#but lately they’ve been falling from the rips of the fabric of the universe and causing havoc

[desktopmermaid]

Wanted to draw Jett failed exorcist moments

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

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

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

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

Word count: 23k lmao

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

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

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And too often is his gold complexion dimm’d:

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

And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

By chance or natures changing course untrimm’d;

By thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

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

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

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jisung you are drunk” you laugh off

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

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

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;

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

So I for fear of trust forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,

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

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

O, let my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love and look for recompense

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

[passivenovember]

mama said to smile while I still have teeth.

(or) Post Starcourt, a very different Billy Hargrove gets his wisdom teeth removed.

--

In a moment of weakness and textbook junior year assholery, Steve gets his stomach ripped out and fed to him for suggesting that Billy could take the bus.

And it’s not without reason.

Hopper and Joyce have work. And Robin would ask too many questions--why the shaved head, why the ratty black hoodie and sweatpants, why the perpetual vow of silence--and the only one of the kids that has their permit is Dustin.

But Max behaves as if none of that matters. Looks at Steve as if he set the house on fire himself.

“Or you could take him.” She sneers. Like that’s somehow a good idea. “You have a car.”

“Billy wouldn’t get in a car with me even if you paid him.” 

Steve doesn’t say he’d rather face a barrel of Demodogs one handed than be left alone with Billy. Would rather lick black slime off his own dick than feel those silent, cool blue eyes pouring like ice water down the ridges of his skin.

Steve wants to say it. Doesn’t. When Max starts crying. “His legs don’t work as good anymore.”

“Billy gave me a concussion.”

“He’s got gas money.” She says, voice winding tight with desperation. 

And Steve despises the painful, weeping grip of her fingers when they close around his forearm. Hates that she cares so much for someone who could never care for her.

“I know it’s not much.” Max swallows thickly. “I know he used to be a piece of shit, but he’s--”

“Different.” Steve says heavily, scrubbing at his forehead. “I know.”

--

Billy slides into the passenger seat with a thermos in one hand and a cranberry muffin in the other and Steve isn’t used to it, the way his body seems to have deflated. Limbs cut from marianette strings, hanging limp as if gravity hasn’t quite learned what to do with them. 

Billy places the muffin and the thermos on the dashboard between them, and.

Steve expects something.

A thank you, which could come later. A hello, which should come now.

Billy nods at the dashboard.

Steve jots into action. “Oh. These aren’t for you?”

Billy grunts, reaching to pass the goodies over as if Steve were incapable of doing it himself. The thermos is warm in Steve’s hand. Sturdy. 

“Coffee?” He asks, jerking with surprise when Billy mutters; “Hazelnut.” In a voice as soft as feather down. 

Steve waits for Billy to say something else, but. 

Billy doesn’t. He just turns and peers out the passenger side window, into the gentle swell of rain that’s started to fall.

“Thanks. Thank you.” Steve says. He starts the car. Lets it warm, and. 

Tries not to feel like this is the first time their bodies have had to reacquaint themselves with one another. 

Tries not to marvel at how beautiful silvery thin lines can be. Running from the shell of an ear and disappearing, quick, into the hood nestled around broad shoulders. 

Steve rubs his hands together, tearing his eyes away. “First time at the dentist?”

And Billy doesn’t say anything. 

Never says anything, anymore, but. That doesn’t stop the conversation from feeling communal. Shared.

“I got my wisdom teeth out when I was fourteen.” Steve peers through the windshield. It’s raining harder now. “Don’t remember much about the whole thing. Mom says I tried to stop the aquarium fish from drowning. And that I had to be double belted on the way home--”

“Will it hurt?” Billy turns to look at him, and. His eyes are welling up. Cheeks and nose red, as if stung by October winds. 

Billy whispers, “I wanted Max to come but she had school.” 

His hand is covered by the sleeve of his hoodie, fabric scrubbing rough at the stubble along his jaw. “Did they hurt you?” Billy asks, and.

Steve doesn’t like the way he says it. 

Like there really is something to be afraid of, at the core of it all. Like no one has ever considered the possibility.

“It’s not so bad.” Steve’s heart gives a painful, gripping thud. “You get a free ice pack out of the deal and decent high from the silly gas, if you’re lucky.”

Billy nods. “We’re gonna be late.”

Which. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“It’s alright.”

“We’ll get you there lickety-split.” Steve pulls out of the driveway, fingers gripping the wheel when Billy places the still-warm muffin in his lap.

--

He sticks around for the procedure just to stop Billy from looking like he’s being dropped at his first day of kindergarten. The waiting room is bright. Warm and colorful, plush couches stocked full of overstuffed pillows. All within throwing distance of machine labeled free coffee :)

Not a bad dig, all things considered, but.

Billy says Steve doesn’t have to wait around. Doesn’t even have to come back at all. The nurse calls his name and Billy stands, shoulders lined with tension, before turning to whisper, “I’ll take the bus back to Neil’s.”

And Steve knows. Gets it. 

The universe running a test. An experiment that will prove whether Steve’s really got a heart under all that chest hair. 

Steve lifts his Highlights magazine. “I’m good.”

“Really?”

“Dude, It’s pouring outside,” Steve says, shaking his hair out for good measure. “I’ll just wait. In case you’re too high to function.”

Billy looks like he wants to say something else, so. Steve gives his full attention. Plans on the preverbal thank you that’ll probably never come, but. The nurse calls that name again. 

Billy Hargrove.

And Billy turns to go, hands tangled in the sleeves of his hoodie. 

--

His cheeks are swollen, like. 

A chipmunk. 

Stuffed full of little cotton pads that could be acorns. That are acorns, Billy insists, when the nurse brings Steve back to the operation room. He’s parked on the dentist bench. Curled into a ball with a thumb in his mouth when Steve rounds the corner. 

“Steve,” Billy says thickly. “They took my teeth out but I have acorns.” He reaches across the space between them, fingers grasping Steve’s wrist tightly.

Too tight, but. 

Steve can’t bring himself to care when the nurse says, “Billy, take your thumb out of you mouth.”

And Billy says. “I need to suck on something cold.” He pulls Steve right up to the edge of the bench, sitting with a serious glint in his eye. “Our acorns will be good for winter, right?”

He sways, nearly falling off the leather table, so.

Steve grasps his shoulder. Puts him back in place. “Probably? I don’t think acorns go bad.”

“We gotta make sure, ‘cause I don’t want you to starve.” Billy slurs, dropping to dead weigh when the nurse gets an arm underneath him and asks Steve to get the kid on his feet. 

Billy lands somewhere against Steve’s ribs, swaying dramatically as bright red drool slides over his chin. 

The nurse swears under her breath, going at it with a towel. 

Billy swats her hand away. He staggers as Steve thanks the nurse and leads them into the waiting room. 

“You’re so pretty, Stever.” Billy reaches out again, fingertips poking Steve’s eyelid. “Can’t starve for the winter. Gotta get pretty boys their acorns--”

“Stop poking me--”

“Acorn soup.” Billy sings. “Acorn pie and casserole and lollipops covered in sugar.”

Steve manages to get the doors open with zero help from Billy, chuckling as warm, soft palms circle around his shoulder blades. 

They’re hugging. 

In the rain. 

At the dentist’s office.

Steve hugs back, squawking when Billy’s nose brushes against his heartbeat. “C’mon, dude, we gotta--”

“Will you carry me, Stever?”

“No.” Steve says, manhandling Billy from his chest to his ribcage, determined to make it across the lot in one piece. “You’re solid muscle, there’s no way I could carry you.”

Billy makes a noise, pretty pink lips forming a pout when Steve looks over at him. 

“I got all the acorns ready for winter and you can’t carry me to the car?” Billy grumbles, leaning against the side of the Beamer while Steve gets his key into the lock. 

Steve untangles himself from the arms that fold around his waist. “Billy--”

“You smell like grass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, like sweet grass.” Billy cackles, doubling over at his own joke, and. Pulling Steve down with him. “Sweet ass, right?”

“You’re insane.” Steve whispers, somehow out of breath from. The hands on his neck. He let’s Billy pet through his hair and then Steve yanks on the door handle, opening it, like, “Alright. Get in.”

Billy has more blood on his face. “Wanna sit with you.”

“We will.”

“Can I lay on your chest?”

Steve’s face hurts from smiling. “You won’t fit.”

“I could!” Billy whimpers, jerking away from Steve as he tries to get the blood off his chin. “I could be like a kitty cat--”

“Would you just--” Steve gets his hands on him, wiping at Billy’s mouth with his thumb. “Hold still, alright?”

“Alright.” Billy kisses Steve’s finger. Chaste and quick, gone before either really know what’s happening. Those blue eyes pull Steve in, drink him down. “How come you’re so pretty?” Billy asks. 

And. “Dunno,” Steve says, sounding just as out of breath as he feels. Like they’ve been running laps, and. 

Steve thinks maybe they have.

All around Hawkins. Through the years. Past each other. 

Billy holds still under the weight of ten fingers before frowning. Sticking his little swollen lip out. “Can we go home now?”

Steve backs away, gripping the edge of the door. “Sure.”

“Not to Neil’s,” Billy mutters to himself, leaning into the leather seat when Steve gets his limbs folded into the car. He cranes his head, eyes huge and watery. “Can I hang out with you?”

Steve moves to close the door. “Sure.”

Billy stops him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Billy.”

“Then why are you trying to close the door?” Billy demands, peering through narrowed eyes. 

Steve chuckles at that, squeezing the fingers that curl into the palm of his hand. “We gotta close the door so we can drive the car back to my house.”

Billy yanks his hand away. “Your house.” He says, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

Steve nods. “Do you want to go to my house?”

“Do you have macaroni and cheese?”

“Yeah, I can.” Steve wills himself to stop smiling. “I can make some after you take a nap.”

Billy stops the door from closing again. “I’ll be cold if I try to sleep.” 

And he says it like.

No one’s ever believed him. Billy speaks with an anchor in his voice, the weight of it pulling Steve in. Forward, until he understands. 

Steve grips the edge of the door. 

Nods. Let’s Billy know that there are ways around it. 

Billy’s crying, and. Steve doesn’t want to see him cry anymore. Every again. They’ve been through too much. He takes Billy’s hand and squeezes tight, smiling softly when cool blue eyes peer up at him. 

“Then we can eat macaroni and watch T.V.--”

“We can?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “And when you’re ready to go home I’ll take you. Keep you safe.”

He moves to close the door, chucking when a firm, sure hand holds it in place. 

Billy stares at him. “What if I never wanna go home again?”

Steve thinks about it, tapping his knuckles on the hood of the car. He shrugs. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy says.

This time, when the door is closed, Steve runs to the other side. Not wanting to miss a single moment.

[themoonlitsojourner]

Chapter 7: Uncertainty and Exploration

Through starry nights and music lessons, Wanda and Vision rediscover themselves. And begin to discover each other.

Despite the early hour and the fog clouding her brain since she found herself alone in this world, Wanda knows immediately who waits outside her room. Taking a deep breath, she prays for the energy to face this day. She opens the door.

“Good morning.” Her attempt at a smile barely counts, but at least it’s friendly. Anything to soothe her visitor’s nervousness.

“Would you care for a morning beverage?” Vision asks at the exact same moment, his words colliding with hers. He winces, and she’s sure he would blush if he could. “P-pardon me. Good morning.”

Focusing on the mugs in his hands, Vision starts again. “It is customary to consume a heated, caffeinated beverage in the morning. This seems like a practice that would appeal to you, so I have secured two options. I- I am not aware of your preference.” His blue eyes flick to hers. They are skittish, like the eyes of a deer. “Would you prefer green tea or filtered coffee? Or a different product, perhaps?”

“No, no, the coffee is fine.” She wraps her fingers around the warm ceramic and Vision shifts his hand away as soon as she has a secure grip. He is so careful to keep his fingers from brushing against hers. So careful to avoid making contact.

If it were anyone else, Wanda would think it was because of her, a fear of the storm of red that boils just below the surface of her hands. But she has seen inside his head. He is not afraid of her. He is the only one in this building who isn’t.

No, Vision is avoiding human touch, just as he does in the hallways, entering them only when there are fewer people who might brush against him. And the entire time, he keeps his shoulders curled forward, as if to make himself as small as possible.

Why does he avoid even the chance of contact? Why does he fear it so?

Wanda focuses on the mug in her hands, soaking in the heat and the familiar comfort it provides. Steam rises to her nose, but it does not carry the rich, dark scent of fresh coffee. Instead, a burnt and bitter odor greets her. Feeling Vision’s gaze on her, she dares to take a cautious sip.

If Vision made this himself, she knows the first thing they’ll work on.

Wanda’s wrinkled nose must give away her disgust. Vision rushes to assure her, “I have also procured cream and sugar for you to add, if you so wish.” He ducks into the library down the hall, returning with a wooden serving tray.

Wanda pours most of the cream from the little pitcher into her mug, stirring it with the teaspoon he holds out. “Did you get all this yourself?” Her second sip, at least, doesn’t make her cringe. She might have outgrown watered-down coffee years ago, but the cream makes this drink halfway palatable. And if nothing else, the cup will keep her hands warm.

“I retrieved the tray and its implements from the breakfast bar in the dining hall. The teaspoon I selected from the kitchen drawer. The spoons that had been set out for beverage use were not of the proper sort,” Vision explains, expression solemn. “A pot of coffee had already been brewed, but perhaps I should have prepared a new one…” He falls silent, brow furrowed as he watches her sip from the mug.

“It is good,” Wanda lies, and Vision’s shoulders drop in relief. He nods and turns to set the tray down. His golden cape, reaching almost to the floor, ripples around his boots with every step. Wanda follows its lines up his shoulders, frowning at the metal collar joining it to the tight fabric of his suit. None of it looks very comfortable, especially for more than a couple hours.

She looks down into her coffee, idly stirring the pale liquid in slow circles. “You still want my help, yes?” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Vision turn around slowly.

“Yes.” The river of his thoughts speeds up, tumbling and rushing like rapids over rocks. Anxious. About what, exactly?

Wanda realizes her intrusion and pulls back from his mind, refocusing. “Okay. So...” She takes a deep breath. “Um... the outfit. It is fine for fighting and such, but otherwise you might want something more… relaxed?”

Brow furrowing again, Vision peers down at his clothing. “I must always stand ready to defend.” The phrase is flat. Automatic. Scripted, maybe? His eyes meet hers as he speaks his next words urgently, striving to convince her. Or himself. “It is my purpose and honor to defend and serve.”

Did Stark decide that for him? Is it something S.H.I.E.L.D. told him?

Wanda nods slowly. “It is admirable of you to think that. But there is more than one purpose in life. And things change. Always.” Suddenly, she cannot watch him any longer. Staring down into her coffee, she wills her blurred sight to clear. She has cried enough. “And when they do, there is no other option but to adapt.”

Vision watches her solemnly, eyes soft with sympathy.

Wanda takes a deep breath and forces herself to try another smile. “So. Daily clothing.” The mundane topic is awkward and alien on her tongue. There wasn’t much talk in the last few years about anything other than matters of life, death, and survival. The normal and the everyday belong in her memories. In another lifetime.

Nodding thoughtfully, Vision stares past the wall, irises swirling from one direction to the next.

Is he considering his options? Searching the internet, maybe?

“What would you suggest?” he asks.

Wanda purses her lips. Where in the tower could they find extra clothes… There is nothing she can remember seeing during her brief tour, but she remembers little of that first day. We could ask the Captain. She clenches her sweatshirt sleeves in her fists at the thought of venturing into the floors below.

Then suddenly her musings are swept away. Wanda blinks, brain scrambling to comprehend what she sees as Vision’s clothing seems to ripple and shift, both in style and color. Soon, a loose, plain cotton T-shirt and dark jeans drape his tall form. Not a trace of the suit or cape remains.

Her mouth falls open in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

“I am equipped with a thin layer of nanobots, easily controlled through a mental-cellular interface. I assume their purpose is the formation of clothing.” He holds his arms out to the side. “Do you think this attire will suffice?”

Wanda frowns. Vision’s old-fashioned, formal speech looks jarring alongside the modern style, and his perfect posture disrupts the loose fit. If anything, he stands even stiffer than when he wore the battle suit.

She tilts her head. “Is it… comfortable for you?”

“It is casual, is it not?”

“But are you comfortable? Do you like it?”

The corner of his mouth curves down. “Not… strictly speaking.”

Wanda nods. “Try something else, then. You will want it to fit you.”

Vision’s irises begin twirling, starting with the opposite direction this time. When he does that, what exactly goes on behind those blue eyes? She’s sorely tempted to look.

A moment later, his clothing shifts again.

Wanda examines the dark gray vest and tie over a long-sleeved white shirt with neatly buttoned cuffs. Pressed charcoal slacks and black dress shoes complete the simple, yet elegant outfit.

Vision looks to her, waiting

Wanda bites her lip. Maybe he should loosen the tie. Then again, he is obviously more comfortable dressed formally. His body language alone speaks loudly to that. She nods once. “This is good.”

“Good,” Vision repeats. She wonders if he’s aware that he mimics her nod and tone almost exactly. “Excellent.”

----------

During those first weeks after Pietro’s death, the intensity of the searing, screaming pain had not surprised Wanda. Neither had the crushing cloud of grief, or the red haze of anger that fogged her mind and numbed her senses during those dark nights she spent alone, hiding in the Bartons’ spare room.

Wanda has been through it all before. She knows loss well.

But now the grip of those feelings has started to fade, and what does surprise her is the boredom. The restless, irritable energy, the listless lack of focus. Every day is just the day before, completely identical in every way. Get up, train, meals, train, sleep.

There is no purpose. No drive. No one to hunt down and make pay for her brother’s death. No revenge to lie awake and plan.

She already ripped out the killer’s heart, but it was too late to save her own.

Not even the intense combat training, progressing as rapidly as she can handle, holds her attention. No matter how hard she throws herself into it, how carefully she blocks out everything but the red in her hands, she cannot lose herself in the movements. All the fighting does is bring the memories of her last battle rushing to the surface. Pietro’s last battle. And when each session finishes, it leaves her fighting to hide her pounding heart and the shaking that spreads from her hands.

There is no forgetting for her. No distraction.

Fortunately, Vision seems to have found some direction, or at least something to fill his time with. He must have read every book in the library on their floor once, if not twice, and frequently he phases through the floor with an armful pilfered from elsewhere in the building. Made-up stories, real stories, textbooks, manuals, encyclopedias, he reads them all. His desire to learn is insatiable.

If only Wanda could muster even half that enthusiasm for something. Anything.

Today, the late afternoon sun seeps through the library’s full-length window, illuminating the book in Vision’s lap. Wanda flips through the channels on the TV in the corner, jaw clenched in frustration.

It is Monday, the fifth (or maybe sixth) afternoon in a row they’ve spent in this room, and by far the quietest. They train every morning and evening except for Sunday, but the hours between are their “free time.” It’s a good thing the time is “free” because she has done nothing but waste it.

Wanda drums her fingers petulantly on the arm of her chair, restlessness coiling in her chest. She jabs the remote buttons again.

There is nothing on TV. Even worse, there is nothing to do, and she needs to do something. With a growl, Wanda hits the power button and tosses the remote to the table.

“Did you know mantis shrimp are equipped with sixteen different kinds of cones?” Vision suddenly says.

Wanda turns to look at him.

“That’s thirteen more than humans possess,” he remarks thoughtfully, eyes still tracing the page of the encyclopedia.

This was another new thing, his habit of sharing random facts. There is an unspoken understanding between them that they spend the afternoons here in their library because neither dares venture into the mob of noisy people and hectic thoughts that awaits them downstairs.

Wanda could take the solitude a step farther and stay in her room. Completely cut herself off from the noise. But somehow her room is too quiet. Too empty.

She wonders if he feels the same about his.

So they end up here, sharing each other’s company but rarely speaking. Not knowing what to say is another thing they have in common. Vision wants to talk, though. She can see it in the way he glances up from his book every once in a while, eyes darting to her, just briefly. And she tries to start the conversation sometimes, she really does. But it is frightening to realize how little she remembers of how. This is why Vision breaks the silence and she does her best to keep the conversation rolling.

Wanda tilts her head. “Cones? What cones?”

Vision straightens. “Oh, pardon me for the lack of context. I see this topic requires a little elaboration.” Enthusiasm brightens his eyes as he ponders how best to explain. He really does have nice eyes.

“The organic eye perceives light and color due to a thin layer of neurons and receptors covering its posterior wall. This layer is called the retina. The superficial layer of the retina is composed of photoreceptors, which come in two different varieties, cones and rods.”

Most of the words fly over her head, but Wanda cannot hide an amused smile as Vision adds his hands to his demonstration.

“The rods line the distal edges of the retina, providing sharp vision, while the cones cluster in the middle and supply color vision. Humans have three types of cones, each perceiving a different wavelength of light. Mantis shrimp, on the other hand, have sixteen different varieties.”

“So they see more colors?”

Vision purses his lips. “Oddly enough, no. They can see ultraviolet light, however, and a property of light called polarization. The latter is sort of the orientation of the light waves.” He holds his hands up side by side, first vertically, then horizontally.

“Hmm.” Wanda considers this, searching for a good question to ask. Her mind remains blank. It’s harder to think now that Pietro is gone, like trudging through knee deep snow with every thought.

After a few moments without a reply from Wanda, one corner of Vision’s mouth lifts. The other remains stubbornly flat, allowing him to offer her only an awkward half-smile before he ducks his head and returns to his book. It is the one expression he hasn’t figured out yet, likely because he always seems so unsure about it. As if he’s afraid to commit and show the wrong reaction.

Wanda bites her lip as silence returns to the room.

“It is quieter than usual.” She glances toward the hallway. Normally they can hear the murmur of activity floors below, but today there is an uncanny stillness. It is far quieter than even the weekend, which is only minimally less hectic than the rest of the week.

“Today is President Washington’s Birthday, a federal holiday,” Vision promptly replies.

Wanda stares at him.

He lifts his gaze and clears his throat, a little sheepish. “By which I mean no one except Agent Romanoff is working today.”

“No one else.”

“Correct.”

Wanda fiddles with her sleeves, tentatively reaching across the compound to confirm this. The only minds besides theirs are those of the security guards.

“Would… you be interested in exploring?” Vision traces the cover of his book, stealing a quick glance at Wanda’s face. “I haven’t had the chance to investigate most of the ground floor.”

Wanda looks around the library. There is nothing to do here. And the building is completely empty…

She shrugs. “I guess.”

Vision nods and stands, wiping his hands on his slacks. Despite the formality of the outfit, he looks comfortable in his vest and dress shirt. Still, he does not seem to completely grasp the idea of clothing. He hasn’t switched outfits since picking this one, choosing instead to just change the color every morning.

The moment they step from the elevator into the huge, empty lobby, Vision tenses. His eyes dart across the abandoned floor without seeming to actually see it.

“Let’s, um… Let’s go this direction.” Wanda tips her head toward the right, and Vision nods, blinking a couple times. They walk without talking, resisting the urge to tiptoe as their footsteps echo off the walls.

Most of the doors on the ground floor lead to bland offices, and the two floors above aren’t much better. The rooms are either locked, more offices, or storage.

Her flicker of anticipation for this journey has long died out and Wanda is about to give up, when they stumble across yet another storage room.

Vision examines the label on the door. “Prop storage.”

Wanda lifts an eyebrow. “Props for what?”

With a shrug, Vision opens the door, gesturing for her to enter first. The room isn’t nearly as large as some they’ve found, but it’s stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes, totes, and assorted junk all the same. For a building only recently built and occupied, the Avengers wasted no time filling it.

Seeing only junk, Wanda turns to exit. But when she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her, she glances over her shoulder to see Vision wandering deeper inside. With a sigh, she follows, fingers trailing idly over the shelving units.

“Theatre props is the first possibility that comes to mind, but I can see no logic in it,” Vision muses, still stuck on the room name.

Smooth leather meets Wanda’s fingertips, and she stops.

Is this…?

Reaching into the shelf, she slides out a black case and sets it on the floor. Her hands find the latch by memory, and she can’t hide the triumphant smile that crosses her face as the lid opens to reveal an acoustic guitar.

“Do you play?” Vision asks, peering over her shoulder.

“I did.” Wanda traces the wooden grain and gives the steel strings a gentle pluck or two. Glancing up, she catches Vision watching her expectantly. “What?”

“Are… Are you going to play it now?” Curiosity gleams in his eyes.

Her arms ache to hold it, her fingers to slot the notes and strum the strings. The need to play it winds together with another familiar ache, just as strong. The memory of her instructor. Her mama.

“No.” Wanda shuts the case.

“Oh.” Vision frowns. “Are you sure? I don’t think anyone would mind.” He glances around the empty room.

Wanda lifts the case and slides it back onto the shelf. “I’m sure.” Her curt tone keeps away any questions.

A few minutes later, they return to the library. But Wanda’s thoughts linger in the cramped props room all day.

The next morning, she is greeted by a black leather case outside her door. Frowning, Wanda eyes the case and searches for Vision’s mind. His thoughts echo from downstairs. Wanda shakes her head and sighs. She told him she wasn’t going to play.

For a moment longer, she stares at the smooth leather, picturing the instrument inside. She bites her lip. Kneeling beside the case, she flips open the lid. The guitar lies there quietly. Inviting. Promising. A soft brush of her fingers breaks the silence with a low hum. It needs to be tuned. Wanda pulls the case into her room and closes the door behind her. Before she can change her mind, she lifts the instrument into her arms.

The guitar is lighter than she expected, than she remembered. Yet it feels just as right. The strings are strong and familiar under her fingers and the ring of the notes resounds in her chest. The ache, the itch to play becomes louder than the need to avoid digging up old grief.

This floor really does belong to her and Vision, so no one will hear if she plays a few chords. None of the other rooms have ever been used, not even the offices, and not a single employee dares journey up here. Wanda feels the frantic spikes of fear in their minds on the rare occasions she enters their domain downstairs; it doesn’t take much to put two and two together and realize she has been isolated on purpose.

Normally, it would anger her. Normally, she would give them a piece of her mind. But she’s tired, and she is grateful for the solitude. For the quiet.

Especially today, when there is no one to hear her and ask questions, such as who taught her to play, or what the song is, or why she chose such a “sad” chord.

Wanda frets a D minor. She strums the waiting strings.

And finally the world fades away as she falls into the music.

----------

If the days are long and suffocating, the nights are worse. Darkness falls and Wanda lies awake, sleeping fitfully or not at all. The nightmares are fewer, but still she can’t sleep. Insomnia, Vision calls it.

But she avoids the subject, because she can’t talk about how her sleeping mind seeks out the comfort of his, diving into the ocean of gold when the nightmares start. Or how even her few good dreams take place on the seashore now. It’s too much, too close. Too personal to put into words.

There’s something about Vision. Wanda doesn’t understand it, but his mind and soul glow brighter than any she’s ever seen before. And somehow he and she are connected.

Yet every morning, she wakes and reminds herself she can’t lean on the comfort and reassurance he so willingly offers. What if she grows to need it? What if she begins to need him, and like everyone else in her life, he is taken away? She’ll be left behind again. Left alone.

She always is.

Wanda stares at the ceiling, her own breath too loud in her ears, nearly as loud as the thoughts burning in her mind. Flinging the covers aside, she slips from bed. There will be no sleep tonight.

The digital clock reads 2:11 AM. She walks just to move, to do something. She can’t outrun her own mind. But she can try.

Wanda tiptoes down the darkened hallway. The elevator looms ahead, and she stops. Down? No. The last thing she wants is to run into an obsessive employee working late into the night.

So up, then.

The doors open onto the rooftop and Wanda steps blinking from the harshly lit elevator. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the gentler light of the night. One by one, like frightened children, stars surface in the sky above, outlining a figure stationed at the building’s edge. His cape swirls softly in the brisk February wind.

She does not have to guess who it is.

Always, she and Vision end up together. In the library. Here. Are they really so similar that they seek the same places? Or did she search for him subconsciously? (She suspects it wouldn’t be the first time.) Or was it the invisible thread pulling them, a connection she can’t comprehend born from the moment she looked into his mind as he lay dreaming in the cradle. Part of him was still Ultron then. But Vision was there. She felt it.

Wanda steps quietly across the concrete. She stops just behind Vision, unwilling to disturb him but reluctant to go inside.

“I was disappointed to hear the New Avengers team would not be based at Stark Tower,” Vision says suddenly.

Stark. Wanda bites back a scoff. His disappointment is not mutual.

“It has nothing to do with Mr. Stark,” Vision continues, guessing her thoughts. “It is only that I have a certain… fondness for his view of the city lights.” He stares out over the dark countryside and she joins him, standing a couple feet from the edge. “They represent the life of the city, spread across the streets below. Still bright despite the hour, shining on both those awake and those peacefully slumbering. Pushing back the night like guardian angels. Providing a sense of comfort and safety.”

Vision’s words have the rhythm of poetry. His eyes glow softly like the light he paints such a reverent picture of. Wanda watches the serene blue spill over his pensive expression. In his light, she sees comfort. Safety. Just as he says. She looks away.

“There are more stars here, though.” Wanda nods toward the sky above. “You can’t see them in the city.”

Vision cranes his neck, searching the galaxies spread across the darkness. “But they’re so very far away,” he whispers. Curling his long legs beneath him, he sinks to the concrete, his head still tilted back to stare above.

Wanda stands in silence. She doesn’t know how to answer. Why his expression is so sorrowful or how to fix it. She doesn’t understand the source of his pain. But the ache of watching stars at night… This she understands. No matter how brightly, how beautifully they shine, they always burn out.

Wanda traces a meteor as it streaks across the sky and disappears from view.

Some stars even fall.

After a moment, Wanda sits beside Vision and pulls her knees to her chest.

The brilliant, glimmering show of the galaxies unfolds above them, millions of light years away. They watch until it melts before the threat of the morning light. Until every trace fades as if it were never there.

They do not say anything.

----------

Knock knock.

Stifling a groan, Wanda rolls out of bed and stumbles to the door.

“Hello.” Vision offers her a smile and a mug of coffee. The smile is as tentative as always, lifting only half his mouth. But a new light in his eyes makes up for it. “Good morning, Miss Maximoff.”

“Wanda,” she reminds him, accepting the steaming cup. She barely remembers to mumble her thanks before taking a long drink. Vision, as it turns out, is a much better coffee brewer than whoever made the burnt, bitter monstrosity.

Vision nods his acknowledgement. Is it just her grogginess, or does he hold his shoulders higher? Not with tension but with… confidence. He meets her eyes eagerly, boldly. As if he truly wants to be here. With her.

But maybe it’s just her imagination.

Vision’s gaze flickers past Wanda and into her room, just briefly. A sudden twinge of guilt twists in her chest. She didn’t join him in the library yesterday. In fact, after he delivered her morning coffee, she didn’t see him at all until nighttime. When they met on the rooftop under the stars.

She had spent all her time with the guitar, letting it pull her in and awaken an all-consuming desire to relearn the sound of the notes and the feel of the rhythm. To reclaim a piece of herself. And to be honest, she has no desire to share something so personal with anyone else. But Vision brought her the instrument. He gave her the push she needed to actually play it. It is only fair she let him hear a little.

Wanda takes another sip of her coffee to hide a sudden smile. With eyes as lively and curious as his, how could she say no? Lowering her mug, she clears her throat. “Also, thank you. For the guitar. I would not have gone back for it myself.”

“You are most welcome.”

She shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous. “Would you… want to hear it?”

“Oh, yes please! If you don’t mind.” Those blue eyes Wanda can’t stop noticing glimmer with childish enthusiasm, and some of her hesitancy fades. She opens the door a bit wider and returns to her seat on the bed. Vision follows, gaze darting across the room, hands wringing. He stops just inside the doorway.

Breathing deeply, Wanda bends her head and focuses on her breathing. With each inhale and exhale, another piece of the world around her fades. Vision’s presence, the hum of activity floors below, the heater’s droning buzz. Her fingers slide down the polished fret. The strings bite into her sore fingertips, but the notes she plucks are clean and crisp.

They ring slowly and distinctly at first, each with a bold and individual voice. After a few measures the melody begins to grow, building and expanding beat by beat. Notes find their places, melding with their harmonies in a tune mounting in complexity. The volume, the tension builds until all the notes weave together, their voices joining in a single resounding chord that ends the song.

Wanda smiles to herself. The hours spent perfecting that piece and her red, aching fingertips are well worth it. Glancing up, she falters at the sight of Vision’s face. His eyes are wide and awestruck, as if she just performed a baffling magic trick. Though quite proud of herself, she must admit the tune isn’t particularly difficult or beautiful. But Vision’s expression says he thinks otherwise.

His gaze leaps from her, to the guitar, and back. “How did you do that?”

“I just… press my fingers here...” Surely he knows how guitars work.

“No, how did your hands move with such swiftness and precision? And in perfect coordination with each other?”

Her face reddens. “It wasn’t perfect.”

He stares at her hands. “It was entrancing.”

Wanda fidgets with the tuning pegs, embarrassed by his unabashed honesty and admiration. “Anyone could learn that.” The image of Vision poring over encyclopedias and old novels jumps to the front of her mind. “You could.”

His eyes snap to hers. “Oh, I truly don’t think so...”

“Would you like to try?”

“I-I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Giving him an encouraging smile, Wanda nods toward the bedspread next to her. The guitar looks small and delicate in Vision’s large hands as he carefully accepts it from her, propping it against his knee in an imitation of her posture. Awkward and uncertain, he looks to Wanda for guidance.

“Alright. The basics are mostly form and knowledge of the notes. The first string is an ‘E.’” She nods to him. He finds and plucks it. “Good. By holding the string against the board there at the top of the neck, you will make another note.” The “F” Vision plucks twangs brassy and flat. “You’ll have to press harder.”

He nods, brow furrowing as he applies more pressure and tries again. The note rings clear and musical.

“Good. To make a chord, press with more than one finger. The E minor is your second and third fingers on the second fret, fifth and fourth strings.” Her fingers curve around the empty air, miming the placement.

It takes her a moment to notice the wide-eyed look he gives her.

Wanda’s about to suggest they stick with single notes for now, when Vision cranes his neck and stares at the fretboard. “Second and third fingers,” he whispers to himself. His long, elegant fingers are strangely clumsy on the strings, fumbling to find the position.

“Second fret,” Wanda reminds him. She bites her lip as she watches him struggle. “Here.” She reaches for his hand. And just a moment too late, she remembers his aversion to touch.

Her fingers brush his and he jumps as if struck by electricity, the instrument nearly slipping from his grasp as he yanks his hand away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Wanda apologizes, face flushing bright red. Vision set a boundary through his careful actions, and she crossed it. It’s no way to repay someone who has been nothing but overwhelmingly kind to her. I didn’t mean to, I am so sorry-

“No, no, I must apologize. I honestly didn’t mean to respond in such a manner.” Guilt and horror at his own reaction chases the shock from Vision’s face. He looks just as sorry as she feels.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault. I should have asked.” Her entire face burns. He’s so new and inexperienced, more frightened and unsure than she probably knows.

“You only surprised me. I-” Vision stares down at the instrument in his hands. He takes a deep breath and his shoulders loosen downward a fraction of an inch. “I actually would like you to show me. The chord, that is.”

Glancing nervously toward his hands, Wanda bites her lip again. “M-may I?”

Vision’s irises rotate just once. She sees the moment he chooses to trust her. “Yes.”

His fingers are rigid and cold as she gently nudges them in the right direction, trying to keep her own hands from shaking as she explains how the notes fit together. He follows her guidance as best he can, the stiffness never leaving his hands. When Wanda checks out the corner of her eye, his jaw is just as tense as his arms. But then he glances at her, just briefly. And his eyes are soft and open. Longing, almost.

There is so much she does not understand about him. His sorrow the night before, his fear of people and touch. The hidden shame she’s just starting to hear behind his words. But there are some things that make sense now. There are some things she knows.

He trusts her. The realization startles Wanda in how sudden and obvious it is. He talks about his interests to her, lets her see the nervous and scared parts of him. He lets her guide his hand across the strings, despite the measures he takes to avoid even casual contact in the hallway.

Vision trusts her. But he doesn’t trust anyone else, and she knows exactly why. The few instances she’s seen him interact with others flash through her mind. Yes, he chooses to keep his distance, even during conversations, and never once has she seen him shake someone’s hand. But now that she thinks about it, she’s also never seen anyone offer him a handshake.

The people of Sokovia had avoided touching urchins such as Wanda and Pietro like they carried a disease. And isn’t Vision just like they were? Isn’t he new, and uncertain, and afraid, just like a child? Sent into the world alone just like an orphan?

Anger burns in her chest. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to take care of Vision, but they handed him off. Dropped him at the doorstep of the compound, where he is ignored and avoided by every employee. Where he is nothing to the Avengers but another recruit to whip into shape.

Wanda may not know them well, but she is certain the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. would not abandon a child. No, if a child was placed in their care, they would guide and nurture him, providing whatever he needed as he struggled to learn and develop. As he tried to discover who he was. And if they could not provide this, they would place him with someone who could. They would not fail a child the way they have failed Vision.

Do they really not see him?

“Perhaps I am capable of learning to play an instrument,” -Vision’s voice pushes Wanda’s thoughts aside, pulling her back to the present- “But I think I shall leave the music to one with more skill.” He gives her the half-smile, and her heart breaks a little.

She shakes her head slowly, trying to refocus. “You are not so bad.”

Vision passes the guitar to her. “Could I hear another song?” He asks so shyly, and a soft affection fills her heart.

Wanda shrugs, settling the guitar in her lap. “I guess it is not yet time for training. One more.” Her fingers move almost on their own as a flurry of thoughts continues to tumble through her mind. She feels Vision watching her contentedly, open admiration written across his face.

He is so young, so eager and afraid all at once. So desperate to make a connection and find something to hold onto. He needs more than someone to ask questions of and tell unusual facts. He needs direction, to be introduced to experiences and the world outside this building, just as he so strongly desires.

The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have failed him, completely. Forgotten him.

Wanda will not.

[andromeda1023]

Pic:

On the left, what Rubin expected to see: stars orbiting the outskirts of a galaxy moving slower than those near the center. On the right, what was observed: the stars on the outside moving at the same speed as the center.

Dark matter holds our universe together. No one knows what it is.

If you go outside on a dark night, in the darkest places on Earth, you can see as many as 9,000 stars. They appear as tiny points of light, but they are massive infernos. And while these stars seem astonishingly numerous to our eyes, they represent just the tiniest fraction of all the stars in our galaxy, let alone the universe.

The beautiful challenge of stargazing is keeping this all in mind: Every small thing we see in the night sky is immense, but what’s even more immense is the unseen, the unknown.

I’ve been thinking about this feeling — the awesome, terrifying feeling of smallness, of the extreme contrast of the big and small — while reporting on one of the greatest mysteries in science for Unexplainable, a new Vox podcast pilot you can listen to below.

It turns out all the stars in all the galaxies, in all the universe, barely even begin to account for all the stuff of the universe. Most of the matter in the universe is actually unseeable, untouchable, and, to this day, undiscovered.

Scientists call this unexplained stuff “dark matter,” and they believe there’s five times more of it in the universe than normal matter — the stuff that makes up you and me, stars, planets, black holes, and everything we can see in the night sky or touch here on Earth. It’s strange even calling all that “normal” matter, because in the grand scheme of the cosmos, normal matter is the rare stuff. But to this day, no one knows what dark matter actually is.

“I think it gives you intellectual and kind of epistemic humility — that we are simultaneously, super insignificant, a tiny, tiny speck of the universe,” Priya Natarajan, a Yale physicist and dark matter expert, said on a recent phone call. “But on the other hand, we have brains in our skulls that are like these tiny, gelatinous cantaloupes, and we have figured all of this out.”

The story of dark matter is a reminder that whatever we know, whatever truth about the universe we have acquired as individuals or as a society, is insignificant compared to what we have not yet explained.

It’s also a reminder that, often, in order to discover something true, the first thing we need to do is account for what we don’t know.

This accounting of the unknown is not often a thing that’s celebrated in science. It doesn’t win Nobel Prizes. But, at least, we can know the size of our ignorance. And that’s a start.

But how does it end? Though physicists have been trying for decades to figure out what dark matter is, the detectors they built to find it have gone silent year after year. It makes some wonder: Have they been chasing a ghost? Dark matter might not be real. Instead, there could be something more deeply flawed in physicists’ understanding of gravity that would explain it away. Still, the search, fueled by faith in scientific observations, continues, despite the possibility that dark matter may never be found.  

To learn about dark matter is to grapple with, and embrace, the unknown.

Scientists are, to this day, searching for dark matter because they believe it is there to find. And they believe so largely because of Vera Rubin, an astronomer who died in 2016 at age 88.

Flash-forward to the late 1960s, and she’s at the Kitt Peak National Observatory near Tucson, Arizona, doing exactly what she did in that childhood bedroom: tracking the motion of stars.

This time, though, she has a cutting-edge telescope and is looking at stars in motion at the edge of the Andromeda Galaxy. Just 40 years prior, Edwin Hubble had determined, for the first time, that Andromeda was a galaxy outside of our own, and that galaxies outside our own even existed. With one observation, Hubble doubled the size of the known universe.

By 1960, scientists were still asking basic questions in the wake of this discovery. Like: How do galaxies move?

Rubin and her colleague Kent Ford were at the observatory doing this basic science, charting how stars are moving at the edge of Andromeda. “I guess I wanted to confirm Newton’s laws,” Rubin said in an archival interview with science historian David DeVorkin.

Per Newton’s equations, the stars in the galaxy ought to move like the planets in our solar system do. Mercury, the closest planet to the sun, orbits very quickly, propelled by the sun’s gravity to a speed of around 106,000 mph. Neptune, far from the sun, and less influenced by its gravity, moves much slower, at around 12,000 mph.

The same thing ought to happen in galaxies too: Stars near the dense, gravity-rich centers of galaxies ought to move faster than the stars along the edges.

But that wasn’t what Rubin and Ford observed. Instead, they saw that the stars along the edge of Andromeda were going the same speed as the stars in the interior. “I think it was kind of like a ‘what the fuck’ moment,” Yeager says. “It was just so different than what everyone had expected.”

The data pointed to an enormous problem: The stars couldn’t just be moving that fast on their own. At those speeds, the galaxy should be ripping itself apart like an accelerating merry-go-round with the brake turned off. To explain why this wasn’t happening, these stars needed some kind of extra gravity out there acting like an engine. There had to be a source of mass for all that extra gravity. (For a refresher: Physicists consider gravity to be a consequence of mass. The more mass in an area, the stronger the gravitational pull.)

The data suggested that there was a staggering amount of mass in the galaxy that astronomers simply couldn’t see. “As they’re looking out there, they just can’t seem to find any kind of evidence that it’s some normal type of matter,” Yeager says. It wasn’t black holes; it wasn’t dead stars. It was something else generating the gravity needed to both hold the galaxy together and propel those outer stars to such fast speeds.

“I mean, when you first see it, I think you’re afraid of being … you’re afraid of making a dumb mistake, you know, that there’s just some simple explanation,” Rubin later recounted. Other scientists might have immediately announced a dramatic conclusion based on this limited data. But not Rubin. She and her collaborators dug in and decided to do a systematic review of the star speeds in galaxies.

Rubin and Ford weren’t the first group to make an observation of stars moving fast at the edge of a galaxy. But what Rubin and her collaborators are famous for is verifying the finding across the universe. “She [studied] 20 galaxies, and then 40 and then 60, and they all show this bizarre behavior of stars out far in the galaxy, moving way, way too fast,” Yeager explains.

This is why people say Rubin ought to have won a Nobel Prize (the prizes are only awarded to living recipients, so she will never win one). She didn’t “discover” dark matter. But the data she collected over her career made it so the astronomy community had to reckon with the idea that most of the mass in the universe is unknown.

By 1985, Rubin was confident enough in her observations to declare something of an anti-eureka: announcing not a discovery, but a huge absence in our collective knowledge. “Nature has played a trick on astronomers,” she’s paraphrased as saying at an International Astronomical Union conference in 1985, “who thought we were studying the universe. We now know that we were studying only a small fraction of it.”

To this day, no one has “discovered” dark matter. But Rubin did something incredibly important: She told the scientific world about what they were missing.

In the decades since this anti-eureka, other scientists have been trying to fill in the void Rubin pointed to. Their work isn’t complete. But what they’ve been learning about dark matter is that it’s incredibly important to the very structure of our universe, and that it’s deeply, deeply weird.

Since Rubin’s WTF moment in the Arizona desert, more and more evidence has accumulated that dark matter is real, and weird, and accounts for most of the mass in the universe.

“Even though we can’t see it, we can still infer that dark matter is there,” Kathryn Zurek, a Caltech astrophysicist, explains. “Even if we couldn’t see the moon with our eyes, we would still know that it was there because it pulls the oceans in different directions — and it’s really very similar with dark matter.”

Scientists can’t see dark matter directly. But they can see its influence on the space and light around it. The biggest piece of indirect evidence: Dark matter, like all matter that accumulates in large quantities, has the ability to warp the very fabric of space.

“You can visualize dark matter as these lumps of matter that create little potholes in space-time,” Natarajan says. “All the matter in the universe is pockmarked with dark matter.”

When light falls into one of these potholes, it bends like light does in a lens. In this way, we can’t “see” dark matter, but we can “see” the distortions it produces in astronomers’ views of the cosmos. From this, we know dark matter forms a spherical cocoon around galaxies, lending them more mass, which allows their stars to move faster than what Newton’s laws would otherwise suggest.

Continue reading, pictures: https://www.vox.com/science-and-health/21537034/dark-matter-unexplainable-podcast

[nalgenewhore]

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin carefully filled a container of water and walked it to her garden, pouring it over the crops and repeating the process until each little plant had been watered.

A camera had been set up in her garden so she spoke to it, still speaking as though TNSB couldn’t hear her or see her every move. “Now that everyone can talk to me, they never want to shut up.” She kissed the leaf of the smallest plant, smiling down at it and whispering a soft word of encouragement.

“They’ve even got a whole team micromanaging my crops. Which is just great,” she added sarcastically. Aelin and the botany team were not on the best of terms. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant,” she spread her arms, as if to say look at all of this, “but I am the best botanist on this planet.”

Aelin put the container down and dusted her hands, “In other news, they want me to pose for a picture. I’m debating between ‘High School Prom’,”’ she posed with her hands elbows bent and hands clasped over her stomach, “or ‘Happy College Student On A Pamphlet’,” she hooked her thumbs through imaginary backpack straps, pasting on a gloriously fake grin. “I’m not sure how it’ll all convey with my spacesuit on, but we’ll figure it out.”

Aelin laughed to herself and walked out to the kitchen area, now addressing the camera by the microwave, “Another cool thing about this communication business: email! I get a big data dump, like when I was on The Lani and stuff. Athletes, academics, musicians and even the prime minister too. But the coolest, the single coolest email I got was from my alma mater, the University of Orynth. They tell me that once you’ve grown crops somewhere, you’ve officially ‘colonized’ it.” A cocky grin overtook her features, “So I colonized Farnor. Suck it, TNSB botany team,” she stuck her tongue out before fetching her suit to take her photo.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Asterin was in stitches as she looked at the picture Aelin had sent. The golden-haired astronaut was mid-jump, her legs bent and her arms stretched up to the sky and she could make out the huge grin splitting the woman’s face. “Oh, this is so like her,” she murmured, tracing an iron nail over the photo. “This – I can use.”

“Good,” Weylan said, already on to the next topic. He addressed Sartaq and Gavriel on the screen, “Sartaq, is your team still on schedule.”

The man looked beat, a certain bleakness in his eyes, “It’ll be tight, but we’ll make it.”

“Make sure you do.” He tapped the table, “Nine-month flight puts us at day 868. Did we get the Botany Team’s assessment?”

Gavriel nodded, “They estimate her crops will last her until day 900. They resentfully admit Aelin’s doing a remarkable job.”

“Resentfully?” Manon questioned, arching a manicured brow.

“Yes, um, Aelin has a tendency to tell them to go have sex with themselves whenever they disagree with her or question her method. Either that or she tells them she’s the best botanist on Farnor and therefore she doesn’t have to listen to mediocre scientists,” Gavriel told them, a slight wince on his face.

The director of TNSB just shook his head, “Get her in line. We can’t have any miscommunications.” He turned to Manon and Asterin, who were both badly hiding their amused grins. “Food gets there at 868, hers lasts until 900…I hate this margin.”

“And that’s assuming nothing goes wrong,” commented Manon, ever-so helpfully.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin grabbed her toolkit and wedged it under her arm as she walked to the airlock, going out to do some late-night modifications on the rover.

Something was niggling in the back of her mind, but she paid it no heed, just wanting to do her work and sleep like the dead after whatever meager dinner she could scrounge up. She was running out of ketchup and she dreaded the day that she was forced to eat plain cooked potatoes.

A yawn grew in her and her eyes watered, gods above, she just wanted to sleep.

When one was stranded on a desolate, slumber was a fickle thing. Aelin’s eyes grew heavy as she pulled the airlock handle down.

All she heard was a ripping sound going along the canvas of the airlock before she was airborne, an explosion catapulting her and the tunnel far far away.

A strangled, panicked cry escaped her as she was battered and flung around the airlock as it flew through the air and crashed, her helmet crashing into something and she heard a cracking sound, closing her eyes on instinct.

The canvas tube rolled too many times for her to count until eventually it stopped and Aelin sat up, alarms blaring in her helmet.

It was cracked.

Fuck, it was cracked, a little hole where the polycarbonate-plexiglass had been chipped free. The beeping didn’t stop and Aelin fought to keep her breathing under control as she scrambled to her feet and wrenched the duct tape free, ripping off a length and taping it across the longest crack and then another across it.

Her toolkit had spilled everywhere and she grabbed a sharp screwdriver, stabbed it into the fabric of the airlock and yanked it down, creating a big enough rip for her to stumble out of.

Aelin could hardly see past the duct tape and she spun around, desperately looking for the hab and then sprinting, tripping countless times in her mad dash.

She stepped foot in and saw… her crops, destroyed beyond recognition.

Her lifeline was destroyed and Aelin gasped, her throat tight as she staggered out. She couldn’t stay here tonight and no good would come if she attempted to fix anything now.

Making her way to the rover, tears dripped down her cheeks until violent sobs were ripping from her throat and chest. She stumbled over a pile of rocks and fell to her knees, her gloves digging into the red dirt. There was no other answer; Aelin was going to die here alone.

A scream tore from her and soon enough, she was cursing the gods, “Where are you?! Why do you fail me time and time again?!” Her throat was raw and on fire. Her voice cracked, “Somebody save me.”

But no one answered her calls, not as she stayed there, kneeling in the sand, the reality of everything crashing down on her. There was no hope left, no bright and beautiful feeling.

The gods had never been there for her. Never.

Not when her parents died in that car wreck, not when she had to protect little Elide when she herself needed protecting, not when they made her fall for a heartless and cruel bastard, who carried a chip on his shoulder, going through life thinking no one had it as hard as he did.

It was stupid and childish to think they would save her now.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

The mood in Mission Control was somber, nobody daring to speak as Nox read off the message Aelin had sent. “…crops are dead. Complete loss of pressure sterilized the soil and boiled off whatever was left in the water reclaimer…”

The only upside was that Aelin had managed to store away buckets of water and didn’t have to worry about that. “How long does she have,” Asterin asked.

“Well, she can still eat the potatoes she has. We estimate about two-hundred days.”

“Rations get her to what? Day four-ten?”

“Yes, so with potatoes, she can stretch to six-ten.”

“Prelim calculations call for a four-hundred-day round trip.”

 “By day 868 she’ll be long dead,” said Manon, her face emotionless. Her eyes narrowed and she sucked on her teeth, “It’s day one-thirty-five right now, we need thirteen to mount the boosters and do inspections… which give RPL forty-seven days to make the probe. Darkness above, gods damn it.”

“How long does it usually take?”

Gavriel answered Nox, his voice defeated, “Six months.”

Weylan spoke to Gavriel, already standing and doing his suit jacket up, “I’ll let you tell Sartaq and his team.”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Fenrys was sitting in front of The Lani’s communications computer, typing an email to Aelin. TNSB had finally given them the ok to speak with her and only Fenrys had been up to the task.

Dearest G-Money, he wrote, laughing quietly to himself, Apparently, TNSB deemed it appropriate for us to talk to you and I drew the short straw. Sorry we left you on Farnor, we don’t like you very much and we were all tired of you hogging shower times. The downside is we have to rotate through your tasks, but it’s only dirt (not real science). How’s Farnor?

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin was crying as she read Fenrys’ email. Oh, how she missed them, so terribly. The day had been a long one, one where it seemed she couldn’t stop the tears even as she fixed the mess that had been made.

She didn’t think she’d ever been as heartbroken as when she was clearing out her ruined garden and dumping the dead plants outside. After she spent a few minutes mourning all her work, thinking to herself that the botany team would be thrilled she had finally failed, she got busy – covering the hole made in the hab by taping over a plastic tarp she would no longer need now that the greenhouse was useless.

The wind was making it flutter and flap, but it would hold as she replied to her friend.

My most beloved Fenny,

Farnor is fine. How’s The Lani? Cramped, with those two broody men? I accidentally blew up the hab, but fortunately, all your movies were spared which means tonight I’m going to eat plain potatoes and watch Mulan.

Everyday I go outside and look at the vast horizon, just because I can and guess what, I officially colonized Farnor.

I hope the girls are going easy on you poor boys, I know they can be rather ruthless when it comes to board and card games.

Say hello to the others and tell Lorcan that I’m gonna beat his ass if he’s still blaming himself.

After a few minutes, she read his typed reply, just two words, Will do.

Aelin did indeed watch Mulan as she ate her dinner and then, she got up, licking her plate clean and walking it to the sink before she sat down in front of her laptop once more, opening the video journal.

She wished so badly that she could be doing anything other than this, but enough was enough. She wasn’t a child and could no longer put this off. She owed it to herself and to her crew.

“Manon, it’s currently day one-thirty-six, around nine PM. I have a favour to ask of you, and I’m sending these to you, only you, because you’re the only one who will understand. Thank you for everything you did and thank you-“ her voice broke, “thank you for being my friend.”

Aelin took a second, her eyes shut as tears slipped past her lashes, “I want you to send these to the crew in case I don’t make it, ok?”

It took a lot to decide to send these, but Aelin pushed through, addressing the first one to Nesryn.

“Faliq… thank you for being you. Every day spent with you is one I cherish, because I love you so much. Thank you for getting me hooked on The Anatolia Story; it’s addictive. I’ve read fourteen out of twenty-eight volumes and I can’t wait to finish it, but I’m trying to ration them. I won’t forgive you for liking Twilight. Take good care of my goddaughter and your wife. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you guys. Every day I miss you.”

The rest of the letters went the same way, with her saying her last goodbye to her family. Every word had her throat growing tighter and tighter, until only Elide and Rowan were left. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to tell him she loved him so when she would be dead too soon.

Hot tears were streaming down her face and she looked crazy as she spoke to Elide.

“Ellie-Boo. I-“ she sobbed once and covered her mouth, “I love you so so much. To infinity and beyond,” referencing the movie that had their obsession with outer-space beginning, Toy Story. “There’s too much to say to you. You’re my person, baby girl. Without you, I would’ve probably wound up in a ditch somewhere. I want you to have the biggest wedding and a dress with enough sequins so that I can see it in the Afterworld. You are not allowed to be sad, no tears, Elide. I mean it. My funeral better be so much better than the one TNSB had – boooring!” Aelin smiled cheekily and then grew serious, the redness from her crying making the turquoise of her eyes pop. “Be happy, my darling sister. Because guess what, you and me? More than anything, we deserve to know happiness and you’re going to have to take my happy too. I love you, to infinity and beyond.” She pressed a kiss to her fingertips and touched the screen.

The letter she dreaded having to dictate was staring her in the face and Aelin stood up, walking around in circles as she attempted to order her thoughts. Eventually, she sat down, “…Rowan. I… there’s a lot to say, but I won’t ever be able to stop crying if I say everything. Basically, I love you. I don’t know how or when or even why, but I do. I’m completely in love with you, buzzard. And I wish I hadn’t been such a coward to keep it all to myself all this time. I wish that we could’ve been together and in the next life, I will find you and I will not be scared of it, ok? I will find you again and I will not be afraid.” 

She couldn’t say another thing and ended the video, sitting and staring at the wall until she finally fell asleep.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: that wasn’t a very nice chapter huh....anyhoo! comment/send me an ask to be added or removed from the tag list! thank you for reading darlings 

@mythicaitt @kandasboi @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere​ @queenofxhearts​ @that-other-pineapple​ @sleeping-and-books​ @superspiritfestival​ @faerie-queen-fireheart​ @chemicha​ @rowaelin-cressworth​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @candid-confetti​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear​ @feyrethedarklady​ @booklover41802​ @rowaelinforeverworld​ @jamesxdaisy​ @julemmaes​ @hellas-himself​ 

[beca-mitchell]

a twist, a tale, a rip through my sail (1/1)

Summary: Beca goes to visit Chloe in Atlanta.

Word Count: 2,266

Part of now i see daylight—an au series that was created alongside @asimplefavors​ and explores beca and chloe’s lives together as if they had been childhood friends.

Warnings for references to sex. And angst, unfortunately.

Read below or on AO3.

Age: 19 Atlanta, GA August

  * * * * *

 “Hey Bec, I think I must have just missed you...call me back when you can.”

*

 “Hi Beca, I just wanted to call to say that I missed you. And I love you. Hope we can talk soon.”

 *

 “You just got back on the plane, but I miss you already, Chloe.”

 *

 “Bec, I don’t think I can swing coming to L.A. this weekend...it’s a lot of money. Call me back?”

 *

 “I’m trying not to be jealous of dumb tabloid stuff, I really am, but...just call me back, Beca.”

 *

 “Chlo, I know you said you were busy with school, but please let me know if you can give this song a listen. I think you’ll really like it. Love you.”

 *

 “I had a dream about you. Felt like you were right there. I miss you so much.”

  * * * * *

 What do endings feel like?

Beca feels it in the air between them the moment she comes face to face with Chloe at the airport. All the usual happiness upon seeing her girlfriend is still there, but God, it’s all the other things she feels—the intense foreboding, the anxiety, the dread—that make her slow her steps as she nears Chloe who is leaning against a pole, evidently watching something on her phone.

She had felt it while she had been on the plane, but now, standing on the ground next to her girlfriend of three and a half years, she knows it is real.

“Hi,” Beca greets quietly, smiling nonetheless when she sees Chloe’s eyes lift and brighten upon catching sight of her.

Chloe immediately wraps her in a hug, nothing new. Beca squeezes back, sighing happily at the warmth Chloe brings to her immediately. She feels Chloe tighten her hold similarly.

Everything is so familiar.

Chloe pulls back. “Hi,” she greets back, finally. She cups Beca’s cheek, leaning in to kiss her gently. “I missed you.”

Beca smiles despite the sensation in her stomach. “I missed you too,” she mumbles, eagerly leaning up to ignite another kiss.

Everything is fine.

  * * * * *

 It had started with a few missed dates. Many missed dates. Angry voice mails.

Beca recalls each one now that she sits next to Chloe in the passenger seat of her car—a familiar car with many memories—and with each memory, anxiety gnaws at the back of her mind.

She resists the urge to reach across the console to place her hand on Chloe’s thigh even though she longs desperately for that closeness.

Chloe doesn’t look at her once the whole drive home.

  * * * * *

 It feels so routine—everything is routine, right down to Beca dropping her bag just inside the door to Chloe’s room, kicking the door closed with her heel, and immediately being pulled into Chloe’s arms for a deep, messy kiss. The kind of kiss that still makes Beca’s stomach twist in anticipation even after so many similar kisses.

Sex is routine now, especially with how little they see each other. Beca barely gets her shirt off before Chloe is pulling her jeans down, pulling her underwear down and licking through her folds like no tomorrow. It makes Beca gasp and moan and make every sound imaginable. That is a skill only Chloe possesses, the skill to be able to draw those sounds out of Beca like art.

Beca grasps Chloe’s hair forcefully, keeping her girlfriend’s face between her legs as she rides out her orgasm, grunting as she does so. Vaguely she realizes that Chloe’s clothes are still on, even as Chloe carries her to the bed and spreads her legs once more, her fingers doing the work this time.

“I missed you so much,” Chloe rasps into Beca’s ear. Beca’s hands grab at the fabric of Chloe’s shirt. “I missed you,” Chloe repeats, breath hot against Beca’s ear.

Eyes falling shut at the sensation of Chloe’s lips trailing along her ear and her fingers curling into her aching cunt, Beca tells herself that it means I love you. Beca tries to tell herself that all of this means I love you. I want to be with you. I love you.

I love you.

“I missed you too,” she mumbles, eyes slipping shut at the sensation of Chloe adding another finger.

She feels full.

Almost complete.

  * * * * *

 Chloe’s arm curls over her waist in the middle of the night. They sleep, pressed closely together. Like two peas in a pod, Chloe used to joke.

Beca breathes in deeply, holding Chloe’s arm against her in fear that she might let go. She wonders if Chloe has already let go, somehow. In the same ways Beca feels herself floundering.

But being in Chloe’s arms feels so right—feels like everything that Beca has ever been missing is right…there.

She presses Chloe’s arm tighter against herself, maneuvering it so she can clutch Chloe’s hand close to her chest.

Chloe mumbles in her sleep and presses closer, bare skin sticking to Beca’s. It is not uncomfortable. Rather, it is quite the opposite. It makes her feel whole, like a reminder that Chloe is there—that Chloe has always been there.

Emotion swells in Beca’s chest as her mind betrays her once more, playing back every last argument and fight they’ve had over the past little while.

To Beca, it had seemed like they recovered each time, but the scars would always remain.

Don’t let go, Beca thinks. Please.

To her credit, Chloe doesn’t. Not immediately, at least. She holds Beca close like she always has, lips pressed loosely against Beca’s shoulder, her neck. Breath hot against her neck. Even in sleep, Chloe had always managed to make Beca feel whole.

Don’t let go, she thinks again. Nearly begging.

Chloe does eventually. She lets go, early in the morning as Beca blinks awake, wondering if she got any sleep at all. She yawns, stretches, turning onto her back.

Beca immediately follows, rolling over to face Chloe to surprise her with a morning kiss.

Silently, Chloe responds, pulling Beca closer in the warmth of her dorm-sanctioned bed. Chloe’s lips part. Hot, wanting breath against Beca’s mouth.

She could say it, Beca thinks. Either of them could.

It just feels so much easier to pull Chloe on top of her. It just feels easier to have Chloe want her like this.

Simple.

  * * * * *

 It feels like a normal weekend. In fact, it should be a normal weekend. Beca is free from the confines of Los Angeles and happy to face relative anonymity in the sprawling spaces of Atlanta and Barden University. But the heavy weight of the turmoil clouding their relationship becomes near unbearable to Beca even as she nestles comfortably into Chloe’s side.

Chloe says nothing—it occurs to Beca that Chloe has said very little all weekend—and simply wraps her arm around Beca, like it is so natural.

Like it’s a habit.

“Are we okay?” Beca finally asks when her heart and mind can no longer take it. It is late on Saturday night and she is pressed closely to Chloe while they quietly watch a random Netflix show.

Watch is a loose term. Beca feels like she has been gazing despondently at the screen for the better part of the hour and based on the stiffness of Chloe’s arm around her, she figures Chloe is more or less the same.

She regrets asking immediately. She almost wishes she had kept her mouth shut just to pretend a few moments longer. She could just take it back, she could just let it all go. Just clamp her mouth shut and forget it all. But the regret is so heavy because now she knows. It is so different from mere belief or mere speculation. Knowledge, ever powerful, is her undoing.

She regrets it because Chloe hesitates. Chloe has never hesitated or been less than forthcoming in her responses to Beca. Beca cannot recall a time when Chloe’s blunt honesty hadn’t played a role in some part of their interactions with each other.

But now, Chloe hesitates and her body seems to stiffen even more. There is pain in that hesitation, enough pain for the both of them.

That hesitation is enough. It is enough to make the anvil finally sink in Beca’s stomach.

And finally, because Chloe has always been honest with her no matter the circumstance, she opens her mouth and breathes out the simple syllables of Beca’s name. Like it might be the last time ever.

This is the end. This is what it feels like.

  * * * * *

 The end goes something like this:

“Stop,” Beca says immediately, regretting everything from the beginning to the end. “Wait, I didn’t—”

“Beca,” Chloe repeats, sounding even more pained than before. “This isn’t working, you know it isn’t.”

“It is,” Beca insists. She refuses to cry. “I’m just tired, I just—I didn’t mean it—”

“Beca, stop,” Chloe murmurs.

“You stop,” Beca mumbles back, losing some of the fight in her when Chloe reaches for her hands. She marvels at how soft and warm Chloe’s hands are, wondering when the last time was that she had felt—really, truly felt—the warmth of Chloe’s hands wrapped around her own. “Stop,” she repeats quietly.

“I’m not doing anything,” Chloe promises.

“You’re breaking up with me,” Beca says, finally putting the words out there in the open. “You’ve been breaking up with me for a while.”

At that, Chloe flinches and draws back. Beca forces her body to remain still. “I haven’t been doing that. That’s not fair. We both know this hasn’t been working for a while, but we both tried, Beca. I know we did.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are we...doing this?” The 'we' slips out. Beca doesn't even correct herself because she recognizes the lack of fight in her own emotions. 

“It hurts so much being apart from you,” Chloe whispers. “And even having you here, it’s not like you’re here at all." Chloe is quiet for a moment. "...and I think we just need some space to—”

Beca squeezes her eyes shut and barely refrains from putting her hands over her ears to block out the sounds Chloe is making. It sounds like a distant roaring in her ears, but she knows better: it is the sound of her world crumbling down around her.

To her credit, Chloe doesn’t finish her sentence. Beca doesn't know what to do. Chloe is crying, but so gently and softly that Beca's arms feel too leaden to be worthy of reaching up to brush her tears away. The truth of the situation is that Chloe likely has no idea what to say either; she likely is hurting as much as Beca is, but she has always been the strong one.

It feels like a disservice to Chloe if Beca didn’t begrudgingly admit that Chloe is probably right for initiating this conversation now. It doesn’t hurt any less—it doesn’t make Beca feel any less of a failure despite Chloe’s reassurance that it was both of them who needed space.

It hurts the most that Chloe is right.

Chloe is still speaking, a quiet, gentle tone for Beca’s benefit. Beca simply nods, too numb to do much else. Chloe speaks of Beca's immeasurable talent, her growing fame, all the ways Beca needs to grow without Chloe. 

A part of Beca wants to laugh at that because she has spent her entire life growing with Chloe. It seems kind of a waste to just...not do that anymore.

The other part thinks maybe there is some truth in the things Chloe is saying (and maybe in the things Chloe isn't explicitly saying). That's the part that had seen this coming. Beca should have listened.

Somewhere along the line, she reaches out to hold Chloe’s hand for what she’s sure will be her last time.

Somewhere along the line, Chloe tells her she loves her. That she’s in love with her.

Beca finds it in her to speak, forcing away the memories of her own parents’ divorce. Of the pain and loneliness. “I love you too,” she murmurs.

It is still the easiest and most honest thing to say.

  * * * * *

 Ultimately, it wasn’t the end that crept up on Beca. Not entirely.

It is the loneliness that sneaks up on her. It had crept up on her, unbidden, then latched itself somewhere in the back of her mind without her knowledge. Somewhere between Chloe saying “I think we should break up” and the airport and the car ride home, loneliness had crept into every available space in her body.

She doesn’t realize it until she reaches home and drops her bag heavily by the door in an almost exact mirror of how she had dropped her bag in Chloe’s room a mere three days ago. Or had it been two?

Beca supposes that it doesn’t matter.

Her apartment air feels stale. She takes in a deep breath, wondering if it had always been like that or if she had only thought nothing of it because she had lived in a world where she had a Chloe Beale to eventually return to.

Now, there’s just this.

With a shaking hand, she reaches for her phone and presses her mother’s contact on impulse. It feels like something she ought to do—something that a child should do when she’s been devastated by incomparable heartbreak.

Her mother will know what to do, her mother can help, her mother can—

“Hi, you’ve reached Diane. Unfortunately I can’t—”

She isn’t sure what she expected, but she isn’t even surprised.

Beca finally lets herself cry.

fin.

*see more of this universe—now i see daylight.*

[akkeyagentofhelheim]

Before I Fall, Fall

It was quiet in the Library.

A clock ticked rhythmically in the lazy light of the morning. The constant whir of cog and wheel filled the air, punctuated by a hum and bend, phasing between Aidorinian styled bannisters, past crane carvings on the side of a bookshelf, and above a sandy blonde head hunched in front of a small shrine, tucked away in the corner. A single incense stick smoked from where it stood in its base as Juro sat in silence, his eyes closed and hands held together in prayer, glowing softly between blue and gold as he paid his respects to the Bookkeepers that disappeared several hours ago. 

Virion gave a single croon as it landed on his good shoulder in worry. He opened his eyes to give the golem a scratch on the head, “I’m fine…” he assured it softly, carefully getting to his feet. He was still sore all over, accompanied by lethargy in his limbs from the massive output of magic he made. He carefully thumbed the torn fabric of his kimono on his shoulder, lamenting the loss of the garments, the blood already dried a while ago. He had yet to change.

"I was careless. I forgot she saw everything," he murmured as Akkey's interrogation replayed in his head. "You're attached to Yun Milae." He placed a slender gloved hand on the edge of a table, leaning his full weight against it, the other covering part of his face as he struggled, "I know that. That's the problem…" 

One thought led to another as he spiraled through his memories, ones he wished to forget but couldn’t. Virion could only watch and extend its magic around its master in protection.

“You are nothing but a tool. A vessel for infinite power, destined to be alone. You can’t leave this place. There’s nothing, nobody out there for you. Don’t let her stories get into your head.” There was a scream of pain as a whip was brought down onto his handler. He saw nothing but white.

-

“Well… this was Jurou’s idea, but I can’t fault him for it, I understand where he’s coming from. We’re your family now. Our law is no help, no harm, and record what you see...” The Elder’s lopsided grin shone down on him. He smiled back in the same way, “But between you and me, I break that rule a bit. I like helping people even just a little, makes me feel more myself, more human. But don’t tell the others.” They laughed together.

-

He fought with his Mentor, “She’s bad news, I can feel it! Why won’t you listen? She’s nothing like you!” He didn’t see him for years after as the Mentor stubbornly searched for where the suspicious girl came from. 

-

“This is all my fault,” His Mentor was crying, “I’m the one who dug around and set off their radar. You need to run, Jin. I won’t have you pay for what I did!” The Elder laid in his lap, dead. He had lost control again. Everyone was gone, it was just him and his Mentor left, cowering away from the Weapon as she pressed on with her duty to bring him back to Chuugo.

A flash of light on blade. A protecting arm flung over him. The sickening sound of sword through body, streaking blood over his face. The tip of the weapon nicking him along the jaw in the process. The Mentor heaving against the pain to keep her away from him, the blade slicing him again as bodies collided. Blood trailing in two lines down his neck as he was pushed towards nix portals, whose captured users were also escaping themselves.

“Don’t forget who you are, Little Crane.”

He ran.

A bell-like sound pinged from the flat device with the multiple buttons that he used frequently to read entries from the Modern timelines, interrupting his light speed thoughts, bringing him back to the present, “It’s like Jii-jii and Jurou-san decided to reincarnate in one goat body…” Juro couldn’t help but laugh. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Juro shook his head, stretching his long arms up and growling softly at the back of his throat as he returned his focus to the rest of his intended tasks, "Right. Catch up on entries…" He pulled scrolls and devices towards him, supporting his weight against the table, and got to work.

The minutes passed, slowly turning into hours, daylight sliding across books and dust and inkwells as it filtered through the windows of the Library, only the workings of machinery and the scratch of pen heard for a long time. It was a picture of peace, just like the old days.

Juro reached for another black, flat box, fingers flying over the buttons all over its surface. The face of the box lit up brightly, its blue-white glow shining softly on his cheekbones. Text appeared from the light, and his amber eyes swept across quickly as he read them.

"Nothing out of place for Dario. Out for the weekend with friends as always. He has a show next week." 

Juro's lashes lowered. Jin's entry was right on time. They've been very regular as of late, particularly revolving around a certain seidkonur's partner, worrying and keeping an eye on him. The Worst Bookkeeper truly… he grinned to himself in reproach at the Modern Bookkeeper’s unabashed display of his affinity towards Yun and his life, but it wasn't a serious issue any longer, and more in amused surrender. After all, their neutrality was a choice--it was his that wasn’t. And it was exactly how he was reprimanded in his early Bookkeeper days as well.

His brow furrowed at the intrusive memory, gritting his teeth as he balled it up and threw it in the darkest corners of his mind as he always did. His fingers clicked away again on the buttons, and the light shifted into a different set of words. 

Binate World. A fairly new thread that appeared only a month ago. It wouldn’t have garnered such attention from Juro if it weren’t for two things: the timing, and the nature of the timeline. And he might have an idea of why.

He didn’t have as deep an understanding of other universes as either Yun or Milae, but he could still tell what generally happened. Two threads twisted into one, spawning two bookkeepers housing the same soul. Juro skimmed the entries from the timeline, a small laugh escaping him. The bookkeepers were young, and the way they wrote reflected it, wonder and awe seeping into their words as they learned how to string their sentences together in neutrality. They were growing fast, their world a mix of magic and mundane. They were already 8.

But there was still the question of when it happened that metaphorically raised a brow more. First, the Battle of the Jaw kicked off way earlier than it was supposed to, bringing a seidkonur all the way to the opposite side of the multiverse. Then, within days, the unnatural thread was created, seemingly out of nowhere. There's outside forces affecting these, I'm certain… His eyes lowered even further as he stared blankly at the entries, thoughts turning in his head. Immense power surges. Twisting threads. Disappearing marionettes and souls of the Court. Weaving of time and stories.

Golden eyes and a creeping darkness.

"I can't think of anyone else but her. It must be Frigga…"  Juro’s lips barely moved when he commented, his eyes going out of focus.

The sounds of the Library became muted, like a veil was hung in the dimension where it existed within the Golden thread. Light and shadows began to melt together through his vision, becoming more hazy and indecipherable. The pen in his hand was still. Stringy shadows streaked across his line of vision. The Library disappeared.

Juro found himself in a bottomless abyss peppered with stars, standing on nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. Across from him was a large, arch shaped shadow that hung from an unseen ceiling. He could barely make out the chains that wrapped around it, then shot outwards in millions of directions in a horrible scrape of metal sounds. 

A small lonely figure stood in between him and the shadow, faced away from him, yet he knew who she was, with her light locks and bare feet.

“You’re a fucking mess, aren’t ya…”

Her voice bounced around in echoes, filling up the entire space, doubling, cycling, amplifying. Chains began straining against the dome, moving and pulling across space. She spoke again.

“All this power you sealed, uncontrolled, creating problems that you can just solve on your own if you would just accept it and learn… but you don’t want that, do ya?”

Several of the chains began to glow blue then gold, and his mouth opened in a voiceless scream at the sight, crying desperately for the light to stop, to keep the lines intact.

“You’re ashamed of who you were, and you want to erase yourself by locking it all up. You detach from anything that could cause you pain, and disguise it under neutrality. You’re addicted to this solitude. You want it. You need it.”

The child turned to face him finally, but her face was void of any features, a creepy mask of smooth skin and porcelain. Her movements were choppy, unarticulated, inhuman. Her cadence was different.

“You’re trapped, yet you have the key.”

It burst into a chaotic twist of dark lines and threads from behind her, tensing and pulling to its most extreme without snapping. The space around Juro flickered violently, the space phasing in and out of reach in two, three, four, five waves, threatening to rip at the seams, streaking past the girl and heading straight for him, wrapping itself around his limbs and torso and body and face in that familiar, terrifying way. His right side pulsed.

“So many new lines to trace, new stories to collect... and their words…. words are so important,”  a different voice whispered in his ear, and his body seized, the sound crawling everywhere on his skin, the dialogue sounding familiar but incorrect, like they were spoken by the wrong lips. Light left his eyes as he stared blankly before him, unseeing. Another chain glowed with his colours.

“...fā vald ađ rifa örlagaröđina,” he replied to seemingly nobody, his voice a hollow sound.

”That’s right, darling,” the voice remained soft, “You know the importance of words and stories. Then maybe…”

It was inside his head now, “...maybe you can rewrite yours.”

The echoes of metal links and soft voices came to an abrupt stop. 

Complete silence.

Darkness faded back into the Library as cog, wheel, and hum returned. The second hand of a clock ticked once more. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows again. Everything was still in place.

Juro was staring wordlessly before him, unaware, like there was no alarming bend of space that glimmered around him. With an accompanying sigh, his eyes slowly, finally came to a full close, lashes slipping over amber in one smooth motion. He fell sideways, his knees buckling and collapsing towards the ground until he hit something soft and feathery. His golem caught him in its wings with a worried caw, as his arm dropped to the side, pen rolling out of his fingers onto the wooden floor as he laid within his golem, unmoving. 

Virion crooned again in concern, but relaxed when it realized that his breath was steady, “Sorry Vir… I’m… suddenly… really tired…” Juro could only mumble under his breath, sinking into the sea of blue and white. 

He had fallen fast asleep.

It was quiet once more in the Library.

[rikukitsune-sews-nerdy-things]

A Blanket of Darkness (story idea based on a weird dream I'd like to see someone make)

Like the title says. It's dream I had over a decade ago, and I'd kinda like someone make a real story based off of it, even jokingly. Or else, just come have a laugh at this dumb dream I had. (The villain is soooo stupid)      

Hello guys, gals, and nonbinary pals! I recently remembered a weird KH dream (nightmare?) from waayyyyy back in the day (Chain of Memories wasn't even out yet).  And I wanted to share it with somebody in hopes that maybe they'd write a real fanfic based off of it. Or at least, that others would also laugh at what is probably the weirdest dream I've had. If you're interested, let me know, or share other weird KH dreams you've had.

Here is the outline of the dream to the best of my memory:

Remember those super popular, 50+ chapter "sequel" fanfics that were all the rage in the KH section on FF.net in the early to mid 00's? (Sora, Riku, and Kairi all go on another adventure to fight a new villain, they get a cool new Star Trek-esque ship, go to worlds based on the author's favorite movies and franchises, and by the mid point, they have a team of all the "cool" characters following them around.)

The dream was set in one of those, but after the villain had been defeated. The Destiny Trio are back home, all their cool new friends visit them periodically, the worlds are all talking to each other once again and creating a Federation of Worlds to fight all the Disney villains who are teaming up to take over, etc, etc.

Then something happens. Worlds are disappearing for some reason, and the villains aren't behind it. In fact they're scared of whatever's out there. Sora goes out to a few worlds, asks around, and can't find anything.

Then the dream starts edging towards nightmare territory. Sora starts getting transmissions from his friends. Whatever eating the worlds is there, and it's too late to save them. A shadow falls over them, they look up, they scream, the video cuts out.

It happens over and over, and soon even the villains are calling for help. But he never gets there in time, and never sees what it is.

Then, finally, he sees it.

It's a Blanket of Darkness. Literally. Imagine a quilt sized for a child's bed made from those ugly knitted blankets people have on the backs of their couches and chairs, then replace the designs with Heartless emblems, designs, and eyes, and make the underside purple and "smoking" with Darkness.

That's it. That's the threat. (I did say this was stupid)

Sora and his friends watch as the Blanket of Darkness stretches itself out to a huge size, drapes itself over a world, and "swallows" it before shrinking back down to normal size. Then it "flies" through space (think carpet from Aladdin) "eating" up the ships that are fleeing from the world. Then it's chasing Sora, who manages to escape it.

Sora warns Riku and Kairi, who go out and try to set up defenses against it to no avail. The Blanket of Darkness can change its shape, size, disappear, and hides itself just about everywhere. It even eats other Heartless. Soon there are only a handful worlds left and maybe twice as many ships with refugees from different worlds.

Sora's on a pirate-y ship with the villain from Treasure Planet, Ron and Kim from Kim Possible, a Final Fantasy character, and about a couple dozen misc cartoon and anime characters I can't remember all sitting on benches. Everyone's depressed and wants to give up and Silver (the villain) is giving a rousing speech about going down with the ship. He opens a chest he has to give something to someone, and the Blanket is inside. As it grabs him, he tells Sora to run. Sora runs and somehow makes it to another ship through some sort of portal. Sora turns and watches through the portal as Silver goes down fighting, and the Blanket eats the other characters in the order I listed above.

Finally Sora fights the Blanket, rips it up into little pieces, and everything it ate comes spilling out. The universe is saved, and it ends with a sequel-bait-esque close up of the threads starting to knit themselves together again.

Additional info: *Most of the characters, while scared, also think the Blanket of Darkness is probably the stupidest thing they've ever had to fight and are deeply annoyed when talking about it. *When I say the Blanket is ugly, I mean it's UGLY. Like bright pink patches with dark purple designs, lots of bright green and unappealing greys and browns, red and orange checkerboards, that kind of stuff. It was also exclusively made of knitted fabrics. * I don't actually remember much of the end, as I was starting to wake up and was becoming aware that it was a dream. *Kairi and Riku weren't in the dream much beyond were they were last mentioned, but I don't think they got eaten. *The Blanket was sealed somewhere, and someone intentionally freed it, but I don't remember who or where or why. The Blanket was also intentionally made for some purpose, but I can't remember that either. *There were a few battles against the Blanket before the end, but they're not significant.

[capsized-heart]

(I Promise You) If You Need Me, I’ll Be There: Prologue

(fic masterlist!)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: The Chitauri attack on New York left you with extraordinary powers and a fragment of a strange stone in your chest. Ever since the invasion, you’ve been cynical of heroes, of the Avengers, and especially of their star-spangled leader, Steve Rogers; the man who had failed to protect you.

Now, as you and the rest of the world gather your bearings, everything you’ve come to know, including your animosity for Captain Rogers, will be challenged when you meet Wanda Maximoff.

Forced to come face-to-face with your past, a new threat looms on the horizon, something completely beyond you or the Avengers...

A/N: this is my first marvel work!!! I’m so excited!!! I love Steve and Wanda with my whole heart so this is gonna be SO much fun. Feel free to stick around!

New York, 2012.

The windows of the cafe explode into a million shards. Stunned, you shield yourself as best you can behind a booth with gritted teeth, the spray of glass nicking wherever you couldn’t protect your body quick enough. Screams ring in your ears. When you stand, you’re horrified to see civilians who hadn’t been as lucky as you, streams of crimson lacing down exposed skin, red splattered glass matching glassy eyes.

With shaking hands, you instinctively untie your work apron and press the fabric against the forehead of the young woman who had just been giving you her lunch order. The fabric darkens with blood much too quickly and you watch her eyelids flutter shut.

Your breath catches. The woman slumps forward. You need help. People push past you every which way and you’re out on the streets before you can assess her further, even check for a pulse.

The smell of scorching metal burns your nose. Dust clouds your vision. A city on fire. Acrid and toxic, mixed in with the stench of chemicals and raining ash. You want to hold your breath, to keep it from entering your lungs, but fear and panic force you to gasp in time to your thundering heartbeat. You’re forced to taste destruction.

Wailing sirens, the barrage of gunfire. You’re covered in soot in an instant and it all becomes too much. What the hell is going on?

The sound of something rushing above your head sends you to take cover behind an overturned police car and you look up through the smoke to see a sight that turns your blood to ice.

A pulsing wormhole right in the middle of the Manhattan skyline. Hundreds upon hundreds of creatures pour out of the cosmos on strange airships, armed to the teeth with weapons. They shriek in their alien tongue, rearing their ugly heads.

Like you, several civilians stay frozen where they’ve fallen. Never in all your life could you have ever dreamed of seeing something like this, like armageddon itself.

Someone helps you up with an urgent whisper to stay off the streets. You don’t see who. The warning hammers in your ears and you stumble forward, trying to navigate your way towards the underground subway as best you can with the smoldering cityscape. Everything looks different, disorienting. You struggle to find your balance.

More screams sound from dangerously close behind you. Blue energy soars over your shoulder and you can only watch as a pair of fleeing civilians crumple to the ground with holes burned into both their backs.

You smell charred flesh. Shock numbs your senses. Your head pounds. Weakened by smoke, adrenaline-drained, battered and bruised, you turn.

The Chitauri has the weapon leveled in your direction. It looks like a staff of sorts and the curved end glows indigo with a low hum, louder and brighter as it stays trained on you. The alien snaps its jaws in what you can only take to be twisted pleasure. Dread prickles your skin. Time seems to slow.

You wonder if anyone you know has survived the attack.

And then it fires at you square in the chest.

You don’t have time to throw your arms up in defense, to even brace, before pain shreds through you. There’s a flash of blue heat and suddenly your entire core feels like it’s being incinerated and ripped apart all at once. You anticipate the splatter of your own blood, the scorching heat in your chest to overtake you, but neither come. Instead, your own agony burns brighter, your body breaking and blazing like a collapsing star.

You should be dead by now. At least, you wish you were.

Your eyes flare azure and then you see the coils of blue light threading beneath the skin of your veins, crackling with power. Panic bubbles in your throat as you feel it approach an invisible threshold. You can’t contain this. Your nerve endings set off and you explode with cosmic energy.

The blast knocks you to your knees. You hit the ground hard, convulsing. Something inside you shifts and the heat suddenly transforms into ice, like the very weight of the universe, crushing and cold, is closing in on your chest. Your weary, painfully mortal frame vibrates, pulled thin.

Then, a figure breaks through the line of swirling dust. He carries a shield, the poise of a soldier. Golden hair falls in his eyes. Like you, he’s streaked with dirt. You watch as he throws himself into the fight, wielding both shield and vigor to disarm, destroy.

Instinct tells you he’s here to help.

You want to scream to him, anything to dispel just a breath of this unbearable pressure inside you, but whatever this ability is has left your lungs paralyzed and your voice dead in your throat.

The glow of your eyes dim. Your body burns again, but for oxygen this time. The figure darts back into the fray of battle and disappears in the smoke.

He doesn’t see you.

You lie there, balancing on your knees and fighting for air. Tears sting your sight. You’re so frightened, so alone. And then you finally find it, that trigger hidden deep within that well of power in your chest. You release it and draw breath. But it’s too late, your oxygen-starved brain gives out.

Your vision swims black and the last thing you see are the mangled corpses of the civilians you had killed in the blast.

[dreamsofpilots]

Don’t Hide From Me.

Josh Dun x Reader

AN: Soulmate AU which coincides with a request by anon. Surprised myself by finishing it in one sitting. It’s a little long, but any shorter and I don’t think I would have done it justice. 

Warnings: Some cursing, light drinking, little bit of angst but nothing major.

(Not my image)

“That’s um...”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

I groaned and plopped myself next to Jenna, holding my right arm and looking at all the colors on it. 

“What am I going to do Jenna? This soulmark is ridiculous. Have you ever heard of anyone having a whole sleeve as a soulmark?” 

Jenna tilted her head, a blonde strand falling from her bun. “I mean, mine could be considered a sleeve too.” She shrugged. 

“Right, yes, but, those are just black bands. Mine is a giant fucking tree and some space stuff and a sunset or something. My entire arm is covered. What was my soulmate thinking when they chose this?” I yanked my sleeve down, covering the soulmark, before burying my face in my hands. Jenna patted my back comfortingly. 

“He was probably thinking that it was beautiful, and that it would help him find you easier.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “I shouldn’t say he. Could be a girl for all I know. Or a they.”

I chuckled, placing my head on her shoulder. “Well, whoever they are, they’re much more flamboyant than me. When was the last time you saw me wear color?”

This time Jenna laughed, like bells ringing around my room. “Black is a color.”

I snorted. “I don’t know Jenna, this just makes me insecure. I feel like it’s going to draw in a bunch of attention from the kids at school, and I don't want that.” I glanced at my arm again, staring at the fabric of my black hoodie. “Maybe I should keep it covered.” 

Jenna’s face scrunched up in concern. “Are you sure? Wouldn't that hurt your soulmate’s feelings? They chose that specifically Y/N.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “I know, but it’s just not me. Maybe their choice showed up on the wrong person? Can that happen?” 

“I’ve never heard of that before. Look, they’re your soulmate, even if they’re different from you, there’s still a reason that the universe is trying to bring you together. My soulmark isn’t really my thing either, but if it brings me closer to them, that’s all I care about.” 

“You’re right.”

Despite Jenna’s advice, I spent the next two years hiding my soulmark. My family knew of course, and a few close friends, but I wore long sleeves year-round, and didn’t tell other people about it. I used the excuse that my soulmark was personal, and people didn’t press any further when they asked to see it. It was a quarter through my junior year, and still none of my classmates knew what my soulmark looked like. 

One morning, Brendon bounded over to me, clutching his soulmate Sarah’s hand. “Sup, Y/N? Did you hear about the two new transfer students?” 

I shut my locker with a bang as Jenna joined us. “Why should I care?” I asked him, lifting a brow. 

“I’m hearing rumors that they’ve got these huge soulmarks on their arms. They’re the talk of the school.” 

I clutched my arm anxiously, “What do they look like?” 

Sarah shook her head, “We don’t know yet, we haven’t seen them. Apparently one of theirs covers their entire arm.”

I shared a nervous glance with Jenna. Brendon and Sarah didn’t know what my soulmark looked like, so they didn’t notice the exchange. Jenna just smiled at me encouragingly. She’s always wanted me to meet my soulmate. I just didn’t know why I was so nervous about it. It was supposed to be a happy thing, but I was anything but. 

Mercifully the bell rang, and we all dispersed to our classes, promising to meet up for lunch. 

I rushed into my first period class, getting a stern look from the teacher at being late. I shrugged sheepishly and sat in my seat, preparing my books for the class. 

“Alright guys, we have a new student joining us today. Joshua, if you could come up here and introduce yourself?” 

I glanced up from my desk with surprise, I hadn’t even noticed the new student standing off to the side as I entered. A tall boy dressed in a black hoodie and black ripped skinny jeans walked to the front, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

I was taken aback by his appearance. He had cotton candy pink hair, a nose ring, and black gages, and he was- well- he was absolutely stunning. I felt my cheeks burn as his brown eyes met mine, before quickly looking away. 

“M-my name’s Josh. Uh- I just moved here. My buddy Tyler did too actually. Our old school lost funding so we ended up having to come here. Which is wild if you think about it. Um, I-I like to play drums, and I don't really know what else to say...” he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with being the center of attention. 

“Show us your soulmark!” one of the other students piped up from the back. The teacher shushed him, saying that that was inappropriate. 

Josh blushed furiously, but complied anyway. “Oh! Uh- okay.” He pushed up the right sleeve of his hoodie, and my heart jumped into my throat and my stomach dropped. It was the tree. My tree. On his arm.

Josh was my soulmate. 

I suddenly felt nauseous. 

The class erupted, marveling at the size and color of the soulmark. Even the teacher seemed curious now. “Josh, were you the one who selected your soulmark?” Josh nodded, eyes focused on the ground. “If you’re comfortable, can you tell us why you chose such an elaborate design?” 

Josh looked at his exposed arm, as if trying to figure it out himself. “I just thought that the colors were gorgeous, and I love trees and space and stuff. I figured that this was such a happy looking soulmark, and I wanted my soulmate to feel that. Whenever things got dark or lonely for them, that they could look at their arm, and see how beautiful and bright it was, and they would know that things would get better. That not everything is dark. I wanted them to be bold and comfortable with who they are, unlike me, and wear it proudly for all to see. And to know that I would come find them, and love them with all that I am.” 

Josh blushed again as his voice trailed off, suddenly feeling like he shared too much. He glanced around the room, taking in everyone’s expressions. My classmate’s mouths all hung open in wonder, and even the teacher had to subtly wipe away a stray tear. “That’s beautiful Joshua, thank you for sharing that.” 

I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. That was his reason for putting this huge piece on my arm. I suddenly felt like the biggest asshole ever, never once interpreting my soulmark that way. Instead I had been ashamed of it. Josh deserved someone so much better than me.

“You can sit in the empty seat next to Y/N. Welcome to our class Josh.” the teacher directed. 

I felt my pulse pick up. No, no, no, this was bad, I couldn't handle this. I wasn’t ready.

Josh scooted into the seat next to me, giving me a shy, yet warm smile as he did so. “Hey, I’m Josh.” he held his hand out for me to shake. In my panic, I ignored his hand and just nodded, before turning away. My chest constricted at the look of hurt that flashed over Josh’s face. Why am I acting like this?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Jenna. 

Jenny Bean 9:15am

I think I just met my soulmate.....

I quickly tapped out a reply.

Me too....

When the bell rang, I rushed out of class, desperate to get away. Josh had kept glancing at me all through the period, and my soulmark had itched furiously at his proximity. 

Josh didn't have any other morning classes with me, but I still couldn’t focus on my lessons with thoughts of him swimming through my mind. I should be happy that he was around, and that he seemed sweet and thoughtful, if his interpretation of our soulmark was any indication. So why did I feel like I was the wrong one for him? That the soulmark had appeared on my skin by accident?  

I shook my head, feeling nauseous again. I should be happy damn it! It wasn’t until I plopped down next to Jenna at our lunch table, that I noticed the two new additions to our group. I glanced up from the table to see Josh sitting right across from me, studying me quietly. Jenna was turned away from me, her head lowered as she and another new boy whispered to each other. Huge smiles were spread across their faces, and they were sitting way too close for people who just met. This must be her soulmate. One look at his bare left arm, and my suspicions were confirmed. 

The two were completely oblivious to their surroundings, which tended to happen when soulmates began bonding. 

“That’s Tyler,” a deep voice told me. I glanced over again at Josh, who smiled tentatively. “He’s my best friend, but I guess I’ll have to share him now that he’s found his soulmate.” Josh chuckled and my stomach clenched at the sound. Why was everything about him so attractive? 

I didn’t reply and just nodded. Josh’s face fell again, and I mentally kicked myself for being such a dick. 

Brendon clapped an arm over Josh’s shoulders, “That’s Y/N, she takes a really long time to open up to people, so don’t be too offended by her silent nature. The only reason she hangs out with me is because I sort of forced myself on her. She just can’t escape all this goodness.” Brendon’s eyebrows wiggled as he gestured over his body. I couldn’t help but laugh, and Brendon’s face lit up with the victory. A smile played at Josh’s lips as well. 

“Oh okay, I’ll try and be patient then.” Josh said, glancing at me again with a small smirk. Butterflies decided to dance around my stomach then, and my arm itched. I scratched at it the same time that I noticed Josh scratch his. He noticed this as well and lifted a brow. “What’s your soulmark? If you don’t mind me asking...”

“Oh- it’s uh...” I looked anywhere but at Josh as I tried to decide what to do.

“Y/N doesn’t like to show her soulmark, it’s too personal for her. Even Brendon and I don't know what it is, and we’ve known her for years.” Sarah piped up. I was silently grateful. 

Josh tilted his head, “Aren’t you afraid you won’t find your soulmate if you don’t show it off? What if they walked by you but never knew you were theirs because they couldn't see the mark?” 

I glanced down at Josh’s arm, he had his right sleeve pulled up slightly, showing off some of the brown and green of the mark. Mine itched again, but I ignored it. 

“I’m afraid to meet my soulmate..” my voice was barely above a whisper, and Josh had to lean forward to make out what I said in the loud cafeteria. 

“Why would you be afraid?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern. 

I looked away from him, my eyes not really focusing on anything. “I don’t know I just, I’m afraid that I won’t be good enough for them. Or they’ll be disappointed that it’s me.” My eyes finally met Josh’s again, my cheeks burning. His eyes were filled with a sort of sadness, but also some understanding. 

“I get that. But you know, the universe chose you two to be together for a reason. Your soulmate would be able to look past all the things that you’re insecure about, and probably wouldn’t even see them as flaws.” He looked down at his lap, playing with his fingers absentmindedly. 

“A-as far as I can tell...there’s nothing that you should be insecure about....” he stuttered. Josh’s cheeks flushed as he looked away, as if unable to believe that he just said that. I coughed, trying to release some of the tightness from my throat. 

“T-thank you.”

It was then that Jenna and Tyler joined our conversation, some of the initial soulmate bonding energy subsiding. Conversation flowed easily between the group for the rest of lunch. I learned some more about Tyler and Josh, but elected not to speak at all on it. I instead chose to sit quietly, stealing glances every so often at Josh. More times than not, when I looked up at him, his eyes were already on me. 

My soulmark itched. 

Breadbin 4:08pm

Yo. I’m having a party tonight at my house. You’re coming. You don't have a choice. 

I groaned slightly as I plopped down on my bed. 

Do I have to? 

My phone buzzed instantly. 

Breadbin 4:09pm

Bitch, what did I just say?

I typed out a quick “fine” to Brendon before going to get ready for the party. 

By the time I got to his house, there were already a ton of people there and loud music blasting through the speakers. Didn’t people realize this was a school night? 

My arm itched again and I knew Josh must be here. I found Jenna and Tyler over by the drinks, and weaved my way through the crowd over to them. Jenna’s face lit up when her eyes fell on me, and a smile eased over Tyler’s mouth as well. The pair were holding hands and practically glowing, their matching soulmarks on full display. It was freaking adorable. 

“Hey lovebirds.” I greeted. Jenna giggled and Tyler moved so his arm was around Jenna’s waist, before planting a kiss on her cheek. I always marveled at how quickly soulmates bonded. These two looked as if they had already been dating for a few months with how comfortable they were with each other. 

“Where’s Josh?” Jenna asked Tyler. I narrowed my eyes at her, knowing full well what she was doing. 

Tyler shrugged, “Dunno, he’s around here somewhere. I’ll go look for him.” Tyler left the two of us, but not until he placed another kiss on Jenna’s cheek. 

“What are you doing?” I demanded. 

Jenna just shrugged, a huge smile on her face. “He’s your soulmate Y/N. I’m just trying to bring you two together.” 

I glowered at her, “You know I’m not ready.” 

“No, I know you think you aren’t ready. But the universe has brought him into your life, and I’m not going to let you waste this opportunity.” 

“Jenna-”

“No. Listen to me Y/N. Josh probably already feels the pull towards you. He was in a few of my classes today and kept asking about you. He even asked about your soulmark again- I didn’t tell him, calm down!- but he’s a good guy, and he deserves to know. Both of you deserve to be happy.” 

I stared at my shoes for a moment after she was done, taking in what she said. “I just, I don’t want him to hate me...” I could feel the back of my throat burning and tears stinging my eyes as they threatened to spill over. 

Jenna’s voice softened and she brought me into a hug. “Y/N you are smart, funny, talented, and so so beautiful. You’re even a joy to be around once you open up to people. There’s no way Josh could be disappointed that it’s you.” 

I let her hold me for a minute as my thoughts swirled in my head. When I quietly nodded, she released me and gave me a reassuring nod. “Thanks Jenna.” 

She smiled warmly. “I’m always here for you bud.” 

The two of us went and found Tyler, who still hadn’t seen Josh, but didn't seem worried about it. Instead we mingled a bit, introducing Tyler to some of the people from our school. His hand never left Jenna’s. 

At one point I found myself sitting alone on the couch in Brendon’s living room. He was uproariously dancing on the coffee table, face flushed from the alcohol. I laughed as I watched him, feeling myself relax in the familiarity of his antics. 

The couch dipped beside me, and I looked over to see Josh. He smiled at me, waving slightly. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

We fell silent again, both our gazes wandering to Brendon. “So uh- how are you?” Josh asked. 

I shrugged, glancing at him, “I’m alright. How are- are you settling in? A big party is probably a lot to deal with after just meeting all of us.” 

Josh laughed, and I tried to ignore the way my heart skipped a beat at that. “That’s alright. I like being around people, and it’s probably better meeting everyone all at once this way. Like ripping off a band aid.” 

I nodded at that, chuckling to myself. “I suppose so.”

After another small silence, Josh asked me more about myself, like what my interests were, and what type of music I liked. We both bonded over liking the same bands, and he suggested some new ones to me, as well as the fact that we both loved cats, the x-files, and cereal was most definitely it’s own food group. I lost track of time talking to him, it was so easy, and I felt some of my walls dropping. My soulmark itched the entire time. 

Suddenly, Brendon plopped himself into my lap, planting a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek. “Y/N!” he yelled, slurring slightly, “Come dance with me!” Josh laughed as Brendon hopped off my lap and grabbed my wrists, pulling me up. We stumbled, and the sleeve on my right arm pushed up slightly. The three of us froze, the colors on my arm clearly visible. 

My eyes flew to Josh, who’s gaze was fixed on my mark. My stomach coiled tightly. 

“I-is that?” Brendon began, his eyes drifting from my arm to Josh.

Before anything else could be said, I shook myself free of Brendon’s grasp, and bolted from the house. I heard Josh call my name behind me, but I ignored him and kept running, my insecurities running wild inside my head. 

“Y/N, please! Stop!” Josh shouted, his footsteps echoing on the empty street behind me. He finally reached me, grabbing my elbow to pull me to a halt. I refused to make eye contact with him, not turning around. He released me when he was sure I would no longer run. The two of us stood there, in the chilly night air, our breaths coming in rapid huffs. 

“Can I see?” he asked quietly. 

I shook my head, but turned around to face him, eyes still focused on my shoes. 

“Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

It felt stupid, but tears began to fall, burning my cheeks as they slid down. “Because I- I’m not good enough.” 

I could see Josh shake his head in my peripherals. After what felt like an eternity, “Please.” he whispered. “Please, I’ve been waiting for so long... Please don’t hide from me.” 

I didn’t respond, but I didn't pull away when Josh gently took my arm. He slowly pushed up my sleeve, each second feeling like an hour. Finally the entirety of my mark was exposed, and I could hear Josh’s breath catch. A sob escaped my lips.

This was it. He would hate me now. He’s probably so upset that it’s me that he gets stuck with. This ugly, weird, awkward girl, who’s not good at anything or worth much. I wouldn’t be surprised if he walked away right there. 

But Josh didn't walk away. Instead, he surprised both of us and crashed his lips into mine. Hands gripping desperately at my hips and lower back, drawing me against him. Stars exploded behind my closed eyelids, and my stomach did somersaults. I kissed him back, marveling at the taste of him. There was mint and coffee, and a little bit of sweetness that I couldn't place. He smelled like cinnamon and wood smoke, and heat bloomed in my lower abdomen. 

My soulmark no longer itched, but instead burned lightly. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, it instead felt so, so right. 

When Josh finally came up for air, he leaned his forehead against mine, hands not letting me escape his closeness. “You are the most beautiful, and perfect person that I have ever laid my eyes on. I had a feeling-” He pulled back, tilting his head up to look at the night sky, a wet gleam in his eyes. “I had a feeling, that moving here would be good for me. That something was waiting for me.” He brought his eyes down to meet mine, and I couldn’t look away. “Then when I saw you in class- it sounds so stupid- but my mark itched, and I hoped that it was you.” 

I was crying harder now, and Josh gently wiped away the tears that fell, still clutching me tightly to him. “I’m so sorry, I just, I let my insecurities get to me, and I couldn't bring myself to-”

“Shh, it's okay. We all have our insecurities. But I want you to know,” he placed a kiss on my lips again, butterflies jolted through me, “that I will do whatever I can, every day, to show you how perfect you are.” 

I nodded, burying my face in his chest, relishing his warmth around me. I mumbled into his chest, and he leaned down, his warm breath on my ear. “What?” he asked gently. 

“Is it too early to say that I love you?” I asked. 

He laughed, clutching me tighter, as impossible as that seemed. 

“You’re my soulmate. You can love me whenever you feel like. And honestly,” Josh cupped my face in his hands, bringing my eyes up to meet his again, “I think I’ve loved you long before I met you.” 

I smiled, and met his lips in another kiss.

I never hid my soulmark after that night.

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

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

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

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

Word count: 2.3k (preview), projected to be around 16k?? (5th of February)

Warnings: sexism and very backwards ways of thinking, forced marriages (for preview)

a/n: let me know if you wanna be on the taglist, also please listen to the merry go round of life whilst reading this (from howl's moving castle). The full fic is hopefully to be released on the 4th of February

Your legs seem to be moving on their own, feet hitting the ground at a steady and fast pace, you don’t look back and can’t seem to see what lies ahead but still you run until your lungs burn, run until the bitter metallic taste is at the back of your throat where bile threatens to rise. You run until finally your legs collapse, knees hitting the ground, grazing them and it’s the slight sting of the sediment seeping into the cuts that stop you from passing out. You’re not sure how far you’ve ran or how long you’ve been running, you don’t know where you're running to but you have to escape. Escape the life they’ve laid out for you, the one they’ve planned without your input, you can’t live a life where everything is set out, where everything is expected and perfect. A life where you’d get married at 18 to a stranger who was of a worthy social class, attend formal lunches with the wives of your husband’s work colleagues and host dinner parties and occasionally large balls in a manor that always felt empty no matter how many paintings you bought to hang on the never ending amount of walls, no matter how many more bookshelves you tried to fit into one room, a place that you’ll always hate. Then to have children by 20, as many boys as possible of course to then not have any say in their upbringing and watch nurses tend to them, your husband educate them and then watch them get married, meet your grandchildren and when you’ve reached a respectable age, death will meet you in your sleep and you’ll be mourned and then forgotten. A life filled with regret, a constant numbness, no fulfillment and no meaning. 

You saw your mum live that life, a smile that never quite reached her eyes, always plastered on at any given moment as she walked around the large hall with a glass of nothing but champagne in hand greeting the hundreds of guests that you were never able to comprehend how she managed to remember them all. She never spoke unless spoken to, never put in any input and always obeyed your father even when you could see the frustration bubble up inside her as her eyes glinted and her jaws tightened with the urge to say something. She would buy gifts upon gifts and shower you in expensive luxuries, spoil you in riches as a form of love and yet it always held another meaning behind it. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she passed a gift every birthday,christmas and any other reason she found, almost as if she was saying sorry for the life you were going to live and how she’d use these moments as blackmail for when that time came. You’d overhear her quiet sobs when you would sneak around the house late at night, read letters she received from someone you didn’t know and how they wished for her life to get better and for her to find happiness in a world where happiness didn’t exist. You saw your mother cry when your father died, eyes bloodshot red in fear rather than grief. Her life was now uncertain and that's when you decided that you couldn't live an empty life, regretting choices and wishing for death to come to you first.

Your father had always made sure that you would receive a proper education, one where you'd read hours upon hours of the finest English literature, works of science and learned of the past and present politics. He always said "a lady should know about the world around her but should never venture off on her own" you hated that phrase but it was better than what you overheard your friend's father saying to her when she asked for him to explain the concept of communism, "a women does not need to busy herself with politics, for your brain could not even begin to comprehend it" he announced with his nose high up in the air as if he had just said the most inquisitive statement known to man. It baffled you how one could even think that, let alone truly believe it enough to announce it so stupidly in the open, it was obvious that women were capable of understanding concepts like politics,maths and science for you were living proof. You did better than your brother at grasping algebra, better at them with understanding Versalius's "De humani corporis fabrica" and it didn't take your friend long to understand Karl Marx's theory on communism once you explained it to her. It angered you that this was dismissed especially when your brother soon went off to universities for they had outgrown your father's enormous library and knowledge, there was no more he could teach them but there was still much to learn and you yearned to do the same but as you approached a suitable age for marriage, your everyday classes on Shakespearean English, Tudor monarchy, Greek mythology and Italian art had now been replaced with sewing, crochet, dining etiquette and the differences between napkins, white laced ones for formal lunches,gold embroidery for important dinners and regular silk for everyday use, you'd recite to your mother and the many maids who were on standby.

You've left that world now, left the bustling streets of industrialised London where a black smog always hung around the air and the smell of burnt rubber that stung your nose, you always hated both. Though you grew up in a large estate where there seemed to be a never ending amount of land on the outskirts of London, you never were allowed out to explore. Only allowed out with your mother to pick out fabrics in the markets, surrounded by military men that guarded the general's wife and daughter but now you were alone, no guards, no mother and no black smog to block your view of what lies ahead, only the sun and the ocean sky, clear of clouds as you breathe in fresh air that cleanses your lungs from the toxins that hang in the city air, surrounded by vibrant lavenders that arrive with a strong, sweet smell of pollen which you welcome to replace the bitter rubber your sense of smell only seems to know. You close your eyes and bask in the warmth of late August , the sun gleaming down on you, rays striking against your skin with the wind between the strands of your hair, blowing the lavenders and they slightly tickle your arms. You’re not sure how long you were in your euphoric trance but you weren't ready to leave yet when the dark shadow was casted over you. 

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

You shuffle uncomfortably and it’s just now you realise how much of a mess you look as the embodiment of beauty’s eyes fall down. Your expensive dress torn up, what was once a full sangria and silver ball gown was now rags that wrapped around you with the bottom half missing as it stopped just above your knees, an uneven hem due to the rough ripping which took all of your strength, the white net underneath was visibly stained a brownish yellow, the cuts on your knee not being the only thing the dirt seeped into  but his eyes don’t even seem to stop there, they didn't even seem to notice, only meeting a piece of paper that lied on the floor. He reaches down for it, his eyebrows perk up slightly before handing it back to you.“You dropped this” he avoids eye contact, continuing to stare down, his hand abruptly extends out in front of him and he clears his throat, adding to the excruciating awkwardness between you and you wince at the sudden sound. “Oh thank you..” you can hear your voice waver and crack and for the first time in your life, your voice isn’t confident, seems like a day full of firsts, your mother would’ve been proud if she saw you acting like this, like a lady she would have put it. Quite, reserved but really it was just a suffocating stiffness that lingered in the air. 

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

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

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

[agentkatie]

A Study in Blue

The lovely @laelior brought my attention to this ridiculously beautiful art of Cullen in Alliance dress uniform, and… well, I got a little bit carried away, so this is for you! Full disclosure, I don’t know what the Hell this is. Maybe it’s another AU where Cullen ends up in Shepard’s universe? Maybe it’s to come later on in my current AU? Who cares; I just like writing these nerds. Happy holidays my dear!

1992 words, established relationship fluff that turns NSFW-ish, because the only correct response to seeing Cullen in dress blues is to try and jump him.

Cullen straightened his jacket one final time as he observed himself in the mirror, brushing an almost-imperceptible fleck of dust from his epaulette. It was strange, but the Alliance dress uniform sat far more comfortably on his shoulders than his Templar armour ever did. Even ceremonial Templar armour was designed for strength and protection, with little consideration for how its rivets and joints might bite into the skin; Alliance dress blues, on the other hand, were all about comfort, its soft fabric carefully tailored for relief on prolonged parades. The first time he’d worn it he’d felt exposed and vulnerable, its ornate decoration providing no security in this strange world of guns and biotics - but now, whilst they were at peace and happy, it felt right.

Besides; there was no greater protection than having Shepard next to him.

“Looking sharp, Commander.” A drawling voice interrupted his thoughts; he turned to find Shepard, in her own uniform, leaning against the bathroom doorway and regarding him with an appreciative grin. “I’m sorry - Admiral.”

He smirked at the teasing lilt of her voice on his new title, surprised that she didn’t accompany it with a mocking salute. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Commander?”

“Maybe a little,” she acknowledged as she closed the distance between them. “But you deserve it.”

“It is an honorary title,” he reminded her. “It means nothing; technically I’m not even in the Alliance. It should be yours.”

“Yes, it should,” she agreed, her lips quirking upwards into a playful smile as her arms circled his neck; his own hands came to settle on her hips, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of her trousers. “They made you an Admiral just for hanging out with me for a bit; I saved the universe and I’m still stuck at Lieutenant-Commander.”

“I provided invaluable support to the Alliance’s relief efforts,” he pointed out. “You bequeathed their best ship to a Krogan.”

“Grunt is our son. Be nicer to him.”

He chuckled, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss; he felt her smile into his mouth as she kissed him back, one hand leaving his neck to cup his face. “I am very proud of you,” she murmured against his lips, her thumb brushing back and forth over one stubbled cheek. “Even if it means I have to make small-talk with pointless dignitaries all night.”

“The evening is as much for you as it is for me. They’re presenting you with the Star of Terra.”

Shepard made a disgruntled in the back of her throat, as if the Alliance’s commendations’ were miles beneath her. “I’ll put it next to my Silver Dagger and Nova Cluster; I’ll have so many shiny things to polish after they’ve removed me from active duty.”

“Shepard—”

“Hackett confirmed it today,” she cut him off with a hand against his chest. “I’m getting promoted to a nice desk job here on the Citadel.”

Cullen sighed, one hand leaving her hip to rub the back of his neck. It wasn’t a surprise for either of them; Shepard - or rather, the Shepard the universe knew - was a woman of war, her singular strength of both body and character forged in blood and pain. But now the war was over; now those very characteristics, which had led the Alliance to burden her alone with saving them, had become… inconvenient. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But… maybe being removed from active duty is not the worst thing in the world. We could fill our time with other things.”

“Such as?”

He hesitated, breaking from her embrace as he lost his nerve; he turned instead to face the mirror once more, giving himself a final scolding look as he forced from himself the words that had been on his tongue for far too long. “This apartment is rather large for two people.”

“Yeah, but Anderson gave it to me; I’d rather not downgrade if it’s not necessary.” He shook his head as she failed to grasp his meaning, watching her expression closely in the mirror as she slowly transitioned to understanding. “Oh. You want…”

“Only if you do.”

He turned back to her once more, observing her as her mind visibly scouted his suggestion, her face contorted into a look of extreme concentration. “Actual, non-Grunt children,” she said eventually, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know. Doesn’t it worry you?”

“Of course it does,” he admitted. “But we could do it. Together.”

For many years, children had been the very last thing on his mind; between the Templars and the Inquisition and his own personal demons his life had always seemed far too chaotic to bring a child into it. But the idea had crept up on him, laying roots in the back of his mind which had grown into a yearning as he’d watched Shepard interact with their friends’ children; as she’d wrestled with Wrex’s tiny Krogan horde, and told stories of the Normandy to Garrus and Tali’s daughter. And maybe he didn’t deserve to want it; maybe he was too broken to be a father, too damaged by his past to provide the foundations for a child’s future. But with Shepard as his partner, anything seemed possible.

“Being a parent…” she began, then trailed off, her eyes falling to the floor. “I’m just not sure. Is it that important to you?”

“It… would be nice. But all I need is you.”

She smiled at that, her fingers hesitantly reaching for him once more; he took her hands in his, placing a brief kiss to them as they lay encased in his grasp. “It’s not a definite no. Maybe… maybe we could travel for a bit first. Get our own ship. I’ve still not been to Palaven, and I want to show you Terra Nova. But one day… I don’t know.”

“Commanding our own ship does sound appealing,” he said, his fingers reaching for her waist once more - and then, because he couldn’t resist goading her even now, added, “naturally, as an Admiral I would be in charge.”

“Wha— go fuck yourself, Rutherford,” she flared up - completely predictably - at his attempt to pull rank. “I’ll just take Garrus if—”

He cut off her argument by pressing his lips against hers, and she made a weak noise of protest before yielding to him. He’d only intended it to be a brief kiss, but she clearly had other ideas; with a swipe of her tongue across his bottom lip she deepened the kiss, one hand winding into his hair and tugging gently in a way which never failed to send shivers down his spine. Yes, she knew him far too well, and each little action - the scrape of her nails on his scalp, the press of her body against his, the delightful little noises she made into his mouth - was a tactical ploy with only one purpose in mind. And, Void take her, they worked every time.

He had just enough sense left in him to break the kiss, though it did little to deter her; she moved instead to pepper little kisses along the line of his jaw, and he bit back a groan as she playfully nipped at his neck with her teeth. “Shepard…” he warned.

“What?”

“You know what,” he growled, meeting her expression of feigned innocence with a glare he hoped would dissuade her.

“I can’t help it,” she shrugged, absent-mindedly fiddling with the buttons of his jacket. “You’re very handsome in dress blues - especially with that brooding scowl of yours.” A huff of laughter involuntarily escaped his lips, and she grinned, both of them knowing in that instant that she’d won. As if there had ever been any hope for him. “Of course, anything’s better than that faux-fur monstrosity you insist on keeping.”

“You know full well it’s bearskin.”

“Yeah, well - it looks better on the floor of my cabin.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you really think that line will work on me?”

She smiled, playfully swatting his shoulder with the back of her hand. “I meant as a bearskin rug. But now you mention it, we really should compare it with this,” she said, plucking at his buttons once more and pushing the fabric from his shoulders; he shook his head as his jacket fell to the floor, making one final half-hearted protest even as his grip on her tightened.

“Shepard, we’ll be late—”

“Not if we’re quick.”

“And the others are downstairs—”

“Then we’ll just have to be quiet too.”

“Maker preserve me. You are absolutely terrible.”

And with that he kissed her again, revelling in her surprised squeal as his hands moved to grasp her buttocks and hoist her from the ground. Her legs locked around his waist as he backed her into the wall, crushing the hard and perfect lines of her strong body against his, and this time it was his turn to toy with her; he planted open-mouthed kisses along her neck, the sweet smell of her perfume permeating his senses and leaving him love-drunk and heady, and when he reached her ear he took the lobe between his teeth and tugged. She hummed appreciatively, rocking her hips up against his, and it took every ounce of his remaining reserve not to rip down the fabric between them and thrust into her; instead he ground against her, with enough pressure only to stoke the aching need building in them both, and she let out a growl of frustration, her calves tightening around him in an effort to press their bodies closer together.

“Rutherford,” she murmured, a barely-controlled waver in her voice. “Stop teasing and fuck me already.”

“Is that an order, Commander? If I recall correctly, I outrank you now.”

“You are just—”

“Are you two al—spirits!” The unmistakable flanging of Garrus’s voice interrupted them, so unexpectedly that Cullen almost dropped Shepard; he caught her just in time, lowering her awkwardly to the ground before rubbing the back of his neck, and though he still found Turians difficult to read he was almost positive Garrus was smirking. “What’s that human expression? Keep it in your pants?”

“The human expression is fuck off, Garrus,” Shepard grumbled, straightening her jacket as Cullen picked up his own.

“Seems awfully specific. Our taxis are here - but we can go on ahead if you two aren’t finished.”

Cullen felt himself go red at the suggestive emphasis the Turian placed on his final word - which in a way was a blessing, for at least it diverted blood away from other areas. “No, we’ll come— uh, join - you,” he mumbled, quickly buttoning up his jacket and brushing it free of any fluff it might have accrued during its time on the floor.

“Suit yourself; you’ve got forty-five seconds,” Garrus shrugged before leaving them alone once more. “Vega - you were right!” they heard him yell as he stepped out onto the landing, and Cullen winced at the raucous laughter from downstairs at the exclamation. Shepard bit her lip, her eyes twinkling with laughter, and he turned away from her to inspect himself in the mirror once more; thankfully he wasn’t as dishevelled as he’d expected, his uniform largely free of creases and stray flecks.

“You’re fine,” Shepard reassured him, stepping forward to dust off the back of his jacket as he hastily smoothed down the few curls she’d teased out of place. “Very Admiral-y. Let’s get going.”

He nodded at his reflection one final time before turning to her. “After you,” he said, one hand extended towards the open door, but she shook her head and extended her own hand with an exaggerated bow.

“Oh, no - you first, Admiral. You’re in charge now, after all.”

He smirked, taking her hand in his as they left the room together. “My love; we both know I’ll never be in charge with you.”

(You can read more of Shepard and Cullen kicking ass and taking names over at AO3. Comments and reblogs sustain my life force!)

[professortennant]

run! (a tdbm, jean/lucien fic)

a doctor who au prompted by @marcuskaen and @lucienblakes); almost 3000 words. i’d be delighted to write more of this if y’all want.

The first time they meet it’s in a darkened greenhouse, the air thick with the scent of earth and humidity. She’s snipping and pruning and watering as any diligent gardener would. Here, in the quiet of her greenhouse, Jean Beazley can escape the noise of a mundane life. A perfectly fine life, certainly. But not the one she dreamed of once upon a time; no adventures, nothing exciting, nothing out of the ordinary. 

And then, just as she’s rounding the corner, ready to check on her newest addition--a thick, green pod she had come across in the market from a mysterious seller--he’s there. 

The man before her is tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a three-piece suit and a thick, heavy patchwork coat. There’s a manic grin on his face and a screwdriver-like device in his hand and before she can ask what on earth he thinks he’s doing in her greenhouse, he’s grabbing her hand and leaning in close and he whispers one word: Run.

And they’re off as the green pod behind her erupts into a--and there’s no other word for it--creature. It’s slimy and she thinks she spots teeth and the man, still pulling her along, is rambling about krynoids and the best way to get rid of them and she can’t stand listening to him ramble about this nonsense anymore. And she truly detests running.

Ripping her hand from his, she turns around and squares up against the plant-creature. The man is lifting his screwdriver up and she hears a high-pitched whirring. Pushing his hand back down and ignoring the incredulous look he shoots her, she reaches over onto her work table and plucks the weedkiller up, taking aim at the creature before her. 

With just a few well-aimed squirts of the herbicide, the creature is already browning and curling in on itself, the teeth falling out and rendering it harmless. 

For a moment, there’s just silence and the sound of heavy breathing as she turns to the strange man next to her. She wipes her hands on her apron and dusts them off, crossing her arms over her chest, eyebrow raised. 

“Now, do you want to tell me who you are and what the bloody hell that,” she points to the plant, “is?”

“You can call me the Doctor,” he answers absentmindedly, simply staring at her, mouth open, eyes darting from the creature to Jean. She feels distinctly as if she’s being sized up and she straightens herself, standing tall. Jutting her hand out, she introduces herself. “I’m Jean. Jean Beazley.”

And then a slow smile spreads over his face and he’s taking her hand in his again and staring at her in wonder. “Oh, bravo, Jean. Bravo.”

They settle inside her home and he’s all nervous energy, bouncing from room to room as if simply trying to reacquaint himself with day-to-day baubles and materials. Tea is happily steeping in a pot on the table in front of them and she’s rather had enough of his rambling. 

“Doctor!” He stops mid-stride and spins, his coat flaring behind him and his hands resting on his stomach, answering her with a raise of his eyebrows and a small hum. 

She shakes her head, still trying to wrap her head around what he’s telling her. Alien, spaceship, time travel, far off distance universes and planets. It’s thrilling and she’s a little ashamed of how quickly she believes him, how desperate she is to be whisked away. 

“So, to be clear, you’d take me away in your spaceship--”

“TARDIS,” he corrects, absentmindedly, vision still roaming about her house and taking everything in: pictures of her sons and her Christopher, memories of a life long ago. 

She purses her lips but nods. “Right, your TARDIS. And we can go anywhere? Any time?”

He nods, eyes suddenly focused on her, desperate and intent and she feels her breath catch at the weight of emotion in his blue eyes. She wants to say that there are stars reflecting and shining in his eyes, that there’s a galaxy swirling amidst the hue, but she can’t quite manage the words. 

Jean tilts her head. “Why ‘The Doctor’? Don’t you have a real name?”

He laughs, the intense man disappearing and evolving into lighthearted wonder once more and the change leaves her reeling. He leans back and shrugs. “Why Jean?” He waves her off before she can answer and he leans forward. “I want to make people better, make people happy. And ‘The Doctor’ sums me up, so,” he sits back again, arms spread wide, grinning. “Here we are.”

“But don’t you have a given name? One your mother gave you?”

Again, his face seems to shift and darken and Jean wants to reach out and cup his face, smooth away the deep hurt that seems to have taken residence. Someone, something has hurt him and she wants to heal him. 

“I do. Maybe one day, I’ll tell you what it is, Jean Beazley.” He stands then, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from his waistcoat and pulling his patchwork coat around him as if protecting himself against the world. 

He offers her his hand with a grin. “So what do you say, Jean? Fancy seeing a universe or two?”

In the end, there isn’t any hesitation, no decision to make. She slips her hand in his and lets him pull her up until they’re standing toe-to-toe and grinning at one another. 

His grip on her hand tightens and he pulls her along, dashing out the door, and throwing a soft, please, grateful smile at her. There’s no bags to pack--just the clothes on her back and a thirst for adventure.

“Bravo!”

The Doctor, she learns, is a complicated man--well, alien. And she forgets sometimes he is an alien. He’s just as warm, just as human as she. 

But when she wraps her hands around his wrist and feels the dual thumpthump-thumpthump of two hearts, she remembers. When his eyes take on that special cold, hardness--the look of an alien soldier trying to make amends and prevent devastation--she remembers. When she gets a glimpse of the darkness within him--a man capable of violence--she remembers.

For all his alienness, though, he’s remarkably human. For all his darkness and violence and brokenness, he is kind and compassionate and good. Jean has seen it firsthand: a protector at heart, using physical affection and humor to disguise his shortcomings. 

With every watery smile and desperate hug, Jean finds herself falling more and more in love with him. He gave her the universe, more than one--how could she not?

Late one night, she makes a promise to the stars her Doctor travels amidst: I’ll protect him.

Jean had never been one overflowing with riches and excess income. Her clothes were secondhand or sewn herself. Perhaps it is this background that makes the TARDIS wardrobe room so awe-inspiring to her: an entire wardrobe of clothes designed specifically for her body, everything looking impeccable upon her. It’s more clothing than she’s ever seen and she takes great delight in indulging herself with a small fashion show.

After settling on a rather practical skirt and blouse, she seeks the Doctor out, a heat flushing her cheeks pink, eager to show him her chosen outfit (and trying to convince herself it wasn’t about ensuring he saw her legs in something other than trousers, for once). 

But the Doctor, when she finds him, is passed out at the kitchen table, face first in a plate of scones and a warm cup of tea beside him. She shakes her head fondly at him. He rarely sleeps, simply running, running, running until his body shuts down. Silly man.

She’s just turning to leave him to his nap when her eye catches sight of his patchwork coat and she frowns. It’s thinning in the elbow, holes peppered the fabric, and the patchworks peeling off--the thread weak and breaking. 

Biting her lip, unsure, she hesitates before grabbing his beloved coat and dashing back to the wardrobe room, an idea forming in her head before she can second-guess herself. 

The sewing kit is easy to find and she sets to work immediately, the needle and thread like an extension of herself. The holes are sewn together, the buttons clinging to the coat by a mere thread secured more firmly to the coat. The patchwork fabric squares were unsalvageable and she peels them away carefully, frowning. 

She certainly doesn’t want to cut up any of the TARDIS’ beautiful clothing, but she needs something to replace the gaping holes in his coat. And then, from the corner of her eye, she sees it: her apron. 

The same apron she had been wearing all those months--days? weeks? years?--ago. Time on the TARDIS is a fickle thing and she isn’t sure how long they’ve been running together. 

The apron is white and green, swirling with leaves and vines and the occasional purple flower. There’s still dirt from her garden embedded in the pockets and she grins. It’s perfect.

She sets to work tearing and ripping the apron apart and sewing the newly created patches into his coat, humming to herself as she works. The Doctor sleeps for only a short while and she wants to be done before he awakens. 

There’s something special about this. She thinks back to the promise she made to herself and the stars: I’ll protect him.

Perhaps even if she can’t be there, a part of her can be, here woven within his coat. With a bite of the thread and a shake of the completed coat, she stands, rushing back to the kitchen, hoping to leave it for him to find as a surprise. 

Instead, she runs head-first into him, stumbling back. He steadies her with a warm hand at her hip and she fights the urge to swoon forward into his arms. The Doctor catches sight of the coat in her arms and his brow furrows, tilting his head. “Is that mine?”

She blushes and offers it to him, explaining. “I noticed it needed some repairs. I-I hope you don’t mind.” Jean is rarely unsure of herself but she realizes, as much as she cares for him, she doesn’t know much about him. Perhaps he is deeply attached to that coat and she’s ruined something precious. 

But she sees the way he holds the fabric in his hands, like it’s made of glass and not cotton and wool. His long, clever fingers dance over the newly sewn patches of green and white, his lips moving soundlessly. 

He looks up at her, eyes suspiciously wet and her heart clenches in her chest. “Doctor?”

His eyes drop back to the coat and he dons it, straightening the lapels with a flair, his fingers once more tracing the fabric provided by her apron. “Thank you,” he whispers, low and intimate. 

It makes her heart pick up speed and she covers it by waving him off. “It was nothing, Doctor.”

The Doctor’s head snaps up and he reaches out quickly, hand cupping her cheek. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t say that, Jean. This is everything.” It seems as if his thumb moves of its own accord, stroking over the soft skin of her cheek. His eyes are locked on hers, intense and focused. 

She squirms under his gaze, desire coiling low in her belly and she works hard to keep her breathing even and her desire hidden. He seems to catch himself and he pulls his hand away. It takes everything in her not to reach back out to him.

He grins at her, mischievous and light-hearted once more. “It’s like I’m carrying a piece of you wherever I go. Thank you, Jean.”

And just like that, he’s gone, dashing back down the hall and yelling back at her that they’re due to land for their next adventure any moment, leaving a stunned and breathless Jean behind.

Most of their adventures are like stories out of a fairytale. She and the Doctor appear, they get into mischief while hand-in-hand, and save the day. They often end up holding hands (he always seeks her hand out, a desperate, seeking grip) and collapse against each other, breathless and laughing. Another crisis averted, another day saved.

But sometimes, their stories are tales told to children at night to tell them to be wary of the boogeyman. Sometimes, she and the Doctor don’t succeed. The good guys don’t save the day, love doesn’t conquer all, and the villain has their day.

Today is one of those adventures. The screams of the Ood fill her ears still and no matter where she turns in the TARDIS, it follows her. Even the walls of the spaceship seem to pulse in sympathy and she follows the series of pulses into the console room. 

He stands there, hands resting on the railing, eyes dark and focused on the energy tower in the middle of room. Jean’s never been one to shy away from someone in need and the Doctor--her Doctor--is no different. 

She steps forward, taking her place next to him. There’s a glass of something purple and viscous and foul-smelling. The odor is on his breath and she assumes it’s an alien equivalent of whiskey--a means to dull the pain.

Her hand slides over his and squeezes, “Doctor, we did everything we could.” She offers what little comfort she can. 

He turns to her, anguished and rasps out, “They needed us, Jean. And we failed.” The failure chokes him and he turns away, throwing the glass against the TARDIS wall in a fit of anger and despair before collapsing onto the captain’s chair, a bench-style chair they had spent many an evening on, simply staring out into the void of the universe.

She bites back the rebuke on her tongue and sends up a mental note to the TARDIS, promising to clean it up--or make the Doctor do so. Instead, she slides next to him and pillows her head on his shoulder, the patchwork coat rough on her cheek. He reaches for her then, so easily and pulls her close, resting his chin on her head, inhaling the scent of her--warm and alive and Jean. 

He’s met millions of creatures--humans and aliens alike--but no one is like Jean. No one makes him feel the way Jean does. And so he takes his chance, risks his hearts once more, on a fleeting, fragile love. 

The alcohol and grief have loosened his tongue and he speaks, unloading a burden carried for too long. “Jean, I have something to tell you. Something about my past...”

She listens carefully about a war, a great Time War, and a lost wife and an entire race destroyed save for a single, lonely, broken man. Jean hears his story and doesn’t run or hide from him, simply burrows close and holds him tight. 

For the first time in a millennia, his hearts beat in sync with another and he finds the courage to whisper his name--his real name--to her. 

“Lucien,” he whispers. “My name is Lucien.” 

[sending-the-message]

Dreams are a Two-Way Window by TobiasWade

Infinity captured in an hourglass, turn it over and it begins again. That's what dreams are to me. I always romanticized dreams as a window into innumerable secret worlds and forbidden fantasies. It wasn't until I began lucid dreaming that I realized everytime I look out through the window, something else is looking back at me.

The concept of lucid dreaming fascinated me since I first learned about it in my psychology class. I couldn't even believe it was a real phenomenon at first; it seems more like a super power to me.

To create any world or situation with such vivid detail that I become God of my own personal universe. That must be too good to be true, but there it was. Printed clearly in my psychology textbook: a guide how to induce lucid dreams. I even made a photocopy in the library to hang above my bed as a constant reminder to follow these steps until I mastered the elusive and subtle art.

Step One: Reality Checks The textbook recommended I try to push a finger through my opposite hand at least ten times a day. This will habituate the motion and make it more likely for it to occur in my dreams. When I try the check in a dream, the finger is supposed to pass straight through my hand and prove it isn't real. The self-awareness that I'm dreaming is what triggers lucidity.

Step Two: Set an Early Alarm I set it for 2 hours earlier than I usually wake up. When the alarm sounded, my goal is to turn it off without opening my eyes to make the next transition smoother. This technique is called "wake induced lucid dreaming".

Step Three: Mindfulness After that I have to try and stay mentally awake while I let the rest of my body go back to sleep. This is known as sleep paralysis because my mind will be awake in a frozen body. It occurs because I've interrupted REM sleep where the dreams occur, prompting the body to return there as fast as possible.

It took a few days of practice before things started to click. At first I kept accidentally falling back asleep after my alarm rang. Soon I was able to maintain concentration, but then I started to see some basic colors and shapes, and I got so excited that I fully woke up. The longer I persisted though, the more real the images became.

Shapes morphed into forms and the dappled specks of light grew and twisted into rich tapestries of color. Sometimes it felt like an ordinary dream, but as I continued to practice I learned to prolong my focus until the imagery fully matured.

Less than a week had passed before I was reliably alert enough to perform my reality checks, and after that came absolute freedom. I began with enacting idle sexual fantasies, but the sheer possibility of exploration made it difficult for me to maintain attention on any one creation for long. My favorite dream to spin was where I stood in a dark room with a paint brush that transformed everything it touched. Mountains ripped through the ground and soared at my command, and a single stroke on my eternal canvas brought flocks of birds into flight. Crystalline caverns, riding dragons, alien encounters, and the entire cosmos stitched onto the back of my hand; I raced through my dreams with insatiable wonder and boundless delight.

And I kept getting better too. I invented a dozen more reality checks involving clocks, mirrors, counting fingers - anything to ensure I would always find a way to become aware. My worlds became more intricate, and I was able to cast distinct characters and plots to entertain me. It's not like this was the only thing going on in my life, but it was the best, and every night I couldn't wait to uncover the latest treasure in my mind.

That is, until I discovered I was being watched anyway. As my awareness became more defined I grew cognizant to certain elements in my dream which remained stubbornly beyond my control. It started off as a vague uneasiness which settled upon dreams like a gathering dusk of the spirit. I couldn't make out anything specifically wrong, but I can only describe the feeling as though I was a character in someone else's dream. All I had to do was tear down my canvas and begin again in a new dream though, and the feeling would be gone...

For a little while anyway. Each successive escape solidified the presence in my mind, and like an intrusive guilty thought it penetrated my next dream. I built castles only to find eyes I never conceived of watching me from cracks in the stone. A flight through the air went sour as the sun turned to watch my aerial maneuvers. On to an undersea adventure, but my paranoia amplified as an eel followed me relentlessly through the water. Reality checks confirmed my dream, but I couldn't banish these watchers. I could only hope to lose them by starting again, although each time they found me swifter than before.

I became so unnerved that I forced myself to wake up. I found myself in a cold sweat, panting in the cool morning air. The first step of my morning ritual was now a full range of reality checks. I allowed myself to relax as I passed each one. Just a bad dream, I told myself. I swatted the fly away which snuck in during the night and prepared myself for just another ordinary day. But once they've found you, the watchers will never let go.

I felt anxious all day; a source-less, gnawing feeling that made me keep checking over my shoulder. I second-guessed the motives of everyone who turned to look at me, and when my psychology professor asked me a question in class I straight-up froze. I had to try and push my finger through my palm, right in front of everyone, just to make sure. The warm pressure of skin against skin snapped me back to reality and I was able to mumble a cohesive enough answer for him to turn away. But if I wasn't dreaming, then why did his eyes swim through his skin so that they continued watching me after he had turned? Even with his back to me, I could still see them peeking out through his shaggy grey hair.

Growing awareness works the same way in this world as it does in dreams. As soon as I became aware of one discrepancy, I began to notice them all. The same fly which had been following me all day continued dancing orbits above my head. Passing gazes lingered on me longer than they used to, and always, always the eyes would return in the most unlikely places.

A dropped notebook on the floor opened to perfect sketch of an eye looking at me. A sip of coffee left the fleeting imprint of something staring at me from the foam. From knots in the trees to chips in the sidewalk, everything was an eye and all of them were directed at me.

I don't know whether it was a relief or a fresh terror that waited for me at home. Stepping into the bathroom, my reflection had completely disappeared. That was the first reality check to fail all day. At least if I was still dreaming then it meant I wasn't going crazy...

I couldn't will myself to wake up anymore though, no more than I could will myself not to see through open eyes. I tried throwing myself into bed, tossing fitfully until I at last slipped into an uneasy slumber. I was hoping that falling asleep in a dream would be enough to make me wake up for real, but it only threw me into a fresh absurdity of dreams that even my awareness could not tame.

Ghastly specters of thought whirled through a mind so saturated with fear that I lost track of right from left; of reality and fabrication. Lips began to accompany the eyes in more varied and tortured forms than my waking imagination could conjure. Faces pressed in around me as though struggling to break free from the suffocating cloth that my dream enveloped them in. More than being watched, I was terrified that they would start to speak to me. I don't know why, but just as I had bottled the divine spark of creation, I knew they now dreamed of me and that I would be slave to their slightest utterance.

Faster I spun, willing myself to wake but holding back for the horror of what I might find there. Through the dreams I raced, new ones forming before the searing lights of the last had even faded from my vision. Worlds collided together into maddening abstraction as men with fish-heads rode on horses across the clouds with lances of lightning. Through the clouds the faces pressed, withered lips peeling back to laugh and grunting in mockery of human speech. Endless possibilities are a double-edged sword. An eternity in Heaven is not the same length as an eternity in Hell.

At least now I know why they're watching. They're looking for a way out, just like you're looking for a way in. They've been doing this for much longer than you have, and whatever trick you think you know, you can count on them knowing it too. I know because for as long as I practiced and prepared myself while awake, I've spent many times over learning from the watchers in my sleep.

I'm awake now. For real this time (I think), although I run through my list of reality checks so compulsively that my palm is bloody and raw where the finger keeps pressing in. This isn't a warning against lucid dreaming though, however it may sound. I've seen how shrewdly the watchers hide, and know they were watching me long before I became aware of their existence. They might not reveal themselves to you before you become lucid, but that only means you can't protect yourself from them until it's too late.

Dreams are a two-way window, and if you aren't brave enough to stare down the face on the other side, then they can become a door as well.