#music jewelry box women wooden

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday can no longer control himself around you. He will make his affections known. wc: 1.6k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! fingering/dry humping/softdom!sunday

part 2 / part 3 (nsfw) / part 4

---

By his insistence, it had been too late post-dinner for you to head home alone. In fact, it had been too late to bother leaving Blue Hour at all—not when Sunday could find you a place to stay the night as easily as walking through the entrance of the nearest hotel. "One room," he had told the Halovian clerk at the front desk, a kindly young lady with red cardinal feathers encircling her cheeks. "Anything will do." You tapped the empty box of mints clutched in your hand with one of your fingers, as if the slow rap-tap-tap would truly relieve any of your nervousness. His words had stuck with you after all—The Head of the Oak Family wandering around Blue Hour with a glorified nobody wearing a dress like this? Of course they'd assume something!

But you weren't a glorified nobody, you wanted to tell yourself. You had worked your ass off to be here, even if nobody else around you knew that. You were a somebody, no matter where you were or what Sunday had you wear or anything of the sort. You were one of the most powerful people in Penacony, damnit. ...Of course, at the time, you had been too distracted by this train of thought to realize he had only asked for one room. And, furthermore, at the time you hadn't asked if he would be making any trips that night himself.

Sunday had counted on this.

Sunday walks you to your room with his hand on your lower back once again, in what feels almost like a mockery of the conversation you had with him a few hours ago. You suck on the inside of your cheek, wishing the mints hadn't all been swallowed by now. Even as you try to walk faster than him ever so slightly, he seems to set the pace. Slow, methodical, calculated. The first thing you notice when you get to the room is the large window overlooking the rest of the Moment, sprawling buildings disappearing into the edge of the dreamscape. Large billboards painted in shimmering hues of gold display women in ornate jewelry, displaying dazzling watches and rows upon rows of pearls. You've never seen a Penaconian skyline that didn't have its fair share of advertisements, in all truthfulness—Every instance of gold and ochre like another glinting set of eyes watching you as you go about your day. Sunday approaches behind you, his hand resting on one of your shoulders.

"Don't you want to sit down?" he asks. You initially think to protest, but before you can even process it you're already in his lap, a lone wooden chair pulled out from the room's lounging area to sit in front of the window. Your eyes switch between glancing out at the billboards, then your knees, then somewhere in the middle distance. His voice takes on a honey-like quality that it usually only shows a hint of, whispering things in your ear that you accept so easily... because they almost sound like music. A low, deep harmony.

"I hope you know, [Y/N]," he speaks against the back of your neck, fingers dancing through your hair. "That when everything is said and done, I don't just consider you an employee. I consider you a friend."

His other hand goes to rest on your hip. You're still not sure what to make of it—Maybe you just don't want to accept the answer. This hot, churning feeling begins to twist just below your stomach, slowly growing bigger and bigger.

"O-of course, Mr. Sunday. Thank you, Mr. Sunday."

What would please him more: For you to drop the formality, or to keep it even as you're eventually moaning it? Sunday isn't entirely sure, but he lets the thought percolate while he continues to play with your hair. You sink your head back into his touch, and your whole body moves in response: Pressing up against him in a way he would kill for.

He cannot control himself any longer. For the briefest moment, he drops all pretense.

"Hike up your dress, [Y/N]."

Once you realize what he means by it, your hands have already shifted the hem halfway up your thighs. This is your boss. You can't be doing this. You'd only be proving people right this way.

...But what would he do if you said no?

The skeptic in you gives in, clinging onto the reasoning that you have no choice anyways. Hell, in the most pessimistic light, you might get a promotion out of this.

The tent in his pants pokes between your thighs like a cattle brand, hot and stiff. You clasp your knees together, but the choice works against you: the way your thighs press against the intrusion, the way the pooling cyprine leaks onto his pants. If you had any hope of convincing him (or yourself) to stop, it was long gone. You hear Sunday let out a groan, a gloved hand petting one of your thighs.

"You can keep a secret... can't you?"

There's nothing else for you to say. You stare at the floor, your face burning bright red.

"Of course, Mr. Sunday."

"...I've dreamed of doing this."

His hand moves with a particular confidence as it slips between your thighs, a single finger tracing that hidden bundle of nerves.

"It's awful," he pouts, his touch slowing to a crawl, "How often I convinced myself I could be satisfied with so little. Yet as I indulged myself with your presence further and further, I could not find satiation." The way his fingers gently pass over you cause you to jump in his lap, and he only sighs again, wrapping his other arm around your waist to keep you still. "Oh, how I betray myself."

The pace of his fingers quickens again, and you stop to think—Promotion? What in Aeon's name would you even be promoted to? What rung on the corporate ladder was there above Secretary to a Family Head (other than being a Head yourself, which was obviously out of the question), and what difference would it make if he changed your title to Personal Assistant or something of that ilk?

Well, there was no point in asking that question. You knew the answer. A promotion was clearly on the horizon—it just wasn't a corporate one.

His fingers breach through, and Sunday gasps as if he himself is being penetrated, not the other way around. What first seems to simply be Sunday readjusting himself in his seat eventually becomes a slow, desperate grinding of his hips, thrusting them up into your own as his fingers continue their work of spreading you open. Two, then three, then four. His head spins at the sensation of syrupy fluid coating his knuckles, as if even touching it is enough to get him drunk. Hissing out a minced oath under his breath, Sunday rips off his stained glove and plunges his fingers in again, practically dry humping you in his lap once he can truly feel the way you clench around his hand.

"Oh, you're perfect," he exhales. "Aeon forgive me for what I want to do to you, [Y/N]. The things you do to me... How badly I needed this." He starts to direct his huffing into your shoulder. "Come for me, [Y/N]—Right on my palm. Ruin me, I beg you."

"Mr. Sunday," you heave, the words forcing themself past your wobbling lip even as you bite it shut. "I—"

"[Y/N]," he whimpers. "Please." You clasp both your hands over your mouth when you finally reach release, throwing your head back with a muffled cry. Your heart continues to race so hard that it makes you dizzy, the sound thumping in your ears. Sunday, too, starts to heave in tandem, and you feel the sheen of sweat on his cheeks as he sloppily plants kisses on the back of your neck. As he catches his breath, Sunday's eyes glance around the room warily. He notices the pitcher of water on the countertop (a complimentary convenience typical for this specific hotel, and the main reason he chose this one to begin with), and resolved to dump it on his lap. Not to wash off any of his and your release currently sticking your laps together and staining his trousers, of course—But simply as a convenient excuse. He'd only been attending to his wonderful secretary, his treasured secretary, when the water was spilled as he filled a glass for you. ...Or maybe spilling it over his head and saying he had to dive into a fountain to valiantly save you from some ne'er-do-well would be more reasonable? Catching stray bullets with his hand to keep his darling safe and the like?

Your orgasm had all but knocked you unconscious, your half-lidded gaze unable to focus on the flashing lights and colors out the open window. The two of you must have been twenty, thirty stories off the ground, far from anyone spotting your little tryst. You slump back into Sunday's chest, rolling your head backwards as you mumble a weak "Mr. Sunday..." "Thank you for indulging me, my dear," is all he responds with, scooping you up off his lap and bringing you to the room's bed. Once you are draped in the bed's covers, you quickly fall asleep, with the night's events sure to become a hazy memory.

Sunday sighs contentedly to himself. In a final moment of trangression, he takes his soiled glove into his mouth for a brief moment to savor that which stains it. He can only hope—no, be certain of the fact that—the endless dream he searches to blanket this world in will be to your every liking. ...With you by his side, no doubt.

It wouldn't need mention just yet, but for your marriage to him to be the first union blessed by Ena THEMSELVES..?

Why, what could be better? --- a/n: when looking back through some of his lines, i thiiiink sunday uses aeon as the singular? correct me if I'm wrong on this lolol. feedback is always appreciated, especially regarding pacing! criticize me to hell and back y'all I want to write better smut :,) tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd

[allie-campbell-bradshaw]

Chapter 11: Serenade

A/N: Good God I am in LOVE with these two! It��s here folks. Brallie is HERE!!!! There are two songs that Bradley sings during this chapter. For the best effect, please play these songs as you are reading that part of the chapter. You will know when they come! I have also added a “Brallie Playlist” in the master list. Check it out whenever you want! I mention this in my notes for every chapter, but just in case you missed it– I do not give permission for my work to be re-posted without credibility. If you do want to post this story to your page, please be sure that you tag my account or at least mention its original source in your post. 

Also: This story is sequential…please go back and read my other chapters, in order, for the best results!

Again, thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Swearing (it is the navy after all)

Jerry Lee Lewis - Would You Take Another Chance On Me (1971) - YouTube

8675309 Jenny Jenny - YouTube

Chapter 11: Serenade

ALLIE’S POV

Friday evening was here before I knew it. I looked at myself through my full-length white mirror that was sitting on the wooden floor in the corner of my bedroom. The outline of the mirror was white wood, matching the headboard of my twin-sized bed. I hadn’t gotten around to doing laundry yet, so the floor was quite messy. Not “dirty” messy, just a few piles here and there. Not to mention all of the science books that were scattered around everywhere. The messiest area of my room was my dresser, which had piles of stuff all over it. Makeup, hair essentials, jewelry, and my music box.

I was wearing my seersucker 1960’s designed sleeveless shirtwaist dress as well as my deep red sweater. My hair was pinned up in victory rolls and I had a red flower in at the side that matched the color of my sweater. I was a sucker for the 1940’s-60’s and dressed in that style whenever I could, which was hardly ever!

I walked over to my dresser and grabbed my white kate spade cross shoulder bag before making my way downstairs and grabbing my car keys off the table. “By mom, by daddy!” I yelled politely, letting them know that I was leaving.

“Hold it young lady!” My dad said as he kicked down the recliner of his big brown chair and made his way over to me, he was still in his navy service khakis. I rarely ever see him in anything else. This man was always in full-military-mode, ready to pounce at any second. I turned to him, ready to answer the shower of questions I knew I was going to get. “Where are you going?" he interrogated.

“Out.” I responded shortly. The look on his face told me that that was not enough for him. It never was, “To Acton Cove with Kiera and Holly”. I gave more details, with a slightly annoyed tone in my voice. I was 21…I didn’t need to be vetted every day. 

“Are you going to be joined by any boys”? Daddy asked with a suspicious tone in his voice.

“Daddy,” I said softly. He knew full well how uninterested I was in boys at the moment. In fact, I always had been uninterested, definitely less than average for a woman my age. In high school, I had casual flings that would lead to a date or two, but no serious boyfriend. Ever.

“Okay,” He said, giving me permission for departure, “Be back by 11”. He added, still giving me ridiculous curfews.

“Okay, daddy.” I agreed as I grabbed my car keys, rolling my eyes slightly, wanting nothing more than to just avoid conflict at the moment. I swear, he still sees me as a little girl in pigtails.

I made my way out the door and towards my red Audi RS 3, looking over at the sun that was setting on the horizon. There was only about an hour of sunlight left. I rolled my eyes, knowing that I would spend a majority of the remaining sunlight in the car on my way to get the girls. I lived on the outskirts of Annapolis, closer to Parole than the Naval Academy, which was right on Chesapeake Bay. Acton Cove was right next to the bay, and a common bar for midshipmen and women to go to on the weekends.

As I drove to Kiera and Holly’s my mind continued to shift in multiple directions. From the song on the radio, to surgical terminology, to my parents, to THE patient. Bradley Bradshaw was by far the standout this week. His charm, his sarcasm, his wit, his muscles, his-SHUT THE FUCK UP ALLIE. I yelled to myself in my head, he wasn’t even that cute. That’s a lie, my mind called out to my dishonesty. 

I was trailing back to his face when my left hand landed on my horn, not to signal to Holly and Kiera that I was there, but more so to yell at my distracted brain. What the hell was that about? I thought to myself as I snapped back into my reality.

Holly and Kiera ran out of their condo and into my car, Kiera taking the front seat and Holly taking the backseat directly behind me.

“Jesus, Jesus, we’re here!” Kiera commented as she got into her seat.

“Sorry,” I apologized sincerely, “I was distracted”.

“By what,” Kiera said sarcastically, “All the cars in front of you”...She gestured to their garage that was illuminated by my headlights. There was nothing in the driveway but me.

“No,” Holly interjected flirtatiously, “By her loverboy”.

As I put the car in reverse, I looked over at Kiera and saw a huge illuminating smile on her face. I looked over at Holly to find the same as I made my way out into the street and on route to the bar. “What?!” I asked.

Both of them let out a giggle. “Nothing” Kiera answered smoothly, looking out the window and at the now black sky that was littered with stars.

I rolled my eyes and let out a soft sigh, “Oh,” I started, realizing who they were talking about, “I literally have no idea what ideas you guys have, but there is NOTHING going on between me and Bradley”.

“Who?” They both asked simultaneously. 

I let out a deep breath, not realizing that they didn’t know his name, “The bet guy”. I answered them.

“Oh,” Holly said in the back. “Houston, we have a name.”

“You two are so annoying” I clapped back, as I kept my eye on the road.

“Oh, we know!” Kiera said before changing the subject, “Thank you for coming out with us tonight”.

I smirked as I turned left, halfway to my destination.

“You look good!” Holly complimented.

“Thanks” I responded.

“Like a cute little 1960’s pin-up doll”. 

Kiera and I both gasped at her comment “Holly Nickleson!” I yelled, letting out loud spurts of laughter. I wasn’t actually upset. I appreciated Holly’s commentary–most of the time.

“Bradley is one lucky man,” she shot back, which a large smirk on her face as she looked out her window.

“Would you stop it!” I said, leaving my amused tone in my voice so she knew I wasn’t actually mad, but I was getting a little annoyed at her not dropping the subject.

“Oh, come on Allie. He’s cute!” She exclaimed.

“No he’s not,” I contradicted her, stealing a glance at her in my rearview mirror. She had an ‘all too knowing’ look on her face, like she knew something I didn’t. The only problem was, there was nothing more to know.

“And why do you say that?” Kiera questioned genuinely. Looking over at me as we kept driving.

“Because,” I said, pausing what I was saying as I searched for the right words. I was speechless. I couldn’t give her an adequate reasoning, “He’s not my type”.

“Allie honey,” Holly said from the back, “You have to date to have a type”.

“For real,” Kiera interjected, “you’re not gonna find anyone if you don’t look”.

“That’s the whole idea” I pointed out, “I’m not going to date until after medical school”.

“Oh that’s right” Holly said sarcastically, “medical students can’t date”.

“Oh yeah, I forgot” Kiera interjected comedically.

“It’s not that I can’t date,” I answered, “it’s that I don’t want to. Especially to guys like that!”

“Like what?” Kiera asked.

“You know…” I said, trying to find words to describe him.

“Exactly” Kiera fired back, “There’s nothing wrong with him”.

“He’s so much better than that Simon guy” Holly said, rolling her eyes as she remembered all about Simon Powell.

“Don’t remind me!” I shot back in disgust. 

“Oh Allie, I’ll write to you every day” Holly mocked the sound of his voice.

Kiera joined in; “It’ll be like I never left”.

All three of us at the same time shot up and finished Simon’s statement; “You’re the girl for me”.

“Shit,” Kiera said, looking over at the lights of the bar as we pulled in, “Some men deserve hell”.

“If every man I ever dated was in hell-” Holly started

“Then they’d be over capacity!” I interrupted her as I put my car in park and made my way out.

“Why you little-!” Holly said as she and Kiera both made their way out as well. All three of us were laughing as we looked up at the sign of the bar, Missing in Acton, which was a clever name considering a majority of their patrons are affiliated with the military. The parking lot was fuller than usual, with a lot of men and women in various uniforms, and some without, that were walking around the lot. The bar is made of tan cedar shingles, which look a lot like wood. The roof was flat, with a lighter shade of tan covering the shingles. The main entrance of the bar had no windows, but the walls on the side and back of the bar were practically covered with glass from top to bottom. It was truly breathtaking, and all three of us were taking that in.

All three of us were taken aback at a wolf whistle that came from a military man as he and two other men made their way into the bar. “You look fine today ladies!”

I rolled my eyes and looked over at Kiera, who also didn’t look amused.

“Sorry boys!” Holly yelled back, “The girl in red is taken!”

I gave Holly a friendly punch as an airy giggle left my body.

“What?” She asked innocently, “You are!”

We all exchanged laughs as we made our way into the bar sitting down in a dark green covered booth that was directly to the right of the door. It was a round 8-seater booth. I loved this spot, because men that came in would look directly forward to find their next target, and not waste time looking over their shoulder.

I smirked at them and slid into the dark green covered booth, finally noticing what the girls were wearing: Holly was in a purple dress and sweater, of the same style as mine. That was my favorite thing that we had in common. Kiera was in a lime green knit sweater and jeans. No matter what the temperature was outside, this woman was always cold. She had dangly gold earrings on.

Holly got up, offering to buy the first round, which for us, was always the same–Kiera was gin in tonic with a lime, I was a rum sour, Holly was a vodka cran.

I rested my hands on the table, looking over my right shoulder at Kiera who was beaming, obviously too excited that I was here. “So,” she began, and then froze. She was not used to the fact that I was here. We were both stuck in continuing the conversation.

“I’m surprised it’s ‘open campus’,” I yelled over the music that was blaring from the jukebox, looking around at all of the naval students that were filling in the bar. Actually, I was not surprised that it was an open campus weekend. Most weekends during the school year were, but I was just surprised to see this many of them here. 

Kiera looked at me, smirked and then brought her finger up to her mouth as if to choke herself. I laughed hard at her response. Kiera was as tired of the men as I was. She had her fair share of men that hit on her, but it was far less than me.

Holly came back with the drinks in her hand. “Hey, do you two mind if I invite those men over here?” She asked, signaling over to three guys at the bar, the same guys that were whistling at us outside.

I looked at them and then at Holly, making it clear that I was not interested myself. I leaned over the table so I was in earshot of her, who was anxiously waiting for my response. “Knock yourself out”, I whispered to her. She beamed at my blessing and did a sort of gallop back over to them, looking way too excited for what I could tell they had to offer.

Within a few seconds, they were coming over to our booth. The one that wolf whistled had a buzz cut, his hair seeming to be a deep shade of blonde. He had blue eyes and was very built, his muscles toned in his service khakis. Holly was all over him like a bad rash. What made me the most upset, was that his eyes were directly on me, I shrunk slightly at the uncomfortable gaze I got from him.

Holly turned her attention from the guy to the table, “This is Kiera and Allie” Holly said, pointing to us as she introduced our names. Kiera gave a polite acknowledgement and a wave. I, on the other hand, only gave them a slight smirk, making my disinterest the most clear.

“Kiera is a nurse here at the Academy. She’s from Manhattan.” Holly said, in an impressive tone although Kiera’s accomplishments were the bare minimum of what one would expect from someone. 

“And Allie here is in a complicated situation,” Holly began with a twinkle in her eye, “she’s in love!”

“Wait, really?” The buzz cut man asked, a look of concern that matched what one would look like if their vet told them that they had to put their dog down.

“Hardly” I said, as I brought my straw to my lips, taking a sip of my drink.

“Well then,” another man said, a brunette with a side swoop of hair. Less muscular, but taller than the buzz cut man. Obviously way more friendly, “Until I see a ring on that finger, I’m not gonna quit”. He said as he slid into the booth, sitting next to me on my left side.

I tensed up at his approach and he looked at me with concern, scooting back a little bit. His care for consent was incredibly refreshing. 

The other man that was with them was also a brunette. His hair was fuller than the other, and unlike the green eyes that that guy had, he had brown. He slid in to the spot on my right. Holly followed him and the buzz cut guy same in after her. Kiera opted to sit next to the polite guy to my left.

Holly then introduced them as Ben, Oliver, and Patrick. Ben was the nice one, Oliver the quiet one, and Patrick the one I already hated.

We were now all settled and participating in small talk to get to know everyone. They now all knew that we were nurses and we found out that they were all fresh out of the academy, stationed here in Annapolis at the Undersea Warfare Center. Ben was very apologetic about making me feel uncomfortable, and kept asking how he could make it up to me.

We had just started to talk about me going to medical school, thanks to Holly’s interjection of the fact, when Kiera interrupted us, “Ho-Ly-Crap” she said, emphasizing every syllable. She was looking ahead and all 5 of us followed her gaze.

No.

Absolutely not.

Please don’t have this be true.

Holly’s mouth was wide open, and she looked over at me first, my eyes were still locked on his, but I could now see all 6 eyes on me, the men already figuring out that this was the guy Holly claimed I was in love with.

He was slowly walking over to us. He was in a blue hawaiian shirt with the leaves printed in white, the shirt was open and he had a white wife beater on underneath, khaki shorts, and aviators over his eyes. The only qualities that gave him away at being Bradley was the ace wrap around his right hand and the fact that he had the audacity to approach me.

I looked over my shoulder at Ben and crossed my arms that were resting on the table. I brought my head down and muttered “save me” under my breath, but I’m not sure he did, because he just sat there as observant as the rest.

I first felt the shadow of Bradley over me, before looking to find him at the edge of the table, which was only a few feet away from me. He slowly took off his sunglasses and put them on the nape of the wife beater. “Allie” he said, greeting me with no expression on his face. However, he did have an amused tone in his voice.

I looked at him and raised my eyebrows so as to show him that he had my attention. He looked down and noticed my empty drink, I looked over at his hands and noticed a bottle of beer was in his left hand. I brought my gaze back to his face and a second later, he returned his. “Can I buy you a beer?”

“No,” I said, in a slightly rude tone, but I was just so over this man at this point.

He looked down defeated before Ben chimed in, “Allie, do you want to finish the rest of my beer”?

I looked at him, still holding onto my poker face, but very much impressed with how well he can read a room.

I looked up at Bradley as I grabbed the half-full glass from Ben. “I’d love to” I said, keeping my eyes on Bradley as I chugged the rest of the beer in the glass with ease.

BRADLEY’S POV

I watched in amazement as Bradley chugged down this random ass man’s beer. Who the fuck does he think he his? But more importantly, how is she able to drink beer that smoothly? That was not something I ever expected from anyone, regardless of if they were a woman or not.

“Are you gonna stand on your tiptoes too?” I asked Allie amused at my Titanic reference to when Rose is down at the party with Jack. The whole booth looked at me confused and I broke my gaze from her to suffer the embarrassment on my own.

I raised my injured hand, sporting the ace wrap that she gave me a day ago. “I’m feeling much better,” I reported to her, hoping to change the tone at the table.

“Hmm” she responded, growing her smirk a little more while she tilted her head, as if to acknowledge my comment. She still had her eyes off of me.

I put my bottle of beer down on the table, placed my non-injured hand over the wrap, and slowly pulled the ace bandage off. That is when she looked over, curious as to what my actions were implying.

“Look, I realize that the bet was very vile and stupid-”

“It was completely vile and stupid!” she interrupted.

“Regardless, I would like to negotiate my own bet”.

She rolled her eyes at this and crossed her arms back onto the table, slouching as she looked over at me. She was gorgeous! “Do I have to sit here and read your brain too?” she snapped.

I jolted at her comment, snapping back into focus as she pierced me with her hazel eyes. “Uh, sorry,” I apologized to her before continuing, “I would like to bet that I can make you laugh within the next 20 minutes”. She looked at me with her eyebrows furrowed, “Look, I know I’m an asshole. Hell, I deserve every insult you can throw at me. But I truly believe I can make you laugh. Like genuinely laugh…not just a sympathy giggle. I mean a full on smile and belt of laughter.”

She looked down at the table, amused at my confidence in my new negotiations. “And if I don’t?” She asked, bringing her gaze back to me.

“Then I’ll leave you alone”. 

“Deal!” She said, almost immediately, with an extreme deadpan look on her face. Holy shit, what did I just get myself into?

I could do nothing but smirk at her as I fully embraced the challenge I had just created. I found myself getting lost in her eyes as she searched into mine, looking confused as to what I was doing. “You have 19 minutes and 30 seconds left” she said, unenthused as ever. 

I snapped back into it and smiled bright at the table, “Okay then!” I exclaimed with high enthusiasm as I took a step back, clearing a space for this perfect plan that I had just concocted, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I said to Allie, pointing my finger at her as I got ready for this performance of a lifetime.

I looked over my left shoulder and found an empty chair at a table where two military service members were sitting. “Excuse me.” I said to them as I drug the chair over to my place a few feet away from my target. 

I stood up on the chair and looked around the room, clearing my voice, “Excuse me! Excuse me ladies and gentlemen,” everyone got quiet and the song on the Jukebox was shut down, “I would just like to announce to everyone that this woman and I are going to get married!” I motioned over to Allie, who immediately had a panicked look on her face. She covered her face with her hands as she grew a flaming red of embarrassment.

All of the students from the academy rolled their eyes at my exclamation, knowing full well the reputation that Allie had with rejection. All of the older military men and women looked excited, not fully getting the joke that I had intended, either way, it was fun to just go along with it!

“And what better way to celebrate this engagement,” I added, “than by serendating to my one and only Allie…” I looked at her, carrying out the last vowel of her name, making it clear that I forgot her last name for a moment.

“Campbell!” She snapped, with a look of shock that I forgot her identity.

“Campbell!” I responded, with too much confidence. Now the other military service members looked confused and slightly unenthused at what was happening, figuring out that it was all a joke. “Campbell. Campbell…chicken noodle soup” I muttered silently so only a few people around me could hear.

This caused her friends, especially the one in the purple dress, to laugh. Allie rolled her eyes at my lameness.

I pointed to one of the midshipmen that was standing by the jukebox in his service khakis, “Haniman,” I cued to him, remembering his last name from our Cyber Security class, “Please play track 5”.

There was a moment of silence as James Haniman, one of my classmates, got the correct track to play. During that time, someone in the back of the bar cleared their throat and let out a cough, while others gave into the embarrassed giggles. Allie’s mouth was part way open, with a look on her face that was a mix of being flabbergasted and confused…as though she didn’t know if she should be embarrassed or not.

Jerry Lee Lewis’s Take Another Chance on Me started playing. A perfect song given the circumstances of what Allie and I had been through these past 2 weeks. 

I made sure to sing this song as off key as I could and even stuttered over some of the lyrics, wanting to make this as bad as possible: 

“If I promise you to straightin' up and put my life in order”

 I got down from the chair and started making my way over to her. As if it wasn’t possible, Allie’s face was completely red from all sorts of embarrassment.

If I swear to you woman on bendin' knees I won't hurt you again 

At “bendin’ knees, I got down on my knees at the end of the booth, my arms up as if I was begging to Allie, whose breath was heavy.

If I become the kind of man that you want me to be

Would you take another chance on me?”

At this point, a lot of people in the bar were cheering out of sympathy and laughing at the pathetic fool that they thought I was making of myself. I knew what I was doing though. I looked over at Allie, who was smiling and laughing with wide eyes at the embarrassed moment that I had just handed to her. YES! I had done it, but I was not even close to ending this show for everyone. I stood up from the floor and started walking around the section of the bar that we were already in, singing to other people and grabbing their hands as we failed in pitch together.

“The good lord knows I've done you wrong I've asked him to forgive me

Deep inside I think he would if you could do the same” 

I jumped back onto the chair and pointed to Allie as I finished the song, who was still in a fit of laughter.

“If I could take back all the things that caused you misery

Would you take another chance on me?”

The room was filled with singing, laughter, and words of embarrassment, which had standing-room-only at this point. There were various whoops and hollers from people around the bar, but my eyes were glued on just one person, who was coming down off of her laughter and amusement.

“Miss Holly,” I said directed towards her friend, but still kept my eyes on Allie, “Could you please write your friends’ number on a piece of paper for me?”

“No!” I heard Allie object as Holly got out a marker from her purse and wrote on a white square napkin. “Holly!” Allie screamed as she reached over for the napkin, which she couldn’t grab thanks to the barrier of the table. I quickly grabbed the paper from Holly.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me forever,” I said to Allie as I put the napkin in the front pocket of my jeans. “And now, for the grand finale”! I jumped down from the chair and unplugged the jukebox that was loudly playing. I got a few “boos” from the crowd for my actions, but I didn’t give a shit. I grabbed my aviators which were still sitting on the edge of the old run-down piano in the back of the bar and looked over at Allie, who was watching me with more dread than ever.

I placed my hands over the keys and played a few notes to show people that I was actually musically talented with this instrument. 

I looked over at Haniman, who was standing next to the piano. He had been a regular here for a few weeks, so he knew the entertainment he was about to witness. “Wanna help me out”? I asked him, as I started to play some cords to the next song.

James went over to the corner and grabbed the electric guitar that was already plugged in. We made eye contact before we started playing the first few bars of 86753o9.

I looked over my shoulder at Allie as the song began, making sure that I was in perfect pitch and rhythm this time.“Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to? You gave me something I can hold on to”. 

I went back over to James and we played the rest of the first verse perfectly, as though we had rehearsed this bit before, but we had not.

I know you'll think I'm like the others before

Who saw your name and number on the wall

By the time of the chorus, people that were around us joined in; “86753o9”.

Jenny I've got your number

I need to make you mine

Jenny don't change your number

Eight six seven five three oh nine

Eight six seven five three oh nine

Eight six seven five three oh nine

Eight six seven five three oh nine

Before I knew it, the song was at the last chorus, and the entire bar was dancing and singing to the lyrics, including Allie:

Eight six seven five three oh nine (five three oh nine)

Eight six seven five three oh nine (five three oh nine)

Eight six seven five three oh nine (five three oh nine)

Eight six seven five three oh nine (five three oh nine)

When we were done, everyone roared in applause. I was sweating all over, panting hard as I came down from the musical high that I was on. 

I looked over at the people who were clapping and did a little gig to soak in all of the congratulatory applause that I was receiving for my showcase.

I turned around and made eye contact with Allie, who was completely amazed from what she had just witnessed. I walked over to her, smirking, as I took off my aviators and put them on the booth she was at. “Take a walk with me” I said to her, gentle and smirking into her twinkling eyes.

“Sure” she said, slightly nodding her head and smirking wide at me, returning the flirtatious gaze that I was giving her.

[musicboxattic1]

Gift Ideas for Women That Will Change Your Gifting Choice Forever

Choosing a perfect gift for any occasion is quite a task, especially when you are busy in a celebratory mood. Picking delicate gifts for women for their wedding, or anniversary, or giving a present to your beloved mom on Mother's Day becomes a dilemma. However, there are unique gift ideas that can not only help you make your choice look different but also provide you ease of ordering the gift instantly with more personalization options.

Let’s have a look at some amazing gift ideas to suit various occasions.

Music Theme Grand Piano

This unique gift is for a wedding, anniversary, housewarming, or anyone who loves to soak in the melodies. With 18 note movement, this musical piano gift can be personalised by choosing songs of your liking. A painted base features the musical water with a snow globe. This luxury gift also makes a great Christmas gift, featuring 12 Days of Christmas songs.

This lavish grand piano has a glass dome showcasing a meticulously crafted miniature black/gold piano with musical notes flying around. This musical piece also makes a unique housewarming gift to fill the house with enchanting tunes. The base of the piano showcases a piano keyboard with gold accents throughout with four legs and a separate bench decked in gold.

Photo Frame Musical Jewelry Box

Crafted from wood, the jewellery box is designed with an 18-note movement and a variety of song options. You can choose song titles to personalise your experience. This unique gift jewellery box is a sophisticated piece featuring a photo frame on the top. It makes a perfect keepsake for a wedding, anniversary, birthday, or bridal shower.

Available in custom size, the photo frame jewellery gift box has a hi-gloss Macassar finish, with a look of spectacular Ebony wood. The interior is designed with velvet for a more lavish decoration. This musical jewellery box has a compartment and horizontal ring rolls; making this box the best gift for engagement, birthday and Valentine’s Day.

Miniature Piano Music Box

This grand piano music box is designed in the shape of a piano and also comes with a piano stool; offering a realistic look. It is made to produce an amazing 18-note musical sound. This miniature grand piano music box offers custom options to choose from many songs like Daddy's Little Girl. It makes a great gift for baby girls, bridal shower, or wedding ceremony.

This miniature replica of the piano has four legs with gold overlay, creating an opulent feel. With intricate details, the piano gift box features pedals, strings, piano keys, and wheels. It has a moveable fall with a cover, casters, stool, lid & lid prop. This miniature wooden piano has a painted finish and includes a matching bench.

Cross and Dove Musical Jewelry Box

This musical jewellery box features a harmonious cross with a dove, intricately carved with gold. The wooden jewellery box has four legs on the corners. With all-over gold overlays, the box offers storage for earrings, rings, watches, or other small precious items.

It is designed for an 18-note musical sound with an assortment of personalised songs to choose from. This harmonious handcrafted cross gift makes a great Christmas keepsake and Santa’s gift. The attractive wood inlay artwork is carefully carved by skilled artisans from Sorrento, Italy.

For making your present special Music Box Attic offers exquisitely handcrafted musical gift boxes. Make your gift unique in the crowd of ordinary gift boxes!

[tourismguideqatar]

What to buy in Doha? An Incredible Compilation of best gifts to buy in Qatar

No one can deny that Qatar is a rich Middle East country having specialties that any traveler would like to bring back with them after their stay. Qatar, with its stunning scenery from the sea to the desert, eye-catching skyscrapers, gorgeous mosques, state-of-the-art museum architecture, and delicious food, has exclusive tall shopping malls and Souqs (traditional markets). The famous market in Qatar for shopping is Souq Waqif. This article will be a treat if you to know What are the Best Gifts to Buy in Doha, Qatar for your friends and family. Below is the compilation of the best gifts to take home with you:

What Best Gifts to Buy in Doha

1. Qatari Pearls

Qatar has a long history of being known for its pearling banks, which harbor the growth of the best-known pearls in the world. There are a lot of jewelry shops selling Qatari pearls. Pearls have always been a natural gift of the Middle East. For sophisticated women and ladies, nothing compares to wearing a piece of elegant, designed pearl-embedded jewelry. If you are fond of jewelry, Qatar is the best place to buy it!

2. Sweet Treats

How can someone forget to take sweet treats for your loved one? The cherry on top of the meal is the sweets. Qatari sweets have a unique flavor of their enriched culture in them. Visitors must undoubtedly relish these exquisite desserts essential to Qatari cuisine. Their traditional desserts are Umm ALI, Kunafah, Basbosa, Muhallabia, etc. The famous sweets you can buy in Qatar for your loved ones are Khanfaroosh, Qatayef, and a wide range of Baklava. Also, don’t forget to buy some chocolate, pistachio, and nutty dates from home. Trying their traditional desserts is a must!

3. Fragrance

The national scent of Qatar is oud. You can smell the lovely, smoky aroma everywhere you walk, from homes and cars to souks, hotels, and shopping centers. Oud, also called “Wood of the Gods” is a musical instrument made from the sticky heartwood of the rare agarwood tree. You must buy oud perfumes for your family.

How can one forget Qatar’s famous “Bukhoor”? A fragrant wood called bukhoor is frequently used in Qatar to produce traditional incense. After slicing it into small pieces, a pot filled with hot coals is filled with wood. As soon as the coals are fired, the Bukhoor gives forth a lovely aroma. They are fabulous souvenirs. If you are visiting Qatar, a Bukhoor pot is an ideal gift to buy in Qatar for anyone you know who appreciates Qatar.

4. Decorative Wooden Boxes

Beautifully crafted wooden boxes are among the best traditional Qatari artifacts. The ornamental wooden boxes are stunning and practical for storing more miniature goods like pearls, jewelry, etc. They are also the best decoration pieces. You can customize it by adding some jewelry or chocolates to make it a perfect gift. They are available in many sizes and forms. You can get them at Souq Waqif and various shopping centers in Doha.

5. Scarves and Shawls

The ideal Qatari gifts are scarves and pashminas. Qatari shawls and scarves come in a range and are beautiful, elegant, and diverse. In the winter, pashminas are a fantastic way to stay warm. They are woven from delicate wool known as “fine cashmere wool” and are renowned for their enduring warmth in traditional market.

Also, the variety of scarves is wide. They are smaller and can be used as a wrap, although pashminas are typically larger. Why not get a pashmina or scarf as a memento of your trip to Qatar because the country is known for its delicate fabrics? If you are visiting Qatar, you must buy these.

6. Arabian lamps

Why not light someone’s room with a beautiful and elegant Arabian lamp? Undoubtedly, Arabian lights are lovely and give any personal space a dreamy and enchanted feel. The smaller hanging lights are less expensive and simpler to get home. But you could be tempted to invest in a lovely metal-base swan-neck table lamp. Whichever option you select, be careful when packaging because all the lights are pretty fragile. They should ideally be transported in your hand luggage. You can get your hands on them from Souq waqif in any shopping mall.

7. Dry fruits and nuts

Wait! While taking other gifts, why not give your loved ones a nutritious gift? In Qatar, there are wide different varieties of dry fruits that offer a wide range of nutrients. Some are scrumptious, while others have medicinal qualities. They can be utilized in various ways and are simple to handle because they are dry. The famous dry fruits in Qatar are almonds, pistachio, cashew, apricot, walnuts, dates, prunes, figs, hazelnut, etc. A wide range of dry fruit varieties is available in local markets. Gift your loved one to add macronutrients to their lives.

8. Arabic coffee and traditional arabic coffee pot

If you want to take back the rich culture of the Middle East, how can you miss Arabic coffee? Arabic coffee is a universal welcome expression due to its potent cardamom flavor and yellow, tea-like consistency. It is often served in Qatari Majlis. You can take home an Arabic coffee mix, and whenever you miss Qatar’s rich culture, arrange a similar Majlis in your home and enjoy the aroma of the Middle East. It is the best thing to buy in Qatar. Don’t forget to buy a traditional arabic coffee pot.

9. Al Sadu weavings

The beautiful handwoven fabric called Al Sadu is created from camel and goat hair. Al Sadu fully encapsulates Qatar’s rich history and culture, making it the best souvenirs of Qatar. The Bedouin tribe, nomadic, has been using this weaving technique for thousands of years to make tents, carpets, blankets, and cushions. You can find these traditional handicrafts from the Corniche end of Souq Waqif to find some weavers and a shop selling specific types of Al Sadu Weavings.

10. Qatar’s famous glass art

Qatar has some of the world’s most stunning beaches; it should be no surprise that its sand is as astonishing. The artists from Qatar have converted this sand into beautiful glass art. The elaborate motifs are carved into shards of glass filled with beach sand from Qatar. The result is a magnificent work of art that perfectly depicts Qatar. This is a must thing you should buy in Qatar for your loved ones. These artpieces are available in different shapes.

What to buy at Doha airport?

Doha airport, also known as Al-Hamad International airport, is considered the best-known airport in the world. The lamp bear is the biggest attraction at the airport. The duty-free shops at Doha’s airport are plentiful and will be familiar to any seasoned international visitor. Below are must things you should buy in Hamad International airport in Doha:

· Perfumes

If you want to buy some best fragrances in Qatar, Doha airport is where you can get them. Not only Qatar’s traditional perfumes, but you can also get your hands on international brands. Doha airport has all famous brands such as Gucci, Hugo Boss, Dior, etc. You can get perfumes at the 24-seven convenience stores also.

[bannyraise-blog]

Buy Jewelry Online At Best Price And Designs – Random Creations Buy Jewelry Online: Jewelry is one of the most important accessories when it comes to women’s, and if you want to surprise any girl with a gift, believe me, there is nothing better than a women’s jewelry box, it’s been in our tradition for many years to wear jewelry on occasions and when there is some kind of function and because of that they keep evolving in quality, design, and material, When we talk about jewelry for women there are many things comes in that like necklace, bracelet, earrings, etc.

[leezlelatch]

Music Box

You visit Terzo in the Veneration of the Relics. Terzo x F!Reader, angst, mentions of death, mourning, resurrection. Rated S for Sad. ~2200 words.

You have the music box made after hearing Cirice for the first time. It’s a simple square box, wooden and painted black. Anyone could mistake it for a jewelry box or random knick-knack you keep on your dresser. 

The twinkling tune has become so familiar to you, carrying comfort amongst its cogs and springs. Not so much a rumble that’s calling than a soft voice beckoning you forward. A yearning deep within your heart. 

When Papa Emeritus Terzo died, you put it away. Hid it between habits and clothes deep within a drawer, willing the little thing to disappear into oblivion, to merely stop existing. That gentle melody only serves as a reminder of the life that was halted too quickly before its crescendo. 

Three lives. 

The Veneration of the Relics makes little sense to you. What is a relic but an object? The former Papas on display as mere things to be ogled at when they were people. Powerful men that commanded the Ministry. Eloquent speakers and beautiful singers. Men with hopes and dreams and love for their congregation. A family gone in an instant and humiliated even now. You resent the line of people in the Ministry’s stained glass-lit halls as they wait to enter the chapel to see the new “exhibit” which will be featured at future Rituals as part of the VIP package. It makes you sick to your stomach.

When time draws closer for the Papas to be moved, carted off in trunks bearing their names, it seems like you are the only one left in the Ministry to have not visited the chapel. A gaggle of women and men are often seen crying over the body of the Third. A lone figure stands mournfully over the Second’s. There are flowers left on the top of the First’s glass casket which change every single day although no one sees the person responsible.

Your fellow Siblings of Sin find it to be quite odd, questioning why you won't pay your respects to at least the Third, but you wonder if it is paying respects or contributing to the spectacle? Is it so easy for them to look upon the corpse of a man who smiled and flirted and waltzed around these very halls less than a month ago?

On the night before the tour, you toss and turn in your bed, in the throes of a nightmare. Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, echoes of the past racing around your head. You hear his voice in your ear even now, you see Papa, you see Terzo, kneeling down on the stage, his hand held out to you, drawing you closer, closer, ever closer until you are lost in his gaze. No, no not lost, found. You are found. But he lets go, moving away, and although you call to him, he grows more distant, his image fading. Although you scream for him, he does not turn. Hands wrap around his elbows as he is forced to the ground, and Sister is there, Sister is laughing, and there is a blade, a terrible blade, and…

“NO!” You scream, bolting upright out of bed, your chest heaving. 

You clutch your chest as you shake with sobs, your face tilted toward the ceiling as tears stream down your cheeks, wails of immeasurable pain escaping your lips. 

“Terzo,” you whimper, gasping in a breath that breaks on another sob. “Terzo.” 

Ting!

You pause on a cry, your breath hitching as your eyes search your darkened room for the source of the noise. You slowly unfurl your hands from the death grip on your night dress, and let them lie uselessly in your lap as you stare hollowly at the shadows. Your eyes feel heavy, and you sniffle, allowing your puffy lids to close for a moment, your sorrow far too great to bear. 

And then you hear it again.

Your eyes snap open and find your dresser, the wooden piece imposing in the dark, and you stare with a furrowed brow, sure you recognized that faint, twinkling tune. Your legs slide off the bed and you push the sheets away as in a fog, the floor cold against your bare feet. You move, pushing your toes into the hardwood, trying to ground yourself, your head throbbing from your tears. Shaking fingers move to wrap delicately around the handles of the top drawer, a breath escaping you, ears peeled for that sound. Because surely it couldn’t be. Your mind, lost in a haze of grief, is beginning to crack.

You pull it open with a jerk, and yet nothing jumps out at you. Your various clothing items lie in unmade heaps within the deep drawer, and you laugh humorlessly. You lick your lips and blink down at the contents of the drawer, moonlight filtering through the window framing your silhouette. You push away shirts and underwear, digging, your fingers searching, turning to desperation when you cannot find it for a moment, when you’re sure it has been taken from you just as Terzo - 

And then you find it. Fingertips graze across the cool top of the music box, a gasping breath pushing through your throat as you wrap firmer fingers around it to pull it out. You bring it close to your chest, stepping back a little from the dresser, somehow feeling like a piece of you has finally returned home. Why did you hide me? It whispers. You keep stepping backward until the back of your knees hits the bed and you drop heavily onto the mattress, the smallest noise echoing from the box as you jostle it - just that hint of a note. Cirice. Church. Meliora. The pursuit of something better.

You slowly look up from the music box, your breath coming heavier as your eyes stare toward your door while your heart lies in the chapel. Standing, and uncaring of your current state of undress, your cold fingers wrap around your doorknob, and you step into the hall. Faces of Papas past, clergy members of old watch you from portraits while you walk down the many halls, illumination of reds, greens, and purples caressing your cheeks from the stained glass windows. If anyone were to see you at this moment, they would see someone incredibly determined. Someone who has made a decision, no matter how much it may hurt. The last person to visit the Veneration of the Relics. 

The chapel doors creek open, the noise loud in the quiet of the chapel. A hundred candles light the space, throwing frightening shadows on the wall which curl and beckon to you as you step across the threshold. The glass caskets put a chill through your heart as you see them there in a line before the altar under the watchful gaze of Lucifer Morningstar. One. Two. Three. 

The bells toll high above you, announcing the late hour, announcing your presence before the dead. You walk solemnly forward, the pews having been taken out to provide more space for the mourners, however you remain in the center, walking down the red carpeted aisle, your white nightgown brushing against your legs with every slow step. Your gaze rises to the stained glass which covers the entire back of the sacristy, Papa Emeritus Primo, Papa Emeritus Secondo, and Papa Emeritus Terzo gazing down at you as you approach their earthly bodies. 

Terzo’s casket is surrounded by flowers, wreaths, cards and favors. There are marks of lipstick, of kisses on the glass, and as you step up onto the dais, you cannot help the watery smile that pulls at your tear-stained face. For he was loved. Is loved. Although Papa found it so hard to believe it for himself. You swallow, a chill raising the hairs on the back of your neck as you peer beyond the glass into his resting face. He looks like he could be sleeping, your friend had said. And while his jaw is relaxed, his mouth slack, his eyes closed, you find his expression anything but peaceful. His paints are lined so carefully on his face, and yet your heart burns with the thought that his true identity is forever hidden behind the will of the Clergy. His eyelids look almost sealed together from the heaviness of the black paint, and your fingertips press against the glass so hard the pads turn white, desperately wishing you could wipe it all away. 

“Terzo,” your voice is lost in a crack, and you swallow heavily. You look around helplessly and laugh a little. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Your eyes focus on his hands, folded across his chest, the gold nails reflecting in the candlelight. You always wondered what his hands looked like, what they would feel like wrapped around your own. But that was the crux of it, right? You were never brave enough to approach him like the others did. Really, you didn’t feel like you had the right, or deserved to. He was…he is Papa Emeritus III. What right have you to the Devil’s chosen? 

Your eyes stray to the stone gaze of the Dark Lord, your heart full of doubt. Was this the Devil’s plan? Why allow…

You huff a small, mirthless laugh. 

Isn’t this the same argument you made with God?

Why? Why? Why?

Your eyes turn back to Terzo, unmoving in his eternal rest. 

“I don’t know you, Papa. I made up a story in my head that you were kind, and compassionate, that you cared for your congregation. That behind the mask was a man none of us have the privilege of truly knowing. That each time you flirted, or said something completely ridiculous, it was to hide who was really underneath. And despite the Ghost Project, despite the Papacy, despite the Clergy’s expectations, you wanted to be free. I made up all of that. Because that’s what I needed. I needed to take your hand…”

A tear slips down your cheek, falling onto the casket and sliding like a raindrop down the glass. You take in a shuddering breath, the hand not holding the music box squeezing into a fist. 

“I needed you to tell me that it was going to be okay. I needed you to tell me that I made the right decision. And now…”

You slam your fist onto the top of the glass.

“Now, I don’t know what to believe. Look at what they did to you! Look at what they did to your brothers. This is…this isn’t what I signed up for, this isn’t right! Terzo, this isn’t…”

Your shoulders shake as you cry your agony into the coolness of the chapel. The moonlight cuts through the stained glass and falls on Terzo’s quiet features. You blink through your tears and simply look at him for a while. You smile gently, clutching the music box to your chest for a moment before placing the little box on the top of the glass.

“I had this made after hearing Cirice for the first time. It brought me comfort. I…understand the whole manipulation aspect, believe me,” you laugh. “But…I would have followed you. I suppose I sound unwell. I just wish…I had the courage to thank you for making me feel like I belonged somewhere. For the first time in my life. I wish I could have saved you, Terzo. I’m so sorry for what they’ve done.”

You gently turn the key on the music box and the sweet tinkling of the music box plays over the man who inspired it. You press your forehead to the glass, closing your eyes tightly. 

“Please find peace, Papa. Please be somewhere good. Please be happy,” you whisper, a fervent prayer. 

Stepping back, you look at Papa Secondo and Papa Primo, a sad smile gracing your features.

“All of you.”

You leave the music box playing as you exit the chapel, taking the long walk back to your room to reflect. You remember the first time you came to the Ministry, how nervous you were to attend your first mass. The Papas had seemed so terribly imposing then, but you learned to look closer. Primo occasionally snoozed when he wasn’t giving a sermon. Sometimes you could catch the barest hint of a smile on Secondo’s face when he watched his younger brother preach. And Terzo, Terzo was always so loud and boisterous, arms in the air as if he were ready to draw the entire room into an embrace. His eyes would pass over the congregation, and sometimes, if you were lucky, fall on you. 

You re-enter your bedroom, and slowly slide under your sheets, just staring at the ceiling as you come to accept that those days in the sun were over. Whatever this new Ministry would be, you would face it, as you have with everything else, and hope…hope that you can feel that warmth again.

As your eyes grow heavy, and you allow yourself to fall into slumber, you hear it.

The music box.

Your eyes snap open and find the door to your room slightly ajar, and you realize you didn’t quite latch it when you returned. 

The music box gently plays, growing closer and closer to your door. You remain frozen on the bed, strangely not afraid. 

Strangely happy.

Perhaps those days aren’t over after all.

[aidansloth]

Corroded Coffin Living Together Headcanons

a/n: I thought about this so much, it has occupied my brain indefinitely. By this title I mean that they are living in the same apartment and some of them are going to work and some to college and stuff (they're in their early 20s)

the times they've forgotten that one of them is taking a shower and walked right in on them are countless

"hey Gareth, did you happen to see the red blank- OH MY GOD I'M SORRY"

"EDDIE HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL YOU TO KNOCK"

they have their fun

movie nights are a must

before living together they had constant sleepovers (talked about this with @spookyscarydemonbabe , go check out their posts!) but now, they can have them everyday!!!

though it's not everyday because they also have jobs and stuff to do, they are very frequent

no matter if they're touring with the band or if all have their individual jobs to put them through college or even a stable job (mechanic!Eddie and History Professor!Gareth 👀), they find time to spend together

CAN YOU IMAGINE THE CONSTANT MUSIC IN THAT APARTMENT

all of them playing different metal songs from their individual rooms at full volume

or even when they hear one of the others listening to something they know, they start screaming the song with them through the door

then the other responds by singing even louder

and at that point they just burst right through the door

I'm convinced they share clothes and jewelry/accessories and I will die on that hill

"Grant, I swear to god did you steal my pirate necklace again?" "No, I borrowed your pirate necklace again."

Gareth finally teaches Eddie how to take care of his curls properly

I'm sure Gareth has a lot of knowledge on hair care and skin care routines (just self-care in general) from all those teen magazines his little sisters read with him

now he's using his knowledge for a greater good

at first when they move in they're short on money, so they start decorating it and making it more metal by crafting things (mostly DIY stuff)

stuff like, they painted an old wooden shelf they thrifted black and drew DND dice on it, or getting

if something breaks Eddie and Gareth are the ones to fix it

if it's something like a lightbulb then it's Gareth. but if the freezer broke, it's Eddie's job (appliances breaking were a frequent thing for him at the trailer so Wayne taught him everything he knew)

Jeff is the first to scream at the sight of a bug

Grant ignores Jeff's screams as Eddie tries to save the bug from being killed by Gareth

in the end the bug is safely put on the balcony for it to fly away, with a pouting Gareth and a nearly-had-a-panic-attack-over-a-bug-and-now-checking-every-corner-of-the-house Jeff

if one of them takes someone home after and they're still there the next morning, they are all very respectful

Jeff and Grant are even making everybody breakfast (Eddie can't cook for shit and Gareth can only bake)

sure it'll be a bit awkward but they're good at small talk, and if their friend liked this person they can't be all that bad can they?

I'll take a moment to say I kind of headcanon all of them as bisexual

maybe Jeff has a preference for women and Eddie for men

now, their normal mornings

if this apartment has 4 different bedrooms I'm guessing it's going to have 2 bathrooms

the whole morning is everybody shouting at everybody to get out of the bathroom because they have to get ready

since Gareth taught Eddie how to take care of his hair, he's taking hours in there

Grant is very close to smashing down the bathroom door every morning

Jeff is the best at cooking so he makes breakfast for everyone, if he's not there then Gareth's making pancakes

Eddie would probably just eat cereal out of the box, so any other thing is luxury (same honestly)

Grant is very picky about his breakfast, he needs some protein in there or he'll be without energy for the rest of the day

on that note, the coffee drinkers are Eddie and Jeff, while Grant and Gareth prefer tea

Gareth says he has enough energy from his ADHD

they all have their own slippers, all funny ones with animals and characters (yk the ones with Homer Simpson's face? yeah, like that)

they also have tons of mugs, which are a frequent gift from Wayne (yes he gives presents to all of them for their birthdays and Christmas, he's very grateful that his kid has such amazing friends)

Modern!Corroded Coffin would share a Netflix account

they SAY they watch horror movies but in reality they're watching all the kids shows, like How To Train A Dragon, My Little Pony and Pokémon

even all the Equestria Girls movies, they know all the songs by heart, especially the ones from Rainbow Rock, 'cause yk, the battle of the bands

Gareth has a crush on Astrid (don't we all)

all of them still get advent calendars (full knowing that it's a marketing scheme) and in the morning they all open theirs together

I can't even imagine them during covid quarantine, secluded in one little apartment for the four of them

they would probably have started killing each other

their couch is probably filled with food crumbs, since they often eat on it

some stains too, from spilled sodas

maybe ripped a bit, but it's theirs so it doesn't matter

Grant reminds Gareth to take his ADHD meds because he has the best memory out of the 4

they probably caught Eddie taking a dic pic for Steve☠️

they have videogame nights

because the four of them are already there, most Hellfire nights are hosted in their apartment, meaning they have to hear Steve (Dustin and the others' ride) complain about the mess all the time

pretty sure Erica's also complaining

none of them have ever bought a calendar so they never know what day it si, they just turn on the TV to know at this point

having said that, they also never find the remote

"EDDIE WHERE DID YOU OUT THE FUCKING REMOTE?" "I PUT IT RIGHT THERE ON THE SOFA." "THEN WHY IS IT IN THE FUCKING SHOWER?"

they have treasure hunts every night, they also make a game out of it

whoever finds it first gets to eat most of the microwave popcorn

I'll probably make a part 2 to this in the future, I have SO MANY IDEAS

[yedlihmad]

The Sentimentalist (pt. I)

(cw: violence, mention of torture/physical harm, insects)

There was a tree of memory. It grew wide, tall, and impossibly green. During the day it poured shade over a wooden pavilion in the village of Eryut, and in the middle of that pavilion sat a narrow bench. The bench belonged to Maja. Long ago, the women had built it for her, a place to sit, teach the village children, and listen to the Wood. 

She was their grandmother, maybe. Neither triplet knew for sure. To Rafi, the memory was very old, and made him teary: she was smoothing black clay over their small, blistered hands. In summer Golmore sweltered, but the triplets–Hrudr, Refr, and him, little Hrafn–huddled close; the air smelled hot and woolly, like unwashed hair. The clay felt cool and a bit tingly. Traders had brought it from a place called Isari. They had also brought some fruit that had a bad oil in the rind, which gave all the babies a rash. Beside him, one child complained, “Maja, I don’t like it. It stinks.” Her gnarled voice crept into their ears as she sang. “Serpent, Serpent, take this itch away.”

Her voice, her hands, the tree: she came back to him in that order, always. Her fingers reminded him of oak roots–a cliché likeness, maybe, but one that no child would have spoken out loud. Trees were sacred, like women, above and beyond comparison. Trees gave the Rava everything: shelter, food, water, Mist, guardians, even the air they breathed. And because she so often sat beneath it–and because that generation of the Eryut tribe was strict about preserving nenna–everyone, even the matriarch, called that one Maja’s Tree.

- 🌿 -

Radz-at-Han, six summers ago

“Dazzlingly beautiful.”

Laughter, music, rubies winking through floral smoke. They were on the veranda of his villa, he and Taruna, looking at jewelry and sharing a pipe. The troupe’s new principal needed accouterments for an upcoming performance, and he, taking a sabbatical from the import business, really needed the cash. So he invited her over to pick over some of his latest work. The jewels charmed her; he was charmed that she found them charming. Years ago they had danced together in a different troupe, and she was delighted to have him all to herself again, even for just an hour. Rafi indulged in it. In that big, lonely house, absent of brothers–with Rudi gone, training in Rhalgr’s Reach, and Refr, well; who knew where he’d dragooned off to–it put him at ease to hear a woman laugh. 

“Oh, Rafi,” she sighed, sinking into a cushioned chair. “So sentimental. I never knew.”

“Yes, you did.” He carefully boxed her bracelets, setting them beside her before easing onto a nearby divan. “Remember The Sylph? Your little smile during the développés used to yank my heart right out of my chest.”

“I wish you’d have told me.”

“Wishes and wants.” He glanced skyward. It was a splendid evening; frogs chirped in the silk trees, which were fragrant with pale pink blossoms. Below them hummed the city, huge and sonorous with life. 

Taruna grinned behind the long pipe stem. “Want to see my other new treasure?” He barely had time to say ‘sure’ before she thrust the pipe in his hands, bounding up off the cushions and hiking up her blouse. 

“Slow down,” Rafi groaned, averting his eyes from skin, the oval curve of her breast. But he gasped when he saw her tattoo, a brilliant blue peacock in full feathery display over the slats of her ribs. “Faram’s light,” he said, his awe genuine. “How many days did that take?”

“Two, six hours each.” She shut her blouse with a soft snap. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts after a while?”

He did; on his left cheek were faded markings, a simplistic pyramid of pips and tribal deltas. Hesitantly–he found it irritating to flip a conversation towards oneself–boyishly, he admitted that he’d grown up around women who had some very intricate tattoos.

“Oh?” With slim, quick hands Taruna retrieved the pipe. She leaned back, fitting the mouthpiece between her lips, eyeing him. She could taste a story. “Like what?”

“Well….”

He tried to start off simple: he began with his mother, Bjelke. For protecting the village from a band of Bysnoe raiders she was bestowed a cuff of blackwork around her calves, and to honor her diligence in childbirth she bore three diamonds in a geometric spangle above her hips. Encircling her breasts was a motif of the Serpent, blocky and gold, matching the bigger, older design inked across Maja’s back. That image wandered him into recollections of Maja, the sheer vastness of her; she had wiry, comet-white hair so long that the braids dragged on the ground. Taruna listened, rapt. In the troupe, she had heard plenty of his adventures: about Nagxia, the river journeys, the brittle summers in Rabanastre, scraping out a living. But not the village. Soon he was drifting, rambling without realizing it, pouring out whole ewers of Eryut–the Tree and the warders, the elders and the canopies, the women and the terrors and the nenna and the Mist. 

When he finished, Taruna peered at him. At some point, Pipi the cat had wandered in. Scenting a visitor, he rubbed on her shins. She didn’t seem to notice, and slowly handed Rafi the pipe.

“You really miss them,” she said.

Trying not to cry, he rasped, wholly unconvincingly, “I guess.”

- 🌿 -

Under her Tree, growing up, they ate the seasons. Summer fruits, autumn nut-cakes, pink winter sausages slivered with Golmore ginger. In the spring, The Wood brought levin-eels surging down the river, their bodies like wet crystal tubes. Maja cooked and fed them with her fingers, the eel-skin hot and crackling. “Refr,” she chided. “Not so many. Share with the rest!”

With a village full of cousins they were never short for playmates. Games like coeurl-queen, ‘bo-and-rider, or hunt-the-flea could last for days. You couldn’t divide the triplets, though; if you played with one, eventually you got all three. 

“Cheater!” shouted Poln, a leggy child with spotted ears. They were squabbling over warbi, which was played with stones on a chalked grid. Hrafn, eager to win, had flicked a pebble into Poln’s eye.

“It was an accident,” he pleaded, and it was; of the triplets, he was gentlest, and played fair. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“You lie!” Poln stamped her big clawed feet, braids bouncing. “I hope Maja spanks you!”

The triplets stared at each other, appalled. Only outsiders beat their young, and Maja had never so much as tugged their ears, even when they stole flatbread or put lizards in her piss pot. “She wouldn’t,” shouted Hrudr, insulted. But Poln fought dirty. A stone soared and–whap!–struck Hrudr below the jaw. Refr and Hrafn tackled Poln, thrashing and clawing and biting; Viera children had fangs for milk-teeth. Their noses bled long after Maja pulled them apart. 

“Stuff them up,” she scolded, “and tilt your heads.” She was busy soothing a wailing Hrudr, rocking him and singing, “Serpent, Serpent, heal the pain.” So Hrafn took turns cramming river moss up his, Refr, and Poln’s nostrils. Poln scowled, and when Maja turned her back she blew a wad of snotty moss at his feet before storming away.

- 🌿 -

Nagxia, thirty summers ago

“So violent,” Cam murmured, lying beside him under the lamp and mosquito net. “All little girls were like this?”

“All children,” he corrected her. His gendering of Poln in the story was retrospective; Eryuts did not use terms like ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ until after they came of age. “We were rough sometimes. We had to be.”

“Why?”

Rafi considered. He had mentioned the Green Word before, but nenna was harder to explain. He likened it to a milieu, how some travelers talked about customs in faraway places. One village would do their nenna this way, while another, sometimes barely a malm away, would do nenna a little different. ‘The way things are,’ he elaborated, was an easy tradition to reinforce when everyone was so old and wise. 

“So what happened to her, this little Pola?”

“Poln.”

“Pol-nuh.” Cam caught on quick to Rava words and names. “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. Still there, probably, healing people. She was a salve-maker, like Maja, but she could still kick our tails if we pissed off her or her wives.”

A flicker of Cam’s hair on his cheek; her bed was narrow, built for one. She rolled to peer at him, piqued. “Wives?”

“Wives, four of them. Cielje, one of them, did leather work–she helped with my tunics. Why?”

Now she propped up against him, searching his face with owlish eyes. “Why did she have so many wives?”

“She wanted to,” he said, nonplussed, having never considered the question.

“You could have a bunch of wives just because you want to?”

“Isn’t that why anyone should have a bunch of wives?”

Instantly her face changed, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Marriages were her family’s bane; though her father was a paragon in Dagluk–loyal, hard-working, a firebrand of a Resistance fighter–he was beset by a rumor that he'd fathered children with a baseborn girl in a town further down the One, and refused to claim them. 

"Did you have wives?"

Softly, testily, he said, "You know I didn't."

"Your brothers, then." Cam chewed her fingernail. She suspected her uncle, bitter over politics, was behind her father’s rumor, but he was doubtful. Nothing could convince him his own flesh and blood would bed with those Imperialist rats. “Did they have wives? More than one?”

“It didn’t really work that way,” he said, so she rolled over, a sign that the topic was done.

Night settled in, and it began to rain. He loved to lie in the dark and imagine the forest coming alive, the vines dripping, the broad fleshy leaves gathering water like tender urns. These were kinder jungles for Rafi, less perfidious ones; the trees had more benign names, like ‘tamarind’ and ‘frangipani.’ They wouldn’t eat him alive.

He stroked her cheek, and as she nuzzled her crooked nose into the pillow she said, “I’d rather hear about nice old Maja.” 

It was a relief, loving a woman who could understand brothers, how they were so priceless, treacherous. The village gave him another feeling altogether. Some things were too brutal to share, too foreign. The same nice old Maja who predicted floods and levinstorms once punished a thief by stripping her down, smearing her in honey, and stranding her in a riverbed for the chigoes. What would Cam think of that? If Poln and her sweet wives weren’t discussable, then what about her chubby babies, his nieces? Rudi wound up fathering three of them. Could she fathom his tenderness then? 

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Cam murmured as she fell asleep, the whole notion already a dream.

- 🌿 -

(pt. II) | (pt. III)

[a-libra-writes]

Salt & Snow - Chapter 6

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader (?)

Summary: Ned finally returns to his childhood home, to the happiness of his siblings and Y/N ... though she’s also beside herself with nerves. As it turns out, the two of them are awkward teenagers.

Use this chrome extension to replace “Y/N” with a different name :)

“That’s the last of it, milord.” The servant tightened the leather straps on the wooden trunk, ensuring they were secure. Once satisfied, he nodded to the guide that would be taking the young Lord Stark down the mountain. The man was withered, but he expertly steered his mules, or so they said. Ned hadn’t realized how many possessions he’d collected in his years in the Eyrie, and felt bad for making the beasts carry so much.

The old mountain guide said it was fine, and it wouldn’t unbalance them. “You worry about stayin’ on that mule, milord. When’s the last time you descended?”

He thought about it. “Four years, mayhaps more.”

“Aye, it’s much the same. It’s still spring, it will warm quickly as we go down.” The old man guided him to one of the mules, a shaggy, dark brown one with long ears. Ned thought it was cute in an ugly way, and climbed up. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring how the Eyrie hung above them. He remembered the first time he climbed up here, terrified he’d fall the entire way, and then afraid the Eyrie would somehow fall from the sky and plummet to the ground.

I’ll be the one doing the plummeting, if this beast missteps. Ned was mostly, probably confident that wouldn’t happen. He wondered what sort of mule they gave Robert, the beast of a man. He couldn’t imagine his friend sitting quietly for the better part of the day. That thought made him smile a little, and sigh. Robert left a month ago, and now it was his turn. It was a bittersweet goodbye to Robert and then to Lord Arryn. The first month I couldn’t stop thinking about Winterfell, how I wanted to go back. It hurts to leave now.

It hurt, but it was time to go. He wanted to see his family again, to see Winterfell, and the godswood, and Wintertown and the forest surrounding them. He’d smell pines and fresh earth again — gods know the Eyrie sorely lacked in both — and the animals that ran through those woods. He wondered what had changed, what was the same.

Suddenly, Ned recalled a letter where Y/N described the repairs on one of the towers, the old one that was slowly crumbling. That made him remember the last one he sent, and he covered his face with a groan.

“Doing well, milord?” The guide asked, looking back. “Don’t look down.”

Ned merely nodded, glad the guide and the other servants were too busy navigating to notice his stupid face. Why had he written that? Why did he send it? She must be think he was an utter fool. She hadn’t even sent anything back yet.

No, letters are slow to the Eyrie, and I’m leaving, besides — perhaps it was lost.

The thought of Lord Arryn receiving it and sending it back was mortifying, even if the man would never read it. For days Ned’s mind had been racing about Robert’s departure, his own journey, and the stupid words he wrote down. He’d repeated them so many times in his head, hoping he was misremembering.

He groaned and laid his head on the neck of the mule. It smelled awful, but he stayed there. Y/N must have thought him a complete fool, how would he face her once he came home? It would be a long, long journey.

What in the seven hells did he mean by that?

Y/N stared at the words, her eyes running over them, which was a pointless act. She’d memorized these lines in particular, able to recall them in spite of her attempts to keep busy. She hadn’t responded, because how could she? Anytime she sat down and began to dab her quill, the butterflies battered against her stomach. She’d set her quill on the page, watching the ink soak into the paper, but Y/N only managed a few sentences before fumbling, misspelling a word, dripping ink everywhere and just giving up. She’d thrown several pages into the fire already.

I’m being ridiculous, I’m overthinking. Aren’t I? Hasn’t he always said kind things to me? Why is this different?

A week ago, Y/N dug through her box of letters saved over the years, hoping to assure herself. That was a mistake. She read through things she’d forgotten, phrases she remembered, looked over the little drawings he attempted, and her butterflies became relentless. She had to put the letters away and spent the entire day flustered and distracted.

She rubbed at her face and sighed heavily. She put the letter out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t be out of mind for a while. She ought to stop procrastinating, to send something back already; it’d been almost three weeks. Or was it four? She’d been procrastinating with everything imaginable — long boring books, needlework, studying maps, playing music, even riding.

I have to answer eventually. I really am thinking too much. Just write something safe! Something boring!

Instead of doing that, Y/N left her room and looked for something to do. Perhaps if she could talk about her feelings it would help, but she couldn’t. Not even to Lyanna. Her friend had stopped reading the letters, preferring to send her own, and Y/N was sure they weren’t as frequent… That, and she couldn’t imagine letting anyone read what she wrote or drew now.

Is it strange, how often we write? Has anyone noticed?  A little voice nagged at Y/N. She and Ned were well past the age of innocent friendly correspondence. She didn’t speak much about it, secretly worried she’d be told to stop. The idea of getting “caught” wasn’t pleasant, but the idea of stopping was worse. The correspondence had become a comfort, a way to raise her spirits, warmth and confidence in her heart. She understood how some would find that emotion improper.

A servant hurried past Y/N, nearly hitting her and knocking her right out of her thoughts. The boy called an apology and kept running. In the great hall, she saw half a dozen men moving boxes, and one of the elder servants giving them orders. Savory smells came from the kitchen, and peaking inside, Y/N saw the cooks and their girls busy chopping and stewing.

She tried to recall the last time Winterfell was this abuzz. The death of Lady Stark cast a dreary curtain over the castle, and while it was gradually lifting, a feast still felt out of place. Brandon was away again, but there was never a big to-do for his return.

“Found you!” Lyanna called to her, and Y/N jumped. It was absurd how much she’d been lost in her head as of late. She was glad Lyanna didn’t tease her; instead, the girl asked, “Why is everyone so restless today?”

“I was just thinking that. Did you see the kitchens? I can���t imagine why we’d need so much sausage and stew.”

“They’re making dessert, too! I’d ask my father, but I can’t find him anywere.” As they talked, Lyanna and Y/N walked outside to one of the many yards inside Winterfell’s walls. Just like inside, there was a flurry of activity, things being moved and cleaned. Lyanna said half the horses had been taken, perhaps on a hunt for fresh stag. A sudden thought struck her, and she turned on her heels to face Y/N, nearly knocking the girl over in the process. “Y/N, what if… what if my father finally decided—?”

“He didn’t,” Y/N replied instantly. “He would tell you, Lyanna. It won’t be a surprise. Maybe something happened and he’s gathering some bannermen on short notice; maybe it’s about Brandon’s wedding. He has been gone for the better part of a month.”

“That’s all true,” Lyanna said, although she didn’t sound comforted. “Perhaps Father is entertaining some ladies for him. Oh, gods, we’ll have to make smalltalk with them…”

They sat on one of the many carts strewn about the yard, following the activity. Predictably, Y/N’s mind wandered to Ned, and she kept her sigh from escaping. She glanced at Lyanna, half-listening to her friend chatter about a hedge knight that visited months ago. He showed off some jousting in the yard for their amusement, and Lyanna was still enamored. Y/N’s thoughts were wholly preoccupied with the terrifying idea of telling her about the letters, the ones that had gradually become far less proper and more personal.

Suddenly Lyanna asked, “Did you have any plans today?”

“I have a feeling if I did, you’d pull me away.” Y/N said. “Why?”

“Do you still have your old brown cloak?”

Those grey eyes were gleaming with some sort of mischief. Perhaps it was the restlessness of the people around them, or her own anxious thoughts… but rather than steer away from trouble, Y/N turned toward it.

There were small collections of cottages directly outside the walls of Winterfell, mostly farmers and butchers who directly served the castle, and offered board to travelers during the large feasts. But if someone really wanted to find something interesting, they’d go to Wintertown. These were the more prosperous smallfolk, the merchants, innkeeps, blacksmiths, and so on. There was even a small sept, although most Northern townspeople had little use for it. Y/N had come here only a dozen times; to go, she and Lyanna would need an escort, and Brandon wasn’t eager to follow two silly girls around.

As far as they were concerned, the matter of an escort was silly now that they were women. Lyanna had no fear as she put on an old cotton dress and her grey cloak, while Y/N wore her brown and black dress she saved for riding and a deep blue cloak. Y/N tucked her pearl and jewelry away, and Lyanna pulled her own dark brown hair out of its braid until it was all around her shoulders, wild and free. The girls snuck quietly out into the yard, avoiding servants and guards, then drew their hoods up once they reached the gates. They waited, then Y/N pointed. Three sworn guards were distracted with a complaining merchant, and they slipped past the gate.

Once outside, they kept their hoods up, but giggled to one another. After walking a mile, they came across a farmer on the way to Wintertown, and asked if they could ride in his cart. The old man squinted at them, trying to focus his gaze.

“Are ye girls the swineherder’s daughters? Jeyne and … Milly, was it?”

“That’s our names. Can you take us to town?” Lyanna asked, putting on a false voice. When the old man agreed, she grinned so broadly, Y/N had to nudge her and give her a warning look. They hopped into the back of the cart and chatted while it swayed and hobbled along. The last time, it was an hour of walking before a cart passed by.

It’s good to see her like this, happy again. Y/N thought, glancing to her friend as Lyanna chatted. It’s been a dreary six moons. Or has it been longer?

Lyanna hadn’t been herself the whole time. Since her mother died, everything was bleaker. For the first moon, she just wanted to stay inside. After that she’d go out riding for hours at a time, and for once, Lord Stark didn’t scold her for it. Sometimes she’d rage, pick fights with Brandon or a guardman’s boy. Sometimes she’d just stay in bed. Those days were always the bad ones, Y/N knew, and she’d stay with her, writing or drawing or doing needlework while Lyanna laid there.

They’d get far worse than a scolding if they were caught at this game, but she just wanted Lyanna to be happy again. Wintertown was in sight, and they thanked the old man and hopped off his cart, too excited to wait for his mules to take them any farther. Y/N took Lyanna’s arm so they’d at least stay together, and they were off.

Just like the last time they visited, the town was buzzing. Thoughts of Ned’s words and Lyanna’s sadness quickly faded in the back of Y/N’s mind as they followed whatever interested them. A girl half their height was herding a group of sheep through the middle of a wide street, a woman was selling bolts of impossibly colorful fabric and thread, a blacksmith was loudly working on a sword. The girls watched all of it.

“Wait!” Y/N patted Lyanna’s arm excitedly, distracting her from the molten-hot red sword and the hammer that was beating down on it. “Do you see that?” She pointed.

Lyanna squinted. “That stall over there?”

“Yes, let’s hurry! Maybe he still has some!”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna laughed, but followed along. She quickly realized why Y/N was so excited: There was a variety of colorful, fresh vegetables, but more importantly… fruit.

“You buying?” The man asked warily, mistaking them for the lowborn girls they were dressed as. Back in their bedchamber, Y/N had to remind Lyanna to tuck away her direwolf pin. “I’m selling, not giving. You girls got coin?”

Y/N ignored his tone and asked, “Are these from White Harbor? My father worked the docks.”

“That so? He on one of the merman’s ships, or the ray’s?”

“The manta ray, at the Whitetide docks.”

The man grinned, showing some missing teeth. He nodded his head like he was familiar with this mystery sailor. “Aye, with Lord Caspian’s fleet? His ships are good ones. These fruit come all the way from Dorne and the Arbor, but they’re still fresh.”

Y/N could see that. Her heart was racing at the sight of peaches, oranges, limes, figs… of course, Lyanna’s eyes went straight to the lemons. She giggled and shook her head. “They’re better when they’re baked in cakes. Have you had an orange before?”

“Never. Let’s get some. Four, if we could?” Lyanna asked the man, and he handed them over. Four was all he had, and Y/N paid, feeling a little sorry for taking so many. She wondered if the common folk could afford fruits. This cold preserved them well.

They walked around the market idly, more interested in the treats they just acquired. Y/N taught Lyanna how to peel the orange and the wolf-girl was delighted with how sweet and juicy they were. “This is wonderful! Why aren’t we baking these into cakes?”

“I suppose someone tried, and it didn’t work out well,” Y/N mused. “My mother liked to squeeze them into her water, or she’d just drink the juice itself. When you preserve the peels and dry them, you can scatter them amongst your things to make them smell good.” She thought about her mother’s hugs, and her favorite parlor, and the strong smell of citrus and exotic flowers that permeated both. She was a Northern woman, but took to the wonders of Dorne and Essos and the Reach, little treasures brought in on her husband’s ships. It was how her father courted her: With baskets of fruit, tropical flowers, strings of pearls and giant conch shells. Y/N smiled, remembering how her mother lit up when she told her about it.

“I can promise you, my little pearl, one day you will have such kindnesses paid by someone who truly adores you.”

“You know so many things. All I know is passable dancing, and horses.” Lyanna said, breaking Y/N’s reverie, of which she was grateful for. The Stark girl rubbed at her chin where some juices at dribbled, and Y/N handed her a handkerchief.

“You know swords and lances well.”

“Aye, but I’m not allowed to use them.” Lyanna frowned, but it didn’t look like her mood was lowering. She eagerly bit into a second orange instead. Y/N sighed and put the handkerchief back into her reticule.

“Can I have the peels?” She asked.

“Are you going to put them into my riding boots?”

“Gods, I’d need a bushel to mask that scent.”

Lyanna didn’t want to throw her precious orange, so she settled for lunging and chasing Y/N instead. Y/N shrieked and ran, glad for the headstart: Lyanna had to chew and swallow her orange pieces properly before tearing after her. Lyanna’s old dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull up the skirts, but Y/N had the lighter cloak. She shrieked again as Lyanna grasped for it, but missed. “I’ll get you for that!” The girl hollered. “Come back, Y/N!”

They laughed and chased each other around the town like children, and no one cared. Some older women noticed and scowled, and a few children laughed and followed for a while, but no one stopped them. No one grabbed their ears and admonished them for the messy hair, dirty clothes and sticky orange-flavored fingers. They were little girls again, not proper ladies of five and ten, daughters of Stark and Caspian.

Y/N stopped suddenly, then yelped as Lyanna tackled her to the ground. She squirmed and coughed. “Lyanna! You’ll kill me!”

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Lyanna responded. She realized Y/N was still winded and moved off her. “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No,” Y/N sat up and blinked the dust out of her eyes. Satisfied, Lyanna flicked an orange peel at her. Y/N picked it off her lap and ate it. Lyanna made a face, like Y/N just ate the peel of a lemon — then she remembered she saw her friend do that, too.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N asked. It was the entire reason she stopped. Both girls kept still and listened. They were on the edge of Wintertown, their game taking them to the very end of it. Out here was a few modest homes and small gardens, a crumbling wall, and the road leading to Winterfell.

“Horses,” Lyanna said. She listened. “Several of them, moving at once. It’s probably a retinue.”

“Is it Brandon? I can’t recall when he was supposed to come home.”

“It would be bad for Brandon to find us like this and tell father,” Lyanna said, but she laughed. She was like her old self today. Suddenly, she said, “Oh. We should have saved an orange for Ben.”

“But not Brandon?”

“His Lordliness can get fruit whenever he wants. He can ride to the Reach and pick it himself.” Lyanna scoffed. She stood up, pulled Y/N to her feet and they both dusted their dresses and cloaks off. The horses were closer now, easy to hear without them staying quiet. It had to be Brandon, or a nearby lord. It was too much commotion for farmers bringing food.

The girls walked to the crumbling wall and crouched down, eager to peek at the banners. They weren’t foolish enough to openly stare, even if this was Wintertown, they weren’t entirely safe. Y/N had a vague thought that Lyanna might have a dagger in her boot, but that wasn’t real protection. She kicked herself for not bringing something of her own, even if she had no idea how to use it.

“They’re taking their time,” Lyanna muttered. “Has to be a lord. A lordling wouldn’t bring so many wagons, and a merchant wouldn’t be so slow. If it is Brandon, let’s throw rocks.”

“Let’s not.”

“Fine, a single rock. I won’t hit his horse, she deserves better. It could always be Ser Roderick, or the Pooles. Maybe even Cerwyn —”

Y/N pulled her back, lower against the stone wall. “Shh.”

Two horses passed, carrying modestly protected Northern guards. Then four more guards followed, dressed in different leather and armor. Y/N squinted, not recognizing the arms on their surcoats. It wasn’t anyone sworn to House Stark. Then, what they wanted: The banners.

One man held a direwolf, and another one held a blue falcon. Lyanna shot up, and Y/N stumbled, as she was still holding onto her.

Then she looked up, and jumped to her feet just as Lyanna had. They both stared.

It was Brandon, as they guessed, and someone else. They rode ahead, followed by a few more men, one of them a fully-armored knight who wore the crest of a sky-blue and white falcon.

“Ned!!”

Lyanna was gone. She tore across a small field to the road, and the guards stopped all at once, their hands flying to their hips. That action snapped Y/N to attention, but she could only stand and stare. She watched the boy — no, young man — beside Brandon turn in his saddle, and his grey eyes lit up with surprise and happiness.

Y/N thought someone was sitting on her chest, then something was trying to get out of it. She was choked up, the world was spinning, and she could barely hear the words Lyanna, Ned and Brandon were all saying. Lyanna nearly jumped up on the horse, but Ned swiftly dismounted. He only had a moment before he was being strangled in a hug.

Brandon got down from his horse and said something to the guards. The horses shook their heads at the commotion but Lyanna shouted again, and two of the knights laughed, and Y/N was still.

Then Ned looked up over his sister’s head, and met eyes with her. Y/N took a step forward, then another. She forgot she was wearing an old dress, a cloak that was now dirty from running about, that her hair was out of a normally tamed and styled braid. Ned held out his hand, as though she was close and not ten or fifteen feet away.

Y/N shyly walked down the field to the road, trying not to look at the guards, or Brandon. Lyanna pulled away from Ned and grabbed her arm, pulling her the last two feet. “What are you doing, Y/N? Come over here!”

She was pushed in front of him. He was different in some ways, but not many. Brandon towered above him and Lyanna was just a little shorter. Y/N smiled at that, but quickly looked to her hands, which smelled of oranges and still had a little stickiness on them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Y/N could only say. She thought of all the clever and interesting words she sent before, and how they were failing her horribly now. Her mind scrambled for something to say, something she had written before, something good, but it was all jumbled.

She didn’t look at Ned as he replied, “It’s good to see you too, Y/N.”

It was quiet, like they were the only ones, but that was quickly interrupted. Brandon was beside them, loudly teasing, “It’s Lady Y/N, brother. I thought the South was supposed to teach you all those stuffy manners.”

“She’s always been Y/N to us,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “More importantly, were you and father keeping this a secret?”

Her brother replied with a small smile. “Yes, it… it was supposed to be a surprise. I never imagined we’d meet you here.”

“And why are you two here?” Brandon crossed his arms. His good humor quickly left, as if he just took in their location and their clothes. He looked at Lyanna, then Y/N, and kept his attention on the latter. “Did you sneak out without a guard? Do you know how dangerous that can be? And why are you dressed like that?”

Y/N self-consciously pulled at her cloak as he questioned them, remembering the state she was in. Brandon’s words didn’t bother her, it was the realization that Ned hadn’t seen her in years, and this is what he saw as soon as he came back. Didn’t I have silly daydreams of him seeing me in the gown I made, or a new one? Why am I even thinking about that?

She was glad Lyanna and Brandon got into a little spat, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped behind Lyanna, half to shield herself, half to put some distance between her and Ned. She was steadily being overcome with an urge to hug him — wouldn’t that be natural? He was home now, but … it wasn’t that simple. So, she kept at Lyanna’s side, redirecting her attention on calming her friend.

“When I tell father about this, he’ll have words to say, especially since tonight he wants to hold a feast —”

“— If you tell him, I’ll tell about all that extra time you spend at the Rills!”

“It’s my job as heir to visit our bannermen and listen to their grievances!”

“Oh, yes, the pretty Ryswell daughters have much to say, I’m sure —”

Brandon went red and was ready to retort hotly, when Ned cleared his throat. He inclined his head to the men around them, all visibly impatient. Ned himself had some of that energy as he said, “Let’s go home.”

The way he said it, how could anyone continue to argue? Brandon stopped at once, knowing it had been years since his little brother had seen Winterfell properly. He patted him affectionately on the back, and Lyanna beamed. Y/N met eyes with Ned again, and they both turned away.

Brandon took his horse’s bridle. “Whose riding with whomst?”

“I’ll ride with Ned!” Lyanna blurted excitedly, and disappointment shot through Y/N so quickly, she felt a little sick. Don’t be stupid. That’s her brother, and she’ll just quarrel with Brandon, besides.

Brandon offered her a hand and easily swept her up on his horse. He asked if she was comfortable before swinging up himself, settling in like it was as easy as sitting in a chair. The problem is he put her in front, so his arms were loosely around her as he gathered his reins. Nervous as she was around these beasts, Y/N almost preferred riding behind him, although that was not always considered proper for a lady. Y/N had to hold onto him, especially with how far up she was. Brandon had a fine old destrier, once a great warhorse, still mighty and tall in her old age. She was perfect for taking him around the North, but Y/N thought she was entirely too big.

Lyanna happily settled in behind Ned instead of in front of him. Again, Y/N met his eyes. He had expressions that said so much, especially since he himself said little. She couldn’t read this one, though. Brandon called out, “Move on!” and the small escort went on the road. Y/N was thankful for the easy pace, and the steady gait of the destrier.

Her nervousness slowly settled as the four of them made conversation, with the Vale knight occasionally speaking up. Before long, the walls of Winterfell appeared before them, the proud white banners flying above. Ned looked up at the direwolf, and Y/N could swear some fatigue just melted right off him. The gates opened, and the guards keeping their station happily called to the boys, not noticing the state Lord Stark’s daughter and his ward were in. By the time their escort entered the yard, several servants, men-at-arms and children had come to see Ned come home.

Benjen pushed through all of them, eagerly running at his older brother. There was no shortage of hugs as Lyanna, Benjen and Ned reunited, while Brandon helped Y/N off the horse. Unlike his oldest brother, Benjen hadn’t developed an avoidance to his sister and her companion. He was only two years younger than them, and looked hurt as he said, “You all met him without me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ned said again. “I crossed Brandon on the road by chance, and then these two—”

“Isn’t it a wonderful coincidence?” Lyanna grinned. She was still standing close to Ned, all but hanging off him. Y/N allowed Benjen to squeeze past her to get to Ned.

While the three chattered, Y/N asked Brandon, “You truly didn’t know? Where were you coming from?”

“Returning from the Karstarks. Father didn’t tell me a thing.”

Lyanna and Benjen began dragging Ned to the great hall, and now servants and guards started gathering, having realized who he was and all were eager to see him. Y/N smiled, pleased he was so missed… and only slightly glad he was moving further from her. She was anxious of what would happen if they were in a small group again, or worse, alone. She almost wanted to stay behind, but Brandon called to her, lingering back so she could catch up.

Being alone happened far sooner than Y/N anticipated.

The next morning, she stepped carefully through the snow, watching for roots just slightly sticking out. The sun was beginning to peak over the stone walls, helping her navigate the quiet yard. This route wasn’t yet familiar to her. She’d only made it recently, and often without Lyanna. Her friend wanted to mourn in quiet.

Y/N descended into the crypts. She shuddered instantly, feeling a far stronger cold take hold of her. Her footsteps echoed off the stone and she walked steadily toward her destination, passing statues of long dead Lord Starks and their sons.

Lady Lyarra did not have a sculpted sepulcher, but she had a beautiful tomb and marker for her bones. Y/N held her reticule close, bringing it to her nose so she could smell the crisp, dried oranges and give herself peace of mind. She hadn’t even visited her own family’s crypt.

She gasped as the shadows shuddered, nearly dropping the dried peels. The torches were scattered about, some not lit, making the shadows grow and recede with every second. She heard something just a few feet away.

Y/N bit down a curse as Ned came into view, the shadows circling around him. He blinked at her, his grey eyes almost looking black in the limited light.

“Y/N?”

“Y-You scared me,” She shuddered. “I didn’t — I didn’t think there would be anyone here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Y/N paused. She couldn’t seem to steady her heart, not with Ned looking directly at her. He was so much taller than before. She turned away. “I wanted to pay my respects. To give a gift.”

He didn’t respond right away. Y/N thought of the letters, of the reassurances, the kindnesses she sent him when he finally heard the news of his mother’s passing.

Why was it failing her now? She squeezed the fabric bag between her fingers.

“You brought something for her?” Ned asked quietly. “Could I see?”

Y/N nodded. She stepped closer, but not enough to feel any warmth from him. The cold of the crypt was cooling her nerves. “Orange peels. I dried them. They… they smell nice.”

She felt foolish, but he smiled. It was slight, but it was there.

“This way.” He said. He took a torch off the wall and led her deeper in. Y/N forgot how far it truly was. The Starks had been dying for centuries, and soon they would have to dig deeper into the cave to make space for the future generations. Lyarra was buried next to her parents, neither of who had a statue either.

There were fresh blue roses on the grave, and older, smaller blossoms that had begun to dry and decay. Y/N recalled Benjen brought those. She arranged the orange peels neatly, happy with the fragrance they gave off in addition to the roses. Ned must have brought those.

She quietly prayed, and Ned kept quiet beside her, perhaps joining her, perhaps not. When she finished, her hands fell to her side. Her cold, bare fingers brushed with Ned’s, and she felt the soft wool of his gloves. His finger hooked around one of her’s, and she curled it.

“Ned, I don’t presume to know your feelings, but I can only imagine how much you must hurt. If I could only help — if you were only right here, instead of far away —”

“When I home come, I want to see you, and do all the things we said we would do. I want to watch you paint, and dance, and maybe ride a horse — because I know Lyanna will make us — but most of all, I want to hear your voice.”

Y/N felt her throat was dry, but she stayed put, wondering if her heartbeat could be heard bouncing off the walls. She knew if she looked at him, even with a glance, she’d lose all composure and just run away.

She almost did that, when a loud noise made them both jump nearly two feet apart. Ned instantly took her hand back to push her behind him, then touched his sword. He grasped the hilt and lifted it just an inch out of the scabbard.

“Gods!” Y/N let out a hard breath. The skinny orange cat that knocked the unlit brazier over. It didn’t have coal in it, but it still made a terrible racket. The cat hissed and ran back into the shadows.

“I see he’s still here,” Ned mumbled. He set his sword back, and his shoulders were still tight. “Damned creature.”

“He gets lost down here so often. If he were kinder, I’d carry him out.”

“If it’s the same orange cat from when I was a boy, he’d rather freeze to death than be touched for even a moment.”

Silly smiles graced their faces, in spite of where they were, in spite of why they came in the first place. Ned nervously touched the hilt of his sword. “Shall we return?”

As they stepped out of the crypt, Y/N had to lift her skirts to climb the stairs easier. Ned offered his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He didn’t immediately let go, and she didn’t comment on it. Instead she asked, “Did they make you learn those manners in the South?”

“There’s all sorts of manners and noble bearing they expect. It’s exhausting,” Ned admitted with a shy expression, and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine him trying some sort of silly, formal dance she’d heard about.

“Give me an example.”

He stared at their connected hands, his ears and cheeks slowly growing redder. Y/N didn’t pull away, even if her own body was threatening to explode with nerves and heat.

She expected him to kiss her hand, like she’d hear the other girls gossip about. She felt his warm lips against her fingers, through her thin gloves, and it made her jolt. Some of his brown hair brushed against her arm. I might well and truly die now.

Ned coughed and hastily turned away from her, utterly embarrassed at his own behavior. “Th-that’s what Lord Arryn… what Lord Arryn said to do when … when meeting a lady…”

“Are you kissing other ladies?” She couldn’t help it. She giggled, the warmth in her chest bubbling up to her lips. Her hand felt like it was on fire. “Should I be jealous, Ned?”

Ned covered his face with his hands, and she laughed. She covered her own face to settle her silly, foolish giddiness. “Of course not,” He grumbled. “You’re the only one I ever spoke to, besides.”

“Oh, you must have talked to some in the Eyrie.”

“Some.” Ned’s grey eyes glanced to her. She met his gaze, and they held it as he continued, “Though I kept wishing you were there.”

Y/N had to look away again. She couldn’t giggle, her throat was stuck, her chest hurt and she hated how tongue-tied she was. She never imagined it would be this hard — whatever this was —

“What in the seven hells are you both doing?”

Looking through her fingers, Y/N watched Brandon saunter up to them. The older Stark tilted his head to his brother.

Ned could only manage to suspiciously avoid looking at him. Brandon glanced between them, and Y/N felt like she had done something wrong. She quickly said, “We were visiting the crypt to pay our respects.”

Brandon’s face fell, and he said little else. Y/N understood it would be time for breakfast soon, and the morning sun had long broken over the tall stone walls. The three of them walked back to the keep together, Brandon pointedly putting himself between Y/N and Ned.

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Consequences

Word Count: 6,583

Overview: You had dated one of Jungkook’s best friends - someone he consider to be an older brother - and even though you were now single and he had never stopped loving you, dating was an impossible option. The consequences of dating an ex of the leader? Life threatening.

Pairing: Jungkook and Reader

Genre AU/Rating: College AU - Forbidden Love AU - Lost Friendship - Childhood Best Friends to Lovers - Rated: PG-13

Warning: Drinking - Swearing - Cheating - Flashbacks of Implied Sex - Dirty Talk - Calling someone a Whore - Implied Unwanted Drug Use - Jungkook is a badass covered in tattoos and piercings, so take that as you will - Namjoon is an asshole with tattoos (sorry fellow Joon stans) - Implied Assault.

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Also, just a reminder that I had changed my name from @/abangtanfangirl to my current username, I’m just too lazy to remake the banner I originally made.

©thatmultifandomhoe 2020. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The party was in full swing by the time you and your roommates arrived. Strobe lights were bouncing off the walls in reds and blues as bodies carelessly danced all around, girls even risking limbs to stand on top of tables and chairs, thriving in the attention from the party goers that gave them the courage they needed to swing their hips to the beat of the music.

It wasn’t as if this was your first party, but it wasn’t every day that you attended a college party that seemed more fitting for a rave than a place that was the home to a frat house. Then again, knowing the seven men who lived here, it wouldn’t be too surprising if they purposely designed tonight’s party after a rave.

“Here,” Louise said, gaining your attention. She grinned as she slipped a purple glow stick necklace around your neck, wearing her own neon green one. “Everyone has one. They must have black lights or something.”

You raised an eyebrow at her but silently accepted the matching bracelets. A quick glance around revealed that everyone was wearing some type of glow in the dark jewelry and white shirts, effectively glowing as the drunk the night away.

“Maybe,” you answered, pressing your lips together as you grabbed the back of Louise’s shirt when she began walking towards the kitchen. The rest of your roommates had scattered about once they walked through the door. You had your own plans for the night, but attempting to make it through this large of a crowd by yourself was insane, so hitching a ride on the end of her shirt seemed like the best idea at the moment.

Louise glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at you. “Come on,” she hollered, the music getting louder at a break down in the song. “It’s the Bangtan Boys, out of everyone here you should know that they do.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, shoving her away to elbow your way to the kitchen, ignoring the high pitch laughter that Louise possessed.

She was right though. They did own a black light. They owned several boxes of black lights in fact, for this sole purpose of throwing insane parties that everyone on campus would be talking about for the semester. How you knew that however, was a reason you wanted to forget.

With the familiar path ingrained in your mind, you were in the kitchen long before Louise. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as crowded in the kitchen like one would think, especially considering the round table in the middle was covered in every bottle of alcohol imaginable, and knowing the Bangtan Boys, the fridge was fully stock as well.

The green painted walls had you doing a double take, intrigued with the sudden change of color. Last time you were here, the kitchen was a soft watercolor yellow that matched perfectly with the wooden cabinets. Not that they now clashed with the green walls but, it was something you hadn’t expected to see.

“Well look who we have here,” a voice purred in your ear, the hairs on your arms standing up as your hand settled on the red solo cups. It wasn’t the one you were hoping to avoid, and while Jimin was a dozen more times pleasant than him, you preferred to see Jimin under you own circumstances.

Ignoring him, you grabbed the empty cup and walked around the round table, window shopping for what they had out at the moment.

“Oh, come on,” he called out, but you still refused to look at him. “Did you really think you could come to one of our parties and not expect to run into one of us? That hurts me.”

He just had to hit the hammer right on the nail. He was only going to get more persistent, so after locating a bottle of bourbon, you looked at Jimin, wishing that you could wipe off that satisfied smirk he wore. His soft pink hair was slicked back, that pair of tangerine tinted sunglasses he loved were perched halfway down on his nose.

“What do you want Jimin?” You asked. Finding less than an inch of space on the table, you carefully set down the solo cup to open the bourbon.

Jimin laughed, walking around the table to stand beside you once more. Trailing his fingers up your bare arms, he jerked his hand at your elbow causing more alcohol to pour out than you originally intended. “Nothing really. It’s good to see you again.”

The cup nearly knocked over and on to the floor, but you caught it at the last second. Glaring at him, you shoved the glass bottle into his stomach, his silver rings glittering in the light as he caught it with ease.

“Quit lying and tell me what you really want,” you said, raising your cup for a sip, ignoring the sting as the magic liquid settled in your chest.

He laughed again and you wondered if he had been the one to get the party going this time. His personality itself was like a person with three drinks in them to begin with. “I mean it, you know that. Things got quiet and boring when Namjoon dumped you.”

There it was. The reason you wanted to oh so easily forget while enjoying the free alcohol. Normally you didn’t rush to get drunk, but the pang in your heart cut through you more deeply than the bourbon and you were once again raising the cup to your lips, this time allowing the burn of the liquor to drown out the heartache.

It had been almost six months since Namjoon had broken up with you. Well, he never said it with words, but you had gotten the idea after walking into his room to find him naked with two other girls in his bed. The man that was the head of the Bangtan Boys and had more philosophical thoughts running through his head than Plato and Aristotle, was no better than any other fuck boy you had met in your life. His sweet words and intelligence had just masked over it.

You had fallen hard for Namjoon, and even now six months later, it was still painful to think about that morning. The feelings by now were long since gone, but knowing he had cheated on you lingered within your mind and seeped its way into your bones. It hurt to find him with one girl, but when the second sat up from underneath the blankets, it was a slap to the face.

He never even tried to follow after you like they always depict in the movies. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Not even the others went after you when you silently stormed out of their house, passing by all of them without a word. The last thing you had gotten to do was slam the front door behind you hard enough for it to echo in the house.

“Nice to know I’m part of your fond memories Jimin,” you bitterly spoke, staring down at the amber liquid.

A small frown appeared on Jimin’s face as he watched you lift the cup for another sip, but he reached out and placed his hand on yours, stopping it from reaching its destination. “Hey, I mean it,” he murmured in your ear, stepping close enough for you to be able to hear him. “We all like you. You were good and Joon shouldn’t have fucked you like that.”

With every word he spoke, his plush lips grazed your ear. The cup lowered down so it was once again resting on the table, and when Jimin was sure he wouldn’t have to stop you from drinking so fast again, he removed his hand.

“We all miss you,” Jimin added, glancing up and around the party. “That’s why when Kookie asks for cover, we do it.”

At the mere mention of his name, your body tensed up against Jimin’s chest, a familiar fluttering occurred in your chest where it had only been beating in pain. Like Jimin, you spared a glance to the other room, spotting the jealous looks you were receiving from women and men for simply being so close to one of the Bangtan Boys.

It was easy to ignore them. You had gotten used to receiving the same looks when dating Namjoon, and then again when you would hang out with the others in public and in-between classes. “Where is Kook?”

Jimin’s lips curled up in a grin, this time raising your hand and the cup to your mouth. “I’ll allow one more sip before I take this away.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You know I never take away anyone’s drinks, so that should be enough for an answer.”

That was true. Jimin always loved his drinks. While Yoongi was more of a social drinker with his glass of red wine, Jimin never cared what it was or when he drank. Give him wine, bear, or hard liquor, it didn’t matter to him. He’d drink it all till the sun came up if he could.

Heeding his advice, Jimin eagerly watched as you drank one last sip before he was wrapping his fingers around the cup, spilling a few drops down your chin when he took it away. He didn’t even set it down, settling on finishing it off instead.

“You ass,” you muttered, glaring at the now empty cup as you carefully swiped at your chin, not wanting to ruin the makeup that you had spent the last hour working on for this party. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face as he filled the cup up with something clear. “Beats the hell out of me. He’s around here somewhere.” Quirking an eyebrow at you, he raised the cup in a mock salute before rejoining the party, the crowd parting for him with ease like he was royalty.

You bit the inside of your cheek in annoyance. Of course, Jimin would only partially tell you what you wanted to hear; he never did like giving all the good information out in one conversation. If he did, it was best to hightail it the hell away from him. That meant he wanted something and usually – depending on who it was directed towards – it wasn’t always the most pleasant of things.

With Louise gone and Jimin most likely in search of bed partner for the night, you forced yourself to leave the kitchen in an attempt to find Jungkook. Unlike Jimin, it was like walking through Jell-O. That was one of the few benefits to associating yourself with the Bangtan Boys, no one gave you hard ass time and parties were easy to navigate through.

As you elbowed your way to the living room, your mind wandered back to the time you spent here. From all the nights you slept over and simply came over to visit during the day, you knew this place like that back of your hand. For long time, this place had felt like home. Which was almost expected considering up until that morning, you and Namjoon had been dating for a year and a half by then.

Out of the seven of the Bangtan Boys, only Namjoon managed to maintain normal relationships for long periods of time. The others preferred hookups more often than not, only indulging in relationships for a month or so before jumping ship, something that Namjoon explicitly expressed disgust for. Which only made your breakup situation ironic.

Finally breaking through to a clear space in the living room, your skin crawled as you felt eyes on you from every person in the area. It wasn’t like you had hid your relationship with Namjoon, in fact, he actually took pride in making it known that you were his girl. You had been forced to get used to all the stares and now it didn’t faze you as much, but this was the first party of theirs that you had attended in a while.

The large three-piece leather sectional didn’t have any empty seats left. There wasn’t any space left, forcing people to sit on the back of the couch, the arms, or even in the laps of those willing. However, it was the man leaning against the wall with a beer bottle in hand that had your attention.

Jungkook was talking to Hoseok and Taehyung, a foot pressed up against the back wall as he tilted his head to the side, a lazy grin on his face as he spoke. His black muscle tank was bagging enough to reveal a majority of his tattoos, ones that you had gotten to know well in the last few months.

Physically, you were seeing Jungkook as he was right now. Mentally, you were picturing the boy you had grown up with.

It had been a shock when Namjoon brought you to the house first time, having stopped dead in when you laid eyes on Jungkook. The first time you originally met was back in elementary school. It was during art hour and you were drawing a picture of your family, Jungkook was sitting next to you coloring his paper when the two of you reached for the same yellow crayon to draw the sun. It was cheesy, but since then the two of you stuck to each other like glue, lasting all the way up to high school. The summer before sophomore year was when things broke apart. His family was moving away, and he wouldn’t be able to attend the same school come fall. Hell, he wasn’t even going to be in the same state anymore.

For a while, phone calls that started on Friday nights and ended on Saturday mornings were a weekly routine for the two of you. But when the two of you got adjusted to school again, the work piled up, and parents began taking away phone privileges until the grades got better, the weekly calls slowed down to once or twice a month. By the time graduation came and you decided on which college you were attending, you never thought you’d see him again.

To see Jungkook for the first time during your sophomore year of college, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself rushing forward to hug him. Luck on been on your side that day when he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around him as he held you tightly.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” Jungkook had whispered, his arms almost crushing you with his strength, but you were hugging him back just as hard.

The reunion between you and him was the last thing anyone expected, especially with Namjoon right there to watch you jump his youngest friend, someone he considered practically a brother. Looking back on it now, the jealousy he harbored for your friendship with Jungkook was as clear as an ocean made out of crystals. Whenever Jungkook entered the room and you were there, Namjoon was instantly touching or kissing you, something that at the time you never thought twice about because he was your boyfriend and that’s who he was. It didn’t matter if the two of you were alone or out in public, if he wanted something, he didn’t hesitate about taking it.

It was so stupid now as you thought back to your ex-boyfriend. You had been completely devoted to Namjoon, the idea of being with someone else never once crossed your mind, at least up until that last month of your relationship when he grew distant.

A body suddenly stepped in front of you, blocking Jungkook from your sight and forcing you to look at a black t-shirt and a tattooed arm. Lifting your head, irritation filled your veins at the sight of Namjoon. At some point during the last six months he had dyed his hair platinum blond again, and regrettably, it looked good on him. The last time you had done an impulsive dye job you ended up having to go to the salon to get it fixed.

“Was that morning not enough of a hint for you?” Namjoon slowly asked.

You clenched your jaw, glancing away from his eyes as you took a step back. “When did you start kicking people out of your parties?” Raising an eyebrow, you ignored the way he crossed his arms over his chest, displaying the way his muscles flexed at the small movement. He must have started working out more often lately.

Namjoon chuckled though, drawing your attention back to him. “Not unless you piss me off. Although considering you’re my ex, that should be enough reason for me to throw you out.”

Don’t say anything, you thought, you haven’t found Jungkook yet. Instead, you focused on his right arm. Back then, the black and grey scaled tree of life tattoo that wrapped around his arm had brought a sense of comfort. Many nights you had traced each and every delicate line and branch while draped on his chest, the blankets crumpled up and covering yourselves only from the hips down.

He had other tattoos, mostly phrases he had written over the years and had Taehyung ink onto his body in various scripts, but this was his single largest piece. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t beautiful. Just because he was an ex-didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate the art.

Without warning, Namjoon grabbed your chin with his fingers and forced you to meet his gaze. Brown eyes that you once thought belonged to the minds of the gods, stared down at you with unwavering disdain.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing here? Or do I actually have to kick you out of my house?”

I can’t believe I loved you, you thought, wanting to yank your chin out of his hold but knowing better to not to.

“I came with my roommates,” you sighed, gesturing with a thumb around the party. “We’ve all been stressed with classes and wanted to relax. I didn’t realize we were coming here until Louise pulled on to the street and I recognized where we were. They’re around here, somewhere.”

If there was anything decent about Namjoon, it was that he listened. Even if he hated someone, he always listened to them without interruption – whether it was in hopes of finding dirt to hold over them or to give the benefit of the doubt – and that seemed to be working in your favor right now.

He licked his lips, looking away from you to scan the room like he could see everyone who was currently dancing and getting drunk in his house all in a matter of seconds.

“Alright,” he finally said, releasing you. “You can stay. But you know the rules. Don’t break any of my shit, and don’t fuck with some stranger in any of the rooms. I’d say don’t do drugs but I know you won’t…” his voice died off, his face barely softening for a few seconds.

That was another good thing about Namjoon. When it came to the Bangtan Boys and the girls he dated – including you – he protected and took care of them. During your relationship, he had rushed you to the hospital when you showed up at the house banging on the doorbell in the dead of the night.

After a night of hanging out with friends, the group of you decided to go out for Taco Bell – the ultimate form of comfort food while on a college budget – and were walking home. You had been the only one to not have a drink that night, but some of them decided that the night wasn’t over. It was only sheer luck that you were near Namjoon’s street and were able to run to his house.

Before you had passed out, you vividly recalled the rage that had been apparent on Namjoon’s face when he swung the front door open, ready to punch out the lights of the person banging on the doorbell, until he saw you standing there, hysterical and pupils nearly blown out with bruises and scratches on your body. You had been shaking with adrenaline and from whatever drug a group of guys had forced into your mouth.

You had been hospitalized for two weeks to make sure the drugs were out of your system and to make sure everything healed okay, and even now, the night was fuzzy in certain spots, but you never could forget Namjoon’s reaction.

When you woke up, along with Namjoon, Jungkook had been asleep in chairs by your beside. Their knuckles were busted and had dried blood on the skin. Namjoon’s face remained unscathed, but Jungkook had had purple bruises blossoming on his cheekbone and his lip was split.

Instead of answering, you silently nodded. That memory, along with various others when he as all soft words and gentle caresses, reminded you that Namjoon wasn’t one hundred percent evil, but that didn’t make him pure. It was like having a poisonous snake next to someone and saying it wasn’t poisonous because it hadn’t bit them yet. Only time would reveal their true intentions, and you knew his.

He gestured over to one of the folding tables against the wall to your left that was covered in bowls of snacks. “Go, get something to eat before drinking anymore.” He didn’t stick around for much longer, pushing past and harshly bumping into your shoulder before you were able to step out of his way.

In that instant the memory disappeared, nose scrunching up in annoyance as you watched your giant of an ex-head towards the kitchen, moving with ease until some girl stumbled into him and he caught her. She was holding a cup and so it was possible that she was just drunk, but even with the distance between you and them, her eyes weren’t glassy enough and the way she instantly pressed her body against Namjoon was too stable.

Whether or not she did have too much to drink, Namjoon easily wrapped his arms around her lower back, settling his palms conveniently near her ass. He didn’t have to be facing you for you to know he was grinning down at the party girl.

Not that you cared, but at least have some decency.

You rolled your eyes, glancing back at the wall where Jungkook had been, but neither him or Hoseok or Taehyung were there anymore. Sighing, you made your way over to the snack table, this time finding it easier to move around as people headed to the center of the room to dance.

When you reached the table though, Hoseok was leaning against it and tossing M&Ms into his mouth. The candy fiend himself appeared to be enjoying the break away from the party and sweaty bodies, and considering how flushed his face was, perhaps the alcohol too.

“How many have you had?” You asked, stepping closer to sink your hand into the bowl of Reese’s Pieces.

Knocking back another handful, Hoseok held up one finger.

That wasn’t surprising in the least. Turning around, you ate the candy piece by piece as you watched the strobe flights speed up, bouncing off of everyone so fast a headache was sure to form.

“He’s in his room,” Hoseok said, his breath rich with chocolate as he leaned close for you to hear him.

Nodding, you turned to walk down the hallway when Hoseok grabbed you by the bicep, dragging you back towards the wall and out of the way of the strobe lights as your snack spilled onto the floor, the sound lost to everyone. Back here, the light only reflected off of his face every once in a while, instead of constantly highlighting him.

“The two of you are crazy as hell for doing this.”

It wasn’t the first time Hoseok told you that. He was the first to inform you of this thought when it all started two months ago, and he said it every time he covered for you and Jungkook whenever Namjoon was near.

“Then why help us at all?” you snapped, staring up at him.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes, his hand tightening just the slightest before suddenly dropping from your arm. “And see the two of you dead? You’re fucking insane.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” You exclaimed, grateful that the music was turning up as you spoke, the walls practically pulsating with the beat. “Namjoon cheated on me with two whores! I waited months before seeing someone else, and I knew Jungkook for years before any of you. Why the hell does this make me the terrible one?”

You ignored the sympathy on Hoseok’s face and walked down the hall towards Jungkook’s room, shaking your head.

That was perhaps the most difficult thing about sneaking around. You had been the person wronged here, you had spent the weekends locked up in your room with the blankets tightly wrapped around your body as you cried, wondering what the hell was wrong with yourself for Namjoon to cheat on you with those women. There had even been a period when you considered changing certain aspects about yourself to win him back, to become his ideal woman. You’d get more tattoos, add a few more piercings and read up on philosophical texts to be able to hold a conversation with him.

The only saving grace through that entire time, was Jungkook.

When you saw him for the first time in years, it was like all that time apart had evaporated and you were hanging out like old times. There had been plenty of catching up to be done and there had been a shock factor on his part – he had since bulked up and no longer resembled the scrawny kid he once used to be, had grown out his hair, his ears had piercings galore, and he covered himself in tattoos – but he was still the Jungkook you knew and loved.

Like clockwork he came over to your apartment every chance he had. Bringing your favorite take out and watching trashy reality shows, even holding you when you couldn’t force the tears back. Jungkook didn’t let you fall beyond repair, choosing to be the glue you needed for you to put yourself back together.

When it had been four months after the breakup and you were getting back to yourself, you had realized that while watching a movie late one night with Jungkook, you were in his lap. The lights had been off and the two of you were sitting on your bed with his back against the headboard, and you were sitting in-between his legs with your back against his chest, his arms hugging you closer.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked when you shifted in his arms, capturing his attention when you sat on your knees in front of him.

You didn’t say anything, simply reaching up to brush the hair that had fallen in his eyes away. He didn’t stop you. Instead, he patiently waited as you stared at him, trying to figure out how the kid you had grown up with, was suddenly the man who owned your heart. When that happened was unanswerable, but it felt like no matter where you went or what happened, you would always find your way back to him.

With that in mind, you slid your palm down to his cheek, shakily breathing when he slid his hands up your thighs to gently rest on your hips. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards for only a moment because the next thing you knew, you were kissing Jungkook.

His hands tightened on your hips as he eagerly kissed you back like he had been waiting for this moment for years.

The next morning when you woke up, the first thing you saw was a chest covered in hickeys and a tattoo of a caged swallow, its partner flying free but nearby. He was still asleep, his arm like dead weight on your bare waist. You should have been questioning yourself, you had slept with your best friend who was also one of your ex-boyfriend’s best friends.

Even as you considered that, you shifted your leg over his and leaned forward, gently kissing his chest once, twice, slowly making your way up to his neck. It was on the fourth kiss that Jungkook groaned, and on the sixth, he was rolling you onto your back as he harshly returned the kisses, his knees spreading your legs for round three.

Since then, it was meeting up in secret and Jungkook spending nights at your apartment to avoid running into Namjoon. It wasn’t a secret how possessive he could be, and if he saw Jungkook with you romantically, there would be hell to pay.

Knowing that he was waiting for you, you didn’t bother with knocking and just walked in, spotting Jungkook sitting on his bed with one leg propped on the mattress and his elbow resting on his knee as he scrolled through his phone.

You shut the door and with extra caution, flipped the lock on it, guaranteeing a few stolen moments without someone barging in. He looked up then, a smirk growing as he tossed his phone to the side, his arms wrapping around your waist when you were close enough for him to touch.

“I’m too sober for this,” he murmured, tilting his head back to look up at you, mischief alive in his eyes as he slid his hands into your back pockets, squeezing your ass. “There’s a Goddess in my arms, and I want to fucking ruin her.”

As filthy as his words were, it brought a smile to you lips as you tossed the glow stick necklace to the floor while the frustration you had from dealing with Namjoon was whisked away. In addition to igniting a flame to your insides that had you thirsting for more of Jungkook’s words, but for his touch, his kisses, for everything that was him and that he was willing to give.

“I’m tempted to let you do that,” you murmured back, moving your leg so your knee was on the bed next to his hip. “But you have tendency to go for hours.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you, the silver hoop glinting in the low lighting. “You’ve never complained about my stamina before.”

“What’s there to complain about?” You teased, pressing your lips together and enjoying the way Jungkook’s eyes darken.

“I’d be careful if I were you baby,” he warned, his voice lowering as he squeezed your ass tighter before massaging it through the denim. “I have no problem with bending you over my desk and fucking you rough to teach a lesson.”

Any normal person would have been worried by that statement, but you? The image that came to mind had you shakily inhaling, your panties feeling a little damper than they had ten minutes ago. If it weren’t the fact that Namjoon was in the house, you would have continued with the teasing until he fulfilled his promise. But even you were smart enough to know that was too risky.

Which is why you had to tell him.

“I ran into Namjoon,” you said.

Jungkook’s smile disappeared, his hands pulling out of your pockets at the sudden change of topics. Instead, he scooted backwards so you were able to join him on the bed, not even waiting for you to be completely on it when he was bringing you next to him on your side.

“Everything okay?”

You shifted an arm underneath your head. “Yeah. I was looking for you when he suddenly appeared. Threw back that morning at me and debated on kicking me out.”

“Fucking Namjoon,” running a hand through his hair, he clenched his jaw before reaching out, gently rubbing your thigh as he propped his chin in his palm. “Why can’t he let it the fuck go?”

That seemed to be the million-dollar question. Namjoon had been the one cheat with not one, but two girls at the same time, not even caring as you walked into his room. That morning had been meant to be surprised. You had finished working on a majority of your papers the night before and it had been a while since you got to spend some time with Joon, so you had planned on waking him up in his favorite way, only apparently, he already had someone else doing it for you.

If he had been able to move on so fast while still in a relationship, why was he always throwing it back at you now that he was single?

“Tell me you need me,” Jungkook suddenly said.

“What?” You asked, blinking up at him in confusion. Where had this come from?

Jungkook’s eyes reminded you of a galaxy of stars hidden away from the rest of the universe, but as they gazed down at you, they were hardened with determination. “Tell me you need me,” he repeated, firmly this time. “So, I don’t fucking go out there and tell him to leave my girl the hell alone and beat the shit out of him.”

You felt your bottom lip quiver briefly as he spoke. Not because what he said could be considered mildly scary, but because you knew how hard this was on him. Jungkook, while he may look like he didn’t give a shit, had the biggest heart you had ever seen. That was something that never changed about him since his younger years.

More often than not he vocalized wanting to be able go out on campus and into town with his arm around you, to hold your hand and go out on dates. You were his girl and the only ones who knew where the other Bangtan Boys. They only knew because they all covered for the two of you when Namjoon asked where Kook was.

He wanted to love you the way he thought you deserved, and he was denied that because if Namjoon found out, blood would be spilled. His in particular. Namjoon would only see the betrayal that Jungkook had committed and in their group, he saw loyalty as number one.

That was why Hoseok always said the two of you were crazy for this.

The consequences of dating an ex of the leader? Life threatening.

Wetting your lips, you reached a hand up to cup his cheek, stroking his face in an attempt to soothe not just him, but yourself as well. Even if either of you came out with the truth, it wouldn’t just be your lives at risk, but the others would be in just as much danger. They were the ones covering your asses, and Namjoon wouldn’t take that lightly.

“Jungkook,” you whispered. “Of course, I need you. I never stopped needing you baby.”

He stared down at you; the room nearly silent with the exception of the music that shook the walls. While he always dreamed of having you like this, he felt like a failure in some ways. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against yours, hugging you as he sniffed.

“I’m gonna get us out of here one day,” Jungkook promised. “I’m taking you and we’re going wherever the hell we want. Far away from Namjoon so that he can never find us.”

Despite the situation hanging over your heads, you couldn’t help but smile at him. “Kookie, we’re still young.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve always known that I’ve loved you, since we were kids and when Namjoon introduced you that day. It was all just a matter of timing.” In an instant, his hands were on your waist and he rolled you on to your back as he hovered over you with practiced ease. His bangs hung down drawing giggles from you, but you felt more alive as he spoke with passion.

“And if we can’t find the right time, then we’ll take it for ourselves. I’ve been saving up these last couple months, and it’s gonna be a while more before we’ll have enough to get away and not be stuck living in a car, but I’m getting us out of here baby. That is…as long as you want to come with me.”

At some point his hands had slipped under the hem of your shirt, the rings he wore sent cold tingles up your spine at their sudden touch, but all you were able to do was focus on Jungkook and the way he was currently chewing on his bottom lip. Not too long ago he had talked about getting his mouth pierced, although from the amount of times he bit his mouth from nerves or deeply concentrating on a task, the healing process for that one hoop would take forever on him, if he didn’t end up taking it out.

Looking up at him right now, it was like seeing the Jungkook you used to know and the man he had grown into, and you were absolutely in love with both of them. You had loved Namjoon yes, but the way you once felt about him, was nothing compared to the way you felt about Jungkook.

“Do you remember when our moms would schedule playdates for us?” You suddenly asked, a soft smile growing on your face. “And they would always say how cute we were together.”

A grin formed on his face as he briefly glanced away from you, the faintest blush appearing on his cheeks. “My mom still says that.”

Giggling, you nodded in agreement, though your own mom had called him hot when you showed her a recent photo of Jungkook. “Afterwards when we’d get home,” you continued, “I would always tell her that one day, I wasn’t ever going to date anyone who wasn’t you.”

Jungkook’s grin widened to the point of threatening to split his face, but knowing that even back then you had felt the same way about him like he did for you, only made him more determined in getting you far away from Namjoon.

“We can’t tell the guys about our plan. If they don’t know, then Namjoon won’t hurt them.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Your heart felt like it was racing. The idea of being able to love each other without fear of Namjoon was a dead weight being removed from your shoulders.

“Then I guess that’s it,” he said, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

With a nod, you wrapped your arms around his neck, adjusting your head to kiss Jungkook.

It was going to be awhile before the two of you had enough money to leave, but the moment the two of you had it, you and Jungkook were going to be gone. There would be no goodbyes to the others. Even though they were pains in the ass at times, they weren’t cruel to those they cared about. If anything, the day the two of you left for good or when they realized what happened, you could easily imagine them getting together and having a drink in your honor.

Maybe one day when it was safe, you and Jungkook could come back for a visit or find a way to stay in touch with them. But none of that would matter if you got caught.

The two of you were dancing on the edge of a knife’s blade, and it was worth every second.

[lustandlordsrp]

The Frost Fair  //  January 18, 1811

Somehow overnight, the Thames has erected a City on Ice. The Frost Fair is a bacchanal with the primary objective to have as much fun (boozy and not) as possible without breaking the ice. Within hours of dawn, the Thames is transformed into a frozen pleasure gardens and thousands pay the entry fee for a slice of the hedonism. Colourful streamer, banners, and flags adorn makeshift tents, stalls made of old oars and wood, and even stalls made from old blankets. 

Carriages carry families down the icy river to park steps away from the bustling crowds. From these coaches, ladies and gents jump down in their ice skates, prepared to explore fair by blade. Women walk around with baskets of hot apples covered by a cloth to warm their hands and heads. Donned in warm cloaks and leather boots, you cross the wooden ramp built connecting street to river. You step gingerly onto the ice. It is a wonder that an entire festival take place safely on ice, but the ice is matted down for walking. With the thought of slipping and falling swept from your mind, you turn your eyes to take in the numerous vendors and tents before you. 

What will you do at the Frost Fair?

Miss Fortune

Her reputation precedes her: Kezia Bidari, the famed fortune teller. They say, what she sees in the cards will always come true. Far and wide, common folk, nobles, and even royalty have flocked to her store in London, La Fortuna Sanctorium, in the hopes that she may provide certainty in their futures. Endorsed by the King and Queen many years ago, there is not a more renowned and successful cartomancer, nor female entrepeneur in the Ton. You hear whispers that she is offering readings at the Frost Fair.

Only those with burning questions, haunting unknowns, and desperate hopes will find themselves taking a seat before her, baring their souls and futures to the mysterious woman before them.

What future awaits you in the cards?

(Look forward to a secondary post for instructions on how to get your muse’s fortune read and how to interact with Miss Kezia Bidari!)

Celebratory Printing Press

Trust the media of London to take any sensational event and capture it in ink and paper. The rare occurrence of a frozen Thames is no exception, and numerous printers have moved their set ups to the river to capitalize on the enthusiasm and excitement. Each is offering their own pressings, from souvenir cards to memorabilia broadsheets. Some can make personalized printings with the purchaser's name, and one enterprising press has even produced a pamphlet with a history of the Frost Fairs!

Food Stalls and Gingerbread Carts

The highlight of the Fair is the roast ox. Cooked for over 24 hours on a fire, fairgoers line up for their share of the succulent and tender delicacy. Families of butchers that span generations compete with one another to serve the best roast mutton, mince pies, jugged hare, black pudding, and sausages. Spiced apples can be found at every corner, along with mugs of mulled cider. To appeal to the sweet-tooths, plum cakes, brandy balls, spiced buns, and pancakes abound. For the chance to eat like the common folk, fishermen have lines and lines of oysters to be eaten raw, smoked, or roasted in front of you. Most notably, strolling vendors sell squares of fresh gingerbread, spread with hot dripping treacle. 

Drink Stalls and Fuddling Tents

Tea, coffee and hot chocolate of all sorts and flavours imaginable are sold at tents and carts alike. But it is alcohol at the Frost Fair that reigns supreme. Gingerbread vendors, along with baked goods, sell cup after cup of gin. Youngsters head straight for the fuddling tents that sells Old Tom, a deceptively ardent and potent gin despite its light and sweet taste. 

The fuddling tents, temporary pubs crafted from sails, oars, and barrels, are erected throughout the fairgrounds, and are undoubtedly the most boisterous and raucous spots. Perhaps you would like a mug of Purl; a combination of gin, spices and wormwood wine served piping hot, or perhaps a spiky Brunswick Mum for those who prefer spiced winter ale, or just the finest brandy. The most popular fuddling tent, the City of Moscow tent, attracts all with its Russian fiddlers and rowdy ambience.

Trinket Shops

Tradesmen from all over the world and of all types set up booths to sell their wares. Pedlars circulate through the crowd. Everything from books to toys to sheet music, all of which bear the label, “bought on the Thames”, can be found in every direction. Cups and cutlery with the Thames printed on it are particularly popular. For upscale shopping, one row of vendors sell rare jewelry, toys and upscale trinkets.

Fair Games

Ring toss, spin the wheel, darts, shooting; all sorts of amusing games have been set up. Whether any of them are fair is a debate for another time. Yet isn’t there something thrilling about spending a shilling for the hope of a prize, even if the more logical minded know the odds (and those boxes) are stacked against you?

Puppet Shows

Portable puppet shows pop up throughout the fairgrounds. Many of the shows cater to adults,  showing parodies and satires of mature and comedic topics, including politics to current events. Punch and Judy puppet shows are all the rage and never fail to provoke shocked laughter from its slapstick humour.

Elephant Demonstration on the Ice

In the distance, shouts of excitement riddle the area. An elephant, majestic in a draped banner, is led across the ice by Blackfriars Bridge into a showing area. Once there, those brave enough may approach the enormous creature (for a fee) and even feed it fruits and bark. 

Ice Skating and Sleigh Rides on the Ice

The obvious winter entertainments are not excluded from the festivities. Metal blades are available for rent, to zip along the ice, though whether it is a more stable or secure method of travel than boots depends on the skater. Ice rinks have been constructed and blocked off for the sport. Sleighs pulled by horses, or perhaps a rowdy group of gentlemen, stand by for farther adventures up the river. All need to be wary of the watermen keeping an eye on the thickness of the ice.

Theatrical Displays

Small stages are interspersed throughout the other attractions, actors braving the cold to give the performances of their life—or at least of the day, before they return to Drury Lane for the evening performances. Scenes, monologues, excerpts from the plays of the moment, put on for free to try and tempt viewers into purchasing full tickets.

9-Pin Bowling

Set up the pins, line up your shot, and try to remember that ice will affect your throw! Is it the attention of a pretty lady on the line, or pride and honor that has been wagered? Your aim may be truer if you haven’t been indulging in some Old Tom.

@silcntpoetics @henrie-latymer @ambrosestclair @eiraeth @isabella-aldwyn @lady-ralston @stedfastasthou @rvlston @benjaminayles @peeress @theiison @sir-michaelhunter​ @sebastian-mckenzie​

[saturn-mp4]

The Aesthetic Tag

Rules: Bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold.

(soft!) baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal| fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night |

(dark academia!) neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story |

(edgy!) closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks |

(seventies!) colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | DIYing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding |

(preppy casual!) collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time| frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy-lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

@thelivebookproject endless summer sunny days | reading book after book after book | singing in the car | braids on wet hair | visiting ancient buildings and imagining life there | going berry picking | bullet journaling | making list after list after list | wanting to be sociable but too solitaire to make it work | having too many blankets on the bed | being fascinated by languages| shouting at TV debate shows | long silent winter evenings | playing classical piano | bad puns | wishing for change but being scared of it | dainty jewelery | foggy glasses over a cup of tea

@psychedaboutstudying warming your feet to a bonfire late summer evenings | writing in the sand to let the waves wash it away | oversized woolen socks | two messy buns | getting lost in music played through big headphones | reading twelve books at the same time | office job during the week punk rock on the weekends | imagining you’re in a music video when in the car | wooden decor pieces | planning as a hobby | women in suits | animal printed everything | colour-coded annotated research papers | fluffy sweaters and steaming hot tea in the winter | karaoke night at your friends’ home | guilty pleasures spotify lists | self-education | long high-waisted skirts | endless curiosity | sitting on the floor

@booknerdphd messy buns | baggy sweaters | black leggings | constant background lo-fi music | multiple downloads of the same paper in multiple folders | drinking all beverages from a mug (even alcohol) | cloudy days and heavy rains | the smell of air before it rains | diligent at work lazy at home | visiting art and history museums | 16 oz thermos flask to fill with coffee at any given time | sneakers and ankle length socks | denim jackets | sad song playlists forever | consumes entertainment in 4 (or just multiple) different languages | singing in the apartment like you’re singing in the shower

@phdead high heel boots | flannel | messy bun | wearing the same piece of jewelry | asymmetric earrings | speed walks everywhere | but refuses to jog/run | long colourful nails | space buns | motivated by challenges | cherries | doesn’t like flowers | summer rain | chocolate covered strawberries | scared of heights | ties | shifts between aesthetics | cozy blankets and campfires |  thrifting | cleans to procrastinate

@evenrosespeaks french press coffee in the mornings | pj pants constantly at home | a “to-read” stack of books | story-rich video games | dried flowers | endless houseplants | floral dresses | fancy pens | hand-written to-do lists | scared of failure | chain drinking tea | lavender scented rooms and clothes | inbox zero| tries to resist clutter but ultimately fails | cardboard boxes instead of a bookshelf | lots of windows | dragging out things that I don’t want to end | wool coats | muted/dusty colors |  watching the rain from indoors.

@schleiereule94 eating too much chocolate | owls | the scent of cake/cookies in the oven | blasting loud music to destress | a clean desktop with only one folder named “documents” | “report_final_Version_final_current_really_final_version_7″ | hair ties in every corner of the house | leather leggings | long evening walks | watching the dogs in the park | heavy wind before a thunderstorm | the scent of the warming river in spring | overexcitement about travelling somewhere new | jumping around when happy or excited | going on your sibling(s) nerves but in a cute way | hugging trees | broken phone screen | colourful mandalas | aching muscles after workout | language confusion when switching from one to the other

@biomedstudyblr14 being tired but not going to bed til 2am | drinking 3 cups of tea in a row | listening to obscure artists | liking music at totally different ends of the spectrum | unbrushed hair | odd socks | loud | drama queen | could eat pizza every day | studies too much | hates children | does exercise but stays skinny | loves reed diffusers in their room | favourite scent is coconut | Wears trainers with every outfit | Watched youtube to understand lectures better | Can’t drive | Has ears pierced but never wears earrings | No makeup | Stationary hoarder

@saturn-mp4  flannels thrown over chairs | rainbow books | candles lighting up a room | iced coffees | wanting to play instruments but never learning | having the urge to go on walks at 2 am | uncontrolled laughing | being a dork but also having an old soul | multiple journals on the go at the same time | dancing around your room blasting music | hugs | endless ambition | a sea breeze | studying until 3 am in summer | running into the sea | slang | puppy energy |

[dancingbaek]

To End in Ice and Fire | Part 5

Being born with a particular birthmark is the lurking fear every parent has in their hearts when they bring a child into this dark world. Your parents are the only ones who have never received relief when creating life, because they knew your soul would be damned for eternity when he finally comes to claim what’s his.

Moodboard // Prologue // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Spoiler: Jongin is an angry little vampire.

The next morning is much of the same. You wake up a little disoriented, but nonetheless slide out of bed and into the slippers you left waiting. The floor is always so cold in the morning and in the evening and your slippers can hardly fend off the cold. You change into a different dress in the closet, into a deep blue gown that you had trouble lacing up because the corset was just the slightest bit too small. You remedy the situation by sliding on an overcoat, buttoning each and every button. It wards off the chill in the air and you pad slowly to the vanity pressed up to the wall you hadn’t noticed the day before in your confusion and terror.

There’s a large mirror attached to the back of it, with little drawers and a seat cushion set in front of it. On the table is a golden hairbrush, intricate designs spiraling in a circle over the back of it, a large ruby set in the center. A matching hand mirror sits beside it. The Count and Countess did not even have such luxurious items in their household as you suspected the gold might be entirely real. Aside from the two items is a black wooden box, quite plain compared to the jeweled handset. A curious peek inside reveals glittering pieces of jewelry – you spy a string of genuine pearls, sapphire earrings, and garnet and diamond studded bracelets before you quickly shut it.

Raking the brush through your tired locks of hair, you regard yourself in the back mirror. Despite sleeping clear through the night, you look weary. Though talking to Junmyeon the morning before shed some light on your current situation, it had done nothing to set your mind at ease. When you had left your home to make the walk to the church, you had every intention of dying. You had believed you would be ripped apart and drained, much like that innocent boy had been. You had been waiting for the inevitability of death your entire life. You had kneeled every Sunday in church and every night before bed, praying that when it came you could still be saved.

Junmyeon had confirmed that your kidnapper had not brought you here just to kill you. If anything, you gathered that you were regarded as a piece of property to him. Not exactly a new concept to you, considering most marriages were arranged and young women like yourself were bartered off to the man with the highest place in society and the heaviest change purse. You, being a reasonably attractive woman and coming from a well-respected family, would have been good enough to be sold to Richard’s family. You would have been the next Countess and inherited his mother’s jewels and good standing, however you would have never truly owned anything. Everything would be Richard’s, and you would just be a conduit for his children.

You stood from the vanity, blinking images from a future you might have had out of your head. Sweeping your hair off your shoulder you make your way out of your room. Much like the day before, the hallways are mainly lit by candles, the heavy curtains still drawn over the windows. The path to the dining hall is empty of people, and you half expect to see Junmyeon waiting for you at the head of the table. Instead, it too is void of others, however the table is spread with much of the same breakfast food from the day before. You fill a plate with various fruits and cuts of meat before you pause. Being the only one present, and likely the only one in the house, why should you not take the head of the table?

Sitting down where the patriarch typically would affords you a rush of gratification. Although you look out to a table without companionship, the new vantage points allows you to regain some semblance of control over your life. One small decision seems to be enough to propel you through the day.

Junmyeon strolls into the hall while you’re finishing off the last of the sweet grapes. The amusement is plain on his face when he sees where you’ve chosen to sit. Awkwardly you begin to rise from the chair, but he waves it off and sits a few seats down. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“Yes…” You start, grasping for an excuse before you decide on a light shrug and the truth. “I did not expect to have company this morning.”

“I put in for an order of lemon tarts this morning for a reason.” Junmyeon states, leaning forward to pluck one from a plate. You watch him take a bite in confusion but decide not to question it. If the bloodsucking demon wanted to eat a lemon tart, you would let him enjoy it in peace.

“So might we revisit the reason on me being here?” You question him, watching him practically inhale the sweet treat and reach for a second.

“I believe I addressed why you were here yesterday.” Junmyeon states when he swallows. “And I believe I stated Yixing should be speaking with you.”

“If I’m to be forced to live here,” You begin, doing your best to keep the spite from your tone. “I’m going to need things that I do not currently have.”

“Like what?” Junmyeon questions, quirking an eyebrow, already halfway done with his second treat. There was only one remaining.

“Like…” You grasp for common items, not having expected him to actually care. “Well I’m going to need access to a bath, and soaps. Sanitary cloths for my cycles. Womanly things.”

“I’ll make sure to let Yixing know your list of demands for living here.” He states in amusement, standing and plucking the last treat from the table. “I’m sure he’ll fall over himself trying to get those things in order.”

He disappears from the room as you huff lightly, chewing on the last grape with more force than necessary. If they wanted to hold you hostage you at least had the right to be clean. After a few second of debating you rise from the head of the table, following him out to try to squeeze more answers out of him. He has already disappeared, and a quick search of the bottom floor shows that he must have made it up the stairs with alarming quiet and speed.

The rest of the day is spent trying to amuse yourself. You go on another tour of the castle, seeing if you can find anymore unlocked doors. There aren’t any. You run out of ideas to amuse yourself quickly and succumb to deciding to read the day away. While you love reading, it having been how you spent most of your days at home anyways, you had nothing else to do. You should have told Junmyeon to ask Yixing to procure more entertainment.

It is somehow easy demanding things from Junmyeon, or at least speaking to him in a normal manner. He was more human-like than Yixing had been, and if it weren’t for his red eyes and flash of pointed teeth you would have tempted to go as far and say the two of you could be friends. He felt more human, yes, but there were still times where he went far too long without blinking or you caught him looking at your throat.

The next few days pass by much the same. Despite not having a bible you say a short prayer every night, but you quickly begin to lose faith. You discover the room next to yours open the next day, inside being a large claw foot tub with steaming water. A table is set beside it, housing a plethora of soaps for your body and hair. A plush towel sits next to them. You close the door and bolt it shut, sitting in the scalding water until it turns cool and your skin is pruned. You took time to smell all of your options, settling on a mixture of vanilla and peppermint. You scrub and scrub and scrub until you have to get out and wrap the towel around your body.

In fact, every morning since your chat with Junmyeon has produced steaming bath water for your enjoyment. It immediately becomes the favorite part of your day, despite the piano that lulls you to sleep every night. You silently acknowledge the fact that not even those in the largest homes back in your village had the opportunity to bathe each and every day.

Junmyeon does not show up after the second day, but you find yourself not minding it. Though you miss human interaction, you’re content to wallow your days away in solitude, bath water, and tomes thicker than your torso. Which is exactly what you’re doing on the fifth day of the kidnapping – balancing a large book on your knees, peering down at the words in a plush chair in the library. Having chosen something outlining the lineage of a faraway land, you settled in with a cup of tea to read the afternoon away.

 You awake sometime later. The curtains you had drawn to let in the late afternoon sun might as well have been shut with all the light that was left. The sky was dark, what light the moon cast hardly penetrating through the window. Sleepily you shift, your legs sliding out from under you and falling stiffly to floor.

Hissing as you pull your feet back, you feel the residual sharp pinpricks of how cold the floor was. Winter was certainly setting in. Blearily you reach down and fumble blindly for the slippers you had discarded before shoving your feet into them. This time you weren’t shocked when your feet hit the floor, and you pushed yourself out of the chair. You stretch your arms above your head, yawning obnoxiously before your mind wakes up enough to realize you can year the piano weaving its way into the library from the music room upstairs.

You’ve never been out of your room when you hear the piano. You still don’t know who plays it. It could be Junmyeon, sure, or it could be Yixing or some other demon you’ve yet to meet – okay, slow down, you tell yourself, taking a breath to steady your increasing thumping heartbeat. The library is on the first floor, the music room on the second, and your room on the third. All you have to do is be quiet going up the stairs.

Creeping outside the library, you’re met with the characteristic stillness of the household. No one is roaming the halls and there’s no noise outside of the soft, lilting melody of the piano keys. It’s even more beautiful now that there’s one less door between you and its location. Closing the door slowly behind you, you began to creep towards the grand staircase. Candles were lighted in their perches on the walls, casting yellow and orange hues against the dark stone. Just a few stairs up, you pause. Was it the fourth or the fifth stair that creaked under added weight? You take a moment to wrack your brain for an answer before you decide to hike up your skirts and stretch to the sixth stair.

Narrowly avoiding a leg cramp, you push yourself back to a respectable position, straightening out your skirts and continuing to sneak up the rest of the staircase. There was only one other stair you had to avoid, and when you reached the top you mentally gave yourself a round of applause. One flight of stairs down, one flight of stairs to go. As you begin your light trek down the hallway towards the next flight of stairs, the feathery lilt of melody swelled, working towards a climax of what you were sure was to be an amazing end of –

“Hello.” A honeyed voice sounded from behind you. You spin in mid stride to face whoever spoke, but there’s no one there. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, squinting lightly into the weak light cast by the candles. There’s no one there.

“In front of you.” The same voice speaks from behind you once more. You spin again, this time coming face to face with another demon. You take an involuntary step back, back towards the stairs.

He’s easily the most attractive of the three. Towering above you, you see deep chocolate hair parted in the front, and his skin must have been naturally rich because last you knew these demons could not go out in the sun. His skin practically glowed despite the weak lighting, but that’s where the warmth stopped. A sharp jawline, plump lips quirked into a smirk, a straight nose, strong eyebrows, and blood red eyes. Junmyeon’s – even Yixing’s – had life in them, emotion and personality. This man’s were cold, lifeless. Dead, just like him.

“It’s rude not to speak when spoken to.” His voice is huskier than when he first spoke, but still dripping in honey. Immaculately dress, his jacket was unbuttoned halfway, his white shirt underneath similarly unbuttoned. An expanse of tanned skin showed, and you could practically see the iron muscles ripple underneath.

“Hello.” You suddenly find your voice and dip into an uncertain curtsy. He’s different from Junmyeon, different from Yixing. While you knew that they were both deadly, they didn’t look at you like you were a meal. They didn’t look through you.

The man in front of you suddenly smiled a full, toothy grin – and displayed for the first time the fangs you had heard so many rumors about when they spoke of the dead bodies found in the morning. Long, sharp, and almost mockingly glinting in the faint light – you couldn’t help but take another step back.

“That was adorable.” He stated in an amused tone. Your face flushed, and the thought of his fangs again sent your pulse skyrocketing. His eyes darted down to your neck, and he cocked his head to the side. It was as if he could hear your accelerated heart rate. A pink tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, eyes not straying from your neck. You take another step back.

“Just a taste.” He says to himself in a low tone, the amusement from before having vanished as quick as it showed and his eyelids drooped low, hooded. The piano has stopped, but you have no time to take note of this fact. His lips pull back to reveal his fangs again as he leans forward, arms reaching out to keep you from running away. It was like a train wreck. Fear consumed you, rooting you to your place and the only thing you could do was screw your eyes shut in an attempt to ignore what was happening.

“Here to save your little mate, hm, Xing?” The handsome man ground out, and you managed to crack open your eyes. Directly in front of you was a broad back clad in a black suit jacket. Even from behind, even from his shortened name you could tell it was Yixing. Something deep inside of your soul told you it was him.

“You should not touch ladies without permission, Jongin.” Yixing speaks, his voice even. The first time he had spoken to you it had been soft, gentle – now it had an undercurrent of suppressed anger and barely contained contempt. The power shifted in the hallway away from the demon named Jongin and he felt it immediately. From peeking around Yixing, you saw him retreat a few steps. His eyes flickered from Yixing’s to yours, and he sneered.

“Ladies shouldn’t be wandering at night. They don’t know what lurks in the shadows.” He warned, and then he was simply gone. You didn’t blink, at least you don’t think you did; he was just there one moment and gone the next.

Yixing turned to face you after a moment. His hair hung over his forehead now, but he was still just as beautiful. Red eyes peered down at you, and you couldn’t make it past the startling closeness to see the concern clouding them. You take another step backwards, trying to get some physical space in an effort to clear get a grip on your mind.

Except this time, your foot does meet the smooth wooden planks along the floor. Instead, it’s met by nothing but thin air and belatedly you realize that, in your terror of the demon, you had retreated to the first staircase. Having no time to correct your mistake, your body tips backwards as your balance is thrown off. As your arms flail out to try to regain control you let out a very unbecoming yelp at the prospect of falling down the stairs and likely cracking your head open on a step or the landing.

Once again Yixing is there to save you. He reaches to grab hold of your hand, pulling you away from the steps and pivots you around so he’s between you and your close brush with an embarrassment you would never live down. His hands are cold, impossibly cold, and the grip he has on you sends your heartbeat into overtime – scratch that, the proximity he’s holding you at does. One arm has snaked around your waist to hold you firmly to his body, as if he could protect you wholly from making another stupid mistake tonight. His slim build does nothing to hide the fact that he is solid muscle. His hands may be comparable to ice, but his core body just seems to lack heat and is cool through the few layers of clothing he has on. Your own body seems to thrum with the closeness of him, something stirring deep inside of you.

“Careful, little one.” His tone is scolding while his lips are pressed into a thin line, brows scrunched together. The concern is hard to miss this time and the revelation that this heartless being is showing some semblance of kindness to you sends you spiraling further.

Heat colors your cheeks, making it hard to deny the embarrassment you were feeling with the whole situation. Yixing’s eyes rake over your features and you note offhand that his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. It’s a similar reaction Jongin had before he tried to tear into your neck, however you find it hard to react to Yixing the same way. “I-I am so sorry.”

You’re sorry? You instantly cringe at the fact you had apologized to the man – the thing that had kidnapped you from a church just days beforehand. He must have something similar running through his mind because the widening of his eyes and slow blink tell the story. “You’re sorry?” He questions, shaking his head and letting go of you. Somehow, you’re left feeling colder when he does. “You should not apologize for having an appropriate reaction to my kind. You have nothing at all to apologize for.”

“The piano stopped.” You note out loud, voice surprisingly even. Yixing regards you closely, being able to tell so much had happened in such a short period of time for you that you were choosing to focus on the small things before you tackle the large ones. “Were you playing it?”

“Yes,” Yixing answers, adding more gently, “I think it’s time for you to get into bed, little one.”

“I think you’re right.” You concede. He moves to the side, gesturing politely that you continue on your way. The first few steps are a bit wobbly, still feeling blindsided by the events that just transpired. A blood thirsty demon trying to rip into your neck, another, slightly less blood thirsty demon saving you from him, and then saving you from your own clumsy self. You had found yourself wishing these past few days to just run into Yixing again so you could demand that he release you, demand that he take you home unharmed and leave you be. But here he was, looking impossibly handsome in the flickering light, being kind, and you could not bring yourself to do so.

He follows a pace behind, his presence following you down the hall and up another flight of stairs. When you enter your bedroom, he stops in the doorway; lingering, watching. You pull the blankets back from the bed, trying to think of what to say to the red-eyed man.

“Sleep well.” He states softly, beating you to it and reaching in to take hold of the doorknob, beginning to shut the door. Your heart leaps in your throat at the thought of being alone, at the thought of Jongin being somewhere in the house. They don’t know what lurks in the shadows. When Jongin had spoken it, you had taken it as a serious warning. It flared up in your mind again, spreading through you like wildfire.

“Wait!” The panic in your voice made him halt, looking up at you with widened eyes. “What if he ends up coming back?”

Yixing drew himself up to his full height, shoulders tense and expression solemn. “Jongin will not come back, nor will he hurt you. I will not let anyone hurt you. I promise it.” His tone was even but laced with seriousness you had not expected. It was hard not to believe the words when he conveyed them so earnestly.

You turn from him, trying to steady the warmth that spread through you at his sudden flare of protectiveness. Keeping your voice as even as possible, you manage to murmur, “I believe you,” as you slide out of your slippers and into bed. “And I want to talk tomorrow.”

Yixing nods, beginning to close the door once more. “Good night, little one.”

You shrug out of your coat and unlace the corset, shrugging them both off before you lay down in bed, pulling the blankets up high. The piano never starts back up, but you don’t find difficulty in drifting off.

[wellesleyunderground]

Wellesley Underground’s Holiday Guide to Wellesley-Owned Businesses: November 2019

The Good Supply / Image Credit: The Good Supply

Looking for your holiday gifts? Check out Wellesley Underground’s crowd-sourced list of Wellesley-owned businesses (updated for 2019)! Compiled by Hoi-Fei Mok ‘10, WU Managing Editor.

Pinterest Board of the Shops (incomplete)

Jewelry

Alumnati Jewelry by Stephanie Christie ‘00: Handmade Wellesley lamppost earrings

Ecru Collection by Kara Templeton '12: Jewelry, home decor, and stationery

Kindred Spirit Studios by Michelle Davis Petelinz '78: Jewelry, home decor

Lauren Wimmer Jewelry by Lauren Wimmer ‘98: Jewelry

Mala Shah Design by Mala Shah ‘98: Metalworks and Reiki-infused jewelry

Ready-Made by Jenn Meng ‘13: Materials-focused jewelry brand offering minimal, everyday pieces that are affordable, hypoallergenic, super strong, and tarnish-free.

Porcelain and Stone by Kimberly Huestis '05: Nautically inspired jewelry

Space Mermaid by Stephanie Carbone '93: Sky and sea inspired jewelry

Urban Witchcraft by Elena Gauvin ‘13: hand fabricated sterling silver gemstone jewelry with a gothic feel 

Wellesley Voices For Disability: Wellesley earring and necklace set, scarf and hat set, fountain pen, bookmark, keyboard covers and more. 

Art & Crafts

A Riot of Color by Susan Eiseman Levitin '85: Hand-dyed yarns

Achiaa Paper and Pen by Rebecca Amponsah ‘08: Handmade paper goods and lettering

Alyssa Sketch’d by Alyssa Torres ‘09: Original illustrations/art and jewelry

Art Without A Frame by Hoi-Fei Mok ‘10: Original illustrations/art from the Dragon Fruit Project, an oral history project of queer and trans Asian Pacific Islanders

Cardiology Cards by Tamar Zmora ‘11: Break up Cards

ChemKnits Creations by Rebecca Brown ‘06: Hand dyed yarns

Connie-Chen.com by Connie Chen ‘17: Calligraphy commissions, prints, bookish apparel, oblique holders, penmanship lessons 

DisaporicArts by Jenny Jean ‘13: Modern digital art prints

Fran Decker by Fran Decker '80: Original paintings, prints, tiles and notecards

Genevieve Calligraphy by Genevieve Goldleaf ‘12: Botanical illustrations and custom calligraphy

The Grey Fox Studio by Katherine Grey '08: Printmaking, drawing & painting

KT Obermanns by KT Obermanns '07: Illustrations, portraits, pinups, and caricature

Leslie Ordal Fibre Arts by Leslie Ordal ‘04: Handspun yarns, handwoven scarves, and other fibre arts. Lessons and workshops in the Toronto, Ontario, area.

Map Attic by Alex Azzi ‘15: Block-printed holiday cards, resin jewelry, vintage map crafts, ceramics, and abstract fluid paintings.

Misc Midwest by Marie Clymer Sarnacki '13: Wooden coasters and fridge magnets with a Wellesley design

Miyun Makes by Gena Hong ‘12: handmade pottery inspired by Korean traditions.

Monica Starr Creations by Monica Starr Feldman ‘14: Leather luggage tags, metal flower bouquets, embossed stationary, scarves, mason jar cozies, metal & wood working

My Big Pink Crafty Box by Sophia Giordano '09: Feminist crafts

Pick Two Pottery by Dana Lamb ‘99: Pottery

Singing Whale Stained Glass by Amy Putnam ‘90: Handmade stained glass art and shattered glass pins, plus chainmaille bracelets and earrings, including Wellesley inspired pieces.

Stephanie Hessler by Stephanie Hessler ‘84: Wellesley inspired prints, apparel, homewares

Tiny Small Joys by Alyssa Kayser-Hirsh '14: handmade books, calendars, notebooks, and planners

Wear I’ve Been by Samaa Ahmed ‘13: Art designs on throw pillows, prints, mugs, tote bags and more.

Kacie Lyn Martinez by Kacie Lyn Martinez ‘09: fiber artist who weaves tapestries and other fiber art 

Photography

Az Bulutlu by Eylul Dogruel ‘07: Skyscapes, travel and abstract photography, prints and merchandise.

JezRebelle by Jess Planos '10: Wellesley photos on prints, apparel, homewares

Meera Graham Photography by Meera Mohan ‘09: Nature Prints for Sale, Headshots & Candid Portraiture

Vero Kherian Photography by Veronique (Chau) Kherian ‘05: Professional Portraits and Headshot Photography in the SF Bay area  

Health & Skincare

Beautycounter by Jen Askin Pollock ‘99: Safer, high-performing products for the whole family

Box Naturals by Irene Kim ‘99: Luxe towelettes with organic essential oils

Cocofloss by Chrystle Cu '05: Flavored dental floss

EmmGerri by Karen and Kristi Jordan: Skincare lotion

Eu’Genia Shea by Naa-Sakle Akuete ‘08: Shea butter 

Just Botanicals by Sonya Funaro ‘00: Handcraft organic, ethically-sourced skincare  

Hubba Hubba by Megan (MJ) Pullins `94: The oldest alternative adult store in New England, stocking everything from corsets, club clothes, lingerie, and all sorts of sex toys.

Lioness by Liz Klinger: Smart vibrator

Maum Goods Co. by Helen (Tak) Kingery ‘01: Handmade essential oil products for wellness and balance

TATCHA Beauty by Victoria Tsai ‘00: Japanese based skincare products

Fashion and Apparel 

A Gifted Baby by Amelia Gray ‘03: Online boutique for babies and little people focussing on small and emerging designers, ethical production practices and women-owned labels. Alums are friends and family, use code “weloveyou20much” for the 20% f&f discount:).

Baby Blast Off by Emily Bennett: Baby clothes

Catie’s Natives by Jennifer Roesch ‘92: Shirts, hoodies, and accessories that show city pride. Developed and designed by Jennifer’s 10 year old daughter. Featured in Time Out NY. 10% of profits support Hartley House which provides social services to residents of Hell’s Kitchen, NY.

Charlotte and Asher by Laura Hahn ‘06: Fashionable diaper bags

Cliobags by Alejandra Zambrano: Handmade bags

Emma Finney by Kristin Bunce ‘00: Bags and clutches

Orange Soda Baby by Dorothy Hsiung '05: Whimsical children's clothing

The Outrage by Claire Schlemme ‘06: Feminist clothing and accessories with a portion of profits to women’s empowerment orgs.

Satya Twena by Satya Twena ‘05: Hats and millinery 

Stoptiques by Olga Vidisheva '07: Apparel and accessories

Wellesley Class of 1990: Purple W capes!  Made of durable material - great for wearing as a cape, using a picnic blanket, keeping your car seat clean, etc.

Wellesley Class of 2003: Wellesley lamp post shirts, baby apparel, and accessories

Wellesley Class of 2007: Wellesley apron (“We can stand the heat!”), baby and kids apparel

Wellesley Club of Columbus, OH: Wellesley insignia whistle

Swells Swag by Sarie Hale-Alper ‘04: Wellesley-themed designs on a variety of apparel and accessories.

Food & Care Packages

ChocolatesU by Amy Camargo ‘94: Chocolates

Ice Cream Jubilee by Victoria Lai ‘01: 6 ice cream pints, shipped nationwide

Montecarlos Estate by Carlota Batres ‘09: Coffee

Off The Beaten Path Food Tours by Lizzie Bell '03: Food tours in MA

Sky Vineyards by Skyla Olds ‘99: Wines

Sunny Exchange by Connie Su ‘09 and Jennifer Lim ‘06: Care packages

Takeout Kit by Rachael Blanchard Lake '07: Shelf-stable meal kit

Tranquil Tuesdays by Charlene Wang '03: Tea and teaware

Toys

My Muse Dolls by Torlisa Jeffery ‘06: Customizable dolls

Animal Care

Newbury Paws by Andrea Fowler '07: Harnesses for large dogs

Wellesley DC Club: Wellesley pet bowls

Domesticat: Rocío Garza Tisdell ‘07: modern-design cat furniture and accessories

Books & Zines

DefinitiveLeigh by Leigh Morrison '15: Feminist zines

Children’s photo books by Cristi Carlstead ‘01: Colors, alphabet and numbers from various countries around the world Romance Novels by Kate Broad ‘06, writing as Rebecca Brooks: sexy contemporary feminist romance

Jambo Book Club by Mijha Butcher Godfrey ‘98: Receive two-three age-appropriate children’s books each month that feature a child of color as the star. Jambo books show children of color in situations where children’s literature rarely places them - making friends, raising pets, loving grandparents and fighting dragons. The books arrive with a personalized letter in boxes beautifully decorated with art that celebrates the joy of childhood. We serve children aged 0-13.

General Home:

Domesticat by Rocío Garza Tisdell ‘07: posters, more products in development

TAIT Design Co. by Audrey Elkus ‘18: Toys + Homewares designed and assembled in Detroit and 100% made in USA. Minimalist, mid-century modern, built to last and make great gifts. Thanks for checking us out : )!

Professional Services

Abilities Dance: Boston-based physically-integrated dance company. Able to perform at holiday parties, fundraisers, and all types of events. Always willing to negotiate rates for W alums. 

Grace Astrology by Elisabeth Grace ‘83: Professionally certified astrologer; life strategist. Astrology is a powerful tool for understanding why you are the way you are; what you need in order to feel fulfilled and why things happen when they do. Improve your timing and your relationships. Based in New York -- available for parties, fundraisers, speaking/teaching engagements.  

Leslie Ordal: Writing and editing, with a specialty in medicine and science but other fields also welcome. Ad copy, journal manuscripts, etc.--my clients have ranged from Big Pharma to artisans to graduate students. Discount on my usual rate for W alums! Makefast Workshop (Maura Atwater ‘08): Prototyping consultancy; hardware, software, and musical instrument design.

[minas-writing]

The Saihrwn Project - Society

(This is part of a worldbuilding series for an original race - see here for the masterpost.)

Saihrwn value freedom and beauty. They always have. Each person is allowed to choose what they want to become, though there is unintentional pressure to follow a family path. (If you pointed that out to a parent, most would think you’re crazy, but reassure their child anyway that it’s okay if they don’t do what their parents do.)

Jobs

There are some miners, working to deepen the caves and follow the veins of metal that wind through the mountain range. There are Saihrwn that refine the metals, though in more and more cases, they’ll send out the ores to be refined by others, then bring the metal back to turn it into jewelry.

Some are craftsmen, producing the instruments and other trinkets that are popular in their traveling markets.

Most Saihrwn work in textiles - collecting the cotton-like plant that grows in certain caves, making dyes, spinning, weaving, processing, sewing… the list goes on.

There are gardens, too. Plants wouldn’t be able to grow inside the caves if it weren’t for the huge sun crystals that are mysterious in origin even to the Saihrwn themselves, and that’s saying something. These gardens grow enough food for those that live there, and very little of it is exported, especially because the plants aren’t all that exceptional. One could buy strawberry jam at a much cheaper price if you’re willing to settle for giant-grown rather than Saihrwn-grown. The Saihrwn who work in the gardens are typically older, because the warmth in those crystal-warmed caves is nice.

A small amount of Saihrwn are scholars. Most of them specialize in history and arcana, because most aren’t scholars for the heck of it. They’re looking for something specific.

There are also those in the traveling markets - merchants, storytellers, other entertainers. Saihrwn who grow up in the caravans tend to stay in the caravans, though they return to the mountains often enough to not really develop a distinct culture. There are differences, mostly in food, fashion, and language, but traditions and values are the same.

Societal Structure

Saihrwn are not a particularly populous race. After the ancient wars, they retreated to the caves and never really left. There aren’t many of them period. They’re loosely organized into tribes, or clans, sort of. These groups aren’t named, and though they have some differing points of culture, they’re largely the same. Location is the main difference. While the cave system is extensive, not every grouping connects to one another. Sairhwn in a grouping tend to be close as a community, and when impactful decisions need to be made as a race, each grouping will send several members to the largest network.

On a smaller scale, Saihrwn are very familial. Individuality is one of their highest ideals, and nobody can help you know and become yourself more than family. Heirlooms are important to Saihrwn, chief among them instruments, both old and new. While both genders are relatively equal, there is a slight matriarchal bent to the society, and a man typically joins his wife’s family upon marriage, though he never cuts ties with his own completely. In addition, an elder woman is generally more respected than an elder man, but neither gender is cut off from certain tasks. 

Those who cannot help with the general work of the Saihrwn still have options. Many older Saihrwn choose to work in the crop-growing caves, tending the small-batch gardens. Others, especially those who use different mental processes, take care of children during the day. Some work in details, such as embroidery or carving. Families rally around these individuals, because even traits that make it difficult to do some things are traits that make you you, and that deserves support. (At least ostensibly. There are some disabilities that aren’t seen as traits, but laziness or something, and there are some families that don’t respect even the obvious ones much.)

Government

The Saihrwn government structure is descended from their old military structure: those who show proficiency in important skills rise to the position of elder. These days, an adult who is given more solo parts in their music is more respected. If a decision is to be made, any adult who wishes can join a council, sort of a dance-less dance circle where important things are discussed, rather than simple conversation and the passing along of news. Saihrwn aren’t officially divided into “clans”, but the different groups along the mountain range have a representative or two that meet when necessary with the others. They keep themselves out of politics as much as possible. It’s an informal system, but seeing as the Saihrwn are a generally genial folk, it works. Most arguments are settled among the participants, or brought before several elders if need be.

Families

The Saihrwn are a very friendly, unified people. They spend more time in their neighborhood community than in nuclear families, though they don’t lose track of which child is whose. There aren’t “homes” the way other races have them, as they don’t seem to have beds. An individual’s possessions are kept in normally unlocked chests, which in turn stay in caverns belonging to families of cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents. Those caverns are the closest Saihrwn have to “homes,” as they spend occasional recreational time there. (Most of that recreational time is spent in the larger, community caves that have constant dance parties.) The family caverns are old, and sections off to the side, separated by more curtains, hold the urns and memorials of the deceased family members.

There is little gender division in work. A woman is just as likely to refine gold as she is to weave cloth, and a man could do the same. More women than men tend to the children, keeping them out of the adults’ business, and more men than women leave the caves to find wood. However, it is up to the individual to decide what they would be good at. 

Communication and Language

Saihrwn music is their first and native language. A combination of rhythm and pitch forms an idea that could be called a word, and any instrument can do it. Even one individual with a plain drum could tell an evocative story using simple language, similar to poetry. It’s magical, and very difficult to communicate to non-Saihrwn in that manner. Most of the time, they speak the common language of the Unhallowed Kingdom, which is a dialect of the common language of the Lovely Countries around them.

Saihrwn sing, but they don’t use the common words. Singing sounds have similar properties to instrument sounds, and if there is no instrument around, a Saihrwn could use their voice to communicate the same meaning. This is rare, however, and few non-Saihrwn have ever heard this method. Saihrwn names are derived from these vocal sounds. For example, the name “Rike” is technically onomatopoeia for the sound a hand makes when it strikes the side of a wooden drum, which in turn has a meaning equivalent to the word “thunder”. In fact, even the name “Saihrwn” means “one who dances” (which is why it is capitalized.)

In the caves, the constant music from the large caverns keeps workers entertained. Saihrwn send messages through the tunnels using instruments, including news, warnings, and short conversations. When the night is over, one designated herald will sound their loudest instrument through the caves, and each Saihrwn packs up, pins their hair up, and moves deeper into the caves to wait the day out.

Food

Saihrwn food traditions don’t differ much from most of the Unhallowed ones. It tends to be a little less labor-intensive. They’re content with unprepared fruits and vegetables, and plain cooked (or not) meat from the few livestock they keep. Eating is necessary, and enjoyable, but not as fun as dancing.

There isn’t much in the way of alcohol in the mountain ranges. Most Saihrwn view it as a lesser recreation, as it creates a blur. Those in caravans drink more than those in the caves, simply because it’s more available and everyone else down there does it. They’re very careful to not overdrink when they do, however, because they want to be aware when the night ends, especially if they’re not in a Saihrwn-heavy group. 

Traveling

There are the caravans, of course, the traveling markets. Occasionally, a Saihrwn will travel away from the caves and away from the caravans. They might be in search of a particular piece of lore or a rare plant supposed to make the most beautiful red dye; they might be entertainers, typical fantasy-setting bards; or they might be hired to help the palace guards or the giants train for combat. No matter the reason, Saihrwn have two iron-clad rules for traveling: never travel alone, and never travel without shelter. Another Saihrwn or five will help each other remember when the sun is coming, and the shelter will keep them safe during the day. If one is caught without another Saihrwn or a solid wagon with a roof, they’ll attempt to hide as best they can, as far away from other people as possible, to wait the day out. 

Death

The Saihrwn relationship with death is typical of most Unhallowed. There’s a very loose religion and knowledge of an afterlife because of the Cobbs, and while Cobbs don’t know much about life after death, they know it exists and that it’s a good place. Thus, Saihrwn view death with a sense of loss, but also with a lot of hope. It’s assumed that the Saihrwn mysteries and shame disappear with death. 

Because most Saihrwn live in stone caves, they tend to cremate rather than bury their dead. There are small chambers in the caves dedicated to that purpose, the ones with the best ventilation. After cremation, ashes of the deceased are gathered into small stone boxes, more ornate than jewelry boxes but similar in construction, with the name and dates carved or written, along with the instrument they preferred, if any. The boxes are placed in an organized fashion in separate rooms of family caverns, which serve as a sort of family history. There isn’t usually much in the way of physical memorials or shrines for the dead, but most families try to keep at least one candle burning. 

Funerals are the same as any other event in Saihrwn culture - lots of music and celebration. It’s believed that the dead, both the one being honored and others, dance with the living on funeral nights. After the funeral night, the dead’s possessions are passed on to their family. Instruments and jewelry are the most important things, but also included are their clothing and other personal items. 

Holidays and Festivals

When it comes to holidays, the Saihrwn are caught between two schools of thought. First, they are a naturally celebratory people, and festivals come naturally. Nearly every night is celebrating one thing or another, and markets are always jovial. However, the second way of thinking leans on historical facts, and argues that the Saihrwn should be wary of celebrating anything at all. Those who most firmly ascribe to this philosophy are more subdued than their cousins, and celebrate events by publicly recognizing that they happened. This is due to the Silent Legends, which blame the Saihrwn’s current condition on too many parties. While all of them believe the Silent Legends, not many Saihrwn limit themselves in regards to celebration. 

The greater part of the Saihrwn do celebrate a lot. Births, deaths, coming of age, marriages, natural events such as solstices and the moon phases, even a trader making the trek to the caves - all these have their place. There aren’t many traditions associated with different celebrations, though there are a few seasonal changes, and different life events might have the person being celebrated up front and center. Autumn is always celebrated with solemnity, due to its significance in the Silent Legends.

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