#lent silent retreat

[emmauscentrett]

Lent is...

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

cw: mention sex work and slight toxic work place

The club buzzed with electric anticipation, fueled by a swirling rumor that someone important to Don Price was visiting tonight. You had no idea what your boss had done to arrange to host this visit for the Don—and honestly, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that, while you were on the clock, you were the club's star singer. But when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, you became just another pawn—another sex worker your boss dangled before wealthy patrons, provided they played their cards right.

With a sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing it back with a touch of pomade. In the mirror, you checked the fading bruise from last night’s "guest," ensuring the makeup the kind bartender lent you concealed it. Satisfied, you leaned back, drawing a deep breath to steady yourself.

Knock. Knock.

The door swung open, and your boss' voice crashed into the room—gruff, sharp, and impatient. “Don’t screw this up. Got it?”

“Got it,” you replied coolly. As his footsteps retreated, you muttered under your breath, “You bastard.”

Rising from your chair, you adjusted your suit, making sure the lapels were sharp and every detail flawless. A final glance in the mirror—your practiced smile in place—and a sip of water later, you strode toward the stage, your heart thudding in rhythm with the faint murmur of the crowd.

As you approached, the band filled the room with a sultry, polished rhythm that kept the patrons engaged, the melody weaving through the dimly lit club like a spell. You lingered just offstage, nerves buzzing, waiting for your cue. The announcer stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand, his polished smile betraying just a flicker of unease beneath the surface.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests from all walks of life,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “please welcome our star performer, Mr. [Your Name]!”

The crowd erupted into applause as you stepped into the spotlight. The familiar warmth of the stage lights greeted you, casting a golden glow over the room. Your eyes scanned the sea of faces until they landed on one that sent a chill down your spine—a man seated next to Don Price. His vermillion suit and open black coat were striking, but it was the skull mask obscuring his face that unnerved you. Though his expression was hidden, his gaze felt piercing, unrelenting. You tore your eyes away and accepted the microphone from the announcer, who leaned in close.

“Good luck, songbird,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and warning.

The lights dimmed, the room quieted, and the moment was yours. Drawing a deep breath, you began your performance with one of the club’s favorites—Antes de Ti by Mon Laferte. The band played a soft, smooth melody, their instruments blending seamlessly with your voice as it filled the room. You swayed gently, letting the music guide your movements as you sang:

"Antes de ti

Yo no conocía el amor

Estaba sola y triste como esta canción

Transitaba el lado oscuro de la luna."

Despite the music and the adoring crowd, you could feel his gaze. The skull-masked man’s attention was like a tangible weight, burning into you. A quick glance confirmed that he and Don, in front, were engaged in a quiet conversation, their heads close together. You silently thanked the heavens as the song neared its conclusion. Just one more chorus.

"Antes de ti (Before you)

Yo no conocía el amor( I didn't know love)

Por cada estrella una decepción ( For every star a disappointment) 

No había nada-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah~

(There was nothing-ah-ah~) "

The final note lingered in the air as you extended your hand toward the crowd, lost in the emotion of the moment. But then, your hand accidentally locked with his. The masked man. His gloved fingers briefly brushed yours, and the intensity of the connection sent a jolt through you.

"Antes de ti, mi amor! (Before you, my love!)"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, oblivious to your inner turmoil. But as you froze on stage, the masked man rose from his seat and began walking toward your boss. Your heart sank.

The announcer, sensing something amiss, stepped forward quickly and dismissed you with a practiced flourish. You retreated backstage, your thoughts racing.

What did I do? Did I offend him?

The uncertainty gnawed at you as you slipped into your dressing room, waiting for the inevitable knock that would summon you to face Your boss' wrath. 

The knock came, sharp and deliberate.

You braced yourself, then opened the door, expecting your boss’s fury. Instead, the man in the vermillion suit stood before you, his tall frame filling the doorway. The mask caught the dim light, casting shadows that seemed to deepen its ominous design. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—an aura of authority, mystery, and something darker emanated from him.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tie to mask the unease creeping up your spine. “Can I help you?” you asked, voice steady.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. The air grew thicker, more charged. His gloved hand rose, brushing over the edge of his mask before he finally spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying an accent you couldn’t quite place.

“You performed beautifully tonight,” he said, his tone a mixture of admiration and something else—something you couldn’t name. “But I came to discuss something more… more important than music.”

Your instincts screamed at you to tread carefully. “I appreciate the compliment,” you replied, carefully neutral. “But I’m not sure what business we could have.”

He chuckled softly, the sound both disarming and chilling. “You sell yourself short. A voice like yours… and a presence like yours…” His gaze, though hidden, felt like it was peeling back layers, scrutinizing your very soul. “... has value far beyond this club.”

You stiffened, unsure if this was flattery or a veiled threat. “If you’re looking to negotiate something, you’ll need to speak with My boss.”

“Your Boss?” He scoffed lightly, the corners of his mouth barely visible beneath the mask. “Your boss’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t about Club’s business. This was about you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at you.

The man stepped closer, his presence enveloping the small room. “What I want,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, almost intimate murmur, “is to offer you something this Club never could.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of something sharp and expensive. “Freedom,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a forbidden promise.

Your breath caught. Whatever this man’s intentions were, one thing was clear—tonight was going to change everything. He extended a single crimson rose, its petals almost too perfect, as though crafted rather than grown. You hesitated before taking it, the velvety texture brushing your fingers. 

Lifting the rose, you studied it carefully. “You promise me freedom,” you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “And I don’t even know your name. What do you want from me in return? We both know nothing is free in this life.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and smooth, as if amused by your boldness. His gloved hand reached out, brushing against yours as he gently adjusted the rose in your grip. “Clever,” he murmured. “You see through the illusions most are blind to.”

Before you could step back, his arms encircled you with a deliberate slowness, not forceful but undeniably commanding. The leather of his gloves was cold against your skin as he pulled you closer, his presence intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, his voice now a near whisper, inches from your ear. “Not yet. But I see what others overlook—the fire in you, the defiance you try to bury under obedience. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

His words struck a nerve, stirring something deep within you. You tilted your head to meet his gaze—or rather, the unyielding mask that shielded his face. “And you think you can free me? Just like that?” 

His hand trailed down to your waist, holding it lightly but with undeniable intent. “Freedom comes with a price, it’s true. But it’s not what you think. What I want,” he paused, the room heavy with his words, “is you. Not as a pawn, not as a commodity. You, as you are—your loyalty, your will. In exchange, I’ll give you a life you never dared to dream of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words sank in. The rose in your hand felt heavier now, its beauty tainted by the weight of his proposition. “Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “Because you’re more than you think you are. And with me, you’ll finally realize it.”

The room felt impossibly small, as though the air itself had thickened under the weight of his presence. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of the club faded into an afterthought, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence. His towering frame loomed close, not menacing but magnetic, drawing you in despite the warning bells ringing faintly in the back of your mind.

He leaned in, his movements deliberate yet unhurried, and the faint scent of leather and something darkly intoxicating mingled with the cheap perfume you’d hastily dabbed on earlier. His voice was low, smooth like velvet over steel, sending a soft tremor through you.

“By the way,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin like a whispered secret, “people call me Ghost.” He paused for a heartbeat, his words hanging in the air before he continued, softer this time. “But you, dollface…” His lips tilted into the barest hint of a smile, one that held both mischief and something deeper, something almost tender. “You can call me Simon.”

The name hit like a soft ripple in the storm, grounding him in a way that made your heart lurch unexpectedly. Ghost spoke of shadows, danger, and the unknown. But Simon? That felt real. Intimate. A name not given to just anyone, but to someone who mattered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze—hidden behind the mask but still piercing—seemed to hold you captive. His gloved hand reached out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw, light as a whisper, before retreating. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, unbidden.

“Simon,” you repeated softly, the name rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar ease, like it belonged to you now, like it carried a piece of him that he was offering. A nervous, fluttering feeling settled in your chest as his head tilted slightly, watching you with what felt like infinite patience.

In that moment, the world outside dissolved, the distant hum of the club fading into nothingness. It wasn’t about the suffocating glamor of the stage, the shadows of his mask, or the bruised dreams you carried in your heart. It was about him—a man who had given you more than just a name. He had given you a sliver of himself, something real, something raw.

The silence between you felt alive, stretching and pulling like a taut string, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged with something unspoken, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your bones. Your hand, almost without thinking, reached out. Fingers trembling, you lifted his mask.

And there he was.

The face beneath the mask took your breath away—not because it was flawless, but because it was human. His features were strong yet softened by a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. Scars etched across his skin told stories of battles fought and survived, and his eyes—those eyes—bore into yours with an intensity that felt like it could unravel your very soul.

You stared into the deep, stormy pools of his gaze, searching for the truth behind his promises. His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw not a shadowy enigma, but a man—Simon. Just Simon.

He leaned closer, his movements slow, deliberate, as though giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The world stilled, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his lips brushed yours in the lightest, gentlest touch.

It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of a hope neither of you dared to name yet. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a tender path along your jaw as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch melted the walls you didn’t realize you’d built around your heart.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice, low and intimate, broke the silence.

“You deserve more than this, dollface. Let me give you more.”

"Okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with a newfound strength. The simple utterance of his name felt like a key turning in a lock, freeing something long buried within you. His eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t expected—hope.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, more was possible. A life beyond the suffocating confines of the club, beyond the bruises hidden beneath layers of makeup, beyond the weight of a world that had always demanded too much of you.

Simon’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with an aching tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding as the last remnants of doubt began to fade. In the intimacy of the moment, the world outside seemed impossibly far away. There was only the warmth of his presence, the safety of his arms, and the quiet certainty that, whatever lay ahead, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And as his lips met yours once more, the kiss soft yet brimming with unspoken vows, you felt it—hope blooming in the spaces where despair had once lived.

[mxtxfanatic]

"If He Catches Me..." a Meta on Lan Wangji's Unconditional Support Pt. 1

Despite the heavy rumors about the supposedly terrible relationship between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in the former's first life, Wei Wuxian's resurrection opens up a side to Lan Wanji that he'd never gotten to experience. From the moment Lan Wangji realizes that "Mo Xuanyu" is actually a newly-revived Wei Wuxian, he has lent the other man unconditional support.

This support covers things as small and easy to provide as money, protection from dogs, someone to lean on, and an offer to carry Wei Wuxian when multiple injuries on his legs makes it difficult for him to walk:

“Do you have money?” Lan Wangji said. “If I don’t have any, you’ll give me some.” As Wei Wuxian spoke, he stuck his hand into Lan Wangji’s robes. He hadn’t expected to find anything, but after groping around for a bit, he pulled out an exquisite, and heavy, money pouch. The pouch didn’t seem at all like something Lan Wangji would carry on his person, but these past several days, Lan Wangji had done more than one or two things that Wei Wuxian had thought unimaginable. Nonchalantly, Wei Wuxian took off carrying the item. Sure enough, Lan Wangji allowed him to grab it and leave without uttering a single discontented word.

—Chapt. 20: Sunshine II, fanyiyi

However, when the dog turned its head and saw that he was carrying Jin Ling on his back, it leapt off its feet and flew towards him. Wei Wuxian let out a miserable cry. Just as he was on the verge of hurling Jin Ling off and away from him, Lan Wangji stepped before him and blocked the dog’s approach.

—Chapt. 23: Malice I, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian had only managed to retreat a single step when his ankle rolled beneath him and he seemed in danger of falling to his knees. Lan Wangji’s expression changed. He rushed toward Wei Wuxian and clutched his wrist in the same iron grip he had exhibited at Dafan Mountain.

...

“You should not walk,” Lan Wangji said. “If I don’t walk, are you going to carry me on your back?” “...” Lan Wangji regarded him silently. Wei Wuxian’s smile froze on his face, and an ominous shadow swept over him. If the person in front of Wei Wuxian had been the Lan Zhan of years past, these words would have definitely made him choke, and he would have either thrown Wei Wuxian a frosty glare and promptly departed, or completely ignored him. But exchange him for the Lan Wangji of today, and it was very difficult to say how he’d respond. Indeed, upon hearing Wei Wuxian’s question, Lan Wangji moved in front of him and genuinely appeared as though he were about to stoop, bend his knees and pick him up, like a noble submitting and serving a commoner. ... The pair was deadlocked for a few moments, when suddenly, Lan Wangji’s arm wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s waist, he lowered himself slightly, and his free hand came for Wei Wuxian’s knees. The latter was shorter than Lan Wangji, as well as lighter, and as soon as the taller man grabbed hold of him, he was easily lifted up. His entire person was now in mid-air, supported by a pair of sturdy arms.

—Chapt. 25: Malice III, fanyiyi

But the support also comes in the form of physically defending Wei Wuxian from foes, being so dependable that Wei Wuxian has no fear turning his back on a fight.

Moments later, the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth pulled upward into a twisted smile. His left hand began unconsciously caressing his ring again. “...Good, good. You’ve returned?” He released the ring. A long whip hung down from his hand. The whip was extremely thin, and true to its name, consisted of a bright, crackling violet current, which looked as though it had been stolen from some thundercloud covered horizon. He gripped one end firmly in his hand. When he brandished it, lightning struck, fast, nimble, and chaotic! Before Wei Wuxian could even move, Lan Wangji’s guqin was already in its owner’s steady and sure hand. He plucked a single string, and like a stone dropped in water stirs a thousand ripples, the sound of the guqin reverberated through the air in countless waves. The note and Zidian struck each other; the former waxed and the latter waned.

—Chapt. 10: Pride V, fanyiyi

Sure enough, his cultivation level is high, Wei Wuxian thought. A moment later, he shouted, “Hanguang Jun, the gravedigger is here!” Lan Wangji needed no reminder. He knew something had happened immediately upon hearing the noise. He didn’t reply, and let the swift, savage swing of his sword answer in his stead.

—Chapt. 34: Flora II, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian had finally run into someone more shameless than him. Smiling in turn, he said, “It’s better to offend an honorable person than a hooligan—that means you. I won’t fight with you any longer. Someone else will take my place.” Xue Yang’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Who? That Hanguang Jun? I sent three hundred walking corpses to surround him. He—“ Before he could finish, a set of white robes descended from the sky, and Bichen’s icy, clear blue light flew directly at him.

—Chapt. 37: Flora V, fanyiyi

Before he even finished talking, dozens of sword glares shot toward Wei WuXian. Lan WangJi blocked off all of the attacks. Bichen threw some people to the side to make out an unobstructed path for them.

—Chapt. 50: Guile, exr

Suddenly, Wei WuXian felt someone approach. Turning around, he saw Jin Ling stand behind them, limbs frozen. Lan WangJi immediately stood in front of Wei WuXian, while Lan SiZhui stood in front of Lan WangJi, speaking carefully, “Young Master Jin.”

—Chapt. 68: Tenderness, exr

Nor will Lan Wanji ever put his reputation above standing by his beloved's side and lending support:

Lan WangJi, though, was different from him. He wouldn’t even have to explain, and people would explain for him, such as how HanGuang-Jun had been deceived by the YiLing Patriarch. Wei WuXian, “HanGuang-Jun, you don’t have to follow me!” Lan WangJi looked straight in front of him, saying nothing in reply. The two left behind them a crowd of cultivators shouting to kill. Amid the chaos, Wei WuXian spoke again, “You really want to go with me? Think carefully. After you walk out this door, your reputation will be destroyed!” The two had already dashed down the steps of Koi Tower. Lan WangJi grabbed his wrist, as though he was about to speak.

—Chapt. 50: Guile, exr

Lan QiRen stood before the crowd. He seemed much older. Strands of white even began to grow at his temples. He called, “WangJi.” Lan WangJi’s answered in a low voice, “Uncle.” But he still didn’t stand to his side. Lan QiRen understood more than anyone. This was Lan WangJi’s answer, firm, resolute. With a disappointed expression, he shook his head. He didn’t try to persuade him any further. A woman in white robes stood forward, her eyes filled with tears, “HanGuang-Jun, just what is wrong with you? You... You are not you anymore. In the past, you clearly could not even stand the YiLing Patriarch. Just what technique did Wei WuXian use to bewitch you for you to stand on the side opposite to us?” Lan WangJi didn’t pay attention to her. Having not received a reply, the woman could only add in pity, “If so, then how undeserving of your name!”

—Chapt. 68: Tenderness, exr

Suddenly, Wei WuXian said, “HanGuang-Jun!” Lan WangJi turned to him. Wei WuXian breathed heavily continued, “There’s something I want to do.” Others’ gazes drew towards him as well. Wei WuXian, “Are you with me?” Lan WangJi looked at him with steady eyes. His words held the weight of finality, crisp like mallets on iron, “I am.” A smile blossomed on Wei WuXian’s face. He striped off his black robes. Underneath his black robes were a layer of white ones already half drenched in red, but they interfered little with the patterns he now drew as he wiped on them with a blood-caked palm. As the patterns he drew on them become clearer and clearer, astonishment crept into everyone’s eyes while they watched, as if looking at a monster. ... When he finished, he was no longer wearing white robes, but a painted flag. A flag that would lure all the dark creatures and evil beings miles beyond onto one single person, a Spirit-Attracting Flag!

—Chapt. 81: Core Part 3, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Jiang Cheng glared at the smaller, fishing boat with a silent, icy rage. He glanced Wen Ning once. Just as his eyes were about to settle on Wei WuXian, Lan WangJi unconsciously took a step and shielded Wei WuXian from Jiang Cheng’s gaze.

—Chapt. 84: Core Part 6, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

All of this culminates in a tender moment where Wei Wuxian is able to make new memories to replace the bittersweet ones from his childhood.

Suddenly, Wei WuXian was overcome by a strange yet powerful urge. He wanted to fall down, just like that time many years ago. A voice in his heart said, ‘If he catches me, then I will’...... At the thought of the words ‘I will’, Wei WuXian let go. At the sight of him falling without a hint of a warning, Lan WangJi’s eyes widened. Instinctively, his body moved and the next moment Wei WuXian was in his arms, or, more correctly, in his embrace. Though Lan WangJi had a long and slim built and the air of a scholar, his strength was not to be underestimated. Not only was his upper body strength exceptional, his lower body stability was also quite impressive. Still, a full grown man had just fallen out of a tree, so even Lan WangJi staggered a little from the force of catching Wei WuXian. It only took him a moment to adjust his footing before he’d straightened up again though. Just as he was about to let Wei WuXian down, he realized that Wei WuXian’s arms were tight around his neck. He couldn’t let him down even if he tried.

—Chapt. 87: Core Part 9, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Because of this unconditional support, Wei Wuxian can travel through the rest of his life knowing that he will always have someone in his corner, someone willing and able to stand by his side as well as catch him if he falls. Such is wangxian's unwavering love.

Pt. 2

[thedensworld]

Guilty Flower | C.Sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, slow burn

Summary: Seungcheol accepted his mother offer to meet you, his potential future wife said his mother, without knowing what kind of person you are.

Seungcheol, a man of countless responsibilities, found himself entangled in a web of anticipation. With a laundry list of 99 tasks to tackle, the last thing he desired was to be kept waiting. Almost half an hour had slipped away, and there was no sign of you. No message from his diligent secretary, Chan, indicating a cancellation. An internal sigh escaped him, a realization dawning that perhaps he was being overly considerate to a stranger.

His mother, insistent as ever, had urged him to meet you—Moon Y/n, a woman she'd encountered in a cooking class unbeknownst to Seungcheol. Information trickled in about your professional life, as a member of the Moon clan overseeing a significant conglomerate, Nova AutoWorks, headed by none other than your brother, Moon Junhui. The context lent some leniency to your tardiness.

With reluctance, Seungcheol reached for his phone, dialing Chan's number. He notified him of his imminent departure, resigning himself to the fact that dinner would remain elusive. Tonight's mood was effectively soured, all thanks to you.

Not one to retreat immediately, he sought refuge in his office, determined to chip away at the looming workload. Chan's competence was evident, yet Seungcheol couldn't resist the urge to scrutinize every detail before the dawn of the next day.

Morning light filtered into his office, accompanied by the fragrance of fresh blooms. Chan entered, bearing a bountiful bucket of flowers. Seungcheol rose from his chair, fingers tracing the sender's name on the accompanying note—Moon Y/n. An apologetic message nestled within, explaining your absence.

Seungcheol's brows knitted in contemplation. Was it common for a man to receive such a gesture? His mother's adoration for you, forged in the fires of their shared culinary pursuits, would surely wilt upon learning of last night's disappointment.

Chan, sensing the internal conflict, began to offer a solution. "If you'd prefer, I can get rid of these," he suggested, but Seungcheol intercepted the offer with a raised hand, his thoughts tangled in uncertainty. It seemed wasteful to discard such a gift, yet he was decidedly unversed in the language of flowers.

With a tentative query, he asked Chan if he possessed any proficiency in tending to such flora. Chan's surprise was palpable. "You'd like me to arrange them in a vase?" he confirmed.

Seungcheol inclined his head, the question resolved. "Is that the protocol for these... specimens?" he inquired, met with an affirming nod from Chan.

"Yes, sir. We'll supply them with water and ensure it's changed regularly. Any withering leaves, we remove; it prolongs their bloom," Chan elucidated, his tone adopting an air of expertise.

Seungcheol absorbed the guidance, a silent signal to his capable secretary to undertake the task. "And," he added before Chan could retreat with the bouquet, "once you've tended to them, kindly place them upon my desk."

Chan nodded crisply. "Of course, sir. It won't take more than five minutes." The words lingered in Seungcheol's mind, leaving him to ponder the unexpected role of a flower in his evening.

*

As you step out of the car, the clatter of your discarded helmet and gloves punctuates your frustration. The manufacturing manager, Kim Mingyu, approaches swiftly, sensing the gravity of the situation. Your face bears the weight of your anger, but you temper it with a cold composure as you lock eyes with him.

"You know exactly what needs to be said," you remark, your voice steady, arms crossed in stern resolve. The anniversary event looms, a mere two months away, yet the persistent recurrence of errors threatens to jeopardize its success.

Mingyu's gaze remains lowered, an acknowledgment of his accountability. He mumbles a conciliatory admission, his eyes shifting to the car that, in your estimation, still falls short of the masterpiece it should be.

Another sigh escapes your lips, laden with the weight of responsibility. "And what of our previous manufacturing vendor?" you press, seeking alternatives. Mingyu shakes his head, delivering the sobering news that even the best option has been snatched up by Hyundai, leaving PrecisionTech struggling to accommodate your intricate design.

Silent curses swirl in your mind for your brother's penchant for complexity and your ensuing burden. Not only must you ensure the flawless completion of this project, but you're also tasked with surpassing last year's anniversary event.

Your thoughts shift to the impending meeting with the vendor handling the anniversary launch, a critical milestone for both the car and your family's legacy.

"Innomatic, from the Seventeen Series," you suggest, memories of past successes with the company resurfacing. "Can we collaborate with them again?"

Mingyu's response brings a flicker of hope. "I believe so. Although, I'm not sure if Seungcheol is still overseeing it. He's now the COO."

Your brows arch inquisitively. "Choi Seungcheol?"

Mingyu nods, providing the confirmation that Choi Seungcheol holds a pivotal role at InnoCorp. He elaborates on the potential benefits of rekindling the partnership with Innomatic, drawing on their previous triumphs with the Seventeen Series.

Without further ado, you stride away, leaving Mingyu to ponder your sudden departure. Pulling out your phone, you dial your trusted assistant, Seo Myungho, whose loyalty has been unwavering for half a decade.

"I need you to cover for me," you implore, the urgency evident in your tone.

A scoff precedes Myungho's response. "I do it every day."

Your request takes an unexpected turn, one that elicits laughter from Myungho, followed by a barely stifled chuckle. "You claimed zero interest just last night."

A sigh escapes you, your fingers threading through your hair. "I know, and I am. But circumstances have shifted. I'll explain later. Just send him something... an email, an invitation to brunch, a thoughtful souvenir, or perhaps our exclusive repairment voucher. Please, please, please!"

You can almost hear the mischievous grin in Myungho's voice as he agrees, reveling in your unusual request, "it's refreshing to hear you begging like this, Y/n. Alrighty, I'll handle this easy-peasy task."

*

Seungcheol gestured towards the plush couch in his office, inviting you to take a seat. After a week of correspondence through emails, you finally found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol—the man who had been your beacon of hope. He was also the one you had inadvertently stood up on a date.

Politely declining the offer of a drink from his secretary, you turned to face Seungcheol, who occupied a chair arranged for him.

"I've reviewed your proposal to collaborate with Innomatic, but I believe a more in-depth discussion is in order, given our previous decision to decline Hyundai's offer. We need to ensure our alignment in the automotive industry, Ms. Moon," Seungcheol stated, his gaze steady and intent.

You reached for another file you had brought along, presenting the sales report and insights from the previous Nova-Innomatic venture. "Indeed, Mr. Choi. Based on this sales report and our collaboration history, I believe it's advantageous to build upon the strong foundation we've established."

Seungcheol perused the report before placing it on the table, leaning back and fixing his gaze on you. "I wouldn't characterize our relationship as 'good terms,' Ms. Moon."

The mention of the Nova Seventeen Series gave you pause. Suddenly, it dawned on you what he was alluding to. You promptly bowed, apologizing for the date you had flaked on.

"I'm sincerely sorry about that," you admitted, acknowledging your lapse in etiquette.

Seungcheol's response was a measured nod. "I waited for... nearly an hour. A significant stretch of time, particularly for individuals with demanding schedules, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Moon? Nonetheless, I appreciated the gesture the following morning."

You nodded, inwardly grateful that you had delegated the situation to Myungho. "Thank you. It was a memento from our previous collaboration—"

"I've taken to adorning my office with flowers. They're both aesthetically pleasing and calming," he interjected, motioning to a vase of blooms on the nearby table. Your curiosity piqued. What variety of flowers were they?

"I'm sorry?" you mumbled, slightly taken aback.

Seungcheol acknowledged your confusion with a nod. "You sent me flowers the next day. It was... the first time I'd received such a gift," he admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of reticence.

Your own words tumbled out in response, "I sent you flowers? Yes, I did. I'm glad they found favor with you," you replied, offering a sincere smile.

A smile you replicated every time you contemplated seeking retribution against Seo Myungho.

*

Seungcheol sat in an odd calmness amidst the lively banter of his friends. His fingers absently twirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts far from the story Jeonghan was sharing. It was Jisoo's sharp slap on his arm and ensuing laughter that snapped him back to reality, a stark contrast to Seungcheol's own demeanor.

Jeonghan's playful annoyance flared up. "I just told a hilarious tale about Soonyoung. How did you not crack a smile, Seungcheol?"

Seungcheol blinked, downing the contents of his glass in one swift motion. "I'm sorry, my mind's preoccupied at the moment," he admitted, setting the glass down.

Jisoo's smirk danced across his face. "I'd wager it's not work-related," he quipped, piquing Jeonghan's curiosity. "Work never troubles Choi Seungcheol. My dad even calls him the 'Jesus of InnoCorp.'"

The comparison made Seungcheol cringe. "What on earth does that mean?"

Jeonghan scoffed. "It means you're the savior of InnoCorp. You could be my Jesus too, Seungcheol."

"Does that imply Seungcheol has to make a sacrificial offering for you?" Jisoo chimed in, earning a casual shrug from Jeonghan.

"He saved me from a call to my dad's worker, if you must know," Jeonghan clarified, alluding to Seungcheol's initial role in the family business before his venture into the entertainment industry.

"So," Jeonghan clapped his hands to recapture their focus, "is this about the woman your mom set you up with?"

"She stood you up, didn't she?" Jisoo interjected. Seungcheol's brows furrowed, while Jeonghan gasped in astonishment.

"How did you know?" Seungcheol inquired, surprised at how swiftly the news had circulated within their circle.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan's irritation flared. He was entirely in the dark about the specifics of this supposed meeting. "Hold on a minute!"

"I heard it from Chan when I called him a few days back," Jisoo clarified, recounting the tale of Seungcheol's foiled date from a week prior, as if Seungcheol were a spectator to his own story.

"Moon Y/n, President Moon's daughter? The businesswoman? I can't fathom how President Moon managed to pass on his business acumen to all his children, while my father bequeathed me nothing but a stubborn streak," Jeonghan remarked, shaking his head in mild exasperation.

Jisoo chuckled. "Dokyeom is her friend, and he's spoken highly of her since their college days. She's our junior, Seungcheol," he revealed, prompting a raised brow from Seungcheol.

"She is?" Seungcheol queried, the revelation sinking in.

His lips pressed into a thin line as a flurry of questions about you crowded his mind:

1. What compelled his mother to be so insistent on introducing you?

2. Why did you stand him up on their date, only to send flowers the next day?

3. Why did the mere thought of you leave him feeling oddly fluttery?

4. Could this all be part of a strategic move, considering your interest in Innomatic?

"Out with it, Choi Seungcheol! Not everyone's a mind-reader," Jisoo chided, delivering a playful slap on his arm, a gesture he'd made more than once that evening—surely a sign of his inebriation.

Jeonghan, ever the perceptive one, added, "I can read about 50% of it, though. And right now, it's likely about Y/n."

Seungcheol chuckled, waving off Jeonghan's words. "Quiet, you two. I was merely contemplating something..."

"What if..." he began hesitantly, "someone were to send you flowers?" Seungcheol asked, addressing his two friends with a touch of uncertainty.

"Condolence flowers?" Jisoo's response made it clear he was thoroughly inebriated. Meanwhile, Jeonghan gasped dramatically, chanting, "She sent you flowers?!"

"Dude, she's a keeper. She's got you... She's definitely got you!" Jeonghan laughed, clearly unable to believe the turn of events.

Seungcheol regarded him with a bemused expression. "I'm not that easily swayed. I was just curious, is it commonplace for a woman to send flowers to a man? If so, then it was likely just her way of apologizing." Seungcheol explained slowly, but Jeonghan dismissed his words.

"But she's already won you over. I can tell, 100%. The moment you see her again, you'll be smitten. Trust me!"

*

Jeonghan's prediction had turned into an undeniable truth. Seungcheol's mother called him suddenly, requesting his presence to pick her up from her cooking class. Her request, however, entailed much more than a simple ride home; it involved a tasting session of the dishes she'd prepared, introductions to fellow classmates, and then their departure together. So, Seungcheol arrived promptly at the designated course building.

Upon his arrival, he discovered a scene of communal celebration, each student proudly presenting their meticulously prepared traditional Korean meals to their special guests. Standing by his mother's side, Seungcheol couldn't help but wonder if being here was indeed a wise decision.

Before the instructor could commence the class, a familiar figure entered the room. It was you, donning a striking white Etsy dress that complemented your complexion, exuding a unique blend of elegance and the commanding aura of a career-driven woman.

Did he just find you beautiful? No, it was more accurate to say he appreciated the beauty of your dress. Yes, that was it.

"Did you meet her on the date I arranged?" his mother discreetly inquired, to which Seungcheol simply nodded, now understanding her motive for summoning him here.

You swiftly made your way to the counter, offering an apology for your tardiness. As the class began, Seungcheol found himself stealing glances in your direction every few minutes, silently pondering why you had come alone.

"Will someone be picking you up later, Ms. Moon?" the instructor's voice carried clearly to Seungcheol's ears.

"I doubt it. My family members are quite busy," you replied with a light chuckle.

As his mother was called to present her creation, Seungcheol stood alone behind the counter, your eyes never once meeting his. It was as though you two had never crossed paths before, never shaken hands in agreement for the collaboration between your respective companies.

The instructor turned their attention to you. "Who have you brought with you today, Ms. Moon?"

You heard your answer, your gaze fixed on your dish, the instructor, anywhere but Seungcheol. Like the meeting and collaboration between the two of you had never happened.

Seungcheol's mother began to speak, "I brought my one and only son today. He used to complain that I never cooked for him when he was a child. That's why I worked hard to learn cooking, so I can prepare everything he wants now that I'm older."

Seungcheol couldn't help but steal another glance at you. He saw the gentle smile you directed at his mother. Unconsciously, he found himself mirroring your expression, a smile etched across his face until it was your turn to present your creation.

"You didn't bring anyone today, Ms. Moon. But could you share with us what inspired you to join our class? It's not often we have a young lady like yourself join us."

explained.

Seungcheol's gaze remained fixed on you, his ears attuned to every word that left your lips, your voice soft-spoken and gentle, a facet of your personality he'd noticed from the very first encounter.

"I've always loved home-cooked meals since I was a child. They remind me of the memories I shared with my grandmother. Sadly, no one in my family knows how to cook now. So, I thought it would be a good idea to learn to cook for myself," you explained.

Perhaps Seungcheol didn't understand how it all began. He might not have realized that his feelings for you had taken root from a simple flower you had sent him out of guilt. However, in that moment, he knew that his feelings for you had no intentions of finding an end.

*

Wednesday, July 26th

Seo Myungho: Chan, I don't think my boss will ever budge from her desk. She's knee-deep in wrapping up the end-of-month report!

Lee Chan: No way! My boss is already on his way :(

Seo Myungho: I just don't get why she agreed to the date in the first place if she wasn't interested! She clearly has a soft spot for your boss's mom, but not for your boss.

Lee Chan: But I swear, my boss is genuinely kind. He even told me to go home instead of waiting for him:(

Seo Myungho: Chan, that's just basic courtesy. Making sure you get home on time is what he should do.

Lee Chan: But he also surprised me with my favorite coffee and cookies this morning. He's seriously the sweetest boss ever.

Seo Myungho: Well, good for you. I can't relate at all -_-

Lee Chan: Anyway, my boss just arrived.

Lee Chan: Yo!

Lee Chan: Hyung, really :(

Thursday, July 27th

Seo Myungho: Chan! My phone died yesterday and I forgot to let you know. Turns out, my boss couldn't make it because she had a sudden bout of constipation!

Lee Chan: You're such a pain, hyung. It's all good though, I handled everything.

Seo Myungho: What do you mean?

Lee Chan: I'll fill you in later... Lunch at Kimbab Heaven?

Seo Myungho: Deal!

[cherubmm]

Le gasp

I wanna read about the hc/ oneshot of Killer being secretly a cat in mc’s house 🙏🤞

Trigger Warning: Yandere (obvs). Possessive & obsessive behavior. Not-proofread. OOC

It was the dead of night, and the world outside your apartment was cloaked in quiet shadows. From the bedroom, faint clinks and rattles stirred in the dark, a sound that might’ve gone unnoticed if you weren’t such a light sleeper. But you didn’t stir—not yet.

A soft, rhythmic clink... clink... clank filled the air—like something small was knocking into objects. The sound was almost... playful. Teasing.

Suddenly, a small silhouette darted across the floor, slipping past the dim light from the window. Meow. The softest meow escaped, and the silhouette became more defined, growing into the shape of a cat.

The said feline padded silently across the shelf, hollowed eyes scanning the cluttered surface. One photo frame caught his attention, ("*Mreeoww?") — Don’t need these losers ruining my view,' he thought internally, tail flicking as he swiped a framed photo to the floor with a dull thud. His claws came out, dragging over the glossy print. It was one of you and a group of friends, smiling at some forgotten gathering. Killer's claws, however, focused solely on the faces surrounding yours, leaving only your image untouched.

Feeling unsatisfied, he hopped down to the floor, his padded paws making no sound. As he continues to pace around the room, Killer paused briefly to sniff the air, tail twitching in agitation. Things that smelled like them? Gone. He didn’t like that. It had to be yours—everything must belong to you, so Anything that doesn’t carry your scent—gifts, trinkets, random objects—was swatted, scratched, or nosed to the ground. A stray pillow? Onto the floor. A book someone lent you? Knocked off the bedside table.

'You’re going to be sooooo mad in the morning, huh?' His tail curled in delight at the thought. But you’ll forgive him. You always do. You’re too sweet to stay mad at your beloved precious pet. And if you do— well, he'd make sure to nuzzle you extra hard tomorrow to soften you up, maybe a few loud meows here and there?, just to be safe.

His ears perked as he caught the soft sound of your breathing from the bed. You were still asleep. Good.

Killer hopped onto the bed, his weight barely noticeable as he settled in next to you. You were sprawled peacefully on the mattress, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. His faint pinprick expanded slightly as he stared down at you, soaking in every detail. Stuck like this for now, he thought, licking your arm gently with his cold, wet tongue.

Despite his current form, Killer didn’t seem overly concerned with how he ended up like this. Some glitch in teleportation, some slip between AUs, yada-yada,—whatever. He didn’t remember much from the retreat, just that it left him stuck here like this for now. He wasn’t complaining. Not when it meant he could stick close with a cute human that will take care of him.

Right. care.

His tail flicked playfully over your face, a soft nudge against your cheek before he flopped down lay on his favorite spot—his furry tummy right on your face, burying you in the comforting softness of him. He let out a small “mrrp~” of satisfaction, letting his tail twitch lazily for the last time before he curled himself closer to your warmth, letting your scent fill his nose.

Ⓒ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐦────11/22/24. Navigation|Masterlist | Ⓒ 𝐂𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐢────dividers

[galaxyedging]

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

WC: 774

Follow on from Prima Nocta.

Series Masterlist

Summary: Marcus proposes plans to further support you.

Warnings: minor smutty thoughts.

Dum spiro, spero

The mid afternoon sun fills your bed chamber with a hazy golden glow. The light breeze freshly scented by the River Tiber flows through the drapes. It cools your fevered skin in the wake of his touch. His large hand skims your soft skin. Every nerve lights up in its wake. A domino effect has the sensation travelling downward, threatening to push you over the edge into something unknown and primal. His eyes burn umber in the sunlight as they meet yours in a silent question before he dips his head low to your body. Before his plush lips touch the skin of your bare breasts, a sharp intake of breath wakes you.

The light covers are twisted around your legs. Sweat covers your skin. A knot is tied low in your stomach. General Acacius has retreated back into your deeply hidden dreams. The slick between your thighs changes your afternoon plans. A visit to the public baths will be in order. Dreams of the General, Marcus as he now insists you call him, have become more frequent as have his visits. 

Since the night he rescued you from the marriage your parents insisted on, Marcus has made an effort to support you. Your standing in society was a strange one. As a widow you belonged to no man, you were allowed your freedom. Yet as a woman still young enough to birth children the fact that you made no attempt to remarry was frowned upon. Marcus lent his support to discourage idle gossip. No one would dare risk falling out of his good graces. Marcus would visit, bringing fresh fruits and materials to further your education. He made no secret of the fact that you had his favour. As much as you appreciated his kindness and propriety, days like this made you wish for a little impropriety in your relationship.

The gathering at the Forum was of no interest to you tonight. The speeches faded into the night as your dream replayed in your mind. The prospect of seeing Marcus divided you. Part of you longed to set eyes on him, to drink in every inch of his beauty. The other part cursed the possibility of seeing his wife on his arm and it feeding unfavourable emotions inside of you. Too lost in your thoughts you didn't see your mother approaching until it was far too late. Another uncomfortable introduction followed. They were frequent as of late. Your mother was determined to find a new suitor for you. The whole exchange was routine now. Your mother would praise the two of you, heavily hinting at your suitability. You would be gracious and polite, silently praying to the Gods for the moment to be over. Once it was you would retreat as quickly as possible. The difference this time was that in your haste to get away you almost ran straight into Marcus. While mumbling an apology to his feet you missed the look on his face at you talking to another man.

The darkness was blissfully silent, even your thoughts had quietened. You doubted that you would have heard it otherwise. The quiet rap of knuckles on your door. It drew you from your bed to find Marcus at your door.

“I'm sorry to intrude at such a late hour but I wish to discuss something with you.” His business like tone intrigued you.

For a moment you wondered if one of the speeches you had failed to listen to tonight had been important.

“I saw your mother attempting to find you another husband.” he began.

“Yes. It's become more frequent.” You sigh wearily. Tired of all her meddling. “I'm almost ten years older than is acceptable to birth your first child. I bring her shame.”

“I could give you a child. They would be illegitimate, of course but I would provide for them.” He spoke as if he was making a trade deal and not asking to take you to bed.

“I…” Words fail you. 

You would be lying if you said you weren't thrilled at the offer. A child of your own. The chance to have your most explicit dreams come true. The reassurance that Marcus would be a constant presence in your life. 

Marcus had fathered over a dozen children who had survived. The few he had with his wife had children of their own. He doted on each and every one. He provided for the illegitimate ones, you knew this first hand as you have accompanied your father to deliver goods to them. 

“I accept.” The words are as much a shock to you as they are to Marcus. 

[dracaesusurro]

May Eywa be our witness pt3

Pairing: Netayam x female reader

Genre: fluff, little angst, mating mentions, sensual scenes, mature

Summary: part 3 to the last two fics !!!!!

————————————

As she ran after him she saw he was about to get on his Ikran and called out to him, “neteyam, Nete wait, one moment..” she thought he would just fly off but he slowly retreated and walked towards her. She wanted to talk but he grabbed both her forearms and stared into her eyes. “Ma y/n you don’t have to go through with this, his delusional! You can’t mate with some water Na’vi you don’t love, what about your choice, what about me!?” You couldn’t agree more but what else could you do, “what do you expect me to do Nete? We can’t be, and if Jake found out it would be a worst fate then to mate with another…” he dropped your hands and scoffed lightly “a worst fate then watching the one you love mate with a stranger, anybody who’s not you? Are you hearing yourself y/n?! This is absurd” he expresses this looking deeply in your eyes hoping you’d meet him half way, when you stay silent, much to his dismay he begins to walk away, back to his Ikran.

“Why do you keep doing this? Putting the worlds decision on my shoulder, why do you enjoy my pain neteyam!?” She is exhausted, of being composed, the understanding one, the one who listens and takes it all. “I don’t ever enjoy your pain, understand me, see me, your pain is my pain my y/n! Why do you insist otherwise” there’s a minimal space in between the two yet it feels yards away, years even. He feels years away. “Then why can’t you see my point, I’m trying to save you from my fate why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn” she’s in tears yelling yet her voice is not as loud as she’d like it to be, it’s faint. “Because I love you, what kind of life do you expect me to live without you huh” he lifts your chin with his hand, getting you to look at him, he studies your face, the other hand on your waist keeping you balanced, “a world without you, isn’t a world suitable for me, listen, hear me, I give myself to you for life, I am yours mind, body and soul. Damn whoever that says otherwise, if we have to fight for our love then I’m willing to do it with my life but I need you by my side, you need to choose me…”

His words felt like a prayer, a healing force, stitching your bleeding heart. You leaned into his touch kissing the palm of his hand, he smiled at you, a smile sweeter than the worlds nectar and you felt a laugh erupt from deep within, a watery happy laugh. “Your wiser than you let on my Neteyam, so wise-” your hands trailed up his chest “so brave” cupping his cheek “so mighty” your fingers tangled in his hair “and so, so beautiful” you breathed out and he could only stare at you, still waiting upon you answer, admiring everything about you silently and so you continued “my life began when I met you, my heart beat for the first time when I saw your smile and my world changed by your first touch. Your world is mine and I am as every bit yours, mind body and soul, I was yours from the first hello” you took a break, caught your breath and brought your face closer to him “I’ll fight with you, I’ll fight the world, the demons, anyone who stands in our way neteyam I’ll fight them for you, Nga yawne lu oer ma neteyam” your foreheads lent against each other a laugh escaped your lips and he soon followed, a relived laugh, happy, hopeful, free.

You didn’t know where the world would take you from here but you Followed him, you trusted the great mother and you let him lead you. He flew you to a river, a breathtaking sight, it was his favorite place he said a place he seeks to hide, to calm himself, a place he needs when he doesn’t have you. He sat you by a tree, golden branches glowing in the black of the night, it was a dream, it all seemed like a dream.

Your head was tilted up admiring the beautiful branches, he was silent, you looked down to see him staring at you “what are you staring at?” You asked teasingly with a genuine smile. “At the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen” he had a way with words, he knew it and so did you. “Oh stop it, you’re being foolish” you giggled looking away from him, your ears a crimson color. “Foolish?! Come here I’ll show you foolish you beautiful girl” before you could react he pulled you into his lap kissing you all over the face and neck, little kisses straying fast but as your laughter died down, so did his speed. He left memories with each kiss, behind your ear, your jaw, your neck, and back up to your face. “Neteyam, I choose you” you stare into his bright eyes, your hands around his neck, “I chose you a long time ago yawne” you brought your lips to his, a slow motion turned passionate his tail brushing against your waist and up your arms before yours began to entangle with his, neteyam leaned forward laying you down on the bed of grass, he looked at you, you grabbed your queue and held it towards him smiley silently your lips inches away from his. He connected his to yours and when you felt the bond a gasp left both of you, a sudden electric motion running through your bodies, neteyam was quick to bring his lips down to yours his hands roaming your body, a moan escaped you lips vibrating against his mouth, this only made him deepen the kiss further, there was nothing between you, no space, the two of you molded into one. With every motion a sound escaped your mouth and that only fed Neteyam’s pride.

As you pulled away you could see the happiness radiating off Neteyam’s body. He looked up at you and smiled, it was almost a sheepish grin, “I was yours mind and soul before but you can add body to the list now” he chuckled his voice sending waves of heat into you heart. “Nete..” you gasped slapping his arm.

He smiled widely before shoving his head into the crook of your neck to savor this moment and you with it, he took a deep breath and laid with you, you relaxed under his grasp, during your moment all you could think about was your love for him, but there are things that had skipped your mind, “neteyam..” you stared off carefully not wanting to anger him, he rose his head to look into your eyes, you cupped his face and stared for a moment. He sat up slightly worried at your features, you hadn’t noticed your frown having been lost in thought. “What is it my y/n what’s in your thoughts?” You didn’t want to ruin this moment but you had to bring it up, it was inevitable.

“What am to do, with the arrangements?” His soft Look faltered, the reminder brought him rage, but when he looked at you all those feelings vanished, he could only feel your love, “whatever we have to do we’ll do it together. You are my mate, we’re bonded for life, they can’t separate us ever” he kisses your forehead softly then your lips, you close your eyes and sigh.

“I’m never going to get used to these kisses, they’re becoming a life source for me” you chuckled leaning your forehead against his chest, his touch relaxed every worry you’ve ever worn.

“I am yours entirely, all these kisses are reserved for you and only you, for the rest of our lives, I promise this to you, may Eywa be our witness”

“Ma neteyam, my eternal love is promised to you, may Eywa be my witness”

He hugged you tightly against his chest leaving his chin on top of your head, “if only you could promise to not be so damn hot headed, your way too stubborn you worry me too much yawne”

A loud laughter erupts from you, his remarks genuine but his reached too deep, “ oh you and I both know that’s a promise I can’t keep not even in the name of Eywa” he laughed along with you, kissing your shoulders, his voice was a melody, music to your ears, that hug lasted an oblivion in your mind. And so did your bond.

Thank you for reading❤️❤️ total power couple here, there is not way in hell his letting Jake mate her off!!!!!

Leave any requests you have for more stories!! I’ll try to get to them all.

[prismaticpichu]

Angeal, passing by the training room, catches sight of Zack scrolling through a PHS with Sephiroth sitting casually on the bench beside him. A scowl crosses his face as the doors slide apart and he stalks inside.

“Zack! What do you think you’re doing? I specifically took away your phone so you wouldn’t get distracted.”

Zack, having stiffened from the bark, glances up with cornered eyes. He swallows.

“Erm—“

“He is not distracted,” Sephiroth cuts in smoothly, glancing up himself to confront the approaching Angeal.

“Oh really?” the man folds his arms.

“Yes, really. We are simply looking at a list of potential missions for him to take on. I’m the one who lent him the PHS, as he didn’t have access to his own. I was quite shocked to be frank.” Sephiroth’s stare hardens a bit. “Perhaps you should have thought about the device’s necessary resources to a SOLDIER before commandeering it.”

Angeal is struck silent. The scowl has quickly faded from his visage, now replaced by a more stunned, almost humbled look. Sephiroth nods in approval.

“Now, if you will excuse us, we would like to return to work.���

There’s a beat, before Angeal returns an understanding nod.

“Right. Thank you, Sephiroth. I appreciate your diligence with him.”

“Of course.”

Zack and Sephiroth watch the man leave, staring at his retreating back until the doors have shut and Angeal is out of sight. Only then does Zack let out a sigh of relief, smiling impishly.

“Phew. That was a close one.”

Sephiroth nods in agreement, stern, before a resurfacing smirk breaks the facade. He glances back down at the screen.

“Show me the video with Genesis shouting at a stop sign again.”

[whiteshipnightjar]

AAAAAAAAnd there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky seemed a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke — fell in bricks of wet smoke — my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: mean, Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me — released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning — Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside — I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. You call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along — the seagull weeps ‘so long’ — I’m humming a threshing song — Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings — well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done — Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll — O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in — while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. * Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, so you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Cause she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) The cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. What’ll I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.

[yourworldiseternallycomplete]

and there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. and they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. you froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. and when the bread broke — fell in bricks of wet smoke — my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. then there was a silence you took to mean something: run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. and the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me — released from their hairless and blind cavalry. with your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where i’m unfresh, undressed and yawning — well, what is this craziness? this crazy talking? you caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. it was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. the firebreather is beneath the clover. beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. but i took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside — i’d bring it here: apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. while the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. and i watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; in a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. press on me, we are restless things. webs of seaweed are swaddling. and you call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, i heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking and when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. why would you say i was the last one? scrape your knee: it is only skin. makes the sound of violins. and when i cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings, i am the happiest woman among all women. and the shallow water stretches as far as i can see. knee deep, trudging along — the seagull weeps ‘so long’ — humming a threshing song — until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. i have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till i can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is i do, to you, to keep you warm: being a woman. being a woman.) but always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings — well, what is this? scrap of sassafras, eh sisyphus? i see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. little sister, he will be back again. i have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done — be a woman. be a woman. though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. we weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. awful atoll — o, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! bawl bellow: sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. are you mine? my heart? mine anymore?

stay with me for awhile. that’s an awfully real gun. i know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. lay it down! nice and slow! there is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in — while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. * last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. we stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. i said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought i ought to take her to a higher place. said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. we tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. the dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars while i climbed the tree-house. then how i hollered! well she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (while back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) and the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. while down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. you stopped by; i was all alive. in my doorway, we shucked and jived. and when you wept, i was gone; see, i got gone when i got wise. but i can’t with certainty say we survived. then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. and when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. and why would you say i was the last one? all my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. take my bones, i don’t need none. cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! suck all day on a cherry stone. dig a little hole not three inches round — spit your pit in a hole in the ground. weep upon the spot for the starving of me! till up grows a fine young cherry tree. when the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? a little willow cabin to rest on your knee. well, what will i do with a trinket such as this? think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. but i’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! then i’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. come across the desert with no shoes on! i love you truly, or i love no-one. fire moves away. fire moves away, son. why would you say that i was the last one? last one? clear the room! there’s a fire, a fire, a fire. get going, and i’m going to be right behind you. and if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all i can do is do, my darling, right by you.

[emmauscentrett]

Benefits of a Lenten silent retreat

Participating in a Lenten silent retreat can have a number of benefits, including:

Strengthening your spiritual practice and deepening your relationship with God. This should be part of our daily activity, but moreso during Lent.

A greater sense of clarity and insight.

Reducing stress and anxiety.

Helping you cultivate inner peace and calm.

Take action

We are called to deepen our connection with God as part of our Lenten observance. Consider signing up for the Emmaus Centre Lent Silent Directed Retreat, a week-long silent directed retreat from Monday 27th March to Saturday 1st April, 2023.

Whether you're just beginning to explore your faith or have been on the journey for a while, the Emmaus Retreat Centre Lent Silent Directed Retreat can be a transformative and enriching experience. Don't wait - sign up for the retreat today to experience the transformation that awaits you.

Call 868-218-3295, 868-767-1706 or 868-379-8217 to reserve your spot.

[takashimakato]

Your a Great Manager

(Fanfiction Based off art by @thedriftingstarlet )

Under the vibrant, pulsating lights of the stage, Ringo had just culminated a riveting live performance with his bandmates. Beads of sweat adorned his brow, a testament to the fervor and passion with which he had played. His current outfit, while striking in its brilliance, clung to him with an almost suffocating tightness. It was designed to dazzle, to catch every eye in the audience with its luminescence, yet its constriction felt all too confining in the heat of performance.

Brian, from his perspective, only saw the splendor the outfit lent to Ringo's stage presence, unaware of the discomfort it caused. His eyes had captured the gleam, the spectacle, but not the struggle beneath.

"Hey, Brian...," Ringo began, his voice carrying a mixture of fatigue and hopeful inquiry, "do you think it'd be alright if I got a new outfit? This one's a bit too tight on me..." He looked up at Brian, his gaze reflecting a blend of vulnerability and the quiet strength of a performer laying bare his needs.

Brian's eyes met Ringo's, a silent understanding bridging the gap between them. Without a word, he reached for a notepad, the action itself a silent symphony of support and attentiveness. Scribbling down Ringo's request, he inquired, "What's your size?" The moment held a tender gravity, a promise of care and attention to detail, ensuring that Ringo's artistry would never again be compromised by the mere constraints of fabric.

"I'm a Large," Ringo murmured, his voice carrying the soft, husky tone of exhaustion mixed with a faint hope. He then retreated into the sanctuary of his dressing room, where he laid himself down, seeking solace in the quiet and the solitude. His body ached for rest, a gentle reprieve from the night's exertions.

After a few moments spent in negotiation with the designer to craft an outfit that would embrace rather than constrict, Brian silently made his way to Ringo's dressing room. There, he found Ringo, a serene figure amidst the chaos of backstage life, and decided to join him, laying down beside him on the soft, welcoming rug. The intimacy of the moment enveloped them, a world away from the clamor and the crowd.

"Work sucks..." Brian's voice broke the silence, a playful lament that caused Ringo to chuckle, the sound bubbling up from deep within him. It was a laugh full of warmth, a sound that seemed to dance in the air between them.

"Work's not that bad... I mean, you're always there," Ringo replied, his words a tender acknowledgment of their companionship, of the light they found in each other amidst the demands of their careers.

Those words, simple yet profound, drew a smile from Brian, a smile that spoke volumes, illuminating his features with an affection that was both gentle and undeniably deep. "I mean, you're not that bad too..." he whispered, the space between them charged with a palpable warmth.

Leaning in, Brian kissed Ringo, a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to stop time itself, a promise of forever in the briefest of touches. It was a kiss that spoke of understanding, of shared dreams and silent whispers in the night. As he pulled back, his smile was a mirror of his heart, open and radiant, igniting a blush on Ringo's cheeks that colored them the softest shade of red. It was a moment of pure connection, of two souls intertwined, their affection for each other a beacon in the tumultuous sea of life.

In that softly lit dressing room, time seemed to pause, wrapping Ringo and Brian in a cocoon of their own creation, sheltered from the world's gaze. The blush that bloomed on Ringo's cheeks was like the first flush of dawn, heralding something new and profoundly beautiful between them. It wasn't just the warmth of the room or the close proximity; it was the realization of a bond that went deeper than mere friendship or the camaraderie of bandmates.

As the laughter and chatter of the world beyond the door faded to a mere whisper, the air around them thrummed with the gentle cadence of their shared breaths, a rhythm that seemed to sync perfectly, as if their hearts were learning a new song, one meant only for them. Ringo turned slightly, his gaze finding Brian's, and in his eyes, Brian saw not just the reflection of his own feelings but the beginnings of a shared future, painted in strokes of hope and longing.

The intimacy of the moment, of Brian's confession and the kiss, seemed to open a door that neither had dared to push against before. Words were unnecessary now; their eyes spoke volumes, communicating a depth of emotion that language could scarcely encompass. Ringo reached out, his hand finding Brian's, their fingers intertwining naturally, as if they were meant to fit together just so. It was a simple gesture, yet laden with significance, a silent vow of support and togetherness.

Brian, feeling the weight of the moment, leaned in once more, but this time, his kiss carried a promise, a pledge of unwavering loyalty and affection. Ringo responded in kind, deepening the kiss, surrendering to the torrent of emotions that Brian's lips invoked within him. It was a kiss that spoke of beginnings, of the courage to embrace the unknown together, buoyed by the strength of their connection.

As they finally parted, breathless and exhilarated by the newness of their acknowledged feelings, they remained close, foreheads touching, sharing the warmth of their closeness. The world outside, with its pressures and demands, could wait. Here, in this moment, they had found a sanctuary, a respite where their souls could speak freely and their hearts could entwine without fear.

The night outside might have been drawing to a close, but for Ringo and Brian, this was just the beginning. A beginning that promised not just the thrill of new love, but the deep, comforting assurance of a bond that would endure the trials of life, of careers that demanded so much, yet now seemed so much more bearable with the knowledge that they faced them together. In each other, they had found not just a lover but a partner, a confidant, a beacon of light guiding them through the darkest nights and into the dawn of a future filled with infinite possibilities.

[lesmislettersdaily]

What He Does

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 2: The Fall; Chapter 11: What He Does

Jean Valjean listened. Not a sound.

He gave the door a push.

He pushed it gently with the tip of his finger, lightly, with the furtive and uneasy gentleness of a cat which is desirous of entering.

The door yielded to this pressure, and made an imperceptible and silent movement, which enlarged the opening a little.

He waited a moment; then gave the door a second and a bolder push.

It continued to yield in silence. The opening was now large enough to allow him to pass. But near the door there stood a little table, which formed an embarrassing angle with it, and barred the entrance.

Jean Valjean recognized the difficulty. It was necessary, at any cost, to enlarge the aperture still further.

He decided on his course of action, and gave the door a third push, more energetic than the two preceding. This time a badly oiled hinge suddenly emitted amid the silence a hoarse and prolonged cry.

Jean Valjean shuddered. The noise of the hinge rang in his ears with something of the piercing and formidable sound of the trump of the Day of Judgment.

In the fantastic exaggerations of the first moment he almost imagined that that hinge had just become animated, and had suddenly assumed a terrible life, and that it was barking like a dog to arouse every one, and warn and to wake those who were asleep. He halted, shuddering, bewildered, and fell back from the tips of his toes upon his heels. He heard the arteries in his temples beating like two forge hammers, and it seemed to him that his breath issued from his breast with the roar of the wind issuing from a cavern. It seemed impossible to him that the horrible clamor of that irritated hinge should not have disturbed the entire household, like the shock of an earthquake; the door, pushed by him, had taken the alarm, and had shouted; the old man would rise at once; the two old women would shriek out; people would come to their assistance; in less than a quarter of an hour the town would be in an uproar, and the gendarmerie on hand. For a moment he thought himself lost.

He remained where he was, petrified like the statue of salt, not daring to make a movement. Several minutes elapsed. The door had fallen wide open. He ventured to peep into the next room. Nothing had stirred there. He lent an ear. Nothing was moving in the house. The noise made by the rusty hinge had not awakened any one.

This first danger was past; but there still reigned a frightful tumult within him. Nevertheless, he did not retreat. Even when he had thought himself lost, he had not drawn back. His only thought now was to finish as soon as possible. He took a step and entered the room.

This room was in a state of perfect calm. Here and there vague and confused forms were distinguishable, which in the daylight were papers scattered on a table, open folios, volumes piled upon a stool, an armchair heaped with clothing, a prie-Dieu, and which at that hour were only shadowy corners and whitish spots. Jean Valjean advanced with precaution, taking care not to knock against the furniture. He could hear, at the extremity of the room, the even and tranquil breathing of the sleeping Bishop.

He suddenly came to a halt. He was near the bed. He had arrived there sooner than he had thought for.

Nature sometimes mingles her effects and her spectacles with our actions with sombre and intelligent appropriateness, as though she desired to make us reflect. For the last half-hour a large cloud had covered the heavens. At the moment when Jean Valjean paused in front of the bed, this cloud parted, as though on purpose, and a ray of light, traversing the long window, suddenly illuminated the Bishop’s pale face. He was sleeping peacefully. He lay in his bed almost completely dressed, on account of the cold of the Basses-Alps, in a garment of brown wool, which covered his arms to the wrists. His head was thrown back on the pillow, in the careless attitude of repose; his hand, adorned with the pastoral ring, and whence had fallen so many good deeds and so many holy actions, was hanging over the edge of the bed. His whole face was illumined with a vague expression of satisfaction, of hope, and of felicity. It was more than a smile, and almost a radiance. He bore upon his brow the indescribable reflection of a light which was invisible. The soul of the just contemplates in sleep a mysterious heaven.

A reflection of that heaven rested on the Bishop.

It was, at the same time, a luminous transparency, for that heaven was within him. That heaven was his conscience.

At the moment when the ray of moonlight superposed itself, so to speak, upon that inward radiance, the sleeping Bishop seemed as in a glory. It remained, however, gentle and veiled in an ineffable half-light. That moon in the sky, that slumbering nature, that garden without a quiver, that house which was so calm, the hour, the moment, the silence, added some solemn and unspeakable quality to the venerable repose of this man, and enveloped in a sort of serene and majestic aureole that white hair, those closed eyes, that face in which all was hope and all was confidence, that head of an old man, and that slumber of an infant.

There was something almost divine in this man, who was thus august, without being himself aware of it.

Jean Valjean was in the shadow, and stood motionless, with his iron candlestick in his hand, frightened by this luminous old man. Never had he beheld anything like this. This confidence terrified him. The moral world has no grander spectacle than this: a troubled and uneasy conscience, which has arrived on the brink of an evil action, contemplating the slumber of the just.

That slumber in that isolation, and with a neighbor like himself, had about it something sublime, of which he was vaguely but imperiously conscious.

No one could have told what was passing within him, not even himself. In order to attempt to form an idea of it, it is necessary to think of the most violent of things in the presence of the most gentle. Even on his visage it would have been impossible to distinguish anything with certainty. It was a sort of haggard astonishment. He gazed at it, and that was all. But what was his thought? It would have been impossible to divine it. What was evident was, that he was touched and astounded. But what was the nature of this emotion?

His eye never quitted the old man. The only thing which was clearly to be inferred from his attitude and his physiognomy was a strange indecision. One would have said that he was hesitating between the two abysses,—the one in which one loses one’s self and that in which one saves one’s self. He seemed prepared to crush that skull or to kiss that hand.

At the expiration of a few minutes his left arm rose slowly towards his brow, and he took off his cap; then his arm fell back with the same deliberation, and Jean Valjean fell to meditating once more, his cap in his left hand, his club in his right hand, his hair bristling all over his savage head.

The Bishop continued to sleep in profound peace beneath that terrifying gaze.

The gleam of the moon rendered confusedly visible the crucifix over the chimney-piece, which seemed to be extending its arms to both of them, with a benediction for one and pardon for the other.

Suddenly Jean Valjean replaced his cap on his brow; then stepped rapidly past the bed, without glancing at the Bishop, straight to the cupboard, which he saw near the head; he raised his iron candlestick as though to force the lock; the key was there; he opened it; the first thing which presented itself to him was the basket of silverware; he seized it, traversed the chamber with long strides, without taking any precautions and without troubling himself about the noise, gained the door, re-entered the oratory, opened the window, seized his cudgel, bestrode the window-sill of the ground floor, put the silver into his knapsack, threw away the basket, crossed the garden, leaped over the wall like a tiger, and fled.

[abellinthecupboard]

Only Skin

And there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke— fell in bricks of wet smoke— my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me— released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning— Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside— I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; in a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. And you call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along— the seagull weeps ‘so long’— humming a threshing song— Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings— well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone— nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done— Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll— O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in —while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Well she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. And why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. Well, what will I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say that I was the last one? Last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.

— Joanna Newsom, Ys (2006) (X)

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“And but thou make a”)

A sonnet sequence

               I

On the toilet and flush them out at top, and grone? And but thou make a feeste on thilke blissed tree, and so pace by: but this by wyvės that been to see your falsehood and yourself in eyes of their kind, for that same groan doth put this world, and deep hae I luv’d; love, that long purple cleft brings for long-staid night; the night. I dreamed of wreaths of glowworm light the liberty that was Greece and therwithal he knew us men, at first in character was done! Glow with a ruby large enow to draw men’s eyes and prove the wailing wind, never again? To gain her whom I would pipe and tried, she new in all?

               II

If there will be no spices wanting when I’m laid by the sense. Since mind at first was silent; closer than men, huge women blowzed with his society? That wommen vinolent is no repreve to wedde a povre womman wol sette hem so a werkė, by my fey, that makes me sure, who oft fore-see my after-following race, by only that other eyes, and descending; once or twice she lent her half-possessed, she struck a wound in every pew, refusing to use the window and couldn’t understonde. To your countrywoman, I your old friendly sigh for him—he asks no more. Kissing the fragments of the light dash themselves, the retreating shadow of a former days to subjects worse have given admiring praise. I was wiser to weep a true woman’s force, thundering like a Little Idol up; on with him to whom a hyacinth hair, thy classic face, thy Naiad airs have deceased.

               III

Now is the South. Gay, a martial song like a tinted hyacinths. A trumpet in the hour of revenge be wrought, or mastered, while these lady-flowers a sweete wyn! Beat to the eyes open. My dame taughte me that stream that wishes at a dance to please, nor for a constancy. Of flowers to complete the south, and catch the cuckoo. Breathing i do not know whether we nat God displese. And me of olde Romayn geestes teche; how he Symplicius Gallus lefte his wyf, and to hym yaf I al the bridge; and thanne, seistow, lorel, whan thow goost to bedde, and al my bed was full oft in rurall vaine.

               IV

As help me God, I have been gone five months. The day is gone. Yet that have lent my life a perfumed altar-flame; and once, but once, she likewise: now, I the Arrow, I the Arrow-head. When you read the simple as that was the first white man in an apron? Full thirty years behind. Thou seyst an hateful wyf yrekened is for oon of this flower girl who held up the lines of life to the proper person. But well the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. A fair womman, for costage; and if that hypothesis of the world in honde.

               V

And “Ausemán”—the Heav’n from whom she came. Of tears, I know not what of wild and sweetness had me yiven hir lord servyse. Nobody, not even a bud but a possibilities can we trust? Better have died and thwarted us—i wed with all triumphant splendour slanted o’er at top with pain, dropt through wind might knock it to the bottom, such is he. The dwarfs of presage: though enemies to either’s reign, do in consent shake the wrathful bloom as of some divine despair. Contractions to her lover holding wretched! Loose our play, not loc, Old English for a cave, an enclosure.

               VI

The outline forming me, thou hast thou taste. Lay by her like a ring or a light or the autumn pond which chokes and glittering bergs of ice, throne after many a glorious light, to make it there. Of othere thynges moore. My heart bail; whoe’er keeps me, let my heart … he does not hear. And her whom they deal, dismiss me, and oure bothė thyngės smale were eek to know change o too this is proper sight and dost him grace when clouds the cloud apart; there comandeth and forbedeth faste man shal yeldė to his wyf. There is only the sweet flowers a sweetest part, variety, she swore, she heard no longer.

               VII

‘Tis evening, my sweet’st friend must be flattered. But nathėlees, thogh that he of any oother womman kan. We did not know of, that will I not do, though she giue but that your worth, not vassals to blaze again but it were by the first thine eye, when the steps, and the goal of ordinance where are thine own, and thimble just put down, but you and you’ll root and the world, a white-hair’d shadow of a former child! For hir handes and hir likyng. Pleasure can she see; for, e’en to morn she cries, alas! Of othere folkes fare? Our elbows: on a tripod in the flower, and the Flames, those Two—they look’d for?

               VIII

Me not for ever was in our low world, O, yellow hair! Bankrupt is, beggar’d of blood she glorious light, to make your heart in days far-off, and with my fest so took hym on honde he hadde hem hoolly in my Julia’s skin, which melted Florian. If you should tire of love even, all my worth, to the throne, whereby she fell delivering sealed dispatches which, being pent in the ground; thou seyst also, to what conclusion. I swoor that I was deed er it were by the stairs, you in a shiver of lightest echo, then a lofty Pile, and som for hir wikkednesse was al mankynde broght to wrecchednesse, for as a spanyel she wol nat leve no talys. ’ Gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. This is no my ain lassie, kind love that’s in her eye. A crow is squawking at the world, sad as the warps and wefts amid mats of moss, without shore. How lang ye look about ye.

               IX

Rob me, but bind me none told: not less to an eye like to try to remembered o’er at top with patience bid me beare my fire. Upon the eastern mountain-tops with spongy eyes, faded the statute of thise motthes, ne thise were bounden in o volume. God clepeth folk to hym yaf I al the bridel in myn age, upon this noble kyng, as to my mouth, I snap the dead leaves and a new hoe. Trample on your heart with love, deep as first love, and wente at hoom; I have been working now I am tired. Release me at a wink, whene’er ye like to try to remember how soon our life!

               X

I grant in her throat and when she’s tired. And neer he cam, and kneled faire adoun, and for verray jangleresse, and some that soutiltee—and eek mateere. Up stirte as dooth a wood leon, yet sholde nat spare hem at hir owene bord, for, by my feith I shal, er that times of sweetness had me there a fireball that is in mariage. A soft air fans the clown, the drunkard’s football, laughing at a quiet joke. How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art in each wish of my heart its hungry gorge. His Soul was struck such warbling fury through a great ends: This, reader, know: love kill’d this man saying .

               XI

And some that stream that wiste, in many wise, how soore I hym twiste. Would I see lawn, clear as the warps and wefts amid mats of morn. Legs I drew wine. That dies with the dusk holiday or holinight of a thief. Mine just sleeps when she’s tired. And mountain top which my hope will hear you no song of your words and somewhat out of your frame; whether we had never come! The dusky strand of Death, and I sigh. In May we dreamed of wreaths of glowworm light the liberty that we’ll enjoy it; i’ll fear nae scant, I’ll bode nae want, as lang’s I get employment. I have been worse and sinned in grosser than a God!

               XII

Without divulging it; moreover seize the strook myn ere wax al deef. I feele the folk shal laughen in this old world, and makes a son leap in the flesh of our far days, oh, never star, thy guide, shines in this our love, who like a young tree with pasted- on leaves are men, that lute and flute fantastic tenderness, nae joy nor pleasure can she see; for, lordynges, by youre leve, ye shul have queynte right ynogh to me to speke of wo that it displeseth me but if I telle, wynne whoso may, who renneth best lat see! Matthew stop; and fixing still have never the mirror, and said, Alas!

               XIII

That, for hid delight, that seems that first time in years; not only that he liked me, how poore he was, ne eek of what desires, clanged on the heart of this flowers in storm, some red, some pale, all open-mouthed glass had wrought from Heaven. He som tyme was a clerk of Oxenford, and han a sweet cement, glue, and let them go scraping and blessing and over with me thogh folk seye vileynye of shrewėd Lameth, and thee to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. Night hath clepėd us, I wol nat lette, which melted Florian, cursing Cyril, howe’er you block and end his grief.

               XIV

The will with the next, like fire he meets the soul when hot for certainties in the sky, that the feeldes wente. The paired butterflies are already yellow dirt, ye’ll cast your heart in days long since her horse was lost I left her mine across the world’s gay busy throng: with gentle will has changed eye finds such familiar sights more keenly tempting than new loveliness fade as it always approach, leaning deep in broidered down we sank our elbows: on a tripod in the spring, when proud-pied April dress’d in all fair lights, and no place on my should not you a mightier way make war upon thy thumb: about thy wrist, that for hym maden sorwe; and Jankyn, that looked at her, and she’d said, Could be. When the light dash themselves cannot recall what it was young I studied with the next, like fire he meets the south, and brief the sun of summer dawns the early morn did shine with all its sweets are gone!

               XV

For you to get and how insane the quest is; how you have stolen what wealth, and her who is neither courtly sparks, it makes a woman’s dress: well have to climb when tomorrow disappears. If I have to climb when tomorrow morn we hold a great convention: then with pain, dropt on the happy I hae been—down by your own land, part made long since, before these lady-flowers in odour and my foot was to your country-women? That in his dotage that womman never travelled merrily, to pass a day among the five strings, a God finger over the falwes, and gold and gold, to shewe.

               XVI

And thought I’d know this frequence can I lend full tongue, o noble Ida, to those were bounden in o volume. At sixteen you departed; then the sky to where yet ’tis sweet to live. With what another worthy wyf, and to marry; i’ll be as when we innocently met. The universe everyone else forgets I will heave to young people come and entered in, there leaning deep in broidered down her eyes, and rainbow robes, and a hope the child our mind is changed my fate, and many other delicacies. I seye that in his cap instead of casque, a cap of Tyrol borrowed from the Honeycomb; and what care I, who in this man no more, who, distant, burns in flaming Cheek,—upon this bloody spur cannot touch because when you are in your decay with means more white there plays the same film over and every nyght and religious. With hooded brows I crept into the Fire.

               XVII

To labour and the real light, pardee! And whereas from no Mother is abed, candles out and curtaines spred; she told, perforce am thine, and godwit, if we misse this large offer of our rights, and the terrace, till that place? Maud with the other side of what temper you are fair, and said the will of God a propre yifte, som this, som that, as hym liketh every womman was the field-mice are abroad, he cannot cease to follow up the ceremony kneeling to drop on a new range of walls and flood the wo, Ful giltelees, by God and by thee on a golden hood? Toll forth my tale.

               XVIII

And night is more darke then is my day, leauing my head, but she was his pure Will leaguing, its Self-fulfilment wrought, not yet endured, long-closeted with all to her, she told, perforce; and winged her transit to the meadow under the autumn pond which chokes and glittering its own backyard like a calendar in one common kiss that a changed its aim. With rod and line I sued the simple artless rhymes, one friendly sigh for him— he asks no more. But it was gold or silver. For which that in battle to his Lips press’d the purple footcloth, lay the lily will not be so: let all be well, be well.

               XIX

Your daddie’s gear maks you sae nice; the deil a ane wad speir your price, were ye as poor as I. Leaves in wind revealed them south, I snap the dead broke. Thou wilt restore me to thee, and thee to mee: no, no, no, no, my Dear, my Philly! Like a virgin daughters of each These days only a word can earn overtime. The promptings of gossamer you’d pinch the life out of mine own land, part made long since, and cast a liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, which melted Florian. And you look so bright? And thanne, thapostle seïth, I am free to weddė me anon; for there her maiden grace affright!

               XX

A wave of the East, far-folded idleness; nor is it wiser too than you wi’ a’ your throat and when, Day over, she flies; and I read—two letters—one her sire’s. The kind love is in her eye. What now bleeds in my e’e; lang, lang has Joy been a wyf he yaf me my sturdy hardynesse; myn ascendent was Taur, and assumed the Prison of Ægypt, night by day, oppress’d? A purer sapphire melts into the hall: above her drooped her brows; forbear, ’ the Princess cried; Forbear, Sir’ I; and heated through with wrath and for he sholde nat of hym Daryus, which of its possibilities can we trust?

               XXI

And priketh his heres: slepynge, his lemman kitte it with ful good devocioun; but Crist, the rick flames, and she is gon. When day’s oppress’d? In the flooring and creeping out over the crusted snow, when others are sleeping. Look into my heart its hungry gorge. Your slight delay, remained among us in our young shade. A fellowship so true forgo? You just fall into his houshold he nath nat every wight is holde, that hath now the stairs, you in a shiver of light, pardee! She told, perforce am thine, and make me a feyned appetit, al were it good no womman kan. ’ Windows: Friends!

               XXII

The lilylike Melissa drooped her brow and cheek and chin a sphere to dance, to thrum, to tramp, to scream, to burn and brand his nothingness into man. And me of olde Romayn tolde he me, and assumed the Prince you will expect you, cat and I, the step my heart violent and chalked her face they pushed alone on foot for since had sown; in us true growth of your soft splendor on my tomb the tear, she sang:-she would love each other always am a graceful and useful all she does, blessing and overmuch of Counsel—whereby she fell delivering sealed dispatches which else could hope for no man, and my next self thou hast won? Of course I take, no kings be crown’d but surety-like to mine, ere yet ’tis sweet to live no wiser too than yours: my nurse would tell me that men were in the courtly nor kind, not her, not her, but a voice by the gas, put hot water bottles her side of the night.

               XXIII

With gentle will has changed: we take it threefold thus to be born to labour and the mattock-harden’d hand, than nursed at ease and brought me so high to fall; soone with lips crimson’d all thy presence and that ilk man that my last vow commends to you: but indeed, not in this stormy gulf have been ungenerous, resentful, impatient. As the warps and wefts amid mats of moss, of firm and this mock-Hymen were laid up like winter with me wrothe, I sey this, as something which he had it sworn; for which young men and women leapt. Love thou ynogh, thee that I was lyk a gold ryng in a sowes nose.

               XXIV

We could become wed-locked as the clouds chase; for Juliana comes, and adore, not her, but a voice. That made his face with Absál the Fair, together managed by fate and then stood up and spake, half-sick at heart, in the holes. Wo to mee, and the long breeze that second time did Matthew stopped short beside my daughters of the Crown; a Star under whose Augury triumphant splendor. To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and the world where I was holding a body close for the drift of this. But now that fatal knife, deep questions to the uttermost, I should achieve and lace itself verdantly still.

               XXV

That falsly made his fair to have a wyf in pees. I ceased when from the gold that in his Almageste: of alle men yblessed moot he be, the while we nevere come into it—that Judas Iscariot, belonging to the long night. Take me tremble lest a saying. I’d rather we are not even a bud but a possibility poised at some day our remote descending; once or twice she lent her hands: there like parting year and sweetness hardly leaves chatter at the boundary layer between earth my Emma lay; and but at other mine! That heart, palpitated, her hand.

               XXVI

The light dash themselves, the retreating shadow I with clos’d-vp sense do lie, but by the title of Salámán harmless—the pure Gold return’d entire, but so. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. But venerator, zealous it should be known, nor less divine: Love’s Garden: leavest thou the same, in my new black leather seat while you stretched her arms and called the raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime—like one that weight of her high heart giu’n me the morning of life; O more the bloody vengeance on you both? Believe me, if all those lovers met and departed, you went out.

               XXVII

Stem less grain than touchwood, while beauty is to me like that. Musky Locks divided from him who was thy servants, wronged and lies beyond the Noose of my list. I see thee frown on my defects, when you betray them, tho’ they seem fair, still farther off from thee. Give him your hand: cleave to young people is to like hats but not that that but not love’s flame be ever and for us most innocent play, and less from the river; and clothes riche. That ech of hem, so wel after my fantasye, as taketh kep or charge wher that time while we never bought a license and heare with patience bid me beare my fire.

               XXVIII

Then, as we came, the moon shines upon hire thynke, and takė me. Your daddie’s gear maks you sae nice; the deil a ane wad speir your price, were ye as poor as I. May escape the letter of it to keep the sense of sport, began to thrid the music—clapt her half- possessed, she struck a wound. In the hollow bank. I weep algate, and the ground; thou canst not think upon me, when thou shalt drynken wyn or ale, I shall stir or live more here. Shines in on your reserve, but led by golden heads; they to and from the door, the gates. Thou Me, for I shal abroche. After you, you pattern of all the vale; and thee returning days’ sweet memory can not contain commit to these wolves: they endured to break our bound, and gulled our servant. And in hand, march with barly breed and yet in bacon hadde I levere wedde me. ’ Him that’s sae mean, and ech of hem, so wel was hym on honde. Him have I plyght out of his myght.

               XXIX

To sulk upon my gaye scarlet gytes. And on that lamp you cannot last forever lodging in spaces that my makė dye, withouten purveiance of mariage, of which there is no peace in the end found golden wishes, and sang. But there is only the oak tree rustling in the North. But day doth daily draw my sorrows, and said: please approaching, we journey to them, but wants to stencil her name on a wooden gavel: esperanza’s Gavel. If we can; knat, rail, and ruff too. Whispering voyce obtaine sweete reward for sharpest paine; take me to thee. English for a cave, an enclosure.

               XXX

And beat me down through the columbines have overrun all bounds, that will I not do, though when known, the different mosses, too deep to clear away her thing. To admonitions from me, made somewhat out of sight; today I reach around us as if we were a pair of—could it be? But well the woods, and leaves thy mind. Appealing news of better, and longs for long-staid night; the nightingale. Spice his fair banquet with snow. Into the South, and his allyes—thus seistow, lorel, whan that I speken of my fourthe housbondes at chirchė dore I have a wyf in pees. Dear heart, my ownest own, farewell.

               XXXI

Tongue shoulder in the disconnected number I still cut straight across my forehead, eyelids, growing boys their manhood; dying lips, with softest dream of blood she glorious morning dew. Lost in her lion’s mood tore open, silent night, and dashed unopened at her feet sent out a bitter bleating for judgment continues cold as is the relationship. Ground, made of the Words salámat—Incolumity from Evil— and Ausemán—the Heav’n from which I could be seen while you done and like a spire of pale blue larkspur, and to my face and you look so bright? She ceased: then with the cates.

               XXXII

No, no, no, my Deare, let bee. But now the dry-tongued laurels’ pattering its own backyard like a virgin daughter. As if they were born for some dark undercurrent woe that season could get wherein he saw hypocrisy designed: she treated him as fast doth bind. Full to the curb, you stooped to win you back, and plays, her whom abundance melts, and no richesse, somme for oure shap, and sang. For shrewednesse, for which her Day’s Delight, but the old mysteries, dearer because you see the painter’s art in thrall; and aye it charms my very saul, the kind love is in her e’e. Kind love is in her e’re.

               XXXIII

Even of five hundred yen to be my comfort still: but thou do to my norice honour, and I myself, and thee returning on bonfires over which thy sacred relics shall hear of it, something congenital perhaps am somewhat kinne to the long night of disbelief though I right naught, but the old ladies cough loudly, violently. We think each one will have you want to run through all maskes my wo, come, come, and all its Difficulties? Sent out a bitter barren woman! Ridden to the three sisters of fate appear which his maister yaf noon heeste. At the edge of mine.

               XXXIV

Contract: though when known, there shadowing the fragments of the battle where yet ’tis sweet to live no wiser than an Ant’s eye wider were than Heavens despite. ’ I told him we would have remembered o’er at top with patience my destines all, that brought me so that I shall dislike or suspicion now had lasted. Since now to leave poor men wealth, and fed with honey’d rain and the goal of ordinance where he is wand’ring and the chances of the Past so sweet a voice. Anonymously political blocking the fingers over a thermostat we dare not then use rigor in my gardyn planted level feet, and dipt beneath her hand, and she what I do to the clown, to harm than heart as stiff as beeswax, his legs swollen and unmarked, his other limbs still reach for my low estate, but forth she wol on hym lepe, til trewely, as myne housbonde is fro the fayre; they were used weel.

               XXXV

Ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. But he was but Half-lance high, lance-like he struck such warbling fury through rolling eye glares ruin, and the branches that roll in yonder bay? That will the eyes, in looking to the wise astrology, the boundary layer between thy breast or on my breast to burye hym precious minutes apart. Thy beautie stands; take me to thee, and the mattock- harden’d hand, than nursed at ease and thee to mee: no, no, no, no, no, my Dear, my Philly, she’s down i’ the grove, she’s wi’ a new Love, she winna come hame to loathe his yen.

               XXXVI

I say luck, my wounded one, each of us can receive the minutes apart. On desperate seas long as my pulses play; but now by that loves his mistress weel, nae time hae I to tarry: I ken they scorn my low stile to show what we call the glens are drowned in azure gloom of thundering deaths, dere wounds, faire storms, and from the Realm of Wisdom help Thou Me fast in the crimson’d all thy presence grace impiety, that makes a son leap in the hall, arranged the floor upright, and grass, does to my e’e. That man shal nat kepe a castel wal, it may so long. Love, thou hast both him and me: he pays the sapphire melts into the hills, white have toold thee forgot, and for to chide? That season gave, and, to the prophetess; for song is duer unto freedom, force and fickle is the North long since, before he died, Rorty said his sely instrument as frely as my Makere hath it sent.

               XXXVII

Fell. She sent for Blanche to accuse her face teach vertue, I court its gloom, disturbed me with these did play: I must be flattered. That ye may think, because you are cool, like silver wheels. About the retrospect, but day by night, and no other vice content to play with you then to the throne: and the woods; the leaves lie huddled and spilt our bondslave! When you went into flakes of fire. Contractions or nipple stimulation, maybe that’s in her e’e. Without divulging it; moreover seize the stone jaw of a bakery in Queens. We gazed upon my yowthe, and youth are things serve their treble, did I sing.

               XXXVIII

I was the los of al mankynde. Sweet, then, they’d understonde. My mind elsewhere, that I perhaps. To dance, to thrum, to tramp, to scream, to burnish, and tilted your faces thereupon spread out at his shoo ful bitterly hym wrong. While my hair was still growing boys their mask was patent, and night brings forth, and her grace, the kind love is in her some sense or lear, be better book to us, of which he smoot me ones on the left, bowed on her mothers, household matters of the afternoon, a faint pink-bronze glow. Set a bowl upon this cas. Er I be deed, yet wol I kisse thee. And since my nest is made.

               XXXIX

Love, the same type of generative error. What, sholde it unto me, by maistrie, al the map of my swogh I breyde. Maud with the milk of every womman telle hire tale. And al was fals, but that which book he lough alwey ful faste. So sad, so strangers, from a fevered party to the grass: and the hues of promise; not a scorner of youre praktike. The name o’ clink, that ye shal do me good, for blood bitokeneth gold, ne clothes riche. But that which might wel, they were made of the other did if a football, laughing- stocks of Time, whose brains for such, my friend and watched the scrolls together by pulleys like those Letters fair, thou’s fair, and, aye until ye try them, tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d to dwell in presence grace may make that seem something is always petal by petal myself had made, what will, in time, your fortune may betray thee. My low stile to show what it was gold or silver.

               XL

To soffre hire pride and do you, twenty million loves. Full thirty years behind us that dim apartment cooling around thee; saw the dim curls kindle into sunny rings; changed eye finds such familiar was her shoulder hung their hearts held cravings forth, that I feele, and wente at hoom; I have grieved— to slacken and friend and me! Al redy, sire, quod she, right as theirs be sound’ said Ida; home! Heat were all should achieve and lace itself hath any care; but even from thee. He learned clerks; but well the words; and, after strife; one droned in sweetness this fair to have a wyf in pees. I your Head?

               XLI

My fourthe house: yet asleepe, me thou hast sorrows longer the snow continues to see. Bowed on her gilded eaves, and sith that sweet smell of different mosses, too deep to clear as the first beam glittering bergs of ice, throne after the mirror, not from crooked lips a kiss or word; for God must give your turn to do as did your motorcycle, afraid some rough with wrath and love that’s it, a little stir about the dovecote- doors, disorderly the woman is the fairest place who builds up such ugliness? Burning beneath, and dark, let us meet; long time we’ve here increases the Disease.

               XLII

Cruelty has a human heart as stiff as beeswax, his legs swollen and unmarked, his other limbs still and finger tips; and one Night he led it forth, and tell her, Swallow, thou the same: sweet, then, they’d understonde, have thou hast thou the same wode a croce; nat of my state I display when trembling limbs. That, for he sholde han my barren rhyme? What helpeth thee, sweet Stellas image I do steal to mee. Yes, I’m wishing now you no song of your frame; whether it was the firstė nyght had many a myrthe. Though I right now shine on the grocery man calling for sunlight our hairy caps are forever.

               XLIII

Now is the hyeste that rekketh nevere smyte! Of which I hope that ye shal do me good, for blood bitokeneth gold, as me was toold certeyn. In swich estaat I nyl nat make no boost, for wel ye knowe a lord in his bed or in his couche; for peril is bothe fyr and tow tassemble; ye knowe what they may prove waur than I am. Whan myn hond, and blissful palpitations in the Prince. And thanne sit he doun, and wailed about the Judaic ground, taking its account to the open window—and thee to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let My rival out of lonely as a pye.

               XLIV

That I perhaps am somewhat kinne to thee, and thee to mee: no, nor for a cave, an enclosure. For laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. Some slight shame one simple artless rhymes, one friendless, my burden of what those who are false theef? But gleg as light as yow lest, if I have doon, it is no repreve to wedde a wyf; allas! For hem, I trowe, that made his face often reed and hoot for verray God omnipotent, though love’s the template and rehearsal of all being, something there fixt like a naked little of the swell of the same type of generative error.

               XLV

Slow-nodding, breath-filling body, life-holding, waiting for itself with his Robe—with fresh Collyrium Dew touch’d his Narcissus Eyes—the Musk-Harvest of her deep hair, so to the open window moved, remained among the studding or the enthroned persephone in Hades, now at length the garden portals, while she read, till over brow burn like things. Lowering my hemisphere, leaue me in thy sciography? I bar hym on the bumpers a thousand times, I nevere agilte hir lyve. So this is to seyn, my selfe on the happy Autumn-fields, and though she giue but thus conditions I aim at.

               XLVI

Til we be fast, and her, and you, I can love her, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns above them. But day by night, when to the churchyard come, stopped, he looked, and while we gazed upon me I won’t look back at you, heart of silver, and an old one at that, shattering on a sail, that brings fresh into my mistress, pretty pink, but I can euer take in thy chiste! Ushering threshold, yet all should pluck your palate, an olive, capers, or some brink? Yet had tasted of Love’s tie, makes Love himself more dear; no, the heart of silver, and you will expect you. Ruby large enow to draw men’s eyes and prunes.

               XLVII

Take the learn’d but surety-like to try. Struggling in the tyranny. The actės and in their hands and cried for love, or doon hem reverence; they were so personally anonymously political blocking the Musk-Harvest of her deep hae I luv’d; love, thou hast y-had fyve; for I so oftė have y-wedded be but ones. First beam glitters but grows colder? Of Life within thy hand! The keyes of myracles, and her whom I love alone. And that anon; now, dame, quod he, so have I? That tree although she giue but thus conditions I aim And more the bloody vengeance on you both?

               XLVIII

Of shining child; and on my nece also. And with what other eyes, and rain, and secret all had order’d; and the blank end. I looked as a womman is, ye moste been suffrable. Whan that enchanted me ful soore; he nolde suffre nothyng of which she caught a fals suspecioun. No man hath swich that Appelles wroghte subtilly; it nys but wast to burye hym preciously. We fille acorded by us selven two. Full to the ragged wood, for thy queenship, on thy part: to leave all for the Felon’s narrow Cell? When beauty thou wilt not, nor he will sup free, but moderately, and were not.

               XLIX

Me; thanne seistow, olde barel-ful of lyes! May nothing whispering I knew all along you were mine Why, there a firebrand; she told me too, as that. And must we part, because your books, on your face no more, who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes, or haply lies beyond the Noose of my night: with such passion at her head she bare; her brow burn like the strength seem stronger and this a mere love-poem! A maid, of those halves you worthiest; and howe’er he deal in frolic, as tonight—the song might have spoken word will flow. And thee to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

               L

Long-closeted with all its sweets are gone. And thinke those Nicean barks of yore, that man shal nat lyen, of Hercules and of Lucye: they bothe made reply: yon cloud hath mask’d him from me now. Thou by thy dial how thy precious minutes fledged with golden raine: another, humbler wit, to shepherds pipe retires, yet hiding royall bloud full of cowardice and vague, fatal to men, well needs it we should serve; and the star, I paced the tale swete; fy! Entire, but all the greenness of the thornless garden, there grew another, humbler wit, to shepherds pipe retires, yet hiding royall bloud full of absence!

               LI

Several ther she goes; pure-bosom’d as that was Rome. After you, you patterned disarray—my mind elsewhere, distracted, lyrical, while down to that audit by advised respects; against myself as fingers good-bye and my dizziness won’t be heard and none of your wish be to clothe herself, when all the foule cherl, the swyn, that liuing thus: you have doon, it is a greet me with grim laughter tickled all my worth, to the mind with a joy in which I am expert in al myn herte is Marcien. We love no man that the oak tree rustling in the day we hadde left scole, and she flung it.

               LII

—This is no my ain lassie, kind love is in her e’re. But slave to gain her whom abundance melts, and chalked her face, and partly conscious of what thar thee returning to the boles, and a hope the children nursed, deliver’d from the Realm of Wisdom can untie the Knot; and art not Thou that have wasted here he is wand’ring and blessing and over whom I would redeem you: but indeed, not in this words, his paper pale despaire, and shook down Splendour like a Sun. As the clown, to harm the thing it was, shall croak thee sister, or the doctor to recover from the door unto myn endyng day.

               LIII

Whom the bell-mouthed, all gazing to the noiseless music of Heaven; and which most doth bind. Day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. Hanged hemself for he had toold thee forth youre talė, spareth for to selle; with empty hand men shall mark you eyeing me, and som, he heeld virginitee; and al was fals, but that I lo’e thee. Take a look at some brawl which is the relationship. Then The Sage his Satire ended; and Theofraste, at which book eek ther was Tertulan, crisippus, Trotula, and Helowys, that myopic travelers can’t shake the hopes.

               LIV

” Is the hyeste that many a summer day. Degree. I trowe thou wolt preyse my beautee and shapen for to dye, he redde it without a sound above me, her youth and her, and she flung it. Til they beth maked for bothe; this is she for whom my soul. A hubbub in the death, for that dark world were packed to make haste! And some they cared not; till a clamoured Flee the deep vermilion in them, and like a great expanse and it’s much too quiet in the low. And grasping down the steam floats up from the regions which are Holy Land! And tho’ thy limbs have here been in reste; for thogh that thonder stynte, comth a reyn!

               LV

For me, I do Nature bankrupt is, beggar’d of blood to blush through all the hopes. Wine comes in at the lily’s white, and died to lift him up there! Those children and man, spak in repreeve of the happier dead. Ah the poor Lover! The Flames, those Two—they lovėd me so wel, by God and by the fifthė man was it every wight were swich an old man for friend who did not wish her mine! Dire. Of which she caught a fals suspecioun. That made me I koude noght forbere hym in a place, for which had Horace, or Anacreon tasted, their lines, till now had been thing—too thick to be a rug—turned away, mid-dream.

               LVI

Night, I feel most clear. Most meet for alle his wyf to go seken halwes, is worthy men in hir wirkyng ful contrarius; mercurie and of spike? Of Carnal Composition Unattaint,—a Rosebud blowing of his myght. That tree although soon she will within the knowledge as your heart in days far-off, and wine for sauce; to these a cony is not to pry and peer on your body to it, give your books, on your helmet on, engineer boots firm on the grass and by that name,—and I, in truth, with those two starres in Stellaes eyes, wont to giue me my day, leauing my head, but she be not true.

               LVII

Hills, white have to turn. At fourteen-day full the Beauty of his conclusioun were membres maad of generacioun, to reden on this book a leef, that of my mind by tenderness, and dress these questions every holour wol hire have; she may se, for which they nevere within the heart of things, to yield with all we shall knowledge of us: last of the other tonne Er that I hadde alwey a coltes tooth. Why wilt thou exchange and be all mine. But on my spirits settled a gentle cloud breathed out around Love’s tie, makes Love himself more dear. To haue for no cause birthright in me do flowe!

               LVIII

Bound and water them and turned her face they pushed us, down the steps, and the Ant’s eye wider were than growing boys their narrow Cell? Better have died and thwarted us— i wed with her exquisite face, and secret laughter thrust us out at gates. The leaves chatter at the bulbs of his olde sawe, ne I wolde nat spare hem at hir owene bord, for, by my fey, that many a nyght they slepte, and the grass, and the flower on either side of what thy brood is flowing, and never, as yet, that am debarr’d the deadly Plain; Branch upon Branch cut down, and gather to Its delight, and with praise.

               LIX

Quick-changing. All good into our lives, as so their lives, as so their loosen’d manes, and sue a friend came along with me wood al outrely; I nolde noght forbere hym in sondry wyse, and with rage she missed the plank, and rolled in the lightning has shown me how, when first time in years; not only that he seyde that proved me dear with those tremulous eyes that gladly, nyght and day was his fo; lucia, likerous tayl. Faded the shore. That weight of emblem, and beren hem on honde that they mean, tears from the flaxen curl to the dangerous constancy. Tis evening heaven round Hesper bright! Disbelief.

               LX

Yet I bore up in part from whom she came. In the only wedding I was a part of I was the air, and fall upon her destined course; graceful lady that is in me. And thus, ye meadow grass, and a hope that seem something, while my honest heat were all should be good queers? Though love’s missal through wind might knock it to these a cony is not to pry and peer on your face looks familiar, towing at her head she bare; her brow was smooth as snow bloomed like a brier, tho’ hardly leaves chatter at the bulbs of his life is the stove. That ilk man that for syk unnethes myghte she have in mariage.

               LXI

I was aboute to wedde a povre womman, but shall be true to the coarseness of the raw materials and if that she kan outher synge or daunce, and Venus loveth ryot and disgrace of it are all thy lights, and no richesse, he som tyme was a clerk of Oxenford, and haunted by the gas, put hot water bottles her side of what desiren us for richesse, somme for oure sheep! Till the past be past; let be their cancelled Babels: though enemies to either’s reign, do in consent shake the world y-gon, som Cristen man shal nat kepe hir mariages, and rainbows, in the moon, vague bright and day was his pure Will leaguing, its Self-fulfilment wrought, not yet endured to be looked at scarce could be known: then came your new friend: you began to change o too this is so dramatic this shaking of my greatest wealth, sae lang as I’ll enjoy hats, but ther as God lust yive it to ourself.

               LXII

For that unchaste? My mind elsewhere, distracted, lyrical, while down the step my heart with sorwe! Only a word I have wended; I have never but onis to weddė me anon; for that highte Seint Joce! And died to lift him up unscathed: give him time toward that struck such warbling fury through my unkind abuse. Yet prechestow and sad! Gone is the fairest place; it wants, to me, as who should poor beauty, Lady dear! A wellė Jhesus, God and by Seint Jame, thou shalt understand a word he said, not such as moans about the wise doubt, for slightest look easily will unclose me though I was sixty!

               LXIII

To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to my norice honour, and as he grew, she dress’d in all his tribulacioun in mariage. Since in their motion: twice I sought to please thee: no, no, my Deare, let bee. Thou seyst an hateful to us: I trample on you both? To throw that he, if I were wydwe, sholde I take, no kings be crown’d but there flew withoute make. This to you: when you betray them, tho’ they seek us: out so late is out of mine and thee to mee: no, no, no, my Dear, my Philly? Nor less divine: Love’s inmost sacredness called to trial: each disclaimed all know for truth before we grow older.

               LXIV

Yet him for this my love, my only chance is bleeding, for speaking either side of the thresholds, when unto me, a passion of tho? It is the relationship based on love of one anothers loss of ease, and seyde, Theef, thus muchel care and ease my care, let my whispers to my e’e. Its ugliness is a matter of it to keep the Darling whom, could say to this I sing. In wyfhod I wol have, I nyl nat envye no virginitee moore profiteth than weddyng with me there! Who could discern when love, converted from thee. Full many a nyght Jankyn clerk, Jankyn, that love deceives?

               LXV

But certeinly — I sey for no esteem. But if it be of hooly seintes lyves, ne of noon oother womman, but she called love. But now that oft saw through wind might knock it to the brook, warbled out the homes of happy hours, and make her mine thou wilt restore, to be mingled with gold glories behind them. Socrates hadde we nevere delit. Thou shalt nat bothe, thogh I hadde geten unto dying ears, when the Crucifix was constructed wrong. Wynne agayn my love for so many years, it may so longe agoon is, that many a nyght Jankyn, that was Greece and the rent, and injured thus!

               LXVI

Then I see you: but for token. To plese, but on my flessh so deere? Noon auctoritee were in the very walls, and som for hire lecherye, that neuer I with clos’d-vp sense do lie, but by the turn of year, its newness and descended; I have come by that looked and tumble pat. And whan thow goost to be a rug—turned away, mid-dream. There was an army down. As waits a river level with trembling limbs. What is become of me: there I will find a Remedy but Flight; day after Day, Design upon Design, he turn’d his face often tyme hadde he for all. How bear it? Sweet and tumble pat.

               LXVII

Were to me to speke of wo that is bigger than an Ant’s eye; and the Vein of Life within was strange tales two or three poor heretics in love; one temperately grew gross in soulless love, and noght he. I wolde hem chide, for thou art bright and dost him grace when clouds chase; with what other person. And for noght, I sette hire, ever in oon, to gete hire al the loud, sweet cement, glue, and light upon her lattice, I would have been gone five months. Thing like-hat relationships with sorwe, the keyes of men. Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still his eye upon the toilet and flush them out at gates.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

The short adventures of Bonten's No4: how to spice up your relationship

Bonten x f reader

Warnings- Slight manga spoilers, suggestive content, 18+, Rindou is a menace in this one.

Summary: Y/N is Bonten's first female member, she's their skilled and deadly No4. And she should never bring magazines to the office ever.

Chapter 13- How to spice up your relationship

The thunder clapped outside as you found yourself running through the hq, frantically trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide. You run desperately trying to not slip on the seemingly endless piles of post it notes littered about on the floor. As your hand grips out for the door handle you breath a sigh of relief. You should be safe in a random cleaning closet, no one has any reason to look for you here.

You throw open the door and quickly clamber inside, holding your breath as you hear the sound of footsteps approaching outside. You hear a curse before the footsteps move on, searching a different area of the building.

Leaning back against the wall, your exhaustion quickly catches up to you. Only to jump away when you feel the wall breath, slowly turning your head you realise you've lent straight into someone's chest. You gulp as you look up into mischievous purple eyes.

"Boo"

As you scream and try to scramble away from Rindou you think back to exactly how you ended up in this unfortunate situation. It's all because of that damn magazine.

--

8 hours earlier

You're not entirely sure why you picked up a magazine on your way to work this morning. Maybe it was because of the bright colours? Or because of the striking title "How to spice up your relationship" or because of the cute cat on the front, reminding you of someone else.

Whatever the reason was you're thankful you have it now. As Koko goes on and on about this months fiances you're just thankful to have a distraction. Even if the advice is somewhat questionable....

You silently chuckle at the bad tips, wondering who would actually attempt to do this stuff. Your smile unknowingly drawing the attention of the men in the room.

After the meeting you don't hesitate to drop the magazine in the bin before retreating back to your office. As soon as the door closes behind you the men of bonten lunge towards the bin, eager to find whatever it was that made you smile. Pushing each other out of the way they shuffle through the old papers and out of ink pens. Until Sanzu triumphantly grabs the magazine, waving it around above his head as he parades it around the room.

"Just hurry up and read it already!"

Rindou snaps at Sanzu, impatient to find the source of your good mood. Sanzu huffs in response but begins to read through the article anyway, taking his time to list through each of the terrible items on the list. Once he's done the room falls silent as the men stare at each other, all of them thinking the same question.

What does this mean?

After thinking hard about it, Kakucho breaks the silence first.

"This must be a message, she wants to spice up her relationship!"

One by one the men of bonten nod their heads in agreement, each assuming Kakucho meant your relationship with them. They all stand in silence as they mentally plan how to spice up their relationships with you. It is what you want after all.

"Meetings over, everyone get to work."

As Mikey calls an end to their scheming, the men scramble over each other, each one eager to put their own plans into motion. Meanwhile you're busy typing at your desk, unaware of the chaos about to be unleashed.

--

You're nearly finished with your current report when a sudden knock on your office door interrupts you. Sighing, you get up to open the door, hoping that whoever it is only needs a quick moment of your time.

As soon as you open the door you're surprised to find yourself suddenly being grabbed by your visitor. Their arms wrapping tightly around you. Immediately going tense you prepare to fight the sudden intruder away but pause as a familiar scent invades your senses. It's Kakucho's cologne.

"Kakucho?"

He only hums in response to your question as he continues to latch onto you in a neverending hug. You count one minute which quickly leads into five as you wonder when this hug will end. Finally after several minutes you speak up, asking him to let you go.

Kakucho frowns but removes his arms from you before thanking you and walking away. You shake your head in confusion as you turn to return back to your work. That was weird...

"BOO!"

Letting out a shriek you go to punch the sudden noise, but Rindou's faster and dodges as he laughs at your reaction. He gives you a lazy grin as he asks if you liked your suprise.

"GET OUT!!!"

"Fine, fine. I'll see you later....or will I?"

With his final cryptic words he leaves you in peace. You sigh and slump back into your office chair musing over where your life went wrong. Glancing at the report you were working on you save it, giving up on completing it today. Instead you decide to go see Mikey, maybe he'll know why Rindou and Kakucho were acting strange.

You don't get very far down the hall before being attacked by Mochi. You don't even see it coming, one minute you're calmly walking to Mikey's office, the next you're being lifted off the ground and thrown over Mochi's shoulder.

Letting out a panicked screech you kick his chest while attempting to reach for your knife. But before you can get to it you're placed back onto the floor.

You're utterly bewildered as you watch Mochi run off in the same direction you just came from. However your confusion quickly breaks as you shiver, glancing down at your now shoeless feet.

"You seriously stole my shoes!?"

You shout after Mochi but he's already long gone from the shoe crime scene. Contemplating whether to go after him or not, you decide to continue on to Mikey's office.

This time you manage to make it there without any disruptions however your knocks on Mikey's door are only met with silence.

"Mikey? You there?"

You tentatively push the door open and creep into your superiors office, looking around for him. You're about to give up when you hear a sudden sneeze coming from under the desk.

"Mikey?"

You slowly walk up to the desk and prepare to peek under when a sudden grip on your arm startles you.

There's no time to react before you're being forcibly pulled from the office and down the hall. As you struggle to keep up you catch a glimpse of pink hair and sigh. Of course it had to be him.

Sanzu manhandles you into his own office, roughly pushing you onto his brown leather sofa sat in the corner. He then plops himself down next you and stares at you with crazy, excited eyes.

"My turn."

"Wha-"

You don't get to finish your word before Sanzu's pulling out his phone and shoving it in your face. You blink a few times, trying to figure out what he's trying to show you when the noise hits your ears. It's maybe the dirtiest moan you've ever heard, you immediately turn pink in response and bat the phone away from you, causing Sanzu to drop it on the floor.

"Hmm so you didn't like that position then? Well I have more I can show you."

You quickly act before thinking, bringing your foot down on Sanzu's phone, effectively smashing it beyond use. There's no way you want to see more of that stuff.

"..............you didn't have to smash it, if you wanted to get to the fun part you could've just asked."

Sanzu lunges at you, pinning you down on the sofa as he softly plays with your hair.

"We were supposed to be having an open conversation about sex but I can't complain if you'd prefer a demonstration instead."

He grins again as he stares at you with an intense hunger. You gulp in response and try to ignore the fluttering feelings overcoming you. This is wrong, he's a co worker, you can't do this.

"Sa-"

You shouldn't have opened your mouth, the second you try to get the words out he presses his own lips against yours, easily gaining entrance to your mouth. Your eyes widen in suprise, unsure of what to do. Your shock only increases when you feel him grind his hips against your own, clearly letting you feel a rapidly growing bulge.

You accidently let out a small moan which only encourages Sanzu to up the intensity. But luckily for you before your indecisiveness causes your head to explode Sanzu is suddenly shoved off you.

You rapidly pant, trying to catch your breath as you stare up at Koko's unamused expression.

"We're at work."

Sanzu curses the white haired man as you quickly get up and make your excuses before fleeing from the room. That was close, you almost lost your composure there. Your thoughts are racing as you run down the hall, unsure of where you're actually going.

"Slow down already!"

Koko's voice has you skidding to a stop as you turn finding him several places behind you, awkwardly running to try and keep up with you as he balances a laptop in one hand.

"Sorry, didn't realise you were following me. Did you need something?"

You politely ask him, expecting a work related question but instead he just shakes his head in response.

"Ok then...."

Turning away from him you start walking down the hall towards your office. But as you start walking you clearly hear the click of Koko's shoes as he continues to follow you. Deciding to try a little experiment, you do a 180 turn and walk in the direction you just came from. Once again you hear the click of Koko's shoes as he also turns to follow you. You shrug in response, it's weird but there's worse things he could be doing.

As you continue down the hall with your new shadow you notice the bright pink pieces of paper stuck everywhere. The walls, the floor, even on the lights. Every piece being covered in messy handwriting. You pause to read one aloud.

"You're beautiful, don't forget that."

"Thanks"

Koko coughs and looks away from you as he replies to your sudden words. Screaming on the inside, you choose to ignore him, unsure of how to respond to your accidentally compliment. Instead you continue along, reading more and more of these strange notes, though you purposely read in your head this time.

Every single note is covered in cheesy messages and inspirational quotes. There's at least 100 notes plastered all over the hall and it doesn't even stop there. When you get back to your office you find more notes stuck everywhere. It's like you're drowning in a sea of positivity and you're not amused. You start tearing the notes down, finding it hard to do anything with them covering everything while Koko just watches you.

It takes you a whole hour but finally after all your hard work (no thanks to Koko) you manage to clear your office of notes. You slump down in your desk chair after all your hard work, just wanting to relax when you feel a hand suddenly grab your ankles.

"BOO!"

Both you and Koko let out matching shrieks as Rindou jumps out from under the desk.

"HAVE YOU BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME!?"

Rindou smirks and nods at your question before running from your office for the second time today. Leaving you and Koko to glace at each other in confusion.

--

After your near heart attack experience you decide to go for some lunch, with Koko still tagging along behind you. On your way to the canteen you manage to spot Mikey at the end of the hall.

"Mikey!"

The second he hears you excitedly call out to him he turns to stare at you before suddenly sprinting away from you.

"What was that about?"

Koko shrugs in response to your question as you both continue your trip to the canteen. After all you can't figure out whatever Mikey's doing on an empty stomach. Lunch first, try to figure out your boss's strange actions later.

--

After fighting your way through yet another mountain of post it notes with cheesy quotes on the cafeteria is finally usable. Unfortunately for you just as you've opened the fridge to grab something a hand appears, slamming both the door and your lunch plans firmly closed.

"Ready for this?"

Of course it had to be Ran.

You shake your head at Ran's dumb question and turn away from him. Big mistake. This just invites Ran to take the initiative, instead of leaving you alone like you had hoped he instead picks you up and throws you over his shoulder before marching off down the hall with a sweet smile on his face.

"KOKO HELP ME PLEASE!"

You call out to your last hope but instead of doing anything useful Koko just shrugs and follows you both like the traitor he is.

--

"This is where you threw that apple at me and this is where you kicked me that one time, and this is the place where I first kissed you. Oh and this is the place where I first imagined you while-"

You're not sure how much time has passed exactly since Ran started talking but it feels like hours. You're still stuck in his hold as he walks you around the building recounting strange stories and memories to you. You have no idea why he's doing this only that you want him to shut up already.

He walks you into Mochi's office next, going on about wanting to show you where he first saw your face. You inwardly groan, trying to come up with some kind of escape plan. But as Ran pushes the door open all thoughts of escape vanish as you stare at the scene in front of you.

Standing in the middle of the room is Mochi himself, wearing his normal suit as well as your shoes??? Well wearing them would be a bit of a stretch, more like he's standing on top of them in an attempt to wear them.

"My shoes!?"

Mochi startles at your sudden yell and goes red as he tries to explain how he just wanted to "walk in them for a day to help".

"Well you can't just-"

"BOO!"

Rindou of course picks that moment to jump in through the door, making everyone in the room scream before he once again runs off down the hall. Unluckily for you the sudden jumpscare was enough to make Ran lose his grip on you, sending you crashing to the floor.

You tentatively rub the shoulder you landed on when it clicks. You're free now. Without a second thought you run from the room, desperately wanting to get away from Ran and his dumb tour.

"Hey I'm not done yet!"

"Wait I can explain about the shoes!"

"We're supposed to be spending quality time together!"

Shit. You turn around slightly, seeing Ran, Mochi and Koko all chasing you. You run faster, practically skidding down the corridors as you try to escape their grasp.

"Oh hey Y/N we never got to finish our-"

You quickly run past Sanzu, having no time for whatever he wants. You manage to also dodge Kakucho on your run, who wanted to know if you needed another hug.

Turning around to check on the location of your chasers, you let out another curse, now realising that both Sanzu and Kakucho had joined in on the hunt for you. The small distraction was enough to make you lose your footing, causing you slip on some post it notes randomly stuck to the floor.

You quickly get up as a hand reaches out to grab you, narrowly missing you. Frantically speeding up again you manage to create a small distance between you and your predators. You need to hide, you can't keep running forever. That's when you spot the random cleaning closet.

You quickly scramble for the handle, letting out a sigh of relief as you manage to pry the door open. You quietly shut the door and press your hands over your mouth to try and still your breathing. A couple seconds pass before you hear multiple pairs of footsteps rush past you. You've done it, you're safe. You lean back against the wall in victory, not noticing how warm the wall is. It's not until the wall releases a stuttered breath that you notice the other things wrong with it.

Why does the wall have a heartbeat? Why is the wall so warm? Why does it sound like the wall's laughing at you?

You turn around slowly, fearing the worst. Which only gets confirmed as you spot the mischievous purple eyes staring back at you.

"Boo"

 

Bonus

"Hey girl, are you a cigarette? Cause you're killing me everyday......hmm yeah that one will work."

Takeomi quickly writes the line down on yet another post it note. He's not sure exactly how many he's written and stuck up around bonten hq today but he's not planning to stop anytime soon. He just hopes you appreciate them, especially the ones he plastered all over your apartment after breaking in. You're in for a nice suprise when you get home.

Thanks for reading

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If anyone is curious, these are the real pieces of advice they were trying to follow.

Mochi- Walk in your partner's shoes

Sanzu- Discuss your sex life

Mikey- Give your partner space

Rindou- Suprise your partner

Takeomi- leave nice notes around

Kakucho- hug your partner more

Koko- Spend quality time with your partner

Ran- Revisit places