#Upper Caste Reservation Bill

[hunting-songs]

detailed muse info sheet.  please repost, don’t reblog! Tagged By: A little Wildbirdie ! Tagging: @kiigan @bewitchingbaker @skarletchains @gyofukuki @stanislawkowalski @saiakv @kylo-wrecked @muddsludge @zealctry @distortedkilling @lightfaithed ...and YOU!

PLACE IN SOCIETY ✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate* / poor / in poverty ✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled** / disadvantaged / deceased ✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / slave / unsure*** ✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying *While Senritsus paycheck literally is a Hunters Mafia-money, there are a few art-organisations and Music-Schools that are on her donation-list. So she falls in the usual hunter-category: She earns a lot of money but rarely uses it for herself, because she is too busy risking her life for her passion. So while she earns proper money, especially money that probably is not legal considering her workenviorment, most of the money is donated to organisations she is pledged to as a Hunter. Senritsu even has a habit of not paying her bills in time, because she usually is in areas where she can not just walk over to a bank-automat and pay bills. Or she is in a group or situation wherein money itself is not useful and she can not buy herself safety out of that situation, so in that manner money does not play a big role in her life. She does however has set up a bank-book for her nieces. **If Senritsu would be dragged back to an actual doctor she would probably asked how it comes that she is still alive, since not even her organs are on the right place/ in the right shape anymore. She avoids hospitals. ***Senritsu grew up specifically as an outsider of "regular society". She grew up between Traveling People who would only stay in one place longer than a month in the winter when traveling was impossible and even than they were never part of a citys or villages community but always outsiders. And her beeing outside of society did not changed when she became a Hunter who are not known to be a regular part of society, so while she stayed in different places to work for museums, she never stayed long enough to be part of that community. Joining the Mafia did not helped her in that. Accordingly she does not know how to define herslf in the regular society of a town /village.

FAMILY ✖ MARITAL STATUS –married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged and devoted to a fault / partnered / single / divorced / widow or widower / separated / it’s complicated * ✖ CHILDREN – has a child/ no children / wants children / adopted children ✖ FAMILY – close with siblings  / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased/ it’s complicated ** ✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned/ adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other *It is very hard to build up a proper romantic partnership when one is a) working as a Hunter and always changing locations, b) working for the Mafia, c) really bad at keeping up relationships due to always changing locations. Senritsu is aware of that and usually avoids romantic relationships that go deeper than a fling. Her perfct romantic partner would be someone accompanying her on the travels while also following their own passion and line of work. **Senritsu and her siblings all share the fact that they are very independent, music-loving people who can not be still at one place for long. Except one. There is great love between them, but it is never put before their own passions and Senritsu knows they had all build their lifes aorund Music, so when she would not contact them she would show them what this love for music could do to someone. Had done to her specifically. And she does not want that for her siblings.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES ✖ disorganized / organized / in between ✖ close-minded /open-minded /in between ✖ cautious / reckless /in between ✖ patient / impatient / in between ✖ outspoken / reserved / in between ✖ leader/ follower / in between ✖ sympathetic / unemphathetic /in between ✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between ✖ hardworking / lazy / in between ✖ cultured / uncultured/ in between ✖ loyal / disloyal / in between ✖ faithful / unfaithful / unknown

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION ✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual (grey-asexual) / pansexual / demisexual ✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable ✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral/ romance favorable ✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

ABILITIES ✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

[cherryrockpops]

BOLD the FACTS

RULES: BOLD what applies to your OC I was tagged by @elvenbeard

OC: Nicolas B

ıllıllı Personal ıllıllı

Nicky never had a personal bank account, he couldn't apply for one unless he registered himself as a citizen. Nick is technically classified as an illegal citizen, but having an anonymous ID is beneficial to his work. He had set up a system where he could earn eddies into a cache, and his bills and payments would come from that cashe instead of actually banking that money into his pocket. He never went to school and learned everything about cars, tech, weapons etc. from working under an apprenticeship.

Financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty Medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non-applicable Class or Caste: upper / middle / working / unsure / other Education: qualified / unqualified / studying / other Criminal Record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet / yes, but charges were dismissed

ıllıllı Family ıllıllı

Nicolas was taken in when he was just an infant by the Bakker clan, but was later abandoned and outcast at the age of 13. He never personally knew his parents, aside what the clan had told him, and he was never close with the clan at all due to the mistreatment he received for being a Raffen bastard.

Children: had a child or children / has no children / wants children* Relationship with Family: close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased Affiliation: orphaned / abandoned / adopted / disowned** / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable

ıllıllı Traits & Tendencies ıllıllı

This one was a little trickier for me to settle on, since some depend on the situation. On a professional level, Nicky knows how to play his cards and plans for most worst case scenarios. He has to considering he does his work solo and he has no backup. On a personal level, Nicky is extremely private about his life. It takes a long time for him to open up to someone and most of those times he doesn't stick around for that long. Nicky takes crafting orders on the regular, but he's his own boss for efficiency and quality. The faithful/loyal ended up being the hardest for me to settle on, since on the one hand, Nicky has honor with his work and shows kindness to those who show it to him. However, trusting someone to the point where he can put faith in them to NOT fuck him over is incredibly difficult when one lives behind a mask.

♦ extroverted / introverted / in-between ♦ disorganized / organized / in-between ♦ close-minded / open-minded / in-between ♦ calm / anxious / in-between / highly contextual ♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in-between ♦ cautious / reckless / in-between / highly contextual ♦ patient / impatient / in-between ♦ outspoken / reserved / in-between / highly contextual ♦ leader / follower / in-between ♦ empathetic / vicious bastard / in-between ♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in-between ♦ traditional / modern / in-between ♦ hard-working / lazy / in-between ♦ cultured / uncultured / in-between / unknown ♦ loyal / disloyal / in-between / unknown ♦ faithful / unfaithful / in-between / unknown

[[Skipping Beliefs since for a one-shot answer; Nicky doesn't have faith in any higher power. Closest non-existent being he could believe in is Lady Luck. He enjoys bar stories of Alien abductions and whatnot, but he doesn't sit around wondering about that stuff, even when high.]]

ıllıllı Sexuality & Romance ıllıllı

Finding romance or getting sexual gratification isn't a big thing for Nicky. He's too much of a workaholic to ever settle into a social mingle. That isn't to say he's a virgin though. Sometimes he would accept someone's advances if Nick was either curious or could gain from it, but he doesn't tie sex and love together. Nick didn't grow up with love in his life and has deep rooted trauma which makes it hard for him to make romantic connections.

Sexuality: heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual Sex: sex-repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless Romance: romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless / romance suspicious Sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious Potential Sexual Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all Potential Romantic Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

ıllıllı Abilities ıllıllı

Nick is all about using as little physical effort as possible when it comes to combat. Daemons and quick hacks all the way. If he had to use a weapon, he prefers ones he only needs to shoot once with, like snipers or power revolvers. However, even though he couldn't punch someone well, Nick has excellent acrobatic/parkour skills. Since it was mentioned earlier that he never got an education, writing is a lost skill on Nick. He can type fine, read text, decorate a fancy cake, but hand writing is a foreign concept.

Combat Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor/ none Literacy Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none Artistic Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none Technical Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

ıllıllı Habits ıllıllı

Nicky would drink if he's feeling anxious or wants to celebrate, otherwise he's more than fine with a sweet lemonade or ice tea. He tried a cigarette once, but hated the flavor and they way it made his lungs feel, so he never smoked again after that. If he wants a high, he takes edibles over a joint. Nicky is a snacker and has a bad sweet tooth, yet thanks to his overclocked brain, high metabolism and his parkour, he doesn't gain the calories. Gambling comes in many forms, and Nick does pool hustle from time to time if he needs the scratch, but it's mainly for the fun of screwing the other party over and seeing their faces when they lose.

Drinking Alcohol: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / alcoholic / former borderline alcoholic turned sober Smoking: tried it / trying to quit / quit / never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / chain-smoker Recreational Drugs: tried some / never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / addict Medicinal Drugs: never / no longer needs medication / some medication needed / frequently / to excess Unhealthy Food: never / special occasions / rarely / sometimes / frequently / binge eater Splurge Spending: never / sometimes / frequently / shopaholic Gambling: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / compulsive gamble

[phenakistoskope]

i am genuinely confused by the women's reservation bill. i'd like to see the document, first and foremost, but i don't think it's been drafted yet. i'm wondering whether it's meant to be horizontal reservation, or whether it will serve to deploy upper caste women to cut into the (already meager) reservations for DBA folks. this may of course be a mere ruse to garner more votes at the elections next year, but the second condition there, that's a bad infinity. and given the BJP's track record, i'm not optimistic about this.

[eduminatti]

Should the reservation system be removed from India?

Should the reservation system be removed from India? The reservation system was implemented in India after the partition of 1947 to provide affirmative action for SC, ST, and OBC people, and to ensure adequate representation in government jobs and educational institutions. 

However, till today the reservation system is hosting a bitter debate between politicians, social activists, and students. The reservation system should be removed from India. It is a kind of reservation. Everyone has his own point of view about reservations. 

As per research conducted by schools in Mumbai most people think that it is helpful and useful for the poor people in India. But I think otherwise. It is not useful for the poor people and it also gives rise to some problems. So, it should be removed from India.

The reservation system was implemented in India by the British empire to uplift the lower classes in India. The system has been a great success and probably has lifted millions out of poverty. 

Another survey done by schools in Pune Today, it is time to remove the reservation system from India. In this article, I will explain my argument for its removal. The reservation system has many consequences and both positive and negative.

 It is proven to be beneficial for the weaker section of the society but also has many cons, which if considered will deteriorate the social system as a whole.    

The reservation system has been a part of our lives since independence and despite that, most of the populations still can't get their education or jobs as per their caste.

 In 2016, the government of India issued a draft bill proposing to remove Section 15(1) and (2), which allow for discrimination on the basis of caste and permit the exclusion of some citizens from public goods and services such as schools, hospitals, and public transport.

Reservation is a controversial topic in India. The origin of the reservation in India can be traced back to the historical discrimination meted out to particular castes or tribes for centuries. The first attempt at the reservation was made by the Britishers with an act called the Communal G.O in 1882 which was for the backward classes like Sudras, Harijans, and Tribals. 

It was later repealed in 1902 and reintroduced again in 1909 as a Communal award (Lingayat). Then, the reservation was introduced by the Indian National Congress (INC) in 1935 mainly for backward classes like scheduled caste and scheduled tribe in government jobs, education, etc.

 Later, the reservation was stopped during the period of British rule but continued after the independence of India through constitutional provision.

Now, reservation has become one of the significant topics to debate in both parliament and public places. Many political parties also built their election manifesto based on this issue only to come into power. 

This issue is also used as a political tool to win elections as well as to gain votes by giving false promises.

In a bold move, the Modi government announced last week that it would do away with the reservation system in India. The decision has been welcomed by large sections of society, but there are still some people who think that reservations should be kept.

I'm one of those people. Reservation has done so much for the country, and it should not be removed until a more robust alternative is found to help backward sections of society.

First of all, we should look at how far we've come in the 30 years since the reservation was first introduced. Back then, most Dalits were illiterate and oppressed by upper-caste Hindus. 

Today, they have made such great strides in education and employment that they occupy significant positions in several companies and institutions across the country. This is clearly due to the reservation policy.

The reason why I feel reservation should not be abolished is that it will affect these communities adversely. If you take away their quota, they will be unable to compete with richer students from big cities who have had access to better education since childhood. 

The only way to ensure equality is to provide them with the same benefits as rich students get — and that's exactly what reservation does.

For example, if a college has a 60% reservation for SC/ST students, then it means that about 20% of the seats are set aside for students who have a poor academic record and have to work extra hard because of their poor family background. 

But when you reserve 60% of the seats, you are actually saying that 60% of the seats are reserved only for those students who can’t make it otherwise!

What happens is – that these reserved seats go vacant if nobody applies for them. In that case, they are rolled over to the general category and hence reduce the total number of seats available in the general category!

 So even though there was no need to reserve those seats, they have been reserved and now there are fewer seats in the general category! This is how reservation policy is implemented in practice!

[boyfhee]

to be fair, that YouTuber did have some fair points too...it just shows how the portrayal of media legit makes a politician seem like some god and not someone who is supposed to serve the country, and it also shows how when people do speak up against modi/bjp it seems they are hating (?) holding them accountable is right, bjp has done so many wrongs as well and we can easily say they are the best option because it benefits us but what about so many of the others ? Let's take the example of Manipur rn, it's been going on for a YEAR and there's nothing bjp or Modi have done about it. Also about the speaking against bjp part we can even see Kejriwal's situation rn ( he got raided even though he's CM of Delhi and in fact even did good things for Delhi like decreasing their lights bills etc ) but since he spoke against BJP, he got in jail???

this election just proved that the democracy in India is still there, that people still have power and they can do something about it when they see their elected leaders misuse it. the only way for people to speak up is through votes, and I believe the results are fair enough.

we're assuming bjp is the better government but we're only a part of the people who are benefitting, there's so many others who have faced a lot of issues in the past 10 years....

I hope you don't think I'm taking any sides here, this is what I think and perhaps maybe it could make you think about it too, have a nice day.

i never said that the youtuber was wrong! i haven't watched all his videos, but i do agree with what he said and it's just the fact that people who have tried to speak up have been silenced one way or another. i'm not defending bjp actually, just, well you know as you said, we're focusing on our benefits and i would be lying if i say i'm not thinking about it.

as someone who's still studying as has a long student life still waiting ahead, education wise and judging from the current situation, modi is a safer option— not the best, i would say again. basically modi is collecting votes on basis on religious differences and congress is targeting the part of population that's majority caste wise, thus promising more reservations. but at the end of the day, i wouldn't say i or people from the same social ladder as me are being benefitted because the middle to the low-upper class people are never the subjects of political discussions. we pay the most taxes, our bills aren't exempted, the reservations work almost against us in most of the cases. but if we speak up about this, we won't be heard because it's not in modi's favour.

i won't say i'm not thinking about myself by voting for bjp but i just think switching back to congress would do more harm than good in the current situation. about democracy, i won't say it's exactly democracy if you become the public enemy and are called anti-nationalist if your opinions don't align with the majority of the citizens. if you don't support modi, you're apparently pakistan / china funded, you're hater, you're anti-national, and what not. anything posted against modi or any media that talks about the issues we're facing with modi / bjp is immediately taken down, so i wouldn't actually call it democracy.

ps arresting kejriwal over a situation from years ago and that too during the election to stop him from doing campaign really was another reason why no one speaks against him. the media is pro-modi, they will only talk about him as if he's god. although i don't know who is exactly right or wrong in kejriwal's situation since i'm not really that informed about the scandal

[gurukulplex]

Dr. BR Ambedkar Jayanti is an important day in India that commemorates the birth anniversary of Dr. BR Ambedkar, who is also known as Babasaheb Ambedkar. Dr. Ambedkar was born on April 14, 1891, in Mhow, Madhya Pradesh. He was a great social reformer, jurist, economist, politician, and leader who fought against social discrimination, casteism, and inequality in India.

Dr. Ambedkar was born in a family of low-caste Dalits, who were considered untouchables in the Hindu caste system. Despite facing discrimination and oppression from the upper-caste communities, he was a brilliant student who excelled in academics. He went on to become the first Dalit to graduate from the University of Mumbai, and later earned a Ph.D. in economics from Columbia University in New York.

Dr. Ambedkar played a crucial role in drafting the Constitution of India and was also the first Law Minister of independent India. He was a staunch advocate of social justice and equality and fought tirelessly for the rights of Dalits, women, and other marginalized sections of society. He worked towards the upliftment of Dalits and their integration into mainstream society.

Some of his major contributions include the Hindu Code Bill, which aimed to abolish discriminatory practices against women in Hindu society, and the establishment of the Reserve Bank of India. He was also a proponent of education and worked towards increasing access to education for all, especially for Dalits and other marginalized communities.

Dr. Ambedkar was a great visionary who envisioned a society based on equality, justice, and dignity for all. His teachings and ideas continue to inspire millions of people across India and the world.

On Dr. Ambedkar Jayanti, people across India pay tribute to the great leader by organizing various events, including seminars, lectures, and cultural programs. The day is marked by offering floral tributes at his statues and visiting his memorial in Mumbai. The government of India also observes this day as a public holiday.

In conclusion, Dr. BR Ambedkar Jayanti is an important day that commemorates the birth anniversary of one of India's greatest leaders and social reformers. His contributions towards social justice and equality continue to inspire generations of people across India and the world.

[girishmashah-blog]

Upper Caste Reservation Bill: All You Need To Know

To facilitate the passage of the constitutional amendment bill, the government extended the Winter session of the Rajya Sabha by a day.

Boomlive News: Reeling from major setbacks across three state elections in Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh and Chattisgarh in December last year, the BJP led NDA government has taken its first major step to woo the voters ahead of the Lok Sabha polls in May this year.

The government has introduced the ‘Constitution (124th Amendment) Bill, 2019’ to provide reservation up to 10% to economically backward sections of the general category of citizens. This reservation would apply to government jobs and admission to higher educational institutions.

To facilitate the passage of the constitutional amendment bill, the government extended the Winter session of the Rajya Sabha by a day till Wednesday. The Narendra Modi government has tabled the upper caste reservation bill in the Lok Sabha.

Read to know all about the bill → Upper Caste Reservation Bill

[ijustwant2write]

Brought Together-George Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @tanrininsonteki​)

(I’ve written loads about Fred, George needed some love too!)

Summary: Who ever gets over the death of their brother? The death of their son? A friend? (Y/N) and the twins were always together, as if joined at the hip (or hips rather). But once the trio became a duo, one person had to become stronger than the other, pushing down their emotions and feelings to help the person they loved; because when things are put in perspective, it’s so obvious who their soulmate should be. 

Characters: George Weasley x Reader, Weasley family x Reader (platonic), mentions of Fred Weasley

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Lots and lots of fluff, death, mourning, suppressed feelings/emotions

��                                           *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My body was numb. Whether it was from exhaustion, shock, trauma, fear or the wounds scattered across my body, it didn’t matter to me, I couldn’t bring myself to move. With my knees hunched up to my chest, my hand tightly gripped onto my wand, showing how much I was shaking. A shadow cast over me, but I didn’t move my head. In my peripheral vision, I saw someone sit next to me, gently taking my wand away before I snapped it in half.

“You haven’t moved. It’s over now (Y/N).” 

George saddled up to me, slowly put an arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him, letting him rest his chin on top of my head. My hand grabbed his free one, guiding it to wrap it around my waist, pulling him close for a hug. It felt relieving to have human contact, to feel someone else’s heartbeat, knowing that they were alive here with me. There was too much blood, too much crying, too many friends lying dead or unconscious on the stone floor. Although fear had been pulsing through my body throughout the entire time we were fighting, my mind wouldn’t accept the concept of anyone dying; yet here I sat, having watch the life drained away from one of my best friends.

“George?” I suddenly gasped, pulling away from him.

His eyes widened at my movement.“What?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? George, please don’t tell me I’m imagining you?!” my voice raised as I panicked, and George tried to shush me. I was disrupting the first sign of peace.

“Yes, yes, (Y/N) I’m here. I’m real,” tears started rolling down his cheeks, but he attempted a smile,“I’m not leaving you. I won’t ever leave you.”

I groaned as I picked up another box, feeling the pain in my back. At ‘Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’, we were re-stocking for the beginning of the Christmas season, changing around the shop to give it a fresh look. George was rolling up his sleeves, stepping back from the display he created. I approached him, standing with my arms crossed as I admired his work.

“I like it.” I simply said.

“Just like?” George nudged me with his elbow.

I smiled, rolling my eyes.“You know what I meant.”

“Come on, I’ll help you with the last boxes.”

“You don’t have to George. Have a break.”

He walked past me.“Nonsense. We’ve got places to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Drinks after work of course. Seeing as it’s just us today, I thought we could head to the Three Broomsticks, like we used to.”

I blushed, happy that he turned away from me to not see it. Following after him, I tried not to stare too much as he decided how we should set out the certain product. When he was engulfed in his work, something that he was so passionate about, it was like I was seeing the old George, the cheeky chap from school (not that he wasn’t cheeky anymore). These small moments were captured in my memories, pushing back the old, terrible ones. He deserved to be happy, especially when all he wanted to do was make other people laugh with the jokes and pranks they sold.

We managed to finish the new displays within the next hour, meaning it was time for us to relax with a good drink. It wasn’t going to be a night of getting drunk, just two...friends enjoying each other’s company. Wrapping up warm, George locked up, holding out his arm to me as we hurried to the pub, wanting to be out of the cold as soon as possible. Once at the Three Broomsticks, we were easily able to find a table, being served instantly as it wasn’t busy, only a few locals filled the space.

“Actually,” George started after setting his drink down,“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

There was that blush again. It seemed that words didn’t want to form.“Hm?”

“Well, obviously you’re always welcome round mine. But I was wondering if you wanted to come over for Christmas? Not the actual day cause I know you’ll be with your family, but just before-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“What?”

He chuckled.“That didn’t take much persuasion, did it?”

“I love your family. You didn’t even need to ask. But you sounded nervous.”

“Did I?”

I nodded, taking a sip of my drink. 

“W-well, I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he looked everywhere except in my direction.“You ever seen me nervous?”

I giggled.“You don’t remember asking me to the Yule Ball-”

He waved his hands dismissively, which only made me laugh harder.“We said to never speak of that again, remember?”

I shrugged, a grin still on my face.“I still think it was more cute than nervous.”

Now it was his turn to tease me.“You think I’m cute?”

“Thought, I thought the whole idea was cute. But you can’t deny that it wasn’t a good night.”

“No, that was fun.” we were both in thought.“You looked beautiful in that dress.”

I waited for a snarky remark, but nothing came.“But?”

“What do you mean, ‘but’?”

“Oh, usually you just...never mind.” 

“Anyway,” George cleared his throat,“you know mum wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you’ll have to pack a bag to stay a few nights.”

I laughed.“I would expect nothing less. Gosh, what to get all you Weasley’s for Christmas?”

“Don’t be daft. You don’t need to get everyone presents.”

“Of course I do!”

“Tell you what, why don’t we join up for presents? Buy them together.”

“You know what George, that’s probably the best idea you’ve had for a while.” I smirked.

He scoffed a laugh.“Right, I know I offered to buy the drinks, but that stops now!”

We had a few weeks before my time at the Weasley’s, meaning we were able to think and buy everyone’s presents. During lunch breaks or on days off, we would scour the shops, coming out of them with bags and bags hanging off our arms. I was always excited to see my second family, and Christmas was a fun, special time of year for everyone. The night before we were set to visit them, I stayed with George as we had to set off early the next morning. It was lovely when we stayed with each other.

"I know you only clean this place up when I come round, just admit it!" I giggled as we laid in bed facing the other, discarded chocolate wrappings scattered between us. 

George laughed with me, rolling onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. As we calmed down, I bundled up into a tight ball, feeling a slight chill, which George noticed. He said nothing as he leaned his upper body off of the bed, grabbing a blanket from who knows where before wrapping it around me. My gaze remained on him as he tucked me in, enjoying the small amount of attention. Feeling hands on me made butterflies emerge in my stomach, and the caring side to him was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. 

"I will admit, I did buy that blanket just for you. You complained about being cold enough to drive me mad." he smirked. 

I clutched onto the soft fabric."Well, if you're going to speak to me like that, then I guess I'll just leave." 

He tucked his arms beneath his head, closing his eyes slowly."Go on then. See you later." 

When neither of us moved, we tried to contain our laughter, both failing miserably as our cackles rang out in his bedroom. It was like our sleepovers we had when we were much younger, they stopped as we...changed at a certain age. 

“Are you sure everyone will like their presents?" I wondered. 

He sighed lightly."We've been over this. You could pick up a weed from our own garden and they would fawn over it. It's not the gift they want, it's you." 

My mouth open, prepared to protest against him as he teased me again, but I was stuck for words."George...that's a lovely thing to say." 

His head lolled to face me, his face scrunching up in disgust."I take it back." 

"No!" I quickly said."You can't pretend you didn't say that!" 

"Say what?" he teased.

"George!" 

Carrying everyone’s presents in our arms, George and I prepared ourselves for the onslaught of hugs and kisses we would be attacked with before we could even set down any of the presents or our bags. We were still a few steps away from the door when it was fiercely pulled open, Molly squealing and throwing her arms up in joy.

“Oh, you’re here! Arthur, they’re here!” she was beaming.

She hastily took the presents from George’s arms, impatiently ushering him inside as Arthur (who was a bit more reserved) took my presents, before I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as a greeting. Once all of our belongings were set down, proper hugs were given, just as bone crushing as they usually were.

“Oh, it’s so lovely to have you over dear.” Molly gushed.

“Mum, she was here a month ago.” George said.

“Well, it wouldn’t matter if it was just a day, I would miss her the same amount.” 

I smiled at her.“Thank you Molly. See George, maybe you should be as kind as your mum.”

“I see you everyday, that’s almost too much for me.”

“Well, Ginny and Harry should be arriving tonight, Ron is already here, I think Hermione is supposed to be coming tonight too, but I’m not sure when, Bill and Fleur-”

Molly continued explaining the plan for the next couple of days, but I was distracted by George talking to his dad. Their voices were hushed, they kept side glancing at us as they spoke, before a shy smile emerged on George’s face. I somehow went back to Molly’s explanation, pretending that I had heard everything she said. Politely nodding, I was relieved that she started asking me about myself, changing the topic of conversation, even though my mind was occupied with someone else.

Everyone had arrived as the evening came, squeezing into the house and around the long table. As we sat down to eat, I noticed an empty chair besides George, realising who should have been there. My breath got caught in my throat at the sight, not hearing George call my name until he placed his hand on top of mine. 

“You OK?” he whispered.

“Um...” my head slowly turned to face him.“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? What I mean is, it’s weird to think he’s...he’s not here.”

I squeezed his hand, but before I could say anything, Arthur stood, preparing to make a speech. Keeping my hand in George’s, I listened just like everyone else, trying to push away the flashes of Fred filling my mind.

“Well, I know it’s a bit early to be celebrating Christmas, but we know that you all have your own plans for this year, now that you’re grown up. But it is important to ensure that we get together, especially during this season about love, giving gifts, drinking, eating, and spending time with family and friends, because...because you never know what the future holds. And I think...no, I know that the last year has taught us all that.”

People were either getting teary eyes, already crying, or had a solemn look on their faces. Glances towards the empty seat were common. I didn’t wince as George’s grip tightened, strongly pinching my skin. Keeping my head down, I suppressed any tears, taking in a deep breath as Arthur managed to carry on.

“I just want you all to know, that I love you, your mother and I love you. And for those extended family, (Y/N), Harry, Hermione, Fleur, Audrey, we love you just as much. You’re our family too. We need to make every moment count, make every moment special. So, with that being said, let’s have some fun tonight!”

We raised our glasses, clinking them all together before drinking. I took a big gulp, and then another as the chatter built up again. Once we were done with food and the conversations afterwards, we were going to start playing games, lifting up the atmosphere in the room. Before it started, I excused myself, not that anyone took much notice. Scurrying upstairs, I tried to slow down my breathing as I shut myself in my designated room, covering my mouth to silence my cries. I collapsed back onto the bed, head in my hands as I felt tears try to stream down my face. My shoulders shook as I forced myself to make no noise. The door opened, causing me to flinch back, even though it was George.

“(Y/N)? Why are you crying?” he panicked, immediately kneeling in front of me.

I shook my head that was back hiding in my hands.

“Hey, come on, you can talk to me. Did someone say something?”

I sniffled, looking away from him.“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying, it’s not fair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just seeing Fred’s chair...without him in it, it was heartbreaking. And, and I know you and your family have to deal with that every day for the rest of your lives but...but I miss him so much George!”

“It’s alright. Hey, I’m here.” he moved to sit beside me, holding my close. 

“I’ve always wanted to make sure you were happy, and I knew that if I started crying like this then it would make things worse. He was your twin brother. What right do I have to be like this?”

“Listen to yourself,” he softly said, gently pushing me away so that I would look him in the eyes,“you’ve never mourned properly. You heard my dad downstairs, you’re family. Fred loved you, you loved him, we were the best of friends us three! The fact that you’ve not let out all of this makes me worried. It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I just couldn’t stand to see you upset anymore. I wanted to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy (Y/N). You make me extremely happy by just being with me, by just being you. You’re right, all those times I saw your smile, I smiled. Making you laugh is one of the best things in the world, and the fact that I can see you everyday, well, I couldn’t ask for anything more. I just wished that you had been able to talk to me about this, you know I’m always here for you.”

“I should have, I realised that now. But when you would start to let everything out to me, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, I felt like I was adding to your trauma and making it about myself. And after relentless weeks of nightmares, nightmares that involved you dying alongside Fred, it would all disappear from my mind once I saw you.”

His hand pushed away the hair stuck to my wet face, sadly smiling.“I understand. Promise me that you’ll tell me about these sort of things?”

I nodded.“I promise. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak to you sooner.”

“Don’t apologise. You have nothing to apologise for.”

Strangely, we both leaned in towards each other, quickly kissing. We didn’t pull away a lot, kissing once again, though this one was firmer and more confident. It wasn’t leading to anything, it was something we both wanted but knew tonight wasn’t the right time to go too deep into this. After a few seconds apart, I couldn’t help it, I had to kiss him again.

“My dad asked about us earlier. After hearing that we bought presents together and stayed with each other, he was wondering if something had finally happened.”

“Glad he’s not the only one wanting something to happen between us.”

“We’ll definitely talk about this tomorrow. But just so you know, I enjoyed that.” George said.

“I did too.” I mumbled, suddenly becoming shy.“And thank you for always being there George. I will get better at expressing my feelings in the moment.”

“I just hope you know that it doesn’t matter how you’re feeling; happy, sad, excited, annoyed, you can tell me anything. And also, if Fred was here, he would have certainly burst in and ruined the moment.”

I giggled.“You’re not wrong there. Perhaps he’s watching down on us know, wishing he could have put some sort of plan into action to embarrass us.”

“I bet he is. But I know he would have also been happy.”

“And we’ll be happy too. We are happy.”

“Yes, now that I’ve got you, I’m going to cherish every moment, just as dad said to.”

I hugged him close.“Don’t ever leave me George.”

“I won’t, not ever.”

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 3

Thomas X Shelby

2075

Summary: Thomas goes on a date with Grace. An old melody makes it difficult.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

Grace paced nervously in her flat as she went over the details she had planned for this evening. She’d chosen a venue she knew was outside of Peaky Blinder territory and far enough away from any sort of police presence that she should be able to get Thomas to relax tonight. 

Inspector Campbell’s instructions the other night left her rattled. She didn’t appreciate the idea of being so expendable even as she reasoned that it was for a good cause.

Even as she flattened her dress again in an attempt to calm her nerves, she heard the doorbell ring. She flinched from the noise but made her way toward the doors regardless. Grace checked the clock next to the door. Ten minutes early. A true gentleman.

When she opened the door there he was. He'd traded out his normal attire for something more eloquent, tailored. However, his signature cap was still there revealing the devil in fancy clothes.

Thomas smirked, "Keep staring at me like that, and we won't make it to the dance." 

It took everything Grace had not to recoil. But instead she ducked her head, attempting to conjure up a blush. She grabbed her purse and hurriedly joined him in the hall.

After an agonizingly long stroll she finally led him up the steps to a restaurant that had been converted into a dance hall for the evening. Every surface behind the tall oak doors gleamed in the dim electric light. The floor was marble crafted so seamlessly it looked as if it were poured from the heavens into the place it was now. If it wasn't marble it was either polished oak or gilded in gold.

A soft music filled the air, filtering through thin red curtains that seperated the VIP lounge from the rest of the diners. Upon entering they were greeted by the host.

He stood tall in his immaculate uniform, "Do you have a reservation?"

Grace nodded, "It's under the name Shelby."

She barely caught the gang leaders' raised eyebrow as they were led further inside. Upon further inspection not only did the venue reek of upper class opulence, but so did the guests. Many of them were upper middle class citizens, which the Peaky Blinders rarely had any interaction with. There were even some lower level parliament members sipping wine and leering at the demure maids who served them.

When they arrived at their table Thomas, ever the gentleman, helped Grace with her chair. His eyes scanned the room slowly deconstructing each detail a thief would need. Grace shifted uncomfortably as she waited for him to join her. 

Eventually he took his seat, “You have quite the taste in venues.”

Grace shrugged, “You’re footing the bill. So I figured we would go somewhere we normally wouldn’t.”

He turned towards her, taking her in for the first time since they left her flat. Grace couldn’t help but shift underneath his gaze. Reflexively, she cast her eyes about the room for any type of distraction.

“Admittedly,” she said, “I had thought this place would be more targeted towards dancing. I’ll be right back and see what I can do about the music.”

“And if the waiter returns?”

“Order for me,” she waved her hand dismissively as she rose, not giving him the opportunity to pull out her chair.

She hurried off to put some distance between herself and Thomas. The room suddenly felt suffocatingly hot. All the small ways her clothes pinched and clung to her began to become an irrational irritation. Her skin was already crawling with the idea of what might happen after she left this place. At any cost. 

The walls around her became a safety blanket of finery. If she could find a way to make the night stretch long enough then maybe she could prolong what seemed to be the inevitable. Even as the thought crossed her mind she schooled herself on the unprofessionalism. She should want to serve her country. Even if it crossed every boundary I’d set for myself?

Grace’s eyes kept being drawn to the only color in the room. The red curtains separating the lower class citizens from their ‘betters’. And the musician.

She glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention before she slipped past. She blinked awkwardly; the majority of the light was outside of the curtains, casting a disturbing red glow on the room. A haze of cigar smoke filled the room making it even harder to see. Only small candles were used to create the barest amount of light for people to function. This particular part of the building was in a more secluded alcove which the patrons used to the fullest.

Men who ran the country were letting themselves be seduced. Women watched as their jewels were being bartered for. Every indulgence was being passed around from exotic chocolates to opium. Soft sighs punctuated the murmur of conversation.

In the middle of the room was an elevated platform with a grand piano. Grace blinked a couple more times to make sure she was seeing correctly. Instead of the man in a tux she’d expected, there sat a woman in one of the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen. Something about her was familiar, but Grace didn’t pay much attention, only wanting to get out of the room as soon as possible.

She strode up before  waving towards the bored looking pianist, “Excuse me, do you do requests?”

Grace was initially answered with an arched eyebrow, “What kind of requests were you thinking about Ma’am?”

“I was thinking maybe a sad love song then building up to some dancing music?” Grace collapsed her hands before her, wringing them together.

The woman paused to think, “Classical dancing or something more lively?”

Grace blinked, “L...Lively.”

She nodded then went about finishing her song. Grace shrunk in on herself as she scurried away. The whole exchange reminded her of being scolded by a school teacher and in the end she wasn’t even sure if she’d gotten anything out of the endeavor.

〜

Thomas glanced around once more. While he’d feigned ignorance with Grace this location was one he was well aware of. It was a nice building but it was also mere moments away from becoming a glorified opium den. He’d looked into possibly being a supplier for the more illicit items. The only thing stopping him was the lack of financial security his other ventures were producing at the moment.

He’d chosen their foods, intentionally going for an array of items. Their cups were full, and he leisurely sipped his wine. Thomas began to wonder if Grace knew the worst of the drugs that frequented the Birmingham underground. If she did, would she leave me alone with her food?

After a while, Grace seated herself opposite of him with a huff.

“How did it go?”

He watched as she schooled her features. “The elite seem to be hoarding the music tonight.”

Thomas chuckled, “That’s how it is isn’t it? Don’t worry, we can always find somewhere else.” 

She shook her head. “No, I chose this place. Let’s experience it.”

“If you insist.” 

He wasn’t sure when things had changed but as he spoke something pulled at the edge of his senses. It was an undercurrent below the ebb and flow of conversation. His heart began to ache even as it sped up. It wasn’t until the echoes of war began that he realized what it was. The music. Her music.

Thomas’ face fell as the words died in his throat. The finest wine he’d tasted in years turned to acetone in his mouth. All the splendor of England was laid before him and it was worth nothing.

He could sense the tension in Grace as she watched him cast his eyes about. He hadn't seen the source of the music on the way in, and honestly if he couldn't see her she couldn't see him. Yet that song still played.

"Thomas?"

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the woman he'd been admiring moments before.

"What's wrong?"

Everything. Nothing.

He cleared his throat, "Do you know this song?"

Grace paused then closed her eyes to listen. After a few moments she shook her head.

"It was created three and a half years ago by a woman posing as a man." He continued.

Her brow furrowed, "How do you know this?"

Thomas couldn't stop his wicked grin as he stood, nor did he want to, "I was there when it was made. Tell me. Where did you see the musician?"

Uncertainty was clear in Grace’s eyes but she pointed toward the curtains nonetheless. Thomas knew he shouldn’t be doing this in front of her or possibly future clientele. But as the notes on the piano hit the chorus he couldn’t find himself to care. For this was the one song he couldn’t bleach from his soul. It was his song, the one he asked for on one of his darkest days. Or so he thought.

He strode with the confidence of a Shelby. His back tall and his chin held high he gripped the heavy curtains and flung them open. He welcomed the hiss of the patrons as light stung their eyes. Every glare that landed on his skin felt like soap in his wounds. It was familiar, something he could deal with.

Blessedly, the music stopped. Even then he wasn’t prepared for the wide eyes that found his among the chaos. Y/N sat there back held straight in defiance prepared for whatever fight might come her way. There was a strength there wrapped in fine lace. A memory of hands gripping his shoulder firmly and hauling him away from certain death. It caused something inside him to come to life. A resonating pull towards a destiny he couldn’t name. 

“Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen, I will be hiring out your musician tonight. I was promised some dancing, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get it.” As he spoke he pulled out his wallet and slapped a stack of bills onto the polished wood beside Y/N.

He didn’t give her time to reply as he waved the Host farther into the room, “Come here. Yes, good man. You see this room? I want you to open a bottle of wine and make sure everyone here has a glass. Then clear out this mess. We’re dancing tonight.”

A portly man, with his vest and shirt unbuttoned, wadled his way up to Thomas with a face as red as a tomato, “Who do you think you are? The King of England?”

“Oh no friend. I’m not the king. I’m Thomas-Fucking-Shelby.” He let his smile spread too wide across his face. He knew the look he got in his eyes when he did this and loved to watch as people cowered before it. Just like the nameless bastard in front of him.

The Host glanced at Y/N, giving her a nod to continue as Thomas had instructed. With a shrug, Y/N pocketed the money and began playing quite the jaunty tune. Thomas lingered a moment, making sure his instructions were being followed. As he turned away he didn’t miss the tense set of Y/N’s jaw. A thought, there and gone again, begged him to kiss her stress away. 

He returned to Grace. Her eyes were wide as he held out his hand to her. She’d seen the whole affair, he knew she would. However, the fact that she didn’t actively shy away from him meant something. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Care for a dance?”

〜

Hours later, Thomas escorted Grace back to her flat. He scoffed at himself for not taking the chance to go farther with her but the night had gone sour the moment the music began. And I told Y/N I wanted her playing every Saturday.

When he’d brought Grace to her door she looked at him expectantly. Yet even a blind man could see she was absolutely terrified of spending the night with him. Hell she shook like a lead when he removed her coat. It was a gentlemanly thing to do. Something Aunt Pol had beaten into him at a young age.

Now he strode down the near deserted street smoking to keep himself warm. Thomas hummed a tune. That one.

[hoodoo12]

Stiffed (3/3)

Beetlejuice on a stage with a pole, stripping.

OCs mentioned: @beetlebitchywitch​ ‘s Mal; @humanransome-note​ ‘s Niphera; @jeuchrit​ ‘s Ivan; @memedemonhours​ ‘s Lyra; @neitherworld​ ‘s Bambi; @clairjohnson​ ‘s Lamia; @vicunaburger​ ‘s Lollipop; @go-commander-kim​ ‘s Lorelai; @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice​ ‘s Zia; @turtlepated​ ‘s Evvie; @pennytrash​ ‘s Beatrix; @lazifyre​ ‘s Vivian; @strange-n-unbluusual​ ‘s Punkin; @texasblues​ ‘s Anais

Part 1 here, Part 2 here

Use the stage. That was easy, since the group with their eyes pinned to him was a literal circle around the edge of the elevated floor. Although at first unsure of himself and dismayed that he was put on display just for the measly excuse that he sometimes was a little short on cash, he did like attention and no one’s wandered. Not even Madame’s although she watched from a distance, allowing the girls to have the front row. This song was a long one, but he had been given no indication how long he was going to be required to stay up here. Slowly, he mapped out the breadth of the stage, learning where the spotlights hit more frequently and their patterns. They were multicolored and he marked which color was where. As he walked, his feet and hips moved of their own will to the music. Madame hadn’t been wrong; his ass was good for dancing. When he first swayed to the music, he earned a giggly round of praise. He saw a few of the girls elbow their neighbors, and more than one of them whispering to each other, even as their eyes were still locked on him. Grabbing the pole made the whispers stop temporarily, but he didn’t capitalize on it. He knew a tease was better than giving it all away at the beginning. The song was half over, and he hadn’t done anything but walk the stage. Casting a glance over to Madame Bouriseau and seeing her drop her chin like she was going to reprimand him, Beetlejuice took the hint and loosened his tie. That caught everyone’s attention. Quickly he thought back over what he’d seen strippers do and how they worked their audience . . . okay, so he’d never watched male strippers--much--but a slow reveal of skin was always more fun than an immediate disrobing. With that in mind, instead of taking it off completely, he left the knot loose and the tie hanging down his chest. His fingers working automatically, he undid the top buttons on his shirt as his lower half got more into the music. At least this song was explicit and almost like an instruction to guide his hips. He didn’t doubt it was a deliberate choice, maybe to make it slightly easier for him at the beginning. Each button pop lead to an increase in noise around him. Seeing that he had everyone’s rapt attention, Beetlejuice lost his reservations. He was being forced to dance for their enjoyment? Then he’d pay his tab in full. Maybe even put himself in the black. By the end of Nine Inch Nail’s telling everyone how he’d penetrate them, he’d found his groove. He hadn’t lost much of his clothing yet, just a teasing show of pale skin and suggestive thrusting that many watching him knew intimately. He was well warmed up for the next song to come up, “Horns” by Bryce Fox, and then to everyone’s delight, he did start dropping clothing. He tossed his jacket to Beatrix, who shook her head but smiled and wrapped it over her shoulders. There was no sexy way to get rid of his shoes or socks, so he called Vivian and Lyra closer. He actually sat down on the edge of the stage and paid them direct attention as they unlaced his shoes and stripped him of them and his socks themselves; he figured the rule of “no touching” was negated when he got a bouncer to be the one to do it. As a reward, he kissed them both lightly, teasingly, as he got back to his feet and resumed. A song sung in Russian--courtesy of Ivan? Beetlejuice wasn’t sure who was selecting the music--came up, and he used the rhythm of it to extract himself from his shirt. He may not have the build of a typical dancer, but this reveal made all them laugh and cheer. To his surprise, Lorelai whistled and held up a bill in her fist. Zia, who’d come out from behind the bar to join the crowd, laughed and held up her own money. Emboldened, Beetlejuice dropped to his hands and knees and took their money with his teeth. Back on his feet, he shoved the paper money into his pants, earning more cheers. Suddenly more people were offering him bills. “Poison” from Alice Cooper came on, and that was good enough to move sensually, making sure to make eye contact with each and every one of them, and start to get rid of the rest of this pesky clothing. His belt was gone, each jerk through the belt loops in his trousers emphasized with the beat of the music, and by the time he popped the button on his fly, the next song-- “Army of Me”, by Bjork--started, his hand was on his zipper. When he paused, he felt someone shove their hand into his back pocket. Running his hand over his own ass, he came away with more money. Evvie winked at him and he spun into a crouch, planting a kiss on her too. This song was slower, which helped with this big reveal. Unlike Madame’s prediction up in her office, he was wearing underwear tonight. Nothing fancy and more grimy than not, but he hadn’t had time to prepare. They were going to get what they got. Making sure they were all watching closely, Beetlejuice undid his zipper, and took an inordinate amount of time shimmying out of his pants, deliberately bending over and making eye contact with as many of his audience as he could. They all waited with bated breath, their hands still in the air but not vying for his attention at the moment. Then, with every eye in the place riveted to him, he dropped his pants and kicked them over the ring of girls around the stage. Anias had to duck but shrieked in laughter. The roar that went up was worth it. Beetlejuice continued his circuit, feeling pumped up, allowing his audience to run their hands over his legs and chest and ass. More random money was shoved into his briefs. Dancing was hardly a term for what he was doing, but that didn’t seem to matter. He just found whatever beat from whatever song was playing--”Hourglass” by Set it Off, “Girly” by the Refreshments--and let it guide him. When he slowed for a moment, letting his hips move in half time, someone shouted over the noise, “What about that pole?” It sounded like Lamia. “This pole?” he replied, grabbing his crotch, to everyone’s ultimate delight. He caught her eye, and with a cheeky grin went to the pole she actually meant, standing astride it and running his hands over it like it as a substitution for what was in his underwear. A much thicker, shinier substitution. The music from one song was blending to another and although he stroked the pole, he waited until he knew what he was working with before moving more than that. “You Spin Me”. But harder than the original. Perfect; he couldn’t have asked for better. He grinned and blew a kiss to Lamia, then mounted the pole. That earned him the wildest cheer and encouragement yet. Graceful, no, but enthusiasm played better for his crowd. He hadn’t realized what strength it took to use the prop, and before he knew it his arms were shaking. A thin silk cloth fluttered to the stage and he took a moment’s break to wipe his hands. Looking upward, he caught Xanthe’s eye and realized she’d been watching the show from a different vantage point. He tied the silk around his waist. Before going back to the pole, he walked the edge of the stage again, letting the colored lights play over him. The girls made rude suggestions and that made him laugh. More bills were slipped under the silk and into his underwear, and more than one hand fondled his junk or ass. In fact, he spun to the girls nearest him--Lollipop and Punkin--and offered them his hands. “Come up?” With quick shrugs and squeals, they did. Then he offered the same invitation to all of them, assisting them up if they weren’t close to the stairs. Anais he caught by the waist and lifted her up onto the stage; she shrieked in laughter and squeezed his upper arms as he moved her, He extended hands even to Zia, Niphera, and Ivan. Dante’s barkeeps hesitated, then joined the group on stage. The bouncer stayed on the floor with his arms crossed, although he looked amused. Beetlejuice waded through the group to the edge of the raised floor and gave Madame a saucy smirk and an eyebrow raise that invited plenty. She declined taking his outstretched hand and stepping up with a shake of her head, but smiled as well. By the time he’d frowned his disappointment the stage was full of laughing dancers he had been tasked to entertain. Hands roamed over him. Bodies pressed against him. He touched and squeezed and ground back. Maybe this was supposed to be some kind of lesson, but it was starting to feel more like a reward. A song about snakes came up and the used that to his advantage, moving sensually through the crowd of them, making contact with as many of them as possible. When it finally stopped, a single pair of hands clapped for the group. “I think he’s paid you back,” Madame Bouriseau announced to them. She was met with groans of dismay and that maybe he hadn’t quite yet. She smiled indulgently. “He’s danced for forty minutes,” she replied, because of course she’d kept track of something as mundane as that, “and that’s longer than a standard set for any of you.” There was nothing to do but agree. Slowly they exited off the stage. They all got a moment’s personal attention, and it was Mal who helped him off the stairs so she could return to the pole herself. 

Ivan had collected his discarded clothing and escorted him back to Madame. With one arm holding his balled up clothing, he picked bills out of his underwear with the other hand as he went. “You’ll return all that to the girls,” she informed him. Beetlejuice glanced up at her, about to argue. Then he shut his mouth with a snap. “Perhaps if you’d like to earn your own money, we can find a time for you to return and dance for real customers. That might go over very well! I’m sure we can design a costume that riffs on your favorite suit.” As if a concerned mother, she straightened his tie, which had never come off. “You did well up there, Lawrence,” she praised. “If you’d like, we can retire to my private quarters for the evening. You deserve a little pampering after all that, I believe.” She didn’t often extend an offer like that to him. He usually spent time behind closed doors with one of the girls, and that was fine. But tonight was unique-- “|Yeah. I’d like that,” he replied. With a smile, Madame led him by his tie through the club and back up the stairs. 

fin!

[bat-talentedindia-blog]

सामान्य वर्ग के आर्थिक रूप से कमजोर लोगों को सरकारी नौकरी और शिक्षा में 10 प्रतिशत आरक्षण देने वाला बिल पास हो चुका है। राष्ट्रपति रामनाथ कोविंद की मंजूरी के बाद गुजरात सरकार ने 14 जनवरी से इसे लागू भी कर दिया है। आरक्षण के दायरे में 8 लाख रुपए से कम सालना आय के सामान्य वर्ग वाले परिवार आएंगे। देश में ऐसे 5 करोड़ 15 लाख से ज्यादा परिवार है  इस मुद्दे पर यूनिवर्सिटी ऑफ मैरीलैंड और नेशनल काउंसिल ऑफ अप्लाइड इकोनॉमिक रिसर्च द्वारा कराए गए इंडियन ह्यूमन डवलपमेंट सर्वे (आईएस���ी) के आंकड़ों को हम आपसे साझा कर रहे हैं ।

[thebiasrekkers]

Sincerely, Yours - JJK

For the @btswriterscorner​ - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Jeon Jungkook hails from humble origins, his family ranked as Laborers. Since he is the youngest of three children, his time for the lottery has not come. But when it does, he refuses to conform to society’s system and runs away. Disowned, he’s now become a fugitive, taking on odd jobs here and there as a “runner-for-hire”. What he doesn’t realize is that he will find love in the most unexpected place.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female OC (Nikita Meyers)

Warnings: Strong language, vandalism, violence, interracial/intercultural relationship

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,607

AN: This is the companion piece to my first story, Touch In The Dark. This is the “rebel” view of what transpires in the world that I built. In all honesty, I think I may like the MYG version a little more, but I think it’s mostly from my love of hurting my own feelings. I still had a lot of fun with this one and I hope you all enjoy it. Writing for Jungkookis is always a good time. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the edge of a nearby building. He whistled a tune to himself, a song from a life he could barely remember these days. A former Laborer, now turned Runner, Jungkook could say that he left a life that he knew wasn’t meant for him. The Class system was such a bogus way to create order and balance in the world. The Blue Bloods stayed in the upper tier and those born in poverty or with lesser means were meant to work for the rest of their days. Throw in The Lottery Bill and that was just the cherry on top of a fucked up sundae.

A soft breeze pushed against his form as he watched the sky transform into a mesh of warm colors: pinks, purples, oranges and yellows. The sun was starting to set and the world’s light would dim, blanketed by the cobalt sky littered with the few stars he was only allowed to see as he ran from rooftop to rooftop. Running free, no longer tethered to the rules of the world that dared to shackle him to a life of meaninglessness.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he scrolled through the messages and noticed the priority one at the very top. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed quietly as he glanced over the message. His newest client was scheduled to meet him in an hour. It was a standard escort job. It wouldn’t be too hard and the pay was decent.

In their society, it was a crime to “fall in love” with anyone. Period. Not even the spouse that was chosen during an individual’s Lottery drawing. Love fueled emotions that often led to the ruins of others. Passion had the potential to overshadow logic and reason. When logic and reason were cast aside, only terrible things happened. Emotions were just bad things and led to bad times.

Jungkook didn’t buy into that horseshit.

It was the main reason he abandoned his station in life and lived in the moment. He didn’t worry about yesterday. He could care less about tomorrow. Today was all that mattered and all that would matter when it was finally said and done. 

He slid his thumb over the screen, dialing the number of his new “job” detail. The man answered quickly, interrupting the second ring. 

“Is this Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook smirked at the hushed tone in the man’s voice. “It is. Is this Min Yoongi?”

“Yes,” he replied softly, as if trying to gauge Jungkook’s own tone, “were you able to secure safe passage for both my wife and me?”

Clambering to his feet, he dusted off the backs of his weathered jeans and knocked a bit of dirt off his boots. “That’s not my area of expertise, I’m afraid. That was taken care of by a different handler.”

He knew he was being a little shit, but sometimes it was all about asking the right questions.

There was a semi-long pause from the other end of the line, followed by a slow sigh of what could be presumed as mounting exasperation. 

“So why was I directed to you?”

Jungkook’s grin grew a little wider. “Because I’m the one who’s going to get you out in one piece.”

“I see,” Yoongi said, as if he was mulling over something, “so you’re a Runner.”

It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“I just hope you’re as fast as that mouth of yours.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “I’m faster, trust me.” Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, he spied the time. “I’ll meet you at the Square in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

And without waiting for a reply, Jungkook ended the call. Pulling out his earbuds, he connected the jack to the phone and slipped the buds on. It didn’t take him long to find the song he wanted, cranking up the volume as the intro crescendoed slowly. Inhaling lungfuls of air, he stretched his arms out wide and then raised them up so they were parallel with his head. Once he loosened up the muscles, he rolled his neck and hopped up and down - shaking his arms for good measure. 

He always had to psyche himself up for things like this.

As soon as the balls of his feet hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. Up and over the edge of the roof. The world rushed by him in a blur of motion, his dark hair flying off his forehead. The night was cool, but the wind stung his eyes - making them water. He quickly wiped at them, curling his body inward and then extending his limbs. The concrete scraped at the pads of his fingers, but it didn’t take him long to realign his body, forcing his lower half to swing off to the side so that he could catch the railing of the fire escape. 

The bars rattled violently when his heels planted themselves onto the platform, but he was already climbing up the bars to reach the next rooftop. Once Jungkook made it over the edge, his legs pumped the ground in tandem with his heavily beating heart.

Unconsciously, his mouth spread into a wide open smile.

Free-running. They couldn’t have called it something better if they tried.

Sweat broke out across his brow and the pulse of the song’s bass seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. With every jump, lunge, catch and pull he performed, Jungkook’s elation only seemed to climb. It would be too soon if he could never run as free as he was now.

Heaving and halfway covered in perspiration, Jungkook arrived at the designated meeting spot within fifteen minutes. It gave him just enough time to grab a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine, emptying half the contents over his head and soaking his hair. Onlookers peered at him curiously, but he didn’t pay them any attention. He almost never did. He drained what was left in the bottle, savoring the feeling of re-hydrating himself.

Craning his neck, he located a nearby waste bin and was about to toss the bottle into it - arms stretched like he was shooting a basketball into a hoop. 

He stumbled forward suddenly, his body pushed forward from an unexpected impact. Grunting, he quickly pivoted on his heels to see who was responsible, but all he caught sight of was a ball cap flying in his line of sight as auburn curls flew past him. Jungkook reached out and snatched the hat out of the air as the owner turned to catch a glimpse of him. 

Her dark gray eyes glared at him, catching Jungkook off guard. Despite living in South Korea, Jungkook was used to foreigners. But he certainly didn’t remember seeing someone with those eyes and soft caramel skin. Her hair looked dyed, but it strangely suited her.

Jungkook took a step forward, holding her hat out to her. Instead of taking it back, she continued to shift her gaze from him and then to the hat. He grinned.

“Not even a thank you, huh? You don’t want this back?” He waved the cap back and forth, as though he were trying to keep a cat’s attention on him. “Is this mine now?”

He hadn’t seen her move. In fact, he didn’t even realize she’d closed what small distance existed between them. Not until Jungkook felt a soft burst of pain near his stomach. The wind was knocked from him almost immediately and all he could manage was a wide-eyed stare at her.

She grinned, twisting her fist into his stomach a little more. “Not a chance, you fucking tool,” replied the girl.

Jungkook collapsed to one knee when she took a step back, her hat not back in her possession. He struggled to reclaim what air was stolen from him, one dark brown eye glaring up at her. Not to say that women were weak, but he hadn’t expected a punch from a pretty girl to hurt this much. 

Hopping back on one foot, she waved the hat at him in a farewell gesture before sliding it back onto her head. She turned and bolted from the square without so much as a second glance at him. He coughed, rubbing at his chest in an attempt to regulate his breathing again.

Wow, what a bitch, he thought, but Jungkook found himself smirking once the pain subsided.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

“Are you alright?”

The voice jarred him from his thoughts and he quickly scrambled to his feet. He was face to face with his temporary charge, Min Yoongi. Standing beside him was a woman with dark brown curls, hazel eyes, and mocha skin. She peered at Jungkook curiously, her hand laced through Yoongi’s. She was also a foreigner from what he could tell, and well-known through the news as the “Charity Selection” picked from The Lottery two years ago.

He folded his arms across his chest. “This might be a little difficult.”

Yoongi lofted a brow. “And why is that?”

“Well,” Jungkook began, taking a few steps toward them before circling around both of them, “your wife’s kinda popular.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not going to be able to help us?”

“I didn’t say that.” He held a hand up and then waved it through the air, as if shooing away a gnat. “I just said that it’ll be a little difficult. Not impossible.” Jungkook met their gazes and grinned. “I got this. Trust me.”

~ n.m. ~

“Nikita, that was reckless.”

Removing the baseball cap, she roughly ran her fingers through her curls while scoffing. She carelessly tossed the parcel onto the table. “What does it matter? I got you what you asked for.”

The man seated at the table steepled his fingers, dark eyes peering over his knuckles at her. Nikita waited for him to say something, but he merely sighed and began to untie the twine wrapped around the brown paper packaging. It was his way of dismissing her, but letting Nikita know that she wasn’t completely off the hook. He’d find a way to pay her back and it wouldn’t be pretty.

She knew this because it wouldn’t be the first time.

Not wanting to press her luck, Nikita quickly vacated the office and closed the door behind her. She rested her shoulder against the door frame, mentally kicking herself for what she’d said. She knew she didn’t mean it, and yet she continued to come off as cold and unfeeling in these situations. Nikita was about to slam her head into the door when someone suddenly cleared their throat beside her. 

“Keep it up and you’re going to put Minjae Hyung into an early grave.”

Craning her neck, she cut her eyes at the shaggy-haired individual - his shit-eating grin never failing to irritate her. 

“Shut-up, Taegi-ah,” she snipped, walking past him. Predictably, he followed but Nikita ignored him, focusing her attention on the warehouse.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Nikki-ah,” he whined at her back. 

She rolled her eyes. Nikita hated that nickname and he knew it. She also knew that he didn’t care that she hated it. 

Because that was the kind of person Yoon Taegi was. 

A pain in her goddamn ass.

But she couldn’t hold it against him. Because he was the one who helped her break the chains the world decided to put on her the day she was born. Without him, she knew she would still be living the life of a woefully ignorant aristocrat - blind to the truth of society’s agenda. Nikita lived in a castle made of glass and didn’t understand her purpose outside of being a breeding agent for some future husband she would never be able to relate to.

When the day came for her to be matched with her significant other, Nikita was ready to accept that lot in her life. She was prepared to walk down the path that she was groomed for. What reason did she have to believe otherwise; to be aware that there was something else beyond the veil?

The truth wasn’t known to her until she saw a couple being arrested on the streets - cuffed and pulled away from each other. They screamed until their throats were raw, and then continued yelling for each other. They managed to share one final kiss until each were thrown into separate police cars and driven away to be incarcerated.

Their fates were declared on international television.

Taegi was the man she’d seen carted away and three months later, he broke out of prison. As punishment, the woman he loved was put to death. It was their attempt to shatter his spirit, to break him. 

They failed.

Sighing, she looked at Taegi’s smug expression and couldn’t help marveling at how far they’d come. A loaf of bread, cheese and meat was all it took to barter for the truth. Taegi gave it to her and Nikita knew she could never go back to her life of privilege. Not if there were people she could help in the process. It didn’t take her long to find herself pulled into Rebel circles - all of them graciously accepting her into their fold.

hree years passed since then and Nikita didn’t regret leaving her family or her “duty” behind. She was free and she was fighting for a cause that meant something. Even if she’d never experienced it for herself.

Love.

Sliding the metal door aside, Nikita stepped into the warehouse. The smell of gunpowder and kerosene instantly filled her nostrils - causing her eyes to water slightly. She quickly wiped at them and sniffed, fishing through a crate on a nearby table. Her hands stilled momentarily as she felt Taegi’s palms slip over her shoulders. He squeezed them gently and she sighed, hanging her head a measure as her eyes stared into the box of homemade pipe bombs and hand grenades.

“Sometimes I worry that the fighting is never going to end,” Nikita said softly.

Taegi rubbed her shoulders in a comforting motion before moving away from her to lean against the table. He folded his arms across his chest, his face lifting to the ceiling. “It’ll stop one day. We just have to stand strong and in solidarity.”

Nikita shrugged, pulling out a few pipe bombs. “I just hope we’re around long enough to see it.”

She checked the fuses, gauging their length, before placing them back in the box. She set one hand grenade out, flicking a finger over the pull pin. After making sure that it was secure, she dropped it into her messenger bag and moved to the next crate. It contained knives of varying shapes and sizes. She opted for a switchblade of decent length, slipping it into her back pocket.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she scanned the message on her screen. It was from Minjae, as expected. He was sending her on another assignment. There was another potential ally they could have on their side versus running amok on the streets.

Turning to move to another table, she felt Taegi’s hand grasping at her arm. She looked at him and saw the worry lines etched across his forehead. Nikita couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You just got back and you’re already prepping to head out again.” He frowned. “You’re like a machine, woman.”

“Can’t help it,” she said, chuckling slightly, “I’m not one to sit around and do nothing.”

“It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about resting. You’ve been gone for three days.” Taegi sighed, releasing his hold on her. “Hyung can’t pass this off to someone else?”

“Nope.” Nikita shook her head. “Recruitment’s my main gig. You know this. Besides…” She paused, meeting Taegi’s gaze, her own expression softening a bit. “...if we don’t have more people on our side, what good is any of this? It’s never going to stop until every last one of us are either dead or re-educated. Numbers mean everything.”

Looking back at the phone, she opened the file Minjae sent her. It was the most current dossier on a person willingly living off the grid. They had been for some time now.

She recognized his picture immediately. He was the guy she’d run into earlier that day. The same guy she punched in the gut for teasing her when she was in the process of playing “courier” for their group.

Nikita couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her. Taegi looked at her curiously but she shook her head, slipping her phone back into her pocket. This was going to be interesting. Maybe he’d hear her out despite the terrible first impression she’d given. 

My job just got a little bit harder. Great.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook lazily sprawled himself out on the largest branch of an old tree near the edge of town. Swiveling a toothpick between his teeth, he looked around at the people who passed below him obliviously. It amused him, in a way, how they could mindlessly continue with their lives. They were like sheep to the slaughter, unaware of the truth of things.

Then again, he didn’t really know what the “truth” was himself.

All that mattered to him was no longer having a label stamped on his body as though it were a badge of shame. Society deemed that he was destined to be poor. Society claimed that his ideal match would be someone of their choosing. Society was right and the average person didn’t need to question this.

Well, society could go eat a bag of dicks.

Again, his phone buzzed. He picked it up from where he had it laying on his chest to stare at it - the screen illuminating his face in the shadows. It was another job forwarded by his employer. Sighing, he opened up the dossier of the person he was sent to help this time. When he saw the picture, however, Jungkook sat up so fast that he nearly fell out of the tree. 

It was her. The woman who nailed him in the gut without batting an eyelash. The woman whose dark auburn curls and gray eyes failed to vacate his mind.

He was immediately suspicious.

Normally he would forward a job he didn’t want to another Runner. It wasn’t like Jungkook was hurting for money. In fact, he was planning on taking a small vacation soon - taking himself off the grid completely for a few weeks before coming back. But his curiosity was a damning thing and he didn’t mind being damned if it meant knowing who this woman was.

Nikita Meyers. 25. Former Blue Blood. Currently wanted by authorities due to her association with various Rebel factions throughout the world.

Blinking, he read through the short blurb again to make sure that he wasn’t misinterpreting anything. But what was there to misinterpret? This woman had it all and threw everything away to be a fugitive? Like him? He didn’t get it. Wasn’t the high life a life of pleasure and carefree days?

Why would she ever want to toss it away for the gritty life?

Jungkook frowned, thinking back on the life he left behind. He refused to conform to society’s whims and ran away from home when it was time for him to have his partner chosen through The Lottery Bill. He didn’t know what love was and he wasn’t sure if he wanted any part of it if the government was hell-bent on minimizing it throughout the globe. Jungkook could admit that he did stupid things when he was emotionally unstable, hence why he was living the life he currently was in the first place. But he also wasn’t too keen on the idea of bending to the whims of others.

Even so…

Sliding his thumb over the screen, he dialed the number his contact provided for him. It rang three times before someone answered. Her voice filled his ears and he leaned his back against the trunk of the tree as he listened.

“Jungkook-ssi?”

He smirked. “Oh, are we using polite words now?”

He heard a sigh from the other line. “I won’t apologize for what I did. I had my reasons.”

“Sure you did.” His tone dripped of sarcasm, but Jungkook felt his smile growing wider. “It’s alright. I forgive you anyway.”

“You’re so gracious. So, are you gonna help me or are you gonna pass me off so I’m someone else’s problem?”

His lips formed into a small ‘O’ while he scratched the side of his nose. “Is that normal for you?”

Nikita scoffed. “I don’t make it a habit to become a problem for anyone in the first place.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied while shifting his position to stand on the tree branch, “it’s fun to be problematic.”

“I’m sure you’d know that.”

“Of course. That's why I said it.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Jungkook was going to help her. He’d made that decision the minute he saw her picture on his phone as the next job he was supposed to take. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have fun with her about it. 

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to have some free time slotted in my schedule.”

“Good. Now come down from that tree and meet me face-to-face.”

His smile fell from his face and he sat up again, looking around in every direction. He quickly craned his neck down and saw she was standing below the tree he was currently perched in. For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other - each of them holding their phones to their faces; listening to the other person breathing. 

Then he saw her smile up at him. It was a smile that clearly said that she knew more than he did; that she’d gotten the best of him. A smile full of secrets, daring someone to try to discover them.

It was a smile that made his heart twist sharply in his chest.

Hanging up the phone, he slid it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Without batting an eyelash, Jungkook effortlessly hopped off the tree branch, landing with an unnecessary flourish in front of her. Nikita slid her phone into her pocket as he slid his palms over the thighs of his jeans. 

Again, neither said anything. They just took in each other’s presence. 

Now that he got a better look at her, Jungkook was at least half a head taller than her. The strap to a dark gray messenger bag was pressed across her chest at an angle, enhancing the swell of her bosom. Other than that, there was nothing else about her that would elicit inappropriate thoughts. No skin showed outside of her bare neck, face, and thin wrists peeking out from the sleeves of her dark green field jacket. She wore charcoal gray cargo pants stuffed into a pair of shin length combat boots. A black newsboy hat adorned the top of her head this time.

“So,” Jungkook said, finally breaking the silence, “where am I escorting the lovely lady?”

“We’re too exposed here.” Nikita moved past him and he pivoted on his heels to follow after her. 

They were heading back into the city. 

Just as he was about to suggest they could go somewhere a little more private to chat, she hopped onto a nearby dumpster and scaled up the fire escape as easily as snapping her fingers. Jungkook slowly arched his neck, watching her fling herself up one iron landing until her body swung in a half arc to allow her the reach she needed to grasp onto the edge of the building’s rooftop. Her booted feet scraped over the brick, crumbling small bits to the ground until she disappeared over the edge.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he mumbled, his smile returning. This woman was just full of surprises.

“Are you comin’ or not?” she called down to him.

Not like he needed to be asked twice. Jungkook made a game of it, determined to scale the building in half the amount of time she had. Once he reached the top, he pulled himself over the edge in time to see her running at full speed across the building. 

“Hey!” he shouted after her, his own legs eating at the ground in hot pursuit, “Wait a minute!”

But just as he was starting to close the distance, Nikita jumped from the building and curled her body inward. Jungkook was almost to the edge and was preparing his own dismount when he saw her successfully clear the gap. She grabbed onto one of the metal pipes and swung herself into an open window. Jungkook didn’t have a chance to relish in the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his eyes memorizing her movement patterns so he could follow the trail she was leaving for him.

Dust filled his nostrils, causing him to cough from the onslaught to his senses. The room smelled of old wood and mold. The building had long since been abandoned and there was clearly no interest in changing its state of disrepair. The boards creaked under each step that was taken and Jungkook mentally worried if the floor would crack and collapse right beneath him.

A beam of bright light blinded him and he hissed, moving his forearm to cover his eyes. 

“Yo, what’s the deal?!” 

His words sounded snappish, which hadn’t been his intention, but what did anyone expect when suddenly rendered unable to see?

“Sorry,” Nikita said, lowering the light to give him a chance to adjust to the darkness, “I wanted to make sure you were right behind me.” 

Jungkook rubbed his fists into his eyes gingerly, shaking his head to blink the golden spots away from his vision. “It’s fine.” 

She gestured with the flashlight toward the stairs. “Follow me. And watch your step.”

Everything in the building seemed ancient and forgotten. Jungkook swore he heard it groan in response to their presence there. It gave him an eerie sort of vibe that he wasn’t sure he wanted to really wrap his head around. 

Once they reached the ground floor, Nikita disappeared through a door to the right. It looked like an office building of some kind now that he got a better look at it. He could hear her roughly pulling at drawers from what he assumed were old metal filing cabinets. Jungkook took a lean against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest as more dust flew in the air from Nikita’s manic investigation methods.

“Need any help?”

She slammed a drawer closed and yanked at another one, fingers dancing over the folders. “I’m good.”

He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “So what is this place?”

“Used to be a Public Records office until everything became digitized and moved to the various data hubs all over the globe.”

“And now?”

Nikita pulled out a folder and sifted through the papers inside. “Now it’s a place for squatters and a go-between for Rebel units.”

Jungkook hummed in understanding. But something puzzled him.

“So why are we here?”

Turning to face him, she waved the envelope at him. “Gathering intel for another client.”

“Wait.” He stepped inside the room. “This isn’t an escort job, but a recon mission?”

Nikita grinned, shutting the drawer closed with her hip. “Yup.”

He frowned. “Then why was I hired for this? You do know that I’m a Runner, right?”

“I know.” She stuffed the envelope into her bag, using the beam of her flashlight to rifle through whatever contents were also inside. “I know exactly who you are, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t know why, but he didn’t like what she was insinuating with those words.

Nikita pulled something else from her bag, but it was too dark for him to see. Using her other hand to secure the bag’s clasp, she stepped toward the window and slid it open. Jungkook watched her poking her head out, presumably to see if anyone else was coming. It was dark and most people had normal work schedules so there wasn’t a chance for anyone to be out after midnight. 

Well, except for them.

“It’s a waste.”

“What?” Jungkook slightly tilted his head, confused. “What is?”

“You left everything behind the same time I did, but all you’ve done is float through life without a care in the world.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “It’s a waste.”

Rolling his eyes, he frowned. “What the hell do you know?”

He didn’t appreciate her judgmental attitude toward him. It wasn’t like she knew him. It wasn’t like she understood what he’d gone through up until that point. Living off the grid wasn’t easy and it wasn’t for everyone. Sure, he could have gone back home and ponied up. He could have turned to those fighting against society’s rules and regulations, seeing refuge from a dying world. But he wasn’t about to let himself become dependent on anyone. Being dependent on others equated to marginalized freedom and Jungkook didn’t want that either.

Even if it he had to remain alone to maintain it.

“I know you’re a Runner,” she said, flashing a shit-eating grin at him, “so I suggest you do what you’re good at. Running.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure what she was getting at. But before he could question her further, something fell to the ground. It rolled across the floor and into the sliver of light that leaked in through the window from the streetlamp outside. 

It was a hand grenade.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Jungkook barely heard his own voice through the panic cadence of his heartbeat. 

Nikita reached out to grab his hand, pulling him toward her. “RUN!”

They both tumbled out the window, rolling onto the grass in a tangle of limbs. They dislodged themselves from each other, frantically scrambling to their feet as they hurried to put as much distance between them and the building as possible. The heat from the explosion pressed against Jungkook’s back, forcing his body to lurch forward. Something cut the side of his face and he grunted as his shoulder collided with the concrete. He thought he heard someone calling him, but it was hard to make out from the soft ringing in his ears and the alarms going off.

“Shit,” he muttered as he sat up on all fours, shaking his head back and forth to chase away his rattled nerves.

Someone grabbed roughly at his jacket, yanking him up to his feet. His face was inches from Nikita’s, her stormy eyes reflecting the fire and smoke eating away at the building behind him.

“Come on,” she said, her hand reaching out to grasp his, “we have to go!”

He didn’t have time to yell at her. He simply followed her direction. Besides, he knew better than anyone that he couldn’t just walk away from this. Jungkook was an accomplice - willingness be damned. 

He was a Rebel now.

~ n.m. ~

She’d be lying if she hadn’t planned it out that way. Nikita never had any intention of outright asking Jungkook if he would join their cause. Instead, she chose to be a dirty bitch about it - forcing his hand and leaving him no other option but to stand at their side. The Rebels weren’t necessarily losing, but they weren’t winning, either. The more skilled people they had on their side, people like Jungkook, the more likely they would win against society’s preconceived notion of what “success” and “happiness” was.

Nikita did it because she knew that they had to have him. That she had to have him. She didn’t feel guilty about taking him away from the life he’d chosen for himself.

A month later, however, the guilt started rearing its ugly little head. Usually in the dead of night; when the urge to smoke overtook her. She puffed on a cigarette, her thoughts swirling around in her head like a busted washing machine in desperate need of repair. Minjae told her that she didn’t need to tell him the truth about that day; what her intention was. She normally never questioned Minjae or his motives.

Now? Another month passed. She wasn’t so sure anymore..

A strong gust of wind pushed up against her body, causing her to take a half a step forward. The wind was always powerful the higher a person was. But the rooftop of their hideout was the only place she could find any solace. More and more people were joining their cause, but more people meant less space. Maybe it was the former high-privileged snob in her, but she liked being able to have a little breathing room in her life.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were here,” a voice said from behind her. 

She turned to glance over her shoulder, seeing that it was Jungkook. Her brows furrowed, a soft ache building at the center of her chest. But she didn’t say anything. He took a step back, his hand reaching behind him so he could push the door back open.

Nikita exhaled a thin stream of smoke, tapping the ash off the side of the building. “Stay if you want.” She shifted her gaze back to look at the twilight sky. “You don’t have to leave.”

The door closed, but the sound of feet shuffling closer toward her caused her to release a silent breath of relief. She didn’t want the awkward feeling to continue between them, and in the last month Jungkook proved himself useful. He never demanded to leave, because the people around him wanted him to stay. It made Nikita wonder if he’d never felt a sense of community before now; if he’d always been alone.

She was decent enough not to ask.

“No assignments. That’s rare.” He said it so easily, like he’d been a Rebel for years.

Shrugging, she lifted the cigarette to her lips. “Can’t be busy all the time. Batteries need charging and all that shit.”

He chuckled, sidling up beside her but giving her at least three feet of space. Nikita cast him a sidelong glance, watching him lean against the railing with his forearms.

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick. She raised a brow, unable to force back the smirk forming on her face. It was a habit she’d never understand, but it strangely suited him. She shook her head as he clamped his teeth over the twig, making it swivel back and forth with his tongue.

“What about you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m heading out in two days.”

Nikita wouldn’t ask him where. It was better if she didn’t know. The less she knew, the less likely Jungkook would be compromised should something happen while he was away.

For a while, neither of them said anything. She finished her smoke, tossing the cigarette butt off the edge. Jungkook was focused on the starry night sky, so she knew he didn’t notice her looking at him. His hair shifted in back and forth motions from another gust of wind. He looked so lost in thought, yet completely relaxed.

Anything could happen between now and tomorrow. Jungkook could turn his back on them and possibly reveal everything he’d learned to the authorities. Or he could just get captured or killed. There were no guarantees in the world they were both fighting against and fighting for.

“I’m sorry,” Nikita said, surprised at herself with how suddenly the words came tumbling out.

“Huh?” Jungkook straightened up to his full height, flashing her a confused look. “What for?”

“I put us in that situation back then so that you’d have no choice but to come with us.” 

He appeared to not understand what she was getting at. Was he really so gullible? Or was he just that innocent? How had the world not broken him?!

Nikita closed her eyes tightly, biting her lower lip that was already beginning to tremble. “I purposefully set you up. I forced you to become a Rebel.”

She couldn’t see him, much to her relief. But the sound of her heart hammering roughly against her ribs drowned out the sounds of the city. If he was saying anything at that moment, Nikita was confident she wouldn’t have heard him.

“I know.”

Those two words pierced through her loudly pounding heartbeat. Opening her eyes wide, she jerked her head to face him. He was closer to her now, but still wearing that gentle expression. The one of someone who understood something that she hadn’t been able to glean. The kind of expression that told volumes about a person’s life.

About the pain they were forced to endure.

“I know you did. And that’s okay.”

She blinked up at him, gobsmacked by his words. “Wh-What?” 

How could he say that it was okay? What part of what she said was okay? As far as Nikita was concerned, none of this was okay!

“Because it was only after being here, I realized why you did. To me, that’s all that matters.”

Nikita’s brows furrowed in disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was like she’d lost the ability to speak or even formulate coherent phrases. 

He continued.

“I’m a Runner. You said it yourself, running is what I’m good at. People only ever needed me to run for them. Nothing more. Nothing less.” 

She watched him take a step toward her.

~ j.j. ~

Nikita looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

Jungkook felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach; like something was fluttering inside of it. He wondered if he looked the same. If he had that same expression on his own face. Jungkook hoped he didn’t, but he felt weirdly calm. He couldn’t quite place why, other than he believed everything he was saying at that moment. 

And he believed that Nikita would hear him; truly hear him.

Because for damn near two months, Jungkook couldn’t get Nikita out of his mind.

“My family didn’t care about me running away from my responsibilities. If they did, they would be looking for me now.” 

He took another step forward, his eyes flicking downward to see if Nikita was going to take a step back. She didn’t, and that strange feeling in his stomach intensified.

“My two siblings are making up for my shortcomings. They’re happy and so I kept running. Here. There. Everywhere. It never mattered where I was or how long I was gone. Because running is what I do.”

Nikita looked like she was really listening to him. He knew it because of how focused her eyes were; shaking.

“J-Jungkook,” she stammered. 

He knew he should take a step back. Reassess things and think about just what the hell was tumbling from his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d planned this and he hadn’t expected for her to apologize for making him a sucker. One day was all he needed to figure it out. After the initial internal battle he had with himself died down, Jungkook was planning to get the hell out of that place. He would play nice and then bounce. Simple as that.

But one day turned into one week. Then two. Then three. 

Until a month passed by.

He realized it hadn’t bothered him as much as he initially thought. Because in that short amount of time, he saw Nikita in ways that he was sure she didn’t realize was being showcased. Jungkook discovered every nuance about her as their paths crossed every single day. From the way she preferred hats with bills than beanies, to how she would scratch at the bridge of her nose when she was annoyed. She preferred dogs over cats, but had a special kind of love for horses. She liked dark liquors and she hated beer. Nikita hated mornings, but she would always get up early to see the sunrise before going back to sleep.

And she was one helluva free runner.

Taking one more step forward, there was now less than a foot of space between Nikita and him. Again, he looked down to see if she would step back. And again, she didn’t.

“For the first time in a while, no one wants me running anymore. And when I have to run, I know I have a place to run back to. Because there are people waiting for me.”

He reached out to grasp her wrists, feeling her pulse jumping with life beneath his palms. For a split second, he suddenly felt self-conscious that his hands might be cold, clammy, or all of the above. But Jungkook selfishly refused to let go. He would apologize later for it if she shoved him aside. 

Or off the building.

He waited - the soft clouds of breath meeting hers as she breathed out in sync with him. Nikita didn’t move or was thinking about what to do at that moment. Jungkook knew he needed to hurry and say what was churning inside of him. 

What he’d been wanting to say for almost a week now.

“Because people like you are waiting for me.”

His hands moved from her wrists, slowly gliding up her arms until his palms slid over the delicate curve of her shoulders. Jungkook even knew how strong she was under all the bulky clothes she wore. It was how people kept underestimating her. It was how she survived.

But even under that strength was a gentle and compassionate woman. A woman who cared about the people around her. A woman who decidedly left her comfortable entitlement to help anyone suffering under the injustice of the world’s system. A woman who cried in mourning for those who could not be with the ones they loved.

Jungkook’s hands cupped her neck, using his thumbs to stroke over Nikita’s jawline. He gently pressed them to her chin, lifting her face to his. He could see the tears forming in her eyes and he paused, feeling his own hands trembling. Could he afford to hesitate? Could he really let this moment pass by, only to fade away into the darkness where it would never return to see the light of day?

He had to keep trusting her. Trust that she would keep listening.

“Jungkook, what are you--?”

“I love you.”

Jungkook felt like his insides were going to fall straight out of him. He said it. His nerves felt liquefied, but he said it.

“W-What?”

“I love you, Nikita.”

Not wanting her to push him away, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her gasp in his mouth and he waited for her to retaliate. To kick and scream and threaten to toss him over the side to his death. He would have deserved it. His death would be justified.

But Nikita didn’t shove him to the side. No. And he lifted his lips from hers when he felt her hands cupping his elbows. What tears were in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Jungkook saw her brows furrow, but there was a watery smile now on her face.

And then he kissed her again, harder. His hands left her face so he could wrap his arms around her, fully pulling her up against him. He needed her close. Closer than he’d ever been able to get to her. The need was terrible and he didn’t want to chase it away. He sucked in air through his nose, drinking in the subtle smell of her shampoo. Nipping and tugging at her lips between his teeth and tongue, he relished the soft taste of ash from the cigarette she smoked earlier. But there was a hint of peppermint. Nikita always ate a peppermint before smoking because she despised the taste.

Jungkook would continue his mission of getting her to quit.

They parted the kiss long enough to get air. He could just barely see her through the clouds of their breaths. Even in the dark, her eyes seemed to glow. He loved how Nikita always looked like she could see right through him.

“I fell in love with you. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers as their noses touched. “I just did. I just do.”

Turning to bury his nose into the curve of Nikita’s neck, he smiled against her skin.

“It’s okay if you don’t right now. We have as much time as we need to figure it out. Until then, just let me keep loving you as you are now. As I am now.”

Her body shook with how roughly she was nodding her head. Jungkook pressed his fingers against the back of her neck as he held her aloft. And for awhile, that’s all they did. Hugged each other. He could feel how hard their hearts were hammering against each other. All the anxiety and hesitation felt like it was bleeding out of him.

Nikita laughed a little. “Damn,” she whispered.

Jungkook smirked. “What?”

“Guess this means I love you too.”

They shared a laugh. He leaned forward to pull her into a hug. Jungkook appreciated how good it felt to know her arms were around him. It may have been a selfish beginning, but it wouldn’t be a selfish end.

He knew things would get harder from now on. But that was okay. Because the hole in his heart was full. 

Because he loved this woman in his arms.

[sinsbymanka]

OC Tag

Tagged by @anavakarian, thank you!

Inquisitor Maria Cadash, from the Modern!AU Girl with the Arrow Tattoo.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty (she can usually scrape enough to make bills, but it’s a struggle damn near every time) 

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate  / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged 

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure (Raised working class, but once she began working for the Carta, I feel like she backslid into lower class. She would say she’s still working class.) 

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying (If she’d had the chance to pursue her education officially - she’d be full out qualified to be Inquisitor. She’s a quick learner and well-read.)

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged  / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated (BOTH as of this current moment in GwtAT)

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

✖ FAMILY – close with sibling / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated.

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents (I picked the one that’s closest - she was raised by a single father and her grandmother because her mother died when she was very young) 

TRAITS & TENDENCIES  

✖ disorganized / organised / in between

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between 

✖ cautious / reckless / in between 

✖ patient / impatient / in between

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between (Her nature is to be more outspoken than reserved - but she’s still learning how to be herself after a very long time being forced to hold her tongue. Regardless - sometimes she just can’t help herself.) 

✖ leader / follower / in between 

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between 

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between (Dialogue I have ready: “Of fuckin’ course it didn’t work. Why would I think it would work?”) 

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between 

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between (to a FAULT) 

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between (She’s not sure what she believes in) 

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual.

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable 

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested 

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none (she’s a hell of a shot and she’s got damn good instincts) 

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none 

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none (she learned to play the piano, but is out of practice) 

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none (She can use just about any piece of technology, but fuck if she can fix it when it breaks.) 

Tagging: @lostinfantasies38, @tuffypelly, @silvanils, @eranehn, and anyone else would wants to play!

[twin-moons-ffxiv]

Where They Stand: Vila Tadmhe

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖FINANCIAL - wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

Being a monster hunter is a dangerous profession but it pays the bills.

✖MEDICAL - fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / deceased

She frequently exercises and keeps herself in good shape.

✖CLASS OR CASTE - upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

Vila is a Moon Keeper miqo’te.  She is on a lower caste than most other groups in Gridanian society, save perhaps Duskwight elezen.

✖EDUCATION - qualified / unqualified / studying

Vila was never formally educated.

FAMILY

✖MARITAL STATUS - married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged / partnered / divorced / widowed / separated / single / it’s complicated

✖CHILDREN - has children / has no children / wants children / adopted children

✖FAMILY - close with siblings / not close with siblings / has no siblings  / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

Vila has a twin brother named Asher.  The two were very close growing up and while he tries to keep in touch, Vila often is mistrustful of her brother and his motivations.

✖AFFILIATION - orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / other

Being a Moon Keeper, she’s never met her father.  Her mother died when she was barely fifteen.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖disorganized / organized / in-between

✖close-minded / open-minded / in-between

✖cautious / reckless / in-between

✖patient / impatient / in-between

✖outspoken / reserved / in-between

✖leader / follower / in-between

✖sympathetic / unsympathetic / in-between

✖optimistic / pessimistic / in-between

✖hardworking / lazy / in-between

✖cultured / uncultured / in-between

✖loyal / disloyal / in-between

✖faithful / unfaithful / in-between

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖SEXUALITY - heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual

Heavy preference for men.

✖SEX - sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable

To her, it’s an important part of an intimate relationship.

✖ROMANCE - romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable

(Someone please hold her hand.)

✖SEXUALLY - sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

ABILITIES

✖COMBAT SKILLS - excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

✖LITERACY SKILLS - excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

✖ARTISTIC SKILLS - excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

✖TECHNICAL SKILLS - excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Bold for main responses, italics for conditional/complicated.

Tagged by: @ythealleycat​

Tagging:  You.  Yes you.  Do this thing.

[citrinekay]

Prompt, for later: Bill and Holden are together for quite some time and keep it secret. One day Bill gets an invitation to a wedding with his +1, but he can't bring Holden so he throws it out. Holden finds it and tries to convince Bill to go alone, but Bill is adamant. Later he confesses to Wendy he wishes he could marry Holden. She describes marriage as a financial contract, BUT is secretly a romantic, so she tells him that even if marriage is impossible, he can propose and make his vows.

Ok I am taking a brief break from my long fic because I have not stopped thinking about this prompt since I got it. The gay yearning in this … i can’t 😭 Thank you, and here you go 💕: 

The invitation comes on crisp, eggshell white stationary with watercolor lilacs and gold calligraphy lettering. It’s addressed to Bill, but at the bottom in the delicate, cursive lettering, it suggests he bring a plus one when RSVPing to help the two celebrate a day of “love that’s meant to be.” 

He finds it between his water bill and a piece of junk mail, and almost immediately throws it in the garbage. It’s not that he doesn’t want to attend his old pal’s wedding. He knew the guy way back in the day when the BSU was first founded. Though they haven’t kept up over the years, Bill knows what kind of person he is - and who else will be at the wedding. A whole lot of FBI good ol’ boys, relics of the Hoover system, the principled type who would have undoubtedly thrown a fit if they knew Holden took “fellatio” and “cunnilingus” off the list of deviant terminology. Guys who would take one look at Bill bringing Holden as his plus one, and draw all kinds of conclusions - every single one of them correct. 

The invitation sails into the garbage can on top of a paper plate spattered with day old ketchup. 

Later that evening, Holden comes over with carry-out from the burger joint down the road, and a case of beer. Once they’ve gorged themselves on burgers and fries and shared two beers, Holden is snuggled up in his arms, half falling asleep while the television plays The Godfather. 

The wedding theme is following him, Bill thinks. Maybe it’s the universe trying to tell him something. 

He glances down at Holden’s flushed cheek nestled against his chest, his dark eyelashes shielding Bill from a glimpse of his pretty blue eyes. His hair is a tousled mess from Bill running his fingers through it, and the puckered swell of his lower lip has the same affect on him that always does: a deep, magnetic urge to kiss Holden senseless. 

Bill glances back at the television screen, trying to focus his attention back on the film. He’s been through love and marriage, buying a house together, having a kid, all the normal things that are expected - or rather readily accessible - to a heterosexual couple. It’s confetti, icing on a cake when the batter would have been satisfying enough. He doesn’t need all that. What they have between them, secretly is good enough even if Bill can never take Holden as his plus one to a wedding, or walk down the aisle towards him in their own celebration of love meant to be. 

He’s usually pretty good at giving himself a pep talk and moving on. This time, it doesn’t stick. He can’t bury his feelings, but he should have at least burned the invitation. 

A few days later, they’re getting ready for work in the morning. Bill is standing over the kitchen counter drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper while Holden uses the blender to mix a smoothie. As the whir of the blender dies down, Holden turns to Bill with a curious gaze. 

“Is everything okay with you?” 

“What?” Bill asks, looking up from the paper. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet the past few days.” 

“I have?” 

“Yes.” Holden says, pouring out his smoothie into a glass. He takes a sip, leaving a milky line on his upper. 

“You’ve got some …” Bill mutters, leaning over to kiss the smoothie off Holden’s mouth. 

Holden leans into him, sighing into the kiss. He chuckles as he pulls his mouth away. “Hey, don’t change the subject.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” Holden objects, freeing himself from Bill’s embrace.

“Holden, I’m fine. Really. I’m just tired.”

Holden stares him down for a moment before spinning around, and marching over to the side table where Bill keeps his bills in order. He pulls a slip of paper from the bottom of the stack, and holds it up. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with this?” 

Bill recognizes the ketchup-stained wedding invitation almost immediately. He sputters in disbelief for a moment before scraping together a defensive retort. “First of all, you’re going through my trash?” 

“It was sitting right on top.” Holden says, “Isn’t Jim a really old friend of yours?”

“Yes.” Bill says, tersely. 

“Then why are you throwing out his wedding invitation?”

Bill presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, trying to quell his frustration. “Because.” 

“Because why?” Holden presses, “Because it says plus one on here?”

Bill opens his eyes, casting Holden a narrowed gaze. Holden stares back at him with an expectant look, waiting for an explanation. 

“Look, I’m probably not going to be able to attend anyway.” Bill says, “We’re out of town half of the time, and the other half we’re way too busy to be-”

“It’s on a Saturday.” 

“I know, but it’s all the way in Newark and-”

“You could make time.” 

Bill turns back to his newspaper, swallowing down a hot drink of coffee. It burns the back of his throat where an agitated knot is beginning to form. 

“I don’t know why you fucking care.” He says, “Jim is my friend, and if I don’t want to go then that’s my business.” 

Holden sighs, sounding a little wounded. “Fine. But I wouldn’t be upset if you went alone. I understand how it would look.” 

“It isn’t that.” Bill says, sharply. “I don’t care what those people think of me.”

“Yes, you do.” Holden says, softly. “Every time you touch me you’re breaking the law.” 

Bill looks up from the mass of little, black letters printed uniformly across the newspaper. His chest stings against the raw truth of what Holden is saying. The law is against them in every way, and they’re flirting with danger every time they so much as hold hands under the table in a restaurant. And to think, Bill had indulged himself in dreaming of Holden in a white chapel, his hair combed back and gleaming in the light, his chest sprouting with wedding day flowers. 

“I’m sorry.” Holden says, “That was …”

“No, you’re right.” Bill says, “Come here.”

Holden lays the invitation down, and shuffles across the kitchen to Bill’s outstretched arm. Bill curls his arm around Holden’s neck, drawing him close to his chest. 

Pressing a kiss to Holden’s temple, he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I would tell the world that if I could.”

Holden nods against his chest, his voice meek and muffled, “I know.” 

After a few silent moments, they slowly break away from one another to continue getting ready for work. Conversation is stifled as they kiss as the front door, and go their separate ways to their cars. 

Bill doesn’t see much of Holden for the rest of the day. They’re slammed with requests from police precincts, both of them up to their ears in piles of crime scene photos and profiles. 

Bill thinks that it might be best to create some distance. The exchange this morning felt like some kind of argument that they don’t know how to resolve, not a fundamental issue with one another but rather with their situation. It’s not a riddle to solve or a behavior to analyze. There’s no understanding the way he feels about Holden, no moral resolution he can slot them into to convince himself that it’s okay. It just is. The way the sky is blue and the grass is green, he wants Holden in every way possible, only he can’t have it. It seems like a design flaw in the universe. They shouldn’t be mad with each other, but who else is there to be angry with for giving them this beautiful thing that’s constantly under threat of extinction? 

At the end of the day, Holden pokes his head into Bill’s office. 

“I’m about to leave for the day.” He says, “You coming?”

“I’m going to finish this up.” Bill says, motioning to the profile in front of him. 

Holden’s mouth purses in a line meant to hide his disappointment, but it shines clearly through his eyes. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” Holden says, his gaze dropping towards the floor. “Bye.” 

He turns to leave, and almost runs into Wendy who is on her way into Bill’s office. They exchange muttered goodbyes before Wendy slips past him into the office. 

“I was just bringing you the application list.” She says, setting the folder on his desk. “You can look at it tomorrow.” 

“Thanks.” Bill mutters, barely looking up from his notebook where his notes are scattered in nearly illegible chicken scratch. 

Wendy pauses across the desk from him, her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Was there something else?” He asks, taking his reading glasses off to meet her gaze. 

“Is Holden okay?” She asks, her gaze reserved yet calculated. 

“As far as I know.” 

“He looked upset just now.” 

Bill leans back in his chair, and lets out a sigh. He hesitates to tell Wendy their personal business, but she’s about the only person he trusts to unload on. 

“Yeah, we um … we had a … I don’t know what you’d call it - disagreement - this morning.” 

“Ah.” Wendy says, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Bill glances away. He instinctively reaches for his cigarettes to soothe his nerves. 

Wendy closes the door of the office, and comes back to take the chair across from him. She crosses her legs, and folds her hands patiently in her lap. 

“An old buddy of mine is getting married.” Bill says, focusing on the tip of his cigarette catching flame. “I got the invitation the other day.”

“Okay.” Wendy says, slowly. 

“I threw it away.” Bill says, taking drag of his cigarette, and tilting his head back to exhale smoke towards the ceiling. “Holden found it in the trash.”

Wendy’s head tilts to one side as she quietly analyzes this information. 

Bill sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I thought I didn’t want to go because it said on the invitation that I should bring a plus one, and I know I can’t take Holden to that kind of thing. But, then he said something to me that …”

“What’s that?” Wendy asks, softly. 

Bill stares at the singed tip of his cigarette, feeling the lump returning. He clears his throat against it, and pushes on, “Every time I touch him, I’m breaking the law.”

Wendy is quiet for a moment, absorbing the remark. “Is that how you feel?” 

Bill glances up at her, a frown knitting his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Does it feel criminal?” She asks, “When you touch him.” 

“No.” Bill whispers, “It feels … right. And, I suppose I didn’t realize it until he said it that the reason I didn’t want to go is because I don’t want to watch someone else get a second chance at marrying the love of their life when I don’t.” 

“Your friend is remarrying?”

“Yeah.” Bill says, scoffing. “A third time, actually. I know for a fact he cheated on his ex-wife. So I guess it feels a little wrong that he gets to marry whoever the fuck he feels like, and I-”

He glances away, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Saying it aloud makes the truth of it burn worse, right down into his chest like acid. 

“It is unfair.” Wendy says, “Heterosexual men and women get to abuse the constitution of marriage with impunity while you and I are left with the only thing we have - our privacy, a thing we must protect with our lives. At times, it feels like a struggle just to survive, and that very few people will ever understand what we experience every day.” 

“So, what you’re saying is I shouldn’t isolate myself from Holden?” Bill asks, scoffing past the lump in his throat. “You’re probably right. I should apologize.”

“Yes, I’m saying that. But I’m saying something else, too.” Wendy says, smiling gently. “I’m saying that homosexuality has existed for centuries. It’s older than modern religion, and it’s much, much older than our government and their laws. Marriage, in the traditional sense, is a gathering and a celebration of two people who love each other very much. It isn’t defined by a courthouse or a piece of paper.” 

Bill meets Wendy’s gaze, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I had a lot of gay friends in Boston.” Wendy says, “They had marriage ceremonies all the time. Proposals, rings, vows, all of it. Perhaps it wasn’t valid in the eyes of the law, but that isn’t what mattered. It wasn’t a legal contract to them. It was a display of commitment and loyalty to someone they loved very much.” 

“Wow.” Bill says, “That’s incredible.” 

Wendy nods, and rises to her feet. “It’s not beyond your reach. Think about it.” 

“I will. Thanks.” 

She smiles, softly. “Have a good night, Bill.” 

“You too.” 

She slips out of the office, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Her words settle in slowly, past his frustrations at the injustices of the world. The clamor dies down, his emotions boiling down to one thing, one certainty - he loves Holden, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Beyond that, the rest is melting away, inconsequential details, a few obstacles but none that he can’t hurdle. 

Bill jumps up from his chair, leaving his cigarette half-smoked in the ashtray. The jewelry shop will be closing soon.

[st-nyk]

Blurb #1

Ash danced in the air like leaves in fall. Gently drifting back down to earth, only to rise again on clouds of sparks highlighting the currents of hot air. My skin felt like it had been roasted over hell's barbecue pit. The devil must like his meat well done. My head lolled off to the left in response to the sharp cracking sounds of the building's main supports burning up and giving way. To bad, the place actually had passable Chinese food. Nothing like the real deal,but better than most of the knock offs in america. That was small town quality at its finest.

The gravel I had collapsed on was digging painfully into my blistered shoulders. The shock and insanity of the night was starting to wear off and the haze from the adrenaline weaken, letting the pain it was suppressing to bleed through. The ringing in my ears started adulating. Slowly morphing into the theme music of the fire and police departments. My thoughts started to form around the fact that I didn't want to be here when they arrived.

Moving seemed unthinkable, but I tore my eyes away from the smoke fogged stars and rolled onto the shoulder that felt marginally better. I got on my hands and knees, decided to play it safe, and crawled over to where I thought I saw my coat last. The unassuming jacket had survived without so much as a scratch on it. I gently threw it over my shoulders. A cool wave of relief washed over me as the leather shell reflected the heat away from my raw skin.

I chanced standing and found that, while shaky, it was possible. I hobbled down the nearest alley just as the police cars rounded the last corner, their lights turning the smoke blue and red in addition to dull orange. With one last look, I turned my singed posterior to face them and shuffled back to the motel.

Another thing about small towns, unlike big cities, is that everything is farther away. In a city, you could find everything you need in about 5 blocks from any direction. The lack of confinement in a town like this seems to give people the need to build important things, like the hotels and restaurants, as far apart as possible without letting them become separate, mini towns all their own.

By the time the motel came into view, the pain was making up for lost time. It was mainly my upper back, where the full force of the fireball struck me. I'd probably be a charred,smoking corpse if I hadn't felt the spell gathering energy and started preparing for a fight. But even with the extra toughness, the burns might still be enough to kill me if I didn't tend to them. This is going to be the last time I go anywhere without my coldbag. I had to grab a handful of ice from a serving tray to defend myself. The restaurant wouldn't be burning to the ground if I had. Charred, but not burning.

I passed a couple walking down the street. They had just stepped out from the small theater and started to head for their car. People can tell when someone is in a lot of pain, something about how their walk stiffens as they try to not move whatever's hurting too much. This couple's demeanor change to concern when they caught sight of me. I tried to smile and wave them off, but it must have looked more like a threat than a friendly gesture because they retreated into the closest building that was open. I huffed and continued to a door marked with bold, metal numbers. Suite 26. The newest home, sweet home.

I used my key to unlock the door, flipped on the lights, and shrugged out of the coat. On the way to the bathroom, I grabbed a small, drawstring pouch made out of a thick, insulated material. I pealed off the remnants of of the dark green T-shirt and turned toward the wide mirror.

Aside from a few patches that reminded me of the last time I tried cooking, my back had gotten by with only getting a few blisters and a new paint job. Cherry red wasn't my color.

Q

I reached out with my awareness, a sensation that has always felt exactly like slowly sticking your hand in cool water except for it can touch things that are beyond normal reach and I could perceive things about what I touched with it that I shouldn't know. This time, I only reached for the bag in my hand. It's silky surface becoming more intimate, deeper. I knew it was insulative. If I looked harder, I could tell how much it could insulate or even what it was made of, but I pressed deeper. Inside of it was what looked to be a solar system, with 6 or 7 suns. Some were brighter than others, but each had vastly different, yet still similar, feels to them.

I curled my awareness around a sun that felt purple. I started to sink into it and felt the purple light flow into me. I opened eyes that I hadn't realized I shut, and watched the burns fade. I willed the worst to be healed first. Charred skin pealed itself off, revealing pale, new flesh. The blisters drained and the skin underneath toughened up. The top of the blisters would eventually rub off as they normally would if I hadn't healed them. The rest of the skin paled to a light sunburned color before I released the sun, now visibly dimmer, and swept up the layers of skin I had sloughed off. The remains of the T-shirt followed them into the trash.

Now healed, and in considerably less pain, I took into account how bad I smelled. I stripped and jumped into the shower. After pat drying my back and pulling on some sweats and a new shirt, I checked the damage the fighting had put on my resources and my plan. The witches jumped me before I even started to poke around, so something else had tipped them off. I wasn't sure what had been chewing on the livestock around here, leaving them with an overnight amputation, but witches fit the bill. They weren't human. A witch appears human except for razor teeth and it turns greenish when it is sick or poisoned. They would be okay if it wasn't for the craving for meat. Preferably bloody and fresh. They can live off of other foods but their reserves of energy for magic need meat to refill.

They're magic isn't like mine. Mine uses balance. I can suppress something's traits for a time, funneling them into a reservoir, so that later on I can compound the traits for my benefit. A witch's magic uses energy that can come from anywhere, and they channel that energy through different runes. The runes shape the spell into a desired outcome. The outcome of the witch's spell at the restaurant tonight was that I become a greasy spot on the floor from being incinerated. Some humans can use that kind of magic. They first have to carve the runes into something, but as they order their mind, and study the runes, they can start to cast spells on the fly. Witches never need to use the training wheels. As soon as they learn a rune, they can cast spells. Using the runes in the mind offer more intuitive control than the carved ones, better for fighting. Much more dangerous.

There was only one at the restaurant and I barely escaped. There was a whole coven here and they know about me. I dug in the bags I had brought, pulled out a rune carved lump of chalk. It was given to me by a friend and the subtle enchantment in the chalk would wake me if something crossed a line drawn by it. I drew a circle line across the front door, the front window, and the small one in the bathroom. One of those runes must have meant endless, because the chalk doesn't seem to get any smaller. I wrapped it back in its cloth and put it away. Then I climbed into the expertly made bed, unceremoniously wrapped myself in the covers, and fell into a much needed sleep