#Channeling the wine aunt inside of him

[supersonic-rocket-ship]

Beard: so I broke up with jane- the relationship was just so t-

Roy: HOLY FUCK

Beard: hey man, this was hard for me-

Roy: *popping a bottle of champagne, taking a charcuterie board out of a mini fridge* HOLY FUCK

[twistednuns]

November 2023

With the rental car still outside my house, I followed Christian's invitation and drove over to Grafing on a gorgeous autumn morning. I enjoyed driving fast, the sunshine, the colourful foliage. Finding the front door unlocked, I got undressed and snuck into bed with him. Played some more with my very versatile washing line. Stood outside in the garden with his housemates talking about chicken duties. Decided to go to the airport together to return the car. Kissing on the bus. On the escalator. Ending up at Flaucher with Mephy, Helmut and BaLu. Talking about our party ideas and support group plans. I loved the concept of a mirrored, yin and yang style location for some sort of duality party.

The drive through the forest. Everything yellow, orange and red. Glimpses of sunlight through the leaves. Listening to some of C.'s favourite tracks.

Picking up Anna from the train station. Spending an afternoon together for the first time, getting to know her a little. Eating baozi in Schwabing, receiving a free tote bag at Motel a Mio after bonding with the girl from Guadalajara, walking over to Haus der Kunst hoping to get into the Inside Other Spaces exhibition but ending up in the bookshop and Goldene Bar. Cherry-chocolate cake. &otherstories. I paid for everything and felt like the fancy/weird aunt (even though we're cousins).

Impulse buys at Doc Martens and H&M Home.

Christian picking me up by car after a few disastrous hours in public transport chaos. Over-caffeinated, cold and wet, not being able to cope with my emotions. He brought me a blanket and bought food for me. We watched a movie and the atmosphere was a little tense so I gave him some space which turned out to be the right decision. In the morning, we talked about everything which felt so liberating. My new favourite things: radical honesty, eye-gazing, slow sex, sugar-roasted almonds on toast.

The baby kitten walking past the terrace door.

Our choir weekend: karaoke street cred +100 (performing a duet with Peter, channelling my inner Nina Hagen), learning all the alto parts, getting to know Anne and Julia and talking to almost everyone else (I even managed to talk to a few people I don't really get along with yet like Christa and Lilo - who really engaged with me after she realized that she hadn't fully accepted my compliment), singing for Kathrin and being offered a solo part immediately - now I have to open the Christmas concert and sing the very first note (I'm scared, what a challenge), finding a wine buddy in Daniela, massaging Regina and giving her a bunch of honest compliments on Sunday, our LeiLeiLei closing dance.

Driving through the car wash on our way back from Freising. It was my first time in what must have been a decade, I was so fascinated that I had to take a video of the whole experience.

Sucking off the soft parts of a still moist / freshly opened ball of mozzarella.

Karlo sending me a whole folder of fantastic photos of Robert and me kissing and playing around with our leash. Some of these are really sensual. I wish I could publish them...

Someone blocking the subway doors for me so I could still board the train.

A neck and jaw massage from Hannah. Helpful exercises. A warm mud pack.

Uli's naked party! Interesting new connections among the guests. Lukas in drag. Christoph who was seemingly fascinated by me. Teasing Sandra. Testing the Triangle Method on Robert (looking into one eye, then the other, then down to the lips). The Katharinas were there, too. I played with Uli, Stefan and Miriam. Painted Robert's legs and gave him a bite mark on his right butt cheek in a competition with Sandra. Mike was there after we texted each other that we were on a way to a party which turned out to be the same event. I had a good conversation with him and BaLu.

Research about the Subspace.

A woman who quietly smiled to herself on the subway listening to music.

The sparkly cat mask I bought for next to nothing.

Salted and roasted pistachios I don't have to peel first.

Running into Andrea who told me about Costa, the cute orange cat who keeps visiting her.

Clementines.

Stained glass. Almost are my glassware is colorful with very thin walls now. Fragile, pleasing, marvellous. I even got matching glass straws. And three new bubble glass candlestick holders. I can't get over how cool they are. I've been obsessed with candles for a few weeks now. Preferably black and twisted. I like how special everything looks in candlelight.

Twisting from Mountain Pose into the Wheel in yoga class.

Showing a girl at school how to draw a cat.

A video call with Chili and Christian. Distracted by my own image on screen; noticing how attractive Christian is.

Following an impulse to rent a car and FINALLY get rid of the content of most of my moving boxes. Sweet salvation.

Watching Notting Hill. Tearing up a little realizing what a fantastic movie it is. Julia Roberts' impeccable late 90s wardrobe.

A very good therapy session talking about communicating boundaries, self worth, hard rest, leveling up, outgrowing people.

Zotter Miso Caramel and Black Sesame chocolate.

Getting my annual Sonnentor tea advent calendar.

Trying on sexy bodies and bras at a lingerie store. I got a silver one with a low neckline and shoulder pads.

Spending a few hours at V-Markt with Robert. We had so much fun but it was also very draining - we got overstimulated quite quickly. We bought Play-Doh, Bud Spencer malt balls, stacked Pombären crisps. More: Holding hands. Advent calendar rating. The softest carpet. Afterwards we had delicious Indian food around the corner (with a huge Hanuman statue outside the entrance) and all the guests at the restaurant wore beautiful traditional clothing.

Almost kissing. Inventing and executing Bite Massage.

Petting a lovely little dog outside the bakery with a warm butter croissant in my hand.

Double Sagittarius energy in my life. These two, really, what can I say. Grateful. (And, come to think of it, Dyana is a Sag, too!)

Watching the girl sitting next to me on the subway eating a bright green Granny Smith apple in the window reflection. A crisp little sound.

Buttered rolls with sea salt and honey.

The clothes swap party I organized with Marah was a great success! So many friends stopped by, found something they liked, enjoyed the vibes and conversations. I talked to Sandra for a while, hoping to resolve our issues. Julian performed some kind of gloved choking/breath retention exercise on me. We ended up at Marah's place and she made dinner for us. A lovely day. I got to know Yeli and the two Alex-es a little better. Offered my services as a stylist. And, last but not least, got rid of a few boxes of stuff I didn't need anymore. Sweet release.

Relying on Robert and fox as phone support on the bad days.

Finding out about Robert's vision and skillset. And that he would make a perfect partner for my business vision. I love how much more resources and support I have than I thought.

Gemstone clusters in my fridge.

One of Lucie's mantras reminded me of Zu Asche, zu Staub from the Babylon Berlin soundtrack. She gifted me her CD after the yoga class!

A long conversation with Sonja about the important stuff. I was super late already but it felt relevant. She told me about her daughter's homosexual relationship. Her husband's brutal suicide.

Renting a karaoke box for Emily's goodbye party. We went full-on more passion/more energy mode and had so much fun. I got lots of compliments for my singing. The facial expressions in the photos were priceless and afterwards we went dancing at a shitty little club and I had fun teasing Chili.

Kathrin checking in on me when I missed choir practice.

Drawing another set of spot-on cards: Postponement/Trust. And the Thunderbolt for Robert. Even he had to admit how relevant it was.

A good therapy session.

Katharina reminding me of the two notes with quotations I got from an art tutor (Karl Schleinkofer) at uni. I rummaged around in a few drawers and actually found one of them!

The illustration of a cute little Earth ball nestled in a pair of hands on the toilet paper packaging.

Getting more and more into classical/epic music.

The affirmation video Anna Zona sent me.

A little get-together with my colleagues. Cold pizza and hard liquor. Attempted karaoke. Connecting with Toni. Coming out of the tech room together just to run into Andrea's arms. Hot gossip.

A trip to IKEA with Robert. Assessing the model rooms, standing in a shower together, testing pillows. Egg McMuffin for breakfast.

The roadtrip to Austria with Christian. What an intense night. I loved our creative/deep talk sessions. How much I trusted him right away. Doing his make-up and really bringing out his features. We looked fantastic. A warm welcome at the party. Our own sneaky projects (like chatting up the blue-haired girl). Boobs. Learning more about myself, my self-worth, jealousy. Watching him engage with others, going through the motions of looking away, taking part and then just leaning back, watching, admiring his work, knowing that I'd go home with him later. So we eventually did, admitting that it just wasn't our scene and the people were really not a good match. And magic ensued. He triggered me emotionally, repeatedly, through pain, through letting me tell my story, and he held me when I was crying. He was there for me and bathed in my openness. We celebrated our kinks, challenged each other (reference: "to gross out"). His grotesque face over me. Resolving the pregnancy discussion, reassuring him. Spending another hour in the car talking instead of going back inside. How we both realized that we want to be there for each other. The phone call right that evening. A video of his fireplace. It all feels quite inevitable.

A rainbow in the misty mountains on the way home.

Meeting Elena at the opening of her creative space at Gasteig. Lava lamp visuals. Talking to Seda. The little interaction with the older guy in the parking garage.

Grading tests using the rainbow ruler D. brought me back from Thailand.

The Amaphupho Trinix remix.

An Archer scholarship application in my mailbox right when I admitted to myself that I needed a career change. Realizing that I still have the free coaching session with Valerie Junger that I can use for this too.

Joy of Connection. Playfulness. A surprise massage from my group (being manipulated, tickled, pressed, pushed...) I felt at totally at ease and enjoyed all the shaking, improvising, spinning, rolling around on the floor with Robert. It was so freaking lovely to have him there. And then there was Christian who worked as a DJ that night. His playlist was absolutely perfect. We didn't interact too much during the session because he had to concentrate but when it was over I lay between him and Robert in the cuddle space and felt so much love for these two men. And in return, loved and accepted. Safe. When I had to leave both of them standing on the subway platform and hop onto my train, I felt a little lost and lonely. I texted them and C. actually called me because he'd noticed and wanted to reassure me. Wow.

Talking about feminist issues and Margarete Stokowski's books with one of the IMMA ladies who offered a workshop at school.

Compliments for my stretchiness and nice handwriting.

Connecting with Claudia. Getting Baba Ganoush wraps at Beirut Beirut together after the workshop.

Singing Shiva Shambo with Lucie. Another great yoga class. I really love what she does.

The choir being super positive and supportive despite my less than perfect solo performance during practice. Peter hugged and motivated me. Fiorina, Regina, Silvia, Monika and Sonja gave me such sweet compliments. Felt grateful and accepted.

Taking my time in the morning, trusting that it would be okay. And it was. I got a lot of stuff done (how fantastic is morning energy™?!), packed my bags, stayed calm even when the subway was super late and when I had to pay 50€ extra for a new train ticket. In the end I had my seat and even BaLu and Marah found me!

Some of my highlights from Burn on the Rocks: Marah and BaLu found me in the train after a few annoying complications. Sweet! Then he sat next to me and we had an interesting conversation during our smooth journey to Vienna. There, we had lunch at an "original" Viennese restaurant. Cheap food (roasted dumplings!), Wiener Schmäh, learning about Krampus cards. On the bus, I developed an idea to create a Magical sorting hat for playa names with BaLu and Oz. / a lovely greeting ceremony, eating pussy (cookies), spontaneously welcoming Ariana later that night with David when she showed up after the gate opening hours / doing Luna's make-up - graphic liner to match her bottle green latex dress / whispers in Spanish, directly into my ear. Sensual ASMR. / Thanksgiving dinner (!) cooked by Toni the Beast, an Americal who'd brought her mum all the way to Austria to help her prepare the food; holding hands at the table and giving thanks / kissing Nagu on the dancefloor, letting him tell me the story of how he met Galya (in Zipolite!) / feeling the love with Mephy's interactive emotion machine - I even teared up a little because I realised how grateful I am for all the beautiful people in my life and how positive everything has turned out for me / a sensual workshop (home brew because the facilitators didn't show up) with David, Stefan and Susi - we fulfilled each other's wishes and mainly massaged, bit, pushed and teased / later I connected with Féj and she allowed me to explore her body / my first squirting demonstration - impressive range / Acid Friday with Luna (dancing to Eye of the Tiger in the courtyard) and David (lying in the cloud cube together, playing with the squishy tentacle toy, caressing him, feeding him plums and dry bread with Toni in a smoking hot KGB outfit) / Alex's Metal Massage, a multisensory and in this case rather trippy experience - I loved the soundtrack, the graveyard smell, the pressing and drumming on my body, almost like demons coming to get me / connecting with Ladybird from Portugal and Kevin from Scotland / Meeting Luki A., a fantastically talented saxophone and clarinet player from South Tyrol. A local politician, architect and one of the organisers of the event; he walked around bare-chested, only covered by a little fur cape and his very cool tattoos. I followed his invitation to hop into the air bed with him. We really connected. He told me I was beautiful. A goddess. Introduced me to Ableton. We sang together one morning and then I listened to him jamming with someone while painting with acrylics. What a peaceful moment. He took care of me and kept his promise, just showed up at my bedside one night, checking in on me, holding space. He even got me out of bed and I'm so grateful because I had a lovely night - what a turnaround. He was my teammate in the K-lympics and we retreated to the sofa or cuddle space more than once to ground ourselves and come down together. / the Zen Garden in the kitchen - what a party treat / Saturday Late Night Kitchen Party - everyone danced ecstatically and I felt SO good. Fantastic music, legendary mood. Worshipping Ladybird's and Galya's breasts. What a lovely way to end the weekend after my usual low mood during the Effigy burn. / Mephy coming up with a new nickname for me, inventing a name game for everyone / asking Féj "do you even know what we are doing here?" when our legs were taped together and we were about to do an egg race / going to Nowhere with Mephy's VR goggles / BaLu's box of Jelly Beans in ever flavour / drawing on the rainbow scratch pads in my favourite toilet - ah, and the 00's boy and girl band toilet!

Ordering a Mathmos lava lamp in the middle of the night. It's orange and purple with a copper metal case. I feel like a very happy millennial watching the bubbles float up and down. Blast from the past. I must have had a very similar one in my room when I was a kid.

Peter offering to practice my choir solo with me because he'd noticed how nervous I was. And it really helped to scream that song into a microphone in his basement a few times.

Franky's friend saying hello when he saw me on the street on our way home in the middle of the night.

A long phone talk with Christian. Catching up, sharing ideas, making plans. Sad to hang up after two or three hours, not able to cuddle up to the person on the phone screen.

The fact that I've "only" got a cold so I'll still be able to do all the things I wanna do. Grateful for the little things because let's face it: it could be SO much worse.

Being satisfied with my last solo performance during dress rehearsal. I just sang more quietly and it helped a lot.

Delicious Vietnamese food at a lunch date with Becky. Herbal strawberry and basil seed lemonade.

Sebastian repaired my bike for free!

A slow and cozy morning. Christmas porridge in the bathtub. Getting a lot of stuff done. Having a little time to myself. I felt so calm. I even listened to a few classic Christmas tunes and made a huge pot of tea.

Lucie's Thursday yoga class. More challenging asanas, more advanced teachings.

Making myself a gooey mushroom wrap for dinner. Mmh!

My new electric purple cashmere beanie. So soft.

[jimlingss]

Black Waltz [1/2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 13.2k

➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU

➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.

The caskets are small.   You’re not sure why but you always imagined that they’d be bigger. The undertaker already reassured you thrice that the bodies of your parents fit perfectly. Perhaps they were always that small.   “Poor girl.” Someone murmurs in the corner, not realizing that you can hear above the discordant sobs. “She’s already such a weak child. How will she handle this?”   “How do you suppose?” a man replies in a sharp mutter. “She’s just become one of the richest people in Trulia overnight. Look at this entire estate. All thanks to her father’s watch business.”   “Will you have more delicacy?” she bites back in a whisper. “A man and woman just died.”   You don’t bother looking at them. You don't cry either.    Not a single tear sheds down your cheeks as you look through your netted veil to the closed coffins belonging to your parents. Even the gardener is sobbing into his hat, but you don’t.    Your expression remains stoic.   A man approaches, dark hair and darker suit. He bows his head towards the caskets and then turns to you standing by. You recognize him the few times you saw him in passing. He’s your father’s worker, Yoongi. “My condolences, Miss Y/N.”   “Thank you.”   “Your father was a great man. It was a privilege to work under his guidance. I’m sorry this happened.”   You nod and he takes that you don’t want to extend the conversation and leaves you be.    It was an unfortunate accident. More specifically, a railroad accident. It claimed the lives of many and that also included your parents coming home from a trip to Germany.   “Eugene!” Suddenly, Uncle Seokjin throws himself over the casket. A few distraught folks try to pull him back, but he continues to howl, “How could you leave your only brother like this!”    Aunt Marie cries louder into her handkerchief.   It’s noisy.   In the midst of the ruckus, the corner of your eye catches an older man with brunette hair. The wrinkles crease around his eyes with his sorrowful expression and he takes off his top hat as he approaches. You watch as he places a rose in front of your mother’s casket and then he turns to leave without addressing you.   “Oh, Y/N!” Your attention is ripped away by your hysterically sobbing uncle grabbing your hands. “Poor Y/N!”   Someone takes him away before you get the chance to shove him off.   //   Everyone gathers in the dining room not even a full day after the funeral.   The wallpaper is dark, black trim that matches the hardwood. The long table is mahogany and there’s an unnecessary golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. You’ve always hated this room and its decorations, especially the heavy curtains that block out the sunlight.   “Y/N!” Your uncle draws out your name and smiles widely as he comes before you with open arms. He gives you a quick squeeze much to your dismay and then lets go. The middle-aged man searches your expression. “My favourite niece.”   “I’m your only niece.”   “Which makes you even more special to me.” His words are sweet. He shakes his head. “What did you ever do to deserve this?”   You wonder the same thing.   Aunt Marie clears her throat and Uncle Seokjin flounders. “Right, right, we should take our seats.”   Your eyes lift to your cousin who smiles at you, dressed in a navy frock coat with an ascot tie. “It’s been a while, Y/N. I didn’t think you’d notice but I was greeting guests at the funer—”   “I noticed.”   You cut Hoseok off mid-sentence with his mouth still open. Aunt Marie chastised him under her breath to sit down and at the same time, the family lawyer enters with his briefcase. He’s been working with your family before you were even born. You could feel his sincerity when he spoke at the memorial.   “Good evening everyone. Y/N.” Mr. Kim — Namjoon as your parents familiarly called him — nods at you in sympathetic acknowledgment and takes his place at the head of the table where your father once sat. He reaches for his briefcase and opens it up for a sealed envelope inside. “I never thought there would be a day like this. Most unfortunate indeed.”   “A heartbreaking tragedy,” Aunt Marie agrees.   “But no time like the present for us to fulfill their last wishes.” Mr. Kim slips out the crisp papers and then his eyes flicker up at you. You subtly motion to him that you’re ready for it to be read and he clears his throat.   Your relatives are sitting on the edge of the seats, hands clasped on the table in anticipation.   “I, Arden Eugene, resident in the City of Lennox, Country of Trulia, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior wills and codicils made by me. I appoint my wife, Arden Hana, to inherit all my assets.”   The lawyer continues, “In the event where my wife is unable to inherit...all my assets, including the investments, savings and the estate, liquid and otherwise, I leave my daughter, Arden Y/N, in their entirety.”   Your aunt’s jaw ticks, your uncle has a face of disgust and your cousin’s jaw has dropped.   You’re not sure why they’re so offended. It’s not a surprise. This is what you expected.   That is until Mr. Kim adds the word— “temporarily.”   Your head turns. The lawyer’s mouth continues to move.   “Until the date and time when her half-sibling will be found.”    You’re not sure what happens first. The gasps echoing in your ears, Aunt Marie nearly falling off her seat in laughter, your uncle standing up from his spot, or your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as blood drains from your face. You feel ill, like you might throw up right on the table.   A half-sibling. Another child. There was another child all along.    “—to which ownership of all asserts will thereby be shifted onto them.”   “What is the meaning of this?!” Uncle Seokjin protests. “What child?!”   “I’m sorry, Mr. Arden. I only know as much as you do.” Mr. Kim’s eyes place on you before he resumes reading. “I give my daughter, Arden Y/N, a pocket watch.”   The amused snicker of your aunt is all too clear.   A small box is placed in front of you. It’s the size of your hand, a deep wine red. For a moment, you want to huck it on the floor, but with your breath held in your throat, you nudge the lid open. It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden and perfectly polished, reflecting against the candlelight. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass.   “To my brother, Seokjin, my sister, Marie, and her son, Hoseok, I wish them the very best in the rest of their lives.”   Aunt Marie scoffs. Uncle Seokjin collapses back onto his seat.   The will is finished being read and the paper is folded. The room is full of a tense silence as you stare at the watch. Mr. Kim clears his throat again. “As you are aware of the laws, Y/N, all assets are entitled to you temporarily. But as you have no husband to collect the inheritance, it makes things a bit more complicated. You may still live at this estate and continue the company, but you cannot alter it in any way. That includes liquidating, removing, expanding, or withdrawing. You do not have the jurisdiction to alter the company or any of the investments either.”   Everything is essentially frozen. They left you with nothing.   “Yes.” The corner of Aunt Marie’s lip curls and she sits back. “Even if you are twenty one, you need a husband to own land and wealth. Trulia’s quite old-fashioned, isn’t it?”   Trulia — a small country that bridges France and England together, cutting the English channel into half. You’ve lived here all your life, born and raised, and never hated it more.   “Y/N.” Hoseok breaks your train of thought and you look him in the eyes. Your expression remains impassive. “Did you know you had a sibling?”   You hate it all.   //   The bedroom is shrouded in darkness as you sit back in the armchair.    You’re loosely holding the cold, golden chain of the pocket watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise. When both handles of the pocket watch come to twelve, the grandfather clock from downstairs chimes throughout the mansion.   Your other hand crumples into a fist and with a strangled cry in your throat, you hurl the pocket watch across the room with all your might. It clatters to the ground, ear-splitting.   A figure emerges from the shadows, leans down and picks it up with his white gloves.   “Madam, are you not well?”   “Don’t call me madam,” you snap at him.   Taehyung comes closer, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in the usual black tailcoat and trousers. His smile is tender. “You are the head of the household now.”   Arm propped up on the armrest, you press your hand to your forehead. “It makes me feel old.”   “Then I won’t, my lady. I apologize.” He places the pocket watch on the vanity table and comes to your side.   You look up at him, wondering if you look as bitter as you feel. “Even when they’re dead, they have to have the last laugh, Taehyung. They spared me nothing.” Your eyes sting painfully, the lump at the bottom of your throat aching. Anger has coloured your vision red. You’re so full of hate, but you wonder why most of all, it hurts. “I can’t believe my parents didn’t love me even after their death.”   Taehyung kneels and takes your hands that are crumpled hard enough that your nails sink into your skin. He earnestly gazes at you. “You have me. I’ll be with you until the end.”   He promises it rather recklessly. But he’s more than just your butler. More than just a worker in this house. He’s been a friend since childhood. The only one you can fully trust.   Taehyung’s expression softens even more and he reaches out. He hugs you, propping your chin on his shoulder, placing his arms around your back. “You can cry.”   You scoff. “You’re stepping over the line.”   “Then discipline me.”   You bite the inside of your cheek, vision becomes foggy as tears hang onto your lash line. “Why should I cry for those people? If...if anything, I should cry for my own circumstances.”   Taehyung smiles. “Cry then.”   For the first time, you let go. You sob into his shoulder, grasp his coat with tight fingers, allowing yourself to be at grief’s mercy. Wails choke out of your chest and the thick lump finally escapes your throat, leaving it raw and aching in a different way. The tears stain a path down from your welling eyes to your cheeks and then Taehyung’s shoulder like a chilling rainstorm.   It feels like minutes tick away until you’ve cried yourself to exhaustion.   By then, you’re so weak and you can barely open your swollen eyes. But Taehyung guides you to bed and pulls the covers. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm. “Get some sleep.”   You nod and he extinguishes the flame in the oil lamp.    Sleep comes easier than you expect.   //   When dawn arrives, the light of the sun comes through the white curtains to cast against your eyes. You stir uncomfortably before your lids flutter open. The world is bleary in your fogged vision and your body is heavy. You don’t want to get up, but you have to.   “Good morning, mistress.” Taehyung enters, dressed in his black trousers and tailcoat with a white waistcoat underneath. His hair is pushed back in a windswept look. He sets down the golden tray balancing a water bowl and cloth. “Glad to see you’re already awake.”   “Couldn’t sleep more if I wanted to.” You round the bed and collect the water to wash your face before pressing the cloth to your skin.   Taehyung steps towards your wardrobe. “Would you like me to replace the curtains?”   “It’s fine. I don’t want to wear anything too restricting today.”   He hums. “Then will an aesthetic dress do? Green?”   “Is there a dark blue?”    Taehyung swiftly takes out a simple gown, cut loosely with a few frills at the neckline and a red, ribbon sash around the waist. The shade is a midnight blue and perfectly to your tastes as if he read your mind. It’s without any restrictive corset too. Heaven knows today is going to be suffocating enough, you don’t need to make it more difficult for yourself.   You stand in front of the three panel mirror folded into a nook and lift your arms up. Without batting a single lash or looking twice, Taehyung undresses you from the silk sleepwear and helps you into the camisole before draping the dress over your figure.   You sit at the vanity and he gently brushes out your hair. “Taehyung.”   “Yes, my lady?”   You look at him through the mirror. “Do you think I can do this?”   His eyes flicker up and he smiles. “Of course you can.”   “What if they don’t find me intimidating enough?”   “Then I’ll stand beside you and help you with that.”   What he says has you bursting out in laughter. You spin around in your seat, and Taehyung’s completely unsuspecting when you squeeze his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s. It makes you grin. “You’re more of a puppy than a guard dog.”   But well, you suppose it’s not important what the truth is. The illusion is what matters most.   He pins half of your hair up and you barely powder your face before you’re leaving for the family meeting. On the way, you brace yourself, only temporarily interrupted by the gardener, Park Jimin, a man who’s been working on the estate for the past three years. He takes care of the garden well, better than your mother ever could. Her roses always withered. He, on the other hand, has quite the green thumb.   “Good morning, madam.” Jimin greets you merrily.   “Good morning, Jimin.” You slow in the entrance hall and Taehyung behind you does as well. “I hope you and the others are doing well. Thank you for still being here.”   The young male blushes. “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am. You already gave us a whole week’s break which we’re more than thankful for. We just had to come back for the funeral to honour Mr. and Mrs. Arden. So there’s no need to worry about us.”   “I’m glad then.” Your smile eases. “Please continue, don’t let me stop you.”   He nods and goes on his way.   The moment Jimin’s gone, your expression hardens as you enter the main lounge area.   There your uncle, aunt, and cousin are seated around and you recognize your father’s worker, Yoongi as well. You’re not sure since when this house became a guest home where anyone can enter and loiter in as they please. You’ll have to have a word with Taehyung later.    “Y/N! My dear niece!” Uncle Seokjin’s loud and he stands from the armchair with an enormous smile that looks like it’s about to break his face. At that, everyone’s head swivels around.    Yoongi slowly rises from his seat as well.    But your uncle continues, “I hope you had a good sleep. I could barely get a wink thinking about your father and our happy days. Speaking of which, I was thinking about how empty this house will be with your parents gone. Isn’t it time for you to get married? You’ve been of age for a while. I happen to know this very kind young man from England. His name is Mark. I’d be happy to introduce—”   “Uncle Seokjin.” You stop him. “I’d rather not have you speak about my private affairs in front of a stranger.”   His pupils flicker to Yoongi and his mouth closes with a smile. “Right.”   You turn to said man and he nods his head in acknowledgment. “Would you like to have tea in the parlor?”   “No, this will only take a moment. I’m sure you’re already busy. My apologies for coming unannounced.”   “It’s not a problem. What is this about?”   “Your father’s company,” Yoongi says. “There is a client waiting for a shipment and since we closed we’ve been unable to finish the order. Would you like to refuse it?”   “No. It’s fine.” You hold in your sigh and press your finger against your forehead for a moment. Then, you come to a decision. “You may continue and run business as usual. You may act as the temporary lead, Min Yoongi.”   At the announcement, Hoseok rushes upwards with his jaw gone slack. “I could!” Heads turn towards him. “I-If you need me to! I could take over! T-Temporarily, of course!”   Your eyes narrow into your cousin, your expression cold. “There’s no need, Hoseok. I’m sure Mr. Min here will already have his hands full. There'll be no time to properly train you and no way you could take over.”   “But—!”   You ignore him to address your father’s right hand. You’re not sure if this is the right decision, but Yoongi comes across as sensible and rational. He doesn’t seem to have any malicious intention or ulterior motives either. At least your father trusted him, so you will too. “I’ll take a look at the finances and figure out the details soon enough of where the company will move forward from now on. But for now, I will entrust you to it. Please proceed as you normally would.”   Yoongi nods. “Thank you, Miss Y/N.”   You shift on your feet and look to your butler whose height towers your own. “Taehyung, can you please see Mr. Min out?”   He puts his gloved hand over his heart and bows. “Certainly.”   The two men leave the room while your cousin crosses his arms and drops back down into the sofa with a displeased face.   Aunt Marie’s eyes are narrowed in on you and she sighs, shaking her head. She comments, “You’re quite close with that butler of yours, Y/N. A bit too close, if you ask me.”   Your brow cocks. “You don’t have any authority in this household to make such comments, Aunt Marie.”   “I am merely looking out for you, Y/N,” she quips with an underlying sharpness to it. “You never know what rumours can get out and they can get quite nasty. It wouldn’t do you any good to be in a scandal. It’s best if you weren’t so close to the such lowly—”   “I choose who I want to affiliate myself with.” Your voice booms throughout the room, unknowing to how Taehyung’s already returned and that he’s standing just outside of the room. “Taehyung is my most trusted confidant. To insult my personal aid is to insult my choices and thereby, me. From now on, I will not take such things lightly.”   Aunt Marie shuffles back with a cough and the room’s swept into an uncomfortable silence.   Taehyung smiles to himself and notices a timid maid rolling a cart down the hall towards the room. He takes over and dismisses her to which she’s grateful for, knowing the room is tense. But Taehyung is unaffected as he enters with an exaggeratedly cordial expression. He places down a cake stand of pastries on the table, then the teacups.   “There, there. Let’s not get so upset in the morning.” Your uncle sits down and you find your place in front of the fireplace and the imposing family portrait above the mantle. In the meanwhile, Taehyung pours the tea with one hand in front of him. It’s earl grey, your favourite.   You sip it warmly while your expression remains stoic.   Uncle Seokjin clears his throat. “Your cousin, aunt and I have been discussing, Y/N—”   “And?”   He smiles. “We think it’s best if we...join forces.”   The tea is no longer pleasant on your palate, so you set it down on the porcelain saucer. “How so?”   “Well….”   “We don’t know who this half sibling of yours is, Y/N,” your aunt cuts to the chase. “Who knows who they could be or what they would want with us! It is simply outrageous that an outsider could come and collect everything that your parents have worked so hard for and take everything away. Your father clearly had some misunderstandings when he gave us nothing and you so little. I believe he must not have been well when he wrote that will. There must be some mistake.”   Uncle Seokjin nods and Hoseok finds the opportunity to jump in. “I have a friend who’s working in law. There must be ways we can challenge the will or at least find a way to claim back what should be rightfully ours!”   ‘Rightfully ours’.   You want to laugh. “So you want to sneak the money away?”   “You shouldn’t put it that way.” Your uncle laughs heartily. “It’s more like making a wrong a right!”   “Yes!” Hoseok enthusiastically nods. “We can’t just let someone else steal it, Y/N! What if tomorrow someone comes knocking on the door claiming to be your brother or sister, and they want to take everything away?”   Aunt Marie offers a smile. “It’s best if we work together on this matter.”    Taehyung steps behind you, shadowing your form as your relatives look at you expectedly. They have a point, but you’re not at all tempted by their most generous offer. “No.”   “Pardon?”   “I said no.” Your arms cross and you sit back. “Everything is already in my name, the estate, the investments, the company, albeit temporarily, but I’ll figure out what is to come on my own.”   Hoseok’s mouth draws open. Your uncle is unable to muster a rebuttal.    You scoff, rolling your eyes as if their very proposition is ridiculous. It’s too easy to play the villain — and it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. “And why should I have to accept your help and have to split up my parents’ wealth when I can take it all for myself.”   “Why you!” Aunt Marie stands up, face reddened. “Ingrate!”   Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin.   Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest.   You rise to your feet, eyes placed at the god awful antique cabinet on the other side of the room. “If that’s all everyone wants to say, then you can leave now. Thank you for coming to the funeral but from now on, none of you have permission to enter this estate until I announce otherwise.”   Your aunt scoffs and with her remaining pride, she stomps out. Hoseok’s brows are knitted together at a loss while your uncle is already trying to reason with you. But you leave through the doorway and allow Taehyung to take care of the rest.   //   The streets are full in the afternoon bustle — hooves clacking as horses pull the street car, ladies with parasols giggling as they cross, shouting coming from the tenement windows above, wheels of the carriages rolling along the dirt. It’s the symphony of the city. But he leaves it all behind for a short carriage ride away.   It’s a short uphill climb on foot that follows, but he swiftly gets to the magnificent mansion on a stretch of green behind black gates. It’s quaint here.   A girl in a maid ensemble scurries over and opens up the gates for him. “Right this way.”   The man is led up the path and he removes his top hat as he enters.   The manor is darker on the inside, the wallpaper a deep shade, black trim matching the hardwood. He knows every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, from the chandeliers, the ornate carpet underneath his feet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s old money that will last for centuries.   But he doesn’t get to admire it for too long. A taller man with slicked back hair wearing a black tailcoat approaches. “If you’d follow me, sir.”   He nods and silently shadows the butler to the west wing. They twist down the corridor before turning a left to two large doors. The butler opens them and he hesitantly enters after.   There’s a figure behind the desk at the very back wall, an inked pen in her hand. He muses that the lady looks much too young to be residing so deep inside of this mansion surrounded in papers in the low lighting. She might be even younger than himself.   “Taehyung, stay.” You mutter out of the corner of your mouth before he can leave.   The doors shut and you finally look up as Taehyung takes his place beside you.   “You are Detective Jeon?”   He has brunette hair and brightened doe eyes, rather boyish looks overall. But you know better than to underestimate anyone simply based on appearances.   “Yes, ma’am. I am Jeon Jungkook from the Bennett Detective Agency.” He comes up to you with his briefcase in hand and gingerly places a business card on the desk. “I believe you contacted me for a private investigation.”   “Yes. I did.” You stand, going to the seating area and he follows suit. “Would you like tea?”   “No, ma’am. I’m fine, but thank you very much.”   You nod, noticing how Detective Jeon’s eyes flicker to Taehyung who comes to pour your cup.   He finally asks, “How may I be of service?”   You take a sip, savouring the flavour on your palate before placing the floral porcelain cup down. Your expression is indifferent as you sit back. “As you may have heard, my father and mother recently passed away in a railway accident.”   “I read it from the newspaper. My condolences. Your father was a very charitable man and did a lot for Trulia.”   “Yes, well, they left behind a will and revealed that I happen to have a half-sibling that is to inherit this estate.” It goes silent. A pin could drop in the room and echo. You inhale a breath and continue, “I want you to find this sibling of mine and tell me who they are, where they are, and what they’re doing. If you can do it, I’ll pay you a generous sum. However much you want. However long it takes.”   Detective Jeon nods. He doesn’t seem too surprised or curious. You suppose he must be used to this sort of thing in his line of work.   It was through your connections that you found him. He’s an upcoming private detective, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up in tenacity and foresight. He’s the best that Trulia has.   “Do you have any leads?”   You hum. It’s remarkable he asks that. You’ve been thinking about it — picking apart every single memory, all instances there could have been a hint, each time you could have been blinded to such a secret. “I don’t have any leads, but I have suspicions.”   The detective leans in closer, doe eyes placed on yours.   “I believe my sibling may be older than me and I believe contrary to any initial hunches, it may be my mother’s child.” Maybe your father knew and something had happened. Maybe he was ridden with guilt and that’s why he decided to give everything to your sibling.    “I remember, years ago, my mother came in one drunken night and she told me about her previous lover. She was supposed to marry him and they even ran away together, but my grandparents found them and she was forced to marry my father. It’s possible that she may have had a child with him before I was born. And it may be possible he came to the funeral.”   Detective Jeon takes out his notepad and begins scribbling. He bobs his head and you inhale a staggering breath as you continue to talk. You never thought you would have to divulge into your parents’ secrets after their death, that you would have to reveal all you know to a stranger. But you have to do what it takes if you want to find this person before your aunt and uncle do.   “I saw a man about your height. He looked old, about fifty or so. He put a rose at my mother’s casket and left without speaking to me. I have never seen him before in my life.”   “Did you see anything else about him?”   “Nothing that would be helpful. He had brown hair, but he was wearing black as everyone else was. He left before I could get to him.”   “Did your mother ever tell you anything else? Where they ran away to? What they were planning to do afterwards?”   “No. She only ever spoke to me about it on that one occasion.” Frankly, you’re not sure if you want to know, but you push past the thought. Detective Jeon notes it and something prickles in your mind. “If you can, I want you to also look into Park Jimin as well.”   His eyes lift off his paper.   “He’s a gardener that works at this estate,” you tell him. “He’s always been close to my mother.”   And unusually so. She never cared much for the help, but you’ve seen them walking together before and conversing on numerous occasions.   “I’ll see what I can do for you.” The detective smiles and once the conversation concludes, he takes his briefcase.    “Oh and Detective Jeon.” Your voice stops him on his way out and he turns. “It would be best if no one finds out about this, namely my relatives. They can be quite...nosy.”   He looks at you and smiles. “Understood.”   Taehyung sees him out and you take a moment to recline back into the armchair, gandering at the many bookcases lining the walls. You never thought you would one day sit in your father’s study like this. He was in here more often than any other room and somehow, it always seemed so big when you were a child.    Taehyung comes back within minutes and you can tell by the expression on his face that he has questions.   The corner of your mouth tugs and you languidly bat your hand. “Ask away.”   “What are you planning to do when you find them?”   “I’ll kill them, of course.”   You get onto your feet, slowly rounding the desk. There’s a glass paperweight on the surface and you pick it up to fiddle with it. There’s a floral print inside and it catches the light no matter what direction you turn it to. You gave this to your father for his birthday one year.   “I can’t return to being that naive person like you hope I will, Taehyung.”   You’re not children anymore. As much as you wish, you can’t go back to that simple time.   “I know.”   You twist on your heel, looking him straight into his eyes. “Then will you help me?”   He closes the distance in two strides and leans down to take your other hand. His plush lips kiss against your knuckles and he swears his loyalty yet again, “I’ll do anything for you, mistress.”   //   The next afternoon, you gather the entire estate’s servants together — the cooks, kitchen workers, maids and footmen. They look nervous at the sudden impromptu gathering, glancing at one another and quietly murmuring.   You clear your throat loudly and their attention is taken.   “As you all know, recently my father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Arden, have passed away. And I have become the new head of household. You have done a well enough job to be here and your services are much appreciated. For those who came to give their condolences at the memorial, it is something I will not forget. However, your loyalties must belong to me, not to my late parents.”    There are worried glimpses exchanged and you begin to pace in front of them. “As I am now the lady of the Arden estate, I would like to begin anew.”   You can’t afford to feed so many mouths, considering all the wealth is frozen. You’ll be paying with what you personally have until you can find a solution with Mr. Kim. Not to mention, you’re not sure who can be trusted, who your uncle and aunt have already persuaded. The last thing you need is extra eyes and ears in this house.   “From now on, Taehyung will be the manager of this household. He will see to it that the household will still function. If you have any questions, ask him. If you have any concerns, then ask him. He will come to me with whatever he cannot solve.”   “Few of you will stay and I thank the rest for serving this house for so long. I will make sure your severance pay is generous enough until you will be able to find work elsewhere. If your name is called, you may stay.”   Taehyung, standing behind you, begins reading from the list. One of the three names called is none other than Jimin himself.   The gardener smiles out of relief, eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you, madam.”   You nod and once it’s done, you leave for the study as Taehyung takes care of the rest. You don’t want to stay around to see disheartened expressions or hear pleas to stay. So you’re resigned to watch out of the upper windows instead.   You’ve allowed them a few days to leave, but some are already taking their exit with their belongings with them, tearfully looking back at the mansion. It’s difficult but it needs to be done.   “My lady…”   You hear Taehyung come from behind you. You shift away from the window. “You’ll help me look for new help?”   “Of course.”   “Do you think four maids and one cook will suffice?” You count on your fingers. There’s already Jimin taking care of the gardens, you kept one maid so he’ll only have to hire three, and there’s a trustworthy kitchen maid too. It’s not like you need that many hands to take care of the estate. “Or will you need more help?”   “That’ll be fine.” The edge of Taehyung’s mouth pulls. “I could technically do it all, if you’d like.”   “And have you fainting on me from exhaustion?” You notice lint on his coat tail, so you come up to him and gently dust off his shoulder. “I think not.”   Taehyung’s sly smile tugs. “Do you consider me delicate?”   “No. But I am,” you clarify, looking up at the man. “If you’re not here twenty four seven attending to me, then what would be the point of having you around?” You brush past him, mumbling, “Can’t have you in the kitchen when you’re supposed to be by my side.”   The man stifles back a laugh to himself, yet his grin is all too evident. “Yes, madam.”   You glare at him over your shoulder, but it reminds you, “Tell the new help not to call me madam. You know I don’t like it.”   He puts his hand over his heart and bows exaggeratedly. “Yes, young mistress.”   You scoff. The title is not that much different and he knows it too. He always knows how to be cheeky, but you let it go because he’s Taehyung. It’s not like you can ever be upset with him for long.    He’s already won before the game’s begun.   //   A few days later, there’s a knock at your door.   It’s unusual. Taehyung never knocks and your suspicions are confirmed when an unfamiliar girl is sticking her nose into the room. “Umm...pardon me.”   It’s an unfamiliar girl in a maid ensemble, a black dress with white trim and a ruffled apron with a headpiece. Her hair is dark and shiny, features sharp. You assume she must be one of the new ones. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find Butler Kim, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Kim, the lawyer— I think, is in the parlor. He instructed me to tell you that he’s brought it.”   You nod and get up. But you stop for a second and come eye to eye with the girl. “What’s your name?”   “Jane.” She smiles to herself as if she’s happy you’ve made a note of it.   “If you could clear the teacup from the table.”   “Oh! Certainly!” She rushes over and you don’t linger.    True to what’s been told, the middle-aged lawyer is sitting in his chair and he staggers up as you come into the room. “It’s good to see you well, Y/N, and that you’ve taken charge of this estate so well.”   “Thank you.” You motion to the armchair. “Please, sit.”   “I brought your parent’s business expense reports as you asked.” Mr. Kim takes it from his briefcase and hands you the thick folder after settling down. “I didn’t think I would have it until I remembered there was a box in my office closet meant for this sort of thing. My office ended up branching out and opening a professional accounting firm a year ago, you see, so we no longer do bookkeeping.”   You flip open to find your father’s writing, then pages of Mr Kim’s. The reports match up with what he says. It stops a year ago. You might need to get into contact with Yoongi to find the more recent expense documents.   “Thank you for this. It will be very helpful to me.”   The lawyer nods. “Anytime, child. Now about what you talked to me about last time….”   “Yes, how is that coming along?”   He sharply inhales. “As I suspected, it will be difficult to challenge the will in court, Y/N. It hasn’t been done before and it may be costly. For now, my first submission is still in process, so we’ll have to see if we can even speak to a judge. I’ll let you know how that comes along.”   You’re grateful he’s still of help to you. He's older than your father is, but you suppose he must enjoy his line of work to not retire at this age. “Mr. Kim, if I may ask a question. Were...you aware that I had a sibling?”   The man smiles sadly. “Unfortunately, I was not. The will was sealed and I was simply entrusted to read it to you all. It took me by surprise as much as it did for you.”   If you didn’t know, the family lawyer wouldn’t either.    You wonder how many other well-kept secrets there are in your family.   That night, you look over the documents while burning the midnight oil. As usual Taehyung insists that you head to bed when the grandfather clock chimes past twelve, but after you tell him to go retire first, he stays silent beside you.    Taehyung’s too stubborn sometimes, but you don’t tell him his company is pleasant to have.   “Huh.”   “What’s the matter?”   “I didn’t know my father donated to St. Andale Orphanage.” You squint, reading the barely legible writing. You don’t remember that happening or it being posted in the newspaper.   “It must’ve been done anonymously,” Taehyung comments and you make a noise in agreeance. But it’s strange. Your father always liked to have his name on donations so that people would know and it would be written in the newspaper. It’s not like him to go quiet and he gave quite generously too.   “I’d like to go to the orphanage tomorrow.” You look up at Taehyung. “In the morning.”   “I’ll arrange that for you,” he says with a smile.   You close the books. “I’d like that man to join me as well. My father’s worker, Min Yoongi.”   At that, Taehyung’s brow quirks. “For?”   “He was close to my father, right? He might know something I don’t.”   //   The orphanage is a worn brick on the south side of the city in the poorer area, yet it somehow looks to be holding up well. It’s unlike the other buildings around that’s crumbling. You wonder if it’s your father’s doing that made this place half-decent.   You can hear the laughter of children in the plot of grass fenced in. You watch them at the distance while strolling the perimeter with Taehyung to your left and Yoongi to your right.   “It is quite cloudy today.”   “It looks like winter is coming soon.” Yoongi looks at you. “If you’re cold, we could go inside.”   “No, it’s quite alright. I don’t get to enjoy the cold weather often and it can be nice.” You turn with a small smile. “I might be like my father in that way.”   “Yes, I remember he told me he quite enjoyed the snow.” His eyes gloss over, reminiscent. “Your father was a very respectable man.”   “He was a good businessman and an even less attentive father,” you hum and feel Yoongi’s gaze on your profile, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but did my father ever speak about his private life, Mr. Min?”   “Yoongi is fine. But no, not frequently at least. I only remember he once told me about flowers he was going to get for his wife before he headed home and I remember he spoke about you a few times.”   “Me?”   “Yes.” Yoongi offers a polite smile. “He told me that you were quite talented in your personal studies.”   You take a glance at him. There’s not a single trace on his expression that lets you know he’s lying or exaggerating, but you still find it hard to believe. “In his will, he gave me a pocket watch. I was hoping you’d know more about it. It’s gold and without any designs or engravings—”   “Gold?” Yoongi gives you a peculiar expression. “The company doesn’t make gold pocket watches.”   “Pardon?”   He explains, “We found that the profits weren’t worth the costs, so what’s used is silver, bronze, ceramic or even glass. In the third collection, there were some gold watches, but you said there weren’t any designs or engravings on it?”   “There’s nothing.”   The corner of the man's mouth pulls. “Mr. Arden must have personally handcrafted it for you then.”   Your brows furrow. You’re not sure how you feel upon hearing that, so you cast a glimpse to Taehyung who’s been quietly listening and he smiles at you. Yoongi clears his throat a moment after. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this, Miss Y/N, but considering it’s about your family, I think you have a right to know.”   Your head turns over in alarm. “What is it?”   “Your cousin, I believe, Hoseok. He’s been….showing up to the company often. He’s been wanting to book a meeting with me for a week now and he waits until I’m done working to try to speak to me. I suspect he wants to take over the business.”   You’re not surprised. “I’m receiving that kind of pressure in regards to the wealth and estate, Yoongi, and a hundred times worse. I think you have it in you to handle my overbearing cousin.”   Yoongi laughs from his chest as if he already figured you didn’t have any real solution. But based on your answer, it’s allowing him to do whatever he wants to that cousin of yours.    A few minutes pass before an older woman emerges to the field. “Children! Children! It’s time for lunch! Come along now!”   Another woman comes to invite you inside, so you follow after them into a room where they’re serving soup and loaves of bread. You watch children as old as fifteen to as young as three line up one after another. It’s both sad and heartwarming to see so many sparkling eyes in hunger-pane frames.    “Today’s food was given to us by Miss Arden and Mr. Min, can everyone give a big thank you?”   There’s a chorus of ‘thank you’s throughout the room and toothless grins from boys and girls.   When a woman struggles with carrying a box inside, Taehyung comes to help and then Yoongi. They’re supplies that you donated out of your own pocket, clothing and some blankets — it’s not much but still better than nothing.   “I want more!”   A pitched voice of a four year old boy in drab clothes knocks you out of your train of thought and you shift towards him. His friend adamantly shakes his head.   “No! ‘Member what Sister Emmy said? You only get one!”   You step forward, lips parting but before a single word can escape—   “Here you go.” An older girl with soft features and her hair pulled back in a frayed ribbon has spun around with an extended arm. Her loaf of bread is in hand. The boy blinks owlishly at her and she beams. “You can have it.”   “Thank you!” He takes it and the two boys run away.   “That was very kind of you,” you speak up and she turns around, startled that someone saw. You smile at her, lowering yourself to match her height. “You can have more bread. There should be enough for the next few days.”   Her eyes light up. “Really?”   You don’t like children much, but this girl seems to be intelligent and mature for her age. “What’s your name?”   “Rose, ma’am.” She bows her head awkwardly, rather well-mannered. “Thank you for the food.”   “I’m happy to help when I can. Can I ask how old you are?”   She counts on her fingers for a moment. “I believe twelve, ma’am, but I’m not sure.” As you frown, she quickly explains, “My mother died when I was young and I’ve never met my father, so I don’t know for certain how old I am….”   Her voice becomes quieter and quieter as it goes on and you realize she’s ashamed.   “That’s quite alright. I don’t have parents anymore either.” You muster a smile and the corner of her own mouth tugs. It’s pleasant to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, someone who doesn’t have any ulterior motives. “What do you like to do, Rose?”   “I don’t do much. But I like to cook! And churn butter. I also like collecting eggs and making milk.”   You hum. “How would you like to come back with me and work at the house?”   Her eyes open wide, irises practically glistening from the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows.   You’re normally not so impulsive, but you have a feeling she’s wasted here in the orphanage where she’ll have to work in a factory soon or get married by fifteen. Your mother always warned you to pick and choose the people around you carefully, and this girl seems trustworthy. Or at least, you can see capability.   Taehyung was even younger than she was when he entered the house for the first time. He must’ve been six or seven. His dad worked for the household and so did his dad’s dad — a whole lineage that made it inevitable that Taehyung would follow too.   Rose comes home with you three hours later.   You take it that this kind of affair customarily doesn’t happen so quickly judging by the head lady there being overwhelmed by the generous offer of taking the girl. But the process was most likely sped up considering your well-known status and Rose’s enthusiasm at the promise of a private room, food each day, and a high pay at the end of every month. She was more than happy and practically begging the woman she knew well to let her go. And the woman was happy too — even thanking you for giving her a home.   You’re not sure if it’s much of a home. But it’s yours.   “This is...enormous.” Rose gasps as her eyes lay upon the manor, lugging her small case of belongings by her side. “I-I mean, thank you, ma’am. I will work very hard!”   Your lips tickle into a small smile. “I’m glad.” The three of you enter and she gawks at the place. “Taehyung will show you where you’ll stay in the maid’s quarters and what will be expected of you. I’ll give you time to settle yourself, so don’t worry about anything for now.”   “Thank you, ma’am!”   “It’s right this way.” He guides and she tottles after him. You sigh softly with a smile as you watch the pair. He was amused when you told him that you wanted to take her home and he followed your instructions without much protest. Hopefully Taehyung will let her know that you’re not keen on being called ma’am or madam.   You’re about to retire to your room, but you’re stopped on your way by Jane.    She fiddles with her fingers nervously. “Miss, um, there’s, uh…”   “What is it?”   “There’s a guest in the parlor. He came about an hour or two ago and he insisted on staying until you came home.”   You hold in your sigh, wondering why it’s so hard to take a rest these days. “From now on, do not allow anyone inside the house when I am not here unless said otherwise.”   She flinches at your tone and dips her head. “Yes, my lady.”   You make your way to the room to find out who this uninvited guest is, and your brows furrowed in confusion when you see the backside of an unfamiliar man. He’s dressed in a sack coat with a matching waistcoat and black trousers. He must hear your footsteps since he turns around and instantly gets up, jaw gone slack.   “You must be Y/N,” he murmurs in awe. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”   The man comes to you and takes the back of your hand, placing a kiss against your knuckles. You eye him the entire time. “And you are…?”   “Oh, I apologize, I hadn’t realized I didn’t introduce myself.” He takes off his top hat and presses it to his chest. “I am Mark Carter. I believe your uncle may have spoken about me previously.”   You vaguely remember something about meeting his friend’s son, but you can’t quite pinpoint the details. Your expression remains stoic and unimpressed. “Is that so?”   “It’s an honour to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”   You guessed this would have happened, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. Being the head of the Arden Household and unmarried at that, it’s only natural that others will come after you.    It would be wise of you to consider it as well — the only way you can collect the temporary inheritance is through your husband. But as silly and naive as it might be, you want to marry for love and not convenience. And it’s the one thing you won’t allow yourself to give up on.   “Like what?”   “Pardon?”   “What have you heard about me?”   Mark clears his throat. “Well, I have heard that you are as intelligent as your father and as beautiful as your mother, no less than a red rose blossoming in the morning dew of spring. And I must say, those rumours do not do you justice, Miss Y/N. You far exceed any poetry that could possibly be waxed.”   The corner of your mouth curls in amusement. Admittedly, it’s nice to hear such bold and blatant compliments once in a while, even if they are exaggerated and likely crafted by your uncle. “While I am wholly flattered, Mr. Carter, is this what you came here to tell me?”   The man’s posture straightens. “I came to ask permission to court you.”   You nearly choke on your own spit. You’re taken aback at the man’s shamelessness, not sure if he’s dimwitted or simply brave. “Meaning?”   “I would like to send you letters every so often if you grant me permission and perhaps if you’d be inclined to take strolls with me.”   You’re not sure how to answer or what to say, but you’re starting to feel your impassive expression crumble. You muse it’s impressive your uncle found someone as overbearing and insistent as he is. “Can I ask why you want to send me letters? We’ve never met before.”   “Actually, we have,” he says and blinks. “At your father’s charity function two years ago.”   You scour your mind, but you can’t recall. Every charity function you attended, you just remember sneaking out food for Taehyung and sitting together outside looking at the stars.    Mark reads your expression as he realizes that you can’t remember and his face falls. “It hurts me that you can’t remember the encounter but no matter.” He suddenly takes your hands and you lean back to create more distance. “If you let me, Miss Y/N, I promise you that you will not be disappointed.”   “Mr. Carter—”   “I have not been able to forget you since that night.” You wonder why he didn’t look for you sooner then if he felt so passionately about an encounter you can’t even remember. But before you can ask, he comes closer to you, forcing you to take a step back. “If you give me a chance, I will grant your every wish.”   He’s crowding you, intruding in your space, larger than you are.   Your mouth parts, trying to utter out a word, but it’s not necessary. A looming shadow comes over Mark, draping him away from the light.    It’s Taehyung with a menacing expression — his lips drawn together, eyes practically burning holes. He grabs the back of the man’s coat collar and yanks him away from you, finally giving you space to breathe. “Please do not lay a hand on her ladyship, good sir.”   “W-Who’re you?!” Mark looks between you and Taehyung as if expecting you’ll tell him to leave him be. But you don’t move whatsoever.   Your butler offers the man a stiff smile that has your own mouth curling upwards. “Uninvited guests are no longer permitted in the Arden estate. The maid that you let in was inexperienced. A mistake like that will never happen again. So unfortunately, you will have to leave now until you receive a proper invitation.”   “Wait!”   You stifle back a laugh when Taehyung physically picks him up, nearly throwing him over his shoulder.   The man struggles and his cries echo throughout the manor as he’s taken away, “Put me down! Stop! You idiot! You’ll hear from my father about this! How dare you!”   Taehyung throws him out of the estate and you’re finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.   When he comes back, he dusts off his hands with a more pleased expression. “What would you like for dinner, mistress?”   //   The next time someone visits, it’s not uninvited.   “Who are you?” Jane has stopped in the middle of her path, duster in hand and scrutinizing the doe-eyed male in the foyer. His brow lifts at the girl, but before he can come up with an answer, Taehyung appears from the corridor.   “Right this way, sir.”   The man in his coat nods and walks away, yet the maid is still curious. Her eyes follow the stranger’s form and she murmurs to Taehyung, “But who is he?”   “Her lady’s affairs don’t affect you,” he coldly deadpans. “It would be better to attend to your duties than ask questions.”   “M-My apologies, Butler Kim.” Jane dips her head and turns around, but she still steals a glance over her shoulder with a pout and a huff escaping through her nose.   Taehyung comes inside the study to find you and Detective Jeon going through what he’s found.   “I looked into Park Jimin like you asked me to.”   “What did you find?”   Detective Jeon flips open copies of documents. “He was born and raised right here in Lennox, never stepped foot outside of Trulia. His parents are immigrants from the East, still married and living together on the West side of the city in a tenement. His father worked in a landscaping company and his brother, three years older than he is, is a wagon craftsman.”   You go through the papers and sigh after a moment. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one you’re looking for. Well, you suppose you’ve ruled out at least one possibility.   “He’s as boring as they get,” the detective says. “But I did find something...peculiar.”   “What is it?”   “That man you wanted me to search for, the one who came to the funeral, I think I might have found where he is.” Detective Jeon hands you another worn folder from his briefcase and you eagerly untie the string to look at the pages inside.   “An intern at your father’s company actually spoke to him briefly and I found the inn he was staying at in Lennox. Spoke to the lady there and went to the train station. I have a connection with someone who manages the books and they found a train ticket. There’s more to it, but I won’t bore you.”   His name is Arthur Kahl. There are small details of him written, how he’s in his fifties, where he lives and a drawing of him sits amongst the documents. Your brows furrow. This is him — there’s no doubt about it.   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker,” Detective Jeon tells you. “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar, but he grew up here in Lennox.”   Your eyes flicker up to Taehyung and then the detective. “Thank you for this.”   He offers a smile. “It’s all in a day's work.”    Shortly after, Detective Jeon is escorted out by the butler. His eyes are perceptive but his senses are even more keen. He takes a glance at the taller man. “Your name is Kim Taehyung, right?”   Taehyung’s brow quirks. “I think you already know the answer to that.”   Detective Jeon boyishly smiles. “Is it alright if I ask a question? It might be intrusive.”   “Then don’t ask.”   “But see, I’m much too curious.” His steps slow while the two men come outside where it’s harder to eavesdrop. They stop on the front path of the manor leading towards the gates. “It might be the reason why I ended up in this line of work. Can’t give up on something once it’s in my head. I just have to know.”    There’s a pause. Then, he doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Do you perhaps fancy Miss Y/N?”   Detective Jeon’s doe eyes sparkle in the sunlight.   It’s a subtlety that can only be noticed through careful observation.   But he’s seen it — through the way you allow the butler to stay in every private conversation divulging the secret details of your family. How he always knows what you want without you needing to speak a single word. You’re in rhythm with one another and always taking glances when the other person isn’t looking.    Jungkook has seen many things. But never a master and servant so close to each other.   “That is an intrusive question.” Taehyung’s expression remains impassive. “My devotion goes beyond such kinds of frivolous and fickle emotions.”   His mouth quirks. “Why don’t you do anything about it then?”   “It’s not my place. I merely grant her wishes and fulfill my necessary duties.”   “So you’re holding yourself back on purpose?”   “That’s enough questions.” Butler Kim continues walking. “You’re a detective. If you’re that curious, I’m sure you can figure it out.”   “You’re right.” Detective Jeon grins, led out the gates, yet he turns around one last time. “But if you’re willing to do anything for your mistress, would you kill for her?”   His expression hardens while Jungkook flashes another smile. It’s not the kind of question that is waiting for an answer, so the other merely walks off, down the path and away from the estate.    //   You’ve only ever left Trulia twice in your life.   Once on a family outing when you were five or six and another time for just a few days when you were accompanying your father on a business trip. You’ve never had the chance to see much outside of this country and it’s a wish that you never spoke to anyone before but Taehyung.   There was simply never a chance for you to go. And while you expected your next journey out of Trulia would be an adventure and perhaps seeing new sights, you suppose this is a good excuse as well.   “Can you please pack another dress? I don’t want to run out when I’m there.”   Rose enthusiastically nods and goes to your wardrobe to pick another gown. While Taehyung is the one who would ever pack your suitcases, you don’t want to rely on him too much. He was already preparing the rest of the things for the trip and Rose seemed more than happy to help.   “The blue one will be fine.”   She nods and folds it into the case as you look over the gloves. “How long will you be going for, miss?”   “A few days.” You look up at the twelve year old and the corner of your mouth tugs. “You’ll watch the house for me? I don’t want any roaches to crawl in while I’m away.”   Her head bobs up and down. “I’ll try my best, my lady.”   You smile, noticing Jane looking into the room. She realizes you’ve seen her and clears her throat. “Do you need any help, my lady?”   “No, I’m fine, thank you.”   It’s nerve-racking to leave the estate and Trulia. You trust that a few days won’t bring things into chaos, especially considering that you’ve kept your affairs discreet. But underlying the unsettlement is a buzz of excitement — that just for a short while, you can escape.    You feel that way even a day later when you’re at the train platform. And whatever you were afraid of is washed away with Taehyung by your side.   “Stand right here. I’ll only be a moment,” he tells you, holding your tickets to Colmar and you nod.   Your hand grips the suitcase as you overlook the bustle of people. You’ve never seen so many gathered in one place before, families and lovers parting ways, children rushing past, the conductor quickly pacing to the front of the platform. It’s dizzying to look at and overwhelming to be in.   You wonder if you look out of place in the mass of people. You chose to wear a white dress with a natural silhouette, a bustle pad underneath and a bonnet around your half pinned-up hair. It’s modest attire, but the threads are still expensive. The last thing you would want is to attract needless attention and that’s why you made Taehyung wear a normal white waistcoat and black frock coat with matching trousers than his usual stiff tailcoat. He looks rather nice in normal clothing anyhow.   As you think about Taehyung, you start to search the crowd.   The red and black painted train whistles, smoke coming from its chimney. It looks like it’s about to leave soon, but you’re not sure if you should go in or where you would even sit or put your luggage. It’s been so long since you’ve been on a train, you don’t know what to do.   The endless questions and uncertainty drains blood from your face and you start to panic.   Until Taehyung comes into sight.    “What took you so long.” You frown at him but he still has the audacity to smile.   “My apologies, I had to check if we were at the right platform. Let’s go.”   He takes your suitcase and offers his arm which you take.   Taehyung keeps you from being swallowed by the thick crowd and pushed back. His height looms over even most men and although his stature is lean, he remains steady. Once you’re at the doors, he puts down the cases and holds your hand to help you up the step and then he resumes by your side, cutting through the passenger cars.    The two of you pass the more luxurious sleeping cars and as you peek into the window of the car of commoners, wondering if that’s where you’re heading, he slides open the door of a compartment.   It’s a private booth with a large window and a ledge overtop for your suitcases.   “Here we are, my lady.”    Taehyung organizes your belongings as you sit down on the plush seat. A moment later, the train begins to move, wheels rolling against the rail and then it builds speed to chug along.   You watch houses flash past the window.   “What do you think?” he asks, sitting opposite of you.   “Is it supposed to be so nauseating?”    Your head is light and the world is dizzying from the fast motion of the train. Taehyung must see your weakened expression with the way his eyes widen in alarm. But you quickly lift your hand and try to reassure him, “It’s fine.”   It isn’t. And he knows it.   “We can get off the next station.”   “No!” You inhale a deep breath, calming yourself. “We have to go. We have to make it, Taehyung.”   You shut your eyes. There’s no way you can turn back now. “It’s probably because I haven’t been sleeping well.” Not when you’re up day and night taking care of what your parents left for you, even if it’s only temporarily. And not when you’re kept awake plagued by the secrets of the people who were supposed to be closest to you. “The herbs in my tea can only do so much.”   Suddenly, you feel the seat dip beside you and your eyes flutter open to see Taehyung. He reaches over and gently guides your head to lean on his shoulder. “Then sleep. Don’t think about anything else.”   The corner of your mouth curls. “You make it sound so easy.”   “I’ll watch over you.”   A noise is made at the back of your throat and you allow yourself to mold against Taehyung’s side, your head cradled against the slight slope of his broad shoulder. As you ease, your fingers slowly drag itself over until you graze the back of his hand. No words are needed. No explanations are necessary.    Taehyung flips his hand so that his palm faces upwards and his fingers entwine with yours.   Within a few minutes, your chest begins to rise and fall, soft breaths escaping your parted lips.   Taehyung’s eyes stray from the windows to watch you.   You’re cold and blunt, carrying yourself with an intimidating demeanour that either frightens others or causes them to despise you. But he can still see the traces of your childhood self, even if the recent weeks have forced you to harden. Taehyung knows that you’re still sentimental, that you’re affectionate, that you’re not as indifferent as you’d like to be.   He knows you’re still grieving for your parents.   The two of you grew up together after all.   Since young, he’s been told he’s talented for this line of work, but devotion was another matter. He was told that being a butler meant more than just serving — it meant protecting. And he swore his duty to your name that day you took the blame when he stole from the kitchen and you got slapped by your mother.    He can still remember your small frame standing in front of him. How your words didn’t waver.   Taehyung knew it then and he knows it now — there’s nothing more important than protecting you.   His mouth tugs and his eyes lift from your sleeping features, but something catches the edge of his vision. Taehyung looks up to the window of the compartment door and finds a man, blue eyes, blonde hair curled in front of his forehead. The stranger peers into the compartment and when he notices Taehyung’s gaze, he dips his bowler hat as if to shield himself.   Taehyung moves.   He cradles your head until you’re laying down fully on the seat and he quietly slides the door open.   “Excuse me.”   Taehyung moves past someone, eyes darted on the man who peeks over his shoulder and quickens his steps.   He had seen the man before — earlier on the platform and then again when he left you alone. Taehyung came back right in time. You hadn’t noticed the man behind you at all.    Taehyung quickens his steps, stalking after the man who looks over his shoulders once more. His strides hasten. He practically breaks out into a run. Taehyung chases after him as the train curves into a tunnel. The windows are blackened, darkness sweeping throughout the cart.   He hears staggering breaths pulling roughly out of lungs and at the same time, the train rushes out the tunnel. Light breaks through the windows again and the steel door at the end of the cart begins to close. Taehyung sees through the tiny gap where panicked eyes meet his own gaze.   Taehyung runs.    He throws open the door and the cold wind rips through his hair with the intensity of a storm. The wheels shriek against the rail. There’s only a tiny step before one would have to make the jump to the other cart’s door. In between are violently rattling metal links that connect the two carts.    “Hah!”    There’s a squeak of shoes behind him. Taehyung ducks. The door slams closed.   The man’s arm is extended midair, having missed Taehyung’s cheek and within a blink, Taehyung grabs his arm and twists it. The man shouts in agony, teeth gritted. “Why you!”   His fist swings and it manages to catch Taehyung’s jaw. He’s knocked back, tasting a surge of coppery blood.    Taehyung wheezes, but his lips curl into a smile. He launches himself forward as the man squares himself. An arm swings. Fist curled. Taehyung dodges.   Taehyung takes the opportunity, no longer on the defense, and he swiftly strikes.   The man stumbles back, air ripped out of his lungs, eye sure to bruise.   Taehyung steps forward, but the man grabs something within his coat.   “Step back!”   Taehyung’s met with the muzzle of a revolver and puts his hands up, calming his breath.   The man snorts with a sly smirk. “Yeah that’s right. You’re just a dog.”   But then Taehyung's left hand clutches the man’s wrist and he contorts it at an angle, knee coming up to slam into the man’s stomach. Instantly, the man keens and wheezes.   He cries out as the revolver crashes onto the links connecting the carts and falls beneath to the rails.   Taehyung grabs the man’s collar and holds him backwards, nearly off the train. The man’s eyes become rounded in fear. There’s a storm of verdant in the background, fields and trees darting past.   “Who are you?!”   “Let go of me! I...I swear, I didn’t want to do this!”   “What do you want with her?” Taehyung demands, shaking the man whose head nearly touches the steel rails. The man’s fist curls on Taehyung’s so he doesn’t fall. “Answer the question!”   The shout is torn from Taehyung’s throat, his face crumpled into unadulterated anger, jaw clenched.   “I-It was her uncle!” the man quickly spits out in fear of his life. “Seokjin! He hired me! He wanted me to kill her!”   “So you were planning on putting a bullet through her head?!”   “I-I just needed the money! I’m sorry! Please, please,” the man pleads. “You don’t have to do this. W-What has that girl ever done for you? You’re just her guard dog!”   Taehyung has a deadpan expression, eyes dim. He begins to release his hold on the man who audibly sighs of relief. “That’s right.”    But it’s too soon.   “Don’t you know dogs are one of the most loyal animals?” Taehyung grabs the man again as he stands and throws him off the train into the soft meadow. “Woof.”   The man’s scream echoes. Taehyung dusts off his hand.   He comes back to the compartment to where you’re still sleeping and resumes his spot with your head in his lap, finding a warm blanket to drape over you.    Six hours later, you wake up, rubbing your eyes. He smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair in front of your face behind your ear. But your sleepy daze shatters when you see his split lip.   Almost immediately, you’re leaning over to Taehyung, grazing the wound with your thumb.   He sharply inhales.   “What happened?” you demand, worry written all over your face.   It hurts to smile, but can’t resist it. He should never admit it — he likes it when your attention is solely on him. “I tripped.”   You look at him incredulously. “Taehyung.”   “I did.” He doesn’t give up the excuse no matter how much you prod and pry.    The train arrives in the town of Colmar shortly after.   It’s a quiet place with a certain dryness to the air in spite of the river running through the town and underneath the bridges. The homes are tightly knitted next to one another. It’s a cozy kind of atmosphere. For a moment, you can imagine your mother having spent her life in this place and you’re not certain how to feel.   You decide to stay in an inn near the square, dropping off your suitcases in your given room.   “We should find him, shouldn’t we?”   You turn from the window to Taehyung with an unreadable expression.   “We don’t have to,” he says and it’s all too tempting. You want to forget that you’re here looking for your mother’s old lover, that you’re searching for your sibling. You wish you can pretend that this is merely a trip to enjoy with Taehyung in a place far away from Lennox.   But even if you were to dream such a thing, the truth would not stop plaguing your mind.   You muster the strength to shake your head. “We can enjoy ourselves after. There’s no point in putting it off.”   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker.”   The detective’s words ring inside your head.   “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar.”   It should be difficult to find the man — that way you have a legitimate excuse to put this off. You wouldn’t have to confront your parents’ secrets. Or meet a brother or sister you never wanted.   “But he grew up here in Lennox.”   Yet this town is small and there is only one known woodworker. If such a thing as fate or destiny exists, then it never stops being cruel to you.   The bell rings as the door of the shop opens.   “Hello there! How can I help you?”   There’s an older man behind the counter busy at his shelf, brunette hair and features tender, wrinkles creased around his eyes to mark each smile he’s collected over the years.   You come towards him with Taehyung by your side. “You were at my mother’s funeral.”   At your murmur, the man turns around wide-eyed. Arthur Kahl, the man your mother loved, who she wanted to marry and be happy with. The father of your sibling.   “You’re Hana’s daughter….” His mouth draws open. “Wh-what are you doing here?”   “I came to see you. I think you may have answers to my questions.”   “I-...I don’t know if I do, but please, sit.” He hobbles to the front of his shop, turning the sign over to not receive any more customers and the both of you sit on wobbly chairs. He knows you came this far, that you searched for him. There’s no other way you could have found him. “I’m sorry I never spoke to you at the funeral. I thought since we didn’t know each other, there was no point in bringing back old memories.”   “Is it true then?” You look at him carefully. “About my mother and you running away together…”   “That was a very long time ago.”   “Then why did you come to see my mother?”   “It was a long time ago, but I still wanted to pay my respects. Your mother...was a wonderful woman and treated me kindly. I’m glad she ended up having a good life and a happy family.”   The corner of your mouth twitches.   He continues, “While I never personally met your father, he seems like a very respectable man and a good husband. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”   The words sit uncomfortably in you. Your parents always seemed to treat each other with mutual respect and trust. It was never a passionate affair like pairs you’ve met, but rather a quiet relationship of sitting alongside one another. You never would have guessed your mother had someone else.   But you don’t want to know anymore about your mother’s history.   “I received my parent’s will a day after their burial.” You inhale a breath, bracing yourself. “And it promised my sibling the estate and the company. I don’t want to harm them. I want to fulfill my parents’ last wishes. So please, allow me to meet my sibling.”   Your eyes meet his earnestly. The man stares back at you, his brows knitting together.   “My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. I don't know who your sibling is.”   The clock on his shelf ticks loudly.   “Your mother and I never consummated our relationship.”   //   The night sets in, matches hissing into a flame and thrown into the wood in the fireplace until it awakens and paints the room in a warm orange hue. The quietness is deafening outside of the crackle and pop of the fire.   You haven’t eaten. You don’t want to. You don’t think you could stomach it.   “My apologies.”   You’re seated at the rounded table in the chair, motionless. You should’ve never come. You should have just stayed in the estate instead of trying to dig around in the secrets of your family, into the reasons why nothing was left for you, why they didn’t love you even after death.   “But I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding.”   You came here for nothing.   “I don't know who your sibling is.”   Your efforts were worthless.   “Your mother and I never consummated the relationship.”   There’s an ear-splitting crash that rings the four walls.    Taehyung opens the door, eyes darting to you. You’re hyperventilating, clutching the handle of your suitcase, all your belongings fallen on the ground beside the wall. You toss the case aside with a frustrated cry.   He calmly shuts the door before anyone in the inn can pry and closes the distance in two strides.   “It’s okay.” He opens his arms and he engulfs your quivering frame.   You grasp onto him, your hands twisting into his white shirt. “I-I don’t know what to do, Taehyung. I...I really thought I had it. I was preparing myself—”   You were preparing yourself to meet your sibling. To confront it all. For once, you were ready.   The frustration cripples you blind and angers you.    How much longer will you be left in the dark? How much longer do you have to look like the fool, a child fumbling in her parent’s history searching for the truth? Why did they do this to you?    Why?   “You can cry,” Taehyung murmurs.   And tears finally slip from your eyes to stain his shoulder.    If it wasn’t for him, if he wasn’t here, you might have lost your mind by now.

[ubemango]

delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

could you write prompt 46 and 50 with maxwell lord please? :)

Thank you so much for the request! I...well I was writing this as a blurb and it turned into a 2,400-word oneshot...I hope that’s ok....

#46 Family Traditions & #50 Christmas Movies with Maxwell Lord 

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Rating: 18 + for language 

My Masterlist 

Taglist: @josepedropascal @yespolkadotkitty @oldstuffnewstuff @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 Let me know if you wanna be added. :D 

Christmas in Aspen 

If someone had asked you a month ago what your plans for Christmas were, you would have said spending it with your family in Maine. Eating lobster, and watching Christmas movies, listening to your older twin brothers arguing over the wishbone from the Turkey, Aunt Marge telling one of her outlandish tales of a dalliance with a younger man while you shared amused looks with your father. You would have never thought you would be in a lodge in Aspen with your boss. 

Maxwell Lord was a man who held control of all things in his life. He ran his business, personal life, and employees with a firm hand and that included you. You had lasted longer than the last four secretaries, all of which had slept with him expected him to fall madly in love with them, and had their hearts shattered when he coldly rejected them. 

Upon first meeting him you had flat out told him you were not going to be another notch in his best post and if he respected you then you wouldn’t have any problems with him. You worked well together, he was the cunning ruthless businessman, and you had become his humanity. 

In the year you had been working for him, he had learned as much from you as you had learned from him. Such as using manners and including you in decisions. Except the Christmas season had seemed to bring out the worst in Maxwell Lord. Maybe it was the appearance of his toxic mother who informed him she booked herself an exclusive spa getaway in Paris for the holiday season or the amount of work that came at the end of the year but he was excruciating. 

“Cancel your plans for tomorrow, we are going to the lodge in Aspen,” he tosses his heavy outer coat onto your desk and goes into his office slamming the door behind him. 

You quickly spin from your chair ignoring the coat, and follow him into the office, “Maxwell? I can’t go to Aspen...it’s Christmas.” 

“I need you in Aspen with me, if you’re unable to do that I can find someone else to take your place and can find yourself a new job,” he sneers from behind the oak desk and you take a step back at the hostility rolling off him in waves. 

Never one to be intimidated you bite back, “Fine then Mr. Lord, pray to tell me what we will be doing in Aspen so that I may make the appropriate arrangements.” 

You see a small fracture in his composure at the use of his last name but he continues to glare, “I am a very busy man, please make sure the jet is fueled and the lodge is prepared for our arrival. I am sure you can figure out the rest.”

“Fine,” you snap leaving his office and slamming the door behind you. You shake out his coat and place it on the rack outside his door. Sitting back at your desk and running your hands through your hair you make the appropriate calls and get everything prepared for the weekend. Saving your parent’s number for last. To say your family was less than thrilled about you spending the holiday with your boss in Aspen was an understatement but what could you do? 

Despite everything you had seen the man say and do over the past year you couldn’t deny how you felt about him. Maxwell Lord; with his mismatched patterns, suspenders, blonde hair, and ring-covered fingers had wormed his way into your heart. Because beneath all the vanity, money, and attitude you knew who he really was inside, a man who just needed to be loved. 

You sigh glancing at the clock and move to collect your things, the door to his office opens slowly and he approaches your desk cautiously. He sighs running his hand through his hair, and you look up into his tired dull eyes. “Listen...I’m sorry about how I behaved in there...I know that it’s hard to be away from your family on the holiday but I…” 

“You what?” you whisper and his eyes soften. 

“I need you with me...I have to close this deal and they only want to meet this weekend, if it was any other time you know I wouldn’t keep you from your family.” 

You stand and come around the desk before him, “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

He lowers his gaze before looking back into your eyes and holding contact. You feel your lungs constrict as his hand comes up to gently rest against your cheek and you subconsciously lean into his hold. Never breaking eye contact, he leans down and you lean forward until he suddenly pulls away, withdrawing and walking out of the office. You stand there confused...what the hell…

The next morning you pull on a pair of fleece leggings, a grey sweater dress with your black knee-high boots, and catch a taxi to the airport. You board the jet and sit down across from Maxwell who arrived early as usual. The stewardess hands you a steaming cup of coffee and you down half of it before taking off. The whole flight is tense as Maxwell ignores you, reading through paperwork and jotting down notes every few minutes. You keep your eyes on him and catch him several times trying to look at you before quickly averting his eyes. 

When you land you disembark and the driver greets you both. You slide into the back of the limo behind him and your leg brushes against him in the backseat. He looks down and doesn’t say anything only shifting closer. The drive is short and the town is charming as the storefronts glitter in the twinkle lights, and brightly colored decorations. Children run up and down the sidewalk and a lopsided snowman sits in the snow with a corncob pipe and button nose. 

You feel a pang of sadness thinking of the snowman building competition your family hosts every year. Maxwell notices your lips turning down and whispers, “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, “My family has this tradition, every Christmas Eve we all go outside and everyone tries to outdo each other with the best snowman. I won a few years ago, it was great! At the end of the summer season, I got a bikini for cheap and brought it with me and made a snowman laying on the ground sunbathing in the bikini.” You laugh at the memory and Maxwell chuckles beside you. 

“What other traditions does your family have?” 

“Oh, we have a whole bunch! We always bake cookies and decorate them together, the snowman competition, and we always watch It’s a Wonderful Life.” 

“What’s that?” 

You freeze and look at him, mouth gaping, “You don’t know what It’s a Wonderful Life is?!” 

He shakes his head and you huff crossing your arms, “Well that is what we are doing tonight after all these damn meetings, we are watching a Christmas movie!” 

“Alright then, if that will make you happy,” he nods and your heart stops as you meet his smiling eyes. His smile drops slightly and he looks down at your lips. You lean toward him and he leans toward you...you’re just about to kiss when the car comes to a stop. 

“Mr. Lord we are here sir,” the driver says from the front seat and you jump away scrambling to get out of the limo. Your cheeks burning in the frigid air. 

You hear him exit behind you and brush against you as he walks into the lodge. You clear your throat and follow him inside. The clients are already there in the living space and Maxwell introduces you both before you excuse yourself to talk with the other assistants over by the bar. Pouring yourself and Maxwell a cup of coffee and bringing it over to him, he nods and you shiver as his fingers brush against your own. 

The meeting takes most of the afternoon and into the beginning of the evening. Your feet aching from standing in your heels as you shift from foot to foot. The group begins to wrap things up and trickle out until all that’s left is you and Maxwell. “Did you want me to order some dinner?” 

“Yes, that sounds good. I am going to go shower from traveling.” He retreats into the master bedroom and you walk over to the phone ordering the Christmas dinner special from the local restaurant. The food arrives before Maxwell remerges and you work on placing it on plates. Filling them to the brim with prime rib, mashed potatoes, green beans, and fresh-baked rolls.

The smell of food drawls out Maxwell and he comes out wearing a pair of red flannel pants and a white t-shirt holding a small bag in one hand. Your mouth drops open, having never seen him in such comfortable clothes before. “This is for you,” he pushes the bag into your hands, “Go take a shower and change, I’ll open the wine.” 

You cock your head at him and walk backward toward your bedroom. When you close the door behind you, you pour the contents of the bag on your bed and laugh. Red flannel pajama bottoms and a white v-neck shirt come tumbling out. He...he bought you matching pajamas...You smile broadly before quickly showering and pulling on the clothes a pair of fuzzy black socks tumbling onto the floor. 

You walk out and see him lounging on the couch the plates untouched on the coffee table before him. A bottle of red wine uncorked and breathing. He looks up and a small smile graces his lips as you give him a little turn, “What do you think?” you tease. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he says so quietly you almost miss it. 

You plop down on the couch beside him and he pours you each a glass of wine handing it to you. You tuck into your dinners and his watch beeps from his wrist. He reaches for the remote turning it on and flipping through the channels. The opening credits of It’s A Wonderful Life begins and you turn with a huge grin at Maxwell. 

“You looked up the channel and the time?”

“I...It’s important to you. It’s no big deal I just called the front desk to look in the TV guide.” 

“Thank you,” you finish your dinners in silence, and when you're done you pull over the wool blanket draped over the couch. Pulling it over both of you and placing your head on his shoulder. You smile when you feel his head tilt to lay atop your own and you sigh. 

Halfway through the movie the doorbell rings and Maxwell rises to get it, returning with hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and a big bowl of popcorn. “Did you...did you order this?” 

“I...I wanted to do something special for you...since it’s Christmas,” he hands you a mug of the steaming liquid and you blow before taking a drink moaning at the sweet flavor. Maxwell gulps and watches your lips with rapt attention. You look into his eyes and slowly put down your mug, leaning into him and he leans into you. You can feel his warm breath on your lips when the doorbell rings again. You jump and scurry back to the other side of the couch. 

“Fuck,” Maxwell hisses and goes to the door yanking it open, “What the fuck do you want?!” 

Wide-eyed and mouths gaping is a whole choir of Christmas carolers. “Oh...shit,” Maxwell lets out a breath and turns back to your grimacing. You look back and forth between the choir and Maxwell’s face and burst out laughing. A few of the adults start laughing too until everyone except Maxwell is cracking up. You rise from the couch and go over to the door wrapping an arm around his waist and laying your head on his chest. The man has an ego the size of an elephant he never likes when people laugh at him but he forgives you as he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight against his chest. “Please sing for us,” you sigh and the choir sings Carol of the Bells, a personal favorite of yours. 

When they’re done you clap and cheer and poke him in the chest until he joins too. They thank you before going over to the next lodge. You close the door and turn to Maxwell smiling, “that was lovely, this whole evening has been perfect. I like my family traditions but...I’ve really enjoyed sharing them with you.” 

“I have too...it’s been a very long time since I have spent a Christmas with someone...even longer since it was someone I care about.” 

You tense and look into his eyes for any sign of teasing and when you find none you move closer. You lean into him and he leans into you. No one opens the door or rings the doorbell, or speaks when your lips finally meet his. 

His lips are soft and warm against yours and his arms envelope around your waist, pulling your arms up to wrap around his neck, your fingers sliding through his hair musing it. His lips travel down your neck and he moans, “Fuck I have been wanting to do this for months…” 

You pull away and look at him, lips swollen, eyes blown open, and his hair...god he looks freshly fucked. “You have?” the question comes out more vulnerable than you’d hoped, “Don’t lie to me, Maxwell...I refuse to be another one of your conquests.” 

He scoffs, turning away, “Do you think they are even in the same league as you!? If I wanted to just fuck you, baby you and I both know I would have done it already,” he’s angry and pacing, months of frustration boiling to the surface. “Do you honestly fucking think I would have made up some bull shit deal to spend Christmas with any of them?! Do you think I would have called their father to ask about their family traditions!? Do you think I wo-” 

You grab the front of his shirt and smack your lips to his. This kiss is hungrier than the others, both of you pining for the other for so long. The volcano of emotion erupting between you until you can no longer breathe. Panting you press your forehead into his, “You love me, don’t you Maxwell Lord?” you murmur against his lips. 

He presses his lips gently against yours, “I really fucking do…” he whispers back.

You smile and look up meeting his eyes, “Merry Christmas Maxwell.” 

He returns the smile before pulling you back in for another kiss, “Merry Christmas Darling.” 

[swaps55]

Winter Asks Caught in a Snowstorm because Sam and weather.

The snow is festive, at least.

Too often there isn’t much snow in December, especially in Vancouver, and all the holiday decorations just end up looking drab and…damp under the grey winter skies. Not so today. The flakes of snow outside are coming down even thicker than they had been back in the mountains of the BC Interior. Snow this hard isn’t that uncommon out at the orchard, but Vancouver usually doesn’t see it.

Outside the train station, wreaths hanging on the lampposts wear a fresh blanket of white. Too early in the day for various holiday lights to be on, but Kaidan vividly remembers the massive display the city puts on down by the bay every year. Adding snow to the mix will make it nothing short of magic. Been a long time since he’s been on Earth for Christmas, and this year will be Shepard’s first experience with Christmas period.

It’s…not going well.

Outside may look like a pleasant winter wonderland, but inside the train station the collective mood of the thickening crowd waiting for loved ones gets farther and farther from goodwill to all, despite the plethora of Santa hats and garish holiday sweaters.

Shepard in particular has the look in his eyes that usually precedes solving a problem with a shotgun, which contrasts rather spectacularly with the evergreen sweater and gold jingle bell on a bright red cord Kaidan strung around his neck. The farther away they get from wearing combat armor, the more fascinating it is to see the soldier emerge.

If Kaidan had any idea how stressful the prospect of celebrating a holiday was going to become, he wouldn’t have pushed for it. For the past two weeks Shepard has approached Christmas like he’s coordinating a full-scale assault on an enemy stronghold. Like it’s something he has to win. The poor tree they’d decorated in the living room practically salutes every time he walks through the door.

Kaidan hasn’t dared introduce the ugly sweater concept. The levels Sam could take it to don’t bear thinking about, so he’ll leave that one for his mother.

If she ever gets here.  

Shepard paces the train platform, bell jangling with each step, occasionally glaring up at the arrival screen, where the 13:00 train from Kamloops still shows Delayed in red letters.

Kaidan eyes him cautiously. Despite the temptation to say ‘I told you so,’ a peace-on-Earth approach is probably the better choice right now. If Shepard were particularly open to peaceful negotiation.

“Fucking weather,” Shepard mutters under his breath, peering out a window with a scowl. “I hate planets.”

He’s not open to peaceful negotiation.

They’d spent four hours in a skycar to get here, in spite of all of Kaidan’s arguments for why it was a bad idea. Shepard hasn’t learned yet that when Kaidan’s mother makes a plan, you don’t alter the plan. And the plan had been she would take the high-speed rail from Toronto to Vancouver and find her own way to the orchard. It was her plan. Sam’s idea to surprise her at the station was doomed to failure, no matter how noble his intentions.

Of course, the fact he wanted to do it so badly is more than Kaidan’s heart can stand, but that doesn’t change the laws of the universe. Or his mother.  

“You can’t surprise my mother,” Kaidan tried to tell him. “It doesn’t work. Trust me.”

“It’ll work,” Sam insisted, back when he was naïve and optimistic.

Shepard, so accustomed to the galaxy getting out of his way whenever he it wanted to, doesn’t understand the opposing force that is Lora Alenko. Or blizzards.

“I flew a Mako through a mass relay and we really can’t figure out how to keep the trains running in snow?” Shepard demands.

“Apparently,” Kaidan says, suppressing a sigh. The sigh would not help matters.

The red lights on the arrival sign flicker, then change. Sam straightens, hopeful, until the word Cancelled appears.

“Son of a bitch,” he swears, throwing an arm in the air. “Fuck this holiday bullshit.” A few people look in his direction, including a kid wearing a red and green knit cap who can’t be more than ten. He grips his mother’s hand, eyes widening with recognition.

Chagrin creeps over Shepard’s face. He clears his throat and offers the kid a salute, before dragging Kaidan further away from the crowd.

“First,” he says, before Kaidan can open his mouth. “Don’t say it. Second, now what do we do?”

“We go home,” Kaidan says gently. “She’ll get here when she gets here. It’s fine.”

“No it isn’t.” Shepard runs a hand over his scalp and continues pacing. More people start looking their way, so Kaidan takes him by the hand and leads him outside, where the snow continues falling even thicker than before. At this point, just getting themselves home is going to be interesting.

Sam continues muttering under his breath as they walk, jingle bell tinkling merrily. Kaidan puts a hand on his arm, tightening until he stops.

“Hey,” Kaidan says.

Shepard turns his glare skyward, as though he has half a mind to out-temper the storm. Wouldn’t be the first time. He’d ground Noveria’s snow right under his heel. Of course, that time he’d had an armored tank with an eezo core. Surely he can’t do the same with a skycar.

…surely.

“This was supposed to go right,” Sam says in defeat.

Kaidan brushes away the snow collecting on Shepard’s shoulder, hiding a smile at the sight of flakes melting on his head. He’d spent so much time joking about making them both wear Santa hats he hadn’t thought to grab real hats.

“First lesson about holidays,” Kaidan says with a chuckle. “Nothing ever goes according to plan. Kind of like you.”

Sam exhales, warm breath dissipating into steam. He runs a gloved finger down Kaidan’s cheek, channeling some of his intensity into one of those looks that never fails to make him weak at the knees.

“Sam,” Kaidan says, meeting his gaze. “Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve been a man on a mission for weeks. It’s supposed to be something you – something we – enjoy.”

His expression twists in a way that makes Kaidan’s heart ache. “You’re…my family. Your mom…is now my family. Holidays are important to you.” He hesitates. “And I kind of wanted it to be important to me.”

Kaidan gazes at him, too many thoughts swirling in his head to give voice to any of them. So he leans in and kisses him, softly at first, then more insistently as Sam wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him flush. For the thousandth time, Kaidan wonders how two people fit so perfectly together.

When Kaidan finally pulls away Sam sighs, blinking away flakes of snow.

“Then let’s go home,” Kaidan says. “And I promise, when she gets here? We’ll make it important to all of us.”

Kaidan takes his hand as they walk back towards the skycar. Just for the hell of it, he sticks his tongue out to catch a snowflake, persisting until Sam laughs and tugs him close.

It’s late by the time they make it back to the orchard. The strings of Christmas lights Sam had hung meticulously over the front bushes twinkle merrily, but to their surprise the house itself blazes with light.

Sam’s hand reaches for a sidearm he no longer carries, suspicion in his eyes. “Did you leave the lights on?”

“Nope,” Kaidan says, hiding a smile as he gets out of the skycar.

“Then what the—”

Kaidan chuckles. “You are not the only person who can bully the universe, Sam.”

When they walk in the house Kaidan’s mother sits on the couch with a glass of wine, feet up and adorned with a pair of candy cane slippers, fire roaring merrily in the fireplace. When she gets to her feet, she wears a knit red sweater emblazoned with a green Christmas tree that lights up with omnitool powered lights.

“There you are!” she exclaims as they stamp snow off their boots. “Where the hell have you been?”

Kaidan grins and crosses the room to sweep her up in a hug.

“We…went to get you,” Sam says, giving her a baffled look. “How did you get here? Your train was cancelled.”

“Aunt Li had some last-minute things she needed to take care of, and I saw the weather, so I took an earlier train.”

“I told you,” Kaidan says. “You can’t surprise her.”  

“You tried to surprise me?” she asks, genuinely touched.

Kaidan steps aside and she opens her arms expectantly, waggling her fingers until Sam steps sheepishly into them. She leans in and murmurs in his ear, “Good luck with that.”

Sam narrows his eyes, but holds her tight. “Challenge accepted.”

Oh boy. This is not what Kaidan had in mind when he vowed to make new Christmas traditions.

“I missed my boys,” she says, taking Sam’s cheeks in both hands. “And I wasn’t going to miss our first Christmas.”

Sam nods, speechless for once when she lets him go.

“Sam went all out,” Kaidan says with a smile. “You should see the meal he’s got planned for tomorrow.”  

She raises an eyebrow.

“Catered,” Sam says swiftly.

She grins. “I can’t wait.”

She goes into the kitchen to dig up two more wine glasses. When she returns, she hands one to each of them and grabs the bottle she’d already opened to fill them.

She picks up her own glass and raises it. “To our new family.”

Sam and Kaidan echo the toast, though Sam’s voice wavers.

They drink. Sam shuffles his feet. Kaidan knows the look on his face. The soldier’s been put away again, but the part of him who believes he has to earn his place – even with his own family – still hasn’t been laid to rest yet.

Kaidan’s working on that.    

“So,” Sam says slowly. “I’m, um. Not sure what happens now. I’m not…good at this.”

Kaidan’s mother loops Sam’s arm around her shoulder and walks him over to the couch, where a pile of blankets wait. “Now we cuddle up in front of the fire and get warm, because it’s freezing outside and someone I know hates being cold.”

A smile creeps across Sam’s face. “It’s not so bad. When you’ve got the right company.”

Outside, the snow keeps falling. Inside, the fire flickers and pops.    

“So is this what it’s like?” Sam murmurs, tugging a blanket across the three of them as they settle on the couch and finding Kaidan’s hand underneath it. As soon as he’s situated, Kaidan’s mother drops a Santa hat on his head.

“Yeah,” Kaidan says, kissing his temple. “This is what it’s like.”

[samtheskald]

Learn to Love - A Johnlock/Beauty & the Beast Crossover

(Very rough first draft of the first chapter)

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter’s night, and old beggar came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by their haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the supplicant away. But, they warned him not to be deceived by appearances for beauty was found within.

When he dismissed them again, the beggar’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful magician. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late for they had seen there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, they transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose they had offered was truly an enchanted rose which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken.

If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope.

For who could ever learn to love a Beast?

----

Smiling brightly to the baker as he walked past, John offered a little wave.

“Where are you off to so early, young Master Watson?” The balding, portly man called in French over his shoulder while gingerly pulling a tray full of rolls out of a large clay, outdoor oven.

“The bookshop.” John replied. “I’m returning this book I borrowed, about a beanstalk and an ogre and-”

“That’s nice.” The baker interrupted, not hearing John much at all. It had been a politely rhetorical question. The baker turning to face the slightly ajar door into the Shoppe de Pain proper. “Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!”

With a private smile, the young blond continued down the cobblestones to his destination. He didn’t seem to mind being brushed off. No one here in the small village of Fourcés, France seemed to understand his penchant for reading and dreaming of being – well, anywhere but here. Sure, the village was beautiful and peaceful. Everyone was friendly to a certain point. But it wasn’t home.

John had grown up in London, busy and bustling and full of people. When he was small, his parents fell ill and never recovered. The orphanage wouldn’t take them, fearing they were carrying plague. And so, John and his older sister Harriet had been shipped over the channel to a distant second-cousin in France who owned a small vineyard in the countryside. ‘Aunt Frances’, as they called her, had little interest in anything but herself and wine-making, so the children were more or less left to fend for themselves and make their own mischief until Harriet was old enough to marry.

Harriet (or Harry, as John liked to tease her) took her adolescent brother with her to Fourcés - much to the chagrin of her new husband, Edouard. Eager to not be a burden, John made himself as useful as possible, but even he could not prevent war. Harry’s husband enlisted and marched to Italy in the first year of their marriage. John had been eager to go along but was considered too young at only 15 years old. Edouard bade he stay and take care of Harriet in his absence, regardless.

The war lasted four long years. In addition to John working odd jobs around town, Harry made friends with the other local wives who were without their husbands and pieced together quite a robust support network set up between them. They were able to scrape by until it was time for the soldiers to return, which thankfully a good amount did. Harry and John waited almost another year beyond that, watching their support slowly disappear, before they gave up hope that Edouard would ever return. Another war had begun, but Harry forbade her brother from leaving her behind with no means what-so-ever.

Now, the Watsons made the best of their poor, provincial existence. Harry was now considered the eccentric widow who wasn’t keen on re-marrying. Instead, she spent a considerable time at the tavern and was slipping into barely concealed alcoholism more every week. John had grown in a strong, thoughtful young man with his eyes always on the horizon.

He didn’t feel he belonged in this type of life, this type of town. Though some of the local girls had tried to flirt, he didn’t put too serious stock into it. Settling here in Fourcés had very little appeal for him. He did what he could to keep them two fed and clothed, to allow Harry her bad habits. They had a small garden and some chickens, enough to sell a little of the extra. It wasn’t much, but they had found a kind of peace in it. Though, at the rate Harry was going, it may not last much longer. He tried hard not to resent her for trapping him here, but some days his anger got the better of him.

Reading helped with John’s wanderlust some. The bookstore in town rarely got new books in, so John tried to strategically re-read them far enough apart to not be too repetitive. The owner was kind enough to let John borrow some books without having to buy them, since he couldn’t afford them anyway. While he was reading, the youngest Watson could imagine he was far from rural France doing daring deeds, fighting in dramatic duels, or getting swept up a life-changing romance. He had a deep yearning for such adventure, enough that he could write his own stories someday.

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

WIP Wednesday

it may not be wednesday anymore but i’m not that far off.

tagged by @ghostofjellyfishforgotten and @deardmvz <33

i don’t even know who to tag so if you want to join me in being late for this please do go ahead. tag me, i’d love to see.

also this is just over 1000 words so excuse that. it’s a pretty lengthy series i was working on a long while back. never posted. :)

…

Steve had an arrangement of emotions that hovered over his mind as he rushed around the kitchen making breakfast for himself. The little television was on in the corner counter as he spread butter over his toast, occasionally tuning into the news channel. He was debating on whether or not calling out of work would be a bad move. His head did feel a little sluggish and he knew he’d end up with a horrible headache by the end of the day nonetheless. He straightened his posture and looked up at the grey window. The day didn’t seem to favor anything good either.

There was a dark haired, middle aged man speaking when Steve looked up as he plucked up the other piece of toast, “In breaking news, there was a private jet crash near the Canandian border reported just fifteen minutes ago. The group aboard the plane were prestigious lawyers, Katherine Dacy and Oliver Brookson and their co-partners, John and Elizabeth Harrington,” the man sat up straighter in his chair as Steve barely registered his own posture sinking. “There was a pilot aboard, Jayson Dickson, they are all assumed to be deceas—” Steve blankly heard his toast plop on the floor. His ears started ringing and his vision blurred, his knees following in his body’s failure to deal. His parents were dead. The plane crashed. Katherine and Oliver? He remembered them. They came to dinner a few times. They were nice, they talked to him about civil justice while his parents bickered over white or red wine. His parents—

Steve struck into action and stumbled upright clumsily to the phone on the wall ten feet away, “Hopper,” he whispered to himself, “Hopper. Hopper can help.” He ripped the phone off and dialed the memorized house number.

It rang and rang until there was finally an open click, “Jim here,” was the greeting, it sounded like a rushed thing though. Like he had somewhere to be and whoever was calling better have a good reason. Well, Steve thought dead parents were a pretty good reason.

Steve took in a shaky breath before clearing his throat painfully, “Hop?”

Hopper’s voice changed significantly, “Steve? That you?” he didn’t pause long enough for a response, “‘Course it’s you, I just saw the news, kid. I was just on my way over.”

“Over?” he asked curiously, he grunted as the air was forced out when his knees finally buckled and he dropped heavily to the floor.

“Steve? Harrington?” Hopper’s voice carried through the line worriedly, “You— What are you doing right now?”

“Work,” Steve mumbled and looked at the shiny red telephone in his right hand before slowly raising it, “I was going to work, making breakfast,” he spoke slowly; shock taking it’s powerful place. Although, toast and work seemed very far away; eons.

“You aren’t going to work, kid,” Hopper reasoned and Steve nodded back to the air emptily, “You got that?”

Steve whispered back, “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, don’t do anything rash, Steve, I know you may be thinking things but you just wait there until we’re there.” Steve racked his brain to see what Hopper may have been talking about but he couldn’t find anything. There was nothing. He felt numb and even the deep sorrow he knew was there couldn’t penetrate the lack of everything he felt and thought. He swayed where he sat, subconsciously, back and forth as he searched desperately for some sort of movement around him.

“Okay,” Steve said at last when he realized they both had been stuck in the silence, “I’ll be here waiting.”

“See you soon, Steve,” he heard back and then clicked to the end of the line.

He sat back against the wall and spread his legs out in front of himself, light blue pajama pants that his mother had gifted to him last Christmas. Made him feel nice about something. Made him feel content and warmed even in the large and open emptiness of the house. And then Steve began thinking about how the house will begin to feel even more empty with his parents officially gone. No more mom and dad bickering over wine, or his mediocre grades, or how he should strive for a better job. No more stupidly funny jokes by his tipsy mother, no more pleasantly enjoyable law lessons from his father on quiet nights they were home, no more holidays shared sparingly. They were gone. And Steve had learned quickly, especially in the past few years, how to accept loss. But this seemed to be different. A part of his already feeble life was gone. A big part. The beginning of his own. His parents were dead. Was that what Hopper had been talking about. There was an awful amount of death-speak panging around his mind.

Steve erupted with a powerful sob then, tears suddenly springing forward and flooding over his eyelids even when he closed then uncomfortably tight. His shoulders hunched forward and his stomach contracted as he felt bile rise. He forced it down at the last moment and then took in a delicate rumble of a breath from his aching and burning lungs. His heart was pounding so loud and fierce that he felt it in his ears and brain. He brought his hands up and covered his face, where his fingers grazed his forehead and the heels of his hands rested at the bottom of his cheeks.

He trembled on the floor with hot and sticky tears blotching his skin, and then stood up in sudden strength and slammed his own phone down on the holder attached to the wall. The grey wall his mother had made his father agree to when Steve was ten. It had been a three day fight over the wall color. Steve’s father had wanted it green. Steve found that suddenly amusing as he recalled the conversations his mother had with his father where she scolded him on his poor color pallet choice. He laughed into the vacant house hysterically and listened to the echoes it created. The front door slammed open and multiple voices took it over.

There were arms around Steve before he could even fully turn around when he got to his feet to greet the loud guests. And when he did manage to glance at the tops of two women’s heads he clasped his own two arms around them too. Robin and Joyce stepped back with their wide and empathetic eyes. Steve knew he looked a mess by the way sympathy and concern overran their expressions. And he felt it too, his hot temperature and stiff limbs.

“We’re here for you, honey,” Joyce grabbed his forearm gently, but it was firm too. Hopper stood in the doorway, so Steve waved him over before he answered Joyce.

Hopper stepped inside and closed the door as Steve began to speak thickly, “I just— I don’t know what to do,” he released.

Joyce cupped his cheek like he’d seen her do with her own sons before, “Oh, honey,” she eased, “You don’t need to know anything right now. We just need to sit down, stick together, and take the day to slowly come to terms.”

“They’re gone,” he choked out loud finally. He looked up at Joyce’s suddenly tear filled eyes, “They’re actually gone. They’re not coming back to me anymore,” he felt his knees give way but Robin held him up.

She grunted and then put his arm over her shoulder, “Alright, let’s move this to the living room, Bud,” she spoke like she was trying to keep normality to the situation but also still show she cared. And Steve could understand the meaning even in the moment of weakness in his structure. There were cracks everywhere in himself. But he knew Robin and he knew Joyce and he knew Hopper. They were strong, they were present, and they came to stay with him. That was what he needed. Robin seated him on the plush sofa as the two adults entered the room. Steve leaned back and stared off a moment before refocusing on Robin’s clear blue gape.

“Do you guys have to leave?” he asked. The rest looked taken aback and Robin maybe a little offended.

“Son,” Hopper spoke up, “We’re gonna be here all damn day whether you like it or not.”

Steve smiled wetly back, “Thank you.”

Hopper smiled and Joyce did the same beside him, “No prob—” he was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Steve sat up with perseverance he hadn’t had a moment ago, “I got it, don’t worry.” He shuffled over to the wall from before and picked it up, after a moment he gripped it with his other hand too, “I know, Aunt Clara, I know.”

[connorspiracy]

Two Exorcists Walk Into A Bar || Connor & Jasmine

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Artisan PARTIES: @connorspiracy & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Connor and Jasmine meet to discuss their respective ghost problems.  CONTENT: N/A 

While his YouTube channel indicated he knew what he was doing, Jasmine was still hesitant about involving someone so young in her ghost problems. This was something she should have been able to take care of herself. Larry Bob had been a sniveling crybaby in life and in death and she was Jasmine freakin’ Hale. She’d exorcised poltergeists much more intimidating than him and yet none of her efforts seemed to stick. So here she was, schmoozing a young man and hoping he’d agree to help her for not too steep of a price. She’d worn one of pant suits today, opting for a nice navy blue that she knew went well with her favorite shade of red lipstick. In a way, this was business and she wanted to make a good impression in hopes that Connor would help. She stood outside the restaurant, early as always, and waved when she saw Connor approaching. “Hey, Connor, right,” she greeted and looked him over, “Okay, okay. You weren’t lying about the posh roots. You’ll fit right in, baby face and all.” She said the last part with a bit of a laugh and gestured toward the door so they could grab their table. 

Connor wasn’t sure why they couldn’t just meet at Al’s and have a nice burger, but he supposed she wasn’t that kind of woman. He’d been raised among money. Not immense wealth or anything, but comfortable enough to live in a nice house in South West London with a big garden and three cars. Enough to not have to worry about what he was going to do for cash while he waited for his channel to grow. He’d had plenty of dinners at places like this before. It just wasn’t really his style any more. Nevertheless, he dressed for the occasion, wearing a pair of subtle plaid patterned slacks, brown leather shoes and a dark blue dress shirt. “Pleasure to meet you darling,” he said, his south London accent coming through. “Jasmine, yeah?” 

He couldn’t help but give a little laugh, almost embarrassed at her mention of his posh roots. “Yeah, but I try not to be a dick about it.” Connor wasn’t sure what to make of this reading, and he still couldn’t believe he was forcing himself to act normal while Nadia was stuck outside her body, but maybe if he helped Jasmine, she’d help him too. He followed her inside and was sure to tip the front of house staff member who led them to their table. Before long they were seated and being offered drinks. He went with a diet coke, not wanting to get pissed at a potential business meeting. “I get the impression you’ve been here a few times before?” 

Already, he was off to a good start impression wise as he tipped the host that led him to the table though Jasmine admittedly had her reservations about this whole thing at first. Those concerns had little to do with Connor himself and much more with what she could potentially be implicating himself in, but like her, he was an exorcist and the more he encountered with a little bit of back up the stronger he’d be when bigger trouble came rolling in. So really, she was being an A+ mentor or something. “That’s me,” she said with a bright smile as they made their way into the restaurant. As always, Evelyn didn’t disappoint when it came to setting her up with a more private table. “Not being a dick about things is always preferred. I definitely know some rich older men who could take a lesson or two from you on that one,” she said with a laugh as she asked the waiter for a bottle of whatever red Evelyn recommended. “Diet coke, okay. Well, bottle is required for the table, so feel free to help me, if not I can always bring it home. And, yes I have. I’m friends with the owner actually. She’s also from the UK.” Once their drinks were delivered and a nice cheese board was on the way, she looked to Connor, “So, how long have you been doing exorcisms?” 

Just because Connor would rather go somewhere he could wear jeans and sneakers, didn’t mean he didn’t know what he was doing. He could tell Jasmine was relieved he wasn’t going to embarrass her. “Well, I try to avoid most rich older men, unless I’m ghost hunting on their ancestral property,” Connor teased. He raised an impressed eyebrow as they brought over an expensive wine. “Maybe I’ll have a glass or two.” Admittedly, he wasn’t too much of a wine drinker, but it seemed rude not to have any. He allowed the waiter to fill his glass (which always struck him as a little bizarre, like he couldn’t fill his own glass) and took a sip. Once they were alone, Jasmine got right to the meat of the matter. “Oh, not that long. I was a medium for, well, all my life, really. But I first realised what it meant sort of five, six years ago? The exorcisms, only a few months.” Yeah, which was probably why he’d messed up with Nadia… He couldn’t let that affect him right now though. He had to be calm and confident. Connor nibbled on one of the complimentary snacks. “You?”

Jasmine laughed along easily with his comment about rich, older men. Unless they were buying a house from her, she had little interest in them though part of her business did rely on maintaining connections. “I wish I could, but hey, they buy expensive houses which puts money in my bank account,” she shrugged. There was a smile on her face as he agreed to share some of the wine with her. While there was a chance Evelyn would let her get away with not ordering a bottle, she didn’t feel it was necessary. She could always re-cork and take it home for later. “It’s really good, but don’t feel like you have to,” she said before she took a sip of hers. 

While how long he’d actually been doing exorcisms was worrying, she could work with that. She knew what she was doing, she just needed the extra energy to help get rid of Larry Bob since he’d gone full on poltergeist. Not even her focal point seemed to do the trick, but she was sure having another exorcist to help power the incantations would help make him gone for good. “Okay, makes sense, I didn’t learn about exorcisms until I was an adult. I was able to see ghosts when I was younger, too, but thought it was more of a weird White Crest thing than a me thing. My mom acknowledged the ghost thing, but honestly, she preferred the socialite life. My aunt taught me how to do exorcisms when I was 19, so I’ve been at it a while.” She took another sip of wine before grabbing some of the cheese. It was best to let him know what he was getting into if he was still new to this. “Normally, I can get by without help, but Larry Bob is a poltergeist who has a personal grudge for me. Executions are typically something that shouldn’t be done alone, which is why I’ve probably had trouble even with my focal point. Have you performed an execution before?” 

Connor tried not to be too judgemental about how much she sounded like his dad and his business associates when she talked about money in the bank account. He couldn’t be too funny about it since it was what enabled him to rent a nice little house out here, have a fancy SUV and not have to worry about whether he made any money from YouTube or not. “Oy, I know that face. I can’t help that I’m a newbie,” he teased as he drank his wine. Jasmine had said it was good, but he really had no idea what good wine was supposed to taste like, so he’d just have to trust her judgement. 

“Yeah,” he said, almost solemnly, in answer to her question. “It was my first exorcism. My Uncle. Went all polter and tried to kill my dad.” He chewed the inside of his lip. Maybe if he changed the subject quickly enough, she wouldn’t ask too many questions about his family drama. “Look, I’m happy, more than happy to help.” He couldn’t help but be nervous. What if she said no? “But I need some help from you too, okay? I don’t care about the money, but… see, I tried to do an exorcism recently, and something went really wrong.” He tried not to ramble, to be deliberate about his words, not act like a scared little kid. She needed to know he was capable and could hold his own, Nadia’s case not included. “The possessor and the possessee, they were sort of all tangled up, and when I did it… I took the spirit out of the body, but it was the wrong spirit. It was the original person… the one who’s supposed to be in the body. Do you see what I mean?” Okay, now he was rambling.

As he described his first exorcism, Jasmine felt her features soften. Having to perform an exorcism on a family member had to be incredibly difficult and he was still so young. She guessed the world wasn’t necessarily kind to mediums, but still. “I’m sorry,” she said softly as she set her wine glass back down on the table, “I’m sure that had to be rough, but it sounds like you persevered despite that, so clearly you’re pretty tough.” She added, “I’m not worried about you being a newbie-- I mean, I am, but more in the sense of I don’t want something bad to happen to you because of my problem. I was young and caught on quick, too, once upon a time.” 

There was a certain tension now and she waited somewhat patiently for what he had to say, only her nails lightly tapping on the table indicating she was eager to hear what he had to say. She frowned as he spoke and went through what could have gone wrong in her head. None of it made sense unless perhaps the host didn’t have a strong enough grip on her own body, but still, the exorcism was meant to banish the ghost doing the possessing. “Wow,” she said looking at him with wide eyes, “I’ve literally never heard of anything like that happening, but anything you need from me, I’ll do what I can to help. I’ll have to pull out some of my aunt’s old books and see if perhaps my more research inclined friends have anything useful.” As far as she knew, he could have either really butchered the incantation or there was something deeper going on with this host and the ghost possessing her. Neither were super promising, but hell, she’d help them the best she could. “Are you okay,” she asked, mostly because she knew just how hard exorcisms could be to perform, especially when they didn’t go as planned. 

Connor nodded stiffly, his jaw tight, not because of anything Jasmine had gone, but because remembering his Uncle was kind of hard. He'd taught Connor almost everything Connor knew about ghosts and the supernatural. Connor still had a great deal to learn, so many languages and so many rituals, but Uncle Joe had started it all. Before he'd gone so horribly wrong. "Thanks." 

He was afraid Jasmine wouldn't be quite so gentle about the rest of it. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd just made himself sound like a huge idiot, the kind who didn't know his focal point from his arsehole. "I don't know if I did something wrong or if it was... something else, you know? But I feel awful. Like I messed up that poor girl's life and let down my friends..." Great. Now he was turning this into a bloody counselling session. "Sorry. You don't need to know about my drama. I'm... well, not exactly 'fine', but I'm not hurt or anything. It's just the guilt, man. I'll be fine when I can fix it. When Nadia isn't floating around all disembodied and when some poltergeist isn't taking her skin for a possibly murderous joyride." 

The more he told her about the situation, the more dire it turned out to be. Jasmine was definitely not here for some polter-bitch taking an innocent person’s body on a murderous joyride. Even if there wasn’t murder involved, it was still wrong to hijack someone’s body. Still, it was a mystery to her how the exorcism had gone so terribly wrong. Either way, she knew she’d feel pretty awful if it was her and it was clear Connor did. She frowned and swirled the wine around in her glass. “There was likely something deeper going on there, but I guess a slight fudge in the incantations could throw things off, too. I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before though… not that I’m like the most well read person on the planet, but I’ve done my fair share of exorcisms.” She knew the weight that came with skill and it wasn’t always easy having the fate of others so heavily in your hands. On the other hand, it provided a purpose that not even money or acclaim could quite match.

 “Try not to be too hard on yourself. There’s an answer out there. Probably in like a centuries old book, but still out there.” That still left a murderous ghost with a real body to use for said murder. She really didn’t like this. “May need to find a way to keep murder bitch and the body contained for the timebeing though.” Finally, she took another sip on her wine. This conversation had gotten heavier than planned, but she felt some sort of pull toward looking out for him. She was supposed to be seeking his help and now she was worried about him. Sometimes she really missed high school. “Either way, I do trust you to help me. These things are always easier when you have two exorcists.” 

She wasn’t that much older than him. A few years, six, seven? But the level of experience and knowledge Jasmine had over Connor was something he couldn’t help but admire. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but Jasmine felt like something he’d been missing. Someone to do this with. His dad had no interest in the supernatural and only begrudgingly put up with Connor’s interest in their family history. His mum was just now adjusting to the fact it was actually real. Any old family friends they’d had were reluctant to help the child of someone who’d ran away from their family and duty. But now, there was Jasmine. “Thank you,” he said, giving her a small smile. “I’ll help you too.” He picked up the menu. “So, what’s good here?” 

[brooklynislandgirl]

8. Do you like to hold hands in public?

Spicy and Sweet || Accepting

For the first time in the history of...twenty-two years by Beth’s reckoning, Clan Riley will appear en force. Aisling Riley ~sans her wife~ made the Trans-Atlantic flight from Antrim and rides in the second limo, alone with the Admiral. Some part of her wishes to be a speck of lint on the upholstery of the back seat, playing witness to the conversation behind had. She doesn’t remember the last time her Auntie actually spoke to the Admiral and there’s never exactly been any real love lost between them. Makes her wonder if that is the reason that he’s forever been disapproving of how close his own children were. And now with Billy back where he belongs, tensions have been running high. Which gives the family matriarch all that much more reason to attend the social engagement of the season.

In their own limousine, Andy’s tense. Seated opposite of his two younger siblings he looks immaculate, not a single hair out of place. He doesn’t say anything, hasn’t since they left the apartment, but he’s been nursing scotch since the Bridge. Watching the lights and streets pass as they head further into Manhattan. His only comment on the situation was a look sheered toward them, sharp as knives, as she and Billy sit there, arm in arm, hands clutched so tight that their knuckles are practically bloodless. They lean into each other, giving support and comfort. Billy isn’t exactly comfortable with all of this and it was everything she could do to talk him into spending an incalculable number of hours with the man who sired the three of them. She’d plead, cajoled, bargained, and finally, privately, made promises she intends to keep, of not letting him be alone with the Admiral, and to deflect anything that riles him. Though truth be told, if he had refused, she would have too.

She knows how these 5,000-dollar-a-chair events tend to go. The media flashing cameras everywhere, how the waters are chummed with the extravagantly rich and vapid dilettantes looking toward these events like highly curated meat markets. The Admiral was forever disappointed that Andy and Beth had never come away with a potential spouse, and now is throwing Billy in without a preserver, pinning frustrated hopes on his Balenciaga tuxedo lapel.

They cause a stir amongst the press which does appeal to Beth once they step out of the car. Of course they stand out from the other six hundred art patrons, fashionistas, social chairs, and entrepreneurs. It had been Andy’s decision that they match, all midnight blue designer threads. He said nothing about the peacock emblem, a silent diatribe to how she felt so ridiculously dressed up and for what purpose, even her earrings made of actual feathers, though they had been resourced from the Bronx zoo. She doesn’t think he notices that Billy’s cuff links are embroidered cameos of peacocks, also, worn as a statement and in solidarity. He’s even less comfortable than she is. The other New York Elite are too entranced by Billy’s smile to notice he doesn’t remove the specific sunglasses he wears. She can feel how fake and brittle that smile is, and stays close, as they pass into the mansion. They both enjoy the cocktails and hors d’oeuvres served at the elegant Garden Court, which immediately puts Billy at some sort of ease. The greenery strewn around the marble fountain which splashes on oblivious of the gossip and flirtations whispered and laughed around it. The soft blue glow of lights give the packed space an intimate feel, almost as pleasing and warm as the hand lodged at the small of her back. Andy uses the opportunity to catch up with old friends and their new dates, but Beth only has eyes for the way Billy’s hand raises his champagne flute occasionally to his lips, the way his throat rises and falls with the small swallows. Over the next hour she forgets that the Admiral is there.

So many bright young things congregate and eventually start to break off in pairs and groups to meet him. Billy remains distantly polite, but not interested in the collections of Cohens and Drummonds, nor the Buffetts and the Milsteins. It feels like they are stuck in some kind of Italian Renaissance Portrait meets The Great Gatsby, and she isn’t sure particularly likes the way the women and not a few of the men seem to size Billy up. When the roving socialites go on to peruse the world-class collections housed in the Mansion ~Degas, Fragonard, Goya, Rembrandt~ she and Billy move against the currents, passing bronzes, Limoges enamels,  Sèvres porcelain. She expounds on a little art history, both fascinated and disgusted by the hoarding of wealth and culture in this place. He makes her laugh by murmuring that she should be housed amongst the guarded treasures as she is the most beautiful and delicate thing here.

They flow to one of the areas with the small round tables covered in crystal and votive tea light candles. Chair drapery and table clothes with a higher price tag than some people’s utilities. He holds her chair out and waits until she glides down into it with an unspeakable grace. He takes the seat across from her. Conversation gets interrupted by the arrival of the others. The Admiral and Auntie Aishling in the table beside theirs, Andy sitting in between with another tumbler, three fingers, neat. He’s going to need a lot more before the evening is over.

“So, William,” Aisling says. “Back in the fold after so long.” Like all the members of the family, her voice is a touch darker and deeper than it seems it should be. Measured and controlled, just the faintest bite of Eire woven through it. There is mischief in her eyes, a kind of  soft maliciousness that is so common in sibling rivalries, however the steel of it is in the way she smacks the Admiral square in the chest with her clutch when he starts to interrupt, leaning forward to partially rise from his seat. Andy is quick to scoot closer to their aunt, protective to the end. “I am going to assume you’re transitioning well?”

She can’t read the exact lack of expression on his face, or perhaps it’s entirely too complicated for her to understand. It wouldn’t be the first time, with Billy. But he manages to answer her with his own quiet dignity. "It's had its ups and downs, Miss. But over all I can't complain."

“You can call me ‘aunt’, or even Aisling if you prefer.” The Admiral is starting to turn red around the collar. But Billy? First it’s the seeds of a grin, a little unstable at the edges and he inclines his head toward their statuesque red-haired relative. Then it grows. Blooms into its radiant fullness, all very white but sharp teeth, points of which graze his lower lip. “Aunt Aisling it is, then.” She knows the conversation continues but if asked later, she will not be able to recall a single word of it. Music comes through from the ballroom where they’ve just started the party in earnest. She can feel its vibrations through the floor, the bass heavy and something she craves in opposition of having to spend time with ‘the adults’ as awkward as that’s becoming. Her eyes drift shut and she slips one foot out of the prison of satin and seed pearls and heels that add four inches to her  height. The small circumference of the tables give her the chance to actually manage to reach out. Pretty painted toes graze the inside of one muscular thigh. Keep going in their gentle exploration seeking out the warmest parts of him within reach until they do. Then it’s all undulating ocean waves, isn’t it? Less obvious than reaching out and twining fingers together in full view of everyone else. A comfort and a tease both, accidentally discovered the first time at one of the interminable and torturous family dinners. And Billy? He shifts into the seat. For all that his muscles tense, his body language becomes open and inviting but it’s not because of the company or the conversation. One arm drapes over the back of the chair, his wrist loose, hand dangling, cuff links and watch gleaming with the ambient light, not unlike the bio-luminescent glow from an angler fish. But the other... has a mind of it’s own. It drops into his lap casually. Hidden by the table cloth. Where it reaches in the nebulous dark and takes hold of her foot. Pads of his fingers pressing back against the pads of her toes. A vague Morse code of intent while his thumb strokes the sensitive curve of her instep. His eyes never leave Aisling’s face but to meet Andy’s, or the Admirals. His mouth moving with words that don’t register. His voice thicker though. 

A shiver runs down the channel of her spine and its all that she can do to pick up her glass and take a sip of it. The wine slowly savoured and swallowed before her eyes open and focus on his face, dark and molten. She chases the wine with the tip of her tongue pressing flush against her lips.

Andy’s voice is a sort of afterthought, directed to only them. Jesus Fucking Christ, you two!

Overhead, the coordinator of the gala announces that due to the torrential downpour outside, the grounds are closed but the dance hall and the rest of the mansion are free to be explored. Other guests start to trickle in, and whispers about an after-party are starting to circulate.

[trashinaglass-archive]

Love of My Life

Just a cute Tom request

Request: Hi lovely person! Can I pretty please request an imagine where reader and tom are living together and then one night, tom was waiting for reader to come home from an office meeting so he was just lounging in the living room watching football game until he fell asleep from waiting for too long. Reader got home pretty late and saw that tom has made dinner and all that cheesy stuff idk but THANK YOU SO MUCH not just for this request, but for sharing to us your beautiful imagination :)

A/n: You are the most amazing person ever. I love you so much. This is also the cutest concept. I read it at my aunts house before going to Disney and I thought about it the entire time. Thanks for requesting this!

I have a meeting tonight. Don’t know when it’ll be over, but I’ll text you when I’m leaving.

Thomas❤️: Okay love! Have a good day😘

You smiled at the text on your phone before putting it down and getting back to work, the day soon coming to a close. You sat through your meeting half paying attention to the managers, half imagining the boss standing up and announcing the end of the meeting. Your mind wandered completely when you noticed a text from Tom.

Thomas❤️: We have a feast awaiting your arrival😁

Sam was hanging out at the house this afternoon so Tom took the opportunity to get his brother’s help with cooking dinner for you. It wasn’t a secret that Tom wasn’t the best cook- he never really got into it and you liked cooking so you took care of it. He helped you whenever he could, but he had never taken the time to actually cook for you so with Sam’s help he whipped up your favorite meal. He wanted to keep it a surprise, but he was so excited he couldn’t help himself.

You grabbed your phone off the table, pulling it into your lap to text him back.

This meeting can’t get over fast enough☹️ I hope I can make it while it’s still warm

Thomas❤️: Don’t worry darling I got that covered

How charming

Thomas❤️: 😘

You smiled down at your phone before placing it back on the table, trying to pay attention to the meeting. Because no one could agree on one thing, it lasted a lot longer than it should’ve. You rolled your eyes as you walked out the room, ready to be home. You tried to call Tom and inform him that you were finally leaving, but he didn’t answer.

I’m leaving work now. Sorry it took so long.

You placed your phone in the cup holder in your car, and drove to the house you’ve been missing dearly. Grabbing your stuff, you walk inside the quiet home, hearing only the sound from the tv. You walk around the corner to see Tom slouched into the sofa, a football game on the tv. His head rested in one hand as the other was thrown over the arm of the couch, fingers resting against an open beer bottle.

You smiled seeing his peaceful figure and moved into the kitchen where you found the dishes of food sat under the light shining from the microwave mounted above the oven. You made yourself a plate of the food, throwing it into the microwave to heat up, and turning around to place it on the kitchen table. You stopped when you noticed what you had missed earlier.

Sat in the middle of the table was an arrangement of flowers in a glass vase, a plate of chocolate covered fruit, a bottle of your favorite wine, and a new stemless wineglass to add to your collection with a note in the middle:

“To spoil my hardworking princess”

Your heart warmed at the sight in front of you, wondering when he had the time to get all of this. You placed the plate on the table and moved into the living room where your favorite boy was sleeping, sitting down next to him and squeezing him into a hug. You heard him gasp, his muscles tensing as he was frightened by your touch before relaxing into you- hugging you back.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you whispered.

“Did you eat your dinner?” He asked you as his hand began to rub your back.

“Not yet. It looks good though.”

“Go eat and then you can pick a movie for us to watch.”

“Are we watching or sleeping,” you teased, your fingers beginning to play with his hair.

Tom smiled softly, his eyes closing for a second. “You watch, and I’ll sleep.”

“Are you going to last long enough for me to enjoy my feast first?”

“I’ll try my best.” You let out a small ‘okay’, grabbing his chin between your index finger and thumb and placing your lips to his before standing up to eat your dinner. You took your time but ate pretty quickly, wanting to lay with Tom before he gave in to sleep. You placed the dish in the sink when you finished, finding Tom repositioned on the sofa, laying on his back with a leg up against the back rest part. You grabbed the remote, turning the tv to the movie channel and cuddling into the sleepy boy again.

“Did you like it?” He asked as he felt your body against his.

“I did- you did a great job. It was delish,” you told him. He threw his fist out in a ‘yes’ motion, making you laugh. He leaned his head back again and closed his heavy eyes. “You can go to bed if you want. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“No,” he declined. “I want to spend time with you. Even if that means just laying with you while I sleep.”

You looked at him as he spoke, wondering how you ended up with such a kind man. “I love you,” you softly spoke, placing a kiss to his jaw before resting your head on his chest to watch the movie on the screen.

I feel like this is really short? Maybe it isn’t but I love it omg

[rosegoldjen]

christmas at the hemmings

word count: 1767

this one shot is based on a fic that I have been writing (but not published, yet) about tour!luke and if this is something that you like, I would be more than willing to start posting chapters of the full fic! enjoy :) 

Christmas was a special time of year for the Hemmings. They went all out, not sparing any expense for the celebration. The extended family traveled to Luke’s family home to celebrate with those that they loved. This year was no different. The tour had just ended and Luke felt he was in a confident enough place in his relationship. He wanted to show her off to the world. 

“I don’t like the pressure of having to meet your family during such a special time of year,” Juls groaned. She and Luke sat curled on the massive couch in Luke’s front room, the Hallmark channel playing quietly in the background. A bottle of wine sat half-drunk on the table in front of them and Juls had the rim of her lipstick-stained wine glass pressed to her cheek. 

They had been dating for almost six months now. The sticky relationship between the two of them had remained a secret for most of the tour; the two of them deciding to keep things quiet until the excitement and business of their tour lives ended. Luke’s fans had only just found out about the relationship two months ago, and Juls still hadn’t gotten used to being recognized as Luke Hemming’s girlfriend. 

“It’s okay. You’ll love my mum and she’ll love you. Christmas is one of her favorite times of the year, and she’s going to be so excited to have one more person to explain her pecan pie recipe too,” Luke was laid out on his side with his legs on top of her lap. She groaned again, leaned forward to set her wine glass down, then flopped over with a defeated huff into his stomach. 

He smiled to himself as he observed the internal war going on inside her beautiful mind. One of the things he liked too much about her was her unexplainable need to make every one like her. It was a quality that he himself did not possess. He didn’t care what others thought of him. Her awareness and his lack thereof balanced both of them and made them a team capable of overcoming anything. 

He smiled deeper and continued to stroke her hair. 

A few days and a fifteen-hour flight later, Luke and Juls were walking in the front door of Luke’s childhood home. It felt strange to Juls, she was used to snow and bundling in scarves and hats to go to Grandmas for dinner. She never imagined wearing sandals and a sundress to Christmas dinner until she started dating a tall, Australian rock star. 

“Mum!!” Luke’s voice called through the house as he set the suitcases on the floor in front of the stairs. His accent had become much more noticeable, even in the short Uber drive from the airport to his house. Juls was not complaining at all. 

Liz Hemmings rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes landed on Luke and immediately filled with so much pride and joy. 

“My baby,” she opened her arms wide and Luke stooped to wrap his arm around her. She patted his back a few times before pulling away. She held him at arm’s length to examine him before commenting on his appearance. 

(Luke was wearing a plain white t-shirt, black jeans, and his converse, a normal outfit for plane journeys.)

“My God, I do think you’ve grown five inches since I last saw you.” Liz’s eyes examined him closely. “And your lip ring is gone!” 

“It’s been gone since May, Mum,” Luke smiled and subconsciously ran his tongue along his lip, feeling the phantom ring that had been part of him for the better part of four years. Juls noticed this tiny movement of his and felt something in her stomach. She personally missed the ring. 

When they had first gotten together in mid-April, she had loved the way the cold metal contrasted with the soft warmth of his lips. But she understood what that ring symbolizes to him, and why he needed to take it out. That doesn’t mean she didn’t miss it though. 

“This is Juls,” Juls zoned back into the conversation in front of her, her eyes moving from Luke’s lips to his hand on her arm, to the outstretched hand of Luke’s mom. 

“Hi,” Juls reaches out and took Liz’s hand in her own, shaking it gently. “It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for inviting me to your Christmas.” 

Liz smiled warmly at her. “Of course, honey. Luke has not stopped talking about you since you met and when he proposed bringing you over for Christmas, I couldn’t say no.” 

With her tone and her smile, and Luke’s hand reassuring on the small of her back, Juls felt even more at home than she did in her own apartment. She knew immediately that the dynamic that this family had was something that she wanted to be a part of for a long long time. 

“Luke, why don’t you take Juls upstairs and show her where you’ll be staying. Your cousins and the kids will be here shortly and your brothers are coming just before dinner. I’ve got a pecan pie to finish.” 

Luke grabbed their luggage and started up the stairs. Juls followed. 

Christmas traditions had remained the same in the Hemmings household for as long as Luke could remember. Everyone shared a big meal together on Christmas Eve. After the meal had been eaten and the adults had red cheeks from too much laughter (or maybe it was from too much wine, Luke still couldn’t decide), they migrated to the front room to watch their favorite Christmas movies. 

Juls loved that she had the chance to be a part of these traditions. She didn’t want to admit even to herself how quickly this boy was beginning to become her whole world. She wanted to be a part of his life and if that meant spending the entire Christmas holiday, she loved every second of it. 

Watching Luke with his baby cousins was something that made Juls practically melt. He was a natural with them. He picked them up and made them laugh. She stood at the bay window in the back room and watched as he carried them on his shoulders and galloped across the backyard. They adored him.

“He’s a natural, isn’t he?” Liz startled her just a bit, but Juls didn’t mind. She smiled and continued watching her boyfriend lope across the backyard with two little children attached to his back.

“He is,” Juls smiled when she responded, continuing to watch him.

“He loves you, you know,” Liz said, gently. Juls hummed. She really didn’t know what to say to respond. “He talks about nothing but you. And the way he looks at you, oh honey, I’ve never seen him happier.”

“I’m happy too.” And she realized, she meant it. Juls had never met anyone who had made her feel more safe and more at home than Luke had in just the short amount of time they had been together. 

“And when he was with her, he was just miserable. He never called, he never came and visited, the last two Christmases he didn’t even come home. Somethings changed though, and I know it’s you.” Juls realized that she agreed with Liz.

“Mum!” Luke’s voiced called from the kitchen.

“In here, sweetheart!” 

Luke walked through the opening that led to the kitchen. He had the two small children in tow. Luke’s eyes landed on Juls and immediately his expressions changed from exasperated to soft. He smiled his dimpled smile and gave her a quick wink. Juls felt her cheeks heat just a little as she smiled softly back. 

It was strange for her, showing any type of public display of affection, even something as small as a wink in the privacy of Luke’s childhood home. 

“Aunt Liz, Aunt Liz!!” the kids ran out from behind Luke’s legs to get the attention of their doting aunt. 

“They’ve been complaining about how hungry they are for the last hour,” Luke explained, casting a hopeful look at his mother. Liz just laughed and started ushering the kids towards the kitchen. 

“I’ll take care of them,” she smiled and kissed Luke’s cheek on her way by. “You kids tired your cousin Luke out!”

Luke laughed as he took a few steps closer to Juls. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder, pressing a quick kiss onto her shoulder. Juls reached up and wrapped her hands around his arms and leaned back into his chest.

“Hi,” he said into her hair.

“Hi babe. How’s it goin’?”

“I’m not as young as I used to be, I’ll tell ya that.” She felt his lips move into a light smile against the back of her neck. 

Juls laughed, “You just turned 21 babes, how old do you think you are?”

“Hey. They are half my age, that means twice the energy.”

“Sure, sure that’s exactly what that means.” 

“Mmmm,” Luke mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m so happy you decided to come with me.”

“Of course,” Juls turned in Luke’s arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t miss spending time with you and getting to meet and hang out with your family has been so so much fun.” 

Luke pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They love you. Out of all the girls I’ve brought home, no welcome has compared to the welcome that you received. Plus, they haven’t let anyone sleep in my bed with me.”

“I’m honored,” Juls laughed. They had talked about past relationships. Juls knew that he had been seeing someone else when something first started happening between them, but since the drama had blown over, they were able to laugh about it now. 

 “I am proud that you are the first,” Luke closed the distance between his lips and hers in a quick, but meaningful kiss. 

This Christmas was the best Christmas that either of them had had in a while. Christmas Day turned into Christmas night which was filled with board games, wine, and laughter. Luke spent most of the night watching Juls interact with his family. She naturally blended with the sweetness of his mother but was willing to put up a fight with his father. His brothers loved her sense of humor and the back and forth she kept up with them. And his cousins loved her. The kids wanted to sit next to her at dinner and during the board games for the rest of the night.  

Luke was happy. 

[skgway]

1824 Aug., Mon. 30

6 10/60

1

Went out at 8 1/4 – Took Cordingley and went to see the Castle – Missed the proper turn to the Castle gate, and went to the top of the hill to the Deal Turnpike – 3/4 hour seeing the Castle, that is, walking round it within the walls with one of the wardens (there are 3) – 

The great square tower a magazine of military stones – Never shewn – Might be seen with a very particular order from Captain Smart, Commanding engineer (who lives at Ashley-fort near Dover – nor without a particular order from Captain S– [Smart] (which he seldom gives but to military men, but would not refuse to ladies) could one see the underground bomb-proof barracks, communicating by several subterraneous passages with the Castle, and having light from windows cut in the Cliff, about midway from the bottom (of the Cliff) – 

Chimneys come out to the surface in the Castle yard thro’ little round brick-walled inclosures (like little pinfolds) that have a singular appearance – these subterraneous barracks have also a communication with the preventive station where they watch the smugglers – Very few smugglers here –The castle stood upon, or rather the castle wall enclosed 35 acres – 

Saw the old church said to have been built by King Lucius (the 1st Xtian [Christian] King in Britain, now a coal-store – But no soldiers here now – Only a corporal and 6 artillery men sent every day from the heights, who stay 24 hours and are then relieved by another party – 2 regiments always in the castle during the war –  

Saw the old tower said to have been built by Claudius and castled with flint by Henry 5 – Fine views of sea, the cliffs, and country, but too hazy to see far across the channel – The French coast quite shut out from view – Lord Liverpool governor of the Castle lives at Warder? Castle 2 miles from Deal, 6 from here (Dover) – A modern place – 

Got back to breakfast in about 1/4 hour – Easily ran down the steps to the Inn, the Kings Head, kept by a widow a Mrs. Podevin – She pays so much to have the coach stop at her every other week, and when it is her week, the people in London have no right to recommend passengers to Mr. Chaplin’s the London Hotel, who is proprietor, and who has the coach the alternate weeks –

Till returning from the castle this morning and seeing the name over the door, I knew no other then that I had stopt at the London hotel – Agreed Mrs. Podevin was ill used – Would not say it was Leuliette who recommended me to the London, but gave her the card, having written on the back the date of today and “the lady from Webbe’s hotel” because this Mrs. P– [Podevin] said would prove what they always denied viz the recommending passengers to the London hotel –

She wanted to recommend me to her relation of her own name in Calais, but I had determined to go to Quillac’s – The London hotel is a better looking house then this – This is very secondly, but I have been pretty comfortable and I can not [wish] for more at present – 

Breakfasted and on board the Britannia steam packet Captain Busher at 12 – An hour before we were out of the harbour – Beautiful day – The sea quite smooth – Nobody sick – Landed at Calais, on the quay at 4 – 

Met with a civilised, quiet-looking, mild-mannered, elderly, gently enough man on board, with whom I got into conversation, and finding he knew French and Calais well, and was going to Quillacq’s, asked to join him – He was very civil – Went with me to the custom to get my writing-box searched, and desired Quillacq to let me have everything comfortable, saying he would pay his respects in the morning – 

I found his name was Welch – He had come to take back his son whom he had left here in a french family to learn the language during the holidays of his classical school at home – The boy, aetatis 13, each to meet us – A nice boy enough – 

Got to Quillacq’s about 4 1/2 § – Dinner at 5 1/4 – Potage a la julienne and fricassée de poulet – Un biscuit, 2 pêches, and 2 poires pour dessert – Everything very good – Had it in my bed-room e la François  – A very neat room – Had a bottle of red hermitage good, – Drank about a 3rd of it, and felt a little idle and sleepy – 

Dawdled doing nothing till 7 from then to 9 1/2 writing finished my letter of 3 pages and the ends pretty tolerably close to my aunt (vide Friday) and wrote the latter, 2 pages and the ends and under the seal, and finished my letter to M– [Mariana] began on Friday – Giving an account of my proceedings – Affectionate to 𝛑 [Mariana], but anyone might see it for they would not understand my express want of her, not lessened by my wine – 

From 10 1/4 to 11 3/4 repacked my trunk and basket neatly; for they had turned everything out at the custom house – E [two dots] O [no dots] little or no discharge – Very fine day – But about 8 p.m. Cordingley came in to say, it “lighteninged so hard”, she really durst not sit in her room by herself – I smiled and bade her sat down in a corner of my room – 

She did not stay long – The storm began to abate – The lightning was most vivid (at first short lightning then forked), the flashes incessant and the thunder very loud, for above 1/2 hour – with very heavy rain – The Talbot steam packet ought to have been in by 6 but was not then in sight – my little Fahrenheit 77º at 11 3/4 p.m. 

[sideways in margin] § went immediately to the diligence bureau – Thro’ the negligence of Mr. Chaplin at the London hotel Dover, he had put me down in the way–bill as having outside places all the way, instead of only from London to Dover, and I had the difference to pay – i.e. 18 francs 16 solidis – But got a receipt for the money and a promise of its being returned in Paris –

[More on Dover Castle’s ‘old tower,’ church, and tunnels]

Two 80-foot Roman lighthouses were built at Dover Castle during Emperor Claudius reign, but only one survives. The Romans modeled the lighthouses after one they built at Boulonge for the Roman Emperor Caligula. 

Next door to the lighthouse is the Anglo-Saxon church of St Mary in Castro. The working church was partly rebuilt in the medieval era, and was restored by the Victorians after many years of neglect.

Deep inside the White Cliffs of Dover are three miles of medieval underground tunnels, burrowed beneath the castle during and after the Siege of 1216, expanded during the Napoleonic Wars of the 1800s, and later used during World War II as an air raid shelter before becoming a military command centre.

[bytheangell]

i am so in love with time travel fics so if it's not too much trouble can you please write something re: sad!past!magnus (maybe TID-era, or anything really) somehow winding up in the present day, and finding out that he's gonna be ok, he's gonna be so happy with his husband and children (if you want to include the book!malec kids here) and family, and the world might not be perfect but it's going to be better than he thought it could be

Believe in All the Possibilities (Read on AO3)Magnus just wants a carefree night of music, perhaps a bit of dancing, and most definitely more drinking than would be strictly advisable in his current emotional state. Maybe, if he still feels awful enough by the end of the night, he can end up in a den of questionable moral offerings on the shadier side of London. Who knows where the night might take him?

Instead he finds himself staring across the room at Camille, dancing far too close to be publicly decent with her current conquest. That’s all they are, he reminds himself, but it doesn’t help, not when he was in her arms not that long ago (had it been weeks? months? what’s time to an immortal, anyway?). Not when she’s the reason he’s drinking his heartbreak drink alone at the bar in the first place. He watches her for a while, losing track of time (has it been minutes? hours? time matters so little these days…). It’s the amount of time it takes to drink two bottles of whiskey, he can measure it that way. He thinks he might just continue for the rest of the night until Camille meets his eyes, winks at him, and then pushes her suitor against a wall to shove her tongue down his throat and run her hands down the length of his body and-

He needs to leave. 

Magnus pays his tab and walks out of the party, doing his best not to look back. He almost manages it but steals one last glance, not sure if he’s more or less hurt by the realization that she isn’t even watching him for his reaction, now entirely lost in the arms of her new lover. It isn’t a comfort to remind himself that he probably means nothing to her because that’s only a reminder that he meant nothing to her, too. 

He doesn’t have a place in mind when he opens a portal. He’s only just polished up with Henry a more stable way of opening portals for Shadowhunters to use, with runes drawn intricately around where they wish to form it to channel the magic needed. The one he opens now, fueled only by his own raw power, could be considered a prototype at best. It’s unstable and unpredictable without the runes to ground it, but hell, he’s feeling more than a little unstable and unpredictable himself. 

Magnus knows, deep down, that this is a mistake. The first rule to using a portal is to have a clear picture of where you’re going, but instead he steps into it with only one thought in mind: Take me somewhere I can be happy. I just want to feel okay again.

London vanishes behind him, and everything goes black. 

—

By all accounts he should be dead. Or in limbo. Or some horrifying combination of both.

Instead, Magnus finds himself blinking his eyes open from darkness to take in the scene around him of a city that is most definitely not London. There are street lamps lit along the– no, not lamps. The light coming from them isn’t fire. They’re electric. In fact, electric lights seem to be everywhere, despite the lightbulb barely being functional in the richest of areas testing out electricity in 1878. 

But that’s not the strangest thing. Magnus takes a few tentative steps towards the street only to jump backwards at the speed of the… well, he isn’t sure what the horrifyingly fast cart that passed him is exactly, but he knows that one more step forward and he would’ve been underneath it. Sobering up much faster than he’d like, Magnus starts to realize that however improbable the idea is, he has to face the facts that add up around him. He appears to be in the future - at the very least an alternate timeline, one far more advanced than his own. Regardless, either should be impossible. 

And the most distressing realization (as if all of that isn’t enough) is that since he has no idea how he managed to get here, he isn’t entirely sure how to get himself back. 

If he even can. 

…if he even wants to. 

After all, the past holds little for him outside of disappointments and broken promises. He can hardly find joy in his work at the moment, the one thing he’s consistently turned to as a source of pride and solace, so why bother going back to a life destined for solitude and misery? 

But first things first: he needs to figure out exactly where he is. It takes a bit of poking around and more than a few heavy American accents telling him in no uncertain terms not to so much as look at  them, before he gets the answers he’s looking for. It’s New York in the late 2010s, a little over a hundred years ahead of where he came from. 

But why here? Why now? 

Those questions are answered when he backs up quickly to narrowly avoid two children who turn the corner and nearly run directly into him, followed by the voice of someone calling out after them. No, not someone - that’s his voice. 

“Max! Rafe! This isn’t a game tonight, okay? Something’s wrong and I need to test the wards before you can go inside.”

Magnus glamours himself immediately, pressing up against the side of the building to let them pass while  listening in on the middle of a conversation this future version of himself is holding with a very tall, very attractive Shadowhunter. 

“-I don’t know, Alexander. But something feels off with my magic, like I can sense too much of it? I can’t explain it, but I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong before you and the boys come up.” And then he’s gone, vanishing into the apartment building while the man named Alexander waits on the sidewalk with two children, one warlock and one shadowhunter. Magnus knows because of the runes and blue skin he can see just beyond their glamours; glamours which are good enough to fool mundanes but not strong enough to block out skilled warlocks who are looking hard enough. The children must be keeping their own glamours up rather than relying on ones put on by the two adults. Impressive, especially for children so young. 

The warlock boy starts to poke small jolts of magic into the Shadowhunter boy, who looks about two seconds away from stabbing the warlock boy in the arm with his stele if he doesn’t stop. Magnus has the sudden impulse to give away his own hidden position to stop them but Alexander is already on top of it.  

“Max! No magic on the street, you know that. Rafael, please, if you break another stele this month Izzy’s going to kill both of us. Just stand still for two minutes while Papa checks the wards.” 

“Alright, Dad,” the children say in unison.

And that’s when Magnus realizes. These aren’t just people his future self is working with, or bringing here for a social visit. These are his children. And Alexander is… well, if Dad and Papa weren’t enough, one glance down at the wedding ring on the Shadowhunter’s finger is all the answer he needs there, too. Magnus can sense the magic there, his magic there, laced with more protection charms than should reasonably be contained in an object so small. 

The future version of himself comes back downstairs looking more confused than ever, and just for confirmation Magnus’ eyes immediately drop to the matching wedding band on his hand, standing out in its simplicity compared to the rings surrounding it. I’m married. And more than that, married to a mortal. A Shadowhunter. “Everything’s fine. C’mon kids, grab your things before we drop you back off at the Institute with Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Simon for the weekend.” 

Magnus follows behind as they go upstairs, the wards letting him pass without incident as they’re keyed to his own magic, after all. He’s careful to stay out of the way as he remains hidden from view, listening to the sounds of laughter as the children pack clothing into a bag and his future self enjoys a glass of wine with his husband, eavesdropping on their conversation while he looks around the room at children’s artwork and smiling family photos, feeling the warmth that radiates from this nontraditional family. 

“Once we get back to Alicante I have three meetings, one with Consul Penhallow,” his future self sighs. “Remind me again why I let you talk me into the High Warlock position?” 

Alexander laughs. “Talk you into it? As I remember, the moment you heard Alicante was getting one you practically demanded to be the one to, how did you put it?, ‘put the Clave in their place once and for all’?” 

Magnus nearly chokes on the air he’s breathing. High Warlock is one thing, it’s an honor he’s always dreamed of. But High Warlock of Alicante? It sounds absolutely absurd and he can hardly comprehend the idea of it. Downworlders are barely allowed to exist in the same rooms as Shadowhunters, let alone exist as any sort of authority in their sacred country. He’s broken from his thoughts by his future self speaking again. 

“Yes, well, I also remember the job coming with the clear perk of moving to Alicante with my husband the Inquisitor, so-” 

Magnus watches them smile at one another, leaning in to kiss. It’s a short one, quickly interrupted by a flying pillow and the laughter of children. Soon both wine glasses are magicked away and both his future self and Alexander are each grabbing a child, spinning them before pinning them to the ground, tickling them into submission. 

Suddenly Magnus realizes why he’s here, why now. 

This is what he wanted. This is where he’s happy. 

There is so much love in the room it’s practically palpable. He’s married to someone he clearly trusts, someone he doesn’t believe will hurt him or leave him, because he knows himself. He knows how impossible the idea of finding someone like that feels right now, and how important this Alexander must be for him to go against everything he’s resolutely resigned to in his own mind and allow him into his life in such a monumental way. And a family… as impossible as marriage seems to him, the idea of a family isn’t even up for consideration. This sort of life - settling down, unconditional love, contentment, happiness - it isn’t meant for him. It never has been, and he never thought it would be. 

Until now. 

When his future self opens a portal to the Institute they’re going to drop the children off at Magnus instinctively follows close behind, still glamoured, coming out of the other side and into the New York Institute just as it closes, like it knows to wait for him. The children immediately run into the arms of another Shadowhunter, a woman this time, and then the man beside her. A vampire, who is casually coexisting in the inner sanctum of the Shadowhunters and friendly with his future children. 

“Simon!” The young Shadowhunter boy, Rafe, nearly shouts. “I got my speed rune, I bet I can beat you in a race now!” 

The vampire - Simon - laughs. “Oh yeah? We’ll have to see about that…” 

Magnus almost feels guilty for intruding on these moments. He knows they’re not for him, not yet, but he can’t help himself when Alexander and his future self say goodbye shortly after and he’s ducking quickly behind them into another portal, this time coming out somewhere entirely unfamiliar at first. It takes a few moments before the scenery around him registers. 

Alicante. 

He recognizes the demon towers, can feel the strength of the angelic power around him from both the concentrated amount of Shadowhunters and the adamas veins that run beneath the city. He’s immediately uncomfortable, an instinctive sense of unease coming from so much as stepping foot upon the City of Glass… but not his future self. 

He watches his future self visibly relax the moment he steps foot out of the portal and onto the ground of the park below. Can anyone portal into the middle of Alicante at will now or is it just him, Magnus wonders idly. Exactly how much have things changed? 

…exactly how much of that is, potentially, because of him? 

Magnus follows his future self and Alexander down a path he realizes was picked deliberately for the portal to open up at. The pair take their time wandering down it, hand in hand, talking and catching up on each other’s days. Alexander mentions Catarina and Magnus feels his heart swell at the knowledge that they’re still friends, even now. Maybe everyone doesn’t leave him in the end after all. 

When his future self and Alexander finally reach a building that’s most likely their home Magnus decides not to follow them inside. He’s seen enough: enough to know that he may never stop watching this version of his life if he doesn’t leave soon, and more than enough to know that running away from the life he has now is no longer what he wants, not when he has this to look forward to in the end.  It might not be what he thought he wanted out of life, but maybe it’s exactly what he needs.

Magnus feels a lightness in him he didn’t imagine himself capable of just an hour ago. Hope, the smallest seed of it, rests firmly within him after the sights he witnessed tonight. He just has to let it grow, nurture the idea that things may seem bleak now but they won’t be forever. He has proof of that now, a reason to believe that he’s more than just someone to be used and discarded. That one day he’ll find a love powerful enough to see him marrying a Shadowhunter, taking on a job title he never could’ve imagined existing let alone holding personally, and raising a family to come home to at the end of the day. Loved. Accepted. Content. 

Before he came here he simply wanted to dull the ache and numb himself to any feelings at all; now he finds himself overwhelmed by too many emotions to count, and he couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

This may all be his one day, but first he has to get here. Once he’s certain he’s alone he conjures a portal of his own, picturing London and a life that’s only as meaningful as he chooses to make it.His life no longer feels like an inevitable sentence to play out but rather a glowing future that’s his for the taking. ‘Take me home’ he thinks with surprising fondness as he takes his first step towards that light.

[john1513kjv-blog]

My Testimony: How Jesus saved my life (multiple times)

I was born and raised in a religious family (notably Catholic). Growing up I went to mass every Sunday, believing in God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary (not really as much); or so I thought I did. In my middle school and high school years, I was like everyone else. I thought that everything was fine and that there was nothing wrong with the things I did (like lying, stealing things behind my parents’ back, cussing, saying rude things behind my parents’ back when they told me things I didn’t like.)

Though I didn’t realize somewhere down the line; things were about to change for me and my family. 2011 was the year that my grandma died and it affected everyone in my family, including my mom. Life hasn’t been the same for her. Once a happy soul eager to have people around, now is always suspicious of others, not wanting to go out or visit anyone, claiming people are out to get her. I didn’t understand much of what was happening. I just simply thought my mom was crazy. But at the same time, I wondered why God let this happen? Again, I didn’t thought much of it, I simply did more things things that were considering wrong in God’s eyes (like lying to my mom that my aunt called me and cursed my mom when I only called a local gamestop store to get a game I wanted, looking up porn due to a dare from a so-called “friend” and looking up fetish art)

In high school I dated this japanese-american guy who was an atheist, he was the one who proposed to me. At the time, I didn’t know much about what love was. It wasn’t until my parents found and got angry, not for the fact he was an atheist, but for the fact that I was texting him many times in class and it raised the price on the phone bill. My dad furiously told me to end the relationship immediately. I was really upset about it, yet I did as I was told. It hurt my now ex boyfriend and I was mad at what my parent’s said to me. So what I did was told him to just pretend to be friends but to keep the relationship a secret. It worked for only a month until my now ex told me that what I was doing was wrong to lie to my parent’s behind their backs. I didn’t understand at first until he wanted to end our relationship. Without question, I did what he told me and again I was upset. Little did I know that Jesus was doing me a favor. Had he not intervene, I would have ended up a homeless teen mom.

After breaking ties with the Catholic Church (due to my mom’s irrational, mental instability), my dad sought help elsewhere. We went to this Christian Church that supposedly teaches from the Bible but something about it was missing. My dad told me that he felt that there was something wrong in that church. Was it due to the fact it held church services on Sunday instead of the seventh day (Saturday) as the Bible said? Again, I didin’t think much of it. I went to this “revival”, not because I wanted to look for Christ, but for worldly pleasures.

Come 2014, and my dad was searching something on the TV (something to watch or perhaps something related to the Bible). That wasn’t until He found a channel called “El Evangelio Eterno” (in English: The Everlasting Gospel). Namely this Pastor (who’s the head pastor of this ministry) was preaching something that none of us has ever heard, the three angels’ message.

REVELATION 14:6-12

  6 And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people,                                                                         7 Saying with a loud voice, Fear God, and give glory to him; for the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters.                                                                                  8 And there followed another angel, saying, Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city, because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her fornication. 9 And the third angel followed them, saying with a loud voice, If any man worship the beast and his image, and receive his mark in his forehead, or in his hand, 10 The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his indignation; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb:                                                                                        11 And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever: and they have no rest day nor night, who worship the beast and his image, and whosoever receiveth the mark of his name.                                                         12 Here is the patience of the saints: here are they that keep the commandments of God, and the faith of Jesus.                                                    

From then on, my dad wanted to know more of what they were preaching and that’s when they announced that they were opening a church a few miles away to where we live.The first one who went there was my dad. I didn’t pay that much attention to my dad when he watched the channel nor what they were saying or teaching. But one day (it was a Saturday), out of curiousity, I asked my dad if I wanted to come with him and he said yes. From there I always went with him to church, but at the same time, I was missing something. I learned about all the prophecies of the end times, that Jesus was coming real soon, about God’s real day of rest (Saturday), learned about the health reform that God can heal us, not just spiritually, but also from our physical illnesses too. I learned all these things, yet something was still missing. In September 2, 2017, our pastor preached to us (in a sermon of the end times) that Donald Trump signed the executive order to make Sunday, National Day of Prayer as a response to for the victims of hurricane Harvey.

At that moment, I was scared. I felt my heart racing. I thought to myself, “If I don’t get baptized soon, I might get left behind and receive the mark of the beast”. So I was one of the few people that got baptized that day, and that’s when I gave my life to Jesus. I studied more of God’s word, made a YouTube Channel to teach end-time prophecies, used my old social media accounts to spread the gospel (or so I thought I did) and I let go some of the things that I used to like (like stealing, secular music, looking up things that were not centered around God, video games [mostly because I was addicted to them and were the main reason I lied to my mom to get me a game]) and I thought I was saved. 2 years went by, I gave gospel tracts (but only at the front door because I was a little bit shy on what to say), and made posters that show the pagan origins of every holiday celebrated (except for thanksgiving).

Every Sabbath became dull, and everytime a sermon on end time prophecy is preached, I always listen yet feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit and I end up crying because I felt like I haven’t done much for the Lord. Everyday I always had a nagging feeling inside that something was wrong. It was until then I started developing a small legalistic mindset (meaning that if I didn’t do enough of what I was taught, I wasn’t gonna make it. Let me tell you, it affected my character greatly. I tried confronting people (including my old church friends) that what they were believing in was wrong and I used Scripture to convince them that they were wrong (instead of using it in a correct and humble manner) and they would fight back and I couldn’t be able to respond either because I didn’t know much of something or I didn’t want to risk embarassing myself. I became self righteous, but in the inside (I was good at masking my character) I started watching conspiracy videos and things involving the New World Order and the Illuminati and thought that God wanted me to tell people about it. I only told a few people about it, little by little, with a little bit of bible prophecy, yet I was still scared.

Overtime, I was interested in learning a little bit about the health reform that I signed up to be a medical missionary, so I can learn how God can heal people physically and spiritually (like how Jesus preached and healed people as well). I remember signing up and was super exciting about it. It was very interesting to learn at first, but just like church, it became very dull. Along with my legalistic mindset, I developed some minor depression, anxieties, which didn’t help that I suffer from a mild case of ADHD (a mental disorder I had since birth).

These things filled my soul with even more but I didn’t want to admit it. Come May 24, 2019, I went to this church retreat center in the mountain, where they were going to do seminars on the art of apologetics. The third day, I was there and I got up early to attend church service in the main audience hall. I didn’t remember much about what the pastor was preaching but I remember hearing something along the lines of the pastor saying, “God has given us all this light to share to the world” “What exactly are we doing with that light?” The sermon hit me hard that day and my anxieties rised up again and I felt extreme fear inside, that God didn’t want me anymore because I didn’t do enough. After the service ended, a sister from the service stopped me as I was leaving. She told me, “What is wrong? Why were you crying?” I told her my problems and I mentioned to her that I haven’t brought a soul to Christ for 2 years and felt like I wasn’t good enough. She responded kindly with: “Everyone in the church feels like that, including myself. That’s why we come to learn how to do these things. God knows your heart, and knows that you want to serve Him, but you just have to be patient and He will let you know when it’s the right time to do it. You don’t have to do everything at once because God didn’t call you to do any of that. The reason is that you’re not completely ready yet and He is still teaching you His word. He won’t let you carry more than you can handle. Just keep your eyes on Him and you’ll be fine.” I listened to her and thanked her.

The last thing I remember I ran to my cabin and I went down on my knees crying with all my heart, “Thank you God, Thank Jesus, Thank you for saving me, for sending me this sister to comfort me. If it wasn’t for you, I would have called it quits. Forgive me Lord, for losing sight of why I am here. Forgive me for having this legalistic mindset, for being decieved to think that works saved me when you did it all for me through the sacrifice of your only Begotten Son. If I have to wait 5, 10, or even 20 years for me to be where you want me to be Lord, I’ll wait. All I ask is to never let you go and to never lose sight of you.” After that, I felt like the weight of my chest was lifted off. I understood God’s grace and mercy on someone like me. A 23-year-old woman with ADHD, a quirky sense of humor, artistic talent, yet always tries her best to love others. Jesus saved my life many times in my past, even now. All because He loved me enough to die for not only for me but for you who’s reading this.

That’s right, He loves you also. He loves you enough that He died so that you and I could be free from your sins and reconnect with God. All it takes to turn away from your sinful lifestyle (whether it be drugs, prostitution, masturbation, homosexuality, theft, hatred, alcoholism, addiction of any kind), and learn to live for Jesus. <3

JOHN 3:16-20

 16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.            17 For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.  

18 He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.                                                                                           19 And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.                         

20 For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither* cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.                                                                       21 But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.                                                                                                        

[akiwisfics]

In the Middle Chapter 8

Notes: No longer a crosspost, technically, but chapter already written. If you get annoyed by this, please savior ‘kiwi crossposts’ to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairing: KasumixSha’ira

--

Kasumi was never a cook. Oh she craved good food like anyone that had the taste of fine life, fine wine-- an opportunity to know the difference between a perfect cut of perfect temperature of steak to scraps left behind from a meal between bored batarian slavers more concerned with profits than artistry and fine dining. But she didn’t have the chance to know how to make it herself. Not surprisingly-- she was a child when she was taken, and by the time that she was freed of her shackles, she was more concerned with the constant burning and itching  at the back of her skull than the differences of various fish filets.

Ah, but soon, she would taste riches, and sometimes, it enraptured her in a way that only art came close to.

But the richest of the rich didn’t know either. They couldn’t until that food was taken from them. No doubt many of those old blood capitalists and tyrants craved now, now that the old system was gone. 

She enjoyed taking samples when she crashed dinner parties, flirting with the idea of being among their elite and making people guess how and where they had seen her before. It was part of the fun. She learned the differences and specifics of turian, asari, quarian cuisine-- the history of different cuts and fishes that once passed alien hands in their own celebrations. She would say it was for research, to keep the guessing game going, but well.

Nothing compared to her grandmother’s cooking.

They only knew each other for about a month or so before she passed, when Kasumi was trying to figure out how to be human in the deepest dark of her despair. At times, she thought on the time and wished she’d been kinder. Spoke more, shared love and affection with her grandmother and aunt more freely. But she hadn’t known how to do it, not after losing someone so tremendous so recently. 

But every day, her grandmother would pull her from the reaches and into their tiny apartment kitchen, the thick smell of salty broth and noodles pulling her back into reality. The mere reminder of it could make Kasumi’s mouth water-- rich, melting in her mouth, leaving a soft warmth behind in her chest.

She would find out over time more specifics of what she made. It was a style of miso ramen, made specifically for the harsh winters in Japan’s northern region. Her grandmother had a restaurant for a time on Earth before moving her family to the Citadel after humanity discovered the Mass Relays and made contact with the rest of the galaxy. She had tried running a few shops there in the Wards, but had retired early to help the family adjust to life in space. 

Her grandmother served them ramen in two large, expensive bowls, chopsticks and spoon-- as was traditional back home. Kasumi would get a fork the first week until she learned how to move the chopsticks with ease (it wasn’t much different than any other work she did honestly; a little practice and a little deft work and it was done). The broth-- a thick combination of miso and fish-- easily overtook the small space between them as it soaked rich wheat noodles. Her grandmother claimed the sliced pork inside was fresh, even if that was probably impossible, topped with sweet corn, sprouts, and plenty of garlic. If she was really lucky, there would be a sliced boiled egg floating on top.

It was divine. A true labor of love each and every day. 

“You’re starting to get some meat on your bones.” Her grandmother had a sharp eye too. She could see the resemblance between them. Thick brown eyes that had been hers once, the same nose and round jaw. Her hair had lengthened well past her shoulders after decades, though Kasumi rarely saw it free from the loose bun she wrapped it in. Much the same reason she had kept her own short-- easy and out of the way of work.

She had carried her age with grace, and in her most optimistic moods, she had imagined herself looking much the same, perhaps with a grandchild of her own lingering in the kitchen, waiting for the ramen to soak like she so often did. 

30 short days, and yet they seemed to have known each other for years.

“Nanami?”

She had looked over the bowl of steam, mirroring a smile that she knew now was a family trait. “Sorry, I just--”

“What were the colonies like?”

Kasumi hadn’t known. What specks of memories she still had about her first home weren’t concrete enough to give. There was similar thick aromas in her father’s kitchen, late nights where her mother returned home covered in oil and grime. Fights and games shared with her sister. A bundle of blankets tightly wrapping around a baby boy, keeping him warm and secured. 

The mines and fields she worked after weren’t colonies. Not the romanticized ones so often advertised over the vids. Sometimes it sickened her so badly that she had to switch the channel-- something that hadn’t been lost by the other two occupants in the home.

“Mom and Dad were happy,” she said instead.

“I don’t doubt it. They would be happy to see us all here again.”

She could’ve asked a million things. What were they like? Why did they go out into the colonies in the first place? Had she kept contact? Questions that another day, another season, Kasumi would have been happy to be occupied in finding out, but as it stood, she was hurting, and as it stood, they never asked her how she came to be there.

She’d been afraid then. Unfortunately for her grandmother, the geth would find her before Kasumi had the strength to ask.

--

Dark fell quickly over their campsite-- clear as the day had been with leftover spring warmth that made it easy for her group members to stay out longer than usually. Many of them mingled awkwardly with their salarian counterparts, though fewer in number as the day wore on. If Kasumi had to guess, they were moving their camp closer. Strength in numbers. Their preoccupation would make it easy to get out, though increased her chances in running into a member or two later on in her venture.

The sea of stars above was stunning with constellations and lights that likely hadn’t been seen on London soil in decades, freed of manmade pollution and electricity. If she had time, it wouldn’t be so bad to make her way to a mostly intact building or two to stargaze. How much time she would actually have though entirely depended on how urgent someone would be to find her though. How much Major Kirrahe actually trusted her to behave.

Considering she was in her catsuit already, the lack of trust was right, however irritating it might have been. It wasn’t as if she trusted any of the STG either. Still, the catsuit felt nice after so long, fitted perfectly and adjusted for whatever tumbles and climbs she would need to make throughout her trip. 

No one was keeping a close eye to her tent. Big mistake. She activated her cloaking immediately and kept her steps quiet as she made her exit. The heavy darkness and night that blanketed the rest of the empty streets was felt immediately as soon as she crossed the perimeter, but the stars and moon were perfect for the occasion. Just enough light to help guide her way. 

There were lots of little signs of life along the way. Nests of different finch birds, a quick sonata of crickets somewhere in the distance-- out of sight and out of mind. She could see holes dug in on old gods where animals tried to make them home. Plants, grass, weeds worming their way through the cracks of broken concrete. The art that would be inspired by this wonderful rejuvenation would be wonderful to see.

The smoke that permeated so much of the asphalt seemed to fade just a bit once she did reach the graffiti wall again, as if the world was also calming down the further she left her little pocket of civilization. There weren’t any more names left on the wall, though the fact hadn’t surprised her. From here, her and Sha’ira had gone about a half-block down, over the fallen reaper. It would be a tight squeeze still, but she could move faster without someone trailing behind. She really should get something to thank the consort. Though Kasumi wasn’t sure what all could be found that was… luxurious in the ruins, there may have been a nook or cranny or two that the Alliance hadn’t touched yet--

And oh. Her omni-tool was beeping. She let the cloak fall for now as she recognized the name on the other end. Just the girl she wanted to talk to.

“Evening!” Kasumi answered into her ear piece, eyes keeping watch of the area around her. Just in case. “I thought you might be asleep already.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have called at all if you thought that.” Khalisah’s voice was groggy. She felt sort of honored that she would wake up just for little ol’ Kasumi. “If this is about the murders, I already planned on moving my camp in the morning. But you know if I get close, STG will be on my ass within minutes.”

Kasumi ignored it. “Do you know about the other groups around here?”

The hissing sigh on the other end was long and exasperated, but she heard her rustling through her belongings, grumbling the entire time. “My notes are around here, hold on… Couldn’t you just ask for this when it’s not in the middle of the night?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You fucking suck,” but there wasn’t as much bite as there was usually. Kasumi smiled. She heard pages (paper? Oh how old-school) being quickly flipped through before Khalisah finally spoke again. “There’s another volunteer group southwest from you guys? Pretty much the same. Only thing that stood out was an older guy with half his face scarred to shit.”

“Yellow armor? Real terminus system vibe to it?” Not ideal, but if Zaeed was close, he might be bored enough to lend a hand. Security detail for a volunteer group seemed a bit low energy for him, but maybe their benefactor had about as much credit as theirs did. 

“Yeah. Figures you’d know the only other shady person in the area.”

“Be nice. He’s just cranky, usually.” And had a lot of guns and explosives on hand. He also was real handy with booby traps. If she could get her hands on another proximity mine, he could tell her something that she wouldn’t know already. Especially if their batarian neighbors were more mercenary than refugee. “Could you do me a favor?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know what blackmail means, Ms. Goto.”

“I could’ve just let the batarians kill you, you know,” she teased. Good-naturedly. Promise.

Khalisah sighed. “Fine, fine. Whatever. What do you want?”

“Be happy. I was going to keep you up for the night before you told me that,” and suppressed a snort when she heard the snarl. “Make sure it’s Zaeed Massani, of course. And if you would, ask him to come by my camp tomorrow… morning is probably good. Before the others wake up.”

“What? You want me to wake up an angry mercenary now? I’m sure he’ll love the camera light in his face.”

“I have his channel. Assuming he hasn’t changed it anyway.”

“Then call him yourself!”

And risk him getting worked up without confirming anything? Clearly the woman hadn’t worked with many mercenaries before. Kasumi tsked. “I’m busy--”

“So was I. Sleeping!”

“Just send a nice, friendly email saying… ah.” Hmm. What should it say actually? If he was early, she wouldn’t exactly want him asking for her directly. Sure, it was about a 50-50 shot on finding someone that knew who she was at camp at this point, but Zaeed wasn’t exactly quiet. “Tell him Ms. Goto’s looking for him at camp, and if he doesn’t see me, just ask for Sha’ira or Kirrahe. Then wait til I get there.”

“And he’ll just go?”

“If you’re that worried, you’re welcomed to toss 500 credits down for me. Money does talk.”

She hung up on her instead. Rude. Kasumi was going to offer to pay her back, but maybe the message came off a bit strongly. She still sent a quick message off with his channel information, in case the reporter did decide to follow through on the request. If not, he probably wouldn’t be hard to find. Guess she couldn’t fault her for getting antsy though. Since their deal was made, Kasumi hadn’t actually followed through with anything, though in her defense, she was spending that time warning her instead. 

It could and would wait for now though. She reactivated her cloaking device and continued her trek toward the murder scene, mentally wording whatever apology email she’d need to make to Khalisah later along the way. The hushed landscape made it easy to concentrate on it, disappointingly absent of any tracks or evidence of others that may have passed through in the meantime. 

If this was newly staked batarian territory, they weren’t using obvious wider paths. Either they didn’t want to be found, or were acutely aware of the possibility of someone tracking them. Could be both, or neither. 

She shimmied around the dead god’s head, and found little had changed in the last few days. It was still a clearing, shadowed by crumbled buildings, half-shapened concrete blocks-- debris of either the buildings around them or elsewhere. She had spent plenty of days memorizing the reach of reaper lasers and various weaponry for the many, many runs she did for the Alliance. Sometimes, the fact that they had won at all still seemed utterly surreal. They were creatures perfectly suited for Lovecraftian lore, hulking, massive creatures  that extended and did things beyond human imagination.

And yet… they were like any other piece of machinery. Artificial, metal, wires. A very scary thought, that over the years, they wouldn’t just dispose of the pieces, but reuse them. Shape something new out of it. With any luck, Kasumi would be dead before that bit humanity in the ass.

She shook those thoughts away and located the alleyway from before. There was still a blackened spot from where the proximity mine had gone off, stretching out like tendrils toward the slab that Kasumi landed on. Noticeably, however, was that any shrapnel had been picked up. The slab looked clean and dusted off. Someone was trying to cover their tracks.

Just at her feet, another red light stretched across the width of the alleyway. It was so easy to spot now that there was evidence of a previous detonation. It wasn’t meant as a trap then. More like a security measure. The sound would be picked up by any guards in the area, allowing them to retaliate to whoever wasn’t hurt by the mine, or move the group before they were found. Their camp may be close by then, if they hadn’t been spooked by their visitation from the other day.  

Nothing special. Kasumi had disabled hundreds of mines in her lifetime. A quick scan of her omni-tool and it short-circuited, allowing her to pick up the mine safely and quietly. Initial look and it seemed… simple. Looked to be scrapped together with various shrapnel from old signs if she had to guess. The circuitry of the actual proximity program would be hard to see without opening it up, but she doubted there was anything unique about it. The maker was experienced, that much Kasumi was sure. If they had any resources from outside Earth however, it was probably gone by now.

She kept it for now, and made sure to study the alley closely for anymore. None on this side. Rationing carefully then, or just that confident in whatever guards they had in the area to act quickly. 

The alley opened up to an even larger clearing than the one before, in what Kasumi could only figure was a rather nice square before. There was still remnants of old cobblestone, ones that had been there centuries and lived through more wars than she could count. Street ways that had been there once, brushed over by dirt and grime, cracked into pieces where weeds and grass sprouted in between. The fountain in the middle was in about the same shape, once wondrous and calming, spouting water from a jar a… cherub perhaps? Was holding into a pool that had been empty for some time. Much of the smaller details were lost by the throes of time and war. The curvature of marble surrounding it still stood enough to be a tempting seat for weary walkers.

Likely why she found the spatter of dried blue blood on its rim. Sura mentioned Thyra wasn’t much for walking for long periods. Yet she managed to dodge the proximity mine…?

The east entrance was blocked by a section of broken highway, but the west was clear enough to come through it looked like. She doubted their killer would cover the alleyway and not such a wide berth of area. Too wide for a simple proximity trip though. Perhaps more traditional mines? Kasumi would have to check as she investigated then. A good thing Major gave her mods back.

Well, presumably she died there, unless there was another turian victim in the interim. That narrowed the scope a bit. A sniper would want the highest building they could get. Probably wasn’t any building on the other side of the fountain. Then…

Ah. A parking deck about a 60 degree angle. It was a good place to start, though maybe not the easiest to climb. It was structurally sound, and compared to most parking decks found in say the Citadels or Illium, wasn’t too high. Most parking decks on Earth had been converted to top level access only once skycars became commonplace. Valets would take over parking once an individual skycar landed on the roof, and would be retrieved by the valet when the visitor returned. 

However, employees and visitors still needed an entrance on the ground level. That would be the place to start. She brought up her omni-tool once again to scan the area between the fountain and the parking deck, but kept her eyes on the rooftops and upper levels just in case. No obvious red lights, and a glint of armor would be difficult to spot in the moonlight. She couldn’t see any signs of smoke ventilation or fire, but toward the very top, it looked like there was… haphazard plating maybe? Someone covering holes that were left from various skirmishes. The metal didn’t fit the rest of the building. Where she’d find her camp then.

And no mines based on the scan. Made sense if they have kids or just regular people with them. That lended credence to what Darshan had told them before about it being a settlement. Mines were also extensive to maintain and keep from dumb mercenaries from accidentally killing themselves though. They could just have them installed along the openings. If they had a shuttle or skycar handy, they wouldn’t have to walk out of the clearing ever, though to rely on enough clearance to land was risky in a ruined city. 

The actual entrance facing the square looked caved in sadly, but after a few minutes circling the building, she noticed a discreet sheet of metal ever so slightly askewed. A very small crack in the corner. Peeking inside only showed a thick blanket of darkness within. Could be wearing night vision goggles, but more than likely, the lower level here was unguarded. No obvious signs of tampering for a trap or bomb of some kind. With careful hands, Kasumi peeled the metal back.

Sure enough, no guns suddenly pointed in her direction. Risky to leave their entrance unmanned. If they had a sniper on the roof though, they may have noticed the metal moving. So long as she was careful though, they wouldn’t find her. Any explosive trap was unlikely at this point, unless they wanted to risk blowing the support beams with it. They were left mostly intact, but if Kasumi studied close enough, she’d see the beginning cracks of wear and tear. 

Most of the skycars inside were gutted and cut open, eviscerated of their wiring and circuitry. Where they were getting the shrapnel to make the bombs then. Smart. They had enough there to last them a good while. There was a ramp further back, though it took some climbing to get to it. 

Mostly climbing over corpses. Not human, at least… not anymore. The wiring that stuck out of rotting flesh told her exactly what sort of things that were littering this parking deck. … It looked like they were being gutted too. She hoped just for the wires and not… anything else. Husks and cannibals mostly, one brute that she nearly tripped over as she navigated the darkness, it’s jawless turian skull another of plenty of images that she really, really wished wouldn’t be haunting her to her grave.

She had dreams about it sometimes. Sometimes of being forced onto one of many pikes, feeling it rip through her chest and continue to breathe and survive until she was more metal than bone, more wire than flesh. Other times, it wasn’t the reapers. Other times, it was Cerberus. Finding her again, trying to entice her with a contract, only to--

Oh. Hm. Rudimentary, but effective when electricity wasn’t always available. A simple wire strewn across the bottom of the ramp. Likely went up further to the higher levels. Properly paranoid, then. Kasumi could respect it. She had been fortunate to keep several back up generators for her various security systems at both locations that survived the invasion. She stepped over the wire easily, and then noticed the lone light further up the ramp, stretching long and lonely on the asphalt.

Though the cloak would keep her from being spotted, Kasumi still kept to the outer wall, eying the ground carefully for any scattered rocks or pebbles-- anything that might give away her presence to the guard above. The catsuit wasn’t just for style, fortunately, equipped with various sound dampeners from the padding to her shoulders to the soles of her shoes. A listless guard or two would have a hard time picking up muffled steps.

Just one it seemed. Batarian, as Darshan said. He looked younger, fuller face on him with scuffed up navy armor. The vindicator loose in his hands was in good shape, a couple of mods that focused on power and increased ammo in the thermal clip. Trying to make the best out of every shot it seemed. He sat on an old lawn chair with a flashlight by his feet, the harsh shadows making him seem more intimidating than he actually was. Even from her distance though, Kasumi could see those dark eyes drooping, just a minute or so from dozing off. She slipped past him easily.

Fewer corpses on this level, and she doubted she’d seen any on the next. They were making it a home for themselves clearly. Two more batarians sat on crates around a campfire west from their sleepy friend, conversing to themselves. No tents, but sleeping bags it looked like. She ducked behind a gutted car and tried to listen in.

“Dinner was rough tonight.”

“We’re running low on rations. It’d be nice to go out and actually hunt soon, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. At least the salarian had some nice shit on him--”

“Dumbass, that’s precisely why. You saw the datapads in there yourself!”

Sounded like the STG murder was an accident then. They had plenty of resources as far as scrap metal and wiring went here, so why were they bothering with that? Medical and food supplies maybe? Information would’ve been an obvious decision if it’d been on purpose, but.

“... What are we going to do…?”

“... Just let boss work it out. Everything will be fine, Sakul... alright?”

“Guess we don’t have much choice.”

Didn’t seem worse than the run-of-the-mill mercenary group then. Inconsistent armors, so not likely to be from any major organization or anything. She would be reluctant to just kill a bunch of dumb people for the whole mess, but STG would likely disagree. And they weren’t exactly innocent. They hadn’t regretted Thyra’s death. Not yet anyway. 

They would soon enough though. She crept past their campfire with as much ease and stepped over another wire alarm as she continued her trek up. All too quickly, the dim light that was swallowed by the darkness above. Quiet, too temptingly so. She made sure to wait long enough for her vision to adjust to the change in light. As Kasumi suspected, there weren’t any reaper remnants on this floor. The batarians were doing some clean up, at least. With as much work as they’ve done with their security systems, it wouldn’t surprise her if they planned to stay for a while.

She spotted a glint in the darkness though, off in the corner. A quick flash of her omni-tool and she recognized the turret installed there. Seemed to be turned off though. After a few minutes of menial work, taking and pocketing a wire or two, and Kasumi made sure it would stay that way. 

The fourth and fifth floor were set up much the same, blanketed completely in darkness with a few turrets stationed in various corners and hiding spots. It confirmed that the group was small at least, and the area was too large to cover with manual resources. Sneaking past was hardly a challenge, but she hadn’t had one in a while. Not in the technical aspects anyway. Still, it felt… nice going back to normal for her. She really wasn’t suited for civilian life. Too much monotony and people were just strange. Or hurt to see them.

She wasn’t sure how Sha’ira thought she would be okay with it. Being a consort wasn’t nearly as violent or illegal as her job, but it wasn’t normal either. It wasn’t the 9-5, or just trying to pick up the pieces with family and friends. She was meant for something. 

Maybe they could talk about it later. Maybe it would get the consort from prying too much about the greybox. 

She finally found the camp on the sixth level, just one floor short from the roof. Kasumi could understand the choice. The enclosed space protected them from exposure and the higher elevation kept them from running into vermin species that likely still scurried around London streets. Any lights had long since been extinguished by the time she arrived, save for the campfire that was still glowing brightly, right in the center of the halo of tents. They were close together-- any sound from one would obviously carry to others. 

More batarian guards sitting at the actual fire, too quiet to hear as she watched on the outskirts of the camp. While tempting to listen in on their conversation, it was probably too risky with the amount of tents that were around. By her estimate, there were about 20 or so located in the tents themselves-- a rather large camp for as decimated the hegemony had been by the war. 

She crept along the edge of the camp, hugging the makeshift walls facing the square and the outer walls of the tents. No one would likely pick up any movement at this late from within, but Kasumi wasn’t one to overstay her welcome. The firelight danced lazily against the white, offering brief flickers of shadows inside. Most didn’t have cots or personal effects, it looked like-- sleeping on simple bags or pallets made out of well worn blankets and pillows.

Smaller shapes, others a more feminine contour. Women, children. Not many, but enough. Their tents were closer to the fire, to keep the little ones from getting cold at night. 

… Darshan’s story checked out then. That was going to make this a lot more complicated. STG specialized in extraction though, missions especially like this. While she would have trouble kidnapping someone tonight, perhaps they had a few suggestions that wouldn’t end in unnecessary bloodshed. Or they wouldn’t care-- though Major Kirrahe didn’t strike her as cold. 

The other option of course, would be to take care of the sniper herself. She knew how to make it clean and efficient enough-- perhaps frame the scene as an accident to avoid backlash from the batarians. They were already a bit flighty, considering they murdered one person for just going into their territory. … They might put the blame on STG if she did do it though. If they kept them busy for a while,  it would give her the opportunity to get the logs they had on her and destroy them. Hmm. Didn’t exactly avoid the whole bloodshed thing, but, ah shit. Samara knew she was coming out here tonight.

She would have to meet this sniper and go from there, she supposed. 

Kasumi slipped past the camp, it’s final tent about ten feet or so from the ramp that led up to the roof. She was surprised to see that it was in as good of shape as it was. There was some crumbling along the edges, faded lane paint, but it had little in way of debris. If not for her dampeners, her steps would probably echo on such an empty expanse. The moonlight was bright and clear in the sky above, crescent with all the stars and constellations she had admired before. The view of the city alone must be spectacular. It wouldn’t be so bad as a dating spot, honestly. 

One last wire alarm at the top of the ramp, easily stepped over. The roof had been cleaned up about as well as the lower floors it looked like. A skycar or two that had yet been cleaned of materials. A decrepit alcove where steps were before, now resembling more like a jagged spike sprouting on the pavement. 

Her target was laying on their belly, the concrete rim cleared away to allow the sniper rifle freedom of movement. They had a pale lavender sheet over them to stave off the cold. As Kasumi approached, more personal touches became clearer. They had a flashlight off to the side, keeping them illuminated for any other snipers that could be stationed on neighboring buildings. Stench of overcooked varren meat from a plate left abandoned on the hood of a skycar cleaved in two from a reaper beam. Canteen by the front fender. Yellow tulips beside it. Cute.

By their feet, she recognized the model of the sniper rifle. Standard M-98 Mantis, though the scope looked modded for extended range. Whoever was handling their weapons was very familiar with the modding process. Taking it might have some advantages, but she would need to distract the actual gunman holding it. 

She retreated back, and careful not to alert the guard, picked up the canteen. With a quick under-handed toss, she chucked the canteen closer to the ramp, clinking against the hard ground and denting the well-worn equipment further. She ducked around the other side of the cleaved car, just as the sniper’s head shot up.

“What the fuck?!” 

He looked young too. Small. Smaller than the first guard she ran into on the way up the deck. He had plenty of fat left on his cheeks, not quite developing the small hairs and thick folds that signified adulthood in a batarian. The armor, a deep olive green, barely fit him as he stood to his feet and approached the canteen cautiously. His steps were heavy on the pavement, but he stumbled on every third. 

Just the rifle then. Kasumi moved quickly and quietly to his nest. The rifle was easy to swipe from underneath the sheets, same weight as a typical mantis. She folded it to its resting position, ready to holster it to her back.

Then she heard ringing. Her eyes snapped to the ramp, where the boy had bent over and tugged at the wire with two fingers. Then his eyes caught on hers-- or more likely-- the sniper rifle that appeared to be floating in the air. 

She was too greedy for her own good sometimes.

The young batarian kicked off in a sprint toward her position, fast, but only fists raised. Should be easy enough to incapacitate him and split, but now the batarians would know someone came by. She would have to make this quick. She snapped the sniper rifle to her back and stood, quickly reaching for a flashbang grenade in her back pocket. It’d disorient him and hurt, but--

She thought it was a lunge at first, clearly on a fight response already, but as she saw the sheer panic in his eyes as the momentum took him past her, Kasumi realized he tripped over his own shoes. On his own shoes toward the edge. Without thinking, she snapped a hand out, tightly gripping onto the back of his chest armor, one foot dangling in the open air of the square below. 

“I’ve got you,” she hushed as she noticed his slacked jaw as he stared down. His panicked panting, just at the edge of a scream, wasn’t helping matters any. He looked to the empty space holding him up, already too big eyes comically larger in his panic. Just a kid. Any other time, he may not have even known how to use the rifle she’d stolen from him. 

She released the cloak as she brought him closer, back onto safer ground, just as his ear piece crackled to life.

“Hey. We heard the cans from the roof. Everything alright?” much older voice on the other end. Either one of the more veteran guards on the lower floors or maybe Mr. Boss himself.

She pressed a finger to her own lips, “Just want to talk. Don’t do anything that’ll hurt someone. Especially you.”

The boy looked behind him, to the open air he had been just a split second from tumbling into, and just to emphasize her point, she tightened the grip on his collar, locking it tightly in her fingers. He gulped, visibly. “... Everything’s fine. Just accidentally tripped it dropping my canteen.”

“Be more careful, will you? Had about half the building in a panic.”

“S-sorry.”

The communication cut off, and Kasumi released him. His shoulders sagged immediately, though looked a bit lost now without the rifle in his hands. He kept looking at it on her back, as if trying to decide how to pry it off. “... What-- who are you?” though he kept his voice quiet. Smart.

She shrugged. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood. How old are you?”

The boy hesitated before sitting down on the lavender sheet, rubbing the back of his neck. It looked a bit too warm for spring, with wool like texture. Maybe they nabbed it in the city somewhere. Kasumi was half-tempted to ask where they got it. “... 13.” His eyes wouldn’t meet her, even under the shade of her hood.

“Bit young to be killing people, isn’t it?” Still, she sat down across from him, trying to keep him calmed down, keep him from alerting those below. “How long have you been using this rifle?”

“What’s it to you?” He pressed on his ear piece, but Kasumi quickly held a finger up, tsking.

“Let’s not do that,” and she flashed her omni-tool, just enough to illustrate her point. “Overloading comms can knock out your hearing for a long time.” The boy deflated, arm loosely dropping, knuckles slightly scraping against the concrete. “I appreciate it. And really, I’m not trying to cause trouble. Just need to get a few details before I go.”

“About what?”

“Oh, just a couple things, really. Are you always the one manning this roof?”

“... Me or my dad. We take turns.”

“Do you remember a turian girl that came by a few days ago? Was it your dad that shot her?”

“... Oh…” He turned away from her, stretching out on the blanket as he peered over the edge. Back to her-- one of the worst things anyone could do in the terminus systems. He hadn’t been raised in the worst of it then. “... Figures you’d come for that.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not the worst of it, but I can keep your dad out of trouble,” she tilted her head, trying to catch his gaze. “You don’t have to protect him, and if you can convince him to--”

“I shot her.”

She was afraid he’d say that. On the bright side, STG would handle it better than the Alliance would, she’d imagine. They were a calculating bunch, but they didn’t have as much history as humanity did with them. It churned her stomach to even consider putting some teen in handcuffs though, not when he was just trying to protect his family. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to put on you. Was that your first time?”

He finally looked at her, and the fragility behind his heavy gaze broke her heart. “... The wind’s different here than back home. I just meant to scare her off…”

“No one’s perfect.”

“... You’re weird for a human.” Still, he seemed pretty calm, and no one else had noticed her yet. Kasumi had located her suspect, but the others didn’t have to know, did they? “Dad said I need to be more careful. Batarians always get the bad rap, so we have to assume the worst and behave the best.”

“He sounds like a smart man,” ah but the fact that he was still alive, “Was he… well, you know.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “He learned his lesson, if that’s what you’re asking. Said a-- a miskha -- a monster, I think is what you guys say? … Roughed him up real badly. He can’t really move much anymore, so we use sniper rifles instead.”

She’d heard that word before, though from where Kasumi couldn’t quite place. Legends from her old masters perhaps, horror stories they’d share with one another around the campfire as the varrens nipped at her heels and the whispers tugged and pulled at her. It wasn’t a kind word. Heavier than monster. Like a beast, beyond comprehension. 

“... Thank you,” Kasumi said and stood. She had plenty enough to think in any case. Easier to target the dad then. Easier to spin a former slaver back in the business, or… just trying to survive. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice. But she would take a former slaver’s blood over a kid’s any day. 

“Ma’am?” He called after a moment, just before she could really make the move to leave. “... What are you going to do now?”

Talk with Zaeed. See if he had any experience framing someone for murder. It wouldn’t do him any comfort. Telling him the truth, or even bringing up the STG would just hurt him. “Couple more passes around the neighborhood, I guess~. Night’s still young.” She stretched her arms, ready to switch the cloak back on, then heard the click of a heavy pistol behind her.

Oh, kid. Don’t do this. She offered a placid smile as she glanced to his hands. Carnifex, standard model. It was a favorite of hers back on the Normandy. Unfortunately for him, she had assembled and disassembled, modded, and overloaded far too many to be worried about it pointed at her face. 

“You’re gonna tell those salarians right? … I’m gonna die.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t.”

Finger too close to the trigger. She sighed and swiped her omni-tool quickly, efficiently. Kasumi had done it hundreds of times at this point. Just a second delay, almost where the boy was squeezing the trigger, before the carnifex sparked and exploded in his hands. 

The jolt of electricity and fire was quick and immediate. The boy screamed out in pain as he threw the pistol aside. The charred, burning flesh nauseated her, a stench that had permeated constantly throughout the war. Please. Let it be enough. 

He dug his heel and charged her. Kasumi braced for the weight against her, but she wasn’t a heavy woman. Her head hit the ground hard as he toppled them both over, burned hands fumbling between strangling her or reaching for the sniper rifle behind her back. She curled her fists tight and threw it as hard as she could against the boy’s jaw, but he just wouldn’t get off. Instead he matched blow for blow, cracking a burnt knuckle against her eye socket.

She gritted her teeth and squirmed best she could for her back pocket for a flashbang, but suddenly felt one of those hands on sleek metal around her waist. The locust!

The omni-blade barely registered before it sank into the side of his chest, sliding perfectly between plates of armor and rib bones. His hands froze immediately, and he slumped against her, blood gurgling from his mouth. Kasumi sucked in a deep breath, trying to soothe the heavy pounding her heart. Let the adrenaline wash out of her. Eyes closed. Counted a few seconds. 

He was still alive, but not for long. Where the omni-blade landed would’ve punctured his lungs. While quick, it would be very painful. Numbly, she took the boy’s shoulders and pushed him off. He flopped like deadweight onto his back. Not much longer. She was sorry. So, so sorry.

She replaced her carnifex when she had left. Swiped a suppressor from a drunk soldier on Illium. That man was probably dead now too. She placed the muzzle on his temple and squeezed the trigger once. Any gasps, gurgles, halted movements of his chest-- they stopped immediately. 

Sloppy. So, so sloppy. So messy.

She took the earpiece.

“Korem?! What’s going on up there?! The guys on sixth said they heard screaming.”

What the fuck was wrong with her?

They would be up there any minute. It would be tricky to get out without a distraction splitting some of the forces. She peered over at the corpse beside her and sighed. 

Korem’s body crunched on impact, red and flesh mingling with the white pavement as it spattered in wild directions. 

“What the hell was that?! Someone go check that! Sixth floor, roof ASAP!”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry--”

Kasumi spared one last glance to memorize the shape of the broken body, his face frozen in horror as he stared unblinking to the starry sky, and tossed the ear piece over the roof with him. By the time the guards arrived to scope out the horror Kasumi left behind, her cloak was already activated, and she walked past-- letting the unfolding chaos and anguish distract from her exit.

--

Someone was calling again.

Somewhere, somehow in her hazy mind, Kasumi found herself sitting atop the graffiti wall, legs dangling over and staring upward. The air had cooled, and her right eye kept tearing. Bruising probably. Maybe some irritation from dirt and grime on that child’s hands. Child. She killed a child. What was she--

“Kasumi?”

Her hand clasped over her mouth as she felt the bile rise in her throat and swallowed, ignoring how the acid burned in her throat. No. Not right now. Deep breath. “Hey…” and she hated how steady her voice sounded. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

Sha’ira sounded unsteady, as if unsure how to broach the topic. Her voice had more air to it than usual too-- still tired probably. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, “I was worried, but wasn’t sure you would answer a call right now.”

 “I… I was lonely, I guess. I usually don’t.” 

“Are you okay?”

 No. She was going to have to spend the rest of the night trying to find a canal or something to scrub the catsuit while trying not to vomit. She would have to explain her black eye in the morning to everyone, and she would have to explain that one of their big scary killers was a child, and she had just used his body to escape a hellfire of bullets. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go home and hold Keiji, or his image, or just feel something, anything else right now. 

“... Where are you right now?”

��I’ll be back soon. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s kinda hard to see right now.”

“Kasumi.”

She didn’t want to be alone. But then Sha’ira would see this, and -- “Do you know where the nearest river is? Or like… a body of water?”

No hesitation, no pauses. Kasumi could even hear the smile on the other side. “I’ll bring a change of clothes. Whatever happened… we’ll get through it. Together.”

At least, it’d give her a chance to plan. They would be coming back for her, and she sure as hell wouldn’t fault them for it. 

--

As it turned out, an actual, functioning canal wasn’t super far from there. It was hardly clean, and absolutely guaranteed, she would smell like sewage or worse if she even tried. The canal’s water was moving though, which meant it had a better chance of being sterile than any other body of water that wasn’t an actual fucking river. It was water. It was flowing in a canal that was only holding itself together by the seams. Bridges connecting one side to another completely fallen apart, edges and sidewalks broken, husk corpses-- some of which were not-so pleasantly floating in the water.

It didn’t matter, because the blood was coming off. She had found a spot where the sidewalk had partially caved, providing a perfect ramp to the water. She had stripped off her catsuit with frightening efficiency and submerged the whole thing-- allowing her balled fists to stretch against the leather. The pads would take longer to dry, but fuck it. She didn’t care right now. She just wanted the blood off.

The first time it happened was on Omega, and she was a lot fresher faced and a lot more stupid. Eclipse merc used a hostage. Thought she wouldn’t go that far. Had, and wished she hadn’t. Kiera lectured her for days for how sick she felt. Kids didn’t know better. They couldn’t know better. They were just put in places by dumb adults and then dumber adults killed them. The recovery should have made them more important, but it didn’t and now a thirteen year old was dead. 

She couldn’t blame his father for it. He should have been safe on the roof with six floors of batarians with more experience between. Korem was old enough to want to contribute, and so he did. 

What could, should she tell the others? There wasn’t any framing to do now, but with how she left the place, the batarians would be going after STG next. Convenient for the shit she needed to get back, but it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t tell her to go. They didn’t tell her to kill a kid. And the truth… she wasn’t sure she could admit it. She never needed to the few times it had to happen. It’d been so long. It hurt. It hurt so bad. She didn’t even realize how badly until she was sitting on that stupid wall and that stupid call came in.

She shouldn’t care. It should be easy to just walk away. Take the shuttle, let them deal with the mess, and forget this ever happened. But she did care. She cared before those stupid batarians took her, before she met Keiji, before he died, before the fucking normandy. She wasn’t a monster that could just remove those thoughts and feelings aside. She wasn’t--

“Kasumi, I brought-- oh!”

And to Sha’ira, she probably looked a bit crazy at the moment. It’s not like she had a change of clothes with her when she stripped. So here was the consort, coming to help her friend in the middle of the night and finding her hunched over by a canal in her underwear, scrubbing at a catsuit and mumbling to herself. This was not a great look. Yeoman Chambers would’ve had a field day with that psych write-up. She wondered how she was doing. Probably not great. Few former Cerberus operatives were these days.

“Apologies. I imagine someone in your occupation would prefer some courtesy. I can turn around if you’d like. … I just thought you would be in the water already.”

The stench in her catsuit was going to be hard enough to get rid of. She didn’t need her whole body smelling like it. Did the consort seem a bit flustered? That surprised her. She peered over her shoulder, making out the curvature of Sha’ira back as she faced away and poised as gracefully as ever, and tried not to smile so wide. “The sewage smell isn’t the most appealing,” Kasumi remarked and pulled her catsuit from the water. Most of the blood was off, but a few spots were staining the pads. Ugh. “You can look by the way~. Just no cameras, of course.”

“Promise.” Though the offer was made, Kasumi didn’t really expect her to take it. The turn was quiet, barely discernible, but curious eyes studying her was obvious enough. It seemed fair after dragging her out of camp in the early morning hours, even though the offer had been reluctantly accepted on her part. She kept at her work however, this time finally separating the padding from the rest of the leather. The dried blood and stench nearly made her gag. 

Sha’ira stepped closer, less subtle steps, until standing just above her and studying the fabric that Kasumi was so desperately trying to get the stains out of. “... You’re injured.”

“Oh, it’s just bruising. It’ll be gone in a day or so.”

“Not a scratched cornea?” Probably not. Fists usually didn’t do that… she didn’t think. In any case, she could see fine, even if it was just a little blurry sometimes. What cybernetic work she had usually covered any surface hurt that could come out of a fight. Though the black eye would be hard to explain away once she did make it back to camp. Zaeed wouldn’t give a shit at least. “... I really am glad you’re alright.” 

She was never really in danger in the first place. It’s what she hated about thinking on her feet. Sometimes, Kasumi would come back and find about ten different plans that would’ve been plenty better than whatever stupidity adrenaline put her in. That ability to act, to not be paralyzed by fear or the unexpected, kept her alive for so long. But a great thief would never be in that situation in the first place. 

Sha’ira gripped her shoulder, squeezing once. The touch on her bare skin was temptingly warm, and distinctly, Kasumi remembered how much she craved.

Then she heard clothing shift as Sha’ira stood, and she turned her head back to her companion just in time to spot bare blue skin. Kasumi bit the urge to bawk as Sha’ira tossed her dress aside. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not ideal. I would agree with that. However, I do have perfumes to help mitigate the smell,” she offered casually, and Kasumi tried, very hard, to remember that nudity was more a human issue of decency than an asari one. This was fine. As if to emphasize its casualness and not a continuing symptom of Kasumi’s spiralling madness, Sha’ira stepped to the water’s edge, and without so much as a toe dip to test the temperature, submerged herself in murky depths. 

It was only a second later that she re-emerged by Kasumi’s hands, taking the soft padding between her own fingers and eying the fabric with a critical eye. The water was about chest-level, though Sha’ira hardly paid any mind to how odd the situation looked as she squeezed the fabric, letting the water it held to drip back into the canal. “I may have stain remover back in my tent. Though for blood, I would recommend bleach. I suppose if I had an idea on the material, I could make do with a combination of agents...”

The plain black bra was already soaked through. Kasumi was a bit surprised the fabric wasn’t sheer enough to be translucent from the water. Her freckles extended down to her shoulders, only becoming a lighter dusting as they approached the valley of her breasts. She… wasn’t in shape. It was actually sort of nice to see. She clearly took care of her body, but it wasn’t hardlined of muscle, of scars nicking her skin, and old war stories that never really went away in a person’s head. Her eyes curved easily with her smile, even as it looked odd examining bloodied material. Her hands weren’t calloused, long fingers that didn’t know strain as well as she did. 

Her smile widened just a little as Sha’ira spoke. “You must have a lot on your mind.”

She considered the padding between them and shrugged before tossing it back on the concrete shore. It landed in a rather unimpressive thump, joining the rest of the leather of her catsuit. Then, Kasumi eyed her with a half-hearted skepticism. “If I still stink after your dosing when we get back, I’m going to be pissed at you.”

“In my defense, your hands have already been in the water for a while, but I promise. You won’t leave my tent until you smell like roses, Kasumi.” And she waded herself a few feet back, giving Kasumi enough space to join her in the water. 

She slid in the water feet first and drew in a hiss as the chills ran up her spine. It wasn’t like ice, which she counted her blessings for, but cold water on an even colder evening was not pleasant. And Sha’ira had to have a damn good poker face not let that show when she dipped in.

The consort chuckled as she came closer, though refused to address Kasumi’s discomfort directly. “When was the last time anyone had seen you completely?”

An odd way to phrase nearly naked. “... Not since my partner? I’m sure Cerberus was a bit displeased with me disabling their cameras to ensure that.”

Sha’ira looked taken aback. “I… I can’t imagine you working for them for very long.”

“Oh! Oh no. That was with Shepard. And it was very much in the contract that it was a one-time deal. I just needed some extra help getting the…” Kasumi hesitated, though there was little point in it. “... Getting the greybox.”

“... Your partner was killed then?”

“Yeah. For the greybox.”

Sha’ira seemed pensive for a long moment, clearly different thoughts and suggestions coming together. Some being disregarded, others entertained more. She settled on one eventually though as she reached out, thumb lightly grazing against her bruised cheek before reaching the back of her skull, tracing the horizontal scar gnarled and aged in her olive skin. “... Is that how you got this?”

“No,” Kasumi admitted. “... That one’s been there for a while.”

“It’s deep. How old?”

“Ten.”

There was understanding there, sad but not pitying. It hadn’t surprised her that up close, Sha’ira recognized the scar for what it was. In her worst days, she thought she still heard the whispers and threats to her life if she didn’t obey. Sometimes, it felt like the plate was still there-- burning and itchy. But it wasn’t, and truly, it did make getting the greybox surgery much easier. The pain and recovery was nothing compared to that plate burning into her skin. Nothing compared to that. 

Her hand brushed through the shaved underside, through the short wisp of hair that had grown long enough in the front to brush into her eyes sometimes, and found the long, thin scar across her temple. “And this?”

“Sniper just barely missed. You know you’ll be at this for a while if you do this for everything?”

Sha’ira pulled her hand away, though the hum in her voice hadn’t completely left. “I hadn’t known until…”

“Yeah. My back tends to scare a lot of people. That’s what the tattoos are for.”

“This may surprise you, but you are remarkably well put together for someone that has gone through as much as you have.” She hesitated again, and she could feel her eyes following the path and lines of her skin-- what was undoubtedly a stark contrast to her own. Not just in the color either. Her olive skin had paled even further over the years of being in the shadows, and her skin had toned. Light enough to carry herself through the smallest nooks and crannies, but muscled just enough to get her from point A to point Z without taking the sidewalk. However, learning how to be a thief was hardly an easy walk in the park.

Some were from varren bites, lashes and beatings from old masters. She had the bullet holes and burns to prove her disastrous run-in in Illium, more from small incidents like tonight, others…

The tattoos were meant for covering others. She wasn’t the full body treatment like Jack, but she had a few. It was nice when she was younger and hated the skin she had been left with after so long. Abstract paintings were needled in mostly, splashes of color and whims that an old Omega roommate had illustrated beautifully. They dotted from the back of her neck to her shoulder blades, and even now when she would get the chance to look, she would admire the handiwork. There were other, smaller touches. Rose and thorns-- cliched but sentimental along her other hip, and her most recent addition, ‘SR-2’ on her right bicep. It took a lot of haggling to keep that artist quiet.

Her haircut was something more impressive once, but it wasn’t as if she had access to a hairdresser at the moment. The undercut did enough of a job, no matter how much Khalisah wanted to tease her about it. She used to have it longer, tied up in a bun like her grandmother had done before-- but it was so impractical. A few untimely somersaults and she would have wild black strands getting everywhere. It was a liability more than anything.

It was also very strange being studied like she was. There hadn’t been as much pressure as it was back when Kasumi had enough clothes to cover the most identifying parts of herself. Yet, there was something so inherently benign in the way Sha’ira observed her-- as if natural, as if there wasn’t anything else to do or worry about. 

She tried to lighten the mood. At least a little. “You make me feel like I should be posing or something~”

“It’s not necessary.” And Sha’ira smiled, and oh, there were only a few inches between them. She saw the water droplets slip lazily along the curvatures of her skin, separating in one valley and joining at another. Her hand fit easily along the lining of her jaw, nails lightly scratching as she held her. “... I want to memorize this. Like a rare flower found in the depths of a forest. I know how unique this is.”

So. Kasumi was being pampered. She knew this game too well to be bashful. She held her gaze, letting the smile ease onto her lips.

“Your arms were shaking before,” Sha’ira observed. “This is much better, isn’t it?”

It was hard to say. 

“Tell me what happened?”

“I killed a kid today.” The confession came out without a thought.

She felt the other hand fit around the other side, this time more careful, deliberate. “What happened?” she asked again. Maybe too close. It didn’t matter. The very look dared her to try and pull away. 

“I told him not to, but I freaked him out. … He killed Thyra. He just wanted to live.”

“Was he trying to--”

“I stabbed him and dumped his body over the parking deck.” Didn’t matter what he was doing. Samara would kill her for that alone, and the batarians would assume it was the STG. They didn’t know who she was. No matter how that conflict ended, more people would die and it would be her fault. The boy’s body was a broken jigsaw by the time it crunched against the pavement. If she studied close enough, pulled it from the depths of her own greybox, she could see every detail, down to those empty eyes starring above and how his arms and legs weren’t supposed to bend like that-- wondered how long Thyra’s death had stuck inside him, like every first kill did to someone. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t remember every detail, fully knowing she always would. She always would remember the exact shape his body made on the pavement, the way he gurgled and suffocated from the puncture in his lungs, from the beginnings of rot and blood overtaking the overcooked varren still left on his plate. She remembered everything because she had to. 

Sha’ira wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her tight against her. She barely registered her head resting against the crook of her shoulder, but as she felt those same uncalloused hands comb through black hair, soothing and gentle, she let her eyes flutter closed.

She didn’t deserve it, but Kasumi couldn’t find it in her to turn Sha’ira away.