#One of them you can’t see at all unless there’s a shadow cast upon it… I’m really good at matching colors

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

[casually fills deep gouges in the apartment floor with oil pastels]

[personasintro]

corrupted | myg

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; what's worse than living in a fucked up and corrupted world?

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: yoongi x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mafia au, angst (?)

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, misogyny, no feminism here, everything is fucked up here (hence the title lol)

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k+

While the world's riots and country has been unsettled for a while now, rotten and violated by local gangs, it is not the most unsettling part though. Citizens say it is controlled by someone of a higher and more dangerous status. Someone whose people always lurk in the shadows, doing dirty business. One, many people don’t know any details of.

You being one of them.

Being just another person who has been forced into living in today’s world, not that anyone had a choice, there is not much knowledge. People talk, they gossip and jump into conclusions. It’s hard to say what’s true or not. So naturally, they speculate and it’s always something harsh and scary.

After all, that’s how it works now.

Unless you’re not a part of one of the gangs, earning your rightful place there and doing all the dirty work of all kinds, you’re just a basic human trying to survive and not get into any trouble.

People work where they can. Just enough to earn money and buy themselves food, somewhere they can live and stay. The amount of homeless people who steal has rapidly increased since the government is gone. Everything is corrupted. Empty. Without life. Just darkness and fear.

There were times when the world has progressed.

Not for women, it is hard to find yourself a good living. Unless you don’t want to be a part of any brothel that’s almost at every corner. People are desperate. Some women love to do it, perhaps they feel powerful that way. Some are not there because they want to be. They use their bodies to bring food and a proper living either to themselves, or to their families.

It’s one of the things you refuse to do. As anyone could imagine, it’s not the cleanest and safest work. One you really refuse to succumb to.

But enough to go out, praying no harm will come to you during your time out of the comfort of the rented small and old apartment that you're staying in.

Clubs and bars are no safer than what is outside, right behind every wall and door. You still consider it as a better alternative of how you could earn enough money to cover your rent and bring food for yourself.

Some women, actually a good part of them, latch themselves to a gang man. It is one of the choices that secures you at least some kind of protection, money, food and roof under your head. They’re known to have more money and security. You see a member of a gang? You run. You don’t indulge yourself with any of them. They’re dangerous. Don’t take no for answers. Most of them.

So far, you haven’t had the chance to really talk to any of them. You avoid them at all costs.

People come out to drink and have fun, even if they know that if someone just got killed at this very moment, only few would react. That’s how fucked up this world is.

No one is truly safe. Even under the fake facade of the world being relatively at peace right now — the words of whispers saying it’s the big boss controlling the country — no one guarantees you safety. Whoever is “up there” and is not afraid to kill or do different sorts of fucked up actions, does not care about anyone’s lives. So many people lost their lives.

People you knew.

And no one cared.

Relatives can’t get any justice. Not even revenge.

A gang member kills someone you know? Someone you loved? There’s nothing you can do, unless you or someone you care about wants to be killed. It’s fucked up.

It’s almost ironic how people dance to the loud music, seeming not to care about how truly fucked up it really is. It’s almost like the world hasn’t changed, people laugh, have fun and are getting drunk. However, there is still a shadow casting upon everyone’s head, filling up every inch and corner available. Nothing is the same anymore.

You would be stupid to tell yourself anything different. Even if it was under the mask of pretending. Even if it’s for a while.

Sitting on a hardened bar stool, you shift in your spot to make yourself comfortable which is very impossible. The bar is hectic. It seems to be doing well considering the amount of people here. One of your neighbors told you they could possibly hire you. It does sound a little silly considering there are no contracts now. They either take you and you do what they say, or you can forget about any job.

As you scan your surroundings in this dim lighting, you spot someone sitting in the corner of your eyes. An empty barstool between you as that someone happens to be a man. You wouldn’t pay him that much attention, you’re just merely cautious when it comes to anyone that’s an arm length from you. He’s just sitting there, enjoying the drink that’s in front of him. It’s hard to spot any of his features, the lack of lights here make it very difficult.

You’re in your own thoughts, focusing on the sounds around you which are just loud and blasting music when suddenly the stranger stares dead in your eyes. Something clenches in your chest, a good portion of shock at the sudden eye contact as he must’ve felt you watching him. There is so much darkness that you fail to notice the tiny smirk that curls the corner of his lips.

He’s got strong features, a smaller and slightly rounder nose — at least that’s what you guess from the seconds that he stares right back at you until he turns back and focuses his eyes on his drink. He plays with a glass, long fingers wrapped around its neck as his fingertips brush ever so slightly against it.

Gulping, you look away, embarrassed that he has caught you so easily. So much for staying low…

“Hiya, cheeks. What can I get ya?”

Head snapping at the bartender who chews on his gum, you suppress the need to glare at him and his stupid nickname, you clench your jaw for a second before you allow yourself to relax.

“Soda will do.” You almost wave him off, oblivious to the deadpanned look you so easily earn in return as soon as you look away from him, not paying him any more attention or eye contact.

That’s until he laughs, rubbing his nose. “Soda? That’s what you fucking order when you’re in this bar?”

Startled at the attitude and obvious mockery, you frown. “I’m not here to get drunk. I’m here on business.” you justify, even though you don’t feel like you have to at all.

But to avoid any more reaction or attention from this dumb fuck, you have to keep it casual. You don’t want to draw any more attention. Fucking hell, you’re the most clothed woman in here. You already do draw enough attention for people to think you’re weird or sketchy. The truth is, not many people have seemed to notice you and you would prefer it that way. Knowing it’s just wishful thinking, you gulp down any insult that wants to come out.

“Ah, got it.” He nods and for a split second, you sigh in relief. But then the dumb fuck has to open his mouth again. “Perhaps you would find the time for me after I clock off here too.”

He smirks, walking away too quickly for you to even react. Your mouth opens agape, knowing what he thinks of you and what he initiated. He thinks you’re a hooker. Well, they’re known for drinking and taking drugs. On rare occasions, there are some who don’t do any of this. Their clients prefer them to be not under any influence. But again, it’s just what you’ve heard and learned to know from a third party.

It’s the deep chuckle beside you that makes you snap out of your offended state. There’s no one beside the man, he’s smirking at his drink and undoubtedly, he’s heard the entire exchange between you and the shitty bartender. It’s the audacity of him that he laughs at that, clearly mocking you just like the bartender did if not even more. He hasn’t been even a part of that ridiculous conversation.

And before you know it, your ego and irritation gets the best out of you. “What?”

You say loud enough for him to hear. You know he does but he still reacts as if he doesn’t hear you. He’s smirking at his glass, tapping his fingers on it a few times. Enough for you to notice the rings on his fingers. It’s like an alarm ringing in your head but it’s already gone by the time he suddenly and slowly looks up. He slowly turns his head, giving you a look with a raised brow. Almost as if he’s questioning if you were talking to him.

And despite the little nervousness inside you, you keep your ground and still stare at him. Even have the audacity to raise your brow at him, making it clear you’re talking to him. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Not a hooker, huh?”

Is he trying to be funny?

Narrowing your eyes, you hide your clenched fists in your lap. “What? You were interested?”

Oh fuck. Where is this boldness coming from? What the fuck are you doing?! You’re usually careful of how you speak to others. What if he’s a gang member and he’ll pull out his gun and shoot your brains out? No one would bat an eyelash here if that really happened. They would just be annoyed they have to clean your remains. God, the thought of that makes you almost gag.

He breathes out what sounds like a chuckle, it’s hard to tell because it’s too silent for this loud surroundings. “What a girl like you is doing here?” he asks instead.

A girl. Did he just call you a girl?

You’re sure it has something to do with your appearance and a choice of clothing, but the fact he hasn’t referred to you as a woman bothers you. Not that women mean something in this world anyway. Sad to say but for most men and parts, they’re good for sex and that’s about it. It’s a rotten world.

Women barely get any respect.

This time, you use your brain in a better way and settle upon honest and casual information, which you shouldn’t exactly share to a mere stranger. But what harm could it do? It’s not like you just shared your name or any personal information that could tell him your identity. For him, you’re just another… girl in this bar. Perhaps he thinks you’re strange to come here, not drinking and wearing the shortest dress you own. You don’t even do that anymore.

You can’t remember the last time you wore a dress. You choose not to, not wanting to catch an unwanted pair of eyes and attention which is brutally sad and upsetting.

“I’m looking for a job.”

“Here?” he chuckles humorously almost immediately.

You frown, “What’s wrong about here?”

“Why here out of all places?” he questions instead.

“I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but we don’t have much choice. I gotta live somehow.”

“I suppose it’s better than visiting a brothel, no shaming though.”

“What? Because you’re a daily client there?”

He looks up again for a moment, breathing out a light chuckle once again. Are you this funny? “You don’t belong here.”

You frown in confusion this time, “And where do I belong?”

He licks his lips, reaching for his glass as he silently sips onto whatever drink he has there. The liquid is darkish brown, you would guess that’s neat whiskey right there.

“They shot the latest bartender here.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t offer any sweetness to it. “No. Just being informative.”

“You barely answer any of my questions.”

“Didn’t know it’s an obligation.”

You groan, rubbing your forehead just as the bartender brings you your alcohol free drink. Fuck. Maybe you should’ve ordered alcohol after all. You definitely might need it for this odd conversation.

“What do you do then?”

He taps his fingers against the counter, relaxed and smoothly as if he has a world in the palm of his hands. “Just here and about.”

“Hm, informative as always.” you mutter, ignoring the burning glance at the side of your face. It’s your time to sip on your drink, enjoying the lack of attention you give him.

You could imagine what kind of dirty work he does. Everyone does one in a way.

“Why are you sitting here then, when you’re looking for a job?”

You sigh, “I’m mapping out this place. I won’t show interest when something might happen here.”

“I just told you someone got killed here like a week ago. Shit happens here.”

“Shit happens everywhere. Thanks to this corrupted world and whoever is controlling it.”

It’s a silence between you for some time. Your curiosity rising up. He seems to be a regular here considering he knows about the shooting. Perhaps he could’ve heard it. You don’t ask any details about that though, settling on something much more curious. Many gossips are around and you do wonder what could he bring.

“Do you know who’s behind this?”

He stays silent, slowly turning his head to look at you again. None of you seem to be looking at each other the entire time.

“Does anyone?”

“Well, people talk. Everyone assumes it’s a man. What if it’s a woman?”

He chuckles.

“What? You think a woman is not capable of ruling the country?”

“I heard a lot of rumors but never that one.” he admits.

“What did you hear then?”

He does that thing again — the corner of his lips twitch in amusement. You don’t care about that though. For once, you actually feel nice to have a conversation. You don’t get a lot of opportunities to talk about this kind of stuff. It is dangerous to be talking about it so freely. Let alone with a stranger. But this one, you’re cautious about but he seems to be chilled out.

However, your guess of people might be wrong.

“Whoever rules it is ruthless.”

“He must be. Who’s okay with killing, violence and drugs? And I just named a very short list of them.”

“He? I thought you considered a female here.”

Popping your chin on your palm, you rest your elbow on the counter. “When you think about it, today’s all about dominance, power and money. Women mean nothing here.”

It’s the brutally honest truth.

“Besides, I don’t think a woman could be so ruthless to the point when people just kill each other.”

“You would be surprised.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not quite agreeing. Surely there could be a woman that would match up to any violent man there is. “I’m not misogynistic, so I won’t completely disagree with that. What makes me think it’s a man is a fact of how it is in here. Women are left fending for themselves and the most protection or at least the slightest feeling of power they can get, is through men.”

“Hm, that’s an… interesting observation.”

“What? You don’t agree?” you ask, snapping your head at him as he chuckles, in a low and vibrating tone.

“Nah, I think you might be onto something.”

You sigh, staring ahead. “Well, I’m just thinking out loud. I don’t get anything.”

There’s a silence between you two, the blasting music remaining in the background as a loud noise which you’re trying to block. It’s not like you’re not a fan of rap but come on, you’re about to get a headache.

The man suddenly stands, chugging the rest of his drink as if it’s nothing. No grimace, nothing. He doesn’t look drunk to the point where he could no longer feel the burn of alcohol.

“You should not work here.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and a speechless grimace makes it on your face. “Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Is there any safe place?”

He chuckles, scratching his eyebrow as he stays silent, giving you no proper answer.

“What’s your name?”

“Mingi.”

You frown, “You don’t look like Mingi.”

He snorts, rubbing his mouth for a quick second. “What do I look like?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble honestly. “But it’s not Mingi.”

He doesn’t disagree, he lets you think whatever you want. Again, you don’t know this man and you have no clue whether he’s lying or not. You do have a suspicion because something radiates from him, you’re just not sure what.

“And what’s your name?”

You scoff humorously, “I’m not telling you.”

There’s a breaking sound on your right side, glass breaking and a few people yelling at each other. From the looks of it, it’s two groups getting into a fight where a security tries to take care of it. There are punches thrown and you gasp at the violent image, even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. People fight on the streets all the time. You just hope whenever you see someone laying on the ground is a homeless person, and not a dead body.

You turn around, guessing the man is already giving you a knowing look where he warned you about this place.

However once you turn around there’s no one there.

There's an empty spot, almost like he’s been a friction of your imagination. A ghost. Someone that wasn’t even here.

But then there it is.

The empty glass he drank from.

It is enough to assure you that he was real.

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟔   ❛ 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 ❜   |   NAKAWE SACRARIUM, DEC. 1990

❧  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ As Mateo probed, Leonor allowed their father’s responses to crest and crash over her. Each question cast a shadow. Each answer, the impact. She could see the scene he described playing out. They stood in the courtyard of the sacrarium, but they also stood out on the deck of the Safyanora. They watched. Although not up close, Leonor had seen the yacht. She recalled enough to have a stage for the tragedy that unfolded; years of memories brought to life the clouded, halting admissions her father uttered. They were ghosts on the deck, shouting at each other and breaking things and following the only script they knew.

❧ poor gil left out of the family huddle :/ i wonder where he is

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

It was true what she said—that she hadn’t wanted to think about it. Leonor knew on some level that, while she and her brothers were cloistered away at Nakawe Palace, the police questioned her father and the other passengers well into the next morning. They pieced together a version of events, and they shared that story with Mother Beatriz. The children received the barest fact: she had accidentally drowned. That was what Leonor’s mind fixed upon. Her mother’s absence, so fresh that it was difficult to truly grasp, took the form of Safya submerged, screaming, terrified. When Rodrigo entered the frame, it wasn’t as a comfort or a consolation. He was the anguished figure apologizing to her at the marina while flashbulbs remind them of the harrowing truth at the heart of their existence: ‘ Nothing is ever simple, and no one has ever respected her privacy. ’

Although unwilling to shy away herself, Safya had been fierce in defending her children from the harsh scrutiny inherent to public life. She insisted they receive the benefit of childhood. Mateo and Gil, still, enjoyed the privacy that propriety demanded for them. For her part, Leonor was no longer a child but had yet to find the spotlight glaring. She stood on the periphery where her mother, tall and strong, happily shaded her. The death was disorienting; in an instant, it plunged the family into a state of suspension. Yet, that great and awful pause, the moment after an explosion of tragedy knocked them to the ground, was coming to an end. It was Rodrigo who seemed to regain his senses first. In doing so, he reminded them that their mother was also no longer there to shield them. The shade was gone.

TRANSCRIPT:

[R] Can I disturb you?

[R] I’m not sure it’s a good time for quiet reflection—not for me, not yet. I need to talk to you, if that’s okay.

[R] Nora?

[L] Okay.

[R] I’ve missed you. I’ve been worried about you.

[R] You must have questions—about everything, her, what happened that night. How could you not? [L] I didn’t want to think about it.

[R] You need to know it was a terrible accident. [L] I do. [R] There was ugliness, but it was normal. Everything was going to be fine, and then she just never came to bed, and I—

[M] Why are you out here without me? [R] Where’s your brother?

[M] Are you talking about her? [R] {Sighs.}

[R] Fine, together. There’s no good time for this conversation. Sooner is better. I was telling Leonor about what happened, how she— [M] She fell and drowned.

[R] Yes. But, well, you know what happens to us. Nothing is ever simple, and no one has ever respected her privacy. I just want you to be prepared for what comes next. Everyone else. The press. Others.

[M] I don’t … That’s not … Why would they do that to us? [M] You know why, sprout.

[R] I want you both to be brave and strong. But, you can’t do that unless you … Unless you feel like you know what’s going on. You can’t be in the dark about anything. I don’t want that—she didn’t, wouldn’t.

[M] Did you fight? [R] We did. [M] … Did anyone get hurt, before—? [R] A bottle broke. That’s this—see, small cut, that’s all. [M] And her? [R] She was drunk. Stumbling around, falling down. [M] Why were you fighting? [R] {whispering} We never needed a reason, did we? I don’t even remember. She walked off, and I went to bed, just exhausted, and then … She wasn’t there. She was gone, disappeared. Gone. I … I wish I hadn’t— {Rodrigo sighs, shakily.}

[M] I’m sorry. [R] I’m sorry. She should be here with you.

[M] We still have each other. We’re still a family.

[bewitched-bullet]

Here you go @helloliriels ! This is only the part I finished tweaking

Actually, I always regret everything I do but I do it anyway 😅

(Working title: To Pull a Spider’s Silk)

Chapter 1

The labyrinthine streets of London were currently being slowly devoured by tendrils of thickened mist, offering an ethereal backdrop to the slow moving traffic and passive pedestrians. The eerie false twilight, gave a distinct pull -longing- for a fit of exploring.

‘Wanderlust’ He mused absently, letting the curtain fall back over the window.

Within a comfortably cluttered apartment of haphazard style and sense, a tall and lean figure moved across the room with unnatural grace, grabbed a grubby poker, and jabbed at the inoffensive logs in the fireplace. Small sparks from the fire spat out into the living room in protest. He carelessly flung the metal poker to the side with a clang and spun back around. His sharp, piercing gaze darted across the intricacies of case files spread like cryptic mosaics on his desk. Loose leaflets and some torn pages were taped, pinned, and a couple times -nailed- to the closest wall. Not his fault he ran out of tape. The air around him seemed to vibrate with intensity as he paced in front of his handiwork. A faint smile played unbidden upon his lips as he visually scoured the data.

The fire in the fireplace popped and snapped as it’s fuel shifted, casting wild shadows across the room. He remained unmoved and suddenly stilled, narrowing his ice-blue eyes. Quick as snake, he snatched a paper off the wall and with a final unimpressed once over, tossed it into the flames.

“Aaaargh, I need more information!”

He whipped out his phone from his back pocket, thumbs flying over the digital keyboard.

<< Get me more. SH

His foot tapped as he stared at the screen, waiting. Two minutes later, a ding.

>> Get stuffed.

‘Ugh!’

Annoying, but not unexpected. He tossed his phone to a chair, steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. Can’t go to the crime scenes without being invited (ridiculous), not allowed to step into the station without a case (see point 1) or near dead (unlikely, though appreciated), and not allowed to directly call unless near dead. He snatched the remote from the mantle and switched the small telly on.

The lastest press release of the murders suicides was being hosted by his associate (are they associates? He does associate with him in the verb kind of sense), Lastrade. Sherlock’s mouth twitched upwards as he watched the stress-grayed haired man give his little speech about the case. Sherlock pursed his lips thoughtfully. He may not be allowed to call but nobody couldn't tell him he can’t text whoever he wanted. He quickly retrieved his mobile, tapped a couple times on the glass screen, and confirmed ‘send all’ in a group message. Wouldn’t be able to trace it back to him anyway.

A soft knock at the door disrupted the room's stillness, the arrival of a visitor momentarily drawing his focus. He swiftly crossed the room and opened the door. His landlady, had brought the mail. He greeted her with raised eyebrows.

"Good evening, dear. It's quite chilly out there," she remarked, handing over the letters with a pat on his arm. "Do make sure you get yourself a nice cuppa; it’s going to be cold tonight."

Sherlock’s demeanor softened, and he offered a quick peck on top of her curls. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he replied as he took the mail, his expression a mix of appreciation and distant contemplation. “Perhaps, you should make sure I do.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled warmly. "Oh, Sherlock, you do need to take care of yourself,” she said in mock astonishment. “I’m not your housekeeper, you know.”

Sherlock rapidly sorted through the envelopes, tossing them carelessly to the floor. His flurry of movement was soon stilled. He tilted his head, catching something unusual in the pile in his hands. One letter stood out from the rest, its appearance distinct with swirling black ink, sealed with wax, and marked with a unique emblem. He dropped the rest to the floor as he weighed it in his palm, eyes narrowed.

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock with mild worry. “Ah, perhaps I’ll check on you later anyway. I’ll bring a good meat pie.”

“Mmm…yes, very good,” Sherlock murmured as he turned away from her, sliding his thumb carefully under the seal. He barely registered Mrs. Hudson carefully closing the door behind her as he analyzed the stationary. He gingerly removed the creamy, heavy-weighted paper from the satin-like envelope and unfolded it, scanning it quickly. His frown deepened, and frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior as he re-read the message.

Tiptoeing the lines for the past two years to remain a free agent had been a delicate and frustrating balance. Most of the time, he could believe in the illusion it provided. However, every now and then, reminders of how fragile that "freedom" was came knocking. With a low snarl, he snapped his wrist, and the fancy stationery spun into the fireplace It quickly caught aflame green tinted tongues lapping at it greedily, curling the darkened edges. He remained like stone till every bit of it disintegrated into ash and embers.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

(Next will be John’s part)

I really hope you like this tidbit!

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Celebrity/Famous!Luke Masterlist

even if i want to, i can’t look away (it ain’t easy to forget you) (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 4k

Summary: “Calum,” Luke says. It might be wishful thinking, but Calum is pretty sure he sounds happy. “What’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

Yeah. Since Luke moved to London. Well. Since Luke got cast in a play in the West End and relocated in less than a week. Calum knows exactly when they last spoke was, and not only because there’s a time stamp on the text messages. Luke’s play — okay, the play Luke is starring in — had been a smashing success, and after he’d left Calum on read three times in a row, Calum had gotten the unsent message loud and clear.

Everything Has Changed (ao3) - mukedayparade michael/luke N/R, 6k

Summary: Michael has been obsessed with Luke Hemmings and his band 5 Seconds of Summer for 3 years, and all he’s wanted since then was to get a chance to meet them.

Fine Print - @daydadahlias​​ (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/ashton M, 61k

Summary: If Michael says Ashton Irwin will be a good bodyguard then sure, Luke will put his money on Ashton being a good bodyguard. Besides, all Luke needs is a shadow. So what if he doesn’t like him?

Who ever cared about liking their shadow anyway?

or the one where Luke is a heartbroken solo artist who can’t sleep and Ashton is his less-than-enthusiastic bodyguard

for real (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum E, 63k

Summary: There’s an order to things in LA. An established code of conduct between celebrity and mere mortal, wherein the mere mortal does not engage with the celebrity unless it is an approved event, like a red carpet or a meet & greet. It’s a symbiotic relationship that allows the celebrities to live their lives in relative peace and allows the mere mortals to look upon their beauty in the wild.

Homecoming - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4 T, 4k

Summary: Luke is an up and coming famous singer with quite a big following already. He’s just gotten home from his six month tour, and he’s reunited with his three non-famous boyfriends. Luke decides to take a big leap and come out with his three boyfriends.

let me love you (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor luke/ashton T, 10k

Summary: Luke Hemmings is a rockstar with a troubled past. He’s struggling with an alcohol addiction and a career that’s going downhill, but Calum isn’t giving up on him. Calum suggests Luke a fake boyfriend to help keep the bad press away. That’s where Ashton comes in, Ashton who is an embodiment of sunshine. Luke’s hesitant due to his failed past relationships, but he agrees, because he knows this is what he needs to save his career.

Long Time, No See (ao3) - ConfusedPython michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 23k

Summary: Michael hears a song on the radio, catches a radio interview where 5 Seconds of Summer talks about their new single (Beside You). And the names and voices are familiar. Then someone knocks at the door and maybe Michael’s luck isn’t so bad after all.

meet me at the dive bar (ao3) - mukelftv luke/ashton T, 796

Summary: luke tries to be smooth, to no avail.

Number One (ao3) - iCheeseYou (EHkook) michael/luke T, 3k

Summary: Michael hasn’t seen his musician of a best friend in a year since he left for a world tour.

Off-Screen (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) luke/ashton G, 3k

Summary: Now that classes are being taught from home due to the pandemic, students are getting a glimpse into Professor Irwin’s home life, especially when his mysterious husband keeps interrupting class.

Popstar (ao3) - L4sht0n luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 54k (WIP)

Summary: Luke didn't need a fake boyfriend. He had some problems, every celebrity had some problems. Drug, sex and alcohol was Luke's getaway, but there was nothing wrong with it. A bit problematic yes, but he did nothing wrong. Luke was losing fans because of his bad behaviour, and he was kind of an asshole. Luke could admit this. But he didn't need a fake boyfriend. He didn't need Ashton Irwin to play his fake boyfriend and clean up his mess. If Luke's management wanted to clean up Luke so badly they should just hire a cleaning lady. Luke didn't need a fake boyfriend, didn't want it. Then why did the fake relationship feel so real?

S (ao3) - HolyAFIx94 luke/calum G, 5k

Summary: ☆ Songbird. Any songs a person sings will get stuck in their soulmate’s head for the duration they decide to sing it ☆

Symphony No. 4 in F Major (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke T, 9k

Summary: What happens when Michael Clifford, esteemed member of the New York Philharmonic, meets Luke Hemmings, punk-pop rockstar?

Too Loud (ao3) - SecondsOfMuke michael/luke T, 917

Summary: Being trapped in the window seat of the airplane for the first time while thousands of feet in the air was enough to spike my anxiety, but being trapped between that and him, was on a whole other level.

Or

When fanboy Michael finds himself seated next to lead singer Luke Hemmings.

Trouble Is I Can’t Find A Way (You’re Part of Me) (ao3) - sunsetmagnolia luke/ashton T, 24k

Summary: Ashton didn’t know what to make of the thought that Luke was here. In his city. After all the effort he’d put into making sure they were a whole country away from each other for so many years.

[captain-kraken]

7 Snippets 7 People

Thank you for the tag @writingmaidenwarrior ! See their post here

No pressure tag for @violets-in-her-arms-writes @elshells @toribookworm22 @fictionalbullshitter @blind-the-winds @thewardenofwinter @writernopal

-

Snippet 01 (1919)

Lavis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

            “I didn’t think you could see me,” Einjal replied, showing no shame, “You never look at me.”

            “That does not mean I cannot see you. Besides, I do look sometimes.” He glanced over at him, trying to prove a point. “And that is not an answer.”

Einjal grinned. “If you must know, I was trying to count your freckles.”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “I’ve never really noticed them before. They’re cute.”

Lavis's eyes widened and he instantly felt his face grow warmer at this as he stammered. “Oh- um… that’s not what I… I…”

-

Snippet 02 (1985)

            “You two were close once?”

Close. That wasn’t a word that either brother would ever have described their relationship as. The age gap had been detrimental enough, but their differing bonds with their fathers had ruined any chance they would have had.

Mahrias had grown up in the shade of Sahrav’s shadow, cast from the pedestal that their father had placed him upon. Sahrav may not have had a choice in that, but he had made no effort to get down or bring his brothers up to his level.

            “I wish we had been. Or could be.”

Tafgen shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better that way. Can’t lose something if you never had it in the first place.”

-

Snippet 03 (1985)

            “I understand why Einjal did what he did.”

Tafgen didn’t say anything, but his expression said that he didn’t fully disagree.

If someone had done this to one of the Elohian villages, Mahrias would have avenged them. That was balance. And isn’t that what they were supposed to do?

But… it hadn’t been balance, had it? It had escalated, further and further, until both rulers had been corrupted beyond recognition. Both emotionally and physically.

And seeking revenge had led to Bahavi’s downfall. Which didn’t seem fair to Mahrias. They were the ones who were attacked first, and they were the ones who had ultimately been destroyed.

Unless, that was what the gods had wanted all along. But why would they want that?

-

Snippet 04 (1987)

            “I don’t want you to leave.”

Lija sighed. “I’m sorry, Vee. I don’t really have much choice. I need to work.”

            “Well, what about when Mahrias has children?”

            “That’s a while off yet. I can’t wait around for a few years for them to be born and reach teaching age.”

Viter’s lip wobbled and he stared at the floor. “B-but…”

Lija could feel their own throat tightening, and they embraced Viter to hide their face before the tears started to fall. “It’s been a pleasure and an honour to teach you. And I’m so sorry that I let you down.”

            “You didn’t let me down,” replied Viter, his voice cracking. “You did ev-everything that you c-could. Thank you, Lija. F-for everything.”

Lija squeezed Viter tighter, wishing that they could stay. This was even harder than they thought it was going to be. “Perhaps you can come visit me sometimes.”

            “That w-would be good.” Viter sobbed.

-

Snippet 05 (1991)

Tafgen watched Mahrias bang his head on his desk in bemusement.

            “I thought you’d be happy.”

Mahrias stopped and looked up at him. “I am happy. I’m just… stressed.”

            “About what in particular?”

            “I’m twenty, Tafgen. I don’t feel ready to be a father.”

Tafgen smirked. “Then you should have been more careful.”

-

Snippet 06 (1999)

He felt the pull again, only this time he resisted less. The Sinni only worked one way and there was nothing Tafgen could do as Mahrias plunged the dagger into him. He groaned in pain, whilst Mahrias realised what he’d done, stumbling backwards.

            “You know you can’t kill me.” Tafgen snarled, pulling the dagger out of his chest. Blood spurted out of the wound, leaking across his robes. “Not unless you kill yourself.”

            “I couldn’t stop it!” Mahrias’s panic was beginning to overwhelm him, and he couldn’t stop shaking. “What’s happening to me?!”

-

Snippet 07 (1991)

Tafgen knocked on the door, waiting for a couple of moments for a response. When he got none, he knocked again, this time louder.

            “Viter? It’s Tafgen.” Still no response. “Your brother’s Nivada?”

He could have just not been in his room. But Tafgen had a bad feeling. He didn’t know what to call it. A gut feeling, instinct, a sign from the gods.

But he knew he had to get in that room.

Turning the handle, he felt the feeling grow stronger when it clicked against a lock. Shaking it a few times did nothing. Neither did yanking it back and forth.

            “Viter! Please can you just answer me?”

[singswan-springswan]

If I have to suffer the consequences of my compounded deranged delusion then so do you. take my hand

Jason Todd & omniscient OC drabble

words: 2391

summary: fresh off a duffle bag of heads, Jason takes a break from tearing up Gotham for a night of relaxed patrol. He stumbles upon a harmless curiosity.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death/beheading, organized crime, idk man it's the Red Hood

~

It’s not that late when he starts his rooftop circuit. The sky is dark. It always is. One thing for sure: the day shift’s come to a close by now, and Jason is the first of the filth to set out for work. What he’s doing isn’t work. Not really. It’s necessary: that’s all.

He’s finally here, in Gotham. Crime Alley. It took years to get here, to convince Talia he was sane enough, to wrangle the green in his peripheral and keep it there. It got better after the duffle bag, and every addition to his fledgling business makes it purr in satisfaction. He’s so focused these days, there’s nothing to do but stick to the plan. Patrols—when he cares to call them that—are a rarer happenstance. He’s treating himself tonight. Sionis killed one of his lieutenants the day before. Blind rage. Point to Hood. Things are going well for him. 

He can’t stay still for long, of course. Patrol needs to be a flighty affair. Enforce his rules, onto the next. If he gets a quiet moment tonight, he’ll slip in his head, and that’s why he doesn’t do this often. For all his heightened anger, it sure disappears on a whim. He can’t have that. Hasn’t dared to have that. Not since the Pit. Patrol is like a vacation, after living in Nanda Parbat, and it’s the closest thing to home he has these days.

Usually, nothing happens on patrol. He’s planned it out that way. Break a few bones (usually not his), stop some muggings, maybe blow up a building or two. If he’s lucky. Usually he doesn’t have an honest idiot on his hands. Criminals, yes, because apparently the whole no kids rule didn’t resonate with everyone, but civilians? Civilian Gothamites aren’t stupid for anything. Unless you count living in Gotham.

This one might be fully dumb. He sees her in Sheldon, hunched over on a park bench. Thankfully, her stuff is consolidated—he can’t even see a purse at her side, but that small mercy is canceled out by the obvious lack of attention she sports. Her posture is wilted, like she’s been sitting there for hours, and she’s tensed in her dark hoodie against the growing night cold. 

The sight gives Jason due pause, because no Gothamite is dumb enough to stay out late and alone with such a large lack of wit about them. Least of all women. Especially in Crime Alley. Given that, she’s either here to cause trouble in his territory, or she’s just an idiot. It’s Hood’s prerogative to investigate.

He disengages from the grapple with a quiet thwip, drops down to street level on quiet feet. Giving his position away with loud boots is not strategic in this circumstance. He’d rather go in with the element of surprise—within reason, anyway. If she was paying attention, she’d probably know he was there by now; but as Jason stalks up behind the park bench, the woman doesn’t even flinch. There’s a soft scratching noise. Her elbow flicks out every now and then. Right-handed?

Jason gets close enough to loom over her shoulder, and she still doesn’t notice. Her bench is between him and the streetlamp, so he hasn’t cast any telling shadows. In fact, he can see now that the lighting is convenient for her. It falls neatly in her lap: a creamy yellow. It’s a book. A journal of sorts. For the aged aesthetic, with leather binding and everything. Real leather: not that dumb plastic crap Jason’s grown to despise. She holds the book tight with one hand and scribbles with the other—not writing—slashing stark blood red with every stroke of her pen. What?

Jason stares. He’s trying to puzzle out what on earth she’s hoping to accomplish—and wondering if he shouldn’t be concerned, knowing that tamer shit has caused more harm in Gotham—when something truly magical happens. It can’t actually be magic. Magic doesn’t survive here. But this is a near miss. One moment, the creamy yellow paper is a mess of scrawling red, and the next: the mess takes shape. She tilts her wrist, scores out a few simple lines, and the landscape changes. Shifts. Suddenly Jason’s looking at a picture. A damn good one.

The woman carries on with the sketch, filling it out, adding shadows. It’s messy and harsh, but clearly masterful. She wields her pen with practiced confidence. Like it’s magic. And Jason could maybe understand why such an act turns faeries to ash. 

He tilts his head for a better look. 

So an artist in Crime Alley. What are the odds? If she’s really been out here as long as her posture suggests, she’s had plenty of time earlier in the night to make a Gotham-standard scene—and nothing has happened. Maybe she really is as harmless as she appears. Maybe she is just certified stupid. This zoned in on her pretty little book, she’s a sitting duck for gangsters and muggers and other generic scum. Stupid lady. Pretty drawing though.

Jason’s never really seen art like this up close. As he recalled, the Demon Baby tried, when he thought no one was looking. But Jason never acted buddy-buddy with Talia’s precious knife brat, and down-time sketch sessions were never on the docket in Nanda Parbat. It’s kind of cool to see the process. A bit jarring, the way this lady does it, but that seems like her standard operating procedure. Jason has just mused about this when his brain catches up to his eyes.

Hang on. That’s… that’s him. She’s drawn a figure swooping through the air, and it’s him. Jason blinks.

Then mentally kicks himself. There are three other sketches on that page—completed—and they’re all him. The Red Hood. Varying poses: each unbelievably expressive, dramatic, scratched into the paper with drawling nonchalance, proud and swaggering and filled to the brim with grace. Like he’s an acrobat or something. The one she’s just finished makes it look like he can fly. She made him look beautiful.

For the first time in years, Jason can’t see the faintest tint of green.

He should be annoyed. The Red Hood isn’t a fucking vigilante hero: he’s an up and coming Rogue—Jason’s had no delusions about that. He should be pissed that she’s glorifying his gritty bloody persona into something better, but he really can’t be mad. What she’s drawn is gritty: it’s unrefined and imperfect raw and she even drew in red. In such a soothing color. It’s really fucking cool. Jason thinks about being annoyed and brushes the idea away (it’s not as hard as he thought). Would it really hurt if Crime Alley liked him? If random civilians thought well of him? The strategic part of his brain has to admit that a fanbase—while not factored into his original plan—would probably add a little weight to his final showdown with Bruce. And no, that wouldn’t hurt at all.

His leather jacket creaks as he folds his arms together, resting his elbows on the back of the bench. He leans close. 

“Is that really what I look like?”

The knowledge that she’s not deaf is comforting (his ASL is broken at best). At the sound of his voice by her ear, the woman jerks her arm hard, digging a long scratch of red across her page. She’s on her feet in a fumbled second or two. The breath of a gasp chokes at the bottom of her throat.

Jason can’t help but be amused. He stays where he is. By now, it’s obvious that she’s not a threat, and he’s feeling relaxed about it, and he’s never been known for his manners, so he doesn’t straighten off the bench right away. On the bright side, it probably cuts into his intimidation factor. Which is good right now. He doesn’t want to spook the artist.

She’s frozen by the lamppost, squeezing her pen and half-open book in a clumsy grip, staring shocked at the whites of his lenses. Her hoodie is a Knights hoodie. It looks old, and it’s a few sizes too large. He didn’t think she was this short. 

Her mouth hangs open just the slightest bit. She’s looking at him with a fair amount of holy reverence, equal parts fear and awe: stunned speechless. It’s kind of cute. Jason takes a second to feel good about himself.

“What?” He clips out, after a prolonged standoff where she fails to exhibit signs of life.

Her fingertips are pressed so tight against the leather of her book, they’ve gone white. Her lips form a soundless word that looks familiar, but Jason wasn’t paying enough attention in time to catch it.

He pushes away from the bench. She’s still staring.

“Are you having a stroke?” He doesn’t have time to rush to a hospital, dammit, but he wouldn’t feel good leaving her in the dark on her own, in Crime Fucking Alley of all places. He crosses his fingers. “Please don’t do that.”

She blinks, jerks her head a bit with the motion. “Hood.” She finally breathes out—finally breathes—and her voice is thick. “You’re the Red Hood.”

“And you’re an A-list detective.”

Her lips twitch. Up. The expression on her face is close to wonder, and her eyes are dazed, and Jason’s initial amusement starts to fade the longer this weird interaction drags on. Why is she looking at him like that? Like he’s—fucking Superman or something? He’s not a gift from above or whatever. At the very least, she should be quaking in her proverbial boots. (Jason spares a quick glance at her shoes. They’re not boots; they’re sneakers. Old and well-worn, but in good shape. She tied the laces pretty. He doesn’t tell her he likes them). 

Talia made sure he knew how to use the entirety of his frame, every inch of six-foot-four and broad like a fridge like Bruce, trained with the agility of a bird. “Assassin” was the word she used. But Jason said bird. It made more sense to him. Whatever the case, Talia trained him to press his visible advantage, to use his looks to strike a chord. Posturing like a well-trained killer at some random Gotham civilian should have made her flinch at least. Right now, Jason would be happy just to see her breathe. She’s going to make herself pass out; the freak.

“You do.” The pen fidgets between stiff fingers. Those few words seem to take great effort.

Jason blinks. He what?

“I mean—you look cool. A lot. And I uh, tried to do you justice but maybe it’s not on par yet.” She turns the book idly, scraping the leather with a nail or two. Like the afterthought of showing him her work again lingers in the subconscious. 

Oh, that’s an answer. She says he really does look that cool. Maybe. Is she asking if the art meets a standard? He’s really not the person to critique. He liked it. Not that he plans to admit as much.

“I’m flattered.” Wow. He wants to shoot himself. Thankfully, the vocoder neutralizes his sincerity, and the comment sounds dry. 

Apparently asking her to be taken aback by it is too much. The levity in her features brightens, for some God-forsaken reason. What the fuck is Jason supposed to do with that?

“Didn’t realize your shift started.” She says, after a few awkward seconds of ogling. Her expression solidifies the slightest bit. There’s… a new twinkle in her eye. Behind the resolve. Jason can see it barely, after years and years learning to read subtle facial tells. He can’t find anything sinister about it, but unease flickers at the back of his mind anyway. Why is she staring at him like that? What on earth does she know?

“Clocking in early?” She tilts her head at the question, all innocent curiosity that makes Jason itch. “Oh,” For half a second, her eyes go mad. “Glocking in early. Pfft. I’m hilarious.”

Jason hadn’t realized his hand shifted to his holster until she mentioned the guns. Alright, that was cute while it lasted. “It’s nine PM, sweetheart.” He growls, daring to take a firm step forward. She still doesn’t flinch. “We don’t appreciate humor this late at night.”

Of—of all things—that gets a rise out of her?

Nimble hands stutter on the book, and her face goes slack. Eyes snapping wide. “Oh.” She sounds sorry. “I’m sorry. Kriff—I didn’t mean—is it that late already? I thought—”

“You’re a moron.” Jason tells her in a flat voice, because she is. No one who loses track of nightfall in Gotham city isn’t anything shy of stupid. Least of all a young woman on her own. It’s a miracle she hadn’t already been kidnapped. Or murdered. Or worse. A miracle, or he’s been doing the city a few favors. But Jason hasn't been home that long.

“Sorry—sorry.” Her hands tighten on the book, and her gaze drops away. Omniscient gleam and all. If it weren’t for the bad lighting, Jason might entertain the idea of a flush on her cheeks. “I’ll get going. Thanks for… not leaving me out here.”

“I’m not walking you home.” He says bluntly.

“I meant: thank you for the time check.”

She’s wearing a watch, half visible beneath the hoodie sleeve. It’s working. The time is right. Either she deliberately ignored it, or she was so engrossed in her drawings of him that she never bothered to glance over. The second possibility sounds downright outlandish. But she’s not lying; he can tell.

Jason considers the weirdo for another second. Honestly, it’s not a crime to be an oddity. A huge inconvenience, sure, but not morally compromised or anything. Fucking Batman is a thing, for fuck’s sake. Comparatively, having poor situational awareness is tame. She’s definitely harmless. She drew him. 

“Get your head on straight.” He says, annoyed. Or, what would pass as annoyed. It’s only ten minutes of his night. In the grand scheme of his plans, he can afford the detour, especially to treat his eyes to the book she’s holding close. He’s not really annoyed. The interaction balances itself out. But he does have an image to uphold, so before she can go back to being all starry eyed over a serial killer drug lord, he whips out his grapple and high tails it. Stupid fucking weirdo artists ‘n shit. Freak.

(He does see her home, in the end. She doesn’t live far).

[bluefuckboy]

Yakuza Dabi x f!reader

Cw: mentions of crime related activity, implications of concubines

WC: 1400

A/N: @themotherofmoons I might be convinced to continue cos I mean 👀 also not edited so sorry for any typos

Todoroki

That was the name of the family you were to report to. You’d heard about their influence, specifically the head of the family, a man who was known by Endeavor. Like other yakuza syndicates, the Todorokis kept a low profile, making their presence known through other means. Situations had arisen and that was what had landed you here, a dolled up offering to hopefully appease the wrath of Endeavor.

You shiver slightly as you pass through the dark hallways of the large, lavish house. It’s decorated traditionally and your eyes travel over the various spoils, art and weaponry adorned upon the walls. The man escorting you is tall, dressed in a sharp suit like most of the men within such groups. His bluish gray hair is pulled back into a small ponytail, bangs sweeping in front of what can only be described as dead eyes. He’s rough looking, pale skin bearing an almost withered look, with a scars over his lip and one eye.

He reaches an ornate fusuma at the end of the hall bearing a dragon, coiled along the many panels that you now see line the walls around you. You find yourself clutching your kimono tighter, frightened a bit by the unnerving gaze of the dragon.

Your chaperone sides the largest panel to the side, revealing a low lit room. It’s set up like a bar, a long counter extending down one side of the room, with expensive looking furniture here and there. Men in suits mingle, casting their eyes toward you as you’re escorted past. You pull your kimono tighter around you as you feel their eyes follow you, standing out like a sore thumb amongst them.

When you reach the end of the room, the man gives an order. You watch as men shuffle out of the way, making a clearing. You peer past your chaperone to see another man, seated upon a large, velvety looking chair.

His suit is clearly the nicest of the ones you’ve seen from the group so far. It’s tailored perfectly to him, complimenting his lanky frame as he turns towards you. In the dark room it’s hard to make out any features other than his hands, which fold together as he rests his chin on them.

They’re inked all the way up to the wrist, most likely intricate artwork, but in the dark light it looks almost like discolored skin. The bit of light that illuminates his face has you trying to hid behind the man still in front of you. His face is also adorned with tattoos, a distinct pattern you’ve never seen before, giving him a haunting look. They stretch along his jaw, even up to his ears with dark ink under his eyes. You shudder to think of how painful that must have been, but he wears it proudly, smirking as he tilts his head to see you better.

The man who escorted you steps forward, leaning down to whisper in the tattooed man’s ear. Upon hearing his words, a vulpine smile breaks out on his face and the man laughs. When he speaks his voice sends chills down your spine.

“Shigaraki tells me you’re hear to see Endeavor…” he cocks an eyebrow, his blue eyes icy.

You swallow, nodding your head, respectfully staying silent. The man lets his eyes roam over you and you find yourself shying away from his gaze. He chuckles and leans back again, enveloping his face in the shadows as he speaks.

“I’m afraid Endeavor isn’t here and won’t be back.”

You wait for him to continue with something like “for a while” or “after a trip” but the man stays silent. Theres a chorus of snorts and chuckles from the men flanking him, which stops immediately as he raising a finger before continuing.

“I’m sure you’ve been sent here as a peace offering so to speak. You certainly are quite a delicate gift.”

You can feel your cheeks burn and you try to hide the blush behind your hand, averting your eyes. You hear the tatami floor creak as the man gets up and your heart starts to beat faster when he makes his way toward you. Now that he’s in the light, you can see he’s surprisingly handsome, dark hair that sweeps into his eyes, which are a shade of blue that has you staring before blushing again and looking away. You also notice multiple piercings in his ears and as you chance another look up at him, you jump, realizing he’s bent down to eye level with you.

Your heart jumps to your throat as you see the ink of the tattoos doesn’t meet the pale skin of his face, but rather rough scars, stretching under his eyes and around the whole of his bottom jaw. They almost look fresh, the skin has a raw texture to it and it makes your stomach turn a bit. The scars warp as he grins at you.

“Y’know. That old fucker wouldn’t have deserved a beautiful flower like you.”

You flinch as his fingers come to run along your jaw. It’s a caress however and you let him tilt your head up as they rest under your chin. His eyes lock with yours and your heartbeat pounds in your ears. His fingers against your skin feel hot, but they’re gone as he stands up again, crossing his arms.

“I suppose your family should be exempt from further incidents. Seeing as they’ve sent you rather than money or bargains” He chuckles, “I think you’ll also find I’m much more charming than my old man. He was never one for negations unless they ended with violence.”

Your stomach drops as you put the pieces together. The man before you is Dabi, the estranged eldest son of the Todoroki syndicate. He’d been presumed dead, but rumors had spread recently about a new group in town, headed by a man hellbent on taking over the most powerful syndicates. You can’t believe he’s standing her in front of you, clearly having reached that goal as his voice lowers to a dangerous growl.

“I dredged myself up from hell, moved through group after group until I was lucky enough to find someone close to just the person I was looking for.” His head tilts to the left and he croons, “Isn’t that right, Takami?”

A shorter man with dirty blonde hair goes stiff at the name, looking down at his feet. You can see what looks like a fresh scar that stretches from the bottom of his jaw down to below the collar of his suit. Dabi makes a whistling noise, like a bird twittering.

“He used to be quite the little song bird. Thought he doesn’t say much these days.” Dabi sighs as though it’s an inconvenience to even talk of such matters. The man named Takami clenches his jaw and you get the uneasy feeing it’s not a matter of him choosing to be silent, but rather that he psychically wouldn’t be able to speak even if he wanted to.

You haven't even noticed you’re clenching your kimono for dear life until Dabi says, “Relax a little, doll. You’re in better hands here than you would have been with Endeavor.”

He spits the name disdainfully from his mouth, but you can’t stop the slight shake of your hands as you let the silky material fall back down. Dabi tuts his tongue at the sight of the wrinkles within it and you go rigid as his large palms are suddenly smoothing the material down over your hips as he readjusts your obi. His knuckles brush purposefully against the undersides of your breasts as he slips his fingers between the sash and the rest of the garment. The touch has you pressing your lips, and legs together tightly as you feel heat start to pool in your stomach.

Dabi leans in, brushing a strand of you hair behind your ear, whispering words that have you hyper aware of the way you’re stating to wet the silken panties that match your kimono.

“You’re far too exquisite of a creature to be passed around as bribery,” His lips slip lower, breath hot against your neck as he makes you an offer you can’t refuse.

“Let me make you the wife of the most powerful man in Japan, and I’ll treat you like the goddess you are.”

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst,slow burn, strangers to lovers au, first love, early 1900s au.

Synopsis: Lavenders symbolise purity, silence, devotion, serenity and grace. All endearing characteristics of the gorgeous boy, you met in the fields of purple.

Placed in the late 1930s , just before World War two starts, you flee from your family who are forcing you into a marriage. You lie low in a small village where you meet Jisung in a field of lavenders.

Word count: 23k lmao

Warnings: female reader, misogyny and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages, world war two + historical inaccuracy for progression of the plot, drinking

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written and honestly it was a mission, it took about a month to write and I am genuinely so proud of it and really happy with it. Please don't be scared by the length but when I say slow burn, I really mean it!

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. 

Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where ’everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfilment and no meaning.

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something.

She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics, maths and science for you were living proof.

You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches, gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know.

You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you.

Your eyes lazily open and beauty lies ahead, the sun gleaming behind him, lights him on flames and he burns with a presence so strong you can see it as his aura swirls around you, engulfing you. His features,strong and yet his eyes are soft and even as he's turned away from the sun they sparkle infinitely as they hold the brightest stars, his stare pierces through you and it makes your gut clench as you feel small under his gaze but you don't turn away, daring him to continue staring down on you, well that's what you tell yourself as you can't help but get lost in the beauty of his eyes. His face wears a worried expression, his hand out forwards for you to take and place in his and it takes you a while to realise he's trying to help you up, even longer to comprehend the words that leave his mouth, as you just watch his cherry red lips move. You're dazed and for the first time you're not thinking straight, your legs won't move to carry you back up onto your feet but your hand instinctively moves towards him and your own mouth gapes open as it does, and again he repeats himself emphasising the words as his eyes widen further “are you feeling well?” you stare blankly at him, no response until you feel the burning sensation of his hand in yours. A heat that sends shocks through every nerve, it runs through your bloodstream lighting you on fire and as if you were burnt you pull back, shaking off the dizzy spell you rise to your feet, your body finally responding to your screaming brain. A sense of relief washes over you as the fear of losing your mind slowly seeps out as the haze in your mind clears, until your eyes meet his again. “Really y/n, not for a boy” you cry out in your head as your mind seems to be lost in awe looking at him.

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound.

“Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quiet, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air.

“Jisung” he completes your sentence, a small, shy smile appears on his face as his eyes look at everything but you, the letter still in his grasp he shakes his hand at you slightly urging you to take it. Your fingers brush past his ever so slightly as you take the letter back into your possession, a spark is sent through you and your fingers twitch, as if wanting more but you stop them from moving any further, your eyes slightly widen as you catch yourself falling so easily and if Jisung catches the weird expressions on your face, he chooses to ignore them not saying anything. “You are not from around here, are you?” His voice is light and airy as he speaks softly, as if you were made of glass and any harsh tone could break you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the immense awkwardness or because of the pity he must feel seeing you in such a state. You hope it’s the former and decide that’s what it is, when he starts playing with the edges of his white shirt.

“No I live in London” the words die as soon as they leave your mouth, you used to live in London, you don’t anymore. This only adds to Jisung’s awkwardness and it reminds you no matter how beautiful he is, he’s only just a boy who’s probably around your age. So you smile at him, letting out a small breathy laugh in hopes of lightening the mood, it works as he visibly unstiffens. “Used to” Jisung doesn’t press on the matter any further, doesn’t ask anymore questions, just nods. The unsettling atmosphere sets in once again and your incapability of standing in silence for more than a second, you clear your throat "do you know where this address is?" your tone light and airy, you sound almost clueless and it’s now you realise the true meaning behind every etiquette class, the role of the women is the domestic war, the war on power. For one to rise they must make powerful allies and that’s what this voice is for, to obtain the power of a man and trick them into helping you; so you're glad when Jisung takes the letter back into his grasp and examines the writing at the front, it’s worked.

“I’ll show you the way” and you nod with a slight smile as a thank you, Jisung leads the way and you follow soon behind, with his face no longer in my sight you can finally observe the rest of him. Judging by his height and build, seems like he comes from a well off family. Though there wasn’t a day you felt hungry, you weren’t blind to the outside world no matter how hard your parents tried to shelter you from it. The world is living off rations but the wealthy still have access to more, Jisung must have some sought of status or most likely works for a household with high status considering it seemed like he was running errands, why else would he be in a field full of lavenders and it’s only reinforced by the fine silk that flows as wind rushes past you. Somewhat similar to the material that makes up your gown, or what’s left of it, it’s an expensive material imported from colonies in the empire. He walks with no flaw and so you guess he didn’t serve in the war, meaning he has to be around your age; this new life is exciting and scary, you’re not sure what you want yet but you certainly wouldn’t mind if the boy in the lavender field stuck around for a while.

Jisung’s steps slowed and soon came to a stop outside a large estate, it was nowhere near as big as your parent's manor but comparing it to the small petite houses in the village you could just about see; it definitely was the biggest house in the village. You turned to thank Jisung, mouth slightly opened as the words were prepared to leave until you saw him pull out a key and a heat rose up your neck onto your face, in both slight embarrassment and excitement as you realised that Jisung must live here and your mouth couldn’t help but confirm your thoughts, “do you live here?” you blurted quickly with a slight lift in your tone, which you hope wasn’t too obvious in exposing your excitement.

His eyebrows rise, a small smile appears but he doesn’t answer your question, continuing to unlock the doors and allows you to step in first, a women who barely makes it past Jisung’s shoulders calls out to him, embracing him as she tightly wraps her arms around his waist, Jisung leans back slightly as a way of hoping to loosen her grip as his face scrunches up in pain as the struggle to breath sets in but there’s a constant smile on his face right until he peels her off. It’s then she punches him in the stomach, making him crouch down below her, holding onto his stomach.

“How many breaths must I waste in having to tell you to make sure you fulfill all your duties before you head to the fields'' she nags him and a smile is brought to your face at the violent display of affection, you guess he must be a part of the service team that works for the master of this house, which was exceptionally beautiful in the inside; much bigger than what it lets off from the outside, your eyes can’t help but linger elsewhere and observe the hidden beauty in all the small intricate designs. “Young master” the lady continues to punish him for his action and you head whips around at her words, she hasn’t even noticed you but Jisung’s eyes are constantly on you watching your expressions change as more as more information is being released to you, a smile appears on his face and at first it seems like a smirk but soon you notice the constant pink dust across his cheeks and you realise he’s embarrassed. There’s a strange feeling in your chest, a warmth that spreads and has you clutching your fists as you think at how adorable he is, your eyebrows furrow and you shake both the thoughts and the smile off.

Finally after what seems like hours of you staring at Jisung but in reality was no longer than a few seconds, the petite woman turns to you and acknowledges your presence,  her eyes widen in surprise and she rushes to your side. “Oh lord, my dear child are you okay?” she grabs your hands and ushers you down the hall into a secluded room that takes up a big portion of the ground floor of the house.

The kitchen, filled with plenty of workers,busy hands and food; she shouts at a maid to move a few things around and to make some space for you around the small table that holds vegetables and freshly cut meat. There’s the smell of spices that are definitely too exotic to be from these lands, parcels with German writing and several people cooking dishes you don’t recognise.

You're pushed down onto a small wooden chair that slightly rocks and it is by far the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever sat but you don’t dare complain even after the minutes pass and your legs begin to ache. The maids ran around you and even as you left that world behind, you still somehow ended up in the same position and then you realise it’s the fine silk you wear that sets you apart, the rows and rows of pearls around your neck and rings on your fingers. They don’t ask any questions, just wiping away at the dirt on your legs; the same women at the door pouring a type of alcohol over your cuts and it stings drawing out a hiss from you, “sorry” she whispers and blows slightly on the irritated skin. The kitchen quiets down and the other maids exit, leaving you and the same women who scolded Jisung, she didn’t bother to ask him any questions and quickly sent him away to carry on with the work he didn’t finish, she doesn’t ask you any questions either for it’s not her place to ask. 

She wraps bandages around your knees and your eyes wander around, landing on a picture of her with three little boys, you recognise the smallest to be Jisung, she catches your eyes and smiles “the masters, when they were little devils” she remarks making you and her both let out small laughs, “though they aren't much better now” she smiles fondly as she continues to wrap the bandages, you see love in her eyes and can tell that she raised them.

“The smallest is Jisung, am I correct?” you ask just to confirm your assumption, she nods and smiles, “i can tell by his awkwardness, it’s radiant even in pictures” you scoff and she laughs. "Who are the other two?" Your curiosity seemingly has no end.

"The tallest is master Jeno and the one in the middle is master Jaemin" she says as she cuts the bandage. You take note of their names and match it to their appearances though you assume they've probably changed quite a bit. The tallest, Jeno has crescent moons for eyes as his smile pushes them up, it's adorable. The middle, Jaemin also has a bright smile, probably the prettiest you’ve ever seen but Jisung still stands out the most to you, maybe it’s because you’ve seen how he looks now; the change is definitely visible, he’s grown much taller and into his sharp features. He's definitely handsome, epitome of beauty but by the way he timidly walks you’re not quite sure he knows it.

“Will these do, ma’am?” her hands hold onto a set of clean clothes and you only nod at her as you take the clothes from her hands, calloused and rough from years of labour. "Please just call me y/n" you tell her trying to remove your status and she only nods in return. "And what may I call you" you ask her.

"Daphne" she replies and you notice that she smiles at you, a full smile nothing quite like you've seen before and you'd like to think this what a smile should look like. Genuine. Instead of all the small smiles you recieved, the ones with hidden agendas and meanings, the ones because of who your father was, the one because of your status, name, title, money and a persuasion for your hand in marriage. So many smiles yet none truly considered one. God you hated that life.

"Now y/n let me show you to a room" she leads you out the room and you follow her upstairs, all the maids rushing back into the kitchen after you have left. She turns left and right and you find that the upstairs is far more complicated to navigate, with many different rooms. When she finally reaches a long corridor, she stops to point at the room that awaits at the end. "That will be your room ma'am" and before she even could finish her sentence properly, "y/n" you correct her and she only nods, giving you a soft smile as an apology."Please call for me if anything isn't to your liking" she says and just as she's about to step away, ready to leave you to get comfortable.

You call her back, "Daphne, can you please tell me who this is" you lift up the small blue letter that leads you here to this address, to finally put a name to the mysterious woman who only seemed to want the best for you and your mother. She takes the small letter from your grasp, examining the small font that's slowly fading due to the number of years it's collected dust. Her eyes widen as she reads the letter, her head snapping up to look at you, her lips parting slightly as if her jaw threatened to drop.

"My god" she says as she continues to read, shock written all over her face, "this is from the master's mother, dear" she tells you and you join her in shock as your jaw hangs a lot more obviously in shock. "She worked for your family when she was young" she continues to tell you and the ripples of shock continue to pulse through your body. Your mother and her are good friends from what you've gathered, reading all the letters you found. Yet your mother never even allowed you to mix classes, always telling you to stick with your own people, people who can pay for your time, literally. Yet here she was being friends with a woman considered below her, even considering sending you away to her. The hypocrisy is what shocked you the most, for you didn't think your mother could build relationships if it weren't for a social advantage.

"Can I meet her?" you ask, excited until you see sadness seep into her eyes, she looks down and she shuffles slightly. Her eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall and your own shoulders droop down and a frown is formed on your lips. "I'm sorry" you apologise but she shakes her head and wipes her eyes slightly.

"Don't be silly, you didn't know and it's better you found out through me anyways." She tells you and you're glad that you found out through her too, you don't think you would've been able to handle it coming from Jisung. "If you do not mind me, but when did she pass" you ask carefully as to not break her.

"Last May" she tells you and you hear sadness in her voice , as it slightly cracks and you release a deep sigh as to rid your body from the contagious mood. With that she hands the letter back into your hand and leaves you to wash up, "Dinner will be ready soon, please wash up" she urges you to go into the room.

You walk down the corridor, steps heavy as your heart grieves for Jisung and as you're reminded of your own father's death, though he planned on marrying you to a stranger you didn't love and never truly wanting you to live happily. You loved and still love him with every ounce of your being, all making grief an impossibly hard process. For your heart hurt and your mind could not comprehend why.  Your eyes stung with tears and your hands trembling with pain and still the mind was questioning why you felt sad. Then the guilt blooms, hovering above you, for this man raised you and cared for you and yet you question your grief as you sit by his deathbed. Yet you remind yourself that questioning your grief is better than not feeling any at all, you remember looking over towards your mother who wore black and instead of grieving her husband's death, she felt grief for her widow status that crushed her social status, for who was she without her husband.

So as you remove the many pearls and diamonds around your neck, gifted to you by your mother, you’re reminded why you left that life behind. You won’t be defined by your husband but by what you have achieved and for who you are. Yet you leave on the thin golden chain with a single pendant on your neck, as a reminder for where to come from and how far you’ve travelled. It was a gift from both your mother and father, the one gift you like to think wasn’t used as a symbol of your wealth to attract men in asking for your hand in marriage, the simplicity of this necklace led you to believe that this was a genuine gift of their love.

Changing out of your ball gown or the remainders of it, you feel anew. Stripping out of your old skin and into much comfortable and humble ones, you feel as if your new life is finally starting and though it’s far from what anyone would have wanted for your life to be like, it’s what you want. You’ve been here for just under an hour and instantly you're on cloud nine, floating to where only the sun is. The rays dancing on your skin and euphoria runs within your veins, this is life.  

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in a daze but soft knocks on the door is what awakens you and you're quick to open the door, not wanting to leave the person on the other side waiting but you’re met with a fist, that seems as if it malfunctions as it goes down by the side of the same person who seems to waking you out of all your dazes recently. Jisung stands there awkwardly, legs crossed and hands behind his back, he stutters as he says “dinner is...um.. It is awaiting” and with that he cuts himself off, rushing the words out of his mouth and quickly turns around, rushing downstairs.

You can only smile at him, how was someone allowed to be that cute. Following soon after him you enter into the dinning room, the smile on your face completely wiped off by the shock of two other men sitting around the table. Your back straightens as your body stiffens, by habit, you’ve been taught to look most confident when caught off guard.

“Sit here y/n” Daphne takes out the seat opposite of Jisung and next to a man you don’t know until he smiles your way, you recognise that smile and it’s still as pretty as it looks in the picture hanging in the kitchen. You smile back at him as you make your way by his side and take your seat.

“Hello, I’m Jaemin” he turns to you, dropping his fork and it clatters as it hits the plate, a beautiful smile across his face and you finding it comforting to think it hasn’t changed at all. He then lifts your hand to his lips, placing them softly on your knuckles all whilst keeping that damn smile held across his lips and staring straight into your soul, heat rises up your body slightly thrown back and he can see the shock in your eyes . Your well crafted facade cracking. His eyes are still boring into yours and you can’t move, stuck looking into his eyes, hands stuck to his until a kick. Coming from across the table, a force hits Jaemin’s shin causing him to yelp, instantly turning away from you and dropping your hand, you notice a small smile on Jisung’s face as he tries to conceal his laughter. You turn to look at where such a force came from, fierce strong features and an intimidating stare yet when he turns to you crescent moons appear, his aura changing immediately and the child in the portrait comes to life. “I’m Jeno” his voice is soft yet clear and all you can do is smile back before replying simply your name “Y/N” you tell him and he nods your way. 

Thinking that silence would now set in was foolish of you, for you should’ve guessed Jaemin isn’t the type to let there be silence and looking back now you could definitely tell he was itching to ask you so many questions. “I guess you have already met Jisung” he turns to you again and you only nod, looking up at the tall boy in front of you but he only stares at the soup in front of him but you know he senses your gaze as he twitches slightly in his seat, holding himself back from looking up and directly into your eyes. “He is not usually this quiet, he will warm up to you soon” Jaemin apologises on behalf of Jisung yet he grimaces at the words that leave Jaemin’s mouth but you smile at Jaemin ignoring Jisung’s expression.

The rest of dinner is filled with small talk between you and Jaemin, him asking you your favourite colour and trivial things like that, you discussed different authors and scriptors to which Jeno also chimed in on the conversation, both very impressed on your knowledge though you aren’t sure if they were impressed because you were a woman or genuinely impressed by the vast knowledge you had accumulated over the years spent in your father’s library however you brushed that thought aside, carrying on with the conversation, eyes drifting to Jisung at times who just sat there playing around with spoon, twisting it between his fingers instead of daring to look at you let alone to add to the conversation. Finally as Daphne takes away the plates, Jeno stands up dismissing himself from the table, “It was a pleasure to meet you Y/N, I hope you stay a while it was fun having you” he tells you with those same moons for eyes and you thank him for his hospitality “It was a great pleasure to meet you too, thank you for allowing me to stay” you say them at Jeno and Jaemin but they’re mainly directed to Jisung who brought you here.

“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to tell me” Jaemin smiles, a hand on your shoulder as he stands next to where you sit and you only nod at him, he then comes to your ear, lips so close you feel them brush against the shell “Jisung will come around, I’m sorry if he’s making you feel uncomfortable” he apologises on his behalf for the second time that night and you wave him off with a smile. You could already tell that Jisung is shy and awkward but it’s not confused for hate or resentment, he simply doesn’t know how to act around a female and it’s clear the way he trips over his words and his very own legs but to be fair they are very long.

After everyone left the table and made their ways to their own rooms, you too made your way to bed. Laying there you think back to how far you’ve come, a few months ago this all would have been nothing but a dream and now it’s a reality and the euphoric feeling you imagine is everything and more. Freedom is worth anything is what you’ve learnt, the freedom to live your life the way you want. To be in control of all your decisions, living with the consequences but not a single shred of regret because you chose it and therefore it must have been for a reason. It’s new and exciting but so scary as the colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach, all the possibilities panning out in your head and for some reason as you drift off to sleep that night, you see Jisung in this future of yours.

The sun shined in through the sheer curtains of your room, sunlight dancing on your skin and the warmth made you feel alive as it tingled. The house was quiet and as you look out the window you realise that even the Sun has still yet to wake fully, still sleepy rising out of the horizon. The birds chirp and the lavender fields roar as the wind dances but there in the middle of it all is a figure. Jisung. Your eyes light up and your legs are quick to move, still in your nightgown, hair in a mess you rush to meet him there. The stairs creak as you step down them slowly, as if a child trying not to get caught, you try your best not to wake a soul.

Once out the door you run out towards the purple sea, the cold morning air refreshing to the midday humidity that sticks your clothes to your skin, instead the wind blows through you and you feel free as all boundaries and confinements are washed away but then it hits you, causing your legs to halt. Jisung barely knows you, how weird it would be for you to run up to him at the break of dawn? Very weird you decide as you slowly make your way back to the house, hoping to not make any noise that might draw his attention your way.

Stepping back inside, your back against the heavy wooden door you let out a deep sigh as your eyes fall closed in relief. Thank god he didn't see you, you think to yourself as you just stepped into the living room and your heart dropped down to your stomach, lungs stopping as you see him there. Jisung flicking through a book, his eyes come up to meet yours which are blown out in shock as you stare between him and looking back at the door, his lips fold into a line and you practically see the questions forming in his mind as he scratches the top of his head.

“Good Morning” you say with a smile but the embarrassment isn’t covered well, eyes everywhere but his. He softly replies with a mumble you’re unsure if he actually said anything back or if you just made it up but as your eyes land on the book in his hand and all thoughts are banished. You rush round the table, Jisung’s eyes wide now as it’s his turn to be shocked as you sit down beside him, taking the book out of his hand to have a look at the title. “Ah a classic” you say as your fingers run over the title and Jisung only nods at your words. “Is it your favorite Shakespearean play?” you ask in hopes of starting up conversation, all you get in return is nod of the head but that does nothing but urge you to talk again to fill the silence. “I like Hamlet but i think Macbeth is my favourite. The best character being Lady Macbeth, a strong ambitious women” you state and Jisung only laughs at this causing you to turn back to him.

“She had lost her mind” he laughs again and you smile

“Yes but as a woman she exerts power and it’s not really seen much in female characters in stories and real life” you tell him, explaining how a woman like her is admirable for her strong spirit.

“Yes but doesn’t Shakespear describe her to have a masculine soul that within a femine body, he is saying the ambition and power are masculine and therefore is she really a good embodiment for strong powerful females?” he argues back, questioning you and you can’t help but smile.

“But he uses her and the witches to plant the idea of murder in Macbeth’s head, he shows that they are powerful and can achieve what they want through manipulation which he explains to be a women’s method, they are in control of the men and it shows that if it weren’t for social confinments that they would pursue their ambitions for themselves, is Macbeth really the one in control?” you question him back and he smiles

“You win” he laughs and pride is struck through you, there’s no feeling quite similar to winning a debate but there's sadness at the bottom of your gut as you remember and miss your brothers who you would debate with until frustrations would burst out of you all and it leads to punches being thrown around.

“Let me guess, you hate Romeo and Juliet” he expects you to say yes and you know it’s because he probably thinks their love for each other is shallow but you can’t say you do.

“I don’t actually, aside from the whole love at first sight, I somewhat relate to it” you tell him eyes staring at him but unfocused as you think back to how your own life was in comparison to Juliet’s, “the being forced into something you don’t want and dying for your freedom, in this case her freedom was Romeo but i don’t think he was the only reason she chose to flee, I’d like to think ran away for herself and to allow herself her own choices in life” and then silence as Jisung took in your words, a perspective he had never really thought about, the story was always solely based on romance but then again he had never been put in the position of being forced into something so life changing such as marriage. Jisung couldn’t begin to comprehend how it felt to be used so obviously for social gain and being stripped and deprived of anything else that would hinder that.

 Sensing stiffness in the air, you had to do something about it, you finally got Jisung to actually have a conversation with you. “Still Macbeth is the best” and again you manage to get a laugh out of him. The sound is so sweet that angels come down to listen to it, the heavens split open at the first bubble of laughter that leaves his mouth and your eyes light up as your body tingles with pride for causing it, you’re addicted to it and you're itching to hear it again. You need to hear it again.

The moment is cut off though with the entrance of Jaemin and Jisung’s eyes avert to his brother greeting him a good morning as quietly as he did to you and Jaemin sleepy replies in a yawn, rubbing his eye  before sitting down opposite you. “Morning y/n” he greets you and you smile before greeting him back, turning back to Jisung to hopefully start up the conversation again. “So what else are you reading?” you ask and your eyes light up as you scan over the many books on the table before you.

“Oh y/n, you know how to read!” Jaemin jumps up, it wasn’t expected for someone to be literate to the extent they could read Shakespeare or any higher educational scriptures, unless of a high class, let alone a women but your father taught you all he could and then you leached off your brothers who were lucky enough to be sent to school but Jaemin had already been aware of this “Yes my father taught me” you tell him and he nods rapidly.

“Yes I know, I just thought you’d like to know that there’s a library upstairs if you ever get bored and want to read something” he tells you and excitement bubbles up inside you and the instinct to run up there and have a look at their book collection is something far harder to conceal then it should be and Jaemin laughs at your eagerness. “Jisung could use someone like you, he’s always trying to get away from his studies” and you hear Jisung let out a nervous laugh as you turn towards him, completely offended.

“You have the privilege of being able to study and you want to run away from it” you gasp and it causes Jaemin to laugh again but this wasn’t a laughing matter, you were completely serious. You would die to be in his position and something about the way Jisung holds an apologetic look makes you think he knows you would.

“I guess you’ll just have to be with him to help him study” Jaemin offers a solution and your eyes light up at this, the excitement running through your veins. You all know exactly what that means, yes it’s babysitting Jisung to make sure he gets all his work done but it also means you get to study whatever he’s learning and expand your knowledge as far as you can. Jisung seemed hesitant at first but after seeing how you visibly lit up at the suggestion he couldn’t help but agree to take you along with him when he had to study.

After breakfast Jisung led you up to the library, it was a large room filled from ceiling to floor with books, the sight alone made you dizzy with excitement, as you stepped in the beloved smell of old books filled your senses and your hands instantly rushed to run along the spines of every book. Your eyes sparkled as you looked over each one and Jisung watched as fascination completely engulfed you, he couldn’t stop watching as you pick out a book, couldn’t take his eyes off you as your eyes skimmed the blurb, he was mesmerized by what he wasn’t too sure of. His eyes didn’t seem to be able to move on from your figure until you turned to face him, time stood still as he watched more and more of the bright smile that was held across your face be revealed to him, you were beautiful. Once met with yours, his eyes scrambled away as they always do and he was quick to turn around and seat himself at the desk that sat in the centre of the room.

You too situated yourself on one of the more comfortable chairs, opposite to Jisung, you watched him begin to write, his head slanted and both arms splayed out on the table, he was the height of beauty and grace, the gods carved him from marble, so ethereal Aphrodite herself was jealous of his perfection, Apollo envied his grace. Though you were here to study, read as many books time allowed you, your eyes were distracted and little did you know they were distracting Jisung as well. Your gaze causes his breath to halt, his hands to sweat and pink dust to decorate his skin. You were dazed, stuck in a trace of his beauty and had to do something to get out of it, you clenched your hand; nails digging into your palms, pressing hard to wake you. You forced your head to the side, eyes looking at the bookshelf once again but your actions caused Jisung to look up, you can feel his stare on you and a shiver is sent through your spine, too scared to look back at him, afraid you’ll be pulled back into his trance.

“You have a lot of German books” you say, hoping your nervousness isn’t obvious and just to be sure you get up and head towards the books. You feel him staring at every step you take and you just pray you're the only one that can hear the loud thumping of your heart against your ribcage as a colony of butterflies bloom in your stomach. Fingers tracing over the German writing on the spine of each book, you try to distract yourself from him and try to compose yourself once again but then his voice echoes through the room, deep and smooth it sends shivers rippling through you.

“My father was stationed in Germany” he tells you as his eyes finally move away from your figure, a sense of relief washes over you as he continues to write once again. Yet you're still too nervous to turn around, too nervous to look at him, he who is the epitome of beauty.

“Still?” you ask, filling in the silence as you pull out another book, examining the words on the front cover but you instantly regret it as Jisung’s eyes fall back onto you.

“After the war he was assigned a higher position in the Rhineland and then after they were dismissed he was asked to stay along the French borders'' he tells you and once again your curiosity gets the best of you and you ask him another question. If you remember correctly, it’s been 10 years since the dismissal of the troops in the Rhineland.

“So when was the last time you saw him?” and instantly you regret the words that leave your mouth, your curse yourself a million times over. Jisung’s silence is all too overwhelming and your chest grows tighter as guilt takes over your body and just as you’re about to apologise, he answers

“He visited last year” Jisung simply states but you can hear the strain in his voice, the pain he’s tried his best to cover yet it seeps through and your glad you can’t see him right now because you couldn’t bare to see the sparkle in his eyes fade slightly as you remember the passing of his mother, that most probably led to his father returning back home. Silence settles again and your frozen by the shelves, the air so heavy it feels as if weights were holding you down, your mind hazy as you space out and as the common pattern goes, Jisung wakes you out of the depths of your mind with a voice as smooth as honey, it provides a comfort that sends shivers down your spine.  “He’ll be back soon though, he’s officially been discharged for retirement” he tells you as if he can feel your stiffness and out of the corner of your eye you see he’s giving you a small comforting smile, just to make the air seem a little lighter.

Time seems to fly past as you both sit there, Jisung’s hands busy writing away as he refers back to scriptures and your eyes busy as you read up on German politics and the structure of the Weimar constitution, that revolutionised democracy, the sun was now high in the sky as noon approached. You didn’t even notice until Jisung let out a loud yawn, arms above his head as he stretched and let out mumbles of how you should stop for today or at least take a break. You only nodded in response as you stretched your own limbs out, you had ended up curled up in the chair with your legs tucked away as you leaned into what you were reading. Jisung couldn't help but smile as he looked up occasionally to see your eyebrows furrowed as you read and he can't help the soft laugh from escaping his lips now as he watches you stretch. "And what is it that you find so funny?" You question him, eyes narrowed but your lips are clearly fighting back a smile and the sight of it flusters Jisung, stammering over his words ``N-Nothing" he answers and you let out a small smile to let him know you were only kidding.

As you both leave the room, you can't help but follow Jisung "and what is it you do after you are done studying?" Your question startled him as he visibly flinched at the sound of your voice and he mentally tells himself to get used to your unquenchable curiosity. "Except for picking lavenders" you tease. He lets out a soft laugh, the same sound you've been itching to hear since this morning.

"Nothing much" he tells as he makes his way down the stairs. Following him down, he makes his way towards the drawing room, sitting himself down in an old velvet chair, you place yourself beside him in a matching one. Your eyes peering over towards his hands that pull at needle and thread and you’re astounded by the sight in front of you, a male who knows how to sew is as rare as diamonds, as impressive as gold. Jisung continuously stuns you, his nimble fingers work diligently as they pull the thread to make patterns across the once plain cloth.

He can feel the burn of your stare on his hands, his chest tightens and his nerves are lit on fire, he is hyper aware of every wander of your eyes. His mind clouded by the mere thought of you watching him, his mind so fixated on impressing you, for a reason he’s not sure of, he doesn’t pay much attention to the needle any longer; a mistake he realises once the sharp point collides with the soft skin of his index, drawing blood. He flinches back away from the sharp contact as you leap forward to cup his hand in both of yours. Pressing your thumb against his finger, applying pressure in hopes of stopping the seeping blood, you slightly blow upon it to relieve it of any pain but Jisung can’t feel any pain not when your overwhelming heat rolls of you and radiates on to his skin, with every touch sparks fly on top of his skin fizzling underneath and seeping into his bloodstream. A fluttering blooms in his stomach and Jisung has no idea what this feeling is, it’s new and exciting. He craves it as his eyes drift to your worried face and once your eyes meet his, the emotion is buried by the overwhelming nervousness he feels engulfing him, his cheeks flush and his breath is caught in his throat. He pulls away from you and quickly stands “I’ll” he pauses thinking what to say next “I’ll get a bandage” he spits the words out as soon as his mind comes up with the excuse.

“I’ll get it, sit down” you stand up and ready to head towards any one of the maids that could help you but your steps are interrupted by Jisung’s voice once again.

“No it’s fine, I’ll get it” he blurts out, hand stopping you as he places in front of you, your head moving back on reflex, and with that Jisung runs out the room; feet moving fast as his left hand tightly wraps around his right index.

You sit there for what felt like forever waiting for Jisung’s return but in reality it was no more than 10 minutes, you were never one to hold patience. So you rose to your feet, eager to find the tall boy that let awkwardness roll off of him. Heading to the direction you saw Jisung turn, you make your way to the familiar kitchen, many busy bodies work their way around preparing for dinner as the clock is nearing sun fall. Your eyes wander the familiar walls with the same pictures you stared at upon the first day of your arrival, until they stopped on the figure they seeked. There he stood by the wooden table that just about reached his waist. He poured flour into a bowl, followed by two eggs and your eyes watched his every moment again and as if he could sense you, his rose to meet you once again. You smile because it just comes so naturally when with him and he smiles back, how could he not?

Inviting yourself in, you step closer towards Jisung, “A cook too” you say, you’re impressed and it’s evident in your voice.

“It’s a basic necessity” he says yet there’s a pink coating that dusts his cheeks, you know he’s flattered by your words despite his own.

“Basic necessity?” you question as you sit down, legs crossed, on an empty wooden chair just by where he stands “I guess I should learn” you state nonchalantly, not expecting the reaction it would provoke from Jisung. His head snaps to turn to you, his eyes searching your face for any indication that you were only pulling his leg, that this was only a joke but those indications never showed because this wasn't a joke, you were serious.

“What? Does a girl have to know how to cook?” you question him in a scoff, an eyebrow raised as you question his thoughts that control his expressions.

“No they don’t but I can be surprised, I know you are surprised I can” he rebuttals, calling out your hypocrisy but to this you only smile, you were glad Jisung could stand his own ground, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise.

“More impressed than surprised” you state, earning a smile from Jisung once again, you pat yourself on the back each time you manage to pull out that sweet, healing smile that seems to wash all worries away.

“Who’s to say I’m not impressed” he questions you once again and continues to mix the batter, adding more ingredients, again you smile at his words and Jisung feels his heart flutter at every stretch of your lips. He craves to see it more.

“Can you teach me?” your question catches him off guard and his eyebrows leap up into the soft brown hair that covers his forehead, “what I’m not totally hopeless, I’ve read a book on it before” you pout. Laughter rings through the air as Jisung has doubled over, unable to hold in the snorts and his breathing unsteadies as your words register in his head and this only makes your pout more prominent and your eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry” Jisung laughs out as his eyes fall onto your expression but he can’t hold it in, a few bubbles of laughter spilling out as he tries to calm his breaths, his eyes glossy as tears threaten to fall and you try to fight back your own laughter as the corners of your lips slightly perk up. “Did you say you read a book on cooking” he can’t even get through the sentence without laughing but he’s quick to reign it back in to allow you to answer.

“Yes” you say proudly, head still held high and Jisung bites down on his lips as the splutters of laughter threaten to escape again. “It’s obviously not the same thing but I’ve read basic methods” you state in defence.

“You make it sound like science” he scoffs at your words and you roll your eyes at his.

“Is it not, the mixing of substances to achieve a product. It sounds like alchemy to me” you explain your thought process and Jisung nods in agreement. Though you can tell he has something to say.

“Alright then, let us say cooking is science” he begins and you raise your eyebrow in questioning as to where this is leading “reading a method for an experiment is not the same as doing the experiment, there are things that are not accounted for, practical errors, measuring errors. The method tells you what to do but not how to do it” and before he can even finish his sentence properly you jump up, startling him slightly as he flinches back.

“And that is where you come in to teach me, guide me through the experiment” you plead but it sounds like he doesn’t really have an option, you’re practically telling him. He sighs but he has to give, how could he not when you're giving him your sweetest smile and when your eyes are practically begging him.

“I’m surprised you want to learn” he questions you “I thought you’d avoid anything that would have been forced upon you” he explains as he hands you an apron.

Your smile extends ear to ear as you take the apron from his hands, tying in behind your back you explain your sudden want to learn “Yes but I’m choosing to learn, this isn’t about adding another quality of a wife to my resume. This about extending my knowledge and as you said it is a basic necessity.”

Jisung only nods at your answer as he hands you another bowl, some ingredients already placed inside “follow after me” he says as he cracks an egg and pours it’s insides into the bowl and then turning to you he see you struggle, knocking the egg against the table softly you try and mimic his actions “Did the book not mention eggs?” he laughs and so does Daphne who observes close by as you send him glares that wish him death.

“Like this” he says as he places his hands over yours, guiding you but your eyes aren’t focused on the egg in your hold, you’re focused on Jisung who’s so close, too close. You feel his breath on the side of your neck and goosebumps arise on the surface of your skin as shivers are sent down your spine. The scent of cotton, jasmine and of course lavenders invade your senses and blur your mind. You can’t help but stare at Jisung, perfection personified as he concentrates on explaining how to assure no shell falls into the batter. Yet the words enter one ear and exit the other as you watch his lips move, your eyes stuck and it’s only when his eyes move up to meet yours does he also realise the little space between the two of you. His hands still holding onto yours, his eyes move down. Slowly they trace the features of your face, the bridge of your nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow and then they stop at your lips. His breathing halts, his heart skips beats as it dances in his chest and when he feels unbearable heat take over him he forces himself away from you. Quickly flinching back, his warmth leaves you, he clears his throat and turns from your gaze that still stares, he continues showing you what to do and no more words are exchanged as the heaviness in the air sets in.

Many weeks go by where you and Jisung spend all your mornings in the library, which had now become your favourite spot in the house, you look forward to picking up a new book every morning, look forward to watching Jisung so focused on his work, telling him all about what you’ve learnt and occasionally sparking up a debate but you also find yourself staring out the window wishing for the sun to only raise itself higher and higher as you wish for midday to arrive, to run away with Jisung down into the kitchen where he continues to teach you how to cook, some days he would take you into town to pick out fresh ingredients or some days into the drawing room where he attempts to teach you how to sow. After a few failed attempts, your patience wearing thin and much blood being drawn from your fingers, you give up on sewing however cooking is a much greater achievement and the outcome was worth every bit of it. The smile on Jisung’s face every time he’d taste something he’d liked, every time you remember a part of a recipe and every time he would sit down at the dinner table and Jeno or Jaemin would compliment your cooking. He felt immense pride in you and it fostered a love for cooking within you.

Other days when the weather prohibited it, Jisung would take you out into the lavender field. You’d sit in between the rows and rows of purple, picking at the prettiest ones.The sun high in the sky, august warmth embracing you as the wind blew over the roaring fields, dancing between your hair. “Look I learnt this from a book” you sit beside Jisung, his head snaps up and his attention is on your fingers now as they twirl the thin stems in and around each other to form a knot. “Purity, silence, devotion and grace are what a lavender symbolise” you begin to tell him “and you Jisung” you place the intertwined lavenders behind his ear, he’s visibly flustered as his cheeks turn hues of pink and it only urges you on “are exactly that” you whisper to him as if the lavenders had ears and could hear your confession, for these words are for Jisung’s only.

Jisung’s eyes widened as each word that was revealed to him, his heart thumping in his chest and his mind set on fire as chaos engulfed him. His thoughts scrambled and instantly his mind went to countless different possibilities as to what those words meant but looking up at you his mind cleared for he only saw beauty. The beauty your eyes held, as they sparkled infinitely each time they skimmed over the countless words on a book, the beauty your smile held when someone complimented your new found cooking skills, the beauty in your voice each time you called on him as the new found nickname “sungie” which caused his heart to melt, the beauty you held in the way you carried yourself never letting anyone put you down. Jisung adored you in every way, embers in his chest that grew into a flame, which spreads through his entirety burning all. A blissful pain sits at the core of him, aching, he longs for you but do you long for him? Is he but a fool to fall in love with a stranger, the stranger in the lavender fields. Is he a fool for falling in love with you? Is this even love? His eyes fixated on your lips, he examines the curve of them, the colour, their beauty. As if they were magnets he’s drawn to them, slowly inching himself forward, so close he could feel the warm air that made it past them.

So close and yet so far is he to you, the sweet smell of lavenders is dizzying, the sunlight burns your skin but against Jisung’s it only illuminates his, he glows. The urge to place your lips on top of his, eats away at your skin, the want crawls under and down your spine, shivers resonate throughout your body as he nears. The world falls away, the slight buzzing of bees fade, the tickles of the grass dissipate and you only feel Jisung. His presence, the brush of his knee against yours and the warmth that radiates off him. Your heart stops, you stop breathing, anticipating what’s about to happen next until suddenly Jisung’s head snaps to the right and reality comes flooding in as you hear both your names ringing and ripping through the air. “Jisung! Y/N!” Daphne shouts and Jisung jumps up answering for both of you “We’re coming!” Left completely stunned you sit there, mind in chaos as your embarrassment engulfs you. Your eyebrows furrowed, you think to yourself how you could allow for yourself to fall into his spell. What were you thinking? That’s the problem, around Jisung you can’t think, everything happens on pure instinct and desire. Then as if you had rewinded time, a shadow is casted over you, a hand is placed in front of you to take and as he did on that first day, he snaps you out of your daze. “Are you feeling well?” he asks in that same soft voice. Your hand twitches to move towards him and it takes everything in your power to stop it from falling into his grasp once again.

“Fine” it comes out much colder than you expected it to as you rise up to your feet on your own, his hand is left hanging awkwardly to which he slowly closes before placing it behind his head as he bites his bottom lip and your eyes can’t help but fall on them again, they which were so close and yet so far. “Let’s go” and this time you lead him out of the lavender field.

The walk back to the house is silent, the same awkwardness that hadn’t made an appearance in so long settles in the air, it’s thick and heavy and you can feel it weigh you down. Upon arriving back to the house, a carriage awaits outside, a military emblem on the back and your heart drops, eyes widen and your steps stop. “It couldn’t be” you let out at barely a whisper.

But the slightest sound from you is enough to have Jisung’s head snap up towards you, for he’s been waiting for you to make a sound, any sound to rid this atmosphere. "What is it?" He asks also hushed, his eyes follow yours and there it leads to the carriage, a smile rips through his face and he runs ahead.  Confused you rush your steps but the anxiety building up in your chest stays, the lump in your throat is still hard to swallow.

“Y/N!” Jaemin calls you whilst waving his hand eagerly, calling you to come quickly and as you step closer the constraining feeling in your chest dissipates as the figure that steps out of the carriage is an unknown one to you. You stand by Jaemin’s side, who radiates excitement off him and you can’t help but smile as the little boy in the picture is standing right before you, the same eager stance and pretty smile that even the sun envies. The man exists and immediately pulls Jeno into an embrace so tight and you swear you see Jeno’s eyes sparkle as tears threaten to fall. Jisung is much less subtle at concealing his tears, he sobs into the man’s shoulder and it’s only then you presume this is their father. Jisung’s eyes are red and he sniffles as his father let’s go of him and your heart clenches at his adorableness. Jaemin is as happy as ever, hugging his father as tight as ever, eyes closed in pure bliss. You’re smiling like a fool as the heartwarming scene unfolds in front of you, so busy looking at the happy smiles and the stray few tears that are still running down Jisung’s cheeks you don’t notice the new acquaintance step in front of you until he clears his throat and you jump to meet his gaze.

“You must be Y/N” he smiles extending his hand and you place yours in it, shaking it. “I’ve heard a lot about you in all my son’s letters” your eyes widen and your turn to the three boy, Jaemin with that damn smirk on his face, Jisung avoiding your eyes and as always finding his shoes much more interesting, thank god for Jeno who offers a comforting smile assuring it’s all good things. “Sir you’ve raised three fine men, who have all welcomed me” you bow your head in thanks and he smiles once again.

“I couldn’t possible take any credit for it, it’s all thanks to their mother and Daphne of course” he turns from you to her and she pulls him into an embrace “Thank you for looking after them” he says barely audible but Daphne catches it and just as softly replies “but of course”. As everyone heads inside you wait until Jisung is by your side to start heading in as well, “Crybaby” you whisper with a teasing smile you nudge him with your elbow, he scoffs as he’s wiping his tear stained cheeks but he can’t help smile back at you.

Seated around the dining table, as always by Jaemin’s side and opposite Jisung, their father sits at the head of the table and more food than ever is being served tonight in celebration. You’re much more quiet tonight despite Jaemin continuously making sure you feel involved in the conversation, you’re eternally grateful for him. “So Y/N, why did you leave home?” their father asks so casually it almost goes unnoticed by the boys but Jisung almost chokes on his water, Jeno’s eyes widen and Jaemin almost immediately tries to shut down the conversation “Father” he gives him a pointed look, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head.

“Jaemin, it's okay" you smile towards him, "freedom i suppose sir" you answer the question and Jisung's father squints his eyes, as he lets out a hum in acknowledgement of your answer. "Even after all your family has done for you?" He continues to question "you come from the family my late wife used to work under, am I correct?" And you simply nod "yes I do".

"The late General's daughter" he states "I wonder if he's turning in his grave at this moment" Jisung's grip on his silverware tightens and you notice his knuckles turn white and once again Jaemin's stare is begging his father to stop as Jeno looks over to see how affected you are by his cruel words. You don't falter though, you know what you've done can seem selfish but it was necessary "I'm sure he is" you laugh out "but he's always known I'm never one to listen" you continue to pick away at the food on your plate and you can feel all there gazes falls onto you, as you look up Jisung’s eye bore into yours as he mouths a soft “sorry” to you and you smile back at him shaking your head.

“I assume you’ve run from marriage” Jisung’s father starts up conversation again and you only nod as an answer “Are you against marriage?” he asks and it’s if he wants tears to fall from your eyes as he keeps pushing where he knows it’ll hurt. “Of course not but I would like to pursue a higher education or experience the world first” you explain, still keeping your calm.

“You think a woman is capable of doing such things?” he asks again and it’s this question that really makes your skin crawl and your jaw tighten. Questioning your methods of gaining freedom is one thing but looking down on all women and claiming them unable is one you can’t stand for. “I think we are very capable, I think the suffragettes have made that very clear and sir didn’t you work with the Weimar Government, they were the first government to allow women to vote I would think their initiative would have rubbed off on you” and he only smiles at your answer.

“I was stationed in Germany and worked under the Weimar Government up until their collapse, you’re correct” he begins to tell you “I have to tell you that I agree with your view, I’ve seen much that women are capable of doing” he says and your eyes widen at his words “I think what you did was brave and admirable, my three boys could learn from you, I hope you can lend Jisung some of your courage” he smiles at you and your jaw still hangs as does everyone else's around the table and as you look up to find pink hues invading Jisung’s cheeks once again, if you didn’t know any better you would have thought it were always like that regardless. You nod at their father before answering back “I think I’m the one who’s learning a lot form Jisung sir” and the shades of pink darken

The atmosphere had lightened again somewhat although the topic on war was not a light one at all, as their father expressed his worry about sending his three sons off to war and how in ruins the country would be again, worry sat in your chest. Jeno and Jaemin are strong all physically, emotionally and mentally but Jisung is the sweet boy who wouldn’t hurt a bee. “What do you think of the current situation of our country Y/N'' Jeno taking you out of your thoughts, you head snaps up to him “I think the war is unavoidable despite our economic stance, Germany has already invaded Czechoslovakia and it’s only time before they invade Poland meaning our involvement in the war is definite whether we want it or not'' the table falls silent as they process your words and it’s not until Jisung’s father begins to nod and expand on your thoughts but you zone out as you watch Jisung fiddle with the knotted lavenders you had gifted him and your lips can’t help but curve.

The next morning a book awaited you on your vanity, a scarlet red cover with gold print, you ran your fingers along. “Sonnets'' it read and as you flicked open to the first page, familiar handwriting appeared “A collection of my favourite - Jisung” a smile spread across your face as it usually did when your thoughts ran to Jisung. You sat down flicking to the first poem “Sonnet 18” a giggle escaped your mouth and like a schoolgirl already aware of the beauty Shakespear's arguably most famous sonnet holds, the giddy feeling of butterflies blooming caused your heartbeat to quicken and a heat to rise.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And too often is his gold complexion dimm’d:

Annotations surround the poem as Jisung highlights and picks out certain lines. The second line is underlined and next to it he writes “Though you are lovely, temperate is definitely up for debate” he teases and you scoff at his words. You read on and lines four and five are underlined and his annotation reads “The eye of heaven is you who shines gloriously throughout the day and yet too often you allow yourself to dim. Don’t.”

And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

By chance or natures changing course untrimm’d;

By thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

“You are my eternal summer, your beauty is one that isn’t possible to vanish, it’s infinite unlike summer which collapses in winter” you read on as lines nine and ten are underlined.

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

The the final annotation as the last three lines are highlighted, Jisung says “Your beauty shall remain eternal so long as my heart beats, so long as i live and breathe, so long as my eyes can see your beauty, I only seem to think of you now as i read this poem and in this poem the memory of you shall live on” you heart beats erratically in your chest, you’re breathless as his words halt your breathing. Forgetting such simple acts as thinking and even breathing seem to be a regular side effect in the presence of Jisung, just the mere thought of him. Your palms grow sweaty, your heart clenches reading over the words again and again, you pinch yourself. For this moment, seems like nothing but a dream, your heads in the cloud, you're living in the heavens. The feeling is suffocating, your own throat is closing in on you, the pain in your chest spreads like wildfire, your whole body aches with admiration for him. Yet the constant question looms over your head, what does he really mean by this? Is his feeling the same as yours? Or is he portraying the beautiful friendship you both have built over the weeks? One thing is sure and it’s that you can’t ruin that, can’t let the heavy air seep in once again and weigh you down.

The days folded out as normal, Jisung’s presence still as overwhelming as ever but you couldn’t help but find serenity in it, he was soft spoken yet his silence speaks the loudest for him, his grace and beauty as  were one to be envied by all but you were nothing more than grateful for being able to witness it day after day, it were as if he had walked out of your dreams. The stolen glances, lingering stares as he smiled or laughed, he stole your heart and he wasn’t even aware it was his anyways. Sitting opposite him, you stare not caring if he or anyone catches you for your far past the point of holding any shame and allowing your eyes to do as they please.

"I have something to announce" Jeno suddenly speaks up, breaking the silence, all eyes turn to him and he audibly gulps. You’ve never seen him so nervous, fiddling with his silverware you almost mistook him for Jisung. He clears his voice before speaking, taking in a deep breath he prepares himself for the words that are about to leave him, “I am to marry” he says quickly waiting for a response, an outroar, a gasp and maybe a few tears but none of them come.

“About time don’t you think” Jaemin laughs out causing the rest of the table to release small giggles at Jeno’s expense, “You have been all giddy and heart eyes at that girl in the village since we were all but five- OW" Jaemin's face twists in pain, hands rushing to his shin as he's cut off by a harsh kick. Jisung and you burst into laughter not being able to hold it in any longer.

"And what are you two laughing at" Jeno punches at Jisung’s shoulder, immediately causing him to halt his laughter as he rubs his shoulder “Well brother, it’s not like it is a secret. Even Y/N knows” and you giggle again as Jisung enlightens Jeno on his obvious swooning.

“What?” Jeno’s eyes widen as he turns to you and you can’t help but laugh even more. “We visited the village and your eyes were stuck, Jeno you walked straight into Jisung” you burst out laughing as you recall the memory. Once the laughter, the teasing, the amount of huffs that leave Jeno quiet down your left with comfort, a bliss that you’ve never felt before, a smile that just won’t leave your face. It’s a beautiful feeling and you wish to memorise it for if numbness overtakes your body, you can relive this exact moment of the solace you found in those around this table.

“Is that three out of the four of us in love?” Jaemin smirks as he lifts his glass to his lips, looking around the table, Jeno scoffs at his words but confusion is written all over you and Jisung. Did Jaemin know that your heart only seems to beat for Jisung? How did he know? Who was the other person? Was it Jaemin or Jisung? If Jisung, who did he love? The questions ran through your mind in circles and it only spewed more questions to follow, your head was spinning stuck in the spiral of curiosity, but curiosity always killed the cat.

But cats have 8 other lives right? That is what you had decided later that night, sat beside Jisung on the stone wall, letting curiosity take over you - slightly. Your legs dangled, swinging them back and forth, whilst Jisung’s gaze was set on the crashing waves of purple as the moon pulled them back and forth; yours were stuck on him. The moonlight illuminated, captured his beauty in a way the sun couldn’t, it seemed the goddess of the moon saw greater beauty in Jisung than Apollo could ever begin to understand.

“I could not fail to realise that sonnet 23 was not amongst your favourite” your eyes darting out towards the fields as his turn to you, “It’s one of my favourites” you tell him.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but do you not think it’s a bit cliche” he laughs and your eyebrows shoot up in slight disbelief “and sonnet 18 is not” you scoff, finally meeting his eyes.

“Sonnet 18 is beautiful” he argues and he swings into you, nudging you slightly, rolling your eyes you nudge him back “Sonnet 23 is just as or dare I say more” and he smiles slightly, eyes turning back to the night sky, the clouds running over the moon and Jisung is left amongst the stars. “How so?” he dares to question.

“It is, for one, far more romantic” you begin “the thought of one loving you with so much passion, so unconditionally that it can not even be professed by words yet the love they feel is so strong they need an escape, to tell that person what they can not truly express fully, to let them show you how much they love you. To hear with eyes as Shakespear so beautifully put it” you nudge him again and he looks down at you, a smile as radiant as the sun,moon and stars combined graces you and again Jisung has stolen your heart in complete silence

“Yet what I love about Sonnet 18 is that it is not too romantic, that the love that Shakespear professes can be for a lover or a friend, he speaks of all the imperfections of summer yet still he loves it, he describes the person he loves as someone who defies all the imperfections for in his eyes they are perfect imperfections when it comes to them” he nudges you back with a slight giggle but you can’t return his happiness for you have been stung as his words seep into your mind.

“Oh for a friend” you whisper, he hears your words but not the sadness behind them as he continues with that bright smile “and that is why it was so perfect to give to you” his words are daggers to the heart, piercing through, it shatters and the fine pieces scatter throughout you and the sadness seeps through every fibre, cell and atom of your body.

“Are you feeling well?”he asks and worry sweeps the smile off his face as he finds the glossiness of your eyes, the slight redness as well as the unusual silence from you. “Fine” you answer jumping off the stone wall, “Just tired” you say looking out to the goddess of the moon one last time, unable to turn and look at the art she admired most. “Goodnight Jisung” you say as you turn back to the house, not sparing him a glance for he stole your heart and then broke it. 

Though that night your tears mixed with moonlight until Morpheus took you to dream and then the next morning tears mixed with sunlight as Apollo pulled his golden chariot, with swollen eyes and a throbbing head you promised this wouldn’t affect the beautiful friendship that had bloomed. Jisung may not love you the way you would like but he still loved you, as a friend. The mere thought of the word stung, another aching rippled through you and your bones quacked.

Many dusks and dawns had passed and since,you’ve managed to create some distance between you and Jisung but as once said distance makes the heart grow fonder and you curse whoever uttered such truth. For every stolen glance and accidental touch seemed to make your dormant heart beat with every intent of being heard as it rose to your throat, suffocating you.

Jeno’s upcoming wedding being the greatest of all excuses to run away from the burning presence of Jisung, for you would flee to the village with Daphne and pick out materials, help Jeno’s fiance pick flowers, handwrite invitations with Jeno and accompany Jaemin on whatever errands he had been sent to do. No one questioned how you decided to spend your time, other than of course Jaemin who couldn’t help but let his curiosity lead the words that spewed out of him, to which you told him he’d regret someday.

“Just tell me Y/N” he groans as he carries the large basket of apples “Why spend your time with me instead of Jisung” he continues to pursue the answers you deny him of.

“Maybe because, and I dare to say, I like your company more” you pinch his cheek and laugh at the pout that forms on his face “What answer are you looking for Jaems, what would you have me say?”

“I want you to say you are helplessly in love with my brother who is just as in love with you however both of you are too busy quoting literature that is up for interpretation rather than professing your feelings because you lack the courage to do so” you freeze at his words and he also comes to a halt, turning towards you his eyes, sympathetic “you both are as obvious as Jeno” he lets out a small laugh.

“He does not love me Jaemin” your voice stern as you try to convince one who believes in fairytales, your steps quicken and he chases after you “and how exactly do you know?” he questions, curiosity endless.

“He said so, he said he gifted me Sonnet 18 as a friend.” You scoff at the absurd word that causes so much pain and you say it with spite everytime.

“Like I said he lacks courage and as my father said you, Y/N, can help him gain it” he tells you, eyes wide with hope and you admire Jaemin for being a hopeless romantic and you only hope he meets someone who completely fulfills his ideology of love.

“I don’t think I possess such courage anymore” you break it to him for Jisung has broken your heart once, how can you have the courage to allow him the chance to do it again.

Jeno’s wedding arrived much sooner than expected, as the weeks rushed past in much haste as the many busy bodies prepared for the beautiful evening and as hard as you tried to separate yourself from Jisung, the universe liked to disrupt those plans. To the place it all started, so close yet so far apart, you stood rows away from Jisung picking only the prettiest lavenders as per Jeno’s request. The air was thick and heavy despite the August breeze that ran through the fields, an unfamiliar heaviness sat between you two for even as strangers you were far more comfortable. Maybe it’s due to the curiosity you held back then, for the boy in the lavender field, beauty that wasn’t done justice by the word but now that you know him, adore him and are in love with him and now that your heart belongs to him but his not to yours. There’s a void left for the seeping awkwardness to fill, an uneasiness sat in your gut and every moment was excruciating to bare as your heart pains at every beat that belongs to him who does not seem to care.

“Lavenders wouldn’t be my first pick for a wedding” he speaks up first, the silence with you was something he wasn’t used to, you always made sure to replace it with continuous talking and contagious laughter and now that you weren’t, it didn’t feel right to him but you only nod in response not entertaining his thoughts any further. Jisung preferred silence, his thoughts more coherent, his emotions understandable, the silence was comfortable and not overwhelming but with you he couldn’t stand it, mind always wondering what you were thinking, what you were feeling, he needed to know. 

So he carries on speaking, “If it were up to me, Irises and carnations” he expects an interrogation, your endless curiosity asking why that would be his pick but it never comes. So he continues speaking, giving you the answer you didn’t ask for “Irises mean faith, fitting for a lifelong vow” he laughs as he looks over to you stoic expression, cutting off his soft laughter he again begins to speak “and carnation, white ones that symbolise-”

“Eternal love” you cut him off, turning to him, finally speaking yet your tone is monotonous and there is no emotion evident on your face. There’s slight fear in him and it rises, a lump forming in his throat that he can’t quite seem to swallow “Exactly” he choked out, voice strained.

You let out a breath that seemed to be weighing you down, you couldn’t let him continue talking about the meaning behind the flowers, your heart couldn’t take it for aching stops momentarily and instead it flutters and swoons across your chest but then reality hit and it shatters all over again, the pain shooting through your bloodstream.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks as he always does and you answer “Fine” as you always do, even though you both know it’s a lie but he doesn’t push any further as always. The longing feeling for you to look at him and spill all your worries and feelings to him is so great but he doesn’t want to push you to nor does he expect you to trust him with that vulnerability when he himself does not have the courage to do the same back to you.

“I’m going to leave after Jeno’s wedding” you announce working up the little courage you have left, if you say it out loud then you’ll have to follow through. “Thank you for everything” you brace yourself to meet his eyes once more as you turn. “What? Why?” concern so evident in the way his voice wavers, eye glossed over as tears threaten to fall.

“I left to seek my own happiness in life, to make a mark on this Earth yet instead I ran from relying on my family to relying on you and yours” again your voice is completely void of emotions, yet every part of your body was screaming. Longing for the warmth, solace and peace you had found here and it’s at this point you curse yourself for memorising that bliss for all you will do is miss it.

“Did you not feel happiness here?” he screams out, harsher than he expected as he voice comes out rough and broken and you stand there eyes wide for this was the first time the pure,silent and serene boy that stands in the lavender fields has allowed so much emotion to course through his body and you can tell by the way he shakes, the way he struggles to breath and the shock that immediately washed over him upon hearing his own voice raised “I’m sorry” he mumbles in a heavy exhale.

“Thank you for everything Jisung” you offer him a smile as you leave, avoiding his question, leaving him standing alone in the lavender fields.

Leaving the basket of lavenders with Jeno, you rush up the stairs and only when behind the safety of your door do you allow the tears to come streaming down your face, sobs escaping and you hold your mouth to conceal them as you take deep shaky breaths to steady your breathing. Your whole body aches and shakes as it mours the end of your stay, the tears cloud your vision and as you lay down to ease the heartbeat in your head, you cry yourself into a slumber. Even as the dreams swirl around you, pulling you into the unconscious, reality never truly slips away, it haunts you as even in the world you build you can’t stray away from it. The ability to dream of anything further isn’t a possibility, he doesn’t love you and that’s the reality. Why bother dreaming of something that isn’t meant to be. Yet you can’t help but dream of him. His eyes, his smile, his warmth, the pink dust that always decorates his cheeks, his laugh and his existence.

In your days you are held hostage by the daydreams, the what ifs. It felt like you had loved him in every lifetime, you wonder if any had got it right? Had any been loved by him? Your body lies stiff, falling in and out of consciousness but your mind never leaves him. Days go by but time becomes nothing but a construct, eating only becomes a chore.

“Y/N?” a soft voice calls as the door narrows open, a steady stream of gold shining in. You don't move, your head feeling like it's weighed down but you can easily identify the soft voice that speaks. "I brought you something to eat" the footsteps near you, the heavy thuds vibrating through your head. Your eyes peek open to meet Jaemin who crouches down beside you. He moves the few stray strands of hair behind your ear, noticing the wet glimmer of your cheeks he wipes away the tears that stain them.

"What's wrong?" He whispers as if any harsher tone would break you, as if you weren't already broken. You shake your head as your only reply, voice too weak and broken to speak up. You would love to talk to Jaemin, to spill all your worries and heartache but this is a pain too painful to speak of. His hands hold onto your cheeks wiping away any of the stray tears that still fall. His warmth is comforting but it only makes you yearn for Jisung’s more.

Jaemin doesn't leave you that day, he sits by your side in silence. He holds your hand and wipes away your tears, he doesn't attempt to mend your heart, he just sits beside you as it cries out the pain. "It will heal, it will mend itself" he whispers to you as you drift off into the unconscious once again.

It’s the constant knocking at your door that drags you out of the depths of your slumber, pulling you back, the light that streams in as the sun is about to set and you wonder how long you have slept, what time it was and what day it is. Then another knock calls your attention from the window and Daphne steps in “Y/N” she says and her voice is high in surprise as she examines the puffy redness around your eyes. “I was expecting you to be already awake, it is almost time to head to the wedding” she chooses to ignore the wet stains on your silk pillow, choosing to bite her tongue. You choose not to answer her back afraid your voice was raspy and would break, you crawl towards the edge of the bed and swing your legs over as you make your way to the chair that neatly holds your gown for the night, the night that has finally arrived,your last night.

You can see her face change, each one expressing the internal turmoil within her as she questions whether or not to say something. “Just say it Daphne '' you sigh out in a weak smile as you change into the many layers that need to be placed under the gown.

“Ah well” she begins nervously as she fiddles with her loose strings of her apron, she stutters and stumbles over her words but you’ve been taught patience by Jisung as he’d do the same.You smile at the memory of him stuttering, blush across his cheeks as he got nervous causing him to stumble over his words more. You loved seeing him so flustered, loved seeing him progressively become so comfortable around you he never stuttered, became so confident and articulate it was as if he became another person but the same dust of pink never faded but the more you think of him the more it pains and your heart swells as it aches. “You see y/n” she finally spits out as if she had been wrestling the words “If this is your last night, would you not want to leave with a loving memory?” she asks nervously. 

“So it seems word has travelled” you let out a small laugh as you turn to her to pull the strings of your gown and as her hands move to tie knots she laughs as well “Nothing gets past me” and her nervousness visibly dissipates. No more words are exchanged as she helps you ready for tonight, no more words are needed as she sees you slip into the depths of your mind, thinking of what your next act is.

As she places the same pearl necklace you wore the day you came here around your neck, clasping it, she finally turns to leave and through the mirror you see her hesitate but she turns back around a smile across her face “It was a pleasure to meet you ma’am” she says with teary eyes “Y/N” you correct her as you rise quickly, wrapping your arms tightly around her and from the corner of your eye you see Jisung standing at the end of the hallway, witnessing the goodbye he run back down stairs. You saw the glossiness of his eyes and though you would love to leave as a happy memory, would he allow it?

You nervously make your way to the drawing room, there he sits in a black suit, his hair neatly styled yet it looks not much different to everyday. He should not look this good but he does because he is the epitome of beauty. He is beauty personified. You let out a deep breath before you step into his line of view, preparing yourself for whatever is to come next. “Jisung” you call softly but he refuses to look up at you, you can hear him sniffle and his breathing is heavy and you almost could trick yourself into believing he loved you the way you loved him. You sit beside him and take his hand in yours, rubbing small soothing circles by the knuckle of his thumb you attempt to speak, “I am leaving” you choke out,the words are stuck in your throat and he rips his hands away from yours, turning completely with his back towards you. You sigh once again, “Let’s me leave with good memory” you beg, voice small and shaky. This was not the y/n Jisung first met, not the y/n he knows now and definitely not the y/n he fell in love with for you were never one to speak so quietly, yet here you are broken. So he puts away his own selfishness to feel sadness, anger or whatever pulsing emotion that runs course throughout his body.

He turns back to you, eyes glossy and a pout on his lips as he raises a long string of black silk. “I cannot tie it” his voice breaks slightly and you can’t help but smile at his cuteness. You take the silk from his hand and wrap it against his neck, slowly weaving it in and out of itself, you form a knot. “Learn this from a book?” he teases and you can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes. Falling back to where you were with Jisung was never hard, falling in love with him all over again was never hard. “my father taught me” you say as you pull the silk slightly causing his head to jolt forward. A smile perks at his lips as he lets out air from his nose as a form of laughter and you don't realise the lack of space between you two until you feel it brush against your skin and you near closer, eyes drawn to his lips. Your breathing stops and your heart sporadically jumps around in your chest, beating louder than ever.

Jisung’s eyes are closed as he waits for your lips to be placed upon his but they never come and his eyes jump open at the sound of Jaemin’s voice, your warmth escaping him. So close and yet so far, his eyes land on you who’s now moved as far as possible from him. “Y/N, do you know how to tie a tie?” he walks in looking down at the balck silk he holds around his neck but he cuts himself off as his eyes rise to find you and Jisung awkwardly sitting beside each other. “Oh am I interrupting?” he asks in a chuckle as he raises an eyebrow and you shoot up onto your feet, making your way towards him “No not at all” you wave your arms as if it would convince Jaemin. You grab onto both ends of the silk strand, repeating the same movements as earlier and looking down at the silk you can practically feel Jaemin’s smile that beams from above. You weave the string in and out of itself and pull tight around his neck causing Jaemin’s head to pull back “OW '' he huffs out in a pout, you pat down his tie and with a smile as gleaming as his was a mere moments ago, you apologise. 

“Oh y/n you know how to tie a tie, thank god” Jeno rushes in with his father soon after him both holding the same black silk around their neck “Does nobody in this house know how to tie a tie” you laugh in disbelief. “Our mother used to do them,” Jeno whispers as your hands make their way up to form the same knot you’ve made twice already. He thanks you silently with a sweet smile, those crescent moons you adore showing up.You move on to their father, tying his tie neatly and much more carefully than the rest. “Thank you for everything, y/n” he bows his head to you and you whisper “It’s nothing” shyly. “It’s been a pleasure having you become a part of our family” he continues and his words are like a stake to your heart, the same aching reappearing as nothing fails to remind you of your departure.

“Thank you for welcoming me bu-t'' you're cut off instantly 

“no buts y/n, you are family” Jeno interrupts and if it was anyone else you don’t think those words would have held such meaning for Jeno is a silent lover, showing his affection through sweet smiles, concerned looks and kind gestures; he was never one for words of affirmation. So you smile, ignoring the tears that prick at your eyes, ignoring the deep breaths that leave Jisung and the solemn sadness on Jaemin’s face.

“We need to go” Jaemin looks down at his pocket watch, as always sensing the tension in the room and ready to dissipate it, he urges everyone out the door and as you’re about to step out, a warmth engulfs you as Jisung catches your hand in his. Turning back you are met with a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes that hold a sense of sadness as they glimmer in the setting sun.

Hours after the sun had sunk into the horizon, the moon well into its reign, music rang through the center of town as everyone gathered to celebrate the new chapter of Jeno’s life. A ceremony so beautiful, you were sure you witnessed true love when Jeno’s eyes set on his bride that walked the altar.

After all the tears, it was finally time for the bubbling of champagne to intoxicate your bloodstream and to allow the music to take control of every swayed movement of your body. Standing under the yellow dimmed lights, Jisung glew a gold you didn’t know existed but easily was the prettiest you had ever seen. His cheekbones high and lips painted pink, golden flute in hand and silk tie loosened you could easily say he was the prettiest here, outshining all. For Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty lived through him, simple acts such as greeting guests left you stunned. Eyes chasing every movement of his, from the way his hands moved as he spoke, to the way he smiled once seeing an old friend, the way he laughed softly in conversation and when his eyes travelled back to you when he thought you weren't looking.

And to pull you out of that trance was none other than Jaemin, “Would you and Jisung stop exchanging lover eyes and dance already” he whispers as he places himself beside you, you scoff at his words and slightly nudge him with your elbow.

“Are you so bored that your eyes follow mine?” you question and his simple and instant “Yes” make your eyes roll as far as possible but you can’t help but smile. “When will you find your own love story? This is one hopeless”

“So when were you planning to tell me you were leaving after tonight” his words don’t come as a surprise, nothing goes past Jaemin but it still doesn’t fail to make your every movement halt as guilt overtakes you, turning to him you begin to explain “I was going to tell you as soon as the night was over, it was unexpected I promise” you say softly.

“I don’t suppose i can change your mind in any way?” he asks hopefully, still with the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to. You shake your head slowly, unable to say the words that will so obviously ruin the both of you but Jaemin is never one to sit in sadness, always being his priority to make you feel better. 

“Would you allow me this first dance?” he bows down asking for your hand and with that you place yours in his, placing a soft kiss to the knuckles he pulls you into the center of the floor. Legs moving to the beat, Jaemin’s hand on your waist he guides you through the waltz, breaths heaving and smiles plastered on your face he bends down once more to place a kiss on your knuckles as the music dies down declaring the end of the dance, a sad smile spreads across his face and he whispers “Goodbye” against your skin, looking up to meet your eyes who hold nothing but despair. Yet the hardest is to come when you turn and automatically your eyes find Jisungs, who just happened to be looking your way.

You offer him a smile before heading towards him “And why are you not dancing, I’m sure plenty of girls are just about dying to be your first dance” you tease him and he laughs along with you, hands rising they scratch the back of his neck as he prepares to confess to you “I actually do not know how to dance” he spits out fast hoping you don't catch his words but you do. Eyes widening and mouth agape, you let out a gasp 

“Jisung you do not know how to-” you're cut off by his hand on your mouth as he looks around to see if anyone has heard the sentence about to leave you. 

“Quietly, I think the whole of London can hear you” he says in a whisper still looking around. Removing his hand, you roll your eyes at his antics.

“Let me teach you” you whisper back and he turns to you, eyebrow raised as he assesses how good of a dancer you could be.

“I am not entirely sure, who did you learn from? A book?” he teases, still completely in character until you shove him and his laughter comes spilling out “You used the joke once already” you roll your eyes 

“I was taught by trainers actually, do you forget I was to be wed” you scoff at his assumption and rise to your feet, hand extended for Jisung to take. He stares at you, watches the way the light bounces off your skin causing you to glow, your eyes glimmer, smile bright and the confidence and charm you carry in inexplicably attractive as you stand under the moon, offering to be Jisung’s first dance and it’s here he decides you’ll be his last.

The moment his hand is in yours, you drag him straight to the crowd, the music is quick to start and you waste no time in giving out instructions. “Place your hand on my waist” you order

“Your what?” Jisung’s eyes are wide as he cluelessly asks

“My waist” you repeat again, emphasizing each word and you drag his hand up and place it on your waist for yourself. Then putting your own hand on his shoulder, you pull him a little closer. “Just follow my lead” you reassure him as you witness the petrified look on his face.

“Left foot forward” you say to him as you move yours back, “Right foot forward, feet together” you continue to guide him through the dance as you spin around the room, ‘Now left foot back, right foot back, now feet together” you repeat the sequined dance around the room, music thumping through your body and you convince yourself it’s that you feel and not the heavy beats of your heart as the space between you and Jisung seems to close more and more. As he leans in so close you can feel the air that leaves him, fanning over you. You look up and his eyes are set on you, only adoration is held in them and Jisung thinks it’s now or never as he tries to fully close the gap between you two, to place his lips on yours but then you let go, head turning to the right “Now we switch you” you say as you land into another man's arms, repeating the same steps you did with Jisung moments ago with another. So close and yet so far is all Jisung can think whilst his eyes watch you twirl about the room.

Once finally back in his arms, the music seizes and he’s forced to remove himself from you. You can’t help but smile at him as he looks down at you, breathing heavily with a flush of pink to his cheeks yet he seems to be gleaming in the buzzing sensation of a waltz. The air is heavy with sweat and alcohol, the room is filled with chatter and loud laughs but that all falls away once you look at Jisung. So you dance to every song as if you were the only two people to exist, for this was your last night and this was your last dance.

Endless glasses of champagne later your dancing feet carry you outside, the cool summer nights air washes over you, clearing your mind of the foggy mist of alcohol yet the coolness of the moonlight is overwhelmed by the warmth of Jisung’s presence as he stumbles next to you, tripping over his own legs he lands in your arms. “I think you drank a little too much” you laugh down at him.

“No I am perfectly fine” He quickly stabilizes himself, straightening out his clothes and you can only smile as he shakes off your support. “If you say so” you turn to the night sky, looking up to the moon who you haven't had the courage to face since. The wind rushing past you, crickets croaking and the stars blazing across the sky, your legs about to give way as the alcohol circulates your body, you find purchase on a stone bridge, Jisung following soon after you. The water trickles down under you, the calming sound washes over you and the solace you so missed seems to make an appearance once again as you allow yourself to surrender to Jisung’s presence. Silence sits between the two of you but it’s not the one you wish to fill, insead you choose to let it engulf you not wanting words to taint this moment. Your last moment.

Jisung however doesn’t think he can hold it in anymore, the liquid courage is just about enough for him to declare his roaring love for you, a flame that won’t go out no matter how far he pushes the idea of you away. He wasn’t sure if this was love but the ache in his chest all these days proved it could be nothing but love. The longing to be by your side as you found happiness, found your own way into this world and to watch you become who you want, is unbearably strong. This is his only chance before the goddess of the moon takes you away with her, for when the sun rises, you'll set into nothing but a memory. So here Jisung turns to you, staring at your beautifully carved features, moonlight highlighting every perfection; deep breaths he calms his nerves. Adrenaline rushing through every nerve, he finally builds the courage and out the words he never knew would feel so good to pronounce “Y/N I love you” it comes out in a whisper but by the way your eyes widen, breathing halts, Jisung knows you’ve heard.

“Jisung you are drunk” you laugh off

“Drunk lies are sober truths” he says in all seriousness, his eyes are begging for yours to turn to him and so you give in to their silent cry. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, for I thought soulmates were nothing but a fairytale until mine spoke to me upon laying eyes on you. I denied my feelings towards you, for I didn’t know if it was love I felt for you or not but I do. Love, adoration, affection and warmth. The moon only looks beautiful with you under it, the sun only shines with you beside me.” he professes and the sincerity in his voice strucks you, for every fiber of your being longs for these exact words but can you believe him?

He inches closer, his scent and warmth trapping you in a trance and you can’t find it in yourself to back away as he moves towards your lips, his breath mixing with your own, the flush off his cheeks that are illuminated by the moonlight. Everything is perfect except he’s drunk. Though your heart screams for you to close the gap, place your lips on his and kiss him until he’s breathless, your head scream the opposite, move back, wait till the morning when his head is in the right place, don’t allow him to make a mistake that’ll hurt you and when were you ever one to not listen to your mind. “You are drunk”  you whisper to him, so close he can almost feel your lips move against his, flinching back, ignoring the cry of your heart that desires nothing more than to feel Jisung’s confession. Jisung’s eyes open to find you pulled away, for once again he was so close yet so far.

“We should return” you jump up, step fastening back to the crowds of people who were still dancing and laughing. Jisung’s hurried footsteps rush beside you, his hand holding onto your wrist, he pulls you into him. Arms wrapping around you so tight, he’s afraid you’ll pull away and that he’ll lose you. You already pulled away from him once, you’re not sure you have the power in you to do it a second; so you let him hold you. His face hidden into the crook of your neck, he speaks into your skin 

“Love for you fades the exhausting hours till Kingdom come, for even then my soul only speaks of you, my heart only beats for you. Let me love and let me give, for both are infinite” he confesses once again.

Your arms instantly wrap around his figure, you allow your love to course through your body to his, you hope he can feel your heartbeat, the steady pace that keeps you alive for his existence, and him only. For without him what was the purpose of living? You stand there under the moonlight, red strings wrapped around you, Eros’s arrow shot through you, and hold onto each other.

Walking back, hand in hand, smiling like fools. The air smells sweeter, the world seems brighter as your heart skips a beat every now and then “In all honesty” Jisung breaks the blissful silence, his voice deep and smooth and it sends shivers down and through you just as it did the first day. Once your eyes are on him, giving him your undivided attention he continues “I lacked the courage to gift you Sonnet 23 but I wanted to” he tells you “Promise” he makes sure you believe his words and you can’t help but smile.

“You still lack courage, this is the alcohol’s courage” you tease him, swinging your arms back and forth as you walk on. He giggles at your comment because he knows it’s true, if it wasn’t for the liquid courage he doesn’t think he would have been able to confess to you but he’s glad he has because if he hadn’t, would he ever get the chance to?

“So will you stay?” he asks, voice hopeful and eyes pleading as he pouts, in hope it would convince you but you didn’t need anymore convincing, for if you want to follow happiness and happiness just so happens to follow Jisung, who were you to seek for more elsewhere. “Perhaps” a smirk makes it way up your lips as you give him vague answers. “I will take that as a yes” he laughs out, holding onto your hand a little bit tighter, to ensure you really weren’t going anywhere.

Love is a complex feeling, one that causes an unbearable amount of pain; as if your chest had been slit open, heart pulled out and crushed. An aching pain resonates throughout your whole body, endless tears and you don’t think you can live to see another sunrise yet it’s euphoric in every way. From the tingling sensation at just the sight of your love, the shivers, the heat that takes over, the trance you left in as their words hypnotise you, the warmth of their presence and sweet scent. In Jisung you found peace,solace,serenity and love.

“Jaemin” Jisung calls out as he can just about make him out in the distance “Y/N said she has decided to stay” he shouts out like a child, excited he’s jumping up and down and you find yourself smiling and laughing again, for with Jisung it’s the only thing you seem to be able to do. Yet as you draw closer to Jaemin and the guests he happens to be wishing a farewell too, your smile and heart both drop.

“Y/N” one of the two men calls out as your figure becomes more apparent to them, disbelief held in their voice as they call out to you. Jisung and Jaemin eyebrows shot up in shock, eyes widening as they wonder how you are acquainted.

“How do you know our y/n?” Jaemin asks, always being the first one to dissolve the awkward silences, the men are taken aback clearly by the way their jaws hang slightly.

“She is our sister” the taller stutters out, your blood rushes cold as the words leave his lips, what would happen now? Would they allow you to just roam free? You thought for a second before you mentally scolded yourself, they would never allow that. They will force you back. “I am not returning” you spit out, not beating around the bush, you get straight to the point.

“But you must, mother is left worried" he tries to grab onto your wrist but you move back not allowing him to get a hold on you.

"Worried for me? Or that the season is almost finished?" You question him and guilt is evident in his eyes as your question takes him aback.

"Don't be silly" your younger brother tries to calm you, "we just want you home" he tries to convince you.

"I am perfectly fine on my own" you stand your ground even though you see the frustration in your older brother, creep closer and closer to the surface "I have no intention of returning" you continue to press forward.

"Do you not feel shame, what would father have to say?" He dares ask. Shame? The word linger in your head for you to wonder if your brother truly knows the definition of the word or were all those years at Oxford a waste. For how had this brought shame upon you or your father, how does a want for purpose,happiness and freedom lead to shame?

"For if father was alive, this problem wouldn't have occurred. He would have listened" you hissed, jaw tight as you teeth clenched and the words slipped out through the small cracks.

"How naive of you to think'' he laughs and finally latches onto your wrist, holding tightly he's prepared to drag you to the carriage until another holds you back. Jisung’s hand holds onto your arm, pulling you back, looking back you don’t think you have never seen such fierce eyes. A red you never thought you’d see engulf Jisung, he’s not prepared to let you go. "Let go" your brother's voice is stern as he clenches his jaw yet Jisung doesn't budge.

"Jisung this isn't our place" Jaemin whispers, defeat in his voice and he is right. What say do they have in this? If you don’t even have a choice, who are they to decide but then again you are certain a man’s opinion will most definitely be heard by your brother over your own anyday. “Let go of her,” Jisung threatened.

Your brother couldn’t help but scoff at his words “She belongs to me, I am her blood and she holds mine and my father’s name” his grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you towards him once more, your eyebrows furrow and you wince in slight pain, Jaemin instinctively flinches forward before stopping himself, getting involved will just make it worse he reminds himself. You smile at him weakly in hopes it can put him at ease but as both your arms are being held hostage, both cuffs tightening as the seconds go by not one daring to back down.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone” Jisung spits back “She is free to do as she pleases and she chooses to stay here” he continuously argues in hope of changing his mind , yet what can he possibly do? Now that they have found you, what is left for you to do? They will not let you live on how you wish, they will not leave without you and even if they didn’t take you tonight, they will come back for you. It’ll only cause chaos, you will again become a burden on someone else. “You do not own her” he repeats.

The words you so despise form on your tongue and as you open your mouth to say them, Jisung’s eye beg you not to. He knows what's to come and even as every ounce of your being screams and cries as the words are spoken, you let them leave you regardless. “Let go Jisung” voice weak, shaking.

“But you said you would stay” his voice shaky, encased in sadness, his grip weakens but his hold stays, unable to let you go once he’s finally got you but you were always a dream to him, one that never seemed quite real and though you mixed with reality, almost coming true, he was but a fool to believe you could be his.

“I said maybe” your voice quiet, breaking a promise you didn’t make, breaking his heart and breaking yours that was just put back together.

“She said for you to let go” Your brother interrupts, a smirk on his face that Jaemin has a dying need to punch off but he retains himself. Jisung lets go of you hesitantly, his hand still lingering onto the skin of your forearm and you take in his touch one last time. He watches you leave, tears falling from his eyes for you were so close yet so far.

The tears from that night, months ago, have yet still to dry for every living and breathing moment is lived in agony, longing turning into nothing but numbness as it engulfed your being and became you. Days and nights merged, smiles are a forgotten act for it felt awkward even attempting. The large manor is silent, it perfectly resembles the void in your chest. You live as a ghost, sleepless nights and empty days your mind always occupied with the thought of Jisung.

His eyes that held the universe, his warmth the sun envied, his smile were solace was found, his laughter that was contagious, voice that was soothing, beauty unmatched, the gods were both proud and envious of their greatest creation. The years went by and yet the image of his is as clear as ever, preserved in your memories, you live on in your dreams that can’t escape reality. So close and yet so far from each other.

You sit in the empty rooms, walls bare for the art never compared to Jisung’s beauty, you never found art that could express the definition of art as well as Jisung did. Each time looking at Jisung you found a new feature to adore, hidden beauties that appeared when the moonlight hit his skin, features highlighted by the golden rays of the sun. No art seemed to do that, no art seemed worthy of showcasing.

Your library remains empty, clearing it out of all books, you couldn't bear to look at one again. For everyone of them taunted you with the memory of him. The way he used to sit in the center of the room, arms sprawled out on the desk, his head so close to the paper as he would write. Your eyes would follow every one of his movements, so distracted you would forget about the heavy book in your hand. Yet now with a book in hand, your eyes search for distraction. Yearning to find him, to make the pink blush, that you so missed, appear as he couldn't take your stare any longer. The adrenaline of when his eyes suddenly come up to meet yours, the scrambling of his when you catched his stare. You missed it all.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day” the performer begins, as you sit around the large table for dinner. Your every movement halts as the words leave his mouth, your mind runs back to the lavender fields, into the small room at the back of the house, finding the scarlet red book. “Thou art more lovely and more temperate” he continues on but no you are not temperate. Your heart aches, your eyes sting and a wave of nausea over takes you. Your fist smash into the table, legs standing up, you push the heavy velvet chair back

“Stop!” you shout, voice hoarse and broken, you can’t help the tears that roll down your cheek. You can’t help the way your whole body shakes upon hearing those words, you can’t help but miss him. The whole room stares at you, a heavy silence settles, the only sounds are your whimpers as you sob in your palms, falling to your knees. Their eyes lingered, terrified. No one dared to speak to you first, let alone the events of the night. Afraid they would cause you to break down once more but they failed to see it was they, who stole happiness away from you, stole freedom and ripped your heart out of your chest. You wandered aimlessly through the many halls, staring out of windows you wanted the sun rise and fall, watched the goddess of the moon shine down on the earth yet neither held the beauty they did when Jisung was by your side.

Summer has come to find you once again, those who say time heals have never been broken. Time doesn’t heal. Time forgets, the world may move on but you do not, you cannot share the same ecstasy the birds sing, the happiness in summer flowers, For now you hate flowers, you hate how their beauty and meaning are only reminders of your longing.

“How about lavenders for the drawing room ma’am, I’m told they are your favourite” the maid asks, her mission to make you smile, to rid you of the constant tear stained cheeks; nothing but a failure is awaiting her. Just the mere thought of lavenders causes your skin to crawl, for nothing symbolises him more than the vibrant violet. Yet you turn to her, a weak smile and you nod because maybe the scent will help ease your heart and just maybe you’ll find serenity in them once more.

Though days were long, summer left in a hurry for now autumn was here once more. The leaves had already begun to brown and the vase filled with lavenders, which sat upon the grand piano, had wilted now - their scent and comfort decaying with them.

And soon followed the day, the world knew would soon be coming, had arrived upon us, September 1st 1939:

“we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” you read Winston Churchill’s words in the papers, war has arrived. The heavy ring sits on your finger as you stare out the window reminiscing the day you were watching the carriage be prepared and though it is your two brothers and the Earl’s son leaving you can’t help but let your mind imagine Jeno,Jaemin and Jisung, For the war will take them further away from you, to barren land filled with death, guns pointed at them, bombs dropping at anytime. Though the war has imprisoned many,taken from others, you thank it’s timing for it has liberated you momentarily. The Earl’s son waved goodbye to you and though you raise your hand to send him off to a war you’re not sure he’ll return from, you have no intention of calling him your fiance whilst he is gone and if he returns you have no intention of calling him your husband. You pity him in that memory.

“Ma’am” a voice calls out to you, you don’t recognise who it is for every voice sounds the same but regardless it pulls you back to the world of the present for the war was already well into its sixth year. Though your body is here, your heart and soul never left Jisung for he had stolen that long ago. You turn to find a small envelope, blue like the ones that found you happiness. “To y/n'' the handwriting is familiar but to you all letters were painted the way Jisung’s hand did, for your eyes can simply not forget but it is what the letter contained that brought a soul into your lifeless shell.

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

Sonnet 23 with annotations is what your eyes fall upon, the second line underlined it reads: “With great courage I put aside this fear to confess to you such words that I cannot express on my own.” Your hand runs over the lines, the smell of gunpowder but there is a scent that you so long for. The scent of lavender still lingers onto the parchment which ripples under your clutch. .

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;

The next lines highlighted “For this feeling was just as strong as rage yet it was where I found peace, my heart weakened at the sight of you and from that moment onwards it belonged to you.” A smile naturally took over you, the flutter in your chest an ecstatic feeling you forgot.

So I for fear of trust forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,

O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.

O, let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ.

To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

“Know that I cannot express the words my soul speaks, for we are worlds apart so allow the empty words of the English language, attempt to convey my love. Look not at my words only but at the way the fool I make in your presence for my mind is clouded with you, heart beats for you and soul yearns for you. For you are my sonnet 18 as a friend and sonnet 23 as a lover.” Tears fall unnoticed, for you hear his voice so clear in your head, for six years you waited for a single word from him and here he has gifted you a sonnet between lovers, so how could you possibly love someone else.

“Yours forever Jisung, the boy who waits in the lavender field”. You sob as you read those words, a fresh new wave of tears staining the parchment as the longing to be in his warmth and comfort is washed upon you as if it were that day you were forced away from him. Opening a wound that never could fully heal.

Waiting is a virtue of love, it proves your love, for it feels equivalent to death and yet you still wait but there is a point in time where you can wait no longer, where you must stop waiting and strive for love now. At this exact moment, it is time. For you are ready to give up the world to run to Jisung, to find the beauty in the moon once more, to find solace in the sweet smell of lavenders once more, to find the warmth of the sun once more, to find happiness once more. For happiness was the only reason worth living.

You're not sure how long you’ve been running, legs moving on their own, you don’t look back you’ve learnt never to look back, never return. As the metallic taste at the back of your throat rises, oxygen running thin and your legs almost collapse from exhaustion. It’s as if you jumped out of the past, gown torn at the train station, you’re left in rags but it’s different this time. For before you ran to find your happiness and now you run to where happiness lies. In a field of lavenders.

Every fiber of your being pulses with the need to see him, hear him, touch him. To feel his warmth once more, to have his voice send serenity through you, to see his eyes again and to smell the sweet scent that lingers around him. You’re not sure what souls are made of but whatever it is yours and his are the same. For your heart yearns for him, desperate, it aches every living second of everyday without him. For a life without love, is a life unlived.

The rows and rows of purple are in sight and there in the middle of it all stands him, waiting. Jisung doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, he can tell by your footsteps, your breath, your scent and the sudden ease he feels. You are there. Yet he does anyways for the memory of you has haunted him for the past 6 years, on the battlefield, in the barracks, he would only see you, only hear you but he couldn’t touch you; for you were merely a dream mixing with reality.

But here you are standing in front of him, Your expensive dress torn up, now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing. He smiles as nostalgia washes over him, was this real or were you just a fragmented memory. Was he simply remembering happier times, a time where you were in his grasp. “Jisung” you call out, voice soft and unsure, a hand reaching out for his own, to make sure what you saw in front of you wasn’t a hallucination, a cruel trick your mind played on you. Slowly a warmth overtook your hand, sparks sent through your skin and into your bloodstream and the beating of your heart returned. Tears formed but never fell because one of you needs to be strong, Jisung sobbed as he fell into your embrace, gripping onto you. “Never leave again” he chokes out, breathing heavy and uneven. “Promise me” he whispers into your hair.

Pulling him back to face you, his eyes are red and puffy yet they burn with passion, his cheeks stained with tears but the pink dust is always still there, you smile at him closing the gap and finally placing your lips on his. The taste of salty tears invade your mouth and your lips move against his and he kisses you back, placing his hand on your cheek he pulls you closer, thumb brushing over the top of your cheekbone. Your knees weaken and you grip at his shirt, desperately clinging to him as your knuckles turn white, as he kisses you with passion overflowing with each soft movement, sincere and full of the love he can't express through words. The scent of lavender is overwhelming and intoxicating, you press yourself against him. Your lungs burn as he kisses you breathless, sparks flying into your bloodstream and unbearable heat takes over whilst your lips move as one. Pulling away, chests heaving as you pull in as you regain all the oxygen you exchange, Jisung places his forehead on yours, his cheeks pink and in between breaths you whisper against his lips “I promise” and again he pulls you in, lips crashing on yours.

This is your first love, it may not be your last but it will be the one you remember most, for it taught you how to love, it taught you the struggles of love and it taught you to feel loved. In search of fulfillment and meaning, you weren't looking for love but it found you and soon after fulfillment and meaning came in the form of a boy in a lavender field.

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

[concubuck]

concubuck

“Really!” Alastor’s face was a perfect mask of indulgent credulity. Although the invisible studio audience’s skeptical laughter somewhat undermined it. “How funny! He’d assured me he was in town all alone and didn’t have any other plans! You can’t trust anybody these days, can you?”

Apparently perfectly at ease, he strolled over to the bed and sat down, leaning over to casually inspect the damage—all the while watching the imp out of the corner of his eye, looking for any sign of a weapon on him. There wasn’t much that posed a threat to him, but there were enough things that did that it was worth it to remain wary around a nervous murderer.

“Well, what a pity. Sounds like he would have been a terrible lay anyway. it seems I dodged a bullet!” His grin widened. “Can’t say the same for him, though.”

strikers-saloon

The revolver used to dispatch the target had been accidentally tossed by a nervous twitch at the moment the door handle had started turning, before the other had come inside the room, somewhere he himself had no idea anymore, though again it was not something of bother as it was only meant for a throwaway at any rate. He did try to get to his pants that had been thrown on the floor next to the bed in the act of getting closer to the victim from before.

“Indeed, unable to trust most folks as them always have a backup or a trick, buuut...seeing as the night is ruined ah think we both could call it there and ah will just get mah pants and be on mah way..” Still covering himself up he’d try to reach for his pants without giving an opportunity for this to get any worse, not really knowing how the other one would react as they were seemingly enjoying the carnage that had happened, the sounded oddly familiar somehow, yet very much not how he had expected them to look from the voice, his heartbeat seemed to quicken as he felt the strange effect of something when he looked at them..

@strikers-saloon "Why, leaving so soon? Oh no no—I really think you ought to stick around for a while!"

A shadow peeled up from the ground to loom in front of the door like a sentinel. Alastor's smile never wavered. "Because, you see, as it is right now, when housekeeping finds the body, the first thing everyone's going to do is try to figure out who saw him last! And, well, if they look at his online activity, who are they going to discover agreeing to meet him in his room?" Alastor spread his hands, a pre-recorded trumpet fanfare playing: ta-daaa! "Unless they also find his conversation with you? I don't suppose you could pull that up, could you—just to set my mind at ease?"

Maybe this really was a misunderstanding over a safe word, but oh, Alastor knew the smell of a fishy situation. The Radio Demon might have carte blanche to do whatever he cared to amongst sinners, but he wasn’t about to cast himself upon the gracious understanding of hellborn demons.

[saphirered]

I’m in love with your writing and binged your entire page one night lol

Could I request a story with Caleb where the M9 find a wounded reader on the run from people who want to use her for her very powerful magical abilities. She doesn’t trust Caleb at first because he’s a wizard and just as she opens up to him and starts to develop feelings discovers he has been studying her powers - thought with no bad intentions. Some good old angsty enemies to lovers type of beat. Preferably with a good ending but do what you wish ;))

Apparently I'm giving you more stuff to binge as this is looking more and more like a several parter 😅. Prepare for loads of angst and conflict and some good hurt/comfort to come but for now, here comes part 1! 😘

Nobody pays attention to a vagrant dressed in rags, looking about a week past their last proper bath begging on the side of the road for money or standing by a shop, mouth watering at the food. Nobody pays attention to what they don’t want to see in their pristine cities. Not unless they want to chase you away because you’re in their way or you’re tarnishing their image. Speaking about image, sometimes some rich folk will take pity upon you, casting a coin your way to make themselves look good and generous in the eyes of others.

That’s exactly what you became when you needed to disappear. You needed to become unseen, unnoticed and a shadow among a crowd. You succeed casting away all remainders of your previous life because in the end, your life is worth more to you than your earthly possessions. Survival above all. You’ll live this way until you can get somewhere where no one will question you, or where you’ll be under the protection of others, far away where your enemies cannot reach you. Maybe Vasselheim is a good place to go? They’re not fond of the arcane magics. Sure you’ll have to give up using some of your own gifts but it’s worth being able to live your life freely.

You’re still a ways away from Vasselheim and you don’t have the funds to get there yet. Even if you make it to a port, stowing away on a ship is fine but you can’t trust them to not throw you overboard or leave you stranded at the nearest island to save provisions. And that’s if they don’t hand you over to any authorities and risk you getting back to square one. You’ll have to wander around Wildemount until you’re able to book passage or find somewhere to lay low, forever on the move. It’s not the worst and you get used to it pretty quickly.

Weren’t you lucky when you saw the recent champions of the Victory Pit were strolling around town flaunting their winnings. You need food. You need warm clothes. And most of all, you could do with some extra change in your pocket. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to steal all of it of course. Just enough to get by and they wouldn’t notice. So you trail them, sticking to the shadows. They don’t seem to notice you.

Then you struck. You got the coin pouch from the ostentatious one. It was child’s play really. He didn’t even notice you lifting the pouch from his belt when you brushed against his shoulder muttering an apology. You were already amidst the crowd when you heard the tiefling exclaim his coin pouch was gone and he put two and two together quickly, the charlatan he is so before you knew it they were on the lookout for someone fitting your description. You had to move quick, buy your necessities and get out of the market. You know just the place to hide out; the Evening Nip. Nobody asks questions there.

Once you found yourself safely sipping on the shitty ale served at the Evening Nip you didn’t expect the colourful group of strangers to stroll in. It was already too late when you spotted them and you had no where to go. Still your quickly gathered up the coin back into the ornate velvet pouch and put it in your own pocket hidden beneath the layers of your clothes putting your hands behind your back as you tried to make a break for the exit. They did not let you pass, a relatively buff looking woman gripping the handle of her sword stepping in front of you while another one, though shorter blocked your escape by interposing her staff.

“No funny business, friend. You have something that belongs to my companion here, and he wants it back.” The half-orc speaks as you grit your teeth. You’d really hoped to avoid this but you weren’t stupid enough to bring out the big artillery… yet… so you lift your hands in surrender and allow them to lead you over to one of the tables taking a seat of your own accord while you’re flanked by the buff woman on one side, the purple tiefling on the other and the rest of them takes up seating of their own around the table keeping an eye on you.

“Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way…” The half-orc leads as the tiefling next to you holds out his hand brushing his other over your shoulder in a soft push, mimicking what you had done when you pickpocketed him. Are they mocking you? Bastards.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, friend.” You speak innocently. You know they won’t buy it anyway, their minds already made up, but it gives you just a second more to get a grasp on all of them. You’re already plotting your escape, despite the odds being turned against you. You have to try.

“Oh, I think you do, and we simply want a conversation. You wouldn’t want to tarnish this new friendship now would you?” The tiefling grins as you look at him. You can feel the strings of enchantment pricking into your mind but you know how this works. You’ll just have to play along. You smile, like being faced with an old friend, just as the spell would have you have, letting your defensive mannerism fade.

“You’re quite right. It’s no way to treat new friends. Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.” You glance between all of them and you feel a pair of blue eyes stare into you, right through you. There’s just something about him that doesn’t add up and you’re almost afraid he knows you’re not under the tiefling’s spell after all but you do whatever you can to not show that on your face and play along.

“Should we get some drinks to commemorate new friends?” You suggest about to get up but the woman in blue’s staff moves across the table right onto your shoulder urging you to stay in place. You don’t look fazed and merely amused with this action as if it is a harmless joke and not a threat. The tiefling moves the staff from your shoulder as you turn your attention back to him as he smiles.

“I think that’s an absolutely wonderful idea. Drinks on me.” He stands with you and begins leading you over to the bar. Clive takes the order and begins pouring the ale as requested while the tiefling keeps conversation with you, completely oblivious and detached from his friends. You play along and when you reach to the coin pouch, you pull out the coins owed to the barkeep. The tiefling smiles and you can see from your peripheral the red head notices too. Both confirm you have the coin pouch. So once you pay you reach for your pocket grasping for a short iron rod placing it in your hand, whispering words under your breath as the tiefling talks to the barkeep, your hands begin to move according to the familiar motions and before the redhead can warn his lavender companion, the tiefling is frozen in place unable to move and you’re making a break for the door.

Spells fly left and right and you dodge a few, take the damage from others as the fighters dependant on close range rush for you. A crossbow bolt hits your thigh and a large cat’s claw appears in front of you. You try to dodge it reaching for you but it catches you and holds you in place despite your struggling to get free. They circle you, bind your hands, take back the coin pouch and your own limited belongings from you as you fight back trying to keep them away from you but you’re just alone and they are the many.

You feel helpless and desperate. That’s when you make eye contact with the blue eyed wizard. There’s a look of recognition in his eyes. Not for who you are directly, but the way you’re acting and lashing out, like some caged animal wishing desperately to be free, like a creature on the run, like you’re two sides of the same coin. His eyes reveal to you pain and suffering and pity but you don’t need his pity. You don’t need anyone’s pity.

“Why did you steal that coin?” The wizard asks as you glare at him from your seated position on the ground.

“Why does anybody steal anything? I’m hungry. I’m cold and I’m broke as hell.” You spit none too kindly.

“Then get a job. Make some money. Or at least learn to be a good thief.” The rude woman snorts. You roll your eyes. Typical. You know plenty of people like her, maybe you even used to be like her but not anymore. You grew out of that the hard way. She will too, in time.

“None of you noticed until you went to pay for something.” You grin and the woman is about to lunge for you at your provocation. So easy to piss that one off. Funny, actually.

“I don’t think she can just get a job. Not a regular one anyway.” The wizard observes as he stares into you. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” Your silence, biting your lip says enough. You don’t have anywhere to go. Once you did but that’s gone. Torn away from you.

“How about this? You spent a good deal of my friend’s coin but we’ll give you the opportunity to make it back as a repayment. Stick around for a little bit and go our separate ways when the debt is repaid?” There’s some protests but the half-orc quiets them down when the wizard speaks up in your favour. He doesn’t trust you, not after the stunts you just pulled, especially not when the look on your face mirrors his own so closely but perhaps it’s something within him that calls to him to make right a wrong, or prevent another soul to be lost to the troubles he’s faced.

With these idiots bound to make a scene they’ll call attention to themselves and by default that means away from you. This might work in your favour. They’re adventurers and given that they seem somewhat familiar with the Evening Nip, you can only assume they’re not exactly always on the right side of the law. You’re not judging but that gives you some safety and assurance should things go south or you need a quick way out. And if things really do turn in your favour, they’ll be your cover to places and funds to get you far far away from this hell hole.

“Looks like you got yourselves a new companion then, friends.” You don’t smile, only displaying an expression so neutral that makes the wizard think for a second he might have made a mistake but for now you have mutual interests and if there’s anything he can count on, it’s the reliability of a common goal, and a lot to lose should you get outed.

So next you know, you’re somewhat absorbed into their little group, learning their names and where they’re from, chatting happily but you can’t help but notice that yours and Caleb’s stories are similar in some ways, mostly the lack of detail. You’ve been raised within the Empire, but found yourself on a less fortunate path fending for yourself. The only difference between you and him is that he found Nott on his path while you had remained alone. The group didn’t seem to mind your lack of details, going with the excuse you’re not about to bare your life story to the people you only just met and you’re lucky. You hadn’t told anyone what happened since you’ve been on the run and you don’t plan on doing so anytime soon, especially not to people who haven’t earned your trust yet.

Of course you’ve been roomed with Caleb and Nott, finding yourself in one of the most expensive inns in the city, paid for by the group. Unlike Nott, who goes through your stuff when she thinks you’re not looking, Caleb is the perfect roommate. He doesn’t cross any boundaries, ask too many questions or has any annoying habits. He just reclines on his bed, going through his spellbook, transcribing new spells to add to his own collection. Every time he does you get extremely uneasy and snappy and do whatever you can to not be in the same space as the wizard. It doesn’t do your roommate relationship any good and may leave you at odds at times. Caleb may not understand why but it’s not his place to ask questions, nor does he think you’ll actually answer them. Instead you make up excuses, helping Beau with training, letting Jester braid your hair, keeping Fjord company while Molly claims their room for one of his escapades, getting some booze for Nott, or when Yasha is there, watch the storms with the woman, anything to get you out of that shared room with the wizard.

————

Rain hits the window of your room in the Pillow Trove as the redheaded wizard strolls in throwing his backpack on his bed and sitting down with a deep sigh. You look up over the edge of the book you’re reading seeing the wizard soaked through the bone wringing out his hair best he can. With a wave of your hand and words uttered under your breath you grin as the water evaporates from Caleb’s form, leaving his hair slightly more curly and frizzy, and his clothes warm and comfy. He gives you a look as you continue reading as if you’re completely unaware of anything going on in the room, completely absorbed into your book. Ignoring Caleb.

“I didn’t take you for the type that reads smutty romance novels.” He comments and gestures towards Courting of the Crick. You finally look at Caleb as if he only just gained your attention, as if you’re only just aware of his presence in the room. Both of you know better but this is how it is.

“You wouldn’t. But according to Jester you enjoy them very much.” You grin, having gotten to hear all about their little trip to the Chastity’s Nook. Caleb gives you a disapproving look as he begins to unpack his things, taking out the fresh ink and paper, setting out his spellbook and you mark your page, putting the book on your side table as you quickly get up and go for the door.

“Where are you off to all of the sudden?” Caleb asks as you grit your teeth. Can he not just leave you alone? Does he really trust you so little you’re not allowed to leave of your own accord?

“I’m going to see Jester and Beau in their room. Now I will bid you good day unless you think I need an escort for the room two doors down.” You snap. Okay, that may have been unnecessary. You could have at least been neutral. Too late for that now. Caleb waves his and as if dismissing you. Act like a child, get treated like a child. So you leave the room letting the door fall closed a little harder than you normally would in protest and make your way over towards Beau and Jester’s room.

Jester, happily lets you in and while Beau has definitely warmed up to you, things are still rocky. She wouldn’t go as far as calling you a friend, but more that one neighbourhood kid her parents tried to get her to play with despite the two of you never really having been friends at all. At least you can bond over your slightly criminal tendencies. It’s Jester who’s completely accepted you as one of her own, questioning you about anything and everything, preaching to you about the Traveler, gushing about her romance novels, specifically Oskar, which you’re pretty sure is actually reflecting her major crush on Fjord but let the girl dream. Who knows what will come of it?

[one-boring-person]

Hey again! I know I just asked for one and I don’t wanna be bothersome, but I saw that Raymond Tango is on your list and I was hoping I could get an imagine with him and maybe Gabriel Cash as well?

Something like the reader works at the prison where they end up and helps them out when they’re jumped? Or whatever scenario you can think of 😁 Please add a lot of flirting if you can

I actually watched Tango and Cash and the Expendables because of your imagines 😆 And I’ll probably keep discovering more awesome movies thanks to you!

I also had an idea for Rambo where the fireworks on the 4th of July trigger his ptsd and the reader is there to comfort him? (It was Canada Day today so there were fireworks in my hometown to celebrate and I got the idea for it 🤷🏼‍♀️)

Thank you so very much!!! 💕

I'm really sorry for the wait, but I hope you like this!😊❤

Tip-Off.

Ray Tango x reader x Gabe Cash (Tango and Cash)

Warnings: injury, swearing, mention of violence, mention of gun use

Masterlist

Finally, I manage to fling the door open, the thick metal clanging loudly as it slams against the wall, announcing my arrival to the room behind it. Gritting my teeth, I crash through it, yelling out to the inmates I know are gathered there, my standard handgun held at the ready. I hate to use it, but I know very well that many of the people turning to face me won't move unless threatened by something a little more dangerous. 

The room is lit with a drab light, keeping most of the thugs' faces cast in shadow as they turn towards me, shouts of surprise and panic filling the air. As if startled by a ghost, the lot of them suddenly retreat into the darkness, doors banging open and shut around the perimeter, many of them cursing loudly as they clear out. Frowning, I move further into the room, shouting at them hoarsely, my head rotating quickly to make sure I'm not being ambushed by any of them. Thankfully or not, they disappear quickly, leaving me alone in the deserted area with two familiar people hanging by their necks from the ceiling above large troughs of water. Upon closer inspection, I notice that the water is electrified, a sparking cable lying a metre or so away. 

"Hey, hey, what's going on?! Don't just leave us hanging here, kill us or let us down! You shitbrains!" I groan in realisation as I notice exactly who is hanging from the ceiling, the two captives facing away from me.

"Are those my only options, or would you rather I tried to get you down?" I call out to the only one of them who is actually moving, walking round to face them.

"Huh? Who're you?" It's Raymond Tango, the one still writhing on his hook. His partner, Gabriel Cash, hangs listlessly, head drooped, blood dripping from his lip.

"The reason you're still alive." I frown, tapping Cash's foot.

"Oh, it's you. Feel like helping me down?" Ray stares at me, fear still bright in his eyes as he shifts in his bindings.

"Don't sound too grateful. I just saved your ass." I roll my eyes, but move to start helping him.

Going closer, I ignore the dark-haired man's expectant expression, bowing so that I can heave the troughs of water out of the way, first. It isn't easy: the containers weigh tonnes, their contents sloshing all over the place as I brace my shoulder against the battered steel, muscles straining to dislodge them. A grating screech sounds from the base of the troughs as they rasp along the hard ground, but I eventually manage to get them clear, panting by the time they're significantly out of the way. 

"Ok, this is probably gonna hurt a bit." I warn Ray, before going over to the knots at the end of the ropes holding them up.

"What is- argh!" The detective yelps in surprise as he drops unceremoniously from the ceiling, landing with a thud on the cold stone floor.

I leave Gabe's line for now, going over to help Ray up as he rolls onto his side, groaning in pain. Untying him, I check him over for any particularly bad wounds.

"Couldn't you have done that a little less painfully?" Ray grumbles as he moves to sit upright, wiping away blood from his nose, groaning. 

"Sorry, next time I'll bring a mattress." I roll my eyes again, "You'll live. Now help me with Cash."

"Can't we just leave him there? He makes quite a nice light fixture." Ray jokes dryly, climbing wearily to his feet.

Shooting him a pointed look, I try to ignore the small spike in my pulse as I regard the dishevelled detective, not for the first time admiring his chiselled good-looks. Swallowing down the idle thoughts, I move back to the end of Gabe's line.

"Catch him, will you?" I tell Ray, loosening the knot, Cash's limp body dropping ever so slightly as I do so.

"The lump'll crush me!" He complains, but goes to stand underneath him anyway, reaching up to brace Cash's thighs with a grimace.

"You know, your jibes would have much more effect if he were awake." I smile wryly.

Ray doesn't say anything, but sends me a quick smirk anyway, knowing I'm right. 

Turning away, I untie the knot completely, looking back to see Cash fall onto Tango, his torso rocking precariously as the latter struggles to hold him up. Rushing over, I reach out, arms outstretched as the two start to fall, Gabe landing heavily in my grip, throwing us all to the floor. We land heavily, a dull pain erupting in my back from the impact.

Winded, I lie there, Gabe on my chest, Ray on his rival's stomach, breathing heavily as we try to recover. Against me, Gabe shifts slightly, moaning in his unconsciousness, making me force myself to sit upright, his head now in my lap, Ray still trying to catch his breath on his back. Looking down at the man on my thighs, I brush aside some hair from his face, swiping away a little blood from his lip, glancing up to see Ray staring at me, jaw tight. Confused, I go to say something, my brow cocked, only to stop when a pained voice trickles up from between us.

"This isn't what I expected from the afterlife." Gabe murmurs, eyes barely open as he gazes up at me, licking his dry lips.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Cash." Ray jumps in, pushing himself back up.

Frowning, Gabe lifts his head, opening his mouth to speak, before closing it again, the sharp response clearly struggling to materialise.

"Come on, let's get you untied." I chuckle, moving to shift out from under the detective in my lap.

Gabe groans, whining as I roll him over, Tango reaching over to loosen the knots of his ties. Once free, he lazily tries to return to his original position, only to complain when he finds out I've moved. Now standing, I look down at the two with a fading smile, quickly becoming serious as I think back over the gravity of the situation. The two notice, joining me in standing, Gabe rapidly adjusting his clothes as Ray wipes blood from his lip.

"Whoever set you guys up has a serious problem with you two." I muse, scratching my chin in consternation.

"Wait, you believe us?" Ray sounds surprised, his rival regarding me with a similar expression. 

"About what?"

"The setup." 

Glancing at him, I tilt my head.

"Yeah, of course. What, you thought I was one of the bribed guards? After all the tip-offs I gave you both?" I shake my head in exasperation.

"Pretty dumb, if you ask me, Tango." Cash comments, smirking as he runs a hand through his hair, betraying his nerves.

"And who didn't listen to the tip-offs?" I tease him, grinning as Ray sends him a pointed look. 

"Hey, I've had a lot on my mind!" Gabe protests, before he conspiratorially rakes his gaze over me, "A certain someone in particular."

Blushing, I wave him off, muttering a quick "behave" before gesturing for the two detectives to follow after me.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Ray hisses to Gabe as they limp along behind me, a scoff following this as we reach the door I came through.

"And you think you're better? Come on, man, I've seen you staring at her when she does her rounds. Your cellmate practically has to wipe the drool from your chin." 

"I'm not deaf, you know." I sigh, leading them into a side room,  where a desk and few chairs have been pushed to the wall, a couple of pieces of equipment sat neatly where I left them.

The two men enter behind me, frowning at the sight of the small room, confused by its purpose. Naturally, Gabe is quick to recover and goes straight to one of the chairs, sitting down and leaning back in it, head tilted back so that his mane of golden hair falls down between his shoulder blades. Ray eyes him disdainfully, only to take a seat near him, running a hand through his own hair, muscular arms flexing as he does so. It's a struggle for me to keep my eyes averted from them both as I go to the table in the centre and take out my first aid kit, opening it to check inside. 

"Ok, who's first?" I finally look up at them both, my cheeks warming up as I am met with two intense stares, neither looking away as I make eye contact.

"I'll go!" Gabe interrupts Ray before he can speak, hopping up and coming over to me, leeching on the table with a grin.

Shaking my head, I take some gauze and start to clean out the worst wounds he received, which I soon find are not particularly bad, so I move to check that he's not concussed at all. Removing a small penlight from my keys, I hold it up to his face, placing a finger under his chin to level his head properly. 

"Ok, stare straight ahead." I tell him, not quite realising why he's smirking until I realise that he's decided to stare straight at me, blue eyes fixed on mine. Shaking my head, I once more ignore the blush on my cheeks as I check if his eyes are dilating properly, quickly moving to check his response as I move my hand in front of his face. Thankfully he seems to be ok, everything working as it should be. 

"All done." I tell him, placing the penlight down on the desk beside him, glancing back up in time to see him leaning in. Surprised, I have no time to react before he's pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, the blonde smirking as he hops off the bench, eyes glittering mischievously. 

Ray makes a sound of disapproval, glaring at Gabe as his rival steps past, muscles tensed up as he tries to fight back the (very) obvious jealousy. Quickly, he takes Cash's place on the table, looking at me gratefully as I start cleaning up the wound on his head. His dark eyes don't leave mine the entire time, unnerving me a little.

"So what do we do now?" He eventually asks, voice low as I stand close to him to make sure the cut is properly dressed.

"You guys need to get out of here." I muse, chewing my lip as I work, "It's just how we're gonna do it that's difficult."

"We?" Gabe sounds hopeful, though I can hear a little jealousy in his tone. This confuses me, until I realise why: Ray has gently placed a hand on either side of my waist, most likely under the pretense that he needs a hold to ground himself. 

"Y-Yeah, we. I don't think you two will make it out without help." I tell him, calming my nerves as my pulse picks up, swiping the gauze over Ray's head once more before taking up the penlight again.

"And you're offering? Won't that lose you your job?" Ray questions, surprised at what I've said.

I sigh, standing back upright once I've checked his eyes.

"If I get caught, yeah, it will. At least it'll be for good reason." I shrug, stepping back out of Ray's grip, somewhat reluctantly.

Taking advantage of this, Gabe steps closer, placing a reassuring hand on my lower back. Unused to this kind of affection, I look up at him, expression somewhat blank as he speaks.

"You're sure about that?" He queries, searching my face for hesitation.

"Yeah, I am. What happened to you two wasn't fair, so I think it's good if you get your revenge." I nod firmly, glancing back at Ray, who smiles at me, "Look, I'll come up with a plan as soon as I can. For now, you two need to try and stay alive."

"Easier said than done." Ray murmurs, but agrees nonetheless.

"For you, we will." Gabe teases, tapping my chin with a grin.

[notmuchtoconceal]

the duel with the inquisitor [excerpt]

[scene intentionally left blank]

you had a talk -- or rather, he had a talk with you.

the second screening set of his office. a sheep killing hawk bore down with the voidless beads of its eyes upon you. impaled upon the brass, its feathers hung heavy and grey -- as though left undusted for months.

taxidermied bird over his head was pretty cool, too.

- well well, major. feeling minor? i key, of course. hmm-hmm.

it wasn’t that he was a sissy - that didn’t help.

- aanywaaay what with this ceremonial role you’ll be playing... i had wanted to double-check with you as the ex, erm, the ex-head of security -- as you’ll no longer be -- ahem stationed over his shoulder -- stationed rather like the silhouette of a parrot against his epaulets -- the great burgeoning gospels of his epaulets -- an organ begging to be tickled. rotund and backsliding. hmm-hmm. yes.

hmm.

- you know as well as i he served no time in his commonwealth’s navy. he was no admirable, nor was he admirable. though perhaps in the rear. hmm-hmm

a port only a mother could drown in.

- confidentially -- i shouldn’t even be mentioning this, but oh -- el precedente as his -- hmm-hmm -- his his holiest of wholly holies might say -- hmm -- hmm --hmm -- hmm -- he mentioned to me -- hmm -- you know.

you do.

- that he -- erm -- that he might have some concerns about being away from -- about being away from you of all people... not that i blame him.

you would.

- he cites the mistress’s fears of a panty raider stalking the manor, though i say what do you expect with so many larrikins larping about.

damn good parties.

- you know as well as i

you’ll need to piss soon.

- know full well the tempestuous nature of his ascendancy

stream it right into his eyeballs.

- after all, what is a star if it cannot bask in the shadows that it casts?

a dim bulb.

- i see the way he -- mmph --clings to you.

you have no desire to suck cock right now.

- so i had wondered, erm, well…

unless you tore down the curtains, there’s nothing in your peripheral vision which would make a strong impromptu gag.

- i had called you in to double-check the mmmphh…

there were, however, numerous and plenty impromptu bludgeoning tools.

- are you a man of god, major?

can’t say no.

- what do you feel when you…

circle of force.

- what is it that…

his neck was rancid.

- stays with you…

it looked as though cheese would curdle out.

- does it keep you up at night?

what was inside him.

- the screams... the…

what befouled his skin and stained his teeth.

-ecstasy

his pleasure was tinged with gastrointestinal distress.

- the feeling of total

his guts were disagreeing with his mouth.

- dominance

a bee at a spelling wasp.

- have you ever wondered... mmph -- if any of them didn’t deserve it?

never once.

- have you ever wondered…

no you haven’t.

- if any of them didn’t deserve…

nobody does.

- to die.

no one.

- what is guilt, major?

you asking for a friend.

- what is devotion?

the motion of your ocean.

- what is shame.

(we need guilt)

you’re so funny.

- do you know.

( you know)

the old days they acted with their eyes.

- do you know.

(the great and powerful)

you’re plenty expressive.

- what you exchange.

(i am the father)

a walk-on part in the war

- how could you

for a lead role in a cage.

[whistle of a prop mortar -- flare of brass eclipsing the roar]

- well i’m sure i’m being plenty dramatic for you, major. i don’t need to spell it out for you. you’re an adult. you’re a professional.

you were.

- i’m sure none of the -- ahem -- none of the young... erm -- gentlemen you’ve performed for have ever not deserved it

(  )

- oh so you can emote. for a moment i’d mistaken you for a shoe tree.

/

- admittedly one which appears to have miscegenated with a wardrobe.

you strive for blood purity in all your home furnishings.

- you know as well as i -- i’m sure i don’t need to tell you

you will anyway

- that in life not all of us deserve

you do.

- the things we

it would stain your uniform.

- the things we receive

this fucker’s cheesy insides.

- from our betters.

you know as well as he.

- do you understand?

he didn’t deserve your reception.

- standing at attention, good. let me be frank with you. this whole game of charades, it has one too many syllables. the topic is obscure. the sounds don’t seem to make any sense together. if i had to guess, it would be a kraut word. maybe something twelve to sixteen letters long. maybe something hideously contorted into jargon, i don’t know. i don’t know. i put my faith in god. god lies in that which is already known. god is the stout hippo upon which our republic rests. god does not crest the muddy water, god is content to be the sun which lies lazily upon the surface. i need you to look... even stupider.

always asking for the impossible.

- this whole thing you’re doing... this killing machine with a heart of gold shtick.

always deliverin it anyway.

- it’s really very tacky, you know. nobody’s going for it.

the fuck is he talking about?

- i’m being your friend, you know. in full confidence, i want you to know you can trust me. i want you to know i have your best interests in my mind.

is he still talking?

- people say all sorts of things about you, you know. the looks you give. people don’t know what they mean.

this fairy’s got no style.

- i mean i like you, of course. i can see what you’re going for. i think you show a lot of daring, you know, trying to have it both ways.

no class.

- but you know, you look so hideous in certain lights. the way you scowl you look like something’s always on your mind.

someone’s gotta do the dirty work.

- you know, you’re already so big, it’s just easier

you never asked to be dense.

- if you could oh...

never asked to be lead.

- would it be so vulgar if you smiled?

before or after you pull the trigger

- be a warm and gracious representative of the state

always warm in my leather, sir

- the patrons which his ascendancy hath procured for the ceremony, they found you absolutely gruesome

warmth of the leather. warmth of obedience

- let me read you a few of my favorite cards

leaving me an empty shell

- i’m a simple man. i see a rabid dog, i put it down

dick hard. head empty. guts turning to jelly

- hollowed ground can’t support the weight of open veins

cocooned in my leather shell

- it smells like a fox, rip it apart

sweat coursing through my shell

- harsh, i know

proud to be brined and branded, sir

- but i think you can change

proud to keep myself and my leather clean, sir

- it simply takes trust. trust in those who are bound by fealty

his neck is skinny enough you could maybe twist it one-handed.

- i don’t think you want people not to like you. i think with some erm instruction you could find yourself

make it look like he fell.

- to be quite presentable, you know. it is a ghastly profession, this thing you do. necessary, though ghastly. this business of... heh heh... this business of...

bashed his temple on the emerald slate.

- this business of...

clean break.

- well, as a man of my station knows full well -- none are ever truly innocent.

...

- i have here documentation pertaining to the... ahem... the processings which took place (mandated of course) by the last interim government.

this’ll be fun.

- i have to say major, i never would have pegged you for the creative type.

no, you suppose he wouldn’t.

- let me see here... oh, how exciting let me see. this thing with the rugby sock. was he one of your mates? dreadful. in front of his locker. where you saw him change? i’m surprised you manged to fit the whole thing in there.

he was a good cocksucker. he was a better friend.

- oh um. yes. this one. it must have been horrible. the way they let the condemned men go free...

makes for better sport.

- suppose they always thought they really had a chance...

suppose so.

- not with a killer like you on the hunt, no.

yup.

- was this a wrestling gym?

looked more like the floor of a burger joint.

- to inspire the fear and awe of his forces. sounds like janitorial duty.

just good clean fun.

- it’s not nearly as vile as this one here, this -- oh... the gentleman on the weight bench...

pat and firm. just like mama used to make.

- you appear as though you make regular use of these facilities. what is it that you think about when you yourself are put beneath the bar?

the constant possibility that your grip may fail and you will crush your own skull into a dumbass meat patty not fit for human consumption

- those... those aren’t. they are

[snickers -- skittles]

- it being a cannery, my initial hope was for lungfish.

tasted about as shit.

- how on earth did you manage to make such flimsy material support the weight of the body?

proper leverage.

- vile. the most vile pornography.

think about the kids.

- that this material should be conceived, let alone produced.

think about makin more of em.

- yes, i can see why his ascendancy doth posset and burn my faggot face.

he didn’t actually say that.

- i am the most wretched of faggots. my cow-like incompetence knows boundless pastures. a milky yearning doth floweth through my rectal lily and awaken an itch -- a yearning for the intestine-shredding sting of a killer drone.

(gunpowder lazer prone)

you may be paraphrasing.

(dynamite with a pumice stone)

- alas, my anus. i orbit on my side. i am a top which spins and spins in a dream which never ends. nobody check the washers, i am not dry.

you think you could make this up?

- let me get to the point, major. i know what you’re capable of. i can see why his ascendancy is taken with you. i know you are a loyal man. a brave man. a man who can be trusted to do things that are trustworthy. a man who i would like to trust. do you trust me? please say trust me. trust me

brother, you don’t trust shit.

- you’re so cruel to me, major. i would offer you a seat, but you won’t even offer me a smile. i’ve been nothing but kind to you. inviting you into my vestibule. remembering to offer you whiskey. not spraying you with the punishment cologne -- it is the douchiest smell -- you know. all those aspects anybody could ever expect befitting that lofty ideal called human dignity. it has been all about you so far. when are we going to get to what i would like to talk about?

six hours ago.

- major? major do you object.

with all my heart.

- why don’t you ask me about my day?

plenty of reasons.

- do you like what i’ve done with my hair? see, the braids are pinned. they fall into more of a swoop. the netting is gold lace. the studs are blue diamond.

he was almost cute in a pathetic way.

- my nails, do you see. the etchings? have you heard of the procedure? they take off the tops by cutting vertically along the tips.

wonder how long it’ll be before he ruins it.

- once it’s stripped away, they burn lines into both the upper and lower layers -- inlaying the material in the grooves.

they did catch your eye

- the upper and lower portions are then fused together

for hands that didn’t work

- and the material faintly glimmers through the top of the beds.

calligraphy of labyrinth walls.

- it was traditional for the maidens of metamaria to etch the names of their succubi goddesses into the beds of their nails and to tap out commands to them with with the glyphs that were their nails -- the sounds spelling out their names.

tap. tap. tap.

- not that i believe in such things of course, they’re simply striking to behold. i’ve only seen one other gentleman in my concord with nails like this, and he, i don’t need to tell you, has an eye for the shift in the annual cycles. he predicts the seasons -- not of crops, but of yarns and textiles -- the expanding and contracting of those minds which roam and devour like the plagues.

huh

- i believe that to arrive at a world which is commendable to all, the all must be commendable to the world -- and so for the true aesthetical ethical experience, i suggest the pink crepe paper and blotch tape collage. culture simultaneous in zenith and abyss. perfect sincerity -- so crude it could only be authentic.

what is he talking about

- you didn’t think things could get much lower, but they can. oh, they can. people think they need standards. people think they need history. they don’t. history. what is history? history is the truth of men. history is all which has been accomplished. all which has already been done. no. no. people don’t need history. we can’t keep on doing what we’ve been doing. nor is the future much consultation, ‘tis a pity to relish. take a look at all of those speculative futures of which men have dreamed across time. take a look. not a single one has ever come true --

you wonder who might have forgotten to dream up now.

- what we strive for here major is pure symbolic logic. do you see? do you see? you know as well as i -- truth justice beauty -- they are abstractions. they are grand follies. they are these long and winding passages in which you now inhabit. these in which his grand solarity -- in his unending pursuit of that most noble goal -- has booked his tomb. pre-mummified in creature comforts. why does his ascendancy do things like this, major? you could not understand. what motivates him cannot be gripped by the hands. the hands of simple men like you. men who know the value of hard work. men who know the labor of fight. men who see with their eyes and feel with their gut. no. abstractions, major. they belong to the gall, to the nerves, to the brains, of which you have none. your eyes are so dim. your beautiful ludenite brow hangs so heavy -- so leaden. the weight of thought is coming down. you can’t possibly keep it up. it will crush you.

you’re a big boy. you like to push up heavy things.

- what could one man ever do, major? one lost, confused man. you are not real. you have attended the lectures. you know that there are players -- those imbibed with a living will. you know that there are scripts -- those who are simply shells shuffled along the board. there is a way to be if one wishes to advance in society, major. you are not that way. i don’t need to tell you. i will, because i want to, and because you won’t understand. i can say absolutely anything i want and there will be zero repercussions because you are stupid. so very stupid.

this explains why you know so many things.

- stupid, stupid, stupid.

your one weakness.

- you are the stupidest looking apeman motherfucker i’ve seen in all my life, major. if you can’t speak, i would appreciate it if you would at least grunt

don’t do it bro

- you look as though a gorilla tried to shave itself with a potato peeler

//

- liked that one, didn’t you boy? you don’t need to look at me, i can tell by the expertise at which you hitch a flagpole.

look down. follow the rules of continuity.

- why don’t you... unfasten your tie, major?

why don’t you

- you may find your hands moving to your neck of their own accord. i wouldn’t blame them. they are, after all, simply mediators from the head.

my hands

- there we go. straight through the collar. do you really need that... erm... that big heavy jacket on? the way it... creaks and crunches... why don’t you hand that to me, major? you look a bit warm...

warmth of obedience

- oh, that chest. it positively juts when your shoulders push back

obedient in leather

- that’s right, hand it here. mmph. let me...

his abs weren’t bad.

- hike up my vestments.

he’d look good in a hood.

- mmmmpph. it reeks of cigar smoke and sweat -- a sandy note of dog fur.

your arms were cold

- the lining of the sleeve... still gooey with you...

was he just lookin or?

- what if i just...

your hands

- major. major stop. you’re hurting me.

get out

- my hand. major. my hand

nobody

- let go! please! please let go!

mine

- eh he... eh he... major. major why’d you do that?

just cause.

- major, major i could have you hanged. do you know what you’ve done.

set the tone.

- how... how can i ever use this hand again...

same way you did before.

- i invite you into my private quarters. i show you hospitality. frankly, i flatter you with my generosity -- and you viciously attack me?

this could take awhile.

- i can’t believe it. people say you’re a nine, i say you’re nothing but a seven. light seven. thankful not to be a six.

is he hypnotising you again?

- you have a vicious streak which i think ought warrant the application of chlorine to a few gene pools

your head’s kinda spinning - you’re fading in and out

- the public square ought sap some color before the application of the first wash

did he hypnotise you?

- your kind. your kind. i know. we all do.

maybe he’s just real boring.

- oh that horrible prop his ascendancy has you carry -- are you going to throw a fit if i ask to see that, too?

you hand it to him.

- it’s so hefty

only person he could hurt is himself

- the set-up seems familiar. it was an old story. it was countless old stories. a big man with a big gun. (maybe it was a sword. the ones where it was a sword -- those were better.)

if you like ballet.

- killing with lead and nitrate.

which you do.

- awful.

that shit takes guts.

- almost as awful as pesticide.

looking forward to the weekend.

- six chambers. three bullets. his ascendancy dreamed this farce up, i expect? is it really so hard? to reload by hand? oh, it’s only six chambers. who would ever need all six. never had to fire more than one.

try shootin somethin other’n your mouth, bud.

- it’s not very impressive. i don’t see what the big deal is.

neither have you.

- el precendete’s never fired a gun in all his life, i expect.

knew what you were gonna say.

- but then men who govern seldom have to.

that’s how good you look.

- no major, we leave that up to men like you. men who know how how to serve. men who know how to follow. men who know the value of leadership and so obsessively seek it out -- knowing they could never attain it for themselves.

men who light cigars.

- you have nothing, major. at the end of the day, nothing.

ought apply them to leeches.

- you have a strong body, but a weak mind. you have the will to go where you will go, but nowhere to go to. you have let a vital organ wither, because you could only work your glamour muscles -- but oh what glamour you have.

thank you. guy ought to take care of himself.

- it doesn’t even matter if i take the lead out of your pencil -- those big wedge shaped ones they used to give special education children -- mmphh -- because the impotence of your situation is already so apparent.

to this man, reason was simply a pretense to weasel.

- how do i get this cylinder...

bro, my favorite teachers were the ones who picked on the slow kid.

- oh my! it startled me.

you opened it

- can’t believe how loud it is.

motherfucker

- is this what metal feels like?

he took out the plate screw

- it’s so cold.

(let me in a your window)

how did he do that

- relatively simple to disarm, however.

did he think it was a winch?

- to think people used to carry these things in day to day life...

bro why

- what barbaric times they must have been.

why’d you give your favorite child to a toy.

- going to market and having to worry about arabian knights come arabian moons -- are you familiar with the mosques of the mouse?

guess you are kinda slow

- oh what are these? are these the bullets?

bro

- they look like pupae of the warhawk

what the fuck

- keep the drolleries in the margins, i always say.

why’s he so fucking stupid

- it is quite... mmph

he’s rocking back and forth

- you can hold this thing with one hand?

practically mouthing it

- well your hand... my god your hands...

rollin back his eyes

- those have hands...

bout to blow his brains out

- those hands have...

dumbass.

- killed.

in your own estimation, you were always more of a smartass.

- there were three. yes, three bullets. never on any assignment have you ever had to fire more than one. you’ve never fired two. you’ve never fired three. you’ve certainly never subtracted one from three or added one plus one to arrive at two. no. no, that simply wouldn’t do. not one. not one. two.

does he know you’ve been personally victimized by arthmictic?

- you were twenty three on your university’s nort amazonian rugby team. you laid flattest in the brickoven. planking with your brawny collegiate beard. i saw how shaggy you were. you hooked all the ends. you odded all the sods.

maybe he’s gotta go through all the numbers in his head first.

- twenty three, they say, was always number one.

some people are like that.

- but were you, major?

just space out.

- were you ever really number one?

you should be able to know by now

- i am going to give you an apparatus. this apparatus will vibrate every fifteen minutes, or just whenever i want to talk to you.

if you’re the stupid one or not.

- you can also press the yellow button to talk to me anytime you want

why would anyone want that.

- this is a chair? have you seen one?

you’re twenty something years old.

- the installation will progress now.

maybe thirty something.

- there is an 80% chance your shirt is already unbuttoned

your chest is cold.

- oh, and what buttons they are! hand me your shirt. i promise i’ll only press it to my cheek if his infancy’ll allow it.

do you have a choice.

- oh yeees the base layer. hide to hide. steeped in bronco pit.

neigh.

- that blotch on your skin. what’s that supposed to be? beast? bone? to think that a member of his ascendancy’s personal guard should look the part of a common thug.

you resented the remark. there was nothing common about you.

- you drive me to heat, major. you make me cry foul tears of sulfur. you are so vile, so dis-pleasurable to me with your primate body, your matted, furry body, your shaved, gelatin-like body. don’t think -- don’t think i haven’t seen you. chopping wood. envisioning pikes. oh i know for a fact that fad’ll come around again soon, don’t you worry. my friend in the concord with the pretty nails, he says these things all repeat. our mentalists have made the associations, mapped the neurotic tendencies which underlie the expressions of these auto-sadistic drives. the need for a clean cut will come soon, major. you can be sure of that. suffocation was the mood back when people were flooded -- when the leisure principal enshrined care as the highest value. soon they will crave the clean cleave -- thwak -- and i don’t blame them, major. no, not at all. it is better to kill clean. guns are messy. guns are loud. guns leave a smell. i do not want them in my bedroom.

just in your mouth.

- yes, six chambers. three bullets. oops.

count em again.

- there they go...

right across the desk.

- klumsimi -- that’s what you say when you wanna balance your credit karma.

they let the dumbest motherfuckers in the priesthood.

- what’s this -- this one’s different?

all they do is chant weird obscenities and screw each other.

- is this real silver?

just like the marines.

- why it’s not green at all.

(and all the world)

the moon is

- silver. there was some mythological significance to that...

you wanna put your leather back on.

- what was it?

wanna be warm.

- are you planning to kill a werewolf?

controlled.

- what is the purpose of these esoteric details, major?

focus.

-do you expect people not to ignore them? do you expect them to simply sit alongside our living bodies like art objects, being blank and pretty and unknowable, thus meaningless things?

stay together.

- a strange glaze pearly around the tip of your cockhead, the dew within less macrobiotic than alabaster?

stay together.

- there is no point. you’re more appreciable when there’s less of you. people like an empty shell. they’re easier to relate to.

stay together.

- these complications. your personality. your history.

you’re a product for the screen, major.

- and the purpose of a product is to sell.

///

-the purpose of a product is to use.

/// /

- you are content to be content

and i am content to be content

- you contain nothing

and i contain nothing

- purity in me

is purity in you

- pure ideology

is pure paraphilia

- major. major.

(words cannot )

express yourself

- minor key

[guitar strings snap behind your eyes -- stock footage car crash]

- yes, there we are major. nice and stupid. not a thought in your pretty, ugly little head.

nice. stupid.

- why must you insist upon putting me through this whole rigamorole when you know you cannot win? victory will forever elude you, major. sure, sometimes it may seem as though you’re winning, but not every game can be a slaughter. for men like you, pathos exists only in struggle, not dominance. dominance is a game for men above your station, major. these are general suggestions, and suggestions delineate expectations. other people have no trouble catching on -- i know i have to keep explaining it, but you never seem to learn.

never. learn.

- it’s the worst thing about you. you waste so much of my time. you’re always playing games. don’t you see some of us don’t have time for games? some of us are too busy running them. oh, major. if you only had the slightest clue what my responsibilities are. i’ve canned more phrases than manufacturers of fine, artisanal alphabet soup -- roman characters in chicken broth. i sit in the same place, every day, relaying the same instructions to the same people -- oh you’d think theyd eventually have something else to ask me, but no. really, i find i can usually stick to the same skeleton of the same handful of sentences.

...

- the fact that a man like you -- oh the fact that a man like you thinks he could attain an inside voice, it really pisses me off. what makes you think you’re so special, major? other people have thoughts, too. do you think you’re the only one? why i have so many thoughts. i have thoughts constantly. it’s just that i’m considerate. major. i’m considerate because i know what this country’d look like if people went around thinking all the time.

...

- so many people, major. so many people have thoughts, but they’re brave enough to keep their heads down and keep their mouths shut. at the end of the day, you’re a coward. major. you think you’re entitled to something you’re not. you think you get to decide how other people interact with you. you think just because you’re strong and capable and motivated, you should simply be allowed to do things. no. that’s not how this works, major. when men like you speak, it’s a whine for attention. baby make noise -- i shut baby up. you don’t get to command. you don’t get to control. that’s not your place.

scandalous, isn’t it? the marked man with the marksman.

- that cunty little friend of yours, don’t think i haven’t noticed. don’t think his ascendancy hasn’t either. if you were smart, major you’d consider this a test of loyalty. i know you aren’t, so i’m telling you straight that’s what it is. that’s what men like you like, isn’t it major? to be told straight.

did you miss me?

- you must have found it thrilling. so thrilling. to stand by and watch him be procured.

i missed you.

- lead away. in front of his own people, no less. oh, what a delightful scene! to watch his body bend. to watch him fall. to writhe upon the grit the stones. oh, to be the chalk upon those stones, major! he must certainly be a man, he’s red on the inside -- mmph mmph -- black and white and read all over.

yellow.

- the question begs the answer

(will you forgive me somehow?)

maybe when our story’s over

- the most esteemed gentlemen of the fraternity states who arose after the collapse of the amazonian empire -- they who through their imperial warrior religion preserved the legacy of athenian pederasty -- i’m not sure if you know this -- but they would use silver in its classical olympian association... for a runner-up.

horsecocked douchebags.

- second place. the first loser.

not that you have any right to judge.

- yes, perhaps that’s why you carry silver bullets, major. to remind yourself that 23 was not number 1. oh, no. he never was. not ever. not ever ever. oh no. you, major. you were always second best.

(i’m sorry i was blind)

sounds pretty forced bro

(you were always on my mind)

- yes, it’s brilliant. it’s recognizable.

just like the rest of this interaction

- it makes people think what they know is already correct. that always feels good. people should feel smart. people have to feel dumb all day.

MOTHERFUCKER

- oh people have to work so hard doing all those dirty, silly jobs. it’s so much easier to turn people into robots than to invent them.

there once had been a thing called subtext.

- the best we can do is show our support. make claims as loudly as possible. wear the prettiest ribbons. adorn our headdresses with the banners and let them flap nobly in the wind like the ol bloodstained and blue.

what they chiseled into your skull was called dom [   ] { -/- } [   ] text.

- if we make noise and throw loud parties and dress up then surely everybody will know we think the correct thoughts. we think the best thoughts.

maybe he needed to be rewound.

- we have the most thoughts. we have the best thoughts. our thoughts are the best and the most correct. i read about it in a book. a respectable book. it had a respectable author. it was a very well regarded book. it was talked about highly. in certain circles. in numerous circles. this book. i read it. he was quite a handsome author. he was the sort of gentleman you would like to be caught with at a dinner party. his book. i read it.

what was it about.

- why are they always looking at me like that, major? what have i done wrong? i’m a good person. i try my hardest. i really do. all i want to do is get them to like me, but nobody does. how do you do it major? how is it that you make people like you? you. an ugly stump like you. why men and women just flock to you. you’re so big and stupid and beautiful and your hands, your grewsome murderous bearpaw hands are so gentle, so so soft and leathery, oh. why. why can’t i have what you have major? where did you get it? there must be some way?

over the rainbow

(i am crazy)

- bars in the window.

truly. gone fishin.

- i shan’t sit here reciting scripture to you any more, major. you are an asset and that is all. an asset which mmph -- is quite suitable to the nomenclature.

he’s grabbing your ass.

- like a minoan bull.

you’re a horse.

- thick hindquarters. more animal than man. yes. we who hold dominion over all the beasts of the land. two thousand years of continuity, gone. left with only the late revelations of saint cameroon.

it’s the wacky shit that survives.

- do you lament major.

we exalt the sorcerer -- the noble platypus.

- what we have lost.

libraries upon libraries.

- what we have to gain.

ageless wisdom.

- i could not budge a rock.

though you could still be crushed by one.

- oh please major, enough with the cary brando routine, it’s absolutely agonizing. i can tell you’re hideously repulsed by me, must you constantly let me know? can’t you simply let me enjoy myself for once?

i bet you say that to all the officers you fondle.

- it may cost a pretty penny, but forgiveness is always to be had.

the calf would lick

- we always have salvation.

for want of salt.

- i feel nothing. major. do you see? do you see?

all.

- i am an empty shell of a man. i used to... i used to have something.

they duplicated the cat.

- a hermit roamed out of me a long, long time ago.

his name was artificial crabmeat.

(with the plastic pie)

- i woke up one day.

they couldn’t tell him apart.

- not at all.

identical.

- gone.

no difference in the subatomic structure.

- i didn’t even know.

one of them was a slave.

- he’d gone out a long, long time ago.

those were the rules.

- and rules were rules.

it had been established.

- it was an old story.

(this is your son)

- it was countless old stories.

(he is free)

carbon copy boy

- your blood is made of soy.

you’ve seen the word

(in prismatic roses)

- do you know what kind?

of terror that poses.

- why was he artificial?

(they said he was)

wasn’t he in a sense more real?

(they decided)

- by virtue of being intentional?

(they deicided)

glad you see things your way.

- your way.

(i am you)

what i see

- ain’t me.

who are you?

- what are you doing?

who are you?

- what are you doing to me?

stop it.

- stop it.

haha.

- what?

made ya say it.

- say what

(carbon copy girl)

- your blood would make me hurl.

( o )

(dismiss yourself.)

- major. major would you like --

major would you like to dismiss yourself.

- major. oh. mmph.

major, would you like to dismiss yourself? you will be recommended for accommodation at trigonometry of war theater square, offered a hearty raise of 19 to 23 scrupules, and i shall personally sign into law a dual gag and restraining order on myself -- thus ensuring the hideous dewflaps of my wretched oral rectum never spew their befoulments, nor salt the beef of another man’s meat stick in pub-lick again.

- 23? oh no. oh no no. you are not worth that.

you lost control of the budget, motherfucker.

- oh pol solaris -- please don’t realize you can negotiate pay

this is a diva project now.

- oh why did i say that.

got a guilty conscious, buddy.

- why am i saying this.

why don’t you tell the truth.

- he hates me major.

most people do. you’re real hard to like, bud. what’s going on? has nobody ever loved you?

- his ascendancy finds me as vile and wretched as you do.

(i don’t)

- don’t look so cruel.

you’re a fascinating piece of taxonomy.

- i hate him. i hate you. i hate that gin and mud licking gentleman you fancy so. i hate the commonwealth. i hate all the people in the commonwealth. i hate all the buildings in the commonwealth -- this fake marble and styrofoam world’s fair santorum. oh yes, all the splendor of classical columbia on a budget. beautiful juneau-ecchoe facades. constellations painted across the domed vaults of the skies in streaks of light. oh it’s beautiful. when it’s new. the deep navies. the endless nights. can’t last one quarter-centennial (+1) cycle. the floors give way. the doors come off the hinges. the roofs collapse on themselves in the rain. how do the supports rot away major? how does something so foundational rot away from the inside? the proliferation of mildews and decay --  -- can you see? can you see? between the filing cabinets. a root system spreads. were they slime molds, major? you tell me. you recognize scum -- beetles. beetles up to the sewers of your aquiline nose. the aqueduct that is your aquiline nose. they lie there, their antennae. they know me, major. they see me the way you see me. all vermin know well to see me i suppose - ... - the lives of the unlived - ... - how does what is most necessary rot away until we are living in a house of cards?

i breathe the black mold

- you know when the idea of disposable cityscapes first emerged, the advertised guarantee was at least three quarter-centennial cycles.

my face is not a mask

- one full centennial cycle if you could take care of it, though. i always wanted to get my cityscape to a hundred...

how long have you been here.

- guess that won’t happen.

with one hand he squeezes -- with the other he reaches for his violin.

- i’ve had quite enough of your dogs bollocks for one evening major. i’m far more interested in --

goddamn it he’s still fucking talking. what the fuck has he said. why are you here. what’s going on. are you a good boy?

- major. major. major. you’re a pretty pretty boy major.

i know you are but what am i

- blah blah blah blah ahahah

maybe you’re a dumbass with a pre-existing condition.

- wooooooosh woooooooooosh. i am the wind!

the whiskey he didn’t give you. maybe he slipped somethin in it.

- my spinning wheel. did i weave your fate -- or pluck your finger.

feels good. creaking leather.

- major so sweepy.

way his hand keeps holding you tight

- you can twust me major.

trust. fuck.

- you don’t have to fwight. don’t fwight major. all you ever do is fwight. i’m offering you a chance to be something nice.

no

- you’re going to settle down now.

no

- you’re going to be what i want you to be.

mmfffphh-uuuh!

- be nice and still.

mmfffvrrr-fufffer

-you’re going to fall back into yourself.

pthop.

- fall back into yourself, major. into the quivering heat-well of your soft and pillowy flesh. feel the gag press deep, smothering that noisy voice inside you.

pleath pthop.

- all beasts long to be tamed. you are loved. you are sheltered. you are well-cared for. so what if you can only behold greenery through a pane of glass? when you give in, when you allow yourself to become docile --

bro you’re not a helpless lil dog boy

- when you cease these juvenile episodes and learn to do as you are told

why’s your dick so hard bro? why you slobberin?

-- why it’s as though honey flows from every faucet.

bzzt

- you think like a latrine, no doubt. perhaps when this farce is over and el precedente’s enemies have been consolidated, i can persuade him to consider a change of station for you. oh yes, one better suited to your character.

?

- permanent reassignment to my private quarters. human urinal duty.

!

- it will be so lovely and we will be seeing one another so often.

don’t let his waste violate the boundaries of your body, bro.

- i intend to keep hydrated. i intend to keep moisturized.

molecular contamination.

- i think i shall dramatically increase my consumption of tea -- perhaps, i don’t know, citing the antioxidants?

owned.

would you like to own me? it would be my honor to own you.

let him scratch you there. let him put his hand over your mouth and nod along. let yourself surrender to a higher power. a man of ordered mind and strong of spirit. let him procure and take possession of you, young warrior. you go where you are needed. your body embodies a unit of force in the crest of a rollicking tide.

your bodies chain into ribonucleic hexagons of radiant solar hyperlinks disemboweling one another in a four dimensional snake pit of dagger-eyed fuckbeasts lickin asscrack in the malebolge.

you are the substance. you are the substance abuser.

there is nothing you can’t do.

- why yes i think i’m finally feeling tarty!

you limeys and your lemoniness.

- gosh jam it up my ass crack major. you really must be stupid. the longer you resist, the longer this goes on. you really ought to spare us both the trouble and just give in so we can go back home and watch all the quality programming i have scheduled, every night from five to eighteen nix -- nine diurnal.

you’re sorry you’re making his job harder than it has to be.

- there is only a 12% chance that you’re fully nude.

your legs are warm.

- though there is a 95% chance that you’re currently unbuckling your belt.

broken clock, bro.

- there we are, at last. some progress.

gotta find a way to turn it back.

- isn’t it so much better when you do as you’re told and things proceed smoothly? honestly, major. in the time we’ve been together, i could have performed the procedure on oh let me see --

he’s gonna spout numbers at you.

- six men. not seven. not eight.

you can’t be making this shit up.

- six minus six is zero. three minus three is not three. not one

if you straight gutted his ass, would there be any consequences?

- not one. not one.

think real hard about it.

- but none.

probably.

- there we are major. you may feel that hearty strap now tightening around your neck. it ought to keep you a touch more stiff and upright than usual.

focus.

- oh, and speaking of a hearty strap!

breathe.

- the way that veiny pouch supports the heft of your veiny bulge.

spit.

- your veiny abdomen. your veiny biceps. your veiny...

veins.

- your veiny...

sometimes. sometimes you just wanna end it all.

- veiny...

never seems like it’s a good idea.

- hands.

you’re okay. just lonely sometimes.

wide awake. no voyage in the endless night.

you don’t know why -- glancing back on green yesterdays

you still lose yourself in blue tomorrows

i’m often thinking of you when you’re not around, it’s a bit silly to say. though i’m often still thinking of you when you’re still around, too.

it don’t seem right

it’s blurry

a wind around your bronze eye.

- what a marvelous hairy crevasse you have major.

the sterling edge of an engraving

- glistening like a stony brook

skimming silky brush along the bank

- would you like to kiss my ring?

he was going faster

i’m never alone when i’m with thoughts of you.

you had a brother.

he was only a head shorter than you.

- to cup the stones, my hand runneth over.

he had your last name. on his uniform.

- the heat of the stables. where the tail sways.

your name wasn’t her name. he didn’t look like her.

- let’s see if we can’t locate the entrance to the hellmouth.

he was a son of mars. he was as you are.

- rank. whorls of matted hair. dog fur caked clay soldiers.

a vicious dumbass.

- i ought be wearing gloves. you’re vile. absolutely unsanitary.

you never loved a man. not the way they loved other men.

- i’ll never get the smell out. i’ll need to scald the skin. i’ll need to attain a whole new roll of skin ... - / - ... redo the whole arm from scratch below the elbow.

he was more than kin. he was two of a kind.

- that’s the best way to do an opera glove graft, you know. the natural folds of the elbow can hide a seam. it’s best to use as close to one piece as possible for minimal stitching which won’t tear when put under duress by the delicate tactile motor functions of the fingers and thumb.

he’d never been bitten in more places. not until her.

- my friend at the concord, you can’t tell, but he’s had all of his skin replaced. twice. he’s halfway through his second cycle, but looks a quite respectable forty five. if you could ever get that rug off, you’d see the whole back of his skull resembles a corset of dental wire.

the field of red loveblooms. he lie exhausted.

- i shouldn’t have said that. please don’t repeat it.

the vitality drained from him. the force from his eyes.

- he’s really very kind, i don’t know why i blurted that out.

it changed things for you.

- well why don’t i just

way the belt clung to his throat.

(fuck)

- give this a tug.

he was into it.

- why don’t i just

there were better days. when you thought of him.

thought of nights where day still came between you like the reversal which was typical of an object spinning in place.

somehow you were spinning but nothing around you was moving. you were spinning, staring a hole into the same empty patch of wall. the wall that was the blockade between him and the joy of his own eyes.

the day you last saw him. the day he left in the box with her.

- do you ever hear your own emptiness major? your own vacuous sepulchral bone drum echoing off distant walls? do you ever grow mildewy amongst these dead and marbled things? come to spit-up in your own feedbag the stony taste of these antique obscenities. the void of space in airless spaces, stewing in your own putrescence. you could lie resplendent for all to see. your bones engulfed in a sun disc of golden gossamer and jewels. a fan of light playing over your tomb, concealing the peering void that is your skull. that which is the remnant of our attic home, where we kept the things we cherished so.

there was nothing below you. you went lower.

\\-.-.-.-//

[fridayfirefly]

Bedtime Stories

Read Bedtime Stories on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 24 - Story

"Once upon a time-" Marinette began the story the traditional way, but her daughter interrupted her.

"No more fairy tales. I want to hear a true story tonight," demanded Eloise, with a stubbornness that (no matter what Damian said) Marinette knew she got from her father.

"Once upon a time can start any story," said Marinette. "But I will make sure to tell you a true story."

"Thank you, Mama."

"Once upon a time, in the City of Lights, there lived a normal girl with a normal life. This girl was special, though, because she had a secret. She had a pair of magical earrings that she used to transform into the superhero known as Ladybug, who saved the city from the supervillain Hawkmoth. With the help of her partner, Chat Noir, Ladybug was able to defeat all of Hawkmoth's minions. However, Ladybug was unable to uncover Hawkmoth's identity. She was unable to stop Hawkmoth from terrorizing the city she loved."

Eloise stared at Marinette with wide eyes. "Did Ladybug ever stop Hawkmoth?"

Marinette smiled, "The story isn't over yet, my darling. You'll have to wait and find out."

Eloise nodded and laid down in bed, letting Marinette tuck her in.

"Hawkmoth wasn't Ladybug's only problem, though. Chat Noir was in love with her, but she didn't return his feelings. Every day Chat Noir professed his love to her, and every day Ladybug let him down gently, but firmly. Despite Ladybug's best efforts to remain friends with Chat Noir, he never ceased in his attempts to get her to love him back. One day, while fighting Hawkmoth, Ladybug came very close to unmasking Hawkmoth's true identity. However, during that fight, Chat Noir distracted Ladybug while trying to prove himself worthy of her love, and Hawkmoth got away. Ladybug was so upset, she told Chat Noir in no uncertain terms that she would never feel the same way for him as he felt for her. Chat Noir was very angry. He told Ladybug that unless she told him that she loved him, he would no longer fight by her side. Ladybug refused, and the two parted ways. Ladybug was all alone."

Clutching her blankets, Eloise looked up at Marinette. "How could he love her but leave her all alone?"

"Either he never truly loved her or his love wasn't quite as unconditional as he promised."

"I don't like Chat Noir," frowned Eloise.

"Than I suppose it's a good thing he left, after all."

Eloise nodded. "I'm glad Ladybug never has to see Chat Noir again."

Marinette chucked under her breath. Trust Eloise to find the silver lining to what Marinette once considered to be the worst day of her life. "Ladybug was all alone. She knew that if she wanted to defeat Hawkmoth, she would need more allies. Ladybug pleaded for superheroes all around the world to come and help her rescue her city from the tyranny of Hawkmoth. Only one came to help her, a superhero named Robin. Robin didn't have any magical powers like Ladybug. He was a normal human who knew that he had to do what was right. He offered his help to Ladybug, and though the battles were tough, together they defeated Hawkmoth."

"Yay!" cheered Eloise.

"It was a bittersweet victory for Ladybug, as she had fallen in love with Robin during their time spent together. However, Ladybug did not trust herself to fall in love with another superhero, after what had transpired with Chat Noir. She ignored her feelings and allowed Robin to leave."

"Robin can't leave!" exclaimed Eloise. "Ladybug loves him!"

"Ladybug loved him, and unbeknown to Ladybug, Robin loved her too. However, he too knew about Chat Noir's actions, and he believed that she would never be able to love another superhero again. He wouldn't chance hurting the woman he loved, so Robin left her."

Eloise's eyes watered. "I don't want Robin to leave."

"Don't worry, it all turns out fine in the end. Ladybug and Robin spent many months apart after Hawkmoth's defeat. Ladybug went back to being a normal girl again. Eventually, Ladybug grew a little older, and it was time for her to go find her place in the world. She moved to a brand new city and made brand new friends."

Marinette paused for a moment, lost in the memory. "Ladybug was a very lucky girl. One of her new friends was Robin, but neither of them knew that fact. They kept their civilian lives completely separate from their superhero lives - so separate that they could not recognize each other outside of their costumes. That did not stop them from recognizing the feeling they still harbored for each other. Ladybug and Robin fell in love with each other a second time. Free from the shadow of Chat Noir's betrayal, they confessed their love for each other, and at the same time, they confessed their superhero identities to each other."

Marinette smiled, her tone turning more and more wistful as she recounted the familiar story. "They were both so shocked, but it wasn't really a surprise. When you truly fall in love with the type of love that is pure and true, you could fall in love with that same person a million different times, a million different ways."

"What happened next?" asked Eloise.

"Ladybug and Robin got married, and they lived happily ever after."

Eloise smiled. "I know I said no fairy tales, but I liked this one."

Marinette smiled back at her daughter. "I'm glad you liked my story." Marinette turned off the lamp on Eloise's bedside table. The nightlight from across the room cast a pink glow on her daughter's face. Marinette smiled, giving Eloise one last kiss on the forehead. "Goodnight, my angel."

"Goodnight, Mama."

Marinette closed the door behind her. Someday, Eloise would know that the story of Ladybug and Robin was no fairy tale. For now, Marinette was content with teaching Eloise the story of how her mother and father met through fairy tales.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[sovonight]

sith au snippets

==

And yet here he stands, outside among neon signs that flash the very silhouettes he'd left behind within the walls he leans against. The lights out here pollute the dark smog that rises from the depths of the city to obscure the stars above, and when he exhales, a faint wisp of breath joins the scene, condensing upon hitting the cold air.

”You have to get her out of your head.”

Words that he would’ve thought himself--but the more time he spends with Cela the more he feels like he's growing again, changing, for the better. Something about her casts the world around him in a different light. He would have hated this urge he has to protect her, to help her, but there's strength in that desire, one that he'd thought had stagnated. When she'd told him to face that Jedi--to take the glimpse of Light--to kill her with it... he'd trusted her. He'd shown her that he can carry it too--the weight of death, felt as intimately as one's own--and in that moment when Cela's blank mask had cracked, leaving her eyes to meet his in a spark of recognition, he knew that he'd do it again, without question.

==

"Your apprentice? You're taking this a little too seriously, aren't you? I mean--I've been Force sensitive and not even known it. What's so wrong about keeping things the way they are?”

"I can't protect you unless you become mine," Cela says. "To outside eyes, you--"

"Yours? Is that what you're getting at?” Jaq scoffs. “You've got to be kidding me. If you wanted me, you could already have me. You're the one who wanted to give me crumbs of affection in-between acting like strangers to the world otherwise."

"Not like that," Cela says, "This is more than what I feel for you."

"So she finally admits she feels something."

"Jaq, I need the authority to protect you--"

"I'm already assigned to you, what more authority do you need--"

"You are lent to me," Cela says, raising her voice in desperation, "And Revan can pull us apart whenever she pleases. If the Jedi saw--if I saw--the touch of the Force upon you, so may anyone else. The options to me are clear. Wait in uncertainty for you to be discovered and sent to Korriban, or seize the chance to shape our own fates. It is easy to lose a soldier to the shuffle of Korriban--and much harder to lose an apprentice at my side."

Jaq doesn't have a retort for that, seeing the real worry on her face.

"Is Korriban really as bad as they say?" He asks, even as his solemn tone bears his own question’s answer.

"The planet bears all the weight of Malachor's gravity, but settles it into your shadow; your thoughts; and every corner of your mind."

"And the academy?"

"A factory," Cela says. "It creates one product, faithfully, and discards the rest."

"You're afraid I won't make the cut."

"I'm afraid for you," Cela says. "No matter what happens there, it would cull the essence of you."

She waits for him to respond, to see it her way, but as Jaq’s silence goes on, she understands.

"You fear that I would do the same," she says.

"Reading my thoughts again?"

"Your eyes," Cela says, softly. "Your eyes say it all."

Jaq's gaze falls away, and Cela inclines her head, resigned.

"I understand. I will say nothing," Cela says. "We will continue as we are."

"You could always swoop in to save me, you know," Jaq says. "If it really happens. You're a Sith lord; what's anyone going to say?"

Cela pauses. She wonders if she should tell him--her tenuous status in Revan’s court, her loyalty in question, and his. The greater a gesture of favoritism his apprenticeship becomes, the worse it will affect them both. Instead, she gives him a mild smile.

"What indeed?"

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin’ ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.