#and theatre is like a walk back into a simpler time

[broadwayinabox]

You know why live theatre is so fucking magical?

Because everyone has to be present together.

No fucking phones, no talking, no hitting pause… none of that.

We just don’t do that as a society anymore. Even at concerts everyone wants to capture the moment instead of experience it. Everything is at our leisure, everything is replayable, everything is stored with the intent to revisit a moment we never really lived in the first place. But, for the most part, theatre audiences all quietly agree to enjoy the show uninterrupted.

You sit your booty in that tiny little chair with hundreds of other people in their tiny little chairs and you form a community that lives in this one performance at this one moment in time and you all experience together. No matter how subtle the differences from show to show, yours is uniquely yours and if you miss something it’s gone forever.

Theatre DEMANDS your attention and for 2+ hours you remember that you’re capable of giving it, undivided.

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 [𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader [Modern!AU]

SUMMARY — Violet and Hyacinth attend Francesca's performance with the London Philharmonic and receive some shocking news.

WORD COUNT — 4.1K

WARNINGS — descriptions of panic and anxiety

NOTE — You guys it's been a hell of a week it's a miracle I'm getting this formatted now (ie. it's a miracle I remembered). Anyways hope you enjoy this chapter as things get more intriguing.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑽: 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑳𝑰𝑪𝑰𝑻

Violet watched as Hyacinth rolled on the balls of her feet while they waited for an usher in the theatre to  lead them where they were to be seated. Unsure of why her daughter was so fidgety, Violet wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her more into her side, pressing a kiss to the top of her neatly done hair. 

“Thank you for coming with me, dearest.” 

Hyacinth looked over at her mother and smiled, leaning a little more into her hold, careful not to have her hair catch onto her dangly earrings or to get any makeup on her shoulder. 

“I miss Franny too,” she said. “It’s nice she could get us tickets, even nicer that Gregory isn’t here to ruin it.” 

“Hyacinth!” Violet chastised with a chuckle, tickling her sides a little. 

“No, but seriously,” Hyacinth looked up at her mother, “it’s been a while since I’ve had a Mum and me day. It was fun getting ready together and going out for dinner beforehand.” 

“Yes and I must say I am pleasantly surprised I did not walk out of the washroom looking like a clown,” she teased and Hyacinth stuck her tongue out. 

“You love it when I do your makeup,” she nagged. “And pick your clothes, look at you Mum, you’re smashing.” 

Violet laughed at Hyacinth’s comment and looked down at her attire. It had been a while since she had really dressed up, mainly sticking to dress pants and blouses for work and at home, but Hyacinth had dug around in her closet and found a blue off the shoulders dress that she was entirely convinced she was now much too old for, but was lovingly bullied into wearing by her youngest regardless. Not to mention, Hyacinth was now old enough to steal her clothes as well, and so her dress was also a little number from the back of Violet’s closet. 

“Mrs. Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton, I can take you to your seats,” an usher came and introduced himself, taking the two to their booth that Francesca had especially reserved for them. 

Both Violet and Hyacinth were anxious for the performance to start, and anyone who was watching could tell how much their smiles widened once Francesca made her entrance onto the stage. 

“Wow, Mum, look at her dress!” Hyacinth exclaimed in a whisper. 

Francesca was never one for much extravagance, and so, Violet was sure her peers or her conductor had something to do with her choice of outfit, a dress that trailed behind her gloriously and shone against the bright stage lights, accentuating her daughter’s radiance. 

Violet noticed how Francesca’s eyes drifted over to their booth, and both she and Hyacinth gave her a small wave, making her smile before she sat down and waited for the cue from the conductor to begin with the opening piece. 

She had never once imagined in the many performances of the London Philharmonic she’d attended with her husband, that one day she would be sitting and watching her daughter grace that very same stage. She only wished Edmund had been alive to see it. 

At the end of the performance, an usher came to grab Violet and Hyacinth, expressing that Francesca had asked for them to be escorted backstage so she could see them. 

By the time they managed to weave through the crowds of people, Francesca was in much simpler clothing, sipping on some water and speaking to the first violinist.

When she saw her relatives, she quickly wrapped up her conversation with her colleague and made her way over to her mother and sister. Hyacinth wasted no time in giving Francesca the biggest hug and singing her praises while Violet quickly pulled out her phone and took a few photos to keep for herself and maybe the rest of her children as memories of tonight.

“Mum, what did you think?” Francesca asked once she could finally get a word in between Hyacinth’s rambling. 

“I loved it,” Violet grinned, pulling her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Your father would be so proud if he could see you like this,” she whispered. “He was always proud of all of you, but this would have been special to share with him.” 

“I was thinking about him tonight, too,” Francesca admitted, still holding onto her mother. “Is it odd I almost felt like he was here?” she chuckled a little nervously as the two pulled away. 

“Not at all,” Violet held her daughter’s face in her hands, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Actually that’s quite special,” she smiled, “but speaking of being here, where is John?” 

“Oh, he and his family came to my show last night before heading back to Scotland. John went with them for a week to take care of some family affairs,” she explained while they began to walk out of the backstage area in order to get to Violet’s car so that they could head out. 

As they re-entered the main entrance of the theatre, Francesca and Violet were so involved in their conversation, they didn’t notice someone familiar amongst the crowd, but Hyacinth’s eyes and ears were sharp, beaming as she ran off. 

“Hyacinth!” Violet exclaimed immediately, noticing her daughter’s escape. They quickly followed her path until they saw her, arms wrapped tightly around you while you laughed, a little surprised to see the youngest Bridgerton at the Royal Festival Hall.

“Goodness, Hyacinth, what are you doing here?” you asked, returning her hug with just as much force. Just as you asked your question you looked up and saw Violet standing there in front of you. 

You still held onto Hyacinth, but you were caught even more off guard by the staggeringly simple elegance Violet always seemed to have, now only accentuated by her choice of dress, the blue making her eyes more striking than you’d ever thought you’d seen them. 

“Violet,” your voice was much softer than you had anticipated. “Hi.” 

“What a pleasant surprise,” Violet smiled, enjoying watching the interaction between you and her daughter, each of you with an arm still wrapped around the other as you faced the other women. 

“Yes, quite pleasant,” you cleared your throat. “How did you two end up here tonight? A mother daughter outing?” 

“Sort of,” Hyacinth nodded. 

“We were here to see my daughter, Francesca, perform,” Violet placed a hand on Francesca’s back. 

“You’re Francesca Kilmartin,” you looked over at her, finally taking her in and recognizing who she was. “Oh my God, I thought you looked familiar.” 

Violet did the honours of introducing you formally, explaining your name and position to the second youngest daughter in the family. 

“I guess I never made the connection,” you admitted. “I think I’ve seen you in some of the family photos around the house, but your name made it totally slip past me.” 

“Yes, I recently got married,” Francesca explained. “I love being a Bridgerton, but…” 

Violet pulled Francesca closer and kissed her temple. 

“Life is quieter as a Kilmartin,” Violet finished, completely understanding where her daughter was coming from. 

“Can you come with us tonight?” Hyacinth looked up at you. “We always go out for ice cream after Franny’s shows.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, I know your Mum doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with you guys, and she’s probably sick of me by now,” you chuckled. 

“I would like it if you could join us,” Francesca said. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about you from Anthony, but it would be nice to get to know you better.” 

“Oh, all good things I hope,” you said as you looked over at Violet, searching her eyes for any hint that she didn’t want you there, extremely careful not to overstep with her family. 

“Ice cream is always better with more people,” Violet assured you. “Did you taxi here?” 

You nodded your head. 

“We can go all together, I was planning on taking Francesca home afterwards, and she lives close to your place anyways,” Violet explained. “Shall we?” 

“Yes, definitely,” Hyacinth nodded, taking your arm and Francesca’s and dragging you along, Violet trailing behind with a laugh on her lips. 

Once you were all piled into Violet’s car, Hyacinth was quick to take over the music and you could hear Violet sigh with exasperation. 

“Dearest, we’ve been listening to this album on repeat, can’t you pick something else?” she asked. 

“Mum, you don’t understand, I have to prepare myself for the concert,” Hyacinth said. 

“Yes, but even concert preparations sometimes need a break,” you chuckled. “Why don't you indulge your Mum on this one?” 

Hyacinth looked reluctant while Violet pulled out of the parking lot, but she then pulled up her phone again, scrolling through her playlists until she landed on something else. 

You could see Violet’s eyes land on yours through the rearview mirror, a thankful smile on her lips, especially once she’d heard Hyacinth had switched to the music her grandfather used to play before he passed away.

“So, do you come to see the Philharmonic often?” Francesca turned back and looked at you while she asked her question. 

“I used to, but then life got a little hectic. This is the first show I’ve been to in a while,” you admitted. 

“As a member I have some privileges when it comes to seating. If you ever want to come to a show just let me know and I can see what I can do,” she offered. “It’s always nice to see someone closer in age to myself in the audience,” she chuckled. 

“I can imagine,” you nodded your head. “None of the other family could join tonight?” 

“Oh, God, no,” Hyacinth shook her head. “Getting them all in one place is impossible.” 

“They’ve all come and seen me, just not at the same time,” Francesca explained. “Mum’s come the most, obviously.” 

“And I hold onto that title with much pride,” Violet assured, pulling down another side street before parking the car in front of what looked like a small, empty ice cream shop. 

“How do you always find these little hole-in-the-wall establishments?” you asked while stepping out of the car, adjusting your blouse. 

“Mum likes to find places where no one else goes,” Hyacinth explained. “Most of the time.” 

“Yes, most of the time,” Violet agreed. “I think Edmund and Francesca actually came across this place together on a day out. Didn’t you?” 

Francesca nodded her head. 

“It was after he took me to see the orchestra for the first time,” she explained. “I was kind of hoping we might come here.” 

“Us Bridgertons are one thing if not sentimental,” Violet chuckled. 

“Would you three hurry? I want to take a picture and show Gregory what he’s missing out on,” Hyacinth said, while pushing the door to the shop open.

Francesca was the first to acquiesce to her sister while you and Violet trailed behind. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your family outing,” you found yourself apologizing. 

Violet was in the middle of rummaging through her purse when you said that and she looked at you, surprised. 

“It’s not an intrusion,” Violet said, pulling out her wallet. “Hardly so.” 

“You don’t have to sugar coat it for me, I know how precious time with your kids is. Especially the ones who don’t live with you anymore.” 

You looked back into the glass window of the shop, seeing Francesca and Hyacinth playfully teasing each other about various flavours. 

“Yes, of course time with them is precious, but why would I say no to something we all wanted?” she asked you. “You heard Francesca and Hyacinth, they both wanted you to come, I wanted you to come.” 

You looked over at Violet and chewed the inside of your cheek, nodding your head. 

She placed a hand on your arm, using the other to open the door, now seeing that Francesca and Hyacinth had already gotten their cones. 

You and Violet both ordered, but before she could notice, you passed your credit card over to the cashier and paid for the four of you. When Violet reached the till and noticed everything was paid for she sent you a look and you shrugged your shoulders. 

“My treat,” you smiled. “Can’t quite convince Anthony this one’s a business expense.” 

Violet chuckled and conceded, moving over to take a seat with her daughters, Hyacinth already prepared with her camera to take a picture and send it to Gregory. 

It was an odd sight, four very well dressed ladies in an ice cream shop past nine o’clock, but you also supposed that was part of the Bridgerton charm. 

“So, how did you end up working for my Mum?” Francesca asked. “And Anthony, I guess, as well, but everyone knows it’s really her that runs things.” 

Hyacinth snorted, and you and Violet both chuckled at Francesca’s words, and you thought back to a few months ago when you had first gotten the job. 

“Well, I had just left my old position at a holding company, and I heard through a friend that your family was looking for a new financial manager. I’d heard about everything that happened on the news and I must admit, before, I didn’t really know who you guys were, but everything I saw made me think that I might actually enjoy this position. So, I emailed your mother, we arranged an interview that was interrupted by a Whitney Houston song, if I remember correctly,” you teased and looked over at Hyacinth, who blushed with a laugh and apologized. “And the rest is history.” 

“And do you like it?” Francesca asked. 

“Oh, I love it,” you nodded. “Not just the work, but getting to know your family has been quite the treasure,” you looked at Violet fondly. “I only hope it continues.” 

“I’m sure it will,” Violet nodded before looking down at her cup of ice cream and taking a spoon of it to put in her mouth. 

The moment was interrupted when your phone began to ring, and pulling it out of your pocket, you apologized and excused yourself, needing to take it. 

Francesca and Hyacinth continued with a conversation while Violet’s eyes remained on you, studying your body language, how you responded to what was being said on the other side. 

She began to worry when she saw your hand move to cover your mouth, stress evident and written all over your face. She quickly put down her cup and went over to you, pulling her dress slightly to adjust it while her heels clicked against the tile floor where she walked. 

“Is everything okay?” Violet asked quietly. 

You shook your head, still listening to what was going on. 

“Work or family?” 

Violet chewed her lip, waiting for your response. 

“Work,” you mouthed, and Violet could feel a lump begin to form in her throat. As much as she was happy that whatever the crisis was didn’t involve your family, she couldn’t help but wonder who in her family it did.

Eventually, you hung up the phone and sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Violet, I’m so sorry. I-We have to go deal with this,” you pointed to your phone. 

“Is it…?” she asked, thinking she knew what the situation was just based on your response.

You nodded your head and looked away while rubbing the back of your neck.

“Mum, is everything okay?” Hyacinth asked, sensing the tension between you. 

“Just a work problem. I’m afraid we might have to cut our evening short,” she apologized to her daughters. 

“Mum, why don’t you leave Hyacinth with me at my home tonight,” Francesca suggested. “John’s away and I have the extra space…” 

“Hyacinth?” Violet looked at her daughter to see if she was on board with the change in plans and she seemed more than happy to comply. 

You all grabbed your ice cream and headed out of the store, first taking Francesca and Hyacinth to Francesca’s home before re-routing to Bridgerton House. 

“Violet,” you paused her before she pulled out of the driveway. “Maybe I can take the wheel.” 

She looked over at you, the stress and uncertainty of the situation clearly getting to her. 

“We have to talk about this and I don’t want you to be stressed and driving at the same time.”

Violet’s hands were still firmly on the steering wheel, looking ahead at Francesca’s townhome, seeing the lights go on and the silhouette of her two daughters behind the curtains of the windows. 

“Okay,” she said quietly while turning off the car and unbuckling her seatbelt, switching sides with you before you started your conversation and the drive back. 

“So, Pat called me,” you began. “She saw something on the news that said Landon had released a statement saying you were complicit in the embezzlement from the charities.” 

Violet’s heart dropped to her stomach and she immediately felt her hands going to settle there in an attempt to suppress her nausea. 

“I think I’m going to vomit,” she covered her mouth. 

You looked between her and the road a few times before pulling over and giving her a chance to breathe without the added motion of the car. 

“Violet, it’s not looking good,” you shook your head. “At least from an optics perspective.”

She could feel the bile begin to rise in her throat at the mere thought of what tomorrow might bring. She wanted to hold her head between her legs, to steady herself, but she couldn’t do anything in the dress she was wearing, let alone in the car.

You pressed your lips together and looked at her, clearly still in shock from the news and made a decision to turn around and instead head in the direction of your apartment, at least temporarily, as a landing pad. 

Violet hadn’t spoken a word since you had turned around, and even when you arrived in the underground parking, slipping out quietly and heading up to your floor, she remained that way. 

When you entered the apartment, you rummaged through some old boxes, finding some clothes a previous partner of yours had conveniently never picked up and you had never gotten rid of, handing them to Violet so that she could get changed.

When she came out of the washroom, her face was washed and wiped clean of any makeup, her jewelry most likely tucked away in her purse, her hair fell into loose curls on either side of her shoulders, and the clothes hung off her frame in such a casual way you’d never really seen before on her.

You hated yourself for staring when the situation was so dire, but she always seemed to make it hard not to.

“Did Pat say anything more?” she asked. “About what….what was on the news? In the statement?” 

“Not much,” you shook your head. “I phoned the lawyers while you were getting changed, they haven’t heard from the police yet, but if this is legitimate, they’ll expect a request to interview you.”

Violet ran a hand across her face, squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to let overwhelmed tears form in her eyes. 

Her stomach began to churn again and she shook her head, moving over to your couch, sitting down and placing her head between her knees, attempting to take deep, steadying breaths. 

You kneeled down in front of her, placing one hand on her back, the other on her leg, both rubbing gentle and soothing patterns. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Her voice was so quiet and broken; you could feel your heart begin to tighten in your chest. 

There were a million questions running through Violet’s head, but none stopped long enough for her to ponder, creating a hurricane in her mind, the noise of thunder becoming louder and louder until she felt a hand against her cheek. The sounds became more muffled. Her head lifted, gently, tenderly, until she saw your eyes, the sympathy, the conviction that things would work out in the end. It wasn’t until your arms wrapped around her and her face was partially buried in your shoulder, her own hands wrapped around you gingerly at first, until she gained the confidence to hold onto you like you were her only tether to the world, did everything fall silent. The thoughts racing in her mind, quiet. And she clung onto that feeling for dear life. 

There was no question in your mind that Violet was innocent. Of course she was; she was Violet. Nothing in her nature or her character pointed in that direction, but you knew that wasn’t what the public would see. 

“I-” she began, her voice slightly choked. “I would understand if you wanted to leave. My family’s employment, I mean. We both know it isn’t a position that will be around forever, I-I wouldn’t want to tarnish-” 

“Violet?” 

“Yes?” she whispered into your shoulder. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded her head, the tears she had been trying so hard to hide and push away finally pouring out of her eyes like silent rain, wetting the fabric of your dress as she clutched onto you. 

A part of her was always hoping you would say that, given the nature of your work together, she’d like to think your relationship had become more than just employer to employee, but a true friendship and partnership, and this surely confirmed that for her. 

“The children,” she said, pulling away from you for a moment. “I-I have to call them and tell them before it gets too late a-and before they see it anywhere.” 

She wiped away her tears quickly with her hands before you passed her a tissue, which she used to quietly blow her nose before pulling out her phone and started with Anthony, knowing it would be the latest where he was. 

One by one, she called and spoke to her children with almost alarming calmness, explaining to them the situation, how it would affect her and then, in turn, how it might affect them. You could see she was most concerned when speaking to Gregory and Hyacinth, both of them having been much more sheltered from the media than their siblings and knowing the spotlight could be hot and intense.

She figured after tonight, when Hyacinth came back from Francesca’s, it would be good for everyone to lay low for a little while. 

Next, you called Pat together, trying to craft a statement you could release to the public in an attempt to mitigate some of the damage done to the family’s reputation, but there was a key and strategy on what to say and when to release it, all of which Pat was very helpful with. 

After your call with Pat, you checked the time and saw it was getting quite late, and Violet would need to be home tomorrow to deal with everything that was coming. 

“Let me drive you home,” you suggested, but Violet had since sobered up to the reality of what was happening and shook her head. 

“No, I can drive myself,” she said. “It might be my last chance for a while.” 

You nodded, understanding her need for some time alone, and gave her a bag for her dress before letting her go with one more reassuring hug that you both lingered in a little longer than normal. 

Given the late hour, the streets were more or less empty on the way back to Bridgerton House, and Violet savoured the silence the car ride home offered, with one hand on the wheel and her other elbow resting against the car door, her fingers interlaced in her hair. 

She pulled into the driveway and walked through the front door,  noticing a few lights were still on, signalling to her that Gregory was still awake. 

She heard a rustle she assumed was coming from the kitchen, and before long, her son was in front of her, taking a moment to look her over.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in sweatpants.” 

Violet chuckled a little at his comment, using it to cover up a sniffle and wipe away a few tears that were stubborn and still lingered. 

“Mum, are you okay?” he came closer to her, watching as she bit the inside of her cheek and carefully shook her head, which was all it took for the young man to close the distance between them, wrapping her up in his arms. 

Violet wrapped her arms around her son, and they stayed there in silence for a moment before Gregory pulled away and placed a hand on her back leading her towards the kitchen. 

“Come on, I made you some tea. You should have a cup before bed.” 

She leaned into her son’s side and gave him another silent squeeze, so grateful that through his years, he’d retained his caring and kind nature. 

And through all the craziness that was yet to come, Violet thought, perhaps, she might appreciate the calm before the storm. 

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch @etherynn @lilisdarling

[timelessmulder]

31 Days of Horror day 8: Missing

Just beyond the old five dollar movie theatre, where trees towered above ancient lands, there was a walking trail. It wasn't a proper hike; the land was too flat for that, hugging too close to the coast and developed for railway travel, back when the area was a go between for transporting goods. Those had been long abandoned, leaving behind rotten tracks and gutted watch towers, solid and steadfast despite decades of weather wear and rust, in their vigil over forgotten rail lines.

Among the stalwart guardians, whose wooden floors had begun to sag and metal rungs had rusted into nothing, stood an anomaly. It was ancient as the rest of them, old and haggard, but the beams that held it aloft bore little decay. The rungs that led to its belly, overlooking the scattering of trees and forgotten tracks and the river that flowed into the ocean, were a matte silver. Worn and weary, but still strong enough to hold one's weight, should they dare to climb. Those who wandered the trails paid it little mind; if they noticed the oddity, it was simple enough to chalk it up to someone else's doing. And the tower would slip from their minds as they moved on, leaf litter crunching under foot.

But as with all things in sleepy towns with sleepy denizens, an urban legend spread throughout the youth. Passed from student to student, in those hushed and conspiratorial tones so that adults would not hear: have you heard?

The trail had been a throughway. Not just for the material goods traveling here to there, but a rift. There was no mad conductor, no mad engineer. Something in the design just...cut through. The tracks, some said, would ooze a viscous black. Like a wound cut across the earth. Sometimes, trains would blink. In and out, time folding around in a flash of light and sound, there and gone until you questioned it was ever there at all.

And the watchtower. That watched over it all.

Who manned it? No one knew; such was the way with legends of this nature. The records were lost to time. They were destroyed. They were kept hidden away so the horrible truth would stay hidden from the prying eyes of the masses. The truth was simpler: the teens who told the stories simply had no interest in digging through old public records to verify their ghost stories. But the towers had been manned, just like any other.

But the railways shut down for mundane reasons. The rift remained, if one knew where to look. A few decades back, a group of teenagers were partying out on the trail, away from where adults would look. As the alcohol flowed and inhibition dipped below sensible thresholds, the dares began. Harmless things. The night was young and they weren't quite stupid yet.

A young man - who he was, what his social status was, changed with every telling - was dared to venture into the watchtower. There was no thought for safety and everyone was several drinks to the wind. The crowd egged him on as he climbed onto the platform, the grated metal echoing with every shift of weight. He gave them all a big grin, and he stepped into the building.

The air prickled as he passed through the entryway. An electric current. A bend and snap. And he never came out again. The story differs on how the party reacted: did they think he was playing his own trick on them? Did they grow worried, but too scared to enter themselves? Were police called, by scared party goers or bereaved parents? Stories were shifting things, but one thing remained the same: a boy went in, and he never came back out.

Nowadays there are warning signs plastered in the area. It's dangerous to climb, for one reason or another. Teens still do it, giggling with the thrill of danger, some small part of them wondering with a very real dread what if conditions are right this time? that sparked across their nervous. But it never was. No kid went missing, time never folded in on itself like a video missing frames. The participants moved on, holding fondness for the story but no longer giving it the credit of truth. They moved on.

And the watchtower remained.

[crackspinewornpages]

The Bridge of San Luis Rey 3/5 -Thornton Wilder

PART THREE 

ESTEBAN 

One morning twin foundlings were found in a basket at the Convent of Santa Maria Rosa de las Rosas and given names that weren't useful since no one could tell them apart. As they aged their parentage was guessed Castilion, the one closet to being a parent was the Abbess Madre Maria del Pilar, who hated all men but was fond of Esteban and Manuel. She’d have tea with them and tell them stories and grew to love them all while waiting to see them grow the ugliness of men. “All the ugliness that made hideous the world she walked in.”p.54 They stayed in the convent until they became a distraction, (like how young girls are to creepy old men) since they dedicated themselves to cleaning other sacristies in town. As they grew older, they had no desire of clerical life, instead becoming scribes and made a living with it. (this was back when literacy and mass printing wasn’t widespread) 

Because they were twins with no family brought up by women, they were silent and lived in shame by their appearance. “They had to live in a world where it was the subject of continual comment and joking.”p.55 When they learned to speak, they invented their own language for when they were alone. The Archbishop was interested in languages but trying to get them to write it down was somehow humiliating to them and he eventually let them go. Their language was a symbol of their identity with each other, “so love is inadequate to describe the tacit almost ashamed oneness of those brothers.”p.56 Side by side existed a need of each other and exchanged few words and looks this produced natural miracles. (meaning the ESP twins share) 

Growing tired of writing they went down to the sea to work at the docks, pick fruit and ferry and always they were silent. “All the world was remote and strange and hostile except one’s brother.”p.57 Finally a shadow was cast over them by a woman, they returned to the city to copy a play and didn't like it seeing poetry as futile. Perichole was on stage as Esteban returned home to finish copying Manuel stayed, years ago they saw her before, seeing they were twins guessed Esteban was the younger one. Since all of Manuel’s errands ran past the theatre beneath her dressing room the first time his imagination was overwhelmed by a woman. He lost the dissociated of love and pleasure now it was complicated with love and he lost sense of oneself and neglect of everything that wasn't Perichole, 

  Esteban’s life was enough for him, no room for new loyalty because it was simpler now, he discovered the secret. “There may be two equally good, equally gifted, equally beautiful, but there may never be two that love one another equally well.”p.59 So Esteban stayed up wondering why Manuel was so changed, why meaning went out of their life. One evening Camila called for Manuel to write a letter for her and complains how they both never come see her, is it because she’s an actress. She sees Manuel's face he doesn't like her so wants Esteban instead, he stays saying she can trust him, does he promise to keep what they are secret even from Esteban, he does. She walks around dictating her letter and pays him and will call on him again, her uncle  Pio writes her letters but there are things she doesn't want him to know. 

Esteban knew Manuel was brooding over Perichole but didn't know he was seeing her and for the next few months a messenger boy would ask which twin is which, Manuel was wanted at the theatre. Esteban assumed it was copy work then was surprised on the visit to their room when Manuel allowed a lady in to quickly write her a letter. (she’s impatient with her matador lover) Watching the two Esteban saw the new congeniality forming he’d never know and he seemed to shrink away unwanted, a shut out from the tableau of love. (it ain’t love it’s a hard crush and a woman either oblivious or stringing him along because she likes the attention) After she left Manuel worshipped her and gradually became aware of Esteban’s mood who told him, “Go and follow her, Manuel. Don’t stay here. You’ll be happy. There’s room for us all in the world.”p.65 And Manuel felt terror as the mental image of Esteban saying goodbye, understanding his misery, demanding he choose him or Perichole. Their loyalty had been diminished, understanding his suffering, Manuel removed Perichole from his heart. 

Manuel declared it would be the last letter he writes for her but Esteban still leaves saying he’s going for a walk and Manuel didn't have to say that. “You don't have to change for me.”p.67 Manuel calls him a fool for thinking he said that for him, how could he love her what chance does he even have. (absolutely none) He tells Esteban to go to bed in their secret language but Esteban still goes out knowing he’s in the way. It wasn't until Manuel cried out like Esteban was going away forever that he returned and they didn't speak of it for weeks. The next morning Perichole sent for him and he refused. 

One evening Manuel tore open his knee on a piece of metal, fairly healthy Manuel was now bewildered as his leg swelled and racked with pain. (it’s either tetanus gangrene or sepsis) One night Esteban ran to fetch the barber-surgeon (this was back when a barber could perform surgery it’s why they had that red and white pole interesting history look into it) but he wouldn’t be back until morning. In those hours they told each other after the doctor sees it all will be fine and Manuel will be walking in a few days. The doctor came and for hours they treated the wound, but the pain grew worse until nightfall, Manuel grew delirious and at two in the morning he demanded God to damn Esteban. “For coming between me and what was mine by right. She was mine, do you hear, and what right had you...”p.70 (she was never yours and never would be) These outbursts continued hourly and it was some time for Esteban to know his brother wasn't in his right mind and after some horror with being a devout believer, he returned to his brother with a bent head. 

By morning Manuel felt serener declaring he feels better and will be up and about tomorrow, (oh no) does he want Perichole, no. Esteban asks if Manuel still feels that he came between them he would have been all right if he’d gone away, no she’s nothing to him he’s glad things are the way they are. He’s not responsible for what he says his leg hurts, so he didn't damn him to hell for coming between him and Perichole, Manuel says he’s going crazy how could he damn him to hell when he’s all he has. The brothers argue whether or not to replace the dressings and this conversation would happen over and over. The noises would be so loud the other guests would complain and the innkeeper said he’d dump the brothers in the street in the morning. Esteban would go out so they’d rage at him, go inside and muffle his brother's screams, making him angrier. The third night Esteban sent for a priest and during the sacrament Manuel died. 

After Esteban refused to go near the building his brother’s body was in, drifting in the streets, eventually the innkeeper sent for the Abbess who made arrangements. She asked Esteban to help and remembered at fifteen Manuel had said he’s prevent the crucifixion of Jesus. She asks which one he is, Esteban says he’s Manuel and he won't help her, the Abbess reminds him Manuel would always help her. Does he remember what she did for him, yes, she reminds him she is also suffering loss. Esteban wouldn't respond and when the procession passed in the city he followed on parallel streets. All of Lima was interested in the separation of the brothers, Esteban would find work then disappear and reappear in another province but always return to Lima. After he lingered around the convent Madre Maria del Pilar failed to bring him inside, she’d be angry at God for not giving her the wisdom and grace then she sent for Captain Alvarado, (his reason for wandering is he had a young daughter that died) who went to Esteban who was doing copy work in Cuzco. 

The brothers had respect for Alvarado, in the short time they worked together the three made sense in the world. Alvarado found him eating and waited to introduce himself, he’s looking for workmen for a trip far from Peru. After yelling the question again Esteban agreed, he wants his brother too, no, why wouldn't he want to go and eventually Esteban told him he’s dead and Alvarado apologizes he didn't know. (seems like something the Abbess should have told him) Which one is he, Esteban, when did his brother die, a few weeks ago, how old is he, twenty-two, he’s still coming with him, yes. Esteban told him he has to go now to the city to see somebody about something, come back by supper and they’ll talk about the trip. They ate and arranged to go Lima in the morning and Alvarado got him to drink Alvarado talked about ships and Esteban asked to be kept busy and to pretend he doesn't know him, pretend he hates him, he can't write anymore and don't tell the pother men about him. (but why) 

Alrado knows he ran into a burning house to save someone, he didnt even get burned. “you’re not allowed to kill yourself; you know you’re not allowed. Everybody knows that. But if you jump into a burning house to save somebody, that wouldn't be killing yourself.”p.82 (oh Esteban) Not even animals kill themselves when they’re about to lose. Esteban wants to give Madre Maria del Pilar a present before he goes, he’ll need his payment now he won’t need the money anywhere. (oh shit bequeathing something important is sometimes a sign that person is going to kill themselves) “she had a serious loss, once. She said so. I don’t know who it was,”p.82 (it was your brother who was like a son to her same as you) He wants to give her a present, women can't bear it like men can (she’s faring better than you) and Alvarado promised they’ll look in the morning. 

The next day Esteban changed his mind about going, it’s impossible he can’t leave Peru, Alvarado asks about his present, is he going to take it away, it might mean a lot to the Abbess, Esteban agrees. Alvarado assures him it’s the ocean he wants now, go gather his things and they’ll start. Esteban tried to make a decision, it was always Manuel that decided for them and never one as great as this. Alvarado waited for Esteban to return but after a while goes up for him and hearing and rope on plaster thinks it might be for the best then after the rope snaps he runs into the room. (now you take action) Esteban cried that he’s alone making Alvarado relive his own pain. “We do what we can. We push on, Esteban, as best we can. You’ll be surprised at the way time passes.”p.85 They went for Lima at the bridge, the Captain went to the stream to supervise the passage of some merchandise as Esteban went across.  

NEXT

[yinandyanglifestyle]

Sydney is GOTH

Especially the buildings.

by: Icie

Namaste wonderful souls and dear readers, 

There were may wonderful things about Sydney that I liked when I visited there for 3 days. And boy, do I love that city! It truly is a global city worth going to and I love how it has embraced art.

Oh yes, I will still talk about art, but this time it's going to be about the living, highly functional art, which is called architecture. Specifically, about the gorgeous 100-200 year old buildings in Sydney.

We begin on one cold day as my partner and I walked down Hyde Park to reach AGNSW. I saw something grand that caught my eye. I can spot a Gothic tower anywhere and that right there are gothic cathedral-like twin spires trying to reach the sky.

AND IT'S GOLD.

I told my partner, "let's take a look at that cathedral for a spur of the moment side-quest before heading to AGNSW". He agreed and lo and behold: St. Mary's Cathedral.

Great! it was 8:30 AM on a Saturday, meaning there's no church service. So we went close to the steps and saw other tourists taking pictures of this beauty that was made by inmates back in the 1800s. I couldn't resist taking pictures! I love the Gothic style as much as I love Art Nouveau. The people who created this marvel didn't skip on the details. There was beauty in the fences, the doors, the columns, and the windows.

It was so amazingly beautiful.

The best part of this whole cathedral is, we could go inside to take pictures!

It was far more golden inside the building than it was outside.

Later in the day, I found another Gothic offshoot building. When I spotted the Registrar General's Building, I hoped that there would be more Gothic beauties around the city.

Surprise!

The hotel we stayed at was a quirky Federation Gothic building peppered with Art Deco and 1980's elements making it an eclectic haven for people who looked for something out of the ordinary. It was next to a small theatre that showed kitsch things as well, but damn, were they beautiful! We definitely enjoyed our stay. Alright, I wanna move to Sydney now just because of the buildings. And that was just day 1 of our trip.

On the last day of our trip, I saw more Gothic inspired buildings. I wondered why that was the case? I looked up the time when Sydney was founded and I connected the dots to my Art History lessons.

Ah.

Yep.

Victorian People loved reviving old styles and anything Gothic. Their love moved from England to Australia because it was the style of the time mostly because the old timey governor Lachlan Macquarie who, as a Victorian Scot, loved Gothic stuff. But this type of architecture in Australia had some twists. Australian Gothic is so gold and compact, not as tall as the ones in Europe (I assume. Feel free to correct me), a little simpler, and somewhat lighter.

Then I started seeing those small Gothic monuments and details everywhere.

I didn't complain. I love this style! I wanna move to Sydney and see more Gothic Revival buildings every day. Gosh, Brisbane only wishes we had buildings like these.

As per Somaly,

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🌟Send a lot of love, hugs, peace, miracles, and blessings to you and your family.

[vividaway]

Making her way back to her room was easy at this point. Alex had slowly added the theatre and dance studio to her mental map of places in the hotel and had really become familiarized with her surroundings. She noticed all the cream moldings lining the banisters of the wall and the prissy, uptight wallpaper with a texture she couldn't quite name. What she new is it felt rich.

The hotel itself was very modernized and business-like. You walked in and it felt like you were there to do business, whether it was a work trip or some event happening there at the hotel. But one you got up to the VIP suites, the story changes. It feels older and different, like it was a picture taken out of a book from the 1930's that you were reliving in real time. It was more special than the rest of the hotel.

She understood why people stayed here on residencies. Being tended to in these nice suites, room service at your fingertips, servants at your beck and call, clothing in a walk in closet decked up to the nines, and the hotel even had a private pool located on the east side for the VIP residents.

Alex didn't get to partake in any of these luxuries. Currently, her room was being taken out of the check she receives each week from partaking in the Haven Entertainment Company. She didn't think she could afford it, until one day, she went ahead and checked her bank account. And she saw the $50,000 sitting there.

It made her giddy with glee. Like she was informed of some sort of secret that had been kept hidden from her. But it wasn't. Why hadn't she thought to check her bank account sooner?

Realistically, she couldn't just spend it on whatever, but she was interested in trying to seek out Morphine, somehow. She wasn't really interested until Everette had said something to her about it. It made something inside her yearn. For simpler times, for simpler solutions, for simpler relaxation. It all made sense in her head.

READ THE REST HERE

[cyanlastride]

im not very good at this. self-motivation, i mean.

yaknow what i did do today? i went on a walk.

there were some people at the mysterious house again. there's always people there, acting as though they live there, but theyre always new different people. i will never figure out whats up with that house.

there were people skipping rope. i think the last time i used a skipping rope was in grade 5.

went into the movie theatre. dune 2 is still showing daily. havent watched barbie or oppenheimer yet. perhaps i never will. no, i doubt that.

got food at the food court.

walked to walmart to check out their mtg stock, not that i would ever buy mtg product from walmart. not that i ever plan on buying mtg product again.

i was tempted, though. they had four thunder junction commander precons, and on the face of one was a sultai cowboy gonti. of course gonti is a cool sultai cowboy. i love it. does it make any sense? i was too awestruck to care. i did not give in to temptation. but i was close.

when i got home, i looked up the decklist. gonti was the only aetherborn in the deck. one of two aetherborn in the entire set, as there was a nameless aetherborn reprint in a different precon. what a shame. you confirm that aetherborn, or at the very least, gonti, can travel the omenpaths, but you do nothing with it. the most flavour i could find product-wise was written on the back of the box, that he is "representing ghiraphur" on thunder junction. oh well. i suppose i should count myself lucky that gonti still even exists.

you know, if that deck was cool i wouldve gone to my lgs tomorrow to pick it up. i would broken my vow to never buy mtg again until they fix standard, or replace it with something that isnt uber-casual whale-hunt-y like commander. because cowboy gonti sounded cool as fuck. rrrrrrrhhhhh.

why do no card games scratch the itch for me anymore? standard is dead, commander is either too casual or just plain unfun, fab is too strictly typed, hearthstone has been powercrept to hell, lorcana is too simple and also disney, battle spirits saga nobody played to begin with, this new star wars unlimited game has no product, the most engaging card game i currently play is marvel fucking snap!! god.

it was a lot simpler when everyone just played standard. sure, it had problems, but at least we played. i enjoyed playing. i lost as much as i won, and i had fun trying to win as much as i could with my limited resources. i put unclaimed territory in my non-tribal deck and memorized the creature types of all my creatures to know the optimal creature type to name is ever scenario. i wasnt supposed to win against the guys who had bought smugglers copters and hydriod krasis, but i still tried my best, and sometimes i came pretty close. sometimes, rarely, i did win.

the thing that impressed me most about inscryption was po3. thats when i realized that the guy who made inscryption was a real card gamer. i have sat across the table from po3 on friday nights more times than i can count. i lost most of the games i played against them early on... but slowly, i got better, and i spent less time worrying about them and more time locked in on the game, and nowadays i win two games out of three. i miss the early days though, when po3 was scary. when i spent 10 seconds wandering around the tables looking for my number, and another 20 seconds steeling my nerves to sit down and shake hands with the nerd across from me. i miss those times. they were terrifying. i messed up, a lot. i learned.

someday ill make my own card game. ill make it accessible, and encourage proxying. ill make it flavour-focused, and competitive. ill make it worthy of the community it will build.

i hope i make it soon. i cant spend all my time going on walks.

[beautifulsavagegarden]

Lestat had made plans should Paris ever feature in their life together but he had not wished for it. There were too many ghosts and monsters wandering the dark, winding streets of Paris. He had known that Armand would have wanted Louis, how could he not? Louis was perfect and beautiful from soul to heart, right down to the core of his being and the very bones of his body. Louis had captivated Lestat and he had known that he would do the same for Armand and Armand was greedy and would take what he could. Lestat felt as though he were lurking between sleeping and waking, part of him lying in a coffin subsisting on the intrusions of the rats that had so fascinated him in the earliest days of his transformation. He still recalled picking them up and examining their little toes. The other part of him was in Paris, the part of him that dwelled within Louis, and together they walked and spoke and loved and argued, just as they always had done. Their love was not easy but it was all that he could ever have wanted. Louis was the other part of him and this had only been made clearer in recent years.

Lestat, reluctantly, leaned back, restoring the limited distance between them. The closer they were, the more Lestat wanted to grab him and kiss him and hold him and cry with him for all that they had been and all that they had lost. This was when he was dreaming. This time with Louis, these were his dreams and oh such heartbreakingly wonderful dreams they were. He did not want them to end, did not want to return to his healing body and the rats that brought him closer to being the vampire Lestat once more.

"I think that is when I am awake." Lestat replied after a few moments thought. He didn't want to be in that theatre with Louis. It was too painful even after all the time that had passed. It was not just the ghosts of the life he had once lived but what Armand and the troupe had done to the theatre that had given him the love and admiration that he had craved so desperately in the isolation of the Auvergne. "I told you there is a chord that joins us that you cannot see." Lestat smiled almost wryly.

Lestat laughed softly but not mockingly when Louis asked him if he remembered what their lives had been like before Claudia had joined them, creating and then destroying their happy little family. Louis' smile brought a softness and sweetness to Lestat's own smile and it was as though there were no distance and no pain between them, as though the years of his mistakes and Louis' anger and dismissiveness had been scrubbed away.

"I couldn't forget even if I wanted to mon cher. You made me happy Louis, so very happy." He paused, hand reaching out to brush his fingers against Louis' hand, his thumb stroking along the inside of Louis' wrist. "You always have and you always will." The words were softly spoken, barely above a whisper, as though they were deeply intimate words. In a way, he supposed they were. They were far simpler times and although they had their problems, there was a lot of love there and Lestat was both comforted and haunted by the memories, of the lazy nights in bed where they learned the rhythm and language of each other's bodies and Lestat had sung gentle songs, pressing the notes into Louis' skin as he placed kisses along his lover's curves and dips. There was not a single part of Louis' body that Lestat did not know and remember.

"My favourite memory..." He trailed off for a moment, his eyes growing slightly glassy as he tried not to weep with the emotions that memory elicited in him. "Is when I carried you from bed into the library to the chaise and you didn't realise that I had filled the shelves for you, that it was my true gift for our anniversary." His voice grew a touch tighter with the emotions that threatened to destroy him.

❛ in my dreams, we’re still together. ❜

@operahouses

Lestat knew that feeling very well, was intimately familiar with it because almost every dream that he had was of Louis. Louis was his everything and he had been since that first moment he had seen him on the streets of the city that had become the home of his heart. He had not expected New Orleans to be as it was and he certainly had not expected Louis. He had believed that his capacity to love had been buried on that Greek island. Louis had been a shock, a revelation, and Lestat had been utterly lost to him. The only thing that had changed since then had been an ever deepening love of Louis. He had infected every inch of Lestat's soul and he couldn't regret that. He could, however, regret the mistakes that he had made in his relationship. He would give anything, everything, to make it right and for those dreams to become a reality once again.

"In my soul, we are still together." The words were barely above a whisper as he smiled gently and warmly at Louis, his eyes filled with both love and sorrow; love for this man and sorrow for the chasm that was between them, a chasm that he had opened in the earth by his own actions. It was cause and effect. If he hadn't made the mistakes, not just with Louis but with Claudia too, they would not have ended up in this position. He did not hate Louis for what he had done, did not despise him or even Claudia truly. He would have done much the same in their position.

He leaned in closer to Louis, wishing that they could touch just even one more time. It was a touch that would sustain him, a touch that would forever linger beneath his skin, the memory of that one person who had truly seen him and chosen to love him in spite of that.

[sonnetthebard]

Owen doesn't really like horror movies and he gets paranoid pretty easily because of them. He hates that it happens and never tells anyone about it, he thinks its embarrassing for someone like him to be set off by something as simple as a movie. Curt also didn't know, until he proposed watching a horror movie one night. Owen went along with it because he knew Curt wanted to watch it with him and tried his best to sit through it, but Curt picked up on how uncomfortable he was -S

I know this was supposed to be headcanons, but... I had to write this as a oneshot. I absolutely love it.

Genre: Fluff/ Romance/ Angst

Words: 3171

TL;DR: Owen is not a fan of horror movies.

TW: Anxiety/ Triggering, brief mention of violence, panic attack, minor implied ptsd.

"Darling, I'm home!" Owen called into his shared hotel room teasingly.

"What, you're done scoping out the venue already?" Curt smirked, making his way out of his room, already dressed down to just a dress shirt (with a few buttons undone) and dress pants.

Owen smirked at that. Evidently Curt had decided his work for the day was over. They were in the primary stages of a small mission- one that should be simple. Intercept the passing of information from the French to the Russians- no matter the cost. If they had to kill someone, so be it. It may be an easy mission, but it was a crucial one. It was set to happen at the ballroom in one of the biggest estates in London during a gala hosted by its owners- set to happen in two days. The owners weren’t royalty, but they were rich- which probably made them more powerful than royalty either way. The event was going to be massive. Royalty and dignitaries from all around the world would be there- and, of course, the informants they were there to stop. If they didn't intercept this information... well, let's just say the Soviets would have a rather large military advantage. And that wasn't something anyone wanted.

Earlier in the day, Curt and Owen had gone out and met the family hosting the gala- who were in full support of their work. They’d even offered to be so good as to give them a discreet signal when their marks arrived. Of course Owen had turned that down because, even with good intentions, the utilization of untrained assets was always a risk. Once they were done with that meeting, Curt and Owen had done some genuine espionage. They were lucky. Their informant had told them when and where their marks would be in preparation for the gala. So they'd alternated locations to watch their opponents. That way no one got suspicious seeing the same two people watching them everywhere they went. Then Owen, being the keener that he was, had gone to the ballroom and scoped it out. He always loved that part of planning. Plus, the house was practically a castle, and it was old. Owen just wanted to see it. It was a marvel of architecture. But it was at least a productive visit. He had a good sense of the place. 

Now, though... Now Owen was exhausted. He'd had a big day preparing for not only his physical game but his mental one. So he was more than happy to be back with the man he loved. And he really did love Curt, in spite of his flaws. Owen was well aware of those. He would have to have been dull not to take them into account when preparing for their romantic relationship. Owen knew he was the more fit spy. He knew Curt could be a bit... careless at best, reckless at worst. And boy, did Curt’s ego ever get the better of him sometimes. But Curt was one of the most affectionate people Owen had ever met. His heart was massive, and he was as loyal as a dog. That was more than enough for Owen. They would follow each other to the ends of the earth. Owen may not have the smartest lover in the world, but... he had never felt more loved by one person. Not even his own parents.

"Already? Love, I was there for nearly three hours." Owen chuckled softly.

"You must be exhausted." Curt rolled his eyes playfully.

"As a matter of fact I am!" Owen scoffed, smirking and setting his jacket on the rack. Curt walked over to him, wrapping his arms over his shoulders and kissing him gently. Owen hummed into it, snaking his arms around Curt's waist. "What are you up to, Mega? Trying to breathe some life back into me?"

"No... I just missed you." Curt blushed lightly, still smirking and trying to play this off as cool as he could. "Am I not allowed to kiss my favourite partner after a long day of work?"

"Oh, you're more than welcome to..." Owen winked, giving him another gentle peck. He rested his forehead on Curt's, sighing. "I would say you could kiss me any time you’d like, but... well... we both know the world isn't quite ready for that."

"I know." Curt sighed. "One day..."

"We can only hope." Owen agreed. He gave Curt one more small peck of reassurance before, pulling away, walking into their room. "So what have we got for plans tonight? I was thinking maybe we could grab a bite at the fish and chips stand down the street. It's quite good. Then... maybe we could go to the cinema?"

"Actually... I was thinking maybe we could stay here." Curt bit his lip. "We've got a television here, and... they're showing Creature From The Black Lagoon on one of the channels we pick up. I missed it in the theatres while we were in Germany, and I've been hoping to see it for a few years now. It's a horror movie, and I've heard the special effects in it are great! We could watch it together!"

"Oh..." Owen bit his lip, breath hitching a bit at that.

Now... there was a bit of a dilemma. Owen came off as very suave, very tough, and impenetrable but... he had a bit of a problem with horror films. That, and films surrounding espionage. He didn't know what it was about the visual medium of storytelling that was becoming so popular, but... it affected him deeply. It was as though it set off something deep inside him, and brought up all his own fears. Even if they weren’t the fears discussed in the movie. As tacky as the movies were with their corny monsters and questionable acting they sparked his anxietes. Even worse to Owen was the irrational paranoia that came with it. The fear of something that didn't even exist. Even the things that very clearly could *never* exist. Like Dracula. Still, if Curt wanted to watch one with him, he would do his best to sit through it. Maybe he could focus his attentions on Curt and not the movie. Or maybe this movie wouldn’t get to him so badly. 

"Oh what?" Curt checked, the smallest trace of concern riddling his features.

"It's nothing." Owen chuckled, trying to mask his lie. He didn't want Curt worrying about him for something so trivial. "I would love to. What are we doing for supper though?"

“I didn’t think that through.” Curt admitted. “We, um... well, we’ve got half an hour before the movie starts. Maybe we could grab fish and chips and eat it here while we watch?”

“Sure thing, love.” Owen sighed. “You want me to go and get it, then?”

“That works for me.” Curt nodded. 

“And do you want me to get some crisps for later in case you get a bit peckish?” Owen checked. 

“Can a get a translation of that?” Curt teased. He knew most of what Owen meant, he just loved bothering him and he knew how much his boyfriend hated Americanisms.

“Do I really have to?” Owen groaned. Curt just raised his brows in expectation. “Fine. You’re lucky I love you... Do you want me to get you some ‘potato chips’ for later in case you get the ‘munchies’?”

“I would love some potato chips.” Curt smirked triumphantly. 

“‘Potato chips’...” Owen grumbled, grabbing his jacket again. “Bloody Americans butchering our language...”

“Love you too!” Curt called out the door teasingly as Owen left. 

The fish and chips place wasn’t far down the street. It was one Owen knew well- his parents had even taken him there as a child. He remembered those days... Things were simpler. Not nearly as complicated as his life had become. But that wasn’t why Owen was so eager to get out of the hotel room. No, Owen wanted the space alone to brace himself and prepare himself for this movie. Because he’d always been strong for Curt. He didn’t want Curt seeing him weak. So he just needed a bit of fresh air. That’s also why he’d volunteered to get the crisps (no matter what Curt wanted to call them). Extra time to steel himself. He took his time, but even then he only spent twenty minutes out of the house. Still... it was better than having had no time at all to prepare. He took deep breaths, making his way back to the hotel room. 

“Alright, darling. I have the food.” Owen called him, taking his shoes off and walking into the hotel. He set the food down on the coffee table. Curt walked out, dress shirt completely gone now. In it’s place, a white tank top. He was in denim jeans now, likely so that he didn’t ruin his dress pants. Owen smirked. “I thought we were supposed to be watching a movie, love...”

“We are.” Curt furrowed his brows, confused. He sat down on the couch, taking one of the meals for himself. Owen shrugged his jacket off, hanging it back up. He then joined Curt on the couch, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“Well... you’re very distracting...” Owen hummed. Curt blushed. 

“I can put my shirt back on...” Curt mumbled. 

“No, darling. Don’t do that.” Owen sighed contentedly, taking the meal Curt hadn’t taken and setting it in front of himself. Curt had taken out his multi-purpose hunting tool and a pocket knife to eat with, but Owen stopped him. He pulled out the provided cutlery. “Here, darling. We can eat like civilized people”

“Right.” Curt flushed again. 

“You’re adorable when you’re all worked up.” Owen chuckled. 

“You’re a bully, you know that?” Curt grumbled, getting up and walking over to their in-room television. They were lucky. Not many hotels had them, but... this one did. Their superiors didn’t mind splurging a little on their accomodations, because it usually meant they were better rested for their job. 

“I’m not a bully...” Owen chuckled, his heartrate picking up again at even the thought of what he was about to watch. “I’m just a tease, doll.”

“So you admit it?” Curt smirked triumphantly, fiddling with the knobs to adjust the channel. 

“Only this once.” Owen rolled his eyes playfully. 

“I think I... there we go!” Curt beamed as the television crackled onto the right station. The scoring to a typical horror movie started. Owen gulped, already not liking this. Curt seemed to pick up on that. “You okay?”

“Absolutely fine.” Owen lied. Curt sighed, coming back and sitting down. 

Both men sat in silence, eating and watching the movie. Owen tried to focus on his food, blocking out the movie and his surroundings. But... that was unfortunately very hard to do. Especially when Curt was so invested. The man was leaning as far forward onto his knees as he possibly could. He thought Curt might have said something about Owen being right about the fish and chips, but Owen didn’t really hear it. He was caught in his head, in a way. And in many other ways, he was totally and uterly absorbed in the movie, trapped without consent the the saga being recounted on the screen. He didn’t even notice when he finished his food, caught up in everything. 

And then... then came the moment Owen was dreading. The one that had his palms sweating and his body tense the entire night. Even with all that awful anticipation it caught him completely by surprise. Just as it was meant to. For some people, that was the thrill of the game. To him, it wasn’t. To him, it was not just truly terrifying, but also... humiliating. Totally and utterly humiliating. Especially in front of his Curt. Curt, who thought he was this suave, impenetrable rock. Curt, whom he was the foundation. Curt got to watch him cower like a child. The moment of dread was, of course, the first jumpscare. And just as Owen had predicted, he had jumped right out of his seat, yelping. Curt saw him and... he started to laugh. 

The world caved in for Owen. It was a mix of the genuine fear he’d experienced watching the movie, the fears that fear alone had resurface, and the humiliation. He felt in a way that he was disappointing Curt already. And the laughing... it rang in his ears even once Curt had finished. Because this time Curt wasn’t laughing with him- he was laughing at him. He tried to mask it, but he was far too caught up in his head to have any control over what his face did. He shook a little bit. He couldn’t even fear anything around him. He had tunnel vision, and everything sounded like it was underwater. Owen hated it. He knew then and there that trying to be tough had not been the right move. That he should have said no to Curt. But it was far too late for that realization to be any good. 

At first, Curt had admittedly thought it was funny that Mr. Tough Guy Owen Carvour himself had fallen victim to the classic jumpscare. And he would be the first to admit he had laughed a long time- especially when he thought that for once he had been the one to fluster Owen and not the other way around. But then, when Owen neglected to come back with any snide remarks... When he didn’t tell Curt to shut up, or even chuckle along with him... That was when Curt knew that now was not the time to be laughing. That something was genuinely wrong. That was when he finally took the time to notice that his lover was shaking, and the fear that had been in his eyes when he jumped had not vanished- even though the protegonists were safe. Curt took Owen’s hand’s carefully. Owen twitched in what could be a flinch, but put up no fight. That was the final tip-off for Curt that sommething was very wrong. He got in front of Owen carefully. 

“Hey... Hey, Owen. You’re okay.” Curt soothed. Owen seemed to snap a bit out of it- enough to see Curt in front of him and look him in the eyes. Curt suppressed his concern and put on a comforting smile for Owen. “That’s right, babe. Look at me. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

There was a moment of Owen just staring into Curt’s eyes and reminding himself that Curt had his back. That he was safe. Once he had calmed enough to speak, he took a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Owen mumbled. 

“No... no, don’t be sorry!” Curt shook his head, giving Owen’s hands a squeeze. Immediately as thought that had awakened something in him, Owen was squeezing back as if it were the only thing keeping him on the ground. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do.” Owen spat, almost as though the words were poison. Self hatred oozed from his tone. “I’ve been lying to you. I’m a coward.”

“You are not a coward...” Curt stated firmly. 

“I bloody well near shit my pants at something I saw on the telly!” Owen pointed out, incredulous. “Something imaginary, on the other side of the screen where it could never harm me.”

“That’s what these movies are made to do, O.” Curt assured him. 

“They’re meant to give people a quick fright.” Owen shook his head. “But... that terrified me. Genuinely scared me.”

“Well... we’ve got pasts.” Curt bit his lip. “We’ve seen stuff. We’ve been the victims of real jumpscares where we could have died. Maybe it reminds you of those. Maybe the lines blurred.”

“Curt, it wasn’t anything we’ve been through that scared me.” Owen softened, nearly whimpering, both scared and embarassed but also pleasing for Curt to listen. “It was that that creature was going to show up behind us and do the same, or... take you away. That poorly dressed, hokey monster that could not be any further from being real. I’m not just a coward. I’m a bloody idiot.”

“You’re not a coward, Owen. And you’re not an idiot. Everyone’s brain is built a bit differently.” Curt soothed him. “You want to protect me... just like I want to protect you.”

“From something that could never hurt us either way.” Owen pointed out. 

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter to the mind.” Curt sighed. “I don’t know if this happens to you when you read all your books, but sometimes someone will tell me a story and I get so invested in it that I’ll feel like I’ve lived through it myself.”

“I know what you mean...” Owen nodded. 

“Well... maybe this movie did the same thing for you.” Curt reasoned. 

“I... suppose.” Owen blinked, realizing Curt made a lot of sense.

“Just like you feel things when you read... you’re feeling things watching this.” Curt sighed.

“Right...” Owen nodded, letting that sink in. 

“You think you can take a few breaths with me, O?” Curt soothed. Owen nodded, following Curt through a few deep breaths until he had stopped shaking and his grip on Curt’s hands had lightened. Once Curt was satisfied, he got up and changed the channel. I Love Lucy was on. He smirked, sitting back down on the couch. For once, he was the one pulling Owen close to cuddle. “We’re going to watch this channel for the rest of the night, okay? I think it’s got some of the good family shows on it.”

“Are you sure?” Owen checked. “I can go lay down. I know you really wanted to watch this film.”

“Yeah, but... not as much as I want to spend time with my handsome British boyfriend.” Curt teased. 

“I love you.” Owen sighed, resting his head on Curt’s chest. 

“I know.” Curt winked playfully, running a hand through Curt’s hair. “Hey, if you’re ever uncomfortable with what I want to do... just tell me, okay? No judgement.”

“Alright.” Owen nodded. 

And so they spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Eventually they did switch and Owen was back to holding Curt. He found immense comfort in that- and that Curt didn’t judge him. It was lovely to be totally and utterly enamoured with someone. And that was what he was with Curt- what he was certain they both were. He didn’t focus on the telly (though it did give him a few laughs- that Lucy was always getting into trouble). Instead, he focused on Curt’s hands running though his hair, or the little kisses he was being adornerd with. In other words, he chose to focus on how much he was loved. And that put him in an entirely better place. There was, at least, one thing they could take away from the whole fiasco: no more horror movie nights. They had enough horrors in their own life without needing to worry about anything on the tv. 

[honestsycrets]

What She Really Wants X: What Really Matters

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk has a way of getting what he wants. magnus is sick of being one-upped.

❛  tags | verbal arguments, wedding oriented, referenced underage sex, referenced sexual interaction, underage relationships, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | i've actually had this fic done for some months and totally forgot about it until i was in my drive. thank you @chibisgotovalhalla​ for making me feel good enough to post this. It’s more a connecting chapter.

What Magnus hates about Hvitserk (aside from everything) is how whatever he said, went with you. 

The world could crumble, pebbles could shake boulders on your house, and you would still have Hvitserk on your mind. Because he was your first-- and no one could beat a first. No matter how he worked or raged for a new beginning or for better for Mads. It was still Hvitserk at the end of the day. Mads’s eyes had almost popped out of his skull when Magnus joined the clustered group of friends and parents. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“What did I miss?” he asks because he knows Mads by the expression slapped over his face. That boy has been like his son. He raised him. Loved him. 

“Nothing,” Mads quips quickly, snapping his head back around to the field. His coach howls something long and loud. Mads jabs his finger in that direction. “The game is about to start. C’mon Soren.” 

Despite the fact that Magnus knew there was a certain something very wrong, he didn’t speak as you returned to a very familiar set of bleachers alongside Mad’s new girlfriend. She was pretty. There was a soft and innocent glitter behind those big brown eyes that reminds him of a simpler time in yours. He makes a note to ask Mads after the game all about her when Hvitserk stops on the uppermost stair, guiding you in after Alaia. 

It’s not until they sit, and your hand is laced in Hvitserk’s, does he notice the gems glistening on your finger. 

“What’s that?” he asks, leaning over Alaia’s lap. The girl squints at the rings too, watching it glisten, and smiles when she realizes that she’s forgotten to say something. She speak words that make his stomach drop. As if someone had hauled him off to sea, strapped that very same boulder shook loose by his crumbling world, and threw him out into the deep sea. He was drowning and couldn’t find a way out.

“Oh my god! Congratulations on your engagement, mama,” she beams. “Can I see the ring?” 

Magnus sputters. He’s caught between your jovial smile and Hvitserk’s smug smirk as his eyes burned into the glittering gem. Hvitserk’s hand leaves yours, taking a drink of the metal tumbler that he brought with him as if that would draw attention away from what he’s done this time. 

“There’s two?” Alaia asks.”Papa you didn’t. You’ve gone so far!”

Hviserk chuckles and swashing alcohol between his cheeks before swallowing the spicy liquid. 

“We were engaged in high school. Hvitserk thought I should wear both.” 

“Gonna put that money to use,” Hvitserk mutters, the faint scent of yeasty alcohol on his breath kissing your cheeks. He looks out to the field and catches Mads sheepishly waving. He waves back. “Been waitin’ to get married to my old lady for years.” 

“It’s going to be so great,” she claps her hands together. “I’m happy for you.”

The field cheers through the end of the national anthem. Two dozen players jog onto the grassy stage, flicking the ball between their feet. Go Mads, go! Alaia squeals until her voice becomes high pitched, grating, and odd. She’s the kind of girl that should be on a cheerleading team, but belongs on the football team. She’s outgoing, witty, and you find you like her. 

For all that screaming, Mads’s team loses 2 to 1. Alaia beats you off the bleachers and zooms down the stairs to find your son. You’re stuck with the impending explosion that has been boiling to ahead all evening. It finally overflows as people filter out of the bleachers like a herd of stampeding cattle. Their loud chatter blocks out the bulk of conversation. 

“You really thought that was a good idea.” Magnus curls his fingers under the cold metal of the bleacher seat. “He hasn’t been back a year and you’re already going to marry him.” 

“What is with you? It is her choice,” Hvitserk interjects. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” 

“Fuck off, rat faced motherfucker.” Hvitserk snaps. “You don’t know when to quit bitchin’.”

It’s spiraling. You know the men well enough to know when Magnus and Hvitserk are headed for trouble. Hvitserk loves a good fight. He lurches up in his seat, probably ready to chuck him down a few flights of bleacher stairs. You grasp Hvitserk’s hand, settling it on your thigh for to restrain him from doing something that you knew he’d regret. Not for his sake, but Mads. Rather than answer Magnus, you stand up and wipe your skirt down. 

“Mads is waiting. C’mon baby.”

You leave him feeling unheard. In the seventeen years that Mads had been alive, he’d not once felt this way. He had been the father figure here. The one who took the kid out to these father events that you lost with the death of your father and the disappearance of your family from Hvitserk’s clutches.

Then he came back. He gave Magnus that same, age-old shit-eating grin, and disappeared behind you. It wouldn’t have burned so much if he wasn’t at the exact same school of the past. The same one where he got his teeth knocked in-- right here. The bleachers may be different but the area is the same. It’s the same place where everything changed. He sits there long after you’ve disappeared down the steps to meet your son.

“Where’s morbror?” Mads, sweaty and panting, has his hand slung over Alaia’s shoulder.”I thought he was coming for burgers.”

You reach for Hvitserk’s hand and lace his fingers with yours. Hvitserk stands behind you with his hand latched neatly around your waist. He cradles your hip as you come up with the latest of poorly formulated excuses. 

“He has to go to work in the morning, baby.”

Better you lie than Hvitserk. 

 Alaia is way too touchy. 

You recognize it in the way she clings to his arm on one hand and punches him with the other. Whatever the cost was, she had to be touching him. All over him. Not just a little friendly kiss or holding hands, but you know for a damn fact that she strokes his thigh or trails up the taut pale muscles of his flat belly.

“They’re fucking,” you say pointedly. 

Hvitserk throws a look over his shoulder to where they were a few rows down. Alaia slips a salty-sweet strawberry candy between Mads’s lips. Alaia’s other hand is certainly not on her own lap, that’s for sure. 

“Huh?” Hvit says around a half eaten sausage. He takes a swig of his booze, “Ya think?”

You thwack him in the arm and glance at the dark aisle beside you. The movie Mads wanted to watch was old. So much so that the theatre reflected its age. “How is he not fucking her? Hvitserk!”

Hvitserk took a glance down. From what he could tell, Mads was the shy one. He glanced down to what had to be a handsy— because he had plenty of those in his day. 

“Calm down. He ain’t initiating anything.”

“So she’s a predator?” You hiss. 

“C’mon baby, they're the same age.” He says, as if that’s exclusionary, and as if that made any difference in the world. “Ain’t like he’s screamin’ for help.”

There’s a shush— the next few aisles down. 

“Aw, you poutin?” 

No reply. Hvitserk glances toward Mads and Alaia, content with his choice, and slips his hand underneath the lip of your skirt. He considers himself a rather patient man but your worries when all he wanted to do was relax? Na. 

“Hvit stop— We used to be like that. Remember?” Hvitserk cuts you off, rubbing his thumb where he shouldn’t, cutting an outrageous smile. 

“This isn’t about us.”

“Ain’t it?” 

It’s not. The soft tingles of his fingertips, caressing your thighs, runs shivers up your spine. Your hand falls on top of his wrist, holding him firmly where he was. Hvitserk glances down toward his hand, then back up. An easy fix: you loved it when he pressed his lips to your neck. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

Hvitserk’s lips part, broadening his shit eating smile. “Doing what?” 

Oh, he knew what. But he loved being called out for it.

His far isn’t bad at football.

“Fuckin’ what the fuck was that!” 

The ball whizzed into the goal behind him and Mads was left wheezing for breath. Not because he was tired. The old man might only be thirty-six but he sucked at playing against him. Hvitserk plucked up the football between his fingers and spun it over and over between his finger tips. He twisted his head from the goal to the ball in his hands.

“A goal,” Mads gestures. “You know? Or, guess you don’t since you ain’t scored all night.” 

“Shits rigged,” Hvitserk says, dropping the ball and kicking it back to Mads. 

Mads shrugs and suggests, “Should’ve picked something you’re good at. You won’t beat me at this.”

“Tch,” Hvitserk throws his arms behind his head. “I ain’ good at shit.”  

Except maybe selling drugs and chasing prostitutes. All of which his father has made exponentially clear he doesn’t want Mads doing. Mads stops with his sneaker on top of the ball, rolling it up and back, then flicks it between his feet. 

“Have to be good at something. Don’t you have a hobby or something?” 

Hvitserk peels off his white shirt sodden with sweat and uses it to wipe away the moist sweat dribbling past his eyebrow. He gestures his hand to the dark wooden wedding band that was strapped to his finger. The wedding is next week and while he’s not technically married yet, Hvitserk wore it as some sort of unspoken promise.

“My hobby was women. Not allowed to do that shit anymore. Getting married next week, yeah?” 

“Wow, well, uh.” Mads picks up the ball at his feet and searches for words. It’s always nice-- when your own son is amazed at how amazingly shitty of a person you were. Hvitserk chews his cheek, running his thumb along the drawstring at his hips to tighten it up. They walk lazily with one another to start the trek back home. 

“I...” Hvitserk starts. “Liked to paint.”

“Gang signs?” he teases. He imagines his father with a can of spray paint or something-- tagging some poor idiot’s unsuspecting business. 

“Na, women-- like Renoir.” 

“Ren who?” 

“I fuckin’ hope ya ain’t going to France like that,” he tsks his tongue, throwing his hand around Mads’s shoulder, chasing away the thought of the Wolves that were so at the forefront of his mind. “Take a class in French first.” 

“I’m taking Spanish.” 

“Spanish? Wha’s so important about-- oh wait. Fuck,” Hvitserk almost laughs, but it comes with the realization that Mads’s little girlfriend was, in fact, Hispanic. He ruffles Mads’s sweaty hair, shaking loose droplets into the air. “Tha’s my boy.” 

There are moments in which Mads feels like his father’s son.

Today was one of them. 

The date sped up on him faster than it should have.

This time, Hvitserk was insistent: the wedding had to happen as soon as possible. After all, he was thirty-six. He wasn’t going to be a man that was forty and single. No, he wasn’t. Not if he had everything he wanted; a woman and his very own grown-ass son. He had something to prove to that son. That he was serious about his family. 

“What’cha think,” Hvitserk grumbled. His hair, newly cropped short, waved in silky honey waves around the side of his face. His jaw was peppered with a new sort of scruff, worlds apart from his clean-shaven, long-haired past. The suit was slim, crisp, monochrome like you liked it. Better be like you liked it: he wasn’t the type to wear suits for just anyone. His woman? Special exception there.

His son stood back. “Yeah, looks nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

He slipped in front of the mirror and gave himself a once over. He turns the ring on his finger over and over until he has residual finger ring burn. He bites down on his lip, ripping it between his teeth. It wasn’t just saying goodbye to his single man’s life; it was the fact that his remaining brothers were coming. Bjorn, Ivar, and Ubbe. Would Mads like them?

“Where my boots?” 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. There’s a powerful thud at the door, then another. Booming laughs fill in the hallway just outside the room. Hvitserk exhales strongly. His large hand lands on Mads’s shoulder with a clasp. 

“Those would be your uncles.”

Mads, the little baby, looks panicked as the door cracks open. Ivar knocks open the door, dressed in a deep maroon and black suit. It’s crisp and formed to his chest. You should at least like it-- given the shit that Ivar has given you this year, he looks good. Why would be expect anything less?

“Man c’mon,” Hvitserk rolls his eyes. “Could’ve waited man. My kid--” 

“Why would I wait?” Ivar hums, hobbling forward. “You’ve been keeping my nephew hostage from me. Come here boy.” 

“With good reason,” Sigurd can’t help but to comment. “You don’t really want to know him. He’s a--” 

“Would you both shut up,” Mads hears another man say. He has ruddy hair and a ruddy beard, with sharp blue eyes. He is almost considerate-- if not for the wolfish look in his eyes, he could almost be considered the most placid of the brothers. Instead, he seems to be someone who is always planning. “You’ll scare him away.” 

Hviserk settles a lily in the pocket to his suit and fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. Strange, he thinks, how you pick lilies. They’re a bittersweet flower for him to this day. When he bought you flowers, they were roses. Whatever possessed you to chose lilies, he’s not sure. It couldn’t possibly be-- Thora. No, you couldn’t remember her.

“Far,” Mads looks over and pleads for some guidance in those soft, bright eyes of his. His eyes snap toward Ivar’s dragging feet, then the drunken stamped in from huge Bjorn and comparatively more calculated steps from Ubbe. “Help.” 

“What is there to be afraid of, hm?” 

“Go on, go to Ivar.” Hvitserk swings his hands at his hips. Mads looks up the broad body of the blond man and inches toward the darkest haired brother. Probably not the safest of brothers to be speaking to but he’s heard his name multiple times before. Uncle Ivar was scary. And safe. “They won’t hurt you. They’re my brothers.” 

“You want a drink, boy?!” 

“A dr-- drink?”

Hvitserk wonders why he ever thought he could be a Wolf.

Asta has always been supportive. Too supportive. You knew, somewhere inside, she wasn’t happy about your choice to get married to a man that had gotten her into some trouble. Her whole life could have gone down the tubes thanks to him. 

“Are you sure about this?” she said in her slim baby pink maid-of-honor dress. Your hairdresser affixed a soft baby pink pearl pin into your hair. “You can always wait like we said.” 

“Waiting…” You glanced down toward your dress, smoothing out the dress’s slim bodice, leading out into its flowy a-line tulle skirt. Your loved the crisscrossing pearls that formed the straps over your shoulder and connected front and back-- maybe a little sexy for your hypersexual husband-to-be. Everything had gone perfectly. Your make up-- a natural, gentle shimmery pink. Everything was soft and natural, and pretty-- and you were so damn happy. “I’ve been waiting long enough.” 

“I know.” 

“And I want to do it,” you held the bouquet of fresh pink lilies. “I want him.” 

“That’s too much information,” she teases.

The door creaked open behind you. While subconsciously, you knew that it wasn’t him-- you needed to know. “Magnus isn’t coming, is he?” 

“It’s just me, mor.” 

You exhale forcefully. You knew it would be a stretch to ask Magnus to give you away. After what happened to your father, Magnus had agreed to do so with whoever you chose. For sixteen years you banked on that promise. Only now, when it came down to it, he refused to do so. 

“It’s a silly tradition anyway.” 

Asta begins to protest that she can do it when your son, bless him, intervenes by kneeling down by your knee. His large hands overtook yours. Your hairdresser stepped aside after having affixed the veil to the top of your head. Everything had been going so well. Something… had to go wrong, right? That was the way that days went. They could never be absolutely perfect! 

“I’ll do it. I can give you away.”

“You’d do that?” you ask him, unbelievably. You look between Asta-- and Alaia, who looks angelic in a puffy pink dress beside your son. Mads perches kneels beside you, looking like all the man you ever hoped he could be in every sleepless night that you spent up with him as a baby-- wishing that Hvitserk was there. Knowing that your mother said he could never be. 

“But you thought I should wait.” 

“Yeah but; I love you. That’s what matters, right? That you’re happy?” 

That, more than anything, was enough for you. You press back the insistent prick of heat at the corner of your eyes and nod. As you stand up on clumsy metal heels, your boy is there with his hand encouragingly around your waist. Alaia looks for your bouquet of assorted blush and white flowers: lilies.

For a moment-- just a moment, its you and him. No one else matters in the grand scheme of things. He settles the bouquet of flowers between your fingertips, pulling the sheer veil back over your face. “You look… perfect, mor. He’s missing out.” 

“Yeah, that’s what matters, baby.” 

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke​ @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm

[ginazmemeoir]

warning : rant ahead. open at your own discretion.

I am seized with a terrible, terrible longing for summer, the festival of the sun.

but i think more importantly i miss a part of me that i associated with summer. that annual experience that we had each year without fail. i think i miss memories, and the fact that similar memories might never be created in my life.

most of my summer memories are attached with my older house. we shifted into our new home around 2.5 years back, and even though its in a better location and has better features and is in every way better than our old lodging, i can't help but miss our old house and the person i was back then. 2019 was the last summer i spent in that house, a last summer full of unrestrained joy. that's not to say i haven't had good summers since then, but they've been overshadowed by covid and death and my prep for JEE.

those were simpler times really. coming in from school with at least 2 kilos worth of books stuffed in our bags, walking in the gruelling heat from the bus stop to our home. the whirring off the cooler fan and the smell of its hay padding. our mom welcoming us with a smile, handing a glass of rooh afza or khus sharbat. the only worries then were completing our homework as soon as possible, not studying for a faraway exam which defines your life.

the day summer vacations would be announced, our parents would pick up me, my brother and my friends (brother was tiny back then) and we would all go for ice cream or a movie, in school clothes. in a week our bags would be all packed to go to both of our grandma's, at least a week spent at each. before that, we'd even go someplace for a vacation, again at least a week. when we would come back home, an aunt and a cousin would come along to stay, and afternoons would be spent slurping mangoes, evenings would be spent peeling litchis in our sticky baniyans, and the whole day would be spent playing and fighting or sleeping on the cool tiled floor. the burdens of our career or college or entrance exams didn't plague us then. the only books i cared about reading were the novels i bought, hoarding them like a bookwyrm.

the week when it would be just us at home, we would go to the mall for the entire day, or the water park, or to the movie theatre, where mom would bargain for tickets in a housefull show since dad forgot to book them and somehow end up with four tickets. we'd visit the society swimming pool each day without fail, and play out in the occassional summer rain.

my last summer was probably the best one. we didn't go anywhere for vacation, but for the first time my brother and i tasted independence. our parents were busy building our new house, so we were sent, alone, to both of our grandmas and our bua and our mausi, for a totality of four weeks.

at my dadi's house, which is far modest and a bit messy, though as big as my nani's house, we'd have to study for two hours before and after lunch out of our mother's fear, who used to take a report from my baba, who naturally never lied about his grandchildren's academics (wink). baba-dadi don't like going out much, so mostly we'd stay at home. we tried new recipes, and spent most of our time playing and indulging in property destruction (i broke a glass panel during pillow fight but emerged unscathed). my older cousin, me, and the cousin who's my age would gossip or talk while the younger ones would try to drag us away to play. nights would again be spent gossipping, with dadi occassionally joining to trash talk her in laws with us (nobody likes baba's side of the family).

at my nani's house, which is more prosperous owing to nana's business, i'm the eldest, so it'd be me surrounded by five tiny children. not that i didn't mind. it'd be the same activities as those at dadi's or at our house, but nani is stricter and so makes sure we finish our homework (wink). mama-mami live with them, so we'd go out many times - mall, amusement park, water park, movies, everywhere. and this time, the gossip material would be baba-dadi and our shenanigans back home.

maybe i have attached a scent, a feeling, with each place and that is what i miss. maybe i'm just a nostalgic bitch. idk. all i know is that i really miss summers, and i really miss being a child even though i've barely entered adulthood and am also excited for it.

whatever. i just want to get rid of this bitter cold.

[jungshook69]

7 dates~(BTS imagine)

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k words

PAIRINGS: BTS x reader (OT 7)

WARNINGS: none

ABOUT: This is an OT7 imagine, of how I personally think each BTS member would take you out on a date:) A girl can only dream am I right?

Jungkook strikes me as the type of person to go on a date where he can’t mess up. We all know Jungkook is a perfectionist and literally good at everything so I would think he’d like to take you out on a date, while simultaneously showing off his talents. Personally I feel an idealistic date with Jungkook would involve going bowling. Of course he would ask you if you were okay with it, and if you refused he would come up with another plan, but if he were to suggest any date idea first, it would be bowling. You would spend the evening bowling and enjoy a quick meal in the food court later on. Jungkook would also go as far as to teach you the right way to bowl, which could also amount to some amount of teasing and flirting, at how bad you are at it. But overall, you both would have a good laugh and memorable time. Personally I don’t feel like he would make too big of a move at the end of the night, maybe just a tender goodbye kiss, as he drops you off home.

Yoongi would most probably go out on a movie date with you. Now this movie date wouldn’t be just a normal one, no. It would originally be at a movie theatre, where you somehow managed to convince him to watch a horror movie with you. But Yoongi, who hates horror movies would just end up dozing off, while you would get bored of how awful the vfx are. You guys would ditch the movie during the interval, and would end up going back over to your place to watch Netflix instead, and cuddle up on your couch. Of course popcorn and soda is a must. Mid-way through the sappy romcom, you would end up dozing off on Yoongi’s shoulder, and he would make sure to wrap your form in a cozy blanket, and hold you close to his chest, soaking in the comfort and warmth you radiate. I personally feel that although Yoongi may frown upon physical contact, but he has a special exception for it when it comes from you. The night would end up with you two cuddling and falling asleep on the couch.

A date with Seokjin, according to me, would be quite an interesting one. He would tell you dress in your fanciest attire, and invite you over to his place. Once you get to his place, you’ll see him dressed in an expensive looking tux, only to find out that you won’t be going out somewhere fancy, and that instead he’ll be making you a 3-course meal by himself. Of course he asks for your assistance in the kitchen, and you being klutz, he needs to help you with everything, but he doesn’t mind, because its you. Along with some bickering and teasing, he finally sets out the candle light dinner outside, in his massive balcony, a beautiful view of the city to accompany you. He wouldn’t be one to make intense eye contact, instead choosing to shy away and laugh every time he meets your eyes. And of course his ears would most definitely turn red when you shower him with overflowing compliments about how good dinner was. When you decide to leave, he would stop you, and plead you to stay the night over, whether it be to cuddle or do something more, I’ll let you decide.

A date with Jimin would most definitely involve dancing. Personally I feel like he’d be a great club dancer, as in he would be good at simply grooving his body to the loud beats of the club music instead of performing a whole-ass choreographed routine in the middle of the dance floor, hazy and sweaty underneath the flashing disco lights and under the influence of alcohol. The date might start off with Jimin being quite shy to come out onto the dance floor, but once the alcohol surges through his body, he’s ready to claim you as his in front of the whole damn club. This date would be kinda risqué and might just end up with the two of you hooking up and going further too, but only with your consent. Jimin might come off a bit suggestive under the influence of all the alcohol in his body, but he would never go further and make a move on you against your wish. And personally I feel like we’d all be too entranced by a risqué Jimin to deny him.

I wouldn’t go with anything so obvious as a dance-related date with Hoseok, because personally I feel he’s one to enjoy the simpler things in life. He would take you out for a nice morning drive in his car, preferably a roofless one. The wind in your hair, and Hoseok’s hand clasping yours over the console is all that you need for this date. Just cranking up some tunes on the car’s radio on full blast, as you both sing your heart out. You guys would also make a quick pit stop at a nearby fast-food place, most probably a burger joint, and enjoy some takeout in the trunk of your car, sort of like a cute little picnic. After lunch you would drive around a bit more, maybe stopping by a few streets to admire the graffiti on the walls and obviously take tons and tons of pictures. You might also end up shopping as an impromptu decision because you love Hoseok’s sense of fashion. The date would end on sad note though, none of you wanting to unlink your arms from the other’s. A heart melting goodbye kiss, and a promise to see you again soon is how your day out would come to an end.

Taehyung would most definitely be dressed up in a suit and tie, or a fitting dress shirt, and would take you out for a dinner at a fine-dining restaurant. Keeping everything classy, from the formal attire, to the 5-star ambience of the restaurant, to the non-spicy food, he would make sure everything goes right as the night keeps going. You both would enjoy some red wine and might I add, even try and play footsies underneath the table. Moreover I feel that Taehyung would like to go on a date where he would get to admire your face and look into your eyes thoroughly. I feel like he’s always been one for that intense eye contact, so you would be falling right underneath his intent gaze, underneath the soft candle light on your dinner date. And just maybe too much of that alcohol might just be a catalyst for you ending up in his bed the next morning.

I feel that Namjoon is a man who really appreciates the smaller things in life. Of course he could just go down the ideal path, and take you out for a nice dinner, meanwhile flaunting his aura, but I personally think, this isn’t what he would really want to do. I think Namjoon would take you out for a picnic. A delicious homemade packed lunch and some sliced fruit in his bag, and he’s off for his day out with you. You both would either end up going hiking into the mountains and end with having lunch on the top most spot of the trek, the serene view of mother nature before you, or you both would end up going down to the beach, locking hands with each other, walking barefoot through the water and the sand, talking to each other about what’s going on in your lives, while enjoying the beautiful sunset by your side. The day would end up with you both being too tired to really do anything more, as you’ve been walking around all day, and you might just end up cuddling or going your separate ways for the night.

A/N: If you guys have reached this far, I congratulate you for not giving up midway. I really hope you guys liked it and also stay tuned for another little oneshot I’ll be posting after 2 days, along with a little surprise announcement.

Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69​ for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

[potscenarios]

Hello! I'm so happy to see you/this blog active again! <3 Can I request headcanons on Tezuka, Atobe and Sanada having a date with their s/o on a romantic place? :D Thanks a lot!

Hi there! Um, I'd like to clarify something since I noticed people have been 'welcoming back' me / the blog: this blog is completely new! I used to have scenarios blogs last time but I've never written for POT fandom before! So if you used to visit a blog with this same name, I just want to inform you that I'm not the same person with whoever used to run the scenarios blog under this name until it was deleted. Sorry for any confusion!

Anyway, here you go, I hope this is ok ♡ 

Tezuka

Hiking and camping (especially on the mountains) are his favorite dates and he thinks it's plenty romantic because 1) a lot of opportunities to just sit down and have long, deep conversations, and 2) when night comes, the air typically becomes colder so you always end up asking to snuggle with him (and he secretly loves it) and lastly 3) he loves to just stargaze under the bright stars, with you laying beside him and pointing at the constellations while telling each other stories from your childhoods.

If you have interest in fishing, he'll gladly invite you to a fishing trip! It won't necessarily be a romantic date, but just indulge him, ok? If you're new in the whole fishing as a hobby, he'll patiently teach you all you need to know about it, starting from the beginning. With time, as you get better, he would secretly get a little competitive about who can catch the bigger fish.

Stay-in dates with Tezuka usually consists of silently reading books together, watching some movies, cooking for dinner and having dinner together, doing light stretching exercises together - just some simple spending time together. He might do something special for you from time to time, or whenever there's a special occasion for celebration. In those cases, he wouldn't mind splurging a bit by taking you out to a fancy restaurant or booking a skiing trip for the two of you.

"I don't say this enough, but... Being able to spend time with you like this, it feels like a dream. Thank you for being here. I'm grateful to have you on my side."

Atobe

Oh boy. Romantic dates are his specialty. He knows how to set the mood and he knows the right words to say to make you swoon. The moment you exit your front door, he's the perfect escort to wherever you're going. He compliments your attire (even if you're just wearing a simple hoodie), places a kiss on your hand, and throughout the date he'll make you feel like you're a descendant of some sort of royalty.

He prefers to be out and about, surrounded by people who can cater to your needs and makes sure your date is flawless. Candle-lit dinners. Amusement parks. Boating. Going to watch musicals or operas. Overseas or domestic travelling. It'll be up to you to suggest simpler dates like staying in to watch movies (instead of him renting out a whole theatre) or having a picnic for just the two of you and a homemade meal (instead of having butlers and maids waiting on you while you're eating finger food made by Michelin starred chefs).

Stay-in dates with Atobe aren't exactly normal, in the sense that he prefers to spend it at his mansion, which is full of butlers and maids catering to your every needs anyway. Still, he wouldn't say no if you invite him to your abode. He won't complain too much, since it's a new experience for him and he's discovering some new things in exchange - like how unexpectedly pleasant it feels when you're drying his hair with your mid priced hairdryer (it makes the drying time longer than he's used to, but your shampoo smells so good and your fingers feels heavenly while they’re combing through his hair).

"What kind of date should we do next? How about renting a cruise ship on our summer break? Ah, but that's too far ahead, huh? That reminds me, there's a private charity gala coming up and I think you'll be interested in the cause - should we attend it?"

Sanada

When it comes him, it's quite rare for you two to have a typical 'romantic' date, because Sanada himself isn't a consciously romantic person in general. His style of romancing you is by being traditionally chivalrous: opening doors, making sure you're not walking on the side of the road, making sure you're comfortable before anything, etc. But this is his original self; he doesn't try to be chivalrous, it's just his upbringing and personality.

For him, romantic dates = dates where you're spending quality time with each other, preferably in private. He isn't much of a talker so it could be hard to start conversations, but I feel like Sanada could be talkative when he's already way more comfortable with you and when it comes to things he truly cares about. You'll find yourself falling into deep conversations with him, especially regarding things like your personal beliefs, your values, and what you stand (or doesn't) stand for. He can go from "So... What's... Your favorite color?" to "At a glance, some traditions look meaningless to us who are living in this century, however I personally think there is an interesting lore behind every tradition that could become a learning experience for us, much like history - but what do you think?"

Stay-in dates with Sanada wouldn't happen unless you're some way later in your relationship, but it's going to be an interesting adventure for you if you've never lived in traditional Japanese houses! He especially loves it when it's after dinner on a cool summer night, and you both sit out on the engawa facing the inner garden, just enjoying each other's company while listening to the sound of the cicadas. There’s also just something about seeing you in the morning, dressed in a yukata and smiling sleepily at him at the breakfast table, that makes him feel all warm and content.

"Did you enjoy today's date? I didn't think going to an amusement parks would be such an enjoyable experience, but seeing you having so much fun was pleasant to witness."

[godessofbucky]

Human Capacity Part 2

"And you are...?" Carline trailed off with and eyebrow raised

"I'm the-"

"Actually, don't answer that, I want it to be a surprise!" She interrupted, before turning to Dumbledore.

"That reminds me, my mum wanted to know if we could arrange something to where I could have my own night quarters, she doesn't think that I can keep to myself in the night..." She said sheepishly while bouncing back and forth slightly while looking down and picking at her nails.

"Well, that depends, do you think you can keep to yourself? I don't want your stay here to keep you from making friends, you'll need them in the future." Dumbledore say while he eyes Carline.

Her eyes buck wide open before snapping her head up.

"I don't think my sleeping space defines wether or not I get friends and are you sure you should be sidestepping my mother? It wouldn't end well." She responded, inspecting him with a slight squint all the while hoping that he'd agree with her mother, it would be so much simpler.

He stood up and walked to the front of his desk before taking a lean on it.

"Well, from what I know I am the headmaster here, but if you decide to abide by your mother's wishes, I would understand, I too experienced how... persuasive she can be." He lingered on as he looked from the top rim of his glasses.

The three of them stared at her for what seemed like hours as she began to muster up a sentence.

"I-I'd rather be alone, it's been a long trip and I don't want to wake anyone up, or else I'd really not make any friends." She tried to joke at the end, but the stern face of Dumbledore and the Greasy-haired teacher made her slouch within herself.

At the end, a house elf by the name of 'Floppy' led her to the portrait where it began to question her, but swung open at the sight of the house elf. She noted to herself 'Elves have an influence' as she was let upstairs to the girls corridor and turned a right before stopping at a wall.

"The entrance is right here madam Prittish." Floppy croaked as they passed her a key.

"Please don't call me that, Miss Carline is fine, and what entrance?" She questioned as the Floppy's eyes went wide.

"Floppy meant no disrespect, floppy will punish themselves now!" Floppy exclaimed as they took the key they had in their hand and started wacking their forehead with the big copper key.

"Please, please stop! Don't do that, you did nothing wrong!" Carline whisper-shouted as she kneeled to stop the abuse going any further.

"Floppy did a terrible thing, Floppy didn't mean to..." Floppy sadly said as the flopped to the ground with tears in their eyes.

"Now, now, if you didn't know why would it be your fault? You didn't know and I informed you, so you should understand now, okay?" She softly spoke as she took the key away from Floppy.

"Understand?" "I get it" Floppy responded as they wobbled back onto their feet.

"Good. Now, could you show me how I open the door please?" She said as she got back up, bending back slowly as her back ached.

"Yes Ma'am, you take the key, push it into the wall and twist it counterclockwise three times." Floppy explained.

"Okay, thank you, have a great night Floppy!" She happily whispered as Floppy waddled and cascaded downstairs, out of sight.

She follows the instructions as she takes the key and lets it sink into the wall, she watches in amazement as it sinks in just like her fork when she is eating pancakes, or actors in the theatre entertainments that sunk in the mysterious quicksand. She turned it three times counterclockwise and it felt like smooth butter before making up a door.

She took out the key and stepped inside, revealing her luggage and she stripped of her clothes and stepped inside of her shower, before scrubbing off the harsh thing that is her reality now, scrubbing so hard she didn't stop until she felt stinging and saw dots protruding from her copper alike reddish brown skin. The flesh making dots in the water and the scolding from her mother already in her head.

She sat down in the shower while the water bounced off her skin, as she thought of the times she spent with her father and how he betrayed her in one of the worst and selfish ways possible.

'It's okay to cry little girl, you know what you daddy did too, you know what your mama went through, you gotta let it out'

The tears barely made a mark as the steam and droplets fought them off off her face as she got up to finish washing off and the rest of her feelings for him as she left them in the drainer...

Or so she thought

[msdowartyheps]

PROMPT: AU where Christine is a lawyer and Erik is her client :')

Thank you so much for the prompt, @helloitskrisha! I hope you like it <3

.

“That would be one count of second-degree murder, several counts of threat through handwritten notes and continued extortion. Did I miss anything?”

“No, you got everything right, as usual.”

“Any cues on his motivation?”

Mrs. Giry hesitated. A very frustrated Christine rubbed her eyes with her right hand and sighed.

“I need something to work with, Mrs. Giry. I know this man is important to you, but my hands are tied. I can’t propose a deal to the DA if I have nothing to offer.”

“I know, my dear, trust me, but… This is complicated.”

Christine snorted.

“‘Complicated doesn’t even begin to describe it, but I’ll try my best. So let me ask again. Any cues on his motivation?”

“I think you should see it for yourself.”

—

“Why them? You claim to be a master of arts, what’s stopping you? You could have started your own company, hired whoever you wanted, gotten a better theater even…”, she tried to keep her voice amiable. This man was a charade.

“You make it sound as if such things are simple.”

“But they are!”

“Counselor, things are never simple for a man like me.”

“I was told you are rich.”

“How does that change anything?”

“People may not like other people, but they never, ever, argue with money.” Erik opened his mouth. “Unless you’re extorting them, of course”, she quipped before he could say anything.

Erik huffed. His lawyer’s face softened.

“Erik, I’m only trying to understand your reasons. I want to help you, but I need to know you.”

“Where did she find you, by the way? Mrs. Giry?”

“Her daughter is my best friend.”

Erik cackled. Whether or not he would spend a lifetime in prison depended on the abilities of little Meg’s friend? He was doomed.

The girl in front of him, however, didn’t seem to share his humor.

“Is there a problem?”

He sobered immediately.

“No, of course not. It’s just that… You’re awfully young.”

“And that makes me unreliable? Incapable?”

“No, that’s not-”, Christine cut him off.

“If you would prefer, Mr. Erik, I have no problem in telling Mrs. Giry that you were unwilling to cooperate, and therefore jeopardized my work, which will ultimately lead you to a lifetime in jail. I don’t have a habit of giving up on cases, but most people work along their attorneys, not against them, whether they like it or not. Unlike you, they seem to be aware it’s for their own good.”

Erik remained silent for several minutes. Giving up, Christine sighed inwardly, grabbed her briefcase and got up from the chair.

“There was a scam”, she finally heard Erik’s voice.

—

Christine couldn’t believe her luck. Or bad luck, she hadn’t decided which one yet. If she hadn’t heard the story from Erik himself, looking into his eyes as he told it, she would have thought he had caught the idea from a movie or a book.

As it turns out, Erik had been one of the creators of one of the city’s theaters. He had designed the entire building, not only the exterior but each and every one of the rooms, from the box seats to the orchestra pit, from the dressing rooms to the ticket booths, and worked with his then partner in building it.

However, his so-called partner was actually an agent from a wealthy corporation which claimed to own the building after it was finished. Having fled Persia as somewhat a refugee, and also due to his mask, which Christine presumed hid some sort of deformity, Erik had no documents at the time to even prove he existed as a person. He never got a single dime for his designing and engineering.

Ironically, said theater now housed the most famous, longest-running and probably most lucrative Broadway show, which had been on for decades nonstop. Erik, who seemed to be a sucker for drama, as theatre people usually are, then proceeded to invade the theater and wreak some harmless havoc as payback, using secret passages no one knew about.

He had a solid alibi for the murder charge and the original blueprints of the building were still in his possession, filled with information only the original designer would know. The copies the corporation owned were simpler, luckily. The extortion was still an issue, but well, the money was his anyway, and if they managed to prove he was actually the victim, and not a villain, the corporation would have it far worse.

—

Eventually, of course, the case hit the news, despite Christine’s efforts to keep it low-profile, but it ended up being beneficial for Erik. When the story about how a widely known entertainment corporation took advantage of a disfigured refugee and his work came out, the support Erik received was massive. People did love a plot twist.

The District Attorney accepted his alibi without question. Later on, they found out that Joseph Bouquet’s death had first been ruled out as an accident, but, with Erik trapped and caught, the corporation decided to pin it on him, despite the fact that the “Theater Ghost” never hurt anyone else.

When all that dirt was uncovered, the show company, orchestra and crew included, summoned up a strike and even threatened to resign if Erik wasn’t paid his due, and organized a special concert to raise funds in favor of his cause. The initiative was immediately supported by fans and theatergoers, and the tickets sold out within minutes, prompting the opening of a second, third and fourth performances, not to mention the smaller fundraisings that popped up all over the internet. As he was already a wealthy man, Erik planned on donating at least part of the money to nonprofit organizations that helped refugees. No one else should have to go through what he did.

—

Today, they would know if their efforts had paid off. Christine’s hands shook slightly as she arranged her chocolate brown curls in an elegant bun. Her and Erik would be there early; because it was their final day at court, he wanted to thank people. Whenever they had an appointment at the courthouse hundreds of people would camp outside of it, carrying banners and signs with supportive phrases, cheering him on as he walked by. He smiled awkwardly and waved at them, even shaking a few hands once, but that was about it.

Thankfully, Erik’s address was still a mystery, as well as her office’s, though many people were closer to his home than they dared to imagine. He was a very discreet person, as much as his mask allowed him to be, therefore no one ever noticed him disappearing behind a door in one of the side walls of the theater he claimed to own.

—

“Ladies and gentlemen at the court. This case is a very peculiar one; accusations were turned over to the people who first filed them and the defendant claimed to be the actual victim.”

Erik could barely breathe. It was now or never. Sure, Christine had told him they could appeal in case the verdict was not favorable, but it wouldn’t be the same. The assholes would always have that advantage of the first win. He trusted his lawyer, though. She had done everything within her power to help him. She had earned his trust. Erik glanced at her.

Christine was beautiful. Despite her hair being tied up, a few strands framed her delicate face. Her expression was neutral, but her brown eyes were peaceful; he knew she was confident about the verdict.

The judge rambled on about the treatment of refugees and the deplorable situations they were often submitted to by dishonest people, but Erik was marveling at Christine’s slightly rosy cheeks and the fact that she didn’t have a single freckle. However, remembering how important this was, he sobered up and turned his attention to the judge.

“...After analyzing the facts and evidences presented in this court, I find that the accusations are legitimate. Mr. Erik shall be named the official theater owner back to its opening date until this day. The corporation remains obliged to pay him royalties and monthly rent for the years the theater was illegally occupied.”

The audience celebrated and clapped. Erik turned to thank Christine and give her a handshake, but she nearly jumped into his arms, enveloping him in a tight hug. He quickly gathered himself and hugged her back, but Christine let go before long, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry”, she said, blushing. “I know you’re not… I shouldn’t have. I’m very happy, that’s all. I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

Erik merely hugged her again.

Justice had been served. It was a good day.

[moonlit-han]

a truth universally (un)acknowledged | chapter one

(artwork credit to @jisungieart​)

genre: rivals-to-lovers, fluff, college au, theatre au pairing: han jisung x reader chapter word count: 1.9k warnings: suggestive, swearing request: yes (@jisungsjheekies)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

{prologue} {chapter one}  {chapter two}  {chapter three}  {chapter four} {chapter five}  {chapter six}  {chapter seven, part one}  {chapter seven, part two}

chapter one

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” — Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It was in freshman year of college, the sixth week of classes, in Shakespeare for Theatre Performance Majors (THEA 200), halfway through the class period, just as the class prepared to perform their first monologues. You’d wanted to be assigned one of Prospero’s speeches from The Tempest. Instead, Jisung got to play Prospero and you ended up with one of Rosalind’s clever monologues from As You Like It. Not that you disliked Rosalind as a character, you simply wanted to have the fun of 1) not playing a girl for once in your life, and 2) wearing a long robe and getting to wave around a long staff. (There are few things that delight more than strutting around like some self-important wizard). 

You did your best with the monologue, pretending to hide behind a tree at times and speaking to an imaginary Orlando at others. You were as pleased as a cat who’d caught a canary with how well you’d performed, and the fact that your professor gave few notes made it all the better. You liked being the best at anything you did. Jisung was called up to perform after you, and he had brought a robe and a staff. You scoffed a bit because, until that day, he’d been a fairly good actor but nothing extraordinary. Oh, how wrong you were. Yes, his participation in class thus far had been exemplary, his integration of notes seamless, and his general affect lighthearted and kind. But again, he’d only been a fairly good actor, nothing extraordinary. So, seeing him play Prospero as he called down the elements to wreak havoc at sea was unexpected, to say the least. Jisung seemed to put every ounce of energy he had into the performance, and the class clapped when he finished. He, like everyone else, had received notes from the professor, but they were cursory comments. Jisung had done the proper research to play Prospero as well as he could, and then presented the monologue better than you ever thought possible—from a college freshman, that is. And, you hated to admit, better than you could’ve done.

Thus, your rivalry with Han Jisung began. 

At first it was distinctly one-sided, but you performed so well on the mid-term that Jisung noticed he wouldn’t be the sole star of the class. From then on, you and he vied for many of the same scenes to perform, the leading roles in the plays and musicals, and even the chance to mentor younger students once you were upperclassmen. Also, you consistently tried to perform better than each other in everything you did. The unofficial title of Best Actor in the Department (created by you and Jisung for your own purposes and, somehow, represented by a child’s gaudy tiara) bounced between the two of you. It must be said, though, it became more and more like a game with your steadily maturing attitudes and values. However, the one thing you both flatly refused to do was play love interests. If the two leading roles in a play were love interests, you would find different roles for which to audition to avoid that awkwardness.

And now, you were a senior and the reality of your impending graduation had just set in. 

As you walked down the hall to the costume shop for your shift, your best friend and roommate, Miri, caught your arms and swung you around.

“Y/N! Babe, did you see the posting? They’ve announced the next production!!” Miri was practically bouncing up and down as she spoke, which wasn’t unusual for her. “It’s a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice—who are you going to audition for?” 

“Wait, really? Pride and Prejudice? I didn’t even know there was a stage version of that,” you said as Miri swung your now linked hands back and forth. “Hmmm, I guess I could audition for Jane? I don’t think I’d go for Elizabeth, since I really don’t feel like carrying a show next semester, you know?”

“But you’d make such a good Elizabeth Bennet! You have to audition for her!” Miri pressed you.

“Mir, no, I don’t want to have too much going on. Jane will be enough for me. Plus, I’m sure everyone will want to play Elizabeth—she is the lead, after all,” you said, finally extracting yourself from your friend’s grasp.

“But Y/N—” Miri whined.

“Come on, I want to ask if we’ll have to do extra shifts in the costume shop with the show coming up,” you interrupted and continued down the hallway.

When you got off from your shift sewing and repairing garments used in the last show, you went to the audition sign-up sheet on the Theatre Department Message Board. You saw a small knot of people huddled in front of the board, all waiting excitedly to put down their names. You joined the group just as Jisung sauntered up and stood beside you.

“So, Y/N, should we break our rule and go for Elizabeth and Darcy?” Jisung asked, knowing full well you’d never agree to it. He liked to tease you and you liked to tease him, just as long it didn’t end up as flirting. That would be bad.

“Jisung, you know that’s never gonna happen. I am never going to play love interests with you. My first choice is Jane, and after that I’ll just let Professor Greystone decide,” you said as you rummaged in your bag for a pen.

“Ah, the calm and lovely Jane . . . so you’d rather have a simpler role, huh? Too busy this year?” Jisung teased.

“No,” you replied sternly, “I’d just sooner have less to worry about than more. Who are you auditioning for, anyway? Wickham?”

“Nah, I think I’d do best as Mr. Bennet—play to my natural wit,” Jisung said casually, sweeping his hair up off his forehead. “It’d be perfect!”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Jisung.” You’d finally found a pen and began to write your name and your role of choice under an audition time. 

Just when you’d finished, Jisung snatched the pen from your fingers. You were about to protest, but he’d already added his name to the list. Handing the pen back to you with exaggerated care, Jisung said, “See you at auditions, then, Y/N,” and strolled down the hall like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

You quickly glanced at the audition sheet again, and sure enough, Jisung had signed up for the slot right after you. Damn, that had to be the worst luck ever.

Two weeks later, the Department held auditions on Thursday and Friday afternoon in the main theatre. Most students auditioning were familiar with the space, especially those, like you and Jisung, who had performed in it before. The director, Professor Greystone, clearly wanted to see how each person reacted and adjusted to the size and acoustics of the theatre throughout their audition. The long hallway along the back of the theatre was full of students waiting for their time slot. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional mutter as someone cursed themselves or their chosen monologue for one reason or another. Every fifteen minutes, the door would open to free one student only to swallow another into the maw of the theatre scant minutes later. All looked less stressed coming out than when they went in, but the tension in the air was thicker than strawberry jam. 

You’d been thinking about the auditions for nearly every waking moment over the past two weeks. Jisung’s comment about playing Elizabeth and Darcy had, somehow, stuck in your brain like the worst kind of repetitive song. There was a part of you that wanted to play Elizabeth—she had some of the wittiest responses to the hidebound and often dull comments made by those of her social circle, and you aspired to be as quick-witted. But, you didn’t want to risk being cast opposite Jisung. You didn’t think you could bring yourself to act, truly act, even remotely interested in him as a lover. You leaned against the wall, reading through your monologue and your notes for comfort more than anything, trying to clear your head of all else. The temptation of playing Elizabeth just would not go away, though. After another five minutes of fruitless reading and rereading, you paused. What if I did audition for Elizabeth? you thought, scarcely daring to even think it. Jisung surely wouldn’t audition for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, right? He wanted to play Mr. Bennet so he could, in essence, play himself. It wouldn’t hurt for you to add Elizabeth to your list of potential roles—it was just another option. You’d been cast in enough leading roles in the past that there was a good chance Professor Greystone wouldn’t cast you in one again. Right?

“Y/N,” came the sing-song voice in your ear. You had to fight the urge to hit Jisung in the head as you glared at the young man who made it his business to annoy the daylights out of you.

“What, Jisung. What do you want,” you hissed under your breath, trying not to disturb the ten other people still waiting for their turn. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh, just saying ‘Hi.’ Break a leg, Y/N! Hope you get the part you want.” With that, Jisung walked back down the hall to sit on the floor with his ever-present headphones pulled down over his ears. You guessed it helped him filter out distractions. Although, it did make Jisung seem especially cocky, though, as if he didn’t need to study his lines or do anything else before an audition.

After twenty minutes or so, your audition time arrived. Of course, Professor Greystone and the other faculty had some general questions for you before you performed. They made it seem like part of the audition process, but the questions were really an excuse to let students adjust to the space. No matter one’s years of experience, the additional time always helped. Thus, the questions were simple. Yes, you’d read Pride and Prejudice—several times, in fact. No, you hadn't been aware of a stage adaptation before it was announced for the spring. No, your spring schedule was not full yet.

“Do you have any other questions, Y/N?” Professor Greystone asked, setting down her pen for a moment.

“Well, yes. Could I add Elizabeth to my preferred roles, please?” You smiled sheepishly, knowing Professor Greystone had probably expected this. 

“Of course, Y/N. I’ll consider you for the role, in addition to Jane,” replied your professor. “Could you perform your monologue for us now?”

With that, you took a deep breath, lowered your head, then raised it in character.

And then, you were done. You emerged from the theatre, a bit tired but happy with your performance. Jisung, who really was acting like your shadow these days, waited outside the door for his own audition.

“Break a leg, Jisung. You’d do wonderfully as Mr. Bennet,” you said, surprising even yourself as you gave the compliment.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jisung said bemusedly as he watched you gather your things, settling your sweater and backpack on your shoulders. Still staring into space even after you rounded the corner at the end of the hall, Jisung bit his lip. Should I go for Darcy? he thought. There’s no way Y/N would audition for Elizabeth. She’s too scared we’ll end up being cast as lovers. Chuckling to himself, Jisung methodically put away his headphones, straightened his clothes, and took a deep breath. Opening the stage door, he thought, Hell, I’ll do it.