dragon-shifter IF wherein the MC is the last of the Dracaryean and their journey in discovering what that truly means— not only for them but for Ioria as a whole. @eleanawrites

#absentia #all of these are WIPs by the way #I know that I’ve missed a lot #but these were all I could think of off the top of my head #asks #ask #anonymous

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checkoutmybookshelf · 6 months

Text

Ok, something has been bugging me about Dain and his signet, and I want to talk about it for a second.

I was thinking back over Fourth Wing and Iron Flame to see if there were any moments where Vi consented to having her memories read, and not only was the answer no, somethig HELLA chilling popped up when I went back to check the text.

When Xaden explains to Vi that Dain has to touch someone's face to read their memories, her response is "...that's how he always touches me" (Fourth Wing, 450). I get that Dain's signet is secret and he can't just TELL Vi what he can do when he catches her immediately after she crosses the parapet, but one of the first things he does in that scene is take her chin (Fourth Wing, 32) in his fingers. He establishes a pattern of behavior, normalizes his touching her face as a habit. And yes, it could be argued that not touching her face would also give away his signet somehow, but as the person with knowledge, Dain is responsible for the ethics of using and setting patterns around his signet. He either had to just...NOT touch her face, which child be justified by not wanting to make her look weak or come clean. But Dain "my heart is a rulebook" Aetos does neither. And what does THAT do? It puts Vi in a vulnerable as hell position with someone she thinks she is safe with.

Even take the rebellion and Athebyne out if the equation for a sec. Vi almost certainly has memories that are just simply private. Not a massive secret, not a liability, just HERS. And for a huge part of the book, she is just letting Dain touch her face, potentially opening up memories she doesn't want him to know about to his signet. That is a power dynamic so absolutely fucky that I don't have words for it. And then we circle back to the reality that Dain did cross the line and try to take memories by force in Fourth Wing--and succeeding the one time we know about got Liam and Deigh killed. And this is just the main example that we know about. I'm not ruling out that there were other examples still to come to light; we have three books to go in this series.

I honestly also wouldn't have put it past Dain to do a quick memory check when he holds Vi's face at threshing before he kisses her (Fourth Wing, 191). He was NOT happy with Xaden for interfering, and I suspect he wanted a look at what happened without Xaden's input. This is purely my theory, there's no real textual evidence, but I am sus. He also cups her face again the day after threshing (Fourth Wing, 203), which is actively a worse choice I'd he slept on it and THEN checked her memories. I also find it wildly suspicious that the next time Vi sees Dain, she is with Tairn, who actively threatens Dains life if he comes within arm's reach of Vi (Fourth Wing, 215). We know Tairn knew things Vi didn't, so was he already preventing rebellion info from sliding to leadership?

Vi herself doesn't put a hard boundary on the face touching until Dain gets offended by Xaden accusing Amber of violating the codex and goes "gimme" (Fourth Wing, 244-245), but she sets it...for a while. The math on the Athebyne thing works out to Xaden telling Vi that's where he goes on page 391, and then Violet Goddamn Sorrengail gets nostalgic for Dain at the celebration with the king and everyone's parents and let's Dain cup her cheek again on page 405. Which is really goddamn tight timing when you think about it, because he touched her face at the beginning of this party, she and Xaden have their little tete a tete on the parapet, sneak off to have great sex for the rest of the night, and the next morning they are assigned to Athebyne. So Dain literally had to corner his Dad at the party and then Colonel Aetos probably spent the rest of the night changing the war game assignments and setting up Xaden's group to be killed.

Dain Aetos likes hard rules, but not ethics. This just gets even more screwy in Iron Flame, once Varrish gets his hooks in Vi.

If one wanted to be more generous than I'm feeling, one could say that Varrish was being polite about trying to get Dain to read Vi's memories in interrogation class (Iron Flame, 228-230), but honestly the motherfucker just saw an opportunity and rolled with it. And here is where Dain having the codex shoved far enough up his ass that it comes out his mouth is actually a win, because he rules-lawyered the spirit of the codex to refuse an order, but goddamn it was a close thing. This man was REACHING FOR VI'S FACE before he stopped himself.

I'm not like...surprised that Varrish isn't teaching our boy ethics, but I'm a little surprised Vi never called Dain's ass out for his lack of ethics regarding his signet. It's possible I read the Arrows of the Queen trilogy a few too many times though.

What Dain noticeably doesn't do the SECOND time Varrish drags him into an interrogation session with Violet is hesitate. Like he so fails to hesitate that VARRISH of all people has to remind Dain that he actually was taught ethics (Iron Flame, 316).

I think he deserves to experience everything Vi shows him, but the fact that it took THAT MUCH to get his head out of his ass? Yeah, no, we are not doing a Dain Aetos redemption arc.

Because when it comes right down to it, Dain was a) a shitty friend, b) absolutely godawful at ethics and morality, c) to married to rules for his own good, and d) knowingly put Violet in a vulnerable situation vis a vis his signet. Like...its a WAR COLLEGE. You're not running around touching people's faces on the regular anyway, just DONT. TOUCH. HER. FACE. Not before she knows about your signet at the very least, and probably not without her explicit consent after that, because here's the thing: at no point in Fourth Wing or Iron Flame did Dain EVER explicitly ask permission to touch Vi. He just DID it. Right from the beginning, after parapet, at threshing, and at the party, he just put hands on her without asking. And then in Iron Flame he's ordered to explicitly against her will, and as much as I love a good rescue, it does not excuse the massive ethical and consent breaches that have become a PATTERN with Dain.

So those are my thoughts about Dain, his signet, and ethics. All I can say is, I am still extremely not here for a Dain Aetos redemption arc.

#fourth wing #fourth wing spoilers #iron flame #iron flame spoilers #the empyrean #dain aetos #rebecca yarros #books and reading #books & libraries #books and novels #books

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waitmyturtles · 6 months

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Last Twilight, episode 2: reflections

I wanna give @benkaaoi a huge hug for tagging me in an amazing post about labels and "being known" in society vis à vis one's perceived individual strengths and weaknesses in episode 2 of Last Twilight. @benkaaoi, you put down a LOT of behavioral stuff that I think about a lot in these dramas, behavioral factors that are used to drive a story and narrative.

I think about labels all the time -- very often in my posts, I link back to my Theory of Love review, where I talk about Khai's difficulties in shedding the labels that Third (and even Khai's homies) have given him as a playboy. And the fact that many societies -- America and Thailand included -- aren't keen on allowing people to change and shed/shift those labels over the course of time. As humans in society, mammals acting out our lives within group dynamics, we are so very often boxed in. Day, over the course of a year, shifting from a national badminton player to a homebound visually impaired young man: I am not surprised that that brought on not just fear in interacting with a physical world that he could no longer see, a physical world that has hurt him, significantly; but also likely a very real depression that kept him in the confines of his room, that Day's mother and Night have learned to adapt in their everyday lives.

The wonderful twist about Mhok's behavior towards Day is: he's meeting Day where Day is at, at this moment in time. He didn't know Day before, so Mhok isn't biased.

We had that great tiny flashback (such an Aof thing to do to use that technique) of Mhok hiding the ankle monitor as he's being judged while looking for jobs.

And we see Mhok further attempting to relate to Day by going to his regular day market, blindfolded.

In other words: Mhok's putting in the work to understand Day's perspective of everyday life. I want to emphasize how very rare that is for any of us to experience, at all, in our lives, vis à vis the people around us, even our loved ones.

And the fact that the drama, in episode 2, has Mhok doing this, means: we don't have to see Mhok, say, "growing up" or changing within to get to the point of wanting and/or being able to do this for Day. Mhok lost someone close to him in a very frightening way, he embodies it, and I have a feeling he's connecting that with his engagement with Day, wanting a person that's newly close to him to not experience the same kind of hurt.

Whew. @benkaaoi, you gave me a lot to think about before I've had my first cup of coffee this morning! Thank you!

Other little tidbits that I loved about this episode:

1) I did not watch Vice Versa, so I know nothing about Jimmy's and Sea's chemistry, but I like where this is going.

2) I'm impressed by Jimmy. He's holding my attention.

3) I mentioned last week that I haven't been a fan of Namtan's past work, but she is holding up and showing up. I LIKE her Porjai.

I'm very happy to be back in an Aof show -- this is very well done so far.

P.S. I think the last time we saw Kun Kunchanuj in a GMMTV show was as Todd in SOTUS S. I knew I knew him! It'll be interesting to see his role as an emotional translator for both Mhok and Day.

#last twilight #last twilight meta #last twilight the series #last twilight the series meta #jimmysea #jimmy jitaraphol #sea tawinan #backaof noppharnach #aof noppharnach #namtan tipnaree #mhok x day #day x mhok #mhokday #morkday #mork x day #day x mork

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mrs5sn0w · 6 months

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Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> III : A Symphony of Heartbreak -> IV: Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of Allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

warnings: Arranged marriage, MILD ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame: Before, during and after tbosbas

Synopsis: In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

Coriolanus Snow, his mind a tempest of resentment and frustration, watched her retreat from the balcony. The air in the room hung heavy with the aftermath of their verbal clash, a battlefield of emotions where neither emerged unscathed.

As the door closed behind her, the room became a chamber of solitude, echoing with the haunting melodies of a loveless marriage. Snow's inner monologue, a symphony of bitterness, played out in the recesses of his thoughts.

"How did it come to this? A marriage that was supposed to be a strategic alliance has become a suffocating tangle of emotions. She is a woman I married for power, now challenges the very foundations of my carefully constructed existence."

The vivid memory of their confrontation at the balcony gnawed at him. His indifference, a fortress he had cultivated for survival, had been pierced by her words. Yet, the bitter taste of resentment lingered, refusing to be washed away by the Capitol's opulence.

"Lucy Gray Baird, a name I buried deep within, resurrected by her audacious tongue. The mere mention of Lucy Gray unleashes a storm of memories, a Pandora's box of emotions I long thought sealed."

In the privacy of his thoughts, Snow grappled with the ghosts of his past. Lucy Gray, the girl from the 10th Annual Hunger Games, had been a spark of humanity in a world that demanded heartlessness. Mrs Snow, or rather Ms Flare as he calls her, however, was a different challenge—an embodiment of Capitol expectations, a living reminder of the sacrifices demanded by power.

“She challenges me, questions the very essence of what I've become. The Capitol expects conformity, but she refuses to play the obedient wife. Her words sting, and yet, a part of me wonders if I am the monster she paints me to be."

The recollection of an incident, a pivotal moment that almost tipped the scales towards irreversible darkness, flashed in his mind—a rebel attack during a public speech. The President, had shielded his wife whom he hates most from a threat that sought to extinguish his existence.

The rebel attack had shattered the illusion of control, and chaos reigned as panic rippled through the crowd. In the midst of the mayhem, Coriolanus Snow's mind worked with a calculated precision, seizing the opportunity to manipulate the narrative to his advantage.

As the glass hurtled through the air towards the First Lady, Snow's eyes widened, not in shock, but in a calculated realisation. In that split second, he saw an opportunity—an opportunity to position himself as the saviour, the protector, and to ensure that she remained alive, at least until he could extract the full potential of her family's power of railroad business.

“Coryo ?" Her voice trembled, the fear in her eyes reflecting the disarray that had befallen the once-controlled environment, calling him by his nickname out of fear.

In response, Snow, a cunning puppeteer manipulating the strings of the situation, took decisive action.

“Get down!"

His command carried an authority that transcended their strained relationship. It was a directive, a calculated move to both protect her and reinforce his image as the authoritative figure in the face of rebellion.

As she hesitated, caught in the crossfire of rebellion, the glass sailed towards her. Snow, swift and deliberate, stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the imminent threat. The trajectory of the glass changed, its intended victim now obscured by the President himself.

The glass collided with Snow, and a shard found its mark, leaving him with a light but visible injury. Yet, the pain, though physical, was a small price to pay for the strategic advantage he gained.

"Sir, we need to evacuate! There might be more attacks!"

A voice from his security detail shouted amidst the confusion.

Snow, gritting his teeth against the pain, nodded, his eyes never leaving her.

"Get her to safety."

His order was concise, the words carrying a weight that hinted at a complexity beyond the immediate threat.

As she was ushered away by the security detail, her gaze locked with Snow's.

"Are you alright ?"

Her words held a genuine concern, a question that demanded a response beyond the physical injury.

Snow, his mind already spinning the narrative in his favour, managed a curt nod.

"I'll be fine. Just ensure your safety."

His words, though seemingly selfless, were laced with a subtle reminder of the debt owed.

"We can't let these rebels disrupt our way of life, sir. We need to show strength against such threats." Another member of the security detail chimed in, the sentiment aligning with Snow's own agenda.

"We'll make an example of those who dare challenge the Capitol. But first, tend to the wounded." Snow's tone was authoritative, his gaze still fixed on her as she was led away.

The rebel attack, though quelled, had left its mark. Snow, now nursing his injury, knew that this incident could be melded into a powerful narrative—a tale of sacrifice, resilience, and strength against dissent.

As they retreated from the grand hall, the echoes of the rebellion still lingering, Snow's mind was already at work, weaving the incident into the grand tapestry of Capitol politics. The rebel attack had been repelled, but in its wake, Snow had gained not only a strategic advantage but a hold on the fragile threads of her fate. It was a victory, not just against the rebels, but in the silent, shadowed game of power that played out behind the dazzling facade of the Capitol.

The air was thick with tension as security personnel rushed to secure the area and attend to the wounded. Coriolanus Snow, nursing his injury, moved with a calculated grace as he made his way to a more private space, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol.

His wife, guided by a concerned security detail, followed closely. The gravity of the situation hung heavy between them, the unspoken acknowledgment of a debt owed and a connection forged in the face of rebellion.

In a secluded room, she took charge. The grandeur of Capitol politics faded, revealing the vulnerability beneath the carefully constructed facade. Snow, despite his usual air of authority, allowed her to tend to his injury.

"Coryo?" Her voice, a whisper in the hushed aftermath, carried a note of concern. She dared to address him by the nickname, a gesture that hinted at a shift in the dynamics between them.

Snow, though still stoic, acknowledged her presence with a subtle nod. His eyes, usually guarded, betrayed a flicker of vulnerability as she inspected the wound. The shard had left a superficial but visible cut on his shoulder.

"You should've let me die,"

He remarked, the words heavy with the weight of disdain for the woman who held the potential key to his aspirations.

The first lady, focused on her task, responded without hesitation.

"I won't let you die."

Her hands worked swiftly, cleaning and dressing the wound. The air was thick with tension,

"Why?" Snow's question, uttered with a hint of curiosity, hung in the air. The complexity of the moment bore down on them, the rebel attack a mere backdrop to the intricate dance of power and vulnerability.

With her gaze steady, she met his eyes.

"Because I'm not like you. Despite everything, I can't just stand by and watch someone I care about suffer." Her words, though tinged with the pain of their strained relationship, held a conviction that made Snow pause.

"You could have let me die and taken advantage of the chaos," Snow mused, his tone a mixture of contemplation and resentment.

"Taken advantage how and why exactly ?"

She finished the dressing then locking eyes with him, discontinuing her question, she then added

"Besides, that's the difference between us, Snow. No matter how much you've hurt me, I can't turn my back on someone I once cared about. I won't let them strip away my humanity."

The conversation lingered in the air, a testament to the fractures in their relationship. The rebel attack, though thwarted, had exposed the vulnerabilities beneath their Capitol personas.

As they exited the room, the unspoken tension between them trailed like a shadow, a reminder of a connection strained by power and the remnants of a once-deep bond. The rebel attack, a mere catalyst, had unraveled a complex web of emotions, leaving them to grapple with the aftermath in the corridors of Capitol authority.

The incident, a turning point in their entangled narrative, injected a dose of ambivalence into his feelings. Hatred and gratitude danced a precarious waltz within him.

The Capitol's demands grew more stringent, and her defiance became a thorn in the carefully cultivated image of President Snow. The public appearances, the forced smiles, and the facade of unity clashed with the internal turmoil.

"The Capitol revels in the illusion of perfection. Our loveless marriage is a spectacle, a tragic play that demands flawless performances. Yet, her refusal to conform threatens the very script I've authored for our lives."

In the quiet moments of introspection, Snow found himself grappling with a question that refused to be silenced

"Could it have been different if Lucy Gray stood in Flare's shoes? Would the Capitol's expectations have been met more effortlessly with the girl from District 12 by my side?"

The answer, elusive and shrouded in the complexities of his own psyche, haunted his contemplations.

"Lucy Gray, the one who saw through me, the one I couldn't control. Ms Flare, the one who challenges me, who refuses to be a puppet. Each a reflection of a different truth, a truth that makes the walls of my carefully constructed world crumble."

As the days turned into weeks, the cracks in their marriage deepened. The refusal to share a bed, the bitter exchanges, and the persistent defiance painted a portrait of a union hanging by a fragile thread.

He had fully forgotten who took care of his injury.

Amid the ruins of their marriage, Snow found himself haunted by a realization. She, for all her defiance, was a constant presence he couldn't escape.

"She challenges me, defies the Capitol, and yet, she remains. A thorn in my side, a reminder of the compromises demanded by power. The Capitol may revel in perfection, but our imperfect dance continues, a discordant melody in the grand symphony of Panem."

In the quiet stillness of the night, Coriolanus Snow stood at the threshold of their bedroom, watching her sleep on the solitary refuge of the sofa. The grand bed, adorned with memories now tainted by bitterness, seemed to mock him with its empty expanse.

As moonlight cast a delicate glow upon her features, Snow couldn't help but be captivated by the peaceful slumber that graced her. The tumultuous lines of defiance, etched upon her face in waking hours, faded away, leaving behind a serene vulnerability that was impossible to deny.

A pang of guilt crept within Snow's thoughts as he observed her in the soft embrace of sleep. She was a constant presence he couldn't escape, even in the solitude of their shared residence. The realization haunted him—a thorn in his side, a reminder of the compromises entwined with the pursuit of power.

As the Capitol slept in the deceptive allure of its opulence, Snow found himself wrestling with conflicting emotions. She challenged him, defied the Capitol, and yet, she remained—an indelible presence that lingered in the shadows of his contemplations.

Snow, restless in his thoughts, couldn't escape the haunting image of her. There she was, on the sofa, shivering in the cold embrace of the room. Her beauty, undeniable even in the vulnerability of sleep, tugged at something buried deep within him.

A twinge of remorse settled in his chest for relegating her to the sofa while he occupied the grand bed. The inappropriateness of their positions mirrored the fractures within their marriage, a reflection of the sacrifices demanded by the Capitol's unforgiving expectations. He questioned the decisions that had led them to this point, the choices made in the pursuit of power and control.

Unable to ignore the stirring within him, Snow rose from the bed. His steps were quiet, deliberate, as he approached her. The soft glow of the moonlight outlined her features, and for a moment, he saw beyond the politics, beyond the manipulations.

Gently, he lifted her figure, cradling her with a care that seemed at odds with the ruthlessness he exhibited in the daylight. The weight of her in his arms felt both burdensome and strangely comforting. He carried her to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that contradicted the harsh realities of their world.

The duvet, a luxurious fabric that spoke of Capitol excess, was drawn over her. He paused for a moment, watching her sleep with a sense of guilt and obligation. It was a quiet repayment, an acknowledgment of the debt owed when she tended to his injury during the rebel attack.

As he stood by the bedside, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. The Capitol demanded sacrifices, but in the stillness of the night, he grappled with the notion that perhaps some sacrifices were too steep.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted as she stirred in her sleep. Confusion clouded her waking eyes, momentarily disoriented by the change in surroundings. Snow, ever the master of composed demeanor, waited in the shadows, his mind racing with unspoken questions.

She blinked, adjusting to the dim light, and the confusion in her eyes gradually gave way to recognition. Yet, instead of questioning her altered surroundings, she shrugged it off with a nonchalant dismissal. It was a testament to the resilience she carried, a defiance against the oppressive weight of their world.

In that moment, as she settled back into a peaceful slumber, Snow found himself questioning the narratives that had shaped his perception of her.

Was she truly the one who had betrayed him to Dean Casca Highbottom during the 10th Annual Hunger Games, or were there layers to her that defied the simplicity of his assumptions ?

He couldn’t escape the thoughts of her family, the influential figures in the railroad business, their wealth intricately tied to the veins of Panem’s transportation. The clinking of metal against metal echoed in his mind, a symbolic resonance of their family’s vast empire, built on the tracks that connected districts.

His contemplations lingered in the shadows, torn between the duty to power and the unspoken complexities of a connection that refused to be silenced.

The room, once again cloaked in silence, held the answers to questions he hesitated to ask. Love, power, and the enigmatic dance between duty and vulnerability continued to weave their intricate patterns in the quiet hours of the night. As Snow retreated to his thoughts, the moon casting its glow on a world steeped in complexity, the Capitol slept on, unaware of the turmoil playing out behind the facades of opulence and control.

The fractured reflections of his emotions mirrored the complexities of the world he navigated. Love, power, and the price paid for conformity converged in a tumultuous dance, each step revealing the intricate patterns of a life entangled in the expectations of Panem.

The weeks unfolded like a series of calculated movements on a chessboard. Her role as the First Lady demanded appearances at public events, alongside Snow, where their carefully orchestrated display of unity clashed with the underlying tensions. The Capitol's eyes were always watchful, scrutinizing every gesture, every smile, seeking flaws in the flawless facade.

As they attended meetings, her decisions sparked silent discontent in Snow. She navigated the political landscape with a subtle authority, making choices that reflected her individual agency. The unspoken resentment simmered beneath the surface, an undercurrent that threatened to pull them further apart.

During one pivotal meeting, she proposed a policy that diverged from Snow's expectations. The exchange that followed became a community of their strained partnership

"do you think it wise to make decisions without consulting me first ?"

"Coriolanus, my role as the First Lady extends beyond decorative appearances. I have a voice, and I intend to use it for the betterment of Panem."

The tension in the room mirrored the growing distance between them. Snow's control over the narrative of their union was slipping, and he felt the weight of his vulnerability.

"She challenges not only my authority but the very foundation of Capitol norms. Is this rebellion or naivety? Regardless, her decisions amplify the fractures in our marriage, exposing the delicate balance we precariously maintain."

Yet, amidst the clashes, there were moments when their shared history surfaced—a glimmer of the connection that had once been more than a political alliance.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of Capitol duties, they found themselves alone in the residence. The silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tensions.

"Coriolanus, we can't keep living like this. Our marriage, our partnership, it's unraveling."

"Perhaps it was never meant to be more than a facade, a marriage of convenience."

"But we were more than that once. There was a time when our dreams defied the Capitol's constraints."

Her words, a plea for acknowledgment, echoed through the room. Snow's gaze softened momentarily, the hardened exterior revealing a glimpse of the man he used to be.

"The Capitol changes people. It demands conformity, and we, too, have succumbed to its influence."

The admission hung in the air, a confession of the price they paid for power. In that vulnerable moment, the invisible threads that bound them tightened.

"Can we reclaim what was lost, or are we forever tangled in the web of Capitol expectations? her plea lingers in my thoughts, a haunting reminder that beneath the layers of bitterness, there remains a shared history—a history that refuses to be erased."

Days turned into a relentless cycle of public appearances, meetings, and forced smiles. The masquerade of their union continued, leaving them both entangled in the performance of a lifetime. The Capitol's grip tightened, and Snow found himself increasingly isolated, grappling with the conflicting emotions that surged within.

"Isolation, a consequence of power. The higher I climb, the lonelier it becomes. Her presence, both a comfort and a source of conflict, underscores the delicate balance between love and duty.

TAGLIST : @cookielovesbook-akie @rosewine-5 @princessloveweird @randomgurl2326

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esther-dot · 6 months

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Hi! I just wanted to ask if you are one of the jonsas who think Jon and Dany won't be romantically involved in the books.

Well...

The streets grew emptier as they passed through a district given over to gloomy stone warehouses. Aggo went before her and Jhogo behind, leaving Ser Jorah Mormont at her side. Her bell rang softly, and Dany found her thoughts returning to the Palace of Dust once more, as the tongue returns to a space left by a missing tooth. Child of three, they had called her, daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire. So many threes. Three fires, three mounts to ride, three treasons. "The dragon has threeheads," she sighed. "Do you know what that means, Jorah?" "Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black." "I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons." "The three heads were Aegon and his sisters." "Visenya and Rhaenys," she recalled. "I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys." "Blue lips speak only lies, isn't that what Xaro told you? Why do you care what the warlocks whispered? All they wanted was to suck the life from you, you know that now." (ACOK, Daenerys V)

"Your Grace," he conceded, "the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here's your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders." "Yes," said Dany, "but my brothers are dead." "Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon's wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me." (ASOS, Daenerys I)

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters. "Was the night as quiet as it seemed?" Dany asked. (ASOS, Daeneryrs VI)

Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

Unlike show Dany, book Dany is a romantic, she does fantasize about being rescued, and she is interested in a guy even when he doesn’t particularly care for her. We now Euron wants her and potentially might harness a dragon, so it's possible by the time she and Jon meet, she's disabused of all this and they're only antagonistic. That doesn't really feel like Martin to me though?

His mantra has always been William Faulkner’s comment in his Nobel prize acceptance speech, that only the “human heart in conflict with itself … is worth writing about”. “I think that’s true of any fiction worth reading, that you’re really talking about people. And maybe it’s set in space or in a castle with dragons, maybe you set it in a suburban town where Dick and Jane live, or in some urban hell hole. Wherever you want to set your story, it’s still about people trying to make their decisions about what is right and what is wrong, how do I survive, questions of good and evil.”

I really doubt that he'd write a one-note dynamic. He inserted conflict into the healthiest canon relationship, he emphasizes the conflict within the Stark family, he likes complexity not merely theoretically, but it's what interests him, it's what he writes to explore. And here we have a series of quotes that set up Dany to trust someone (Jon) who has a preexisting loyalty to the Starks that will demand he act in their best interest which aligns with her prophesied treason (betray her for love of the Stark), and seeing all the Dark Dany foreshadowing, what she thinks of the Starks, it's clear they will not be friends.

Now, does Jon need to be romantically involved with her to spice up the two being at odds? No. Jon's time at the Wall has him trying to put aside his love for his family and accept his new "family," and no matter his oath or how many times he tells himself, he can't be swayed in his loyalty and love for the Starks. To me, it reads like a form of an idea that will add layers to his interactions with Dany. No longer is it merely an oath that is meant to make him loyal to "family", it's blood. It's actually family, long lost family, potentially, a new identity, not being a bastard, if he wanted it. The Watch allows him to rise up to Lord Commander, it would make sense for the Targ situation to offer him a high station too, as a form of temptation (not that it matters, he's obvy never gonna betray the Starks). Maybe we'll be lucky and it's only that.

But, we also have the Ygritte situation in which there is an invading force and even though he's sexually involved, he can't be swayed in his loyalty. To me, that too reads like prep for Jon's next "test" to be ramped up and even more trying, worse, much worse. How much "more" might we see here? I'm torn. I've read and liked different spec. If Stumpy is right and we get Jonnel x Sansa 2.0, Jon will already be married and there's just no way in hell Jon is cheating on Sansa, so blood relation vs the family that he grew up with may be it.

HOWEVER, if Jon is KitN, I don’t see how he goes South and puts himself in enemy hands, and if he isn’t, if he defends Sansa or Rickon’s claim, there’s a lot more tension because of what Dany could offer him. If Jon is not only accepted in the North but married to a Stark and king or warden or regent or anything official, imo, there's just not much tension there at all. If Martin wouldn't allow a clear-cut Jon vs FF, but wrote into that "the heart in conflict with itself" for Jon, I'm very doubtful he hasn't planned a similar trial for Jon with Dany/her invasion. Tension makes things fun, he likes making things emotionally difficult and morally complex. And let's not forget, Mance, the leader of the FF/the invasion is presented in a very Rhaegar-esque way, Dany sees herself as Rhaegar once, and Jon was meant to kill Mance. Doesn't bode well.

Also, we gotta look at that word "treason." Jon could be the king who knelt redux, Martin isn't in favor of needless war, a king sacrificing it all to save his people is admirable, and that would allow Jon's actions against Dany to be treasonous. And if we think of this from the Dany perspective, we would want to up the anti of her own feelings of betrayal. She "saved" (in her mind) Mirri, she trusted Jorah who claimed to love her, how can the last treason be worse, far more painful, the most painful? Someone who has sworn to her, ok. Family? Sure, but Viserys already abused her/was a threat. Lover? Well, we all know Daario is a fuckboi and doesn't care for her, so maybe, to make it truly suck, all three? The person she thought she was destined to meet/trust, family she didn't know she had, a potential husband, is her final betrayal? I think the stacking idea for both the relationship and the treason may be it.

I do not think Jon would willingly enter into a relationship with Dany. Unfortunately, that does not mean one will not happen. I don't think it's conclusive they will have sex, but Dany's tracks to Jon say "husband" (some would argue shadowy lover...), and Jon's experiences point to him betraying "family"/someone who loves him. IMO, the odds are it's a one-sided thing.

SO, my very rambling answer to a pretty straightforward question is, I am not. I am not sure that they will have sex, but I certainly think it's very likely Dany will want a romantic relationship as part of her Targ belief. It will end badly for her, as I talked about in the flies/"dead man's revenge" post, but I certainly think there's gonna be layers there, nothing simplistic.

#anti daenerys #anti jonerys #dot chat #< for filtering

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alicent-vi-britannia · 3 months

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Lelouch vi Britannia, the Prometheus of Japanese animation

Today I want to upload an analysis about Lelouch that I had saved for a long time. This analysis is very special to me because it was a university essay (I wrote it in 2021 and it was a way to reconnect with this series since I didn't want to know anything about it after I was destroyed by the canon ending, I was disappointed by the alternative universe and the fandom disgusted me). I got a good grade, but it wasn't the best and it made me very sad because I worked hard and wrote that essay with a lot of love.

Anyway, the professor was terrible and I hated with every cell of my being every one of her classes and her way of teaching (some people shouldn't be teachers), so I don't care that I gave her a spoiler for one of the best endings from the television (maybe some of you will say that she didn't give me a higher grade because of the prejudice against Japanese animation and that could be, although it would be ironic because she said that it was allowed to choose anime characters as long as we explained to her everything with luxury detail and that's what I did.)

The essay exercise consisted of choosing a fictional character and explaining what archetype it was based on. What is an archetype? They are expressions of the collective unconscious or psychic elaborations that are part of the universal common language and that help in the composition of stories. In Jungian terms, Lelouch is a "Trickster" that mythologist Campbell defines as characters who violate the principles of the natural order, destroy life as we know it and restore it as a new dynamic. Lelouch also fits the Shadow archetype with respect to Suzaku, who is the Hero archetype, since Lelouch, in a way, represents everything that he represses about himself. I decided to analyze Lelouch starting from the figure of Prometheus because I felt that I was going to do a more complete analysis within the limit of extension that I had. If you notice that I'm being a little too explanatory in some parts or I don't stop to delve into others, keep in mind that it is because the essay was directed to someone who has never seen Code Geass in her life. With that said, here we go.

"It was 2006 when one of the most important Japanese animated series in the world premiered: Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion. The story is about Lelouch vi Britannia, the seventeenth prince of the Holy Empire of Britannia, who at his young age was sent to Japan as a political hostage with his sister after rebuking his father, the Emperor, for failing to protect his family during an attack that left his mother dead and his sister paralyzed and blind. The series begins ten years after the tragedy when Britannia has already colonized three quarters of the world, including Japan, which is renamed Area 11. It's then that Lelouch obtains Geass, a mystical power that will allow him to dominate the will of the others, and with it he will adopt the alter ego of Zero, a masked vigilante, and will lead a rebellion in order to find answers for the murder of his mother and to give a kind world to his sister - and, in the process, destroy the empire who repudiated him. Stories about rebellions have been told many times. In his book The Rebel Man, Albert Camus observed that man rises up against the order that oppresses him when the situation has lasted so long that it is unsustainable. But the feeling of insurrection, although it is an awareness, arises from the archetypes that serve as a guide in times of crisis for societies and establish patterns for the characters in the stories we like. That being so, what archetype do we identify in Lelouch? The one from Prometheus. In this work, we will unravel Lelouch through this archetype.

The myth of Prometheus is of vast symbolic richness. Hence it lends itself to inexhaustible reinterpretations and is one of the most reworked myths. In Prometheus: myth and tragedy, Carlos García Gual traces the different materializations of Prometheus throughout the ages and declares: "all these Prometheans (...) are united by the same resistance, the same insurrection, the same voluntary suffering" (p .194). So Prometheus transcends as a benevolent rogue who disobeys the commands of Zeus in favor of humanity, emphasizing values of rebellion and progress. However, this is far from Lelouch because, while it is true that Area 11 is under the yoke of Britannia, it is not driven by a genuine desire to free the Elevens (the colonists of Area 11), but by revenge and resentment, and it disguises its selfish reasons with intentions altruistic. He does, at least initially, as, at a turning point in the second season, Lelouch realizes that his struggle extends beyond him and his sister. He also fights for the people he loves and the humanity. In this sense, we can say that Lelouch embodies the negative expression of the archetype and this, in turn, makes him similar to another mythical figure: Lucifer. Like Lelouch, Lucifer questions the supreme power of God and incites the angels to oppose him by masking his personal motivations. When the rebellion fails, he hatches a plan to corrupt man in order to get revenge on God. And the similarities don't end there. Lelouch and Lucifer were exiled and as a result they harbor a deep hatred against their creators - in God, in the Emperor of Britannia and even in Zeus we can identify the archetype of the Father. Lelouch and Satan, additionally, are manipulators and liars. Both resort to rhetoric to get what they want from others and, like evil itself, they are seductive and charismatic. We see how Lucifer deceived Eve and how Lelouch pretends to love Rolo as his brother when he is really using him. To make it more evident, in the final stretch of the series, the other characters distinguish Lelouch as "Demon Emperor" in allusion to his evil. It may seem like we are getting off topic; however, the opposite is true. Prometheus and Lucifer are more similar than it seems at first glance. In fact, Milton's Satan drinks from Prometheus and, apart from that, emerged in the Baroque, a movement that preceded Romanticism, which had an intense affinity with Prometheus. Thus, Satan, Lelouch and Prometheus have their origin in the fact that they were part of the order that they challenge and stand out for their powerful nature. Lucifer was an angel at the service of God; Prometheus was a titan with the prophetic gift who helped Zeus during the titanomachy and Lelouch was the son of the Emperor (plus he possesses mystical power and genius intellect). And, above all, all three are essentially characterized by their cunning.

Outside of his love for the human race, Prometheus is still a scoundrel who used tricks to get his way. Hesiod presents him as a challenger to the omnipotence and omnipresence of Zeus in the Theogony, highlighting his negative traits (because his attitude is contrary to the purposes of Zeus, who wants everything good). The myth of Mecona demonstrates this since Prometheus mocked the father of the gods with malicious art with the distribution of the parts of the sacrificed bull, knowing that he would choose the most appetizing one. Here Prometheus is transgressing the sacrifice between men and gods [here I open a parenthesis to tell my readers who aren't familiar with Greek mythology nor are they mythologists that the myth of Macona is the explanation and meaning that the Greeks gave to their sacrificial rituals and if we analyze it carefully, you will see that the Prometheus' trick benefited humanity since it was established that humans could eat the meat and that the burned bones would be the sacrifice for the gods; if it had been the other way around, human would have chewed the bones as if they were dogs and the gods would have eaten the meat because that was what Zeus, who "knows what is good for man", wanted (f*ck you Zeus).] Lelouch does something similar in the eighth episode of the second season. The vicereine of Area 11 decides to restore the Administrative Zone of Japan, which is a conceptual State created with the aim of returning the rights and privileges to the Elevens that were previously denied to them as colonial powers, and establishes a dialogue with Zero (Lelouch). He accepts, on behalf of the Elevens, on the condition that "Zero" be exiled and, in this way, they close the agreement. On the day of the inauguration, Lelouch, his army and the Elevens attend the ceremony dressed as Zero, forcing Britannia to let all the Zeros go and, in turn, preventing the reduction of support for his rebel group and the Elevens are subordinated to a puppet State. This situation is one of many in which Lelouch uses his cunning to benefit the people (and his own plans).

Prometheus' other trick is the theft of fire. Against the will of Zeus, Prometheus steals the fire from the gods and gives it to men. The myth of the creation of humanity tells that Prometheus decided to give man fire to elevate him to a higher category than the animal and guarantee his survival; but what does fire symbolize in this context? David Fontana answers, in The Secret Language of Symbols, that it is "a symbol of the wisdom that differentiates men from gods" (p.111). Fire is the light that allows us to see through the shadows. It's the knowledge that constitutes the central axis in the progress of civilizations. And isn't knowledge what Lucifer offers to man in Genesis? Just in case you have any doubts, the etymology reveals it: Lucifer comes from Latin and is made up of lux (light) and ferre (carry). Therefore, Lucifer means "bringer of light." Several literary critics will compare Lucifer to Prometheus, among other aspects, for this. Paolo Astorgo, in his essay "The myth of Prometheus and human knowledge", points out in relation to this: "[Prometheus] favors humanity by providing it with certain means by which it not only systematizes its activities more quickly (... ), but it creates the first ideas about technology” (para. 5). With fire, man can create weapons and instruments. For this reason, Astorgo talks about technological advancement and this brings us back to Code Geass. In the preamble to the first episode they explain to us that Britannia conquered Japan (and many other nations) because they had "Knightmares" at their disposal, which are large armed robots. No matter how hard the Japanese tried to get their land back, they were always outmatched. It's Lelouch who obtains several Knightmares and bestows them on the rebels. Thanks to its resources and tricks, the group establishes itself as a kind of organization that soon gains the sympathy of the people and the patronage of the Japanese plutocrats. Under Lelouch's leadership, the organization grows exponentially, becoming an army that rivals that of Britannia and, consequently, is capable of fighting for the freedom of Japan. Astorgo shows that men find themselves in the need to depend on the divinities because they have fire that they also use to subdue them. By giving them fire, Prometheus not only makes man rebel against the oppressive divinities, he also provides him with tools to free himself from them. Likewise, Lelouch provides the Elevens with the same power with which Britannia bends them to become independent. And, to this, Astorgo adds: "This almost dialectical relationship God-Humanity, revolves in the myth as a constant closely linked to the fact of necessity and rebellion, which is what regularizes all the acts of “deception” that Prometheus uses before Zeus. , to steal power, with the sole objective of providing freedom to humanity" (para. 13). Here one of the values that Prometheus represents comes into play: freedom.

Satan, Prometheus and Lelouch affirm themselves as rebels against the tyranny of the powerful, but humanity suffers the consequences. Adam and Eve are expelled from Paradise; Zeus takes fire from man and grants him a new evil, and in his obsession with revenge, Lelouch unintentionally drags down innocent lives and his loved ones. But while Lucifer is apathetic; Lelouch and Prometheus suffer. In his work "Prometheus: Human Existence in Greek Interpretation", Karl Kerényi says that the nature of this archetype pushes the Prometheans to think deviously, which brings misfortune for humanity and for themselves. He alleges: “in their devious (ankyios) way of thinking (…) they are caught in their own web (ankyie): (…). And all kinds of devious paths correspond to it, from lies and deceptions to the most ingenious inventions, whose precondition, however, is always representative of a lack in the way of existing of the clever" (p.45). This is the imperfection that Kerényi reiterates throughout the text. Even though they are "titanic", Lelouch and Prometheus are imperfect because they suffer and that pain humanizes them. From there, Kerényi stipulates that suffering is part of the human condition. Lelouch, in particular, is aware of the damage that his actions have on those close to him and the innocent and lives with remorse. An example is episode thirteen of the first season: the father of one of his love interests dies due to a landslide that he causes in a confrontation with Britannia. Lelouch never forgave himself. Of course, if there was an event whose guilt always tormented him, it was the massacre of the Administrative Zone of Japan, of which he was the indirect author. The sum of the tragedies in his life leads Lelouch towards the positive side of him as an archetype and, eventually, makes him make the decision to pay for his sins, but not before leaving behind him a kind world as he had proposed.

Both Prometheus and Lelouch end up succumbing to divine justice for their misdeeds. Prometheus is tied with strong chains to a rock where an eagle devours his liver and remains there for a long time until Heracles appears and shoots the animal. Lelouch's punishment, on the other hand, takes the form of the Zero Requiem; which is a plan that he develops with Suzaku, his best friend, with the aim of ending all wars and ushering in an era of peace and, in unison, answering for their crimes. After killing the Emperor and usurping the throne, Lelouch quells the insurrections against him, imposes a cruel dictatorship and establishes himself as the enemy of the world by kidnapping the leaders of the United Nations Federation (a coalition of states equivalent to the ONU), which forces the world to confront him, giving way to a war that culminates in Lelouch's victory. During the public execution of the fallen, Suzaku, dressed as Zero, appears and kills Lelouch. With his death, Lelouch accepts his punishment and takes all the hatred with him, leaving a peaceful world. Kerényi stops to analyze the tetralogy of tragedies dedicated to Prometheus by Aeschylus and observes that the cunning titan's hardships will not cease until a divinity takes charge, since Prometheus' suffering is inherent to existence. In such circumstances one could speak of a "redemption." Who replaces Prometheus is Chiron, since longed to die after being wounded by a poisoned arrow. In Lelouch's case it is Suzaku. Suzaku is a knight in the service of Britannia. Like Lelouch, he aspires to a better world, only he doesn't believe a rebellion is the key. In him we recognize, as in Heracles, the archetype of the hero. And he, like Chiron, wanted to die. However, in the end, Lelouch, who longed to live with his sister, is the one who dies and he, who wanted to die in order to purge his guilt, is the one who lives at the cost of giving up his own happiness for the good of humanity by existing. just like Zero. Thus, the two friends atone for his sins and Lelouch, who proclaimed himself as the Messiah, achieves his redemption by becoming what he preached so much (although a few know that). There is no doubt that this sacrifice for love of humanity makes us think of Jesus Christ.

Literary critics also often compare him to Prometheus and, by extension, we could compare him to Lelouch. The three are united by their closeness to men, for whom they endure a via crucis and the three are saviors of humanity. And this brings us back to Joseph Campbell's words about the definition of "hero." In simple terms, a hero is one who gives his life for something greater than himself or different from him. It is likely that there will be those who resist considering Christ as a hero. Lelouch, for his part, certainly falls within the category of tragic hero. Regarding Prometheus, García Gual attributes his heroic character to Aeschylus stating that it was his work that immortalized in tragedy for posterity the myth of an old trickster.

Either way, Lelouch is an excellent example that archetypes are rooted in the collective imagination and are binary, universal, and ahistorical in nature. Despite the enormous time gap and the difference between cultures, the archetypes represent the same values that they once had and are still capable of continuing to captivate us with wonderful narratives that have a lot to teach us."

And, well, that's how I concluded my essay. The truth is, I think I could have gone deeper since the approach has enough potential to develop a thesis, but I couldn't go on for five pages and the proffesor complained that some of my classmates decided to ignore the rule and, therefore, exceed the limit. It seems that she is one of those proffesors who doesn't want to read shit (did I mention that I despise her?). So I apologize for so little and I will allow you to hate me for this horrible English (I didn't put the quotes in their original language and then translate them, I know, I deserve you to hate me for that too).

But, if you don't hate me and you liked my work, I invite you to give me a like. If you've never thought about what archetype Lelouch is based on, give me a like. If you found the association between Jesus Christ, Satan, Prometheus and Lelouch fascinating, give me a like. If my essay made you think, give me a like. If you want to make me happy or would like my humble essay to be more widely disseminated, share it. This way I will take into account that you like me to analyze Code Geass characters through archetypes and I can bring more similar content. I would like to talk soon about a part of Joseph Campbell's hero's journey in particular that is very easy to identify in Lelouch's journey (how the hell can Lelouch be an antihero, if he has the word HERO tattooed all over his forehead?). Well, there are a lot of things I want to discuss! It's just that my life and time are not enough for me to do everything I want. Anyway, have a nice night and don't forget to eat meat to piss off Zeus.

#code geass: lelouch of the rebellion #code geass #code geass: hangyaku no lelouch #lelouch #lelouch vi britannia #lelouch lamperouge #greek mythology #prometheus #archetypes

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chimcess · 2 years

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Trees That Wheep Masterlist

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Word Count: 132.5k (ONGOING) Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart.

Wheep or wheeple- Verb- (of a bird) to whistle weakly.

Series: I: Blessed Under Moonlight II: A Rock and A Secret III: Harboring a Fugitive IV: Litha V: Sacrificial Lamb VI: Beside Him VII: Growing Pains VIII: A Murder IX: Landscapes

To be continued...

The Lost Chapters: 3.5: When She Sees Me (Jimin’s pov)

Extras: The Encyclopedia Map of Lustra A Map of Foxglove Playlist The Moodboards

Cross posted on ao3: Here

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turtle-paced · 11 months

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What type of behaviour do you think Cersei and Jamie partook in that would make people question how close they were? What do you think they did publicly or semi public that crossed the line between being twins and being lovers?

And another anon:

Why do you think Cersei and Jaime weren't more discreet about their affair?

I think the twins had a pretty identifiable pattern of sneaking off together.

In the early years of their marriage, Robert was forever imploring her to hunt with him, but Cersei had always begged off. His hunting trips allowed her time with Jaime. Golden days and silver nights. It was a dangerous dance that they had danced, to be sure. Eyes and ears were everywhere within the Red Keep, and one could never be certain when Robert would return. Somehow the peril had only served to make their times together that much more thrilling. Cersei VI, AFFC

Even if there weren't observers in the room itself (and honestly, I suspect there were probably observers Cersei was never aware of) they're constantly looking for time alone together. Even in situations where being alone together would be noted.

We can see those high risk dynamics playing out at the start of the series, when the two of them skive off a hunting trip to go fuck in a ruined tower. Neither of them know anything about household habits - or they would have known that Bran can just climb up and stick his head in a window, and that Ned sent ratcatchers into the tower on a semi-regular basis. Similarly, from Jaime IV AFFC we know that once the two of them had sex when Robert was passed out on the floor of the same room, again in a household (Darry) they knew nothing about. Anything could have happened! They were just in a situation where they had to try and kill a kid because he saw them unexpectedly!

The above passage also lets us know that Cersei was into the risk of being found. From what we know of Jaime, he's also not the cautious sort.

And so I think they were caught - by (agents of) people who did not immediately shout and scream, but kept the information in their back pockets.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #cersei lannister #jaime lannister #a game of thrones #a feast for crows

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xenosagaepisodeone · 1 year

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my youngest sister is going off to college in a few years, and while that is technically a ways away i've been trying to get her to do more stuff around the house with me so she's more acclimated to living on her own. something funny i've observed when we cook or clean is how cultivating independence necessitates overcoming presuppositions caused by...something we'll call 'school brain'. she's bright and intuitive, but what seems to hold her back is that she's assigned a failstate to things which do not have an assignable value, and won't do something unless i (the grown up and authority figure) have told her it's fine. "am I pouring this right?" you can't pour things incorrectly, but you can do it a bit different to avoid spillage or unequal distribution across a dish- and that only comes with practice. "am I stirring this right?" very similar to the previous comment! there's more efficient techniques that come as a result of experience, but there is no 'correct' technique. the way you do things hardly matters in real life so long as they meet a certain standard upon completion (and even that, the standard is normally flexible), but the intellectual regimen that most kids are taught in schools discourage experimenting and curiosity vis a vis penalizing mistakes.

like, what's really the worst thing that'll happen if you put seasoning in your food at the wrong time? it'll taste a bit bland when it's done, but you are still at liberty to do whatever you want to your food to rectify the taste thereafter. i suppose it only makes sense that you would feel differently about the potential of doing something incorrectly if you were never permitted this freedom before.

both of my sisters have this issue and I normally chalked it up to the dynamics within our household (because naturally I, the oldest, have never had this issue) until now.

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